10459	----	for this text and significant contributor to its preparation for PG. THE CELTIC TWILIGHT by W. B. YEATS Time drops in decay Like a candle burnt out. And the mountains and woods Have their day, have their day; But, kindly old rout Of the fire-born moods, You pass not away. THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE The host is riding from Knocknarea, And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling, "Away, come away; Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart, And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart." The host is rushing 'twixt night and day; And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caolte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling, "Away, come away." THIS BOOK I I have desired, like every artist, to create a little world out of the beautiful, pleasant, and significant things of this marred and clumsy world, and to show in a vision something of the face of Ireland to any of my own people who would look where I bid them. I have therefore written down accurately and candidly much that I have heard and seen, and, except by way of commentary, nothing that I have merely imagined. I have, however, been at no pains to separate my own beliefs from those of the peasantry, but have rather let my men and women, dhouls and faeries, go their way unoffended or defended by any argument of mine. The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me. Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a little. 1893. II I have added a few more chapters in the manner of the old ones, and would have added others, but one loses, as one grows older, something of the lightness of one's dreams; one begins to take life up in both hands, and to care more for the fruit than the flower, and that is no great loss per haps. In these new chapters, as in the old ones, I have invented nothing but my comments and one or two deceitful sentences that may keep some poor story-teller's commerce with the devil and his angels, or the like, from being known among his neighbours. I shall publish in a little while a big book about the commonwealth of faery, and shall try to make it systematical and learned enough to buy pardon for this handful of dreams. 1902. W. B. YEATS. A TELLER OF TALES Many of the tales in this book were told me by one Paddy Flynn, a little bright-eyed old man, who lived in a leaky and one-roomed cabin in the village of Ballisodare, which is, he was wont to say, "the most gentle"--whereby he meant faery--"place in the whole of County Sligo." Others hold it, however, but second to Drumcliff and Drumahair. The first time I saw him he was cooking mushrooms for himself; the next time he was asleep under a hedge, smiling in his sleep. He was indeed always cheerful, though I thought I could see in his eyes (swift as the eyes of a rabbit, when they peered out of their wrinkled holes) a melancholy which was well-nigh a portion of their joy; the visionary melancholy of purely instinctive natures and of all animals. And yet there was much in his life to depress him, for in the triple solitude of age, eccentricity, and deafness, he went about much pestered by children. It was for this very reason perhaps that he ever recommended mirth and hopefulness. He was fond, for instance, of telling how Collumcille cheered up his mother. "How are you to-day, mother?" said the saint. "Worse," replied the mother. "May you be worse to-morrow," said the saint. The next day Collumcille came again, and exactly the same conversation took place, but the third day the mother said, "Better, thank God." And the saint replied, "May you be better to-morrow." He was fond too of telling how the Judge smiles at the last day alike when he rewards the good and condemns the lost to unceasing flames. He had many strange sights to keep him cheerful or to make him sad. I asked him had he ever seen the faeries, and got the reply, "Am I not annoyed with them?" I asked too if he had ever seen the banshee. "I have seen it," he said, "down there by the water, batting the river with its hands." I have copied this account of Paddy Flynn, with a few verbal alterations, from a note-book which I almost filled with his tales and sayings, shortly after seeing him. I look now at the note-book regretfully, for the blank pages at the end will never be filled up. Paddy Flynn is dead; a friend of mine gave him a large bottle of whiskey, and though a sober man at most times, the sight of so much liquor filled him with a great enthusiasm, and he lived upon it for some days and then died. His body, worn out with old age and hard times, could not bear the drink as in his young days. He was a great teller of tales, and unlike our common romancers, knew how to empty heaven, hell, and purgatory, faeryland and earth, to people his stories. He did not live in a shrunken world, but knew of no less ample circumstance than did Homer himself. Perhaps the Gaelic people shall by his like bring back again the ancient simplicity and amplitude of imagination. What is literature but the expression of moods by the vehicle of symbol and incident? And are there not moods which need heaven, hell, purgatory, and faeryland for their expression, no less than this dilapidated earth? Nay, are there not moods which shall find no expression unless there be men who dare to mix heaven, hell, purgatory, and faeryland together, or even to set the heads of beasts to the bodies of men, or to thrust the souls of men into the heart of rocks? Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart long for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet. BELIEF AND UNBELIEF There are some doubters even in the western villages. One woman told me last Christmas that she did not believe either in hell or in ghosts. Hell she thought was merely an invention got up by the priest to keep people good; and ghosts would not be permitted, she held, to go "trapsin about the earth" at their own free will; "but there are faeries," she added, "and little leprechauns, and water-horses, and fallen angels." I have met also a man with a mohawk Indian tattooed upon his arm, who held exactly similar beliefs and unbeliefs. No matter what one doubts one never doubts the faeries, for, as the man with the mohawk Indian on his arm said to me, "they stand to reason." Even the official mind does not escape this faith. A little girl who was at service in the village of Grange, close under the seaward slopes of Ben Bulben, suddenly disappeared one night about three years ago. There was at once great excitement in the neighbourhood, because it was rumoured that the faeries had taken her. A villager was said to have long struggled to hold her from them, but at last they prevailed, and he found nothing in his hands but a broomstick. The local constable was applied to, and he at once instituted a house-to-house search, and at the same time advised the people to burn all the bucalauns (ragweed) on the field she vanished from, because bucalauns are sacred to the faeries. They spent the whole night burning them, the constable repeating spells the while. In the morning the little girl was found, the story goes, wandering in the field. She said the faeries had taken her away a great distance, riding on a faery horse. At last she saw a big river, and the man who had tried to keep her from being carried off was drifting down it--such are the topsy-turvydoms of faery glamour--in a cockleshell. On the way her companions had mentioned the names of several people who were about to die shortly in the village. Perhaps the constable was right. It is better doubtless to believe much unreason and a little truth than to deny for denial's sake truth and unreason alike, for when we do this we have not even a rush candle to guide our steps, not even a poor sowlth to dance before us on the marsh, and must needs fumble our way into the great emptiness where dwell the mis-shapen dhouls. And after all, can we come to so great evil if we keep a little fire on our hearths and in our souls, and welcome with open hand whatever of excellent come to warm itself, whether it be man or phantom, and do not say too fiercely, even to the dhouls themselves, "Be ye gone"? When all is said and done, how do we not know but that our own unreason may be better than another's truth? for it has been warmed on our hearths and in our souls, and is ready for the wild bees of truth to hive in it, and make their sweet honey. Come into the world again, wild bees, wild bees! MORTAL HELP One hears in the old poems of men taken away to help the gods in a battle, and Cuchullan won the goddess Fand for a while, by helping her married sister and her sister's husband to overthrow another nation of the Land of Promise. I have been told, too, that the people of faery cannot even play at hurley unless they have on either side some mortal, whose body, or whatever has been put in its place, as the story-teller would say, is asleep at home. Without mortal help they are shadowy and cannot even strike the balls. One day I was walking over some marshy land in Galway with a friend when we found an old, hard-featured man digging a ditch. My friend had heard that this man had seen a wonderful sight of some kind, and at last we got the story out of him. When he was a boy he was working one day with about thirty men and women and boys. They were beyond Tuam and not far from Knock-na-gur. Presently they saw, all thirty of them, and at a distance of about half-a-mile, some hundred and fifty of the people of faery. There were two of them, he said, in dark clothes like people of our own time, who stood about a hundred yards from one another, but the others wore clothes of all colours, "bracket" or chequered, and some with red waistcoats. He could not see what they were doing, but all might have been playing hurley, for "they looked as if it was that." Sometimes they would vanish, and then he would almost swear they came back out of the bodies of the two men in dark clothes. These two men were of the size of living men, but the others were small. He saw them for about half-an- hour, and then the old man he and those about him were working for took up a whip and said, "Get on, get on, or we will have no work done!" I asked if he saw the faeries too, "Oh, yes, but he did not want work he was paying wages for to be neglected." He made every body work so hard that nobody saw what happened to the faeries. 1902. A VISIONARY A young man came to see me at my lodgings the other night, and began to talk of the making of the earth and the heavens and much else. I questioned him about his life and his doings. He had written many poems and painted many mystical designs since we met last, but latterly had neither written nor painted, for his whole heart was set upon making his mind strong, vigorous, and calm, and the emotional life of the artist was bad for him, he feared. He recited his poems readily, however. He had them all in his memory. Some indeed had never been written down. They, with their wild music as of winds blowing in the reeds,[FN#1] seemed to me the very inmost voice of Celtic sadness, and of Celtic longing for infinite things the world has never seen. Suddenly it seemed to me that he was peering about him a little eagerly. "Do you see anything, X-----?" I said. "A shining, winged woman, covered by her long hair, is standing near the doorway," he answered, or some such words. "Is it the influence of some living person who thinks of us, and whose thoughts appear to us in that symbolic form?" I said; for I am well instructed in the ways of the visionaries and in the fashion of their speech. "No," he replied; "for if it were the thoughts of a person who is alive I should feel the living influence in my living body, and my heart would beat and my breath would fail. It is a spirit. It is some one who is dead or who has never lived." [FN#1] I wrote this sentence long ago. This sadness now seems to me a part of all peoples who preserve the moods of the ancient peoples of the world. I am not so pre-occupied with the mystery of Race as I used to be, but leave this sentence and other sentences like it unchanged. We once believed them, and have, it may be, not grown wiser. I asked what he was doing, and found he was clerk in a large shop. His pleasure, however, was to wander about upon the hills, talking to half- mad and visionary peasants, or to persuade queer and conscience- stricken persons to deliver up the keeping of their troubles into his care. Another night, when I was with him in his own lodging, more than one turned up to talk over their beliefs and disbeliefs, and sun them as it were in the subtle light of his mind. Sometimes visions come to him as he talks with them, and he is rumoured to have told divers people true matters of their past days and distant friends, and left them hushed with dread of their strange teacher, who seems scarce more than a boy, and is so much more subtle than the oldest among them. The poetry he recited me was full of his nature and his visions. Sometimes it told of other lives he believes himself to have lived in other centuries, sometimes of people he had talked to, revealing them to their own minds. I told him I would write an article upon him and it, and was told in turn that I might do so if I did not mention his name, for he wished to be always "unknown, obscure, impersonal." Next day a bundle of his poems arrived, and with them a note in these words: "Here are copies of verses you said you liked. I do not think I could ever write or paint any more. I prepare myself for a cycle of other activities in some other life. I will make rigid my roots and branches. It is not now my turn to burst into leaves and flowers." The poems were all endeavours to capture some high, impalpable mood in a net of obscure images. There were fine passages in all, but these were often embedded in thoughts which have evidently a special value to his mind, but are to other men the counters of an unknown coinage. To them they seem merely so much brass or copper or tarnished silver at the best. At other times the beauty of the thought was obscured by careless writing as though he had suddenly doubted if writing was not a foolish labour. He had frequently illustrated his verses with drawings, in which an unperfect anatomy did not altogether hide extreme beauty of feeling. The faeries in whom he believes have given him many subjects, notably Thomas of Ercildoune sitting motionless in the twilight while a young and beautiful creature leans softly out of the shadow and whispers in his ear. He had delighted above all in strong effects of colour: spirits who have upon their heads instead of hair the feathers of peacocks; a phantom reaching from a swirl of flame towards a star; a spirit passing with a globe of iridescent crystal-symbol of the soul- half shut within his hand. But always under this largess of colour lay some tender homily addressed to man's fragile hopes. This spiritual eagerness draws to him all those who, like himself, seek for illumination or else mourn for a joy that has gone. One of these especially comes to mind. A winter or two ago he spent much of the night walking up and down upon the mountain talking to an old peasant who, dumb to most men, poured out his cares for him. Both were unhappy: X----- because he had then first decided that art and poetry were not for him, and the old peasant because his life was ebbing out with no achievement remaining and no hope left him. Both how Celtic! how full of striving after a something never to be completely expressed in word or deed. The peasant was wandering in his mind with prolonged sorrow. Once he burst out with "God possesses the heavens--God possesses the heavens--but He covets the world"; and once he lamented that his old neighbours were gone, and that all had forgotten him: they used to draw a chair to the fire for him in every cabin, and now they said, "Who is that old fellow there?" "The fret [Irish for doom] is over me," he repeated, and then went on to talk once more of God and heaven. More than once also he said, waving his arm towards the mountain, "Only myself knows what happened under the thorn-tree forty years ago"; and as he said it the tears upon his face glistened in the moonlight. This old man always rises before me when I think of X-----. Both seek --one in wandering sentences, the other in symbolic pictures and subtle allegoric poetry-to express a something that lies beyond the range of expression; and both, if X----- will forgive me, have within them the vast and vague extravagance that lies at the bottom of the Celtic heart. The peasant visionaries that are, the landlord duelists that were, and the whole hurly-burly of legends--Cuchulain fighting the sea for two days until the waves pass over him and he dies, Caolte storming the palace of the gods, Oisin seeking in vain for three hundred years to appease his insatiable heart with all the pleasures of faeryland, these two mystics walking up and down upon the mountains uttering the central dreams of their souls in no less dream-laden sentences, and this mind that finds them so interesting--all are a portion of that great Celtic phantasmagoria whose meaning no man has discovered, nor any angel revealed. VILLAGE GHOSTS In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority. In the little towns and villages there are no minorities; people are not numerous enough. You must see the world there, perforce. Every man is himself a class; every hour carries its new challenge. When you pass the inn at the end of the village you leave your favourite whimsy behind you; for you will meet no one who can share it. We listen to eloquent speaking, read books and write them, settle all the affairs of the universe. The dumb village multitudes pass on unchanging; the feel of the spade in the hand is no different for all our talk: good seasons and bad follow each other as of old. The dumb multitudes are no more concerned with us than is the old horse peering through the rusty gate of the village pound. The ancient map-makers wrote across unexplored regions, "Here are lions." Across the villages of fishermen and turners of the earth, so different are these from us, we can write but one line that is certain, "Here are ghosts." My ghosts inhabit the village of H-----, in Leinster. History has in no manner been burdened by this ancient village, with its crooked lanes, its old abbey churchyard full of long grass, its green background of small fir-trees, and its quay, where lie a few tarry fishing-luggers. In the annals of entomology it is well known. For a small bay lies westward a little, where he who watches night after night may see a certain rare moth fluttering along the edge of the tide, just at the end of evening or the beginning of dawn. A hundred years ago it was carried here from Italy by smugglers in a cargo of silks and laces. If the moth-hunter would throw down his net, and go hunting for ghost tales or tales of the faeries and such-like children of Lillith, he would have need for far less patience. To approach the village at night a timid man requires great strategy. A man was once heard complaining, "By the cross of Jesus! how shall I go? If I pass by the hill of Dunboy old Captain Burney may look out on me. If I go round by the water, and up by the steps, there is the headless one and another on the quays, and a new one under the old churchyard wall. If I go right round the other way, Mrs. Stewart is appearing at Hillside Gate, and the devil himself is in the Hospital Lane." I never heard which spirit he braved, but feel sure it was not the one in the Hospital Lane. In cholera times a shed had been there set up to receive patients. When the need had gone by, it was pulled down, but ever since the ground where it stood has broken out in ghosts and demons and faeries. There is a farmer at H-----, Paddy B----- by name-a man of great strength, and a teetotaller. His wife and sister-in-law, musing on his great strength, often wonder what he would do if he drank. One night when passing through the Hospital Lane, he saw what he supposed at first to be a tame rabbit; after a little he found that it was a white cat. When he came near, the creature slowly began to swell larger and larger, and as it grew he felt his own strength ebbing away, as though it were sucked out of him. He turned and ran. By the Hospital Lane goes the "Faeries Path." Every evening they travel from the hill to the sea, from the sea to the hill. At the sea end of their path stands a cottage. One night Mrs. Arbunathy, who lived there, left her door open, as she was expecting her son. Her husband was asleep by the fire; a tall man came in and sat beside him. After he had been sitting there for a while, the woman said, "In the name of God, who are you?" He got up and went out, saying, "Never leave the door open at this hour, or evil may come to you." She woke her husband and told him. "One of the good people has been with us," said he. Probably the man braved Mrs. Stewart at Hillside Gate. When she lived she was the wife of the Protestant clergyman. "Her ghost was never known to harm any one," say the village people; "it is only doing a penance upon the earth." Not far from Hillside Gate, where she haunted, appeared for a short time a much more remarkable spirit. Its haunt was the bogeen, a green lane leading from the western end of the village. I quote its history at length: a typical village tragedy. In a cottage at the village end of the bogeen lived a house-painter, Jim Montgomery, and his wife. They had several children. He was a little dandy, and came of a higher class than his neighbours. His wife was a very big woman. Her husband, who had been expelled from the village choir for drink, gave her a beating one day. Her sister heard of it, and came and took down one of the window shutters--Montgomery was neat about everything, and had shutters on the outside of every window--and beat him with it, being big and strong like her sister. He threatened to prosecute her; she answered that she would break every bone in his body if he did. She never spoke to her sister again, because she had allowed herself to be beaten by so small a man. Jim Montgomery grew worse and worse: his wife soon began to have not enough to eat. She told no one, for she was very proud. Often, too, she would have no fire on a cold night. If any neighbours came in she would say she had let the fire out because she was just going to bed. The people about often heard her husband beating her, but she never told any one. She got very thin. At last one Saturday there was no food in the house for herself and the children. She could bear it no longer, and went to the priest and asked him for some money. He gave her thirty shillings. Her husband met her, and took the money, and beat her. On the following Monday she got very W, and sent for a Mrs. Kelly. Mrs. Kelly, as soon as she saw her, said, "My woman, you are dying," and sent for the priest and the doctor. She died in an hour. After her death, as Montgomery neglected the children, the landlord had them taken to the workhouse. A few nights after they had gone, Mrs. Kelly was going home through the bogeen when the ghost of Mrs. Montgomery appeared and followed her. It did not leave her until she reached her own house. She told the priest, Father R, a noted antiquarian, and could not get him to believe her. A few nights afterwards Mrs. Kelly again met the spirit in the same place. She was in too great terror to go the whole way, but stopped at a neighbour's cottage midway, and asked them to let her in. They answered they were going to bed. She cried out, "In the name of God let me in, or I will break open the door." They opened, and so she escaped from the ghost. Next day she told the priest again. This time he believed, and said it would follow her until she spoke to it. She met the spirit a third time in the bogeen. She asked what kept it from its rest. The spirit said that its children must be taken from the workhouse, for none of its relations were ever there before, and that three masses were to be said for the repose of its soul. "If my husband does not believe you," she said, "show him that," and touched Mrs. Kelly's wrist with three fingers. The places where they touched swelled up and blackened. She then vanished. For a time Montgomery would not believe that his wife had appeared: "she would not show herself to Mrs. Kelly," he said--"she with respectable people to appear to." He was convinced by the three marks, and the children were taken from the workhouse. The priest said the masses, and the shade must have been at rest, for it has not since appeared. Some time afterwards Jim Montgomery died in the workhouse, having come to great poverty through drink. I know some who believe they have seen the headless ghost upon the quay, and one who, when he passes the old cemetery wall at night, sees a woman with white borders to her cap[FN#2] creep out and follow him. The apparition only leaves him at his own door. The villagers imagine that she follows him to avenge some wrong. "I will haunt you when I die" is a favourite threat. His wife was once half-scared to death by what she considers a demon in the shape of a dog. [FN#2] I wonder why she had white borders to her cap. The old Mayo woman, who has told me so many tales, has told me that her brother-in- law saw "a woman with white borders to her cap going around the stacks in a field, and soon after he got a hurt, and he died in six months." These are a few of the open-air spirits; the more domestic of their tribe gather within-doors, plentiful as swallows under southern eaves. One night a Mrs. Nolan was watching by her dying child in Fluddy's Lane. Suddenly there was a sound of knocking heard at the door. She did not open, fearing it was some unhuman thing that knocked. The knocking ceased. After a little the front-door and then the back-door were burst open, and closed again. Her husband went to see what was wrong. He found both doors bolted. The child died. The doors were again opened and closed as before. Then Mrs. Nolan remembered that she had forgotten to leave window or door open, as the custom is, for the departure of the soul. These strange openings and closings and knockings were warnings and reminders from the spirits who attend the dying. The house ghost is usually a harmless and well-meaning creature. It is put up with as long as possible. It brings good luck to those who live with it. I remember two children who slept with their mother and sisters and brothers in one small room. In the room was also a ghost. They sold herrings in the Dublin streets, and did not mind the ghost much, because they knew they would always sell their fish easily while they slept in the "ha'nted" room. I have some acquaintance among the ghost-seers of western villages. The Connaught tales are very different from those of Leinster. These H----- spirits have a gloomy, matter-of-fact way with them. They come to announce a death, to fulfil some obligation, to revenge a wrong, to pay their bills even--as did a fisherman's daughter the other day--and then hasten to their rest. All things they do decently and in order. It is demons, and not ghosts, that transform themselves into white cats or black dogs. The people who tell the tales are poor, serious-minded fishing people, who find in the doings of the ghosts the fascination of fear. In the western tales is a whimsical grace, a curious extravagance. The people who recount them live in the most wild and beautiful scenery, under a sky ever loaded and fantastic with flying clouds. They are farmers and labourers, who do a little fishing now and then. They do not fear the spirits too much to feel an artistic and humorous pleasure in their doings. The ghosts themselves share in their quaint hilarity. In one western town, on whose deserted wharf the grass grows, these spirits have so much vigour that, when a misbeliever ventured to sleep in a haunted house, I have been told they flung him through the window, and his bed after him. In the surrounding villages the creatures use the most strange disguises. A dead old gentleman robs the cabbages of his own garden in the shape of a large rabbit. A wicked sea-captain stayed for years inside the plaster of a cottage wall, in the shape of a snipe, making the most horrible noises. He was only dislodged when the wall was broken down; then out of the solid plaster the snipe rushed away whistling. "DUST HATH CLOSED HELEN'S EYE" I I have been lately to a little group of houses, not many enough to be called a village, in the barony of Kiltartan in County Galway, whose name, Ballylee, is known through all the west of Ireland. There is the old square castle, Ballylee, inhabited by a farmer and his wife, and a cottage where their daughter and their son-in-law live, and a little mill with an old miller, and old ash-trees throwing green shadows upon a little river and great stepping-stones. I went there two or three times last year to talk to the miller about Biddy Early, a wise woman that lived in Clare some years ago, and about her saying, "There is a cure for all evil between the two mill-wheels of Ballylee," and to find out from him or another whether she meant the moss between the running waters or some other herb. I have been there this summer, and I shall be there again before it is autumn, because Mary Hynes, a beautiful woman whose name is still a wonder by turf fires, died there sixty years ago; for our feet would linger where beauty has lived its life of sorrow to make us understand that it is not of the world. An old man brought me a little way from the mill and the castle, and down a long, narrow boreen that was nearly lost in brambles and sloe bushes, and he said, "That is the little old foundation of the house, but the most of it is taken for building walls, and the goats have ate those bushes that are growing over it till they've got cranky, and they won't grow any more. They say she was the handsomest girl in Ireland, her skin was like dribbled snow"--he meant driven snow, perhaps,--"and she had blushes in her cheeks. She had five handsome brothers, but all are gone now!" I talked to him about a poem in Irish, Raftery, a famous poet, made about her, and how it said, "there is a strong cellar in Ballylee." He said the strong cellar was the great hole where the river sank underground, and he brought me to a deep pool, where an otter hurried away under a grey boulder, and told me that many fish came up out of the dark water at early morning "to taste the fresh water coming down from the hills." I first heard of the poem from an old woman who fives about two miles further up the river, and who remembers Raftery and Mary Hynes. She says, "I never saw anybody so handsome as she was, and I never will till I die," and that he was nearly blind, and had "no way of living but to go round and to mark some house to go to, and then all the neighbours would gather to hear. If you treated him well he'd praise you, but if you did not, he'd fault you in Irish. He was the greatest poet in Ireland, and he'd make a song about that bush if he chanced to stand under it. There was a bush he stood under from the rain, and he made verses praising it, and then when the water came through he made verses dispraising it." She sang the poem to a friend and to myself in Irish, and every word was audible and expressive, as the words in a song were always, as I think, before music grew too proud to be the garment of words, flowing and changing with the flowing and changing of their energies. The poem is not as natural as the best Irish poetry of the last century, for the thoughts are arranged in a too obviously traditional form, so the old poor half-blind man who made it has to speak as if he were a rich farmer offering the best of everything to the woman he loves, but it has naive and tender phrases. The friend that was with me has made some of the translation, but some of it has been made by the country people themselves. I think it has more of the simplicity of the Irish verses than one finds in most translations. Going to Mass by the will of God, The day came wet and the wind rose; I met Mary Hynes at the cross of Kiltartan, And I fell in love with her then and there. I spoke to her kind and mannerly, As by report was her own way; And she said, "Raftery, my mind is easy, You may come to-day to Ballylee." When I heard her offer I did not linger, When her talk went to my heart my heart rose. We had only to go across the three fields, We had daylight with us to Ballylee. The table was laid with glasses and a quart measure, She had fair hair, and she sitting beside me; And she said, "Drink, Raftery, and a hundred welcomes, There is a strong cellar in Ballylee." O star of light and O sun in harvest, O amber hair, O my share of the world, Will you come with me upon Sunday Till we agree together before all the people? I would not grudge you a song every Sunday evening, Punch on the table, or wine if you would drink it, But, O King of Glory, dry the roads before me, Till I find the way to Ballylee. There is sweet air on the side of the hill When you are looking down upon Ballylee; When you are walking in the valley picking nuts and blackberries, There is music of the birds in it and music of the Sidhe. What is the worth of greatness till you have the light Of the flower of the branch that is by your side? There is no god to deny it or to try and hide it, She is the sun in the heavens who wounded my heart. There was no part of Ireland I did not travel, From the rivers to the tops of the mountains, To the edge of Lough Greine whose mouth is hidden, And I saw no beauty but was behind hers. Her hair was shining, and her brows were shining too; Her face was like herself, her mouth pleasant and sweet. She is the pride, and I give her the branch, She is the shining flower of Ballylee. It is Mary Hynes, this calm and easy woman, Has beauty in her mind and in her face. If a hundred clerks were gathered together, They could not write down a half of her ways. An old weaver, whose son is supposed to go away among the Sidhe (the faeries) at night, says, "Mary Hynes was the most beautiful thing ever made. My mother used to tell me about her, for she'd be at every hurling, and wherever she was she was dressed in white. As many as eleven men asked her in marriage in one day, but she wouldn't have any of them. There was a lot of men up beyond Kilbecanty one night, sitting together drinking, and talking of her, and one of them got up and set out to go to Ballylee and see her; but Cloon Bog was open then, and when he came to it he fell into the water, and they found him dead there in the morning. She died of the fever that was before the famine." Another old man says he was only a child when he saw her, but he remembered that "the strongest man that was among us, one John Madden, got his death of the head of her, cold he got crossing rivers in the night-time to get to Ballylee." This is perhaps the man the other remembered, for tradition gives the one thing many shapes. There is an old woman who remembers her, at Derrybrien among the Echtge hills, a vast desolate place, which has changed little since the old poem said, "the stag upon the cold summit of Echtge hears the cry of the wolves," but still mindful of many poems and of the dignity of ancient speech. She says, "The sun and the moon never shone on anybody so handsome, and her skin was so white that it looked blue, and she had two little blushes on her cheeks." And an old wrinkled woman who lives close by Ballylee, and has told me many tales of the Sidhe, says, "I often saw Mary Hynes, she was handsome indeed. She had two bunches of curls beside her cheeks, and they were the colour of silver. I saw Mary Molloy that was drowned in the river beyond, and Mary Guthrie that was in Ardrahan, but she took the sway of them both, a very comely creature. I was at her wake too--she had seen too much of the world. She was a kind creature. One day I was coming home through that field beyond, and I was tired, and who should come out but the Poisin Glegeal (the shining flower), and she gave me a glass of new milk." This old woman meant no more than some beautiful bright colour by the colour of silver, for though I knew an old man--he is dead now--who thought she might know "the cure for all the evils in the world," that the Sidhe knew, she has seen too little gold to know its colour. But a man by the shore at Kinvara, who is too young to remember Mary Hynes, says, "Everybody says there is no one at all to be seen now so handsome; it is said she had beautiful hair, the colour of gold. She was poor, but her clothes every day were the same as Sunday, she had such neatness. And if she went to any kind of a meeting, they would all be killing one another for a sight of her, and there was a great many in love with her, but she died young. It is said that no one that has a song made about them will ever live long." Those who are much admired are, it is held, taken by the Sidhe, who can use ungoverned feeling for their own ends, so that a father, as an old herb doctor told me once, may give his child into their hands, or a husband his wife. The admired and desired are only safe if one says "God bless them" when one's eyes are upon them. The old woman that sang the song thinks, too, that Mary Hynes was "taken," as the phrase is, "for they have taken many that are not handsome, and why would they not take her? And people came from all parts to look at her, and maybe there were some that did not say 'God bless her.'" An old man who lives by the sea at Duras has as little doubt that she was taken, "for there are some living yet can remember her coming to the pattern[FN#3] there beyond, and she was said to be the handsomest girl in Ireland." She died young because the gods loved her, for the Sidhe are the gods, and it may be that the old saying, which we forget to understand literally, meant her manner of death in old times. These poor countrymen and countrywomen in their beliefs, and in their emotions, are many years nearer to that old Greek world, that set beauty beside the fountain of things, than are our men of learning. She "had seen too much of the world"; but these old men and women, when they tell of her, blame another and not her, and though they can be hard, they grow gentle as the old men of Troy grew gentle when Helen passed by on the walls. [FN#3] A "pattern," or "patron," is a festival in honour of a saint. The poet who helped her to so much fame has himself a great fame throughout the west of Ireland. Some think that Raftery was half blind, and say, "I saw Raftery, a dark man, but he had sight enough to see her," or the like, but some think he was wholly blind, as he may have been at the end of his life. Fable makes all things perfect in their kind, and her blind people must never look on the world and the sun. I asked a man I met one day, when I was looking for a pool na mna Sidhe where women of faery have been seen, bow Raftery could have admired Mary Hynes so much f he had been altogether blind? He said, "I think Raftery was altogether blind, but those that are blind have a way of seeing things, and have the power to know more, and to feel more, and to do more, and to guess more than those that have their sight, and a certain wit and a certain wisdom is given to them." Everybody, indeed, will tell you that he was very wise, for was he not only blind but a poet? The weaver whose words about Mary Hynes I have already given, says, "His poetry was the gift of the Almighty, for there are three things that are the gift of the Almighty--poetry and dancing and principles. That is why in the old times an ignorant man coming down from the hillside would be better behaved and have better learning than a man with education you'd meet now, for they got it from God"; and a man at Coole says, "When he put his finger to one part of his head, everything would come to him as if it was written in a book"; and an old pensioner at Kiltartan says, "He was standing under a bush one time, and he talked to it, and it answered him back in Irish. Some say it was the bush that spoke, but it must have been an enchanted voice in it, and it gave him the knowledge of all the things of the world. The bush withered up afterwards, and it is to be seen on the roadside now between this and Rahasine." There is a poem of his about a bush, which I have never seen, and it may have come out of the cauldron of fable in this shape. A friend of mine met a man once who had been with him when he died, but the people say that he died alone, and one Maurteen Gillane told Dr. Hyde that all night long a light was seen streaming up to heaven from the roof of the house where he lay, and "that was the angels who were with him"; and all night long there was a great light in the hovel, "and that was the angels who were waking him. They gave that honour to him because he was so good a poet, and sang such religious songs." It may be that in a few years Fable, who changes mortalities to immortalities in her cauldron, will have changed Mary Hynes and Raftery to perfect symbols of the sorrow of beauty and of the magnificence and penury of dreams. 1900. II When I was in a northern town awhile ago, I had a long talk with a man who had lived in a neighbouring country district when he was a boy. He told me that when a very beautiful girl was born in a family that had not been noted for good looks, her beauty was thought to have come from the Sidhe, and to bring misfortune with it. He went over the names of several beautiful girls that he had known, and said that beauty had never brought happiness to anybody. It was a thing, he said, to be proud of and afraid of. I wish I had written out his words at the time, for they were more picturesque than my memory of them. 1902. A KNIGHT OF THE SHEEP Away to the north of Ben Bulben and Cope's mountain lives "a strong farmer," a knight of the sheep they would have called him in the Gaelic days. Proud of his descent from one of the most fighting clans of the Middle Ages, he is a man of force alike in his words and in his deeds. There is but one man that swears like him, and this man lives far away upon the mountain. "Father in Heaven, what have I done to deserve this?" he says when he has lost his pipe; and no man but he who lives on the mountain can rival his language on a fair day over a bargain. He is passionate and abrupt in his movements, and when angry tosses his white beard about with his left hand. One day I was dining with him when the servant-maid announced a certain Mr. O'Donnell. A sudden silence fell upon the old man and upon his two daughters. At last the eldest daughter said somewhat severely to her father, "Go and ask him to come in and dine." The old man went out, and then came in looking greatly relieved, and said, "He says he will not dine with us." "Go out," said the daughter, "and ask him into the back parlour, and give him some whiskey." Her father, who had just finished his dinner, obeyed sullenly, and I heard the door of the back parlour--a little room where the daughters sat and sewed during the evening--shut to behind the men. The daughter then turned to me and said, "Mr. O'Donnell is the tax-gatherer, and last year he raised our taxes, and my father was very angry, and when he came, brought him into the dairy, and sent the dairy-woman away on a message, and then swore at him a great deal. 'I will teach you, sir,' O'Donnell replied, 'that the law can protect its officers'; but my father reminded him that he had no witness. At last my father got tired, and sorry too, and said he would show him a short way home. When they were half-way to the main road they came on a man of my father's who was ploughing, and this somehow brought back remembrance of the wrong. He sent the man away on a message, and began to swear at the tax-gatherer again. When I heard of it I was disgusted that he should have made such a fuss over a miserable creature like O'Donnell; and when I heard a few weeks ago that O'Donnell's only son had died and left him heart-broken, I resolved to make my father be kind to him next time he came." She then went out to see a neighbour, and I sauntered towards the back parlour. When I came to the door I heard angry voices inside. The two men were evidently getting on to the tax again, for I could hear them bandying figures to and fro. I opened the door; at sight of my face the farmer was reminded of his peaceful intentions, and asked me if I knew where the whiskey was. I had seen him put it into the cupboard, and was able therefore to find it and get it out, looking at the thin, grief- struck face of the tax-gatherer. He was rather older than my friend, and very much more feeble and worn, and of a very different type. He was not like him, a robust, successful man, but rather one of those whose feet find no resting-place upon the earth. I recognized one of the children of reverie, and said, "You are doubtless of the stock of the old O'Donnells. I know well the hole in the river where their treasure lies buried under the guard of a serpent with many heads." "Yes, sur," he replied, "I am the last of a line of princes." We then fell to talking of many commonplace things, and my friend did not once toss up his beard, but was very friendly. At last the gaunt old tax-gatherer got up to go, and my friend said, "I hope we will have a glass together next year." "No, no," was the answer, "I shall be dead next year." "I too have lost sons," said the other in quite a gentle voice. "But your sons were not like my son." And then the two men parted, with an angry flush and bitter hearts, and had I not cast between them some common words or other, might not have parted, but have fallen rather into an angry discussion of the value of their dead sons. If I had not pity for all the children of reverie I should have let them fight it out, and would now have many a wonderful oath to record. The knight of the sheep would have had the victory, for no soul that wears this garment of blood and clay can surpass him. He was but once beaten; and this is his tale of how it was. He and some farm hands were playing at cards in a small cabin that stood against the end of a big barn. A wicked woman had once lived in this cabin. Suddenly one of the players threw down an ace and began to swear without any cause. His swearing was so dreadful that the others stood up, and my friend said, "All is not right here; there is a spirit in him." They ran to the door that led into the barn to get away as quickly as possible. The wooden bolt would not move, so the knight of the sheep took a saw which stood against the wall near at hand, and sawed through the bolt, and at once the door flew open with a bang, as though some one had been holding it, and they fled through. AN ENDURING HEART One day a friend of mine was making a sketch of my Knight of the Sheep. The old man's daughter was sitting by, and, when the conversation drifted to love and lovemaking, she said, "Oh, father, tell him about your love affair." The old man took his pipe out of his mouth, and said, "Nobody ever marries the woman he loves," and then, with a chuckle, "There were fifteen of them I liked better than the woman I married," and he repeated many women's names. He went on to tell how when he was a lad he had worked for his grandfather, his mother's father, and was called (my friend has forgotten why) by his grandfather's name, which we will say was Doran. He had a great friend, whom I shall call John Byrne; and one day he and his friend went to Queenstown to await an emigrant ship, that was to take John Byrne to America. When they were walking along the quay, they saw a girl sitting on a seat, crying miserably, and two men standing up in front of her quarrelling with one another. Doran said, "I think I know what is wrong. That man will be her brother, and that man will be her lover, and the brother is sending her to America to get her away from the lover. How she is crying! but I think I could console her myself." Presently the lover and brother went away, and Doran began to walk up and down before her, saying, "Mild weather, Miss," or the like. She answered him in a little while, and the three began to talk together. The emigrant ship did not arrive for some days; and the three drove about on outside cars very innocently and happily, seeing everything that was to be seen. When at last the ship came, and Doran had to break it to her that he was not going to America, she cried more after him than after the first lover. Doran whispered to Byrne as he went aboard ship, "Now, Byrne, I don't grudge her to you, but don't marry young." When the story got to this, the farmer's daughter joined In mockingly with, "I suppose you said that for Byrne's good, father." But the old man insisted that he had said it for Byrne's good; and went on to tell how, when he got a letter telling of Byrne's engagement to the girl, he wrote him the same advice. Years passed by, and he heard nothing; and though he was now married, he could not keep from wondering what she was doing. At last he went to America to find out, and though he asked many people for tidings, he could get none. More years went by, and his wife was dead, and he well on in years, and a rich farmer with not a few great matters on his hands. He found an excuse in some vague business to go out to America again, and to begin his search again. One day he fell into talk with an Irishman in a railway carriage, and asked him, as his way was, about emigrants from this place and that, and at last, "Did you ever hear of the miller's daughter from Innis Rath?" and he named the woman he was looking for. "Oh yes," said the other, "she is married to a friend of mine, John MacEwing. She lives at such-and- such a street in Chicago." Doran went to Chicago and knocked at her door. She opened the door herself, and was "not a bit changed." He gave her his real name, which he had taken again after his grandfather's death, and the name of the man he had met in the train. She did not recognize him, but asked him to stay to dinner, saying that her husband would be glad to meet anybody who knew that old friend of his. They talked of many things, but for all their talk, I do not know why, and perhaps he did not know why, he never told her who he was. At dinner he asked her about Byrne, and she put her head down on the table and began to cry, and she cried so he was afraid her husband might be angry. He was afraid to ask what had happened to Byrne, and left soon after, never to see her again. When the old man had finished the story, he said, "Tell that to Mr. Yeats, he will make a poem about it, perhaps." But the daughter said, "Oh no, father. Nobody could make a poem about a woman like that." Alas! I have never made the poem, perhaps because my own heart, which has loved Helen and all the lovely and fickle women of the world, would be too sore. There are things it is well not to ponder over too much, things that bare words are the best suited for. 1902. THE SORCERERS In Ireland we hear but little of the darker powers,[FN#4] and come across any who have seen them even more rarely, for the imagination of the people dwells rather upon the fantastic and capricious, and fantasy and caprice would lose the freedom which is their breath of life, were they to unite them either with evil or with good. And yet the wise are of opinion that wherever man is, the dark powers who would feed his rapacities are there too, no less than the bright beings who store their honey in the cells of his heart, and the twilight beings who flit hither and thither, and that they encompass him with a passionate and melancholy multitude. They hold, too, that he who by long desire or through accident of birth possesses the power of piercing into their hidden abode can see them there, those who were once men or women full of a terrible vehemence, and those who have never lived upon the earth, moving slowly and with a subtler malice. The dark powers cling about us, it is said, day and night, like bats upon an old tree; and that we do not hear more of them is merely because the darker kinds of magic have been but little practised. I have indeed come across very few persons in Ireland who try to communicate with evil powers, and the few I have met keep their purpose and practice wholly hidden from those among whom they live. They are mainly small clerks and the like, and meet for the purpose of their art in a room hung with black hangings. They would not admit me into this room, but finding me not altogether ignorant of the arcane science, showed gladly elsewhere what they would do. "Come to us," said their leader, a clerk in a large flour-mill, "and we will show you spirits who will talk to you face to face, and in shapes as solid and heavy as our own." [FN#4] I know better now. We have the dark powers much more than I thought, but not as much as the Scottish, and yet I think the imagination of the people does dwell chiefly upon the fantastic and capricious. I had been talking of the power of communicating in states of trance with the angelical and faery beings,--the children of the day and of the twilight--and he had been contending that we should only believe in what we can see and feel when in our ordinary everyday state of mind. "Yes," I said, "I will come to you," or some such words; "but I will not permit myself to become entranced, and will therefore know whether these shapes you talk of are any the more to be touched and felt by the ordinary senses than are those I talk of." I was not denying the power of other beings to take upon themselves a clothing of mortal substance, but only that simple invocations, such as he spoke of, seemed unlikely to do more than cast the mind into trance, and thereby bring it into the presence of the powers of day, twilight, and darkness. "But," he said, "we have seen them move the furniture hither and thither, and they go at our bidding, and help or harm people who know nothing of them." I am not giving the exact words, but as accurately as I can the substance of our talk. On the night arranged I turned up about eight, and found the leader sitting alone in almost total darkness in a small back room. He was dressed in a black gown, like an inquisitor's dress in an old drawing, that left nothing of him visible: except his eyes, which peered out through two small round holes. Upon the table in front of him was a brass dish of burning herbs, a large bowl, a skull covered with painted symbols, two crossed daggers, and certain implements shaped like quern stones, which were used to control the elemental powers in some fashion I did not discover. I also put on a black gown, and remember that it did not fit perfectly, and that it interfered with my movements considerably. The sorcerer then took a black cock out of a basket, and cut its throat with one of the daggers, letting the blood fall into the large bowl. He opened a book and began an invocation, which was certainly not English, and had a deep guttural sound. Before he had finished, another of the sorcerers, a man of about twenty-five, came in, and having put on a black gown also, seated himself at my left band. I had the invoker directly in front of me, and soon began to find his eyes, which glittered through the small holes in his hood, affecting me in a curious way. I struggled hard against their influence, and my head began to ache. The invocation continued, and nothing happened for the first few minutes. Then the invoker got up and extinguished the light in the hall, so that no glimmer might come through the slit under the door. There was now no light except from the herbs on the brass dish, and no sound except from the deep guttural murmur of the invocation. Presently the man at my left swayed himself about, and cried out, "O god! O god!" I asked him what ailed him, but he did not know he had spoken. A moment after he said he could see a great serpent moving about the room, and became considerably excited. I saw nothing with any definite shape, but thought that black clouds were forming about me. I felt I must fall into a trance if I did not struggle against it, and that the influence which was causing this trance was out of harmony with itself, in other words, evil. After a struggle I got rid of the black clouds, and was able to observe with my ordinary senses again. The two sorcerers now began to see black and white columns moving about the room, and finally a man in a monk's habit, and they became greatly puzzled because I did not see these things also, for to them they were as solid as the table before them. The invoker appeared to be gradually increasing in power, and I began to feel as if a tide of darkness was pouring from him and concentrating itself about me; and now too I noticed that the man on my left hand had passed into a death-like trance. With a last great effort I drove off the black clouds; but feeling them to be the only shapes I should see without passing into a trance, and having no great love for them, I asked for lights, and after the needful exorcism returned to the ordinary world. I said to the more powerful of the two sorcerers--"What would happen if one of your spirits had overpowered me?" "You would go out of this room," he answered, "with his character added to your own." I asked about the origin of his sorcery, but got little of importance, except that he had learned it from his father. He would not tell me more, for he had, it appeared, taken a vow of secrecy. For some days I could not get over the feeling of having a number of deformed and grotesque figures lingering about me. The Bright Powers are always beautiful and desirable, and the Dim Powers are now beautiful, now quaintly grotesque, but the Dark Powers express their unbalanced natures in shapes of ugliness and horror. THE DEVIL My old Mayo woman told me one day that something very bad had come down the road and gone into the house opposite, and though she would not say what it was, I knew quite well. Another day she told me of two friends of hers who had been made love to by one whom they believed to be the devil. One of them was standing by the road-side when he came by on horseback, and asked her to mount up behind him, and go riding. When she would not he vanished. The other was out on the road late at night waiting for her young man, when something came flapping and rolling along the road up to her feet. It had the likeness of a newspaper, and presently it flapped up into her face, and she knew by the size of it that it was the Irish Times. All of a sudden it changed into a young man, who asked her to go walking with him. She would not, and he vanished. I know of an old man too, on the slopes of Ben Bulben, who found the devil ringing a bell under his bed, and he went off and stole the chapel bell and rang him out. It may be that this, like the others, was not the devil at all, but some poor wood spirit whose cloven feet had got him into trouble. HAPPY AND UNHAPPY THEOLOGIANS I A mayo woman once said to me, "I knew a servant girl who hung herself for the love of God. She was lonely for the priest and her society,[FN#5] and hung herself to the banisters with a scarf. She was no sooner dead than she became white as a lily, and if it had been murder or suicide she would have become black as black. They gave her Christian burial, and the priest said she was no sooner dead than she was with the Lord. So nothing matters that you do for the love of God." I do not wonder at the pleasure she has in telling this story, for she herself loves all holy things with an ardour that brings them quickly to her lips. She told me once that she never hears anything described in a sermon that she does not afterwards see with her eyes. She has described to me the gates of Purgatory as they showed themselves to her eyes, but I remember nothing of the description except that she could not see the souls in trouble but only the gates. Her mind continually dwells on what is pleasant and beautiful. One day she asked me what month and what flower were the most beautiful. When I answered that I did not know, she said, "the month of May, because of the Virgin, and the lily of the valley, because it never sinned, but came pure out of the rocks," and then she asked, "what is the cause of the three cold months of winter?" I did not know even that, and so she said, "the sin of man and the vengeance of God." Christ Himself was not only blessed, but perfect in all manly proportions in her eyes, so much do beauty and holiness go together in her thoughts. He alone of all men was exactly six feet high, all others are a little more or a little less. [FN#5] The religious society she had belonged to. Her thoughts and her sights of the people of faery are pleasant and beautiful too, and I have never heard her call them the Fallen Angels. They are people like ourselves, only better-looking, and many and many a time she has gone to the window to watch them drive their waggons through the sky, waggon behind waggon in long line, or to the door to hear them singing and dancing in the Forth. They sing chiefly, it seems, a song called "The Distant Waterfall," and though they once knocked her down she never thinks badly of them. She saw them most easily when she was in service in King's County, and one morning a little while ago she said to me, "Last night I was waiting up for the master and it was a quarter-past eleven. I heard a bang right down on the table. 'King's County all over,' says I, and I laughed till I was near dead. It was a warning I was staying too long. They wanted the place to themselves." I told her once of somebody who saw a faery and fainted, and she said, "It could not have been a faery, but some bad thing, nobody could faint at a faery. It was a demon. I was not afraid when they near put me, and the bed under me, out through the roof. I wasn't afraid either when you were at some work and I heard a thing coming flop-flop up the stairs like an eel, and squealing. It went to all the doors. It could not get in where I was. I would have sent it through the universe like a flash of fire. There was a man in my place, a tearing fellow, and he put one of them down. He went out to meet it on the road, but he must have been told the words. But the faeries are the best neighbours. If you do good to them they will do good to you, but they don't like you to be on their path." Another time she said to me, "They are always good to the poor." II There is, however, a man in a Galway village who can see nothing but wickedness. Some think him very holy, and others think him a little crazed, but some of his talk reminds one of those old Irish visions of the Three Worlds, which are supposed to have given Dante the plan of the Divine Comedy. But I could not imagine this man seeing Paradise. He is especially angry with the people of faery, and describes the faun- like feet that are so common among them, who are indeed children of Pan, to prove them children of Satan. He will not grant that "they carry away women, though there are many that say so," but he is certain that they are "as thick as the sands of the sea about us, and they tempt poor mortals." He says, "There is a priest I know of was looking along the ground like as if he was hunting for something, and a voice said to him, 'If you want to see them you'll see enough of them,' and his eyes were opened and he saw the ground thick with them. Singing they do be sometimes, and dancing, but all the time they have cloven feet." Yet he was so scornful of unchristian things for all their dancing and singing that he thinks that "you have only to bid them begone and they will go. It was one night," he says, "after walking back from Kinvara and down by the wood beyond I felt one coming beside me, and I could feel the horse he was riding on and the way he lifted his legs, but they do not make a sound like the hoofs of a horse. So I stopped and turned around and said, very loud, 'Be off!' and he went and never troubled me after. And I knew a man who was dying, and one came on his bed, and he cried out to it, 'Get out of that, you unnatural animal!' and it left him. Fallen angels they are, and after the fall God said, 'Let there be Hell,' and there it was in a moment." An old woman who was sitting by the fire joined in as he said this with "God save us, it's a pity He said the word, and there might have been no Hell the day," but the seer did not notice her words. He went on, "And then he asked the devil what would he take for the souls of all the people. And the devil said nothing would satisfy him but the blood of a virgin's son, so he got that, and then the gates of Hell were opened." He understood the story, it seems, as if it were some riddling old folk tale. "I have seen Hell myself. I had a sight of it one time in a vision. It had a very high wall around it, all of metal, and an archway, and a straight walk into it, just like what 'ud be leading into a gentleman's orchard, but the edges were not trimmed with box, but with red-hot metal. And inside the wall there were cross-walks, and I'm not sure what there was to the right, but to the left there were five great furnaces, and they full of souls kept there with great chains. So I turned short and went away, and in turning I looked again at the wall, and I could see no end to it. "And another time I saw Purgatory. It seemed to be in a level place, and no walls around it, but it all one bright blaze, and the souls standing in it. And they suffer near as much as in Hell, only there are no devils with them there, and they have the hope of Heaven. "And I heard a call to me from there, 'Help me to come out o' this!' And when I looked it was a man I used to know in the army, an Irishman, and from this county, and I believe him to be a descendant of King O'Connor of Athenry. "So I stretched out my hand first, but then I called out, 'I'd be burned in the flames before I could get within three yards of you.' So then he said, 'Well, help me with your prayers,' and so I do. "And Father Connellan says the same thing, to help the dead with your prayers, and he's a very clever man to make a sermon, and has a great deal of cures made with the Holy Water he brought back from Lourdes." 1902. THE LAST GLEEMAN Michael Moran was born about 1794 off Black Pitts, in the Liberties of Dublin, in Faddle Alley. A fortnight after birth he went stone blind from illness, and became thereby a blessing to his parents, who were soon able to send him to rhyme and beg at street corners and at the bridges over the Liffey. They may well have wished that their quiver were full of such as he, for, free from the interruption of sight, his mind became a perfect echoing chamber, where every movement of the day and every change of public passion whispered itself into rhyme or quaint saying. By the time he had grown to manhood he was the admitted rector of all the ballad-mongers of the Liberties. Madden, the weaver, Kearney, the blind fiddler from Wicklow, Martin from Meath, M'Bride from heaven knows where, and that M'Grane, who in after days, when the true Moran was no more, strutted in borrowed plumes, or rather in borrowed rags, and gave out that there had never been any Moran but himself, and many another, did homage before him, and held him chief of all their tribe. Nor despite his blindness did he find any difficulty in getting a wife, but rather was able to pick and choose, for he was just that mixture of ragamuffin and of genius which is dear to the heart of woman, who, perhaps because she is wholly conventional herself, loves the unexpected, the crooked, the bewildering. Nor did he lack, despite his rags, many excellent things, for it is remembered that he ever loved caper sauce, going so far indeed in his honest indignation at its absence upon one occasion as to fling a leg of mutton at his wife. He was not, however, much to look at, with his coarse frieze coat with its cape and scalloped edge, his old corduroy trousers and great brogues, and his stout stick made fast to his wrist by a thong of leather: and he would have been a woeful shock to the gleeman MacConglinne, could that friend of kings have beheld him in prophetic vision from the pillar stone at Cork. And yet though the short cloak and the leather wallet were no more, he was a true gleeman, being alike poet, jester, and newsman of the people. In the morning when he had finished his breakfast, his wife or some neighbour would read the newspaper to him, and read on and on until he interrupted with, "That'll do--I have me meditations"; and from these meditations would come the day's store of jest and rhyme. He had the whole Middle Ages under his frieze coat. He had not, however, MacConglinne's hatred of the Church and clergy, for when the fruit of his meditations did not ripen well, or when the crowd called for something more solid, he would recite or sing a metrical tale or ballad of saint or martyr or of Biblical adventure. He would stand at a street comer, and when a crowd had gathered would begin in some such fashion as follows (I copy the record of one who knew him)--"Gather round me, boys, gather round me. Boys, am I standin' in puddle? am I standin' in wet?" Thereon several boys would cry, "Ali, no! yez not! yer in a nice dry place. Go on with St. Mary; go on with Moses"--each calling for his favourite tale. Then Moran, with a suspicious wriggle of his body and a clutch at his rags, would burst out with "All me buzzim friends are turned backbiters"; and after a final "If yez don't drop your coddin' and diversion I'll lave some of yez a case," by way of warning to the boys, begin his recitation, or perhaps still delay, to ask, "Is there a crowd round me now? Any blackguard heretic around me?" The best-known of his religious tales was St. Mary of Egypt, a long poem of exceeding solemnity, condensed from the much longer work of a certain Bishop Coyle. It told how a fast woman of Egypt, Mary by name, followed pilgrims to Jerusalem for no good purpose, and then, turning penitent on finding herself withheld from entering the Temple by supernatural interference, fled to the desert and spent the remainder of her life in solitary penance. When at last she was at the point of death, God sent Bishop Zozimus to hear her confession, give her the last sacrament, and with the help of a lion, whom He sent also, dig her grave. The poem has the intolerable cadence of the eighteenth century, but was so popular and so often called for that Moran was soon nicknamed Zozimus, and by that name is he remembered. He had also a poem of his own called Moses, which went a little nearer poetry without going very near. But he could ill brook solemnity, and before long parodied his own verses in the following ragamuffin fashion: In Egypt's land, contagious to the Nile, King Pharaoh's daughter went to bathe in style. She tuk her dip, then walked unto the land, To dry her royal pelt she ran along the strand. A bulrush tripped her, whereupon she saw A smiling babby in a wad o' straw. She tuk it up, and said with accents mild, "'Tare-and-agers, girls, which av yez owns the child?" His humorous rhymes were, however, more often quips and cranks at the expense of his contemporaries. It was his delight, for instance, to remind a certain shoemaker, noted alike for display of wealth and for personal uncleanness, of his inconsiderable origin in a song of which but the first stanza has come down to us: At the dirty end of Dirty Lane, Liv'd a dirty cobbler, Dick Maclane; His wife was in the old king's reign A stout brave orange-woman. On Essex Bridge she strained her throat, And six-a-penny was her note. But Dickey wore a bran-new coat, He got among the yeomen. He was a bigot, like his clan, And in the streets he wildly sang, O Roly, toly, toly raid, with his old jade. He had troubles of divers kinds, and numerous interlopers to face and put down. Once an officious peeler arrested him as a vagabond, but was triumphantly routed amid the laughter of the court, when Moran reminded his worship of the precedent set by Homer, who was also, he declared, a poet, and a blind man, and a beggarman. He had to face a more serious difficulty as his fame grew. Various imitators started up upon all sides. A certain actor, for instance, made as many guineas as Moran did shillings by mimicking his sayings and his songs and his getup upon the stage. One night this actor was at supper with some friends, when dispute arose as to whether his mimicry was overdone or not. It was agreed to settle it by an appeal to the mob. A forty-shilling supper at a famous coffeehouse was to be the wager. The actor took up his station at Essex Bridge, a great haunt of Moran's, and soon gathered a small crowd. He had scarce got through "In Egypt's land, contagious to the Nile," when Moran himself came up, followed by another crowd. The crowds met in great excitement and laughter. "Good Christians," cried the pretender, "is it possible that any man would mock the poor dark man like that?" "Who's that? It's some imposhterer," replied Moran. "Begone, you wretch! it's you'ze the imposhterer. Don't you fear the light of heaven being struck from your eyes for mocking the poor dark man?" "Saints and angels, is there no protection against this? You're a most inhuman-blaguard to try to deprive me of my honest bread this way," replied poor Moran. "And you, you wretch, won't let me go on with the beautiful poem. Christian people, in your charity won't you beat this man away? he's taking advantage of my darkness." The pretender, seeing that he was having the best of it, thanked the people for their sympathy and protection, and went on with the poem, Moran listening for a time in bewildered silence. After a while Moran protested again with: "Is it possible that none of yez can know me? Don't yez see it's myself; and that's some one else?" "Before I can proceed any further in this lovely story," interrupted the pretender, "I call on yez to contribute your charitable donations to help me to go on." "Have you no sowl to be saved, you mocker of heaven?" cried Moran, Put completely beside himself by this last injury--"Would you rob the poor as well as desave the world? O, was ever such wickedness known?" "I leave it to yourselves, my friends," said the pretender, "to give to the real dark man, that you all know so well, and save me from that schemer," and with that he collected some pennies and half-pence. While he was doing so, Moran started his Mary of Egypt, but the indignant crowd seizing his stick were about to belabour him, when they fell back bewildered anew by his close resemblance to himself. The pretender now called to them to "just give him a grip of that villain, and he'd soon let him know who the imposhterer was!" They led him over to Moran, but instead of closing with him he thrust a few shillings into his hand, and turning to the crowd explained to them he was indeed but an actor, and that he had just gained a wager, and so departed amid much enthusiasm, to eat the supper he had won. In April 1846 word was sent to the priest that Michael Moran was dying. He found him at 15 (now 14 1/2) Patrick Street, on a straw bed, in a room full of ragged ballad-singers come to cheer his last moments. After his death the ballad-singers, with many fiddles and the like, came again and gave him a fine wake, each adding to the merriment whatever he knew in the way of rann, tale, old saw, or quaint rhyme. He had had his day, had said his prayers and made his confession, and why should they not give him a hearty send-off? The funeral took place the next day. A good party of his admirers and friends got into the hearse with the coffin, for the day was wet and nasty. They had not gone far when one of them burst out with "It's cruel cowld, isn't it?" "Garra'," replied another, "we'll all be as stiff as the corpse when we get to the berrin-ground." "Bad cess to him," said a third; "I wish he'd held out another month until the weather got dacent." A man called Carroll thereupon produced a half-pint of whiskey, and they all drank to the soul of the departed. Unhappily, however, the hearse was over-weighted, and they had not reached the cemetery before the spring broke, and the bottle with it. Moran must have felt strange and out of place in that other kingdom he was entering, perhaps while his friends were drinking in his honour. Let us hope that some kindly middle region was found for him, where he can call dishevelled angels about him with some new and more rhythmical form of his old Gather round me, boys, will yez Gather round me? And hear what I have to say Before ould Salley brings me My bread and jug of tay; and fling outrageous quips and cranks at cherubim and seraphim. Perhaps he may have found and gathered, ragamuffin though he be, the Lily of High Truth, the Rose of Far-sought Beauty, for whose lack so many of the writers of Ireland, whether famous or forgotten, have been futile as the blown froth upon the shore. REGINA, REGINA PIGMEORUM, VENI One night a middle-aged man, who had lived all his life far from the noise of cab-wheels, a young girl, a relation of his, who was reported to be enough of a seer to catch a glimpse of unaccountable lights moving over the fields among the cattle, and myself, were walking along a far western sandy shore. We talked of the Forgetful People as the faery people are sometimes called, and came in the midst of our talk to a notable haunt of theirs, a shallow cave amidst black rocks, with its reflection under it in the wet sea sand. I asked the young girl if she could see anything, for I had quite a number of things to ask the Forgetful People. She stood still for a few minutes, and I saw that she was passing into a kind of waking trance, in which the cold sea breeze no longer troubled her, nor the dull boom of the sea distracted her attention. I then called aloud the names of the great faeries, and in a moment or two she said that she could hear music far inside the rocks, and then a sound of confused talking, and of people stamping their feet as if to applaud some unseen performer. Up to this my other friend had been walking to and fro some yards off, but now he passed close to us, and as he did so said suddenly that we were going to be interrupted, for he heard the laughter of children somewhere beyond the rocks. We were, however, quite alone. The spirits of the place had begun to cast their influence over him also. In a moment he was corroborated by the girl, who said that bursts of laughter had begun to mingle with the music, the confused talking, and the noise of feet. She next saw a bright light streaming out of the cave, which seemed to have grown much deeper, and a quantity of little people,[FN#6] in various coloured dresses, red predominating, dancing to a tune which she did not recognize. [FN#6] The people and faeries in Ireland are sometimes as big as we are, sometimes bigger, and sometimes, as I have been told, about three feet high. The Old Mayo woman I so often quote, thinks that it is something in our eyes that makes them seem big or little. I then bade her call out to the queen of the little people to come and talk with us. There was, however, no answer to her command. I therefore repeated the words aloud myself, and in a moment a very beautiful tall woman came out of the cave. I too had by this time fallen into a kind of trance, in which what we call the unreal had begun to take upon itself a masterful reality, and was able to see the faint gleam of golden ornaments, the shadowy blossom of dim hair. I then bade the girl tell this tall queen to marshal her followers according to their natural divisions, that we might see them. I found as before that I had to repeat the command myself. The creatures then came out of the cave, and drew themselves up, if I remember rightly, in four bands. One of these bands carried quicken boughs in their hands, and another had necklaces made apparently of serpents' scales, but their dress I cannot remember, for I was quite absorbed in that gleaming woman. I asked her to tell the seer whether these caves were the greatest faery haunts in the neighbourhood. Her lips moved, but the answer was inaudible. I bade the seer lay her hand upon the breast of the queen, and after that she heard every word quite distinctly. No, this was not the greatest faery haunt, for there was a greater one a little further ahead. I then asked her whether it was true that she and her people carried away mortals, and if so, whether they put another soul in the place of the one they had taken? "We change the bodies," was her answer. "Are any of you ever born into mortal life?" "Yes." "Do I know any who were among your people before birth?" "You do." "Who are they?" "It would not be lawful for you to know." I then asked whether she and her people were not "dramatizations of our moods"? "She does not understand," said my friend, "but says that her people are much like human beings, and do most of the things human beings do." I asked her other questions, as to her nature, and her purpose in the universe, but only seemed to puzzle her. At last she appeared to lose patience, for she wrote this message for me upon the sands--the sands of vision, not the grating sands under our feet--"Be careful, and do not seek to know too much about us." Seeing that I had offended her, I thanked her for what she had shown and told, and let her depart again into her cave. In a little while the young girl awoke out of her trance, and felt again the cold wind of the world, and began to shiver. I tell these things as accurately as I can, and with no theories to blur the history. Theories are poor things at the best, and the bulk of mine have perished long ago. I love better than any theory the sound of the Gate of Ivory, turning upon its hinges, and hold that he alone who has passed the rose-strewn threshold can catch the far glimmer of the Gate of Horn. It were perhaps well for us all if we would but raise the cry Lilly the astrologer raised in Windsor Forest, "Regina, Regina Pigmeorum, Veni," and remember with him, that God visiteth His children in dreams. Tall, glimmering queen, come near, and let me see again the shadowy blossom of thy dim hair. "AND FAIR, FIERCE WOMEN" One day a woman that I know came face to face with heroic beauty, that highest beauty which Blake says changes least from youth to age, a beauty which has been fading out of the arts, since that decadence we call progress, set voluptuous beauty in its place. She was standing at the window, looking over to Knocknarea where Queen Maive is thought to be buried, when she saw, as she has told me, "the finest woman you ever saw travelling right across from the mountain and straight to her." The woman had a sword by her side and a dagger lifted up in her hand, and was dressed in white, with bare arms and feet. She looked "very strong, but not wicked," that is, not cruel. The old woman had seen the Irish giant, and "though he was a fine man," he was nothing to this woman, "for he was round, and could not have stepped out so soldierly"; "she was like Mrs.-----" a stately lady of the neighbourhood, "but she had no stomach on her, and was slight and broad in the shoulders, and was handsomer than any one you ever saw; she looked about thirty." The old woman covered her eyes with her hands, and when she uncovered them the apparition had vanished. The neighbours were "wild with her," she told me, because she did not wait to find out if there was a message, for they were sure it was Queen Maive, who often shows herself to the pilots. I asked the old woman if she had seen others like Queen Maive, and she said, "Some of them have their hair down, but they look quite different, like the sleepy-looking ladies one sees in the papers. Those with their hair up are like this one. The others have long white dresses, but those with their hair up have short dresses, so that you can see their legs right up to the calf." After some careful questioning I found that they wore what might very well be a kind of buskin; she went on, "They are fine and dashing looking, like the men one sees riding their horses in twos and threes on the slopes of the mountains with their swords swinging." She repeated over and over, "There is no such race living now, none so finely proportioned," or the like, and then said, "The present Queen[FN#7] is a nice, pleasant- looking woman, but she is not like her. What makes me think so little of the ladies is that I see none as they be," meaning as the spirits. "When I think of her and of the ladies now, they are like little children running about without knowing how to put their clothes on right. Is it the ladies? Why, I would not call them women at all." The other day a friend of mine questioned an old woman in a Galway workhouse about Queen Maive, and was told that "Queen Maive was handsome, and overcame all her enemies with a bawl stick, for the hazel is blessed, and the best weapon that can be got. You might walk the world with it," but she grew "very disagreeable in the end--oh very disagreeable. Best not to be talking about it. Best leave it between the book and the hearer." My friend thought the old woman had got some scandal about Fergus son of Roy and Maive in her head. [FN#7] Queen Victoria. And I myself met once with a young man in the Burren Hills who remembered an old poet who made his poems in Irish and had met when he was young, the young man said, one who called herself Maive, and said she was a queen "among them," and asked him if he would have money or pleasure. He said he would have pleasure, and she gave him her love for a time, and then went from him, and ever after he was very mournful. The young man had often heard him sing the poem of lamentation that he made, but could only remember that it was "very mournful," and that he called her "beauty of all beauties." 1902. ENCHANTED WOODS I Last summer, whenever I had finished my day's work, I used to go wandering in certain roomy woods, and there I would often meet an old countryman, and talk to him about his work and about the woods, and once or twice a friend came with me to whom he would open his heart more readily than to me, He had spent all his life lopping away the witch elm and the hazel and the privet and the hornbeam from the paths, and had thought much about the natural and supernatural creatures of the wood. He has heard the hedgehog--"grainne oge," he calls him-- "grunting like a Christian," and is certain that he steals apples by rolling about under an apple tree until there is an apple sticking to every quill. He is certain too that the cats, of whom there are many in the woods, have a language of their own--some kind of old Irish. He says, "Cats were serpents, and they were made into cats at the time of some great change in the world. That is why they are hard to kill, and why it is dangerous to meddle with them. If you annoy a cat it might claw or bite you in a way that would put poison in you, and that would be the serpent's tooth." Sometimes he thinks they change into wild cats, and then a nail grows on the end of their tails; but these wild cats are not the same as the marten cats, who have been always in the woods. The foxes were once tame, as the cats are now, but they ran away and became wild. He talks of all wild creatures except squirrels--whom he hates--with what seems an affectionate interest, though at times his eyes will twinkle with pleasure as he remembers how he made hedgehogs unroll themselves when he was a boy, by putting a wisp of burning straw under them. I am not certain that he distinguishes between the natural and supernatural very clearly. He told me the other day that foxes and cats like, above all, to be in the "forths" and lisses after nightfall; and he will certainly pass from some story about a fox to a story about a spirit with less change of voice than when he is going to speak about a marten cat--a rare beast now-a-days. Many years ago he used to work in the garden, and once they put him to sleep in a garden-house where there was a loft full of apples, and all night he could hear people rattling plates and knives and forks over his head in the loft. Once, at any rate, be has seen an unearthly sight in the woods. He says, "One time I was out cutting timber over in Inchy, and about eight o'clock one morning when I got there I saw a girl picking nuts, with her hair hanging down over her shoulders, brown hair, and she had a good, clean face, and she was tall and nothing on her head, and her dress no way gaudy but simple, and when she felt me coming she gathered herself up and was gone as if the earth had swallowed her up. And I followed her and looked for her, but I never could see her again from that day to this, never again." He used the word clean as we would use words like fresh or comely. Others too have seen spirits in the Enchanted Woods. A labourer told us of what a friend of his had seen in a part of the woods that is called Shanwalla, from some old village that was before the weed. He said, "One evening I parted from Lawrence Mangan in the yard, and he went away through the path in Shanwalla, an' bid me goodnight. And two hours after, there he was back again in the yard, an' bid me light a candle that was in the stable. An' he told me that when he got into Shanwalla, a little fellow about as high as his knee, but having a head as big as a man's body, came beside him and led him out of the path an' round about, and at last it brought him to the lime-kiln, and then it vanished and left him." A woman told me of a sight that she and others had seen by a certain deep pool in the river. She said, "I came over the stile from the chapel, and others along with me; and a great blast of wind came and two trees were bent and broken and fell into the river, and the splash of water out of it went up to the skies. And those that were with me saw many figures, but myself I only saw one, sitting there by the bank where the trees fell. Dark clothes he had on, and he was headless." A man told me that one day, when he was a boy, he and another boy went to catch a horse in a certain field, full of boulders and bushes of hazel and creeping juniper and rock-roses, that is where the lake side is for a little clear of the woods. He said to the boy that was with him, "I bet a button that if I fling a pebble on to that bush it will stay on it," meaning that the bush was so matted the pebble would not be able to go through it. So he took up "a pebble of cow-dung, and as soon as it hit the bush there came out of it the most beautiful music that ever was heard." They ran away, and when they had gone about two hundred yards they looked back and saw a woman dressed in white, walking round and round the bush. "First it had the form of a woman, and then of a man, and it was going round the bush." II I often entangle myself in argument more complicated than even those paths of Inchy as to what is the true nature of apparitions, but at other times I say as Socrates said when they told him a learned opinion about a nymph of the Illissus, "The common opinion is enough for me." I believe when I am in the mood that all nature is full of people whom we cannot see, and that some of these are ugly or grotesque, and some wicked or foolish, but very many beautiful beyond any one we have ever seen, and that these are not far away when we are walking in pleasant and quiet places. Even when I was a boy I could never walk in a wood without feeling that at any moment I might find before me somebody or something I had long looked for without knowing what I looked for. And now I will at times explore every little nook of some poor coppice with almost anxious footsteps, so deep a hold has this imagination upon me. You too meet with a like imagination, doubtless, somewhere, wherever your ruling stars will have it, Saturn driving you to the woods, or the Moon, it may be, to the edges of the sea. I will not of a certainty believe that there is nothing in the sunset, where our forefathers imagined the dead following their shepherd the sun, or nothing but some vague presence as little moving as nothing. If beauty is not a gateway out of the net we were taken in at our birth, it will not long be beauty, and we will find it better to sit at home by the fire and fatten a lazy body or to run hither and thither in some foolish sport than to look at the finest show that light and shadow ever made among green leaves. I say to myself, when I am well out of that thicket of argument, that they are surely there, the divine people, for only we who have neither simplicity nor wisdom have denied them, and the simple of all times and the wise men of ancient times have seen them and even spoken to them. They live out their passionate lives not far off, as I think, and we shall be among them when we die if we but keep our natures simple and passionate. May it not even be that death shall unite us to all romance, and that some day we shall fight dragons among blue hills, or come to that whereof all romance is but Foreshadowings mingled with the images Of man's misdeeds in greater days than these, as the old men thought in The Earthly Paradise when they were in good spirits. 1902 MIRACULOUS CREATURES There are marten cats and badgers and foxes in the Enchanted Woods, but there are of a certainty mightier creatures, and the lake hides what neither net nor fine can take. These creatures are of the race of the white stag that flits in and out of the tales of Arthur, and of the evil pig that slew Diarmuid where Ben Bulben mixes with the sea wind. They are the wizard creatures of hope and fear, they are of them that fly and of them that follow among the thickets that are about the Gates of Death. A man I know remembers that his father was one night in the wood Of Inchy, "where the lads of Gort used to be stealing rods. He was sitting by the wall, and the dog beside him, and he heard something come running from Owbawn Weir, and he could see nothing, but the sound of its feet on the ground was like the sound of the feet of a deer. And when it passed him, the dog got between him and the wall and scratched at it there as if it was afraid, but still he could see nothing but only hear the sound of hoofs. So when it was passed he turned and came away home. Another time," the man says, "my father told me he was in a boat out on the lake with two or three men from Gort, and one of them had an eel-spear, and he thrust it into the water, and it hit something, and the man fainted and they had to carry him out of the boat to land, and when he came to himself he said that what he struck was like a calf, but whatever it was, it was not fish!" A friend of mine is convinced that these terrible creatures, so common in lakes, were set there in old times by subtle enchanters to watch over the gates of wisdom. He thinks that if we sent our spirits down into the water we would make them of one substance with strange moods Of ecstasy and power, and go out it may be to the conquest of the world. We would, however, he believes, have first to outface and perhaps overthrow strange images full of a more powerful life than if they were really alive. It may be that we shall look at them without fear when we have endured the last adventure, that is death. 1902. ARISTOTLE OF THE BOOKS The friend who can get the wood-cutter to talk more readily than he will to anybody else went lately to see his old wife. She lives in a cottage not far from the edge of the woods, and is as full of old talk as her husband. This time she began to talk of Goban, the legendary mason, and his wisdom, but said presently, "Aristotle of the Books, too, was very wise, and he had a great deal of experience, but did not the bees get the better of him in the end? He wanted to know how they packed the comb, and he wasted the better part of a fortnight watching them, and he could not see them doing it. Then he made a hive with a glass cover on it and put it over them, and he thought to see. But when he went and put his eyes to the glass, they had it all covered with wax so that it was as black as the pot; and he was as blind as before. He said he was never rightly kilt till then. They had him that time surely!" 1902. THE SWINE OF THE GODS A few years ago a friend of mine told me of something that happened to him when he was a. young man and out drilling with some Connaught Fenians. They were but a car-full, and drove along a hillside until they came to a quiet place. They left the car and went further up the hill with their rifles, and drilled for a while. As they were coming down again they saw a very thin, long-legged pig of the old Irish sort, and the pig began to follow them. One of them cried out as a joke that it was a fairy pig, and they all began to run to keep up the joke. The pig ran too, and presently, how nobody knew, this mock terror became real terror, and they ran as for their lives. When they got to the car they made the horse gallop as fast as possible, but the pig still followed. Then one of them put up his rifle to fire, but when he looked along the barrel he could see nothing. Presently they turned a corner and came to a village. They told the people of the village what had happened, and the people of the village took pitchforks and spades and the like, and went along the road with them to drive the pig away. When they turned the comer they could not find anything. 1902. A VOICE One day I was walking over a bit of marshy ground close to Inchy Wood when I felt, all of a sudden, and only for a second, an emotion which I said to myself was the root of Christian mysticism. There had swept over me a sense of weakness, of dependence on a great personal Being somewhere far off yet near at hand. No thought of mine had prepared me for this emotion, for I had been pre-occupied with Aengus and Edain, and with Mannanan, son of the sea. That night I awoke lying upon my back and hearing a voice speaking above me and saying, "No human soul is like any other human soul, and therefore the love of God for any human soul is infinite, for no other soul can satisfy the same need in God." A few nights after this I awoke to see the loveliest people I have ever seen. A young man and a young girl dressed in olive-green raiment, cut like old Greek raiment, were standing at my bedside. I looked at the girl and noticed that her dress was gathered about her neck into a kind of chain, or perhaps into some kind of stiff embroidery which represented ivy-leaves. But what filled me with wonder was the miraculous mildness of her face. There are no such faces now. It was beautiful, as few faces are beautiful, but it had neither, one would think, the light that is in desire or in hope or in fear or in speculation. It was peaceful like the faces of animals, or like mountain pools at evening, so peaceful that it was a little sad. I thought for a moment that she might be the beloved of Aengus, but how could that hunted, alluring, happy, immortal wretch have a face like this? Doubtless she was from among the children of the Moon, but who among them I shall never know. 1902. KIDNAPPERS A little north of the town of Sligo, on the southern side of Ben Bulben, some hundreds of feet above the plain, is a small white square in the limestone. No mortal has ever touched it with his hand; no sheep or goat has ever browsed grass beside it. There is no more inaccessible place upon the earth, and few more encircled by awe to the deep considering. It is the door of faery-land. In the middle of night it swings open, and the unearthly troop rushes out. All night the gay rabble sweep to and fro across the land, invisible to all, unless perhaps where, in some more than commonly "gentle" place--Drumcliff or Drum-a-hair--the nightcapped heads of faery-doctors may be thrust from their doors to see what mischief the "gentry" are doing. To their trained eyes and ears the fields are covered by red-hatted riders, and the air is full of shrill voices--a sound like whistling, as an ancient Scottish seer has recorded, and wholly different from the talk of the angels, who "speak much in the throat, like the Irish," as Lilly, the astrologer, has wisely said. If there be a new-born baby or new-wed bride in the neighbourhood, the nightcapped "doctors" will peer with more than common care, for the unearthly troop do not always return empty-handed. Sometimes a new-wed bride or a new-born baby goes with them into their mountains; the door swings to behind, and the new-born or the new-wed moves henceforth in the bloodless land of Faery; happy enough, but doomed to melt out at the last judgment like bright vapour, for the soul cannot live without sorrow. Through this door of white stone, and the other doors of that land where geabheadh tu an sonas aer pighin ("you can buy joy for a penny"), have gone kings, queens, and princes, but so greatly has the power of Faery dwindled, that there are none but peasants in these sad chronicles of mine. Somewhere about the beginning of last century appeared at the western corner of Market Street, Sligo, where the butcher's shop now is, not a palace, as in Keats's Lamia, but an apothecary's shop, ruled over by a certain unaccountable Dr. Opendon. Where he came from, none ever knew. There also was in Sligo, in those days, a woman, Ormsby by name, whose husband had fallen mysteriously sick. The doctors could make nothing of him. Nothing seemed wrong with him, yet weaker and weaker he grew. Away went the wife to Dr. Opendon. She was shown into the shop parlour. A black cat was sitting straight up before the fire. She had just time to see that the side-board was covered with fruit, and to say to herself, "Fruit must be wholesome when the doctor has so much," before Dr. Opendon came in. He was dressed all in black, the same as the cat, and his wife walked behind him dressed in black likewise. She gave him a guinea, and got a little bottle in return. Her husband recovered that time. Meanwhile the black doctor cured many people; but one day a rich patient died, and cat, wife, and doctor all vanished the night after. In a year the man Ormsby fell sick once more. Now he was a goodlooking man, and his wife felt sure the "gentry" were coveting him. She went and called on the "faery-doctor" at Cairnsfoot. As soon as he had heard her tale, he went behind the back door and began muttering, muttering, muttering-making spells. Her husband got well this time also. But after a while he sickened again, the fatal third time, and away went she once more to Cairnsfoot, and out went the faery-doctor behind his back door and began muttering, but soon he came in and told her it was no use-- her husband would die; and sure enough the man died, and ever after when she spoke of him Mrs. Ormsby shook her head saying she knew well where he was, and it wasn't in heaven or hell or purgatory either. She probably believed that a log of wood was left behind in his place, but so bewitched that it seemed the dead body of her husband. She is dead now herself, but many still living remember her. She was, I believe, for a time a servant or else a kind of pensioner of some relations of my own. Sometimes those who are carried off are allowed after many years-- seven usually--a final glimpse of their friends. Many years ago a woman vanished suddenly from a Sligo garden where she was walking with her husband. When her son, who was then a baby, had grown up he received word in some way, not handed down, that his mother was glamoured by faeries, and imprisoned for the time in a house in Glasgow and longing to see him. Glasgow in those days of sailing-ships seemed to the peasant mind almost over the edge of the known world, yet he, being a dutiful son, started away. For a long time he walked the streets of Glasgow; at last down in a cellar he saw his mother working. She was happy, she said, and had the best of good eating, and would he not eat? and therewith laid all kinds of food on the table; but he, knowing well that she was trying to cast on him the glamour by giving him faery food, that she might keep him with her, refused and came home to his people in Sligo. Some five miles southward of Sligo is a gloomy and tree-bordered pond, a great gathering-place of water-fowl, called, because of its form, the Heart Lake. It is haunted by stranger things than heron, snipe, or wild duck. Out of this lake, as from the white square stone in Ben Bulben, issues an unearthly troop. Once men began to drain it; suddenly one of them raised a cry that he saw his house in flames. They turned round, and every man there saw his own cottage burning. They hurried home to find it was but faery glamour. To this hour on the border of the lake is shown a half-dug trench--the signet of their impiety. A little way from this lake I heard a beautiful and mournful history of faery kidnapping. I heard it from a little old woman in a white cap, who sings to herself in Gaelic, and moves from one foot to the other as though she remembered the dancing of her youth. A young man going at nightfall to the house of his just married bride, met in the way a jolly company, and with them his bride. They were faeries, and had stolen her as a wife for the chief of their band. To him they seemed only a company of merry mortals. His bride, when she saw her old love, bade him welcome, but was most fearful lest be should eat the faery food, and so be glamoured out of the earth into that bloodless dim nation, wherefore she set him down to play cards with three of the cavalcade; and he played on, realizing nothing until he saw the chief of the band carrying his bride away in his arms. Immediately he started up, and knew that they were faeries; for slowly all that jolly company melted into shadow and night. He hurried to the house of his beloved. As he drew near came to him the cry of the keeners. She had died some time before he came. Some noteless Gaelic poet had made this into a forgotten ballad, some odd verses of which my white-capped friend remembered and sang for me. Sometimes one hears of stolen people acting as good genii to the living, as in this tale, heard also close by the haunted pond, of John Kirwan of Castle Hacket. The Kirwans[FN#8] are a family much rumoured of in peasant stories, and believed to be the descendants of a man and a spirit. They have ever been famous for beauty, and I have read that the mother of the present Lord Cloncurry was of their tribe. [FN#8] I have since heard that it was not the Kirwans, but their predecessors at Castle Hacket, the Hackets themselves, I think, who were descended from a man and a spirit, and were notable for beauty. I imagine that the mother of Lord Cloncurry was descended from the Hackets. It may well be that all through these stories the name of Kirwan has taken the place of the older name. Legend mixes everything together in her cauldron. John Kirwan was a great horse-racing man, and once landed in Liverpool with a fine horse, going racing somewhere in middle England. That evening, as he walked by the docks, a slip of a boy came up and asked where he was stabling his horse. In such and such a place, he answered. "Don't put him there," said the slip of a boy; "that stable will be burnt to-night." He took his horse elsewhere, and sure enough the stable was burnt down. Next day the boy came and asked as reward to ride as his jockey in the coming race, and then was gone. The race-time came round. At the last moment the boy ran forward and mounted, saying, "If I strike him with the whip in my left hand I will lose, but if in my right hand bet all you are worth." For, said Paddy Flynn, who told me the tale, "the left arm is good for nothing. I might go on making the sign of the cross with it, and all that, come Christmas, and a Banshee, or such like, would no more mind than if it was that broom." Well, the slip of a boy struck the horse with his right hand, and John Kirwan cleared the field out. When the race was over, "What can I do for you now?" said he. "Nothing but this," said the boy: "my mother has a cottage on your land-they stole me from the cradle. Be good to her, John Kirwan, and wherever your horses go I will watch that no ill follows them; but you will never see me more." With that he made himself air, and vanished. Sometimes animals are carried off--apparently drowned animals more than others. In Claremorris, Galway, Paddy Flynn told me, lived a poor widow with one cow and its calf. The cow fell into the river, and was washed away. There was a man thereabouts who went to a red-haired woman --for such are supposed to be wise in these things--and she told him to take the calf down to the edge of the river, and hide himself and watch. He did as she had told him, and as evening came on the calf began to low, and after a while the cow came along the edge of the river and commenced suckling it. Then, as he had been told, he caught the cow's tail. Away they went at a great pace across hedges and ditches, till they came to a royalty (a name for the little circular ditches, commonly called raths or forts, that Ireland is covered with since Pagan times). Therein he saw walking or sitting all the people who had died out of his village in his time. A woman was sitting on the edge with a child on her knees, and she called out to him to mind what the red-haired woman had told him, and he remembered she had said, Bleed the cow. So he stuck his knife into the cow and drew blood. That broke the spell, and he was able to turn her homeward. "Do not forget the spancel," said the woman with the child on her knees; "take the inside one." There were three spancels on a bush; he took one, and the cow was driven safely home to the widow. There is hardly a valley or mountainside where folk cannot tell you of some one pillaged from amongst them. Two or three miles from the Heart Lake lives an old woman who was stolen away in her youth. After seven years she was brought home again for some reason or other, but she had no toes left. She had danced them off. Many near the white stone door in Ben Bulben have been stolen away. It is far easier to be sensible in cities than in many country places I could tell you of. When one walks on those grey roads at evening by the scented elder-bushes of the white cottages, watching the faint mountains gathering the clouds upon their heads, one all too readily discovers, beyond the thin cobweb veil of the senses, those creatures, the goblins, hurrying from the white square stone door to the north, or from the Heart Lake in the south. THE UNTIRING ONES It is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike. It is this entanglement of moods which makes us old, and puckers our brows and deepens the furrows about our eyes. If we could love and hate with as good heart as the faeries do, we might grow to be long-lived like them. But until that day their untiring joys and sorrows must ever be one- half of their fascination. Love with them never grows weary, nor can the circles of the stars tire out their dancing feet. The Donegal peasants remember this when they bend over the spade, or sit full of the heaviness of the fields beside the griddle at nightfall, and they tell stories about it that it may not be forgotten. A short while ago, they say, two faeries, little creatures, one like a young man, one like a young woman, came to a farmer's house, and spent the night sweeping the hearth and setting all tidy. The next night they came again, and while the farmer was away, brought all the furniture up-stairs into one room, and having arranged it round the walls, for the greater grandeur it seems, they began to dance. They danced on and on, and days and days went by, and all the country-side came to look at them, but still their feet never tired. The farmer did not dare to live at home the while; and after three months he made up his mind to stand it no more, and went and told them that the priest was coming. The little creatures when they heard this went back to their own country, and there their joy shall last as long as the points of the rushes are brown, the people say, and that is until God shall burn up the world with a kiss. But it is not merely faeries who know untiring days, for there have been men and women who, falling under their enchantment, have attained, perhaps by the right of their God-given spirits, an even more than faery abundance of life and feeling. It seems that when mortals have gone amid those poor happy leaves of the Imperishable Rose of Beauty, blown hither and thither by the winds that awakened the stars, the dim kingdom has acknowledged their birthright, perhaps a little sadly, and given them of its best. Such a mortal was born long ago at a village in the south of Ireland. She lay asleep in a cradle, and her mother sat by rocking her, when a woman of the Sidhe (the faeries) came in, and said that the child was chosen to be the bride of the prince of the dim kingdom, but that as it would never do for his wife to grow old and die while he was still in the first ardour of his love, she would be gifted with a faery life. The mother was to take the glowing log out of the fire and bury it in the garden, and her child would live as long as it remained unconsumed. The mother buried the log, and the child grew up, became a beauty, and married the prince of the faeries, who came to her at nightfall. After seven hundred years the prince died, and another prince ruled in his stead and married the beautiful peasant girl in his turn; and after another seven hundred years he died also, and another prince and another husband came in his stead, and so on until she had had seven husbands. At last one day the priest of the parish called upon her, and told her that she was a scandal to the whole neighbourhood with her seven husbands and her long life. She was very sorry, she said, but she was not to blame, and then she told him about the log, and he went straight out and dug until he found it, and then they burned it, and she died, and was buried like a Christian, and everybody was pleased. Such a mortal too was Clooth-na-bare,[FN#9] who went all over the world seeking a lake deep enough to drown her faery life, of which she had grown weary, leaping from hill to lake and lake to hill, and setting up a cairn of stones wherever her feet lighted, until at last she found the deepest water in the world in little Lough Ia, on the top of the Birds' Mountain at Sligo. [FN#9] Doubtless Clooth-na-bare should be Cailleac Bare, which would mean the old Woman Bare. Bare or Bere or Verah or Dera or Dhera was a very famous person, perhaps the mother of the Gods herself. A friend of mine found her, as he thinks frequenting Lough Leath, or the Grey Lake on a mountain of the Fews. Perhaps Lough Ia is my mishearing, or the storyteller's mispronunciation of Lough Leath, for there are many Lough Leaths. The two little creatures may well dance on, and the woman of the log and Clooth-na-bare sleep in peace, for they have known untrammelled hate and unmixed love, and have never wearied themselves with "yes" and "no," or entangled their feet with the sorry net of "maybe" and "perhaps." The great winds came and took them up into themselves. EARTH, FIRE AND WATER Some French writer that I read when I was a boy, said that the desert went into the heart of the Jews in their wanderings and made them what they are. I cannot remember by what argument he proved them to be even yet the indestructible children of earth, but it may well be that the elements have their children. If we knew the Fire Worshippers better we might find that their centuries of pious observance have been rewarded, and that the fire has given them a little of its nature; and I am certain that the water, the water of the seas and of lakes and of mist and rain, has all but made the Irish after its image. Images form themselves in our minds perpetually as if they were reflected in some pool. We gave ourselves up in old times to mythology, and saw the Gods everywhere. We talked to them face to face, and the stories of that communion are so many that I think they outnumber all the like stories of all the rest of Europe. Even to-day our country people speak with the dead and with some who perhaps have never died as we understand death; and even our educated people pass without great difficulty into the condition of quiet that is the condition of vision. We can make our minds so like still water that beings gather about us that they may see, it may be, their own images, and so live for a moment with a clearer, perhaps even with a fiercer life because of our quiet. Did not the wise Porphyry think that all souls come to be born because of water, and that "even the generation of images in the mind is from water"? 1902. THE OLD TOWN I fell, one night some fifteen years ago, into what seemed the power of faery. I had gone with a young man and his sister--friends and relations of my own--to pick stories out of an old countryman; and we were coming home talking over what he had told us. It was dark, and our imaginations were excited by his stories of apparitions, and this may have brought us, unknown to us, to the threshold, between sleeping and waking, where Sphinxes and Chimaeras sit open-eyed and where there are always murmurings and whisperings. I cannot think that what we saw was an imagination of the waking mind. We had come under some trees that made the road very dark, when the girl saw a bright light moving slowly across the road. Her brother and myself saw nothing, and did not see anything until we had walked for about half-an-hour along the edge of the river and down a narrow lane to some fields where there was a ruined church covered with ivy, and the foundations of what was called "the Old Town," which had been burned down, it was said, in Cromwell's day. We had stood for some few minutes, so far as I can recollect, looking over the fields full of stones and brambles and elder-bushes, when I saw a small bright light on the horizon, as it seemed, mounting up slowly towards the sky; then we saw other faint lights for a minute or two, and at last a bright flame like the flame of a torch moving rapidly over the river. We saw it all in such a dream, and it seems all so unreal, that I have never written of it until now, and hardly ever spoken of it, and even when thinking, because of some unreasoning impulse, I have avoided giving it weight in the argument. Perhaps I have felt that my recollections of things seen when the sense of reality was weakened must be untrustworthy. A few months ago, however, I talked it over with my two friends, and compared their somewhat meagre recollections with my own. That sense of unreality was all the more wonderful because the next day I heard sounds as unaccountable as were those lights, and without any emotion of unreality, and I remember them with perfect distinctness and confidence. The girl was sitting reading under a large old-fashioned mirror, and I was reading and writing a couple of yards away, when I heard a sound as if a shower of peas had been thrown against the mirror, and while I was looking at it I heard the sound again, and presently, while I was alone in the room, I heard a sound as if something much bigger than a pea had struck the wainscoting beside my head. And after that for some days came other sights and sounds, not to me but to the girl, her brother, and the servants. Now it was a bright light, now it was letters of fire that vanished before they could be read, now it was a heavy foot moving about in the seemingly empty house. One wonders whether creatures who live, the country people believe, wherever men and women have lived in earlier times, followed us from the ruins of the old town? or did they come from the banks of the river by the trees where the first light had shone for a moment? 1902. THE MAN AND HIS BOOTS There was a doubter in Donegal, and he would not hear of ghosts or sheogues, and there was a house in Donegal that had been haunted as long as man could remember, and this is the story of how the house got the better of the man. The man came into the house and lighted a fire in the room under the haunted one, and took off his boots and set them On the hearth, and stretched out his feet and warmed him self. For a time he prospered in his unbelief; but a little while after the night had fallen, and everything had got very dark, one of his boots began to move. It got up off the floor and gave a kind of slow jump towards the door, and then the other boot did the same, and after that the first boot jumped again. And thereupon it struck the man that an invisible being had got into his boots, and was now going away in them. When the boots reached the door they went up-stairs slowly, and then the man heard them go tramp, tramp round the haunted room over his head. A few minutes passed, and he could hear them again upon the stairs, and after that in the passage outside, and then one of them came in at the door, and the other gave a jump past it and came in too. They jumped along towards him, and then one got up and hit him, and afterwards the other hit him, and then again the first hit him, and so on, until they drove him out of the room, and finally out of the house. In this way he was kicked out by his own boots, and Donegal was avenged upon its doubter. It is not recorded whether the invisible being was a ghost or one of the Sidhe, but the fantastic nature of the vengeance is like the work of the Sidhe who live in the heart of fantasy. A COWARD One day I was at the house of my friend the strong farmer, who lives beyond Ben Bulben and Cope's mountain, and met there a young lad who seemed to be disliked by the two daughters. I asked why they disliked him, and was; told he was a coward. This interested me, for some whom robust children of nature take to be cowards are but men and women with a nervous system too finely made for their life and work. I looked at the lad; but no, that pink-and-white face and strong body had nothing of undue sensibility. After a little he told me his story. He had lived a wild and reckless life, until one day, two years before, he was coming home late at night, and suddenly fell himself sinking in, as it were, upon the ghostly world. For a moment he saw the face of a dead brother rise up before him, and then he turned and ran. He did not stop till he came to a cottage nearly a mile down the road. He flung himself against the door with so much of violence that he broke the thick wooden bolt and fell upon the floor. From that day he gave up his wild life, but was a hopeless coward. Nothing could ever bring him to look, either by day or night, upon the spot where he had seen the face, and he often went two miles round to avoid it; nor could, he said, "the prettiest girl in the country" persuade him to see her home after a party if he were alone. He feared everything, for he had looked at the face no man can see unchanged-the imponderable face of a spirit. THE THREE O'BYRNES AND THE EVIL FAERIES In the dim kingdom there is a great abundance of all excellent things. There is more love there than upon the earth; there is more dancing there than upon the earth; and there is more treasure there than upon the earth. In the beginning the earth was perhaps made to fulfil the desire of man, but now it has got old and fallen into decay. What wonder if we try and pilfer the treasures of that other kingdom! A friend was once at a village near Sleive League. One day he was straying about a rath called "Cashel Nore." A man with a haggard face and unkempt hair, and clothes falling in pieces, came into the rath and began digging. My friend turned to a peasant who was working near and asked who the man was. "That is the third O'Byrne," was the answer. A few days after he learned this story: A great quantity of treasure had been buried in the rath in pagan times, and a number of evil faeries set to guard it; but some day it was to be found and belong to the family of the O'Byrnes. Before that day three O'Byrnes must find it and die. Two had already done so. The first had dug and dug until at last he had got a glimpse of the stone coffin that contained it, but immediately a thing like a huge hairy dog came down the mountain and tore him to pieces. The next morning the treasure had again vanished deep into the earth. The second O'Byrne came and dug and dug until he found the coffer, and lifted the lid and saw the gold shining within. He saw some horrible sight the next moment, and went raving mad and soon died. The treasure again sank out of sight. The third O'Byrne is now digging. He believes that he will die in some terrible way the moment he finds the treasure, but that the spell will be broken, and the O'Byrne family made rich for ever, as they were of old. A peasant of the neighbourhood once saw the treasure. He found the shin-bone of a hare lying on the grass. He took it up; there was a hole in it; he looked through the hole, and saw the gold heaped up under the ground. He hurried home to bring a spade, but when he got to the rath again he could not find the spot where he had seen it. DRUMCLIFF AND ROSSES Drumcliff and Rosses were, are, and ever shall be, please Heaven! places of unearthly resort. I have lived near by them and in them, time after time, and have gathered thus many a crumb of faery lore. Drumcliff is a wide green valley, lying at the foot of Ben Bulben, the mountain in whose side the square white door swings open at nightfall to loose the faery riders on the world. The great St. Columba himself, the builder of many of the old ruins in the valley, climbed the mountains on one notable day to get near heaven with his prayers. Rosses is a little sea-dividing, sandy plain, covered with short grass, like a green tablecloth, and lying in the foam midway between the round cairn-headed Knocknarea and "Ben Bulben, famous for hawks": But for Benbulben and Knocknarea Many a poor sailor'd be cast away, as the rhyme goes. At the northern corner of Rosses is a little promontory of sand and rocks and grass: a mournful, haunted place. No wise peasant would fall asleep under its low cliff, for he who sleeps here may wake "silly," the "good people" having carried off his soul. There is no more ready shortcut to the dim kingdom than this plovery headland, for, covered and smothered now from sight by mounds of sand, a long cave goes thither "full of gold and silver, and the most beautiful parlours and drawing-rooms." Once, before the sand covered it, a dog strayed in, and was heard yelping helplessly deep underground in a fort far inland. These forts or raths, made before modern history had begun, cover all Rosses and all Columkille. The one where the dog yelped has, like most others, an underground beehive chamber in the midst. Once when I was poking about there, an unusually intelligent and "reading" peasant who had come with me, and waited outside, knelt down by the opening, and whispered in a timid voice, "Are you all right, sir?" I had been some little while underground, and he feared I had been carried off like the dog. No wonder he was afraid, for the fort has long been circled by ill- boding rumours. It is on the ridge of a small hill, on whose northern slope lie a few stray cottages. One night a farmer's young son came from one of them and saw the fort all flaming, and ran towards it, but the "glamour" fell on him, and he sprang on to a fence, cross-legged, and commenced beating it with a stick, for he imagined the fence was a horse, and that all night long he went on the most wonderful ride through the country. In the morning he was still beating his fence, and they carried him home, where he remained a simpleton for three years before he came to himself again. A little later a farmer tried to level the fort. His cows and horses died, and an manner of trouble overtook him, and finally he himself was led home, and left useless with "his head on his knees by the fire to the day of his death." A few hundred yards southwards of the northern angle of Rosses is another angle having also its cave, though this one is not covered with sand. About twenty years ago a brig was wrecked near by, and three or four fishermen were put to watch the deserted hulk through the darkness. At midnight they saw sitting on a stone at the cave's mouth two red-capped fiddlers fiddling with all their might. The men fled. A great crowd of villagers rushed down to the cave to see the fiddlers, but the creatures had gone. To the wise peasant the green hills and woods round him are full of never-fading mystery. When the aged countrywoman stands at her door in the evening, and, in her own words, "looks at the mountains and thinks of the goodness of God," God is all the nearer, because the pagan powers are not far: because northward in Ben Bulben, famous for hawks, the white square door swings open at sundown, and those wild unchristian riders rush forth upon the fields, while southward the White Lady, who is doubtless Maive herself, wanders under the broad cloud nightcap of Knocknarea. How may she doubt these things, even though the priest shakes his head at her? Did not a herd-boy, no long while since, see the White Lady? She passed so close that the skirt of her dress touched him. "He fell down, and was dead three days." But this is merely the small gossip of faerydom--the little stitches that join this world and the other. One night as I sat eating Mrs. H-----'s soda-bread, her husband told me a longish story, much the best of all I heard in Rosses. Many a poor man from Fin M'Cool to our own days has had some such adventure to tell of, for those creatures, the "good people," love to repeat themselves. At any rate the story-tellers do. "In the times when we used to travel by the canal," he said, "I was coming down from Dublin. When we came to Mullingar the canal ended, and I began to walk, and stiff and fatigued I was after the slowness. I had some friends with me, and now and then we walked, now and then we rode in a cart. So on till we saw some girls milking cows, and stopped to joke with them. After a while we asked them for a drink of milk. 'We have nothing to put it in here,' they said, 'but come to the house with us.' We went home with them, and sat round the fire talking. After a while the others went, and left me, loath to stir from the good fire. I asked the girls for something to eat. There was a pot on the fire, and they took the meat out and put it on a plate, and told me to eat only the meat that came off the head. When I had eaten, the girls went out, and I did not see them again. It grew darker and darker, and there I still sat, loath as ever to leave the good fire, and after a while two men came in, carrying between them a corpse. When I saw them, coming I hid behind the door. Says one to the other, putting the corpse on the spit, 'Who'll turn the spit? Says the other, 'Michael H-----, come out of that and turn the meat.' I came out all of a tremble, and began turning the spit. 'Michael H------,' says the one who spoke first, 'if you let it burn we'll have to put you on the spit instead'; and on that they went out. I sat there trembling and turning the corpse till towards midnight. The men came again, and the one said it was burnt, and the other said it was done right. But having fallen out over it, they both said they would do me no harm that time; and, sitting by the fire, one of them cried out: 'Michael H-----, can you tell me a story?' 'Divil a one,' said I. On which he caught me by the shoulder, and put me out like a shot. It was a wild blowing night. Never in all my born days did I see such a night-the darkest night that ever came out of the heavens. I did not know where I was for the life of me. So when one of the men came after me and touched me on the shoulder, with a 'Michael H----, can you tell a story now?' 'I can,' says I. In he brought me; and putting me by the fire, says: 'Begin.' 'I have no story but the one,' says I, 'that I was sitting here, and you two men brought in a corpse and put it on the spit, and set me turning it.' 'That will do,' says he; 'ye may go in there and lie down on the bed.' And I went, nothing loath; and in the morning where was I but in the middle of a green field!" "Drumcliff" is a great place for omens. Before a prosperous fishing season a herring-barrel appears in the midst of a storm-cloud; and at a place called Columkille's Strand, a place of marsh and mire, an ancient boat, with St. Columba himself, comes floating in from sea on a moonlight night: a portent of a brave harvesting. They have their dread portents too. Some few seasons ago a fisherman saw, far on the horizon, renowned Hy Brazel, where he who touches shall find no more labour or care, nor cynic laughter, but shall go walking about under shadiest boscage, and enjoy the conversation of Cuchullin and his heroes. A vision of Hy Brazel forebodes national troubles. Drumcliff and Rosses are chokeful of ghosts. By bog, road, rath, hillside, sea-border they gather in all shapes: headless women, men in armour, shadow hares, fire-tongued hounds, whistling seals, and so on. A whistling seal sank a ship the other day. At Drumcliff there is a very ancient graveyard. The Annals of the Four Masters have this verse about a soldier named Denadhach, who died in 871: "A pious soldier of the race of Con lies under hazel crosses at Drumcliff." Not very long ago an old woman, turning to go into the churchyard at night to pray, saw standing before her a man in armour, who asked her where she was going. It was the "pious soldier of the race of Con," says local wisdom, still keeping watch, with his ancient piety, over the graveyard. Again, the custom is still common hereabouts of sprinkling the doorstep with the blood of a chicken on the death of a very young child, thus (as belief is) drawing into the blood the evil spirits from the too weak soul. Blood is a great gatherer of evil spirits. To cut your hand on a stone on going into a fort is said to be very dangerous. There is no more curious ghost in Drumcliff or Rosses than the snipe- ghost. There is a bush behind a house in a village that I know well: for excellent reasons I do not say whether in Drumcliff or Rosses or on the slope of Ben Bulben, or even on the plain round Knocknarea. There is a history concerning the house and the bush. A man once lived there who found on the quay of Sligo a package containing three hundred pounds in notes. It was dropped by a foreign sea captain. This my man knew, but said nothing. It was money for freight, and the sea captain, not daring to face his owners, committed suicide in mid-ocean. Shortly afterwards my man died. His soul could not rest. At any rate, strange sounds were heard round his house, though that had grown and prospered since the freight money. The wife was often seen by those still alive out in the garden praying at the bush I have spoken of, for the shade of the dead man appeared there at times. The bush remains to this day: once portion of a hedge, it now stands by itself, for no one dare put spade or pruning-knife about it. As to the strange sounds and voices, they did not cease till a few years ago, when, during some repairs, a snipe flew out of the solid plaster and away; the troubled ghost, say the neighbours, of the note-finder was at last dislodged. My forebears and relations have lived near Rosses and Drumcliff these many years. A few miles northward I am wholly a stranger, and can find nothing. When I ask for stories of the faeries, my answer is some such as was given me by a woman who lives near a white stone fort--one of the few stone ones in Ireland--under the seaward angle of Ben Bulben: "They always mind their own affairs and I always mind mine": for it is dangerous to talk of the creatures. Only friendship for yourself or knowledge of your forebears will loosen these cautious tongues. My friend, "the sweet Harp-String" (I give no more than his Irish name for fear of gaugers), has the science of unpacking the stubbornest heart, but then he supplies the potheen-makers with grain from his own fields. Besides, he is descended from a noted Gaelic magician who raised the "dhoul" in Great Eliza's century, and he has a kind of prescriptive right to hear tell of all kind of other-world creatures. They are almost relations of his, if all people say concerning the parentage of magicians be true. THE THICK SKULL OF THE FORTUNATE I Once a number of Icelandic peasantry found a very thick skull in the cemetery where the poet Egil was buried. Its great thickness made them feel certain it was the skull of a great man, doubtless of Egil himself. To be doubly sure they put it on a wall and hit it hard blows with a hammer. It got white where the blows fell but did not break, and they were convinced that it was in truth the skull of the poet, and worthy of every honour. In Ireland we have much kinship with the Icelanders, or "Danes" as we call them and all other dwellers in the Scandinavian countries. In some of our mountainous and barren places, and in our seaboard villages, we still test each other in much the same way the Icelanders tested the head of Egil. We may have acquired the custom from those ancient Danish pirates, whose descendants the people of Rosses tell me still remember every field and hillock in Ireland which once belonged to their forebears, and are able to describe Rosses itself as well as any native. There is one seaboard district known as Roughley, where the men are never known to shave or trim their wild red beards, and where there is a fight ever on foot. I have seen them at a boat-race fall foul of each other, and after much loud Gaelic, strike each other with oars. The first boat had gone aground, and by dint of hitting out with the long oars kept the second boat from passing, only to give the victory to the third. One day the Sligo people say a man from Roughley was tried in Sligo for breaking a skull in a row, and made the defence not unknown in Ireland, that some heads are so thin you cannot be responsible for them. Having turned with a look of passionate contempt towards the solicitor who was prosecuting, and cried, "that little fellow's skull if ye were to hit it would go like an egg-shell," he beamed upon the judge, and said in a wheedling voice, "but a man might wallop away at your lordship's for a fortnight." II I wrote all this years ago, out of what were even then old memories. I was in Roughley the other day, and found it much like other desolate places. I may have been thinking of Moughorow, a much wilder place, for the memories of one's childhood are brittle things to lean upon. 1902. THE RELIGION OF A SAILOR A sea captain when he stands upon the bridge, or looks out from his deck-house, thinks much about God and about the world. Away in the valley yonder among the corn and the poppies men may well forget all things except the warmth of the sun upon the face, and the kind shadow under the hedge; but he who journeys through storm and darkness must needs think and think. One July a couple of years ago I took my supper with a Captain Moran on board the S.S. Margaret, that had put into a western river from I know not where. I found him a man of many notions all flavoured with his personality, as is the way with sailors. He talked in his queer sea manner of God and the world, and up through all his words broke the hard energy of his calling. "Sur," said he, "did you ever hear tell of the sea captain's prayer?" "No," said I; "what is it?" "It is," he replied, "'O Lord, give me a stiff upper lip.'" "And what does that mean?" "It means," he said, "that when they come to me some night and wake me up, and say, 'Captain, we're going down,' that I won't make a fool o' meself. Why, sur, we war in mid Atlantic, and I standin' on the bridge, when the third mate comes up to me looking mortial bad. Says he, 'Captain, all's up with us.' Says I, 'Didn't you know when you joined that a certain percentage go down every year?' 'Yes, sur,' says he; and says I, 'Arn't you paid to go down?' 'Yes, sur,' says he; and says I, 'Then go down like a man, and be damned to you!"' CONCERNING THE NEARNESS TOGETHER OF HEAVEN, EARTH, AND PURGATORY In Ireland this world and the world we go to after death are not far apart. I have heard of a ghost that was many years in a tree and many years in the archway of a bridge, and my old Mayo woman says, "There is a bush up at my own place, and the people do be saying that there are two souls doing their penance under it. When the wind blows one way the one has shelter, and when it blows from the north the other has the shelter. It is twisted over with the way they be rooting under it for shelter. I don't believe it, but there is many a one would not pass by it at night." Indeed there are times when the worlds are so near together that it seems as if our earthly chattels were no more than the shadows of things beyond. A lady I knew once saw a village child running about with a long trailing petticoat upon her, and asked the creature why she did not have it cut short. "It was my grandmother's," said the child; "would you have her going about yonder with her petticoat up to her knees, and she dead but four days?" I have read a story of a woman whose ghost haunted her people because they had made her grave-clothes so short that the fires of purgatory burned her knees. The peasantry expect to have beyond the grave houses much like their earthly homes, only there the thatch will never grow leaky, nor the white walls lose their lustre, nor shall the dairy be at any time empty of good milk and butter. But now and then a landlord or an agent or a gauger will go by begging his bread, to show how God divides the righteous from the unrighteous. 1892 and 1902. THE EATERS OF PRECIOUS STONES Sometimes when I have been shut off from common interests, and have for a little forgotten to be restless, I get waking dreams, now faint and shadow-like, now vivid and solid-looking, like the material world under my feet. Whether they be faint or vivid, they are ever beyond the power of my will to alter in any way. They have their own will, and sweep hither and thither, and change according to its commands. One day I saw faintly an immense pit of blackness, round which went a circular parapet, and on this parapet sat innumerable apes eating precious stones out of the palms of their hands. The stones glittered green and crimson, and the apes devoured them with an insatiable hunger. I knew that I saw the Celtic Hell, and my own Hell, the Hell of the artist, and that all who sought after beautiful and wonderful things with too avid a thirst, lost peace and form and became shapeless and common. I have seen into other people's hells also, and saw in one an infernal Peter, who had a black face and white lips, and who weighed on a curious double scales not only the evil deeds committed, but the good deeds left undone, of certain invisible shades. I could see the scales go up and down, but I could not see the shades who were, I knew, crowding about him. I saw on another occasion a quantity of demons of all kinds of shapes--fish-like, serpent-like, ape-like, and dog-like --sitting about a black pit such as that in my own Hell, and looking at a moon--like reflection of the Heavens which shone up from the depths of the pit. OUR LADY OF THE HILLS When we were children we did not say at such a distance from the post- office, or so far from the butcher's or the grocer's, but measured things by the covered well in the wood, or by the burrow of the fox in the hill. We belonged then to God and to His works, and to things come down from the ancient days. We would not have been greatly surprised had we met the shining feet of an angel among the white mushrooms upon the mountains, for we knew in those days immense despair, unfathomed love--every eternal mood,--but now the draw-net is about our feet. A few miles eastward of Lough Gill, a young Protestant girl, who was both pretty herself and prettily dressed in blue and white, wandered up among those mountain mushrooms, and I have a letter of hers telling how she met a troop of children, and became a portion of their dream. When they first saw her they threw themselves face down in a bed of rushes, as if in a great fear; but after a little other children came about them, and they got up and followed her almost bravely. She noticed their fear, and presently stood still and held out her arms. A little girl threw herself into them with the cry, "Ah, you are the Virgin out o' the picture!" "No," said another, coming near also, "she is a sky faery, for she has the colour of the sky." "No," said a third, "she is the faery out of the foxglove grown big." The other children, however, would have it that she was indeed the Virgin, for she wore the Virgin's colours. Her good Protestant heart was greatly troubled, and she got the children to sit down about her, and tried to explain who she was, but they would have none of her explanation. Finding explanation of no avail, she asked had they ever heard of Christ? "Yes," said one; "but we do not like Him, for He would kill us if it were not for the Virgin." "Tell Him to be good to me," whispered another into her ear. "We would not let me near Him, for dad says I am a divil," burst out a third. She talked to them a long time about Christ and the apostles, but was finally interrupted by an elderly woman with a stick, who, taking her to be some adventurous hunter for converts, drove the children away, despite their explanation that here was the great Queen of Heaven come to walk upon the mountain and be kind to them. When the children had gone she went on her way, and had walked about half-a-mile, when the child who was called "a divil" jumped down from the high ditch by the lane, and said she would believe her "an ordinary lady" if she had "two skirts," for "ladies always had two skirts." The "two skirts" were shown, and the child went away crestfallen, but a few minutes later jumped down again from the ditch, and cried angrily, "Dad's a divil, mum's a divil, and I'm a divil, and you are only an ordinary lady," and having flung a handful of mud and pebbles ran away sobbing. When my pretty Protestant had come to her own home she found that she had dropped the tassels of her parasol. A year later she was by chance upon the mountain, but wearing now a plain black dress, and met the child who had first called her the Virgin out o' the picture, and saw the tassels hanging about the child's neck, and said, "I am the lady you met last year, who told you about Christ." "No, you are not! no, you are not! no, you are not!" was the passionate reply. And after all, it was not my pretty Protestant, but Mary, Star of the Sea, still walking in sadness and in beauty upon many a mountain and by many a shore, who cast those tassels at the feet of the child. It is indeed fitting that man pray to her who is the mother of peace, the mother of dreams, and the mother of purity, to leave them yet a little hour to do good and evil in, and to watch old Time telling the rosary of the stars. THE GOLDEN AGE A while ago I was in the train, and getting near Sligo. The last time I had been there something was troubling me, and I had longed for a message from those beings or bodiless moods, or whatever they be, who inhabit the world of spirits. The message came, for one night I saw with blinding distinctness a black animal, half weasel, half dog, moving along the top of a stone wall, and presently the black animal vanished, and from the other side came a white weasel-like dog, his pink flesh shining through his white hair and all in a blaze of light; and I remembered a pleasant belief about two faery dogs who go about representing day and night, good and evil, and was comforted by the excellent omen. But now I longed for a message of another kind, and chance, if chance there is, brought it, for a man got into the carriage and began to play on a fiddle made apparently of an old blacking-box, and though I am quite unmusical the sounds filled me with the strangest emotions. I seemed to hear a voice of lamentation out of the Golden Age. It told me that we are imperfect, incomplete, and no more like a beautiful woven web, but like a bundle of cords knotted together and flung into a comer. It said that the world was once all perfect and kindly, and that still the kindly and perfect world existed, but buried like a mass of roses under many spadefuls of earth. The faeries and the more innocent of the spirits dwelt within it, and lamented over our fallen world in the lamentation of the wind-tossed reeds, in the song of the birds, in the moan of the waves, and in the sweet cry of the fiddle. It said that with us the beautiful are not clever and the clever are not beautiful, and that the best of our moments are marred by a little vulgarity, or by a pin-prick out of sad recollection, and that the fiddle must ever lament about it all. It said that if only they who live in the Golden Age could die we might be happy, for the sad voices would be still; but alas! alas! they must sing and we must weep until the Eternal gates swing open. We were now getting into the big glass-roofed terminus, and the fiddler put away his old blacking-box and held out his hat for a copper, and then opened the door and was gone. A REMONSTRANCE WITH SCOTSMEN FOR HAVING SOURED THE DISPOSITION OF THEIR GHOSTS AND FAERIES Not only in Ireland is faery belief still extant. It was only the other day I heard of a Scottish farmer who believed that the lake in front of his house was haunted by a water-horse. He was afraid of it, and dragged the lake with nets, and then tried to pump it empty. It would have been a bad thing for the water-horse had he found him. An Irish peasant would have long since come to terms with the creature. For in Ireland there is something of timid affection between men and spirits. They only ill-treat each other in reason. Each admits the other side to have feelings. There are points beyond which neither will go. No Irish peasant would treat a captured faery as did the man Campbell tells of. He caught a kelpie, and tied her behind him on his horse. She was fierce, but he kept her quiet by driving an awl and a needle into her. They came to a river, and she grew very restless, fearing to cross the water. Again he drove the awl and needle into her. She cried out, "Pierce me with the awl, but keep that slender, hair- like slave (the needle) out of me." They came to an inn. He turned the light of a lantern on her; immediately she dropped down like a falling star, and changed into a lump of jelly. She was dead. Nor would they treat the faeries as one is treated in an old Highland poem. A faery loved a little child who used to cut turf at the side of a faery hill. Every day the faery put out his hand from the hill with an enchanted knife. The child used to cut the turf with the knife. It did not take long, the knife being charmed. Her brothers wondered why she was done so quickly. At last they resolved to watch, and find out who helped her. They saw the small hand come out of the earth, and the little child take from it the knife. When the turf was all cut, they saw her make three taps on the ground with the handle. The small hand came out of the hill. Snatching the knife from the child, they cut the hand off with a blow. The faery was never again seen. He drew his bleeding arm into the earth, thinking, as it is recorded, he had lost his hand through the treachery of the child. In Scotland you are too theological, too gloomy. You have made even the Devil religious. "Where do you live, good-wyf, and how is the minister?" he said to the witch when he met her on the high-road, as it came out in the trial. You have burnt all the witches. In Ireland we have left them alone. To be sure, the "loyal minority" knocked out the eye of one with a cabbage-stump on the 31st of March, 1711, in the town of Carrickfergus. But then the "loyal minority" is half Scottish. You have discovered the faeries to be pagan and wicked. You would like to have them all up before the magistrate. In Ireland warlike mortals have gone amongst them, and helped them in their battles, and they in turn have taught men great skill with herbs, and permitted some few to hear their tunes. Carolan slept upon a faery rath. Ever after their tunes ran in his head, and made him the great musician he was. In Scotland you have denounced them from the pulpit. In Ireland they have been permitted by the priests to consult them on the state of their souls. Unhappily the priests have decided that they have no souls, that they will dry up like so much bright vapour at the last day; but more in sadness than in anger they have said it. The Catholic religion likes to keep on good terms with its neighbours. These two different ways of looking at things have influenced in each country the whole world of sprites and goblins. For their gay and graceful doings you must go to Ireland; for their deeds of terror to Scotland. Our Irish faery terrors have about them something of make- believe. When a peasant strays into an enchanted hovel, and is made to turn a corpse all night on a spit before the fire, we do not feel anxious; we know he will wake in the midst of a green field, the dew on his old coat. In Scotland it is altogether different. You have soured the naturally excellent disposition of ghosts and goblins. The piper M'Crimmon, of the Hebrides, shouldered his pipes, and marched into a sea cavern, playing loudly, and followed by his dog. For a long time the people could hear the pipes. He must have gone nearly a mile, when they heard the sound of a struggle. Then the piping ceased suddenly. Some time went by, and then his dog came out of the cavern completely flayed, too weak even to howl. Nothing else ever came out of the cavern. Then there is the tale of the man who dived into a lake where treasure was thought to be. He saw a great coffer of iron. Close to the coffer lay a monster, who warned him to return whence he came. He rose to the surface; but the bystanders, when they heard he had seen the treasure, persuaded him to dive again. He dived. In a little while his heart and liver floated up, reddening the water. No man ever saw the rest of his body. These water-goblins and water-monsters are common in Scottish folk- lore. We have them too, but take them much less dreadfully. Our tales turn all their doings to favour and to prettiness, or hopelessly humorize the creatures. A hole in the Sligo river is haunted by one of these monsters. He is ardently believed in by many, but that does not prevent the peasantry playing with the subject, and surrounding it with conscious fantasies. When I was a small boy I fished one day for congers in the monster hole. Returning home, a great eel on my shoulder, his head flapping down in front, his tail sweeping the ground behind, I met a fisherman of my acquaintance. I began a tale of an immense conger, three times larger than the one I carried, that had broken my line and escaped. "That was him," said the fisherman. "Did you ever hear how he made my brother emigrate? My brother was a diver, you know, and grubbed stones for the Harbour Board. One day the beast comes up to him, and says, 'What are you after?' 'Stones, sur,' says he. 'Don't you think you had better be going?' 'Yes, sur,' says he. And that's why my brother emigrated. The people said it was because he got poor, but that's not true." You--you will make no terms with the spirits of fire and earth and air and water. You have made the Darkness your enemy. We--we exchange civilities with the world beyond. WAR When there was a rumour of war with France a while ago, I met a poor Sligo woman, a soldier's widow, that I know, and I read her a sentence out of a letter I had just had from London: "The people here are mad for war, but France seems inclined to take things peacefully," or some like sentence. Her mind ran a good deal on war, which she imagined partly from what she had heard from soldiers, and partly from tradition of the rebellion of '98, but the word London doubled her interest, for she knew there were a great many people in London, and she herself had once lived in "a congested district." "There are too many over one another in London. They are getting tired of the world. It is killed they want to be. It will be no matter; but sure the French want nothing but peace and quietness. The people here don't mind the war coming. They could not be worse than they are. They may as well die soldierly before God. Sure they will get quarters in heaven." Then she began to say that it would be a hard thing to see children tossed about on bayonets, and I knew her mind was running on traditions of the great rebellion. She said presently, "I never knew a man that was in a battle that liked to speak of it after. They'd sooner be throwing hay down from a hayrick." She told me how she and her neighbours used to be sitting over the fire when she was a girl, talking of the war that was coming, and now she was afraid it was coming again, for she had dreamed that all the bay was "stranded and covered with seaweed." I asked her if it was in the Fenian times that she had been so much afraid of war coming. But she cried out, "Never had I such fun and pleasure as in the Fenian times. I was in a house where some of the officers used to be staying, and in the daytime I would be walking after the soldiers' band, and at night I'd be going down to the end of the garden watching a soldier, with his red coat on him, drilling the Fenians in the field behind the house. One night the boys tied the liver of an old horse, that had been dead three weeks, to the knocker, and I found it when I opened the door in the morning." And presently our talk of war shifted, as it had a way of doing, to the battle of the Black Pig, which seems to her a battle between Ireland and England, but to me an Armageddon which shall quench all things in the Ancestral Darkness again, and from this to sayings about war and vengeance. "Do you know," she said, "what the curse of the Four Fathers is? They put the man-child on the spear, and somebody said to them, 'You will be cursed in the fourth generation after you,' and that is why disease or anything always comes in the fourth generation." 1902. THE QUEEN AND THE FOOL I have heard one Hearne, a witch-doctor, who is on the border of Clare and Galway, say that in "every household" of faery "there is a queen and a fool," and that if you are "touched" by either you never recover, though you may from the touch of any other in faery. He said of the fool that he was "maybe the wisest of all," and spoke of him as dressed like one of the "mummers that used to be going about the country." Since then a friend has gathered me some few stories of him, and I have heard that he is known, too, in the highlands. I remember seeing a long, lank, ragged man sitting by the hearth in the cottage of an old miller not far from where I am now writing, and being told that he was a fool; and I find from the stories that my friend has gathered that he is believed to go to faery in his sleep; but whether he becomes an Amadan-na-Breena, a fool of the forth, and is attached to a household there, I cannot tell. It was an old woman that I know well, and who has been in faery herself, that spoke of him. She said, "There are fools amongst them, and the fools we see, like that Amadan of Ballylee, go away with them at night, and so do the woman fools that we call Oinseachs (apes)." A woman who is related to the witch-doctor on the border of Clare, and who can Cure people and cattle by spells, said, "There are some cures I can't do. I can't help any one that has got a stroke from the queen or the fool of the forth. I knew of a woman that saw the queen one time, and she looked like any Christian. I never heard of any that saw the fool but one woman that was walking near Gort, and she called out, 'There's the fool of the forth coming after me.' So her friends that were with her called out, though they could see nothing, and I suppose he went away at that, for she got no harm. He was like a big strong man, she said, and half naked, and that is all she said about him. I have never seen any myself, but I am a cousin of Hearne, and my uncle was away twenty-one years." The wife of the old miller said, "It is said they are mostly good neighbours, but the stroke of the fool is what there is no cure for; any one that gets that is gone. The Amadan-na-Breena we call him!" And an old woman who lives in the Bog of Kiltartan, and is very poor, said, "It is true enough, there is no cure for the stroke of the Amadan-na-Breena. There was an old man I knew long ago, he had a tape, and he could tell what diseases you had with measuring you; and he knew many things. And he said to me one time, 'What month of the year is the worst?' and I said, 'The month of May, of course.' 'It is not,' he said; 'but the month of June, for that's the month that the Amadan gives his stroke!' They say he looks like any other man, but he's leathan (wide), and not smart. I knew a boy one time got a great fright, for a lamb looked over the wall at him with a beard on it, and he knew it was the Amadan, for it was the month of June. And they brought him to that man I was telling about, that had the tape, and when he saw him he said, 'Send for the priest, and get a Mass said over him.' And so they did, and what would you say but he's living yet and has a family! A certain Regan said, 'They, the other sort of people, might be passing you close here and they might touch you. But any that gets the touch of the Amadan-na-Breena is done for.' It's true enough that it's in the month of June he's most likely to give the touch. I knew one that got it, and he told me about it himself. He was a boy I knew well, and he told me that one night a gentleman came to him, that had been his land-lord, and that was dead. And he told him to come along with him, for he wanted him to fight another man. And when he went he found two great troops of them, and the other troop had a living man with them too, and he was put to fight him. And they had a great fight, and he got the better of the other man, and then the troop on his side gave a great shout, and he was left home again. But about three years after that he was cutting bushes in a wood and he saw the Amadan coming at him. He had a big vessel in his arms, and it was shining, so that the boy could see nothing else; but he put it behind his back then and came running, and the boy said he looked wild and wide, like the side of the hill. And the boy ran, and he threw the vessel after him, and it broke with a great noise, and whatever came out of it, his head was gone there and then. He lived for a while after, and used to tell us many things, but his wits were gone. He thought they mightn't have liked him to beat the other man, and he used to be afraid something would come on him." And an old woman in a Galway workhouse, who had some little knowledge of Queen Maive, said the other day, "The Amadan-na-Breena changes his shape every two days. Sometimes he comes like a youngster, and then he'll come like the worst of beasts, trying to give the touch he used to be. I heard it said of late he was shot, but I think myself it would be hard to shoot him." I knew a man who was trying to bring before his mind's eye an image of Aengus, the old Irish god of love and poetry and ecstasy, who changed four of his kisses into birds, and suddenly the image of a man with a cap and bells rushed before his mind's eye, and grew vivid and spoke and called itself "Aengus' messenger." And I knew another man, a truly great seer, who saw a white fool in a visionary garden, where there was a tree with peacocks' feathers instead of leaves, and flowers that opened to show little human faces when the white fool had touched them with his coxcomb, and he saw at another time a white fool sitting by a pool and smiling and watching the images of many fair women floating up from the pool. What else can death be but the beginning of wisdom and power and beauty? and foolishness may be a kind of death. I cannot think it wonderful that many should see a fool with a shining vessel of some enchantment or wisdom or dream too powerful for mortal brains in "every household of them." It is natural, too, that there should be a queen to every household of them, and that one should hear little of their kings, for women come more easily than men to that wisdom which ancient peoples, and all wild peoples even now, think the only wisdom. The self, which is the foundation of our knowledge, is broken in pieces by foolishness, and is forgotten in the sudden emotions of women, and therefore fools may get, and women do get of a certainty, glimpses of much that sanctity finds at the end of its painful journey. The man who saw the white fool said of a certain woman, not a peasant woman, "If I had her power of vision I would know all the wisdom of the gods, and her visions do not interest her." And I know of another woman, also not a peasant woman, who would pass in sleep into countries of an unearthly beauty, and who never cared for anything but to be busy about her house and her children; and presently an herb doctor cured her, as he called it. Wisdom and beauty and power may sometimes, as I think, come to those who die every day they live, though their dying may not be like the dying Shakespeare spoke of. There is a war between the living and the dead, and the Irish stories keep harping upon it. They will have it that when the potatoes or the wheat or any other of the fruits of the earth decay, they ripen in faery, and that our dreams lose their wisdom when the sap rises in the trees, and that our dreams can make the trees wither, and that one hears the bleating of the lambs of faery in November, and that blind eyes can see more than other eyes. Because the soul always believes in these, or in like things, the cell and the wilderness shall never be long empty, or lovers come into the world who will not understand the verse-- Heardst thou not sweet words among That heaven-resounding minstrelsy? Heardst thou not that those who die Awake in a world of ecstasy? How love, when limbs are interwoven, And sleep, when the night of life is cloven, And thought to the world's dim boundaries clinging, And music when one's beloved is singing, Is death? 1901. THE FRIENDS OF THE PEOPLE OF FAERY Those that see the people of faery most often, and so have the most of their wisdom, are often very poor, but often, too, they are thought to have a strength beyond that of man, as though one came, when one has passed the threshold of trance, to those sweet waters where Maeldun saw the dishevelled eagles bathe and become young again. There was an old Martin Roland, who lived near a bog a little out of Gort, who saw them often from his young days, and always towards the end of his life, though I would hardly call him their friend. He told me a few months before his death that "they" would not let him sleep at night with crying things at him in Irish, and with playing their pipes. He had asked a friend of his what he should do, and the friend had told him to buy a flute, and play on it when they began to shout or to play on their pipes, and maybe they would give up annoying him; and he did, and they always went out into the field when he began to play. He showed me the pipe, and blew through it, and made a noise, but he did not know how to play; and then he showed me where he had pulled his chimney down, because one of them used to sit up on it and play on the pipes. A friend of his and mine went to see him a little time ago, for she heard that "three of them" had told him he was to die. He said they had gone away after warning him, and that the children (children they had "taken," I suppose) who used to come with them, and play about the house with them, had "gone to some other place," because "they found the house too cold for them, maybe"; and he died a week after he had said these things. His neighbours were not certain that he really saw anything in his old age, but they were all certain that he saw things when he was a young man. His brother said, "Old he is, and it's all in his brain the things he sees. If he was a young man we might believe in him." But he was improvident, and never got on with his brothers. A neighbour said, "The poor man, they say they are mostly in his head now, but sure he was a fine fresh man twenty years ago the night he saw them linked in two lots, like young slips of girls walking together. It was the night they took away Fallon's little girl." And she told how Fallon's little girl had met a woman "with red hair that was as bright as silver," who took her away. Another neighbour, who was herself "clouted over the ear" by one of them for going into a fort where they were, said, "I believe it's mostly in his head they are; and when he stood in the door last night I said, 'The wind does be always in my ears, and the sound of it never stops,' to make him think it was the same with him; but he says, 'I hear them singing and making music all the time, and one of them is after bringing out a little flute, and it's on it he's playing to them.' And this I know, that when he pulled down the chimney where he said the piper used to be sitting and playing, he lifted up stones, and he an old man, that I could not have lifted when I was young and strong." A friend has sent me from Ulster an account of one who was on terms of true friendship with the people of faery. It has been taken down accurately, for my friend, who had heard the old woman's story some time before I heard of it, got her to tell it over again, and wrote it out at once. She began by telling the old woman that she did not like being in the house alone because of the ghosts and fairies; and the old woman said, "There's nothing to be frightened about in faeries, miss. Many's the time I talked to a woman myself that was a faery, or something of the sort, and no less and more than mortal anyhow. She used to come about your grandfather's house--your mother's grandfather, that is--in my young days. But you'll have heard all about her." My friend said that she had heard about her, but a long time before, and she wanted to hear about her again; and the old woman went on, "Well dear, the very first time ever I heard word of her coming about was when your uncle--that is, your mother's uncle--Joseph married, and building a house for his wife, for he brought her first to his father's, up at the house by the Lough. My father and us were living nigh hand to where the new house was to be built, to overlook the men at their work. My father was a weaver, and brought his looms and all there into a cottage that was close by. The foundations were marked out, and the building stones lying about, but the masons had not come yet; and one day I was standing with my mother foment the house, when we sees a smart wee woman coming up the field over the burn to us. I was a bit of a girl at the time, playing about and sporting myself, but I mind her as well as if I saw her there now!" My friend asked how the woman was dressed, and the old woman said, "It was a gray cloak she had on, with a green cashmere skirt and a black silk handkercher tied round her head, like the country women did use to wear in them times." My friend asked, "How wee was she?" And the old woman said, "Well now, she wasn't wee at all when I think of it, for all we called her the Wee Woman. She was bigger than many a one, and yet not tall as you would say. She was like a woman about thirty, brown-haired and round in the face. She was like Miss Betty, your grandmother's sister, and Betty was like none of the rest, not like your grandmother, nor any of them. She was round and fresh in the face, and she never was married, and she never would take any man; and we used to say that the Wee Woman--her being like Betty--was, maybe, one of their own people that had been took off before she grew to her full height, and for that she was always following us and warning and foretelling. This time she walks straight over to where my mother was standing. 'Go over to the Lough this minute!'--ordering her like that--'Go over to the Lough, and tell Joseph that he must change the foundation of this house to where I'll show you fornent the thornbush. That is where it is to be built, if he is to have luck and prosperity, so do what I'm telling ye this minute.' The house was being built on 'the path' I suppose--the path used by the people of faery in their journeys, and my mother brings Joseph down and shows him, and he changes the foundations, the way he was bid, but didn't bring it exactly to where was pointed, and the end of that was, when he come to the house, his own wife lost her life with an accident that come to a horse that hadn't room to turn right with a harrow between the bush and the wall. The Wee Woman was queer and angry when next she come, and says to us, 'He didn't do as I bid him, but he'll see what he'll see."' My friend asked where the woman came from this time, and if she was dressed as before, and the woman said, "Always the same way, up the field beyant the burn. It was a thin sort of shawl she had about her in summer, and a cloak about her in winter; and many and many a time she came, and always it was good advice she was giving to my mother, and warning her what not to do if she would have good luck. There was none of the other children of us ever seen her unless me; but I used to be glad when I seen her coming up the bum, and would run out and catch her by the hand and the cloak, and call to my mother, 'Here's the Wee Woman!' No man body ever seen her. My father used to be wanting to, and was angry with my mother and me, thinking we were telling lies and talking foolish like. And so one day when she had come, and was sitting by the fireside talking to my mother, I slips out to the field where he was digging. 'Come up,' says I, 'if ye want to see her. She's sitting at the fireside now, talking to mother.' So in he comes with me and looks round angry like and sees nothing, and he up with a broom that was near hand and hits me a crig with it. 'Take that now!' says he, 'for making a fool of me!' and away with him as fast as he could, and queer and angry with me. The Wee Woman says to me then, 'Ye got that now for bringing people to see me. No man body ever seen me, and none ever will.' "There was one day, though, she gave him a queer fright anyway, whether he had seen her or not. He was in among the cattle when it happened, and he comes up to the house all trembling like. 'Don't let me hear you say another word of your Wee Woman. I have got enough of her this time.' Another time, all the same, he was up Gortin to sell horses, and before he went off, in steps the Wee Woman and says she to my mother, holding out a sort of a weed, 'Your man is gone up by Gortin, and there's a bad fright waiting him coming home, but take this and sew it in his coat, and he'll get no harm by it.' My mother takes the herb, but thinks to herself, 'Sure there's nothing in it,' and throws it on the floor, and lo and behold, and sure enough! coming home from Gortin, my father got as bad a fright as ever he got in his life. What it was I don't right mind, but anyway he was badly damaged by it. My mother was in a queer way, frightened of the Wee Woman, after what she done, and sure enough the next time she was angry. 'Ye didn't believe me,' she said, 'and ye threw the herb I gave ye in the fire, and I went far enough for it.' There was another time she came and told how William Hearne was dead in America. 'Go over,' she says, 'to the Lough, and say that William is dead, and he died happy, and this was the last Bible chapter ever he read,' and with that she gave the verse and chapter. 'Go,' she says, 'and tell them to read them at the next class meeting, and that I held his head while he died.' And sure enough word came after that how William had died on the day she named. And, doing as she did about the chapter and hymn, they never had such a prayer-meeting as that. One day she and me and my mother was standing talking, and she was warning her about something, when she says of a sudden, 'Here comes Miss Letty in all her finery, and it's time for me to be off.' And with that she gave a swirl round on her feet, and raises up in the air, and round and round she goes, and up and up, as if it was a winding stairs she went up, only far swifter. She went up and up, till she was no bigger than a bird up against the clouds, singing and singing the whole time the loveliest music I ever heard in my life from that day to this. It wasn't a hymn she was singing, but poetry, lovely poetry, and me and my mother stands gaping up, and all of a tremble. 'What is she at all, mother?' says I. 'Is it an angel she is, or a faery woman, or what?' With that up come Miss Letty, that was your grandmother, dear, but Miss Letty she was then, and no word of her being anything else, and she wondered to see us gaping up that way, till me and my mother told her of it. She went on gay-dressed then, and was lovely looking. She was up the lane where none of us could see her coming forward when the Wee Woman rose up in that queer way, saying, 'Here comes Miss Letty in all her finery.' Who knows to what far country she went, or to see whom dying? "It was never after dark she came, but daylight always, as far as I mind, but wanst, and that was on a Hallow Eve night. My mother was by the fire, making ready the supper; she had a duck down and some apples. In slips the Wee Woman, 'I'm come to pass my Hallow Eve with you,' says she. 'That's right,' says my mother, and thinks to herself, 'I can give her her supper nicely.' Down she sits by the fire a while. 'Now I'll tell you where you'll bring my supper,' says she. 'In the room beyond there beside the loom--set a chair in and a plate.' 'When ye're spending the night, mayn't ye as well sit by the table and eat with the rest of us?' 'Do what you're bid, and set whatever you give me in the room beyant. I'll eat there and nowhere else.' So my mother sets her a plate of duck and some apples, whatever was going, in where she bid, and we got to our supper and she to hers; and when we rose I went in, and there, lo and behold ye, was her supper-plate a bit ate of each portion, and she clean gone!" 1897. DREAMS THAT HAVE NO MORAL The friend who heard about Maive and the hazel-stick went to the workhouse another day. She found the old people cold and wretched, "like flies in winter," she said; but they forgot the cold when they began to talk. A man had just left them who had played cards in a rath with the people of faery, who had played "very fair"; and one old man had seen an enchanted black pig one night, and there were two old people my friend had heard quarrelling as to whether Raftery or Callanan was the better poet. One had said of Raftery, "He was a big man, and his songs have gone through the whole world. I remember him well. He had a voice like the wind"; but the other was certain "that you would stand in the snow to listen to Callanan." Presently an old man began to tell my friend a story, and all listened delightedly, bursting into laughter now and then. The story, which I am going to tell just as it was told, was one of those old rambling moralless tales, which are the delight of the poor and the hard driven, wherever life is left in its natural simplicity. They tell of a time when nothing had consequences, when even if you were killed, if only you had a good heart, somebody would bring you to life again with a touch of a rod, and when if you were a prince and happened to look exactly like your brother, you might go to bed with his queen, and have only a little quarrel afterwards. We too, if we were so weak and poor that everything threatened us with misfortune, would remember, if foolish people left us alone, every old dream that has been strong enough to fling the weight of the world from its shoulders. There was a king one time who was very much put out because he had no son, and he went at last to consult his chief adviser. And the chief adviser said, "It's easy enough managed if you do as I tell you. Let you send some one," says he, "to such a place to catch a fish. And when the fish is brought in, give it to the queen, your wife, to eat." So the king sent as he was told, and the fish was caught and brought in, and he gave it to the cook, and bade her put it before the fire, but to be careful with it, and not to let any blob or blister rise on it. But it is impossible to cook a fish before the fire without the skin of it rising in some place or other, and so there came a blob on the skin, and the cook put her finger on it to smooth it down, and then she put her finger into her mouth to cool it, and so she got a taste of the fish. And then it was sent up to the queen, and she ate it, and what was left of it was thrown out into the yard, and there was a mare in the yard and a greyhound, and they ate the bits that were thrown out. And before a year was out, the queen had a young son, and the cook had a young son, and the mare had two foals, and the greyhound had two pups. And the two young sons were sent out for a while to some place to be cared, and when they came back they adviser and said, "Tell me some way that I can know were so much like one another no person could know which was the queen's son and which was the cook's. And the queen was vexed at that, and she went to the chief which is my own son, for I don't like to be giving the same eating and drinking to the cook's son as to my own." "It is easy to know that," said the chief adviser, "if you will do as I tell you. Go you outside, and stand at the door they will be coming in by, and when they see you, your own son will bow his head, but the cook's son will only laugh." So she did that, and when her own son bowed his head, her servants put a mark on him that she would know him again. And when they were all sitting at their dinner after that, she said to Jack, that was the cook's son, "It is time for you to go away out of this, for you are not my son." And her own son, that we will call Bill, said, "Do not send him away, are we not brothers?" But Jack said, "I would have been long ago out of this house if I knew it was not my own father and mother owned it." And for all Bill could say to him, he would not stop. But before he went, they were by the well that was in the garden, and he said to Bill, "If harm ever happens to me, that water on the top of the well will be blood, and the water below will be honey." Then he took one of the pups, and one of the two horses, that was foaled after the mare eating the fish, and the wind that was after him could not catch him, and he caught the wind that was before him. And he went on till he came to a weaver's house, and he asked him for a lodging, and he gave it to him. And then he went on till he came to a king's house, and he sent in at the door to ask, "Did he want a servant?" "All I want," said the king, "is a boy that will drive out the cows to the field every morning, and bring them in at night to be milked." "I will do that for you," said Jack; so the king engaged him. In the morning Jack was sent out with the four-and-twenty cows, and the place he was told to drive them to had not a blade of grass in it for them, but was full of stones. So Jack looked about for some place where there would be better grass, and after a while he saw a field with good green grass in it, and it belonging to a giant. So he knocked down a bit of the wall and drove them in, and he went up himself into an apple-tree and began to eat the apples. Then the giant came into the field. "Fee-faw-fum," says he, "I smell the blood of an Irishman. I see you where you are, up in the tree," he said; "you are too big for one mouthful, and too small for two mouthfuls, and I don't know what I'll do with you if I don't grind you up and make snuff for my nose." "As you are strong, be merciful," says Jack up in the tree. "Come down out of that, you little dwarf," said the giant, "or I'll tear you and the tree asunder." So Jack came down. "Would you sooner be driving red-hot knives into one another's hearts," said the giant, "or would you sooner be fighting one another on red-hot flags?" "Fighting on red-hot flags is what I'm used to at home," said Jack, "and your dirty feet will be sinking in them and my feet will be rising." So then they began the fight. The ground that was hard they made soft, and the ground that was soft they made hard, and they made spring wells come up through the green flags. They were like that all through the day, no one getting the upper hand of the other, and at last a little bird came and sat on the bush and said to Jack, "If you don't make an end of him by sunset, he'll make an end of you." Then Jack put out his strength, and he brought the giant down on his knees. "Give me my life," says the giant, "and I'll give you the three best gifts." "What are those?" said Jack. "A sword that nothing can stand against, and a suit that when you put it on, you will see everybody, and nobody will see you, and a pair of shoes that will make you ran faster than the wind blows." "Where are they to be found?" said Jack. "In that red door you see there in the hill." So Jack went and got them out. "Where will I try the sword?" says he. "Try it on that ugly black stump of a tree," says the giant. "I see nothing blacker or uglier than your own head," says Jack. And with that he made one stroke, and cut off the giant's head that it went into the air, and he caught it on the sword as it was coming down, and made two halves of it. "It is well for you I did not join the body again," said the head, "or you would have never been able to strike it off again." "I did not give you the chance of that," said Jack. And he brought away the great suit with him. So he brought the cows home at evening, and every one wondered at all the milk they gave that night. And when the king was sitting at dinner with the princess, his daughter, and the rest, he said, "I think I only hear two roars from beyond to-night in place of three." The next morning Jack went out again with the cows, and he saw another field full of grass, and he knocked down the wall and let the cows in. All happened the same as the day before, but the giant that came this time had two heads, and they fought together, and the little bird came and spoke to Jack as before. And when Jack had brought the giant down, he said, "Give me my life, and I'll give you the best thing I have." "What is that?" says Jack. "It's a suit that you can put on, and you will see every one but no one can see you." "Where is it?" said Jack. "It's inside that little red door at the side of the hill." So Jack went and brought out the suit. And then he cut off the giant's two heads, and caught them coming down and made four halves of them. And they said it was well for him he had not given them time to join the body. That night when the cows came home they gave so much milk that all the vessels that could be found were filled up. The next morning Jack went out again, and all happened as before, and the giant this time had four heads, and Jack made eight halves of them. And the giant had told him to go to a little blue door in the side of the hill, and there he got a pair of shoes that when you put them on would go faster than the wind. That night the cows gave so much milk that there were not vessels enough to hold it, and it was given to tenants and to poor people passing the road, and the rest was thrown out at the windows. I was passing that way myself, and I got a drink of it. That night the king said to Jack, "Why is it the cows are giving so much milk these days? Are you bringing them to any other grass?" "I am not," said Jack, "but I have a good stick, and whenever they would stop still or lie down, I give them blows of it, that they jump and leap over walls and stones and ditches; that's the way to make cows give plenty of milk." And that night at the dinner, the king said, "I hear no roars at all." The next morning, the king and the princess were watching at the window to see what would Jack do when he got to the field. And Jack knew they were there, and he got a stick, and began to batter the cows, that they went leaping and jumping over stones, and walls, and ditches. "There is no lie in what Jack said," said the king then. Now there was a great serpent at that time used to come every seven years, and he had to get a kines daughter to eat, unless she would have some good man to fight for her. And it was the princess at the place Jack was had to be given to it that time, and the king had been feeding a bully underground for seven years, and you may believe he got the best of everything, to be ready to fight it. And when the time came, the princess went out, and the bully with her down to the shore, and when they got there what did he do, but to tie the princess to a tree, the way the serpent would be able to swallow her easy with no delay, and he himself went and hid up in an ivy-tree. And Jack knew what was going on, for the princess had told him about it, and had asked would he help her, but he said he would not. But he came out now, and he put on the suit he had taken from the first giant, and he came by the place the princess was, but she didn't know him. "Is that right for a princess to be tied to a tree?" said Jack. "It is not, indeed," said she, and she told him what had happened, and how the serpent was coming to take her. "If you will let me sleep for awhile with my head in your lap," said Jack, "you could wake me when it is coming." So he did that, and she awakened him when she saw the serpent coming, and Jack got up and fought with it, and drove it back into the sea. And then he cut the rope that fastened her, and he went away. The bully came down then out of the tree, and he brought the princess to where the king was, and he said, "I got a friend of mine to come and fight the serpent to-day, where I was a little timorous after being so long shut up underground, but I'll do the fighting myself to-morrow." The next day they went out again, and the same thing happened, the bully tied up the princess where the serpent could come at her fair and easy, and went up himself to hide in the ivy-tree. Then Jack put on the suit he had taken from the second giant, and he walked out, and the princess did not know him, but she told him all that had happened yesterday, and how some young gentleman she did not know had come and saved her. So Jack asked might he lie down and take a sleep with his head in her lap, the way she could awake him. And an happened the same way as the day before. And the bully gave her up to the king, and said he had brought another of his friends to fight for her that day. The next day she was brought down to the shore as before, and a great many people gathered to see the serpent that was coming to bring the king's daughter away. And Jack brought out the suit of clothes he had brought away from the third giant, and she did not know him, and they talked as before. But when he was asleep this time, she thought she would make sure of being able to find him again, and she took out her scissors and cut off a piece of his hair, and made a little packet of it and put it away. And she did another thing, she took off one of the shoes that was on his feet. And when she saw the serpent coming she woke him, and he said, "This time I will put the serpent in a way that he will eat no more king's daughters." So he took out the sword he had got from the giant, and he put it in at the back of the serpent's neck, the way blood and water came spouting out that went for fifty miles inland, and made an end of him. And then he made off, and no one saw what way he went, and the bully brought the princess to the king, and claimed to have saved her, and it is he who was made much of, and was the right-hand man after that. But when the feast was made ready for the wedding, the princess took out the bit of hair she had, and she said she would marry no one but the man whose hair would match that, and she showed the shoe and said that she would marry no one whose foot would not fit that shoe as well. And the bully tried to put on the shoe, but so much as his toe would not go into it, and as to his hair, it didn't match at all to the bit of hair she had cut from the man that saved her. So then the king gave a great ball, to bring all the chief men of the country together to try would the shoe fit any of them. And they were all going to carpenters and joiners getting bits of their feet cut off to try could they wear the shoe, but it was no use, not one of them could get it on. Then the king went to his chief adviser and asked what could he do. And the chief adviser bade him to give another ball, and this time he said, "Give it to poor as well as rich." So the ball was given, and many came flocking to it, but the shoe would not fit any one of them. And the chief adviser said, "Is every one here that belongs to the house?" "They are all here," said the king, "except the boy that minds the cows, and I would not like him to be coming up here." Jack was below in the yard at the time, and he heard what the king said, and he was very angry, and he went and got his sword and came running up the stairs to strike off the king's head, but the man that kept the gate met him on the stairs before he could get to the king, and quieted him down, and when he got to the top of the stairs and the princess saw him, she gave a cry and ran into his arms. And they tried the shoe and it fitted him, and his hair matched to the piece that had been cut off. So then they were married, and a great feast was given for three days and three nights. And at the end of that time, one morning there came a deer outside the window, with bells on it, and they ringing. And it called out, "Here is the hunt, where is the huntsman and the hound?" So when Jack heard that he got up and took his horse and his hound and went hunting the deer. When it was in the hollow he was on the hill, and when it was on the hill he was in the hollow, and that went on all through the day, and when night fell it went into a wood. And Jack went into the wood after it, and all he could see was a mud-wall cabin, and he went in, and there he saw an old woman, about two hundred years old, and she sitting over the fire. "Did you see a deer pass this way?" says Jack. "I did not," says she, "but it's too late now for you to be following a deer, let you stop the night here." "What will I do with my horse and my hound?" said Jack. "Here are two ribs of hair," says she, "and let you tie them up with them." So Jack went out and tied up the horse and the hound, and when he came in again the old woman said, "You killed my three sons, and I'm going to kill you now," and she put on a pair of boxing-gloves, each one of them nine stone weight, and the nails in them fifteen inches long. Then they began to fight, and Jack was getting the worst of it. "Help, hound!" he cried out, then "Squeeze hair," cried out the old woman, and the rib of hair that was about the hound's neck squeezed him to death. "Help, horse!" Jack called out, then, "Squeeze hair," called out the old woman, and the rib of hair that was about the horse's neck began to tighten and squeeze him to death. Then the old woman made an end of Jack and threw him outside the door. To go back now to Bill. He was out in the garden one day, and he took a look at the well, and what did he see but the water at the top was blood, and what was underneath was honey. So he went into the house again, and he said to his mother, "I will never eat a second meal at the same table, or sleep a second night in the same bed, till I know what is happening to Jack." So he took the other horse and hound then, and set off, over the hills where cock never crows and horn never sounds, and the devil never blows his bugle. And at last he came to the weaver's house, and when he went in, the weaver says, "You are welcome, and I can give you better treatment than I did the last time you came in to me," for she thought it was Jack who was there, they were so much like one another. "That is good," said Bill to himself, "my brother has been here." And he gave the weaver the full of a basin of gold in the morning before he left. Then he went on till he came to the king's house, and when he was at the door the princess came running down the stairs, and said, "Welcome to you back again." And all the people said, "It is a wonder you have gone hunting three days after your marriage, and to stop so long away." So he stopped that night with the princess, and she thought it was her own husband all the time. And in the morning the deer came, and bells ringing on her, under the windows, and called out, "The hunt is here, where are the huntsmen and the hounds?" Then Bill got up and got his horse and his hound, and followed her over hills and hollows till they came to the wood, and there he saw nothing but the mud-wall cabin and the old woman sitting by the fire, and she bade him stop the night there, and gave him two ribs of hair to tie his horse and his hound with. But Bill was wittier than Jack was, and before he went out, he threw the ribs of hair into the fire secretly. When he came in the old woman said, "Your brother killed my three sons, and I killed him, and I'll kill you along with him." And she put her gloves on, and they began the fight, and then Bill called out, "Help, horse." "Squeeze hair," called the old woman; "I can't squeeze, I'm in the fire," said the hair. And the horse came in and gave her a blow of his hoof. "Help, hound," said Bill then. "Squeeze, hair," said the old woman; "I can't, I'm in the fire," said the second hair. Then the bound put his teeth in her, and Bill brought her down, and she cried for mercy. "Give me my life," she said, "and I'll tell you where you'll get your brother again, and his hound and horse." "Where's that?" said Bill. "Do you see that rod over the fire?" said she; "take it down and go outside the door where you'll see three green stones, and strike them with the rod, for they are your brother, and his horse and hound, and they'll come to life again." "I will, but I'll make a green stone of you first," said Bill, and he cut off her head with his sword. Then he went out and struck the stones, and sure enough there were Jack, and his horse and hound, alive and well. And they began striking other stones around, and men came from them, that had been turned to stones, hundreds and thousands of them. Then they set out for home, but on the way they had some dispute or some argument together, for Jack was not well pleased to hear he had spent the night with his wife, and Bill got angry, and he struck Jack with the rod, and turned him to a green stone. And he went home, but the princess saw he had something on his mind, and he said then, "I have killed my brother." And he went back then and brought him to life, and they lived happy ever after, and they had children by the basketful, and threw them out by the shovelful. I was passing one time myself, and they called me in and gave me a cup of tea. 1902. BY THE ROADSIDE Last night I went to a wide place on the Kiltartan road to listen to some Irish songs. While I waited for the singers an old man sang about that country beauty who died so many years ago, and spoke of a singer he had known who sang so beautifully that no horse would pass him, but must turn its head and cock its ears to listen. Presently a score of men and boys and girls, with shawls over their beads, gathered under the trees to listen. Somebody sang Sa Muirnin Diles, and then somebody else Jimmy Mo Milestor, mournful songs of separation, of death, and of exile. Then some of the men stood up and began to dance, while another lilted the measure they danced to, and then somebody sang Eiblin a Ruin, that glad song of meeting which has always moved me more than other songs, because the lover who made it sang it to his sweetheart under the shadow of a mountain I looked at every day through my childhood. The voices melted into the twilight and were mixed into the trees, and when I thought of the words they too melted away, and were mixed with the generations of men. Now it was a phrase, now it was an attitude of mind, an emotional form, that had carried my memory to older verses, or even to forgotten mythologies. I was carried so far that it was as though I came to one of the four rivers, and followed it under the wall of Paradise to the roots of the trees of knowledge and of life. There is no song or story handed down among the cottages that has not words and thoughts to carry one as far, for though one can know but a little of their ascent, one knows that they ascend like medieval genealogies through unbroken dignities to the beginning of the world. Folk art is, indeed, the oldest of the aristocracies of thought, and because it refuses what is passing and trivial, the merely clever and pretty, as certainly as the vulgar and insincere, and because it has gathered into itself the simplest and most unforgetable thoughts of the generations, it is the soil where all great art is rooted. Wherever it is spoken by the fireside, or sung by the roadside, or carved upon the lintel, appreciation of the arts that a single mind gives unity and design to, spreads quickly when its hour is come. In a society that has cast out imaginative tradition, only a few people--three or four thousand out of millions--favoured by their own characters and by happy circumstance, and only then after much labour, have understanding of imaginative things, and yet "the imagination is the man himself." The churches in the Middle Age won all the arts into their service because men understood that when imagination is impoverished, a principal voice--some would say the only voice--for the awakening of wise hope and durable faith, and understanding charity, can speak but in broken words, if it does not fall silent. And so it has always seemed to me that we, who would re-awaken imaginative tradition by making old songs live again, or by gathering old stories into books, take part in the quarrel of Galilee. Those who are Irish and would spread foreign ways, which, for all but a few, are ways of spiritual poverty, take part also. Their part is with those who were of Jewry, and yet cried out, "If thou let this man go thou art not Caesar's friend." 1901. INTO THE TWILIGHT Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn, Come clear of the nets of wrong and right; Laugh, heart, again in the gray twilight; Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn. Thy mother Eire is always young, Dew ever shining and twilight gray, Though hope fall from thee or love decay Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue. Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill, For there the mystical brotherhood Of hollow wood and the hilly wood And the changing moon work out their will. And God stands winding his lonely horn; And Time and World are ever in flight, And love is less kind than the gray twilight, And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn. 
14391	----	THE CATTLE-RAID OF CUALNGE (TAIN BO CUAILNGE) An Old Irish Prose-Epic Translated for the first time from Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan by L. WINIFRED FARADAY, M. A. London Published by David Nutt At the Sign of the Phoenix Long Acre 1904 CONTENTS INTRODUCTION THE CATTLE-RAID OF CUALNGE (from Leabhar na h-Uidhri) Cuchulainn's Boyish Deeds The Death of Fraech The Death of Orlam The Death of the Meic Garach The Death of the Squirrel The Death of Lethan The Death of Lochu The Harrying of Cualnge (first version) The Harrying of Cualnge (second version) Mac Roth's Embassy The Death of Etarcomol The Death of Nadcrantail The Finding of the Bull The Death of Redg The Meeting of Cuchulainn and Findabair The Combat of Munremar and Curoi The Death of the Boys (first version) The Woman-fight of Rochad The Death of the Princes The Death of Cur The Number of the Feats The Death of Ferbaeth The Combat of Larine Mac Nois The Conversation of the Morrigan with Cuchulainn The Death of Long Mac Emonis The Healing of the Morrigan The Coming of Lug Mac Ethlend The Death of the Boys (second version) The Arming of Cuchulainn CONTINUATION (from the Yellow Book of Lecan) The Combat of Fer Diad and Cuchulainn The Long Warning of Sualtaim The Muster of the Ulstermen The Vision of Dubthach The March of the Companies The Muster of the Men of Ireland The Battle on Garach and Irgarach The Meeting of the Bulls The Peace INTRODUCTION The Cattle-Raid of Cualnge [Note: Pronounce _Cooley_] is the chief story belonging to the heroic cycle of Ulster, which had its centre in the deeds of the Ulster king, Conchobar Mac Nessa, and his nephew and chief warrior, Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim. Tradition places their date at the beginning of the Christian era. The events leading up to this tale, the most famous of Irish mythical stories, may be shortly summarised here from the Book of Leinster introduction to the _Tain_, and from the other tales belonging to the Ulster cycle. It is elsewhere narrated that the Dun Bull of Cualnge, for whose sake Ailill and Medb [Note: Pronounce _Maive_.], the king and queen of Connaught, undertook this expedition, was one of two bulls in whom two rival swineherds, belonging to the supernatural race known as the people of the _Sid_, or fairy-mounds, were re-incarnated, after passing through various other forms. The other bull, Findbennach, the White-horned, was in the herd of Medb at Cruachan Ai, the Connaught capital, but left it to join Ailill's herd. This caused Ailill's possessions to exceed Medb's, and to equalise matters she determined to secure the great Dun Bull, who alone equalled the White-horned. An embassy to the owner of the Dun Bull failed, and Ailill and Medb therefore began preparations for an invasion of Ulster, in which province (then ruled by Conchobar Mac Nessa) Cualnge was situated. A number of smaller _Tana_, or cattle-raids, prefatory to the great _Tain Bo Cuailnge_, relate some of their efforts to procure allies and provisions. Medb chose for the expedition the time when Conchobar and all the warriors of Ulster, except Cuchulainn and Sualtaim, were at their capital, Emain Macha, in a sickness which fell on them periodically, making them powerless for action; another story relates the cause of this sickness, the effect of a curse laid on them by a fairy woman. Ulster was therefore defended only by the seventeen-year-old Cuchulainn, for Sualtaim's appearance is only spasmodic. Cuchulainn (Culann's Hound) was the son of Dechtire, the king's sister, his father being, in different accounts, either Sualtaim, an Ulster warrior; Lug Mac Ethlend, one of the divine heroes from the _Sid_, or fairy-mound; or Conchobar himself. The two former both appear as Cuchulainn's father in the present narrative. Cuchulainn is accompanied, throughout the adventures here told, by his charioteer, Loeg Mac Riangabra. In Medb's force were several Ulster heroes, including Cormac Condlongas, son of Conchobar, Conall Cernach, Dubthach Doeltenga, Fiacha Mac Firfebe, and Fergus Mac Roich. These were exiled from Ulster through a bitter quarrel with Conchobar, who had caused the betrayal and murder of the sons of Uisnech, when they had come to Ulster under the sworn protection of Fergus, as told in the _Exile of the Sons of Uisnech_. [Note: 1 Text in Windisch and Stokes's _Irische Texte_; English translation in Miss Hull's _Cuchullin Saga_.] The Ulster mischief-maker, Bricriu of the Poison-tongue, was also with the Connaught army. Though fighting for Connaught, the exiles have a friendly feeling for their former comrades, and a keen jealousy for the credit of Ulster. There is a constant interchange of courtesies between them and their old pupil, Cuchulainn, whom they do not scruple to exhort to fresh efforts for Ulster's honour. An equally half-hearted warrior is Lugaid Mac Nois, king of Munster, who was bound in friendship to the Ulstermen. Other characters who play an important part in the story are Findabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, who is held out as a bribe to various heroes to induce them to fight Cuchulainn, and is on one occasion offered to the latter in fraud on condition that he will give up his opposition to the host; and the war-goddess, variously styled the Nemain, the Badb (scald-crow), and the Morrigan (great queen), who takes part against Cuchulainn in one of his chief fights. Findabair is the bait which induces several old comrades of Cuchulainn's, who had been his fellow-pupils under the sorceress Scathach, to fight him in single combat. The tale may be divided into:-- 1. Introduction: Fedelm's prophecy. 2. Cuchulainn's first feats against the host, and the several _geis_, or taboos, which he lays on them. 3. The narration of Cuchulainn's boyish deeds, by the Ulster exiles to the Connaught host. 4. Cuchulainn's harassing of the host. 5. The bargain and series of single combats, interrupted by breaches of the agreement on the part of Connaught. 6. The visit of Lug Mac Ethlend. 7. The fight with Fer Diad. 8. The end: the muster of the Ulstermen. The MSS. The _Tain Bo Cuailnge_ survives, in whole or in part, in a considerable number of MSS., most of which are, however, late. The most important are three in number:-- (1) Leabhar na h-Uidhri (LU), 'The Book of the Dun Cow,' a MS. dating from about 1100. The version here given is an old one, though with some late additions, in later language. The chief of these are the piece coming between the death of the herd Forgemen and the fight with Cur Mac Dalath (including Cuchulainn's meeting with Findabair, and the 'womanfight' of Rochad), and the whole of what follows the Healing of the Morrigan. The tale is, like others in this MS., unfinished, the MS. being imperfect. (2) The Yellow Book of Lecan (YBL), a late fourteenth-century MS. The _Tain_ in this is substantially the same as in LU. The beginning is missing, but the end is given. Some of the late additions of LU are not found here; and YBL, late as it is, often gives an older and better text than the earlier MS. (3) The Book of Leinster (LL), before 1160. The _Tain_ here is longer, fuller, and later in both style and language than in LU or YBL. It is essentially a literary attempt to give a complete and consistent narrative, and is much less interesting than the older LU-YBL recension. In the present version, I have collated LU, as far as it goes, with YBL, adding from the latter the concluding parts of the story, from the Fight with Fer Diad to the end. After the Fight with Fer Diad, YBL breaks off abruptly, leaving nearly a page blank; then follow several pages containing lists, alternative versions of some episodes given in LU (Rochad's Woman-fight, the Warning to Conchobar), and one or two episodes which are narrated in LL. I omit about one page, where the narrative is broken and confused. The pages which follow the Healing of the Morrigan in LU are altogether different in style from the rest of the story as told in LU, and are out of keeping with its simplicity. This whole portion is in the later manner of LL, with which, for the most part, it is in verbal agreement. Further, it is in part repetition of material already given (i.e. the coming of the boy-host of Ulster, and Cuchulainn's displaying himself to the Connaught troops). COMPARISON OF THE VERSIONS A German translation of the Leinster text of the _Tain Bo Cuailnge_ will soon be accessible to all in Dr. Windisch's promised edition of the text. It is therefore unnecessary to compare the two versions in detail. Some of the main differences may be pointed out, however. Of our three copies none is the direct ancestor of any other. LU and YBL are from a common source, though the latter MS. is from an older copy; LL is independent. The two types differ entirely in aim and method. The writers of LU and YBL aimed at accuracy; the Leinster man, at presenting an intelligible version. Hence, where the two former reproduce obscurities and corruptions, the latter omits, paraphrases, or expands. The unfortunate result is that LL rarely, if ever, helps to clear up textual obscurities in the older copy. On the other hand, it offers explanations of certain episodes not clearly stated in LU. Thus, for example, where LU, in the story of the sons of Nechta Scene, simply mentions 'the withe that was on the pillar,' LL explains that the withe had been placed there by the sons of Nechta Scene (as Cuchulainn placed a similar with in the path of the Connaught host), with an ogam inscription forbidding any to pass without combat; hence its removal was an insult and a breach of _geis_. Again, the various embassies to Cuchulainn, and the terms made with him (that he should not harass the host if he were supplied daily with food, and with a champion to meet him in single combat), are more clearly described in LL. Some of the episodes given in LU are not told in the Leinster version. Of the boyish deeds of Cuchulainn, LL tells only three: his first appearance at Emain (told by Fergus), Culann's feast (by Cormac), and the feats following Cuchulainn's taking of arms (by Fiacha). In the main narrative, the chief episodes omitted in LL are the fight with Fraech, the Fergus and Medb episode, and the meeting of Findabair and Cuchulainn. The meeting with the Morrigan is missing, owing to the loss of a leaf. Other episodes are differently placed in LL: e.g. the Rochad story (an entirely different account), the fight of Amairgen and Curoi with stones, and the warning to Conchobar, all follow the fight with Fer Diad. A peculiarity of the LU-YBL version is the number of passages which it has in common with the _Dinnsenchas_, an eleventh-century compilation of place-legends. The existing collections of _Dinnsenchas_ contain over fifty entries derived from the _Tain_ cycle, some corresponding with, others differing from those in LU. This version has also embodied a considerable number of glosses in the text. As many of these are common to LU and YBL, they must go back to the common original, which must therefore have been a harmony of previously existing versions, since many of these passages give variants of incidents. AGE OF THE VERSIONS There is no doubt that the version here translated is a very old one. The language in LU is almost uniformly Middle Irish, not more than a century earlier than the date of the MS.; thus it shows the post-thetic _he_, _iat_, etc. as object, the adverb with _co_, the confusion of _ar_ and _for_, the extension of the _b_-future, etc. But YBL preserves forms as old as the Glosses:-- (1) The correct use of the infixed relative, e.g. _rombith_, 'with which he struck.' (LU, _robith_, 58a, 45.) (2) The infixed accusative pronoun, e.g. _nachndiusced_, 'that he should not wake him.' (LU, _nach diusced_, 62a, 30.) (3) _no_ with a secondary tense, e.g. _nolinad_, 'he used to fill.' (LU, _rolinad_, 60b, 6.) (4) Very frequently YBL keeps the right aspirated or non-aspirated consonant, where LU shows a general confusion, etc. LL has no very archaic forms, though it cultivates a pseudo-archaic style; and it is unlikely that the Leinster version goes back much earlier than 1050. The latter part of the LU _Tain_ shows that a version of the Leinster type was known to the compiler. The style of this part, with its piling-up of epithets, is that of eleventh-century narrative, as exemplified in texts like the _Cath Ruis na Rig_ and the _Cogadh Gaidhil_; long strings of alliterative epithets, introduced for sound rather than sense, are characteristic of the period. The descriptions of chariots and horses in the Fer Diad episode in YBL are similar, and evidently belong to the same rescension. The inferences from the facts noted in the foregoing sections may be stated as follows: A version of the _Tain_ goes back to the early eighth, or seventh century, and is preserved under the YBL text; an opinion based on linguistic evidence, but coinciding with the tradition which ascribes the 'Recovery of the _Tain_' to Senchan Torpeist, a bard of the later seventh century. This version continued to be copied down to the eleventh century, gradually changing as the language changed. Meanwhile, varying accounts of parts of the story came into existence, and some time in the eleventh century a new redaction was made, the oldest representative of which is the LL text. Parts of this were embodied in or added to the older version; hence the interpolations in LU. THE FER DIAD EPISODE There is much difference between the two versions of this episode. In YBL, the introductory portion is long and full, the actual fight very short, while in LL the fight is long-drawn-out, and much more stress is laid on the pathetic aspect of the situation. Hence it is generally assumed that LL preserves an old version of the episode, and that the scribe of the Yellow Book has compressed the latter part. It is not, however, usual, in primitive story-telling, to linger over scenes of pathos. Such lingering is, like the painted tears of late Italian masters, invariably a sign of decadence. It is one of the marks of romance, which recognises tragedy only when it is voluble, and prodigal of lamentation. The older version of the _Tain_ is throughout singularly free from pathos of the feebler sort; the humorous side is always uppermost, and the tragic suggestions interwoven with it. But it is still a matter of question whether the whole Fer Diad episode may not be late. Professor Zimmer thinks it is; but even the greatest scholar, with a theory to prove, is not quite free. It will of course be noticed, on this side, that the chief motives of the Fer Diad episode all appear previously in other episodes (e.g. the fights with Ferbaeth and with Loch). Further, the account even in YBL is not marked by old linguistic forms as are other parts of the tale, while much of it is in the bombastic descriptive style of LL. In the condition in which we have the tale, however, this adventure is treated as the climax of the story. Its motive is to remove Cuchulainn from the field, in order to give the rest of Ulster a chance. But in the account of the final great fight in YBL, Cuchulainn's absence is said to be due to his having been wounded in a combat against odds (_crechtnugud i n-ecomlund_). Considering, therefore, that even in YBL the Fer Diad episode is late in language, it seems possible that it may have replaced some earlier account in which Cuchulainn was so severely wounded that he was obliged to retire from the field. PREVIOUS WORK ON THE '_TAIN_' Up to the present time the _Tain_ has never been either printed or translated, though the LU version has been for thirty years easily accessible in facsimile. Dr. Windisch's promised edition will shortly be out, containing the LL and LU texts, with a German translation of the former. The most useful piece of work done hitherto for the _Tain_ is the analysis by Professor Zimmer of the LU text (conclusion from the Book of Leinster), in the fifth of his _Keltische Studien (Zeitschrift für vergl. Sprachforschung_, xxviii.). Another analysis of the story, by Mr. S. H. O'Grady, appeared in Miss Eleanor Hull's _The Cuchullin Saga_; it is based on a late paper MS. in the British Museum, giving substantially the same version as LL. This work contains also a map of ancient Ireland, showing the route of the Connaught forces; but a careful working-out of the topography of the _Tain_ is much needed, many names being still unidentified. Several of the small introductory _Tana_ have been published in Windisch and Stokes's _Irische Texte_; and separate episodes from the great _Tain_ have been printed and translated from time to time. The Fight with Fer Diad (LL) was printed with translation by O'Curry in the _Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish_. The story of the Two Swineherds, with their successive reincarnations until they became the Dun Bull and the White-horned (an introductory story to the _Tain_ ), is edited with translation in _Irische Texte_, and Mr. Nutt printed an abridged English version in the _Voyage of Bran_. The Leinster version seems to have been the favourite with modern workers, probably because it is complete and consistent; possibly its more sentimental style has also served to commend it. AIM OF THIS TRANSLATION It is perhaps unnecessary to say that the present version is intended for those who cannot read the tale in the original; it is therefore inadvisable to overload the volume with notes, variant readings, or explanations of the readings adopted, which might repel the readers to whom it is offered. At the present time, an enthusiasm for Irish literature is not always accompanied by a knowledge of the Irish language. It seems therefore to be the translator's duty, if any true estimate of this literature is to be formed, to keep fairly close to the original, since nothing is to be gained by attributing beauties which it does not possess, while obscuring its true merits, which are not few. For the same reason, while keeping the Irish second person singular in verses and formal speech, I have in ordinary dialogue substituted the pronoun _you_, which suggests the colloquial style of the original better than the obsolete _thou_. The so-called rhetorics are omitted in translating; they are passages known in Irish as _rosc_, often partly alliterative, but not measured. They are usually meaningless strings of words, with occasional intelligible phrases. In all probability the passages aimed at sound, with only a general suggestion of the drift. Any other omissions are marked where they occur; many obscure words in the long descriptive passages are of necessity left untranslated. In two places I have made slight verbal changes without altering the sense, a liberty which is very rarely necessary in Irish. Of the headings, those printed in capitals are in the text in the MS.; those italicised are marginal. I have bracketed obvious scribal glosses which have crept into the text. Some of the marginal glosses are translated in the footnotes. GEOGRAPHICAL NAMES As a considerable part of the _Tain_ is occupied by connecting episodes with place-names, an explanation of some of the commonest elements in these may be of use to those who know no Irish: Ath=a ford; e.g. Ath Gabla (Ford of the Fork), Ath Traiged (Ford of the Foot), Ath Carpat (Ford of Chariots), Ath Fraich (Fraech's Ford), etc. Belat=cross-roads; e.g. Belat Alioin. Bernas=a pass, or gap; e.g. _Bernas Bo Ulad_ or _Bernas Bo Cuailnge_ (Pass of the Cows of Ulster, or of Cualnge). Clithar=a shelter; e.g. Clithar Bo Ulad (shelter of the Cows of Ulster). Cul=a corner; e.g. Cul Airthir (eastern corner). Dun= a fort; e.g. Dun Sobairche. Fid=a wood; e.g. Fid Mor Drualle (Great Wood of the Sword-sheath). Glass=a brook, stream; e.g. Glass Chrau (the stream of Blood), Glass Cruind, Glass Gatlaig (gatt=a withe, laig=a calf). Glenn=a glen; e.g. Glenn Gatt (Glen of the Withe), Glenn Firbaith (Ferbaeth's Glen), Glenn Gatlaig. Grellach=a bog; e.g. Grellach Doluid. Guala=a hill-shoulder; e.g. Gulo Mulchai (Mulcha's shoulder). Loch=a lake; e.g. Loch Reoin, Loch Echtra. Mag=a plain; e.g. Mag Ai, Mag Murthemne, Mag Breg, Mag Clochair (cloch=a stone). Methe, explained as if from meth (death); Methe Togmaill (death of the Squirrel), Methe n-Eoin (death of the Bird). Reid, gen. Rede=a plain; e.g. Ath Rede Locha (Ford of Locha's Plain). Sid=a fairy mound; e.g. Sid Fraich (Fraech's Mound). Sliab=a mountain; e.g. Sliab Fuait. I need perhaps hardly say that many of the etymologies given in Irish sources are pure invention, stories being often made up to account for the names, the real meaning of which was unknown to the mediaeval story-teller or scribe. In conclusion, I have to express my most sincere thanks to Professor Strachan, whose pupil I am proud to be. I have had the advantage of his wide knowledge and experience in dealing with many obscurities in the text, and he has also read the proofs. I am indebted also to Mr. E. Gwynn, who has collated at Trinity College, Dublin, a number of passages in the Yellow Book of Lecan, which are illegible or incorrect in the facsimile; and to Dr. Whitley Stokes for notes and suggestions on many obscure words. LLANDAFF, November 1903. THIS IS THE CATTLE-RAID OF CUALNGE I A great hosting was brought together by the Connaughtmen, that is, by Ailill and Medb; and they sent to the three other provinces. And messengers were sent by Ailill to the seven sons of Magach: Ailill, Anluan, Mocorb, Cet, En, Bascall, and Doche; a cantred with each of them. And to Cormac Condlongas Mac Conchobair with his three hundred, who was billeted in Connaught. Then they all come to Cruachan Ai. Now Cormac had three troops which came to Cruachan. The first troop had many-coloured cloaks folded round them; hair like a mantle (?); the tunic falling(?) to the knee, and long(?) shields; and a broad grey spearhead on a slender shaft in the hand of each man. The second troop wore dark grey cloaks, and tunics with red ornamentation down to their calves, and long hair hanging behind from their heads, and white shields (?), and five-pronged spears were in their hands. 'This is not Cormac yet,' said Medb. Then comes the third troop; and they wore purple cloaks and hooded tunics with red ornamentation down to their feet, hair smooth to their shoulders, and round shields with engraved edges, and the pillars [Note: i.e. spears as large as pillars, etc.] of a palace in the hand of each man. 'This is Cormac now,' said Medb. Then the four provinces of Ireland were assembled, till they were in Cruachan Ai. And their poets and their druids did not let them go thence till the end of a fortnight, for waiting for a good omen. Medb said then to her charioteer the day that they set out: 'Every one who parts here to-day from his love or his friend will curse me,' said she, 'for it is I who have gathered this hosting.' 'Wait then,' said the charioteer, 'till I turn the chariot with the sun, and till there come the power of a good omen that we may come back again.' Then the charioteer turned the chariot, and they set forth. Then they saw a full-grown maiden before them. She had yellow hair, and a cloak of many colours, and a golden pin in it; and a hooded tunic with red embroidery. She wore two shoes with buckles of gold. Her face was narrow below and broad above. Very black were her two eyebrows; her black delicate eyelashes cast a shadow into the middle of her two cheeks. You would think it was with _partaing_ [Note: Exact meaning unknown. It is always used in this connection.] her lips were adorned. You would think it was a shower of pearls that was in her mouth, that is, her teeth. She had three tresses: two tresses round her head above, and a tress behind, so that it struck her two thighs behind her. A shuttle [Note: Literally, a beam used for making fringe.] of white metal, with an inlaying of gold, was in her hand. Each of her two eyes had three pupils. The maiden was armed, and there were two black horses to her chariot. 'What is your name?' said Medb to the maiden. 'Fedelm, the prophetess of Connaught, is my name,' said the maiden. 'Whence do you come?' said Medb. 'From Scotland, after learning the art of prophecy,' said the maiden. 'Have you the inspiration(?) which illumines?' [Note: Ir. _imbas forasnai_, the name of a kind of divination.] said Medb. 'Yes, indeed,' said the maiden. 'Look for me how it will be with my hosting,' said Medb. Then the maiden looked for it; and Medb said: 'O Fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou the host?' Fedelm answered and said: 'I see very red, I see red.' 'That is not true,' said Medb; 'for Conchobar is in his sickness at Emain and the Ulstermen with him, with all the best [Note: Conjectural; some letters missing. For the Ulster sickness, see Introduction.] of their warriors; and my messengers have come and brought me tidings thence. 'Fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou our host?' said Medb. 'I see red,' said the maiden. 'That is not true,' said Medb; 'for Celtchar Mac Uithichair is in Dun Lethglaise, and a third of the Ulstermen with him; and Fergus, son of Roich, son of Eochaid, is here with us, in exile, and a cantred with him. 'Fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou our host?' said Medb. 'I see very red, I see red,' said the maiden. 'That matters not,' said Medb; 'for there are mutual angers, and quarrels, and wounds very red in every host and in every assembly of a great army. Look again for us then, and tell us the truth. 'Fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou our host?' 'I see very red, I see red,' said Fedelm. 'I see a fair man who will make play With a number of wounds(?) on his girdle; [Note: Unless this is an allusion to the custom of carrying an enemy's head at the girdle, the meaning is obscure. LL has quite a different reading. The language of this poem is late.] A hero's flame over his head, His forehead a meeting-place of victory. 'There are seven gems of a hero of valour In the middle of his two irises; There is ---- on his cloak, He wears a red clasped tunic. 'He has a face that is noble, Which causes amazement to women. A young man who is fair of hue Comes ---- [Note: Five syllables missing.] 'Like is the nature of his valour To Cuchulainn of Murthemne. I do not know whose is the Hound Of Culann, whose fame is the fairest. But I know that it is thus That the host is very red from him. 'I see a great man on the plain He gives battle to the hosts; Four little swords of feats There are in each of his two hands. 'Two _Gae-bolga_, he carries them, [Note: The Gae-bolga was a special kind of spear, which only Cuchulainn could use.] Besides an ivory-hilted sword and spear; ---- [Note: Three syllables missing] he wields to the host; Different is the deed for which each arm goes from him. 'A man in a battle-girdle (?), of a red cloak, He puts ---- every plain. He smites them, over left chariot wheel (?); The _Riastartha_ wounds them. [Note: The Riastartha ('distorted one') was a name given to Cuchulainn because of the contortion, described later, which came over him.] The form that appeared to me on him hitherto, I see that his form has been changed. 'He has moved forward to the battle, If heed is not taken of him it will be treachery. I think it likely it is he who seeks you: Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim. 'He will strike on whole hosts, He will make dense slaughters of you, Ye will leave with him many thousands of heads. The prophetess Fedelm conceals not. 'Blood will rain from warriors' wounds At the hand of a warrior--'twill be full harm. He will slay warriors, men will wander Of the descendants of Deda Mac Sin. Corpses will be cut off, women will lament Through the Hound of the Smith that I see.' The Monday after Samain [Note: Samain, 'summer-end,' about the beginning of November.] they set forth, and this is the way they took: south-east from Cruachan Ai, i.e. by Muicc Cruimb, by Teloch Teora Crich, by Tuaim Mona, by Cul Sibrinne, by Fid, by Bolga, by Coltain, by Glune-gabair, by Mag Trego, by North Tethba, by South Tethba, by Tiarthechta, by Ord, by Slais southwards, by Indiuind, by Carnd, by Ochtrach, by Midi, by Findglassa Assail, by Deilt, by Delind, by Sailig, by Slaibre, by Slechta Selgatar, by Cul Sibrinne, by Ochaind southwards, by Uatu northwards, by Dub, by Comur southwards, by Tromma, by Othromma eastwards, by Slane, by Gortslane, by Druim Licce southwards, by Ath Gabla, by Ard Achad, by Feraind northwards, by Findabair, by Assi southwards, by Druim Salfind, by Druim Cain, by Druim Mac n-Dega, by Eodond Mor, by Eodond Bec, by Methe Togmaill, by Methe Eoin, by Druim Caemtechta, by Scuaip, by Imscuaip, by Cend Ferna, by Baile, by Aile, by Bail Scena, by Dail Scena, by Fertse, by Ross Lochad, by Sale, by Lochmach, by Anmag, by Deind, by Deilt, by Dubglaiss, by Fid Mor, by Colbtha, by Cronn, to Cualnge. From Findabair Cuailnge, it is thence the hosts of Ireland were divided over the province to seek the Bull. For it is past these places that they came, till they reached Findabair. (Here ends the title; and the story begins as follows:-- THIS IS THE STORY IN ORDER When they had come on their first journey from Cruachan as far as Cul Sibrinne, Medb told her charioteer to get ready her nine chariots for her, that she might make a circuit in the camp, to see who disliked and who liked the expedition. Now his tent was pitched for Ailill, and the furniture was arranged, both beds and coverings. Fergus Mac Roich in his tent was next to Ailill; Cormac Condlongas Mac Conchobair beside him; Conall Cernach by him; Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe, the son of Conchobar's daughter, by him. Medb, daughter of Eochaid Fedlech, was on Ailill's other side; next to her, Findabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb. That was besides servants and attendants. Medb came, after looking at the host, and she said it were folly for the rest to go on the hosting, if the cantred of the Leinstermen went. 'Why do you blame the men?' said Ailill. 'We do not blame them,' said Medb; 'splendid are the warriors. When the rest were making their huts, they had finished thatching their huts and cooking their food; when the rest were at dinner, they had finished dinner, and their harpers were playing to them. It is folly for them to go,' said Medb; 'it is to their credit the victory of the hosts will be.' 'It is for us they fight,' said Ailill. 'They shall not come with us,' said Medb. 'Let them stay then,' said Ailill. 'They shall not stay,' said Medb. 'They will come on us after we have gone,' said she, 'and seize our land against us.' 'What is to be done to them?' said Ailill; 'will you have them neither stay nor go?' 'To kill them,' said Medb. 'We will not hide that this is a woman's plan,' said Ailill; 'what you say is not good!' 'With this folk,' said Fergus, 'it shall not happen thus (for it is a folk bound by ties to us Ulstermen), unless we are all killed.' 'Even that we could do,' said Medb; 'for I am here with my retinue of two cantreds,' said she, 'and there are the seven Manes, that is, my seven sons, with seven cantreds; their luck can protect them,' (?) said she; 'that is Mane-Mathramail, and Mane-Athramail, and Mane-Morgor, and Mane-Mingor, and Mane-Moepert (and he is Mane-Milscothach), Mane-Andoe, and Mane-who-got-everything: he got the form of his mother and of his father, and the dignity of both.' 'It would not be so,' said Fergus. 'There are seven kings of Munster here, and a cantred with each of them, in friendship with us Ulstermen. I will give battle to you,' said Fergus, 'in the middle of the host in which we are, with these seven cantreds, and with my own cantred, and with the cantred of the Leinstermen. But I will not urge that,' said Fergus, 'we will provide for the warriors otherwise, so that they shall not prevail over the host. Seventeen cantreds for us,' said Fergus, 'that is the number of our army, besides our rabble, and our women (for with each king there is his queen, in Medb's company), and besides our striplings. This is the eighteenth cantred, the cantred of the Leinstermen. Let them be distributed among the rest of the host.' 'I do not care,' said Medb, 'provided they are not gathered as they are.' Then this was done; the Leinstermen were distributed among the host. They set out next morning to Moin Choiltrae, where eight score deer fell in with them in one herd. They surrounded them and killed them then; wherever there was a man of the Leinstermen, it was he who got them, except five deer that all the rest of the host got. Then they came to Mag Trego, and stopped there and prepared their food. They say that it is there that Dubthach sang this song: 'Grant what you have not heard hitherto, Listening to the fight of Dubthach. A hosting very black is before you, Against Findbend of the wife of Ailill. [Note: Findbennach, the Whitehorned; i.e. the other of the two bulls in whom the rival swineherds were reincarnated.] 'The man of expeditions will come Who will defend (?) Murthemne. Ravens will drink milk of ---- [Note: Some kenning for blood?] From the friendship of the swineherds. 'The turfy Cronn will resist them; [Note: i.e. the river Cronn. This line is a corruption of a reference which occurs later, in the account of the flooding of the Cronn, as Professor Strachan first pointed out to me.] He will not let them into Murthemne Until the work of warriors is over In Sliab Tuad Ochaine. '"Quickly," said Ailill to Cormac, "Go that you may ---- your son. The cattle do not come from the fields That the din of the host may not terrify them(?). '"This will be a battle in its time For Medb with a third of the host. There will be flesh of men therefrom If the Riastartha comes to you."' Then the Nemain attacked them, and that was not the quietest of nights for them, with the uproar of the churl (i.e. Dubthach) through their sleep. The host started up at once, and a great number of the host were in confusion, till Medb came to reprove him. Then they went and spent the night in Granard Tethba Tuascirt, after the host had been led astray over bogs and over streams. A warning was sent from Fergus to the Ulstermen here, for friendship. They were now in the weakness, except Cuchulainn and his father Sualtaim. Cuchulainn and his father went, after the coming of the warning from Fergus, till they were in Iraird Cuillend, watching the host there. 'I think of the host to-night,' said Cuchulainn to his father. 'Go from us with a warning to the Ulstermen. I am forced to go to a tryst with Fedelm Noichride, [Note: Gloss incorporated in the text: that is, with her servant,' etc.] from my own pledge that went out to her.' He made a spancel-withe [This was a twig twisted in the form of two rings, joined by one straight piece, as used for hobbling horses and cattle.] then before he went, and wrote an ogam on its ----, and threw it on the top of the pillar. The leadership of the way before the army was given to Fergus. Then Fergus went far astray to the south, till Ulster should have completed the collection of an army; he did this for friendship. Ailill and Medb perceived it; it was then Medb said: 'O Fergus, this is strange, What kind of way do we go? Straying south or north We go over every other folk. 'Ailill of Ai with his hosting Fears that you will betray them. You have not given your mind hitherto To the leading of the way. 'If it is in friendship that you do it, Do not lead the horses Peradventure another may be found To lead the way.' Fergus replied: 'O Medb, what troubles you? This is not like treachery. It belongs to the Ulstermen, O woman, The land across which I am leading you. 'It is not for the disadvantage of the host That I go on each wandering in its turn; It is to avoid the great man Who protects Mag Murthemne. 'Not that my mind is not distressed On account of the straying on which I go, But if perchance I may avoid even afterwards Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim.' Then they went till they were in Iraird Cuillend. Eirr and Indell, Foich and Foclam (their two charioteers), the four sons of Iraird Mac Anchinne, [Marginal gloss: 'or the four sons of Nera Mac Nuado Mac Taccain, as it is found in other books.'] it is they who were before the host, to protect their brooches and their cushions and their cloaks, that the dust of the host might not soil them. They found the withe that Cuchulainn threw, and perceived the grazing that the horses had grazed. For Sualtaim's two horses had eaten the grass with its roots from the earth; Cuchulainn's two horses had licked the earth as far as the stones beneath the grass. They sit down then, until the host came, and the musicians play to them. They give the withe into the hands of Fergus Mac Roich; he read the ogam that was on it. When Medb came, she asked, 'Why are you waiting here?' 'We wait,' said Fergus,' because of the withe yonder. There is an ogam on its ----, and this is what is in it: "Let no one go past till a man is found to throw a like withe with his one hand, and let it be one twig of which it is made; and I except my friend Fergus." Truly,' said Fergus, 'Cuchulainn has thrown it, and they are his horses that grazed the plain.' And he put it in the hands of the druids; and Fergus sang this song: 'Here is a withe, what does the withe declare to us? What is its mystery? What number threw it? Few or many? 'Will it cause injury to the host, If they go a journey from it? Find out, ye druids, something therefore For what the withe has been left. '---- of heroes the hero who has thrown it, Full misfortune on warriors; A delay of princes, wrathful is the matter, One man has thrown it with one hand. 'Is not the king's host at the will of him, Unless it breaks fair play? Until one man only of you Throw it, as one man has thrown it. I do not know anything save that For which the withe should have been put. Here is a withe.' Then Fergus said to them: 'If you outrage this withe,' said he, 'or if you go past it, though he be in the custody of a man, or in a house under a lock, the ---- of the man who wrote the ogam on it will reach him, and will slay a goodly slaughter of you before morning, unless one of you throw a like withe.' 'It does not please us, indeed, that one of us should be slain at once,' said Ailill. 'We will go by the neck of the great wood yonder, south of us, and we will not go over it at all.' The troops hewed down then the wood before the chariots. This is the name of that place, Slechta. It is there that Partraige is. (According to others, the conversation between Medb and Fedelm the prophetess took place there, as we told before; and then it is after the answer she gave to Medb that the wood was cut down; i.e. 'Look for me,' said Medb, 'how my hosting will be.' 'It is difficult to me,' said the maiden; 'I cannot cast my eye over them in the wood.' 'It is ploughland (?) there shall be,' said Medb; 'we will cut down the wood.' Then this was done, so that Slechta was the name of the place.) They spent the night then in Cul Sibrille; a great snowstorm fell on them, to the girdles of the men and the wheels of the chariots. The rising was early next morning. And it was not the most peaceful of nights for them, with the snow; and they had not prepared food that night. But it was not early when Cuchulainn came from his tryst; he waited to wash and bathe. Then he came on the track of the host. 'Would that we had not gone there,' said Cuchulainn, 'nor betrayed the Ulstermen; we have let the host go to them unawares. Make us an estimation of the host,' said Cuchulainn to Loeg, 'that we may know the number of the host.' Loeg did this, and said to Cuchulainn: 'I am confused,' said he, 'I cannot attain this.' 'It would not be confusion that I see, if only I come,' said Cuchulainn. 'Get into the chariot then,' said Loeg. Cuchulainn got into the chariot, and put a reckoning over the host for a long time. 'Even you,' said Loeg, 'you do not find it easy.' 'It is easier indeed to me than to you,' said Cuchulainn; 'for I have three gifts, the gifts of eye, and of mind, and of reckoning. I have put a reckoning [Marginal gloss: 'This is one of the three severest and most difficult reckonings made in Ireland; i.e. Cuchulainn's reckoning of the men of Ireland on the _Tain_; and ug's reckoning of the Fomorian hosts at the battle of Mag Tured; and Ingcel's reckoning of the hosts at the Bruiden Da Derga.'] on this,' said he; 'there are eighteen cantreds,' said he, 'for their number; only that the eighteenth cantred is distributed among all the host, so that their number is not clear; that is, the cantred of the Leinstermen.' Then Cuchulainn went round the host till he was at Ath Gabla. [Note: LU has Ath Grena.] He cuts a fork [Note: i.e. fork of a tree.] there with one blow of his sword, and put it on the middle of the stream, so that a chariot could not pass it on this side or that. Eirr and Indell, Foich and Fochlam (their two charioteers) came upon him thereat. He strikes their four heads off, and throws them on to the four points of the fork. Hence is Ath Gabla. Then the horses of the four went to meet the host, and their cushions very red on them. They supposed it was a battalion that was before them at the ford. A troop went from them to look at the ford; they saw nothing there but the track of one chariot and the fork with the four heads, and a name in ogam written on the side. All the host came then. 'Are the heads yonder from our people?' said Medb. 'They are from our people and from our choice warriors,' said Ailill. One of them read the ogam that was on the side of the fork; that is: 'A man has thrown the fork with his one hand; and you shall not go past it till one of you, except Fergus, has thrown it with one hand.' 'It is a marvel,' said Ailill, 'the quickness with which the four were struck.' It was not that that was a marvel,' said Fergus; 'it was the striking of the fork from the trunk with one blow; and if the end was [cut] with one blow, [Note: Lit. 'if its end was one cutting.'] it is the fairer for it, and that it was thrust in in this manner; for it is not a hole that has been dug for it, but it is from the back of the chariot it has been thrown with one hand.' 'Avert this strait from us, O Fergus,' said Medb. Bring me a chariot then,' said Fergus, 'that I may take it out, that you may see whether its end was hewn with one blow.' Fergus broke then fourteen chariots of his chariots, so that it was from his own chariot that he took it out of the ground, and he saw that the end was hewn with one blow. 'Heed must be taken to the character of the tribe to which we are going,' said Ailill. 'Let each of you prepare his food; you had no rest last night for the snow. And something shall be told to us of the adventures and stories of the tribe to which we are going.' It is then that the adventures of Cuchulainn were related to them. Ailill asked: 'Is it Conchobar who has done this?' 'Not he,' said Fergus; 'he would not have come to the border of the country without the number of a battalion round him.' 'Was it Celtchar Mac Uithidir?' 'Not he; he would not have come to the border of the country without the number of a battalion round him.' 'Was it Eogan Mac Durtacht?' 'Not he,' said Fergus; 'he would not have come over the border of the country without thirty chariots two-pointed (?) round him. This is the man who would have done the deed,' said Fergus, 'Cuchulainn; it is he who would have cut the tree at one blow from the trunk, and who would have killed the four yonder as quickly as they were killed, and who would have come to the boundary with his charioteer.' 'What kind of man,' said Ailill, 'is this Hound of whom we have heard among the Ulstermen? What age is this youth who is famous?' 'An easy question, truly,' said Fergus. 'In his fifth year he went to the boys at Emain Macha to play; in his sixth year he went to learn arms and feats with Scathach. In his seventh year he took arms. He is now seventeen years old at this time.' 'Is it he who is hardest to deal with among the Ulstermen?' said Medb. 'Over every one of them,' said Fergus. 'You will not find before you a warrior who is harder to deal with, nor a point that is sharper or keener or swifter, nor a hero who is fiercer, nor a raven that is more flesh-loving, nor a match of his age that can equal him as far as a third; nor a lion that is fiercer, nor a fence(?) of battle, nor a hammer of destruction, nor a door of battle, nor judgment on hosts, nor preventing of a great host that is more worthy. You will not find there a man who would reach his age, and his growth, and his dress, and his terror, his speech, his splendour, his fame, his voice, his form, his power, his hardness, his accomplishment, his valour, his striking, his rage, his anger, his victory, his doom-giving, his violence, his estimation, his hero-triumph, his speed, his pride, his madness, with the feat of nine men on every point, like Cuchulainn!' 'I don't care for that,' said Medb; 'he is in one body; he endures wounding; he is not above capturing. Therewith his age is that of a grown-up girl, and his manly deeds have not come yet.' 'Not so,' said Fergus. 'It would be no wonder if he were to do a good deed to-day; for even when he was younger his deeds were manly.' HERE ARE HIS BOYISH DEEDS 'He was brought up,' said Fergus, 'by his mother and father at the ---- in Mag Murthemne. The stories of the boys in Emain were related to him; for there are three fifties of boys there,' said Fergus, 'at play. It is thus that Conchobar enjoys his sovereignty: a third of the day watching the boys; another third playing chess; [Note: _Fidchill_, usually so translated, but the exact nature of the game is uncertain.] another third drinking beer till sleep seizes him therefrom. Although we are in exile, there is not in Ireland a warrior who is more wonderful,' said Fergus. 'Cuchulainn asked his mother then to let him go to the boys. '"You shall not go," said his mother, "until you have company of warriors." '"I deem it too long to wait for it," said Cuchulainn. "Show me on which side Emain is." '"Northwards so," said his mother; "and the journey is hard," said she, "Sliab Fuait is between you." '"I will find it out," said Cuchulainn. 'He goes forth then, and his shield of lath with him, and his toy-spear, and his playing-club, and his ball. He kept throwing his staff before him, so that he took it by the point before the end fell on the ground. 'He goes then to the boys without binding them to protect him. For no one used to go to them in their play-field till his protection was guaranteed. He did not know this. '"The boy insults us," said Follomon Mac Conchobair, "besides we know he is of the Ulstermen. ... Throw at him!" 'They throw their three fifties of toy-spears at him, and they all remained standing in his shield of lath. Then they throw all the balls at him; and he takes them, each single ball, in his bosom. Then they throw their three fifties of hurling-clubs at him; he warded them off so that they did not touch him, and he took a bundle of them on his back. Then contortion seized him. You would have thought that it was a hammering wherewith each little hair had been driven into his head, with the arising with which he arose. You would have thought there was a spark of fire on every single hair. He shut one of his eyes so that it was not wider than the eye of a needle. He opened the other so that it was as large as the mouth of a meadcup. He laid bare from his jawbone to his ear; he opened his mouth to his jaw [Note: Conjectured from the later description of Cuchulainn's distortion.] so that his gullet was visible. The hero's light rose from his head. Then he strikes at the boys. He overthrows fifty of them before they reached the door of Emain. Nine of them came over me and Conchobar as we were playing chess. Then he springs over the chessboard after the nine. Conchobar caught his elbow. '"The boys are not well treated," said Conchobar. '"Lawful for me, O friend Conchobar," said he. "I came to them from my home to play, from my mother and father; and they have not been good to me." '"What is your name?" said Conchobar. '"Setanta Mac Sualtaim am I," said he, "and the son of Dechtere, your sister. It was not fitting to hurt me here." '"Why were the boys not bound to protect you?" said Conchobar. '"I did not know this," said Cuchulainn. "Undertake my protection against them then." '"I recognise it," said Conchobar. 'Then he turned aside on [Note: i.e. to attack them.] the boys throughout the house. '"What ails you at them now?" said Conchobar. '"That I may be bound to protect them," said Cuchulainn. '"Undertake it," said Conchobar. '"I recognise it," said Cuchulainn. 'Then they all went into the play-field, and those boys who had been struck down there arose. Their foster-mothers and foster-fathers helped them. 'Once,' said Fergus, 'when he was a youth, he used not to sleep in Emain Macha till morning. '"Tell me," said Conchobar to him, "why you do not sleep?" '"I do not do it," said Cuchulainn, "unless it is equally high at my head and my feet." 'Then a stone pillar was put by Conchobar at his head, and another at his feet, and a bed was made for him separately between them. 'Another time a certain man went to awaken him, and he struck him with his fist in his forehead, so that it took the front of his forehead on to the brain, and so that he overthrew the pillar with his arm.' 'It is known,' said Ailill, 'that it was the fist of a warrior and that it was the arm of a hero.' 'From that time,' said Fergus, 'no one dared to waken him till he awoke of himself. 'Another time he was playing ball in the play-field east of Emain; he alone apart against the three fifties of boys; he used to defeat them in every game in this way always. The boys lay hold of him therewith, and he plied his fist upon them until fifty of them were killed. He took to flight then, till he was under the pillow of Conchobar's bed. All the Ulstermen rise round him, and I rise, and Conchobar himself. Then he rose under the bed, and put the bed from him, with the thirty heroes who were on it, till it was in the middle of the house. The Ulstermen sit round him in the house. We arrange and make peace then,' said Fergus, 'between the boys and him. 'There was contention between Ulster and Eogan Mac Durtacht. The Ulstermen went to the battle. He was left asleep. The Ulstermen were defeated. Conchobar was left [on the field], and Cuscraid Mend Macha, and many more beside. Their lament awoke Cuchulainn. He stretched himself then, so that the two stones that were about him broke; in the presence of Bricriu yonder it was done,' said Fergus. 'Then he arose. I met him in the door of the fort, and I wounded. '"Alas! God save you, friend Fergus," said he, "where is Conchobar?" '"I do not know," said I. 'Then he went forth. The night was dark. He made for the battlefield. He saw a man before him, with half his head on, and half of another man on his back. '"Help me, O Cuchulainn," said he; "I have been wounded and I have brought half of my brother on my back. Carry it for me a while." '"I will not carry it," said he. 'Then he throws the burden to him; he throws it from him; they wrestle; Cuchulainn was overthrown. I heard something, the Badb from the corpses: "Ill the stuff of a hero that is under the feet of a phantom." Then Cuchulainn rose against him, and strikes his head off with his playing-club, and begins to drive his ball before him across the plain. '"Is my friend Conchobar in this battlefield?" 'He answered him. He goes to him, till he sees him in the trench, and there was the earth round him on every side to hide him. '"Why have you come into the battlefield," said Conchobar, "that you may swoon there?" 'He lifts him out of the trench then; six of the strong men of Ulster with us would not have brought him out more bravely. '"Go before us to the house yonder," said Conchobar; "if a roast pig came to me, I should live." '"I will go and bring it," said Cuchulainn. 'He goes then, and saw a man at a cooking-hearth in the middle of the wood; one of his two hands had his weapons in it, the other was cooking the pig. 'The hideousness of the man was great; nevertheless he attacked him and took his head and his pig with him. Conchobar ate the pig then. '"Let us go to our house," said Conchobar. 'They met Cuscraid Mac Conchobair. There were sure wounds on him; Cuchulainn took him on his back. The three of them went then to Emain Macha. 'Another time the Ulstermen were in their weakness. There was not among us,' said Fergus, 'weakness on women and boys, nor on any one who was outside the country of the Ulstermen, nor on Cuchulainn and his father. And so no one dared to shed their blood; for the suffering springs on him who wounds them. [Gloss incorporated in text: 'or their decay, or their shortness of life.'] 'Three times nine men came to us from the Isles of Faiche. They went over our back court when we were in our weakness. The women screamed in the court. The boys were in the play-field; they come at the cries. When the boys saw the dark, black men, they all take to flight except Cuchulainn alone. He plies hand-stones and his playing-club on them. He kills nine of them, and they leave fifty wounds on him, and they go forth besides. A man who did these deeds when his five years were not full, it would be no wonder that he should have come to the edge of the boundary and that he should have cut off the heads of yonder four.' 'We know him indeed, this boy,' said Conall Cernach, 'and we know him none the worse that he is a fosterling of ours. It was not long after the deed that Fcrgus has just related, when he did another deed. When Culann the smith served a feast to Conchobar, Culann said that it was not a multitude that should be brought to him, for the preparation which he had made was not from land or country, but from the fruit of his two hands and his pincers. Then Conchobar went, and fifty chariots with him, of those who were noblest and most eminent of the heroes. Now Conchobar visited then his play-field. It was always his custom to visit and revisit them at going and coming, to seek a greeting of the boys. He saw then Cuchulainn driving his ball against the three fifties of boys, and he gets the victory over them. When it was hole-driving that they did, he filled the hole with his balls and they could not ward him off. When they were all throwing into the hole, he warded them off alone, so that not a single ball would go in it. When it was wrestling they were doing, he overthrew the three fifties of boys by himself, and there did not meet round him a number that could overthrow him. When it was stripping that they did, he stripped them all so that they were quite naked, and they could not take from him even his brooch out of his cloak. 'Conchobar thought this wonderful. He said "Would he bring his deeds to completion, provided the age of manhood came to them?" Every one said: "He would bring them to completion." Conchobar said to Cuchulainn: "Come with me," said he, "to the feast to which we are going, because you are a guest." '"I have not had enough of play yet, O friend Conchobar," said the boy; "I will come after you." 'When they had all come to the feast, Culann said to Conchobar: "Do you expect any one to follow you?" said he. '"No," said Conchobar. He did not remember the appointment with his foster-son who was following him. '"I'll have a watch-dog," said Culann; "there are three chains on him, and three men to each chain. [Gloss incorporated in text: 'He was brought from Spain.'] Let him be let slip because of our cattle and stock, and let the court be shut." 'Then the boy comes. The dog attacks him. He went on with his play still: he threw his ball, and threw his club after it, so that it struck the ball. One stroke was not greater than another; and he threw his toy-spear after them, and he caught it before falling; and it did not hinder his play, though the dog was approaching him. Conchobar and his retinue ---- this, so that they could not move; they thought they would not find him alive when they came, even though the court were open. Now when the dog came to him, he threw away his ball and his club, and seized the dog with his two hands; that is, he put one of his hands to the apple of the dog's throat; and he put the other at its back; he struck it against the pillar that was beside him, so that every limb sprang apart. (According to another, it was his ball that he threw into its mouth, and brought out its entrails through it.) 'The Ulstermen went towards him, some over the wall, others over the doors of the court. They put him on Conchobar's knee. A great clamour arose among them, that the king's sister's son should have been almost killed. Then Culann comes into the house. '"Welcome, boy, for the sake of your mother. Would that I had not prepared a feast! My life is a life lost, and my husbandry is a husbandry without, without my dog. He had kept honour and life for me," said he, "the man of my household who has been taken from me, that is, my dog. He was defence and protection to our property and our cattle; he was the protection of every beast to us, both field and house." '"It is not a great matter," said the boy; "a whelp of the same litter shall be raised for you by me, and I will be a dog for the defence of your cattle and for your own defence now, until that dog grows, and until he is capable of action; and I will defend Mag Murthemne, so that there shall not be taken away from me cattle nor herd, unless I have ----." '"Then your name shall be Cu-chulainn," said Cathbad. '"I am content that it may be my name," said Cuchulainn. 'A man who did this in his seventh year, it would be no wonder that he should have done a great deed now when his seventeen years are completed,' said Conall Cernach. 'He did another exploit,' said Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe. 'Cathbad the Druid was with his son, Conchobar Mac Nessa. A hundred active men were with him, learning magic from him. That is the number that Cathbad used to teach. A certain one of his pupils asked of him for what this day would be good. Cathbad said a warrior should take arms therein whose name should be over Ireland for ever, for deed of valour, and his fame should continue for ever. Cuchulainn heard this. He comes to Conchobar to ask for arms. Conchobar said, "Who has instructed you?" '"My friend Cathbad," said Cuchulainn. '"We know indeed," said Conchobar. 'He gave him spear and shield. He brandished them in the middle of the house, so that nothing remained of the fifteen sets of armour that were in store in Conchobar's household against the breaking of weapons or taking of arms by any one. Conchobar's own armour was given to him. That withstood him, and he brandished it, and blessed the king whose armour it was, and said, "Blessing to the people and race to whom is king the man whose armour that is." 'Then Cathbad came to them, and said: "Has the boy taken arms?" said Cathbad. '"Yes," said Conchobar. '"This is not lucky for the son of his mother," said he. '"What, is it not you advised it?" said Conchobar. '"Not I, surely," said Cathbad. '"What advantage to you to deceive me, wild boy?" said Conchobar to Cuchulainn. '"O king of heroes, it is no trick," said Cuchulainn; "it is he who taught it to his pupils this morning; and I heard him, south of Emain, and I came to you then." '"The day is good thus," said Cathbad; "it is certain he will be famous and renowned, who shall take arms therein; but he will be short-lived only." '"A wonder of might," said Cuchulainn; "provided I be famous, I am content though I were but one day in the world." 'Another day a certain man asked the druids what it is for which that day was good. '"Whoever shall go into a chariot therein," said Cathbad, "his name shall be over Ireland for ever." 'Then Cuchulainn heard this; he comes to Conchobar and said to him: "O friend Conchobar," said he, "give me a chariot." He gave him a chariot. He put his hand between the two poles [Note: The _fertais_ were poles sticking out behind the chariot, as the account of the wild deer, later, shows.] of the chariot, so that the chariot broke. He broke twelve chariots in this way. Then Conchobar's chariot was given to him. This withstood him. He goes then in the chariot, and Conchobar's charioteer with him. The charioteer (Ibor was his name) turned the chariot under him. "Come out of the chariot now," said the charioteer. '"The horses are fine, and I am fine, their little lad," said Cuchulainn. "Go forward round Emain only, and you shall have a reward for it." 'So the charioteer goes, and Cuchulainn forced him then that he should go on the road to greet the boys "and that the boys might bless me." 'He begged him to go on the way again. When they come, Cuchulainn said to the charioteer: "Ply the goad on the horses," said he. '"In what direction?" said the charioteer. '"As long as the road shall lead us," said Cuchulainn. 'They come thence to Sliab Fuait, and find Conall Cernach there. It fell to Conall that day to guard the province; for every hero of Ulster was in Sliab Fuait in turn, to protect any one who should come with poetry, or to fight against a man; so that it should be there that there should be some one to encounter him, that no one should go to Emain unperceived. '"May that be for prosperity," said Conall; "may it be for victory and triumph." '"Go to the fort, O Conall, and leave me to watch here now," said Cuchulainn. '"It will be enough," said Conall, "if it is to protect any one with poetry; if it is to fight against a man, it is early for you yet." '"Perhaps it may not be necessary at all," said Cuchulainn. "Let us go meanwhile," said Cuchulainn, "to look upon the edge of Loch Echtra. Heroes are wont to abide there." '"I am content," said Conall. 'Then they go thence. He throws a stone from his sling, so that a pole of Conall Cernach's chariot breaks. '"Why have you thrown the stone, O boy?" said Conall. "To try my hand and the straightness of my throw," said Cuchulainn; "and it is the custom with you Ulstermen, that you do not travel beyond your peril. Go back to Emain, O friend Conall, and leave me here to watch." '"Content, then," said Conall. 'Conall Cernach did not go past the place after that. Then Cuchulainn goes forth to Loch Echtra, and they found no one there before them. The charioteer said to Cuchulainn that they should go to Emain, that they might be in time for the drinking there. '"No," said Cuchulainn. "What mountain is it yonder?" said Cuchulainn. '"Sliab Monduirn," said the charioteer. '"Let us go and get there," said Cuchulainn. They go then till they reach it. When they had reached the mountain, Cuchulainn asked: "What is the white cairn yonder on the top of the mountain?" '"Find Carn," said the charioteer. '"What plain is that over there?" said Cuchulainn. '"Mag Breg," said the charioteer. He tells him then the name of every chief fort between Temair and Cenandas. He tells him first their meadows and their fords, their famous places and their dwellings, their fortresses and their high hills. He shows [Note: Reading with YBL.] him then the fort of the three sons of Nechta Scene; Foill, Fandall, and Tuachell were their names. '"Is it they who say," said Cuchulainn, "that there are not more of the Ulstermen alive than they have slain of them?" '"It is they indeed," said the charioteer. '"Let us go till we reach them," said Cuchulainn. '"Indeed it is peril to us," said the charioteer. '"Truly it is not to avoid it that we go," said Cuchulainn. 'Then they go forth and unharness their horses at the meeting of the bog and the river, to the south above the fort of the others; and he threw the withe that was on the pillar as far as he could throw into the river and let it go with the stream, for this was a breach of _geis_ to the sons of Nechta Scene. They perceive it then, and come to them. Cuchulainn goes to sleep by the pillar after throwing the withe at the stream; and he said to the charioteer: "Do not waken me for few; but waken me for many." 'Now the charioteer was very frightened, and he made ready their chariot and pulled its coverings and skins which were over Cuchulainn; for he dared not waken him, because Cuchulainn told him at first that he should not waken him for a few. 'Then come the sons of Nechta Scene. '"Who is it who is there?" said one of them. '"A little boy who has come to-day into the chariot for an expedition," said the charioteer. '"May it not be for his happiness," said the champion; "and may it not be for his prosperity, his first taking of arms. Let him not be in our land, and let the horses not graze there any more," said the champion. '"Their reins are in my hands," said the charioteer. '"It should not be yours to earn hatred," said Ibar to the champion; "and the boy is asleep." '"I am not a boy at all," said Cuchulainn; "but it is to seek battle with a man that the boy who is here has come." '"That pleases me well," said the champion. '"It will please you now in the ford yonder," said Cuchulainn. '"It befits you," said the charioteer, "take heed of the man who comes against you. Foill is his name," said he; "for unless you reach him in the first thrust, you will not reach him till evening." '"I swear by the god by whom my people swear, he will not ply his skill on the Ulstermen again, if the broad spear of my friend Conchobar should reach him from my hand. It will be an outlaw's hand to him." 'Then he cast the spear at him, so that his back broke. He took with him his accoutrements and his head. '"Take heed of another man," said the charioteer, "Fandall [Note: i.e. 'Swallow.'] is his name. Not more heavily does he traverse(?) the water than swan or swallow." '"I swear that he will not ply that feat again on the Ulstermen," said Cuchulainn. "You have seen," said he, "the way I travel the pool at Emain." 'They meet then in the ford. Cuchulainn kills that man, and took his head and his arms. '"Take heed of another man who comes towards you," said the charioteer. "Tuachell [Note: i.e. 'Cunning.'] is his name. It is no misname for him, for he does not fall by arms at all." '"Here is the javelin for him to confuse him, so that it may make a red-sieve of him," said Cuchulainn. 'He cast the spear at him, so that it reached him in his ----. Then He went to him and cut off his head. Cuchulainn gave his head and his accoutrements to his own charioteer. He heard then the cry of their mother, Nechta Scene, behind them. 'He puts their spoils and the three heads in his chariot with him, and said: "I will not leave my triumph," said he, "till I reach Emain Macha." 'then they set out with his triumph. 'Then Cuchulainn said to the charioteer: "You promised us a good run," said he, "and we need it now because of the strife and the pursuit that is behind us." They go on to Sliab Fuait; and such was the speed of the run that they made over Breg after the spurring of the charioteer, that the horses of the chariot overtook the wind and the birds in flight, and that Cuchulainn caught the throw that he sent from his sling before it reached the ground. 'When they reached Sliab Fuait, they found a herd of wild deer there before them. '"What are those cattle yonder so active?" said Cuchulainn. '"Wild deer," said the charioteer. '"Which would the Ulstermen think best," said Cuchulainn, "to bring them dead or alive?" '"It is more wonderful alive," said the charioteer; "it is not every one who can do it so. Dead, there is not one of them who cannot do it. You cannot do this, to carry off any of them alive," said the charioteer. '"I can indeed," said Cuchulainn. "Ply the goad on the horses into the bog." 'The charioteer does this. The horses stick in the bog. Cuchulainn sprang down and seized the deer that was nearest, and that was the finest of them. He lashed the horses through the bog, and overcame the deer at once, and bound it between the two poles of the chariot. 'They saw something again before them, a flock of swans. '"Which would the Ulstermen think best," said Cuchulainn, "to have them dead or alive?" '"All the most vigorous and finest(?) bring them alive," said the charioteer. 'Then Cuchulainn aims a small stone at the birds, so that he struck eight of the birds. He threw again a large stone, so that he struck twelve of them. All that was done by his return stroke. "Collect the birds for us," said Cuchulainn to his charioteer. "If it is I who go to take them," said he, "the wild deer will spring upon you." '"It is not easy for me to go to them," said the charioteer. "The horses have become wild so that I cannot go past them. I cannot go past the two iron tyres [Interlinear gloss, _fonnod_. The _fonnod_ was some part of the rim of the wheel apparently.] of the chariot, because of their sharpness; and I cannot go past the deer, for his horn has filled all the space between the two poles of the chariot." '"Step from its horn," said Cuchulainn. "I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear, the bending with which I will bend my head on him, and the eye that I will make at him, he will not turn his head on you, and he will not dare to move." 'That was done then. Cuchulainn made fast the reins, and the charioteer collects the birds. Then Cuchulainn bound the birds from the strings and thongs of the chariot; so that it was thus he went to Emain Macha: the wild deer behind his chariot, and the flock of swans flying over it, and the three heads in his chariot. Then they come to Emain. "A man in a chariot is coming to you," said the watchman in Emain Macha; "he will shed the blood of every man who is in the court, unless heed is taken, and unless naked women go to him." 'Then he turned the left side of his chariot towards Emain, and that was a _geis_ [Note: i.e. it was an insult.] to it; and Cuchulainn said: "I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear, unless a man is found to fight with me, I will shed the blood of every one who is in the fort." '"Naked women to meet him!" said Conchobar. 'Then the women of Emain go to meet him with Mugain, the wife of Conchobar Mac Nessa, and bare their breasts before him. "These are the warriors who will meet you to-day," said Mugain. 'He covers his face; then the heroes of Emain seize him and throw him into a vessel of cold water. That vessel bursts round him. The second vessel into which he was thrown boiled with bubbles as big as the fist therefrom. The third vessel into which he went, he warmed it so that its heat and its cold were rightly tempered. Then he comes out; and the queen, Mugain, puts a blue mantle on him, and a silver brooch therein, and a hooded tunic; and he sits at Conchobar's knee, and that was his couch always after that. The man who did this in his seventh year,' said Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe, 'it were not wonderful though he should rout an overwhelming force, and though he should exhaust (?) an equal force, when his seventeen years are complete to-day.' (What follows is a separate version [Note: The next episode, the Death of Fraech, is not given in LL.] to the death of Orlam.) 'Let us go forth now,' said Ailill. Then they reached Mag Mucceda. Cuchulainn cut an oak before them there, and wrote an ogam in its side. It is this that was therein: that no one should go past it till a warrior should leap it with one chariot. They pitch their tents there, and come to leap over it in their chariots. There fall thereat thirty horses, and thirty chariots are broken. Belach n-Ane, that is the name of that place for ever. _The Death of Fraech_ They are there till next morning; then Fraech is summoned to them. 'Help us, O Fraech,' said Medb. 'Remove from us the strait that is on us. Go before Cuchulainn for us, if perchance you shall fight with him.' He set out early in the morning with nine men, till he reached Ath Fuait. He saw the warrior bathing in the river. 'Wait here,' said Fraech to his retinue, 'till I come to the man yonder; not good is the water,' said he. He took off his clothes, and goes into the water to him. 'Do not come to me,' said Cuchulainn. 'You will die from it, and I should be sorry to kill you.' 'I shall come indeed,' said Fraech, 'that we may meet in the water; and let your play with me be fair.' 'Settle it as you like,' said Cuchulainn. 'The hand of each of us round the other,' said Fraech. They set to wrestling for a long time on the water, and Fraech was submerged. Cuchulainn lifted him up again. 'This time,' said Cuchulainn, 'will you yield and accept your life?' [Note: Lit. 'will you acknowledge your saving?'] 'I will not suffer it,' said Fraech. Cuchulainn put him under it again, until Fraech was killed. He comes to land; his retinue carry his body to the camp. Ath Fraich, that was the name of that ford for ever. All the host lamented Fraech. They saw a troop of women in green tunics [Note: Fraech was descended from the people of the Sid, his mother Bebind being a fairy woman. Her sister was Boinn (the river Boyne).] on the body of Fraech Mac Idaid; they drew him from them into the mound. Sid Fraich was the name of that mound afterwards. Fergus springs over the oak in his chariot. They go till they reach Ath Taiten; Cuchulainn destroys six of them there: that is, the six Dungals of Irress. Then they go on to Fornocht. Medb had a whelp named Baiscne. Cuchulainn throws a cast at him, and took his head off. Druim was the name of that place henceforth. 'Great is the mockery to you,' said Medb, 'not to hunt the deer of misfortune yonder that is killing you.' Then they start hunting him, till they broke the shafts of their chariots thereat. _The Death of Orlam_ They go forth then over Iraird Culend in the morning. Cuchulainn went forward; he overtook the charioteer of Orlam, son of Ailill and Medb, in Tamlacht Orlaim, a little to the north of Disert Lochait, cutting wood there. (According to another version, it is The shaft of Cuchulainn's chariot that had broken, and it is to cut a shaft that he had gone when he met Orlam's charioteer. It is the charioteer who cut the shafts according to this version.) 'It is over-bold what the Ulstermen are doing, if it is they who are yonder,' said Cuchulainn, 'while the host is behind them.' He goes to the charioteer to reprove him; he thought that he was of Ulster, and he saw the man cutting wood, that is the chariot shaft. 'What are you doing here?' said Cuchulainn. 'Cutting chariot-shafts,' said the charioteer. 'We have broken our chariots hunting the wild deer Cuchulainn yonder. Help me,' said the charioteer. 'Look only whether you are to select the shafts, or to strip them.' 'It will be to strip them indeed,' said Cuchulainn. Then Cuchulainn stripped the shafts through his fingers in the presence of the other, so that he cleared them both of bark and knots. 'This cannot be your proper work that I put on you,' said the charioteer; he was greatly afraid. 'Whence are you?' said Cuchulainn. 'The charioteer of Orlam, son of Ailill and Medb,' said he. 'And you?' said the charioteer. 'My name is Cuchulainn,' said he. 'Alas!' said the charioteer. 'Fear nothing,' said Cuchulainn. 'Where is your master?' said he. 'He is in the trench yonder,' said the charioteer. 'Go forth then with me,' said Cuchulainn, 'for I do not kill charioteers at all.' Cuchulainn goes to Orlam, kills him, cuts his head off, and shakes his head before the host. Then he puts the head on the charioteer's back, and said to him: 'Take that with you,' said Cuchulainn, 'and go to the camp thus. If you do not go thus, a stone will come to you from my sling.' When he got near the camp, he took the head from his back, and told his adventures to Ailill and Medb. 'This is not like taking birds,' said she. And he said, 'Unless I brought it on my back to the camp, he would break my head with a stone.' _The Death of the Meic Garach_ Then the Meic Garach waited on their ford. These are their names: Lon and Ualu and Diliu; and Mes-Ler, and Mes-Laech, and Mes-Lethan were their three charioteers. They thought it too much what Cuchulainn had done: to slay two foster-sons of the king, and his son, and to shake the head before the host. They would slay Cuchulainn in return for him, and would themselves remove this annoyance from the host. They cut three aspen wands for their charioteers, that the six of them should pursue combat against him. He killed them all then, because they had broken fair-play towards him. Orlam's charioteer was then between Ailill and Medb. Cuchulainn hurled a stone at him, [Note: Apparently because the charioteer had not carried Orlam's head into the camp on his back. Or an alternative version.] so that his head broke, and his brains came over his ears; Fertedil was his name. (Thus it is not true that Cuchulainn did not kill charioteers; howbeit, he did not kill them without fault.) _The Death of the Squirrel_ Cuchulainn threatened in Methe, that wherever he should see Ailill or Medb afterwards he would throw a stone from his sling at them. He did this then: he threw a stone from his sling, so that he killed the squirrel that was on Medb's shoulder south of the ford: hence is Methe Togmaill. And he killed the bird that was on Ailill's shoulder north of the ford: hence is Methe n-Eoin. (Or it is on Medb's shoulder that both squirrel and bird were together, and it is their heads that were struck from them by the casts.) Reoin was drowned in his lake. Hence is Loch Reoin. 'That other is not far from you,' said Ailill to the Manes. They arose and looked round. When they sat down again, Cuchulainn struck one of them, so that his head broke. 'It was well that you went for that: your boasting was not fitting,' said Maenen the fool. 'I would have taken his head off.' Cuchulainn threw a stone at him, so that his head broke. It is thus then that these were killed: Orlam in the first place on his hill; the Meic Garach on their ford; Fertedil in his ---; Maenan in his hill. 'I swear by the god by whom my people swear,' said Ailill, 'that man who shall make a mock of Cuchulainn here, I will make two halves of him.' 'Go forth for us both day and night,' said Ailill, 'till we reach Cualnge. That man will kill two-thirds of the host in this way.' It is there that the harpers of the _Cainbili_ [Note: Reference obscure. They were wizards of some sort.] from Ossory came to them to amuse them. They thought it was from the Ulstermen to spy on them. They set to hunting them, till they went before them in the forms of deer into the stones at Liac Mor on the north. For they were wizards with great cunning. _The Death of Lethan_ Lethan came on to his ford on the Nith (?) in Conaille. He waited himself to meet Cuchulainn. It vexed him what Cuchulainn had done. Cuchulainn cuts off his head and left it, hence it is Ath Lethan on the Nith. And their chariots broke in the battle on the ford by him; hence it is Ath Carpat. Mulcha, Lethan's charioteer, fell on the shoulder of the hill that is between them; hence is Gulo Mulchai. While the hosts were going over Mag Breg, he struck(?) their ---- still. [Note: 2 Something apparently missing here. The passage in LL is as follows: 'It is the same day that the Morrigan, daughter of Ernmas, came from the Sid, so that she was on the pillar in Temair Cuailnge, taking a warning to the Dun of Cualnge before the men of Ireland, and she began to speak to him, and "Good, O wretched one, O Dun of Cualnge," said the Morrigan, "keep watch, for the men of Ireland have reached thee, and they will take thee to their camp unless thou keepest watch"; and she began to take a warning to him thus, and uttered her words on high.' (The Rhetoric follows as in LU.)] Yet that was the Morrigan in the form of a bird on the pillar in Temair Cuailnge; and she spoke to the Bull: 'Does the Black know,' etc. [Note: A Rhetoric.] Then the Bull went, and fifty heifers with him, to Sliab Culind; and his keeper, Forgemen by name, went after him. He threw off the three fifties of boys who used always to play on him, and he killed two-thirds of his boys, and dug a trench in Tir Marcceni in Cualnge before he went. _The Death of Lochu_ Cuchulainn killed no one from the Saile ind Orthi (?) in the Conaille territory, until they reached Cualnge. Cuchulainn was then in Cuince; he threatened then that when he saw Medb he would throw a stone at her head. This was not easy to him, for it is thus that Medb went and half the host about her, with their shelter of shields over her head. Then a waiting-woman of Medb's, Lochu by name, went to get water, and a great troop of women with her. Cuchulainn thought it was Medb. He threw two stones from Cuince, so that he slew her in her plain(?). Hence is Ath Rede Locha in Cualnge. From Findabair Cuailnge the hosts divided, and they set the country on fire. They collect all there were of women, and boys, and maidens; and cattle, in Cualnge together, so that they were all in Findabair. 'You have not gone well,' said Medb; 'I do not see the Bull with you.' 'He is not in the province at all,' said every one. Lothar the cowherd is summoned to Medb. 'Where is the Bull?' said she. 'Have you an idea?' 'I have great fear to tell it,' said the herd. 'The night,' said he, 'when the Ulstermen went into their weakness, he went with three twenties of heifers with him, so that he is at the Black Corrie of Glenn Gatt.' 'Go,' said Medb, 'and carry a withe [Note: Ir. _gatt_, a withe.] between each two of you.' They do this: hence this glen is called Glenn Gatt. Then they bring the Bull to Findabair. The place where he saw the herd, Lothar, he attacked him, so that he brought his entrails out on his horns; and he attacked the camp with his three fifties of heifers, so that fifty warriors were killed. And that is the death of Lothar on the Foray. Then the Bull went from them out of the camp, and they knew not where he had gone from them; and they were ashamed. Medb asked the herd if he had an idea where the Bull was. 'I think he would be in the secret places of Sliab Culind.' When they returned thus after ravaging Cualnge, and did not find the Bull there. The river Cronn rose against them to the tops of the trees; and they spent the night by it. And Medb told part of her following to go across. A wonderful warrior went next day, Ualu his name. He took a great stone on his back to go across the water; the stream drove him backwards with the stone on his back. His grave and his stone are on the road at the stream: Lia Ualand is its name. They went round the river Cronn to the source, and they would have gone between the source and the mountain, only that they could not get leave from Medb; she preferred to go across the mountain, that their track might remain there for ever, for an insult to the Ulstermen. They waited there three days and three nights, till they dug the earth in front of them, the Bernas Bo Cuailnge. It is there that Cuchulainn killed Crond and Coemdele and ---- [Note: Obscure.]. A hundred warriors ---- [Note: Obscure.] died with Roan and Roae, the two historians of the Foray. A hundred and forty-four, kings died by him at the same stream. They came then over the Bernas Bo Cuailnge with the cattle and stock of Cualnge, and spent the night in Glenn Dail Imda in Cualnge. Botha is the name of this place, because they made huts over them there. They come next day to Colptha. They try to cross it through heedlessness. It rose against them then, and it carries a hundred charioteers of them to the sea; this is the name of the land in which they were drowned, Cluain Carptech. They go round Colptha then to its source, to Belat Alioin, and spent the night at Liasa Liac; that is the name of this place, because they made sheds over their calves there between Cualnge and Conaille. They came over Glenn Gatlaig, and Glass Gatlaig rose against them. Sechaire was its name before; Glass Gatlaig thenceforth, because it was in withes they brought their calves; and they slept at Druim Fene in Conaille. (Those then are the wanderings from Cualnge to Machaire according to this version.) _This is the Harrying of Cualnge_ (Other authors and books make it that another way was taken on their journeyings from Findabair to Conaille, as follows: Medb said after every one had come with their booty, so that they were all in Findabair Cuailnge: 'Let the host be divided,' said Medb; 'it will be impossible to bring this expedition by one way. Let Ailill go with half the expedition by Midluachair; Fergus and I will go by Bernas Ulad.' [Note: YBL. Bernas Bo n-Ulad.] 'It is not fine,' said Fergus, 'the half of the expedition that has fallen to us. It will be impossible to bring the cattle over the mountain without dividing it.' That was done then, so that it is from that there is Bernas Bo n-Ulad.) It is there then that Ailill said to his charioteer Cuillius: 'Find out for me to-day Medb and Fergus. I know not what has brought them to this union. I shall be pleased that a token should come to me by you.' Cuillius came when they were in Cluichre. The pair remained behind, and the warriors went on. Cuillius came to them, and they heard not the spy. Fergus' sword happened to be beside him. Cuillius drew it out of its sheath, and left the sheath empty. Cuillius came to Ailill. 'So?' said Ailill. 'So indeed,' said Cuillius; 'there is a token for you.' 'It is well,' said Ailill. Each of them smiles at the other. 'As you thought,' said Cuillius, 'it is thus that I found them, in one another's arms.' 'It is right for her,' said Ailill; 'it is for help on the Foray that she has done it. See that the sword is kept in good condition,' said Ailill. 'Put it under your seat in the chariot, and a cloth of linen around it.' Fergus got up for his sword after that. 'Alas!' said he. 'What is the matter with you?' said Medb. 'An ill deed have I done to Ailill,' said he. 'Wait here, while I go into the wood,' said Fergus; 'and do not wonder though it be long till I come.' It happened that Medb knew not the loss of the sword. He goes thence, and takes the sword of his charioteer with him in his hand. He makes a wooden sword in the wood. Hence there is Fid Mor Drualle in Ulster. 'Let us go on after our comrades,' said Fergus. All their hosts meet in the plain. They pitch their tents. Fergus is summoned to Ailill to play chess. When Fergus went to the tent, Ailill began to laugh at him. [Note: Here follows about two columns of rhetoric, consisting of a taunting dialogue between Ailill, Fergus and Medb.] *** Cuchulainn came so that he was at Ath Cruinn before them. 'O friend Loeg,' said he to his charioteer, 'the hosts are at hand to us.' 'I swear by the gods,' said the charioteer, 'I will do a mighty feat before warriors ... on slender steeds with yokes of silver, with golden wheels ...' 'Take heed, O Loeg,' said Cuchulainn; 'hold the reins for great victory of Macha ... I beseech,' said Cuchulainn, 'the waters to help me. I beseech heaven and earth, and the Cronn in particular.' The (river) Cronn takes to fighting against them; it will not let them into Murthemne until the work of heroes be finished in Sliab Tuath Ochaine. Therewith the water rose up till it was in the tops of the trees. Mane, son of Ailill and Medb, went before the rest. Cuchulainn smites them on the ford, and thirty horsemen of Mane's retinue were drowned in the water. Cuchulainn overthrew two sixteens of warriors of them again by the water. They pitch their tents at that ford. Lugaid Mac Nois, descendant of Lomarc Allchomach, came to speak to Cuchulainn, with thirty horsemen. 'Welcome, O Lugaid,' said Cuchulainn. 'If a flock of birds graze upon Mag Murthemne, you shall have a duck with half of another; if fish come to the estuaries, you shall have a salmon with half of another. You shall have the three sprigs, the sprig of watercress, and the sprig of marshwort, and the sprig of seaweed. You shall have a man in the ford in your place.' [Note: This and the following speech are apparently forms of greeting. Cuchulainn offers Lugaid such hospitality as lies in his power. See a similar speech later to Fergus.] 'I believe it,' said Lugaid. 'Excellence of people to the boy whom I desire.' 'Your hosts are fine,' said Cuchulainn. It would not be sad for you alone before them,' said Lugaid. 'Fair-play and valour will support me,' said Cuchulainn. 'O friend Lugaid, do the hosts fear me?' 'I swear by God,' said Lugaid, 'one man nor two dare not go out of the camp, unless it be in twenties or thirties.' 'It will be something extra for them,' said Cuchulainn, 'if I take to throwing from the sling. Fitting for you will be this fellow-vassal, O Lugaid, that you have among the Ulstermen, if there come to me the force of every man. Say what you would have,' said Cuchulainn. 'That I may have a truce with you towards my host.' 'You shall have it, provided there be a token on it. And tell my friend Fergus that there be a token on his host. Tell the physicians, let there be a token on their host. And let them swear preservation of life to me, and let there come to me provision every night from them.' Then Lugaid goes from him. Fergus happened to be in the tent with Ailill. Lugaid called him out, and told him this. Something was heard, namely Ailill. ... [Note: Rhetoric, six lines, the substance of which is, apparently, that Ailill asks protection also.] 'I swear by God I cannot do it,' said Lugaid, 'unless I ask the boy Again.' 'Help me, [Note: Spoken by Fergus?] O Lugaid, go to him to see whether Ailill may come with a cantred into my troop. Take an ox with bacon to him and a jar of wine.' He goes to Cuchulainn then and tells him this. 'I do not mind though he go,' said Cuchulainn. Then their two troops join. They are there till night. Cuchulainn kills thirty men of them with the sling. (Or they would be twenty nights there, as some books say.) 'Your journeyings are bad,' said Fergus. 'The Ulstermen will come to you out of their weakness, and they will grind you to earth and gravel. "The corner of battle" in which we are is bad.' He goes thence to Cul Airthir. It happened that Cuchulainn had gone that night to speak to the Ulstermen [Note: In LL and Y BL this incident occurs later, and the messenger is Sualtaim, not Cuchulainn. LU is clearly wrong here.] 'Have you news?' said Conchobar. 'Women are captured,' said Cuchulainn, 'cattle are driven away, men are slain.' 'Who carries them off? who drives them away? who kills them?' '... Ailill Mac Matae carries them off, and Fergus Mac Roich very bold ...' [Note: Rhetoric.] 'It is not great profit to you,' said Conchobar, 'to-day, our smiting has come to us all the same.' Cuchulainn goes thence from them; he saw the hosts going forth. 'Alas,' said Ailill, 'I see chariots' ..., etc [Note: Rhetoric, five lines.] Cuchulainn kills thirty men of them on Ath Duirn. They could not reach Cul Airthir then till night. He slays thirty of them there, and they pitch their tents there. Ailill's charioteer, Cuillius, was washing the chariot tyres [Note: See previous note on the word _fonnod_; the word used here is _fonnod_.] in the ford in the morning; Cuchulainn struck him with a stone and killed him. Hence is Ath Cuillne in Cul Airthir. They reach Druim Feine in Conaille and spent the night there, as we have said before. Cuchulainn attacked them there; he slays a hundred men of them every night of the three nights that they were there; he took a sling to them from Ochaine near them. 'Our host will be short-lived through Cuchulainn in this way,' said Ailill. 'Let an agreement be carried from us to him: that he shall have the equal of Mag Murthemne from Mag Ai, and the best chariot that is in Ai, and the equipment of twelve men. Offer, if it pleases him better, the plain in which he was brought up, and three sevens of cumals [Note: The _cumal_ (bondmaid) was a standard of value.]; and everything that has been destroyed of his household (?) and cattle shall be made good, and he shall have full compensation (?), and let him go into my service; it is better for him than the service of a sub king.' 'Who shall go for that?' 'Mac Roth yonder.' Mac Roth, the messenger of Ailill and Medb, went on that errand to Delga: it is he who encircles Ireland in one day. It is there that Fergus thought that Cuchulainn was, in Delga. 'I see a man coming towards us,' said Loeg to Cuchulainn. 'He has a yellow head of hair, and a linen emblem round it; a club of fury(?) in his hand, an ivory-hilted sword at his waist; a hooded tunic with red ornamentation on him.' 'Which of the warriors of the king is that?' said Cuchulainn. Mac Roth asked Loeg whose man he was. 'Vassal to the man down yonder,' said Loeg. Cuchulainn was there in the snow up to his two thighs, without anything at all on him, examining his shirt. Then Mac Roth asked Cuchulainn whose man he was. 'Vassal of Conchobar Mac Nessa,' said Cuchulainn. 'Is there no clearer description?' 'That is enough,' said Cuchulainn. 'Where then is Cuchulainn?' said Mac Roth. 'What would you say to him?' said Cuchulainn. Mac Roth tells him then all the message, as we have told it. 'Though Cuchulainn were near, he would not do this; he will not barter the brother of his mother for another king.' He came to him again, and it was said to Cuchulainn that there should be given over to him the noblest of the women and the cows that were without milk, on condition that he should not ply his sling on them at night, even if he should kill them by day. 'I will not do it,' said Cuchulainn; 'if our slavewomen are taken from us, our noble women will be at the querns; and we shall be without milk if our milch-cows are taken from us.' He came to him again, and he was told that he should have the slave-women and the milch-cows. 'I will not do it,' said Cuchulainn; 'the Ulstermen will take their slave-women to their beds, and there will be born to them a servile offspring, and they will use their milch-cows for meat in the winter.' 'Is there anything else then?' said the messenger. 'There is,' said Cuchulainn; 'and I will not tell it you. It shall be agreed to, if any one tell it you.' 'I know it,' said Fergus; 'I know what the man tried to suggest; and it is no advantage to you. And this is the agreement,' said Fergus: 'that the ford on which takes place (?) his battle and combat with one man, the cattle shall not be taken thence a day and a night; if perchance there come to him the help of the Ulstermen. And it is a marvel to me,' said Fergus, 'that it is so long till they come out of their sufferings.' 'It is indeed easier for us,' said Ailill, 'a man every day than a hundred every night.' _The Death of Etarcomol_ Then Fergus went on this errand; Etarcomol, son of Edan [Note: Name uncertain. YBL has Eda, LL Feda.] and Lethrinne, foster-son of Ailill and Medb, followed. 'I do not want you to go,' said Fergus, 'and it is not for hatred of you; but I do not like combat between you and Cuchulainn. Your pride and insolence, and the fierceness and hatred, pride and madness of the other, Cuchulainn: there will be no good from your meeting.' 'Are you not able to protect me from him?' said Etarcomol. 'I can,' said Fergus, 'provided only that you do not treat his, sayings with disrespect.' They go thence in two chariots to Delga. Cuchulainn was then playing chess [Note: _Buanfach_, like _fidchell_, is apparently a game something like chess or draughts.] with Loeg; the back of his head was towards them, and Loeg's face. 'I see two chariots coming towards us,' said Loeg; 'a great dark man in the first chariot, with dark and bushy hair; a purple cloak round him, and a golden pin therein; a hooded tunic with gold embroidery on him; and a round shield with an engraved edge of white metal, and a broad spear-head, with rings from point to haft(?), in his hand. A sword as long as the rudder of a boat on his two thighs.' 'It is empty, this great rudder that is brought by my friend Fergus,' said Cuchulainn; 'for there is no sword in its sheath except a sword of wood. It has been told to me,' said Cuchulainn; 'Ailill got a chance of them as they slept, he and Medb; and he took away his sword from Fergus, and gave it to his charioteer to take care of, and the sword of wood was put into its sheath.' Then Fergus comes up. 'Welcome, O friend Fergus,' said Cuchulainn; 'if a fish comes into the estuary, you shall have it with half of another; if a flock comes into the plain, you shall have a duck with half of another; a spray of cress or seaweed, a spray of marshwort; a drink from the sand; you shall have a going to the ford to meet a man, if it should happen to be your watch, till you have slept.' 'I believe it,' said Fergus; 'it is not your provision that we have come for; we know your housekeeping here.' Then Cuchulainn receives the message from Fergus; anti Fergus goes away. Etarcomol remains looking at Cuchulainn. 'What are you looking at?' said Cuchulainn. 'You,' said Etarcomol. 'The eye soon compasses it indeed,' said Cuchulainn. 'That is what I see,' said Etarcomol. 'I do not know at all why you should be feared by any one. I do not see terror or fearfulness, or overwhelming of a host, in you; you are merely a fair youth with arms of wood, and with fine feats.' 'Though you speak ill of me,' said Cuchulainn, 'I will not kill you for the sake of Fergus. But for your protection, it would have been your entrails drawn (?) and your quarters scattered, that would have gone from me to the camp behind your chariot.' 'Threaten me not thus,' said Etarcomol. 'The wonderful agreement that he has bound, that is, the single combat, it is I who will first meet you of the men of Ireland to-morrow.' Then he goes away. He turned back from Methe and Cethe and said to his charioteer: 'I have boasted,' said he, 'before Fergus combat with Cuchulainn to-morrow. It is not possible for us [Note: YBL reading.] to wait for it; turn the horses back again from the hill.' Loeg sees this and says to Cuchulainn: 'There is the chariot back again, and it has put its left board [Note: An insult.] towards us.' 'It is not a "debt of refusal,"' said Cuchulainn. 'I do not wish,' said Cuchulainn, 'what you demand of me.' 'This is obligatory to you,' said Etarcomol. Cuchulainn strikes the sod under his feet, so that he fell prostrate, and the sod behind him. 'Go from me,' said Cuchulainn. 'I am loath to cleanse my hands in you. I would have divided you into many parts long since but for Fergus.' 'We will not part thus,' said Etarcomol, 'till I have taken your head, or left my head with you.' 'It is that indeed that will be there,' said Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn strikes him with his sword in his two armpits, so that his clothes fell from him, and it did not wound his skin. 'Go then,' said Cuchulainn. 'No,' said Etarcomol. Then Cuchulainn attacked him with the edge of his sword, and took his hair off as if it was shaved with a razor; he did not put even a scratch (?) on the surface. When the churl was troublesome then and stuck to him, he struck him on the hard part of his crown, so that he divided him down to the navel. Fergus saw the chariot go past him, and the one man therein. He turned to quarrel with Cuchulainn. 'Ill done of you, O wild boy!' said he, 'to insult me. You would think my club [Note: Or 'track'?] short,' said he. 'Be not angry with me, O friend Fergus,' said Cuchulainn ... [Note: Rhetoric, five lines.] 'Reproach me not, O friend Fergus.' He stoops down, so that Fergus's chariot went past him thrice. He asked his charioteer: 'Is it I who have caused it?' 'It is not you at all,' said his charioteer. 'He said,' said Cuchulainn, 'he would not go till he took my head, or till he left his head with me. Which would you think easier to bear, O friend Fergus?' said Cuchulainn. 'I think what has been done the easier truly,' said Fergus, 'for it is he who was insolent.' Then Fergus put a spancel-withe through Etarcomol's two heels and took him behind his own chariot to the camp. When they went over rocks, one-half would separate from the other; when it was smooth, they came together again. Medb saw him. 'Not pleasing is that treatment of a tender whelp, O Fergus,' said Medb. 'The dark churl should not have made fight,' said Fergus, 'against the great Hound whom he could not contend with (?).' His grave is dug then and his stone planted; his name is written in ogam; his lament is celebrated. Cuchulainn did not molest them that night with his sling; and the women and maidens and half the cattle are taken to him; and provision continued to be brought to him by day. _The Death of Nadcrantail_ 'What man have you to meet Cuchulainn tomorrow?' said Lugaid. 'They will give it to you to-morrow,' said Mane, son of Ailill. 'We can find no one to meet him,' said Medb. 'Let us have peace with him till a man be sought for him.' They get that then. 'Whither will you send,' said Ailill, 'to seek that man to meet Cuchulainn?' 'There is no one in Ireland who could be got for him,' said Medb, 'unless Curoi Mac Dare can be brought, or Nadcrantail the warrior.' There was one of Curoi's followers in the tent. 'Curoi will not come,' said he; 'he thinks enough of his household has come. Let a message be sent to Nadcrantail.' Mane Andoi goes to him, and they tell their tale to him. 'Come with us for the sake of the honour of Connaught.' 'I will not go,' said he, 'unless Findabair be given to me.' He comes with them then. They bring his armour in a chariot, from the east of Connaught till it was in the camp. 'You shall have Findabair,' said Medb, 'for going against that man yonder.' 'I will do it,' said he. Lugaid comes to Cuchulainn that night. 'Nadcrantail is coming to meet you to-morrow; it is unlucky for you: you will not withstand him.' 'That does not matter,' said Cuchulainn. ... [Note: Corrupt.] Nadcrantail goes next morning from the camp, and he takes nine spits of holly, sharpened and burned. Now Cuchulainn was there catching birds, and his chariot near him. Nadcrantail throws a spear at Cuchulainn; Cuchulainn performed a feat on to the point of that spear, and it did not hinder him from catching the birds. The same with the eight other spears. When he throws the ninth spear, the flock flies from Cuchulainn, and he went after the flock. He goes on the points of the spears like a bird, from each spear to the next, pursuing the birds that they should not escape. It seemed to every one, however, that it was in flight that Cuchulainn went before Nadcrantail. 'Your Cuchulainn yonder,' said he, 'has gone in flight before me.' 'That is of course,' said Medb; 'if good warriors should come to him, the wild boy would not resist ----.' This vexed Fergus and the Ulstermen; Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe comes from them to remonstrate with Cuchulainn. 'Tell him,' said Fergus, 'it was noble to be before the warriors while he did brave deeds. It is more noble for him,' said Fergus, 'to hide himself when he flees before one man, for it were not greater shame to him than to the rest of Ulster.' 'Who has boasted that?' said Cuchulainn. 'Nadcrantail,' said Fiacha. 'Though it were that that he should boast, the feat that I have done before him, it was no more shame to me,' (?) said Cuchulainn. 'He would by no means have boasted it had there been a weapon in his hand. You know full well that I kill no one unarmed. Let him come to-morrow,' said Cuchulainn, 'till he is between Ochaine and the sea, and however early he comes, he will find me there, and I shall not flee before him.' Cuchulainn came then to his appointed meeting-place, and he threw the hem [of his cloak] round him after his night-watch, and he did not perceive the pillar that was near him, of equal size with himself. He embraced it under his cloak, and placed it near him. Therewith Nadcrantail came; his arms were brought with him in a wagon. 'Where is Cuchulainn?' said he. 'There he is yonder,' said Fergus. 'It was not thus he appeared to me yesterday,' said Nadcrantail. 'Are you Cuchulainn?' 'And if I am then?' said Cuchulainn. 'If you are indeed,' said Nadcrantail, 'I cannot bring the head of a little lamb to camp; I will not take the head of a beardless boy.' 'It is not I at all,' said Cuchulainn. 'Go to him round the hill.' Cuchulainn comes to Loeg: 'Smear a false beard on me,' said he; 'I cannot get the warrior to fight me without a beard.' It was done for him. He goes to meet him on the hill. 'I think that more fitting,' said he. 'Take the right way of fighting with me,' said Nadcrantail. 'You shall have it if only we know it,' said Cuchulainn. 'I will throw a cast at you,' said Nadcrantail, 'and do not avoid it.' 'I will not avoid it except on high,' said Cuchulainn. Nadcrantail throws a cast at him; Cuchulainn leaps on high before it. 'You do ill to avoid my cast,' said Nadcrantail. 'Avoid my throw then on high,' said Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn throws the spear at him, but it was on high, so that from above it alighted in his crown, and it went through him to the ground. 'Alas! it is you are the best warrior in Ireland!' said Nadcrantail. 'I have twenty-four sons in the camp. I will go and tell them what hidden treasures I have, and I will come that you may behead me, for I shall die if the spear is taken out of my head.' 'Good,' said Cuchulainn. 'You will come back.' Nadcrantail goes to the camp then. Every one comes to meet him. 'Where is the madman's head?' said every one. 'Wait, O heroes, till I tell my tale to my sons, and go back that I may fight with Cuchulainn.' He goes thence to seek Cuchulainn, and throws his sword at Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn leaps on high, so that it struck the pillar, and the sword broke in two. Then Cuchulainn went mad as he had done against the boys in Emain, and he springs on his shield therewith, and struck his head off. He strikes him again on the neck down to the navel. His four quarters fall to the ground. Then Cuchulainn said this: 'If Nadcrantail has fallen, It will be an increase to the strife. Alas! that I cannot fight at this time With Medb with a third of the host.' HERE IS THE FINDING OF THE BULL ACCORDING TO THIS VERSION: It is then that Medb went with a third of the host with her to Cuib to seek the Bull; and Cuchulainn went after her. Now on the road of Midluachair she had gone to harry Ulster and Cruthne as far as Dun Sobairche. Cuchulainn saw something: Bude Mac Bain from Sliab Culinn with the Bull, and fifteen heifers round him; and his force was sixty men of Ailill's household, with a cloak folded round every man. Cuchulainn comes to them. 'Whence have you brought the cattle?' said Cuchulainn. 'From the mountain yonder,' said the man.' 'Where are their cow-herds?' said Cuchulainn. 'He is as we found him,' said the man. Cuchulainn made three leaps after them to seek speech with them as far as the ford. It is there he said to the leader: 'What is your name?' said he. 'One who fears you not(?) and loves you not; Bude Mac Bain,' said he. 'This spear at Bude!' said Cuchulainn. He hurls at him the javelin, so that it went through his armpits, and one of the livers broke in two before the spear. He kills him on his ford; hence is Ath Bude. The Bull is brought into the camp then. They considered then that it would not be difficult to deal with Cuchulainn, provided his javelin were got from him. _The Death of Redg the Satirist_ It is then that Redg, Ailill's satirist, went to him on an errand to seek the javelin, that is, Cuchulainn's spear. 'Give me your spear,' said the satirist. 'Not so,' said Cuchulainn; 'but I will give you treasure.' 'I will not take it,' said the satirist. Then Cuchulainn wounded the satirist, because he would not accept from him what he offered him, and the satirist said he would take away his honour unless he got the javelin. Then Cuchulainn threw the javelin at him, and it went right through his head. 'This gift is overpowering (?),' said the satirist. Hence is Ath Tolam Set. There was now a ford east of it, where the copper of the javelin rested; Humarrith, then, is the name of that ford. It is there that Cuchulainn killed all those that we have mentioned in Cuib; i.e. Nathcoirpthe at his trees; Cruthen on his ford; the sons of the Herd at their cairn; Marc on his hill; Meille on his hill; Bodb in his tower; Bogaine in his marsh (?). Cuchulainn turned back to Mag Murthemne; he liked better to defend his own home. After he went, he killed the men of Crocen (or Cronech), i.e. Focherd; twenty men of Focherd. He overtook them taking camp: ten cup-bearers and ten fighting-men. Medb turned back from the north when she had remained a fortnight ravaging the province, and when she had fought a battle against Findmor, wife of Celtchar Mac Uthidir. And after taking Dun Sobairche upon her, she brought fifty women into the province of Dalriada. Wherever Medb placed a horse-switch in Cuib its name is Bile Medba [Note: i.e. Tree of Medb]; every ford and every hill by which she slept, its name is Ath Medba and Dindgna Medba. They all meet then at Focherd, both Ailill and Medb and the troop that drove the Bull. But their herd took their Bull from them, and they drove him across into a narrow gap with their spear-shafts on their shields(?). [Note: A very doubtful rendering.] So that the feet of the cattle drove him [Note, i.e. Forgemen.] through the ground. Forgemen was the herd's name. He is there afterwards, so that that is the name of the hill, Forgemen. There was no annoyance to them that night, provided a man were got toward off Cuchulainn on the ford. 'Let a sword-truce be asked by us from Cuchulainn,' said Ailill. 'Let Lugaid go for it,' said every one. Lugaid goes then to speak to him. 'How am I now with the host?' said Cuchulainn. 'Great indeed is the mockery that you asked of them,' said Lugaid, 'that is, your women and your maidens and half your cattle. And they think it heavier than anything to be killed and to provide you with food.' A man fell there by Cuchulainn every day to the end of a week. Fair-play is broken with Cuchulainn: twenty are sent to attack him at one time; and he killed them all. 'Go to him, O Fergus,' said Ailill, 'that he may allow us a change of place.' They go then to Cronech. This is what fell by him in single combat at this place: two Roths, two Luans, two female horse messengers, [Note: Or 'female stealers.' (O'Davoren.)] ten fools, ten cup-bearers, ten Ferguses, six Fedelms, six Fiachras. These then were all killed by him in single combat. When they pitched their tents in Cronech, they considered what they should do against Cuchulainn. 'I know,' said Medb, 'what is good in this case: let a message be sent from us to ask him that we may have a sword-truce from him towards the host, and he shall have half the cattle that are here.' This message is taken to him. 'I will do this,' said Cuchulainn, 'provided the compact is not broken by you.' _The Meeting of Cuchulainn and Findabair_ 'Let an offer go to him,' said Ailill, 'that Findabair will be given to him on condition that he keeps away from the hosts.' Mane Athramail goes to him. He goes first to Loeg. 'Whose man are you?' said he. Loeg does not speak to him. Mane spoke to him thrice in this way. 'Cuchulainn's man,' said he, 'and do not disturb me, lest I strike your head off.' 'This man is fierce,' said Mane, turning from him. He goes then to speak to Cuchulainn. Now Cuchulainn had taken off his tunic, and the snow was round him up to his waist as he sat, and the snow melted round him a cubit for the greatness of the heat of the hero. Mane said to him in the same way thrice, 'whose man was he?' 'Conchobar's man, and do not disturb me. If you disturb me any longer, I will strike your head from you as the head is taken from a blackbird.' 'It is not easy,' said Mane, 'to speak to these two.' Mane goes from them then and tells his tale to Ailill and Medb. 'Let Lugaid go to him,' said Ailill, 'and offer to him the maiden.' Lugaid goes then and tells Cuchulainn that. 'O friend Lugaid,' said Cuchulainn, 'this is a snare.' 'It is the king's word that has said it,' said Lugaid; 'there will be no snare therefrom.' 'Let it be done so,' said Cuchulainn. Lugaid went from him therewith, and tells Ailill and Medb that answer. 'Let the fool go in my form,' said Ailill, 'and a king's crown on his head, and let him stand at a distance from Cuchulainn lest he recognise him, and let the maiden go with him, and let him betroth her to him, and let them depart quickly in this way; and it is likely that you will play a trick on him thus, so that he will not hinder you, till he comes with the Ulstermen to the battle.' Then the fool goes to him, and the maiden also; and it was from a distance he spoke to Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn goes to meet them. It happened that he recognised by the man's speech that he was a fool. He threw a sling stone that was in his hand at him, so that it sprang into his head and brought his brains out. Then he comes to the maiden, cuts her two tresses off, and thrusts a stone through her mantle and through her tunic, and thrusts a stone pillar through the middle of the fool. There are their two pillars there: the pillar of Findabair, and the fool's pillar. Cuchulainn left them thus. A party was sent from Ailill and Medb to seek out their folk, for they thought they were long; they were seen in this position. All this was heard throughout the camp. There was no truce for them with Cuchulainn afterwards. _The Combat of Munremar and Curoi_ When the hosts were there in the evening; they saw that one stone lighted on them from the east, and another from the west to meet it. They met in the air, and kept falling between Fergus's camp, and Ailill's, and Era's. [Note: Or Nera?] This sport and play went on from that hour to the same hour next day; and the hosts were sitting down, and their shields were over their heads to protect them against the masses of stones, till the plain was full of the stones. Hence is Mag Clochair. It happened that Curoi Mac Daire did this; he had come to help his comrades, and he was in Cotal over against Munremar Mac Gerrcind. He had come from Emain Macha to help Cuchulainn, and he was in Ard Roich. Curoi knew that there was no man in the host who could withstand Munremar. So it was these two who had made this sport between them. They were asked by the host to be quiet; then Munremar and Curoi make peace, and Curoi goes to his house and Munremar to Emain Macha. And Munremar did not come till the day of the battle; Curoi did not come till the combat with Fer Diad. 'Speak to Cuchulainn,' said Medb and Ailill, 'that he allow us change of place.' It is granted to them then, and they change the place. The weakness of the Ulstermen was over then. For when they awoke from their suffering, some of them kept coming on the host, that they might take to slaying them again. _The Death of the Boys_ Then the boys of Ulster had consulted in Emain Macha. 'Wretched indeed,' said they, 'for our friend Cuchulainn to be without help.' 'A question indeed,' said Fiachna Fulech Mac Fir-Febe, own brother to Fiacha Fialdama Mac Fir-Febe, 'shall I have a troop among you, and go to take help to him therefrom?' Three fifties of boys go with their playing-clubs, and that was a third of the boys of Ulster. The host saw them coming towards them across the plain. 'A great host is at hand to us over the plain,' said Ailill. Fergus goes to look at them. 'Some of the boys of Ulster that,' said he; 'and they come to Cuchulainn's help.' 'Let a troop go against them,' said Ailill, 'without Cuchulainn's knowledge; for if they meet him, you will not withstand them.' Three fifties of warriors go to meet them. They fell by one another so that no one escaped alive of the abundance(?) of the boys at Lia Toll. Hence it is the Stone of Fiachra Mac Fir-Febe; for it is there he fell. 'Make a plan,' said Ailill. 'Ask Cuchulainn about letting you go out of this place, for you will not come beyond him by force, because his flame of valour has sprung.' For it was customary with him, when his flame of valour sprang in him, that his feet would go round behind him, and his hams before; and the balls of his calves on his shins, and one eye in his head and the other out of his head; a man's head could have gone into his mouth. Every hair on him was as sharp as a thorn of hawthorn, and a drop of blood on each hair. He would not recognise comrades or friends. He would strike alike before and behind. It is from this that the men of Connaught gave Cuchulainn the name Riastartha. _The Woman-fight of Rochad_ Cuchulainn sent his charioteer to Rochad Mac Fatheman of Ulster, that he should come to his help. Now it happened that Findabair loved Rochad, for he was the fairest of the warriors among the Ulstermen at that time. The man goes to Rochad and told him to come to help Cuchulainn if he had come out of his weakness; that they should deceive the host, to get at some of them to slay them. Rochad comes from the north with a hundred men. 'Look at the plain for us to-day,' said Ailill. 'I see a troop coming over the plain,' said the watchman, 'and a warrior of tender years among them; the men only reach up to his shoulders.' 'Who is it yonder, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'Rochad Mac Fatheman,' said he, 'and it is to help Cuchulainn he comes.' 'I know what you had better do with him,' said Fergus. 'Let a hundred men go from you with the maiden yonder to the middle of the plain, and let the maiden go before them; and let a horseman go to speak to him, that he come alone to speak with the maiden, and let hands be laid on him, and this will keep off (?) the attack of his army from us.' This is done then. Rochad goes to meet the horseman. 'I have come from Findabair to meet you, that you come to speak with her.' He goes then to speak with her alone. The host rushes about him from every side. He is taken, and hands are laid on him. His force breaks into flight. He is let go then, and he is bound over not to go against the host till he should come together with all Ulster. It was promised to him that Findabair should be given to him, and he returned from them then. So that that is Rochad's Woman-fight. _The Death of the Princes_ [Note: Or 'royal mercenaries.'] 'Let a sword-truce be asked of Cuchulainn for us,' said Ailill and Medb. Lugaid goes on that errand, and Cuchulainn grants the truce. 'Put a man on the ford for me to-morrow,' said Cuchulainn. There were with Medb six princes, i.e. six king's heirs of the Clanna Dedad, the three Blacks of Imlech, and the three Reds of Sruthair. 'Why should we not go against Cuchulainn?' said they. They go next day, and Cuchulainn slew the six of them. _The Death of Cur_ Then Cur Mac Dalath is besought to go against Cuchulainn. He from whom he shed blood, he is dead before the ninth day. 'If he slay him,' said Medb, 'it is victory; and though it be he who is slain, it is removing a load from the host: for it is not easy to be with him in regard to eating and sleeping.' Then he goes forth. He did not think it good to go against a beardless wild boy. 'Not so(?) indeed,' said he, 'right is the honour (?) that you give us! If I had known that it was against this man that I was sent, I would not have bestirred myself to seek him; it were enough in my opinion for a boy of his own age from my troop to go against him.' 'Not so,' said Cormac Condlongas; 'it were a marvel for us if you yourself were to drive him off.' 'Howbeit,' said he, 'since it is on myself that it is laid you Shall go forth to-morrow morning; it will not delay me to kill the young deer yonder.' He goes then early in the morning to meet him; and he tells the host to get ready to take the road before them, for it was a clear road that he would make by going against Cuchulainn. _This is the Number of the Feats_ He went on that errand then. Cuchulainn was practising feats at that time, i.e. the apple-feat, the edge-feat, the supine-feat, the javelin-feat, the ropefeat, the ---- feat, the cat-feat, the hero's salmon[-leap?], the cast ----, the leap over ----, the noble champion's turn, the _gae bolga_, the ---- of swiftness, the wheel-feat, the ----, the feat on breath, the mouth-rage (?), the champion's shout, the stroke with proper adjustment, the back-stroke, the climbing a javelin with stretching of the body on its point, with the binding (?) of a noble warrior. Cur was plying his weapons against him in a fence(?) of his shield till a third of the day; and not a stroke of the blow reached Cuchulainn for the madness of the feats, and he did not know that a man was trying to strike him, till Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe said to him: 'Beware of the man who is attacking you.' Cuchulainn looked at him; he threw the feat-apple that remained in his hand, so that it went between the rim and the body of the shield, and went back through the head of the churl. It would be in Imslige Glendanach that Cur fell according to another version. Fergus returned to the army. 'If your security hold you,' said he, 'wait here till to-morrow.' 'It would not be there,' said Ailill; 'we shall go back to our camp.' Then Lath Mac Dabro is asked to go against Cuchulainn, as Cur had been asked. He himself fell then also. Fergus returns again to put his security on them. They remained there until there were slain there Cur Mac Dalath, and Lath Mac Dabro, and Foirc, son of the three Swifts, and Srubgaile Mac Eobith. They were all slain there in single combat. _The Death of Ferbaeth_ 'Go to the camp for us, O friend Loeg' [said Cuchulainn], 'and consult Lugaid Mac Nois, descendant of Lomarc, to know who is coming against me tomorrow. Let it be asked diligently, and give him my greeting.' Then Loeg went. 'Welcome,' said Lugaid; 'it is unlucky for Cuchulainn, the trouble in which he is, alone against the men of Ireland. It is a comrade of us both, Ferbaeth (ill-luck to his arms!), who goes against him to morrow. Findabair is given to him for it, and the kingdom of his race.' Loeg turns back to where Cuchulainn is. He is not very joyful over his answer, my friend Loeg,' said Cuchulainn. Loeg tells him all that. Ferbaeth had been summoned into the tent to Ailill and Medb, and he is told to sit by Findabair, and that she should be given to him, for he was her choice for fighting with Cuchulainn. He was the man they thought worthy of them, for they had both learned the same arts with Scathach. Then wine is given to him, till he was intoxicated, and he is told, 'They thought that wine fine, and there had only been brought the load of fifty wagons. And it was the maiden who used to put hand to his portion therefrom.' 'I do not wish it,' said Ferbaeth; 'Cuchulainn is my foster-brother, and a man of perpetual covenant with me. Nevertheless I will go against him to-morrow and cut off his head.' 'It will be you who would do it,' said Medb. Cuchulainn told Loeg to go to meet Lugaid, that he should come and speak with him. Lugaid comes to him. 'So Ferbaeth is coming against me to-morrow,' said Cuchulainn. 'He indeed,' said Lugaid. 'An evil day!' said Cuchulainn; 'I shall not be alive therefrom. Two of equal age we, two of equal deftness, two equal when we meet. O Lugaid, greet him for me; tell him that it is not true valour to come against me; tell him to come to meet me to-night, to speak with me.' Lugaid tells him this. When Ferbaeth did not avoid it, he went that night to renounce his friendship with Cuchulainn, and Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe with him. Cuchulainn appealed to him by his foster-brotherhood, and Scathach, the foster-mother of them both. 'I must,' said Ferbaeth. 'I have promised it' 'Take back (?) your bond of friendship then,' said Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn went from him in anger. A spear of holly was driven into Cuchulainn's foot in the glen, and appeared up by his knee. He draws it out. 'Go not, O Ferbaeth, till you have seen the find that I have found.' 'Throw it,' said Ferbaeth. Cuchulainn threw the spear then after Ferbaeth so that it hit the hollow of his poll, and came out at his mouth in front, so that he fell back into the glen. 'That is a throw indeed,' said Ferbaeth. Hence is Focherd Murthemne. (Or it is Fiacha who had said, 'Your throw is vigorous to-day, O Cuchulainn,' said he; so that Focherd Murthemne is from that.) Ferbaeth died at once in the glen. Hence is Glenn Firbaith. Something was heard: Fergus, who said: 'O Ferbaeth, foolish is thy expedition In the place in which thy grave is. Ruin reached thee ... In Croen Corand. 'The hill is named Fithi (?) for ever; Croenech in Murthemne, From to-day Focherd will be the name Of the place in which thou didst fall, O Ferbaeth. O Ferbaeth,' etc. 'Your comrade has fallen,' said Fergus. 'Say will you pay for this man on the morrow?' 'I will pay indeed,' said Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn sends Loeg again for news, to know how they are in the camp, and whether Ferbaeth lived. Lugaid said: 'Ferbaeth is dead,' and Cuchulainn comes in turn to talk with them. _The Combat of Larine Mac Nois_ 'One of you to-morrow to go readily against the other,' said Lugaid. 'He will not be found at all,' said Ailill, 'unless you practise trickery therein. Any man who comes to you, give him wine, so that his mind may be glad, and it shall be said to him that that is all the wine that has been brought from Cruachan. It grieves us that you should be on water in the camp. And Findabair shall be put at his right hand, and it shall be said: "She shall come to you, if you bring us the head of the Riastartha."' A messenger used to be sent to every hero on his night, and that used to be told to him; he continued to kill every man of them in. turn. No one could be got by them to meet him at last. Larine Mac Nois, brother to Lugaid, King of Munster, was summoned to them the next day. Great was his pride. Wine is given to him, and Findabair is put at his right hand. Medb looked at the two. 'It pleases me, yonder pair,' said she; 'a match between them would be fitting.' 'I will not stand in your way,' said Ailill; 'he shall have her if he brings me the head of the Riastartha.' 'I will bring it,' said Larine. Then Lugaid comes. 'What man have you for the ford to-morrow?' said he. 'Larine goes,' said Ailill. Then Lugaid comes to speak with Cuchulainn. They meet in Glenn Firbaith. Each gives the other welcome. 'It is for this I have come to speak to you,' said Lugaid: 'there is a churl here, a fool and proud,' said he, 'a brother of mine named Larine; he is befooled about the same maiden. On your friendship then, do not kill him, lest you should leave me without a brother. For it is for this that he is being sent to you, so that we two might quarrel. I should be content, however, that you should give him a sound drubbing, for it is in my despite that he comes.' Larine goes next day to meet Cuchulainn, and the maiden near him to encourage him. Cuchulainn attacks him without arms. [Note: This is apparently the sense, but the passage seems corrupt.] He takes Larine's arms from him perforce. He takes him then between his two hands, and grinds and shakes him, ... and threw him till he was between Lugaid's two hands ...; nevertheless, he is the only man who escaped [even] a bad escape from him, of all who met him on the Tain. _The Conversation of the Morrigan with Cuchulainn_ Cuchulainn saw a young woman coming towards him, with a dress of every colour on, and her form very excellent. 'Who are you?' said Cuchulainn. 'Daughter of Buan the king,' said she. 'I have come to you; I have loved you for your reputation, and I have brought my treasures and my cattle with me.' 'The time at which you have come to us is not good. For our condition is evil, through hunger. It is not easy to me to meet a woman, while I am in this strife.' 'I will be a help to you. ... I shall be more troublesome to you,' said she, 'when I come against you when you are in combat against the men. I will come in the form of an eel about your feet in the ford, so that you shall fall.' 'I think that likelier than the daughter of a king. I will take you,' said he, 'between my toes, till your ribs are broken, and you will be in this condition till a doom of blessing comes (?) on you.' 'I will drive the cattle on the ford to you, in the form of a grey she-wolf.' 'I will throw a stone at you from my sling, so that it shall break your eye in your head; and you will be in that state till a doom of blessing comes on you.' 'I will come to you in the form of a hornless red heifer before the cattle. They will rush on you on the plains(?), and on the fords, and on the pools, and you will not see me before you.' 'I will throw a stone at you,' said he, 'so that your leg shall break under you, and you will be in this state till a doom of blessing comes on you.' Therewith she goes from him. So he was a week on Ath Grencha, and a man used to fall every day by him in Ath Grencha, i.e. in Ath Darteisc. _The Death of Loch Mac Emonis_ Then Loch Mac Emonis was asked like the others, and there was promised to him a piece of the arable land of Mag Ai equal in size to Mag Murthemne, and the equipment of twelve warriors and a chariot worth seven cumals [Note: A measure of value.]; and he did not think combat with a youth worthy. He had a brother, Long Mac Emonis himself. The same price was given to him, both maiden and raiment and chariots and land. He goes to meet Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn slays him, and he was brought dead before his brother, Loch. This latter said that if he only knew that it was a bearded man who slew him, he would kill him for it. 'Take a battle-force to him,' said Medb to her household, 'across the ford from the west, that you may go-across; and let fair-play be broken on him.' Then the seven Manes, warriors, go first, so that they saw him on the edge of the ford westward. He puts his feast-dress on that day. It is then that the women kept climbing on the men to look at him. 'I am sorry,' said Medb; 'I cannot see the boy about whom they go there.' 'Your mind will not be the gladder for it,' said Lethrend, Ailill's squire, 'if you could see him.' He comes to the ford then as he was. 'What man is it yonder, O Fergus?' said Medb. 'A boy who wards off,' etc. ... 'if it is Culann's Hound.' [Note: Rhetoric, four lines.] Medb climbed on the men then to look at him. It is then that the women said to Cuchulainn 'that he was laughed at in the camp because he had no beard, and no good warriors would go against him, only wild men; it were easier to make a false beard.' So this is what he did, in order to seek combat with a man; i.e. with Loch. Cuchulainn took a handful of grass, and said a spell over it, so that every one thought he had a beard. 'True,' said the troop of women, 'Cuchulainn has a beard. It is fitting for a warrior to fight with him.' They had done this on urging Loch. 'I will not make combat against him till the end of seven days from to-day,' said Loch. 'It is not fitting for us to have no attack on the man for this space,' said Medb. 'Let us put a hero to hunt(?) him every night, if perchance we may get a chance at him.' This is done then. A hero used to come every night to hunt him, and he used to kill them all. These are the names of the men who fell there: seven Conalls, seven Oenguses, seven Uarguses, seven Celtris, eight Fiacs, ten Ailills, ten Delbaths, ten Tasachs. These are his deeds of this week in Ath Grencha. Medb asked advice, to know what she should do to Cuchulainn, for what had been killed of their hosts by him distressed her greatly. This is the plan she arrived at, to put brave, high-spirited men to attack him all at once when he should come to an appointed meeting to speak with Medb. For she had an appointment the next day with Cuchulainn to make a peace in fraud with him, to get hold of him. She sent messengers forth to seek him that he should come to meet her; and it was thus he should come, and he unarmed: 'for she would come only with her troop of women to meet him.' The messenger, Traigtren, went to the place where Cuchulainn was, and tells him Medb's message. Cuchulainn promised that he would do so. 'In what manner does it please you to go to meet Medb to-morrow, O Cuchulainn?' said Loeg. 'As Medb has asked me,' said Cuchulainn. 'Great are Medb's deeds,' said the charioteer; 'I fear a hand behind the back with her.' 'How is it to be done then?' said he. 'Your sword at your waist,' said the charioteer, 'that you may not be taken at an unfair advantage. For the warrior is not entitled to his honour-price if he is without arms; and it is the coward's law that he deserves in that way.' 'Let it be done so then,' said Cuchulainn. The meeting-place was in Ard Aignech, which is called Fochaird to-day. Now Medb came to the meeting-place and set in ambush fourteen men of her own special following, of those who were of most prowess, ready for him. These are they: two Glassines, the two sons of Bucchridi; two Ardans, the two sons of Licce; two Glasogmas, the two sons of Crund; Drucht and Delt and Dathen; Tea and Tascra and Tualang; Taur and Glese. Then Cuchulainn comes to meet her. The men rise to attack him. Fourteen spears are thrown at him at once. Cuchulainn guards himself so that his skin or his ---- (?) is not touched. Then he turns on them and kills them, the fourteen of them. So that they are the fourteen men of Focherd, and they are the men of Cronech, for it is in Cronech at Focherd that they were killed. Hence Cuchulainn said: 'Good is my feat of heroism,' [Note: _Fo_, 'good'; _cherd_, 'feat.' Twelve lines of rhetoric.] etc. So it is from this that the name Focherd stuck to the place; that is, _focherd_, i.e. 'good is the feat of arms' that happened to Cuchulainn there. So Cuchulainn came, and overtook them taking camp, and there were slain two Daigris and two Anlis and four Dungais of Imlech. Then Medb began to urge Loch there. 'Great is the mockery of you,' said she, 'for the man who has killed your brother to be destroying our host, and you do not go to battle with him! For we deem it certain that the wild man, great and fierce [Note: Literally, 'sharpened.'], the like of him yonder, will not be able to withstand the rage and fury of a hero like you. For it is by one foster-mother and instructress that an art was built up for you both.' Then Loch came against Cuchulainn, to avenge his brother on him, for it was shown to him that Cuchulainn had a beard. 'Come to the upper ford,' said Loch; 'it would not be in the polluted ford that we shall meet, where Long fell.' When he came then to seek the ford, the men drove the cattle across. 'It will be across your water [Note: Irish, _tarteisc_.] here to-day,' said Gabran the poet. Hence is Ath Darteisc, and Tir Mor Darteisc from that time on this place. When the men met then on the ford, and when they began to fight and to strike each other there, and when each of them began to strike the other, the eel threw three folds round Cuchulainn's feet, till he lay on his back athwart the ford. Loch attacked him with the sword, till the ford was blood-red with his blood. 'Ill indeed,' said Fergus, 'is this deed before the enemy. Let each of you taunt the man, O men,' said he to his following, 'that he may not fall for nothing.' Bricriu Poison-tongue Mac Carbatha rose and began inciting Cuchulainn. 'Your strength is gone,' said he, 'when it is a little salmon that overthrows you when the Ulstermen are at hand [coming] to you out of their sickness yonder. Grievous for you to undertake a hero's deed in the presence of the men of Ireland and to ward off a formidable warrior in arms thus!' Therewith Cuchulainn arises and strikes the eel so that its ribs broke in it, and the cattle were driven over the hosts eastwards by force, so that they took the tents on their horns, with the thunder-feat that the two heroes had made in the ford. The she-wolf attacked him, and drove the cattle on him westwards. He throws a stone from his sling, so that her eye broke in her head. She goes in the form of a hornless red heifer; she rushes before the cows upon the pools and fords. It is then he said: 'I cannot see the fords for water.' He throws a stone at the hornless red heifer, so that her leg breaks under her. Then he sang a song: 'I am all alone before flocks; I get them not, I let them not go; I am alone at cold hours (?) Before many peoples. 'Let some one say to Conchobar Though he should come to me it were not too soon; Magu's sons have carried off their kine And divided them among them. 'There may be strife about one head Only that one tree blazes not; If there were two or three Their brands would blaze. [Note: Meaning not clear.] 'The men have almost worn me out By reason of the number of single combats; I cannot work the slaughter (?) of glorious warriors As I am all alone. I am all alone.' *** It is there then that Cuchulainn did to the Morrigan the three things that he had promised her in the _Tain Bo Regamna_ [Note: One of the introductory stories to the _Tain Bo Cuailnge_, printed with translation in _Irische Texte_, 2nd series.]; and he fights Loch in the ford with the gae-bolga, which the charioteer threw him along the stream. He attacked him with it, so that it went into his body's armour, for Loch had a horn-skin in fighting with a man. 'Give way to me,' said Loch. Cuchulainn gave way, so that it was on the other side that Loch fell. Hence is Ath Traiged in Tir Mor. Cuchulainn cut off his head then. Then fair-play was broken with him that day when five men came against him at one time; i.e. two Cruaids, two Calads, Derothor; Cuchulainn killed them by himself. Hence is Coicsius Focherda, and Coicer Oengoirt; or it is fifteen days that Cuchulainn was in Focherd, and hence is Coicsius Focherda in the Foray. Cuchulainn hurled at them from Delga, so that not a living thing, man or beast, could put its head past him southwards between Delga and the sea. _The Healing of the Morrigan_ When Cuchulainn was in this great weariness, the Morrigan met him in the form of an old hag, and she blind and lame, milking a cow with three teats, and he asked her for a drink. She gave him milk from a teat. 'He will be whole who has brought it(?),' said Cuchulainn; 'the blessings of gods and non-gods on you,' said he. (Gods with them were the Mighty Folk [Note: i.e. the dwellers in the Sid. The words in brackets are a gloss incorporated in the text.]; non-gods the people of husbandry.) Then her head was healed so that it was whole. She gave the milk of the second teat, and her eye was whole; and gave the milk of the third teat, and her leg was whole. So that this was what he said about each thing of them, 'A doom of blessing on you,' said he. 'You told me,' said the Morrigan, 'I should not have healing from you for ever.' 'If I had known it was you,' said Cuchulainn, 'I would not have healed you ever.' So that formerly Cuchulainn's throng (?) on Tarthesc was the name of this story in the Foray. It is there that Fergus claimed of his securities that faith should not be broken with Cuchulainn; and it is there that Cuchulainn ... [Note: Corrupt; one and a half lines.] i.e. Delga Murthemne at that time. Then Cuchulainn killed Fota in his field; Bomailce on his ford; Salach in his village (?); Muine in his hill; Luair in Leth-bera; Fer-Toithle in Toithle; these are the names of these lands for ever, every place in which each man of them fell. Cuchulainn killed also Traig and Dornu and Dernu, Col and Mebul and Eraise on this side of Ath Tire Moir, at Methe and Cethe: these were three [Note: MS. 'two.'] druids and their three wives. Then Medb sent a hundred men of her special retinue to kill Cuchulainn. . He killed them all on Ath Ceit-Chule. Then Medb said: 'It is _cuillend_ [Note: Interlinear gloss: 'We deem it a crime.'] to us, the slaying of our people.' Hence is Glass Chrau and Cuillend Cind Duin and Ath Ceit-Chule. Then the four provinces of Ireland took camp and fortified post in the Breslech Mor in Mag Murthemne, and send part of their cattle and booty beyond them to the south into Clithar Bo Ulad. Cuchulainn took his post at the mound in Lerga near them, and his charioteer Loeg Mac Riangabra kindled a fire for him on the evening of that night. He saw the fiery sheen of the bright golden arms over the heads of the four provinces of Ireland at the setting of the clouds of evening. Fury and great rage came over him at sight of the host, at the multitude of his enemies, the abundance of his foes. He took his two spears and his shield and his sword; he shook his shield and brandished his spears and waved his sword; and he uttered his hero's shout from his throat, so that goblins and sprites and spectres of the glen and demons of the air answered, for the terror of the shout which they uttered on high. So that the Nemain produced confusion on the host. The four provinces of Ireland came into a tumult of weapons about the points of their own spears and weapons, so that a hundred warriors of them died of terror and of heart-burst in the middle of the camp and of the position that night. When Loeg was there, he saw something: a single man who came straight across the camp of the men of Ireland from the north-east straight towards him. 'A single man is coming to us now, O Little Hound!' said Loeg. 'What kind of man is there?' said Cuchulainn. 'An easy question: a man fair and tall is he, with hair cut broad, waving yellow hair; a green mantle folded round him; a brooch of white silver in the mantle on his breast; a tunic of royal silk, with red ornamentation of red gold against the white skin, to his knees. A black shield with a hard boss of white metal; a five pointed spear in his hand; a forked (?) javelin beside it. Wonderful is the play and sport and exercise that he makes; but no one attacks him, and he attacks no one, as if no one saw him.' 'It is true, O fosterling,' said he; 'which of my friends from the _síd_ is that who comes to have pity on me, because they know the sore distress in which I am, alone against the four great provinces of Ireland, on the Cattle-Foray of Cualnge at this time?' That was true for Cuchulainn. When the warrior had reached the place where Cuchulainn was, he spoke to him, and had pity on him for it. 'This is manly, O Cuchulainn,' said he. 'It is not much at all,' said Cuchulainn. 'I will help you,' said the man. 'Who are you at all?' said Cuchulainn. 'It is I, your father from the _síd_, Lug Mac Ethlend.' 'My wounds are heavy, it were high time that I should be healed.' 'Sleep a little, O Cuchulainn,' said the warrior; 'your heavy swoon (?) [Note: Conjectural--MS. _tromthortim_.] of sleep at the mound of Lerga till the end of three days and three nights, and I will fight against the hosts for that space.' Then he sings the _ferdord_ to him, and he sleeps from it. Lug looked at each wound that it was clean. Then Lug said: 'Arise, O great son of the Ulstermen, whole of thy wounds. ... Go into thy chariot secure. Arise, arise!' [Note: Rhetoric.] For three days and three nights Cuchulainn was asleep. It were right indeed though his sleep equalled his weariness. From the Monday after the end of summer exactly to the Wednesday after Candlemas, for this space Cuchulainn had not slept, except when he slept a little while against his spear after midday, with his head on his clenched fist, and his clenched fist on his spear, and his spear on his knee; but he was striking and cutting and attacking and slaying the four great provinces of Ireland for that space. It is then that the warrior of the síd cast herbs and grasses of curing and charms of healing into the hurts and wounds and into the injuries and into the many wounds of Cuchulainn, so that Cuchulainn recovered in his sleep without his perceiving it at all. Now it was at this time that the boys came south from Emain Macha: Folloman Mac Conchobair with three fifties of kings' sons of Ulster, and they gave battle thrice to the hosts, so that three times their own number fell, and all the boys fell except Folloman Mac Conchobair. Folloman boasted that he would not go back to Emain for ever and ever, until he should take the head of Ailill with him, with the golden crown that was above it. This was not easy to him; for the two sons of Bethe Mac Bain, the two sons of Ailill's foster-mother and foster-father, came on him, and wounded him so that he fell by them. So that that is the death of the boys of Ulster and of Folloman Mac Conchobair. Cuchulainn for his part was in his deep sleep till the end of three days and three nights at the mound in Lerga. Cuchulainn arose then from his sleep, and put his hand over his face, and made a purple wheelbeam from head to foot, and his mind was strong in him, and he would have gone to an assembly, or a march, or a tryst, or a beer-house, or to one of the chief assemblies of Ireland. 'How long have I been in this sleep now, O warrior?' said Cuchulainn. 'Three days and three nights,' said the warrior. 'Alas for that!' said Cuchulainn. 'What is the matter?' said the warrior. 'The hosts without attack for this space,' said Cuchulainn. 'They are not that at all indeed,' said the warrior. 'Who has come upon them?' said Cuchulainn. 'The boys came from the north from Emain Macha; Folloman Mac Conchobair with three fifties of boys of the kings' sons of Ulster; and they gave three battles to the hosts for the space of the three days and the three nights in which you have been in your sleep now. And three times their own number fell, and the boys fell, except Folloman Mac Conchobair. Folloman boasted that he would take Ailill's head, and that was not easy to him, for he was killed.' 'Pity for that, that I was not in my strength! For if I had been in my strength, the boys would not have fallen as they have fallen, and Folloman Mac Conchobair would not have fallen.' 'Strive further, O Little Hound, it is no reproach to thy honour and no disgrace to thy valour.' 'Stay here for us to-night, O warrior,' said Cuchulainn, 'that we may together avenge the boys on the hosts.' 'I will not stay indeed,' said the warrior, 'for however great the contests of valour and deeds of arms any one does near thee, it is not on him there will be the renown of it or the fame or the reputation, but it is on thee; therefore I will not stay. But ply thy deed of arms thyself alone on the hosts, for not with them is there power over thy life this time.' 'The scythe-chariot, O my friend Loeg!' said Cuchulainn; 'can you yoke it? and is its equipment here? If you can yoke it, and if you have its equipment, yoke it; and if you have not its equipment, do not yoke it at all.' It is then that the charioteer arose, and he put on his hero's dress of charioteering. This was his hero's dress of charioteering that he put on: his soft tunic of skin, light and airy, well-turned [Note: Lit. 'kneaded.'], made of skin, sewn, of deer-skin, so that it did not restrain the movement of his hands outside. He put on his black (?) upper-cloak over it outside: Simon Magus had made it for Darius, King of the Romans, so that Darius gave it to Conchobar, and Conchobar gave it to Cuchulainn, and Cuchulainn gave it to his charioteer. The charioteer took first then his helm, ridged, like a board (?), four-cornered, with much of every colour and every form, over the middle of his shoulders. This was well-measured (?) to him, and it was not an overweight. His hand brought the circlet of red-yellow, as though it were a plate of red-gold, of refined gold smelted over the edge of an anvil, to his brow, as a sign of his charioteering, in distinction to his master. He took the goads (?) of his horses, and his whip (?) inlaid in his right hand. He took the reins to hold back his horses in his left hand. [Note: Gloss incorporated in text: 'i. e. to direct his horses, in his left hand, for the great power of his charioteering.'] Then he put the iron inlaid breastplates on the horses, so that they were covered from forehead to forefoot with spears and points and lances and hard points, so that every motion in this chariot was spear-near, so that every corner and every point and every end and every front of this chariot was a way of tearing. It is then that he cast a spell of covering over his horses and over his companion, so that he was not visible to any one in the camp, and so that every one in the camp was visible to them. It was proper that he should cast this, because there were the three gifts of charioteering on the charioteer that day, the leap over ----, and the straight ----, and the ----. Then the hero and the champion and he who made the fold of the Badb [Note: The Badb (scald-crow) was a war-goddess. This is an expressive term for the piled-up bodies of the slain.] of the men of the earth, Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim, took his battle-array of battle and contest and strife. This was his battle-array of battle and contest and strife: he put on twenty-seven skin tunics, waxed, like board, equally thick, which used to be under strings and chains and thongs, against his white skin, that he might not lose his mind nor his understanding when his rage should come. He put on his hero's battle-girdle over it outside, of hard-leather, hard, tanned, of the choice of seven ox-hides of a heifer, so that it covered him from the thin part of his sides to the thick part of his arm-pit; it used to be on him to repel spears, and points, and darts, and lances, and arrows. For they were cast from him just as if it was stone or rock or horn that they struck (?). Then he put on his apron, skin like, silken, with its edge of white gold variegated, against the soft lower part of his body. He put on his dark apron of dark leather, well tanned, of the choice of four ox-hides of a heifer, with his battle-girdle of cows' skins (?) about it over his silken skin-like apron. Then the royal hero took his battle-arms of battle and contest and strife. These then were his battle-arms of battle: he took his ivory-hilted, bright-faced weapon, with his eight little swords; he took his five-pointed spear, with his eight little spears [Note: In the margin: 'and his quiver,' probably an interpolation.]; he took his spear of battle, with his eight little darts; he took his javelin with his eight little javelins; his eight shields of feats, with his round shield, dark red, in which a boar that would be shown at a feast would go into the boss (?), with its edge sharp, keen, very sharp, round about it, so that it would cut hairs against the stream for sharpness and keenness and great sharpness; when the warrior did the edge-feat with it, he would cut equally with his shield, and with his spear, and with his sword. Then he put on his head a ridged-helmet of battle and contest and strife, from which there was uttered the shout of a hundred warriors, with along cry from every corner and every angle of it. For there used to cry from it equally goblins and sprites and ghosts of the glen and demons of the air, before and above and around, wherever he used to go before shedding the blood of warriors and enemies. There was cast over him his dress of concealment by the garment of the Land of Promise that was given by his foster-father in wizardry. It is then came the first contortion on Cuchulainn, so that it made him horrible, many-shaped, wonderful, strange. His shanks shook like a tree before the stream, or like a rush against the stream, every limb and every joint and every end and every member, of him from head to foot. He made a ---- of rage of his body inside his skin. His feet and his shins and his knees came so that they were behind him; his heels and his calves and his hams came so that they were in front. The front-sinews of his calves came so that they were on the front of his shins, so that every huge knot of them was as great as a warrior's clenched fist. The temple-sinews of his head were stretched, so that they were on the hollow of his neck, so that every round lump of them, very great, innumerable, not to be equalled (?), measureless, was as great as the head of a month old child. Then he made a red bowl of his face and of his visage on him; he swallowed one of his two eyes into his head, so that from his cheek a wild crane could hardly have reached it [to drag it] from the back of his skull. The other sprang out till it was on his cheek outside. His lips were marvellously contorted. Tie drew the cheek from the jawbone, so that his gullet was visible. His lungs and his lights came so that they were flying in his mouth and in his throat. He struck a blow of the ---- of a lion with his upper palate on the roof of his skull, so that every flake of fire that came into his mouth from his throat was as large as a wether's skin. His heart was heard light-striking (?) against his ribs like the roaring of a bloodhound at its food, or like a lion going through bears. There were seen the palls of the Badb, and the rain-clouds of poison, and the sparks of fire very red in clouds and in vapours over his head with the boiling of fierce rage, that rose over him. His hair curled round his head like the red branches of a thorn in the gap of Atalta (?). Though a royal apple-tree under royal fruit had been shaken about it, hardly would an apple have reached the ground through it, but an apple would have fixed on every single hair there, for the twisting of the rage that rose from his hair above him. The hero's light rose from his forehead, so that it was as long, and as thick, as a warrior's whet-stone, so that it was equally long with the nose, till he went mad in playing with the shields, in pressing on (?) the charioteer, in ---- the hosts. As high, as thick, as strong, as powerful, as long, as the mast of a great ship, was the straight stream of dark blood that rose straight up from the very top of his head, so that it made a dark smoke of wizardry like the smoke of a palace when the king comes to equip himself in the evening of a wintry day. After that contortion wherewith Cuchulainn was contorted, then the hero of valour sprang into his scythed battle-chariot, with its iron points, with its thin edges, with its hooks, and with its hard points, with its sharp points (?) of a hero, with their pricking goads (?), with its nails of sharpness that were on shafts and thongs and cross-pieces and ropes (?) of that chariot. It was thus the chariot was, with its body thin-framed (?), dry-framed (?), feat-high, straight-shouldered (?), of a champion, on which there would have been room for eight weapons fit for a lord, with the speed of swallow or of wind or of deer across the level of the plain. The chariot was placed on two horses, swift, vehement, furious, small-headed, small-round, small-end, pointed, ----, red-breasted, ----, easy to recognise, well-yoked, ... One of these two horses was supple, swift-leaping, great of strength, great of curve, great of foot, great of length, ----. The other horse was flowing-maned, slender-footed, thin-footed, slender-heeled, ----. It is then that he threw the thunder-feat of a hundred, and the thunder-feat of four hundred, and he stopped at the thunder-feat of five hundred, for he did not think it too much for this equal number to fall by him in his first attack, and in his first contest of battle on the four provinces of Ireland; and he came forth in this way to attack his enemies, and he took his chariot in a great circuit about the four great provinces of Ireland, and he put the attack of an enemy among enemies on them. And a heavy course was put on his chariot, and the iron wheels of the chariot went into the ground, so that it was enough for fort and fortress, the way the iron wheels of the chariot went into the ground; for there arose alike turfs and stones and rocks and flagstones and gravel of the ground as high as the iron wheels of the chariot. The reason why he cast the circle of war round about the four great provinces of Ireland, was that they might not flee from him, and that they might not scatter, that he might make sure of them, to avenge the boys on them; and he comes into the battle thus in the middle, and overthrew great fences of his enemies' corpses round about the host thrice, and puts the attack of an enemy among enemies on them, so that they fell sole to sole, and neck to neck; such was the density of the slaughter. He went round again thrice thus, so that he left a layer of six round them in the great circuit; i.e. soles of three to necks of three in the course of a circuit round the camp. So that its name in the Foray is Sesrech Breslige, and it is one of the three not to be numbered in the Foray; i.e. Sesrech Breslige and Imslige Glendamnach and the battle on Garach and Irgarach, except that it was alike dog and horse and man there. This is what others say, that Lug Mac Ethlend fought along with Cuchulainn the Sesrech Breslige. Their number is not known, and it is impossible to count what number fell there of the rabble. But the chief only have been counted. These are the names of the princes and chiefs: two Cruads, two Calads, two Cirs, two Ciars, two Ecells, three Croms, three Caurs, three Combirge, four Feochars, four Furachars, four Cass, four Fotas, five Caurs, five Cermans, five Cobthachs, six Saxans, six Dachs, six Dares, seven Rochads, seven Ronans, seven Rurthechs, eight Roclads, eight Rochtads, eight Rindachs, eight Corpres, eight Mulachs, nine Daigs, nine Dares, nine Damachs, ten Fiachs, ten Fiachas, ten Fedelmids. Ten kings over seven fifties did Cuchulainn slay in Breslech Mor in Mag Murthemne; and an innumerable number besides of dogs and horses and women and boys and people of no consequence and rabble. For there did not escape one man out of three of the men of Ireland without a thigh-bone or half his head or one eye broken, or without being marked for ever. And he came from them after giving them battle without wound or blood-stain on himself or on his servant or on either of his horses. Cuchulainn came next day to survey the host and to show his soft fair form to the women and the troops of women and the girls and the maidens and the poets and the bards, for he did not hold in honour or dignity that haughty form of wizardry that had appeared to them on him the night before. Therefore he came to show his soft fair form that day. Fair indeed the boy who came then to show his form to the hosts, that is, Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim. The appearance of three heads of hair on him, dark against the skin of his head, blood-red in the middle, a crown gold-yellow which covers them. A fair arrangement of this hair so that it makes three circles round the hollow of the back of his head, so that each hair ----, dishevelled, very golden, excellent, in long curls, distinguished, fair-coloured, over his shoulders, was like gold thread. A hundred ringlets, bright purple, of red-gold, gold-flaming, round his neck; a hundred threads with mixed carbuncle round his head. Four dimples in each of his two cheeks; that is, a yellow dimple, and a green dimple, and a blue dimple, and a purple dimple. Seven gems of brilliance of an eye, in each of his two royal eyes. Seven toes on each of his two feet, seven fingers on each of his two hands, with the grasp of a hawk's claws, with the seizure of a griffin's claws on each of them separately. Then he puts on his feast-dress that day. This was his raiment on him: a fair tunic, proper; bright-purple, with a border with five folds. A white brooch of white silver with adorned gold inlaid over his white breast, as if it was a lantern full of light, that the eyes of men could not look at for its splendour and its brightness. A silken tunic of silk against his skin so that it covered him to the top of his dark apron of dark-red, soldierly, royal, silken. A dark shield; dark red, dark purple, with five chains of gold, with a rim of white metal on it. A sword gold-hilted, inlaid with ivory hilt of red-gold raised high on his girdle. A spear, long, grey-edged, with a spear-head sharp, attacking, with rivets of gold, gold-flaming by him in the chariot. Nine heads in one of his two hands, and ten heads in the other hand. He shook them from him towards the hosts. So that this is the contest of a night to Cuchulainn. Then the women of Connaught raised themselves on the hosts, and the women were climbing on the men to look at Cuchulainn's form. Medb hid her face and dare not show her face, but was under the shield-shelter for fear of Cuchulainn. So that it is hence Dubthach Doeltenga of Ulster said: 'If it is the Riastartha, there will be corpses Of men therefrom,' etc. [Note: Rhetoric, fifty-four lines.] Fiacha Fialdana from Imraith (?) came to speak with the son of his mother's sister, Mane Andoe his name. Docha Mac Magach went with Mane Andoe: Dubthach Doeltenga of Ulster came with Fiacha Fialdana from Imraith (?). Docha threw a spear at Fiacha, so that it went into Dubthach. Then Dubthach threw a spear at Mane, so that it went into Docha. The mothers of Dubthach and Docha were two sisters. Hence is Imroll Belaig Euin. [Note: i.e. the Random Throw of Belach Euin.] (Or Imroll Belaig Euin is from this: the hosts go to Belach Euin, their two troops wait there. Diarmait Mac Conchobair comes from the north from Ulster. 'Let a horseman go from you,' said Diarmait, 'that Mane may come to speak with me with one man, and I will come with one man to meet him.' They meet then. I have come,' said Diarmait, 'from Conchobar, who says to Medb and Ailill, that they let the cows go, and make whole all that they have done there, and bring the Bull [Note: i.e. bring Findbennach to meet the Dun of Cualnge.] from the west hither to the Bull, that they may meet, because Medb has promised it.' 'I will go and tell them,' said Mane. He tells this then to Medb and Ailill. 'This cannot be got of Medb,' said Mane. 'Let us exchange arms then, 'said Diarmait, 'if you think it better.' 'I am content,' said Mane. Each of them throws his spear at the other, so that the two of them die, and so that the name of this place is Imroll Belaig Euin.) Their forces rush at each other: there fall three twenties of them in each of the forces. Hence is Ard-in-Dirma. [Note: The Height of the Troop.] Ailill's folk put his king's crown on Tamun the fool; Ailill dare not have it on himself. Cuchulainn threw a stone at him at Ath Tamuin, so that his head broke thereby. Hence is Ath Tamuin and Tuga-im-Tamun. [Note: i.e., Covering about Tamun.] Then Oengus, son of Oenlam the Fair, a bold warrior of Ulster, turned all the host at Moda Loga (that is the same as Lugmod) as far as Ath Da Ferta: He did not let them go past, and he pelted them with stones, and the learned say ---- before till they should go under the sword at Emain Macha, if it had been in single combat that they had come against him. Fair-play was broken on him, and they slew him in an unequal fight. 'Let some one come from you against me,' said Cuchulainn at Ath Da Ferta. 'It will not be I, it will not be I,' said every one from his place. 'A scapegoat is not owed from my race, and if it were owed, it would not be I whom they would give in his stead for a scapegoat.' Then Fergus Mac Roich was asked to go against him. He refuses to go against his foster-son Cuchulainn. Wine was given to him, and he was greatly intoxicated, and he was asked about going to the combat. He goes forth then since they were urgently imploring him. Then Cuchulainn said: 'It is with my security that you come against me, O friend Fergus,' said he, 'with no sword in its place.' For Ailill had stolen it, as we said before. 'I do not care at all,' said Fergus; 'though there were a sword there, it would not be plied on you. Give way to me, O Cuchulainn,' said Fergus. 'You will give way to me in return then,' said Cuchulainn. 'Even so,' said Fergus. Then Cuchulainn fled back before Fergus as far as Grellach Doluid, that Fergus might give way to him on the day of the battle. Then Cuchulainn sprang in to Grellach Doluid. 'Have you his head, O Fergus?' said every one. 'No,' said Fergus, 'it is not like a tryst. He who is there is too lively for me. Till my turn comes round again, I will not go.' Then they go past him, and take camp at Crich Ross. Then Ferchu, an exile, who was in exile against Ailill, hears them. He comes to meet Cuchulainn. Thirteen men was his number. Cuchulainn kills Ferchu's warriors. Their thirteen stones are there. Medb sent Mand of Muresc, son of Daire, of the Domnandach, to fight Cuchulainn. Own brothers were lie and Fer Diad, and two sons of one father. This Mand was a man fierce and excessive in eating and sleeping, a man ill-tongued, foul-mouthed, like Dubthach Doeltenga of Ulster. He was a man strong, active, with strength of limb like Munremar Mac Gerrcind; a fiery warrior like Triscod Trenfer of Conchobar's house. 'I will go, and I unarmed, and I will grind him between my hands, for I deem it no honour or dignity to ply weapons on a beardless wild boy such as he.' He went then to seek Cuchulainn. He and his charioteer were there on the plain watching the host. 'One man coming towards us,' said Loeg to Cuchulainn. 'What kind of man?' said Cuchulainn. 'A man black, dark, strong, bull-like, and he unarmed.' 'Let him come past you,' said Cuchulainn. He came to them therewith. To fight against you have I come,' said Mand. Then they begin to wrestle for a long time, and Mand overthrows Cuchulainn thrice, so that the charioteer urged him. 'If you had a strife for the hero's portion in Emain,' said he, 'you would be mighty over the warriors of Emain!' His hero's rage comes, and his warrior's fury rises, so that he overthrew Mand against the pillar, so that he falls in pieces. Hence is Mag Mand Achta, that is, Mand Echta, that is, Mand's death there. [From the Yellow Book of Lecan] On the morrow Medb sent twenty-seven men to Cuchulainn's bog. Fuilcarnn is the name of the bog, on this side of Fer Diad's Ford. They threw their twenty-nine spears at him at once; i.e. Gaile-dana with his twenty-seven sons and his sister's son, Glas Mac Delgna. When then they all stretched out their hands to their swords, Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe came after them out of the camp. He gave a leap from his chariot when he saw all their hands against Cuchulainn, and he strikes off the arms of the twenty-nine of them. Then Cuchulainn said: 'What you have done I deem help at the nick of time (?).' 'This little,' said Fiacha, 'is a breach of compact for us Ulstermen. If any of them reaches the camp, we will go with our cantred under the point of the sword.' 'I swear, etc., since I have emitted my breath,' said Cuchulainn, 'not a man of them shall reach it alive.' Cuchulainn slew then the twenty-nine men and the two sons of Ficce with them, two bold warriors of Ulster who came to ply their might on the host. This is that deed on the Foray, when they went to the battle with Cuchulainn. _This is the Combat of Fer Diad and Cuchulainn_ Then they considered what man among them would be fit to ward off Cuchulainn. The four provinces of Ireland spoke, and confirmed, and discussed, whom it would be fitting to send to the ford against Cuchulainn. All said that it was the Horn-skin from Irrus Domnand, the weight that is not supported, the battle-stone of doom, his own dear and ardent foster-brother. For Cuchulainn had not a feat that he did not possess, except it were the Gae Bolga alone; and they thought he could avoid it, and defend himself against it, because of the horn about him, so that neither arms nor many edges pierced it. Medb sent messengers to bring Fer Diad. Fer Diad did not come with those messengers. Medb sent poets and bards and satirists [Note: Ir. _aes glantha gemaidi_, the folk who brought blotches on the cheeks (i.e. by their lampoons).] to him, that they might satirise him and mock him and put him to ridicule, that he might not find a place for his head in the world, until he should come to the tent of Medb and Ailill on the Foray. Fer Diad came with those messengers, for the fear of their bringing shame on him. Findabair, the daughter of Medb and Ailill, was put on one side of him: it is Findabair who put her hand on every goblet and on every cup of Fer Diad; it is she who gave him three kisses at every cup of them; it is she who distributed apples right frequent over the bosom of his tunic. This is what she said: that he, Fer Diad, was her darling and her chosen wooer of the men of the world. When Fer Diad was satisfied and happy and very joyful, Medb said: 'Alé! O Fer Diad, do you know why you have been summoned into this tent?' 'I do not know indeed,' said Fer Diad; 'except that the nobles of the men of Ireland are there. What is there less fitting for me to be there than for any other good warrior?' 'It is not that indeed,' said Medb; 'but to give you a chariot worth three sevens of cumals [See previous note about _cumal_.] and the equipment of twelve men, and the equal of Mag Murthemne from the arable land of Mag Ai; and that you should be in Cruachan always, and wine to be poured for you there; and freedom of your descendants and of your race for ever without tribute or tax; my leaf-shaped brooch of gold to be given to you, in which there are ten score ounces and ten score half-ounces, and ten score _crosach_ and ten score quarters; Findabair, my daughter and Ailill's daughter, for your one wife, and you shall get my love if you need it over and above.' 'He does not need it,' said every, one: 'great are the rewards and gifts.' 'That is true,' said Fer Diad, 'they are great; and though they are great, O Medb, it is with you yourself they will be left, rather than that I should go against my foster-brother to battle.' 'O men,' said she, said Medb (through the right way of division and setting by the ears), 'true is the word that Cuchulainn spoke,' as if she had not heard Fer Diad at all. 'What word is this, O Medb?' said Fer Diad. 'He said indeed,' said she, 'that he would not think it too much that you should fall by him as the first fruits of his prowess in the province to which he should come.' 'To say that was not fitting for him. For it is not weariness or cowardice that he has ever known in me, day nor night. I swear, etc., [Note: The usual oath, 'by the god by whom my people swear,' understood.] that I will be the first man who will come to-morrow morning to the ford of combat.' 'May victory and blessing come to you,' said Medb. 'And I think it better that weariness or cowardice be found with you, because of friendship beyond my own men (?). Why is it more fitting for him to seek the good of Ulster because his mother was of them, than for you to seek the good of the province of Connaught, because you are the son of a king of Connaught?' It is thus they were binding their covenants and their compact, and they made a song there: 'Thou shalt have a reward,' etc. There was a wonderful warrior of Ulster who witnessed that bargaining, and that was Fergus Mac Roich. Fergus came to his tent. 'Woe is me! the deed that is done to-morrow morning!' said Fergus. 'What deed is that?' said the folk in the tent. 'My good fosterling Cuchulainn to be slain.' 'Good lack! who makes that boast?' 'An easy question: his own dear ardent foster-brother, Fer Diad Mac Damain. Why do ye not win my blessing?' said Fergus; 'and let one of you go with a warning and with compassion to Cuchulainn, if perchance he would leave the ford to-morrow morning.' 'On our conscience,' said they, 'though it were you yourself who were on the ford of combat, we would not come as far as [the ford] to seek you.' 'Good, my lad,' said Fergus; 'get our horses for us and yoke the chariot.' The lad arose and got the horses and yoked the chariot. They came forth to the ford of combat where Cuchulainn was. 'One chariot coming hither towards us, O Cuchulainn!' said Loeg. For it is thus the lad was, with his back towards his lord. He used to win every other game of _brandub_ [_Brandub_, the name of a game; probably, like _fidchill_ and _buanfach_, of the nature of chess or draughts.] and of chess-playing from his master: the sentinel and watchman on the four quarters of Ireland over and above that. 'What kind of chariot then?' said Cuchulainn. 'A chariot like a huge royal fort, with its yolcs strong golden, with its great panel(?) of copper, with its shafts of bronze, with its body thin-framed (?), dry-framed (?), feat-high, scythed, sword-fair (?), of a champion, on two horses, swift, stout(?), well-yoked (?), ---- (?). One royal warrior, wide-eyed, was the combatant of the chariot. A beard curly, forked, on him, so that it reached over the soft lower part of his soft shirt, so that it would shelter (?) fifty warriors to be under the heavy ---- of the warrior's beard, on a day of storm and rain. A round shield, white, variegated, many-coloured on him, with three chains ----, so that there would be room from front to back for four troops of ten men behind the leather of the shield which is upon the ---- of the warrior. A sword, long, hard-edged, red-broad in the sheath, woven and twisted of white silver, over the skin of the bold-in-battle. A spear, strong, three-ridged, with a winding and with bands of white silver all white by him across the chariot.' 'Not hard the recognition,' said Cuchulainn; 'my friend Fergus comes there, with a warning and with compassion to me before all the four provinces.' Fergus reached them and sprang from his chariot and Cuchulainn greeted him. 'Welcome your coming, O my friend, O Fergus,' said Cuchulainn. 'I believe your welcome,' said Fergus. 'You may believe it,' said Cuchulainn; 'if a flock of birds come to the plain, you shall have a duck with half of another; if fish come to the estuaries, you shall have a salmon with half of another; a sprig of watercress, and a sprig of marshwort, and a sprig of seaweed, and a drink of cold sandy water after it.' 'That portion is that of an outlaw,' said Fergus. 'That is true, it is an outlaw's portion that I have,' said Cuchulainn, 'for I have been from the Monday after Samain to this time, and I have not gone for a night's entertainment, through strongly obstructing the men of Ireland on the Cattle-Foray of Cualnge at this time.' 'If it were for this we came,' said Fergus, 'we should have thought it the better to leave it; and it is not for this that we have come.' 'Why else have you come to me?' said Cuchulainn. 'To tell you the warrior who comes against you in battle and combat to-morrow morning,' said he. 'Let us find it out and let us hear it from you then,' said Cuchulainn. 'Your own foster-brother, Fer Diad Mac Damain.' 'On our word, we think it not best that it should be he we come to meet,'said Cuchulainn, 'and it is not for fear of him but for the greatness of our love for him.' 'It is fitting to fear him,' said Fergus, 'for he has a skin of horn in battle against a man, so that neither weapon nor edge will pierce it.' 'Do not say that at all,' said Cuchulainn, 'for I swear the oath that my people swear, that every joint and every limb of him will be as pliant as a pliant rush in the midst of a stream under the point of my sword, if he shows himself once to me on the ford.' It is thus they were speaking, and they made a song: 'O Cuchulainn, a bright meeting,' etc. After that, 'Why have you come, O my friend, O Fergus?' said Cuchulainn. 'That is my purpose,' said Fergus. 'Good luck and profit,' said Cuchulainn, 'that no other of the men of Ireland has come for this purpose, unless the four provinces of Ireland all met at one time. I think nothing of a warning before a single warrior.' Then Fergus went to his tent. As regards the charioteer and Cuchulainn: 'What shall you do to-night?' said Loeg. 'What indeed?' said Cuchulainn. 'It is thus that Fer Diad will come to seek you, with new beauty of plaiting and haircutting, and washing and bathing, and the four provinces of Ireland with him to look at the fight. It would please me if you went to the place where you will get the same adorning for yourself, to the place where is Emer of the Beautiful Hair, to Cairthend of Cluan Da Dam in Sliab Fuait.' So Cuchulainn went thither that night, and spent the night with his own wife. His adventures from this time are not discussed here now. As to Fer Diad, he came to his tent; it was gloomy and weary that Fer Diad's tent-servants were that night. They thought it certain that where the two pillars of the battle of the world should meet, that both would fall; or the issue of it would be, that it would be their own lord who would fall there. For it was not easy to fight with Cuchulainn on the Foray. There were great cares on Fer Diad's mind that night, so that they did not let him sleep. One of his great anxieties was that he should let pass from him all the treasures that had been offered to him, and the maiden, by reason of combat with one man. If he did not fight with that one man, he must fight with the six warriors on the morrow. His care that was greater than this was that if he should show himself once on the ford to Cuchulainn, he was certain that he himself would not have power of his head or life thereafter; and Fer Diad arose early on the morrow. 'Good, my lad,' said he, 'get our horses for us, and harness the chariot.' 'On our word,' said the servant, 'we think it not greater praise to go this journey than not to go it.' He was talking with his charioteer, and he made this little song, inciting his charioteer: 'Let us go to this meeting,' etc. The servant got the horses and yoked the chariot, and they went forth from the camp. 'My lad,' said Fer Diad, 'it is not fitting that we make our journey without farewell to the men of Ireland. Turn the horses and the chariot for us towards the men of Ireland.' The servant turned the horses and the chariot thrice towards the men of Ireland. ... 'Does Ailill sleep now?' said Medb. 'Not at all,' said Ailill. 'Do you hear your new son-in-law greeting you?' 'Is that what he is doing?' said Ailill. 'It is indeed,' said Medb, 'and I swear by what my people swear, the man who makes the greeting yonder will not come back to you on the same feet.' 'Nevertheless we have profited by(?) the good marriage connection with him,' said Ailill; 'provided Cuchulainn fell by him, I should not care though they both fell. But we should think it better for Fer Diad to escape.' Fer Diad came to the ford of combat. 'Look, my lad,' said Fer Diad; 'is Cuchulainn on the ford?' 'He is not, indeed,' said the servant. 'Look well for us,' said Fer Diad. 'Cuchulainn is not a little speck in hiding where he would be,' said the lad. 'It is true, O boy, until to-day Cuchulainn has not heard of the coming of a good warrior [Note: Gloss incorporated in the text: 'or a good man.'] against him on the Cattle Foray of Cualnge, and when he has heard of it he has left the ford.' 'A great pity to slander Cuchulainn in his absence! For do you remember how when you gave battle to German Garbglas above the edge-borders of the Tyrrhene Sea, you left your sword with the hosts, and it was Cuchulainn who killed a hundred warriors in reaching it, and he brought it to you; and do you remember where we were that night?' said the lad. 'I do not know it,' said Fer Diad. 'At the house of Scathach's steward,' said the lad, 'and you went ---- and haughtily before us into the house first. The churl gave you a blow with the three-pointed flesh-hook in the small of your back, so that it threw you out over the door like a shot. Cuchulainn came into the house and gave the churl a blow with his sword, so that it made two pieces of him. It was I who was steward for you while you were in that place. If only for that day, you should not say that you are a better warrior than Cuchulainn.' 'What you have done is wrong,' said Fer Diad, 'for I would not have come to seek the combat if you had said it to me at first. Why do you not pull the cushions [Note: LL _fortchai_. YBL has _feirtsi_, 'shafts.'] of the chariot under my side and my skin-cover under my head, so that I might sleep now?' 'Alas!' said the lad, 'it is the sleep of a fey man before deer and hounds here.' 'What, O lad, are you not fit to keep watch and ward for me?' 'I am fit,' said the lad; 'unless men come in clouds or in mist to seek you, they will not come at all from east or west to seek you without warning and observation.' The cushions [Note: LL _fortchai_. YBL has _feirtsi_, 'shafts.'] of his chariot were pulled under his side and the skin under his head. And yet he could not sleep a little. As to Cuchulainn it is set forth: 'Good, O my friend, O Loeg, take the horses and yoke the chariot; if Fer Diad is waiting for us, he is thinking it long.' The boy rose and took the horses and yoked the chariot. Cuchulainn stepped into his chariot and they came on to the ford. As to Fer Diad's servant, he had not long to watch till he heard the creaking of the chariot coming towards them. He took to waking his master, and made a song: 'I hear a chariot,' etc. (This is the description of Cuchulainn's chariot: one of the three chief chariots of the narration on the Cattle Foray of Cualnge.) 'How do you see Cuchulainn?' said he, said Fer Diad, to his charioteer. 'I see,' said he, 'the chariot broad above, fine, of white crystal, with a yoke of gold with ---- (?), with great panels of copper, with shafts of bronze, with tyres of white metal, with its body thin-framed (?) dry-framed (?), feat-high, sword-fair (?), of a champion, on which there would be room for seven arms fit for a lord (?). A fair seat for its lord; so that this chariot, Cuchulainn's chariot, would reach with the speed of a swallow or of a wild deer, over the level land of Mag Slebe. That is the speed and ---- which they attain, for it is towards us they go. This chariot is at hand on two horses small-headed, small-round, small-end, pointed, ----, red-breasted, ----, easy to recognise, well-yoked. ... One of the two horses is supple(?), swift-leaping, great of strength, great of foot, great of length, ----. The other horse is curly-maned, slender-footed, narrow-footed, heeled, ----. Two wheels dark, black. A pole of metal adorned with red enamel, of a fair colour. Two bridles golden, inlaid. There is a man with fair curly hair, broad cut (?), in the front of this chariot. There is round him a blue mantle, red-purple. A spear with wings (?), and it red, furious; in his clenched fist, red-flaming. The appearance of three heads of hair on him, i.e. dark hair against the skin of his head, hair blood-red in the middle, a crown of gold covers the third hair. 'A fair arrangement of the hair so that it makes three circles round about his shoulders down behind. I think it like gold thread, after its colour has been made over the edge of the anvil; or like the yellow of bees on which the sun shines in a summer day, is the shining of each single hair of his hair. Seven toes on each of his feet, and seven fingers on each of his hands, and the shining of a very great fire round his eye, ---- (?) and the hoofs of his horses; a hero's ---- in his hands. 'The charioteer of the chariot is worthy of him in his presence: curly hair very black has he, broad-cut along his head. A cowl-dress is on him open; two very fine golden leaf-shaped switches in his hand, and a light grey mantle round him, and a goad of white silver in his hand, plying the goad on the horses, whichever way the champion of great deeds goes who was at hand in the chariot. 'He is veteran of his land (?): he and his servant think little of Ireland.' 'Go, O fellow,' said he, said Fer Diad; 'you praise too much altogether; and prepare the arms in the ford against his coming.' 'If I turned my face backwards, it seems to me the chariot would come through the back of my neck.' 'O fellow,' said he, 'too greatly do you praise Cuchulainn, for it is not a reward for praising he has given you'; and it is thus he was giving his description, and he said: 'The help is timely,' etc. It is not long afterwards that they met in the middle of the ford, and Fer Diad said to Cuchulainn: 'Whence come you, O Cua?' said he (for [Note: An interpolation.] _cua_ was the name of squinting in old Gaelic; and there were seven pupils in Cuchulainn's royal eye, and two of these pupils were squinting, and the ugliness of it is no greater than its beauty on him; and if there had been a greater blemish on Cuchulainn, it is that with which he reproached him; and he was proclaiming it); and he made a song, and Cuchulainn answered: 'Whence art thou come, O Hound,' etc. Then Cuchulainn said to his charioteer that he was to taunt him when he was overcome, and that he was to praise him when he was victorious, in the combat against Fer Diad. Then the charioteer said to him: 'The man goes over thee as the tail over a cat; he washes thee as foam is washed in water, he squeezes (?) thee as a loving mother her son.' Then they took to the ford-play. Scathach's ---- (?)came to them both. Fer Diad and Cuchulainn performed marvellous feats. Cuchulainn went and leapt into Fer Diad's shield; Fer Diad hurled him from him thrice into the ford; so that the charioteer taunted him again ---- and he swelled like breath in a bag. His size increased till he was greater than Fer Diad. 'Give heed to the _Gae bolga_,' said the charioteer; he sent it to him along the stream. Cuchulainn seized it between his toes, and wielded it on Fer Diad, into his body's armour. It advances like one spear, so that it became twenty-four points. Then Fer Diad turned the shield below. Cuchulainn thrust at him with the spear over the shield, so that it broke the shaft of his ribs and went through Fer Diad's heart. [_Fer Diad_:] 'Strong is the ash from thy right hand! The ---- rib breaks, my heart is blood. Well hast thou given battle! I fall, O Hound.' [_Cuchulainn_:] 'Alas, O golden brooch, O Fer Diad! ----, O fair strong striker! Thy hand was victorious; our dear foster brotherhood, O delight of the eyes! Thy shield with the rim of gold, thy sword was dear. Thy ring of white silver round thy noble arm. Thy chess-playing was worthy of a great man. Thy cheek fair-purple; thy yellow curling hair was great, it was a fair treasure. Thy soft folded girdle which used to be about thy side. That thou shouldst fall at Cuchulainn's hands was sad, O Calf! Thy shield did not suffice which used to be for service. Our combat with thee is not fitting, our horses and our tumult. Fair was the great hero! every host used to be defeated and put under foot. Alas, O golden brooch, O Fer Diad!' *** THIS IS THE LONG WARNING OF SUALTAIM While the things that we have related were done, Suallaith heard from Rath Sualtaim in Mag Murthemne the vexing of his son Cuchulainn against twelve sons of Gaile Dana [Note: LL, 'Twenty-seven sons of Calatin.' In the story as related earlier in YBL it is 'Gaile Dana with his twenty-seven sons.'] and his sister's son. It is then that Sualtaim said: 'Is it heaven that bursts, or the sea over its boundaries, or earth that is destroyed, or the shout of my son against odds?' Then he comes to his son. Cuchulainn was displeased that he should come to him. 'Though he were slain, I should not have strength to avenge him. Go to the Ulstermen,' says Cuchulainn, 'and let them give battle to the warriors at once; if they do not give it, they will not be avenged for ever.' When his father saw him, there was not in his chariot as much as the point of a rush would cover that was not pierced. His left hand which the shield protected, twenty wounds were in it. Sualtaim came over to Emain and shouted to the Ulstermen: 'Men are being slain, women carried off, cows driven away!' His first shout was from the side of the court; his second from the side of the fortress; the third shout was on the mound of the hostages in Emain. No one answered; it was the practice of the Ulstermen that none of them should speak except to Conchobar; and Conchobar did not speak before the three druids. 'Who takes them, who steals them, who carries them off?' said the druid. Ailill Mac Mata carries them off and steals them and takes them, through the guidance of Fergus Mac Roich,' said Sualtaim. 'Your people have been enslaved as far as Dun Sobairce; their cows and their women and their cattle have been taken. Cuchulainn did not let them into Mag Murthemne and into Crich Rois; three months of winter then, bent branches of hazel held together his dress upon him. Dry wisps are on his wounds. He has been wounded so that he has been parted joint from joint.' 'Fitting,' said the druid, 'were the death of the man who has spurred on the king.' 'It is fitting for him,' said Conchobar. 'It is fitting for him,' said the Ulstermen. 'True is what Sualtaim says,' said Conchobar; 'from the Monday night of Samain to the Monday night of Candlemas he has been in this foray.' Sualtaim gave a leap out thereupon. He did not think sufficient the answer that he had. He falls on his shield, so that the engraved edge of the shield cut his head off. His head is brought back into Emain into the house on the shield, and the head says the same word (though some say that he was asleep on the stone, and that he fell thence on to his shield in awaking). 'Too great was this shout,' said Conchobar. 'The sea before them, the heaven over their tops, the earth under their feet. I will bring every cow into its milking-yard, and every woman and every boy from their house, after the victory in battle.' Then Conchobar struck his hand on his son, Findchad Fer m-Bend. Hence he is so called because there were horns of silver on him. THE MUSTER OF THE ULSTERMEN 'Arise, O Findchad, I will send thee to Deda,' etc. [Note: Rhetoric, followed by a long list of names.] It was not, difficult for Findchad to take his message, for they were, the whole province of Conchobar, every chief of them, awaiting Conchobar; every one was then east and north and west of Emain. When they were there, they all came till they were at Emain Macha. When they were there, they Beard the uprising of Conchobar in Emain. They went past Emain southwards after the host. Their first march then was from Emain to Irard Cuillend. 'What are you waiting for here?' said Conchobar. 'Waiting for your sons,' said the host. 'They have gone with thirty with them to Temair to seek Eirc, son of Coirpre Niafer and Fedelm Noicride. Till their two cantreds should come to us, we will not go from this place.' 'I will not remain indeed,' said Conchobar, 'till the men of Ireland know that I have awaked from the sickness in which I was.' Conchobar and Celtchar went with three fifties of chariots, and they brought eight twenties of heads from Ath Airthir Midi; hence is Ath Fene. They were there watching the host. And eight twenties of women, that was their share of the spoil. Their heads were brought there, and Conchobar and Celtchar sent them to the camp. It is there that Celtchar said to Conchobar: [Note: Rhetoric.] (Or it was Cuscraid, the Stammerer of Macha, son of Conchobar, sang this song the night before the battle, after the song which Loegaire Buadach had sung, to wit, 'Arise, kings of Macha,' etc., and it would be in the camp it was sung.) It was in this night that the vision happened to Dubthach Doeltenga of Ulster, when the hosts were on Garach and Irgarach. It is there that he said in his sleep: THE VISION OF DUBTHACH 'A wonder of a morning,' [Note: Rhetoric.] a wonder of a time, when hosts will be confused, kings will be turned, necks will break, the sun will grow red, three hosts will be routed by the track of a host about Conchobar. They will strive for their women, they will chase their flocks in fight on the morning, heroes will be smitten, dogs will be checked (?), horses will be pressed (?), ---- ----, ---- will drip, from the assemblies of great peoples.' Therewith they awoke through their sleep (?). The Nemain threw the host into confusion there; a hundred men of them died. There is silence there then; when they heard Cormac Condlongas again (or it is Ailill Mac Matae in the camp who sang this): 'The time of Ailill. Great his truce, the truce of Cuillend,' etc. [Note: Rhetoric.] THE MARCH OF THE COMPANIES While these things were being done, the Connaughtman determined to send messengers by the counsel of Ailill and Medb and Fergus, to look at the Ulstermen, to see whether they had reached the plain. It is there that Ailill said: 'Go, O Mac Roth,' said Ailill, 'and look for us whether the men are all(?) in the plain of Meath in which we are. If they have not come, I have carried off their spoil and their cows; let them give battle to me, if it suits them. I will not await them here any longer.' Then Mac Roth went to look at and to watch the plain. He came back to Ailill and Medb and Fergus The first time then that Mac Roth looked from the circuit of Sliab Fuait, he saw that all the wild beast came out of the wood, so that they were all in the plain. 'The second time,' said Mac Roth, 'that I surveyed the plain, I saw a heavy mist that filled the glens and the valleys, so that it made the hills between them like islands in lakes. Then there appeared to me sparks of fire out of this great mist: there appeared to me a variegation of every different colour in the world. I saw then lightning and din and thunder and a great wind that almost took my hair from my head, and threw me on my back; and yet the wind of the day was not great.' 'What is it yonder, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'Say what it means.' [Note: Literally, 'is like.'] 'That is not hard; this is what it means,' said Fergus: 'This is the Ulstermen after coming out of their sickness. It is they who have come into the wood. The throng and the greatness and the violence of the heroes, it is that which has shaken the wood; it is before them that the wild beasts have fled into the plain. The heavy mist that you saw, which filled the valleys, was the breath of those warriors, which filled the glens so that it made the hills between them like islands in lakes. The lightning and the sparks of fire and the many colours that you saw, O Mac Roth,' said Fergus, 'are the eyes of the warriors from their heads which have shone to you like sparks of fire. The thunder and the din and the noise(?) that you heard, was the whistling of the swords and of the ivory-hilted weapons, the clatter of arms, the creaking of the chariots, the beating of the hoofs of the horses, the strength of the warriors, the roar of the fighting-men, the noise of the soldiers, the great rage and anger and fierceness of the heroes going in madness to the battle, for the greatness of the rage and of the fury(?). They would think they would not reach it at all,' said Fergus. 'We will await them,' said Ailill; 'we have warriors for them.' 'You will need that,' said Fergus, 'for there will not be found in all Ireland, nor in the west of the world, from Greece and Scythia westward to the Orkneys and to the Pillars of Hercules and to the Tower of Bregon and to the island of Gades, any one who shall endure the Ulstermen in their fury and in their rage,' said Fergus. Then Mac Roth went again to look at the march of the men of Ulster, so that he was in their camp at Slemon Midi, and Fergus; and he told them certain tidings, and Mac Roth said in describing them: 'A great company has come, of great fury, mighty, fierce, to the hill at Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'I think there is a cantred therein; they took off their clothing at once, and dug a mound of sods under their leader's seat. A warrior fair and tall and long and high, beautiful, the fairest of kings his form, in the front of the company. Hair white-yellow has he, and it curly, neat, bushy (?), ridged, reaching to the hollow of his shoulders. A tunic curly, purple, folded round him; a brooch excellent, of red-gold, in his cloak on his breast; eyes very grey, very fair, in his head; a face proper, purple, has he, and it narrow below and broad above: a beard forked, very curly, gold-yellow he has; a shirt white, hooded, with red ornamentation, round about him; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders; a white shield with rivets(?) of gold; abroad grey spear-head on a slender shaft in his hand. The fairest of the princes of the world his march, both in host and rage and form and dress, both in face and terror and battle and triumph, both in prowess and horror and dignity. 'Another company has come there,' said Mac Roth; 'it is next to the other in number and quarrelling and dress and terror and horror. A fair warrior, heroic, is in the front of this company. A green cloak folded round him; a brooch of gold over his arm; hair curly and yellow: an ivory-hilted sword with a hilt of ivory at his left. A shirt with ---- to his knee; a wound-giving shield with engraved edge; the candle of a palace [Note: i.e. spear.] in his hand; a ring of silver about it, and it runs round along the shaft forward to the point, and again it runs to the grip. And that troop sat down on the left hand of the leader of the first troop, and it is thus they sat down, with their knees to the ground, and the rims of their shields against their chins. And I thought there was stammering in the speech of the great fierce warrior who is the leader of that company. 'Another company has come there,' said Mac Roth; 'its appearance is vaster than a cantred; a man brave, difficult, fair, with broad head, before it. Hair dark and curly on him; a beard long, with slender points, forked, has he; a cloak dark-grey, ----, folded round him; a leaf-shaped brooch of white metal over his breast; a white, hooded shirt to his knees; a hero's shield with rivets on him; a sword of white silver about his waist; a five-pointed spear in his hand. He sat down in front of the leader of the first troop.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'I know indeed,' said Fergus, 'those companies. Conchobar, king of a province of Ireland, it is he who has sat down on the mound of sods. Sencha Mac Aililla, the orator of Ulster, it is he who has sat down before him. Cuscraid, the Stammerer of Macha, son of Conchobar, it is he who has sat down at his father's side. It is the custom for the spear that is in his hand in sport yonder before victory ---- before or after. That is a goodly folk for wounding, for essaying every conflict, that has come,' said Fergus. 'They will find men to speak with them here,' said Medb. 'I swear by the god by whom my people swear,' said Fergus, 'there has not been born in Ireland hitherto a man who would check the host of Ulster.' [Note: Conjectural; the line is corrupt in the MS.] 'Another company has come there,' said Mac Roth. 'Greater than a cantred its number. A great warrior, brave, with horror and terror, and he mighty, fiery-faced, before it. Hair dark, greyish on him, and it smooth-thin on his forehead. Around shield with engraved edge on him, a spear five-pointed in his hand, a forked javelin beside him; a hard sword on the back of his head; a purple cloak folded round him; a brooch of gold on his arm; a shirt, white, hooded, to his knee.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'He is the putting of a hand on strife; he is a battle champion for fight; he is judgment against enemies who has come there; that is, Eogan Mac Durthacht, King of Fermoy is that,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come, great, fierce, to the hill at Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'They have put their clothing behind them. Truly, it is strong, dark, they have come to the hill; heavy is the terror and great the horror which they have put upon themselves; terrible the clash of arms that they made in marching. A man thick of head, brave, like a champion, before it; and he horrible, hideous; hair light, grey on him; eyes yellow, great, in his head; a cloak yellow, with white ---- round about him. A shield, wound-giving, with engraved edge, on him, without; a broad spear, a javelin with a drop of blood along the shaft; and a spear its match with the blood of enemies along its edge in his hand; a great wound-giving sword on his shoulders.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'The man who has so come does not avoid battle or combat or strife: that is, Loegaire the Victorious, Mac Connaid Meic Ilech, from Immail from the north,' said Fergus. 'Another great company has come to Slemon Midi to the hill,' said Mac Roth. 'A warrior thick-necked, fleshy, fair, before that company. Hair black and curly on him, and he purple, blue-faced; eyes grey, shining, in his head; a cloak grey, lordly (?), about him; a brooch of white silver therein; a black shield with a boss of bronze on it; a spear, covered with eyes, with ---- (?), in his hand; a shirt, braided(?), with red ornamentation, about him; a sword with a hilt of ivory over his dress outside.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'He is the putting of a hand on a skirmish; he is the wave of a great sea that drowns little streams; he is a man of three shouts; he is the judgment of ---- of enemies, who so comes,' said Fergus; 'that is, Munremar Mac Gerrcind, from Moduirn in the north.' 'Another great company has come there to the hill to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A company very fair, very beautiful, both in number and strife and raiment. It is fiercely that they make for the hill; the clatter of arms which they raised in going on their course shook the host. A warrior fair, excellent, before the company. Most beautiful of men his form, both in hair and eyes and fear, both in raiment and form and voice and whiteness, both in dignity and size and beauty, both in weapons and knowledge and adornment, both in equipment and armour and fitness, both in honour and wisdom and race.' 'This is his description,' said Fergus; 'he is the brightness of fire, the fair man, Fedlimid, who so comes there; he is fierceness of warriors, he is the wave of a storm that drowns, he is might that is not endured, with triumphs out of other territories after destruction (?) of his foes; that is Fedlimid ---- ---- there.' 'Another company has come there to the hill to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth, 'which is not fewer than a warlike cantred (?). A warrior great, brave, grey, proper, ----, in front of it. Hair black, curly, on him; round eyes, grey(?), very high, in his head. A man bull-like, strong, rough; a grey cloak about him, with a brooch of silver on his arm; a shirt white, hooded, round him; a sword at his side; a red shield with a hard boss of silver on it. A spear with three rivets, broad, in his hand.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'He is the fierce glow of wrath, he is a shaft (?) of every battle; he is the victory of every combat, who has so come there, Connad Mac Mornai from Callann,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come to the hill at Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'It is the march of an army for greatness. The leader who is in front of that company, not common is a warrior fairer both in form and attire and equipment. Hair bushy, red-yellow, on him; a face proper, purple, well-proportioned; a face narrow below, broad above; lips red, thin; teeth shining, pearly; a voice clear, ringing; a face fair, purple, shapely; most beautiful of the forms of men; a purple cloak folded round him; a brooch with full adornment of gold, over his white breast; a bent shield with many-coloured rivets, with a boss of silver, at his left; a long spear, grey-edged, with a sharp javelin for attack in his hand; a sword gold-hilted, of gold, on his back; a hooded shirt with red ornamentation about him.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'We know, indeed,' said Fergus. 'He is half of a combat truly,' said he, 'who so comes there; he is a fence(?) of battle, he is fierce rage of a bloodhound; Rochad Mac Fathemain from Bridamae, your son-in-law, is that, who wedded your daughter yonder, that is, Findabair.' 'Another company has come to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A warrior with great calves, stout, with great thighs, big, in front of that company. Each of his limbs is almost as thick as a man. Truly, he is a man down to the ground,' said he. 'Hair black on him; a face full of wounds, purple, has he; an eye parti-coloured, very high, in his head; a man glorious, dexterous, thus, with horror and terror, who has a wonderful apparel, both raiment and weapons and appearance and splendour and dress; he raises himself with the prowess of a warrior, with achievements of ----, with the pride of wilfulness, with a going through battle to rout overwhelming numbers, with wrath upon foes, with a marching on many hostile countries without protection. In truth, mightily have they come on their course into Slemon Midi.' 'He was ---- of valour and of prowess, in sooth,' said Fergus; 'he was of ---- pride(?) and of haughtiness, he was ---- of strength and dignity, ---- then of armies and hosts of my own foster-brother, Fergus Mac Leiti, King of Line, point of battle of the north of Ireland.' 'Another company, great, fierce, has come to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Strife before it, strange dresses on them. A warrior fair, beautiful, before it; gift of every form, both hair and eye and whiteness, both size and strife and fitness; five chains of gold on him; a green cloak folded about him; a brooch of gold in the cloak over his arm; a shirt white, hooded, about him; the tower of a palace in his hand; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders.' 'Fiery is the bearing of the champion of combat who has so come there,' said Fergus. 'Amorgene, son of Eccet Salach the smith, from Buais in the north is that.' 'Another company has come there, to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. It is a drowning for size, it is a fire for splendour, it is a pin for sharpness, it is a battalion for number, it is a rock for greatness, it is ---- for might, it is a judgment for its ----, it is thunder for pride. A warrior rough-visaged, terrible, in front of this company, and he great-bellied, large-lipped; rough hair, a grey beard on him; and he great-nosed, red-limbed; a dark cloak about him, an iron spike on his cloak; a round shield with an engraved edge on him; a rough shirt, braided(?), about him; a great grey spear in his hand, and thirty rivets therein; a sword of seven charges of metal on his shoulders. All the host rose before him, and he overthrew multitudes of the battalion about him in going to the hill.' 'He is a head of strife who has so come,' said Fergus; 'he is a half of battle, he is a warrior for valour, he is a wave of a storm which drowns, he is a sea over boundaries; that is, Celtchar Mac Uithechair from Dunlethglaisi in the north.' 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A warrior of one whiteness in front of it, all white, both hair and eyelashes and beard and equipment; a shield with a boss of gold on him, and a sword with a hilt of ivory, and a broad spear with rings in his hand. Very heroic has his march come.' 'Dear is the bear, strong-striking, who has so come,' said Fergus; 'the bear of great deeds against enemies, who breaks men, Feradach Find Fechtnach from the grove of Sliab Fuait in the north is that.' 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A hideous warrior in front of it, and he great-bellied, large-lipped; his lips as big as the lips of a horse; hair dark, curly, on him, and he himself ----, broad-headed, long-handed; a cloak black, hairy, about him; a chain of copper over it, a dark grey buckler over his left hand; a spear with chains in his right hand; a long sword on his shoulders.' 'He is a lion red-handed, fierce of ----, who so comes,' said Fergus. 'He is high of deeds, great in battle, rough; he is a raging on the land who is unendurable, Eirrgi Horse-lipped from Bri Eirge in the north,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Two warriors, fair, both alike, in front of it; yellow hair on them; two white shields with rivets of silver; they are of equal age. They lift up their feet and set them down together; it is not their manner for either of them to lift up his feet without the other. Two heroes, two splendid flames, two points of battle, two warriors, two pillars of fight, two dragons, two fires, two battle-soldiers, two champions of combat, two rods (?), two bold ones, two pets of Ulster about the king.' 'Who are those, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'Fiachna and Fiacha, two sons of Conchobar Mac Nessa, two darlings of the north of Ireland,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Three warriors, fiery, noble, blue-faced, before it. Three heads of hair very yellow have they; three cloaks of one colour in folds about them; three brooches of gold over their arms, three shirts ---- with red ornamentation round about them; three shields alike have they; three swords gold-hilted on their shoulders; three spears, broad-grey, in their right hands. They are of equal age.' 'Three glorious champions of Coba, three of great deeds of Midluachair, three princes of Roth, three veterans of the east of Sliab Fuait,' said Fergus; 'the three sons of Fiachna are these, after the Bull; that is, Rus and Dairi and Imchath,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A man lively, fiery, before it; eyes very red, of a champion, in his head; a many-coloured cloak about him; a chain of silver thereon; a grey shield on his left; [a sword] with a hilt of silver at his side; a spear, excellent with a striking of cruelty in his vengeful right hand; a shirt white, hooded, to his knee. A company very red, with wounds, about him, and he himself wounded and bleeding.' 'That,' said Fergus, 'is the bold one, unsparing; that is the tearing; it is the boar [Note: Ir. _rop_, said to be a beast that wounds or gores.] of combat, it is the mad bull; it is the victorious one of Baile; it is the warlike one of the gap; it is the champion of Colptha, the door of war of the north of Ireland: that is, Menn Mac Salchalca from Corann. To avenge his wounds upon you has that man come,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth, 'and they very heroic, mutually willing. A warrior grey, great, broad, tall, before it. Hair dark, curly, on him; a cloak red, woollen, about him; a shirt excellent; a brooch of gold over his arms in his cloak; a sword, excellent, with hilt of white silver on his left; a red shield has he; a spear-head broad-grey on a fair shaft [Note: Conjecture; the Irish is obscure.] of ash in his hand. 'A man of three strong blows who has so come,' said Fergus; 'a man of three roads, a man of three highways, a man of three gifts, a man of three shouts, who breaks battles on enemies in another province: Fergrae Mac Findchoime from Corann is that.' 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Its appearance is greater than a cantred. A warrior white-breasted, very fair, before it; like to Ailill yonder in size and beauty and equipment and raiment. A crown of gold above his head; a cloak excellent folded about him; a brooch of gold in the cloak on his breast; a shirt with red ornamentation round about him; a shield wound-giving with rims of gold; the pillar of a palace in his hand; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders.' 'It is a sea over rivers who has so come, truly,' said Fergus; 'it is a fierce glow of fire; his rage towards foes is insupportable: Furbaidi Ferbend is that,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Very heroic, innumerable,' said Mac Roth; 'strange garments, various, about them, different from other companies. Famously have they come, both in arms and raiment and dress. A great host and fierce is that company. A lad flame red before it; the most beautiful of the forms of men his form; ... a shield with white boss in his hand, the shield of gold and a rim of gold round it; a spear sharp, light, with in his hand; a cloak purple, fringed, folded about him; a brooch of silver in the cloak, on his breast; a shirt white, hooded, with red ornamentation, about him; a sword gold-hilted over his dress outside.' Therewith Fergus is silent. 'I do not know indeed,' said Fergus, 'the like of this lad in Ulster, except that I think it is the men of Temair about a lad proper, wonderful, noble: with Erc, son of Coirpre Niafer and of Conchobar's daughter. They love not one another; ---- without his father's leave has that man come, to help his grandfather. It is through the combat of that lad,' said Fergus, 'that you will be defeated in the battle. That lad knows not terror nor fear at coming to you among them into the midst of your battalion. It would be like men that the warriors of the men of Ulster will roar in saving the calf their heart, in striking the battle. There will come to them a feeling of kinship at seeing that lad in the great battle, striking the battle before them. There will be heard the rumble of Conchobar's sword like the barking of a watch-dog in saving the lad. He will throw three walls of men about the battle in seeking the lad. It will be with the affection of kinsmen that the warriors of Ulster will attack the countless host,' said Fergus. 'I think it long,' said Mac Roth, 'to be recounting all that I have seen, but I have come meanwhile (?) with tidings to you.' 'You have brought it,' said Fergus. 'Conall Cernach has not come with his great company,' said Mac Roth; 'the three sons of Conchobar with their three cantreds have not come; Cuchulainn too has not come there after his wounding in combat against odds. Unless it is a warrior with one chariot,' said Mac Roth, 'I think it would be he who has come there. Two horses ... under his chariot; they are long-tailed, broad-hoofed, broad above, narrow beneath, high-headed, great of curve, thin-mouthed, with distended nostrils. Two wheels black, ----, with tyres even, smooth-running; the body very high, clattering; the tent ... therein; the pillars carved. The warrior in that chariot four-square, purple-faced; hair cropped short on the top, curly, very black has he, down to his shoulders; ... a cloak red about him; four thirties of feat-poles (?) in each of his two arms. A sword gold-hilted on his left; shield and spear has he, and twenty-four javelins about him on strings and thongs. The charioteer in front of him; the back of the charioteer's head towards the horses, the reins grasped by his toes (?) before him; the chessboard spread between them, half the men of yellow gold, the others of white metal; the _buanfach_ [Note: the name of a game; probably in the nature of chess or draughts.] under their thighs. Nine feats were performed by him on high.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'An easy question,' said Fergus. 'Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim from the _Sid_, [Note: Cuchulainn was of fairy birth.] and Loeg Mac Riangabra his charioteer. Cuchulainn is that,' said Fergus. 'Many hundreds and thousands,' said Mac Roth, 'have reached the camp of Ulster. Many heroes and champions and fighting-men have come with a race to the assembly. Many companies,' said Mac Roth, 'were reaching the same camp, of those who had not reached or come to the camp when I came; only,' said Mac Roth, 'my eye did not rest on hill or height of all that my eye reached from Fer Diad's Ford to Slemon Midi, but upon horse and man.' 'You saw the household of a man truly,' said Fergus. Then Conchobar went with his hosts and took camp near the others. Conchobar asked for a truce till sunrise on the morrow from Ailill, and Ailill ratified it for the men of Ireland and for the exiles, and Conchobar ratified it for the Ulstermen; and then Conchobar's tents are pitched. The ground between them is a space, ----, bare, and the Ulstermen came to it before sunset. Then said the Morrigan in the twilight between the two camps: [Note: Rhetoric, seven lines] *** Now Cuchulainn was at Fedan Chollna near them. Food was brought to him by the hospitallers that night; and they used to come to speak to him by day. He did not kill any of them to the left of Fer Diad's Ford. 'Here is a small herd from the camp from the west to the camp to the east,' said the charioteer to Cuchulainn. 'Here is a troop of lads to meet them.' 'Those lads shall come,' said Cuchulainn. 'The little herd shall come over the plain. He who will not ---- (?) shall come to help the lads.' This was done then as Cuchulainn had said. 'How do the lads of Ulster fight the battle?' 'Like men,' said the charioteer. 'It would be a vow for them, to fall in rescuing their herds,' said Cuchulainn. 'And now?' 'The beardless striplings are fighting now,' said the charioteer. 'Has a bright cloud come over the sun yet?' 'Not so,' said the charioteer. 'Alas, that I had not strength to go to them!' said Cuchulainn. 'There will be contest without that to-day,' said the charioteer, 'at sunrise; haughty folk fight the battle now,' said the charioteer, 'save that there are not kings there, for they are still asleep.' Then Fachna said when the sun rose (or it is Conchobar who sang in his sleep): 'Arise, Kings of Macha, of mighty deeds, noble household, grind your weapons, fight the battle,' etc. 'Who has sung this?' said every one. 'Conchobar Mac Nessa,' said they; 'or Fachtna sang it,' said they. 'Sleep, sleep, save your sentinels.' Loegaire the Victorious was heard: 'Arise, Kings of Macha,' etc. 'Who has sung that?' said every one. 'Loegaire the Victorious, son of Connad Buide Mac Ilech. Sleep, sleep, except your sentinels.' 'Wait for it still,' said Conchobar, 'till sunrise ... in the glens and heights of Ireland.' When Cuchulainn saw the kings from the east taking their crowns on their heads and marshalling (?) the companies, Cuchulainn said to his charioteer that he should awaken the Ulstermen; and the charioteer said (or it is Amairgen, son of Eccet the poet, who said): 'Arise, Kings of Macha,' etc. 'I have awakened them,' said the charioteer. 'Thus have they come to the battle, quite naked, except for their arms only. He, the door of whose tent is east, has come out through it west.' 'It is a "goodly help of necessity,"' said Cuchulainn. The adventures of the Ulstermen are not followed up here now. As for the men of Ireland, Badb and Net's wife and Nemain [Note: Nemain was the wife of Net, the war-god, according to Cormac.] called upon them that night on Garach and Irgarach, so that a hundred warriors of them died for terror; that was not the most peaceful of nights for them. THE MUSTER OF THE MEN OF IRELAND HERE Ailill Mac Matae sang that night before the battle, and said: 'Arise, arise,' etc [Note: Here follows a list of names.] As for Cuchulainn, this is what is told here now. 'Look for us, O my friend, O Loeg, how the Ulstermen are fighting the battle now.' 'Like men,' said the charioteer. 'Though I were to go with my chariot, and Oen the charioteer of Conall Cernach with his chariot, so that we should go from one wing to the other along the dense mass, neither hoofs nor tyres shall go through it.' 'That is the stuff for a great battle,' said Cuchulainn. 'Nothing must be done in the battle,' said Cuchulainn to his charioteer, 'that we shall not know from you.' 'That will be true, so far as I can,' said the charioteer. 'The place where the warriors are now from the west,' said the charioteer, 'they make a breach in the battle eastwards. Their first defence from the east, they make a breach in the battle westwards.' 'Alas! that I am not whole!' said Cuchulainn; 'my breach would be manifest like the rest.' Then came the men of the bodyguard to the ford of the hosting. Fine the way in which the fightingmen came to the battle on Garach and Irgarach. Then came the nine chariot-men of the champions of Iruath, three before them on foot. Not more slowly did they come than the chariot-men. Medb did not let them into the battle, for dragging Ailill out of the battle if it is him they should defeat, or for killing Conchobar if it is he who should be defeated. Then his charioteer told Cuchulainn that Ailill and Medb were asking Fergus to go into the battle; and they said to him that it was only right for him to do it, for they had done him much kindness on his exile. 'If I had my sword indeed,' said Fergus, 'the heads of men over shields would be more numerous with me than hailstones in the mire to which come the horses of a king after they have broken into the land (?).' Then Fergus made this oath: 'I swear, etc., there would be broken by me cheeks of men from their necks, necks of men with their (lower) arms, arms of men with their elbows, elbows of men with their arms, arms of men with their fists, fists of men with their fingers, fingers of men with their nails, [nails] of men with their skull-roofs, skull-roofs of men with their middle, middle of men with their thighs, thighs of men with their knees, knees of men with their calves, calves of men with their feet, feet of men with their toes, toes of men with their nails. I would make their necks whizz (?) ---- as a bee would move to and fro on a day of beauty (?).' Then Ailill said to his charioteer: 'Let there come to me the sword which destroys skin. I swear by the god by whom my people swear, if you have its bloom worse to-day than on the day on which I gave it to you in the hillside in the boundary of Ulster, though the men of Ireland were protecting you from me, they should not protect you.' Then his sword was brought to Fergus, and Ailill said: 'Take thy sword,' etc. [Note: Rhetoric, twelve lines.] 'A pity for thee to fall on the field of battle, thick [with slain ?],' said Fergus to Ailill. The Badb and Net's wife and the Nemain called on them that night on Garach and Irgarach; so that a hundred warriors of them died for terror. That was not the quietest of nights for them. Then Fergus takes his arms and turns into the battle, and clears a gap of a hundred in the battle with his sword in his two hands. Then Medb took the arms of Fergus (?) and rushed into the battle, and she was victorious thrice, so that she was driven back by force of arms. 'I do not know,' said Conchobar to his retinue who were round him, 'before whom has the battle been broken against us from the north. Do you maintain the fight here, that I may go against him.' 'We will hold the place in which we are,' said the warriors, 'unless the earth bursts beneath us, or the heaven upon us from above, so that we shall break therefrom.' Then Conchobar came against Fergus. He lifts his shield against him, i.e. Conchobar's shield Ochan, with three horns of gold on it, and four ----- of gold over it. Fergus strikes three blows on it, so that even the rim of his shield over his head did not touch him. 'Who of the Ulstermen holds the shield?' said Fergus. 'A man who is better than you,' said Conchobar; 'and he has brought you into exile into the dwellings of wolves and foxes, and he will repel you to-day in combat in the presence of the men of Ireland.' Fergus aimed on him a blow of vengeance with his two hands on Conchobar, so that the point of the sword touched the ground behind him. Cormac Condlongas put his hands upon him, and closed his two hands about his arm. '----, O my friend, O Fergus,' said Cormac. '... Hostile is the friendship; right is your enmity; your compact has been destroyed; evil are the blows that you strike, O friend, O Fergus,' said Cormac. 'Whom shall I smite?' said Fergus. 'Smite the three hills ... in some other direction over them; turn your hand; smite about you on every side, and have no consideration for them. Take thought for the honour of Ulster: what has not been lost shall not be lost, if it be not lost through you to-day (?). 'Go in some other direction, O Conchobar,' said Cormac to his father; 'this man will not put out his rage on the Ulstermen any more here.' Fergus turned away. He slew a hundred warriors of Ulster in the first combat with the sword. He met Conall Cernach. 'Too great rage is that,' said Conall Cernach, 'on people and race, for a wanton.' 'What shall I do, O warriors?' said he. 'Smite the hills across them and the champions (?) round them,' said Conall Cernach. Fergus smote the hills then, so that he struck the three Maela [Note: i.e. flat-topped hills.] of Meath with his three blows. Cuchulainn heard the blows then that Fergus gave on the hills or on the shield of Conchobar himself. 'Who strikes the three strong blows, great and distant?' said Cuchulainn. ... Then Loeg answered and said: 'The choice of men, Fergus Mac Roich the very bold, smites them.' ... Then Cuchulainn said: 'Unloose quickly the hazeltwigs; blood covers men, play of swords will be made, men will be spent therefrom.' Then his dry wisps spring from him on high, as far as ---- goes; and his hazel-twigs spring off, till they were in Mag Tuag in Connaught ... and he smote the head of each of the two handmaidens against the other, so that each of them was grey from the brain of the other. They came from Medb for pretended lamentation over him, that his wounds might burst forth on him; and to say that the Ulstermen had been defeated, and that Fergus had fallen in opposing the battle, since Cuchulainn's coming into the battle had been prevented. The contortion came on him, and twenty-seven skin-tunics were given to him, that used to be about him under strings and thongs when he went into battle; and he takes his chariot on his back with its body and its two tyres, and he made for Fergus round about the battle. 'Turn hither, O friend Fergus,' said Cuchulainn; and he did not answer till the third time. 'I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear,' said he, 'I will wash thee as foam [Note: Reading with L.L.] (?) is washed in a pool, I will go over thee as the tail goes over a cat, I will smite thee as a fond mother smites her son.' 'Which of the men of Ireland speaks thus to me?' said Fergus. 'Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim, sister's son to Conchobar,' said Cuchulainn; 'and avoid me,' said he. 'I have promised even that,' said Fergus. 'Your promise falls due, then,' said Cuchulainn. 'Good,' said Fergus, '(you avoided me), when you are pierced with wounds.' Then Fergus went away with his cantred; the Leinstermen go and the Munstermen; and they left in the battle nine cantreds of Medb's and Ailill's and their seven sons. In the middle of the day it is that Cuchulainn came into the battle; when the sun came into the leaves of the wood, it is then that he defeated the last company, so that there remained of the chariot only a handful of the ribs about the body, and a handful of the shafts about the wheel. Cuchulainn overtook Medb then when he went into the battle. 'Protect me,' said Medb. 'Though I should slay thee with a slaying, it were lawful for me,' said Cuchulainn. Then he protected her, because he used not to slay women. He convoyed them westward, till they passed Ath Luain. Then he stopped. He struck three blows with his sword on the stone in Ath Luain. Their name is the Maelana [Note: i.e., flat-topped hills] of Ath Luain. When the battle was broken, then said Medb to Fergus: 'Faults and meet here to-day, O Fergus,' said she. 'It is customary,' said Fergus, 'to every herd which a mare precedes; ... after a woman who has ill consulted their interest.' They take away the Bull then in that morning of the battle, so that he met the White-horned at Tarbga in Mag Ai; i.e. Tarbguba or Tarbgleo.[Note: 'Bull-Sorrow or Bull-Fight,' etymological explanation of Tarbga.] The first name of that hill was Roi Dedond. Every one who escaped in the fight was intent on nothing but beholding the two Bulls fighting. Bricriu Poison-tongue was in the west in his sadness after Fergus had broken his head with his draughtmen [Note: This story is told in the _Echtra Nerai_. (See _Revue Celtique_, vol. x. p. 227.)] He came with the rest then to see the combat of the Bulls. The two Bulls went in fighting over Bricriu, so that he died therefrom. That is the Death of Bricriu. The foot of the Dun of Cualnge lighted on the horn of the other. For a day and a night he did not draw his foot towards him, till Fergus incited him and plied a rod along his body. ''Twere no good luck,' said Fergus, 'that this conbative old calf which has been brought here should leave the honour of clan and race; and on both sides men have been left dead through you.' Therewith he drew his foot to him so that his leg (?) was broken, and the horn sprang from the other and was in the mountain by him. It was Sliab n-Adarca [Note: Mountain of the Horn.] afterwards. He carried them then a journey of a day and a night, till he lighted in the loch which is by Cruachan, and he came to Cruachan out of it with the loin and the shoulder-blade and the liver of the other on his horns. Then the hosts came to kill him. Fergus did not allow it, but that he should go where he pleased. He came then to his land and drank a draught in Findlethe on coming. It is there that he left the shoulderblade of the other. Findlethe afterwards was the name of the land. He drank another draught in Ath Luain; he left the loin of the other there: hence is Ath Luain. He gave forth his roar on Iraird Chuillend; it was heard through all the province. He drank a draught in Tromma. There the liver of the other fell from his horns; hence is Tromma. He came to Etan Tairb. [Note: The Bull's Forehead.] He put his forehead against the hill at Ath Da Ferta; hence is Etan Tairb in Mag Murthemne. Then he went on the road of Midluachair in Cuib. There he used to be with the milkless cow of Dairi, and he made a trench there. Hence is Gort Buraig. [Note: The Field of the Trench.] Then he went till he died between Ulster and Iveagh at Druim Tairb. Druim Tairb is the name of that place. Ailill and Medb made peace with the Ulstermen and with Cuchulainn. For seven years after there was no wounding of men between them. Findabair stayed with Cuchulainn, and the Connaughtmen went to their country, and the Ulstermen to Emain Macha with their great triumph. Finit, amen. 
18041	----	Transcribed from the 1906 Archibald Constable & Co. Ltd. edition by David Price, ccx074@coventry.ac.uk CELTIC RELIGION IN PRE-CHRISTIAN TIMES By EDWARD ANWYL, M.A. LATE CLASSICAL SCHOLAR OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD PROFESSOR OF WELSH AND COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY AT THE UNIVERSITY COLLEGE OF WALES, ABERYSTWYTH ACTING-CHAIRMAN OF THE CENTRAL WELSH BOARD FOR INTERMEDIATE EDUCATION LONDON ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO LTD 16 JAMES STREET HAYMARKET 1906 Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty FOREWORD It is only as prehistoric archaeology has come to throw more and more light on the early civilisations of Celtic lands that it has become possible to interpret Celtic religion from a thoroughly modern viewpoint. The author cordially acknowledges his indebtedness to numerous writers on this subject, but his researches into some portions of the field especially have suggested to him the possibility of giving a new presentation to certain facts and groups of facts, which the existing evidence disclosed. It is to be hoped that a new interest in the religion of the Celts may thereby be aroused. E. ANWYL. ABERYSTWYTH, _February_ 15, 1906. CHAPTER I--INTRODUCTORY: THE CELTS In dealing with the subject of 'Celtic Religion' the first duty of the writer is to explain the sense in which the term 'Celtic' will be used in this work. It will be used in reference to those countries and districts which, in historic times, have been at one time or other mainly of Celtic speech. It does not follow that all the races which spoke a form of the Celtic tongue, a tongue of the Indo-European family, were all of the same stock. Indeed, ethnological and archaeological evidence tends to establish clearly that, in Gaul and Britain, for example, man had lived for ages before the introduction of any variety of Aryan or Indo-European speech, and this was probably the case throughout the whole of Western and Southern Europe. Further, in the light of comparative philology, it has now become abundantly clear that the forms of Indo-European speech which we call Celtic are most closely related to those of the Italic family, of which family Latin is the best known representative. From this it follows that we are to look for the centre of dissemination of Aryan Celtic speech in some district of Europe that could have been the natural centre of dissemination also for the Italic languages. From this common centre, through conquest and the commercial intercourse which followed it, the tribes which spoke the various forms of Celtic and Italic speech spread into the districts occupied by them in historic times. The common centre of radiation for Celtic and Italic speech was probably in the districts of Noricum and Pannonia, the modern Carniola, Carinthia, etc., and the neighbouring parts of the Danube valley. The conquering Aryan-speaking Celts and Italians formed a military aristocracy, and their success in extending the range of their languages was largely due to their skill in arms, combined, in all probability, with a talent for administration. This military aristocracy was of kindred type to that which carried Aryan speech into India and Persia, Armenia and Greece, not to speak of the original speakers of the Teutonic and Slavonic tongues. In view of the necessity of discovering a centre, whence the Indo-European or Aryan languages in general could have radiated Eastwards, as well as Westwards, the tendency to-day is to regard these tongues as having been spoken originally in some district between the Carpathians and the Steppes, in the form of kindred dialects of a common speech. Some branches of the tribes which spoke these dialects penetrated into Central Europe, doubtless along the Danube, and, from the Danube valley, extended their conquests together with their various forms of Aryan speech into Southern and Western Europe. The proportion of conquerors to conquered was not uniform in all the countries where they held sway, so that the amount of Aryan blood in their resultant population varied greatly. In most cases, the families of the original conquerors, by their skill in the art of war and a certain instinct of government, succeeded in making their own tongues the dominant media of communication in the lands where they ruled, with the result that most of the languages of Europe to-day are of the Aryan or Indo-European type. It does not, however, follow necessarily from this that the early religious ideas or the artistic civilisation of countries now Aryan in speech, came necessarily from the conquerors rather than the conquered. In the last century it was long held that in countries of Aryan speech the essential features of their civilisation, their religious ideas, their social institutions, nay, more, their inhabitants themselves, were of Aryan origin. A more critical investigation has, however, enabled us to distinguish clearly between the development of various factors of human life which in their evolution can follow and often have followed more or less independent lines. The physical history of race, for instance, forms a problem by itself and must be studied by anthropological and ethnological methods. Language, again, has often spread along lines other than those of race, and its investigation appertains to the sphere of the philologist. Material civilisation, too, has not of necessity followed the lines either of racial or of linguistic development, and the search for its ancient trade-routes may be safely left to the archaeologist. Similarly the spread of ideas in religion and thought is one which has advanced on lines of its own, and its investigation must be conducted by the methods and along the lines of the comparative study of religions. In the wide sense, then, in which the word 'Celtic religion' will be used in this work, it will cover the modes of religious thought prevalent in the countries and districts, which, in course of time, were mainly characterised by their Celtic speech. To the sum-total of these religious ideas contributions have been made from many sources. It would be rash to affirm that the various streams of Aryan Celtic conquest made no contributions to the conceptions of life and of the world which the countries of their conquest came to hold (and the evidence of language points, indeed, to some such contributions), but their quota appears to be small compared with that of their predecessors; nor is this surprising, in view of the immense period during which the lands of their conquest had been previously occupied. Nothing is clearer than the marvellous persistence of traditional and immemorial modes of thought, even in the face of conquest and subjugation, and, whatever ideas on religion the Aryan conquerors of Celtic lands may have brought with them, they whose conquests were often only partial could not eradicate the inveterate beliefs of their predecessors, and the result in the end was doubtless some compromise, or else the victory of the earlier faith. But the Aryan conquerors of Gaul and Italy themselves were not men who had advanced up the Danube in one generation. Those men of Aryan speech who poured into the Italian peninsula and into Gaul were doubtless in blood not unmixed with the older inhabitants of Central Europe, and had entered into the body of ideas which formed the religious beliefs of the men of the Danube valley. The common modifications of the Aryan tongue, by Italians and Celts alike, as compared with Greek, suggests contact with men of different speech. Among the names of Celtic gods, too, like those of other countries, we find roots that are apparently irreducible to any found in Indo-European speech, and we know not what pre-Aryan tongues may have contributed them. Scholars, to-day, are far more alive than they ever were before to the complexity of the contributory elements that have entered into the tissue of the ancient religions of mankind, and the more the relics of Celtic religion are investigated, the more complex do its contributory factors become. In the long ages before history there were unrecorded conquests and migrations innumerable, and ideas do not fail to spread because there is no historian to record them. The more the scanty remnants of Celtic religion are examined, the clearer it becomes that many of its characteristic features had been evolved during the vast period of the ages of stone. During these millennia, men had evolved, concomitantly with their material civilisation, a kind of working philosophy of life, traces of which are found in every land where this form of civilisation has prevailed. Man's religion can never be dissociated from his social experience, and the painful stages through which man reached the agricultural life, for example, have left their indelible impress on the mind of man in Western Europe, as they have in every land. We are thus compelled, from the indications which we have of Celtic religion, in the names of its deities, its rites, and its survivals in folk-lore and legend, to come to the conclusion, that its fundamental groundwork is a body of ideas, similar to those of other lands, which were the natural correlatives of the phases of experience through which man passed in his emergence into civilised life. To demonstrate and to illustrate these relations will be the aim of the following chapters. CHAPTER II--THE CHIEF PHASES OF CELTIC CIVILISATION In the chief countries of Celtic civilisation, Gaul, Cisalpine and Transalpine, Britain and Ireland, abundant materials have been found for elucidating the stages of culture through which man passed in prehistoric times. In Britain, for example, palaeolithic man has left numerous specimens of his implements, but the forms even of these rude implements suggest that they, too, have been evolved from still more primitive types. Some antiquarians have thought to detect such earlier types in the stones that have been named 'eoliths' found in Kent, but, though these 'eoliths' may possibly show human use, the question of their history is far from being settled. It is certain, however, that man succeeded in maintaining himself for ages in the company of the mammoth, the cave-bear, and other animals now extinct. Whether palaeolithic man survived the Ice Age in Britain has not so far been satisfactorily decided. In Gaul, however, there is fair evidence of continuity between the Palaeolithic and Neolithic periods, and this continuity must obviously have existed somewhere. Still in spite of the indications of continuity, the civilisation of primitive man in Gaul presents one aspect that is without any analogues in the life of the palaeolithic men of the River Drift period, or in that of man of the New Stone Age. The feature in question is the remarkable artistic skill shown by the cave men of the Dordogne district. Some of the drawings and carvings of these men reveal a sense of form which would have done credit to men of a far later age. A feature such as this, whatever may have been its object, whether it arose from an effort by means of 'sympathetic magic' to catch animals, as M. Salomon Reinach suggests, or to the mere artistic impulse, is a standing reminder to us of the scantiness of our data for estimating the lines of man's religious and other development in the vast epochs of prehistoric time. We know that from the life of hunting man passed into the pastoral stage, having learned to tame animals. How he came to do so, and by what motives he was actuated, is still a mystery. It may be, as M. Salomon Reinach has also suggested, that it was some curious and indefinable sense of kinship with them that led him to do so, or more probably, as the present writer thinks, some sense of a need of the alliance of animals against hostile spirits. In all probability it was no motive which we can now fathom. The mind of early man was like the unfathomable mind of a boy. From the pastoral life again man passed after long ages into the life of agriculture, and the remains of neolithic man in Gaul and in Britain give us glimpses of his life as a farmer. The ox, the sheep, the pig, the goat, and the dog were his domestic animals; he could grow wheat and flax, and could supplement the produce of his farm by means of hunting and fishing. Neolithic man could spin and weave; he could obtain the necessary flint for his implements, which he made by chipping and polishing, and he could also make pottery of a rude variety. In its essentials we have here the beginnings of the agricultural civilisation of man all the world over. In life, neolithic man dwelt sometimes in pit-dwellings and sometimes in hut-circles, covered with a roof of branches supported by a central pole. In death, he was buried with his kin in long mounds of earth called barrows, in chambered cairns and cromlechs or dolmens. The latter usually consist of three standing stones covered by a cap-stone; forming the stony skeleton of a grave that has been exposed to view after the mound of earth that covered it has been washed away. In their graves the dead were buried in a crouching attitude, and fresh burials were made as occasion required. Sometimes the cromlech is double, and occasionally there is a hole in one of the stones, the significance of which is unknown, unless it may have been for the ingress and egress of souls. Graves of the dolmen or cromlech type are found in all the countries of Western Europe, North Africa, and elsewhere, wherever stone suitable for the purpose abounds, and in this we have a striking illustration of the way in which lines of development in man's material civilisation are sooner or later correlated to his geographical, geological, and other surroundings. The religious ideas of man in neolithic times also came into correlation with the conditions of his development, and the uninterpreted stone circles and pillars of the world are a standing witness to the religious zeal of a mind that was haunted by stone. Before proceeding to exemplify this thesis the subsequent trend of Celtic civilisation may be briefly sketched. Through the pacific intercourse of commerce, bronze weapons and implements began to find their way, about 2000 B.C. or earlier, from Central and Southern Europe into Gaul, and thence into Britain. In Britain the Bronze Age begins at about 1500 or 1400 B.C., and it is thought by some archaeologists that bronze was worked at this period by the aid of native tin in Britain itself. There are indications, however, that the introduction of bronze into Britain was not by way of commerce alone. About the beginning of the Bronze period are found evidences in this island of a race of different type from that of neolithic man, being characterised by a round skull and a powerful build, and by general indications of a martial bearing. The remains of this race are usually found in round barrows. This race, which certainly used bronze weapons, is generally believed to have been the first wave that reached Britain of Aryan conquerors of Celtic speech from the nearest part of the continent, where it must have arrived some time previously, probably along the Rhine valley. As the type of Celtic speech that has penetrated farthest to the west is that known as the Goidelic or Irish, it has not unreasonably been thought that this must have been the type that arrived in Britain first. There are indications, too, that it was this type that penetrated furthest into the west of Gaul. Its most marked characteristic is its preservation of the pronunciation of U as 'oo' and of QU, while the 'Brythonic' or Welsh variety changed U to a sound pronounced like the French 'u' or the German 'u' and also QU to P. There is a similar line of cleavage in the Italic languages, where Latin corresponds to Goidelic, and Oscan and Umbrian to Brythonic. Transalpine Gaul was probably invaded by Aryan-speaking Celts from more than one direction, and the infiltration and invasion of new- comers, when it had once begun, was doubtless continuous through these various channels. There are cogent reasons for thinking that ultimately the dominant type of Celtic speech over the greater part of Gaul came to be that of the P rather than the QU type, owing to the influx from the East and Northeast of an overflow from the Rhine valley of tribes speaking that dialect; a dialect which, by force of conquest and culture, tended to spread farther and farther West. Into Britain, too, as time went on, the P type of Celtic was carried, and has survived in Welsh and Cornish, the remnants of the tongue of ancient Britain. We know, too, from the name Eporedia (Yvrea), that this dialect of Celtic must have spread into Cisalpine Gaul. The latter district may have received its first Celtic invaders direct from the Danube valley, as M. Alexandre Bertrand held, but it would be rash to assume that all its invaders came from that direction. In connection, however, with the history of Celtic religion it is not the spread of the varying types of Celtic dialect that is important, but the changes in the civilisation of Gaul and Britain, which reacted on religious ideas or which introduced new factors into the religious development of these lands. The predatory expeditions and wars of conquest of military Celtic tribes in search for new homes for their superfluous populations brought into prominence the deities of war, as was the case also with the ancient Romans, themselves an agricultural and at the same time a predatory race. The prominence of war in Celtic tribal life at one stage has left us the names of a large number of deities that were identified with Mars and Bellona, though all the war-gods were not originally such. In the Roman calendar there is abundant evidence that Mars was at one time an agricultural god as well as a god of war. The same, as will be shown later, was the probable history of some of the Celtic deities, who were identified in Roman times with Mars and Bellona. Caesar tells us that Mars had at one time been the chief god of the Gauls, and that in Germany that was still the case. In Britain, also, we find that there were several deities identified with Mars, notably Belatucadrus and Cocidius, and this, too, points in the direction of a development of religion under military influence. The Gauls appear to have made great strides in military matters and in material civilisation during the Iron Age. The culture of the Early Iron Age of Hallstatt had been developed in Gaul on characteristic lines of its own, resulting in the form now known as the La Tene or Marnian type. This type derives it name from the striking specimens of it that were discovered at La Tene on the shore of Lake Neuchatel, and in the extensive cemeteries of the Marne valley, the burials of which cover a period of from 350-200 B.C. It was during the third century B.C. that this characteristic culture of Gaul reached its zenith, and gave definite shape to the beautiful curved designs known as those of Late-Celtic Art. Iron appears to have been introduced into Britain about 300 B.C., and the designs of Late-Celtic Art are here represented best of all. Excellent specimens of Late-Celtic culture have been found in Yorkshire and elsewhere, and important links with continental developments have been discovered at Aylesford, Aesica, Limavady, and other places. Into the development of this typical Gaulish culture elements are believed to have entered by way of the important commercial avenue of the Rhone valley from Massilia (Marseilles), from Greece (_via_ Venetia), and possibly from Etruria. Prehistoric archaeology affords abundant proofs that, in countries of Celtic speech, metal-working in bronze, iron, and gold reached a remarkably high pitch of perfection, and this is a clear indication that Celtic countries and districts which were on the line of trade routes, like the Rhone valley, had attained to a material civilisation of no mean character before the Roman conquest. In Britain, too, the districts that were in touch with continental commerce had, as Caesar tells us, also developed in the same direction. The religious counterpart of this development in civilisation is the growth in many parts of Gaul, as attested by Caesar and by many inscriptions and place-names, of the worship of gods identified with Mercury and Minerva, the deities of civilisation and commerce. It is no accident that one of the districts most conspicuous for this worship was the territory of the Allobrogic confederation, where the commerce of the Rhone valley found its most remarkable development. From this sketch of Celtic civilisation it will readily be seen how here as elsewhere the religious development of the Celts stood closely related to the development of their civilisation generally. It must be borne in mind, however, that all parts of the Celtic world were not equally affected by the material development in question. Part of the complexity of the history of Celtic religion arises from the fact that we cannot be always certain of the degree of progress in civilisation which any given district had made, of the ideas which pervaded it, or of the absorbing interests of its life. Another difficulty, too, is that the accounts of Celtic religion given by ancient authorities do not always harmonise with the indisputable evidence of inscriptions. The probability is that the religious practices of the Celtic world were no more homogeneous than its general civilisation, and that the ancient authorities are substantially true in their statements about certain districts, certain periods, or certain sections of society, while the inscriptions, springing as they do from the influence of the Gallo-Roman civilisation, especially of Eastern Gaul and military Britain, give us most valuable supplementary evidence for districts and environments of a different kind. The inscriptions, especially by the names of deities which they reveal, have afforded most valuable clues to the history of Celtic religion, even in stages of civilisation earlier than those to which they themselves belong. In the next chapter the correlation of Celtic religious ideas to the stages of Celtic civilisation will be further developed. CHAPTER III--THE CORRELATION OF CELTIC RELIGION WITH THE GROWTH OF CELTIC CIVILISATION In dealing with the long vista of prehistoric time, it is very difficult for us, in our effort after perspective, not to shorten unduly in our thoughts the vast epochs of its duration. We tend, too, to forget, that in these unnumbered millennia there was ample time for it to be possible over certain areas of Europe to evolve what were practically new races, through the prepotency of particular stocks and the annihilation of others. During these epochs, again, after speech had arisen, there was time enough to recast completely many a language, for before the dawn of history language was no more free from change than it is now, and in these immense epochs whatever ideas as to the world of their surroundings were vaguely felt by prehistoric men and formulated for them by their kinsmen of genius, had abundant time in which to die or to win supremacy. There must have been aeons before the dawn even of conscious animism, and the experiment of trying sympathetic magic was, when first attempted, probably regarded as a master-stroke of genius. The Stone Age itself was a long era of great if slow progress in civilisation, and the evolution of the practices and ideas which emerge as the concomitants of its agricultural stage, when closely regarded, bear testimony to the mind's capacity for religious progress in the light of experience and intelligent experiment, and at the same time to the errors into which it fell. The Stone Age has left its sediment in all the folk-lore of the world. To the casual observer many of the ideas embedded in it may seem a mass of error, and so they are when judged unhistorically, but when viewed critically, and at the same time historically, they afford many glimpses of prehistoric genius in a world where life was of necessity a great experiment. The folk-lore of the world reveals for the same stages of civilisation a wonderful uniformity and homogeneity, as Dr. J. G. Frazer has abundantly shown in his _Golden Bough_. This uniformity is not, however, due to necessary uniformity of origin, but to a great extent to the fact that it represents the state of equilibrium arrived at between minds at a certain level and their environment, along lines of thought directed by the momentum given by the traditions of millennia, and the survival in history of the men who carefully regarded them. The apparently unreasoned prohibitions often known as 'taboos,' many of which still persist even in modern civilised life, have their roots in ideas and experiences which no speculation of ours can now completely fathom, however much we may guess at their origin. Many of these ancient prohibitions have vanished under new conditions, others have often survived from a real or supposed harmony with new experiences, that have arisen in the course of man's history. After passing through a stage when he was too preoccupied with his material cares and wants to consider whether he was haunted or not, early man in the Celtic world as elsewhere, after long epochs of vague unrest, came to realise that he was somehow haunted in the daytime as well as at night, and it was this sense of being haunted that impelled his intellect and his imagination to seek some explanation of his feelings. Primitive man came to seek a solution not of the Universe as a whole (for of this he had no conception), but of the local Universe, in which he played a part. In dealing with Celtic folk-lore, it is very remarkable how it mirrors the characteristic local colouring and scenery of the districts in which it has originated. In a country like Wales, for example, it is the folk-lore of springs, caves, mountains, lakes, islands, and the forms of its imagination, here as elsewhere, reflect unmistakably the land of its origin. Where it depicts an 'other world,' that 'other world' is either on an island or it is a land beneath the sea, a lake, or a river, or it is approachable only through some cave or opening in the earth. In the hunting-grounds of the Celtic world the primitive hunter knew every cranny of the greater part of his environment with the accuracy born of long familiarity, but there were some peaks which he could not scale, some caves which he could not penetrate, some jungles into which he could not enter, and in these he knew not what monsters might lurk or unknown beings might live. In Celtic folk-lore the belief in fabulous monsters has not yet ceased. Man was surrounded by dangers visible and invisible, and the time came when some prehistoric man of genius propounded the view that all the objects around him were no less living than himself. This animistic view of the world, once adopted, made great headway from the various centres where it originated, and man derived from it a new sense of kinship with his world, but also new terrors from it. Knowing from the experience of dreams that he himself seemed able to wander away from himself, he thought in course of time that other living things were somehow double, and the world around him came to be occupied, not merely with things that were alive, but with other selves of these things, that could remain in them or leave them at will. Here, again, this new prehistoric philosophy gave an added interest to life, but it was none the less a source of fresh terrors. The world swarmed with invisible spirits, some friendly, some hostile, and, in view of these beings, life had to be regulated by strict rules of actions and prohibitions. Even in the neolithic stage the inhabitants of Celtic countries had attained to the religious ideas in question, as is seen not only by their folk-lore and by the names of groups of goddesses such as the Matres (or mothers), but by the fact that in historic times they had advanced well beyond this stage to that of named and individualised gods. As in all countries where the gods were individualised, the men of Celtic lands, whether aborigines or invaders, had toiled along the steep ascent from the primitive vague sense of being haunted to a belief in gods who, like Esus, Teutates, Grannos, Bormanus, Litavis, had names of a definite character. Among the prohibitions which had established themselves among the races of Celtic lands, as elsewhere, was that directed against the shedding of the blood of one's own kin. There are indications, too, that some at any rate of the tribes inhabiting these countries reckoned kinship through the mother, as in fact continued to be the case among the Picts of Scotland into historic times. It does not follow, as we know from other countries, that the pre-Aryan tribes of Gaul and Britain, or indeed the Aryan tribes themselves in their earliest stage, regarded their original ancestors as human. Certain names of deities such as Tarvos (the bull), Moccos (the pig), Epona (the goddess of horses), Damona (the goddess of cattle), Mullo (the ass), as well as the fact that the ancient Britons, according to Caesar, preserved the hen, the goose, and the hare, but did not kill and eat them, all point to the fact that in these countries as elsewhere certain animals were held in supreme respect and were carefully guarded from harm. Judging from the analogy of kindred phenomena in other countries, the practice of respecting certain animals was often associated with the belief that all the members of certain clans were descended from one or other of them, but how far this system was elaborated in the Celtic world it is hard to say. This phenomenon, which is widely known as totemism, appears to be suggested by the prominence given to the wild boar on Celtic coins and ensigns, and by the place assigned on some inscriptions and bas-reliefs to the figure of a horned snake as well as by the effigies of other animals that have been discovered. It is not easy to explain the beginnings of totemism in Gaul or elsewhere, but it should always be borne in mind that early man could not regard it as an axiomatic truth that he was the superior of every other animal. To reach that proud consciousness is a very high step in the development of the human perspective, and it is to the credit of the Celts that, when we know them in historic times, they appear to have attained to this height, inasmuch as the human form is given to their deities. It is not always remembered how great a step in religious evolution is implied when the gods are clothed with human attributes. M. Salomon Reinach, in his account of the vestiges of totemism among the Celts, suggests that totemism was merely the hypertrophy of early man's social sense, which extended from man to the animals around him. This may possibly be the case, but it is not improbable that man also thought to discover in certain animals much-needed allies against some of the visible and invisible enemies that beset him. In his conflict with the malign powers around him, he might well have regarded certain animals as being in some respects stronger combatants against those powers than himself; and where they were not physically stronger, some of them, like the snake, had a cunning and a subtlety that seemed far to surpass his own. In course of time certain bodies of men came to regard themselves as being in special alliance with some one animal, and as being descended from that animal as their common ancestor. The existence side by side of various tribes, each with its definite totem, has not yet been fully proved for the Gaulish system, and may well have been a developed social arrangement that was not an essential part of such a mode of thought in its primary forms. The place of animal-worship in the Celtic religion will be more fully considered in a later chapter. Here it is only indicated as a necessary stage in relation to man's civilisation in the hunting and the pastoral stages, which had to be passed through before the historic deities of Gaul and Britain in Roman times could have come into being. Certain of the divine names of the historic period, like Artio (the bear-goddess), Moccus (the pig), Epona (the mare), and Damona (the sheep), bear the unmistakable impress of having been at one time those of animals. As for the stage of civilisation at which totemism originated, there is much difference of opinion. The stage of mind which it implies would suggest that it reflects a time when man's mind was preoccupied with wild beasts, and when the alliances and friendships, which he would value in life, might be found in that sphere. There is much plausibility in the view put forward by M. Salomon Reinach, that the domestication of animals itself implies a totemistic habit of thought, and the consequent protection of these animals by means of taboos from harm and death. It may well be that, after all, the usefulness of domestic animals from a material point of view was only a secondary consideration for man, and a happy discovery after unsuccessful totemistic attentions to other animals. We know not how many creatures early man tried to associate with himself but failed. In all stages of man's history the alternation of the seasons must have brought some rudiments of order and system into his thoughts, though for a long time he was too preoccupied to reflect upon the regularly recurring vicissitudes of his life. In the pastoral stage, the sense of order came to be more marked than in that of hunting, and quickened the mind to fresh thought. The earth came to be regarded as the Mother from whom all things came, and there are abundant indications that the earth as the Mother, the Queen, the Long-lived one, etc., found her natural place as a goddess among the Celts. Her names and titles were probably not in all places or in all tribes the same. But it is in the agricultural stage that she entered in Celtic lands, as she did in other countries, into her completest religious heritage, and this aspect of Celtic religion will be dealt with more fully in connection with the spirits of vegetation. This phase of religion in Celtic countries is one which appears to underlie some of its most characteristic forms, and the one which has survived longest in Celtic folk-lore. The Earth-mother with her progeny of spirits, of springs, rivers, mountains, forests, trees, and corn, appears to have supplied most of the grouped and individualised gods of the Celtic pantheon. The Dis, of whom Caesar speaks as the ancient god of the Gauls, was probably regarded as her son, to whom the dead returned in death. Whether he is the Gaulish god depicted with a hammer, or as a huge dog swallowing the dead, has not yet been established with any degree of certainty. CHAPTER IV--CELTIC RELIGION AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF INDIVIDUALISED DEITIES Like other religions, those of the Celtic lands of Europe supplemented the earlier animism by a belief in spirits, who belonged to trees, animals, rocks, mountains, springs, rivers, and other natural phenomena, and in folk-lore there still survives abundant evidence that the Celt regarded spirits as taking upon themselves a variety of forms, animal and human. It was this idea of spirits in animal form that helped to preserve the memory of the older totemism into historic times. It is thus that we have names of the type of Brannogenos (son of the raven), Artogenos (son of the bear), and the like, not to speak of simpler names like Bran (raven), March (horse), surviving into historic times. Bronze images, too, have been found at Neuvy-en-Sullias, of a horse and a stag (now in the Orleans museum), provided with rings, which were, as M. Salomon Reinach suggests, probably used for the purpose of carrying these images in procession. The wild boar, too, was a favourite emblem of Gaul, and there is extant a bronze figure of a Celtic Diana riding on a boar's back. At Bolar, near Nuits, there was discovered a bronze mule. In the museum at Mayence is a bas-relief of the goddess of horses, Epona (from the Gaulish _Epos_=Lat. _equus_, horse), riding on horseback. One of the most important monuments of this kind is a figure of Artio, the bear-goddess (from Celtic _Artos_, a bear), found at Muri near Berne. In front of her stood a figure of a bear, which was also found with her. The bull of the Tarvos Trigaranos bas-relief of Notre Dame was also in all likelihood originally a totem, and similarly the horned serpents of other bas-reliefs, as well as the boar found on Gaulish ensigns and coins, especially in Belgic territory. There is a representation, too, of a raven on a bas-relief at Compiegne. The name 'Moccus,' which is identified with Mercury, on inscriptions, and which is found inscribed at Langres, Trobaso, the valley of the Ossola and the Borgo san Dalmazzo, is undoubtedly the philological equivalent of the Welsh _moch_ (swine). In Britain, too, the boar is frequently found on the coins of the Iceni and other tribes. In Italy, according to Mr. Warde Fowler, the pig was an appropriate offering to deities of the earth, so that in the widespread use of the pig as a symbol in the Celtic world, there may be some ancient echo of a connection between it and the earth-spirit. Its diet of acorns, too, may have marked it out, in the early days of life in forest- clearings, as the animal embodiment of the oak-spirit. In the legends of the Celtic races, even in historic times, the pig, and especially the boar, finds an honoured place. In addition to the animals aforementioned, the ass, too, was probably at one time venerated in one of the districts of Gaul, and it is not improbable that Mullo, the name of a god identified with Mars and regarded as the patron of muleteers, mentioned on inscriptions (at Nantes, Craon, and Les Provencheres near Craon), meant originally 'an ass.' The goddess Epona, also, whose worship was widely spread, was probably at one time an animal goddess in the form of a mare, and the name of another goddess, Damona, either from the root _dam_=Ir. _dam_, (ox); or Welsh _daf-ad_ (sheep), may similarly be that of an ancient totem sheep or cow. Nor was it in the animal world alone that the Celts saw indications of the divine. While the chase and the pastoral life concentrated the mind's attention on the life of animals, the growth of agriculture fixed man's thoughts on the life of the earth, and all that grew upon it, while at the same time he was led to think more and more of the mysterious world beneath the earth, from which all things came and to which all things returned. Nor could he forget the trees of the forest, especially those which, like the oak, had provided him with their fruit as food in time of need. The name Druid, as well as that of the centre of worship of the Gauls of Asia Minor, Drunemeton (the oak-grove), the statement of Maximus of Tyre that the representation of Zeus to the Celts was a high oak, Pliny's account of Druidism (_Nat. Hist_., xvi. 95), the numerous inscriptions to Silvanus and Silvana, the mention of Dervones or Dervonnae on an inscription at Cavalzesio near Brescia, and the abundant evidence of survivals in folk- lore as collected by Dr. J. G. Frazer and others, all point to the fact that tree-worship, and especially that of the oak, had contributed its full share to the development of Celtic religion, at any rate in some districts and in some epochs. The development of martial and commercial civilisation in later times tended to restrict its typical and more primitive developments to the more conservative parts of the Celtic world. The fact that in Caesar's time its main centre in Gaul was in the territory of the Carnutes, the tribe which has given its name to Chartres, suggests that its chief votaries were mainly in that part of the country. This, too, was the district of the god Esus (the eponymous god of the Essuvii), and in some degree of Teutates, the cruelty of whose rites is mentioned by Lucan. It had occurred to the present writer, before finding the same view expressed by M. Salomon Reinach, that the worship of Esus in Gaul was almost entirely local in character. With regard to the rites of the Druids, Caesar tells us that it was customary to make huge images of wickerwork, into which human beings, usually criminals, were placed and burnt. The use of wickerwork, and the suggestion that the rite was for purifying the land, indicates a combination of the ideas of tree-worship with those of early agricultural life. When the Emperor Claudius is said by Suetonius to have suppressed Druidism, what is meant is, in all probability, that the more inhuman rites were suppressed, leading, as the Scholiasts on Lucan seem to suggest, to a substitution of animal victims for men. On the side of civil administration and education, the functions of the Druids, as the successors of the primitive medicine men and magicians, doubtless varied greatly in different parts of Gaul and Britain according to the progress that had been made in the differentiation of functions in social life. The more we investigate the state of the Celtic world in ancient times, the clearer it becomes, that in civilisation it was very far from being homogeneous, and this heterogeneity of civilisation must have had its influence on religion as well as on other social phenomena. The natural conservatism of agricultural life, too, perpetuated many practices even into comparatively late times, and of these we catch a glimpse in Gregory of Tours, when he tells us that at Autun the goddess Berecyntia was worshipped, her image being carried on a wagon for the protection of the fields and the vines. It is not impossible that by Berecyntia Gregory means the goddess Brigindu, whose name occurs on an inscription at Volnay in the same district of Gaul. The belief in corn-spirits, and other ideas connected with the central thought of the farmer's life, show, by their persistence in Celtic as well as other folklore, how deeply they had entered into the inner tissue of the agricultural mind, so as to be linked to its keenest emotions. Here the rites of religion, whether persuasive as in prayer, or compulsory as in sympathetic magic, whether associated with communal or propitiatory sacrifice, whether directed to the earth or to the heaven, all had an intensely practical and terribly real character, due to man's constant preoccupation with the growth and storage of food for man and beast. In the hunting, the pastoral, and above all in the agricultural life, religion was not a matter merely of imagination or sentiment, but one most intimately associated with the daily practice of life, and this practical interest included in its purview rivers, springs, forests, mountains, and all the setting of man's existence. And what is true of agriculture is true also, in a greater or less degree, of the life of the Celtic metal-worker or the Celtic sailor. Even in late Welsh legend Amaethon (old Celtic _Ambactonos_), the patron god of farming (Welsh _Amaeth_), and Gofannon, the patron god of the metal-worker (Welsh _gof_, Irish _gobha_), were not quite forgotten, and the prominence of the worship of the counterparts of Mercury and Minerva in Gaul in historic times was due to the sense of respect and gratitude, which each trade and each locality felt for the deity who had rid the land of monsters, and who had brought man into the comparative calm of civilised life. CHAPTER V--THE HUMANISED GODS OF CELTIC RELIGION One of the most striking facts connected with the Celtic religion is the large number of names of deities which it includes. These names are known to us almost entirely from inscriptions, for the most part votive tablets, in acknowledgment of some benefit, usually that of health, conferred by the god on man. In Britain these votive tablets are chiefly found in the neighbourhood of the Roman walls and camps, but we cannot be always certain that the deities mentioned are indigenous. In Gaul, however, we are on surer ground in associating certain deities with certain districts, inasmuch as the evidence of place-names is often a guide. These inscriptions are very unevenly distributed over Gaulish territory, the Western and the North-Western districts being very sparsely represented. In the present brief sketch it is impossible to enter into a full discussion of the relations of the names found on inscriptions to particular localities, and the light thus thrown on Celtic religion; but it may be here stated that investigation tends to confirm the local character of most of the deities which the inscriptions name. Out of these deities, some, it is true, in the process of evolution, gained a wider field of worshippers, while others, like Lugus, may even have been at one time more widely worshipped than they came to be in later times. Occasionally a name like Lugus (Irish _Lug_), Segomo (Irish, in the genitive, _Segamonas_), Camulos, whence Camulodunum (Colchester), Belenos (Welsh _Belyn_), Maponos (Welsh _Mabon_), Litavis (Welsh _Llydaw_), by its existence in Britain as well as in Gaul, suggests that it was either one of the ancient deities of the Aryan Celts, or one whose worship came to extend over a larger area than its fellows. Apart from a few exceptional considerations of this kind, however, the local character of the deities is most marked. A very considerable number are the deities of springs and rivers. In Noricum, for example, we have Adsalluta, a goddess associated with Savus (the river Save). In Britain 'the goddess' Deva (the Dee), and Belisama (either the Ribble or the Mersey), a name meaning 'the most warlike goddess,' are of this type. We have again Axona the goddess of the river Aisne, Sequana, the goddess of the Seine, Ritona of the river Rieu, numerous nymphs and many other deities of fountains. Doubtless many other names of local deities are of this kind. Aerial phenomena appear to have left very few clear traces on the names of Celtic deities. Vintios, a god identified with Mars, was probably a god of the wind, Taranucus, a god of thunder, Leucetios, a god of lightning, Sulis (of Bath) a sun-goddess, but beyond these there are few, if any, reflections of the phenomena of the heavens. Of the gods named on inscriptions nearly all are identified with Mercury, Mars, or Apollo. The gods who came to be regarded as culture-deities appear from their names to be of various origins: some are humanised totems, others are in origin deities of vegetation or local natural phenomena. As already indicated, it is clear that the growth of commercial and civilised life in certain districts had brought into prominence deities identified with Mercury and Minerva as the patrons of civilisation. Military men, especially in Britain, appear to have favoured deities like Belatucadros (the brilliant in war), identified with Mars. About fourteen inscriptions mentioning him have been found in the North of England and the South of Scotland. The goddess Brigantia (the patron- deity of the Brigantes), too, is mentioned on four inscriptions: Cocidius, identified with Mars, is mentioned on thirteen: while another popular god appears to have been Silvanus. Among the most noticeable names of the Celtic gods identified with Mercury are Adsmerius or Atesmerius, Dumiatis (the god of the Puy de Dome), Iovantucarus (the lover of youth), Teutates (the god of the people), Caletos (the hard), and Moccus (the boar). Several deities are identified with Mars, and of these some of the most noticeable names are Albiorix (world-king), Caturix (battle-king), Dunatis (the god of the fort), Belatucadrus (the brilliant in war), Leucetius (the god of lightning), Mullo (the mule), Ollovidius (the all-knowing) Vintius (the wind-god), and Vitucadrus (the brilliant in energy). The large number of names identified with Mars reflects the prominent place at one time given to war in the ideas that affected the growth of the religion of the Celtic tribes. Of the gods identified with Hercules, the most interesting name is Ogmios (the god of the furrow) given by Lucian, but not found on any inscription. The following gods too, among others, are identified with Jupiter: Aramo (the gentle), Ambisagrus (the persistent), Bussumarus (the large-lipped), Taranucus (the thunderer), Uxellimus (the highest). It would seem from this that in historic times at any rate Jupiter did not play a large part in Celtic religious ideas. There remains another striking feature of Celtic religion which has not yet been mentioned, namely the identification of several deities with Apollo. These deities are essentially the presiding deities of certain healing-springs and health-resorts, and the growth of their worship into popularity is a further striking index to the development of religion side by side with certain aspects of civilisation. One of the names of a Celtic Apollo is Borvo (whence Bourbon), the deity of certain hot springs. This name is Indo-European, and was given to the local fountain- god by the Celtic-speaking invaders of Gaul: it simply means 'the Boiler.' Other forms of the name are also found, as Bormo and Bormanus. At Aquae Granni (Aix-la-Chapelle) and elsewhere the name identified with Apollo is Grannos. We find also Mogons, and Mogounus, the patron deity of Moguntiacum (Mainz), and, once or twice, Maponos (the great youth). The essential feature of the Apollo worship was its association in Gallo- Roman civilisation with the idea of healing, an idea which, through the revival of the worship of AEsculapius, affected religious views very strongly in other quarters of the empire. It was in this conception of the gods as the guides of civilisation and the restorers of health, that Celtic religion, in some districts at any rate, shows itself emerging into a measure of light after a long and toilsome progress from the darkness of prehistoric ideas. What Caesar says of the practice of the Gauls of beginning the year with the night rather than with the day, and their ancient belief that they were sprung from Dis, the god of the lower world, is thus typified in their religious history. In dealing with the deities of the Celtic world we must not, however, forget the goddesses, though their history presents several problems of great difficulty. Of these goddesses some are known to us by groups--Proximae (the kinswomen), Dervonnae (the oak-spirits), Niskai (the water-sprites), Mairae, Matronae, Matres or Matrae (the mothers), Quadriviae (the goddesses of cross roads). The Matres, Matrae, and Matronae are often qualified by some local name. Deities of this type appear to have been popular in Britain, in the neighbourhood of Cologne and in Provence. In some cases it is uncertain whether some of these grouped goddesses are Celtic or Teutonic. It is an interesting parallel to the existence of these grouped goddesses, when we find that in some parts of Wales 'Y Mamau' (the mothers) is the name for the fairies. These grouped goddesses take us back to one of the most interesting stages in the early Celtic religion, when the earth-spirits or the corn-spirits had not yet been completely individualised. Of the individualised goddesses many are strictly local, being the names of springs or rivers. Others, again, appear to have emerged into greater individual prominence, and of these we find several associated on inscriptions, sometimes with a god of Celtic name, but sometimes with his Latin counterpart. It is by no means certain that the names so linked together were thus associated in early times, and the fashion may have been a later one, which, like other fashions, spread after it had once begun. The relationship in some cases may have been regarded as that of mother and son, in others that of brother and sister, in others that of husband and wife, the data are not adequate for the final decision of the question. Of these associated pairs the following may be noted, Mercurius and Rosmerta, Mercurius and Dirona, Grannus (Apollo) and Sirona, Sucellus and Nantosvelta, Borvo and Damona, Cicolluis (Mars) and Litavis, Bormanus and Bormana, Savus and Adsalluta, Mars and Nemetona. One of these names, Sirona, probably meant the long-lived one, and was applied to the earth-mother. In Welsh one or two names have survived which, by their structure, appear to have been ancient names of goddesses; these are Rhiannon (Rigantona, the great queen), and Modron (Matrona, the great mother). The other British deities will be more fully treated by another writer in this series in a work on the ancient mythology of the British Isles. It is enough to say that research tends more and more to confirm the view that the key to the history of the Celtic deities is the realisation of the local character of the vast majority of them. CHAPTER VI--THE CELTIC PRIESTHOOD No name in connection with Celtic religion is more familiar to the average reader than that of the Druids, yet there is no section of the history of Celtic religion that has given rise to greater discussion than that relating to this order. Even the association of the name with the Indo-European root _dru_-, which we find in the Greek word _drus_, an oak, has been questioned by such a competent Celtic scholar as M. d'Arbois de Jubainville, but on this point it cannot be said that his criticism is conclusive. The writers of the ancient world who refer to the Druids, do not always make it sufficiently clear in what districts the rites, ceremonies, and functions which they were describing prevailed. Nor was it so much the priestly character of the Druids that produced the deepest impression on the ancients. To some philosophical and theological writers of antiquity their doctrines and their apparent affinities with Pythagoreanism were of much greater interest than their ceremonial or other functions. One thing at any rate is clear, that the Druids and their doctrines, or supposed doctrines, had made a deep impression on the writers of the ancient world. There is a reference to them in a fragment of Aristotle (which may not, however, be genuine) that is of interest as assigning them a place in express terms both among the Celts and the Galatae. The prominent feature of their teaching which had attracted the attention of other writers, such as the historian Diodorus Siculus and the Christian theologian Clement of Alexandria, was the resemblance of their doctrine concerning the immortality and transmigration of the soul to the views of Pythagoras. Ancient writers, however, did not always remember that a religious or philosophical doctrine must not be treated as a thing apart, but must be interpreted in its whole context in relation to its development in history and in the social life of the community in which it has flourished. To some of the ancients the superficial resemblance between the Druidic doctrine of the soul's future and the teaching attributed to Pythagoras was the essential point, and this was enough to give the Druids a reputation for philosophy, so that a writer like Clement of Alexandria goes so far as to regard the Druids of the 'Galatae' along with the prophets of the Egyptians, the 'Chaldaeans' of the Assyrians, the 'philosophers of the Celts,' and the Magi of the Persians as the pioneers of philosophy among the barbarians before it spread to the Greeks. The reason for the distinction drawn in this passage between the 'Druids of the Galatae' and 'the philosophers of the Celts' is not clear. Diodorus Siculus calls attention to the Druidic doctrine that the souls of men were immortal, and that after the lapse of an appointed number of years they came to life again, the soul then entering into another body. He says that there were certain 'philosophers and theologians' that were called Druids who were held in exceptional honour. In addition to these, the Celts, he says, had also seers, who foretold the future from the flight of birds and by means of the offering of sacrifices. According to him it was these priestly seers who had the masses in subjection to them. In great affairs they had, he says, the practice of divination by the slaughter of a human victim, and the observation of the attitude in which he fell, the contortions of the limbs, the spurting of the blood, and the like. This, he states, was an ancient and established practice. Moreover, it was the custom, according to Diodorus, to make no sacrifice without the presence of a philosopher (apparently a Druid in addition to the sacrificing seer), the theory being that those who were authorities on the divine nature were to the gods intelligible mediators for the offering of gifts and the presentation of petitions. These philosophers were in great request, together with their poets, in war as well as in peace, and were consulted not merely by the men of their own side, but also by those of the enemy. Even when two armies were on the point of joining battle, these philosophers had been able, Diodorus says, to step into the space between them and to stop them from fighting, exactly as if they had charmed wild beasts. The moral which Diodorus draws from this is, that even among the wildest of barbarians the spirited principle of the soul yields to wisdom, and that Ares (the god of war) even there respects the Muses. It is clear from this account that Diodorus had in mind the three classes of non-military professional men among the Celts, to whom other ancient writers also refer, namely, the Bards, the Seers, and the Druids. His narrative is apparently an expansion, in the light of his reading and philosophical meditation, of information supplied by previous writers, notably Posidonius. The latter, too, appears to have been Julius Caesar's chief authority, in addition to his own observation, but Caesar does not appear expressly to indicate the triple division here in question. The account which he gives is important, and would be even more valuable than it is had he told us how far what he describes was written from his own personal information, and the degree of variation (if any) of religious practice in different districts. However, Caesar's statements deserve the closest consideration. After calling attention to the division of the Gaulish aristocracy into two main sections, the Druids and the Knights, he proceeds to speak of the Druids. These were occupied, he says, with religious matters, they attended to public and private sacrifices, and interpreted omens. Moreover, they were the teachers of the country. To them the young men congregated for knowledge, and the pupils held their teachers in great respect. They, too, were the judges in public and private disputes: it was they who awarded damages and penalties. Any contumacy in reference to their judgments was punished by exclusion from the sacrifices. This sentence of excommunication was the severest punishment among the Gauls. The men so punished were treated as outlaws, and cut off from all human society, with its rights and privileges. Over these Druids there was one head, who wielded the highest influence among them. On his death the nearest of the others in dignity succeeded him, or, if several were equal, the election of a successor was made by the vote of the Druids. Sometimes the primacy was not decided without the arbitrament of arms. The Druids met at a fixed time of the year in a consecrated spot in the territory of the Carnutes, the district which was regarded as being in the centre of the whole of Gaul. This assembly of Druids formed a court for the decision of cases brought to them from everywhere around. It was thought, Caesar says, that the doctrine of the Druids was discovered in Britain and thence carried over into Gaul. At that time, too, those who wanted to make a profounder study of it resorted thither for their training. The Druids had immunity from military service and from the payment of tribute. These privileges drew many into training for the profession, some of their own accord, others at the instance of parents and relatives. While in training they were said to learn by heart a large number of verses, and some went so far as to spend twenty years in their course of preparation. The Druids held it wrong to put their religious teaching in writing, though, in almost everything else, whether public or private affairs, they made use of Greek letters. Caesar thought that they discouraged writing on the one hand, lest their teaching should become public property; on the other, lest reliance upon writing should lessen the cultivation of the memory. To this risk Caesar could testify from his own knowledge. Their cardinal doctrine was that souls did not perish, but that after death they passed from one person to another; and this they regarded as a supreme incentive to valour, since, with the prospect of immortality, the fear of death counted for nothing. They carried on, moreover, many discussions about the stars and their motion, the greatness of the universe and the lands, the nature of things, the strength and power of the immortal gods, and communicated their knowledge to their pupils. In another passage Caesar says that the Gauls as a people were extremely devoted to religious ideas and practices. Men who were seriously ill, who were engaged in war, or who stood in any peril, offered, or promised to offer, human sacrifices, and made use of the Druids as their agents for such sacrifices. Their theory was, that the immortal gods could not be appeased unless a human life were given for a human life. In addition to these private sacrifices, they had also similar human sacrifices of a public character. Caesar further contrasts the Germans with the Gauls, saying that the former had no Druids to preside over matters of religion, and that they paid no attention to sacrifices. In his work on divination, Cicero, too, refers to the profession which the Druids made of natural science, and of the power of foretelling the future, and instances the case of the AEduan Diviciacus, his brother's guest and friend. Nothing is here said by Cicero of the three classes implied in Diodorus, but Timagenes (quoted in Ammianus) refers to the three classes under the names 'bardi,' 'euhages' (a mistake for 'vates'), and 'drasidae' (a mistake for 'druidae'). The study of nature and of the heavens is here attributed to the second class of seers (vates). The highest class, that of the Druids, were, he says, in accordance with the rule of Pythagoras, closely linked together in confraternities, and by acquiring a certain loftiness of mind from their investigations into things that were hidden and exalted, they despised human affairs and declared the soul immortal. We see here the view expressed that socially as well as intellectually the Druids lived according to the Pythagorean philosophy. Origen also refers to the view that was prevalent in his time, that Zamolxis, the servant of Pythagoras, had taught the Druids the philosophy of Pythagoras. He further states that the Druids practised sorcery. The triple division of the non-military aristocracy is perhaps best given by Strabo, the Greek geographer, who here follows Posidonius. The three classes are the Bards, the Seers (ouateis=vates), and Druids. The Bards were hymn-writers and poets, the Seers sacrificers and men of science, while the Druids, in addition to natural science, practised also moral philosophy. They were regarded as the justest of men, and on this account were intrusted with the settlement of private and public disputes. They had been the means of preventing armies from fighting when on the very verge of battle, and were especially intrusted with the judgment of cases involving human life. According to Strabo, they and their fellow-countrymen held that souls and the universe were immortal, but that fire and water would sometime prevail. Sacrifices were never made, Strabo says, without the intervention of the Druids. Pomponius Mela says that in his time (c. 44 A.D.), though the ancient savagery was no more, and the Gauls abstained from human sacrifices, some traces of their former practices still remained, notably in their habit of cutting a portion of the flesh of those condemned to death after bringing them to the altars. The Gauls, he says, in spite of their traces of barbarism, had an eloquence of their own, and had the Druids as their teachers in philosophy. These professed to know the size and form of the earth and of the universe, the motions of the sky and stars, and the will of the gods. He refers, as Caesar does, to their work in education, and says that it was carried on in caves or in secluded groves. Mela speaks of their doctrine of immortality, but says nothing as to the entry of souls into other bodies. As a proof of this belief he speaks of the practice of burning and burying with the dead things appropriate to the needs of the living. Lucan, the Latin poet, in his _Pharsalia_, refers to the seclusion of the Druids' groves and to their doctrine of immortality. The Scholiasts' notes on this passage are after the manner of their kind, and add very little to our knowledge. In Pliny's _Natural History_ (xvi, 249), however, we seem to be face to face with another, though perhaps a distorted, tradition. Pliny was an indefatigable compiler, and appears partly by reading, partly by personal observation, to have noticed phases of Celtic religious practices which other writers had overlooked. In the first place he calls attention to the veneration in which the Gauls held the mistletoe and the tree on which it grew, provided that that tree was the oak. Hence their predilection for oak groves and their requirement of oak leaves for all religious rites. Pliny here remarks on the consonance of this practice with the etymology of the name Druid as interpreted even through Greek (the Greek for an oak being _drus_). Were not this respect for the oak and for the mistletoe paralleled by numerous examples of tree and plant-worship given by Dr. Frazer and others, it might well have been suspected that Pliny was here quoting some writer who had tried to argue from the etymology of the name Druid. Another suspicious circumstance in Pliny's account is his reference to the serpent's egg composed of snakes rolled together into a ball. He states that he himself had seen such an 'egg,' of about the size of an apple. Pliny, too, states that Tiberius Caesar abolished by a decree of the Senate the Druids and the kind of seers and physicians the Gauls then had. This statement, when read in its context, probably refers to the prohibition of human sacrifices. The historian Suetonius, in his account of the Emperor Claudius, also states that Augustus had prohibited 'the religion of the Druids' (which, he says, 'was one of fearful savagery') to Roman citizens, but that Claudius had entirely abolished it. What is here also meant, in view of the description given of Druidism, is doubtless the abolishing of its human sacrifices. In later Latin writers there are several references to Druidesses, but these were probably only sorceresses. In Irish the name _drui_ (genitive _druad_) meant a magician, and the word _derwydd_ in mediaeval Welsh was especially used in reference to the vaticinations which were then popular in Wales. When we analyse the testimony of ancient writers concerning the Druids, we see in the first place that to different minds the name connoted different things. To Caesar it is the general name for the non-military professional class, whether priests, seers, teachers, lawyers, or judges. To others the Druids are pre-eminently the philosophers and teachers of the Gauls, and are distinguished from the seers designated _vates_. To others again, such as Pliny, they were the priests of the oak-ritual, whence their name was derived. In view of the variety of grades of civilisation then co-existing in Gaul and Britain, it is not improbable that the development of the non-military professional class varied very considerably in different districts, and that all the aspects of Druidism which the ancient writers specify found their appropriate places in the social system of the Celts. In Gaul and Britain, as elsewhere, the office of the primitive tribal medicine-man was capable of indefinite development, and all the forms of its evolution could not have proceeded _pari passu_ where the sociological conditions found such scope for variation. It may well be that the oak and mistletoe ceremonies, for example, lingered in remote agricultural districts long after they had ceased to interest men along the main routes of Celtic civilisation. The bucolic mind does not readily abandon the practices of millennia. In addition to the term Druid, we find in Aulus Hirtius' continuation of Caesar's _Gallic War_ (Bk. viii., c. xxxviii., 2), as well as on two inscriptions, one at Le-Puy-en-Velay (Dep. Haute-Loire), and the other at Macon (Dep. Saone-et-Loire), another priestly title, 'gutuater.' At Macon the office is that of a 'gutuater Martis,' but of its special features nothing is known. CHAPTER VII--THE CELTIC OTHER-WORLD In the preceding chapter we have seen that the belief was widely prevalent among Greek and Roman writers that the Druids taught the immortality of the soul. Some of these writers, too, point out the undoubted fact, attested by Archaeology, that objects which would be serviceable to the living were buried with the dead, and this was regarded as a confirmation of the view that the immortality of souls was to the Celts an object of belief. The study of Archaeology on the one hand, and of Comparative Religion on the other, certainly leads to the conclusion that in the Bronze and the Early Iron Age, and in all probability in the Stone Age, the idea prevailed that death was not the end of man. The holed cromlechs of the later Stone Age were probably designed for the egress and ingress of souls. The food and the weapons that were buried with the dead were thought to be objects of genuine need. Roman religion, too, in some of its rites provided means for the periodical expulsion of hungry and hostile spirits of the dead, and for their pacification by the offer of food. A tomb and its adjuncts were meant not merely for the honour of the dead, but also for the protection of the living. A clear line of distinction was drawn between satisfied and beneficent ghosts like the Manes, and the unsatisfied and hostile ghosts like the Lemures and Larvae. To the Celtic mind, when its analytical powers had come to birth, and man was sufficiently self-conscious to reflect upon himself, the problem of his own nature pressed for some solution. In these solutions the breath, the blood, the name, the head, and even the hair generally played a part, but these would not in themselves explain the mysterious phenomena of sleep, of dreams, of epilepsy, of madness, of disease, of man's shadow and his reflection, and of man's death. By long familiarity with the scientific or quasi-scientific explanations of these things, we find it difficult to realise fully their constant fascination for early man, who had his thinkers and philosophies like ourselves. One very widely accepted solution of early man in the Celtic world was, that within him there was another self which could live a life of its own apart from the body, and which survived even death, burial, and burning. Sometimes this inner self was associated with the breath, whence, for example, the Latin 'anima' and the Welsh 'enaid,' both meaning the soul, from the root _an_-, to breathe. At other times the term employed for the second self had reference to man's shadow: the Greek 'skia,' the Latin 'umbra,' the Welsh 'ysgawd,' the English 'shade.' There are abundant evidences, too, that the life-principle was frequently regarded as being especially associated with the blood. Another tendency, of which Principal Rhys has given numerous examples in his Welsh folk-lore, was to regard the soul as capable of taking a visible form, not necessarily human, preferably that of some winged creature. In ancient writers there is no information as to the views prevalent among the Celts regarding the forms or the abodes of the spirits of the dead, beyond the statement that the Druids taught the doctrine of their re-birth. We are thus compelled to look to the evidence afforded by myth, legend, and folk-lore. These give fair indications as to the types of earlier popular belief in these matters, but it would be a mistake to assume that the ideas embodied in them had remained entirely unchanged from remote times. The mind of man at certain levels is quite capable of evolving new myths and fresh folk-lore along the lines of its own psychology and its own logic. The forms which the soul could take doubtless varied greatly in men's opinions in different districts and in different mental perspectives, but folk-lore tends to confirm the view that early man, in the Celtic world as elsewhere, tended to emphasise his conception of the subtlety and mobility of the soul as contrasted with the body. Sooner or later the primitive philosopher was bound to consider whither the soul went in dreams or in death. He may not at first have thought of any other sphere than that of his own normal life, but other questions, such as the home of the spirits of vegetation in or under the earth, would suggest, even if this thought had not occurred to him before, that the spirits of men, too, had entrance to the world below. Whether this world was further pictured in imagination depended largely on the poetic genius of any given people. The folk-lore of the Celtic races bears abundant testimony to their belief that beneath this world there was another. The 'annwfn' of the Welsh was distinctly conceived in the folk-lore embodied in mediaeval poetry as being 'is elfydd' (beneath the world). In mediaeval Welsh legend, again, this lower world is regarded as divided into kingdoms, like this world, and its kings, like Arawn and Hafgan in the Mabinogi of Pwyll, are represented as being sometimes engaged in conflict. From this lower world had come to man some of the blessings of civilisation, and among them the much prized gift of swine. The lower world could be even plundered by enterprising heroes. Marriages like that of Pwyll and Rhiannon were possible between the dwellers of the one world and the other. The other-world of the Celts does not seem, however, to have been always pictured as beneath the earth. Irish and Welsh legend combine in viewing it at times as situated on distant islands, and Welsh folk-lore contains several suggestions of another world situated beneath the waters of a lake, a river, or a sea. In one or two passages also of Welsh mediaeval poetry the shades are represented as wandering in the woods of Caledonia (Coed Celyddon). This was no doubt a traditional idea in those families that migrated to Wales in post- Roman times from Strathclyde. To those who puzzled over the fate of the souls of the dead the idea of their re-birth was a very natural solution, and Mr. Alfred Nutt, in his _Voyage of Bran_, has called attention to the occurrence of this idea in Irish legend. It does not follow, however, that the souls of all men would enjoy the privilege of this re-birth. As Mr. Alfred Nutt points out, Irish legend seems to regard this re-birth only as the privilege of the truly great. It is of interest to note the curious persistence of similar ideas as to death and the other-world in literature written even in Christian times and by monastic scribes. In Welsh, in addition to Annwfn, a term which seems to mean the 'Not-world,' we have other names for the world below, such as 'anghar,' the loveless place; 'difant,' the unrimmed place (whence the modern Welsh word 'difancoll,' lost for ever); 'affwys,' the abyss; 'affan,' the land invisible. The upper-world is sometimes called 'elfydd,' sometimes 'adfant,' the latter term meaning the place whose rim is turned back. Apparently it implies a picture of the earth as a disc, whose rim or lip is curved back so as to prevent men from falling over into the 'difant,' or the rimless place. In modern Celtic folk-lore the various local other- worlds are the abodes of fairies, and in these traditions there may possibly be, as Principal Rhys has suggested, some intermixture of reminiscences of the earlier inhabitants of the various districts. Modern folk-lore, like mediaeval legend, has its stories of the inter-marriages of natives of this world with those of the other-world, often located underneath a lake. The curious reader will find several examples of such stories in Principal Rhys's collection of Welsh and Manx folk-lore. In Irish legend one of the most classical of these stories is that of the betrothal of Etain, a story which has several points of contact with the narrative of the meeting of Pwyll and Rhiannon in the Welsh Mabinogi. The name of Arthur's wife, Gwenhwyfar, which means 'the White Spectre,' also suggests that originally she too played a part in a story of the same kind. In all these and similar narratives, it is important to note the way in which the Celtic conceptions of the other-world, in Britain and in Ireland, have been coloured by the geographical aspects of these two countries, by their seas, their islands, their caves, their mounds, their lakes, and their mountains. The local other-worlds of these lands bear, as we might have expected, the clear impress of their origin. On the whole the conceptions of the other-world which we meet in Celtic legend are joyous; it is a land of youth and beauty. Cuchulainn, the Irish hero, for example, is brought in a boat to an exceedingly fair island round which there is a silver wall and a bronze palisade. In one Welsh legend the cauldron of the Head of Annwfn has around it a rim of pearls. One Irish story has a naive description of the glories of the Celtic Elysium in the words--'Admirable was that land: there are three trees there always bearing fruit, one pig always alive, and another ready cooked.' Occasionally, however, we find a different picture. In the Welsh poem called 'Y Gododin' the poet Aneirin is represented as expressing his gratitude at being rescued by the son of Llywarch Hen from 'the cruel prison of the earth, from the abode of death, from the loveless land.' The salient features, therefore, of the Celtic conceptions of the other-world are their consonance with the suggestions made by Celtic scenery to the Celtic imagination, the vagueness and variability of these conceptions in different minds and in different moods, the absence of any ethical considerations beyond the incentive given to bravery by the thought of immortality, and the remarkable development of a sense of possible inter-relations between the two worlds, whether pacific or hostile. Such conceptions, as we see from Celtic legend, proved an admirable stimulus and provided excellent material for the development of Celtic narrative, and the weird and romantic effect was further heightened by the general belief in the possibilities of magic and metamorphosis. Moreover, the association with innumerable place-names of legends of this type gave the beautiful scenery of Celtic lands an added charm, which has attached their inhabitants to them with a subtle and unconquerable attachment scarcely intelligible to the more prosaic inhabitants of prosaic lands. To the poetic Celt the love of country tends to become almost a religion. The Celtic mind cannot remain indifferent to lands and seas whose very beauty compels the eyes of man to gaze upon them to their very horizon, and the lines of observation thus drawn to the horizon are for the Celt continual temptations to the thought of an infinity beyond. The preoccupation of the Celtic mind with the deities of his scenery, his springs, his rivers, his seas, his forests, his mountains, his lakes, was in thorough keeping with the tenour of his mind, when tuned to its natural surroundings. In dealing with Celtic religion, mythology, and legend, it is not so much the varying local and temporal forms that demand our attention, as the all-pervading and animating spirit, which shows its essential character even through the scanty remains of the ancient Celtic world. Celtic religion bears the impress of nature on earth far more than nature in the heavens. The sense of the heaven above has perhaps survived in some of the general Indo-European Celtic terms for the divine principle, and there are some traces of a religious interest in the sun and the god of thunder and lightning, but every student of Celtic religion must feel that the main and characteristic elements are associated with the earth in all the variety of its local phenomena. The great earth-mother and her varied offspring ever come to view in Celtic religion under many names, and the features even of the other-world could not be dissociated for the Celt from those of his mother-earth. The festivals of his year, too, were associated with the decay and the renewal of her annual life. The bonfires of November, May, Midsummer, and August were doubtless meant to be associated with the vicissitudes of her life and the spirits that were her children. For the Celt the year began in November, so that its second half-year commenced with the first of May. The idea to which Caesar refers, that the Gauls believed themselves descended from Dis, the god of the lower world, and began the year with the night, counting their time not by days but by nights, points in the same direction, namely that the darkness of the earth had a greater hold on the mind than the brightness of the sky. The Welsh terms for a week and a fortnight, _wythnos_ (eight nights) and _pythefnos_ (fifteen nights) respectively confirm Caesar's statement. To us now it may seem more natural to associate religion with the contemplation of the heavens, but for the Celtic lands at any rate the main trend of the evidence is to show that the religious mind was mainly drawn to a contemplation of the earth and her varied life, and that the Celt looked for his other-world either beneath the earth, with her rivers, lakes, and seas, or in the islands on the distant horizon, where earth and sky met. This predominance of the earth in religion was in thorough keeping with the intensity of religion as a factor in his daily pursuits. It was this intensity that gave the Druids at some time or other in the history of the Western Celts the power which Caesar and others assign to them. The whole people of the Gauls, even with their military aristocracy, were extremely devoted to religious ideas, though these led to the inhumanity of human sacrifices. At one time their sense of the reality of the other-world was so great, that they believed that loans contracted in this world would be repaid there, and practical belief could not go much further than that. All these considerations tend to show how important it is, in the comparative study of religions, to investigate each religion in its whole sociological and geographical environment as well as in the etymological meaning of its terms. In conclusion, the writer hopes that this brief sketch, which is based on an independent study of the main evidence for the religious ideas and practices of the Celtic peoples, will help to interest students of religion in the dominant modes of thought which from time immemorial held sway in these lands of the West of Europe, and which in folk-lore and custom occasionally show themselves even in the midst of our highly developed and complex civilisation of to-day. The thought of early man on the problems of his being--for after all his superstitions reveal thought--deserve respect, for in his efforts to think he was trying to grope towards the light. SHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY RHYS, _Hibbert Lectures on Celtic Heathendom_. RHYS, _Celtic Folk-lore_, _Welsh and Manx_. REINACH, S., _Cultes_, _Mythes et Religion_. NUTT, ALFRED, _The Voyage of Bran_. SQUIRE, _Mythology of the British Islands_. GAIDOZ, _Esqiusse de Mythologie gauloise_. BERTRAND, _La Religion des Gaulois_, _les Druides et le Druidisme_. FRAZER, _The Golden Bough_. JOYCE, _The Social History of Ireland_. D'ARBOIS DE JUBAINVILLE, _Les Druides et les dieux celtiques a forme d'animaux_. WINDISCH, _Irische Texte mit Worterbuch_. CYNDDELW, _Cymru Fu_. FOULKES, _Enwogion Cymru_. CAMPBELL, _Popular Tales of the West Highlands_. 
8161	----	FRAGMENTS OF ANCIENT POETRY By James Macpherson The Augustan Reprint Society Introduction By John J. Dunn GENERAL EDITORS George Robert Guffey, University of California, Los Angeles Earl Miner, University of California, Los Angeles Maximillian E. Novak, University of California, Los Angeles Robert Vosper, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library ADVISORY EDITORS Richard C. Boys, University of Michigan James L. Clifford, Columbia University Ralph Cohen, University of California, Los Angeles Vinton A. Dearing, University of California, Los Angeles Arthur Friedman, University of Chicago Louis A. Landa, Princeton University Samuel H. Monk, University of Minnesota Everett T. Moore, University of California, Los Angeles Lawrence Clark Powell, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library James Sutherland, University College, London H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., University of California, Los Angeles CORRESPONDING SECRETARY Edna C. Davis, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library INTRODUCTION Byron was actually the third Scotsman in about fifty years who awoke and found himself famous; the sudden rise from obscurity to international fame had been experienced earlier by two fellow countrymen, Sir Walter Scott and James Macpherson. Considering the greatness of the reputation of the two younger writers, it may seem strange to link their names with Macpherson's, but in the early nineteenth century it would not have seemed so odd. In fact, as young men both Scott and Byron would have probably have been flattered by such an association. Scott tells us that in his youth he "devoured rather than perused" Ossian and that he could repeat whole duans "without remorse"; and, as I shall discuss later, Byron paid Macpherson the high compliment of writing an imitation of Ossian, which he published in _Hours of Idleness_. The publication of the modest and anonymous pamphlet, _Fragments of Ancient Poetry_ marks the beginning of Macpherson's rise to fame, and concomitantly the start of a controversy that is unique in literary history. For the half-century that followed, the body of poetry that was eventually collected as _The Poems of Ossian_ provoked the comment of nearly every important man of letters. Extravagance and partisanship were characteristic of most of the remarks, but few literary men were indifferent. The intensity and duration of the controversy are indicative of how seriously Macpherson's work was taken, for it was to many readers of the day daring, original, and passionate. Even Malcolm Laing, whose ardor in exposing Macpherson's imposture exceeded that of Dr. Johnson, responded to the literary quality of the poems. In a note on the fourth and fifth "Fragments" the arch prosecutor of Macpherson commented, "From a singular coincidence of circumstances, it was in this house, where I now write, that I first read the poems in my early youth, with an ardent credulity that remained unshaken for many years of my life; and with a pleasure to which even the triumphant satisfaction of detecting the imposture is comparatively nothing. The enthusiasm with which I read and studied the poems, enabled me afterwards, when my suspicions were once awakened, to trace and expose the deception with greater success. Yet, notwithstanding the severity of minute criticism, I can still peruse them as a wild and wonderful assemblage of imitation with which the fancy is often pleased and gratified, even when the judgment condemns them most."[2] II It was John Home, famous on both sides of the Tweed as the author of _Douglas_, who first encouraged Macpherson to undertake his translations. While taking the waters at Moffat in the fall of 1759, he was pleased to meet a young Highland tutor, who was not only familiar with ancient Gaelic poetry but who had in his possession several such poems. Home, like nearly all of the Edinburgh literati, knew no Gaelic and asked Macpherson to translate one of them. The younger man at first protested that a translation "would give a very imperfect idea of the original," but Home "with some difficulty" persuaded him to try. In a "day or two" Macpherson brought him the poem that was to become "Fragment VII" in this collection; Home was so much pleased with it that he requested additional translations.[3] "Jupiter" Carlyle, whose autobiography reflects the keen interest that he took in literature, arrived at Moffat after Home had seen the "translations." Home, he found, "had been highly delighted with them," and when Carlyle read them he "was perfectly astonished at the poetical genius" that they displayed. They agreed that "it was a precious discovery, and that as soon as possible it should be published to the world."[4] When Home left Moffat he took his find to Edinburgh and showed the translations to the men who earned the city Smollett's sobriquet, a "hotbed of genius": Robertson, fresh from the considerable success of his two volume _History of Scotland_ (1759); Robert Fergusson, recently appointed professor of natural history at the University of Edinburgh; Lord Elibank, a learned aristocrat, who had been patron to Home and Robertson; and Hugh Blair, famous for the sermons that he delivered as rector of the High Church of St. Giles. Home was gratified that these men were "no less pleased" with Macpherson's work than he had been. David Hume and David Dalrymple (later Lord Hailes) were soon apprised of the discovery and joined in the chorus of approbation that emanated from the Scottish capitol. Blair became the spokesman and the leader for the Edinburgh literati, and for the next forty years he lavished his energy in praising and defending Macpherson's work. The translations came to him at the time that he was writing his lectures on _belles lettres_ and was thus in the process of formulating his theories on the origins of poetry and the nature of the sublime. Blair lost no time in communicating with Macpherson: "I being as much struck as Mr Home with the high spirit of poetry which breathed in them, presently made inquiry where Mr. Macpherson was to be found; and having sent for him to come to me, had much conversation with him on the subject."[5] Macpherson told Blair that there were "greater and more considerable poems of the same strain" still extant in the Highlands; Blair like Home was eager for more, but Macpherson again declined to translate them. He said that he felt himself inadequate to render "the spirit and force" of the originals and that "they would be very ill relished by the public as so very different from the strain of modern ideas, and of modern, connected, and polished poetry." This whetted Blair's interest even more, and after "repeated importunity" he persuaded Macpherson to translate more fragments. The result was the present volume, which Blair saw to the press and for which he wrote the Preface "in consequence of the conversations" that he had with Macpherson.[6] Most of Blair's Preface does seem to be based on information supplied by Macpherson, for Blair had almost no first-hand knowledge about Highland poetry or its traditions. It is apparent from the Preface then, that Macpherson had not yet decided to ascribe the poems to a single poet; Ossian is one of the principal poets in the collection but the whole is merely ascribed "to the bards" (see pp. v-vi). It is also evident from the Preface that Macpherson was shifting from the reluctant "translator" of a few "fragments" to the projector of a full-length epic "if enough encouragement were given for such an undertaking." Since Blair became famous for his _Critical Dissertation on the Poems of Ossian_ (London, 1763), it may seem strange that in the Preface to the _Fragments_ he declined to say anything of the "poetical merit" of the collection. The frank adulation of the longer essay, which concludes with the brave assertion that Ossian may be placed "among those whose works are to last for ages,"[7] was partially a reflection of the enthusiasm that greeted each of Macpherson's successive publications. III Part of the appeal of the _Fragments_ was obviously based on the presumption that they were, as Blair hastened to assure the reader, "genuine remains of ancient Scottish poetry," and therefore provided a remarkable insight into a remote, primitive culture; here were maidens and warriors who lived in antiquity on the harsh, wind-swept wastes of the Highlands, but they were capable of highly refined and sensitive expressions of grief--they were the noblest savages of them all. For some readers the rumors of imposture served to dampen their initial enthusiasm, and such was the case with Hume, Walpole, and Boswell, but many of the admirers of the poems found them rapturous, authentic or not. After Gray had read several of the "Fragments" in manuscript he wrote to Thomas Warton that he had "gone mad about them"; he added, "I was so struck, so _extasié_ with their infinite beauty, that I writ into Scotland to make a thousand enquiries.... The whole external evidence would make one believe these fragments (for so he calls them, tho' nothing can be more entire) counterfeit: but the internal is so strong on the other side, that I am resolved to believe them genuine spite of the Devil & the Kirk." Gray concluded his remarks with the assertion that "this Man is the very Demon of Poetry, or he has lighted on a treasure hid for ages."[8] Nearly fifty years later Byron wrote a "humble imitation" of Ossian for the admirers of Macpherson's work and presented it as evidence of his "attachment to their favorite author," even though he was aware of the imposture. In a note to "The Death of Calmar and Orla," he commented, "I fear Laing's late edition has completely overthrown every hope that Macpherson's Ossian might prove the translation of a series of poems complete in themselves; but while the imposture is discovered, the merit of the work remains undisputed, though not without faults--particularly, in some parts, turgid and bombastic diction."[9] In 1819 Hazlitt felt that Ossian is "a feeling and a name that can never be destroyed in the minds of his readers," and he classed the work as one of the four prototypes of poetry along with the Bible, Homer, and Dante. On the question of authenticity he observed, "If it were indeed possible to shew that this writer was nothing, it would be another instance of mutability, another blank made, another void left in the heart, another confirmation of that feeling which makes him so often complain, 'Roll on, ye dark brown years, ye bring no joy on your wing to Ossian!'"[10] There is some justice in Macpherson's wry assertion that "those who have doubted my veracity have paid a compliment to my genius."[11] By examining briefly the distinctive form of the "Fragments," their diction, their setting, their tone, and their structure, we may sense something of the qualities of the poems that made them attractive to such men as Gray, Byron, and Hazlitt. IV Perhaps Macpherson's most important innovation was to cast his work into what his contemporaries called "measured prose," and it was recognized early that this new form contributed greatly to their appeal. In discussing the _Fragments_, Ramsey of Ochtertyre commented, "Nothing could be more happy or judicious than his translating in measured prose; for had he attempted it in verse, much of the spirit of the original would have evaporated, supposing him to have had talents and industry to perform that very arduous task upon a great scale. This small publication drew the attention of the literary world to a new species of poetry."[12] For his new species of poetry Macpherson drew upon the stylistic techniques of the King James Version of the Bible, just as Blake and Whitman were to do later. As Bishop Lowth was the first to point out, parallelism is the basic structural technique. Macpherson incorporated two principal forms of parallelism in his poems: _repetition_, a pattern in which the second line nearly restates the sense of the first, and _completion_ in which the second line picks up part of the sense of the first line and adds to it. These are both common in the _Fragments_, but a few examples may be useful. I have rearranged the following lines and in the other passages relating to the structure of the poems in order to call attention to the binary quality of Macpherson's verse: _Repetition_ Who can reach the source of thy race, O Connal? And who recount thy Fathers? ("Fragment V") Oscur my son came down; The mighty in battle descended. ("Fragment VI") Oscur stood forth to meet him; My son would meet the foe. ("Fragment VIII") Future times shall hear of thee; They shall hear of the fallen Morar. ("Fragment XII") _Completion_ What voice is that I hear? That voice like the summer wind. ("Fragment I") The warriours saw her, and loved; Their souls were fixed on the maid. Each loved her, as his fame; Each must possess her or die. But her soul was fixed on Oscur; My son was the youth of her love. ("Fragment VII") Macpherson also used grammatical parallelism as a structural device; a series of simple sentences is often used to describe a landscape: Autumn is dark on the mountains; Grey mist rests on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. ("Fragment V") The poems also have a discernible rhythmical pattern; the tendency of the lines to form pairs is obvious enough when there is semantic or grammatical parallelism, but there is a general binary pattern throughout. Typically, the first unit is a simple sentence, the second almost any grammatical structure--an appositive, a prepositional phrase, a participle, the second element of a compound verb, a dependent clause. A simile--in grammatical terms, an adverbial phrase--sometimes constitutes the second element. These pairs are often balanced roughly by the presence of two, three, or four accents in each constituent; there are a large number of imbedded iambic and anapestic feet, which give the rhythm an ascending quality: The da/ughter of R/inval was n/ear; Crim/ora, br/ight in the arm/our of m/an; Her ha/ir loose beh/ind, Her b/ow in her h/and. She f/ollowed the y/outh to w/ar, Co/nnal her m/uch bel/oved. She dr/ew the st/ring on D/argo; But e/rring pi/erced her C/onnal. ("Fragment V") As E. H. W. Meyerstein pointed out, "Macpherson can, without extravagance, be regarded as the main originator (after the translators of the Authorized Version) of what's known as 'free verse."[13] Macpherson's work certainly served to stimulate prosodic experimentation during the next half century; it is certainly no coincidence that two of the boldest innovators, Blake and Coleridge, were admirers of Macpherson's work. Macpherson's diction must have also appealed to the growing taste for poetry that was less ornate and studied. His practice was to use a large number of concrete monosyllabic words of Anglo-Saxon origin to describe objects and forces common to rural life. A simple listing of the common nouns from the opening of "Fragment I" will serve to illustrate this tendency: _love, son, hill, deer, dogs, bow-string, wind, stream, rushes, mist, oak, friends_. Such diction bears an obvious kinship to what was to become the staple diction of the romantic lyric; for example, a similar listing from "A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal" would be this: _slumber, spirit, fears, thing, touch, years, motion, force, course, rocks, stones, trees_. The untamed power of Macpherson's wild natural settings is also striking. Samuel H. Monk has made the point well: "Ossian's strange exotic wildness and his obscure, terrible glimpses of scenery were in essence something quite new.... Ossian's images were far from "nature methodized." His imagination illumined fitfully a scene of mountains and blasted heaths, as artificially wild as his heroines were artificially sensitive; to modern readers they resemble too much the stage-settings of melodrama. But in 1760, his descriptions carried with them the thrill of the genuine and of naïvely archaic." And Monk adds, "imperceptibly the Ossianic poems contributed toward converting Britons, nay, Europeans, into enthusiastic admirers of nature in her wilder moments."[14] Ghosts are habitually present in the poems, and Macpherson is able to present them convincingly because they are described by a poet who treats them as though they were part of his and his audience's habitual experience. The supernatural world is so familiar, in fact, that it can be used to describe the natural; thus Minvane in "Fragment VII" is called as fair "as the spirits of the hill when at silent noon they glide along the heath." As Patricia M. Spacks has observed, the supernatural seems to be a "genuine part of the poetic texture"; and she adds that "within this poetic context, the supernatural seems convincing because believed in: it is part of the fabric of life for the characters of the poem. Ghosts in the Ossianic poems, almost uniquely in the mid-eighteenth century, seem genuinely to belong; to this particular poetic conception the supernatural does not seem extraneous."[15] The _Fragments_ was also a cause and a reflection of the rising appeal of the hero of sensibility, whose principal characteristic was that he could feel more intensely than the mass of humanity. The most common emotion that these acutely empathetic heroes felt was grief, the emotion that permeates the _Fragments_ and the rest of Macpherson's work. It was the exquisite sensibility of Macpherson's heroes and heroines that the young Goethe was struck by; Werther, an Ossianic hero in his own way, comments, "You should see what a silly figure I cut when she is mentioned in society! And then if I am even asked how I like her--Like! I hate that word like death. What sort of person must that be who likes Lotte, in whom all senses, all emotions are not completely filled up by her! Like! Recently someone asked me how I like Ossian!"[16] That Macpherson chose to call his poems "fragments" is indicative of another quality that made them unusual in their day. The poems have a spontaneity that is suggested by the fact that the poets seem to be creating their songs as the direct reflection of an emotional experience. In contrast to the image of the poet as the orderer, the craftsman, the poets of the _Fragments_ have a kind of artlessness (to us a very studied one, to be sure) that gave them an aura of sincerity and honesty. The poems are fragmentary in the sense that they do not follow any orderly, rational plan but seem to take the form that corresponds to the development of an emotional experience. As Macpherson told Blair they are very different from "modern, connected, and polished poetry." V The _Fragments_ proved an immediate success and Macpherson's Edinburgh patrons moved swiftly to raise enough money to enable the young Highlander to resign his position as tutor and to devote himself to collecting and translating the Gaelic poetry still extant in the Highlands. Blair recalled that he and Lord Elibank were instrumental in convening a dinner meeting that was attended by "many of the first persons of rank and taste in Edinburgh," including Robertson, Home, and Fergusson.[17] Robert Chalmers acted as treasurer; among the forty odd subscribers who contributed 60£, were James Boswell and David Hume.[18] By the time of the second edition of the _Fragments_ (also in 1760), Blair, or more likely Macpherson himself, could inform the public in the "Advertisement" "that measures are now taken for making a full collection of the remaining Scottish bards; in particular, for recovering and translating the heroic poem mentioned in the preface." Macpherson, a frugal man, included many of the "Fragments" in his later work. Sometimes he introduced them into the notes as being later than Ossian but in the same spirit; at other times he introduced them as episodes in the longer narratives. With the exception of Laing's edition, they are not set off, however, and anyone who wishes to see what caused the initial Ossianic fervor must consult the original volume. When we have to remind ourselves that a work of art was revolutionary in its day, we can be sure that we are dealing with something closer to cultural artifact than to art, and it must be granted that this is true of Macpherson's work; nevertheless, the fact that Ossian aroused the interest of major men of letters for fifty years is suggestive of his importance as an innovator. In a curious way, Macpherson's achievement has been overshadowed by the fact that many greater writers followed him and developed the artistic direction that he was among the first to take. NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION [Footnote 1: See Scott's letter to Anna Seward in J. G. Lockhart, _Memoirs of Sir Walter Scott_ (London, 1900), I, 410-15.] [Footnote 2: _The Poems of Ossian_, ed. Malcolm Laing (Edinburgh, 1805), I, 441.] [Footnote 3: See Home's letter to Mackenzie in the _Report of the Committee of the Highland Society of Scotland_ (Edinburgh, 1805), Appendix, pp. 68-69.] [Footnote 4: Carlyle to Mackenzie, _ibid_., p. 66.] [Footnote 5: Blair to Mackenzie, _ibid_., p. 57.] [Footnote 6: _Ibid_., p. 58.] [Footnote 7: Quoted from _The Poems of Ossian_ (London, 1807), I, 222. After its initial separate publication, Blair's dissertation was regularly included with the collected poems.] [Footnote 8: _Correspondence of Thomas Gray_, ed. Paget Toynbee and Leonard Whibley (Oxford, 1935), II, 679-80.] [Footnote 9: _The Works of Lord Byron, Poetry_, ed. Ernest Hartley Coleridge (London, 1898), I, 183.] [Footnote 10: "On Poetry in General," _The Complete Works of William Hazlitt_, ed. P. P. Howe (London, 1930), V, 18.] [Footnote 11: Quoted in Henry Grey Graham, _Scottish Men of Letters in the Eighteenth Century_ (London, 1908), p. 240.] [Footnote 12: _Scotland and Scotsmen in the Eighteenth Century_, ed. Alexander Allardyce (Edinburgh, 1888), I, 547.] [Footnote 13: "The Influence of Ossian," _English_, VII (1948), 96.] [Footnote 14: _The Sublime_ (Ann Arbor, 1960), p. 126.] [Footnote 15: _The Insistence of Horror_ (Cambridge, Mass., 1962), pp. 86-87.] [Footnote 16: _The Sufferings of Young Werther_, trans. Bayard Morgan (New York, 1957), p. 51.] [Footnote 17: _Report_, Appendix, p. 58.] [Footnote 18: See Robert M. Schmitz, _Hugh Blair_ (New York, 1948), p. 48.] FRAGMENTS OF ANCIENT POETRY Collected in the Highlands of Scotland, and Translated from the Galic or Erse Language "Vos quoque qui fortes animas, belloque peremtas Laudibus in longum vates dimittitis aevuin, Plurima securi fudistis carmina _Bardi_." LUCAN PREFACE The public may depend on the following fragments as genuine remains of ancient Scottish poetry. The date of their composition cannot be exactly ascertained. Tradition, in the country where they were written, refers them to an æra of the most remote antiquity: and this tradition is supported by the spirit and strain of the poems themselves; which abound with those ideas, and paint those manners, that belong to the most early state of society. The diction too, in the original, is very obsolete; and differs widely from the style of such poems as have been written in the same language two or three centuries ago. They were certainly composed before the establishment of clanship in the northern part of Scotland, which is itself very ancient; for had clans been then formed and known, they must have made a considerable figure in the work of a Highland Bard; whereas there is not the least mention of them in these poems. It is remarkable that there are found in them no allusions to the Christian religion or worship; indeed, few traces of religion of any kind. One circumstance seems to prove them to be coeval with the very infancy of Christianity in Scotland. In a fragment of the same poems, which the translator has seen, a Culdee or Monk is represented as desirous to take down in writing from the mouth of Oscian, who is the principal personage in several of the following fragments, his warlike atchievements and those of his family. But Oscian treats the monk and his religion with disdain, telling him, that the deeds of such great men were subjects too high to be recorded by him, or by any of his religion: A full proof that Christianity was not as yet established in the country. Though the poems now published appear as detached pieces in this collection, there is ground to believe that most of them were originally episodes of a greater work which related to the wars of Fingal. Concerning this hero innumerable traditions remain, to this day, in the Highlands of Scotland. The story of Oscian, his son, is so generally known, that to describe one in whom the race of a great family ends, it has passed into a proverb; "Oscian the last of the heroes." There can be no doubt that these poems are to be ascribed to the Bards; a race of men well known to have continued throughout many ages in Ireland and the north of Scotland. Every chief or great man had in his family a Bard or poet, whose office it was to record in verse, the illustrious actions of that family. By the succession of these Bards, such poems were handed down from race to race; some in manuscript, but more by oral tradition. And tradition, in a country so free of intermixture with foreigners, and among a people so strongly attached to the memory of their ancestors, has preserved many of them in a great measure incorrupted to this day. They are not set to music, nor sung. The verification in the original is simple; and to such as understand the language, very smooth and beautiful; Rhyme is seldom used: but the cadence, and the length of the line varied, so as to suit the sense. The translation is extremely literal. Even the arrangement of the words in the original has been imitated; to which must be imputed some inversions in the style, that otherwise would not have been chosen. Of the poetical merit of these fragments nothing shall here be said. Let the public judge, and pronounce. It is believed, that, by a careful inquiry, many more remains of ancient genius, no less valuable than those now given to the world, might be found in the same country where these have been collected. In particular there is reason to hope that one work of considerable length, and which deserves to be styled an heroic poem, might be recovered and translated, if encouragement were given to such an undertaking. The subject is, an invasion of Ireland by Swarthan King of Lochlyn; which is the name of Denmark in the Erse language. Cuchulaid, the General or Chief of the Irish tribes, upon intelligence of the invasion, assembles his forces. Councils are held; and battles fought. But after several unsuccescful engagements, the Irish are forced to submit. At length, Fingal King of Scotland, called in this poem, "The Desert of the hills," arrives with his ships to assist Cuchulaid. He expels the Danes from the country; and returns home victorious. This poem is held to be of greater antiquity than any of the rest that are preserved. And the author speaks of himself as present in the expedition of Fingal. The three last poems in the collection are fragments which the translator obtained of this epic poem; and though very imperfect, they were judged not unworthy of being inserted. If the whole were recovered, it might serve to throw confiderable light upon the Scottish and Irish antiquities. FRAGMENT I SHILRIC, VINVELA. VINVELA My love is a son of the hill. He pursues the flying deer. His grey dogs are panting around him; his bow-string sounds in the wind. Whether by the fount of the rock, or by the stream of the mountain thou liest; when the rushes are nodding with the wind, and the mist is flying over thee, let me approach my love unperceived, and see him from the rock. Lovely I saw thee first by the aged oak; thou wert returning tall from the chace; the fairest among thy friends. SHILRIC. What voice is that I hear? that voice like the summer-wind.--I sit not by the nodding rushes; I hear not the fount of the rock. Afar, Vinvela, afar I go to the wars of Fingal. My dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the hill. No more from on high I see thee, fair-moving by the stream of the plain; bright as the bow of heaven; as the moon on the western wave. VINVELA. Then thou art gone, O Shilric! and I am alone on the hill. The deer are seen on the brow; void of fear they graze along. No more they dread the wind; no more the rustling tree. The hunter is far removed; he is in the field of graves. Strangers! sons of the waves! spare my lovely Shilric. SHILRIC. If fall I must in the field, raise high my grave, Vinvela. Grey stones, and heaped-up earth, shall mark me to future times. When the hunter shall sit by the mound, and produce his food at noon, "some warrior rests here," he will say; and my fame shall live in his praise. Remember me, Vinvela, when low on earth I lie! VINVELA. Yes!--I will remember thee--indeed my Shilric will fall. What shall I do, my love! when thou art gone for ever? Through these hills I will go at noon: O will go through the silent heath. There I will see where often thou sattest returning from the chace. Indeed, my Shilric will fall; but I will remember him. II I sit by the mossy fountain; on the top of the hill of winds. One tree is rustling above me. Dark waves roll over the heath. The lake is troubled below. The deer descend from the hill. No hunter at a distance is seen; no whistling cow-herd is nigh. It is mid-day: but all is silent. Sad are my thoughts as I sit alone. Didst thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath! thy hair floating on the wind behind thee; thy bosom heaving on the sight; thine eyes full of tears for thy friends, whom the mist of the hill had concealed! Thee I would comfort, my love, and bring thee to thy father's house. But is it she that there appears, like a beam of light on the heath? bright as the moon in autumn, as the sun in a summer-storm?--She speaks: but how weak her voice! like the breeze in the reeds of the pool. Hark! Returnest thou safe from the war? "Where are thy friends, my love? I heard of thy death on the hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric!" Yes, my fair, I return; but I alone of my race. Thou shalt see them no more: their graves I raised on the plain. But why art thou on the desert hill? why on the heath, alone? Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the winter-house. With grief for thee I expired. Shilric, I am pale in the tomb. She fleets, she sails away; as grey mist before the wind!--and, wilt thou not stay, my love? Stay and behold my tears? fair thou appearest, my love! fair thou wast, when alive! By the mossy fountain I will sit; on the top of the hill of winds. When mid-day is silent around, converse, O my love, with me! come on the wings of the gale! on the blast of the mountain, come! Let me hear thy voice, as thou passest, when mid-day is silent around. III Evening is grey on the hills. The north wind resounds through the woods. White clouds rise on the sky: the trembling snow descends. The river howls afar, along its winding course. Sad, by a hollow rock, the grey-hair'd Carryl sat. Dry fern waves over his head; his seat is in an aged birch. Clear to the roaring winds he lifts his voice of woe. Tossed on the wavy ocean is He, the hope of the isles; Malcolm, the support of the poor; foe to the proud in arms! Why hast thou left us behind? why live we to mourn thy fate? We might have heard, with thee, the voice of the deep; have seen the oozy rock. Sad on the sea-beat shore thy spouse looketh for thy return. The time of thy promise is come; the night is gathering around. But no white sail is on the sea; no voice is heard except the blustering winds. Low is the soul of the war! Wet are the locks of youth! By the foot of some rock thou liest; washed by the waves as they come. Why, ye winds, did ye bear him on the desert rock? Why, ye waves, did ye roll over him? But, Oh! what voice is that? Who rides on that meteor of fire! Green are his airy limbs. It is he! it is the ghost of Malcolm!--Rest, lovely soul, rest on the rock; and let me hear thy voice!--He is gone, like a dream of the night. I see him through the trees. Daughter of Reynold! he is gone. Thy spouse shall return no more. No more shall his hounds come from the hill, forerunners of their master. No more from the distant rock shall his voice greet thine ear. Silent is he in the deep, unhappy daughter of Reynold! I will sit by the stream of the plain. Ye rocks! hang over my head. Hear my voice, ye trees! as ye bend on the shaggy hill. My voice shall preserve the praise of him, the hope of the isles. IV CONNAL, CRIMORA, CRIMORA. Who cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged with the beam of the west? Whose voice is that, loud as the wind, but pleasant as the harp of Carryl? It is my love in the light of steel; but sad is his darkened brow. Live the mighty race of Fingal? or what disturbs my Connal? CONNAL. They live. I saw them return from the chace, like a stream of light. The sun was on their shields: In a line they descended the hill. Loud is the voice of the youth; the war, my love, is near. To-morrow the enormous Dargo comes to try the force of our race. The race of Fingal he defies; the race of battle and wounds. CRIMORA. Connal, I saw his sails like grey mist on the sable wave. They came to land. Connnal, many are the warriors of Dargo! CONNAL. Bring me thy father's shield; the iron shield of Rinval; that shield like the full moon when it is darkened in the sky. CRIMORA. That shield I bring, O Connal; but it did not defend my father. By the spear of Gauror he fell. Thou mayst fall, O Connal! CONNAL. Fall indeed I may: But raise my tomb, Crimora. Some stones, a mound of earth, shall keep my memory. Though fair thou art, my love, as the light; more pleasant than the gale of the hill; yet I will not stay. Raise my tomb, Crimora. CRIMORA, Then give me those arms of light; that sword, and that spear of steel. I shall meet Dargo with thee, and aid my lovely Connal. Farewell, ye rocks of Ardven! ye deer! and ye streams of the hill!--We shall return no more. Our tombs are distant far. V Autumn is dark on the mountains; grey mist rests on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree stands alone on the hill, and marks the grave of Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and strew the grave of the dead. At times are seen here the ghosts of the deceased, when the musing hunter alone stalks slowly over the heath. Who can reach the source of thy race, O Connal? and who recount thy Fathers? Thy family grew like an oak on the mountain, which meeteth the wind with its lofty head. But now it is torn from the earth. Who shall supply the place of Connal? Here was the din of arms; and here the groans of the dying. Mournful are the wars of Fingal! O Connal! it was here thou didst fall. Thine arm was like a storm; thy sword, a beam of the sky; thy height, a rock on the plain; thine eyes, a furnace of fire. Louder than a storm was thy voice, when thou confoundedst the field. Warriors fell by thy sword, as the thistle by the staff of a boy. Dargo the mighty came on, like a cloud of thunder. His brows were contracted and dark. His eyes like two caves in a rock. Bright rose their swords on each side; dire was the clang of their steel. The daughter of Rinval was near; Crimora, bright in the armour of man; her hair loose behind, her bow in her hand. She followed the youth to the war, Connal her much beloved. She drew the string on Dargo; but erring pierced her Connal. He falls like an oak on the plain; like a rock from the shaggy hill. What shall she do, hapless maid!--He bleeds; her Connal dies. All the night long she cries, and all the day, O Connal, my love, and my friend! With grief the sad mourner died. Earth here incloseth the loveliest pair on the hill. The grass grows between the stones of their tomb; I sit in the mournful shade. The wind sighs through the grass; and their memory rushes on my mind. Undisturbed you now sleep together; in the tomb of the mountain you rest alone. VI Son of the noble Fingal, Oscian, Prince of men! what tears run down the cheeks of age? what shades thy mighty soul? Memory, son of Alpin, memory wounds the aged. Of former times are my thoughts; my thoughts are of the noble Fingal. The race of the king return into my mind, and wound me with remembrance. One day, returned from the sport of the mountains, from pursuing the sons of the hill, we covered this heath with our youth. Fingal the mighty was here, and Oscur, my son, great in war. Fair on our sight from the sea, at once, a virgin came. Her breast was like the snow of one night. Her cheek like the bud of the rose. Mild was her blue rolling eye: but sorrow was big in her heart. Fingal renowned in war! she cries, sons of the king, preserve me! Speak secure, replies the king, daughter of beauty, speak: our ear is open to all: our swords redress the injured. I fly from Ullin, she cries, from Ullin famous in war. I fly from the embrace of him who would debase my blood. Cremor, the friend of men, was my father; Cremor the Prince of Inverne. Fingal's younger sons arose; Carryl expert in the bow; Fillan beloved of the fair; and Fergus first in the race. --Who from the farthest Lochlyn? who to the seas of Molochasquir? who dares hurt the maid whom the sons of Fingal guard? Daughter of beauty, rest secure; rest in peace, thou fairest of women. Far in the blue distance of the deep, some spot appeared like the back of the ridge-wave. But soon the ship increased on our sight. The hand of Ullin drew her to land. The mountains trembled as he moved. The hills shook at his steps. Dire rattled his armour around him. Death and destruction were in his eyes. His stature like the roe of Morven. He moved in the lightning of steel. Our warriors fell before him, like the field before the reapers. Fingal's three sons he bound. He plunged his sword into the fair-one's breast. She fell as a wreath of snow before the sun in spring. Her bosom heaved in death; her soul came forth in blood. Oscur my son came down; the mighty in battle descended. His armour rattled as thunder; and the lightning of his eyes was terrible. There, was the clashing of swords; there, was the voice of steel. They struck and they thrust; they digged for death with their swords. But death was distant far, and delayed to come. The sun began to decline; and the cow-herd thought of home. Then Oscur's keen steel found the heart of Ullin. He fell like a mountain-oak covered over with glittering frost: He shone like a rock on the plain.--Here the daughter of beauty lieth; and here the bravest of men. Here one day ended the fair and the valiant. Here rest the pursuer and the pursued. Son of Alpin! the woes of the aged are many: their tears are for the past. This raised my sorrow, warriour; memory awaked my grief. Oscur my son was brave; but Oscur is now no more. Thou hast heard my grief, O son of Alpin; forgive the tears of the aged. VII Why openest thou afresh the spring of my grief, O son of Alpin, inquiring how Oscur fell? My eyes are blind with tears; but memory beams on my heart. How can I relate the mournful death of the head of the people! Prince of the warriours, Oscur my son, shall I see thee no more! He fell as the moon in a storm; as the sun from the midst of his course, when clouds rise from the waste of the waves, when the blackness of the storm inwraps the rocks of Ardannider. I, like an ancient oak on Morven, I moulder alone in my place. The blast hath lopped my branches away; and I tremble at the wings of the north. Prince of the warriors, Oscur my son! shall I see thee no more! DERMID DERMID and Oscur were one: They reaped the battle together. Their friendship was strong as their steel; and death walked between them to the field. They came on the foe like two rocks falling from the brows of Ardven. Their swords were stained with the blood of the valiant: warriours fainted at their names. Who was a match for Oscur, but Dermid? and who for Dermid, but Oscur? THEY killed mighty Dargo in the field; Dargo before invincible. His daughter was fair as the morn; mild as the beam of night. Her eyes, like two stars in a shower: her breath, the gale of spring: her breasts, as the new fallen snow floating on the moving heath. The warriours saw her, and loved; their souls were fixed on the maid. Each loved her, as his fame; each must possess her or die. But her soul was fixed on Oscur; my son was the youth of her love. She forgot the blood of her father; and loved the hand that slew him. Son of Oscian, said Dermid, I love; O Oscur, I love this maid. But her soul cleaveth unto thee; and nothing can heal Dermid. Here, pierce this bosom, Oscur; relieve me, my friend, with thy sword. My sword, son of Morny, shall never be stained with the blood of Dermid. Who then is worthy to slay me, O Oscur son of Oscian? Let not my life pass away unknown. Let none but Oscur slay me. Send me with honour to the grave, and let my death be renowned. Dermid, make use of thy sword; son of Moray, wield thy steel. Would that I fell with thee! that my death came from the hand of Dermid! They fought by the brook of the mountain; by the streams of Branno. Blood tinged the silvery stream, and crudled round the mossy stones. Dermid the graceful fell; fell, and smiled in death. And fallest thou, son of Morny; fallest, thou by Oscur's hand! Dermid invincible in war, thus do I see thee fall! --He went, and returned to the maid whom he loved; returned, but she perceived his grief. Why that gloom, son of Oscian? what shades thy mighty soul? Though once renowned for the bow, O maid, I have lost my fame. Fixed on a tree by the brook of the hill, is the shield of Gormur the brave, whom in battle I slew. I have wasted the day in vain, nor could my arrow pierce it. Let me try, son Oscian, the skill of Dargo's daughter. My hands were taught the bow: my father delighted in my skill. She went. He stood behind the shield. Her arrow flew and pierced his breast[A]. [Footnote A: Nothing was held by the ancient Highlanders more essential to their glory, than to die by the hand of some person worthy or renowned. This was the occasion of Oscur's contriving to be slain by his mistress, now that he was weary of life. In those early times suicide was utterly unknown among that people, and no traces of it are found in the old poetry. Whence the translator suspects the account that follows of the daughter of Dargo killing herself, to be the interpolation of some later Bard.] Blessed be that hand of snow; and blessed thy bow of yew! I fall resolved on death: and who but the daughter of Dargo was worthy to slay me? Lay me in the earth, my fair-one; lay me by the side of Dermid. Oscur! I have the blood, the soul of the mighty Dargo. Well pleased I can meet death. My sorrow I can end thus.--She pierced her white bosom with steel. She fell; she trembled; and died. By the brook of the hill their graves are laid; a birch's unequal shade covers their tomb. Often on their green earthen tombs the branchy sons of the mountain feed, when mid-day is all in flames, and silence is over all the hills. VIII By the side of a rock on the hill, beneath the aged trees, old Oscian sat on the moss; the last of the race of Fingal. Sightless are his aged eyes; his beard is waving in the wind. Dull through the leafless trees he heard the voice of the north. Sorrow revived in his soul: he began and lamented the dead. How hast thou fallen like an oak, with all thy branches round thee! Where is Fingal the King? where is Oscur my son? where are all my race? Alas! in the earth they lie. I feel their tombs with my hands. I hear the river below murmuring hoarsely over the stones. What dost thou, O river, to me? Thou bringest back the memory of the past. The race of Fingal stood on thy banks, like a wood in a fertile soil. Keen were their spears of steel. Hardy was he who dared to encounter their rage. Fillan the great was there. Thou Oscur wert there, my son! Fingal himself was there, strong in the grey locks of years. Full rose his sinewy limbs; and wide his shoulders spread. The unhappy met with his arm, when the pride of his wrath arose. The son of Morny came; Gaul, the tallest of men. He stood on the hill like an oak; his voice was like the streams of the hill. Why reigneth alone, he cries, the son of the mighty Corval? Fingal is not strong to save: he is no support for the people. I am strong as a storm in the ocean; as a whirlwind on the hill. Yield, son of Corval; Fingal, yield to me. Oscur stood forth to meet him; my son would meet the foe. But Fingal came in his strength, and smiled at the vaunter's boast. They threw their arms round each other; they struggled on the plain. The earth is ploughed with their heels. Their bones crack as the boat on the ocean, when it leaps from wave to wave. Long did they toil; with night, they fell on the sounding plain; as two oaks, with their branches mingled, fall crashing from the hill. The tall son of Morny is bound; the aged overcame. Fair with her locks of gold, her smooth neck, and her breasts of snow; fair, as the spirits of the hill when at silent noon they glide along the heath; fair, as the rainbow of heaven; came Minvane the maid. Fingal! She softly saith, loose me my brother Gaul. Loose me the hope of my race, the terror of all but Fingal. Can I, replies the King, can I deny the lovely daughter of the hill? take thy brother, O Minvane, thou fairer than the snow of the north! Such, Fingal! were thy words; but thy words I hear no more. Sightless I sit by thy tomb. I hear the wind in the wood; but no more I hear my friends. The cry of the hunter is over. The voice of war is ceased. IX Thou askest, fair daughter of the isles! whose memory is preserved in these tombs? The memory of Ronnan the bold, and Connan the chief of men; and of her, the fairest of maids, Rivine the lovely and the good. The wing of time is laden with care. Every moment hath woes of its own. Why seek we our grief from afar? or give our tears to those of other times? But thou commanded, and I obey, O fair daughter of the isles! Conar was mighty in war. Caul was the friend of strangers. His gates were open to all; midnight darkened not on his barred door. Both lived upon the sons of the mountains. Their bow was the support of the poor. Connan was the image of Conar's soul. Caul was renewed in Ronnan his son. Rivine the daughter of Conar was the love of Ronnan; her brother Connan was his friend. She was fair as the harvest-moon setting in the seas of Molochasquir. Her soul was settled on Ronnan; the youth was the dream of her nights. Rivine, my love! says Ronnan, I go to my king in Norway[A]. A year and a day shall bring me back. Wilt thou be true to Ronnan? [Footnote A: Supposed to be Fergus II. This fragment is reckoned not altogether so ancient as most of the rest.] Ronnan! a year and a day I will spend in sorrow. Ronnan, behave like a man, and my soul shall exult in thy valour. Connan my friend, says Ronnan, wilt thou preserve Rivine thy sister? Durstan is in love with the maid; and soon shall the sea bring the stranger to our coast. Ronnan, I will defend: Do thou securely go.--He went. He returned on his day. But Durstan returned before him. Give me thy daughter, Conar, says Durstan; or fear and feel my power. He who dares attempt my sister, says Connan, must meet this edge of steel. Unerring in battle is my arm: my sword, as the lightning of heaven. Ronnan the warriour came; and much he threatened Durstan. But, saith Euran the servant of gold, Ronnan! by the gate of the north shall Durstan this night carry thy fair-one away. Accursed, answers Ronnan, be this arm if death meet him not there. Connan! saith Euran, this night shall the stranger carry thy sister away. My sword shall meet him, replies Connan, and he shall lie low on earth. The friends met by night, and they fought. Blood and sweat ran down their limbs as water on the mossy rock. Connan falls; and cries, O Durstan, be favourable to Rivine!--And is it my friend, cries Ronnan, I have slain? O Connan! I knew thee not. He went, and he fought with Durstan. Day began to rise on the combat, when fainting they fell, and expired. Rivine came out with the morn; and--O what detains my Ronnan! --She saw him lying pale in his blood; and her brother lying pale by his side. What could she say: what could she do? her complaints were many and vain. She opened this grave for the warriours; and fell into it herself, before it was closed; like the sun snatched away in a storm. Thou hast heard this tale of grief, O fair daughter of the isles! Rivine was fair as thyself: shed on her grave a tear. X It is night; and I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent shrieks down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds. Rise, moon! from behind thy clouds; stars of the night, appear! Lead me, some light, to the place where my love rests from the toil of the chase! his bow near him, unstrung; his dogs panting around him. But here I must sit alone, by the rock of the mossy stream. The stream and the wind roar; nor can I hear the voice of my love. Why delayeth my Shalgar, why the son of the hill, his promise? Here is the rock; and the tree; and here the roaring stream. Thou promisedst with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Shalgar gone? With thee I would fly my father; with thee, my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes; but we are not foes, O Shalgar! Cease a little while, O wind! stream, be thou silent a while! let my voice be heard over the heath; let my wanderer hear me. Shalgar! it is I who call. Here is the tree, and the rock. Shalgar, my love! I am here. Why delayest thou thy coming? Alas! no answer. Lo! the moon appeareth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are grey on the face of the hill. But I see him not on the brow; his dogs before him tell not that he is coming. Here I must sit alone. But who are these that lie beyond me on the heath? Are they my love and my brother?--Speak to me, O my friends! they answer not. My soul is tormented with fears.--Ah! they are dead. Their swords are red from the fight. O my brother! my brother! why hast thou slain my Shalgar? why, O Shalgar! hast thou slain my brother? Dear were ye both to me! speak to me; hear my voice, sons of my love! But alas! they are silent; silent for ever! Cold are their breast of clay! Oh! from the rock of the hill; from the top of the mountain of winds, speak ye ghosts of the dead! speak, and I will not be afraid.--Whither are ye gone to rest? In what cave of the hill shall I find you? I sit in my grief. I wait for morning in my tears. Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead; but close it not till I come. My life flieth away like a dream: why should I stay behind? Here shall I rest with my friends by the stream of the founding rock. When night comes on the hill: when the wind is up on the heath; my ghost shall stand in the wind, and mourn the death of my friends. The hunter shall hear from his booth. He shall fear, but love my voice. For sweet shall my voice be for my friends; for pleasant were they both to me. XI Sad! I am sad indeed: nor small my cause of woe!--Kirmor, thou hast lost no son; thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. Connar the valiant lives; and Annir the fairest of maids. The boughs of thy family flourish, O Kirmor! but Armyn is the last of his race. Rise, winds of autumn, rise; blow upon the dark heath! streams of the mountains, roar! howl, ye tempests, in the trees! walk through broken clouds, O moon! show by intervals thy pale face! bring to my mind that sad night, when all my children fell; when Arindel the mighty fell; when Daura the lovely died. Daura, my daughter! thou wert fair; fair as the moon on the hills of Jura; white as the driven snow; sweet as the breathing gale. Armor renowned in war came, and fought Daura's love; he was not long denied; fair was the hope of their friends. Earch son of Odgal repined; for his brother was slain by Armor. He came disguised like a son of the sea: fair was his skiff on the wave; white his locks of age; calm his serious brow. Fairest of women, he said, lovely daughter of Armyn! a rock not distant in the sea, bears a tree on its side; red shines the fruit afar. There Armor waiteth for Daura. I came to fetch his love. Come, fair daughter of Armyn! She went; and she called on Armor. Nought answered, but the son of the rock. Armor, my love! my love! why tormentest thou me with fear? come, graceful son of Arduart, come; it is Daura who calleth thee!--Earch the traitor fled laughing to the land. She lifted up her voice, and cried for her brother and her father. Arindel! Armyn! none to relieve your Daura? Her voice came over the sea. Arindel my son descended from the hill; rough in the spoils of the chace. His arrows rattled by his side; his bow was in his hand; five grey dogs attended his steps. He saw fierce Earch on the shore; he seized and bound him to an oak. Thick fly the thongs of the hide around his limbs; he loads the wind with his groans. Arindel ascends the surgy deep in his boat, to bring Daura to the land. Armor came in his wrath, and let fly the grey-feathered shaft. It sung; it sunk in thy heart, O Arindel my son! for Earch the traitor thou diedst. What is thy grief, O Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood! The boat is broken in twain by the waves. Armor plunges into the sea, to rescue his Daura or die. Sudden a blast from the hill comes over the waves. He sunk, and he rose no more. Alone, on the sea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to complain. Frequent and loud were her cries; nor could her father relieve her. All night I stood on the shore. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind; and the rain beat hard on the side of the mountain. Before morning appeared, her voice was weak. It died away, like the evening-breeze among the grass of the rocks. Spent with grief she expired. O lay me soon by her side. When the storms of the mountain come; when the north lifts the waves on high; I sit by the sounding shore, and look on the fatal rock. Often by the setting moon I see the ghosts of my children. Indistinct, they walk in mournful conference together. Will none of you speak to me?--But they do not regard their father. XII RYNO, ALPIN. RYNO The wind and the rain are over: calm is the noon of day. The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconstant sun. Red through the stony vale comes down the stream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O stream! but more sweet is the voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin the son of the song, mourning for the dead. Bent is his head of age, and red his tearful eye. Alpin, thou son of the song, why alone on the silent hill? why complainest thou, as a blast in the wood; as a wave on the lonely shore? ALPIN. My tears, O Ryno! are for the dead; my voice, for the inhabitants of the grave. Tall thou art on the hill; fair among the sons of the plain. But thou shalt fall like Morar; and the mourner shalt sit on thy tomb. The hills shall know thee no more; thy bow shall lie in the hall, unstrung. Thou wert swift, O Morar! as a doe on the hill; terrible as a meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the storm of December. Thy sword in battle, as lightning in the field. Thy voice was like a stream after rain; like thunder on distant hills. Many fell by thy arm; they were consumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou returnedst from war, how peaceful was thy brow! Thy face was like the sun after rain; like the moon in the silence of night; calm as the breast of the lake when the loud wind is laid. Narrow is thy dwelling now; dark the place of thine abode. With three steps I compass thy grave, O thou who wast so great before! Four stones with their heads of moss are the only memorial of thee. A tree with scarce a leaf, long grass which whistles in the wind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed. Thou hast no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan. Who on his staff is this? who is this, whose head is white with age, whose eyes are red with tears, who quakes at every step?--It is thy father, O Morar! the father of none but thee. He heard of thy fame in battle; he heard of foes dispersed. He heard of Morar's fame; why did he not hear of his wound? Weep, thou father of Morar! weep; but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead; low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice; no more shall he awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in the grave, to bid the slumberer awake? Farewell, thou bravest of men! thou conqueror in the field! but the field shall see thee no more; nor the dark wood be lightened with the splendor of thy steel. Thou hast left no son. But the song shall preserve thy name. Future times shall hear of thee; they shall hear of the fallen Morar. XIII [Footnote: This is the opening of the epic poem mentioned in the preface. The two following fragments are parts of some episodes of the same work.] Cuchlaid sat by the wall; by the tree of the rustling leaf. [Footnote: The aspen or poplar tree] His spear leaned against the mossy rock. His shield lay by him on the grass. Whilst he thought on the mighty Carbre whom he slew in battle, the scout of the ocean came, Moran the son of Fithil. Rise, Cuchulaid, rise! I see the ships of Garve. Many are the foe, Cuchulaid; many the sons of Lochlyn. Moran! thou ever tremblest; thy fears increase the foe. They are the ships of the Desert of hills arrived to assist Cuchulaid. I saw their chief, says Moran, tall as a rock of ice. His spear is like that fir; his shield like the rising moon. He sat upon a rock on the shore, as a grey cloud upon the hill. Many, mighty man! I said, many are our heroes; Garve, well art thou named, many are the sons of our king. [Footnote: Garve signifies a man of great size.] He answered like a wave on the rock; who is like me here? The valiant live not with me; they go to the earth from my hand. The king of the Desert of hills alone can fight with Garve. Once we wrestled on the hill. Our heels overturned the wood. Rocks fell from their place, and rivulets changed their course. Three days we strove together; heroes stood at a distance, and feared. On the fourth, the King saith that I fell; but Garve saith, he stood. Let Cuchulaid yield to him that is strong as a storm. No. I will never yield to man. Cuchulaid will conquer or die. Go, Moran, take my spear; strike the shield of Caithbait which hangs before the gate. It never rings in peace. My heroes shall hear on the hill,-- XIV DUCHOMMAR, MORNA. DUCHOMMAR. [Footnote: The signification of the names in this fragment are; Dubhchomar, a black well-shaped man. Muirne or Morna, a woman beloved by all. Cormac-cairbre, an unequalled and rough warriour. Cromleach, a crooked hill. Mugruch, a surly gloomy man. Tarman, thunder. Moinie, soft in temper and person.] Morna, thou fairest of women, daughter of Cormac-Carbre! why in the circle of stones, in the cave of the rock, alone? The stream murmureth hoarsely. The blast groaneth in the aged tree. The lake is troubled before thee. Dark are the clouds of the sky. But thou art like snow on the heath. Thy hair like a thin cloud of gold on the top of Cromleach. Thy breasts like two smooth rocks on the hill which is seen from the stream of Brannuin. Thy arms, as two white pillars in the hall of Fingal. MORNA. Whence the son of Mugruch, Duchommar the most gloomy of men? Dark are thy brows of terror. Red thy rolling eyes. Does Garve appear on the sea? What of the foe, Duchommar? DUCHOMMAR. From the hill I return, O Morna, from the hill of the flying deer. Three have I slain with my bow; three with my panting dogs. Daughter of Cormac-Carbre, I love thee as my soul. I have slain a deer for thee. High was his branchy head; and fleet his feet of wind. MORNA. Gloomy son of Mugruch, Duchommar! I love thee not: hard is thy heart of rock; dark thy terrible brow. But Cadmor the son of Tarman, thou art the love of Morna! thou art like a sunbeam on the hill, in the day of the gloomy storm. Sawest thou the son of Tarman, lovely on the hill of the chace? Here the daughter of Cormac-Carbre waiteth the coming of Cadmor. DUCHOMMAR. And long shall Morna wait. His blood is on my sword. I met him by the mossy stone, by the oak of the noisy stream. He fought; but I slew him; his blood is on my sword. High on the hill I will raise his tomb, daughter of Cormac-Carbre. But love thou the son of Mugruch; his arm is strong as a storm. MORNA. And is the son of Tarman fallen; the youth with the breast of snow! the first in the chase of the hill; the foe of the sons of the ocean!--Duchommar, thou art gloomy indeed; cruel is thy arm to me.--But give me that sword, son of Mugruch; I love the blood of Cadmor. [He gives her the sword, with which she instantly stabs him.] DUCHOMMAR. Daughter of Cormac-Carbre, thou hast pierced Duchommar! the sword is cold in my breast; thou hast killed the son of Mugruch. Give me to Moinic the maid; for much she loved Duchommar. My tomb she will raise on the hill; the hunter shall see it, and praise me.--But draw the sword from my side, Morna; I feel it cold.-- [Upon her coming near him, he stabs her. As she fell, she plucked a stone from the side of the cave, and placed it betwixt them, that his blood might not be mingled with hers.] XV [1]Where is Gealchossa my love, the daughter of Tuathal-Teachvar? I left her in the hall of the plain, when I fought with the hairy Ulfadha. Return soon, she said, O Lamderg! for here I wait in sorrow. Her white breast rose with sighs; her cheek was wet with tears. But she cometh not to meet Lamderg; or sooth his soul after battle. Silent is the hall of joy; I hear not the voice of the singer. Brann does not shake his chains at the gate, glad at the coming of his master. Where is Gealchossa my love, the daughter of Tuathal-Teachvar? [Footnote: The signification of the names in this fragment are; Gealchossack, white-legged. Tuathal-Teachtmhar, the surly, but fortunate man. Lambhdearg, bloodyhand. Ulfadba, long beard. Fichios, the conqueror of men.] Lamderg! says Firchios son of Aydon, Gealchossa may be on the hill; she and her chosen maids pursuing the flying deer. Firchios! no noise I hear. No sound in the wood of the hill. No deer fly in my sight; no panting dog pursueth. I see not Gealchossa my love; fair as the full moon setting on the hills of Cromleach. Go, Firchios! go to Allad, the grey-haired son of the rock. He liveth in the circle of stones; he may tell of Gealchossa. [Footnote: Allad is plainly a Druid consulted on this occasion.] Allad! saith Firchios, thou who dwellest in the rock; thou who tremblest alone; what saw thine eyes of age? I saw, answered Allad the old, Ullin the son of Carbre: He came like a cloud from the hill; he hummed a surly song as he came, like a storm in leafless wood. He entered the hall of the plain. Lamderg, he cried, most dreadful of men! fight, or yield to Ullin. Lamderg, replied Gealchoffa, Lamderg is not here: he fights the hairy Ulfadha; mighty man, he is not here. But Lamderg never yields; he will fight the son of Carbre. Lovely art thou, O daughter of Tuathal-Teachvar! said Ullin. I carry thee to the house of Carbre; the valiant shall have Gealchossa. Three days from the top of Cromleach will I call Lamderg to fight. The fourth, you belong to Ullin, if Lamderg die, or fly my sword. Allad! peace to thy dreams!--found the horn, Firchios!--Ullin may hear, and meet me on the top of Cromleach. Lamderg rushed on like a storm. On his spear he leaped over rivers. Few were his strides up the hill. The rocks fly back from his heels; loud crashing they bound to the plain. His armour, his buckler rung. He hummed a surly song, like the noise of the falling stream. Dark as a cloud he stood above; his arms, like meteors, shone. From the summit of the hill, he rolled a rock. Ullin heard in the hall of Carbre.-- 
5679	----	This eBook was produced by John B. Hare and Carrie Lorenz. HEROIC ROMANCES OF IRELAND TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE, WITH PREFACE, SPECIAL INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES BY A. H. LEAHY IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II @@{Redactors Note: In the original book the 'Literal Translation' is printed on facing pages to the poetic translation. In this etext the literal translation portions have been collated after the poetic translation, for the sake of readability. Hence the page numbers are not sequential--JBH} PREFACE TO VOL. II It seems to have been customary in ancient Ireland to precede by shorter stories the recital of the Great Tain, the central story of the Irish Heroic Age. A list of fourteen of these "lesser Tains," three of which are lost, is given in Miss Hull's "Cuchullin Saga"; those preserved are the Tain bo Aingen, Dartada, Flidais, Fraich, Munad, Regamon, Regamna, Ros, Ruanadh, Sailin, and Ere. Of these, five only have been edited, viz. the Tain bo Dartada, Flidais, Fraich, Regamon, and Regamna; all these five are given in this volume. The last four tales are all short, and perhaps are more truly "preludes" (remscela) than the Tain bo Fraich, which has indeed enough of interest in itself to make it an independent tale, and is as long as the four put together. All the five tales have been rendered into verse, with a prose literal translation opposite to the verse rendering, for reasons already given in the preface to the first volume. A short introduction, describing the manuscript authority, is prefixed to each; they all seem to go back in date to the best literary period, but appear to have been at any rate put into their present form later than the Great Tain, in order to lead up to it. A possible exception to this may be found at the end of the Tain bo Flidais, which seems to give a different account of the end of the war of Cualgne, and to claim that Cuchulain was defeated, and that Connaught gained his land for its allies. It may be mentioned that the last four tales are expressly stated in the text to be "remscela" to the Great Tain. INTRODUCTION IN VERSE When to an Irish court of old Came men, who flocked from near and far To hear the ancient tale that told Cuchulain's deeds in Cualgne's War; Oft, ere that famous tale began, Before their chiefest bard they hail, Amid the throng some lesser man Arose, to tell a lighter tale; He'd fell how Maev and Ailill planned Their mighty hosts might best be fed, When they towards the Cualgne land All Irelands swarming armies led; How Maev the youthful princes sent To harry warlike Regamon, How they, who trembling, from her went, His daughters and his cattle won; How Ailill's guile gained Darla's cows, How vengeful fairies marked that deed; How Fergus won his royal spouse Whose kine all Ireland's hosts could feed; How, in a form grotesque and weird, Cuchulain found a Power Divine; Or how in shapes of beasts appeared The Magic Men, who kept the Swine; Or how the rowan's guardian snake Was roused by order of the king; Or how, from out the water, Fraech To Finnabar restored her ring. And though, in greater tales, they chose Speech mired with song, men's hearts to sway, Such themes as these they told in prose, Like speakers at the "Feis" to-day. To men who spake the Irish tongue That form of Prose was pleasing well, While other lands in ballads sung Such tales as these have loved to tell: So we, who now in English dress These Irish tales would fain And seek their spirit to express, Have set them down in ballad verse; And, though to Celts the form be strange, Seek not too much the change to blame; 'Tis but the form alone we change; The sense, the spirit rest the same. CONTENTS THE PRELUDES TO THE RAID OF CUALGNE TAIN BO FRAICH - Page 1 THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE - Page 69 THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON - Page 83 THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS - Page 101 THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN - Page 127 APPENDIX IRISH TEXT AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OF PART OF THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN - Page 143 TAIN BO FRAICH INTRODUCTION The Tain bo Fraich, the Driving of the Cattle of Fraech, has apparently only one version; the different manuscripts which contain it differing in very small points; most of which seem to be due to scribal errors. Practically the tale consists of two quite separate parts. The first, the longer portion, gives the adventures of Fraech at the court of Ailill and Maev of Connaught, his courtship of their daughter, Finnabar, and closes with a promised betrothal. The second part is an account of an expedition undertaken by Fraech to the Alps "in the north of the land of the Long Beards," to recover stolen cattle, as well as his wife," who is stated by O'Beirne Crowe, on the authority of the "Courtship of Trebland" in the Book of Fermoy, to have been Trebland, a semi-deity, like Fraech himself. Except that Fraech is the chief actor in both parts, and that there is one short reference at the end of the second part to the fact that Fraech did, as he had promised in the first part, join Ailill and Maev upon the War of Cualnge, there is no connection between the two stories. But the difference between the two parts is not only in the subject-matter; the difference in the style is even yet more apparent. The first part has, I think, the most complicated plot of any Irish romance, it abounds in brilliant descriptions, and, although the original is in prose, it is, in feeling, highly poetic. The second part resembles in its simplicity and rapid action the other "fore tales" or preludes to the War of Cualnge contained in this volume, and is of a style represented in English by the narrative ballad. In spite of the various characters of the two parts, the story seems to have been regarded as one in all the manuscripts which contain it; and the question how these two romances came to be regarded as one story becomes interesting. The natural hypothesis would be that the last part was the original version, which was in its earlier part re-written by a man of genius, possibly drawing his plot from some brief statement that Finnabar was promised to Fraech in return for the help that he and his recovered cattle could give in the Great War; but a difficulty, which prevents us from regarding the second part as an original legend, at once comes in. The second part of the story happens to contain so many references to nations outside Ireland that its date can be pretty well fixed. Fraech and his companions go, over the sea from Ulster, i.e. to Scotland; then through "north Saxon-land" to the sea of Icht (i.e. the sea of Wight or the English Channel); then to the Alps in the north of the land of the Long-Beards, or Lombards. The Long-Beards do not appear in Italy until the end of the sixth century; the suggestion of North Saxon-Land reaching down to the sea of Wight suggests that there was then a South Saxon-Land, familiar to an Irish writer, dating this part of the story as before the end of the eighth century, when both Saxons and Long-Beards were overcome by Charlemagne. The second part of the story is, then, no original legend, but belongs to the seventh or eighth century, or the classical period; and it looks as if there were two writers, one of whom, like the author of the Egerton version of Etain, embellished the love-story part of the original legend, leaving the end alone, while another author wrote an account of the legendary journey of the demi-god Fraech in search for his stolen cattle, adding the geographical and historical knowledge of his time. The whole was then put together, like the two parts of the Etain story; the difference between the two stories in the matter of the wife does not seem to have troubled the compilers. The oldest manuscript authority for the Tain bo Fraich is the Book of Leinster, written before 1150. There are at least two other manuscript authorities, one; in Egerton, 1782 (published by Professor Kuno Meyer in the Zeitschrift für Celt. Philologie, 1902); the other is in MS. XL., Advocates' Library, Edinburgh (published in the Revue Celtique, Vol. XXIV.). Professor Meyer has kindly allowed me to copy his comparison of these manuscripts and his revision of O'Beirne Crowe's translation of the Book of Leinster text. The text of the literal translation given here follows, however, in the main O'Beirne Crowe's translation, which is in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy for 1870; a few insertions are made from the other MSS.; when so made the insertion is indicated by a note. For those who may be interested in the subsequent history of Fraech, it may be mentioned that he was one of the first of the Connaught champions to be slain by Cuchulain in the war of Cualnge; see Miss Faraday's translation (Grimm Library, page 35). PERSONS IN THE STORY MORTALS Ailill, King of Connaught. Medb (or Maev), Queen of Connaught. Findbar (or Finnabar), their daughter. Froech (or Fraech), (pronounced Fraych); son of a Connaught man and a fairy mother. Conall Cernach (Conall the Victorious), champion of Ulster. Two Irish women, in captivity in the Alps, north of Lombardy. Lothar (or Lothur), a follower of Fraech. Bicne, a follower of Conall. IMMORTALS Befind, Fraech's fairy mother. Boand (pronounced like "owned"), sister to Befind; Queen of the Fairies. Three fairy harpers. TAIN BO FRAICH THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF FRAECH Now the news of the love of that maid to Fraech, at his home where he dwelt, was brought, And he called his folk, and with all he spoke, and for speech with the maid he sought: And they counselled him thus: "Let a message from thee be sent to thy fairy kin To entreat their aid when we seek that maid; a boon we may chance to win: For the wondrous robes of the fairy land, and for gifts from the fairies plead; And sure thy mother's sister's hand will give to thee all thy need." To Mag Breg,[FN#1] where his mother's sister dwelt, to Boand he away hath gone, And she gave to him mantles of dark black-blue, like a beetle's back they shone: Four dark-grey rings in each cloak she gave were sewn, and a brooch shone, bright With the good red gold in each mantle's fold; she gave tunics pale and white, And the tunics were bordered with golden loops, that forms as of beasts displayed; And a fifty she added of well-rimmed shields, that of silver white were made. [FN#1] Pronounced Maw Brayg. Then away they rode, in each hero's hand was a torch for a kingly hall, For studs of bronze, and of well-burned gold, shone bright on the spears of all; On carbuncle sockets the spears were set, their points with jewels blazed; And they lit the night, as with fair sunlight, as men on their glory gazed. By each of the fifty heroes' side was a sword with a hilt of gold; And a soft-grey mare was for each to ride, with a golden curb controlled; At each horse's throat was a silver plate, and in front of that plate was swung, With a tinkling sound to the horse's tread, a bell with a golden tongue. on each steed was a housing of purple hide, with threads of silver laced, And with spiral stitch of the silver threads the heads of beasts were traced, And each housing was buckled with silver and gold: of findruine[FN#2] was made the whip For each rider to hold, with a crook of gold where it came to the horse man's grip. [FN#2] Pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. By their sides, seven chase-hounds were springing At leashes of silver they strained, And each couple a gold apple, swinging On the fetter that linked them, sustained: And their feet with bronze sheaths had been guarded, As if greaves for defence they had worn, Every hue man hath seen, or hath fancied, By those chase-hounds in brilliance was borne. Seven trumpeters strode on the road before, with colour their cloaks were bright, And their coats, that shone with the gauds they wore, flashed back as they met the light; On trumpets of silver and gold they blew, and sweet was the trumpets' sound, And their hair, soft and yellow, like fairy threads, shone golden their shoulders round. Three jesters marched in the van, their-crowns were of silver, by gilt concealed, And emblems they. carried of quaint device, engraved on each jester's shield; They had staves which with crests were adorned, and ribs down their edges in red bronze ran; Three harp-players moved by the jesters' sides, and each was a kingly man. All these were the gifts that the fairy gave, and gaily they made their start, And to Croghan's[FN#3] hold, in that guise so brave, away did the host depart. [FN#3] Pronounced Crow-han. On the fort stands a watchman to view them, And thus news down to Croghan he calls: "From yon plain comes, in fulness of numbers, A great army to Croghan's high walls; And, since Ailill the throne first ascended, Since the day we hailed Maev as our Queen, Never army so fair nor so splendid Yet hath come, nor its like shall be seen." "'Tis strange," said he," as dipped in wine, So swims, so reels my head, As o'er me steals the breath divine Of perfume from them shed." "A fair youth," said he, "forth with them goeth, And the grace of such frolicsome play, And such lightness in leap as he showeth Have I seen not on earth till to-day: For his spear a full shot's length he flingeth, Yet the spear never reacheth to ground, For his silver-chained hounds follow after, In their jaws is the spear ever found!" The Connaught hosts without the fort To see that glory rushed: Sixteen within, of baser sort, Who gazed, to death were crushed. To the fort came the youths, from their steeds they leapt, for the steeds and the stabling cared, And they loosed the hounds that in leash they kept, for the hunt were the hounds prepared; Seven deer, seven foxes and hares, they chased to the dun on Croghan's plain, Seven boars they drave, on the lawn in haste the game by the youths was slain: With a bound they dashed into Bree, whose flood by the lawns of Croghan flows; Seven otters they caught in its stream, and brought to a hill where the gateway rose. 'Twas there that Fraech and the princes sat at the castle-gate to rest, And the steward of Croghan with Fraech would speak, for such was the king's behest: Of his birth it was asked, and the men he led all truth to the herald spake: "It is Idath's son who is here," they said, and they gave him the name of Fraech. To Ailill and Maev went the steward back of the stranger's name to tell; "Give him welcome," said they: "Of a noble race is that youth, and I know it well; Let him enter the court of our house," said the king, the gateway they opened wide; And the fourth of the palace they gave to Fraech, that there might his youths abide. Fair was the palace that there they found, Seven great chambers were ranged it round; Right to the walls of the house they spread, Facing the hall, where the fire glowed red: Red yew planks, that had felt the plane, Dappled the walls with their tangled grain: Rails of bronze at the side-walls stood, Plates of bronze had made firm the wood, Seven brass bolts to the roof-tree good Firmly the vaulting tied. All that house had of pine been made, Planks, as shingles, above were laid; Sixteen windows the light let pass, Each in a frame of the shining brass: High through the roof was the sky seen bright; Girder of brass made that opening tight, Under the gap it was stretched, and light Fell on its gleaming side. All those chambers in splendour excelling, The midmost of all in the ring, Rose a room, set apart as the dwelling Of Queen Maev, and of Ailill the king. Four brass columns the awning supported For their couch, there was bronze on the wall; And two rails, formed of silver, and gilded, In that chamber encircled it all: In the front, to mid-rafters attaining, Rose in silver a wand from the floor; And with rooms was that palace engirdled, For they stretched from the door to the door. 'Twas there they went to take repose, On high their arms were hung; And down they sank, and welcome rose, Acclaimed by every tongue. By the queen and the king they were welcome made, the strangers they turned to greet; And their courtesy graciously Fraech repaid: "'Twas thus we had hoped to meet." "Not for boasting to-day are ye come!" said Maev; the men for the chess she set: And a lord of the court in the chess-man sport by Fraech in a match was met. 'Twas a marvellous board of findruine fair was prepared, when they played that game, Four handles, and edges of gold it had, nor needed they candles' flame; For the jewels that blazed at the chess-board's side, a light, as from lamps, would yield; And of silver and gold were the soldiers made, who engaged on that mimic field. "Get ye food for the chiefs!" said the king; said Maev, "Not yet, 'tis my will to stay, To sit with the strangers, and here with Fraech in a match at the chess to play!" "Let thy game be played!" said Ailill then, "for it pleaseth me none the less:" And Queen Maev and Fraech at the chess-board sate, and they played at the game of chess. Now his men, as they played, the wild beasts late caught were cooking, they thought to feed; And said Ailill to Fraech, "Shall thy harpmen play?" "Let them play," said Fraech, "indeed:" Now those harpers were wondrous men, by their sides they had sacks of the otter's skin, And about their bodies the sacks were tied, and they carried their harps within, With stitches of silver and golden thread each case for a harp was sewed; And, beneath the embroidery gleaming red, the shimmer of rubies showed! The skin of a roe about them in the middle, it was as white as snow; black-grey eyes in their centre. Cloaks of linen as white as the tunic of a swan around these ties.[FN#4] Harps of gold and silver and bronze, with figures of serpents and birds, and hounds of gold and silver: as they moved those strings those figures used to run about the men all round. [FN#4] This is the Egerton version, which is clearly right here. The Book of Leinster gives: "These figures accordingly used to run," &c., leaving out all the first part of the sentence, which is required to make the meaning plain. They play for them then so that twelve of the people[FN#5] of Ailill and Medb die with weeping and sadness. [FN#5] The Book of Leinster omits "of Ailill and Medb." Gentle and melodious were the triad, and they were the Chants of Uaithne[FN#6] (Child-birth). The illustrious triad are three brothers, namely Gol-traiges (Sorrow-strain), and Gen-traiges (Joy-strain), and Suan-traiges (Sleep-strain). Boand from the fairies is the mother of the triad: [FN#6] Pronounced something like Yew-ny. At every one of the harpers' waists was girded the hide of a roe, And black-grey spots in its midst were placed, but the hide was as white as snow; And round each of the three of them waved a cloak, as white as the wild swan's wings: Gold, silver, and bronze were the harps they woke; and still, as they touched the strings, The serpents, the birds, and the hounds on the harps took life at the harps' sweet sound, And those figures of gold round the harpmen rose, and floated in music round. Then they played, sweet and sad was the playing, Twelve of Ailill's men died, as they heard; It was Boand[FN#7] who foretold them that slaying, And right well was accomplished her word. [FN#7] Pronounced with sound of "owned." 'Tis the three Chants of Child-Birth Give names to those Three; Of the Harp of the Dagda[FN#8] The children they be. [FN#8] The Dagda seems to have been the chief god of the old Celtic mythology. To those harpers a fairy Is mother, of yore To that Harp, men call Child-Birth, Queen Boand the three bore. They are three noble brothers, And well are they known; They are kindly and gentle, And tuneful of tone. One is Joy-Song, one Sorrow's, One, "Song that gives Sleep," And the Harp's strains, their father's, Remembered they keep. For when Boand was at bearing, Came Sorrow the first, From the Harp, its strings tearing With cry, Sorrow burst. Then there came to her pleasure For birth of a boy; And a sweet smiling measure The Harp played, 'twas Joy. And she swooned in her anguish, For hard the third birth: From the Harp, her pains soothing, Sleep's strain came on earth. Then from Boand passed her slumber, And, "Uaithne,"[FN#9] she cried, Thy three sons, thou sharp Child-Birth, I take to my side. [FN#9] Pronounced something like Yew-ny. Cows and women by Ailill And Maev shall be slain; For on these cometh Sorrow, And Joy, and Sleep's strain: Yea, and men, who these harpers, Thy children, shall hear, By their art to death stricken, Shall perish in fear." Then the strains died away in the palace, The last notes seemed to sink, and to cease: "It was stately," said Fergus, "that music." And on all came a silence, and peace. Said Fraech, "The food divide ye! Come, bring ye here the meat!" And down to earth sank Lothar, On floor he set his feet; He crouched, on haunches sitting, The joints with sword he split; On bones it fell unerring, No dainty part he hit! Though long with sword he hewed, and long Was meat by men supplied, His hand struck true; for never wrong Would Lothar meat divide. Three days at the chess had they played; three nights, as they sat at the game, had gone: And they knew not the night for the sparkling light from the jewels of Fraech that shone; But to Maev turned Fraech, and he joyously cried, "I have conquered thee well at the chess! Yet I claim not the stake at the chess-board's side, lest thy palace's wealth be less." "For no lengthier day have I sat in such play," said Maev, "since I here first came." "And well may the day have seemed long," said Fraech, "for three days and three nights was the game!" Then up started Maev, and in shame she blushed that the chiefs she had failed to feed; To her husband, King Ailill, in wrath she rushed: "We have both done a goodly deed! For none from our stores hath a banquet brought for the youths who are strangers here!" And said Ailill, "In truth for the play was thy thought, and to thee was the chess more dear." "We knew not that darkness had come," said Maev, "'tis not chess thou should'st thus condemn; Though the day had gone, yet the daylight shone from the heart of each sparkling gem; Though the game we played, all could meal have made, had men brought of the night advice, But the hours sped away, and the night and the day have approached and have fled from us thrice!" "Give command," said the king, "that those wailing chants, till we give them their food, be stilled." And food to the hands of each they gave, and all with the meat were filled; And all things merrily went, for long the men with a feast were fed, For, as feasting they sat, thrice rose the day, thrice night above earth was spread. They brought Fraech, when that banquet was ended, To the House of Debate, which was near, And they asked of his errand: "In friendship, For a visit," said Fraech, "am I here!" "And 'twas joy that we felt, when receiving This your host," said the king, "ye have brought Much of pleasure to all, and with grieving, When ye go, shall your presence be sought!" "Then," said Fraech, "for a week we abide here." For two weeks in that dun they abode: And the Connaught men pressed round to view them, As each eve home from hunting they rode. Yet Fraech was sad, with Findabar A word he sought in vain; Though he in truth from home so far Had come that word to gain. Fraech, as night was ending, Sprang from out his bed; Sought the brook, intending There to lave his head. There King Ailill's daughter Stood, and there her maid: They that hour from water Sought the cleansing aid. "Stay," he cried, and speaking Caught the maiden's hand; "Thee alone as seeking, I have reached this land: Here am I who sought thee, Stay, and hear me woo!" "Ah! thy speech hath brought me Joy," she said, "most true; Yet, thy side if nearing, What for thee can I?" "Maid!" he cried, "art fearing Hence with me to fly?" "Flight I hold disloyal," Answered she in scorn; "I from mother royal, I to king was born; What should stay our wedding? None so mean or poor Thou hast seemed, nor dreading Kin of mine; be sure: I will go! 'tis spoken, Thou beloved shalt be! Take this ring as token, Lent by Maev to me! 'Twas my mother who bid me to save it, For the ring she in secret would hide; 'Tis as pledge of our love that I gave it, As its pledge it with thee should abide. Till that ring we can freely be showing I will tell them I put it astray!" And, the love of each other thus knowing, Fraech and Finnabar went on their way. "I have fear," said the king, "that with Fraech yon maid to his home as his wife would fly; Yet her hand he may win, if he rides on the Raid with his kine when the time draws nigh." Then Fraech to the Hall of Debate returned, and he cried: "Through Some secret chink Hath a whisper passed?" and the king replied, "Thou would'st fit in that space, I think!" "Will ye give me your daughter?" said Fraech: said the king, "In sight of our hosts she goes; If, as gift to suffice for her marriage price, thy hand what I ask bestows." "I will give thee what price thou dost name," said Fraech, "and now let its sum be told!"' "Then a sixty steeds do I claim," said the king, "dark-grey, and with bits of gold; And twelve milch-cows, from their udders shall come the milk in a copious stream, And by each of the cows a white calf shall run; bright red on its ears shall gleam; And thou, with thy harpers and men, shalt ride by my side on the Cualgne[FN#10] Raid, And when all thy kine driven here shall stand, shall the price of her hand be paid!" [FN#10] Pronounced Kell-ny. Now I swear by the edge of my sword," said Fraech, "I swear by my arms and shield, I would give no such pledge, even Maev to take, were it her thou wert fain to yield!" And he went from the House of Debate, but Maev with Ailill bent low in plot: All around us our foes," said the king, "shall close, if Finnabar stays here not; Many kings of Erin, who seek that maid, shall hear of her borne away, And in wrath they will rush on our land; 'twere best that Fraech we devise to slay; Ere that ruin he bring, let us make our spring, and the ill yet unwrought arrest." "It were pity such deed should be done," said Maev, "and to slay in our house our guest! 'Twill bring shame on us ever." "No shame to our house," said King Ailill, "that death shall breed!" (And he spake the words twice)--"but now hear my advice, how I plan we should do this deed." All the plot had been planned; to their house at last King Ailill and Maev through the doorway passed; And the voice of the king uprose: "'Tis now that the hounds should their prey pursue, Come away to the hunt who the hounds would view; For noon shall that hunting close." So forth went they all, on the chase intent, And they followed till strength of the hounds was spent, And the hunters were warm; and to bathe they went Where the river of Croghan flows. And, "'Tis told me," said Ailill, "that Fraech hath won A great fame for the feats he in floods hath done: Wilt thou enter these streams by our side that run? We are longing to see thee swim!" And said Fraech: "Is it good then indeed thy stream? And said Ailill: "Of danger no need to dream, For many a youth from the Connaught Court In its current hath bathed, and hath swum it in sport, Nor of any who tried have we heard report That ill hath been found by him!" Then Fraech from his body his garments stripped, And he sprang down the bank, and he swiftly slipped In the stream: and the king's glance fell On a belt, left by Fraech on the bank; the king Bent low; in the purse saw his daughter's ring, And the shape of the ring could tell. "Come hither, O Maev," Ailill softly cried; And Queen Maev came up close to her husband's side "Dost thou know of that ring?" in the purse she spied The ring, and she knew it well. Then Ailill the ring from the purse withdrew, And away from the bank the fair gem he threw; And the ring, flashing bright, through the air far flew, To be lost in the flood's swift swell. And Fraech saw the gem as it brightly flashed, And a salmon rose high, at the light it dashed, And, as back in the stream with the ring he splashed, At the fish went Fraech with a spring: By its jole was the salmon secured, and thrown To a nook in the bank, that by few was known; And unnoticed he threw it, to none was it shown As it fell to the earth, with the ring. And now Fraech from the stream would be going: But, "Come not," said the king, "to us yet: Bring a branch from yon rowan-tree, showing Its fair berries, with water-drops wet." Then Fraech, swimming away through the water, Brake a branch from the dread rowan-tree, And a sigh came from Ailill's fair daughter; "Ah! how lovely he seemeth," said she. Fair she found him, swimming Through that pool so black Brightly gleamed the berries, Bound athwart his back. White and smooth his body, Bright his glorious hair; Eyes of perfect greyness, Face of men most fair: Soft his skin, no blemish, Fault, nor spot it flawed; Small his chin, and steady, Brave his brow, and broad. Straight he seemed, and stainless; Twixt his throat and chin Straying scarlet berries Touched with red his skin. Oft, that sight recalling, Findabar would cry: "Ne'er was half such beauty, Naught its third came nigh!" To the bank he swam, and to Ailill was thrown, with its berries, the tree's torn limb: "Ah! how heavy and fair have those clusters grown; bring us more," and he turned to swim; The mid-current was reached, but the dragon was roused that was guard to that rowan-tree; And it rose from the river, on Fraech it rushed: "Throw a sword from the bank!" cried he. And no man on the bank gave the sword: they were kept by their fear of the queen and the king; But her clothes from her Finnabar stripped, and she leapt in the river his sword to bring. And the king from above hurled his five-barbed spear; the full length of a shot it sped: At his daughter it flew, and its edge shore through two tresses that crowned her head: And Fraech in his hand caught the spear as it fell, and backward its point he turned. And again to the land was the spear launched well: 'twas a feat from the champions learned. Though the beast bit his side as that spear was cast, yet fiercely the dart was flung, Through the purple robe of the king it passed, through the tunic that next him clung! Then up sprang the youths of the court, their lord in danger they well might deem, But the strong hand of Fraech had closed firm on the sword, and Finnabar rose from the stream. Now with sword in his hand, at the monster's head hewed Fraech, on its side it sank, And he came from the river with blade stained red, and the monster he dragged to the bank. Twas then Bree's Dub-lind in the Connaught land the Dark Water of Fraech was named, From that fight was it called, but the queen and the king went back to their dun, ashamed! "It is noble, this deed we have done!" said Maev: "'Tis pitiful," Ailill cried: "For the hurt of the man I repent, but to her, our daughter, shall woe betide! On the morrow her lips shall be pale, and none shall be found to aver that her guilt, When the sword for his succour to Fraech she gave, was the cause why her life was spilt! Now see that a bath of fresh bacon broth be prepared that shall heal this prince, And bid them with adze and with axe the flesh of a heifer full small to mince: Let the meat be all thrown in the bath, and there for healing let Fraech be laid!" And all that he ordered was done with care; the queen his command obeyed. Then arose from Fraech's trumpets complaining, As his men travelled back to the dun; Their soft notes lamentation sustaining, And a many their deaths from them won; And he well knew its meaning; And, "Lift me, my folk," He cried, "surely that keening From Boand's women broke: My mother, the Fairy, is nigh." Then they raised him, and bore him Where wild rose the sound; To his kin they restored him; His women pressed round: And he passed from their sight out of Croghan; For that night from earth was he freed, And he dwelt with his kin, the Sid-Dwellers In the caverns of Croghan's deep Sid.[FN#11] [FN#11] Pronounced Sheed; Sid is the fairy mound. All at nine, next morrow, Gazed, for back he came, Round their darling pressing Many a fairy dame: Brave he seemed, for healing All his wounds had got; None could find a blemish, None a sear or spot. Fifty fairies round him, Like in age and grace; Like each form and bearing; Like each lovely face. All in fairy garments, All alike were dressed; None was found unequal; None surpassed the rest. And the men who stood round, as they neared them, Were struck with a marvellous awe; They were moved at the sight, and they feared them, And hardly their breath they could draw. At the Liss all the fairies departed, But on Fraech, as they vanished, they cried: And the sound floated in of their wailing, And it thrilled through the men, and they sighed. Then first that mournful measure, "The Ban-Shee[FN#12] Wail," was heard; All hearts with grief and pleasure That air, when harped, hath stirred. [FN#12] Spelt "Ban Side," the fairy women. To the dun came Fraech, and the hosts arose, and welcome by all was shown: For it seemed as if then was his birth among men, from a world to the earth unknown! Up rose for him Maev and King Ailill, their fault they confessed, and for grace they prayed, And a penance they did, and for all that assault they were pardoned, and peace was made. And now free from all dread, they the banquet spread, the banqueting straight began: But a thought came to Fraech, and from out of his folk he called to his side a man. "Now hie thee," he said, "to the river bank, a salmon thou there shalt find; For nigh to the spot where in stream I sank, it was hurled, and 'twas left behind; To Finnabar take it, and bid her from me that the salmon with skill she broil: In the midst of the fish is the ring: and none but herself at the task must toil; And to-night, as I think, for her ring they call ": then he turned to the feast again, And the wine was drunk, and the revellers sunk, for the fumes of it seized their brain, And music and much of delights they had; but the king had his plans laid deep, "Bring ye all of my jewels," he cried-on the board they were poured in a dazzling heap. "They are wonderful, wonderful!" cried they all: "Call Finnabar!" said the king; And his daughter obeyed, and her fifty maids stood round in a lovely ring. My daughter," said Ailill, "a ring last year I gave thee, is't here with thee yet? Bring it hither to show to the chiefs, and anon in thy hand shall the gem be set." "That jewel is lost," said the maid, "nor aught of the fate of the ring I know!" Then find it," said Ailill, "the ring must be brought, or thy soul from thy limbs must go!" "Now, nay!" said they all, "it were cruel That such fate for such fault should be found: Thou hast many a fair-flashing jewel In these heaps that lie scattered around!" And said Fraech: "Of my jewels here glowing Take thy fill, if the maid be but freed; 'Tis to her that my life I am owing, For she brought me the sword in my need." "There is none of thy gems that can aid her," Said Ailill, "nor aught thou canst give; There is one thing alone that shall save her; If the ring be restored, she shall live! Said Finnabar; "Thy treasure To yield no power is mine: Do thou thy cruel pleasure, For strength, I know, is thine." "By the god whom our Connaught land haileth, I swear," answered Ailill the king, "That the life on thy lips glowing faileth, If thou place in my hand not the ring!" And that hard," he laughed softly, "the winning Of that jewel shall be, know I well; They who died since the world had beginning Shall come back to the spot where they fell Ere that ring she can find, and can bear it To my hand from the spot where 'twas tossed, And as knowing this well, have I dared her To restore what for aye hath been lost!" "No ring for treasure thus despised," She said, "exchanged should be; Yet since the king its worth hath prized, I'll find the gem for thee!" Not thus shalt thou fly," said the king, "to thy maid let the quest of the ring be bid!" And his daughter obeyed, and to one whom she sent she told where the ring was hid: "But," Finnabar cried, "by my country's god I swear that from out this hour, Will I leave this land, and my father's hand shall no more on my life have power, And no feasting shall tempt me to stay, no draughts of wine my resolve shall shake!" "No reproach would I bring, if as spouse," said the king, "thou a groom from my stalls would'st take! But that ring must be found ere thou goest! "Then back came her maid, and a dish she bore: And there lay a salmon well broiled, as sauce with honey 'twas garnished o'er: By the daughter of Ailill herself with skill had the honey-sweet sauce been made. And high on the breast of the fish, the ring of gold that they sought was laid. King Ailill and Maev at the ring gazed hard; Fraech looked, in his purse he felt: Now it seemeth," he said, "'twas to prove my host that I left on the bank my belt, And Ailill now I challenge All truth, as king to tell; What deed his cunning fashioned, And what that ring befell." "There is naught to be hidden," said Ailill; "It was mine, in thy purse though it lay And my daughter I knew as its giver: So to river I hurled it away. Now Fraech in turn I challenge By life and honour's claim: Say how from yon dark water That ring to draw ye came." "There is naught to be hidden," he answered, "The first day that I came, on the earth, Near the court round thy house, was that jewel; And I saw all its beauty and worth: In my purse then I hid it; thy daughter, Who had lost it, with care for it sought; And the day that I went to that water Was the news of her search to me brought: And I asked what reward she would give me, If the gem in her hand should be placed; And she answered that I, if I found it, For a year by her love should be graced. But not then could the ring be delivered: For afar in my chamber it lay: Till she gave me the sword in the river, We met not again on that day. 'Twas then I saw thee open My purse, and take the ring: I watched, and towards the water That gem I saw thee fling: I saw the salmon leaping, The ring it caught, and sank: I came behind, and seized it; And brought the fish to bank. Then I wrapped it up close in my mantle; And 'twas hid from inquisitive eyes; And in Finnabar's hand have I placed it: And now there on the platter it lies!" Now all who this or that would know To ask, and praise began: Said Finnabar, "I'll never throw My thoughts on other man!" Now hear her word," her parents cried, "And plight to her thy troth, And when for Cualgne's[FN#13] kine we ride Do thou redeem thine oath. [FN#13] Pronounced Kell-ny. And when with kine from out the east Ye reach our western land; That night shall be thy marriage feast; And thine our daughter's hand." "Now that oath will I take," answered back to them Fraech, "and the task ye have asked will do!" So he tarried that night till the morning's light; and they feasted the whole night through; And then homewards bound, with his comrades round, rode Fraech when the night was spent, And to Ailill and Maev an adieu he gave, and away to their land they went. TAIN BO FRAICH Part I LITERAL TRANSLATION FRAECH, son of Idath of the men of Connaught, a son he to Befind from the Side: a sister she to Boand. He is the hero who is the most beautiful that was of the men of Eriu and of Alba, but he was not long-lived. His mother gave him twelve cows out of the Sid (the fairy mound), they are white-eared. He had a good housekeeping till the end of eight years without the taking of a wife. Fifty sons of kings, this was the number of his household, co-aged, co-similar to him all between form and instruction. Findabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, loves him for the great stories about him. It is declared to him at his house. Eriu and Alba were full of his renown and the stories about him. To Fraech[FN#14] was Idath[FN#15] father, A Connaught man was he: And well we know his mother Who dwells among the Shee;[FN#16] Befind they call her, sister To Boand,[FN#17] the Fairy Queen; And Alba ne'er, nor Erin, Such grace as Fraech's hath seen. Yet wondrous though that hero's grace, His fairy lineage high, For years but few his lovely face Was seen by human eye. [FN#14] Pronounced Fraych. [FN#15] Pronounced Eeda. [FN#16] The Fairies. [FN#17] Pronounced with the sound of "owned." Fraech had twelve of white-eared fairy-cattle, 'Twas his mother those cattle who gave: For eight years in his home he dwelt wifeless, And the state of his household was brave; Fifty princes, whose age, and whose rearing, And whose forms were as his, with him played; And his glory filled Alba and Erin Till it came to the ears of a maid: For Maev and Ailill's[FN#18] lovely child, Fair Findabar, 'twas said, By tales of Fraech to love beguiled, With Fraech in love would wed. [FN#18] Pronounced Al-ill. After this going to a dialogue with the maiden occurred to him; he discussed that matter with his people. "Let there be a message then sent to thy mother's sister, so that a portion of wondrous robing and of gifts from the Side (fairy folk) be given thee from her." He goes accordingly to the sister, that is to Boand, till he was in Mag Breg, and he carried away fifty dark-blue cloaks, and each of them was like the back of a black chafer,[FN#19] and four black-grey, rings on each cloak, and a brooch of red gold on each cloak, and pale white tunics with loop-animals of gold around them. And fifty silver shields with edges, and a candle of a king's-house in the hand of them (the men), and fifty studs of findruine[FN#20] on each of them (the lances), fifty knobs of thoroughly burned gold on each of them; points (i.e. butt-ends) of carbuncle under them beneath, and their point of precious stones. They used to light the night as if they were the sun's rays. [FN#19] The Book of Leinster gives "fifty blue cloaks, each like findruine of art." [FN#20] Pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. And there were fifty gold-hilted swords with them, and a soft-grey mare under the seat of each man, and bits of gold to them; a plate of silver with a little bell of gold around the neck of each horse. Fifty caparisons[FN#21] of purple with threads of silver out of them, with buckles of gold and silver and with head-animals (i.e. spiral ornaments). Fifty whips of findruine, with a golden hook on the end of each of them. And seven chase-hounds in chains of silver, and an apple of gold between each of them. Greaves of bronze about them, by no means was there any colour which was not on the hounds. [FN#21] The word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. It is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. See Irische Texts, iii. Seven trumpeters with them with golden and silver trumpets with many coloured garments, with golden fairy-yellow heads of hair, with shining tunics. There were three jesters before them with silver diadems under gilding. Shields with engraved emblems (or marks of distinction) with each of them; with crested staves, with ribs of bronze (copper-bronze) along their sides. Three harp-players with a king's appearance about each of them opposite to these.[FN#22] They depart for Cruachan with that appearance on them. [FN#22] The word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. It is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. See Irische Texts, iii. 2. p. 531. The watchman sees them from the dun when they had come into the plain of Cruachan. "A multitude I see," he says, "(come) towards the dun in their numbers. Since Ailill and Maev assumed sovereignty there came not to them before, and there shall not come to them, a multitude, which is more beautiful, or which is more splendid. It is the same with me that it were in a vat of wine my head should be, with the breeze that goes over them. "The manipulation and play that the young hero who is in it makes--I have not before seen its likeness. He shoots his pole a shot's discharge from him; before it reaches to earth the seven chase-hounds with their seven silver chains catch it." At this the hosts come from the dun of Cruachan to view them. The people in the dun smother one another, so that sixteen men die while viewing them. They alight in front of the dun. They tent their steeds, and they loose the chase-hounds. They (the hounds) chase the seven deer to Rath-Cruachan, and seven foxes, and seven hares, and seven wild boars, until the youths kill them in the lawn of the dun. After that the chase-hounds dart a leap into Brei; they catch seven otters. They brought them to the elevation in front of the chief rath. They (Fraech and his suite) sit down there. A message comes from the king for a parley with them. It is asked whence they came, they name themselves according to their true names, "Fraech, son of Idath this," say they. The steward tells it to the king and queen. "Welcome to them," say Ailill and Maev; "It is a noble youth who is there," says Ailill, "let him come into the Liss (outer court)." The fourth of the house is allotted to them. This was the array of the house, a seven fold order in it; seven apartments from fire to side-wall in the house all round. A rail (or front) of bronze to each apartment; a partitioning of red yew under variegated planing all. Three plates of bronze in the skirting of each apartment. Seven plates of brass from the ceiling (?) to the roof-tree in the house. Of pine the house was made; it is a covering of shingle it had externally. There were sixteen windows in the house, and a frame of brass, to each of them; a tie of brass across the roof-light. Four beams of brass on the apartment of Ailill and Medb, adorned all with bronze, and it in the exact centre of the house. Two rails of silver around it under gilding. In the front a wand of silver that reached the middle rafters of the house. The house was encircled all round from the door to the other.[FN#23] [FN#23] It should be noted that it is not certain whether the word "imdai," translated apartments, really means "apartments" or "benches." The weight of opinion seems at present to take it as above. They hang up their arms in that house, and they sit, and welcome is made to them. "Welcome to you," say Ailill and Medb. "It is that we have come for," says Fraech. "It shall not be a journey for boasting[FN#24] this," says Medb, and Ailill and Medb arrange the chess-board after that. Fraech then takes to the playing of chess with a man of their (?) people. [FN#24] This is the rendering in the Yellow Book of Lecan, considered by Meyer to be the true reading. The Book of Leinster text gives "aig-baig," a word of doubtful meaning. The Eg. MS. has also a doubtful word. It was a beauty of a chess-board. A board of findruine in it with four ears[FN#25] and edges of gold. A candle of precious stones at illuminating for them. Gold and silver the figures that were upon the table. "Prepare ye food for the warriors," said Ailill. "Not it is my desire," said Medb, but to go to the chess yonder against Fraech." "Get to it, I am pleased," said Ailill, and they play the chess then, and Fraech. [FN#25] The "ears" were apparently handles shaped like ears. The same word is used for the rings in the cloaks, line 33 above. His people were meanwhile at cooking the wild animals. "Let thy harpers play for us," says Ailill to Fraech. "Let them play indeed!" says Fraech. A harp-bag[FN#26] of the skins of otters about them with their adornment of ruby (or coral), beneath their adornment of gold and silver. [FN#26] Meyer translates this: "the concave part of the harp." It is from the music which Uaithne, the Dagda's harp, played that the three are named. The time the woman was at the bearing of children it had a cry of sorrow with the soreness of the pangs at first: it was smile and joy it played in the middle for the pleasure of bringing forth the two sons: it was a sleep of soothingness played the last son, on account of the heaviness of the birth, so that it is from him that the third of the music has been named. Boand awoke afterwards out of the sleep. "I accept," she says, "thy three sons O Uaithne of full ardour, since there is Suan-traide and Gen-traide, and Gol-traide on cows and women who shall fall by Medb and Ailill, men who shall perish by the hearing of art from them." They cease from playing after that in the palace: "It is stately it has come," says Fergus. "Divide ye to us," says Fraech to his people, "the food, bring ye it into the house." Lothur went on the floor of the house: he divides to them the food. On his haunches he used to divide each joint with his sword, and he used not to touch the food part: since he commenced dividing, he never hacked the meat beneath his hand. They were three days and three nights at the playing of the chess on account of the abundance of the precious stones in the household of Fraech. After that Fraech addressed Medb. "It is well I have played against thee (i.e. have beaten thee)," he says, "I take not away thy stake from the chess-board that there be not a decay of hospitality for thee in it." "Since I have been in this dun this is the day which I deem longest in it ever," says Medb. "This is reasonable," says Fraech, "they are three days and three nights in it." At this Medb starts up. It was a shame with her that the warriors were without food. She goes to Ailill: she tells it to him. "A great deed we have done," said she, "the stranger men who have come to us to be without food." "Dearer to thee is playing of the chess," says Ailill. "It hinders not the distribution to his suite throughout the house. They have been three days and three nights in it but that we perceived not the night with the white light of the precious stones in the house." "Tell them," says Ailill, "to cease from the lamenting until distribution is made to them." Distribution is then made to them, and things were pleasing to them, and they stayed three days and three nights in it after that over the feasting. It is after that Fraech was called into the house of conversation, and it is asked of him what brought him. "A visit with you," said he, "is pleasing to me." "Your company is indeed not displeasing with the household," said Ailill, "your addition is better than your diminution." "We shall stay here then," says Fraech, "another week." They stay after that till the end of a fortnight in the dun, and they have a hunt every single day towards the dun. The men of Connaught used to come to view them. It was a trouble with Fraech not to have a conversation with the daughter: for that was the profit that had brought him. A certain day he starts up at the end of night for washing to the stream. It is the time she had gone and her maid for washing. He takes her hand. "Stay for my conversing," he says; "it is thou I have come for." "I am delighted truly," says the daughter; "if I were to come, I could do nothing for thee." "Query, wouldst thou elope with me?" he says. "I will not elope," says she, "for I am the daughter of a king and a queen. There is nothing of thy poverty that you should not get me (i.e. thy poverty is not so great that thou art not able to get me) from my family; and it shall be my choice accordingly to go to thee, it is thou whom I have loved. And take thou with thee this ring," says the daughter, "and it shall be between us for a token. My mother gave it to me to put by, and I shall say that I put it astray." Each of them accordingly goes apart after that. "I fear," says Ailill, "the eloping of yon daughter with Fraech, though she would be given to him on solemn pledge that he would come towards us with his cattle for aid at the Spoil." Fraech goes to them to the house of conversation. "Is it a secret (cocur, translated "a whisper" by Crowe) ye have?" says Fraech. "Thou wouldest fit in it," says Ailill. "Will ye give me your daughter?" says Fraech. "The hosts will clearly see she shall be given," says Ailill, "if thou wouldest give a dowry as shall be named." "Thou shalt have it," says Fraech. "Sixty black-grey steeds to me, with their bits of gold to them, and twelve milch cows, so that there be milked liquor of milk from each of them, and an ear-red, white calf with each of them; and thou to come with me with all thy force and with thy musicians for bringing of the cows from Cualgne; and my daughter to be given thee provided thou dost come" (or as soon as[FN#27] thou shalt come). "I swear by my shield, and by my sword, and by my accoutrement, I would not give that in dowry even of Medb." He went from them out of the house then. Ailill and Medb hold a conversation. "It shall drive at us several of the kings of Erin around us if he should carry off the daughter. What is good is, let us dash after him, and let us slay him forthwith, before he may inflict destruction upon us." "It is a pity this," says Medb, "and it is a decay of hospitality for us." "It shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, it shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, the way I shall prepare it." [FN#27] This is Thurneysen's rendering ("Sagen aus dem alten Irland," p. 121). Ailill and Medb go into the palace. "Let us go away," says Ailill, that we may see the chase-hounds at hunting till the middle of the day, and until they are tired." They all go off afterwards to the river to bathe themselves. "It is declared to me," says Ailill, "that thou art good in water. Come into this flood, that we may see thy swimming." "What is the quality of this flood?" he says. "We know not anything dangerous in it," says Ailill, "and bathing in it is frequent." He strips his clothes off him then, and he goes into it, and he leaves his girdle above. Ailill then opens his purse behind him, and the ring was in it. Ailill recognises it then. "Come here, O Medb," says Ailill. Medb goes then. "Dost thou recognise that?" says Ailill. "I do recognise," she says. Ailill flings it into the river down. Fraech perceived that matter. He sees something, the salmon leaped to meet it, and caught it in his mouth. He (Fraech) gives a bound to it, and he catches its jole, and he goes to land, and he brings it to a lonely[FN#28] spot on the brink of the river. He proceeds to come out of the water then. "Do not come," says Ailill, "until thou shalt bring me a branch of the rowan-tree yonder, which is on the brink of the river: beautiful I deem its berries." He then goes away, and breaks a branch off the trees and brings it on his back over the water. The remark of Find-abair was: "Is it not beautiful he looks?" Exceedingly beautiful she thought it to see Fraech over a black pool: the body of great whiteness, and the hair of great loveliness, the face of great beauty, the eye of great greyness; and he a soft youth without fault, without blemish, with a below-narrow, above-broad face; and he straight, blemishless; the branch with the red berries between the throat and the white face. It is what Find-abair used to say, that by no means had she seen anything that could come up to him half or third for beauty. [FN#28]"Hidden spot" (Windisch After that he throws the branches to them out of the water. "The berries are stately and beautiful, bring us an addition of them." He goes off again until he was in the middle of the water. The serpent catches him out of the water. "Let a sword come to me from you," he says; and there was not on the land a man who would dare to give it to him through fear of Ailill and Medb. After that Find-abair strips off her clothes, and gives a leap into the water with the sword. Her father lets fly a five-pronged spear at her from above, a shot's throw, so that it passes through her two tresses, and that Fraech caught the spear in his hand. He shoots the spear into the land up, and the monster in his side. He lets it fly with a charge of the methods of playing of championship, so that it goes through the purple robe and through the tunic (? shirt) that was about Ailill. At this the youths who were about Ailill rise to him. Find-abair goes out of the water and leaves the sword in Fraech's hand, and he cuts the head off the monster, so that it was on its side, and he brought the monster with him to land. It is from it is Dub-lind Fraech in Brei, in the lands of the men of Connaught. Ailill and Medb go to their dun afterwards. "A great deed is what we have done," says Medb. "We repent," says Ailill, "of what we have done to the man; the daughter however," he says, "her lips shall perish [common metaphor for death] to-morrow at once, and it shall not be the guilt of bringing of the sword that shall be for her. Let a bath be made by you for this man, namely, broth of fresh bacon and the flesh of a heifer to be minced in it under adze and axe, and he to be brought into the bath." All that thing was done as he said. His trumpeters then before him to the dun. They play then until thirty of the special friends of Ailill die at the long-drawn (or plaintive) music. He goes then into the dun, and he goes into the bath. The female company rise around him at the vat for rubbing, and for washing his head. He was brought out of it then, and a bed was made. They heard something, the lament-cry on Cruachan. There were seen the three times fifty women with crimson tunics, with green head-dresses, with brooches of silver on their wrists. A messenger is sent to them to learn what they had bewailed. "Fraech, son of Idath," says the woman, "boy-pet of the king of the Side of Erin." At this Fraech heard their lament-cry. Thirty men whom King Ailill loved dearly By that music were smitten to die; And his men carried Fraech, and they laid him In that bath, for his healing to lie. Around the vat stood ladies, They bathed his limbs and head; From out the bath they raised him, And soft they made his bed. Then they heard a strange music; The wild Croghan "keen"; And of women thrice fifty On Croghan were seen. They had tunics of purple, With green were they crowned; On their wrists glistened silver, Where brooches were bound. And there neared them a herald To learn why they wailed; "'Tis for Fraech," was their answer, "By sickness assailed; 'Tis for Fraech, son of Idath,[FN#29] Boy-darling is he Of our lord, who in Erin Is king of the Shee!"[FN#30] And Fraech heard the wail in their cry; [FN#29] Pronounced Eeda. [FN#30] The Fairies. "Lift me out of it," he says to his people; "this is the cry of my mother and of the women of Boand." He is lifted out at this, and he is brought to them. The women come around him, and bring him from them to the Sid of Cruachan (i.e. the deep caverns, used for burial at Cruachan). They saw something, at the ninth hour on the morrow he comes, and fifty women around him, and he quite whole, without stain and without blemish; of equal age (the women), of equal form, of equal beauty, of equal fairness, of equal symmetry, of equal stature, with the dress of women of the fairies about them so that there was no means of knowing of one beyond the other of them. Little but men were suffocated around them. They separate in front of the Liss.[FN#31] They give forth their lament on going from him, so that they troubled[FN#32] the men who were in the Liss excessively. It is from it is the Lament-cry of the Women of the Fairies with the musicians of Erin. [FN#31] The Liss is the outer court of the palace. [FN#32] "Oo corastar tar cend," "so that they upset, or put beside themselves." Meyer takes literally, "so that they fell on their backs" (?) He then goes into the dun. All the hosts rise before him, and bid welcome to him, as if it were from another world he were coming. Ailill and Medb arise, and do penance to him for the attack they had made at him, and they make peace. Feasting commenced with them then at once. Fraech calls a servant of his suite: "Go off," he says, "to the spot at which I went into the water. A salmon I left there--bring it to Find-abair, and let herself take charge over it; and let the salmon be well broiled by her, and the ring is in the centre of the salmon. I expect it will be asked of her to-night." Inebriety seizes them, and music and amusement delight them. Ailill then said: "Bring ye all my gems to me." They were brought to him then, so that the were before him. "Wonderful, wonderful," says every one. "Call ye Find-abair to me," he says. Find-abair goes to him, and fifty maidens around her. "O daughter," says Ailill, "the ring I gave to thee last year, does it remain with thee? Bring it to me that the warriors may see it. Thou shalt have it afterwards." "I do not know," she says, "what has been done about it." "Ascertain then," says Ailill, "it must be sought, or thy soul must depart from thy body." "It is by no means worth," say the warriors, "there is much of value there, without that." "There is naught of my jewels that will not go for the maid," says Fraech, "because she brought me the sword for pledge of my soul." "There is not with thee anything of gems that should aid her unless she returns the ring from her," says Ailill. "I have by no means the power to give it," says the daughter, "what thou mayest like do it in regard to me." "I swear to the god to whom my people swear, thy lips shall be pale (literally, shall perish) unless thou returnest it from thee," says Ailill. "It is why it is asked of thee, because it is impossible; for I know that until the people who have died from the beginning of the world. Come, it comes not out of the spot in which it was flung." "It shall not come for a treasure which is not appreciated,"[FN#33] says the daughter, "the ring that is asked for here, I go that I may bring it to thee, since it is keenly it is asked." "Thou shalt not go," says Ailill; "but let one go from thee to bring it." [FN#33] This is Windisch's rendering (Irische Texte, I. p. 677: s.v. main). The daughter sends her maid to bring it. "I swear to the god to whom my territories swear, if it shall be found, I shall by no means be under thy power any longer though I should be at great drinking continually." (?)[FN#34] "I shall by no means prevent you from doing that, namely even if it were to the groom thou shouldst go if the ring is found," says Ailill. The maid then brought the dish into the palace, and the broiled salmon on it, and it dressed under honey which was well made by the daughter; and the ring of gold was on the salmon from above. [FN#34] "dian dumroib for sar-ol mogreis." Meyer gives "if there is any one to protect me." The above is Crowe's rendering. Ailill and Medb view it. After that Fraech looks at it, and looks at his purse. "It seems to me it was for proof that I left my girdle," says Fraech. "On the truth of the sovereignty," says Fraech, "say what thou did'st about the ring." "This shall not be concealed from thee," says Ailill; "mine is the ring which was in thy purse, and I knew it is Find-abair gave it to thee. It is therefore I flung it into the Dark Pool. On the truth of thine honour and of thy soul, O Fraech, declare thou what way the bringing of it out happened." "It shall not be concealed on thee," says Fraech. "The first day I found the ring in front of the outer court, and I knew it was a lovely gem. It is for that reason I put it up industriously in my purse. I heard, the day I went to the water, the maiden who had lost it a-looking for it. I said to her: 'What reward shall I have at thy hands for the finding of it?' She said to me that she would give a year's love to me. "It happened I did not leave it about me; I had left it in the house behind me. We met not until we met at the giving of the sword into my hand in the river. After that I saw the time thou open'st the purse and flungest the ring into the water: I saw the salmon which leaped for it, so that it took it into its mouth. I then caught the salmon, took it up in the cloak, put it into the hand of the daughter. It is that salmon accordingly which is on the dish." The criticising and the wondering at these stories begin in the house hold. "I shall not throw my mind on another youth in Erin after thee," says Find-abair. "Bind thyself for that," say Ailill and Medb, "and come thou to us with thy cows to the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge; and when thou shalt come with thy cows from the East back, ye shall wed here that night at once and Find-abair." "I shall do that thing," says Fraech. They are in it then until the morning. Fraech sets about him self with his suite. He then bids farewell to Ailill and Medb. They depart to their own territories then. TAIN BO FRAICH PART II Unto Fraech it hath chanced, as he roved from his lands That his cattle were stolen by wandering bands: And there met him his mother, and cried, "On thy way Thou hast tarried, and hard for thy slackness shalt pay! In the Alps of the south, the wild mountains amid, Have thy children, thy wife, and thy cattle been hid: And a three of thy kine have the Picts carried forth, And in Alba they pasture, but far to the north!" "Now, alack!" answered Fraech, "what is best to be done?" "Rest at home," said his mother, "nor seek them my son; For to thee neither cattle, nor children, nor wife Can avail, if in seeking thou losest thy life; And though cattle be lacking, the task shall be mine To replace what is lost, and to grant thee the kine." "Nay, not so," answered Fraech, "by my soul I am sworn, That when cattle from Cualgne by force shall be torn To King Ailill and Maev on my faith as their guest I must ride with those cattle for war to the west!" "Now but vainly," she said, "is this toil on thee cast; Thou shalt lose what thou seekest", and from him she passed. Three times nine of his men for that foray were chosen, and marched by his side, And a hawk flew before, and for hunting, was a hound with a hunting-leash tied; To Ben Barchi they went, for the border of Ulster their faces were set: And there, of its marches the warder, the conquering Conall they met. Fraech hailed him, the conquering Conall, and told him the tale of his spoil; "'Tis ill luck that awaits thee," said Conall, "thy quest shall be followed with toil! "'Twill be long ere the goal thou art reaching, though thy heart in the seeking may be." "Conall Cernach,[FN#35] hear thou my beseeching said Fraech, "let thine aid be to me; I had hoped for this meeting with Conall, that his aid in the quest might be lent." "I will go with thee truly," said Conall: with Fraech and his comrades he went. [FN#35] Pronounced Cayr-nach. Three times nine, Fraech and Conall before them, Over ocean from Ireland have passed; Through the Land of North Saxony bore them, And the South Sea they sighted at last. And again on the sea billows speeding, They went south, over Ichtian foam; And marched on: southward still was their leading: To the land where the Long-Beards have home: But when Lombardy's bounds they were nearing They made stand; for above and around Were the high peaks of Alpa appearing, And the goal that they sought had been found. On the Alps was a woman seen straying, and herding the flocks of the sheep, "Let our warriors behind be delaying," said Conall, "and south let us keep: 'Twere well we should speak with yon woman, perchance she hath wisdom to teach!" And with Conall went Fraech at that counsel; they neared her, and held with her speech. "Whence have come you?" she said: "Out of Ireland are we," Answered Conall: "Ill luck shall for Irishmen be In this country," she cried, "yet thy help I would win; From thy land was my mother; thou art to me kin!" "Of this land we know naught, nor where next we should turn," Answered Conall.; "its nature from thee we would learn." "'Tis a grim land and hateful," the woman replied, "And the warriors are restless who forth from it ride; For full often of captives, of women and herd Of fair kine by them taken is brought to me word." "Canst thou say what latest spoil," said Fraech, "they won?" "Ay," she said, "they harried Fraech, of Idath[FN#36] son He in Erin dwelleth, near the western sea; Kine from him they carried, wife, and children three Here his wife abideth, there where dwells the king, Turn, and see his cattle, yonder pasturing." [FN#36] Pronounced Eeda. Out spoke Conall Cernach;[FN#37] "Aid us thou" he cried: "Strength I lack," she answered, "I can only guide." "Here is Fraech," said Conall, "yon his stolen cows": "Fraech!" she asked him, "tell me, canst thou trust thy spouse?" "Why," said Fraech, "though trusty, doubtless, when she went; Now, since here she bideth, truth may well be spent." "See ye now yon woman?" said she, "with your herd, Tell to her your errand, let her hear your word; Trust in her, as Irish-sprung ye well may place; More if ye would ask me, Ulster reared her race." [FN#37] Pronounced Cayr-nach. To that woman they went, nor their names from her hid; And they greeted her; welcome in kindness she bid: "What hath moved you," she said, "from your country to go?" "On this journey," said Conall, "our guide hath been woe: All the cattle that feed in these pastures are ours, And from us went the lady that's kept in yon towers." "'Tis ill-luck," said the woman, "that waits on your way, All the men of this hold doth that lady obey; Ye shall find, amid dangers, your danger most great In the serpent who guardeth the Liss at the gate." "For that lady," said Fraech, "she is none of my She is fickle, no trust from me yet did she win: But on thee we rely, thou art trusty, we know; Never yet to an Ulsterman Ulster was foe." "Is it men out of Ulster," she said, "I have met?" "And is Conall," said Fraech, "thus unknown to you yet? Of all heroes from Ulster the battle who faced Conall Cernach is foremost." His neck she embraced, And she cried, with her arms around Conall: "Of old Of the conquering Conall our prophets have told; And 'tis ruin and doom to this hold that you bring; For that Conall shall sack it, all prophecies sing." "Hear my rede," she told him: "When at fall of day Come the kine for milking, I abroad will stay; I the castle portal every eve should close: Ye shall find it opened, free for tread of foes: I will say the weakling calves awhile I keep; 'Tis for milk, I'll tell them: come then while they sleep; Come, their castle enter, all its wealth to spoil; Only rests that serpent, he our plans may foil: Him it rests to vanquish, he will try you most; Surely from that serpent swarms a serpent host!" "Trust us well," answered Conall, "that raid will we do! And the castle they sought, and the snake at them flew: For it darted on Conall, and twined round his waist; Yet the whole of that castle they plundered in haste, And the woman was freed, and her sons with her three And away from her prison she went with them free: And of all of the jewels amassed in that dun The most costly and beauteous the conquerors won. Then the serpent from Conall was loosed, from his belt It crept safely, no harm from that serpent he felt: And they travelled back north to the Pictish domains, And a three of their cattle they found on the plains; And, where Olla Mae Briuin[FN#38] his hold had of yore, By Dunolly their cattle they drove to the shore. [FN#38] Pronounced "Brewin." It chanced at Ard Uan Echach,[FN#39] where foam is hurled on high, That doom on Bicne falling, his death he came to die: 'Twas while the cows were driven that Bicne's life was lost: By trampling hooves of cattle crushed down to death, or tossed; To him was Loegaire[FN#40] father, and Conall Cernach chief And Inver-Bicne's title still marks his comrades' grief. [FN#39] Pronounced "Ard Oon Ay-ha," [FN#40] Pronounced "Leary." Across the Stream of Bicne the cows of Fraech have passed, And near they came to Benchor, and there their horns they cast: 'Tis thence the strand of Bangor for aye is named, 'tis said: The Strand of Horns men call it; those horns his cattle shed. To his home travelled Fraech, with his children, and And his cattle, and there with them lived out his life, Till the summons of Ailill and Maev he obeyed; And when Cualgne was harried, he rode on the Raid. TAIN BO FRAICH PART II LITERAL TRANSLATION It happened that his cows had been in the meanwhile stolen. His mother came to him. "Not active (or "lucky") of journey hast thou gone; it shall cause much of trouble to thee," she says. "Thy cows have been stolen, and thy three sons, and thy wife, so that they are in the mountain of Elpa. Three cows of them are in Alba of the North with the Cruthnechi (the Picts)." "Query, what shall I do?" he says to his mother. "Thou shalt do a non-going for seeking them; thou wouldest not give thy life for them," she says. "Thou shalt have cows at my hands besides them." "Not so this," he says: "I have pledged my hospitality and my soul to go to Ailill and to Medb with my cows to the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge." "What thou seekest shall not be obtained," says his mother. At this she goes off from him then. He then sets out with three nines, and a wood-cuckoo (hawk), and a hound of tie with them, until he goes to the territory of the Ulstermen, so that he meets with Conall Cernach (Conall the Victorious) at Benna Bairchi (a mountain on the Ulster border). He tells his quest to him. "What awaits thee," says the latter, "shall not be lucky for thee. Much of trouble awaits thee," he says, "though in it the mind should be." "It will come to me," says Fraech to Connall, "that thou wouldest help me any time we should meet." (?) "I shall go truly," says Conall Cernach. They set of the three (i.e. the three nines) over sea, over Saxony of the North, over the Sea of Icht (the sea between England and France), to the north of the Long-bards (the dwellers of Lombardy), until they reached the mountains of Elpa. They saw a herd-girl at tending of the sheep before them. "Let us go south," says Conall, "O Fraech, that we may address the woman yonder, and let our youths stay here." They went then to a conversation. She said, "Whence are ye?" "Of the men of Erin," says Conall. "It shall not be lucky for the men of Erin truly, the coming to this country. From the men of Erin too is my mother. Aid thou me on account of relationship." "Tell us something about our movements. What is the quality of the land we have to come to?" "A grim hateful land with troublesome warriors, who go on every side for carrying off cows and women as captives," she says. "What is the latest thing they have carried off?" says Fraech. "The cows of Fraech, son of Idath, from the west of Erin, and his wife, and his three sons. Here is his wife here in the house of the king, here are his cows in the country in front of you." "Let thy aid come to us," says Conall. Little is my power, save guidance only." "This is Fraech," says Conall, and they are his cows that have been carried off." "Is the woman constant in your estimation?" she says. "Though constant in our estimation when she went, perchance she is not constant after coming." "The woman who frequents the cows, go ye to her; tell ye of your errand; of the men of Ireland her race; of the men of Ulster exactly." They come to her; they receive her, and they name themselves to her, and she bids welcome to them. "What hath led you forth?" she says. "Trouble hath led us forth," says Conall; "ours are the cows and the woman that is in the Liss." "It shall not be lucky for you truly," she says, "the going up to the multitude of the woman; more troublesome to you than everything," she says, "is the serpent which is at guarding of the Liss." "She is not my country-name(?)," says Fraech, "she is not constant in my estimation; thou art constant in my estimation; we know thou wilt not lead us astray, since it is from the men of Ulster thou art." "Whence are ye from the men of Ulster?" she says. "This is Conall Cernach here, the bravest hero with the men of Ulster," says Fraech. She flings two hands around the throat of Conall Cernach. "The destruction has come in this expedition," she says, "since he has come to us; for it is to him the destruction of this dun has been prophesied. I shall go out to my house,"[FN#41] she says, "I shall not be at the milking of the cows. I shall leave the Liss opened; it is I who close it every night.[FN#42] I shall say it is for drink the calves were sucking. Come thou into the dun, when they are sleeping; only trouble. some to you is the serpent which is at the dun; several tribes are let loose from it." [FN#41] "To my house" is in the Egerton MS. only. [FN#42] "Every night" is in the Egerton MS. only. "We will go truly," says Conall. They attack the Liss; the serpent darts leap into the girdle of Conall Cernach, and they plunder the dun at once. They save off then the woman and the three sons, and they carry away whatever was the best of the gems of the dun, and Conall lets the serpent out of his girdle, and neither of them did harm to the other. And they came to the territory of the people of the Picts, until they saw three cows of their cows in it. They drove off to the Fort of Ollach mac Briuin (now Dunolly near Oban) with them, until they were at Ard Uan Echach (high-foaming Echach). It is there the gillie of Conall met his death at the driving of the cows, that is Bicne son of Loegaire; it is from this is (the name of) Inver Bicne (the Bicne estuary) at Benchor. They brought their cows over it thither. It is there they flung their horns from them, so that it is thence is (the name of) Tracht Benchoir (the Strand of Horn casting, perhaps the modern Bangor?). Fraech goes away then to his territory after, and his wife, and his sons, and his cows with him, until he goes with Ailill and Medb for the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE INTRODUCTION This tale is given by Windisch (Irische Texte, II. pp. 185-205), from two versions; one, whose translation he gives in full, except for one doubtful passage, is from the manuscript in the British Museum, known as Egerton, 1782 (dated 1414); the other is from the Yellow Book of Lecan (fourteenth century), in the library of Trinity College, Dublin. The version in the Yellow Book is sometimes hard to read, which seems to be the reason why Windisch prefers to translate the younger authority, but though in some places the Egerton version is the fuller, the Yellow Book version (Y.B.L.) often adds passages, some of which Windisch has given in notes; some he has left untranslated. In the following prose version as much of Y.B.L. as adds anything to the Egerton text has been translated, with marks of interrogation where the attempted rendering is not certain: variants from the text adopted are placed below the prose version as footnotes. The insertions from Y.B.L. are indicated by brackets; but no note is taken of cases where the Egerton version is fuller than Y.B.L. The opening of the story (the first five lines in the verse rendering) is in the eleventh century Book of the Dun Cow: the fragment agrees closely with the two later texts, differing in fact from Y.B.L. in one word only. All three texts are given in the original by Windisch. The story is simple and straightforward, but is a good example of fairy vengeance, the description of the appearance of the troop recalls similar descriptions in the Tain bo Fraich, and in the Courtship of Ferb. The tale is further noticeable from its connection with the province of Munster: most of the heroic tales are connected with the other three provinces only. Orlam, the hero of the end of the tale, was one of Cuchulain's earliest victims in the Tain bo Cualgne. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE FROM THE EGERTON MS. 1782 (EARLY FIFTEENTH-CENTURY), AND THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (FOURTEENTH-CENTURY) EOCHO BEC,[FN#43] the son of Corpre, reigning in the land of Clew,[FN#44] Dwelt in Coolny's[FN#45] fort; and fostered sons of princes not a few: Forty kine who grazed his pastures gave him milk to rear his wards; Royal blood his charges boasted, sprung from Munster's noblest lords. Maev and Ailill sought to meet him: heralds calling him they sent: "Seven days hence I come" said Eocho; and the heralds from him went. Now, as Eocho lay in slumber, in the night a vision came; By a youthful squire attended, rose to view a fairy dame: "Welcome be my greeting to you!" said the king: "Canst thou discern Who we are?" the fairy answered, "how didst thou our fashion learn?" "Surely," said the king, "aforetime near to me hath been thy place!" "Very near thee have we hovered, yet thou hast not seen my face." "Where do ye abide?" said Eocho. "Yonder dwell we, with the Shee:[FN#46] "In the Fairy Mound of Coolny!" "Wherefore come ye hereto me?" "We have come," she said, "a counsel as a gift to thee to bring!" "Speak! and tell me of the counsel ye have brought me," said the king. "Noble gifts," she said, "we offer that renown for thee shall gain When in foreign lands thou ridest; worship in thine own domain; For a troop shall circle round thee, riding close beside thy hand: Stately it shall be, with goodly horses from a foreign land!" "Tell me of that troop," said Eocho, "in what numbers should we ride? " Fifty horsemen is the number that befits thee," she replied: [FN#43] Pronounced Yeo-ho Bayc. [FN#44] Cliu, a district in Munster. [FN#45] Spelt Cuillne, in Y.B.L. it is Cuille. [FN#46] The Fairies, spelt Sidh. "Fifty horses, black in colour; gold and silver reins and bits; Fifty sets of gay equipment, such as fairies well befits; These at early dawn to-morrow shall my care for thee provide: Let thy foster-children with thee on the road thou makest ride! Rightly do we come to help thee, who so valiantly in fray Guardest for us soil and country!" And the fairy passed away. Eocho's folk at dawn have risen; fifty steeds they all behold: Black the horses seemed; the bridles, stiff with silver and with gold, Firmly to the gate were fastened; fifty silver breeches there Heaped together shone, encrusted all with gold the brooches were: There were fifty knightly vestments, bordered fair with golden thread: Fifty horses, white, and glowing on their ears with deepest red, Nigh them stood; of reddish purple were the sweeping tails and manes; Silver were the bits; their pasterns chained in front with brazen chains: And, of fair findruine[FN#47] fashioned, was for every horse a whip, Furnished with a golden handle, wherewithal the goad to grip. [FN#47] Pronounced "findroony." Then King Eocho rose, and ready made him; in that fair array Forth they rode, nor did they tarry till they came to Croghan[FN#48] Ay. Scarcely could the men of Connaught bear to see that sight, amazed At the dignity and splendour of the host on which they gazed; For that troop was great; in serried ranks the fifty riders rode, Splendid with the state recounted; pride on all their faces glowed. "Name the man who comes!" said Ailill; "Easy answer!" all replied, Eocho Bee, in Clew who ruleth, hither to thy court would ride": Court and royal house were opened; in with welcome came they all; Three long days and nights they lingered, feasting in King Ailill's hall. Then to Ailill, king of Connaught, Eocho spake: "From out my land {50} Wherefore hast thou called me hither?" "Gifts are needed from thy hand," Ailill said; "a heavy burden is that task upon me laid, To maintain the men of Ireland when for Cualgne's kine we raid." [FN#48] Pronounced Crow-han. Eocho spoke: "What gift requirest thou from me?" "For milking-kine," Ailill said, "I ask"; and Eocho, "Few of these indeed are mine! Forty sons of Munster's princes have I in my halls to rear; These, my foster-sons, beside me m my troop have journeyed here; Fifty herdsmen guard the cattle, forty cows my wards to feed, Seven times twenty graze beside them, to supply my people's need." "If, for every man who follows thee as liege, and owns a farm, Thou a cow wilt yield," said Ailill, "then from foes with power to harm I will guard thee in the battle!" "Keep then faithfully thy vows," Eocho said, "this day as tribute shall to Croghan come the cows." Thrice the sun hath set and risen while they feasting there abide, Maev and Ailill's bounty tasting, homeward then they quickly ride: But the sons of Glaschu met them, who from western Donnan came; Donnan, from the seas that bound it, Irross Donnan hath for name; Seven times twenty men attacked them, and to battle they were brought, At the isle of O'Canàda, fiercely either party fought; With his foster children round him, Eocho Bec in fight was killed, All the forty princes perished, with that news the land was filled; All through Ireland lamentation rose for every youthful chief; Four times twenty Munster princes, weeping for them, died of grief. Now a vision came to Ailill, as in sleep he lay awhile, or a youth and dame approached him, fairer none in Erin's Isle: "Who are ye?" said Ailill; "Conquest," said the fairy, "and Defeat "Though Defeat I shun," said Ailill, "Conquest joyfully I meet." "Conquest thou shalt have!" she answered: "Of the future I would ask, Canst thou read my fate?" said Ailill: "Light indeed for me the task," Said the dame: "the kine of Dartaid, Eocho's daughter, may be won: Forty cows she owns; to gain them send to her thy princely son, Orlam, whom that maiden loveth: let thy son to start prepare, Forty youths from Connaught with him, each of them a prince's heir: Choose thou warriors stout and stately; I will give them garments bright, Even those that decked the princes who so lately fell in fight: Bridles, brooches, all I give thee; ere the morning sun be high Thou shalt count that fairy treasure: to our country now we fly." Swiftly to the son of Tassa sped they thence, to Corp the Gray: On the northern bank of Naymon was his hold, and there he lay; And before the men of Munster, as their champion did he stand: He hath wrought-so runs the proverb-evil, longer than his hand. As to Corp appeared the vision: "Say," he cried, "what names ye boast!" "Ruin, one is called," they answered; "one, The Gathering of the Host!" An assembled host I welcome," answered them the gray Corp Lee; "Ruin I abhor": "And ruin," they replied, "is far from thee; Thou shalt bring on sons of nobles, and of kings a ruin great": "Fairy," said Corp Lee, the Gray one, "tell me of that future fate." "Easy is the task," she answered, "youths of every royal race That in Connaught's land hath dwelling, come to-morrow to this place; Munster's kine they hope to harry, for the Munster princes fell Yesterday with Connaught fighting; and the hour I plainly ten: At the ninth hour of the morning shall they come: the band is small: Have thou valiant men to meet them, and upon the raiders fall! Munster's honour hath been tarnished! clear it by a glorious deed! Thou shalt purge the shame if only in the foray thou succeed." "What should be my force?" he asked her: "Take of heroes seven score For that fight," she said, "and with them seven times twenty warriors more: Far from thee we now are flying; but shall meet thee with thy power When to-morrow's sun is shining; at the ninth, the fated hour." At the dawn, the time appointed, all those steeds and garments gay Were in Connaught, and they found them at the gate of Croghan Ay; All was there the fay had promised, all the gifts of which we told: All the splendour that had lately decked the princes they behold. Doubtful were the men of Connaught; some desired the risk to face; Some to go refused: said Ailill, "It should bring us to disgrace If we spurned such offered bounty": Orlam his reproaches felt; Sprang to horse; and towards the country rode, where Eocho's daughter dwelt: And where flows the Shannon river, near that water's southern shore, Found her home; for as they halted, moated Clew[FN#49] rose high before. [FN#49] Spelt Cliu. Dartaid met them ere they halted, joyful there the prince to see: All the kine are not assembled, of their count is lacking three!" "Tarry not for search," said Orlam, "yet provision must we take On our steeds, for hostile Munster rings us round. Wilt home forsake, Maiden? wilt thou ride beside us?" "I will go indeed," she said. Then, with all thy gathered cattle, come with us; with me to wed! So they marched, and in the centre of their troop the kine were set, And the maiden rode beside them: but Corp Lee, the Gray, they met; Seven times twenty heroes with him; and to battle they must go, And the Connaught nobles perished, fighting bravely with the foe: All the sons of Connaught's princes, all the warriors with them died: Orlam's self escaped the slaughter, he and eight who rode beside: Yet he drave the cows to Croghan; ay, and fifty heifers too! But, when first the foe made onset, they the maid in battle slew. Near a lake, did Eocho's[FN#50] daughter, Dartaid, in the battle fall, From that lake, and her who perished, hath been named that region all: Emly Darta is that country; Tain bo Dartae is the tale: And, as prelude, 'tis recited, till the Cualgne[FN#51] Raid they hail. [FN#50] Pronounced Yeo-ho. [FN#51] Pronounced Kell-ny. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE LITERAL TRANSLATION The Passages that occur only in the Yellow Book (Y.B.L.) are indicated by being placed in square brackets. EOCHO BEC, the son of Corpre, king of Cliu, dwelt in the Dun of Cuillne,[FN#52] and with him were forty fosterlings, all sons of the kings of Munster; he had also forty milch-cows for their sustenance. By Ailill and Medb messengers were sent, asking him to come to a conference. "[In a week,"][FN#53] said Eocho, "I will go to that conference;" and the messengers departed from him. [FN#52] The eleventh century MS., the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, which gives the first four lines of this tale as a fragment, adds here as a note: "this is in the land of the O'Cuanach": apparently the O'Briens of Cuanach. [FN#53] At Samhuin day (Egerton). One night Eocho lay there in his sleep, when he saw something approach him; a woman, and a young man in her attendance. "Ye are welcome!" said Eocho. ["Knowest thou us?"] said she, "Where hast thou learned to know us?" "It seems to me as if I had been near to you." "I think that we have been very near to one another, though we have not seen each other face to face!" "In what place do ye dwell?" said Eocho. "Yonder in Sid Cuillne (the fairy mound of Cuillne)," said she. "And, wherefore have ye come?" "In order to give thee counsel," said she. For what purpose is the counsel," said he, "that thou givest me?" "Something," she said, "that will bring thee honour and renown on thy journey at home and abroad. A stately troop shall be round thee, and goodly foreign horses shall be under thee."[FN#54] "With how many shall I go?" said Eocho. "Fifty horsemen is the number that is suitable for thee," she answered. [FN#54] Y.B.L. adds a passage that Windisch does not translate: it seems to run thus: "Unknown to thee is the half of what thou hast met: it seems to us that foreign may be thy splendour"(?) "To-morrow in the morning fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver, shall come to thee from me; and with them fifty sets of equipment of the equipment of the Side; and all of thy foster-children shall go with thee; well it becomes us to help thee, because thou art valiant in the defence of our country and our soil." Then the woman left him. Early in the morning they arise, there they see something: the fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver tied fast to the gate of the castle, also fifty breeches of silver with embellishment of gold; and fifty youths' garments with their edges of spun gold, and fifty white horses with red ears and long tails, purple-red were all their tails and their manes, with silver bits (?)[FN#55] and foot-chains of brass upon each horse; there were also fifty whips of white bronze (findruine), with end pieces of gold that thereby they might be taken into hands.[FN#56] [FN#55] co m-belgib (?) Windisch translates "bridles," the same as cona srianaib above. [FN#56] Y.B.L. adds, "Through wizardry was all that thing: it was recited (?) how great a thing had appeared, and he told his dream to his people." Then King Eocho arises, and prepares himself (for the journey): they depart with this equipment to Cruachan Ai:[FN#57] and the people were well-nigh overcome with their consequence and appearance: their troop was great, goodly, splendid, compact: [fifty heroes, all with that appearance that has just been related. "How is that man named?" said Ailill. "Not hard, Eocho Bec, the king of Cliu." They entered the Liss (outer court), and the royal house; welcome was given to them, he remained there three days and three nights at the feasting.] [FN#57] Egerton here gives "Ailill and Medb made them welcome;" it omits the long passage in square brackets. "Wherefore have I have been invited to come?" said Eocho to Ailill: "To learn if I can obtain a gift from thee," said Ailill; "for a heavy need weighs upon me, even the sustenance of the men of Ireland for the bringing of the cattle from Cualgne." "What manner of gift is it that thou desirest?" said Eocho. "Nothing less than a gift of milking-kine," said Ailill. "There is no superfluity of these in my land," said Eocho; "I have forty fosterlings, sons of the kings of Munster, to bring them up (to manhood); they are here in my company, there are forty cows to supply the needs of these, to supply my own needs are seven times twenty milch-cows [there are fifty men for this cause watching over them]. "Let me have from thee," said Ailill, "one cow from each farmer who is under thy lordship as my share; moreover I will yield thee assistance if at any time thou art oppressed by superior might." "Thus let it be as thou sayest," said Eocho; "moreover, they shall come to thee this very day." For three days and three nights they were hospitably entertained by Ailill and Medb, and then they departed homewards, till they met the sons of Glaschu, who came from Irross Donnan (the peninsula of Donnan, now Mayo); the number of those who met them was seven times twenty men, and they set themselves to attack each other, and to strive with each other in combat, and [at the island of O'Conchada (Inse Ua Conchada)] they fought together. In that place fell the forty sons of kings round Eocho Bec, and that news was spread abroad over all the land of Ireland, so that four times twenty kings' sons, of the youths of Munster, died, sorrowing for the deaths of these princes. On another night, as Ailill lay in his sleep, upon his bed, he saw some thing, a young man and a woman, the fairest that could be found in Ireland. "Who are ye?" said Ailill. "Victory and Defeat are our names," she said. "Victory indeed is welcome to me, but not so Defeat," said Ailill. "Victory shall be thine in each form!" said she. ["What is the next thing after this that awaits us?" said Ailill. "Not hard to tell thee," said she] "let men march out from thy palace in the morning, that thou mayest win for thyself the cattle of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho. Forty is the number of her milch-cows, it is thine own son, Orlam mac Ailill, whom she loves. Let Orlam prepare for his journey with a stately troop of valiant men, also forty sons of those kings who dwell in the land of Connaught; and by me shall be given to them the same equipment that the other youths had who fell in yon fight, bridles and garments and brooches; [early in the morning shall count of the treasure be made, and now we go to our own land," said she]. Then they depart from him, and forthwith they go to [Corp[FN#58] Liath (the Gray),] who was the son of Tassach. His castle was on the bank of the river Nemain, upon the northern side, he was a champion of renown for the guarding of the men of Munster; longer than his hand is the evil he hath wrought. To this man also they appeared, and "What are your names?" said he: "Tecmall and Coscrad (Gathering of Hosts, and Destruction)," said they. "Gathering of Hosts is indeed good," said Corp Liath, "an evil thing is destruction": "There will be no destruction for thee, and thou shalt destroy the sons of kings and nobles": "And what," said Corp Liath, "is the next thing to be done?" [FN#58] The Egerton MS. gives the name, Corb Cliach. "That is easy to say," they said;[FN#59] "each son of a king and a queen, and each heir of a king that is in Connaught, is now coming upon you to bear off cows from your country, for that the sons of your kings and queens have fallen by the hand of the men of Connaught. To-morrow morning, at the ninth hour they will come, and small is their troop; so if valiant warriors go thither to meet them, the honour of Munster shall be preserved; if indeed thine adventure shall meet with success." [FN#59] Y.B.L. gives the passage thus: "Assemble with you the sons of kings, and heirs of kings, that you may destroy the sons of kings and heirs of kings." "Who are they?" said Corp Liath. "A noble youth it is from Connaught: he comes to yon to drive your cows before him, after that your young men were yesterday destroyed by him, at the ninth hour of the morning they will come to take away the cows of Darta, the daughter of Eocho." "With what number should I go?" he said. "Seven times twenty heroes thou shouldest take with thee," she replied, ["and seven times twenty warriors besides"]: "And now" said the woman, "we depart to meet thee to-morrow at the ninth hour." At the time (appointed), when morning had come, the men of Connaught saw the horses and the raiment of which we have spoken, at the gate of the fort of Croghan, [even as she (the fairy) had foretold, and as we have told, so that at that gate was all she had promised, and all that had been seen on the sons of kings aforetime], and there was a doubt among the people whether they should go on that quest or not. "It is shame," said Ailill, "to refuse a thing that is good"; and upon that Orlam departed [till[FN#60] he came to the house of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho, in Cliu Classach (Cliu the Moated), on the Shannon upon the south (bank). [FN#60] Egerton Version has only "towards Chu till he came to the home of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho: the maiden rejoiced," &c. From this point to the end the version in the Yellow Book is much fuller. [There they halted], and the maiden rejoiced at their coming: "Three of the kine are missing." "We cannot wait for these; let the men take provision on their horses, [for rightly should we be afraid in the midst of Munster. Wilt thou depart with me, O maiden?" said he. "I will indeed go with thee," said she]. "Come then thou," said he, "and with thee all of thy cows." [Then the young men go away with the cows in the midst, and the maiden was with them; but Corp Liath, the son of Tassach, met them with seven times twenty warriors to oppose their march. A battle was fought], and in that place fell the sons of the kings of Connaught, together with the warriors who had gone with them, all except Orlam and eight others,[FN#61] who carried away with them the kine, even the forty milch-cows, and fifty heifers, [so that they came into the land of Connaught]; but the maiden fell at the beginning of the fight. [FN#61] Y.B.L. inserts Dartaid's death at this point: "and Dartaid fell at the beginning of the fight, together with the stately sons of Connaught." Hence is that place called Imlech Dartaid, (the Lake Shore of Darta), in the land of Cliu, [where Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho, the son of Corpre, fell: and for this reason this story is called the Tain bo Dartae, it is one of the preludes to the Tain bo Cualnge]. THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON INTRODUCTION The two versions of this tale, given by Windisch in the Irische Texte, II. pp. 224-238, are from the same manuscripts as the two versions of the Raid of the Cattle of Dartaid; namely the Yellow Book of Lecan, and the Egerton MS. 1782. In the case of this tale, the Yellow Book version is more legible, and, being not only the older, but a little more full than the other version, Windisch has translated this text alone: the prose version, as given here, follows this manuscript, nearly as given by Windisch, with only one addition from the Egerton MS.; the omissions in the Egerton MS. are not mentioned, but one or two changes in words adopted from this MS. are mentioned in the foot-notes to the prose rendering. The whole tone of the tale is very unlike the tragic character of those romances, which have been sometimes supposed to represent the general character of old Irish literature: there is not even a hint of the super-natural; the story contains no slaughter; the youthful raiders seem to be regarded as quite irresponsible persons, and the whole is an excellent example of an old Celtic: romance with what is to-day called a "good ending." THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON FROM THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (A MANUSCRIPT OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY) When Ailill and Maev in the Connaught land abode, and the lordship held, A chief who many a field possessed in the land of Connaught dwelled: A great, and a fair, and a goodly herd of kine had the chieftain won: And his fame in the fight was in all men's word; his name was Regamon. Now seven daughters had Regamon; they dwelt at home with their sire: Yet the seven sons of King Ailill and Maev their beauty with love could fire: All those seven sons were as Mani[FN#62] known; the first was as Morgor hailed, For his love was great: it was Mingar's fate that in filial love he failed: The face was seen of the mother-queen on the third; and his father's face Did the fourth son show: they the fifth who know cannot speak all his strength and grace: The sixth son spoke, from his lips the words like drops of honey fell: And last came one who all gifts possessed that the tongue of a man can tell; For his father's face that Mani had, in him was his mother seen; And in him abode every grace bestowed on the king of the land or the queen. [FN#62] Pronounced Mah-nee. Of the daughters of Regamon now we speak: two names those maidens bore: For as Dunnan three ever known shall be; Dunlaith[FN#63] was the name for four: And in Breffny's land is the Ford Dunlaith, and the fame of the four recalls; The three ye know where the Dunnan's flow in western Connaught falls. With Fergus, Ailill and Maev were met: as at council all conferred; "It were well for our folk," thus Ailill spoke, "if the lord of that cattle-herd, That strays in the fields of Regamon, would tribute to us pay: And to gain that end, let us heralds send, to his burg who may make their way, And bear to our court that tribute back; for greatly we soon shall need Such kine when we in the time of war our hosts shall have to feed; And all who share in our counsels know that a burden will soon be mine, When the men must be fed of Ireland, led on the Raid for the Cuailgne[FN#64] Kine!" Thus Ailill spoke; and Queen Maev replied, "The men to perform that task Right well I know; for our sons will go, if we for their aid but ask! The seven daughters of Regamon do the Mani in love now seek: If those maidens' hands they can gain by the deed, they will heed the words we speak." To his side King Ailill has called his sons, his mind to the youth he shows. "Best son," says Maev, "and grateful he, from filial love who goes!" And Morgor said, "For the love that we owe, we go at our sire's behest:" "Yet a greater reward," thus Mingar spake, "must be ours, if we go on this quest! For naught have we of hero-craft; and small shall be found our might; And of valiant breed are the men," said he, "with whom we shall have to fight. [FN#63] Pronounced Dun-lay. [FN#64] Pronounced Kell-ny. As men from the shelter of roof who go, and must rest in the open field, So thy sons shall stand, if they come to a land where a foe might be found concealed! We have dwelt till now in our father's halls, too tenderly cared for far: Nor hath any yet thought, that to us should be taught the arts that belong to war!" Queen Maev and Ailill their sons have sped, away on the quest they went, With seven score men for the fight, whom the queen for help of her sons had sent: To the south of the Connaught realm they reached, the burg that they sought was plain For to Ninnus land they had come, and were nigh to the Corcomroe domain. "From our band," said Mani Morgor, "some must go, of that burg to learn How entrance we may attain to win, and back with the news return We must test the strength of the maidens' love!" On Mingar the task was set, And with two beside him, he searched the land, till three of the maids they met: By springs of water they found the maids, drew swords, and against them leapt! "O grant our lives!" was the maiden's cry, "and your lives shall be safely kept!" "For your lives," he said, "will ye grant a boon, set forth in three words of speech?" "At our hands," said she, "shall granted be, whatever thy tongue shall teach; Yet ask not cattle; those kine have we no power to bestow, I fear": "Why, 'tis for the sake of the kine," he said, "that all of us now are here!" "Who art thou then?" from her faltering broke: "Mani Mingar am I," he replied; I am son to King Ailill and Maev: And to me thou art welcome," the maiden cried; "But why have ye come to this land?" said she: For kine and for brides," he said, Have we come to seek: And 'tis right," said she, such demands in a speech to wed: Yet the boon that you ask will our folk refuse, and hard will your task be found; For a valiant breed shall you meet, I fear, in the men who guard this ground!" "Give your aid," he said, "then as friends: But time," said she, "we must have for thought; For a plan must be made, e'er thy word be obeyed, and the kine to thy hands be brought: Have ye journeyed here with a force of men? how great is the strength of your band?" "Seven score are there here for the fight," he said, "the warriors are near at hand!" "Wait here," said she; "to my sisters four I go of the news to tell: "And with thee we side!" all the maidens cried, "and we trust we shall aid thee well," Away from the princes the maidens sped, they came to their sisters four, And thus they spoke: "From the Connaught land come men, who are here at your door; The sons of Ailill and Maev have come; your own true loves are they!" "And why have they come to this land?" they said; "For kine and for brides, they say, Have they come to seek:" "And with zeal their wish would we joyfully now fulfil If but powers to aid were but ours," they said, "which would match with our right good will: But I fear the youths in this burg who dwell, the plans that we make may foil; or far from the land may chase that band, and drive them away from their spoil!" "Will ye follow us now, with the prince to speak?" They willingly gave consent, And together away to the water-springs the seven maidens went. They greeted Mani; "Now come!" said he, "and bring with you out your herds: And a goodly meed shall reward your deed, if you but obey my words; For our honour with sheltering arms is nigh, and shall all of you safely keep, Ye seven daughters of Regamon!" The cattle, the swine, and sheep Together the maidens drove; none saw them fly, nor to stay them sought, Till safe to the place where the Mani stood, the herd by the maids was brought. The maidens greeted the sons of Maev, and each by her lover stood; And then Morgor spoke: "Into twain this herd of kine to divide were good, At the Briuin[FN#65] Ford should the hosts unite; too strait hath the path been made For so vast a herd": and to Morgor's word they gave heed, and his speech obeyed. Now it chanced that Regamon, the king, was far from his home that day, For he to the Corco Baiscinn land had gone, for a while to stay; [FN#65] Pronounced Brewin. With the Firbolg[FN#66] clans, in debate, he sat; and a cry as the raiders rode, Was behind him raised: to the king came men, who the news of that plunder showed: Then the king arose, and behind his foes he rode, and o'ertook their flight, And on Mani Morgor his host pressed hard, and they conquered his men in the fight. "To unite our band," thus Morgor cried, "fly hence, and our comrades find! Call the warriors back from the cattle here, and leave the maids behind; Bid the maidens drive to our home the herd as far as the Croghan Fort, And to Ailill and Maev of our perilous plight let the maidens bear report." The maidens went to the Croghan Fort, to Maev with their news they pressed: "Thy sons, O Maev, at the Briuin Ford are pent, and are sore distressed, And they pray thee to aid them with speed": and Maev her host for the war prepared, With Ailill the warriors of Connaught came; and Fergus beside them fared, And the exiles came, who the Ulster name still bore, and towards that Ford All that host made speed, that their friends in need might escape from the vengeful sword. [FN#66] Pronounced Feer-bol. Now Ailill's sons, in the pass of that Ford, had hurdles strongly set: And Regamon failed through the ford to win, ere Ailill's troops were met: Of white-thorn and of black-thorn boughs were the hurdles roughly framed, And thence the name of the ford first came, that the Hurdle Ford is named; For, where the O'Feara[FN#67] Aidne folk now dwell, can ye plainly see In the land of Beara[FN#68] the Less, that Ford, yet called Ath[FN#69] Clee Maaree, In the north doth it stand; and the Connaught land divideth from Corcomroe; And thither, with Regamon's troops to fight, did Ailill's army go. [FN#67] Pronounced O'Fayra Ain-ye. [FN#68] Pronounced Bayra. [FN#69] Spelt Ath Cliath Medraidi. Ath is pronounced like Ah. Then a truce they made; to the youths, that Raid who designed, they gave back their lives; And the maidens fair all pardoned were, who had fled with the youths, as wives, Who had gone with the herd, by the maids conferred on the men who the kine had gained: But the kine, restored to their rightful lord, in Regamon's hands remained; The maiden band in the Connaught land remained with the sons of Maev; And a score of cows to each maiden's spouse the maidens' father gave: As his daughters' dower, did their father's power his right in the cows resign, That the men might be fed of Ireland, led on the Raid for the Cualgne[FN#70] Kine. This tale, as the Tain bo Regamon, is known in the Irish tongue; And this lay they make, when the harp they wake, ere the Cualgne Raid be sung. [FN#70] Pronounced Kell-ny. THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON LITERAL TRANSLATION In the time of Ailill and Medb, a glorious warrior and holder of land dwelt in the land of Connaught, and his name was Regamon. He had many herds of cattle, all of them fair and well-shaped: he had also seven daughters with him. Now the seven sons of Ailill and Medb loved these (daughters): namely the seven Maine, these were Maine Morgor (Maine with great filial love), Maine Mingar (Maine with less filial love), Maine Aithremail (Maine like his father), Maine Mathremail (Maine like his mother), Maine Milbel (Maine with the mouth of honey),[FN#71] Maine Moepert (Maine too great to be described), Maine Condageb-uile (Maine who combined all qualities): now this one had the form both of father and mother, and had all the glory that belonged to both parents. [FN#71] The name of Maine Annai, making an eighth son, is given in Y.B.L., but not in the Egerton MS. The seven daughters of Regamon were the three Dunann, and the four Dunlaith;[FN#72] from the names of these is the estuary of Dunann in western Connaught, and the Ford of Dunlaith in Breffny. [FN#72] So Egerton, which Windisch follows here; the reading of Y.B.L. is Dunmed for the daughters, and Dumed for the corresponding ford. Now at a certain time, Ailill and Medb and Fergus held counsel together. "Some one from us," said Ailill, "should go to Regamon, that a present of cattle may be brought to us from him; to meet the need that there is on us for feeding the men of Ireland, when the kine are raided from Cualgne." "I know," said Medb, "who would be good to go thither, if we ask it of them; even the Maine; on account of their love for the daughters." His sons were called to Ailill, and he spoke with them. "Grateful is he, and a better journey does he go," said Maev, "who goes for the sake of his filial love." "Truly it shall be that it is owing to filial love that we go," said Mani Morgor. "But the reward should (also) for this be the better," said Mani Mingar; "it stands ill with our heroism, ill with our strength. It is like going from a house into the fields, (going) into the domains or the land of foes. Too tenderly have we been brought up; none hath let us learn of wars; moreover the warriors are valiant towards whom we go!" They took leave of Ailill and Medb, and betook themselves to the quest. They set out, seven times twenty heroes was the number, till they were in the south of Connaught, in the neighbourhood of the domain of Corcomroe[FN#73] in the land of Ninnus, near to the burg. "Some of you," said Mani Morgor, "should go to find out how to enter into the burg; and to test the love of maidens." Mani Mingar, with two others, went until he came upon three of the maidens at the water-springs, and at once he and his comrades drew their swords against them. "Give life for life!" said the maiden. "Grant to me then my three full words!" said Mani Mingar. "Whatever thy tongue sets forth shall be done," said the maiden, "only let it not be cows,[FN#74] for these have we no power to give thee." "For these indeed," said Mani, "is all that now we do."[FN#75] [FN#73] Properly "Coremodruad," the descendants of Modh Ruadh, third son of Fergus by Maev; now Corcomroe in County Clare. [FN#74]"Only let it not be cows" is in the Egerton MS. alone. [FN#75] "That we do" is Egerton MS. (cich indingnem), Y.B.L. has "cechi m-bem." "Who art thou?" said she: "Mani Mingar, son of Ailill and Medb," said he: "Welcome then," she said, "but what hath brought with you here?" "To take with us cattle and maidens," he said: "'Tis right," she said, "to take these together; (but) I fear that what has been demanded will not be granted, the men are valiant to whom you have come." "Let your entreaties be our aid!" he said. "We would desire," she said, "that it should be after that counsel hath been taken that we obey you." "What is your number?" said she: "Seven times twenty heroes," he said, "are with us." "Remain here," she said, "that we may speak with the other maidens": "We shall assist you," said the maidens, "as well as we can." They went from them, and came to the other maidens, and they said to them: "Young heroes from the lands of Connaught are come to you, your own true loves, the seven sons of Ailill and Medb." "Wherefore are they come?" "To take back with them cattle and wives." "That would we gladly have, if only we could; (but) I fear that the warriors will hinder them or drive them away," said she. "Go ye out, that ye may speak with the man." "We will speak with him," they said. The seven maidens went to the well, and they greeted Mani. "Come ye away," he said, "and bring your cattle with you. That will be a good deed. We shall assist you with our honour and our protection, O ye daughters of Regamon," said he.[FN#76] The maidens drove together their cows and their swine, and their sheep, so that none observed them; and they secretly passed on till they came to the camp of their comrades. The maidens greeted the sons of Ailill and Medb, and they remained there standing together. "The herd must be divided in two parts," said Mani Merger, "also the host must divide, for it is too great to travel by the one way; and we shall meet again at Ath Briuin (the Ford of Briuin)." So it was done. [FN#76] Windisch conjectures this instead of "said the warriors," which is in the text of Y.B.L. King Regamon was not there on that day. He was in the domain of Corco Baiscinn,[FN#77] to hold a conference with the Firbolgs. His people raised a cry behind him, message was brought to Regamon, and he went in pursuit with his army. The whole of the pursuing host overtook Mani Morgor, and brought defeat upon him. [FN#77] In the south-west of Clare. "We all," said Mani, "must go to one place, and some of you shall be sent to the cattle to summon the young men hither, and the maidens shall drive the cattle over the ford to Cruachan, and shall give Ailill and Medb tidings of the plight in which we are here." The maidens went to Cruachan, and told all the tale. "Thy sons are at Ath Briuin in distress, and have said that help should be brought to them." The men of Connaught with Ailill, and Medb, and Fergus, and the banished men of Ulster went to Ath Briuin to help their people. The sons of Ailill had for the moment made hurdles of white-thorn and black-thorn in the gut[FN#78] of the ford, as defence against Regamon and his people, so that they were unable to pass through the ford ere Ailill and his army came; so thence cometh the name Ath Cliath Medraidi[FN#79] (the Hurdle Ford of Medraide), in the country of Little Bethra in the northern part of the O'Fiachrach Aidne between Connaught and Corcomroe. There they met together with all their hosts. [FN#78] Literally "mouth." [FN#79] Ath Cliath oc Medraige, now Maaree, in Ballycourty parish, Co. Galway (Stokes, Bodleian Dinnshenchus, 26). It may be mentioned that in the Dinnshenchus, the cattle are said to have been taken "from Dartaid, the daughter of Regamon in Munster," thus confusing the Raids of Regamon and Dartaid, which may account for O'Curry's incorrect statement in the preface to Leabhar na h-Uidhri, p. xv. A treaty was then made between them on account of the fair young men who had carried off the cattle, and on account of the fair maidens who had gone with them, by whose means the herd escaped. Restitution of the herd was awarded to Regamon, and the maidens abode with the sons of Ailill and Medb; and seven times twenty milch-cows were given up, as a dowry for the maidens, and for the maintenance of the men of Ireland on the occasion of the assembly for the Tain bo Cualnge; so that this tale is called the Tain bo Regamon, and it is a prelude to the tale of the Tain bo Cualnge. Finit, amen. THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS INTRODUCTION The Tain bo Flidais, the Driving of the Cows of Flidais, does not, like the other three Preludes to the Tain bo Cualnge, occur in the Yellow Book of Lecan; but its manuscript age is far the oldest of the four, as it occurs in both the two oldest collections of Old Irish romance, the Leabbar na h-Uidhri (abbreviated to L.U.), and the Book of Leinster (abbreviated to L.L.), besides the fifteenth century Egerton MS., that contains the other three preludes. The text of all three, together with a translation of the L.U. text, is given by Windisch in Irische Texte, II. pp. 206-223; the first part of the story is missing in L.U. and is supplied from the Book of Leinster (L.L.) version. The prose translation given here follows Windisch's translation pretty closely, with insertions occasionally from L.L. The Egerton version agrees closely with L.L., and adds little to it beyond variations in spelling, which have occasionally been taken in the case of proper names. The Leabhar na h-Uidhri version is not only the oldest, but has the most details of the three; a few passages have, however, been supplied from the other manuscripts which agree with L.U. in the main. The whole tale is much more like an old Border riding ballad than are the other three Preludes; it resembles the tone of Regamon, but differs from it in having a good deal of slaughter to relate, though it can hardly be called tragic, like Deirdre and Ferb, the killing being taken as a matter of course. There is nothing at all supernatural about the story as contained in the old manuscripts, but a quite different' version of the story given in the Glenn Masain Manuscript, a fifteenth century manuscript now in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, gives another complexion to the tale. The translation of this manuscript is at present being made in the Celtic Review by Professor Mackinnon; the version it gives of the story is much longer and fuller than that in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, and its accompanying manuscripts. The translation as printed in the Celtic Review is not as yet (July 1905) completed, but, through Professor Mackinnon's kindness, an abstract of the general features of the end of the story may be given here. The Glenn Masain version makes Bricriu, who is a subordinate character in the older version, one of the principal actors, and explains many of the allusions which are difficult to understand in the shorter version; but it is not possible to regard the older version as an abridgment of that preserved in the Glenn Masain MS., for the end of the story in this manuscript is absolutely different from that in the older ones, and the romance appears to be unique in Irish in that it has versions which give two quite different endings, like the two versions of Kipling's The Light that Failed. The Glenn Masain version commences with a feast held at Cruachan, when Fergus and his exiles had joined their forces with Connaught as a result of the murder of the Sons of Usnach, as told in the earlier part of the manuscript. At this feast Bricriu. engages in conversation with Fergus, reproaching him for his broken promises to the Ulstermen who had joined him, and for his dalliance with Queen Maev. Bricriu, who in other romances is a mere buffoon, here appears as a distinguished poet, and a chief ollave; his satire remains bitter, but by no means scurrilous, and the verses put into his mouth, although far beneath the standard of the verses given to Deirdre in the earlier part of the manuscript, show a certain amount of dignity and poetic power. As an example, the following satire on Fergus's inability to keep his promises may be cited:-- Fergus, hear thy friend lamenting! Blunted is thy lofty mind; Thou, for hire, to Maev consenting, Hast thy valour's pride resigned. Ere another year's arriving, Should thy comrades, thou didst vow, Three-score chariots fair be driving, Shields and weapons have enow! When thy ladies, bent on pleasure, Crowd towards the banquet-hall, Thou of gold a goodly measure Promised hast to grant to all! Ill to-night thy friends are faring, Naught hath Fergus to bestow; He a poor man's look is wearing, Never yet was greater woe! After the dialogue with Fergus, Bricriu, with the poets that attend him, undertakes a journey to Ailill the Fair, to obtain from him the bounty that Fergus had promised but was unable to grant. He makes a fairly heavy demand upon Ailill's bounty, but is received hospitably, and gets all he had asked for, as well as honour for his poetic talents. He then asks about Ailill's wife Flidais, and is told about her marvellous cow, which was able to supply milk to more than three hundred men at one night's milking. Flidais returns from a journey, is welcomed by Bricriu, who produces a poem in honour of her and her cow, and is suitably recompensed. A long conversation is then recorded between Flidais and Bricriu in which Bricriu extols the great deeds of Fergus, supplying thereby a commentary on the short statement at the beginning of the older version, that Flidais' love to Fergus was on account of the great deeds which had been told her that he had done. Flidais declares to Bricriu her love for Fergus, and Bricriu, after a vain attempt to dissuade the queen from her purpose, consents to bring a message to Fergus that Flidais and her cow will come to him if he comes to her husband's castle to seek her. He then returns to Connaught laden with gifts. The story now proceeds somewhat upon the lines of the older version. Bricriu approaches Fergus on his return, and induces him to go in the guise of an ambassador to Ailill the Fair, with the secret intention of carrying off Flidais. Fergus receives the sanction of Maev and her husband for his errand, and departs, but not as in the older version with a few followers; all the Ulster exiles are with him. Dubhtach, by killing a servant of Maev, embroils Fergus with the queen of Connaught; and the expedition reaches Ailill the Fair's castle. Fergus sends Bricriu, who has most unwillingly accompanied him, to ask for hospitality; he is hospitably received by Ailill, and when under the influence of wine reveals to Ailill the plot. Ailill does not, as in the older version, refuse to receive Fergus, but seats him beside himself at a feast, and after reproaching him with his purpose challenges him to a duel in the morning. The result of the duel, and of the subsequent attack on the castle by Fergus' friends, is much as stated in the older version, but the two stories end quite differently. The L.U. version makes Flidais assist in the War of Cualgne by feeding the army of Ailill each seventh day with the produce of her cows; she dies after the war as wife of Fergus; the Glenn Masain version, in the "Pursuit of the Cattle of Flidais," makes the Gamanrad clan, the hero-clan of the West of Ireland, pursue Maev and Fergus, and rescue Flidais and her cow; Flidais then returns to the west with Muiretach Menn, the son of her murdered husband, Ailill the Fair. The comparison of these two versions, from the literary point of view, is most interesting. The stress laid on the supernatural cow is peculiar to the version in the later manuscript, the only analogy in the eleventh century version is the semi-supernatural feeding of the army of Ireland, but in this it is a herd (buar), not a single animal, that is credited with the feat, and there is really nothing supernatural about the matter; it is only the other version that enables us to see the true bearing of the incident. The version in the Glenn Masain Manuscript looks much more ancient in idea than that in the older texts, and is plainly capable of a mythic interpretation. It is not of course suggested that the Glenn Masain version is ancient as it stands: there are indeed enough obvious allusions in the text to comparatively late works to negative such a supposition, independently of linguistic evidence, but it does look as if the author of the eleventh century text had a super natural tale to work upon, some of whose incidents are preserved in the Glenn Masain version, and that he succeeded in making out of the traditional account a story that practically contains no supernatural element at all, so that it requires a knowledge of the other version to discover the slight trace of the supernatural that he did keep, viz. the feeding of the army of Ireland by the herd (not the cow) of Flidais. It is possible that the common origin of the two versions is preserved for us in another place, the Coir Annam, which, though it as it stands is a Middle Irish work, probably keeps ancient tradition better than the more finished romances. In this we find, following Stokes' translation, given in Irische Texte, III. P. 295, the following entries:-- "Adammair Flidaise Foltchain, that is Flidais the Queen, one of the tribe of the god-folk (the Tuatha de Danaan), she was wife of Adammair, the son of Fer Cuirp, and from her cometh the name Buar Flidaise, the Cattle of Flidais. "Nia Segamain, that is seg (deer) are a main (his treasure), for in his time cows and does were milked in the same way every day, so that he had great wealth in these things beyond that of all other kings. The Flidais spoken of above was the mother of Nia Segamain, Adammair's son, for two kinds of cattle, cows and does, were milked in the days of Nia Segamain, and by his mother was that fairy power given to him." It seems, then, not impossible that the original legend was much as stated in the Coir Annam, viz. that Flidais was a supernatural being, milking wild deer like cows, and that she was taken into the Ulster Cycle and made part of the tale of Fergus. This adoption was done by an author who made a text which may be regarded as the common original of the two versions; in his tale the supernatural character of Flidais was retained. The author of the L.U. version cut out the supernatural part, and perhaps the original embassy of Bricriu; it may, however, be noted that the opening of the older version comes from the L.L. text, which is throughout shorter than that in L.U., and the lost opening of L.U. may have been fuller. The author of the Glenn Masain version kept nearer to the old story, adding, however, more modern touches. Where the new character of Bricriu comes from is a moot point; I incline to the belief that the idea of Bricriu as a mere buffoon is a later development. But in neither version is the story, as we have it, a pre-Christian one. The original pre-Christian idea of Flidais was, as in the Coir Annam, that of a being outside the Ulster Cycle altogether. THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS FROM THE LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI (ELEVENTH-CENTURY MS.), THE BEGINNING AND A FEW ADDITIONS FROM THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (TWELFTH CENTURY) A land in West Roscommon, as Kerry known of old, Was ruled by Ailill Fair-haired; of him a tale is told: How Flidais,[FN#80] Ailill's[FN#81] consort, each week, and near its end, To Ro's great son, to Fergus, her herald still would send; 'Twas Fergus' love she sought for; the deeds by Fergus done, In glorious tales recited, had Flidais' fancy won. [FN#80] Pronounced Flid-das. [FN#81] Pronounced Al-ill. When Fergus fled from Ulster, and Connaught's land he sought, To Ailill, king of Connaught, this tale of love he brought: "Now give me rede," said Fergus, "how best we here should act, That Connaught's fame and honour by none may stand attacked; Say, how can I approach them, and strip thy kingdom bare, And yet the fame of Ailill, that country's monarch, spare?" "'Tis hard indeed to teach thee," cried Ailill, sore perplexed; "Let Maev come nigh with counsel what course to follow next!" "Send thou to Ailill Fair-haired to ask for aid!" said Maev, "He well may meet a herald, who comes his help to crave Let Fergus go to crave it: no harm can there be seen; And better gifts from Ailill shall Fergus win, I ween!" So forth to Ailill Fair-haired went Fergus, son of Ro; And thirty, Dubhtach[FN#82] leading, he chose with him to go; And yet another Fergus his aid to Fergus brought; Mac Oonlama[FN#83] men called him; his sire one-handed fought. [FN#82] Pronounced Doov-ta. [FN#83] Spelt Mac Oenlama, son of the one-handed one. Beside the Ford of Fenna, in Kerry's north they came, They neared the hold, and from it rang welcome's loud acclaim: "What quest," said Ailill Fair-haired, "hath brought these warriors here?" "Of Ailill, son of Magach, we stand," they said, "in fear; A feud we hold against him; with thee would fain abide!" "For each of these," said Ailill, "who Fergus march beside, If they were foes to Connaught, for long they here might stay, And ne'er till peace was granted, I'd drive these men away: For Fergus, naught I grant him a tale of him men tell That Fergus 'tis whom Flidais, my wife, doth love too well!" "It is kine that I ask for," said Fergus, "and hard is the task on me set: For the men who have marched here beside me, the means to win life I must get." "I will give no such present," said Ailill," thou comest not here as my guest: Men will say, 'twas from fear that I gave it, lest my wife from my arms thou should'st wrest: Yet an ox of my herds, and some bacon, if thou wilt, shall my hand to thee give; That the men who have marched here beside thee on that meat may be stayed, and may live!" "I eat no bread thus thrown me!" fierce Fergus straight replied: "I asked a gift of honour; that gift thine hand denied." "Avoid my house," said Ailill in wrath, "now get thee hence! "We go indeed," said Fergus; "no siege we now commence: Yet here," he cried, "for duel beside yon ford I wait, If thou canst find a champion to meet me at thy gate." Then up and answered Ailill: "'Tis mine this strife must be And none shall hurt mine honour, or take this task from me: None hold me back from battle!"--the ford for fight he sought: "Now Dubhtach, say," said Fergus, "to whom this war is brought! Or thou or I must meet him." And Dubhtach said, "I go; For I am younger, Fergus, and bolder far with foe." To the ford for the battle with Ailill he hies, And he thrust at him fiercely, and pierced through his thighs; But a javelin by Ailill at Dubhtach was cast, And right through his body the shaft of it passed: And a shield over Dubhtach, laid low in the dust, Spread Fergus; and Ailill his spear at him thrust; And through Fergus' shield had the spear made its way, When Fergus Mae Oonlama joined in the fray, And his shield he uplifted, his namesake to guard; But at Fergus Mac Oonlama Ailill thrust hard, And he brake through the fence of Mac Oonlama's shield; And he leaped in his pain; as they lay on the field, On his comrades he fell: Flidais forth to them flew, And her cloak on the warriors to shield them she threw. Then against all the comrades of Fergus turned Ailill the Fair-haired to fight, And he chased them away from his castle, and slew as they scattered in flight; A twenty he reached, and he slew them: they fell, on that field to remain; And but seven there were of that thirty who fled, and their safety could gain: They came to the palace of Croghan, they entered the gates of that hold, And to Maev and to Ailill of Connaught the tale of the slaughter they told. Then roused himself King Ailill, of Connaught's land the king, With Maev to march to battle, their aid to friends to bring: And forth from Connaught's kingdom went many a lord of worth, Beside them marched the exiles who gat from Ulster birth: So forward went that army, and reached to Kerry's land, And near the Ford of Fenna they came, and there made stand. While this was done, the wounded three Within the hold lay still, And Flidais cared for all, for she To heal their wounds had skill. To Ailill Fair-Haired's castle the Connaught host was led, And toward the foeman's ramparts the Connaught herald sped; He called on Ailill Fair-haired to come without the gate, And there to meet King Ailill, and with him hold debate. "I come to no such meeting," the angry chief replied; "Yon man is far too haughty: too grossly swells his pride!" Yet 'twas peaceful meeting, So the old men say, Ailill willed; whose greeting Heralds bore that day. Fergus, ere he perished, First he sought to aid He that thought who cherished Friendship's claims obeyed: Then his foe he vainly Hoped in truce to bind: Peace, 'tis said, was plainly Dear to Connaught's mind! The wounded men, on litters laid, Without the walls they bore To friendly hands, with skill to aid, And fainting health restore. At the castle of Ailill the Fair-Haired the Connaught-men rushed in attack, And to win it they failed: from his ramparts in defeat were his foes driven back: For long in that contest they struggled, yet naught in the fight they prevailed - For a week were the walls of the castle of Ailill the Fair-Haired assailed, Seven score of the nobles of Connaught, and all of them warriors of might, For the castle of Ailill contended, and fell as they strove in the fight. "'Tis sure that with omen of evil this castle was sought by our folk!" Thus Bricroo,[FN#84] the Poisonous Scoffer, in mockery, jeering them, spoke: "The taunt," answered Ailill Mae Mata, "is true, and with grief I confess That the fame of the heroes of Ulster hereafter is like to be less, For a three of the Ulstermen's champions in stress of the fight have been quelled; And the vengeance we wait for from Ulster hath long been by Ulster withheld; As a pillar of warfare each hero, 'twas claimed, could a battle sustain; Yet by none of the three in this battle hath a foeman been conquered, or slain! In the future for all of these champions shall scorn and much mocking befall: One man hath come forth from yon castle; alone he hath wounded them all-- Such disgrace for such heroes of valour no times that are past ever saw, For three lords of the battle lie conquered by mannikins, fashioned of straw!" [FN#84] Spelt Bricriu. The usual epithet of Bricriu, "Bricriu of the Poison Tongue," is indicated in the verse rendering. "Ah! woe is me," said Bricroo, "how long, thus stretched on ground, The length of Father Fergus hath here by all been found! But one he sought to conquer; a single fight essayed, And here he met his victor, and low on land is laid." Then rose the men of Ulster a hardy war to wage, And forward rushed, though naked, in strong and stubborn rage: Against the castle gateway in wrathful might they dashed, And down the shattered portal within the castle crashed. Then close by Ulster's champions was Connaught's battle formed; And Connaught's troops with Ulster by might the castle stormed; But fitly framed for battle were men whom there they met, Wild war, where none showed pity between the hosts was set: And well they struck; each hero commenced with mighty blows To crush and slay, destruction was heaped by foe on foes. Of the wounding at length and the slaughter all weary the champions had grown, And the men who the castle of Ailill had held were at length over thrown: Of those who were found in that castle, and its walls had defended so well, Seven hundred by warriors of Ulster were smitten to death, and they fell: And there in his castle fell Ailill the Fair-haired, and fighting he died, And a thirty of sons stood about him, and all met their death by his side. The chief of those who perished, by Ailill's side who stood Within his hold, were Noodoo;[FN#85] and Awley[FN#86] named the Good; And Feeho[FN#87] called the Broad-backed; and Corpre Cromm the Bent; An Ailill, he from Breffny to help of Ailill went; A three whose name was Angus-fierce was each warrior's face; Three Eochaid, sea-girt Donnan[FN#88] had cradled erst their race; And there fell seven Breslen, from plains of Ay[FN#89] who came; And fifty fell beside them who all had Donnell's name. [FN#85] Spelt Nuado. [FN#86] Spelt Amalgaid. [FN#87] Spelt Fiacho. [FN#88] Irross Donnan, the promontory of Donnan (now Mayo). [FN#89] Mag Ai, a plain in Roscommon. For to Ailill the Fair-Haired for warfare had marched all the Gamanra[FN#90] clan, And his friends from the sea-girded Donnan had sent to his aid every man; All these had with Ailill been leaguered, their help to him freely they brought, And that aid from them Ailill. took gladly, he knew that his hold would be sought; He knew that the exiles of Ulster his captives from prison would save, And would come, their surrender demanding; that Ailill mac Mata and Maev Would bring all Connaught's troops to the rescue: for Fergus that aid they would lend, And Fergus the succour of Connaught could claim, and with right, as a friend. [FN#90] Spelt Gamanrad. Hero clans in Erin three of old were found; One in Irross Donnan, oceans Donnan bound, Thence came Clan Gamanra; Deda's warlike clan Nursed in Tara Loochra[FN#91] many a fighting man. Deda sprang from Munster; far in Ulster's north Oft from Emain Macha Rury's[FN#92] clan went forth: Vainly all with Rury strove to fight, the twain Rury's clan hath vanquished; Rury all hath slain! [FN#91] Temair Luachra, an ancient palace near Abbeyfeale, on the borders of the counties of Limerick and Kerry. "Tara," as is well known, is a corruption of Temair, but is now established. [FN#92] Spelt Rudraige. Then rose up the warriors of Ulster, the hold they had conquered to sack; And the folk of Queen Maev and King Ailill followed close on the Ulstermen's track: And they took with them captives; for Flidais away from her castle they tore; And the women who dwelt in the castle away to captivity bore: And all things therein that were precious they seized on as booty; the gold And the silver they seized, and the treasures amassed by the men of that hold: The horns, and the goblets for drinking, the vats for the ale, and the keys, The gay robes with all hues that were glowing lay there for the raiders to seize: And much cattle they took; in that castle were one hundred of milk giving kine; And beside them a seven score oxen; three thousand of sheep and of swine. Then Flidais went with Fergus, his wedded wife to be; For thus had Maev and Ailill pronounced their high decree: They bade that when from Cualgne to drive the kine they went, From those who then were wedded should aid for war be sent. And thus it fell thereafter: when Ireland went that Raid, By milk from cows of Flidais, the lives of all were stayed; Each seventh day she sent it; and thus fulfilled her vows, And thus the tale is ended, men tell of Flidais' Cows. Then, all that Raid accomplished, with Fergus Flidais dwell And he of Ulster's kingdom a part in lordship held: He ruled in Mag I Murthemne[FN#92], yea, more than that, he won The land where once was ruler Cuchulain, Sualtam's son: And by the shore of Bali thereafter Flidais died, And naught of good for Fergus did Flidais' death betide: For worse was all his household; if Fergus aught desired, From Flidais' wealth and bounty came all his soul required. In the days that followed, when his wife was dead, Fergus went to Connaught; there his blood was shed: There with Maev and Ailill he a while would stay; Men had made a story, he would learn the lay! There he went to cheer him, hearing converse fair: Kine beside were promised; home he these would bear: So he went to Croghan, 'twas a deadly quest, There he found his slaughter, death within the west: Slain by jealous Ailill, Fergus low was laid: Flidais' tale is ended: now comes Cualgne's Raid! [FN#92] Pronounced Maw Moortemmy THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS LITERAL TRANSLATION Flidais was the wife of Ailill Finn (the Fair-haired) in the district of Kerry.[FN#93] She loved Fergus the son of Rog on account of the glorious tales about him; and always there went messengers from her to him at the end of each week. [FN#93] Kerry is the district now called Castlereagh, in the west of the present county of Roscommon. So, when he came to Connaught, he brought this matter before[FN#94] Ailill: "What[FN#95] shall I do next in this matter?" said Fergus: "it is hard for me to lay bare your land, without there being loss to thee of honour and renown therewith." "Yes, what shall we do next in the matter?" said Ailill; "we will consider this in counsel with Maev." "Let one of us go to Ailill Finn," (said Maev), "that he may help us, and as this involves a meeting of some one with him, there is no reason why it should not be thyself who goest to him: the gift will be all the better for that!" [FN#94] i.e. Ailill of Connaught. [FN#95] This sentence to the end is taken from the Egerton version, which seems the clearer; the Book of Leinster gives: "What shall I do next, that there be no loss of honour or renown to thee in the matter?" Then Fergus set out thereon, in number thirty men; the two Ferguses (i.e. Fergus mac Rog, and Fergus mac Oen-lama) and Dubhtach; till they were at the Ford of Fenna in the north of the land of Kerry. They go to the burg, and welcome is brought to them.[FN#96] "What brings you here?" said Ailill Finn. "We had the intention of staying with you on a visit, for we have a quarrel with Ailill the son of Magach." [FN#96] The Book of the Dun Cow (Leabhar na h-Uidhri) version begins at this point. "If it were one of thy people who had the quarrel, he should stay with me until he had made his peace. But thou shalt not stay," said Ailill Finn, "it has been told me that my wife loves thee!" "We must have a gift of cows then," said Fergus, "for a great need lies on us, even the sustenance of the troop who have gone with me into exile." "Thou shalt carry off no such present from me," he said, "because thou art not remaining with me on a visit. Men will say that it is to keep my wife that I gave thee what thou hast required. I[FN#97] will give to your company one ox and some bacon to help them, if such is your pleasure." "I will eat not thy bread although offered (lit. however)," said Fergus, "because I can get no present of honour from thee!" [FN#97] L.L. and Egerton make the end of this speech part of the story: "There was given to them one ox with bacon, with as much as they wished of beer, as a feast for them." "Out of my house with you all, then!" said Ailill. "That shall be," said Fergus; "we shall not begin to lay siege to thee and they betake themselves outside. "Let a man come at once to fight me beside a ford at the gate of this castle!" said Fergus. "That[FN#98] will not for the sake of my honour be refused," said Ailill; "I will not hand it (the strife) over to another: I will go myself," said he. He went to a ford against him. "Which of us," said Fergus, "O Dubhtach, shall encounter this man?" "I will go," said Dubhtach; "I am younger and keener than thou art!" Dubhtach went against Ailill. Dubhtach thrust a spear through Ailill so that it went through his two thighs. He (Ailill) hurled a javelin at Dubhtach, so that he drove the spear right through him, (so that it came out) on the other side. [FN#98] The end of the speech is from L.L.: the L.U. text gives the whole speech thus: "For my honour's sake, I could not draw back in this matter." Fergus threw his shield over Dubhtach. The former (Ailill) thrust his spear at the shield of Fergus so that he even drove the shaft right through it. Fergus mac Oen-laimi comes by. Fergus mac Oen-laimi holds a shield in front of him (the other Fergus). Ailill struck his spear upon this so that it was forced right through it. He leaped so that he lay there on the top of his companions. Flidais comes by from the castle, and throws her cloak over the three. Fergus' people took to flight; Ailill pursues them. There remain (slain) by him twenty men of them. Seven of them escape to Cruachan Ai, and tell there the whole story to Ailill and Medb. Then Ailill and Medb arise, and the nobles of Connaught and the exiles from Ulster: they march into the district of Kerry Ai with their troops as far as: the Ford of Fenna. Meanwhile the wounded men were being cared for by Flidais in the castle, and their healing was undertaken by her. Then the troops come to the castle. Ailill Finn is summoned to Ailill mac Mata to come to a conference with him outside the castle. "I will not go," he said; "the pride and arrogance of that man there is great." It was,[FN#99] however, for a peaceful meeting that Ailill mac Mata had come to Ailill the Fair-haired, both that he might save Fergus, as it was right he should, and that he might afterwards make peace with him (Ailill Fair haired), according to the will of the lords of Connaught. [FN#99] This passage is sometimes considered to be an interpolation by a scribe or narrator whose sympathies were with Connaught. The passage does not occur in the Book of Leinster, nor in the Egerton MS. Then the wounded men were brought out of the castle, on hand-barrows, that they might be cared for by their own people. Then the men attack him (Ailill Finn): while they are storming the castle, and they could get no hold on him, a full week long went it thus with them. Seven times twenty heroes from among the nobles of Connaught fell during the time that they (endeavoured) to storm the castle of Ailill the Fair-haired. "It was with no good omen that with which you went to this castle," said Bricriu. "True indeed is the word that is spoken," said Ailill mac Mata. "The expedition is bad for the honour of the Ulstermen, in that their three heroes fall, and they take not vengeance for them. Each one (of the three) was a pillar of war, yet not a single man has fallen at the hands of one of the three! Truly these heroes are great to be under such wisps of straw as axe the men of this castle! Most worthy is it of scorn that one man has wounded you three!" "O woe is me," said Bricriu, "long is the length upon the ground of my Papa Fergus, since one man in single combat laid him low!" Then the champions of Ulster arise, naked as they were, and make a strong and obstinate attack in their rage and in the might of their violence, so that they forced in the outer gateway till it was in the midst of the castle, and the men of Connaught go beside them. They storm the castle with great might against the valiant warriors who were there. A wild pitiless battle is fought between them, and each man begins to strike out against the other, and to destroy him. Then, after they had wearied of wounding and overcoming one another, the people of the castle were overthrown, and the Ulstermen slay seven hundred warriors there in the castle with Ailill the Fair-Haired and thirty of his sons; and Amalgaid the Good;[FN#100] and Nuado; and Fiacho Muinmethan (Fiacho the Broad-backed); and Corpre Cromm (the Bent or Crooked); and Ailill from Brefne; and the three Oengus Bodbgnai (the Faces of Danger); and the three Eochaid of Irross (i.e. Irross Donnan); and the seven Breslene from Ai; and the fifty Domnall. [FN#100] "The Good" is in the Book of Leinster and the Egerton text, not in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri: the two later texts omit Nuado. For the assembly of the Gamanrad were with Ailill, and each of the men of Domnan who had bidden himself to come to him to aid him: they were in the same place assembled in his castle; for he knew that the exiles from Ulster and Ailill and Medb with their army would come to him to demand the surrender of Fergus, for Fergus was under their protection. This was the third race of heroes in Ireland, namely the Clan Gamanrad of Irross Donnan (the peninsula of Donnan), and (the other two were) the Clan Dedad in Temair Lochra, and the Clan Rudraige in Emain Macha. But both the other clans were destroyed by the Clan Rudraige. But the men of Ulster arise, and with them the people of Medb and of Ailill; and they laid waste the castle, and take Flidais out of the castle with them, and carry off the women of the castle into captivity; and they take with them all the costly things and the treasures that were there, gold and silver, and horns, and drinking cups, and keys, and vats; and they take what there was of garments of every colour, and they take what there was of kine, even a hundred milch-cows, and a hundred and forty oxen, and thirty hundred of little cattle. And after these things had been done, Flidais went to Fergus mac Rog according to the decree of Ailill and Medb, that they might thence have sustenance (lit. that their sustenance might be) on the occasion of the Raid of the Cows of Cualgne. As[FN#101] a result of this, Flidais was accustomed each seventh day from the produce of her cows to support the men of Ireland, in order that during the Raid she might provide them with the means of life. This then was the Herd of Flidais. [FN#101] L.L. and Egerton give "For him used every seventh day," &c. In consequence[FN#102] of all this Flidais went with Fergus to his home, and he received the lordship of a part of Ulster, even Mag Murthemni (the plain of Murthemne), together with that which had been in the hands of Cuchulain, the son of Sualtam. So Flidais died after some time at Trag Bàli (the shore of Bali), and the state of Fergus' household was none the better for that. For she used to supply all Fergus' needs whatsoever they might be (lit. she used to provide for Fergus every outfit that he desired for himself). Fergus died after some time in the land of Connaught, after the death of his wife, after he had gone there to obtain knowledge of a story. For, in order to cheer himself, and to fetch home a grant of cows from Ailill and Medb, he had gone westwards to Cruachan, so that it was in consequence of this journey that he found his death in the west, through the jealousy of Ailill. [FN#102] L.L. and Egerton give "thereafter," adopted in verse translation. This, then, is the story of the Tain bo Flidais; it[FN#103] is among the preludes of the Tain bo Cualnge. [FN#103] This sentence does not occur in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri. It is given as in the Egerton version: the Book of Leinster gives "it is among the preludes of the Tain." THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN (TAIN BO REGAMNA) INTRODUCTION This tale is given by the same two manuscripts that give the Tain bo Dartada and the Tain bo Regamon; namely the Yellow Book of Lecan, and Egerton 1782. The text of both is given by Windisch, Irische Texte, II. pp. 239-254; he gives a translation of the version in the Yellow Book, with a few insertions from the Egerton MS., where the version in Y.B.L. is apparently corrupt: Miss Hull gives an English translation of Windisch's rendering, in the Cuchullin Saga, pages 103 to 107. The prose version given here is a little closer to the Irish than Miss Hull's, and differs very little from that of Windisch. The song sung by the Morrigan to Cuchulain is given in the Irish of both versions by Windisch; he gives no rendering, as it is difficult and corrupt: I can make nothing of it, except that it is a jeering account of the War of Cualgne. The title Tain bo Regamna is not connected with anything in the tale, as given; Windisch conjectures "Tain bo Morrigna," the Driving of the Cow of the Great Queen (Morrigan); as the woman is called at the end of the Egerton version. The Morrigan, one of the three goddesses of war, was the chief of them: they were Morrigan, Badb, and Macha. She is also the wife of the Dagda, the chief god of the pagan Irish. The Yellow Book version calls her Badb in this tale, but the account in the Tain bo Cualnge (Leabhar na h-Uidhri facsimile, pp. 74 and 77), where the prophecies are fulfilled, agrees with the Egerton version in calling the woman of this tale the Morrigan or the Great Queen. THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN (ALSO CALLED "TAIN BO REGAMNA") FROM THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (FOURTEENTH CENTURY) AT Dun Imrid lay Cuchulain,[FN#104] and slept, when a cry rang out; And in fear he heard from the north-land come ringing that terrible shout: He fell, as he woke from his slumber, with the thud of a weight, to the ground, From his couch on that side of the castle that the rising sun first found. He left his arms in the castle, as the lawns round its walls he sought, But his wife, who followed behind him, apparel and arms to him brought: Then he saw his harnessed chariot, and Laeg,[FN#105] his charioteer, From Ferta Laig who drave it: from the north the car drew near: "What bringeth thee here?" said Cuchulain: said Laeg, "By a cry I was stirred, That across the plain came sounding." "And whence was the cry thou hast heard?" "From the north-west quarter it travelled, it crossed the great Cayll[FN#106] Cooen road!" "Follow on, on that track," said Cuchulain, "till we know what that clamour may bode!" [FN#104] Pronounced Cu-hoolin. [FN#105] Pronounced Layg. [FN#106] Spelt Caill Cuan. At the ford of the Double Wonder, at Ah[FN#107] Fayrta, the car made stand For a chariot rattled toward them, from the clay-soiled Coolgarry[FN#108] land And before them came that chariot; and strange was the sight they saw: For a one-legged chestnut charger was harnessed the car to draw; And right through the horse's body the pole of the car had passed, To a halter across his forehead was the pole with a wedge made fast: A red woman sat in the chariot, bright red were her eyebrows twain A crimson cloak was round her: the folds of it touched the plain: Two poles were behind her chariot: between them her mantle flowed; And close by the side of that woman a mighty giant strode; On his back was a staff of hazel, two-forked, and the garb he wore Was red, and a cow he goaded, that shambled on before. [FN#107] Spelt Ath Ferta, or more fully Ath da Ferta, the ford of the two marvels. [FN#108] Spelt Culgaire. To that woman and man cried Cuchulain, "Ye who drive that cow do wrong, For against her will do ye drive her!" "Not to thee doth that cow belong," Said the woman; "no byre of thy comrades or thy friends hath that cow yet barred." "The kine of the land of Ulster," said Cuchulain, "are mine to guard!" "Dost thou sit on the seat of judgment?" said the dame, "and a sage decree On this cow would'st thou give, Cuchulain?--too great is that task for thee!" Said the hero, "Why speaketh this woman? hath the man with her never a word?" "'Twas not him you addressed," was her answer, "when first your reproaches we heard." "Nay, to him did I speak," said Cuchulain, "though 'tis thou to reply who would'st claim!" 'Ooer-gay-skyeo-loo-ehar-skyeo[FN#109] is the name that he bears," said the dame. [FN#109] Spelt Uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo "'Tis a marvellous name!" said Cuchulain, "if from thee all my answer must come, Let it be as thou wishest; thy comrade, this man, as it seemeth, is dumb. Tell me now of thine own name, O woman." "Faebor-bayg-byeo-ill,"[FN#110] said the man. "Coom-diewr-folt-skayv-garry-skyeo-ooa is her name, if pronounce it you can!" Then Cuchulain sprang at the chariot: "Would ye make me a fool with your jest?" He cried, as he leapt at the woman; his feet on her shoulders he pressed, And he set on her head his spear-point: "Now cease from thy sharp weapon-play!" Cried the woman. Cuchulain made answer: Thy name to me truth fully say!" "Then remove thyself from me!" she answered: I am skilled in satirical spells; The man is called Darry I mac Feena[FN#111]: in the country of Cualgne[FN#112] he dwells; I of late made a marvellous poem; and as fee for the poem this cow Do I drive to my home." "Let its verses," said Cuchulain," be sung to me now!" "Then away from me stand!" said the woman: "though above me thou shakest thy spear, It will naught avail thee to move me." Then he left her, but lingered near, Between the poles of her chariot: the woman her song then sang; And the song was a song of insult. Again at the car he sprang, But nothing he found before him: as soon as the car he had neared, The woman, the horse, and the chariot, the cow, and the man disappeared. [FN#110] Spelt Faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-seenb-gairit-sceo-uath. [FN#111] Spelt Daire mac Fiachna: he is the owner of the Dun of Cualgne in the Great Tain. [FN#112] Pronounced Kell-ny. At a bird on a bough, as they vanished, a glance by Cuchulain was cast, And he knew to that bird's black body the shape of the woman had passed: As a woman of danger I know you," he cried, "and as powerful in spell!" From to-day and for ever," she chanted, "this tale in yon clay-land shall dwell!" And her word was accomplished; that region to-day is the Grella Dolloo,[FN#113] The Clay-land of Evil: its name from the deeds of that woman it drew. [FN#113] Spelt Grellach Dolluid. "Had I known it was you," said Cuchulain, "not thus had you passed from my sight!" And she sang, "For thy deed it is fated that evil shall soon be thy plight!" Thou canst. do naught against me," he answered. "Yea, evil in sooth can I send; Of thy Bringer of Death I am guardian, shall guard it till cometh thine end: From the Under-world Country of Croghan this cow have I driven, to breed By the Dun Bull of Darry[FN#114] Mae Feena, the Bull that in Cualgne doth feed. So long as her calf be a yearling, for that time thy life shall endure; But, that then shall the Raid have beginning, the dread Raid of Cualgne, be sure." [FN#114] Spelt Daire mac Fiachna. "Nay, clearer my fame shall be ringing," the hero replied," for the Raid: All bards, who my deeds shall be singing, must tell of the stand that I made, Each warrior in fight shall be stricken, who dares with my valour to strive: Thou shalt see me, though battle-fields thicken, from the Tain Bo returning alive!" "How canst thou that strife be surviving?" the woman replied to his song, "For, when thou with a hero art striving, as fearful as thou, and as strong, Who like thee in his wars is victorious, who all of thy feats can perform, As brave, and as great, and as glorious, as tireless as thou in a storm, Then, in shape of an eel round thee coiling, thy feet at the Ford I will bind, And thou, in such contest when toiling, a battle unequal shalt find." "By my god now I swear, by the token that Ulstermen swear by," he cried; "On a green stone by me shall be broken that eel, to the Ford if it glide: From woe it shall ne'er be escaping, till it loose me, and pass on its way!" And she said: "As a wolf myself shaping, I will spring on thee, eager to slay, I will tear thee; the flesh shall be rended from thy chest by the wolf's savage bite, Till a strip be torn from thee, extended from the arm on thy left to thy right! With blows that my spear-shaft shall deal thee," he said, "I will force thee to fly Till thou quit me; my skill shall not heal thee, though bursts from thy head either eye!" I will come then," she cried, "as a heifer, white-skinned, but with ears that are red, At what time thou in fight shalt endeavour the blood of a hero to shed, Whose skill is full match for thy cunning; by the ford in a lake I will be, And a hundred white cows shall come running, with red ears, in like fashion to me: As the hooves of the cows on thee trample, thou shalt test 'truth of men in the fight': And the proof thou shalt have shall be ample, for from thee thy head they shall smite!" Said Cuchulain: "Aside from thee springing, a stone for a cast will I take, And that stone at thee furiously slinging, thy right or thy left leg will break: Till thou quit me, no help will I grant thee." Morreegan,[FN#115] the great Battle Queen, With her cow to Rath Croghan departed, and no more by Cuchulain was seen. For she went to her Under-World Country: Cuchulain returned to his place. The tale of the Great Raid of Cualgne this lay, as a prelude, may grace. [FN#115] Spelt Morrigan. THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN LITERAL TRANSLATION When Cuchulain lay in his sleep at Dun Imrid, there he heard a cry from the north; it came straight towards him; the cry was dire, and most terrifying to him. And he awaked in the midst of his sleep, so that he fell, with the fall of a heavy load, out of his couch,[FN#116] to the ground on the eastern side of his house. He went out thereupon without his weapons, so that he was on the lawns before his house, but his wife brought out, as she followed behind him, his arms and his clothing. Then he saw Laeg in his harnessed chariot, coming from Ferta Laig, from the north; and "What brings thee here?" said Cuchulain. "A cry," said Laeg, "that I heard sounding over the plains. "On what side was it?" said Cuchulain. "From the north-west it seemed," said Laeg, "that is, across the great road of Caill Cuan."[FN#117] "Let us follow after to know of it (lit. after it, to it for us)," said Cuchulain. [FN#116] Or "out of his room." The word is imda, sometimes rendered "bed," as here by Windisch sometimes also "room," as in the Bruidne da Derga by Whitley Stokes. [FN#117] Lough Cuan was the old name for Strangford Lough. They went out thereupon till they came to Ath da Ferta. When they were there, straightway they heard the rattle of a chariot from the quarter of the loamy district of Culgaire. Then they saw the chariot come before them, and one chestnut (lit. red) horse in it. The horse was one footed, and the pole of the chariot passed through the body of the horse, till a wedge went through it, to make it fast on its forehead. A red[FN#118] woman was in the chariot, and a red mantle about her, she had two red eye-brows, and the mantle fell between the two ferta[FN#119] of her chariot behind till it struck upon the ground behind her. A great man was beside her chariot, a red[FN#120] cloak was upon him, and a forked staff of hazel at his back, he drove a cow in front of him. [FN#118] The above is the Egerton text: the text of Y.B.L. gives "A red woman there, with her two eyebrows red, and her cloak and her raiment: the cloak fell," &c. [FN#119] It is not known certainly what the ferta were: Windisch translates "wheels," but does not give this meaning in his Dictionary: the ferta were behind the car, and could be removed to sound the depth of a ford. It is suggested that they were poles, projecting behind to balance the chariot; and perhaps could be adjusted so as to project less or farther. [FN#120] This is the Egerton text; the Y.B.L. text gives "a tunic forptha on him the meaning of forptha is unknown. "That cow is not joyful at being driven by you!" said Cuchulain. "The cow does not belong to you," said the woman, "she is not the cow of any friend or acquaintance of yours." "The cows of Ulster," said Cuchulain, "are my proper (care)." "Dost thou give a decision about the cow?" said the woman; "the task is too great to which thy hand is set, O Cuchulain." "Why is it the woman who answers me?" said Cuchulain, "why was it not the man?" "It was not the man whom you addressed," said the woman. "Ay," said Cuchulain, "(I did address him), though thyself hath answered for him:" "h-Uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo[FN#121] is his name," said she. [FN#121] Cold-wind-and-much-rushes. "Alas! his name is a wondrous one," said Cuchulain. "Let it be thyself who answers,[FN#122] since the man answers not. What is thine own name?" said Cuchulain. "The woman to whom thou speakest," said the man, "is Faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-scenbgairit-sceo-uath."[FN#123] "Do ye make a fool of me?" cried Cuchulain, and on that Cuchulain sprang into her chariot: he set his two feet on her two shoulders thereupon, and his spear on the top of her head. "Play not sharp weapons on me!" "Name thyself then by thy true name!" said Cuchulain. "Depart then from me!" said she: "I am a female satirist in truth," she said, "and he is Daire mac Fiachna from Cualnge: I have brought the cow as fee for a master-poem." "Let me hear the poem then," said Cuchulain. "Only remove thyself from me," said the woman; "it is none[FN#124] the better for thee that thou shakest it over my head." Thereon he left her until he was between the two poles (ferta) of her chariot, and she sang to him[FN#125] . . . . . . Cuchulain threw a spring at her chariot, and he saw not the horse, nor the woman, nor the chariot, nor the man, nor the cow. [FN#122] Y.B.L. corrupt; Egerton version adopted here. [FN#123] Little-mouthed-edge-equally-small-hair-short-splinter-much-clamour. [FN#124] Not is it better for thee that" is in Egerton alone. [FN#125] See the introduction for the omission of the poem. Then he saw that she had become a black bird upon a branch near to him. "A dangerous[FN#126] (or magical) woman thou art," said Cuchulain: "Henceforward," said the woman, "this clay-land shall be called dolluid (of evil,)" and it has been the Grellach Dolluid ever since. "If only I had known it was you," said Cuchulain, "not thus should we have separated." "What thou hast done," said she, "shall be evil to thee from it." "Thou hast no power against me," said Cuchulain. "I have power indeed," said the woman; "it is at the guarding of thy death that I am; and I shall be," said she. "I brought this cow out of the fairy-mound of Cruachan, that she might breed by the Black Bull[FN#127] of Cualnge, that is the Bull of Daire Mae Fiachna. It is up to that time that thou art in life, so long as the calf which is in this cow's body is a yearling; and it is this that shall lead to the Tain bo Cualnge." "I shall myself be all the more glorious for that Tain," said Cuchulain: "I shall slay their warriors: I shall break their great hosts: I shall be survivor of the Tain." [FN#126] Windisch is doubtful about the meaning of this word. He gives it as "dangerous" in his translation; it may also mean "magical," though he thinks not. In a note he says that the meaning "dangerous" is not certain. [FN#127] In Egerton "the Dun of Cualnge." "In what way canst thou do this?" said the woman, "for when thou art in combat against a man of equal strength (to thee), equally rich in victories, thine equal in feats, equally fierce, equally untiring, equally noble, equally brave, equally great with thee, I will be an eel, and I will draw a noose about thy feet in the ford, so that it will be a great unequal war for thee." "I swear to the god that the Ulstermen swear by," said Cuchulain, "I will break thee against a green stone of the ford; and thou shalt have no healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "I will in truth be a grey wolf against thee," said she, "and I will strip a stripe[FN#128] from thee, from thy right (hand) till it extends to thy left." [FN#128] This word is left doubtful in Windisch's translation. The word is breth in Y.B.L. and breit in Egerton. Breit may be a strip of woollen material, or a strip of land; so the meaning of a strip of flesh seems possible. "I will beat thee from me," said he, "with the spear, till thy left or thy right eye bursts from thy head, and thou shalt never have healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "I shall in truth," she said, "be for thee as a white heifer with red ears, and I will go into a lake near to the ford in which thou art in combat against a man who is thine equal in feats, and one hundred white, red-eared cows shall be behind me and 'truth of men' shall on that day be tested; and they shall take thy head from thee." "I will cast at thee with a cast of my sling," said Cuchulain, "so as to break either thy left or thy right leg from under thee; and thou shalt have no help from me if thou leavest me not." They[FN#129] separated, and Cuchulain went back again to Dun Imrid, and the Morrigan with her cow to the fairy mound of Cruachan; so that this tale is a prelude to the Tain bo Cualnge. [FN#129] All this sentence up to "so that this tale" is from the Egerton version. The Yellow Book of Lecan gives "The Badb thereon went from him, and Cuchulain went to his own house, so that," &c. TEXT OF LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI GIVING THE CONCLUSION OF THE "COURTSHIP OF ETAIN" INTRODUCTION The following pages give, with an interlinear word for word[FN#130] translation, the text of Leabhar na h-Uidhri, page 130 b. line 19 to the end of page 132 a. of the facsimile. The text corresponds to the end of the tale of the Court ship of Etain in vol. i., from page 27, line 21, to the end of the story; it also contains the poem which is in that volume placed on page 26, but occurs in the manuscript at the place where the first line of it is quoted on page 30 of vol. i. [FN#130] The Irish idiom of putting the adjective after the noun is not always followed in the translation. It is hoped that the text may be found to be convenient by scholars: special care has been taken to make it accurate, and it has not, with the exception of the poem just referred to, been published before except in the facsimile; the remainder of the text of the L.U. version of the Courtship of Etain, together with the poem, has been given by Windisch in the first volume of the Irische Texte. The immediate object of the publication of this text, with its interlinear translation, is however somewhat different; it was desired to give any who may have become interested in the subject, from the romances contained in the two volumes of this collection, some idea of their exact form in the original, and of the Irish constructions and metres, as no Irish scholarship is needed to follow the text, when supplemented by the interlinear translation. The translation may be relied on, except for a few words indicated by a mark of interrogation. The passage is especially well suited to give an idea of the style of Irish composition, as it contains all the three forms used in the romances, rhetoric, regular verse, and prose: the prose also is varied in character, for it includes narrative, rapid dialogue, an antiquarian insertion, and two descriptive passages. The piece of antiquarian information and the resume of the old legend immediately preceding the second rhetoric can be seen to be of a different character to the flowing form of the narrative proper; the inserted passage being full of explanatory words, conid, issairi, is aice, &c., and containing no imagery. The two descriptions, though short, are good examples of two styles of description which occur in some other romances; neither of these styles is universal, nor are they the only styles; the favour shown to one or the other in a romance may be regarded as a characteristic of its author. The first style, exemplified by the description of Mider's appearance, consists of a succession of images presented in short sentences, sometimes, as in this case, with no verb, sometimes with the verb batar or a similar verb repeated in each sentence, but in all cases giving a brilliant word-picture, absolutely clear and definite, of what it is intended to convey. The second style, exemplified here by the description of the horses that Mider offers to Eochaid, consists of a series of epithets or of substantives, and is often imitated in modern Irish. These passages are usually difficult to translate, as many words appear to be coined for the purpose of the descriptions; but, in the best writings, the epithets are by no means arbitrary; they are placed so as to contrast sharply with each other, and in many cases suggest brilliant metaphors; the style being in this respect more like Latin than English. Absolutely literal translations quite fail to bring out the effect of such passages; for not only is the string of adjectives a distinctively Irish feature, but both in English and in Greek such metaphors are generally expressed more definitely and by short sentences. There is also a third style of description which does not appear in the prose of any of the romances in this collection, but appears often in other romances, as in the Bruidne da Derga, Bricriu's Feast, and the Great Tain; it resembles the first style, but the sentences are longer, yet it does not give clear descriptions, only leaving a vague impression. This style is often used for descriptions of the supernatural; it may be regarded as actual reproductions of the oldest pre-Christian work, but it is also possible that it is the result of legends, dimly known to the authors of the tales, and represented by them in the half-understood way in which they were apprehended by them: the Druidic forms may have been much more clear. Such passages are those which describe Cuchulain's distortions; the only passage of the character in this collection is in the verse of the Sick-bed, vol. i. page 77. Five of the romances in the present collection have no descriptive passages in the prose; the Combat at the Ford and the Tain bo Fraich show examples of both the first and the second form, but more often the first; the Tain bo Regamna, though a very short piece, also shows one example of each; for the description of the goblins met by Cuchulain is quite clear, and cannot be regarded as belonging to the third form. There is also one case of the second form in the Tain bo Dartada, and two other cases of the first in the Court ship of Etain-one in the Egerton, one in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version. The best example of the first style is in the Egerton version of Etain (vol. i. page 12); the best example of the second is the description of Cuchulain's horses (vol. i. page 128); a still better example of contrasts in such a description is in the Courtship of Ferb (Nutt, page 23). The piece of regular verse contained in the extract should give a fair idea of the style of this form of composition. Description is common in the verse, and it is in this case a prominent feature. It may be noted that lines 8, 16, 23, 26 will not scan unless the present diphthongs are divided, also that the poem has fewer internal rhymes than is usual in this regular verse. The two passages in rhetoric, for so I take them to be, are good examples of the style. An attempt has been made to divide them into lines, but this division is open to criticism, especially as some lines in one of the two passages cannot be translated, and the translation of some other lines is doubtful: the division suggested does, however, appear to me to give a rough metre and occasional rhymes. It is possible that, if attention is called to those lines which are at present untranslatable, something may be done for them. The verse translations given in vol. i. pages 27 and 29, give the meaning that I take the Irish to bear where I can get any meaning at all. As to the text, the usual abbreviation for n has in general not been italicized, nor has that for fri; all other abbreviations, including acht, final n in the symbol for con, and that for or in the recognized symbol for for, have been italicized. In the rhetorics, owing to their difficulty, the abbreviation for n has been italicized throughout; the symbol for ocus is not italicised. A few conjectures have been inserted, the text being given as a foot-note; a conjectured letter supposed to be missing has been inserted in brackets, and a restoration by Professor Strachan of a few letters where the MS. is torn are similarly placed in brackets. The rest of the text is carefully copied from the facsimile, including the glosses, which are inserted above the words in the same places that they occupy in the manuscript. TEXT WITH INTERLINEAR TRANSLATION Fecht n-aile asraracht Eochaid Airem ri Temrach la n-alaind Another time arose Eochaid Airem. king of Tara on a beautiful day i n-amsir samrata frisocaib[FN#131] for sosta na Temrach do imcaisiu maigi Breg, in time of summer, mounted on heights of Tara for viewing of plain of Breg, [FN#131] A conjecture: MS. fosrocaib= fo-s-ro-od-gaib, an unknown compound. boi fo a li ocus fo bluth cach datha. Am-imracacha inti was good its colour, and good blossom of every hue. When looked about the aforesaid Eochaid imbi, co acca inn oclaech n-ingnad for sin sossad[FN#132] inna Eoebaid around him, he saw the young warrior unknown on the height beside [FN#132] A conjecture: MS. tossad. chomairi. Fuan corcair imbi, ocus mong or-budi fair co brainni him. Tunic purple about him, and hair gold-yellow on him to edges a da imdae. Rosc cainlech glas ina chind. Sleg coicrind ina laim. of his two shoulders. Eye lustrous gray in his head. Spear five-pointed in his hand. Sciath taulgel ina laim con gemaib oir forri. Sochtais Eochaid, ar ni Shield white-bossed in his hand with gems of gold on it. Was silent Eochaid, for not fitir a bith isin Temraig inn aidehi riam, ocus ni orslaiethe ind lis he knew of his being in the Tara the night before, and not was opened the Liss in trath sin. Tolluid ar inchaib Eochoda iarsain asbert Eochaid iarom, at that hour. He came under protection of Eochaid thereon; said Eochaid then, fochen dond laech nad athgenmar. Is ed doroehtmar or in welcome to the hero whom we know not. It is for that we have come, said the t-oclaech. Ni tathgenmar or Eochaid. Atotgensa chetus ol in (young) warrior. We know thee not, said Eochaid. I know thee indeed, said the t-oclaech. Cia th'ainm seo? ol Eochaid. Ni airdairc son, ol se, warrior. What (is) thy own name? said Eochaid. Not illustrious that, said he, Mider Breg Leith. Cid dotroacht ol Eochaid. Do imbert fidcille Mider of Bri Leith. What brought thee? said Eochaid. To play at chess frit-su ol se. Am maith se em, ol Eochaid for fithchill. A fromad with thee, said he. I am good myself truly, said Eochaid, at chess-play. Its essaying dun ol Mider. Ata ol Eochaid, ind rigan ina cotlud, is le in tech to us! said Mider. Is, said Eochaid, the queen in her sleep, it is hers the house ata ind fithchell. Ata sund chenae, ol Mider, fidchell nad where is the chessboard. There is here yet, said Mider, a chessboard which is not messo. Ba fir on, clar n-argit ocus fir oir, ocus fursunnud cacha worse. Was true that, a board of silver and men of gold, and shining in every hairidi for sin clar di liic logmair, ocus fer-bolg di figi rond credumae. direction on that board of costly stones, and a men-bag of woven chains of brass. Ecraid Mider in fidchill iarsin. Imbir ol Mider. Ni immer acht Set out Mider the chessboard thereupon. Play! said Mider. Not will I play, except di giull ol Eochaid. Cid gell bias and? ol Mider. Cumma lim ol for a stake, said Eochaid. What stake shall be here? said Mider. Equal to me, said Eochaid. Rot-bia lim-sa ol Mider mad tu beras mo thochell, Eochaid. Thou shalt have from me, said Mider, if thou carry off my stake, L. gabur n-dub-glas ite cend-brecca, croderga, biruich, 50 horses of dark-gray, and they with dappled heads, blood-red, with ears pricked high, bruin-lethain, bolg(s)roin, coss choela, comrassa, faeborda,[FN#133] femendae,[FN#133] chests broad, nostrils distended, feet thin, strong, keen, ? vehement, aurarda, aignecha, so-(a)staidi,[FN#133] so very high, spirited, easily stopped, [FN#133] See Bruidne da Derga (Stokes), 50, 51, faeborda, lit. with an edge on them; femendae? = Lat. vehemens; soaistidi is the form adopted by Stokes in his edition of the Bruidne; Egerton MS. gives soastaide. There is a gap here, a complete column being torn from the manuscript. The lost part obviously describes the issue of the chess game or games, and the penalties demanded by Bochaid: what these penalties were is plain from the succeeding story. The work of Mider and his folk in paying these penalties must also have been described: the next column (Leabhar na h- Uidhri, 131 b. of the facsimile) opens thus: iarsin doberar uir ocus grian ocus clocha for sin monai. Fri etna thereupon is, placed earth and gravel and stones on the bog. Over foreheads dam dano-batar fedmand la firu h-Erind cosind n-aidchi sin, co of oxen then were yokes among men of Ireland till that very night, when n-aicces la lucht in t-side for a formnaib. Dognith it was seen (tbLat they were) among people of the Mounds on their shoulders. It was done samlaid la Eochaid, conid de ata do som. Echaid Airem, ar so by Eochaid, so that hence is to himself (the name of) Echaid Airem, for is aice toisech tucad cuing for muinelaib dam do ferand h-Erind. Is it is by him first was put yoke on necks of oxen for land of Ireland. This ed dino and food ro boi im belaib in t-sluaig oc denam in tocuir: is then there word which was on lips of the host at making of the causeway: Rhetoric-- Cuire illaim, Put into hand tochra illaim, place (it) into hand aurdairc damrad trathaib iar fuin noble (are) oxen for hours after sunset for trom ailges very heavy request ni fes cuich les it is not known to whom (is) gain cuich amles de thochur dar moin Lamraige. to whom harm from the causeway over moor of Lamrach. Ni biad isin bith tochur bad ferr mani bethe oca There would not be in the world a causeway which is better, if not (men) had been at n-descin Forracbad de bochtae and iartain. Iarsin dolluid the seeing them. Was left on that account a breach there thenceforth. Thereupon came in rechtaire co Echaid ocus adfet scela in mor fedma, atconnaire the steward to Echaid, and made known tales of the great serving band, that he saw fiadai, ocus asbert nad rabi for fertas in betha cumachta before him, and said that there was not on the chariot pole of life a power dodrosce de. Am batar for a m-briathraib co n-accatar Mider that excelled it. When they were at their talking they saw Mider (come) chucu. Ard chustal ocus droch gne fair. Atrigestar Eochaid, to them. High ? girt (he was), and evil face (was) on him.? Rose ?[FN#134] Eochaid, [FN#134] This is a possible rendering, taking the word as a deponent form of atregaim. It would be more natural to take the word as from adagur; being equivalent to ad-d-raigestar, and to mean "feared him," but this does not agree with Eoebaid's general attitude. ocus ferais faelti fri. Is ed dorochtmar ol Mider. Is toreda ocus is and gave welcome to him. It is for that we have come, said Mider. It is cruel and is di-cheill no tai frim, mor decrai ocus mor aingcessa do thabairt form senseless thou art to me, great hardship and great suffering thy bestowing on me adethaind ni bad maith lat chena acht is bairnech mo menma frit. I used to get what seemed good to thee still but is angry my mind against thee. Ni bara fri bure dait-siu on do-gignestar do menma for Eochaid. Not anger against anger: to thyself the thing that shall choose thy mind, said Eochaid. Gebthar dano, ol Mider. Inn imberam fidchill? for Mider. Cid gell It shall be done then, said Mider. Shall we play at chess? said Mider. What stake bias and? for Eochaid. Gell adcobra cechtar da lina for shall be there? said Eochaid. The stake that wishes each of the two parties, said Mider. Berar tochell n-Echdach alla sin. Rucais mo Mider. Is carried off stake of Echaid in that very place. Thou hast carried off my thocell, for Eebaid. Mad ail dam no-beraind o chianaib, stake, said Echaid. If wish to me (had been) I could have carried it off long since, for Mider. Cacht cid adcobrai form-sa? for Echaid. Di laim im said Mider. Question what wishest thou from myself? said Echaid. Two arms about etain, ocus poc di ol Mider. Sochtais Echaid la, sodain, ocus asbert, Etain, and a kiss from her, said Mider. Was silent Echaid thereon, and said, tis dia mis on diu, doberthar dait ani sin. In thou shalt come in a month from to-day, (and) shall be given to thee that very thing. The bliadain ria tuidecht do Mider co Echaid do imbert na fidehille boi oc year before the coming of Mider to Echaid for playing of the chess was he at tochmarc etaine, ocus nis n-etad leis. Is ed ainm dobered Mider wooing of Etain, and nothing was found by him. This is the name used to give Mider di: befind conide asbert: to her: fair-haired lady, so that thence he said: a be find in raga lim O fair-haired lady, wilt thou come with me i tir n-ingnad hi fil rind into a land marvellous, that is music? Is barr sobarche folt and (thus) is the top of the head, of primrose the hair there, is dath snechta corp co ind: is colour of snow the body to the head: Is and nad bi mui na tai, It is there not will be 'mine' or 'thine,' gela det and, dubai brai, white teeth there, black eyebrows, Is li sula lin ar sluag,[FN#135] is colour of eyes number of our hosts, [FN#135] A conjecture by Windisch. Text gives sluaig the genitive singular, which does not rhyme. [FN#136]no is brece is dath sion and cech gruad: or is many-coloured is hue of foxglove there each cheek: [FN#136] The three glosses are interesting. It may be noted that the last two certainly follow the word (above the line in which it occurs) that they seem to gloss: it is therefore probable that the first does so too; the two lines of a couplet are on the same line in the manuscript. It {footnote p. 156} seems then possible that the gloss "it is many-coloured" refers, not to the foxglove, but to the preceding line, "the colour of eyes is number of our hosts," and that the writer of this gloss gave the same meaning to the rather hard description of the colour of the eyes as is given in the verse translation (vol. i. p. 26), i.e. that the eyes had changing lights and shapes. We must hope, for the credit of his taste, that he did not think of the cheeks as many-coloured or freckled, but his gloss of lossa does not seem happy. The meaning "growth" is taken from O'Reilly's Dictionary. no lossa Is corcair maige cach muin,[FN#137] or growth? is purple of a plain each neck, [FN#137] A conjecture (Str.), main, treasure, is in the text: this does not rhyme, nor give good sense; note, however, that muin has no accent-the text gives one. no is dath is li sula ugai luin: or is hue is colour of eyes (that of) eggs of a blackbird: cid cain deicsiu maigi Fail though pleasant (is) seeing plains of Fal (isle of Destiny) annam iar gnais maige mair. a wilderness[FN#138] after knowledge of the Great Plain. [FN#138] This meaning for annam is doubtful; the sense of "seldom" is established for the word; the line possibly means "it will seldom be so after," &c. Cid mesc lib coirm inse Fail, Though intoxicating to you (is) ale of the island Fal, is mescu coirm tire mair, is more intoxicating the ale of the country great, amra tire tir asbiur, a wonder of a land the land I mention, ni theit oac and re siun. not goes a young man there before an old man. Srotha teith millsi tar tir, Streams warm (and) sweet through the land, rogu de mid ocus fin, choice of mead and wine, doini delgnaidi, cen on, men ? handsome, without blemish, combart cen pecead, cen col. conception without sin without crime. Atchiam cach for each leth, We see all on every side, ocus ni-conn acci nech; and yet not sees us anyone temel imorbais adaim the cloud of the sin of Adam do-don-archeil[FN#139] ar araim encompasses us from reckoning [FN#139] From tairchellaim. A ben dia ris mo thuaith tind, O woman, if thou wilt come to my people strong, is barr oir bias fort chind, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, inue ur, laith, lemnacht la lind pork unsalted, ale, new milk for drink rot bia lim and, a be find, a be find. shall be to thee with me there, O woman fair-haired. [a gap, 9 letters lost] i atumchotaise om aithech tige rag-sa, [a gap, thou obtainest me from my master of the house I will go, [9 letters lost] fetai, ni rag. Is iarsin dolluid Mider (L.U. 130 a.) co canst, not will I go. It is thereon came Mider to Echaid, ocus damair a thochell fochetoir co m-beth fôlo acai Echaid, and yields his stake immediately that may be (cause) of reproach for him do Echaid, is airi roic na comada mora, ocus issairi is to Echaid, it is therefore he paid the great stakes, and on that account it is (that) fo anfis con atig a gell. Conid iarsin giull adrubrad in tan tra under ignorance that he asked his wager. So that after that wager it was said when now ro boi Mider cona muinter oc ic comad na aidehi, i. in tochor, ocus was Mider and his folk at paying the stake of the night, that is, the causeway, and di-chlochad Midi, ocus luachair Tetbai, ocus fid dar Breg: isse[FN#140] seo clearing stones off Meath, and rushes of Tethba and forest over Breg: it is he this [FN#140] Grammar not clear: perhaps the Irish is corrupt (Str.). an no foclad boi oca muinter amal atbert lebor drom snechta: what used to say was with his folk as says Book of Drom-snechta: Rhetoric-- Cuirthe illand: Put on the field: tochre illand: Put close on the field airderg dararad: very red oxen: trom in choibden: heavy the troop clunithar fir ferdi. Which hears ?really-manly buidni balc-thruim crand-chuir troops for strong heavy setting of trees forderg saire fedar of very red ?oaks[FN#141] are led [FN#141] Reading daire for saire. sechuib slimprib snithib past them on twisted wattles: scitha lama: weary are hands, ind rosc cloina: the eye ?slants aside? fobith oen mna because of one woman Duib in digail: To you the revenge, duib in trom-daim:[FN#142] to you the heavy ?oxen [FN#142] A conjecture. MS. gives trom-daim. tairthim flatho fer ban: splendour of sovereignty over white men: fomnis, fomnis, in fer m-braine cerpae fomnis diad dergæ ? ? ? fer arfeid solaig ? fri aiss esslind ? fer bron for-ti ? sorrow shall, come on the man? i. more ertechta inde ? lamnado luachair rushes for di Thethbi over?two Tethbas di-chlochad[FN#143] Midi clearing stones from Meath [FN#143] A conjecture. MS. gives dilecad (Str.) indracht ? coich les, coich amles to whom the benefit, to whom the harm thocur dar clochach? moin.[FN#144] causeway over stony moor. [FN#144] The last line in the Ms. is t d c m. Dalis Mider dia mis Fochiallastar (i. rotinoil). Echaid formna Mider appointed a meeting for the end of a month. Echaid assembled (i.e. collected)troops. laech la-erend com batar hi Temrach, ocus an ro po dech do fiannaib of heroes of Ireland so that they were in Tara, and what was best of champions h-Erind, cach cuaird imm araile im Temrach immedon ocus a nechtair, of Ireland, each ring about another, around Tara im the middle, and outside it ocus is-tig. Ocus in ri ocus in rigan immedon in taigi, ocus ind lis and within. And the king and the queen in the middle of the house, and its Liss iatai fo glassaib, ar ro fetatar do t-icfad fer in mar cumacht. Etain shut under locks, for they knew that would comie of insen the great might. Etain boi ocon dail ind aidehi sin forsna flathi, ar ba sain dana disi dal. was dispensing that night to the princes, for it was meet then for her pouring (of the wine) Am batar iarom fora. m-briathraib, co accatar Mider chucu for When they were thereon at their talking they saw Mider (come) to them on lar ind rigthige. Ba cain som dogres ba caini dana inn aidehi sin. the floor of the royal palace. He was fair always, was fairer then on that night. Tosbert im mod na slûag ateonnairc. Sochsit uli iarom ocus He brought to amazement the hosts that he saw.[FN#145] Were silent all thereon, and [FN#145] Reading atcondairc (Str.). ferais in ri faelti fris. Is ed dorochtmar ol Mider. An ro gella the king gave welcome to him. It is this we have come for, said Mider. What was promised dam-sa or se, tucthar dam. Is fiach ma gelltar, an ro gellad to myself, said he, let it be given to me. It is a debt if a promise is given, tucus dait-siu. Ni imrordusa for Echaid, ani sin co se. I have given to thee. Not have I thought on, said Echaid, that very thing up to now. Atrugell etain fein dam-sa, ol Mider, ticht uait-siu. Thou hast promised Etain herself to me, said Mider, message (lit. a coming) from you. Imdergthar im Etain la, sodain. Na imdergthar imut for Mider, ni There was a blush on Etain thereupon. Let there be no blush on thee, said Mider, not droch banas duit-siu. Atu-sa, ol si, bliadain oc do chuingid com evil marriage-feast to thee. I am myself, said he, a year at seeking thee with mainib ocus setaib at aildem in ere, ocus ni tucus-sa treasures and jewels that are the most beautiful in Ireland and not I took thee comad chomarlecud do Echaid. Ni -la-deoas damsa ce till there should be permission of Echaid. Not by good-will to me any dotchotaind. Atrubart-sa frit-su ol si, conom rire Echaid, getting thee. I myself said to thyself, said she, until Echaid gives me up nit rius. Atometha lat ar mo chuit fein, dia nom rire Echaid. not will I come to thee. Take me with thee for my own part, if me Echaid will give up. Nit ririub immorro, for Echaid, acht tabrad a di laim Not thee will I give up however, said Echaid, but (I give) a placing of his two hands imut for lar in tige, amal ro gabais. Dogentar for Mider. about thee on floor of the house, as thou art. It shall be done! said Mider. i. mider Atetha a gaisced ina laim cli, ocus gabais in mnai fo a leth-oxail dess, that is, Mider He took his weapons in his hand left, and took the woman under his shoulder right, ocus focois-le for forles in tige. Conerget in-t-sluaig imon rig and carried her off over skylight of the house. Pose up the hosts, about the king iar melacht forro, co n-accatar in da ela timchell na Temra. Is ed after a disgrace on them, they saw the two swans around Tara. It is this, ro gabsat do sid ar Femun. Ocus luid Echaid co fomno they took (the road) to elfmound about about Femun. And went Echaid with a troop fer n-Erend imbi do sith ar Femun i. sid ban-find. of men of Ireland about him to elf mound about Femun i.e. elfmound of the fair-haired women. B (a si com)[FN#146] arli fer n-Erend, fochlaid each sid [a gap, 12 letters lost] That was the counsel of the men of Ireland, he dug up each elf-mound. [FN#146] The letters in parentheses are a conjecture by Strachan, to fill up a gap in the manuscript. tised a ben. do uadib, Foce [a gap of 13 letters, rest of the version lost.] should come his wife to him from them. 
14749	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. See 14749-h.htm or 14749-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/7/4/14749/14749-h/14749-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/7/4/14749/14749-h.zip) THE HIGH DEEDS OF FINN AND OTHER BARDIC ROMANCES OF ANCIENT IRELAND by T. W. ROLLESTON With an Introduction by Stopford A. Brooke, M.A. LL.D. And with Sixteen Illustrations by Stephen Reid New York Thomas Y. Crowell & Company Publishers AR CRAOIBH CONNARTHA NA GAEDHILGE I NGLEANN FHAIDHLE BRONNAIM AN LEABHAR SEO: BEANNACHT AGUS BUAIDH LIBHSE GO DEO Preface The romantic tales here retold for the English reader belong neither to the category of folk-lore nor of myth, although most of them contain elements of both. They belong, like the tales of Cuchulain, which have been similarly presented by Miss Hull,[1] to the bardic literature of ancient Ireland, a literature written with an artistic purpose by men who possessed in the highest degree the native culture of their land and time. The aim with which these men wrote is also that which has been adopted by their present interpreter. I have not tried, in this volume, to offer to the scholar materials for the study of Celtic myth or folk-lore. My aim, however I may have fulfilled it, has been artistic, not scientific. I have tried, while carefully preserving the main outline of each story, to treat it exactly as the ancient bard treated his own material, or as Tennyson treated the stories of the MORT D'ARTHUR, that is to say, to present it as a fresh work of poetic imagination. In some cases, as in the story of the Children of Lir, or that of mac Datho's Boar, or the enchanting tale of King Iubdan and King Fergus, I have done little more than retell the bardic legend with merely a little compression; but in others a certain amount of reshaping has seemed desirable. The object in all cases has been the same, to bring out as clearly as possible for modern readers the beauty and interest which are either manifest or implicit in the Gaelic original. [1] CUCHULAIN, THE HOUND OF ULSTER. By Eleanor Hull. For stories which are only found in MSS. written in the older forms of the language, I have been largely indebted to the translations published by various scholars. Chief among these (so far as the present work is concerned) must be named Mr Standish Hayes O'Grady--whose wonderful treasure-house of Gaelic legend, SILVA GADELICA, can never be mentioned by the student of these matters without an expression of admiration and of gratitude; Mr A.H. Leahy, author of HEROIC ROMANCES OF IRELAND; Dr Whitly Stokes, Professor Kuno Meyer, and M. d'Arbois de Jubainville, whose invaluable CYCLE MYTHOLOGIQUE IRLANDAIS has been much in my hands, both in the original and in the excellent English translation of Mr R.I. Best. Particulars of the source of each story will be found in the Notes on the Sources at the end of this volume. In the same place will also be found a pronouncing-index of proper names. I have endeavoured, in the text, to avoid or to modify any names which in their original form would baffle the English reader, but there remain some on the pronunciation of which he may be glad to have a little light. The two most conspicuous figures in ancient Irish legend are Cuchulain, who lived--if he has any historical reality--in the reign of Conor mac Nessa immediately before the Christian era, and Finn son of Cumhal, who appears in literature as the captain of a kind of military order devoted to the service of the High King of Ireland during the third century A.D. Miss Hull's volume has been named after Cuchulain, and it is appropriate that mine should bear the name of Finn, as it is mainly devoted to his period; though, as will be seen, several stories belonging to other cycles of legend, which did not fall within the scope of Miss Hull's work, have been included here.[2] All the tales have been arranged roughly in chronological order. This does not mean according to the date of their composition, which in most cases is quite indiscoverable, and still less, according to the dates of the MSS. in which they are contained. The order is given by the position, in real or mythical history, of the events they deal with. Of course it is not practicable to dovetail them into one another with perfect accuracy. Where a story, like that of the Children of Lir, extends over nearly a thousand years, beginning with the mythical People of Dana and ending in the period of Christian monasticism, one can only decide on its place by considering where it will throw most light on those which come nearest to it. In this, as in the selection and treatment of the tales, there is of course room for much difference of opinion. I can only ask the critic to believe that nothing has been done in the framing of this collection of Gaelic romances without the consideration and care which the value of the material demands and which the writer's love of it has inspired. T.W. ROLLESTON [2] There is one important tale of the Finn cycle, the _Pursuit of Dermot and Grania_, which I have not included. I have omitted it, partly because it presents the character of Finn in a light inconsistent with what is said of him elsewhere, and partly because it has in it a certain sinister and depressing element which renders it unsuitable for a collection intended largely for the young. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION COIS NA TEINEADH BARDIC ROMANCES I. THE STORY OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR II. THE QUEST OF THE SONS OF TURENN III. THE SECRET OF LABRA IV. KING IUBDAN AND KING FERGUS V. THE CARVING OF MAC DATHO'S BOAR VI. THE VENGEANCE OF MESGEDRA VII. THE STORY OF ETAIN AND MIDIR VIII. HOW ETHNE QUITTED FAIRYLAND THE HIGH DEEDS OF FINN IX. THE BOYHOOD OF FINN MAC CUMHAL X. THE COMING OF FINN XI. FINN'S CHIEF MEN XII. THE TALE OF VIVIONN THE GIANTESS XIII. THE CHASE OF THE GILLA DACAR XIV. THE BIRTH OF OISÍN XV. OISÍN IN THE LAND OF YOUTH THE HISTORY OF KING CORMAC XVI. 1. THE BIRTH OF CORMAC 2. THE JUDGMENT OF CORMAC 3. THE MARRIAGE OF KING CORMAC 4. THE INSTRUCTIONS OF THE KING 5. CORMAC SETS UP THE FIRST MILL IN ERINN 6. A PLEASANT STORY OF CORMAC'S BREHON 7. THE JUDGMENT CONCERNING CORMAC'S SWORD 8. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF CORMAC 9. DESCRIPTION OF CORMAC 10. DEATH AND BURIAL OF CORMAC NOTES ON THE SOURCES PRONOUNCING INDEX ILLUSTRATIONS "FINN HEARD FAR OFF THE FIRST NOTES OF THE FAIRY HARP" (Frontispiece) "THERE SAT THE THREE MAIDENS WITH THE QUEEN" "THEY MADE AN ENCAMPMENT AND THE SWANS SANG TO THEM" "BEAR US SWIFTLY, BOAT OF MANANAN, TO THE GARDEN OF THE HESPERIDES" "THERE DWELT THE RED-HAIRED OCEAN-NYMPHS" "THEY ALL TROOPED OUT, LORDS AND LADIES, TO VIEW THE WEE MAN" "FERGUS GOES DOWN INTO THE LAKE" "A MIGHTY SHOUT OF EXULTATION AROSE FROM THE ULSTERMEN" "THEY ROSE UP IN THE AIR" "SHE HEARD HER OWN NAME CALLED AGAIN AND AGAIN" "AND THAT NIGHT THERE WAS FEASTING AND JOY IN THE LONELY HUT" "THEY RAN HIM BY HILL AND PLAIN" "DERMOT TOOK THE HORN AND WOULD HAVE FILLED IT" "'FOLLOW ME NOW TO THE HILL OF ALLEN'" "THEY RODE UP TO A STATELY PALACE" "THE WHITE STEED HAD VANISHED FROM THEIR EYES LIKE A WREATH OF MIST" Introduction Many years have passed by since, delivering the Inaugural Lecture of the Irish Literary Society in London, I advocated as one of its chief aims the recasting into modern form and in literary English of the old Irish legends, preserving the atmosphere of the original tales as much as possible, but clearing them from repetitions, redundant expressions, idioms interesting in Irish but repellent in English, and, above all, from absurdities, such as the sensational fancy of the later editors and bards added to the simplicities of the original tales. Long before I spoke of this, it had been done by P.W. Joyce in his OLD CELTIC ROMANCES, and by Standish O'Grady for the whole story of Cuchulain, but in this case with so large an imitation of the Homeric manner that the Celtic spirit of the story was in danger of being lost. This was the fault I had to find with that inspiring book,[3] but it was a fault which had its own attraction. [3] I gave this book--_The History of Ireland_ (HEROIC PERIOD)--to Burne-Jones in order to interest him in Irish myth and legend. "I'll try and read it," he said. A week afterwards he came and said--"It is a new world of thought and pleasure you have opened to me. I knew nothing of this, and life is quite enlarged. But now, I want to see all the originals. Where can I get them?" I have only spoken of prose writing above. But in poetry (and in Poetry well fitted to the tales), this work had already been done nobly, and with a fine Celtic splendour of feeling and expression, by Sir Samuel Ferguson. Since then, a number of writers have translated into literary English a host of the Irish tales, and have done this with a just reverence for their originals. Being, in nearly every case, Irish themselves, they have tried, with varying success, to make their readers realize the wild scenery of Ireland, her vital union with the sea and the great ocean to the West, those changing dramatic skies, that mystic weather, the wizard woods and streams which form the constant background of these stories; nor have they failed to allure their listeners to breathe the spiritual air of Ireland, to feel its pathetic, heroic, imaginative thrill. They have largely succeeded in their effort. The Irish bardic tales have now become a part of English literature and belong not only to grown up persons interested in early poetry, in mythology and folk-customs, but to the children of Ireland and England. Our new imaginative stories are now told in nurseries, listened to at evening when the children assemble in the fire-light to hear tales from their parents, and eagerly read by boys at school. A fresh world of story-telling has been opened to the imagination of the young. This could not have been done in the right way if it had not been for the previous work of Celtic scholars in Ireland, and particularly on the Continent, in France and Germany. Having mastered medieval Irish, they have translated with careful accuracy many of the ancient tales, omitting and changing nothing; they have edited them critically, collating and comparing them with one another, and with other forms of the same stories. We have now in English, French, and German the exact representation of the originals with exhaustive commentaries. When this necessary work was finished--and it was absolutely necessary--it had two important results on all work of the kind Mr Rolleston has performed in this book--on the imaginative recasting and modernizing of the ancient tales. First, it made it lawful and easy for the modern artist--in sculpture, painting, poetry, or imaginative prose--to use the stories as he pleased in order to give pleasure to the modern world. It made it lawful because he could reply to those who objected that what he produced was not the real thing--"The real thing exists; you will find it, when you wish to see it, accurately and closely translated by critical and competent scholars. I refer you to the originals in the notes to this book. I have found the materials of my stories in these originals; and it is quite lawful for me, now that they have been reverently preserved, to use them as I please for the purpose of giving pleasure to the modern world--to make out of them fresh imaginative work, as the medieval writers did out of the original stories of Arthur and his men." This is the defence any re-caster of the ancient tales might make of the _lawfulness_ of his work, and it is a just defence; having, above all, this use--that it leaves the imagination of the modern artist free, yet within recognized and ruling limits, to play in and around his subject. One of those limits is the preservation, in any remodelling of the tales, of the Celtic atmosphere. To tell the Irish stories in the manner of Homer or Apuleius, in the manner of the Norse sagas, or in the manner of Malory, would be to lose their very nature, their soul, their nationality. We should no longer understand the men and women who fought and loved in Ireland, and whose characters were moulded by Irish surroundings, customs, thoughts, and passions. We should not see or feel the landscape of Ireland or its skies, the streams, the woods, the animals and birds, the mountain solitudes, as we feel and see them in the original tales. We should not hear, as we hear in their first form, the stormy seas between Scotland and Antrim, or the great waves which roar on the western isles, and beat on cliffs which still belong to another world than ours. The genius of Ireland would desert our work. And it would be a vast pity to lose the Irish atmosphere in the telling of the Irish tales, because it is unique; not only distinct from that of the stories of other races, but from that of the other branches of the Celtic race. It differs from the atmosphere of the stories of Wales, of Brittany, of the Highlands and islands of Scotland. It is more purely Celtic, less mixed than any of them. A hundred touches in feeling, in ways of thought, in sensitiveness to beauty, in war and voyaging, and in ideals of life, separate it from that of the other Celtic races. It is owing to the careful, accurate, and critical work of continental and Irish scholars on the manuscript materials of Irish Law, History, Bardic Tales, and Poetry; on customs, dress, furniture, architecture, ornament, on hunting and sailing; on the manners of men and women in war and peace, that the modern re-teller of the Irish tales is enabled to conserve the Irish atmosphere. And this conservation of the special Irish atmosphere is the second result which the work of the critical scholars has established. If the re-writer of the tales does not use the immense materials made ready to his hand for illustration, expansion, ornament and description in such a way that Ireland, and only Ireland, lives in his work from line to line, he is greatly to be blamed. Mr Rolleston has fulfilled these conditions with the skill and the feeling of an artist. He has clung closely to his originals with an affectionate regard for their ancientry, their ardour and their distinction, and yet has, within this limit, used and modified them with a pleasant freedom. His love of Ireland has instilled into his representation of these tales a passion akin to that which gave them birth. We feel, as we read, how deep his sympathy has been with their intensity, their love of wild nature, their desire for beauty, their interest in humanity and in character, their savagery and their tenderness, their fairy magic and strange imaginations that suddenly surprise and charm. Whenever anything lovely emerges in the tale, he does not draw attention to it, but touches it with so artistic a pencil that its loveliness is enhanced. And he has put into English verse the Irish poems scattered through the tales with the skill and the temper of a poet. I hope his book will win what it deserves--the glad appreciation of old and young in England, and the gratitude of Ireland. The stories told in this book belong to three distinct cycles of Irish story-telling. The first are mythological, and are concerned with the early races that are fabled to have dwelt and fought in Ireland Among these the Tuatha De Danaan were the final conquerors, and held the land for two hundred years They were, it is supposed, of the Celtic stock, but they were not the ancestors of the present Irish. These were the Milesians (Irish, Scots or Gaelic who, conquering the Tuatha De Danaan, ruled Ireland till they were overcome by the English.) The stories which have to do with the Tuatha De Danaan are mythical and of a great antiquity concerning men and women, the wisest and the best of whom became gods, and who appear as divine beings in the cycle of tales which follow after them They were always at war with a fierce and savage people called Fomorians, whom they finally defeated and the strife between them may mythically represent the ancient war between the good and evil principles in the world. In the next cycle we draw nearer to history, and are in the world not of myth but of legend. It is possible that some true history may be hidden underneath its sagas, that some of its personages may be historical, but we cannot tell. The events are supposed to occur about the time of the birth of Christ, and seventeen hundred years after those of the mythical period. This is the cycle which collects its wars and sorrows and splendours around the dominating figure of Cuchulain, and is called the Heroic or the Red Branch or the Ultonian cycle. Several sagas tell of the birth, the life, and the death of Cuchulain, and among them is the longest and the most important--the Táin--the _Cattle Raid of Cooley_. Others are concerned with the great King Conor mac Nessa, and the most known and beautiful of these is the sorrowful tale of Deirdré. There are many others of the various heroes and noble women who belonged to the courts of Conor and of his enemy Queen Maev of Connaght. The _Carving of mac Datho's Boar_, the story of _Etain and Midir_, and the _Vengeance of Mesgedra_, contained in this book belong to these miscellaneous tales unconnected with the main saga of Cuchulain. The second cycle is linked to the first, not by history or race, but by the fact that the great personages in the first have now become the gods who intervene in the affairs of the wars and heroes of the second. They take part in them as the gods do in the Iliad and the Odyssey. Lugh, the Long-Handed, the great Counsellor of the Tuatha De Danaan, is now a god, and is the real father of Cuchulain, heals him of his wounds in the Battle of the Ford, warns him of his coming death, and receives him into the immortal land. The Morrigan, who descends from the first cycle, is now the goddess of war, and is at first the enemy and afterwards the lover of Cuchulain. Angus, The Dagda, Mananan the sea-god, enter not only into the sagas of the second cycle, but into those of the third, of the cycle of Finn. And all along to the very end of the stories, and down indeed to the present day, the Tuatha De Danaan appear in various forms, slowly lessening in dignity and power, until they end in the fairy folk in whom the Irish peasants still believe. They are alive and still powerful in the third--the Fenian--cycle of stories, some of which are contained and adorned in this book. In their continued presence is the only connexion which exists between the three cycles. No personages of the first save these of the gods appear in the Heroic cycle, none of the Heroic cycle appears in the Fenian cycle. Seventeen hundred years, according to Irish annalists, separate the first from the second, more than two hundred years separate the second from the beginning of the third. The third cycle is called Fenian because its legends tell, for the most part, of the great deeds of the Féni or Fianna, who were the militia employed by the High King to support his supremacy, to keep Ireland in order, to defend the country from foreign invasion. They were, it seems, finally organized by Cormac mac Art, 227 A.D.(?) the grandson of Conn the Hundred Fighter. But they had loosely existed before in the time of Conn and his son Art, and like all mercenary bodies of this kind were sometimes at war with the kings who employed them. Finally, at the battle of Gowra, they and their power were quite destroyed. Long before this destruction, they were led in the reign of Cormac by Finn the son of Cumhal, and it is around Finn and Oisín the son of Finn, that most of the romances of the Fenian cycle are gathered. Others which tell of the battles and deeds of Conn and Art and Cormac and Cairbre of the Liffey, Cormac's son, are more or less linked on to the Fenians. On the whole, Finn and his warriors, each of a distinct character, warlike skill and renown, are the main personages of the cycle, and though Finn is not the greatest warrior, he is their head and master because he is the wisest; and this masterdom by knowledge is for the first time an element in Irish stories. If the tales of the first cycle are mythological and of the second heroic, these are romantic. The gods have lost their dreadful, even their savage character, and have become the Fairies, full often of gentleness, grace, and humour. The mysterious dwelling places of the gods in the sea, in unknown lands, in the wandering air, are now in palaces under the green hills of Ireland, or by the banks of swift clear rivers, like the palace of Angus near the Boyne, or across the seas in Tir-na-n-Óg, the land of immortal youth, whither Niam brings Oisín to live with her in love, as Morgan le Fay brought Ogier the Dane to her fairyland. The land of the Immortals in the heroic cycle, to which, in the story of _Etain and Midir_ in this book, Midir brings back Etain after she has sojourned for a time on earth, is quite different in conception from the Land of Youth over the far seas where delightfulness of life and love is perfect. This, in its conception of an unknown world where is immortal youth, where stormless skies, happy hunting, strange adventure, gentle manners dwell, where love is free and time is unmarked, is pure romance. So are the adventures of Finn against enchanters, as in the story of the _Birth of Oisín_, of _Dermot in the Country under the Seas_, in the story of the _Pursuit of the Gilla Dacar_, of the wild love-tale of _Dermot and Grania_, flying for many years over all Ireland from the wrath of Finn, and of a host of other tales of enchantments and battle, and love, and hunting, and feasts, and discoveries, and journeys, invasions, courtships, and solemn mournings. No doubt the romantic atmosphere has been deepened in these tales by additions made to them by successive generations of bardic singers and storytellers, but for all that the original elements in the stories are romantic as they are not in the previous cycles. Again, these Fenian tales are more popular than the others. Douglas Hyde has dwelt on this distinction. "For 1200 years at least, they have been," he says, "intimately bound up with the thought and feelings of the whole Gaelic race in Ireland and Scotland." Even at the present day new forms are given to the tales in the cottage homes of Ireland. And it is no wonder. The mysterious giant forms of the mythological period, removed by divinity from the sympathy of men; the vast heroic figures of Cuchulain and his fellows and foes, their close relation to supernatural beings and their doings, are far apart from the more natural humanity of Cormac and Finn, of Dermot and Goll, of Oisín and Oscar, of Keelta, and last of Conan, the coward, boaster and venomous tongue, whom all the Fenians mocked and yet endured. They are a very human band of fighting men, and though many of them, like Oisín and Finn and Dermot, have adventures in fairyland, they preserve in these their ordinary human nature. The Connacht peasant has no difficulty in following Finn into the cave of Slieve Cullinn, where the witch turned him into a withered old man, for the village where he lives has traditions of the same kind; the love affairs of Finn, of Dermot and Grania, and of many others, are quite in harmony with a hundred stories, and with the temper, of Irish lovers. A closer, a simpler humanity than that of the other cycles pervades the Fenian cycle, a greater chivalry, a greater courtesy, and a greater tenderness. We have left the primeval savagery behind, the multitudinous slaughtering, the crude passions of the earlier men and women; we are nearer to civilization, nearer to the common temper and character of the Irish people. No one can doubt this who will compare the _Vengeance of Mesgedra_ with the _Chase of the Gilla Dacar_. The elaborate courtesy with which Finn and his chief warriors receive all comers, as in the story of Vivionn the giantess, is quite new, even medieval in its chivalry; so is the elaborate code of honour; so also is, on the whole, the treatment of women and their relation to men. How far this resemblance to medieval romance has been intruded into the stories--(there are some in which there is not a trace of it)--by the after editors and re-editors of the tales, I cannot tell, but however that may be, their presence in the Fenian cycle is plain; and this brings the stories into a kindlier and more pleasurable atmosphere for modern readers than that which broods in thunderous skies and fierce light over dreadful passions and battles thick and bloody in the previous cycles. We are in a gentler world. Another more modern romantic element in the Fenian legends is the delight in hunting, and that more affectionate relation of men to animals which always marks an advance in civilization. Hunting, as in medieval romance, is one of the chief pleasures of the Fenians. Six months of the year they passed in the open, getting to know every part of the country they had to defend, and hunting through the great woods and over the hills for their daily food and their daily delight. The story of the _Chase of the Gilla Dacar_ tells, at its beginning, of a great hunting and of Finn's men listening with joy to the cries of the hunters and the loud chiding of the dogs; and many tales celebrate the following of the stag and the wild boar from early dawn to the evening. Then Finn's two great hounds, Bran and Sceolaun, are loved by Finn and his men as if they were dear friends; and they, when their master is in danger or under enchantment wail like human beings for his loss or pain. It is true Cuchulain's horses weep tears of blood when he goes forth to his last battle, foreknowing his death; but they are immortal steeds and have divine knowledge of fate. The dogs of Finn are only dogs, and the relation between him and them is a natural relation, quite unlike the relation between Cuchulain and the horses which draw his chariot. Yet Finn's dogs are not quite as other dogs. They have something of a human soul in them. They know that in the milk-white fawn they pursue there is an enchanted maiden, and they defend her from the other hounds till Finn arrives. And it is told of them that sometimes, when the moon is high, they rise from their graves and meet and hunt together, and speak of ancient days. The supernatural has lessened since the heroic cycle. But it is still there in the Fenian. Again, the Fenian cycle of tales is more influenced by Christianity than the others are. The mythological cycle is not only fully pagan, it is primeval. It has the vastness, the savagery, the relentlessness of nature-myths, and what beauty there is in it is akin to terror. Gentleness is unknown. There is only one exception to this, so far as I know, and that is in the story of _The Children of Lir_. It is plain, however, that the Christian ending of that sorrowful story is a later addition to it. It is remarkably well done, and most tenderly. I believe that the artist who did it imported into the rest of the tale the exquisite tenderness which fills it, and yet with so much reverence for his original that he did not make the body of the story Christian. He kept the definite Christian element to the very end, but he filled the whole with its tender atmosphere. No Christianity and very little gentleness intrude into the heroic cycle. The story of Christ once touches it, but he who put it in did not lose the pagan atmosphere, or the wild fierceness of the manners of the time. How it was done may be read in this book at the end of the story of the _Vengeance of Mesgedra_. Very late in the redaction of these stories a Christian tag was also added to the tale of the death of Cuchulain, but it was very badly done. When we come to the Fenian cycle there is a well-defined borderland between them and Christianity. The bulk of the stories is plainly pagan; their originals were frankly so. But the temper of their composers is more civilized than that of those who conceived the tales of the previous cycles; the manners, as I have already said, of their personages are gentler, more chivalrous; and their atmosphere is so much nearer to that of Christianity, that the new Christian elements would find themselves more at home in them than in the terrible vengeance of Lugh, the savage brutality of Conor to Deirdré, or the raging slaughterings of Cuchulain. So much was this the case that a story was skilfully invented which linked in imagination the Fenian cycle to a Christianized Ireland. This story--_Oisín in the Land of Youth_--is contained in this book. Oisín, or Ossian, the son of Finn, in an enchanted story, lives for 300 years, always young, with his love in Tir-na-n-Óg, and finds on his return, when he becomes a withered old man, St Patrick and Christianity in Ireland. He tells to Patrick many tales of the Fenian wars and loves and glories, and in the course of them paganism and Christianity are contrasted and intermingled. A certain sympathy with the pagan ideas of honour and courage and love enters into the talk of Patrick and the monks, and softens their pious austerity. On the other hand, the Fenian legends are gentled and influenced by the Christian elements, in spite of the scorn with which Oisín treats the rigid condemnation of his companions and of Finn to the Christian hell, and the ascetic and unwarlike life of the monks.[4] There was evidently in the Fenian cycle of story-telling a transition period in which the bards ran Christianity and paganism in and out of one another, and mingled the atmosphere of both, and to that period the last editing of the story of _Lir and his Children_ may be referred. A lovely story in this book, put into fine form by Mr Rolleston, is as it were an image of this transition time--the story or _How Ethne quitted Fairyland_. It takes us back to the most ancient cycle, for it tells of the great gods Angus and Mananan, and then of how they became, after their conquest by the race who live in the second cycle, the invisible dwellers in a Fairy country of their own during the Fenian period, and, afterwards, when Patrick and the monks had overcome paganism. Thus it mingles together elements from all the periods. The mention of the great caldron and the swine which always renew their food is purely mythological. The cows which come from the Holy Land are Christian. Ethne herself is born in the house of a pagan god who has become a Fairy King, but loses her fairy nature and becomes human; and the reason given for this is an interesting piece of psychology which would never have occurred to a pagan world. She herself is a transition maiden, and, suddenly finding herself outside the fairy world and lost, happens on a monastery and dies on the breast of St Patrick. But she dies because of the wild wailing for her loss of the fairy-host, whom she can hear but cannot see, calling to her out of the darkened sky to come back to her home. And in her sorrow and the battle in her between the love of Christ and of Faerie, she dies. That is a symbol, not intended as such by its conceiver, but all the more significant, of the transition time. Short as it is, few tales, perhaps, are more deeply charged with spiritual meaning. [4] I speak here of the better known of the two versions of this encounter of the pagan with the Christian spirit. There are others in which the reconciliation is carried still further. One example is to be found in the _Colloquy of the Ancients_ (SILVA GADELICA). Here Finn and his companions are explicitly pronounced to be saved by their natural virtues, and the relations of the Church and the Fenian warriors are most friendly. Independent of these three cycles, but often touching them here and there, and borrowing from them, there are a number of miscellaneous tales which range from the earliest times till the coming of the Danes. The most celebrated of these are the _Storming of the Hostel_ with the death of Conary the High King of Ireland, and the story of the Boru tribute. Two examples of these miscellaneous tales of a high antiquity are contained in this book--_King Iubdan and King Fergus_ and _Etain and Midir_. Both of them have great charm and delightfulness. Finally, the manner in which these tales grew into form must be remembered when we read them. At first, they were not written down, but recited in hall and with a harp's accompaniment by the various bardic story-tellers who were attached to the court of the chieftain, or wandered singing and reciting from court to court. Each bard, if he was a creator, filled up the original framework of the tale with ornaments of his own, or added new events or personages to the tale, or mixed it up with other related tales, or made new tales altogether attached to the main personages of the original tale--episodes in their lives into which the bardic fancy wandered. If these new forms of the tales or episodes were imaginatively true to the characters round which they were conceived and to the atmosphere of the time, they were taken up by other bards and became often separate tales, or if a great number attached themselves to one hero, they finally formed themselves into one heroic story, such as that which is gathered round Cuchulain, which, as it stands, is only narrative, but might in time have become epical. Indeed, the Tàin approaches, though at some distance, an epic. In this way that mingling of elements out of the three cycles into a single Saga took place. Then when Christianity came, the Irish who always, Christians or not, loved their race and its stories, would not let them go. They took them and suffused them with a Christian tenderness, even a Christian forgiveness. Or they inserted Christian endings, while they left the rest of the stories as pagan as before. Later on, while the stories were still learned by the bards and recited, they were written down, and somewhat spoiled by a luxurious use of ornamental adjectives, and by the weak, roving and uninventive fancy of men and monks aspiring to literature but incapable of reaching it. However, in spite of all this intermingling and of the different forms of the same story, it is possible for an intelligent and sensitive criticism, well informed in comparative mythology and folklore, to isolate what is very old in these tales from that which is less old, and that in turn from that which is still less old, and that from what is partly historical, medieval or modern. This has been done, with endless controversy, by those excellent German, French, and Irish scholars who have, with a thirsty pleasure, recreated the ancient literature of Ireland, and given her once more a literary name among the nations--a name which, having risen again, will not lose but increase its brightness. * * * * * As to the stories themselves, they have certain well-marked characteristics, and in dwelling on these, I shall chiefly refer, for illustration, to the stories in this book. Some of these characteristic elements belong to almost all mythological tales, and arise from human imagination, in separated lands, working in the same or in a similar way on the doings of Nature, and impersonating them. The form, however, in which these original ideas are cast is, in each people, modified and varied by the animal life, the climate, the configuration of the country, the nearness of mountain ranges and of the sea, the existence of wide forests or vast plains, of swift rivers and great inland waters. The earliest tales of Ireland are crowded with the sea that wrapt the island in its arms; and on the west and north the sea was the mighty and mysterious Ocean, in whose far infinities lay for the Irish the land of Immortal Youth. Between its shining shores and Ireland, strange islands--dwelt in by dreadful or by fair and gracious creatures, whose wonders Maeldun and Brendan visited--lay like jewels on the green and sapphire waters. Out of this vast ocean emerged also their fiercest enemies. Thither, beyond these islands into the Unknown, over the waves on a fairy steed, went Oisín with Niam; thither, in after years, sailed St Brendan, till it seemed he touched America. In the ocean depths were fair cities and well-grassed lands and cattle, which voyagers saw through water thin and clear. There, too, Brian, one of the sons of Turenn, descended in his water-dress and his crystal helmet, and found high-bosomed maidens weaving in a shining hall. Into the land beneath the wave, Mananan, the proud god of the sea brought Dermot and Finn and the Fianna to help him in his wars, as is told in the story of the _Gilla Dacar_. On these western seas, near the land, Lir's daughters, singing and floating, passed three hundred years. On other seas, in the storm and in the freezing sleet that trouble the dark waves of Moyle, between Antrim and the Scottish isles, they spent another three centuries. Half the story of the Sons of Usnach has to do with the crossing of seas and with the coast. Even Cuchulain, who is a land hero, in one of the versions of his death, dies fighting the sea-waves. The sound, the restlessness, the calm, the savour and the infinite of the sea, live in a host of these stories; and to cap all, the sea itself and Mananan its god sympathise with the fates of Erin. When great trouble threatens Ireland, or one of her heroes is near death, there are three huge waves which, at three different points, rise, roaring, out of the ocean, and roll, flooding every creek and bay and cave and river round the whole coast with tidings of sorrow and doom. Later on, in the Fenian tales, the sea is not so prominent. Finn and his clan are more concerned with the land. Their work, their hunting and adventures carry them over the mountains and plains, through the forests, and by the lakes and rivers. In the stories there is scarcely any part of Ireland which is not linked, almost geographically, with its scenery. Even the ancient gods have retired from the coast to live in the pleasant green hills or by the wooded shores of the great lakes or in hearing of the soft murmur of the rivers. This business of the sea, this varied aspect of the land, crept into the imagination of the Irish, and were used by them to embroider and adorn their poems and tales. They do not care as much for the doings of the sky. There does not seem to be any supreme god of the heaven in their mythology. Neither the sun nor the moon are specially worshipped. There are sun-heroes like Lugh, but no isolated sun-god. The great beauty of the cloud-tragedies of storm, the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, so dramatic in Ireland, or the magnificence of the starry heavens, are scarcely celebrated. But the Irish folk have heard the sound of the wind in the tree-tops and marked its cold swiftness over the moor, and watched with fear or love the mists of ocean and the bewilderment of the storm-driven snow and the sweet falling of the dew. These are fully celebrated. These great and small aspects of Nature are not only celebrated, they are loved. One cannot read the stories in this book without feeling that the people who conceived and made them observed Nature and her ways with a careful affection, which seems to be more developed in the Celtic folk than elsewhere in modern Europe. There is nothing which resembles it in Teutonic story-telling. In the story of _The Children of Lir_, though there is no set description of scenery, we feel the spirit of the landscape by the lake where Lir listened for three hundred years to the sweet songs of his children. And, as we read of their future fate, we are filled with the solitude and mystery, the ruthlessness and beauty of the ocean. Even its gentleness on quiet days enters from the tale into our imagination. Then, too, the mountain-glory and the mountain-gloom are again and again imaginatively described and loved. The windings and recesses, the darkness and brightness of the woods and the glades therein, enchant the Fenians even when they are in mortal danger. And the waters of the great lakes, the deep pools of the rivers, the rippling shallows, the green banks, the brown rushing of the torrents, are all alive in the prose and song of Ireland. How deep was the Irish love of these delightful things is plain from their belief that "the place of the revealing of poetry was always by the margin of water." And the Salmon of Knowledge, the eating of which gave Finn his pre-eminence, swam in a green pool, still and deep, over which hung a rowan tree that shed its red berries on the stream. Lovely were the places whence Art and Knowledge came. Then, as to all good landscape lovers, the beasts, birds, and insects of Nature were dear to these ancient people. One of the things Finn most cared for was not only his hounds, but the "blackbird singing on Letterlee"; and his song, on page 114, in the praise of May, tells us how keen was his observant eye for animal life and how much it delighted him. The same minute realisation of natural objects is illustrated in this book when King Iubdan explains to the servant the different characteristics of the trees of the forest, and the mystic elements that abide in them. It was a habit, even of Teutonic poets, to tell of the various trees and their uses in verse, and Spenser and Drayton have both done it in later times. But few of them have added, as the Irish story does, a spiritual element to their description, and made us think of malign or beneficent elements attached to them. The woodbine, and this is a strange fancy, is the king of the woods. The rowan is the tree of the magicians, and its berries are for poets. The bramble is inimical to man, the alder is full of witchcraft, and the elder is the wood of the horses of the fairies. Into every tree a spiritual power is infused; and the good lords of the forest are loved of men and birds and bees. Thus the Irish love of nature led them to spiritualise, in another way than mythical, certain things in nature, and afterwards to humanise, up to a certain point, the noble implements wrought by human skill out of natural materials. And this is another element in all these stories, as it is in the folk-lore also of other lands. In the tale of the Sons of Turenn, the stones of the wayside tell to Lugh the story of the death of his father Kian, and the boat of Mananan, indwelt by a spirit, flies hither and thither over the seas, obeying the commands, even the thought, of its steersman. The soul of some famed spears is so hot for slaughter that, when it is not being used in battle, its point must stand in a bath of blood or of drowsy herbs, lest it should slay the host. The swords murmur and hiss and cry out for the battle; the shield of the hero hums louder and louder, vibrating for the encouragement of the warrior. Even the wheels of Cuchulain's chariot roar as they whirl into the fight. This partial life given to the weapons of war is not specially Celtic. Indeed, it is more common in Teutonic than in Celtic legend, and it seems probable that it was owing to the Norsemen that it was established in the Hero tales of Ireland. This addition of life, or of some of the powers of life, to tree and well and boulder-stone, to river and lake and hill, and sword and spear, is common to all mythologies, but the special character of each nation or tribe modifies the form of the life-imputing stories. In Ireland the tree, the stream were not dwelt in by a separate living being, as in Grecian story; the half-living powers they had were given to them from without, by the gods, the demons, the fairies; and in the case of the weapons, the powers they had of act or sound arose from the impassioned thoughts and fierce emotions of their forger or their wielder, which, being intense, were magically transferred to them. The Celtic nature is too fond of reality, too impatient of illusion, to believe in an actual living spirit in inanimate things. At least, that is the case in the stories of the Hero and the Fenian Cycles.[5] [5] Everything, on the contrary, in the Mythological Cycle is gifted with life, all the doings and things of nature are represented as the work of living creatures; but it is quite possible that those in Ireland who made these myths were not Celts at all. What the Irish of the Heroic, and still more of the Fenian Cycle, did make in their imagination was a world, outside of themselves, of living spiritual beings, in whose actuality they fully believed, and in whom a great number of them still believe. A nation, if I may use this term, dwelt under the sea. Another dwelt in the far island of the ocean, the Isle of the Ever-Young. Another dwelt in the land, in the green hills and by the streams of Ireland; and these were the ancient gods who had now lost their dominion over the country, but lived on, with all their courtiers and warriors and beautiful women in a country underground. As time went on, their powers were dwarfed, and they became small of size, less beautiful, and in our modern times are less inclined to enter into the lives of men and women. But the Irish peasant still sees them flitting by his path in the evening light, or dancing on the meadow round the grassy mound, singing and playing strange melodies; or mourns for the child they have carried away to live with them and forget her people, or watches with fear his dreaming daughter who has been touched by them, and is never again quite a child of this earth, or quite of the common race of man. These were the invisible lands and peoples of the Irish imagination; and they live in and out of many of the stories. Cuchulain is lured into a fairy-land, and lives for more than a year in love with Fand, Mananan's wife. Into another fairy-land, through zones of mist, Cormac, as is told here, was lured by Mananan, who now has left the sea to play on the land. Oisín, as I have already said, flies with Niam over the sea to the island of Eternal Youth. Etain, out of the immortal land, is born into an Irish girl and reclaimed and carried back to her native shore by Midir, a prince of the Fairy Host. Ethne, whose story also is here, has lived for all her youth in the court of Angus, deep in the hill beside the rushing of the Boyne. These stories are but a few out of a great number of the loves and wars between the men and women of the human and the fairy races. Curiously enough, as the stories become less ancient, the relations between men and the fairies are more real, more close, even more affectionate. Finn and the Fianna seem to be almost in daily companionship with the fairy host--much nearer to them than the men of the Heroic Cycle are to the gods. They interchange love and music and battle and adventure with one another. They are, for the most part, excellent friends; and their intercourse suffers from no doubt. It is as real as the intercourse between Welsh and English on the Borderland. There was nothing illusive, nothing merely imaginary, in these fairy worlds for the Irish hero or the Irish people. They believed the lands to be as real as their own, and the indwellers of fairyland to have like passions with themselves. Finn is not a bit surprised when Vivionn the giantess sits beside him on the hill, or Fergus when King Iubdan stands on his hand; or St Patrick when Ethne, out of fairyland, dies on his breast, or when he sees, at his spell, Cuchulain, dead some nine hundred years, come forth out of the dark gates of Sheol, high in his chariot, grasping his deadly spear, driven as of old by his well-loved charioteer, drawn by the immortal steeds through the mist, and finally talking of his deeds and claiming a place in the Christian heaven--a place that Patrick yields to him. The invisible worlds lived, loved, and thought around this visible world, and were, it seems, closer and more real to the Celtic than to other races. But it was not only these agreeable and lovely folk in pleasant habitations whom the Irish made, but also spirits of another sort, of lesser powers and those chiefly malignant, having no fixed dwelling-place, homeless in the air and drifting with it, embodying the venomous and deadly elements of the earth and the angers and cruelty of the sea, and the hypocrisy of them all--demons, some of whom, like the stepmother of the children of Lir, have been changed from men or women because of wicked doings, but the most part born of the evil in Nature herself. They do what harm they can to innocent folk; they enter into, support, and direct--like Macbeth's witches--the evil thoughts of men; they rejoice in the battle, in the wounds and pain and death of men; they shriek and scream and laugh around the head of the hero when he goes forth, like Cuchulain, to an unwearied slaughter of men. They make the blight, the deadly mist, the cruel tempest. To deceive is their pleasure; to discourage, to baffle, to ruin the hero is their happiness. Some of them are monsters of terrific aspect who abide in lakes or in desolate rocks, as the terrible tri-formed horse whom Fergus mac Leda conquered and by whom he died. Naturally, as a link between these supernatural worlds and the natural world, there arose a body of men and women in Irish legend who, by years of study, gained a knowledge of, and power over, the supernatural beings, and used these powers for hurt to the enemies of their kingdom, or for help to their own people. Some were wise, learned, and statesmanlike, and used their powers for good. These were the high Druids, and every king had a band of them at his court and in his wars. They practiced what the Middle Ages called white magic. Others were wizards, magicians, witches, who, like the children of Cailitin, the foes of Cuchulain, or the three mutilated women whom Maev educated in evil craft to do evil to her foes, or the dread band that deceived Cuchulain into his last ride of death, practised black magic--evil, and the ministers of evil. Magic, and the doing of it, runs through the whole of Irish story-telling, and not only into pagan but also into Christian legend; for it was easy to change the old gods into devils, to keep the demonic creatures as demons, to replace the wise Druids by the priests and saints, and the wizards by the heretics who gave themselves to sorcery. Thus the ancient supernaturalism of the Irish has continued, with modern modifications, to the present day. The body of thought is much the same as it was in the days of Conor and Finn; the clothing is a bit different. Another characteristic of the stories, especially in the mythological period, is the barbaric brutality which appears in them. Curiously mingled with this, in direct contrast, is their tenderness. These extreme contrasts are common in the Celtic nature. A Gael, whether of Ireland or the Western Isles, will pass in a short time from the wildest spirits, dancing and singing and drinking, into deep and grim depression--the child of the present, whether in love or war; and in the tales of Ireland there is a similar contrast between their brutality and their tenderness. The sudden fierce jealousy and the pitiless cruelty of their stepmother to the children of Lir is set over against the exquisite tenderness of Fionnuala, which pervades the story like an air from heaven. The noble tenderness of Deirdre, of Naisi and his brothers, in life and death, to one another, is lovelier in contrast with the savage and treacherous revenge of Conor. The great pitifulness of Cuchulain's fight with his dear friend Ferdia, whom he is compelled to slay; the crowning tenderness of Emer's recollective love in song before she dies on Cuchulain's dead body, are in full contrast with the savage hard-heartedness and cruelties of Maev, and with the ruthless slaughters Cuchulain made of his foes, out of which he seems often to pass, as it were, in a moment, into tenderness and gracious speech. Even Finn, false for once to his constant courtesy, revenges himself on Dermot so pitilessly that both his son and grandson cry shame upon him. Of course this barbaric cruelty is common to all early periods in every nation; and, whenever fierce passion is aroused, to civilised nations also. What is remarkable in the Irish tales is the contemporary tenderness. The Vikings were as savage as the Irish, but the savagery is not mingled with the Irish tenderness. At last, when we pass from the Hero Cycle into the Cycle of Finn, there is scarcely any of the ancient brutality to be found in the host of romantic stories which gather round the chivalry of the Fenians. There are other characteristics of these old tales on which I must dwell. The first is the extra-ordinary love of colour. This is not a characteristic of the early German, English or Scandinavian poems and tales. Its remarkable presence in Scottish poetry, at a time when it is scarcely to be found in English literature, I have traced elsewhere to the large admixture of Celtic blood in the Lowlands of Scotland. In early Irish work it is to be found everywhere. In descriptions of Nature, which chiefly appear in the Fenian Cycle and in Christian times, colour is not as much dwelt on as we should expect, for nowhere that I have seen is it more delicate and varied than under the Irish atmosphere. Yet, again and again, the amber colour of the streams as they come from the boglands, and the crimson and gold of the sunsetting, and the changing green of the trees, and the blue as it varies and settles down on the mountains when they go to their rest, and the green crystal of the sea in calm and the dark purple of it in storm, and the white foam of the waves when they grow black in the squall, and the brown of the moors, and the yellow and rose and crimson of the flowers, and many another interchanging of colour, are seen and spoken of as if it were a common thing always to dwell on colour. This literary custom I do not find in any other Western literature. It is even more remarkable in the descriptions of the dress and weapons of the warriors and kings. They blaze with colour; and as gold was plentiful in Ireland in those far-off days, yellow and red are continually flashing in and out of the blue and green and rich purple of their dress. The women are dressed in as rich colours as the men. When Eochy met Etain by the spring of pure water, as told in this book, she must have flashed in the sunlight like a great jewel. Then, the halls where they met and the houses of the kings are represented as glorious with colour, painted in rich patterns, hung with woven cloths dyed deep with crimson and blue and green and yellow. The common things in use, eating and drinking implements, the bags they carry, the bed-clothing, the chess-men, the tables, are embroidered or chased or set with red carbuncles or white stones or with interlacing of gold. Colour is everywhere and everywhere loved. And where colour is loved the arts flourish, as the decorative arts flourished in Ireland. Lastly, on this matter, the Irish tale-tellers, even to the present day, dwell with persistence on the colour of the human body as a special loveliness, and with as much love of it as any Venetian when he painted it. And they did this with a comparison of its colour to the colours they observed in Nature, so that the colour of one was harmonised with the colour of the other. I might quote many such descriptions of the appearance of the warriors--they are multitudinous--but the picture of Etain is enough to illustrate what I say--"Her hair before she loosed it was done in two long tresses, yellow like the flower of the waterflag in summer or like red gold. Her hands were white as the snow of a single night, and her eyes as blue as the dark hyacinth, and her lips red as the berries of the rowan-tree, and her body as white as the foam of the sea-waves. The radiance of the moon was in her face and the light of wooing in her eyes." So much for the Irish love of colour.[6] [6] I give one example of the way colour was laid on to animals just for the pleasure of it. "And the eagle and cranes were red with green heads, and their eggs were pure crimson and blue"; and deep in the wood the travellers found "strange birds with white bodies and purple heads and golden beaks," and afterwards three great birds, "one blue and his head crimson, and another crimson and his head green, and another speckled and his head gold." Their love of music was equally great; and was also connected with Nature. "The sound of the flowing of streams," said one of their bardic clan, "is sweeter than any music of men." "The harp of the woods is playing music," said another. In Finn's Song to May, the waterfall is singing a welcome to the pool below, the loudness of music is around the hill, and in the green fields the stream is singing. The blackbird, the cuckoo, the heron and the lark are the musicians of the world. When Finn asks his men what music they thought the best, each says his say, but Oisín answers, "The music of the woods is sweetest to me, the sound of the wind and of the blackbird, and the cuckoo and the soft silence of the heron." And Finn himself, when asked what was his most beloved music, said first that it was "the sharp whistling of the wind as it went through the uplifted spears of the seven battalions of the Fianna," and this was fitting for a hero to say. But when the poet in him spoke, he said his music was the crying of the sea-gull, and the noise of the waves, and the voice of the cuckoo when summer was at hand, and the washing of the sea against the shore, and of the tide when it met the river of the White Trout, and of the wind rushing through the cloud. And many other sayings of the same kind this charming and poetic folk has said concerning those sweet, strong sounds in Nature out of which the music of men was born. Again, there is not much music in the Mythological Tales. Lugh, it is true, is a great harper, and the harp of the Dagda, into which he has bound his music, plays a music at whose sound all men laugh, and another so that all men weep, and another so enthralling that all fall asleep; and these three kinds of music are heard through all the Cycles of Tales. Yet when the old gods of the mythology became the Sidhe,[7] the Fairy Host, they--having left their barbaric life behind--became great musicians. In every green hill where the tribes of fairy-land lived, sweet, wonderful music was heard all day--such music that no man could hear but he would leave all other music to listen to it, which "had in it sorrows that man has never felt, and joys for which man has no name, and it seemed as if he who heard it might break from time into eternity and be one of the immortals." And when Finn and his people lived, they, being in great harmony and union with the Sidhe, heard in many adventures with them their lovely music, and it became their own. Indeed, Finn, who had twelve musicians, had as their chief one of the Fairy Host who came to dwell with him, a little man who played airs so divine that all weariness and sorrow fled away. And from him Finn's musicians learnt a more enchanted art than they had known before. And so it came to pass that as in every fairy dwelling there was this divine art, so in every palace and chieftain's hall, and in every farm, there were harpers harping on their harps, and all the land was full of sweet sounds and airs--shaping in music, imaginative war, and sorrows, and joys, and aspiration. Nor has their music failed. Still in the west and south of Ireland, the peasant, returning home, hears, as the evening falls from the haunted hills, airs unknown before, or at midnight a wild triumphant song from the Fairy Host rushing by, or wakes with a dream melody in his heart. And these are played and sung next day to the folk sitting round the fire. Many who heard these mystic sounds became themselves the makers of melodies, and went about the land singing and making and playing from village to village and cabin to cabin, till the unwritten songs of Ireland were as numerous as they were various. Moore collected a hundred and twenty of them, but of late more than five hundred he knew not of have been secured from the people and from manuscripts for the pleasure of the world. And in them lives on the spirit of the Fianna, and the mystery of the Fairy Host, and the long sorrow and the fleeting joy of the wild weather in the heart of the Irish race. [7] This word is pronounced Shee, and means "the folk of the fairy mounds." As to the poetry of Ireland, that other Art which is illustrated in this book, so fully has it been dwelt on by many scholars and critics that it needs not be touched here other than lightly and briefly. The honour and dignity of the art of poetry goes back in Irish mythology to a dim antiquity. The ancient myth said that the nine hazels of wisdom grew round a deep spring beneath the sea, and the hazels were the hazels of inspiration and of poetry--so early in Ireland were inspiration and poetry made identical with wisdom. Seven streams of wisdom flowed from that fountain-head, and when they had fed the world returned to it again. And all the art-makers of mankind, and of all arts, have drunk of their waters. Five salmon in the spring ate of the hazel nuts, and some haunted the rivers of Ireland; and whosoever, like Finn, tasted the flesh of these immortal fish, was possessed of the wisdom which is inspiration and poetry. Such was the ancient Irish conception of the art of poetry. It is always an art which grows slowly into any excellence, and it needs for such growth a quieter life than the Irish lived for many centuries. Poems appear but rarely in the mythological or heroic cycles, and are loosely scattered among the prose of the bardic tales. A few are of war, but they are chiefly dirges like the Song of Emer over the dead body of Cuchulain, or that of Deirdre over Naisi--pathetic wailings for lost love. There is an abrupt and pitiful pain in the brief songs of Fionnuala, but I fancy these were made and inserted in Christian times. Poetry was more at home among the Fianna. The conditions of life were easier; there was more leisure and more romance. And the other arts, which stimulate poetry, were more widely practised than in the earlier ages. Finn's Song to May, here translated, is of a good type, frank and observant, with a fresh air in it, and a fresh pleasure in its writing. I have no doubt that at this time began the lyric poetry of Ireland, and it reached, under Christian influences, a level of good, I can scarcely say excellent, work, at a time when no other lyrical poetry in any vernacular existed in Europe or the Islands. It was religious, mystic, and chiefly pathetic--prayers, hymns, dirges, regrets in exile, occasional stories of the saints whose legendary acts were mixed with pagan elements, and most of these were adorned with illustrations drawn from natural beauty or from the doings of birds and beasts--a great affection for whom is prominent in the Celtic nature. The Irish poets sent this lyric impulse into Iceland, Wales, and Scotland, and from Scotland into England; and the rise of English vernacular poetry instead of Latin in the seventh and eighth centuries is due to the impulse given by the Irish monasteries at Whitby and elsewhere in Northumbria. The first rude lyric songs of Cædmon were probably modelled on the hymns of Colman. One would think that poetry, which arose so early in a nation's life, would have developed fully. But this was not the case in Ireland. No narrative, dramatic, didactic, or epic poetry of any importance arose, and many questions and answers might be made concerning this curious restriction of development. The most probable solution of this problem is that there was never enough peace in Ireland or continuity of national existence or unity, to allow of a continuous development of any one of the arts into all its forms. Irish poetry never advanced beyond the lyric. In that form it lasted all through the centuries; it lasts still at the present day, and Douglas Hyde has proved how much charm belongs to it in his book on the _Love Songs of Connacht_. It has had a long, long history; it has passed through many phases; it has sung of love and sorrow, of national wars and hopes, of Ireland herself as the Queen of Sorrow, of exile regrets from alien shores, of rebellion, of hatred of England, of political strife, in ballads sung in the streets, of a thousand issues of daily life and death--but of world-wide affairs, of great passions and duties and fates evolving in epic or clashing in drama, of continuous human lives in narrative (except in prose), of the social life of cities or of philosophic thought enshrined in stately verse, it has not sung. What it may do in the future, if Irish again becomes a tongue of literature in lofty poetry, lies on the knees of the gods. I wish it well, but such a development seems now too late. The Irish genius, if it is to speak in drama, in narrative poetry or in an epic, must speak, if it is to influence or to charm the world beyond the Irish shore, in a world-language like English, and of international as well as of Irish humanity. These elements on which I have dwelt seem to me the most distinctive, the most Irish, in the Tales in this book. There are many others on which a more minute analysis might exercise itself, phases of feeling concerning war or love or friendship or honour or the passions, but these are not specially Irish. They belong to common human nature, and have their close analogies in other mythologies, in other Folk-tales, in other Sagas. I need not touch them here. But there is one element in all the Irish tales which I have not yet mentioned, and it brings all the others within its own circumference, and suffuses them with its own atmosphere. It is the love of Ireland, of the land itself for its own sake--a mystic, spiritual imaginative passion which in the soul of the dweller in the country is a constant joy, and in the heart of the exile is a sick yearning for return. There are not many direct expressions of this in the stories; but it underlies the whole of them, and it is also in the air they breathe. But now and again it does find clear expression, and in each of the cycles we have discussed. When the sons of Turenn are returning, wounded to death, from the Hill of Mochaen, they felt but one desire. "Let us but see," said Iuchar and Iucharba to their brother Brian, "the land of Erin again, the hills round Telltown, and the dewy plain of Bregia and the quiet waters of the Boyne and our father's Dún thereby, and healing will come to us; or if death come, we can endure it after that." Then Brian raised them up; and they saw that they were now near by under Ben Edar; and at the strand of the Bull they came to land. That is from the Mythological Cycle. In the Heroic Cycle it appears in the longing cry for return to Ireland of Naisi and his brothers, which drives them out of Alba to their death; but otherwise it is rarely expressed. In the Fenian Cycle it exists, not in any clear words, but in a general delight in the rivers, lakes, woods, valleys, plains, and mountains of Ireland. Every description of them, and of life among them, is done with a loving, observant touch; and moreover, the veil of magic charm is thrown over all the land by the creation in it of the life and indwelling of the fairy host. The Fianna loved their country well. When Christianity came, this deep-set sentiment did not lessen. It grew even stronger, and in exile it became a passion. It is illustrated by the songs of deep regret and affection Columba made in Iona, from whose rocky shores he looked day after day towards the west while the mists rose over Ireland. One little story of great beauty enshrines his passion. One morning he called to his side one of his monks, and said, "Go to the margin of the sea on the western side of our isle; and there, coming from the north of Ireland, you will see a voyaging crane, very weary and beaten by the storms, and it will fall at your feet on the beach. Lift it up with pity and carry it to the hut, nourish it for three days, and when it is refreshed and strong again it will care no more to stay with us in exile, but to fly back to sweet Ireland, the dear country where it was born. I charge you thus, for it comes from the land where I was born myself." And when his servant returned, having done as he was ordered, Columba said, "May God bless you, my son. Since you have well cared for our exiled guest, you will see it return to its own land in three days." And so it was. It rose, sought its path for a moment through the sky, and took flight on a steady wing for Ireland. The spirit of that story has never died in the soul of the Irish and in their poetry up to the present day. Lastly, as we read these stories, even in a modern dress, an impression of great ancientry is made upon us, so much so that some scholars have tried to turn Finn into a mythical hero--but if he be as old as that implies, of how great an age must be the clearly mythic tales which gather round the Tuatha de Danaan? However this may be, the impression of ancientry is deep and agreeable. All myths in any nation are, of course, of a high antiquity, but as they treat of the beginning of things, they mingle an impression of youth with one of age. This is very pleasant to the imagination, and especially so if the myths, as in Ireland, have some poetic beauty or strangeness, as in the myth I have referred to--of the deep spring of clear water and the nine hazels of wisdom that encompass it. This mingling of the beauty of youth and the honour of ancientry runs through all the Irish tales. Youth and the love of it, of its beauty and strength, adorn and vitalize their grey antiquity. But where, in their narrative, the hero's youth is over and the sword weak in his hand, and the passion less in his and his sweetheart's blood, life is represented as scarcely worth the living. The famed men and women die young--the sons of Turenn, Cuchulain, Conall, Dermot, Emer, Deirdre, Naisi, Oscar. Oisín has three hundred years of youth in that far land in the invention of which the Irish embodied their admiration of love and youth. His old age, when sudden feebleness overwhelms him, is made by the bardic clan as miserable, as desolate as his youth was joyous. Again, Finn lives to be an old man, but the immortal was in him, and either he has been born again in several re-incarnations (for the Irish held from time to time the doctrine of the transmigration of souls), or he sleeps, like Barbarossa, in a secret cavern, with all his men around him, and beside him the mighty horn of the Fianna, which, when the day of fate and freedom comes, will awaken with three loud blasts the heroes and send them forth to victory. Old as she is, Ireland does not grow old, for she has never reached her maturity. Her full existence is before her, not behind her. And when she reaches it her ancientry and all its tales will be dearer to her than they have been in the past. They will be an inspiring national asset. In them and in their strange admixture of different and successive periods of customs, thoughts and emotions (caused by the continuous editing and re-editing of them, first in oral recitation and then at the hands of scribes), Ireland will see the record of her history, not the history of external facts, but of her soul as it grew into consciousness of personality; as it established in itself love of law, of moral right, of religion, of chivalry, of courtesy in war and daily life; as it rejoiced, and above all, as it suffered and was constant, in suffering and oppression, to its national ideals. It seems as if, once at least, this aspect of the tales of Ireland was seen by men of old, for there is a story which tells that heaven itself desired their remembrance, and that we should be diverted and inspired by them. In itself it is a record of the gentleness of Irish Christianity to Irish heathendom, and of its love of the heroic past. For one day when Patrick and his clerks were singing the Mass at the Rath of the Red Ridge, where Finn was wont to be, he saw Keelta, a chief of the Fianna, draw near with his companions, and Keelta's huge hounds were with him. They were men so tall and great that fear fell on the clerks, but Patrick met with and asked their chieftain's name. "I am Keelta," he answered, "son of Ronan of the Fianna." "Was it not a good lord you were with," said Patrick, "Finn, son of Cumhal?" And Keelta said, "If the brown leaves falling in the wood were gold, if the waves of the sea were silver, Finn would have given them all away." "What was it kept you through your lifetime?" said Patrick. "Truth that was in our hearts, and strength in our hands, and fulfilment in our tongues," said Keelta. Then Patrick gave them food and drink and good treatment, and talked with them. And in the morning the two angels who guarded him came to him, and he asked them if it were any harm before God, King of heaven and earth, that he should listen to the stories of the Fianna. And the angels answered, "Holy Clerk, these old fighting men do not remember more than a third of their tales by reason of the forgetfulness of age, but whatever they tell write it down on the boards of the poets and in the words of the poets, for it will be a diversion to the companies and the high people of the latter times to listen to them."[8] So spoke the angels, and Patrick did as he bade them, and the stories are in the world to this day. [8] This is quoted with a few omissions, from Lady Gregory's delightful version, in her _Book of Saints and Wonders_, of an episode in _The Colloquy of the Ancients_ (Silva Gadelica). STOPFORD A. BROOKE ST PATRICK'S DAY, 1910 COIS NA TEINEADH (_By the Fireside._) Where glows the Irish hearth with peat There lives a subtle spell-- The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat, The moorland odours, tell Of long roads running through a red Untamed unfurrowed land, With curlews keening overhead, And streams on either hand; Black turf-banks crowned with whispering sedge, And black bog-pools below; While dry stone wall or ragged hedge Leads on, to meet the glow From cottage doors, that lure us in From rainy Western skies, To seek the friendly warmth within, The simple talk and wise; Or tales of magic, love and arms From days when princes met To listen to the lay that charms The Connacht peasant yet. There Honour shines through passions dire, There beauty blends with mirth-- Wild hearts, ye never did aspire Wholly for things of earth! Cold, cold this thousand years--yet still On many a time-stained page Your pride, your truth, your dauntless will, Burn on from age to age. And still around the fires of peat Live on the ancient days; There still do living lips repeat The old and deathless lays. And when the wavering wreaths ascend, Blue in the evening air, The soul of Ireland seems to bend Above her children there. BARDIC ROMANCES CHAPTER I The Story of the Children of Lir Long ago there dwelt in Ireland the race called by the name of De Danaan, or People of the Goddess Dana. They were a folk who delighted in beauty and gaiety, and in fighting and feasting, and loved to go gloriously apparelled, and to have their weapons and household vessels adorned with jewels and gold. They were also skilled in magic arts, and their harpers could make music so enchanting that a man who heard it would fight, or love, or sleep, or forget all earthly things, as they who touched the strings might will him to do. In later times the Danaans had to dispute the sovranty of Ireland with another race, the Children of Miled, whom men call the Milesians, and after much fighting they were vanquished. Then, by their sorceries and enchantments, when they could not prevail against the invaders, they made themselves invisible, and they have dwelt ever since in the Fairy Mounds and raths of Ireland, where their shining palaces are hidden from mortal eyes. They are now called the Shee, or Fairy Folk of Erinn, and the faint strains of unearthly music that may be heard at times by those who wander at night near to their haunts come from the harpers and pipers who play for the People of Dana at their revels in the bright world underground. At the time when the tale begins, the People of Dana were still the lords of Ireland, for the Milesians had not yet come. They were divided it is said, into many families and clans; and it seemed good to them that their chiefs should assemble together, and choose one to be king and ruler over the whole people. So they met in a great assembly for this purpose, and found that five of the greatest lords all desired the sovranty of Erin. These five were Bóv the Red, and Ilbrech of Assaroe, and Lir from the Hill of the White Field, which is on Slieve Fuad in Armagh; and Midir the Proud, who dwelt at Slieve Callary in Longford; and Angus of Brugh na Boyna, which is now Newgrange on the river Boyne, where his mighty mound is still to be seen. All the Danaan lords saving these five went into council together, and their decision was to give the sovranty to Bóv the Red, partly because he was the eldest, partly because his father was the Dagda, mightiest of the Danaans, and partly because he was himself the most deserving of the five. All were content with this, save only Lir, who thought himself the fittest for royal rule; so he went away from the assembly in anger, taking leave of no one. When this became known, the Danaan lords would have pursued Lir, to burn his palace and inflict punishment and wounding on himself for refusing obedience and fealty to him whom the assembly had chosen to reign over them. But Bóv the Red forbade them, for he would not have war among the Danaans; and he said, "I am none the less King of the People of Dana because this man will not do homage to me." Thus it went on for a long time. But at last a great misfortune befell Lir, for his wife fell ill, and after three nights she died. Sorely did Lir grieve for this, and he fell into a great dejection of spirit, for his wife was very dear to him and was much thought of by all folk, so that her death was counted one of the great events of that time. Now Bóv the Red came ere long to hear of it, and he said, "If Lir would choose to have my help and friendship now, I can serve him well, for his wife is no longer living, and I have three maidens, daughters of a friend, in fosterage with me, namely, Eva and Aoife[9] and Elva, and there are none fairer and of better name in Erin; one of these he might take to wife." And the lords of the Danaans heard what he said, and answered that it was true and well bethought. So messengers were sent to Lir, to say that if he were willing to yield the sovranty to Bóv the Red, he might make alliance with him and wed one of his foster-children. To Lir, having been thus gently entreated, it seemed good to end the feud, and he agreed to the marriage. So the following day he set out with a train of fifty chariots from the Hill of the White Field and journeyed straight for the palace of Bóv the Red, which was by Lough Derg on the river Shannon. [9] Pronounced Eefa. Arriving there, he found about him nothing but joy and glad faces, for the renewal of amity and concord; and his people were welcomed, and well entreated, and handsomely entertained for the night. [Illustration: "There sat the three maidens with the Queen"] And there sat the three maidens on the same couch with the Danaan Queen, and Bóv the Red bade Lir choose which one he would have to wife. "The maidens are all fair and noble," said Lir, "but the eldest is first in consideration and honour, and it is she that I will take, if she be willing." "The eldest is Eva," said Bóv the Red, "and she will wed thee if it be pleasing to thee." "It is pleasing," said Lir, and the pair were wedded the same night. Lir abode for fourteen days in the palace of Bóv the Red, and then departed with his bride, to make a great wedding-feast among his own people. In due time after this Eva, wife of Lir, bore him two fair children at a birth, a daughter and a son. The daughter's name was called Fionnuala of the Fair Shoulder, and the son's name was Hugh. And again she bore him two sons, Fiachra and Conn; and at their birth she died. At this Lir was sorely grieved and afflicted, and but for the great love he bore to his four children he would gladly have died too. When the folk at the palace of Bóv the Red heard that, they also were sorely grieved at the death of their foster-child, and they lamented her with keening and with weeping. Bóv the Red said, "We grieve for this maiden on account of the good man we gave her to, and for his friendship and fellowship; howbeit our friendship shall not be sundered, for we shall give him to wife her sister, namely Aoife." Word of this was brought to Lir, and he went once more to Lough Derg to the palace of Bóv the Red and there he took to wife Aoife, the fair and wise, and brought her to his own home. And Aoife held the children of Lir and of her sister in honour and affection; for indeed no one could behold these four children without giving them the love of his soul. For love of them, too, came Bóv the Red often to the house of Lir, and he would take them to his own house at times and let them spend a while there, and then to their own home again. All of the People of Dana who came visiting and feasting to Lir had joy and delight in the children, for their beauty and gentleness; and the love of their father for them was exceeding great, so that he would rise very early every morning to lie down among them and play with them. Only, alas! a fire of jealousy began to burn at last in the breast of Aoife, and hatred and bitter ill-will grew in her mind towards the children of Lir. And she feigned an illness, and lay under it for the most of a year, meditating a black and evil deed. At last she said that a journey from home might recover her, and she bade her chariot be yoked and set out, taking with her the four children. Fionnuala was sorely unwilling to go with her on that journey, for she had a misgiving, and a prevision of treachery and of kin-slaying against her in the mind of Aoife. Yet she was not able to avoid the mischief that was destined for her. So Aoife journeyed away from the Hill of the White Field, and when she had come some way she spoke to her people and said, "Kill me, I pray ye, the four children of Lir, who have taken the love of their father from me, and ye may ask of me what reward ye will." "Not so," said they, "by us they shall never be killed; it is an evil deed that you have thought of, and evil it is but to have spoken of it." When they would not consent to her will, she drew a sword and would have slain the children herself, but her womanhood overcame her and she could not. So they journeyed on westward till they came to the shores of Loch Derryvaragh, and there they made a halt and the horses were outspanned. Aoife bade the children bathe and swim in the lake, and they did so. Then Aoife by Druid spells and witchcraft put upon each of the children the form of a pure white swan, and she cried to them:-- "Out on the lake with you, children of Lir! Cry with the water-fowl over the mere! Breed and seed of you ne'er shall I see; Woeful the tale to your friends shall be." Then the four swans turned their faces towards the woman, and Fionnuala spoke to her and said, "Evil is thy deed, Aoife, to destroy us thus without a cause, and think not that thou shalt escape punishment for it. Assign us even some period to the ruin and destruction that thou hast brought upon us." "I shall do that," said Aoife, "and it is this: in your present forms shall ye abide, and none shall release you till the woman of the South be mated with the man of the North. Three hundred years shall ye be upon the waters of Derryvaragh, and three hundred upon the Straits of Moyle between Erinn and Alba,[10] and three hundred in the seas by Erris and Inishglory, and then shall the enchantment have an end." [10] Scotland. Inishglory is an island in the Bay of Erris, on the Mayo coast. Upon this, Aoife was smitten with repentance, and she said, "Since I may not henceforth undo what has been done, I give you this, that ye shall keep your human speech, and ye shall sing a sad music such as no music in the world can equal, and ye shall have your reason and your human will, that the bird-shape may not wholly destroy you." Then she became as one possessed, and cried wildly like a prophetess in her trance:-- "Ye with the white faces! Ye with the stammering Gaelic on your tongues! Soft was your nurture in the King's house-- Now shall ye know the buffeting wind! Nine hundred years upon the tide. "The heart of Lir shall bleed! None of his victories shall stead him now! Woe to me that I shall hear his groan, Woe that I have deserved his wrath!" Then they caught and yoked her horses, and Aoife went on her way till she reached the palace of Bóv the Red. Here she and her folk were welcomed and entertained, and Bóv the Red inquired of her why she had not brought with her the children of Lir. "I brought them not," she replied, "because Lir loves thee not, and he fears that if he sends his children to thee, thou wouldst capture them and hold them for hostages." "That is strange," said Bóv the Red, "for I love those children as if they were my own." And his mind misgave him that some treachery had been wrought; and he sent messengers privily northwards to the Hill of the White Field. "For what have ye come?" asked Lir. "Even to bring your children to Bóv the Red," said they. "Did they not reach you with Aoife?" said Lir. "Nay," said the messengers, "but Aoife said you would not permit them to go with her." Then fear and trouble came upon Lir, for he surmised that Aoife had wrought evil upon the children. So his horses were yoked and he set out upon his road south-westward, until he reached the shores of Loch Derryvaragh. But as he passed by that water, Fionnuala saw the train of horsemen and chariots, and she cried to her brothers to come near to the shore, "for," said she, "these can only be the company of our father who have come to follow and seek for us." Lir, by the margin of the lake, saw the four swans and heard them talking with human voices, and he halted and spoke to them. Then said Fionnuala: "Know, O Lir, that we are thy four children, and that she who has wrought this ruin upon us is thy wife and our mother's sister, through the bitterness of her jealousy." Lir was glad to know that they were at least living, and he said, "Is it possible to put your own forms upon you again?" "It is not possible," said Fionnuala, "for all the men on earth could not release us until the woman of the South be mated with the man of the North." Then Lir and his people cried aloud in grief and lamentation, and Lir entreated the swans to come on land and abide with him since they had their human reason and speech. But Fionnuala said, "That may not be, for we may not company with men any longer, but abide on the waters of Erinn nine hundred years. But we have still our Gaelic speech, and moreover we have the gift of uttering sad music, so that no man who hears it thinks aught worth in the world save to listen to that music for ever. Do you abide by the shore for this night and we shall sing to you." So Lir and his people listened all night to the singing of the swans, nor could they move nor speak till morning, for all the high sorrows of the world were in that music, and it plunged them in dreams that could not be uttered. Next day Lir took leave of his children and went on to the palace of Bóv the Red. Bóv reproached him that he had not brought with him his children. "Woe is me," said Lir, "it was not I that would not bring them; but Aoife there, your own foster-child and their mother's sister, put upon them the forms of four snow-white swans, and there they are on the Loch of Derryvaragh for all men to see; but they have kept still their reason and their human voice and their Gaelic." Bóv the Red started when he heard this, and he knew that what Lir had said was true. Fiercely he turned to Aoife, and said, "This treachery will be worse, Aoife, for you than for them, for they shall be released in the end of time, but thy punishment shall be for ever." Then he smote her with a druid wand and she became a Demon of the Air, and flew shrieking from the hall, and in that form she abides to this day. [Illustration: "They made an encampment and the swans sang to them"] As for Bóv the Red, he came with his nobles and attendants to the shores of Loch Derryvaragh, and there they made an encampment, and the swans conversed with them and sang to them. And as the thing became known, other tribes and clans of the People of Dana would also come from every part of Erinn and stay awhile to listen to the swans and depart again to their homes; and most of all came their own friends and fellow-pupils from the Hill of the White Field. No such music as theirs, say the historians of ancient times, ever was heard in Erinn, for foes who heard it were at peace, and men stricken with pain or sickness felt their ills no more; and the memory of it remained with them when they went away, so that a great peace and sweetness and gentleness was in the land of Erinn for those three hundred years that the swans abode in the waters of Derryvaragh. But one day Fionnuala said to her brethren, "Do ye know, my dear ones, that the end of our time here is come, all but this night only?" Then great sorrow and distress overcame them, for in the converse with their father and kinsfolk and friends they had half forgotten that they were no longer men, and they loved their home on Loch Derryvaragh, and feared the angry waves of the cold northern sea. But early next day they came to the lough-side to speak with Bóv the Red and with their father, and to bid them farewell, and Fionnuala sang to them her last lament. Then the four swans rose in the air and flew northward till they were seen no more, and great was the grief among those they left behind; and Bóv the Red let it be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of Erin that no man should henceforth presume to kill a swan, lest it might chance to be one of the children of Lir. Far different was the dwelling-place which the swans now came to, from that which they had known on Loch Derryvaragh. On either side of them, to north and south, stretched a wide coast far as the eye could see, beset with black rocks and great precipices, and by it ran fiercely the salt, bitter tides of an ever-angry sea, cold, grey, and misty; and their hearts sank to behold it and to think that there they must abide for three hundred years. Ere long, one night, there came a thick murky tempest upon them, and Fionnuala said, "In this black and violent night, my brothers, we may be driven apart from each other; let us therefore appoint a meeting-place where we may come together again when the tempest is overpast." And they settled to meet at the Seal Rock, for this rock they had now all learned to know. By midnight the hurricane descended upon the Straits of Moyle, and the waves roared upon the coast with a deafening noise, and thunder bellowed from the sky, and lightning was all the light they had. The swans were driven apart by the violence of the storm, and when at last the wind fell and the seas grew calm once more, Fionnuala found herself alone upon the ocean-tide not far from the Seal Rock. And thus she made her lament:-- "Woe is me to be yet alive! My wings are frozen to my sides. Wellnigh has the tempest shattered my heart, And my comely Hugh parted from me! "O my beloved ones, my Three, Who slept under the shelter of my feathers, Shall you and I ever meet again Until the dead rise to life? "Where is Fiachra, where is Hugh? Where is my fair Conn? Shall I henceforth bear my part alone? Woe is me for this disastrous night!" Fionnuala remained upon the Seal Rock until the morrow morn, watching the tossing waters in all directions around her, until at last she saw Conn coming towards her, and his head drooping and feathers drenched and disarrayed. Joyfully did the sister welcome him; and ere long, behold, Fiachra also approaching them, cold and wet and faint, and the speech was frozen in him that not a word he spake could be understood. So Fionnuala put her wings about him, and said, "If but Hugh came now, how happy should we be!" In no long time after that they saw Hugh also approaching them across the sea, and his head was dry and his feathers fair and unruffled, for he had found shelter from the gale. Fionnuala put him under her breast, and Conn under her right wing and Fiachra under her left, and covered them wholly with her feathers. "O children," she said to them, "evil though ye think this night to have been, many such a one shall we know from this time forward." So there the swans continued, suffering cold and misery upon the tides of Moyle; and one while they would be upon the coast of Alba and another upon the coast of Erinn, but the waters they might not leave. At length there came upon them a night of bitter cold and snow such as they had never felt before, and Fionnuala sang this lament:-- "Evil is this life. The cold of this night, The thickness of the snow, The sharpness of the wind-- "How long have they lain together, Under my soft wings, The waves beating upon us, Conn and Hugh and Fiachra? "Aoife has doomed us, Us, the four of us, To-night to this misery-- Evil is this life." Thus for a long time they suffered, till at length there came upon the Straits of Moyle a night of January so piercing cold that the like of it had never been felt. And the swans were gathered together upon the Seal Rock. The waters froze into ice around them, and each of them became frozen in his place, so that their feet and feathers clung to the rock; and when the day came and they strove to leave the place, the skin of their feet and the feathers of their breasts clove to the rock, they came naked and wounded away. "Woe is me, O children of Lir," said Fionnuala, "we are now indeed in evil case, for we cannot endure the salt water, yet we may not be away from it; and if the salt water gets into our sores we shall perish of it." And thus she sang:-- "To-night we are full of keening; No plumage to cover our bodies; And cold to our tender feet Are the rough rocks all awash. "Cruel to us was Aoife, Who played her magic upon us, And drove us out to the ocean, Four wonderful, snow-white swans. "Our bath is the frothing brine In the bay by red rocks guarded, For mead at our father's table We drink of the salt blue sea. "Three sons and a single daughter-- In clefts of the cold rocks dwelling, The hard rocks, cruel to mortals. --We are full of keening to-night." So they went forth again upon the Straits of Moyle, and the brine was grievously sharp and bitter to them, but they could not escape it nor shelter themselves from it. Thus they were, till at last their feathers grew again and their sores were healed. On one day it happened that they came to the mouth of the river Bann in the north of Erinn, and there they perceived a fair host of horsemen riding on white steeds and coming steadily onward from the south-west "Do ye know who yon riders are, children of Lir?" asked Fionnuala. "We know not," said they, "but it is like they are some party of the People of Dana." Then they moved to the margin of the land, and the company they had seen came down to meet them; and behold, it was Hugh and Fergus, the two sons of Bóv the Red, and their nobles and attendants with them, who had long been seeking for the swans along the coast of the Straits of Moyle. Most lovingly and joyfully did they greet each other and the swans inquired concerning their father Lir, and Bóv the Red, and the rest of their kinsfolk. "They are well," said the Danaans; "and at this time they are all assembled together in the palace of your father at the Hill of the White Field, where they are holding the Festival of the Age of Youth.[11] They are happy and gay and have no weariness or trouble, save that you are not among them, and that they have not known where you were since you left them at Lough Derryvaragh." [11] A magic banquet which had the effect of preserving for ever the youth of the People of Dana. "That is not the tale of our lives," said Fionnuala. After that the company of the Danaans departed and brought word of the swans to Bóv the Red and to Lir, who were rejoiced to hear that they were living, "for," said they, "the children shall obtain relief in the end of time." And the swans went back to the tides of Moyle and abode there till their time to be in that place had expired. When that day had come, Fionnuala declared it to them, and they rose up wheeling in the air, and flew westward across Ireland till they came to the Bay of Erris, and there they abode as was ordained. Here it happened that among those of mortal MEN whose dwellings bordered on the bay was a young man of gentle blood, by name Evric, who having heard the singing of the swans came down to speak with them, and became their friend. After that he would often come to hear their music, for it was very sweet to him; and he loved them greatly, and they him. All their story they told him, and he it was who set it down in order, even as it is here narrated. Much hardship did they suffer from cold and tempest in the waters of the Western Sea, yet not so much as they had to bear by the coasts of the ever-stormy Moyle, and they knew that the day of redemption was now drawing near. In the end of the time Fionnuala said, "Brothers, let us fly to the Hill of the White Field, and see how Lir our father and his household are faring." So they arose and set forward on their airy journey until they reached the Hill of the White Field, and thus it was that they found the place: namely, desolate and thorny before them, with nought but green mounds where once were the palaces and homes of their kin, and forests of nettles growing over them, and never a house nor a hearth. And the four drew closely together and lamented aloud at that sight, for they knew that old times and things had passed away in Erinn, and they were lonely in a land of strangers, where no man lived who could recognise them when they came to their human shapes again. They knew not that Lir and their kin of the People of Dana yet dwelt invisible in the bright world within the Fairy Mounds, for their eyes were holden that they should not see, since other things were destined for them than to join the Danaan folk and be of the company of the immortal Shee. So they went back again to the Western Sea until the holy Patrick came into Ireland and preached the Faith of the One God and of the Christ. But a man of Patrick's men, namely the Saint Mochaovóg,[12] came to the Island of Inishglory in Erris Bay, and there built himself a little church of stone, and spent his life in preaching to the folk and in prayer. The first night he came to the island the swans heard the sound of his bell ringing at matins on the following morn, and they leaped in terror, and the three brethren left Fionnuala and fled away. Fionnuala cried to them, "What ails you, beloved brothers?" "We know not," said they, "but we have heard a thin and dreadful voice, and we cannot tell what it is." "That is the voice of the bell of Mochaovóg," said Fionnuala, "and it is that bell which shall deliver us and drive away our pains, according to the will of God." [12] Pronounced Mo-chweev-ogue. Then the brethren came back and hearkened to the chanting of the cleric until matins were performed. "Let us chant our music now," said Fionnuala. So they began, and chanted a solemn, slow, sweet, fairy song in adoration of the High King of Heaven and of Earth. Mochaovóg heard that, and wondered, and when he saw the swans he spoke to them and inquired them. They told him they were the children of Lir. "Praised be God for that," said Mochaovóg. "Surely it is for your sakes that I have come to this island above every other island that is in Erinn. Come to land now, and trust in me that your salvation and release are at hand." So they came to land, and dwelt with Mochaovóg in his own house, and there they kept the canonical hours with him and heard mass. And Mochaovóg caused a good craftsman to make chains of silver for the swans, and put one chain between Fionnuala and Hugh and another between Conn and Fiachra; and they were a joy and solace of mind to the Saint, and their own woe and pain seemed to them dim and far off as a dream. Now at this time it happened that the King of Connacht was Lairgnen, son of Colman, and he was betrothed to Deoca, daughter of the King of Munster. And so it was that when Deoca came northward to be wedded to Lairgnen she heard the tale of the swans and of their singing, and she prayed the king that he would obtain them for her, for she longed to possess them. But Lairgnen would not ask them of Mochaovóg. Then Deoca set out homeward again, and vowed that she would never return to Lairgnen till she had the swans; and she came as far as the church of Dalua, which is now called Kildaloe, in Clare. Then Lairgnen sent messengers for the birds to Mochaovóg, but he would not give them up. At this Lairgnen was very wroth, and he went himself to Mochaovóg, and he found the cleric and the four birds at the altar. But Lairgnen seized upon the birds by their silver chains, two in each hand dragged them away to the place where Deoca was; and Mochaovóg followed them. But when they came to Deoca and she had laid her hands upon the birds, behold, their covering of feathers fell off and in their places were three shrunken and feeble old men and one lean and withered old woman, fleshless and bloodless from extreme old age. And Lairgnen was struck with amazement and fear, and went out from that place. Then Fionnuala said to Mochaovóg, "Come now and baptize us quickly, for our end is near. And if you are grieved at parting from us, know that also to us it is a grief. Do thou make our grave when we are dead, and place Conn at my right side and Fiachra at my left, and Hugh before my face, for thus they were wont to be when I sheltered them on many a winter night by the tides of Moyle." So Mochaovóg baptized the three brethren and their sister; and shortly afterwards they found peace and death, and they were buried even as Fionnuala had said. And over their tomb a stone was raised, and their names and lineage graved on it in branching Ogham[13]; and lamentation and prayers were made for them, and their souls won to heaven. [13] See p. 133, _note_. But Mochaovóg was sorrowful, and grieved after them so long as he lived on earth. CHAPTER II The Quest of the Sons of Turenn Long ago, when the people of Dana yet held lordship in Erinn, they were sorely afflicted by hordes of sea-rovers named Fomorians who used to harry the country and carry off youths and maidens into captivity. They also imposed cruel and extortionate taxes upon the people, for every kneading trough, and every quern for grinding corn, and every flagstone for baking bread had to pay its tax. And an ounce of gold was paid as a poll-tax for every man, and if any man would not or could not pay, his nose was cut off. Under this tyranny the whole country groaned, but they had none who was able to band them together and to lead them in battle against their oppressors. Now before this it happened that one of the lords of the Danaans named Kian had married with Ethlinn, daughter of Balor, a princess of the Fomorians. They had a son named Lugh Lamfada, or Lugh of the Long Arm, who grew up into a youth of surpassing beauty and strength. And if his body was noble and mighty, no less so was his mind, for lordship and authority grew to him by the gift of the Immortals, and whatever he purposed that would he perform, whatever it might cost in time or toil, in tears or in blood. Now this Lugh was not brought up in Erinn but in a far-off isle of the western sea, where the sea-god Mananan and the other Immortals nurtured and taught him, and made him fit alike for warfare or for sovranty, when his day should come to work their will on earth. Hither in due time came the report of the grievous and dishonouring oppression wrought by the Fomorians upon the people of Dana, and that report was heard by Lugh. Then Lugh said to his tutors "It were a worthy deed to rescue my father and the people of Erinn from this tyranny; let me go thither and attempt it." And they said to him, "Go, and blessing and victory be with thee." So Lugh armed himself and mounted his fairy steed, and called his friends and foster-brothers about him, and across the bright and heaving surface of the waters they rode like the wind, until they took land in Erinn. Now the chiefs of the Danaan folk were assembled upon the Hill of Usnach, which is upon the western side of Tara in Meath, in order to meet there the stewards of the Fomorians and to pay them their tribute. As they awaited the arrival of the Fomorians they became aware of a company on horseback, coming from the west, before whom rode a young man who seemed to command them all, and whose countenance was as radiant as the sun upon a dry summer's day, so that the Danaans could scarcely gaze upon it. He rode upon a white horse and was armed with a sword, and on his head was a helmet set with precious stones. The Danaan folk welcomed him as he came among them, and asked him of his name and his business among them. As they were thus talking another band drew near, numbering nine times nine persons, who were the stewards of the Fomorians coming to demand their tribute. They were men of a fierce and swarthy countenance, and as they came haughtily and arrogantly forward, the Danaans all rose up to do them honour. Then Lugh said: "Why do ye rise up before that grim and ill-looking band and not before us?" Said the King of Erinn, "We needs must do so, for if they saw but a child of a month old sitting down when they came near they would hold it cause enough to attack and slay us." "I am greatly minded to slay them," said Lugh; and he repeated it, "very greatly minded." "That would be bad for us," said the King, "for our death and destruction would surely follow." "Ye are too long under oppression," said Lugh, and gave the word for onset. So he and his comrades rushed upon the Fomorians, and in a moment the hillside rang with blows and with the shouting of warriors. In no long time all of the Fomorians were slain save nine men, and these were taken alive and brought before Lugh. "Ye also should be slain," said Lugh, "but that I am minded to send you as ambassadors to your King. Tell him that he may seek homage and tribute where he will henceforth, but Ireland will pay him none for ever." Then the Fomorians went northwards away, and the people of Dana made them ready for war, and made Lugh their captain and war-lord, for the sight of his face heartened them, and made them strong, and they marvelled that they had endured their slavery so long. In the meantime word was brought to Balor of the Mighty Blows, King of the Fomorians, and to his queen Kethlinn of the Twisted Teeth, of the shame and destruction that had been done to their stewards, and they assembled a great host of the sea-rovers and manned their war-ships, and the Northern Sea was white with the foam of their oarblades as they swept down upon the shores of Erinn. And Balor commanded them, saying, "When ye have utterly destroyed and subdued the people of Dana, then make fast your ships with cables to the land of Erinn, and tow it here to the north of us into the region of ice and snow, and it shall trouble us no longer." So the host of Balor took land by the Falls of Dara[14] and began plundering and devastating the province of Connacht. [14] Ballysodare = the Town of the Falls of Dara, in Co. Sligo. Then Lugh sent messengers abroad to bring his host together, and among them was his own father, Kian, son of Canta. And as Kian went northwards on his errand to rouse the Ulster men, and was now come to the plain of Murthemny near by Dundealga,[15] he saw three warriors armed and riding across the plain. Now these three were the sons of Turenn, by name Brian and Iuchar and Iucharba. And there was an ancient blood-feud between the house of Canta and the house of Turenn, so that they never met without bloodshed. [15] Dundalk. Then Kian thought to himself, "If my brothers Cu and Kethan were here there might be a pretty fight, but as they are three to one I would do better to fly." Now there was a herd of wild swine near by; and Kian changed himself by druidic sorceries into a wild pig and fell to rooting up the earth along with the others. When the sons of Turenn came up to the herd, Brian said, "Brothers, did ye see the warrior wh' just now was journeying across the plain?" "We saw him," said they. "What is become of him?" said Brian. "Truly, we cannot tell," said the brothers. "It is good watch ye keep in time of war!" said Brian; "but I know what has taken him out of our sight, for he struck himself with a magic wand, and changed himself into the form of one of yonder swine, and he is rooting the earth among them now. Wherefore," said Brian, "I deem that he is no friend to us." "If so, we have no help for it," said they, "for the herd belongs to some man of the Danaans; and even if we set to and begin to kill the swine, the pig of druidism might be the very one to escape." "Have ye learned so little in your place of studies," said Brian, "that ye cannot distinguish a druidic beast from a natural beast?" And with that he smote his two brothers with a magic wand, and changed them into two slender, fleet hounds, and they darted in among the herd. Then all the herd scattered and fled, but the hounds separated the druidic pig and chased it towards a wood where Brian awaited it. As it passed, Brian flung his spear, and it pierced the chest of the pig and brought it down. The pig screamed, "Evil have you done to cast at me." Brian said, "That hath the sound of human speech!" "I am in truth a man," said the pig, "and I am Kian, son of Canta, and I pray you show me mercy." "That will we," said Iuchar and Iucharba, "and sorry are we for what has happened." "Nay," said Brian, "but I swear by the Wind and the Sun that if thou hadst seven lives I would take them all." "Grant me a favour then," said Kian. "We shall grant it," said Brian. "Let me," said Kian, "return into my own form that I may die in the shape of a man." "I had liefer kill a man than a pig," said Brian. Then Kian became a man again and stood before them, the blood trickling from his breast. "I have outwitted you now," cried he, "for if ye had killed a pig ye would have paid a pig's eric,[16] but now ye shall pay the eric of a man. Never was greater eric in the land of Erinn than that which ye shall pay; and I swear that the very weapons with which ye slay me shall tell the tale to the avenger of blood." [16] Blood-fine. "Then you shall be slain with no weapons at all," said Brian; and they picked up the stones on the Plain of Murthemny and rained them upon him till he was all one wound, and he died. So they buried him as deep as the height of a man, and went their way to join the host of Lugh. When the host was assembled, Lugh led them into Connacht and smote the Fomorians and drove them to their ships, but of this the tale tells not here. But when the fight was done, Lugh asked of his comrades if they had seen his father in the fight and how it fared with him. They said they had not seen him. Then Lugh made search among the dead, and they found not Kian there. "Were Kian alive he would be here," said Lugh, "and I swear by the Wind and the Sun that I will not eat or drink till I know what has befallen him." On their return the Danaan host passed by the Plain of Murthemny, and when they came near the place of the murder the stones cried aloud to Lugh. And Lugh listened, and they told him of the deed of the sons of Turenn. Then Lugh searched for the place of a new grave, and when he had found it he caused it to be dug, and the body of his father was raised up, and Lugh saw that it was but a litter of wounds. And he cried out: "O wicked and horrible deed!" and he kissed his father and said, "I am sick from this sight, my eyes are blind from it, my ears are deaf from it, my heart stands still from it. Ye gods that I adore, why was I not here when this crime was done? a man of the children of Dana slain by his fellows." And he lamented long and bitterly. Then Kian was again laid in his grave, and a mound was heaped over it and a pillar-stone set thereon and his name written in Ogham, and a dirge was sung for him. After that Lugh departed to Tara, to the Court of the High King, and he charged his people to say nothing of what had happened until he himself had made it known. When he reached Tara with his victorious host the King placed Lugh at his own right hand before all the princes and lords of the Danaan folk. Lugh looked round about him, and saw the sons of Turenn sitting among the assembly; and they were among the best and strongest and the handsomest of those who were present at that time; nor had any borne themselves better in the fight with the sea-rovers. Then Lugh asked of the King that the chain of silence might be shaken; and the assembly heard it, and gave their attention to Lugh. And Lugh said: "O King, and ye princes of the People of Dana, I ask what vengeance would each of you exact upon a man who had foully murdered your father?" Then they were all astonished, and the King answered and said: "Surely it is not the father of Lugh Lamfada who has thus been slain?" "Thou hast said it," said Lugh, "and those who did the deed are listening to me now, and know it better than I." The King said, "Not in one day would I slay the murderer of my father, but I would tear from him a limb day by day till he were dead." And so spake all the lords of the Danaans, and the Sons of Turenn among the rest. "They have sentenced themselves, the murderers of my father," said Lugh. "Nevertheless I shall accept an eric from them, and if they will pay it, it shall be well; but if not, I shall not break the peace of the King's Assembly and of his sanctuary, but let them beware how they leave the Hall Tara until they have made me satisfaction." "Had I slain your father," said the High King, "glad should I be to have an eric accepted for his blood." Then the Sons of Turenn whispered among themselves. "It is to us that Lugh is speaking," said Iuchar and Iucharba, "let us confess and have the eric assessed upon us, for he has got knowledge of our deed." "Nay," said Brian, "but he may be seeking for an open confession, and then perchance he would not accept an eric." But the two brethren said to Brian, "Do thou confess because thou art the eldest, or if thou do not, then we shall." So Brian, son of Turenn, rose up and said to Lugh: "It is to us thou hast spoken, Lugh, since thou knowest there is enmity of old time between our houses; and if thou wilt have it that we have slain thy father, then declare our eric and we shall pay it." "I will take an eric from you," said Lugh, "and if it seem too great, I will remit a portion of it." "Declare it, then," said the Sons of Turenn. "This it is," said Lugh. "Three apples. "The skin of a pig. "A spear. "Two steeds and a chariot. "Seven swine. "A whelp of a dog. "A cooking spit. "Three shouts on a hill." "We would not consider heavy hundreds or thousands of these things," said the Sons of Turenn, "but we misdoubt thou hast some secret purpose against us." "I deem it no small eric," said Lugh, "and I call to witness the High King and lords of the Danaans that I shall ask no more; and do ye on your side give me guarantees for the fulfilment of it." So the High King and the lords of the Danaans entered into bonds with Lugh and with the Sons of Turenn that the eric should be paid and should wipe out the blood of Kian. "Now," said Lugh, "it is better forme to give you fuller knowledge of the eric. The three apples that I have demanded of you are the apples that grow in the garden of the Hesperides, in the east of the world, and none but these will do. Thus it is with them: they are the colour of bright gold, and as large as the head of a month-old child; the taste of them is like honey; if he who eats them has any running sore or evil disease it is healed by them; they may be eaten and eaten and never be less. I doubt, O young heroes, if ye will get these apples, for those who guard them know well an ancient prophecy that one day three knights from the western world would come to attempt them. "As for the skin of the pig, that is a treasure of Tuish, the King of Greece. If it be laid upon a wounded man it will make him whole and well, if only it overtake the breath of life in him. And do ye know what is the spear that I demanded?" "We do not," said they. "It is the poisoned spear of Peisear, the King of Persia, and so fierce is the spirit of war in it that it must be kept in a pot of soporific herbs or it would fly out raging for death. And do ye know what are the two horses and the chariot ye must get?" "We do not know," said they. "The steeds and the chariot belong to Dobar, King of Sicily. They are magic steeds and can go indifferently over land and sea, nor can they be killed by any weapon unless they be torn in pieces and their bones cannot be found. And the seven pigs are the swine of Asal, King of the Golden Pillars, which may be slain and eaten every night and the next morning they are alive again. "And the hound-whelp I asked of you is the whelp of the King of Iorroway, that can catch and slay any beast in the world; hard it is to get possession of that whelp. "The cooking spit is one of the spits that the fairy women of the Island of Finchory have in their kitchen. "And the hill on which ye must give three shouts is the hill where dwells Mochaen in the north of Lochlann. Now Mochaen and his sons have it as a sacred ordinance that they permit not any man to raise a shout upon their hill. With him it was that my father was trained to arms, and if I forgave ye his death, yet would Mochaen not forgive it. "And now ye know the eric which ye have to pay for the slaying of Kian, son of Canta." Astonishment and despair overcame the Sons of Turenn when they learned the meaning of the eric of Lugh, and they went home to tell the tidings to their father. "This is an evil tale," said Turenn; "I doubt but death and doom shall come from your seeking of that eric, and it is but right they should. Yet it may be that ye shall obtain the eric if Lugh or Mananan will help you to it. Go now to Lugh, and ask him for the loan of the fairy steed of Mananan, which was given him to ride over the sea into Erinn. He will refuse you, for he will say that the steed is but lent to him and he may not make a loan of a loan. Then ask him for the loan of Ocean Sweeper, which is the magic boat of Mananan, and that he must give, for it is a sacred ordinance with Lugh not to refuse a second petition." So they went to Lugh, and it all fell out as Turenn had told them, and they went back to Turenn. "Ye have done something towards the eric," said Turenn, "but not much. Yet Lugh would be well pleased that ye brought him whatever might serve him when the Fomorians come to the battle again, and well pleased would he be that ye might get your death in bringing it. Go now, my sons, and blessing and victory be with you." Then the Sons of Turenn went down to the harbour on the Boyne river where the Boat of Mananan was, and Ethne their sister with them. And when they reached the place, Ethne broke into lamentations and weeping; but Brian said, "Weep not, dear sister, but let us go forth gaily to great deeds. Better a hundred deaths in the quest of honour than to live and die as cowards and sluggards." But Ethne said, "ye are banished from Erinn--never was there a sadder deed." Then they put forth from the river-mouth of the Boyne and soon the fair coasts of Erinn faded out of sight. "And now," said they among themselves, "what course shall we steer?" [Illustration: "'Bear us swiftly, Boat of Mananan, to the Garden of the Hesperides'"] "No need to steer the Boat of Mananan," said Brian; and he whispered to the Boat, "Bear us swiftly, Boat of Mananan, to the Garden of the Hesperides"; and the spirit of the Boat heard him and it leaped eagerly forward, lifting and dipping over the rollers and throwing up an arch of spray each side of its bows wherein sat a rainbow when the sun shone upon it; and so in no long time they drew nigh to the coast where was the far-famed garden of the Golden Apples. "And now, how shall we set about the capture of the apples?" said Brian. "Draw sword and fight for them," said Iuchar and Iucharba, "and if we are the stronger, we shall win them, and if not, we shall fall, as fall we surely must ere the eric for Kian be paid." "Nay," said Brian, "but whether we live or die, let not men say of us that we went blind and headlong to our tasks, but rather that we made the head help the hand, and that we deserved to win even though we lost. Now my counsel is that we approach the garden in the shape of three hawks, strong of wing, and that we hover about until the Wardens of the Tree have spent all their darts and javelins in casting at us, and then let us swoop down suddenly and bear off each of us an apple if we may." So it was agreed; and Brian struck himself and each of the brothers with a druid wand, and they became three beautiful, fierce, and strong-winged hawks. When the Wardens perceived them, they shouted and threw showers of arrows and darts at them, but the hawks evaded all of these until the missiles were spent, and then seized each an apple in his talons. But Brian seized two, for he took one in his beak as well. Then they flew as swiftly as they might to the shore where they had left their boat. Now the King of that garden had three fair daughters, to whom the apples and the garden were very dear, and he transformed the maidens into three griffins, who pursued the hawks. And the griffins threw darts of fire, as it were lightning, at the hawks. "Brian!" then cried Iuchar and his brother, "we are being burnt by these darts--we are lost unless we can escape them." On this, Brian changed himself and his brethren into three swans, and they plunged into the sea, and the burning darts were quenched. Then the griffins gave over the chase, and the Sons of Turenn made for their boat, and they embarked with the four apples. Thus their first quest was ended. After that they resolved to seek the pigskin from the King of Greece, and they debated how they should come before him. "Let us," said Brian, "assume the character and garb of poets and men of learning, for such are wont to come from Ireland and to travel foreign lands, and in that character shall the Greeks receive us best, for such men have honour among them." "It is well said," replied the brothers, "yet we have no poems in our heads, and how to compose one we know not." Howbeit they dressed their hair in the fashion of the poets of Erinn, and went up to the palace of Tuish the King. The doorkeeper asked of them who they were, and what was their business. "We are bards from Ireland," they said, "and we have come with a poem to the King." "Let them be admitted," said the King, when the doorkeeper brought him that tale; "they have doubtless come thus far to seek a powerful patron." So Brian and Iuchar and Iucharba came in and were made welcome, and were entertained, and then the minstrels of the King of Greece chanted the lays of that country before them. After that came the turn of the stranger bards, and Brian asked his brethren if they had anything to recite. "We have not," said they; "we know but one art--to take what we want by the strong hand if we may, and if we may not, to die fighting." "That is a difficult art too," said Brian; "let us see how we thrive with the poetry." So he rose up and recited this lay:-- "Mighty is thy fame, O King, Towering like a giant oak; For my song I ask no thing Save a pigskin for a cloak. "When a neighbour with his friend Quarrels, they are ear to ear; Who on us their store shall spend Shall be richer than they were. "Armies of the storming wind-- Raging seas, the sword's fell stroke-- Thou hast nothing to my mind Save thy pigskin for a cloak." "That is a very good poem," said the King, "but one word of its meaning I do not understand." "I will interpret it for you," said Brian:-- "Mighty is thy fame, O King, Towering like a giant oak." "That is to say, as the oak surpasses all the other trees of the forest, so do you surpass all the kings of the world in goodness, in nobleness, and in liberality. "A pigskin for a cloak." "That is the skin of the pig of Tuish which I would fain receive as the reward for my lay." "When a neighbour with his friend Quarrels, they are ear to ear." "That is to signify that you and I shall be about each other's ears over the skin, unless you are willing to give it to me. Such is the sense of my poem," said Brian, son of Turenn. "I would praise your poem more," said the King, "if there were not so much about my pigskin in it. Little sense have you, O man of poetry, to make that request of me, for not to all the poets, scholars, and lords of the world would I give that skin of my own free will. But what I will do is this--I will give the full of that skin of red gold thrice over in reward for your poem." "Thanks be to you," said Brian, "for that. I knew that I asked too much, but I knew also thou wouldst redeem the skin amply and generously. And now let the gold be duly measured out in it, for greedy am I, and I will not abate an ounce of it." The servants of the King were then sent with Brian and his brothers to the King's treasure-chamber to measure out the gold. As they did so, Brian suddenly snatched the skin from the hands of him who held it, and swiftly wrapped it round his body. Then the three brothers drew sword and made for the door, and a great fight arose in the King's palace. But they hewed and thrust manfully on every side of them, and though sorely wounded they fought their way through and escaped to the shore, and drove their boat out to sea, when the skin of the magic pig quickly made them whole and sound again. And thus the second quest of the Sons of Turenn had its end. "Let us now," said Brian, "go to seek the spear of the King of Persia." "In what manner of guise shall we go before the King of Persia?" said his brothers. "As we did before the King of Greece," said Brian. "That guise served us well with the King of Greece," replied they; "nevertheless, O Brian, this business of professing to be poets, when we are but swordsmen, is painful to us." However, they dressed their hair in the manner of poets and went up boldly to the palace of King Peisear of Persia, saying, as before, that they were wandering bards from Ireland who had a poem to recite before the King; and as they passed through the courtyard they marked the spear drowsing in its pot of sleepy herbs. They were made welcome, and after listening to the lays of the King's minstrel, Brian rose and sang:-- "'Tis little Peisear cares for spears, Since armies, when his face they see, All overcome with panic fears Without a wound they turn and flee. "The Yew is monarch of the wood, No other tree disputes its claim. The shining shaft in venom stewed Flies fiercely forth to kill and maim." "'Tis a very good poem," said the King, "but, O bard from Erinn, I do not understand your reference to my spear." "It is merely this," replied Brian, "that I would like your spear as a reward for my poem." Then the King stared at Brian, and his beard bristled with anger, and he said, "Never was a greater reward paid for any poem than not to adjudge you guilty of instant death for your request." Then Brian flung at the king the fourth golden apple which he had taken from the Garden of the Hesperides, and it dashed out his brains. Immediately the brothers all drew sword and made for the courtyard. Here they seized the magic spear, and with it and with their swords they fought their way clear, not without many wounds, and escaped to their boat. And thus ended the third quest of the Sons of Turenn. Now having come safely and victoriously through so many straits and perils, they began to be merry and hoped that all the eric might yet be paid. So they sailed away with high hearts to the Island of Sicily, to get the two horses and the chariot of the King, and the Boat of Mananan bore them swiftly and well. Having arrived here, they debated among themselves as to how they should proceed; and they agreed to present themselves as Irish mercenary soldiers--for such were wont in those days to take service with foreign kings--until they should learn where the horses and the chariot were kept, and how they should come at them. Then they went forward, and found the King and his lords in the palace garden taking the air. The Sons of Turenn then paid homage to him, and he asked them of their business. "We are Irish mercenary soldiers," they said, "seeking our wages from the kings of the world." "Are ye willing to take service with me?" said the King. "We are," said they, "and to that end are we come." Then their contract of military service was made, and they remained at the King's court for a month and a fortnight, and did not in all that time come to see the steeds or the chariot. At last Brian said, "Things are going ill with us, my brethren, in that we know no more at this day of the steeds or of the chariot than when we first arrived at this place." "What shall we do, then?" said they. "Let us do this," said Brian. "Let us gird on our arms and all our marching array, and tell the King that we shall quit his service unless he show us the chariot." And so they did; and the King said, "To-morrow shall be a gathering and parade of all my host, and the chariot shall be there, and ye shall see it if ye have a mind." So the next day the steeds were yoked and the chariot was driven round a great plain before the King and his lords. Now these steeds could run as well on sea as on dry land, and they were swifter than the winds of March. As the chariot came round the second time, Brian and his brothers seized the horses' heads, and Brian took the charioteer by the foot and flung him out over the rail, and they all leaped into the chariot and drove away. Such was the swiftness of their driving that they were out of sight ere the King and his men knew rightly what had befallen. And thus ended the fourth quest of the Sons of Turenn. Next they betook themselves to the court of Asal, King of the Golden Pillars, to get the seven swine which might be eaten every night and they would be whole and well on the morrow morn. But it had now been noised about every country that three young heroes from Erinn were plundering the kings of the world of their treasures in payment of a mighty eric; and when they arrived at the Land of the Golden Pillars they found the harbour guarded and a strait watch kept, that no one who might resemble the Sons of Turenn should enter. But Asal the King came to the harbour-mouth and spoke with the heroes, for he was desirous to see those who had done the great deeds that he had heard of. He asked them if it were true that they had done such things, and why. Then Brian told him the story of the mighty eric which had been laid upon them, and what they had done and suffered in fulfilling it. "Why," said King Asal, "have ye now come to my country?" "For the seven swine," said Brian, "to take them with us as a part of that eric." "How do you mean to get them?" asked the King. "With your goodwill," replied Brian, "if so it may be, and to pay you therefore with all the wealth we now have, which is thanks and love, and to stand by your side hereafter in any strait or quarrel you may enter into. But if you will not grant us the swine, and we may not be quit of our eric without them, we shall even take them as we may, and as we have beforetime taken mighty treasures from mighty kings." Then King Asal went into counsel with his lords, and he advised that the swine be given to the Sons of Turenn, partly for that he was moved with their desperate plight and the hardihood they had shown, and partly that they might get them whether or no. To this they all agreed, and the Sons of Turenn were invited to come ashore, where they were courteously and hospitably entertained in the King's palace. On the morrow the pigs were given to them, and great was their gladness, for never before had they won a treasure without toil and blood. And they vowed that, if they should live, the name of Asal should be made by them a great and shining name, for his compassion and generosity which he had shown them. This, then, was the fifth quest of the Sons of Turenn. "And whither do ye voyage now?" said Asal to them. "We go," said they, "to Iorroway for the hound's whelp which is there." "Take me with you, then," said Asal, "for the King of Iorroway is husband to my daughter, and I may prevail upon him to grant you the hound without combat." So the King's ship was manned and provisioned, and the Sons of Turenn laid up their treasures in the Boat of Mananan, and they all sailed joyfully forth to the pleasant kingdom of Iorroway. But here, too, they found all the coasts and harbours guarded, and entrance was forbidden them. Then Asal declared who he was, and him they allowed to land, and he journeyed to where his son-in-law, the King of Iorroway, was. To him Asal related the whole story of the sons of Turenn, and why they were come to that kingdom. "Thou wert a fool," said the King of Iorroway, "to have come on such a mission. There are no three heroes in the world to whom the Immortals have granted such grace that they should get my hound either by favour or by fight." "That is not a good word," said Asal, "for the treasures they now possess have made them yet stronger than they were, and these they won in the teeth of kings as strong as thou." And much more he said to him to persuade him to yield up the hound, but in vain. So Asal took his way back to the haven where the Sons of Turenn lay, and told them his tidings. Then the Sons of Turenn seized the magic spear, and the pigskin, and with a rush like that of three eagles descending from a high cliff upon a lamb-fold they burst upon the guards of the King of Iorroway. Fierce and fell was the combat that ensued, and many times the brothers were driven apart, and all but overborne by the throng of their foes. But at last Brian perceived where the King of Iorroway was directing the fight, and he cut his way to him, and having smitten him to the ground, he bound him and carried him out of the press to the haven-side where Asal was. "There," he said, "is your son-in-law for you Asal, and I swear by my sword that I had more easily killed him thrice than once to bring him thus bound to you." "That is very like," said Asal; "but now hold him to ransom." So the people of Iorroway gave the hound to the Sons of Turenn as a ransom for their King, and the King was released, and friendship and alliance were made between them. And with joyful hearts the Sons of Turenn bade farewell to the King of Iorroway and to Asal, and departed on their way. Thus was the sixth of their quests fulfilled. Now Lugh Lamfada desired to know how the Sons of Turenn had fared, and whether they had got any portion of the great eric that might be serviceable to him when the Fomorians should return for one more struggle. And by sorcery and divination it was revealed to him how they had thriven, and that nought remained to be won save the cooking-spit of the sea-nymphs, and to give the three shouts upon the hill. Lugh then by druidic art caused a spell of oblivion and forgetfulness to descend upon the Sons of Turenn, and put into their hearts withal a yearning and passion to return to their native land of Erinn. They forgot, therefore, that a portion of the eric was still to win, and they bade the Boat of Mananan bear them home with their treasures, for they deemed that they should now quit them of all their debt for the blood of Kian and live free in their father's home, having done such things and won such fame as no three brothers had ever done since the world began. At the Brugh of Boyne, where they had started on their quest, their boat came ashore again, and as they landed they wept for joy, and falling on their knees they kissed the green sod of Erinn. Then they took up their treasures and journeyed to Ben Edar,[17] where the High King of Ireland, and Lugh with him, were holding an Assembly of the People of Dana. But when Lugh heard that they were on their way he put on his cloak of invisibility and withdrew privily to Tara. [17] The Hill of Howth. When the brethren arrived at Ben Edar, the High King of the lords of the Danaans gave them welcome and applause, for all were rejoiced that the stain of ancient feud and bloodshed should be wiped out, and that the Children of Dana should be at peace within their borders. Then they sought for Lugh to deliver over the eric, but he was not to be found. And Brian said, "He has gone to Tara to avoid us, having heard that we were coming with our treasures and weapons of war." Word was then sent to Lugh at Tara that the Sons of Turenn were at Ben Edar, and the eric with them. "Let them pay it over to the High King," said Lugh. So it was done; and when Lugh had tidings that the High King had the eric, he returned to Ben Edar. Then the eric was laid before him, and Brian said, "Is the debt paid, O Lugh, son of Kian?" Lugh said, "Truly there is here the price of any man's death; but it is not lawful to give a quittance for an eric that is not complete. Where is the cooking-spit from the Island of Finchory? and have ye given the three shouts upon the Hill of Mochaen?" At this word Brian and Iuchar and Iucharba fell prone upon the ground, and were speechless awhile from grief and dismay. After a while they left the Assembly like broken men, with hanging heads and with heavy steps, and betook themselves to Dún Turenn, where they found their father, and they told him all that had befallen them since they had parted with him and set forth on the Quest. Thus they passed the night in gloom and evil forebodings, and on the morrow they went down once more to the place where the Boat of Mananan was moored. And Ethne their sister accompanied them, wailing and lamenting, but no words of cheer had they now to say to her, for now they began to comprehend that a mightier and a craftier mind had caught them in the net of fate. And whereas they had deemed themselves heroes and victors in the most glorious quest whereof the earth had record, they now knew that they were but as arrows in the hands of a laughing archer, who shoots one at a stag and one at the heart of a foe, and one, it may be, in sheer wantonness, and to try his bow, over a cliff edge into the sea. [Illustration: "There dwelt the red-haired ocean-nymphs"] However, they put forth in their magic boat, but in no wise could they direct it to the Isle of Finchory, and a quarter of a year they traversed the seaways and never could get tidings of that island. At last Brian fashioned for himself by magic art a water-dress, with a helmet of crystal, and into the depths of the sea he plunged. Here, the story tells, he searched hither and thither for a fortnight, till at last he found that island, which was an island indeed with the sea over it and around it and beneath it. There dwelt the red-haired ocean-nymphs in glittering palaces among the sea-flowers, and they wrought fair embroidery with gold and jewels, and sang, as they wrought, a fairy music like the chiming of silver bells. Three fifties of them sat or played in their great hall as Brian entered, and they gazed on him but spoke no word. Then Brian strode to the wide hearth, and without a word he seized from it a spit that was made of beaten gold, and turned again to go. But at that the laughter of the sea-maidens rippled through the hall and one of them said: "Thou art a bold man, Brian, and bolder than thou knowest; for if thy two brothers were here, the weakest of us could vanquish all the three. Nevertheless, take the spit for thy daring; we had never granted it for thy prayers." So Brian thanked them and bade farewell, and he rose to the surface of the water. Ere long his brethren perceived him as he shouldered the waves on the bosom of the deep, and they sailed to where he was and took him on board. And thus ended the quest for the seventh portion of the eric of Kian. After that their hopes revived a little, and they set sail for the land of Lochlann, in which was the Hill of Mochaen. When they had arrived at the hill Mochaen came out to meet them with his three sons, Corc and Conn and Hugh; nor did the Sons of Turenn ever behold a band of grimmer and mightier warriors than those four. "What seek ye here?" asked Mochaen of them They told him that it had been laid upon them to give three shouts upon the hill. "It hath been laid upon me," said Mochaen, "to prevent this thing." Then Brian and Mochaen drew sword and fell furiously upon each other, and their fighting was like that of two hungry lions or two wild bulls, until at last Brian drove his sword into the throat of Mochaen, and he died. With that the Sons of Mochaen and the Sons of Turenn rushed fiercely upon each other. Long and sore was the strife that they had, and the blood that fell made red the grassy place wherein they fought. Not one of them but received wounds that pierced him through and through, and that heroes of less hardihood had died of a score of times. But in the end the sons of Mochaen fell, and Brian, Iuchar, and Iucharba lay over them in a swoon like death. After a while Brian's senses came back to him, and he said, "Do ye live, dear brothers, or how is it with you?" "We are as good as dead," said they; "let us be." "Arise," then said Brian, "for truly I feel death coming swiftly upon us, and we have yet to give the three shouts upon the hill." "We cannot stir," said Iuchar and Iucharba. Then Brian rose to his knees and to his feet, and he lifted up his two brothers while the blood of all three streamed down to their feet, and they raised their voices as best they might, and gave three hoarse cries upon the Hill of Mochaen. And thus was the last of the epic fulfilled. Then they bound up their wounds, and Brian placed himself between the two brothers, and slowly and painfully they made their way to the boat, and put out to sea for Ireland. And as they lay in the stupor of faintness in the boat, one murmured to himself, "I see the Cape of Ben Edar and the coast of Turenn, and Tara of the Kings." Then Iuchar and Iucharba entreated Brian to lift their heads upon his breast. "Let us but see the land of Erinn again," said they, "the hills around Tailtin, and the dewy plain of Bregia, and the quiet waters of the Boyne and our father's Dún thereby, and healing will come to us; or if death come we can endure it after that." Then Brian raised them up; and they saw that they were now near by under Ben Edar; and at the Strand of the Bull[18] they took land. They were then conveyed to the Dún of Turenn, and life was still in them when they were laid in their father's hall. [18] Cluan Tarbh, Clontarf; so called from the roaring of the waves on the strand. And Brian said to Turenn, "Go now, dear father, with all speed to Lugh at Tara. Give him the cooking-spit, and tell how thou hast found us after giving our three shouts upon the Hill of Mochaen. Then beseech him that he yield thee the loan of the pigskin of the King of Greece, for if it be laid upon us while the life is yet in us, we shall recover. We have won the eric, and it may be that he will not pursue us to our death." Turenn went to Lugh and gave him the spit of the sea-nymphs, and besought him for the lives of his sons. Lugh was silent for a while, but his countenance did not change, and he said, "Thou, old man, seest nought but the cloud of sorrow wherein thou art encompassed. But I hear from above it the singing of the Immortal Ones, who tell to one another the story of this land. Thy sons must die; yet have I shown to them more mercy than they showed to Kian. I have forgiven them; nor shall they live to slay their own immortality, but the royal bards of Erinn and the old men in the chimney corners shall tell of their glory and their fate as long as the land shall endure." Then Turenn bowed his white head and went sorrowfully back to Dún Turenn; and he told his sons of the words that Lugh had said. And with that the sons of Turenn kissed each other, and the breath of life departed from them, and they died. And Turenn died also, for his heart was broken in him; and Ethne his daughter buried them in one grave. Thus, then, ends the tale of the Quest of the Eric and the Fate of the Sons of Turenn. CHAPTER III The Secret of Labra In very ancient days there was a King in Ireland named Labra, who was called Labra the Sailor for a certain voyage that he made. Now Labra was never seen save by one man, once a year, without a hood that covered his head and ears. But once a year it was his habit to let his hair be cropped, and the person to do this was chosen by lot, for the King was accustomed to put to death instantly the man who had cropped him. And so it happened that on a certain year the lot fell on a young man who was the only son of a poor widow, who dwelt near by the palace of the King. When she heard that her son had been chosen she fell on her knees before the King and besought him, with tears, that her son, who was her only support and all she had in the world, might not suffer death as was customary. The King was moved by her grief and her entreaties, and at last he consented that the young man should not be slain provided that he vowed to keep secret to the day of his death what he should see. The youth agreed to this and he vowed by the Sun and the Wind that he would never, so long as he lived, reveal to man what he should learn when he cropped the King's hair. So he did what was appointed for him and went home. But when he did so he had no peace for the wonder of the secret that he had learned preyed upon his mind so that he could not rest for thinking of it and longing to reveal it, and at last he fell into a wasting sickness from it, and was near to die. Then there was brought to see him a wise druid, who was skilled in all maladies of the mind and body, and after he had talked with the youth he said to his mother, "Thy son is dying of the burden of a secret which he may not reveal to any man, but until he reveals it he will have no ease. Let him, therefore, walk along the high way till he comes to a place where four roads meet. Let him then turn to the right, and the first tree that he shall meet on the roadside let him tell the secret to it, and so it may be he shall be relieved, and his vow will not be broken." The mother told her son of the druid's advice, and next day he went upon his way till he came to four cross roads, and he took the road upon the right, and the first tree he found was a great willow-tree. So the young man laid his cheek against the bark, and he whispered the secret to the tree, and as he turned back homeward he felt lightened of his burden, and he leaped and sang, and ere many days were past he was as well and light hearted as ever he had been in his life. Some while after that it happened that the King's harper, namely Craftiny, broke the straining-post of his harp and went out to seek for a piece of wood wherewith to mend it. And the first timber he found that would fit the purpose was the willow-tree by the cross roads. He cut it down, therefore, and took as much as would give him a new straining-post, and he bore it home with him and mended his harp with it. That night he played after meat before the King and his lords as he was wont, but whatever he played and sang the folk that listened to him seemed to hear only one thing, "Two horse's ears hath Labra the Sailor." Then the King plucked off his hood, and after that he made no secret of his ears and none suffered on account of them thenceforward. CHAPTER IV King Iubdan and King Fergus It happened on a day when Fergus son of Leda was King of Ulster, that Iubdan, King of the Leprecauns or Wee Folk, of the land of Faylinn, held a great banquet and assembly of the lords and princes of the Wee Folk. And all their captains and men of war came thither, to show their feats before the King, among whom was the strong man, namely Glowar, whose might was such that with his battle-axe he could hew down a thistle at one stroke. Thither also came the King's heir-apparent. Tiny, son of Tot, and the Queen Bebo with her maidens; and there were also the King's harpers and singing-men, and the chief poet of the court, who was called Eisirt. All these sat down to the feast in due order and precedence, with Bebo on the King's right hand and the poet on his left, and Glowar kept the door. Soon the wine began to flow from the vats of dark-red yew-wood, and the carvers carved busily at great haunches of roast hares and ribs of field-mice; and they all ate and drank, and loudly the hall rang with gay talk and laughter, and the drinking of toasts, and clashing of silver goblets. At last when they had put away desire of eating and drinking, Iubdan rose up, having in his hand the royal goblet of gold inlaid with precious many-coloured jewels, and the heir-apparent rose at the other end of the table, and they drank prosperity and victory to Faylinn. Then Iubdan's heart swelled with pride, and he asked of the company, "Come now, have any of you ever seen a king more glorious and powerful than I am?" "Never, in truth," cried they all. "Have ye ever seen a stronger man than my giant, Glowar?" "Never, O King," said they. "Or battle-steeds and men-at-arms better than mine?" "By our words," they cried, "we never have." "Truly," went on Iubdan, "I deem that he who would assail our kingdom of Faylinn, and carry away captives and hostages from us, would have his work cut out for him, so fierce and mighty are our warriors; yea, any one of them hath the stuff of kingship in him." On hearing this, Eisirt, in whom the heady wine and ale had done their work, burst out laughing; and the King turned to him, saying, "Eisirt, what hath moved thee to this laughter?" "I know a province in Erinn," replied Eisirt, "one man of whom would harry Faylinn in the teeth of all four battalions of the Wee Folk." "Seize him," cried the King to his attendants; "Eisirt shall pay dearly in chains and in prison for that scornful speech against our glory." Then Eisirt was put in bonds, and he repented him of his brag; but ere they dragged him away he said, "Grant me, O mighty King, but three days' respite, that I may travel to Erinn to the court of Fergus mac Leda, and if I bring not back some clear token that I have uttered nought but the truth, then do with me as thou wilt." So Iubdan bade them release him, and he fared away to Erinn oversea. [Illustration: "They all trooped out, lords and ladies, to view the wee man"] After this, one day, as Fergus and his lords sat at the feast, the gatekeeper of the palace of Fergus in Emania heard outside a sound of ringing; he opened the gate, and there stood a wee man holding in his hand a rod of white bronze hung with little silver bells, by which poets are wont to procure silence for their recitations. Most noble and comely was the little man to look on, though the short grass of the lawn reached as high as to his knee. His hair was twisted in four-ply strands after the manner of poets and he wore a gold-embroidered tunic of silk and an ample scarlet cloak with a fringe of gold. On his feet he wore shoes of white bronze ornamented with gold, and a silken hood was on his head. The gatekeeper wondered at the sight of the wee man, and went to report the matter to King Fergus. "Is he less," asked Fergus, "than my dwarf and poet Æda?" "Verily," said the gatekeeper, "he could stand upon the palm of Æda's hand and have room to spare." Then with much laughter and wonder they all trooped out, lords and ladies, to the great gate to view the wee man and to speak with him. But Eisirt, when he saw them, waved them back in alarm, crying, "Avaunt, huge men; bring not your heavy breath so near me; but let yon man that is least among you approach me and bear me in." So the dwarf Æda put Eisirt on his palm and bore him into the banqueting hall. Then they set him on the table, and Eisirt declared his name and calling. The King ordered that meat and drink should be given him, but Eisirt said, "I will neither eat of your meat nor drink of ale." "By our word," said Fergus, "'tis a haughty wight; he ought to be dropped into a goblet that he might at least drink all round him." The cupbearer seized Eisirt and put him into a tankard of ale, and he swam on the surface of it. "Ye wise men of Ulster," he cried, "there is much knowledge and wisdom ye might get from me, yet ye will let me be drowned!" "What, then?" cried they. Then Eisirt, beginning with the King, set out to tell every hidden sin that each man or woman had done, and ere he had gone far they with much laughter and chiding fetched him out of the ale-pot and dried him with fair satin napkins. "Now ye have confessed that I know somewhat to the purpose," said Eisirt, "and I will even eat of your food, but do ye give heed to my words, and do ill no more." Fergus then said, "If thou art a poet, Eisirt, give us now a taste of thy delightful art." "That will I," said Eisirt, "and the poem that I shall recite to you shall be an ode in praise of my king, Iubdan the Great." Then he recited this lay:-- "A monarch of might Is Iubdan my king. His brow is snow-white, His hair black as night; As a red copper bowl When smitten will sing, So ringeth the voice Of Iubdan the king. His eyen, they roll Majestic and bland On the lords of his land Arrayed for the fight, A spectacle grand! Like a torrent they rush With a waving of swords And the bridles all ringing And cheeks all aflush, And the battle-steeds springing, A beautiful, terrible, death-dealing band. Like pines, straight and tall, Where Iubdan is king, Are the men one and all. The maidens are fair-- Bright gold is their hair. From silver we quaff The dark, heady ale That never shall fail; We love and we laugh. Gold frontlets we wear; And aye through the air Sweet music doth ring-- O Fergus, men say That in all Inisfail There is not a maiden so proud or so wise But would give her two eyes Thy kisses to win-- But I tell thee, that there Thou canst never compare With the haughty, magnificent King of Faylinn!" At this they all applauded, and Fergus said, "O youth and blameless bard, let us be friends henceforth." And they all heaped before him, as a poet's reward, gifts of rings and jewels and gold cups and weapons, as high as a tall man standing. Then Eisirt said, "Truly a generous and a worthy reward have ye given me, O men of Ulster; yet take back these precious things I pray you, for every man in my king's household hath an abundance of them." But the Ulster lords said, "Nothing that we have given may we take back." Eisirt then bade two-thirds of his reward be given to the bards and learned men of Ulster, and one-third to the horse-boys and jesters; and so it was done. Three days and nights did Eisirt abide in Emania, and all the King's court loved him and made much of him. Then he wished them blessing and victory, and prepared to depart to his own country. Now Æda, the King's dwarf and minstrel, begged Eisirt to take him with him on a visit to the land of Faylinn; and Eisirt said, "I shall not bid thee come, for then if kindness and hospitality be shown thee, thou wilt say it is only what I had undertaken; but if thou come of thine own motion, thou wilt perchance be grateful." So they went off together; but Eisirt could not keep up with Æda, and Æda said, "I perceive that Eisirt is but a poor walker." At this Eisirt ran off like a flash and was soon an arrow flight in front of Æda. When the latter at last came up with him, he said, "The right thing, Eisirt, is not too fast and not too slow." "Since I have been in Ulster," Eisirt replied, "I have never before heard ye measure out the right." By and by they reached the margin of the sea. "And what are we to do now?" asked Æda. "Be not troubled, Æda," said Eisirt, "the horse of Iubdan will bear us easily over this." They waited awhile on the beach, and ere long they saw it coming toward them skimming over the surface of the waves. "Save and protect us!" cried Æda at that sight; and Eisirt asked him what he saw. "A red-maned hare," answered Æda. "Nay, but that is Iubdan's horse," said Eisirt, and with that the creature came prancing to land with flashing eyes and waving tail and a long russet-coloured mane; a bridle beset with gold it had. Eisirt mounted and bade Æda come up behind him. "Thy boat is little enough for thee alone," said Æda. "Cease fault-finding and grumbling," then said Eisirt, "for the weight of wisdom that is in thee will not bear him down." So Æda and Eisirt mounted on the fairy horse and away they sped over the tops of the waves and the deeps of the ocean till at last they reached the Kingdom of Faylinn, and there were a great concourse of the Wee Folk awaiting them. "Eisirt is coming! Eisirt is coming!" cried they all, "and a Fomorian giant along with him." Then Iubdan went forth to meet Eisirt, and he kissed him, and said, "Why hast thou brought this Fomorian with thee to slay us?" "He is no Fomor," said Eisirt, "but a learned man and a poet from Ulster. He is moreover the King of Ulster's dwarf, and in all that realm he is the smallest man. He can lie in their great men's bosoms and stand upon their hands as though he were a child; yet for all that you would do well to be careful how you behave to him." "What is his name?" said they then. "He is the poet Æda," said Eisirt. "Uch," said they, "what a giant thou hast brought us!" "And now, O King," said Eisirt to Iubdan, "I challenge thee to go and see for thyself the region from which we have come, and make trial of the royal porridge which is made for Fergus King of Ulster this very night." At this Iubdan was much dismayed, and he betook himself to Bebo his wife and told her how he was laid under bonds of chivalry by Eisirt to go to the land of the giants; and he bade her prepare to accompany him. "I will go," said she, "but you did an ill deed when you condemned Eisirt to prison." So they mounted, both of them, on the fairy steed, and in no long time they reached Emania, and it was now past midnight. And they were greatly afraid, and said Bebo, "Let us search for that porridge and taste it, as we were bound, and make off again ere the folk awake." They made their way into the palace of Fergus, and soon they found a great porridge pot, but the rim was too high to be reached from the ground. "Get thee up upon thy horse," said Bebo, "and from thence to the rim of this cauldron." And thus he did, but having gained the rim of the pot his arm was too short to reach the silver ladle that was in it. In straining downward to do so, however, he slipped and in he fell, and up to his middle in the thick porridge he stuck fast. And when Bebo heard what a plight he was in, she wept, and said, "Rash and hasty wert thou, Iubdan, to have got into this evil case, but surely there is no man under the sun that can make thee hear reason." And he said, "Rash indeed it was, but thou canst not help me, Bebo, now, and it is but folly to stay; take the horse and flee away ere the day break." "Say not so," replied Bebo, "for surely I will not go till I see how things fall out with thee." At last the folk in the palace began to be stirring, and ere long they found Iubdan in the porridge pot. So they picked him out with great laughter bore him off to Fergus. "By my conscience," said Fergus, "but this is not the little fellow that was here before, for he had yellow hair, but this one hath a shock of the blackest; who art thou at all, wee man?" "I am of the Wee Folk," said Iubdan, "and am indeed king over them, and this woman is my wife and queen, Bebo." "Take him away," then said Fergus to his varlets, "and guard him well"; for he misdoubted some mischief of Faery was on foot. "Nay, nay," cried Iubdan, "but let me not be with these coarse fellows. I pledge thee my word that I will not quit this place till thou and Ulster give me leave." "Could I believe that," said Fergus, "I would not put thee in bonds." "I have never broken my word," said Iubdan, "and I never will." Then Fergus set him free and allotted him a fair chamber for himself, and a trusty servingman to wait upon him. Soon there came in a gillie whose business it was to see to the fires, and he kindled the fire for Iubdan, throwing on it a woodbine together with divers other sorts of timber. Then Iubdan said, "Man of smoke, burn not the king of the trees, for it is not meet to burn him. Wouldst thou but take counsel from me thou mightest go safely by sea or land." Iubdan then chanted to him the following recital of the duties of his office:-- "O fire-gillie of Fergus of the Feasts, never by land or sea burn the King of the woods, High King of the forests of Inisfail, whom none may bind, but who like a strong monarch holds all the other trees in hard bondage. If thou burn the twining one, misfortune will come of it, peril at the point of spear, or drowning in the waves. "Burn not the sweet apple-tree of drooping branches, of the white blossoms, to whose gracious head each man puts forth his hand. "The stubborn blackthorn wanders far and wide, the good craftsman burns not this timber; little though its bushes be, yet flocks of birds warble in them. "Burn not the noble willow, the unfailing ornament of poems; bees drink from its blossoms, all delight in the graceful tent. "The delicate, airy tree of the druids, the rowan with its berries, this burn; but avoid the weak tree, burn not the slender hazel. "The ash-tree of the black buds burn not--timber that speeds the wheel, that yields the rider his switch; the ashen spear is the scale-beam of battle. "The tangled, bitter bramble, burn him, the sharp and green; he flays and cuts the foot; he snares you and drags you back. "Hottest of timber is the green oak; he will give you a pain in the head if you use him overmuch, a pain in the eyes will come from his biting fumes. "Full-charged with witchcraft is the alder, the hottest tree in the fight; burn assuredly both the alder and the whitehorn at your will. "Holly, burn it in the green and in the dry; of all trees in the world, holly is absolutely the best. "The elder-tree of the rough brown bark, burn him to cinders, the steed of the Fairy Folk. "The drooping birch, by all means burn him too, the tree of long-lasting bloom. "And lay low, if it pleases you, the russet aspen; late or early, burn the tree with the quaking plumage. "The yew is the venerable ancestor of the wood as the companion of feasts he is known; of him make goodly brown vats for ale and wine. "Follow my counsel, O man of the smoke, and it shall go well with you, body and soul." So Iubdan continued in Emania free to go and come as he pleased; and all the Ulstermen delighted to watch him and to hear his conversation. One day it chanced that he was in the chamber of the Queen, and saw her putting on her feet a very dainty and richly embroidered pair of shoes. At this Iubdan gave a laugh. "Why dost thou laugh?" said Fergus. "Meseems the healing is applied very far from the hurt," replied Iubdan. "What meanest thou by that?" said Fergus. "Because the Queen is making her feet fine in order, O Fergus, that she may attract thee to her lips," said Iubdan. Another time it chanced that Iubdan overheard one of the King's soldiers complaining of a pair of new brogues that had been served out to him, and grumbling that the soles were too thin. At this Iubdan laughed again, and being asked why, he said, "I must need laugh to hear yon fellow grumbling about his brogues, for the soles of these brogues, thin as they are, he will never wear out." And this was a true prophecy, for the same night this and another of the King's men had a quarrel, and fought, and killed each the other. At last the Wee Folk determined to go in search of their king, and seven battalions of them marched upon Emania and encamped upon the lawn over against the King's Dún. Fergus and his nobles went out to confer with them. "Give us back our king," said the Wee Folk, "and we shall redeem him with a great ransom." "What ransom, then?" asked Fergus. "We shall," said they, "cause this great plain to stand thick with corn for you every year, and that without ploughing or sowing." "I will not give up Iubdan for that," said Fergus. "Then we shall do you a mischief," said the Wee Folk. That night every calf in the Province of Ulster got access to its dam, and in the morn there was no milk to be had for man or child, for the cows were sucked dry. Then said the Wee Folk to Fergus, "This night, unless we get Iubdan, we shall defile every well and lake and river in Ulster." "That is a trifle," said Fergus, "and ye shall not get Iubdan." The Wee Folk carried out this threat, and once more they came and demanded Iubdan, saying, "To-night we shall burn with fire the shaft of every mill in Ulster." "Yet not so shall ye get Iubdan," said Fergus. This being done, they came again, saying, "We shall have vengeance unless Iubdan be delivered to us." "What vengeance?" said Fergus. "We shall snip off every ear of corn in thy kingdom," said they. "Even so," replied Fergus, "I shall not deliver Iubdan." So the Wee Folk snipped off every ear of standing corn in Ulster, and once more they returned and demanded Iubdan. "What will ye do next?" asked Fergus. "We shall shave the hair of every man and every woman in Ulster," said they, "so that ye shall be shamed and disgraced for ever among the people of Erinn." "By my word," said Fergus, "if ye do that I shall slay Iubdan." Then Iubdan said, "I have a better counsel than that, O King; let me have liberty to go and speak with them, and I shall bid them make good what mischief they have done, and they shall return home forthwith." Fergus granted that; and when the Wee Folk saw Iubdan approaching them, they set up a shout of triumph that a man might have heard a bowshot off, for they believed they had prevailed and that Iubdan was released to them. But Iubdan said, "My faithful people, you must now begone, and I may not go with you; make good also all the mischief that ye have done, and know that if ye do any more I must die." Then the Wee Folk departed, very downcast and sorrowful, but they did as Iubdan had bidden them. Iubdan, however, went to Fergus and said, "Take, O King, the choicest of my treasures, and let me go." "What is thy choicest treasure?" said Fergus. Iubdan then began to recite to Fergus the list of his possessions, such as druidic weapons, and love-charms, and instruments of music that played without touch of human hand, and vats of ale that could never be emptied; and he named among other noble treasures a pair of shoes, wearing which a man could go over or under the sea as readily as on dry land. At the same time Æda, the dwarf and poet of Ulster, returned hale and well from the land of Faylinn, and much did he entertain the King and all the court with tales of the smallness of the Wee Folk, and their marvel at his own size, and their bravery and beauty, and their marble palaces and matchless minstrelsy. So the King, Fergus mac Leda, was well content to take a ransom, namely the magic shoes, which he desired above all the treasures of Faylinn, and to let Iubdan go. And he gave him rich gifts, as did also the nobles of Ulster, and wished him blessing and victory; and Iubdan he departed, with Bebo his wife, having first bestowed upon Fergus the magical shoes. And of him the tale hath now no more to say. But Fergus never tired of donning the shoes of Iubdan and traversing the secret depths of the lakes and rivers of Ulster. Thereby, too, in the end he got his death, for as the wise say that the gifts of Faery may not be enjoyed without peril by mortal men, so in this case too it proved. For, one day as Fergus was exploring the depths of Loch Rury he met the monster, namely the river-horse, which inhabited that lake. Horrible of form it was, swelling and contracting like a blacksmith's bellows, and with eyes like torches, and glittering tusks, and a mane of coarse hair on its crest and neck. When it saw Fergus it laid back its ears, and its neck arched like a rainbow over his head, and the vast mouth gaped to devour him. Then Fergus rose quickly to the surface and made for the land, and the beast after him, driving before it a huge wave of foam. Barely did he escape with his life; but with the horror of the sight his features were distorted and his mouth was twisted around to the side of his head, so that he was called Fergus Wry-mouth from that day forth. And the gillie that was with him told the tale of the adventure. Now there was a law in Ireland that no man might be king who was disfigured by any bodily blemish. His people, therefore, loving Fergus, kept from him all knowledge of his condition, and the Queen let all mirrors that were in the palace be put away. But one day it chanced that a bondmaid was negligent in preparing the bath, and Fergus being impatient, gave her a stroke with a switch which he had in his hand. The maid in anger turned upon him, and cried, "It would better become thee to avenge thyself on the riverhorse that hath twisted thy mouth, than to do brave deeds on women." Fergus then bade a mirror be fetched, and when he saw his face in it, he said, "The woman spake truth; the riverhorse of Loch Rury has done this thing." [Illustration: "Fergus goes down into the lake"] The next day Fergus put on the shoes of Iubdan and went forth to Loch Rury, and with him went the lords of Ulster. And when he reached the margin of the lake he drew his sword and went down into it, and soon the waters covered him. After a while those that watched upon the bank saw a bubbling and a mighty commotion in the waters, now here, now there, and waves of bloody froth broke at their feet. At last, as they strained their eyes upon the tossing water, they saw Fergus rise to his middle from it, pale and bloody. In his right hand he waved aloft his sword, his left was twisted in the coarse hair of the monster's head, and they saw that his countenance was fair and kingly as of old. "Ulstermen, I have conquered," he cried; and as he did so he sank down again, dead with his dead foe, into their red grave in Loch Rury. And the Ulster lords went back to Emania, sorrowful yet proud, for they knew that a seed of honour had been sown that day in their land from which should spring a breed of high-hearted fighting men for many a generation to come. CHAPTER V The Carving of mac Datho's Boar Once upon a time there dwelt in the province of Leinster a wealthy hospitable lord named Mesroda, son of Datho. Two possessions had he; namely, a hound which could outrun every other hound and every wild beast in Erinn, and a boar which was the finest and greatest in size that man had ever beheld. Now the fame of this hound was noised all about the land, and many were the princes and lords who longed to possess it. And it came to pass that Conor, King of Ulster, and Maev, Queen of Connacht, sent messengers to mac Datho to ask him to sell them the hound for a price, and both the messengers arrived at the Dún of mac Datho on the same day. Said the Connacht messenger, "We will give thee in exchange for the hound six hundred milch cows, and a chariot with two horses, the best that are to be found in Connacht, and at the end of a year thou shalt have as much again." And the messenger of King Conor said, "We will give no less than Connacht, and the friendship and alliance of Ulster, and that will be better for thee than the friendship of Connacht." Then Mesroda mac Datho fell silent, and for three days he would not eat nor drink, nor could he sleep o' nights, but tossed restlessly on his bed. His wife observed his condition, and said to him, "Thy fast hath been long, Mesroda, though good food is by thee in plenty; and at night thou turnest thy face to the wall, and well I know thou dost not sleep. What is the cause of thy trouble?" "There is a saying," replied mac Datho, "'Trust not a thrall with money, nor a woman with a secret.'" "When should a man talk to a woman," said his wife, "but when something were amiss? What thy mind cannot solve perchance another's may." Then mac Datho told his wife of the request for his hound both from Ulster and from Connacht at one and the same time, "and whichever of them I deny," he said, "they will harry my cattle and slay my people." "Then hear my counsel," said the woman. "Give it to both of them, and bid them come and fetch it; and if there be any harrying to be done, let them even harry each other; but in no way mayest thou keep the hound." On that, mac Datho rose up and shook himself, and called for food and drink, and made merry with himself and his guests. Then he sent privately for the messenger of Queen Maev, and said to him, "Long have I doubted what to do, but now I am resolved to give the hound to Connacht. Let ye send for it on such a day with a train of your nobles or warriors and bear him forth nobly and proudly, for he is worth it; and ye shall all have drink and food and royal entertainment in my Dún." So the messenger departed, well pleased. To the Ulster messenger mac Datho said, "After much perplexity I have resolved to give my hound to Conor. Let the best of the Ulstermen come to fetch him, and they shall be welcomed and entertained as is fitting." And for these he named the same day as he had done for the embassy from Connacht. When the appointed day came round, the flower of the fighting men of two provinces of Ireland were assembled before the Dún of the son of Datho, and there were also Conor, King of Ulster, and Ailill, the husband of Maev, Queen of Connacht. Mac Datho went forth to meet them. "Welcome, warriors," he said to them, "albeit for two armies at once we were not prepared." Then he bade them into the Dún, and in the great hall they sat down. Now in this hall there were seven doors, and between every two doors were benches for fifty men. Not as friends bidden to a feast did the men of Ulster and of Connacht look upon one another, since for three hundred years the provinces had ever been at war. "Let the great boar be killed," said mac Datho, and it was done. For seven years had that boar been nourished on the milk of fifty cows; yet rather on venom should it have been nourished, such was the mischief that was to come from the carving of it. When the boar was roasted it was brought in, and many other kinds of food as side dishes, "and if more be wanting to the feast," said mac Datho, "it shall be slain for you before the morning." "The boar is good," said Conor. "It is a fine boar," said Ailill; "and now, O mac Datho, how shall it be divided among us?" There was among the Ulster company one Bricru, son of Carbad, whose delight was in biting speeches and in fomenting strife, though he himself was never known to draw sword in any quarrel. He now spoke from his couch in answer to Ailill: "How should the boar be divided, O son of Datho, except by appointing to carve it him who is best in deeds of arms? Here be all the valiant men of Ireland assembled; have none of us hit each other a blow on the nose ere now?" "Good," said Ailill, "so let it be done." "We also agree," said Conor; "there are plenty of our lads in the house that have many a time gone round the border of the Provinces." "You will want them to-night, Conor," said an old warrior from Conlad in the West. "They have often been seen on their backs on the roads of rushy Dedah, and many a fat steer have they left with me." "It was a fat bullock thou didst have with thee once upon a day," replied Moonremar of Ulster, "even thine own brother, and by the rushy road of Conlad he came and went not back." "'Twas a better man than he, even Irloth, son of Fergus mac Leda, who fell by the hand of Echbael in Tara Luachra," replied Lugad of Munster. "Echbael?" cried Keltchar, son of Uthecar Hornskin of Ulster. "Is it of him ye boast, whom I myself slew and cut off his head?" And thus the heroes bandied about the tales and taunts of their victories, until at length Ket, son of Maga of the Connachtmen, arose and stood over the boar and took the knife into his hand. "Now," he cried, "let one man in Ulster match his deeds with mine, or else hold ye your peace and let me carve the boar!" For a while there was silence, and then Conor King of Ulster, said to Logary the Triumphant, "Stay that for me." So Logary arose and said, "Ket shall never carve the boar for all of us." "Not so fast, Logary," said Ket. "It is the custom among you Ulstermen that when a youth first takes arms he comes to prove himself on us. So didst thou, Logary, and we met thee at the border. From that meeting I have thy chariot and horses, and thou hadst a spear through thy ribs Not thus wilt thou get the boar from me." Then Logary sat down on his bench. "Ket shall never divide that pig," spake then a tall fair-haired warrior from Ulster, coming down the hall. "Whom have we here?" asked Ket. "A better man than thou," shouted the Ulstermen, "even Angus, son of Lama Gabad." "Indeed?" said Ket, "and why is his father called Lama Gabad [wanting a hand]?" "We know not," said they. "But I know it," said Ket. "Once I went on a foray to the East, and was attacked by a troop, Lama Gabad among them. He flung a lance at me. I seized the same lance and flung it back, and it shore off his hand, and it lay there on the field before him. Shall that man's son measure himself with me?" And Angus went to his bench and sat down. "Keep up the contest," then cried Ket tauntingly, "or let me divide the boar." "That thou shalt not," cried another Ulster warrior of great stature. "And who is this?" said Ket. "Owen Mór, King of Fermag," said the Ulstermen. "I have seen him ere now," said Ket. "I took a drove of cattle from him before his own house. He put a spear through my shield and I flung it back and it tore out one of his eyes, and one-eyed he is to this day." Then Owen Mór sat down. "Have ye any more to contest the pig with me?" then said Ket. "Thou hast not won it yet," said Moonremar, son of Gerrkind, rising up. "Is that Moonremar?" said Ket, "It is," they cried. "It is but three days," said Ket, "since I was the last man who won renown of thee. Three heads of thy fighting men did I carry off from Dún Moonremar, and one of the three was the head of thy eldest son." Moonremar then sat down. "Still the contest," said Ket, "or I shall carve the boar." "Contest thou shalt have," said Mend, son of Sword-heel. "Who is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Mend," cried all the Ulstermen. "Shall the sons of fellows with nicknames come here to contend with me?" cried Ket. "I was the priest who christened thy father that name. 'Twas I who cut the heel off him, so that off he went with only one. What brings the son of that man to contend with me?" Mend then sat down in his seat. "Come to the contest," said Ket, "or I shall begin to carve." Then arose from the Ulstermen a huge grey and terrible warrior. "Who is this?" asked Ket. '"Tis Keltcar, son of Uthecar," cried they all. "Wait awhile, Keltcar," said Ket, "do not pound me to pieces just yet. Once, O Keltcar, I made a foray on thee and came in front of Dún. All thy folk attacked me, and thou amongst them. In a narrow pass we fought, and thou didst fling a spear at me and I at thee, but my spear went through thy loins and thou hast never been the better of it since." Then Keltcar sat down in his seat. "Who else comes to the contest," cried Ket "or shall I at last divide the pig?" Up rose then the son of King Conor, named Cuscrid the Stammerer "Whom have we here?" said Ket. "'Tis Cuscrid son of Conor," cried they all. "He has the stuff of a king in him," said Ket. "No thanks to thee for that," said the youth. "Well, then," said Ket, "thou madest thy first foray against us Connachtmen, and on the border of the Provinces we met thee. A third of thy people, thou didst leave behind thee, and came away with my spear through thy throat, so that thou canst not speak rightly ever since, for the sinews of thy throat were severed. And hence is Cuscrid the Stammerer thy byname ever since." So thus Ket laid shame and defeat on the whole Province of Ulster, nor was there any other warrior in the hall found to contend with him. [Illustration: "A mighty shout of exultation arose from the Ulstermen"] Then Ket stood up triumphing, and took the knife in his hand and prepared to carve the boar when a noise and trampling were heard at the great door of the hall, and a mighty shout of exultation arose from the Ulstermen. When the press parted, Ket saw coming up the centre of the hall Conall of the Victories, and Conor the King dashed the helmet from his head and sprang up for joy. "Glad we are," cried Conall, "that all is ready for feast; and who is carving the boar for us?" "Ket, son of Maga," replied they, "for none could contest the place of honour with him." "Is that so, Ket?" says Conall Cearnach. "Even so," replied Ket. "And now welcome to thee, O Conall, thou of the iron heart and fiery blood; keen as the glitter of ice, ever-victorious chieftain; hail mighty son of Finnchoom!" And Conall said, "Hail to thee, Ket, flower of heroes, lord of chariots, a raging sea in battle; a strong, majestic bull; hail, son of Maga!" "And now," went on Conall, "rise up from the boar and give me place." "Why so?" replied Ket. "Dost thou seek a contest from me?" said Conall; "verily thou shalt have it. By the gods of my nation I swear that since I first took weapons in my hand I have never passed one day that I did not slay a Connachtman, nor one night that I did not make a foray on them, nor have I ever slept but I had the head of a Connachtman under my knee." "I confess," then, said Ket, "that thou art a better man than I, and I yield thee the boar. But if Anluan my brother were here, he would match thee deed for deed, and sorrow and shame it is that he is not." "Anluan is here," shouted Conall, and with that he drew from his girdle the head of Anluan and dashed it in the face of Ket. Then all sprang to their feet and a wild shouting and tumult arose, and the swords flew out of themselves, and battle raged in the hall of mac Datho. Soon the hosts burst out through the doors of the Dún and smote and slew each other in the open field, until the Connacht host were put to flight. The hound of mac Datho pursued them along with the Ulstermen, and it came up with the chariot in which King Ailill was driving, and seized the pole of the chariot, but the charioteer dealt it a blow that cut off its head. When Ailill drew rein they found the hound's head still clinging to the pole, whence that place is called Ibar Cinn Chon, or the Yew Tree of the Hound's Head. Now when Conor pursued hard upon King Ailill, Ferloga, the charioteer of Ailill, lighted down and hid himself in the heather; and as Conor drove past, Ferloga leaped up behind him in the chariot and gripped him by the throat. "What will thou have of me?" said Conor. "Give over the pursuit," said Ferloga, "and take me with thee to Emania,[19] and let the maidens of Emania so long as I am there sing a serenade before my dwelling every night." [19] The ancient royal residence of Ulster, near to the present town of Armagh. "Granted," said Conor. So he took Ferloga with him to Emania, and at the end of a year sent him back to Connacht, escorting him as far as to Athlone; and Ferloga had from the King of Ulster two noble horses with golden bridles, but the serenade from the maidens of Ulster he did not get, though he got the horses instead. And thus ends the tale of the contention between Ulster and Connacht over the Carving of mac Datho's Boar. CHAPTER VI The Vengeance of Mesgedra Atharna the Bard, surnamed the Extortionate, was the chief poet and satirist of Ulster in the reign of Conor mac Nessa. Greed and arrogance were in his heart and poison on his tongue, and the kings and lords of whom he asked rewards for his poems dared not refuse him aught, partly because of the poisonous satires and lampoons which he would otherwise make upon them for their niggardliness, and partly for that in Ireland at that day it was deemed shameful to refuse to a bard whatsoever he might ask. Once it was said that he asked of a sub-king, namely Eochy mac Luchta, who was famed for hospitality and generosity, the single thing that Eochy would have been grieved to give, namely his eye, and Eochy had but one eye. But the King plucked it out by the roots and gave it to him; and Atharna went away disappointed, for he had looked that Eochy would ransom his eye at a great price. Now Conor mac Nessa, King of Ulster, and all the Ulster lords, having grown very powerful and haughty, became ill neighbours to all the other kingdoms in Ireland. On fertile Leinster above all they fixed their eyes, and sought for an opportunity to attack and plunder the province. Conor resolved at last to move Atharna to go to the King of Leinster, in the hope that he himself might be rid of Atharna, by the King of Leinster killing him for his insolence and his exactions, and that he might avenge the death of his bard by the invasion of Leinster. Atharna therefore set out for Leinster accompanied by his train of poets and harpers and gillies and arrived at the great Dún of Mesgedra the King, at Naas in Kildare. Here he dwelt for twelve months wasting the substance of the Leinstermen and in the end when he was minded to return to Ulster he went before the King Mesgedra and the lords of Leinster and demanded his poet's fee. "What is thy demand, Atharna?" asked Mesgedra. "So many cattle and so many sheep," answered Atharna, "and store of gold and raiment, and of the fairest dames and maidens of Leinster forty-five, to grind at my querns in Dún Atharna." "It shall be granted thee," said the King. Then Atharna feared some mischief, for the King and the nobles of Leinster had not seemed like men on whom shameful conditions are laid, nor had they offered to ransom their women. Atharna therefore judged that the Leinstermen might fall upon him to recover their booty when he was once beyond the border, for within their own borders they might not affront a guest. He sent, therefore, a swift messenger to Conor mac Nessa, bidding him come with a strong escort as quickly as he might, to meet Atharna's band on the marches of Leinster, and convey him safely home. Atharna then departed from Naas with a great herd of sheep and cattle and other spoils, and with thrice fifteen of the noble women of Leinster. He went leisurely, meaning to strike the highroad to Emania from Dublin; but when he came thither the Liffey was swollen with rain, and the ford at Dublin might not be crossed. He caused, therefore, many great hurdles to be made, and these were set in the river, and over them a causeway of boughs was laid, so that his cattle and spoils came safely across. Hence is the town of that place called to this day in Gaelic the City of the Hurdle Ford. On the next day Conor and the Ulstermen met him, but a great force of the men of Leinster was also marching from Naas to the border, to recover their womenfolk, even as Atharna had expected. The Leinstermen then broke the battle on the company from Ulster, and defeated them, driving them with the cows of Atharna on to the sea cape of Ben Edar (Howth), but they recovered the women. On Ben Edar did King Conor with the remnant of his troop then fortify themselves, making a great fosse across the neck of land by which Ben Edar is joined to the mainland, and here they were besieged, with hard fighting by day and night, expecting that help should come to them from Ulster, whither they had sent messengers to tell of their distress. Now Conall of the Victories was left behind to rule in Emania when Conor set forth to Leinster, and he now, on hearing how the King was beset, assembled a great host and marched down to Ben Edar. Here he attacked the host of Leinster, and a great battle was fought, many being slain on both sides, and the King of Leinster, Mesgedra, lost his left hand in the fight. In the end the men of Leinster were routed, and fled, and Mesgedra drove in his chariot past the City of the Hurdle Ford and Naas to the fords of Liffey at Clane. Here there was a sacred oak tree where druid rites and worship were performed, and that oak tree was sanctuary, so that within its shadow, guarded by mighty spells, no man might be slain by his enemy. Now Conall Cearnach had followed hard on the track of Mesgedra, and when he found him beneath the oak, he drove his chariot round and round the circuit of the sanctuary, bidding Mesgedra come forth and do battle with him, or be counted a dastard among the kings of Erinn. But Mesgedra said, "Is it the fashion of the champions of Ulster to challenge one-armed men to battle?" Then Conall let his charioteer bind one of his arms to his side, and again he taunted Mesgedra and bade him come forth. Mesgedra then drew sword, and between him and Conall there was a fierce fight until the Liffey was reddened with their blood. At last, by a chance blow of the sword of Mesgedra, the bonds of Conall's left arm were severed. "On thy head be it," said Conall, "if thou release me again." Then he caused his arm to be bound up once more, and again they met, sword to sword, and again in the fury of the fight Mesgedra cut the thongs that bound Conall's arm. "The gods themselves have doomed thee," shouted Conall then, and he rushed upon Mesgedra and in no long time he wounded him to death. "Take my head," said Mesgedra then, "and add my glory to thy glory, but be well assured this wrong shall yet be avenged by me upon Ulster," and he died. Then Conall cut off the head of Mesgedra and put it in his chariot, and took also the chariot of Mesgedra and fared northwards. Ere long he met a chariot and fifty women accompanying it. In it was Buan the Queen, wife of Mesgedra, returning from a visit to Meath. "Who art thou, woman?" said Conall. "I am Buan, wife of Mesgedra the King." "Thou art to come with me," then said Conall. "Who hath commanded this?" said Buan. "Mesgedra the King," said Conall. "By what token dost thou lay these commands upon me?" "Behold his chariot and his horses," said Conall. "He gives rich gifts to many a man," answered the Queen. Then Conall showed her the head of her husband. "This is my token," said he. "It is enough," said Buan. "But give me leave to bewail him ere I go into captivity." Then Buan rose up in her chariot and raised for Mesgedra a keen of sorrow so loud and piercing that her heart broke with it, and she fell backwards on the road and died. Conall Cearnach then buried her there, and laid the head of her husband by her side; and the fair hazel tree that grew from her grave by the fords of Clane was called Coll Buana, or the Hazel Tree of Buan. But ere Conall buried the head of Mesgedra he caused the brain to be taken out and mixed with lime to make a bullet for a sling, for so it was customary to do when a great warrior had been killed; and the brain-balls thus made were accounted to be the deadliest of missiles. So when Leinster had been harried and plundered and its king and queen thus slain, the Ulstermen drew northward again, and the brain-ball was laid up in the Dún of King Conor at Emania. Years afterwards it happened that the Wolf of Connacht, namely Ket, son of Maga, came disguised within the borders of Ulster in search of prey, and he entered the palace precincts of Conor in Emania. There he saw two jesters of the King, who had gotten the brain-ball from the shelf where it lay, and were rolling it about the courtyard. Ket knew it for what it was, and put it out of sight of the jesters and took it away with him while they made search for it. Thenceforth Ket carried it ever about with him in his girdle, hoping that he might yet use it to destroy some great warrior among the Ulstermen. One day thereafter Ket made a foray on the men of Ross, and carried away a spoil of cattle. The host of Ulster and King Conor with them overtook him as he went homeward. The men of Connacht had also mustered to the help of Ket, and both sides made them ready for battle. Now a river, namely Brosna, ran between them, and on a hill at one side of this were assembled a number of the noble women of Connacht, who desired greatly to look on the far-famed Ultonian warriors, and above all on Conor the King, whose presence was said to be royal and stately beyond any man that was then living in Erinn. Among the bushes, close to the women, Ket hid himself, and lay still but watchful. Now Conor, seeing none but womenfolk close to him at this point, and being willing to show them his splendour, drew near to the bank on his side of the stream. Then Ket leaped up, whirling his sling, and the bullet hummed across the river and smote King Conor on the temple. And his men carried him off for dead, and the men of Connacht broke the battle on the Ulstermen, slaying many, and driving the rest of them back to their own place. This battle was thenceforth called the Battle of the Ford of the Sling-cast, or Athnurchar; and so the place is called to this day. When Conor was brought home to Emania his chief physician, Fingen, found the ball half buried in his temple. "If the ball be taken out," said Fingen, "he will die; if it remain he will live, but he will bear the blemish of it." "Let him bear the blemish," said the Ulster lords, "that is a small matter compared with the death of Conor." Then Fingen stitched the wound over with a thread of gold, for Conor had curling golden hair, and bade him keep himself from all violent movements and from all vehement passions, and not to ride on horseback, and he would do well. After that Conor lived for seven years, and he went not to war during that time, and all cause of passion was kept far from him. Then one day at broad noon the sky darkened, and the gloom of night seemed to spread over the world, and all the people feared, and looked for some calamity. Conor called to him his chief druid, namely Bacarach, and inquired of him as to the cause of the gloom. The druid then went with Conor into a sacred grove of oaks and performed the rites of divination, and in a trance he spoke to Conor, saying, "I see a hill near a great city, and three high crosses on it. To one of them is nailed the form of a young man who is like unto one of the Immortals. Round him stand soldiers with tall spears, and a great crowd waiting to see him die." "Is he, then, a malefactor?" "Nay," said the druid, "but holiness, innocence, and truth have come to earth in him, and for this cause have the druids of his land doomed him to die, for his teaching was not as theirs. And the heavens are darkened for wrath and sorrow at the sight." Then Conor leaped up in a fury, crying, "They shall not slay him, they shall not slay him! Would I were there with the host of Ulster, and thus would I scatter his foes"; and with that he snatched his sword and began striking at the trees that stood thickly about him in the druid grove. Then with the heat of his passion the sling-ball burst from his head, and he fell to the ground and died. Thus was fulfilled the vengeance of Mesgedra upon Conor mac Nessa, King of Ulster. CHAPTER VII The Story of Etain and Midir Once upon a time there was a High King of the Milesian race in Ireland named Eochy Airem, whose power and splendour were very great, and all the sub-Kings, namely, Conor of Ulster, and Mesgedra of Leinster, and Curoi of Munster, and Ailill and Maev of Connacht, were obedient to him. But he was without a wife; and for this reason the sub-Kings and Princes of Ireland would not come to his festivals at Tara, "for," said they, "there is no noble in Ireland who is a wifeless man, and a King is no king without a queen." And they would not bring their own wives to Tara without a queen there to welcome them, nor would they come themselves and leave their womenfolk at home. So Eochy bade search be made through all the boundaries of Ireland for a maiden meet to be wife of the High King. And in time his messengers came back and said that they had found in Ulster, by the Bay of Cichmany, the fairest and most accomplished maiden in Ireland, and her name was Etain, daughter of Etar, lord of the territory called Echrad. So Eochy, when he had heard their report, went forth to woo the maiden. When he drew near his journey's end he passed by a certain spring of pure water where it chanced that Etain and her maids had come down that she might wash her hair. She held in her hand a comb of silver inlaid with gold, and before her was a bason of silver chased with figures of birds, and around the rim of it red carbuncles were set. Her mantle was purple with a fringe of silver, and it was fastened with a broad golden brooch. She wore also a tunic of green silk, stiff with embroidery of gold that glittered in the sun. Her hair before she loosed it was done in two mighty tresses, yellow like the flower of the waterflag, each tress being plaited in four strands, and at the end of each strand a little golden ball. When she laid aside her mantle her arms came through the armholes of her tunic, white as the snow of a single night, and her cheeks were ruddy as the foxglove. Even and small were her teeth, as if a shower of pearls had fallen in her mouth. Her eyes were hyacinth-blue, her lips scarlet as the rowan-berry, her shoulders round and white, her fingers were long and her nails smooth and pink. Her feet also were slim, and white as sea-foam. The radiance of the moon was in her face, pride in her brows, the light of wooing in her eyes. Of her it was said that there was no beauty among women compared with Etain's beauty, no sweetness compared with the sweetness of Etain. When the King saw her his heart burned with love for her, and when he had speech with her he besought her to be his bride. And she consented to that, and said, "Many have wooed me, O King, but I would none of them, for since I was a little child I have loved thee, for the high tales that I heard of thee and of thy glory." And Eochy said, "Thine alone will I be if thou wilt have me." So the King paid a great bride-price for her, and bore her away to Tara, and there they were wedded, and all men welcomed and honoured the Queen. Nor had she dwelt long in Tara before the enchantment of her beauty and her grace had worked upon the hearts of all about her, so that the man to whom she spoke grew pale at the womanly sweetness of her voice, and felt himself a king for that day. All fair things and bright she loved, such as racing steeds and shining raiment, and the sight of Eochy's warriors with their silken banners and shields decorated with rich ornament in red and blue. And she would have all about her happy and joyous, and she gave freely of her treasure, and of her smiles and loving words, if she might see the light of joy on the faces of men, but from pain or sadness that might not be cured she would turn away. In one thing only was sadness endurable to her and that was in her music, for when she sang or touched the harp all hearts were pierced with longing for they knew not what, and all eyes shed tears save hers alone, who looked as though she beheld, far from earth, some land more fair than words of man can tell; and all the wonder of that land and all its immeasurable distance were in her song. Now Eochy the King had a brother whose name was Ailill Anglounach, or Ailill of the Single Stain, for one dark spot only was on his life, and it is of this that the story now shall tell. One day, when he had come from his own Dún to the yearly Assembly in the great Hall of Tara, he ate not at the banquet but gazed as it were at something afar off, and his wife said to him, "Why dost thou gaze so, Ailill; so do men look who are smitten with love?" Ailill was wroth with himself and turned his eyes away, but he said nothing, for that on which he gazed was the face of Etain. After that Assembly was over Ailill knew that the torment of love had seized him for his brother's wife, and he was sorely shamed and wrathful, and the secret strife in his mind between his honour and the fierce and pitiless love that possessed him brought him into a sore sickness. And he went home to his Dún in Tethba and there lay ill for a year. Then Eochy the King went to see him, and came near him and laid his hand on his breast, and Ailill heaved a bitter sigh. Eochy asked, "Why art thou not better of this sickness, how goes it with thee now?" "By my word," said Ailill, "no better, but worse each day and night." "What ails thee, then?" asked Eochy. Ailill said, "Verily, I know not." Then Eochy bade summon his chief physician, who might discover the cause of his brother's malady, for Ailill was wasting to death. So Fachtna the chief physician came and he laid his hand upon Ailill, and Ailill sighed. Then Fachtna said, "This is no bodily disease, but either Ailill suffers from the pangs of envy or from the torment of love." But Ailill was full of shame and he would not tell what ailed him, and Fachtna went away. After this the time came that Eochy the High King should make a royal progress throughout his realm of Ireland, but Etain he left behind at Tara. Before he departed he charged her saying, "Do thou be gentle and kind to my brother Ailill while he lives, and should he die, let his burial mound be heaped over him, and a pillar stone set up above it, and his name written thereon in letters of Ogham." Then the King took leave of Ailill and looked to see him again on earth no more. After a while Etain bethought her and said, "Let us go to see how it fares with Ailill." So she went to where he lay in his Dún at Tethba. And seeing him wasted and pale she was moved with pity and distress and said, "What ails thee, young man? Long thou hast lain prostrate, in fair weather and in foul, thou who wert wont to be so swift and strong?" And Ailill said, "Truly, I have a cause for my suffering; and I cannot eat, nor listen to the music makers; my affliction is very sore." Then said Etain, "Though I am a woman I am wise in many a thing; tell me what ails thee and thy healing shall be done." Ailill replied, "Blessing be with thee, O fair one; I am not worthy of thy speech; I am torn by the contention of body and of soul." Then Etain deemed that she knew somewhat of his trouble, and she said, "If thy heart is set on any of the white maidens that are my handmaids, tell me of it, and I shall court her for thee and she shall come to thee," and then Ailill cried out, "Love indeed, O Queen, hath brought me low. It is a plague nearer than the skin, it overwhelms my soul as an earthquake, it is farther than the height of the sky, and harder to win than the treasures of the Fairy Folk. If I contend with it, it is like a combat with a spectre; if I fly to the ends of the earth from it, it is there; if I seek to seize it, it is a passion for an echo. It is thou, O my love, who hast brought me to this, and thou alone canst heal me, or I shall never rise again." Then Etain went away and left him. But still in her palace in Tara she was haunted by his passion and his misery, and, though she loved him not, she could not endure his pain, nor the triumph of grim death over his youth and beauty. So at last she went to him again and said, "If it lies with me, Ailill, to heal thee of thy sickness, I may not let thee die." And she made a tryst to meet him on the morrow at a house of Ailill's between Dún Tethba and Tara, "but be it not at Tara," she said, "for that is the palace of the High King." All that night Ailill lay awake with the thought of his tryst with Etain. But on the morrow morn a heaviness came upon his eyelids, and a druid sleep overcame him, and there all day he lay buried in slumbers from which none could wake him, until the time of his meeting with Etain was overpast. But Etain, when she had come to the place of the tryst, looked out, and behold, a youth having the appearance and the garb of Ailill was approaching from Tethba. He entered the bower where she was; but no lover did she there meet, but only a sick and sorrowful man who spake coldly to her and lamented the sufferings of his malady, and after a short time he went away. Next day Etain went to see Ailill and to hear how he did. And Ailill entreated her forgiveness that he had not kept his tryst, "for," said he, "a druid slumber descended upon me, and I lay as one dead from morn till eve. And morever," he added, "it seems as if the strange passion that has befallen me were washed away in that slumber, for now, Etain, I love thee no more but as my Queen and my sister, and I am recovered as if from an evil dream." Then Etain knew that powers not of earth were mingling in her fate, and she pondered much of these things, and grew less lighthearted than of old. And when the King came back, he rejoiced to find his brother whole and sound and merry, as Ailill had ever been, and he praised Etain for her gentleness and care. Now after a time as Etain was by herself in her sunny bower she was aware of a man standing by her, whom she had never seen before. Young he was, and grey-eyed, with curling golden hair, and in his hand he bore two spears. His mantle was of crimson silk, his tunic of saffron, and a golden helmet was on his head. And as she gazed upon him, "Etain," he said, "the time is come for thee to return; we have missed thee and sorrowed for thee long enough in the Land of Youth." Etain said, "Of what land dost thou speak?" Then he chanted to her a song:-- "Come with me, Etain, O come away, To that oversea land of mine! Where music haunts the happy day, And rivers run with wine; Where folk are careless, and young, and gay, And none saith 'mine' or 'thine.' "Golden curls on the proud young head, And pearls in the tender mouth; Manhood, womanhood, white and red, And love that grows not loth When all the world's desires are dead, And all the dreams of youth. "Away from the cloud of Adam's sin! Away from grief and care! This flowery land thou dwellest in Seems rude to us, and bare; For the naked strand of the Happy Land Is twenty times as fair." When Etain heard this she stood motionless and as one that dreams awake, for it seemed to her as if she must follow that music whithersoever it went on earth or beyond the earth. But at last remembrance came upon her and she said to the stranger, "Who art thou, that I, the High King's wife, should follow a nameless man and betray my troth?" And he said, "Thy troth was due to me before it was due to him, and, moreover, were it not for me thou hadst broken it already. I am Midir the Proud, a prince among the people of Dana, and thy husband, Etain. Thus it was, that when I took thee to wife in the Land of Youth, the jealousy of thy rival, Fuamnach, was awakened; and having decoyed me from home by a false report, she changed thee by magical arts into a butterfly, and then contrived a mighty tempest that drove thee abroad. Seven years wast thou borne hither and thither on the blast till chance blew thee into the fairy palace of Angus my kinsman, by the waters of the Boyne. But Angus knew thee, for the Fairy Folk may not disguise themselves from each other, and he built for thee a magical sunny bower with open windows, through which thou mightest pass, and about it were all manner of blossoming herbs and shrubs, and on the odour and honey of these thou didst live and grow fair and well nourished. But in the end Fuamnach got tidings of thee, and again the druid tempest descended and blew thee forth for another seven years of wandering and woe. Then it chanced that thou wert blown through the roof-window of the Dún of Etar by the Bay of Cichmany, and fell into the goblet from which his wife was drinking, and thee she drank down with that draught of ale. And in due time thou wast born again in the guise of a mortal maid and daughter to Etar the Warrior. But thou art no mortal, nor of mortal kin, for it is one thousand and twelve years from the time when thou wast born in Fairy Land till Etar's wife bore thee as a child on earth." Then Etain was bewildered, and her mind ran back on many a half-forgotten thing and she gazed as into a gulf of visions, full of dim shapes, strange and glorious. And Midir as she looked at him again seemed transfigured, taller and mightier than before, and a light flame flickered from his helmet's crest and moved like wings about his shoulders. But at last she said, "I know not what thou sayest if it be truth or not, but this I know, that I am the wife of the High King and I will not break my troth." "It were broken already," said Midir, "but for me, for I it was who laid a druidic sleep on Ailill, and it was I who came to thee in his shape that thy honour might not be stained." Etain said, "I learned then that honour is more than life." "But if Eochy the High King consent to let thee go," said Midir, "wilt thou then come with me to my land and thine?" "In that case," said Etain "I will go." And the time went by, and Etain abode in Tara, and the High King did justice and made war and held the great Assembly as he was used. But one day in summer Eochy arose very early to breathe the morning air, and he stood by himself leaning on the rampart of his great Dún, and looking over the flowery plain of Bregia. And as he thus gazed he was aware of a young warrior standing by his side. Grey-eyed the youth was, and golden-haired, and he was splendidly armed and apparelled as beseemed the lord of a great clan of the Gael. Eochy bade him welcome courteously, and asked him of the cause of his coming. "I am come," he said, "to play a game of chess with thee, O King, for thou art renowned for thy skill in that game, and to test that skill am I come. And my name is Midir, of the People of Dana, whom they have called The Proud." "Willingly," said the King; "but I have here no chessboard, and mine is in the chamber where the Queen is sleeping." "That is easily remedied," said Midir, and he drew from his cloak a folding chessboard whose squares were alternate gold and silver. From a men-bag made of brazen chainwork he drew out a set of men adorned with flashing jewels, and he set them in array. "I will not play," then said Eochy, "unless we play for a stake." "For what stake shall we play, then?" said Midir. "I care not," said Eochy; "but do thou perform tasks for me if I win and I shall bestow of my treasures upon thee if I lose." So they played a game, and Eochy won. Then Eochy bade Midir clear the plains of Meath about Tara from rocks and stones, and Midir brought at night a great host of the Fairy Folk, and it was done. And again he played with Eochy, and again he lost, and this time he cut down the forest of Breg. The third time Midir lost again, and his task was to build a causeway across the moor of Lamrach. Now at night, while Midir and the fairy host were labouring at the causeway and their oxen drawing to it innumerable loads of earth and gravel, the steward of Eochy stole out and hid himself to watch them, for it was a prohibition to see them at work. And he observed that the fairy oxen were not harnessed with a thong across their foreheads, that the pull might be upon their brows and necks, as was the manner with the Gael, but with yokes upon their shoulders. This he reported to Eochy, who found it good; and he ordered that henceforth the children of the Gael should harness their plough-oxen with the yoke upon their shoulders; and so it was done from that day forth. Hence Eochy got his name of _Airem_, or "The Ploughman," for he was the first of the Gael to put the yoke upon the shoulder of the ox. But it was said that because the Fairy Folk were watched as they made that noble causeway, there came a breach in it at one place which none could ever rightly mend. When all their works were accomplished, Midir came again to Eochy, and this time he bore a dark and fierce countenance and was high girt as for war. And the King welcomed him, and Midir said, "Thou hast treated me hardly and put slavish tasks upon me. All that seemed good to thee have I done, but now I am moved with anger against thee." "I return not anger for anger," said Eochy; "say what satisfaction I can make thee." "Let us once more play at chess," said Midir. "Good," said Eochy, "and what stake wilt thou have now?" "The stake to be whatever the winner shall demand," said Midir. Then they played for the fourth time and Eochy lost. "Thou hast won the game," said he. "I had won long ago had I chosen," said Midir. "What dost thou demand of me?" said Eochy. "To hold Etain in my arms and obtain a kiss from her," replied Midir. The King was silent for a while and after that he said, "Come back in one month from this day and the stake which I have lost shall be paid." But Eochy summoned together all the host of the heroes of the Gael, and they surrounded Tara, ring within ring; and the King himself and Etain were in the palace, with the outer court of it shut and locked. For they looked that Midir should come with a great host of the Danaan folk to carry off the Queen. And on the appointed day, as the kings sat at meat, Etain and her handmaids were dispensing the wine to them as was wont. Then suddenly as they feasted and talked, behold, Midir, stood in the midst of them. If he was fair and noble to look on as he had appeared before to the King and to Etain, he was fairer now, for the splendour of the Immortals clothed him, and his jewels flamed as he moved like eyes of living light. And all the kings and lords and champions who were present gazed on him in amazement and were silent, as the King arose and gave him welcome. "Thou hast received me as I expected to be received," said Midir, "and now let thy debt be paid, since I for my part faithfully performed all that I undertook." "I must consider the matter yet longer," said Eochy. "Thou hast promised Etain's very self to me," said Midir; "that is what hath come from thee." And when she heard that word Etain blushed for shame. "Blush not," said Midir, "for all the treasures of the Land of Youth have not availed to win thee from Eochy, and it is not of thine own will that thou art won, but because the time is come to return to thy kin." Then said Eochy, "I have not promised Etain's self to thee, but to take her in thine arms and kiss her, and now do so if thou wilt." [Illustration: "They rose up in the air"] Then Midir took his weapons in his left hand and placed his right around Etain, and when he did so they rose up in the air over the heads of the host, and passed through a roof-window in the palace. Then all rose up, tumultuous and angry, and rushed out of doors, but nothing could they see save two white swans that circled high in air around the Hill of Tara, and then flew southwards and away towards the fairy mountain of Slievenamon. And thus Etain the immortal rejoined the Immortals; but a daughter of Etain and of Eochy, who was another Etain in name and in beauty, became in due time a wife, and mother of kings. CHAPTER VIII How Ethne Quitted Fairyland By the banks of the River Boyne, where rises the great Fairy Mound now called Newgrange, there stood long ago the shining Palace of a prince of the People of Dana, named Angus. Of him it is that the lines are written-- "By the dark rolling waters of the Boyne Where Angus Óg magnificently dwells." When the Milesian race invaded Ireland, and after long fighting subdued the Danaans in spite of all their enchantments and all their valour, the Danaans wrought for themselves certain charms by which they and all their possessions became invisible to mortals, and thus they continued to lead their old joyous life in the holy places of the land, and their palaces and dancing-places and folk-motes seem to the human eye to be merely a green mound or rath, or a lonely hillside, or a ruined shrine with nettles and foxgloves growing up among its broken masonry. Now, after Angus and his folk had thus retreated behind the veil of invisibility, it happened that the steward of his palace had a daughter born to him whose name was Ethne. On the same day Fand, the wife of Mananan the Sea God, bore him a daughter, and since Angus was a friend of Mananan and much beloved by him, the child of the Sea God was sent to Brugh na Boyna, the noble dwelling-place of Angus, to be fostered and brought up, as the custom was. And Ethne became the handmaid of the young princess of the sea. In time Ethne grew into a fair and stately maiden Now in the Brugh of Angus there were two magical treasures, namely, an ale-vat which could never be emptied, and two swine whereof one was ever roasted and ready to be eaten while the other lived, and thus they were, day and day about. There was therefore always a store of food of faery, charged with magical spells, by eating of which one could never grow old or die. It came to be noticed that after Ethne had grown up she never ate or drank of the fairy food, or of any other, yet she continued to seem healthy and well-nourished. This was reported to Angus, and by him to Mananan, and Mananan by his wisdom discovered the cause of it. One of the lords of the Danaans, happening to be on a visit with Angus, was rendered distraught by the maiden's beauty, and one day he laid hands upon her and strove to carry her away to his own dwelling. Ethne escaped from him, but the blaze of resentment at the insult that lit up in her soul consumed in her the fairy nature, that knows not of good or evil, and the nature of the children of Adam took its place. Thenceforth she ate not of the fairy food, which is prohibited to man, and she was nourished miraculously by the will of the One God. But after a time it chanced that Mananan and Angus brought from the Holy Land two cows whose milk could never run dry. In this milk there was nothing of the fairy spell, and Ethne lived upon it many long years, milking the cows herself, nor did her youth and beauty suffer any change. Now it happened that on one very hot day the daughter of Mananan went down to bathe in the waters of the Boyne, and Ethne and her other maidens along with her. After they had refreshed themselves in the cool, amber-coloured water, they arrayed themselves in their silken robes and trooped back to the Brugh again; but ere they entered it, they discovered that Ethne was not among them. So they went back, scattering themselves along the bank and searching in every quiet pool of the river and in every dark recess among the great trees that bordered it, for Ethne was dearly loved by all of them; but neither trace nor tidings of her could they find, and they went sorrowfully home without her, to tell the tale to Angus and to her father. What had befallen Ethne was this. In taking off her garments by the riverside she had mislaid her fairy charm, and was become as a mortal maid. Nothing could she now see of her companions, and all around was strange to her. The fairy track that had led to the riverside was overgrown with briars, the palace of Angus was but a wooded hill. She knew not where she was, and pierced with sudden terror she fled wildly away, seeking for the familiar places that she had known in the fairy life, but which were now behind the Veil. At length she came to a high wall wherein was a wicket gate, and through it she saw a garden full of sweet herbs and flowers, which surrounded a steep-roofed building of stone. In the garden she saw a man in a long brown robe tied about his waist with a cord. He smiled at her and beckoned her to come in without fear. He was a monk of the holy Patrick, and the house was a convent church. When the monk had heard her tale, he marvelled greatly and brought her to St Patrick himself, who instructed her in the Faith, and she believed and was baptized. [Illustration: "She heard her own name called again and again"] But not long thereafter, as she was praying in the church by the Boyne, the sky darkened and she heard a sound without like the rushing of a great wind, and mingled in it were cries and lamentations, and her own name called again and again in a multitude of voices, thin and faint as the crying of curlews upon the moor. She sprang up and gazed around, calling in return, but nothing could she see, and at last the storm of cries died away, and everything was still again around the church except the singing voice of Boyne and the humming of the garden bees. Then Ethne sank down swooning, and the monks bore her out into the air, and it was long until her heart beat and her eyes unclosed again. In that hour she fell into a sickness from which she never recovered. In no long time she died with her head upon the breast of the holy Patrick, and she was buried in the church where she had first been received by the monk; and the church was called Killethne, or the Church of Ethne, from that day forward until now. THE HIGH DEEDS OF FINN CHAPTER IX The Boyhood of Finn mac Cumhal In Ireland long ago, centuries before the English appeared in that country, there were kings and chiefs, lawyers and merchants, men of the sword and men of the book, men who tilled their own ground and men who tilled the ground of others, just as there are now. But there was also, as ancient poets and historians tell us, a great company or brotherhood of men who were bound to no fixed calling, unless it was to fight for the High King of Ireland whenever foes threatened him from within the kingdom or without it. This company was called the Fianna of Erinn. They were mighty hunters and warriors, and though they had great possessions in land, and rich robes, and gold ornaments, and weapons wrought with beautiful chasing and with coloured enamels, they lived mostly a free out-door life in the light hunting-booths which they made in the woods where the deer and the wolf ranged. There were then vast forests in Ireland, which are all gone now, and there were also, as there still are, many great and beautiful lakes and rivers, swarming with fish and water-fowl. In the forests and on the mountain sides roamed the wild boar and the wolf, and great herds of deer, some of giant size, whose enormous antlers are sometimes found when bogs are being drained. The Fianna chased these and the wolves with great dogs, whose courage and strength and beauty were famous throughout Europe, and which they prized and loved above all things. To the present day in Ireland there still remain some of this breed of Irish hounds, but the giant deer and the wolf are gone, and the Fianna of Erinn live only in the ancient books that were written of them, and in the tales that are still told of them in the winter evenings by the Irish peasant's fireside. The Fianna were under the rule of one great captain or chief, and at the time I tell of his name was Cumhal, son of Trenmor. Now a tribe or family of the Fianna named the Clan Morna, or Sons of Morna, rose in rebellion against Cumhal, for they were jealous and greedy of his power and glory, and sought to have the captaincy for themselves. They defeated and slew him at the battle of Cnucha, which is now called Castleknock, near the City of the Hurdle Ford, which is the name that Dublin still bears in the Irish tongue. Goll, son of Morna, slew Cumhal, and they spoiled him of the Treasure Bag of the Fianna, which was a bag made of a crane's skin and having in it jewels of great price, and magic weapons, and strange things that had come down from far-off days when the Fairy Folk and mortal men battled for the lordship of Ireland. The Bag with its treasures was given to Lia, the chief of Luachar in Connacht, who had the keeping of it before, for he was the treasurer of Cumhal, and he was the first man who had wounded Cumhal in the battle when he fell. Cumhal's wife was named Murna, and she bore him two sons. The elder was named Tulcha, and he fled from the country for fear of Goll and took service with the King of Scotland. The younger was born after Cumhal's death, and his name was called Demna. And because his mother feared that the sons of Morna would find him out and kill him, she gave him to a Druidess and another wise woman of Cumhal's household, and bade them take him away and rear him as best they could. So they took him into the wild woods on the Slieve Bloom Mountains, and there they trained him to hunt and fish and to throw the spear, and he grew strong, and as beautiful as a child of the Fairy Folk. If he were in the same field with a hare he could run so that the hare could never leave the field, for Demna was always before it. He could run down and slay a stag with no dogs to help him, and he could kill a wild duck on the wing with a stone from his sling. And the Druidess taught him the learning of the time, and also the story of his race and nation, and told him of his right to be captain of the Fianna of Erinn when his day of destiny should come. One day, while still a boy, he was roaming through the woods when he came to the mansion of a great lord, where many boys, sons of the chief men of Ireland, were being trained in manly arts and exercises. He found them playing at hurling, and they invited him to join them. He did so, but the side he was on won too easily, so they divided again, and yet again, giving fewer and fewer to Demna's side, till at last he alone drove the ball to the goal through them all, flashing among them as a salmon among a shoal of minnows. And then their anger and jealousy rose and grew bitter against the stranger, and instead of honouring him as gallant lads of gentle blood should have done they fell upon him with their hurling clubs and sought to kill him. But Demna felled seven of them to the ground and put the rest to flight, and then went his way home. When the boys told what had happened the chief asked them who it was that had defeated and routed them single-handed. They said, "It was a tall shapely lad, and very fair (_finn_)." So the name of Finn, the Fair One, clung to him thenceforth, and by that name he is known to this day. By and by Finn gathered round him a band of youths who loved him for his strength and valour and for his generous heart, and with them he went hunting in the forests. And Goll, and the sons of Morna, who were now captains of the Fianna under the High King, began to hear tales of him and his exploits, and they sent trackers to inquire about him, for they had an inkling of who this wonderful fair-haired youth might be. Finn's foster mothers heard of this. "You must leave this place," they said to him, "and see our faces no more, for if Goll's men find you here they will slay you. We have cherished the blood of Cumhal," they said, "and now our work is done. Go, and may blessing and victory go with you." So Finn departed with naught but his weapons and his hunting gear, very sorrowful at leaving the wise and loving friends who had fostered his childhood; but deep in his heart was a wild and fierce delight at the thought of the trackless ways he would travel, and the wonders he would see; and all the future looked to him as beautiful and dim as the mists that fill a mountain glen under the morning sun. Now after the death of Cumhal, his brother Crimmal and a few others of the aged warriors of the Fianna, who had not fallen in the fight at Cnucha, fled away into Connacht, and lived there in the deepest recesses of a great forest, where they hoped the conquerors might never find them. Here they built themselves a poor dwelling of tree branches, plastered with mud and roofed with reeds from the lake, and here they lived on what game they could kill or snare in the wild wood; and harder and harder it grew, as age and feebleness crept on them, to find enough to eat, or to hew wood for their fire. In this retreat, never having seen the friendly face of man, they were one day startled to hear voices and the baying of hounds approaching them through the wood, and they thought that the sons of Morna were upon them at last, and that their hour of doom was at hand. Soon they perceived a company of youths coming towards their hut, with one in front who seemed to be their leader. Taller he was by a head than the rest, broad shouldered, and with masses of bright hair clustering round his forehead, and he carried in his hand a large bag made of some delicate skin and stained in patterns of red and blue. The old men thought when they saw him of a saying there was about the mighty Lugh, who was brother to the wife of Cumhal, that when he came among his army as they mustered for battle, men felt as though they beheld the rising of the sun. As they came near, the young men halted and looked upon the elders with pity, for their clothing of skins was ragged and the weapons they strove to hold were rusted and blunt, and except for their proud bearing and the fire in their old eyes they looked more like aged and worthless slaves in the household of a niggardly lord than men who had once been the flower of the fighting men of Erinn. But the tall youth stepped in front of his band and cried aloud-- "Which of ye is Crimmal, son of Trenmor?" And one of the elders said, "I am Crimmal." Then tears filled the eyes of the youth, and he knelt down before the old man and put his hands in his. "My lord and chief," he said, "I am Finn, son of Cumhal, and the day of deliverance is come." [Illustration: "And that night there was feasting and joy in the lonely hut"] So the youths brought in the spoils of their hunting, and yet other spoils than these; and that night there was feasting and joy in the lonely hut. And Crimmal said-- "It was foretold to us that one day the blood of Cumhal should be avenged, and the race of Cumhal should rule the Fianna again. This was the sign that the coming champion should give of his birth and destiny; he was to bear with him the Treasure Bag of Cumhal and the sacred things that were therein." Finn said, "Ye know the Bag and its treasures, tell us if these be they." And he laid his skin bag on the knees of Crimmal. Crimmal opened it, and he took out the jewels of sovranty the magic spear-head made by the smiths of the Fairy Folk, and he said, "These be the treasures of Cumhal; truly the ripeness of the time is come." And Finn then told the story of how he had won these things. "But yesterday morning," he said, "we met on our way a woman of noble aspect, and she knelt over the body of a slain youth. When she lifted her head as we drew near, tears of blood ran down her cheeks, and she cried to me, 'Whoever thou art, I bind thee by the bonds of the sacred ordinances of the Gael that thou avenge my wrong. This was my son Glonda,' she said, 'my only son, and he was slain to-day wantonly by the Lord of Luachar and his men.' So we went, my company and I, to the Dún of the Lord of Luachar, and found an earthen rampart with a fosse before it, and on the top of the rampart was a fence of oaken posts interlaced with wattles, and over this we saw the many-coloured thatch of a great dwelling-house, and its white walls painted with bright colours under the broad eaves. So I stood forth and called to the Lord of Luachar and bade him make ready to pay an eric to the mother of Glonda, whatsoever she should demand. But he laughed at us and cursed us and bade us begone. Then we withdrew into the forest, but returned with a great pile of dry brushwood, and while some of us shot stones and arrows at whoever should appear above the palisade, others rushed up with bundles of brushwood and laid it against the palisade and set it on fire, and the Immortal Ones sent a blast of wind that set the brushwood and palisade quickly in a blaze, and through that fiery gap we charged in shouting. And half of the men of Luachar we killed and the rest fled, and the Lord of Luachar I slew in the doorway of his palace. We took a great spoil then, O Crimmal--these vessels of bronze and silver, and spears and bows, smoked bacon and skins of Greek wine; and in a great chest of yewwood we found this bag. All these things shall now remain with you, and my company shall also remain to hunt for you and protect you, for ye shall know want and fear no longer while ye live." And Finn said, "I would fain know if my mother Murna still lives, or if she died by the sons of Morna." Crimmal said, "After thy father's death, Finn, she was wedded to Gleor, Lord of Lamrigh, in the south, and she still lives in honour with him, and the sons of Morna have let her be. Didst thou never see her since she gave thee, an infant, to the wise women on the day of Cnucha?" "I remember," said Finn, "when I was, as they tell me, but six years old, there came one day to our shieling in the woods of Slieve Bloom a chariot with bronze-shod wheels and a bronze wolf's head at the end of the pole, and two horsemen riding with it, besides him who drove. A lady was in it, with a gold frontlet on her brow and her cloak was fastened with a broad golden brooch. She came into our hut and spoke long with my foster-mothers, and me she clasped in her arms and kissed many times, and I felt her tears on my face. And they told me afterwards that this was Murna of the White Neck, and my mother. If she have suffered no harm at the hands of the sons of Morna, so much the less is the debt that they shall one day pay." Now it is to be told what happened to Finn at the house of Finegas the Bard. Finn did not deem that the time had come for him to seize the captaincy of the Fianna until he had perfected himself in wisdom and learning. So on leaving the shelter of the old men in the wood he went to learn wisdom and the art of poetry from Finegas, who dwelt by the River Boyne, near to where is now the village of Slane. It was a belief among the poets of Ireland that the place of the revealing of poetry is always by the margin of water. But Finegas had another reason for the place where he made his dwelling, for there was an old prophecy that whoever should first eat of the Salmon of Knowledge that lived in the River Boyne, should become the wisest of men. Now this salmon was called Finntan in ancient times and was one of the Immortals, and he might be eaten and yet live. But in the time of Finegas he was called the Salmon of the Pool of Fec, which is the place where the fair river broadens out into a great still pool, with green banks softly sloping upward from the clear brown water. Seven years was Finegas watching the pool, but not until after Finn had come to be his disciple was the salmon caught. Then Finegas gave it to Finn to cook, and bade him eat none of it. But when Finegas saw him coming with the fish, he knew that something had chanced to the lad, for he had been used to have the eye of a young man but now he had the eye of a sage. Finegas said, "Hast thou eaten of the salmon?" "Nay," said Finn, "but it burnt me as I turned it upon the spit and I put my thumb in my mouth" And Finegas smote his hands together and was silent for a while. Then he said to the lad who stood by obediently, "Take the salmon and eat it, Finn, son of Cumhal, for to thee the prophecy is come. And now go hence, for I can teach thee no more, and blessing and victory be thine." With Finegas, Finn learned the three things that make a poet, and they are Fire of Song, and Light of Knowledge, and the Art of Extempore Recitation. Before he departed he made this lay to prove his art, and it is called "The Song of Finn in Praise of May":-- May Day! delightful day! Bright colours play the vales along. Now wakes at morning's slender ray, Wild and gay, the blackbird's song. Now comes the bird of dusty hue, The loud cuckoo, the summer-lover; Branching trees are thick with leaves; The bitter, evil time is over. Swift horses gather nigh Where half dry the river goes; Tufted heather crowns the height; Weak and white the bogdown blows. Corncrake sings from eve till morn, Deep in corn, a strenuous bard! Sings the virgin waterfall, White and tall, her one sweet word. Loaded bees of little power Goodly flower-harvest win; Cattle roam with muddy flanks; Busy ants go out and in. Through, the wild harp of the wood Making music roars the gale-- Now it slumbers without motion, On the ocean sleeps the sail. Men grow mighty in the May, Proud and gay the maidens grow; Fair is every wooded height; Fair and bright the plain below. A bright shaft has smit the streams, With gold gleams the water-flag; Leaps the fish, and on the hills Ardour thrills the flying stag. Carols loud the lark on high, Small and shy, his tireless lay, Singing in wildest, merriest mood Of delicate-hued, delightful May.[20] [20] I am much indebted to the beautiful prose translation of this song, published by Dr Kuno Meyer in _Ériu_ (the Journal of the School of Irish Learning), Vol. I. Part II. In my poetic version an attempt has been made to render the riming and metrical effect of the original, which is believed to date from about the ninth century. CHAPTER X The Coming of Finn And now we tell how Finn came to the captaincy of the Fianna of Erinn. At this time Ireland was ruled by one of the mightiest of her native kings, Conn, son of Felimy, who was surnamed Conn of the Hundred Battles. And Conn sat in his great banqueting hall at Tara, while the yearly Assembly of the lords and princes of the Gael went forward, during which it was the inviolable law that no quarrel should be raised and no weapon drawn, so that every man who had a right to come to that Assembly might come there and sit next his deadliest foe in peace. Below him sat at meat the provincial kings and the chiefs of clans, and the High King's officers and fighting-men of the Fianna, with Goll and the sons of Morna at their head. And there, too, sat modestly a strange youth, tall and fair, whom no one had seen in that place before. Conn marked him with the eye of a king that is accustomed to mark men, and by and by he sent him a horn full of wine from his own table and bade the youth declare his name and lineage. "I am Finn, son of Cumhal," said the youth, standing among them, tall as a warriors spear, and a start and a low murmur ran through the Assembly while the captains of the Fianna stared upon him like men who see a vision of the dead. "What seek you here?" said Conn, and Finn replied, "To be your man, O King, and to do you service in war as my father did." "It is well," said the King. "Thou art a friend's son and the son of man of trust." So Finn put his hand in the Kind's and swore fealty and service to him, and Conn set him beside his own son Art, and all fell to talking again and wondering what new things that day would bring forth, and the feasting went merrily forward. Now at this time the people of the royal burg of Tara were sorely afflicted by a goblin of the Fairy Folk, who was wont to approach the place at night-fall, there to work what harm to man, or beast, or dwelling that he found in his evil mind to do. And he could not be resisted, for as he came he played on a magic harp a strain so keen and sweet, that each man who heard it must needs stand entranced and motionless until the fairy music had passed away. The King proclaimed a mighty reward to any man who would save Tara from the goblin, and Finn thought in his heart, "I am the man to do that." So he said to the King, "Shall I have my rightful heritage as captain of the Fianna of Erin if I slay the goblin?" Conn said, "I promise thee that," and he bound himself by the sureties of all the provincial Kings of Ireland and of the Druid Kithro and his magicians. Now there was among the following of Conn a man named Fiacha, who had been as a youth a trusty friend and follower of Cumhal. He came to Finn and brought with him a spear having a head of dark bronze with glittering edges, and fastened with thirty rivets of Arabian gold, and the spear-head was laced up within a leathern case. "By this weapon of enchantment," said Fiacha, "you shall overcome the enchanter," and he taught Finn what to do with it when the hour of need should come. So Finn took the spear, and left the strings of the case loose, and he paced with it towards night-fall around the ramparts of royal Tara. And when he had once made the circuit of the rampart, and the light had now almost quite faded from the summer sky, and the wide low plains around the Hill of Tara were a sea of white mist, he heard far off in the deepening gloom the first notes of the fairy harp. Never such music was made by mortal hand, for it had in it sorrows that man has never felt, and joys for which man has no name, and it seemed as if a man listening to that music might burst from time into eternity and be as one of the Immortals for evermore. And Finn listened, amazed and rapt, till at last as the triumphant melody grew nearer and louder he saw dimly a Shadow Shape playing as it were on a harp, and coming swiftly towards him. Then with a mighty effort he roused himself from dreams, and tore the cover from the spear-head and laid the metal to his brow. And the demoniac energy that had been beaten into the blade by the hammers of unearthly craftsmen in ancient days thrilled through him and made him fighting-mad, and he rushed forward shouting his battle-cry, and swinging the spear aloft. But the Shadow turned and fled before him, and Finn chased it northward to the Fairy Mound of Slieve Fuad, and there he drove the spear through its back. And what it was that fell there in the night, and what it was that passed like the shadow of a shadow into the Fairy Mound, none can tell, but Finn bore back with him next day a pale, sorrowful head on the point of Fiacha's spear, and the goblin troubled the folk of royal Tara no more. But Conn of the Hundred Battles called the Fianna together, and he set Finn at his right hand and said, "Here is your Captain by birth-right and by sword-right. Let who will now obey him hence-forward, and who will not, let him go in peace and serve Arthur of Britain or Arist of Alba, or whatsoever King he will." And Goll, son of Morna, said, "For my part I will be Finn's man under thee, O King," and he swore obedience and loyalty to Finn before them all. Nor was it hard for any man to step where Goll had gone before, so they all took their oaths of Fian service to Finn mac Cumhal. And thus it was that Finn came to the captaincy of the Fianna of Erinn, and he ruled the Fianna many a year till he died in battle with the Clan Urgrenn at Brea upon the Boyne. CHAPTER XI Finn's Chief Men With the coming of Finn did the Fianna of Erinn come to their glory, and with his life their glory passed away. For he ruled them as no other captain ever did, both strongly and wisely, and never bore a grudge against any, but freely forgave a man all offences save disloyalty to his lord. Thus it is told that Conan, son of the Lord of Luachar, him who had the Treasure Bag and whom Finn slew at Rath Luachar, was for seven years an outlaw and marauder, harrying the Fians, and killing here a man and there a hound, and firing their dwellings, and raiding their cattle. At last they ran him to a corner at Cam Lewy in Munster, and when he saw that he could escape no more he stole upon Finn as he sat down after a chase, and flung his arms round him from behind, holding him fast and motionless. Finn knew who held him thus and said, "What wilt thou Conan?" Conan said, "To make a covenant of service and fealty with thee, for I may no longer evade thy wrath." So Finn laughed and said, "Be it so, Conan, and if thou prove faithful and valiant, I also will keep faith." And Conan served him for thirty years, and no man of all the Fianna was keener and hardier in fight. There was also another Conan, namely, mac Morna, who was big and bald, and unwieldy in manly exercises, but whose tongue was bitter and scurrilous; no high brave thing was done that Conan the Bald did not mock and belittle. It is said that when he was stripped he showed down his back and buttocks a black sheep's fleece instead of a man's skin, and this is the way it came about. One day when Conan and certain others of the Fianna were hunting in the forest they came to a stately Dún, white-walled, with coloured thatching on the roof, and they entered it to seek hospitality. But when they were within they found! no man, but a great empty hall with pillars of cedar wood and silken hangings about it, like the hall of a wealthy lord. In the midst there was a table set forth with a sumptuous feast of boar's flesh and venison, and a great vat of yew wood full of red wine, and cups of gold and silver. So they set themselves gaily to eat and drink, for they were hungry from the chase, and talk and laughter were loud around the board. But one of them ere long started to his feet with a cry of fear and wonder, and they all looked round, and saw before their eyes the tapestried walls changing to rough wooden balks and the ceiling to foul sooty thatch like that of a herdsman's hut. So they knew they were being entrapped by some enchantment of the Fairy Folk, and all sprang to their feet and made for the doorway, that was no longer high and stately but was shrinking to the size of a fox earth,--all but Conan the Bald, who was gluttonously devouring the good things on the table, and heeded nothing else. Then they shouted to him, and as the last of them went out he strove to rise and follow, but found himself limed to the chair so that he could not stir. So two of the Fianna, seeing his plight, rushed back and seized his arms and tugged with all their might, and if they dragged him away, they left the most part of his raiment and his skin sticking to the chair. Then, not knowing what else to do with him in his sore plight they clapped upon his back the nearest thing they could find, which was the skin of a black sheep that they took from a peasant's flock hard by, and it grew there, and Conan wore it till his death. Though Conan was a coward and rarely adventured himself in battle with the Fianna, it is told that once a good man fell by his hand. This was on the day of the great battle with the pirate horde on the Hill of Slaughter in Kerry.[21] For Liagan, one of the invaders, stood out before the hosts and challenged the bravest of the Fians to single combat, and the Fians, in mockery, thrust Conan forth to the fight. When he appeared, Liagan laughed, for he had more strength than wit, and he said, "Silly is thy visit, thou bald old man." And as Conan still approached, Liagan lifted his hand fiercely, and Conan said, "Truly thou art in more peril from the man behind than from the man in front." Liagan looked round; and in that instant Conan swept off his head and then threw down his sword and ran for shelter to the ranks of the laughing Fians. But Finn was very wroth because he had won the victory by a trick. [21] The hill still bears the name, Knockanar. And one of the chiefest of the friends of Finn was Dermot of the Love Spot. He was so fair and noble to look on that no woman could refuse him love, and it was said that he never knew weariness, but his step was as light at the end of the longest day of battle or the chase as it was at the beginning. Between him and Finn there was great love until the day when Finn, then an old man, was to wed Grania, daughter of Cormac the High King; but Grania bound Dermot by the sacred ordinances of the Fian chivalry to fly with her on her wedding night, which thing, sorely against his will, he did, and thereby got his death. But Grania went back to Finn, and when the Fianna saw her they laughed through all the camp in bitter mockery, for they would not have given one of the dead man's fingers for twenty such as Grania. Others of the chief men that Finn had were Keelta mac Ronan, who was one of his house-stewards and a strong warrior as well as a golden-tongued reciter of tales and poems. And there was Oisín, the son of Finn, the greatest poet of the Gael, of whom more shall be told hereafter. And Oisín had a son Oscar, who was the fiercest fighter in battle among all the Fians. He slew in his maiden battle three kings, and in his fury he also slew by mischance his own friend and condisciple Linne. His wife was the fair Aideen, who died of grief after Oscar's death in the battle of Gowra, and Oisín buried her on Ben Edar (Howth), and raised over her the great cromlech which is there to this day. Another good man that Finn had was Geena, the son of Luga; his mother was the warrior-daughter of Finn, and his father was a near kinsman of hers. He was nurtured by a woman that bore the name of Fair Mane, who had brought up many of the Fianna to manhood. When his time to take arms was come he stood before Finn and made his covenant of fealty, and Finn gave him the captaincy of a band. But mac Luga proved slothful and selfish, for ever vaunting himself and his weapon-skill and never training his men to the chase of deer or boar, and he used to beat his hounds and his serving-men. At last the Fians under him came with their whole company to Finn at Loch Lena in Killarney, and there they laid their complaint against mac Luga, and said, "Choose now, O Finn, whether you will have us, or the son of Luga by himself." Then Finn sent to mac Luga and questioned him, but mac Luga could say nothing to the point as to why the Fianna would none of him. Then Finn taught him the things befitting a youth of noble birth and a captain of men, and they were these:-- "Son of Luga, if armed service be thy design, in a great man's household be quiet, be surly in the narrow pass." "Without a fault of his beat not thy hound; until thou ascertain her guilt, bring not a charge against thy wife." "In battle, meddle not with a buffoon, for, O mac Luga, he is but a fool." "Censure not any if he be of grave repute; stand not up to take part in a brawl; have nought to do with a madman or a wicked one." "Two-thirds of thy gentleness be shown to women and to those that creep on the floor (little children) and to poets, and be not violent to the common people." "Utter not swaggering speech, nor say thou wilt not yield what is right; it is a shameful thing to speak too stiffly unless that it be feasible to carry out thy words." "So long as thou shalt live, thy lord forsake not; neither for gold nor for other reward in the world abandon one whom thou art pledged to protect." "To a chief do not abuse his people, for that is no work for a gentleman." "Be no talebearer, nor utterer of falsehoods; be not talkative nor rashly censorious. Stir not up strife against thee, however good a man thou be." "Be no frequenter of the drinking-house, nor given to carping at the old; meddle not with a man of mean estate." "Dispense thy meat freely, have no niggard for thy familiar." "Force not thyself upon a chief, nor give him cause to speak ill of thee." "Stick to thy gear, hold fast to thy arms till the stern fight with its weapon-glitter be well ended." "Be more apt to give than to deny, and follow after gentleness, O son of Luga."[22] [22] I have in the main borrowed Standish Hayes O'Grady's vivid and racy translation of these adages of the Fianna. (SILVA GADELICA, Engl. transl., p. 115.) And the son of Luga, it is written, heeded these counsels and gave up his bad ways, and he became one of the best of Finn's men. Such-like things also Finn taught to all his followers, and the best of them became like himself in valour and gentleness and generosity. Each of them loved the repute of his comrades more than his own, and each would say that for all noble qualities there was no man in the breadth of the world worthy to be thought of beside Finn. It was said of him that "he gave away gold as if it were the leaves of the woodland, and silver as if it were the foam of the sea," and that whatever he had bestowed upon any man, if he fell out with him afterwards, he was never known to bring it against him. Sang the poet Oisín of him once to St Patrick:-- "These are the things that were dear to Finn-- The din of battle, the banquet's glee, The bay of his hounds through the rough glen ringing. And the blackbird singing in Letter Lee, "The shingle grinding along the shore When they dragged his war-boats down to sea, The dawn-wind whistling his spears among, And the magic song of his minstrels three." In the time of Finn no one was ever admitted to be one of the Fianna of Erinn unless he could pass through many severe tests of his worthiness. He must be versed in the Twelve Books of Poetry and must himself be skilled to make verse in the rime and metre of the masters of Gaelic poesy. Then he was buried to his middle in the earth, and must, with a shield and a hazel stick, there defend himself against nine warriors casting spears at him, and if he were wounded he was not accepted. Then his hair was woven into braids and he was chased through the forest by the Fians. If he were overtaken, or if a braid of his hair were disturbed, or if a dry stick cracked under his foot, he was not accepted. He must be able to leap over a lath level with his brow and to run at full speed under level with his knee, and he must be able while running to draw out a thorn from his foot and never slacken speed. He must take no dowry with a wife. It was said that one of the Fians, namely Keelta, lived on to a great age, and saw St Patrick, by whom he was baptized into the faith of the Christ, and to whom he told many tales of Finn and his men, which Patrick's scribe wrote down. And once Patrick asked him how it was that the Fianna became so mighty and so glorious that all Ireland sang of their deeds, as Ireland has done ever since. Keelta answered, "Truth was in our hearts and strength in our arms, and what we said, that we fulfilled." This was also told of Keelta after he had seen St Patrick and received the Faith. He chanced to be one day by Leyney in Connacht, where the Fairy Folk of the Mound of Duma were wont to be sorely harassed and spoiled every year by pirates from oversea. They called Keelta to their aid, and by his counsel and valour the invaders were overcome and driven home, but Keelta was sorely wounded. Then Keelta asked that Owen the seer of the Fairy Folk might foretell him how long he had to live, for he was already a very aged man. Owen said, "It will be seventeen years, O Keelta of fair fame, till thou fall by the pool of Tara, and grievous that will be to all the King's household." "Even so did my chief and lord, my guardian and loving Protector, Finn, foretell to me," said Keelta. "And now what fee will ye give me for my rescue of you from the worst affliction that ever befell you?" "A great reward," said the Fairy Folk, "even youth; for by our art we shall change you into young man again with all the strength and activity of your prime." "Nay, God forbid," said Keelta "that I should take upon me a shape of sorcery, or any other than that which my Maker, the true and glorious God, hath bestowed upon me." And the Fairy Folk said, "It is the word of a true warrior and hero, and the thing that thou sayest is good." So they healed his wounds, and every bodily evil that he had, and he wished them blessing and victory, and went his way. CHAPTER XII The Tale of Vivionn the Giantess One day Finn and Goll, Keelta and Oscar, and others of the Fianna, were resting after the hunt on a certain hill now called the Ridge of the Dead Woman, and their meal was being got ready, when a girl of the kin of the giants came striding up and sat down among them. "Didst thou ever see a woman so tall?" asked Finn of Goll. "By my troth," said Goll, "never have I or any other seen a woman so big." She took her hand out of her bosom and on her long slender fingers there were three gold rings each as thick as an ox's yoke. "Let us question her," said Goll, and Finn said, "If we stood up, perchance she might hear us." So they all rose to their feet, but the giantess, on that, rose up too. "Maiden," said Finn, "if thou have aught to say to us or to hear from us, sit down and lean thine elbow on the hill-side." So she lay down and Finn bade her say whence she came and what was her will with them. "Out of the World Oversea where the sun sets am I come," she said, "to seek thy protection, O mighty Finn." "And what is thy name?" "My name is Vivionn of the Fair Hair, and my father Treon is called King of the Land of Lasses, for he has but three sons and nine and seven score daughters, and near him is a King who hath one daughter and eight score sons. To one of these, Æda, was I given in marriage sorely against my will. Three times now have I fled from him. And this time it was fishermen whom the wind blew to us from off this land who told us of a mighty lord here, named Finn, son of Cumhal, who would let none be wronged or oppressed, but he would be their friend and champion. And if thou be he, to thee am I come." Then she laid her hand in Finn's, and he bade her do the same with Goll mac Morna, who was second in the Fian leadership, and she did so. Then the maiden took from her head a jewelled golden helmet, and immediately her hair flowed out in seven score tresses, fair, curly and golden, at the abundance of which all stood amazed; and Finn said, "By the Immortals that we adore, but King Cormac and the poetess Ethne and the fair women-folk of the Fianna would deem it a marvel to see this girl. Tell us now, maiden, what portion wilt thou have of meat and drink? will that of a hundred of us suffice thee?" The girl then saw Cnu, the dwarf harper of Finn, who had just been playing to them, and she said, "Whatever thou givest to yon little man that bears the harp, be it much or little, the same, O Finn, will suffice for me." Then she begged a drink from them, and Finn called his gillie, Saltran, and bade him fetch the full of a certain great goblet with water from the ford; now this goblet was of wood, and it held as much as nine of the Fianna could drink. The maiden poured some of the water into her right hand and drank three sips of it, and scattered the rest over the Fianna, and she and they burst out laughing. Finn said, "On thy conscience, girl, what ailed thee not to drink out of the goblet?" "Never," she replied, "have I drunk out of any vessel but there was a rim of gold to it, or at least of silver." And now Keelta looking up perceived a tall youth coming swiftly towards them, who, when he approached, seemed even bigger than was the maiden. He wore a rough hairy cape over his shoulder and beneath that a green cloak fastened by a golden brooch; his tunic was of royal satin, and he bore a red shield slung over his shoulders, and a spear with a shaft as thick as a man's leg was in his hand; a gold-hilted sword hung by his side. And his face, which was smooth-shaven, was comelier than that of any of the sons of men. When he came near, seeing among the Fians a stir of alarm at this apparition, Finn said, "Keep every one of you his place, let neither warrior nor gillie address him. Know any of you this champion?" "I know him," said the maiden; "that is even he to escape from whom I am come to thee, O Finn." And she sat down between Finn and Goll. But the stranger drew near, and spake never a word, but before any one could tell what he would be at he thrust fiercely and suddenly with his spear at the girl, and the shaft stood out a hand's breadth at her back. And she fell gasping, but the young man drew his weapon out and passed rapidly through the crowd and away. [Illustration: "They ran him by hill and plain"] Then Finn cried, red with wrath, "Ye have seen! Avenge this wicked deed, or none of you aspire to Fianship again." And the whole company sprang to their feet and gave chase to that murderer, save only Finn and Goll, who stayed by the dying maiden. And they ran him by hill and plain to the great Bay of Tralee and down to the Tribute Point, where the traders from oversea were wont to pay their dues, and there he set his face to the West and took the water. By this time four of the Fianna had outstripped the rest, namely, Keelta, and Dermot, and Glas, and Oscar, son of Oisín. Of these Keelta was first, and just as the giant was mid-leg in the waves he hurled his spear and it severed the thong of the giant's shield so that it fell off in the water. And as the giant paused, Keelta seized his spear and tore it from him. But the giant waded on, and soon the Fians were floundering in deep water while the huge form, thigh deep, was seen striding towards the setting sun. And a great ship seemed to draw near, and it received him, and then departed into the light, but the Fians returned in the grey evening, bearing the spear and the great shield to Finn. There they found the maiden at point of death, and they laid the weapons before her. "Goodly indeed are these arms," she said, "for that is the Thunder Spear of the King Oversea and the shield is the Red Branch Shield," for it was covered with red arabesques. Then she bestowed her bracelets on Finn's three harpers, the dwarf Cnu, and Blanit his wife, and the harper Daira. And she bade Finn care for her burial, that it should be done becomingly, "for under thy honour and protection I got my death, and it was to thee I came into Ireland." So they buried her and lamented her, and made a great far-seen mound over her grave, which is called the Ridge of the Dead Woman, and set up a pillar stone upon it with her name and lineage carved in Ogham-crave.[23] [23] Ogham-craobh = "branching Ogham," so called because the letters resembled the branching of twigs from a stem. The Ogham alphabet was in use in Ireland in pre-Christian times, and many sepulchral inscriptions in it still remain. CHAPTER XIII The Chase of the Gilla Dacar In the reign of Cormac mac Art, grandson of Conn of the Hundred Battles, the order of precedence and dignity in the court of the High King at Tara was as follows: First came great Cormac, the kingly, the hospitable, warrior and poet, and he was supreme over all. Next in order came the five kings of the five Provinces of Ireland, namely, Ulster, Munster, Connacht, Leinster, and Mid-Erinn. After these ranked the captains of the royal host, of whom Finn, son of Cumhal, was the chief. Now the privileges of the Fianna of Erinn were many and great; to wit, in every county in Ireland one townland, and in every townland a cartron of land, and in the house of every gentleman the right to have a young deer-hound or a beagle kept at nurse from November to May, together with many other taxes and royalties not to be recounted here. But if they had these many and great privileges, yet greater than these were the toils and hardships which they had to endure, in guarding the coasts of all Ireland from oversea invaders and marauders, and in keeping down all robbers and outlaws and evil folk within the kingdom, for this was the duty laid upon them by their bond of service to the King. Now the summer half of the year was wont to be ended by a great hunting in one of the forests of Ireland, and so it was that one All-hallowtide, when the great banquet of Finn in his Dún on the Hill of Allen was going forward, and the hall resounded with cheerful talk and laughter and with the music of tympan and of harp, Finn asked of the assembled captains in what part of Erinn they should proceed to beat up game on the morrow. And it was agreed among them to repair to the territory of Thomond and Desmond in Munster; and from Allen they set out accordingly and came to the Hill of Knockany. Thence they threw out the hunt and sent their bands of beaters through many a gloomy ravine and by many a rugged hill-pass and many a fair open plain. Desmond's high hills, called now Slievelogher, they beat, and the smooth, swelling hills of Slievenamuck, and the green slopes of grassy Slievenamon, and the towering rough crags of the Decies, and thence on to the dark woods of Belachgowran. While the great hunt was going forward Finn with certain of his chief captains sat on a high mound to overlook it. There, with Finn, were Goll and Art mac Morna, and Liagan the swift runner, and Dermot of the Love Spot, and Keelta, son of Ronan, and there also was Conan the Bald, the man of scurrilous tongue, and a score or so more. Sweet it was to Finn and his companions to hear from the woods and wildernesses around them the many-tongued baying of the hounds and the cries and whistling of the beaters, the shouting of the strong men and the notes of the Fian hunting-horn. When they had sat there awhile one of Finn's men came running quickly towards him and said-- "A stranger is approaching us from the westward, O Finn, and I much mislike his aspect." With that all the Fians looked up and beheld upon the hillside a huge man, looking like some Fomorian marauder, black-visaged and ugly, with a sour countenance and ungainly limbs. On his back hung a dingy black shield, on his misshapen left thigh he wore a sharp broad-bladed sword; projecting over his shoulder were two long lances with broad rusty heads. He wore garments that looked as if they had been buried in a cinder heap, and a loose ragged mantle. Behind him there shambled a sulky, ill-shapen mare with a bony carcase and bowed knees, and on her neck a clumsy iron halter. With a rope her master hauled her along, with violent jerks that seemed as if they would wrench her head from her scraggy neck, and ever and anon the mare would stand and jib, when the man laid on her ribs such blows from a strong ironshod cudgel that they sounded like the surges of the sea beating on a rocky coast. Short as was the distance from where the man and his horse were first perceived to where Finn was standing, it was long ere they traversed it. At last, however, he came into the presence of Finn and louted before him, doing obeisance. Finn lifted his hand over him and bade him speak, and declare his business and his name and rank. "I know not," said the fellow, "of what blood I am, gentle or simple, but only this, that I am a wight from oversea looking for service and wages. And as I have heard of thee, O Finn, that thou art not wont to refuse any man, I came to take service with thee if thou wilt have me." "Neither shall I refuse thee," said Finn; "but what brings thee here with a horse and no horseboy?" "Good enough reason," said the stranger. "I have much ado to get meat for my own belly, seeing that I eat for a hundred men; and I will not have any horseboy meddling with my ration." "And what name dost thou bear?" "I am called the Gilla Dacar (the Hard Gillie)," replied he. "Why was that name given thee?" asked Finn. "Good enough reason for that also," spake the stranger, "for of all the lads in the world there is none harder than I am for a lord to get any service and obedience from." Then turning to Conan the Bald he said, "Whether among the Fianna is a horseman's pay or a footman's the highest?" "A horseman's surely," said Conan, "seeing that he gets twice the pay of a footman." "Then I am a horseman in thy service, Finn," said the gillie. "I call thee to observe that I have here a horse, and moreover that as a horseman I came among the Fianna. Have I thy authority," he went on, "to turn out my steed among thine?" "Turn her out," quoth Finn. Then the big man flung his mare the rope and immediately she galloped off to where the Fian horses were grazing. Here she fell to biting and kicking them, knocking out the eye of one and snapping off another's ear and breaking the leg of another with a kick. "Take away thy mare, big man," cried Conan then, "or by Heaven and Earth were it not that Finn told thee to let her loose I would let loose her brains. Many a bad bargain has Finn made but never a worse than thou." "By Heaven and Earth," said the gillie, "that I never will, for I have no horseboy, and I will do no horseboy's work." Then Conan mac Morna took the iron halter and laid it on the stranger's horse and brought the beast back to Finn and held it there. Said Finn to Conan, "I have never seen thee do horseboy's service even to far better men than this gillie. How now if thou wert to leap on the brute's back and gallop her to death over hill and dale in payment for the mischief she hath wrought among our steeds?" At this word Conan clambered up on the back of the big man's mare, and with all his might he smote his two heels into her, but the mare never stirred. "I perceive what ails her," said Finn. "She will never stir till she has a weight of men on her equal to that of her own rider." Then thirteen men of the Fianna scrambled up laughing behind Conan, and the mare lay down under them, and then got up again, they still clinging to her. At this the big man said, "It appears that you are making a sport and mockery of my mare, and that even I myself do not escape from it. It is well for me that I have not spent the rest of the year in your company, seeing what a jest ye have made of me the very first day; and I perceive, O Finn, that thou art very unlike the report that is made of thee. And now I bid thee farewell, for of thy service I have had enough." So with downcast head and despondent looks the big gillie shambled slowly away until he had passed out of view of the Fianna, behind the shoulder of the hill. Having arrived here he tucked up his coat to his waist, and fast though be the flight of the swallow, and fast that of the roe-deer, and fast the rush of a roaring wind over a mountain top in mid-March, no faster are these than the bounding speed and furious flight of the big man down the hillside toward the West. No sooner did the mare see that her master had departed than she too dashed uncontrollably forward and flew down the hillside after him. And as the Fians saw Conan the Bald and his thirteen companions thus carried off, willy nilly, they broke into a roar of laughter and ran alongside mocking them. But Conan, seeing that they were being carried off in the wake of the big man of evil aspect, of whom none knew whence or who he was, he was terrified and began reviling and cursing, and shouted to Finn, "A palsy seize thee, Finn; may some rascally churl, that is if possible of worse blood than thyself, have thy head, unless thou follow and rescue us wheresoever this monster shall bring us." So Finn and the Fianna ran, and the mare ran, over bare hills and by deep glens, till at last they came to Corcaguiny in Kerry, where the gillie set his face to the blue ocean, and the mare dashed in after him. But ere he did so, Liagan the Swift got two hands on the tail of the mare, though further he could not win, and he was towed in, still clinging to his hold, and over the rolling billows away they went, the fourteen Fians on the wild mare's back, and Liagan haled along by her tail. "What is to be done now?" said Oisín to Finn when they had arrived at the beach. "Our men are to be rescued," said Finn, "for to that we are bound by the honour of the Fianna. Whithersoever they are gone, thither must we follow and win them back by fair means or foul; but to that end we must first fit out a galley." So in the end it was agreed that Finn and fourteen men of his bravest and best champions should sail oversea in search of the Gilla Dacar and his captives, while Oisín remained in Erinn and exercised rule over the Fianna in the place of his father. After a while, then, a swift galley was made ready by Finn and stored with victual, and with arms, and also with gold and raiment to make gifts withal if need should be. And into the ship came the fifteen valiant men, and gripped their oars, while Finn steered; and soon the sea whitened around their oarblades, and over the restless, rolling masses of the many-hued and voiceful billows, the ship clove her way to the West. And the Fians, who were wont to be wakened by the twittering of birds over their hunting booths in the greenwood, now delighted to hear, day after day as they roused themselves at morn, the lapping of the wide waters of the world against their vessel's bows, or the thunder of pounding surges when the wind blew hard. At length after many days the sharpest-eyed of the men of Finn saw far-off what seemed a mountain rising from the sea, and to it they shaped their course. When they had come to that land they found themselves under the shadow of a great grey cliff, and beneath it slippery rocks covered with seaweed. Then Dermot, who was the most active of the company, was bidden to mount the cliff and to procure means of drawing up the rest of the party, but of what land might lie on the top of that wall of rock none of them could discover anything. Dermot, descending from the ship, then climbed with difficulty up the face of the cliff, while the others made fast their ship among the rocks. But Dermot having arrived at the top saw no habitation of man, and could compass no way of helping his companions to mount. He went therefore boldly forward into the unknown land, hoping to obtain some help, if any friendly and hospitable folk could there be found. [Illustration: "Dermot took the horn and would have filled it"] Before he had gone far he came into a wild wood, thick and tangled, and full of the noise of streams, and the sough of winds, and twittering of birds, and hum of bees. After he had traversed this wilderness for a while he came to a mighty tree with densely interwoven branches, and beneath it a pile of rocks, having on its summit a pointed drinking horn wreathed with rich ornament, and at its foot a well of pure bright water. Dermot, being now thirsty, took the horn and would have filled it at the well, but as he stooped down to do so he heard a loud, threatening murmur which seemed to rise from it. "I perceive," he said to himself, "that I am forbidden to drink from this well" Nevertheless thirst compelled him, and he drank his fill. In no long time thereafter he saw an armed warrior of hostile aspect coming towards him through the wood. No courteous greeting did he give to Dermot, but began to revile him for roaming in his wood and wilderness, and for drinking his water. Thereupon they fought, and for the rest of the afternoon they took and gave hard blows neither subduing the other, till at last as darkness began to fall the warrior suddenly dived into the well and was seen no more. Dermot, vexed at this ending of the combat, then made him ready to spend the night in that place, but first he slew a deer in the wood, and made a fire, whereat he roasted pieces of the deer's flesh on spits of white hazel, and drank abundantly of the well-water, and then slept soundly through the night. Next morning when he awakened and went to the well he found the Champion of the Well standing there and awaiting him. "It is not enough, Dermot," said he angrily, "for thee to traverse my woods at will and to drink my water, but thou must even also slay my deer." Then they closed in combat again, and dealt each other blow for blow and wound for wound till evening parted them, and the champion dived into the well as before. On the third day it went even so; but as evening came on Dermot, watching closely, rushed at the champion just as he was about to plunge into the well, and gripped him in his arms. But none the less the Champion of the Well made his dive, and took down Dermot with him. And a darkness and faintness came over Dermot, but when he awoke, he found himself in a wide, open country, flowery and fair, and before him the walls and towers of a royal city. Thither the champion, sorely wounded, was now borne off, while a crowd of his people came round Dermot, and beat and wounded him, leaving him on the ground for dead. After night had fallen, when all the people of the city in the Land Undersea had departed, a stalwart champion, well-armed and of bold appearance, came upon Dermot and stirred him with his foot. Dermot thereon awoke from his swoon and, warrior-like, reached out his hand for his arms. But the champion said, "Wait awhile, my son, I have not come to do thee hurt or harm. Thou hast chosen an ill place to rest and slumber in, before the city of thine enemy. Rise and follow me, and I shall bestow thee far better than that." Dermot then rose and followed the champion, and long and far they journeyed until they came to a high-towered fortress, wherein were thrice fifty valiant men-at-arms and fair women; and the daughter of that champion, a white-toothed, rosy-cheeked, smooth-handed, and black-eyebrowed maid, received Dermot, kindly and welcomefully, and applied healing herbs to his wounds, and in no long time he was made as good a man as ever. And thus he remained, and was entertained most royally with the best of viands and of liquors. The first part of every night those in that Dún were wont to spend in feasting, and the second in recreation and entertainment of the mind, with music and with poetry and bardic tales, and the third part in sound and healthful slumber, till the sun in his fiery journey rose over the heavy-clodded earth on the morrow morn. And the King of that country, who was the champion that had aroused Dermot, told him this was the land of Sorca, and that he had showed this kindness to Dermot for that he himself had once been on wage and service with Finn, son of Cumhal "and a better master," said he, "man never had." Now the story turns to tell of what befell Finn and the remainder of his companions when Dermot left them in the ship. After a while, seeing that he did not return, and being assured that some mischief or hindrance must have befallen him, they made an attempt to climb the cliff after him, having noted which way he went. With much toil and peril they accomplished this, and then journeying forward and following on Dermot's track, they came at last to the well in the wild wood, and saw near by the remains of the deer, and the ashes of the fire that Dermot had kindled to cook it. But from this place they could discover no track of his going. While they were debating on what should next be done, they saw riding towards them a tall warrior on a dark grey horse with a golden bridle, who greeted them courteously. From him they enquired as to whether he had seen aught of their companion, Dermot, in the wilderness. "Follow me," said the warrior, "and you shall shortly have tidings of him." Then they followed the strange horseman into the forest by many dark and winding ways, until at last they came into a rocky ravine, where they found the mouth of a great cavern opening into the hillside. Into this they went, and the way led them downward until it seemed as if they were going into the bowels of the earth, until at last the light began to shine round them, and they came out into a lovely land of flowery plains and green woods and singing streams. In no long time thereafter they came to a great royal Dún, where he who led them was hailed as king and lord, and here, to their joy, they found their comrade, Dermot of the Love Spot, who told them of all his adventures and heard from them of theirs. This ended, and when they had been entertained and refreshed, the lord of that place spoke to Finn and said:-- "I have now, O Finn, within my fortress the fifteen stoutest heroes that the world holds. To this end have I brought you here, that ye might make war with me upon mine enemy the Champion of the Well, who is king of the land bordering on mine, and who ceases not to persecute and to harry my people because, in his arrogance, he would have all the Under World country subject to himself alone. Say now if ye will embrace this enterprise and help me to defend my own: and if not I shall set you again upon the land of Erinn." Finn said, "What of my fifteen men that were carried away on the wild mare's back oversea?" "They are guarding the marches of my kingdom," said the King of Sorca, "and all is well with them and shall be well." Then Finn agreed to take service with the King of Sorca, and next day they arrayed themselves for fight and went out at the head of the host. Ere long they came upon the army of the King of the Well, and with him was the King of the Greeks and a band of fierce mercenaries, and also the daughter of the Greek King, by name Tasha of the White Side, a maiden who in beauty and grace surpassed all other women of the world, as the Shannon surpasses all rivers of Erinn and the eagle surpasses all birds of the air. Now the stories of Finn and his generosity and great deeds had reached her since she was a child, and she had set her love on him, though she had never seen his face till now. When the hosts were met, the King of the Greeks said, "Who of my men will stand forth and challenge the best of these men of Erinn to single combat that their metal may be proved, for to us it is unknown what manner of men they be." The son of the King of the Greeks said, "I will go." So on the side of Finn, Oscar, son of Oisín, was chosen to match the son of the Greek King, and the two hosts sat down peacefully together to watch the weapon-play. And Tasha the princess sat by Finn, son of Cumhal. Then Oscar and the King's son stepped into their fighting place, and fierce was the combat that arose between them, as when two roaring surges of the sea dash against each other in a fissure of the rocks, and the spray-cloud bursts from them high into the air. Long they fought, and many red wounds did each of them give and receive, till at last Oscar beat the Greek prince to the earth and smote off his head. Then one host groaned for woe and discouragement, while the other shouted for joy of victory, and so they parted for the night, each to their own camp. And in the camp of the folk of Sorca they found Conan the Bald and the fourteen men that had gone with him on the mare's back. But when night had fallen, Tasha stole from the wizard of the Greek King his branch of silver bells that when shaken would lay asleep a host of men, and with the aid of this she passed from the camp of the Greeks, and through the sentinels, and came to the tent of Finn. On the morrow morn the King of the Greeks found that his daughter had fled to be the wife of Finn, son of Cumhal, and he offered a mighty reward to whosoever would slay Finn and bring Tasha back. But when the two armies closed in combat the Fians and the host of the King of Sorca charged so fiercely home, that they drove their foes before them as a winter gale drives before it a cloud of madly whirling leaves, and those that were not slain in the fight and the pursuit went to their own lands and abode there in peace; and thus was the war ended of the King of Sorca and the Lord of the Well. Then the King of Sorca had Finn and his comrades before him and gave them praise and thanks for their valour. "And what reward," he said, "will ye that I make you for the saving of the kingdom of Sorca?" "Thou wert in my service awhile," said Finn, "and I mind not that I paid thee any wage for it. Let that service even go against this, and so we are quits." "Nay, then," cried Conan the Bald, "but what shall I have for my ride on the mare of the Gilla Dacar?" "What wilt thou have?" said the King of Sorca. "This," said Conan, "and nothing else will I accept. Let fourteen of the fairest women of the land of Sorca be put on that same mare, and thy wife, O King, clinging to its tail, and let them be thus haled across the sea until they come to Corcaguiny in the land of Erinn. I will have none of thy gold and silver, but the indignity that has been put upon me doth demand an honourable satisfaction." Then the King of Sorca smiled, and he said, "Behold thy men, Finn." [Illustration: "'Follow me now to the Hill of Allen'"] Finn turned his head to look round, and as he did so the plain and the encampment of the Fairy Host vanished from his sight, and he saw himself standing on the shingly strand of a little bay, with rocky heights to right and left, crowned with yellow whin bushes whose perfume mingled with the salt sea wind. It was the spot where he had seen the Gilla Dacar and his mare take water on the coast of Kerry. Finn stared over the sea, to discover, if he might, by what means he had come thither, but nothing could he see there save the sunlit water, and nothing hear but what seemed a low laughter from the twinkling ripples that broke at his feet. Then he looked for his men, who stood there, dazed like himself and rubbing their eyes; and there too stood the Princess Tasha, who stretched out her white arms to him. Finn went over and took her hands. "Shoulder your spears, good lads!" he called to his men. "Follow me now to the Hill of Allen, and to the wedding feast of Tasha and of Finn mac Cumhal." CHAPTER XIV The Birth of Oisín One day as Finn and his companions and dogs were returning from the chase to their Dún on the Hill of Allen, a beautiful fawn started up on their path and the chase swept after her, she taking the way which led to their home. Soon, all the pursuers were left far behind save only Finn himself and his two hounds Bran and Sceolaun. Now these hounds were of strange breed, for Tyren, sister to Murna, the mother of Finn, had been changed into a hound by the enchantment of a woman of the Fairy Folk, who loved Tyren's husband Ullan; and the two hounds of Finn were the children of Tyren, born to her in that shape. Of all hounds in Ireland they were the best, and Finn loved them much, so that it was said he wept but twice in his life, and once was for the death of Bran. At last, as the chase went on down a valley side, Finn saw the fawn stop and lie down, while the two hounds began to play round her and to lick her face and limbs. So he gave commandment that none should hurt her, and she followed them to the Dún of Allen, playing with the hounds as she went. The same night Finn awoke and saw standing by his bed the fairest woman his eyes had ever beheld. "I am Saba, O Finn," she said, "and I was the fawn ye chased to-day. Because I would not give my love to the Druid of the Fairy Folk, who is named the Dark, he put that shape upon me by his sorceries, and I have borne it these three years. But a slave of his, pitying me, once revealed to me that if I could win to thy great Dún of Allen, O Finn, I should be safe from all enchantments and my natural shape would come to me again. But I feared to be torn in pieces by thy dogs, or wounded by thy hunters, till at last I let myself be overtaken by thee alone and by Bran and Sceolaun, who have the nature of man and would do me no hurt." "Have no fear, maiden," said Finn, "we the Fianna, are free and our guest-friends are free; there is none who shall put compulsion on you here." So Saba dwelt with Finn, and he made her his wife; and so deep was his love for her that neither the battle nor the chase had any delight for him, and for months he never left her side. She also loved him as deeply, and their joy in each other was like that of the Immortals in the Land of Youth. But at last word came to Finn that the warships of the Northmen were in the bay of Dublin, and he summoned his heroes to the fight, "for," said he to Saba, "the men of Erinn give us tribute and hospitality to defend them from the foreigner, and it were shame to take it from them and not to give that to which we, on our side, are pledged." And he called to mind that great saying of Goll mac Morna when they were once sore bested by a mighty host--"a man," said Goll, "lives after his life but not after his honour." Seven days was Finn absent, and he drove the Northmen from the shores of Erinn. But on the eighth day he returned, and when he entered his Dún he saw trouble in the eyes of his men and of their fair womenfolk, and Saba was not on the rampart expecting his return. So he bade them tell him what had chanced, and they said-- "Whilst thou, our father and lord, wert afar off smiting the foreigner, and Saba looking ever down the pass for thy return, we saw one day as it were the likeness of thee approaching, and Bran and Sceolaun at thy heels. And we seemed also to hear the notes of the Fian hunting call blown on the wind. Then Saba hastened to the great gate, and we could not stay her, so eager was she to rush to the phantom. But when she came near, she halted and gave a loud and bitter cry, and the shape of thee smote her with a hazel wand, and lo, there was no woman there any more, but a deer. Then those hounds chased it, and ever as it strove to reach again the gate of the Dún they turned it back. We all now seized what arms we could and ran out to drive away the enchanter, but when we reached the place there was nothing to be seen, only still we heard the rushing of flying feet and the baying of dogs, and one thought it came from here, and another from there, till at last the uproar died away and all was still. What we could do, O Finn, we did; Saba is gone." Finn then struck his hand on his breast but spoke no word, and he went to his own chamber. No man saw him for the rest of that day, nor for the day after. Then he came forth, and ordered the matters of the Fianna as of old, but for seven years thereafter he went searching for Saba through every remote glen and dark forest and cavern of Ireland, and he would take no hounds with him save Bran and Sceolaun. But at last he renounced all hope of finding her again, and went hunting as of old. One day as he was following the chase on Ben Gulban in Sligo, he heard the musical bay of the dogs change of a sudden to a fierce growling and yelping as though they were in combat with some beast, and running hastily up he and his men beheld, under a great tree, a naked boy with long hair, and around him the hounds struggling to seize him, but Bran and Sceolaun fighting with them and keeping them off. And the lad was tall and shapely, and as the heroes gathered round he gazed undauntedly on them, never heeding the rout of dogs at his feet. The Fians beat off the dogs and brought the lad home with them, and Finn was very silent and continually searched the lad's countenance with his eyes. In time, the use of speech came to him, and the story that he told was this:-- He had known no father, and no mother save a gentle hind with whom he lived in a most green and pleasant valley shut in on every side by towering cliffs that could not be scaled, or by deep chasms in the earth. In the summer he lived on fruits and such-like, and in the winter, store of provisions was laid for him in a cave. And there came to them sometimes a tall dark-visaged man, who spoke to his mother, now tenderly, and now in loud menace, but she always shrunk away in fear, and the man departed in anger. At last there came a day when the Dark Man spoke very long with his mother in all tones of entreaty and of tenderness and of rage, but she would still keep aloof and give no sign save of fear and abhorrence. Then at length the Dark Man drew near and smote her with a hazel wand; and with that he turned and went his way, but she, this time, followed him, still looking back at her son and piteously complaining. And he, when he strove to follow, found himself unable to move a limb; and crying out with rage and desolation he fell to the earth and his senses left him. When he came to himself he was on the mountain side, on Ben Gulban, where he remained some days, searching for that green and hidden valley, which he never found again. And after a while the dogs found him; but of the hind his mother and of the Dark Druid, there is no man knows the end. Finn called his name Oisín, and he became a warrior of fame, but far more famous for the songs and tales that he made; so that of all things to this day that are told of the Fianna of Erinn, men are wont to say, "So sang the bard, Oisín, son of Finn." CHAPTER XV Oisín in the Land of Youth It happened that on a misty summer morning as Finn and Oisín with many companions were hunting on the shores of Loch Lena they saw coming towards them a maiden, beautiful exceedingly, riding on a snow-white steed. She wore the garb of a queen; a crown of gold was on her head, and a dark brown mantle of silk, set with stars of red gold, fell around her and trailed on the ground. Silver shoes were on her horse's hoofs, and a crest of gold nodded on his head. When she came near she said to Finn, "From very far away I have come, and now at last I have found thee, Finn, son of Cumhal." Then Finn said, "What is thy land and race, maiden, and what dost thou seek from me?" "My name," she said, "is Niam of the Golden Hair. I am the daughter of the King of the Land of Youth, and that which has brought me here is the love of thy son Oisín." Then she turned to Oisín and she spoke to him in the voice of one who has never asked anything but it was granted to her, "Wilt thou go with me, Oisín, to my father's land?" And Oisín said, "That will I, and to the world's end"; for the fairy spell had so wrought upon his heart that he cared no more for any earthly thing but to have the love of Niam of the Head of Gold. Then the maiden spoke of the Land Oversea to which she had summoned her lover, and as she spoke a dreamy stillness fell on all things, nor did a horse shake his bit nor a hound bay, nor the least breath of wind stir in the forest trees till she had made an end. And what she said seemed sweeter and more wonderful as she spoke it than anything they could afterwards remember to have heard, but so far as they could remember it, it was this:-- "Delightful is the land beyond all dreams, Fairer than aught thine eyes have ever seen. There all the year the fruit is on the tree, And all the year the bloom is on the flower. "There with wild honey drip the forest trees; The stores of wine and mead shall never fail. Nor pain nor sickness knows the dweller there, Death and decay come near him never more. "The feast shall cloy not, nor the chase shall tire, Nor music cease for ever through the hall; The gold and jewels of the Land of Youth Outshine all splendours ever dreamed by man. "Thou shalt have horses of the fairy breed, Thou shalt have hounds that can outrun the wind; A hundred chiefs shall follow thee in war, A hundred maidens sing thee to thy sleep. "A crown of sovranty thy brow shall wear, And by thy side a magic blade shall hang. Thou shalt be lord of all the Land of Youth, And lord of Niam of the Head of Gold." As the magic song ended, the Fians beheld Oisín mount the fairy steed and hold the maiden in his arms, and ere they could stir or speak she turned her horse's head and shook the ringing bridle and down the forest glade they fled, as a beam of light flies over the land when clouds drive across the sun; and never did the Fianna behold Oisín, son of Finn, on earth again. Yet what befell him afterwards is known. As his birth was strange so was his end, for he saw the wonders of the Land of Youth with mortal eyes and lived to tell them with mortal lips. When the white horse with its riders reached the sea it ran lightly over the waves and soon the green woods and headlands of Erinn faded out of sight. And now the sun shone fiercely down, and the riders passed into a golden haze in which Oisín lost all knowledge of where he was or if sea or dry land were beneath his horse's hoofs. But strange sights sometimes appeared to them in the mist, for towers and palace gateways loomed up and disappeared, and once a hornless doe bounded by them chased by a white hound with one red ear, and again they saw a young maid ride by on a brown steed, bearing a golden apple in her hand, and close behind her followed a young horseman on a white steed, a purple cloak floating at his back and a gold-hilted sword in his hand. And Oisín would have asked the princess who and what these apparitions were, but Niam bade him ask nothing nor seem to notice any phantom they might see until they were come to the Land of Youth. [Illustration: "They rode up to a stately palace"] At last the sky gloomed above them, and Niam urged their steed faster. The wind lashed them with pelting rain, thunder roared across the sea and lightning blazed, but they held on their way till at length they came once more into a region of calm and sunshine. And now Oisín saw before him a shore of yellow sand, lapped by the ripples of a summer sea. Inland, there rose before his eye wooded hills amid which he could discern the roofs and towers of a noble city. The white horse bore them swiftly to the shore and Oisín and the maiden lighted down. And Oisín marvelled at everything around him, for never was water so blue or trees so stately as those he saw, and the forest was alive with the hum of bees and the song of birds, and the creatures that are wild in other lands, the deer and the red squirrel and the wood-dove, came, without fear, to be caressed. Soon, as they went forward, the walls of a city came in sight, and folk began to meet them on the road, some riding, some afoot, all of whom were either youths or maidens, all looking as joyous as if the morning of happy life had just begun for them, and no old or feeble person was to be seen. Niam led her companion through a towered gateway built of white and red marble, and there they were met by a glittering company of a hundred riders on black steeds and a hundred on white, and Oisín mounted a black horse and Niam her white, and they rode up to a stately palace where the King of the Land of Youth had his dwelling. And there he received them, saying in a loud voice that all the folk could hear, "Welcome, Oisín, son of Finn. Thou art come to the Land of Youth, where sorrow and weariness and death shall never touch thee. This thou hast won by thy faithfulness and valour and by the songs that thou hast made for the men of Erinn, whereof the fame is come to us, for we have here indeed all things that are delightful and joyous, but poesy alone we had not. But now we have the chief poet of the race of men to live with us, immortal among immortals, and the fair and cloudless life that we lead here shall be praised in verses as fair; even as thou, Oisín, did'st praise and adorn the short and toilsome and chequered life that men live in the world thou hast left forever. And Niam my daughter shall be thy bride, and thou shalt be in all things even as myself in the Land of Youth." Then the heart of Oisín was filled with glory and joy, and he turned to Niam and saw her eyes burn with love as she gazed upon him. And they were wedded the same day, and the joy they had in each other grew sweeter and deeper with every day that passed. All that Niam had promised in her magic song in the wild wood when first they met, seemed faint beside the splendour and beauty of the life in the Land of Youth. In the great palace they trod on silken carpets and ate off plates of gold; the marble walls and doorways were wrought with carved work, or hung with tapestries, where forest glades, and still lakes, and flying deer were done in colours of unfading glow. Sunshine bathed that palace always, and cool winds wandered through its dim corridors, and in its courts there played fountains of bright water set about with flowers. When Oisín wished to ride, a steed of fiery but gentle temper bore him wherever he would through the pleasant land; when he longed to hear music, there came upon his thought, as though borne on the wind, crystal notes such as no hand ever struck from the strings of any harp on earth. But Oisín's hand now never touched the harp, and the desire of singing and of making poetry never waked in him, for no one thing seemed so much better than the rest, where all perfection bloomed and glowed around him, as to make him long to praise it and to set it apart. When seven days had passed, he said to Niam, "I would fain go a-hunting." Niam said, "So be it, dear love; to-morrow we shall take order for that." Oisín lay long awake that night, thinking of the sound of Finn's hunting-horn, and of the smell of green boughs when they kindled them to roast the deer-flesh in Fian ovens in the wildwood. So next day Oisín and Niam fared forth on horseback, with their company of knights and maidens, and dogs leaping and barking with eagerness for the chase. Anon they came to the forest, and the hunters with the hounds made a wide circuit on this side and on that, till at last the loud clamour of the hounds told that a stag was on foot, and Oisín saw them streaming down an open glen, the stag with its great antlers laid back and flying like the wind. So he shouted the Fian hunting-cry and rode furiously on their track. All day long they chased the stag through the echoing forest, and the fairy steed bore him unfaltering over rough ground and smooth, till at last as darkness began to fall the quarry was pulled down, and Oisín cut its throat with his hunting-knife. Long it seemed to him since he had felt glad and weary as he felt now, and since the woodland air with its odours of pine and mint and wild garlic had tasted so sweet in his mouth; and truly it was longer than he knew. But when he bade make ready the wood-oven for their meal, and build a bothy of boughs for their repose, Niam led him seven steps apart and seven to the left hand, and yet seven back to the place where they had killed the deer, and lo, there rose before him a stately Dún with litten windows and smoke drifting above its roof. When they entered, there was a table spread for a great company, and cooks and serving-men busy about a wide hearth where roast and boiled meats of every sort were being prepared. Casks of Greek wine stood open around the walls, and cups of gold were on the board. So they all ate and drank their sufficiency, and all night Oisín and Niam slept on a bed softer than swans-down in a chamber no less fair than that which they had in the City of the Land of Youth. Next day, at the first light of dawn, they were on foot; and soon again the forest rang to the baying of hounds and the music of the hunting-horn. Oisín's steed bore him all day, tireless and swift as before, and again the quarry fell at night's approach, and again a palace rose in the wilderness for their night's entertainment, and all things in it even more abundant and more sumptuous than before. And so for seven days they fared in that forest, and seven stags were slain. Then Oisín grew wearied of hunting, and as he plunged his sharp black hunting-knife into the throat of the last stag, he thought of the sword of magic temper that hung idle by his side in the City of Youth, or rested from its golden nail in his bed-chamber, and he said to Niam, "Has thy father never a foe to tame, never a wrong to avenge? Surely the peasant is no man whose hand forgets the plough, nor the warrior whose hand forgets the sword hilt." Niam looked on him strangely for a while and as if she did not understand his words, or sought some meaning in them which yet she feared to find. But at last she said, "If deeds of arms be thy desire, Oisín, thou shalt have thy sufficiency ere long." And so they rode home, and slept that night in the palace of the City of Youth. At daybreak on the following morn Niam roused Oisín, and she buckled on him his golden-hilted sword and his corselet of blue steel inlaid with gold. Then he put on his head a steel and gold helmet with dragon crest, and slung on his back a shield of bronze wrought all over with cunning hammer-work of serpentine lines that swelled and sank upon the surface, and coiled in mazy knots, or flowed in long sweeping curves like waves of the sea when they gather might and volume for their leap upon the sounding shore. In the glimmering dawn, through the empty streets of the fair city, they rode forth alone and took their way through fields of corn and by apple orchards where red fruit hung down to their hands. But by noontide their way began to mount upwards among blue hills that they had marked from the city walls toward the west, and of man's husbandry they saw no more, but tall red-stemmed pine trees bordered the way on either side, and silence and loneliness increased. At length they reached a broad table-land deep in the heart of the mountains, where nothing grew but long coarse grass, drooping by pools of black and motionless water, and where great boulders, bleached white or stained with slimy lichens of livid red, lay scattered far and wide about the plain. Against the sky the mountain line now showed like a threat of bared and angry teeth, and as they rode towards it Oisín perceived a huge fortress lying in the throat of a wide glen or mountain pass. White as death was the stone of which it was built, save where it was streaked with black or green from the foulness of wet mosses that clung to its cornices and battlements, and none seemed stirring about the place nor did any banner blow from its towers. Then said Niam, "This, O Oisín, is the Dún of the giant Fovor of the Mighty Blows. In it he keeps prisoner a princess of the Fairy Folk whom he would fain make his bride, but he may not do so, nor may she escape, until Fovor has met in battle a champion who will undertake her cause. Approach, then, to the gate, if thou art fain to undertake this adventure, and blow the horn which hangs thereby, and then look to thy weapons, for soon indeed will the battle be broken upon thee." Then Oisín rode to the gate and thrice he blew on the great horn which hung by it, and the clangour of it groaned drearily back from the cliffs that overhung the glen. Not thus indeed sounded the _Dord_ of Finn as its call blew lust of fighting and scorn of death into the hearts of the Fianna amid the stress of battle. At the third blast the rusty gates opened, grinding on their hinges, and Oisín rode into a wide courtyard where servitors of evil aspect took his horse and Niam's, and led them into the hall of Fovor. Dark it was and low, with mouldering arras on its walls, and foul and withered rushes on the floor, where dogs gnawed the bones thrown to them at the last meal, and spilt ale and hacked fragments of flesh littered the bare oaken table. And here rose languidly to greet them a maiden bound with seven chains, to whom Niam spoke lovingly, saying that her champion was come and that her long captivity should end. And the maiden looked upon Oisín, whose proud bearing and jewelled armour made the mean place seem meaner still, and a light of hope and of joy seemed to glimmer upon her brow. So she gave them refreshment as she could, and afterwards they betook them once more to the courtyard, where the place of battle was set. Here, at the further side, stood a huge man clad in rusty armour, who when he saw Oisín rushed upon him, silent and furious, and swinging a great battleaxe in his hand. But doubt and langour weighed upon Oisín's heart, and it seemed to him as if he were in an evil dream, which he knew was but a dream, and would be less than nothing when the hour of awakening should come. Yet he raised his shield and gripped the fairy sword, striving to shout the Fian battle-cry as he closed with Fovor. But soon a heavy blow smote him to the ground, and his armour clanged harshly on the stones. Then a cloud seemed to pass from his spirit, and he leaped to his feet quicker than an arrow flies from the string, and thrusting fiercely at the giant his sword-point gashed the under side of Fovor's arm when it was raised to strike, and Oisín saw his enemy's blood. Then the fight raged hither and thither about the wide courtyard, with trampling of feet and clash of steel and ringing of armour and shouts of onset as the heroes closed; Oisín, agile as a wild stag, evading the sweep of the mighty axe and rushing in with flickering blade at every unguarded moment, his whole soul bent on one fierce thought, to drive his point into some gap at shoulder or neck in Fovor's coat of mail. At length, when both were weary and wounded men, with hacked and battered armour, Oisín's blade cut the thong of Fovor's headpiece and it fell clattering to the ground. Another blow laid the giant prostrate, and Oisín leaned, dizzy and panting, upon his sword, while Fovor's serving-men took off their master in a litter, and Niam came to aid her lord. Then Oisín stripped off his armour in the great hall, and Niam tended to his wounds, healing them with magic herbs and murmured incantations, and they saw that one of the seven rusty chains that had bound the princess hung loose from its iron staple in the wall. All night long Oisín lay in deep and healing slumber, and next day he arose, whole and strong, and hot to renew the fray. And the giant was likewise healed and his might and fierceness returned to him. So they fought till they were breathless and weary, and then to it again, and again, till in the end Oisín drove his sword to the hilt in the giant's shoulder where it joins the collar bone, and he fell aswoon, and was borne away as before. And another chain of the seven fell from the girdle of the captive maiden. Thus for seven days went on the combat, and Oisín had seven nights of healing and rest, with the tenderness and beauty of Niam about his couch; and on the seventh day the maiden was free, and her folk brought her away, rejoicing, with banners and with music that made a brightness for a while in that forlorn and evil place. But Oisín's heart was high with pride and victory, and a longing uprose in his heart with a rush like a springtide for the days when some great deed had been done among the Fianna, and the victors were hailed and lauded by the home-folk in the Dún of Allen, men and women leaving their toil or their pleasure to crowd round the heroes, and to question again and again, and to learn each thing that had passed; and the bards noting all to weave it into a glorious tale for after days; and more than all the smile and the look of Finn as he learned how his children had borne themselves in the face of death. And so Oisín said to Niam, "Let me, for a short while, return to the land of Erinn, that I may see there my friends and kin and tell them of the glory and joy that are mine in the Land of Youth." But Niam wept and laid her white arms about his neck, entreating him to think no more of the sad world where all men live and move under a canopy of death, and where summer is slain by winter, and youth by old age, and where love itself, if it die not by falsehood and wrong, perishes many a time of too complete a joy. But Oisín said, "The world of men compared with thy world is like this dreary waste compared with the city of thy father; yet in that city, Niam, none is better or worse than another, and I hunger to tell my tale to ignorant and feeble folk that my words can move, as words of mine have done of old, to wonder and delight. Then I shall return to thee, Niam, and to thy fair and blissful land; and having brought over to mortal men a tale that never man has told before, I shall be happy and at peace for ever in the Land of Youth." So they fared back to the golden city, and next day Niam brought to Oisín the white steed that had borne them from Erinn, and bade him farewell. "This our steed," she said, "will carry thee across the sea to the land where I found thee, and whithersoever thou wilt, and what folk are there thou shalt see, and what tale thou hast to tell can be told. But never for even a moment must thou alight from his back, for if thy foot once touch again the soil of earth, thou shalt never win to me and to the Land of Youth again. And sorely do I fear some evil chance. Was not the love of Niam of the Head of Gold enough to fill a mortal's heart? But if thou must go, then go, and blessing and victory be thine." Then Oisín held her long in his arms and kissed her, and vowed to make no long stay and never to alight from the fairy steed. And then he shook the golden reins and the horse threw its head aloft and snorted and bore him away in a pace like that of flowing water for speed and smoothness. Anon they came to the margin of the blue sea, and still the white steed galloped on, brushing the crests of the waves into glittering spray. The sun glared upon the sea and Oisín's head swam with the heat and motion, and in mist and dreams he rode where no day was, nor night, nor any thought of time, till at last his horse's hoofs ploughed through wet, yellow sands, and he saw black rocks rising up at each side of a little bay, and inland were fields green or brown, and white cottages thatched with reeds, and men and women, toil-worn and clad in earth-coloured garments, went to and fro about their tasks or stopped gazing at the rider in his crimson cloak and at the golden trappings of his horse. But among the cottages was a small house of stone such as Oisín had never seen in the land of Erinn; stone was its roof as well as the walls, very steep and high, and near-by from a rude frame of timber there hung a bell of bronze. Into this house there passed one whom from his shaven crown Oisín guessed to be a druid, and behind him two lads in white apparel. The druid having seen the horseman turned his eyes again to the ground and passed on, regarding him not, and the lads did likewise. And Oisín rode on, eager to reach the Dún upon the Hill of Allen and to see the faces of his kin and his friends. [Illustration: "The white steed had vanished from their eyes like a wreath of mist"] At length, coming from the forest path into the great clearing where the Hill of Allen was wont to rise broad and green, with its rampart enclosing many white-walled dwellings, and the great hall towering high in the midst, he saw but grassy mounds overgrown with rank weeds and whin bushes, and among them pastured a peasant's kine. Then a strange horror fell upon him, and he thought some enchantment from the land of Faery held his eyes and mocked him with false visions. He threw his arms abroad and shouted the names of Finn and Oscar, but none replied, and he thought that perchance the hounds might hear him, and he cried upon Bran and Sceolaun, and strained his ears if they might catch the faintest rustle or whisper of the world from the sight of which his eyes were holden, but he heard only the sigh of the wind in the whins. Then he rode in terror from that place, setting his face towards the eastern sea, for he meant to traverse Ireland from side to side and end to end in the search of some escape from his enchantment. But when he came near to the eastern sea and was now in the place which is called the Valley of the Thrushes,[24] he saw in a field upon the hillside a crowd of men striving to roll aside a great boulder from their tilled land, and an overseer directing them. Towards them he rode, meaning to ask them concerning Finn and the Fianna. As he came near, they all stopped their work to gaze upon him, for to them he appeared like a messenger of the Fairy Folk or an angel from heaven. Taller and mightier he was than the men-folk they knew, with sword-blue eyes and brown ruddy cheeks; in his mouth, as it were, a shower of pearls, and bright hair clustered beneath the rim of his helmet. And as Oisín looked upon their puny forms, marred by toil and care, and at the stone which they feebly strove to heave from its bed, he was filled with pity, and thought to himself, "not such were even the churls of Erinn when I left them for the Land of Youth," and he stooped from his saddle to help them. His hand he set to the boulder, and with a mighty heave he lifted it from where it lay and set it rolling down the hill. And the men raised a shout of wonder and applause, but their shouting changed in a moment into cries of terror and dismay, and they fled, jostling and overthrowing each other to escape from the place of fear; for a marvel horrible to see had taken place. For Oisín's saddle-girth had burst as he heaved the stone, and he fell headlong to the ground. In an instant the white steed had vanished from their eyes like a wreath of mist, and that which rose, feeble and staggering, from the ground was no youthful warrior but a man stricken with extreme old age, white-bearded and withered, who stretched out groping hands and moaned with feeble and bitter cries. And his crimson cloak and yellow silken tunic were now but coarse homespun stuff tied with a hempen girdle, and the gold-hilted sword was a rough oaken staff such as a beggar carries who wanders the roads from farmer's house to house. [24] Glanismole, near Dublin. When the people saw that the doom that had been wrought was not for them they returned, and found the old man prone on the ground with his face hidden in his arms. So they lifted him up and asked who he was and what had befallen him. Oisín gazed round on them with dim eyes, and at last he said, "I was Oisín the son of Finn, and I pray ye tell me where he now dwells, for his Dún on the Hill of Allen is now a desolation, and I have neither seen him nor heard his hunting horn from the Western to the Eastern Sea." Then the men gazed strangely on each other and on Oisín, and the overseer asked, "Of what Finn dost thou speak, for there be many of that name in Erinn?" Oisín said, "Surely of Finn mac Cumhal mac Trenmor, captain of the Fianna of Erinn." Then the overseer said, "Thou art daft, old man, and thou hast made us daft to take thee for a youth as we did a while agone. But we at least have now our wits again, and we know that Finn son of Cumhal and all his generation have been dead these three hundred years. At the battle of Gowra fell Oscar, son of Oisín, and Finn at the battle of Brea, as the historians tell us; and the lays of Oisín, whose death no man knows the manner of, are sung by our harpers at great men's feasts. But now the Talkenn,[25] Patrick, has come into Ireland and has preached to us the One God and Christ His Son, by whose might these old days and ways are done away with, and Finn and his Fianna, with their feasting and hunting and songs of war and of love, have no such reverence among us as the monks and virgins of holy Patrick, and the psalms and prayers that go up daily to cleanse us from sin and to save us from the fire of judgment." But Oisín replied, half hearing and still less comprehending what was said to him, "If thy God have slain Finn and Oscar, I would say that God is a strong man." Then they all cried out upon him, and some picked up stones, but the overseer bade them let him be until the Talkenn had spoken with him, and till he should order what was to be done. [25] Talkenn or "Adze-head" was a name given to St Patrick by the Irish. Probably it referred to the shape of his tonsure. So they brought him to Patrick, who entreated him gently and hospitably, and to Patrick he told the story of all that had befallen him. But Patrick bade his scribes write all carefully down, that the memory of the heroes whom Oisín had known, and of the joyous and free life they had led in the woods and glens and wild places of Erinn, should never be forgotten among men. And Oisín, during the short span of life that yet remained to him, told to Patrick many tales of the Fianna and their deeds, but of the three hundred years that he had spent with Niam in the Land of Youth he rarely spoke, for they seemed to him but as a vision or a dream of the night, set between a sunny and a rainy day. THE HISTORY OF KING CORMAC CHAPTER XVI I THE BIRTH OF CORMAC Of all the kings that ruled over Ireland, none had a better and more loyal servant than was Finn mac Cumhal, and of all the captains and counsellors of kings none ever served a more glorious and a nobler monarch than did Finn, for the time that he served Cormac, son of Art, son of Conn of the Hundred Battles. At the time at which this monarch lived and reigned, the mist of sixteen centuries hangs between us and the history of Ireland, but through this mist there shine a few great and sunlike figures whose glory cannot be altogether hidden, and of these figures Cormac is the greatest and the brightest. Much that is told about him may be true, and much is certainly fable, but the fables themselves are a witness to his greatness; they are like forms seen in the mist when a great light is shining behind it, and we cannot always say when we are looking at the true light and when at the reflected glory. The birth of Cormac was on this wise. His father, as we have said, was Art, son of Conn, and his mother was named Achta, being the daughter of a famous smith or ironworker of Connacht. Now before the birth of Cormac, Achta had a strange dream, namely, that her head was struck off from her body and that out of her neck there grew a great tree which extended its branches over all Ireland and flourished exceedingly, but a huge wave of the sea burst upon it and laid it low. Then from the roots of this tree there grew up another, but it did not attain the splendour of the first, and a blast of wind came from the West and overthrew it. On this the woman started from her sleep, and she woke her husband, Art, and told him her vision. "It is a true dream," said Art. "I am thy head, and this portends that I shall be violently taken from thee. But thou shalt bear me a son who shall be King of all Ireland, and shall rule with great power and glory until some disaster from the sea overtake him. But from him shall come yet another king, my grandson and thine, who shall also be cut down, and I think that the cause of his fall shall be the armies of the Fian host, who are swift and keen as the wind." Not long thereafter Art, son of Conn, fell in battle with the Picts and Britons at the Plain of the Swine, which is between Athenry and Galway in Connacht. Now the leader of the invaders then was mac Con, a nephew to Art, who had been banished out of Ireland for rising against the High King; and when he had slain Art he seized the sovranty of Ireland and reigned there unlawfully for many years. But before the battle, Art had counselled his wife: "If things go ill with us in the fight, and I am slain, seek out my faithful friend Luna who dwells in Corann in Connacht, and he will protect thee till thy son be born." So Achta, with one maid, fled in her chariot before the host of mac Con and sought to go to the Dún of Luna. On her way thither, however, the hour came when her child should be born, and the maid turned the chariot aside into the wild wood at the place called Creevagh (the Place of the Twigs), and there, on a couch of twigs and leaves, she gave birth to a noble son. Then Achta, when she had cherished her boy and rejoiced over him, bade her handmaid keep watch over both of them, and they fell asleep. But the maid's eyes were heavy with weariness and long travelling, and ere long she, too, was overpowered by slumber, and all three slept a deep sleep while the horses wandered away grazing through the wood. By and by there came a she-wolf roaming through the wood in search of prey for her whelps, and it came upon the sleeping woman and the little child. It did not wake the woman, but very softly it picked up the infant and bore it off to the stony cave that is hard by to Creevagh in the hill that was afterwards called Mount Cormac. After a while the mother waked up and found her child gone. Then she uttered a lamentable cry, and woke her handmaid, and both the women searched hither and thither, but no trace of the child could they find; and thus Luna found them; for he had heard news of the battle and the death of his King, and he had come to succour Achta as he had pledged his word to do. Luna and his men also made search for the infant, but in vain; and at last he conveyed the two sorrowing women to his palace; but Achta was somewhat comforted by her prophetic dream. Luna then proclaimed that whoever should discover the King's son, if he were yet alive, might claim of him what reward he would. And so the time passed, till one day a man named Grec, a clansman of Luna the lord of Corann, as he ranged the woods hunting, came on a stony cavern in the side of a hill, and before it he saw wolf-cubs at play, and among them a naked child on all fours gambolling with them, and a great she-wolf that mothered them all. "Right," cried Grec, and off he goes to Luna his lord. "What wilt thou give me for the King's son?" said he. "What wilt thou have?" said Luna. So Grec asked for certain lands, and Luna bound himself to give them to him and to his posterity, and there lived and flourished the Clan Gregor for many a generation to come. So Luna, guided by Grec, went to the cave on Mount Cormac, and took the child and the wolf-cubs all together and brought them home. And the child they called Cormac, or the Chariot-Child. Now the lad grew up very comely and strong, and he abode with Luna in Connacht, and no one told him of his descent. II THE JUDGMENT OF CORMAC Once upon a time it happened that Cormac was at play with the two sons of Luna, and the lads grew angry in their play and came to blows, and Cormac struck one of them to the ground. "Sorrow on it," cried the lad, "here I have been beaten by one that knows not his clan or kindred, save that he is a fellow without a father." When Cormac heard that he was troubled and ashamed, and he went to Luna and told him what had been said. And Luna seeing the trouble of the youth, and also that he was strong and noble to look on, and wise and eloquent in speech, held that the time was now come to reveal to him his descent. "Thou hadst indeed a clan and kindred," he said, "and a father of the noblest, for thou art the son of Art, the High King of Ireland, who was slain and dispossessed by mac Con. But it is foretold that thou shalt yet come to thy father's place, and the land pines for thee even now, for there is no good yield from earth or sea under the unlawful rule of him who now sits on the throne of Art." "If that be so," said Cormac, "let us go to Tara, and bide our time there in my father's house." So the two of them set out for Tara on the morrow morn. And this was the retinue they had with them: a body-guard of outlawed men that had revolted against mac Con and other lords and had gathered themselves together at Corann under Luna, and four wolves that had been cubs with Cormac when the she-wolf suckled him. When they came to Tara, the folk there wondered at the fierce-eyed warriors and the grey beasts that played like dogs around Cormac, and the lad was adopted as a pupil by the King, to be taught arms and poetry and law. Much talk there was of his coming, and of his strange companions that are not wont to be the friends of man, and as the lad grew in comeliness and in knowledge the eyes of all were turned to him more and more, because the rule of mac Con was not good. So the time wore on, till one day a case came for judgment before the King, in which the Queen sued a certain wealthy woman and an owner of herds named Benna, for that the sheep of Benna had strayed into the Queen's fields and had eaten to the ground a crop of woad[26] that was growing there. The King gave judgment, that the sheep which had eaten the woad were to be given to the Queen in compensation for what they had destroyed. Then Cormac rose up before the people and said, "Nay, but let the wool of the sheep, when they are next shorn, be given to the Queen, for the woad will grow again and so shall the wool." "A true judgment, a true judgment," cried all the folk that were present in the place; "a very king's son is he that hath pronounced it." And they murmured so loudly against mac Con that his druids counselled him to quit Tara lest a worse thing befall him. So he gave up the sovranty to Cormac and went southward into Munster to rally his friends there and recover the kingdom, and there he was slain by Cormac's men as he was distributing great largesse of gold and silver to his followers, in the place called The Field of the Gold. [26] Woad is a cruciferous plant, _Isatis tinctoria_, used for dyeing. So Cormac, son of Art, ruled in Tara and was High King of all Ireland. And the land, it is said, knew its rightful lord, and yielded harvests such as never were known, while the forest trees dripped with the abundance of honey and the lakes and rivers were alive with fish. So much game was there, too, that the folk could have lived on that alone and never put a ploughshare in the soil. In Cormac's time the autumn was not vexed with rain, nor the spring with icy winds, nor the summer with parching heat, nor the winter with whelming snows. His rule in Erinn, it is said, was like a wand of gold laid on a dish of silver. Also he rebuilt the ramparts of Tara and made it strong, and he enlarged the great banqueting hall and made pillars of cedar in it ornamented with plates of bronze, and painted its lime-white walls in patterns of red and blue. Palaces for the women he also made there, and store-houses, and halls for the fighting men--never was Tara so populous or so glorious before or since. And for his wisdom and righteousness knowledge was given to him that none other in Ireland had as yet, for it was revealed to him that the Immortal Ones whom the Gael worshipped were but the names of One whom none can name, and that his message should ere long come to Ireland from over the eastern sea, calling the people to a sweeter and diviner faith. And to the end of his life it was his way to have wolves about him, for he knew their speech and they his, and they were friendly and tame with him and his folk, since they were foster-brothers together in the wild wood. III THE MARRIAGE OF KING CORMAC It happened that in Cormac's time there was a very wealthy farmer named Buicad[27] who dwelt in Leinster, and had vast herds of cattle and sheep and horses. This Buicad and his wife had no children, but they adopted a foster-child named Ethne, daughter of one Dunlang. Now Buicad was the most hospitable of men, and never refused aught to anyone, but he kept open house for all the nobles of Leinster who came with their following and feasted there as they would, day after day; and if any man fancied any of the cattle or other goods of Buicad, he might take them home with him, and none said him nay. Thus Buicad lived in great splendour, and his Dún was ever full to profusion with store of food and clothing and rich weapons, until in time it was all wasted away in boundless hospitality and generosity, and so many had had a share in his goods that they could never be recovered nor could it be said of any man that he was the cause of Buicad's undoing. But undone he was at last, and when there remained to him but one bull and seven cows he departed by night with his wife and Ethne from Dún Buicad, leaving his mansion desolate. And he travelled till he came to a place where there was a grove of oak trees by a little stream in the county of Meath, near where Cormac had a summer palace, and there he built himself a little hut and tended his few cattle, and Ethne waited as a maid-servant upon him and his wife. [27] Pronounced Bweé-cad. His name is said to be preserved in the townland of Dunboyke, near Blessington, Co. Wicklow. Now on a certain day it happened that King Cormac rode out on horseback from his Dún in Meath, and in the course of his ride he came upon the little herd of Buicad towards evening, and he saw Ethne milking the cows. And this was the way she milked them: first she milked a portion of each cow's milk into a certain vessel, then she took a second vessel and milked into it the remaining portion, in which was the richest cream, and these two vessels she kept apart. Cormac watched all this. She then bore the vessels of milk into the hut, and came out again with two other vessels and a small cup. These she bore down to the river-side; and one of the vessels she filled by means of the cup from the water at the brink of the stream, but the other vessel she bore out into the middle of the stream and there filled it from the deepest of the running water. After this she took a sickle and began cutting rushes by the river-side, and Cormac saw that when she cut a wisp of long rushes she would put it on one side, and the short rushes on the other, and she bore them separately into the house. But Cormac stopped her and saluted her, and said: "For whom, maiden, art thou making this careful choice of the milk and the rushes and the water?" "I am making it," said she, "for one who is worthy that I should do far more than that for him, if I could." "What is his name?" "Buicad, the farmer," said Ethne. "Is it that Buicad, who was the rich farmer in Leinster that all Ireland has heard of?" asked the King. "It is even so." "Then thou art his foster-child, Ethne the daughter of Dunlang?" said Cormac. "I am," said Ethne. "Wilt thou be my wife and Queen of Erinn?" then said Cormac. "If it please my foster-father to give me to thee, O King, I am willing," replied Ethne. Then Cormac took Ethne by the hand and they went before Buicad, and he consented to give her to Cormac to wife. And Buicad was given rich lands and great store of cattle in the district of Odran close by Tara, and Ethne the Queen loved him and visited him so long as his life endured. IV THE INSTRUCTIONS OF THE KING Ethne bore to Cormac a son, her firstborn, named Cairbry, who was King of Ireland after Cormac. It was during the lifetime of Cormac that Cairbry came to the throne, for it happened that ere he died Cormac was wounded by a chance cast of a spear and lost one of his eyes, and it was forbidden that any man having a blemish should be a king in Ireland. Cormac therefore gave up the kingdom into the hands of Cairbry, but before he did so he told his son all the wisdom that he had in the governing of men, and this was written down in a book which is called _The Instructions of Cormac_.[28] These are among the things which are found in it, of the wisdom of Cormac:-- [28] _The Instructions of Cormac_ (Tecosa Cormaic) have been edited with a translation by Dr. Kuno Meyer in the Todd Lecture Series of the Royal Irish Academy, vol. xv., April 1909. "Let him (the king) restrain the great, Let him exalt the good, Let him establish peace, Let him plant law, Let him protect the just, Let him bind the unjust, Let his warriors be many and his counsellors few, Let him shine in company and be the sun of the mead-hall, Let him punish with a full fine wrong done knowingly, and with a half-fine wrong done in ignorance." Cairbry said, "What are good customs for a tribe to pursue?" "They are as follows," replied Cormac:-- "To have frequent assemblies, To be ever enquiring, to question the wise men, To keep order in assemblies, To follow ancient lore, Not to crush the miserable, To keep faith in treaties, To consolidate kinship, Fighting-men not to be arrogant, To keep contracts faithfully, To guard the frontiers against every ill." "Tell me, O Cormac," said Cairbry, "what are good customs for the giver of a feast?" and Cormac said:-- "To have lighted lamps, To be active in entertaining the company, To be liberal in dispensing ale, To tell stories briefly, To be of joyous countenance, To keep silence during recitals." "Tell me, O Cormac," said his son once, "what were thy habits when thou wert a lad?" And Cormac said:-- "I was a listener in woods, I was a gazer at stars, I pried into no man's secrets, I was mild in the hall, I was fierce in the fray, I was not given to making promises, I reverenced the aged, I spoke ill of no man in his absence, I was fonder of giving than of asking." "If you listen to my teaching," said Cormac:-- "Do not deride any old person though you be young Nor any poor man though you be rich, Nor any naked though you be well-clad, Nor any lame though you be swift, Nor any blind though you be keen-sighted, Nor any invalid though you be robust, Nor any dull though you be clever, Nor any fool though you be wise. "Yet be not slothful, nor fierce, nor sleepy, nor niggardly, nor feckless nor envious, for all these are hateful before God and men. "Do not join in blasphemy, nor be the butt of an assembly; be not moody in an alehouse, and never forget a tryst." "What are the most lasting things on earth?" asked Cairbry. "Not hard to tell," said Cormac; "they are grass, copper, and a yew-tree." "If you will listen to me," said Cormac, "this is my instruction for the management of your household and your realm:-- "Let not a man with many friends be your steward, Nor a woman with sons and foster-sons your housekeeper, Nor a greedy man your butler, Nor a man of much delay your miller, Nor a violent, foul-mouthed man your messenger, Nor a grumbling sluggard your servant, Nor a talkative man your counsellor, Nor a tippler your cup-bearer, Nor a short-sighted man your watchman, Nor a bitter, haughty man your doorkeeper, Nor a tender-hearted man your judge, Nor an ignorant man your leader, Nor an unlucky man your counsellor." Such were the counsels that Cormac mac Art gave to his son Cairbry. And Cairbry became King after his father's abdication, and reigned seven and twenty years, till he and Oscar, son of Oisín, slew one another at the battle of Gowra. V CORMAC SETS UP THE FIRST MILL IN ERINN During the reign of Cormac it happened that some of the lords of Ulster made a raid upon the Picts in Alba[29] and brought home many captives. Among them was a Pictish maiden named Kiernit, daughter of a king of that nation, who was strangely beautiful, and for that the Ulstermen sent her as a gift to King Cormac. And Cormac gave her as a household slave to his wife Ethne, who set her to grinding corn with a hand-quern, as women in Erinn were used to do. One day as Cormac was in the palace of the Queen he saw Kiernit labouring at her task and weeping as she wrought, for the toil was heavy and she was unused to it. Then Cormac was moved with compassion for the women that ground corn throughout Ireland, and he sent to Alba for artificers to come over and set up a mill, for up to then there were no mills in Ireland. Now there was in Tara, as there is to this day, a well of water called _The Pearly_, for the purity and brightness of the water that sprang from it, and it ran in a stream down the hillside, as it still runs, but now only in a slender trickle. Over this stream Cormac bade them build the first mill that was in Ireland, and the bright water turned the wheel merrily round, and the women in Tara toiled at the quern no more. [29] Scotland. VI A PLEASANT STORY OF CORMAC'S BREHON Among other affairs which Cormac regulated for himself and all kings who should come after him was the number and quality of the officers who should be in constant attendance on the King. Of these he ordained that there should be ten, to wit one lord, one brehon, one druid, one physician, one bard, one historian, one musician and three stewards. The function of the brehon, or judge, was to know the ancient customs and the laws of Ireland, and to declare them to the King whenever any matter relating to them came before him. Now Cormac's chief brehon was at first one Fithel. But Fithel's time came to die, and his son Flahari,[30] a wise and learned man, trained by his father in all the laws of the Gael, was to be brehon to the High King in his father's stead. Fithel then called his son to his bedside and said:-- [30] Pronounced Fla'-haree--accent on the first syllable. "Thou art well acquainted, my son, with all the laws and customs of the Gael, and worthy to be the chief brehon of King Cormac. But wisdom of life thou hast not yet obtained, for it is written in no law-book. This thou must learn for thyself, from life itself; yet somewhat of it I can impart unto thee, and it will keep thee in the path of safety, which is not easily trodden by those who are in the counsels of great kings. Mark now these four precepts, and obey them, and thou wilt avoid many of the pit-falls in thy way:-- "Take not a king's son in fosterage,[31] Impart no dangerous secret to thy wife, Raise not the son of a serf to a high position, Commit not thy purse or treasure to a sister's keeping." [31] The institution of fosterage, by which the children of kings and lords were given to trusted persons among their friends or followers to bring up and educate, was a marked feature of social life in ancient Ireland, and the bonds of affection and loyalty between such foster-parents and their children were held peculiarly sacred. Having said this Fithel died, and Flahari became chief brehon in his stead. After a time Flahari thought to himself, "I am minded to test my father's wisdom of life and to see if it be true wisdom or but wise-seeming babble. For knowledge is no knowledge until it be tried by life." So he went before the King and said, "If thou art willing, Cormac, I would gladly have one of thy sons in fosterage." At this Cormac was well pleased, and a young child of the sons of Cormac was given to Flahari to bring up, and Flahari took the child to his own Dún, and there began to nurture and to train him as it was fitting. After a time, however, Flahari one day took the child by the hand and went with him into the deep recesses of the forest where dwelt one of the swine-herds who minded the swine of Flahari. To him Flahari handed over the child and bade him guard him as the apple of his eye, and to be ready deliver him up again when he was required. The Flahari went home, and for some days went about like a man weighed down by gloomy and bitter thoughts. His wife marked that, and sought to know the reason, but Flahari put her off. At last when she continually pressed him to reveal the cause of his trouble, he said "If them must needs learn what ails me, and if thou canst keep a secret full of danger to me and thee, know that I am gloomy and distraught because I have killed the son of Cormac." At this the woman cried out, "Murderer parricide, hast thou spilled the King's blood, and shall Cormac not know it, and do justice on thee?" And she sent word to Cormac that he should come and seize her husband for that crime. But before the officers came, Flahari took a young man, the son of his butler, and placed him in charge of his lands to manage them, while Flahari was away for his trial at Tara. And he also gave to his sister a treasure of gold and silver to keep for him, lest it should be made a spoil of while he was absent. Then he went with the officers to Tara, denying his offence and his confession, but when Cormac had heard all, and the child could not be found, he sentenced him to be put to death. Flahari then sent a messenger to his sister, begging her to send him at once a portion of the treasure he had left with her, that he might use it to make himself friends among the folk at court, and perchance obtain a remission of his sentence; but she sent the messenger back again empty, saying she knew not of what he spoke. On this Flahari deemed that the time was come to reveal the truth, so he obtained permission from the King to send a message to his swineherd before he died, and to hear the man's reply. And the message was this, that Murtach the herd should come without delay to Tara and bring with him the child that Flahari had committed to him. Howbeit this messenger also came back empty, and reported that on reaching Dún Flahari he had been met by the butler's son that was over the estate, who had questioned him of his errand, and had then said, "Murtach the serf has run away as soon as he heard of his lord's downfall, and if he had any child in his care he has taken it away with him, and he cannot be found." This he said because, on hearing of the child, he guessed what this might mean, and he had been the bitterest of all in urging Flahari's death, hoping to be rewarded with a share of his lands. Then Flahari said to himself, "Truly the proving of my father's wisdom of life has brought me very near to death." So he sent for the King and entreated him that he might be suffered to go himself to the dwelling of Murtach the herd, promising that the King's son should be then restored to him, "or if not," said he, "let me then be slain there without more ado." With great difficulty Cormac was moved to consent to this, for he believed it was but a subterfuge of Flahari's to put off the evil day or perchance to find a way of escape. But next day Flahari was straitly bound and set in a chariot, and, with a guard of spearmen about him and Cormac himself riding behind, they set out for Dún Flahari. Then Flahari guided them through the wild wood till at last they came to the clearing where stood the dwelling of Murtach the swineherd, and lo! there was the son of Cormac playing merrily before the door. And the child ran to his foster-father to kiss him, but when he saw Flahari in bonds he burst out weeping and would not be at peace until he was set free. Then Murtach slew one of the boars of his herd and made an oven in the earth after the manner of the Fianna, and made over it a fire of boughs that he had drying in a shed. And when the boar was baked he set it before the company with ale and mead in methers of beechwood, and they all feasted and were glad of heart. Cormac then asked of Flahari why he had suffered himself to be brought into this trouble. "I did so," said Flahari, "to prove the four counsels which my father gave them ere he died, and I have proved them and found them to be wise. In the first place, it is not wise for any man that is not a king to take the fosterage of a king's son, for if aught shall happen to the lad, his own life is in the king's hands and with his life he shall answer for it. Secondly, the keeping of a secret, said my father, is not in the nature of women in general, therefore no dangerous secret should be entrusted to them. The third counsel my father gave me was not to raise up or enrich the son of a serf, for such persons are apt to forget benefits conferred on them, and moreover it irks them that he who raised them up should know the poor estate from which they sprang. And good, too, is the fourth counsel my father gave me, not to entrust my treasure to my sister, for it is the nature of most women to regard as spoil any valuables that are entrusted to them to keep for others." VII THE JUDGMENT CONCERNING CORMAC'S SWORD When Cormac, son of Art, son of Conn of the Hundred Battles, was High King in Erinn, great was the peace and splendour of his reign, and no provincial king or chief in any part of the country lifted up his head against Cormac. At his court in Tara were many noble youths, who were trained up there in all matters befitting their rank and station. One of these youths was named Socht, son of Fithel. Socht had a wonderful sword, named "The Hard-headed Steeling," which was said to have been long ago the sword of Cuchulain. It had a hilt of gold and a belt of silver, and its point was double-edged. At night it shone like a candle. If its point were bent back to the hilt it would fly back again and be as straight as before. If it was held in running water and a hair were floated down against the edge, it would sever the hair. It was a saying that this sword would make two halves of a man, and for a while he would not perceive what had befallen him. This sword was held by Socht for a tribal possession from father and grandfather. There was at this time a famous steward to the High King in Tara whose name was Dubdrenn. This man asked Socht to sell him the sword. He promised to Socht such a ration as he, Dubdrenn, had every night, and four men's food for the family of Socht, and, after that, Socht to have the full value of the sword at his own appraisement. "No," said Socht. "I may not sell my father's treasures while he is alive." And thus they went on, Dubdrenn's mind ever running on the sword. At last he bade Socht to a drinking-bout, and plied him so with wine and mead that Socht became drunken, and knew not where he was, and finally fell asleep. Then the steward takes the sword and goes to the King's brazier, by name Connu. "Art thou able," says Dubdrenn, "to open the hilt of this sword?" "I am that," says the brazier. Then the brazier took apart the hilt, and within, upon the tang of the blade, he wrote the steward's name, even Dubdrenn, and the steward laid the sword again by the side of Socht. So it was for three months after that, and the steward continued to ask Socht to sell him the sword, but he could not get it from him. Then the steward brought a suit for the sword before the High King, and he claimed that it was his own and that it had been taken from him. But Socht declared that the sword was his by long possession and by equity, and he would not give it up. Then Socht went to his father, Fithel the brehon, and begged him to take part in the action and to defend his claim. But Fithel said, "Nay, thou art too apt to blame the pleadings of other men; plead for thyself." So the court was set, and Socht was called upon to prove that the sword was his. He swore that it was a family treasure, and thus it had come down to him. The steward said, "Well, O Cormac, the oath that Socht has uttered is a lie." "What proof hast thou of that?" asked Cormac. "Not hard to declare," replied the steward. "If the sword be mine, my name stands graved therein, concealed within the hilt of the sword." "That will soon be known," says Cormac, and therewith he had the brazier summoned. The brazier comes and breaks open the hilt and the name of Dubdrenn stands written within it. Thus a dead thing testified in law against a living man. Then Socht said, "Hear ye, O men of Erinn and Cormac the King! I acknowledge that this man is the owner of the sword." And to Dubdrenn he said, "The property therein and all the obligations of it pass from me to thee." Dubdrenn said, "I acknowledge property in the sword and all its obligations." Then said Socht, "This sword was found in the neck of my grandfather Angus, and till this day it never was known who had done that murder. Do justice, O King, for this crime." Said the King to Dubdrenn, "Thou art liable for more than the sword is worth." So he awarded to Socht the price of seven bondwomen as blood-fine for the slaying of Angus, and restitution of the sword to Socht. Then the steward confessed the story of the sword, and Cormac levied seven other cumals from the brazier. But Cormac said, "This is in truth the sword of Cuchulain, and by it was slain my grandfather, even Conn of the Hundred Battles, at the hands of the King of Ulster, of whom it is written:-- "With a host, with a valiant band Well did he go into Connacht. Alas, that he saw the blood of Conn On the side of Cuchulain's sword!" Then Cormac and Fithel agreed that the sword be given to Cormac as blood-fine for the death of Conn, and his it was; and it was the third best of the royal treasures that were in Erin: namely, Cormac's Cup, that broke if a falsehood were spoken over it and became whole if a truth were spoken; and the Bell Branch that he got in Fairyland, whose music when it was shaken would put to sleep wounded men, and women in travail; and the Sword of Cuchulain, against which, and against the man that held it in his hand, no victory could ever be won. VIII THE DISAPPEARANCE OF CORMAC In the chronicle of the Kings of Ireland that was written by Tierna the Historian in the eleventh century after Christ's coming, there is noted down in the annals of the year 248, "Disappearance of Cormac, grandson of Conn, for seven months." That which happened to Cormac during these seven months is told in one of the bardic stories of Ireland, being the Story of Cormac's Journey to Fairyland, and this was the manner of it. One day Cormac, son of Art, was looking over the ramparts of his royal Dún of Tara, when he saw a young man, glorious to look on in his person and his apparel, coming towards him across the plain of Bregia. The young man bore in his hand, as it were, a branch, from which hung nine golden bells formed like apples. When he shook the branch the nine apples beat against each other and made music so sweet that there was no pain or sorrow in the world that a man would not forget while he hearkened to it. "Does this branch belong to thee?" asked Cormac of the youth. "Truly it does," replied the youth. "Wilt thou sell it to me?" said Cormac. "I never had aught that I would not sell for a price," said the young man. "What is thy price?" asked Cormac. "The price shall be what I will," said the young man. "I will give thee whatever thou desirest of all that is mine," said Cormac, for he coveted the branch exceedingly, and the enchantment was heavy upon him. So the youth gave him the bell-branch, and then said, "My price is thy wife and thy son and thy daughter." Then they went together into the palace and found there Cormac's wife and his children. "That is a wonderful jewel thou hast in thy hand, Cormac," said Ethne. "It is," said Cormac, "and great is the price I have paid for it." "What is that price?" said Ethne. "Even thou and thy children twain," said the King. "Never hast thou done such a thing," cried Ethne, "as to prefer any treasure in the world before us three!" And they all three lamented and implored, but Cormac shook the branch and immediately their sorrow was forgotten, and they went away willingly with the young man across the plain of Bregia until a mist hid them from the eyes of Cormac. And when the people murmured and complained against Cormac, for Ethne and her children were much beloved of them, Cormac shook the bell-branch and their grief was turned into joy. A year went by after this, and then Cormac longed for his wife and children again, nor could the bell-branch any longer bring him forgetfulness of them. So one morning he took the branch and went out alone from Tara over the plain, taking the direction in which they had passed away a year agone; and ere long little wreathes of mist began to curl about his feet, and then to flit by him like long trailing robes, and he knew no more where he was. After a time, however, he came out again into sunshine and clear sky, and found himself in a country of flowery meadows and of woods filled with singing-birds where he had never journeyed before. He walked on, till at last he came to a great and stately mansion with a crowd of builders at work upon it, and they were roofing it with a thatch made of the wings of strange birds. But when they had half covered the house, their supply of feathers ran short, and they rode off in haste to seek for more. While they were gone, however, a wind arose and whirled away the feathers already laid on, so that the rafters were left bare as before. And this happened again and again, as Cormac gazed on them for he knew not how long. At last his patience left him and he said, "I see with that ye have been doing this since the beginning of the world, and that ye will still be doing it in the end thereof," and with that he went on his way. And many other strange things he saw, but of them we say nothing now, till he came to the gateway of a great and lofty Dún, where he entered in and asked hospitality. Then there came to him a tall man clad in a cloak of blue that changed into silver or to purple as its folds waved in the light, and with him was a woman more beautiful than the daughters of men, even she of whom it was said her beauty was as that of a tear when it drops from the eyelid, so crystal-pure it was and bright.[32] They greeted Cormac courteously and begged him to stay with them for the night. [32] See Miss Hull's CUCHULAIN, THE HOUND OF ULSTER, p. 175. The pair were Mananan, god of the sea, and Fand his wife, of whom a tale of great interest is told in the Cuchulain Cycle of legends. The sea-cloak of Mananan is the subject of a magnificent piece of descriptive poetry in Ferguson's CONGAL. Cormac then entered a great hall with pillars of cedar and many-coloured silken hangings on the walls. In the midst of it was a fire-place whereon the host threw a huge log, and shortly afterwards brought in a young pig which Cormac cut up to roast before the fire. He first put one quarter of the pig to roast, and then his host said to him, "Tell us a tale, stranger, and if it be a true one the quarter will be done as soon as the tale is told." "Do thou begin," said Cormac, "and then thy wife, and after that my turn will come." "Good," said the host. "This is my tale. I have seven of these swine, and with their flesh the whole world could be fed. When one of them is killed and eaten, I need but put its bones into the pig-trough and on the morrow it is alive and well again." They looked at the fireplace, and behold, the first quarter of the pig was done and ready to be served. Then Cormac put on the second quarter, and the woman took up her tale. "I have seven white cows," she said, "and seven pails are filled with the milk of them each day. Though all the folk in the world were gathered together to drink of this milk, there would be enough and to spare for all." As soon as she had said that, they saw that the second quarter of the pig was roasted. Then Cormac said: "I know you now, who you are; for it is Mananan that owns the seven swine of Faery, and it is out of the Land of Promise that he fetched Fand his wife and her seven cows." Then immediately the third quarter of the pig was done. "Tell us now," said Mananan, "who thou art and why thou art come hither." Cormac then told his story, of the branch with its nine golden apples and how he had bartered for it his wife and his children, and he was now-seeking them through the world. And when he had made an end, the last quarter of the pig was done. "Come, let us set to the feast," then said Mananan; but Cormac said, "Never have I sat down to meat in a company of two only." "Nay," said Mananan, "but there are more to come." With that he opened a door in the hall and in it appeared Queen Ethne and her two children. And when they had embraced and rejoiced in each other Mananan said, "It was I who took them from thee, Cormac, and who gave thee the bell-branch, for I wished to bring thee hither to be my guest for the sake of thy nobleness and thy wisdom." Then they all sat down to table and feasted and made merry, and when they had satisfied themselves with meat and drink, Mananan showed the wonders of his household to King Cormac. And he took up a golden cup which stood on the table, and said: "This cup hath a magical property, for if a lie be spoken over it, it will immediately break in pieces, and if a truth be spoken it will be made whole again." "Prove this to me," said Cormac. "That is easily done," said Mananan. "Thy wife hath had a new husband since I carried her off from thee." Straightway the cup fell apart into four pieces. "My husband has lied to thee, Cormac," said Fand, and immediately the cup became whole again. Cormac then began to question Mananan as to the things he had seen on his way thither, and he told him of the house that was being thatched with the wings of birds, and of the men that kept returning ever and again to their work as the wind destroyed it. And Mananan said, "These, O Cormac, are the men of art, who seek to gather together much money and gear of all kinds by the exercise of their craft, but as fast as they get it, so they spend it, or faster and the result is that they will never be rich." But when he had said this it is related that the golden cup broke into pieces where it stood. Then Cormac said, "The explanation thou hast given of this mystery is not true." Mananan smiled, and said, "Nevertheless it must suffice thee, O King, for the truth of this matter may not be known, lest the men of art give over the roofing of the house and it be covered with common thatch." So when they had talked their fill, Cormac and his wife and children were brought to a chamber where they lay down to sleep. But when they woke up on the morrow morn, they found themselves in the Queen's chamber in the royal palace of Tara, and by Cormac's side were found the bell-branch and the magical cup and the cloth of gold that had covered the table where they sat in the palace of Mananan. Seven months it was since Cormac had gone out from Tara to search for his wife and children, but it seemed to him that he had been absent but for the space of a single day and night. IX DESCRIPTION OF CORMAC[33] [33] The original from the BOOK OF BALLYMOTE (14th century) is given in O'Curry's MS. MATERIALS OF IRISH HISTORY, Appendix xxvi. I have in the main followed O'Curry's translation. "A noble and illustrious king assumed the sovranty and rule of Erinn, namely Cormac, grandson of Conn of the Hundred Battles. The world was full of all goodness in his time; there were fruit and fatness of the land, and abundant produce of the sea, with peace and ease and happiness. There were no killings or plunderings in his time, but everyone occupied his land in happiness. "The nobles of Ireland assembled to drink the Banquet of Tara with Cormac at a certain time.... Magnificently did Cormac come to this great Assembly; for no man, his equal in beauty, had preceded him, excepting Conary Mór or Conor son of Caffa, or Angus Óg son of the Dagda.[34] Splendid, indeed, was Cormac's appearance in that Assembly. His hair was slightly curled, and of golden colour; a scarlet shield he had, with engraved devices, and golden bosses and ridges of silver. A wide-folding purple cloak was on him with a gem-set gold brooch over his breast; a golden torque round his neck; a white-collared shirt embroidered with gold was on him; a girdle with golden buckles and studded with precious stones was around him; two golden net-work sandals with golden buckles upon his feet; two spears with golden sockets and many red bronze rivets in his hand; while he stood in the full glow of beauty, without defect or blemish. You would think it was a shower of pearls that was set in his mouth, his lips were rubies, his symmetrical body was as white as snow, his cheek was ruddy as the berry of the mountain-ash, his eyes were like the sloe, his brows and eye-lashes were like the sheen of a blue-black lance." [34] Angus Óg was really a deity or fairy king. He appears also in the story of Midir and Etain. _q.v._ X THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF CORMAC Strange was the birth and childhood of Cormac strange his life and strange the manner of his death and burial, as we now have to narrate. Cormac, it is said, was the third man in Ireland who heard of the Christian Faith before the coming of Patrick. One was Conor mac Nessa, King of Ulster, whose druid told him of the crucifixion of Christ and who died of that knowledge.[35] The second was the wise judge, Morann, and the third Cormac, son of Art. This knowledge was revealed to him by divine illumination, and thenceforth he refused to consult the druids or to worship the images which they made as emblems of the Immortal Ones. [35] See the conclusion of the _Vengeance of Mesgedra_. One day it happened that Cormac after he had laid down the kingship of Ireland, was present when the druids and a concourse of people were worshipping the great golden image which was set up in the plain called Moy Slaught. When the ceremony was done, the chief druid, whose name was Moylann, spoke to Cormac and said: "Why, O Cormac, didst thou not bow down and adore the golden image of the god like the rest of the people?" And Cormac said: "Never will I worship a stock[36] that my own carpenter has made. Rather would I worship the man that made it, for he is nobler than the work of his hands." [36] The image was doubtless of wood overlaid with gold. Then it is told that Moylann by magic art caused the image to move and leap before the eyes of Cormac. "Seest thou that?" said Moylann. "Although I see," said Cormac, "I will do no worship save to the God of Heaven and Earth and Hell." Then Cormac went to his own home at Sletty on the Boyne, for there he lived after he had given up the kingdom to his son Cairbry. But the druids of Erinn came together and consulted over this matter, and they determined solemnly to curse Cormac and invoke the vengeance of their gods upon him lest the people should think that any man could despise and reject their gods, and suffer no ill for it. So they cursed Cormac in his flesh and bones, in his waking and sleeping, in his down sitting and his uprising, and each day they turned over the Wishing Stone upon the altar of their god,[37] and wove mighty spells against his life. And whether it was that these took effect, or that the druids prevailed upon some traitorous servant of Cormac's to work their will, so it was that he died not long thereafter; and some say that he was choked by a fish bone as he sat at meat in his house at Sletty on the Boyne. [37] There are still Wishing Stones, which are used in connexion with petitions for good or ill, on the ancient altars of Inishmurray and of Caher Island, and possibly other places on the west coast of Ireland. But when he felt his end approaching, and had still the power to speak, he said to those that gathered round his bed:--"When I am gone I charge you that ye bury me not at Brugh of the Boyne where is the royal cemetery of the Kings of Erinn.[38] For all these kings paid adoration to gods of wood or stone, or to the Sun and the Elements, whose signs are carved on the walls of their tombs, but I have learned to know the One God, immortal, invisible, by whom the earth and heavens were made. Soon there will come into Erinn one from the East who will declare Him unto us, and then wooden gods and cursing priests shall plague us no longer in this land. Bury me then not at Brugh-na-Boyna, but on the hither-side of Boyne, at Ross-na-ree, where there is a sunny, eastward-sloping hill, there would I await the coming of the sun of truth." [38] This famous cemetery of the kings of pagan Ireland lies on the north bank of the Boyne and consists of a number of sepulchral mounds, sometimes of great extent, containing, in their interior, stone walled chambers decorated with symbolic and ornamental carvings. The chief of these mounds, now known as Newgrange, has been explored and described by Mr George Coffey in his valuable work NEWGRANGE, published by the Royal Irish Academy. _Brugh_=mansion. So spake Cormac, and he died, and there was a very great mourning for him in the land. But when the time came for his burial, the princes and lords of the Gael vowed that he should lie in Brugh with Art, his father, and Conn of the Hundred Battles, and many another king, in the great stone chambers of the royal dead. For Ross-na-ree, they said, is but a green hill of no note; and Cormac's expectation of the message of the new God they took to be but the wanderings of a dying man. Now Brugh-na-Boyna lay at the farther side of the Boyne from Sletty, and near by was a shallow ford where the river could be crossed. But when the funeral train came down to the ford, bearing aloft the body of the King, lo! the river had risen as though a tempest had burst upon it at its far-off sources in the hills, and between them and the farther bank was now a broad and foaming flood, and the stakes that marked the ford were washed clean away. Even so they made trial of the ford, and thrice the bearers waded in and thrice they were forced to turn back lest the flood should sweep them down. At length six of the tallest and mightiest of the warriors of the High King took up the bier upon their shoulders, and strode in. And first the watchers on the bank saw the brown water swirl about their knees, and then they sank thigh-deep, and at last it foamed against their shoulders, yet still they braced themselves against the current, moving forward very slowly as they found foothold among the slippery rocks in the river-bed. But when they had almost reached the mid-stream it seemed as if a great surge overwhelmed them, and caught the bier from their shoulders as they plunged and clutched around it, and they must needs make back for the shore as best they could, while Boyne swept down the body of Cormac to the sea. On the following morning, however, shepherds driving their flocks to pasture on the hillside of Ross-na-ree found cast upon the shore the body of an aged man of noble countenance, half wrapped in a silken pall; and knowing not who this might be they dug a grave in the grassy hill, and there laid the stranger, and laid the green sods over him again. There still sleeps Cormac the King, and neither Ogham-lettered stone nor sculptured cross marks his solitary grave. But he lies in the place where he would be, of which a poet of the Gael in our day has written:-- "A tranquil spot: a hopeful sound Comes from the ever-youthful stream, And still on daisied mead and mound The dawn delays with tenderer beam. "Round Cormac, spring renews her buds: In march perpetual by his side Down come the earth-fresh April floods, And up the sea-fresh salmon glide; "And life and time rejoicing run From age to age their wonted way; But still he waits the risen sun, For still 'tis only dawning day."[39] [39] These lines are taken from Sir S. Ferguson's noble poem, _The Burial of King Cormac_, from which I have also borrowed some of the details of the foregoing narrative. * * * * * Notes on the Sources _The Story of the Children of Lir_ and _The Quest of the Sons of Turenn_ are two of the three famous and popular tales entitled "The Three Sorrows of Storytelling." The third is the _Tragedy of the Sons of Usna_, rendered by Miss Eleanor Hull in her volume CUCHULAIN. I have taken the two stories which are given here from the versions in modern Irish published by the Society for the Preservation of the Irish Language, with notes and translation. Neither of them is found in any very early MS., but their subject-matter certainly goes back to very primitive times. _The Secret of Labra_ is taken from Keating's FORUS FEASA AR EIRINN, edited with translation by the Rev. P.S. Dineen for the Irish Texts Society, vol. i. p. 172. _The Carving of mac Datho's Boar_. This is a clean, fierce, fighting story, notable both for its intensely dramatic _dénouement_, and for the complete absence from it of the magical or supernatural element which is so common a feature in Gaelic tales. It has been edited and translated from one MS. by Dr Kuno Meyer, in _Hibernica Minora_ (ANECDOTA OXONIENSIA), 1894, and translated from THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (twelfth century) in Leahy's HEROIC ROMANCES. _The Vengeance of Mesgedra_. This story, as I have given it, is a combination of two tales, _The Siege of Howth_ and _The Death of King Conor_. The second really completes the first, though they are not found united in Irish literature. Both pieces are given in O'Curry's MS. MATERIALS OF IRISH HISTORY, and Miss Hull has printed translations of them in her CUCHULLIN SAGA, the translation of the _Siege_ being by Dr Whitly Stokes and that of the _Death of Conor_ by O'Curry. These are very ancient tales and contain a strong barbaric element. Versions of both of them are found in the great MS. collection known as the BOOK OF LEINSTER (twelfth century). _King Iubdan and King Fergus_ is a brilliant piece of fairy literature. The imaginative grace, the humour, and, at the close, the tragic dignity of this tale make it worthy of being much more widely known than it has yet become. The original, taken from one of the Egerton MSS. in the British Museum, will be found with a translation in O'Grady's SILVA GADELICA. For the conclusion, I have in the main followed another version (containing the death of Fergus only), given in the SEANCUS MOR and finely versified by Sir Samuel Ferguson in his POEMS, 1880. _The Story of Etain and Midir_. This beautiful and very ancient romance is extant in two distinct versions, both of which are translated by Mr A.H. Leahy in his HEROIC ROMANCES. The tale is found in several MSS., among others, in the twelfth century BOOK OF THE DUN COW (LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRE). It has been recently made the subject of a dramatic poem by "Fiona Macleod." _How Ethne quitted Fairyland_ is taken from D'Arbois de Jubainville's CYCLE MYTHOLOGIQUE IRLANDAIS, ch. xii. 4. The original is to be found in the fifteenth century MS., entitled THE BOOK OF FERMOY. _The Boyhood of Finn_ is based chiefly on the MACGNIOMHARTHA FHINN, published in 1856, with a translation, in the _TRANSACTIONS OF THE OSSIANIC SOCIETY_, vol. iv. I am also indebted, particularly for the translation of the difficult _Song of Finn in Praise of May_, to Dr Kuno Meyer's translation published in _Ériu_ (the Journal of the School of Irish Learning), vol. i. pt. 2. _The Coming of Finn_, _Finns Chief Men_, the _Tale of Vivionn_ and _The Chase of the Gilla Dacar_, are all handfuls from that rich mine of Gaelic literature, Mr Standish Hayes O'Grady's SILVA GADELICA. In the _Gilla Dacar_ I have modified the second half of the story rather freely. It appears to have been originally an example of a well-known class of folk-tales dealing with the subject of the Rescue of Fairyland. The same motive occurs in the famous tale called _The Sickbed of Cuchulain_. The idea is that some fairy potentate, whose realm is invaded and oppressed, entices a mortal champion to come to his aid and rewards him with magical gifts. But the eighteenth century narrator whose MS. was edited by Mr S.H. O'Grady, apparently had not the clue to the real meaning of his material, and after going on brilliantly up to the point where Dermot plunges into the magic well, he becomes incoherent, and the rest of the tale is merely a string of episodes having no particular connexion with each other or with the central theme. The latter I have here endeavoured to restore to view. The _Gilla Dacar_ is given from another Gaelic version by Dr P.W. Joyce in his invaluable book, OLD CELTIC ROMANCES. _The Birth of Oisín_ I have found in Patrick Kennedy's LEGENDARY FICTIONS OF THE IRISH CELTS. I do not know the Gaelic original. _Oisín in the Land of Youth_ is based, as regards the outlines of this remarkable story, on the LAOI OISÍN AR TIR NA N-ÓG, written by Michael Comyn about 1750, and edited with a translation by Thomas Flannery in 1896 (Gill & Son, Dublin). Comyn's poem was almost certainly based on earlier traditional sources, either oral or written or both, but these have not hitherto been discovered. _The History of King Cormac_. The story of the birth of Cormac and his coming into his kingdom is to be found in SILVA GADELICA, where it is edited from THE BOOK OF BALLYMOTE, an MS. dating from about the year 1400. The charming tale, of his marriage with Ethne ni Dunlaing is taken from Keating's FORUS FEASA. From this source also I have taken the tales of the Brehon Flahari, of Kiernit and the mill, and of Cormac's death and burial. The _Instructions of Cormac_ have been edited and translated by Dr Kuno Meyer in the Todd Lecture Series of the Royal Irish Academy, xiv., April 1909. They are found in numerous MSS., and their date is fixed by Dr Meyer about the ninth century. With some other Irish matter of the same description they constitute, says Mr Alfred Nutt, "the oldest body of gnomic wisdom" extant in any European vernacular. (_FOLK-LORE_, Sept. 30, 1909.) The story of Cormac's adventures in Fairyland has been published with a translation by Standish Hayes O'Grady in the _TRANSACTIONS OF THE OSSIANIC SOCIETY_, vol. iii., and is also given very fully by d'Arbois de Jubainvilie in his CYCLE MYTHOLOGIQUE IRLANDAIS. The tale is found, among other MSS., in the BOOK OF BALLYMOTE, but is known to have been extant at least as early as the tenth century, since in that year it figures in a list of Gaelic tales drawn up by the historian Tierna. The ingenious story of the _Judgment concerning Cormac's Sword_ is found in the BOOK OF BALLYMOTE, and is printed with a translation by Dr Whitly Stokes in _IRISCHE TEXTE_, iii. Serie, 7 Heft, 1891. Pronouncing Index The correct pronunciation of Gaelic proper names can only be learned from the living voice. It cannot be accurately represented by any combination of letters from the English alphabet. I have spared the reader as much trouble as possible on this score by simplifying, as far as I could, the forms of the names occurring in the text, and if the reader will note the following general rules, he will get quite as near to the pronunciation intended as there is any necessity for him to do. A few names which might present some unusual difficulty are given with their approximate English pronunciations in the Index. The chief rule to observe is that vowels are pronounced as in the Continental languages, not according to the custom peculiar to England. Thus _a_ is like _a_ in _father_, never like _a_ in _fate, I_(when long) is like _ee_, _u_ like _oo_, or like _u_ in _put_ (never like _u_ in _tune_). An accent implies length, thus _Dún_, a fortress or mansion, is pronounced _Doon_. The letters _ch_ are never to be pronounced with a _t_ sound, as in the word _chip_, but like a rough _h_ or a softened _k_, rather as in German. _Gh_ is silent as in English, and _g_ is always hard, as in _give_. _C_ is always as _k_, never as _s_. In the following Index an accent placed after a syllable indicates that the stress is to be laid on that syllable. Only those words are given, the pronunciation of which is not easily ascertainable by attention to the foregoing rules. INDEX Æda is to be pronounced Ee'-da. Ailill " Al'-yill. Anluan " An'-looan. Aoife " Ee'-fa. Bacarach " Bac'-ara_h_. Belachgowran " Bel'-a_h_-gow'-ran. Cearnach " Kar'-na_h_. Cuchulain " Coo-_h_oo'-lin. Cumhal " Coo'wal, Cool. Dacar " Dak'-ker. Derryvaragh " Derry-var'-a. Eisirt " Eye'sert. Eochy " Yeo'_h_ee. Fiachra " Fee'-a_k_ra. Fianna " Fee'-anna. Finegas " Fin'-egas. Fionnuala " Fee-on-oo'-ala, shortened in modern Irish into Fino'-la. Flahari " Fla'-haree. Iorroway " Yor'-oway. Iubdan " Youb'-dan. Iuchar " You'-_h_ar. Iucharba " You-_h_ar'-ba. Liagan " Lee'-agan. Lir " Leer. Logary " Lo'-garee. Maev " rhyming to _wave_. Mananan " Man'-anan. Mesgedra " Mes-ged'-ra. Midir " Mid'-eer. Mochaen " Mo-_hain'. Mochaovóg " Mo-_h_wee'-vogue. Moonremur " Moon'-ray-mur. Oisín " Ush'-een (Ossian). Peisear " Pye'-sar. Sceolaun " Ske-o'-lawn (the _e_ very short). Slievenamuck " Sleeve-na-muck'. Slievenamon " Sleeve-na-mon'. Tuish " Too'-ish. 
5795	----	THE SECRET ROSE: By W.B. Yeats THE SECRET ROSE: DEDICATION TO A.E. TO THE SECRET ROSE THE CRUCIFIXION OF THE OUTCAST OUT OF THE ROSE THE WISDOM OF THE KING THE HEART OF THE SPRING THE CURSE OF THE FIRES AND OF THE SHADOWS THE OLD MEN OF THE TWILIGHT WHERE THERE IS NOTHING, THERE IS GOD OF COSTELLO THE PROUD, OF OONA THE DAUGHTER OF DERMOTT, AND OF THE BITTER TONGUE As for living, our servants will do that for us.--_Villiers de L'Isle Adam._ Helen, when she looked in her mirror, seeing the withered wrinkles made in her face by old age, wept, and wondered why she had twice been carried away.--_Leonardo da Vinci_. _My dear A.E.--I dedicate this book to you because, whether you think it well or ill written, you will sympathize with the sorrows and the ecstasies of its personages, perhaps even more than I do myself. Although I wrote these stories at different times and in different manners, and without any definite plan, they have but one subject, the war of spiritual with natural order; and how can I dedicate such a book to anyone but to you, the one poet of modern Ireland who has moulded a spiritual ecstasy into verse? My friends in Ireland sometimes ask me when I am going to write a really national poem or romance, and by a national poem or romance I understand them to mean a poem or romance founded upon some famous moment of Irish history, and built up out of the thoughts and feelings which move the greater number of patriotic Irishmen. I on the other hand believe that poetry and romance cannot be made by the most conscientious study of famous moments and of the thoughts and feelings of others, but only by looking into that little, infinite, faltering, eternal flame that we call ourselves. If a writer wishes to interest a certain people among whom he has grown up, or fancies he has a duty towards them, he may choose for the symbols of his art their legends, their history, their beliefs, their opinions, because he has a right to choose among things less than himself, but he cannot choose among the substances of art. So far, however, as this book is visionary it is Irish for Ireland, which is still predominantly Celtic, has preserved with some less excellent things a gift of vision, which has died out among more hurried and more successful nations: no shining candelabra have prevented us from looking into the darkness, and when one looks into the darkness there is always something there. W.B. YEATS._ TO THE SECRET ROSE Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose, Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those Who sought thee at the Holy Sepulchre, Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep Among pale eyelids heavy with the sleep Men have named beauty. Your great leaves enfold The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes Saw the Pierced Hands and Rood of Elder rise In druid vapour and make the torches dim; Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him Who met Fand walking among flaming dew, By a grey shore where the wind never blew, And lost the world and Emir for a kiss; And him who drove the gods out of their liss And till a hundred morns had flowered red Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead; And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods; And him who sold tillage and house and goods, And sought through lands and islands numberless years Until he found with laughter and with tears A woman of so shining loveliness That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress, A little stolen tress. I too await The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. When shall the stars be blown about the sky, Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die? Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows, Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose? THE CRUCIFIXION OF THE OUTCAST. A man, with thin brown hair and a pale face, half ran, half walked, along the road that wound from the south to the town of Sligo. Many called him Cumhal, the son of Cormac, and many called him the Swift, Wild Horse; and he was a gleeman, and he wore a short parti-coloured doublet, and had pointed shoes, and a bulging wallet. Also he was of the blood of the Ernaans, and his birth-place was the Field of Gold; but his eating and sleeping places where the four provinces of Eri, and his abiding place was not upon the ridge of the earth. His eyes strayed from the Abbey tower of the White Friars and the town battlements to a row of crosses which stood out against the sky upon a hill a little to the eastward of the town, and he clenched his fist, and shook it at the crosses. He knew they were not empty, for the birds were fluttering about them; and he thought how, as like as not, just such another vagabond as himself was hanged on one of them; and he muttered: 'If it were hanging or bowstringing, or stoning or beheading, it would be bad enough. But to have the birds pecking your eyes and the wolves eating your feet! I would that the red wind of the Druids had withered in his cradle the soldier of Dathi, who brought the tree of death out of barbarous lands, or that the lightning, when it smote Dathi at the foot of the mountain, had smitten him also, or that his grave had been dug by the green-haired and green-toothed merrows deep at the roots of the deep sea.' While he spoke, he shivered from head to foot, and the sweat came out upon his face, and he knew not why, for he had looked upon many crosses. He passed over two hills and under the battlemented gate, and then round by a left-hand way to the door of the Abbey. It was studded with great nails, and when he knocked at it, he roused the lay brother who was the porter, and of him he asked a place in the guest-house. Then the lay brother took a glowing turf on a shovel, and led the way to a big and naked outhouse strewn with very dirty rushes; and lighted a rush-candle fixed between two of the stones of the wall, and set the glowing turf upon the hearth and gave him two unlighted sods and a wisp of straw, and showed him a blanket hanging from a nail, and a shelf with a loaf of bread and a jug of water, and a tub in a far corner. Then the lay brother left him and went back to his place by the door. And Cumhal the son of Cormac began to blow upon the glowing turf that he might light the two sods and the wisp of straw; but the sods and the straw would not light, for they were damp. So he took off his pointed shoes, and drew the tub out of the corner with the thought of washing the dust of the highway from his feet; but the water was so dirty that he could not see the bottom. He was very hungry, for he had not eaten all that day; so he did not waste much anger upon the tub, but took up the black loaf, and bit into it, and then spat out the bite, for the bread was hard and mouldy. Still he did not give way to his anger, for he had not drunken these many hours; having a hope of heath beer or wine at his day's end, he had left the brooks untasted, to make his supper the more delightful. Now he put the jug to his lips, but he flung it from him straightway, for the water was bitter and ill-smelling. Then he gave the jug a kick, so that it broke against the opposite wall, and he took down the blanket to wrap it about him for the night. But no sooner did he touch it than it was alive with skipping fleas. At this, beside himself with anger, he rushed to the door of the guest-house, but the lay brother, being well accustomed to such outcries, had locked it on the outside; so he emptied the tub and began to beat the door with it, till the lay brother came to the door and asked what ailed him, and why he woke him out of sleep. 'What ails me!' shouted Cumhal, 'are not the sods as wet as the sands of the Three Rosses? and are not the fleas in the blanket as many as the waves of the sea and as lively? and is not the bread as hard as the heart of a lay brother who has forgotten God? and is not the water in the jug as bitter and as ill-smelling as his soul? and is not the foot-water the colour that shall be upon him when he has been charred in the Undying Fires?' The lay brother saw that the lock was fast, and went back to his niche, for he was too sleepy to talk with comfort. And Cumhal went on beating at the door, and presently he heard the lay brother's foot once more, and cried out at him, 'O cowardly and tyrannous race of friars, persecutors of the bard and the gleeman, haters of life and joy! O race that does not draw the sword and tell the truth! O race that melts the bones of the people with cowardice and with deceit!' 'Gleeman,' said the lay brother, 'I also make rhymes; I make many while I sit in my niche by the door, and I sorrow to hear the bards railing upon the friars. Brother, I would sleep, and therefore I make known to you that it is the head of the monastery, our gracious abbot, who orders all things concerning the lodging of travellers.' 'You may sleep,' said Cumhal, 'I will sing a bard's curse on the abbot. 'And he set the tub upside down under the window, and stood upon it, and began to sing in a very loud voice. The singing awoke the abbot, so that he sat up in bed and blew a silver whistle until the lay brother came to him. 'I cannot get a wink of sleep with that noise,' said the abbot. 'What is happening?' 'It is a gleeman,' said the lay brother, 'who complains of the sods, of the bread, of the water in the jug, of the foot-water, and of the blanket. And now he is singing a bard's curse upon you, O brother abbot, and upon your father and your mother, and your grandfather and your grandmother, and upon all your relations.' 'Is he cursing in rhyme?' 'He is cursing in rhyme, and with two assonances in every line of his curse.' The abbot pulled his night-cap off and crumpled it in his hands, and the circular brown patch of hair in the middle of his bald head looked like an island in the midst of a pond, for in Connaught they had not yet abandoned the ancient tonsure for the style then coming into use. 'If we do not somewhat,' he said, 'he will teach his curses to the children in the street, and the girls spinning at the doors, and to the robbers upon Ben Bulben.' 'Shall I go, then,' said the other, 'and give him dry sods, a fresh loaf, clean water in a jug, clean foot-water, and a new blanket, and make him swear by the blessed Saint Benignus, and by the sun and moon, that no bond be lacking, not to tell his rhymes to the children in the street, and the girls spinning at the doors, and the robbers upon Ben Bulben?' 'Neither our Blessed Patron nor the sun and moon would avail at all,' said the abbot; 'for to-morrow or the next day the mood to curse would come upon him, or a pride in those rhymes would move him, and he would teach his lines to the children, and the girls, and the robbers. Or else he would tell another of his craft how he fared in the guest-house, and he in his turn would begin to curse, and my name would wither. For learn there is no steadfastness of purpose upon the roads, but only under roofs and between four walls. Therefore I bid you go and awaken Brother Kevin, Brother Dove, Brother Little Wolf, Brother Bald Patrick, Brother Bald Brandon, Brother James and Brother Peter. And they shall take the man, and bind him with ropes, and dip him in the river that he shall cease to sing. And in the morning, lest this but make him curse the louder, we will crucify him.' 'The crosses are all full,' said the lay brother. 'Then we must make another cross. If we do not make an end of him another will, for who can eat and sleep in peace while men like him are going about the world? Ill should we stand before blessed Saint Benignus, and sour would be his face when he comes to judge us at the Last Day, were we to spare an enemy of his when we had him under our thumb! Brother, the bards and the gleemen are an evil race, ever cursing and ever stirring up the people, and immoral and immoderate in all things, and heathen in their hearts, always longing after the Son of Lir, and Aengus, and Bridget, and the Dagda, and Dana the Mother, and all the false gods of the old days; always making poems in praise of those kings and queens of the demons, Finvaragh, whose home is under Cruachmaa, and Red Aodh of Cnocna-Sidhe, and Cleena of the Wave, and Aoibhell of the Grey Rock, and him they call Donn of the Vats of the Sea; and railing against God and Christ and the blessed Saints.' While he was speaking he crossed himself, and when he had finished he drew the nightcap over his ears, to shut out the noise, and closed his eyes, and composed himself to sleep. The lay brother found Brother Kevin, Brother Dove, Brother Little Wolf, Brother Bald Patrick, Brother Bald Brandon, Brother James and Brother Peter sitting up in bed, and he made them get up. Then they bound Cumhal, and they dragged him to the river, and they dipped him in it at the place which was afterwards called Buckley's Ford. 'Gleeman,' said the lay brother, as they led him back to the guest-house, 'why do you ever use the wit which God has given you to make blasphemous and immoral tales and verses? For such is the way of your craft. I have, indeed, many such tales and verses well nigh by rote, and so I know that I speak true! And why do you praise with rhyme those demons, Finvaragh, Red Aodh, Cleena, Aoibhell and Donn? I, too, am a man of great wit and learning, but I ever glorify our gracious abbot, and Benignus our Patron, and the princes of the province. My soul is decent and orderly, but yours is like the wind among the salley gardens. I said what I could for you, being also a man of many thoughts, but who could help such a one as you?' 'Friend,' answered the gleeman, 'my soul is indeed like the wind, and it blows me to and fro, and up and down, and puts many things into my mind and out of my mind, and therefore am I called the Swift, Wild Horse.' And he spoke no more that night, for his teeth were chattering with the cold. The abbot and the friars came to him in the morning, and bade him get ready to be crucified, and led him out of the guest-house. And while he still stood upon the step a flock of great grass-barnacles passed high above him with clanking cries. He lifted his arms to them and said, 'O great grass-barnacles, tarry a little, and mayhap my soul will travel with you to the waste places of the shore and to the ungovernable sea!' At the gate a crowd of beggars gathered about them, being come there to beg from any traveller or pilgrim who might have spent the night in the guest-house. The abbot and the friars led the gleeman to a place in the woods at some distance, where many straight young trees were growing, and they made him cut one down and fashion it to the right length, while the beggars stood round them in a ring, talking and gesticulating. The abbot then bade him cut off another and shorter piece of wood, and nail it upon the first. So there was his cross for him; and they put it upon his shoulder, for his crucifixion was to be on the top of the hill where the others were. A half-mile on the way he asked them to stop and see him juggle for them; for he knew, he said, all the tricks of Aengus the Subtle-hearted. The old friars were for pressing on, but the young friars would see him: so he did many wonders for them, even to the drawing of live frogs out of his ears. But after a while they turned on him, and said his tricks were dull and a shade unholy, and set the cross on his shoulders again. Another half-mile on the way, and he asked them to stop and hear him jest for them, for he knew, he said, all the jests of Conan the Bald, upon whose back a sheep's wool grew. And the young friars, when they had heard his merry tales, again bade him take up his cross, for it ill became them to listen to such follies. Another half-mile on the way, he asked them to stop and hear him sing the story of White-breasted Deirdre, and how she endured many sorrows, and how the sons of Usna died to serve her. And the young friars were mad to hear him, but when he had ended they grew angry, and beat him for waking forgotten longings in their hearts. So they set the cross upon his back and hurried him to the hill. When he was come to the top, they took the cross from him, and began to dig a hole to stand it in, while the beggars gathered round, and talked among themselves. 'I ask a favour before I die,' says Cumhal. 'We will grant you no more delays,' says the abbot. 'I ask no more delays, for I have drawn the sword, and told the truth, and lived my vision, and am content.' 'Would you, then, confess?' 'By sun and moon, not I; I ask but to be let eat the food I carry in my wallet. I carry food in my wallet whenever I go upon a journey, but I do not taste of it unless I am well-nigh starved. I have not eaten now these two days.' 'You may eat, then,' says the abbot, and he turned to help the friars dig the hole. The gleeman took a loaf and some strips of cold fried bacon out of his wallet and laid them upon the ground. 'I will give a tithe to the poor,' says he, and he cut a tenth part from the loaf and the bacon. 'Who among you is the poorest?' And thereupon was a great clamour, for the beggars began the history of their sorrows and their poverty, and their yellow faces swayed like Gara Lough when the floods have filled it with water from the bogs. He listened for a little, and, says he, 'I am myself the poorest, for I have travelled the bare road, and by the edges of the sea; and the tattered doublet of particoloured cloth upon my back and the torn pointed shoes upon my feet have ever irked me, because of the towered city full of noble raiment which was in my heart. And I have been the more alone upon the roads and by the sea because I heard in my heart the rustling of the rose-bordered dress of her who is more subtle than Aengus, the Subtle-hearted, and more full of the beauty of laughter than Conan the Bald, and more full of the wisdom of tears than White-breasted Deirdre, and more lovely than a bursting dawn to them that are lost in the darkness. Therefore, I award the tithe to myself; but yet, because I am done with all things, I give it unto you.' So he flung the bread and the strips of bacon among the beggars, and they fought with many cries until the last scrap was eaten. But meanwhile the friars nailed the gleeman to his cross, and set it upright in the hole, and shovelled the earth in at the foot, and trampled it level and hard. So then they went away, but the beggars stared on, sitting round the cross. But when the sun was sinking, they also got up to go, for the air was getting chilly. And as soon as they had gone a little way, the wolves, who had been showing themselves on the edge of a neighbouring coppice, came nearer, and the birds wheeled closer and closer. 'Stay, outcasts, yet a little while,' the crucified one called in a weak voice to the beggars, 'and keep the beasts and the birds from me.' But the beggars were angry because he had called them outcasts, so they threw stones and mud at him, and went their way. Then the wolves gathered at the foot of the cross, and the birds flew lower and lower. And presently the birds lighted all at once upon his head and arms and shoulders, and began to peck at him, and the wolves began to eat his feet. 'Outcasts,' he moaned, 'have you also turned against the outcast?' OUT OF THE ROSE. One winter evening an old knight in rusted chain-armour rode slowly along the woody southern slope of Ben Bulben, watching the sun go down in crimson clouds over the sea. His horse was tired, as after a long journey, and he had upon his helmet the crest of no neighbouring lord or king, but a small rose made of rubies that glimmered every moment to a deeper crimson. His white hair fell in thin curls upon his shoulders, and its disorder added to the melancholy of his face, which was the face of one of those who have come but seldom into the world, and always for its trouble, the dreamers who must do what they dream, the doers who must dream what they do. After gazing a while towards the sun, he let the reins fall upon the neck of his horse, and, stretching out both arms towards the west, he said, 'O Divine Rose of Intellectual Flame, let the gates of thy peace be opened to me at last!' And suddenly a loud squealing began in the woods some hundreds of yards further up the mountain side. He stopped his horse to listen, and heard behind him a sound of feet and of voices. 'They are beating them to make them go into the narrow path by the gorge,' said someone, and in another moment a dozen peasants armed with short spears had come up with the knight, and stood a little apart from him, their blue caps in their hands. Where do you go with the spears?' he asked; and one who seemed the leader answered: 'A troop of wood-thieves came down from the hills a while ago and carried off the pigs belonging to an old man who lives by Glen Car Lough, and we turned out to go after them. Now that we know they are four times more than we are, we follow to find the way they have taken; and will presently tell our story to De Courcey, and if he will not help us, to Fitzgerald; for De Courcey and Fitzgerald have lately made a peace, and we do not know to whom we belong.' 'But by that time,' said the knight, 'the pigs will have been eaten.' 'A dozen men cannot do more, and it was not reasonable that the whole valley should turn out and risk their lives for two, or for two dozen pigs.' 'Can you tell me,' said the knight, 'if the old man to whom the pigs belong is pious and true of heart?' 'He is as true as another and more pious than any, for he says a prayer to a saint every morning before his breakfast.' 'Then it were well to fight in his cause,' said the knight, 'and if you will fight against the wood-thieves I will take the main brunt of the battle, and you know well that a man in armour is worth many like these wood-thieves, clad in wool and leather.' And the leader turned to his fellows and asked if they would take the chance; but they seemed anxious to get back to their cabins. 'Are the wood-thieves treacherous and impious?' 'They are treacherous in all their dealings,' said a peasant, 'and no man has known them to pray.' 'Then,' said the knight, 'I will give five crowns for the head of every wood-thief killed by us in the fighting'; and he bid the leader show the way, and they all went on together. After a time they came to where a beaten track wound into the woods, and, taking this, they doubled back upon their previous course, and began to ascend the wooded slope of the mountains. In a little while the path grew very straight and steep, and the knight was forced to dismount and leave his horse tied to a tree-stem. They knew they were on the right track: for they could see the marks of pointed shoes in the soft clay and mingled with them the cloven footprints of the pigs. Presently the path became still more abrupt, and they knew by the ending of the cloven foot-prints that the thieves were carrying the pigs. Now and then a long mark in the clay showed that a pig had slipped down, and been dragged along for a little way. They had journeyed thus for about twenty minutes, when a confused sound of voices told them that they were coming up with the thieves. And then the voices ceased, and they understood that they had been overheard in their turn. They pressed on rapidly and cautiously, and in about five minutes one of them caught sight of a leather jerkin half hidden by a hazel-bush. An arrow struck the knight's chain-armour, but glanced off harmlessly, and then a flight of arrows swept by them with the buzzing sound of great bees. They ran and climbed, and climbed and ran towards the thieves, who were now all visible standing up among the bushes with their still quivering bows in their hands: for they had only their spears and they must at once come hand to hand. The knight was in the front and smote down first one and then another of the wood-thieves. The peasants shouted, and, pressing on, drove the wood-thieves before them until they came out on the flat top of the mountain, and there they saw the two pigs quietly grubbing in the short grass, so they ran about them in a circle, and began to move back again towards the narrow path: the old knight coming now the last of all, and striking down thief after thief. The peasants had got no very serious hurts among them, for he had drawn the brunt of the battle upon himself, as could well be seen from the bloody rents in his armour; and when they came to the entrance of the narrow path he bade them drive the pigs down into the valley, while he stood there to guard the way behind them. So in a moment he was alone, and, being weak with loss of blood, might have been ended there and then by the wood-thieves he had beaten off, had fear not made them begone out of sight in a great hurry. An hour passed, and they did not return; and now the knight could stand on guard no longer, but had to lie down upon the grass. A half-hour more went by, and then a young lad with what appeared to be a number of cock's feathers stuck round his hat, came out of the path behind him, and began to move about among the dead thieves, cutting their heads off, Then he laid the heads in a heap before the knight, and said: 'O great knight, I have been bid come and ask you for the crowns you promised for the heads: five crowns a head. They bid me tell you that they have prayed to God and His Mother to give you a long life, but that they are poor peasants, and that they would have the money before you die. They told me this over and over for fear I might forget it, and promised to beat me if I did.' The knight raised himself upon his elbow, and opening a bag that hung to his belt, counted out the five crowns for each head. There were thirty heads in all. 'O great knight,' said the lad, 'they have also bid me take all care of you, and light a fire, and put this ointment upon your wounds.' And he gathered sticks and leaves together, and, flashing his flint and steel under a mass of dry leaves, had made a very good blaze. Then, drawing of the coat of mail, he began to anoint the wounds: but he did it clumsily, like one who does by rote what he had been told. The knight motioned him to stop, and said: 'You seem a good lad.' 'I would ask something of you for myself.' 'There are still a few crowns,' said the knight; 'shall I give them to you?' 'O no,' said the lad. 'They would be no good to me. There is only one thing that I care about doing, and I have no need of money to do it. I go from village to village and from hill to hill, and whenever I come across a good cock I steal him and take him into the woods, and I keep him there under a basket until I get another good cock, and then I set them to fight. The people say I am an innocent, and do not do me any harm, and never ask me to do any work but go a message now and then. It is because I am an innocent that they send me to get the crowns: anyone else would steal them; and they dare not come back themselves, for now that you are not with them they are afraid of the wood-thieves. Did you ever hear how, when the wood-thieves are christened, the wolves are made their god-fathers, and their right arms are not christened at all?' 'If you will not take these crowns, my good lad, I have nothing for you, I fear, unless you would have that old coat of mail which I shall soon need no more.' 'There was something I wanted: yes, I remember now,' said the lad. 'I want you to tell me why you fought like the champions and giants in the stories and for so little a thing. Are you indeed a man like us? Are you not rather an old wizard who lives among these hills, and will not a wind arise presently and crumble you into dust?' 'I will tell you of myself,' replied the knight, 'for now that I am the last of the fellowship, 'I may tell all and witness for God. Look at the Rose of Rubies on my helmet, and see the symbol of my life and of my hope.' And then he told the lad this story, but with always more frequent pauses; and, while he told it, the Rose shone a deep blood-colour in the firelight, and the lad stuck the cock's feathers in the earth in front of him, and moved them about as though he made them actors in the play. 'I live in a land far from this, and was one of the Knights of St. John,' said the old man; 'but I was one of those in the Order who always longed for more arduous labours in the service of the Most High. At last there came to us a knight of Palestine, to whom the truth of truths had been revealed by God Himself. He had seen a great Rose of Fire, and a Voice out of the Rose had told him how men would turn from the light of their own hearts, and bow down before outer order and outer fixity, and that then the light would cease, and none escape the curse except the foolish good man who could not, and the passionate wicked man who would not, think. Already, the Voice told him, the wayward light of the heart was shining out upon the world to keep it alive, with a less clear lustre, and that, as it paled, a strange infection was touching the stars and the hills and the grass and the trees with corruption, and that none of those who had seen clearly the truth and the ancient way could enter into the Kingdom of God, which is in the Heart of the Rose, if they stayed on willingly in the corrupted world; and so they must prove their anger against the Powers of Corruption by dying in the service of the Rose of God. While the Knight of Palestine was telling us these things we seemed to see in a vision a crimson Rose spreading itself about him, so that he seemed to speak out of its heart, and the air was filled with fragrance. By this we knew that it was the very Voice of God which spoke to us by the knight, and we gathered about him and bade him direct us in all things, and teach us how to obey the Voice. So he bound us with an oath, and gave us signs and words whereby we might know each other even after many years, and he appointed places of meeting, and he sent us out in troops into the world to seek good causes, and die in doing battle for them. At first we thought to die more readily by fasting to death in honour of some saint; but this he told us was evil, for we did it for the sake of death, and thus took out of the hands of God the choice of the time and manner of our death, and by so doing made His power the less. We must choose our service for its excellence, and for this alone, and leave it to God to reward us at His own time and in His own manner. And after this he compelled us to eat always two at a table to watch each other lest we fasted unduly, for some among us said that if one fasted for a love of the holiness of saints and then died, the death would be acceptable. And the years passed, and one by one my fellows died in the Holy Land, or in warring upon the evil princes of the earth, or in clearing the roads of robbers; and among them died the knight of Palestine, and at last I was alone. I fought in every cause where the few contended against the many, and my hair grew white, and a terrible fear lest I had fallen under the displeasure of God came upon me. But, hearing at last how this western isle was fuller of wars and rapine than any other land, I came hither, and I have found the thing I sought, and, behold! I am filled with a great joy.' Thereat he began to sing in Latin, and, while he sang, his voice grew fainter and fainter. Then his eyes closed, and his lips fell apart, and the lad knew he was dead. 'He has told me a good tale,' he said, 'for there was fighting in it, but I did not understand much of it, and it is hard to remember so long a story.' And, taking the knight's sword, he began to dig a grave in the soft clay. He dug hard, and a faint light of dawn had touched his hair and he had almost done his work when a cock crowed in the valley below. 'Ah,' he said, 'I must have that bird'; and he ran down the narrow path to the valley. THE WISDOM OF THE KING. The High-Queen of the Island of Woods had died in childbirth, and her child was put to nurse with a woman who lived in a hut of mud and wicker, within the border of the wood. One night the woman sat rocking the cradle, and pondering over the beauty of the child, and praying that the gods might grant him wisdom equal to his beauty. There came a knock at the door, and she got up, not a little wondering, for the nearest neighbours were in the dun of the High-King a mile away; and the night was now late. 'Who is knocking?' she cried, and a thin voice answered, 'Open! for I am a crone of the grey hawk, and I come from the darkness of the great wood.' In terror she drew back the bolt, and a grey-clad woman, of a great age, and of a height more than human, came in and stood by the head of the cradle. The nurse shrank back against the wall, unable to take her eyes from the woman, for she saw by the gleaming of the firelight that the feathers of the grey hawk were upon her head instead of hair. But the child slept, and the fire danced, for the one was too ignorant and the other too full of gaiety to know what a dreadful being stood there. 'Open!' cried another voice, 'for I am a crone of the grey hawk, and I watch over his nest in the darkness of the great wood.' The nurse opened the door again, though her fingers could scarce hold the bolts for trembling, and another grey woman, not less old than the other, and with like feathers instead of hair, came in and stood by the first. In a little, came a third grey woman, and after her a fourth, and then another and another and another, until the hut was full of their immense bodies. They stood a long time in perfect silence and stillness, for they were of those whom the dropping of the sand has never troubled, but at last one muttered in a low thin voice: 'Sisters, I knew him far away by the redness of his heart under his silver skin'; and then another spoke: 'Sisters, I knew him because his heart fluttered like a bird under a net of silver cords '; and then another took up the word: 'Sisters, I knew him because his heart sang like a bird that is happy in a silver cage.' And after that they sang together, those who were nearest rocking the cradle with long wrinkled fingers; and their voices were now tender and caressing, now like the wind blowing in the great wood, and this was their song: Out of sight is out of mind: Long have man and woman-kind, Heavy of will and light of mood, Taken away our wheaten food, Taken away our Altar stone; Hail and rain and thunder alone, And red hearts we turn to grey, Are true till Time gutter away. When the song had died out, the crone who had first spoken, said: 'We have nothing more to do but to mix a drop of our blood into his blood.' And she scratched her arm with the sharp point of a spindle, which she had made the nurse bring to her, and let a drop of blood, grey as the mist, fall upon the lips of the child; and passed out into the darkness. Then the others passed out in silence one by one; and all the while the child had not opened his pink eyelids or the fire ceased to dance, for the one was too ignorant and the other too full of gaiety to know what great beings had bent over the cradle. When the crones were gone, the nurse came to her courage again, and hurried to the dun of the High-King, and cried out in the midst of the assembly hall that the Sidhe, whether for good or evil she knew not, had bent over the child that night; and the king and his poets and men of law, and his huntsmen, and his cooks, and his chief warriors went with her to the hut and gathered about the cradle, and were as noisy as magpies, and the child sat up and looked at them. Two years passed over, and the king died fighting against the Fer Bolg; and the poets and the men of law ruled in the name of the child, but looked to see him become the master himself before long, for no one had seen so wise a child, and tales of his endless questions about the household of the gods and the making of the world went hither and thither among the wicker houses of the poor. Everything had been well but for a miracle that began to trouble all men; and all women, who, indeed, talked of it without ceasing. The feathers of the grey hawk had begun to grow in the child's hair, and though, his nurse cut them continually, in but a little while they would be more numerous than ever. This had not been a matter of great moment, for miracles were a little thing in those days, but for an ancient law of Eri that none who had any blemish of body could sit upon the throne; and as a grey hawk was a wild thing of the air which had never sat at the board, or listened to the songs of the poets in the light of the fire, it was not possible to think of one in whose hair its feathers grew as other than marred and blasted; nor could the people separate from their admiration of the wisdom that grew in him a horror as at one of unhuman blood. Yet all were resolved that he should reign, for they had suffered much from foolish kings and their own disorders, and moreover they desired to watch out the spectacle of his days; and no one had any other fear but that his great wisdom might bid him obey the law, and call some other, who had but a common mind, to reign in his stead. When the child was seven years old the poets and the men of law were called together by the chief poet, and all these matters weighed and considered. The child had already seen that those about him had hair only, and, though they had told him that they too had had feathers but had lost them because of a sin committed by their forefathers, they knew that he would learn the truth when he began to wander into the country round about. After much consideration they decreed a new law commanding every one upon pain of death to mingle artificially the feathers of the grey hawk into his hair; and they sent men with nets and slings and bows into the countries round about to gather a sufficiency of feathers. They decreed also that any who told the truth to the child should be flung from a cliff into the sea. The years passed, and the child grew from childhood into boyhood and from boyhood into manhood, and from being curious about all things he became busy with strange and subtle thoughts which came to him in dreams, and with distinctions between things long held the same and with the resemblance of things long held different. Multitudes came from other lands to see him and to ask his counsel, but there were guards set at the frontiers, who compelled all that came to wear the feathers of the grey hawk in their hair. While they listened to him his words seemed to make all darkness light and filled their hearts like music; but, alas, when they returned to their own lands his words seemed far off, and what they could remember too strange and subtle to help them to live out their hasty days. A number indeed did live differently afterwards, but their new life was less excellent than the old: some among them had long served a good cause, but when they heard him praise it and their labour, they returned to their own lands to find what they had loved less lovable and their arm lighter in the battle, for he had taught them how little a hair divides the false and true; others, again, who had served no cause, but wrought in peace the welfare of their own households, when he had expounded the meaning of their purpose, found their bones softer and their will less ready for toil, for he had shown them greater purposes; and numbers of the young, when they had heard him upon all these things, remembered certain words that became like a fire in their hearts, and made all kindly joys and traffic between man and man as nothing, and went different ways, but all into vague regret. When any asked him concerning the common things of life; disputes about the mear of a territory, or about the straying of cattle, or about the penalty of blood; he would turn to those nearest him for advice; but this was held to be from courtesy, for none knew that these matters were hidden from him by thoughts and dreams that filled his mind like the marching and counter-marching of armies. Far less could any know that his heart wandered lost amid throngs of overcoming thoughts and dreams, shuddering at its own consuming solitude. Among those who came to look at him and to listen to him was the daughter of a little king who lived a great way off; and when he saw her he loved, for she was beautiful, with a strange and pale beauty unlike the women of his land; but Dana, the great mother, had decreed her a heart that was but as the heart of others, and when she considered the mystery of the hawk feathers she was troubled with a great horror. He called her to him when the assembly was over and told her of her beauty, and praised her simply and frankly as though she were a fable of the bards; and he asked her humbly to give him her love, for he was only subtle in his dreams. Overwhelmed with his greatness, she half consented, and yet half refused, for she longed to marry some warrior who could carry her over a mountain in his arms. Day by day the king gave her gifts; cups with ears of gold and findrinny wrought by the craftsmen of distant lands; cloth from over sea, which, though woven with curious figures, seemed to her less beautiful than the bright cloth of her own country; and still she was ever between a smile and a frown; between yielding and withholding. He laid down his wisdom at her feet, and told how the heroes when they die return to the world and begin their labour anew; how the kind and mirthful Men of Dea drove out the huge and gloomy and misshapen People from Under the Sea; and a multitude of things that even the Sidhe have forgotten, either because they happened so long ago or because they have not time to think of them; and still she half refused, and still he hoped, because he could not believe that a beauty so much like wisdom could hide a common heart. There was a tall young man in the dun who had yellow hair, and was skilled in wrestling and in the training of horses; and one day when the king walked in the orchard, which was between the foss and the forest, he heard his voice among the salley bushes which hid the waters of the foss. 'My blossom,' it said, 'I hate them for making you weave these dingy feathers into your beautiful hair, and all that the bird of prey upon the throne may sleep easy o' nights'; and then the low, musical voice he loved answered: 'My hair is not beautiful like yours; and now that I have plucked the feathers out of your hair I will put my hands through it, thus, and thus, and thus; for it casts no shadow of terror and darkness upon my heart.' Then the king remembered many things that he had forgotten without understanding them, doubtful words of his poets and his men of law, doubts that he had reasoned away, his own continual solitude; and he called to the lovers in a trembling voice. They came from among the salley bushes and threw themselves at his feet and prayed for pardon, and he stooped down and plucked the feathers out of the hair of the woman and then turned away towards the dun without a word. He strode into the hall of assembly, and having gathered his poets and his men of law about him, stood upon the dais and spoke in a loud, clear voice: 'Men of law, why did you make me sin against the laws of Eri? Men of verse, why did you make me sin against the secrecy of wisdom, for law was made by man for the welfare of man, but wisdom the gods have made, and no man shall live by its light, for it and the hail and the rain and the thunder follow a way that is deadly to mortal things? Men of law and men of verse, live according to your kind, and call Eocha of the Hasty Mind to reign over you, for I set out to find my kindred.' He then came down among them, and drew out of the hair of first one and then another the feathers of the grey hawk, and, having scattered them over the rushes upon the floor, passed out, and none dared to follow him, for his eyes gleamed like the eyes of the birds of prey; and no man saw him again or heard his voice. Some believed that he found his eternal abode among the demons, and some that he dwelt henceforth with the dark and dreadful goddesses, who sit all night about the pools in the forest watching the constellations rising and setting in those desolate mirrors. THE HEART OF THE SPRING. A very old man, whose face was almost as fleshless as the foot of a bird, sat meditating upon the rocky shore of the flat and hazel-covered isle which fills the widest part of the Lough Gill. A russet-faced boy of seventeen years sat by his side, watching the swallows dipping for flies in the still water. The old man was dressed in threadbare blue velvet, and the boy wore a frieze coat and a blue cap, and had about his neck a rosary of blue beads. Behind the two, and half hidden by trees, was a little monastery. It had been burned down a long while before by sacrilegious men of the Queen's party, but had been roofed anew with rushes by the boy, that the old man might find shelter in his last days. He had not set his spade, however, into the garden about it, and the lilies and the roses of the monks had spread out until their confused luxuriancy met and mingled with the narrowing circle of the fern. Beyond the lilies and the roses the ferns were so deep that a child walking among them would be hidden from sight, even though he stood upon his toes; and beyond the fern rose many hazels and small oak trees. 'Master,' said the boy, 'this long fasting, and the labour of beckoning after nightfall with your rod of quicken wood to the beings who dwell in the waters and among the hazels and oak-trees, is too much for your strength. Rest from all this labour for a little, for your hand seemed more heavy upon my shoulder and your feet less steady under you to-day than I have known them. Men say that you are older than the eagles, and yet you will not seek the rest that belongs to age.' He spoke in an eager, impulsive way, as though his heart were in the words and thoughts of the moment; and the old man answered slowly and deliberately, as though his heart were in distant days and distant deeds. 'I will tell you why I have not been able to rest,' he said. 'It is right that you should know, for you have served me faithfully these five years and more, and even with affection, taking away thereby a little of the doom of loneliness which always falls upon the wise. Now, too, that the end of my labour and the triumph of my hopes is at hand, it is the more needful for you to have this knowledge.' 'Master, do not think that I would question you. It is for me to keep the fire alight, and the thatch close against the rain, and strong, lest the wind blow it among the trees; and it is for me to take the heavy books from the shelves, and to lift from its corner the great painted roll with the names of the Sidhe, and to possess the while an incurious and reverent heart, for right well I know that God has made out of His abundance a separate wisdom for everything which lives, and to do these things is my wisdom.' 'You are afraid,' said the old man, and his eyes shone with a momentary anger. 'Sometimes at night,' said the boy, 'when you are reading, with the rod of quicken wood in your hand, I look out of the door and see, now a great grey man driving swine among the hazels, and now many little people in red caps who come out of the lake driving little white cows before them. I do not fear these little people so much as the grey man; for, when they come near the house, they milk the cows, and they drink the frothing milk, and begin to dance; and I know there is good in the heart that loves dancing; but I fear them for all that. And I fear the tall white-armed ladies who come out of the air, and move slowly hither and thither, crowning themselves with the roses or with the lilies, and shaking about their living hair, which moves, for so I have heard them tell each other, with the motion of their thoughts, now spreading out and now gathering close to their heads. They have mild, beautiful faces, but, Aengus, son of Forbis, I fear all these beings, I fear the people of Sidhe, and I fear the art which draws them about us.' 'Why,' said the old man, 'do you fear the ancient gods who made the spears of your father's fathers to be stout in battle, and the little people who came at night from the depth of the lakes and sang among the crickets upon their hearths? And in our evil day they still watch over the loveliness of the earth. But I must tell you why I have fasted and laboured when others would sink into the sleep of age, for without your help once more I shall have fasted and laboured to no good end. When you have done for me this last thing, you may go and build your cottage and till your fields, and take some girl to wife, and forget the ancient gods. I have saved all the gold and silver pieces that were given to me by earls and knights and squires for keeping them from the evil eye and from the love-weaving enchantments of witches, and by earls' and knights' and squires' ladies for keeping the people of the Sidhe from making the udders of their cattle fall dry, and taking the butter from their churns. I have saved it all for the day when my work should be at an end, and now that the end is at hand you shall not lack for gold and silver pieces enough to make strong the roof-tree of your cottage and to keep cellar and larder full. I have sought through all my life to find the secret of life. I was not happy in my youth, for I knew that it would pass; and I was not happy in my manhood, for I knew that age was coming; and so I gave myself, in youth and manhood and age, to the search for the Great Secret. I longed for a life whose abundance would fill centuries, I scorned the life of fourscore winters. I would be--nay, I _will_ be!--like the Ancient Gods of the land. I read in my youth, in a Hebrew manuscript I found in a Spanish monastery, that there is a moment after the Sun has entered the Ram and before he has passed the Lion, which trembles with the Song of the Immortal Powers, and that whosoever finds this moment and listens to the Song shall become like the Immortal Powers themselves; I came back to Ireland and asked the fairy men, and the cow-doctors, if they knew when this moment was; but though all had heard of it, there was none could find the moment upon the hour-glass. So I gave myself to magic, and spent my life in fasting and in labour that I might bring the Gods and the Fairies to my side; and now at last one of the Fairies has told me that the moment is at hand. One, who wore a red cap and whose lips were white with the froth of the new milk, whispered it into my ear. Tomorrow, a little before the close of the first hour after dawn, I shall find the moment, and then I will go away to a southern land and build myself a palace of white marble amid orange trees, and gather the brave and the beautiful about me, and enter into the eternal kingdom of my youth. But, that I may hear the whole Song, I was told by the little fellow with the froth of the new milk on his lips, that you must bring great masses of green boughs and pile them about the door and the window of my room; and you must put fresh green rushes upon the floor, and cover the table and the rushes with the roses and the lilies of the monks. You must do this to-night, and in the morning at the end of the first hour after dawn, you must come and find me.' 'Will you be quite young then?' said the boy. 'I will be as young then as you are, but now I am still old and tired, and you must help me to my chair and to my books.' When the boy had left Aengus son of Forbis in his room, and had lighted the lamp which, by some contrivance of the wizard's, gave forth a sweet odour as of strange flowers, he went into the wood and began cutting green boughs from the hazels, and great bundles of rushes from the western border of the isle, where the small rocks gave place to gently sloping sand and clay. It was nightfall before he had cut enough for his purpose, and well-nigh midnight before he had carried the last bundle to its place, and gone back for the roses and the lilies. It was one of those warm, beautiful nights when everything seems carved of precious stones. Sleuth Wood away to the south looked as though cut out of green beryl, and the waters that mirrored them shone like pale opal. The roses he was gathering were like glowing rubies, and the lilies had the dull lustre of pearl. Everything had taken upon itself the look of something imperishable, except a glow-worm, whose faint flame burnt on steadily among the shadows, moving slowly hither and thither, the only thing that seemed alive, the only thing that seemed perishable as mortal hope. The boy gathered a great armful of roses and lilies, and thrusting the glow-worm among their pearl and ruby, carried them into the room, where the old man sat in a half-slumber. He laid armful after armful upon the floor and above the table, and then, gently closing the door, threw himself upon his bed of rushes, to dream of a peaceful manhood with his chosen wife at his side, and the laughter of children in his ears. At dawn he rose, and went down to the edge of the lake, taking the hour-glass with him. He put some bread and a flask of wine in the boat, that his master might not lack food at the outset of his journey, and then sat down to wait until the hour from dawn had gone by. Gradually the birds began to sing, and when the last grains of sand were falling, everything suddenly seemed to overflow with their music. It was the most beautiful and living moment of the year; one could listen to the spring's heart beating in it. He got up and went to find his master. The green boughs filled the door, and he had to make a way through them. When he entered the room the sunlight was falling in flickering circles on floor and walls and table, and everything was full of soft green shadows. But the old man sat clasping a mass of roses and lilies in his arms, and with his head sunk upon his breast. On the table, at his left hand, was a leathern wallet full of gold and silver pieces, as for a journey, and at his right hand was a long staff. The boy touched him and he did not move. He lifted the hands but they were quite cold, and they fell heavily. 'It were better for him,' said the lad, 'to have told his beads and said his prayers like another, and not to have spent his days in seeking amongst the Immortal Powers what he could have found in his own deeds and days had he willed. Ah, yes, it were better to have said his prayers and kissed his beads!' He looked at the threadbare blue velvet, and he saw it was covered with the pollen of the flowers, and while he was looking at it a thrush, who had alighted among the boughs that were piled against the window, began to sing. THE CURSE OF THE FIRES AND OF THE SHADOWS. One summer night, when there was peace, a score of Puritan troopers under the pious Sir Frederick Hamilton, broke through the door of the Abbey of the White Friars which stood over the Gara Lough at Sligo. As the door fell with a crash they saw a little knot of friars, gathered about the altar, their white habits glimmering in the steady light of the holy candles. All the monks were kneeling except the abbot, who stood upon the altar steps with a great brazen crucifix in his hand. 'Shoot them!' cried Sir Frederick Hamilton, but none stirred, for all were new converts, and feared the crucifix and the holy candles. The white lights from the altar threw the shadows of the troopers up on to roof and wall. As the troopers moved about, the shadows began a fantastic dance among the corbels and the memorial tablets. For a little while all was silent, and then five troopers who were the body-guard of Sir Frederick Hamilton lifted their muskets, and shot down five of the friars. The noise and the smoke drove away the mystery of the pale altar lights, and the other troopers took courage and began to strike. In a moment the friars lay about the altar steps, their white habits stained with blood. 'Set fire to the house!' cried Sir Frederick Hamilton, and at his word one went out, and came in again carrying a heap of dry straw, and piled it against the western wall, and, having done this, fell back, for the fear of the crucifix and of the holy candles was still in his heart. Seeing this, the five troopers who were Sir Frederick Hamilton's body-guard darted forward, and taking each a holy candle set the straw in a blaze. The red tongues of fire rushed up and flickered from corbel to corbel and from tablet to tablet, and crept along the floor, setting in a blaze the seats and benches. The dance of the shadows passed away, and the dance of the fires began. The troopers fell back towards the door in the southern wall, and watched those yellow dancers springing hither and thither. For a time the altar stood safe and apart in the midst of its white light; the eyes of the troopers turned upon it. The abbot whom they had thought dead had risen to his feet and now stood before it with the crucifix lifted in both hands high above his head. Suddenly he cried with a loud voice, 'Woe unto all who smite those who dwell within the Light of the Lord, for they shall wander among the ungovernable shadows, and follow the ungovernable fires!' And having so cried he fell on his face dead, and the brazen crucifix rolled down the steps of the altar. The smoke had now grown very thick, so that it drove the troopers out into the open air. Before them were burning houses. Behind them shone the painted windows of the Abbey filled with saints and martyrs, awakened, as from a sacred trance, into an angry and animated life. The eyes of the troopers were dazzled, and for a while could see nothing but the flaming faces of saints and martyrs. Presently, however, they saw a man covered with dust who came running towards them. 'Two messengers,' he cried, 'have been sent by the defeated Irish to raise against you the whole country about Manor Hamilton, and if you do not stop them you will be overpowered in the woods before you reach home again! They ride north-east between Ben Bulben and Cashel-na-Gael.' Sir Frederick Hamilton called to him the five troopers who had first fired upon the monks and said, 'Mount quickly, and ride through the woods towards the mountain, and get before these men, and kill them.' In a moment the troopers were gone, and before many moments they had splashed across the river at what is now called Buckley's Ford, and plunged into the woods. They followed a beaten track that wound along the northern bank of the river. The boughs of the birch and quicken trees mingled above, and hid the cloudy moonlight, leaving the pathway in almost complete darkness. They rode at a rapid trot, now chatting together, now watching some stray weasel or rabbit scuttling away in the darkness. Gradually, as the gloom and silence of the woods oppressed them, they drew closer together, and began to talk rapidly; they were old comrades and knew each other's lives. One was married, and told how glad his wife would be to see him return safe from this harebrained expedition against the White Friars, and to hear how fortune had made amends for rashness. The oldest of the five, whose wife was dead, spoke of a flagon of wine which awaited him upon an upper shelf; while a third, who was the youngest, had a sweetheart watching for his return, and he rode a little way before the others, not talking at all. Suddenly the young man stopped, and they saw that his horse was trembling. 'I saw something,' he said, 'and yet I do not know but it may have been one of the shadows. It looked like a great worm with a silver crown upon his head.' One of the five put his hand up to his forehead as if about to cross himself, but remembering that he had changed his religion he put it down, and said: 'I am certain it was but a shadow, for there are a great many about us, and of very strange kinds.' Then they rode on in silence. It had been raining in the earlier part of the day, and the drops fell from the branches, wetting their hair and their shoulders. In a little they began to talk again. They had been in many battles against many a rebel together, and now told each other over again the story of their wounds, and so awakened in their hearts the strongest of all fellowships, the fellowship of the sword, and half forgot the terrible solitude of the woods. Suddenly the first two horses neighed, and then stood still, and would go no further. Before them was a glint of water, and they knew by the rushing sound that it was a river. They dismounted, and after much tugging and coaxing brought the horses to the river-side. In the midst of the water stood a tall old woman with grey hair flowing over a grey dress. She stood up to her knees in the water, and stooped from time to time as though washing. Presently they could see that she was washing something that half floated. The moon cast a flickering light upon it, and they saw that it was the dead body of a man, and, while they were looking at it, an eddy of the river turned the face towards them, and each of the five troopers recognised at the same moment his own face. While they stood dumb and motionless with horror, the woman began to speak, saying slowly and loudly: 'Did you see my son? He has a crown of silver on his head, and there are rubies in the crown.' Then the oldest of the troopers, he who had been most often wounded, drew his sword and cried: 'I have fought for the truth of my God, and need not fear the shadows of Satan,' and with that rushed into the water. In a moment he returned. The woman had vanished, and though he had thrust his sword into air and water he had found nothing. The five troopers remounted, and set their horses at the ford, but all to no purpose. They tried again and again, and went plunging hither and thither, the horses foaming and rearing. 'Let us,' said the old trooper, 'ride back a little into the wood, and strike the river higher up.' They rode in under the boughs, the ground-ivy crackling under the hoofs, and the branches striking against their steel caps. After about twenty minutes' riding they came out again upon the river, and after another ten minutes found a place where it was possible to cross without sinking below the stirrups. The wood upon the other side was very thin, and broke the moonlight into long streams. The wind had arisen, and had begun to drive the clouds rapidly across the face of the moon, so that thin streams of light seemed to be dancing a grotesque dance among the scattered bushes and small fir-trees. The tops of the trees began also to moan, and the sound of it was like the voice of the dead in the wind; and the troopers remembered the belief that tells how the dead in purgatory are spitted upon the points of the trees and upon the points of the rocks. They turned a little to the south, in the hope that they might strike the beaten path again, but they could find no trace of it. Meanwhile, the moaning grew louder and louder, and the dance of the white moon-fires more and more rapid. Gradually they began to be aware of a sound of distant music. It was the sound of a bagpipe, and they rode towards it with great joy. It came from the bottom of a deep, cup-like hollow. In the midst of the hollow was an old man with a red cap and withered face. He sat beside a fire of sticks, and had a burning torch thrust into the earth at his feet, and played an old bagpipe furiously. His red hair dripped over his face like the iron rust upon a rock. 'Did you see my wife?' he cried, looking up a moment; 'she was washing! she was washing!' 'I am afraid of him,' said the young trooper, 'I fear he is one of the Sidhe.' 'No,' said the old trooper, 'he is a man, for I can see the sun-freckles upon his face. We will compel him to be our guide'; and at that he drew his sword, and the others did the same. They stood in a ring round the piper, and pointed their swords at him, and the old trooper then told him that they must kill two rebels, who had taken the road between Ben Bulben and the great mountain spur that is called Cashel-na-Gael, and that he must get up before one of them and be their guide, for they had lost their way. The piper turned, and pointed to a neighbouring tree, and they saw an old white horse ready bitted, bridled, and saddled. He slung the pipe across his back, and, taking the torch in his hand, got upon the horse, and started off before them, as hard as he could go. The wood grew thinner and thinner, and the ground began to slope up toward the mountain. The moon had already set, and the little white flames of the stars had come out everywhere. The ground sloped more and more until at last they rode far above the woods upon the wide top of the mountain. The woods lay spread out mile after mile below, and away to the south shot up the red glare of the burning town. But before and above them were the little white flames. The guide drew rein suddenly, and pointing upwards with the hand that did not hold the torch, shrieked out, 'Look; look at the holy candles!' and then plunged forward at a gallop, waving the torch hither and thither. 'Do you hear the hoofs of the messengers?' cried the guide. 'Quick, quick! or they will be gone out of your hands!' and he laughed as with delight of the chase. The troopers thought they could hear far off, and as if below them, rattle of hoofs; but now the ground began to slope more and more, and the speed grew more headlong moment by moment. They tried to pull up, but in vain, for the horses seemed to have gone mad. The guide had thrown the reins on to the neck of the old white horse, and was waving his arms and singing a wild Gaelic song. Suddenly they saw the thin gleam of a river, at an immense distance below, and knew that they were upon the brink of the abyss that is now called Lug-na-Gael, or in English the Stranger's Leap. The six horses sprang forward, and five screams went up into the air, a moment later five men and horses fell with a dull crash upon the green slopes at the foot of the rocks. THE OLD MEN OF THE TWILIGHT. At the place, close to the Dead Man's Point, at the Rosses, where the disused pilot-house looks out to sea through two round windows like eyes, a mud cottage stood in the last century. It also was a watchhouse, for a certain old Michael Bruen, who had been a smuggler in his day, and was still the father and grandfather of smugglers, lived there, and when, after nightfall, a tall schooner crept over the bay from Roughley, it was his business to hang a horn lanthorn in the southern window, that the news might travel to Dorren's Island, and from thence, by another horn lanthorn, to the village of the Rosses. But for this glimmering of messages, he had little communion with mankind, for he was very old, and had no thought for anything but for the making of his soul, at the foot of the Spanish crucifix of carved oak that hung by his chimney, or bent double over the rosary of stone beads brought to him a cargo of silks and laces out of France. One night he had watched hour after hour, because a gentle and favourable wind was blowing, and _La Mere de Misericorde_ was much overdue; and he was about to lie down upon his heap of straw, seeing that the dawn was whitening the east, and that the schooner would not dare to round Roughley and come to an anchor after daybreak; when he saw a long line of herons flying slowly from Dorren's Island and towards the pools which lie, half choked with reeds, behind what is called the Second Rosses. He had never before seen herons flying over the sea, for they are shore-keeping birds, and partly because this had startled him out of his drowsiness, and more because the long delay of the schooner kept his cupboard empty, he took down his rusty shot-gun, of which the barrel was tied on with a piece of string, and followed them towards the pools. When he came close enough to hear the sighing of the rushes in the outermost pool, the morning was grey over the world, so that the tall rushes, the still waters, the vague clouds, the thin mists lying among the sand-heaps, seemed carved out of an enormous pearl. In a little he came upon the herons, of whom there were a great number, standing with lifted legs in the shallow water; and crouching down behind a bank of rushes, looked to the priming of his gun, and bent for a moment over his rosary to murmur: 'Patron Patrick, let me shoot a heron; made into a pie it will support me for nearly four days, for I no longer eat as in my youth. If you keep me from missing I will say a rosary to you every night until the pie is eaten.' Then he lay down, and, resting his gun upon a large stone, turned towards a heron which stood upon a bank of smooth grass over a little stream that flowed into the pool; for he feared to take the rheumatism by wading, as he would have to do if he shot one of those which stood in the water. But when he looked along the barrel the heron was gone, and, to his wonder and terror, a man of infinitely great age and infirmity stood in its place. He lowered the gun, and the heron stood there with bent head and motionless feathers, as though it had slept from the beginning of the world. He raised the gun, and no sooner did he look along the iron than that enemy of all enchantment brought the old man again before him, only to vanish when he lowered the gun for the second time. He laid the gun down, and crossed himself three times, and said a _Paternoster_ and an _Ave Maria_, and muttered half aloud: 'Some enemy of God and of my patron is standing upon the smooth place and fishing in the blessed water,' and then aimed very carefully and slowly. He fired, and when the smoke had gone saw an old man, huddled upon the grass and a long line of herons flying with clamour towards the sea. He went round a bend of the pool, and coming to the little stream looked down on a figure wrapped in faded clothes of black and green of an ancient pattern and spotted with blood. He shook his head at the sight of so great a wickedness. Suddenly the clothes moved and an arm was stretched upwards towards the rosary which hung about his neck, and long wasted fingers almost touched the cross. He started back, crying: 'Wizard, I will let no wicked thing touch my blessed beads'; and the sense of a The Old great danger just escaped made him tremble. 'If you listen to me,' replied a voice so faint that it was like a sigh, 'you will know that I am not a wizard, and you will let me kiss the cross before I die.' 'I will listen to you,' he answered, 'but I will not let you touch my blessed beads,' and sitting on the grass a little way from the dying man, he reloaded his gun and laid it across his knees and composed himself to listen. 'I know not how many generations ago we, who are now herons, were the men of learning of the King Leaghaire; we neither hunted, nor went to battle, nor listened to the Druids preaching, and even love, if it came to us at all, was but a passing fire. The Druids and the poets told us, many and many a time, of a new Druid Patrick; and most among them were fierce against him, while a few thought his doctrine merely the doctrine of the gods set out in new symbols, and were for giving him welcome; but we yawned in the midst of their tale. At last they came crying that he was coming to the king's house, and fell to their dispute, but we would listen to neither party, for we were busy with a dispute about the merits of the Great and of the Little Metre; nor were we disturbed when they passed our door with sticks of enchantment under their arms, travelling towards the forest to contend against his coming, nor when they returned after nightfall with torn robes and despairing cries; for the click of our knives writing our thoughts in Ogham filled us with peace and our dispute filled us with joy; nor even when in the morning crowds passed us to hear the strange Druid preaching the commandments of his god. The crowds passed, and one, who had laid down his knife to yawn and stretch himself, heard a voice speaking far off, and knew that the Druid Patrick was preaching within the king's house; but our hearts were deaf, and we carved and disputed and read, and laughed a thin laughter together. In a little we heard many feet coming towards the house, and presently two tall figures stood in the door, the one in white, the other in a crimson robe; like a great lily and a heavy poppy; and we knew the Druid Patrick and our King Leaghaire. We laid down the slender knives and bowed before the king, but when the black and green robes had ceased to rustle, it was not the loud rough voice of King Leaghaire that spoke to us, but a strange voice in which there was a rapture as of one speaking from behind a battlement of Druid flame: "I preached the commandments of the Maker of the world," it said; "within the king's house and from the centre of the earth to the windows of Heaven there was a great silence, so that the eagle floated with unmoving wings in the white air, and the fish with unmoving fins in the dim water, while the linnets and the wrens and the sparrows stilled there ever-trembling tongues in the heavy boughs, and the clouds were like white marble, and the rivers became their motionless mirrors, and the shrimps in the far-off sea-pools were still enduring eternity in patience, although it was hard." And as he named these things, it was like a king numbering his people. "But your slender knives went click, click! upon the oaken staves, and, all else being silent, the sound shook the angels with anger. O, little roots, nipped by the winter, who do not awake although the summer pass above you with innumerable feet. O, men who have no part in love, who have no part in song, who have no part in wisdom, but dwell with the shadows of memory where the feet of angels cannot touch you as they pass over your heads, where the hair of demons cannot sweep about you as they pass under your feet, I lay upon you a curse, and change you to an example for ever and ever; you shall become grey herons and stand pondering in grey pools and flit over the world in that hour when it is most full of sighs, having forgotten the flame of the stars and not yet found the flame of the sun; and you shall preach to the other herons until they also are like you, and are an example for ever and ever; and your deaths shall come to you by chance and unforeseen, that no fire of certainty may visit your hearts."' The voice of the old man of learning became still, but the voteen bent over his gun with his eyes upon the ground, trying in vain to understand something of this tale; and he had so bent, it may be for a long time, had not a tug at his rosary made him start out of his dream. The old man of learning had crawled along the grass, and was now trying to draw the cross down low enough for his lips to reach it. 'You must not touch my blessed beads, cried the voteen, and struck the long withered fingers with the barrel of his gun. He need not have trembled, for the old man fell back upon the grass with a sigh and was still. He bent down and began to consider the black and green clothes, for his fear had begun to pass away when he came to understand that he had something the man of learning wanted and pleaded for, and now that the blessed beads were safe, his fear had nearly all gone; and surely, he thought, if that big cloak, and that little tight-fitting cloak under it, were warm and without holes, Saint Patrick would take the enchantment out of them and leave them fit for human use. But the black and green clothes fell away wherever his fingers touched them, and while this was a new wonder, a slight wind blew over the pool and crumbled the old man of learning and all his ancient gear into a little heap of dust, and then made the little heap less and less until there was nothing but the smooth green grass. WHERE THERE IS NOTHING, THERE IS GOD. The little wicker houses at Tullagh, where the Brothers were accustomed to pray, or bend over many handicrafts, when twilight had driven them from the fields, were empty, for the hardness of the winter had brought the brotherhood together in the little wooden house under the shadow of the wooden chapel; and Abbot Malathgeneus, Brother Dove, Brother Bald Fox, Brother Peter, Brother Patrick, Brother Bittern, Brother Fair-Brows, and many too young to have won names in the great battle, sat about the fire with ruddy faces, one mending lines to lay in the river for eels, one fashioning a snare for birds, one mending the broken handle of a spade, one writing in a large book, and one shaping a jewelled box to hold the book; and among the rushes at their feet lay the scholars, who would one day be Brothers, and whose school-house it was, and for the succour of whose tender years the great fire was supposed to leap and flicker. One of these, a child of eight or nine years, called Olioll, lay upon his back looking up through the hole in the roof, through which the smoke went, and watching the stars appearing and disappearing in the smoke with mild eyes, like the eyes of a beast of the field. He turned presently to the Brother who wrote in the big book, and whose duty was to teach the children, and said, 'Brother Dove, to what are the stars fastened?' The Brother, rejoicing to see so much curiosity in the stupidest of his scholars, laid down the pen and said, 'There are nine crystalline spheres, and on the first the Moon is fastened, on the second the planet Mercury, on the third the planet Venus, on the fourth the Sun, on the fifth the planet Mars, on the sixth the planet Jupiter, on the seventh the planet Saturn; these are the wandering stars; and on the eighth are fastened the fixed stars; but the ninth sphere is a sphere of the substance on which the breath of God moved in the beginning.' 'What is beyond that?' said the child. 'There is nothing beyond that; there is God.' And then the child's eyes strayed to the jewelled box, where one great ruby was gleaming in the light of the fire, and he said, 'Why has Brother Peter put a great ruby on the side of the box?' 'The ruby is a symbol of the love of God.' 'Why is the ruby a symbol of the love of God?' 'Because it is red, like fire, and fire burns up everything, and where there is nothing, there is God.' The child sank into silence, but presently sat up and said, 'There is somebody outside.' 'No,' replied the Brother. 'It is only the wolves; I have heard them moving about in the snow for some time. They are growing very wild, now that the winter drives them from the mountains. They broke into a fold last night and carried off many sheep, and if we are not careful they will devour everything.' 'No, it is the footstep of a man, for it is heavy; but I can hear the footsteps of the wolves also.' He had no sooner done speaking than somebody rapped three times, but with no great loudness. 'I will go and open, for he must be very cold.' 'Do not open, for it may be a man-wolf, and he may devour us all.' But the boy had already drawn back the heavy wooden bolt, and all the faces, most of them a little pale, turned towards the slowly-opening door. 'He has beads and a cross, he cannot be a man-wolf,' said the child, as a man with the snow heavy on his long, ragged beard, and on the matted hair, that fell over his shoulders and nearly to his waist, and dropping from the tattered cloak that but half-covered his withered brown body, came in and looked from face to face with mild, ecstatic eyes. Standing some way from the fire, and with eyes that had rested at last upon the Abbot Malathgeneus, he cried out, 'O blessed abbot, let me come to the fire and warm myself and dry the snow from my beard and my hair and my cloak; that I may not die of the cold of the mountains, and anger the Lord with a wilful martyrdom.' 'Come to the fire,' said the abbot, 'and warm yourself, and eat the food the boy Olioll will bring you. It is sad indeed that any for whom Christ has died should be as poor as you.' The man sat over the fire, and Olioll took away his now dripping cloak and laid meat and bread and wine before him; but he would eat only of the bread, and he put away the wine, asking for water. When his beard and hair had begun to dry a little and his limbs had ceased to shiver with the cold, he spoke again. 'O blessed abbot, have pity on the poor, have pity on a beggar who has trodden the bare world this many a year, and give me some labour to do, the hardest there is, for I am the poorest of God's poor.' Then the Brothers discussed together what work they could put him to, and at first to little purpose, for there was no labour that had not found its labourer in that busy community; but at last one remembered that Brother Bald Fox, whose business it was to turn the great quern in the quern-house, for he was too stupid for anything else, was getting old for so heavy a labour; and so the beggar was put to the quern from the morrow. The cold passed away, and the spring grew to summer, and the quern was never idle, nor was it turned with grudging labour, for when any passed the beggar was heard singing as he drove the handle round. The last gloom, too, had passed from that happy community, for Olioll, who had always been stupid and unteachable, grew clever, and this was the more miraculous because it had come of a sudden. One day he had been even duller than usual, and was beaten and told to know his lesson better on the morrow or be sent into a lower class among little boys who would make a joke of him. He had gone out in tears, and when he came the next day, although his stupidity, born of a mind that would listen to every wandering sound and brood upon every wandering light, had so long been the byword of the school, he knew his lesson so well that he passed to the head of the class, and from that day was the best of scholars. At first Brother Dove thought this was an answer to his own prayers to the Virgin, and took it for a great proof of the love she bore him; but when many far more fervid prayers had failed to add a single wheatsheaf to the harvest, he began to think that the child was trafficking with bards, or druids, or witches, and resolved to follow and watch. He had told his thought to the abbot, who bid him come to him the moment he hit the truth; and the next day, which was a Sunday, he stood in the path when the abbot and the Brothers were coming from vespers, with their white habits upon them, and took the abbot by the habit and said, 'The beggar is of the greatest of saints and of the workers of miracle. I followed Olioll but now, and by his slow steps and his bent head I saw that the weariness of his stupidity was over him, and when he came to the little wood by the quern-house I knew by the path broken in the under-wood and by the footmarks in the muddy places that he had gone that way many times. I hid behind a bush where the path doubled upon itself at a sloping place, and understood by the tears in his eyes that his stupidity was too old and his wisdom too new to save him from terror of the rod. When he was in the quern-house I went to the window and looked in, and the birds came down and perched upon my head and my shoulders, for they are not timid in that holy place; and a wolf passed by, his right side shaking my habit, his left the leaves of a bush. Olioll opened his book and turned to the page I had told him to learn, and began to cry, and the beggar sat beside him and comforted him until he fell asleep. When his sleep was of the deepest the beggar knelt down and prayed aloud, and said, "O Thou Who dwellest beyond the stars, show forth Thy power as at the beginning, and let knowledge sent from Thee awaken in his mind, wherein is nothing from the world, that the nine orders of angels may glorify Thy name;" and then a light broke out of the air and wrapped Aodh, and I smelt the breath of roses. I stirred a little in my wonder, and the beggar turned and saw me, and, bending low, said, "O Brother Dove, if I have done wrong, forgive me, and I will do penance. It was my pity moved me;" but I was afraid and I ran away, and did not stop running until I came here.' Then all the Brothers began talking together, one saying it was such and such a saint, and one that it was not he but another; and one that it was none of these, for they were still in their brotherhoods, but that it was such and such a one; and the talk was as near to quarreling as might be in that gentle community, for each would claim so great a saint for his native province. At last the abbot said, 'He is none that you have named, for at Easter I had greeting from all, and each was in his brotherhood; but he is Aengus the Lover of God, and the first of those who have gone to live in the wild places and among the wild beasts. Ten years ago he felt the burden of many labours in a brotherhood under the Hill of Patrick and went into the forest that he might labour only with song to the Lord; but the fame of his holiness brought many thousands to his cell, so that a little pride clung to a soul from which all else had been driven. Nine years ago he dressed himself in rags, and from that day none has seen him, unless, indeed, it be true that he has been seen living among the wolves on the mountains and eating the grass of the fields. Let us go to him and bow down before him; for at last, after long seeking, he has found the nothing that is God; and bid him lead us in the pathway he has trodden.' They passed in their white habits along the beaten path in the wood, the acolytes swinging their censers before them, and the abbot, with his crozier studded with precious stones, in the midst of the incense; and came before the quern-house and knelt down and began to pray, awaiting the moment when the child would wake, and the Saint cease from his watch and come to look at the sun going down into the unknown darkness, as his way was. OF COSTELLO THE PROUD, OF OONA THE DAUGHTER OF DERMOTT, AND OF THE BITTER TONGUE. Costello had come up from the fields and lay upon the ground before the door of his square tower, resting his head upon his hands and looking at the sunset, and considering the chances of the weather. Though the customs of Elizabeth and James, now going out of fashion in England, had begun to prevail among the gentry, he still wore the great cloak of the native Irish; and the sensitive outlines of his face and the greatness of his indolent body had a commingling of pride and strength which belonged to a simpler age. His eyes wandered from the sunset to where the long white road lost itself over the south-western horizon and to a horseman who toiled slowly up the hill. A few more minutes and the horseman was near enough for his little and shapeless body, his long Irish cloak, and the dilapidated bagpipes hanging from his shoulders, and the rough-haired garron under him, to be seen distinctly in the grey dusk. So soon as he had come within earshot, he began crying: 'Is it sleeping you are, Tumaus Costello, when better men break their hearts on the great white roads? Get up out of that, proud Tumaus, for I have news! Get up out of that, you great omadhaun! Shake yourself out of the earth, you great weed of a man!' Costello had risen to his feet, and as the piper came up to him seized him by the neck of his jacket, and lifting him out of his saddle threw him on to the ground. 'Let me alone, let me alone,' said the other, but Costello still shook him. 'I have news from Dermott's daughter, Winny,' The great fingers were loosened, and the piper rose gasping. 'Why did you not tell me,' said Costello, that you came from her? You might have railed your fill.' 'I have come from her, but I will not speak unless I am paid for my shaking.' Costello fumbled at the bag in which he carried his money, and it was some time before it would open, for the hand that had overcome many men shook with fear and hope. 'Here is all the money in my bag,' he said, dropping a stream of French and Spanish money into the hand of the piper, who bit the coins before he would answer. 'That is right, that is a fair price, but I will not speak till I have good protection, for if the Dermotts lay their hands upon me in any boreen after sundown, or in Cool-a-vin by day, I will be left to rot among the nettles of a ditch, or hung on the great sycamore, where they hung the horse-thieves last Beltaine four years.' And while he spoke he tied the reins of his garron to a bar of rusty iron that was mortared into the wall. 'I will make you my piper and my bodyservant,' said Costello, 'and no man dare lay hands upon the man, or the goat, or the horse, or the dog that is Tumaus Costello's.' 'And I will only tell my message,' said the other, flinging the saddle on the ground, 'in the corner of the chimney with a noggin in my hand, and a jug of the Brew of the Little Pot beside me, for though I am ragged and empty, my forbears were well clothed and full until their house was burnt and their cattle harried seven centuries ago by the Dillons, whom I shall yet see on the hob of hell, and they screeching'; and while he spoke the little eyes gleamed and the thin hands clenched. Costello led him into the great rush-strewn hall, where were none of the comforts which had begun to grow common among the gentry, but a feudal gauntness and bareness, and pointed to the bench in the great chimney; and when he had sat down, filled up a horn noggin and set it on the bench beside him, and set a great black jack of leather beside the noggin, and lit a torch that slanted out from a ring in the wall, his hands trembling the while; and then turned towards him and said: 'Will Dermott's daughter come to me, Duallach, son of Daly?' 'Dermott's daughter will not come to you, for her father has set women to watch her, but she bid me tell you that this day sennight will be the eve of St. John and the night of her betrothal to Namara of the Lake, and she would have you there that, when they bid her drink to him she loves best, as the way is, she may drink to you, Tumaus Costello, and let all know where her heart is, and how little of gladness is in her marriage; and I myself bid you go with good men about you, for I saw the horse-thieves with my own eyes, and they dancing the "Blue Pigeon" in the air.' And then he held the now empty noggin towards Costello, his hand closing round it like the claw of a bird, and cried: 'Fill my noggin again, for I would the day had come when all the water in the world is to shrink into a periwinkle-shell, that I might drink nothing but Poteen.' Finding that Costello made no reply, but sat in a dream, he burst out: 'Fill my noggin, I tell you, for no Costello is so great in the world that he should not wait upon a Daly, even though the Daly travel the road with his pipes and the Costello have a bare hill, an empty house, a horse, a herd of goats, and a handful of cows.' 'Praise the Dalys if you will,' said Costello as he filled the noggin, 'for you have brought me a kind word from my love.' For the next few days Duallach went hither and thither trying to raise a bodyguard, and every man he met had some story of Costello, how he killed the wrestler when but a boy by so straining at the belt that went about them both that he broke the big wrestler's back; how when somewhat older he dragged fierce horses through a ford in the Unchion for a wager; how when he came to manhood he broke the steel horseshoe in Mayo; how he drove many men before him through Rushy Meadow at Drum-an-air because of a malevolent song they had about his poverty; and of many another deed of his strength and pride; but he could find none who would trust themselves with any so passionate and poor in a quarrel with careful and wealthy persons like Dermott of the Sheep and Namara of the Lake. Then Costello went out himself, and after listening to many excuses and in many places, brought in a big half-witted fellow, who followed him like a dog, a farm-labourer who worshipped him for his strength, a fat farmer whose forefathers had served his family, and a couple of lads who looked after his goats and cows; and marshalled them before the fire in the empty hall. They had brought with them their stout cudgels, and Costello gave them an old pistol apiece, and kept them all night drinking Spanish ale and shooting at a white turnip which he pinned against the wall with a skewer. Duallach of the pipes sat on the bench in the chimney playing 'The Green Bunch of Rushes', 'The Unchion Stream,' and 'The Princes of Breffeny' on his old pipes, and railing now at the appearance of the shooters, now at their clumsy shooting, and now at Costello because he had no better servants. The labourer, the half-witted fellow, the farmer and the lads were all well accustomed to Duallach's railing, for it was as inseparable from wake or wedding as the squealing of his pipes, but they wondered at the forbearance of Costello, who seldom came either to wake or wedding, and if he had would scarce have been patient with a scolding piper. On the next evening they set out for Cool-a-vin, Costello riding a tolerable horse and carrying a sword, the others upon rough-haired garrons, and with their stout cudgels under their arms. As they rode over the bogs and in the boreens among the hills they could see fire answering fire from hill to hill, from horizon to horizon, and everywhere groups who danced in the red light on the turf, celebrating the bridal of life and fire. When they came to Dermott's house they saw before the door an unusually large group of the very poor, dancing about a fire, in the midst of which was a blazing cartwheel, that circular dance which is so ancient that the gods, long dwindled to be but fairies, dance no other in their secret places. From the door and through the long loop-holes on either side came the pale light of candles and the sound of many feet dancing a dance of Elizabeth and James. They tied their horses to bushes, for the number so tied already showed that the stables were full, and shoved their way through a crowd of peasants who stood about the door, and went into the great hall where the dance was. The labourer, the half-witted fellow, the farmer and the two lads mixed with a group of servants who were looking on from an alcove, and Duallach sat with the pipers on their bench, but Costello made his way through the dancers to where Dermott of the Sheep stood with Namara of the Lake pouring Poteen out of a porcelain jug into horn noggins with silver rims. 'Tumaus Costello,' said the old man, 'you have done a good deed to forget what has been, and to fling away enmity and come to the betrothal of my daughter to Namara of the Lake.' 'I come,' answered Costello, 'because when in the time of Costello De Angalo my forbears overcame your forbears and afterwards made peace, a compact was made that a Costello might go with his body-servants and his piper to every feast given by a Dermott for ever, and a Dermott with his body-servants and his piper to every feast given by a Costello for ever.' 'If you come with evil thoughts and armed men,' said the son of Dermott flushing,' no matter how strong your hands to wrestle and to swing the sword, it shall go badly with you, for some of my wife's clan have come out of Mayo, and my three brothers and their servants have come down from the Ox Mountains'; and while he spoke he kept his hand inside his coat as though upon the handle of a weapon. 'No,' answered Costello, 'I but come to dance a farewell dance with your daughter.' Dermott drew his hand out of his coat and went over to a tall pale girl who was now standing but a little way off with her mild eyes fixed upon the ground. 'Costello has come to dance a farewell dance, for he knows that you will never see one another again.' The girl lifted her eyes and gazed at Costello, and in her gaze was that trust of the humble in the proud, the gentle in the violent, which has been the tragedy of woman from the beginning. Costello led her among the dancers, and they were soon drawn into the rhythm of the Pavane, that stately dance which, with the Saraband, the Gallead, and the Morrice dances, had driven out, among all but the most Irish of the gentry, the quicker rhythms of the verse-interwoven, pantomimic dances of earlier days; and while they danced there came over them the unutterable melancholy, the weariness with the world, the poignant and bitter pity for one another, the vague anger against common hopes and fears, which is the exultation of love. And when a dance ended and the pipers laid down their pipes and lifted their horn noggins, they stood a little from the others waiting pensively and silently for the dance to begin again and the fire in their hearts to leap up and to wrap them anew; and so they danced and danced Pavane and Saraband and Gallead and Morrice through the night long, and many stood still to watch them, and the peasants came about the door and peered in, as though they understood that they would gather their children's children about them long hence, and tell how they had seen Costello dance with Dermott's daughter Oona, and become by the telling themselves a portion of ancient romance; but through all the dancing and piping Namara of the Lake went hither and thither talking loudly and making foolish jokes that all might seem well with him, and old Dermott of the Sheep grew redder and redder, and looked oftener and oftener at the doorway to see if the candles there grew yellow in the dawn. At last he saw that the moment to end had come, and, in a pause after a dance, cried out from where the horn noggins stood that his daughter would now drink the cup of betrothal; then Oona came over to where he was, and the guests stood round in a half-circle, Costello close to the wall to the right, and the piper, the labourer, the farmer, the half-witted man and the two farm lads close behind him. The old man took out of a niche in the wall the silver cup from which her mother and her mother's mother had drunk the toasts of their betrothals, and poured Poteen out of a porcelain jug and handed the cup to his daughter with the customary words, 'Drink to him whom you love the best.' She held the cup to her lips for a moment, and then said in a clear soft voice: 'I drink to my true love, Tumaus Costello.' And then the cup rolled over and over on the ground, ringing like a bell, for the old man had struck her in the face and the cup had fallen, and there was a deep silence. There were many of Namara's people among the servants now come out of the alcove, and one of them, a story-teller and poet, a last remnant of the bardic order, who had a chair and a platter in Namara's kitchen, drew a French knife out of his girdle and made as though he would strike at Costello, but in a moment a blow had hurled him to the ground, his shoulder sending the cup rolling and ringing again. The click of steel had followed quickly, had not there come a muttering and shouting from the peasants about the door and from those crowding up behind them; and all knew that these were no children of Queen's Irish or friendly Namaras and Dermotts, but of the wild Irish about Lough Gara and Lough Cara, who rowed their skin coracles, and had masses of hair over their eyes, and left the right arms of their children unchristened that they might give the stouter blows, and swore only by St. Atty and sun and moon, and worshipped beauty and strength more than St. Atty or sun and moon. Costello's hand had rested upon the handle of his sword and his knuckles had grown white, but now he drew it away, and, followed by those who were with him, strode towards the door, the dancers giving way before him, the most angrily and slowly, and with glances at the muttering and shouting peasants, but some gladly and quickly, because the glory of his fame was over him. He passed through the fierce and friendly peasant faces, and came where his good horse and the rough-haired garrons were tied to bushes; and mounted and bade his ungainly bodyguard mount also and ride into the narrow boreen. When they had gone a little way, Duallach, who rode last, turned towards the house where a little group of Dermotts and Namaras stood next to a more numerous group of countrymen, and cried: 'Dermott, you deserve to be as you are this hour, a lantern without a candle, a purse without a penny, a sheep without wool, for your hand was ever niggardly to piper and fiddler and story-teller and to poor travelling people.' He had not done before the three old Dermotts from the Ox Mountains had run towards their horses, and old Dermott himself had caught the bridle of a garron of the Namaras and was calling to the others to follow him; and many blows and many deaths had been had not the countrymen caught up still glowing sticks from the ashes of the fires and hurled them among the horses with loud cries, making all plunge and rear, and some break from those who held them, the whites of their eyes gleaming in the dawn. For the next few weeks Costello had no lack of news of Oona, for now a woman selling eggs or fowls, and now a man or a woman on pilgrimage to the Well of the Rocks, would tell him how his love had fallen ill the day after St. John's Eve, and how she was a little better or a little worse, as it might be; and though he looked to his horses and his cows and goats as usual, the common and uncomely, the dust upon the roads, the songs of men returning from fairs and wakes, men playing cards in the corners of fields on Sundays and Saints' Days, the rumours of battles and changes in the great world, the deliberate purposes of those about him, troubled him with an inexplicable trouble; and the country people still remember how when night had fallen he would bid Duallach of the Pipes tell, to the chirping of the crickets, 'The Son of Apple,' 'The Beauty of the World,' 'The King of Ireland's Son,' or some other of those traditional tales which were as much a piper's business as 'The Green Bunch of Rushes,' 'The Unchion Stream,' or 'The Chiefs of Breffeny'; and while the boundless and phantasmal world of the legends was a-building, would abandon himself to the dreams of his sorrow. Duallach would often pause to tell how some clan of the wild Irish had descended from an incomparable King of the Blue Belt, or Warrior of the Ozier Wattle, or to tell with many curses how all the strangers and most of the Queen's Irish were the seed of the misshapen and horned People from Under the Sea or of the servile and creeping Ferbolg; but Costello cared only for the love sorrows, and no matter whither the stories wandered, whether to the Isle of the Red Lough, where the blessed are, or to the malign country of the Hag of the East, Oona alone endured their shadowy hardships; for it was she and no king's daughter of old who was hidden in the steel tower under the water with the folds of the Worm of Nine Eyes round and about her prison; and it was she who won by seven years of service the right to deliver from hell all she could carry, and carried away multitudes clinging with worn fingers to the hem of her dress; and it was she who endured dumbness for a year because of the little thorn of enchantment the fairies had thrust into her tongue; and it was a lock of her hair, coiled in a little carved box, which gave so great a light that men threshed by it from sundown to sunrise, and awoke so great a wonder that kings spent years in wandering or fell before unknown armies in seeking to discover her hiding-place; for there was no beauty in the world but hers, no tragedy in the world but hers: and when at last the voice of the piper, grown gentle with the wisdom of old romance, was silent, and his rheumatic steps had toiled upstairs and to bed, and Costello had dipped his fingers into the little delf font of holy water and begun to pray to Mary of the Seven Sorrows, the blue eyes and star-covered dress of the painting in the chapel faded from his imagination, and the brown eyes and homespun dress of Dermott's daughter Winny came in their stead; for there was no tenderness in the passion who keep their hearts pure for love or for hatred as other men for God, for Mary and for the Saints, and who, when the hour of their visitation arrives, come to the Divine Essence by the bitter tumult, the Garden of Gethsemane, and the desolate Rood ordained for immortal passions in mortal hearts. One day a serving-man rode up to Costello, who was helping his two lads to reap a meadow, and gave him a letter, and rode away without a word; and the letter contained these words in English: 'Tumaus Costello, my daughter is very ill. The wise woman from Knock-na-Sidhe has seen her, and says she will die unless you come to her. I therefore bid you come to her whose peace you stole by treachery.-DERMOTT, THE SON OF DERMOTT.' Costello threw down his scythe, and sent one of the lads for Duallach, who had become woven into his mind with Oona, and himself saddled his great horse and Duallach's garron. When they came to Dermott's house it was late afternoon, and Lough Gara lay down below them, blue, mirror-like, and deserted; and though they had seen, when at a distance, dark figures moving about the door, the house appeared not less deserted than the Lough. The door stood half open, and Costello knocked upon it again and again, so that a number of lake gulls flew up out of the grass and circled screaming over his head, but there was no answer. 'There is no one here,' said Duallach, 'for Dermott of the Sheep is too proud to welcome Costello the Proud,' and he threw the door open, and they saw a ragged, dirty, very old woman, who sat upon the floor leaning against the wall. Costello knew that it was Bridget Delaney, a deaf and dumb beggar; and she, when she saw him, stood up and made a sign to him to follow, and led him and his companion up a stair and down a long corridor to a closed door. She pushed the door open and went a little way off and sat down as before; Duallach sat upon the ground also, but close to the door, and Costello went and gazed upon Winny sleeping upon a bed. He sat upon a chair beside her and waited, and a long time passed and still she slept on, and then Duallach motioned to him through the door to wake her, but he hushed his very breath, that she might sleep on, for his heart was full of that ungovernable pity which makes the fading heart of the lover a shadow of the divine heart. Presently he turned to Duallach and said: 'It is not right that I stay here where there are none of her kindred, for the common people are always ready to blame the beautiful.' And then they went down and stood at the door of the house and waited, but the evening wore on and no one came. 'It was a foolish man that called you Proud Costello,' Duallach cried at last; 'had he seen you waiting and waiting where they left none but a beggar to welcome you, it is Humble Costello he would have called you.' Then Costello mounted and Duallach mounted, but when they had ridden a little way Costello tightened the reins and made his horse stand still. Many minutes passed, and then Duallach cried: 'It is no wonder that you fear to offend Dermott of the Sheep, for he has many brothers and friends, and though he is old, he is a strong man and ready with his hands, and he is of the Queen's Irish, and the enemies of the Gael are upon his side.' And Costello answered flushing and looking towards the house: 'I swear by the Mother of God that I will never return there again if they do not send after me before I pass the ford in the Brown River,' and he rode on, but so very slowly that the sun went down and the bats began to fly over the bogs. When he came to the river he lingered awhile upon the bank among the flowers of the flag, but presently rode out into the middle and stopped his horse in a foaming shallow. Duallach, however, crossed over and waited on a further bank above a deeper place. After a good while Duallach cried out again, and this time very bitterly: 'It was a fool who begot you and a fool who bore you, and they are fools of all fools who say you come of an old and noble stock, for you come of whey-faced beggars who travelled from door to door, bowing to gentles and to serving-men. With bent head, Costello rode through the river and stood beside him, and would have spoken had not hoofs clattered on the further bank and a horseman splashed towards them. It was a serving-man of Dermott's, and he said, speaking breathlessly like one who had ridden hard: 'Tumaus Costello, I come to bid you again to Dermott's house. When you had gone, his daughter Winny awoke and called your name, for you had been in her dreams. Bridget Delaney the Dummy saw her lips move and the trouble upon her, and came where we were hiding in the wood above the house and took Dermott of the Sheep by the coat and brought him to his daughter. He saw the trouble upon her, and bid me ride his own horse to bring you the quicker.' Then Costello turned towards the piper Duallach Daly, and taking him about the waist lifted him out of the saddle and hurled him against a grey rock that rose up out of the river, so that he fell lifeless into the deep place, and the waters swept over the tongue which God had made bitter, that there might be a story in men's ears in after time. Then plunging his spurs into the horse, he rode away furiously toward the north-west, along the edge of the river, and did not pause until he came to another and smoother ford, and saw the rising moon mirrored in the water. He paused for a moment irresolute, and then rode into the ford and on over the Ox Mountains, and down towards the sea; his eyes almost continually resting upon the moon which glimmered in the dimness like a great white rose hung on the lattice of some boundless and phantasmal world. But now his horse, long dark with sweat and breathing hard, for he kept spurring it to an extreme speed, fell heavily, hurling him into the grass at the roadside. He tried to make it stand up, and failing in this, went on alone towards the moonlight; and came to the sea and saw a schooner lying there at anchor. Now that he could go no further because of the sea, he found that he was very tired and the night very cold, and went into a shebeen close to the shore and threw himself down upon a bench. The room was full of Spanish and Irish sailors who had just smuggled a cargo of wine and ale, and were waiting a favourable wind to set out again. A Spaniard offered him a drink in bad Gaelic. He drank it greedily and began talking wildly and rapidly. For some three weeks the wind blew inshore or with too great violence, and the sailors stayed drinking and talking and playing cards, and Costello stayed with them, sleeping upon a bench in the shebeen, and drinking and talking and playing more than any. He soon lost what little money he had, and then his horse, which some one had brought from the mountain boreen, to a Spaniard, who sold it to a farmer from the mountains, and then his long cloak and his spurs and his boots of soft leather. At last a gentle wind blew towards Spain, and the crew rowed out to their schooner, singing Gaelic and Spanish songs, and lifted the anchor, and in a little while the white sails had dropped under the horizon. Then Costello turned homeward, his life gaping before him, and walked all day, coming in the early evening to the road that went from near Lough Gara to the southern edge of Lough Cay. Here he overtook a great crowd of peasants and farmers, who were walking very slowly after two priests and a group of well-dressed persons, certain of whom were carrying a coffin. He stopped an old man and asked whose burying it was and whose people they were, and the old man answered: 'It is the burying of Oona, Dermott's daughter, and we are the Namaras and the Dermotts and their following, and you are Tumaus Costello who murdered her.' Costello went on towards the head of the procession, passing men who looked at him with fierce eyes and only vaguely understanding what he had heard, for now that he had lost the understanding that belongs to good health, it seemed impossible that a gentleness and a beauty which had been so long the world's heart could pass away. Presently he stopped and asked again whose burying it was, and a man answered: 'We are carrying Dermott's daughter Winny whom you murdered, to be buried in the island of the Holy Trinity,' and the man stooped and picked up a stone and cast it at Costello, striking him on the cheek and making the blood flow out over his face. Costello went on scarcely feeling the blow, and coming to those about the coffin, shouldered his way into the midst of them, and laying his hand upon the coffin, asked in a loud voice: 'Who is in this coffin?' The three Old Dermotts from the Ox Mountains caught up stones and bid those about them do the same; and he was driven from the road, covered with wounds, and but for the priests would surely have been killed. When the procession had passed on, Costello began to follow again, and saw from a distance the coffin laid upon a large boat, and those about it get into other boats, and the boats move slowly over the water to Insula Trinitatis; and after a time he saw the boats return and their passengers mingle with the crowd upon the bank, and all disperse by many roads and boreens. It seemed to him that Winny was somewhere on the island smiling gently as of old, and when all had gone he swam in the way the boats had been rowed and found the new-made grave beside the ruined Abbey of the Holy Trinity, and threw himself upon it, calling to Oona to come to him. Above him the square ivy leaves trembled, and all about him white moths moved over white flowers, and sweet odours drifted through the dim air. He lay there all that night and through the day after, from time to time calling her to come to him, but when the third night came he had forgotten, worn out with hunger and sorrow, that her body lay in the earth beneath; but only knew she was somewhere near and would not come to him. Just before dawn, the hour when the peasants hear his ghostly voice crying out, his pride awoke and he called loudly: 'Winny, daughter of Dermott of the Sheep, if you do not come to me I will go and never return to the island of the Holy Trinity,' and before his voice had died away a cold and whirling wind had swept over the island and he saw many figures rushing past, women of the Sidhe with crowns of silver and dim floating drapery; and then Oona, but no longer smiling gently, for she passed him swiftly and angrily, and as she passed struck him upon the face crying: 'Then go and never return.' He would have followed, and was calling out her name, when the whole glimmering company rose up into the air, and, rushing together in the shape of a great silvery rose, faded into the ashen dawn. Costello got up from the grave, understanding nothing but that he had made his beloved angry and that she wished him to go, and wading out into the lake, began to swim. He swam on and on, but his limbs were too weary to keep him afloat, and her anger was heavy about him, and when he had gone a little way he sank without a struggle, like a man passing into sleep and dreams. The next day a poor fisherman found him among the reeds upon the lake shore, lying upon the white lake sand with his arms flung out as though he lay upon a rood, and carried him to his own house. And the very poor lamented over him and sang the keen, and when the time had come, laid him in the Abbey on Insula Trinitatis with only the ruined altar between him and Dermott's daughter, and planted above them two ash-trees that in after days wove their branches together and mingled their trembling leaves. 
19973	----	Transcribed from the 1902 Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org THE MABINOGION TRANSLATED FROM THE RED BOOK OF HERGEST BY LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST VOL. II. LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN 11 PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS. MXCII {The salmon of Llyn Llyw. "And they heard a great wailing and lamenting from the dungeon.": p0.jpg} INTRODUCTION. In this second volume, as in the first, I have given Lady Charlotte Guest's translation exactly as she wrote it. It would have been easy to make it a more faithful reproduction of the Welsh by occasionally changing a word, or by making a phrase more simple in diction. But the reader would not have forgiven me for placing before him a translation that was not Lady Charlotte Guest's. I have again ventured, however, after a careful comparison of the translation with the original, to put in the form of footnotes a more accurate or more literal rendering of passages which Lady Charlotte Guest did not read aright, passages which she has omitted, and passages the real meaning of which she seems to me to have failed to grasp. The first two tales in this volume make up, with "The Dream of Rhonabwy," the second volume of the original edition. "The Dream of Rhonabwy" was placed in my first volume, with "The Lady of the Fountain" and "Peredur"--the two tales that form the first volume of the original edition. The oldest of the tales--the Mabinogion proper--will all be included in the third volume. OWEN EDWARDS. LLANUWCHLLYN, _June_ 1902. GERAINT THE SON OF ERBIN. {Picture: p7.jpg} Arthur was accustomed to hold his Court at Caerlleon upon Usk. And there he held it seven Easters, {7a} and five Christmases. And once upon a time he held his Court there at Whitsuntide. For Caerlleon was the place most easy of access in his dominions, both by sea and by land. And there were assembled {7b} nine crowned kings, who were his tributaries, and likewise earls and barons. For they were his invited guests at all the high festivals, unless they were prevented by any great hindrance. And when he was at Caerlleon, holding his Court, thirteen churches were set apart for mass. And thus were they appointed: one church for Arthur, and his kings, and his guests; and the second for Gwenhwyvar and her ladies; and the third for the Steward of the Household and the Suitors; and the fourth for the Franks, and the other officers; and the other nine churches were for the nine Masters of the Household, and chiefly for Gwalchmai; for he, from the eminence of his warlike fame, and from the nobleness of his birth, was the most exalted of the nine. And there was no other arrangement respecting the churches than that which we have mentioned above. Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr was the chief porter; but he did not himself perform the office, except at one of the three high festivals, for he had seven men to serve him; and they divided the year amongst them. They were Grynn, and Pen Pighon, and Llaes Cymyn, and Gogyfwlch, and Gwrdnei with Cat's eyes, who could see as well by night as by day, and Drem the son of Dremhitid, and Clust the son of Clustveinyd; and these were Arthur's guards. And on Whit Tuesday, as the King sat at the banquet, lo! there entered a tall, fair-headed youth, clad in a coat and a surcoat of diapred satin, and a golden-hilted sword about his neck, and low shoes of leather upon his feet. And he came, and stood before Arthur. "Hail to thee, Lord!" said he. "Heaven prosper thee," he answered, "and be thou welcome. Dost thou bring any new tidings?" "I do, Lord," he said. "I know thee not," said Arthur. "It is a marvel to me that thou dost not know me. I am one of thy foresters, Lord, in the Forest of Dean, and my name is Madawc, the son of Twrgadarn." "Tell me thine errand," said Arthur. "I will do so, Lord," said he. "In the Forest I saw a stag, the like of which beheld I never yet." "What is there about him," asked Arthur, "that thou never yet didst see his like?" "He is of pure white, Lord, and he does not herd with any other animal through stateliness and pride, so royal is his bearing. And I come to seek thy counsel, Lord, and to know thy will concerning him." "It seems best to me," said Arthur, "to go and hunt him to-morrow at break of day; and to cause general notice thereof to be given to-night in all quarters of the Court." And Arryfuerys was Arthur's chief huntsman, and Arelivri was his chief page. And all received notice; and thus it was arranged. And they sent the youth before them. Then Gwenhwyvar said to Arthur, "Wilt thou permit me, Lord," said she, "to go to-morrow to see and hear the hunt of the stag of which the young man spoke?" "I will, gladly," said Arthur. "Then will I go," said she. And Gwalchmai said to Arthur, "Lord, if it seem well to thee, permit that into whose hunt soever the stag shall come, that one, be he a knight or one on foot, may cut off his head, and give it to whom he pleases, whether to his own ladylove, or to the lady of his friend." "I grant it gladly," said Arthur, "and let the Steward of the Household be chastised if all are not ready to-morrow for the chase." And they passed the night with songs, and diversions, and discourse, and ample entertainment. And when it was time for them all to go to sleep, they went. And when the next day came, they arose; and Arthur called the attendants, who guarded his couch. And these were four pages, whose names were Cadyrnerth the son of Porthawr Gandwy, and Ambreu the son of Bedwor, and Amhar, the son of Arthur, and Goreu the son of Custennin. And these men came to Arthur, and saluted him, and arrayed him in his garments. And Arthur wondered that Gwenhwyvar did not awake, and did not move in her bed: and the attendants wished to awaken her. "Disturb her not," said Arthur, "for she had rather sleep than go to see the hunting." Then Arthur went forth, and he heard two horns sounding, one from near the lodging of the chief huntsman, and the other from near that of the chief page. And the whole assembly of the multitudes came to Arthur, and they took the road to the Forest. And after Arthur had gone forth from the palace, Gwenhwyvar awoke, and called to her maidens, and apparelled herself. "Maidens," said she, "I had leave last night to go and see the hunt. Go one of you to the stable, and order hither a horse such as a woman may ride." And one of them went, and she found but two horses in the stable, and Gwenhwyvar and one of her maidens mounted them, and went through the Usk, and followed the track of the men and the horses. And as they rode thus, they heard a loud and rushing sound; and they looked behind them, and beheld a knight upon a {10} hunter foal of mighty size; and the rider was a fair haired youth, bare-legged, and of princely mien, and a golden-hilted sword was at his side, and a robe and a surcoat of satin were upon him, and two low shoes of leather upon his feet; and around him was a scarf of blue purple, at each corner of which was a golden apple. And his horse stepped stately, and swift, and proud; and he overtook Gwenhwyvar, and saluted her. "Heaven prosper thee, Geraint," said she, "I knew thee when first I saw thee just now. And the welcome of heaven be unto thee. And why didst thou not go with thy Lord to hunt?" "Because I knew not when he went," said he. "I marvel too," said she, "how he could go unknown to me." "Indeed, lady," said he. "I was fast asleep, and knew not when he went; but thou, O young man, art the most agreeable companion I could have in the whole kingdom; and it may be that I shall be more amused with the hunting than they; {11} for we shall hear the horns when they sound, and we shall hear the dogs when they are let loose, and begin to cry." So they went to the edge of the Forest, and there they stood. "From this place," said she, "we shall hear when the dogs are let loose." And thereupon they heard a loud noise, and they looked towards the spot whence it came, and they beheld a dwarf riding upon a horse, stately, and foaming, and prancing, and strong, and spirited. And in the hand of the dwarf was a whip. And near the dwarf they saw a lady upon a beautiful white horse, of steady and stately pace; and she was clothed in a garment of gold brocade. And near her was a knight upon a war-horse of large size, with heavy and bright armour both upon himself and upon his horse. And truly they never before saw a knight, or a horse, or armour, of such remarkable size. And they were all near to each other. "Geraint," said Gwenhwyvar, "knowest thou the name of that tall knight yonder?" "I know him not," said he, "and the strange armour that he wears prevents my either seeing his face or his features." "Go, maiden," said Gwenhwyvar, "and ask the dwarf who that knight is." Then the maiden went up to the dwarf; and the dwarf waited for the maiden, when he saw her coming towards him. And the maiden enquired of the dwarf who the knight was. "I will not tell thee," he answered. "Since thou art so churlish as not to tell me," said she, "I will ask him himself." "Thou shall not ask him, by my faith," said he. "Wherefore?" said she. "Because thou art not of honour sufficient to befit thee to speak to my Lord." Then the maiden turned her horse's head towards the knight, upon which the dwarf struck her with the whip that was in his hand across the face and the eyes, until the blood flowed forth. And the maiden, through the hurt she received from the blow, returned to Gwenhwyvar, complaining of the pain. "Very rudely has the dwarf treated thee," said Geraint. "I will go myself to know who the knight is." "Go," said Gwenhwyvar. And Geraint went up to the dwarf. "Who is yonder knight?" said Geraint. "I will not tell thee," said the dwarf. "Then will I ask him himself," said he. "That wilt thou not, by my faith," said the dwarf; "thou art not honourable enough to speak with my Lord." Said Geraint, "I have spoken with men of equal rank with him." And he turned his horse's head towards the knight, but the dwarf overtook him and struck him as he had done the maiden, so that the blood coloured the scarf that Geraint wore. Then Geraint put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, but he took counsel with himself, and considered that it would be no vengeance for him to slay the dwarf, and to be attacked unarmed by the armed knight, so he returned to where Gwenhwyvar was. "Thou hast acted wisely and discreetly," said she. "Lady," said he, "I will follow him yet, with thy permission; and at last he will come to some inhabited place, where I may have arms either as a loan or for a pledge, so that I may encounter the knight." "Go," said she, "and do not attack him until thou hast good arms, and I shall be very anxious concerning thee, until I hear tidings of thee." "If I am alive," said he, "thou shall hear tidings of me by to-morrow afternoon;" and with that he departed. And the road they took was below the palace of Caerlleon, and across the ford of the Usk; and they went along a fair, and even, and lofty ridge of ground, until they came to a town, and at the extremity of the town they saw a Fortress and a Castle. And they came to the extremity of the town. And as the knight passed through it, all the people arose, and saluted him, and bade him welcome. And when Geraint came into the town, he looked at every house, to see if he knew any of those whom he saw. But he knew none, and none knew him to do him the kindness to let him have arms either as a loan or for a pledge. And every house he saw was full of men, and arms, and horses. And they were polishing shields, and burnishing swords, and washing armour, and shoeing horses. And the knight, and the lady, and the dwarf, rode up to the Castle that was in the town, and every one was glad in the Castle. And from the battlements and the gates they risked their necks, through their eagerness to greet them, and to show their joy. Geraint stood there to see whether the knight would remain in the Castle; and when he was certain that he would do so, he looked around him; and at a little distance from the town he saw an old palace in ruins, wherein was a hall that was falling to decay. And as he knew not any one in the town, he went towards the old palace; and when he came near to the palace, he saw but one chamber, and a bridge of marble-stone leading to it. And upon the bridge he saw sitting a hoary-headed man, upon whom were tattered garments. And Geraint gazed steadfastly upon him for a long time. Then the hoary-headed man spoke to him. "Young man," he said, "wherefore art thou thoughtful?" "I am thoughtful," said he, "because I know not where to go to-night." "Wilt thou come forward this way, chieftain?" said he, "and thou shalt have of the best that can be procured for thee." So Geraint went forward. And the hoary-headed man preceded him into the hall. And in the hall he dismounted, and he left there his horse. Then he went on to the upper chamber with the hoary- headed man. And in the chamber he beheld an old decrepit woman, sitting on a cushion, with old tattered garments of satin upon her; and it seemed to him that he had never seen a woman fairer than she must have been when in the fulness of youth. And beside her was a maiden, upon whom were a vest and a veil, that were old, and beginning to be worn out. And truly he never saw a maiden more full of comeliness, and grace, and beauty, than she. And the hoary-headed man said to the maiden, "There is no attendant for the horse of this youth but thyself." "I will render the best service I am able," said she, "both to him and to his horse." And the maiden disarrayed the youth, and then she furnished his horse with straw and with corn. And she went to the hall as before, and then she returned to the chamber. And the hoary-headed man said to the maiden, "Go to the town," said he, "and bring hither the best that thou canst find both of food and of liquor." "I will, gladly, Lord," said she. And to the town went the maiden. And they conversed together, while the maiden was at the town. And, behold! the maiden came back, and a youth with her, bearing on his back a costrel full of good purchased mead and a quarter of a young bullock. And in the hands of the maiden was a quantity of white bread, and she had some manchet bread in her veil, and she came into the chamber. "I could not obtain better than this," said she, "nor with better should I have been trusted." "It is good enough," said Geraint. And they caused the meat to be boiled; and when their food was ready, they sat down. And it was in this wise; Geraint sat between the hoary-headed man and his wife, and the maiden served them. And they ate and drank. And when they had finished eating, Geraint talked with the hoary-headed man, and he asked him in the first place, to whom belonged the Palace that he was in. "Truly," said he, "it was I that built it, and to me also belonged the city and the castle which thou sawest." "Alas!" said Geraint, "how is it that thou hast lost them now?" "I lost a great Earldom as well as these," said he, "and this is how I lost them. I had a nephew, the son of my brother, and I took his possessions to myself; and when he came to his strength, he demanded of me his property, but I withheld it from him. So he made war upon me, and wrested from me all that I possessed." "Good, Sir," {15} said Geraint, "wilt thou tell me wherefore came the knight, and the lady, and the dwarf, just now into the town, and what is the preparation which I saw, and the putting of arms in order." "I will do so," said he. "The preparations are for the game that is to be held to-morrow by the young Earl, which will be on this wise. In the midst of a meadow which is here, two forks will be set up, and upon the two forks a silver rod, and upon the silver rod a Sparrow- Hawk, and for the Sparrow-Hawk there will be a tournament. And to the tournament will go all the array thou didst see in the city, of men, and of horses, and of arms. And with each man will go the lady he loves best; and no man can joust for the Sparrow-Hawk, except the lady he loves best be with him. And the knight that thou sawest has gained the Sparrow- Hawk these two years; and if he gains it the third year, they will, from that time, send it every year to him, and he himself will come here no more. And he will be called the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk from that time forth." "Sir," said Geraint, "what is thy counsel to me concerning this knight, on account of the insult which I received from the dwarf, and that which was received by the maiden of Gwenhwyvar, the wife of Arthur?" And Geraint told the hoary-headed man what the insult was that he had received. "It is not easy to counsel thee, inasmuch as thou hast neither dame nor maiden belonging to thee, for whom thou canst joust. Yet, I have arms here, which thou couldest have; and there is my horse also, if he seem to thee better than thine own." "Ah! Sir," said he, "Heaven reward thee. But my own horse, to which I am accustomed, together with thine arms, will suffice me. And if, when the appointed time shall come to-morrow, thou wilt permit me, Sir, to challenge for yonder maiden that is thy daughter, I will engage, if I escape from the tournament, to love the maiden as long as I live, and if I do not escape, she will remain unsullied as before." "Gladly will I permit thee," said the hoary-headed man, "and since thou dost thus resolve, it is necessary that thy horse and arms should be ready to-morrow at break of day. For then, the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk will make proclamation, and ask the lady he loves best to take the Sparrow-Hawk. 'For,' will he say to her, 'thou art the fairest of women, and thou didst possess it last year, and the year previous; and if any deny it thee to-day, by force will I defend it for thee.' And therefore," said the hoary-headed man, "it is needful for thee to be there at daybreak; and we three will be with thee," and thus was it settled. And at night, lo! {17} they went to sleep; and before the dawn they arose, and arrayed themselves; and by the time that it was day, they were all four in the meadow. And there was the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk making the proclamation, and asking his ladylove to fetch the Sparrow- Hawk. "Fetch it not," said Geraint, "for there is here a maiden, who is fairer, and more noble, and more comely, and who has a better claim to it than thou." "If thou maintainest the Sparrow-Hawk to be due to her, come forward, and do battle with me." And Geraint went forward to the top of the meadow, having upon himself and upon his horse armour which was heavy, and rusty, and worthless, and of uncouth shape. Then they encountered each other, and they broke a set of lances, and they broke a second set, and a third. And thus they did at every onset, and they broke as many lances as were brought to them. And when the Earl and his company saw the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk gaining the mastery, there was shouting, and joy, and mirth amongst them. And the hoary-headed man, and his wife, and his daughter, were sorrowful. And the hoary-headed man served Geraint lances as often as he broke them, and the dwarf served the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk. Then the hoary-headed man came to Geraint. "Oh! chieftain," said he, "since no other will hold with thee, behold, here is the lance which was in my hand on the day when I received the honour of knighthood; and from that time to this I never broke it. And it has an excellent point." Then Geraint took the lance, thanking the hoary-headed man. And thereupon the dwarf also brought a lance to his lord. "Behold here is a lance for thee, not less good than his," said the dwarf. "And bethink thee, that no knight ever withstood thee before so long as this one has done." "I declare to Heaven," said Geraint, "that unless death takes me quickly hence, he shall fare never the better for thy service." And Geraint pricked his horse towards him from afar, and warning him, he rushed upon him, and gave him a blow so severe, and furious, and fierce, upon the face of his shield, that he cleft it in two, and broke his armour, and burst his girths, so that both he and his saddle were borne to the ground over the horse's crupper. And Geraint dismounted quickly. And he was wroth, and he drew his sword, and rushed fiercely upon him. Then the knight also arose, and drew his sword against Geraint. And they fought on foot with their swords until their aims struck sparks of fire like stars from one another; and thus they continued fighting until the blood and sweat obscured the light from their eyes. And when Geraint prevailed, the hoary-headed man, and his wife, and his daughter were glad; and when the knight prevailed, it rejoiced the Earl and his party. Then the hoary-headed man saw Geraint receive a severe stroke, and he went up to him quickly, and said to him, "Oh, chieftain, remember the treatment which thou hadst from the dwarf; and wilt thou not seek vengeance for the insult to thyself, and for the insult to Gwenhwyvar the wife of Arthur!" And Geraint was roused by what he said to him, {19} and he called to him all his strength, and lifted up his sword, and struck the knight upon the crown of his head, so that he broke all his head armour, and cut through all the flesh and the skin, even to the skull, until he wounded the bone. {Picture: p18.jpg} Then the knight fell upon his knees, and cast his sword from his hand, and besought mercy of Geraint. "Of a truth," said he, "I relinquish my overdaring and my pride in craving thy mercy; and unless I have time to commit myself to Heaven for my sins, and to talk with a priest, thy mercy will avail me little." "I will grant thee grace upon this condition," said Geraint, "that thou wilt go to Gwenhwyvar, the wife of Arthur, to do her satisfaction for the insult which her maiden received from thy dwarf. As to myself, for the insult which I received from thee and thy dwarf, I am content with that which I have done unto thee. Dismount not from the time thou goest hence until thou comest into the presence of Gwenhwyvar, to make her what atonement shall be adjudged at the Court of Arthur." "This will I do gladly. And who art thou?" said he. "I am Geraint the son of Erbin. And declare thou also who thou art." "I am Edeyrn the son of Nudd." Then he threw himself upon his horse, and went forward to Arthur's Court, and the lady he loved best went before him and the dwarf, with much lamentation. And thus far this story up to that time. * * * * * Then came the little Earl and his hosts to Geraint, and saluted him, and bade him to his castle. "I may not go," said Geraint, "but where I was last night, there will I be to-night also." "Since thou wilt none of my inviting, thou shall have abundance of all that I can command for thee, in the place thou wast last night. And I will order ointment for thee, to recover thee from thy fatigues, and from the weariness that is upon thee." "Heaven reward thee," said Geraint, "and I will go to my lodging." And thus went Geraint, and Earl Ynywl, and his wife, and his daughter. And when they reached the chamber, the household servants and attendants of the young Earl had arrived at the Court, and they arranged all the houses, dressing them with straw and with fire; and in a short time the ointment was ready, and Geraint came there, and they washed his head. Then came the young Earl, with forty honourable knights from among his attendants, and those who were bidden to the tournament. And Geraint came from the anointing. And the Earl asked him to go to the hall to eat. "Where is the Earl Ynywl," said Geraint, "and his wife, and his daughter?" "They are in the chamber yonder," said the Earl's chamberlain, "arraying themselves in garments which the Earl has caused to be brought for them." "Let not the damsel array herself," said he, "except in her vest and her veil, until she come to the Court of Arthur, to be clad by Gwenhwyvar, in such garments as she may choose." So the maiden did not array herself. Then they all entered the hall, and they washed, and went, and sat down to meat. And thus were they seated. On one side of Geraint sat the young Earl, and Earl Ynywl beyond him; and on the other side of Geraint was the maiden and her mother. And after these all sat according to their precedence in honour. And they ate. And they were served abundantly, and they received a profusion of divers kind of gifts. Then they conversed together. And the young Earl invited Geraint to visit him next day. "I will not, by Heaven," said Geraint. "To the Court of Arthur will I go with this maiden to-morrow. And it is enough for me, as long as Earl Ynywl is in poverty and trouble; and I go chiefly to seek to add to his maintenance." "Ah, chieftain," said the young Earl, "it is not by my fault that Earl Ynywl is without his possessions." "By my faith," said Geraint, "he shall not remain without them, unless death quickly takes me hence." "Oh, chieftain," said he, "with regard to the disagreement between me and Ynywl, I will gladly abide by thy counsel, and agree to what thou mayest judge right between us." {22} "I but ask thee," said Geraint, "to restore to him what is his, and what he should have received from the time he lost his possessions, even until this day." "That will I do gladly, for thee," answered he. "Then," said Geraint, "whosoever is here who owes homage to Ynywl, let him come forward, and perform it on the spot." And all the men did so. And by that treaty they abided. And his castle, and his town, and all his possessions, were restored to Ynywl. And he received back all that he had lost, even to the smallest jewel. Then spoke Earl Ynywl to Geraint. "Chieftain," said he "behold the maiden for whom thou didst challenge at the tournament, I bestow her upon thee." "She shall go with me," said Geraint, "to the Court of Arthur; and Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, they shall dispose of her as they will." And the next day they proceeded to Arthur's Court. So far concerning Geraint. * * * * * Now, this is how Arthur hunted the stag. The men and the dogs were divided into hunting parties, and the dogs were let loose upon the stag. And the last dog that was let loose was the favourite dog of Arthur. Cavall was his name. And he left all the other dogs behind him, and turned the stag. And at the second turn, the stag came towards the hunting party of Arthur. And Arthur set upon him. And before he could be slain by any other, Arthur cut off his head. Then they sounded the death horn for slaying, and they all gathered round. Then came Kadyrieith to Arthur, and spoke to him. "Lord," said he, "behold yonder is Gwenhwyvar, and none with her save only one maiden." "Command Gildas the son of Caw, and all the scholars of the Court," said Arthur, "to attend Gwenhwyvar to the palace." And they did so. Then they all set forth, holding converse together concerning the head of the stag, to whom it should be given. One wished that it should be given to the lady best beloved by him, and another to the lady whom he loved best. And all they of the household and the knights disputed sharply concerning the head. And with that they came to the palace. And when Arthur and Gwenhwyvar heard them disputing about the head of the stag, Gwenhwyvar said to Arthur, "My lord, this is my counsel concerning the stag's head; let it not be given away until Geraint the son of Erbin shall return from the errand he is upon." And Gwenhwyvar told Arthur what that errand was. "Right gladly shall it be so," said Arthur. And thus it was settled. And the next day Gwenhwyvar caused a watch to be set upon the ramparts for Geraint's coming. And after mid-day they beheld an unshapely little man upon a horse, and after him, as they supposed, a dame or a damsel, also on horseback, and after her a knight of large stature, bowed down, and hanging his head low and sorrowfully, and clad in broken and worthless armour. And before they came near to the gate, one of the watch went to Gwenhwyvar, and told her what kind of people they saw, and what aspect they bore. "I know not who they are," said he. "But I know," said Gwenhwyvar, "this is the knight whom Geraint pursued, and methinks that he comes not here by his own free will. But Geraint has overtaken him, and avenged the insult to the maiden to the uttermost." And thereupon, behold a porter came to the spot where Gwenhwyvar was. "Lady," said he, "at the gate there is a knight, and I saw never a man of so pitiful an aspect to look upon as he. Miserable and broken is the armour that he wears, and the hue of blood is more conspicuous upon it than its own colour." "Knowest thou his name?" said she. "I do," said he, "he tells me that he is Edeyrn the son of Nudd." Then she replied, "I know him not." So Gwenhwyvar went to the gate to meet him, and he entered. And Gwenhwyvar was sorry when she saw the condition he was in, even though he was accompanied by the churlish dwarf. Then Edeyrn saluted Gwenhwyvar. "Heaven protect thee," said she. "Lady," said he, "Geraint the son of Erbin, thy best and most valiant servant, greets thee." "Did he meet with thee?" she asked. "Yes," said he, "and it was not to my advantage; and that was not his fault, but mine, Lady. And Geraint greets thee well; and in greeting thee he compelled me to come hither to do thy pleasure for the insult which thy maiden received from the dwarf. He forgives the insult to himself, in consideration of his having put me in peril of my life. And he imposed on me a condition, manly, and honourable, and warrior-like, which was to do thee justice, Lady." "Now, where did he overtake thee?" "At the place where we were jousting, and contending for the Sparrow-Hawk, in the town which is now called Cardiff. And there were none with him, save three persons, of a mean and tattered condition. And these were an aged, hoary-headed man and a woman advanced in years, and a fair young maiden, clad in worn-out garments. And it was for the avouchment of the love of that maiden that Geraint jousted for the Sparrow-Hawk at the tournament; for he said that that maiden was better entitled to the Sparrow-Hawk than this maiden who was with me. And thereupon we encountered each other, and he left me, Lady, as thou seest." "Sir," said she, "when thinkest thou that Geraint will be here?" "To-morrow, Lady, I think he will be here with the maiden." Then Arthur came to him, and he saluted Arthur, and Arthur gazed a long time upon him, and was amazed to see him thus. And thinking that he knew him, he enquired of him, "Art thou Edeyrn the son of Nudd?" "I am, Lord," said he, "and I have met with much trouble, and received wounds unsupportable." Then he told Arthur all his adventure. "Well," said Arthur, "from what I hear, it behoves Gwenhwyvar to be merciful towards thee." "The mercy which thou desirest, Lord," said she, "will I grant to him, since it is as insulting to thee that an insult should be offered to me as to thyself." "Thus will it be best to do," said Arthur, "let this man have medical care until it be known whether he may live. And if he live, he shall do such satisfaction as shall be judged best by the men of the Court; and take thou sureties to that effect. And it he die, too much will be the death of such a youth as Edeyrn for an insult to a maiden." "This pleases me," said Gwenhwyvar. And Arthur became surety for Edeyrn, and Caradawc the son of Llyr, Gwallawg the son of Llenawg, and Owain the son of Nudd, and Gwalchmai, and many others with them. And Arthur caused Morgan Tud to be called to him. He was the chief physician. "Take with thee Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and cause a chamber to be prepared for him, and let him have the aid of medicine as thou wouldest do unto myself if I were wounded, and let none into his chamber to molest him, but thyself and thy disciples, to administer to him remedies." "I will do so, gladly, Lord," said Morgan Tud. Then said the steward of the household, "Whither is it right, Lord, to order the maiden?" "To Gwenhwyvar and her and maidens," said he. And the Steward of the Household so ordered her. Thus far concerning them. * * * * * The next day came Geraint towards the Court, and there was a watch set on the ramparts by Gwenhwyvar, lest he should arrive unawares. And one of the watch came to the place where Gwenhwyvar was. "Lady," said he, "methinks that I see Geraint, and the maiden with him. He is on horseback, but he has his walking gear upon him, and the maiden appears to be in white, seeming to be clad in a garment of linen." "Assemble all the women," said Gwenhwyvar, "and come to meet Geraint, to welcome him, and wish him joy." And Gwenhwyvar went to meet Geraint and the maiden. And when Geraint came to the place where Gwenhwyvar was, he saluted her. "Heaven prosper thee," said she, "and welcome to thee. And thy career has been successful, and fortunate, and resistless, and glorious. And Heaven reward thee, that thou hast so proudly caused me to have retribution." "Lady," said he, "I earnestly desired to obtain thee satisfaction according to thy will; and, behold, here is the maiden through whom thou hadst thy revenge." "Verily," said Gwenhwyvar, "the welcome of Heaven be unto her; and it is fitting that we should receive her joyfully." Then they went in, and dismounted. And Geraint came to where Arthur was, and saluted him. "Heaven protect thee," said Arthur, "and the welcome of Heaven be unto thee. And since {27} Edeyrn the son of Nudd has received his overthrow and wounds from thy hands, thou hadst had a prosperous career." "Not upon me be the blame," said Geraint, "it was through the arrogance of Edeyrn the son of Nudd himself that we were not friends. I would not quit him until I knew who he was, and until the one had vanquished the other." "Now," said Arthur, "where is the maiden for whom I heard thou didst give challenge?" "She is gone with Gwenhwyvar to her chamber." Then went Arthur to see the maiden. And Arthur, and all his companions, and his whole Court, were glad concerning the maiden. And certain were they all, that had her array been suitable to her beauty, they had never seen a maid fairer than she. And Arthur gave away the maiden to Geraint. And the usual bond made between two persons was made between Geraint and the maiden, and the choicest of all Gwenhwyvar's apparel was given to the maiden; and thus arrayed, she appeared comely and graceful to all who beheld her. And that day and that night were spent in abundance of minstrelsy, and ample gifts of liquor, and a multitude of games. And when it was time for them to go to sleep, they went. And in the chamber where the couch of Arthur and Gwenhwyvar was, the couch of Geraint and Enid was prepared. And from that time she became his bride. And the next day Arthur satisfied all the claimants upon Geraint with bountiful gifts. And the maiden took up her abode in the palace, and she had many companions, both men and women, and there was no maiden more esteemed than she in the Island of Britain. Then spake Gwenhwyvar. "Rightly did I judge," said she, "concerning the head of the stag, that it should not be given to any until Geraint's return; and, behold, here is a fit occasion for bestowing it. Let it be given to Enid, the daughter of Ynywl, the most illustrious maiden. And I do not believe that any will begrudge it her, for between her and every one here there exists nothing but love and friendship." Much applauded was this by them all, and by Arthur also. And the head of the stag was given to Enid. And thereupon her fame increased, and her friends thenceforward became more in number than before. And Geraint from that time forth loved the stag, and the tournament, and hard encounters; and he came victorious from them all. And a year, and a second, and a third, he proceeded thus, until his fame had flown over the face of the kingdom. And once upon a time, Arthur was holding his Court at Caerlleon upon Usk, at Whitsuntide. And, behold, there came to him ambassadors, wise and prudent, full of knowledge, and eloquent of speech, and they saluted Arthur. "Heaven prosper you," said Arthur, "and the welcome of Heaven be unto you. And whence do you come?" "We come, Lord," said they, "from Cornwall; and we are ambassadors from Erbin the son of Custennin, thy uncle, and our mission is unto thee. And he greets thee well, as an uncle should greet his nephew, and as a vassal should greet his lord. And he represents unto thee that he waxes heavy and feeble, and is advancing in years. And the neighbouring chiefs knowing this, grow insolent towards him, and covet his land and possessions. And he earnestly beseeches thee, Lord, to permit Geraint his son to return to him, to protect his possessions, and to become acquainted with his boundaries. And unto him he represents that it were better for him to spend the flower of his youth, and the prime of his age, in preserving his own boundaries, than in tournaments, which are productive of no profit, although he obtains glory in them." "Well," said Arthur, "go, and divest yourselves of your accoutrements, and take food, and refresh yourselves after your fatigues; and before you go forth hence you shall have an answer." And they went to eat. And Arthur considered that it would go hard with him to let Geraint depart from him and from his Court; neither did he think it fair that his cousin should be restrained from going to protect his dominions and his boundaries, seeing that his father was unable to do so. No less was the grief and regret of Gwenhwyvar, and all her women, and all her damsels, through fear that the maiden would leave them. And that day and that night were spent in abundance of feasting. And Arthur showed Geraint the cause of the mission, and of the coming of the ambassadors to him out of Cornwall. "Truly," said Geraint, "be it to my advantage or disadvantage, Lord, I will do according to thy will concerning this embassy." "Behold," said Arthur, "though it grieves me to part with thee, it is my counsel that thou go to dwell in thine own dominions, and to defend thy boundaries, and to take with thee to accompany thee as many as thou wilt of those thou lovest best among my faithful ones, and among thy friends, and among thy companions in arms." "Heaven reward thee; and this will I do," said Geraint. "What discourse," said Gwenhwyvar, "do I hear between you? Is it of those who are to conduct Geraint to his country?" "It is," said Arthur. "Then is it needful for me to consider," said she, "concerning companions and a provision for the lady that is with me?" "Thou wilt do well," said Arthur. And that night they went to sleep. And the next day the ambassadors were permitted to depart, and they were told that Geraint should follow them. And on the third day Geraint set forth, and many went with him. Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Riogonedd the son of the king of Ireland, and Ondyaw the son of the duke of Burgandy, Gwilim the son of the ruler of the Franks, Howel the son of Emyr of Brittany, Elivry, and Nawkyrd, Gwynn the son of Tringad, Goreu the son of Custennin, Gweir Gwrhyd Vawr, Garannaw the son of Golithmer, Peredur the son of Evrawc, Gwynnllogell, Gwyr a judge in the Court of Arthur, Dyvyr the son of Alun of Dyved, Gwrei Gwalstawd Ieithoedd, Bedwyr the son of Bedrawd, Hadwry the son of Gwryon, Kai the son of Kynyr, Odyar the Frank, the Steward of Arthur's Court, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd. Said Geraint, "I think that I shall have enough of knighthood with me." "Yes," said Arthur, "but it will not be fitting for thee to take Edeyrn with thee, although he is well, until peace shall be made between him and Gwenhwyvar." "Gwenhwyvar can permit him to go with me, if he gives sureties." "If she please, she can let him go without sureties, for enough of pain and affliction has he suffered for the insult which the maiden received from the dwarf." "Truly," said Gwenhwyvar, "since it seems well to thee and to Geraint, I will do this gladly, Lord." Then she permitted Edeyrn freely to depart. And many there were who accompanied Geraint, and they set forth; and never was there seen a fairer host journeying towards the Severn. And on the other side of the Severn were the nobles of Erbin the son of Custennin, and his foster father at their head, to welcome Geraint with gladness; and many of the women of the Court, with his mother, came to receive Enid the daughter of Ynywl, his wife. And there was great rejoicing and gladness throughout the whole Court, and throughout all the country, concerning Geraint, because of the greatness of their love towards him, and of the greatness of the fame which he had gained since he went from amongst them, and because he was come to take possession of his dominions, and to preserve his boundaries. And they came to the Court. And in the Court they had ample entertainment, and a multitude of gifts, and abundance of liquor, and a sufficiency of service, and a variety of minstrelsy and of games. And to do honour to Geraint, all the chief men of the country were invited that night to visit him. And they passed that day and that night in the utmost enjoyment. And at dawn next day Erbin arose, and summoned to him Geraint, and the noble persons who had borne him company. And he said to Geraint, "I am a feeble and an aged man, and whilst I was able to maintain the dominion for thee and for myself, I did so. But thou art young, and in the flower of thy vigour and of thy youth: henceforth do thou preserve thy possessions." "Truly," said Geraint, "with my consent thou shalt not give the power over thy dominions at this time into my hands, and thou shall not take me from Arthur's Court." "Into thy hands will I give them," said Erbin, "and this day also shalt thou receive the homage of thy subjects." Then said Gwalchmai, "It were better for thee to satisfy those who have boons to ask, to-day, and to-morrow thou canst receive the homage of thy dominions." So all that had boons to ask were summoned into one place. And Kadyrieith came to them, to know what were their requests. And every one asked that which he desired. And the followers of Arthur began to make gifts and immediately the men of Cornwall came, and gave also. And they were not long in giving, so eager was every one to bestow gifts. And of those who came to ask gifts, none departed unsatisfied. And that day and that night were spent in the utmost enjoyment. And the next day, at dawn, Erbin desired Geraint to send messengers to the men, to ask them whether it was displeasing to them that he should come to receive their homage, and whether they had anything to object to him. Then Geraint sent ambassadors to the men of Cornwall, to ask them this. And they all said that it would be the fulness of joy and honour to them for Geraint to come and receive their homage. So he received the homage of such as were there. And they remained with him till the third night. And the day after the followers of Arthur intended to go away. "It is too soon for you to go away yet," said he, "stay with me until I have finished receiving the homage of my chief men, who have agreed to come to me." And they remained with him until he had done so. Then they set forth towards the Court of Arthur; and Geraint went to bear them company, and Enid also, as far as Diganhwy: there they parted. Then Ondyaw the son of the duke of Burgundy said to Geraint, "Go first of all, and visit the uttermost parts of thy dominions, and see well to the boundaries of thy territories; and if thou hast any trouble respecting them, send unto thy companions." "Heaven reward thee," said Geraint, "and this will I do." And Geraint journeyed to the uttermost part of his dominions. And experienced guides, and the chief men of his country, went with him. And the furthermost point that they showed him he kept possession of. And, as he had been used to do when he was at Arthur's Court, he frequented tournaments. And he became acquainted with valiant and mighty men, until he had gained as much fame there as he had formerly done elsewhere. And he enriched his Court, and his companions, and his nobles, with the best horses, and the best arms, and with the best and most valuable jewels, and he ceased not until his fame had flown over the face of the whole kingdom. And when he knew that it was thus, he began to love ease and pleasure, for there was no one who was worth his opposing. And he loved his wife, and liked to continue in the palace, with minstrelsy and diversions. And for a long time he abode at home. And after that he began to shut himself up in the chamber of his wife, and he took no delight in anything besides, insomuch that he gave up the friendship of his nobles, together with his hunting and his amusements, and lost the hearts of all the host in his Court; and there was murmuring and scoffing concerning him among the inhabitants of the palace, on account of his relinquishing so completely their companionship for the love of his wife. And these tidings came to Erbin. And when Erbin had heard these things, he spoke unto Enid, and enquired of her whether it was she that had caused Geraint to act thus, and to forsake his people and his hosts. "Not I, by my confession unto Heaven," said she; "there is nothing more hateful to me than this." And she knew not what she should do, for, although it was hard for her to own this to Geraint, yet was it not more easy for her to listen to what she heard without warning Geraint concerning it. And she was very sorrowful. And one morning in the summer time, they were upon their couch, and Geraint lay upon the edge of it. And Enid was without sleep in the apartment, which had windows of glass. And the sun shone upon the couch. And the clothes had slipped from off his arms and his breast, and he was asleep. Then she gazed upon the marvellous beauty of his appearance, and she said, "Alas, and am I the cause that these arms and this breast have lost their glory and the warlike fame which they once so richly enjoyed!" And as she said this, the tears dropped from her eyes, and they fell upon his breast. And the tears she shed, and the words she had spoken, awoke him; and another thing contributed to awaken him, and that was the idea that it was not in thinking of him that she spoke thus, but that it was because she loved some other man more than him, and that she wished for other society, and thereupon Geraint was troubled in his mind, and he called his squire; and when he came to him, "Go quickly," said he, "and prepare my horse and my arms, and make them ready. And do thou arise," said he to Enid, "and apparel thyself; and cause thy horse to be accoutred, and clothe thee in the worst riding dress that thou hast in thy possession. And evil betide me," said he, "if thou returnest here until thou knowest whether I have lost my strength so completely as thou didst say. And if it be so, it will then be easy for thee to seek the society thou didst wish for of him of whom thou wast thinking." So she arose, and clothed herself in her meanest garments. "I know nothing, Lord," said she, "of thy meaning." "Neither wilt thou know at this time," said he. Then Geraint went to see Erbin. "Sir," said he, "I am going upon a quest, and I am not certain when I may come back. Take heed, therefore, unto thy possessions, until my return." "I will do so," said he, "but it is strange to me that thou shouldst go so suddenly. And who will proceed with thee, since thou art not strong enough to traverse the land of Lloegyr alone." "But one person only will go with me." "Heaven counsel thee, my son," said Erbin, "and may many attach themselves to thee in Lloegyr." Then went Geraint to the place where his horse was, and it was equipped with foreign armour, heavy and shining. And he desired Enid to mount her horse, and to ride forward, and to keep a long way before him. "And whatever thou mayest see, and whatever thou mayest hear, concerning me," said he, "do thou not turn back. And unless I speak unto thee, say not thou one word either." And they set forward. And he did not choose the pleasantest and most frequented road, but that which was the wildest and most beset by thieves, and robbers, and venomous animals. And they came to a high road, which they followed till they saw a vast forest, and they went towards it, and they saw four armed horsemen come forth from the forest. When they had beheld them, one of them said to the other, "Behold, here is a good occasion for us to capture two horses and armour, and a lady likewise; for this we shall have no difficulty in doing against yonder single knight, who hangs his head so pensively and heavily." And Enid heard this discourse, and she knew not what she should do through fear of Geraint, who had told her to be silent. "The vengeance of Heaven be upon me," she said, "if I would not rather receive my death from his hand than from the hand of any other; and though he should slay me, yet will I speak to him, lest I should have the misery to witness his death." {36a} So she waited for Geraint until he came near to her. "Lord," said she, "didst thou hear the words of those men concerning thee?" Then he lifted up his eyes, and looked at her angrily. "Thou hadst only," said he, "to hold thy peace as I bade thee. I wish but for silence and not for warning. {36b} And though thou shouldst desire to see my defeat and my death by the hands of those men, yet do I feel no dread." Then the foremost of them couched his lance, and rushed upon Geraint. And he received him, and that not feebly. But he let the thrust go by him, while he struck the horseman upon the centre of his shield in such a manner, that his shield was split, and his armour broken, and so that a cubit's length of the shaft of Geraint's lance passed through his body, and sent him to the earth the length of the lance over his horse's crupper. Then the second horseman attacked him furiously, being wroth at the death of his companion. But with one thrust Geraint overthrew him also, and killed him as he had done the other. Then the third set upon him, and he killed him in like manner. And thus also he slew the fourth. Sad and sorrowful was the maiden as she saw all this. Geraint dismounted his horse, and took the arms of the men he had slain, and placed them upon their saddles, and tied together the reins of their horses, and he mounted his horse again. "Behold what thou must do," said he, "take the four horses, and drive them before thee, and proceed forward, as I bade thee just now. And say not one word unto me, unless I speak first unto thee. And I declare unto Heaven," said he, "if thou doest not thus, it will be to thy cost." "I will do, as far as I can, Lord," said she, "according to thy desire." Then they went forward through the forest; and when they left the forest, they came to a vast plain, in the centre of which was a group of thickly tangled copse-wood; and from out thereof they beheld three horsemen coming towards them, well equipped with armour, both they and their horses. Then the maiden looked steadfastly upon them; and when they had come near, she heard them say one to another, "Behold, here is a good arrival for us, here are coming for us four horses and four suits of armour. We shall easily obtain them spite of yonder dolorous knight, and the maiden also will fall into our power." "This is but too true," said she to herself, "for my husband is tired with his former combat. The vengeance of Heaven will be upon me, unless I warn him of this." So the maiden waited until Geraint came up to her. "Lord," said she, "dost thou not hear the discourse of yonder men concerning thee?" "What was it?" asked he. "They say to one another, that they will easily obtain all this spoil." "I declare to Heaven," he answered, "that their words are less grievous to me than that thou wilt not be silent, and abide by my counsel." "My Lord," said she, "I feared lest they should surprise thee unawares." "Hold thy peace then," said he, "do not I desire silence?" {38} And thereupon one of the horsemen couched his lance, and attacked Geraint. And he made a thrust at him, which he thought would be very effective; but Geraint received it carelessly, and struck it aside, and then he rushed upon him, and aimed at the centre of his person, and from the shock of man and horse, the quantity of his armour did not avail him, and the head of the lance and part of the shaft passed through him, so that he was carried to the ground an arm and a spear's length over the crupper of his horse. And both the other horsemen came forward in their turn, but their onset was not more successful than that of their companion. And the maiden stood by, looking at all this; and on the one hand she was in trouble lest Geraint should be wounded in his encounter with the men, and on the other hand she was joyful to see him victorious. Then Geraint dismounted, and bound the three suits of armour upon the three saddles, and he fastened the reins of all the horses together, so that he had seven horses with him. And he mounted his own horse, and commanded the maiden to drive forward the others. "It is no more use for me to speak to thee than to refrain, for thou wilt not attend to my advice." "I will do so, as far I am able, Lord," said she; "but I cannot conceal from thee the fierce and threatening words which I may hear against thee, Lord, from such strange people as those that haunt this wilderness." "I declare to Heaven," said he, "that I desire nought but silence; therefore, hold thy peace." {39} "I will, Lord, while I can." And the maiden went on with the horses before her, and she pursued her way straight onwards. And from the copse-wood already mentioned, they journeyed over a vast and dreary open plain. And at a great distance from them they beheld a wood, and they could see neither end nor boundary to the wood, except on that side that was nearest to them, and they went towards it. Then there came from out the wood five horsemen, eager, and bold, and mighty, and strong, mounted upon chargers that were powerful, and large of bone, and high-mettled, and proudly snorting, and both the men and the horses were well equipped with arms. And when they drew near to them, Enid heard them say, "Behold, here is a fine booty coming to us, which we shall obtain easily and without labour, for we shall have no trouble in taking all those horses and arms, and the lady also, from yonder single knight, so doleful and sad." Sorely grieved was the maiden upon hearing this discourse, so that she knew not in the world what she should do. At last, however, she determined to warn Geraint; so she turned her horse's head towards him. "Lord," said she, "if thou hadst heard as I did what yonder horsemen said concerning thee, thy heaviness would be greater than it is." Angrily and bitterly did Geraint smile upon her, and he said, "Thee do I hear doing everything that I forbade thee; but it may be that thou wilt repent this yet." And immediately, behold, the men met them, and victoriously and gallantly did Geraint overcome them all five. And he placed the five suits of armour upon the five saddles, and tied together the reins of the twelve horses, and gave them in charge to Enid. "I know not," said he, "what good it is for me to order thee; but this time I charge thee in an especial manner." So the maiden went forward towards the wood, keeping in advance of Geraint, as he had desired her; and it grieved him as much as his wrath would permit, to see a maiden so illustrious as she having so much trouble with the care of the horses. Then they reached the wood, and it was both deep and vast; and in the wood night overtook them. "Ah, maiden," said he, "it is vain to attempt proceeding forward!" "Well, Lord," said she, "whatsoever thou wishest, we will do." "It will be best for us," he answered, "to turn out of the wood, and to rest, and wait for the day, in order to pursue our journey." "That will we, gladly," said she. And they did so. Having dismounted himself, he took her down from her horse. "I cannot, by any means, refrain from sleep, through weariness," said he. "Do thou, therefore, watch the horses, and sleep not." "I will, Lord," said she. Then he went to sleep in his armour, and thus passed the night, which was not long at that season. And when she saw the dawn of day appear, she looked around her, to see if he were waking, and thereupon he woke. "My Lord," she said, "I have desired to awake thee for some time." But he spake nothing to her about fatigue, {40} as he had desired her to be silent. Then he arose, and said unto her, "Take the horses, and ride on; and keep straight on before thee as thou didst yesterday." And early in the day they left the wood, and they came to an open country, with meadows on one hand, and mowers mowing the meadows. And there was a river before them, and the horses bent down, and drank the water. And they went up out of the river by a lofty steep; and there they met a slender stripling, with a satchel about his neck, and they saw that there was something in the satchel, but they knew not what it was. And he had a small blue pitcher in his hand, and a bowl on the mouth of the pitcher. And the youth saluted Geraint. "Heaven prosper thee," said Geraint, "and whence dost thou come?" "I come," said he, "from the city that lies before thee. My Lord," he added, "will it be displeasing to thee, if I ask whence thou comest also?" "By no means--through yonder wood did I come." "Thou camest not through the wood to-day." "No," he replied, "we were in the wood last night." "I warrant," said the youth, "that thy condition there last night was not the most pleasant, and that thou hadst neither meat nor drink." "No, by my faith," said he. "Wilt thou follow my counsel," said the youth, "and take thy meal from me?" "What sort of meal?" he enquired. "The breakfast which is sent for yonder mowers, nothing less than bread and meat, and wine; and if thou wilt, Sir, they shall have none of it." "I will," said he, "and Heaven reward thee for it." So Geraint alighted, and the youth took the maiden from off her horse. Then they washed, and took their repast. And the youth cut the bread in slices, and gave them drink, and served them withal. And when they had finished, the youth arose, and said to Geraint, "My Lord, with thy permission I will now go and fetch some food for the mowers." "Go, first, to the town," said Geraint, "and take a lodging for me in the best place that thou knowest, and the most commodious one for the horses, and take thou whichever horse and arms thou choosest in payment for thy service and thy gift." "Heaven reward thee, Lord," said the youth, "and this would be ample to repay services much greater than those I rendered unto thee." And to the town went the youth, and he took the best and the most pleasant lodgings that he knew; and after that he went to the palace, having the horse and armour with him, and proceeded to the place where the Earl was, and told him all his adventure. "I go now, Lord," said he, "to meet the young man, and to conduct him to his lodging." "Go gladly," said the Earl, "and right joyfully shall he be received here, if he so come." And the youth went to meet Geraint, and told him that he would be received gladly by the Earl in his own palace; but he would go only to his lodgings. And he had a goodly chamber, in which was plenty of straw, and draperies, and a spacious and commodious place he had for the horses, and the youth prepared for them plenty of provender. And after they had disarrayed themselves, Geraint spoke thus to Enid: "Go," said he, "to the other side of the chamber, and come not to this side of the house; and thou mayest call to thee the woman of the house, if thou wilt." "I will do, Lord," said she, "as thou sayest." And thereupon the man of the house came to Geraint, and welcomed him. "Oh, chieftain," he said, "hast thou taken thy meal?" "I have," said he. Then the youth spoke to him, and enquired if he would not drink something before he met the Earl. "Truly, I will," said he. So the youth went into the town, and brought them drink. And they drank. "I must needs sleep," said Geraint. "Well," said the youth, "and whilst thou sleepest, I will go to see the Earl." "Go, gladly," he said, "and come here again when I require thee." And Geraint went to sleep, and so did Enid also. And the youth came to the place where the Earl was, and the Earl asked him where the lodgings of the knight were, and he told him. "I must go," said the youth, "to wait on him in the evening." "Go," answered the Earl, "and greet him well from me, and tell him that in the evening I will go to see him." "This will I do," said the youth. So he came when it was time for them to awake. And they arose, and went forth. And when it was time for them to take their food they took it. And the youth served them. And Geraint enquired of the man of the house, whether there were any of his companions that he wished to invite to him, and he said that there were. "Bring them hither, and entertain them at my cost with the best thou canst buy in the town." And the man of the house brought there those whom he chose, and feasted them at Geraint's expense. Thereupon, behold, the Earl came to visit Geraint, and his twelve honourable knights with him. And Geraint rose up, and welcomed him. "Heaven preserve thee," said the Earl. Then they all sat down according to their precedence in honour. And the Earl conversed with Geraint and enquired of him the object of his journey. "I have none," he replied, "but to seek adventures, and to follow my own inclination." Then the Earl cast his eye upon Enid, and he looked at her steadfastly. And he thought he had never seen a maiden fairer or more comely than she. And he set all his thoughts and his affections upon her. Then he asked of Geraint, "Have I thy permission to go and converse with yonder maiden, for I see that she is apart from thee?" "Thou hast it, gladly," said he. So the Earl went to the place where the maiden was, and spake with her. "Ah, maiden," said he, "it cannot be pleasant to thee to journey thus with yonder man!" "It is not unpleasant to me," said she, "to journey the same road that he journeys." "Thou hast neither youths nor maidens to serve thee," said he. "Truly," she replied, "it is more pleasant for me to follow yonder man than to be served by youths and maidens." "I will give thee good counsel," said he. "All my Earldom will I place in thy possession, if thou wilt dwell with me." "That will I not, by Heaven," she said, "yonder man was the first to whom my faith was ever pledged; and shall I prove inconstant to him?" "Thou art in the wrong," said the Earl; "if I slay the man yonder, I can keep thee with me as long as I choose; and when thou no longer pleasest me, I can turn thee away. But if thou goest with me by thy own good will, I protest that our union shall continue eternal and undivided as long as I remain alive." Then she pondered these words of his, and she considered that it was advisable to encourage him in his request. "Behold, then, chieftain, this is most expedient for thee to do to save me any needless imputation; come here to-morrow, and take me away as though I knew nothing thereof." "I will do so," said he. So he arose, and took his leave, and went forth with his attendants. And she told not then to Geraint any of the conversation which she had had with the Earl, lest it should rouse his anger, and cause him uneasiness and care. And at the usual hour they went to sleep. And at the beginning of the night Enid slept a little; and at midnight she arose, and placed all Geraint's armour together, so that it might be ready to put on. And although fearful of her errand, she came to the side of Geraint's bed; and she spoke to him softly and gently, saying, "My Lord, arise, and clothe thyself, for these were the words of the Earl to me, and his intention concerning me." So she told Geraint all that had passed. And although he was wroth with her, he took warning, and clothed himself. And she lighted a candle, that he might have light to do so. "Leave there the candle," said he, "and desire the man of the house to come here." Then she went, and the man of the house came to him. "Dost thou know how much I owe thee?" asked Geraint. "I think thou owest but little." "Take the eleven horses and the eleven suits of armour." "Heaven reward thee, Lord," said he, "but I spent not the value of one suit of armour upon thee." "For that reason," said he, "thou wilt be the richer. And now wilt thou come to guide me out of the town?" "I will, gladly," said he, "and in which direction dost thou intend to go?" "I wish to leave the town by a different way from that by which I entered it." So the man of the lodgings accompanied him as far as he desired. Then he bade the maiden to go on before him; and she did so, and went straight forward, and his host returned home. And he had only just reached his house, when, behold, the greatest tumult approached that was ever heard. And when he looked out he saw fourscore knights in complete armour around the house, with the Earl Dwrm at their head. "Where is the knight that was here?" said the Earl. "By thy hand," said he, "he went hence some time ago." "Wherefore, villain," said he, "didst thou let him go without informing me?" "My Lord, thou didst not command me to do so, else would I not have allowed him to depart." "What way dost thou think that he took?" "I know not, except that he went along the high road." And they turned their horses' heads that way, and seeing the tracks of the horses upon the high road, they followed. And when the maiden beheld the dawning of the day, she looked behind her, and saw vast clouds of dust coming nearer and nearer to her. And thereupon she became uneasy, and she thought that it was the Earl and his host coming after them. And thereupon she beheld a knight appearing through the mist. "By my faith," said she, "though he should slay me, it were better for me to receive my death at his hands, than to see him killed without warning him." "My Lord," she said to him, "seest thou yonder man hastening after thee, and many others with him?" "I do see him," said he, "and in despite of all my orders, I see that thou wilt never keep silence." Then he turned upon the knight, and with the first thrust he threw him down under his horse's feet. And as long as there remained one of the fourscore knights, he overthrew every one of them at the first onset. And from the weakest to the strongest, they all attacked him one after the other, except the Earl: and last of all the Earl came against him also. And he broke his lance, and then he broke a second. But Geraint turned upon him, and struck him with his lance upon the centre of his shield, so that by that single thrust the shield was split, and all his armour broken, and he himself was brought over his horse's crupper to the ground, and was in peril of his life. And Geraint drew near to him; and at the noise of the trampling of his horse the Earl revived. "Mercy, Lord," said he to Geraint. And Geraint granted him mercy. But through the hardness of the ground where they had fallen, and the violence of the stroke which they had received, there was not a single knight amongst them that escaped without receiving a fall, mortally severe, and grievously painful, and desperately wounding, from the hand of Geraint. {Picture: p48.jpg} And Geraint journeyed along the high road that was before him, and the maiden went on first; and near them they beheld a valley which was the fairest ever seen, and which had a large river running through it; and there was a bridge over the river, and the high road led to the bridge. And above the bridge, upon the opposite side of the river, they beheld a fortified town, the fairest ever seen. And as they approached the bridge, Geraint saw coming towards him from a thick copse a man mounted upon a large and lofty steed, even of pace and spirited though tractable. "Ah, knight," said Geraint, "whence comest thou?" "I come," said he "from the valley below us." "Canst thou tell me," said Geraint, "who is the owner of this fair valley and yonder walled town?" "I will tell thee, willingly," said he, "Gwiffert Petit he is called by the Franks, but the Welsh call him the Little King." "Can I go by yonder bridge," said Geraint, "and by the lower highway that is beneath the town?" Said the knight, "Thou canst not go by his tower {47a} on the other side of the bridge, unless thou dost intend to combat him; because it is his custom to encounter every knight that comes upon his lands." "I declare to Heaven," said Geraint, "that I will, nevertheless, pursue my journey that way." {47b} "If thou dost so," said the knight, "thou wilt probably meet with shame and disgrace in reward for thy daring." {48a} Then Geraint proceeded along the road that led to the town, and the road brought him to a ground that was hard, and rugged, and high, and ridgy. {48b} And as he journeyed thus, he beheld a knight following him upon a war-horse, strong, and large, and proudly-stepping, and wide-hoofed, and broad-chested. And he never saw a man of smaller stature than he who was upon the horse. And both he and his horse were completely armed. When he had overtaken Geraint he said to him, "Tell me, chieftain, whether it is through ignorance or through presumption that thou seekest to insult my dignity, and to infringe my rules?" "Nay," answered Geraint, "I knew not that this road was forbid to any." "Thou didst know it," said the other; "come with me to my Court, to do me satisfaction." "That will I not, by my faith," said Geraint; "I would not go even to thy Lord's Court, excepting Arthur were thy Lord." "By the hand of Arthur himself," said the knight, "I will have satisfaction of thee, or receive my overthrow at thy hands." And immediately they charged one another. And a squire of his came to serve him with lances as he broke them. And they gave each other such hard and severe strokes, that their shields lost all their colour. But it was very difficult for Geraint to fight with him on account of his small size, for he was hardly able to get a full aim at him with all the efforts he could make. {49} And they fought thus until their horses were brought down upon their knees; and at length Geraint threw the knight headlong to the ground; and then they fought on foot, and they gave one another blows so boldly fierce, so frequent, and so severely powerful, that their helmets were pierced, and their skullcaps were broken, and their arms were shattered, and the light of their eyes was darkened by sweat and blood. At the last Geraint became enraged, and he called to him all his strength; and boldly angry, and swiftly resolute, and furiously determined, he lifted up his sword, and struck him on the crown of his head a blow so mortally painful, so violent, so fierce, and so penetrating, that it cut through all his head armour, and his skin, and his flesh, until it wounded the very bone, and the sword flew out of the hand of the Little King to the furthest end of the plain, and he besought Geraint that he would have mercy and compassion upon him. "Though thou hast been neither courteous nor just," said Geraint, "thou shalt have mercy, upon condition that thou wilt become my ally, and engage never to fight against me again, but to come to my assistance whenever thou hearest of my being in trouble." "This will I do, gladly, Lord," said he. So he pledged him his faith thereof. "And now, Lord, come with me," said he, "to my Court yonder, to recover from thy weariness and fatigue." "That will I not, by Heaven," said he. Then Gwiffert Petit beheld Enid where she stood, and it grieved him to see one of her noble mien appear so deeply afflicted. And he said to Geraint, "My Lord, thou doest wrong not to take repose, and refresh thyself awhile; for, if thou meetest with any difficulty in thy present condition, it will not be easy for thee to surmount it." But Geraint would do no other than proceed on his journey, and he mounted his horse in pain, and all covered with blood. And the maiden went on first, and they proceeded towards the wood which they saw before them. And the heat of the sun was very great, and through the blood and sweat, Geraint's armour cleaved to his flesh; and when they came into the wood, he stood under a tree, to avoid the sun's heat; and his wounds pained him more than they had done at the time when he received them. And the maiden stood under another tree. And, lo! they heard the sound of horns, and a tumultuous noise, and the occasion of it was, that Arthur and his company had come down to the wood. And while Geraint was considering which way he should go to avoid them, behold, he was espied by a foot page, who was an attendant on the Steward of the Household, and he went to the steward, and told him what kind of man he had seen in the wood. Then the steward caused his horse to be saddled, and he took his lance and his shield, and went to the place where Geraint was. "Ah, knight!" said he, "what dost thou here?" "I am standing under a shady tree, to avoid the heat and the rays of the sun." "Wherefore is thy journey, and who art thou?" "I seek adventures, and go where I list." "Indeed," said Kai, "then come with me to see Arthur, who is here hard by." "That will I not, by Heaven," said Geraint. "Thou must needs come," said Kai. Then Geraint knew who he was, but Kai did not know Geraint. And Kai attacked Geraint as best as he could. And Geraint became wroth, and he struck him with the shaft of his lance, so that he rolled headlong to the ground. But chastisement worse than this would he not inflict on him. Scared and wildly Kai arose, and he mounted his horse, and went back to his lodging. And thence he proceeded to Gwalchmai's tent. "Oh, Sir," said he to Gwalchmai, "I was told by one of the attendants, that he saw in the wood above a wounded knight, having on battered armour, and if thou dost right, thou wilt go and see if this be true." "I care not if I do so," said Gwalchmai. "Take, then, thy horse, and some of thy armour," said Kai, "for I hear that he is not over-courteous to those who approach him." So Gwalchmai took his spear and his shield, and mounted his horse, and came to the spot where Geraint was. "Sir Knight," said he, "wherefore is thy journey?" "I journey for my own pleasure, and to seek the adventures of the world." "Wilt thou tell me who thou art, or wilt thou come and visit Arthur, who is near at hand?" "I will make no alliance with thee, nor will I go and visit Arthur," said he. And he knew that it was Gwalchmai, but Gwalchmai knew him not. "I purpose not to leave thee," said Gwalchmai, "till I know who thou art." And he charged him with his lance, and struck him on his shield, so that the shaft was shivered into splinters, and their horses were front to front. Then Gwalchmai gazed fixedly upon him, and he knew him. "Ah, Geraint," said he, "is it thou that art here?" "I am not Geraint," said he. "Geraint thou art, by Heaven," he replied, "and a wretched and insane expedition is this." Then he looked around, and beheld Enid, and he welcomed her gladly. "Geraint," said Gwalchmai, "come thou, and see Arthur; he is thy lord and thy cousin." "I will not," said he, "for I am not in a fit state to go and see any one." Thereupon, behold, one of the pages came after Gwalchmai, to speak to him. So he sent him to apprise Arthur that Geraint was there wounded, and that he would not go to visit him, and that it was pitiable to see the plight that he was in. And this he did without Geraint's knowledge, inasmuch as he spoke in a whisper to the page. "Entreat Arthur," said he, "to have his tent brought near to the road, for he will not meet him willingly, and it is not easy to compel him in the mood he is in." So the page came to Arthur, and told him this. And he caused his tent to be removed unto the side of the road. And the maiden rejoiced in her heart. And Gwalchmai led Geraint onwards along the road, till they came to the place where Arthur was encamped, and the pages were pitching his tent by the road-side. "Lord," said Geraint, "all hail unto thee." "Heaven prosper thee; and who art thou?" said Arthur. "It is Geraint," said Gwalchmai, "and of his own free will would he not come to meet thee." "Verily," said Arthur, "he is bereft of his reason." Then came Enid, and saluted Arthur. "Heaven protect thee," said he. And thereupon he caused one of the pages to take her from her horse. "Alas! Enid," said Arthur, "what expedition is this?" "I know not, Lord," said she, "save that it behoves me to journey by the same road that he journeys." "My Lord," said Geraint, "with thy permission we will depart." "Whither wilt thou go?" said Arthur. "Thou canst not proceed now, unless it be unto thy death." {53} "He will not suffer himself to be invited by me," said Gwalchmai. "But by me he will," said Arthur; "and, moreover, he does not go from here until he is healed." "I had rather, Lord," said Geraint, "that thou wouldest let me go forth." "That will I not, I declare to Heaven," said he. Then he caused a maiden to be sent for to conduct Enid to the tent where Gwenhwyvar's chamber was. And Gwenhwyvar and all her women were joyful at her coming, and they took off her riding dress, and placed other garments upon her. Arthur also called Kadyrieith, and ordered him to pitch a tent for Geraint, and the physicians, and he enjoined him to provide him with abundance of all that might be requisite for him. And Kadyrieith did as he had commanded him. And Morgan Tud and his disciples were brought to Geraint. And Arthur and his hosts remained there nearly a month, whilst Geraint was being healed. And when he was fully recovered, Geraint came to Arthur, and asked his permission to depart. "I know not if thou art quite well." "In truth I am, Lord," said Geraint. "I shall not believe thee concerning that, but the physicians that were with thee." So Arthur caused the physicians to be summoned to him, and asked them if it were true. "It is true, Lord," said Morgan Tud. So the next day Arthur permitted him to go forth, and he pursued his journey. And on the same day Arthur removed thence. And Geraint desired Enid to go on, and to keep before him, as she had formerly done. And she went forward along the high road. And as they journeyed thus, they heard an exceeding loud wailing near to them. "Stay thou here," said he, "and I will go and see what is the cause of this wailing." "I will," said she. Then he went forward into an open glade that was near the road. And in the glade he saw two horses, one having a man's saddle, and the other a woman's saddle upon it. And, behold, there was a knight lying dead in his armour, and a young damsel in a riding dress standing over him, lamenting. "Ah! Lady," said Geraint, "what hath befallen thee?" "Behold," she answered, "I journeyed here with my beloved husband, when, lo! three giants came upon us, and without any cause in the world, they slew him." "Which way went they hence?" said Geraint. "Yonder by the high road," she replied. So he returned to Enid. "Go," said he, "to the lady that is below yonder, and await me there till I come." She was sad when he ordered her to do thus, but nevertheless she went to the damsel, whom it was ruth to hear, and she felt certain that Geraint would never return. Meanwhile Geraint followed the giants, and overtook them. And each of them was greater of stature than three other men, and a huge club was on the shoulder of each. Then he rushed upon one of them, and thrust his lance through his body. And having drawn it forth again, he pierced another of them through likewise. But the third turned upon him, and struck him with his club, so that he split his shield, and crushed his shoulder, and opened his wounds anew, and all his blood began to flow from him. But Geraint drew his sword, and attacked the giant, and gave him a blow on the crown of his head so severe, and fierce, and violent, that his head and his neck were split down to his shoulders, and he fell dead. So Geraint left him thus, and returned to Enid. And when he saw her, he fell down lifeless from his horse. Piercing, and loud, and thrilling was the cry that Enid uttered. And she came and stood over him where he had fallen. And at the sound of her cries came the Earl of Limours, and the host that journeyed with him, whom her lamentations brought out of their road. And the Earl said to Enid, "Alas, Lady, what hath befallen thee?" "Ah! good Sir," said she, "the only man I have loved, or ever shall love, is slain." Then he said to the other, "And what is the cause of thy grief?" "They have slain my beloved husband also," said she. "And who was it that slew them?" "Some giants," she answered, "slew my best beloved, and the other knight went in pursuit of them, and came back in the state thou seest, his blood flowing excessively; but it appears to me that he did not leave the giants without killing some of them, if not all." The Earl caused the knight that was dead to be buried, but he thought that there still remained some life in Geraint; and to see if he yet would live, he had him carried with him in the hollow of his shield, and upon a bier. And the two damsels went to the court; and when they arrived there, Geraint was placed upon a litter-couch in front of the table that was in the hall. Then they all took off their travelling gear, and the Earl besought Enid to do the same, and to clothe herself in other garments. "I will not, by Heaven," said she. "Ah! Lady," said he, "be not so sorrowful for this matter." "It were hard to persuade me to be otherwise," said she. "I will act towards thee in such wise, that thou needest not be sorrowful, whether yonder knight live or die. Behold, a good Earldom, together with myself, will I bestow on thee; be, therefore, happy and joyful." "I declare to Heaven," said she, "that henceforth I shall never be joyful while I live." "Come, then," said he, "and eat." "No, by Heaven, I will not," she answered. "But by Heaven thou shalt," said he. So he took her with him to the table against her will, and many times desired her to eat. "I call Heaven to witness," said she, "that I will not eat until the man that is upon yonder bier shall eat likewise." "Thou canst not fulfil that," said the Earl, "yonder man is dead already." "I will prove that I can," said she. Then he offered her a goblet of liquor. "Drink this goblet," he said, "and it will cause thee to change thy mind." "Evil betide me," she answered, "if I drink aught until he drink also." "Truly," said the Earl, "it is of no more avail for me to be gentle with thee than ungentle." And he gave her a box in the ear. Thereupon she raised a loud and piercing shriek, and her lamentations were much greater than they had been before, for she considered in her mind that had Geraint been alive, he durst not have struck her thus. But, behold, at the sound of her cry Geraint revived from his swoon, and he sat up on the bier, and finding his sword in the hollow of his shield, he rushed to the place where the Earl was, and struck him a fiercely-wounding, severely-venomous, and sternly-smiting blow upon the crown of his head, so that he clove him in twain, until his sword was stayed by the table. Then all left the board and fled away. And this was not so much through fear of the living as through the dread they felt at seeing the dead man rise up to slay them. And Geraint looked upon Enid, and he was grieved for two causes; one was, to see that Enid had lost her colour and her wonted aspect; and the other, to know that she was in the right. "Lady," said he, "knowest thou where our horses are?" "I know, Lord, where thy horse is," she replied, "but I know not where is the other. Thy horse is in the house yonder." So he went to the house, and brought forth his horse, and mounted him, and took up Enid from the ground, and placed her upon the horse with him. And he rode forward. And their road lay between two hedges. And the night was gaining on the day. And, lo! they saw behind them the shafts of spears betwixt them and the sky, and they heard the trampling of horses, and the noise of a host approaching. "I hear something following us," said he, "and I will put thee on the other side of the hedge." And thus he did. And thereupon, behold, a knight pricked towards him, and couched his lance. When Enid saw this, she cried out, saying, "Oh! chieftain, whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?" "Oh! Heaven," said he, "is it Geraint?" "Yes, in truth," said she. "And who art thou?" "I am the Little King," he answered, "coming to thy assistance, for I heard that thou wast in trouble. And if thou hadst followed my advice, none of these hardships would have befallen thee." "Nothing can happen," said Geraint, "without the will of Heaven, though much good results from counsel." "Yes," said the Little King, "and I know good counsel for thee now. Come with me to the court of a son-in- law of my sister, which is near here, and thou shalt have the best medical assistance in the kingdom." "I will do so, gladly," said Geraint. And Enid was placed upon the horse of one of the Little King's squires, and they went forward to the Baron's palace. And they were received there with gladness, and they met with hospitality and attention. And the next morning they went to seek physicians; and it was not long before they came, and they attended Geraint until he was perfectly well. And while Geraint was under medical care, the Little King caused his armour to be repaired, until it was as good as it had ever been. And they remained there a fortnight and a month. Then the Little King said to Geraint, "Now will we go towards my own Court, to take rest and amuse ourselves." "Not so," said Geraint, "we will first journey for one day more, and return again." "With all my heart," said the Little King, "do thou go then." And early in the day they set forth. And more gladly and more joyfully did Enid journey with them that day than she had ever done. And they came to the main road. And when they reached a place where the road divided in two, they beheld a man on foot coming towards them along one of these roads, and Gwiffert asked the man whence he came. "I come," said he, "from an errand in the country." "Tell me," said Geraint, "which is the best for me to follow of these two roads?" "That is the best for thee to follow," answered he, "for if thou goest by this one, thou wilt never return. Below us," said he, "there is a hedge of mist, and within it are enchanted games, and no one who has gone there has ever returned. And the Court of the Earl Owain is there, and he permits no one to go to lodge in the town except he will go to his Court." "I declare to Heaven," said Geraint, "that we will take the lower road." And they went along it until they came to the town. And they took the fairest and pleasantest place in the town for their lodging. And while they were thus, behold, a young man came to them, and greeted them. "Heaven be propitious to thee," said they. "Good Sirs," said he, "what preparations are you making here?" "We are taking up our lodging," said they, "to pass the night." "It is not the custom with him who owns the town," he answered, "to permit any of gentle birth, unless they come to stay in his Court, to abide here; therefore, come you to the Court." "We will come, gladly," said Geraint. And they went with the page, and they were joyfully received. And the Earl came to the hall to meet them, and he commanded the tables to be laid. And they washed, and sat down. And this is the order in which they sat, Geraint on one side of the Earl, and Enid on the other side, and next to Enid the Little King, and then the Countess next to Geraint, and all after that as became their rank. Then Geraint recollected the games, and thought that he should not go to them; and on that account he did not eat. Then the Earl looked upon Geraint, and considered, and he bethought him that his not eating was because of the games, and it grieved him that he had ever established those games, were it only on account of losing such a youth as Geraint. And if Geraint had asked him to abolish the games, he would gladly have done so. Then the Earl said to Geraint, "What thought occupies thy mind, that thou dost not eat? If thou hesitatest about going to the games, thou shall not go, and no other of thy rank shall ever go either." "Heaven reward thee," said Geraint, "but I wish nothing better than to go to the games, and to be shown the way thither." "If that is what thou dost prefer, thou shalt obtain it willingly." "I do prefer it, indeed," said he. Then they ate, and they were amply served, and they had a variety of gifts, and abundance of liquor. And when they had finished eating, they arose. And Geraint called for his horse and his armour, and he accoutred both himself and his horse. And all the hosts went forth until they came to the side of the hedge, and the hedge was so lofty, that it reached as high as they could see in the air, and upon every stake in the hedge, except two, there was the head of a man, and the number of stakes throughout the hedge was very great. Then said the Little King, "May no one go in with the chieftain?" "No one may," said Earl Owain. "Which way can I enter?" enquired Geraint. "I know not," said Owain, "but enter by the way that thou wilt, and that seemeth easiest to thee." Then fearlessly and unhesitatingly Geraint dashed forward into the mist. And on leaving the mist he came to a large orchard, and in the orchard he saw an open space, wherein was a tent of red satin, and the door of the tent was open, and an apple-tree stood in front of the door of the tent, and on a branch of the apple-tree hung a huge hunting horn. Then he dismounted, and went into the tent, and there was no one in the tent save one maiden sitting in a golden chair, and another chair was opposite to her, empty. And Geraint went to the empty chair, and sat down therein. "Ah! chieftain," said the maiden, "I would not counsel thee to sit in that chair." "Wherefore?" said Geraint. "The man to whom that chair belongs has never suffered another to sit in it." "I care not," said Geraint, "though it displease him that I sit in the chair." And thereupon they heard a mighty tumult around the tent. And Geraint looked to see what was the cause of the tumult. And he beheld without a knight mounted upon a war-horse, proudly-snorting, high-mettled, and large of bone, and a robe of honour in two parts was upon him and upon his horse, and beneath it was plenty of armour. "Tell me, chieftain," said he to Geraint, "who it was that bade thee sit there?" "Myself," answered he. "It was wrong of thee to do me this shame and disgrace. Arise, and do me satisfaction for thine insolence." Then Geraint arose, and they encountered immediately, and they broke a set of lances; and a second set; and a third; and they gave each other fierce and frequent strokes; and at last Geraint became enraged, and he urged on his horse, and rushed upon him, and gave him a thrust on the centre of his shield, so that it was split, and so that the head of his lance went through his armour, and his girths were broken, and he himself was borne headlong to the ground the length of Geraint's lance and arm, over his horse's crupper. "Oh, my Lord!" said he, "thy mercy, and thou shalt have what thou wilt." "I only desire," said Geraint, "that this game shall no longer exist here, nor the hedge of mist, nor magic, nor enchantment." "Thou shalt have this gladly, Lord," he replied. "Cause then the mist to disappear from this place," said Geraint. "Sound yonder horn," said he, "and when thou soundest it, the mist will vanish; but it will not go hence unless the horn be blown by the knight by whom I am vanquished." And sad and sorrowful was Enid where she remained, through anxiety concerning Geraint. Then Geraint went and sounded the horn. And at the first blast he gave, the mist vanished. And all the hosts came together, and they all became reconciled to each other. And the Earl invited Geraint and the Little King to stay with him that night. And the next morning they separated. And Geraint went towards his own dominions; and thenceforth he reigned prosperously, and his warlike fame and splendour lasted with renown and honour both to him and to Enid from that time forward. {Picture: p62.jpg} KILHWCH AND OLWEN OR THE TWRCH TRWYTH {Picture: p63.jpg} Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon desired a wife as a helpmate, and the wife that he chose was Goleuddydd, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd. And after their union the people put up prayers that they might have an heir. And they had a son through the prayers of the people. From the time of her pregnancy Goleuddydd became wild, and wandered about, without habitation; but when her delivery was at hand, her reason came back to her. Then she went to a mountain where there was a swineherd, keeping a herd of swine. And through fear of the swine the queen was delivered. And the swineherd took the boy, and brought him to the palace; and he was christened, and they called him Kilhwch, because he had been found in a swine's burrow. Nevertheless the boy was of gentle lineage, and cousin unto Arthur; and they put him out to nurse. After this the boy's mother, Goleuddydd, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd, fell sick. Then she called her husband unto her, and said to him, "Of this sickness I shall die, and thou wilt take another wife. Now wives are the gift of the Lord, but it would be wrong for thee to harm thy son. Therefore I charge thee that thou take not a wife until thou see a briar with two blossoms upon my grave." And this he promised her. Then she besought him to dress her grave every year, that nothing might grow thereon. {64} So the queen died. Now the king sent an attendant every morning to see if anything were growing upon the grave. And at the end of the seventh year the master neglected that which he had promised to the queen. One day the king went to hunt, and he rode to the place of burial, to see the grave, and to know if it were time that he should take a wife; and the king saw the briar. And when he saw it, the king took counsel where he should find a wife. Said one of his counsellors, "I know a wife that will suit thee well, and she is the wife of King Doged." And they resolved to go to seek her; and they slew the king, and brought away his wife and one daughter that she had along with her. And they conquered the king's lands. On a certain day as the lady walked abroad, she came to the house of an old crone that dwelt in the town, and that had no tooth in her head. And the queen said to her, "Old woman, tell me that which I shall ask thee, for the love of Heaven. Where are the children of the man who has carried me away by violence?" Said the crone, "He has not children." Said the queen, "Woe is me, that I should have come to one who is childless!" Then said the hag, "Thou needest not lament on account of that, for there is a prediction that he shall have an heir by thee, and by none other. Moreover, be not sorrowful, for he has one son." The lady returned home with joy, and she asked her consort, "Wherefore hast thou concealed thy children from me?" The king said, "I will do so no longer." And he sent messengers for his son, and he was brought to the Court. His stepmother said unto him, "It were well for thee to have a wife, and I have a daughter who is sought of every man of renown in the world." "I am not yet of an age to wed," answered the youth. Then said she unto him, "I declare to thee, that it is thy destiny not to be suited with a wife until thou obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr." And the youth blushed, and the love of the maiden diffused itself through all his frame, although he had never seen her. And his father enquired of him, "What has come over thee, my son, and what aileth thee?" "My stepmother has declared to me, that I shall never have a wife until I obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr." "That will be easy for thee," answered his father. "Arthur is thy cousin. Go, therefore, unto Arthur, to cut thy hair, and ask this of him as a boon." {Picture: p66.jpg} And the youth pricked forth upon a steed with head dappled grey, of four winters old, firm of limb, with shell-formed hoofs, having a bridle of linked gold on his head, and upon him a saddle of costly gold. And in the youth's hand were two spears of silver, sharp, well-tempered, headed with steel, three ells in length, of an edge to wound the wind, and cause blood to flow, and swifter than the fall {66} of the dew-drop from the blade of reed grass upon the earth, when the dew of June is at the heaviest. A gold-hilted sword was upon his thigh, the blade of which was of gold, bearing a cross of inlaid gold of the hue of the lightning of heaven: his war-horn was of ivory. Before him were two brindled white- breasted greyhounds, having strong collars of rubies about their necks, reaching from the shoulder to the ear. And the one that was on the left side bounded across to the right side, and the one on the right to the left, and like two sea swallows sported around him. And his courser cast up four sods with his four hoofs, like four swallows in the air, about his head, now above, now below. About him was a four-cornered cloth of purple, and an apple of gold was at each corner; and every one of the apples was of the value of an hundred kine. And there was precious gold of the value of three hundred kine upon his shoes, and upon his stirrups, from his knee to the tip of his toe. And the blade of grass bent not beneath him, so light was his courser's tread as he journeyed towards the gate of Arthur's palace. Spoke the youth, "Is there a porter?" "There is; and if thou holdest not thy peace, small will be thy welcome. {67} I am Arthur's porter every first day of January. And during every other part of the year but this the office is filled by Huandaw, and Gogigwc, and Llaeskenym, and Pennpingyon, who goes upon his head to save his feet, neither towards the sky nor towards the earth, but like a rolling stone upon the floor of the Court." "Open the portal." "I will not open it." "Wherefore not?" "The knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in Arthur's hall, and none may enter therein but the son of a king of a privileged country, or a craftsman bringing his craft. But there will be refreshment for thy dogs, and for thy horses; and for thee there will be collops cooked and peppered, and luscious wine and mirthful songs, and food for fifty men shall be brought unto thee in the guest chamber, where the stranger and the sons of other countries eat, who come not unto the precincts of the Palace of Arthur. Thou wilt fare no worse there than thou wouldest with Arthur in the Court. A lady shall smooth thy couch, and shall lull thee with songs; and early to-morrow morning, when the gate is open for the multitude that came hither to-day, for thee shall it be opened first, and thou mayest sit in the place that thou shall choose in Arthur's Hall, from the upper end to the lower." Said the youth, "That will I not do. If thou openest the gate, it is well. If thou dost not open it, I will bring disgrace upon thy Lord, and evil report upon thee. And I will set up three shouts at this very gate, than which none were ever more deadly, from the top of Pengwaed in Cornwall to the bottom of Dinsol, in the North, and to Esgair Oervel, in Ireland. And all the women in this Palace that are pregnant shall lose their offspring; and such as are not pregnant, their hearts shall be turned by illness, so that they shall never bear children from this day forward." "What clamour soever thou mayest make," said Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr, "against the laws of Arthur's Palace, shalt thou not enter therein, until I first go and speak with Arthur." Then Glewlwyd went into the Hall. And Arthur said to him, "Hast thou news from the gate?"--"Half of my life is past, and half of thine. I was heretofore in Kaer Se and Asse, in Sach and Salach, in Lotor and Fotor; and I have been heretofore in India the Great and India the Lesser; and I was in the battle of Dau Ynyr, when the twelve hostages were brought from Llychlyn. And I have also been in Europe, and in Africa, and in the Islands of Corsica, and in Caer Brythwch, and Brythach, and Verthach; and I was present when formerly thou didst slay the family of Clis the son of Merin, and when thou didst slay Mil Du, the son of Ducum, and when thou didst conquer Greece in the East. And I have been in Caer Oeth and Annoeth, and in Caer Nevenhyr; nine supreme sovereigns, handsome men, saw we there, but never did I behold a man of equal dignity with him who is now at the door of the portal." Then said Arthur, "If walking thou didst enter in here, return thou running. And every one that beholds the light, and every one that opens and shuts the eye, let him show him respect, and serve him, some with gold-mounted drinking horns, others with collops cooked and peppered, until food and drink can be prepared for him. It is unbecoming to keep such a man as thou sayest he is in the wind and the rain." Said Kai, "By the hand of my friend, if thou wouldest follow my counsel, thou wouldest not break through the laws of the Court because of him." "Not so, blessed Kai, it is an honour to us to be resorted to, and the greater our courtesy, the greater will be our renown, and our fame, and our glory." And Glewlwyd came to the gate, and opened the gate before him; and although all dismounted upon the horse-block at the gate, yet did he not dismount, but he rode in upon his charger. Then said Kilhwch, "Greeting be unto thee, Sovereign Ruler of this Island; and be this greeting no less unto the lowest than unto the highest, and be it equally unto thy guests, and thy warriors, and thy chieftains--let all partake of it as completely as thyself. And complete be thy favour, and thy fame, and thy glory, throughout all this Island." "Greeting unto thee also," said Arthur, "sit thou between two of my warriors, and thou shalt have minstrels before thee, and thou shalt enjoy the privileges of a king born to a throne, as long as thou remainest here. And when I dispense my presents to the visitors and strangers in this Court, they shall be in thy hand at my commencing." Said the youth, "I came not here to consume meat and drink; but if I obtain the boon that I seek, I will requite it thee, and extol thee; and if I have it not, I will bear forth thy dispraise to the four quarters of the world, as far as thy renown has extended." Then said Arthur, "Since thou wilt not remain here, chieftain, thou shalt receive the boon whatsoever thy tongue may name, as far as the wind dries and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves, and the sea encircles, and the earth extends; save only my ship; and my mantle; and Caledvwlch, my sword, and Rhongomyant, my lance; and Wynebgwrthucher, my shield; and Carnwenhau, {70a} my dagger; and Gwenhwyvar, my wife. By the truth of Heaven, thou shalt have it cheerfully, name what thou wilt." "I would that thou bless {70b} my hair." "That shalt be granted thee." And Arthur took a golden comb, and scissors, whereof the loops were of silver, and he combed his hair. And Arthur enquired of him who he was. "For my heart warms unto thee, and I know that thou art come of my blood. Tell me, therefore, who thou art." "I will tell thee," said the youth, "I am Kilhwch, the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon, by Goleuddydd, my mother, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd." "That is true," said Arthur. "Thou art my cousin. Whatsoever boon thou mayest ask, thou shalt receive, be it what it may that thy tongue shall name." "Pledge the truth of Heaven and the faith of thy kingdom thereof." "I pledge it thee, gladly." "I crave of thee then, that thou obtain for me Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr, and this boon I likewise seek at the hands of thy warriors. I seek it from Kai, and Bedwyr, and Greidawl Galldonyd, {71a} and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, and Greid the son of Eri, and Kynddelig Kyvarwydd, and Tathal Twyll Goleu, and Maelwys the son of Baeddan, and Crychwr {71b} the son of Nes, and Cubert the son of Daere, and Percos the son of Poch, and Lluber Beuthach, and Corvil Bervach, and Gwynn the son of Nudd, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and Gadwy {71c} the son of Geraint, and Prince Fflewddur Fflam, and Ruawn Pebyr the son of Dorath, and Bradwen the son of Moren Mynawc, and Moren Mynawc himself, and Dalldav the son of Kimin Cov, and the son of Alun Dyved, and the son of Saidi, and the son of Gwryon, and Uchtryd Ardywad Kad, and Kynwas Curvagyl, and Gwrhyr Gwarthegvras, and Isperyr Ewingath, and Gallcoyt Govynynat, and Duach, and Grathach, and Nerthach, the sons of Gwawrddur Kyrvach, (these men came forth from the confines of Hell), and Kilydd Canhastyr, and Canastyr Kanllaw, and Cors Cant-Ewin, and Esgeir Gulhwch Govynkawn, and Drustwrn Hayarn, and Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr, and Lloch Llawwynnyawc, and Aunwas {71d} Adeiniawc, and Sinnoch the son of Seithved, and Gwennwynwyn the son of Naw, and Bedyw the son of Seithved, and Gobrwy the son of Echel Vorddwyttwll, and Echel Vorddwyttwll himself, and Mael the son of Roycol, and Dadweir Dallpenn, and Garwyli the son of Gwythawc Gwyr, and Gwythawc Gwyr himself, and Gormant the son of Ricca, and Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, and Digon the son of Alar, and Selyf the son of Smoit, {71e} and Gusg the son of Atheu, and Nerth the son of Kedarn, and Drudwas the son of Tryffin, and Twrch the son of Perif, and Twrch the son of Annwas, and Iona king of France, and Sel the son of Selgi, and Teregud the son of Iaen, and Sulyen the son of Iaen, and Bradwen the son of Iaen, and Moren the son of Iaen, and Siawn the son of Iaen, and Cradawc the son of Iaen. (They were men of Caerdathal, of Arthur's kindred on his father's side.) Dirmyg the son of Kaw, and Justic the son of Kaw, and Etmic the son of Kaw, and Anghawd the son of Kaw, and Ovan the son of Kaw, and Kelin the son of Kaw, and Connyn the son of Kaw, and Mabsant the son of Kaw, and Gwyngad the son of Kaw, and Llwybyr the son of Kaw, and Coth the son of Kaw, and Meilic the son of Kaw, and Kynwas the son of Kaw, and Ardwyad the son of Kaw, and Ergyryad the son of Kaw, and Neb the son of Kaw, and Gilda the son of Kaw, and Calcas the son of Kaw, and Hueil the son of Kaw, (he never yet made a request at the hand of any Lord). And Samson Vinsych, and Taliesin the chief of the bards, and Mamawyddan the son of Llyr, and Llary the son of Prince Kasnar, and Ysperni {72a} the son of Fflergant king of Armorica, and Saranhon the son of Glythwyr, and Llawr Eilerw, and Annyanniawc the son of Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, and Gwynn the son of Nwyvre, and Fflam the son of Nwyvre, and Geraint the son of Erbin, and Ermid {72b} the son of Erbin, and Dyvel the son of Erbin, and Gwynn the son of Ermid, and Kyndrwyn the son of Ermid, and Hyveidd Unllenn, and Eiddon Vawr Vrydic, and Reidwn Arwy, and Gormant the son of Ricca (Arthur's brother by his mother's side; the Penhynev of Cornwall was his father), and Llawnrodded Varvawc, and Nodawl Varyf Twrch, and Berth the son of Kado, and Rheidwn the son of Beli, and Iscovan Hael, and Iscawin the son of Panon, and Morvran the son of Tegid (no one struck him in the battle of Camlan by reason of his ugliness; all thought he was an auxiliary devil. Hair had he upon him like the hair of a stag). And Sandde Bryd Angel (no one touched him with a spear in the battle of Camlan because of his beauty; all thought he was a ministering angel). And Kynwyl Sant, the third man that escaped from the battle of Camlan, (and he was the last who parted from Arthur on Hengroen his horse). And Uchtryd the son of Erim, and Eus the son of Erim, and Henwas Adeinawg the son of Erim, and Henbedestyr the son of Erim, and Sgilti Yscawndroed son of Erim. (Unto these three men belonged these three qualities,--with Henbedestyr there was not any one who could keep pace, either on horseback or on foot; with Henwas Adeinawg, no four-footed beast could run the distance of an acre, much less could it go beyond it; and as to Sgilti Yscawndroed, when he intended to go upon a message for his Lord, he never sought to find a path, but knowing whither he was to go, if his way lay through a wood he went along the tops of the trees. During his whole life, a blade of reed grass bent not beneath his feet, much less did one ever break, so lightly did he tread.) Teithi Hen the son of Gwynhan, (his dominions were swallowed up by the sea and he himself hardly escaped, and he came to Arthur; and his knife had this peculiarity, that from the time that he came there, no haft would ever remain upon it, and owing to this a sickness came over him, and he pined away during the remainder of his life, and of this he died). And Carneddyr the son of Govynyon Hen, and Gwenwynwyn the son of Nav Gyssevin, Arthur's champion, and Llysgadrudd Emys, and Gwrbothu Hen, (uncles unto Arthur were they, his mother's brothers). Kulvanawyd the son of Goryon, and Llenlleawg {74a} Wyddel from the headland of Ganion, and Dyvynwal Moel, and Dunard king of the North, Teirnon Twryf Bliant, and Tegvan Gloff, and Tegyr Talgellawg, Gwrdinal {74b} the son of Ebrei, and Morgant Hael, Gwystyl the son of Rhun the son of Nwython, and Llwyddeu, the son of Nwython, and Gwydre the son of Llwyddeu, (Gwenabwy the daughter of [Kaw] was his mother, Hueil his uncle stabbed him, and hatred was between Hueil and Arthur because of the wound). Drem the son of Dremidyd, (when the gnat arose in the morning with the sun, he could see it from Gelli Wic in Cornwall, as far off as Pen Blathaon in North Britain). And Eidyol the son of Ner, and Glwyddyn Saer, (who constructed Ehangwen, Arthur's Hall). Kynyr Keinvarvawc, (when he was told he had a son born, {74c} he said to his wife, 'Damsel, if thy son be mine, his heart will be always cold, and there will be no warmth in his hands; and he will have another peculiarity, if he is my son he will always be stubborn; and he will have another peculiarity, when he carries a burden, whether it be large or small, no one will be able to see it, either before him or at his back; and he will have another peculiarity, no one will be able to resist water and fire so well as he will; and he will have another peculiarity, there will never be a servant or an officer equal to him'). Henwas, and Henwyneb, (an old companion to Arthur). Gwallgoyc, (another; when he came to a town, though there were three hundred houses in it, if he wanted any thing, he would not let sleep come to the eyes of any one whilst he remained there). Berwyn the son of Gerenhir, and Paris king of France, {75a} and Osla Gyllellvawr, (who bore a short broad dagger. When Arthur and his hosts came before a torrent, they would seek for a narrow place where they might pass the water, and would lay the sheathed dagger across the torrent, and it would form a bridge sufficient for the armies of the three Islands of Britain, and of the three Islands adjacent, with their spoil). Gwyddawg the son of Menestyr, (who slew Kai, and whom Arthur slew together with his brothers, to revenge Kai). Garanwyn the son of Kai, and Amren the son of Bedwyr, and Ely Amyr, and Rheu Rhwyd Dyrys, and Rhun Rhudwern, and Eli, and Trachmyr, (Arthur's chief huntsmen). And Llwyddeu the son of Kelcoed, and Hunabwy the son of Gwryon, and Gwynn Godyvron, and Gweir Datharwenniddawg, and Gweir the son of Cadell the son of Talaryant, {75b} and Gweir Gwrhyd Ennwir, and Gweir Paladyr Hir, (the uncles of Arthur, the brothers of his mother). The sons of Llwch Llawwynnyawg, (from beyond the raging sea). Llenlleawg Wyddel, and Ardderchawg Prydain. Cas the son of Saidi, Gwrvan Gwallt Avwyn, and Gwyllennhin the king of France, and Gwittart the son of Oedd king of Ireland, Garselit Wyddel, Panawr Pen Bagad, and Ffleudor the son of Nav, Gwynnhyvar mayor of Cornwall and Devon, (the ninth man that rallied the battle of Camlan). Keli and Kueli, and Gilla Coes Hydd, (he would clear three hundred acres at one bound. The chief leaper of Ireland was he). Sol, and Gwadyn Ossol and Gwadyn Odyeith. (Sol could stand all day upon one foot. Gwadyn Ossol, if he stood upon the top of the highest mountain in the world, it would become a level plain under his feet. Gwadyn Odyeith, the soles of his feet emitted sparks of fire when they struck upon things hard, like the heated mass when drawn out of the forge. He cleared the way for Arthur when he came to any stoppage.) Hirerwm and Hiratrwm. (The day they went on a visit three Cantrevs provided for their entertainment, and they feasted until noon and drank until night, when they went to sleep. And then they devoured the heads of the vermin through hunger, as if they had never eaten anything. When they made a visit, they left neither the fat nor the lean, neither the hot nor the cold, the sour nor the sweet, the fresh nor the salt, the boiled nor the raw.) Huarwar the son of Aflawn, (who asked Arthur such a boon as would satisfy him. It was the third great plague of Cornwall when he received it. None could get a smile from him but when he was satisfied). Gware Gwallt Euryn. The two cubs of Gast Rhymi, Gwyddrud and Gwyddneu Astrus. Sugyn the son of Sugnedydd, (who would suck up the sea on which were three hundred ships, so as to leave nothing but a dry strand. He was broad-chested). {76a} Rhacymwri, the attendant of Arthur; (whatever barn he was shown, were there the produce of thirty ploughs within it, he would strike it with an iron flail until the rafters, the beams, and the boards, were no better than the small oats in the mow upon the floor of the barn). Dygyflwng, and Anoeth Veidawg. And Hir Eiddyl, and Hir Amreu, (they were two attendants of Arthur). And Gwevyl the son of Gwestad, (on the day that he was sad, he would let one of his lips drop below his waist, while he turned up the other like a cap upon his head). Uchtryd Varyf Draws, (who spread his red untrimmed beard over the eight-and-forty rafters which were in Arthur's Hall). Elidyr Gyvarwydd, Yskyrdav, and Yscudydd, (two attendants of Gwenhwyvar were they. Their feet were swift as their thoughts when bearing a message). Brys the son of Bryssethach, (from the Hill of the Black Fernbrake in North Britain). And Grudlwyn Gorr. Bwlch, and Kyfwlch, and Sefwlch, the sons of Cleddyf Kyfwlch, the grandsons of Cleddyf Difwlch. (Their three shields were three gleaming glitterers; their three spears were three pointed piercers; their three swords were three griding gashers; Glas, Glessic, and Gleisad. Their three dogs, Call, Cuall, and Cavall. Their three horses, Hwyrdyddwd, and Drwgdyddwd, and Llwyrdyddwg. {77a} Their three wives, Och, and Garym, and Diaspad. Their three grand-children, Lluched, and Neved, and Eissiwed. Their three daughters, Drwg, and Gwaeth, and Gwaethav Oll. Their three handmaids, Eheubryd the daughter of Kyfwlch, Gorascwrn the daughter of Nerth, Ewaedan the daughter of Kynvelyn Keudawd Pwyll the half man.) Dwnn Diessic Unbenn, Eiladyr the son of Pen Llarcau, Kynedyr Wyllt the son of Hettwn Talaryant, Sawyl, Ben Uchel, Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, Gwalhaved the son of Gwyar, Gwrhyr Gwastawd Ieithoedd, (to whom all tongues were known,) and Kethcrwn {77b} the Priest. Clust the son of Clustveinad, (though he were buried seven cubits beneath the earth, he would hear the ant, fifty miles off, rise from her nest in the morning). Medyr the son of Methredydd, (from Gelli Wic he could, in a twinkling, shoot the wren through the two legs upon Esgeir Oervel in Ireland). Gwiawn Llygad Cath, (who would cut a haw from the eye of the gnat without hurting him). Ol the son of Olwydd; (seven years before he was born his father's swine were carried off, and when he grew up a man, he tracked the swine, and brought them back in seven herds). Bedwini the Bishop, (who blessed Arthur's meat and drink). For the sake of the golden-chained daughters of this island. For the sake of Gwenhwyvar, its chief lady, and Gwennhwyach her sister, and Rathtyeu the only daughter of Clemenhill, and Rhelemon the daughter of Kai, and Tannwen the daughter of Gweir Datharweniddawg. {78a} Gwenn Alarch, the daughter of Kynwyl Canbwch. {78b} Eurneid the daughter of Clydno Eiddin. Eneuawc the daughter of Bedwyr. Enrydreg the daughter of Tudvathar. Gwennwledyr the daughter of Gwaledyr Kyrvach. Erddudnid the daughter of Tryffin. Eurolwen the daughter of Gwdolwyn Gorr. Teleri the daughter of Peul. Indeg the daughter of Garwy {78c} Hir. Morvudd the daughter of Urien Rheged. Gwenllian Deg the majestic maiden. Creiddylad the daughter of Llud Llaw Ereint. (She was the most splendid maiden in the three Islands of the mighty, and in the three Islands adjacent, and for her Gwythyr the son of Greidawl and Gwynn the son of Nudd fight every first of May until the day of doom.) Ellylw the daughter of Neol Kynn- Crog. (She lived three ages.) Essyllt Vinwen, and Essyllt Vingul." And all these did Kilhwch son of Kilydd adjure to obtain his boon. Then said Arthur, "Oh! Chieftain, I have never heard of the maiden of whom thou speakest, nor of her kindred, but I will gladly send messengers in search of her. Give me time to seek her." And the youth said, "I will willingly grant from this night to that at the end of the year to do so." Then Arthur sent messengers to every land within his dominions, to seek for the maiden, and at the end of the year Arthur's messengers returned without having gained any knowledge or intelligence concerning Olwen, more than on the first day. Then said Kilhwch, "Every one has received his boon, and I yet lack mine. I will depart and bear away thy honour with me." Then said Kai, "Rash chieftain! dost thou reproach Arthur? Go with us, and we will not part until thou dost either confess that the maiden exists not in the world, or until we obtain her." Thereupon Kai rose up. Kai had this peculiarity, that his breath lasted nine nights and nine days under water, and he could exist nine nights and nine days without sleep. A wound from Kai's sword no physician could heal. Very subtle was Kai. When it pleased him he could render himself as tall as the highest tree in the forest. And he had another peculiarity,--so great was the heat of his nature, that when it rained hardest, whatever he carried remained dry for a handbreadth above and a handbreadth below his hand; and when his companions were coldest, it was to them as fuel with which to light their fire. And Arthur called Bedwyr, who never shrank from any enterprise upon which Kai was bound. None were equal to him in swiftness throughout this Island except Arthur and Drych Ail Kibddar. And although he was one-handed, three warriors could not shed blood faster than he on the field of battle. Another property he had, his lance would produce a wound equal to those of nine opposing lances. And Arthur called to Kynddelig the Guide, "Go thou upon this expedition with the chieftain." For as good a guide was he in a land which he had never seen as he was in his own. He called Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, because he knew all tongues. He called Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, because he never returned home without achieving the adventure of which he went in quest. He was the best of footmen and the best of knights. He was nephew to Arthur, the son of his sister, and his cousin. And Arthur called Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, in order that if they went into a savage country, he might cast a charm and an illusion over them, so that none might see them, whilst they could see every one. They journeyed until they came to a vast open plain, wherein they saw a great castle, which was the fairest of the castles of the world. And they journeyed that day until the evening, and when they thought they were nigh to the castle, they were no nearer to it than they had been in the morning. And the second and the third day they journeyed, and even then scarcely could they reach so far. And when they came before the castle, they beheld a vast flock of sheep, which was boundless, and without an end. And upon the top of a mound there was a herdsman, keeping the sheep. And a rug made of skins was upon him; and by his side was a shaggy mastiff, larger than a steed nine winters old. Never had he lost even a lamb from his flock, much less a large sheep. He let no occasion ever pass without doing some hurt and harm. All the dead trees and bushes in the plain he burnt with his breath down to the very ground. Then said Kai, "Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, go thou and salute yonder man." "Kai," said he, "I engaged not to go further than thou thyself." "Let us go then together," answered Kai. {81a} Said Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, "Fear not to go thither, for I will cast a spell upon the dog, so that he shall injure no one." And they went up to the mound whereon the herdsman was, and they said to him, "How dost thou fare? O herdsman!" "No less fair be it to you than to me." "Truly, art thou the chief?" "There is no hurt to injure me but my own." {81b} "Whose are the sheep that thou dost keep, and to whom does yonder castle belong?" "Stupid are ye, truly! Through the whole world is it known that this is the castle of Yspaddaden Penkawr." "And who art thou?" "I am called Custennin the son of Dyfnedig, and my brother Yspaddaden Penkawr oppressed me because of my possession. And ye also, who are ye?" "We are an embassy from Arthur, come to seek Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr." "Oh men! the mercy of Heaven be upon you, do not that for all the world. None who ever came hither on this quest has returned alive." And the herdsman rose up. And as he arose, Kilhwch gave unto him a ring of gold. And he sought to put on the ring, but it was too small for him, so he placed it in the finger of his glove. And he went home, and gave the glove to his spouse to keep. And she took the ring from the glove when it was given her, and she said, "Whence came this ring, for thou art not wont to have good fortune?" "I went," said he, "to the sea to seek for fish, and lo, I saw a corpse borne by the waves. And a fairer corpse than it did I never behold. And from its finger did I take this ring." "Oh man! does the sea permit its dead to wear jewels? Show me then this body." "Oh wife, him to whom this ring belonged thou shalt see herein the evening." {82} "And who is he?" asked the woman. "Kilhwch the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon, by Goleuddydd the daughter of Prince Anlawdd, his mother, who is come to seek Olwen as his wife." And when she heard that, her feelings were divided between the joy that she had that her nephew, the son of her sister, was coming to her, and sorrow because she had never known any one depart alive who had come on that quest. And they went forward to the gate of Custennin the herdsman's dwelling. And when she heard their footsteps approaching, she ran out with joy to meet them. And Kai snatched a billet out of the pile. And when she met them she sought to throw her arms about their necks. And Kai placed the log between her two hands, and she squeezed it so that it became a twisted coil. "Oh woman," said Kai, "if thou hadst squeezed me thus, none could ever again have set their affections on me. Evil love were this." They entered into the house, and were served; and soon after they all went forth to amuse themselves. Then the woman opened a stone chest that was before the chimney corner, and out of it arose a youth with yellow curling hair. Said Gwrhyr, "It is a pity to hide this youth. I know that it is not his own crime that is thus visited upon him." "This is but a remnant," said the woman. "Three and twenty of my sons has Yspaddaden Penkawr slain, and I have no more hope of this one than of the others." Then said Kai, "Let him come and be a companion with me, and he shall not be slain unless I also am slain with him." And they ate. And the woman asked them, "Upon what errand come you here?" "We come to seek Olwen for this youth." Then said the woman, "In the name of Heaven, since no one from the castle hath yet seen you, return again whence you came." "Heaven is our witness, that we will not return until we have seen the maiden." Said Kai, "Does she ever come hither, so that she may be seen?" "She comes here every Saturday to wash her head, and in the vessel where she washes, she leaves all her rings, and she never either comes herself or sends any messengers to fetch them." "Will she come here if she is sent to?" "Heaven knows that I will not destroy my soul, nor will I betray those that trust me; unless you will pledge me your faith that you will not harm her, I will not send to her." "We pledge it," said they. So a message was sent, and she came. The maiden was clothed in a robe of flame-coloured silk, and about her neck was a collar of ruddy gold, on which were precious emeralds and rubies. More yellow was her head than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands and her fingers than the blossoms of the wood anemone amidst the spray of the meadow fountain. The eye of the trained hawk, the glance of the three- mewed falcon, was not brighter than hers. Her bosom was more snowy than the breast of the white swan, her cheek was redder than the reddest roses. Whoso beheld her was filled with her love. Four white trefoils sprung up wherever she trod. And therefore was she called Olwen. She entered the house, and sat beside Kilhwch upon the foremost bench; and as soon as he saw her he knew her. And Kilhwch said unto her, "Ah! maiden, thou art she whom I have loved; come away with me lest they speak evil of thee and of me. Many a day have I loved thee." "I cannot do this, for I have pledged my faith to my father not to go without his counsel, for his life will last only until the time of my espousals. Whatever is, must be. But I will give thee advice if thou wilt take it. Go, ask me of my father, and that which he shall require of thee, grant it, and thou wilt obtain me; but if thou deny him anything, thou wilt not obtain me, and it will be well for thee if thou escape with thy life." "I promise all this, if occasion offer," said he. {84a} She returned to her chamber, and they all rose up and followed her to the castle. And they slew the nine porters that were at the nine gates in silence. And they slew the nine watch-dogs without one of them barking. And they went forward to the hall. "The greeting of Heaven and of man be unto thee, Yspaddaden Penkawr," said they. "And you, wherefore come you?" "We come to ask thy daughter Olwen, for Kilhwch the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon." "Where are my pages and my servants? {84b} Raise up the forks beneath my two eyebrows which have fallen over my eyes, that I may see the fashion of my son-in-law." And they did so. "Come hither to-morrow, and you shall have an answer." They rose to go forth, and Yspaddaden Penkawr seized one of the three poisoned darts that lay beside him, and threw it after them. And Bedwyr caught it, and flung it, and pierced Yspaddaden Penkawr grievously with it through the knee. {85a} Then he said, "A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly. I shall ever walk the worse for his rudeness, and shall ever be without a cure. This poisoned iron pains me like the bite of a gad-fly. Cursed be the smith who forged it, and the anvil whereon it was wrought! So sharp is it!" That night also they took up their abode in the house of Custennin the herdsman. The next day with the dawn, they arrayed themselves in haste, and proceeded to the castle, and entered the hall, and they said, "Yspaddaden Penkawr, give us thy daughter in consideration of her dower and her maiden fee, which we will pay to thee and to her two kinswomen likewise. And unless thou wilt do so, thou shall meet with thy death on her account." Then he said, "Her four great-grandmothers, and her four great-grandsires are yet alive, it is needful that I take counsel of them." "Be it so," answered they, "we will go to meat." As they rose up; he took the second dart that was beside him, and cast it after them. And Menw the son of Gwaedd caught it, and flung it back at him, and wounded him in the centre of the breast, so that it came out at the small of his back. "A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly," said he, "the hard iron pains me like the bite of a horse-leech. Cursed be the hearth whereon it was heated, and the smith who formed it! So sharp is it! Henceforth, whenever I go up a hill, I shall have a scant in my breath, and a pain in my chest, and I shall often loathe my food." And they went to meat. And the third day they returned to the palace. And Yspaddaden Penkawr said to them, "Shoot not at me again unless you desire death. Where are my attendants? Lift up the forks of my eyebrows which have fallen over my eyeballs, that I may see the fashion of my son-in-law." Then they arose, and, as they did so, Yspaddaden Penkawr took the third poisoned dart, and cast it at them. And Kilhwch caught it, and threw it vigorously, and wounded him through the eyeball, so that the dart came out at the back of his head. "A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly! As long as I remain alive, my eyesight will be the worse. Whenever I go against the wind, my eyes will water; and peradventure my head will burn, and I shall have a giddiness every new moon. Cursed be the fire in which it was forged. Like the bite of a mad dog is the stroke of this poisoned iron." And they went to meat. And the next day they came again to the palace, and they said, "Shoot not at us any more, unless thou desirest such hurt, and harm, and torture as thou now hast, and even more. Give me thy daughter; and if thou wilt not give her, thou shall receive thy death because of her." "Where is he that seeks my daughter? Come hither where I may see thee." And they placed him a chair face to face with him. Said Yspaddaden Penkawr, "Is it thou that seekest my daughter?" "It is I," answered Kilhwch. "I must have thy pledge that thou wilt not do towards me otherwise than is just, and, when I have gotten that which I shall name, my daughter thou shalt have." "I promise thee that willingly," said Kilhwch; "name what thou wilt." "I will do so," said he. "Seest thou yonder vast hill?" "I see it." "I require that it be rooted up, and that the grubbings be burned for manure on the face of the land, and that it be ploughed and sown in one day, and in one day that the grain ripen. And of that wheat I intend to make food and liquor fit for the wedding of thee and my daughter. And all this I require to be done in one day." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though this be easy for thee, there is yet that which will not be so. No husbandman can till or prepare this land, so wild is it, except Amaethon the son of Don, and he will not come with thee by his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Govannon the son of Don to come to the headland to rid the iron, he will do no work of his own good will except for a lawful king, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; the two dun oxen of Gwlwlyd, {87} both yoked together, to plough the wild land yonder stoutly. He will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; the yellow and the brindled bull yoked together do I require." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; the two horned oxen, one of which is beyond, and the other this side of the peaked mountain, yoked together in the same plough. And these are Nynniaw and Peibaw, whom God turned into oxen on account of their sins." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Seest thou yonder red tilled ground?" "I see it." "When first I met the mother of this maiden, nine bushels of flax were sown therein, and none has yet sprung up, neither white nor black; and I have the measure by me still. I require to have the flax to sow in the new land yonder, that when it grows up it may make a white wimple, for my daughter's head on the day of thy wedding." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Honey that is nine times sweeter than the honey of the virgin swarm, without scum and bees, do I require to make bragget for the feast." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "The vessel of Llwyr the son of Llwyryon, which is of the utmost value. There is no other vessel in the world that can hold this drink. Of his free will thou wilt not get it, and thou canst not compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The basket of Gwyddneu Garanhir, if the whole world should come together, thrice nine men at a time, the meat that each of them desired would be found within it. I require to eat therefrom on the night that my daughter becomes thy bride. He will give it to no one of his own free will, and thou canst not compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The horn of Gwlgawd Gododin to serve us with liquor that night. He will not give it of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The harp of Teirtu to play to us that night. {89} When a man desires that it should play, it does so of itself, and when he desires that it should cease, it ceases. And this he will not give of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The cauldron of Diwrnach Wyddel, the steward of Odgar the son of Aedd, king of Ireland, to boil the meat for thy marriage feast." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. It is needful for me to wash my head, and shave my beard, and I require the tusk of Yskithyrwyn Benbaedd to shave myself withal, neither shall I profit by its use if it be not plucked alive out of his head." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. There is no one in the world that can pluck it out of his head except Odgar the son of Aedd, king of Ireland." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. I will not trust any one to keep the tusk except Gado of North Britain. Now the threescore Cantrevs of North Britain are under his sway, and of his own free will he will not come out of his kingdom, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it wilt not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. I must spread out my hair in order to shave it, and it will never be spread out unless I have the blood of the jet black sorceress, the daughter of the pure white sorceress, from Pen Nant Govid, on the confines of Hell." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. I will not have the blood unless I have it warm, and no vessels will keep warm the liquid that is put therein except the bottles of Gwyddolwyn Gorr, which preserve the heat of the liquor that is put into them in the east, until they arrive at the west. And he will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Some will desire fresh milk, and it will not be possible to have fresh milk for all, unless we have the bottles of Rhinnon Rhin Barnawd, wherein no liquor ever turns sour. And he will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is not a comb or scissors with which I can arrange my hair, on account of its rankness, except the comb and scissors that are between the two ears of Twrch Trwyth, the son of Prince Tared. He will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. It will not be possible to hunt Twrch Trwyth without Drudwyn, the whelp of Greid, the son of Eri." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is not a leash that can hold him, except the leash of Cwrs Cant Ewin." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is no collar that wilt hold the leash except the collar of Canhastyr Canllaw." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The chain of Kilydd Canhastyr to fasten the collar to the leash." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is not a huntsman who can hunt with this dog, except Mabon the son of Modron. He was taken from his mother when three nights old, and it is not known where he now is, nor whether he is living or dead." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Gwynn Mygdwn, the horse of Gweddw that is as swift as the wave, to carry Mabon the son of Modron to hunt the Boar Trwyth. He will not give him of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Thou wilt not get Mabon, for it is not known where he is, unless thou find Eidoel, his kinsman in blood, the son of Aer. For it would be useless to seek for him. He is his cousin." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Garselit the Gwyddelian {92} is the chief huntsman of Ireland; the Twrch Trwyth can never be hunted without him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. A leash made from the beard of Dissull Varvawc, for that is the only one that can hold those two cubs. And the leash will be of no avail unless it be plucked from his beard while he is alive, and twitched out with wooden tweezers. While he lives he will not suffer this to be done to him, and the leash will be of no use should he be dead, because it will be brittle." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is no huntsman that can hold those two whelps, except Kynedyr Wyllt, the son of Hettwn Glafyrawc; he is nine times more wild than the wildest beast upon the mountains. Him wilt thou never get, neither wilt thou ever get my daughter." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. It is not possible to hunt the Boar Trwyth without Gwynn the son of Nudd, whom God has placed over the brood of devils in Annwn, lest they should destroy the present race. He will never be spared thence." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. There is not a horse in the world that can carry Gwynn to hunt the Twrch Trwyth, except Du, the horse of Mor of Oerveddawg." {93} "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Until Gilennhin the king of France shall come, the Twrch Trwyth cannot be hunted. It will be unseemly for him to leave his kingdom for thy sake, and he will never come hither." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The Twrch Trwyth can never be hunted without the son of Alun Dyved; he is well skilled in letting loose the dogs." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The Twrch Trwyth cannot be hunted unless thou get Aned and Aethlem. They are as swift as the gale of wind, and they were never let loose upon a beast that they did not kill him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; Arthur and his companions to hunt the Twrch Trwyth. He is a mighty man, and he will not come for thee, neither wilt thou be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The Twrch Trwyth cannot be hunted unless thou get Bwlch, and Kyfwlch, [and Sefwlch,] the grandsons of Cleddyf Difwlch. Their three shields are three gleaming glitterers. Their three spears are three pointed piercers. Their three swords are three griding gashers, Glas, Glessic, and Clersag. Their three dogs, Call, Cuall, and Cavall, Their three horses, Hwyrdydwg, and Drwgdydwg, and Llwyrdydwg. Their three wives, Och, and Geram, and Diaspad. Their three grandchildren, Lluched, and Vyned, and Eissiwed. Their three daughters, Drwg, and Gwaeth, and Gwaethav Oil. Their three handmaids, [Eheubryd, the daughter of Kyfwlch; Gorasgwrn, the daughter of Nerth; and Gwaedan, the daughter of Kynvelyn.] These three men shall sound the horn, and all the others shall shout, so that all will think that the sky is falling to the earth." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The sword of Gwrnach the Giant; he will never be slain except therewith. Of his own free will he will not give it, either for a price or as a gift, and thou wilt never be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Difficulties shall thou meet with, and nights without sleep, in seeking this, and if thou obtain it not, neither shalt thou obtain my daughter." "Horses shall I have, and chivalry; and my lord and kinsman Arthur will obtain for me all these things. And I shall gain thy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy life." "Go forward. And thou shalt not be chargeable for food or raiment for my daughter while thou art seeking these things; and when thou hast compassed all these marvels, thou shalt have my daughter for thy wife." * * * * * All that day they journeyed until the evening, and then they beheld a vast castle, which was the largest in the world. And lo, a black man, huger than three of the men of this world, came out from the castle. And they spoke unto him, "Whence comest them, O man?" "From the castle which you see yonder." "Whose castle is that?" asked they. "Stupid are ye truly, O men. There is no one in the world that does not know to whom this castle belongs. It is the castle of Gwrnach the Giant." "What treatment is there for guests and strangers that alight in that castle?" "Oh! chieftain, Heaven protect thee. No guest ever returned thence alive, and no one may enter therein unless he brings with him his craft." Then they proceeded towards the gate. Said Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Ieithoedd, "Is there a porter?" "There is. And thou, if thy tongue be not mute in thy head, wherefore dost thou call?" "Open the gate." "I will not open it." "Wherefore wilt thou not?" "The knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in the hall of Gwrnach the Giant, and except for a craftsman who brings his craft, the gate will not be opened to-night." "Verily, porter," then said Kai, "my craft bring I with me." "What is thy craft?" "The best burnisher of swords am I in the world." "I will go and tell this unto Gwrnach the Giant, and I will bring thee an answer." So the porter went in, and Gwrnach said to him, "Hast thou any news from the gate?" "I have. There is a party at the door of the gate who desire to come in." "Didst thou enquire of them if they possessed any art?" "I did enquire," said he, "and one told me that he was well skilled in the burnishing of swords." "We have need of him then. For some time have I sought for some one to polish my sword, and could find no one. Let this man enter, since he brings with him his craft." The porter thereupon returned, and opened the gate. And Kai went in by himself, and he saluted Gwrnach the Giant. And a chair was placed for him opposite to Gwrnach. And Gwrnach said to him, "Oh man! is it true that is reported of thee that thou knowest how to burnish swords?" "I know full well how to do so," answered Kai. Then was the sword of Gwrnach brought to him. And Kai took a blue whetstone from under his arm, and asked him whether he would have it burnished white or blue. "Do with it as it seems good to thee, and as thou wouldest if it were thine own." Then Kai polished one half of the blade and put it in his hand. "Will this please thee?" asked he. "I would rather than all that is in my dominions that the whole of it were like unto this. It is a marvel to me that such a man as thou should be without a companion." "Oh! noble sir, I have a companion, albeit he is not skilled in this art." "Who may he be?" "Let the porter go forth, and I will tell him whereby he may know him. The head of his lance will leave its shaft, and draw blood from the wind, and will descend upon its shaft again." Then the gate was opened, and Bedwyr entered. And Kai said, "Bedwyr is very skilful, although he knows not this art." And there was much discourse among those who were without, because that Kai and Bedwyr had gone in. And a young man who was with them, the only son of Custennin the herdsman, got in also. And he caused all his companions to keep close to him as he passed the three wards, and until he came into the midst of the castle. {98a} And his companions said unto the son of Custennin, "Thou hast done this! Thou art the best of all men." And thenceforth he was called Goreu, the son of Custennin. Then they dispersed to their lodgings, that they might slay those who lodged therein, unknown to the Giant. The sword was now polished, and Kai gave it unto the hand of Gwrnach the Giant, to see if he were pleased with his work. And the Giant said, "The work is good, I am content therewith." Said Kai, "It is thy scabbard that hath rusted thy sword; give it to me that I may take out the wooden sides of it, and put in new ones." And he took the scabbard from him, and the sword in the other hand. And he came and stood over against the Giant, as if he would have put the sword into the scabbard; and with it he struck at the head of the Giant, and cut off his head at one blow. Then they despoiled the castle, and took from it what goods and jewels they would. And again on the same day, at the beginning of the year, they came to Arthur's Court, bearing with them the sword of Gwrnach the Giant. Now when they had told Arthur how they had sped, Arthur said, "Which of these marvels will it be best for us to seek first?" "It will be best," said they, "to seek Mabon the son of Modron; and he will not be found unless we first find Eidoel, the son of Aer, his kinsman." Then Arthur rose up, and the warriors of the Islands of Britain with him, to seek for Eidoel; and they proceeded until they came before the Castle of Glivi, {98b} where Eidoel was imprisoned. Glivi {99a} stood on the summit of his Castle, and he said, "Arthur, what requirest thou of me, since nothing remains to me in this fortress, and I have neither joy nor pleasure in it; neither wheat nor oats? Seek not therefore to do me harm." Said Arthur, "Not to injure thee came I hither, but to seek for the prisoner that is with thee." "I will give thee my prisoner, though I had not thought to give him up to any one; and therewith shall thou have my support and my aid." His followers said unto Arthur, "Lord, go thou home, thou canst not proceed with thy host in quest of such small adventures as these." Then said Arthur, "It were well for thee, Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Iethoedd, to go upon this quest, for thou knowest all languages, and art familiar with {99b} those of the birds and the beasts. Thou Eidoel oughtest likewise to go with my men in search of thy cousin. And as for you, Kai and Bedwyr, I have hope of whatever adventure ye are in quest of, that ye will achieve it. Achieve ye this adventure for me." They went forward until they came to the Ousel of Cilgwri. And Gwrhyr adjured her for the sake of Heaven, saying, "Tell me if thou knowest aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken when three nights old from between his mother and the wall." And the Ousel answered, "When I first came here, there was a smith's anvil in this place, and I was then a young bird; and from that time no work has been done upon it, save the pecking of my beak every evening, and now there is not so much as the size of a nut remaining thereof; yet the vengeance of Heaven be upon me, if during all that time I have ever heard of the man for whom you enquire. Nevertheless I will do that which is right, and that which it is fitting that I should do for an embassy from Arthur. There is a race of animals who were formed before me, and I will be your guide to them." So they proceeded to the place where was the Stag of Redynvre. "Stag of Redynvre, behold we are come to thee, an embassy from Arthur, for we have not heard of any animal older than thou. Say, knowest thou aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken from his mother when three nights old?" The Stag said, "When first I came hither, there was a plain all around me, without any trees save one oak sapling, {100} which grew up to be an oak with an hundred branches. And that oak has since perished, so that now nothing remains of it but the withered stump; and from that day to this I have been here, yet have I never heard of the man for whom you enquire. Nevertheless, being an embassy from Arthur, I will be your guide to the place where there is an animal which was formed before I was." So they proceeded to the place where was the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd. "Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd, here is an embassy from Arthur; knowest thou aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken after three nights from his mother?" "If I knew I would tell you. When first I came hither, the wide valley you see was a wooded glen. And a race of men came and rooted it up. And there grew there a second wood; and this wood is the third. My wings, are they not withered stumps? Yet all this time, even until to-day, I have never heard of the man for whom you enquire. Nevertheless, I will be the guide of Arthur's embassy until you come to the place where is the oldest animal in this world, and the one that has travelled most, the Eagle of Gwern Abwy." Gwrhyr said, "Eagle of Gwern Abwy, we have come to thee an embassy from Arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken from his mother when he was three nights old." The Eagle said, "I have been here for a great space of time, and when I first came hither there was a rock here, from the top of which I pecked at the stars every evening; and now it is not so much as a span high. From that day to this I have been here, and I have never heard of the man for whom you enquire, except once when I went in search of food as far as Llyn Llyw. And when I came there, I struck my talons into a salmon, thinking he would serve me as food for a long time. But he drew me into the deep, and I was scarcely able to escape from him. After that I went with my whole kindred to attack him, and to try to destroy him, but he sent messengers, and made peace with me; and came and besought me to take fifty fish spears out of his back. Unless he know something of him whom you seek, I cannot tell who may. However, I will guide you to the place where he is." So they went thither; and the Eagle said, "Salmon of Llyn Llyw, I have come to thee with an embassy from Arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest aught concerning Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken away at three nights old from his mother." "As much as I know I will tell thee. With every tide I go along the river upwards, until I come near to the walls of Gloucester, and there have I found such wrong as I never found elsewhere; and to the end that ye may give credence thereto, let one of you go thither upon each of my two shoulders." So Kai and Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Ieithoedd went upon the two shoulders of the salmon, and they proceeded until they came unto the wall of the prison, and they heard a great wailing and lamenting from the dungeon. {102} Said Gwrhyr, "Who is it that laments in this house of stone?" "Alas, there is reason enough for whoever is here to lament. It is Mabon the son of Modron who is here imprisoned, and no imprisonment was ever so grievous as mine, neither that of Lludd Llaw Ereint, nor that of Greid the son of Eri." "Hast thou hope of being released for gold, or for silver, or for any gifts of wealth, or through battle and fighting?" "By fighting will whatever I may gain be obtained." {Picture: p102.jpg} Then they went thence, and returned to Arthur, and they told him where Mabon the son of Modron was imprisoned. And Arthur summoned the warriors of the Island, and they journeyed as far as Gloucester, to the place where Mabon was in prison. Kai and Bedwyr went upon the shoulders of the fish, whilst the warriors of Arthur attacked the castle. And Kai broke through the wall into the dungeon, and brought away the prisoner upon his back, whilst the fight was going on between the warriors. And Arthur returned home, and Mabon with him at liberty. * * * * * Said Arthur, "Which of the marvels will it be best for us now to seek first?" "It will be best to seek for the two cubs of Gast Rhymhi." "Is it known," said Arthur, "where she is?" "She is in Aber Deu Gleddyf," said one. Then Arthur went to the house of Tringad, in Aber Cleddyf, and he enquired of him whether he had heard of her there. "In what form may she be?" "She is in the form of a she wolf," said he, "and with her there are two cubs." "She has often slain my herds, and she is there below in a cave in Aber Cleddyf." So Arthur went in his ship Prydwen by sea, and the others went by land, to hunt her. And they surrounded her and her two cubs, and God did change them again for Arthur into their own form. And the host of Arthur dispersed themselves into parties of one and two. * * * * * On a certain day, as Gwythyr the son of Greidawl was walking over a mountain, he heard a wailing and a grievous cry. And when he heard it, {103} he sprung forward, and went towards it. And when he came there, he drew his sword, and smote off an ant-hill close to the earth, whereby it escaped being burned in the fire. And the ants said to him, "Receive from us the blessing of Heaven, and that which no man can give we will give thee." Then they fetched the nine bushels of flax-seed which Yspaddaden Penkawr had required of Kilhwch, and they brought the full measure, without lacking any, except one flax-seed, and that the lame pismire brought in before night. * * * * * As Kai and Bedwyr sat on a beacon carn on the summit of Plinlimmon, in the highest wind that ever was in the world, they looked around them, and saw a great smoke towards the south, afar off, which did not bend with the wind. Then said Kai, "By the hand of my friend, behold, yonder is the fire of a robber!" Then they hastened towards the smoke, and they came so near to it, that they could see Dillus Varvawc scorching a wild Boar. "Behold, yonder is the greatest robber that ever fled from Arthur," said Bedwyr unto Kai. "Dost thou know him?" "I do know him," answered Kai, "he is Dillus Varvawc, and no leash in the world will be able to hold Drudwyn, the cub of Greid the son of Eri, save a leash made from the beard of him thou seest yonder. And that even will be useless, unless his beard be plucked alive with wooden tweezers; for if dead, it will be brittle." "What thinkest thou that we should do concerning this?" said Bedwyr. "Let us suffer him," said Kai, "to eat as much as he will of the meat, and after that he will fall asleep." And during that time they employed themselves in making the wooden tweezers. And when Kai knew certainly that he was asleep, he made a pit under his feet, the largest in the world, and he struck him a violent blow, and squeezed him into the pit. And there they twitched out his beard completely with the wooden tweezers; and after that they slew him altogether. And from thence they both went to Gelli Wic, in Cornwall, and took the leash made of Dillus Varvawc's beard with them, and they gave it unto Arthur's hand. Then Arthur composed this Englyn, Kai made a leash Of Dillus son of Eurei's beard. Were he alive, thy death he'd be. And thereupon Kai was wroth, so that the warriors of the Island could scarcely make peace between Kai and Arthur. And thenceforth, neither in Arthur's troubles, nor for the slaying of his men, would Kai come forward to his aid for ever after. * * * * * Said Arthur, "Which of the marvels is it best for us now to seek?" "It is best for us to seek Drudwyn, the cub of Greid, the son of Eri." A little while before this, Creiddylad, the daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint, and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, were betrothed. And before she had become his bride, Gwyn ap Nudd came, and carried her away by force; and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl gathered his host together, and went to fight with Gwyn ap Nudd. But Gwyn overcame him, and captured Greid the son of Eri, and Glinneu the son of Taran and Gwrgwst Ledlwm, and Dynvarth {105} his son. And he captured Penn the son of Nethawg, and Nwython, and Kyledyr Wyllt his son. And they slew Nwython, and took out his heart, and constrained Kyledyr to eat the heart of his father. And therefrom Kyledyr became mad. When Arthur heard of this, he went to the North, and summoned Gwyn ap Nudd before him, and set free the nobles whom he had put in prison, and made peace between Gwyn ap Nudd and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl. And this was the peace that was made: that the maiden should remain in her father's house, without advantage to either of them, and that Gwyn ap Nudd and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl should fight for her every first of May, from thenceforth until the day of doom, and that whichever of them should then be conqueror should have the maiden. And when Arthur had thus reconciled these chieftains, he obtained Mygdwn, Gweddw's horse, and the leash of Cwrs Cant Ewin. And after that Arthur went into Armorica, and with him Mabon the son of Mellt, and Gware Gwallt Euryn, to seek the two dogs of Glythmyr Ledewic. And when he had got them, he went to the West of Ireland, in search of Gwrgi Severi; and Odgar the son of Aedd, king of Ireland, went with him. And thence went Arthur into the North, and captured Kyledyr Wyllt; and he went after Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd. And Mabon the son of Mellt came with the two dogs of Glythmyr Ledewic in his hand, and Drudwyn, the cub of Greid the son of Eri. And Arthur went himself to the chase, leading his own dog Cavall. And Kaw, of North Britain, mounted Arthur's mare Llamrei, and was first in the attack. Then Kaw, of North Britain, wielded a mighty axe, and absolutely daring he came valiantly up to the Boar, and clave his head in twain. And Kaw took away the tusk. Now the Boar was not slain by the dogs that Yspaddaden had mentioned, but by Cavall, Arthur's own dog. And after Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd was killed, Arthur and his host departed to Gelli Wic in Cornwall. And thence he sent Menw the son of Teirgwaedd to see if the precious things were between the two ears of Twrch Trwyth, since it were useless to encounter him if they were not there. Albeit it was certain where he was, for he had laid waste the third part of Ireland. And Menw went to seek for him, and he met with him in Ireland, in Esgeir Oervel. And Menw took the form of a bird; and he descended upon the top of his lair, and strove to snatch away one of the precious things from him, but he carried away nothing but one of his bristles. And the boar rose up angrily and shook himself so that some of his venom fell upon Menw, and he was never well from that day forward. After this Arthur sent an embassy to Odgar, the son of Aedd, king of Ireland, to ask for the Cauldron of Diwrnach Wyddel, his purveyor. And Odgar commanded him to give it. But Diwrnach said, "Heaven is my witness, if it would avail him anything even to look at it, he should not do so." And the embassy of Arthur returned from Ireland with this denial. And Arthur set forward with a small retinue, and entered into Prydwen, his ship, and went over to Ireland. And they proceeded into the house of Diwrnach Wyddel. And the hosts of Odgar saw their strength. When they had eaten and drank as much as they desired, Arthur demanded to have the cauldron. And he answered, "If I would have given it to any one, I would have given it at the word of Odgar, king of Ireland." When he had given them this denial, Bedwyr arose and seized hold of the cauldron, and placed it upon the back of Hygwyd, Arthur's servant, who was brother, by the mother's side, to Arthur's servant, Cachamwri. His office was always to carry Arthur's cauldron, and to place fire under it. And Llenlleawg Wyddel seized Caledvwlch, and brandished it. And they slew Diwrnach Wyddel and his company. Then came the Irish, {108a} and fought with them. And when he had put them to flight, Arthur with his men went forward to the ship, carrying away the cauldron full of Irish money. {108b} And he disembarked at the house of Llwydden {108c} the son of Kelcoed, at Forth Kerddin in Dyved. And there is the measure of the cauldron. Then Arthur summoned unto him all the warriors that were in the three Islands of Britain, and in the three Islands adjacent, and all that were in France and in Armorica, in Normandy and in the Summer Country, and all that were chosen footmen and valiant horsemen. And with all these, he went into Ireland. And in Ireland there was great fear and terror concerning him. And when Arthur had landed in the country, there came unto him the saints of Ireland and besought his protection. And he granted his protection unto them, and they gave him their blessing. Then the men of Ireland came unto Arthur, and brought him provisions. And Arthur went as far as Esgeir Oervel in Ireland, to the place where the Boar Trwyth was with his seven young pigs. And the dogs were let loose upon him from all sides. That day until evening, the Irish fought with him, nevertheless he laid waste the fifth part of Ireland. And on the day following the household of Arthur fought with him, and they were worsted by him, and got no advantage. And the third day Arthur himself encountered him, and he fought with him nine nights and nine days without so much as killing even one little pig. {109} The warriors enquired of Arthur, what was the origin of that swine; and he told them that he was once a king, and that God had transformed him into a swine for his sins. Then Arthur sent Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, to endeavour to speak with him. And Gwrhyr assumed the form of a bird, and alighted upon the top of the lair, where he was with the seven young pigs. And Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd asked him, "By him who turned you into this form, if you can speak, let some one of you, I beseech you, come and talk with Arthur." Grugyn Gwrych Ereint made answer to him. (Now his bristles were like silver wire, and whether he went through the wood or through the plain, he was to be traced by the glittering of his bristles.) And this was the answer that Grugyn made, "By him who turned us into this form we will not do so, and we will not speak with Arthur. That we have been transformed thus is enough for us to suffer, without your coming here to fight with us." "I will tell you. Arthur comes but to fight for the comb, and the razor, and the scissors, which are between the two ears of Twrch Trwyth." Said Grugyn, "Except he first take his life, he will never have those precious things. And to-morrow morning we will rise up hence, and we will go into Arthur's country, and there will we do all the mischief that we can." So they set forth through the sea towards Wales. And Arthur and his hosts, and his horses and his dogs, entered Prydwen, that they might encounter them without delay. Twrch Trwyth landed in Porth Cleis in Dyved, and the {110} came to Mynyw. The next day it was told to Arthur, that they had gone by, and he overtook them, as they were killing the cattle of Kynnwas Kwrr y Vagyl, having slain all that were at Aber Gleddyf, of man and beast, before the coming of Arthur. Now when Arthur approached, Twrch Trwyth went on as far as Preseleu, and Arthur and his hosts followed him thither, and Arthur sent men to hunt him; Eli and Trachmyr, leading Drutwyn the whelp of Greid, the son of Eri, and Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw, in another quarter, with the two dogs of Glythmyr Ledewig, and Bedwyr leading Cavall, Arthur's own dog. And all the warriors ranged themselves around the Nyver. And there came there the three sons of Cleddyf Divwlch, men who had gained much fame at the slaying of Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd; and they went on from Glyn Nyver, and came to Cwm Kerwyn. And there Twrch Trwyth made a stand, and slew four of Arthur's champions, Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw, and Tarawc of Allt Clwyd, and Rheidwn the son of Eli Atver, and Iscovan Hael. And after he had slain these men, he made a second stand in the same place. And there he slew Gwydre the son of Arthur, and Garselit Wyddel, and Glew the son of Ysgawd, and Iscawn the son of Panon; and there he himself was wounded. And the next morning before it was day, some of the men came up with him. And he slew Huandaw, and Gogigwr, and Penpingon, three attendants upon Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr, so that Heaven knows he had not an attendant remaining, excepting only Llaesgevyn, a man from whom no one ever derived any good. And together with these, he slew many of the men of that country, and Gwlydyn Saer, Arthur's chief Architect. Then Arthur overtook him at Pelumyawc, and there he slew Madawc the son of Teithyon, and Gwyn the son of Tringad, the son of Neved, and Eiryawn Penllorau. Thence he went to Aberteivi, {111a} where he made another stand, and where he slew Kyflas {111b} the son of Kynan, and Gwilenhin king of France. Then he went as far as Glyn Ystu, and there the men and the dogs lost him. Then Arthur summoned unto him Gwyn ab Nudd, and he asked him if he knew aught of Twrch Trwyth. And he said that he did not. And all the huntsmen went to hunt the swine as far as Dyffryn Llychwr. And Grugyn Gwallt Ereint, and Llwydawg Govynnyad closed with them and killed all the huntsmen, so that there escaped but one man only. And Arthur and his hosts came to the place where Grugyn and Llwydawg were. And there he let loose the whole of the dogs upon them, and with the shout and barking that was set up, Twrch Trwyth came to their assistance. And from the time that they came across the Irish sea, Arthur had never got sight of him until then. {111c} So he set men and dogs upon him, and thereupon he started off and went to Mynydd Amanw. And there one of his young pigs was killed. {112a} Then they set upon him life for life, and Twrch Llawin was slain, and then there was slain another of the swine, Gwys was his name. After that he went on to Dyffryn Amanw, and there Banw and Bennwig were killed. {112b} Of all his pigs there went with him alive from that place none save Grugyn Gwallt Ereint, and Llwydawg Govynnyad. Thence he went on to Llwch Ewin, and Arthur overtook him there, and he made a stand. And there he slew Echel Forddwytwll, and Garwyli the son of Gwyddawg Gwyr, and many men and dogs likewise. And thence they went to Llwch Tawy. Grugyn Gwrych Ereint parted from them there, and went to Din Tywi. And thence he proceeded to Ceredigiawn, and Eli and Trachmyr with him, and a multitude likewise. Then he came to Garth Gregyn, and there Llwydawg Govynnyad fought in the midst of them, and slew Rhudvyw Rhys and many others with him. Then Llwydawg went thence to Ystrad Yw, and there the men of Armorica met him, and there he slew Hirpeissawg, the king of Armorica, and Llygatrudd Emys, and Gwrbothu, Arthur's uncles, his mother's brothers, and there was he himself slain. Twrch Trwyth went from there to between Tawy and Euyas, and Arthur summoned all Cornwall and Devon unto him, to the estuary of the Severn, and he said to the warriors of this Island, "Twrch Trwyth has slain many of my men, but, by the valour of warriors, while I live he shall not go into Cornwall. And I will not follow him any longer, but I will oppose him life to life. Do ye as ye will." And he resolved that he would send a body of knights, with the dogs of the Island, as far as Euyas, who should return thence to the Severn, and that tried warriors should traverse the Island, and force him into the Severn. And Mabon the son of Modron came up with him at the Severn, upon Gwynn Mygddon, the horse of Gweddw, and Goreu the son of Custennin, and Menw the son of Teirgwaedd; this was betwixt Llyn Lliwan and Aber Gwy. And Arthur fell upon him together with the champions of Britain. And Osla Kyllellvawr drew near, and Manawyddan the son of Llyr, and Kacmwri the servant of Arthur, and Gwyngelli, and they seized hold of him, catching him first by his feet, and plunged him in the Severn, so that it overwhelmed him. On the one side, Mabon the son of Modron spurred his steed and snatched his razor from him, and Kyledyr Wyllt came up with him on the other side, upon another steed, in the Severn, and took from him the scissors. But before they could obtain the comb, he had regained the ground with his feet, and from the moment that he reached the shore, neither dog, nor man, nor horse could overtake him until he came to Cornwall. If they had had trouble in getting the jewels from him, much more had they in seeking to save the two men from being drowned. Kacmwri, as they drew him forth, was dragged by two millstones into the deep. And as Osla Kyllellvawr was running after the Boar his knife had dropped out of the sheath, and he had lost it, and after that the sheath became full of water, and its weight drew him down into the deep, as they were drawing him forth. Then Arthur and his hosts proceeded until they overtook the Boar in Cornwall, and the trouble which they had met with before was mere play to what they encountered in seeking the comb. But from one difficulty to another, the comb was at length obtained. And then he was hunted from Cornwall, and driven straight forward into the deep sea. And thenceforth it was never known whither he went; and Aned and Aethlem with him. Then went Arthur to Gelliwic, in Cornwall, to anoint himself, and to rest from his fatigues. * * * * * Said Arthur, "Is there any one of the marvels yet unobtained?" Said one of his men, "There is--the blood of the witch Orddu, the daughter of the witch Orwen, of Penn Nant Govid, on the confines of Hell." Arthur set forth towards the North, and came to the place where was the witch's cave. And Gwyn ab Nudd, and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, counselled him to send Kacmwri, and Hygwyd his brother to fight with the witch. And as they entered the cave, the witch seized upon them, and she caught Hygwyd by the hair of his head, and threw him on the floor beneath her. And Kacmwri caught her by the hair of her head, and dragged her to the earth from off Hygwyd, but she turned again upon them both, {114} and drove them both out with kicks and with cuffs. And Arthur was wroth at seeing his two attendants almost slain, and he sought to enter the cave; but Gwyn and Gwythyr said unto him, "It would not be fitting or seemly for us to see thee squabbling with a hag. Let Hiramren, and Hireidil go to the cave." So they went. But if great was the trouble of the two first that went, much greater was that of these two. And Heaven knows that not one of the four could move from the spot, until they placed them all upon Llamrei, Arthur's mare. And then Arthur rushed to the door of the cave, and at the door, he struck at the witch, with Carnwennan his dagger, and clove her in twain, so that she fell in two parts. And Kaw, of North Britain, took the blood of the witch and kept it. Then Kilhwch set forward, and Goreu, the son of Custennin, with him, and as many as wished ill to Yspaddaden Penkawr. And they took the marvels with them to his Court. And Kaw of North Britain came and shaved his beard, skin and flesh, clean off to the very bone from ear to ear. "Art thou shaved, man?" said Kilhwch. "I am shaved," answered he. "Is thy daughter mine now?" "She is thine," said he, "but therefore needest thou not thank me, but Arthur who hath accomplished this for thee. By my free will thou shouldest never have had her, for with her I lose my life." Then Goreu the son of Custennin, seized him by the hair of his head, and dragged him after him to the keep, and cut off his head, and placed it on a stake on the citadel. Then they took possession of his castle, and of his treasures. {Picture: p115.jpg} And that night Olwen became Kilhwch's bride, and she continued to be his wife as long as she lived. And the hosts of Arthur dispersed themselves, each man to his own country. And thus did Kilhwch obtain Olwen the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr. THE DREAM OF MAXEN WLEDIG. {Picture: p116.jpg} Maxen Wledig was emperor of Rome, and he was a comelier man, and a better and a wiser than any emperor that had been before him. {116} And one day he held a council of Kings, and he said to his friends, "I desire to go to-morrow to hunt." And the next day in the morning he set forth with his retinue, and came to the valley of the river that flowed towards Rome. And he hunted through the valley until mid-day. And with him also were two and thirty crowned kings, that were his vassals; not for the delight of hunting went the emperor with them, but to put himself on equal terms with those kings. {117} And the sun was high in the sky over their heads, and the heat was great. And sleep came upon Maxen Wledig. And his attendants stood and set up their shields around him upon the shafts of their spears to protect him from the sun, and they placed a gold enamelled shield under his head, and so Maxen slept. And he saw a dream. And this is the dream that he saw. He was journeying along the valley of the river towards its source; and he came to the highest mountain in the world. And he thought that the mountain was as high as the sky; and when he came over the mountain, it seemed to him that he went through the fairest and most level regions that man ever yet beheld, on the other side of the mountain. And he saw large and mighty rivers descending from the mountain to the sea, and towards the mouths of the rivers he proceeded. And as he journeyed thus, he came to the mouth of the largest river ever seen. And he beheld a great city at the entrance of the river, and a vast castle in the city, and he saw many high towers of various colours in the castle. And he saw a fleet at the mouth of the river, the largest ever seen. And he saw one ship among the fleet; larger was it by far, and fairer than all the others. Of such part of the ship as he could see above the water, one plank was gilded and the other silvered over. He saw a bridge of the bone of the whale from the ship to the land, and he thought that he went along the bridge and came into the ship. And a sail was hoisted on the ship, and along the sea and the ocean was it borne. Then it seemed that he came to the fairest island in the whole world, and he traversed the island from sea to sea, even to the farthest shore of the island. Valleys he saw, and steeps, and rocks of wondrous height, and rugged precipices. {118a} Never yet saw he the like. And thence he beheld an island in the sea, facing this rugged {118b} land. And between him and this island was a country of which the plain was as large as the sea, the mountain as vast as the wood. And from the mountain he saw a river that flowed through the land and fell into the sea. And at the mouth of the river, he beheld a castle, the fairest that man ever saw, and the gate of the castle was open, and he went into the castle. And in the castle he saw a fair hall of which the roof seemed to be all gold, the walls of the hall seemed to be entirely of glittering precious gems, the doors all seemed to be of gold. Golden seats he saw in the hall, and silver tables. And on a seat opposite to him, he beheld two auburn-haired youths playing at chess. He saw a silver board for the chess, and golden pieces thereon. The garments of the youths were of jet black satin, and chaplets of ruddy gold bound their hair, whereon were sparkling jewels of great price, {119} rubies, and gems, alternately with imperial stones. Buskins of new cordovan leather on their feet, fastened by slides of red gold. {Picture: p118.jpg} And beside a pillar in the hall he saw a hoary-headed man, in a chair of ivory, with the figures of two eagles of ruddy gold thereon. Bracelets of gold were upon his arms, and many rings upon his hands, and a golden torquis about his neck; and his hair was bound with a golden diadem. He was of powerful aspect. A chessboard of gold was before him, and a rod of gold, and a steel file in his hand. And he was carving out chessmen. And he saw a maiden sitting before him in a chair of ruddy gold. Not more easy than to gaze upon the sun when brightest, was it to look upon her by reason of her beauty. A vest of white silk was upon the maiden, with clasps of red gold at the breast; and a surcoat of gold tissue was upon her, and a frontlet of red gold upon her head, and rubies and gems were in the frontlet, alternating with pearls and imperial stones. And a girdle of ruddy gold was around her. She was the fairest sight that man ever beheld. The maiden arose from her chair before him, and he threw his arms about the neck of the maiden, and they two sat down together in the chair of gold: and the chair was not less roomy for them both, than for the maiden alone. And as he had his arms about the maiden's neck, and his cheek by her cheek, behold, through the chafing of the dogs at their leashing, and the clashing of the shields as they struck against each other, and the beating together of the shafts of the spears, and the neighing of the horses and their prancing, the emperor awoke. And when he awoke, nor spirit nor existence was left him, because of the maiden whom he had seen in his sleep, for the love of the maiden pervaded his whole frame. {120} Then his household spake unto him. "Lord," said they "is it not past the time for thee to take thy food?" Thereupon the emperor mounted his palfrey, the saddest man that mortal ever saw, and went forth towards Rome. And thus he was during the space of a week. When they of the household went to drink wine and mead out of golden vessels, he went not with any of them. When they went to listen to songs and tales, he went not with them there; neither could he be persuaded to do anything but sleep. And as often as he slept, he beheld in his dreams the maiden he loved best; but except when he slept he saw nothing of her, for he knew not where in the world she was. One day the page of the chamber spake unto him; now, although he was page of the chamber, he was king of the Romans. "Lord," said he, "all thy people revile thee." "Wherefore do they revile me?" asked the emperor. "Because they can get neither message nor answer from thee, as men should have from their lord. This is the cause why thou art spoken evil of." "Youth," said the emperor, "do thou bring unto me the wise men of Rome, and I will tell them wherefore I am sorrowful." Then the wise men of Rome were brought to the emperor, and he spake to them. "Sages of Rome," said he, "I have seen a dream. And in the dream I beheld a maiden, and because of the maiden is there neither life, nor spirit, nor existence within me." "Lord," they answered, "since thou judgest us worthy to counsel thee, we will give thee counsel. And this is our counsel; that thou send messengers for three years to the three parts of the world, to seek for thy dream. And as thou knowest not what day or what night good news may come to thee, the hope thereof will support thee." So the messengers journeyed for the space of a year wandering about the world, and seeking tidings concerning his dream. But when they came back at the end of the year they knew not one word more than they did the day they set forth. And then was the emperor exceeding sorrowful, for he thought that he should never have tidings of her whom best he loved. Then spoke the king of the Romans unto the emperor. "Lord," said he, "go forth to hunt by the way that thou didst seem to go, whither it were to the east or to the west." So the emperor went forth to hunt, and he came to the bank of the river. "Behold," said he, "this is where I was when I saw the dream, and I went towards the source of the river westward." And thereupon thirteen messengers of the emperor's set forth, and before them they saw a high mountain, which seemed to them to touch the sky. Now this was the guise in which the messengers journeyed; one sleeve was on the cap of each of them in front; as a sign that they were messengers, in order that through what hostile land soever they might pass no harm might be done them. And when they were come over this mountain they beheld vast plains, and large rivers flowing therethrough. "Behold," said they, "the land which our master saw." And they went along the mouths of the rivers, until they came to the mighty river which they saw flowing to the sea, and the vast city, and the many-coloured high towers in the castle. They saw the largest fleet in the world, in the harbour of the river, and one ship that was larger than any of the others. "Behold again," said they, "the dream that our master saw." And in the great ship they crossed the sea, and came to the Island of Britain. And they traversed the island until they came to Snowdon. "Behold," said they, "the rugged {122} land that our master saw." And they went forward until they saw Anglesey before them, and until they saw Arvon likewise. "Behold," said they, "the land our master saw in his sleep." And they saw Aber Sain, and a castle at the mouth of the river. The portal of the castle saw they open, and into the castle they went, and they saw a hall in the castle. Then said they, "Behold the hall which he saw in his sleep." They went into the hall, and they beheld two youths playing at chess on the golden bench. And they beheld the hoary-headed man beside the pillar, in the ivory chair, carving chessmen. And they beheld the maiden sitting on a chair of ruddy gold. The messengers bent down upon their knees. "Empress of Rome, all hail!" "Ha, gentles," said the maiden, "ye bear the seeming of honourable men, and the badge of envoys, what mockery is this ye do to me?" "We mock thee not, lady, but the emperor of Rome hath seen thee in his sleep, and he has neither life nor spirit left because of thee. Thou shall have of us therefore the choice, lady, whether thou wilt go with us and be made empress of Rome, or that the emperor come hither and take thee for his wife?" "Ha, lords," said the maiden, "I will not deny what you say, neither will I believe it too well. If the emperor love me, let him come here to seek me." And by day and night the messengers hied them back. And when their horses failed, they bought other fresh ones. And when they came to Rome they saluted the emperor, and asked their boon, which was given to them according as they named it. "We will be thy guides, lord," said they, "over sea and over land, to the place where is the woman whom best thou lovest, for we know her name, and her kindred, and her race." {Picture: p123.jpg} And immediately the emperor set forth with his army. And these men were his guides. Towards the Island of Britain they went over the sea and the deep. And he conquered the Island from Beli the son of Manogan, and his sons, and drove them to the sea, and went forward even unto Arvon. And the emperor knew the land when he saw it. And when he beheld the castle of Aber Sain, "Look yonder," said he, "there is the castle wherein I saw the damsel whom I best love." And he went forward into the castle and into the hall, and there he saw Kynan the son of Eudav, and Adeon the son of Eudav, playing at chess. And he saw Eudav the son of Caradawc, sitting on a chair of ivory carving chessmen. And the maiden whom he had beheld in his sleep, he saw sitting on a chair of gold. "Empress of Rome," said he, "all hail!" And the emperor threw his arms about her neck; and that night she became his bride. And the next day in the morning, the damsel asked her maiden portion. And he told her to name what she would, and she asked to have the Island of Britain for her father, from the Channel to the Irish Sea, together with the three adjacent islands to hold under the empress of Rome; and to have three chief castles made for her, in whatever places she might choose in the Island of Britain. And she chose to have the highest castle made at Arvon. And they brought thither earth from Rome that it might be more healthful for the emperor to sleep, and sit, and walk upon. After that the two other castles were made for her, which were Caerlleon and Caermarthen. And one day, the emperor went to hunt at Caermarthen, and he came so far as the top of Brevi Vawr, and there the emperor pitched his tent. And that encamping place is called Cadeir Maxen, even to this day. And because that he built the castle with a myriad of men, he called it Caervyrddin. Then Helen bethought her to make high roads from one castle to another throughout the Island of Britain. And the roads were made. And for this cause are they called the roads of Helen Luyddawc, {124} that she was sprung from a native of this island, and the men of the Island of Britain would not have made these great roads {125} for any save for her. Seven years did the emperor tarry in this Island. Now, at that time, the men of Rome had a custom that whatsoever emperor should remain in other lands more than seven years, should remain to his own overthrow, and should never return to Rome again. So they made a new emperor. And this one wrote a letter of threat to Maxen. There was nought in the letter but only this, "If thou comest, and if thou ever comest to Rome." And even unto Caerlleon came this letter to Maxen, and these tidings. Then sent he a letter to the man who styled himself emperor in Rome. There was nought in that letter also but only this, "If I come to Rome, and if I come." And thereupon Maxen set forth towards Rome with his army, and vanquished France and Burgundy, and every land on the way, and sat down before the city of Rome. A year was the emperor before the city, and he was no nearer taking it than the first day. And after him there came the brothers of Helen Luyddawc from the Island of Britain, and a small host with them, and better warriors were in that small host than twice as many Romans. And the emperor was told that a host was seen, halting close to his army and encamping, and no man ever saw a fairer or better appointed host for its size, nor more handsome standards. And Helen went to see the hosts, and she knew the standards of her brothers. Then came Kynan the son of Eudav, and Adeon the son of Eudav, to meet the emperor. And the emperor was glad because of them, and embraced them. Then they looked at the Romans as they attacked the city. Said Kynan to his brother, "We will try to attack the city more expertly than this." So they measured by night the height of the wall, and they sent their carpenters to the wood, and a ladder was made for every four men of their number. Now when these were ready, every day at mid-day the emperors went to meat, and they ceased to fight on both sides till all had finished eating. And in the morning the men of Britain took their food, and they drank until they were invigorated. And while the two emperors were at meat, the Britons came to the city, {126a} and placed their ladders against it, and forthwith they came in through the city. The new emperor had not time to arm himself when they fell upon him, and slew him and many others with him. And three nights and three days were they subduing the men that were in the city and taking the castle. And others of them kept the city, lest any of the host of Maxen should come therein, until they had subjected all to their will. Then spake Maxen to Helen Luyddawc, "I marvel, lady," said he, "that thy brothers have not conquered this city for me." {126b} "Lord, emperor," she answered, "the wisest youths in the world are my brothers. Go thou thither and ask the city of them, and if it be in their possession thou shalt have it gladly." So the emperor and Helen went and demanded the city. And they told the emperor that none had taken the city, and that none could give it him, but the men of the Island of Britain. Then the gates of the city of Rome were opened, and the emperor sat on the throne and all the men of Rome submitted themselves unto him. The emperor then said unto Kynan and Adeon, "Lords," said he, "I have now had possession of the whole of my empire. This host give I unto you to vanquish whatever region ye may desire in the world." So they set forth and conquered lands, and castles and cities. And they slew all the men, but the women they kept alive. And thus they continued until the young men that had come with them were grown grey headed, from the length of time they were upon this conquest. {Picture: p127.jpg} Then spoke Kynan unto Adeon his brother, "Whether wilt thou rather," said he, "tarry in this land, or go back into the land whence thou didst come forth?" Now he chose to go back to his own land and many with him. But Kynan tarried there with the other part, and dwelt there. And they took counsel and cut out the tongues of the women, lest they should corrupt their speech. And because of the silence of the women from their own speech, the men of Armorica are called Britons. From that time there came frequently, and still comes, that language from the Island of Britain. And this tale is called the Dream of Maxen Wledig, emperor of Rome. And here it ends. Footnotes: {7a} Add "successively." {7b} And he summoned to him. {10} Add "bespattered." {11} And it may be that I shall have as much entertainment on account of the hunting as they. {15} Good Sir. {17} There. {19} And his words reached Geraint. {22} As thou art impartial concerning the question of right between us. {27} More probably "though." The ambiguity of the original would be best expressed by "while." {36a} "Lest he should be overtaken by a piteous death." {36b} "Thine I do not consider a protection, nor thy warning a warning." {38} "Wilt thou not at last be silent? Thy protection do I not consider such." {39} "I declare to Heaven," said he, "that thy protection I do not regard as such. Hold thy peace, at last." {40} He spoke not a word, being angry. {47a} "Do thou not go to his land beyond the bridge." {47b} "I will go my way in spite of the one thou speakest of." {48a} In a very rough and bitter manner. {48b} Gereint took the road that he had meant to take; it was not the road that led to the town from the bridge that he took, but the road that led to the ground that was hard, and rugged, and high, and ridgy. {49} But it was unfair for Gereint to have to fight him, so small was he, and so difficult to take aim at, and so hard were the blows he gave. And they did not end that part of their fight until their horses fell down on their knees. {53} "To complete thy death." {64} And what she did was to call her tutor to her, and she commanded him to dress her grave every year in such a way that nothing would grow on it. {66} And there were two silver spears, sharpened, in his hand. A prince's glaive was in his hand, a cubit from hilt to edge, that would draw blood from the wind; swifter was it than. {67} Yes. And as for thee, thy head is not under thy control; curt is thy greeting. {70a} Carnwenhan. {70b} Dress. {71a} Galldovydd. {71b} Cnychwr. {71c} And Adwy. {71d} Annwas. {71e} Sinoit. {72a} Ysperin. {72b} Erinit. {74a} Llenuleawc. {74b} Gwrdival. {74c} Kai was said to be his son. {75a} Add, "And from him is Paris named." {75b} Gweir, son of Cadellin Talaryant (Cadellin of the silver brow). {76a} His flat breast was ruddy. {77a} Hwyrdyddwc, Drwgdyddwc, and Llwyrdyddwc. {77b} Cethtrwm. {78a} Gweirdathar Wenidawc. {78b} Canhwch. {78c} Arwy. {81a} "We all of us will come there," said Kai. {81b} This dialogue consists of a series of repartees, with a play upon words which it is impossible to follow in the translation. {82} "Oh man, since the sea does not allow a beautiful dead man in it, show me that dead body." "Oh woman, the one to whom the dead body belongs thou wilt see here this evening." {84a} "I promise all this, and will obtain it," said he. {84b} "Where are my bad servants and my knaves?" {85a} Knee-pan. {87} The two oxen of Gwlwlwyd Wineu. {89} The harp of Teirtu to console me that night. {92} Garselit Wyddel. {93} Moro Oerveddawc. {98a} And what he and his companions with him did was this--they crossed the three wards until he was within the fortress. {98b} Glini. {99a} Glini. {99b} Add "some of." {100} There was but one horn on each side of my head, and there were no trees here except one oak sapling. {102} And they proceeded until they came to the wall opposite to where the prisoner was, where they heard lamentations and groaning on the other side of the wall. {103} And it was piteous to hear them. And he hastened to the place. {105} Dyvnarth. {108a} Hosts of Ireland. {108b} And when all the hosts had fled, Arthur and his men went to their ship in their sight, carrying with them the cauldron full of Irish money. {108c} Llwyddeu. {109} And he only killed one of his young pigs. {110} Add "same night Arthur." {111a} Aber Tywi. {111b} Kynlas. {111c} And ever since they had crossed the Irish Sea, he had not appeared to them until then. {112a} And there was killed a young boar from among his pigs. {112b} And there was killed a young boar and a young sow. {114} But she turned again upon Kacmwri; she beat both men soundly, disarmed them, and drove them out. {116} Maxen Wledig was an emperor at Rome. And the comeliest man was he, and the wisest, and the one that was most fit to be an emperor, of all that had been before him. {117} Not for the delight of hunting went the emperor so far as that, but to make himself such a man that he would be lord over those kings. {118a} Valleys he saw, and precipices, and wondrous high rocks, and a rugged, waterless land. {118b} Barren. {119} Sparkling jewels laboriously wrought. {120} There was no joint of his bones, or cavity of his nails, not to speak of anything larger than these, that was not full of the maiden's love. {122} Waterless. {124} Helen of the Legions. {125} Legions. {126a} Over the wall into the city. {126b} That it was not for me that thy brothers conquered the city. 
19976	----	Transcribed from the 1912 T. Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org THE MABINOGION TRANSLATED FROM THE RED BOOK OF HERGEST BY LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST VOL. III. LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN 11 PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS MXCII {The finding of Taliesin: p0.jpg} INTRODUCTION. {Picture: p11.jpg} This third volume completes the series of Mabinogion and tales translated by Lady Charlotte Guest. As in the two preceding volumes, I have compared Lady Guest's transcript with the original text in the Red Book of Hergest, and with Dr Gwenogvryn Evans' scrupulously accurate diplomatic edition. I have, as before, revised the translation as carefully as I could. I have not altered Lady Guest's version in the slightest degree; but I have again put in the form of foot-notes what seems to me to be a better or a more literal translation. The mistranslations are fairly few in number; but some of them are quite important, such as the references to pagan baptism or to the Irish Channel. At the end of my revision I may say that I have been struck by the comparative accuracy of the transcript of the Red Book which Lady Guest used, and by the accurate thoroughness with which she translated every one of the tales. This volume contains the oldest of the Mabinogion--the four branches of the Mabinogion proper--and the kindred tale of Lludd and Llevelys. In all these we are in a perfectly pagan atmosphere, neither the introduction of Christianity nor the growth of chivalry having affected them to any extent. The Story of Taliesin is the only one in the series that is not found in the Red Book of Hergest. It is taken from very much later manuscripts, and its Welsh is much more modern. Its subject, however, is akin to that of the Mabinogion proper; if, indeed, the contest between Elphin and the bards is an echo of the contest between decaying Paganism and growing Christianity. OWEN EDWARDS. LLANUWCHLLYN, 13_th_ _September_ 1902. PWYLL PRINCE OF DYVED. Pwyll, prince of Dyved, was lord of the seven Cantrevs of Dyved; and once upon a time he was at Narberth his chief palace, and he was minded to go and hunt, and the part of his dominions in which it pleased him to hunt was Glyn Cuch. So he set forth from Narberth that night, and went as far as Llwyn Diarwyd. {11a} And that night he tarried there, and early {11b} on the morrow he rose and came to Glyn Cuch; when he let loose the dogs in the wood, and sounded the horn, and began the chace. And as he followed the dogs, he lost his companions; and whilst he listened to the hounds, he heard the cry of other hounds, a cry different from his own, and coming in the opposite direction. And he beheld a glade in the wood forming a level plain, and as his dogs came to the edge of the glade, he saw a stag before the other dogs. And lo, as it reached the middle of the glade, the dogs that followed the stag overtook it, and brought it down. Then looked he at the colour of the dogs, staying not to look at the stag, and of all the hounds that he had seen in the world, he had never seen any that were like unto those. For their hair was of a brilliant shining white, and their ears were red; and as the whiteness of their bodies shone, so did the redness of their ears glisten. And he came towards the dogs, and drove away those that had brought down the stag, and set his own dogs upon it. {Picture: p13.jpg} And as he was setting on his dogs, he saw a horseman coming towards him upon a large light grey steed, with a hunting horn about his neck, and clad in garments of grey woollen in the fashion of a hunting garb. And the horseman drew near and spoke unto him thus. "Chieftain," said he, "I know who thou art, and I greet thee not." "Peradventure," said Pwyll, "thou art of such dignity that thou shouldest not do so." "Verily," answered he, "it is not my dignity that prevents me." "What is it then, O chieftain?" asked he. "By Heaven, it is by reason of thine own ignorance and want of courtesy." "What discourtesy, Chieftain, hast thou seen in me?" "Greater discourtesy saw I never in man," said he, "than to drive away the dogs that were killing the stag, and to set upon it thine own. This was discourteous, and though I may not be revenged upon thee, yet I declare to Heaven that I will do thee more dishonour than the value of an hundred stags." "O chieftain," he replied, "if I have done ill I will redeem thy friendship." "How wilt thou redeem it?" "According as thy dignity may be, but I know not who thou art?" "A crowned King am I in the land whence I come." "Lord," said he, "may the day prosper with thee, and from what land comest thou?" "From Annwvyn," answered he; "Arawn, a King of Annwvyn, {13} am I." "Lord," said he, "how may I gain thy friendship?" "After this manner mayest thou," he said. "There is a man whose dominions are opposite to mine, who is ever warring against me, and he is Havgan, a King of Annwvyn, and by ridding me of this oppression which thou canst easily do shalt thou gain my friendship." "Gladly will I do this," said he, "show me how I may." "I will show thee. Behold thus it is thou mayest. I will make firm friendship with thee; and this will I do, I will send thee to Annwvyn in my stead, and I will give thee the fairest lady thou didst ever behold, to be thy companion, and I will put my form and semblance upon thee, so that not a page of the chamber, nor an officer, nor any other man that has always followed me shall know that it is not I. And this shall be for the space of a year from to-morrow, and then will we meet in this place." "Yes," said he; "but when I shall have been there for the space of a year, by what means shall I discover him of whom thou speakest?" "One year from this night," he answered, "is the time fixed between him and me, that we should meet at the Ford; be thou there in my likeness, and with one stroke that thou givest him, he shall no longer live. And if he ask thee to give him another, give it not, how much soever he may entreat thee, for when I did so, he fought with me next day as well as ever before." "Verily," said Pwyll, "what shall I do concerning my kingdom?" Said Arawn, "I will cause that no one in all thy dominions, neither man, nor woman, shall know that I am not thou, and I will go there in thy stead." "Gladly then," said Pwyll, "will I set forward." "Clear shall be thy path and nothing shall detain thee, until thou come into my dominions, and I myself will be thy guide!" So he conducted him until he came in sight of the palace and its dwellings. "Behold," said he, "the Court and the kingdom in thy power. Enter the Court, there is no one there who will know thee, and when thou seest {15} what service is done there, thou wilt know the customs of the Court." So he went forward to the Court, and when he came there, he beheld sleeping rooms, and halls, and chambers, and the most beautiful buildings ever seen. And he went into the hall to disarray, and there came youths and pages and disarrayed him, and all as they entered saluted him. And two knights came and drew his hunting dress from about him, and clothed him in a vesture of silk and gold. And the hall was prepared, and behold he saw the household and the host enter in, and the host was the most comely and the best equipped that he had ever seen. And with them came in likewise the Queen, who was the fairest woman that he ever yet beheld. And she had on a yellow robe of shining satin; and they washed and went to the table, and they sat, the Queen upon one side of him, and one who seemed to be an Earl on the other side. And he began to speak with the Queen, and he thought from her speech, that she was the seemliest, and most noble lady of converse and of cheer that ever was. And they partook of meat, and drink, with songs, and with feasting; and of all the Courts upon the earth, behold this was the best supplied with food and drink, and vessels of gold and royal jewels. * * * * * And the year he spent in hunting, and minstrelsy, and feasting, and diversions, and discourse with his companions, until the night that was fixed for the conflict. And when that night came, it was remembered even by those who lived in the farthest part of his dominions, and he went to the meeting, and the nobles of the kingdom with him. And when he came to the Ford, a knight arose and spake thus, "Lords," said he, "listen well. It is between two Kings that this meeting is, and between them only. Each claimeth of the other his land and territory, and do all of you stand aside and leave the fight to be between them." {Picture: p16.jpg} Thereupon the two Kings approached each other in the middle of the Ford, and encountered, and at the first thrust, the man who was in the stead of Arawn struck Havgan on the centre of the boss of his shield, so that it was cloven in twain, and his armour was broken, and Havgan himself was borne to the ground an arm's and a spear's length over the crupper of his horse, and he received a deadly blow. "O Chieftain," said Havgan, "what right hast thou to cause my death? I was not injuring thee in any thing, and I know not wherefore thou wouldest slay me. But for the love of Heaven, since thou hast begun to slay me, complete thy work." "Ah, Chieftain," he replied, "I may yet repent doing that unto thee. Slay thee who may, I will not do so." {17} "My trusty Lords," said Havgan, "bear me hence. My death has come. I shall be no more able to uphold you." "My Nobles," also said he who was in the semblance of Arawn, "take counsel and know who ought to be my subjects." "Lord," said the Nobles, "all should be, for there is no King over the whole of Annwvyn but thee." "Yes," he replied, "it is right that he who comes humbly should be received graciously, but he that doth not come with obedience, shall be compelled by the force of swords." And thereupon he received the homage of the men, and he began to conquer the country; and the next day by noon the two kingdoms were in his power. And thereupon he went to keep his tryst, and came to Glyn Cuch. And when he came there, the king of Annwvyn was there to meet him, and each of them was rejoiced to see the other. "Verily," said Arawn, "may Heaven reward thee for thy friendship towards me, I have heard of it. When thou comest thyself to thy dominions," said he, "thou wilt see that which I have done for thee." "Whatever thou hast done for me, may Heaven repay it thee." Then Arawn gave to Pwyll Prince of Dyved his proper form and semblance, and he himself took his own; and Arawn set forth towards the Court of Annwvyn; and he was rejoiced when he beheld his hosts, and his household, whom he had not seen so long; but they had not known of his absence, and wondered no more at his coming than usual. And that day was spent in joy and merriment; and he sat and conversed with his wife and his nobles. And when it was time for them rather to sleep than to carouse, they went to rest. * * * * * Pwyll, Prince of Dyved, came likewise to his country and dominions, and began to enquire of the nobles of the land, how his rule had been during the past year, compared with what it had been before. "Lord," said they, "thy wisdom was never so great, and thou wert never so kind nor so free in bestowing thy gifts, and thy justice was never more worthily seen than in this year." "By Heaven," said he, "for all the good you have enjoyed, you should thank him who hath been with you; for behold, thus hath this matter been." And thereupon Pwyll related the whole unto them. "Verily, Lord," said they, "render thanks unto Heaven that thou hast such a fellowship, and withhold not from us the rule which we have enjoyed for this year past." "I take Heaven to witness that I will not withhold it," answered Pwyll. And thenceforth they made strong the friendship that was between them, and each sent unto the other horses, and greyhounds, and hawks, and all such jewels as they thought would be pleasing to each other. And by reason of his having dwelt that year in Annwvyn, and having ruled there so prosperously, and united the two kingdoms in one day by his valour and prowess, he lost the name of Pwyll Prince of Dyved, and was called Pwyll Chief of Annwvyn from that time forward. * * * * * Once upon a time, Pwyll was at Narberth his chief palace, where a feast had been prepared for him, and with him was a great host of men. And after the first meal, Pwyll arose to walk, and he went to the top of a mound that was above the palace, and was called Gorsedd Arberth. "Lord," said one of the Court, "it is peculiar to the mound that whosoever sits upon it cannot go thence, without either receiving wounds or blows, or else seeing a wonder." "I fear not to receive wounds and blows in the midst of such a host as this, but as to the wonder, gladly would I see it. I will go therefore and sit upon the mound." And upon the mound he sat. And while he sat there, they saw a lady, on a pure white horse of large size, with a garment of shining gold around her, coming along the high way that led from the mound; and the horse seemed to move at a slow and even pace, and to be coming up towards the mound. "My men," said Pwyll, "is there any among you who knows yonder lady?" "There is not, Lord," said they. "Go one of you and meet her, that we may know who she is." And one of them arose, and as he came upon the road to meet her, she passed by, and he followed as fast as he could, being on foot; and the greater was his speed, the further was she from him. And when he saw that it profited him nothing to follow her, he returned to Pwyll, and said unto him, "Lord, it is idle for any one in the world to follow her on foot." "Verily," said Pwyll, "go unto the palace, and take the fleetest horse that thou seest, and go after her." And he took a horse and went forward. And he came to an open level plain, and put spurs to his horse; and the more he urged his horse, the further was she from him. Yet she held the same pace as at first. And his horse began to fail; and when his horse's feet failed him, he returned to the place where Pwyll was. "Lord," said he, "it will avail nothing for any one to follow yonder lady. I know of no horse in these realms swifter than this, and it availed me not to pursue her." "Of a truth," said Pwyll, "there must be some illusion here. Let us go towards the palace." So to the palace they went, and they spent that day. And the next day they arose, and that also they spent until it was time to go to meat. And after the first meal, "Verily," said Pwyll, "we will go the same party as yesterday to the top of the mound. And do thou," said he to one of his young men, "take the swiftest horse that thou knowest in the field." And thus did the young man. And they went towards the mound, taking the horse with them. And as they were sitting down they beheld the lady on the same horse, and in the same apparel, coming along the same road. "Behold," said Pwyll, "here is the lady of yesterday. Make ready, youth, to learn who she is." "My Lord," said he, "that will I gladly do." And thereupon the lady came opposite to them. So the youth mounted his horse; and before he had settled himself in his saddle, she passed by, and there was a clear space between them. But her speed was no greater than it had been the day before. Then he put his horse into an amble, and thought that notwithstanding the gentle pace at which his horse went, he should soon overtake her. But this availed him not; so he gave his horse the reins. And still he came no nearer to her than when he went at a foot's pace. And the more he urged his horse, the further was she from him. Yet she rode not faster than before. When he saw that it availed not to follow her, he returned to the place where Pwyll was. "Lord," said he, "the horse can no more than thou hast seen." "I see indeed that it avails not that any one should follow her. And by Heaven," said he, "she must needs have an errand to some one in this plain, if her haste would allow her to declare it. Let us go back to the palace." And to the palace they went, and they spent that night in songs and feasting, as it pleased them. And the next day they amused themselves until it was time to go to meat. And when meat was ended, Pwyll said, "Where are the hosts that went yesterday and the day before to the top of the mound?" "Behold, Lord, we are here," said they. "Let us go," said he, "to the mound, to sit there. And do thou," said he to the page who tended his horse, "saddle my horse well, and hasten with him to the road, and bring also my spurs with thee." And the youth did thus. And they went and sat upon the mound; and ere they had been there but a short time, they beheld the lady coming by the same road, and in the same manner, and at the same pace. "Young man," said Pwyll, "I see the lady coming; give me my horse." And no sooner had he mounted his horse than she passed him. And he turned after her and followed her. And he let his horse go bounding playfully, and thought that at the second step or the third he should come up with her. But he came no nearer to her than at first. Then he urged his horse to his utmost speed, yet he found that it availed nothing to follow her. Then said Pwyll, "O maiden, for the sake of him whom thou best lovest, stay for me." "I will stay gladly," said she, "and it were better for thy horse hadst thou asked it long since." So the maiden stopped, and she threw back that part of her head dress which covered her face. And she fixed her eyes upon him, and began to talk with him. "Lady," asked he, "whence comest thou, and whereunto dost thou journey?" "I journey on mine own errand," said she, "and right glad am I to see thee." "My greeting be unto thee," said he. Then he thought that the beauty of all the maidens, and all the ladies that he had ever seen, was as nothing compared to her beauty. "Lady," he said, "wilt thou tell me aught concerning thy purpose?" "I will tell thee," said she. "My chief quest was to seek thee." "Behold," said Pwyll, "this is to me the most pleasing quest on which thou couldst have come; and wilt thou tell me who thou art?" "I will tell thee, Lord," said she, "I am Rhiannon, the daughter of Heveydd Hen, and they sought to give me to a husband against my will. But no husband would I have, and that because of my love for thee, neither will I yet have one unless thou reject me. And hither have I come to hear thy answer." "By Heaven," said Pwyll, "behold this is my answer. If I might choose among all the ladies and damsels in the world, thee would I choose." "Verily," said she, "If thou art thus minded, make a pledge to meet me ere I am given to another." "The sooner I may do so, the more pleasing will it be unto me," said Pwyll, "and wheresoever thou wilt, there will I meet with thee." "I will that thou meet me this day twelvemonth at the palace of Heveydd. And I will cause a feast to be prepared, so that it be ready against thou come." "Gladly," said he, "will I keep this tryst." "Lord," said she, "remain in health, and be mindful that thou keep thy promise; and now will I go hence." So they parted, and he went back to his hosts and to them of his household. And whatsoever questions they asked him respecting the damsel, he always turned the discourse upon other matters. And when a year from that time was gone, he caused a hundred knights to equip themselves and to go with him to the palace of Heveydd Hen. And he came to the palace, and there was great joy concerning him, with much concourse of people and great rejoicing, and vast preparations for his coming. And the whole court was placed under his orders. And the hall was garnished and they went to meat, and thus did they sit; Heveydd Hen was on one side of Pwyll, and Rhiannon on the other. And all the rest according to their rank. And they eat and feasted and talked one with another, and at the beginning of the carousal after the meat, there entered a tall auburn-haired youth, of royal bearing, clothed in a garment of satin. And when he came into the hall, he saluted Pwyll and his companions. "The greeting of Heaven be unto thee, my soul," said Pwyll, "come thou and sit down." "Nay," said he, "a suitor am I, and I will do mine errand." "Do so willingly," said Pwyll. "Lord," said he, "my errand is unto thee, and it is to crave a boon of thee that I come." "What boon soever thou mayest ask of me, as far as I am able, thou shall have." "Ah," said Rhiannon, "Wherefore didst thou give that answer?" "Has he not given it before the presence of these nobles?" asked the youth. "My soul," said Pwyll, "what is the boon thou askest?" "The lady whom best I love is to be thy bride this night; I come to ask her of thee, with the feast and the banquet that are in this place." And Pwyll was silent because of the answer which he had given. "Be silent as long as thou wilt," said Rhiannon. "Never did man make worse use of his wits than thou hast done." "Lady," said he, "I knew not who he was." "Behold, this is the man to whom they would have given me against my will," said she. "And he is Gwawl the son of Clud, a man of great power and wealth, and because of the word thou hast spoken, bestow me upon him lest shame befall thee." "Lady," said he, "I understand not thine answer. Never can I do as thou sayest." "Bestow me upon him," said she, "and I will cause that I shall never be his." "By what means will that be?" asked Pwyll. "In thy hand will I give thee a small bag," said she. "See that thou keep it well, and he will ask of thee the banquet, and the feast, and the preparations which are not in thy power. Unto the hosts and the household will I give the feast. And such will be thy answer respecting this. And as concerns myself, I will engage to become his bride this night twelvemonth. And at the end of the year be thou here," said she, "and bring this bag with thee, and let thy hundred knights be in the orchard up yonder. And when he is in the midst of joy and feasting, come thou in by thyself, clad in ragged garments, and holding thy bag in thy hand, and ask nothing but a bagfull of food, and I will cause that if all the meat and liquor that are in these seven Cantrevs were put into it, it would be no fuller than before. And after a great deal has been put therein, he will ask thee, whether thy bag will ever be full. Say thou then that it never will, until a man of noble birth and of great wealth arise and press the food in the bag, with both his feet saying, 'Enough has been put therein;' and I will cause him to go and tread down the food in the bag, and when he does so, turn thou the bag, so that he shall be up over his head in it, and then slip a knot upon the thongs of the bag. Let there be also a good bugle horn about thy neck, and as soon as thou hast bound him in the bag, wind thy horn, and let it be a signal between thee and thy knights. And when they hear the sound of the horn, let them come down upon the palace." "Lord," said Gwawl, "it is meet that I have an answer to my request." "As much of that thou hast asked as it is in my power to give, thou shalt have," replied Pwyll. "My soul," said Rhiannon unto him, "as for the feast and the banquet that are here, I have bestowed them upon the men of Dyved, and the household, and the warriors that are with us. These can I not suffer to be given to any. In a year from to-night a banquet shall be prepared for thee in this palace, that I may become thy bride." So Gwawl went forth to his possessions, and Pwyll went also back to Dyved. And they both spent that year until it was the time for the feast at the palace of Heveydd Hen. Then Gwawl the son of Clud set out to the feast that was prepared for him, and he came to the palace, and was received there with rejoicing. Pwyll, also, the chief of Annwn came to the orchard with his hundred knights, as Rhiannon had commanded him, having the bag with him. And Pwyll was clad in coarse and ragged garments, and wore large clumsy old shoes upon his feet. And when he knew that the carousal after the meat had begun, he went towards the hall, and when he came into the hall, he saluted Gwawl the son of Clud, and his company, both men and women. "Heaven prosper thee," said Gwawl, "and the greeting of Heaven be unto thee." "Lord," said he, "May Heaven reward thee, I have an errand unto thee." "Welcome be thine errand, and if thou ask of me that which is just, thou shalt have it gladly." "It is fitting," answered he. {26} "I crave but from want, and the boon that I ask is to have this small bag that thou seest filled with meat." "A request within reason is this," said he, "and gladly shalt thou have it. Bring him food." A great number of attendants arose and begun to fill the bag, but for all that they put into it, it was no fuller than at first. "My soul," said Gwawl, "will thy bag be ever full?" "It will not, I declare to Heaven," said he, "for all that may be put into it, unless one possessed of lands, and domains, and treasure, shall arise and tread down with both his feet the food that is within the bag, and shall say, 'Enough has been put herein.'" Then said Rhiannon unto Gwawl the son of Clud, "Rise up quickly." "I will willingly arise," said he. So he rose up, and put his two feet into the bag. And Pwyll turned up the sides of the bag, so that Gwawl was over his head in it. And he shut it up quickly and slipped a knot upon the thongs, and blew his horn. And thereupon behold his household came down upon the palace. And they seized all the host that had come with Gwawl, and cast them into his own prison. And Pwyll threw off his rags, and his old shoes, and his tattered array; and as they came in, every one of Pwyll's knights struck a blow upon the bag, and asked, "What is here?" "A Badger," said they. And in this manner they played, each of them striking the bag, either with his foot or with a staff. And thus played they with the bag. Every one as he came in asked, "What game are you playing at thus?" "The game of Badger in the Bag," said they. And then was the game of Badger in the Bag first played. "Lord," said the man in the bag, "If thou wouldest but hear me, I merit not to be slain in a bag." Said Heveydd Hen, "Lord, he speaks truth. It were fitting that thou listen to him, for he deserves not this." "Verily," said Pwyll, "I will do thy counsel concerning him." "Behold this is my counsel then," said Rhiannon; "Thou art now in a position in which it behoves thee to satisfy suitors and minstrels, let him give unto them in thy stead, and take a pledge from him that he will never seek to revenge that which has been done to him. And this will be punishment enough." "I will do this gladly," said the man in the bag. "And gladly will I accept it," said Pwyll, "since it is the counsel of Heveydd and Rhiannon." "Such then is our counsel," answered they. "I accept it," said Pwyll. "Seek thyself sureties." "We will be for him," said Heveydd, "until his men be free to answer for him." And upon this he was let out of the bag, and his liegemen were liberated. "Demand now of Gwawl his sureties," said Heveydd, "we know which should be taken for him." And Heveydd numbered the sureties. Said Gwawl, "Do thou thyself draw up the covenant." "It will suffice me that it be as Rhiannon said," answered Pwyll. So unto that covenant were the sureties pledged. "Verily, Lord," said Gwawl, "I am greatly hurt, and I have many bruises. I have need to be anointed, with thy leave I will go forth. I will leave nobles in my stead, to answer for me in all that thou shall require." "Willingly," said Pwyll, "mayest thou do thus." So Gwawl went towards his own possessions. And the hall was set in order for Pwyll and the men of his host, and for them also of the palace, and they went to the tables and sat down. And as they had sat that time twelvemonth, so sat they that night. And they eat, and feasted, and spent the night in mirth and tranquillity. And the time came that they should sleep, and Pwyll and Rhiannon went to their chamber. And next morning at the break of day, "My Lord," said Rhiannon, "arise and begin to give thy gifts unto the minstrels. Refuse no one to-day that may claim thy bounty." "Thus shall it be gladly," said Pwyll, "both to-day and every day while the feast shall last." So Pwyll arose, and he caused silence to be proclaimed, and desired all the suitors and the minstrels to show and to point out what gifts were to their wish and desire. {28} And this being done the feast went on, and he denied no one while it lasted. And when the feast was ended, Pwyll said unto Heveydd, "My Lord, with thy permission I will set out for Dyved to-morrow." "Certainly," said Heveydd, "may Heaven prosper thee. Fix also a time when Rhiannon may follow thee." "By Heaven," said Pwyll, "we will go hence together." "Wiliest thou this, Lord?" said Heveydd. "Yes, by Heaven," answered Pwyll. And the next day, they set forward towards Dyved, and journeyed to the palace of Narberth, where a feast was made ready for them. And there came to them great numbers of the chief men and the most noble ladies of the land, and of these there were none to whom Rhiannon did not give some rich gift, either a bracelet, or a ring, or a precious stone. And they ruled the land prosperously both that year and the next. And in the third year the nobles of the land began to be sorrowful at seeing a man whom they loved so much, and who was moreover their lord and their foster-brother, without an heir. And they came to him. {29} And the place where they met was Preseleu, in Dyved. "Lord," said they, "we know that thou art not so young as some of the men of this country, and we fear that thou mayest not have an heir of the wife whom thou hast taken. Take therefore another wife of whom thou mayest have heirs. Thou canst not always continue with us, and though thou desire to remain as thou art, we will not suffer thee." "Truly," said Pwyll, "we have not long been joined together, and many things may yet befall. Grant me a year from this time, and for the space of a year we will abide together, and after that I will do according to your wishes." So they granted it. And before the end of a year a son was born unto him. And in Narberth was he born; and on the night that he was born, women were brought to watch the mother and the boy. And the women slept, as did also Rhiannon, the mother of the boy. And the number of the women that were brought into the chamber, was six. And they watched for a good portion of the night, and before midnight every one of them fell asleep, and towards break of day they awoke; and when they awoke, they looked where they had put the boy, and behold he was not there. "Oh," said one of the women, "the boy is lost!" "Yes," said another, "and it will be small vengeance if we are burnt or put to death because of the child." Said one of the women, "Is there any counsel for us in the world in this matter?" "There is," answered another, "I offer you good counsel." "What is that?" asked they. "There is here a stag-hound bitch, and she has a litter of whelps. Let us kill some of the cubs, and rub the blood on the face and hands of Rhiannon, and lay the bones before her, and assert that she herself had devoured her son, and she alone will not be able to gainsay us six." And according to this counsel it wast settled. And towards morning Rhiannon awoke, and she said, "Women, where is my son?" "Lady," said they, "ask us not concerning thy son, we have nought but the blows and the bruises we got by struggling with thee, and of a truth we never saw any woman so violent as thou, for it was of no avail to contend with thee. Hast thou not thyself devoured thy son? Claim him not therefore of us." "For pity's sake," said Rhiannon; "The Lord God knows all things. Charge me not falsely. {30} If you tell me this from fear, I assert before Heaven that I will defend you." "Truly," said they, "we would not bring evil on ourselves for any one in the world." "For pity's sake," said Rhiannon; "you will receive no evil by telling the truth." But for all her words, whether fair or harsh, {31a} she received but the same answer from the women. And Pwyll the chief of Annwvyn arose, and his household, and his hosts. And this occurrence could not be concealed, but the story went forth throughout the land, and all the nobles heard it. Then the nobles came to Pwyll, and besought him to put away his wife, because of the great {31b} crime which she had done. But Pwyll answered them, that they had no cause wherefore they might ask him to put away his wife, save for her having no children. "But children has she now had, therefore will I not put her away, if she has done wrong, let her do penance for it." So Rhiannon sent for the teachers and the wise men, and as she preferred doing penance to contending with the women, she took upon her a penance. And the penance that was imposed upon her was, that she should remain in that palace of Narberth until the end of seven years, and that she should sit every day near unto a horse-block that was without the gate. And that she should relate the story to all who should come there, whom she might suppose not to know it already; and that she should offer the guests and strangers, if they would permit her, to carry them upon her back into the palace. But it rarely happened that any would permit. And thus did she spend part of the year. Now at that time Teirnyon Twryv Vliant was Lord of Gwent Is Coed, and he was the best man in the world. And unto his house there belonged a mare, than which neither mare nor horse in the kingdom was more beautiful. And on the night of every first of May she foaled, and no one ever knew what became of the colt. And one night Teirnyon talked with his wife; "Wife," said he, "it is very simple of us that our mare should foal every year, and that we should have none of her colts." "What can be done in the matter?" said she. "This is the night of the first of May," said he. "The vengeance of Heaven be upon me, if I learn not what it is that takes away the colts." So he caused the mare to be brought into a house, and he armed himself, and began to watch that night. And in the beginning of the night, the mare foaled a large and beautiful colt. And it was standing up in the place. And Teirnyon rose up and looked at the size of the colt, and as he did so he heard a great tumult, and after the tumult behold a claw came through the window into the house, and it seized the colt by the mane. Then Teirnyon drew his sword, and struck off the arm at the elbow, so that portion of the arm together with the colt was in the house with him. And then did he hear a tumult and wailing, both at once. And he opened the door, and rushed out in the direction of the noise, and he could not see the cause of the tumult, because of the darkness of the night; but he rushed after it and followed it. Then he remembered that he had left the door open, and he returned. And at the door behold there was an infant boy in swaddling clothes, wrapped around in a mantle of satin. And he took up the boy, and behold he was very strong for the age that he was of. Then he shut the door, and went unto the chamber where his wife was. "Lady," said he, "art thou sleeping?" "No, Lord," said she, "I was asleep, but as thou camest in I did awake." "Behold here is a boy for thee if thou wilt," said he, "since thou hast never had one." "My Lord," said she, "What adventure is this?" "It was thus," said Teirnyon; and he told her how it all befell. "Verily, Lord," said she, "What sort of garments are there upon the boy?" "A mantle of satin," said he. "He is then a boy of gentle lineage," she replied. "My Lord," she said, "if thou wilt, I shall have great diversion and mirth. I will call my women unto me, and tell them that I have been pregnant." "I will readily grant thee to do this," he answered. And thus did they, and they caused the boy to be baptized, and the ceremony was performed there; {33} and the name which they gave unto him, was Gwri Wallt Euryn, because what hair was upon his head was as yellow as gold. And they had the boy nursed in the court until he was a year old. And before the year was over, he could walk stoutly. And he was larger than a boy of three years old, even one of great growth and size. And the boy was nursed the second year, and then he was as large as a child six years old. And before the end of the fourth year, he would bribe the grooms to allow him to take the horses to water. "My Lord," said his wife unto Teirnyon, "Where is the colt which thou didst save on the night that thou foundest the boy?" "I have commanded the grooms of the horses," said he, "that they take care of him." "Would it not be well, Lord," said she, "if thou wert to cause him to be broken in, and given to the boy, seeing that on the same night that thou didst find the boy, the colt was foaled and thou didst save him." "I will not oppose thee in this matter," said Teirnyon. "I will allow thee to give him the colt." "Lord," said she, "may Heaven reward thee; I will give it him." So the horse was given to the boy. Then she went to the grooms and those who tended the horses, and commanded them to be careful of the horse, so that he might be broken in by the time that the boy could ride him. And while these things were going forward, they heard tidings of Rhiannon and her punishment. And Teirnyon Twryv Vliant, by reason of the pity that he felt on hearing this story of Rhiannon, and her punishment, enquired closely concerning it, until he had heard from many of those who came to his court. Then did Teirnyon, often lamenting the sad history, ponder within himself, and he looked steadfastly on the boy, and as he looked upon him, it seemed to him that he had never beheld so great a likeness between father and son, as between the boy and Pwyll, the chief of Annwvyn. Now the semblance of Pwyll was well known to him, for he had of yore been one of his followers. And thereupon he became grieved for the wrong that he did, in keeping with him a boy whom he knew to be the son of another man. And the first time that he was alone with his wife, he told her, that it was not right that they should keep the boy with them, and suffer so excellent a lady as Rhiannon to be punished so greatly on his account, whereas the boy was the son of Pwyll, the chief of Annwvyn. And Teirnyon's wife agreed with him, that they should send the boy to Pwyll. "And three things, Lord," said she, "shall we gain thereby. Thanks and gifts for releasing Rhiannon from her punishment; and thanks from Pwyll, for nursing his son, and restoring him unto him; and thirdly, if the boy is of gentle nature, he will be our foster-son, and he will do for us all the good in his power." So it was settled according to this counsel. And no later than the next day was Teirnyon equipped, and two other knights with him. And the boy, as a fourth in their company, went with them upon the horse which Teirnyon had given him. And they journeyed towards Narberth, and it was not long before they reached that place. And as they drew near to the palace, they beheld Rhiannon sitting beside the horse block. And when they were opposite to her. "Chieftain," said she, "go not further thus, I will bear every one of you into the palace, and this is my penance for slaying my own son and devouring him." "Oh fair lady," said Teirnyon, "think not that I will be one to be carried upon thy back." "Neither will I," said the boy. "Truly, my soul," said Teirnyon, "we will not go." {35} So they went forward to the palace, and there was great joy at their coming. And at the palace a feast was prepared, because Pwyll was come back from the confines of Dyved. And they went into the hall and washed, and Pwyll rejoiced to see Teirnyon. And in this order they sat. Teirnyon between Pwyll and Rhiannon, and Teirnyon's two companions on the other side of Pwyll, with the boy between them. And after meat they began to carouse and to discourse. And Teirnyon's discourse was concerning the adventure of the mare and the boy, and how he and his wife had nursed and reared the child as their own. "And behold here is thy son, lady," said Teirnyon. "And whosoever told that lie concerning thee, has done wrong. And when I heard of thy sorrow, I was troubled and grieved. And I believe that there is none of this host, who will not perceive that the boy is the son of Pwyll," said Teirnyon. "There is none," said they all, "who is not certain thereof." "I declare to Heaven," said Rhiannon, "that if this be true, there indeed is an end to my trouble." {36a} "Lady," said Pendaran Dyved, "well hast thou named thy son Pryderi, and well becomes him the name of Pryderi, son of Pwyll, chief of Annwvyn." "Look you," said Rhiannon, "will not his own name become him better?" "What name has he?" asked Pendaran Dyved. "Gwri Wallt Euryn, is the name that we gave him." "Pryderi," said Pendaran, "shall his name be." "It were more proper," said Pwyll, "that the boy should take his name from the word his mother spoke when she received the joyful tidings of him." And thus was it arranged. "Teirnyon," said Pwyll, "Heaven reward thee that thou hast reared the boy up to this time, and, being of gentle lineage, {36b} it were fitting that he repay thee for it." "My Lord," said Teirnyon, "It was my wife who nursed him, and there is no one in the world so afflicted as she at parting with him. It were well that he should bear in mind what I and my wife have done for him." "I call Heaven to witness," said Pwyll, "that while I live I will support thee and thy possessions, as long as I am able to preserve my own. And when he shall have power, he will more fitly maintain them than I. {37a} And if this counsel be pleasing unto thee, and to my nobles, it shall be that, as thou hast reared him up to the present time, I will give him to be brought up by Pendaran Dyved, from henceforth. And you shall be companions and shall both be foster- fathers unto him." "This is good counsel," said they all. So the boy was given to Pendaran Dyved, and the nobles of the land were sent with him. And Teirnyon Twryv Vliant, and his companions, set out for his country, and his possessions, with love and gladness. And he went not without being offered the fairest jewels and the fairest horses and the choicest dogs; but he would take none of them. Thereupon they all remained in their own dominions. And Pryderi, the son of Pwyll the chief of Annwvyn, was brought up carefully as was fit, so that he became the fairest youth, and the most comely, and the best skilled in all good games, of any in the kingdom. And thus passed years and years, until the end of Pwyll the chief of Annwvyn's life came, and he died. And Pryderi ruled the seven Cantrevs of Dyved prosperously, and he was beloved by his people, and by all around him. And at length {37b} he added unto them the three Cantrevs of Ystrad Tywi and the four Cantrevs of Cardigan; and these were called the Seven Cantrevs of Seissyllwch. And when he made this addition, Pryderi the son of Pwyll the chief of Annwvyn, desired to take a wife. And the wife he chose was Kicva, the daughter of Gwynn Gohoyw, the son of Gloyw Wlallt {38} Lydan, the son of Prince Casnar, one of the nobles of this island. And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogion. {Picture: p38.jpg} BRANWEN THE DAUGHTER OF LLYR. {Picture: p39.jpg} Bendigeid Vran, the son of Llyr was the crowned king of this Island, and he was exalted from the crown of London. {39a} And one afternoon he was at Harlech in Ardudwy, at his court, and he sat upon the rock of Harlech, looking over the sea. {39b} And with him were his brother Manawyddan the son of Llyr, and his brothers by the mother's side, Nissyen and Evnissyen, and many nobles likewise, as was fitting to see around a king. His two brothers by the mother's side were the sons of Eurosswydd, by his mother, Penardun, {40} the daughter of Beli son of Manogan. And one of these youths was a good youth and of gentle nature, and would make peace between his kindred and cause his family to be friends when their wrath was at the highest; and this one was Nissyen; but the other would cause strife between his two brothers when they were most at peace. And as they sat thus, they beheld thirteen ships coming from the South of Ireland, and making towards them, and they came with a swift motion, the wind being behind them, and they neared them rapidly. "I see ships afar," said the king, "coming swiftly towards the land. Command the men of the court that they equip themselves, and go and learn their intent." So the men equipped themselves and went down towards them. And when they saw the ships near, certain were they that they had never seen ships better furnished. Beautiful flags of satin were upon them. And behold one of the ships outstripped the others, and they saw a shield lifted up above the side of the ship, and the point of the shield was upwards, in token of peace. And the men drew near that they might hold converse. Then they put out boats and came towards the land. And they saluted the king. Now the king could hear them from the place where he was, upon the rock above their heads. "Heaven prosper you," said he, "and be ye welcome. To whom do these ships belong and who is the chief amongst you?" "Lord," said they, "Matholwch king of Ireland is here and these ships belong to him." "Wherefore comes he?" asked the king, "and will he come to the land?" "He is a suitor unto thee, lord," said they, "and he will not land unless he have his boon." "And what may that be?" enquired the king. "He desires to ally himself with thee, lord," said they, "and he comes to ask Branwen the daughter of Llyr, that, if it seem well to thee, the Island of the Mighty may be leagued with Ireland and both become more powerful." "Verily," said he, "let him come to land, and we will take counsel thereupon." And this answer was brought to Matholwch. "I will go willingly," said he. So he landed, and they received him joyfully; and great was the throng in the palace that night, between his hosts and those of the court; and next day they took counsel, and they resolved to bestow Branwen upon Matholwch. Now she was one of the three chief ladies of this Island, and she was the fairest damsel in the world. And they fixed upon Aberffraw, as the place where she should become his bride. And they went thence, and towards Aberffraw the hosts proceeded; Matholwch and his host in their ships; Bendigeid Vran and his host by land, until they came to Aberffraw. And at Aberffraw they began the feast and sat down. And thus sat they. The King of the Island of the Mighty and Manawyddan the son of Llyr, on one side, and Matholwch on the other side, and Branwen the daughter of Llyr beside him. And they were not within a house, but under tents. No house could ever contain Bendigeid Vran. And they began the banquet and caroused and discoursed. And when it was more pleasing to them to sleep than to carouse they went to rest, and that night Branwen became Matholwch's bride. And next day they arose, and all they of the court, and the officers began to equip and to range the horses and the attendants, and they ranged them in order as far as the sea. And behold one day, Evnissyen, the quarrelsome man of whom it is spoken above, came by chance into the place, where the horses of Matholwch were, and asked whose horses they might be. "They are the horses of Matholwch king of Ireland, who is married to Branwen, thy sister; his horses are they." "And is it thus they have done with a maiden such as she, and moreover my sister, bestowing her without my consent? They could have offered no greater insult to me than this," said he. And thereupon he rushed under the horses and cut off their lips at the teeth, and their ears close to their heads, and their tails {42} close to their backs, and wherever he could clutch their eyelids, he cut them to the very bone, and he disfigured the horses and rendered them useless. And they came with these tidings unto Matholwch, saying that the horses were disfigured, and injured so that not one of them could ever be of any use again. "Verily, lord," said one, "it was an insult unto thee, and as such was it meant." "Of a truth, it is a marvel to me, that if they desire to insult me, they should have given me a maiden of such high rank and so much beloved of her kindred, as they have done." "Lord," said another, "thou seest that thus it is, and there is nothing for thee to do but to go to thy ships." And thereupon towards his ships he set out. And tidings came to Bendigeid Vran that Matholwch was quitting the court without asking leave, and messengers were sent to enquire of him wherefore he did so. And the messengers that went, were Iddic the son of Anarawd, and Heveydd Hir. And these overtook him and asked of him what he designed to do, and wherefore he went forth. "Of a truth," said he, "if I had known I had not come hither. I have been altogether insulted, no one had ever worse treatment than I have had here. But one thing surprises me above all." "What is that?" asked they. "That Branwen the daughter of Llyr, one of the three chief ladies of this Island, and the daughter of the King of the Island of the Mighty, should have been given me as my bride, and that after that I should have been insulted; and I marvel that the insult was not done me before they had bestowed upon me a maiden so exalted as she." "Truly, lord, it was not the will of any that are of the court," said they, "nor of any that are of the council that thou shouldest have received this insult, and as thou hast been insulted, the dishonour is greater unto Bendigeid Vran than unto thee." "Verily," said he, "I think so. Nevertheless he cannot recall the insult." These men returned with that answer to the place where Bendigeid Vran was, and they told him what reply Matholwch had given them. "Truly," said he, "there are no means by which we may prevent his going away at enmity with us, that we will not take." "Well, lord," said they, "send after him another embassy." "I will do so," said he. "Arise Manawyddan son of Llyr, and Heveydd Hir, and Unic Glew Ysgwyd, and go after him, and tell him that he shall have a sound horse for every one that has been injured. And beside that, as an atonement for the insult, he shall have a staff of silver, as large and as tall as himself, and a plate of gold of the breadth of his face. And show unto him who it was that did this, and that it was done against my will; but that he who did it is my brother, by the mother's side, and therefore it would be hard for me to put him to death. And let him come and meet me," said he, "and we will make peace in any way he may desire." The embassy went after Matholwch, and told him all these sayings in a friendly manner, and he listened thereunto. "Men," said he, "I will take counsel." So to the council he went. And in the council they considered that if they should refuse this, they were likely to have more shame rather than to obtain so great an atonement. They resolved therefore to accept it, and they returned to the court in peace. Then the pavilions and the tents were set in order after the fashion of a hall; and they went to meat, and as they had sat at the beginning of the feast, so sat they there. And Matholwch and Bendigeid Vran began to discourse; and behold it seemed to Bendigeid Vran, while they talked, that Matholwch was not so cheerful as he had been before. And he thought that the chieftain might be sad because of the smallness of the atonement which he had, for the wrong that had been done him. "Oh man," said Bendigeid Vran, "thou dost not discourse to-night so cheerfully as thou wert wont. And if it be because of the smallness of the atonement, thou shalt add thereunto whatsoever thou mayest choose, and to-morrow I will pay thee the horses." "Lord," said he, "Heaven reward thee." "And I will enhance the atonement," said Bendigeid Vran, "for I will give unto thee a cauldron, the property of which is, that if one of thy men be slain to-day, and be cast therein, to-morrow he will be as well as ever he was at the best, except that he will not regain his speech." And thereupon he gave him great thanks, and very joyful was he for that cause. And the next morning they paid Matholwch the horses as long as the trained horses lasted. And then they journeyed into another commot, where they paid him with colts until the whole had been paid, and from thenceforth that commot was called Talebolion. {Picture: p46.jpg} And a second night sat they together. "My lord," said Matholwch, "whence hadst thou the cauldron which thou hast given me?" "I had it of a man who had been in thy land," said he, "and I would not give it except to one from there." {45} "Who was it?" asked he. "Llassar Llaesgyvnewid; he came here from Ireland, with Kymideu Kymeinvoll, his wife, who escaped from the Iron House in Ireland, when it was made red hot around them, and fled hither. And it is a marvel to me that thou shouldst know nothing concerning the matter." "Something I do know," said he, "and as much as I know I will tell thee. One day I was hunting in Ireland, and I came to the mound at the head of the lake, which is called the Lake of the Cauldron. And I beheld a huge yellow-haired man coming from the lake with a cauldron upon his back. And he was a man of vast size, and of horrid aspect, and a woman followed after him. And if the man was tall, twice as large as he was the woman, and they came towards me and greeted me. 'Verily,' asked I, 'wherefore are you journeying?' 'Behold this,' said he to me, 'is the cause that we journey. At the end of a month and a fortnight this woman will have a son; and the child that will be born at the end of the month and the fortnight will be a warrior fully armed.' So I took them with me, and maintained them. And they were with me for a year. And that year I had them with me not grudgingly. But thenceforth was there murmuring, because that they were with me. For from the beginning of the fourth month they had begun to make themselves hated and to be disorderly in the land; committing outrages, and molesting and harassing the nobles and ladies; and thenceforward my people rose up and besought me to part with them, and they bade me to choose between them and my dominions. And I applied to the council of my country to know what should be done concerning them; for of their own free will they would not go, neither could they be compelled against their will, through fighting. And [the people of the country,] being in this strait, they caused a chamber to be made all of iron. Now when the chamber was ready, there came there every smith that was in Ireland, and every one who owned tongs and hammer. And they caused coals to be piled up as high as the top of the chamber. And they had the man, and the woman, and the children, served with plenty of meat and drink; but when it was known that they were drunk, they began to put fire to the coals about the chamber, and they blew it with bellows until the house was red hot all around them. Then was there a council held in the centre of the floor of the chamber. And the man tarried until the plates of iron were all of a white heat; and then, by reason of the great heat, the man dashed against the plates with his shoulder and struck them out, and his wife followed him; but except him and his wife none escaped thence. And then I suppose, lord," said Matholwch unto Bendigeid Vran, "that he came over unto thee." "Doubtless he came here," said he, "and gave unto me the cauldron." "In what manner didst thou receive them?" "I dispersed them through every part of my dominions, and they have become numerous and are prospering everywhere, and they fortify the places where they are with men and arms, of the best that were ever seen." That night they continued to discourse as much as they would, and had minstrelsy and carousing, and when it was more pleasant to them to sleep than to sit longer, they went to rest. And thus was the banquet carried on with joyousness; and when it was finished, Matholwch journeyed towards Ireland, and Branwen with him, and they went from Aber Menei, with thirteen ships and came to Ireland. And in Ireland was there great joy because of their coming. And not one great man or noble lady visited Branwen unto whom she gave not either a clasp, or a ring, or a royal jewel to keep, such as it was honourable to be seen departing with. And in these things she spent that year in much renown, and she passed her time pleasant, enjoying honour and friendship. And in the meanwhile, it chanced that she became pregnant, and in due time a son was born unto her, and the name that they gave him was Gwern the son of Matholwch, and they put the boy out to be foster-nursed, in a place where were the best men of Ireland. And behold in the second year a tumult arose in Ireland, on account of the insult which Matholwch had received in Wales, and the payment made him for his horses. And his foster-brothers, and such as were nearest unto him, blamed him openly {48a} for that matter. And he might have no peace by reason of the tumult until they should revenge upon him this disgrace. And the vengeance which they took was to drive away Branwen from the same chamber with him, and to make her cook {48b} for the court; and they caused the butcher, after he had cut up the meat, to come to her and give her every day a blow on the ear, and such they made her punishment. "Verily, lord," said his men to Matholwch, "forbid now the ships and the ferry boats and the coracles, that they go not into Wales, and such as come over from Wales hither, imprison them that they go not back for this thing to be known there." And they did so; and it was thus for no less than three years. {Picture: p49.jpg} And Branwen reared a starling in the cover of the kneading trough, and she taught it to speak, and she taught the bird what manner of man her brother was. And she wrote a letter of her woes, and the despite with which she was treated, and she bound the letter to the root of the bird's wing, and sent it towards Wales. And the bird came to this Island, and one day it found Bendigeid Vran at Caer Seiont in Arvon, conferring there, and it alighted upon his shoulder and ruffled its feathers, so that the letter was seen, and they knew that the bird had been reared in a domestic manner. Then Bendigeid Vran took the letter and looked upon it. And when he had read the letter, he grieved exceedingly at the tidings of Branwen's woes. And immediately he began sending messengers to summon the Island together. And he caused seven score and four countries to come unto him, and he complained to them himself of the grief that his sister endured. So they took counsel. And in the counsel they resolved to go to Ireland, and to leave seven men as princes here. And Caradawc the son of Bran, as the chief of them, and their seven knights. In Edeyrnion, were these men left. And for this reason were the seven knights placed in the town. {50a} Now the names of these seven were Caradawc the son of Bran, and Heveydd Hir, and Unic Glew Ysgwyd, and Iddic the son of Anarawc Gwalltgrwn, and Fodor the son of Ervyll, and Gwlch Minascwrn, and Llassar the son of Llaesar Llaesgygwyd, and Pendaran Dyved as a young page with them. And these abode as seven ministers to take charge of this Island; and Caradawc the son of Bran was the chief amongst them. Bendigeid Vran, with the hosts of which we spoke, sailed towards Ireland, and it was not far across the sea, and he came to shoal water. It was but by two rivers; the Lli and the Archan were they called; and the nations covered the sea. {50b} Then he proceeded with what provisions he had on his own back, and approached the shore of Ireland. Now the swineherds of Matholwch were upon the sea shore, and they came to Matholwch. "Lord," said they, "greeting be unto thee." "Heaven protect you," said he, "have you any news?" "Lord," said they, "we have marvellous news; a wood have we seen upon the sea, in a place where we never yet saw a single tree." "This is indeed a marvel," said he; "saw you aught else?" "We saw, lord," said they, "a vast mountain beside the wood, which moved, and there was a lofty ridge on the top of the mountain, and a lake on each side of the ridge. And the wood, and the mountain, and all these things moved." "Verily," said he, "there is none who can know aught concerning this, unless it be Branwen." Messengers then went unto Branwen. "Lady," said they, "What thinkest thou that this is?" "The men of the Island of the Mighty, who have come hither on hearing of my ill treatment and my woes." "What is the forest that is seen upon the sea?" asked they. "The yards and the masts of ships," she answered. "Alas," said they, "what is the mountain that is seen by the side of the ships?" "Bendigeid Vran, my brother," she replied, "coming to shoal water; there is no ship that can contain him in it." "What is the lofty ridge with the lake on each side thereof?" "On looking towards this Island he is wroth, and his two eyes on each side of his nose are the two lakes on each side of the ridge." The warriors and chief men of Ireland were brought together in haste, and they took counsel. "Lord," said the nobles unto Matholwch, "there is no other counsel than to retreat over the Linon, (a river which is {52a} in Ireland,) and to keep the river between thee and him, and to break down the bridge that is across the river, for there is a load-stone at the bottom of the river that neither ship nor vessel can pass over." So they retreated across the river, and broke down the bridge. Bendigeid Vran came to land, and the fleet with him by the bank of the river. "Lord," said his chieftains, "knowest thou the nature of this river, that nothing can go across it, and there is no bridge over it?" "What," said they, "is thy counsel concerning a bridge?" "There is none," said he, "except that he who will be chief let him be a bridge. I will be so," said he. And then was that saying first uttered, and it is still used as a proverb. And when he had lain down across the river, hurdles were placed upon him, and the host passed over thereby. And as he rose up, behold the messengers of Matholwch came to him, and saluted him, and gave him greeting in the name of Matholwch, his kinsman, and showed how that of his good will he had merited of him nothing but good. "For Matholwch has given the kingdom of Ireland to Gwern the son of Matholwch, thy nephew and thy sister's son. And this he places before thee, as a compensation for the wrong and despite that has been done unto Branwen. And Matholwch shall be maintained wheresoever thou wilt, either here or in the Island of the Mighty." Said Bendigeid Vran, "Shall not I myself have the kingdom? {52b} Then peradventure I may take counsel concerning your message. From this time until then no other answer will you get from me." "Verily," said they, "the best message that we receive for thee, we will convey it unto thee, and do thou await our message unto him." "I will wait," answered he, "and do you return quickly." The messengers set forth and came to Matholwch. "Lord," said they, "prepare a better message for Bendigeid Vran. He would not listen at all to the message that we bore him." "My friends," said Matholwch, "what may be your counsel?" "Lord," said they, "there is no other counsel than this alone. He was never known to be within a house, make therefore a house that will contain him and the men of the Island of the Mighty on the one side, and thyself and thy host on the other; and give over thy kingdom to his will, and do him homage. So by reason of the honour thou doest him in making him a house, whereas he never before had a house to contain him, he will make peace with thee." So the messengers went back to Bendigeid Vran, bearing him this message. And he took counsel, and in the council it was resolved that he should accept this, and this was all done by the advice of Branwen, and lest the country should be destroyed. And this peace was made, and the house was built both vast and strong. But the Irish planned a crafty device, and the craft was that they should put brackets on each side of the hundred pillars that were in the house, and should place a leathern bag on each bracket, and an armed man in every one of them. Then Evnissyen came in before the host of the Island of the Mighty, and scanned the house with fierce and savage looks, and descried the leathern bags which were around the pillars. "What is in this bag?" asked he of one of the Irish. "Meal, good soul," said he. And Evnissyen felt about it until he came to the man's head, and he squeezed the head until he felt his fingers meet together in the brain through the bone. And he left that one and put his hand upon another, and asked what was therein? "Meal," said the Irishman. So he did the like unto every one of them, until he had not left alive of all the two hundred men save one only; and when he came to him, he asked what was there? "Meal, good soul," said the Irishman. And he felt about until he felt the head, and he squeezed that head as he had done the others. And albeit he found that the head of this one was armed, he left him not until he had killed him. And then he sang an Englyn,-- "There is in this bag a different sort of meal, The ready combatant, when the assault is made By his fellow warriors, prepared for battle." Thereupon came the hosts unto the house. The men of the Island of Ireland entered the house on the one side, and the men of the Island of the Mighty on the other. And as soon as they had sat down, there was concord between them; and the sovereignty was conferred upon the boy. When the peace was concluded, Bendigeid Vran called the boy unto him, and from Bendigeid Vran the boy went unto Manawyddan, and he was beloved by all that beheld him. And from Manawyddan the boy was called by Nissyen the son of Eurosswydd, and the boy went unto him lovingly. "Wherefore," said Evnissyen, "comes not my nephew the son of my sister unto me? Though he were not king of Ireland, yet willingly would I fondle the boy." "Cheerfully let him go to thee," said Bendigeid Vran, and the boy went unto him cheerfully. "By my confession to Heaven," said Evnissyen in his heart, "unthought of by the household is the slaughter that I will this instant commit." Then he arose and took up the boy by the feet, and before any one in the house could seize hold of him, he thrust the boy headlong into the blazing fire. And when Branwen saw her son burning in the fire, she strove to leap into the fire also, from the place where she sat between her two brothers. But Bendigeid Vran grasped her with one hand, and his shield with the other. Then they all hurried about the house, and never was there made so great a tumult by any host in one house as was made by them, as each man armed himself. Then said Morddwydtyllyon, "The gad- flies of Morddwydtyllyon's Cow!" And while they all sought their arms, Bendigeid Vran supported Branwen between his shield and his shoulder. Then the Irish kindled a fire under the cauldron of renovation, and they cast the dead bodies into the cauldron until it was full, and the next day they came forth fighting men as good as before, except that they were not able to speak. Then when Evnissyen saw the dead bodies of the men of the Island of the Mighty nowhere resuscitated, he said in his heart, "Alas! woe is me, that I should have been the cause of bringing the men of the Island of the Mighty into so great a strait. Evil betide me if I find not a deliverance therefrom." And he cast himself among the dead bodies of the Irish, and two unshod Irishmen came to him, and, taking him to be one of the Irish, flung him into the cauldron. And he stretched himself out in the cauldron, so that he rent the cauldron into four pieces, and burst his own heart also. In consequence of that, the men of the Island of the Mighty obtained such success as they had; but they were not victorious, for only seven men of them all escaped, and Bendigeid Vran himself was wounded in the foot with a poisoned dart. Now the seven men that escaped were Pryderi, Manawyddan, Gluneu {56a} Eil Taran, Taliesin, Ynawc, Grudyen {56b} the son of Muryel, and Heilyn the son of Gwynn Hen. And Bendigeid Vran commanded them that they should cut off his head. "And take you my head," said he, "and bear it even unto the White Mount, in London, and bury it there, with the face towards France. And a long time will you be upon the road. In Harlech you will be feasting seven years, the birds of Rhiannon singing unto you the while. And all that time the head will be to you as pleasant company as it ever was when on my body. And at Gwales in Penvro you will be fourscore years, and you may remain there, and the head with you uncorrupted, until you open the door that looks towards Aber Henvelen, and towards Cornwall. And after you have opened that door, there you may no longer tarry, set forth then to London to bury the head and go straight forward." So they cut off his head, and these seven went forward therewith. And Branwen was the eighth with them, and they came to land at Aber Alaw, in Talebolyon, and they sat down to rest. And Branwen looked towards Ireland and towards the Island of the Mighty, to see if she could descry them. "Alas," said she, "woe is me that I was ever born; two Islands have been destroyed because of me!" Then she uttered a loud groan and there broke her heart. And they made her a four-sided grave and buried her upon the banks of the Alaw. Then the seven men journeyed forward towards Harlech, bearing the head with them; and as they went behold there met them a multitude of men and of women. "Have you any tidings?" asked Manawyddan. "We have none," said they, "save that Caswallawn, the son of Beli, has conquered the Island of the Mighty, and is crowned King in London." "What has become," said they, "of Caradawc the son of Bran, and the seven men who were left with him in this Island?" "Caswallawn came upon them, and slew six of the men, and Caradawc's heart broke for grief thereof; for he could see the sword that slew the men, but knew not who it was that wielded it. Caswallawn had flung upon him the Veil of Illusion, so that no one could see him slay the men, but the sword only could they see. And it liked him not to slay Caradawc, because he was his nephew the son of his cousin. And now he was the third whose heart had broke through grief. Pendaran Dyved, who had remained as a young page with these men, escaped into the wood," said they. Then they went on to Harlech, and there stopped to rest, and they provided meat and liquor, and sat down to eat and to drink. And there came three birds, and began singing unto them a certain song, and all the songs they had ever heard were unpleasant compared thereto; and the birds seemed to them to be at a great distance from them over the sea, yet they appeared as distinct as if they were close by; and at this repast they continued seven years. And at the close of the seventh year, they went forth to Gwales in Penvro. And there they found a fair and regal spot overlooking the ocean; and a spacious hall was therein. And they went into the hall, and two of its doors were open, but the third door was closed, that which looked towards Cornwall. "See, yonder," said Manawyddan, "is the door that we may not open." And that night they regaled themselves and were joyful. And of all they had seen of food laid before them, and of all they had heard of, they remembered nothing; neither of that, nor of any sorrow whatsoever. And there they remained fourscore years, unconscious of having ever spent a time more joyous and mirthful. And they were not more weary than when first they came, neither did they, any of them, know the time they had been there. And it was not more irksome to them having the head with them, than if Bendigeid Vran had been with them himself. And because of these fourscore years, it was called the entertaining of the noble head. The entertaining of Branwen and Matholwch was in the time that they went to Ireland. One day said Heilyn the son of Gwynn, "Evil betide me, if I do not open the door to know if that is true which is said concerning it." So he opened the door and looked towards Cornwall and Aber Henvelen. And when they had looked, they were as conscious of all the evils they had ever sustained, and of all the friends and companions they had lost, and of all the misery that had befallen them, as if all had happened in that very spot; {59a} and especially of the fate of their lord. And because of their perturbation they could not rest, {59b} but journeyed forth with the head towards London. And they buried the head in the White Mount, and when it was buried, this was the third goodly concealment; and it was the third ill-fated disclosure when it was disinterred, inasmuch as no invasion from across the sea came to this Island, while the head was in that concealment. And thus is the story related of those who journeyed over from Ireland. In Ireland none were left alive, except five pregnant women in a cave in the Irish wilderness; and to these five women in the same night were born five sons, whom they nursed until they became grown up youths. And they thought about wives, and they at the same time desired to possess them, and each took a wife of the mothers of their companions, and they governed the country and peopled it. And these five divided it amongst them, and because of this partition are the five divisions of Ireland still so termed. And they examined the land where the battles had taken place, and they found gold and silver until they became wealthy. And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi, concerning the blow given to Branwen, which was the third unhappy blow of this Island; and concerning the entertainment of Bran, when the hosts of sevenscore countries and ten went over to Ireland, to revenge the blow given to Branwen; and concerning the seven years' banquet in Harlech, and the singing of the birds of Rhiannon, and the sojourning of the head for the space of fourscore years. {Picture: p60.jpg} MANAWYDDAN THE SON OF LLYR. {Picture: p61.jpg} When the seven men of whom we spoke above, had buried the head of Bendigeid Vran, in the White Mount in London, with its face towards France, Manawyddan gazed upon the town of London, and upon his companions, and heaved a great sigh, and much grief and heaviness came upon him. "Alas, Almighty Heaven, woe is me," he exclaimed, "there is none save myself without a resting place this night." "Lord," said Pryderi, "be not so sorrowful. Thy cousin is king of the Island of the Mighty, and though he should do thee wrong, thou hast never been a claimant of land or possessions. Thou art the third disinherited {62a} prince." "Yea," answered he, "but although this man is my cousin, it grieveth me to see any one in the place of my brother Bendigeid Vran, neither can I be happy in the same dwelling with him." "Wilt thou follow the counsel of another?" {62b} said Pryderi. "I stand in need of counsel," he answered, "and what may that counsel be?" "Seven Cantrevs remain unto me," said Pryderi, "wherein Rhiannon my mother dwells, I will bestow her upon thee and the seven Cantrevs with her, and though thou hadst no possessions but those Cantrevs only, thou couldst not have seven Cantrevs fairer than they. Kicva, the daughter of Gwynn Gloyw, is my wife, and since the inheritance of the Cantrevs belongs to me, do thou and Rhiannon enjoy them, and if thou ever desire any possessions thou wilt take these." "I do not, chieftain," said he; "Heaven reward thee for thy friendship." "I would show thee the best friendship in the world if thou wouldst let me." "I will, my friend," said he, "and Heaven reward thee. I will go with thee to seek Rhiannon and to look at thy possessions." "Thou wilt do well," he answered. "And I believe that thou didst never hear a lady discourse better than she, and when she was in her prime none was ever fairer. Even now her aspect is not uncomely." {62c} They set forth, and, however long the journey, they came at length to Dyved, and a feast was prepared for them against their coming to Narberth, which Rhiannon and Kicva had provided. Then began Manawyddan and Rhiannon to sit and to talk together, and from their discourse his mind and his thoughts became warmed towards her, and he thought in his heart he had never beheld any lady more fulfilled of grace and beauty than she. "Pryderi," said he, "I will that it be as thou didst say." "What saying was that?" asked Rhiannon. "Lady," said Pryderi, "I did offer thee as a wife to Manawyddan the son of Llyr." "By that will I gladly abide," said Rhiannon. "Right glad am I also," said Manawyddan, "May Heaven reward him who hath shewn unto me friendship so perfect as this." And before the feast was over she became his bride. Said Pwyll, "Tarry ye here the rest of the feast, and I will go into England to tender my homage unto Caswallawn the son of Beli." "Lord," said Rhiannon, "Caswallawn is in Kent, thou mayest therefore tarry at the feast, and wait until he shall be nearer." "We will wait," he answered. So they finished the feast. And they began to make the circuit of Dyved and to hunt, and to take their pleasure. And as they went through the country, they had never seen lands more pleasant to live in, nor better hunting grounds, nor greater plenty of honey and fish. And such was the friendship between those four, that they would not be parted from each other by night nor by day. And in the midst of all this he went to Caswallawn at Oxford, and tendered his homage; and honourable was his reception there, and highly was he praised for offering his homage. And after his return, Pryderi and Manawyddan feasted and took their ease and pleasure. And they began a feast at Narberth, for it was the chief palace; and there originated all honour. And when they had ended the first meal that night, while those who served them eat, they arose and went forth, and proceeded all four to the Gorsedd of Narberth, and their retinue with them. And as they sat thus, behold a peal of thunder, and with the violence of the thunderstorm, lo there came a fall of mist, so thick that not one of them could see the other. And after the mist it became light all around. And when they looked towards the place where they were wont to see cattle, and herds, and dwellings, they saw nothing now, neither house, nor beast, nor smoke, nor fire, nor man, nor dwelling; but the houses of the court empty, and desert, and uninhabited, without either man, or beast within them. And truly all their companions were lost to them, without their knowing aught of what had befallen them, save those four only. "In the name of Heaven," cried Manawyddan, "where are they of the court, and all my host beside these? Let us go and see." So they came into the hall, and there was no man; and they went on to the castle, and to the sleeping-place, and they saw none; and in the mead-cellar and in the kitchen there was nought but desolation. So they four feasted, and hunted, and took their pleasure. Then they began to go through the land and all the possessions that they had, and they visited the houses and dwellings, and found nothing but wild beasts. And when they had consumed their feast and all their provisions, they fed upon the prey they killed in hunting, {65} and the honey of the wild swarms. And thus they passed the first year pleasantly, and the second; but at the last they began to be weary. "Verily," said Manawyddan, "we must not bide thus. Let us go into England, and seek some craft whereby we may gain our support." So they went into England, and came as far as Hereford. And they betook themselves to making saddles. And Manawyddan began to make housings, and he gilded and coloured them with blue enamel, in the manner that he had seen it done by Llasar Llaesgywydd. And he made the blue enamel as it was made by the other man. And therefore is it still called Calch Lassar, [blue enamel,] because Llassar Llaesgywydd had wrought it. {Picture: p65.jpg} And as long as that workmanship could be had of Manawyddan, neither saddle nor housing was bought of a saddler throughout all Hereford; till at length every one of the saddlers perceived that they were losing much of their gain, and that no man bought of them, but he who could not get what he sought from Manawyddan. Then they assembled together, and agreed to slay him and his companions. Now they received warning of this, and took counsel whether they should leave the city. "By Heaven," said Pryderi, "it is not my counsel that we should quit the town, but that we should slay these boors." "Not so," said Manawyddan, "for if we fight with them, we shall have evil fame, and shall be put in prison. It were better for us to go to another town to maintain ourselves." So they four went to another city. "What craft shall we take?" said Pryderi. "We will make shields," said Manawyddan. "Do we know anything about that craft?" said Pryderi. "We will try," answered he. There they began to make shields, and fashioned them after the shape of the good shields they had seen; and they enamelled them, as they had done the saddles. And they prospered in that place, so that not a shield was asked for in the whole town, but such as was had of them. Rapid therefore was their work, and numberless were the shields they made. But at last they were marked by the craftsmen, who came together in haste, and their fellow-townsmen with them, and agreed that they should seek to slay them. But they received warning, and heard how the men had resolved on their destruction. "Pryderi," said Manawyddan, "these men desire to slay us." "Let us not endure this from these boors, but let us rather fall upon them and slay them." "Not so," he answered, "Caswallawn and his men will hear of it, and we shall be undone. Let us go to another town." So to another town they went. "What craft shall we take?" said Manawyddan. "Whatsoever thou wilt that we know," said Pryderi. "Not so," he replied, "but let us take to making shoes, for there is not courage among cordwainers either to fight with us or to molest us." "I know nothing thereof," said Pryderi. "But I know," answered Manawyddan; "and I will teach thee to stitch. We will not attempt to dress the leather, but we will buy it ready dressed and will make the shoes from it." So he began by buying the best cordwal that could be had in the town, and none other would he buy except the leather for the soles; and he associated himself with the best goldsmith in the town, and caused him to make clasps for the shoes, and to gild the clasps, and he marked how it was done until he learned the method. And therefore was he called one of the three makers of Gold Shoes; and, when they could be had from him, not a shoe nor hose was bought of any of the cordwainers in the town. But when the cordwainers perceived that their gains were failing, (for as Manawyddan shaped the work, so Pryderi stitched it,) they came together and took counsel, and agreed that they would slay them. "Pryderi," said Manawyddan, "these men are minded to slay us." "Wherefore should we bear this from the boorish thieves?" said Pryderi. "Rather let us slay them all." "Not so," said Manawyddan, "we will not slay them, neither will we remain in England any longer. Let us set forth to Dyved and go to see it." So they journeyed along until they came to Dyved, and they went forward to Narberth. And there they kindled a fire and supported themselves by hunting. And thus they spent a month. And they gathered their dogs around them, and tarried there one year. {Picture: p68.jpg} And one morning Pryderi and Manawyddan rose up to hunt, and they ranged their dogs and went forth from the palace. And some of the dogs ran before them and came to a small bush which was near at hand; but as soon as they were come to the bush, they hastily drew back and returned to the men, their hair bristling up greatly. "Let us go near to the bush," said Pryderi, "and see what is in it." And as they came near, behold, a wild boar of a pure white colour rose up from the bush. Then the dogs being set on by the men, rushed towards him, but he left the bush and fell back a little way from the men, and made a stand against the dogs without retreating from them, until the men had come near. And when the men came up, he fell back a second time, and betook him to flight. Then they pursued the boar until they beheld a vast and lofty castle, all newly built, in a place where they had never before seen either stone or building. And the boar ran swiftly into the castle and the dogs after him. Now when the boar and the dogs had gone into the castle, they began to wonder at finding a castle in a place where they had never before then seen any building whatsoever. And from the top of the Gorsedd they looked and listened for the dogs. But so long as they were there they heard not one of the dogs nor aught concerning them. "Lord," said Pryderi, "I will go into the castle to get tidings of the dogs." "Truly," he replied, "thou wouldst be unwise to go into this castle, which thou hast never seen till now. If thou wouldst follow my counsel, thou wouldst not enter therein. Whosoever has cast a spell over this land, has caused this castle to be here." "Of a truth," answered Pryderi, "I cannot thus give up my dogs." And for all the counsel that Manawyddan gave him, yet to the castle he went. When he came within the castle, neither man nor beast, nor boar nor dogs, nor house nor dwelling saw he within it. But in the centre of the castle floor he beheld a fountain with marble work around it, and on the margin of the fountain a golden bowl upon a marble slab, and chains hanging from the air, to which he saw no end. And he was greatly pleased with the beauty of the gold, and with the rich workmanship of the bowl, and he went up to the bowl and laid hold of it. And when he had taken hold of it his hands stuck to the bowl, and his feet to the slab on which the bowl was placed, and all his joyousness forsook him, so that he could not utter a word. And thus he stood. And Manawyddan waited for him till near the close of the day. And late in the evening, being certain that he should have no tidings of Pryderi or of the dogs, he went back to the palace. And as he entered, Rhiannon looked at him, "Where," said she, "are thy companion and thy dogs?" "Behold," he answered, "the adventure that has befallen me." And he related it all unto her. "An evil companion hast thou been," said Rhiannon, "and a good companion hast thou lost." And with that word she went out, and proceeded towards the castle according to the direction which he gave her. The gate of the castle she found open. She was nothing daunted, and she went in. And as she went in, she perceived Pryderi laying hold of the bowl, and she went towards him. "Oh my lord," said she, "what dost thou here?" And she took hold of the bowl with him; and as she did so, her hands also became fast to the bowl, and her feet to the slab, and she was not able to utter a word. And with that, as it became night, lo there came thunder upon them, and a fall of mist, and thereupon the castle vanished, and they with it. When Kicva the daughter of Gwynn Gloew saw that there was no one in the palace but herself and Manawyddan, she sorrowed so that she cared not whether she lived or died. And Manawyddan saw this. "Thou art in the wrong," said he, "if through fear of me thou grievest thus. I call Heaven to witness that thou hast never seen friendship more pure than that which I will bear thee, as long as Heaven will that thou shouldst be thus. I declare to thee that were I in the dawn of youth I would keep my faith unto Pryderi, and unto thee also will I keep it. Be there no fear upon thee, therefore," said he, "for Heaven is my witness that thou shall meet with all the friendship thou canst wish, and that it is in my power to show thee, as long as it shall please Heaven to continue us in this grief and woe." "Heaven reward thee," she said, "and that is what I deemed of thee." And the damsel thereupon took courage and was glad. "Truly, lady," said Manawyddan, "it is not fitting for us to stay here, we have lost our dogs, and we cannot get food. Let us go into England; it is easiest for us to find support there." "Gladly, lord," said she, "we will do so." And they set forth together to England. "Lord," said she, "What craft wilt thou follow? Take up one that is seemly." "None other will I take," answered he, "save that of making shoes, as I did formerly." "Lord," said she, "such a craft becomes not a man so nobly born as thou." "By that however will I abide," said he. So he began his craft, and he made all his work of the finest leather he could get in the town, and, as he had done at the other place, he caused gilded clasps to be made for the shoes. {71} And except himself all the cordwainers in the town were idle, and without work. For as long as they could be had from him, neither shoes nor hose were bought elsewhere. And thus they tarried there a year, until the cordwainers became envious, and took counsel concerning him. And he had warning thereof, and it was told him how the cordwainers had agreed together to slay him. "Lord," said Kicva, "Wherefore should this be borne from these boors?" "Nay," said he, "we will go back unto Dyved." So towards Dyved they set forth. Now Manawyddan, when he set out to return to Dyved, took with him a burden of wheat. And he proceeded towards Narberth, and there he dwelt. And never was he better pleased than when he saw Narberth again, and the lands where he had been wont to hunt with Pryderi and with Rhiannon. And he accustomed himself to fish, and to hunt the deer in their covert. And then he began to prepare some ground and he sowed a croft, and a second, and a third. And no wheat in the world ever sprung up better. And the three crofts prospered with perfect growth, and no man ever saw fairer wheat than it. And thus passed the seasons of the year until the harvest came. And he went to look at one of his crofts, and behold it was ripe. "I will reap this to-morrow," said he. And that night he went back to Narberth, and on the morrow in the grey dawn he went to reap the croft, and when he came there he found nothing but the bare straw. Every one of the ears of the wheat was cut from off the stalk, and all the ears carried entirely away, and nothing but the straw left. And at this he marvelled greatly. Then he went to look at another croft, and behold that also was ripe. "Verily," said he, "this will I reap to-morrow." And on the morrow he came with the intent to reap it, and when he came there he found nothing but the bare straw. "Oh gracious Heaven," he exclaimed, "I know that whosoever has begun my ruin is completing it, and has also destroyed the country with me." Then he went to look at the third croft, and when he came there, finer wheat had there never been seen, and this also was ripe. "Evil betide me," said he, "if I watch not here to-night. Whoever carried off the other corn will come in like manner to take this. And I will know who it is." So he took his arms, and began to watch the croft. And he told Kicva all that had befallen. "Verily," said she, "what thinkest thou to do?" "I will watch the croft to-night," said he. And he went to watch the croft. And at midnight, lo! there arose the loudest tumult in the world. And he looked, and behold the mightiest host of mice in the world, which could neither be numbered nor measured. And he knew not what it was until the mice had made their way into the croft, and each of them climbing up the straw and bending it down with its weight, and had cut off one of the ears of wheat, and had carried it away, leaving there the stalk, and he saw not a single straw there that had not a mouse to it. And they all took their way, carrying the ears with them. In wrath and anger did he rush upon the mice, but he could no more come up with them than if they had been gnats, or birds in the air, except one only, which though it was but sluggish, went so fast that a man on foot could scarce overtake it. {73} And after this one he went, and he caught it and put it in his glove, and tied up the opening of the glove with a string, and kept it with him, and returned to the palace. Then he came to the hall where Kicva was, and he lighted a fire, and hung the glove by the string upon a peg. "What hast thou there, lord?" said Kicva. "A thief," said he, "that I found robbing me." "What kind of thief may it be, lord, that thou couldst put into thy glove?" said she. "Behold I will tell thee," he answered. Then he showed her how his fields had been wasted and destroyed, and how the mice came to the last of the fields in his sight. "And one of them was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove; to-morrow I will hang it, and before Heaven, if I had them, I would hang them all." "My lord," said she, "this is marvellous; but yet it would be unseemly for a man of dignity like thee to be hanging such a reptile as this. And if thou doest right, thou wilt not meddle with the creature, but wilt let it go." "Woe betide me," said he, "if I would not hang them all could I catch them, and such as I have I will hang." "Verily, lord," said she, "there is no reason that I should succour this reptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee. Do therefore, lord, as thou wilt." "If I knew of any cause in the world wherefore thou shouldst succour it, I would take thy counsel concerning it," said Manawyddan, "but as I know of none, lady, I am minded to destroy it." "Do so willingly then," said she. And then he went to the Gorsedd of Narberth, taking the mouse with him. And he set up two forks on the highest part of the Gorsedd. And while he was doing this, behold he saw a scholar coming towards him, in old and poor and tattered garments. And it was now seven years since he had seen in that place either man or beast, except those four persons who had remained together until two of them were lost. "My lord," said the scholar, "good day to thee." "Heaven prosper thee, and my greeting be unto thee. And whence dost thou come, scholar?" asked he. "I come, lord, from singing in England; and wherefore dost thou enquire?" "Because for the last seven years," answered he, "I have seen no man here save four secluded persons, and thyself this moment." "Truly, lord," said he, "I go through this land unto mine own. And what work art thou upon, lord?" "I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me," said he. "What manner of thief is that?" asked the scholar. "I see a creature in thy hand like unto a mouse, and ill does it become a man of rank equal to thine, to touch a reptile such as this. Let it go forth free." "I will not let it go free, by Heaven," said he; "I caught it robbing me, and the doom of a thief will I inflict upon it and I will hang it." "Lord," said he, "rather than see a man of rank equal to thine at such a work as this, I would give thee a pound which I have received as alms, to let the reptile go forth free." "I will not let it go free," said he, "by Heaven, neither will I sell it." "As thou wilt, lord," he answered, "except that I would not see a man of rank equal to thine touching such a reptile, I care nought." And the scholar went his way. And as he was placing the cross-beam upon the two forks, behold a priest came towards him upon a horse covered with trappings. "Good day to thee, lord," said he. "Heaven prosper thee," said Manawyddan; "thy blessing." "The blessing of Heaven be upon thee. And what, lord, art thou doing?" "I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me," said he. "What manner of thief, lord?" asked he. "A creature," he answered, "in form of a mouse. It has been robbing me, and I am inflicting upon it the doom of a thief." "Lord," said he, "rather than see thee touch this reptile, I would purchase its freedom." "By my confession to Heaven, neither will I sell it nor set it free." "It is true, lord, that it is worth nothing to buy; but rather than see thee defile thyself by touching such a reptile as this, I will give thee three pounds to let it go." "I will not, by Heaven," said he, "take any price for it. As it ought, so shall it be hanged." "Willingly, lord, do thy good pleasure." And the priest went his way. Then he noosed the string around the mouse's neck, and as he was about to draw it up, behold, he saw a bishop's retinue, with his sumpter-horses, and his attendants. And the bishop himself came towards him. And he stayed his work. "Lord bishop," said he, "thy blessing." "Heaven's blessing be unto thee," said he, "What work art thou upon?" "Hanging a thief that I caught robbing me," said he. "Is not that a mouse that I see in thy hand?" "Yes," answered he. "And she has robbed me." "Aye," said he, "since I have come at the doom of this reptile I will ransom it of thee. I will give thee seven pounds for it, and that rather than see a man of rank equal to thine destroying so vile a reptile as this. Let it loose and thou shall have the money." "I declare to Heaven that I will not set it loose." "If thou wilt not loose it for this, I will give thee four and twenty pounds of ready money to set it free." "I will not set it free, by Heaven, for as much again," said he. "If thou wilt not set it free for this, I will give thee all the horses that thou seest in this plain, and the seven loads of baggage, and the seven horses that they are upon." "By Heaven, I will not," he replied. "Since for this thou wilt not, do so at what price soever thou wilt." "I will do so," said he. "I will that Rhiannon and Pryderi be free," said he. "That thou shall have," he answered. "Not yet will I loose the mouse, by Heaven." "What then wouldst thou?" "That the charm and the illusion be removed from the seven Cantrevs of Dyved." "This shall thou have also, set therefore the mouse free." "I will not set it free, by Heaven," said he. "I will know who the mouse may be." "She is my wife." "Even though she be, I will not set her free. Wherefore came she to me?" "To despoil thee," he answered. "I am Llwyd the son of Kilcoed, and I cast the charm over the seven Cantrevs of Dyved. And it was to avenge Gwawl the son of Clud, from the friendship I had towards him, that I cast the charm. And upon Pryderi did I revenge Gwawl the son of Clud, for the game of Badger in the Bag, that Pwyll Pen Annwn played upon him, which he did unadvisedly in the court of Heveydd Hen. And when it was known that thou wast come to dwell in the land, my household came and besought me to transform them into mice, that they might destroy thy corn. And it was my own household that went the first night. And the second night also they went, and they destroyed thy two crofts. And the third night came unto me my wife and the ladies of the court, and besought me to transform them. And I transformed them. Now she is pregnant. And had she not been pregnant thou wouldst not have been able to overtake her, but since this has taken place and she has been caught, I will restore thee Pryderi and Rhiannon; and I will take the charm and illusion from off Dyved. I have now told thee who she is. Set her therefore free." "I will not set her free, by Heaven," said he. "What wilt thou more?" he asked. "I will that there be no more charm upon the seven Cantrevs of Dyved, and that none shall be put upon it henceforth." "This thou shalt have," said he. "Now set her free." "I will not by my faith," he answered. "What wilt thou furthermore," asked he. "Behold," said he, "this will I have; that vengeance be never taken for this, either upon Pryderi or Rhiannon, or upon me." "All this shalt thou have. And truly thou hast done wisely in asking this. Upon thy head would have lit all this trouble." "Yea," said he, "for fear thereof was it, that I required this." "Set now my wife at liberty." "I will not, by Heaven," said he, "until I see Pryderi and Rhiannon with me free." "Behold, here they come," he answered. And thereupon behold Pryderi and Rhiannon. And he rose up to meet them, and greeted them, and sat down beside them. "Ah chieftain, set now my wife at liberty," said the bishop. "Hast thou not received all thou didst ask?" "I will release her gladly," said he. And thereupon he set her free. Then he struck her with a magic wand, and she was changed back into a young woman, the fairest ever seen. "Look around upon thy land," said he, "and then thou wilt see it all tilled and peopled, as it was in its best state." And he rose up and looked forth. And when he looked he saw all the lands tilled, and full of herds and dwellings. "What bondage," he enquired, "has there been upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?" "Pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of my palace about his neck, and Rhiannon has had the collars of the asses, after they have been carrying hay, about her neck." And such had been their bondage. And by reason of this bondage is this story called the Mabinogi of Mynnweir and Mynord. {79} And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi. {Picture: p79.jpg} MATH THE SON OF MATHONWY. {Picture: p80.jpg} Math the son of Mathonwy was lord over Gwynedd, and Pryderi the son of Pwyll was lord over the one and twenty Cantrevs of the South; and these were the seven Cantrevs of Dyved, and the seven Cantrevs of Morganwc, the four Cantrevs of Ceredigiawn, and the three of Ystrad Tywi. At that time, Math the son of Mathonwy could not exist unless his feet were in the lap of a maiden, except only when he was prevented by the tumult of war. Now the maiden who was with him was Goewin, the daughter of Pebin of Dol Pebin, in Arvon, and she was the fairest maiden of her time who was known there. And Math dwelt always at Caer Dathyl, in Arvon, and was not able to go the circuit of the land, but Gilvaethwy the son of Don, and Eneyd {81} the son of Don, his nephews, the sons of his sister, with his household, went the circuit of the land in his stead. Now the maiden was with Math continually, and Gilvaethwy the son of Don set his affections upon her, and loved her so that he knew not what he should do because of her, and therefrom behold his hue, and his aspect, and his spirits changed for love of her, so that it was not easy to know him. One day his brother Gwydion gazed steadfastly upon him. "Youth," said he, "what aileth thee?" "Why," replied he, "what seest thou in me?" "I see," said he, "that thou hast lost thy aspect and thy hue; what, therefore, aileth thee?" "My lord, brother," he answered, "that which aileth me, it will not profit me that I should own to any." "What may it be, my soul?" said he. "Thou knowest," he said, "that Math the son of Mathonwy has this property, that if men whisper together, in a tone how low soever, if the wind meet it, it becomes known unto him." "Yes," said Gwydyon, "hold now thy peace, I know thy intent, thou lovest Goewin." When he found that his brother knew his intent, he gave the heaviest sigh in the world. "Be silent, my soul, and sigh not," he said. "It is not thereby that thou wilt succeed. I will cause," said he, "if it cannot be otherwise, the rising of Gwynedd, and Powys, and Deheubarth, to seek the maiden. Be thou of glad cheer therefore, and I will compass it." So they went unto Math the son of Mathonwy. "Lord," said Gwydion, "I have heard that there have come to the South some beasts, such as were never known in this island before." "What are they called?" he asked. "Pigs, lord." "And what kind of animals are they?" "They are small animals, and their flesh is better than the flesh of oxen." "They are small then?" "And they change their names. Swine are they now called." "Who owneth them?" "Pryderi the son of Pwyll; they were sent him from Annwn, by Arawn the king of Annwn, and still they keep that name, half hog, half pig." "Verily," asked he, "and by what means may they be obtained from him?" "I will go, lord, as one of twelve in the guise of bards, to seek the swine." "But it may be that he will refuse you," said he. "My journey will not be evil, lord," said he, "I will not come back without the swine." "Gladly," said he, "go thou forward." So he and Gilvaethwy went, and ten other men with them. And they came into Ceredigiawn, to the place that is now called Rhuddlan Teivi, where the palace of Pryderi was. In the guise of bards they came in, and they were received joyfully, and Gwydion was placed beside Pryderi that night. "Of a truth," said Pryderi, "gladly would I have a tale from some of your men yonder." "Lord," said Gwydion, "we have a custom that the first night that we come to the court of a great man, the chief of song recites. Gladly will I relate a tale." Now Gwydion was the best teller of tales in the world, and he diverted all the court that night with pleasant discourse and with tales, so that he charmed every one in the court, and it pleased Pryderi to talk with him. And after this, "Lord," said he unto Pryderi, "were it more pleasing to thee, that another should discharge my errand unto thee, than that I should tell thee myself what it is?" "No," he answered, "ample speech hast thou." "Behold, then, lord," said he, "my errand. It is to crave from thee the animals that were sent thee from Annwn." "Verily," he replied, "that were the easiest thing in the world to grant, were there not a covenant between me and my land concerning them. And the covenant is that they shall not go from me, until they have produced double their number in the land." "Lord," said he, "I can set thee free from these words, and this is the way I can do so; give me not the swine to-night, neither refuse them unto me, and to-morrow I will show thee an exchange for them." And that night he and his fellows went unto their lodging, and they took counsel. "Ah, my men," said he, "we shall not have the swine for the asking." "Well," said they, "how may they be obtained?" "I will cause them to be obtained," said Gwydion. Then he betook himself to his arts, and began to work a charm. And he caused twelve chargers to appear, and twelve black greyhounds, each of them white breasted, and having upon them twelve collars and twelve leashes, such as no one that saw them could know to be other than gold. And upon the horses twelve saddles, and every part which should have been of iron was entirely of gold, and the bridles were of the same workmanship. And with the horses and the dogs he came to Pryderi. {Picture: p84.jpg} "Good day unto thee, lord," said he. "Heaven prosper thee," said the other, "and greetings be unto thee." "Lord," said he, "behold here is a release for thee from the word which thou spakest last evening concerning the swine; that thou wouldest neither give nor sell them. Thou mayest exchange them for that which is better. And I will give these twelve horses, all caparisoned as they are, with their saddles and their bridles, and these twelve greyhounds, with their collars and their leashes as thou seest, and the twelve gilded shields that thou beholdest yonder." Now these he had formed of fungus. "Well," said he, "we will take counsel." And they consulted together, and determined to give the swine to Gwydion, and to take his horses and his dogs and his shields. Then Gwydion and his men took their leave, and began to journey forth with the pigs. "Ah, my comrades," said Gwydion, "it is needful that we journey with speed. The illusion will not last but from the one hour to the same to-morrow." And that night they journeyed as far as the upper part of Ceredigiawn, to the place which, from that cause, is called Mochdrev still. And the next day they took their course through Melenydd, and came that night to the town which is likewise for that reason called Mochdrev, between Keri and Arwystli. And thence they journeyed forward; and that night they came as far as that Commot in Powys, which also upon account thereof is called Mochnant, and there tarried they that night. And they journeyed thence to the Cantrev of Rhos, and the place where they were that night is still called Mochdrev. "My men," said Gwydion, "we must push forward to the fastnesses of Gwynedd with these animals, for there is a gathering of hosts in pursuit of us." So they journeyed on to the highest town of Arllechwedd, and there they made a sty for the swine, and therefore was the name of Creuwyryon given to that town. And after they had made the sty for the swine, they proceeded to Math the son of Mathonwy, at Caerdathyl. And when they came there, the country was rising. "What news is there here?" asked Gwydion. "Pryderi is assembling one and twenty Cantrevs to pursue after you," answered they. "It is marvellous that you should have journeyed so slowly." "Where are the animals whereof you went in quest?" said Math. "They have had a sty made for them in the other Cantrev below," said Gwydion. Thereupon, lo! they heard the trumpets and the host in the land, and they arrayed themselves and set forward and came to Penardd in Arvon. And at night Gwydion the son of Don, and Gilvaethwy his brother, returned to Caerdathyl; and Gilvaethwy took Math the son of Mathonwy's couch. And while he turned out the other damsels from the room discourteously, he made Goewin unwillingly remain. And when they saw the day on the morrow, they went back unto the place where Math the son of Mathonwy was with his host; and when they came there, the warriors were taking counsel in what district they should await the coming of Pryderi, and the men of the South. So they went in to the council. And it was resolved to wait in the strongholds of Gwynedd, in Arvon. So within the two Maenors they took their stand, Maenor Penardd and Maenor Coed Alun. And there Pryderi attacked them, and there the combat took place. And great was the slaughter on both sides; but the men of the South were forced to flee. And they fled unto the place which is still called Nantcall. And thither did they follow them, and they made a vast slaughter of them there, so that they fled again as far as the place called Dol Pen Maen, and there they halted and sought to make peace. And that he might have peace, Pryderi gave hostages, Gwrgi Gwastra gave he and three and twenty others, sons of nobles. And after this they journeyed in peace even unto Traeth Mawr; but as they went on together towards Melenryd, the men on foot could not be restrained from shooting. Pryderi despatched unto Math an embassy to pray him to forbid his people, and to leave it between him and Gwydion the son of Don, for that he had caused all this. And the messengers came to Math. "Of a truth," said Math, "I call Heaven to witness, if it be pleasing unto Gwydion the son of Don, I will so leave it gladly. Never will I compel any to go to fight, but that we ourselves should do our utmost." "Verily," said the messengers, "Pryderi saith that it were more fair that the man who did him this wrong should oppose his own body to his, and let his people remain unscathed." "I declare to Heaven, I will not ask the men of Gwynedd to fight because of me. If I am allowed to fight Pryderi myself, gladly will I oppose my body to his." And this answer they took back to Pryderi. "Truly," said Pryderi, "I shall require no one to demand my rights but myself." Then these two came forth and armed themselves, and they fought. And by force of strength, and fierceness, and by the magic and charms of Gwydion, Pryderi was slain. And at Maen Tyriawc, {87} above Melenryd, was he buried, and there is his grave. And the men of the South set forth in sorrow towards their own land; nor is it a marvel that they should grieve, seeing that they had lost their lord, and many of their best warriors, and for the most part, their horses and their arms. The men of Gwynedd went back joyful and in triumph. "Lord," said Gwydion unto Math, "would it not be right for us to release the hostages of the men of the South, which they pledged unto us for peace? for we ought not to put them in prison." "Let them then be set free," said Math. So that youth, and the other hostages that were with him, were set free to follow the men of the South. Math himself went forward to Caerdathyl. Gilvaethwy the son of Don, and they of the household that were with him went to make the circuit of Gwynedd as they were wont, without coming to the court. Math went into his chamber, and caused a place to be prepared for him whereon to recline, so that he might put his feet in the maiden's lap. "Lord," said Goewin, "seek now another {88} to hold thy feet, for I am now a wife." "What meaneth this?" said he. "An attack, lord, was made unawares upon me; but I held not my peace, and there was no one in the court who knew not of it. Now the attack was made by thy nephews, lord, the sons of thy sister, Gwydion the son of Don, and Gilvaethwy the son of Don; unto me they did wrong, and unto thee dishonour." "Verily," he exclaimed, "I will do to the utmost of my power concerning this matter. But first I will cause thee to have compensation, and then will I have amends made unto myself. As for thee, I will take thee to be my wife, and the possession of my dominions will I give unto thy hands." And Gwydion and Gilvaethwy came not near the court, but stayed in the confines of the land until it was forbidden to give them meat and drink. At first they came not near unto Math, but at last they came. "Lord," said they, "Good day to thee." "Well," said he, "is it to make me compensation that ye are come?" "Lord," they said, "we are at thy will." "By my will I would not have lost my warriors, and so many arms as I have done. You cannot compensate me my shame, setting aside the death of Pryderi. But since ye come hither to be at my will, I shall begin your punishment forthwith." Then he took his magic wand, and struck Gilvaethwy, so that he became a deer, and he seized upon the other hastily lest he should escape from him. And he struck him with the same magic wand, and he became a deer also. "Since now ye are in bonds, I will that ye go forth together and be companions, and possess the nature of the animals whose form ye bear. And this day twelvemonth come hither unto me." At the end of a year from that day, lo there was a loud noise under the chamber wall, and the barking of the dogs of the palace together with the noise. "Look," said he, "what is without." "Lord," said one, "I have looked; there are there two deer, and a fawn with them." Then he arose and went out. And when he came he beheld the three animals. And he lifted up his wand. "As ye were deer last year, be ye wild hogs each and either of you, for the year that is to come." And thereupon he struck them with the magic wand. "The young one will I take and cause to be baptized." Now the name that he gave him was Hydwn. "Go ye and be wild swine, each and either of you, and be ye of the nature of wild swine. And this day twelvemonth be ye here under the wall." At the end of the year the barking of dogs was heard under the wall of the chamber. And the court assembled, and thereupon he arose and went forth, and when he came forth he beheld three beasts. Now these were the beasts that he saw; two wild hogs of the woods, and a well-grown young one with them. And he was very large for his age. "Truly," said Math, "this one will I take and cause to be baptized." And he struck him with his magic wand, and he became a fine fair auburn haired youth, and the name that he gave him was Hychdwn. "Now as for you, as ye were wild hogs last year, be ye wolves each and either of you for the year that is to come." Thereupon he struck them with his magic wand, and they became wolves. "And be ye of like nature with the animals whose semblance ye bear, and return here this day twelvemonth beneath this wall." And the same day at the end of the year, he heard a clamour and a barking of dogs under the wall of the chamber. And he rose and went forth. And when he came, behold he saw two wolves, and a strong cub with them. "This one will I take," said Math, "and I will cause him to be baptized; there is a name prepared for him, and that is Bleiddwn. Now these three, such are they; "The three sons of Gilvaethwy the false, The three faithful combatants, Bleiddwn, Hydwn, and Hychdwn the Tall." Then he struck the two with his magic wand, and they resumed their own nature. "Oh men," said he, "for the wrong that ye did unto me, sufficient has been your punishment and your dishonour. Prepare now precious ointment for these men, and wash their heads, and equip them." And this was done. And after they were equipped, they came unto him. "Oh men," said he, "you have obtained peace, and you shall likewise have friendship. Give your counsel unto me, what maiden I shall seek." "Lord," said Gwydion the son of Don, "it is easy to give thee counsel; seek Arianrod, {91a} the daughter of Don, thy niece, thy sister's daughter." And they brought her unto him, and the maiden came in. "Ha damsel," said he, "art thou the maiden?" "I know not, Lord, other than that I am." Then he took up his magic wand, and bent it. "Step over this," said he, "and I shall know if thou art the maiden." Then stepped she over the magic wand, and there appeared forthwith a fine chubby yellow haired boy. And at the crying out of the boy, she went towards the door. And thereupon some small form was seen; but before any one could get a second glimpse of it, Gwydion had taken it, and had flung a scarf of velvet around it and hidden it. Now the place where he hid it was the bottom of a chest at the foot of his bed. "Verily," said Math the son of Mathonwy, concerning the fine yellow haired boy, "I will cause this one to be baptized, and Dylan is the name I will give him." So they had the boy baptized, and as they baptized him he plunged into the sea. And immediately when he was in the sea, he took its nature, and swam as well as the best fish that was therein. And for that reason was he called Dylan, the son of the Wave. Beneath him no wave ever broke. And the blow whereby he came to his death, was struck by his uncle Govannion. The third fatal {91b} blow was it called. As Gwydion lay one morning on his bed awake, he heard a cry in the chest at his feet; and though it was not loud, it was such that he could hear it. Then he arose in haste, and opened the chest; and when he opened it, he beheld an infant boy stretching out his arms from the folds of the scarf, and casting it aside. And he took up the boy in his arms, and carried him to a place where he knew there was a woman that could nurse him. And he agreed with the woman that she should take charge of the boy. And that year he was nursed. And at the end of the year, he seemed by his size as though he were two years old. And the second year he was a big child, and able to go to the court by himself. And when he came to the court, Gwydion noticed him, and the boy became familiar with him, and loved him better than any one else. Then was the boy reared at the court until he was four years old, when he was as big as though he had been eight. And one day Gwydion walked forth, and the boy followed him, and he went to the Castle of Arianrod, having the boy with him; and when he came into the court, Arianrod arose to meet him, and greeted him and bade him welcome. "Heaven prosper thee," said he. "Who is the boy that followeth thee?" she asked. "This youth, he is thy son," he answered. "Alas," said she, "what has come unto thee that thou shouldest shame me thus, wherefore dost thou seek my dishonour, and retain it so long as this?" "Unless thou suffer dishonour greater than that of my bringing up such a boy as this, small will be thy disgrace." "What is the name of the boy?" said she. "Verily," he replied, "he has not yet a name." "Well," she said, "I lay this destiny upon him, that he shall never have a name until he receives one from me." "Heaven bears me witness," answered he, "that thou art a wicked woman. But the boy shall have a name how displeasing soever it may be unto thee. As for thee, that which afflicts thee is that thou art no longer called a damsel." And thereupon he went forth in wrath, and returned to Caer Dathyl, and there he tarried that night. And the next day he arose and took the boy with him, and went to walk on the sea shore between that place and Aber Menei. And there he saw some sedges and sea weed, and he turned them into a boat. And out of dry sticks {93} and sedges he made some Cordovan leather, and a great deal thereof, and he coloured it in such a manner that no one ever saw leather more beautiful than it. Then he made a sail to the boat, and he and the boy went in it to the Port of the Castle of Arianrod. And he began forming shoes and stitching them, until he was observed from the castle. And when he knew that they of the castle were observing him, he disguised his aspect, and put another semblance upon himself, and upon the boy, so that they might not be known. "What men are those in yonder boat?" said Arianrod. "They are cordwainers," answered they. "Go and see what kind of leather they have, and what kind of work they can do." So they came unto them. And when they came he was colouring some Cordovan leather, and gilding it. And the messengers came and told her this. "Well," said she, "take the measure of my foot, and desire the cordwainer to make shoes for me." So he made the shoes for her, yet not according to the measure, but larger. The shoes then were brought unto her, and behold they were too large. "These are too large," said she, "but he shall receive their value. Let him also make some that are smaller than they." Then he made her others that were much smaller than her foot, and sent them unto her. "Tell him that these will not go on my feet," said she. And they told him this. "Verily," said he, "I will not make her any shoes, unless I see her foot." And this was told unto her. "Truly," she answered, "I will go unto him." So she went down to the boat, and when she came there, he was shaping shoes and the boy stitching them. "Ah, lady," said he, "good day to thee." "Heaven prosper thee," said she. "I marvel that thou canst not manage to make shoes according to a measure." "I could not," he replied, "but now I shall be able." Thereupon behold a wren stood upon the deck of the boat, and the boy shot at it, and hit it in the leg between the sinew and the bone. Then she smiled. "Verily," said she, "with a steady hand did the lion aim at it." "Heaven reward thee not, but now has he got a name. And a good enough name it is. Llew Llaw Gyffes be he called henceforth." Then the work disappeared in sea weed and sedges, and he went on with it no further. And for that reason was he called the third Gold-shoemaker. "Of a truth," said she, "thou wilt not thrive the better for doing evil unto me." "I have done thee no evil yet," said he. Then he restored the boy to his own form. "Well," said she, "I will lay a destiny upon this boy, that he shall never have arms and armour until I invest him with them." "By Heaven," said he, "let thy malice be what it may, he shall have arms." Then they went towards Dinas Dinllev, and there he brought up Llew Llaw Gyffes, until he could manage any horse, and he was perfect in features, and strength, and stature. And then Gwydion saw that he languished through the want of horses, and arms. And he called him unto him. "Ah, youth," said he, "we will go to-morrow on an errand together. Be therefore more cheerful than thou art." "That I will," said the youth. Next morning, at the dawn of day, they arose. And they took their way along the sea coast, up towards Bryn Aryen. And at the top of Cevn Clydno they equipped themselves with horses, and went towards the Castle of Arianrod. And they changed their form, and pricked towards the gate in the semblance of two youths, but the aspect of Gwydion was more staid than that of the other. "Porter," said he, "go thou in and say that there are here bards from Glamorgan." And the porter went in. "The welcome of Heaven be unto them, let them in," said Arianrod. With great joy were they greeted. And the hall was arranged, and they went to meat. When meat was ended, Arianrod discoursed with Gwydion of tales and stories. Now Gwydion was an excellent teller of tales. And when it was time to leave off feasting, a chamber was prepared for them, and they went to rest. In the early twilight Gwydion arose, and he called unto him his magic and his power. And by the time that the day dawned, there resounded through the land uproar, and trumpets, and shouts. When it was now day, they heard a knocking at the door of the chamber, and therewith Arianrod asking that it might be opened. Up rose the youth and opened unto her, and she entered and a maiden with her. "Ah, good men," she said, "in evil plight are we." "Yes truly," said Gwydion, "we have heard trumpets, and shouts; what thinkest thou that they may mean?" "Verily," said she, "we cannot see the colour of the ocean by reason of all the ships, side by side. And they are making for the land with all the speed they can. And what can we do?" said she. "Lady," said Gwydion, "there is none other counsel than to close the castle upon us, and to defend it as best we may." "Truly," said she, "may Heaven reward you. And do you defend it. And here you may have plenty of arms." And thereupon went she forth for the arms, and behold she returned, and two maidens, and suits of armour for two men, with her. "Lady," said he, "do thou accoutre this stripling, and I will arm myself with the help of thy maidens. Lo, I hear the tumult of the men approaching." "I will do so, gladly." So she armed him fully, and that right cheerfully. "Hast thou finished arming the youth," said he. "I have finished," she answered. "I likewise have finished," said Gwydion. "Let us now take off our arms, we have no need of them." "Wherefore?" said she. "Here is the army around the house." "Oh, lady, there is here no army." "Oh," cried she, "Whence then was this tumult?" "The tumult was but to break thy prophecy {96} and to obtain arms for thy son. And now has he got arms without any thanks unto thee." "By Heaven," said Arianrod, "thou art a wicked man. Many a youth might have lost his life, through the uproar thou hast caused in this Cantrev to-day. Now will I lay a destiny upon this youth," she said, "that he shall never have a wife of the race that now inhabits this earth." "Verily," said he, "thou wast ever a malicious woman, and no one ought to support thee. A wife shall he have notwithstanding." {Picture: p97.jpg} They went thereupon unto Math the son of Mathonwy, and complained unto him most bitterly of Arianrod. Gwydion showed him also how he had procured arms for the youth. "Well," said Math, "we will seek, I and thou, by charms and illusion, to form a wife for him out of flowers. He has now come to man's stature, and he is the comeliest youth that was ever beheld." So they took the blossoms of the oak, and the blossoms of the broom, and the blossoms of the meadow-sweet, and produced from them a maiden, the fairest and most graceful that man ever saw. And they baptized her, {98a} and gave her the name of Blodeuwedd. After she had become his bride, and they had feasted, said Gwydion, "It is not easy for a man to maintain himself without possessions." "Of a truth," said Math, "I will give the young man the best Cantrev to hold." {98b} "Lord," said he, "what Cantrev is that?" "The Cantrev of Dinodig," he answered. Now it is called at this day Eivionydd and Ardudwy. And the place in the Cantrev where he dwelt, was a palace of his in a spot called Mur y Castell, on the confines of Ardudwy. There dwelt he and reigned, and both he and his sway were beloved by all. One day he went forth to Caer Dathyl, to visit Math the son of Mathonwy. And on the day that he set out for Caer Dathyl, Blodeuwedd walked in the court. And she heard the sound of a horn. And after the sound of the horn, behold, a tired stag went by, with dogs and huntsmen following it. And after the dogs and the huntsmen there came a crowd of men on foot. "Send a youth," said she, "to ask who yonder host may be." So a youth went, and enquired who they were. "Gronw Pebyr is this, the lord of Penllynn," said they. And thus the youth told her. Gronw Pebyr pursued the stag, and by the river Cynvael he overtook the stag and killed it. And what, with flaying the stag and baiting his dogs, he was there until the night began to close in upon him. And as the day departed and the night drew near, he came to the gate of the court. "Verily," said Blodeuwedd, "the chieftain will speak ill of us, if we let him at this hour depart to another land without inviting him in." "Yes, truly, lady," said they, "it will be most fitting to invite him." Then went messengers to meet him and bid him in. And he accepted her bidding gladly, and came to the court, and Blodeuwedd went to meet him and greeted him, and bade him welcome. "Lady," said he, "Heaven repay thee thy kindness." When they had disaccoutred themselves, they went to sit down. And Blodeuwedd looked upon him, and from the moment that she looked on him she became filled with his love. And he gazed on her, and the same thought came unto him as unto her, so that he could not conceal from her that he loved her, but he declared unto her that he did so. Thereupon she was very joyful. And all their discourse that night was concerning the affection and love which they felt one for the other, and which in no longer space than one evening had arisen. And that evening passed they in each other's company. The next day he sought to depart. But she said, "I pray thee go not from me to-day." And that night he tarried also. And that night they consulted by what means they might always be together. "There is none other counsel," said he, "but that thou strive to learn from Llew Llaw Gyffes in what manner he will meet his death. And this must thou do under the semblance of solicitude concerning him." The next day Gronw sought to depart. "Verily," said she, "I would counsel thee not to go from me to-day." "At thy instance, will I not go," said he, "albeit, I must say, there is danger, that the chief who owns the palace may return home." "To-morrow," answered she, "will I indeed permit thee to go forth." The next day he sought to go, and she hindered him not. "Be mindful," said Gronw, "of what I have said unto thee, and converse with him fully, and that under the guise of the dalliance of love, and find out by what means he may come to his death." That night Llew Llaw Gyffes returned to his home. And the day they spent in discourse, and minstrelsy, and feasting. And at night they went to rest, and he spoke to Blodeuwedd once, and he spoke to her a second time. But, for all this, he could not get from her one word. "What aileth thee," said he, "art thou well?" "I was thinking," said she, "of that which thou didst never think of concerning me; for I was sorrowful as to thy death, lest thou shouldest go sooner than I." "Heaven reward thy care for me," said he, "but until Heaven take me I shall not easily be slain." "For the sake of Heaven, and for mine, show me how thou mightest be slain. My memory in guarding is better than thine." "I will tell thee gladly," said he. "Not easily can I be slain, except by a wound. {100} And the spear wherewith I am struck must be a year in the forming. And nothing must be done towards it except during the sacrifice on Sundays." "Is this certain?" asked she. "It is in truth," he answered. "And I cannot be slain within a house, nor without. I cannot be slain on horseback nor on foot." "Verily," said she, "in what manner then canst thou be slain?" "I will tell thee," said he. "By making a bath for me by the side of a river, and by putting a roof over the cauldron, and thatching it well and tightly, and bringing a buck, and putting it beside the cauldron. Then if I place one foot on the buck's back, and the other on the edge of the cauldron, whosoever strikes me thus will cause my death." "Well," said she, "I thank Heaven that it will be easy to avoid this." No sooner had she held this discourse than she sent to Gronw Pebyr. Gronw toiled at making the spear, and that day twelvemonth it was ready. And that very day he caused her to be informed thereof. "Lord," said Blodeuwedd unto Llew, "I have been thinking how it is possible that what thou didst tell me formerly can be true; wilt thou show me in what manner thou couldst stand at once upon the edge of a cauldron and upon a buck, if I prepare the bath for thee?" "I will show thee," said he. Then she sent unto Gronw, and bade him be in ambush on the hill which is now called Bryn Kyvergyr, on the bank of the river Cynvael. She caused also to be collected all the goats that were in the Cantrev, and had them brought to the other side of the river, opposite Bryn Kyvergyr. And the next day she spoke thus. "Lord," said she, "I have caused the roof and the bath to be prepared, and lo! they are ready." "Well," said Llew, "we will go gladly to look at them." The day after they came and looked at the bath. "Wilt thou go into the bath, lord?" said she. "Willingly will I go in," he answered. So into the bath he went, and he anointed himself. "Lord," said she, "behold the animals which thou didst speak of as being called bucks." "Well," said he, "cause one of them to be caught and brought here." And the buck was brought. Then Llew rose out of the bath, and put on his trowsers, and he placed one foot on the edge of the bath and the other on the buck's back. Thereupon Gronw rose up from the hill which is called Bryn Cyvergyr, and he rested on one knee, and flung the poisoned dart and struck him on the side, so that the shaft started out, but the head of the dart remained in. Then he flew up in the form of an eagle, and gave a fearful scream. And thenceforth was he no more seen. As soon as he departed Gronw and Blodeuwedd went together unto the palace that night. And the next day Gronw arose and took possession of Ardudwy. And after he had overcome the land, he ruled over it, so that Ardudwy and Penllyn were both under his sway. Then these tidings reached Math the son of Mathonwy. And heaviness and grief came upon Math, and much more upon Gwydion than upon him. "Lord," said Gwydion, "I shall never rest until I have tidings of my nephew." "Verily," said Math, "may Heaven be thy strength." Then Gwydion set forth and began to go forward. And he went through Gwynedd and Powys to the confines. And when he had done so, he went into Arvon, and came to the house of a vassal, in Maenawr Penardd. And he alighted at the house, and stayed there that night. The man of the house and his household came in, and last of all came there the swineherd. Said the man of the house to the swineherd, "Well, youth, hath thy sow come in to-night?" "She hath," said he, "and is this instant returned to the pigs." "Where doth this sow go to?" said Gwydion. "Every day, when the sty is opened, she goeth forth and none can catch sight of her, neither is it known whither she goeth more than if she sank into the earth." "Wilt thou grant unto me," said Gwydion, "not to open the sty until I am beside the sty with thee." "This will I do, right gladly," he answered. That night they went to rest; and as soon as the swineherd saw the light of day, he awoke Gwydion. And Gwydion arose and dressed himself, and went with the swineherd, and stood beside the sty. Then the swineherd opened the sty. And as soon as he opened it, behold, she leaped forth, and set off with great speed. And Gwydion followed her, and she went against the course of a river, and made for a brook, which is now called Nant y Llew. And there she halted and began feeding. And Gwydion came under the tree, and looked what it might be that the sow was feeding on. And he saw that she was eating putrid flesh and vermin. Then looked he up to the top of the tree, and as he looked he beheld on the top of the tree an eagle, and when the eagle shook itself, there fell vermin and putrid flesh from off it, and these the sow devoured. And it seemed to him that the eagle was Llew. And he sang an Englyn. "Oak that grows between the two banks; Darkened is the sky and hill! Shall I not tell him by his wounds, That this is Llew?" Upon this the eagle came down until he reached the centre of the tree. And Gwydion sang another Englyn. "Oak that grows in upland ground, Is it not wetted by the rain? Has it not been drenched By nine score tempests? It bears in its branches Llew Llaw Gyffes!" Then the eagle came down until he was on the lowest branch of the tree, and thereupon this Englyn did Gwydion sing. "Oak that grows beneath the steep; Stately and majestic is its aspect! Shall I not speak it? That Llew will come to my lap?" And the eagle came down upon Gwydion's knee. And Gwydion struck him with his magic wand, so that he returned to his own form. No one ever saw a more piteous sight, for he was nothing but skin and bone. Then he went unto Caer Dathyl, and there were brought unto him good physicians that were in Gwynedd, and before the end of the year he was quite healed. "Lord," said he unto Math the son of Mathonwy, "it is full time now that I have retribution of him by whom I have suffered all this woe." "Truly," said Math, "he will never be able to maintain himself in the possession of that which is thy right." "Well," said Llew, "the sooner I have my right, the better shall I be pleased." Then they called together the whole of Gwynedd, and set forth to Ardudwy. And Gwydion went on before and proceeded to Mur y Castell. And when Blodeuwedd heard that he was coming, she took her maidens with her, and fled to the mountain. And they passed through the river Cynvael, and went towards a court that there was upon the mountain, and through fear they could not proceed except with their faces looking backwards, so that unawares they fell into the lake. And they were all drowned except Blodeuwedd herself, and her Gwydion overtook. And he said unto her, "I will not slay thee, but I will do unto thee worse than that. For I will turn thee into a bird; and because of the shame thou hast done unto Llew Llaw Gyffes, thou shall never show thy face in the light of day henceforth; and that through fear of all the other birds. For it shall be their nature to attack thee, and to chase thee from wheresoever they may find thee. And thou shalt not lose thy name, but shalt be always called Blodeuwedd." Now Blodeuwedd is an owl in the language of this present time, and for this reason is the owl hateful unto all birds. And even now the owl is called Blodeuwedd. Then Gronw Pebyr withdrew unto Penllyn, and he despatched thence an embassy. And the messengers he sent, asked Llew Llaw Gyffes, if he would take land, or domain, or gold, or silver, for the injury he had received. "I will not, by my confession to Heaven," said he. "Behold this is the least that I will accept from him; that he come to the spot where I was when he wounded me with the dart, and that I stand where he did, and that with a dart I take my aim at him. And this is the very least that I will accept." And this was told unto Gronw Pebyr. "Verily," said he, "is it needful for me to do thus? My faithful warriors, and my household, and my foster- brothers, is there not one among you who will stand the blow in my stead?" "There is not, verily," answered they. And because of their refusal to suffer one stroke for their lord, they are called the third disloyal tribe even unto this day. "Well," said he, "I will meet it." {Picture: p106.jpg} Then they two went forth to the banks of the river Cynvael, and Gronw stood in the place where Llew Llaw Gyffes was when he struck him, and Llew in the place where Gronw was. Then said Gronw Pebyr unto Llew, "Since it was through the wiles of a woman that I did unto thee as I have done, I adjure thee by Heaven to let me place between me and the blow, the slab thou seest yonder on the river's bank." "Verily," said Llew, "I will not refuse thee this." "Ah," said he, "may Heaven reward thee." So Gronw took the slab and placed it between him and the blow. Then Llew flung the dart at him, and it pierced the slab and went through Gronw likewise, so that it pierced through his back. And thus was Gronw Pebyr slain. And there is still the slab on the bank of the river Cynvael, in Ardudwy, having the hole through it. And therefore it is even now called Llech Gronw. A second time did Llew Llaw Gyffes take possession of the land, and prosperously did he govern it. And as the story relates, he was lord after this over Gwynedd. And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi. HERE IS THE STORY OF LLUDD AND LLEVELYS. {Picture: p108.jpg} Beli the Great, son of Manogan, had three sons, Lludd, and Caswallawn, and Nynyaw; and according to the story he had a fourth son called Llevelys. And after the death of Beli, the kingdom of the Island of Britain fell into the hands of Lludd his eldest son; and Lludd ruled prosperously, and rebuilt the walls of London, and encompassed it about with numberless towers. And after that he bade the citizens build houses therein, such as no houses in the kingdom could equal. And moreover he was a mighty warrior, and generous and liberal in giving meat and drink to all that sought them. And though he had many castles and cities, this one loved he more than any. And he dwelt therein most part of the year, and therefore was it called Caer Ludd, and at last Caer London. And after the stranger-race came there, it was called London, or Lwndrys. Lludd loved Llevelys best of all his brothers, because he was a wise and a discreet man. Having heard that the king of France had died, leaving no heir, except a daughter, and that he had left all his possessions in her hands, he came to Lludd his brother, to beseech his counsel and aid. And that not so much for his own welfare, as to seek to add to the glory and honour and dignity of his kindred, if he might go to France to woo the maiden for his wife. And forthwith his brother conferred with him, and this counsel was pleasing unto him. So he prepared ships and filled them with armed knights, and set forth towards France. And as soon as they had landed, they sent messengers to show the nobles of France the cause of the embassy. And by the joint counsel of the nobles of France and of the princes, the maiden was given to Llevelys, and the crown of the kingdom with her. And thenceforth he ruled the land discreetly, and wisely, and happily, as long as his life lasted. After a space of time had passed, three plagues fell on the Island of Britain, such as none in the Islands had ever seen the like. The first was a certain race that came, and was called the Coranians; and so great was their knowledge, that there was no discourse upon the face of the Island, however low it might be spoken, but what, if the wind met it, it was known to them. And through this they could not be injured. The second plague was a shriek which came on every May eve, over every hearth in the Island of Britain. And this went through people's hearts, and so scared them, that the men lost their hue and their strength, and the women their children, and the young men, and the maidens lost their senses, and all the animals and trees and the earth and the waters, were left barren. The third plague was, that however much of provisions and food might be prepared in the king's courts, were there even so much as a year's provision of meat and drink, none of it could ever be found, except what was consumed in the first night. And two of these plagues, no one ever knew their cause, therefore was there better hope of being freed from the first than from the second and third. And thereupon King Lludd felt great sorrow and care, because that he knew not how he might be freed from these plagues. And he called to him all the nobles of his kingdom, and asked counsel of them what they should do against these afflictions. And by the common counsel of the nobles, Lludd the son of Beli, went to Llevelys his brother, king of France, for he was a man great of counsel and wisdom, to seek his advice. And they made ready a fleet, and that in secret and in silence, lest that race should know the cause of their errand, or any besides the king and his counsellors. And when they were made ready, they went into their ships, Lludd and those whom he chose with him. And they began to cleave the seas towards France. And when these tidings came to Llevelys, seeing that he knew not the cause of his brother's ships, he came on the other side to meet him, and with him was a fleet vast of size. And when Lludd saw this, he left all the ships out upon the sea except one only; and in that one he came to meet his brother, and he likewise with a single ship came to meet him. And when they were come together, each put his arms about the other's neck, and they welcomed each other with brotherly love. After that Lludd had shewn his brother the cause of his errand, Llevelys said that he himself knew the cause of the coming to those lands. And they took counsel together to discourse {111} on the matter otherwise than thus, in order that the wind might not catch their words, nor the Coranians know what they might say. Then Llevelys caused a long horn to be made of brass, and through this horn they discoursed. But whatsoever words they spoke through this horn, one to the other, neither of them could hear any other but harsh and hostile words. And when Llevelys saw this, and that there was a demon thwarting them and disturbing through this horn, he caused wine to be put therein to wash it. And through the virtue of the wine the demon was driven out of the horn. And when their discourse was unobstructed, Llevelys told his brother that he would give him some insects, whereof he should keep some to breed, lest by chance the like affliction might come a second time. And other of these insects he should take and bruise in water. And he assured him that it would have power to destroy the race of the Coranians. That is to say, that when he came home to his kingdom he should call together all the people both of his own race and of the race of the Coranians for a conference, as though with the intent of making peace between them; and that when they were all together, he should take this charmed water, and cast it over all alike. And he assured him that the water would poison the race of the Coranians, but that it would not slay or harm those of his own race. {Picture: p112.jpg} "And the second plague," said he, "that is in thy dominion, behold it is a dragon. And another dragon of a foreign race is fighting with it, and striving to overcome it. And therefore does your dragon make a fearful outcry. And on this wise mayest thou come to know this. After thou hast returned home, cause the Island to be measured in its length and breadth, and in the place where thou dost find the exact central point, there cause a pit to be dug, and cause a cauldron, full of the best mead that can be made, to be put in the pit, with a covering of satin over the face of the cauldron. And then, in thine own person do thou remain there watching, and thou wilt see the dragons fighting in the form of terrific animals. And at length they will take the form of dragons in the air. And last of all, after wearying themselves with fierce and furious fighting, they will fall in the form of two pigs upon the covering, and they will sink in, and the covering with them, and they will draw it down to the very bottom of the cauldron. And they will drink up the whole of the mead; and after that they will sleep. Thereupon do thou immediately fold the covering around them, and bury them in a kistvaen, in the strongest place thou hast in thy dominions, and hide them in the earth. And as long as they shall bide in that strong place, no plague shall come to the Island of Britain from elsewhere. "The cause of the third plague," said he, "is a mighty man of magic, who takes thy meat and thy drink and thy store. And he through illusions and charms causes every one to sleep. Therefore it is needful for thee in thy own person to watch thy food and thy provisions. And lest he should overcome thee with sleep, be there a cauldron of cold water by thy side, and when thou art oppressed with sleep, plunge into the cauldron." Then Lludd returned back unto his land. And immediately he summoned to him the whole of his own race and of the Coranians. And as Llevelys had taught him, he bruised the insects in water, the which he cast over them all together, and forthwith it destroyed the whole tribe of the Coranians, without hurt to any of the Britons. And some time after this Lludd caused the Island to be measured in its length and in its breadth. And in Oxford he found the central point, and in that place he caused the earth to be dug, and in that pit a cauldron to be set, full of the best mead that could be made, and a covering of satin over the face of it. And he himself watched that night. And while he was there, he beheld the dragons fighting. And when they were weary they fell, and came down upon the top of the satin, and drew it with them to the bottom of the cauldron. And when they had drunk the mead they slept. And in their sleep, Lludd folded the covering around them, and in the securest place he had in Snowdon, he hid them in a kistvaen. Now after that this spot was called Dinas Emreis, but before that, Dinas Ffaraon. And thus the fierce outcry ceased in his dominions. And when this was ended, King Lludd caused an exceeding great banquet to be prepared. And when it was ready, he placed a vessel of cold water by his side, and he in his own proper person watched it. And as he abode thus clad with arms, about the third watch of the night, lo! he heard many surpassing fascinations and various songs. And drowsiness urged him to sleep. Upon this, lest he should be hindered from his purpose and be overcome by sleep, he went often into the water. And at last, behold, a man of vast size, clad in strong, heavy armour, came in, bearing a hamper. And, as he was wont, he put all the food and provisions of meat and drink into the hamper, and proceeded to go with it forth. And nothing was ever more wonderful to Lludd, than that the hamper should hold so much. And thereupon King Lludd went after him and spoke unto him thus. "Stop, stop," said he, "though thou hast done many insults and much spoil erewhile, thou shalt not do so any more, unless thy skill in arms and thy prowess be greater than mine." {Picture: p115.jpg} Then he instantly put down the hamper on the floor, and awaited him. And a fierce encounter was between them, so that the glittering fire flew out from their arms. And at the last Lludd grappled with him, and fate bestowed the victory on Lludd. And he threw the plague to the earth. And after he had overcome him by strength and might, he besought his mercy. "How can I grant thee mercy," said the king, "after all the many injuries and wrongs that thou hast done me?" "All the losses that ever I have caused thee," said he, "I will make thee atonement for, equal to what I have taken. And I will never do the like from this time forth. But thy faithful vassal will I be." And the king accepted this from him. And thus Lludd freed the Island of Britain from the three plagues. And from thenceforth until the end of his life, in prosperous peace did Lludd the son of Beli rule the Island of Britain. And this Tale is called the Story of Lludd and Llevelys. And thus it ends. {Picture: p116.jpg} TALIESIN. {Picture: p117.jpg} In times past there lived in Penllyn a man of gentle lineage, named Tegid Voel, and his dwelling was in the midst of the Lake Tegid, and his wife was called Caridwen. And there was born to him of his wife a son named Morvran ab Tegid, and also a daughter named Creirwy, the fairest maiden in the world was she; and they had a brother the most ill-favoured man in the world, Avagddu. Now Caridwen his mother thought that he was not likely to be admitted among men of noble birth, by reason of his ugliness, unless he had some exalted merits or knowledge. For it was in the beginning of Arthur's time and of the Round Table. So she resolved, according to the arts of the books of the Fferyllt, {118a} to boil a cauldron of Inspiration and Science for her son, that his reception might be honourable because of his knowledge of the mysteries of the future state of the world. Then she began to boil the cauldron, which from the beginning of its boiling might not cease to boil for a year and a day, until three blessed drops were obtained of the grace of inspiration. And she put Gwion Bach the son of Gwreang of Llanfair in Caereinion, in Powys, to stir the cauldron, and a blind man named Morda to kindle the fire beneath it, and she charged them that they should not suffer it to cease boiling for the space of a year and a day. And she herself, according to the books of the astronomers, and in planetary hours, gathered every day of all charm-bearing herbs. And one day, towards the end of the year, as Caridwen was culling plants and making incantations, it chanced that three drops of the charmed liquor flew out of the cauldron and fell upon the finger of Gwion Bach. And by reason of their great heat he put his finger to his mouth, {118b} and the instant he put those marvel-working drops into his mouth, he foresaw everything that was to come, and perceived that his chief care must be to guard against the wiles of Caridwen, for vast was her skill. And in very great fear he fled towards his own land. And the cauldron burst in two, because all the liquor within it except the three charm-bearing drops was poisonous, so that the horses of Gwyddno Garanhir were poisoned by the water of the stream into which the liquor of the cauldron ran, and the confluence of that stream was called the Poison of the Horses of Gwyddno from that time forth. {Picture: p119.jpg} Thereupon came in Caridwen and saw all the toil of the whole year lost. And she seized a billet of wood and struck the blind Morda on the head until one of his eyes fell out upon his cheek. And he said, "Wrongfully hast thou disfigured me, for I am innocent. Thy loss was not because of me." "Thou speakest truth," said Caridwen, "it was Gwion Bach who robbed me." And she went forth after him, running. And he saw her, and changed himself into a hare and fled. But she changed herself into a greyhound and turned him. And he ran towards a river, and became a fish. And she in the form of an otter-bitch chased him under the water, until he was fain to turn himself into a bird of the air. Then she, as a hawk, followed him and gave him no rest in the sky. And just as she was about to stoop upon him, and he was in fear of death, he espied a heap of winnowed wheat on the floor of a barn, and he dropped amongst the wheat, and turned himself into one of the grains. Then she transformed herself into a high-crested black hen, and went to the wheat and scratched it with her feet, and found him out and swallowed him. And, as the story says, she bore him nine months, and when she was delivered of him, she could not find it in her heart to kill him, by reason of his beauty. So she wrapped him in a leathern bag, and cast him into the sea to the mercy of God, on the twenty-ninth day of April. And at that time the weir of Gwyddno was on the strand between Dyvi and Aberystwyth, near to his own castle, and the value of an hundred pounds was taken in that weir every May eve. And in those days Gwyddno had an only son named Elphin, the most hapless of youths, and the most needy. And it grieved his father sore, for he thought that he was born in an evil hour. And by the advice of his council, his father had granted him the drawing of the weir that year, to see if good luck would ever befall him, and to give him something wherewith to begin the world. {Picture: p121.jpg} And the next day, when Elphin went to look, there was nothing in the weir. But as he turned back he perceived the leathern bag upon a pole of the weir. Then said one of the weir-ward unto Elphin, "Thou wast never unlucky until to-night, and now thou hast destroyed the virtues of the weir, which always yielded the value of an hundred pounds every May eve, and to-night there is nothing but this leathern skin within it." "How now," said Elphin, "there may be therein the value of an hundred pounds." Well! they took up the leathern bag, and he who opened it saw the forehead of the boy, and said to Elphin, "Behold a radiant brow!" {121} "Taliesin be he called," said Elphin. And he lifted the boy in his arms, and lamenting his mischance, he placed him sorrowfully behind him. And he made his horse amble gently, that before had been trotting, and he carried him as softly as if he had been sitting in the easiest chair in the world. And presently the boy made a Consolation and praise to Elphin, and foretold honour to Elphin; and the Consolation was as you may see, "Fair Elphin cease to lament! Let no one be dissatisfied with his own, To despair will bring no advantage. No man sees what supports him; The prayer of Cynllo will not be in vain; God will not violate his promise. Never in Gwyddno's weir Was there such good luck as this night. Fair Elphin, dry thy cheeks! Being too sad will not avail, Although thou thinkest thou hast no gain, Too much grief will bring thee no good; Nor doubt the miracles of the Almighty: Although I am but little, I am highly gifted. From seas, and from mountains, And from the depths of rivers, God brings wealth to the fortunate man. Elphin of lively qualities, Thy resolution is unmanly; Thou must not be over sorrowful: Better to trust in God than to forbode ill. Weak and small as I am, On the foaming beach of the ocean, In the day of trouble, I shall be Of more service to thee than 300 salmon. Elphin of notable qualities, Be not displeased at thy misfortune; Although reclined thus weak in my bag, There lies a virtue in my tongue. While I continue thy protector Thou hast not much to fear; Remembering the names of the Trinity, None shall be able to harm thee." And this was the first poem that Taliesin ever sang, being to console Elphin in his grief for that the produce of the weir was lost, and, what was worse, that all the world would consider that it was through his fault and ill-luck. And then Gwyddno Garanhir {123} asked him what he was, whether man or spirit. Whereupon he sang this tale, and said, "First, I have been formed a comely person, In the court of Ceridwen I have done penance; Though little I was seen, placidly received, I was great on the floor of the place to where I was led; I have been a prized defence, the sweet muse the cause, And by law without speech I have been liberated By a smiling black old hag, when irritated Dreadful her claim when pursued: I have fled with vigour, I have fled as a frog, I have fled in the semblance of a crow, scarcely finding rest; I have fled vehemently, I have fled as a chain, I have fled as a roe into an entangled thicket; I have fled as a wolf cub, I have fled as a wolf in a wilderness, I have fled as a thrush of portending language; I have fled as a fox, used to concurrent bounds of quirks; I have fled as a martin, which did not avail: I have fled as a squirrel, that vainly hides, I have fled as a stag's antler, of ruddy course, I have fled as iron in a glowing fire, I have fled as a spear-head, of woe to such as has a wish for it; I have fled as a fierce bull bitterly fighting, I have fled as a bristly boar seen in a ravine, I have fled as a white grain of pure wheat, On the skirt of a hempen sheet entangled, That seemed of the size of a mare's foal, That is filling like a ship on the waters; Into a dark leathern bag I was thrown, And on a boundless sea I was sent adrift; Which was to me an omen of being tenderly nursed, And the Lord God then set me at liberty." Then came Elphin to the house or court of Gwyddno his father, and Taliesin with him. And Gwyddno asked him if he had had a good haul at the weir, and he told him that he had got that which was better than fish. "What was that?" said Gwyddno. "A Bard," answered Elphin. Then said Gwyddno, "Alas, what will he profit thee?" And Taliesin himself replied and said, "He will profit him more than the weir ever profited thee." Asked Gwyddno, "Art thou able to speak, and thou so little?" And Taliesin answered him, "I am better able to speak than thou to question me." "Let me hear what thou canst say," quoth Gwyddno. Then Taliesin sang,-- "In water there is a quality endowed with a blessing; On God it is most just to meditate aright; To God it is proper to supplicate with seriousness, Since no obstacle can there be to obtain a reward from him. Three times have I been born, I know by meditation; It were miserable for a person not to come and obtain All the sciences of the world, collected together in my breast, For I know what has been, what in future will occur. I will supplicate my Lord that I get refuge in him, A regard I may obtain in his grace; The Son of Mary is my trust, great in Him is my delight, For in Him is the world continually upholden. God has been to instruct me and to raise my expectation, The true Creator of heaven, who affords me protection; It is rightly intended that the saints should daily pray, For God, the renovator, will bring them to him. * * * * * And forthwith Elphin gave his haul to his wife, and she nursed him tenderly and lovingly. Thenceforward Elphin increased in riches more and more day after day, and in love and favour with the king, and there abode Taliesin until he was thirteen years old, when Elphin son of Gwyddno went by a Christmas invitation to his uncle, Maelgwn Gwynedd, who sometime after this held open court at Christmas-tide in the castle of Dyganwy, for all the number of his lords of both degrees, both spiritual and temporal, with a vast and thronged host of knights and squires. And amongst them there arose a discourse and discussion. And thus was it said. "Is there in the whole world a king so great as Maelgwn, or one on whom Heaven has bestowed so many spiritual gifts as upon him? First, form, and beauty, and meekness, and strength, besides all the powers of the soul?" And together with these they said that Heaven had given one gift that exceeded all the others, which was the beauty, and comeliness, and grace, and wisdom, and modesty of his queen; whose virtues surpassed those of all the ladies and noble maidens throughout the whole kingdom. And with this they put questions one to another amongst themselves, Who had braver men? Who had fairer or swifter horses or greyhounds? Who had more skilful or wiser bards--than Maelgwn? Now at that time the bards were in great favour with the exalted of the kingdom; and then none performed the office of those who are now called heralds, unless they were learned men, not only expert in the service of kings and princes, but studious and well versed in the lineage, and arms, and exploits of princes and kings, and in discussions concerning foreign kingdoms, and the ancient things of this kingdom, and chiefly in the annals of the first nobles; and also were prepared always with their answers in various languages, Latin, French, Welsh, and English. And together with this they were great chroniclers, and recorders, and skilful in framing verses, and ready in making englyns in every one of these languages. Now of these there were at that feast within the palace of Maelgwn as many as four and twenty, and chief of them all, was one named Heinin Vardd. When they had all made an end of thus praising the king and his gifts, it befell that Elphin spoke on this wise. "Of a truth none but a king may vie with a king; but were he not a king, I would say that my wife was as virtuous as any lady in the kingdom, and also that I have a bard who is more skilful than all the king's bards." In a short space some of his fellows showed the king all the boastings of Elphin; and the king ordered him to be thrown into a strong prison, until he might know the truth as to the virtues of his wife, and the wisdom of his bard. Now when Elphin had been put in a tower of the castle, with a thick chain about his feet, (it is said that it was a silver chain, because he was of royal blood;) the king, as the story relates, sent his son Rhun to enquire into the demeanour of Elphin's wife. Now Rhun was the most graceless man in the world, and there was neither wife nor maiden with whom he had held converse, but was evil spoken of. While Rhun went in haste towards Elphin's dwelling, being fully minded to bring disgrace upon his wife, Taliesin told his mistress how that the king had placed his master in durance in prison, and how that Rhun was coming in haste to strive to bring disgrace upon her. Wherefore he caused his mistress to array one of the maids of her kitchen in her apparel; which the noble lady gladly did; and she loaded her hands with the best rings that she and her husband possessed. In this guise Taliesin caused his mistress to put the maiden to sit at the board in her room at supper, and he made her to seem as her mistress, and the mistress to seem as the maid. And when they were in due time seated at their supper in the manner that has been said, Rhun suddenly arrived at Elphin's dwelling, and was received with joy, for all the servants knew him plainly; and they brought him in haste to the room of their mistress, in the semblance of whom the maid rose up from supper and welcomed him gladly. And afterwards she sat down to supper again the second time, and Rhun with her. Then Rhun began jesting with the maid, who still kept the semblance of her mistress. And verily this story shows that the maiden became so intoxicated, that she fell asleep; and the story relates that it was a powder that Rhun put into the drink, that made her sleep so soundly that she never felt it when he cut from off her hand her little finger, whereon was the signet ring of Elphin, which he had sent to his wife as a token, a short time before. And Rhun returned to the king with the finger and the ring as a proof, to show that he had cut it from off her hand, without her awaking from her sleep of intemperance. The king rejoiced greatly at these tidings, and he sent for his councillors, to whom he told the whole story from the beginning. And he caused Elphin to be brought out of his prison, and he chided him because of his boast. And he spake unto Elphin on this wise. "Elphin, be it known to thee beyond a doubt that it is but folly for a man to trust in the virtues of his wife further than he can see her; and that thou mayest be certain of thy wife's vileness, behold her finger, with thy signet ring upon it, which was cut from her hand last night, while she slept the sleep of intoxication." Then thus spake Elphin. "With thy leave, mighty king, I cannot deny my ring, for it is known of many; but verily I assert strongly that the finger around which it is, was never attached to the hand of my wife, for in truth and certainty there are three notable things pertaining to it, none of which ever belonged to any of my wife's fingers. The first of the three is, that it is certain, by your grace's leave, that wheresoever my wife is at this present hour, whether sitting, or standing, or lying down, this ring would never remain upon her thumb, whereas you can plainly see that it was hard to draw it over the joint of the little finger of the hand whence this was cut; the second thing is, that my wife has never let pass one Saturday since I have known her without paring her nails before going to bed, and you can see fully that the nail of this little finger has not been pared for a month. The third is, truly, that the hand whence this finger came was kneading rye dough within three days before the finger was cut therefrom, and I can assure your goodness that my wife has never kneaded rye dough since my wife she has been." Then the king was mightily wrath with Elphin for so stoutly withstanding him, respecting the goodness of his wife, wherefore he ordered him to his prison a second time, saying that he should not be loosed thence until he had proved the truth of his boast, as well concerning the wisdom of his bard as the virtues of his wife. In the meantime his wife and Taliesin remained joyful at Elphin's dwelling. And Taliesin shewed his mistress how that Elphin was in prison because of them, but he bade her be glad for that he would go to Maelgwn's court to free his master. Then she asked him in what manner he would set him free. And he answered her,-- "A journey will I perform, And to the gate I will come; The hall I will enter, And my song I will sing; My speech I will pronounce To silence royal bards. In presence of their chief, I will greet to deride, Upon them I will break And Elphin I will free. Should contention arise, In presence of the prince, With summons to the bards For the sweet flowing song, And wizards' posing lore And wisdom of Druids. In the court of the sons of the distributor Some are who did appear Intent on wily schemes, By craft and tricking means, In pangs of affliction To wrong the innocent, Let the fools be silent, As erst in Badon's fight,-- With Arthur of liberal ones The head, with long red blades; Through feats of testy men, And a chief with his foes. Woe be to them, the fools, When revenge comes on them. I Taliesin, chief of bards, With a sapient druid's words, Will set kind Elphin free From haughty tyrant's bonds. To their fell and chilling cry, By the act of a surprising steed, From the far distant North, There soon shall be an end. Let neither grace nor health Be to Maelgwn Gwynedd, For this force and this wrong; And be extremes of ills And an avenged end To Rhun and all his race: Short be his course of life, Be all his lands laid waste; And long exile be assigned To Maelgwn Gwynedd!" After this he took leave of his mistress, and came at last to the court of Maelgwn, who was going to sit in his hall and dine in his royal state, as it was the custom in those days for kings and princes to do at every chief feast. And as soon as Taliesin entered the hall, he placed himself in a quiet corner, near the place where the bards and the minstrels were wont to come to in doing their service and duty to the king, as is the custom at the high festivals when the bounty is proclaimed. And so, when the bards and the heralds came to cry largess and to proclaim the power of the king and his strength, at the moment that they passed by the corner wherein he was crouching, Taliesin pouted out his lips after them, and played "Blerwm, blerwm," with his finger upon his lips. Neither took they much notice of him as they went by, but proceeded forward till they came before the king, unto whom they made their obeisance with their bodies, as they were wont, without speaking a single word, but pouting out their lips, and making mouths at the king, playing "Blerwm, blerwm," upon their lips with their fingers, as they had seen the boy do elsewhere. This sight caused the king to wonder and to deem within himself that they were drunk with many liquors. Wherefore he commanded one of his lords, who served at the board, to go to them and desire them to collect their wits, and to consider where they stood, and what it was fitting for them to do. And this lord did so gladly. But they ceased not from their folly any more than before. Whereupon he sent to them a second time, and a third, desiring them to go forth from the hall. At the last the king ordered one of his squires to give a blow to the chief of them named Heinin Vardd; and the squire took a broom, and struck him on the head, so that he fell back in his seat. Then he arose and went on his knees, and besought leave of the king's grace to show that this their fault was not through want of knowledge, neither through drunkenness, but by the influence of some spirit that was in the hall. And after this Heinin spoke on this wise. "Oh honourable king, be it known to your grace, that not from the strength of drink, or of too much liquor, are we dumb, without power of speech like drunken men, but through the influence of a spirit that sits in the corner yonder in the form of a child." Forthwith the king commanded the squire to fetch him; and he went to the nook where Taliesin sat, and brought him before the king, who asked him what he was, and whence he came. And he answered the king in verse. "Primary chief bard am I to Elphin, And my original country is the region of the summer stars; Idno and Heinin called me Merddin, At length every king will call me Taliesin. I was with my Lord in the highest sphere, On the fall of Lucifer into the depth of hell: I have borne a banner before Alexander; I know the names of the stars from north to south; I have been on the galaxy at the throne of the Distributor; I was in Canaan when Absalom was slain; I conveyed the divine Spirit to the level of the vale of Hebron; I was in the court of Don before the birth of Gwydion. I was instructor to Eli and Enoc; I have been winged by the genius of the splendid crosier; I have been loquacious prior to being gifted with speech; I was at the place of the crucifixion of the merciful Son of God; I have been three periods in the prison of Arianrod; I have been the chief director of the work of the tower of Nimrod; I am a wonder whose origin is not known. I have been in Asia with Noah in the ark, I have seen the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra; I have been in India when Roma was built, I am now come here to the remnant of Troia. I have been with my Lord in the manger of the ass; I strengthened Moses through the water of Jordan; I have been in the firmament with Mary Magdalene; I have obtained the muse from the cauldron of Ceridwen; I have been bard of the harp to Lleon of Lochlin. I have been on the White Hill, in the court of Cynvelyn, For a day and a year in stocks and fetters, I have suffered hunger for the Son of the Virgin. I have been fostered in the land of the Deity, I have been teacher to all intelligences, I am able to instruct the whole universe. I shall be until the day of doom on the face of the earth; And it is not known whether my body is flesh or fish. Then I was for nine months In the womb of the hag Ceridwen; I was originally little Gwion, And at length I am Taliesin." And when the king and his nobles had heard the song, they wondered much, for they had never heard the like from a boy so young as he. And when the king knew that he was the bard of Elphin, he bade Heinin, his first and wisest bard, to answer Taliesin and to strive with him. But when he came, he could do no other, but play "blerwm" on his lips; and when he sent for the others of the four and twenty bards, they all did likewise, and could do no other. And Maelgwn asked the boy Taliesin what was his errand, and he answered him in song. "Puny bards, I am trying To secure the prize, if I can; By a gentle prophetic strain I am endeavouring to retrieve The loss I may have suffered; Complete the attempt, I hope, Since Elphin endures trouble In the fortress of Teganwy, On him may there not be laid Too many chains and fetters; The Chair of the fortress of Teganwy Will I again seek; Strengthened by my muse I am powerful; Mighty on my part is what I seek, For three hundred songs and more Are combined in the spell I sing. There ought not to stand where I am Neither stone, neither ring; And there ought not to be about me Any bard who may not know That Elphin the son of Gwyddno Is in the land of Artro, Secured by thirteen locks, For praising his instructor; And then I Taliesin, Chief of the bards of the west, Shall loosen Elphin Out of a golden fetter." * * * * * "If you be primary bards To the master of sciences, Declare ye mysteries That relate to the inhabitants of the world; There is a noxious creature, From the rampart of Satanas, Which has overcome all Between the deep and the shallow; Equally wide are his jaws As the mountains of the Alps; Him death will not subdue, Nor hand or blades; There is the load of nine hundred waggons In the hair of his two paws; There is in his head an eye Green as the limpid sheet of icicle; Three springs arise In the nape of his neck; Sea-roughs thereon Swim through it; There was the dissolution of the oxen Of Deivrdonwy the water-gifted. The names of the three springs From the midst of the ocean; One generated brine Which is from the Corina, To replenish the flood Over seas disappearing; The second, without injury It will fall on us, When there is rain abroad. Through the whelming sky; The third will appear Through the mountain veins, Like a flinty banquet. The work of the King of kings. You are blundering bards, In too much solicitude; You cannot celebrate The kingdom of the Britons; And I am Taliesin, Chief of the bards of the west, Who will loosen Elphin Out of the golden fetter." * * * * * "Be silent, then, ye unlucky rhyming bards, For you cannot judge between truth and falsehood. If you be primary bards formed by Heaven, Tell your king what his fate will be. It is I who am a diviner and a leading bard, And know every passage in the country of your king; I shall liberate Elphin from the belly of the stony tower; And will tell your king what will befall him. A most strange creature will come from the sea marsh of Rhianedd As a punishment of iniquity on Maelgwn Gwynedd; His hair, his teeth, and his eyes being as gold, And this will bring destruction upon Maelgwn Gwynedd." * * * * * "Discover thou what is The strong creature from before the flood, Without flesh, without bone, Without vein, without blood, Without head, without feet; It will neither be older nor younger Than at the beginning; For fear of a denial, There are no rude wants With creatures. Great God! how the sea whitens When first it come! Great are its gusts When it comes from the south; Great are its evaporations When it strikes on coasts. It is in the field, it is in the wood, Without hand and without foot, Without signs of old age, Though it be co-eval With the five ages or periods; And older still, Though they be numberless years. It is also so wide As the surface of the earth; And it was not born, Nor was it seen. It will cause consternation Wherever God willeth. On sea, and on land, It neither sees, nor is seen. Its course is devious, And will not come when desired. On land and on sea, It is indispensible. It is without an equal, It is four-sided; It is not confined, It is incomparable; It comes from four quarters It will not be advised, It will not be without advice. It commences its journey Above the marble rock. {136} It is sonorous, it is dumb, It is mild, It is strong, it is bold, When it glances over the land. It is silent, it is vocal, It is clamorous, It is the most noisy On the face of the earth. It is good, it is bad, It is extremely injurious. It is concealed, Because sight cannot perceive it. It is noxious, it is beneficial; It is yonder, it is here; It will discompose, But will not repair the injury; It will not suffer for its doings, Seeing it is blameless. It is wet, it is dry, It frequently comes, Proceeding from the heat of the sun, And the coldness of the moon. The moon is less beneficial, Inasmuch as her heat is less. One Being has prepared it, Out of all creatures, By a tremendous blast, To wreak vengeance On Maelgwn Gwynedd." And while he was thus singing his verse near the door there arose a mighty storm of wind, so that the king and all his nobles thought that the castle would fall upon their heads. And the king caused them to fetch Elphin in haste from his dungeon, and placed him before Taliesin. And it is said that immediately he sang a verse, so that the chains opened from about his feet. "I adore the Supreme, Lord of all animation,-- Him that supports the heaven, Ruler of every extreme, Him that made the water good for all, Him who has bestowed each gift, and blesses it;-- May abundance of mead be given Maelgwn of Anglesey, who supplies us, From his foaming meadhorns, with the choicest pure liquor. Since bees collect, and do not enjoy, We have sparkling distilled mead, which is universally praised. The multitude of creatures which the earth nourishes, God made for man, with a view to enrich him;-- Some are violent, some are mute, he enjoys them, Some are wild, some are tame; the Lord makes them;-- Part of their produce becomes clothing; For food and beverage till doom will they continue. I entreat the Supreme, Sovereign of the region of peace, To liberate Elphin from banishment, The man who gave me wine, and ale, and mead, With large princely steeds, of beautiful appearance; May he yet give me; and at the end, May God of His good will grant me, in honour, A succession of numberless ages, in the retreat of tranquillity.-- Elphin, knight of mead, late be thy dissolution!" And afterwards he sang the ode which is called "The Excellence of the Bards." "What was the first man Made by the God of heaven; What the fairest flattering speech That was prepared by Ieuav; What meat, what drink, What roof his shelter; What the first impression Of his primary thinking; What became his clothing; Who carried on a disguise, Owing to the wiles of the country, In the beginning? Wherefore should a stone be hard; Why should a thorn be sharp-pointed; Who is hard like a flint; Who is salt like brine; Who sweet like honey; Who rides on the gale; Why ridged should be the nose; Why should a wheel be round; Why should the tongue be gifted with speech Rather than another member? If thy bards, Heinin, be competent, Let them reply to me, Taliesin." And after that he sang the address which is called "The Reproof of the Bards." "If thou art a bard completely imbued With genius not to be controlled, Be thou not untractable Within the court of thy king; Until thy rigmarole shall be known, Be thou silent Heinin As to the name of thy verse, And the name of thy vaunting; And as to the name of thy grandsire Prior to his being baptized. And the name of the sphere, And the name of the element, And the name of thy language, And the name of thy region. Avaunt, ye bards above, Avaunt, ye bards below! My beloved is below, In the fetter of Arianrod. It is certain you know not How to understand the song I utter, Nor clearly how to discriminate Between the truth and what is false; Puny bards, crows of the district, Why do you not take to flight? A bard that will not silence me, Silence may he not obtain, Till he goes to be covered Under gravel and pebbles; Such as shall listen to me, May God listen to him." Then sang he the piece called "The Spite of the Bards." "Minstrels persevere in their false custom, Immoral ditties are their delight; Vain and tasteless praise they recite; Falsehood at all times do they utter; The innocent persons they ridicule; Married women they destroy, Innocent virgins of Mary they corrupt; As they pass their lives away in vanity; Poor innocent persons they ridicule; At night they get drunk, they sleep the day; In idleness without work they feed themselves; The Church they hate, and the tavern they frequent; With thieves and perjured fellows they associate; At courts they inquire after feasts; Every senseless word they bring forward; Every deadly sin they praise; Every vile course of life they lead; Through every village, town, and country they stroll; Concerning the gripe of death they think not; Neither lodging nor charity do they give; Indulging in victuals to excess. Psalms or prayers they do not use, Tithes or offerings to God they do not pay, On holidays or Sundays they do not worship; Vigils or festivals they do not heed. The birds do fly, the fish do swim, The bees collect honey, worms do crawl, Every thing travails to obtain its food, Except minstrels and lazy useless thieves. I deride neither song nor minstrelsy, For they are given by God to lighten thought; But him who abuses them, For blaspheming Jesus and his service." Taliesin having set his master free from prison, and having protected the innocence of his wife, and silenced the Bards so that not one of them dared to say a word, now brought Elphin's wife before them, and shewed that she had not one finger wanting. Right glad was Elphin, right glad was Taliesin. Then he bade Elphin wager the king, that he had a horse both better and swifter than the king's horses. And this Elphin did, and the day, and the time, and the place were fixed, and the place was that which at this day is called Morva Rhiannedd; and thither the king went with all his people, and four and twenty of the swiftest horses he possessed. And after a long process the course was marked, and the horses were placed for running. Then came Taliesin with four and twenty twigs of holly, which he had burnt black, and he caused the youth who was to ride his master's horse to place them in his belt, and he gave him orders to let all the king's horses get before him, and as he should overtake one horse after the other, to take one of the twigs and strike the horse with it over the crupper, and then let that twig fall; and after that to take another twig, and do in like manner to every one of the horses, as he should overtake them, enjoining the horseman strictly to watch when his own horse should stumble, and to throw down his cap on the spot. All these things did the youth fulfil, giving a blow to every one of the king's horses, and throwing down his cap on the spot where his horse stumbled. And to this spot Taliesin brought his master after his horse had won the race. And he caused Elphin to put workmen to dig a hole there; and when they had dug the ground deep enough, they found a large cauldron full of gold. And then said Taliesin, "Elphin, behold a payment and reward unto thee, for having taken me out of the weir, and for having reared me from that time until now." And on this spot stands a pool of water, which is to this time called Pwllbair. After all this, the king caused Taliesin to be brought before him, and he asked him to recite concerning the creation of man from the beginning; and thereupon he made the poem which is now called "One of the Four Pillars of Song." "The Almighty made, Down the Hebron vale, With his plastic hands, Adam's fair form; And five hundred years, Void of any help, There he remained and lay Without a soul. He again did form, In calm paradise, From a left-side rib, Bliss-throbbing Eve. Seven hours they were The orchard keeping, Till Satan brought strife, With wiles from hell. Thence were they driven, Cold and shivering, To gain their living, Into this world. To bring forth with pain Their sons and daughters, To have possession Of Asia's land. Twice five, ten and eight, She was self-bearing, The mixed burden Of man-woman. And once, not hidden, She brought forth Abel, And Cain the forlorn, The homicide. To him and his mate Was given a spade, To break up the soil, Thus to get bread. The wheat pure and white, Summer tilth to sow, Every man to feed, Till great yule feast. An angelic hand From the high Father, Brought seed for growing That Eve might sow; But she then did hide Of the gift a tenth, And all did not sow Of what was dug. Black rye then was found, And not pure wheat grain, To show the mischief Thus of thieving. For this thievish act, It is requisite, That all men should pay Tithe unto God. Of the ruddy wine, Planted on sunny days, And on new moon nights; And the white wine. The wheat rich in grain And red flowing wine Christ's pure body make, Son of Alpha. The wafer is flesh, The wine is spilt blood, The Trinity's words Sanctify them. The concealed books From Emmanuel's hand Were brought by Raphael As Adam's gift. When in his old age, To his chin immersed In Jordan's water, Keeping a fast, Moses did obtain, In Jordan's water, The aid of the three Most special rods. Solomon did obtain, In Babel's tower, All the sciences In Asia land. So did I obtain, In my bardic books, All the sciences Of Europe and Africa. Their course, their bearing Their permitted way, And their fate I know, Unto the end. Oh! what misery, Through extreme of woe, Prophecy will show On Troia's race! A coiling serpent, Proud and merciless, On her golden wings, From Germany. She will overrun England and Scotland, From Lychlyn sea-shore To the Severn. Then will the Brython Be as prisoners, By strangers swayed, From Saxony. Their Lord they will praise, Their speech they will keep, Their land they will lose, Except wild Walia. Till some change shall come, After long penance, When equally rife The two crimes come. Britons then shall have Their land and their crown, And the strangers swarm Shall disappear. All the angel's words, As to peace and war, Will be fulfilled To Britain's race. He further told the king various prophecies of things that should be in the world, in songs, as follows. * * * * * {Picture: p143.jpg} Footnotes: {11a} Diarwya. {11b} While the day was still young. {13} Arawn, king of Annwvyn. {15} And as thou seest. {17} "It may be that I shall repent for what I have done unto thee. Seek whom thou wiliest to slay thee, I shall not slay thee." {26} "If thou wilt ask for a reasonable gift, thou shalt have it gladly." "A reasonable one, lord," answered he. {28} Pwyll rose, and caused silence to be proclaimed, to command all suitors and minstrels to show what they desired, and to tell them that every one of them would be satisfied according to his wish and desire. {29} And they summoned him to them. {30} "Wretched women," said Rhiannon, "for the sake of the God who knows everything, charge me not falsely. The God who knows everything knows that that is false." {31a} Whether she persuaded or pleaded. {31b} Unbeseeming. {33} According to the kind of baptism that was then made. {35} "Oh fair lady," said Teirnon, "it is not very likely to me that any of these will be carried on thy back." "Let who will do so," said the son, "I shall not." "Truly, my soul," said Teirnon, "neither shall we go." {36a} The Welsh is _vy'm pryder i_ (= my trouble). {36b} If he will be of gentle bearing. {37a} And if he is in power, it will be more right for him to maintain thee than it was even for me. {37b} After that. {38} Wallt. {39a} And splendid wearer of the crown of London. {39b} Over-looking the sea. {40} Penordim. {42} Mane. {45} And I am not sure it was not there he got it. {48a} Taunted him openly. {48b} Bake. {50a} On the township. {50b} There were but two rivers, Lli and Archan were they called. After that the ocean separated the kingdoms. {52a} Was. {52b} "Yes," said Bendigeid Vran, "unless I myself can get the kingship." {56a} Glivieri. {56b} Grodyeu. {59a} At that very moment. {59b} And from that hour they could not rest. {62a} Meek. {62b} Wilt thou follow another counsel? {62c} And even now thou wilt not be disappointed with her appearance. {65} Add "and fish." {71} He furnished gilded clasps for the shoes. {73} And then, half in guile and half in anger, he rushed into the midst of the mice. But he could no more keep one of them within sight than he could gnats or birds in the air, except one, which he saw was heavy with young, and which he thought could not run. {79} Knockers and Collars. {81} Eveyd. {87} Tyviawc. {88} A maiden. {91a} Aranrod _throughout_. {91b} Infamous. {93} Sea-weed. {96} Destiny. {98a} Add "according to the rite of baptism they then performed." {98b} "I will give him that one Cantrev that is best for a young man to have." {100} Blow. {111} Add "henceforth." {118a} Of the books of the magician. [Vergil = Fferyllt = magician or chemist.] {118b} Head. {121} Taliesin {123} This should be Elphin son of Gwyddno. {136} Possibly an allusion to the Cave of AEolus. 
19959	----	Transcribed from the 1902 T. Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org THE MABINOGION TRANSLATED FROM THE RED BOOK OF HERGEST BY LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST VOL. I. LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN 11 PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS. MXCII INTRODUCTION. More than half a century ago Lady Charlotte Guest gave _The Mabinogion_ to English readers in the form which, probably, will ever most delight them. Her transcript of the Red Book of Hergest was not perfect, she found the meaning of many a Welsh phrase obscure, but her rendering is generally very accurate; and the Celtic tales retain in their new dress much of the charm, which so often evades the translator, of a perfect style formed by generations of narrating. The Red Book of Hergest, from which _The Mabinogion_ are taken, is a collection of tales and poems written during the fourteenth century. Some of the Mabinogion in it have been reconstructed in Norman and Crusading times, but they contain reminiscences of a more distant period, often but half understood by the later story-teller. Among these are "The Dream of Rhonabwy," "The Lady of the Fountain," and "Peredur the son of Evrawc"--the three which happen to come first in the Red Book. These are Christian, but with distant glimpses of Celtic heathenism. The adventures are all grouped around Arthur and his knights; and a kind of connection is given to the three tales by the presence of Owen and his mysterious ravens. Others, especially the four Mabinogion properly so called and the Tale of Lludd and Llevelys, are far older; they are older than Christianity, and older than Arthur. In this new edition of Lady Guest's translation I have put, in the form of footnotes, what appears to me to be a more correct or a more literal rendering of some of the passages of the Welsh. This course makes it unnecessary to tamper with the charming translation that has become a classic of the English language. I am very grateful to the Principal and Fellows of Jesus College for access to the Red Book, to Dr J. Gwenogvryn Evans for permission to use his edition and to Lord Wimborne (the Ivor of Lady Guest's dedication) for information kindly given. OWEN EDWARDS. LINCOLN COLLEGE, OXFORD, 1_st_ _March_ 1902. TO IVOR AND MERTHYR MY DEAR CHILDREN, Infants as you yet are, I feel that I cannot dedicate more fitly than to you these venerable relics of ancient lore, and I do so in the hope of inciting you to cultivate the Literature of "Gwyllt Walia," in whose beautiful language you are being initiated, and amongst whose free mountains you were born. May you become early imbued with the chivalric and exalted sense of honour, and the fervent patriotism for which its sons have ever been celebrated. May you learn to emulate the noble qualities of Ivor Hael, and the firm attachment to your Native Country, which distinguished that Ivor Bach, after whom the elder of you was named. I am, Your affectionate Mother, C. E. GUEST. DOWLAIS, 29_th_ _August_ 1838. THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN. King Arthur {15} was at Caerlleon upon Usk; and one day he sat in his chamber; and with him were Owain the son of Urien, and Kynon the son of Clydno, and Kai the son of Kyner; and Gwenhwyvar and her hand-maidens at needlework by the window. And if it should be said that there was a porter at Arthur's palace, there was none. Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr was there, acting as porter, to welcome guests and strangers, and to receive them with honour, and to inform them of the manners and customs of the Court; and to direct those who came to the Hall or to the presence chamber, and those who came to take up their lodging. {16} In the centre of the chamber king Arthur sat, upon a seat of green rushes, over which was spread a covering of flame-coloured satin; and a cushion of red satin was under his elbow. Then Arthur spoke, "If I thought you would not disparage me," said he, "I would sleep while I wait for my repast; and you can entertain one another with relating tales, and can obtain a flagon of mead and some meat from Kai." And the King went to sleep. And Kynon the son of Clydno asked Kai for that which Arthur had promised them. "I too will have the good tale which he promised to me," said Kai. "Nay," answered Kynon, "fairer will it be for thee to fulfil Arthur's behest in the first place, and then we will tell thee the best tale that we know." So Kai went to the kitchen and to the mead-cellar, and returned, bearing a flagon of mead, and a golden goblet, and a handful of skewers upon which were broiled collops of meat. Then they ate the collops and began to drink the mead. "Now" said Kai, "it is time for you to give me my story." "Kynon," said Owain, "do thou pay to Kai the tale that is his due." "Truly," said Kynon, "thou art older, and are a better teller of tales, and hast seen more marvellous things than I; do thou therefore pay Kai his tale." "Begin thyself," quoth Owain, "with the best that thou knowest." "I will do so," answered Kynon. "I was the only son of my mother and father; and I was exceedingly aspiring, and my daring was very great. I thought there was no enterprise in the world too mighty for me, and after I had achieved all the adventures that were in my own country, {17a} I equipped myself, and set forth to journey through deserts, and distant regions. And at length it chanced that I came to the fairest valley in the world, wherein were trees of equal growth; and a river ran through the valley, and a path was by the side of the river. And I followed the path until mid-day, and continued my journey along the remainder of the valley until the evening; and at the extremity of a plain I came to a large and lustrous Castle, at the foot of which was a torrent. And I approached the Castle, and there I beheld two youths, with yellow curling hair, each with a frontlet of gold upon his head, and clad in a garment of yellow satin; and they had gold clasps upon their insteps. In the hand of each of them was an ivory bow, strung with the sinews of the stag; and their arrows had their shafts of the bone of the whale, and were winged with peacock's feathers. The shafts also had golden heads. And they had daggers with blades of gold, and with hilts of the bone of the whale. And they were shooting their daggers. "And a little way from them, I saw a man {17b} in the prime of life, with his beard newly shorn, clad in a robe and a mantle of yellow satin; and round the top of his mantle was a band of gold lace. On his feet were shoes of variegated leather, fastened by two bosses of gold. When I saw him, I went towards him and saluted him; and such was his courtesy, that he no sooner received my greeting than he returned it. {18a} And he went with me towards the Castle. Now there were no dwellers in the Castle, except those who were in one hall. And there I saw four and twenty damsels, embroidering satin, at a window. And this I tell thee, Kai, that {18b} the least fair of them was fairer than the fairest maid thou didst ever behold, in the Island of Britain; and the least lovely of them was more lovely than Gwenhwyvar, the wife of Arthur, when she appeared loveliest at the Offering, on the day of the Nativity, or at the feast of Easter. {18c} They rose up at my coming, and six of them took my horse, and divested me of my armour; and six others took my arms, and washed them in a vessel, until they were perfectly bright. And the third six spread cloths upon the tables, and prepared meat. And the fourth six took off my soiled garments, and placed others upon me; namely, an under vest and a doublet of fine linen, and a robe, and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin, and a broad gold band upon the mantle. And they placed cushions both beneath and around me, with coverings of red linen. And I sat down. Now the six maidens who had taken my horse, unharnessed him, as well as if they had been the best Squires in the Island of Britain. Then, behold, they brought bowls of silver wherein was water to wash; and towels of linen, some green and some white; and I washed. And in a little while the man sat down to the table. {19a} And I sat next to him, and below me sat all the maidens, except those who waited on us. And the table was of silver; and the cloths upon the table were of linen. And no vessel was served upon the table that was not either of gold, or of silver, or of buffalo horn. And our meat was brought to us. And verily, Kai, I saw there every sort of meat, and every sort of liquor, that I ever saw elsewhere; but the meat and the liquors were better served there, than I ever saw them in any other place. "Until the repast was half over, neither the man nor any one of the damsels spoke a single word to me; but when the man perceived that it would be more agreeable to me to converse than to eat any more, he began to enquire of me who I was. I said I was glad to find that there was some one who would discourse with me, and that it was not considered so great a crime at that Court, for people to hold converse together. 'Chieftain,' said the man, 'we would have talked to thee sooner, but we feared to disturb thee during thy repast. Now, however, we will discourse.' Then I told the man who I was, and what was the cause of my journey. And said that I was seeking whether any one was superior to me, or whether I could gain the mastery over all. The man looked upon me, and he smiled, and said, 'If I did not fear to distress thee too much, {19b} I would shew thee that which thou seekest.' Upon this I became anxious and sorrowful; and when the man perceived it, he said, 'If thou wouldst rather that I should shew thee thy disadvantage, than thine advantage, I will do so. Sleep here to-night, and in the morning, arise early, and take the road upwards through the valley, until thou reachest the wood, through which thou camest hither. A little way within the wood, thou wilt meet with a road, branching off to the right; by which thou must proceed, until thou comest to a large sheltered glade, with a mound in the centre. And thou wilt see a black man of great stature, on the top of the mound; he is not smaller in size than two of the men of this world. He has but one foot, and one eye, in the middle of his forehead. And he has a club of iron, and it is certain that there are no two men in the world, who would not find their burden in that club. And he is not a comely man, but on the contrary he is exceedingly ill favoured; and he is the woodward of that wood. And thou wilt see a thousand wild animals, grazing around him. Enquire of him the way out of the glade, and he will reply to thee briefly, {20} and will point out the road, by which thou shalt find that which thou art in quest of.' "And long seemed the night to me. And the next morning I arose, and equipped myself, and mounted my horse, and proceeded straight through the valley, to the wood, and I followed the crossroad which the man had pointed out to me, till at length I arrived at the glade. And there was I three times more astonished at the number of wild animals that I beheld, than the man had said I should be. And the black man was there, sitting upon the top of the mound. Huge of stature as the man had told me that he was, I found him to exceed by far the description he had given me of him. As for the iron club, which the man had told me was a burden for two men, I am certain, Kai, that it would be a heavy weight for four warriors to lift. And this was in the black man's hand. And he only spoke to me in answer to my questions. {21a} Then I asked him what power he held over those animals. 'I will shew thee, little man,' said he. And he took his club in his hand, and with it he struck a stag a great blow, so that he brayed vehemently, and at his braying, the animals came together, as numerous as the stars in the sky, so that it was difficult for me to find room in the glade, to stand among them. There were serpents, and dragons, and divers sorts of animals. And he looked at them, and bade them go and feed. And they bowed their heads, and did him homage, as vassals to their lord. "Then the black man said to me, 'Seest thou now, little man, what power I hold over these animals?' Then I enquired of him the way; and he became very rough in his manner to me; however he asked me whither I would go. And when I had told him who I was, and what I sought, he directed me. 'Take,' said he, 'that path that leads towards the head of the glade, and ascend the wooded steep, until thou comest to its summit; and there thou wilt find an open space, like to a large valley, and in the midst of it a tall tree, whose branches are greener than the greenest pine trees. Under this tree is a fountain, and by the side of the fountain, a marble slab, and on the marble slab a silver bowl, attached by a chain of silver, so that it may not be carried away. {21b} Take the bowl, and throw a bowlful of water upon the slab, and thou wilt hear a mighty peal of thunder; so that thou wilt think that heaven and earth are trembling with its fury. With the thunder there will come a shower so severe, that it will be scarcely possible for thee to endure it and live. And the shower will be of hailstones. And after the shower, the weather will become fair; but every leaf that was upon the tree will have been carried away by the shower. Then a flight of birds will come and alight upon the tree; and in thine own country thou didst never hear a strain so sweet, as that which they will sing. And at the moment thou art most delighted with the song of the birds, thou wilt hear a murmuring and complaining coming towards thee along the valley. And thou wilt see a knight upon a coal black horse, clothed in black velvet, and with a pennon of black linen upon his lance, and he will ride unto thee to encounter thee, with the utmost speed. If thou fleest from him he will overtake thee, and if thou abidest there, as sure as thou art a mounted knight, he will leave thee on foot. And if thou dost not find trouble in that adventure, thou needst not seek it during the rest of thy life.' "So I journeyed on, until I reached the summit of the steep. And there I found every thing, as the black man had described it to me. And I went up to the tree, and beneath it I saw the fountain, and by its side the marble slab; and the silver bowl, fastened by the chain. Then I took the bowl, and cast a bowlful of water upon the slab; and thereupon behold the thunder came, much more violent than the black man had led me to expect; and after the thunder came the shower; and of a truth I tell thee, Kai, that there is neither man nor beast that could endure that shower and live. For not one of those hailstones would be stopped either by the flesh, or by the skin, until it had reached the bone. I turned my horse's flanks towards the shower, and placed the beak of my shield over his head and neck, while I held the upper part of it over my own head. And thus I withstood the shower. When I looked on the tree, there was not a single leaf upon it, and then the sky became clear; and with that, behold the birds lighted upon the tree, and sang. And truly, Kai, I never heard any melody equal to that, either before or since. And when I was most charmed with listening to the birds, lo, a murmuring voice was heard through the valley, approaching me, and saying, 'Oh, Knight, what has brought thee hither? What evil have I done to thee, that thou shouldest act towards me and my possessions, as thou hast this day? Dost thou not know that the shower to-day has left in my dominions neither man nor beast alive, that was exposed to it?' And thereupon, behold a Knight on a black horse appeared, clothed in jet black velvet, and with a tabard of black linen about him. And we charged each other; and as the onset was furious, it was not long before I was overthrown. Then the Knight passed the shaft of his lance through the bridle rein of my horse, and rode off with the two horses; leaving me where I was. And he did not even bestow so much notice upon me, as to imprison me, nor did he despoil me of my arms. So I returned along the road by which I had come. And when I reached the glade where the black man was, I confess to thee, Kai, it is a marvel that I did not melt down into a liquid pool, through the shame that I felt at the black man's derision. And that night I came to the same Castle, where I had spent the night preceding. And I was more agreeably entertained that night, than I had been the night before; and I was better feasted, and I conversed freely with the inmates of the Castle; and none of them alluded to my expedition to the fountain, neither did I mention it to any. And I remained there that night. When I arose on the morrow, I found ready saddled a dark-bay palfrey, with nostrils as red as scarlet. And after putting on my armour, and leaving there my blessing, I returned to my own Court. And that horse I still possess, and he is in the stable yonder. And I declare that I would not part with him for the best palfrey in the Island of Britain. "Now of a truth, Kai, no man ever before confessed to an adventure so much to his own discredit; and verily it seems strange to me, that neither before nor since have I heard of any person, besides myself, who knew of this adventure, and that the subject of it should exist within King Arthur's dominions, without any other person lighting upon it." "Now," quoth Owain, "would it not be well to go and endeavour to discover that place?" "By the hand of my friend," said Kai, "often dost thou utter that with thy tongue, which thou wouldest not make good with thy deeds." "In very truth," said Gwenhwyvar, "it were better thou wert hanged, Kai, than to use such uncourteous speech towards a man like Owain." "By the hand of my friend, good Lady," said Kai, "thy praise of Owain is not greater than mine." With that Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not been sleeping a little. "Yes, Lord," answered Owain, "thou hast slept awhile." "Is it time for us to go to meat?" "It is, Lord," said Owain. Then the horn for washing was sounded, and the King and all his household sat down to eat. And when the meal was ended, Owain withdrew to his lodging, and made ready his horse and his arms. On the morrow, with the dawn of day, he put on his armour, and mounted his charger, and travelled through distant lands, and over desert mountains. And at length he arrived at the valley which Kynon had described to him; and he was certain that it was the same that he sought. And journeying along the valley, by the side of the river, he followed its course till he came to the plain, and within sight of the Castle. When he approached the Castle, he saw the youths shooting their daggers, in the place where Kynon had seen them; and the yellow man, to whom the Castle belonged, standing hard by. And no sooner had Owain saluted the yellow man, than he was saluted by him in return. And he went forward towards the Castle, and there he saw the chamber; and when he had entered the chamber, he beheld the maidens working at satin embroidery, in chairs of gold. And their beauty, and their comeliness seemed to Owain far greater than Kynon had represented to him. And they arose to wait upon Owain, as they had done to Kynon. And the meal which they set before him, gave more satisfaction to Owain than it had done to Kynon. About the middle of the repast the yellow man asked Owain the object of his journey. And Owain made it known to him, and said, "I am in quest of the Knight who guards the fountain." Upon this, the yellow man smiled, and said that he was as loth to point out that adventure to Owain as he had been to Kynon. However he described the whole to Owain, and they retired to rest. The next morning Owain found his horse made ready for him by the damsels, and he set forward and came to the glade where the black man was. And the stature of the black man seemed more wonderful to Owain, than it had done to Kynon, and Owain asked of him his road, and he showed it to him. And Owain followed the road, as Kynon had done, till he came to the green tree; and he beheld the fountain, and the slab beside the fountain with the bowl upon it. And Owain took the bowl, and threw a bowlful of water upon the slab. And lo, the thunder was heard, and after the thunder came the shower, much more violent than Kynon had described, and after the shower, the sky became bright. And when Owain looked at the tree, there was not one leaf upon it. And immediately the birds came, and settled upon the tree, and sang. And when their song was most pleasing to Owain, he beheld a Knight coming towards him through the valley, and he prepared to receive him; and encountered him violently. Having broken both their lances, they drew their swords, and fought blade to blade. Then Owain struck the Knight a blow through his helmet, head piece and visor, and through the skin, and the flesh, and the bone, until it wounded the very brain. Then the black Knight felt that he had received a mortal wound, upon which he turned his horse's head, and fled. And Owain pursued him, and followed close upon him, although he was not near enough to strike him with his sword. Thereupon Owain descried a vast and resplendent Castle. And they came to the Castle gate. And the black Knight was allowed to enter, and the portcullis was let fall upon Owain; and it struck his horse behind the saddle, and cut him in two, and carried away the rowels of the spurs that were upon Owain's heels. And the portcullis descended to the floor. And the rowels of the spurs and part of the horse were without, and Owain, with the other part of the horse remained between the two gates, and the inner gate was closed, so that Owain could not go thence; and Owain was in a perplexing situation. And while he was in this state, he could see through an aperture in the gate, a street facing him, with a row of houses on each side. And he beheld a maiden, with yellow curling hair, and a frontlet of gold upon her head; and she was clad in a dress of yellow satin, and on her feet were shoes of variegated leather. And she approached the gate, and desired that it should be opened. "Heaven knows, Lady," said Owain, "it is no more possible for me to open to thee from hence, than it is for thee to set me free." "Truly," said the damsel, "it is very sad that thou canst not be released, and every woman ought to succour thee, for I never saw one more faithful in the service of ladies than thou. As a friend thou art the most sincere, and as a lover the most devoted. Therefore," quoth she, "whatever is in my power to do for thy release, I will do it. Take this ring and put it on thy finger, with the stone inside thy hand; and close thy hand upon the stone. And as long as thou concealest it, it will conceal thee. When they have consulted together, they will come forth to fetch thee, in order to put thee to death; {27} and they will be much grieved that they cannot find thee. And I will await thee on the horseblock yonder; and thou wilt be able to see me, though I cannot see thee; therefore come and place thy hand upon my shoulder, that I may know that thou art near me. And by the way that I go hence, do thou accompany me." Then she went away from Owain, and he did all that the maiden had told him. And the people of the Castle came to seek Owain, to put him to death, and when they found nothing but the half of his horse, they were sorely grieved. And Owain vanished from among them, and went to the maiden, and placed his hand upon her shoulder, whereupon she set off, and Owain followed her, until they came to the door of a large and beautiful chamber, and the maiden opened it, and they went in, and closed the door. And Owain looked around the chamber, and behold there was not even a single nail in it, that was not painted with gorgeous colours; and there was not a single panel, that had not sundry images {28} in gold portrayed upon it. The maiden kindled a fire, and took water in a silver bowl, and put a towel of white linen on her shoulder, and gave Owain water to wash. Then she placed before him a silver table, inlaid with gold; upon which was a cloth of yellow linen; and she brought him food. And of a truth, Owain never saw any kind of meat that was not there in abundance, but it was better cooked there, than he ever found it in any other place. Nor did he ever see so excellent a display of meat and drink as there. And there was not one vessel from which he was served, that was not of gold, or of silver. And Owain ate and drank, until late in the afternoon, when lo, they heard a mighty clamour in the Castle; and Owain asked the maiden what that outcry was. "They are administering extreme unction," said she, "to the Nobleman who owns the Castle." And Owain went to sleep. The couch which the maiden had prepared for him was meet for Arthur himself; it was of scarlet, and fur, and satin, and sendall, and fine linen. In the middle of the night they heard a woeful outcry. "What outcry again is this?" said Owain. "The Nobleman who owned the Castle is now dead," said the maiden. And a little after daybreak, they heard an exceeding loud clamour and wailing. And Owain asked the maiden what was the cause of it. "They are bearing to the church, the body of the Nobleman who owned the Castle." And Owain rose up, and clothed himself, and opened a window of the chamber, and looked towards the Castle; and he could see neither the bounds, nor the extent of the hosts that filled the streets. And they were fully armed; and a vast number of women were with them, both on horseback, and on foot; and all the ecclesiastics in the city, singing. And it seemed to Owain that the sky resounded with the vehemence of their cries, and with the noise of the trumpets, and with the singing of the ecclesiastics. {29a} In the midst of the throng, he beheld the bier, over which was a veil of white linen; and wax tapers were burning beside, and around it, and none that supported the bier was lower in rank than a powerful {29b} Baron. Never did Owain see an assemblage so gorgeous with satin, and silk, and sendall. And following the train, he beheld a lady with yellow hair falling over her shoulders, and stained with blood; and about her a dress of yellow satin, which was torn. Upon her feet were shoes of variegated leather. And it was a marvel that the ends of her fingers were not bruised, from the violence with which she smote her hands together. Truly she would have been the fairest lady Owain ever saw, had she been in her usual guise. And her cry was louder than the shout of the men, or the clamour of the trumpets. {30} No sooner had he beheld the lady, than he became inflamed with her love, so that it took entire possession of him. Then he enquired of the maiden who the lady was. "Heaven knows," replied the maiden, "she may be said to be the fairest, and the most chaste, and the most liberal, and the wisest, and the most noble of women. And she is my mistress; and she is called the Countess of the Fountain, the wife of him whom thou didst slay yesterday." "Verily," said Owain, "she is the woman that I love best." "Verily," said the maiden, "she shall also love thee not a little." And with that the maid arose, and kindled a fire, and filled a pot with water, and placed it to warm; and she brought a towel of white linen, and placed it around Owain's neck; and she took a goblet of ivory, and a silver basin, and filled them with warm water, wherewith she washed Owain's head. Then she opened a wooden casket, and drew forth a razor, whose haft was of ivory, and upon which were two rivets of gold. And she shaved his beard, and she dried his head, and his throat, with the towel. Then she rose up from before Owain, and brought him to eat. And truly Owain had never so good a meal, nor was he ever so well served. When he had finished his repast, the maiden arranged his couch. "Come here," said she, "and sleep, and I will go and woo for thee." And Owain went to sleep, and the maiden shut the door of the chamber after her, and went towards the Castle. When she came there, she found nothing but mourning, and sorrow; and the Countess in her chamber could not bear the sight of any one through grief. Luned came and saluted her, but the Countess answered her not. And the maiden bent down towards her, and said, "What aileth thee, that thou answerest no one to-day?" "Luned," said the Countess, "what change hath befallen thee, that thou hast not come to visit me in my grief? It was wrong in thee, and I having made thee rich; it was wrong in thee that thou didst not come to see me in my distress. That was wrong in thee." "Truly," said Luned, "I thought thy good sense was greater than I find it to be. Is it well for thee to mourn after that good man, or for anything else, that thou canst not have?" "I declare to heaven," said the Countess, "that in the whole world there is not a man equal to him." "Not so," said Luned, "for an ugly man would be as good as, or better than he." {31} "I declare to heaven," said the Countess, "that were it not repugnant to me to cause to be put to death one whom I have brought up, I would have thee executed, for making such a comparison to me. As it is, I will banish thee." "I am glad," said Luned, "that thou hast no other cause to do so, than that I would have been of service to thee when thou didst not know what was to thine advantage. And henceforth evil betide whichever of us shall make the first advance towards reconciliation to the other; whether I should seek an invitation from thee, or thou of thine own accord shouldest seek to invite me." With that Luned went forth; and the Countess arose and followed her to the door of the chamber, and began coughing loudly. And when Luned looked back, the Countess beckoned to her; and she returned to the Countess. "In truth," said the Countess, "evil is thy disposition; but if thou knowest what is to my advantage, declare it to me." "I will do so," quoth she. "Thou knowest that except by warfare and arms it is impossible for thee to preserve thy possessions; delay not, therefore, to seek some one who can defend them." "And how can I do that?" said the Countess. "I will tell thee," said Luned, "unless thou canst defend the fountain, thou canst not maintain thy dominions; and no one can defend the fountain, except it be a knight of Arthur's household; and I will go to Arthur's court, and ill betide me, if I return thence without a warrior who can guard the fountain, as well as, or even better than, he who defended it formerly." "That will be hard to perform," said the Countess. "Go, however, and make proof of that which thou hast promised." Luned set out, under the pretence of going to Arthur's court; but she went back to the chamber where she had left Owain; and she tarried there with him as long as it might have taken her to have travelled to the Court of King Arthur. And at the end of that time, she apparelled herself, and went to visit the Countess. And the Countess was much rejoiced when she saw her, and enquired what news she brought from the Court. "I bring thee the best of news," said Luned, "for I have compassed the object of my mission. When wilt thou, that I should present to thee the chieftain who has come with me hither?" "Bring him here to visit me to-morrow, at mid-day," said the Countess, "and I will cause the town to be assembled by that time." And Luned returned home. And the next day, at noon, Owain arrayed himself in a coat, and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin, upon which was a broad band of gold lace; and on his feet were high shoes of variegated leather, which were fastened by golden clasps, in the form of lions. And they proceeded to the chamber of the Countess. Right glad was the Countess of their coming. And she gazed steadfastly upon Owain, and said, "Luned, this knight has not the look of a traveller." "What harm is there in that, Lady?" said Luned. "I am certain," said the Countess, "that no other man than this, chased the soul from the body of my lord." "So much the better for thee, Lady," said Luned, "for had he not been stronger than thy lord, he could not have deprived him of life. There is no remedy for that which is past, be it as it may." "Go back to thine abode," said the Countess, "and I will take counsel." The next day, the Countess caused all her subjects to assemble, and shewed them that her Earldom was left defenceless, and that it could not be protected but with horse and arms, and military skill. "Therefore," said she, "this is what I offer for your choice: either let one of you take me, or give your consent for me to take a husband from elsewhere, to defend my dominions." So they came to the determination, that it was better that she should have permission to marry some one from elsewhere; and thereupon she sent for the Bishops and Archbishops, to celebrate her nuptials with Owain. And the men of the Earldom did Owain homage. And Owain defended the Fountain with lance and sword. And this is the manner in which he defended it. Whensoever a knight came there, he overthrew him, and sold him for his full worth. And what he thus gained, he divided among his Barons, and his Knights; and no man in the whole world could be more beloved than he was by his subjects. And it was thus for the space of three years. It befell that as Gwalchmai went forth one day with King Arthur, he perceived him to be very sad and sorrowful. And Gwalchmai was much grieved to see Arthur in this state; and he questioned him, saying, "Oh my Lord! what has befallen thee?" "In sooth, Gwalchmai," said Arthur, "I am grieved concerning Owain, whom I have lost these three years; and I shall certainly die, if the fourth year passes without my seeing him. Now I am sure, that it is through the tale which Kynon the son of Clydno related, that I have lost Owain." "There is no need for thee," said Gwalchmai, "to summon to arms thy whole dominions, on that account; for thou thyself, and the men of thy household, will be able to avenge Owain, if he be slain; or to set him free, if he be in prison; and if alive, to bring him back with thee." And it was settled, according to what Gwalchmai had said. Then Arthur and the men of his household prepared to go and seek Owain; and their number was three thousand, beside their attendants. And Kynon the son of Clydno acted as their guide. And Arthur came to the Castle, where Kynon had been before. And when he came there the youths were shooting in the same place, and the yellow man was standing hard by. When the yellow man saw Arthur, he greeted him, and invited him to the Castle. And Arthur accepted his invitation, and they entered the Castle together. And great as was the number of his retinue, their presence was scarcely observed in the Castle, so vast was its extent. And the maidens rose up to wait on them. And the service of the maidens appeared to them all to excel any attendance they had ever met with; and even the pages who had charge of the horses, were no worse served, that night, than Arthur himself would have been, in his own Palace. The next morning, Arthur set out thence, with Kynon for his guide, and came to the place where the black man was. And the stature of the black man was more surprising to Arthur, than it had been represented to him. And they came to the top of the wooded steep, and traversed the valley, till they reached the green tree; where they saw the fountain, and the bowl and the slab. And upon that, Kai came to Arthur, and spoke to him. "My Lord," said he, "I know the meaning of all this, and my request is, that thou wilt permit me to throw the water on the slab, and to receive the first advantage that may befall." And Arthur gave him leave. Then Kai threw a bowlful of water upon the slab, and immediately there came the thunder, and after the thunder the shower. And such a thunderstorm they had never known before. And many of the attendants who were in Arthur's train were killed by the shower. After the shower had ceased, the sky became clear. And on looking at the tree, they beheld it completely leafless. Then the birds descended upon the tree. And the song of the birds was far sweeter than any strain they had ever heard before. Then they beheld a Knight, on a coal-black horse, clothed in black satin, coming rapidly towards them. And Kai met him and encountered him, and it was not long before Kai was overthrown. And the Knight withdrew. {36} And Arthur and his host encamped for the night. And when they arose in the morning, they perceived the signal of combat upon the lance of the Knight; and Kai came to Arthur, and spoke to him. "My Lord," said he, "though I was overthrown yesterday, if it seem good to thee, I would gladly meet the Knight again to-day." "Thou mayst do so," said Arthur. And Kai went towards the Knight. And on the spot he overthrew Kai, {37a} and struck him with the head of his lance in the forehead, so that it broke his helmet and the headpiece, and pierced the skin, and the flesh, the breadth of the spearhead, even to the bone. And Kai returned to his companions. After this, all the household of Arthur went forth, one after the other, to combat the Knight, until there was not one that was not overthrown by him, except Arthur and Gwalchmai. And Arthur armed himself to encounter the Knight. "Oh, my lord," said Gwalchmai, "permit me to fight with him first." And Arthur permitted him. And he went forth to meet the Knight, having over himself and his horse, a satin robe of honour which had been sent him by the daughter of the Earl of Rhangyw, and in this dress he was not known by any of the host. And they charged each other, and fought all that day until the evening. And neither of them was able to unhorse the other. The next day they fought with strong lances; and neither of them could obtain the mastery. And the third day they fought with exceeding strong lances. And they were increased with rage, and fought furiously, even until noon. And they gave each other such a shock, that the girths of their horses were broken, so that they fell over their horses' cruppers to the ground. And they rose up speedily, and drew their swords, and resumed the combat. {37b} And the multitude that witnessed the encounter felt assured that they had never before seen two men so valiant, or so powerful. And had it been midnight, it would have been light from the fire that flashed from their weapons. And the Knight gave Gwalchmai a blow that turned his helmet from off his face, so that the Knight knew that it was Gwalchmai. Then Owain said, "My lord Gwalchmai, I did not know thee for my cousin, owing to the robe of honour, that enveloped thee; take my sword and my arms." Said Gwalchmai, "Thou, Owain, art the victor; take thou my sword." And with that Arthur saw that they were conversing, and advanced towards them. "My lord Arthur," said Gwalchmai, "here is Owain, who has vanquished me, and will not take my arms." "My lord," said Owain, "it is he that has vanquished me, and he will not take my sword." "Give me your swords," said Arthur, "and then neither of you has vanquished the other." Then Owain put his arms around Arthur's neck, and they embraced. And all the host hurried forward to see Owain, and to embrace him. And there was nigh being a loss of life, so great was the press. And they retired that night, and the next day Arthur prepared to depart. "My lord," said Owain, "this is not well of thee. For I have been absent from thee these three years, {38} and during all that time, up to this very day, I have been preparing a banquet for thee, knowing that thou wouldest come to seek me. Tarry with me therefore, until thou and thy attendants have recovered the fatigues of the journey, and have been anointed." And they all proceeded to the Castle of the Countess of the Fountain, and the banquet which had been three years preparing was consumed in three months. Never had they a more delicious or agreeable banquet. And Arthur prepared to depart. Then he sent an embassy to the Countess, to beseech her to permit Owain to go with him, for the space of three months, that he might shew him to the nobles, and the fair dames of the Island of Britain. And the Countess gave her consent, although it was very painful to her. So Owain came with Arthur to the Island of Britain. And when he was once more amongst his kindred and friends, he remained three years, instead of three months, with them. * * * * * And as Owain one day sat at meat, in the City of Caerlleon upon Usk, behold a damsel entered, upon a bay horse, with a curling mane, and covered with foam; and the bridle, and as much as was seen of the saddle, were of gold. And the damsel was arrayed in a dress of yellow satin. And she went up to Owain, and took the ring from off his hand. "Thus," said she, "shall be treated the deceiver, the traitor, the faithless, the disgraced, and the beardless." {39} And she turned her horse's head, and departed. Then his adventure came to Owain's remembrance, and he was sorrowful. And having finished eating, he went to his own abode, and made preparations that night. And the next day he arose, but did not go to the Court, but wandered to the distant parts of the earth, and to uncultivated mountains. And he remained there until all his apparel was worn out, and his body was wasted away, and his hair was grown long. And he went about with the wild beasts, and fed with them, until they became familiar with him. But at length he grew so weak, that he could no longer bear them company. Then he descended from the mountains to the valley, and came to a park, that was the fairest in the world, and belonged to a widowed Countess. One day the Countess and her maidens went forth to walk by a lake, that was in the middle of the park. And they saw the form of a man. And they were terrified. Nevertheless they went near him, and touched him, and looked at him. And they saw that there was life in him, though he was exhausted by the heat of the sun. And the Countess returned to the Castle, and took a flask full of precious ointment, and gave it to one of her maidens. "Go with this," said she, "and take with thee yonder horse, and clothing, and place them near the man we saw just now. And anoint him with this balsam, near his heart; and if there is life in him, he will arise, through the efficacy of this balsam. Then watch what he will do." And the maiden departed from her, and poured the whole of the balsam upon Owain, and left the horse and the garments hard by, and went a little way off, and hid herself, to watch him. In a short time she saw him begin to move his arms; and he arose up, and looked at his person, and became ashamed of the unseemliness of his appearance. Then he perceived the horse and the garments, that were near him. And he crept forward till he was able to draw the garments to him from off the saddle. And he clothed himself, and with difficulty mounted the horse. Then the damsel discovered herself to him, and saluted him. And he was rejoiced when he saw her, and enquired of her, what land and what territory that was. "Truly," said the maiden, "a widowed Countess owns yonder Castle; at the death of her husband, he left her two Earldoms, but at this day she has but this one dwelling that has not been wrested from her, by a young Earl, who is her neighbour, because she refused to become his wife." "That is pity," said Owain. And he and the maiden proceeded to the Castle; and he alighted there, and the maiden conducted him to a pleasant chamber, and kindled a fire, and left him. And the maiden came to the Countess, and gave the flask into her hand. "Ha! maiden," said the Countess, "where is all the balsam?" "Have I not used it all?" said she. "Oh, maiden," said the Countess, "I cannot easily forgive thee this; it is sad for me to have wasted seven-score pounds' worth of precious ointment, upon a stranger whom I know not. However, maiden, wait thou upon him, until he is quite recovered." And the maiden did so, and furnished him with meat and drink, and fire, and lodging, and medicaments, until he was well again. And in three months he was restored to his former guise, and became even more comely, than he had ever been before. One day Owain heard a great tumult, and a sound of arms in the Castle, and he enquired of the maiden the cause thereof. "The Earl," said she, "whom I mentioned to thee, has come before the Castle, with a numerous army, to subdue the Countess." And Owain enquired of her whether the Countess had a horse and arms, in her possession. "She has the best in the world," said the maiden. "Wilt thou go and request the loan of a horse and arms for me," said Owain, "that I may go and look at this army?" "I will," said the maiden. And she came to the Countess, and told her what Owain had said. And the Countess laughed. "Truly," said she, "I will even give him a horse and arms, for ever; such a horse and such arms, had he never yet, and I am glad that they should be taken by him to-day, lest my enemies should have them against my will to-morrow. Yet I know not what he would do with them." The Countess bade them bring out a beautiful black steed, upon which was a beechen saddle, and a suit of armour, for man and horse. And Owain armed himself, and mounted the horse, and went forth, attended by two pages completely equipped, with horses and arms. And when they came near to the Earl's army, they could see neither its extent, nor its extremity. And Owain asked the pages in which troop the Earl was. "In yonder troop," said they, "in which are four yellow standards. Two of them are before, and two behind him." "Now," said Owain, "do you return and await me near the portal of the Castle." So they returned, and Owain pressed forward, until he met the Earl. And Owain drew him completely out of his saddle, and turned his horse's head towards the Castle, and, though it was with difficulty, he brought the Earl to the portal, where the pages awaited him. And in they came. And Owain presented the Earl as a gift to the Countess. And said to her, "Behold a requittal to thee for thy blessed balsam." The army encamped around the Castle. And the Earl restored to the Countess the two Earldoms, he had taken from her, as a ransom for his life; and for his freedom, he gave her the half of his own dominions, and all his gold, and his silver, and his jewels, besides hostages. And Owain took his departure. And the Countess and all her subjects besought him to remain, but Owain chose rather to wander through distant lands and deserts. And as he journeyed, he heard a loud yelling in a wood. And it was repeated a second and a third time. And Owain went towards the spot, and behold a huge craggy mound, in the middle of the wood; on the side of which was a grey rock. And there was a cleft in the rock, and a serpent was within the cleft. And near the rock, stood a black lion, and every time the lion sought to go thence, the serpent darted towards him to attack him. And Owain unsheathed his sword, and drew near to the rock; and as the serpent sprung out, he struck him with his sword, and cut him in two. And he dried his sword, and went on his way, as before. But behold the lion followed him, and played about him, as though it had been a greyhound, that he had reared. They proceeded thus throughout the day, until the evening. And when it was time for Owain to take his rest, he dismounted, and turned his horse loose in a flat and wooded meadow. And he struck fire, and when the fire was kindled, the lion brought him fuel enough to last for three nights. And the lion disappeared. And presently the lion returned, bearing a fine large roebuck. And he threw it down before Owain, who went towards the fire with it. And Owain took the roebuck, and skinned it, and placed collops of its flesh upon skewers, around the fire. The rest of the buck he gave to the lion to devour. While he was doing this, he heard a deep sigh near him, and a second, and a third. And Owain called out to know whether the sigh he heard proceeded from a mortal; and he received answer, that it did. "Who art thou?" said Owain. "Truly," said the voice, "I am Luned, the hand-maiden of the Countess of the Fountain." "And what dost thou here?" said Owain. "I am imprisoned," said she, "on account of the knight who came from Arthur's Court, and married the Countess. And he staid a short time with her, but he afterwards departed for the Court of Arthur, and he has not returned since. And he was the friend I loved best in the world. And two of the pages of the Countess's chamber, traduced him, and called him a deceiver. And I told them that they two were not a match for him alone. So they imprisoned me in the stone vault, and said that I should be put to death, unless he came himself, to deliver me, by a certain day; and that is no further off, than the day after to-morrow. And I have no one to send to seek him for me. And his name is Owain the son of Urien." "And art thou certain, that if that knight knew all this, he would come to thy rescue?" "I am most certain of it," said she. When the collops were cooked, Owain divided them into two parts, between himself and the maiden; and after they had eaten, they talked together until the day dawned. And the next morning Owain enquired of the damsel, if there was any place where he could get food and entertainment for that night. "There is, lord," said she; "cross over yonder, and go along the side of the river, and in a short time, thou wilt see a great Castle, in which are many towers. And the Earl who owns that Castle, is the most hospitable man in the world. There thou mayest spend the night." Never did sentinel keep stricter watch over his lord, than the lion that night over Owain. And Owain accoutred his horse, and passed across by the ford, and came in the sight of the Castle. And he entered it, and was honourably received. And his horse was well cared for, and plenty of fodder was placed before him. Then the lion went and laid down in the horse's manger; so that none of the people of the Castle dared to approach him. The treatment which Owain met with there, was such as he had never known elsewhere, for every one was as sorrowful, as though death had been upon him. {45} And they went to meat. And the Earl sat upon one side of Owain; and on the other side his only daughter. And Owain had never seen any more lovely than she. Then the lion came and placed himself between Owain's feet, and he fed him with every kind of food, that he took himself. And he never saw any thing equal to the sadness of the people. In the middle of the repast, the Earl began to bid Owain welcome. "Then," said Owain, "behold it is time for thee to be cheerful." "Heaven knows," said the Earl, "that it is not thy coming that makes us sorrowful, but we have cause enough for sadness and care." "What is that?" said Owain. "I have two sons," replied the Earl, "and yesterday they went to the mountains to hunt. Now there is on the mountain a monster, who kills men and devours them. And he seized my sons. And to-morrow is the time he has fixed to be here, and he threatens that he will then slay my sons before my eyes, unless I will deliver into his hands this my daughter. {46a} He has the form of a man, but in stature he is no less than a giant." "Truly," said Owain, "that is lamentable. And which wilt thou do?" "Heaven knows," said the Earl, "it will be better that my sons should be slain, against my will, than I should voluntarily give up my daughter to him to ill-treat and destroy." Then they talked about other things, and Owain staid there that night. The next morning, they heard an exceeding great clamour, which was caused by the coming of the giant, with the two youths. And the Earl was anxious both to protect his Castle, and to release his two sons. {46b} Then Owain put on his armour, and went forth to encounter the giant; and the lion followed him. And when the giant saw that Owain was armed, he rushed towards him, and attacked him. And the lion fought with the giant, much more fiercely than Owain did. "Truly," said the giant, "I should find no difficulty in fighting with thee, were it not for the animal that is with thee." Upon that Owain took the lion back to the Castle, and shut the gate upon him. And then he returned to fight the giant, as before. And the lion roared very loud, for he heard that it went hard with Owain. And he climbed up, till he reached the top of the Earl's Hall; and thence he got to the top of the Castle, and he sprang down from the walls, and went and joined Owain. And the lion gave the giant a stroke with his paw, which tore him from his shoulder to his hip, and his heart was laid bare. And the giant fell down dead. Then Owain restored the two youths to their father. The Earl besought Owain to remain with him, and he would not, but set forward towards the meadow, where Luned was. And when he came there, he saw a great fire kindled, and two youths with beautiful curling auburn hair, were leading the maiden to cast her into the fire. And Owain asked them what charge they had against her. And they told him of the compact {47} that was between them; as the maiden had done the night before. "And," said they, "Owain has failed her, therefore we are taking her to be burnt." "Truly," said Owain, "he is a good knight, and if he knew that the maiden was in such peril, I marvel that he came not to her rescue. But if you will accept me in his stead, I will do battle with you." "We will," said the youths, "by him who made us." And they attacked Owain, and he was hard beset by them. And with that the lion came to Owain's assistance; and they two got the better of the young men. And they said to him, "Chieftain, it was not agreed that we should fight, save with thyself alone, and it is harder for us to contend with yonder animal, than with thee." And Owain put the lion in the place where the maiden had been imprisoned, and blocked up the door with stones. And he went to fight with the young men as before. But Owain had not his usual strength, {48} and the two youths pressed hard upon him. And the lion roared incessantly at seeing Owain in trouble. And he burst through the wall, until he found a way out, and rushed upon the young men, and instantly slew them. So Luned was saved from being burned. Then Owain returned with Luned, to the dominions of the Countess of the Fountain. And when he went thence, he took the Countess with him to Arthur's Court, and she was his wife as long as she lived. And they took the road that led to the Court of the savage black man. And Owain fought with him, and the lion did not quit Owain, until he had vanquished him. And when he reached the Court of the savage black man, he entered the hall: and beheld four and twenty ladies, the fairest that could be seen. And the garments which they had on, were not worth four and twenty pence. And they were as sorrowful as death. And Owain asked them the cause of their sadness. And they said, "We are the daughters of Earls, and we all came here, with our husbands, whom we dearly loved. And we were received with honour and rejoicing. And we were thrown into a state of stupor, and while we were thus, the demon who owns this Castle, slew all our husbands, and took from us our horses, and our raiment, and our gold, and our silver. And the corpses of our husbands are still in this house, and many others with them. And this, Chieftain, is the cause of our grief, and we are sorry that thou art come hither, lest harm should befall thee." And Owain was grieved, when he heard this. And he went forth from the Castle, and he beheld a Knight approaching him, who saluted him, in a friendly and cheerful manner, as if he had been a brother. And this was the savage black man. "In very sooth," said Owain, "it is not to seek thy friendship that I am here." "In sooth," said he, "thou shalt not find it then." And with that they charged each other, and fought furiously. And Owain overcame him, and bound his hands behind his back. Then the black savage besought Owain to spare his life, and spoke thus, "My lord Owain," said he, "it was foretold, that thou shouldst come hither and vanquish me, and thou hast done so. I was a robber here, and my house was a house of spoil. But grant me my life, and I will become the keeper of an Hospice, and I will maintain this house as an Hospice for weak and for strong, as long as I live, for the good of thy soul." And Owain accepted the proposal of him, and remained there that night. And the next day he took the four and twenty ladies, and their horses, and their raiment, and what they possessed of goods, and jewels, and proceeded with them to Arthur's Court. And if Arthur was rejoiced when he saw him, after he had lost him the first time, his joy was now much greater. And of those ladies, such as wished to remain in Arthur's Court, remained there; and such as wished to depart, departed. And thenceforward Owain dwelt at Arthur's Court, greatly beloved as the head of his household, until he went away with his followers; and those were the army of three hundred ravens which Kenverchyn had left him. And wherever Owain went with these, he was victorious. And this is the tale of THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN. PEREDUR THE SON OF EVRAWC. Earl Evrawc owned the Earldom of the North. And he had seven sons. And Evrawc maintained himself not so much by his own possessions as by attending tournaments, and wars, and combats. And, as it often befalls those who join in encounters and wars, he was slain, and six of his sons likewise. Now the name of his seventh son was Peredur, and he was the youngest of them. And he was not of an age to go to wars and encounters, otherwise he might have been slain as his father and brothers. His mother was a scheming and thoughtful woman, and she was very solicitous concerning this her only son and his {52} possessions. So she took counsel with herself to leave the inhabited country, and to flee to the deserts and unfrequented wildernesses. And she permitted none to bear her company thither but women and boys, and spiritless men, who were both unaccustomed and unequal to war and fighting. And none dared to bring either horses or arms where her son was, lest he should set his mind upon them. And the youth went daily to divert himself in the forest, by flinging sticks and staves. And one day he saw his mother's flock of goats, and near the goats two hinds were standing. And he marvelled greatly that these two should be without horns, while the others had them. And he thought they had long run wild and on that account they had lost their horns. And by activity and swiftness of foot, he drove the hinds and the goats together into the house which there was for the goats at the extremity of the forest. Then Peredur returned to his mother. "Ah, mother," said he, "a marvellous thing have I seen in the wood; two of thy goats have run wild, and lost their horns; through their having been so long missing in the wood. And no man had ever more trouble than I had to drive them in." Then they all arose and went to see. And when they beheld the hinds, they were greatly astonished. And one day they saw three knights coming along the horse-road on the borders of the forest. And the three knights were Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Geneir Gwystyl, and Owain the son of Urien. And Owain kept on the track of the knight who had divided the apples in Arthur's Court, whom they were in pursuit of. "Mother," said Peredur, "what are those yonder?" "They are angels, my son," said she. "By my faith," said Peredur, "I will go and become an angel with them." And Peredur went to the road, and met them. "Tell me, good soul," said Owain, "sawest thou a knight pass this way, either to-day or yesterday?" "I know not," answered he, "what a knight is." "Such an one as I am," said Owain. "If thou wilt tell me what I ask thee, I will tell thee that which thou askest me." "Gladly will I do so," replied Owain. "What is this?" demanded Peredur, concerning the saddle. "It is a saddle," said Owain. Then he asked about all the accoutrements which he saw upon the men, and the horses, and the arms, and what they were for, and how they were used. And Owain shewed him all these things fully, and told him what use was made of them. "Go forward," said Peredur, "for I saw such an one as thou enquirest for, and I will follow thee." Then Peredur returned to his mother and her company, and he said to her, "Mother, those were not angels, but honourable knights." Then his mother swooned away. And Peredur went to the place where they kept the horses that carried firewood, and that brought meat and drink from the inhabited country to the desert. And he took a bony piebald horse, which seemed to him the strongest of them. And he pressed a pack into the form of a saddle, and with twisted twigs he imitated the trappings which he had seen upon the horses. And when Peredur came again to his mother, the Countess had recovered from her swoon. "My son," said she, "desirest thou to ride forth?" "Yes, with thy leave," said he. "Wait then, that I may counsel thee before thou goest." "Willingly," he answered, "speak quickly." "Go forward," then she said, "to the Court of Arthur, where there are the best, and the boldest, and the most bountiful of men. And wherever thou seest a church, repeat there thy Paternoster unto it. And if thou see meat and drink, and hast need of them, and none have the kindness or the courtesy to give them to thee, take them thyself. If thou hear an outcry, proceed towards it, especially if it be the outcry of a woman. If thou see a fair jewel, possess thyself of it, and give it to another, for thus thou shalt obtain praise. If thou see a fair woman, pay thy court to her, whether she will or no; for thus thou wilt render thyself a better and more esteemed man than thou wast before." After this discourse, Peredur mounted the horse, and taking a handful of sharp pointed forks in his hand, he rode forth. And he journeyed two days and two nights in the woody wildernesses, and in desert places, without food and without drink. And then he came to a vast wild wood, and far within the wood he saw a fair even glade, and in the glade he saw a tent, and seeming to him to be a church, he repeated his Paternoster to the tent. And he went towards it, and the door of the tent was open. And a golden chair was near the door. And on the chair sat a lovely auburn- haired maiden, with a golden frontlet on her forehead, and sparkling stones in the frontlet, and with a large gold ring on her hand. And Peredur dismounted, and entered the tent. And the maiden was glad at his coming, and bade him welcome. At the entrance of the tent he saw food, and two flasks full of wine, and two loaves of fine wheaten flour, and collops of the flesh of the wild boar. "My mother told me," said Peredur, "wheresoever I saw meat and drink, to take it." "Take the meat and welcome, chieftain," said she. So Peredur took half of the meat and of the liquor himself, and left the rest to the maiden. And when Peredur had finished eating, he bent upon his knee before the maiden. "My mother," said he, "told me, wheresoever I saw a fair jewel, to take it." "Do so, my soul," said she. So Peredur took the ring. And he mounted his horse, and proceeded on his journey. After this, behold the knight came, to whom the tent belonged; and he was the Lord of the Glade. And he saw the track of the horse, and he said to the maiden, "Tell me who has been here since I departed." "A man," said she, "of wonderful demeanour." And she described to him what Peredur's appearance and conduct had been. "Tell me," said he, "did he offer thee any wrong?" "No," answered the maiden, "by my faith, he harmed me not." "By my faith, I do not believe thee; and until I can meet with him, and revenge the insult he has done me, and wreak my vengeance upon him, thou shalt not remain two nights in the same house." And the knight arose, and set forth to seek Peredur. Meanwhile Peredur journeyed on towards Arthur's Court. And before he reached it, another knight had been there, who gave a ring of thick gold at the door of the gate for holding his horse, and went into the Hall where Arthur and his household, and Gwenhwyvar and her maidens, were assembled. And the page of the chamber was serving Gwenhwyvar with a golden goblet. Then the knight dashed the liquor that was therein upon her face, and upon her stomacher, and gave her a violent blow on the face, and said, "If any have the boldness to dispute this goblet with me, and to avenge the insult to Gwenhwyvar, let him follow me to the meadow, and there I will await him." So the knight took his horse, and rode to the meadow. And all the household hung down their heads, lest any of them should be requested to go and avenge the insult to Gwenhwyvar. For it seemed to them, that no one would have ventured on so daring an outrage, unless he possessed such powers, through magic or charms, that none could be able to take vengeance upon him. Then, behold Peredur entered the Hall, upon the bony piebald horse, with the uncouth trappings upon it; and in this way he traversed the whole length of the Hall. {56} In the centre of the Hall stood Kai. "Tell me, tall man," said Peredur, "is that Arthur, yonder?" "What wouldest thou with Arthur?" asked Kai. "My mother told me to go to Arthur, and receive the honour of knighthood." "By my faith," said he, "thou art all too meanly equipped with horse and with arms." Thereupon he was perceived by all the household, and they threw sticks at him. Then, behold, a dwarf came forward. He had already been a year at Arthur's Court, both he and a female dwarf. They had craved harbourage of Arthur, and had obtained it; and during the whole year, neither of them had spoken a single word to any one. When the dwarf beheld Peredur, "Ha ha!" said he, "the welcome of Heaven be unto thee, goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc, the chief of warriors, and flower of knighthood." "Truly," said Kai, "thou art ill- taught to remain a year mute at Arthur's Court, with choice of society; and now, before the face of Arthur and all his household, to call out, and declare such a man as this the chief of warriors, and the flower of knighthood." And he gave him such a box on the ear, that he fell senseless to the ground. Then exclaimed the female dwarf, "Ha ha! goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc; the welcome of Heaven be unto thee, flower of knights, and light of chivalry." "Of a truth, maiden," said Kai, "thou art ill-bred to remain mute for a year at the Court of Arthur and then to speak as thou dost of such a man as this." And Kai kicked her with his foot, so that she fell to the ground senseless. "Tall man," said Peredur, "show me which is Arthur." "Hold thy peace," said Kai, "and go after the knight who went hence to the meadow, and take from him the goblet, and overthrow him, and possess thyself of his horse and arms, and then thou shalt receive the order of knighthood." "I will do so, tall man," said Peredur. So he turned his horse's head towards the meadow. And when he came there, the knight was riding up and down, proud of his strength, and valour, and noble mien. "Tell me," said the knight, "didst thou see any one coming after me from the Court?" "The tall man that was there," said he, "desired me to come, and overthrow thee, and to take from thee the goblet, and thy horse and thy armour for myself." "Silence," said the knight; "go back to the Court, and tell Arthur, from me, either to come himself, or to send some other to fight with me; and unless he do so quickly, I will not wait for him." "By my faith," said Peredur, "choose thou whether it shall be willingly or unwillingly, but I will have the horse, and the arms, and the goblet." And upon this the knight ran at him furiously, and struck him a violent blow {58} with the shaft of his spear, between the neck and the shoulder. "Ha ha! lad," said Peredur, "my mother's servants were not used to play with me in this wise; therefore, thus will I play with thee." And thereupon he struck him with a sharp pointed fork, and it hit him in the eye, and came out at the back of his neck, so that he instantly fell down lifeless. "Verily," said Owain the son of Urien to Kai, "thou wert ill advised, when thou didst send that madman after the knight, for one of two things must befall him. He must either be overthrown, or slain. If he is overthrown by the knight, he will be counted by him to be an honourable person of the Court, and an eternal disgrace will it be to Arthur and his warriors. And if he is slain, the disgrace will be the same, and moreover, his sin will be upon him; therefore will I go to see what has befallen him." So Owain went to the meadow, and he found Peredur dragging the man about. "What art thou doing thus?" said Owain. "This iron coat," said Peredur, "will never come from off him; not by my efforts, at any rate." {59a} And Owain unfastened his armour and his clothes. "Here, my good soul," said he, "is a horse and armour better than thine. Take them joyfully, and come with me to Arthur, to receive the order of knighthood, for thou dost merit it." "May I never shew my face again, if I go," said Peredur, "but take thou the goblet to Gwenhwyvar, and tell Arthur, that wherever I am, I will be his vassal, and will do him what profit and service I am able. And say that I will not come to his Court, until I have encountered the tall man that is there, to avenge the injury he did to the dwarf and dwarfess." And Owain went back to the Court, and related all these things to Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, and to all the household. {59b} And Peredur rode forward. And as he proceeded, behold a knight met him. "Whence comest thou?" said the knight. "I come from Arthur's Court," said Peredur. "Art thou one of his men?" asked he. "Yes, by my faith," he answered. "A good service, truly, is that of Arthur." "Wherefore sayest thou so?" said Peredur. "I will tell thee," said he, "I have always been Arthur's enemy, and all such of his men as I have ever encountered, I have slain." And without further parlance, they fought, and it was not long before Peredur brought him to the ground, over his horse's crupper. Then the knight besought his mercy. "Mercy thou shalt have," said Peredur, "if thou wilt make oath to me, that thou wilt go to Arthur's Court, and tell him that it was I that overthrew thee, for the honour of his service; and say that I will never come to the Court, until I have avenged the insult offered to the dwarf and dwarfess." The knight pledged him his faith of this, and proceeded to the Court of Arthur, and said as he had promised, and conveyed the threat to Kai. And Peredur rode forward. And within that week he encountered sixteen knights, and overthrew them all shamefully. And they all went to Arthur's Court, taking with them the same message which the first knight had conveyed from Peredur, and the same threat which he had sent to Kai. And thereupon Kai was reproved by Arthur; and Kai was greatly grieved thereat. And Peredur rode forward. And he came to a vast and desert wood, on the confines of which was a lake. And on the other side was a fair castle. And on the border of the lake he saw a venerable hoary-headed man sitting upon a velvet cushion, and having a garment of velvet upon him. And his attendants were fishing in the lake. When the hoary-headed man beheld Peredur approaching, he arose, and went towards the castle. And the old man was lame. Peredur rode to the palace, and the door was open, and he entered the hall. And there was the hoary-headed man sitting on a cushion, and a large blazing fire burning before him. And the household and the company arose to meet Peredur, and disarrayed him. And the man asked the youth to sit on the cushion; and they sat down, and conversed together. When it was time, the tables were laid, and they went to meat. And when they had finished their meal, the man enquired of Peredur, if he knew well how to fight with the sword. "I know not," said Peredur, "but were I to be taught, doubtless I should." "Whoever can play well with the cudgel and shield, will also be able to fight with a sword." And the man had two sons; the one had yellow hair, and the other auburn. "Arise, youth," said he, "and play with the cudgel and the shield." And so did they. "Tell me, my soul," said the man, "which of the youths thinkest thou plays best?" "I think," said Peredur, "that the yellow-haired youth could draw blood from the other, if he chose." "Arise thou, my life, and take the cudgel and the shield from the hand of the youth with the auburn hair, and draw blood from the yellow-haired youth, if thou canst." So Peredur arose, and went to play with the yellow-haired youth; and he lifted up his arm, and struck him such a mighty blow, that his brow fell over his eye, and the blood flowed forth. "Ah, my life," said the man, "come now, and sit down, for thou wilt become the best fighter with the sword of any in this island; and I am thy uncle, thy mother's brother. And with me shalt thou remain a space, in order to learn the manners and customs of different countries, and courtesy, and gentleness, and noble bearing. Leave, then, the habits and the discourse of thy mother, and I will be thy teacher; and I will raise thee to the rank of knight from this time forward. And thus do thou. If thou seest aught to cause thee wonder, ask not the meaning of it; if no one has the courtesy to inform thee, the reproach will not fall upon thee, but upon me that am thy teacher." And they had abundance of honour and service. And when it was time, they went to sleep. At the break of day, Peredur arose, and took his horse, and with his uncle's permission, he rode forth. And he came to a vast desert wood, and at the further end of the wood was a meadow, and on the other side of the meadow he saw a large castle. And thitherward Peredur bent his way, and he found the gate open, and he proceeded to the hall. And he beheld a stately hoary-headed man sitting on one side of the hall, and many pages around him, who arose to receive and to honour Peredur. And they placed him by the side of the owner of the palace. Then they discoursed together; and when it was time to eat, they caused Peredur to sit beside the nobleman during the repast. And when they had eaten and drank as much as they desired, the nobleman asked Peredur, whether he could fight with a sword? "Were I to receive instruction," said Peredur, "I think I could." Now, there was on the floor of the hall a huge staple, as large as a warrior could grasp. "Take yonder sword," said the man to Peredur, "and strike the iron staple." So Peredur arose, and struck the staple, so that he cut it in two; and the sword broke into two parts also. "Place the two parts together, and reunite them," and Peredur placed them together, and they became entire as they were before. And a second time he struck upon the staple, so that both it and the sword broke in two, and as before they reunited. And the third time he gave a like blow, and placed the broken parts together, and neither the staple nor the sword would unite, as before. "Youth," said the nobleman, "come now, and sit down, and my blessing be upon thee. Thou fightest best with the sword of any man in the kingdom. Thou hast arrived at two-thirds of thy strength, and the other third thou hast not yet obtained; and when thou attainest to thy full power, none will be able to contend with thee. I am thy uncle, thy mother's brother, and I am brother {62} to the man in whose house thou wast last night." Then Peredur and his uncle discoursed together, and he beheld two youths enter the hall, and proceed up to the chamber, bearing a spear of mighty size, with three streams of blood flowing from the point to the ground. And when all the company saw this, they began wailing and lamenting. But for all that, the man did not break off his discourse with Peredur. And as he did not tell Peredur the meaning of what he saw, he forebore to ask him concerning it. And when the clamour had a little subsided, behold two maidens entered, with a large salver between them, in which was a man's head, surrounded by a profusion of blood. And thereupon the company of the court made so great an outcry, that it was irksome to be in the same hall with them. But at length they were silent. And when time was that they should sleep, Peredur was brought into a fair chamber. And the next day, with his uncle's permission, he rode forth. And he came to a wood, and far within the wood he heard a loud cry, and he saw a beautiful woman with auburn hair, and a horse with a saddle upon it, standing near her, and a corpse by her side. And as she strove to place the corpse upon the horse, it fell to the ground, and thereupon she made a great lamentation. "Tell me, sister," said Peredur, "wherefore art thou bewailing?" "Oh! accursed Peredur, little pity has my ill fortune ever met with from thee." "Wherefore," said Peredur, "am I accursed?" "Because thou wast the cause of thy mother's death; for when thou didst ride forth against her will, anguish seized upon her heart, so that she died; and therefore art thou accursed. And the dwarf and the dwarfess that thou sawest at Arthur's Court, were the dwarfs of thy father and mother; and I am thy foster-sister, and this was my wedded husband, and he was slain by the knight that is in the glade in the wood; and do not thou go near him, lest thou shouldest be slain by him likewise." "My sister, thou dost reproach me wrongfully; through my having so long remained amongst you, I shall scarcely vanquish him; and had I continued longer it would, indeed, be difficult for me to succeed. Cease, therefore, thy lamenting, for it is of no avail, and I will bury the body, and then I will go in quest of the knight, and see if I can do vengeance upon him." And when he had buried the body, they went to the place where the knight was, and found him riding proudly along the glade; and he enquired of Peredur whence he came. "I come from Arthur's Court." "And art thou one of Arthur's men?" "Yes, by my faith." "A profitable alliance, truly, is that of Arthur." And without further parlance, they encountered one another, and immediately Peredur overthrew the knight, and he besought mercy of Peredur. "Mercy shall thou have," said he, "upon these terms, that thou take this woman in marriage, and do her all the honour and reverence in thy power, seeing thou hast, without cause, slain her wedded husband; and that thou go to Arthur's Court, and shew him that it was I that overthrew thee, to do him honour and service; and that thou tell him that I will never come to his Court again until I have met with the tall man that is there, to take vengeance upon him for his insult to the dwarf and the dwarfess." And he took the knight's assurance, that he would perform all this. Then the knight provided the lady with a horse and garments that were suitable for her, and took her with him to Arthur's Court. And he told Arthur all that had occurred, and gave the defiance to Kai. And Arthur and all his household reproved Kai, for having driven such a youth as Peredur from his Court. Said Owain the son of Urien, "This youth will never come into the Court until Kai has gone forth from it." "By my faith," said Arthur, "I will search all the deserts in the island of Britain, until I find Peredur, and then let him and his adversary do their utmost to each other." Then Peredur rode forward. And he came to a desert wood, where he saw not the track either of men or animals, and where there was nothing but bushes and weeds. And at the upper end of the wood he saw a vast castle, wherein were many strong towers; and when he came near the gate, he found the weeds taller than he had done elsewhere. And he struck the gate with the shaft of his lance, and thereupon behold a lean auburn-haired youth came to an opening in the battlements. "Choose thou, chieftain," said he. "Whether shall I open the gate unto thee, or shall I announce unto those that are chief, that thou art at the gateway?" "Say that I am here," said Peredur, "and if it is desired that I should enter, I will go in." And the youth came back, and opened the gate for Peredur. And when he went into the hall, he beheld eighteen youths, lean and red-headed, of the same height and of the same aspect, and of the same dress, and of the same age as the one who had opened the gate for him. And they were well skilled in courtesy and in service. And they disarrayed him. Then they sat down to discourse. Thereupon, behold five maidens came from the chamber into the hall. And Peredur was certain that he had never seen another of so fair an aspect as the chief of the maidens. And she had an old garment of satin upon her, which had once been handsome, but was then so tattered, that her skin could be seen through it. And whiter was her skin than the bloom of crystal, and her hair and her two eyebrows were blacker than jet, and on her cheeks were two red spots, redder than whatever is reddest. And the maiden welcomed Peredur, and put her arms about his neck, and made him sit down beside her. Not long after this he saw two nuns enter and a flask full of wine was borne by one, and six loaves of white bread by the other. "Lady," said they, "Heaven is witness, that there is not so much of food and liquor as this left in yonder Convent this night." Then they went to meat, and Peredur observed that the maiden wished to give more of the food and of the liquor to him than to any of the others. "My sister," said Peredur, "I will share out the food and the liquor." "Not so, my soul," said she. "By my faith, but I will." So Peredur took the bread, and he gave an equal portion of it to each alike, as well as a cup full of the liquor. And when it was time for them to sleep, a chamber was prepared for Peredur, and he went to rest. "Behold, sister," said the youths to the fairest and most exalted of the maidens, "we have counsel for thee." "What may it be?" she enquired. "Go to the youth that is in the upper chamber, and offer to become his wife, or the lady of his love, if it seem well to him." "That were indeed unfitting," said she. "Hitherto I have not been the lady love of any knight, and to make him such an offer before I am wooed by him, that, truly, can I not do." "By our confession to Heaven, unless thou actest thus, we will leave thee here to thy enemies, to do as they will with thee." And through fear of this, the maiden went forth; and shedding tears, she proceeded to the chamber. And with the noise of the door opening, Peredur awoke; and the maiden was weeping and lamenting. "Tell me, my sister," said Peredur, "wherefore dost thou weep?" "I will tell thee, lord," said she, "my father possessed these dominions as their chief, and this palace was his, and with it he held the best earldom in the kingdom; then the son of another earl sought me of my father, and I was not willing to be given unto him, and my father would not give me against my will, either to him or any earl in the world. And my father had no child except myself. And after my father's death, these dominions came into my own hands, and then was I less willing to accept him than before. So he made war upon me, and conquered all my possessions except this one house. And through the valour of the men whom thou hast seen, who are my foster brothers, and the strength of the house, it can never be taken while food and drink remain. And now our provisions are exhausted; but as thou hast seen, we have been fed by the nuns, to whom the country is free. And at length they also are without supply of food or liquor. And at no later date than to-morrow, the earl will come against this place with all his forces; and if I fall into his power, my fate will be no better than to be given over to the grooms of his horses. Therefore, lord, I am come to offer to place myself in thy hands, that thou mayest succour me, either by taking me hence, or by defending me here, whichever may seem best unto thee." "Go, my sister," said he, "and sleep; nor will I depart from thee until I do that which thou requirest, or prove whether I can assist thee or not." The maiden went again to rest; and the next morning she came to Peredur, and saluted him. "Heaven prosper thee, my soul, and what tidings dost thou bring?" "None other, than that the earl and all his forces have alighted at the gate, and I never beheld any place so covered with tents, and thronged with knights challenging others to the combat." "Truly," said Peredur, "let my horse be made ready." So his horse was accoutred, and he arose, and sallied forth to the meadow. And there was a knight riding proudly along the meadow, having raised the signal for battle. And they encountered, and Peredur threw the knight over his horse's crupper to the ground. And at the close of the day, one of the chief knights came to fight with him, and he overthrew him also, so that he besought his mercy. "Who art thou?" said Peredur. "Verily," said he, "I am Master of the Household to the earl." "And how much of the Countess's possessions is there in thy power?" "The third part, verily," answered he. "Then," said Peredur, "restore to her the third of her possessions in full, and all the profit thou hast made by them, and bring meat and drink for a hundred men, with their horses and arms, to her court this night. And thou shalt remain her captive, unless she wish to take thy life." And this he did forthwith. And that night the maiden was right joyful, and they fared plenteously. And the next day Peredur rode forth to the meadow; and that day he vanquished a multitude of the host. And at the close of the day, there came a proud and stately knight, and Peredur overthrew him, and he besought his mercy. "Who art thou?" said Peredur. "I am Steward of the Palace," said he. "And how much of the maiden's possessions are under thy control?" "One third part," answered he. "Verily," said Peredur, "thou shalt fully restore to the maiden her possessions, and, moreover, thou shalt give her meat and drink for two hundred men, and their horses and their arms. And for thyself, thou shalt be her captive." And immediately it was so done. And the third day Peredur rode forth to the meadow; and he vanquished more that day than on either of the preceding. And at the close of the day, an earl came to encounter him, and he overthrew him, and he besought his mercy. "Who art thou?" said Peredur. "I am the earl," said he. "I will not conceal it from thee." "Verily," said Peredur, "thou shalt restore the whole of the maiden's earldom, and shalt give her thine own earldom in addition thereto, and meat and drink for three hundred men, and their horses and arms, and thou thyself shalt remain in her power." And thus it was fulfilled. And Peredur tarried three weeks in the country, causing tribute and obedience to be paid to the maiden, and the government to be placed in her hands. "With thy leave," said Peredur, "I will go hence." "Verily, my brother, desirest thou this?" "Yes, by my faith; and had it not been for love of thee, I should not have been here thus long." "My soul," said she, "who art thou?" "I am Peredur the son of Evrawc from the North; and if ever thou art in trouble or in danger, acquaint me therewith, and if I can, I will protect thee." So Peredur rode forth. And far thence there met him a lady, mounted on a horse that was lean, and covered with sweat; and she saluted the youth. "Whence comest thou, my sister?" Then she told him the cause of her journey. Now she was the wife of the Lord of the Glade. "Behold," said he, "I am the knight through whom thou art in trouble, and he shall repent it, who has treated thee thus." Thereupon, behold a knight rode up, and he enquired of Peredur, if he had seen a knight such as he was seeking. "Hold thy peace," said Peredur, "I am he whom thou seekest; and by my faith, thou deservest ill of thy household for thy treatment of the maiden, for she is innocent concerning me." So they encountered, and they were not long in combat ere Peredur overthrew the knight, and he besought his mercy. "Mercy thou shalt have," said Peredur, "so thou wilt return by the way thou camest, and declare that thou holdest the maiden innocent, and so that thou wilt acknowledge unto her the reverse thou hast sustained at my hands." And the knight plighted him his faith thereto. Then Peredur rode forward. And above him he beheld a castle, and thitherward he went. And he struck upon the gate with his lance, and then, behold a comely auburn-haired youth opened the gate, and he had the stature of a warrior, and the years of a boy. And when Peredur came into the hall, there was a tall and stately lady sitting in a chair, and many handmaidens around her; and the lady rejoiced at his coming. And when it was time, they went to meat. And after their repast was finished, "It were well for thee, chieftain," said she, "to go elsewhere to sleep." "Wherefore can I not sleep here?" said Peredur. "Nine sorceresses are here, my soul, of the sorceresses of Gloucester, and their father and their mother are with them; and unless we can make our escape before daybreak, we shall be slain; and already they have conquered and laid waste all the country, except this one dwelling." "Behold," said Peredur, "I will remain here to-night, and if you are in trouble, I will do you what service I can; but harm shall you not receive from me." So they went to rest. And with the break of day, Peredur heard a dreadful outcry. And he hastily arose, and went forth in his vest and his doublet, with his sword about his neck, and he saw a sorceress overtake one of the watch, who cried out violently. Peredur attacked the sorceress, and struck her upon the head with his sword, so that he flattened her helmet and her headpiece like a dish upon her head. "Thy mercy, goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc, and the mercy of Heaven." "How knowest thou, hag, that I am Peredur?" "By destiny, and the foreknowledge that I should suffer harm from thee. And thou shalt take a horse and armour of me; and with me thou shalt go to learn chivalry and the use of thy arms." Said Peredur, "Thou shalt have mercy, if thou pledge thy faith thou wilt never more injure the dominions of the Countess." And Peredur took surety of this, and with permission of the Countess, he set forth with the sorceress to the palace of the sorceresses. And there he remained for three weeks, and then he made choice of a horse and arms, and went his way. And in the evening he entered a valley, and at the head of the valley he came to a hermit's cell, and the hermit welcomed him gladly, and there he spent the night. And in the morning he arose, and when he went forth, behold a shower of snow had fallen the night before, and a hawk had killed a wild fowl in front of the cell. And the noise of the horse scared the hawk away, and a raven alighted upon the bird. And Peredur stood, and compared the blackness of the raven, and whiteness of the snow, and the redness of the blood, to the hair of the lady that best he loved, which was blacker than jet, and to her skin which was whiter than the snow, and to the two red spots upon her cheeks, which were redder than the blood upon the snow appeared to be. Now Arthur and his household were in search of Peredur. "Know ye," said Arthur, "who is the knight with the long spear that stands by the brook {72} up yonder?" "Lord," said one of them, "I will go and learn who he is." So the youth came to the place where Peredur was, and asked him what he did thus, and who he was. And from the intensity with which he thought upon the lady whom best he loved, he gave him no answer. Then the youth thrust at Peredur with his lance, and Peredur turned upon him, and struck him over his horse's crupper to the ground. And after this, four and twenty youths came to him, and he did not answer one more than another, but gave the same reception to all, bringing them with one single thrust to the ground. And then came Kai, and spoke to Peredur rudely and angrily; and Peredur took him with his lance under the jaw, and cast him from him with a thrust, so that he broke his arm and his shoulder blade, and he rode over him one and twenty times. And while he lay thus, stunned with the violence of the pain that he had suffered, his horse returned back at a wild and prancing pace. And when the household saw the horse come back without his rider, they rode forth in haste to the place where the encounter had been. And when they first came there, they thought that Kai was slain; but they found that if he had a skilful physician, he yet might live. And Peredur moved not from his meditation, on seeing the concourse that was around Kai. And Kai was brought to Arthur's tent, and Arthur caused skilful physicians to come to him. And Arthur was grieved that Kai had met with this reverse, for he loved him greatly. "Then," said Gwalchmai, "it is not fitting that any should disturb an honourable knight from his thought unadvisedly; for either he is pondering some damage that he has sustained, or he is thinking of the lady whom best he loves. And through such ill-advised proceeding, perchance this misadventure has befallen him who last met with him. And if it seem well to thee, lord, I will go and see if this knight has changed from his thought; and if he has, I will ask him courteously to come and visit thee." Then Kai was wrath, and he spoke angry and spiteful words. "Gwalchmai," said he, "I know that thou wilt bring him because he is fatigued. Little praise and honour, nevertheless, wilt thou have from vanquishing a weary knight, who is tired with fighting. Yet, thus hast thou gained the advantage over many. And while thy speech and thy soft words last, a coat of thin linen were armour sufficient for thee, and thou wilt not need to break either lance or sword in fighting with the knight in the state he is in." Then said Gwalchmai to Kai, "Thou mightest use more pleasant words, wert thou so minded; and it behoves thee not upon me to wreak thy wrath and thy displeasure. Methinks I shall bring the knight hither with me without breaking either my arm or my shoulder." Then said Arthur to Gwalchmai, "Thou speakest like a wise and a prudent man; go and take enough of armour about thee, and choose thy horse." And Gwalchmai accoutred himself, and rode forward hastily to the place where Peredur was. And Peredur was resting on the shaft of his spear, pondering the same thought, and Gwalchmai came to him without any signs of hostility, and said to him, "If I thought that it would be as agreeable to thee as it would be to me, I would converse with thee. I have also a message from Arthur unto thee, to pray thee to come and visit him. And two men have been before on this errand." "That is true," said Peredur, "and uncourteously they came. They attacked me, and I was annoyed thereat, for it was not pleasing to me to be drawn from the thought that I was in, for I was thinking of the lady whom best I love; and thus was she brought to my mind,--I was looking upon the snow, and upon the raven, and upon the drops of the blood of the bird that the hawk had killed upon the snow. And I bethought me that her whiteness was like that of the snow, and that the blackness of her hair and her eyebrows was like that of the raven, and that the two red spots upon her cheeks were like the two drops of blood." Said Gwalchmai, "This was not an ungentle thought, and I should marvel if it were pleasant to thee to be drawn from it." "Tell me," said Peredur, "is Kai in Arthur's Court?" "He is," said he, "and behold he is the knight that fought with thee last; and it would have been better for him had he not come, for his arm and his shoulder blade were broken with the fall which he had from thy spear." "Verily," said Peredur, "I am not sorry to have thus begun to avenge the insult to the dwarf and dwarfess." Then Gwalchmai marvelled to hear him speak of the dwarf and the dwarfess; and he approached him, and threw his arms around his neck, and asked him what was his name. "Peredur the son of Evrawc am I called," said he, "and thou? Who art thou?" "I am called Gwalchmai," he replied. "I am right glad to meet with thee," said Peredur, "for in every country where I have been, I have heard of thy fame for prowess and uprightness, and I solicit thy fellowship." "Thou shall have it, by my faith, and grant me thine," said he. "Gladly will I do so," answered Peredur. So they rode forth together joyfully towards the place where Arthur was; and when Kai saw them coming, he said, "I knew that Gwalchmai needed not to fight the knight. And it is no wonder that he should gain fame; more can he do by his fair words, than I by the strength of my arm." And Peredur went with Gwalchmai to his tent, and they took off their armour. And Peredur put on garments like those that Gwalchmai wore; and they went together unto Arthur, and saluted him. "Behold, lord," said Gwalchmai, "him whom thou hast sought so long." "Welcome unto thee, chieftain," said Arthur. "With me thou shalt remain; and had I known thy valour {76} had been such, thou shouldst not have left me as thou didst. Nevertheless, this was predicted of thee by the dwarf and the dwarfess, whom Kai ill treated, and whom thou hast avenged." And hereupon, behold there came the Queen and her handmaidens, and Peredur saluted them. And they were rejoiced to see him, and bade him welcome. And Arthur did him great honour and respect, and they returned towards Caerlleon. And the first night, Peredur came to Caerlleon, to Arthur's Court, and as he walked in the city after his repast, behold, there met him Angharad Law Eurawc. "By my faith, sister," said Peredur, "thou art a beauteous and lovely maiden; and were it pleasing to thee, I could love thee above all women." "I pledge my faith," said she, "that I do not love thee, nor will I ever do so." "I also pledge my faith," said Peredur, "that I will never speak a word to any Christian again, until thou come to love me above all men." The next day, Peredur went forth by the high road, along a mountain ridge, and he saw a valley of a circular form, the confines of which were rocky and wooded. And the flat part of the valley was in meadows, and there were fields betwixt the meadows and the wood. And in the bosom of the wood he saw large black houses, of uncouth workmanship. And he dismounted, and led his horse towards the wood. And a little way within the wood he saw a rocky ledge, along which the road lay. And upon the ledge was a lion bound by a chain, and sleeping. And beneath the lion he saw a deep pit, of immense size, full of the bones of men and animals. And Peredur drew his sword, and struck the lion, so that he fell into the mouth of the pit, and hung there by the chain; and with a second blow he struck the chain, and broke it, and the lion fell into the pit, and Peredur led his horse over the rocky ledge, until he came into the valley. And in the centre of the valley he saw a fair castle, and he went towards it. And in the meadow by the Castle he beheld a huge grey man sitting, who was larger than any man he had ever before seen. And two young pages were shooting the hilts of their daggers, of the bone of the sea horse. And one of the pages had red hair, and the other auburn. And they went before him to the place where the grey man was. And Peredur saluted him. And the grey man said, "Disgrace to the beard of my porter." Then Peredur understood that the porter was the lion. And the grey man and the pages went together into the Castle, and Peredur accompanied them; and he found it a fair and noble place. And they proceeded to the hall, and the tables were already laid, and upon them was abundance of food and liquor. And thereupon he saw an aged woman and a young woman come from the chamber; and they were the most stately women he had ever seen. Then they washed, and went to meat, and the grey man sat in the upper seat at the head of the table, and the aged woman next to him. And Peredur and the maiden were placed together; and the two young pages served them. And the maiden gazed sorrowfully upon Peredur, and Peredur asked the maiden wherefore she was sad. "For thee, my soul; for, from when I first beheld thee, I have loved thee above all men. And it pains me to know that so gentle a youth as thou should have such a doom as awaits thee to-morrow. Sawest thou the numerous black houses in the bosom of the wood. All these belong to the vassals of the grey man yonder, who is my father. And they are all giants. And to-morrow they will rise up against thee, and will slay thee. And the Round Valley is this valley called." "Listen, fair maiden, wilt thou contrive that my horse and arms be in the same lodging with me to-night." "Gladly will I cause it so to be, by Heaven, if I can." And when it was time for them to sleep rather than to carouse, they went to rest. And the maiden caused Peredur's horse and arms to be in the same lodging with him. And the next morning Peredur heard a great tumult of men and horses around the Castle. And Peredur arose, and armed himself and his horse, and went to the meadow. Then the aged woman and the maiden came to the grey man, "Lord," said they, "take the word of the youth, that he will never disclose what he has seen in this place, and we will be his sureties that he keep it." "I will not do so, by my faith," said the grey man. So Peredur fought with the host; and towards evening, he had slain the one-third of them without receiving any hurt himself. Then said the aged woman, "Behold, many of thy host have been slain by the youth. Do thou, therefore, grant him mercy." "I will not grant it, by my faith," said he. And the aged woman and the fair maiden were upon the battlements of the Castle, looking forth. And at that juncture, Peredur encountered the yellow-haired youth, and slew him. "Lord," said the maiden, "grant the young man mercy." "That will I not do, by Heaven," he replied; and thereupon Peredur attacked the auburn-haired youth, and slew him likewise. "It were better thou hadst accorded mercy to the youth, before he had slain thy two sons; for now scarcely wilt thou thyself escape from him." "Go, maiden, and beseech the youth to grant mercy unto us, for we yield ourselves into his hands." So the maiden came to the place where Peredur was, and besought mercy for her father, and for all such of his vassals as had escaped alive. "Thou shalt have it, on condition that thy father, and all that are under him, go and render homage to Arthur, and tell him that it was his vassal Peredur that did him this service." "This will we do willingly, by Heaven." "And you shall also receive baptism; and I will send to Arthur, and beseech him to bestow this valley upon thee, and upon thy heirs after thee for ever." Then they went in, and the grey man and the tall woman saluted Peredur. And the grey man said unto him, "Since I have possessed this valley, I have not seen any Christian depart with his life, save thyself. And we will go to do homage to Arthur, and to embrace the faith, and be baptized." Then said Peredur, "To Heaven I render thanks that I have not broken my vow to the lady that best I love, which was, that I would not speak one word unto any Christian." That night they tarried there. And the next day, in the morning, the grey man, with his company, set forth to Arthur's Court; and they did homage unto Arthur, and he caused them to be baptized. And the grey man told Arthur, that it was Peredur that had vanquished them. And Arthur gave the valley to the grey man and his company, to hold it of him as Peredur had besought. And with Arthur's permission, the grey man went back to the Round Valley. Peredur rode forward next day, and he traversed a vast tract of desert, in which no dwellings were. And at length he came to a habitation, mean and small. And there he heard that there was a serpent that lay upon a gold ring, and suffered none to inhabit the country for seven miles around. And Peredur came to the place where he heard the serpent was. And angrily, furiously, and desperately, fought he with the serpent; and at the last he killed it, and took away the ring. And thus he was for a long time without speaking a word to any Christian. And therefrom he lost his colour and his aspect, through extreme longing after the Court of Arthur, and the society of the lady whom best he loved, and of his companions. Then he proceeded forward to Arthur's Court, and on the road there met him Arthur's household, going on a particular errand, with Kai at their head. And Peredur knew them all, but none of the household recognised him. "Whence comest thou, chieftain?" said Kai. And this he asked him twice, and three times, and he answered him not. And Kai thrust him through the thigh with his lance. And lest he should be compelled to speak, and to break his vow, he went on without stopping. "Then," said Gwalchmai, "I declare to Heaven, Kai, that thou hast acted ill in committing such an outrage on a youth like this, who cannot speak." And Gwalchmai returned back to Arthur's Court. "Lady," said he to Gwenhwyvar, "seest thou how wicked an outrage Kai has committed upon this youth who cannot speak; for Heaven's sake, and for mine, cause him to have medical care before I come back, and I will repay thee the charge." And before the men returned from their errand, a knight came to the meadow beside Arthur's Palace, to dare some one to the encounter. And his challenge was accepted; and Peredur fought with him, and overthrew him. And for a week he overthrew one knight every day. And one day, Arthur and his household were going to Church, and they beheld a knight who had raised the signal for combat. "Verily," said Arthur, "by the valour of men, I will not go hence until I have my horse and my arms to overthrow yonder boor." Then went the attendants to fetch Arthur's horse and arms. And Peredur met the attendants as they were going back, and he took the horse and arms from them, and proceeded to the meadow; and all those who saw him arise and go to do battle with the knight, went upon the tops of the houses, and the mounds, and the high places, to behold the combat. And Peredur beckoned with his hand to the knight to commence the fight. And the knight thrust at him, but he was not thereby moved from where he stood. And Peredur spurred his horse, and ran at him wrathfully, furiously, fiercely, desperately, and with mighty rage, and he gave him a thrust, deadly-wounding, severe, furious, adroit and strong, under his jaw, and raised him out of his saddle, and cast him a long way from him. And Peredur went back, and left the horse and the arms with the attendant as before, and he went on foot to the Palace. Then Peredur went by the name of the Dumb Youth. And behold, Angharad Law Eurawc met him. "I declare to Heaven, chieftain," said she, "woeful is it that thou canst not speak; for couldst thou speak, I would love thee best of all men; and, by my faith, although thou canst not, I do love thee above all." "Heaven reward thee, my sister," said Peredur, "by my faith, I also do love thee." Thereupon it was known that he was Peredur. And then he held fellowship with Gwalchmai, and Owain the son of Urien, and all the household, and he remained in Arthur's Court. Arthur was in Caerlleon upon Usk; and he went to hunt, and Peredur went with him. And Peredur let loose his dog upon a hart, and the dog killed the hart in a desert place. And a short space from him he saw signs of a dwelling, and towards the dwelling he went, and he beheld a hall, and at the door of the hall he found bald swarthy youths playing at chess. And when he entered, he beheld three maidens sitting on a bench, and they were all clothed alike, as became persons of high rank. And he came, and sat by them upon the bench; and one of the maidens looked steadfastly upon Peredur, and wept. And Peredur asked her wherefore she was weeping. "Through grief, that I should see so fair a youth as thou art, slain." "Who will slay me?" enquired Peredur. "If thou art so daring as to remain here to-night, I will tell thee." "How great soever my danger may be from remaining here, I will listen unto thee." "This Palace is owned by him who is my father," said the maiden, "and he slays every one who comes hither without his leave." "What sort of a man is thy father, that he is able to slay every one thus?" "A man who does violence and wrong unto his neighbours, and who renders justice unto none." And hereupon he saw the youths arise and clear the chessmen from the board. And he heard a great tumult; and after the tumult there came in a huge black one-eyed man, and the maidens arose to meet him. And they disarrayed him, and he went and sat down; and after he had rested and pondered awhile, he looked at Peredur, and asked who the knight was. "Lord," said one of the maidens, "he is the fairest and gentlest youth that ever thou didst see. And for the sake of Heaven, and of thine own dignity, have patience with him." "For thy sake I will have patience, and I will grant him his life this night." Then Peredur came towards them to the fire, and partook of food and liquor, and entered into discourse with the ladies. And being elated with the liquor, he said to the black man, "It is a marvel to me, so mighty as thou sayest thou art, who could have put out thine eye?" "It is one of my habits," said the black man, "that whosoever puts to me the question which thou hast asked, shall not escape with his life, either as a free gift, or for a price." "Lord," said the maiden, "whatsoever he may say to thee in jest, and through the excitement of liquor, make good that which thou saidest and didst promise me just now." "I will do so, gladly, for thy sake," said he. "Willingly will I grant him his life this night." And that night thus they remained. And the next day the black man got up, and put on his armour, and said to Peredur, "Arise, man, and suffer death." And Peredur said unto him, "Do one of two things, black man; if thou wilt fight with me, either throw off thy own armour, or give arms to me, that I may encounter thee." "Ha! man," said he, "couldst thou fight, if thou hadst arms? Take, then, what arms thou dost choose." And thereupon the maiden came to Peredur with such arms as pleased him; and he fought with the black man, and forced him to crave his mercy. "Black man, thou shalt have mercy, provided thou tell me who thou art, and who put out thine eye." "Lord, I will tell thee, I lost it in fighting with the Black Serpent of the Carn. There is a mound, which is called the Mound of Mourning; and on the mound there is a earn, and in the earn there is a serpent, and on the tail of the serpent there is a stone, and the virtues of the stone are such, that whosoever should hold it in one hand, in the other he will have as much gold as he may desire. And in fighting with this serpent was it that I lost my eye. And the Black Oppressor am I called. And for this reason I am called the Black Oppressor, that there is not a single man around me whom I have not oppressed, and justice have I done unto none." "Tell me" said Peredur, "how far is it hence?" "The same day that thou settest forth, thou wilt come to the Palace of the Sons of the King of the Tortures." "Wherefore are they called thus?" "The Addanc of the Lake slays them once every day. When thou goest thence, thou wilt come to the Court of the Countess of the Achievements." "What achievements are there?" asked Peredur. "Three hundred men there are in her household, and unto every stranger that comes to the Court, the achievements of her household are related. And this is the manner of it,--the three hundred men of the household sit next unto the Lady; and that not through disrespect unto the guests, but that they may relate the achievements of the household. And the day that thou goest thence, thou wilt reach the Mound of Mourning, and round about the mound there are the owners of three hundred tents guarding the serpent." "Since thou hast, indeed, been an oppressor so long," said Peredur, "I will cause that thou continue so no longer." So he slew him. Then the maiden spoke, and began to converse with him. "If thou wast poor when thou camest here, henceforth thou wilt be rich through the treasure of the black man whom thou hast slain. Thou seest the many lovely maidens that there are in this Court, thou shalt have her whom thou best likest for the lady of thy love." "Lady, I came not hither from my country to woo; but match yourselves as it liketh you with the comely youths I see here; and none of your goods do I desire, for I need them not." Then Peredur rode forward, and he came to the Palace of the Sons of the King of the Tortures; and when he entered the Palace, he saw none but women; and they rose up, and were joyful at his coming; and as they began to discourse with him, he beheld a charger arrive, with a saddle upon it, and a corpse in the saddle. And one of the women arose, and took the corpse from the saddle, and anointed it in a vessel of warm water, which was below the door, and placed precious balsam upon it; and the man rose up alive, and came to the place where Peredur was, and greeted him, and was joyful to see him. And two other men came in upon their saddles, and the maiden treated these two in the same manner as she had done the first. Then Peredur asked the chieftain wherefore it was thus. And they told him, that there was an Addanc in a cave, which slew them once every day. And thus they remained that night. And next morning the youths arose to sally forth, and Peredur besought them, for the sake of the ladies of their love, to permit him to go with them; but they refused him, saying, "If thou shouldst be slain there, thou hast none to bring thee back to life again." And they rode forward, and Peredur followed after them; and after they had disappeared out of his sight, he came to a mound, whereon sat the fairest lady he had ever beheld. "I know thy quest," said she, "thou art going to encounter the Addanc, and he will slay thee, and that not by courage, but by craft. He has a cave, and at the entrance of the cave there is a stone pillar, and he sees every one that enters, and none see him; and from behind the pillar he slays every one with a poisonous dart. And if thou wouldst pledge me thy faith, to love me above all women, I would give thee a stone, by which thou shouldst see him when thou goest in, and he should not see thee." "I will, by my troth," said Peredur, "for when first I beheld thee, I loved thee; and where shall I seek thee?" "When thou seekest me, seek towards India." And the maiden vanished, after placing the stone in Peredur's hand. And he came towards a valley, through which ran a river; and the borders of the valley were wooded, and on each side of the river were level meadows. And on one side of the river he saw a flock of white sheep, and on the other a flock of black sheep. And whenever one of the white sheep bleated, one of the black sheep would cross over, and become white; and when one of the black sheep bleated, one of the white sheep would cross over, and become black. And he saw a tall tree by the side of the river, one half of which was in flames from the root to the top, and the other half was green and in full leaf. And nigh thereto he saw a youth sitting upon a mound, and two greyhounds, white-breasted, and spotted, in leashes, lying by his side. And certain was he, that he had never seen a youth of so royal a bearing as he. And in the wood opposite he heard hounds raising a herd of deer. And Peredur saluted the youth, and the youth greeted him in return. And there were three roads leading from the mound; two of them were wide roads, and the third was more narrow. And Peredur enquired where the three roads went. "One of them goes to my palace," said the youth, "and one of two things I counsel thee to do, either to proceed to my palace, which is before thee, and where thou wilt find my wife, or else to remain here to see the hounds chasing the roused deer from the wood to the plain. And thou shall see the best greyhounds thou didst ever behold, and the boldest in the chase, kill them by the water beside us; and when it is time to go to meat, my page will come with my horse to meet me, and thou shalt rest in my palace to-night." "Heaven reward thee; but I cannot tarry, for onward must I go." "The other road leads to the town, which is near here, and wherein food and liquor may be bought; and the road which is narrower than the others goes towards the cave of the Addanc." "With thy permission, young man, I will go that way." And Peredur went towards the cave. And he took the stone in his left hand, and his lance in his right. And as he went in, he perceived the Addanc, and he pierced him through with his lance, and cut off his head. And as he came from the cave, behold the three companions were at the entrance; and they saluted Peredur, and told him that there was a prediction that he should slay that monster. And Peredur gave the head to the young men, and they offered him in marriage whichever of the three sisters he might choose, and half their kingdom with her. "I came not hither to woo," said Peredur, "but if peradventure I took a wife, I should prefer your sister to all others." And Peredur rode forward, and he heard a noise behind him. And he looked back, and saw a man upon a red horse, with red armour upon him; and the man rode up by his side, and saluted him, and wished him the favour of Heaven and of man. And Peredur greeted the youth kindly. "Lord, I come to make a request unto thee." "What wouldest thou?" "That thou shouldest take me as thine attendant." "Who then should I take as my attendant, if I did so?" "I will not conceal from thee what kindred I am of. Etlym Gleddyv Coch am I called, an Earl from the East Country." "I marvel that thou shouldest offer to become attendant to a man whose possessions are no greater than thine own; for I have but an earldom like thyself. But since thou desirest to be my attendant, I will take thee joyfully." And they went forward to the Court of the Countess, and all they of the Court were glad at their coming; and they were told it was not through disrespect they were placed below the household, but that such was the usage of the Court. For, whoever should overthrow the three hundred men of her household, would sit next the Countess, and she would love him above all men. And Peredur having overthrown the three hundred men of her household, sat down beside her, and the Countess said, "I thank Heaven that I have a youth so fair and so valiant as thou, since I have not obtained the man whom best I love." "Who is he whom best thou lovest?" "By my faith, Etlym Gleddyv Coch is the man whom I love best, and I have never seen him." "Of a truth, Etlym is my companion; and behold here he is, and for his sake did I come to joust with thy household. And he could have done so better than I, had it pleased him. And I do give thee unto him." "Heaven reward thee, fair youth, and I will take the man whom I love above all others." And the Countess became Etlym's bride from that moment. And the next day Peredur set forth towards the Mound of Mourning. "By thy hand, lord, but I will go with thee," said Etlym. Then they went forwards till they came in sight of the mound and the tents. "Go unto yonder men," said Peredur to Etlym, "and desire them to come and do me homage." So Etlym went unto them, and said unto them thus--"Come and do homage to my lord." "Who is thy lord?" said they. "Peredur with the long lance is my lord," said Etlym. "Were it permitted to slay a messenger, thou shouldest not go back to thy lord alive, for making unto Kings, and Earls, and Barons, so arrogant a demand as to go and do him homage." Peredur desired him to go back to them, and to give them their choice, either to do him homage or to do battle with him. And they chose rather to do battle. And that day Peredur overthrew the owners of a hundred tents. And the next day he overthrew the owners of a hundred more; and the third day the remaining hundred took counsel to do homage to Peredur. And Peredur enquired of them, wherefore they were there. And they told him they were guarding the serpent until he should die. "For then should we fight for the stone among ourselves, and whoever should be conqueror among us would have the stone." "Await here," said Peredur, "and I will go to encounter the serpent." "Not so, lord," said they, "we will go altogether to encounter the serpent." "Verily," said Peredur, "that will I not permit; for if the serpent be slain, I shall derive no more fame therefrom than one of you." Then he went to the place where the serpent was, and slew it, and came back to them, and said, "Reckon up what you have spent since you have been here, and I will repay you to the full." And he paid to each what he said was his claim. And he required of them only that they should acknowledge themselves his vassals. And he said to Etlym, "Go back unto her whom thou lovest best, and I will go forwards, and I will reward thee for having been my attendant." And he gave Etlym the stone. "Heaven repay thee and prosper thee," said Etlym. And Peredur rode thence, and he came to the fairest valley he had ever seen, through which ran a river; and there he beheld many tents of various colours. And he marvelled still more at the number of water-mills and of wind-mills that he saw. And there rode up with him a tall auburn-haired man, in a workman's garb, and Peredur enquired of him who he was. "I am the chief miller," said he, "of all the mills yonder." "Wilt thou give me lodging?" said Peredur. "I will, gladly," he answered. And Peredur came to the miller's house, and the miller had a fair and pleasant dwelling. And Peredur asked money as a loan from the miller, that he might buy meat and liquor for himself, and for the household, and he promised that he would pay him again ere he went thence. And he enquired of the miller, wherefore such a multitude were there assembled. Said the miller to Peredur, "One thing is certain; either thou art a man from afar, or thou art beside thyself. The Empress of Cristinobyl the Great is here; and she will have no one but the man who is most valiant; for riches does she not require. And it was impossible to bring food for so many thousands as are here, therefore were all these mills constructed." And that night they took their rest. And the next day Peredur arose, and he equipped himself and his horse for the tournament. And among the other tents, he beheld one, which was the fairest he had ever seen. And he saw a beauteous maiden leaning her head out of a window of the tent, and he had never seen a maiden more lovely than she. And upon her was a garment of satin. And he gazed fixedly on the maiden, and began to love her greatly. And he remained there, gazing upon the maiden from morning until mid-day, and from mid-day until evening; and then the tournament was ended; and he went to his lodging, and drew off his armour. Then he asked money of the miller as a loan, and the miller's wife was wroth with Peredur; nevertheless, the miller lent him the money. And the next day he did in like manner as he had done the day before. And at night he came to his lodging, and took money as a loan from the miller. And the third day, as he was in the same place, gazing upon the maiden, he felt a hard blow between the neck and the shoulder, from the edge of an axe. And when he looked behind him, he saw that it was the miller; and the miller said to him, "Do one of two things: either turn thy head from hence, or go to the tournament." And Peredur smiled on the miller, and went to the tournament; and all that encountered him that day, he overthrew. And as many as he vanquished, he sent as a gift to the Empress, and their horses and arms he sent as a gift to the wife of the miller, in payment of the borrowed money. Peredur attended the tournament until all were overthrown, and he sent all the men to the prison of the Empress, and the horses and arms to the wife of the miller, in payment of the borrowed money. And the Empress sent to the Knight of the Mill, to ask him to come and visit her. And Peredur went not for the first nor for the second message. And the third time she sent an hundred knights to bring him against his will, and they went to him, and told him their mission from the Empress. And Peredur fought well with them, and caused them to be bound like stags, and thrown into the mill dyke. And the Empress sought advice of a wise man, who was in her counsel; and he said to her, "With thy permission, I will go to him myself." So he came to Peredur, and saluted him, and besought him, for the sake of the lady of his love, to come and visit the Empress. And they went, together with the miller. And Peredur went and sat down in the outer chamber of the tent, and she came and placed herself by his side. And there was but little discourse between them. And Peredur took his leave, and went to his lodging. And the next day he came to visit her, and when he came into the tent, there was no one chamber less decorated than the others. And they knew not where he would sit. And Peredur went and sat beside the Empress, and discoursed with her courteously. And while they were thus, they beheld a black man enter with a goblet full of wine in his hand. And he dropped upon his knee before the Empress, and besought her to give it to no one who would not fight with him for it. And she looked upon Peredur. "Lady," said he, "bestow on me the goblet." And Peredur drank the wine, and gave the goblet to the miller's wife. And while they were thus, behold there entered a black man, of larger stature than the other, with a wild beast's claw in his hand, wrought into the form of a goblet, and filled with wine. And he presented it to the Empress, and besought her to give it to no one but the man who would fight with him. "Lady," said Peredur, "bestow it on me." And she gave it to him. And Peredur drank the wine, and sent the goblet to the wife of the miller. And while they were thus, behold a rough-looking crisp-haired man, taller than either of the others, came in with a bowl in his hand full of wine; and he bent upon his knee, and gave it into the hands of the Empress, and he besought her to give it to none but him who would fight with him for it; and she gave it to Peredur, and he sent it to the miller's wife. And that night Peredur returned to his lodging; and the next day he accoutred himself and his horse, and went to the meadow, and slew the three men. Then Peredur proceeded to the tent, and the Empress said to him, "Goodly Peredur, remember the faith thou didst pledge me when I gave thee the stone, and thou didst kill the Addanc." "Lady," answered he, "thou sayest truth, I do remember it." And Peredur was entertained by the Empress fourteen years, as the story relates. * * * * * Arthur was at Caerlleon upon Usk, his principal palace; and in the centre of the floor of the hall were four men sitting on a carpet of velvet, Owain the son of Urien, and Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Howel the son of Emyr Llydaw, and Peredur of the long lance. And thereupon they saw a black curly-headed maiden enter, riding upon a yellow mule, with jagged thongs in her hand, to urge it on; and having a rough and hideous aspect. Blacker were her face and her two hands than the blackest iron covered with pitch; and her hue was not more frightful than her form. High cheeks had she, and a face lengthened downwards, and a short nose with distended nostrils. And one eye was of a piercing mottled grey, and the other was as black as jet, deep sunk in her head. And her teeth were long and yellow, more yellow were they than the flower of the broom. And her stomach rose from the breast bone, higher than her chin. And her back was in the shape of a crook, and her legs were large and bony. And her figure was very thin and spare, except her feet and her legs, which were of huge size. And she greeted Arthur and all his household, except Peredur. And to Peredur she spoke harsh and angry words. "Peredur, I greet thee not, seeing that thou dost not merit it. Blind was fate in giving thee fame and favour. When thou wast in the Court of the Lame King, and didst see there the youth bearing the streaming spear, from the points of which were drops of blood flowing in streams, even to the hand of the youth, and many other wonders likewise, thou didst not enquire their meaning nor their cause. Hadst thou done so, the King would have been restored to health, and his dominions to peace. Whereas, from henceforth, he will have to endure battles and conflicts, and his knights will perish, and wives will be widowed, and maidens will be left portionless, and all this is because of thee." Then said she unto Arthur, "May it please thee, lord, my dwelling is far hence, in the stately castle of which thou hast heard, and therein are five hundred and sixty-six knights of the order of Chivalry, and the lady whom best he loves with each; and whoever would acquire fame in arms, and encounters, and conflicts, he will gain it there, if he deserve it. And whoso would reach the summit of fame and of honour, I know where he may find it. There is a Castle on a lofty mountain, and there is a maiden therein, and she is detained a prisoner there, and whoever shall set her free will attain the summit of the fame of the world." And thereupon she rode away. Said Gwalchmai, "By my faith, I will not rest tranquilly until I have proved if I can release the maiden." And many of Arthur's household joined themselves with him. Then, likewise said Peredur, "By my faith, I will not rest tranquilly until I know the story and meaning of the lance whereof the black maiden spoke." And while they were equipping themselves, behold a knight came to the gate. And he had the size and the strength of a warrior, and was equipped with arms and habiliments. And he went forward, and saluted Arthur and all his household, except Gwalchmai. And the knight had upon his shoulder a shield, ingrained with gold, with a fesse of azure blue upon it, and his whole armour was of the same hue. And he said to Gwalchmai, "Thou didst slay my lord, by thy treachery and deceit, and that will I prove upon thee." Then Gwalchmai rose up. "Behold," said he, "here is my gage against thee, to maintain either in this place, or wherever else thou wilt, that I am not a traitor or deceiver." "Before the King whom I obey, will I that my encounter with thee take place," said the knight. "Willingly," said Gwalchmai, "go forward, and I will follow thee." So the knight went forth, and Gwalchmai accoutred himself, and there was offered unto him abundance of armour, but he would take none but his own. And when Gwalchmai and Peredur were equipped, they set forth to follow him, by reason of their fellowship, and of the great friendship that was between them. And they did not go after him in company together, but each went his own way. At the dawn of day, Gwalchmai came to a valley, and in the valley he saw a fortress, and within the fortress a vast palace, and lofty towers around it. And he beheld a knight coming out to hunt from the other side, mounted on a spirited black snorting palfrey, that advanced at a prancing pace, proudly stepping, and nimbly bounding, and sure of foot; and this was the man to whom the palace belonged. And Gwalchmai saluted him, "Heaven prosper thee, chieftain," said he, "and whence comest thou?" "I come," answered he, "from the Court of Arthur." "And art thou Arthur's vassal?" "Yes, by my faith," said Gwalchmai. "I will give thee good counsel," said the knight. "I see that thou art tired and weary, go unto my palace, if it may please thee, and tarry there to-night." "Willingly, lord," said he, "and Heaven reward thee." "Take this ring as a token to the porter, and go forward to yonder tower, and therein thou wilt find my sister." And Gwalchmai went to the gate, and shewed the ring, and proceeded to the tower. And on entering, he beheld a large blazing fire, burning without smoke, and with a bright and lofty flame, and a beauteous and stately maiden was sitting on a chair by the fire. And the maiden was glad at his coming, and welcomed him, and advanced to meet him. And he went and sat beside the maiden, and they took their repast. And when their repast was over, they discoursed pleasantly together. And while they were thus, behold there entered a venerable hoary-headed man. "Ah! base girl," said he, "if thou didst think that it was right for thee to entertain and to sit by yonder man; thou wouldest not do so." And he withdrew his head, and went forth, "Ha! chieftain," said the maiden, "if thou wilt do as I counsel thee, thou wilt shut the door, lest the man should have a plot against thee." Upon that Gwalchmai arose, and when he came near unto the door, the man, with sixty others, fully armed, were ascending the tower. And Gwalchmai defended the door with a chessboard, that none might enter until the man should return from the chase. And thereupon, behold the earl arrived. "What is all this?" asked he. "It is a sad thing," said the hoary-headed man, "the young girl yonder has been sitting and eating with him who slew your father. He is Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar." "Hold thy peace, then," said the earl, "I will go in." And the earl was joyful concerning Gwalchmai. "Ha! chieftain," said he, "it was wrong of thee to come to my Court, when thou knewest that thou didst slay my father; and though we cannot avenge him, Heaven will avenge him upon thee." "My soul," said Gwalchmai, "thus it is; I came not here either to acknowledge or to deny having slain thy father; but I am on a message from Arthur, and therefore do I crave the space of a year until I shall return from my embassy, and then, upon my faith, I will come back unto this palace, and do one of two things, either acknowledge it, or deny it." And the time was granted him willingly; and he remained there that night. And the next morning he rode forth. And the story relates nothing further of Gwalchmai respecting this adventure. And Peredur rode forward. And he wandered over the whole island, seeking tidings of the black maiden, and he could meet with none. And he came to an unknown land, in the centre of a valley, watered by a river. And as he traversed the valley, he beheld a horseman coming towards him, and wearing the garments of a priest, and he besought his blessing. "Wretched man," said he, "thou meritest no blessing, and thou wouldst not be profited by one, seeing that thou art clad in armour on such a day as this." "And what day is to-day?" said Peredur. "To-day is Good Friday," he answered. "Chide me not, that I knew not this, seeing that it is a year to-day since I journeyed forth from my country." Then he dismounted, and led his horse in his hand. And he had not proceeded far along the high road before he came to a cross road, and the cross road traversed a wood. And on the other side of the wood he saw an unfortified castle, which appeared to be inhabited. And at the gate of the castle there met him the priest whom he had seen before, and he asked his blessing. "The blessing of Heaven be unto thee," said he, "it is more fitting to travel in thy present guise, than as thou wast erewhile; and this night thou shalt tarry with me." So he remained there that night. And the next day Peredur sought to go forth. "To-day may no one journey. Thou shalt remain with me to-day and to-morrow, and the day following, and I will direct thee as best I may to the place which thou art seeking." And the fourth day Peredur sought to go forth, and he entreated the priest to tell him how he should find the Castle of Wonders. "What I know thereof, I will tell thee," he replied. "Go over yonder mountain, and on the other side of the mountain thou wilt come to a river, and in the valley wherein the river runs is a King's Palace, wherein the King sojourned during Easter. And if thou mayest have tidings anywhere of the Castle of Wonders, thou wilt have them there." Then Peredur rode forward. And he came to the valley in which was the river, and there met him a number of men going to hunt, and in the midst of them was a man of exalted rank, and Peredur saluted him. "Choose, chieftain," said the man, "whether thou wilt go with me to the chase, or wilt proceed to my Palace, and I will despatch one of my household to commend thee to my daughter, who is there, and who will entertain thee with food and liquor until I return from hunting; and whatever may be thine errand, such as I can obtain for thee, thou shalt gladly have." And the King sent a little yellow page with him as an attendant; and when they came to the palace, the lady had arisen, and was about to wash before meat. Peredur went forward, and she saluted him joyfully, and placed him by her side. And they took their repast. And whatsoever Peredur said unto her, she laughed loudly, so that all in the palace could hear. Then spoke the yellow page to the lady. "By my faith," said he, "this youth is already thy husband; or if he be not, thy mind and thy thoughts are set upon him." And the little yellow page went unto the King, and told him that it seemed to him that the youth whom he had met with was his daughter's husband, or if he were not so already, that he would shortly become so, unless he were cautious. "What is thy counsel in this matter, youth?" said the King. "My counsel is," he replied, "that thou set strong men upon him, to seize him, until thou hast ascertained the truth respecting this." So he set strong men upon Peredur, who seized him, and cast him into prison. And the maiden went before her father, and asked him, wherefore he had caused the youth from Arthur's Court to be imprisoned. "In truth," he answered, "he shall not be free to-night, nor to-morrow, nor the day following, and he shall not come from where he is." She replied not to what the king had said, but she went to the youth. "Is it unpleasant to thee to be here?" said she. "I should not care, if I were not," he replied. "Thy couch and thy treatment shall be in no wise inferior to that of the King himself, and thou shalt have the best entertainment that the palace affords. And if it were more pleasing to thee that my couch should be here, that I might discourse with thee, it should be so, cheerfully." "This can I not refuse," said Peredur. And he remained in prison that night. And the maiden provided all that she had promised him. And the next day Peredur heard a tumult in the town. "Tell me, fair maiden, what is that tumult?" said Peredur. "All the King's hosts and his forces have come to the town to-day." "And what seek they here?" he enquired. "There is an Earl near this place, who possesses two Earldoms, and is as powerful as a king; and an engagement will take place between them to-day." "I beseech thee," said Peredur, "to cause a horse and arms to be brought, that I may view the encounter, and I promise to come back to my prison again." "Gladly," said she, "will I provide thee with horse and arms." So she gave him a horse and arms, and a bright scarlet robe of honour over his armour, and a yellow shield upon his shoulder. And he went to the combat; and as many of the Earl's men as encountered him that day, he overthrew; and he returned to his prison. And the maiden asked tidings of Peredur, and he answered her not a word. And she went and asked tidings of her father, and enquired who had acquitted himself best of the household. And he said that he knew not, but that it was a man with a scarlet robe of honour over his armour, and a yellow shield upon his shoulder. Then she smiled, and returned to where Peredur was, and did him great honour that night. And for three days did Peredur slay the Earl's men; and before any one could know who he was, he returned to his prison. And the fourth day Peredur slew the Earl himself. And the maiden went unto her father, and enquired of him the news. "I have good news for thee," said the King, "the Earl is slain, and I am the owner of his two Earldoms." "Knowest thou, lord, who slew him?" "I do not know," said the King. "It was the knight with the scarlet robe of honour, and the yellow shield." "Lord," said she, "I know who that is." "By Heaven," he exclaimed, "who is he?" "Lord," she replied, "he is the knight whom thou hast imprisoned." Then he went unto Peredur, and saluted him, and told him that he would reward the service he had done him, in any way he might desire. And when they went to meat, Peredur was placed beside the King, and the maiden on the other side of Peredur, "I will give thee," said the King, "my daughter in marriage, and half my kingdom with her, and the two Earldoms as a gift." "Heaven reward thee, lord," said Peredur, "but I came not here to woo." "What seekest thou, then, chieftain?" "I am seeking tidings of the Castle of Wonders." "Thy enterprise is greater, chieftain, than thou wilt wish to pursue," said the maiden, "nevertheless, tidings shalt thou have of the Castle, and thou shalt have a guide through my father's dominions, and a sufficiency of provisions for thy journey, for thou art, O chieftain, the man whom best I love." Then she said to him, "Go over yonder mountain, and thou wilt find a Lake, and in the middle of the Lake there is a Castle, and that is the Castle that is called the Castle of Wonders; and we know not what wonders are therein, but thus is it called." And Peredur proceeded towards the Castle, and the gate of the Castle was open. And when he came to the hall, the door was open, and he entered. And he beheld a chessboard in the hall, and the chessmen were playing against each other, by themselves. And the side that he favoured lost the game, {102} and thereupon the others set up a shout, as though they had been living men. And Peredur was wroth, and took the chessmen in his lap, and cast the chessboard into the lake. And when he had done thus, behold the black maiden came in, and she said to him, "The welcome of Heaven be not unto thee. Thou hadst rather do evil than good." "What complaint hast thou against me, maiden?" said Peredur. "That thou hast occasioned unto the Empress the loss of her chessboard, which she would not have lost for all her empire. And the way in which thou mayest recover the chessboard is, to repair to the Castle of Ysbidinongyl, where is a black man, who lays waste the dominions of the Empress; and if thou canst slay him, thou wilt recover the chessboard. But if thou goest there, thou wilt not return alive." "Wilt thou direct me thither?" said Peredur. "I will show thee the way," she replied. So he went to the Castle of Ysbidinongyl, and he fought with the black man. And the black man besought mercy of Peredur. "Mercy will I grant thee," said he, "on condition that thou cause the chessboard to be restored to the place where it was when I entered the hall." Then the maiden came to him and said, "The malediction of Heaven attend thee for thy work, since thou hast left that monster alive, who lays waste all the possessions of the Empress." "I granted him his life," said Peredur, "that he might cause the chessboard to be restored." "The chessboard is not in the place where thou didst find it; go back, therefore, and slay him," answered she. So Peredur went back, and slew the black man. And when he returned to the palace, he found the black maiden there. "Ah! maiden," said Peredur, "where is the Empress?" "I declare to Heaven that thou wilt not see her now, unless thou dost slay the monster that is in yonder forest." "What monster is there?" "It is a stag that is as swift as the swiftest bird; and he has one horn in his forehead, as long as the shaft of a spear and as sharp as whatever is sharpest. And he destroys the branches of the best trees in the forest and he kills every animal that he meets with therein; and those that he does not slay perish of hunger. And what is worse than that, he comes every night, and drinks up the fish pond, and leaves the fishes exposed, so that for the most part they die before the water returns again." "Maiden," said Peredur, "wilt thou come and show me this animal?" "Not so," said the maiden, "for he has not permitted any mortal to enter the forest for above a twelvemonth. Behold, here is a little dog belonging to the Empress, which will rouse the stag, and will chase him towards thee, and the stag will attack thee." Then the little dog went as a guide to Peredur, and roused the stag, and brought him towards the place where Peredur was. And the stag attacked Peredur, and he let him pass by him, and as he did so, he smote off his head with his sword. And while he was looking at the head of the stag, he saw a lady on horseback coming towards him. And she took the little dog in the lappet of her cap, and the head and the body of the stag lay before her. And around the stag's neck was a golden collar. "Ha! chieftain," said she, "uncourteously hast thou acted in slaying the fairest jewel that was in my dominions." "I was intreated so to do; and is there any way by which I can obtain thy friendship?" "There is," she replied. "Go thou forward unto yonder mountain, and there thou wilt find a grove; and in the grove there is a cromlech, do thou there challenge a man three times to fight, and thou shalt have my friendship." So Peredur proceeded onward, and came to the side of the grove, and challenged any man to fight. And a black man arose from beneath the cromlech, mounted upon a bony horse, and both he and his horse were clad in huge rusty armour. And they fought. And as often as Peredur cast the black man to the earth, he would jump again into his saddle. And Peredur dismounted, and drew his sword; and thereupon the black man disappeared with Peredur's horse and his own, so that he could not gain sight of him a second time. And Peredur went along the mountain, and on the other side of the mountain he beheld a castle in the valley, wherein was a river. And he went to the castle; and as he entered it, he saw a hall, and the door of the hall was open, and he went in. And there he saw a lame grey-headed man, sitting on one side of the hall, with Gwalchmai beside him. And Peredur beheld his horse, which the black man had taken, in the same stall with that of Gwalchmai. And they were glad concerning Peredur. And he went and seated himself on the other side of the hoary- headed man. Then, behold a yellow-haired youth came, and bent upon the knee before Peredur, and besought his friendship. "Lord," said the youth, "it was I that came in the form of the black maiden to Arthur's Court, and when thou didst throw down the chessboard, and when thou didst slay the black man of Ysbidinongyl, and when thou didst slay the stag, and when thou didst go to fight the black man of the cromlech. And I came with the bloody head in the salver, and with the lance that streamed with blood from the point to the hand, all along the shaft; and the head was thy cousin's, and he was killed by the sorceresses of Gloucester, who also lamed thine uncle; and I am thy cousin. And there is a prediction that thou art to avenge these things." Then Peredur and Gwalchmai took counsel, and sent to Arthur and his household, to beseech them to come against the sorceresses. And they began to fight with them, and one of the sorceresses slew one of Arthur's men before Peredur's face, and Peredur bade her forbear. And the sorceress slew a man before Peredur's face a second time, and a second time he forbade her. And the third time the sorceress slew a man before the face of Peredur, and then Peredur drew his sword, and smote the sorceress on the helmet, and all her head armour was split in two parts. And she set up a cry, and desired the other sorceresses to flee, and told them that this was Peredur, the man who had learnt Chivalry with them, and by whom they were destined to be slain. Then Arthur and his household fell upon the sorceresses, and slew the sorceresses of Gloucester every one And thus is it related concerning the Castle of Wonders. THE DREAM OF RHONABWY. Madawc the son of Maredudd possessed Powys within its boundaries, from Porfoed to Gwauan in the uplands of Arwystli. And at that time he had a brother, Iorwerth the son of Maredudd, in rank not equal to himself. And Iorwerth had great sorrow and heaviness because of the honour and power that his brother enjoyed, which he shared not. And he sought his fellows and his foster-brothers, and took counsel with them what he should do in this matter. And they resolved to despatch some of their number to go and seek a maintenance for him. Then Madawc offered him to become Master of the Household and to have horses, and arms, and honour, and to fare like as himself. But Iorwerth refused this. And Iorwerth made an inroad into England, slaying the inhabitants, and burning houses, and carrying away prisoners. And Madawc took counsel with the men of Powys, and they determined to place an hundred men in each of the three Commots of Powys to seek for him. And thus did they in the plains of Powys from Aber Ceirawc, and in Allictwn Ver, and in Rhyd Wilure, on the Vyrnwy, the three best Commots of Powys. So he was none the better, he nor his household, in Powys, nor in the plains thereof. {108} And they spread these men over the plains as far as Nillystwn Trevan. Now one of the men who was upon this quest was called Rhonabwy. And Rhonabwy and Kynwrig Vrychgoch, a man of Mawddwy, and Cadwgan Vras, a man of Moelvre in Kynlleith, came together to the house of Heilyn Goch the son of Cadwgan the son of Iddon. And when they near to the house, they saw an old hall, very black and having an upright gable, whence issued a great smoke; and on entering, they found the floor full of puddles and mounds; and it was difficult to stand thereon, so slippery was it with the mire of cattle. And where the puddles were a man might go up to his ankles in water and dirt. And there were boughs of holly spread over the floor whereof the cattle had browsed the sprigs. When they came to the hall of the house, they beheld cells full of dust, and very gloomy, {109} and on one side an old hag making a fire. And whenever she felt cold, she cast a lapful of chaff upon the fire, and raised such a smoke, that it was scarcely to be borne, as it rose up the nostrils. And on the other side was a yellow calf skin on the floor, a main privilege was it to any one who should get upon that hide. And when they had sat down, they asked the hag where were the people of the house. And the hag spoke not but muttered. Thereupon behold the people of the house entered; a ruddy, clownish curly-headed man, with a burthen of fagots on his back, and a pale slender woman, also carrying a bundle under her arm. And they barely welcomed the men, and kindled a fire with the boughs. And the woman cooked something and gave them to eat, barley bread, and cheese, and milk and water. And there arose a storm of wind and rain, so that it was hardly possible to go forth with safety. And being weary with their journey, they laid themselves down and sought to sleep. And when they looked at the couch, it seemed to be made but of a little coarse straw full of dust and vermin, with the stems of boughs sticking up therethrough, for the cattle had eaten all the straw that was placed at the head and the foot. And upon it was stretched an old russet-coloured rug, threadbare and ragged; and a coarse sheet, full of slits was upon the rug, and an ill-stuffed pillow, and a worn-out cover upon the sheet. And after much suffering from the vermin, and from the discomfort of their couch, a heavy sleep fell on Rhonabwy's companions. But Rhonabwy, not being able either to sleep or to rest, thought he should suffer less if he went to lie upon the yellow calfskin that was stretched out on the floor. And there he slept. As soon as sleep had come upon his eyes, it seemed to him that he was journeying with his companions across the plain of Argyngroeg, and he thought that he went towards Rhyd y Groes on the Severn. As he journeyed, he heard a mighty noise, the like whereof heard he never before; and looking behind him, he beheld a youth with yellow curling hair, and with his beard newly trimmed, mounted on a chesnut horse, whereof the legs were grey from the top of the forelegs, and from the bend of the hindlegs downwards. And the rider wore a coat of yellow satin sewn with green silk, and on his thigh was a gold-hilted sword, with a scabbard of new leather of Cordova, belted with the skin of the deer, and clasped with gold. And over this was a scarf of yellow satin wrought with green silk, the borders whereof were likewise green. And the green of the caparison of the horse, and of his rider, was as green as the leaves of the fir tree, and the yellow was as yellow as the blossom of the broom. So fierce was the aspect of the knight, that fear seized upon them, and they began to flee. And the knight pursued them. And when the horse breathed forth, the men became distant from him, and when he drew in his breath, they were drawn near to him, even to the horse's chest. And when he had overtaken them, they besought his mercy. "You have it gladly!" said he, "fear nought." "Ha, chieftain, since thou hast mercy upon me, tell me also who thou art," said Rhonabwy. "I will not conceal my lineage from thee. I am Iddawc the son of Mynyo, yet not by my name, but by my nickname am I best known." "And wilt thou tell us what thy nickname is?" "I will tell you; it is Iddawc Cordd Prydain." "Ha, chieftain," said Rhonabwy, "why art thou called thus?" "I will tell thee. I was one of the messengers between Arthur and Medrawd his nephew, at the battle of Camlan; and I was then a reckless youth, and through my desire for battle, I kindled strife between them, and stirred up wrath, when I was sent by Arthur the Emperor to reason with Medrawd, and to shew him, that he was his foster-father and his uncle, and to seek for peace, lest the sons of the Kings of the Island of Britain, and of the nobles, should be slain. And whereas Arthur charged me with the fairest sayings he could think of, I uttered unto Medrawd the harshest I could devise. And therefore am I called Iddawc Cordd Prydain, for from this did the battle of Camlan ensue. And three nights before the end of the battle of Camlan I left them, and went to the Llech Las in North Britain to do penance. And there I remained doing penance seven years, and after that I gained pardon." Then lo! they heard a mighty sound which was much louder than that which they had heard before, and when they looked round towards the sound; behold a ruddy youth, without beard or whiskers, {111} noble of mien, and mounted on a stately courser. And from the shoulders and the front of the knees downwards the horse was bay. And upon the man was a dress of red satin wrought with yellow silk, and yellow were the borders of his scarf. And such parts of his apparel and of the trappings of his horse as were yellow, as yellow were they as the blossom of the broom, and such as were red, were as ruddy as the ruddiest blood in the world. Then behold the horseman overtook them, and he asked of Iddawc a share of the little men that were with him. "That which is fitting for me to grant I will grant, and thou shalt be a companion to them as I have been." And the horseman went away. "Iddawc," enquired Rhonabwy, "who was that horseman?" "Rhuvawn Pebyr, the son of Prince Deorthach." And they journeyed over the plain of Argyngroeg as far as the ford of Rhyd y Groes on the Severn. And for a mile around the ford on both sides of the road, they saw tents and encampments, and there was the clamour of a mighty host. And they came to the edge of the ford, and there they beheld Arthur sitting on a flat island below the ford, having Bedwini {112} the Bishop on one side of him, and Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw on the other. And a tall auburn-haired youth stood before him, with his sheathed sword in his hand, and clad in a coat and a cap of jet black satin. And his face was white as ivory, and his eyebrows black as jet, and such part of his wrist as could be seen between his glove and his sleeve was whiter than the lily, and thicker than a warrior's ankle. Then came Iddawc and they that were with him, and stood before Arthur, and saluted him. "Heaven grant thee good," said Arthur. "And where, Iddawc, didst thou find these little men?" "I found them, lord, up yonder on the road." Then the Emperor smiled. "Lord," said Iddawc, "wherefore dost thou laugh?" "Iddawc," replied Arthur, "I laugh nor; but it pitieth me that men of such stature as these should have this Island in their keeping, after the men that guarded it of yore." Then said Iddawc, "Rhonabwy, dost thou see the ring with a stone set in it, that is upon the Emperor's hand?" "I see it," he answered. "It is one of the properties of that stone, to enable thee to remember that thou seest here to-night, and hadst thou not seen the stone, thou wouldest never have been able to remember aught thereof." After this they saw a troop coming towards the ford. "Iddawc," enquired Rhonabwy, "to whom does yonder troop belong?" "They are the fellows of Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of Prince Deorthach. And these men are honourably served with mead and bragget, and are freely beloved by the daughters of the kings of the Island of Britain. And this they merit, for they were ever in the front and the rear in every peril." And he saw but one hue upon the men and the horses of this troop, for they were all as red as blood. And when one of the knights rode forth from the troop, he looked like a pillar of fire glancing athwart the sky. And this troop encamped above the ford. Then they beheld another troop coming towards the ford, and these from their horses' chests upwards were whiter than the lily, and below blacker than jet. And they saw one of these knights go before the rest, and spur his horse into the ford in such a manner that the water dashed over Arthur and the Bishop, and those holding counsel with them, so that they were as wet as if they had been drenched in the river. And as he turned the head of his horse, the youth who stood before Arthur struck the horse over the nostrils with his sheathed sword, so that had it been with the bare blade it would have been a marvel if the bone had not been wounded as well as the flesh. And the knight drew his sword half out of the scabbard, and asked of him, "Wherefore didst thou strike my horse? Whether was it in insult or in counsel unto me?" "Thou dost indeed lack counsel. What madness caused thee to ride so furiously as to dash the water of the ford over Arthur, and the consecrated Bishop, and their counsellors, so that they were as wet as if they had been dragged out of the river?" "As counsel then will I take it." So he turned his horse's head round towards his army. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who was yonder knight?" "The most eloquent and the wisest youth that is in this Island; Adaon the son of Taliesin." "Who was the man that struck his horse?" "A youth of froward nature; Elphin the son of Gwyddno." Then spake a tall and stately man, of noble and flowing speech, saying that it was a marvel that so vast a host should be assembled in so narrow a space, and that it was a still greater marvel that those should be there at that time who had promised to be by mid-day in the battle of Badon, fighting with Osla Gyllellvawr. "Whether thou mayest choose to proceed or not, I will proceed." "Thou sayest well," said Arthur, "and we will go all together." "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who was the man who spoke so marvellously unto Arthur erewhile?" "A man who may speak as boldly as he listeth, Caradawc Vreichvras, the son of Llyr Marini, his chief counsellor and his cousin." Then Iddawc took Rhonabwy behind him on his horse, and that mighty host moved forward, each troop in its order, towards Cevndigoll. And when they came to the middle of the ford of the Severn, Iddawc turned his horse's head, and Rhonabwy looked along the valley of the Severn. And he beheld two fair troops coming towards the ford. One troop there came of brilliant white, whereof every one of the men had a scarf of white satin with jet black borders. And the knees and the tops of the shoulders of their horses were jet black, though they were of a pure white in every other part. And their banners were pure white, with black points to them all. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who are yonder pure white troop?" "They are the men of Norway, and March the son of Meirchion is their prince. And he is cousin unto Arthur." And further on he saw a troop, whereof each man wore garments of jet black, with borders of pure white to every scarf; and the tops of the shoulders and the knees of their horses were pure white. And their banners were jet black with pure white at the point of each. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who are the jet black troop yonder?" "They are the men of Denmark, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd is their prince." And when they had overtaken the host, Arthur and his army of mighty ones dismounted below Caer Badon, and he perceived that he and Iddawc journeyed the same road as Arthur. And after they had dismounted he heard a great tumult and confusion amongst the host, and such as were then at the flanks, turned to the centre, and such as had been in the centre moved to the flanks. And then, behold, he saw a knight coming, clad, both he and his horse, in mail, of which the rings were whiter than the whitest lily, and the rivets redder than the ruddies blood. And he rode amongst the host. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "will yonder host flee?" "King Arthur never fled, and if this discourse of thine were heard, thou wert a lost man. But as to the knight whom thou seest yonder, it is Kai. The fairest horseman is Kai in all Arthur's Court; and the men who are at the front of the army hasten to the rear to see Kai ride, and the men who are in the centre, flee to the side from the shock of his horse. {116a} And this is the cause of the confusion of the host." Thereupon they heard a call made for Kadwr, Earl of Cornwall, and behold he arose with the sword of Arthur in his hand. And the similitude of two serpents was upon the sword in gold. And when the sword was drawn from its scabbard, it seemed as if two flames of fire burst forth from the jaws of the serpents, and then, so wonderful was the sword, that it was hard for any one to look upon it. And the host became still, and the tumult ceased, and the Earl returned to the tent. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who is the man who bore the sword of Arthur?" "Kadwr, the Earl of Cornwall, whose duty is to arm the King on the days of battle and warfare." And they heard a call made for Eirynwych Amheibyn, Arthur's servant, a red, rough, ill-favoured man, having red whiskers {116b} with bristly hairs. And behold he came upon a tall red horse, with the mane parted on each side, and he brought with him a large and beautiful sumpter pack. And the huge red youth dismounted before Arthur, and he drew a golden chair out of the pack, and a carpet of diapered satin. And he spread the carpet before Arthur, and there was an apple of ruddy gold at each corner thereof, and he placed the chair upon the carpet. And so large was the chair that three armed warriors might have sat therein. Gwenn was the name of the carpet, and it was one of its properties, that whoever was upon it no one could see him, and he could see every one. And it would retain no colour but its own. And Arthur sat within the carpet, and Owain the son of Urien was standing before him. "Owain," said Arthur, "wilt thou play chess?" "I will, Lord," said Owain. And the red youth brought the chess for Arthur and Owain; golden pieces and a board of silver. And they began to play. And while they were thus, and when they were best amused with their game, behold they saw a white tent with a red canopy, and the figure of a jet black serpent on the top of the tent, and red glaring venomous eyes in the head of the serpent, and a red flaming tongue. And there came a young page with yellow curling hair, and blue eyes, and a newly springing beard, wearing a coat and a surcoat of yellow satin, and hose of thin greenish yellow cloth upon his feet, and over his hose shoes of parti- coloured leather, fastened at the insteps with golden clasps. And he bore a heavy three-edged sword with a golden hilt, in a scabbard of black leather tipped with fine gold. And he came to the place where the Emperor and Owain were playing at chess. And the youth saluted Owain. And Owain marvelled that the youth should salute him and should not have saluted the Emperor Arthur. And Arthur knew what was in Owain's thought. And he said to Owain, "Marvel not that the youth salutes thee now, for he saluted me erewhile; and it is unto thee that his errand is." Then said the youth unto Owain, "Lord, is it with thy leave that the young pages and attendants of the Emperor harass and torment and worry the Ravens? And if it be not with thy leave, cause the Emperor to forbid them." "Lord," said Owain, "thou hearest what the youth says; if it seem good to thee, forbid them from my Ravens." "Play thy game," said he. Then the youth returned to the tent. That game did they finish, and another they began, and when they were in the midst of the game, behold, a ruddy young man with auburn curling hair, and large eyes, well grown, and having his beard new shorn, came forth from a bright yellow tent, upon the summit of which was the figure of a bright red lion. And he was clad in a coat of yellow satin, falling as low as the small of his leg, and embroidered with threads of red silk. And on his feet were hose of fine white buckram, and buskins of black leather were over his hose, whereon were golden clasps. And in his hand a huge, heavy, three-edged sword, with a scabbard of red-deer hide, tipped with gold. And he came to the place where Arthur and Owain were playing at chess. And he saluted him. And Owain was troubled at his salutation, but Arthur minded it no more than before. And the youth said unto Owain, "Is it not against thy will that the attendants of the Emperor harass thy Ravens, killing some and worrying others? If against thy will it be, beseech him to forbid them." "Lord," said Owain, "forbid thy men if it seem good to thee." "Play thy game," said the Emperor. And the youth returned to the tent. And that game was ended, and another begun. And as they were beginning the first move of the game, they beheld at a small distance from them a tent speckled yellow, the largest ever seen, and the figure of an eagle of gold upon it, and a precious stone on the eagle's head. And coming out of the tent, they saw a youth with thick yellow hair upon his head, fair and comely, and a scarf of blue satin upon him, and a brooch of gold in the scarf upon his right shoulder as large as a warrior's middle finger. And upon his feet were hose of fine Totness, and shoes of parti- coloured leather, clasped with gold, and the youth was of noble bearing, fair of face, with ruddy cheeks and large hawk's eyes. In the hand of the youth was a mighty lance, speckled yellow, with a newly sharpened head; and upon the lance a banner displayed. Fiercely angry, and with rapid pace, came the youth to the place where Arthur was playing at chess with Owain. And they perceived that he was wroth. And thereupon he saluted Owain, and told him that his Ravens had been killed, the chief part of them, and that such of them as were not slain were so wounded and bruised that not one of them could raise its wings a single fathom above the earth. "Lord," said Owain, "forbid thy men." "Play," said he "if it please thee." Then said Owain to the youth, "Go back, and wherever thou findest the strife at the thickest, there lift up the banner, and let come what pleases Heaven." So the youth returned back to the place where the strife bore hardest upon the Ravens, and he lifted up the banner; and as he did so they all rose up in the air, wrathful and fierce and high of spirit, clapping their wings in the wind, and shaking off the weariness that was upon them. And recovering their energy and courage, furiously and with exultation did they, with one sweep, descend upon the heads of the men, who had erewhile caused them anger and pain and damage, and they seized some by the heads and others by the eyes, and some by the ears, and others by the arms, and carried them up into the air; and in the air there was a mighty tumult with the flapping of the wings of the triumphant Ravens, and with their croaking; and there was another mighty tumult with the groaning of the men, that were being torn and wounded, and some of whom were slain. And Arthur and Owain marvelled at the tumult as they played at chess; and, looking, they perceived a knight upon a dun-coloured horse coming towards them. And marvellous was the hue of the dun horse. Bright red was his right shoulder, and from the top of his legs to the centre of his hoof was bright yellow. Both the knight and his horse were fully equipped with heavy foreign armour. The clothing of the horse from the front opening upwards was of bright red sendal, and from thence opening downwards was of bright yellow sendal. A large gold-hilted one-edged sword had the youth upon his thigh, in a scabbard of light blue, and tipped with Spanish laton. The belt of the sword was of dark green leather with golden slides and a clasp of ivory upon it, and a buckle of jet black upon the clasp. A helmet of gold was on the head of the knight, set with precious stones of great virtue, and at the top of the helmet was the image of a flame-coloured leopard with two ruby-red stones in its head, so that it was astounding for a warrior, however stout his heart, to look at the face of the leopard, much more at the face of the knight. He had in his hand a blue-shafted lance, but from the haft to the point it was stained crimson-red, with the blood of the Ravens and their plumage. The knight came to the place where Arthur and Owain were seated at chess. And they perceived that he was harassed and vexed and weary as he came towards them. And the youth saluted Arthur, and told him, that the Ravens of Owain were slaying his young men and attendants. And Arthur looked at Owain and said, "Forbid thy Ravens." "Lord," answered Owain, "play thy game." And they played. And the knight returned back towards the strife, and the Ravens were not forbade any more than before. And when they had played awhile, they heard a mighty tumult, and a wailing of men, and a croaking of Ravens, as they carried the men in their strength into the air, and, tearing them betwixt them, let them fall piecemeal to the earth. And during the tumult they saw a knight coming towards them on a light grey horse, and the left foreleg of the horse was jet black to the centre of his hoof. And the knight and the horse were fully accoutred with huge heavy blue armour. And a robe of honour of yellow diapered satin was upon the knight, and the borders of the robe were blue. And the housings of the horse were jet black, with borders of bright yellow. And on the thigh of the youth was a sword, long, and three-edged, and heavy. And the scabbard was of red cut leather, and the belt of new red deerskin, having upon it many golden slides and a buckle of the bone of the sea horse, the tongue of which was jet black. A golden helmet was upon the head of the knight, wherein were set sapphire stones of great virtue. And at the top of the helmet was the figure of a flame-coloured lion, with a fiery-red tongue, issuing above a foot from his mouth, and with venomous eyes, crimson-red, in his head. And the knight came, bearing in his hand a thick ashen lance, the head whereof, which had been newly steeped in blood, was overlaid with silver. And the youth saluted the Emperor: "Lord," said he, "carest thou not for the slaying of thy pages, and thy young men, and the sons of the nobles of the Island of Britain, whereby it will be difficult to defend this Island from henceforward for ever?" "Owain," said Arthur, "forbid thy Ravens." "Play this game, Lord," said Owain. So they finished the game, and began another; and as they were finishing that game, lo, they heard a great tumult and a clamour of armed men, and a croaking of Ravens, and a flapping of wings in the air, as they flung down the armour entire to the ground, and the men and the horses piecemeal. Then they saw coming a knight on a lofty-headed piebald horse. And the left shoulder of the horse was of bright red, and its right leg from the chest to the hollow of the hoof was pure white. And the knight and horse were equipped with arms of speckled yellow, variegated with Spanish laton. And there was a robe of honour upon him, and upon his horse, divided in two parts, white and black, and the borders of the robe of honour were of golden purple. And above the robe he wore a sword three-edged and bright, with a golden hilt. And the belt of the sword was of yellow goldwork, having a clasp upon it of the eyelid of a black sea horse, and a tongue of yellow gold to the clasp. Upon the head of the knight was a bright helmet of yellow laton, with sparkling stones of crystal in it, and at the crest of the helmet was the figure of a griffin, with a stone of many virtues in its head. And he had an ashen spear in his hand, with a round shaft, coloured with azure blue. And the head of the spear was newly stained with blood, and was overlaid with fine silver. Wrathfully came the knight to the place where Arthur was, and he told him that the Ravens had slain his household and the sons of the chief men of this Island, and he besought him to cause Owain to forbid his Ravens. And Arthur besought Owain to forbid them. Then Arthur took the golden chessmen that were upon the board, and crushed them until they became as dust. Then Owain ordered Gwres the son of Rheged to lower his banner. So it was lowered, and all was peace. Then Rhonabwy enquired of Iddawc, who were the first three men that came to Owain, to tell him his Ravens were being slain. Said Iddawc, "They were men who grieved that Owain should suffer loss, his fellow-chieftains and companions, Selyv the son of Kynan Garwyn of Powys, and Gwgawn Gleddyvrudd, and Gwres the son of Rheged, he who bears the banner in the day of battle and strife." "Who," said Rhonabwy, "were the last three men who came to Arthur, and told him that the Ravens were slaughtering his men?" "The best of men," said Iddawc, "and the bravest, and who would grieve exceedingly that Arthur should have damage in aught; Blathaon, the son of Mawrheth, {124a} and Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of Prince Deorthach, and Hyveidd Unllenn." And with that behold four and twenty knights came from Osla Gyllellvawr, to crave a truce of Arthur for a fortnight and a month. And Arthur arose and went to take counsel. And he came to where a tall auburn curly-headed man was a little way off, and there he assembled his counsellors. Bedwini, {124b} the Bishop, and Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw, and March the son of Meirchawn, and Caradawc Vreichvras, and Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of Prince Deorthach, and Rhiogan the son of the King of Ireland, and Gwenwynwyn the son of Nav, Howel the son of Emyr Llydaw, Gwilym the son of Rhwyf Freinc, and Daned the son of Ath, {124c} and Goreu Custennin, and Mabon the son of Modron, and Peredur Paladyr Hir, and Hyveidd {125a} Unllenn, and Twrch the son of Perif, and Nerth the son of Kadarn, and Gobrwy the son of Echel Vorddwyttwll, Gwair the son of Gwestyl, and Gadwy {125b} the son of Geraint, Trystan {125c} the son of Tallwch, Moryen Manawc, Granwen the son of Llyr, and Llacheu the son of Arthur, and Llawvrodedd Varvawc, and Kadwr Earl of Cornwall, Morvran the son of Tegid, and Rhyawd the son of Morgant, and Dyvyr the son of Alun Dyved, Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Ieithoedd, Adaon the son of Taliesin, Llary {125d} the son of Kasnar {125e} Wledig, and Fflewddur Fflam, and Greidawl Galldovydd, Gilbert the son of Kadgyffro, Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, Gwrthmwl Wledig, Cawrdav the son of Caradawc Vreichvras, Gildas the son of Kaw, Kadyriaith the son of Saidi, and many of the men of Norway, and Denmark, and many of the men of Greece, and a crowd of the men of the host came to that counsel. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who was the auburn haired man to whom they came just now?" "Rhun the son of Maelgwn Gwynedd, a man of whose prerogative it is, that he may join in counsel with all." {125f} "And wherefore did they admit into counsel with men of such dignity as are yonder a stripling so young as Kadyriaith the son of Saidi?" "Because there is not throughout Britain a man better skilled in counsel than he." Thereupon, behold, bards came and recited verses before Arthur, and no man understood those verses, but Kadyriaith only, save that they were in Arthur's praise. And, lo, there came four and twenty asses with their burdens of gold and of silver, and a tired wayworn man with each of them, bringing tribute to Arthur from the Islands of Greece. Then Kadyriaith the son of Saidi besought that a truce might be granted to Osla Gyllellvawr for the space of a fortnight and a month, and that the asses and the burdens they carried might be given to the bards, to be to them as the reward for their stay and that their verse might be recompensed, during the time of the truce. And thus it was settled. "Rhonabwy," said Iddawc, "would it not be wrong to forbid a youth who can give counsel so liberal as this from coming to the councils of his Lord?" Then Kai arose, and he said, "Whosoever will follow Arthur, let him be with him to-night in Cornwall, and whosoever will not, let him be opposed to Arthur even during the truce." And through the greatness of the tumult that ensued, Rhonabwy awoke. And when he awoke he was upon the yellow calfskin, having slept three nights and three days. And this tale is called The Dream of Rhonabwy. And this is the reason that no one knows the dream without a book, neither bard nor gifted seer; because of the various colours that were upon the horses, and the many wondrous colours of the arms and of the panoply, and of the precious scarfs, and of the virtue-bearing stones. Footnotes: {15} "The Emperor Arthur" all through the tale. {16} To begin to honour them, to inform them of the manners and the customs of the Court, those he was told were to go to the hall or the presence chamber, and those he was told were to get lodging. {17a} And I did not think there was in the world a wrong too mighty for me to set right. And when I had set right all the wrongs that were in my own country. {17b} Add "with fair curly hair." {18a} And such was his courtesy that he greeted me before I could greet him. {18b} Add, "I ween that." {18c} When she was ever loveliest, at Christmas, or at Easter tide mass. {19a} And the man I had seen erstwhile sat down to the table. {19b} Did I not think that too much trouble would befall thee. {20} With querulous roughness. {21a} And he would but bandy words with me. {21b} So that they cannot be separated. {27} Add "On account of the knight." {28} An image of a different kind. {29a} Monks. {29b} Land-owning. {30} Louder was her cry than any trumpet blast that arose from among the multitude. {31} "Truly," said Luned, "I thought thy good sense was greater than I find it to be. Is it better to grieve because thou canst not get _that_ good man, than it is to grieve for anything else thou canst never get?" "I declare to heaven," said the Countess, "that I could never get my lord in any other man, be he the best in the world." "Oh yes," said Luned, "thou couldst marry a husband that would be as good as he, or better than he." {36} Encamped. {37a} Add "and looked at him." {37b} And belaboured each other. {38} Add "and this is my abode." {39} To the disgrace of thy beard. {45} Owen was certain he had never seen better service, but every one was as sorrowful as if death had been upon him. {46a} And to-morrow is the appointed day for me to meet him, to deliver to him yonder maiden, otherwise he will kill my sons before my eyes. {46b} And the Earl determined to hold the castle against him, abandoning his two sons to their fate. {47} And they told him their tale. {48} But Owen's strength had not yet returned. {52} Her. {56} And very unmeet for so honourable a Court. {58} Add "causing a grievous wound." {59a} "This iron coat will never come off him," said Peredur. "I doubt whether it is not part of himself, born with him." {59b} Add "and the threat against Kai." {62} We are brother and sister. {72} In the dingle. {76} Progress. {102} And the side that he would favour would lose the game. {108} And they reckoned that the corn land of Powys, from Aber Ceirawc in Allictun Ver to Rhyd Wilure on the Vyrnwy, was as good as the three best commots in Powys; and that, if there was not sustenance for him and his followers in that corn land, there would be none in Powys. {109} Scantly draped, poverty-stricken. {111} Moustache. {112} Bedwin. {116a} For fear of being crushed by his horse. {116b} A red moustache. {124a} Murheth. {124b} Bedwin. {124c} Oth. {125a} Heneidd. {125b} Adwy. {125c} Dyrstan. {125d} Llara. {125e} Kasnat. {125f} It is his privilege that everyone should come to have counsel with him. Printed at The Edinburgh Press 9 & 11 Young Street 
5678	----	This eBook was produced by John B. Hare and Carrie Lorenz. HEROIC ROMANCES OF IRELAND TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE, WITH PREFACE, SPECIAL INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES BY A. H. LEAHY IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I PREFACE At a time like the present, when in the opinion of many the great literatures of Greece and Rome are ceasing to hold the influence that they have so long exerted upon human thought, and when the study of the greatest works of the ancient world is derided as "useless," it may be too sanguine to hope that any attention can be paid to a literature that is quite as useless as the Greek; which deals with a time, which, if not actually as far removed from ours as are classical times, is yet further removed in ideas; a literature which is known to few and has yet to win its way to favour, while the far superior literature of Greece finds it hard to defend the position that it long ago won. It may be that reasons like these have weighed with those scholars who have opened up for us the long-hidden treasures of Celtic literature; despairing of the effort to obtain for that literature its rightful crown, and the homage due to it from those who can appreciate literary work for itself, they have been contented to ask for the support of that smaller body who from philological, antiquarian, or, strange as it may appear, from political reasons, are prepared to take a modified interest in what should be universally regarded as in its way one of the most interesting literatures of the world. The literary aspect of the ancient literature of Ireland has not indeed been altogether neglected. It has been used to furnish themes on which modern poems can be written; ancient authority has been found in it for what is essentially modern thought: modern English and Irish poets have claimed the old Irish romances as inspirers, but the romances themselves have been left to the scholars and the antiquarians. This is not the position that Irish literature ought to fill. It does undoubtedly tell us much of the most ancient legends of modern Europe which could not have been known without it; but this is not its sole, or even its chief claim to be heard. It is itself the connecting-link between the Old World and the New, written, so far as can be ascertained, at the time when the literary energies of the ancient world were dead, when the literatures of modern Europe had not been born,[FN#1] in a country that had no share in the ancient civilisation of Rome, among a people which still retained many legends and possibly a rudimentary literature drawn from ancient Celtic sources, and was producing the men who were the earliest classical scholars of the modern world. [FN#1] The only possible exceptions to this, assuming the latest possible date for the Irish work, and the earliest date for others, are the kindred Welsh literature and that of the Anglo-Saxon invaders of Britain. The exact extent of the direct influence of Irish literature upon the development of other nations is hard to trace, chiefly because the influence of Ireland upon the Continent was at its height at the time when none of the languages of modern Europe except Welsh and Anglo-Saxon had reached a stage at which they might be used for literary purposes, and a Continental literature on which the Irish one might have influence simply did not exist. Its subsequent influence, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, upon Welsh, and through Welsh upon the early Breton literature (now lost) appears to be established; it is usually supposed that its action upon the earliest French compositions was only through the medium of these languages, but it is at least possible that its influence in this case also was more direct. In Merovingian and early Carlovingian times, when French songs were composed, which are now lost but must have preceded the extant chansons de geste, the Irish schools were attracting scholars from the neighbouring countries of Europe; Ireland was sending out a steady stream of "learned men" to France, Germany, and Italy; and it is at least possible that some who knew the Irish teachers realized the merit of the literary works with which some of these teachers must have been familiar. The form of the twelfth-century French romance, "Aucassin and Nicolete," is that of the chief Irish romances, and may well have been suggested by them; whilst the variety of the rhythm and the elaborate laws of the earliest French poetry, which, both in its Northern and Southern form, dates from the first half of the twelfth century, almost imply a pre-existing model; and such a model is more easily traced in Irish than in any other vernacular literature that was then available. It is indeed nearly as hard to suppose that the beautiful literature of Ireland had absolutely no influence upon nations known to be in contact with it, as it would be to hold to the belief that the ancient Cretan civilisation had no effect upon the liter ary development that culminated in the poems of Homer. Before speaking of what the Irish literature was, it may be well to say what it was not. The incidents related in it date back, according to the "antiquaries" of the ninth to the twelfth centuries, some to the Christian era, some to a period long anterior to it; but occasional allusions to events that were unknown in Ireland before the introduction of Christianity, and a few to classical personages, show that the form of the present romances can hardly be pre-Christian, or even close translations into Old or Middle Irish of Druidic tales. It has therefore been the fashion to speak of the romances as inaccurate survivals of pre-Christian works, which have been added to by successive generations of "bards," a mode of viewing our versions of the romances which of course puts them out of the category of original literature and hands them over to the antiquarians; but before they suffer this fate, it is reasonable to ask that their own literary merit should be considered in a more serious manner than has yet been attempted. The idea that our versions of the romances are inaccurate reproductions of Druidic tales is not at all borne out by a study of the romances themselves; for each of these, except for a few very manifestly late insertions, has a style and character of its own. There were, undoubtedly, old traditions, known to the men who in the sixth and seventh centuries may have written the tales that we have, known even to men who in the tenth and eleventh centuries copied them and commented upon them; but the romances as they now stand do not look like pieces of patchwork, but like the works of men who had ideas to convey; and to me at least they seem to bear approximately the same relation to the Druid legends as the works of the Attic tragedians bear to the archaic Greek legends on which their tragedies were based. In more than one case, as in the "Courtship of Etain," which is more fully discussed below, there are two versions of the same tale, the framework being the same in both, while the treatment of the incidents and the view of the characters of the actors is essentially different; and when the story is treated from the antiquarian point of view, that which regards both versions as resting upon a common prehistoric model, the question arises, which of the two more nearly represents the "true" version? There is, I would submit, in such cases, no true version. The old Druidic story, if it could be found, would in all probability contain only a very small part of either of our two versions; it would be bald, half-savage in tone, like one of the more ancient Greek myths, and producing no literary effect; the literary effect of both the versions that we have, being added by men who lived in Christian times, were influenced by Christian ideals, and probably were, like many of their contemporaries, familiar with the literary bequests of the ancient world.[FN#2] [FN#2] It seems to be uncertain whether or not the writers of the Irish romances shared in the classical learning for which Ireland was noted in their time. The course of study at the schools established for the training of the fili in the tenth and eleventh centuries was certainly, as has been pointed out, very different from that of the ecclesiastical schools (see Joyce, vol. i. p. 430). No classical instruction was included in this training, but it is not certain that this separation of studies was so complete before what is called the "antiquarian age" set in. Cormac mac Cuninan, for example, was a classical scholar, and at the same time skilled in the learning of the fili. It should also be observed that the course at the ecclesiastical schools, as handed down to us, hardly seems to be classical enough to have produced a Columbanus or an Erigena; the studies that produced these men must have been of a different kind, and the lay schools as originally established by Sanchan Torpest may have included much that afterwards gave place to a more purely Irish training. The tale of Troy seems to have been known to the fili, and there are in their works allusions to Greek heroes, to Hercules and Hector, but it has been pointed out by Mr. Nutt that there is little if any evidence of influence produced by Latin or Greek literature on the actual matter or thought of the older Irish work. On this point reference may be made to a note on "Mae Datho's Boar" in this volume (p. 173), but even if this absence of classical influence is established (and it is hard to say what will not be found in Irish literature), it is just possible that the same literary feeling which made Irish writers of comparatively late tales keep the bronze weapons and chariots of an earlier date in their accounts of ancient wars, while they described arms of the period when speaking of battles of their own time, affected them in this instance also; and that they had enough restraint to refrain from introducing classical and Christian ideas when speaking of times in which they knew these ideas would have been unfamiliar. It may be, and often is, assumed that the appearance of grotesque or savage passages in a romance is an indication of high antiquity, and that these passages at least are faithful reproductions of Druidic originals, but this does not seem to be quite certain. Some of these passages, especially in the case of romances preserved in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri (The Book of the Dun Cow), look like insertions made by scribes of an antiquarian turn of mind,[FN#3] and are probably of very ancient date; in other cases, as for example in the "Boar of Mac Datho," where Conall dashes Anluan's head into Ket's face, the savagery is quite in 'keeping with the character of the story, and way have been deliberately invented by an author living in Christian times, to add a flavour to his tale, although in doing so he probably imitated a similar incident in some other legend. To take a classical parallel, the barbarity shown by Aeneas in Aeneid x. 518-520, in sacrificing four youths on the funeral pyre of Pallas, an act which would have been regarded with horror in Virgil's own day, does not prove that there was any ancient tale of the death of Pallas in which these victims were sacrificed, nor even that such victims were sacrificed in ancient Latium in Pallas' day; but it does show that Virgil was familiar with the fact that such victims used in some places to be sacrificed on funeral pyres; for, in a sense, he could not have actually invented the incident. [FN#3] See the exhibition of the tips of tongues in the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," page 57. Thus the appearance of an archaic element in an Irish romance is in itself no proof of the Druidic origin of that form of the romance, nor even of the existence of that element in the romance's earliest form: upon such a principle the archaic character of the motif of the "Oedipus Coloneus" would prove it to be the oldest of the Greek tragedies, while as a matter of fact it seems to be doubtful whether the introduction of this motif into the story of Oedipus was not due to Sophocles himself, although of course he drew the idea of it, if not from the original legend of Oedipus, from some other early legend. The most satisfactory test of the authorship of an Irish romance, and one of the most satisfactory tests of its date, is its literary character; and if we look at the literary character of the best of the Irish romances, there is one point that is immediately apparent, the blending of prose and verse. One, the most common, explanation of this, is that the verse was added to the original tale, another that the verse is the older part, the prose being added to make a framework for the verse, but a general view of some of the original romances appears to lead to a very different conclusion. It seems much more probable that the Irish authors deliberately chose a method of making their work at once literary and suited to please a popular audience; they told their stories in plain prose, adding to them verse, possibly chanted by the reciters of the stories, so that while the prose told the story in simple language, the emotions of pity, martial ardour, and the like were awakened by the verse. They did not use the epic form, although their knowledge of classical literature must have made them familiar with it; the Irish epic form is Romance. They had, besides the prose and what may be called the "regular" verse, a third form, that of rose, or as it is sometimes called rhetoric, which is a very irregular form of verse. Sometimes it rhymes, but more often not; the lines are of varying lengths, and to scan them is often very difficult, an alliteration taking the place of scansion in many cases. The rhetoric does not in general develop the story nor take the form of description, it usually consists of songs of triumph, challenges, prophecies, and exhortations, though it is sometimes used for other purposes. It does not conform to strict grammatical rules like the more regular verse and the prose, and many of the literal translations which Irish scholars have made for us of the romances omit this rhetoric entirely, owing to the difficulty in rendering it accurately, and because it does not develop the plots of the stories. Notable examples of such omissions are in Miss Faraday's translation of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "Great Tain," and in Whitley Stokes' translation of the "Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel." With all respect to these scholars, and with the full consciousness of the difficulty of the task that has naturally been felt by one who has vainly attempted to make sense of what their greater skill has omitted, it may be suggested that the total omission of such passages injures the literary effect of a romance in a manner similar to the effect of omitting all the choric pieces in a Greek tragedy: the rhetoric indeed, on account of its irregularity, its occasional strophic correspondence, its general independence of the action of the tale, and its difficulty as compared with the other passages, may be compared very closely to a Greek "chorus." Few of the romances written in prose and verse are entirely without rhetoric; but some contain very little of it; all the six romances of this character given in the present volume (counting as two the two versions of "Etain") contain some rhetoric, but there are only twenty-one such passages in the collection altogether, ten of which are in one romance, the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain." The present collection is an attempt to give to English readers some of the oldest romances in English literary forms that seem to correspond to the literary forms which were used in Irish to produce the same effect, and has been divided into two parts. The first part contains five separate stories, all of which are told in the characteristic form of prose and verse: they are the "Courtship of Etain," the "Boar of Mac Datho," the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the "Death of the Sons of Usnach" (Book of Leinster version), and the "Combat at the Ford" out of the Book of Leinster version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge." Two versions are given of the "Courtship of Etain "; and the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," as is pointed out in the special preface prefixed to it, really consists of two independent versions. It was at first intended to add the better-known version of the "Death of the Sons of Usnach" known as that of the Glenn Masain MS., but the full translation of this has been omitted, partly to avoid making the volume too bulky, partly because this version is readily attainable in a literal form; an extract from it has, however, been added to the Book of Leinster version for the purpose of comparison. In the renderings given of these romances the translation of the prose is nearly literal, but no attempt has been made to follow the Irish idiom where this idiom sounds harsh in English; actives have been altered to passive forms and the reverse, adjectives are sometimes replaced by short sentences which give the image better in English, pronouns, in which Irish is very rich, are often replaced by the persons or things indicated, and common words, like iarom, iarsin, iartain, immorro, and the like (meaning thereafter, moreover, &c.), have been replaced by short sentences that refer back to the events indicated by the words. Nothing has been added to the Irish, except in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain," where there is a lacuna to be filled up, and there are no omissions. The translations of the verse and of the rhetoric are, so far as is possible, made upon similar lines; it was at first intended to add literal renderings of all the verse passages, but it was found that to do so would make the volume of an unmanageable size for its purpose. Literal renderings of all the verse passages in "Etain," the first of the tales in volume i., are given in the notes to that story; the literal renderings of Deirdre's lament in the "Sons of Usnach," and of two poems in "The Combat at the Ford," are also given in full as specimens, but in the case of most of the poems reference is made to easily available literal translations either in English or German: where the literal rendering adopted differs from that referred to, or where the poem in question has not before been translated, the literal rendering has been given in the notes. These examples will, it is believed, give a fair indication of the relation between my verse translations and the originals, the deviations from which have been made as small as possible. The form of four-line verse divided into stanzas has generally been used to render the passages in four-lined verse in the Irish, the only exception to this rule being in the verses at the end of the "Boar of Mac Datho": these are in the nature of a ballad version of the whole story, and have been rendered in a ballad metre that does not conform to the arrangement in verses of the original. The metre of all the Irish four-lined verses in this volume is, except in two short pieces, a seven-syllabled line, the first two lines usually rhyming with each other, and the last two similarly rhyming,[FN#4] in a few cases in the "Boar of Mac Datho" these rhymes are alternate, and in the extract from the Glenn Masain version of the "Sons of Usnach" there is a more complicated rhyme system. It has not been thought necessary to reproduce this metre in all cases, as to do so would sound too monotonous in English; the metre is, however, reproduced once at least in each tale except in that of the "Death of the Sons of Usnach." The eight-lined metre that occurs in five of the verse passages in the "Combat at the Ford" has in one case been reproduced exactly, and in another case nearly exactly, but with one syllable added to each line; the two passages in this romance that are in five-syllabled lines have been reproduced exactly in the Irish metre, in one case with the rhyme-system of the original. With the rhetoric greater liberty has been used; sometimes the original metre has been followed, but more often not; and an occasional attempt has been made to bring out the strophic correspondence in the Irish. [FN#4] An example of this metre is as follows:-- All the elves of Troom seem dead, All their mighty deeds are fled; For their Hound, who hounds surpassed, Elves have bound in slumber fast. In the first volume of the collection the presentation has then been made as near as may be to the form and matter of the Irish; in the second volume, called "Versified Romances," there is a considerable divergence from the Irish form but not from its sense. This part includes the five "Tains" or Cattle-Forays of Fraech, Dartaid, Regamon, Flidais, and Regamna; which in the originals differ from the five tales in volume i, in that they include no verse, except for a few lines in Regamna, most of which are untranslatable. The last four of these are short pieces written in a prose extremely rapid in its action, and crowded with incident. They are all expressly named as "fore-tales," remscela, or preludes to the story of the great war of Cualnge, which is the central event in the Ulster heroic cycle, and appear suited for rapid prose recitations, which were apparently as much a feature in ancient as they are in modern Irish. Such pieces can hardly be reproduced in English prose so as to bring out their character; they are represented in English by the narrative ballad, and they have been here rendered in this way. Literal translations in prose are printed upon the opposite page to the verse, these translations being much more exact than the translations in the first volume, as the object in this case is to show the literal Irish form, not its literal English equivalent, which is in this case the verse. The "Tain bo Fraich" is also, in a sense, a "fore-tale" to the Great Raid, but is of a different character to the others. It consists of two parts, the second of which is not unlike the four that have just been mentioned, but the first part is of a much higher order, containing brilliant descriptions, and at least one highly poetic passage although its Irish form is prose. Fraech has been treated like the other fore-tales, and rendered in verse with literal prose opposite to the verse for the purpose of comparison. The notes to all the five Tana in the second volume accompany the text; in the first volume all the notes to the different romances are collected together, and placed at the end of the volume. The second volume also includes a transcript from the facsimile of that part of the Irish text of the tale of Etain which has not before been published, together with an interlinear literal translation. It is hoped that this arrangement may assist some who are not Middle Irish scholars to realise what the original romances are. The manuscript authorities for the eleven different romances (counting as two the two versions of "Etain") are all old; seven are either in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, an eleventh-century manuscript, or in the Book of Leinster, a twelfth-century one; three of the others are in the fourteenth-century Yellow Book of Lecan, which is often, in the case of texts preserved both in it and the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, regarded as the better authority of the two; and the remaining one, the second version of "Etain," is in the fifteenth-century manuscript known as Egerton, 1782, which gives in an accurate form so many texts preserved in the older manuscripts that it is very nearly as good an authority as they. The sources used in making the translations are also stated in the special introductions, but it may be mentioned as a summary that the four "Preludes," the Tana of Dartaid, Regamon, Flidais, and Regamna, are taken from the text printed with accompanying German translations by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. ii.; Windisch's renderings being followed in those portions of the text that he translates; for the "Tain bo Fraich" and the "Combat at the Ford" the Irish as given by O'Beirne Crowe and by O'Curry, with not very trustworthy English translations, has been followed; in the case of the fragment of the Glenn Masain version of "Deirdre" little reference has been made to the Irish, the literal translation followed being that given by Whitley Stokes. The remaining five romances, the "Boar of Mac Datho," the Leinster version of "Deirdre," the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the Egerton version of "Etain," and the greater part of the Leabbar na h-Uidhri version of the same, are taken from the Irish text printed without translation in Irische Texte, vol. i., the end of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version omitted by Windisch being taken from the facsimile of the manuscript published by the Royal Irish Academy. I have to acknowledge with gratitude many corrections to O'Beirne Crowe's translation of the "Tain bo Fraich" kindly given me by Professor Kuno Meyer; in the case of O'Curry's translation of the "Combat at the Ford," similar help kindly given me by Mr. E. J. Quiggin; and in the case of the two versions of "Etain," more especially for the part taken direct from the facsimile, I have to express gratitude for the kind and ready help given to me by Professor Strachan. Professor Strachan has not only revised my transcript from the facsimile, and supplied me with translations of the many difficult passages in this of which I could make no sense, but has revised all the translation which was made by the help of Windisch's glossary to the Irische Texte of both the versions of "Etain," so that the translations given of these two romances should be especially reliable, although of course I may have made some errors which have escaped Professor Strachan's notice. The three other romances which have been translated from the Irish in Irische Texte have not been similarly revised, but all passages about which there appeared to be doubt have been referred to in the notes to the individual romances. It remains to add some remarks upon the general character of the tales, which, as may be seen after a very cursory examination, are very different both in tone and merit, as might indeed be expected if we remember that we are probably dealing with the works of men who were separated from each other by a gap of hundreds of years. Those who have read the actual works of the ancient writers of the Irish romances will not readily indulge in the generalisations about them used by those to whom the romances are only known by abstracts or a compilation. Perhaps the least meritorious of those in this collection are the "Tains" of Dartaid, Regamon, and Flidais, but the tones of these three stories are very different. Dartaid is a tale of fairy vengeance for a breach of faith; Flidais is a direct and simple story of a raid like a Border raid, reminding us of the "riding ballads" of the Scottish Border, and does not seem to trouble itself much about questions of right or wrong; Regamon is a merry tale of a foray by boys and girls; it troubles itself with the rights of the matter even less than Flidais if possible, and is an example of an Irish tale with what is called in modern times a "good ending." It may be noted that these last two tales have no trace of the supernatural element which some suppose that the Irish writers were unable to dispense with. The "Tain bo Regamna," the shortest piece in the collection, is a grotesque presentation of the supernatural, and is more closely associated with the Great Tain than any of the other fore-tales to it, the series of prophecies with which it closes exactly following the action of the part of the Tain, to which it refers. Some of the grotesque character of Regamna appears in the "Boar of Mac Datho," which, however, like Regamon and Flidais, has no supernatural element; its whole tone is archaic and savage, relieved by touches of humour, but the style of the composition is much superior to that of the first three stories. A romance far superior to "Mae Datho" is the Leinster version of the well-known Deirdre story, the "Death of the Sons of Usnach." The opening of the story is savage, the subsequent action of the prose is very rapid, while the splendid lament at the end, one of the best sustained laments in the language, and the restraint shown in its account of the tragic death of Deirdre, place this version of the story in a high position. As has been already mentioned, parts of the fifteenth-century version of the story have been added to this version for purposes of comparison: the character of the Deirdre of the Leinster version would not have been in keeping with the sentiment of the lament given to her in the later account. The remaining five romances (treating as two the two versions of "Etain") all show great beauty in different ways. Three of the four tales given in them have "good endings," and the feeling expressed in them is less primitive than that shown in the other stories, although it is an open question whether any of them rises quite so high as Deirdre's lament. "Fraech" has, as has been mentioned before, two quite separate parts; the second part is of inferior quality, showing, however, an unusual amount of knowledge of countries lying outside Celtdom, but the first is a most graceful romance; although the hero is a demi-god, and the fairies play a considerable part in it, the interest is essentially human; and the plot is more involved than is the case in most of the romances. It abounds in brilliant descriptions; the description of the Connaught palace is of antiquarian interest; and one of the most beautiful pieces of Celtic mythology, the parentage of the three fairy harpers, is included in it. The "Sick-bed of Cuchulain" and the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "Courtship of Etain" seem to have had their literary effect injured by the personality of the compiler of the manuscript from which the Leabhar na h-Uidhri was copied. Seemingly an antiquarian, interested in the remains of the old Celtic religion and in old ceremonies, he has inserted pieces of antiquarian information into several of the romances that he has preserved for us, and though these are often of great interest in themselves, they spoil the literary effect of the romances in which they appear. It is possible that both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain" and the "Sick-bed" might be improved by a little judicious editing; they have, however, been left just as they stand in the manuscript. The "Sick-bed," as is pointed out in the special introduction to it, consists of two separate versions; the first has plainly some of the compiler's comments added to it, but the second and longer part seems not to have been meddled with; and, although a fragment, it makes a stately romance, full of human interest although dealing with supernatural beings; and its conclusion is especially remarkable in early literature on account of the importance of the action of the two women who are the heroines of this part of the tale. The action of Fand in resigning her lover to the weaker mortal woman who has a better claim upon him is quite modern in its tone. The nearest parallel to the longer version of the "Sick-bed" is the Egerton version of "Etain," which is a complete one, and makes a stately romance. It is full of human interest, love being its keynote; it keeps the supernatural element which is an essential to the original legend in the background, and is of quite a different character to the earlier Leabhar na h-Uidhri version, although there is no reason to assume that the latter is really the more ancient in date. In the Leabbar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain," all that relates to the love-story is told in the baldest manner, the part which deals with the supernatural being highly descriptive and poetic. I am inclined to believe that the antiquarian compiler of the manuscript did here what he certainly did in the case of the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," and pieced together two romances founded upon the same legend by different authors. The opening of the story in Fairyland and the concluding part where Mider again appears are alike both in style and feeling, while the part that comes between is a highly condensed version of the love-story of the Egerton manuscript, and suggests the idea of an abstract of the Egerton version inserted into the story as originally composed, the effect being similar to that which would be produced upon us if we had got Aeschylus' "Choaphorae" handed down to us with a condensed version of the dialogue between Electra and Chrysothemis out of Sophocles' "Electra" inserted by a conscientious antiquarian who thought that some mention of Chrysothemis was necessary. This version of the legend, however, with its strong supernatural flavour, its insistence on the idea of re-birth, its observation of nature, and especially the fine poem in which Mider invites Etain to Fairyland, is a most valuable addition to the literature, and we have to lament the gap in it owing to the loss of a column in that part of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri manuscript which has been preserved. The last piece to be mentioned is the extract from the "Tain be Cuailnge" known as the "Combat at the Ford." This seems to me the finest specimen of old Irish work that has been preserved for us; the brilliance of its descriptions, the appropriate changes in its metres, the chivalry of its sentiments, and the rapidity of its action should, even if there were nothing to stand beside it in Irish literature, give that literature a claim to be heard: as an account of a struggle between two friends, it is probably the finest in any literature. It has been stated recently, no doubt upon sound authority, that the grammatical forms of this episode show it to be late, possibly dating only to the eleventh century. The manuscript in which it appears, however, is of the earlier part of the twelfth century; no literary modem work other than Irish can precede it in time; and if it is the work of an eleventh-century author, it does seem strange that his name or the name of some one of that date who could have written it has not been recorded, as MacLiag's name has been as the traditional author of the eleventh-century "Wars of the Gaedhill and the Gaill," for the names of several Irish authors of that period axe well known, and the Early Middle Irish texts of that period are markedly of inferior quality. Compare for example the Boromaean Tribute which Stokes considers to take high rank among texts of that period (Revue Celtique, xiii. p. 32). One would certainly like to believe that this episode of the "Combat at the Ford" belongs to the best literary period, with which upon literary grounds it seems to be most closely connected. But, whether this comparative lateness of the "Combat at the Ford" be true or not, it, together with all the varied work contained in this collection, with the possible exception of the short extract from the Glenn Masain "Deirdre," is in the actual form that we have it, older than the Norman Conquest of Ireland, older than the Norse Sagas. Its manuscript authority is older than that of the Volsunga Saga; its present form precedes the birth of Chretien de Troyes, the first considerable name in French literature, and, in a form not much unlike that in which we have it, it is probably centuries older than its actual manuscript date. The whole thing stands at the very beginning of the literature of Modern Europe, and compares by no means unfavourably with that which came after, and may, in part, have been inspired by it. Surely it deserves to be raised from its present position as a study known only to a few specialists, and to form part of the mental equipment of every man who is for its own sake interested in and a lover of literature. INTRODUCTION IN VERSE 'Tis hard an audience now to win For lore that Ireland's tales can teach; And faintly, 'mid the modern din, Is heard the old heroic speech. For long the tales in silence slept; The ancient tomes by few were read; E'en those who still its knowledge kept Have thought the living music dead. And some, to save the lore from death, With modern arts each tale would deck, Inflate its rhymes with magic breath, As if to buoy a sinking wreck. They graft new morbid magic dreams On tales where beating life is felt: In each romance find mystic gleams, And traces of the "moody Celt." Yet, though with awe the grassy mound That fairies haunt, is marked to-day; And though in ancient tales are found Dim forms of gods, long passed away; Though later men to magic turned, Inserting many a Druid spell; And ill the masters' craft had learned Who told the tales, and told them well; No tale should need a magic dress Or modern art, its life to give: Each for itself, or great, or less, Should speak, if it deserves to live. Think not a dull, a scribal pen Dead legends wrote, half-known, and feared: In lettered lands to poet men Romance, who lives to-day, appeared. For when, in fear of warrior bands, Had Learning fled the western world, And, raised once more by Irish hands, Her banner stood again unfurled; 'Twas there, where men her laws revered, That Learning aided Art's advance; And Ireland bore, and Ireland reared These Eldest Children of Romance. Her poets knew the Druid creeds; Yet not on these their thoughts would rest: They sang of love, of heroes' deeds, Of kingly pomp, of cheerful jest. Not as in Greece aspired their thought, They joyed in battles wild and stern; Yet pity once to men they taught From whom a fiercer age could learn. Their frequent theme was war: they sang The praise of chiefs of courage high; Yet, from their harps the accents rang That taught to knighthood chivalry. Their heroes praise a conquered foe, Oppose their friends for honour's sake, To weaker chieftains mercy show, And strength of cruel tyrants break. Their nobles, loving fame, rejoice In glory, got from bards, to shine; Yet thus ascends Cuchulain's voice: "No skill indeed to boast is mine!" They sang, to please a warlike age, Of wars, and women's wild lament, Yet oft, restraining warriors' rage, Their harps to other themes were bent. They loved on peaceful pomp to dwell, Rejoiced in music's magic strains,. All Nature's smiling face loved well, And "glowing hues of flowery plains." Though oft of Fairy Land they spoke, No eerie beings dwelled therein, 'Twas filled throughout with joyous folk Like men, though freed from death and sin. And sure those bards were truest knights Whose thoughts of women high were set, Nor deemed them prizes, won in fights, But minds like men's, and women yet. With skilful touch they paint us each, Etain, whose beauty's type for all; Scathach, whose warriors skill could teach Emer, whose words in wisdom fall; Deirdre the seer, by love made keen; Flidais, whose bounty armies feeds The prudent Mugain, Conor's queen; Crund's wife, more swift than Conor's steeds; Finnabar, death for love who dared; Revengeful Ferb, who died of grief Fand, who a vanquished rival spared; Queen Maev, who Connaught led, its chief. Not for the creeds their lines preserve Should Ireland's hero tales be known Their pictured pages praise deserve From all, not learned men alone. Their works are here; though flawed by time, To all the living verses speak Of men who taught to Europe rhyme, Who knew no masters, save the Greek. In forms like those men loved of old, Naught added, nothing torn away, The ancient tales again are told, Can none their own true magic sway? PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES The following list of suggested pronunciations does not claim to be complete or to be necessarily correct in all cases. Some words like Ferdia and Conchobar (Conor) have an established English pronunciation that is strictly speaking wrong; some, like Murthemne are doubtful; the suggestions given here are those adopted by the editor for such information as is at his disposal. It seems to be unnecessary to give all the names, as the list would be too long; this list contains those names in the first volume as are of frequent occurrence; names that occur less commonly, and some of those in the following list, have a pronunciation indicated in foot-notes. The most important names are in small capitals. LIST OF NAMES Aife (Ee-fa), pp. 117, 129, 1342 141, 148, an instructress of Cuchulain, Ferdia, and others in the art of war. Cathbad (Cah-ba), pp. 91, 92, 93, 95, a Druid. Cualgne (Kell-ny), mentioned in the Preface, Introductions, the "Combat" and elsewhere; a district corresponding to County Louth. Cuchulain (Cu-hoo-lin), the hero of the "Sick-bed" and the "Combat," and of the Ulster Heroic cycle in general. Deirdre (Dire-dree), the heroine of the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach." Dubhtach (Doov-ta), pp. 48, 97, 98, 107, an Ulster hero. Eochaid Airem (Yeo-hay Arrem), the king in the "Courtship of Etain." Eochaid Juil (Yeo-hay Yool), pp. 63, 70, 76, 79, a fairy king killed by Cuchulain. Eogan mac Durthacht (Yeogan mac Door-ha), pp. 43, 48, 93, 97, 101, 107; an Ulster hero, the slayer of the sons of Usnach. Etain (Et-oyn), the heroine of the "Courtship of Etain." Ferdia (Fer-dee-a), Cuchulain's opponent in the "Combat at the Ford." The true pronunciation is probably Fer-deed. Fuamnach (Foom-na), pp. 79 9, 10, 19, 26, a sorceress. Laeg (Layg), son of Riangabra (Reen-gabra), the charioteer and friend of Cuchulain, frequently mentioned in the "Sick-bed" and the "Combat at the Ford." Laegaire (Leary), pp. 42, 46, 67, an Ulster hero. Leabhar na h-Uidhri (Lyow-er na hoorie), frequently mentioned, the oldest Irish manuscript of romance. It means the "Book of the Dun Cow," sometimes referred to as L.U. Mac Datho (Mac Da-ho), king of Leinster in the "Boar of Mac Datho," the word means "son of two mutes." Murthemne (Moor-temmy), pp. 57, 59, 61, 73, 77, 78, a district in Ulster, with which Cuchulain is connected in the "Sick-bed" (in the "Combat" he is "Cuchulain of Cualgne"). Naisi (Nay-see), the hero of the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach." Scathach (Ska-ha), pp. 117, 129) 131, 134, 141, 149, 151 a sorceress in the Isle of Skye, instructress of Cuchulain in war. Uathach (Oo-ha), pp. 117, 129, 134; 141) 149, daughter of Scathach. Other prominent characters, in the pronunciation of whose names as given in the text no special assistance is required, are: Ailill mac Mata (Al-ill), king of Connaught. Ailill Anglonnach, lover of Etain, in the "Courtship of Etain." Conall Cernach, Conall the Victorious, second champion of Ulster after Cuchulain. Conor (properly spelt Conchobar and pronounced Con-ower), king of Ulster. Emer, wife of Cuchulain, appears often in the "Sick-bed." This name is by some pronounced A-vair, probably from a different spelling. Fand, the fairy princess, in love with Cuchulain, in the "Sick-bed." Fergus, son of Rog, prominent in the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach," and in "Combat"; step-father to King Conor, he appears in most of the romances. Ket (spelt Cet), son of Mata, the Connaught champion, appears in the "Boar of Mac Datho." Maev (spelt Medb), the great Queen of Connaught. Mider, Etain's fairy lover, in the "Courtship of Etain." CONTENTS THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN MAC DATHO'S BOAR THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH THE COMBAT AT THE FORD SPECIAL NOTE ON THE COMBAT AT THE FORD GENERAL NOTES THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN INTRODUCTION The date which tradition assigns to the events related in the tale of the "Courtship of Etain" is about B.C. 100, two or, according to some accounts, three generations before the king Conaire Mor, or Conary, whose death is told in the tale called the "Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel." This king is generally spoken of as a contemporary of the chief personages of what is called more especially the "Heroic Age" of Ireland; and the two versions of the "Courtship of Etain" given in this volume at once introduce a difficulty; for the sub-kings who were tributary to Eochaid, Etain's husband, are in both versions stated to be Conor, Ailill mac Mata, Mesgegra, and Curoi, all of whom are well-known figures in the tales of the Heroic Age. As Conary is related to have ruled sixty years, and several of the characters of the Heroic Age survived him, according to the tale that describes his death, the appearance of the names of Conor and Ailill in a tale about his grandfather (or according to the Egerton version his great-grandfather) introduces an obvious discrepancy. It appears to be quite impossible to reconcile the dates given to the actors in the tales of the Heroic and preceding age. They seem to have been given in the "antiquarian age" of the tenth and eleventh centuries; not only do they differ according to different chronologers by upwards of a hundred years, but the succession of kings in the accounts given by the same chronologer is often impossible in view of their mutual relationships. The real state of things appears to be that the "Courtship of Etain," together with the story of Conary, the lost tale of the destruction of the Fairy Hill of Nennta,[FN#5] and the tale of the Bull-Feast and election of Lugaid Red-Stripes as king of Ireland, forms a short cycle of romance based upon ancient legends that had originally no connection at all with those on which the romances of the Heroic Age were built. The whole government of the country is essentially different in the two cycles; in the Etain cycle the idea is that of a land practically governed by one king, the vassal kings being of quite small importance; in the tales of the Heroic Age proper, the picture we get is of two, if not of four, practically independent kingdoms, the allusions to any over-king being very few, and in great part late. But when the stories of Etain and of Conary assumed their present forms, when the writers of our romances formed them out of the traditions which descended to them from pro-Christian sources, both cycles of tradition were pretty well known; and there was a natural tendency to introduce personages from one cycle into the other, although these personages occupy a subordinate position in the cycle to which they do not properly belong. Even Conall Cernach, who is a fairly prominent figure in the tale of the death of Conary, has little importance given to him compared with the people who really belong to the cycle, and the other warriors of the Heroic Age mentioned in the tale are little but lay figures compared with Conary, Ingcel, and Mac Cecht. A wish to connect the two cycles probably accounts for the connection of Lugaid Red-Stripes with Cuchulain, the introduction of Conor and Ailill into the story of Etain may be due to the same cause, and there is no need to suppose that the authors of our versions felt themselves bound by what other men had introduced into the tale of Conary. The practice of introducing heroes from one cycle into another was by no means uncommon, or confined to Ireland; Greek heroes' names sometimes appear in the Irish tales; Cuchulain, in much later times, comes into the tales of Finn; and in Greece itself, characters who really belong to the time of the Trojan War appear in tales of the Argonauts. [FN#5] A short account of this is in the story of King Dathi (O'Curry Lectures, p. 286). The tale seems to be alluded to in the quatrain on p. 10 of this volume. There are very few corresponding allusions to personages from the small Etain cycle found in the great cycle of romances that belong to the Heroic Age, but MacCecht's name appears in a fifteenth-century manuscript which gives a version of the tale of Flidais; and I suspect an allusion to the Etain story in a verse in the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain" (see note, p. 184). It may be observed that the introduction of Conor and his contemporaries into the story of Conary's grandparents is an additional piece of evidence that our form of the story of Etain precedes the "antiquarian age"; for at that time the version which we have of the story of Conary must have been classical and the connection of Conor's warriors with Conary well-known. A keen eye was at that time kept on departures from the recognised historical order (compare a note by Mr. Nutt in the "Voyage of Bran," vol. ii. p. 61); and the introduction of Conor into our version of the tale of Etain must have been at an earlier date. The two versions of the "Courtship of Etain," the Egerton one, and that in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, have been compared in the general preface to the volume, and little more need be said on this point; it may, however, be noted that eight pages of the Egerton version (pp. 11 to 18) are compressed into two pages in L.U. (pp. 23 and 24). References to the Etain story are found in different copies of the "Dindshenchas," under the headings of Rath Esa, Rath Croghan, and Bri Leith; the principal manuscript authorities, besides the two translated here, are the Yellow Book of Lecan, pp. 91 to 104, and the Book of Leinster, 163b (facsimile). These do not add much to our versions; there are, however, one or two new points in a hitherto untranslated manuscript source mentioned by O'Curry ("Manners and Customs," vol. ii. p 192 to 194). The Leabhar na h-Uidhri version is defective both at the beginning and at the end; there is also a complete column torn from the manuscript, making the description of the chess match defective. These three gaps have been filled up by short passages enclosed in square brackets, at the commencement of the Prologue, on p. 28, and at the end of the L.U. version. The two first of these insertions contain no matter that cannot be found by allusions in the version itself; the conclusion of the tale is drawn, partly from the "Dindshenchas" of Rath Esa, partly from the passage in O'Curry's "Manners and Customs." The only alteration that has been made is that, following a suggestion in Windisch (Irische Texte, i. p. 132), the poem on page 26 has been placed four pages earlier than the point at which it occurs in the manuscript. Three very difficult lines (Leabhar na h-Uidhri, 132a, lines 12 to 14) have not been attempted; there are no other omissions, and no insertions except the three noted above. The Prologue out of the L.U. version has been placed first, as it is essential to the understanding of any version, then follows the Egerton version as the longer of the two, then the L.U. version of the Courtship, properly so called. PROLOGUE IN FAIRYLAND FROM THE LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI Etain of the Horses, the daughter of Ailill, was the wife of Mider, the Fairy Dweller in Bri Leith.[FN#6] Now Mider had also another wife named Fuamnach[FN#7] who was filled with jealousy against Etain, and sought to drive her from her husband's house. And Fuamnach sought out Bressal Etarlam the Druid and besought his aid; and by the spells of the Druid, and the sorcery of Fuamnach, Etain was changed into the shape of a butterfly that finds its delight among flowers. And when Etain was in this shape she was seized by a great wind that was raised by Fuamnach's spells; and she was borne from her husband's house by that wind for seven years till she came to the palace of Angus Mac O'c who was son to the Dagda, the chief god of the men of ancient Erin. Mac O'c had been fostered by Mider, but he was at enmity with his foster-father, and he recognised Etain, although in her transformed shape, as she was borne towards him by the force] of the wind. And he made a bower for Etain with clear windows for it through which she might pass, and a veil of purple was laid upon her; and that bower was carried about by Mac O'c wherever he went. And there each night she slept beside him by a means that he devised, so that she became well-nourished and fair of form; for that bower was filled with marvellously sweet-scented shrubs, and it was upon these that she thrived, upon the odour and blossom of the best of precious herbs. [FN#6] Pronounced Bree Lay. [FN#7] Pronounced Foom-na. Now to Fuamnach came tidings of the love and the worship that Etain had from Mac O'c, and she came to Mider, and "Let thy foster-son," said she, "be summoned to visit thee, that I may make peace between you two, and may then go to seek for news of Etain." And the messenger from Mider went to Mac O'c, and Mac O'c went to Mider to greet him; but Fuamnach for a long time wandered from land to land till she was in that very mansion where Etain was; and then she blew beneath her with the same blast as aforetime, so that the blast carried her out of her bower, and she was blown before it, as she had been before for seven years through all the land of Erin, and she was driven by the wind of that blast to weakness and woe. And the wind carried her over the roof of a house where the men of Ulster sat at their ale, so that she fell through the roof into a cup of gold that stood near the wife of Etar the Warrior, whose dwelling-place was near to the Bay of Cichmany in the province that was ruled over by Conor. And the woman swallowed Etain together with the milk that was in the cup, and she bare her in her womb, till the time came that she was born thereafter as in earthly maid, and the name of Etain, the daughter of Etar, was given to her. And it was one thousand and twelve years since the time of the first begetting of Etain by Ailill to the time when she was born the second time as the daughter of Etar. Now Etain was nurtured at Inver Cichmany in the house of Etar, with fifty maidens about her of the daughters of the chiefs of the land; and it was Etar himself who still nurtured and clothed them, that they might be companions to his daughter Etain. And upon a certain day, when those maidens were all at the river-mouth to bathe there, they saw a horseman on the plain who came to the water towards them. A horse he rode that was brown, curvetting, and prancing, with a broad forehead and a curly mane and tail. Green, long, and flowing was the cloak that was about him, his shirt was embroidered with embroidery of red gold, and a great brooch of gold in his cloak reached to his shoulder on either side. Upon the back of that man was a silver shield with a golden rim; the handle for the shield was silver, and a golden boss was in the midst of the shield: he held in his hand a five-pointed spear with rings of gold about it from the haft to the head. The hair that was above his forehead was yellow and fair; and upon his brow was a circlet of gold, which confined the hair so that it fell not about his face. He stood for a while upon the shore of the bay; and he gazed upon the maidens, who were all filled with love for him, and then he sang this song: West of Alba, near the Mound[FN#8] Where the Fair-Haired Women play, There, 'mid little children found, Etain dwells, by Cichmain's Bay. She hath healed a monarch's eye By the well of Loch-da-lee; Yea, and Etar's wife, when dry, Drank her: heavy draught was she! Chased by king for Etain's sake, Birds their flight from Teffa wing: 'Tis for her Da-Arbre's lake Drowns the coursers of the king. Echaid, who in Meath shall reign, Many a war for thee shall wage; He shall bring on fairies bane, Thousands rouse to battle's rage. Etain here to harm was brought, Etain's form is Beauty's test; Etain's king in love she sought: Etain with our folk shall rest! [FN#8] The metre of these verses is that of the Irish. And after that he had spoken thus, the young warrior went away from the place where the maidens were; and they knew not whence it was that he had come, nor whither he departed afterwards. Moreover it is told of Mac O'c, that after the disappearance of Etain he came to the meeting appointed between him and Mider; and when he found that Fuamnach was away: "'Tis deceit," said Mider, "that this woman hath practised upon us; and if Etain shall be seen by her to be in Ireland, she will work evil upon Etain." "And indeed," said Mac O'c, "it seemeth to me that thy guess may be true. For Etain hath long since been in my own house, even in the palace where I dwell; moreover she is now in that shape into which that woman transformed her; and 'tis most likely that it is upon her that Fuamnach hath rushed." Then Mac O'c went back to his palace, and he found his bower of glass empty, for Etain was not there. And Mac O'c turned him, and he went upon the track of Fuamnach, and he overtook her at Oenach Bodbgnai, in the house of Bressal Etarlam the Druid. And Mac O'c attacked her, and he struck off her head, and he carried the head with him till he came to within his own borders. Yet a different tale hath been told of the end of Fuamnach, for it hath been said that by the aid of Manannan both Fuamnach and Mider were slain in Bri Leith, and it is of that slaying that men have told when they said: Think on Sigmall, and Bri with its forest: Little wit silly Fuamnach had learned; Mider's wife found her need was the sorest, When Bri Leith by Manannan was burned. THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN EGERTON VERSION Once there was a glorious and stately king who held the supreme lordship over all the land of Ireland. The name of the king was Eochaid Airemm, and he was the son of Finn, who was the son of Finntan; who was the son of Rogan the Red; who was the son of Essamain; who was the son of Blathecht; who was the son of Beothecht; who was the son of Labraid the Tracker; who was the son of Enna the Swift; who was the son of Angus of Tara, called the Shamefaced; who was the son of Eochaid the Broad-jointed; who was the son of Ailill of the Twisted Teeth; who was the son of Connla the Fair; who was the son of Irer; who was the son of Melghe the Praiseworthy; who was the son of Cobhtach the Slender from the plain of Breg; who was the son of Ugaine the Great; who was the son of Eochaid the Victorious. Now all the five provinces of Ireland were obedient to the rule of Eochaid Airemm: for Conor the son of Ness, the king of Ulster, was vassal to Eochaid; and Messgegra the king of Leinster was his vassal; and so was Curoi, the son of Dare, king of the land of Munster; and so were Ailill and Maev, who ruled over the land of Connaught. Two great strongholds were in the hands of Eochaid: they were the strongholds of Fremain in Meath, and of Fremain in Tethba; and the stronghold that he had in Tethba was more pleasing to him than any of those that he possessed. Less than a year had passed since Eochaid first assumed the sovereignty over Erin, when the news was proclaimed at once throughout all the land that the Festival of Tara should be held, that all the men of Ireland should come into the presence of their king, and that he desired full knowledge of the tributes due from, and the customs proper to each. And the one answer that all of the men of Ireland made to his call was: "That they would not attend the Festival of Tara during such time, whether it be long or short, that the king of Ireland remained without a wife that was worthy of him;" for there is no noble who is a wifeless man among the men of Ireland; nor can there be any king without a queen; nor does any man go to the Festival of Tara without his wife; nor does any wife go thither without her husband. Thereupon Eochaid sent out from him his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and his couriers of the boundaries throughout all Ireland; and they searched all Ireland as they sought for a wife that should be worthy of the king, in her form, and her grace, and her countenance, and her birth. And in addition to all this there yet remained one condition: that the king would take as his wife none who had been before as a wife to any other man before him. And after that they had received these commands, his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries went out; and they searched all Ireland south and north; and near to the Bay of Cichmany they found a wife worthy of the king; and her name was Etain the daughter of Etar, who was the king of Echrad. And his messengers returned to Eochaid, and they told him of the maiden, of her form, and her grace, and her countenance. And Eochaid came to that place to take the maiden thence, and this was the way that he took; for as he crossed over the ground where men hold the assembly of Bri Leith, he saw the maiden at the brink of the spring. A clear comb of silver was held in her hand, the comb was adorned with gold; and near her, as for washing, was a bason of silver whereon four birds had been chased, and there were little bright gems of carbuncle on the rims of the bason. A bright purple mantle waved round her; and beneath it was another mantle, ornamented with silver fringes: the outer mantle was clasped over her bosom with a golden brooch. A tunic she wore, with a long hood that might cover her head attached to it; it was stiff and glossy with green silk beneath red embroidery of gold, and was clasped over her breasts with marvellously wrought clasps of silver and gold; so that men saw the bright gold and the green silk flashing against the sun. On her head were two tresses of golden hair, and each tress had been plaited into four strands; at the end of each strand was a little ball of gold. And there was that maiden, undoing her hair that she might wash it, her two arms out through the armholes of her smock. Each of her two arms was as white as the snow of a single night, and each of her cheeks was as rosy as the foxglove. Even and small were the teeth in her head, and they shone like pearls. Her eyes were as blue as a hyacinth, her lips delicate and crimson; very high, soft, and white were her shoulders. Tender, polished, and white were her wrists; her fingers long, and of great whiteness; her nails were beautiful and pink. White as the snow, or as the foam of the wave, was her side; long was it, slender, and as soft as silk. Smooth and white were her thighs; her knees were round and firm and white; her ankles were as straight as the rule of a carpenter. Her feet were slim, and as white as the ocean's foam; evenly set were her eyes; her eyebrows were of a bluish black, such as ye see upon the shell of a beetle. Never a maid fairer than she, or more worthy of love, was till then seen by the eyes of men; and it seemed to them that she must be one of those who have come from the fairy mounds: it is of this maiden that men have spoken when it hath been said: "All that's graceful must be tested by Etain; all that's lovely by the standard of Etain." Grace with Etain's grace compare! Etain's face shall test what's fair! And desire of her seized upon the king; and he sent a man of his people in front of him to go to her kindred, in order that she might abide to await his coming. And afterwards the king came to the maiden, and he sought speech from her: "Whence art thou sprung, O maiden?" says Eochaid, "and whence is it that thou hast come?" "It is easy to answer thee," said the maiden: "Etain is my name, the daughter of the king of Echrad; 'out of the fairy mound' am I" "Shall an hour of dalliance with thee be granted to me?" said Eochaid. "'Tis for that I have come hither under thy safeguard," said she. "And indeed twenty years have I lived in this place, ever since I was born in the mound where the fairies dwell, and the men who dwell in the elf-mounds, their kings and their nobles, have been a-wooing me: yet to never a one of them was granted sleep with me, for I have loved thee, and have set my love and affection upon thee; and that ever since I was a little child, and had first the gift of speech. It was for the high tales of thee, and of thy splendour, that I have loved thee thus; and though I have never seen thee before, I knew thee at once by reason of the report of thee that I had heard; it is thou, I know, to whom we have attained." "It is no evil-minded lover who now inviteth thee," says Eochaid. "Thou shalt be welcomed by me, and I will leave all women for thy sake, and thine alone will I be so long as it is pleasing to thee." "Let the bride-price that befits me be paid," said the maiden, "and after that let my desire be fulfilled." "It shall be as thou hast said," the king answered her; and he gave the value of seven cumals to be her brideprice; and after that he brought her to Tara, whereon a fair and hearty welcome was made to her. Now there were three brothers of the one blood, all sons of Finn, namely, Eochaid Airem, and Eochaid, and Ailill Anglonnach, or Ailill of the Single Stain, because the only stain that was upon him was the love that he had for his brother's wife. And at that time came all the men of Ireland to hold the festival of Tara; they were there for fourteen days before Samhain, the day when the summer endeth, and for fourteen days after that day. It was at the feast of Tara that love for Etain the daughter of Etar came upon Ailill Anglonnach; and ever so long as they were at the Tara Feast, so long he gazed upon the maid. And it was there that the wife of Ailill spoke to him; she who was the daughter of Luchta of the Red Hand, who came from the province of Leinster: "Ailill," said she, "why dost thou gaze at her from afar? for long gazing is a token of love." And Ailill gave blame to himself for this thing, and after that he looked not upon the maid. Now it followed that after that the Feast of Tara had been consumed, the men of Ireland parted from one another, and then it was that Ailill became filled with the pangs of envy and of desire; and he brought upon himself the choking misery of a sore sickness, and was borne to the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba after that he had fallen into that woe. There also, until a whole year had ended, sickness long brooded over Ailill, and for long was he in distress, yet he allowed none to know of his sickness. And there Eochaid came to learn of his brother's state, and he came near to his brother, and laid his hand upon his chest; and Ailill heaved a sigh. "Why," said Eochaid, "surely this sickness of thine is not such as to cause thee to lament; how fares it with thee?" "By my word," said Ailill, "'tis no easier that I grow; but it is worse each day, and each night." "Why, what ails thee?" said Eochaid, "By my word of truth," said Ailill, "I know not." "Bring one of my folk hither," said Eochaid, "one who can find out the cause of this illness." Then Fachtna, the chief physician of Eochaid, was summoned to give aid to Ailill, and he laid his hand upon his chest, and Ailill heaved a sigh. "Ah," said Fachtna, "there is no need for lament in this matter, for I know the cause of thy sickness; one or other of these two evils oppresseth thee, the pangs of envy, or the pangs of love: nor hast thou been aided to escape from them until now." And Ailill was full of shame, and he refused to confess to Fachtna the cause of his illness, and the physician left him. Now, after all this, king Eochaid went in person to make a royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and he left Etain behind him in his fortress; and "Lady," said he, "deal thou gently with Ailill so long as he is yet alive; and, should he die," said he, "do thou see that his burial mound be heaped for him; and that a standing-stone be set up in memory of him; and let his name be written upon it in letters of Ogham." Then the king went away for the space of a year, to make his royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and Ailill was left behind, in the stronghold of Fremain of Tethba; there to pass away and to die. Now upon a certain day that followed, the lady Etain came to the house where Ailill lay in his sickness, and thus she spoke to him: "What is it," she said, "that ails thee? thy sickness is great, and if we but knew anything that would content thee, thou shouldest have it." It was thus that at that time she spoke, and she sang a verse of a song, and Ailill in song made answer to her: Etain Young man, of the strong step and splendid, What hath bound thee? what ill dost thou bear? Thou hast long been on sick-bed extended, Though around thee the sunshine was fair. Ailill There is reason indeed for my sighing, I joy naught at my harp's pleasant sound; Milk untasted beside me is lying; And by this in disease am I bound. Etain Tell me all, thou poor man, of thine ailing; For a maiden am I that is wise; Is there naught, that to heal thee availing, Thou couldst win by mine aid, and arise Ailill If I told thee, thou beautiful maiden, My words, as I formed them, would choke, For with fire can eyes' curtains be laden: Woman-secrets are evil, if woke. Etain It is ill woman-secrets to waken; Yet with Love, its remembrance is long; And its part by itself may be taken, Nor a thought shall remain of the wrong. Ailill I adore thee, white lady, as grateful; Yet thy bounty deserve I but ill: To my soul is my longing but hateful, For my body doth strive with me still. Eocho Fedlech,[FN#9] his bride to him taking, Made thee queen; and from thence is my woe: For my head and my body are aching, And all Ireland my weakness must know. Etain If, among the white women who near me abide, There is one who is vexing, whose love thou dost hide; To thy side will I bring her, if thus I may please; And in love thou shalt win her, thy sickness to ease. Ah lady! said Ailill, "easily could the cure of my sickness be wrought by the aid of thee, and great gain should there come from the deed, but thus it is with me until that be accomplished: Long ago did my passion begin, A full year it exceeds in its length; And it holds me, more near than my skin, And it rules over wrath in its strength. And the earth into four it can shake, Can reach up to the heights of the sky And a neck with its might it can break, Nor from fight with a spectre would fly. In vain race up to heaven 'tis urged; It is chilled, as with water, and drowned: 'Tis a weapon, in ocean submerged; 'Tis desire for an echo, a sound. 'Tis thus my love, my passion seem; 'tis thus I strive in vain To win the heart of her whose love I long so much to gain. [FN#9] Pronounced Yeo-ho Fayllya, see note, p. 166. And the lady stood there in that place, and she looked upon Ailill, and the sickness in which he lay was perceived by her; and she was grieved on account of it: so that upon a certain day came the lady to Ailill, and "Young man," she said, "arouse thyself quickly, for in very truth thou shalt have all that thou desirest; and thereon did she make this lay: Now arouse thyself, Ailill the royal: Let thy heart, and thy courage rise high; Every longing thou hast shall be sated, For before thee, to heal thee, am I. Is my neck and its beauty so pleasing? 'Tis around it thine arms thou shalt place; And 'tis known as a courtship's beginning When a man and a woman embrace. And if this cometh not to content thee, O thou man, that art son to a king! I will dare to do crime for thy healing, And my body to please thee will bring. There were steeds, with their bridles, one hundred, When the price for my wedding was told; And one hundred of gay-coloured garments, And of cattle, and ounces of gold. Of each beast that men know, came one hundred; And king Eocho to grant them was swift: When a king gave such dowry to gain me, Is't not wondrous to win me, as gift? Now each day the lady came to Ailill to tend him, and to divide for him the portion of food that was allotted to him; and she wrought a great healing upon him: for it grieved her that he should perish for her sake. And one day the lady spoke to Ailill: "Come thou to-morrow," said she, "to tryst with me at the break of day, in the house which lieth outside, and is beyond the fort, and there shalt thou have granted thy request and thy desire." On that night Ailill lay without sleep until the coming of the morning; and when the time had come that was appointed for his tryst, his sleep lay heavily upon him; so that till the hour of his rising he lay deep in his sleep. And Etain went to the tryst, nor had she long to wait ere she saw a man coming towards her in the likeness of Ailill, weary and feeble; but she knew that he was not Ailill, and she continued there waiting for Ailill. And the lady came back from her tryst, and Ailill awoke, and thought that he would rather die than live; and he went in great sadness and grief. And the lady came to speak with him, and when he told her what had befallen him: "Thou shalt come," said she, "to the same place, to meet with me upon the morrow." And upon the morrow it was the same as upon the first day; each day came that man to her tryst. And she came again upon the last day that was appointed for the tryst, and the same man met her. "'Tis not with thee that I trysted," said she, "why dost thou come to meet me? and for him whom I would have met here; neither from desire of his love nor for fear of danger from him had I appointed to meet him, but only to heal him, and to cure him from the sickness which had come upon him for his love of me." "It were more fitting for thee to come to tryst with me," says the man, "for when thou wast Etain of the Horses, and when thou wast the daughter of Ailill, I myself was thy husband. "Why," said she, "what name hast thou in the land? that is what I would demand of thee." "It is not hard to answer thee," he said; "Mider of Bri Leith is my name." "And what made thee to part from me, if we were as thou sayest?" said Etain. "Easy again is the answer," said Mider; "it was the sorcery of Fuamnach and the spells of Bressal Etarlam that put us apart." And Mider said to Etain: "Wilt thou come with me?" "Nay," answered Etain, "I will not exchange the king of all Ireland for thee; for a man whose kindred and whose lineage is unknown." "It was I myself indeed," said Mider, "who filled all the mind of Ailill with love for thee: it was I also who prevented his coming to the tryst with thee, and allowed him not thine honour to spoil it." After all this the lady went back to her house, and she came to speech with Ailill, and she greeted him. "It hath happened well for us both," said Ailill, "that the man met thee there: for I am cured for ever from my illness, thou also art unhurt in thine honour, and may a blessing rest upon thee!" "Thanks be to our gods," said Etain, "that both of us do indeed deem that all this hath chanced so well." And after that Eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he asked at once for his brother; and the tale was told to him from the beginning to the end, and the king was grateful to Etain, in that she had been gracious to Ailill; and, "What hath been related in this tale," said Eochaid, "is well-pleasing to ourselves." And, for the after history of Eochaid and Etain, it is told that once when Eochaid was in Fremain, at such time as the people had prepared for themselves a great gathering and certain horse-races; thither also to that assembly came Etain, that she might see the sight. Thither also came Mider, and he searched through that assembly to find out where Etain might be; and he found Etain, and her women around her, and he bore her away with him, also one of her handmaidens, called Crochen the Ruddy: hideous was the form in which Mider approached them. And the wives of the men of Ireland raised cries of woe, as the queen was carried off from among them; and the horses of Ireland were loosed to pursue Mider, for they knew not whether it was into the air or into the earth he had gone. But, as for Mider, the course that he had taken was the road to the west, even to the plain of Croghan; and as he came thither, "How shall it profit us," said Crochen the Ruddy, "this journey of ours to this plain?" "For evermore," said Mider, "shall thy name be over all this plain:" and hence cometh the name of the plain of Croghan, and of the Fort of Croghan. Then Mider came to the Fairy Mound of Croghan; for the dwellers in that mound were allied to him, and his friends; and for nine days they lingered there, banqueting and feasting; so that "Is this the place where thou makest thy home?" said Crochen to Mider. "Eastwards from this is my dwelling," Mider answered her; "nearer to the rising-place of the sun;" and Mider, taking Etain with him, departed, and came to Bri Leith, where the son of Celthar had his palace. Now just at the time when they came to this palace, king Eochaid sent out from him the horsemen of Ireland, also his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, that they might search through Ireland, and find out where his wife might be; and Eochaid himself wandered throughout Ireland to seek for his wife; and for a year from that day until the same day upon the year that followed he searched, and he found nothing to profit him. Then, at the last, king Eochaid sent for his Druid, and he set to him the task to seek for Etain; now the name of the Druid was Dalan. And Dalan came before him upon that day; and he went westwards, until he came to the mountain that was after that known as Slieve Dalan; and he remained there upon that night. And the Druid deemed it a grievous thing that Etain should be hidden from him for the space of one year, and thereupon he made three wands of yew; and upon the wands he wrote an ogham; and by the keys of wisdom that he had, and by the ogham, it was revealed to him that Etain was in the fairy mound of Bri Leith, and that Mider had borne her thither. Then Dalan the Druid turned him, and went back to the east; and he came to the stronghold of Fremain, even to the place where the king of Ireland was; and Eochaid asked from the Druid his news. Thither also came the horsemen, and the wizards, and the officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, to the king of Ireland, and he asked them what tidings they had, and whether they had found news of Mider and Etain. And they said that they had found nothing at all; until at the last said his Druid to him: "A great evil hath smitten thee, also shame, and misfortune, on account of the loss of thy wife. Do thou assemble the warriors of Ireland, and depart to Bri Leith, where is the palace of the son of Celthar; let that palace be destroyed by thy hand, and there thou shalt find thy wife: by persuasion or by force do thou take her thence." Then Eochaid and the men of Ireland marched to Bri Leith, and they set themselves to destroy that fairy dwelling, and to demand that Etain be brought to them, and they brought her not. Then they ruined that fairy dwelling, and they brought Etain out from it; and she returned to Fremain, and there she had all the worship that a king of Ireland can bestow, fair wedded love and affection, such as was her due from Eochaid Airemm. This is that Eochaid who ruled over Ireland for twelve years, until the fire burned him in Fremain; and this tale is known by the name of the "Sick-bed of Ailill," also as "The Courtship of Etain." Etain bore no children to Eochaid Airemm, save one daughter only; and the name of her mother was given to her, and she is known by the name of Etain, the daughter of Eochaid Airemm. And it was her daughter Messbuachalla who was the mother of king Conary the Great, the son of Eterscel, and it was for this cause that the fairy host of Mag Breg and Mider of Bri Leith violated the tabus of king Conary, and devastated the plain of Breg, and out off Conary's life; on account of the capture of that fairy dwelling, and on account of the recovery of Etain, when she was carried away by violence, even by the might of Eochaid Airemm. THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI VERSION Eochaid Airemon took the sovereignty over Erin, and the five provinces of Ireland were obedient to him, for the king of each province was his vassal. Now these were they who were the kings of the provinces at that time, even Conor the son of Ness, and Messgegra, and Tigernach Tetbannach, and Curoi, and Ailill the son of Mata of Muresc. And the royal forts that belonged to Eochaid were the stronghold of Fremain in Meath, and the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba; moreover the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba was more pleasing to him than any other of the forts of Erin. Now a year after that Eochaid had obtained the sovereignty, he sent out his commands to the men of Ireland that they should come to Tara to hold festival therein, in order that there should be adjusted the taxes and the imposts that should be set upon them, so that these might be settled for a period of five years. And the one answer that the men of Ireland made to Eochaid was that they would not make for the king that assembly which is the Festival of Tara until he found for himself a queen, for there was no queen to stand by the king's side when Eochaid first assumed the kingdom. Then Eochaid sent out the messengers of each of the five provinces to go through the land of Ireland to seek for that woman or girl who was the fairest to be found in Erin; and he bade them to note that no woman should be to him as a wife, unless she had never before been as a wife to any one of the men of the land. And at the Bay of Cichmany a wife was found for him, and her name was Etain, the daughter of Etar; and Eochaid brought her thereafter to his palace, for she was a wife meet for him, by reason of her form, and her beauty, and her descent, and her brilliancy, and her youth, and her renown. Now Finn the son of Findloga had three sons, all sons of a queen, even Eochaid Fedlech, and Eochaid Airemm, and Ailill Anguba. And Ailill Anguba was seized with love for Etain at the Festival of Tara, after that she had been wedded to Eochaid; since he for a long time gazed upon her, and, since such gazing is a token of love, Ailill gave much blame to himself for the deed that he was doing, yet it helped him not. For his longing was too strong for his endurance, and for this cause he fell into a sickness; and, that there might be no stain upon his honour, his sickness was concealed by him from all, neither did he speak of it to the lady herself. Then Fachtna, the chief physician of Eochaid, was brought to look upon Ailill, when it was understood that his death might be near, and thus the physician spoke to him: "One of the two pangs that slay a man, and for which there is no healing by leechcraft, is upon thee; either the pangs of envy or the pangs of love. And Ailill refused to confess the cause of his illness to the physician, for he was withheld by shame and he was left behind in Fremain of Tethba to die; and Eochaid went upon his royal progress throughout all Erin, and he left Etain behind him to be near Ailill, in order that the last rites of Ailill might be done by her; that she might cause his grave to be dug, and that the keen might be raised for him, and that his cattle should be slain for him as victims. And to the house where Ailill lay in his sickness went Etain each day to converse with him, and his sickness was eased by her presence; and, so long as Etain was in that place where he was, so long was he accustomed to gaze at her. Now Etain observed all this, and she bent her mind to discover the cause, and one day when they were in the house together, Etain asked of Ailill what was the cause of his sickness. "My sickness," said Ailill, "comes from my love for thee." "'Tis pity," said she, "that thou hast so long kept silence, for thou couldest have been healed long since, had we but known of its cause." "And even now could I be healed," said Ailill, "did I but find favour in thy sight." "Thou shalt find favour," she said. Each day after they had spoken thus with each other, she came to him for the fomenting of his head, and for the giving of the portion of food that was required by him, and for the pouring of water over his hands; and three weeks after that, Ailill was whole. Then he said to Etain: "Yet is the completion of my cure at thy hands lacking to me; when may it be that I shall have it?" "'Tis to-morrow it shall be," she answered him, "but it shall not be in the abode of the lawful monarch of the land that this felony shall be done. Thou shalt come," she said, "on the morrow to yonder hill that riseth beyond the fort: there shall be the tryst that thou desirest." Now Ailill lay awake all that night, and he fell into a sleep at the hour when he should have kept his tryst, and he woke not from his sleep until the third hour of the day. And Etain went to her tryst, and she saw a man before her; like was his form to the form of Ailill, he lamented the weakness that his sickness had caused him, and he gave to her such answers as it was fitting that Ailill should give. But at the third hour of the day, Ailill himself awoke: and he had for a long time remained in sorrow when Etain came into the house where he was; and as she approached him, "What maketh thee so sorrowful?" said Etain. "'Tis because thou wert sent to tryst with me," said Ailill, "and I came not to thy presence, and sleep fell upon me, so that I have but now awakened from it; and surely my chance of being healed hath now gone from me." "Not so, indeed," answered Etain, "for there is a morrow to follow to-day." And upon that night he took his watch with a great fire before him, and with water beside him to put upon his eyes. At the hour that was appointed for the tryst, Etain came for her meeting with Ailill; and she saw the same man, like unto Ailill, whom she had seen before; and Etain went to the house, and saw Ailill still lamenting. And Etain came three times, and yet Ailill kept not his tryst, and she found that same man there every time. "'Tis not for thee," she said, "that I came to this tryst: why comest thou to meet me? And as for him whom I would have met, it was for no sin or evil desire that I came to meet him; but it was fitting for the wife of the king of Ireland to rescue the man from the sickness under which he hath so long been oppressed." "It were more fitting for thee to tryst with me myself," said the man, "for when thou wert Etain of the Horses, the daughter of Ailill, it was I who was thy husband. And when thou camest to be wife to me, thou didst leave a great price behind thee; even a marriage price of the chief plains and waters of Ireland, and as much of gold and of silver as might match thee in value." "Why," said she, "what is thy name?" "'Tis easy to say," he answered; "Mider of Bri Leith is my name." "Truly," said she; "and what was the cause that parted us?" "That also is easy," he said; "it was the sorcery of Fuamnach, and the spells of Bressal Etarlam. And then Mider said to Etain: Wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? to dwell In the marvellous land of the musical spell, Where the crowns of all heads are, as primroses, bright, And from head to the heel all men's bodies snow-white. In that land of no "mine" nor of "thine" is there speech, But there teeth flashing white and dark eyebrows hath each; In all eyes shine our hosts, as reflected they swarm, And each cheek with the pink of the foxglove is warm. With the heather's rich tint every blushing neck glows, In our eyes are all shapes that the blackbird's egg shows; And the plains of thine Erin, though pleasing to see, When the Great Plain is sighted, as deserts shall be. Though ye think the ale strong in this Island of Fate, Yet they drink it more strong in the Land of the Great; Of a country where marvel abounds have I told, Where no young man in rashness thrusts backward the old. There are streams smooth and luscious that flow through that land, And of mead and of wine is the best at each hand; And of crime there is naught the whole country within, There are men without blemish, and love without sin. Through the world of mankind, seeing all, can we float, And yet none, though we see them, their see-ers can note; For the sin of their sire is a mist on them flung, None may count up our host who from Adam is sprung. Lady, come to that folk; to that strong folk of mine; And with gold on thy head thy fair tresses shall shine: 'Tis on pork the most dainty that then thou shalt feed, And for drink have thy choice of new milk and of mead. "I will not come with thee," answered Etain, "I will not give up the king of Ireland for thee, a man who knows not his own clan nor his kindred." "It was indeed myself," said Mider, "who long ago put beneath the mind of Ailill the love that he hath felt for thee, so that his blood ceased to run, and his flesh fell away from him: it was I also who have taken away his desire, so that there might be no hurt to thine honour. But wilt thou come with me to my land," said Mider, "in case Eochaid should ask it of thee?" "I would come in such case," answered to him Etain. After all this Etain departed to the house. "It hath indeed been good, this our tryst," said Ailill, "for I have been cured of my sickness; moreover, in no way has thine honour been stained." "'Tis glorious that it hath fallen out so," answered Etain. And afterwards Eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he was grateful for that his brother's life had been preserved, and he gave all thanks to Etain for the great deed she had done while he was away from his palace. Now upon another time it chanced that Eochaid Airemm, the king of Tara, arose upon a certain fair day in the time of summer; and he ascended the high ground of Tara to behold the plain of Breg; beautiful was the colour of that plain, and there was upon it excellent blossom, glowing with all hues that are known. And, as the aforesaid Eochaid looked about and around him, he saw a young strange warrior upon the high ground at his side. The tunic that the warrior wore was purple in colour, his hair was of a golden yellow, and of such length that it reached to the edge of his shoulders. The eyes of the young warrior were lustrous and grey; in the one hand he held a five-pointed spear, in the other a shield with a white central boss, and with gems of gold upon it. And Eochaid held his peace, for he knew that none such had been in Tara on the night before, and the gate that led into the Liss had not at that hour been thrown open. The warrior came, and placed himself under the protection of Eochaid; and "Welcome do I give," said Eochaid, "to the hero who is yet unknown." "Thy reception is such as I expected when I came," said the warrior. "We know thee not," answered Eochaid. "Yet thee in truth I know well!" he replied. "What is the name by which thou art called?" said Eochaid. "My name is not known to renown," said the warrior; "I am Mider of Bri Leith." "And for what purpose art thou come?" said Eochaid. "I have come that I may play a game at the chess with thee," answered Mider. "Truly," said Eochaid, "I myself am skilful at the chess-play." "Let us test that skill! said Mider. "Nay," said Eochaid, the queen is even now in her sleep; and hers is the palace in which the chessboard lies." "I have here with me," said Mider, "a chessboard which is not inferior to thine." It was even as he said, for that chessboard was silver, and the men to play with were gold; and upon that board were costly stones, casting their light on every side, and the bag that held the men was of woven chains of brass. Mider then set out the chessboard, and he called upon Eochaid to play. "I will not play," said Eochaid, "unless we play for a stake." "What stake shall we have upon the game then?" said Mider. "It is indifferent to me," said Eochaid. "Then," said Mider, "if thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake, I will bestow on thee fifty steeds of a dark grey, their heads of a blood-red colour, but dappled; their ears pricked high, and their chests broad; their nostrils wide, and their hoofs slender; great is their strength, and they are keen like a whetted edge; eager are they, high-standing, and spirited, yet easily stopped in their course." [Many games were played between Eochaid and Mider; and, since Mider did not put forth his whole strength, the victory on all occasions rested with Eochaid. But instead of the gifts which Mider had offered, Eochaid demanded that Mider and his folk should perform for him services which should be of benefit to his realm; that he should clear away the rocks and stones from the plains of Meath, should remove the rushes which made the land barren around his favourite fort of Tethba, should cut down the forest of Breg, and finally should build a causeway across the moor or bog of Lamrach that men might pass freely across it. All these things Mider agreed to do, and Eochaid sent his steward to see how that work was done. And when it came to the time after sunset, the steward looked, and he saw that Mider and his fairy host, together with fairy oxen, were labouring at the causeway over the bog;] and thereupon much of earth and of gravel and of stones was poured into it. Now it had, before that time, always been the custom of the men of Ireland to harness their oxen with a strap over their foreheads, so that the pull might be against the foreheads of the oxen; and this custom lasted up to that very night, when it was seen that the fairy-folk had placed the yoke upon the shoulders of the oxen, so that the pull might be there; and in this way were the yokes of the oxen afterwards placed by Eochaid, and thence cometh the name by which he is known; even Eochaid Airemm, or Eochaid the Ploughman, for he was the first of all the men of Ireland to put the yokes on the necks of the oxen, and thus it became the custom for all the land of Ireland. And this is the song that the host of the fairies sang, as they laboured at the making of the road: Thrust it in hand! force it in hand! Nobles this night, as an ox-troop, stand: Hard is the task that is asked, and who From the bridging of Lamrach shall gain, or rue? Not in all the world could a road have been found that should be better than the road that they made, had it not been that the fairy folk were observed as they worked upon it; but for that cause a breach hath been made in that causeway. And the steward of Eochaid thereafter came to him; and he described to him that great labouring band that had come before his eyes, and he said that there was not over the chariot-pole of life a power that could withstand its might. And, as they spake thus with each other, they saw Mider standing before them; high was he girt, and ill-favoured was the face that he showed; and Eochaid arose, and he gave welcome to him. "Thy welcome is such as I expected when I came," said Mider. "Cruel and senseless hast thou been in thy treatment of me, and much of hardship and suffering hast thou given me. All things that seemed good in thy sight have I got for thee, but now anger against thee hath filled my mind!" "I return not anger for anger," answered Eochaid; "what thou wishest shall be done." "Let it be as thou wishest," said Mider; "shall we play at the chess?" said he. "What stake shall we set upon the game?" said Eochaid. "Even such stake as the winner of it shall demand," said Mider. And in that very place Eochaid was defeated, and he forfeited his stake. "My stake is forfeit to thee," said Eochaid. "Had I wished it, it had been forfeit long ago," said Mider. "What is it that thou desirest me to grant?" said Eochaid. "That I may hold Etain in my arms, and obtain a kiss from her!" answered Mider. Eochaid was silent for a while and then he said: "One month from this day thou shalt come, and the very thing that thou hast asked for shall be given to thee." Now for a year before that Mider first came to Eochaid for the chess-play, had he been at the wooing of Etain, and he obtained her not; and the name which he gave to Etain was Befind, or Fair-haired Woman, so it was that he said: Wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? as has before been recited. And it was at that time that Etain said: "If thou obtainest me from him who is the master of my house, I will go; but if thou art not able to obtain me from him, then I will not go." And thereon Mider came to Eochaid, and allowed him at the first to win the victory over him, in order that Eochaid should stand in his debt; and therefore it was that he paid the great stakes to which he had agreed; and therefore also was it that he had demanded of him that he should play that game in ignorance of what was staked. And when Mider and his folk were paying those agreed-on stakes, which were paid upon that night; to wit, the making of the road, and the clearing of the stones from Meath, the rushes from around Tethba, and of the forest that is over Breg, it was thus that he spoke, as it is written in the Book of Drom Snechta: Pile on the soil; thrust on the soil: Red are the oxen around who toil: Heavy the troops that my words obey; Heavy they seem, and yet men are they. Strongly, as piles, are the tree-trunks placed Red are the wattles above them laced: Tired are your hands, and your glances slant; One woman's winning this toil may grant! Oxen ye are, but revenge shall see; Men who are white shall your servants be: Rushes from Teffa are cleared away: Grief is the price that the man shall pay: Stones have been cleared from the rough Meath ground; Whose shall the gain or the harm be found? Now Mider appointed a day at the end of the month when he was to meet Eochaid, and Eochaid called the armies of the heroes of Ireland together, so that they came to Tara; and all the best of the champions of Ireland, ring within ring, were about Tara, and they were in the midst of Tara itself, and they guarded it, both without and within; and the king and the queen were in the midst of the palace, and the outer court thereof was shut and locked, for they knew that the great might of men would come upon them. And upon the appointed night Etain was dispensing the banquet to the kings, for it was her duty to pour out the wine, when in the midst of their talk they saw Mider standing before them in the centre of the palace. He was always fair, yet fairer than he ever was seemed Mider to be upon that night. And he brought to amazement all the hosts on which he gazed, and all thereon were silent, and the king gave a welcome to him. "Thy reception is such as I expected when I came," said Mider; "let that now be given to me that hath been promised. 'Tis a debt that is due when a promise hath been made; and I for my part have given to thee all that was promised by me." "I have not yet considered the matter," said Eochaid. "Thou hast promised Etain's very self to me," said Mider; "that is what hath come from thee." Etain blushed for shame when she heard that word. "Blush not," said Mider to Etain, "for in nowise hath thy wedding-feast been disgraced. I have been seeking thee for a year with the fairest jewels and treasures that can be found in Ireland, and I have not taken thee until the time came when Eochaid might permit it. 'Tis not through any will of thine that I have won thee." "I myself told thee," said Etain, "that until Eochaid should resign me to thee I would grant thee nothing. Take me then for my part, if Eochaid is willing to resign me to thee." "But I will not resign thee!" said Eochaid; "nevertheless he shall take thee in his arms upon the floor of this house as thou art." "It shall be done!" said Mider. He took his weapons into his left hand and the woman beneath his right shoulder; and he carried her off through the skylight of the house. And the hosts rose up around the king, for they felt that they had been disgraced, and they saw two swans circling round Tara, and the way that they took was the way to the elf-mound of Femun. And Eochaid with an army of the men of Ireland went to the elf-mound of Femun, which men call the mound of the Fair-haired-Women. And he followed the counsel of the men of Ireland, and he dug up each of the elf-mounds that he might take his wife from thence. [And Mider and his host opposed them and the war between them was long: again and again the trenches made by Eochaid were destroyed, for nine years as some say lasted the strife of the men of Ireland to enter into the fairy palace. And when at last the armies of Eochaid came by digging to the borders of the fairy mansion, Mider sent to the side of the palace sixty women all in the shape of Etain, and so like to her that none could tell which was the queen. And Eochaid himself was deceived, and he chose, instead of Etain, her daughter Messbuachalla (or as some say Esa.) But when he found that he had been deceived, he returned again to sack Bri Leith, and this time Etain made herself known to Eochaid, by proofs that he could not mistake, and he bore her away in triumph to Tara, and there she abode with the king.] MAC DATHO'S BOAR INTRODUCTION The tale of "Mac Datho's Boar" seems to deal with events that precede the principal events of the Heroic Period; most of the characters named in it appear as the chief actors in other romances; Conor and Ailill are as usual the leaders of Ulster and Connaught, but the king of Leinster is Mesroda Mac Datho, not his brother Mesgegra, who appears in the "Siege of Howth" (see Hull, Cuchullin Saga, p. 87), and the Ulster champion is not Cuchulain, but his elder comrade, Conall Cernach. The text followed is that of the Book of Leinster as printed by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. i.; the later Harleian manuscript's readings given by Windisch have been taken in a few cases where the Leinster text seems untranslatable. There is a slightly different version, given by Kuno Meyer in the Anecdota Oxoniensia, taken from Rawlinson, B. 512, a fifteenth-century manuscript, but the text is substantially that of the Leinster version, and does not give, as in the case of the tale of Etain, a different view of the story. The verse passages differ in the two versions; two verse passages on pages 37 and 46 have been inserted from the Rawlinson manuscript, otherwise the rendering follows the Leinster text. The style of the tale is more barbaric than that of the other romances, but is relieved by touches of humour; the only supernatural touch occurs in one of the variations of the Rawlinson manuscript. Some of the chief variations en in this manuscript are pointed out in the notes; the respectful men on of Curoi mac Dari, who seems to have been a Munster hero, overshadowed in the accepted versions by the superior glory of Ulster, may be noted; also the remark that Ferloga did not get his cepoc, which seems to have been inserted by a later band of a critic who disapproved of the frivolity of the original author, or was jealous for the honour of the Ulster ladies. MAC DATHO'S BOAR FROM THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (TWELFTH-CENTURY MS.) With some Additions from Rawlinson, B. 512, written about 1560 A glorious king once hold rule over the men of Leinster; his name was Mesroda Mac Datho. Now Mac Datho had among his possessions a hound which was the guardian of all Leinster; the name of the hound was Ailbe, and all of the land of Leinster was filled with reports of the fame of it, and of that hound hath it been sung: Mesroda, son of Datho, Was he the boar who reared; And his the hound called Ailbe; No lie the tale appeared! The splendid hound of wisdom, The hound that far is famed, The hound from whom Moynalvy For evermore is named. By King Ailill and Queen Maev were sent folk to the son of Datho to demand that hound, and at that very hour came heralds from Conor the son of Ness to demand him; and to all of these a welcome was bid by the people of Mac Datho, and they were brought to speak with Mac Datho in his palace. At the time that we speak of, this palace was a hostelry that was the sixth of the hostelries of Ireland.; there were beside it the hostelry of Da Derga in the land of Cualan in Leinster; also the hostelry of Forgall the Wily, which is beside Lusk; and the hostelry of Da Reo in Breffny; and the hostelry of Da Choca in the west of Meath; and the hostelry of the landholder Blai in the country of the men of Ulster. There were seven doors to that palace, and seven passages ran through it; also there stood within it seven cauldrons, and in every one of the cauldrons was seething the flesh of oxen and the salted flesh of swine. Every traveller who came into the house after a journey would thrust a fork into a cauldron, and whatsoever he brought out at the first thrust, that had he to eat: if he got nothing at the first thrust, no second attempt was allowed him. They brought the heralds before Mac Datho as he sat upon his throne, that he might learn of their requests before they made their meal, and in this manner they made known their message. "We have come," said the men who were sent from Connaught, "that we might ask for thy hound; 'tis by Ailill and Maev we are sent. Thou shalt have in payment for him six thousand milch cows, also a two-horsed chariot with its horses, the best to be had in Connaught, and at the end of a year as much again shall be thine." "We also," said the heralds from Ulster, "have come to ask for thy hound; we have been sent by Conor, and Conor is a friend who is of no less value than these. He also will give to thee treasures and cattle, and the same amount at the end of a year, and he will be a stout friend to thee." Now after he had received this message Mac Datho sank into a deep silence, he ate nothing, neither did he sleep, but tossed about from one side to another, and then said his wife to him: "For a long time hast thou fasted; food is before thee, yet thou eatest not; what is it that ails thee? and Mac Datho made her no answer, whereupon she said: The Wife[FN#10] Gone is King Mac Datho's sleep, Restless cares his home invade; Though his thoughts from all he keep, Problems deep his mind hath weighed. He, my sight avoiding, turns Towards the wall, that hero grim; Well his prudent wife discerns Sleep hath passed away from him. [FN#10] The Irish metre is followed in the first four verses. Mac Datho Crimthann saith, Nar's sister's son, "Secrets none to women tell. Woman's secret soon is won; Never thrall kept jewel well." The Wife Why against a woman speak Till ye test, and find she fails? When thy mind to plan is weak, Oft another's wit avails. Mac Datho At ill season indeed came those heralds Who his hound from Mac Datho would take; In more wars than by thought can be counted Fair-haired champions shall fall for its sake. If to Conor I dare to deny him, He shall deem it the deed of a churl Nor shall cattle or country be left me By the hosts he against me can hurl. If refusal to Ailill I venture, With all Ireland my folk shall he sack; From our kingdom Mac Mata shall drive us, And our ashes may tell of his track. The Wife Here a counsel I find to deliver, And in woe shall our land have no share; Of that hound to them both be thou giver, And who dies for it little we care. Mac Datho Ah! the grief that I had is all ended, I have joy for this speech from thy tongue Surely Ailbe from heaven descended, There is none who can say whence he sprung. After these words the son of Datho rose up, and he shook himself, and May this fall out well for us," said he, "and well for our guests who come here to seek for him." His guests abode three days and three nights in his house, and when that time was ended, he bade that the heralds from Connaught be called to confer with him apart, and he spoke thus: "I have been," he said, "in great vexation of spirit, and for long have I hesitated before I made a decision what to do. But now have I decided to give the hound to Ailill and Maev, let them come with splendour to bear it away. They shall have plenty both to eat and to drink, and they shall have the hound to hold, and welcome shall they be." And the messengers from Connaught were well pleased with this answer that they had. Then he went to where the heralds from Ulster were, and thus he addressed them: "After long hesitation," said he, "I have awarded the hound to Conor, and a proud man should he be. Let the armies of the nobles of Ulster come to bear him away; they shall have presents, and I will make them welcome;" and with this the messengers from Ulster were content. Now Mac Datho had so planned it that both those armies, that from the East and that from the West, should arrive at his palace upon the selfsame day. Nor did they fail to keep their tryst; upon the same day those two provinces of Ireland came to Mac Datho's palace, and Mac Datho himself went outside and greeted them: "For two armies at the same time we were not prepared; yet I bid welcome to you, ye men. Enter into the court of the house." Then they went all of them into the palace; one half of the house received the Ulstermen, and the other half received the men of Connaught. For the house was no small one: it had seven doors and fifty couches between each two doors; and it was no meeting of friends that was then seen in that house, but the hosts that filled it were enemies to each other, for during the whole time of the three hundred years that preceded the birth of Christ there was war between Ulster and Connaught. Then they slaughtered for them Mac Datho's Boar; for seven years had that boar been nurtured upon the milk of fifty cows, but surely venom must have entered into its nourishment, so many of the men of Ireland did it cause to die. They brought in the boar, and forty oxen as side-dishes to it, besides other kind of food; the son of Datho himself was steward to their feast: "Be ye welcome!" said he; "this beast before you hath not its match; and a goodly store of beeves and of swine may be found with the men of Leinster! And, if there be aught lacking to you, more shall be slain for you in the morning." "It is a mighty Boar," said Conor. "'Tis a mighty one indeed," said Ailill. "How shall it be divided, O Conor?" said he. "How?" cried down Bricriu,[FN#11] the son of Carbad, from above; "in the place where the warriors of Ireland are gathered together, there can be but the one test for the division of it, even the part that each man hath taken in warlike deeds and strife: surely each man of you hath struck the other a buffet on the nose ere now!" "Thus then shall it be," said Ailill. "'Tis a fair test," said Conor in assent; "we have here a plenty of lads in this house who have done battle on the borders." "Thou shalt lose thy lads to-night, Conor," said Senlaech the charioteer, who came from rushy Conalad in the West; "often have they left a fat steer for me to harry, as they sprawled on their backs upon the road that leadeth to the rushes of Dedah." "Fatter was the steer that thou hadst to leave to us," said Munremur,[FN#12] the son of Gerrcind; "even thine own brother, Cruachniu, son of Ruadlam; and it was from Conalad of Cruachan that he came." "He was no better," cried Lugaid the son of Curoi of Munster, "than Loth the Great, the son of Fergus Mac Lete; and Echbel the son of Dedad left him lying in Tara Luachra."[FN#13] [FN#11] Pronounced Brik-roo. [FN#12] Pronounced Moon-raymer. [FN#13] Pronounced Looch-ra. "What sort of a man was he whom ye boast of?" cried Celtchar of Ulster. "I myself slew that horny-skinned son of Dedad, I cut the head from his shoulders." At the last it fell out that one man raised himself above all the men of Ireland; he was Ket, the son of Mata, he came from the land of Connaught. He hung up his weapons at a greater height than the weapons of any one else who was there, he took a knife in his hand, and he placed himself at the side of the Boar. "Find ye now," said he, "one man among the men of Ireland who can equal my renown, or else leave the division of the Boar to me." All of the Ulstermen were thrown into amazement. "Seest thou that, O Laegaire?"[FN#14] said Conor. [FN#14] Pronounced Leary. "Never shall it be," said Laegaire the Triumphant, "that Ket should have the division of this Boar in the face of us all." "Softly now, O Laegaire!" said Ket; "let me hold speech with thee. With you men of Ulster it hath for long been a custom that each lad among you who takes the arms of a warrior should play first with us the game of war: thou, O Laegaire, like to the others didst come to the border, and we rode against one another. And thou didst leave thy charioteer, and thy chariot and thy horses behind thee, and thou didst fly pierced through with a spear. Not with such a record as that shalt thou obtain the Boar;" and Laegaire sat himself down. "It shall never come to pass," said a great fair-haired warrior, stepping forward from the bench whereon he had sat, "that the division of the Boar shall be left to Ket before our very eyes." "To whom then appertains it?" asked Ket. "To one who is a better warrior than thou," he said, "even to Angus, the son of Lama Gabaid (Hand-in-danger) of the men of Ulster." "Why namest thou thy father 'Hand-in-danger?" said Ket. "Why indeed, I know not," he said. "Ah! but I know it!" said Ket. "Long ago I went upon a journey in the east, a war-cry was raised against me, all men attacked me, and Lama Gabaid was among them. He made a cast of a great spear against me, I hurled the same spear back upon him, and the spear cut his hand from him so that it lay upon the ground. How dares the son of that man to measure his renown with mine?" and Angus went back to his place. "Come, and claim a renown to match mine," said Ket; "else let me divide this Boar." "It shall never be thy part to be the first to divide it," said a great fair-haired warrior of the men of Ulster. "Who then is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Eogan, son of Durthacht,"[FN#15] said they all; "Eogan, the lord of Fernmay." "I have seen him upon an earlier day," said Ket. "Where hast thou seen me?" said Eogan. "It was before thine own house," said Ket. "As I was driving away thy cattle, a cry of war was raised in the lands about me; and thou didst come out at that cry. Thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and it was fixed in my shield; but I hurled the same spear back against thee, and it tore out one of thy two eyes. All the men of Ireland can see that thou art one-eyed; here is the man that struck thine other eye out of thy head," and he also sat down. "Make ye ready again for the strife for renown, O ye men of Ulster!" cried Ket. "Thou hast not yet gained the right to divide the Boar," said Munremur, Gerrcind's son. "Is that Munremur?" cried Ket; "I have but one short word for thee, O Munremur! Not yet hath the third day passed since I smote the heads off three warriors who came from your lands, and the midmost of the three was the head of thy firstborn son!" and Munremur also sat down. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That strife will I give to thee," said Mend the son of Salcholcam (the Sword-heeled). "Who is this?" asked Ket. "'Tis Mend," said all who were there. "Hey there!" cried Ket. "The son of the man with the nickname comes to measure his renown with mine! Why, Mend, it was by me that the nickname of thy father came; 'twas I who cut the heel from him with my sword so that he hopped away from me upon one leg! How shall the son of that one-legged man measure his renown with mine?" and he also sat down. [FN#15] Pronounced Yeogan, son of Doorha. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That warfare shalt thou have from me!" said an Ulster warrior, tall, grey, and more terrible than the rest. "Who is this?" asked Ket. "'Tis Celtchar, the son of Uitechar," cried all. "Pause thou a little, Celtchar," said Ket, "unless it be in thy mind to crush me in an instant. Once did I come to thy dwelling, O Celtchar, a cry was raised about me, and all men hurried up at that cry, and thou also camest beside them. It was in a ravine that the combat between us was held; thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and against thee I also hurled my spear; and my spear pierced thee through the leg and through the groin, so that from that hour thou hast been diseased, nor hath son or daughter been born to thee. How canst thou strive in renown with me?" and he also sat down. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That strife shalt thou have," said Cuscrid the Stammerer, of Macha, king Conor's son. "Who is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Cuscrid," said all; "he hath a form which is as the form of a king." "Nor hath he aught to thank thee for," said the youth. "Good!" said Ket. "It was against me that thou didst come on the day when thou didst first make trial of thy weapons, my lad: 'twas in the borderland that we met. And there thou didst leave the third part of thy folk behind thee, and thou didst fly with a spear-thrust through thy throat so that thou canst speak no word plainly, for the spear cut in sunder the sinews of thy neck; and from that hour thou hast been called Cuscrid the Stammerer." And in this fashion did Ket put to shame all the warriors of the province of Ulster. But as he was exulting near to the Boar, with his knife in his hand, all saw Conall, the Victorious enter the palace; and Conall sprang into the midst of the house, and the men of Ulster hailed him with a shout; and Conor himself took his helmet from his head, and swung it on high to greet him. "'Tis well that I wait for the portion that befalls me!" said Conall. Who is he who is the divider of the Boar for ye?" "That office must be given to the man who stands there," said Conor, "even to Ket, the son of Mata." "Is this true, O Ket?" said Conall. "Art thou the man to allot this Boar?" And then sang Ket: Conall, all hail! Hard stony spleen Wild glowing flame! Ice-glitter keen! Blood in thy breast Rageth and boils; Oft didst thou wrest Victory's spoils: Thou scarred son of Finuchoem,[FN#16] thou truly canst claim To stand rival to me, and to match me in fame! And Conall replied to him: Hail to thee, Ket! Well are we met! Heart icy-cold, Home for the bold! Ender of grief! Car-riding chief! Sea's stormy wave! Bull, fair and brave! Ket! first of the children of Matach! The proof shall be found when to combat we dart, The proof shall be found when from combat we part; He shall tell of that battle who guardeth the stirks, He shall tell of that battle at handcraft who works; And the heroes shall stride to the wild lion-fight, For by men shall fall men in this palace to-night: Welcome, Ket![FN#17] [FN#16] Pronounced Finn-hoom. [FN#17] The short lines of this rhetoric have the metre of the original Irish. "Rise thou, and depart from this Boar," said Conall. "What claim wilt thou bring why I should do this?" said Ket. "'Tis true indeed," said Conall, "thou art contending in renown with me. I will give thee one claim only, O Ket! I swear by the oath of my tribe that since the day that I first received a spear into my hand I have seldom slept without the head of a slain man of Connaught as my pillow; and I have not let pass a day or a night in which a man of Connaught hath not fallen by my hand." "'Tis true indeed," said Ket, "thou art a better warrior than I. Were but Anluan here, he could battle with thee in another fashion; shame upon us that he is not in this house!" "Aye, but Anluan is here! "cried Conall, and therewith he plucked Anluan's head from his belt. And he threw the head towards Ket, so that it smote him upon the chest, and a gulp of the blood was dashed over his lips. And Ket came away from the Boar, and Conall placed himself beside it. "Now let men come to contend for renown with me!" cried Conall. But among the men of Connaught there was none who would challenge him, and they raised a wall of shields, like a great vat around him, for in that house was evil wrangling, and men in their malice would make cowardly casts at him. And Conall turned to divide the Boar, and he took the end of the tail in his mouth. And although the tail was so great that it was a full load for nine men, yet he sucked it all into his mouth so that nothing of it was left; and of this hath been said: Strong hands on a cart thrust him forward; His great tail, though for nine men a load, Was devoured by the brave Conall Cernach, As the joints he so gaily bestowed. Now to the men of Connaught Conall gave nothing except the two fore-legs of the Boar, and this share seemed to be but small to the men of Connaught, and thereon they sprang up, and the men of Ulster also sprang up, and they rushed at each other. They buffeted each other so that the heap of bodies inside the house rose as high as the side-walls of it; and streams of blood flowed under the doors. The hosts brake out through the doors into the outer court, and great was the din that uprose; the blood upon the floor of the house might have driven a mill, so mightily did each man strike out at his fellow. And at that time Fergus plucked up by the roots a great oak-tree that stood in the outer court in the midst of it; and they all burst out of the court, and the battle went on outside. Then came out Mac Datho, leading the hound by a leash in his hand, that he might let him loose between the two armies, to see to which side the sense of the hound would turn. And the hound joined himself with the men of Ulster, and he rushed on the defeated Connaughtmen, for these were in flight. And it is told that in the plain of Ailbe, the hound seized hold of the poles of the chariot in which Ailill and Maev rode: and there Fer-loga, charioteer to Ailill and Maev, fell upon him, so that he cast his body to one side, and his head was left upon the poles of the chariot. And they say that it is for that reason that the plain of Ailbe is so named, for from the hound Ailbe the name hath come. The rout went on northwards, over Ballaghmoon, past Rurin Hill, over the Midbine Ford near to Mullaghmast, over Drum Criach Ridge which is opposite to what is Kildare to-day, over Rath Ingan which is in the forest of Gabla, then by Mac Lugna's Ford over the ridge of the two plains till they came to the Bridge of Carpre that is over the Boyne. And at the ford which is known as the Ford of the Hound's Head, which standeth in the west of Meath, the hound's head fell from the chariot. And, as they went over the heather of Meath, Ferloga the charioteer of Ailill fell into the heather, and he sprang behind Conor who followed after them in his chariot, and he seized Conor by the head. "I claim a boon from thee if I give thee thy life, O Conor!" said he. "I choose freely to grant that boon," said Conor. "'Tis no great matter," said Ferloga. "Take me with thee to Emain Macha, and at each ninth hour let the widows and the growing maidens of Ulster serenade me[FN#18] with the song: 'Ferloga is my darling.'" [FN#18] Literally, "sing me a cepoc," or a choral song. And the women were forced to do it; for they dared not to deny him, fearing the wrath of Conor; and at the end of a year Ferloga crossed byAthlone into Connaught, and he took with him two of Conor's horses bridled with golden reins. And concerning all this hath it been sung: Hear truth, ye lads of Connaught; No lies your griefs shall fill, A youth the Boar divided; The share you had was ill. Of men thrice fifty fifties Would win the Ailbe Hound; In pride of war they struggled, Small cause for strife they found. Yet there came conquering Conor, And Ailill's hosts, and Ket; No law Cuchulain granted, And brooding Bodb[FN#19] was met. Dark Durthacht's son, great Eogan, Shall find that journey hard; From east came Congal Aidni, And Fiaman,[FN#20] sailor bard; Three sons of Nera, famous For countless warlike fields; Three lofty sons of Usnach, With hard-set cruel shields. From high Conalad Croghan Wise Senlaech[FN#21] drave his car; And Dubhtach[FN#22] came from Emain, His fame is known afar; And Illan came, whom glorious For many a field they hail: Loch Sail's grim chief, Munremur; Berb Baither, smooth of tale; [FN#19] Pronounced Bobe, with sound of 'robe.' [FN#20] Pronounced Feeman. [FN#21] Pronounced Senlay, with the light final ch. [FN#22] Pronounced Doov-ta. And Celtchar, lord in Ulster; And Conall's valour wild; And Marcan came; and Lugaid Of three great hounds the child. Fergus, awaiting the glorious hound, Spreadeth a cloak o'er his mighty shield, Shaketh an oak he hath plucked from ground, Red was the woe the red cloak concealed. Yonder stood Cethern,[FN#23] of Finntan son, Holding them back; till six hours had flown Connaughtmen's slaughter his hand hath done, Pass of the ford he hath held alone. Armies with Feidlim[FN#24] the war sustain, Laegaire the Triumpher rides on east, Aed, son of Morna, ye hear complain, Little his thought is to mourn that beast. High are the nobles, their deeds show might, Housefellows fair, and yet hard in fight; Champions of strength upon clans bring doom, Great are the captives, and vast the tomb. [FN#23] Pronounced Kay-hern. [FN#24] Pronounced Fay-lim. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN INTRODUCTION The romance called the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the latter part of which is also known as the "Jealousy of Emer," is preserved in two manuscripts, one of which is the eleventh-century Leabhar na h-Uidhri, the other a fifteenth century manuscript in the Trinity College Library. These two manuscripts give substantially the same account, and are obviously taken from the same source, but the later of the two is not a copy of the older manuscript, and sometimes preserves a better reading. The eleventh-century manuscript definitely gives a yet older book, the Yellow Book of Slane, now lost, as its authority, and this may be the ultimate authority for the tale as we have it. But, although there is only one original version of the text, it is quite plain from internal evidence that the compiler of the Yellow Book of Slane, or of an earlier book, had two quite different forms of the story to draw from, and combined them in the version that we have. The first, which may be called the "Antiquarian" form, relates the cause of Cuchulain's illness, tells in detail of the journey of his servant Laeg to Fairyland, in order to test the truth of a message sent to Cuchulain that he can be healed by fairy help, and then breaks off. In both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and in the fifteenth-century manuscript, follows a long passage which has absolutely nothing to do with the story, consisting of an account how Lugaid Red-Stripes was elected to be king over Ireland, and of the Bull Feast at which the coming of Lugaid is prophesied. Both manuscripts then give the counsel given by Cuchulain to Lugaid on his election (this passage being the only justification for the insertion, as Cuchulain is supposed to be on his sick-bed when the exhortation is given); and both then continue the story in a quite different form, which may be called the "Literary" form. The cause of the sickness is not given in the Literary form, which commences with the rousing of Cuchulain from his sick-bed, this rousing being due to different agency from that related in the Antiquarian form, for in the latter Cuchulain is roused by a son of the fairy king, in the former b his wife Emer. The journey of Laeg to Fairyland is then told in the literary form with different detail to that given in the Antiquarian one, and the full conclusion is then supplied in this form alone; so that we have, although in the same manuscript version, two quite distinct forms of the original legend, the first defective at the end of the story, the other at its beginning. Not only are the incidents of the two forms of the story different in many respects, but the styles are so absolutely different that it would seem impossible to attribute them to the same author. The first is a mere compilation by an antiquarian; it is difficult to imagine that it was ever recited in a royal court, although the author may have had access to a better version than his own. He inserts passages which do not develop the interest of the story; hints at incidents (the temporary absence of Fergus and Conall) which are not developed or alluded to afterwards, and is a notable early example of the way in which Irish literature can be spoiled by combining several different independent stories into one. There is only one gem, strictly so called, and that not of a high order; the only poetic touches occur in the rhetoric, and, although in this there is a weird supernatural flavour, that may have marked the original used by the compiler of this form ' the human interest seems to be exceptionally weak. The second or Literary form is as different from the other as it is possible for two compositions on the same theme to be. The first few words strike the human note in Cuchulain's message to his wife: "Tell her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour;" the poems are many, long, and of high quality; the rhetoric shows a strophic correspondence; the Greek principle of letting the messenger tell the story instead of relating the facts, in a narrative of events (the method followed in the Antiquarian version) is made full use of; the modest account given by Cuchulain of his own deeds contrasts well with the prose account of the same deeds; and the final relation of the voluntary action of the fairy lady who gives up her lover to her rival, and her motives, is a piece of literary work centuries in advance of any other literature of modern Europe. Some modern accounts of this romance have combined the two forms, and have omitted the irrelevant incidents in the Antiquarian version; there are literary advantages in this course, for the disconnected character of the Antiquarian opening, which must stand first, as it alone gives the beginning of the story, affords little indication of the high quality of the better work of the Literary form that follows; but, in order to heighten the contrast, the two forms are given just as they occur in the manuscripts, the only omissions being the account of the election of Lugaid, and the exhortation of Cuchulain to the new king. Thurneysen, in his Sagen aus dem Alten Irland, places the second description of Fairyland by Laeg with the Antiquarian form, and this may be justified not only by the allusion to Ethne, who does not appear elsewhere in the Literary form, but from the fact that there is a touch of rough humour in this poem, which appears in the Antiquarian form, but not elsewhere in the Literary one, where the manuscripts place this poem. But on the other hand the poetry of this second description, and its vividness, come much closer to the Literary form, and it has been left in the place that the manuscript gives to it. The whole has been translated direct from the Irish in Irische Texte, vol. i., with occasional reference to the facsimile of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri; the words marked as doubtful by Windisch in his glossary, which are rather numerous, being indicated by marks of interrogation in the notes, and, where Windisch goes not indicate a probable meaning, a special note is made on the word, unless it has been given in dictionaries subsequent to that of Windisch. Thurneysen's translation has sometimes been made use of, when there is no other guide; but he omits some passages, and Windisch has been followed in the rendering given in his glossary in cases where there would seem to be a difference, as Thurneysen often translates freely. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN Transcribed from the Lost Yellow Book of Slane By Maelmuiri mac Ceileachair into the Leabhar na h-Uidhri in the Eleventh Century Every year the men of Ulster were accustomed to hold festival together; and the time when they held it was for three days before Samhain, the Summer-End, and for three days after that day, and upon Samhain itself. And the time that is spoken of is that when the men of Ulster were in the Plain of Murthemne, and there they used to keep that festival every year; nor was there an thing in the world that they would do at that time except sports, and marketings, and splendours, and pomps, and feasting and eating; and it is from that custom of theirs that the Festival of the Samhain has descended, that is now held throughout the whole of Ireland. Now once upon a time the men of Ulster held festival upon the Murthemne Plain, and the reason that this festival was held was that every man of them should then give account of the combats he had made and of his valour every Summer-End. It was their custom to hold that festival in order to give account of these combats, and the manner in which they gave that account was this: Each man used to cut off the tip of the tongue of a foe whom he had killed, and he bore it with him in a pouch. Moreover, in order to make more great the numbers of their contests, some used to bring with them the tips of the tongues of beasts, and each man publicly declared the fights he had fought, one man of them after the other. And they did this also--they laid their swords over their thighs when they declared the strifes, and their own swords used to turn against them when the strife that they declared was false; nor was this to be wondered at, for at that time it was customary for demon beings to scream from the weapons of men, so that for this cause their weapons might be the more able to guard them. To that festival then came all the men of Ulster except two alone, and these two were Fergus the son of Rog, and Conall the Victorious. "Let the festival be held!" cried the men of Ulster. "Nay," said Cuchulain, "it shall not be held until Conall and Fergus come," and this he said because Fergus was the foster-father of Cuchulain, and Conall was his comrade. Then said Sencha: "Let us for the present engage in games of chess; and let the Druids sing, and let the jugglers play their feats;" and it was done as he had said. Now while they were thus employed a flock of birds came down and hovered over the lake; never was seen in Ireland more beautiful birds than these. And a longing that these birds should be given to them seized upon the women who were there; and each of them began to boast of the prowess of her husband at bird-catching. "How I wish," said Ethne Aitencaithrech, Conor's wife, "that I could have two of those birds, one of them upon each of my two shoulders." "It is what we all long for," said the women; and "If any should have this boon, I should be the first one to have it," said Ethne Inguba, the wife of Cuchulain. "What are we to do now?" said the women. "'Tis easy to answer you," said Leborcham, the daughter of Oa and Adarc; "I will go now with a message from you, and will seek for Cuchulain." She then went to Cuchulain, and "The women of Ulster would be well pleased," she said, "if yonder birds were given to them by thy hand." And Cuchulain made for his sword to unsheathe it against her: "Cannot the lasses of Ulster find any other but us," he said, "to give them their bird-hunt to-day?" "'Tis not seemly for thee to rage thus against them," said Leborcham, "for it is on thy account that the women of Ulster have assumed one of their three blemishes, even the blemish of blindness." For there were three blemishes that the women of Ulster assumed, that of crookedness of gait, and that of a stammering in their speech, and that of blindness. Each of the women who loved Conall the Victorious had assumed a crookedness of gait; each woman who loved Cuscraid Mend, the Stammerer of Macha, Conor's son, stammered in her speech; each woman in like manner who loved Cuchulain had assumed a blindness of her eyes, in order to resemble Cuchulain; for he, when his mind was angry within him, was accustomed to draw in the one of his eyes so far that a crane could not reach it in his head, and would thrust out the other so that it was great as a cauldron in which a calf is cooked. "Yoke for us the chariot, O Laeg!" said Cuchulain. And Laeg yoked the chariot at that, and Cuchulain went into the chariot, and he cast his sword at the birds with a cast like the cast of a boomerang, so that they with their claws and wings flapped against the water. And they seized upon all the birds, and they gave them and distributed them among the women; nor was there any one of the women, except Ethne alone, who had not a pair of those birds. Then Cuchulain returned to his wife; and "Thou art enraged," said he to her. "I am in no way enraged," answered Ethne, "for I deem it as being by me that the distribution was made. And thou hast done what was fitting," she said, "for there is not one of these woman but loves thee; none in whom thou hast no share; but for myself none hath any share in me except thou alone." "Be not angry," said Cuchulain, "if in the future any birds come to the Plain of Murthemne or to the Boyne, the two birds that are the most beautiful among those that come shall be thine." A little while after this they saw two birds flying over the lake, linked together by a chain of red gold. They sang a gentle song, and a sleep fell upon all the men who were there; and Cuchulain rose up to pursue the birds. "If thou wilt hearken to me," said Laeg, and so also said Ethne, "thou shalt not go against them; behind those birds is some especial power. Other birds may be taken by thee at some future day." "Is it possible that such claim as this should be made upon me?" said Cuchulain. "Place a stone in my sling, O Laeg!" Laeg thereon took a stone, and he placed it in the sling, and Cuchulain launched the stone at the birds, but the cast missed. "Alas!" said he. He took another stone, and he launched this also at the birds, but the stone flew past them. "Wretched that I am," he cried, "since the very first day that I assumed arms, I have never missed a cast until this day!" And he cast his spear at them, and the spear went through the shield of the wing of one of the birds, and the birds flew away, and went beneath the lake. After this Cuchulain departed, and he rested his back against a stone pillar, and his soul was angry within him, and a sleep fell upon him. Then saw he two women come to him; the one of them had a green mantle upon her, and upon the other was a purple mantle folded in five folds. And the woman in the green mantle approached him, and she laughed a laugh at him, and she gave him a stroke with a horsewhip. And then the other approached him, and she also laughed at him, and she struck him in the like manner; and for a long time were they thus, each of them in turn coming to him and striking him until he was all but dead; and then they departed from him. Now the men of Ulster perceived the state in which Cuchulain was in; and they cried out that he should be awakened; but "Nay," said Fergus, "ye shall not move him, for he seeth a vision;" and a little after that Cuchulain came from his sleep. "What hath happened to thee?" said the men of Ulster; but he had no power to bid greeting to them. "Let me be carried," he said, "to the sick-bed that is in Tete Brecc; neither to Dun Imrith, nor yet to Dun Delga." "Wilt thou not be carried to Dun Delga to seek for Emer?" said Laeg. "Nay," said he, "my word is for Tete Brecc;" and thereon they bore him from that place, and he was in Tete Brecc until the end of one year, and during all that time he had speech with no one. Now upon a certain day before the next Summer-End, at the end of a year, when the men of Ulster were in the house where Cuchulain was, Fergus being at the side-wall, and Conall Cernach at his head, and Lugaid Red-Stripes at his pillow, and Ethne Inguba at his feet; when they were there in this manner, a man came to them, and he seated himself near the entrance of the chamber in which Cuchulain lay. "What hath brought thee here?" said Conall the Victorious. "No hard question to answer," said the man. "If the man who lies yonder were in health, he would be a good protection to all of Ulster; in the weakness and the sickness in which he now is, so much the more great is the protection that they have from him. I have no fear of any of you," he said, "for it is to give to this man a greeting that I come." "Welcome to thee, then, and fear nothing," said the men of Ulster; and the man rose to his feet, and he sang them these staves: Ah! Cuchulain, who art under sickness still, Not long thou its cure shouldst need; Soon would Aed Abra's daughters, to heal thine ill, To thee, at thy bidding, speed. Liban, she at swift Labra's right hand who sits, Stood up on Cruach's[FN#25] Plain, and cried: "'Tis the wish of Fand's heart, she the tale permits, To sleep at Cuchulain's side. [FN#25] Pronounced something like Croogh. "'If Cuchulain would come to me,' Fand thus told, 'How goodly that day would shine! Then on high would our silver be heaped, and gold, Our revellers pour the wine. "'And if now in my land, as my friend, had been Cuchulain, of Sualtam[FN#26] son, The things that in visions he late hath seen In peace would he safe have won. "'In the Plains of Murthemne, to south that spread, Shall Liban my word fulfil: She shall seek him on Samhain, he naught need dread, By her shall be cured his ill.'" [FN#26] Pronounced Sooltam. "Who art thou, then, thyself?" said the men of Ulster. "I am Angus, the son of Aed Abra," he answered; and the man then left them, nor did any of them know whence it was he had come, nor whither he went. Then Cuchulain sat up, and he spoke to them. "Fortunate indeed is this!" said the men of Ulster; "tell us what it is that hath happened to thee." "Upon Samhain night last year," he said, "I indeed saw a vision;" and he told them of all he had seen. "What should now be done, Father Conor?" said Cuchulain. "This hast thou to do," answered Conor, "rise, and go until thou comest to the pillar where thou wert before." Then Cuchulain went forth until he came to the pillar, and then saw he the woman in the green mantle come to him. "This is good, O Cuchulain!" said she. "'Tis no good thing in my thought," said Cuchulain. "Wherefore camest thou to me last year?" he said. "It was indeed to do no injury to thee that we came," said the woman, "but to seek for thy friendship. I have come to greet thee," she said, "from Fand, the daughter of Aed Abra; her husband, Manannan the Son of the Sea, hath released her, and she hath thereon set her love on thee. My own name is Liban, and I have brought to thee a message from my spouse, Labraid the Swift, the Sword-Wielder, that he will give thee the woman in exchange for one day's service to him in battle against Senach the Unearthly, and against Eochaid Juil,[FN#27] and against Yeogan the Stream." "I am in no fit state," he said, "to contend with men to-day." "That will last but a little while," she said; "thou shalt be whole, and all that thou hast lost of thy strength shall be increased to thee. Labraid shall bestow on thee that boon, for he is the best of all warriors that are in the world." [FN#27] Pronounced, nearly, Yeo-hay Yool. "Where is it that Labraid dwelleth?" asked Cuchulain. "In Mag Mell,[FN#28] the Plain of Delight," said Liban; "and now I desire to go to another land," said she. [FN#28] Pronounced Maw Mel. "Let Laeg go with thee," said Cuchulain, "that he may learn of the land from which thou hast come." "Let him come, then," said Liban. They departed after that, and they went forward until they came to a place where Fand was. And Liban turned to seek for Laeg, and she set him upon her shoulder. "Thou wouldest never go hence, O Laeg!" said Liban, "wert thou not under a woman's protection." "'Tis not a thing that I have most been accustomed to up to this time," said Laeg, "to be under a woman's guard." "Shame, and everlasting shame," said Liban, "that Cuchulain is not where thou art." "It were well for me," answered Laeg, "if it were indeed he who is here." They passed on then, and went forward until they came opposite to the shore of an island, and there they saw a skiff of bronze lying upon the lake before them. They entered into the skiff, and they crossed over to the island, and came to the palace door, and there they saw the man, and he came towards them. And thus spoke Liban to the man whom they saw there: Say where He, the Hand-on-Sword, Labra swift, abideth? He who, of the triumphs lord, In strong chariot rideth. When victorious troops are led, Labra hath the leading; He it is, when spears are red, Sets the points a-bleeding. And the man replied to her, and spoke thus: Labra, who of speed is son, Comes, and comes not slowly; Crowded hosts together run, Bent on warfare wholly. Soon upon the Forest Plain Shall be set the killing; For the hour when men are slain Fidga's[FN#29] Fields are filling![FN#30] [FN#29] Pronounced, nearly, Feega. [FN#30] Irish metre approximately imitated in these stanzas. They entered then into the palace, and they saw there thrice fifty couches within the palace, and three times fifty women upon the couches, and the women all bade Laeg welcome, and it was in these words that they addressed him: Hail! for the guide, Laeg! of thy quest: Laeg we beside Hail, as our guest! "What wilt thou do now?" said Liban; "wilt thou go on without a delay, and hold speech with Fand?" "I will go," he answered, "if I may know the place where she is." "That is no hard matter to tell thee," she answered; "she is in her chamber apart." They went therein, and they greeted Fand, and she welcomed Laeg in the same fashion as the others had done. Fand is the daughter of Aed Abra; Aed means fire, and he is the fire of the eye: that is, of the eye's pupil: Fand moreover is the name of the tear that runs from the eye; it was on account of the clearness of her beauty that she was so named, for there is nothing else in the world except a tear to which her beauty could be likened. Now, while they were thus in that place, they heard the rattle of Labraid's chariot as he approached the island. "The spirit of Labraid is gloomy to-day," said Liban, "I will go and greet him." And she went out, and she bade welcome to Labraid, and she spoke as follows: Hail! the man who holdeth sword, the swift in fight! Heir of little armies, armed with javelins light; Spears he drives in splinters; bucklers bursts in twain; Limbs of men are wounded; nobles by him slain. He for error searcheth, streweth gifts not small, Hosts of men destroyeth; fairer he than all! Heroes whom he findeth feel his fierce attack; Labra! swiftest Sword-Hand! welcome to us back! Labraid made no reply to her, and the lady spoke again thus: Welcome! swift Labra, Hand to sword set! All win thy bounty, Praise thou shalt get; Warfare thou seekest, Wounds seam thy side; Wisely thou speakest, Law canst decide; Kindly thou rulest, Wars fightest well; Wrong-doers schoolest, Hosts shalt repel. Labraid still made no answer, and she sang another lay thus: Labra! all hail! Sword-wielder, swift: War can he wage, Warriors can sift; Valiant is he, Fighters excels; More than in sea Pride in him swells; Down in the dust Strength doth he beat; They who him trust Rise to their feet Weak ones he'll raise, Humble the strong; Labra! thy praise Peals loud and long! "Thou speakest not rightly, O lady," said Labraid; and he then spoke to her thus: O my wife! naught of boasting or pride is in me; No renown would I claim, and no falsehood shall be: Lamentation alone stirs my mind, for hard spears Rise in numbers against me: dread contest appears: The right arms of their heroes red broadswords shall swing; Many hosts Eochaid Juil holds to heart as their king: Let no pride then be ours; no high words let there be; Pride and arrogance far should be, lady, from me! "Let now thy mind be appeased," said the lady Liban to him. "Laeg, the charioteer of Cuchulain, is here; and Cuchulain hath sent word to thee that he will come to join thy hosts." Then Labraid bade welcome to Laeg, and he said to him: "Welcome, O Laeg! for the sake of the lady with whom thou comest, and for the sake of him from whom thou hast come. Do thou now go to thine own land, O Laeg!" said Labraid, "and Liban shall accompany thee." Then Laeg returned to Emain, and he gave news of what he had seen to Cuchulain, and to all others beside; and Cuchulain rose up, and he passed his hand over his face, and he greeted Laeg brightly, and his mind was strengthened within him for the news that the lad had brought him. [At this point occurs the break in the story indicated in the preface, and the description of the Bull-Feast at which Lugaid Red-Stripes is elected king over all Ireland; also the exhortation that Cuchulain, supposed to be lying on his sick-bed, gives to Lugaid as to the duties of a king. After this insertion, which has no real connection with the story, the story itself proceeds, but from another point, for the thread is taken up at the place where Cuchulain has indeed awaked from his trance, but is still on his sick-bed; the message of Angus appears to have been given, but Cuchulain does not seem to have met Liban for the second time, nor to have sent Laeg to inquire. Ethne has disappeared as an actor from the scene; her place is taken by Emer, Cuchulain's real wife; and the whole style of the romance so alters for the better that, even if it were not for the want of agreement of the two versions, we could see that we have here two tales founded upon the same legend but by two different hands, the end of the first and the beginning of the second alike missing, and the gap filled in by the story of the election of Lugaid. Now as to Cuchulain it has to be related thus: He called upon Laeg to come to him; and "Do thou go, O Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "to the place where Emer is; and say to her that women of the fairies have come upon me, and that they have destroyed my strength; and say also to her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour, and bid her to come and seek me;" and the young man Laeg then spoke these words in order to hearten the mind of Cuchulain: It fits not heroes lying On sick-bed in a sickly sleep to dream: Witches before thee flying Of Trogach's fiery Plain the dwellers seem: They have beat down thy strength, Made thee captive at length, And in womanish folly away have they driven thee far. Arise! no more be sickly! Shake off the weakness by those fairies sent: For from thee parteth quickly Thy strength that for the chariot-chiefs was meant: Thou crouchest, like a youth! Art thou subdued, in truth? Have they shaken thy prowess and deeds that were meet for the war Yet Labra's power hath sent his message plain: Rise, thou that crouchest: and be great again. And Laeg, after that heartening, departed; and he went on until he came to the place where Emer was; and he told her of the state of Cuchulain: "Ill hath it been what thou hast done, O youth!" she said; "for although thou art known as one who dost wander in the lands where the fairies dwell; yet no virtue of healing hast thou found there and brought for the cure of thy lord. Shame upon the men of Ulster!" she said, "for they have not sought to do a great deed, and to heal him. Yet, had Conor thus been fettered; had it been Fergus who had lost his sleep, had it been Conall the Victorious to whom wounds had been dealt, Cuchulain would have saved them." And she then sang a song, and in this fashion she sang it: Laeg! who oft the fairy hill[FN#31] Searchest, slack I find thee still; Lovely Dechtire's son shouldst thou By thy zeal have healed ere now. Ulster, though for bounties famed, Foster-sire and friends are shamed: None hath deemed Cuchulain worth One full journey through the earth. Yet, if sleep on Fergus fell, Such that magic arts dispel, Dechtire's son had restless rode Till a Druid raised that load. Aye, had Conall come from wars, Weak with wounds and recent scars; All the world our Hound would scour Till he found a healing power. Were it Laegaire[FN#32] war had pressed, Erin's meads would know no rest, Till, made whole from wounds, he won Mach's grandchild, Conna's son. Had thus crafty Celthar slept, Long, like him, by sickness kept; Through the elf-mounds, night and day, Would our Hound, to heal him, stray. Furbaid, girt by heroes strong, Were it he had lain thus long; Ah! our Hound would rescue bear Though through solid earth he fare. [FN#31] The metre of these verses is that of the Irish. [FN#32] Pronounced Leary. All the elves of Troom[FN#33] seem dead; All their mighty deeds have fled; For their Hound, who hounds surpassed, Elves have bound in slumber fast. Ah! on me thy sickness swerves, Hound of Smith who Conor serves! Sore my heart, my flesh must be: May thy cure be wrought by me. Ah! 'tis blood my heart that stains, Sick for him who rode the plains: Though his land be decked for feast, He to seek its plain hath ceased. He in Emain still delays; 'Tis those Shapes the bar that raise: Weak my voice is, dead its tone, He in evil form is shown. Month-long, year-long watch I keep; Seasons pass, I know not sleep: Men's sweet speech strikes not mine ear; Naught, Riangabra's[FN#34] son, I hear. [FN#33] Spelt Truim. [FN#34] Pronounced Reen-gabra. And, after that she had sung that song, Emer went forward to Emain that she might seek for Cuchulain; and she seated herself in the chamber where Cuchulain was, and thus she addressed him: "Shame upon thee!" she said, "to lie thus prostrate for a woman's love! well may this long sickbed of thine cause thee to ail!" And it was in this fashion that she addressed him, and she chanted this lay: Stand up, O thou hero of Ulster! Wake from sleep! rise up, joyful and sound! Look on Conor the king! on my beauty, Will that loose not those slumbers profound? See the Ulstermen's clear shining shoulders! Hear their trumpets that call to the fight! See their war-cars that sweep through the valleys, As in hero-chess, leaping each knight. See their chiefs, and the strength that adorns them, Their tall maidens, so stately with grace; The swift kings, springing on to the battle, The great queens of the Ulstermen's race! The clear winter but now is beginning; Lo! the wonder of cold that hangs there! 'Tis a sight that should warn thee; how chilly! Of what length I yet of colour how bare! This long slumber is ill; it decays thee: 'Tis like "milk for the full" the saw saith Hard is war with fatigue; deadly weakness Is a Prince who stands second to Death. Wake! 'tis joy for the sodden, this slumber; Throw it off with a great glowing heat: Sweet-voiced friends for thee wait in great number: Ulster's champion! stand up on thy feet! And Cuchulain at her word stood up; and he passed his hand over his face, and he cast all his heaviness and his weariness away from him, and then he arose, and went on his way before him until he came to the enclosure that he sought; and in that enclosure Liban appeared to him. And Liban spoke to him, and she strove to lead him into the fairy hill; but "What place is that in which Labraid dwelleth?" said Cuchulain. It is easy for me to tell thee!" she said: Labra's home's a pure lake, whither Troops of women come and go; Easy paths shall lead thee thither, Where thou shalt swift Labra know. Hundreds his skilled arm repelleth; Wise be they his deeds who speak: Look where rosy beauty dwelleth; Like to that think Labra's cheek. Head of wolf, for gore that thirsteth, Near his thin red falchion shakes; Shields that cloak the chiefs he bursteth, Arms of foolish foes he breaks. Trust of friend he aye requiteth, Scarred his skin, like bloodshot eye; First of fairy men he fighteth; Thousands, by him smitten, die. Chiefs at Echaid[FN#35] Juil's name tremble; Yet his land-strange tale-he sought, He whose locks gold threads resemble, With whose breath wine-scents are brought. More than all strife-seekers noted, Fiercely to far lands he rides; Steeds have trampled, skiffs have floated Near the isle where he abides. Labra, swift Sword-Wielder, gaineth Fame for actions over sea; Sleep for all his watch sustaineth! Sure no coward hound is he. The chains on the necks of the coursers he rides, And their bridles are ruddy with gold: He hath columns of crystal and silver besides, The roof of his house to uphold. [FN#35] Pronounced, apparently, Ech-ay, the ch like the sound in "loch." "I will not go thither at a woman's call," said Cuchulain. "Let Laeg then go," said the lady, "and let him bring to thee tidings of all that is there." "Let him depart, then," said Cuchulain; and Laeg rose up and departed with Liban, and they came to the Plain of Speech, and to the Tree of Triumphs, and over the festal plain of Emain, and over the festal plain of Fidga, and in that place was Aed Abra, and with him his daughters. Then Fand bade welcome to Laeg, and "How is it," said she, "that Cuchulain hath not come with thee?" "It pleased him not," said Laeg, "to come at a woman's call; moreover, he desired to know whether it was indeed from thee that had come the message, and to have full knowledge of everything." "It was indeed from me that the message was sent," she said; "and let now Cuchulain come swiftly to seek us, for it is for to-day that the strife is set." Then Laeg went back to the place where he had left Cuchulain, and Liban with him; and "How appeareth this quest to thee, O Laeg?" said Cuchulain. And Laeg answering said, "In a happy hour shalt thou go," said he, "for the battle is set for to-day;" and it was in this manner that he spake, and he recited thus: I went gaily through regions, Though strange, seen before: By his cairn found I Labra, A cairn for a score. There sat yellow-haired Labra, His spears round him rolled; His long bright locks well gathered Round apple of gold. On my five-folded purple His glance at length fell, And he said, "Come and enter Where Failbe doth dwell." In one house dwells white Failbe, With Labra, his friend; And retainers thrice fifty Each monarch attend. On the right, couches fifty, Where fifty men rest; On the left, fifty couches By men's weight oppressed. For each couch copper frontings, Posts golden, and white; And a rich flashing jewel As torch, gives them light. Near that house, to the westward, Where sunlight sinks down, Stand grey steeds, with manes dappled And steeds purple-brown. On its east side are standing Three bright purple trees Whence the birds' songs, oft ringing The king's children please. From a tree in the fore-court Sweet harmony streams; It stands silver, yet sunlit With gold's glitter gleams. Sixty trees' swaying summits Now meet, now swing wide; Rindless food for thrice hundred Each drops at its side. Near a well by that palace Gay cloaks spread out lie, Each with splendid gold fastening Well hooked through its eye. They who dwell there, find flowing A vat of glad ale: 'Tis ordained that for ever That vat shall not fail. From the hall steps a lady Well gifted, and fair: None is like her in Erin; Like gold is her hair. And so sweet, and so wondrous Her words from her fall, That with love and with longing She breaks hearts of all. "Who art thou?" said that lady, "For strange thou art here; But if Him of Murthemne Thou servest, draw near." Slowly, slowly I neared her; I feared for my fame: And she said, "Comes he hither, Of Dechtire who came?" Ah! long since, for thy healing, Thou there shouldst have gone, And have viewed that great palace Before me that shone. Though I ruled all of Erin And yellow Breg's hill, I'd give all, no small trial, To know that land still. "The quest then is a good one?" said Cuchulain. "It is goodly indeed," said Laeg, "and it is right that thou shouldest go to attain it, and all things in that land are good." And thus further also spoke Laeg, as he told of the loveliness of the fairy dwelling: I saw a land of noble form and splendid, Where dwells naught evil; none can speak a lie: There stands the king, by all his hosts attended, Brown Labra, swift to sword his hand can fly. We crossed the Plain of Speech, our steps arrested Near to that Tree, whose branches triumphs bear; At length upon the hill-crowned plain we rested, And saw the Double-Headed Serpent's lair. Then Liban said, as we that mount sat under: "Would I could see--'twould be a marvel strange-- Yet, if I saw it, dear would be that wonder, if to Cuchulain's form thy form could change." Great is the beauty of Aed Abra's daughters, Unfettered men before them conquered fall; Fand's beauty stuns, like sound of rushing waters, Before her splendour kings and queens seem small. Though I confess, as from the wise ones hearing, That Adam's race was once unstained by sin; - Yet did I swear, when Fand was there appearing, None in past ages could such beauty win. I saw the champions stand with arms for slaying, Right splendid was the garb those heroes bore; Gay coloured garments, meet for their arraying, 'Twas not the vesture of rude churls they wore. Women of music at the feast were sitting, A brilliant maiden bevy near them stood; And forms of noble youths were upwards flitting Through the recesses of the mountain wood. I saw the folk of song; their strains rang sweetly, As for the lady in that house they played; Had I not I fled away from thence, and fleetly, Hurt by that music, I had weak been made. I know the hill where Ethne took her station, And Ethne Inguba's a lovely maid; But none can drive from sense a warlike nation Save she alone, in beauty then displayed. And Cuchulain, when he had heard that report, went on with Liban to that land, and he took his chariot with him. And they came to the Island of Labraid, and there Labraid and all the women that were there bade them welcome; and Fand gave an especial welcome to Cuchulain. "What is there now set for us to do?" said Cuchulain. "No hard matter to answer," said Labraid; "we must go forth and make a circuit about the army." They went out then, and they came to the army, and they let their eyes wander over it; and the host seemed to them to be innumerable. "Do thou arise, and go hence for the present," said Cuchulain to Labraid; and Labraid departed, and Cuchulain remained confronting the army. And there were two ravens there, who spake, and revealed Druid secrets, but the armies who heard them laughed. "It must surely be the madman from Ireland who is there," said the army; "it is he whom the ravens would make known to us;" and the armies chased them away so that they found no resting-place in that land. Now at early morn Eochaid Juil went out in order to bathe his hands in the spring, and Cuchulain saw his shoulder through the hood of his tunic, and he hurled his spear at him, and he pierced him. And he by himself slew thirty-and-three of them, and then Senach the Unearthly assailed him, and a great fight was fought between them, and Cuchulain slew him; and after that Labraid approached, and he brake before him those armies. Then Labraid entreated Cuchulain to stay his hand from the slaying; and "I fear now," said Laeg, "that the man will turn his wrath upon us; for he hath not found a war to suffice him. Go now," said Laeg, "and let there be brought three vats of cold water to cool his heat. The first vat into which he goeth shall boil over; after he hath gone into the second vat, none shall be able to bear the heat of it: after he hath gone into the third vat, its water shall have but a moderate heat." And when the women saw Cuchulain's return, Fand sang thus: Fidga's[FN#36] plain, where the feast assembles, Shakes this eve, as his car he guides; All the land at the trampling trembles; Young and beardless, in state he rides. Blood-red canopies o'er him swinging Chant, but not as the fairies cry; Deeper bass from the car is singing, Deeply droning, its wheels reply. Steeds are bounding beneath the traces, None to match them my thought can find; Wait a while! I would note their graces: On they sweep, like the spring's swift wind. High in air, in his breath suspended, Float a fifty of golden balls; Kings may grace in their sports have blended, None his equal my mind recalls. [FN#36] Pronounced, nearly, Fee-ga. Dimples four on each cheek are glowing, One seems green, one is tinged with blue, One dyed red, as if blood were flowing, One is purple, of lightest hue. Sevenfold light from his eyeballs flashes, None may speak him as blind, in scorn; Proud his glances, and dark eyelashes Black as beetle, his eyes adorn. Well his excellence fame confesses, All through Erin his praise is sung; Three the hues of his high-piled tresses; Beardless yet, and a stripling young. Red his blade, it hath late been blooded; Shines above it its silver hilt; Golden bosses his shield have studded, Round its rim the white bronze is spilt. O'er the slain in each slaughter striding, War he seeketh, at risk would snatch: Heroes keen in your ranks are riding, None of these is Cuchulain's match. From Murthemne he comes, we greet him, Young Cuchulain, the champion strong; We, compelled from afar to meet him, Daughters all of Aed Abra, throng. Every tree, as a lordly token, Stands all stained with the red blood rain War that demons might wage is woken, Wails peal high as he raves again. Liban moreover bade a welcome to Cuchulain, and she chanted as follows: Hail to Cuchulain! Lord, who canst aid; Murthemne ruling, Mind undismayed; Hero-like, glorious, Heart great and still Battle-victorious, Firm rock of skill; Redly he rageth, Foemen would face; Battle he wageth Meet for his race! Brilliant his splendour, like maidens' eyes, Praises we render: praise shall arise! "Tell us now of the deeds thou hast done, O Cuchulain! cried Liban, and Cuchulain in this manner replied to her: From my hand flew a dart, as I made my cast, Through the host of Stream-Yeogan the javelin passed; Not at all did I know, though great fame was won, Who my victim had been, or what deed was done. Whether greater or less was his might than mine I have found not at all, nor can right divine; In a mist was he hid whom my spear would slay, Yet I know that he went not with life away. A great host on me closed, and on every side Rose around me in hordes the red steeds they ride; From Manannan, the Son of the Sea, came foes, From Stream-Yeogan to call them a roar arose. And I went to the battle with all at length, When my weakness had passed, and I gat full strength; And alone with three thousands the fight I fought, Till death to the foes whom I faced was brought. I heard Echaid Juil's groan, as he neared his end, The sound came to mine ears as from lips of friend; Yet, if truth must be told, 'twas no valiant deed, That cast that I threw, if 'twas thrown indeed. Now, after all these things had passed, Cuchulain slept with the lady, and he abode for a month in her company, and at the end of the month he came to bid her farewell. "Tell me," she said, "to what place I may go for our tryst, and I will be there;" and they made tryst at the strand that is known as the Strand of the Yew-Tree's Head. Now word was brought to Emer of that tryst, and knives were whetted by Emer to slay the lady; and she came to the place of the tryst, and fifty women were with her. And there she found, Cuchulain and Laeg, and they were engaged in the chess-play, so that they perceived not the women's approach. But Fand marked it, and she cried out to Laeg: "Look now, O Laeg!" she said, "and mark that sight that I see." "What sight is that of which thou speakest?" said Laeg, and he looked and saw it, and thus it was that the lady, even Fand, addressed him: Laeg! look behind thee! Close to thine ear Wise, well-ranked women Press on us near; Bright on each bosom Shines the gold clasp; Knives, with green edges Whetted, they grasp: As for the slaughter chariot chiefs race, Comes Forgall's daughter; changed is her face. "Have no fear," said Cuchulain, "no foe shalt thou meet; Enter thou my strong car, with its sunny bright seat: I will set thee before me, will guard thee from harm Against women, from Ulster's four quarters that swarm: Though the daughter of Forgall the war with thee vows, Though her dear foster-sisters against thee she rouse, No deed of destruction bold Emer will dare, Though she rageth against thee, for I will be there." Moreover to Emer he said: I avoid thee, O lady, as heroes Avoid to meet friends in a strife; The hard spear thy hand shakes cannot injure, Nor the blade of thy thin gleaming knife; For the wrath pent within thee that rageth Is but weak, nor can cause mine affright: It were hard if the war my might wageth Must be quenched by a weak woman's might! "Speak! and tell me, Cuchulain," cried Emer, "Why this shame on my head thou wouldst lay? Before women of Ulster dishonoured I stand, And all women who dwell in the wide Irish land, And all folk who love honour beside: Though I came on thee, secretly creeping, Though oppressed by thy might I remain, And though great is thy pride in the battle, If thou leavest me, naught is thy gain: Why, dear youth, such attempt dost thou make? "Speak thou, Emer, and say," said Cuchulain, "Should I not with this lady delay? For this lady is fair, pare and bright, and well skilled, A fit mate for a monarch, in beauty fulfilled, And the billows of ocean can ride: She is lovely in countenance, lofty in race, And with handicraft skilled can fine needlework trace, Hath a mind that with firmness can guide: And in steeds hath she wealth, and much cattle Doth she own; there is naught under sky A dear wife for a spouse should be keeping But that gift with this lady have I: Though the vow that I made thee I break, Thou shalt ne'er find champion Rich, like me, in scars; Ne'er such worth, such brilliance, None who wins my wars." "In good sooth," answered Emer, "the lady to whom thou dost cling is in no way better than am I myself! Yet fair seems all that's red; seems white what's new alone; and bright what's set o'erhead; and sour are things well known! Men worship what they lack; and what they have seems weak; in truth thou hast all the wisdom of the time! O youth!" she said, "once we dwelled in honour together, and we would so dwell again, if only I could find favour in thy sight!" and her grief weighed heavily upon her. "By my word," said Cuchulain, "thou dost find favour, and thou shalt find it so long as I am in life." "Desert me, then!" cried Fand. "Nay," said Emer, "it is more fitting that I should be the deserted one." "Not so, indeed," said Fand. "It is I who must go, and danger rusheth upon me from afar." And an eagerness for lamentation seized upon Fand, and her soul was great within her, for it was shame to her to be deserted and straightway to return to her home; moreover the mighty love that she bare to Cuchulain was tumultuous in her, and in this fashion she lamented, and lamenting sang this song: Mighty need compels me, I must go my way; Fame for others waiteth, Would I here could stay! Sweeter were it resting Guarded by thy power, Than to find the marvels In Aed Abra's bower. Emer! noble lady! Take thy man to thee: Though my arms resign him, Longing lives in me. Oft in shelters hidden Men to seek me came; None could win my trysting, I myself was flame. Ah! no maid her longing On a man should set Till a love full equal To her own she get. Fifty women hither, Emer! thou hast brought Thou wouldst Fand make captive, Hast on murder thought. Till the day I need them Waits, my home within; Thrice thy host! fair virgins, These my war shall win. Now upon this it was discerned by Manannan that Fand the daughter of Aed Abra was engaged in unequal warfare with the women of Ulster, and that she was like to be left by Cuchulain. And thereon Manannan came from the east to seek for the lady, and he was perceived by her, nor was there any other conscious of his presence saving Fand alone. And, when she saw Manannan, the lady was seized by great bitterness of mind and by grief, and being thus, she made this song: Lo! the Son of the Sea-Folk from plains draws near Whence Yeogan, the Stream, is poured; 'Tis Manannan, of old he to me was dear, And above the fair world we soared. Yet to-day, although excellent sounds his cry, No love fills my noble heart, For the pathways of love may be bent awry, Its knowledge in vain depart. When I dwelt in the bower of the Yeogan Stream, At the Son of the Ocean's side, Of a life there unending was then our dream, Naught seemed could our love divide. When the comely Manannan to wed me came, To me, as a spouse, full meet; Not in shame was I sold, in no chessmen's game The price of a foe's defeat. When the comely Manannan my lord was made, When I was his equal spouse, This armlet of gold that I bear he paid As price for my marriage vows. Through the heather came bride-maids, in garments brave Of all colours, two score and ten; And beside all the maidens my bounty gave To my husband a fifty men. Four times fifty our host; for no frenzied strife In our palace was pent that throng, Where a hundred strong men led a gladsome life, One hundred fair dames and strong. Manannan draws near: over ocean he speeds, From all notice of fools is he free; As a horseman he comes, for no vessel he needs Who rides the maned waves of the sea. He hath passed near us now, though his visage to view Is to all, save to fairies, forbid; Every troop of mankind his keen sight searcheth through, Though small, and in secret though hid. But for me, this resolve in my spirit shall dwell, Since weak, being woman's, my mind; Since from him whom so dearly I loved, and so well, Only danger and insult I find. I will go! in mine honour unsullied depart, Fair Cuchulain! I bid thee good-bye; I have gained not the wish that was dear to my heart, High justice compels me to fly. It is flight, this alone that befitteth my state, Though to some shall this parting be hard: O thou son of Riangabra! the insult was great: Not by Laeg shall my going be barred. I depart to my spouse; ne'er to strife with a foe Shall Manannan his consort expose; And, that none may complain that in secret I go, Behold him! his form I disclose! Then that lady rose behind Manannan as he passed, and Manannan greeted her: "O lady!" he said, "which wilt thou do? wilt thou depart with me, or abide here until Cuchulain comes to thee?" "By my troth," answered Fand, "either of the two of ye were a fitting spouse to adhere to; and neither of you two is better than the other; yet, Manannan, it is with thee that I go, nor will I wait for Cuchulain, for he hath betrayed me; and there is another matter, moreover, that weigheth with me, O thou noble prince!" said she, "and that is that thou hast no consort who is of worth equal to thine, but such a one hath Cuchulain already." And Cuchulain saw the lady as she went from him to Manannan, and he cried out to Laeg: "What meaneth this that I see?" "'Tis no hard matter to answer thee," said Laeg. "Fand goeth away with Manannan the Son of the Sea, since she hath not been pleasing in thy sight!" Then Cuchulain bounded three times high into the air, and he made three great leaps towards the south, and thus he came to Tara Luachra,[FN#37] and there he abode for a long time, having no meat and no drink, dwelling upon the mountains, and sleeping upon the high-road that runneth through the midst of Luachra. Then Emer went on to Emain, and there she sought out king Conor, and she told Conor of Cuchulain's state, and Conor sent out his learned men and the people of skill, and the Druids of Ulster, that they might seek for Cuchulain, and might bind him fast, and bring him with them to Emain. And Cuchulain strove to slay the people of skill, but they chanted wizard and fairy songs against him, and they bound fast his feet and his hands until he came a little to his senses. Then he begged for a drink at their hands, and the Druids gave him a drink of forgetfulness, so that afterwards he had no more remembrance of Fand nor of anything else that he had then done; and they also gave a drink of forgetfulness to Emer that she might forget her jealousy, for her state was in no way better than the state of Cuchulain. And Manannan shook his cloak between Cuchulain and Fand, so that they might never meet together again throughout eternity. [FN#37] Pronounced Looch-ra: Tara Luachra is on the borders of Limerick and Kerry. THE EXILE OF THE SONS' OF USNACH INTRODUCTION The version given in the following pages of the well-known tale of Deirdre has been translated from the Irish text of the Book of Leinster version as printed by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. i. Readings from the two parallel texts of the Book of Lecan, and Egerton, 1782, have been used where the Leinster text is deficient or doubtful, but the older MS. has in the main been followed, the chief alterations being indicated in the notes. The only English translation hitherto given of this version is the unreliable one in Atlantis, vol. iii. There is a German translation in Thurneysen's Sagen aus dem alten Irland which may be consulted for literal renderings of most of the verse portions, which, however, are sometimes nearer the original than Thurneysen's renderings. It was at first intended to place beside this version the much better known version of the tale given by the Glenn Masain manuscript and its variants; but, as this version is otherwise available in English,[FN#38] it has been thought better to omit most of it: a verse translation of Deirdre's final lament in this version has, however, been added for the purpose of comparing it with the corresponding lament in the Leinster text. These two poems are nearly of the same length, but have no other point in common; the lament in the Leinster version strikes the more personal note, and it has been suggested that it shows internal evidence that it must have been written by a woman. The idea of Deirdre as a seer, which is so prominent in the Glenn Masain version of the tale, does not appear in the older Leinster text; the supernatural Druidic mist, which even in the Glenn Masain version only appears in the late manuscript which continues the story after the fifteenth-century manuscript breaks off, does not appear in the Book of Leinster; and the later version introduces several literary artifices that do not appear in the earlier one. That portion of the Glenn Masain version immediately following after Deirdre's lament is given as an instance of one of these, the common artifice of increase of horror at a catastrophe by the introduction of irrelevant matter, the tragedy of Deirdre's death being immediately followed by a cheerful account of the relationships of the chief heroes of the Heroic Period; a still better example of this practice in the old Irish literature is the almost comic relief that is introduced at the most tragic part of the tale of the murder of the son of Ronan. [FN#38] See Irische Texte, vol. ii., and the Celtic Review, vol. i. 1904-1905. THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH BOOK OF LEINSTER VERSION In the house of Feidlimid,[FN#39] the son of Dall, even he who was the narrator of stories to Conor the king, the men of Ulster sat at their ale; and before the men, in order to attend upon them, stood the wife of Feidlimid, and she was great with child. Round about the board went drinking-horns, and portions of food; and the revellers shouted in their drunken mirth. And when the men desired to lay themselves down to sleep, the woman also went to her couch; and, as she passed through the midst of the house, the child cried out in her womb, so that its shriek was heard throughout the whole house, and throughout the outer court that lay about it. And upon that shriek, all the men sprang up; and, head closely packed by head, they thronged together in the house, whereupon Sencha, the son of Ailill, rebuked them: "Let none of you stir!" cried he, "and let the woman be brought before us, that we may learn what is the meaning of that cry." Then they brought the woman before them, and thus spoke to her Feidlimid, her spouse: What is that, of all cries far the fiercest, In thy womb raging loudly and long? Through all ears with that clamour thou piercest; With that scream, from Bides swollen and strong: Of great woe, for that cry, is foreboding my heart; That is torn through with terror, and sore with the smart. [FN#39] Pronounced Feylimid. Then the woman turned her, and she approached Cathbad[FN#40] the Druid, for he was a man of knowledge, and thus she spoke to him: [FN#40] Pronounced Cah-ba. Give thou ear to me, Cathbad, thou fair one of face, Thou great crown of our honour, and royal in race; Let the man so exalted still higher be set, Let the Druid draw knowledge, that Druids can get. For I want words of wisdom, and none can I fetch; Nor to Felim a torch of sure knowledge can stretch: As no wit of a woman can wot what she bears, I know naught of that cry from within me that tears. And then said Cathbad: 'Tis a maid who screamed wildly so lately, Fair and curling shall locks round her flow, And her eyes be blue-centred and stately; And her cheeks, like the foxglove, shall glow. For the tint of her skin, we commend her, In its whiteness, like snow newly shed; And her teeth are all faultless in splendour And her lips, like to coral, are red: A fair woman is she, for whom heroes, that fight In their chariots for Ulster, to death shall be dight. 'Tis a woman that shriek who hath given, Golden-haired, with long tresses, and tall; For whose love many chiefs shall have striven, And great kings for her favours shall call. To the west she shall hasten, beguiling A great host, that from Ulster shall steal: Red as coral, her lips shall be smiling, As her teeth, white as pearls, they reveal: Aye, that woman is fair, and great queens shall be fain Of her form, that is faultless, unflawed by a stain. Then Cathbad laid his hand upon the body of the woman; and the little child moved beneath his hand: "Aye, indeed," he said, "it is a woman child who is here: Deirdre shall be her name, and evil woe shall be upon her." Now some days after that came the girl child into the world; and then thus sang Cathbad: O Deirdre! of ruin great cause thou art; Though famous, and fair, and pale: Ere that Felim's hid daughter from life shall part, All Ulster her deeds shall wail. Aye, mischief shall come, in the after-time, Thou fair shining maid, for thee; Hear ye this: Usna's sons, the three chiefs sublime, To banishment forced shall be. While thou art in life, shall a fierce wild deed In Emain, though late, be done: Later yet, it shall mourn it refused to heed The guard of Rog's powerful son. O lady of worth! It is to thee we owe That Fergus to exile flies; That a son of king Conor we hail in woe, When Fiachna[FN#41] is hurt, and dies. O lady of worth! It is all thine the guilt! Gerrc, Illadan's son, is slain; And when Eogan mac Doorha's great life is spilt, Not less shall be found our pain. Grim deed shalt thou do, and in wrath shalt rave Against glorious Ulster's king: In that spot shall men dig thee thy tiny grave; Of Deirdre they long shall sing. [FN#41] Pronounced Feena. "Let that maiden be slain!" cried out the young men of Ulster; but "Not so!" said Conor; "she shall in the morning be brought to me, and shall be reared according to my will, and she shall be my wife, and in my companionship shall she dwell." The men of Ulster were not so hardy as to turn him from his purpose, and thus it was done. The maiden was reared in a house that belonged to Conor, and she grew up to be the fairest maid in all Ireland. She was brought up at a distance from the king's court; so that none of the men of Ulster might see her till the time came when she was to share the royal couch: none of mankind was permitted to enter the house where she was reared, save only her foster-father, and her foster-mother; and in addition to these Levorcham, to whom naught could any refuse, for she was a witch. Now once it chanced upon a certain day in the time of winter that the foster-father of Deirdre had employed himself in skinning a calf upon the snow, in order to prepare a roast for her, and the blood of the calf lay upon the snow, and she saw a black raven who came down to drink it. And "Levorcham," said Deirdre, "that man only will I love, who hath the three colours that I see here, his hair as black as the raven, his cheeks red like the blood, and his body as white as the snow." "Dignity and good fortune to thee!" said Levorcham; "that man is not far away. Yonder is he in the burg which is nigh; and the name of him is Naisi, the son of Usnach." "I shall never be in good health again," said Deirdre, "until the time come when I may see him." It befell that Naisi was upon a certain day alone upon the rampart of the burg of Emain, and he sent his warrior-cry with music abroad: well did the musical cry ring out that was raised by the sons of Usnach. Each cow and every beast that heard them, gave of milk two-thirds more than its wont; and each man by whom that cry was heard deemed it to be fully joyous, and a dear pleasure to him. Goodly moreover was the play that these men made with their weapons; if the whole province of Ulster had been assembled together against them in one place, and they three only had been able to set their backs against one another, the men of Ulster would not have borne away victory from those three: so well were they skilled in parry and defence. And they were swift of foot when they hunted the game, and with them it was the custom to chase the quarry to its death. Now when this Naisi found himself alone on the plain, Deirdre also soon escaped outside her house to him, and she ran past him, and at first he know not who she might be. "Fair is the young heifer that springs past me!" he cried. "Well may the young heifers be great," she said, "in a place where none may find a bull." "Thou hast, as thy bull," said he, "the bull of the whole province of Ulster, even Conor the king of Ulster." "I would choose between you two," she said, "and I would take for myself a younger bull, even such as thou art." "Not so indeed," said Naisi, "for I fear the prophecy of Cathbad." "Sayest thou this, as meaning to refuse me?" said she. "Yea indeed," he said; and she sprang upon him, and she seized him by his two ears. "Two ears of shame and of mockery shalt thou have," she cried, "if thou take me not with thee." "Release me, O my wife!" said he. "That will I." Then Naisi raised his musical warrior-cry, and the men of Ulster heard it, and each of them one after another sprang up: and the sons of Usnach hurried out in order to hold back their brother. "What is it," they said, "that thou dost? let it not be by any fault of thine that war is stirred up between us and the men of Ulster." Then he told them all that had been done; and "There shall evil come on thee from this," said they; "moreover thou shalt lie under the reproach of shame so long as thou dost live; and we will go with her into another land, for there is no king in all Ireland who will refuse us welcome if we come to him." Then they took counsel together, and that same night they departed, three times fifty warriors, and the same number of women, and dogs, and servants, and Deirdre went with them. And for a long time they wandered about Ireland, in homage to this man or that; and often Conor sought to slay them, either by ambuscade or by treachery; from round about Assaroe, near to Ballyshannon in the west, they journeyed, and they turned them back to Benn Etar, in the north-east, which men to-day call the Mountain of Howth. Nevertheless the men of Ulster drave them from the land, and they came to the land of Alba, and in its wildernesses they dwelled. And when the chase of the wild beasts of the mountains failed them, they made foray upon the cattle of the men of Alba, and took them for themselves; and the men of Alba gathered themselves together with intent to destroy them. Then they took shelter with the king of Alba, and the king took them into his following, and they served him in war. And they made for themselves houses of their own in the meadows by the king's burg: it was on account of Deirdre that these houses were made, for they feared that men might see her, and that on her account they might be slain. Now one day the high-steward of the king went out in the early morning, and he made a cast about Naisi's house, and saw those two sleeping therein, and he hurried back to the king, and awaked him: "We have," said he, "up to this day found no wife for thee of like dignity to thyself. Naisi the son of Usnach hath a wife of worth sufficient for the emperor of the western world! Let Naisi be slain, and let his wife share thy couch." "Not so!" said the king, "but do thou prepare thyself to go each day to her house, and woo her for me secretly." Thus was it done; but Deirdre, whatsoever the steward told her, was accustomed straightway to recount it each even to her spouse; and since nothing was obtained from her, the sons of Usnach were sent into dangers, and into wars, and into strifes that thereby they might be overcome. Nevertheless they showed themselves to be stout in every strife, so that no advantage did the king gain from them by such attempts as these. The men of Alba were gathered together to destroy the sons of Usnach, and this also was told to Deirdre. And she told her news to Naisi: "Depart hence!" said she, "for if ye depart not this night, upon the morrow ye shall he slain!" And they marched away that night, and they betook themselves to an island of the sea. Now the news of what had passed was brought to the men of Ulster. "'Tis pity, O Conor!" said they, "that the sons of Usnach should die in the land of foes, for the sake of an evil woman. It is better that they should come under thy protection,[FN#42] and that the (fated) slaying should be done here, and that they should come into their own land, rather than that they should fall at the hands of foes." "Let them come to us then," said Conor, "and let men go as securities to them." The news was brought to them. [FN#42] Literally, "It is better their protection, and their slaying, and coming for them to their own land, &c." If this reading is right (and three MSS. agree), the extended words of the text seem to give the intention: it is, however, possible that the reading should be, "It is better their protection than their slaying" (oldaas for ocus), which would make sense at once. The idea of the text seems to be that the sons of Usnach were, owing to Cathbad's prophecy, thought of as fated men; and it was only a question where they should be put to death. "This is welcome news for us," they said; "we will indeed come, and let Fergus come as our surety, and Dubhtach, and Cormac the son of Conor." These then went to them, and they moved them to pass over the sea. But at the contrivance of Conor, Fergus was pressed to join in an ale-feast, while the sons of Usnach were pledged to eat no food in Erin, until they had eaten the food of Conor. So Fergus tarried behind with Dubhtach and Cormac; and the sons of Usnach went on, accompanied by Fiacha, Fergus' son; until they came to the meadows around Emain. Now at that time Eogan the son of Durthacht had come to Emain to make his peace with Conor, for they had for a long time been at enmity; and to him, and to the warmen of Conor, the charge was given that they should slay the sons of Usnach, in order that they should not come before the king. The sons of Usnach stood upon the level part of. the meadows, and the women sat upon the ramparts of Emain. And Eogan came with his warriors across the meadow, and the son of Fergus took his place by Naisi's side. And Eogan greeted them with a mighty thrust of his spear, and the spear brake Naisi's back in sunder, and passed through it. The son of Fergus made a spring, and he threw both arms around Naisi, and he brought him beneath himself to shelter him, while he threw himself down above him; and it was thus that Naisi was slain, through the body of the son of Fergus. Then there began a murder throughout the meadow, so that none escaped who did not fall by the points of the spears, or the edge of the sword, and Deirdre was brought to Conor to be in his power, and her arms were bound behind her back. Now the sureties who had remained behind, heard what had been done, even Fergus and Dubhtach, and Cormac. And thereon they hastened forward, and they forthwith performed great deeds. Dubhtach slew, with the one thrust of his spear, Mane a son of Conor, and Fiachna the son of Feidelm, Conor's daughter; and Fergus struck down Traigthren, the son of Traiglethan, and his brother. And Conor was wrath at this, and he came to the fight with them; so that upon that day three hundred of the men of Ulster fell and Dubhtach slew the women of Ulster; and, ere the day dawned, Fergus set Emain on fire. Then they went away into exile, and betook them to the land of Connaught to find shelter with Ailill and Maev, for they knew that that royal pair would give them good entertainment. To the men of Ulster the exiles showed no love: three thousand stout men went with them; and for sixteen years never did they allow cries of lamentation and of fear among the Ulstermen to cease: each night their vengeful forays caused men to quake, and to wail. Deirdre lived on for a year in the household of Conor; and during all that time she smiled no smile of laughter; she satisfied not herself with food or with sleep, and she raised not her head from her knee. And if any one brought before her people of mirth, she used to speak thus: Though eager troops, and fair to see,[FN#43] May home return, though these ye wait: When Usna's sons came home to me, They came with more heroic state. With hazel mead, my Naisi stood: And near our fire his bath I'd pour; On Aindle's stately back the wood; On Ardan's ox, or goodly boar. Though sweet that goodly mead ye think That warlike Conor drinks in hall, I oft have known a sweeter drink, Where leaps in foam the waterfall: Our board was spread beneath the tree, And Naisi raised the cooking flame: More sweet than honey-sauced to me Was meat, prepared from Naisi's game. [FN#43] A literal rendering of this poem will be found in the notes, p. 187. Though well your horns may music blow, Though sweet each month your pipes may sound, I fearless say, that well I know A sweeter strain I oft have found. Though horns and pipes be sounding clear, Though Conor's mind in these rejoice, More magic strain, more sweet, more dear Was Usna's Children's noble voice. Like sound of wave, rolled Naisi's bass; We'd hear him long, so sweet he sang: And Ardan's voice took middle place; And clearly Aindle's tenor rang. Now Naisi lies within his tomb: A sorry guard his friends supplied; His kindred poured his cup of doom, That poisoned cup, by which he died. Ah! Berthan dear! thy lands are fair; Thy men are proud, though hills be stern: Alas! to-day I rise not there To wait for Usna's sons' return. That firm, just mind, so loved, alas! The dear shy youth, with touch of scorn, I loved with him through woods to pass, And girding in the early morn. When bent on foes, they boded ill, Those dear grey eyes, that maids adored; When, spent with toil, his troops lay still, Through Irish woods his tenor soared. For this it is, no more I sleep; No more my nails with pink I stain: No joy can break the watch I keep; For Usna's sons come not again. For half the night no sleep I find; No couch can me to rest beguile: 'Mid crowds of thoughts still strays my mind; I find no time to eat or smile. In eastern Emain's proud array No time to joy is left for me; For gorgeous house, and garments gay, Nor peace, nor joy, nor rest can be. And when Conor sought to soothe her; thus Deirdre would answer him: Ah Conor! what of thee! I naught can do! Lament and sorrow on my life have passed: The ill you fashioned lives my whole life through; A little time your love for me would last. The man to me most fair beneath the sky, The man I loved, in death away you tore: The crime you did was great; for, till I die, That face I loved I never shall see more. That he is gone is all my sorrow still; Before me looms the shape of Usna's son; Though o'er his body white is yon dark hill, There's much I'd lavish, if but him I won. I see his cheeks, with meadow's blush they glow; Black as a beetle, runs his eyebrows' line; His lips are red; and, white as noble snow I see his teeth, like pearls they seem to shine. Well have I known the splendid garb he bears, Oft among Alba's warriors seen of old: A crimson mantle, such as courtier wears, And edged with border wrought of ruddy gold. Of silk his tunic; great its costly price; For full one hundred pearls thereon are sewn; Stitched with findruine,[FN#44] bright with strange device, Full fifty ounces weighed those threads alone. Gold-hilted in his hand I see his sword; Two spears he holds, with spear-heads grim and green; Around his shield the yellow gold is poured, And in its midst a silver boss is seen. Fair Fergus ruin on us all hath brought! We crossed the ocean, and to him gave heed: His honour by a cup of ale was bought; From him hath passed the fame of each high deed. If Ulster on this plain were gathered here Before king Conor; and those troops he'd give, I'd lose them all, nor think the bargain dear, If I with Naisi, Usna's son, could live. Break not, O king, my heart to-day in me; For soon, though young, I come my grave unto: My grief is stronger than the strength of sea; Thou, Conor, knowest well my word is true. "Whom dost thou hate the most," said Conor, "of these whom thou now seest?" "Thee thyself," she answered, "and with thee Eogan the son of Durthacht." [FN#44] Pronounced find-roony; usually translated "white bronze." "Then," said Conor, "thou shalt dwell with Eogan for a year;" and he gave Deirdre over into Eogan's hand. Now upon the morrow they went away over the festal plain of Macha, and Deirdre sat behind Eogan in the chariot; and the two who were with her were the two men whom she would never willingly have seen together upon the earth, and as she looked upon them, "Ha, Deirdre," said Conor, "it is the same glance that a ewe gives when between two rams that thou sharest now between me and Eogan!" Now there was a great rock of stone in front of them, and Deirdre struck her head upon that stone, and she shattered her head, and so she died. This then is the tale of the exile of the sons of Usnach, and of the Exile of Fergus, and of the death of Deirdre. THE LAMENT OF DEIRDRE OVER THE SONS OF USNACH ACCORDING TO THE GLENN MASAIN VERSION ALSO THE CONCLUSION OF THE TALE FROM THE SAME VERSION I grieved not, Usna's sons beside; But long, without them, lags the day: Their royal sire no guest denied; Three lions from Cave Hill were they. Three dragons bred in Mona's fort Are dead: to them from life I go; Three chiefs who graced the Red Branch Court, Three rocks, who broke the rush of foe. O loved by many a British maid! O swift as hawks round Gullion's peak! True sons of king, who warriors swayed, To whom bent chiefs in homage meek. No vassal look those champions wore; Full grief is mine that such should die! Those sons, whom Cathbad's daughter bore; Those props, who Cualgne's[FN#45] war held high. [FN#45] Pronounced Kell-ny. Three bears of might, to war they came; From Oona's walls, like lions, burst; Three hero-chiefs, who loved their fame; Three sons, on Ulster's bosom nursed. Twas Aife[FN#46] reared them; 'neath her yoke A kingdom bowed, and tribute brought; They propped the war, when armies broke, Those foster-sons, whom Scathach[FN#47] taught. The Three, who once from Bohvan's skill All feats have learned that heroes know; King Usna's glorious sons! 'tis ill That these afar from me should go. That I should live, with Naisi dead, Let none such shame believe of me; When Ardan's life, when Ainnle's fled, But short my life I knew would be. Great Ulster's king my hand had won; I left him, Naisi's love to find; Till Naisi's funeral rites be done, I wait a little while behind. This widowed life no more I'll bear; The Three rejoiced, when toil they faced; Where'er 'twas found, the war they'd dare, And proffered fight with joy embraced. A curse on Cathbad's wizard spell! 'Twas Naisi's death! and I the cause! None came to aid that king, who well To all the world might grant his laws. [FN#46] Pronounced Eefa. [FN#47] Pronounced Ska-ha. O man, who diggest low the grave, And from my sight my love would hide, Make wide the tomb; its room I crave, I come to seek my hero's side. Great load of hardship I'd endure with joy, If yet those heroes my companions were; No lack of house or fire could then annoy, No gloom I'd know with them, nor aught of care. Ah! many a time each shield and guardian spear To make my couch have piled those noble Three: O labouring man, their grave who diggest here, Their hardened swords above well set should be. The hounds of all the Three their masters lack, Their hawks no quarry leave, nor hear their call; The three are dead, who battle's line held back Who learned their skill in Conall Cernach's hall! Their hounds I view; from out my heart that sight Hath struck a groan; behind their leashes trail, 'Twas mine to hold them once, and keep them tight;, Now slack they lie, and cause me thus to wail. Oft in the desert I and they have strayed, Yet never lonely was that desert known For all the Three a grave to-day is made, And here I sit, and feel indeed alone. I gazed on Naisi's grave, and now am blind, For naught remains to see; the worst is spent; My soul must leave me soon, no help I find, And they are gone, the folk of my lament. 'Twas guile that crushed them: they would save my life And died therefor; themselves three billows strong: Ere Usna's children fell in cruel strife, Would I had died, and earth had held me long! To Red-Branch Hall we made our mournful way; Deceitful Fergus led; our lives he stole; A soft sweet speech indeed he'd learned to say, For me, for them was ruin near that goal. All Ulster's pleasures now are nothing worth I shun them all, each chief, each ancient friend; Alone I sit, as left behind on earth, And soon my lonely life in death shall end. I am Deirdre, the joyless, For short time alive, Though to end life be evil, 'Tis worse to survive. And, after she had made this lament, Deirdre seated herself in the tomb, and she gave three kisses to Naisi before that he was laid in his grave; and with heaviness and grief Cuchulain went on to Dun Delga. And Cathbad the Druid laid a curse upon Emain Macha to take vengeance for that great evil, and he said that, since that treachery had been done, neither king Conor nor any other of his race should hold that burg. And as for Fergus, the son of Rossa the Red, he came to Emain Macha on the morrow after the sons of Usnach had been slain. And, when he found that they had been slain, and that his pledge had been dishonoured, he himself, and Cormac the Partner of Exile, king Conor's own son, also Dubhtach, the Beetle of Ulster, and the armies they had with them, gave battle to the household of Conor; and they slew Maine the son of Conor, and three hundred of Conor's people besides. And Emain Macha was destroyed, and burned by them, and Conor's women were slain, and they collected their adherents on every side; the number of their host was three thousand warriors. And they went away to the land of Connaught, even to Ailill the Great, who was the king of Connaught at that time, and to Maev of Croghan, and with them they found a welcome and support. Moreover Fergus and Cormac the Partner of Exile and their warriors, after that they had come to the land of Connaught, never let pass one single night wherein reavers went not forth from them to harry and burn the land of Ulster, so that the district which men to-day call the land of Cualgne was subdued by them; and from that in the after-time came between the two kingdoms much of trouble and theft; and in this fashion they spent seven years, or, as some say, ten years; nor was there any truce between them, no, not for one single hour. And while those deeds were doing, Deirdre abode by Conor in his household for a whole year after the sons of Usnach had been slain. And, though it might have seemed but a small thing for her to raise her head, or to let laughter flow over her lips, yet she never did these things during all that time. And when Conor saw that neither sport nor kindness could hold her; and that neither jesting nor pleasing honour could raise her spirits, he sent word to Eogan the son of Durthacht, the lord of Fernmay;[FN#48] as some tell the story, it was this Eogan who had slain Naisi in Emain Macha. And after that Eogan had come to the place where Conor was, Conor gave command to Deirdre that, since he himself had failed to turn her heart from her grief, she must depart to Eogan, and spend another space of time with him. And with that she was placed behind Eogan in his chariot, and Conor went also in the chariot in order to deliver Deirdre into Eogan's hand. And as they went on their way, she cast a fierce glance at Eogan in front of her, and another at Conor behind her; for there was nothing in all the world that she hated more than those two men. And when Conor saw this, as he looked at her and at Eogan, he said: "Ah Deirdre! it is the glance of a ewe when set between two rams that thou castest on me and on Eogan!" And when Deirdre heard that, she sprang up, and she made a leap out of the chariot, and she struck her head against the stony rocks that were in front of her, and she shattered her head so that the brains leapt out, and thus came to Deirdre her death. [FN#48] The Irish is Fernmag; written Fearnmhuidh in the late manuscript of this part of the tale. This is the Tree of their race, and an account of the kinships of some of the Champions of the Red Branch, which is given here before we proceed to speak of the Deeds of Cuchulain: 'Twas Cathbad first won Magach's love, and arms around her threw; From Maelchro's loins, the Battle Chief, his princely source he drew; Two, more in love she knew, of these the wrath was long and dread, Fierce Rossa, named the Ruddy-Faced, and Carbre, thatched with red. To all the three were children born, and all with beauty graced, To Cathbad, and to Carbre Red, and Rossa Ruddy-faced; A gracious three indeed were they to whom she gave her love, Fair Magach, brown the lashes were that slept her eyes above. Three sons to Rossa Ruddy-faced as children Magach bore; To Carbre sons again she gave, the count of these was four; And three white shoots of grace were hers, on these no shame shall fall; To Cathbad children three she bare, and these were daughters all. To Cathbad, who in wizard lore and all its arts had might, Three daughters lovely Magach bore, each clothed in beauty white; All maids who then for grace were famed in grace those maids surpassed, And Finuchoem,[FN#49] Ailbhe twain he named, and Deithchim named the last. [FN#49] Pronounced Finn-hoom, Ail-vy, and Die-himm. To Finnchoem, wizard Cathbad's child, was born a glorious son, And well she nursed him, Conall wild, who every field hath won; And Ailbhe glorious children bare in whom no fear had place, These Ardan, Ainnle, Naisi were, who came of Usnach's race. A son to Deithchim fair was born, a bright-cheeked mother she; She bore but one: Cuchulain of Dun Delga's hold was he: Of those whom Cathbad's daughters reared the names full well ye know, And none of these a wound hath feared, or therefore shunned a foe. The sons of Usnach, who like shields their friends protected well, By might of hosts on battle-field to death were borne, and fell; And each was white of skin, and each his friends in love would hold, Now naught remains for song to teach, the Third of Griefs is told. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD INTRODUCTION This version of the "Combat at the Ford," the best-known episode of the Irish romance or romantic epic, the "War of Cualnge," will hardly be, by Irish scholars, considered to want a reference. It is given in the Book of Leinster, which cannot have been written later than 1150 A.D., and differs in many respects from the version in the fourteenth-century Book of Lecan, which is, for the purposes of this text, at least equal in authority to the Leabbar na h-Uidhri, which must have been written before 1100 A.D. Mr. Alfred Nutt has kindly contributed a note on the comparison of the two versions, which has been placed as a special note at the end of the translation of the "Combat." To this note may be added the remark that the whole of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "War of Cualnge" seems, to be subject to the same criticisms that have to be passed on the "Sickbed" and the "Courtship of Etain" in the same volume, viz. that it is a compilation from two or three different versions of the same story, and is not a connected and consistent romance, which the version in the Book of Leinster appears to be. As an illustration of this, the appearance of Conall Cernach as on the side of Connaught in the early part of the L.U. version may be mentioned; he is never so represented in other versions of the "War." In the description of the array of Ulster at the end of L.U., he is noted as being expected to be with the Ulster army but as absent (following in this the Book of Leinster, but not a later manuscript which agrees with the Book of Leinster in the main); then at the end of the L.U. version Conall again appears in the Connaught army and saves Conor from Fergus, taking the place of Cormac in the Book of Leinster version. Miss Faraday, in her version of the "War" as given in L.U., notes the change of style at page 82 of her book. Several difficulties similar to that of the position of Conall could be mentioned; and on the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the "War," one of which is represented by the Book of Leinster version. This version shows no signs of patchwork, at any rate in the story of the "Combat at the Ford;" which has, ever since it was reintroduced to the world by O'Curry, been renowned for the chivalry of its action. It forms one of the books of Aubrey de Vere's "Foray of Queen Meave," and is there well reproduced, although with several additions; perhaps sufficient attention has not. been paid to the lofty position of the character, as distinguished from the prowess, that this version gives to Cuchulain. The first verse, put in Cuchulain's mouth, strikes a new note, contrasting alike with the muddle-headed bargaining of Ferdia and Maev, and the somewhat fussy anxiety of Fergus. The contrast between the way in which Cuchulain receives Fergus's report of the valour of Ferdia, and that in which Ferdia receives the praises of Cuchulain from his charioteer, is well worked out; Cuchulain, conscious of his own strength, accepts all Fergus's praises of his opponent and adds to them; Ferdia cannot bear to hear of Cuchulain's valour, and charges his servant with taking a bribe from his enemy in order to frighten him. Ferdia boasts loudly of what he will do, Cuchulain apologises for his own confidence in the issue of the combat, and gently banters Fergus, who is a bit of a boaster himself, on the care he had taken to choose the time for the war when king Conor was away, with a modest implication that he himself was a poor substitute for the king. Cuchulain's first two stanzas in the opening dialogue between himself and Ferdia show a spirit quite as truculent as that of his opponent; the reason of this being, as indicated in the first of these stanzas and more explicitly stated in the preceding prose, that his anxiety for his country is outweighing his feeling for his friend; but in the third stanza he resumes the attitude of conscious strength that marks all his answers to Fergus; and this, added to a feeling of pity for his friend's inevitable fate, is maintained up to the end of the tale. In the fourth stanza, which is an answer to a most insulting speech from Ferdia, he makes the first of those appeals to his former friend to abandon his purpose that come from him throughout the first three days of the fight; even in the fatal battle of the fourth day, he will not at first put forward all his strength, and only uses the irresistible Gae-Bulg when driven to it by his foe. The number of Cuchulain's laments after the battle--there are five of these (one in prose), besides his answers to Laeg--has been adversely criticised; and it is just possible that one or more of these come from some other version, and have been incorporated by a later hand than that of the author; but the only one that seems to me not to develop the interest is the "brooch of gold," which it may be noticed is very like the only lament which is preserved in the Book of Lecan text of the L.U. version. Cuchulain's allusion to Aife's only son in the first verse lament is especially noticeable (see note, p. 196). Ferdia's character, although everywhere inferior to that of his victor, is also a heroic one; he is represented at the commencement of the episode as undertaking the fight for fear of disgrace if he refused; and this does appear to be represented throughout as the true reason; his early boasts and taunts are obviously intended to conquer a secret uneasiness, and the motif of a passion for Finnabar with which Cuchulain charges him hardly appears outside Cuchulain's speeches, and has not the importance given to it in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version. The motif of resentment against Cuchulain for a fancied insult, invented by Maev, which is given in the L.U. version as the determining cause, does not appear in the Leinster version at all; and that of race enmity of the Firbolg against the Celt, given to him by Aubrey de Vere, is quite a modern idea and is in none of the old versions. His dialogue with Maev suggests that, as stated in the text, he was then slightly intoxicated; his savage language to his servant gives the idea of a man who feels himself in the wrong and makes himself out to be worse than he is by attributing to himself the worst motives, the hope of pay; but as the battle proceeds he shows himself equal to Cuchulain in generosity, and in the dialogue at the beginning of the third day's fight his higher character comes out, for while his old boastfulness appears in one passage of it, and is immediately repressed, the language of both heroes in this dialogue is noticeable for a true spirit of chivalry. The mutual compliments, "thy kingly might," "fair graceful Hound" "gently ruling Hound" recall the French "Beausire"; it may be also noted that these compliments are paid even when Ferdia is protesting against Cuchulain's reproaches; similar language is used elsewhere, as "much thine arms excel" (page 122), and "Cuchulain for beautiful feats renowned" (page 134). It may be considered that these passages are an indication that the episode is late, but it should be noticed that the very latest date that can possibly be assigned to it, the eleventh century, precedes that of all other known romances of chivalry by at least a hundred years. To this later attitude of Ferdia, and to that maintained by Cuchulain throughout the whole episode, nothing in French or Welsh romance of approximately so early a date can be compared. Is it not possible that the chivalric tone of the later Welsh romances, like the "Lady of the Fountain," which is generally supposed to have come from France, really came from an Irish model? and that this tone, together with the Arthurian Saga, passed to the Continent? A great contrast to both the two heroes is afforded by the introduction of Laeg with his cries of exultation, which come between the dying groans of Ferdia and the fine prose lament of Cuchulain, increasing the effect of both. Laeg seems quite unable to see his master's point of view, and he serves as a foil for Ferdia, just as the latter's inferiority increases the character of Cuchulain. The consistency of the whole, and the way in which our sympathy is awakened for Ferdia contrast with the somewhat disconnected character of the L.U. version, which as it stands gives a poor idea of the defeated champion; although, as Mr. Nutt suggests, the lost part may have improved this idea, and the version has beauties of its own. For the convenience of those readers who may be unacquainted with the story of the war, the following short introduction is given:-- At a time given by the oldest Irish annalists as A.D. 29, the War of Cualnge was undertaken by Maev, queen of Connaught, against the kingdom or province of Ulster. Gathering together men from all the other four provinces of Ireland, Maev marched against Ulster, the leaders of her army being herself, her husband Ailill, and Fergus the son of Rog, an exile from Ulster, and formerly, according to one account, king of that province. Not only had Maev great superiority in force, but the time she Ed chosen for the war was when Conor, king of Ulster, and with him nearly all his principal warriors, were on their sick-bed in accordance with a curse that had fallen on them in return for a cruel deed that he and his people had done. One hero however, Cuchulain, the greatest of the Ulster heroes, was unaffected by this curse; and he, with only a few followers, but with supernatural aid from demi-gods of whose race he came, had caused much loss to the queen and her army, so that Maev finally made this compact: she was each day to provide a champion to oppose Cuchulain, and was to be permitted to advance so long as that combat lasted; if her champion was killed, she was to halt her army until the next morning. Before the Combat at the Ford between Cuchulain and Ferdia, Cuchulain had killed many of Maev's champions in duel, and the epic romance of the "War of Cualnge" gives the full story of these combats and of the end of the war. The episode given in the following pages commences at the camp of Queen Maev, where her chiefs are discussing who is to be their champion against Cuchulain on the following day. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD AN EPISODE OF THE CATTLE SPOIL OF CUALNGE IN THE BOOK OF LEINSTER VERSION At that time debate was held among the men of Ireland who should be the man to go early in the morning of the following day to make combat and fight with Cuchulain. And all agreed that Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dire, was the man who should go; even the great and valiant champion of the men of Irross Donnand, for the manner in which he fought and did battle was like to the manner of Cuchulain. They had got their skill in arms, and valour, and bravery from the same teachers, from Scathach, from Uathach, and from Aife[FN#50]; nor had either of them advantage over the other except that Cuchulain alone could perform the feat of the Gae-bulg. Yet Ferdia was fenced by a horny skin-protecting armour, and this should guard him when he faced a hero in battle and combat at the Ford. So to Ferdia were sent messengers and heralds; but Ferdia denied the heralds, and he refused to depart with them, for well he knew why it was he was called; even to fight against his own friend, his comrade and fellow-pupil Cuchulain; and for that cause he came not with the heralds who were sent. [FN#50] Pronounced Scaha, Ooha, and Eefa: Scaha and Ooha end with a slight guttural like the ch in the Scotch lock, difficult to express in English. And then did Maev send to Ferdia Druids, and satirists and revilers, in order that against him should be made three crushing reproaches, and three satires; that the stains of shame, and of blemish, and of disgrace should be raised on his face; so that even if he died not at once, death should be his within the space of nine days if he went with them not. And for the sake of his honour, Ferdia came at their call; for to him it was better to fall before the shafts of valour, of bravery, and of daring than by the stings of satire, of abuse, and of reproach. And he, when he arrived, was received with all worship and service, and was served with pleasant, sweet intoxicating liquor, so that his brain reeled, and he became gently merry. And these were the great rewards that were promised to him if he consented to make that combat and fight: a chariot of the value of four times seven cumals, and the equipment of twelve men with garments of all colours, and the length and breadth of his own territory on the choice part of the plains of Maw Ay; free of tribute, without purchase, free from the incidents of attendance at courts and of military service, that therein his son, and his grandson, and all his descendants might dwell in safety to the end of life and time; also Finnabar the daughter of Maev as his wedded wife, and the golden brooch which was in the cloak of Queen Maev in addition to all this. And thus ran the speech of Maev, and she spake these words, and thus did Ferdia reply: Maev Of rings great treasure sending,[FN#51] Wide plains and woodlands bending I grant: till time hath ending I free thy tribe and kin. O thou who oft o'ercamest! 'Tis thine what gift thou namest! Why hold'st thou back, nor claimest A boon that all would win? [FN#51] The metre of this dialogue and rhyme-system are taken from the Irish but one syllable has been added to each line. The exact Irish metre is that given on page 129. Ferdia A bond must hold thee tightly, No force I lend thee lightly; Dread strife 'twill be; for rightly He bears that name of "Hound." For sharp spear-combat breaketh That morn; hard toil it waketh The war Cuchulain maketh Shall fearless war be found. Maev Our chiefs, with oaths the gravest, Shall give the pledge thou cravest; For thee, of all men bravest, Brave bridled steeds shall stand. From tax my word hath freed thee, To hostings none shall lead thee, As bosom friend I need thee, As first in all the land. Ferdia Mere words are naught availing If oaths to bind be failing; That wondrous Ford-Fight hailing, All time its tale shall greet: Though sun, moon, sea for ever And earth from me I sever; Though death I win--yet never, Unpledged, that war I'll meet. Maev These kings and chiefs behind me Their oaths shall pledge to bind me: With boundless wealth thou'lt find me, With wealth too great to pay. 'Tis thou who oaths delayest; 'Tis done whate'er thou sayest; For well I know thou slayest The foe who comes to slay. Ferdia Ere thou to slaughter lure me, Six champions' oaths procure me; Till these rewards assure me I meet, for thee, no foe: If six thou grant as gages, I'll face the war he wages, And where Cuchulain rages, A lesser chief, I go. Maev In chariots Donnal raceth, Fierce strife wild Neeman faceth, Their halls the bards' song graceth, Yet these in troth I bind. Firm pledge Morand is making, None Carpri Min knew breaking His troth: thine oath he's taking; Two sons to pledge I find. Ferdia Much poison, Maev, inflameth Thy heart; no smile thee tameth But well the land thee nameth Proud queen of Croghan's hold; Thy power no man can measure; 'Tis I will do thy pleasure; Now send thy silken treasure, Thy silver gifts, and gold. Maev This brooch, as champion's token, I give of troth unbroken; All words my lips have spoken Performed shall Sunday see. Thou glorious chief, who darest This fight, I give thee rarest Of gifts on earth, and fairest, Yea greater meed shall be. For Findabar my daughter; All Elgga's chiefs have sought her; When thou that Hound shalt slaughter, I give in love to thee. And then did Maev bind Ferdia in an easy task; that on the next day he was to come to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel against Cuchulain; whichever of the two he should think the easier. And Ferdia on his side bound her by a condition that seemed to him easy for her to fulfil: even that she should lay it upon those same six champions to see to it that all those things she had promised to him should be fulfilled, in case Cuchulain should meet death at Ferdia's hand. Thereupon Fergus caused men to harness for him his horses, and his chariot was yoked, and he went to that place where Cuchulain was that he might tell him what had passed, and Cuchulain bade him welcome. I am rejoiced at your coming, O my good friend Fergus," said Cuchulain. And I gladly accept thy welcome, O my pupil," said Fergus. But I have now come hither in order to tell thee who that man is who comes to combat and fight with thee early on the morning of the day which is at hand." "We shall give all heed to thy words," said Cuchulain. "'Tis thine own friend," said Fergus, "thy companion, and thy fellow pupil; thine equal in feats and in deeds and in valour: even Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare, the great and valiant champion of the men of Irross Donnan." "Truly," said Cuchulain, "I make mine oath to thee that I am sorry that my friend should come to such a duel." "Therefore," said Fergus, "it behoves thee to be wary and prepared, for unlike to all those men who have come to combat and fight with thee upon the Tain be Cuailgne is Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare." "I have stood here," said Cuchulain, "detaining and delaying the men of the four great provinces of Ireland since the first Monday in Samhain (November) till the beginning of the spring, and not one foot have I gone back before any one man during all that time, nor shall I, as I trust, yield before him." And in this manner did Fergus continue to put him on his guard, and these were the words that he spoke, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Fergus Rise, Cuchulain! foes are near,[FN#52] All their covenant is clear; Daman's ruddy son in rage Comes the war with thee to wage. [FN#52] The metre is that of the Irish; a literal rendering of the whole dialogue is given in the notes, p. 191. Cuchulain Here I stand, whose valiant toil Erin's bands held back from spoil; Never a foot of ground they won, Never a foe they found me shun. Fergus Fierce is he in rage; his trust In his blade's deep searching thrust: Plates of horn protect his side, Pierced by none his strength who tried. Cuchulain Fergus, much thine arms excel; Cease, this tale no longer tell Land is none, nor battle-field Where to his my strength must yield. Fergus He is fierce, with scores can fight, Spear nor sword can on him bite; From that strength, a hundred's match, Hard 'twill be the prize to snatch. Cuchulain Yea! Ferdia's power I know; How from foughten field we go; How was fought our piercing war, Bards shall tell to ages far. Fergus Loss of much I'd little mourn Could I hear how, eastward borne, Great Cuchulain's bloody blade Proud Ferdia's spoils displayed. Cuchulain Though in boasts I count me weak, Hear me now as braggart speak: Daman's son, of Darry's race, Soon shall I, his victor, face. Fergus Brought by me, hosts eastward came, Ulster sought to hurt my fame; Here have come, to ease my grief, Many a champion, many a chief. Cuchulain Sickness Conor's might withheld, Else his sight thy host had quelled; Less the shouts of joy had been, Raised by Maev, Maw Scayl's high queen. Fergus Greater deeds than done by me O Cuchulain! thine shall be: Daman's son thy battle nears; Hear thy friend! keep hard thy spears. Then Fergus returned to where the army was encamped: Ferdia, also went from Maev and came to his own tent; and there he found his followers, and he told them how he had been bound to Maev as in an easy task, that he was on the morrow to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel with Cuchulain, whichever of the two he might think the easier. Also he told them how she had been bound by a condition that was easy for her to grant: that she should lay it on these same six champions to see that her promises to him of rewards should be fulfilled in case Cuchulain met his death at Ferdia's hand. There was no cheerfulness, or happiness, or even melancholy pleasure among the inmates of Ferdia's camp that night: they were all cheerless, and sorrowful, and low in spirit; for they knew that whenever those two champions, those two slayers of hundreds met, one of the two must fall in that place, or that both of them should fall: and if one only was to fall they were sure that that one would be their own master; for it was not easy for any man to combat and fight with Cuchulain on the Tain bo Cuailnge. Now the first part of that night Ferdia slept very heavily, and when the middle of the night had come his sleep had left him, and the dizziness of his brain has passed away, and care for the combat and the fight pressed heavily upon him. Then he called for his charioteer to harness his horses, and to yoke his chariot; and the charioteer began to rebuke him, if haply he might turn him from his purpose. "It would be better for thee to stay!" said the charioteer. "Be thou silent, O my servant!" said Ferdia, and he then spoke the words that follow, and thus did his servant reply to him:-- Ferdia 'Tis a challenge provoking To war, and I go Where the ravens' hoarse croaking Shall rise for my foe: With Cuchulain still seeking The strife at yon ford; Till his strong body, reeking, Be pierced by my sword! Servant Nay, thy threats show no meekness; Yet here thou should'st stay; For on thee shall come weakness, Woe waits on thy way: For by Ulster's Rock broken This battle may be, And it long shall be spoken How ill 'twas to thee. Ferdia An ill word art thou saying; It fits not our race That a champion, delaying From fight, should thee grace. Then thy speech, my friend, fetter, No foe will we fear; But, since valour is better, His challenge we near. Then Ferdia's horses were harnessed for him, and his chariot was yoked, and he came forward to the ford of battle; but when he had come there he found that the full light of the day had not yet dawned, and "O my servant!" said Ferdia, "spread out for me the cushions and skins that are upon my chariot, that I may rest upon them till I take the deep repose of refreshing sleep, for during the latter part of this night have I taken no rest, on account of the care that I had for this combat and fight." And the servant unharnessed his horses, and he placed together the cushions and the skins that were upon the chariot, so that Ferdia might rest upon them, and he sank into the deep repose of refreshing sleep. Now in this place I will tell of the acts of Cuchulain. He rose not at all from his couch until the full light of the day; and this he did in order that the men of Ireland should not be able to say that it was from fear or from dread that he rose, if it had been early that he had arisen. And when the full daylight had come, he commanded his charioteer to harness for him his horses, and to yoke his chariot: "O my servant!" said Cuchulain, "harness for us our horses, and put the yoke to our chariot, for early rises the champion who cometh to meet us this day: even Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare." "The horses are harnessed," said the charioteer, "and the chariot is yoked; step thou into it, for it will bring no shame on thy valour." Then did Cuchulain, the fighter of battles, the skilful in feats, the winner of victory, that red-sworded hero, the son of Sualtam, leap into his chariot. All around him screamed the Bocanachs, and the Bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air; for it was the custom of the people of the wizard race of Danu to raise their cries about him in every battle, on every stricken field, in every duel, and in every fight to which he went, that thereby in such fight the hatred, and the fear, and the avoidance, and the terror that men felt for him should be increased. In no short time the charioteer of Ferdia heard the roar of Cuchulain's approach; the clamour, and the hissing, and the tramp; and the thunder, and the clatter, and the buzz: for he heard the shields that were used as missiles clank together as they touched; and he heard the spears hiss, and the swords clash, and the helmet tinkle, and the armour ring; and the arms sawed one against the other, and the javelins swung, and the ropes strained, and the wheels of the chariot clattered, and the chariot creaked, and the hoofs of the horses trampled on the ground as that warrior and champion came forward in triumph to the ford, and approached him. Then that servant of Ferdia arose, and he placed his hand upon his lord: "Arise now, O Ferdia!" said the servant, "for here they come towards thee, even to the Ford;" and this was the speech of the driver of the chariot of Ferdia as he stood before him: Lo! a chariot yoked with silver, creaking loud, draws nigh;[FN#53] O'er the chariot-wheels a man his perfect form rears high: The warlike car Rolls on from far Braeg Ross, from Braina's bounds; Past that burg they ride whose wooded side the roadway rounds; For its triumphs high in triumph cry its song resounds. [FN#53] For a literal translation of the above poem and another rendering, see the notes. Urged by hero-Hound, and yoked by charioteer's hand true, Flies the war-car southward ever; nobler hawk ne'er flew Than he who speeds His rushing steeds, That chief of stubborn might; Soon the blood to flow from slaughtered foe shall meet his sight; Sure for us 'tis ill, for soon with skill he gives us fight. Woe to him who here on hillock stands, that Hound to wait; Emain Macha's perfect Hound is he, foretold by fate: Last year I cried That him I spied Who guards his land from foe: That battle-Hound, on whom are found all hues to glow: 'Twas then from far I heard that car: its sound I know. "O my servant!" said Ferdia, "wherefore is it: that thou hast continued in thy praise of this man ever since the time that I left my tent? surely it must be a reward that thou seekest at his hand, so greatly dost thou extol him; yet Ailill and Maev have foretold that it is by me he shall fall. Certain it is that for sake of the fee I shall gain he shall be slain quickly; and 'tis full time that the relief that we wait for should come." Thus then it was that in that place he spoke these words, and thus did his servant reply: Ferdia 'Tis time that I grant my assistance! Be still: let thy praise of him sink: Peer not, like a seer, at the distance; Wilt fail me on battle-field's brink? Though Cualgne's proud champion, displaying His gambols and pride thou dost see; Full soon shalt thou witness his slaying For price to be paid down to me. Servant If he who this glory is showing Be champion of Cualgne indeed; 'Tis not in retreat he is going; To meet us he cometh with speed: He comes, nor 'tis slowly he blunders, Like wind his swift journey he makes; As stream, from the cliff-top that thunders; As bolt, from the storm-cloud that breaks. Ferdia 'Tis pay at his hand thou hast taken, So loudly resoundeth thy praise; Else why, since our tent was forsaken, Hast sung with such frequence thy lays? Men, like thou, who, when foes are appearing, Would to chant the foe's praises begin, Will attack not, when battle is nearing, But the name of base cowards shall win. Now the charioteer of Ferdia was not long in that place before he saw a marvellous sight; for before his eyes came the beautiful five-pointed, four-peaked chariot, skilfully driven with swiftness and power. A canopy of green overspread it; thin and well-seasoned was the body of it; lofty and long were the spears that adorned it; well was it fashioned for war. Under the yokes of that chariot sped forward with great bounds two great-eared, savage, and prancing steeds; bellies had they like whales, broad were their chests, and quick-panting their hearts; their flanks were high, and their hoofs wide; their pasterns fine, their loins broad, and their spirits untamable. The horse under one of the yokes was grey, with a long mane and with broad hind quarters; swiftly he galloped, and his leaps were great; the horse beneath the other yoke was black, his mane was in tufts, his back was broad, and eager was his pace. As a hawk, on a day when the wind bloweth hard, darts up from the furrow; as the gusts of the wind in spring sweep forward over a smooth plain upon a day in March; swift as a going stag at the beginning of the chase, after he hath been roused by the cry of the hounds; such was the pace of the two steeds that bore forward Cuchulain and his chariot, touching upon the soil as rapidly as if the stones that they trod on were hot with the fire, so that the whole earth trembled and shook at the violence of their going. And Cuchulain reached the ford, and Ferdia awaited him on the south side of it, and Cuchulain halted his horses upon the north. Then did Ferdia bid welcome to Cuchulain: "O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, I rejoice to see thine approach." "Thy welcome would have been received by me upon an earlier day," said Cuchulain, "but this day I cannot receive it as one from a friend. And Ferdia," said he, "it were more suitable that it was I who bade welcome to thee rather than that thou shouldest welcome me; for out in flight before thee are my women, and my children; my youths, and my steeds, and my mares; my flocks, and my herds, and my cattle." "Ah, Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, "how hast thou been persuaded to come to this fight and this battle at all? For when we were with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife, thou wert mine attendant; thine was the office to whet my spears, and to make ready my couch." "'Tis true indeed," said Cuchulain, "but it was then as thy younger in years and in standing that it was my custom to perform this office for thee; and that is not my quality to-day; for now there is not in all the world any champion with whom I would refuse to fight." And then each of them reproached the other bitterly with breach of friendship, and there Ferdia spoke the words which here follow, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Ferdia Hound! why hither faring,[FN#54] Strife with strong ones daring? As if home were flaring, Woe shall come on thee! Blood from out thee draining Shall thy steeds be staining; Thou, thy home if gaining, Wounded sore shalt be. [FN#54] The metre is that of the Irish. Cuchulain Hot with indignation, Take I battle-station, Face yon warrior nation, Round their warlike king: They shall see me meet thee, Count the strifes that greet thee, Watch, as down I beat thee, Drowning, suffering. Ferdia Here is one to shame thee; How 'twas I o'ercame thee, They who champion name thee Long the tale shall tell. Ulster, near thee lying, Soon shall see thee dying; All shall say, with sighing, Theirs the chief who fell. Cuchulain Thine shall be the choosing; Say, what warfare using Hosts shall see thee losing At the Ford this fight? Swords dost choose, hard-clashing Cars, in conflict crashing? Spears, thy life-blood splashing? 'Tis thy death in sight. Ferdia Ere the twilight gleameth, Red thy life-blood streameth: Small thy stature seemeth, Like a cliff thy foe. Ulster's hosts who prated, And thy pride inflated; Through them feel thy hated Spectre sadly go. Cuchulain Down a chasm appalling Thou to death art falling; One thy foe: yet galling Weapons press thee sore. Proud thou wert but lately, Strife shall change thee greatly, Thee as champion stately Earth shall know no more. Ferdia Cease this endless vaunting, Speech for ever flaunting, Thou a chief! a taunting, Giggling child thou art. None would pay, or fee thee, I as coward see thee; Strength hast none to free thee, Caged bird! quaking heart! Cuchulain Ah! in bygone story We, as peers in glory, Sports and combats gory Shared when Scaha taught: Thou, of all who nearest To my soul appearest! Clansman! kinsman dearest! Woe thy fate hath brought! Ferdia Naught this strife avails thee, Glory fades, and fails thee; Cock-crow loudly hails thee, High on stake thy head! Cualgne's[FN#55] Hound, Cuchulain! Faults thy soul bear rule in: Thee to bitter schooling Frantic grief hath led. [FN#55] Pronounced Kell-ny. "O my friend Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "it was not right for thee to have come to the combat and the fight with me, at the instigation and the meddling of Ailill and Maev: none of those who came before thee have gained for themselves victory or success, and they all fell at my hand; neither shalt thou win victory or success from this battle, by me shalt thou fall." And it was in this manner that he was speaking, and he recited these words, and Ferdia hearkened to him: Come not near, thou powerful man![FN#56] O Ferdia mac Daman: Worst of woe on thee is hurled, Though thy fate shall grieve the world. [FN#56] The metre is that of the Irish. Come not near, nor right forget In my hand thy fate is set: Those recall, whom late I fought, Hath their fall no wisdom taught? Thou for gifts wert passed in sale, Purple sash, firm coat of mail; Never maid, O Daman's son! In this war of thine is won. Findabar, Maev's lovely child, With her form thy sense beguiled: Brightly though her beauty glows, She no love on thee bestows. Wouldst thou win the prize they bring, Findabar, the child of king? Many ere now that maid could cheat Here, like thee, their wounds to meet. Thou hast sworn, and plighted. troth, Ne'er to fight me: keep thine oath: Friendship's tie thee firm should hold, Come not nigh me, champion bold. Fifty chiefs, who sought that maid, Fought me, fell, in earth are laid; Well I know that tempting bait, All have found, and earned their fate. Ferbay fell, though bold his boast, Him obeyed a valiant host; Quickly here his rage I stilled; Cast my spear but once, and killed. Cruel fate Srub Darry slew, Tales of hundred dames he knew; Great his fame in days of yore; Silver none, 'twas gold he wore. Though that maid, whom Erin's best Hope to gain, my heart would charm; South and north, and east and west I would keep thee safe from harm. "And, O my friend Ferdia!" said Cuchulain "this is the cause why it was not thy part to come here to the combat and the fight with me. It is because that when with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife we abode, it was the custom with us that together we should go to every battle, and to every field of battle; to every fight and to every skirmish; to every forest and to all wildernesses; to all things dark and difficult." These were the words of his speech, and it was in that place that he recited these staves: Tuned our hearts were beating, We, where chiefs were meeting, Brotherly went: when slumbering One was our couch: we sought Fierce fights, and fought. Oft in woods that are far away Joined we stood in our skilful play; Scathach our feats had taught. And Ferdia replied to him thus: O Cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned, Though together we learned our skill; Though thou tellest of friendship that once we found, From me shall come first thine ill; Ah, recall not the time of our friendship's day: It shall profit thee nothing, O Hound, I say. "For too long now have we thus waited," said Ferdia; "tell me now O Cuchulain! to what weapons shall we resort?" "Thou hast the choice of the weapons till the night," said Cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the Ford." "Hast thou any remembrance," said Ferdia, "of the weapons for casting, that we were accustomed to practise the use of when we were with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife?" "I do indeed remember them," said Cuchulain." "If thou rememberest them, let us resort to them now," said Ferdia. Then they resorted to their weapons used for the casting. They took up two shields for defence, with devices emblazoned upon them, and their eight shields with sharp edges such that they could hurl, and their eight javelins, and their eight ivory-hilted dirks, and their eight little darts for the fight. To and fro from one to the other, like bees upon a sunny day, flew the weapons, and there was no cast that they threw that did not hit. Each of them then continued to shoot at the other with their weapons for casting, from the dawn of the morning to the full middle of the day, until all of their weapons had been blunted against the faces and the bosses of their shields; and although their casting was most excellent, yet so good was the defence that neither of them wounded the other nor drew the other's blood during all that time. "Cease now from these feats, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, "for it is not by means of these that the struggle between us shall come." "Let us cease indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time for ceasing hath arrived." And they ceased from their casting, and they threw the weapons they had used for it into the hands of their charioteers. "To what weapons shall we next resort, O Cuchulain?" said Ferdia. "Thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," said Cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the Ford." "Then," said Ferdia, "let us turn to our straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with tough cords of flax upon them." "Let us do so indeed," said Cuchulain. Then they took two stout shields of defence, and they turned to their straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with the tough cords of flax upon them, and each of them continued to hurl his spears at the other from the middle of midday until the ninth hour of the evening: and though the defence was most excellent that each of them made, yet so good was the casting of the spears that each of them wounded the other at that time, and drew red blood from him. "Let us desist from this now, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia. "Let us desist indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time has come." They ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands; and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. And such folk as can heal and cure came to heal and to cure them, and they applied soothing and salving herbs and plants to their bruises, and their cuts, and their gashes, and to all their many wounds. And of every soothing and salving herb and plant that was brought for the bruises, the cuts, and the gashes, and all the wounds of Cuchulain, he used to send an equal portion westward across the ford to Ferdia, so that in case Ferdia fell at his hand the men of Ireland should not be able to say that it was owing to superiority in leech-craft that he had done it. And of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of Ireland brought to Ferdia, he would send a fair half northward across the ford to Cuchulain; for the men who provided food for Ferdia were more in number than they who provided food for Cuchulain. All the army of the men of Ireland helped to provide Ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against Cuchulain; yet to Cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the Breg. And it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. Thus they remained that night, but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the Ford of Combat. "What weapons shall we turn to to-day, O Ferdia?" said Cuchulain. "Thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," answered Ferdia, "because it is I who had my choice of them in the day that is past." "Let us then," said Cuchulain, "resort to our great, broad-bladed, heavy spears this day, for nearer shall we be to our battle by the thrusting of our spears this day than we were by the throwing weapons of yesterday: let our horses be harnessed for us, and our chariots yoked, that upon this day from our chariots and our horses we may fight." "Let us turn to these indeed," said Ferdia. They then took to them two exceedingly stout, broad shields, and they resorted to their great, broad-bladed, heavy spears that day. And each of them continued to thrust at, and to pierce through, and to redden, and to tear the body of the other from the dawn of the morning until the ninth hour of the evening; and if it were the custom for birds in their flight to pass through the bodies of men, they could have passed through the bodies of those warriors that day, carrying with them pieces of their flesh from their wounds into the clouds and to the sky around them. So when the ninth hour of the evening was come, the horses were weary, and the charioteers were weak; and they themselves, champions and heroes of valour as they were, had themselves become weary; and "Let us cease now from this, O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "for our horses are weary, and our charioteers are weak; and now that these are weary, why should not we be weary too?" and then it was that he sang this stave: Not like Fomorians, men of the sea, Stubborn, unending our struggle should be; Now that the clamour of combat must cease, Quarrels forget, and between us be peace. Let us cease now indeed," said Ferdia, "if the time for it hath come." They ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands, and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. And such folk as can heal and cure came to examine into their wounds and to tend them that night, for they could do nothing more for them, so severe and so deadly were the stabs and the thrusts, and the gashes of the many wounds that they had, than to apply to them spells and incantations and charms, in order to staunch their blood, and their bleeding mortal wounds. And for every spell and incantation and charm that was applied to the stabs and the wounds of Cuchulain, he sent a full half westward across the ford to Ferdia; and of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of Ireland brought to Ferdia, he sent a half across the ford to Cuchulain, in the north. For the men who brought food to Ferdia were more in number than they who brought food to Cuchulain, for all the army of the men of Ireland helped to provide Ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against Cuchulain; yet to Cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the Breg. And it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. Thus they rested that night: but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the Ford of Combat; and Cuchulain saw that an evil look and a lowering cloud was on the face of Ferdia that day. "Ill dost thou appear to me to-day, O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain. "Thy hair hath been darkened to-day, and thine eye hath been dimmed, and the form and the features and the visage that thou art wont to have are gone from thee." "'Tis from no fear or from terror of thee that I am what I am to-day," said Ferdia, "for there is not in Ireland to-day a champion that I am not able to subdue." And Cuchulain complained and lamented, and he spoke the words that follow, and thus did Ferdia reply: Cuchulain Is't indeed Ferdia's face?[FN#57] Sure his meed is dire disgrace; He, to war by woman led, Comes his comrade's blood to shed. [FN#57] The metre is that of the Irish. Ferdia Thou who warrior art indeed, Champion tried! who wounds dost breed, I am forced the sod to see Where my final grave shall be. Cuchulain Maev her daughter, Findabar, Who all maids excelleth far, Gave thee, not at love's behest, She thy kingly might would test. Ferdia Gently ruling Hound, I know That was tested long ago; None so great is known to fame, None, till now, to match it came. Cuchulain All that's chanced from thee hath sprung, Darry's grandchild, Daman's son; Woman's hest hath brought thee here Swords to test with comrade dear. Ferdia Comrade! had I fled, nor found Fight with thee, fair graceful Hound, Maev my word could broken call; Croghan hold my fame but small. Cuchulain None put meat his lips between, None to king or stainless queen Yet was born, whose praise I'd gain, None whose scorn would win thy pain. Ferdia Thou who deep in wars dost wade, 'Twas not thou, 'twas Maev betrayed: Back with conquest shalt thou ride, Fault hast none thy fame to hide. Cuchulain Clots of blood my faithful heart Choke; my soul is like to part: 'Tis with little force my arm Strikes, to do Ferdia harm! "Greatly although thou makest complaint against me to-day," said Ferdia, "tell me to what arms shall we resort?" Thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said Cuchulain, "because it was I who had the choice in the day that is past." "Then," said Ferdia, "let us this day take to our heavy hard-smiting swords; for sooner shall we attain to the end of our strife by the edge of the sword this day than we did by the thrusts of our spears in the day that is gone." "Let us do so indeed," said Cuchulain. That day they took upon them two long and exceedingly great shields, and they resorted to their heavy and hard-striking swords. And each of them began to hew, and to cut, and to slaughter, and to destroy till larger than the head of a month-old child were the masses and the gobbets of flesh which each of them cut from the shoulders and the thighs and the shoulder-blades of his foe. After this fashion did each of them hew at each other from the dawn of the day until the ninth hour of the even, and then Ferdia said, "Let us desist from this now, O Cuchulain!" "Let us cease indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time has come." They ceased from their strife, and they threw from them their arms into the hands of their charioteers. Pleasant and cheerful and joyous was the meeting of the two: mournfully, and sorrowfully, and unhappily did they part from each other that night. Their horses were not in the same paddock, their charioteers were not at the same fire, and there they stayed for that night. It was early in the morning when Ferdia arose, and he advanced alone towards the Ford of Combat. Well did he know that the battle and the conflict would be decided that day; that upon that day and in that place one of the two would fall or that both would fall. And then, before Cuchulain could come, Ferdia put on the armour that he was to use for that battle in the conflict and fight. And this was the battle armour that he used for that conflict and fight; he put a kilt of striped silk, bordered with spangles of gold, next to his white skin, and over that he put his well-sewn apron of brown leather to protect the lower part of his body. Upon his belly he put a great stone as large as a millstone, and over that great stone as large as a millstone he put his firm deep apron of purified iron, on account of the fear and the dread that he had of the Gae-Bulg that day. And his crested helmet that he used for battle and conflict and fight he put upon his head: there were upon it four jewels of carbuncle, each one of them fit to adorn it: also it was studded with enamels, with crystals, with carbuncles, and with blazing rubies that had come from the East. Into his right hand he took his death-dealing sharp-pointed strong spear; upon his left side he hung his curved sword of battle with its golden hilt and its pommels of red gold: upon the slope of his back he took his great and magnificent shield with great bosses upon it: fifty was the number of the bosses, and upon each of them could be supported a full-grown hog: moreover in the centre of the shield was a great boss of red gold. Upon that day Ferdia displayed many noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats of arms on high; feats which he had never learned from any other, either from his nurse or his tutor, or from Scathach, or from Uathach, or from Aife, but which he himself invented that day for his battle with Cuchulain. And Cuchulain approached the ford, and he saw the many, rapidly changing, wonderful feats that Ferdia displayed on high; and "O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "I mark those noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats which Ferdia displays, and I know that all of those feats will in turn be tried upon me; and for this reason if it be I who begin to go backwards this day, let it be thy part to rouse me by reproaches, and by evil speech, so that my rage and my wrath may be kindled, and increase. And if it be I that shall prevail, then do thou give to me praise and approval; and speak good words tome, that my courage may be the greater." "This indeed will I do, O Cuchulain!" said Laeg. Then did Cuchulain put on his battle armour that he used for the combat and fight. And that day he displayed noble, many-changing, wonderful, and many feats that he had learned from none: neither from Scathach, from Uathach, or from Aife. And Ferdia marked those feats, and he know that each in turn would be tried upon him. "O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "tell me to what arms we shall resort? "Thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said Ferdia. "Then," said Cuchulain, "let us try the Feat of the Ford."[FN#58] "Let us do so indeed," said Ferdia; but although he thus spoke, it was with sorrow that he consented, for he knew that Cuchulain had ever destroyed every hero and champion who had contended with him at the Feat of the Ford. [FN#58] i.e. in which all weapons were allowed. Mighty were the deeds that were done upon that day at the ford by those two heroes, the champions of the west of Europe; by those two hands which in the north-west of the world were those that best bestowed bounty, and pay, and reward; those twin loved pillars of valour of the Gael; those two keys of the bravery of the Gaels, brought to fight from afar, owing to the urging and the intermeddling of Ailill and Maev. From the dawn till the middle of the day, each began to shoot at the other with his massive weapons; and when midday had come, the wrath of the two men became more furious, and each drew nearer to the other. And then upon a time Cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, and he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, to strike at his head from above, over the rim of his shield. And then it was that Ferdia gave the shield a blow of his left elbow, and he cast Cuchulain from him like a bird, till he came down again, upon the shore of the ford. And again Cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, till he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. And Ferdia, gave the shield a stroke of his left knee, and he cast Cuchulain from him like a little child, till he came down on the shore of the ford. Laeg saw what had been done. "Ah!" said Laeg, "the warrior who is against thee, casts thee away as a loose woman casts her child; he flings thee as high as the river flings its foam; he grinds thee even as a mill would grind fresh malt; pierces thee as the axe would pierce the oak that it fells; binds thee as the woodbine binds the tree; darts upon thee even as the hawk darts upon little birds, so that never until time and life shall end, shalt thou have a call, or right, or claim for prowess or for valour: thou little fairy phantom!" said Laeg. Up sprang Cuchulain, swift as the wind; quick as the swallow; fiery as the dragon; powerful as the lion; and he bounded into the air for the third time into the troubled clouds of it, until he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia, the son of Daman, striving to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. And the warrior shook his shield, and he threw Cuchulain from him, into the middle of the ford, just as if he had never been cast off at all. And then for the first time the countenance of Cuchulain was changed, and he rose in his full might, as if the air had entered into him, till he towered as a terrible and wonderful giant, with the hero-light playing about his head; rising as a wild man of the sea; that great and valiant champion, till he overtopped Ferdia. And now so closely were they locked in the fight, that their heads met above them, and their feet below them; and in their middles met their arms over the rims and the bosses of their shields. So closely were they locked in the fight, that they turned and bent, and shivered their spears from the points to the hafts; and cleft and loosened their shields from the centres to the rims. So closely were they locked, that the Bocanachs, and the Bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air screamed from the rims of their shields, and from the hilts of their swords, and from the hafts of their spears. And so closely did they fight, that they cast the river from its bed and its course, so that there might have been a couch fit for a king and a queen to he in, there in the midst of the ford, for there was no drop of water left in it, except such as fell therein from off those two heroes and champions, as they trampled and hewed at each other in the midst of the ford. And so fierce was their fight, that the horses of the Gaels, in fear and in terror, rushed away wildly and madly, bursting their chains, and their yokes, and their tethers, and their traces; and the women, and the common folk, and the followers of the camp, fled south-westwards out of the camp. All this time they fought with the edges of their swords. And then it was that Ferdia found Cuchulain for a moment off his guard, and he struck him with the straight edge of his sword, so that it sank into his body, till the blood streamed to his girdle, and the soil of the ford was crimson with the blood that fell from the body of that warrior so valiant in fight. And Cuchulain's endurance was at an end, for Ferdia continually struck at him, not attempting to guard, and his downright blows, and quick thrusts, and crushing strokes fell constantly upon him, till Cuchulain demanded of Laeg the son of Riangabra to deliver to him the Gae-Bulg. Now the manner of using the Gae-Bulg was this: it was set with its end pointing down a stream, and was cast from beneath the toes of the foot: it made the wound of one spear on entering a person's body; but it had thirty barbs to open behind, and it could not be drawn out from a man's body until he was cut open. And when Ferdia heard mention of the Gae-Bulg, he made a stroke of his shield downwards to guard the lower part of his body. And Cuchulain thrust his unerring thorny spear off the centre of his palm over the rim of the shield, and through his breast covered by horny defensive plates of armour, so that its further half was visible behind him after piercing the heart in his chest. Ferdia gave an upward stroke of his shield to guard the upper part of his body, though too late came that help, when the danger was past. And the servant set the Gae-Bulg down the stream, and Cuchulain caught it between the toes of his foot, and he threw it with an unerring cast against Ferdia, and it broke through the firm deep apron of wrought iron, and it burst the great stone that was as large as a millstone into three parts, and it passed through the protection of his body into him, so that every crevice and cavity in him was filled with its barbs. "'Tis enough now," said Ferdia. "I have my death of that; and I have but breath enough to say that thou hast done an ill deed against me. It was not right that thy hand should be that by which I should fall." And thus did he cry, as he gasped out these words: Hound, of feats so fair![FN#59] Death from thee is ill: Thou the blame must bear, Thou my blood dost spill. Help no wretch hath found Down this chasm of woe: Sick mine accents sound, As a ghost, I go. Torn my ribs, and burst, Gore my heart hath filled: This of fights is worst, Hound! thou hast me killed. [FN#59] The metre is that of the Irish. And after those words, Cuchulain ran towards him, and with his arms and armour about him, carried him northwards across the ford, in order that the slain man might be on the north side of the ford, and not upon the western side together with the men of Erin. Then Cuchulain laid Ferdia down, and there it was that a trance and a faint and a weakness came upon Cuchulain when he saw the body of Ferdia, Laeg saw his weakness, and the men of Ireland all arose to come upon him. "Rise up now, O Cuchulain!" said Laeg, "for the men of Erin are coming towards us, and no single combat will they give to us, since Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, has fallen by thy hand." "How shall I be the better for arising, O my servant!" said he, "now that he who lieth here hath fallen by me?" And it was in this manner that his servant spoke to him, and he recited these words, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Laeg Now arise, Battle-Hound of Emania! It is joy and not grief should be sought; For the leader of armies, Ferdia, Thou hast slain, and hard battle hast fought. Cuchulain What availeth me triumph or boasting? For, frantic with grief for my deed, I am driven to mourn for that body That my sword made so sorely to bleed. Laeg 'Tis not thou shouldst lament for his dying, Rejoicing should spring to thy tongue; For in malice, sharp javelins, flying For thy wounding and bleeding he flung. Cuchulain I would mourn, if my leg he had severed, Had he hewn through this arm that remains, That he mounts not his steeds; and for ever In life, immortality gains. Laeg To the dames of Red Branch thou art giving More pleasure that thus he should fall: They will mourn for him dead, for thee living, Nor shall count of thy victims be small. Great Queen Maev thou hast chased, and hast fought her Since the day when first Cualgne was left; She shall mourn for her folk, and their slaughter, By thy hand of her champions bereft. Neither sleep nor repose hast thou taken, But thy herd, her great plunder, hast chased, Though by all but a remnant forsaken, Oft at dawn to the fight thou didst haste. Now it was in that place that Cuchulain commenced his lament and his moan for Ferdia, and thus it was that he spoke: "O my friend Ferdia! unhappy was it for thee that thou didst make no inquiry from any of the heroes who knew of the valorous deeds I had done before thou camest to meet me in that battle that was too hard for thee! Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not inquire from Laeg, the son of Riangabra[FN#60] about what was due from thee to a comrade. Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not ask for the honest and sincere counsel of Fergus. Unhappy it was for thee that thou hast not sought counsel from the comely, the fresh-coloured, the cheery, the victorious Conall about what was due from thee to a comrade. Well do these men know, that never, till life and time come to an end, shall be born in the land of Connaught one who shall do deeds equal to those which have been done by thee. And if thou hadst made inquiry from these men concerning the habitations, the gatherings, the promises, and the broken faith of the fair-haired ladies of Connaught; hadst thou asked them concerning spear-play and sword-play; concerning skill in backgammon and chess; concerning feats with horses, and chariots of war; they would have said that never had been found the arm of a champion who could wound a hero's flesh like the arm of Ferdia; he whose colour matched the tints of the clouds: none who like thee could excite the croak of the bloody-mouthed vulture, as she calls her friends to the feast of the many-coloured flocks; none who shall fight for Croghan or be the equal of thee to the end of life and time, O thou ruddy-cheeked son of Daman!" said Cuchulain. And then Cuchulain stood over Ferdia. "Ah! Ferdia," said Cuchulain, "great was the treachery and desertion that the men of Ireland had wrought upon thee, when they brought thee to combat and fight with me. For it was no light matter to combat and fight with me on the occasion of the Tain bo Cuailnge." And thus it was that he spoke, and he then recited these words: [FN#60] Pronounced Reen-gabra. 'Twas guile to woe that brought thee; 'Tis I that moan thy fate; For aye thy doom hath caught thee, And here, alone, I wait. To Scathach, glorious mother, Our words, when boys, we passed; No harm for each from other Should come while time should last. Alas! I loved thee dearly, Thy speech; thy ruddy face; Thy gray-blue eyes, so clearly That shone; thy faultless grace. In wrath for strife advances No chief; none shield can rear To piercing storm of lances Of Daman's son the peer. Since he whom Aife[FN#61] bore me By me was slain in fight, No champion stood before me Who matched Ferdia's might. He came to fight, thus trusting Might Findabar be won; Such hopes have madmen, thrusting With spears at sand or sun. [FN#61] Pronounced Eefa. See note on this line. Still Cuchulain continued to gaze upon Ferdia. And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "strip for me the body of Ferdia, and take from him his armour and his garments, that I may see the brooch for the sake of which he undertook this combat and fight." Then Laeg arose, and he stripped Ferdia; he took his armour and his garments from him, and Cuchulain saw the brooch, and he began to lament and to mourn for him, and he spake these words: Ah! that brooch of gold![FN#62] Bards Ferdia knew: Valiantly on foes With hard blows he flew. Curling golden hair, Fair as gems it shone; Leaflike sash, on side Tied, till life had gone. [FN#62] The metre and the rhyme-system is that of the Irish. See notes, p. 196. Comrade, dear esteemed! Bright thy glances beamed: Chess play thine, worth gold: Gold from shield rim gleamed. None of friend had deemed Could such tale be told! Cruel end it seemed: Ah! that brooch of gold! "And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "open the body of Ferdia, and take the Gae-Bulg out of him, for I cannot afford to be without my weapon." Laeg came, and he opened Ferdia's body, and he drew the Gae-Bulg out of him, and Cuchulain saw his weapon all bloody and red by the side of Ferdia, and then he spake these words: Ferdia, I mourn for thy dying, Thou art pale, although purple with gore: Unwashed is my weapon still lying, And the blood-streams from out of thee pour. Our friends in the East who have seen us, When with Uathach and Scathach[FN#63] we dwelled, Can bear witness, no quarrel between us Or with words or with weapons was held. Scathach came; and to conflict inciting Were her accents that smote on mine ear; "Go ye all, where a swift battle fighting, German wields his green terrible spear! To Ferdia, I flew with the story, To the son of fair Baitan I sped, And to Lugaid, whose gifts win him glory, "Come ye all to fight German," I said. [FN#63] Pronounced Ooha and Scaha. Where the land by Loch Formay lies hollowed Had we come, fit for fight was the place; And beside us four hundred men followed; From the Athisech Isles was their race. As beside me Ferdia contended Against German, at door of his dun; I slew Rind, who from Niul[FN#64] was descended, I slew Rood, of Finnool was he son. [FN#64] Pronounced Nyool. 'Twas Ferdia slew Bla by the water, Son of Cathbad red-sworded was he: And from Lugaid Mugarne gat slaughter, The grim lord of the Torrian sea. Four times fifty men, stubborn in battle, By my hand in that gateway were slain; To Ferdia, of grim mountain cattle Fell a bull, and a bull from the plain. Then his hold to the plunderers giving, Over ocean waves spangled with foam, Did we German the wily, still living, To the broad-shielded Scathach bring home. There an oath our great mistress devising, Both our valours with friendship she bound; That no anger betwixt us uprising Should 'mid Erin's fair nations be found. Much of woe with that Tuesday was dawning, When Ferdia's great might met its end; Though red blood-drink I served him that morning: Yet I loved, though I slew him, my friend. If afar thou hadst perished when striving With the bravest of heroes of Greece, 'Tis not I would thy loss be surviving; With thy death should the life of me cease. Ah! that deed which we wrought won us sorrow, Who, as pupils, by Scathach were trained: Thou wilt drive not thy chariot to-morrow; I am weak, with red blood from me drained. Ah! that deed which we wrought won us anguish, Who, as pupils, by Scathach were taught: Rough with gore, and all wounded, I languish; Thou to death altogether art brought. Ah! that deed that we wrought there was cruel For us pupils, from Scathach who learned: I am strong; thou art slain in the duel, In that conflict, with anger we burned. "Come now, Cuchulain," said Laeg, "and let us quit this ford, for too long have we been here." "Now indeed will we depart, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "but every other combat and fight that I have made hath been only a game and a light matter to me compared with this combat and fight with Ferdia." Thus it was that he spoke; and in this fashion he recited: Wars were gay, and but light was fray[FN#65] Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Like had we both been taught, Both one kind mistress swayed; Like the rewards we sought, Like was the praise she paid. [FN#65] Metre and rhyme-system of the Irish imitated, but not exactly reproduced. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Like were our fights, oft fought, Like were our haunts in play; Scathach to each of us brought A shield one day. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Pillar of gold, loved well, Low at the Ford's side laid; He, when on troops he fell, Valour unmatched displayed. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Lionlike, on he sped; High, in his wrath, he blazed; Rose, as a wave of dread; Ruin his onset raised. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Never, till hour of doom, Ferdia's form shall fade; High as a cliff it loomed, Now is but left his shade. Three great armies went this Raid,[FN#66] All the price of death have paid; Choicest cattle, men, and steeds Lie in heaps, to tell my deeds. [FN#66] The metre is that of the Irish. Widely spread their battle-line, Less than half their host was mine; Though to war stout Croghan came, All I slew, for me a game! None the battle neared like thee, None of all whom Banba nursed Passed thy fame; on land, on sea, Thou, of sons of kings, art first! SPECIAL NOTE ON THE "COMBAT AT THE FORD" The episode translated in the foregoing pages is not only one of the famous examples on which Irish literature can fairly rest its claim to universal recognition, but it also affords an excellent instance of the problems involved when it comes to be studied critically. These problems, upon the solution of which must to some extent depend our estimate of the place of Irish in the general development of European literature) axe briefly dealt with in Mr. Leahy's Preface, as well as in his special Introduction (supra, pp. 114, 115), but may perhaps be thought worthy of somewhat more detailed examination. The existence of two markedly different versions of the "Tain bo Cuailnge," one, obviously older, represented by the eleventh-century MS. Leabhar na h-Uidhri (L.U.), and the fourteenth-century MS. Yellow Book of Lecan (Y.B.L.); the other, obviously younger, by the twelfth-century Book of Leinster (L.L.), was pointed out by Professor Heinrich Zimmer twenty-seven years ago in his study of the L.U. heroic saga texts (Keltische Studien V.: Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung, vol. xxviii.). The conclusion that he drew from the fact, as also from the peculiarities disclosed by his analysis of the L.U. texts, is substantially that stated by Mr. Leahy: "On the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the 'War,' one of which is represented by the Book of Leinster version." He furthermore emphasised a particular aspect of this compiler's activity to which Mr. Leahy also draws repeated attention; he (the compiler) was a man interested in the historical and antiquarian rather than in the literary side of the texts he harmonised and arranged: hence his preference for versions that retain archaic and emphasise mythical elements; hence his frequent interpolation of scraps of historical and antiquarian learning; hence his indifference to consistency in the conduct of the story, and to its artistic finish. Professor Zimmer urged that the "compiler" was no other than Flann, Abbot of Monasterboice, who died in 1047, and was regarded as the most famous representative of Irish learning in his day. There has come down to us under his name a considerable mass of chronological and historical writing, partly in prose, partly in verse, and it seems certain that he was one of the chief artisans in framing that pragmatic redaction of Irish myth, heroic legend, and historical tradition most fully represented by the two great compilations of the seventeenth century: the Annals of the Four Masters, emphasising its antiquarian, historical side; Keating's History, emphasising its romantic, legendary side. Whilst Professor Zimmer's conclusion as to the personality of the L.U. compiler has been challenged, his main thesis has remained unshaken. On the whole, it can be asserted positively that the common source of L.U. and Y.B.L. goes back to the early eleventh century; on the whole, that this common source itself utilised texts similar to those contained in the Book of Leinster. Moreover, the progress of linguistic analysis during the past quarter-century has strengthened the contention that some of the elements used by Flann (or another) in compiling his eleventh-century harmony are as old, in point of language, as any existing remains of Irish outside the Ogham inscriptions; in other words, being as old as the earliest glosses, they may date back to the eighth or even seventh century. In particular the L.U.-Y.B.L. version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge" contains a large proportion of such elements and may, in the main, be treated as an eighth-century text. It must, however, be pointed out, and for this reason I have italicised the qualifying "on the whole," "in the main," that this conclusion does not enable us to declare dogmatically (1) that all portions of the L.U.-Y.B.L. version must go back to the eighth century; (2) that all portions of the Book of Leinster version must precede the compilation of the common source of L.U. and Y.B.L. For as regards (1), not only must the definitely ascertained activity of the eleventh-century compiler be taken into account, but also the possible activity of later scribes. If we possessed the complete text of the L.U.-Y.B.L. redaction in both MSS., we could at least be sure concerning the possible variations introduced during the two centuries that elapsed between the writing of the Yellow Book (early fourteenth century) and that of L.U. (late eleventh century). But most unfortunately both MSS. are imperfect, the Yellow Book at the opening, L.U. at the close of our tale. Thus of the special episode under consideration, the "Combat at the Ford," the older redaction is only extant in the fourteenth-century MS., and it is always open to impugners of its archaic character to say that it has been introduced there from the rival Leinster version. Again, as regards (2), whilst it is practically certain that the great mass of the Leinster version was in existence before the time of the source whence both L.U. and Y.B.L. are derived, and must therefore date back to the early eleventh century, it is by no means certain that this version was not considerably altered and enlarged before it came to be written down in the Book of Leinster some time before 1154. The older version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge" has been translated by Miss Winifred Faraday (Grimm Library, No. xvi. 1904). In her Introduction (p. xvii.) Miss Faraday argues against the assumption "that L.L. preserves an old version of the episode," and questions "whether the whole Fer Diad[FN#67] episode may not be late." The truth of this one contention would by no means involve that of the other; and again, both might be true without invalidating any of the conclusions drawn by Mr. Leahy (supra, p. 115). If the episode as we have it first took shape in the tenth century, it would be late as compared with much of the rest of the "Tain," and yet it would be the earliest example in post-classic European literature of the sentiments and emotions to which it gives such fine and sympathetic expression. In comparing the two versions, the following fact is at once noticeable. The Y.B.L. text occupies pp. 100-112 of Miss Faraday's translation, in round figures, 320 lines of 8 words to the line, or some 2600 words; the Leinster version, omitting the verse, fills some 500 lines of 14 words, or 7000 words. Up to a certain point, however, the actual meeting of the two champions, there is no difference between the versions in length; the prose of both runs to about 2200 words. But the whole of the actual fight (supra, pp. 129-153 in the Leinster version) is compressed into a page and a half in the older redaction, some 800 words as against over 4000. Obviously this cannot represent the original state of things; it would be psychologically impossible for any story-teller to carry on his narrative up to a given stage with the dramatic vigour, point, and artistically chosen detail displayed in the first portion of the Y.B.L. version of the combat, and then to treat the culmination of the tale in such a huddled, hasty, scamped manner. The most likely explanation is that the original from which the Y.B.L. scribe was copying was imperfect, and that the lacuna was supplied from memory, and from a very faulty memory. No conclusion can thus, I think, be drawn from the fact that the details of the actual combat are so bald and meagre in the only extant text of the older redaction. [FN#67] This is the spelling in Y. B. L. In L.L. the name appears as one word, "Ferdiad"; usually scanned as a dissyllable--though occasionally as a trisyllable. The spelling Ferdia is the conventional one sanctioned by the usage of Ferguson, Aubrey de Vere, and others; the scansion of the word as a trisyllable is on the same authority. If the two versions be compared where they are really comparable, i.e. in that portion which both narrate at approximately the same length, the older redaction will be found fuller of incident, the characters drawn with a bolder, more realistic touch, the presentment more vigorous and dramatic. Ferdiad is unwilling to go against Cuchulain not, apparently, solely for prudential reasons, and he has to be goaded and taunted into action by Medb, who displays to the full her wonted magnificently resourceful unscrupulousness, regardless of any and every consideration, so long as she can achieve her purpose. The action of Fergus is far more fully dwelt upon, and the scones between him and his charioteer, as also between him and Cuchulain, are given with far greater spirit. The hero is indignant that Fergus should think it necessary to warn him against a single opponent, and says roundly that it is lucky no one else came on such an errand. The tone of the older redaction is as a whole rough, animated, individualistic as compared with the smoother, more generalised, less accentuated presentment of the Leinster version. But to conclude from this fact that the older redaction of the actual combat, if we had it in its original fulness instead of in a bald and fragmentary summary, would not have dwelt upon the details of the fighting, would not have insisted upon the courteous and chivalrous bearing of the two champions, would not have emphasised the inherent pathos of the situation, seems to me altogether unwarranted. On the contrary the older redaction, by touches of strong, vivid, archaic beauty lacking in the Leinster version leads up to and prepares for just such a situation as the latter describes so finely. One of these touches must be quoted. Cuchulain's charioteer asks him what he will do the night before the struggle, and then continues, "It is thus Fer Diad will come to seek you, with new beauty of plaiting and haircutting and washing and bathing.... It would please me if you went to the place where you will got the same adorning for yourself, to the place where is Emer of the Beautiful Hair.... So Cuchulain went thither that night, and spent the night with his own wife." There is indeed the old Irish hero faring forth to battle as a lover to the love tryst! How natural, how inevitable with warriors of such absurd and magnificent susceptibility, such boyish love of swagger, how natural, I say, the free and generous emotion combined with an overmastering sense of personal honour, and a determination to win at all costs, which are so prominent in the Leinster version of the fight.[FN#68] [FN#68] The trait must not be put down as a piece of story-teller's fancy. In another text of the Ulster cycle, Cath ruis na Rig, Conchobor's warriors adorn and beautify themselves in this way before the battle. The Aryan Celt behaved as did the Aryan Hellene. All readers of Herodotus will recall how the comrades of Leonidas prepared for battle by engaging in games and combing out their hair, and how Demaretus, the counsellor of Xerxes, explained to the king "that it is a custom with these men that when they shall prepare to imperil their lives; that is the time when they adorn their heads" (Herodotus vii. 209.) The contention that the older redaction, if we had it complete, would resemble the younger one in its insistence upon the chivalrous bearing of the two opponents, may also be urged on historical grounds. The sentiment which gives reality and power to the situation is based upon the strength of the tie of blood-brotherhood; so strong is this that it almost balances the most potent element in the ideal of old Irish heroism--the sense of personal honour and pre-eminence in all that befits a warrior. The tie itself and the sentiment based upon it certainly belong to pre-Christian times, and must have been losing rather than gaining in strength during the historic period, say from the fourth century onwards. The episode of Cuchulain's combat with Ferdiad must have existed in the older redaction of the "Tain" for the simple reason that a tenth and eleventh century story-teller would have found nothing in the feelings, customs, or literary conventions of his own day to suggest to him such a situation and such a manner of working it out. But--and this consideration may afford a ground of conciliation with Miss Faraday and the scholars who hold by the lateness of the episode--the intrinsic beauty and pathos of the situation, the fact of its constituting an artistic climax, would naturally tempt the more gifted of the story-telling class. There would be a tendency to elaborate, to adorn in the newest fashion, hence to modernise, and it is not only conceivable but most probable that the original form should be farther departed from than in the case of much else in the epic. ALFRED NUTT. GENERAL NOTES THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN The translation of both versions of this romance has been revised by Professor Strachan, and the linguistic notes are due to him, unless otherwise stated. The rendering given in the text is noted as "doubtful," in cases where Professor Strachan does not assent. PAGE 7 @@both line 17? Line 17. "By a means that he devised," do airec memman, lit. "by a device of mind." Compare airecc memman aith (Meyer, Hib. Minora, p. 28). Line 17. "So that she became well-nourished, &c.," lit. "till there came to her fatness and form;" sult probably means "fatness," and feth "form." PAGE 8 Line 25. "Curvetting and prancing," tuagmar, foran. These are guesses by O'Curry: curvetting may be right, but there is little authority for rendering foran as "prancing "; this word is doubtful. "With a broad forehead," forlethan, lit. "broad above," O'Curry renders "broad-rumped." Line 34. "Upon the shore of the bay," forsin purt. Windisch's rendering of port is "bank, harbour"; but it is doubtful whether the word means more than "place." PAGE 9 The literal rendering adopted for the poem runs thus: Etain is here thus at the elf-mound of the Fair-Haired Women west of Alba among little children to her on the shore of the Bay of Cichmaine. It is she who cured the eye of the king from the Well of Loch da lig, it is she who was drunk in a draught by the wife of Etar in a heavy draught. Through war for her the king will chase the birds from Tethba, and will drown his two horses in the lake da Airbrech. There shall be abundant and many wars through the war for thee on Echaid of Meath, destruction shall be on the elf-mounds, and war upon many thousands. It is she who was hurt in the land (?), it is she who strove to win the king, it is she as compared to whom men men speak of fair women, it is she, our Etain afterwards. Line 2. "West of Alba" is literally "behind Alba," iar n-Albai: iar is, however, also used in the sense of "west of." Line 14 is given by Windisch "through the war over Meath rich in horses"; this is impossible. The translation of line 17 is not quite certain; the literal translation of the MS. seems to be "it is she who was hurt and the land." Da Airbrech in line 12 may mean "of two chariots." PAGE 10 Literal translation of the quatrain: Ignorant was Fuamnach, the wife of Mider, Sigmall and Bri with its trees in Bri Leth: it was a full trial were burned by means of Manannan. PAGE 11 Line 5. "Labraid the Tracker." This is a very doubtful rendering, the text gives Labradae Luircc. Line 25. "That he desired full knowledge of." There seems to be something with the Irish here; the word is co fessta which could only be third singular subj. pass. "that it might be known," which does not make grammar. It should be co fessed or co festais, "that he (or they) might know." PAGE 12 Line 9. "His officers who had the care of the roads." A very doubtful rendering; the Irish is tarraluing sligeth. Line 29. "A bright purple mantle waved round her," lit. "a bright purple curling (?) mantle," but the sense of caslechta as "curling" is not certain. Line 30. "Another mantle." The word for mantle here is folai, in the former line it was brat. PAGE 13 Line 3. "As white as the snow." ba gilighuir mechto: not "whiter than the snow," as Windisch's Dict. gives it. Line 17. "All that's graceful, &c.," cach cruth co hEtain, coem cach co hEtain. Compare conid chucum bagthir cach n-delb. (L.U., 124b, 17, "Courtship of Emer "), and Ir. Text., iii. p. 356, 1. 4, from which it may be seen that the meaning is that Etain is the test to which all beauty must be compared. PAGE 14 Line 19. "So long as they were," not "so long as he was." The Irish is cein ropas, and ropas is the impersonal preterite passive. Line 29. "The choking misery, &c.," lit. "he let come to him the slaodan of a heavy sickness:" slaodan is the cough of consumption. PAGE 15 Line 2. Lit. "worse and worse," messa a cach. Line 18. "His burial mound," a fert fodbuigh. Compare Zimmer, Kuhn's Zeitschrift, xxx. 9, for fotbuig. Literal rendering of the dialogue: B. What hath happened to thee, O young man? long is thy bed of sickness, prostrate is thy full and splendid pace, however fair the weather may be. A. There is cause for my sighs; the music of my harp contents me not; neither does any milk please me, it is this that brings me into a pitiful state. E. Tell me what ails thee, O man, for I am a maiden who is wise; tell me of anything which may be of benefit to thee that thy healing may be wrought by me. A. To speak of it is not possible for me (lit. "finds not room in me"), O maiden, lovely is thy form, there is fire of some one behind her eyes (?) nor are the secrets of women good. B. Though the secrets of women are bad, yet, if it is love, the remembrance remains for long; from the time when the matter is taken into hand this thing is not deserving of its (?) recognition. A. A blessing on thee, O white maiden, I am not worthy of this speech to me; neither am I grateful to my own mind, my body is in opposition to me. Wretched indeed is this, O wife of the King, Eochaid Fedlech in very truth, my body and my head are sick, it is reported in Ireland. E. If there is among the troops of white women any one who is vexing thee, she shall come here, if it is pleasing to thee, there shall be made by my help her courtship. In verse 3, line 2, inniss dam gach dal, dal means no more than thing it is not an accusative from dal, a meeting. Verse 4, line 3. Meaning doubtful. Verse 7, line 2. The confusion between Eochaid Airemm, the king in this story, and his brother Eochaid Fedlech is obvious. It may, as Windisch thinks, be an indication that the poem is not part of the romance as originally composed, but other explanations are possible. Line 4. "It is reported." Not quite certain; Irish is issed berair. PAGE 17 Line 11. "And great gain, &c." Text defective, and meaning uncertain. Line 13. Rhetoric; the literal translation seems to be as follows, but some words are uncertain: It is love that was longer enduring (?) than a year my love, it is like being under the skin, it is the kingdom of strength over destruction. It is the dividing into quarters of the earth, it is summit (7) of heaven, it is breaking of the neck, it is a battle against a spectre. It is drowning with cold (or ? water), it is a race up heaven, it is a weapon under the ocean, it is affection for an echo; (so is) my affection and my love and my desire of the one on whom I have set (my love). PAGE 18 Line 2. The translation given is Windisch's, "it is sorrow under the skin is Strachan's rendering. Line 5. Translation uncertain. Irish is dichend nime. Line 8. Is combath fri huacht (I read husce). Literal rendering of the poem: Arise, O glorious Ailill, great bravery is more proper to thee than anything; since thou shalt find here what was wished by thee, thy healing shall be done by me. If it should please thee in thy wise mind, place hand about my neck; a beginning of courtship, beautiful its colour, woman and man kissing each other. But, if this is not enough for thee, O good man, O son of a king, O royal prince, I will give for thy healing, O glorious crime, from my knee to my navel. A hundred cows, a hundred ounces of gold, a hundred bridled horses were collecting, a hundred garments of each variegated colour, these were brought as a price for me. A hundred of each other beast came hither, the drove was great; these to me quickly, till the sum was complete, gave Eochaid at the one time. Line 14. Of poem. "Were collecting," ratinol. This is the rendering in Windisch's Dictionary, but is a doubtful one. Line 18. Imerge means "drove," not "journey," as in Windisch. Line 27 of text. "Wrought a great healing, &c." Irish, ro lessaig, "healed him" (Windisch); "waited upon him" (Strachan). PAGE 19 Line 17. "For fear of danger." Baegal, "danger," has sometimes the sense of "chance," "risk." Line 23. "That is what I would demand of thee." Translation not quite certain Irish, cid rotiarfaiged. PAGE 20 Line 2. "That both of us do indeed deem, &c." lit. "it is so indeed well to us both." Line 22. For the incident compare Bodleian Dinnshenchas (Nutt, p. 27): the introduction of Crochen is a human touch which seems to be characteristic of the author of this version. The Dinnshenchas account seems to be taken from the romance, but it gives the name of Sinech as Mider's entertainer at Mag Cruachan. Line 25. "The Fairy Mound of Croghan." Irish, co sith sínighe Cruachan; for sínighe read Maighe, "to the sid of Mag C." PAGE 21 Line 2. Until the same day upon the year, &c.," on lo cu cele, "from that day to its fellow," i.e. "till the same day next year." Line 10. "Three wands of yew." This looks like an early case of a divining-rod. Line 21. "Hath smitten thee," rotirmass for ro-t-ormaiss, "hath hit thee." Line 29. "They ruined," "docuas ar," an idiomatic phrase; "they overcame," an idiomatic phrase. Compare Annals of Ulster under years 1175, 1315, 1516. PAGE 22 Line 2. "Messbuachalla." This makes Etain the great-grandmother of Conary, the usual account makes her the grandmother, so that there is here an extra generation inserted. Yet in the opening she and Eochaid Airem are contemporary with kings who survived Conary! Line 4. "The fairy host, &c." The order of the words in the original is misleading and difficult sithchaire and Mider are the subjects to ro choillsiut and to doronsat. PAGE 23 Line 12. That there should be adjusted)" fri commus, lit. "for valuation," but commus has also the sense of "adjusting." PAGE 24 Line 4. "Since he for a long time, &c.," fodaig dognith abairt dia sirsellad. See Meyer's Contributions, s.v. abairt. Line 23. "To gaze at her." Up to this point the L.U. version (exclusive of the Prologue) bears the character of an abstract, afterwards the style improves. PAGE 25 Line 2. "But it shall not be in the abode, &c." Windisch seems to have mimed the point here, he considers these lines to be an interpolation. PAGE 26 Line 5. Following Windisch's suggestion, this poem has been placed here instead of the later place where it occurs in the text. This famous poem has been often translated; but as there appear to be points in it that have been missed, a complete literal rendering is appended: O fair-haired woman, will you come with me into a marvellous land wherein is music (?); the top of the head there is hair of primrose, the body up to the head is colour of snow. In that country is no "mine" and no "thine"; white are teeth there, black are eyebrows, the colour of the eyes is the number of our hosts, each cheek there the hue of the foxglove. The purple of the plain is (on) each neck, the colour of the eyes is (colour of) eggs of blackbird; though pleasant to the sight are the plains of Fal (Ireland), they are a wilderness (7) for a man who has known the Great Plain. Though intoxicating to ye the ale of the island of Fal, the ale of the Great Country is more intoxicating a wonder of a land is the land I speak of, a young man there goes not before an old man. Stream smooth and sweet flow through the land, there is choice of mead and wine; men handsome (?) without blemish, conception without sin, without crime. We see all on every side, and yet no one seeth us, the cloud of the sin of Adam it is that encompasses us from the reckoning. O woman, if thou wilt come to my strong people, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, unsalted pork, new milk and mead for drink shalt thou have with me there, O fair-haired woman. Line 2. Hi fil rind. The meaning of rind (?) music) is uncertain. Line 3. Is barr sobarche folt and. This line is often translated as "hair is wreathed with primrose": the image would be better, but it is not the Irish. Barr is "top of head," and folt is "hair." Line 4. Is and nad bi mui na tai. Muisse is in old Irish the possessive of the first sing when followed by a noun it becomes mo, when not so followed it is mui; tai is also found for do. O'Curry gave this line as "there is no sorrow nor care." Lines 7 and 10. Is li sula lin ar sluag and is li sula ugai luin are so similar that is li sula must mean the same in both, and cannot mean "splendour of eyes" in the first case unless it does so in the second. The idea in the first case seems to be that the hosts are reflected in the eyes; it is so rendered in the verse translation. A blackbird's egg has a blue ground, but is so thickly powdered with brown spots of all shapes that it looks brown at a distance. At first I was inclined to take the idea to be "hazel" eyes, but comparing line 7, it seems more likely that the idea is that all sorts of shapes appear in the pupil. Line 12. The translation of annam as a "wilderness" is very doubtful, it more probably is "seldom"; and the line should be "seldom will it be so after knowledge of, &c." Line 16. This has always been rendered "no youth there grows to old age." But the Irish is ni thecht oac and re siun, and re siun can only mean "before an old (man)." The sense possibly is, that as men do not become feeble with advancing years, the younger man has not the same advantage over his elders in the eyes of women that he has in this world. Line 17. Teith millsi, "smooth and honey-sweet" (Meyer, MacCongl., p. 196). Line 24. Compare a story of some magical pigs that could not be counted accurately (Revue Celtique, vol. xiii. p. 449). Line 31. Muc ur, "unsalted pork"; see Glossary to Laws, p. 770; also MacConglinne (Kuno Meyer), p, 99. PAGE 27 Line 23. "He ascended." Fosrocaib for sosta: fosrocaib is an unknown compound (=fo-sro-od-gaib). Perhaps frisocaib for sosta, "mounted on the heights." Line 29. Co brainni a da imdae, "to the edges of his two shoulders"; see braine, in Meyer's Contributions. PAGE 28. Line 19. "Casting their light on every side," cacha air di = cacha airidi, "in every direction." Line 25. "If thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake," mad tu beras mo thocell. For tocell see Zimmer, Kuhn's Zeitsch., xxx. 80. Line 29. "Eager" (?), femendae. See Bruiden da Derga (Stokes), 50, 51. Line 30. "Easily stopped," so-ataidi suggested for sostaidi in the text: cf. Bruiden da Derga. The conjecture has not Strachan's authority. PAGE 29 Line 19. Literal translation of rhetoric: "Put it in hand, place it close in hand, noble are oxen for hours after sunset, heavy is the request, it is unknown to whom the gain, to whom the loss from the causeway." Line 28. "Over the chariot-pole of life" seems to be a literal rendering of for fertas in betha. Strachan renders "on the face of the world," which is of course the meaning of the simile. Line 30. "High was he girt," ard chustal. The meaning of custal is not known; it was used of some arrangement of the dress. See Ir. Text., iii. 226; also L.U. 79a, 35, L.L. 97a, 40; 98a, 51; 253a, 30. Line 31. "Eochaid arose," Atrigestar Eochaid. Strachan thinks it much more likely that this is "Eochaid feared him," the verb coming from atagur. It is, however, just possible that the word might be a deponent form from atregaim, "I arise." Eochaid does not elsewhere show any fear of Mider, the meaning given agrees better with the tone of the story, and is grammatically possible. PAGE 30 Line 1. "All things that seemed good, &c.," lit. "I have been accustomed to get what seemed good to thee," adethaind ni bad maith. Line 3. "Anger for anger," bara fri bure. Compare the word bura in Meyer's Contributions. Line 25. "In order that Eochaid should stand in his debt," lit. "that there might be cause of reproach for him to Eochaid." Line 32. "Forest that is over Breg." MS. fid dar bre, with mark of abbreviation. This is read to be dar Breg. Professor Rhys (Arthurian Legend, p. 28) renders "to cover Darbrech with trees." Line 33. "As it is written in the book of Drom Snechta. "This is a conjecture by Mrs. Hutton as a restoration of the words in L.U., which is torn just here: the words appear to be amal atbert lebor drums. PAGE 31 Line 1. This rhetoric is very obscure; much of it cannot be translated. The text seems to be as follows, according to Strachan: Cuisthe illand tochre illand airderg damrad trom inchoibden clunithar fír ferdi buidni balc-thruim crandchuir forderg saire fedar sechuib slimprib snithib scítha lama indrosc cloina fo bíth oen mna. Duib in dígail duib in trom daim tairthim flatho fer ban fomnis fomnis in fer mbranie cerpiae fomnis diad dergae fer arfeid soluig fria iss esslind fer bron for-tí ertechta in de lamnado luachair for di Thethbi dílecud (? diclochud) Midi in dracht coich les coich amles ? thocur ? dar c? moin. Apparent rendering: "Place on the land, place close on the land, very red oxen, heavy troop which hears, truly manlike ? troops, strong heavy placing of trees, very red . . . is led past them with twisted wattles, weary hands, the eye slants aside (squints) because of one woman. To you the vengeance, to you the heavy ? oxen ? splendour of sovereignty over white men, . . . man sorrow on thee . . . of childbirth, rushes over Tethba, clearing of stones from Meath . . . where the benefit where the evil, causeway over . . . moor." It seems that the oxen were transformed people of Mider's race; this appears from fír-ferdi, which is taken to mean "really men"; and duib in digail duib in trom-daim, which is taken to mean "to you the vengeance, to you heavy oxen." Professor Strachan disagrees with this, as daim, to be "oxen," should not have the accent, he makes trom-daim "heavy companies." He also renders clunithar fír ferdi buindi, as "which hears truth, manly troops." The rest of the translation he agrees to, most of it is his own. The passage from fomnis fomnis to lamnado seems untranslatable. PAGE 32 Line 1. Lit. "no evil wedding feast (banais, text banas) for thee? MAC DATHO'S BOAR PAGE 37 Line 3. The Rawlinson version gives, instead of "who was the guardian of all Leinster," the variant "who would run round Leinster in a day." This semi-supernatural power of the hound is the only supernatural touch in either version of the tale. Line 6. The verse "Mesroda son of Datho" is from the Rawlinson MS. The literal version of it is in Anecdota Oxoniensia, Mediaeval Series, part viii. p. 57. (This reference will in future be given as A.O., p. 57.) Line 20. The list of the hostelries or guest-houses of Ireland includes the scene of the famous Togail Da Derga, in the sack of which Conaire, king of Ireland, was killed. Forgall the Wily was the father of Emer, Cuchulain's wife. The tale of the plunder of da Choca is in the MS. classed as H. 3, 18 in the Trinity College, Dublin, Library. PAGE 38 The literal version of the dialogue between Mac Datho and his wife is given in A.O., p. 58, following the Leinster text (there are only two lines of it given in the Rawlinson MS.); but I note a few divergencies in the literal version from which the verse translation was made. Verse 3, line 1. Asbert Crimthann Nia Nair, "Crimthann Nia Nair has said" (A.O.). Nia is "sister's son," and has been so rendered. Nia is a champion, and this is the meaning given in the Coir Anmann; but nia has no accent in either the Leinster or Harleian manuscripts of the text. The Coir Anmann (Ir. Tex., iii. 333) says that Nar was a witch. Verse 4, lines 1, 2. Cid fri mnai atbertha-su Mani thesbad ní aire, "Why wouldest thou talk to a woman if something were not amiss?" (A.O.). "Why dost thou speak against a woman unless something fails on that account" seems as good a translation, and fits the sense better. Verse 7, line 2. Leis falmag dar sin tuaith, "By him Ireland (shall be roused) over the people." The omitted verb is apparently "to be," as above. Line 4 of the same verse is left untranslated in A.O., it is ata neblai luim luaith. It seems to mean "There is nothing on the plain for bareness (luim) of ashes," more literally, "There is a no-plain for, &c." Verse 9, lines 2, 3. Isi ním dení cutal. Ailbe do roid dia. "It does not make sorrow for me; as for Ailbe, "God sent him" seems to be the sense; but the meaning of cutal is obscure. PAGE 41 Line 8. "Forty oxen as side-dishes," lit. "forty oxen crosswise to it" (dia tarsnu). The Rawlinson MS. gives "sixty oxen to drag it" (dia tarraing). Line 33. "The son of Dedad." Clan Dedad was the Munster hero clan, having their fortress in Tara Luachra; they correspond to the more famous Clan Rury of Ulster, whose stronghold was Emain Macha. Curoi of Munster seems to have been a rival hero to Cuchulain. PAGE 42 Line 20. "Pierced through with a spear." The different ways in which Ket claims to have conquered his rivals or their relations may be noted; the variety of them recalls the detailed descriptions of wounds and methods of killing so common in Homer. There are seven victories claimed, and in no two is the wound the same, a point that distinguishes several of the old Irish romances from the less elaborate folk-tales of other nations. Arthur's knights in Malory "strike down" each other, very occasionally they "pierce through the breast" or "strike off a head," but there is seldom if ever more detail. In the Volsunga Saga men "fall," or are "slain," in a few cases of the more important deaths they are "pierced," or "cut in half," but except in the later Niebelungenlied version where Siegfried is pierced through the cross embroidered on his back, a touch which is essential to the plot, none of the Homeric detail as to the wounds appears. The same remark applies to the saga of Dietrich and indeed to most others; the only cases that I have noticed which resemble the Irish in detail are in the Icelandic Sagas (the Laxdale Saga and others), and even there the feature is not at all so prominent as here, in the "Tain be Cuailnge," and several other Irish romances, though it is by no means common to all of them. It may be noted that the Irish version of the "Tale of Troy" shows this feature, and although it is possible that the peculiarity is due to the great clearness and sharpness of detail that characterises much of the early Irish work, it may be that this is a case of an introduction into Irish descriptions of Homeric methods. It may be also noted that six of Ket's seven rivals are named among the eighteen Ulster chiefs in the great gathering of Ulster on the Hill of Slane before the final battle of the Tain, Angus being the only one named here who is not in the Hill of Slane list. Two others in the Hill of Slane list, Fergus mac Lets and Feidlimid, are mentioned elsewhere in this tale. Several of these are prominent in other tales: Laegaire (Leary) is a third with Cuchulain and Conall in the Feast of Bricriu, and again in the "Courtship of Emer;" Cuscrid makes a third with the same two principal champions in the early part of the "Sick-bed;" Eogan mac Durthacht is the slayer of the sow of Usnach in the old version of that tale; and Celtchar mac Uitechar is the Master of the Magic Spear in the "Bruiden da Derga," and has minor romances personal to himself. PAGE 45 The literal translation of the rhetoric seems to be: Ket. "Welcome, Conall! heart of stone: wild glowing fire: sparkle of ice: wrathfully boiling blood in hero breast: the scarred winner of victory: thou, son of Finnchoem, canst measure thyself with me!" Conall. "Welcome, Ket! first-born of Mata! a dwelling place for heroes thy heart of ice: end of danger (7); chariot chief of the fight: stormy ocean: fair raging bull: Ket, Magach's son! That will be proved if we are in combat: that will be proved if we are separated: the goader of oxen (?) shall tell of it: the handcraftsman (?) shall testify of it: heroes shall stride to wild lion-strife: man overturns man to-night in this house." PAGE 46 The literal translation of the quatrain is in A.O., p. 63. The quatrain does not occur in the Leinster version. PAGE 47 Line 4. "A great oak-tree." After the plucking up of the oak-tree by Fergus, the Rawlinson MS. adds: "Others say that it was Curoi mac Dari who took the oak to them, and it was then that he came to them, for there was no man of Munster there (before) except Lugaid the son of Curoi and Cetin Pauci. When Curoi had come to them, he carried off all alone one half of the Boar from all the northern half of Ireland." This exploit attributed to Curoi is an example of the survival of the Munster account of the Heroic Age, part of which may be preserved in the tales of Finn mac Cumhail. PAGE 48 The Rawlinson manuscript adds, after mentioning the rewards given to Ferloga But he did not get the serenade (cepoca), though he got the horses." Literal translation of the final poem: O lads of Connaught, I will not fill your heaviness with a lying tale; a lad, small your portion, divided the Boar of Mac Datho. Three fifties of fifty men are gone with troops of heroes; combat of pride for that Ailbe, small the fault in the matter of the dog. Victorious Conor came (?), Ailill of the hosts, and Ket; Bodb over the slaughters after the fight, Cuchulain conceded no right. Congal Aidni there from the east, Fiamain the man of harmony from the sea, (he who) suffered in journeys after that Eogan the son of dark Durthacht. three sons of Nera (famous) for numbers of battle-fields, three sons of Usnach, fierce shields: Senlaech the charioteer, he was not foolish, (came) from high Conalad Cruachan; Dubhtach of Emain, high his dignity; Berba Baither of the gentle word; Illan glorious for the multitude of his deeds; fierce Munremur of Loch Sail; Conall Cernach, hard his valour; Marcan . . . Celtchar the Ulsterman, man over man; Lugaid of Munster, son of three dogs. Fergus waits great Ailbe, shakes for them the . . . oak, took hero's cloak over very strong shield; red sorrow over red shield. By Cethern the son of Finntan they were smitten, single his number at the ford (i.& he was alone); the men of Connaught's host he released not for the time of six hours. Feidlimid with multitude of troops, Loegaire the Triumphant eastwards, was half of complaint about the dog with Aed son of Morna not great. Great nobles, mighty (?) deeds, hard heroes, fair companions in a house, great champions, destruction of clans, great hostages, great sepulchres. @@line x2? In this poem may be noted the reference to Cuchulain in line x2 in close connection with that to Bodb the Goddess of War, as indicating the original divine nature of Cuchulain as a war-god also the epithet of Lugaid, "son of three dogs." Two of the dogs are elsewhere stated to be Cu-roi and Cu-chulain, the third seems uncertain. Line 26, describing Marcan, seems untranslatable; the Irish is Marcan sinna set rod son. The epithet of the oak in line 32 is also obscure, the Irish is dairbre n-dall. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN PAGE 57 Line 2. "Samhain." Samhain was held on November 1st, and on its eve, "Hallow-e'en". The exhibition of tips of tongues, on the principle of Indian scalps, has nothing at all to do with the story, and is not mentioned in the usual descriptions of the romance. It is a piece of antiquarian information, possibly correct, and should serve to remind us that the original form of these legends was probably of a barbaric kind, before they were taken in hand by the literary men who gave to the best forms of the romances the character they now have. Line 23. For the demons screaming from the weapons of warriors compare the Book of Leinster version of the "Combat at the Ford": pages 126, 143 in this volume. PAGE 58 Line 4. The delay of Conall and Fergus leads to nothing, it is perhaps an introduction from some third form of the story. Line 19. Leborcham is, in the story of Deirdre, Deirdre's nurse and confidant. Line 26. "Their three blemishes." This disfigurement of the women of Ulster in honour of their chosen heroes seems to point to a worship of these heroes as gods in the original legend. It may, however, be a sort of rough humour intentionally introduced by the author of the form of the story that we call the Antiquarian form; there are other instances of such humour in this form of the story. PAGE 59 Line 2. "Like the cast of a boomerang." This is an attempt to translate the word taithbeim, return-stroke, used elsewhere (L.U., 63a., 4) for Cuchulain's method of capturing birds. Line 8. "I deem it as being by me that the distribution was made." The words "I deem it" are inserted, they are not in the text. It appears that what Ethne meant was that the distribution by Cuchulain was regarded by her as done by her through her husband. PAGE 60 Line 9. "Dun Imrith nor yet to Dun Delga." Dun Imrith is the castle in which Cuchulain was when he met the War-Goddess in the "Apparition of the Morrigan," otherwise called the "Tain bo Regamna." Dun Delga or Dundalk is the residence usually associated with Cuchulain. The mention of Emer here is noticeable; the usual statement about the romance is that Ethne is represented as Cuchulain's mistress, and Emer as his wife; the mention here of Emer in the Antiquarian form may support this; but this form seems to be drawn from so many sources, that it is quite possible that Ethne was the name of Cuchulain's wife in the mind of the author of the form which in the main is followed. There is no opposition between Emer and Ethne elsewhere hinted at. Line 15. The appearance of Lugaid Red-Stripes gives a reason for his subsequent introduction in the link between the two forms of the story. Line 18. "Near the entrance of the chamber in which Cuchulain lay." It does not yet seem certain whether imda was a room or a couch, and it would seem to have both meanings in the Antiquarian form of this story. The expression forsind airiniuch na imdai which occurs here might be rendered "at the head of the bed"; but if we compare i n-airniuch ind rigthige which occurs twice in "Bricriu's Feast," and plainly means "at the entrance of the palace," it seems possible that airinech is here used in the same sense, in which case imda would mean "room," as Whitley Stokes takes it in the "Bruiden da Derga." On the other hand, the word imda translated on page 63, line 11, certainly means "couches." Line 27. "Ah Cuchulain, &c." Reference may be made for most of the verses in this romance to Thurneysen's translation of the greater part of it in Sagen aus dem alten Irland but, as some of his renderings are not as close as the verse translations in the text, they require to be supplemented. The poem on pp. 60, 61 is translated by Thurneysen, pp. 84 and 85; but the first two lines should run:-- Ah Cuchulain, under thy sickness not long would have been the remaining. And lines 7 and 8 should be: Dear would be the day if truly Cuchulain would come to my land. The epithet "fair" given to Aed Abra's daughters in line 4 by Thurneysen is not in the Irish, the rest of his translation is very close. Line 32. "Plain of Cruach." Cromm Cruach is the name of the idol traditionally destroyed by St. Patrick in the "Lives." Cromm Cruach is also described In the Book of Leinster (L.L. 213b) as an idol to whom human sacrifices were offered. The name of this plain is probably connected with this god. PAGE 61 Line 30. "Hath released her," Irish ros leci. These words are usually taken to mean that Manannan had deserted Fand, and that she had then turned to Cuchulain, but to "desert" is not the only meaning of lecim. In the second form of the story, Fand seems to have left Manannan, and though of course the two forms are so different that it is not surprising to find a contradiction between the two, there does not seem to be any need to find one here; and the expression may simply mean that Manannan left Fand at liberty to pursue her own course, which divine husbands often did in other mythologies. Manannan is, of course, the Sea God, the Celtic Poseidon. PAGE 62 Line 3. Eogan Inbir (Yeogan the Stream) occurs in the Book of Leinster version of the Book of Invasions as one of the opponents of the Tuatha De Danaan, the Folk of the Gods (L.L. 9b, 45, and elsewhere). Line 15. "Said Liban." The text gives "said Fand." This seems to be a scribal slip: there is a similar error corrected on page 79, line 21, where the word "Fand" is written "Emer" in the text. Line 16. "A woman's protection." The "perilous passage," passed only by a woman's help, occurs elsewhere both in Irish and in other early literatures. See Maelduin, para. 17; Ivain (Chretien de Troyes), vv. 907 sqq.; and Mabinogion, "Lady of the Fountain" (Nutt's edition, p. 177). Line 28. "Labra." Labraid's usual title, as given to him by Liban in both forms of the romance and once by Laeg in the second description of Fairyland, is Labraid Luath lamar-claideb, the title being as closely connected with him as {Greek boh`n a?gaðo`s Mene'laos}with Menelaus in Homer. It is usually translated as "Labraid quick-hand-on-sword," but the Luath need not be joined to lam, it is not in any of the places in the facsimile closely joined to it, and others than Liban give to Labraid the title of Luath or "swift," without the addition. The literal translation of the short pieces of rhetoric on pages 62, 63 are, "Where is Labraid the swift hand-on-sword, who is the head of troops of victory? (who) triumphs from the strong frame of his chariot, who reddens red spear-points." "Labraid the son of swiftness is there, he is not slow, abundant shall be the assembly of war, slaughter is set when the plain of Fidga shall be full." "Welcome to thee, O Laeg! for the sake of her with whom thou hast come; and since thou hast come, welcome to thee for thyself!" The metre of the first two pieces is spirited and unusual. The second one runs: Ata Labraid luithe cland, ni ba mall bid immda tinol catha, cuirther ar, día ba Ian Mag Fidgae. PAGE 63 Line 24. "Fand." The derivations of the names of Fand and of Aed Abra are quite in keeping with the character of the Antiquarian form, and would be out of place in the other form of the romance. It may perhaps be mentioned that the proper meaning of Abra is "an eyelash," but the rendering "Aed Abra of the Fiery Eyebrows," which has been employed in accounts of this romance, would convey a meaning that does not seem to have been in the mind of the authors of either of the two forms. For the literal translations of the three invocations to Labraid, on pp. 63, 66, Thurneysen (p. 87) may be referred to; but there would be a few alterations. In the first, line 2 should be "heir of a little host, equipped with light spears," if Windisch's Dictionary is to be followed; line 5 would seem to begin "he seeketh out trespasses" (oirgniu); and line 7 should begin, "attacker of heroes," not "an attacking troop," which hardly makes sense. In the second invocation the first line should alter Labraid's title to "Labraid the swift hand-on-sword-of-battle;" line 3 should end with "wounded his side." In line 6 and again in the third line of the third invocation, Thurneysen translates gus as "wrath": Windisch gives the word to mean "strength." Line 4 of the third invocation is rendered "he pierceth through men" by Thurneysen; the Irish is criathraid ocu. Criathraim is given by O'Reilly as meaning "to sift": "he sifteth warriors" seems a satisfactory meaning, if O'Reilly is to be relied on. PAGE 65 Labraid's answer to the three invocations seems to run thus, but the translation is doubtful, many words are marked unknown by Windisch: "I have no pride or arrogance, O lady, nor renown, it is not error, for lamentation is stirred our judgment" (reading na ardarc nid mell, chai mescthair with the second MS.), "we shall come to a fight of very many and very hard spears, of plying of red swords in right fists, for many peoples to the one heart of Echaid Juil (?), (let be) no anbi of thine nor pride, there is no pride or arrogance in me, O lady." I can make nothing of Anbi. PAGE 66 Thurneysen does not translate the rhetoric; the translation seems to run thus: Great unprofitableness for a hero to lie in the sleep of a sick-bed; for unearthly women show themselves, women of the people of the fiery plain of Trogach, and they have subdued thee, and they have imprisoned thee, and they have chased thee away (?) amid great womanish folly. Rouse thyself from the contest of distress (Gloss, "the sickness sent by the fairy women") for all is gone of thy vigour among heroes who ride in chariots, and thou sittest (?) in the place of the young and thou art conquered (? condit chellti if connected with tochell), and thou art disturbed (?) in thy mighty deeds, for that which Labraid's power has indicated rise up, O man who sittest (?) that thou mayest be great. "Chased thee away" in line 7, for condot ellat, perhaps connected with do-ellaim (?). PAGE 67 Thurneysen's translation (p. 91) of Emer's lament may be referred to, but he misses some strong points. Among these are: Line 5. "Woe to Ulster where hospitality abounds." Line 12. "Till he found a Druid to lift the weight." Line 25. "Were it Furbaide of the heroes." Line 27. "The hound would search through the solid earth." Line 29. "The hosts of the Sid of Train are dead." Line 30. "For the hound of the Smith of Conor." Line 34. "Sick for the horseman of the plains." Note the familiarity with the land of the fairies which Laeg is asserted to have in the first verse of the poem: this familiarity appears more than once in the Literary form of the story. Laeg speaks of the land of Labraid as "known to him" in his- first description of that land, again in the same description Laeg is recognised by Labraid by his five-folded purple mantle, which seems to have been a characteristic fairy gift. Also, Laeg seems at the end of the tale to be the only one to recognise Manannan. There is no indication of any familiarity of Laeg with the fairy country in the Antiquarian form. The different Ulster heroes alluded to are mostly well-known; all except Furbaide are in "Mae Datho's Boar." Furbaide was a son of Conor; be is one of the eighteen leaders who assemble on the Hill of Slane in the "Tain bo Cuailgne." The Smith of Conor is of course Culann, from whom Cuchulain got his name. PAGES 68, 69 A translation of Emer's "Awakening of Cuchulain" may be found in Thurneysen, p. 92 but there are one or two points that seem to be noted as differing from the rendering there given. Lines 3 and 4 seem to mean: "Look on the king of Macha, on my beauty / does not that release thee from deep sleep?" Thurneysen gives "Look on the king of Macha, my heart! thy sleep pleases him not." Mo crath can hardly mean "my heart." Line 6 is in the Irish deca a churnu co comraim! "see their horns for the contest!" Instead of comraim Thurneysen seems to prefer the reading of the second MS., co cormaim, and translates "their horns full of beer." Churnu may mean trumpets as well as drinking-horns, and Emer would hardly call on Cuchulain to throw off a drunken sleep (line 21) and then take to beer! The following translation of lines 17 to 20 seems preferable to Thurneysen's: "Heavy sleep is decay, and no good thing; it is fatigue against a heavy war; it is 'milk for the satiated,' the sleep that is on thee; death-weakness is the tanist of death." The last line is tanaisi d'ec ecomnart. The tanist was the prince who stood next to the king; the image seems too good a one to be lost; Thurneysen translates "weakness is sister to death." Line 14 seems to mean "see each wonder wrought by the cold"; Emer calls Cuchulain's attention to the icicles which she thinks he is in danger of resembling. PAGE 69 For the literal translation of Liban's invitation see Thurneysen, p. 93. Line 14 should run: "Colour of eyes his skin in the fight;" the allusion is, apparently, to a bloodshot eye. PAGE 71 Line 4. The Plain of Speech (Mag Luada) and the Tree of Triumphs (Bile Buada) are apparently part of the Irish mythology; they appear again in Laeg's second description of Fairyland, which is an additional reason for keeping this poem where it is in the second version, and not following Thurneysen in transferring it to the first. Mag Luada is sometimes translated as "moving plain," apparently deriving the word from luath, "swift." Laeg's two descriptions of the Fairyland are (if we except the voyage of Bran) the two most definite descriptions of that country in Irish literature. There is very little extravagance in these descriptions; the marvellously fruitful trees, the ever-flowing vat of mead, and the silver-branched tree may be noted. Perhaps the trees of "purple glass" may be added, but for these, see note on line 30. The verse translation has been made to follow the original as closely as possible; for a literal translation Thurneysen's versions (pp. 94 and 88) may be referred to, but some alterations may be made. The first description seems to begin thus: I went with noble sportiveness to a land wonderful, yet well-known; until I came to a cairn for twenty of troops where I found Labraid the Long-haired. There I found him on that hill sitting among a thousand weapons, yellow hair on him with beautiful colour, an apple of gold for the confining of it. And it ends thus: Alas I that he went not long ago, and each cure (should come) at his searching, that he might see how it is the great palace that I saw. Though all Erin were mine and the kingship of yellow Bregia, I would resign it; no slight trial; for knowledge of the place to which I came. The following points should also be noted: Line 30 of this first description is tri bile do chorcor glain. This undoubtedly means "three trees of purple glass"; but do chorcor glan would mean "of bright purple"; and this last rendering, which is quite a common expression (see Etain, p. 12), has been adopted in the verse translation. The order of the words in the expression in the text is unusual, and the adoption of them would give an air of artificiality to the description which is otherwise quite absent from it. Lines 37 and 38 run thus: There are there thrice twenty trees, their tops meet, and meet not. Lines 43, 44, rendering: "Each with splendid gold fastening well hooked through its eye," are literally "and a brooch of gold with its splendour in the 'ear' of each cloak." The ears of a cloak, usually described as made of the peculiar white bronze, occur elsewhere in the tales, and there are different speculations as to their use and meaning. The most probable explanation is that they were bronze rings shaped like ears, and sewn into the cloak; a brooch to fasten the cloak being passed through the rings. This explanation has been suggested by Professor Ridgeway, and seems to fit admirably the passages in which these "ears" occur. Compare Fraech, line 33, in the second volume; also the "Courtship of Ferb" (Nutt), p. 6. There are also a few corrections necessary to Thurneysen's translation of the second description. Lines 13 to 20 should run thus: A beautiful band of women;--victory without fetters;-- are the daughters of Aed Abra; the beauty of Fand is a rushing sound with splendour, exceeding the beauty of a queen or king. (The last line is more literally, "not excepting a queen or, &c.") I will say, since it hath been heard by me, that the seed of Adam was sinless; but the beauty of Fand up to my time hath not found its equal. For the allusion to Adams sin, compare Etain, p. 26. Allusions like these show that the tales were composed in Christian times. There seems no reason to suppose them to be insertions, especially in cases like this one, where they come in quite naturally. Line 21 is literally "with their arms for slaying"; not "who warred on each other with weapons" as in Thurneysen. PAGE 76 For the cooling of Cuchulain's battle-frenzy with water compare the similar treatment in the account of his first foray (L.U., 63a; Miss Faraday's translation, p. 34). For a literal translation of Faud's triumph song over Cuchulain's return see Thurneysen's translation on page 97 Of the work already referred to. Thurneysen's translation is very close; perhaps the last verse should run: "Long rain of red blood at the side of the trees, a token of this proud and masterful, high with wailing is the sorrow for his fiend-like frenzy." The description of Cuchulain's appearance in verses 5 and 6 seems to point to a conception of him as the sun-god. Compare the "sunlike" seat of his chariot on page 79. PAGE 78 The literal translation of Liban's rhetoric in welcome to Cuchulain seems to be, "Hail to Cuchulain! King who brings help, great prince of Murthemne! great his mind; pomp of heroes; battle-triumphing; heart of a hero; strong rock of skill; blood-redness of wrath; ready for true foes of the hero who has the valour of Ulster (?); bright his splendour; splendour of the eyes of maidens; Hail to Cuchulain!" Torc in the second line is glossed in the MS. by "that is, a king." Cuchulain's account of his own battle is omitted by Thurneysen, possibly because the account that he gives differs from that in the text, as is pointed out by Windisch, Ir. Text., vol. i. p. 201). But it is quite in keeping with the hero's character that he should try to lessen his own glory; and the omission of this account destroys one of the features of the tale. The literal rendering is: I threw a cast with my light spear into the host of Eogan the Stream; not at all do I know, though renowned the price, the victory that I have done, or the deed. Whether he was better or inferior to my strength hitherto I chanced not on for my decision, a throw, ignorance of the man in the mist, certainly he came not away a living man. A white army, very red for multitudes of horses, they followed after me on every side (?), people of Manannan Mac Lir, Eogan the Stream called them. I set out in each manner when my full strength had come to me; one man to their thirty, hundreds, until I brought them to death. I heard the groan of Echaid Juil, lips speak in friendship, if it is really true, certainly it was not a fight (?), that cast, if it was thrown. The idea of a battle with the waves of the sea underlies the third verse of this description. PAGE 79 Five pieces of rhetoric follow, all of which are translated by Thurneysen. A few alterations may be made, but all of them would be small ones. The verse translations given are, it is believed, a little closer to the text than Thurneysen's. The metres of the first three pieces are discussed by Professor Rhys in Y Cymmrodor for 1905 (pages 166, 167). Professor Rhys reduces the second of these to a hexameter followed by three pentameters, then a hexameter followed by a pentameter. The other two reduce to hexameters mixed with curtailed hexameters and pentameters. The last two pieces of the five, not mentioned by Professor Rhys, show a strophic correspondence, which has been brought out in the verse translation; note especially their openings, and the last line of Emer's speech, cia no triallta, as balancing the last line but four of Cuchulain's speech, cia no comgellta. The last of these five pieces shows the greatest differences between the verse and literal translations. A literal translation of this would run: "Wherefore now, O Emer!" said Cuchulain, "should I not be permitted to delay with this lady? for first this lady here is bright, pure, and clear, a worthy mate for a king; of many forms of beauty is the lady, she can pass over waves of mighty seas, is of a goodly shape and countenance and of a noble race, with embroidery and skill, and with handiwork, with understanding, and sense, and firmness; with plenty of horses and many cattle, so that there is nothing under heaven, no wish for a dear spouse that she doth not. And though it hath been promised (?), Emer," he said, "thou never shalt find a hero so beautiful, so scarred with wounds, so battle-triumphing, (so worthy) as I myself am worthy." PAGE 81 Line 11. "Fair seems all that's red, &c.," is literally "fair is each red, white is each new, beautiful each lofty, sour is each known, revered is each thing absent, failure is each thing accustomed." For a translation of the poem in which Fand resigns Cuchulain reference may be made to Thurneysen (p. 101). A more accurate translation of the first verse seems to run thus: I am she who will go on a journey which is best for me on account of strong compulsion; though there is to another abundance of her fame, (and) it were dearer to me to remain. Line 16 of poem, translated by Thurneysen "I was true and held my word," is in the original daig is misi rop iran. Iran is a doubtful word, if we take it as a form of aur-an, aur being the intensitive prefix, a better translation may be, "I myself was greatly glowing." PAGE 82 Line 26. "The lady was seized by great bitterness of mind," Irish ro gab etere moir. The translation of etere is doubtful. PAGE 83 For the final poem, in which Fand returns to Manannan, reference may as before be made to Thurneysen's translation; but a few changes may be noted: Line 1 should be, "See the son of the hero people of the Sea." Line 5 seems to be, "Although" (lit. "if") "it is to-day that his cry is excellent." Line 7 is a difficult one. Thurneysen gives, "That indeed is the course of love," apparently reading rot, a road, in place of ret; but he leaves eraise untranslated; the Irish is is eraise in ret in t-serc. Might not eraise be "turning back," connected with eraim, and the line run: "It is turning back of the road of love"? Lines 13 to 16 are omitted by Thurneysen. They seem to mean: When the comely Manannan took me, he was to me a fitting spouse; nor did he at all gain me before that time, an additional stake (?) at a game at the chess. The last line, cluchi erail (lit. "excess") ar fidchill, is a difficult allusion. Perhaps the allusion is to the capture of Etain by Mider as prize at chess from her husband. Fand may be claiming superiority over a rival fairy beauty. Lines 17 and 18 repeat lines 13 and 14. Lines 46 and 47 are translated by Thurneysen, "Too hard have I been offended; Laeg, son of Riangabra, farewell," but there is no "farewell" in the Irish. The lines seem to be: "Indeed the offence was great, O Laeg, O thou son of Riangabra," and the words are an answer to Laeg, who may be supposed to try to stop her flight. PAGE 85 Line 24. "That she might forget her jealousy," lit. "a drink of forgetfulness of her jealousy," deoga dermait a heta. The translation seems to be an accepted one, and certainly gives sense, but it is doubtful whether or not eta can be regarded as a genitive of et, "jealousy "; the genitive elsewhere is eoit. There is a conclusion to this romance which is plainly added by the compiler: it is reproduced here, to show the difference between its style and the style of the original author: "This then was a token given to Cuchulain that he should be destroyed by the People of the Mound, for the power of the demons was great before the advent of the Faith; so great was that power that the demons warred against men in bodily form, and they showed delights and secret things to them; and that those demons were co-eternal was believed by them. So that from the signs that they showed, men called them the Ignorant Folk of the Mounds, the People of the Sid." THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH PAGE 91 The four pieces of rhetoric, at the beginning of this text are translated by Thurneysen, Sagen aus dem alten Irland, pp. 11 and 12. In the first, third, and fourth of those, the only difference of any importance between the text adopted and Thurneysen's versions is the third line of the third piece, which perhaps should run: "With stately eyes with blue pupils," segdaib suilib sellglassaib, taking the text of the Yellow Book of Lecan. The second piece appears to run as follows: Let Cathbad hear, the fair one, with face that all love, the prince, the royal diadem, let he who is extolled be increased by druid arts of the Druid: because I have no words of wisdom to oppose (?) to Feidlimid, the light of knowledge; for the nature of woman knows not what is under her body, (or) what in the hollow of my womb cries out. These rhetorics are remarkable for the great number of the alliterations in the original. PAGE 93 Thurneysen omits a verse of Cathbad's poem. A translation of the whole seems to run thus: Deirdre, great cause of destruction, though thou art fair of face, famous, pale, Ulster shall sorrow in thy time, thou hidden (?) daughter of Feidlimid. Windisch's Dict. gives "modest daughter" in the last line; the original is ingen fial. But the word might be more closely connected with fial, "a veil." "Modest" is not exactly the epithet that one would naturally apply to the Deirdre of the Leinster version, and the epithet of "veiled" or "hidden" would suit her much better, the reference being to her long concealment by Conor. There shall be mischief yet afterwards on thy account, O brightly shining woman, hear thou this! at that time shall be the exile of the three lofty sons of Usnach. It is in thy time that a violent deed shall be done thereupon in Emain, yet afterwards shall it repent the violation of the safeguard of the mighty son of Rog. Do foesam is read in the last verse, combining the Leinster and the Egerton texts. It is through thee, O woman with excellence, (is) the exile of Fergus from the Ulstermen, and a deed from which weeping will come, the wound of Fiachna, the son of Conor. Fiachna. is grandson to Conor in the Book of Leinster account of the battle. Fiacha is Conor's son in the Glenn Masain version. It is thy fault, O woman with excellence, the wound of Gerrc son of Illadan, and a deed of no smaller importance, the slaying of Eogan mac Durthacht. There is no account of the slaying of Eogan in the Book of Leinster version; and Eogan appears on the Hill of Slane in the Ulster army in the War of Cualgne. The sequel to the Glenn Masain version, however, describes Eogan's death at the hand of Fergus (Celtic Review, Jan. 1905, p. 227). Thou shalt do a deed that is wild and hateful for wrath against the king of noble Ulster; thy little grave shall be in that place, thy tale shall be renowned, O Deirdre. PAGE 95 Line 13. "Release me, O my wife!" eirgg uaim a ben. It is suggested that the vocative ben is "wife," not "woman." It occurs in seven other places besides this in Windisch's Dictionary, and in six of these it means wife (Emer is addressed as wife of Cuchulain in a deig-ben, in "Sick-bed," 44). In the remaining case ("Fled Bricrend," 31) the word is abbreviated, and stands b in the text, which might be for be, "O lady," though we should have then expected the accent. I suggest that Naisi, by giving to Deirdre the name of "wife," accepts her offer, for no other sign of acceptance is indicated, and the subsequent action shows that she is regarded as his wife afterwards. Line 30. "Near to Ballyshannon," and "which men to-day call the Mountain of Howth," are inserted as the modern names of the places. The words correspond to nothing in the Irish. PAGE 97 Line 13. "Fiacha." Fiacha, the son of Fergus, corresponds to Illan in the better known version. There is no one in this version who corresponds to the traitor son, Buinne. PAGE 98 The "Lament of Deirdre," one of the finest of the older Irish poems, has been rendered by Thurneysen and by others, among which should be specially mentioned Miss Hull, in the Cuchullin Saga, pp. 50-51. O'Curry's and O'Flanagan's versions seem to be very far from correct, and it will be more convenient to give that literal translation which seems nearest to the original, instead of indicating divergencies. The literal translation adopted runs as follows: Though fair to you seems the keen band of heroes who march into Emain that they lately left (lit "after departing"), more stately was the return to their home of the three heroic sons of Usnach. Naisi, with mead of delicious hazel-nuts (came), to be bathed by me at the fire, Ardan, with an ox or boar of excellence, Aindle, a faggot on his stately back. Though sweet be the excellent mead to you which is drunk by the son of Ness, the rich in strife, there has been known to me, ere now, leaping over a bank, frequent sustenance which was sweeter. Line 3 of the above stanza seems to be baithium riam reim for bra, taking reim from the Egerton text. The allusion is to a cascade. When the noble Naisi spread out a cooking-hearth on hero-board of tree, sweeter than any food dressed under honey[FN#69] was what was captured by the son of Usnach. [FN#69] For "food dressed under honey" compare Fraech, line 544, in the second volume. Though melodious to you each month (are the) pipers and horn-blowers, it is my open statement to you to-day I have heard melody sweeter far than these. For Conor, the king, is melody pipers and blowers of horns, more melodious to me, renowned, enchanting the voice given out by the sons of Usnach. Like the sound of the wave the voice of Naisi, it was a melodious sound, one to hearken to for ever, Ardan was a good barytone, the tenor of Aindle rang through the dwelling-place. Naisi is laid in his tomb, sad was the protection that he got; the nation by which he was reared poured out the cup of poison by which he died. Dear is Berthan, beautiful its lands, stately the men, though hilly the land, it is sorrowful that to-day I rise not to await the sons of Usnach. Dear the mind, firm, upright, dear the youth, lofty, modest, after going with him through the dark wood dear the girding (?) at early morning. Dear his gray eye, which women loved, it was evil-looking against enemies, after circuit of the wood (was) a noble assembly, dear the tenor through the dark wood. I sleep not therefor, and I stain not my nails with red, joy comes not to my wakefulness, for the sons of Usnach return not. The last line is the Egerton reading. I sleep not for half the night on my bed, my mind wanders amidst clouds of thoughts, I eat not, nor smile. There is no leisure or joy for me in the assemblies of eastern Emain; there is no peace, nor pleasure, nor repose in beholding fine houses or splendid ornaments. What, O Conor, of thee? for me only sorrow under lamentation hast thou prepared, such will be my life so long as it remains to me, thy love for me will not last. The man who under heaven was fairest to me, the man who was so dear thou hast torn from me; great was the crime; so that I shall not see him until I die. His absence is the cause of grief to me, the shape of the son of Usnach shows itself to me, a dark hill is above his white body which was desired before many things by me. His ruddy cheeks, more beautiful than meadows (?), red lips, eyebrows of the colour of the chafer, his teeth shining like pearls, like noble colour of snow. Well have I known his splendid garb among the warrior men of Alba; mantle of crimson, meet for an assembly, with a border of red gold. His tunic of satin of costly price, on it a hundred pearls could be counted, goodly the number (lit. "a smooth number" ? a round number), for its embroidery had been used, it was bright, fifty ounces of findruine (i.e. white bronze). A gold-hilted sword in his hand, two green spears with terrible points (?), a shield with border of yellow gold, and a boss of silver upon it. Fair Fergus brought injury upon us when inducing us to cross the sea; he has sold his honour for ale, the glory of his high deeds is departed. If there were upon this plain the warriors of Ulster in the presence of Conor, all of them would I give up without a struggle for the companionship of Naisi, the son of Usnach. Break not to-day my heart (O Conor!), soon shall I reach my early grave, stronger than the sea is my grief, dost thou not know it, O Conor? PAGE 103 For the literal translations of the poems in the Glenn Masain version see Whitley Stokes in Irische Texte, ii. 2, 172 sqq. Stanzas 13 to 16 are not in LVI. (the manuscript which is the second authority used by Stokes for this version, and is the chief authority for this part of the version). They are in the manuscript that Stokes calls II. (the version used by O'Flanagan), which, like LVI., agrees pretty closely with the Glenn Masain text so far as the latter manuscript extends. Stanza 22 is also from O'Flanagan's manuscript. This verse is not translated by Stokes, but it seems worth inserting. The literal translation of it is: I am Deirdre without joy, it is for me the end of my life; since to remain behind them is the worst thing, not long life to myself. PAGE 107 Line 21. Two passages, one describing Fergus' sons born in Connaught, the other summing up his deeds, are omitted, as it is not intended to reproduce this version in full. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD The well-known translation by O'Curry of this part of the Book of Leinster version of the "Tain bo Cuailgne" is given in the third volume of his "Manners and Customs," pp. 414-463. There are, as has often been pointed out, many inaccuracies in the translation, and the present version does not claim to correct all or even the greater part of them; for the complete version of the Great Tain by Windisch which has so long eagerly been expected should give us a trustworthy text, and the present translation is in the main founded on O'Curry; to whose version reference may be made for literal translations for such parts of the verse passages as are not noted below. A few more obvious corrections have been made; most of those in the prose will appear by comparing the rendering with O'Curry's; some of the corrections in the literal versions adopted for the poems are briefly indicated. Two poems have been literally translated in full: in these the renderings which have no authority other than O'Curry's are followed by a query, in order to give an indication of the extent to which the translation as given may for the present be regarded as uncertain. For all the more valuable of the corrections made to O'Curry's translation I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. E. J. Quiggin, Fellow of Caius College, Cambridge. PAGE 118 Line 7 Of the first stanza. O'Curry gives this as "Thou hast come out of every strife," which seems to be an impossible rendering; "Take whatever is thy will" seems to be nearer the sense of the passage, and has been adopted. Lines 5 to 8 of the fourth stanza are very uncertain; and the translation given, which is in part based upon O'Curry, is very doubtful; a more trustworthy one has not, however, been arrived at. Line 4 of the fifth stanza in O'Curry's rendering means "Here is what thou wilt not earn," i.e. "We can pay more than a full reward for thy services." Lines 5 and 6 of the sixth stanza should be, "If my request be granted me I will advance, though I am not his match." Line 2 Of the eighth stanza, "Not thine a pleasant smile for a consort." Brachail in the next line is "guardian." Line 10 of the last stanza. Elgga is one of the names of Ireland. PAGE 121 Line 1. Maeth n-araig, "in an easy task," the force of which O'Curry seems to miss, translating it "as he thought." There are several changes to make in O'Curry's rendering of the dialogue between Fergus and Cuchulain. It should run thus: F. O Cuchulain, manifest is the bargain, I see that rising is timely for thee; here comes to thee in anger Ferdiad, son of Daman, of the ruddy face. C. I am here, it is no light task valiantly delaying the men of Erin; I have not yielded a foot in retreat to shun the combat of any one man. F. Fierce is the man in his excited (?) rage because of his blood-red sword: a horny skin is about Ferdiad of the troops, against it prevails not battle or combat. C. Be silent, urge not thy story, O Fergus of the powerful weapons! on any field, on any ground, there is no unequal fight for me. F. Fierce is the man, a war for twenties, it is not easy to vanquish him, the strength of a hundred in his body, valiant his deed (?), spears pierce him not, swords cut him not. C. Should we happen to meet at a ford (i.e. a field of battle), I and Ferdiad of well-known valour, the separation shall not be without history, fierce shall be our edge-combat. F. Better would it be to me than reward, O Cuchulain of the blood-stained sword, that it was thou who carried eastward the spoils (coscur, not corcur) of the proud Ferdiad. C. I give thee my word with boasting, though I am not good at bragging, that it is I who shall gain the victory over the son of Daman, the son of Dare. F. It is I who gathered the forces eastwards in revenge for my dishonour by the men of Ulster; with me they have come from their lands, their champions and their battle warriors. C. If Conor had not been in his sickness hard would have been his nearness to thee; Medb of Magh in Scail had not made an expedition of so loud boastings. F. A greater deed awaits thy hand, battle with Ferdiad son of Daman, hardened bloody weapons, friendly is my speech, do thou have with thee, O Cuchulain! PAGE 124 Line 7 of O'Curry's rendering of the first stanza should run: "So that he may take the point of a weapon through him." Stanza 2 of the poem should run thus: It would be better for thee to stay, thy threats will not be gentle, there will be some one who shall have sickness on that account, distressful will be thy departure to encounter the Rock of Ulster; and ill may this venture turn out; long will be the remembrance of it, woe shall be to him who goeth that journey. Line 4 of the next stanza, "I will not keep back to please you." PAGE 126 The literal rendering of the poem seems to be: I hear the creaking of a chariot with a beautiful silver yoke, the figure of a man with perfection (rises) from the wheels of the stout chariot; over Breg Row, over Braine they come (?), over the highway beside the lower part of the Burg of the Trees; it (the chariot?) is triumphant for its victories. It is a heroic (?) hound who drives it, it is a trusty charioteer who yokes it, it is a noble hawk who scourges his horses to the south: he is a stubborn hero, he is certain (to cause) heavy slaughter, it is well-known that not with indexterity (?) is the bringing of the battle to us. Woe for him who shall be upon the hillock waiting for the hound who is fitly framed (lit. in harmony"); I myself declared last year that there would come, though it be from somewhere, a hound the Hound of Emain Macha, the Hound with a form on which are hues of all colours, the Hound of a territory, the Hound of battle; I hear, we have heard. As a second rendering of the above in a metre a little closer to the original than that given in the text, the following may be suggested: Shrieks from war-car wake my hearing, Silver yokes are nigh appearing; High his perfect form is rearing, He those wheels who guides! Braina, Braeg Ross past it boundeth, Triumph song for conquests soundeth, Lo! the roadway's course it roundeth, Skirting wooded sides. Hero Hound the scourge hard plieth, Trusty servant yoke-strap tieth, Swift as noble hawk, he flieth, Southward urging steeds! Hardy chief is he, and story Soon must speak his conquests gory, Great for skilful war his glory; We shall know his deeds! Thou on hill, the fierce Hound scorning, Waitest; woe for thee is dawning; Fitly framed he comes, my warning Spoke him thus last year: "Emain's Hound towards us raceth, Guards his land, the fight he faceth, Every hue his body graceth:" Whom I heard, I hear. PAGE 127 In O'Curry's rendering of the dialogue between Ferdia and his servant, line 3 should be, "That it be not a deed of prophecy," not "a deferred deed"; and line 6, With his proud sport." Last stanza of the poem: It seems thou art not without rewards, so greatly hast thou praised him; why else hast thou extolled him ever since I left my house? they who now extol the man when he is in their sight come not to attack him, but are cowardly churls. PAGE 128 Line 34. "As a hawk darts up from the furrow." O'Curry gives "from the top of a cliff." The word in the Irish is claiss. PAGE 129 The metre of this poem, which is also the metre of all the preceeding poems except the second in this romance, but does not occur elsewhere in the collection, may be illustrated by quoting the original of the fifth verse, which runs as follows: Re funiud, re n-aidchi Madit eicen airrthe, Comrac dait re bairche, Ni ba ban in gleo: Ulaid acot gairmsiu, Ra n-gabartar aillsiu, Bud olc doib in taidbsiu Rachthair thairsiu is treo. Literal translation of the first two stanzas: What has brought thee here, O Hound, to fight with a strong champion? crimson-red shall flow thy blood over the breaths of thy steeds; woe is thy journey: it shall be a kindling of fuel against a house, need shalt thou have of healing if thou reach thy home (alive). I have come before warriors who gather round a mighty host-possessing prince, before battalions, before hundreds, to put thee under the water, in anger with thee, and to slay thee in a combat of hundreds of paths of battle, so that thine shall the injury as thou protectest thy head. Line 2 of the fifth stanza, "Good is thy need of height." Line 8 of the seventh stanza, "Without valour, without strength." PAGE 133 Line 3. Literally: "Whatever be the excellence of her beauty." A similar literal translation for page 138, line 10, of the dialogue; the same line occurs in verse 3 on page 148, but is not rendered in the verse translation. PAGE 134 Line 18. "O Cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned." O'Curry gives this as prose, but it is clearly verse in the original. PAGE 138 Lines 5, 6 of dialogue. "O Cuchulain! who art a breeder of wounds" (lit. "pregnant with wounds"); "O true warrior! O true" (?accent probably omitted) "champion!" Lines 7, 8. "There is need for some one" (i.e. himself) "to go to the sod where his final resting-place shall be." The Irish of line 7 is is eicen do neoch a thecht, which O'Curry translates "a man is constrained to come," and he is followed by Douglas Hyde, who renders the two lines: Fate constrains each one to stir, Moving towards his sepulchre. But do neoch cannot possibly mean "every man," it means "some man;" usually the person in question is obvious. Compare page 125 of this romance, line 3, which is literally: "There will be some one who shall have sickness on that account," biaid nech diamba galar, meaning, as here, Ferdia. The line is an explanation of Ferdia's appearance, and is not a moral reflection. Line 29. "O Cuchulain! with floods of deeds of valour," or "brimming over with deeds, &c." PAGE 141 Line 9. "Four jewels of carbuncle." This is the reading of H. 2, 17; T.C.D; which O'Curry quotes as an alternative to "forty" of the Book of Leinster. "Each one of them fit to adorn it" is by O'Curry translated "in each compartment." The Irish is a cach aen chumtach: apparently "for each one adornment." PAGE 144 Line 8 of poem. "Alas for the departing of my ghost." PAGE 146 Lines 1, 2. "Though he had struck off the half of my leg that is sound, though he had smitten off half my arm." PAGE 148 Line 5. "Since he whom Aife bore me," literally "Never until now have I met, since I slew Aife's only son, thy like in deeds of battle, never have I found it, O Ferdia." This is O'Curry's rendering; if it is correct, and it seems to be so substantially, the passage raises a difficulty. Aife's only son is, according to other records, Conlaoch, son of Cuchulain and Aife, killed by his father, who did not at the time know who Conlaoch was. This battle is usually represented as having taken place at the end of Cuchulain's life; but here it is represented as preceding the War of Cualgne, in which Cuchulain himself is represented to be a youth. The allusion certainly indicates an early date for the fight with Conlaoch, and if we are to lay stress on the age of Cuchulain at the time of the War, as recorded in the Book of Leinster, of whose version this incident is a part, the "Son of Aife" would not have been a son of Cuchulain at all in the mind of the writer of this verse. It is possible that there was an early legend of a fight with the son of Aife which was developed afterwards by making him the son of Cuchulain; the oldest version of this incident, that in the Yellow Book of Lecan, reconciles the difficulty by making Conlaoch only seven years old when he took up arms; this could hardly have been the original version. Line 23 of poem is literally: "It is like thrusting a spear into sand or against the sun." The metre of the poem "Ah that brooch of gold," and of that on page 144, commencing "Hound, of feats so fair," are unique in this collection, and so far as I know do not occur elsewhere. Both have been reproduced in the original metre, and the rather complicated rhyme-system has also been followed in that on page 148. The first verse of the Irish of this is Dursan, a eo oir a Fhirdiad na n-dam a belc bemnig buain ba buadach do lamh. The last syllable of the third line has no rhyme beyond the echo in the second syllable of the next line; oir, "gold," has no rhyme till the word is repeated in the third line of the third verse, rhymed in the second line of the fourth, and finally repeated at the end. The second verse has two final words echoed, brass and maeth; it runs thus Do barr bude brass ba cass, ba cain set; do chriss duillech maeth immut taeb gu t-ec. The rhymes in the last two verses are exactly those of the reproduction, they are cain sair, main, laim, chain, the other three end rhymes being oir, choir, and oir. Line 3 of this poem is "O hero of strong-striking blows." Line 4. "Triumphant was thine arm." PAGE 149 Lines 11 and 12 of the poem. "Go ye all to the swift battle that shall come to you from German the green-terrible" (? of the terrible green spear). PAGE 150 Line 12. The Torrian Sea is the Mediterranean. PAGE 151 Line 15. Literally: "Thou in death, I alive and nimble." Line 23. "Wars were gay, &c." Cluchi cach, gaine cach, "Each was a game, each was little," taking gaine as gainne, the known derivative of gand, "scanty." O'Curry gives the meaning as "sport," and has been followed by subsequent translators, but there does not seem any confirmation of this rendering. PAGE 153 Line 10. Banba is one of the names of Ireland. END OF VOL. I. 
34704	----	Transcriber's Note Bold text is indicated with equals signs, =like this=. Individual letters in curly brackets indicate superscripts, e.g. y{e}. A y with a circumflex above is shown as [^y]. Reverse asterisms are indicated with [*.*]. Illustration captions in {curly brackets} have been added by the transcriber for the convenience of the reader. BRITISH GOBLINS: _WELSH FOLK-LORE, FAIRY MYTHOLOGY, LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS._ BY WIRT SIKES, UNITED STATES CONSUL FOR WALES. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY T. H. THOMAS. In olde dayes of the Kyng Arthour ... Al was this lond fulfilled of fayrie. CHAUCER. LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, CROWN BUILDINGS, 188 FLEET STREET. 1880. [_All rights reserved._] LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. [Illustration: THE OLD WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN.] TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, ALBERT EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES, THIS ACCOUNT OF THE FAIRY MYTHOLOGY AND FOLK-LORE OF HIS PRINCIPALITY IS BY PERMISSION DEDICATED. PREFACE. In the ground it covers, while this volume deals especially with Wales, and still more especially with South Wales--where there appear to have been human dwellers long before North Wales was peopled--it also includes the border counties, notably Monmouthshire, which, though severed from Wales by Act of Parliament, is really very Welsh in all that relates to the past. In Monmouthshire is the decayed cathedral city of Caerleon, where, according to tradition, Arthur was crowned king in 508, and where he set up his most dazzling court, as told in the 'Morte d'Arthur.' In a certain sense Wales may be spoken of as the cradle of fairy legend. It is not now disputed that from the Welsh were borrowed many of the first subjects of composition in the literature of all the cultivated peoples of Europe. The Arthur of British history and tradition stands to Welshmen in much the same light that Alfred the Great stands to Englishmen. Around this historic or semi-historic Arthur have gathered a throng of shining legends of fabulous sort, with which English readers are more or less familiar. An even grander figure is the Arthur who existed in Welsh mythology before the birth of the warrior-king. The mythic Arthur, it is presumed, began his shadowy life in pre-historic ages, and grew progressively in mythologic story, absorbing at a certain period the personality of the real Arthur, and becoming the type of romantic chivalry. A similar state of things is indicated with regard to the enchanter Merlin; there was a mythic Merlin before the real Merlin was born at Carmarthen. With the rich mass of legendary lore to which these figures belong, the present volume is not intended to deal; nor do its pages treat, save in the most casual and passing manner, of the lineage and original significance of the lowly goblins which are its theme. The questions here involved, and the task of adequately treating them, belong to the comparative mythologist and the critical historian, rather than to the mere literary workman. UNITED STATES CONSULATE, CARDIFF, _August, 1879_. CONTENTS. BOOK I. THE REALM OF FAERIE. CHAPTER I. PAGE Fairy Tales and the Ancient Mythology--The Compensations of Science--Existing Belief in Fairies in Wales--The Faith of Culture--The Credulity of Ignorance--The Old-Time Welsh Fairyland--The Fairy King--The Legend of St. Collen and Gwyn ap Nudd--The Green Meadows of the Sea--Fairies at Market--The Land of Mystery 1 CHAPTER II. Classification of Welsh Fairies--General Designation--Habits of the Tylwyth Teg--Ellyllon, or Elves--Shakspeare's Use of Welsh Folk-Lore--Rowli Pugh and the Ellyll--Household Story Roots--The Ellylldan--The Pooka--Puck Valley, Breconshire--Where Shakspeare got his Puck--Pwca'r Trwyn--Usual Form of the Pooka Story--Coblynau, or Mine Fairies--The Knockers--Miners' Superstitions--Basilisks and Fire Fiends--A Fairy Coal-mine--The Dwarfs of Cae Caled--Counterparts of the Coblynau--The Bwbach, or Household Fairy--Legend of the Bwbach and the Preacher--Bogies and Hobgoblins--Carrying Mortals through the Air--Counterparts and Originals 11 CHAPTER III. Lake Fairies--The Gwragedd Annwn, or Dames of Elfin-Land--St. Patrick and the Welshmen; a Legend of Crumlyn Lake--The Elfin Cow of Llyn Barfog--Y Fuwch Laethwen Lefrith--The Legend of the Meddygon Myddfai--The Wife of Supernatural Race--The Three Blows; a Carmarthenshire Legend--Cheese and the Didactic Purpose in Welsh Folk-Lore--The Fairy Maiden's Papa--The Enchanted Isle in the Mountain Lake--Legend of the Men of Ardudwy--Origin of Water Fairies--Their prevalence in many Lands 34 CHAPTER IV. Mountain Fairies--The Gwyllion--The Old Woman of the Mountain--The Black Mountain Gwyll--Exorcism by Knife--Occult Intellectual Powers of Welsh Goats--The Legend of Cadwaladr's Goat 49 CHAPTER V. Changelings--The Plentyn-newid--The Cruel Creed of Ignorance regarding Changelings--Modes of Ridding the House of the Fairy Child--The Legend of the Frugal Meal--Legend of the Place of Strife--Dewi Dal and the Fairies--Prevention of Fairy Kidnapping--Fairies caught in the Act by Mothers--Piety as an Exorcism 56 CHAPTER VI. Living with the Tylwyth Teg--The Tale of Elidurus--Shuï Rhys and the Fairies--St. Dogmell's Parish, Pembrokeshire--Dancing with the Ellyllon--The Legend of Rhys and Llewellyn--Death from joining in the Fairy Reel--Legend of the Bush of Heaven--The Forest of the Magic Yew--The Tale of Twm and Iago--Taffy ap Sion, a Legend of Pencader--The Traditions of Pant Shon Shenkin--Tudur of Llangollen; the Legend of Nant yr Ellyllon--Polly Williams and the Trefethin Elves--The Fairies of Frennifawr--Curiosity Tales--The Fiend Master--Iago ap Dewi--The Original of Rip Van Winkle 65 CHAPTER VII. Fairy Music--Birds of Enchantment--The Legend of Shon ap Shenkin--Harp-Music in Welsh Fairy Tales--Legend of the Magic Harp--Songs and Tunes of the Tylwyth Teg--The Legend of Iolo ap Hugh--Mystic Origin of an old Welsh Air 91 CHAPTER VIII. Fairy Rings--The Prophet Jones and his Works--The Mysterious Language of the Tylwyth Teg--The Horse in Welsh Folk-Lore--Equestrian Fairies--Fairy Cattle, Sheep, Swine, etc.--The Flying Fairies of Bedwellty--The Fairy Sheepfold at Cae'r Cefn 103 CHAPTER IX. Piety as a Protection from the Seductions of the Tylwyth Teg--Various Exorcisms--Cock-crowing--The Name of God--Fencing off the Fairies--Old Betty Griffith and her Eithin Barricade--Means of Getting Rid of the Tylwyth Teg--The Bwbach of the Hendrefawr Farm--The Pwca'r Trwyn's Flitting in a Jug of Barm 112 CHAPTER X. Fairy Money and Fairy Gifts in General--The Story of Gitto Bach, or Little Griffith--The Penalty of Blabbing--Legends of the Shepherds of Cwm Llan--The Money Value of Kindness--Ianto Llewellyn and the Tylwyth Teg--The Legend of Hafod Lwyddog--Lessons inculcated by these Superstitions 119 CHAPTER XI. Origins of Welsh Fairies--The Realistic Theory--Legend of the Baron's Gate--The Red Fairies--The Trwyn Fairy a Proscribed Nobleman--The Theory of hiding Druids--Colour in Welsh Fairy Attire--The Green Lady of Caerphilly--White the favourite Welsh Hue--Legend of the Prolific Woman--The Poetico-Religious Theory--The Creed of Science 127 BOOK II. THE SPIRIT-WORLD. CHAPTER I. Modern Superstition regarding Ghosts--American 'Spiritualism'--Welsh Beliefs--Classification of Welsh Ghosts--Departed Mortals--Haunted Houses--Lady Stradling's Ghost--The Haunted Bridge--The Legend of Catrin Gwyn--Didactic Purpose in Cambrian Apparitions--An Insulted Corpse--Duty-performing Ghosts--Laws of the Spirit-World--Cadogan's Ghost 137 CHAPTER II. Household Ghosts and Hidden Treasures--The Miser of St. Donat's--Anne Dewy's Ghost--The Ghost on Horseback--Hidden Objects of Small Value--Transportation through the Air--From Breconshire to Philadelphia, Pa., in Thirty-Six Hours--Sir David Llwyd, the Magician--The Levitation of Walter Jones--Superstitions regarding Hares--The Legend of Monacella's Lambs--Aerial Transportation in Modern Spiritualism--Exorcising Household Ghosts--The Story of Haunted Margaret 151 CHAPTER III. Spectral Animals--The Chained Spirit--The Gwyllgi, or Dog of Darkness--The Legend of Lisworney-Crossways--The Gwyllgi of the Devil's Nags--The Dog of Pant y Madog--Terrors of the Brute Creation at Phantoms--Apparitions of Natural Objects--Phantom Ships and Phantom Islands 167 CHAPTER IV. Grotesque Ghosts--The Phantom Horseman--Gigantic Spirits--The Black Ghost of Ffynon yr Yspryd--Black Men in the Mabinogion--Whirling Ghosts--Antic Spirits--The Tridoll Valley Ghost--Resemblance to Modern Spiritualistic Performances--Household Fairies 174 CHAPTER V. Familiar Spirits--The Famous Sprite of Trwyn Farm--Was it a Fairy?--The Familiar Spirits of Magicians--Sir David Llwyd's Demon--Familiar Spirits in Female Form--The Legend of the Lady of the Wood--The Devil as a Familiar Spirit--His Disguises in this Character--Summoning and Exorcising Familiars--Jenkin the Pembrokeshire Schoolmaster--The Terrible Tailor of Glanbran 187 CHAPTER VI. The Evil Spirit in his customary Form--The stupid Medieval Devil in Wales--Sion Cent--The Devil outwitted--Pacts with the Fiend and their Avoidance--Sion Dafydd's Foul Pipe--The Devil's Bridge and its Legends--Similar Legends in other Lands--The Devil's Pulpit near Tintern--Angelic Spirits--Welsh Superstitions as to pronouncing the Name of the Evil Spirit--The Bardic Tradition of the Creation--The Struggle between Light and Darkness and its Symbolization 202 CHAPTER VII. Cambrian Death-Portents--The Corpse-Bird--The Tan-Wedd--Listening at the Church-Door--The Lledrith--The Gwrach y Rhibyn--The Llandaff Gwrach--Ugliness of this Female Apparition--The Black Maiden--The Cyhyraeth, or Crying Spirit--Its Moans on Land and Sea--The St. Mellons Cyhyraeth--The Groaning Spirit of Bedwellty 212 CHAPTER VIII. The Tolaeth Death Portent--Its various Forms--The Tolaeth before Death--Ewythr Jenkin's Tolaeth--A modern Instance--The Railway Victim's Warning--The Goblin Voice--The Voice from the Cloud--Legend of the Lord and the Beggar--The Goblin Funeral--The Horse's Skull--The Goblin Veil--The Wraith of Llanllwch--Dogs of Hell--The Tale of Pwyll--Spiritual Hunting Dogs--Origin of the Cwn Annwn 225 CHAPTER IX. The Corpse Candle--Its Peculiarities--The Woman of Caerau--Grasping a Corpse Candle--The Crwys Candle--Lights issuing from the Mouth--Jesting with the Canwyll Corph--The Candle at Pontfaen--The Three Candles at Golden Grove--Origin of Death-Portents in Wales--Degree of Belief prevalent at the Present Day--Origin of Spirits in General--The Supernatural--The Question of a Future Life 238 BOOK III. QUAINT OLD CUSTOMS. CHAPTER I. Serious Significance of seemingly Trivial Customs--Their Origins--Common Superstitions--The Age we Live in--Days and Seasons--New Year's Day--The Apple Gift--Lucky Acts on New Year's Morning--The First Foot--Showmen's Superstitions--Levy Dew Song--Happy New Year Carol--Twelfth Night--The Mari Lwyd--The Penglog--The Cutty Wren--Tooling and Sowling--St. Valentine's Day--St. Dewi's Day--The Wearing of the Leek--The Traditional St. David--St. Patrick's Day--St. Patrick a Welshman--Shrove Tuesday 250 CHAPTER II. Sundry Lenten Customs--Mothering Sunday--Palm Sunday--Flowering Sunday--Walking Barefoot to Church--Spiritual Potency of Buns--Good Friday Superstitions--Making Christ's Bed--Bad Odour of Friday--Unlucky Days--Holy Thursday--The Eagle of Snowdon--New Clothing at Easter--Lifting--The Crown of Porcelain--Stocsio--Ball-Playing in Churchyards--The Tump of Lies--Dancing in Churchyards--Seeing the Sun Dance--Calan Ebrill, or All Fools' Day--May Day--The Welsh Maypole--The Daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint--Carrying the Kings of Summer and Winter 266 CHAPTER III. Midsummer Eve--The Druidic Ceremonies at Pontypridd--The Snake Stone--Beltane Fires--Fourth of July Fires in America--St. Ulric's Day--Carrying Cynog--Marketing on Tombstones--The First Night of Winter--The Three Nights for Spirits--The Tale of Thomas Williams the Preacher--All Hallows Eve Festivities--Running through Fire--Quaint Border Rhymes--The Puzzling Jug--Bobbing for Apples--The Fiery Features of Guy Fawkes' Day--St. Clement's Day--Stripping the Carpenter 277 CHAPTER IV. Nadolig, the Welsh Christmas--Bell-Ringing--Carols--Dancing to the Music of the Waits--An Evening in Carmarthenshire--Shenkin Harry, the Preacher, and the Jig Tune--Welsh Morality--Eisteddfodau--Decorating Houses and Churches--The Christmas Thrift-box--The Colliers' Star--The Plygain--Pagan Origin of Christmas Customs 286 CHAPTER V. Courtship and Marriage--Planting Weeds and Rue on the Graves of Old Bachelors--Special Significance of Flowers in connection with Virginity--The Welsh Venus--Bundling, or Courting Abed--Kissing Schools--Rhamanta--Lovers' Superstitions--The Maid's Trick--Dreaming on a Mutton Bone--Wheat and Shovel--Garters in a Lovers' Knot--Egg-Shell Cake--Sowing Leeks--Twca and Sheath 298 CHAPTER VI. Wedding Customs--The Bidding--Forms of Cymmhorth--The Gwahoddwr--Horse-Weddings--Stealing a Bride--Obstructions to the Bridal Party--The Gwyntyn--Chaining--Evergreen Arches--Strewing Flowers--Throwing Rice and Shoes--Rosemary in the Garden--Names after Marriage--The Coolstrin--The Ceffyl Pren 306 CHAPTER VII. Death and Burial--The Gwylnos--Beer-drinking at Welsh Funerals--Food and Drink over the Coffin--Sponge Cakes at Modern Funerals--The Sin-eater--Welsh Denial that this Custom ever existed--The Testimony concerning it--Superstitions regarding Salt--Plate of Salt on Corpse's Breast--The Scapegoat--The St. Tegla Cock and Hen--Welsh Funeral Processions--Praying at Cross-roads--Superstition regarding Criminals' Graves--Hanging and Welsh Prejudice--The Grassless Grave--Parson's Penny, or Offrwm--Old Shoes to the Clerk--Arian y Rhaw, or Spade Money--Burials without Coffin--The Sul Coffa--Planting and Strewing Graves with Flowers 321 BOOK IV. BELLS, WELLS, STONES, AND DRAGONS. CHAPTER I. Base of the Primeval Mythology--Bells and their Ghosts--The Bell that committed Murder and was damned for it--The Occult Powers of Bells--Their Work as Detectives, Doctors, etc.--Legend of the Bell of Rhayader--St. Illtyd's Wonderful Bell--The Golden Bell of Llandaff 338 CHAPTER II. Mystic Wells--Their Good and Bad Dispositions--St. Winifred's Well--The Legend of St. Winifred--Miracles--St. Tecla's Well--St. Dwynwen's--Curing Love-sickness--St. Cynfran's--St. Cynhafal's--Throwing Pins in Wells--Warts--Barry Island and its Legends--Ffynon Gwynwy--Propitiatory Gifts to Wells--The Dreadful Cursing Well of St. Elian's--Wells Flowing with Milk--St. Illtyd's--Taff's Well--Sanford's Well--Origins of Superstitions of this Class 345 CHAPTER III. Personal Attributes of Legendary Welsh Stones--Stone Worship--Canna's Stone Chair--Miraculous Removals of Stones--The Walking Stone of Eitheinn--The Thigh Stone--The Talking Stone in Pembrokeshire--The Expanding Stone--Magic Stones in the 'Mabinogion'--The Stone of Invisibility--The Stone of Remembrance--Stone Thief-catchers--Stones of Healing--Stones at Cross-roads--Memorials of King Arthur--Round Tables, Carns, Pots, etc.--Arthur's Quoits--The Gigantic Rock-tossers of Old--Mol Walbec and the Pebble in her Shoe--The Giant of Trichrug--Giants and the Mythology of the Heavens--The Legend of Rhitta Gawr 361 CHAPTER IV. Early Inscribed Stones--The Stone Pillar of Banwan Bryddin, near Neath--Catastrophe accompanying its Removal--The Sagranus Stone and the White Lady--The Dancing Stones of Stackpool--Human Beings changed to Stones--St. Ceyna and the Serpents--The Devil's Stone at Llanarth--Rocking Stones and their accompanying Superstitions--The Suspended Altar of Loin-Garth--Cromlechs and their Fairy Legends--The Fairies' Castle at St. Nicholas, Glamorganshire--The Stone of the Wolf Bitch--The Welsh Melusina--Parc-y-Bigwrn Cromlech--Connection of these Stones with Ancient Druidism 373 CHAPTER V. Baleful Spirits of Storm--The Shower at the Magic Fountain--Obstacles in the way of Treasure-Seekers--The Red Lady of Paviland--The Fall of Coychurch Tower--Thunder and Lightning evoked by Digging--The Treasure-Chest under Moel Arthur in the Vale of Clwyd--Modern Credulity--The Cavern of the Ravens--The Eagle-guarded Coffer of Castell Coch--Sleeping Warriors as Treasure-Guarders--The Dragon which St. Samson drove out of Wales--Dragons in the Mabinogion--Whence came the Red Dragon of Wales?--The Original Dragon of Mythology--Prototypes of the Welsh Caverns and Treasure-Hills--The Goblins of Electricity 385 [Illustration: {FAIRIES.}] BRITISH GOBLINS. BOOK I. THE REALM OF FAERIE. At eve, the primrose path along, The milkmaid shortens with a song Her solitary way; She sees the fairies with their queen Trip hand-in-hand the circled green, And hears them raise, at times unseen, The ear-enchanting lay. REV. JOHN LOGAN: _Ode to Spring_, 1780. CHAPTER I. Fairy Tales and the Ancient Mythology--The Compensations of Science--Existing Belief in Fairies in Wales--The Faith of Culture--The Credulity of Ignorance--The Old-Time Welsh Fairyland--The Fairy King--The Legend of St. Collen and Gwyn ap Nudd--The Green Meadows of the Sea--Fairies at Market--The Land of Mystery. I. With regard to other divisions of the field of folk-lore, the views of scholars differ, but in the realm of faerie these differences are reconciled; it is agreed that fairy tales are relics of the ancient mythology; and the philosophers stroll hand in hand harmoniously. This is as it should be, in a realm about which cluster such delightful memories of the most poetic period of life--childhood, before scepticism has crept in as ignorance slinks out. The knowledge which introduced scepticism is infinitely more valuable than the faith it displaced; but, in spite of that, there be few among us who have not felt evanescent regrets for the displacement by the _foi scientifique_ of the old faith in fairies. There was something so peculiarly fascinating in that old belief, that 'once upon a time' the world was less practical in its facts than now, less commonplace and humdrum, less subject to the inexorable laws of gravitation, optics, and the like. What dramas it has yielded! What poems, what dreams, what delights! But since the knowledge of our maturer years destroys all that, it is with a degree of satisfaction we can turn to the consolations of the fairy mythology. The beloved tales of old are 'not true'--but at least they are not mere idle nonsense, and they have a good and sufficient reason for being in the world; we may continue to respect them. The wit who observed that the final cause of fairy legends is 'to afford sport for people who ruthlessly track them to their origin,'[1] expressed a grave truth in jocular form. Since one can no longer rest in peace with one's ignorance, it is a comfort to the lover of fairy legends to find that he need not sweep them into the grate as so much rubbish; on the contrary they become even more enchanting in the crucible of science than they were in their old character. FOOTNOTE: [1] 'Saturday Review,' October 20, 1877. II. Among the vulgar in Wales, the belief in fairies is less nearly extinct than casual observers would be likely to suppose. Even educated people who dwell in Wales, and have dwelt there all their lives, cannot always be classed as other than casual observers in this field. There are some such residents who have paid special attention to the subject, and have formed an opinion as to the extent of prevalence of popular credulity herein; but most Welsh people of the educated class, I find, have no opinion, beyond a vague surprise that the question should be raised at all. So lately as the year 1858, a learned writer in the 'Archæologia Cambrensis' declared that 'the traveller may now pass from one end of the Principality to the other, without his being shocked or amused, as the case may be, by any of the fairy legends or popular tales which used to pass current from father to son.' But in the same periodical, eighteen years later, I find Mr. John Walter Lukis (President of the Cardiff Naturalists' Society), asserting with regard to the cromlechs, tumuli, and ancient camps in Glamorganshire: 'There are always fairy tales and ghost stories connected with them; some, though _fully believed in_ by the inhabitants of those localities, are often of the most absurd character; in fact, the more ridiculous they are, the more they are believed in.'[2] My own observation leads me to support the testimony of the last-named witness. Educated Europeans generally conceive that this sort of belief is extinct in their own land, or, at least their own immediate section of that land. They accredit such degree of belief as may remain, in this enlightened age, to some remote part--to the south, if they dwell in the north; to the north, if they dwell in the south. But especially they accredit it to a previous age: in Wales, to last century, or the middle ages, or the days of King Arthur. The rector of Merthyr, being an elderly man, accredits it to his youth. 'I am old enough to remember,' he wrote me under date of January 30th, 1877, 'that these tales were thoroughly believed in among country folk forty or fifty years ago.' People of superior culture have held this kind of faith concerning fairy-lore, it seems to me, in every age, except the more remote. Chaucer held it, almost five centuries ago, and wrote:[3] In olde dayes of the Kyng Arthour, ... Al was this lond fulfilled of fayrie; ... I speke of many hundrid yer ago; But now can no man see non elves mo. Dryden held it, two hundred years later, and said of the fairies: I speak of ancient times, for now the swain Returning late may pass the woods in vain, And never hope to see the nightly train. In all later days, other authors have written the same sort of thing; it is not thus now, say they, but it was recently thus. The truth, probably, is that if you will but sink down to the level of common life, of ignorant life, especially in rural neighbourhoods, there you will find the same old beliefs prevailing, in about the same degree to which they have ever prevailed, within the past five hundred years. To sink to this level successfully, one must become a living unit in that life, as I have done in Wales and elsewhere, from time to time. Then one will hear the truth from, or at least the true sentiments of, the class he seeks to know. The practice of every generation in thus relegating fairy belief to a date just previous to its own does not apply, however, to superstitious beliefs in general; for, concerning many such beliefs, their greater or less prevalence at certain dates (as in the history of witchcraft) is matter of well-ascertained fact. I confine the argument, for the present, strictly to the domain of faerie. In this domain, the prevalent belief in Wales may be said to rest with the ignorant, to be strongest in rural and mining districts, to be childlike and poetic, and to relate to anywhere except the spot where the speaker dwells--as to the next parish, to the next county, to the distant mountains, or to the shadow-land of Gwerddonau Llion, the green meadows of the sea. FOOTNOTES: [2] 'Archæologia Cambrensis,' 4th Se., vi., 174. [3] 'Wyf of Bathes Tale,' 'Canterbury Tales.' III. In Arthur's day and before that, the people of South Wales regarded North Wales as pre-eminently the land of faerie. In the popular imagination, that distant country was the chosen abode of giants, monsters, magicians, and all the creatures of enchantment. Out of it came the fairies, on their visits to the sunny land of the south. The chief philosopher of that enchanted region was a giant who sat on a mountain peak and watched the stars. It had a wizard monarch called Gwydion, who possessed the power of changing himself into the strangest possible forms. The peasant who dwelt on the shores of Dyfed (Demetia) saw in the distance, beyond the blue waves of the ocean, shadowy mountain summits piercing the clouds, and guarding this mystic region in solemn majesty. Thence rolled down upon him the storm-clouds from the home of the tempest; thence streamed up the winter sky the flaming banners of the Northern lights; thence rose through the illimitable darkness on high, the star-strewn pathway of the fairy king. These details are current in the Mabinogion, those brilliant stories of Welsh enchantment, so gracefully done into English by Lady Charlotte Guest,[4] and it is believed that all the Mabinogion in which these details were found were written in Dyfed. This was the region on the west, now covered by Pembroke, Carmarthen, and Cardigan shires. More recently than the time above indicated, special traditions have located fairyland in the Vale of Neath, in Glamorganshire. Especially does a certain steep and rugged crag there, called Craig y Ddinas, bear a distinctly awful reputation as a stronghold of the fairy tribe.[5] Its caves and crevices have been their favourite haunt for many centuries, and upon this rock was held the court of the last fairies who have ever appeared in Wales. Needless to say there are men still living who remember the visits of the fairies to Craig y Ddinas, although they aver the little folk are no longer seen there. It is a common remark that the Methodists drove them away; indeed, there are numberless stories which show the fairies to have been animated, when they were still numerous in Wales, by a cordial antipathy for all dissenting preachers. In this antipathy, it may be here observed, teetotallers were included. FOOTNOTES: [4] 'The Mabinogion, from the Welsh of the Llyfr Coch o Hergest.' Translated, with notes, by Lady Charlotte Guest. (New Edition, London, 1877.) [5] There are two hills in Glamorganshire called by this name, and others elsewhere in Wales. IV. The sovereign of the fairies, and their especial guardian and protector, was one Gwyn ap Nudd. He was also ruler over the goblin tribe in general. His name often occurs in ancient Welsh poetry. An old bard of the fourteenth century, who, led away by the fairies, rode into a turf bog on a mountain one dark night, called it the 'fish-pond of Gwyn ap Nudd, a palace for goblins and their tribe.' The association of this legendary character with the goblin fame of the Vale of Neath will appear, when it is mentioned that Nudd in Welsh is pronounced simply Neath, and not otherwise. As for the fairy queen, she does not seem to have any existence among Cambrian goblins. It is nevertheless thought by Cambrian etymologists, that Morgana is derived from Mor Gwyn, the white maid; and the Welsh proper name Morgan can hardly fail to be mentioned in this connection, though it is not necessarily significant. The legend of St. Collen, in which Gwyn ap Nudd figures, represents him as king of Annwn (hell, or the shadow land) as well as of the fairies.[6] Collen was passing a period of mortification as a hermit, in a cell under a rock on a mountain. There he one day overheard two men talking about Gwyn ap Nudd, and giving him this twofold kingly character. Collen cried out to the men to go away and hold their tongues, instead of talking about devils. For this Collen was rebuked, as the king of fairyland had an objection to such language. The saint was summoned to meet the king on the hill-top at noon, and after repeated refusals, he finally went there; but he carried a flask of holy water with him. 'And when he came there he saw the fairest castle he had ever beheld, and around it the best appointed troops, and numbers of minstrels and every kind of music of voice and string, and steeds with youths upon them, the comeliest in the world, and maidens of elegant aspect, sprightly, light of foot, of graceful apparel, and in the bloom of youth; and every magnificence becoming the court of a puissant sovereign. And he beheld a courteous man on the top of the castle who bade him enter, saying that the king was waiting for him to come to meat. And Collen went into the castle, and when he came there the king was sitting in a golden chair. And he welcomed Collen honourably, and desired him to eat, assuring him that besides what he saw, he should have the most luxurious of every dainty and delicacy that the mind could desire, and should be supplied with every drink and liquor that the heart could wish; and that there should be in readiness for him every luxury of courtesy and service, of banquet and of honourable entertainment, of rank and of presents, and every respect and welcome due to a man of his wisdom. "I will not eat the leaves of the trees," said Collen. "Didst thou ever see men of better equipment than these of red and blue?" asked the king. "Their equipment is good enough," said Collen, "for such equipment as it is." "What kind of equipment is that?" said the king. Then said Collen, "The red on the one part signifies burning, and the blue on the other signifies coldness." And with that Collen drew out his flask and threw the holy water on their heads, whereupon they vanished from his sight, so that there was neither castle nor troops, nor men, nor maidens, nor music, nor song, nor steeds, nor youths, nor banquet, nor the appearance of anything whatever but the green hillocks.' FOOTNOTE: [6] 'Greal' (8vo. London, 1805), p. 337. V. A third form of Welsh popular belief as to the whereabouts of fairyland corresponds with the Avalon of the Arthurian legends. The green meadows of the sea, called in the triads Gwerddonau Llion, are the Green fairy islands, reposing, In sunlight and beauty on ocean's calm breast.[7] Many extraordinary superstitions survive with regard to these islands. They were supposed to be the abode of the souls of certain Druids, who, not holy enough to enter the heaven of the Christians, were still not wicked enough to be condemned to the tortures of annwn, and so were accorded a place in this romantic sort of purgatorial paradise. In the fifth century a voyage was made, by the British king Gavran, in search of these enchanted islands; with his family he sailed away into the unknown waters, and was never heard of more. This voyage is commemorated in the triads as one of the Three Losses by Disappearance, the two others being Merlin's and Madog's. Merlin sailed away in a ship of glass; Madog sailed in search of America; and neither returned, but both disappeared for ever. In Pembrokeshire and southern Carmarthenshire are to be found traces of this belief. There are sailors on that romantic coast who still talk of the green meadows of enchantment lying in the Irish channel to the west of Pembrokeshire. Sometimes they are visible to the eyes of mortals for a brief space, when suddenly they vanish. There are traditions of sailors who, in the early part of the present century, actually went ashore on the fairy islands--not knowing that they were such, until they returned to their boats, when they were filled with awe at seeing the islands disappear from their sight, neither sinking in the sea, nor floating away upon the waters, but simply vanishing suddenly. The fairies inhabiting these islands are said to have regularly attended the markets at Milford Haven and Laugharne. They made their purchases without speaking, laid down their money and departed, always leaving the exact sum required, which they seemed to know, without asking the price of anything. Sometimes they were invisible, but they were often seen, by sharp-eyed persons. There was always one special butcher at Milford Haven upon whom the fairies bestowed their patronage, instead of distributing their favours indiscriminately. The Milford Haven folk could see the green fairy islands distinctly, lying out a short distance from land; and the general belief was that they were densely peopled with fairies. It was also said that the latter went to and fro between the islands and the shore through a subterranean gallery under the bottom of the sea. [Illustration: FAIRIES MARKETING AT LAUGHARNE.] That isolated cape which forms the county of Pembroke was looked upon as a land of mystery by the rest of Wales long after it had been settled by the Flemings in 1113. A secret veil was supposed to cover this sea-girt promontory; the inhabitants talked in an unintelligible jargon that was neither English, nor French, nor Welsh; and out of its misty darkness came fables of wondrous sort, and accounts of miracles marvellous beyond belief. Mythology and Christianity spoke together from this strange country, and one could not tell at which to be most amazed, the pagan or the priest. FOOTNOTE: [7] Parry's 'Welsh Melodies.' CHAPTER II. Classification of Welsh Fairies--General Designation--Habits of the Tylwyth Teg--Ellyllon, or Elves--Shakspeare's Use of Welsh Folk-Lore--Rowli Pugh and the Ellyll--Household Story Roots--The Ellylldan--The Pooka--Puck Valley, Breconshire--Where Shakspeare got his Puck--Pwca'r Trwyn--Usual Form of the Pooka Story--Coblynau, or Mine Fairies--The Knockers--Miners' Superstitions--Basilisks and Fire Fiends--A Fairy Coal-mine--The Dwarfs of Cae Caled--Counterparts of the Coblynau--The Bwbach, or Household Fairy--Legend of the Bwbach and the Preacher--Bogies and Hobgoblins--Carrying Mortals through the Air--Counterparts and Originals. I. Fairies being creatures of the imagination, it is not possible to classify them by fixed and immutable rules. In the exact sciences, there are laws which never vary, or if they vary, their very eccentricity is governed by precise rules. Even in the largest sense, comparative mythology must demean itself modestly in order to be tolerated in the severe company of the sciences. In presenting his subjects, therefore, the writer in this field can only govern himself by the purpose of orderly arrangement. To secure the maximum of system, for the sake of the student who employs the work for reference and comparison, with the minimum of dullness, for the sake of the general reader, is perhaps the limit of a reasonable ambition. Keightley[8] divides into four classes the Scandinavian elements of popular belief as to fairies, viz.: 1. The Elves; 2. The Dwarfs, or Trolls; 3. The Nisses; and 4. The Necks, Mermen, and Mermaids. How entirely arbitrary this division is, the student of Scandinavian folk-lore at once perceives. Yet it is perhaps as satisfactory as another. The fairies of Wales may be divided into five classes, if analogy be not too sharply insisted on. Thus we have, 1. The Ellyllon, or elves; 2. The Coblynau, or mine fairies; 3. The Bwbachod, or household fairies; 4. The Gwragedd Annwn, or fairies of the lakes and streams; and 5. The Gwyllion, or mountain fairies. The modern Welsh name for fairies is y Tylwyth Teg, the fair folk or family. This is sometimes lengthened into y Tylwyth Teg yn y Coed, the fair family in the wood, or Tylwyth Teg y Mwn, the fair folk of the mine. They are seen dancing in moonlight nights on the velvety grass, clad in airy and flowing robes of blue, green, white, or scarlet--details as to colour not usually met, I think, in accounts of fairies. They are spoken of as bestowing blessings on those mortals whom they select to be thus favoured; and again are called Bendith y Mamau, or their mother's blessing, that is to say, good little children whom it is a pleasure to know. To name the fairies by a harsh epithet is to invoke their anger; to speak of them in flattering phrase is to propitiate their good offices. The student of fairy mythology perceives in this propitiatory mode of speech a fact of wide significance. It can be traced in numberless lands, and back to the beginning of human history, among the cloud-hung peaks of Central Asia. The Greeks spoke of the furies as the Eumenides, or gracious ones; Highlanders mentioned by Sir Walter Scott uncover to the gibbet and call it 'the kind gallows;' the Dayak will not name the small-pox, but calls it 'the chief;' the Laplander calls the bear 'the old man with the fur coat;' in Ammam the tiger is called 'grandfather;' and it is thought that the maxim, 'Speak only good of the dead,' came originally from the notion of propitiating the ghost of the departed,[9] who, in laying off this mortal garb, had become endowed with new powers of harming his late acquaintance. FOOTNOTES: [8] 'Fairy Mythology' (Bohn's Ed.), 78. [9] John Fiske, 'Myths and Myth-makers,' 223. II. The Ellyllon are the pigmy elves who haunt the groves and valleys, and correspond pretty closely with the English elves. The English name was probably derived from the Welsh _el_, a spirit, _elf_, an element; there is a whole brood of words of this class in the Welsh language, expressing every variety of flowing, gliding, spirituality, devilry, angelhood, and goblinism. Ellyllon (the plural of ellyll), is also doubtless allied with the Hebrew Elilim, having with it an identity both of origin and meaning.[10] The poet Davydd ab Gwilym, in a humorous account of his troubles in a mist, in the year 1340, says: Yr ydoedd ym mhob gobant Ellyllon mingeimion gant. There was in every hollow A hundred wrymouthed elves. The hollows, or little dingles, are still the places where the peasant, belated on his homeward way from fair or market, looks for the ellyllon, but fails to find them. Their food is specified in Welsh folk-lore as fairy butter and fairy victuals, ymenyn tylwyth teg and bwyd ellyllon; the latter the toadstool, or poisonous mushroom, and the former a butter-resembling substance found at great depths in the crevices of limestone rocks, in sinking for lead ore. Their gloves, menyg ellyllon, are the bells of the digitalis, or fox-glove, the leaves of which are well known to be a strong sedative. Their queen--for though there is no fairy-queen in the large sense that Gwyn ap Nudd is the fairy-king, there is a queen of the elves--is none other than the Shakspearean fairy spoken of by Mercutio, who comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the forefinger of an alderman.[11] Shakspeare's use of Welsh folk-lore, it should be noted, was extensive and peculiarly faithful. Keightley in his 'Fairy Mythology' rates the bard soundly for his inaccurate use of English fairy superstitions; but the reproach will not apply as regards Wales. From his Welsh informant Shakspeare got Mab, which is simply the Cymric for a little child, and the root of numberless words signifying babyish, childish, love for children (mabgar), kitten (mabgath), prattling (mabiaith), and the like, most notable of all which in this connection is mabinogi, the singular of Mabinogion, the romantic tales of enchantment told to the young in by-gone ages. FOOTNOTES: [10] Pughe's 'Welsh Dictionary.' (Denbigh, 1866.) [11] 'Romeo and Juliet,' Act II., Sc. 4. III. In the Huntsman's Rest Inn at Peterstone-super-Ely, near Cardiff, sat a group of humble folk one afternoon, when I chanced to stop there to rest myself by the chimney-side, after a long walk through green lanes. The men were drinking their tankards of ale and smoking their long clay pipes; and they were talking about their dogs and horses, the crops, the hard times, and the prospect of bettering themselves by emigration to America. On this latter theme I was able to make myself interesting, and acquaintance was thereupon easily established on a friendly footing. I led the conversation into the domain of folk-lore; and this book is richer in illustration on many a page, in consequence. Among others, this tale was told: On a certain farm in Glamorganshire lived Rowli Pugh, who was known far and wide for his evil luck. Nothing prospered that he turned his hand to; his crops proved poor, though his neighbours' might be good; his roof leaked in spite of all his mending; his walls remained damp when every one else's walls were dry; and above all, his wife was so feeble she could do no work. His fortunes at last seemed so hard that he resolved to sell out and clear out, no matter at what loss, and try to better himself in another country--not by going to America, for there was no America in those days. Well, and if there was, the poor Welshman didn't know it. So as Rowli was sitting on his wall one day, hard by his cottage, musing over his sad lot, he was accosted by a little man who asked him what was the matter. Rowli looked around in surprise, but before he could answer the ellyll said to him with a grin, 'There, there, hold your tongue, I know more about you than you ever dreamed of knowing. You're in trouble, and you're going away. But you may stay, now I've spoken to you. Only bid your good wife leave the candle burning when she goes to bed, and say no more about it.' With this the ellyll kicked up his heels and disappeared. Of course the farmer did as he was bid, and from that day he prospered. Every night Catti Jones, his wife,[12] set the candle out, swept the hearth, and went to bed; and every night the fairies would come and do her baking and brewing, her washing and mending, sometimes even furnishing their own tools and materials. The farmer was now always clean of linen and whole of garb; he had good bread and good beer; he felt like a new man, and worked like one. Everything prospered with him now as nothing had before. His crops were good, his barns were tidy, his cattle were sleek, his pigs the fattest in the parish. So things went on for three years. One night Catti Jones took it into her head that she must have a peep at the fair family who did her work for her; and curiosity conquering prudence, she arose while Rowli Pugh lay snoring, and peeped through a crack in the door. There they were, a jolly company of ellyllon, working away like mad, and laughing and dancing as madly as they worked. Catti was so amused that in spite of herself she fell to laughing too; and at sound of her voice the ellyllon scattered like mist before the wind, leaving the room empty. They never came back any more; but the farmer was now prosperous, and his bad luck never returned to plague him. [Illustration: ROWLI AND THE ELLYLL.] The resemblance of this tale to many he has encountered will at once be noted by the student of comparative folk-lore. He will also observe that it trenches on the domain of another class in my own enumeration, viz., that of the Bwbach, or household fairy. This is the stone over which one is constantly stumbling in this field of scientific research. Mr. Baring-Gould's idea that all household tales are reducible to a primeval root (in the same or a similar manner that we trace words to their roots), though most ingeniously illustrated by him, is constantly involved in trouble of the sort mentioned. He encounters the obstacle which lies in the path of all who walk this way. His roots sometimes get inextricably gnarled and intertwisted with each other. But some effort of this sort is imperative, and we must do the best we can with our materials. Stories of the class of Grimm's Witchelmänner (Kinder und Hausmärchen) will be recalled by the legend of Rowli Pugh as here told. The German Hausmänner are elves of a domestic turn, sometimes mischievous and sometimes useful, but usually looking for some material reward for their labours. So with the English goblin named by Milton in 'L'Allegro,' which drudges, To earn his cream-bowl duly set. FOOTNOTE: [12] Until recently, Welsh women retained their maiden names even after marriage. IV. The Ellylldan is a species of elf exactly corresponding to the English Will-o'-wisp, the Scandinavian Lyktgubhe, and the Breton Sand Yan y Tad. The Welsh word dan means fire; dan also means a lure; the compound word suggests a luring elf-fire. The Breton Sand Yan y Tad (St. John and Father)[13] is a double ignis fatuus fairy, carrying at its finger-ends five lights, which spin round like a wheel. The negroes of the southern seaboard states of America invest this goblin with an exaggeration of the horrible peculiarly their own. They call it Jack-muh-lantern, and describe it as a hideous creature five feet in height, with goggle-eyes and huge mouth, its body covered with long hair, and which goes leaping and bounding through the air like a gigantic grasshopper. This frightful apparition is stronger than any man, and swifter than any horse, and compels its victims to follow it into the swamp, where it leaves them to die. Like all goblins of this class, the Ellylldan was, of course, seen dancing about in marshy grounds, into which it led the belated wanderer; but, as a distinguished resident in Wales has wittily said, the poor elf 'is now starved to death, and his breath is taken from him; his light is quenched for ever by the improving farmer, who has drained the bog; and, instead of the rank decaying vegetation of the autumn, where bitterns and snipes delighted to secrete themselves, crops of corn and potatoes are grown.'[14] A poetic account by a modern character, called Iolo the Bard, is thus condensed: 'One night, when the moon had gone down, as I was sitting on a hill-top, the Ellylldan passed by. I followed it into the valley. We crossed plashes of water where the tops of bulrushes peeped above, and where the lizards lay silently on the surface, looking at us with an unmoved stare. The frogs sat croaking and swelling their sides, but ceased as they raised a melancholy eye at the Ellylldan. The wild fowl, sleeping with their heads under their wings, made a low cackle as we went by. A bittern awoke and rose with a scream into the air. I felt the trail of the eels and leeches peering about, as I waded through the pools. On a slimy stone a toad sat sucking poison from the night air. The Ellylldan glowed bravely in the slumbering vapours. It rose airily over the bushes that drooped in the ooze. When I lingered or stopped, it waited for me, but dwindled gradually away to a speck barely perceptible. But as soon as I moved on again, it would shoot up suddenly and glide before. A bat came flying round and round us, flapping its wings heavily. Screech-owls stared silently at us with their broad eyes. Snails and worms crawled about. The fine threads of a spider's web gleamed in the light of the Ellylldan. Suddenly it shot away from me, and in the distance joined a ring of its fellows, who went dancing slowly round and round in a goblin dance, which sent me off to sleep.'[15] FOOTNOTES: [13] Keightley, 'Fairy Mythology,' 441. [14] Hon. W. O. Stanley, M.P., in 'Notes and Queries.' [15] 'The Vale of Glamorgan.' (London, 1839.) V. Pwca, or Pooka, is but another name for the Ellylldan, as our Puck is another name for the Will-o'-wisp; but in both cases the shorter term has a more poetic flavour and a wider latitude. The name Puck was originally applied to the whole race of English fairies, and there still be few of the realm who enjoy a wider popularity than Puck, in spite of his mischievous attributes. Part of this popularity is due to the poets, especially to Shakspeare. I have alluded to the bard's accurate knowledge of Welsh folk-lore; the subject is really one of unique interest, in view of the inaccuracy charged upon him as to the English fairyland. There is a Welsh tradition to the effect that Shakspeare received his knowledge of the Cambrian fairies from his friend Richard Price, son of Sir John Price, of the priory of Brecon. It is even claimed that Cwm Pwca, or Puck Valley, a part of the romantic glen of the Clydach, in Breconshire, is the original scene of the 'Midsummer Night's Dream'--a fancy as light and airy as Puck himself.[16] Anyhow, there Cwm Pwca is, and in the sylvan days, before Frere and Powell's ironworks were set up there, it is said to have been as full of goblins as a Methodist's head is of piety. And there are in Wales other places bearing like names, where Pwca's pranks are well remembered by old inhabitants. The range given to the popular fancy in Wales is expressed with fidelity by Shakspeare's words in the mouth of Puck: I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier, Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire; And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.[17] The various stories I have encountered bear out these details almost without an omission. [Illustration: {SKETCH OF PWCA.}] In his own proper character, however, Pwca has a sufficiently grotesque elfish aspect. It is stated that a Welsh peasant who was asked to give an idea of the appearance of Pwca, drew the above figure with a bit of coal. A servant girl who attended to the cattle on the Trwyn farm, near Abergwyddon, used to take food to 'Master Pwca,' as she called the elf. A bowl of fresh milk and a slice of white bread were the component parts of the goblin's repast, and were placed on a certain spot where he got them. One night the girl, moved by the spirit of mischief, drank the milk and ate most of the bread, leaving for Master Pwca only water and crusts. Next morning she found that the fastidious fairy had left the food untouched. Not long after, as the girl was passing the lonely spot, where she had hitherto left Pwca his food, she was seized under the arm pits by fleshly hands (which, however, she could not see), and subjected to a castigation of a most mortifying character. Simultaneously there fell upon her ear in good set Welsh a warning not to repeat her offence on peril of still worse treatment. This story 'is thoroughly believed in there to this day.'[18] I visited the scene of the story, a farm near Abergwyddon (now called Abercarne), and heard a great deal more of the exploits of that particular Pwca, to which I will refer again. The most singular fact of the matter is that although at least a century has elapsed, and some say several centuries, since the exploits in question, you cannot find a Welsh peasant in the parish but knows all about Pwca'r Trwyn. FOOTNOTES: [16] According to a letter written by the poet Campbell to Mrs. Fletcher, in 1833, and published in her Autobiography, it was thought Shakspeare went in person to see this magic valley. 'It is no later than yesterday,' wrote Campbell, 'that I discovered a probability--almost near a certainty--that Shakspeare visited friends in the very town (Brecon in Wales) where Mrs. Siddons was born, and that he there found in a neighbouring glen, called "The Valley of Fairy Puck," the principal machinery of his "Midsummer Night's Dream."' [17] 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' Act III., Sc. 3. [18] 'Archæologia Cambrensis,' 4th Se., vi., 175. (1875.) VI. The most familiar form of the Pwca story is one which I have encountered in several localities, varying so little in its details that each account would be interchangeable with another by the alteration of local names. This form presents a peasant who is returning home from his work, or from a fair, when he sees a light travelling before him. Looking closer he perceives that it is carried by a dusky little figure, holding a lantern or candle at arm's length over its head. He follows it for several miles, and suddenly finds himself on the brink of a frightful precipice. From far down below there rises to his ears the sound of a foaming torrent. At the same moment the little goblin with the lantern springs across the chasm, alighting on the opposite side; raises the light again high over its head, utters a loud and malicious laugh, blows out its candle and disappears up the opposite hill, leaving the awestruck peasant to get home as best he can. [Illustration: PWCA. COBLYNAU.] VII. Under the general title of Coblynau I class the fairies which haunt the mines, quarries and underground regions of Wales, corresponding to the cabalistic Gnomes. The word coblyn has the double meaning of knocker or thumper and sprite or fiend; and may it not be the original of goblin? It is applied by Welsh miners to pigmy fairies which dwell in the mines, and point out, by a peculiar knocking or rapping, rich veins of ore. The faith is extended, in some parts, so as to cover the indication of subterranean treasures generally, in caves and secret places of the mountains. The coblynau are described as being about half a yard in height and very ugly to look upon, but extremely good-natured, and warm friends of the miner. Their dress is a grotesque imitation of the miner's garb, and they carry tiny hammers, picks and lamps. They work busily, loading ore in buckets, flitting about the shafts, turning tiny windlasses, and pounding away like madmen, but really accomplishing nothing whatever. They have been known to throw stones at the miners, when enraged at being lightly spoken of; but the stones are harmless. Nevertheless, all miners of a proper spirit refrain from provoking them, because their presence brings good luck. VIII. Miners are possibly no more superstitious than other men of equal intelligence; I have heard some of their number repel indignantly the idea that they are superstitious at all; but this would simply be to raise them above the level of our common humanity. There is testimony enough, besides, to support my own conclusions, which accredit a liberal share of credulity to the mining class. The _Oswestry Advertiser_, a short time ago, recorded the fact that, at Cefn, 'a woman is employed as messenger at one of the collieries, and as she commences her duty early each morning she meets great numbers of colliers going to their work. Some of them, we are gravely assured, consider it a bad omen to meet a woman first thing in the morning; and not having succeeded in deterring her from her work by other means, they waited upon the manager and declared that they should remain at home unless the woman was dismissed.' This was in 1874. In June, 1878, the _South Wales Daily News_ recorded a superstition of the quarrymen at Penrhyn, where some thousands of men refused to work on Ascension Day. 'This refusal did not arise out of any reverential feeling, but from an old and widespread superstition, which has lingered in that district for years, that if work is continued on Ascension Day an accident will certainly follow. A few years ago the agents persuaded the men to break through the superstition, and there were accidents each year--a not unlikely occurrence, seeing the extent of works carried on, and the dangerous nature of the occupation of the men. This year, however, the men, one and all, refused to work.' These are examples dealing with considerable numbers of the mining class, and are quoted in this instance as being more significant than individual cases would be. Of these last I have encountered many. Yet I should be sorry if any reader were to conclude from all this that Welsh miners are not in the main intelligent, church-going, newspaper-reading men. They are so, I think, even beyond the common. Their superstitions, therefore, like those of the rest of us, must be judged as 'a thing apart,' not to be reconciled with intelligence and education, but co-existing with them. Absolute freedom from superstition can come only with a degree of scientific culture not yet reached by mortal man. It can hardly be cause for wonder that the miner should be superstitious. His life is passed in a dark and gloomy region, fathoms below the earth's green surface, surrounded by walls on which dim lamps shed a fitful light. It is not surprising that imagination (and the Welsh imagination is peculiarly vivid) should conjure up the faces and forms of gnomes and coblynau, of phantoms and fairy men. When they hear the mysterious thumping which they know is not produced by any human being, and when in examining the place where the noise was heard they find there are really valuable indications of ore, the sturdiest incredulity must sometimes be shaken. Science points out that the noise may be produced by the action of water upon the loose stones in fissures and pot-holes of the mountain limestone, and does actually suggest the presence of metals. In the days before a Priestley had caught and bottled that demon which exists in the shape of carbonic acid gas, when the miner was smitten dead by an invisible foe in the deep bowels of the earth it was natural his awestruck companions should ascribe the mysterious blow to a supernatural enemy. When the workman was assailed suddenly by what we now call fire-damp, which hurled him and his companions right and left upon the dark rocks, scorching, burning, and killing, those who survived were not likely to question the existence of the mine fiend. Hence arose the superstition--now probably quite extinct--of basilisks in the mines, which destroyed with their terrible gaze. When the explanation came, that the thing which killed the miner was what he breathed, not what he saw; and when chemistry took the fire-damp from the domain of faerie, the basilisk and the fire fiend had not a leg to stand on. The explanation of the Knockers is more recent, and less palpable and convincing. IX. The Coblynau are always given the form of dwarfs, in the popular fancy; wherever seen or heard, they are believed to have escaped from the mines or the secret regions of the mountains. Their homes are hidden from mortal vision. When encountered, either in the mines or on the mountains, they have strayed from their special abodes, which are as spectral as themselves. There is at least one account extant of their secret territory having been revealed to mortal eyes. I find it in a quaint volume (of which I shall have more to say), printed at Newport, Monmouthshire, in 1813.[19] It relates that one William Evans, of Hafodafel, while crossing the Beacon Mountain very early in the morning, passed a fairy coal mine, where fairies were busily at work. Some were cutting the coal, some carrying it to fill the sacks, some raising the loads upon the horses' backs, and so on; but all in the completest silence. He thought this 'a wonderful extra natural thing,' and was considerably impressed by it, for well he knew that there really was no coal mine at that place. He was a person of 'undoubted veracity,' and what is more, 'a great man in the world--above telling an untruth.' That the Coblynau sometimes wandered far from home, the same chronicler testifies; but on these occasions they were taking a holiday. Egbert Williams, 'a pious young gentleman of Denbighshire, then at school,' was one day playing in a field called Cae Caled, in the parish of Bodfari, with three girls, one of whom was his sister. Near the stile beyond Lanelwyd House they saw a company of fifteen or sixteen coblynau engaged in dancing madly. They were in the middle of the field, about seventy yards from the spectators, and they danced something after the manner of Morris-dancers, but with a wildness and swiftness in their motions. They were clothed in red like British soldiers, and wore red handkerchiefs spotted with yellow wound round their heads. And a strange circumstance about them was that although they were almost as big as ordinary men, yet they had unmistakably the appearance of dwarfs, and one could call them nothing but dwarfs. Presently one of them left the company and ran towards the group near the stile, who were direfully scared thereby, and scrambled in great fright to go over the stile. Barbara Jones got over first, then her sister, and as Egbert Williams was helping his sister over they saw the coblyn close upon them, and barely got over when his hairy hand was laid on the stile. He stood leaning on it, gazing after them as they ran, with a grim copper-coloured countenance and a fierce look. The young people ran to Lanelwyd House and called the elders out, but though they hurried quickly to the field the dwarfs had already disappeared. FOOTNOTE: [19] 'A Relation of Apparitions of Spirits in the County of Monmouth and the Principality of Wales.' By Rev. Edmund Jones of the Tranch. (Newport, 1813.) X. The counterparts of the Coblynau are found in most mining countries. In Germany, the Wichtlein (little Wights) are little old long-bearded men, about three-quarters of an ell high, which haunt the mines of the southern land. The Bohemians call the Wichtlein by the name of Haus-schmiedlein, little House-smiths, from their sometimes making a noise as if labouring hard at the anvil. They are not so popular as in Wales, however, as they predict misfortune or death. They announce the doom of a miner by knocking three times distinctly, and when any lesser evil is about to befall him they are heard digging, pounding, and imitating other kinds of work. In Germany also the kobolds are rather troublesome than otherwise, to the miners, taking pleasure in frustrating their objects, and rendering their toil unfruitful. Sometimes they are downright malignant, especially if neglected or insulted, but sometimes also they are indulgent to individuals whom they take under their protection. 'When a miner therefore hit upon a rich vein of ore, the inference commonly was not that he possessed more skill, industry, or even luck than his fellow-workmen, but that the spirits of the mine had directed him to the treasure.'[20] The intimate connection between mine fairies and the whole race of dwarfs is constantly met throughout the fairy mythology; and the connection of the dwarfs with the mountains is equally universal. 'God,' says the preface to the Heldenbuch, 'gave the dwarfs being, because the land and the mountains were altogether waste and uncultivated, and there was much store of silver and gold and precious stones and pearls still in the mountains.' From the most ancient times, and in the oldest countries, down to our own time and the new world of America, the traditions are the same. The old Norse belief which made the dwarfs the current machinery of the northern Sagas is echoed in the Catskill Mountains with the rolling of the thunder among the crags where Hendrik Hudson's dwarfs are playing ninepins. FOOTNOTE: [20] Scott, 'Demonology and Witchcraft,' 121. XI. The Bwbach, or Boobach, is the good-natured goblin which does good turns for the tidy Welsh maid who wins its favour by a certain course of behaviour recommended by long tradition. The maid having swept the kitchen, makes a good fire the last thing at night, and having put the churn, filled with cream, on the whitened hearth, with a basin of fresh cream for the Bwbach on the hob, goes to bed to await the event. In the morning she finds (if she is in luck) that the Bwbach has emptied the basin of cream, and plied the churn-dasher so well that the maid has but to give a thump or two to bring the butter in a great lump. Like the Ellyll which it so much resembles, the Bwbach does not approve of dissenters and their ways, and especially strong is its aversion to total abstainers. There was a Bwbach belonging to a certain estate in Cardiganshire, which took great umbrage at a Baptist preacher who was a guest in the house, and who was much fonder of prayers than of good ale. Now the Bwbach had a weakness in favour of people who sat around the hearth with their mugs of cwrw da and their pipes, and it took to pestering the preacher. One night it jerked the stool from under the good man's elbows, as he knelt pouring forth prayer, so that he fell down flat on his face. Another time it interrupted the devotions by jangling the fire-irons on the hearth; and it was continually making the dogs fall a-howling during prayers, or frightening the farm-boy by grinning at him through the window, or throwing the maid into fits. At last it had the audacity to attack the preacher as he was crossing a field. The minister told the story in this wise: 'I was reading busily in my hymn-book as I walked on, when a sudden fear came over me and my legs began to tremble. A shadow crept upon me from behind, and when I turned round--it was myself!--my person, my dress, and even my hymn-book. I looked in its face a moment, and then fell insensible to the ground.' And there, insensible still, they found him. This encounter proved too much for the good man, who considered it a warning to him to leave those parts. He accordingly mounted his horse next day and rode away. A boy of the neighbourhood, whose veracity was, like that of all boys, unimpeachable, afterwards said that he saw the Bwbach jump up behind the preacher, on the horse's back. And the horse went like lightning, with eyes like balls of fire, and the preacher looking back over his shoulder at the Bwbach, that grinned from ear to ear. XII. The same confusion in outlines which exists regarding our own Bogie and Hobgoblin gives the Bwbach a double character, as a household fairy and as a terrifying phantom. In both aspects it is ludicrous, but in the latter it has dangerous practices. To get into its clutches under certain circumstances is no trifling matter, for it has the power of whisking people off through the air. Its services are brought into requisition for this purpose by troubled ghosts who cannot sleep on account of hidden treasure they want removed; and if they can succeed in getting a mortal to help them in removing the treasure, they employ the Bwbach to transport the mortal through the air. This ludicrous fairy is in France represented by the gobelin. Mothers threaten children with him. 'Le gobelin vous mangera, le gobelin vous emportera.'[21] In the English 'hobgoblin' we have a word apparently derived from the Welsh hob, to hop, and coblyn, a goblin, which presents a hopping goblin to the mind, and suggests the Pwca (with which the Bwbach is also confused in the popular fancy at times), but should mean in English simply the goblin of the hob, or household fairy. In its bugbear aspect, the Bwbach, like the English bogie, is believed to be identical with the Slavonic 'bog,' and the 'baga' of the Cuneiform Inscriptions, both of which are names for the Supreme Being, according to Professor Fiske. 'The ancestral form of these epithets' is found in 'the old Aryan "Bhaga," which reappears unchanged in the Sanskrit of the Vedas, and has left a memento of itself in the surname of the Phrygian Zeus "Bagaios." It seems originally to have denoted either the unclouded sun, or the sky of noonday illuminated by the solar rays.... Thus the same name which to the Vedic poet, to the Persian of the time of Xerxes, and to the modern Russian, suggests the supreme majesty of deity, is in English associated with an ugly and ludicrous fiend, closely akin to that grotesque Northern Devil of whom Southey was unable to think without laughing.'[22] FOOTNOTES: [21] Père l'Abbé, 'Etymologie,' i., 262. [22] Fiske, 'Myths and Myth-makers,' 105. CHAPTER III. Lake Fairies--The Gwragedd Annwn, or Dames of Elfin-Land--St. Patrick and the Welshmen; a Legend of Crumlyn Lake--The Elfin Cow of Llyn Barfog--Y Fuwch Laethwen Lefrith--The Legend of the Meddygon Myddfai--The Wife of Supernatural Race--The Three Blows; a Carmarthenshire Legend--Cheese and the Didactic Purpose in Welsh Folk-Lore--The Fairy Maiden's Papa--The Enchanted Isle in the Mountain Lake--Legend of the Men of Ardudwy--Origin of Water Fairies--Their prevalence in many Lands. I. The Gwragedd Annwn (literally, wives of the lower world, or hell) are the elfin dames who dwell under the water. I find no resemblance in the Welsh fairy to our familiar mermaid, beyond the watery abode, and the sometimes winning ways. The Gwragedd Annwn are not fishy of aspect, nor do they dwell in the sea. Their haunt is the lakes and rivers, but especially the wild and lonely lakes upon the mountain heights. These romantic sheets are surrounded with numberless superstitions, which will be further treated of. In the realm of faerie they serve as avenues of communication between this world and the lower one of annwn, the shadowy domain presided over by Gwyn ap Nudd, king of the fairies. This sub-aqueous realm is peopled by those children of mystery termed Plant Annwn, and the belief is current among the inhabitants of the Welsh mountains that the Gwragedd Annwn still occasionally visit this upper world of ours.[23] The only reference to Welsh mermaids I have either read or heard is contained in Drayton's account of the Battle of Agincourt. There it is mentioned, among the armorial ensigns of the counties of Wales: As Cardigan, the next to them that went, Came with a mermaid sitting on a rock.[24] FOOTNOTES: [23] 'Archæologia Cambrensis,' 2nd Se., iv., 253. [24] There is in 'Cymru Fu' a mermaid story, but its mermaid feature is apparently a modern embellishment of a real incident, and without value here. II. Crumlyn Lake, near the quaint village of Briton Ferry, is one of the many in Wales which are a resort of the elfin dames. It is also believed that a large town lies swallowed up there, and that the Gwragedd Annwn have turned the submerged walls to use as the superstructure of their fairy palaces. Some claim to have seen the towers of beautiful castles lifting their battlements beneath the surface of the dark waters, and fairy bells are at times heard ringing from these towers. The way the elfin dames first came to dwell there was this: A long, ay, a very long time ago, St. Patrick came over from Ireland on a visit to St. David of Wales, just to say 'Sut yr y'ch chwi?' (How d'ye do?); and as they were strolling by this lake conversing on religious topics in a friendly manner, some Welsh people who had ascertained that it was St. Patrick, and being angry at him for leaving Cambria for Erin, began to abuse him in the Welsh language, his native tongue. Of course such an insult could not go unpunished, and St. Patrick caused his villifiers to be transformed into fishes; but some of them being females, were converted into fairies instead. It is also related that the sun, on account of this insolence to so holy a man, never shed its life-giving rays upon the dark waters of this picturesque lake, except during one week of the year. This legend and these magical details are equally well accredited to various other lakes, among them Llyn Barfog, near Aberdovey, the town whose 'bells' are celebrated in immortal song. III. Llyn Barfog is the scene of the famous elfin cow's descent upon earth, from among the droves of the Gwragedd Annwn. This is the legend of the origin of the Welsh black cattle, as related to me in Carmarthenshire: In times of old there was a band of elfin ladies who used to haunt the neighbourhood of Llyn Barfog, a lake among the hills just back of Aberdovey. It was their habit to make their appearance at dusk clad all in green, accompanied by their milk-white hounds. Besides their hounds, the green ladies of Llyn Barfog were peculiar in the possession of droves of beautiful milk-white kine, called Gwartheg y Llyn, or kine of the lake. One day an old farmer, who lived near Dyssyrnant, had the good luck to catch one of these mystic cows, which had fallen in love with the cattle of his herd. From that day the farmer's fortune was made. Such calves, such milk, such butter and cheese, as came from the milk-white cow never had been seen in Wales before, nor ever will be seen again. The fame of the Fuwch Gyfeiliorn (which was what they called the cow) spread through the country round. The farmer, who had been poor, became rich; the owner of vast herds, like the patriarchs of old. But one day he took it into his silly noddle that the elfin cow was getting old, and that he had better fatten her for the market. His nefarious purpose thrived amazingly. Never, since beef steaks were invented, was seen such a fat cow as this cow grew to be. Killing day came, and the neighbours arrived from all about to witness the taking-off of this monstrously fat beast. The farmer had already counted up the gains from the sale of her, and the butcher had bared his red right arm. The cow was tethered, regardless of her mournful lowing and her pleading eyes; the butcher raised his bludgeon and struck fair and hard between the eyes--when lo! a shriek resounded through the air, awakening the echoes of the hills, as the butcher's bludgeon went through the goblin head of the elfin cow, and knocked over nine adjoining men, while the butcher himself went frantically whirling around trying to catch hold of something permanent. Then the astonished assemblage beheld a green lady standing on a crag high up over the lake, and crying with a loud voice: Dere di felen Einion, Cyrn Cyfeiliorn--braith y Llyn, A'r foel Dodin, Codwch, dewch adre. Come yellow Anvil, stray horns, Speckled one of the lake, And of the hornless Dodin, Arise, come home. Whereupon not only did the elfin cow arise and go home, but all her progeny to the third and fourth generations went home with her, disappearing in the air over the hill tops and returning nevermore. Only one cow remained of all the farmer's herds, and she had turned from milky white to raven black. Whereupon the farmer in despair drowned himself in the lake of the green ladies, and the black cow became the progenitor of the existing race of Welsh black cattle. This legend appears, in a slightly different form, in the 'Iolo MSS.,' as translated by Taliesin Williams, of Merthyr:[25] 'The milk-white milch cow gave enough of milk to every one who desired it; and however frequently milked, or by whatever number of persons, she was never found deficient. All persons who drank of her milk were healed of every illness; from fools they became wise; and from being wicked, became happy. This cow went round the world; and wherever she appeared, she filled with milk all the vessels that could be found, leaving calves behind her for all the wise and happy. It was from her that all the milch cows in the world were obtained. After traversing through the island of Britain, for the benefit and blessing of country and kindred, she reached the Vale of Towy; where, tempted by her fine appearance and superior condition, the natives sought to kill and eat her; but just as they were proceeding to effect their purpose, she vanished from between their hands, and was never seen again. A house still remains in the locality, called Y Fuwch Laethwen Lefrith (The Milk-white Milch Cow.)' FOOTNOTE: [25] Llandovery, published for the Welsh MSS. Society, 1848. IV. The legend of the Meddygon Myddfai again introduces the elfin cattle to our notice, but combines with them another and a very interesting form of this superstition, namely, that of the wife of supernatural race. A further feature gives it its name, Meddygon meaning physicians, and the legend professing to give the origin of certain doctors who were renowned in the thirteenth century. The legend relates that a farmer in the parish of Myddfai, Carmarthenshire, having bought some lambs in a neighbouring fair, led them to graze near Llyn y Fan Fach, on the Black Mountains. Whenever he visited these lambs three beautiful damsels appeared to him from the lake, on whose shores they often made excursions. Sometimes he pursued and tried to catch them, but always failed; the enchanting nymphs ran before him and on reaching the lake taunted him in these words: Cras dy fara, Anhawdd ein dala; which, if one must render it literally, means: Bake your bread, 'Twill be hard to catch us; but which, more poetically treated, might signify: Mortal, who eatest baken bread, Not for thee is the fairy's bed! One day some moist bread from the lake came floating ashore. The farmer seized it, and devoured it with avidity. The following day, to his great delight, he was successful in his chase, and caught the nymphs on the shore. After talking a long time with them, he mustered up the courage to propose marriage to one of them. She consented to accept him on condition that he would distinguish her from her sisters the next day. This was a new and great difficulty to the young farmer, for the damsels were so similar in form and features, that he could scarcely see any difference between them. He noted, however, a trifling singularity in the strapping of the chosen one's sandal, by which he recognized her on the following day. As good as her word, the gwraig immediately left the lake and went with him to his farm. Before she quitted the lake she summoned therefrom to attend her, seven cows, two oxen, and one bull. She stipulated that she should remain with the farmer only until such time as he should strike her thrice without cause. For some years they dwelt peaceably together, and she bore him three sons, who were the celebrated Meddygon Myddfai. One day, when preparing for a fair in the neighbourhood, the farmer desired her to go to the field for his horse. She said she would, but being rather dilatory, he said to her humorously 'Dôs, dôs, dôs,' i.e., 'Go, go, go,' and at the same time slightly tapped her arm three times with his glove.... The blows were slight--but they were blows. The terms of the marriage contract were broken, and the dame departed, summoning with her her seven cows, her two oxen, and the bull. The oxen were at that moment ploughing in the field, but they immediately obeyed her call and dragged the plough after them to the lake. The furrow, from the field in which they were ploughing to the margin of the lake, is still to be seen--in several parts of that country--at the present day. After her departure, the gwraig annwn once met her three sons in the valley now called Cwm Meddygon, and gave them a magic box containing remedies of wonderful power, through whose use they became celebrated. Their names were Cadogan, Gruffydd and Einion, and the farmer's name was Rhiwallon. Rhiwallon and his sons, named as above, were physicians to Rhys Gryg, Lord of Dynevor, and son of the last native prince of Wales. They lived about 1230, and dying, left behind them a compendium of their medical practice. 'A copy of their works is in the Welsh School Library in Gray's Inn Lane.'[26] FOOTNOTE: [26] 'Cambro-Briton,' ii., 315. V. In a more polished and elaborate form this legend omits the medical features altogether, but substitutes a number of details so peculiarly Welsh that I cannot refrain from presenting them. This version relates that the enamoured farmer had heard of the lake maiden, who rowed up and down the lake in a golden boat, with a golden oar. Her hair was long and yellow, and her face was pale and melancholy. In his desire to see this wondrous beauty, the farmer went on New Year's Eve to the edge of the lake, and in silence awaited the coming of the first hour of the new year. It came, and there in truth was the maiden in her golden boat, rowing softly to and fro. Fascinated, he stood for hours beholding her, until the stars faded out of the sky, the moon sank behind the rocks, and the cold gray dawn drew nigh; and then the lovely gwraig began to vanish from his sight. Wild with passion, and with the thought of losing her for ever, he cried aloud to the retreating vision, 'Stay! stay! Be my wife.' But the gwraig only uttered a faint cry, and was gone. Night after night the young farmer haunted the shores of the lake, but the gwraig returned no more. He became negligent of his person; his once robust form grew thin and wan; his face was a map of melancholy and despair. He went one day to consult a soothsayer who dwelt on the mountain, and this grave personage advised him to besiege the damsel's heart with gifts of bread and cheese. This counsel commending itself strongly to his Welsh way of thinking, the farmer set out upon an assiduous course of casting his bread upon the waters--accompanied by cheese. He began on Midsummer eve by going to the lake and dropping therein a large cheese and a loaf of bread. Night after night he continued to throw in loaves and cheeses, but nothing appeared in answer to his sacrifices. His hopes were set, however, on the approaching New Year's eve. The momentous night arrived at last. Clad in his best array, and armed with seven white loaves and his biggest and handsomest cheese, he set out once more for the lake. There he waited till midnight, and then slowly and solemnly dropped the seven loaves into the water, and with a sigh sent the cheese to keep them company. His persistence was at length rewarded. The magic skiff appeared; the fair gwraig guided it to where he stood; stepped ashore, and accepted him as her husband. The before-mentioned stipulation was made as to the blows; and she brought her dower of cattle. One day, after they had been four years married, they were invited to a christening. In the midst of the ceremony the gwraig burst into tears. Her husband gave her an angry look, and asked her why she thus made a fool of herself. She replied, 'The poor babe is entering a world of sin and sorrow; misery lies before it. Why should I rejoice?' He pushed her pettishly away. 'I warn you, husband,' said the gwraig; 'you have struck me once.' After a time they were bidden to the funeral of the child they had seen christened. Now the gwraig laughed, sang, and danced about. The husband's wrath again arose, and again he asked her why she thus made a fool of herself. She answered, 'The dear babe has escaped the misery that was before it, and gone to be good and happy for ever. Why should I grieve?' Again he pushed her from him, and again she warned him; he had struck her twice. Soon they were invited to a wedding; the bride was young and fair, the groom a tottering, toothless, decrepit old miser. In the midst of the wedding feast the gwraig annwn burst into tears, and to her husband's question why she thus made a fool of herself she replied, 'Truth is wedded to age for greed, and not for love--summer and winter cannot agree--it is the diawl's compact.' The angry husband thrust her from him for the third and last time. She looked at him with tender love and reproach, and said, 'The three blows are struck--husband, farewell!' He never saw her more, nor any of the flocks and herds she had brought him for her dowry. [Illustration: THE GWRAIG OF THE GOLDEN BOAT.] In its employment of the myth to preach a sermon, and in its introduction of cheese, this version of the legend is very Welsh indeed. The extent to which cheese figures in Cambrian folk-lore is surprising; cheese is encountered in every sort of fairy company; you actually meet cheese in the Mabinogion, along with the most romantic forms of beauty known in story. And herein again is illustrated Shakspeare's accurate knowledge of the Cambrian goblins. 'Heaven defend me from that Welsh fairy!' says Falstaff, 'lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!'[27] Bread is found figuring actively in the folk-lore of every country, especially as a sacrifice to water-gods; but cheese is, so far as I know, thus honoured only in Cambria. FOOTNOTE: [27] 'Merry Wives of Windsor,' Act V., Sc. 5. VI. Once more this legend appears, this time with a feature I have nowhere else encountered in fairy land, to wit, the father of a fairy damsel. The son of a farmer on Drws Coed farm was one foggy day looking after his father's sheep, when crossing a marshy meadow he beheld a little lady behind some rising ground. She had yellow hair, blue eyes and rosy cheeks. He approached her, and asked permission to converse; whereupon she smiled sweetly and said to him, 'Idol of my hopes, you have come at last!' They there and then began to 'keep company,' and met each other daily here and there along the farm meadows. His intentions were honourable; he desired her to marry him. He was sometimes absent for days together, no one knew where, and his friends whispered about that he had been witched. Around the Turf Lake (Llyn y Dywarchen) was a grove of trees, and under one of these one day the fairy promised to be his. The consent of her father was now necessary. One moonlight night an appointment was made to meet in this wood. The father and daughter did not appear till the moon had disappeared behind the hill. Then they both came. The fairy father immediately gave his consent to the marriage, on one condition, namely, that her future husband should never hit her with iron. 'If ever thou dost touch her flesh with iron she shall be no more thine, but she shall return to her own.' They were married--a good-looking pair. Large sums of money were brought by her, the night before the wedding, to Drws Coed. The shepherd lad became wealthy, had several handsome children, and they were very happy. After some years, they were one day out riding, when her horse sank in a deep mire, and by the assistance of her husband, in her hurry to remount, she was struck on her knee by the stirrup of the saddle. Immediately voices were heard singing on the brow of the hill, and she disappeared, leaving all her children behind. She and her mother devised a plan by which she could see her beloved, but as she was not allowed to walk the earth with man, they floated a large turf on the lake, and on this turf she stood for hours at a time holding converse with her husband. This continued until his death.[28] FOOTNOTE: [28] 'Cymru Fu,' 476. VII. The didactic purpose again appears in the following legend, which, varying but little in phraseology, is current in the neighbourhood of a dozen different mountain lakes: In other days, before the Cymry had become reconciled to their Saxon foe, on every New Year's morning a door was found open in a rock hard by the lake. Those mortals who had the curiosity and the resolution to enter this door were conducted by a secret passage to a small island in the middle of the lake. Here they found a most enchanting garden, stored with the choicest fruits and flowers, and inhabited by the Gwragedd Annwn, whose beauty could be equalled only by the courtesy and affability which they exhibited to those who pleased them. They gathered fruit and flowers for each of their guests, entertained them with the most exquisite music, disclosed to them many secrets of futurity, and invited them to stay as long as they liked. 'But,' said they, 'the island is secret, and nothing of its produce must be carried away.' The warning being heeded, all went well. But one day there appeared among the visitors a wicked Welshman, who, thinking to derive some magical aid therefrom, pocketed a flower with which he had been presented, and was about to leave the garden with his prize. But the theft boded him no good. As soon as he had touched unhallowed ground the flower vanished, and he lost his senses. However, of this abuse of their hospitality the Gwragedd Annwn took no notice at the time. They dismissed their guests with their accustomed courtesy, and the door was closed as usual. But their resentment was bitter; for though the fairies of the lake and their enchanted garden undoubtedly occupy the spot to this day, the door which led to the island has never been reopened. VIII. In all these legends the student of comparative folk-lore traces the ancient mythology, however overlain with later details. The water-maidens of every land doubtless originally were the floating clouds of the sky, or the mists of the mountain. From this have come certain fair and fanciful creations with which Indo-European folk-lore teems, the most familiar of which are Undine, Melusina, Nausicaa, and the classic Muse. In Wales, as in other lands, the myth has many forms. The dispersion of dark clouds from the mountains, by the beams of the rising sun, or the morning breezes, is localized in the legend of the Men of Ardudwy. These men make a raid on the maidens of the Vale of Clwyd, and are pursued and slaughtered by the latter's fathers and brothers. The maidens thereupon cast themselves headlong into the lake, which is thenceforth called the Maidens' Lake, or Llyn y Morwynion. In another legend, the river mist over the Cynwal is the spirit of a traitress who perished long ago in the lake. She had conspired with the sea-born pirates of the North (the ocean storms) to rob her Cambrian lord of his domains. She was defeated by the aid of a powerful enchanter (the sun), and fled up the river to the lake, accompanied by her maidens, who were drowned with her there.[29] FOOTNOTE: [29] 'Arch. Camb.,' 4th Se., vii., 251. IX. As the mermaid superstition is seemingly absent in Wales, so there are no fairy tales of maidens who lure mortals to their doom beneath the water, as the Dracæ did women and children, and as the Nymph of the Lurley did marriageable young men. But it is believed that there are several old Welsh families who are the descendants of the Gwragedd Annwn, as in the case of the Meddygon Myddfai. The familiar Welsh name of Morgan is sometimes thought to signify, 'Born of the Sea.' Certainly môr in Welsh means sea, and gân a birth. It is curious, too, that a mermaid is called in Basse Bretagne 'Mary Morgan.' But the class of stories in which a mortal marries a water-maiden is large, and while the local details smack of the soil, the general idea is so like in lands far remote from each other as to indicate a common origin in pre-historic times. In Wales, where the mountain lakes are numerous, gloomy, lonely, and yet lovely; where many of them, too, show traces of having been inhabited in ancient times by a race of lake-dwellers, whose pile-supported villages vanished ages ago; and where bread and cheese are as classic as beer and candles, these particulars are localized in the legend. In the Faro Islands, where the seal is a familiar yet ever-mysterious object, with its human-like eyes, and glossy skin, the wife of supernatural race is a transformed seal. She comes ashore every ninth night, sheds her skin, leaves it on the shore, and dances with her fairy companions. A mortal steals her sealskin dress, and when day breaks, and her companions return to their abode in the sea, compels her to remain and be his wife. Some day he offends her; she recovers her skin and plunges into the sea. In China, the superstition appears in a Lew-chewan legend mentioned by Dr. Dennys,[30] which relates how a fairy in the guise of a beautiful woman is found bathing in a man's well. He persuades her to marry him, and she remains with him for nine years, at the end of which time, despite the affection she has for their two children, she 'glides upwards into a cloud' and disappears. FOOTNOTE: [30] 'Folk-Lore of China,' 99. CHAPTER IV. Mountain Fairies--The Gwyllion--The Old Woman of the Mountain--The Black Mountain Gwyll--Exorcism by Knife--Occult Intellectual Powers of Welsh Goats--The Legend of Cadwaladr's Goat. I. The Gwyllion are female fairies of frightful characteristics, who haunt lonely roads in the Welsh mountains, and lead night-wanderers astray. They partake somewhat of the aspect of the Hecate of Greek mythology, who rode on the storm, and was a hag of horrid guise. The Welsh word gwyll is variously used to signify gloom, shade, duskiness, a hag, a witch, a fairy, and a goblin; but its special application is to these mountain fairies of gloomy and harmful habits, as distinct from the Ellyllon of the forest glades and dingles, which are more often beneficent. The Gwyllion take on a more distinct individuality under another name--as the Ellyllon do in mischievous Puck--and the Old Woman of the Mountain typifies all her kind. She is very carefully described by the Prophet Jones,[31] in the guise in which she haunted Llanhiddel Mountain in Monmouthshire. This was the semblance of a poor old woman, with an oblong four-cornered hat, ash-coloured clothes, her apron thrown across her shoulder, with a pot or wooden can in her hand, such as poor people carry to fetch milk with, always going before the spectator, and sometimes crying 'Wow up!' This is an English form of a Welsh cry of distress, 'Wwb!' or 'Ww-bwb!'[32] Those who saw this apparition, whether by night or on a misty day, would be sure to lose their way, though they might be perfectly familiar with the road. Sometimes they heard her cry, 'Wow up!' when they did not see her. Sometimes when they went out by night, to fetch coal, water, etc., the dwellers near that mountain would hear the cry very close to them, and immediately after they would hear it afar off, as if it were on the opposite mountain, in the parish of Aberystruth. The popular tradition in that district was that the Old Woman of the Mountain was the spirit of one Juan White, who lived time out of mind in those parts, and was thought to be a witch; because the mountains were not haunted in this manner until after Juan White's death.[33] When people first lost their way, and saw her before them, they used to hurry forward and try to catch her, supposing her to be a flesh-and-blood woman, who could set them right; but they never could overtake her, and she on her part never looked back; so that no man ever saw her face. She has also been seen in the Black Mountain in Breconshire. Robert Williams, of Langattock, Crickhowel, 'a substantial man and of undoubted veracity,' tells this tale: As he was travelling one night over part of the Black Mountain, he saw the Old Woman, and at the same time found he had lost his way. Not knowing her to be a spectre he hallooed to her to stay for him, but receiving no answer thought she was deaf. He then hastened his steps, thinking to overtake her, but the faster he ran the further he found himself behind her, at which he wondered very much, not knowing the reason of it. He presently found himself stumbling in a marsh, at which discovery his vexation increased; and then he heard the Old Woman laughing at him with a weird, uncanny, crackling old laugh. This set him to thinking she might be a gwyll; and when he happened to draw out his knife for some purpose, and the Old Woman vanished, then he was sure of it; for Welsh ghosts and fairies are afraid of a knife. FOOTNOTES: [31] See p. 104. [32] Pronounced Wooboob. [33] 'Juan (Shuï) White is an old acquaintance of my boyhood,' writes to me a friend who was born some thirty years ago in Monmouthshire. 'A ruined cottage on the Lasgarn hill near Pontypool was understood by us boys to have been her house, and there she appeared at 12 p.m., carrying her head under her arm.' II. Another account relates that John ap John, of Cwm Celyn, set out one morning before daybreak to walk to Caerleon Fair. As he ascended Milfre Mountain he heard a shouting behind him as if it were on Bryn Mawr, which is a part of the Black Mountain in Breconshire. Soon after he heard the shouting on his left hand, at Bwlch y Llwyn, nearer to him, whereupon he was seized with a great fright, and began to suspect it was no human voice. He had already been wondering, indeed, what any one could be doing at that hour in the morning, shouting on the mountain side. Still going on, he came up higher on the mountain, when he heard the shouting just before him, at Gilfach fields, to the right--and now he was sure it was the Old Woman of the Mountain, who purposed leading him astray. Presently he heard behind him the noise of a coach, and with it the special cry of the Old Woman of the Mountain, viz., 'Wow up!' Knowing very well that no coach could go that way, and still hearing its noise approaching nearer and nearer, he became thoroughly terrified, and running out of the road threw himself down upon the ground and buried his face in the heath, waiting for the phantom to pass. When it was gone out of hearing, he arose; and hearing the birds singing as the day began to break, also seeing some sheep before him, his fear went quite off. And this, says the Prophet Jones, was 'no profane, immoral man,' but 'an honest, peaceable, knowing man, and a very comely person' moreover. III. The exorcism by knife appears to be a Welsh notion; though there is an old superstition of wide prevalence in Europe that to give to or receive from a friend a knife or a pair of scissors cuts friendship. I have even encountered this superstition in America; once an editorial friend at Indianapolis gave me a very handsome pocket-knife, which he refused to part with except at the price of one cent, lawful coin of the realm, asserting that we should become enemies without this precaution. In China, too, special charms are associated with knives, and a knife which has slain a fellow-being is an invaluable possession. In Wales, according to Jones, the Gwyllion often came into the houses of the people at Aberystruth, especially in stormy weather, and the inmates made them welcome--not through any love they bore them, but through fear of the hurts the Gwyllion might inflict if offended--by providing clean water for them, and taking especial care that no knife, or other cutting tool, should be in the corner near the fire, where the fairies would go to sit. 'For want of which care many were hurt by them.' While it was desirable to exorcise them when in the open air, it was not deemed prudent to display an inhospitable spirit towards any member of the fairy world. The cases of successful exorcism by knife are many, and nothing in the realm of faerie is better authenticated. There was Evan Thomas, who, travelling by night over Bedwellty Mountain, towards the valley of Ebwy Fawr, where his house and estate were, saw the Gwyllion on each side of him, some of them dancing around him in fantastic fashion. He also heard the sound of a bugle-horn winding in the air, and there seemed to be invisible hunters riding by. He then began to be afraid, but recollected his having heard that any person seeing Gwyllion may drive them away by drawing out a knife. So he drew out his knife, and the fairies vanished directly. Now Evan Thomas was 'an old gentleman of such strict veracity that he' on one occasion 'did confess a truth against himself,' when he was 'like to suffer loss' thereby, and notwithstanding he 'was persuaded by some not to do it, yet he would persist in telling the truth, to his own hurt.' Should we find, in tracing these notions back to their source, that they are connected with Arthur's sword Excalibur? If so, there again we touch the primeval world. Jones says that the Old Woman of the Mountain has, since about 1800, (at least in South Wales,) been driven into close quarters by the light of the Gospel--in fact, that she now haunts mines--or in the preacher's formal words, 'the coal-pits and holes of the earth.' IV. Among the traditions of the origin of the Gwyllion is one which associates them with goats. Goats are in Wales held in peculiar esteem for their supposed occult intellectual powers. They are believed to be on very good terms with the Tylwyth Teg, and possessed of more knowledge than their appearance indicates. It is one of the peculiarities of the Tylwyth Teg that every Friday night they comb the goats' beards to make them decent for Sunday. Their association with the Gwyllion is related in the legend of Cadwaladr's goat: Cadwaladr owned a very handsome goat, named Jenny, of which he was extremely fond; and which seemed equally fond of him; but one day, as if the very diawl possessed her, she ran away into the hills, with Cadwaladr tearing after her, half mad with anger and affright. At last his Welsh blood got so hot, as the goat eluded him again and again, that he flung a stone at her, which knocked her over a precipice, and she fell bleating to her doom. Cadwaladr made his way to the foot of the crag; the goat was dying, but not dead, and licked his hand--which so affected the poor man that he burst into tears, and sitting on the ground took the goat's head on his arm. The moon rose, and still he sat there. Presently he found that the goat had become transformed to a beautiful young woman, whose brown eyes, as her head lay on his arm, looked into his in a very disturbing way. 'Ah, Cadwaladr,' said she, 'have I at last found you?' Now Cadwaladr had a wife at home, and was much discomfited by this singular circumstance; but when the goat--yn awr maiden--arose, and putting her black slipper on the end of a moonbeam, held out her hand to him, he put his hand in hers and went with her. As for the hand, though it looked so fair, it felt just like a hoof. They were soon on the top of the highest mountain in Wales, and surrounded by a vapoury company of goats with shadowy horns. These raised a most unearthly bleating about his ears. One, which seemed to be the king, had a voice that sounded above the din as the castle bells of Carmarthen used to do long ago above all the other bells in the town. This one rushed at Cadwaladr and butting him in the stomach sent him toppling over a crag as he had sent his poor nannygoat. When he came to himself, after his fall, the morning sun was shining on him and the birds were singing over his head. But he saw no more of either his goat or the fairy she had turned into, from that time to his death. CHAPTER V. Changelings--The Plentyn-newid--The Cruel Creed of Ignorance regarding Changelings--Modes of Ridding the House of the Fairy Child--The Legend of the Frugal Meal--Legend of the Place of Strife--Dewi Dal and the Fairies--Prevention of Fairy Kidnapping--Fairies caught in the Act by Mothers--Piety as an Exorcism. I. The Tylwyth Teg have a fatal admiration for lovely children. Hence the abundant folk-lore concerning infants who have been stolen from their cradles, and a plentyn-newid (change-child--the equivalent of our changeling) left in its place by the Tylwyth Teg. The plentyn-newid has the exact appearance of the stolen infant, at first; but its aspect speedily alters. It grows ugly of face, shrivelled of form, ill-tempered, wailing, and generally frightful. It bites and strikes, and becomes a terror to the poor mother. Sometimes it is idiotic; but again it has a supernatural cunning, not only impossible in a mortal babe, but not even appertaining to the oldest heads, on other than fairy shoulders. The veracious Prophet Jones testifies to a case where he himself saw the plentyn-newid--an idiot left in the stead of a son of Edmund John William, of the Church Valley, Monmouthshire. Says Jones: 'I saw him myself. There was something diabolical in his aspect,' but especially in his motions. He 'made very disagreeable screaming sounds,' which used to frighten strangers greatly, but otherwise he was harmless. He was of a 'dark, tawny complexion.' He lived longer than such children usually lived in Wales in that day, (a not altogether pleasant intimation regarding the hard lot to which such children were subjected by their unwilling parents,) reaching the age of ten or twelve years. But the creed of ignorance everywhere as regards changelings is a very cruel one, and reminds us of the tests of the witchcraft trials. Under the pretence of proving whether the objectionable baby is a changeling or not, it is held on a shovel over the fire, or it is bathed in a solution of the fox-glove, which kills it; a case where this test was applied is said to have actually occurred in Carnarvonshire in 1857. That there is nothing specially Welsh in this, needs not to be pointed out. Apart from the fact that infanticide, like murder, is of no country, similar practices as to changelings have prevailed in most European lands, either to test the child's uncanny quality, or, that being admitted, to drive it away and thus compel the fairies to restore the missing infant. In Denmark the mother heats the oven, and places the changeling on the peel, pretending to put it in; or whips it severely with a rod; or throws it into the water. In Sweden they employ similar methods. In Ireland the hot shovel is used. With regard to a changeling which Martin Luther tells of in his 'Colloquia Mensalia,' the great reformer declared to the Prince of Anhalt, that if he were prince of that country he would 'venture _homicidium_ thereon, and would throw it into the River Moldaw.' He admonished the people to pray devoutly to God to take away the devil, which 'was done accordingly; and the second year after the changeling died.' It is hardly probable that the child was very well fed during the two years that this pious process was going on. Its starved ravenous appetite indeed is indicated in Luther's description: It 'would eat as much as two threshers, would laugh and be joyful when any evil happened in the house, but would cry and be very sad when all went well.' II. A story, told in various forms in Wales, preserves a tradition of an exceedingly frugal meal which was employed as a means of banishing a plentyn-newid. M. Villemarqué, when in Glamorganshire, heard this story, which he found to be precisely the same as a Breton legend, in which the changeling utters a rhymed triad as follows: Gweliz vi ken guelet iar wenn, Gweliz mez ken gwelet gwezen. Gweliz mez ha gweliz gwial, Gweliz derven e Koat Brezal, Biskoaz na weliz kemend all. In the Glamorgan story the changeling was heard muttering to himself in a cracked voice: 'I have seen the acorn before I saw the oak: I have seen the egg before I saw the white hen: I have never seen the like of this.' M. Villemarqué found it remarkable that these words form in Welsh a rhymed triad nearly the same as in the Breton ballad, thus: Gweliz mez ken gwelet derven, Gweliz vi ken gwelet iar wenn, Erioez ne wiliz evelhenn.[34] Whence he concluded that the story and the rhyme are older than the seventh century, the epoch of the separation of the Britons of Wales and Armorica. And this is the story: A mother whose child had been stolen, and a changeling left in its place, was advised by the Virgin Mary to prepare a meal for ten farm-servants in an egg-shell, which would make the changeling speak. This she did, and the changeling asked what she was about. She told him. Whereupon he exclaimed, 'A meal for ten, dear mother, in one egg-shell?' Then he uttered the exclamation given above, ('I have seen the acorn,' etc.,) and the mother replied, 'You have seen too many things, my son, you shall have a beating.' With this she fell to beating him, the child fell to bawling, and the fairy came and took him away, leaving the stolen child sleeping sweetly in the cradle. It awoke and said, 'Ah, mother, I have been a long time asleep!' FOOTNOTE: [34] Keightley, 'Fairy Mythology,' 437. III. I have encountered this tale frequently among the Welsh, and it always keeps in the main the likeness of M. Villemarqué's story. The following is a nearly literal version as related in Radnorshire (an adjoining county to Montgomeryshire), and which, like most of these tales, is characterised by the non-primitive tendency to give names of localities: 'In the parish of Trefeglwys, near Llanidloes, in the county of Montgomery, there is a little shepherd's cot that is commonly called the Place of Strife, on account of the extraordinary strife that has been there. The inhabitants of the cottage were a man and his wife, and they had born to them twins, whom the woman nursed with great care and tenderness. Some months after, indispensable business called the wife to the house of one of her nearest neighbours, yet notwithstanding that she had not far to go, she did not like to leave her children by themselves in their cradle, even for a minute, as her house was solitary, and there were many tales of goblins, or the Tylwyth Teg, haunting the neighbourhood. However, she went and returned as soon as she could;' but on her way back she was 'not a little terrified at seeing, though it was midday, some of the old elves of the blue petticoat.' She hastened home in great apprehension; but all was as she had left it, so that her mind was greatly relieved. 'But after some time had passed by, the good people began to wonder that the twins did not grow at all, but still continued little dwarfs. The man would have it that they were not his children; the woman said they must be their children, and about this arose the great strife between them that gave name to the place. One evening when the woman was very heavy of heart, she determined to go and consult a conjuror, feeling assured that everything was known to him.... Now there was to be a harvest soon of the rye and oats, so the wise man said to her, "When you are preparing dinner for the reapers, empty the shell of a hen's egg, and boil the shell full of pottage, and take it out through the door as if you meant it for a dinner to the reapers, and then listen what the twins will say; if you hear the children speaking things above the understanding of children, return into the house, take them and throw them into the waves of Llyn Ebyr, which is very near to you; but if you don't hear anything remarkable do them no injury." And when the day of the reaping came, the woman did as her adviser had recommended to her; and as she went outside the door to listen she heard one of the children say to the other: Gwelais fesen cyn gweled derwen; Gwelais wy cyn gweled iâr; Erioed ni welais ferwi bwyd i fedel Mewn plisgyn wy iâr! Acorns before oak I knew; An egg before a hen; Never one hen's egg-shell stew Enough for harvest men! 'On this the mother returned to her house and took the two children and threw them into the Llyn; and suddenly the goblins in their blue trousers came to save their dwarfs, and the mother had her own children back again; and thus the strife between her and her husband ended.'[35] FOOTNOTE: [35] 'Cambrian Quarterly,' ii., 86. IV. This class of story is not always confined to the case of the plentyn-newid, as I have said. It is applied to the household fairy, when the latter, as in the following instance, appears to have brought a number of extremely noisy friends and acquaintances to share his shelter. Dewi Dal was a farmer, whose house was over-run with fairies, so that he could not sleep of nights for the noise they made. Dewi consulted a wise man of Taiar, who entrusted Dewi's wife to do certain things, which she did carefully, as follows: 'It was the commencement of oat harvest, when Cae Mawr, or the big field, which it took fifteen men to mow in a day, was ripe for the harvesters. "I will prepare food for the fifteen men who are going to mow Cae Mawr to-morrow," said Eurwallt, the wife, aloud. "Yes, do," replied Dewi, also aloud, so that the fairies might hear, "and see that the food is substantial and sufficient for the hard work before them." Said Eurwallt, "The fifteen men shall have no reason to complain upon that score. They shall be fed according to our means." Then when evening was come Eurwallt prepared food for the harvesters' sustenance upon the following day. Having procured a sparrow, she trussed it like a fowl, and roasted it by the kitchen fire. She then placed some salt in a nut-shell, and set the sparrow and the salt, with a small piece of bread, upon the table, ready for the fifteen men's support while mowing Cae Mawr. So when the fairies beheld the scanty provision made for so many men, they said "Let us quickly depart from this place, for alas! the means of our hosts are exhausted. Who before this was ever so reduced in circumstances as to serve up a sparrow for the day's food of fifteen men?" So they departed upon that very night. And Dewi Dal and his family lived, ever afterwards, in comfort and peace.'[36] FOOTNOTE: [36] Rev. T. R. Lloyd (Estyn), in 'The Principality.' V. The Welsh fairies have several times been detected in the act of carrying off a child; and in these cases, if the mother has been sufficiently energetic in her objections, they have been forced to abandon their purpose. Dazzy Walter, the wife of Abel Walter, of Ebwy Fawr, one night in her husband's absence awoke in her bed and found her baby was not at her side. In great fright she sought for it, and caught it with her hand upon the boards above the bed, which was as far as the fairies had succeeded in carrying it. And Jennet Francis, of that same valley of Ebwy Fawr, one night in bed felt her infant son being taken from her arms; whereupon she screamed and hung on, and, as she phrased it, 'God and me were too hard for them.' This son subsequently grew up and became a famous preacher of the gospel. [Illustration: JENNET FRANCIS STRUGGLES WITH THE FAIRIES FOR HER BABY.] There are special exorcisms and preventive measures to interfere with the fairies in their quest of infants. The most significant of these, throughout Cambria, is a general habit of piety. Any pious exclamation has value as an exorcism; but it will not serve as a preventive. To this end you must put a knife in the child's cradle when you leave it alone, or you must lay a pair of tongs across the cradle. But the best preventive is baptism; it is usually the unbaptised infant that is stolen. So in Friesland, Germany, it is considered a protection against the fairies who deal in changelings, to lay a Bible under the child's pillow. In Thuringia it is deemed an infallible preventive to hang the father's breeches against the wall. Anything more trivial than this, as a matter for the consideration of grave and scholarly men, one could hardly imagine; but it is in precisely these trivial or seemingly trivial details that the student of comparative folk-lore finds his most extraordinary indices. Such a superstition in isolation would suggest nothing; but it is found again in Scotland,[37] and other countries, including China, where 'a pair of the trousers of the child's father are put on the frame of the bedstead in such a way that the waist shall hang downward or be lower than the legs. On the trousers is stuck a piece of red paper, having four words written upon it intimating that all unfavourable influences are to go into the trousers instead of afflicting the babe.'[38] FOOTNOTES: [37] Henderson, 'Notes on the Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties,' 6. [38] See Doolittle's 'Social Life of the Chinese.' CHAPTER VI. Living with the Tylwyth Teg--The Tale of Elidurus--Shuï Rhys and the Fairies--St. Dogmell's Parish, Pembrokeshire--Dancing with the Ellyllon--The Legend of Rhys and Llewellyn--Death from joining in the Fairy Reel--Legend of the Bush of Heaven--The Forest of the Magic Yew--The Tale of Twm and Iago--Taffy ap Sion, a Legend of Pencader--The Traditions of Pant Shon Shenkin--Tudur of Llangollen; the Legend of Nant yr Ellyllon--Polly Williams and the Trefethin Elves--The Fairies of Frennifawr--Curiosity Tales--The Fiend Master--Iago ap Dewi--The Original of Rip van Winkle. I. Closely akin to the subject of changelings is that of adults or well-grown children being led away to live with the Tylwyth Teg. In this field the Welsh traditions are innumerable, and deal not only with the last century or two, but distinctly with the middle ages. Famed among British goblins are those fairies which are immortalised in the Tale of Elidurus. This tale was written in Latin by Giraldus Cambrensis (as he called himself, after the pedantic fashion of his day), a Welshman, born at Pembroke Castle, and a hearty admirer of everything Welsh, himself included. He was beyond doubt a man of genius, and of profound learning. In 1188 he made a tour through Wales, in the interest of the crusade then in contemplation, and afterwards wrote his book--a fascinating picture of manners and customs in Wales in the twelfth century. The scene of the tale is that Vale of Neath, already named as a famous centre of fairyland. Elidurus, when a youth of twelve years, 'in order to avoid the severity of his preceptor,' ran away from school, 'and concealed himself under the hollow bank of a river.' After he had fasted in that situation for two days, 'two little men of pigmy stature appeared to him,' and said, 'If you will go with us, we will lead you into a country full of delights and sports.' Assenting, Elidurus rose up and 'followed his guides through a path at first subterraneous and dark, into a most beautiful country, but obscure and not illuminated with the full light of the sun.' All the days in that country 'were cloudy, and the nights extremely dark.' The boy was brought before the king of the strange little people, and introduced to him in the presence of his Court. Having examined Elidurus for a long time, the king delivered him to his son, that prince being then a boy. The men of this country, though of the smallest stature, were very well proportioned, fair-complexioned, and wore long hair. 'They had horses and greyhounds adapted to their size. They neither ate flesh nor fish, but lived on milk-diet, made up into messes with saffron. As often as they returned from our hemisphere, they reprobated our ambition, infidelities, and inconstancies; and though they had no form of public worship, were, it seems, strict lovers and reverers of truth. The boy frequently returned to our hemisphere, sometimes by the way he had gone, sometimes by others; at first in company, and afterwards alone; and made himself known only to his mother, to whom he described what he had seen. Being desired by her to bring her a present of gold, with which that country abounded, he stole, whilst at play with the king's son, a golden ball with which he used to divert himself, and brought it in haste to his mother, but not unpursued; for, as he entered the house of his father, he stumbled at the threshold;' the ball fell, 'and two pigmies seizing it, departed, showing the boy every mark of contempt and derision. Notwithstanding every attempt for the space of a year, he never again could find the track to the subterraneous passage.' He had made himself acquainted with the language of his late hosts, 'which was very conformable to the Greek idiom. When they asked for water, they said _Udor udorum_; when they want salt, they say _Halgein udorum_.'[39] FOOTNOTE: [39] See Sir R. C. Hoare's Translation of Giraldus. II. Exactly similar to this medieval legend in spirit, although differing widely in detail, is the modern story of Shuï Rhys, told to me by a peasant in Cardiganshire. Shuï was a beautiful girl of seventeen, tall and fair, with a skin like ivory, hair black and curling, and eyes of dark velvet. She was but a poor farmer's daughter, notwithstanding her beauty, and among her duties was that of driving up the cows for the milking. Over this work she used to loiter sadly, to pick flowers by the way, or chase the butterflies, or amuse herself in any agreeable manner that fortune offered. For her loitering she was often chided; indeed, people said Shuï's mother was far too sharp with the girl, and that it was for no good the mother had so bitter a tongue. After all the girl meant no harm, they said. But when one night Shuï never came home till bed-time, leaving the cows to care for themselves, dame Rhys took the girl to task as she never had done before. 'Ysgwaetheroedd, mami,' said Shuï, 'I couldn't help it; it was the Tylwyth Teg.' The dame was aghast at this, but she could not answer it--for well she knew the Tylwyth Teg were often seen in the woods of Cardigan. Shuï was at first shy about talking of the fairies, but finally confessed they were little men in green coats, who danced around her and made music on their tiny harps; and they talked to her in language too beautiful to be repeated; indeed she couldn't understand the words, though she knew well enough what the fairies meant. Many a time after that Shuï was late; but now nobody chided her, for fear of offending the fairies. At last one night Shuï did not come home at all. In alarm the woods were searched; there was no sign of her; and never was she seen in Cardigan again. Her mother watched in the fields on the Teir-nos Ysprydion, or three nights of the year when goblins are sure to be abroad; but Shuï never returned. Once indeed there came back to the neighbourhood a wild rumour that Shuï Rhys had been seen in a great city in a foreign land--Paris, perhaps, or London, who knows? but this tale was in no way injurious to the sad belief that the fairies had carried her off; they might take her to those well-known centres of idle and sinful pleasure, as well as to any other place. [Illustration: SHUÏ RHYS AND THE TYLWYTH TEG.] III. An old man who died in St. Dogmell's parish, Pembrokeshire, a short time since (viz., in 1860), nearly a hundred years old, used to say that that whole neighbourhood was considered 'fou.' It was a common experience for men to be led astray there all night, and after marvellous adventures and untellable trampings, which seemed as if they would be endless, to find when day broke that they were close to their own homes. In one case, a man who was led astray chanced to have with him a number of hoop-rods, and as he wandered about under the influence of the deluding phantom, he was clever enough to drop the rods one by one, so that next day he might trace his journeyings. When daylight came, and the search for the hoop-rods was entered on, it was found they were scattered over miles upon miles of country. Another time, a St. Dogmell's fisherman was returning home from a wedding at Moelgrove, and it being very dark, the fairies led him astray, but after a few hours he had the good luck (which Sir John Franklin might have envied him) to 'discover the North Pole,' and by this beacon he was able to steer his staggering barque to the safe port of his own threshold. It is even gravely stated that a severe and dignified clerical person, no longer in the frisky time of life, but advanced in years, was one night forced to join in the magic dance of St. Dogmell's, and keep it up till nearly daybreak. Specific details in this instance are wanting; but it was no doubt the Ellyllon who led all these folk astray, and put a cap of oblivion on their heads, which prevented them from ever telling their adventures clearly. IV. Dancing and music play a highly important part in stories of this class. The Welsh fairies are most often dancing together when seen. They seek to entice mortals to dance with them, and when anyone is drawn to do so, it is more than probable he will not return to his friends for a long time. Edmund William Rees, of Aberystruth, was thus drawn away by the fairies, and came back at the year's end, looking very bad. But he could not give a very clear account of what he had been about, only said he had been dancing. This was a common thing in these cases. Either they were not able to, or they dared not, talk about their experiences. Two farm servants named Rhys and Llewellyn were one evening at twilight returning home from their work, when Rhys cried out that he heard the fairy music. Llewellyn could hear nothing, but Rhys said it was a tune to which he had danced a hundred times, and would again, and at once. 'Go on,' says he, 'and I'll soon catch you up again.' Llewellyn objected, but Rhys stopped to hear no more; he bounded away and left Llewellyn to go home alone, which he did, believing Rhys had merely gone off on a spree, and would come home drunk before morning. But the morning came, and no Rhys. In vain search was made, still no Rhys. Time passed on; days grew into months; and at last suspicion fell on Llewellyn, that he had murdered Rhys. He was put in prison. A farmer learned in fairy-lore, suspecting how it was, proposed that he and a company of neighbours should go with poor Llewellyn to the spot where he had last seen Rhys. Agreed. Arrived at the spot, 'Hush,' cried Llewellyn, 'I hear music! I hear the sweet music of the harps!' They all listened, but could hear nothing. 'Put your foot on mine, David,' says Llewellyn to one of the company; his own foot was on the outward edge of a fairy ring as he spoke. David put his foot on Llewellyn's, and so did they all, one after another; and then they heard the sound of many harps, and saw within a circle about twenty feet across, great numbers of little people dancing round and round. And there was Rhys, dancing away like a madman! As he came whirling by, Llewellyn caught him by his smock-frock and pulled him out of the circle. 'Where are the horses? where are the horses?' cried Rhys in an excited manner. 'Horses, indeed!' sneered Llewellyn, in great disgust; 'wfft! go home. Horses!' But Rhys was for dancing longer, declaring he had not been there five minutes. 'You've been there,' says Llewellyn, 'long enough to come near getting me hanged, anyhow.' They got him home finally, but he was never the same man again, and soon after he died. V. In the great majority of these stories the hero dies immediately after his release from the thraldom of the fairies--in some cases with a suddenness and a completeness of obliteration as appalling as dramatic. The following story, well known in Carmarthenshire, presents this detail with much force: There was a certain farmer who, while going early one morning to fetch his horses from the pasture, heard harps playing. Looking carefully about for the source of this music, he presently saw a company of Tylwyth Teg footing it merrily in a corelw. Resolving to join their dance and cultivate their acquaintance, the farmer stepped into the fairy ring. Never had man his resolution more thoroughly carried out, for having once begun the reel he was not allowed to finish it till years had elapsed. Even then he might not have been released, had it not chanced that a man one day passed by the lonely spot, so close to the ring that he saw the farmer dancing. 'Duw catto ni!' cried the man, 'God save us! but this is a merry one. Hai, holo! man, what, in Heaven's name, makes you so lively?' This question, in which the name of Heaven was uttered, broke the spell which rested on the farmer, who spoke like one in a dream: 'O dyn!' cried he, 'what's become of the horses?' Then he stepped from the fairy circle and instantly crumbled away and mingled his dust with the earth. A similar tale is told in Carnarvon, but with the fairy dance omitted and a pious character substituted, which helps to indicate the antiquity of this class of legend, by showing that it was one of the monkish adoptions of an earlier story. Near Clynog, in Carnarvonshire, there is a place called Llwyn y Nef, (the Bush of Heaven,) which thus received its name: In Clynog lived a monk of most devout life, who longed to be taken to heaven. One evening, whilst walking without the monastery by the riverside, he sat down under a green tree and fell into a deep reverie, which ended in sleep; and he slept for thousands of years. At last he heard a voice calling unto him, 'Sleeper, awake and be up.' He awoke. All was strange to him except the old monastery, which still looked down upon the river. He went to the monastery, and was made much of. He asked for a bed to rest himself on and got it. Next morning when the brethren sought him, they found nothing in the bed but a handful of ashes.[40] So in the monkish tale of the five saints, who sleep in the cave of Caio, reappears the legend of Arthur's sleeping warriors under Craig-y-Ddinas. FOOTNOTE: [40] 'Cymru Fu,' 188. VI. [Illustration: PLUCKED FROM THE FAIRY CIRCLE.] A tradition is current in Mathavarn, in the parish of Llanwrin, and the Cantref of Cyfeillioc, concerning a certain wood called Ffridd yr Ywen, (the Forest of the Yew,) that it is so called on account of a magical yew-tree which grows exactly in the middle of the forest. Under that tree there is a fairy circle called The Dancing Place of the Goblin. There are several fairy circles in the Forest of the Yew, but the one under the yew-tree in the middle has this legend connected with it: Many years ago, two farm-servants, whose names were Twm and Iago, went out one day to work in the Forest of the Yew. Early in the afternoon the country became covered with so dense a mist that the youths thought the sun was setting, and they prepared to go home; but when they came to the yew-tree in the middle of the forest, suddenly they found all light around them. They now thought it too early to go home, and concluded to lie down under the yew-tree and have a nap. By-and-by Twm awoke, to find his companion gone. He was much surprised at this, but concluded Iago had gone to the village on an errand of which they had been speaking before they fell asleep. So Twm went home, and to all inquiries concerning Iago, he answered, 'Gone to the cobbler's in the village.' But Iago was still absent next morning, and now Twm was cross-questioned severely as to what had become of his fellow-servant. Then he confessed that they had fallen asleep under the yew where the fairy circle was, and from that moment he had seen nothing more of Iago. They searched the whole forest over, and the whole country round, for many days, and finally Twm went to a gwr cyfarwydd (or conjuror), a common trade in those days, says the legend. The conjuror gave him this advice: 'Go to the same place where you and the lad slept. Go there exactly a year after the boy was lost. Let it be on the same day of the year and at the same time of the day; but take care that you do not step inside the fairy ring. Stand on the border of the green circle you saw there, and the boy will come out with many of the goblins to dance. When you see him so near to you that you may take hold of him, snatch him out of the ring as quickly as you can.' These instructions were obeyed. Iago appeared, dancing in the ring with the Tylwyth Teg, and was promptly plucked forth. 'Duw! Duw!' cried Tom, 'how wan and pale you look! And don't you feel hungry too?' 'No,' said the boy, 'and if I did, have I not here in my wallet the remains of my dinner that I had before I fell asleep?' But when he looked in his wallet, the food was not there. 'Well, it must be time to go home,' he said, with a sigh; for he did not know that a year had passed by. His look was like a skeleton, and as soon as he had tasted food, he mouldered away. VII. Taffy ap Sion, the shoemaker's son, living near Pencader, Carmarthenshire, was a lad who many years ago entered the fairy circle on the mountain hard by there, and having danced a few minutes, as he supposed, chanced to step out. He was then astonished to find that the scene which had been so familiar was now quite strange to him. Here were roads and houses he had never seen, and in place of his father's humble cottage there now stood a fine stone farm-house. About him were lovely cultivated fields instead of the barren mountain he was accustomed to. 'Ah,' thought he, 'this is some fairy trick to deceive my eyes. It is not ten minutes since I stepped into that circle, and now when I step out they have built my father a new house! Well, I only hope it is real; anyhow, I'll go and see.' So he started off by a path he knew instinctively, and suddenly struck against a very solid hedge. He rubbed his eyes, felt the hedge with his fingers, scratched his head, felt the hedge again, ran a thorn into his fingers and cried out, 'Wbwb! this is no fairy hedge anyhow, nor, from the age of the thorns, was it grown in a few minutes' time.' So he climbed over it and walked on. 'Here was I born,' said he, as he entered the farmyard, staring wildly about him, 'and not a thing here do I know!' His mystification was complete when there came bounding towards him a huge dog, barking furiously. 'What dog is this? Get out, you ugly brute! Don't you know I'm master here?--at least, when mother's from home, for father don't count.' But the dog only barked the harder. 'Surely,' muttered Taffy to himself, 'I have lost my road and am wandering through some unknown neighbourhood; but no, yonder is the Careg Hir!' and he stood staring at the well-known erect stone thus called, which still stands on the mountain south of Pencader, and is supposed to have been placed there in ancient times to commemorate a victory. As Taffy stood thus looking at the Long Stone, he heard footsteps behind him, and turning, beheld the occupant of the farm-house, who had come out to see why his dog was barking. Poor Taffy was so ragged and wan that the farmer's Welsh heart was at once stirred to sympathy. 'Who are you, poor man?' he asked. To which Taffy answered, 'I know who I was, but I do not know who I _am now_. I was the son of a shoemaker who lived in this place, this morning; for that rock, though it is changed a little, I know too well.' 'Poor fellow,' said the farmer, 'you have lost your senses. This house was built by my great-grandfather, repaired by my grandfather; and that part there, which seems newly built, was done about three years ago at my expense. You must be deranged, or have missed the road; but come in and refresh yourself with some victuals, and rest.' Taffy was half persuaded that he had overslept himself and lost his road, but looking back he saw the rock before mentioned, and exclaimed, 'It is but an hour since I was on yonder rock robbing a hawk's nest.' 'Where have you been since?' Taffy related his adventure. 'Ah,' quoth the farmer, 'I see how it is--you have been with the fairies. Pray, who was your father?' 'Sion Evan y Crydd o Glanrhyd,' was the answer. 'I never heard of such a man,' said the farmer, shaking his head, 'nor of such a place as Glanrhyd, either: but no matter, after you have taken a little food we will step down to Catti Shon, at Pencader, who will probably be able to tell us something.' With this he beckoned Taffy to follow him, and walked on; but hearing behind him the sound of footsteps growing weaker and weaker, he turned round, when to his horror he beheld the poor fellow crumble in an instant to about a thimbleful of black ashes. The farmer, though much terrified at this sight, preserved his calmness sufficiently to go at once and see old Catti, the aged crone he had referred to, who lived at Pencader, near by. He found her crouching over a fire of faggots, trying to warm her old bones. 'And how do you do the day, Catti Shon?' asked the farmer. 'Ah,' said old Catti, 'I'm wonderful well, farmer, considering how old I am.' 'Yes, yes, you're very old. Now, since you are so old, let me ask you--do you remember anything about Sion y Crydd o Glanrhyd? Was there ever such a man, do you know?' 'Sion Glanrhyd? O! I have some faint recollection of hearing my grandfather, old Evan Shenkin, Penferdir, relate that Sion's son was lost one morning, and they never heard of him afterwards, so that it was said he was taken by the fairies. His father's cot stood somewhere near your house.' 'Were there many fairies about at that time?' asked the farmer. 'O yes; they were often seen on yonder hill, and I was told they were lately seen in Pant Shon Shenkin, eating flummery out of egg-shells, which they had stolen from a farm hard by.' 'Dir anwyl fi!' cried the farmer; 'dear me! I recollect now--I saw them myself!' Pant Shon[41] Shenkin, it must be here remarked, was a famous place for the Carmarthenshire fairies. The traditions thereabout respecting them are numerous. Among the strangest is, that a woman once actually caught a fairy on the mountain near Pant Shon Shenkin, and that it remained long in her custody, retaining still the same height and size, but at last made its escape. Another curious tradition relates that early one Easter Monday, when the parishioners of Pencarreg and Caio were met to play at football, they saw a numerous company of Tylwyth Teg dancing. Being so many in number, the young men were not intimidated at all, but proceeded in a body towards the puny tribe, who, perceiving them, removed to another place. The young men followed, whereupon the little folks suddenly appeared dancing at the first place. Seeing this, the men divided and surrounded them, when they immediately became invisible, and were never more seen there. FOOTNOTE: [41] Sion and Shon are the same word, just as are our Smith and Smyth. Where there are so few personal names as in Wales, while I would not myself change a single letter in order to render the actors in a tale more distinct, it is perhaps as well to encourage any eccentricities of spelling which we are so lucky as to find on the spot. VIII. Ignorance of what transpired in the fairy circle is not an invariable feature of legends like those we have been observing. In the story of Tudur of Llangollen, preserved by several old Welsh writers, the hero's experiences are given with much liveliness of detail. The scene of this tale is a hollow near Llangollen, on the mountain side half-way up to the ruins of Dinas Bran Castle, which hollow is to this day called Nant yr Ellyllon. It obtained its name, according to tradition, in this wise: A young man, called Tudur ap Einion Gloff, used in old times to pasture his master's sheep in that hollow. One summer's night, when Tudur was preparing to return to the lowlands with his woolly charge, there suddenly appeared, perched upon a stone near him, 'a little man in moss breeches with a fiddle under his arm. He was the tiniest wee specimen of humanity imaginable. His coat was made of birch leaves, and he wore upon his head a helmet which consisted of a gorse flower, while his feet were encased in pumps made of beetle's wings. He ran his fingers over his instrument, and the music made Tudur's hair stand on end. "Nos da'ch', nos da'ch'," said the little man, which means "Good-night, good-night to you," in English. "Ac i chwithau," replied Tudur; which again, in English, means "The same to you." Then continued the little man, "You are fond of dancing, Tudur; and if you but tarry awhile you shall behold some of the best dancers in Wales, and I am the musician." Quoth Tudur, "Then where is your harp? A Welshman even cannot dance without a harp." "Oh," said the little man, "I can discourse better dance music upon my fiddle." "Is it a fiddle you call that stringed wooden spoon in your hand?" asked Tudur, for he had never seen such an instrument before. And now Tudur beheld through the dusk hundreds of pretty little sprites converging towards the spot where they stood, from all parts of the mountain. Some were dressed in white, and some in blue, and some in pink, and some carried glow-worms in their hands for torches. And so lightly did they tread that not a blade nor a flower was crushed beneath their weight, and every one made a curtsey or a bow to Tudur as they passed, and Tudur doffed his cap and moved to them in return. Presently the little minstrel drew his bow across the strings of his instrument, and the music produced was so enchanting that Tudur stood transfixed to the spot.' At the sound of the sweet melody, the Tylwyth Teg ranged themselves in groups, and began to dance. Now of all the dancing Tudur had ever seen, none was to be compared to that he saw at this moment going on. He could not help keeping time with his hands and feet to the merry music, but he dared not join in the dance, 'for he thought within himself that to dance on a mountain at night in strange company, to perhaps the devil's fiddle, might not be the most direct route to heaven.' But at last he found there was no resisting this bewitching strain, joined to the sight of the capering Ellyllon. '"Now for it, then," screamed Tudur, as he pitched his cap into the air under the excitement of delight. "Play away, old devil; brimstone and water, if you like!" No sooner were the words uttered than everything underwent a change. The gorse-blossom cap vanished from the minstrel's head, and a pair of goat's horns branched out instead. His face turned as black as soot; a long tail grew out of his leafy coat, while cloven feet replaced the beetle-wing pumps. Tudur's heart was heavy, but his heels were light. Horror was in his bosom, but the impetus of motion was in his feet. The fairies changed into a variety of forms. Some became goats, and some became dogs, some assumed the shape of foxes, and others that of cats. It was the strangest crew that ever surrounded a human being. The dance became at last so furious that Tudur could not distinctly make out the forms of the dancers. They reeled around him with such rapidity that they almost resembled a wheel of fire. Still Tudur danced on. He could not stop, the devil's fiddle was too much for him, as the figure with the goat's horns kept pouring it out with unceasing vigour, and Tudur kept reeling around in spite of himself. Next day Tudur's master ascended the mountain in search of the lost shepherd and his sheep. He found the sheep all right at the foot of the Fron, but fancy his astonishment when, ascending higher, he saw Tudur spinning like mad in the middle of the basin now known as Nant yr Ellyllon.' Some pious words of the master broke the charm, and restored Tudur to his home in Llangollen, where he told his adventures with great gusto for many years afterwards.[42] FOOTNOTE: [42] Rev. T. R. Lloyd (Estyn), in 'The Principality.' IX. Polly Williams, a good dame who was born in Trefethin parish, and lived at the Ship Inn, at Pontypool, Monmouthshire, was wont to relate that, when a child, she danced with the Tylwyth Teg. The first time was one day while coming home from school. She saw the fairies dancing in a pleasant, dry place, under a crab-tree, and, thinking they were children like herself, went to them, when they induced her to dance with them. She brought them into an empty barn and they danced there together. After that, during three or four years, she often met and danced with them, when going to or coming from school. She never could hear the sound of their feet, and having come to know that they were fairies, took off her ffollachau (clogs), so that she, too, might make no noise, fearful that the clattering of her clog-shodden feet was displeasing to them. They were all dressed in blue and green aprons, and, though they were so small, she could see by their mature faces that they were no children. Once when she came home barefoot, after dancing with the fairies, she was chided for going to school in that condition; but she held her tongue about the fairies, for fear of trouble, and never told of them till after she grew up. She gave over going with them to dance, however, after three or four years, and this displeased them. They tried to coax her back to them, and, as she would not come, hurt her by dislocating 'one of her walking members,'[43] which, as a euphemism for legs, surpasses anything charged against American prudery. FOOTNOTE: [43] Jones, 'Apparitions.' X. Contrasting strongly with this matter-of-fact account of a modern witness is the glowing description of fairy life contained in the legend of the Fairies of Frennifawr. About ten miles south of Cardigan is the Pembrokeshire mountain called Frennifawr, which is the scene of this tale: A shepherd's lad was tending his sheep on the small mountains called Frennifach one fine morning in June. Looking to the top of Frennifawr to note what way the fog hung--for if the fog on that mountain hangs on the Pembrokeshire side, there will be fair weather, if on the Cardigan side, storm--he saw the Tylwyth Teg, in appearance like tiny soldiers, dancing in a ring. He set out for the scene of revelry, and soon drew near the ring where, in a gay company of males and females, they were footing it to the music of the harp. Never had he seen such handsome people, nor any so enchantingly cheerful. They beckoned him with laughing faces to join them as they leaned backward almost falling, whirling round and round with joined hands. Those who were dancing never swerved from the perfect circle; but some were clambering over the old cromlech, and others chasing each other with surprising swiftness and the greatest glee. Still others rode about on small white horses of the most beautiful form; these riders were little ladies, and their dresses were indescribably elegant, surpassing the sun in radiance, and varied in colour, some being of bright whiteness, others the most vivid scarlet. The males wore red tripled caps, and the ladies a light fantastic headdress which waved in the wind. All this was in silence, for the shepherd could not hear the harps, though he saw them. But now he drew nearer to the circle, and finally ventured to put his foot in the magic ring. The instant he did this, his ears were charmed with strains of the most melodious music he had ever heard. Moved with the transports this seductive harmony produced in him, he stepped fully into the ring. He was no sooner in than he found himself in a palace glittering with gold and pearls. Every form of beauty surrounded him, and every variety of pleasure was offered him. He was made free to range whither he would, and his every movement was waited on by young women of the most matchless loveliness. And no tongue can tell the joys of feasting that were his! Instead of the tatws-a-llaeth (potatoes and buttermilk) to which he had hitherto been accustomed, here were birds and meats of every choice description, served on plates of silver. Instead of home-brewed cwrw, the only bacchic beverage he had ever tasted in real life, here were red and yellow wines of wondrous enjoyableness, brought in golden goblets richly inlaid with gems. The waiters were the most beautiful virgins, and everything was in abundance. There was but one restriction on his freedom: he must not drink, on any consideration, from a certain well in the garden, in which swam fishes of every colour, including the colour of gold. Each day new joys were provided for his amusement, new scenes of beauty were unfolded to him, new faces presented themselves, more lovely if possible than those he had before encountered. Everything was done to charm him; but one day all his happiness fled in an instant. Possessing every joy that mortal could desire, he wanted the one thing forbidden--like Eve in the garden, like Fatima in the castle; curiosity undid him. He plunged his hand into the well: the fishes all disappeared instantly. He put the water to his mouth: a confused shriek ran through the garden. He drank: the palace and all vanished from his sight, and he stood shivering in the night air, alone on the mountain, in the very place where he had first entered the ring.[44] [Illustration: THE FATAL DRAUGHT.] FOOTNOTE: [44] 'Cambrian Superstitions,' 148. (This is a small collection of Welsh stories printed at Tipton in 1831, and now rare; its author was W. Howells, a lad of nineteen, and his work was drawn out by a small prize offered by Archdeacon Beynon through a Carmarthen newspaper in 1830. Its English requires rehandling, but its material is of value.) XI. Comment on the resemblances borne by these tales to the more famous legends of other lands, is perhaps unnecessary; they will occur to every reader who is at all familiar with the subject of folk-lore. To those who are not, it is sufficient to say that these resemblances exist, and afford still further testimony to the common origin of such tales in a remote past. The legend last given embodies the curiosity feature which is familiar through the story of Bluebeard, but has its root in the story of Psyche. She was forbidden to look upon her husband Eros, the god of love; she disobeyed the injunction, and the beautiful palace in which she had dwelt with him vanished in an instant, leaving her alone in a desolate spot. Ages older than the Psyche story, however, is the legend embodying the original Aryan myth. The drop of oil which falls upon the shoulder of the sleeping prince and wakes him, revealing Psyche's curiosity and destroying her happiness, is paralleled among the Welsh by the magic ointment in the legend of the Fiend Master. This legend, it may be premised, is also familiar to both France and Germany, where its details differ but little from those here given: A respectable young Welshwoman of the working class, who lived with her parents, went one day to a hiring fair. Here she 'was addressed by a very noble-looking gentleman all in black, who asked her if she would be a nursemaid, and undertake the management of his children. She replied that she had no objection; when he promised her immense wages, and said he would take her home behind him, but that she must, before they started, consent to be blindfolded. This done, she mounted behind him on a coal-black steed, and away they rode at a great rate. At length they dismounted, when her new master took her by the hand and led her on, still blindfolded, for a considerable distance. The handkerchief was then removed, when she beheld more grandeur than she had ever seen before; a beautiful palace lighted up by more lights than she could count, and a number of little children as beautiful as angels; also many noble-looking ladies and gentlemen. The children her master put under her charge, and gave her a box containing ointment, which she was to put on their eyes. At the same time he gave her strict orders always to wash her hands immediately after using the ointment, and be particularly careful never to let a bit of it touch her own eyes. These injunctions she strictly followed, and was for some time very happy; yet she sometimes thought it odd that they should always live by candle-light; and she wondered, too, that grand and beautiful as the palace was, such fine ladies and gentlemen as were there should never wish to leave it. But so it was; no one ever went out but her master. One morning, while putting the ointment on the eyes of the children, her own eye itched, and forgetting the orders of her master she touched one corner of it with her finger which was covered with ointment. Immediately, with the vision of that corner of her eye, she saw herself surrounded by fearful flames; the ladies and gentlemen looked like devils, and the children appeared like the most hideous imps of hell. Though with the other parts of her eyes she beheld all grand and beautiful as before, she could not help feeling much frightened at all this; but having great presence of mind she let no one see her alarm. However, she took the first opportunity of asking her master's leave to go and see her friends. He said he would take her, but she must again consent to be blindfolded. Accordingly a handkerchief was put over her eyes; she was again mounted behind her master, and was soon put down in the neighbourhood of her own house. It will be believed that she remained quietly there, and took good care not to return to her place; but very many years afterwards, being at a fair, she saw a man stealing something from a stall, and with one corner of her eye beheld her old master pushing his elbow. Unthinkingly she said, "How are you master? how are the children?" He said, "How did you see me?" She answered, "With the corner of my left eye." From that moment she was blind of her left eye, and lived many years with only her right.'[45] An older legend preserving this mythical detail is the story of Taliesin. Gwion Bach's eyes are opened by a drop from Caridwen's caldron falling upon his finger, which he puts in his mouth. FOOTNOTE: [45] 'Camb. Sup.,' 349. XII. A Carmarthenshire tradition names among those who lived for a period among the Tylwyth Teg no less a person than the translator into Welsh of Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress.' He was called Iago ap Dewi, and lived in the parish of Llanllawddog, Carmarthenshire, in a cottage situated in the wood of Llangwyly. He was absent from the neighbourhood for a long period, and the universal belief among the peasantry was that Iago 'got out of bed one night to gaze on the starry sky, as he was accustomed (astrology being one of his favourite studies), and whilst thus occupied the fairies (who were accustomed to resort in a neighbouring wood), passing by, carried him away, and he dwelt with them seven years. Upon his return he was questioned by many as to where he had been, but always avoided giving them a reply.' XIII. The wide field of interest opened up in tales of this class is a fascinating one to the students of fairy mythology. The whole world seems to be the scene of such tales, and collectors of folk-lore in many lands have laid claim to the discovery of 'the original' on which the story of Rip van Winkle is based. It is an honour to American genius, to which I cannot forbear a passing allusion, that of all these legends, none has achieved so wide a fame as that which Washington Irving has given to our literature, and Joseph Jefferson to our stage. It is more than probable that Irving drew his inspiration from Grimm, and that the Catskills are indebted to the Hartz Mountains of Germany for their romantic fame. But the legends are endless in which occur this unsuspected lapse of time among supernatural beings, and the wandering back to the old home to find all changed. In Greece, it is Epimenides, the poet, who, while searching for a lost sheep, wanders into a cave where he slumbers forty-seven years. The Gaelic and Teutonic legends are well known. But our wonder at the vitality of this myth is greatest when we find it in both China and Japan. In the Japanese account a young man fishing in his boat on the ocean is invited by the goddess of the sea to her home beneath the waves. After three days he desires to see his old mother and father. On parting she gives him a golden casket and a key, but begs him never to open it. At the village where he lived he finds that all is changed, and he can get no trace of his parents until an aged woman recollects having heard of their names. He finds their graves a hundred years old. Thinking that three days could not have made such a change, and that he was under a spell, he opens the casket. A white vapour rises, and under its influence the young man falls to the ground. His hair turns grey, his form loses its youth, and in a few moments he dies of old age. The Chinese legend relates how two friends wandering amongst the ravines of their native mountains in search of herbs for medicinal purposes, come to a fairy bridge where two maidens of more than earthly beauty are on guard. They invite them to the fairy land which lies on the other side of the bridge, and the invitation being accepted, they become enamoured of the maidens, and pass what to them seems a short though blissful period of existence with the fairy folk. At length they desire to revisit their earthly homes and are allowed to return, when they find that seven generations have lived and died during their apparently short absence, they themselves having become centenarians.[46] In China, as elsewhere, the legend takes divers forms. FOOTNOTE: [46] Dennys, 'Folk-Lore of China,' 98. CHAPTER VII. Fairy Music--Birds of Enchantment--The Legend of Shon ap Shenkin--Harp-Music in Welsh Fairy Tales--Legend of the Magic Harp--Songs and Tunes of the Tylwyth Teg--The Legend of Iolo ap Hugh--Mystic Origin of an old Welsh Air. I. In those rare cases where it is not dancing which holds the victim of Tylwyth Teg in its fatal fascination, the seducer is music. There is a class of stories still common in Wales, in which is preserved a wondrously beautiful survival of the primitive mythology. In the vast middle ground between our own commonplace times and the pre-historic ages we encounter more than once the lovely legend of the Birds of Rhiannon, which sang so sweetly that the warrior knights stood listening entranced for eighty years. This legend appears in the Mabinogi of 'Branwen, daughter of Llyr,' and, as we read it there, is a medieval tale; but the medieval authors of the Mabinogion as we know them were working over old materials--telling again the old tales which had come down through unnumbered centuries from father to son by tradition. Cambrian poets of an earlier age often allude to the birds of Rhiannon; they are mentioned in the Triads. In the Mabinogi, the period the warriors listened is seven years. Seven men only had escaped from a certain battle with the Irish, and they were bidden by their dying chief to cut off his head and bear it to London and bury it with the face towards France. Various were the adventures they encountered while obeying this injunction. At Harlech they stopped to rest, and sat down to eat and drink. 'And there came three birds, and began singing unto them a certain song, and all the songs they had ever heard were unpleasant compared thereto; and the birds seemed to them to be at a great distance from them over the sea, yet they appeared as distinct as if they were close by; and at this repast they continued seven years.'[47] This enchanting fancy reappears in the local story of Shon ap Shenkin, which was related to me by a farmer's wife near the reputed scene of the legend. Pant Shon Shenkin has already been mentioned as a famous centre for Carmarthenshire fairies. The story of Taffy ap Sion and this of Shon ap Shenkin were probably one and the same at some period in their career, although they are now distinct. Shon ap Shenkin was a young man who lived hard by Pant Shon Shenkin. As he was going afield early one fine summer's morning he heard a little bird singing, in a most enchanting strain, on a tree close by his path. Allured by the melody he sat down under the tree until the music ceased, when he arose and looked about him. What was his surprise at observing that the tree, which was green and full of life when he sat down, was now withered and barkless! Filled with astonishment he returned to the farm-house which he had left, as he supposed, a few minutes before; but it also was changed, grown older, and covered with ivy. In the doorway stood an old man whom he had never before seen; he at once asked the old man what he wanted there. 'What do I want here?' ejaculated the old man, reddening angrily; 'that's a pretty question! Who are you that dare to insult me in my own house?' 'In your own house? How is this? where's my father and mother, whom I left here a few minutes since, whilst I have been listening to the charming music under yon tree, which, when I rose, was withered and leafless?' 'Under the tree!--music! what's your name?' 'Shon ap Shenkin.' 'Alas, poor Shon, and is this indeed you!' cried the old man. 'I often heard my grandfather, your father, speak of you, and long did he bewail your absence. Fruitless inquiries were made for you; but old Catti Maddock of Brechfa said you were under the power of the fairies, and would not be released until the last sap of that sycamore tree would be dried up. Embrace me, my dear uncle, for you are my uncle--embrace your nephew.' With this the old man extended his arms, but before the two men could embrace, poor Shon ap Shenkin crumbled into dust on the doorstep. [Illustration: SHON AP SHENKIN RETURNS HOME.] FOOTNOTE: [47] Lady Charlotte Guest's 'Mabinogion,' 381. II. The harp is played by Welsh fairies to an extent unknown in those parts of the world where the harp is less popular among the people. When any instrument is distinctly heard in fairy cymmoedd it is usually the harp. Sometimes it is a fiddle, but then on close examination it will be discovered that it is a captured mortal who is playing it; the Tylwyth Teg prefer the harp. They play the bugle on specially grand occasions, and there is a case or two on record where the drone of the bagpipes was heard; but it is not doubted that the player was some stray fairy from Scotland or elsewhere over the border. On the top of Craig-y-Ddinas thousands of white fairies dance to the music of many harps. In the dingle called Cwm Pergwm, in the Vale of Neath, the Tylwyth Teg make music behind the waterfall, and when they go off over the mountains the sounds of their harps are heard dying away as they recede. The story which presents the Cambrian equivalent of the Magic Flute substitutes a harp for the (to Welshmen) less familiar instrument. As told to me this story runs somewhat thus: A company of fairies which frequented Cader Idris were in the habit of going about from cottage to cottage in that part of Wales, in pursuit of information concerning the degree of benevolence possessed by the cottagers. Those who gave these fairies an ungracious welcome were subject to bad luck during the rest of their lives, but those who were good to the little folk became the recipients of their favour. Old Morgan ap Rhys sat one night in his own chimney corner making himself comfortable with his pipe and his pint of cwrw da. The good ale having melted his soul a trifle, he was in a more jolly mood than was natural to him, when there came a little rap at the door, which reached his ear dully through the smoke of his pipe and the noise of his own voice--for in his merriment Morgan was singing a roystering song, though he could not sing any better than a haw--which is Welsh for a donkey. But Morgan did not take the trouble to get up at sound of the rap; his manners were not the most refined; he thought it was quite enough for a man on hospitable purposes bent to bawl forth in ringing Welsh, 'Gwaed dyn a'i gilydd! Why don't you come in when you've got as far as the door?' The welcome was not very polite, but it was sufficient. The door opened, and three travellers entered, looking worn and weary. Now these were the fairies from Cader Idris, disguised in this manner for purposes of observation, and Morgan never suspected they were other than they appeared. 'Good sir,' said one of the travellers, 'we are worn and weary, but all we seek is a bite of food to put in our wallet, and then we will go on our way.' 'Waw, lads! is that all you want? Well, there, look you, is the loaf and the cheese, and the knife lies by them, and you may cut what you like, and fill your bellies as well as your wallet, for never shall it be said that Morgan ap Rhys denied bread and cheese to a fellow creature.' The travellers proceeded to help themselves, while Morgan continued to drink and smoke, and to sing after his fashion, which was a very rough fashion indeed. As they were about to go, the fairy travellers turned to Morgan and said, 'Since you have been so generous we will show that we are grateful. It is in our power to grant you any one wish you may have; therefore tell us what that wish may be.' 'Ho, ho!' said Morgan, 'is that the case? Ah, I see you are making sport of me. Wela, wela, the wish of my heart is to have a harp that will play under my fingers no matter how ill I strike it; a harp that will play lively tunes, look you; no melancholy music for me!' He had hardly spoken, when to his astonishment, there on the hearth before him stood a splendid harp, and he was alone. 'Waw!' cried Morgan, 'they're gone already.' Then looking behind him he saw they had not taken the bread and cheese they had cut off, after all. ''Twas the fairies, perhaps,' he muttered, but sat serenely quaffing his beer, and staring at the harp. There was a sound of footsteps behind him, and his wife came in from out doors with some friends. Morgan feeling very jolly, thought he would raise a little laughter among them by displaying his want of skill upon the harp. So he commenced to play--oh, what a mad and capering tune it was! 'Waw!' said Morgan, 'but this is a harp. Holo! what ails you all?' For as fast as he played his neighbours danced, every man, woman, and child of them all footing it like mad creatures. Some of them bounded up against the roof of the cottage till their heads cracked again; others spun round and round, knocking over the furniture; and, as Morgan went on thoughtlessly playing, they began to pray to him to stop before they should be jolted to pieces. But Morgan found the scene too amusing to want to stop; besides, he was enamoured of his own suddenly developed skill as a musician; and he twanged the strings and laughed till his sides ached and the tears rolled down his cheeks, at the antics of his friends. Tired out at last he stopped, and the dancers fell exhausted on the floor, the chairs, the tables, declaring the diawl himself was in the harp. 'I know a tune worth two of that,' quoth Morgan, picking up the harp again; but at sight of this motion all the company rushed from the house and escaped, leaving Morgan rolling merrily in his chair. Whenever Morgan got a little tipsy after that, he would get the harp and set everybody round him to dancing; and the consequence was he got a bad name, and no one would go near him. But all their precautions did not prevent the neighbours from being caught now and then, when Morgan took his revenge by making them dance till their legs were broken, or some other damage was done them. Even lame people and invalids were compelled to dance whenever they heard the music of this diabolical telyn. In short, Morgan so abused his fairy gift that one night the good people came and took it away from him, and he never saw it more. The consequence was he became morose, and drank himself to death--a warning to all who accept from the fairies favours they do not deserve. III. The music of the Tylwyth Teg has been variously described by people who claim to have heard it; but as a rule with much vagueness, as of a sweet intangible harmony, recalling the experience of Caliban: The isle is full of noises; Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears.[48] One Morgan Gwilym, who saw the fairies by Cylepsta Waterfall, and heard their music dying away, was only able to recall the last strain, which he said sounded something like this: [Music] Edmund Daniel, of the Arail, 'an honest man and a constant speaker of truth,' told the Prophet Jones that he often saw the fairies after sunset crossing the Cefn Bach from the Valley of the Church towards Hafodafel, leaping and striking in the air, and making a serpentine path through the air, in this form: [Illustration: {WAVY HORIZONTAL LINE.}] The fairies were seen and heard by many persons in that neighbourhood, and sometimes by several persons together. They appeared more often by night than by day, and in the morning and evening more often than about noon. Many heard their music, and said of it that it was low and pleasant; but that it had this peculiarity: no one could ever learn the tune. In more favoured parts of the Principality, the words of the song were distinctly heard, and under the name of the 'Cân y Tylwyth Teg' are preserved as follows: Dowch, dowch, gyfeillion mân, O blith marwolion byd, Dowch, dowch, a dowch yn lân. Partowch partowch eich pibau cân, Gan ddawnsio dowch i gyd, Mae yn hyfryd heno i hwn. One is reluctant to turn into bald English this goblin song, which in its native Welsh is almost as impressive as 'Fi Fo Fum.' Let it suffice that the song is an invitation to the little ones among the dead of earth to come with music and dancing to the delights of the night revel. FOOTNOTE: [48] 'Tempest,' Act III., Sc. 2. IV. In the legend of Iolo ap Hugh, than which no story is more widely known in Wales, the fairy origin of that famous tune 'Ffarwel Ned Pugh' is shown. It is a legend which suggests the Enchanted Flute fancy in another form, the instrument here being a fiddle, and the victim and player one under fairy control. In its introduction of bread and cheese and candles it smacks heartily of the soil. In North Wales there is a famous cave which is said to reach from its entrance on the hillside 'under the Morda, the Ceiriog, and a thousand other streams, under many a league of mountain, marsh and moor, under the almost unfathomable wells that, though now choked up, once supplied Sycharth, the fortress of Glyndwrdwy, all the way to Chirk Castle.' Tradition said that whoever went within five paces of its mouth would be drawn into it and lost. That the peasants dwelling near it had a thorough respect for this tradition, was proved by the fact that all around the dangerous hole 'the grass grew as thick and as rank as in the wilds of America or some unapproached ledge of the Alps.' Both men and animals feared the spot: 'A fox, with a pack of hounds in full cry at his tail,' once turned short round on approaching it, 'with his hair all bristled and fretted like frostwork with terror,' and ran into the middle of the pack, 'as if anything earthly--even an earthly death--was a relief to his supernatural perturbations.' And the dogs in pursuit of this fox all declined to seize him, on account of the phosphoric smell and gleam of his coat. Moreover, 'Elias ap Evan, who happened one fair night to stagger just upon the rim of the forbidden space,' was so frightened at what he saw and heard that he arrived at home perfectly sober, 'the only interval of sobriety, morning, noon, or night, Elias had been afflicted with for upwards of twenty years.' Nor ever after that experience--concerning which he was wont to shake his head solemnly, as if he might tell wondrous tales an' he dared--could Elias get tipsy, drink he never so faithfully to that end. As he himself expressed it, 'His shadow walked steadily before him, that at one time wheeled around him like a pointer over bog and stone.' One misty Hallow E'en, Iolo ap Hugh, the fiddler, determined to solve the mysteries of the Ogof, or Cave, provided himself with 'an immense quantity of bread and cheese and seven pounds of candles,' and ventured in. He never returned; but long, long afterwards, at the twilight of another Hallow E'en, an old shepherd was passing that--as he called it--'Land-Maelstrom of Diaboly,' when he heard a faint burst of melody dancing up and down the rocks above the cave. As he listened, the music gradually 'moulded itself in something like a tune, though it was a tune the shepherd had never heard before.' And it sounded as if it were being played by some jolting fiend, so rugged was its rhythm, so repeated its discordant groans. Now there appeared at the mouth of the Ogof a figure well-known to the shepherd by remembrance. It was dimly visible; but it was Iolo ap Hugh, one could see that at once. He was capering madly to the music of his own fiddle, with a lantern dangling at his breast. 'Suddenly the moon shone full on the cave's yellow mouth, and the shepherd saw poor Iolo for a single moment--but it was distinctly and horribly. His face was pale as marble, and his eyes stared fixedly and deathfully, whilst his head dangled loose and unjointed on his shoulders. His arms seemed to keep his fiddlestick in motion without the least sympathy from their master. The shepherd saw him a moment on the verge of the cave, and then, still capering and fiddling, vanish like a shadow from his sight;' but the old man was heard to say he seemed as if he slipped into the cave in a manner quite different from the step of a living and a willing man; 'he was dragged inwards like the smoke up the chimney, or the mist at sunrise.' Years elapsed; 'all hopes and sorrows connected with poor Iolo had not only passed away, but were nearly forgotten; the old shepherd had long lived in a parish at a considerable distance amongst the hills. One cold December Sunday evening he and his fellow-parishioners were shivering in their seats as the clerk was beginning to light the church, when a strange burst of music, starting suddenly from beneath the aisle, threw the whole congregation into confusion, and then it passed faintly along to the farther end of the church, and died gradually away till at last it was impossible to distinguish it from the wind that was careering and wailing through almost every pillar of the old church.' The shepherd immediately recognised this to be the tune Iolo had played at the mouth of the Ogof. The parson of the parish--a connoisseur in music--took it down from the old man's whistling; and to this day, if you go to the cave on Hallow eve and put your ear to the aperture, you may hear the tune 'Ffarwel Ned Pugh' as distinctly as you may hear the waves roar in a sea-shell. 'And it is said that in certain nights in leap-year a star stands opposite the farther end of the cave, and enables you to view all through it and to see Iolo and its other inmates.'[49] [Music: FFARWEL NED PUGH.] FOOTNOTE: [49] 'Camb. Quarterly,' i., 45. CHAPTER VIII. Fairy Rings--The Prophet Jones and his Works--The Mysterious Language of the Tylwyth Teg--The Horse in Welsh Folk-Lore--Equestrian Fairies--Fairy Cattle, Sheep, Swine, etc.--The Flying Fairies of Bedwellty--The Fairy Sheepfold at Cae'r Cefn. I. The circles in the grass of green fields, which are commonly called fairy rings, are numerous in Wales, and it is deemed just as well to keep out of them, even in our day. The peasantry no longer believe that the fairies can be seen dancing there, nor that the cap of invisibility will fall on the head of one who enters the circle; but they do believe that the fairies, in a time not long gone, made these circles with the tread of their tripping feet, and that some misfortune will probably befall any person intruding upon this forbidden ground. An old man at Peterstone-super-Ely told me he well remembered in his childhood being warned by his mother to keep away from the fairy rings. The counsel thus given him made so deep an impression on his mind, that he had never in his life entered one. He remarked further, in answer to a question, that he had never walked under a ladder, because it was unlucky to walk under a ladder. This class of superstitions is a very large one, and is encountered the world over; and the fairy rings seem to fall into this class, so far as present-day belief in Wales is concerned. II. Allusion has been made in the preceding pages to the Prophet Jones, and as some account of this personage is imperatively called for in a work treating of Welsh folk-lore, I will give it here, before citing his remarks respecting fairy circles. Edmund Jones, 'of the Tranch,' was a dissenting minister, noted in Monmouthshire in the first years of the present century for his fervent piety and his large credulity with regard to fairies and all other goblins. He was for many years pastor of the congregation of Protestant Dissenters at the Ebenezer Chapel, near Pontypool, and lived at a place called 'The Tranch,' near there. He wrote and published two books, one an 'Account of the Parish of Aberystruth,' printed at Trevecca; the other a 'Relation of Apparitions of Spirits in the County of Monmouth and the Principality of Wales,' printed at Newport; and they have been referred to by most writers on folk-lore who have attempted any account of Welsh superstitions during the past half-century; but the books are extremely rare, and writers who have quoted from them have generally been content to do so at second-hand. Keightley,[50] quoting from the 'Apparitions,' misprints the author's name 'Edward Jones of the Tiarch,' and accredits the publication to 'the latter half of the eighteenth century,' whereas it was published in 1813. Keightley's quotations are taken from Croker, who himself had never seen the book, but heard of it through a Welsh friend. It is not in the library of the British Museum, and I know of but a few copies in Wales; the one I saw is at Swansea. The author of these curious volumes was called the Prophet Jones, because of his gift of prophecy--so a Welshman in Monmouthshire told me. In my informant's words, 'He was noted in his district for foretelling things. He would, for instance, be asked to preach at some anniversary, or quarterly meeting, and he would answer, "I cannot, on that day; the rain will descend in torrents, and there will be no congregation." He would give the last mite he possessed to the needy, and tell his wife, "God will send a messenger with food and raiment at nine o'clock to-morrow." And so it would be.' He was a thorough-going believer in Welsh fairies, and full of indignant scorn toward all who dared question their reality. To him these phantoms were part and parcel of the Christian faith, and those who disbelieved in them were denounced as Sadducees and infidels. FOOTNOTE: [50] 'Fairy Mythology,' 412. III. With regard to the fairy rings, Jones held that the Bible alludes to them, Matt. xii. 43: 'The fairies dance in circles in dry places; and the Scripture saith that the walk of evil spirits is in dry places.' They favour the oak-tree, and the female oak especially, partly because of its more wide-spreading branches and deeper shade, partly because of the 'superstitious use made of it beyond other trees' in the days of the Druids. Formerly, it was dangerous to cut down a female oak in a fair dry place. 'Some were said to lose their lives by it, by a strange aching pain which admitted of no remedy, as one of my ancestors did; but now that men have more knowledge and faith, this effect follows not.' William Jenkins was for a long time the schoolmaster at Trefethin church, in Monmouthshire, and coming home late in the evening, as he usually did, he often saw the fairies under an oak within two or three fields from the church. He saw them more often on Friday evenings than any other. At one time he went to examine the ground about this oak, and there he found the reddish circle wherein the fairies danced, 'such as have often been seen under the female oak, called Brenhin-bren.' They appeared more often to an uneven number of persons, as one, three, five, &c.; and oftener to men than to women. Thomas William Edmund, of Hafodafel, 'an honest pious man, who often saw them,' declared that they appeared with one bigger than the rest going before them in the company. They were also heard talking together in a noisy, jabbering way; but no one could distinguish the words. They seemed, however, to be a very disputatious race; insomuch, indeed, that there was a proverb in some parts of Wales to this effect: 'Ni chytunant hwy mwy na Bendith eu Mamau,' (They will no more agree than the fairies). IV. This observation respecting the mysterious language used by fairies recalls again the medieval story of Elidurus. The example of fairy words there given by Giraldus is thought by the learned rector of Llanarmon[51] to be 'a mixture of Irish and Welsh. The letter U, with which each of the words begins, is, probably, no more than the representative of an indistinct sound like the E mute of the French, and which those whose language and manners are vulgar often prefix to words indifferently. If, then, they be read dor dorum, and halgein dorum, dor and halgein are nearly dwr (or, as it is pronounced, door) and halen, the Welsh words for water and salt respectively. Dorum therefore is equivalent to "give me," and the Irish expression for "give me" is thorum; the Welsh dyro i mi. The order of the words, however, is reversed. The order should be thorum dor, and thorum halen in Irish, and in Welsh dyro i mi ddwr, and dyro i mi halen, but was, perhaps, reversed intentionally by the narrator, to make his tale the more marvellous.'[52] FOOTNOTES: [51] Rev. Peter Roberts, 'Cambrian Popular Antiquities,' 195. (1815.) [52] Supra, p. 67. V. The horse plays a very active part in Welsh fairy tales. Not only does his skeleton serve for Mary Lwyds[53] and the like, but his spirit flits. The Welsh fairies seem very fond of going horseback. An old woman in the Vale of Neath told Mrs. Williams, who told Thomas Keightley, that she had seen fairies to the number of hundreds, mounted on little white horses, not bigger than dogs, and riding four abreast. This was about dusk, and the fairy equestrians passed quite close to her, in fact less than a quarter of a mile away. Another old woman asserted that her father had often seen the fairies riding in the air on little white horses; but he never saw them come to the ground. He heard their music sounding in the air as they galloped by. There is a tradition among the Glamorgan peasantry of a fairy battle fought on the mountain between Merthyr and Aberdare, in which the pigmy combatants were on horseback. There appeared to be two armies, one of which was mounted on milk-white steeds, and the other on horses of jet-black. They rode at each other with the utmost fury, and their swords could be seen flashing in the air like so many penknife blades. The army on the white horses won the day, and drove the black-mounted force from the field. The whole scene then disappeared in a light mist. FOOTNOTE: [53] See Index. VI. In the agricultural districts of Wales, the fairies are accredited with a very complete variety of useful animals; and Welsh folk-lore, both modern and medieval, abounds with tales regarding cattle, sheep, horses, poultry, goats, and other features of rural life. Such are the marvellous mare of Teirnyon, which foaled every first of May, but whose colt was always spirited away, no man knew whither; the Ychain Banog, or mighty oxen, which drew the water-monster out of the enchanted lake, and by their lowing split the rocks in twain; the lambs of St. Melangell, which at first were hares, and ran frightened under the fair saint's robes; the fairy cattle which belong to the Gwraig Annwn; the fairy sheep of Cefn Rhychdir, which rose up out of the earth and vanished into the sky; even fairy swine, which the haymakers of Bedwellty beheld flying through the air. To some of these traditions reference has already been made; others will be mentioned again. Welsh mountain sheep will run like stags, and bound from crag to crag like wild goats; and as for Welsh swine, they are more famed in Cambrian romantic story than almost any other animal that could be named. Therefore the tale told by Rev. Roger Rogers, of the parish of Bedwellty, sounds much less absurd in Wales than it might elsewhere. It relates to a very remarkable and odd sight, seen by Lewis Thomas Jenkin's two daughters, described as virtuous and good young women, their father a substantial freeholder; and seen not only by them but by the man-servant and the maid-servant, and by two of the neighbours, viz., Elizabeth David, and Edmund Roger. All these six people were on a certain day making hay in a field called Y Weirglodd Fawr Dafolog, when they plainly beheld a company of fairies rise up out of the earth in the shape of a flock of sheep; the same being about a quarter of a mile distant, over a hill, called Cefn Rhychdir; and soon the fairy flock went out of sight, as if they vanished in the air. Later in the day they all saw this company of fairies again, but while to two of the haymakers the fairies appeared as sheep, to others they appeared as greyhounds, and to others as swine, and to others as naked infants. Whereupon the Rev. Roger remarks: 'The sons of infidelity are very unreasonable not to believe the testimonies of so many witnesses.'[54] FOOTNOTE: [54] Jones, 'Apparitions,' 24. VII. The Welsh sheep, it is affirmed, are the only beasts which will eat the grass that grows in the fairy rings; all other creatures avoid it, but the sheep eat it greedily--hence the superiority of Welsh mutton over any mutton in the wide world. The Prophet Jones tells of the sheepfold of the fairies, which he himself saw--a circumstance to be accorded due weight, the judicious reader will at once perceive, because as a habit Mr. Jones was not specially given to seeing goblins on his own account. He believes in them with all his heart, but it is usually a friend or acquaintance who has seen them. In this instance, therefore, the exception is to be noted sharply. He thus tells the tale: 'If any think I am too credulous in these relations, and speak of things of which I myself have had no experience, I must let them know they are mistaken. For when a very young boy, going with my aunt, early in the morning, but after sun-rising, from Hafodafel towards my father's house at Pen-y-Llwyn, at the end of the upper field of Cae'r Cefn, ... I saw the likeness of a sheepfold, with the door towards the south, ... and within the fold a company of many people. Some sitting down, and some going in, and coming out, bowing their heads as they passed under the branch over the door.... I well remember the resemblance among them of a fair woman with a high-crown hat and a red jacket, who made a better appearance than the rest, and whom I think they seemed to honour. I still have a pretty clear idea of her white face and well-formed countenance. The men wore white cravats.... I wondered at my aunt, going before me, that she did not look towards them, and we going so near them. As for me, I was loth to speak until I passed them some way, and then told my aunt what I had seen, at which she wondered, and said I dreamed.... There was no fold in that place. There is indeed the ruins of some small edifice in that place, most likely a fold, but so old that the stones are swallowed up, and almost wholly crusted over with earth and grass.' This tale has long been deemed a poser by the believers in Cambrian phantoms; but there is something to be said on the side of doubt. Conceding that the Reverend Edmund Jones, the dissenting minister, was an honest gentleman who meant to tell truth, it is still possible that Master Neddy Jones, the lad, could draw a long bow like another boy; and that having seen, possibly, some gypsy group (or possibly nothing whatever) he embellished his tale to excite wonderment, as boys do. Telling a fictitious tale so often that one at last comes to believe it oneself, is a well-known mental phenomenon. VIII. The only other instance given by the Prophet Jones as from the depths of his own personal experience, is more vague in its particulars than the preceding, and happened when he had presumably grown to years of discretion. He was led astray, it appears, by the Old Woman of the Mountain, on Llanhiddel Bryn, near Pontypool--an eminence with which he was perfectly well acquainted, and which 'is no more than a mile and a half long and about half a mile broad.' But as a result of his going astray, he came to a house where he had never been before; and being deeply moved by his uncanny experience, 'offered to go to prayer, which they admitted.... I was then about twenty-three years of age and had begun to preach the everlasting gospel. They seemed to admire that a person so young should be so warmly disposed; few young men of my age being religious in this country then. Much good came into this house and still continues in it.... So the old hag got nothing by leading me astray that time.' CHAPTER IX. Piety as a Protection from the Seductions of the Tylwyth Teg--Various Exorcisms--Cock-crowing--The Name of God--Fencing off the Fairies--Old Betty Griffith and her Eithin Barricade--Means of Getting Rid of the Tylwyth Teg--The Bwbach of the Hendrefawr Farm--The Pwca'r Trwyn's Flitting in a Jug of Barm. I. The extreme piety of his daily walk and conversation may have been held as an explanation why the Prophet Jones saw so few goblins himself, and consequently why most of his stories of the fairies are related as coming from other people. The value of a general habit of piety, as a means of being rid of fairies, has already been mentioned. The more worldly exorcisms, such as the production of a black-handled knife, or the turning one's coat wrongside out, are passed over by the Prophet as trivial; but by the student of comparative folk-lore, they are not deemed unimportant. The last-mentioned exorcism, by the way, is current among the Southern negroes of the United States. The more spiritual exorcisms are not less interesting than the others, however. First among these is ranked the pronunciation of God's name; but the crowing of a cock is respectfully mentioned, in connection with the story of our Saviour. Jones gives many accounts which terminate in the manner of the following: Rees John Rosser, born at Hendy, in the parish of Llanhiddel, 'a very religious young man,' went one morning very early to feed the oxen in a barn called Ysgubor y Llan, and having fed them lay himself upon the hay to rest. While he lay there he heard the sound of music approaching, and presently a large company of fairies came into the barn. They wore striped clothes, some in gayer colours than the others, but all very gay; and they all danced to the music. He lay there as quiet as he could, thinking they would not see him, but he was espied by one of them, a woman, who brought a striped cushion with four tassels, one at each corner of it, and put it under his head. After some time the cock crew at the house of Blaen y Cwm, hard by, upon which they appeared as if they were surprised and displeased; the cushion was hastily whisked from under his head, and the fairies vanished. 'The spirits of darkness do not like the crowing of the cock, because it gives notice of the approach of day, for they love darkness rather than light.... And it hath been several times observed that these fairies cannot endure to hear the name of God.' A modern Welsh preacher (but one whose opinions contrast most decidedly with those of Jones) observes: 'The cock is wonderfully well versed in the circumstances of the children of Adam; his shrill voice at dawn of day is sufficient intimation to every spirit, coblyn, wraith, elf, bwci, and apparition to flee into their illusive country for their lives, before the light of day will show them to be an empty nothingness, and bring them to shame and reproach.'[55] Shakspeare introduces this superstition in Hamlet: _Ber._ It was about to speak, when the cock crew. _Hor._ And then it started like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons.[56] But the opinion that spirits fly away at cock-crow is of extreme antiquity. It is mentioned by the Christian poet Prudentius (fourth century) as a tradition of common belief.[57] As for the effect of the name of God as an exorcism, we still encounter this superstition, a living thing in our own day, and in every land where modern 'spiritualism' finds believers. The mischief produced at 'spiritual seances' by 'bad spirits' is well-known to those who have paid any attention to this subject. The late Mr. FitzHugh Ludlow once related to me, with dramatic fervour, the result of his attempts to exorcise a bad spirit which was in possession of a female 'medium,' by trying to make her pronounce the name of Christ. She stumbled and stammered over this test in a most embarrassing way, and finally emerged from her trance with the holy name unspoken; the bad spirit had fled. This was in New York, in 1867. Like many others who assert their unbelief in spiritualism, Mr. Ludlow was intensely impressed by this phenomenon. Students of comparative folk-lore class all such manifestations under a common head, whether related of fairies or spirit mediums. They trace their origin to the same source whence come the notions of propitiating the fairies by euphemistic names. The use of such names as Jehovah, the Almighty, the Supreme Being, etc., for the terrible and avenging God of the Jewish theology, being originally an endeavour to avoid pronouncing the name of God, it is easy to see the connection with the exorcising power of that name upon all evil spirits, such as fairies are usually held to be. Here also, it is thought, is presented the ultimate source of that horror of profane language which prevails among the Puritanic peoples of England and America. The name of the devil is similarly provided with euphemisms, some of which--such as the Old Boy--are not of a sort to offend that personage's ears; and until recently the word devil was deemed almost as offensive as the word God, when profanely used. FOOTNOTES: [55] Rev. Robert Ellis, in 'Manion Hynafiaethol.' (Treherbert, 1873.) [56] 'Hamlet,' Act I., Sc. 1. [57] Brand, 'Popular Antiquities,' ii., 31. II. A popular protection from the encroachments of fairies is the eithin, or prickly furze, common in Wales. It is believed that the fairies cannot penetrate a fence or hedge composed of this thorny shrub. An account illustrating this, and otherwise curious in its details, was given in 1871 by a prominent resident of Anglesea:[58] 'One day, some thirty years ago, Mrs. Stanley went to one of the old houses to see an old woman she often visited. It was a wretched hovel; so unusually dark when she opened the door, that she called to old Betty Griffith, but getting no answer she entered the room. A little tiny window of one pane of glass at the further side of the room gave a feeble light. A few cinders alight in the miserable grate also gave a glimmer of light, which enabled her to see where the bed used to be, in a recess. To her surprise she saw it entirely shut out by a barricade of thick gorse, so closely packed and piled up that no bed was to be seen. Again she called Betty Griffith; no response came. She looked round the wretched room; the only symptom of life was a plant of the Wandering Jew (_Saxifraga tricolor_), so called by the poor people, and dearly loved to grace their windows. It was planted in a broken jar or teapot on the window, trailing its long tendrils around, with here and there a new formed plant seeming to derive sustenance from the air alone. As she stood, struck with the miserable poverty of the human abode, a faint sigh came from behind the gorse. She went close and said, "Betty, where are you?" Betty instantly recognised her voice, and ventured to turn herself round from the wall. Mrs. Stanley then made a small opening in the gorse barricade, which sadly pricked her fingers; she saw Betty in her bed and asked her, "Are you not well? are you cold, that you are so closed up?" "Cold! no. It is not cold, Mrs. Stanley; it is the Tylwyth Teg; they never will leave me alone, there they sit making faces at me, and trying to come to me." "Indeed! oh how I should like to see them, Betty." "Like to see them, is it? Oh, don't say so." "Oh but Betty, they must be so pretty and good." "Good? they are not good." By this time the old woman got excited, and Mrs. Stanley knew she should hear more from her about the fairies, so she said, "Well, I will go out; they never will come if I am here." Old Betty replied sharply, "No, do not go. You must not leave me. I will tell you all about them. Ah! they come and plague me sadly. If I am up they will sit upon the table; they turn my milk sour and spill my tea; then they will not leave me at peace in my bed, but come all round me and mock at me." "But Betty, tell me what is all this gorse for? It must have been great trouble for you to make it all so close." "Is it not to keep them off? They cannot get through this, it pricks them so bad, and then I get some rest." So she replaced the gorse and left old Betty Griffith happy in her device for getting rid of the Tylwyth Teg.' FOOTNOTE: [58] Hon. W. O. Stanley, in 'Notes and Queries.' III. A common means of getting rid of the fairies is to change one's place of residence; the fair folk will not abide in a house which passes into new hands. A story is told of a Merionethshire farmer who, being tormented beyond endurance by a Bwbach of a mischievous turn, reluctantly resolved to flit. But first consulting a wise woman at Dolgelley, he was advised to make a pretended flitting, which would have the same effect; he need only give out that he was going to move over the border into England, and then get together his cattle and his household goods, and set out for a day's drive around the Arenig. The fairy would surely quit the house when the farmer should quit it, and especially would it quit the premises of a born Cymro who avowed his purpose of settling in the foreign land of the Sais. So then he could come back to his house by another route, and he would find the obnoxious Bwbach gone. The farmer did as he was told, and set out upon his journey, driving his cattle and sheep before him, and leading the cart upon which his furniture was piled, while his wife and children trudged behind. When he reached Rhyd-y-Fen, a ford so called from this legend, they met a neighbour, who exclaimed, 'Holo, Dewi, are you leaving us for good?' Before the farmer could answer there was a shrill cry from inside the churn on the cart, 'Yes, yes, we are flitting from Hendrefawr to Eingl-dud, where we've got a new home.' It was the Bwbach that spoke. He was flitting with the household goods, and the farmer's little plan to be rid of him was a complete failure. The good man sighed as he turned his horses about and went back to Hendrefawr by the same road he had come. IV. The famous Pwca of the Trwyn Farm, in Mynyddyslwyn parish, came there from his first abode, at Pantygasseg, in a jug of barm. One of the farm-servants brought the jug to Pantygasseg, and as she was being served with the barm in the jug, the Pwca was heard to say, 'The Pwca is going away now in this jug of barm, and he'll never come back;' and he was never heard at Pantygasseg again. Another story tells that a servant let fall a ball of yarn, over the ledge of the hill whose base is washed by the two fishponds between Hafod-yr-Ynys and Pontypool, and the Pwca said, 'I am going in this ball, and I'll go to the Trwyn, and never come back,'--and directly the ball was seen to roll down the hillside, and across the valley, ascending the hill on the other side, and trundling along briskly across the mountain top to its new abode. CHAPTER X. Fairy Money and Fairy Gifts in General--The Story of Gitto Bach, or Little Griffith--The Penalty of Blabbing--Legends of the Shepherds of Cwm Llan--The Money Value of Kindness--Ianto Llewellyn and the Tylwyth Teg--The Legend of Hafod Lwyddog--Lessons inculcated by these Superstitions. I. 'This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so,' says the old shepherd in 'Winter's Tale;' sagely adding, 'Up with it, keep it close; home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still, requires nothing but secrecy.'[59] Here we have the traditional belief of the Welsh peasantry in a nut-shell. Fairy money is as good as any, so long as its source is kept a profound secret; if the finder relate the particulars of his good fortune, it will vanish. Sometimes--especially in cases where the money has been spent--the evil result of tattling consists in there being no further favours of the sort. The same law governs fairy gifts of all kinds. A Breconshire legend tells of the generosity of the Tylwyth Teg in presenting the peasantry with loaves of bread, which turned to toadstools next morning; it was necessary to eat the bread in darkness and silence to avoid this transformation. The story of Gitto Bach, a familiar one in Wales, is a picturesque example. Gitto Bach (little Griffith), a good little farmer's boy of Glamorganshire, used often to ramble to the top of the mountain to look after his father's sheep. On his return he would show his brothers and sisters pieces of remarkably white paper, like crown pieces, with letters stamped upon them, which he said were given to him by the little children with whom he played on the mountain. One day he did not return. For two years nothing was heard of him. Meantime other children occasionally got like crown-pieces of paper from the mountains. One morning when Gitto's mother opened the door there he sat--the truant!--dressed exactly as he was when she saw him last, two years before. He had a little bundle under his arm. 'Where in the world have you been all this time?' asked the mother, 'Why, it's only yesterday I went away!' quoth Gitto. 'Look at the pretty clothes the children gave me on the mountain, for dancing with them to the music of their harps.' With this he opened his bundle, and showed a handsome dress; and behold, it was only paper, like the fairy money. FOOTNOTE: [59] 'Winter's Tale,' Act III., Sc. 3. II. But usually, throughout Wales, it is simply a discontinuance of fairy favour which follows blabbing. A legend is connected with a bridge in Anglesea, of a lad who often saw the fairies there, and profited by their generosity. Every morning, while going to fetch his father's cows from pasture, he saw them, and after they were gone he always found a groat on a certain stone of Cymmunod Bridge. The boy's having money so often about him excited his father's suspicion, and one Sabbath day he cross-questioned the lad as to the manner in which it was obtained. Oh, the meddlesomeness of fathers! Of course the poor boy confessed that it was through the medium of the fairies, and of course, though he often went after this to the field, he never found any money on the bridge, nor saw the offended Tylwyth Teg again. Through his divulging the secret their favour was lost. Jones tells a similar story of a young woman named Anne William Francis, in the parish of Bassalleg, who on going by night into a little grove of wood near the house, heard pleasant music, and saw a company of fairies dancing on the grass. She took a pail of water there, thinking it would gratify them. The next time she went there she had a shilling given her, 'and so had for several nights after, until she had twenty-one shillings.' But her mother happening to find the money, questioned her as to where she got it, fearing she had stolen it. At first the girl would not tell, but when her mother 'went very severe on her,' and threatened to beat her, she confessed she got the money from the fairies. After that they never gave her any more. The Prophet adds: 'I have heard of other places where people have had money from the fairies, sometimes silver sixpences, but most commonly copper coin. As they cannot make money, it certainly must be money lost or concealed by persons.' The Euhemerism of this is hardly like the wonder-loving Jones. III. In the legends of the two shepherds of Cwm Llan and their experience with the fairies, the first deals with the secrecy feature, while the second reproduces the often-impressed lesson concerning the money value of kindness. The first is as follows: One evening a shepherd, who had been searching for his sheep on the side of Nant y Bettws, after crossing Bwlch Cwm Llan, espied a number of little people singing and dancing, and some of the prettiest damsels he ever set eyes on preparing a feast. He went to them and partook of the meal, and thought he had never tasted anything to equal those dishes. When it became dusk they pitched their tents, and the shepherd had never seen before such beautiful things as they had about them there. They provided him with a soft feather-bed and sheets of the finest linen, and he retired, feeling like a prince. But on the morrow, lo and behold! his bed was but a bush of bulrushes, and his pillow a tuft of moss. He however found in his shoes some pieces of silver, and afterwards, for a long time, he continued to find once a week a piece of silver placed between two stones near the spot where he had lain. One day he divulged his secret to another, and the weekly coin was never placed there again. There was another shepherd near Cwm Llan, who heard some strange noise in a crevice of a rock, and turning to see what it was, found there a singular creature who wept bitterly. He took it out and saw it to be a fairy child, but whilst he was looking at it compassionately, two middle-aged men came to him and thanked him courteously for his kindness, and on leaving him presented him with a staff as a token of remembrance of the occasion. The following year every sheep he possessed bore two ewe lambs. They continued to thus breed for years to come; but one very dark and stormy night, having stayed very late in the village, in crossing the river that comes down from Cwm Llan, there being a great flood sweeping everything before it, he dropped his staff into the river and saw it no more. On the morrow he found that nearly all his sheep and lambs, like his staff, had been swept away by the flood. His wealth had departed from him in the same way as it came--with the staff which he had received from the guardians of the fairy child. IV. A Pembrokeshire Welshman told me this story as a tradition well known in that part of Wales. Ianto Llewellyn was a man who lived in the parish of Llanfihangel, not more than fifty or eighty years ago, and who had precious good reason to believe in the fairies. He used to keep his fire of coal balls burning all night long, out of pure kindness of heart, in case the Tylwyth Teg should be cold. That they came into his kitchen every night he was well aware; he often heard them. One night when they were there as usual, Ianto was lying wide awake and heard them say, 'I wish we had some good bread and cheese this cold night, but the poor man has only a morsel left; and though it's true that would be a good meal for us, it is but a mouthful to him, and he might starve if we took it.' At this Ianto cried out at the top of his voice, 'Take anything I've got in my cupboard and welcome to you!' Then he turned over and went to sleep. The next morning, when he descended into the kitchen, he looked in his cupboard, to see if by good luck there might be a bit of crust there. He had no sooner opened the cupboard door than he cried out, 'O'r anwyl! what's this?' for there stood the finest cheese he had ever seen in his life, with two loaves of bread on top of it. 'Lwc dda i ti!' cried Ianto, waving his hand toward the wood where he knew the fairies lived; 'good luck to you! May you never be hungry or penniless!' And he had not got the words out of his mouth when he saw--what do you think?--a shilling on the hob! But that was the lucky shilling. Every morning after this, when Ianto got up, there was the shilling on the hob--another one, you mind, for he'd spent the first for beer and tobacco to go with his bread and cheese. Well, after that, no man in the parish was better supplied with money than Ianto Llewellyn, though he never did a stroke of work. He had enough to keep his wife in ease and comfort, too, and he got the name of Lucky Ianto. And lucky he might have been to the day of his death but for the curiosity of woman. Betsi his wife was determined to know where all this money came from, and gave the poor man no peace. 'Wel, naw wfft!' she cried--which means in English, 'Nine shames on you'--'to have a bad secret from your own dear wife!' 'But you know, Betsi, if I tell you I'll never get any more money.' 'Ah,' said she, 'then it's the fairies!' 'Drato!' said he--and that means 'Bother it all'--'yes--the fairies it is.' With that he thrust his hands down in his breeches pockets in a sullen manner and left the house. He had had seven shillings in his pockets up to that minute, and he went feeling for them with his fingers, and found they were gone. In place of them were some pieces of paper fit only to light his pipe. And from that day the fairies brought him no more money. V. The lesson of generosity is taught with force and simplicity in the legend of Hafod Lwyddog, and the necessity for secrecy is quite abandoned. Again it is a shepherd, who dwelt at Cwm Dyli, and who went every summer to live in a cabin by the Green Lake (Llyn Glas) along with his fold. One morning on awaking from sleep he saw a good-looking damsel dressing an infant close by his side. She had very little in which to wrap the babe, so he threw her an old shirt of his own, and bade her place it about the child. She thanked him and departed. Every night thereafter the shepherd found a piece of silver placed in an old clog in his cabin. Years and years this good luck continued, and Meirig the shepherd became immensely wealthy. He married a lovely girl, and went to the Hafod Lwyddog to live. Whatever he undertook prospered--hence the name Hafod Lwyddog, for Lwydd means prosperity. The fairies paid nightly visits to the Hafod. No witch or evil sprite could harm this people, as Bendith y Mamau was poured down upon the family, and all their descendants.[60] FOOTNOTE: [60] 'Cymru Fu,' 472. VI. The thought will naturally occur that by fostering belief in such tales as some of the foregoing, roguery might make the superstition useful in silencing inquiry as to ill-gotten gains. But on the other hand the virtues of hospitality and generosity were no doubt fostered by the same influences. If any one was favoured by the fairies in this manner, the immediate explanation was, that he had done a good turn to them, generally without suspecting who they were. The virtues of neatness, in young girls and servants, were encouraged by the like notions; the belief that a fairy will leave money only on a clean-kept hob, could tend to nothing more directly. It was also made a condition of pleasing the Tylwyth Teg that the hearth should be carefully swept and the pails left full of water. Then the fairies would come at midnight, continue their revels till daybreak, sing the well-known strain of 'Toriad y Dydd,' or 'The Dawn,' leave a piece of money on the hob, and disappear. Here is seen a precaution against fire in the clean-swept hearth and the provision of filled water-pails. That the promised reward did not always arrive, was not evidence it would never arrive; and so the virtue of perseverance was also fostered. Superstitions of this class are widely prevalent among Aryan peoples. The 'Arabian Nights' story of the old rogue whose money turned to leaves will be recalled. In Danish folk-lore, the fairy money bestowed on the boors turns sometimes to pebbles, and sometimes grows hot and burns their fingers, so that they drop it, when it sinks into the earth. [Music: TORIAD Y DYDD.] CHAPTER XI. Origins of Welsh Fairies--The Realistic Theory--Legend of the Baron's Gate--The Red Fairies--The Trwyn Fairy a Proscribed Nobleman--The Theory of hiding Druids--Colour in Welsh Fairy Attire--The Green Lady of Caerphilly--White the favourite Welsh Hue--Legend of the Prolific Woman--The Poetico-Religious Theory--The Creed of Science. I. Concerning the origin of the Tylwyth Teg, there are two popular explanations, the one poetico-religious in its character, the other practical and realistic. Both are equally wide of the truth, the true origin of fairies being found in the primeval mythology; but as my purpose is to avoid enlarging in directions generally familiar to the student, I have only to present the local aspects of this, as of the other features of the subject. The realistic theory of the origin of the Tylwyth Teg must be mentioned respectfully, because among its advocates have been men of culture and good sense. This theory presumes that the first fairies were men and women of mortal flesh and blood, and that the later superstitions are a mere echo of tales which first were told of real beings. In quasi-support of this theory, there is a well-authenticated tradition of a race of beings who, in the middle of the sixteenth century, inhabited the Wood of the Great Dark Wood (Coed y Dugoed Mawr) in Merionethshire, and who were called the Red Fairies. They lived in dens in the ground, had fiery red hair and long strong arms, and stole sheep and cattle by night. There are cottages in Cemmaes parish, near the Wood of the Great Dark Wood, with scythes in the chimneys, which were put there to keep these terrible beings out. One Christmas eve a valiant knight named Baron Owen headed a company of warriors who assailed the Red Fairies, and found them flesh and blood. The Baron hung a hundred of them; but spared the women, one of whom begged hard for the life of her son. The Baron refused her prayer, whereupon she opened her breast and shrieked, 'This breast has nursed other sons than he, who will yet wash their hands in thy blood, Baron Owen!' Not very long thereafter, the Baron was waylaid at a certain spot by the sons of the 'fairy' woman, who washed their hands in his warm and reeking blood, in fulfilment of their mother's threat. And to this day that spot goes by the name of Llidiart y Barwn (the Baron's Gate); any peasant of the neighbourhood will tell you the story, as one told it to me. There is of course no better foundation for the fairy features of it than the fancies of the ignorant mind, but the legend itself is--very nearly in this shape--historical. The beings in question were a band of outlaws, who might naturally find it to their interest to foster belief in their supernatural powers. II. The so-called Pwca'r Trwyn, which haunted the farm-house in the parish of Mynyddyslwyn, is sometimes cited as another case in which a fairy was probably a being of flesh and blood; and if this be true, it of course proves nothing but the adoption of an ancient superstition by a proscribed Welsh nobleman. There is a tradition that this fairy had a name, and that this name was 'yr Arglwydd Hywel,' which is in English 'Lord Howell.' And it is argued that this Lord, in a contest with the forces of the English king, was utterly worsted, and driven into hiding; that his tenants at Pantygasseg and the Trwyn Farm, loving their Lord, helped to hide him, and to disseminate the belief that he was a household fairy, or Bwbach. It is related that he generally spoke from his own room in this farm-house, in a gentle voice which 'came down between the boards' into the common room beneath. One day the servants were comparing their hands, as to size and whiteness, when the fairy was heard to say, 'The Pwca's hand is the fairest and smallest.' The servants asked if the fairy would show its hand, and immediately a plank overhead was moved and a hand appeared, small, fair and beautifully formed, with a large gold ring on the little finger. III. Curiously interesting is the hypothesis concerning the realistic origin of the Tylwyth Teg, which was put forth at the close of the last century by several writers, among them the Rev. Peter Roberts, author of the 'Collectanea Cambrica.' This hypothesis precisely accounts for the fairies anciently as being the Druids, in hiding from their enemies, or if not they, other persons who had such cause for living concealed in subterraneous places, and venturing forth only at night. 'Some conquered aborigines,' thought Dr. Guthrie; while Mr. Roberts fancied that as the Irish had frequently landed hostilely in Wales, 'it was very possible that some small bodies of that nation left behind, or unable to return, and fearing discovery, had hid themselves in caverns during the day, and sent their children out at night, fantastically dressed, for food and exercise, and thus secured themselves.' But there were objections to this presumption, and the Druidical theory was the favourite one. Says Mr. Roberts: 'The fairy customs appeared evidently too systematic, and too general, to be those of an accidental party reduced to distress. They are those of a consistent and regular policy instituted to prevent discovery, and to inspire fear of their power, and a high opinion of their beneficence. Accordingly tradition notes, that to attempt to discover them was to incur certain destruction. "They are fairies," says Falstaff: "he that looks on them shall die." They were not to be impeded in ingress or egress; a bowl of milk was to be left for them at night on the hearth; and, in return, they left a small present in money when they departed, if the house was kept clean; if not, they inflicted some punishment on the negligent, which, as it was death to look on them, they were obliged to suffer, and no doubt but many unlucky tricks were played on such occasions. Their general dress was green, that they might be the better concealed; and, as their children might have betrayed their haunts, they seem to have been suffered to go out only in the night time, and to have been entertained by dances on moonlight nights. These dances, like those round the Maypole, have been said to be performed round a tree; and on an elevated spot, mostly a tumulus, beneath which was probably their habitation, or its entrance. The older persons, probably, mixed as much as they dared with the world; and, if they happened to be at any time recognised, the certainty of their vengeance was their safety. If by any chance their society was thinned, they appear to have stolen children, and changed feeble for strong infants. The stolen children, if beyond infancy, being brought into their subterraneous dwellings, seem to have had a soporific given them, and to have been carried to a distant part of the country; and, being there allowed to go out merely by night, mistook the night for the day, and probably were not undeceived until it could be done securely. The regularity and generality of this system shows that there was a body of people existing in the kingdom distinct from its known inhabitants, and either confederated, or obliged to live or meet mysteriously; and their rites, particularly that of dancing round a tree, probably an oak, as Herne's, etc., as well as their character for truth and probity, refer them to a Druidic origin. If this was the case, it is easy to conceive, as indeed history shows, that, as the Druids were persecuted by the Romans and Christians, they used these means to preserve themselves and their families, and whilst the country was thinly peopled, and thickly wooded, did so successfully; and, perhaps, to a much later period than is imagined: till the increase of population made it impossible. As the Druidical was one of the most ancient religions, so it must have been one of the first persecuted, and forced to form a regular plan of security, which their dwelling in caves may have suggested, and necessity improved.' IV. It will be observed that one of the points in this curious speculation rests on the green dress of the fairies. I do not call attention to it with any Quixotic purpose of disputing the conclusion it assists; it is far more interesting as one feature of the general subject of fairies' attire. The Welsh fairies are described with details as to colour in costume not commonly met with in fairy tales, a fact to which I have before alluded. In the legend of the Place of Strife, the Tylwyth Teg encountered by the women are called 'the old elves of the blue petticoat.' A connection with the blue of the sky has here been suggested. It has also been pointed out that the sacred Druidical dress was blue. The blue petticoat fancy seems to be local to North Wales. In Cardiganshire, the tradition respecting an encampment called Moyddin, which the fairies frequented, is that they were always in green dresses, and were never seen there but in the vernal month of May. There is a Glamorganshire goblin called the Green Lady of Caerphilly, the colour of whose dress is indicated by her title. She haunts the ruin of Caerphilly Castle at night, wearing a green robe, and has the power of turning herself into ivy and mingling with the ivy growing on the wall. A more ingenious mode of getting rid of a goblin was perhaps never invented. The fairies of Frennifawr, in Pembrokeshire, were on the contrary gorgeous in scarlet, with red caps, and feathers waving in the wind as they danced. But others were in white, and this appears to be the favourite hue of modern Welsh fairy costume, when the Tylwyth Teg are in holiday garb. These various details of colour are due to the fervour of the Welsh fancy, of course, and perhaps their variety may in part be ascribed to a keener sense of the fitness of things among moderns than was current in earlier times. White, to the Welsh, would naturally be the favourite colour for a beautiful creature, dancing in the moonlight on the velvet sward. The most popular pet name for a Welsh lass is to-day exactly what it has been for centuries, viz., Gwenny, the diminutive of Gwenllian (Anglicised into Gwendoline)--a name which means simply white linen; and the white costume of the favourite fairies undoubtedly signifies a dress of white linen. This fabric, common as it is in our day, was in ancient times of inestimable value. In the Mabinogion, linen is repeatedly particularised in the gorgeous descriptions of fabled splendour in princely castles--linen, silk, satin, velvet, gold-lace, and jewels, are the constantly-recurring features of sumptuous attire. In his account of the royal tribes of Wales, Yorke mentions that linen was so rare in the reign of Charles VII. of France (i.e., in the fifteenth century) 'that her majesty the queen could boast of only two shifts of that commodity.' The first cause of the fairies' robes being white is evidently to be discerned here; and in Wales the ancient sentiment as to whiteness remains. The Welsh peasantry, coarsely and darkly clad themselves, would make white a purely holiday colour, and devise some other hue for such commoner fairies as the Bwbach and his sort: The coarse and country fairy, That doth haunt the hearth and dairy.[61] So the Bwbach is usually brown, often hairy; and the Coblynau are black or copper-coloured in face as well as dress. FOOTNOTE: [61] Jonson, Masque of 'Oberon.' V. A local legend of the origin of fairies in Anglesea mingles the practical and the spiritual in this manner: 'In our Saviour's time there lived a woman whose fortune it was to be possessed of nearly a score of children, ... and as she saw our blessed Lord approach her dwelling, being ashamed of being so prolific, and that He might not see them all, she concealed about half of them closely, and after his departure, when she went in search of them, to her great surprise found they were all gone. They never afterwards could be discovered, for it was supposed that as a punishment from heaven for hiding what God had given her, she was deprived of them; and it is said these her offspring have generated the race called fairies.'[62] FOOTNOTE: [62] 'Camb. Sup.,' 118. VI. The common or popular theory, however, is in Wales the poetico-religious one. This is, in a word, the belief that the Tylwyth Teg are the souls of dead mortals not bad enough for hell nor good enough for heaven. They are doomed to live on earth, to dwell in secret places, until the resurrection day, when they will be admitted into paradise. Meantime they must be either incessantly toiling or incessantly playing, but their toil is fruitless and their pleasure unsatisfying. A variation of this general belief holds these souls to be the souls of the ancient Druids, a fancy which is specially impressive, as indicating the duration of their penance, and reminds us of the Wandering Jew myth. It is confined mainly to the Coblynau, or dwellers in mines and caves. Another variation considers the fairies bad spirits of still remoter origin--the same in fact who were thrown over the battlements of heaven along with Satan, but did not fall into hell--landed on the earth instead, where they are permitted to tarry till doomsday as above. A detail of this theory is in explanation of the rare appearance of fairies nowadays; they are refraining from mischief in view of the near approach of the judgment, with the hope of thus conciliating heaven. The Prophet Jones, in explaining why the fairies have been so active in Wales, expounds the poetico-religious theory in masterly form. After stating that some in Monmouthshire were so ignorant as to think the fairies happy spirits, because they had music and dancing among them, he proceeds to assert, in the most emphatic terms, that the Tylwyth Teg are nothing else, 'after all the talking about them,' but the disembodied spirits of men who lived and died without the enjoyment of the means of grace and salvation, as Pagans and others, and whose punishment therefore is far less severe than that of those who have enjoyed the means of salvation. 'But some persons may desire to know why these fairies have appeared in Wales more than in some other countries? to which I answer, that I can give no other reason but this, that having lost the light of the true religion in the eighth and ninth centuries of Christianity, and received Popery in its stead, it became dark night upon them; and then these spirits of darkness became more bold and intruding; and the people, as I said before, in their great ignorance seeing them like a company of children in dry clean places, dancing and having music among them, thought them to be some happy beings, ... and made them welcome in their houses.... The Welsh entered into familiarity with the fairies in the time of Henry IV., and the evil then increased; the severe laws of that prince enjoining, among other things, that they were not to bring up their children to learning, etc., by which a total darkness came upon them; which cruel laws were occasioned by the rebellion of Owen Glandwr, and the Welsh which joined with him; foolishly thinking to shake off the Saxon yoke before they had repented of their sins.' Whatever their locally accepted causes of being may be, it is beyond any question that in the fairy folk-lore of Wales, as of other lands, are to be found the _débris_ of ancient mythology--scintillant fragments of those magic constellations which glow in the darkness of primeval time, grand and majestic as the vast Unknown out of which they were evolved by barbaric fancy. Through the aid of modern scientific research, 'those ages which the myths of centuries have peopled with heroic shadows'[63] are brought nearer to us, and the humble Welsh Tylwyth Teg may reach back and shake hands with the Olympian gods. [Illustration: "THE HUMBLE 'TYLWYTH TEG' SHAKE HANDS WITH THE OLYMPIAN GODS."] FOOTNOTE: [63] Marquis of Bute, address before the Royal Archæological Institute, Cardiff meeting. BOOK II. THE SPIRIT-WORLD. Where the wan spectres walk eternal rounds. POPE. _Miranda._ What is't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form:--But 'tis a spirit. SHAKSPEARE: _Tempest_. CHAPTER I. Modern Superstition regarding Ghosts--American 'Spiritualism'--Welsh Beliefs--Classification of Welsh Ghosts--Departed Mortals--Haunted Houses--Lady Stradling's Ghost--The Haunted Bridge--The Legend of Catrin Gwyn--Didactic Purpose in Cambrian Apparitions--An Insulted Corpse--Duty-performing Ghosts--Laws of the Spirit-World--Cadogan's Ghost. I. In an age so given to mysticism as our own, it is unnecessary to urge that the Welsh as a people are not more superstitious regarding spirits than other peoples. Belief in the visits to earth of disembodied spirits is common to all lands. There are no doubt differences in the degree of this belief, as there are differences in matters of detail. Where or how these spirits exist are questions much more difficult to the average faith than why they exist. They exist for the moral good of man; of this there prevails no doubt. The rest belongs to the still unsettled science of the Unknowable. That form of mysticism called 'spiritualism' by its disciples is dignified to the thoughtful observer by being viewed as a remnant of the primeval philosophy. When we encounter, in wandering among the picturesque ghosts of the Welsh spirit-world, last-century stories displaying details exactly similar to those of modern spiritualism, our interest is strongly aroused. The student of folk-lore finds his materials in stories and beliefs which appear to be of a widespread family, rather than in stories and beliefs which are unique; and the spirit of inquiry is constantly on the alert, in following the details of a good old ghost story, however fascinating it may be in a poetic sense. The phantoms of the Welsh spirit-world are always picturesque; they are often ghastly; sometimes they are amusing to the point of risibility; but besides, they are instructive to him whose purpose in studying is, to know. That this age is superstitious with regard to ghosts, is not wonderful; all ages have been so; the wonder is that this age should be so and yet be the possessor of a scientific record so extraordinary as its own. An age which has brought forth the magnetic telegraph, steamships and railway engines, sewing-machines, mowing-machines, gas-light, and innumerable discoveries and inventions of marvellous utility--not to allude to those of our own decade--should have no other use for ghostology than a scientific one. But it would be a work as idle as that of the Coblynau themselves, to point out how universal among the most civilised nations is the superstition that spirits walk. The 'controls' of the modern spiritualistic seance have the world for their audience. The United States, a land generally deemed--at least by its inhabitants--to be the most advanced in these directions of any on God's footstool, gave birth to modern spiritualism. Its disciples there compose a vast body of people, respectable and worthy people in the main (as the victims of superstition usually are), among whom are many men of high intellectual ability. With the masses, some degree of belief in the spirits is so nearly universal that I need hardly qualify the adjective. In a country where there is practically no such class as that represented in Europe by the peasantry, the rampancy of such a belief is a phenomenon deserving close and curious study. The present work affords no scope for this study, of course. But I may here mention in further illustration of my immediate theme, the constant appearance, in American communities, of ghosts of the old-fashioned sort. Especially in the New England states, which are notable for their enlightenment, are ghost-stories still frequent--such as that of the haunted school-house at Newburyport, Mass., where a disembodied spirit related its own murder; of the ghost of New Bedford, which struck a visitor in the face, so that he yet bears the marks of the blow; of the haunted house at Cambridge, in the classic shadow of Harvard College. It is actually on record in the last-named case, that the house fell to decay on account of its ghastly reputation, as no one would live in it; that a tenant who ventured to occupy it in 1877 was disturbed by the spirit of a murdered girl who said her mortal bones were buried in his cellar; and that a party of men actually dug all night in that cellar in search of those bones, while the ghost waltzed in a chamber overhead. The more common form of spirit peculiar to our time appears constantly in various parts of the country; it is continually turning up in the American newspapers, rapping on walls, throwing stones, tipping over tables, etc. 'Mediums' of every grade of shrewdness and stupidity, and widely differing degrees of education and ignorance, flourish abundantly. Occasionally, where revelations of murder have been made to a mortal by a spirit, the police have taken the matter in hand. It is to be observed as a commendable practice in such cases, that the mortal is promptly arrested by the police if there has really been a murder; and when the fact appears, as it sometimes does, that the mortal had need of no ghost to tell him what he knows, he is hanged. II. The Welsh dearly love to discuss questions of a spiritual and religious nature, and there are no doubt many who look upon disbelief herein as something approaching paganism. That one should believe in God and a future life, and yet be utterly incredulous as to the existence of a mundane spirit-world, seems to such minds impossible. It is not many years since the clergy taught a creed of this sort. One must not only believe in a spiritual existence, but must believe in that existence here below--must believe that ghosts walked, and meddled, and made disagreeable noises. Our friend the Prophet Jones taught this creed with energy. In his relation of apparitions in Monmouthshire, he says: 'Enough is said in these relations to satisfy any reasonable sober-minded person, and to confute this ancient heresy, now much revived and spreading, especially among the gentry, and persons much estranged from God and spiritual things; and such as will not be satisfied with things plainly proved and well designed; are, in this respect, no better than fools, and to be despised as such.... They are chiefly women and men of weak and womanish understandings, who speak against the accounts of spirits and apparitions. In some women this comes from a certain proud fineness, excessive delicacy, and a superfine disposition which cannot bear to be disturbed with what is strange and disagreeable to a vain spirit.' Nor does the Prophet hesitate to apply the term 'Sadducees' to all doubters of his goblins. His warrant for this is found in Wesley and Luther. That Luther saw apparitions, or believed he did, is commonly known. Wesley's beliefs in this direction, however, are of a nearer century, and strike us more strangely; though it must be said that the Prophet Jones, in our own century, believed more than either of his eminent prototypes. 'It is true,' wrote Wesley, 'that the English in general, and indeed most of the men in Europe, have given up all accounts of witches and apparitions as mere old wives' fables. I am sorry for it, and I willingly take this opportunity of entering my solemn protest against this violent compliment which so many that believe the Bible pay to those who do _not_ believe it.... They well know, whether Christians know it or not, that the giving up witchcraft is, in effect, giving up the Bible. And they know, on the other hand, that if but one account of the intercourse of men with separate spirits be admitted, their whole castle in the air--deism, atheism, materialism--falls to the ground.' III. The ghosts of Wales present many well-defined features. It is even possible to classify them, after a fashion. Of course, as with all descriptions of phantoms, the vagueness inevitable in creatures of the imagination is here; but the ghosts of Welsh tradition are often so old, and have been handed down so cleanly through successive generations, that in our day they have almost acquired definite outlines, as in the case of images arising from the perceptions. Always bearing in mind the risk of being lost in the labyrinthine eccentricities of popular fancy, compared to which the Arsinoë of Herodotus was unperplexing, I venture to classify the inhabitants of the Welsh spirit-world thus: 1. Departed Mortals; 2. Goblin Animals; 3. Spectres of Natural Objects; 4. Grotesque Ghosts; 5. Familiar Spirits; 6. Death Omens. IV. The ghosts of departed mortals are usually the late personal acquaintances of the people who see them. But sometimes they are strangers whom nobody knows, and concerning whom everybody is curious. Two such ghosts haunted the streets of Ebbw Vale, in Glamorganshire, in January, 1877. One was in the shape of an old woman, the other in that of a girl child. Timid people kept indoors after nightfall, and there were many who believed thoroughly in the ghostly character of the mysterious visitors. Efforts were made to catch them, but they eluded capture. It was hinted by materialists that they were thieves; by unbelievers in spiritualism that they had perhaps escaped from a seance in some adjoining town. These ghosts, however, are not very interesting. A cultivated moderner can have no satisfaction in forming the acquaintance of a seance ghost; it is quite otherwise in the case of a respectable old family goblin which has haunted a friend's house in the most orthodox manner for centuries. Such ghosts are numerous in Wales, and quite faithfully believed in by selected individuals. Indeed one of the highest claims to a dignified antiquity that can be put in by a Welsh family mansion, is the possession of a good old-fashioned blood-curdling spectre--like that, for example, which has haunted Duffryn House, a handsome stone manse near Cardiff, for the past two hundred years and more. This is the ghost of the doughty admiral Sir Thomas Button, famed in his day as an Arctic navigator. Since his death he has faithfully haunted (so the local farm folk say) the cellar and the garden of Duffryn House, where he lived, when he did live, which was in the 17th century. He has never been known to appear in hall or chamber of the mansion, within the memory of man, but has been seen hovering over the beer butt or tun in the cellar, commemorated in his name, and walking in the flower-garden of a fine windy night. It is noteworthy that in Wales it is by no means necessary that a house should be tenantless, mortally speaking, merely because a ghost haunts it. The dreary picture of desolation drawn by Hood, the all-sufficient explanation of which was-- ... the place is haunted! would not recall the smug tidiness of Duffryn House, whose clean-cut lawns and well-trimmed hedges are fit surroundings of a mansion where luxurious comfort reigns. A ghost which confines itself to the cellar and the garden need disturb neither the merrymaking nor the slumbers of the guests. St. Donat's Castle is down on the southern coast of Glamorganshire, in a primitive region not yet profaned by railroads, nor likely to be perhaps for many years to come. It is owned and inhabited by a worthy gentleman whose ancestors for seven centuries sleep in the graveyard under the old castle wall. Its favourite ghost--for to confine this or any other ancient Welsh castle to a single ghost would be almost disrespectful--is that of Lady Stradling, who was done away with by some of her family in those wicked old times when families did not always dwell in peace together. This ghost makes a practice of appearing when any mishap is about to befall a member of the house of Stradling--the direct line of which is, however, extinct, a fact not very well apprehended among the neighbouring peasantry. She wears high-heeled shoes and a long trailing gown of the finest silk. In this guise doth she wander up and down the long majestic halls and chambers, and, while she wanders, the castle hounds refuse to rest, but with their howlings raise all the dogs of the village under the hill. V. Ghosts of this sort are vague and purposeless in character, beyond a general blood-curdling office which in all ghosts doth dwell. They haunt not only castles and family mansions, but bridges, rocks, and roads, objectless but frightful. The ghost of Pont Cwnca Bach, near Yscanhir, in Carmarthenshire, frightens people off the bridge into the rivulet. Many belated peasants have had this dire experience at the little bridge, afterwards wandering away in a dazed condition, and finding themselves on recovering at some distance from home, often in the middle of a bog. In crossing this bridge people were seized with 'a kind of _cold dread_,' and felt 'a peculiar sensation' which they could not describe, but which the poorest fancy can no doubt imagine. Another purposeless spectre exists in the legend of Catrin Gwyn, told in Cardiganshire. The ruin of a shepherd's cottage, standing on a mountain waste near the river Rheidol, is the haunt of this spectre. A peasant who was asked to escort a stranger up the narrow defile of rocks by the ruin, in horror exclaimed, 'Yn enw y daioni, peidiwch,' (in the name of heaven, sir, don't go!) 'or you'll meet White Catti of the Grove Cave.' 'And what's that?' 'An evil spirit, sir.' And the superstitious peasant would neither be laughed nor reasoned out of his fears. Catrin was the bride of a young shepherd living near Machynlleth in 1705. One day she went to market with a party of other peasants, who separated from her on the return way at a point two miles from Gelli Gogo. She was never more seen alive. A violent storm arose in the night, and next day a scrap of her red cloak was found on the edge of a frightful bog, in which she is believed to have disappeared in the darkness and storm. The husband went mad; their cottage fell to decay; and to this day the shepherds declare that Catti's ghost haunts the spot. It is most often seen, and in its most terrific shape, during howling storms, when it rides on the gale, shrieking as it goes.[64] FOOTNOTE: [64] 'Camb. Quarterly,' i., 452. VI. Few Cambrian spirits are devoid of a didactic purpose. Some teach reverence for the dead,--a lesson in great request among the rising generation in Wales and elsewhere. The church at Tregaron, Cardiganshire, was being rebuilt in 1877, and certain skulls were turned up by the diggers in making new foundations. The boys of Tregaron amused themselves playing ball with the skulls, picking out their teeth, banging them against the wall to see if they would break, and the like.[65] They probably never heard the story told by Mrs. Morgan of Newport to the Prophet Jones: of some people who were drinking at an inn there, 'two of them officers of excise,' when one of the men, to show his courage, declared he was afraid of no ghosts, and dared go to the charnel house and fetch a skull from that ghastly place. This bold and dangerous thing he did, and the men debated, over their beer, whether it was a male or a female skull, and concluded it was a woman's, 'though the grave nearly destroys the difference between male and female before the bones are turned to dust, and the difference then quite destroyed and known only to God.' After a jolly hour over the skull, the bold one carried it back and left it where he got it; but as he was leaving the church, suddenly a tremendous blast like a whirlwind seized him, and so mauled and hauled him that his teeth chattered in his head and his knees knocked together, and he ever after swore that nothing should tempt him to such a deed again. He was still more convinced that the ghost of the original owner of the skull had been after him, when he got home, and his wife told him that his cane, which hung in the room, had been beating against the wall in a dreadful manner. FOOTNOTE: [65] 'Western Mail,' Dec. 14, 1877. VII. As a rule, the motive for the reappearance on earth of a spirit lately tenanting a mortal body, is found in some neglected duty. The spirit of a suicide is morally certain to walk: a reason why suicides are so unpopular as tenants of graveyards. It is a brave man who will go to the grave of a suicide and play 'Hob y deri dando' on the ysturmant (jew's-harp), without missing a note. Many are the tales displaying the motive, on the ghost's part, of a duty to perform--sometimes clearly defining it, sometimes vaguely suggesting it, as in the story of Noe. 'The evening was far gone when a traveller of the name of Noe arrived at an inn in Pembrokeshire, and called for refreshment. After remaining some time he remarked that he must proceed on his journey. "Surely," said the astonished landlord, "you will not travel at night, for it is said that a ghost haunts that road, crying out, The days are long and the nights are cold to wait for Noe." "O, I am the man sought for," said he, and immediately departed; but strange to say, neither Noe nor the ghost was ever heard of afterwards.'[66] The ghost of a weaver, which appeared to Walter John Harry, had a very clear idea of the duty he must perform: Walter John Harry was a Quaker, a harmless, honest man, and by trade a farrier, who lived in the romantic valley of Ebwy Fawr. The house he lived in was haunted by the ghost of Morgan Lewis, a weaver, who had died in that house. One night, while lying awake in his bed, with his wife sleeping by his side, Harry saw a light slowly ascending the stairs, and being somewhat afraid, though he was naturally a fearless man, strove to awake his wife by pinching her, but could not awake her. So there he lay in great fear, and with starting eyes beheld the ghost of the weaver come up the stairs, bearing a candle in its hand, and wearing a white woollen cap on its head, with other garments usual to the weaver when alive. The ghost came near the farrier's bed, who then mustered up courage to speak to it. 'Morgan Lewis,' said Harry, 'why dost thou walk this earth?' The ghost replied with great solemnity, that its reason for so doing was that there were some 'bottoms of wool' hidden in the wall of this house, and until these said bottoms were removed from the wall it could not sleep. The ghost did not say this wool had been stolen, but such was the inference. However, the harmless farrier spoke severely to the ghost, saying, 'I charge thee, Morgan Lewis, in the name of God, that thou trouble my house no more.' Whereupon the ghost vanished, and the house ceased thereafter to be haunted. The motives animating ghosts are much the same the world over, and these details have no greater novelty than that of the local colouring. European peoples are familiar with the duty-compelled ghost; but it is odd to encounter the same spectre in China. The most common form of Chinese ghost-story is that wherein the ghost seeks to bring to justice the murderer who shuffled off its mortal coil. The ghosts of suicides are also especially obnoxious there. The spectres which are animated by a sense of duty are more frequently met than any others: now they seek to serve virtue in distress, now they aim to restore wrongfully-held treasure.[67] FOOTNOTES: [66] 'Camb. Sup.,' 31. [67] Dennys, 'Folk-Lore of China,' 73. VIII. The laws governing the Welsh spirit-world are clear and explicit. A ghost on duty bent has no power of speech until first spoken to. Its persistency in haunting is due to its eager desire to speak, and tell its urgent errand, but the person haunted must take his courage in both hands and put the question to the issue. Having done so, he is booked for the end of the business, be it what it may. The mode of speech adopted must not vary, in addressing a spirit; in the name of the Father, Son, or Holy Ghost it must be addressed, and not otherwise. Its business must be demanded; three times the question must be repeated, unless the ghost answer earlier. When it answers, it speaks in a low and hollow voice, stating its desire; and it must not be interrupted while speaking, for to interrupt it is dangerous in the extreme. At the close of its remarks, questions are in order. They must be promptly delivered, however, or the ghost will vanish. They must bear on the business in hand: it is offended if asked as to its state, or other idle questions born of curiosity. Neglect to obey the ghost's injunctions will lead to much annoyance, and eventually to dire results. At first the spirit will appear with a discontented visage, next with an angry one, and finally with a countenance distorted with the most ferocious rage. Obedience is the only method of escape from its revenge. Such is a _resumé_ of the laws. The illustrations thereof are generally consistent in their details. The story of Cadogan's ghost is one of many in kind. Thomas Cadogan was the owner of a large estate in the parish of Llanvihangel Llantarnam, and being a covetous man did wickedly remove his landmarks in such a way as to absorb to himself part of the land of a widow his neighbour. After his death this injustice troubled him, and as a certain woman was going home one night, at a stile she passed over she met Cadogan's ghost. By a strange forgetfulness, this woman for the moment lost sight of the fact that Cadogan was now a ghost; she had momentarily forgotten that Cadogan was dead. 'Mr. Cadogan,' said she, with ungrammatical curiosity, 'what does you here this time o' night?' To which the ghost answered, 'I was obliged to come.' It then explained the matter of the landmarks, and begged the woman to request a certain person (whom it mentioned) to remove them back to their proper places; and then the ghost vanished. At this unexpected termination of the interview, the woman suddenly recollected Cadogan's death, and fell into a state of extreme terror. She however did as the ghost had bidden her, and Cadogan walked no more. CHAPTER II. Household Ghosts and Hidden Treasures--The Miser of St. Donat's--Anne Dewy's Ghost--The Ghost on Horseback--Hidden Objects of Small Value--Transportation through the Air--From Breconshire to Philadelphia, Pa., in Thirty-Six Hours--Sir David Llwyd, the Magician--The Levitation of Walter Jones--Superstitions regarding Hares--The Legend of Monacella's Lambs--Aerial Transportation in Modern Spiritualism--Exorcising Household Ghosts--The Story of Haunted Margaret. I. The majority of stories of this class turn on the subject of hidden treasures. The popular belief is that if a person die while any hoarded money--or indeed metal of any kind, were it nothing more than old iron--is still hidden secretly, the spirit of that person cannot rest. Its perturbation can only be relieved by finding a human hand to take the hidden metal, and throw it down the stream of a river. To throw it up the stream, will not do. The Ogmore is the favourite river for this purpose in lower Glamorganshire. The spirit selects a particular person as the subject of its attentions, and haunts that person till asked what it wants, when it prefers its request. Some say it is only ill-gotten treasure which creates this disturbance of the grave's repose. A tailor's wife at Llantwit Major, who had been a stout and jolly dame, was thus haunted until she was worn to the semblance of a skeleton, 'for not choosing to take a hoard honestly to the Ogmore.' But flesh and blood could not resist for ever, and so--this is her story: 'I at last consented, for the sake of quiet, to take the treasure to the river; and the spirit wafted me through the air so high that I saw below me the church loft, and all the houses, as if I leaned out of a balloon. When I took the treasure to throw it into the river, in my flurry I flung it up stream instead of down: and on this the spirit, with a savage look, tossed me into a whirlwind, and however I got back to my home I know not.' The bell-ringers found her lying insensible in the church lane, as they were going home from church late in the evening. II. There was an old curmudgeon of a money-hoarder who lived in a cottage on the side of the cwm, or dingle, at St. Donat's, not far from the Castle. His housekeeper was an antique dame of quaint aspect. He died, and the dame lived there alone; but she began to grow so gaunt and grizzly that people wondered at it, and the children ran frightened from her. Some one finally got from her the confession that she was haunted by the miser's ghost. To relieve her of its presence the Methodists resolved to hold a prayer-meeting in the haunted house. While they were there singing and praying the old woman suddenly jumped up and screamed, 'There he is! there he is!' The people grew silent. Then some one said, 'Ask it what it wants.' 'What do you want?' quavered the old woman. No one heard the reply, except the dame, who presently said: 'Where is it?' Then the old woman, nodding and staring as if obeying an invisible mandate, groped her way to the chimney, thrust her gaunt arm up, and drew down a bag of money. With this she cried out, 'Let me go! let me go!' which, no one preventing her, she did, as quickly as a flash of light. Some young men by the door followed her, and, it being a bright moonlight night, beheld her whisk over the stile without touching it, and so off up the road towards the Ogmore. The people now resumed their praying and singing. It was an hour before the old woman got back, and then she was found to be spattered with mud and bedraggled with wet, as if she had been having a terrific time. She had indeed, as she confessed, been to the Ogmore, and thrown the bag of money down the stream; the ghost had then taken off its hat, made a low bow, and vanished, to trouble her no more. III. A young man from Llywel parish, who was courting a lass who lodged at the house of Thomas Richard, in the vale of Towy, found himself haunted as he went to and fro by the ghost of Anne Dewy, a woman who had hanged herself. She would not only meet him in the road, and frighten him, but she would come to his bedside, and so scare him that he fell ill. While he was ill his cousin came to see him, and thinking his illness was due to his being crossed in love, rallied him, saying, 'Wfft! thou'rt sick because thy cariad has refused thee.' But being gravely answered, and told of Anne Dewy's ghost, this cousin advised the haunted man to speak to her. 'Speak to her,' said he, 'or thou wilt have no quiet. I will go with thee, and see thou shalt have no harm.' So they went out, and called at Tafarn y Garreg, an inn not far off; but the haunted man could not drink, and often looked towards the door. 'What ails the man?' asked the tap-room loungers. He continued to be uneasy, and finally went out, his cousin following him, and then he saw the ghost again. 'Oh God, here she is!' he cried out, his teeth chattering and his eyes rolling. 'This is a sad thing,' said his cousin: 'I know not what to think of thee; but come, I will go with thee, go where thou wilt.' They returned to the ale-house, and after a while the haunted man started up, saying he was called, but when others offered to go with him he said no, he must go alone. He did go alone, and spoke to the ghost, who said, 'Fear nothing; follow me.' She led him to a spot behind the house where she had lived when in the flesh, and where she had hanged herself, and bade him take from the wall a small bag. He did so. The bag contained 'a great sum of money,' in pieces of gold; he guessed it might be 200_l._ or more. But the ghost, greatly to his regret, bade him go and cast it into the river. He obeyed, against his better judgment. The next day, and for many a day thereafter, people looked for that money where he had thrown it in the river, but it never could be found. The Rev. Thomas Lewis, a dissenting minister in those parts, saw the place in the wall where the money had been hid, in the haunted house, and wondered how the young man could reach it, it being so very high; but thought it likely he was assisted by the ghost. IV. This same Rev. Thomas Lewis was well acquainted with a man who was similarly employed by a perturbed spirit, and was at the man's bedside when he died. This ghost was in appearance a clergyman, dressed in black clothes, with a white wig on. As the man was looking out of an ale-house window one night, he saw this ghost on horseback, and went out to him. The ghost bowed and silently offered him drink; but this was declined. Thereupon the ghost lifted his hat, crooked his elbow, and said in a hollow tone, 'Attoch chwi, syr,' (towards you, sir). But others who were there could see nothing and hear nothing. The ghost then said, 'Go to Clifford Castle, in Radnorshire, take out some money which lies hidden there, and throw it into the river. Do this, I charge thee, or thou shalt have no rest.' Further and more explicit directions were then given, and the unhappy man set out, against his will, for Clifford Castle, which is the castle in which was born Fair Rosamond, King Henry II.'s beautiful favourite. No one but himself was allowed to enter the castle, although he was permitted to have a friend's company to the ruined gate thereof. It was dark when they came to the castle, but he was guided to the place where the money was, and ran with it and flung it into the river. After that he was haunted no more. An old house at Ty'n-y-Twr, in Carnarvonshire, was haunted by a ghost whose troubles were a reversal of the rule. A new tenant, who took possession of the house a few years ago, was so bothered by this spectre that he resolved to question it. He did so and got for answer the information that if he would deposit a particular sum of money in a specified place, his ghostship would cease to walk. The man actually did this, and it acted like magic. The money disappeared with promptitude, and the ghost came there no more. A man at Crumlyn, Monmouthshire, was haunted by a ghost whose trouble related to a hidden object of small value. Nevertheless the spectre was so importunate that the man set out one night to accompany it to the scene of perturbation. In due time they came to a huge stone, which the ghost bade its friend lift up, who replied that he had not sufficient strength, it being a pretty large rock he was thus requested to move. 'But try,' said the ghost. So he tried, and lo! it was lifted as if it had been a feather. He drew forth a pike, or mattock; 'and the light,' the man afterwards related, 'was as great as if the sun shone; and in the snow there was no impression of the feet of either of us.' They went to the river, and by the ghost's command the man threw the pike over his head into the water, standing with his back to the flood. The ghost then conducted him home, and never troubled him more. But for a long time after he was out of his senses. This was an illustration, according to the popular belief, of the wickedness of hiding anything, however trifling its value--a practice strongly condemned by the Welsh peasantry. There is a Glamorganshire story about a certain young man who, returning late at night from courting his sweetheart, felt tired, and sitting down fell asleep. He had not slept long when he was aroused by a strange noise, and looking up recognised the ghost of his departed grandfather. Enquiring the cause of the old gentleman's visit to this scene of trials, he got this answer: 'Under the corner of the thatch of your roof, look and you will find a pair of silver spurs, surreptitiously obtained by me when in the flesh, and hidden there. Throw them into the river Taff, and I shall be at peace.' The young man obeyed these instructions, and found the spurs accordingly; and although many persons were present when he climbed to the roof and fumbled under the thatch, and saw him in the very act, not one among them could see the spurs, which were to them invisible. They said, however, that when the purloined spurs had been thrown into the river, a bright flame was seen to flash along the water. V. A large proportion of these stories of ghostly perturbation concerning hidden treasure include a further feature of great interest, relating to transportation through the air. I have mentioned that ghosts sometimes employ the services of the fairy Boobach in thus carrying mortals from place to place. The fairies of Wales are indeed frequently found to be on the best of terms with the ghosts. Their races have much in common, and so many of their practices are alike that one is not always absolutely sure whether he is dealing with a fairy or a spectre, until some test-point crops up. However, in transporting a mortal through the air, ghost and fairy work together. The Boobach being set his task, complaisantly gives the mortal the choice of being transported above wind, amid wind, or below wind. The value of knowing beforehand what to expect, was never better illustrated than in this place. The mortal who, with a natural reluctance to get into an unpleasantly swift current, avoids travelling mid-wind, misses a pleasant journey, for mid-wind is the only agreeable mode of being borne by a Boobach. Should you choose to go above wind, you are transported so high that you skim the clouds and are in danger of being frightened to death. But choosing the below-wind course is even worse, for then you are dragged through bush, through briar, in a way to impress upon you the advice of Apollo to Phaeton, and teach you the value of the golden mean. _In medio tutissimus ibis._ VI. In the parish of Ystradgynlais, in Breconshire, Thomas Llewellyn, an innkeeper's son, was often troubled by the spirit of a well-dressed woman, who used to stand before him in narrow lanes, as if to bar his passage, but he always got by her, though in great alarm. One night he mustered up courage to speak to her, and ask her what she wanted with him. To which she replied, 'Be not afraid; I will not hurt thee.' Then she told him he must go to 'Philadelphia in Pennsylvania,' and take a box from a house there, (which she described,) in which there was a sum of 200_l._ But as he did not know how to go to that far-off place, he said as much. 'Meet me here next Friday night,' said the phantom; 'meet me, I charge thee.' She then vanished. The young man went home and told this story to his neighbours and friends. They held a consultation with the curate of the parish, who promptly appointed a prayer-meeting for that Friday night, to which the young man was bidden, and by which it was hoped the purpose of the ghost to spirit him off to Philadelphia might be circumvented. The meeting continued until midnight, and when it broke up the young man's friends stayed with him; but they had no sooner got beyond the parson's stables than he was taken from among them. His subsequent adventures are thus related by himself: 'The apparition carried me away to a river, and threw me into it, chiding me for telling the people of our appointed meeting and for not coming to meet her as she had charged me; but bade me be not afraid, that she would not hurt me, because she had not charged me to be silent on the subject; nevertheless I had done wrong to go to the parson's house. Now, said she, we begin the journey. I was then lifted up and carried away I know not how. When I came to the place,' (in Philadelphia,) 'I was taken into a house, and conducted to a fine room. The spirit then bade me lift up a board, which I did. I then saw the box, and took it. Then the spirit said I must go three miles and cast it into the black sea. We went, as I thought, to a lake of clear water, where I was commanded to throw the box into it; which when I did there was such a noise as if all about was going to pieces. From thence I was taken up and carried to the place where I was first taken up. I then asked her, Am I free now? She said I was; and then she told me a secret, which she strictly charged me to tell no person.' Extensive and ingenious guessing was indulged in by all Ystradgynlais, as to what this secret might be; and one woman made herself popular by remembering that there was a certain Elizabeth Gething in other days who had gone from this neighbourhood to Pennsylvania, and the conclusion was eagerly arrived at, that this was the woman whose phantom the young man saw, and that the secret she told him was her name when alive. They questioned him as to her appearance, and he said she was largely made, very pale, her looks severe, and her voice hollow, different from a human voice. This was considered by the Ystradgynlaisians, with many nods to each other, as a most accurate description of what Elizabeth Gething would probably be, after having shuffled off this mortal coil. The time occupied in this mysterious transportation and ghostly enterprise was three days and three nights; that is, from Friday night to Monday night; and when the voyager came home he could scarcely speak. VII. Sir David Llwyd, the Welsh magician, was once at Lanidloes town, in Montgomeryshire, and as he was going home late at night, saw a boy there from his neighbourhood. He asked the lad if he would like to ride home behind him, and receiving an affirmative reply, took the boy up behind on the horse's back. They rode so swiftly that they were home in no time, and the boy lost one of his garters in the journey. The next day, seeing something hanging in the ash-tree near the church, he climbed up to learn what it was, and to his great surprise found it was the garter he had lost. 'Which shows they rode home in the air,' observes the Prophet Jones in telling the story. Mr. Jones has a number of extraordinary narratives of this class--e.g., the following, which I condense: Henry Edmund, of Hafodafel, was one night visiting Charles Hugh, the conjuror of Aberystruth, and they walked together as far as Lanhiddel, where Hugh tried to persuade his companion to stay all night with him at a public house. Edmund refused, and said he would go home. 'You had _better_ stay,' said Hugh in a meaning tone. But Edmund went out into the street, when he was seized by invisible hands and borne through the air to Landovery, in Carmarthenshire, a distance of fully fifty miles as the crow flies. There he was set down at a public house where he had before been, and talked with people who knew him. He then went out into the street, when he was seized again and borne back to Lanhiddel, arriving there the next morning at daybreak. The first man he met was the conjuror Charles Hugh, who said, 'Did I not tell you you had better stay with me?' VIII. The landlord of the inn at Langattock Crickhowel, in Breconshire, was a man called Richard the Tailor. He was more than suspected of resorting to the company of fairies, and of practising infernal arts. One day a company of gentlemen were hunting in that vicinity, when the hounds started a hare, which ran so long and so hard that everybody was prostrated with fatigue; and this hare disappeared from view at the cellar window of the inn kept by Richard the Tailor. The circumstance begat a suspicion among the hunters that the hare which had so bothered them was none other than Richard the Tailor himself, and that his purpose in taking that form had been to lead them a dance and bring them to the door of his inn at an hour too late for them to return home, thus compelling them to spend their money there. They stayed, however, being very tired. But they growled very hard at their landlord and were perfectly free with their comments on his base conduct. One of their party, having occasion to go out-doors during the evening, did not come back; his name was Walter Jones, and he was well known in that part of the country. The company became uneasy at his absence, and began to abuse the landlord roundly, threatening to burn the house if Walter Jones did not return. Notwithstanding their threats, Walter Jones came not back all night. Late the next morning he made his appearance, looking like one who had been drawn through thorns and briars, with his hair in disorder, and his whole aspect terribly demoralised. His story was soon told. He had no sooner got out-doors than invisible hands had whisked him up, and whirled him along rough ways until daybreak, when he found himself near by the town of Newport, helping a man from Risca to raise a load of coal upon his horse. Suddenly he became insensible, and was whisked back again to the inn where they now saw him. The distance he traversed in going to and fro was about forty miles. And Walter Jones, who had hitherto been an ungodly man, mended his ways from that time forth. IX. There are many points in all these traditional stories which are suggestive of interesting comparisons, and constantly remind us of the significance of details which, at first sight, seem trivial. The supposed adoption of the hare form by the tailor recalls a host of mythological details. The hare has been identified with the sun-god Michabo of the American Indians, who sleeps through the winter months, and symbolises the sleep of nature precisely as in the fairy myth of the Sleeping Maiden, and the Welsh legends of Sleeping Heroes. Among the Hottentots, the hare figures as the servant of the moon. In China, the hare is viewed as a telluric genius in one province, and everywhere as a divine animal. In Wales, one of the most charming of the local legends relates how a hare flying from the hounds took refuge under a fair saint's robes, so that hares were ever after called Monacella's Lambs in that parish. Up to a comparatively recent time, no person in the parish would kill a hare. When a hare was pursued by dogs, it was firmly believed that if any one cried, 'God and St. Monacella be with thee,' it was sure to escape. The legend is related by Pennant, in his tour through Montgomeryshire: 'At about two miles distant from Llangynog, I turned up a small valley to the right, to pay my devotions to the shrine of St. Monacella, or, as the Welsh style her, Melangell.... She was the daughter of an Irish monarch, who had determined to marry her to a nobleman of his court. The princess had vowed celibacy. She fled from her father's dominions, and took refuge in this place, where she lived fifteen years without seeing the face of man. Brochwel Yscythrog, prince of Powys, being one day a hare-hunting, pursued his game till he came to a great thicket; when he was amazed to find a virgin of surprising beauty engaged in deep devotion, with the hare he had been pursuing under her robe, boldly facing the dogs, who retired to a distance, howling, notwithstanding all the efforts of the sportsmen to make them seize their prey. When the huntsman blew his horn, it stuck to his lips. Brochwel heard her story, and gave to God and her a parcel of lands to be a sanctuary to all who fled there. He desired her to found an abbey on the spot. She did so, and died abbess of it, in a good old age. She was buried in the neighbouring church.... Her hard bed is shown in the cleft of a neighbouring rock. Her tomb was in a little chapel, or oratory, adjoining to the church and now used as a vestry-room. This room is still called cell y bedd, (cell of the grave).... The legend is perpetuated by some rude wooden carvings of the saint, with numbers of hares scuttling to her for protection.' X. It is interesting to observe, in connection with the subject of transportation through the air, with what vitality this superstition lingers in modern spiritualism. The accounts of such transportation are familiar to every reader of newspapers. That Mr. Home was seen, by a learned English nobleman, sailing through the moonlight seventy feet from the ground, is on record; that Mrs. Guppy was transported from Highbury Park to Lamb's Conduit Street, in London, in a trance and a state of partial _déshabille_, is also on record; and that a well-known American spiritualist was borne by invisible hands from Chicago to Milwaukee and back, between midnight and 4 A.M., I have been assured by a number of persons in Illinois who thoroughly believed it, or said they did. But it certainly is not too much to demand, that people who give credence to these instances of aerial transportation should equally believe in the good old ghost stories of the Welsh. The same consistency calls for credulity as to the demoniacal elevation of Simon Magus, and the broomstick riding of the witches whose supernatural levitation was credited by Lord Bacon and Sir Matthew Hale, not to speak of Addison and Wesley. There is something peculiarly fascinating to the gross denizens of earth in this notion of skimming like a bird over house-tops. No dreams, save those of love and dalliance, are so charming to the dreamer as visions of flying; to find oneself floating along over the tops of trees, over the streets where less favoured mortals walk, to look down on them as they stroll, is to feel an exquisite pleasure. The mind of childhood and that of ignorance, alike unable to discriminate between reality and illusion, would naturally retain the impression of such a dream with peculiar vividness. The superstition has no doubt been fostered by this fact, although it, like most superstitions, began its career in pre-historic days. The same class of belief attaches to the magical lore of widely separated lands, in all ages. The magic carpet of the Arabian Nights finds its parallel to-day in the enchanted mat of the Chinese conjuror, which carries him from place to place, at a height of twenty or thirty feet in the air. The levitation involved is in Welsh story embodied in the person of Sgilti Yscawndroed; when he was sent on a message through the wood he went along the tops of the trees; in his whole life, a blade of reed grass never bent beneath his feet, so light was his tread.[68] FOOTNOTE: [68] Lady Charlotte Guest's 'Mabinogion,' 225. XI. It remains but to add, in connection with our household ghosts, that the method of exorcising such goblins in Wales is explicit. The objectionable spectre must be conjured, in the name of Heaven, to depart, and return no more. Not always is this exorcism effective; the ghost may have a specific purpose in hand, or it may be obstinate. The strength of the exorcism is doubled by employing the Latin language to deliver it; it receives its utmost power, however, through the clergy; three clergymen, it is thought, will exorcise any ghost that walks. The exorcism is usually for a stated period; seven years is the favourite time; one hundred years the limit. There are many instances where a ghost which had been laid a hundred years returned at the end of the time to its old haunts. In all cases it is necessary the ghost should agree to be exorcised; no power can lay it if it be possessed of an evil demon--a spirit within a spirit, as it were--which stubbornly refuses to listen to argument. In such cases the terrors of Heaven must be rigorously invoked; but the result is only temporary. Properly constituted family ghosts, however, will lend a reasonable ear to entreaty, backed by prayer. There are even cases on record where the ghost has been the entreater, as in the story of Haunted Margaret. Haunted Margaret, or Marget yr Yspryd, was a servant-girl who lived in the parish of Panteg. She had been seduced by a man who promised to marry her, and a day was set for their wedding; but when the day came, the man was not on hand, and Margaret thereupon fell on her knees in the church and prayed Heaven that her seducer might have no rest either in this world or in the world to come. In due course the man died, and immediately his ghost came to haunt Margaret Richard. People heard her in the night saying to the ghost, 'What dost thou want?' or 'Be quiet, let me alone;' and hence it was that she came to be known in that parish by the nickname of Marget yr Yspryd. One evening when the haunted woman was at the house of Mrs. Hercules Jenkins, at Trosdra, she began to be uneasy, and as it grew late said, 'I must go now, or else I shall be sure to meet him on the way home.' Mrs. Jenkins advised Margaret to speak to him; 'and tell him thou dost forgive him,' said the good dame. Margaret went her way, and as she drew near a stile at the end of a foot-bridge, she saw the ghost at the stile waiting for her. When she came up to it the ghost said, 'Do thou forgive me, and God will forgive thee. Forgive me and I shall be at rest, and never trouble thee any more.' Margaret then forgave him, and he shook hands with her in a friendly way, and vanished. CHAPTER III. Spectral Animals--The Chained Spirit--The Gwyllgi, or Dog of Darkness--The Legend of Lisworney-Crossways--The Gwyllgi of the Devil's Nags--The Dog of Pant y Madog--Terrors of the Brute Creation at Phantoms--Apparitions of Natural Objects--Phantom Ships and Phantom Islands. I. Of spectral animals there is no great diversity in Cambria, unless one should class under this head sundry poetic creatures which more properly belong to the domain of magic, or to fairyland. The spirits of favourite animals which have died return occasionally to visit their masters. Sometimes it is a horse, which is seen on a dark night looking in at the window, its eyes preternaturally large. More often it is the ghost of a dog which revisits the glimpses of the moon. Men sometimes become as fondly attached to a dog as they could to any human being, and, where the creed of piety is not too severe, the possibility of a dog's surviving after death in a better world is admitted. 'It is hard to look in that dog's eyes and believe,' said a Welshman to me, 'that he has not a bit of a soul to be saved.' The almost human companionship of the dog for man is a familiar fact. It is not strange, therefore, that the dog should be the animal whose spirit, in popular belief, shares the nature of man's after death. II. Sometimes the spirit in animal form is the spirit of a mortal, doomed to wear this shape for some offence. This again trenches on the ground of magic; but the ascription to the spirit-world is distinct in modern instances. There was a Rev. Mr. Hughes, a clergyman of the Church of England, in the isle and county of Anglesea, who was esteemed the most popular preacher thereabout in the last century, and upon this account was envied by the rest of the clergy, 'which occasioned his becoming a field preacher for a time, though he was received into the Church again.'[69] As he was going one night to preach, he came upon an artificial circle in the ground, between Amlwch village and St. Elian Church, where a spirit in the shape of a large greyhound jumped against him and threw him from his horse. This experience was repeated on a second night. The third night he went on foot, and warily; and now he saw that the spirit was chained. He drew near, but keeping beyond the reach of the chain, and questioned the spirit: 'Why troublest thou those that pass by?' The spirit replied that its unrest was due to a silver groat it had hidden under a stone when in the flesh, and which belonged to the church of St. Elian. The clergyman being told where the groat was, found it and paid it over to the church, and the chained spirit was released. FOOTNOTE: [69] Jones, 'Apparitions.' III. In the Gwyllgi, or Dog of Darkness, is seen a spirit of terrible form, well known to students of folk-lore. This is a frightful apparition of a mastiff, with a baleful breath and blazing red eyes which shine like fire in the night. It is huge in size, and reminds us of the 'shaggy mastiff larger than a steed nine winters old,' which guarded the sheep before the castle of Yspaddaden Pencawr. 'All the dead trees and bushes in the plain he burnt with his breath down to the very ground.'[70] The lane leading from Mousiad to Lisworney-Crossways, is reported to have been haunted by a Gwyllgi of the most terrible aspect. Mr. Jenkin, a worthy farmer living near there, was one night returning home from market on a young mare, when suddenly the animal shied, reared, tumbled the farmer off, and bolted for home. Old Anthony the farm-servant, found her standing trembling by the barn-door, and well knowing the lane she had come through suspected she had seen the Gwyllgi. He and the other servants of the farm all went down the road, and there in the haunted lane they found the farmer, on his back in the mud. Being questioned, the farmer protested it was the Gwyllgi and nothing less, that had made all this trouble, and his nerves were so shaken by the shock that he had to be supported on either side to get him home, slipping and staggering in the mud in truly dreadful fashion all the way. It is the usual experience of people who meet the Gwyllgi that they are so overcome with terror by its unearthly howl, or by the glare of its fiery eyes, that they fall senseless. Old Anthony, however, used to say that he had met the Gwyllgi without this result. As he was coming home from courting a young woman of his acquaintance (name delicately withheld, as he did not marry her) late one Sunday night--or it may have been Monday morning--he encountered in the haunted lane two large shining eyes, which drew nearer and nearer to him. He was dimly able to discern, in connection with the gleaming eyes, what seemed a form of human shape above, but with the body and limbs of a large spotted dog. He threw his hat at the terrible eyes, and the hat went whisking right through them, falling in the road beyond. However, the spectre disappeared, and the brave Anthony hurried home as fast as his shaking legs would carry him. As Mr. David Walter, of Pembrokeshire, 'a religious man, and far from fear and superstition,' was travelling by himself through a field called the Cot Moor, where there are two stones set up called the Devil's Nags, which are said to be haunted, he was suddenly seized and thrown over a hedge. He went there another day, taking with him for protection a strong fighting mastiff dog. When he had come near the Devil's Nags there appeared in his path the apparition of a dog more terrible than any he had ever seen. In vain he tried to set his mastiff on; the huge beast crouched frightened by his master's feet and refused to attack the spectre. Whereupon his master boldly stooped to pick up a stone, thinking that would frighten the evil dog; but suddenly a circle of fire surrounded it, which lighting up the gloom, showed the white snip down the dog's nose, and his grinning teeth, and white tail. 'He then knew it was one of the infernal dogs of hell.'[71] Rebecca Adams was 'a woman who appeared to be a true living experimental Christian, beyond many,' and she lived near Laugharne Castle, in Carmarthenshire. One evening when she was going to Laugharne town on some business, her mother dissuaded her from going, telling her she would be benighted, and might be terrified by some apparition at Pant y Madog. This was a pit by the side of the lane leading to Laugharne, which was never known to be dry, and which was haunted, as many had both seen and heard apparitions there. But the bold Rebecca was not to be frighted at such nonsense, and went her way. It was rather dark when she was returning, and she had passed by the haunted pit of Pant y Madog, and was congratulating herself on having seen no ghost. Suddenly she saw a great dog coming towards her. When within about four or five yards of her it stopped, squatted on its haunches, 'and set up such a scream, so loud, so horrible, and so strong, that she thought the earth moved under her.' Then she fell down in a swoon. When she revived it was gone; and it was past midnight when she got home, weak and exhausted. FOOTNOTES: [70] 'Mabinogion,' 230. [71] Jones, 'Apparitions.' IV. Much stress is usually laid, in accounts of the Gwyllgi, on the terror with which it inspires domestic animals. This confidence in the ability of the brute creation to detect the presence of a spirit, is a common superstition everywhere. An American journal lately gave an account of an apparition seen in Indiana, whose ghostly character was considered by the witnesses to be proven by the terror of horses which saw it. They were drawing the carriage in which drove the persons to whom the ghost appeared, and they shied from the road at sight of it, becoming unmanageable. The spectre soon dissolved in thin air and vanished, when the horses instantly became tractable. In Wales it is thought that horses have peculiarly this 'gift' of seeing spectres. Carriage horses have been known to display every sign of the utmost terror, when the occupants of the carriage could see no cause for fright; and in such cases a funeral is expected to pass there before long, bearing to his grave some person not dead at the time of the horses' fright. These phenomena are certainly extremely interesting, and well calculated to 'bid us pause,' though not, perhaps, for the purpose of considering whether a horse's eye can receive an image which the human retina fails to accept. Much weight will not be given to the fright of the lower animals, I fear, by any thoughtful person who has witnessed the terror of a horse at sight of a flapping shirt on a clothes-line, or that hideous monster a railway engine. Andrew Jackson Davis has a theory that we all bear about us an atmosphere, pleasing or repulsive, which can be detected by horses, dogs, and spiritual 'mediums;' this _aura_, being spiritual, surrounds us without our will or wish, goes where we go, but does not die when we die, and is the means by which a bloodhound tracks a slave, or a fond dog finds its master. Without denying the possibility of this theory, I must record that in my observation a dog has been found to smell his master most successfully when that master was most in need of a bath and a change of linen. Also, that when the master leaves off his coat he clearly leaves--if a dog's conduct be evidence--a part of his _aura_ with it. More worthy of serious attention is August Comte's suggestion that dogs and some other animals are perhaps capable of forming fetichistic notions. That dogs accredit inanimate objects with volition, to a certain extent, I am quite convinced. The thing which constitutes knowledge, in dogs as in human beings--that is to say, thought, organised by experience--corrects this tendency in animals as they grow older, precisely as it corrects the false conclusions of children, though never to the same extent. That a dog can think, I suppose no well-informed person doubts in these days. V. The Gwyllgi finds its counterpart in the Mauthe Doog of the Isle of Man and the Shock of the Norfolk coast. It there comes up out of the sea and travels about in the lanes at night. To meet it is a sign of trouble and death. The Gwyllgi also is confined to sea-coast parishes mainly, and although not classed among death-omens, to look on it is deemed dangerous. The hunting dogs, Cwn Annwn, or dogs of hell, whose habitat is the sky overhead, have also other attributes which distinguish them clearly from the Gwyllgi. They are death-omens, ancient of lineage and still encountered. The Gwyllgi, while suggesting some interesting comparisons with the old mythology, appears to have lost vogue since smuggling ceased to be profitable. VI. Confined to the coast, too, are those stories of phantom ships and phantom islands which, too familiar to merit illustration here, have their origin in the mirage. That they also touch the ancient mythology is undoubted; but their source in the mirage is probably true of the primeval belief as well as of the medieval, and that of our time. The Chinese also have the mirage, but not its scientific explanation, and hence of course their belief in its supernatural character is undisturbed. CHAPTER IV. Grotesque Ghosts--The Phantom Horseman--Gigantic Spirits--The Black Ghost of Ffynon yr Yspryd--Black Men in the Mabinogion--Whirling Ghosts--Antic Spirits--The Tridoll Valley Ghost--Resemblance to Modern Spiritualistic Performances--Household Fairies. I. The grotesque ghosts of Welsh folk-lore are often most diverting acquaintances. They are ghosts on horseback, or with coloured faces, or of huge and monstrous form; or they indulge in strange gymnastics, in whirling, throwing stones, or whistling. A phantom horseman, encountered by the Rev. John Jones, of Holywell, in Flintshire, as described by himself, is worthy of Heinrich Zschokke. This Mr. Jones was a preacher of extraordinary power, renowned and respected throughout Wales. He was one day travelling alone on horseback from Bala, in Merionethshire, to Machynlleth, Montgomeryshire, and as he approached a forest which lay in his way he was dogged by a murderous-looking man carrying a sharp sickle. The minister felt sure this man meditated an attack on his life, from his conduct in running crouched along behind hedges, and from his having met the man at the village inn of Llanuwchllyn, where the minister exposed his watch and purse. Presently he saw the man conceal himself at a place where the hedge was thick, and where a gate crossed the road; and feeling sure that here he should be attacked, he stopped his horse to reflect on the situation. No house was in sight, and the road was hidden by high hedges on either side. Should he turn back? 'In despair, rather than in a spirit of humble trust and confidence,' says the good man, 'I bowed my head, and offered up a silent prayer. At this juncture my horse, growing impatient of the delay, started off. I clutched the reins, which I had let fall on his neck, when, happening to turn my eyes, I saw, to my utter astonishment, that I was no longer alone: there, by my side, I beheld a horseman in a dark dress, mounted on a white steed. In intense amazement I gazed upon him. Where could he have come from? He appeared as suddenly as if he had sprung from the earth; he must have been riding behind and have overtaken me, and yet I had not heard the slightest sound. It was mysterious, inexplicable; but joy overcame my feelings of wonder, and I began at once to address my companion. I asked him if he had seen any one, and then described to him what had taken place, and how relieved I felt by his sudden appearance. He made no reply, and on looking at his face he seemed paying but slight attention to my words, but continued intently gazing in the direction of the gate, now about a quarter of a mile ahead. I followed his gaze, and saw the reaper emerge from his concealment and run across a field to our left, resheathing his sickle as he hurried along. He had evidently seen that I was no longer alone, and had relinquished his intended attempt.' Seeking to converse with the mysterious horseman, the minister found the phantom was speechless. In vain he addressed it in both Welsh and English; not a word did it utter, save that once the minister thought it said 'Amen,' to a pious remark. Suddenly it was gone. 'The mysterious horseman was gone; he was not to be seen; he had disappeared as mysteriously as he had come. What could have become of him? He could not have gone through the gate, nor have made his horse leap the high hedges, which on both sides shut in the road. Where was he? had I been dreaming? was it an apparition--a spectre, which had been riding by my side for the last ten minutes? was it but a creature of my imagination? I tried hard to convince myself that this was the case; but why had the reaper resheathed his murderous-looking sickle and fled? And then a feeling of profound awe began to creep over my soul. I remembered the singular way of his first appearance, his long silence, and the single word to which he had given utterance after I had mentioned the name of the Lord; the single occasion on which I had done so. What could I then believe but that ... in the mysterious horseman I had a special interference of Providence, by which I was delivered from a position of extreme danger?' II. Of gigantic ghosts there are many examples which are very grotesque indeed. Such was the apparition which met Edward Frank, a young man who lived in the parish of Llantarnam. As he was coming home one night he heard something walking towards him, but at first could see nothing. Suddenly his way was barred by a tall dismal object which stood in the path before him. It was the ghost of a marvellous thin man, whose head was so high above the observer's line of vision that he nearly fell over backward in his efforts to gaze at it. His knees knocked together and his heart sank. With great difficulty he gasped forth, 'In the name of God what is here? Turn out of my way or I will strike thee!' The giant ghost then disappeared, and the frightened Edward, seeing a cow not far off, went towards her to lean on her, which the cow stood still and permitted him to do. The naïveté of this conclusion is convincing. Equally prodigious was the spectre seen by Thomas Miles Harry, of the parish of Aberystruth. He was coming home by night from Abergavenny, when his horse took fright at something which it saw, but which its master could not see. Very much terrified, the latter hastened to guide the animal into an adjoining yard, and dismount; whereupon he saw the apparition of a gigantic woman. She was so prodigiously tall, according to the account of the horrified Harry, that she was fully half as high as the tall beech trees on the other side of the road; and he hastened to hide from his eyes the awful sight, by running into the house, where they listened open-mouthed to his tale. Concerning this Mr. Harry we are assured that he was of an affable disposition, innocent and harmless, and the grandfather of that eminent and famous preacher of the Gospel, Thomas Lewis, of Llanharan, in Glamorganshire.[72] The same narrator relates that Anne, the daughter of Herbert Jenkins, of the parish of Trefethin, 'a young woman well disposed to what is good,' was going one evening to milk the cows by Rhiw-newith, when as she passed through a wood she saw a horrible black man standing by a holly tree. She had with her a dog, which saw it also, and ran towards it to bark at it, upon which it stretched out a long black tongue, and the dog ran affrighted back to the young woman, crawling and cringing about her feet for fear. She was in great terror at all this, but had the courage still to go on after the cows, which had strayed into another field. She drove them back to their own field, and in passing the holly-tree avoided looking that way for fear of seeing the black man again. However, after she had got safely by she looked back, and saw the monster once more, 'very big in the middle and narrow at both ends,' and as it walked away the ground seemed to tremble under its heavy tread. It went towards a spring in that field called Ffynon yr Yspryd, (the Fountain of the Spirit,) where ghosts had been seen before, and crossing over the stile into the common way, it whistled so loud and strong that the narrow valley echoed and re-echoed with the prodigious sound. Then it vanished, much to the young woman's relief. FOOTNOTE: [72] Jones, 'Apparitions.' III. That giants should appear in the Welsh spirit-land will surprise no one, but the apparition of black men is more unique. The Mabinogion, however, are full of black men, usually giants, always terrible to encounter. The black man whom Peredur slew had but one eye, having lost the other in fighting with the black serpent of the Carn. 'There is a mound, which is called the Mound of Mourning; and on the mound there is a carn, and in the carn there is a serpent, and on the tail of the serpent there is a stone, and the virtues of the stone are such, that whosoever should hold it in one hand, in the other he will have as much gold as he may desire. And in fighting with this serpent was it that I lost my eye.'[73] In the 'Lady of the Fountain' mabinogi the same character appears: 'a black man ... not smaller in size than two of the men of this world,' and with 'one eye in the middle of his forehead.'[74] And there are other black men in other Mabinogion, indicating the extremely ancient lineage of the spectre seen by Anne Jenkins at the Fountain of the Spirit. Whatever Anglo-Saxon scoffers may say of Welsh pedigrees of mere flesh and blood, the antiquity of its spectral hordes may not be disputed. The black giant of Sindbad the Sailor and the monster woodward of Cynan alike descend from the Polyphemus blinded by Odysseus. FOOTNOTES: [73] 'Mabinogion,' 106. [74] Ibid., 6. IV. Another grotesque Welsh goblin goes whirling through the world. Three examples are given by the Prophet Jones. _First:_ Lewis Thomas, the father of the Rev. Thomas Lewis, was on his return from a journey, and in passing through a field near Bedwellty, saw this dreadful apparition, to wit, the spectre of a man walking or whirling along on its hands and feet; at sight of which Lewis Thomas felt his hair to move on his head; his heart panted and beat violently, 'his body trembled, and he felt not his clothes about him,' _Second:_ John Jenkins, a poor man, who lived near Abertillery, hanged himself in a hay-loft. His sister soon after came upon his dead body there hanging, and screamed loudly. Jeremiah James, who lived in Abertillery House, hearing the scream, looked in that direction and saw the 'resemblance of a man' coming from the hay-loft 'and violently turning upwards and downwards topsy turvy' towards the river, 'which was a dreadful sight to a serious godly man.' _Third:_ Thomas Andrew, living at a place called The Farm, in the parish of Lanhiddel, coming home late at night saw a whirling goblin on all fours by the side of a wall, which fell to scraping the ground and wagging its head, 'looking aside one way and the other,' making at the same time a horrible mowing noise; at which Thomas Andrew 'was terribly frightened.' V. The antics of these and similar inhabitants of the Cambrian spirit-world at times outdo the most absurd capers of modern spiritualism. At the house of a certain farmer in the parish of Llanllechid, in Carnarvonshire, there was great disturbance by a spirit which threw stones into the house, and from one room to another, which hit and hurt the people who lived there. The stones were of various sizes, the largest weighing twenty-seven pounds. Most of them were river stones, from the stream which runs hard by. Some clergymen came from Bangor and read prayers in the house, to drive the spirit away, but their faith was not strong enough, and stones were thrown at them, so that they retired from the contest. The family finally had to abandon the house. On the farm of Edward Roberts, in the parish of Llangunllo, in Radnorshire, there was a spirit whose antics were somewhat remarkable. As the servant-man was threshing, the threshel was taken out of his hand and thrown upon the hay-loft. At first he did not mind this so much, but when the trick had been repeated three or four times he became concerned about it, and went into the house to tell of it. The master of the house was away, but the wife and the maid-servant laughed at the man, and merrily said they would go to the barn to protect him. So they went out there and sat, the one to knit and the other to wind yarn. They were not there long before their things were taken from their hands and tumbled about the barn. On returning to the house, they perceived the dishes on the shelves move to and fro, and some were thrown on to the stone floor and broken. That night there was a terrible clattering among the dishes, and next morning they could scarcely tread without stepping on the wrecks of crockery which lay about. This pleasant experience was often repeated. Neighbours came to see. People even came from far to satisfy their curiosity--some from so far as Knighton; and one who came from Knighton to read prayers for the exorcising of the spirit, had the book taken out of his hand and thrown upstairs. Stones were often cast at the people, and once iron was projected from the chimney at them. At last the spirit set the house on fire, and nothing could quench it; the house was burnt down: nothing but the walls and the two chimneys stood, long after, to greet the eyes of people who passed to and from Knighton market. VI. A spirit which haunted the house of William Thomas, in Tridoll Valley, Glamorganshire, used to hit the maid-servant on the side of her head, as it were with a cushion, when she was coming down the stairs. 'One time she brought a marment of water into the house,' and the water was thrown over her person. Another time there came so great an abundance of pilchards in the sea, that the people could scarcely devour them, and the maid asked leave of her master to go and fetch some of them. 'No,' said he, being a very just man, 'the pilchards are sent for the use of poor people; we do not want them.' But the maid was very fond of pilchards, and so she went without leave, and brought some to the house. After giving a turn about the house, she went to look for her fish, and found them thrown out upon the dunghill. 'Well,' said her master, 'did not I tell thee not to go?' Once a pot of meat was on the fire, and when they took it off they found both meat and broth gone, none knew where, and the pot as empty as their own bellies. Sometimes the clasped Bible would be thrown whisking by their heads; and 'so it would do with the gads of the steller, and once it struck one of them against the screen where a person then sat, and the mark of it still to be seen in the hard board.' Once the china dishes were thrown off the shelf, and not one broke. 'It was a great business with this light-hating spirit to throw an old lanthorn about the house without breaking it.' When the maid went a-milking to the barn, the barn-door would be suddenly shut upon her as she was milking the cow; then when she rose up the spirit began to turn the door backwards and forwards with an idle ringing noise. Once it tried to make trouble between the mistress and the maid by strewing charcoal ashes on the milk. When William Evans, a neighbour, went there to pray, as he knelt by the bedside, it struck the bed such a bang with a trencher that it made a report like a gun, so that both the bed and the room shook perceptibly. On another occasion, it made a sudden loud noise, which made the master think his house was falling down, and he was prodigiously terrified; it never after that made so loud a noise. The Rev. R. Tibbet, a dissenting minister from Montgomeryshire, was one night sleeping in the house, with another person in the bed with him; and they had a tussle with the Tridoll spirit for possession of the bed-clothes. By praying and pulling with equal energy, the parson beat the spirit, and kept the bed-clothes. But the spirit, apparently angered by this failure, struck the bed with the cawnen (a vessel to hold grain) such a blow that the bed was knocked out of its place. Then they lit a light and the spirit left them alone. It was a favourite diversion with this goblin to hover about William Thomas when he was shaving, and occasionally cuff him on the side of his head--the consequence being that the persecuted farmer shaved himself by fits and starts, in a very unsatisfactory manner, and in a most uncomfortable state of mind. For about two years it troubled the whole of that family, during which period it had intervals of quiet lasting for a fortnight or three weeks. Once it endeavoured to hinder them from going to church, by hiding the bunch of keys, on the Lord's day, so that for all their searching they could not find them. The good man of the house bade them not to yield to the devil, and as they were loth to appear in their old clothes at meeting, they were about to break the locks; but first concluded to kneel in prayer, and so did. After their prayers they found the keys where they used to be, but where they could not find them before. One night the spirit divided the books among the members of the family, after they had gone to bed. To the man of the house it gave the Bible, to the woman of the house 'Allen's Sure Guide,' and upon the bed of the maid-servant (whom it was specially fond of plaguing) it piled a lot of English books, which language she did not understand. The maid was heartily afraid of the spirit, and used to fall on her knees and go to praying with chattering teeth, at all hours of the day or night; and prayer this spirit could not abide. When the maid would go about in the night with a candle, the light thereof would diminish, grow feeble as if in dampness, and finally go out. The result was the maid was generally excused from making journeys into cellar or garret after dark, very much to her satisfaction. Particularly did this frisky Tridoll spirit trouble the maid-servant after she had gone to bed--in winter hauling the bed-clothes off her; in summer piling more on her. Now there was a young man, a first cousin to William Thomas, who could not be got to believe there was a spirit at his kinsman's house, and said the family were only making tricks with one another, 'and very strong he was, a hero of an unbeliever, like many of his brethren in infidelity.' One night William Thomas and his wife went to a neighbour's wake, and left the house in charge of the doubting cousin, who searched the place all over, and then went to bed there; and no spirit came to disturb him. This made him stronger than ever in his unbelief. But soon after he slept there again, when they were all there, and before going to bed he said aloud to the maid, 'If anything comes to disturb thee, Ally, call upon me, as I lie in the next room to you.' During the night the maid cried out that the spirit was pulling the clothes off her bed, and the doubting cousin awoke, jumped out of bed, and ran to catch the person he believed to be playing tricks with the maid. But there was no creature visible, although there rained upon his doubting head a series of cuffs, and about his person a fusillade of kicks, which thrust the unbelief quite out of him, so that he doubted no more. The departure of this spirit came about thus: William Thomas being in bed with his wife, heard a voice calling him. He awaked his wife, and rising on his elbow said to the invisible spirit, 'In the name of God what seekest thou in my house? Hast thou anything to say to me?' The spirit answered, 'I have,' and desired him to remove certain things out of a place where they had been mislaid. 'Satan,' answered William Thomas, in a candid manner, 'I'll do nothing thou biddest me; I command thee, in the name of God, to depart from my house.' And it obeyed. VII. This long and circumstantial account, which I have gathered from different sources, but mainly from the two books of the Prophet Jones, will impress the general reader with its resemblance, in many respects, to modern newspaper ghost stories. The throwing about of dishes, books, keys, etc.; its raps and touches of the person; its making of loud noises by banging down metal objects; all these antics are the tricks of contemporaneous spiritualism. But this spectre is of a date when our spiritualism was quite unknown. The same is true of the spirit which threw stones, another modern spiritualistic accomplishment.[75] The spiritualists will argue from all this that their belief is substantiated, not by any means that it is shaken. The doubter will conclude that there were clever tricksters in humble Welsh communities some time before the American city of Rochester had produced its 'mediums.' The student of comparative folk-lore, in reading these accounts, will be equally impressed with their resemblance to phenomena noted in many other lands. The conclusion is irresistible that we here encounter but another form of the fairy which goes in Wales by the name of the Bwbach, and in England is called the Hobgoblin, in Denmark the Nis, in Scotland the Brownie. Also, the resemblance is strong in all stories of this class to certain of the German Kobolds. In several of these accounts of spirits in Wales appear the leading particulars of the Kobold Hinzelmann, as condensed by Grimm from Feldman's long narrative.[76] There is also a close correspondence to certain ghost stories found in China. In the story of Woo, from the 'Che-wan-luk,'[77] appear details much like those in Hinzelmann, and equally resembling Welsh particulars, either in the stories given above, or those which follow. But we are now drawn so near to the division of Familiar Spirits that we may as well enter it at once. FOOTNOTES: [75] For the sake of comparison, I give the latest American case which comes under my notice. The scene is Akron, a bustling town in the State of Ohio; the time October, 1878. 'Mr. and Mrs. Michael Metzler, middle-aged Germans, with their little daughter, ten years of age, and Mrs. Knoss, Metzler's mother-in-law, recently moved to a brick house in the suburbs known as Hell's Half Acre. The house is a good, substantial building, situated in a somewhat open space, and surrounded by a lonesome deserted air. A few days after they had moved, they were disturbed by sharp rappings all over the house, produced by small stones or pebbles thrown against the window panes. Different members of the family were hit by these stones coming to and going from the house. Other persons were hit by them, the stones varying in size from a pea to a hen's egg. Mrs. Metzler said that when she went after the cow in the evening, she could hear these stones whistling around her head. Mr. and Mrs. Metzler, who are devout Catholics, had Father Brown come to the house to exorcise the spirits which were tormenting them. The reverend father, in the midst of his exercises, was struck by a stone, and so dismayed thereby that he went home in despair.' (Newspaper account.) [76] 'Deutsche Sagen,' i. 103. [77] Dennys, 'Folk-Lore of China,' 86. CHAPTER V. Familiar Spirits--The Famous Sprite of Trwyn Farm--Was it a Fairy?--The Familiar Spirits of Magicians--Sir David Llwyd's Demon--Familiar Spirits in Female Form--The Legend of the Lady of the Wood--The Devil as a Familiar Spirit--His Disguises in this Character--Summoning and Exorcising Familiars--Jenkin the Pembrokeshire Schoolmaster--The Terrible Tailor of Glanbran. I. Innumerable are the Welsh stories of familiar spirits. Sometimes these are spectres of the sort whose antics we have just been observing. More often they are confessedly demons, things of evil. In numberless cases it is no less a personage than the diawl himself who makes his appearance in the guise of a familiar spirit. The familiar spirit which takes up its abode in the household is, as we have seen, a pranksome goblin. Its personal appearance--or rather its invisibility--is the saving circumstance which prevents it from being deemed a fairy. The familiar spirit which haunted the house of Job John Harry, at the Trwyn Farm, in the parish of Mynyddyslwyn, was a stone-thrower, a stroker of persons, etc., but could not be seen. It is famous in Wales under the cognomen of Pwca'r Trwyn, and is referred to in my account of the Ellylldan.[78] The tenants at present residing on the Trwyn Farm are strangers who have recently invaded the home of this ancestral spook, but I was able to glean abundant information concerning it from people thereabout. It made a home of Mr. Harry's house some time in the last century, for a period beginning some days before Christmas, and ending with Easter Wednesday, on which day it departed. During this time it spoke, and did many remarkable things, but was always invisible. It began at first to make its presence known by knocking at the outer door in the night; but when persons went to open the door there was no one there. This continued for some time, much to the perplexity of the door-openers. At last one night it spoke to the one who opened the door, and the family were in consequence much terrified. Some of the neighbours, hearing these tales, came to watch with the family; and Thomas Evans foolishly brought a gun with him, 'to shoot the spirit,' as he said. But as Job John Harry was coming home that night from a journey, the familiar spirit met him in the lane and said, 'There is a man come to your house to shoot me, but thou shalt see how I will beat him.' So Job went on to the house, and immediately stones were thrown at the unbelieving Thomas who had brought the gun, stones from which he received severe blows. The company tried to defend him from the stones, which did strike and hurt him, and no other person; but their efforts were in vain. The result was, that Thomas Evans took his gun and ran home as fast as his legs would carry him, and never again engaged in an enterprise of that sort. As this familiar spirit got better acquainted with its quarters, it became more talkative, and used often to speak from out of an oven by the hearth's side. It also took to making music o' nights with Job's fiddle. One night as Job was going to bed, the familiar spirit gave him a gentle stroke on the toe. 'Thou art curious in smiting,' said Job. 'I can smite thee where I please,' replied the spirit. As time passed on the family became accustomed to their ghostly visitor, and seeing it never did them any harm, but on the contrary was a source of recreation to them, they used to boldly speak to it, and indulge in entertaining conversation. One old man, a neighbour, more bold than wise, hearing the spirit just by his side, but being unable to see it, threatened to stick it with his knife. 'Thou fool,' quoth the spirit, 'how canst thou stick what thou canst not see with thine eyes?' When questioned about its antecedents, the spirit said, 'I came from Pwll y Gasseg' (Mare's Pit, a place in the adjacent mountain), 'and I knew ye all before I came hither.' The wife of Morris Roberts desired one of the family to ask the spirit who it was that killed William Reilly the Scotchman; which being done, the spirit said, 'It was Blanch y Byd who bade thee ask that question;' and Blanch y Byd (Worldly Blanche) was Morris Roberts' wife ever after called. On Easter Wednesday the spirit departed, saying, 'Dos yn iach, Job,' (fare thee well, Job,) and Job asked the spirit, 'Where goest thou?' The reply was, 'Where God pleases.'[79] There are other accounts of this Trwyn sprite which credit it to a time long anterior to last century; but all are consistent in this, that the goblin is always invisible. The sole exception to this rule is the legend about its having once shown a white hand to some girls in the kitchen, thrusting it through the floor of its room overhead for that purpose. Now invisibility is a violation of fairy traditions, while ghosts are very often invisible--these rapping and stone-throwing ghosts, always. It might be urged that this spirit was a Bwbach, if a fairy at all, seeing that it kept pretty closely to the house; but on the whole I choose to class it among the inhabitants of the spirit-world; and really, the student of folk-lore must classify his materials distinctly in some understandable fashion, or go daft. FOOTNOTES: [78] Supra, p. 21. [79] Let me recommend the scene of this story to tourists. It is a most romantic spot, on the top of a mountain, a glorious tramp from Crumlyn, returning by another road to Abercarne. Wheels cannot go there, though a sure-footed horse might bear one safely up. The ancient farm-house is one of the quaintest in Wales, and must be hundreds of years old; and its front porch looks out over a ravine hardly less grand and lonely than a Californian gulch. II. The sort of familiar spirit employed by magicians in the eighteenth and preceding centuries was distinctly a demon. The spirit of this class which was controlled by Sir David Llwyd is celebrated in Wales. This Sir David was a famous dealer in the black art, who lived in Cardiganshire. He was a physician, and at one time a curate; but being known to deal in the magic art, he was turned out of the curacy, and obliged to live by practising physic. It was thought he learned the magic art in Oxford. 'It was this man's great wickedness,' says the Prophet Jones, 'to make use of a familiar spirit.... The bishop did well in turning him out of the sacred office, though he was no ill-tempered man, for how unfit was such a man to read the sacred Scripture! With what conscience could he ask the sponsors in baptism to undertake for the child to renounce the world, the flesh and the devil, who himself was familiar with one of the spirits of darkness?... Of this Sir David I have heard much, but chiefly depend upon what was told to me by the Rev. Mr. Thomas Lewis, the curate of Landdw and Tolachdy, an excellent preacher of the gospel; and not sufficiently esteemed by his people, (which likely will bring a judgment on them in time to come.) Mr. Lewis knew the young woman who had been Sir David's maid servant, and the house where he lived.' His familiar spirit he kept locked up in a book. Once while he was in Radnorshire, in going from one house to another he accidentally left this book behind him, and sent his boy back to fetch it. The boy, being of an inquisitive turn of mind, opened the book--a thing his master had expressly charged him not to do--and the familiar spirit immediately demanded to be set at work. The boy, though very much alarmed, had the wit to answer, 'Tafl gerrig o'r afon,' (throw stones out of the river,) which the spirit immediately did, so that the air was for a time full of flying stones, and the boy was fain to skip about in a surprisingly active manner in order to dodge the same. After a while, having thrown up a great quantity of stones out of the river, (the Wye,) the spirit again, with the pertinacity of its kind, asked for something to do; whereupon the boy bade it throw the stones back again, which it did. Sir David having waited a long time for the boy to return, began to suspect that things had gone wrong, and so hastened back after him, and commanded the familiar spirit again into his book. III. Familiar spirits of this class are not always invisible; and they can assume such forms as may be necessary to serve their purposes. A favourite shape with them is that of a young and lovely woman. Comparisons are here suggested with the water-maidens, and other like forms of this fancy; but they need not be pursued. It is necessary for the student of phantoms to constantly remind himself of the omnipresent danger of being enticed too far afield, unless he keep somewhat sternly to the path he has marked out. How ancient is the notion of a familiar spirit in female form, may be seen from accounts which are given by Giraldus and other old writers. Near Caerleon, (Monmouthshire,) in the twelfth century, Giraldus tells us[80] there lived 'a Welshman named Melerius, who by the following means acquired the knowledge of future events and the occult sciences: Having on a certain night met a damsel whom he loved, in a pleasant and convenient place, while he was indulging in her embraces, instead of a beautiful girl he found in his arms a hairy, rough and hideous creature, the sight of which deprived him of his senses; and after remaining many years in this condition he was restored to health in the church of St. David's, through the merits of its saints. But having always had an extraordinary familiarity with unclean spirits, by seeing them, knowing them, talking with them, and calling each by his proper name, he was enabled through their assistance to foretell future events; he was indeed often deceived (as they are) with respect to circumstances at a great distance; but was less mistaken in affairs which were likely to happen soon, or within the space of a year. They appeared to him on foot, equipped as hunters, with horns suspended from their necks, and truly as hunters not of animals but of souls; he particularly met them near monasteries and religious places; for where rebellion exists there is the greatest need of armies and strength. He knew when any one spoke falsely in his presence, for he saw the devil as it were leaping and exulting upon the tongue of the liar; and if he looked into a book faultily or falsely written, although wholly illiterate he would point out the place with his finger. Being questioned how he could gain such knowledge, he said he was directed by the demon's finger to the place.' In the same connection Giraldus mentions a familiar spirit which haunted Lower Gwent, 'a demon incubus, who from his love for a certain young woman, and frequenting the place where she lived, often conversed with men, and frequently discovered hidden things and future events.' FOOTNOTE: [80] Sir R. C. Hoare's Trans., i. 105. IV. The legend of the Lady of the Wood is contained in the Iolo MSS., and is of considerable antiquity. It is a most fascinating tale: Einion, the son of Gwalchmai, 'was one fine summer morning walking in the woods of Treveilir,' when 'he beheld a graceful slender lady of elegant growth, and delicate feature, and her complexion surpassing every white and red in the morning dawn and the mountain snow, and every beautiful colour in the blossoms of wood, field, and hill. And then he felt in his heart an inconceivable commotion of affection, and he approached her in a courteous manner, and she also approached him in the same manner; and he saluted her, and she returned his salutation; and by these mutual salutations he perceived that his society was not disagreeable to her. He then chanced to cast his eye upon her foot, and he saw that she had hoofs instead of feet, and he became exceedingly dissatisfied,' as well he might. But the lady gave him to understand that he must pay no attention to this trifling freak of nature. 'Thou must,' she said, 'follow me wheresoever I go, as long as I continue in my beauty.' The son of Gwalchmai thereupon asked permission to go and say good-bye to his wife, at least. This the lady agreed to; 'but,' said she, 'I shall be with thee, invisible to all but thyself.' 'So he went, and the goblin went with him; and when he saw Angharad, his wife, he saw her a hag like one grown old, but he retained the recollection of days past, and still felt extreme affection for her, but he was not able to loose himself from the bond in which he was. "It is necessary for me," said he, "to part for a time, I know not how long, from thee, Angharad, and from thee, my son, Einion," and they wept together, and broke a gold ring between them; he kept one half and Angharad the other, and they took their leave of each other, and he went with the Lady of the Wood, and knew not where; for a powerful illusion was upon him, and he saw not any place, or person, or object under its true and proper appearance, excepting the half of the ring alone. And after being a long time, he knew not how long, with the goblin, the Lady of the Wood, he looked one morning as the sun was rising upon the half of the ring, and he bethought him to place it in the most precious place he could, and he resolved to put it under his eyelid; and as he was endeavouring to do so, he could see a man in white apparel, and mounted on a snow-white horse, coming towards him, and that person asked him what he did there; and he told him that he was cherishing an afflicting remembrance of his wife Angharad. "Dost thou desire to see her?" said the man in white. "I do," said Einion, "above all things, and all happiness of the world." "If so," said the man in white, "get upon this horse, behind me;" and that Einion did, and looking around he could not see any appearance of the Lady of the Wood, the goblin, excepting the track of hoofs of marvellous and monstrous size, as if journeying towards the north. "What delusion art thou under?" said the man in white. Then Einion answered him and told everything how it occurred 'twixt him and the goblin. "Take this white staff in thy hand," said the man in white, and Einion took it. And the man in white told him to desire whatever he wished for. The first thing he desired was to see the Lady of the Wood, for he was not yet completely delivered from the illusion. And then she appeared to him in size a hideous and monstrous witch, a thousand times more repulsive of aspect than the most frightful things seen upon earth. And Einion uttered a cry of terror; and the man in white cast his cloak over Einion, and in less than a twinkling Einion alighted as he wished on the hill of Treveilir, by his own house, where he knew scarcely any one, nor did any one know him.' The goblin meantime had gone to Einion's wife, in the disguise of a richly apparelled knight, and made love to her, pretending that her husband was dead. 'And the illusion fell upon her; and seeing that she should become a noble lady, higher than any in Wales, she named a day for her marriage with him. And there was a great preparation of every elegant and sumptuous apparel, and of meats and drinks, and of every honourable guest, and every excellence of song and string, and every preparation of banquet and festive entertainment.' Now there was a beautiful harp in Angharad's room, which the goblin knight desired should be played on; 'and the harpers present, the best in Wales, tried to put it in tune, and were not able.' But Einion presented himself at the house, and offered to play on it. Angharad, being under an illusion, 'saw him as an old, decrepit, withered, grey-haired man, stooping with age, and dressed in rags.' Einion tuned the harp, 'and played on it the air which Angharad loved. And she marvelled exceedingly, and asked him who he was. And he answered in song: ... "Einion the golden-hearted." ... "Where hast thou been!" "In Kent, in Gwent, in the wood, in Monmouth, In Maenol, Gorwenydd; And in the valley of Gwyn, the son of Nudd; See, the bright gold is the token." And he gave her the ring. "Look not on the whitened hue of my hair, Where once my aspect was spirited and bold; Now gray, without disguise, where once it was yellow. Never was Angharad out of my remembrance, But Einion was by thee forgotten."' But Angharad 'could not bring him to her recollection. Then said he to the guests: "If I have lost her whom I loved, the fair one of polished mind, The daughter of Ednyved Vychan, I have not lost (so get you out!) Either my bed, or my house, or my fire." 'And upon that he placed the white staff in Angharad's hand, and instantly the goblin which she had hitherto seen as a handsome and honourable nobleman, appeared to her as a monster, inconceivably hideous; and she fainted from fear, and Einion supported her until she revived. And when she opened her eyes, she saw there neither the goblin, nor any of the guests, nor of the minstrels, nor anything whatever except Einion, and her son, and the harp, and the house in its domestic arrangement, and the dinner on the table, casting its savoury odour around. And they sat down to eat ... and exceeding great was their enjoyment. And they saw the illusion which the demoniacal goblin had cast over them.... And thus it ends.'[81] FOOTNOTE: [81] Iolo MSS. 587, et seq. V. There is hardly a goblin in the world more widely known than this spectre of the forest. Her story appears in the legends of very many lands, including China. Its ancient Grecian prototype is found in the Odyssey.[82] When it is the Diawl himself who appears in the role of the familiar spirit, his majesty is usually in some other form than that of a man, with hoofs, horns, and tail. The orthodox form of Satan has indeed been seen in many parts of Wales, but not when doing duty as a familiar spirit. A Welsh poet of the thirteenth century mentions this form: And the horned devil, With sharp hoofs On his heels.[83] He is variously called cythraul, dera, diafol, all euphemisms for devil, equivalent to our destroyer, evil one, adversary--as well as plain diawl, devil. In his character of a familiar spirit he assumes the shape of a fiery ball, a donkey, a black calf, a round bowl, a dog, a roaring flame, a bull, a goose, and numberless others, including the imp that goes into a book. In all this he bears out the character given him in old mythology, where he grows big or little at pleasure, and roars in a gale as Hermes, the wind-god, howls as a dog, enters a walnut as in the Norse Tale, or is confined in a bottle as the genie of the 'Arabian Nights.' To that eminent nonconformist preacher, Vavasor Powell, the devil once appeared in shape like a house. 'Satan ... appeared several times, and in several wayes, to me: as once like a house, stood directly in my way, with which sight I fell on my face as dead.... Another time, being alone in my chamber ... I perceived a strong cold wind to blow ... it made the hair of my flesh to stand up, and caused all my bones to shake; and on the suddain, I heard one walk about me, tramping upon the chamber floor, as if it had been some heavie big man ... but it proved in the end to be no other than ... Satan.'[84] A black calf, which haunted a Pembrokeshire brook early in the present century, was believed to be the devil in familiar guise. It appeared at a certain spot near the village of Narberth--a village which has figured actively in mythic story since the earliest ages of which there is any record. One night two peasants caught the terrible calf and took it home, locking it up safely in a stable with some other cattle, but it had vanished when morning came. Henry Llewelyn, of Ystrad Defoc parish, Glamorganshire, was beset by the devil in the shape of a round bowl. He had been sent by his minister (Methodist) to fetch from another parish a load of religious books--Bibles, Testaments, Watts' 'Psalms, Hymns and Songs for Children'--and was coming home with the same, on horseback, by night, when he saw a living thing, round like a bowl, moving to and fro across the lane. The bold Llewelyn having concluded it was the devil, resolved to speak to it. 'What seekest thou, thou foul thing?' he demanded, adding, 'In the name of the Lord Jesus go away!' And to prove that it was the adversary, at these words it vanished into the ground, leaving a sulphurous smell behind. To William Jones, a sabbath-breaker, of Risca village, the devil appeared as an enormous mastiff dog, which transformed itself into a great fire and made a roaring noise like burning gorse. And to two men at Merthyr Tydfil, in Glamorganshire, the fiend appeared in the shape of a gosling. These men were one night drinking together at the Black Lion Inn, when one dared the other to go to conjure. The challenge was accepted, and they went, but conducted their emprise with such drunken recklessness, that the devil put out the eyes of one of them, so that he was blind the rest of his days. FOOTNOTES: [82] In his fascinating essay on the 'Folk-Lore of France,' in the 'Folk-Lore Record' for 1878 (published by the Folk-Lore Society) Mr. A. Lang says: 'So widespread is this superstition, that a friend of mine declares he has met with it among the savages of New Caledonia, and has known a native who actually died, as he himself said he would, after meeting one of the fairy women of the wild wood.' [83] Gruffydd ab yr Ynad Coch. [84] 'The Life and Death of Mr. Vavasor Powell,' p. 8. (A curious seventeenth century book, no two existing copies of which appear to be alike. I here cite from that in the library of the Marquis of Bute, than which a more perfect copy is rarely met with.) VI. The mode of summoning and of exorcising familiar spirits--in other words, of laying and raising the devil--varies little the world over. Even in China, the magic circle is entered and incantations are muttered when the fiend is summoned; and for the exorcism of devils there are laws like our own--though since modern Christianity has been introduced in China the most popular exorcist is the Christian missionary.[85] In Wales, the popular belief is compounded of about equal parts of foul magic and fair Biblical text; magic chiefly for summoning, the Book for exorcising. John Jenkin, a schoolmaster in Pembrokeshire, was a conjuror of renown in that part of Wales. One of his scholars who had a curiosity to see the devil made bold to ask the master to assist him to that entertainment. 'May see him,' said the master, 'if thou hast the courage for it. Still,' he added, 'I do not choose to call him till I have employment for him.' So the boy waited; and not long after a man came to the master saying he had lost some money, and wished to be told who had stolen it. 'Now,' the master said to the scholar, 'I have some business for him.' At night they went into the wood together and drew a circle, which they entered, and the schoolmaster called one of the spirits of evil by its name. Presently they saw a light in the sky, which shot like lightning down to the circle, and turned round about it. The conjuror asked it who had stolen the man's money; the spirit did not know, and it disappeared. Then the schoolmaster called another evil spirit by its name; and presently they saw the resemblance of a bull flying through the air towards them, so swiftly and fiercely as if it would go through them; and it also turned about the circle. But the conjuror asked it in vain who had the stolen money. 'I must call still another,' said he. The schoolboy was now almost dead with fear, and the conjuror considerately waited till he was somewhat revived before calling the third spirit. But when he did call, there came out of the wood a spirit dressed in white, and went about the circle. 'Ah,' said the schoolmaster, 'we shall now hear something from this.' And sure enough 'this' told the conjuror (in a language the boy could not understand) where the money was, and all about it. Then it vanished in red fire; and that boy 'has never been well since, the effect of the great fright still cleaving to him.' Not far from Glanbran, in Carmarthenshire, lived a tailor, who added to his trade as a breeches-mender the loftier, if wickeder, employments of a worker in magic. A certain Mr. Gwynne, living at Glanbran, took it upon himself to ridicule this terrible tailor, for the tailor was a little man, and Mr. Gwynne was a burly six-footer, who feared nobody. 'Thou have the courage to look upon the devil!' sneered Gwynne; 'canst thou show him to me?' 'That I can,' said the tailor, his eyes flashing angrily; 'but you are not able to look at him.' 'What!' roared Gwynne, 'thou able to look at him, and not I?' 'Very well,' quoth the tailor; 'if you are able to look at him I will show him to you.' It was in the day time, but the tailor went immediately into a little grove of wood in a field hard by, and made a circle in the usual manner. In a short time he returned to fetch the incredulous Mr. Gwynne, saying, 'Come with me and you shall see him.' The two then crossed the field until they came to the stile by the wood, when suddenly the tailor cried, 'Look yonder! there it is!' And looking, Mr. Gwynne saw, in the circle the tailor had drawn, 'one of the fallen angels, now become a devil.' It was so horrible a sight that the terrified Mr. Gwynne was never after able to describe it; but from that time forth he had a proper respect for the tailor. FOOTNOTE: [85] Dennys, 'Folk-Lore of China,' 89. CHAPTER VI. The Evil Spirit in his customary Form--The stupid Medieval Devil in Wales--Sion Cent--The Devil outwitted--Pacts with the Fiend and their Avoidance--Sion Dafydd's Foul Pipe--The Devil's Bridge and its Legends--Similar Legends in other Lands--The Devil's Pulpit near Tintern--Angelic Spirits--Welsh Superstitions as to pronouncing the Name of the Evil Spirit--The Bardic Tradition of the Creation--The Struggle between Light and Darkness and its Symbolization. I. The devil has often appeared in Wales in his customary form, or with his distinctive marks covered up by such clothing as mortals wear. There was even a tailor in Cardiganshire who had the honour of making a suit of clothes for his sulphuric majesty. The medieval view of this malignant spirit--which makes the devil out as dull and stupid as he is mendacious and spiteful--still lingers in some parts. Those formal pacts with the devil, the first traces of which are found in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, have been made in great numbers in Wales; and tales in which the devil is outwitted by a mortal are still preserved with much distinctness in various localities. That the myth of Polyphemus reappears in all accounts of this sort, is pretty well agreed among students of folk-lore. Hercules and Cacus, Polyphemus and Odysseus, Peredur and the one-eyed monster of the Mabinogion, Gambrinus and der Teufel, Jack the Giant-Killer, Norse Jötuns and Arabian genii tricked and bottled; all these are deemed outgrowths of the same primeval idea, to wit, the victory of the sun-god over the night-fiend; and the story of Sion Cent's compact with the diawl is doubtless from the same root. Certain it is that were not the devil at times gullible, he never would have been so useful as a familiar spirit, never could have been made so completely a slave to his mortal masters. The Pope (Benedict IX.) who had seven evil spirits in a sugar-bottle, merely subdivided the arch-fiend in the same way the genii of the old tales are subdivided--now existing as a dense and visible form, again expanding to blot out the sky, and again entering the narrow compass of a bottle or a nut-shell; co-existing in a million places at the same instant, yet having a single individuality. II. Tradition relates that Sion Cent was a famous necromancer in Monmouthshire, who outwitted the devil, not once but many times. He lives in popular legend simply as a worker in magic, but in reality he was a worthy minister, the Rev. John Kent, who flourished from 1420 to 1470, and wrote several theological works in Latin. In his native Welsh he confined himself to poetry, and Sion Cent was his Cymric pseudonym. Like many learned men in those days, he was accredited with magical powers by the ignorant peasantry, and of his transactions with the devil many stories were then invented which still survive. One relates that he once served as a farmer's boy, and was set to keep the crows from the corn, but preferring to go to Grosmont fair, he confined the crows in an old roofless barn by a magic spell till the next day, when he returned. His compact with the devil enabled him to build the bridge over the Monnow, near Grosmont, which still bears his name. The compact gave the devil the man's soul, as all such compacts do--the stipulation being that if his body were buried either in or out of the church, his soul should be forfeit to the diawl. But the shrewd Welshman gave orders that he should be buried exactly under the chancel wall, so that he should lie neither in the church nor out of it; and the devil was made a fool of by this device. A precisely similar tradition exists concerning an old gentleman in Carmarthenshire. III. A popular legend giving the origin of the jack-o'-lantern in Wales deals with the idea of a stupid devil: A long time ago there lived on the hills of Arfon an old man of the name of Sion Dafydd, who used to converse much with one of the children of the bottomless pit. One morning Sion was on his way to Llanfair-Fechan, carrying a flail on his shoulder, for he had corn there, when whom should he meet but his old friend from the pit, with a bag on his back, and in it two little devils like himself. After conversing for some time they began to quarrel, and presently were in the midst of a terrible fight. Sion fell to basting the devils with his flail, until the bag containing the two little ones went all to pieces, and the two tumbling out, fled for their lives to Rhiwgyfylchi, which village is considered to this day a very wicked place from this fact. Sion then went his way rejoicing, and did not for a long time encounter his adversary. Eventually, however, they met, and this time Sion had his gun on his shoulder. 'What's that long thing you're carrying?' inquired the devil. 'That's my pipe,' said Sion. Then the devil asked, 'Shall I have a whiff out of it?' 'You shall,' was Sion's reply, and he placed the mouth of his gun in the devil's throat and drew the trigger. Well; that was the loudest report from a gun that was ever heard on this earth. 'Ach!--tw!--tw!' exclaimed the smoker, 'your pipe is very foul,' and he disappeared in a flame. After a lapse of time, Sion met him again in the guise of a gentleman, but the Welshman knew it was the tempter. This time he made a bargain for which he was ever afterwards sorry, i.e., he sold himself to the devil for a sum down, but with the understanding that whenever he could cling to something the devil should not then control him. One day when Sion was busily gardening, the evil one snatched him away into the air without warning, and Sion was about giving up all hopes of again returning to earth, when he thought to himself, 'I'll ask the devil one last favour.' The stupid devil listened. 'All I want is an apple,' said Sion, 'to moisten my lips a bit down below; let me go to the top of my apple-tree, and I'll pick one.' 'Is that all?' quoth the diawl, and consented. Of course Sion laid hold of the apple-tree, and hung on. The devil had to leave him there. But the old reprobate was too wicked for heaven, and the devil having failed to take him to the other place, he was turned into a fairy, and is now the jack-o'-lantern.[86] FOOTNOTE: [86] 'Cymru Fu,' 355 et seq. IV. Best known among the natural objects in various parts of Wales which are connected with the devil in popular lore, is the Devil's Bridge, in Cardiganshire. Associated with this bridge are several legends, which derive their greatest interest from their intrinsic evidences of an antiquity in common with the same legends in other lands. The guide-books of the region, like guide-books everywhere, in their effort to avoid being led into unwarranted statement, usually indulge in playfully sarcastic references to these ancient tales. They are much older, however, than the bridge itself can possibly be. The devil's activity in bridge-building is a myth more ancient than the medieval devil of our acquaintance. The building story of the Devil's Bridge in Cardiganshire runs briefly thus: An old woman who had lost her cow spied it on the other side of the ravine, and was in great trouble about it, not knowing how to get over where the animal was. The devil, taking advantage of her distress, offered to throw a bridge over the ravine, so that she might cross and get her cow; but he stipulated that the first living creature to cross the bridge should be his. The old woman agreed; the bridge was built; and the devil waited to see her cross. She drew a crust of bread from her pocket, threw it over, and her little black dog flew after it. 'The dog's yours, sir,' said the dame; and Satan was discomfited. In the story told of the old bridge over the Main at Frankfort, a bridge-contractor and his troubles are substituted for the old woman and her cow; instead of a black dog a live rooster appears, driven in front of him by the contractor. The Welsh Satan seems to have received his discomfiture good-naturedly enough; in the German tale he tears the fowl to pieces in his rage. In Switzerland, every reader knows the story told of the devil's bridge in the St. Gothard pass. A new bridge has taken the place, for public use, of the old bridge on the road to Andermatt, and to the dangers of the crumbling masonry are added superstitious terrors concerning the devil's power to catch any one crossing after dark. The old Welsh bridge has been in like manner superseded by a modern structure; but I think no superstition like the last noted is found at Hafod. V. The English have a saying that the devil lives in the middle of Wales. There is in every part of Wales that I have seen a custom of whitening the doorsteps with chalk, and it is said to have originated in the belief that his Satanic majesty could not enter a door thus protected. The devil of slovenliness certainly would find difficulty in entering a Welsh cottage if the tidiness of its doorstep is borne out in the interior. But out-of-doors everywhere there are signs of the devil's active habits. His flowers grow on the river-banks; his toes are imprinted on the rocks. Near Tintern Abbey there is a jutting crag overhung by gloomy branches of the yew, called the Devil's Pulpit. His eminence used in other and wickeder days to preach atrocious morals, or immorals, to the white-robed Cistercian monks of the abbey, from this rocky pulpit. One day the devil grew bold, and taking his tail under his arm in an easy and _dégagée_ manner, hobnobbed familiarly with the monks, and finally proposed, just for a lark, that he should preach them a nice red-hot sermon from the rood-loft of the abbey. To this the monks agreed, and the devil came to church in high glee. But fancy his profane perturbation (I had nearly written holy horror) when the treacherous Cistercians proceeded to shower him with holy water. The devil clapped his tail between his legs and scampered off howling, and never stopped till he got to Llandogo, where he leaped across the river into England, leaving the prints of his talons on a stone. VI. Where accounts of the devil's appearance are so numerous, it is perhaps somewhat surprising so little is heard of apparitions of angels. There are reasons for this, however, which might be enlarged upon. Tradition says that 'in former times' there were frequent visits of angels to Wales; and their rare appearance in our days is ascribed to the completion of revelation. One or two modern instances of angelic visitation are given by the Prophet Jones. There was David Thomas, who lived at a place called the Pantau, between the towns of Carmarthen and Laugharne; he was 'a gifted brother, who sometimes preached,' in the dissenting way. One night, when he was at prayer alone in a room which stood apart from his house, there was suddenly a great light present, which made the light of the candle no longer visible. And in that light appeared a band of angels, like children, very beautiful in bright clothing, singing in Welsh these words: Pa hyd? Pa hyd? Dychwelwch feibion Adda! Pa hyd? Pa hyd yr erlidiwch y Cristnogion duwiol? How long? How long? Return ye sons of Adam! How long? How long will ye persecute the godly Christians? After a time they departed; reappeared; departed again; the great light faded; and the light of Mr. Thomas's candle was once more visible on his table. There was also Rees David, a man of more than common piety, who lived in Carmarthenshire, near Whitlands. At the time of his death, it was testified by 'several religious persons who were in the room,' that there was heard, by them and by the dying man, the singing of angels. It drew nearer and nearer as his death-struggle grew imminent, and after his death they 'heard the pleasant incomparable singing gradually depart, until it was out of hearing.' That the dying do see something more, in the last moment of expiring nature, than it is given to living eyes to see, is a cherished belief by numberless Christian men and women, whom to suspect of superstitious credulity were to grossly offend. This belief is based on exclamations uttered by the dying, while with fixed and staring eyes they appeared to gaze intently at some object not visible to the bystanders. But that the bystanders also saw, or heard, voice or vision from the Unknown, is not often pretended. VII. Reference has been made to the euphemisms in use among all peoples to avoid pronouncing the name of the devil. That many good folk still consider the word devil, lightly spoken, a profane utterance only second to a similar utterance of God's name, is a curious survival of old superstitions. No prohibition of this sort attaches to the words demon, fiend, etc., nor to such euphemisms, common in both Welsh and English, as the adversary, the evil one, etc. It is an old custom in North Wales to spit at the name of the devil, even when so innocently used as in pronouncing the name of the Devil's Bridge. The peasantry prefer to call the bridge 'Pont y Gwr Drwg,' the Bridge of the Wicked One; and spitting and wiping off the tongue are deemed a necessary precaution after saying devil, diafol, or diawl. The phrase 'I hope to goodness,' so common in Wales and elsewhere, is clearly but another euphemism for God; the goodness meant is the Divine beneficence. 'Goodness' sake' is but a contraction of 'For God's sake!' The Hebrew tetragrammaton which was invested with such terror, as representing the great 'I am,' finds an explanation, according to the ideas of Welsh scholars, in the Bardic traditions. These relate that, by the utterance of His Name, God created this world; the Name being represented by the symbol /|\, three lines which typify the focusing of the rising sun's rays at the equinoxes and solstices. The first ray is the Creator, the second the Preserver, and the third the Destroyer; the whole are God's Name. This name cannot be uttered by a mortal; he has not the power; therefore it remains for ever unuttered on earth. At the creation the universe uttered it in joy at the new-born world; 'the morning stars sang together.' At the last day it will be uttered again. Till then it is kept a secret, lest it be degraded, as it has been by the Hindus, who, from the three rays created their three false gods, Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva. Tradition relates that Einigan Gawr saw the Divine Name appear, and inscribed it on three rods of mountain ash. The people mistook the three rods thus inscribed for God himself, and Einigan died from grief at their error.[87] FOOTNOTE: [87] 'Dosparth Edeyrn Dafod Aur,' 3. VIII. The devil with which we are acquainted is a character unknown to Greek or Roman mythology; this devil was a later invention; but his identity with the genii, or jinns of the 'Arabian Nights,' the Dïvs of Persian history, is clear enough. Ahriman, the evil spirit, king of the realms of darkness and of fire, was apparently the progenitor of Satan, as Vritra was of Ahriman. Both these ancient arch-fiends appeared as serpents in form, and were myths representing the darkness, slain by the light, or the sun-god, in the one case called Indra, in the other Ormuzd. The medieval devil with horns and hoofs does not appear in the records of Judaism. He is an outgrowth of the moral principle of the Christian era; and traced to his origins he is simply a personification of the adversary in the never-ending struggle on earth between light and darkness. That struggle is not, in nature, a moral one; but it remains to-day, as it was in the beginning, the best type we have of the battle between right and wrong, and between truth and error. When God said, 'Let there be light,' the utterance became the symbol and guide of virtue, of brave endeavour, and of scientific research, until the end. CHAPTER VII. Cambrian Death-Portents--The Corpse-Bird--The Tan-Wedd--Listening at the Church-Door--The Lledrith--The Gwrach y Rhibyn--The Llandaff Gwrach--Ugliness of this Female Apparition--The Black Maiden--The Cyhyraeth, or Crying Spirit--Its Moans on Land and Sea--The St. Mellons Cyhyraeth--The Groaning Spirit of Bedwellty. I. There are death portents in every country, and in endless variety; in Wales these portents assume distinct and striking individualities, in great number and with clearly defined attributes. The banshee, according to Mr. Baring-Gould, has no corresponding feature in Scandinavian, Teutonic, or classic mythology, and belongs entirely to the Celts. The Welsh have the banshee in its most blood-curdling form under the name of the Gwrach y Rhibyn; they have also the Cyhyraeth, which is never seen, but is heard, moaning dolefully and dreadfully in the night; the Tolaeth, also only heard, not groaning but imitating some earthly sound, such as sawing, singing, or the tramping of feet; the Cwn Annwn and Cwn y Wybr, Dogs of Hell and Dogs of the Sky; the Canwyll Corph, or Corpse Candle; the Teulu, or Goblin Funeral, and many others--all of them death-portents. These, as the more important and striking, I will describe further; but there are several others which must first be mentioned. The Aderyn y Corph is a bird which chirps at the door of the person who is about to die, and makes a noise that sounds like the Welsh word for 'Come! come!' the summons to death.[88] In ancient tradition, it had no feathers nor wings, soaring without support high in the heavens, and, when not engaged upon some earthly message, dwelling in the land of illusion and phantasy.[89] This corpse-bird may properly be associated with the superstition regarding the screech-owl, whose cry near a sick-bed inevitably portends death. The untimely crowing of a cock also foretells the sudden demise of some member of the family. In North Wales the cry of the golden plover is a death-omen; these birds are called, in this connection, the whistlers.[90] The same superstition prevails in Warwickshire, and the sound is called the seven whistlers. Thunder and lightning in mid-winter announce the death of the great man of the parish. This superstition is thought to be peculiar to Wales, or to the wilder and more secluded parts of North Wales.[91] Also deemed peculiar to Wales is the Tan-wedd, a fiery apparition which falls on the lands of a freeholder who is about to die. It is described as appearing somewhat similar to falling stars, but slower of motion. 'It lighteneth all the air and ground where it passeth,' says 'the honest Welshman, Mr. Davis, in a letter to Mr. Baxter,' adding, 'lasteth three or four miles or more, for aught is known, because no man seeth the rising or beginning of it; and when it falls to the ground it sparkleth and lighteth all about.'[92] It also comes as a duty-performing goblin, after a death, haunting the graveyard, and calling attention to some special grave by its conduct, as in the following account: Walter Watkins, of the Neuadd, in a parish of Brecknockshire, was going one dark night towards Taf Fechan Chapel, not far from his house, when he saw a light near the chapel. It increased till it was as big as a church tower, and decreased again till it was as small as a star; then enlarged again and decreased as before; and this it did several times. He went to his house and fetched his father and mother to see it, and they all saw it plainly, much to their astonishment and wonder. Some time after, as a neighbour was ploughing in a field near the chapel, about where the mysterious light had been seen, the plough struck against a large flat stone. This the ploughman raised up, after a deal of difficulty, and under it he found a stone chest, in which was the jawbone of a man, and nought else except an earthen jug. The bone was supposed to be the remains of a man who had disappeared long before, and whose wife had since married; and on her being told of it, she fell ill and died. The light, which had often been seen before by various persons, was after this seen no more. It was believed to be the spirit of the murdered man, appearing as a light. Listening at the church-door in the dark, to hear shouted by a ghostly voice in the deserted edifice the names of those who are shortly to be buried in the adjoining churchyard, is a Hallow E'en custom in some parts of Wales. In other parts, the window serves the same purpose. There are said to be still extant, outside some village churches, steps which were constructed in order to enable the superstitious peasantry to climb to the window to listen. The principle of 'expectant attention,' so well known to physiological science, would be likely in this case to act with special force as a ghost-raiser. In an ancient MS. by Llywelyn Sion, of Llangewydd, there is mention of a frightful monster called the Fad Felen, which was seen through the key-hole of Rhos church by Maelgwn Gwynedd, who 'died in consequence.' This monster was predicted in a poem by Taliesin, as a 'strange creature' which should come from the sea marsh, with hair and teeth and eyes like gold. The yellow fever plague, which raged in Wales during some five years in the sixth century, is the monster referred to in this legend. The Scotch wraith and Irish fetch have their parallel in Wales in the Lledrith, or spectre of a person seen before his death; it never speaks, and vanishes if spoken to. It has been seen by miners previous to a fatal accident in the mine. The story is told of a miner who saw himself lying dead and horribly maimed in a phantom tram-car, led by a phantom horse, and surrounded by phantom miners. As he watched this dreadful group of spectres they passed on, looking neither to the right nor the left, and faded away. The miner's dog was as frightened as its master at the sight, and ran howling into the darkness. Though deeming himself doomed, the miner continued to work in the pit; and as the days passed on, and no harm came to him, he grew more cheerful, and was so bold as to laugh at the superstition. The day he did this, a stone fell from the roof and broke his arm. As soon as he recovered he resumed work in the pit; his death followed instantly. A stone crushed him, and he was borne maimed and dead in the tram along the road where his lledrith had appeared, 'a mile below the play of sunshine and wave of trees.'[93] The Mallt y Nos, or night-fiend, is a death-omen mentioned by Rev. D. R. Thomas in the 'Archæologia Cambrensis'; and Croker[94] gives as the Welsh parallel of the Irish death-coach a spectre called ceffyl heb un pen, or the headless horse. The marw coel, or 'yellow spot before death,' is another death-omen which I have been able to trace no further than the pages where I find it.[95] FOOTNOTES: [88] 'Dewch! dewch!' [89] 'Cymru Fu,' 299. [90] 'Camb. Quarterly,' iv., 487. [91] 'Arch. Camb.' 4th Se., iii., 333. [92] Brand, 'Pop. Ant.' iii., 127. [93] 'Tales and Sketches of Wales,' in 'Weekly Mail.' [94] 'Fairy Legends of the South of Ireland,' 341. [95] 'The Vale of Glamorgan.' II. A frightful figure among Welsh apparitions is the Gwrach y Rhibyn, whose crowning distinction is its prodigious ugliness. The feminine pronoun is generally used in speaking of this goblin, which unlike the majority of its kind, is supposed to be a female. A Welsh saying, regarding one of her sex who is the reverse of lovely, is, 'Y mae mor salw a Gwrach y Rhibyn,' (She is as ugly as the Gwrach y Rhibyn.) The spectre is a hideous being with dishevelled hair, long black teeth, long, lank, withered arms, leathern wings, and a cadaverous appearance. In the stillness of night it comes and flaps its wings against the window, uttering at the same time a blood-curdling howl, and calling by name on the person who is to die, in a lengthened dying tone, as thus: 'Da-a-a-vy!' 'De-i-i-o-o-o ba-a-a-ch!' The effect of its shriek or howl is indescribably terrific, and its sight blasting to the eyes of the beholder. It is always an omen of death, though its warning cry is heard under varying circumstances; sometimes it appears in the mist on the mountain side, or at cross-roads, or by a piece of water which it splashes with its hands. The gender of apparitions is no doubt as a rule the neuter, but the Gwrach y Rhibyn defies all rules by being a female which at times sees fit to be a male. In its female character it has a trick of crying at intervals, in a most doleful tone, 'Oh! oh! fy ngwr, fy ngwr!' (my husband! my husband!) But when it chooses to be a male, this cry is changed to 'Fy ngwraig! fy ngwraig!' (my wife! my wife!) or 'Fy mlentyn, fy mlentyn bach!' (my child, my little child!) There is a frightful story of a dissipated peasant who met this goblin on the road one night, and thought it was a living woman; he therefore made wicked and improper overtures to it, with the result of having his soul nearly frightened out of his body in the horror of discovering his mistake. As he emphatically exclaimed, 'Och, Dduw! it was the Gwrach y Rhibyn, and not a woman at all.' III. The Gwrach y Rhibyn recently appeared, according to an account given me by a person who claimed to have seen it, at Llandaff. Surely, no more probable site for the appearance of a spectre so ancient of lineage could be found, than that ancient cathedral city where some say was the earliest Christian fane in Great Britain, and which was certainly the seat of the earliest Christian bishopric. My narrator was a respectable-looking man of the peasant-farmer class, whom I met in one of my walks near Cardiff, in the summer of 1878. 'It was at Llandaff,' he said to me, 'on the fourteenth of last November, when I was on a visit to an old friend, that I saw and heard the Gwrach y Rhibyn. I was sleeping in my bed, and was woke at midnight by a frightful screeching and a shaking of my window. It was a loud and clear screech, and the shaking of the window was very plain, but it seemed to go by like the wind. I was not so much frightened, sir, as you may think; excited I was--that's the word--excited; and I jumped out of bed and rushed to the window and flung it open. Then I saw the Gwrach y Rhibyn, saw her plainly, sir, a horrible old woman with long red hair and a face like chalk, and great teeth like tusks, looking back over her shoulder at me as she went through the air with a long black gown trailing along the ground below her arms, for body I could make out none. She gave another unearthly screech while I looked at her; then I heard her flapping her wings against the window of a house just below the one I was in, and she vanished from my sight. But I kept on staring into the darkness, and as I am a living man, sir, I saw her go in at the door of the Cow and Snuffers Inn, and return no more. I watched the door of the inn a long time, but she did not come out. The next day, it's the honest truth I'm telling you, they told me the man who kept the Cow and Snuffers Inn was dead--had died in the night. His name was Llewellyn, sir--you can ask any one about him, at Llandaff--he had kept the inn there for seventy years, and his family before him for three hundred years, just at that very spot. It's not these new families that the Gwrach y Rhibyn ever troubles, sir, it's the old stock.' IV. The close resemblance of this goblin to the Irish banshee (or benshi) will be at once perceived. The same superstition is found among other peoples of Celtic origin. Sir Walter Scott mentions it among the highlands of Scotland.[96] It is not traced among other than Celtic peoples distinctly, but its association with the primeval mythology is doubtless to be found in the same direction with many other death-omens, to wit, the path of the wind-god Hermes. The frightful ugliness of the Gwrach y Rhibyn is a consistent feature of the superstition, in both its forms; it recalls the Black Maiden who came to Caerleon and liberated Peredur:[97] 'Blacker were her face and her two hands than the blackest iron covered with pitch; and her hue was not more frightful than her form. High cheeks had she, and a face lengthened downwards, and a short nose with distended nostrils. And one eye was of a piercing mottled gray, and the other was as black as jet, deep-sunk in her head. And her teeth were long and yellow, more yellow were they than the flower of the broom. And her stomach rose from the breast-bone, higher than her chin. And her back was in the shape of a crook, and her legs were large and bony. And her figure was very thin and spare, except her feet and legs, which were of huge size.' The Welsh word 'gwrach' means a hag or witch, and it has been fancied that there is a connection between this word and the mythical Avagddu,[98] whose wife the gwrach was. The Gwrach y Rhibyn appears also as a river-spectre, in Glamorganshire. FOOTNOTES: [96] 'Demonology and Witchcraft,' 351. [97] 'Mabinogion,' 114. [98] Avagddu means both hell and the devil, as our word Heaven means both the Deity and his abode. V. A death-portent which is often confused with the Gwrach y Rhibyn, yet which is rendered quite distinct by its special attributes, is the Cyhyraeth. This is a groaning spirit. It is never seen, but the noise it makes is no less terrible to the ear than the appearance of its visible sister is to the eye. Among groaning spirits it is considered to be the chief. The Prophet Jones succinctly characterises it as 'a doleful, dreadful noise in the night, before a burying.' David Prosser, of Llanybyther parish, 'a sober, sensible man and careful to tell the truth,' once heard the Cyhyraeth in the early part of the night, his wife and maid-servant being together in the house, and also hearing it; and when it came opposite the window, it 'pronounced these strange words, of no signification that we know of,' viz. '_Woolach! Woolach!_' Some time afterward a funeral passed that way. The judicious Joshua Coslet, who lived by the river Towy in Carmarthenshire, testified that the Cyhyraeth is often heard there, and that it is 'a doleful, disagreeable sound heard before the deaths of many, and most apt to be heard before foul weather. The voice resembles the groaning of sick persons who are to die; heard at first at a distance, then comes nearer, and the last near at hand; so that it is a threefold warning of death. It begins strong, and louder than a sick man can make; the second cry is lower, but not less doleful, but rather more so; the third yet lower, and soft, like the groaning of a sick man almost spent and dying.' A person 'well remembering the voice' and coming to the sick man's bed, 'shall hear his groans exactly like' those which he had before heard from the Cyhyraeth. This crying spirit especially affected the twelve parishes in the hundred of Inis Cenin, which lie on the south-east side of the river Towy, 'where some time past it groaned before the death of every person who lived that side of the country.' It also sounded before the death of persons 'who were born in these parishes, but died elsewhere.' Sometimes the voice is heard long before death, but not longer than three quarters of a year. So common was it in the district named, that among the people there a familiar form of reproach to any one making a disagreeable noise, or 'children crying or groaning unreasonable,' was to ejaculate, 'Oh 'r Cyhyraeth!' A reason why the Cyhyraeth was more often heard in the hundred of Inis Cenin was thought to be that Non, the mother of St. David, lived in those parts, where a village is called after her name, Llan-non, the church of Non. On the southern sea-coast, in Glamorganshire, the Cyhyraeth is sometimes heard by the people in the villages on shore passing down the channel with loud moans, while those dismal lights which forebode a wreck are seen playing along the waves. Watchers by the sea-shore have also heard its moan far out on the ocean, gradually drawing nearer and nearer, and then dying away; and when they thought it gone it has suddenly shrieked close to their startled ears, chilling their very marrows. Then, long after, they would hear it, now faint, now loud, going along the sands into the distant darkness. One or more corpses were usually washed ashore soon after. In the villages the Cyhyraeth is heard passing through the empty streets and lanes by night, groaning dismally, sometimes rattling the window-shutters, or flinging open the door as it flits by. When going along the country lanes it will thus horrify the inmates of every house it passes. Some old people say it is only heard before the death of such as are of strayed mind, or who have long been ill; but it always comes when an epidemic is about to visit the neighbourhood. A tradition of the Cyhyraeth is connected with the parish churchyard at St. Mellons, a quaint old-fashioned village within easy tramping distance of Cardiff, but in Monmouthshire. It is of a boy who was sent on an errand, and who heard the Cyhyraeth crying in the churchyard, first in one place, then in another, and finally in a third place, where it rested. Some time after, a corpse was brought to that churchyard to be buried, but some person came and claimed the grave. They went to another place, but that also was claimed. Then they went to a third place, and there they were allowed to bury their dead in peace. And this going about with the corpse was 'just the same as the boy declared it.' Of course the boy could not know what was to come to pass, 'but this crying spirit knew exactly what would come to pass.' I was also told by a person at St. Mellons that a ghost had been seen sitting upon the old stone cross which stands on the hillside near the church. VI. Other groaning spirits are sometimes heard. A girl named Mary Morgan, living near Crumlyn Bridge, while standing on the bridge one evening was seized with mortal terror on hearing a groaning voice going up the river, uttering the words, 'O Dduw, beth a wnaf fi?' (O God, what shall I do?) many times repeated, amid direful groans. The conclusion of this narration is a hopeless mystery, as Mary fainted away with her fright. Much more satisfactory, as a ghost-story with a moral, is the tale of the groaning spirit of Bedwellty.[99] There was one night a wake at the house of Meredith Thomas, over the body of his four-year-old child, at which two profane men (named Thomas Edward Morgan and Anthony Aaron) began playing at cards, and swearing most horribly. In the parish of Bedwellty, the wakes--or watch-nights, as they are more commonly called in Wales--were at that time very profanely kept. 'Few besides the dissenters,' says Jones (who was himself a dissenter, it must be remembered), 'had the sense and courage to forbid' this wickedness, but 'suffered it as a custom, because the pretence was to divert the relations of the dead, and lessen their sorrows.' While the aforementioned profane men were playing cards and swearing, suddenly a dismal groaning noise was heard at the window. At this the company was much frightened, excepting the card-players, who said 'Pw!' and went on playing. But to pacify the rest of the company they finally desisted, and at once the groaning ceased. Soon after they began playing again, when at once the groaning set up in most lamentable tones, so that people shuddered; but the profane men again said, 'Pw! it is some fellow playing tricks to frighten us.' 'No,' said William Harry Rees, a good man of the Baptist persuasion, 'it is no human being there groaning, but a spirit,' and again he desired them to give over. But though they were so bold with their card-playing, these wicked men had not the hardihood to venture out and see who it was 'playing tricks,' as they called it. However, one of the company said, 'I will go, and take the dogs with me, and see if there be any human being there.' The groaning still continued. This bold person then 'took the prime staff, and began to call the dogs to go with him;' but the dogs could not be induced to go out, being in great terror at the groaning noise, and sought to hide themselves under the stools, and about the people's feet. In vain they beat the dogs, and kicked and scolded them, out-door they would not go. This at last convinced the profane men, and they left off playing, for fear the devil should come among them. For it was told in other places that people had played cards till his sulphurous majesty appeared in person. FOOTNOTE: [99] Jones, 'Apparitions,' 24. CHAPTER VIII. The Tolaeth Death Portent--Its various Forms--The Tolaeth before Death--Ewythr Jenkin's Tolaeth--A modern Instance--The Railway Victim's Warning--The Goblin Voice--The Voice from the Cloud--Legend of the Lord and the Beggar--The Goblin Funeral--The Horse's Skull--The Goblin Veil--The Wraith of Llanllwch--Dogs of Hell--The Tale of Pwyll--Spiritual Hunting Dogs--Origin of the Cwn Annwn. I. The Tolaeth is an ominous sound, imitating some earthly sound of one sort or another, and always heard before either a funeral or some dreadful catastrophe. Carpenters of a superstitious turn of mind will tell you that they invariably hear the Tolaeth when they are going to receive an order to make a coffin; in this case the sound is that of the sawing of wood, the hammering of nails, and the turning of screws, such as are heard in the usual process of making a coffin. This is called the 'Tolaeth before the Coffin.' The 'Tolaeth before Death' is a supernatural noise heard about the house, such as a knocking, or the sound of footsteps in the dead of night. Sometimes it is the sound of a tolling bell, where no bell is; and the direction in which the ear is held at the time points out the place of the coming death. Formerly the veritable church-bell in its steeple would foretell death, by tolling thrice at the hour of midnight, unrung by human hands. The bell of Blaenporth, Cardiganshire, was noted for thus warning the neighbours. The 'Tolaeth before the Burying' is the sound of the funeral procession passing by, unseen, but heard. The voices are heard singing the 'Old Hundredth,' which is the psalm tune usually sung by funeral bands; the slow regular tramp of the feet is heard, and the sobbing and groaning of the mourners. The Tolaeth touches but one sense at a time. When this funeral procession is heard it cannot be seen. But it is a peculiarity of the Tolaeth that after it has been heard by the ear, it sometimes makes itself known to the eye also--but in silence. The funeral procession will at first be heard, and then if the hearer stoop forward and look along the ground, it may perhaps be seen; the psalm-singers, two abreast, with their hats off and their mouths open, as in the act of singing; the coffin, borne on the shoulders of four men who hold their hats by the side of their heads; the mourners, the men with long black hatbands streaming behind, the women pale and sorrowful, with upheld handkerchiefs; and the rest of the procession stretching away dimly into shadow. Not a sound is heard, either of foot or voice, although the singers' mouths are open. After the procession has passed, and the observer has risen from his stooping posture, the Tolaeth again breaks on the ear, the music, the tread of feet, and the sobbing, as before. A real funeral is sure to pass that way not long afterwards. This form of the Tolaeth should not be confused with the Teulu, or Goblin Funeral proper, which is a death-warning occupying its own place. II. John Clode, an honest labouring man living on the coast of Glamorganshire, near the Sker Rocks, had just gone to bed one night, when he and his wife heard the door open, the tread of shuffling feet, the moving about of chairs, and the grunting of men as if setting down a load. This was all in the room where they lay, it being the only room their cottage afforded, except the one upstairs. 'John, John!' cried his wife in alarm, 'what is this?' In vain John rubbed his eyes and stared into the darkness. Nothing could he see. Two days afterward their only son was brought home drowned; and his corpse being borne into the house upon a ladder, there were the same noises of opening the door, the shuffling of feet, the moving of chairs, the setting down of the burden, that the Tolaeth had touched their ears with. 'John, John!' murmured poor Mrs. Clode; 'this is exactly what I heard in the night.' 'Yes, wife,' quoth John, 'it was the Tolaeth before Death.' Before Ewythr Jenkin of Nash died, his daughter Gwenllian heard the Tolaeth. She had taken her old father's breeches from under his pillow to mend them (for he was very careful always to fold and put his breeches under his pillow, especially if there was a sixpence in the pocket), and just as she was about sitting down at the table on which she had thrown them, there came a loud rap on the table, which startled her very much. 'Oh, Jenny, what was that?' she asked of the servant girl; but Jenny could only stare at her mistress, more frightened than herself. Again did Gwenllian essay to sit and take the breeches in hand, when there came upon the table a double rap, much louder than the first, a rap, in fact, that made all the chairs and kettles ring. So then Gwenllian fainted away. At a place called by its owner Llynwent, in Radnorshire, at a certain time the man of the house and his wife were gone from home. The rest of the family were sitting at supper, when three of the servants heard the sound of horses coming toward the house, and cried out, 'There, they are coming!' thinking it was their master and mistress returning home. But on going out to meet them, there was nobody near. They re-entered the house, somewhat uneasy in their minds at this strange thing, and clustered about the fire, with many expressions of wonderment. While they were so seated, 'Hark!' said one, and all listening intently, heard footsteps passing by them and going up stairs, and voices of people talking among themselves. Not long afterward three of the family fell sick and died. III. An instance of recent occurrence is given by a local newspaper correspondent writing from the scene of a Welsh railway accident in October, 1878. It was at Pontypridd, famous the world over for its graceful bridge, (now old and superannuated,) and renowned in Druidic story as a seat of learning. A victim of the railway accident was, a few days before the collision, 'sitting with his wife at the fireside, when he had an omen. The house was still, and they were alone, only a little servant girl being with them. Then, while so sitting and talking, they both heard a heavy footstep ascending the stairs, step by step, step by step, as that of one carrying a burden. They looked at one another, and the husband called, "Run, Mary, upstairs; some one has gone up." Mary did run, but there was no one. She was told to look in every room, and she did so, and it was put down as fancy. When the news was borne to the poor wife on Saturday night, she started up and said, "There now, that was the omen!"'[100] That his readers may not by any perversity fail to understand him as alluding to the Tolaeth before Death, our newspaper correspondent states his creed: 'I believe in omens. I knew a lady who heard distinctly three raps at her door. Another lady was sitting with her near it too. The door was an inner door. No servant was in the house. The two ladies heard it, and yet no human hand touched that door, and at the time when the knock was heard a dear brother was dying. I know of strange things of this sort. Of voices crying the names of half-sleeping relatives when the waves were washing some one dear away to the mighty deep; but then the world laughs at all this and the world goes on.' The correspondent is severe; there is nothing here to laugh at. FOOTNOTE: [100] 'Western Mail,' Oct. 23, 1878. IV. The Tolaeth has one other form--that of a Voice which speaks, in a simple and natural manner, but very significant words. Thus Edward Lloyd, in the parish of Llangurig, was lying very ill, when the people that were with him in his chamber heard a voice near them, but could see no one; nor could they find any one anywhere about the house, to whom the voice might belong. Soon afterwards they heard it utter, so distinctly that it seemed to be in the room where they were, these words, 'Y mae nenbren y t[^y] yn craccio,' (the upper beam of the house cracketh.) Soon the Voice spoke again, saying, 'Fe dor yn y man,' (it will presently break.) And once more it spoke: 'Dyna fe yn tori,' (there it breaks.) That moment the sick man gave up the ghost. John, the son of Watkin Elias Jones, of the parish of Mynyddyslwyn, was one day ploughing in the field, when the oxen rested, and he sent the lad who drove the oxen, to fetch something which he wanted; and while thus alone in the field, he saw a cloud coming across the field to him. When the cloud had come to that part of the field where he was, it stopped, and shadowed the sun from him; and out of the cloud came a Voice, which asked him which of these three diseases he would choose to die of--fever, dropsy, or consumption. Being a man who could give a plain answer to a plain question, he replied that he would rather die of consumption. The lad now returning, he sent him home with the oxen, and then, feeling inclined to sleep, lay down and slept. When he awoke he was ill, and fell by degrees into a consumption, of which he died one year from the day of this warning. He did not tell of this apparition, however, until within six weeks of his death. V. One of the most beautiful legends in the Iolo MSS. gives an ancient tale of the Tolaeth which may be thus condensed: A great and wealthy lord, rich in land, houses and gold, enjoying all the luxuries of life, heard a voice proclaim thrice distinctly: 'The greatest and richest man of this parish shall die to-night.' At this he was sadly troubled, for he knew that the greatest and richest man of that parish could be no other than he; so he sent for the physician, but made ready for death. Great, however, was his joy when the night passed, the day broke, and he was yet alive. At sunrise the church bell was heard tolling, and the lord sent in haste to know who was dead. Answer came that it was an old blind beggar man, who had asked, and been refused, alms at the great man's gate. Then the lord knew the meaning of the warning voice he had heard: that very great and very rich man had been the poor beggar--his treasures and wealth in the kingdom of heaven. He took the warning wisely to heart, endowed religious houses, relieved all who were in poverty, and when at last he was dying, the voices of angels were heard to sing a hymn of welcome; and he was buried, according to his desire, in the old beggar's grave.[101] FOOTNOTE: [101] Iolo MSS., 592. VI. Of the Teulu, or Goblin Funeral, a death-portent of wide prevalence in Wales, numberless stories are told. This omen is sometimes a form of the Tolaeth, but in itself constitutes an omen which is simple and explicit. A funeral procession is seen passing down the road, and at the same time it is heard. It has no shadowy goblin aspect, but appears to be a real funeral. Examination shows its shadowy nature. Subsequently a real funeral passes the same way, and is recognised as the fulfilment of the omen. The goblin funeral precedes the other sometimes by days, sometimes by weeks. Rees Thomas, a carpenter of Carmarthenshire, passing by night through Rhiw Edwst, near Capel Ywen, heard a stir as of a procession of people coming towards him, walking and speaking; and when they were close to him he felt the touch of an unseen hand upon his shoulder, and a voice saying to him, 'Rhys bach, pa fodd yr y'ch chwi?' (my dear Rees, how are you?) A month after, passing that way again, he met a funeral in that very place, and a woman of the company put her hand upon his shoulder and spoke exactly the same Welsh words to him that the invisible spirit had spoken. Rev. Howel Prosser, many years ago curate of Aberystruth, late one evening saw a funeral procession going down the church lane. Supposing it to be the funeral of a man who had recently died in the upper part of his parish, yet wondering he had not been notified of the burial, he put on his band in order to perform his office over the dead, and hastened to meet the procession. But when he came to it he saw that it was composed of strangers, whom he had never seen before. Nevertheless, he laid his hand on the bier, to help carry the corpse, when instantly the whole vanished, and he was alone; but in his hand he found the skull of a dead horse. 'Mr. Prosser was my schoolmaster, and a right honest man,' says Edmund Jones,[102] who is responsible for this story, as well as for the ensuing: Isaac William Thomas, who lived not far from Hafodafel, once met a Goblin Funeral coming down the mountain toward Llanhiddel church. He stood in a field adjoining the highway, and leaned against the stone wall. The funeral came close to the other side of the wall, and as the bier passed him he reached forth his hand and took off the black veil which was over the bier. This he carried to his home, where many people saw it. 'It was made of some exceeding fine stuff, so that when folded it was a very little substance, and very light.' That he escaped being hurt for this bold act was long the marvel of the parish; but it was believed, by their going aside to come so near him, that the goblins were willing he should do as he did. An old man who resided near Llanllwch church, in Carmarthenshire, used to assert in the most solemn manner that he had seen the Teulu going to church again and again. On a certain evening hearing one approaching, he peeped over a wall to look at it. The persons composing the procession were all acquaintances of his, with the exception of one who stood apart from the rest, gazing mournfully at them, and who appeared to be a stranger. Soon afterwards there was a real burying, and the old man, determined to see if there would be in the scene any resemblance to his last Teulu, went to the churchyard and waited. When the procession arrived, all were there as he had seen them, except the stranger. Looking about him curiously, the old man was startled by the discovery that he was himself the stranger! He was standing on the identical spot where had stood the man he did not recognise when he saw the Teulu. It was his own ghost. FOOTNOTE: [102] 'Account of the Parish of Aberystruth,' 17. VII. The death portent called Cwn Annwn, or Dogs of Hell, is a pack of hounds which howl through the air with a voice frightfully disproportionate to their size, full of a wild sort of lamentation. There is a tradition that one of them once fell on a tombstone, but no one was able to secure it. A peculiarity of these creatures is that the nearer they are to a man the less loud their voice sounds, resembling then the voice of small beagles, and the farther off they are the louder is their cry. Sometimes a voice like that of a great hound is heard sounding among them--a deep hollow voice, as if it were the voice of a monstrous bloodhound. Although terrible to hear, and certain portents of death, they are in themselves harmless. 'They have never been known,' says a most respectable authority,[103] 'to commit any mischief on the persons of either man or woman, goat, sheep, or cow.' Sometimes they are called Cwn y Wybr, or Dogs of the Sky, but the more sulphurous name is the favourite one. They are also sometimes called Dogs of the Fairies. Their origin in fairyland is traced to the famous mabinogi of Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed; but in that fascinating tale of enchantment their right to be called Cwn Annwn is clearly set forth, for they are there the hounds of a King of Annwn. There are several translations of this mabinogi in existence, and its popularity in South Wales is great, for the villages, vales, and streams mentioned in it are familiar to residents in Pembroke, Carmarthen, and Cardigan shires. Pwyll, the Prince, was at Narberth, where was his chief palace, when he went one day to a wood in Glyn Cych. Here 'he sounded his horn and began to enter upon the chase, following his dogs and separating from his companions. And as he was listening to the cry of his pack, he could distinctly hear the cry of another pack, different from that of his own, and which was coming in an opposite direction. He could also discern an opening in the woods towards a level plain; and as his pack was entering the skirt of the opening he perceived a stag before the other pack, and about the middle of the glade the pack in the rear coming up and throwing the stag on the ground. Upon this he fixed his attention on the colour of the pack, without recollecting to look at the stag: and of all the hounds in the world he had ever seen he never saw any like them in colour. Their colour was a shining clear white, with red ears; and the whiteness of the dogs and the redness of their ears were equally conspicuous.'[104] They were the hounds of Arawn, a crowned king in the land of Annwn, the shadow-land of Hades. The Cwn Annwn are sometimes held to be the hell-hounds which hunt through the air the soul of the wicked man, the instant it quits the body--a truly terrific idea to the vulgar mind. The Prophet Jones has several accounts of them: Thomas Phillips, of Trelech parish, heard them with the voice of the great dog sounding among them, and noticed that they followed a course that was never followed by funerals, which surprised him very much, as he had always heard that the Dogs of the Sky invariably went the same way that the corpse was to follow. Not long after a woman from an adjoining parish died at Trelech, and being carried to her own parish church to be buried, her corpse did actually pass the same way in which the spirit dogs had been heard to hunt. Thomas Andrew, of the parish of Llanhiddel, heard them one night as he was coming home. 'He heard them coming towards him, though he saw them not.' Their cry grew fainter as they drew near him, passed him, and louder again as they went from him. They went down the steeps towards the river Ebwy. And Thomas Andrew was 'a religious man, who would not have told an untruth for fear or for favour.' FOOTNOTES: [103] 'Cambro-Briton,' i., 350. [104] Dr. W. Owen Pughe's Trans., 'Camb.-Briton,' ii., 271. VIII. No form of superstition has had a wider popularity than this of spiritual hunting dogs, with which was usually connected in olden time the wild huntsman, a personage who has dropped quite out of modern belief, at least in Wales. In France this goblin was called Le Grand Veneur, and hunted with his dogs in the forests of Fontainebleau; in Germany it was Hackelberg, who sold himself to the devil for permission to hunt till doomsday. In Britain it was King Arthur who served as the goblin huntsman. Peasants would hear the cry of the hounds and the sounding of the horns, but the huntsman was invisible. When they called out after him, however, the answer came back: 'We are King Arthur and his kindred.' Mr. Baring-Gould,[105] in giving an account of the myth of Odin, the Wild Huntsman, who rides over the forests by night on a white horse, with his legion of hell-hounds, seems to ascribe the superstition to the imagination of a belated woodcutter frightened by the wind in the tree-tops. William Henderson[106] presumes the belief in the Wild Huntsman's pack, which prevails in the North of England, to come from the strange unearthly cries uttered by wild fowl on their passage southward, and which sound like the yelping of dogs. These natural phenomena have not served, however, to keep the old belief alive in Wales. That the Cwn Annwn are descendants of the wish-hound of Hermes, hardly admits of doubt. The same superstition prevails among all Aryan peoples, with details differing but little. The souls of the dying are carried away by the howling winds, the dogs of Hermes, in the ancient mythology as in surviving beliefs; on this follows the custom of opening the windows at death, so that the released soul may escape. In Devonshire they say no soul can escape from the house in which its body dies, unless all the locks and bolts are opened. In China a hole is made in the roof for a like purpose. The early Aryan conception of the wind as a howling dog or wolf speeding over the house-tops caused the inmates to tremble with fear, lest their souls should be called to follow them. It must be constantly borne in mind that all these creatures of fancy were more or less interchangeable, and the god Hermes was at times his own dog, which escorted the soul to the river Styx. The winds were now the maruts, or spirits of the breeze, serving Indra, the sky-god; again they were the great psychopomp himself. The peasant who to-day tells you that dogs can see death enter the house where a person is about to die, merely repeats the idea of a primeval man whose ignorance of physical science was complete. FOOTNOTES: [105] 'Iceland, its Scenes and Sagas,' 199-203. [106] 'Notes on Folk-Lore,' 97. CHAPTER IX. The Corpse Candle--Its Peculiarities--The Woman of Caerau--Grasping a Corpse Candle--The Crwys Candle--Lights issuing from the Mouth--Jesting with the Canwyll Corph--The Candle at Pontfaen--The Three Candles at Golden Grove--Origin of Death-Portents in Wales--Degree of Belief prevalent at the Present Day--Origin of Spirits in General--The Supernatural--The Question of a Future Life. I. Perhaps the most picturesque of the several death-omens popular in Wales is the Canwyll Corph, or Corpse Candle. It is also, according to my observation, the most extensively believed in at the present day. Its details are varied and extremely interesting. The idea of a goblin in the form of a lighted tallow candle is ludicrous enough, at first sight; and indeed I know several learned Welsh gentlemen who venture to laugh at it; but the superstition grows more and more grim and less risible the better one becomes acquainted with it. It is worth noting here that the canwyll, or candle, is a more poetic thing among the Welsh--has a higher literary place, so to speak--than among English-speaking peoples. In the works of their ancient poets the candle is mentioned in passages where we should use the word light or lamp--as in this verse, which is attributed to Aneurin (sixth century): The best candle for man is prudence. The candle is the favourite figure for mental guidance among the Welsh;[107] there is no book in the Welsh language so popular as a certain work of religious counsel by a former Vicar of Llandovery, called 'The Candle of the Cymry.' The Corpse Candle is always and invariably a death-warning. It sometimes appears as a stately flambeau, stalking along unsupported, burning with a ghastly blue flame. Sometimes it is a plain tallow 'dip' in the hand of a ghost, and when the ghost is seen distinctly it is recognised as the ghost of some person yet living, who will now soon die. This, it will be noticed, is a variation upon the wraith, or Lledrith. Sometimes the goblin is a light which issues from a person's mouth or nostrils. According to the belief of some sections, the size of the candle indicates the age of the person who is about to die, being large when it is a full-grown person whose death is foretold, small when it is a child, still smaller when an infant. Where two candles together are seen, one of which is large and the other small, it is a mother and child who are to die. When the flame is white, the doomed person is a woman; when red, a man. FOOTNOTE: [107] Stephens, 'Lit. of the Kymry,' 287. (New Ed., 1876.) II. Among the accounts of the Corpse Candle which have come under my notice none are more interesting than those given me by a good dame whom I encountered at Caerau, near Cardiff. Caerau is a little village of perhaps one hundred souls, crouched at the foot of a steep hill on whose summit are the ancient earthworks of a Roman camp. On this summit also stands the parish church, distinctly visible from Cardiff streets, so ponderous is its square tower against the sky. To walk there is a pleasant stroll from the late Marquis of Bute's statue in the centre of the seaport town. I am thus particular merely for emphasis of the fact that this superstition is not confined to remote and out-of-the-way districts. Caerau is rural, and its people are all poor people, perhaps; but its church is barely three miles from the heart of a busy seaport. In this church I met the voluble Welshwoman who gave me the accounts referred to. One was to this effect: One night her sister was lying very ill at the narrator's house, and she was alone with her children, her husband being in the lunatic asylum at Cardiff. She had just put the children to bed, and had set her candle on the floor preparatory to going to bed herself, when there came a 'swish' along the floor, like the rustling of grave-clothes, and the candle was blown out. The room, however, to her surprise, remained glowing with a feeble light as from a very small taper, and looking behind her she beheld 'old John Richards,' who had been dead ten years. He held a Corpse Candle in his hand, and he looked at her in a chill and steadfast manner which caused the blood to run cold in her veins. She turned and woke her eldest boy, and said to him, 'Don't you see old John Richards?' The boy asked 'Where?' rubbing his eyes. She pointed out the ghost, and the boy was so frightened at sight of it that he cried out 'O wi! O Dduw! I wish I may die!' The ghost then disappeared, the Corpse Candle in its hand; the candle on the floor burned again with a clear light, and the next day the sick sister died. Another account ran somewhat thus: The narrator's mother-in-law was ill with a cancer of the breast. 'Jenny fach,' she said to the narrator one night, 'sleep by me--I feel afraid.' 'Hach!' said Jenny, thinking the old woman was foolishly nervous; but she stayed. As she was lying in bed by the side of her mother-in-law, she saw at the foot of the bed the faint flame of a Corpse Candle, which shed no light at all about the room; the place remained as dark as it was before. She looked at it in a sort of stupor for a short time, and then raised herself slowly up in bed and reached out to see if she could grasp the candle. Her fingers touched it, but it immediately went out in a little shower of pale sparkles that fell downward. At that moment her mother-in-law uttered a groan, and expired. 'Do you know Thomas Mathews, sir?' she asked me; 'he lives at Crwys now, but he used to live here at Caerau.' 'Crwys?' I repeated, not at once comprehending. 'Oh, you must know Crwys, sir; it's just the other side of Cardiff, towards Newport.' 'Can you spell it for me?'[108] The woman blushed. ''Deed, sir,' said she, 'I ought to be a scholar, but I've had so much trouble with my old man that I've quite forgot my spellin'.' However, the story of Thomas Mathews was to the effect that he saw a Corpse Candle come out of his father's mouth and go to his feet, and away a bit, then back again to the mouth, which it did not exactly enter, but blended as it were with the sick man's body. I asked if the candle was tallow at any point in its excursion, to which I was gravely answered that it was the spirit of tallow. The man died not long after, in the presence of my informant, who described the incident with a dramatic force and fervour peculiarly Celtic, concluding with the remark: 'Well, well, there's only one way to come into the world, but there's a many ways to go out of it.' The light issuing from the mouth is a fancy frequently encountered. In the 'Liber Landavensis' it is mentioned that one day as St. Samson was celebrating the holy mysteries, St. Dubricius with two monks saw a stream of fire to proceed glittering from his mouth.[109] In old woodcuts, the souls of the dying are represented as issuing from the mouth in the form of small human figures; and the Tyrolese peasants still fancy the soul is seen coming out of the mouth of a dying man like a little white cloud.[110] From the mouth of a patient in a London hospital some time since the nurses observed issuing a pale bluish flame, and soon after the man died. The frightened nurses--not being acquainted with the corpse-candle theory of such things--imagined the torments of hell had already begun in the still living body. A scientific explanation of the phenomenon ascribed it to phosphuretted hydrogen, a result of incipient decomposition.[111] FOOTNOTES: [108] It is pronounced Croo-iss. [109] 'Liber Landavensis,' 299. [110] Tylor, 'Primitive Culture,' 391. [111] 'Transactions Cardiff Nat. Soc.,' iv. 5. III. It is ill jesting with the Corpse Candle. Persons who have endeavoured to stop it on its way have come severely to grief thereby. Many have been struck down where they stood, in punishment of their audacity, as in the case of William John, a blacksmith of Lanboydi. He was one night going home on horseback, when he saw a Corpse Candle, and his natural caution being at the moment somewhat overcome by potables, he resolved to go out of his way to obstruct its passage. As the candle drew near he saw a corpse upon a bier, the corpse of a woman he knew, and she held the candle between her forefingers, and dreadfully grinned at him. Then he was struck from his horse, and lay in the road a long time insensible, and was ill for weeks thereafter. Meantime, the woman whose spectral corpse he had seen, died and was buried, her funeral passing by that road. A clergyman's son in Carmarthenshire, (subsequently himself a preacher,) who in his younger days was somewhat vicious, came home one night late from a debauch, and found the doors locked. Fearing to disturb the folk, and fearing also their reproaches and chidings for his staying out so late, (as many a young fellow has felt before and since,) he went to the man-servant, who slept in an out-room, as is sometimes the custom in Welsh rural districts. He could not awake the man-servant, but while standing over him, he saw a small light issue from the servant's nostrils, which soon became a Corpse Candle. He followed it out. It came to a foot-bridge which crossed a rivulet. Here the young man became inspired with the idea of trying an experiment with the Corpse Candle. He raised the end of the foot-bridge off the bank, and watched to see what the ghostly light would do. When it came to the rivulet it seemed to offer to go over, but hesitated, as if loth to cross except upon the bridge. So the young man put the bridge back in its place, and stayed to see how the candle would act. It came on the bridge, and as it passed the young man it struck him, as with a handkerchief. But though the blow was thus light and phantom-like, it doubled the young man up and left him a senseless heap on the ground, where he lay till morning, when he recovered and went home. It is needless to add that the servant died. IV. Morris Griffith was once schoolmaster in the parish of Pontfaen, in Pembrokeshire, but subsequently became a Baptist preacher of the Gospel. He tells this story: 'As I was coming from a place called Tre-Davydd, and was come to the top of the hill, I saw a great light down in the valley, which I wondered at; for I could not imagine what it meant. But it came to my mind that it was a light before a burying, though I never could believe before that there was such a thing. The light which I saw then was a very red light, and it stood still for about a quarter of an hour in the way which went towards Llanferch-Llawddog church. I made haste to the other side of the hill, that I might see it farther; and from thence I saw it go along to the churchyard, where it stood still for a little time and entered into the church. I remained waiting to see it come out, and it was not long before it came out, and went to a certain part of the churchyard, where it stood a little time, and then vanished out of my sight. A few days afterwards, being in school with the children about noon, I heard a great noise overhead, as if the top of the house was coming down. I ran out to see the garret, and there was nothing amiss. A few days afterwards, Mr. Higgon of Pontfaen's son died. When the carpenter came to fetch the boards to make the coffin, (which were in the garret,) he made exactly such a stir, in handling the boards in the garret, as was made before by some spirit, who foreknew the death that was soon to come to pass. In carrying the body to the grave, the burying stood where the light had stood for about a quarter of an hour, because there was some water crossing the way, and the people could not go over it without wetting their feet, therefore they were obliged to wait till those that had boots helped them over. The child was buried in that very spot of ground in the churchyard, where I saw the light stop after it came out of the church. This is what I can boldly testify, having seen and heard what I relate--a thing which before I could not believe.' Joshua Coslet, before mentioned in these pages, suddenly met a Corpse Candle as he was going through Heol Bwlch y Gwynt, (Windgap Lane) in Llandilo Fawr parish. It was a small light when near him, but increased as it went farther from him. He could easily see that there was some dark shadow passing along with the candle, and the shadow of a man carried it, holding it 'between his three forefingers over against his face.' He might perhaps have seen more, but he was afraid to look too earnestly upon it. Not long after, a burying passed through Heol Bwlch y Gwynt. Another time he saw the likeness of a candle carried in a skull. 'There is nothing unlikely or unreasonable in either of these representations,' says the Prophet Jones, their historian. A Carmarthenshire tradition relates that one day, when the coach which runs between Llandilo and Carmarthen was passing by Golden Grove, the property of the Earl of Cawdor, three Corpse Candles were observed on the surface of the water gliding down the stream which runs near the road. All the passengers saw them. A few days after, some men were about crossing the river near there in a coracle, when one of them expressed his fear at venturing, as the river was flooded, and he remained behind. Thus the fatal number crossed the river--three--three Corpse Candles having foretold their fate; and all were drowned. V. Tradition ascribes the origin of all these death-portents to the efforts of St. David. This saint appears to have been a great and good man, and a zealous Catholic, who, as a contemporary of the historical Arthur, is far enough back in the dim past to meet the views of romantic minds. And a prelate who by his prayers and presence could enable King Arthur to overthrow the Saxons in battle, or who by his pious learning could single-handed put down the Pelagian heresy in the Cardiganshire synod, was surely strong enough to invoke the Gwrach y Rhibyn, the Cyhyraeth, the Corpse Candle, and all the dreadful brood. This the legend relates he did by a special appeal to Heaven. Observing that the people in general were careless of the life to come, and could not be brought to mind it, and make preparation for it, St. David prayed that Heaven would give a sign of the immortality of the soul, and of a life to come, by a presage of death. Since that day, Wales, and particularly that part of Wales included in the bishopric of St. David, has had these phantoms. More materialistic minds consider these portents to be a remainder of those practices by which the persecuted Druids performed their rites and long kept up their religion in the land which Christianity had claimed: a similar origin, in fact, is here found for goblin omens as for fairies. That these various portents are extensively believed in at the present day there cannot be a doubt; with regard to the most important of them, I am able to testify with the fullest freedom; I have heard regarding them story after story, from the lips of narrators whose sincerity was expressed vividly in face, tones, and behaviour. The excited eye, the paling cheek, the bated breath, the sinking voice, the intense and absorbed manner--familiar phenomena in every circle where ghost stories are told--evidenced the perfect sincerity, at least, of the speakers. It is unnecessary here to repeat, what I for my own part never forget, nor, I trust, does the reader, that Wales is no exception to the rest of the world in its credulity. That it is more picturesque is true, and it is also true that there is here an unusual amount of legend which has not hitherto found its way into books. Death-omens are common to all lands; even in America, there are tales of the banshee, imported from Ireland along with the sons of that soil. In one recent case which came under my notice the banshee belonged to a Cambridgeshire Englishman. This was at Evansville, Indiana, and the banshee had appeared before the deaths of five members of a family, the last of whom was the father. His name was Feast, and the circumstances attending the banshee's visits were gravely described in a local journal as a matter of news. Less distinguished death-portents are common enough in the United States. That the Cambrian portents are so picturesque and clearly defined must be considered strong testimony to the vivid imagination of the Welsh. Figures born of the fancy, as distinguished from creatures born of the flesh, prove their parentage by the vagueness of their outlines. The outlines of the Cyhyraeth and the Gwrach y Rhibyn sometimes run into and mingle with each other, and so do those of the Tolaeth and the Goblin Funeral; but the wonder is they are such distinct entities as they are. VI. To say that all the visible inhabitants of the mundane spirit-world are creatures of the disordered human liver, is perhaps a needless harshness of statement. The question of a future life is not involved in this subject, nor raised by the best writers who are studying it; but, religious belief quite apart, it remains to be proved that spirits of a supernatural world have any share in the affairs of a world governed by natural law. A goblin which manifests itself to the human eye, it seems to me, becomes natural, by bowing before the natural laws which rule in optics. Yet believers in ghosts find no difficulty in this direction; the word 'supernatural' covers a multitude of sins. 'What is the supernatural?' asks Disraeli, in 'Lothair.' 'Can there be anything more miraculous than the existence of man and the world? anything more literally supernatural than the origin of things?' Surely, in this life, nothing! The student who endeavours to govern his faith by the methods of science asks no more of any ghost that ever walked the earth, than that it will prove itself a reality. Man loves the marvellous. The marvels of science, however, do not melt away into thin air on close examination. They thrive under the severest tests, and grow more and more extraordinary the more they are tried. The spectroscope and the radiometer are more wonderful than any 'supernatural' thing yet heard of. Transportation through the air in the arms of a spirit is a clear impossibility; but it is less wonderful than the every-day feats of electricity in our time, the bare conception of which would have filled Plato and Aristotle with awe. The actual origin of the phantoms of the spirit-world is to be found in the lawless and luxuriant fancy of primeval man. The creatures of this fancy have been perpetuated throughout all time, unto our own day, by that passionate yearning in men for continued life and love, which is ineradicable in our nature. Men will not, they can not, accept the doubt which plunges an eternal future into eternal darkness, and separates them for ever from the creatures of their love. Hence, when the remorseless fact of Death removes those creatures, they look, with a longing which is indescribably pathetic, into the Unknown where their beloved have gone, and strive to see them in their spirit-life. On this verge the finite mind must pause; to question that life is to add a terrible burden to all human woe; it need not be questioned. But to question the power of anything in that life to manifest itself to man through natural law, is to do what science has a right to do. 'The living know that they shall die: but the dead know not any thing ... neither have they any more a portion for ever in any thing that is done under the sun.'[112] FOOTNOTE: [112] 'Eccles.' ix., 5, 6. [Illustration: {SPRIG OF LILY OF THE VALLEY.}] BOOK III. QUAINT OLD CUSTOMS. Where in an agede cell with moss and iveye growne, In which nor to this daye the sunn had ever showne, Their reverend British saint, in zealous ages paste, To contemplation lived, and did so truly faste, As he did onlie drink what chrystal [rivers] yields, And fed upon the leakes he gather'd in the fields: In memory of whom, in the revolving year, The Welchman on that daye that sacred herb doth wear. _MS. in Bodleian Library._ CHAPTER I. Serious Significance of seemingly Trivial Customs--Their Origins--Common Superstitions--The Age we Live in--Days and Seasons--New Year's Day--The Apple Gift--Lucky Acts on New Year's Morning--The First Foot--Showmen's Superstitions--Levy Dew Song--Happy New Year Carol--Twelfth Night--The Mari Lwyd--The Penglog--The Cutty Wren--Tooling and Sowling--St. Valentine's Day--St. Dewi's Day--The Wearing of the Leek--The Traditional St. David--St. Patrick's Day--St. Patrick a Welshman--Shrove Tuesday. I. Numberless customs in Wales which appear to be meaningless, to people of average culture, are in truth replete with meaning. However trivial they may seem, they are very seldom the offspring of mere fooling. The student of comparative folk-lore is often able to trace their origin with surprising distinctness, and to evolve from them a significance before unsuspected. In many cases these quaint old customs are traced to the primeval mythology. Others are clearly seen to be of Druidical origin. Many spring from the rites and observances of the Roman Catholic Church in the early days of Christianity on Welsh soil--where, as is now generally conceded, the Gospel was first preached in Great Britain. Some embody historical traditions; and some are the outgrowth of peculiar states of society in medieval times. Directly or indirectly, they are all associated with superstition, though in many instances they have quite lost any superstitious character in our day. Modern society is agreed, with respect to many curious old customs, to view them as the peculiar possession of ignorance. It is very instructive to note, in this connection, how blandly we accept some of the most superstitious of these usages, with tacit approval, and permit them to govern our conduct. In every civilised community, in every enlightened land on earth, there are many men and women to whom this remark applies, who would deem themselves shamefully insulted should you doubt their intelligence and culture. Men and women who 'smile superior' at the idea of Luther hurling inkstands at the devil, or at the Welsh peasant who thinks a pig can see the wind, will themselves avoid beginning a journey on a Friday, view as ominous a rainy wedding-day, throw an old slipper after a bride for luck, observe with interest the portents of their nightly dreams, shun seeing the new moon over the left shoulder, throw a pinch of salt over the same member when the salt-cellar is upset, tie a red string about the neck to cure nose-bleed, and believe in the antics of the modern spiritualistic 'control.' Superstition, however, they leave to the ignorant! The examples of every-day fetichism here cited are familiar to us, not specially among the Welsh, but among the English also, and the people of the United States--who, I may again observe, are no doubt as a people uncommonly free from superstition, in comparison with the older nations of the earth; but modesty is a very becoming wear for us all, in examining into other people's superstitions. Aside from their scientific interest, there is a charm about many of the quaint customs of the Welsh, which speaks eloquently to most hearts. They are the offspring of ignorance, true, but they touch the 'good old times' of the poet and the romancer, when the conditions of life were less harsh than now. So we love to think. As a matter of scientific truth, this idea is itself, alas! but a superstition. This world has probably never been so fair a place to live in, life never so free from harsh conditions, as now; and as time goes on, there can be no doubt the improving process will continue. The true halcyon days of man are to be looked for in the future--not in the past; but with that future we shall have no mortal part. II. In treating of customs, no other classification is needful than their arrangement in orderly sequence in two divisions: first, those which pertain to certain days and seasons; second, those relating to the most conspicuous events in common human life, courtship, marriage, and death. Beginning with the year: there is in Glamorganshire a New Year's Day custom of great antiquity and large present observance, called the apple gift, or New Year's gift. In every town and village you will encounter children, on and about New Year's Day, going from door to door of shops and houses, bearing an apple or an orange curiously tricked out. Three sticks in the form of a tripod are thrust into it to serve as a rest; its sides are smeared with flour or meal, and stuck over with oats or wheat, or bits of broken lucifer matches to represent oats; its top is covered with thyme or other sweet evergreen, and a skewer is inserted in one side as a handle to hold it by. In its perfection, this piece of work is elaborate; but it is now often a decrepit affair, in the larger towns, where the New Year is welcomed (as at Cardiff) by a midnight chorus of steam-whistles. [Illustration: THE NEW YEAR'S APPLE.] The Christian symbolism of this custom is supposed to relate to the offering, by the Wise Men, of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the infant Jesus. The older interpretation, however, takes the custom back to the Druidic days, and makes it a form of the solar myth. In the three supporting sticks of the apple are seen the three rays of the sun, /|\, the mystic Name of the Creator; the apple is the round sun itself; the evergreens represent its perennial life; and the grains of wheat, or oats, Avagddu's spears. Avagddu is the evil principle of darkness--hell, or the devil--with which the sun fights throughout the winter for the world's life. Thousands of children in Wales seek to win from their elders a New Year's copper by exhibiting the apple gift, or by singing in chorus their good wishes. A popular verse on this occasion hopes the hearer will be blessed with an abundance of money in his pocket and of beer in his cellar, and draws attention to the singers' thin shoes and the bad character of the walking. In many cases the juvenile population parades the street all night, sometimes with noisy fife bands, which follow the death knell, as it sounds from the old church tower, with shrill peals of a merrier if not more musical sort. In Pembrokeshire, to rise early on New Year's morning is considered luck-bringing. On that morning also it is deemed wise to bring a fresh loaf into the house, with the superstition that the succession of loaves throughout the year will be influenced by that incident. A rigid quarantine is also set up, to see that no female visitor cross the threshold first on New Year's morning; that a male visitor shall be the first to do so is a lucky thing, and the reverse unlucky. A superstition resembling this prevails to this day in America among showmen. 'There's no showman on the road,' said an American manager of my acquaintance, 'who would think of letting a lady be first to pass through the doors when opening them for a performance. There's a sort of feeling that it brings ill-luck. Then there are cross-eyed people; many a veteran ticket-seller loses all heart when one presents himself at the ticket-window. A cross-eyed patron and a bad house generally go together. A cross-eyed performer would be a regular Jonah. With circuses there is a superstition that a man with a yellow clarionet brings bad luck.' Another well-known New York manager in a recent conversation assured me that to open an umbrella in a new play is deemed certain failure for the piece. An umbrella may be carried closed with impunity, but it must not be opened unless the author desire to court failure. The Chinese have the Pembrokeshire superstition exactly, as regards the first foot on New Year's Day. They consider a woman peculiarly unlucky as a first foot after the New Year has begun, but a Buddhist priest is even more unlucky than a woman, in this light.[113] Another Pembrokeshire custom on New Year's morning is quaint and interesting. As soon as it is light, children of the peasantry hasten to provide a small cup of pure spring water, just from the well, and go about sprinkling the faces of those they meet, with the aid of a sprig of evergreen. At the same time they sing the following verses: Here we bring new water from the well so clear, For to worship God with, this happy new year; Sing levy dew, sing levy dew, the water and the wine, With seven bright gold wires, and bugles that do shine; Sing reign of fair maid, with gold upon her toe; Open you the west door and turn the old year go; Sing reign of fair maid, with gold upon her chin; Open you the east door and let the new year in! This custom also is still observed extensively. The words 'levy dew' are deemed an English version of Llef i Dduw, (a cry to God). A Welsh song sung on New Year's Day, in Glamorganshire, by boys in chorus, somewhat after the Christmas carol fashion, is this: Blwyddyn newydd dda i chwi, Gwyliau llawen i chwi, Meistr a meistres bob un trwy'r ty, Gwyliau llawen i chwi, Codwch yn foreu, a rheswch y tan, A cherddwch i'r ffynon i ymofyn dwr glan. A happy new year to you, Merry be your holidays, Master and mistress--every one in the house; Arise in the morning; bestir the fire, And go to the well to fetch fresh water. FOOTNOTE: [113] Dennys, 'Folk-Lore of China,' 31. III. Among Twelfth Night customs, none is more celebrated than that called Mary Lwyd. It prevails in various parts of Wales, notably in lower Glamorganshire. The skeleton of a horse's head is procured by the young men or boys of a village, and adorned with 'favours' of pink, blue, yellow, etc. These are generally borrowed from the girls, as it is not considered necessary the silken fillets and rosettes should be new, and such finery costs money. The bottoms of two black bottles are inserted in the sockets of the skeleton head to serve as eyes, and a substitute for ears is also contrived. On Twelfth Night they carry this object about from house to house, with shouts and songs, and a general cultivation of noise and racket. Sometimes a duet is sung in Welsh, outside a door, the singers begging to be invited in; if the door be not opened they tap on it, and there is frequently quite a series of _awen_ sung, the parties within denying the outsiders admission, and the outsiders urging the same. At last the door is opened, when in bounces the merry crowd, among them the Mary Lwyd, borne by one personating a horse, who is led by another personating the groom. The horse chases the girls around the room, capering and neighing, while the groom cries, 'So ho, my boy--gently, poor fellow!' and the girls, of course, scream with merriment. A dance follows--a reel, performed by three young men, tricked out with ribbons. The company is then regaled with cakes and ale, and the revellers depart, pausing outside the door to sing a parting song of thanks and good wishes to their entertainers. The penglog (a skull, a noddle) is a similar custom peculiar to Aberconwy (Conway) in Carnarvonshire. In this case the horse's skull is an attention particularly bestowed upon prudes. Mary Lwyd may mean Pale Mary, or Wan Mary, or Hoary Mary, but the presumption is that it means in this case Blessed Mary, and that the custom is of papal origin. There is, however, a tradition which links the custom with enchantment, in connection with a warlike princess, reputed to have flourished in Gwent and Morganwg in the early ages, and who is to be seen to this day, mounted on her steed, on a rock in Rhymney Dingle.[114] The cutty wren is a Pembrokeshire Twelfth Night custom prevailing commonly during the last century, but now nearly extinct. A wren was placed in a little house of paper, with glass windows, and this was hoisted on four poles, one at each corner. Four men bore it about, singing a very long ballad, of which one stanza will be enough: [Music: O! where are you go-ing? says Mil-der to Mel-der, O! where are you go-ing? says the youn-ger to the el-der; O! I can-not tell, says Fes-tel to Fose; We're go-ing to the woods, said John the Red Nose, We're go-ing to the woods, said John the Red Nose!] The immediate purpose of this rite was to levy contributions. Another such custom was called 'tooling,' and its purpose was beer. It consisted in calling at the farm-houses and pretending to look for one's tools behind the beer cask. 'I've left my saw behind your beer cask,' a carpenter would say; 'my whip,' a carter; and received the tool by proxy, in the shape of a cup of ale. The female portion of the poorer sort, on the other hand, practised what was called sowling, viz., asking for 'sowl,' and receiving, accordingly, any food eaten with bread, such as cheese, fish, or meat. This custom is still maintained, and 'sowling day' fills many a poor woman's bag. The phrase is supposed to be from the French _soûl_, signifying one's fill. FOOTNOTE: [114] Vide W. Roberts's 'Crefydd yr Oesoedd Tywyll,' 1. IV. Connected with St. Valentine's Day, there is no Welsh custom which demands notice here; but it is perhaps worthy of mention that nowhere in the world is the day more abundantly productive of its orthodox crop--love-letters. The post-offices in the Principality are simply deluged with these missives on the eve and morning of St. Valentine's. In Cardiff the postmaster thinks himself lucky if he gets off with fifteen thousand letters in excess of the ordinary mail. Nineteen extra sorters and carriers were employed for this work on February 14th, 1878, and the regular force also was heavily worked beyond its usual hours. The custom is more Norman than Cambrian, I suppose; the word Valentine comes from the Norman word for a lover, and the saint is a mere accident in this connection. V. St. Dewi is to the Welsh what St. George is to the English, St. Andrew to the Scotch, and St. Patrick to the Irish. His day is celebrated on the 1st of March throughout Wales, and indeed throughout the world where Welshmen are. In some American ports (perhaps all) the British consulate displays its flag in honour of the day. In Wales there are processions, grand dinners; places of business are closed; the poor are banqueted; speeches are made and songs are sung. The most characteristic feature of the day is the wearing of the leek. This feature is least conspicuous, it may be noted, in those parts of Wales where the English residents are fewest, and least of all in the ultra-Welsh shires of Cardigan and Carmarthen, where St. David is peculiarly honoured. The significance of this fact no doubt lies in the absence of any necessity for asserting a Cambrianism which there are none to dispute. In the border towns, every Welshman who desires to assert his national right wears the leek in his hat or elsewhere on his person; but in the shadow of St. David's College at Lampeter, not a leek is seen on St. Dewi's Day. In Glamorganshire may be found the order of Knights of the Leek, who hold high festival on the 1st of every March, gathering in the Welsh bards and men of letters. Why is the leek worn? Practically, because the wearer is a Welshman who honours tradition. But the precise origin of the custom is involved in an obscurity from which emerge several curious and interesting traditions. The verses cited at the opening of this Part refer to one of these; they are quoted by Manby[115] without other credit than 'a very antient manuscript.' Another tradition is thus given in a pamphlet of 1642:[116] 'S. David when hee always went into the field in Martiall exercise he carried a Leek with him, and once being almost faint to death, he immediately remembred himself of the Leek, and by that means not only preserved his life but also became victorious: hence is the Mythologie of the Leek derived.' The practice is traced by another writer[117] to 'the custom of Cymhortha, or the neighbourly aid practised among farmers, which is of various kinds. In some districts of South Wales all the neighbours of a small farmer without means appoint a day when they all attend to plough his land, and the like; and at such a time it is a custom for each individual to bring his portion of leeks, to be used in making pottage for the whole company; and they bring nothing else but the leeks in particular for the occasion.' Some find the true origin of the custom in Druidical days, but their warrant is not clear, nor how it came to be associated with the 1st of March in that case. The military origin bears down the scale of testimony, and gives the leek the glory of a Cambrian victory as its consecrator to ornamental purposes. Whether this victory was over the Saxon or the Gaul does not exactly appear; some traditions say one, some the other. The battle of Poictiers has been named; also that of Cressy, where the Welsh archers did good service with the English against a common enemy; but an older tradition is to the effect that the Saxon was the foe. The invaders had assumed the dress of the Britons, that they might steal upon them unsuspected; but St. David ordered the Welshmen to stick leeks in their caps as a badge of distinction. This he did merely because there was a large field of leeks growing near the British camp. The precaution gave the day to the favoured of St. Dewi. It cannot be denied that there have been found Englishmen rude enough to ridicule this honourable and ancient custom of the Welsh, though why they should do so there is no good reason. The leek is not fragrant, perhaps; but if an old custom must smell sweet or be laughed at, there is work enough for our risibles in every English parish. The following is one of the foolish legends of the English respecting the leek: 'The Welsh in olden days were so infested by ourang outangs that they could obtain no peace day or night, and not being themselves able to extirpate them they invited the English to assist, who came; but through mistake killed several of the Welsh, so that in order to distinguish them from the monkeys they desired them to stick a leek in their hats.' The author of this ridiculous tale deserves the fate of Pistol, whom Fluellen compelled to eat his leek, skin and all. _Flu._ I peseech you heartily, scurvy lowsy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it. _Pist._ Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats. _Flu._ There is one goat for you. [_Strikes him._] Will you be so good, scald knave, as eat it? _Pist._ Base Trojan, thou shalt die. _Flu._ You say very true, scald knave, when Got's will is: I will desire you to live in the meantime, and eat your victuals.... If you can mock a leek you can eat a leek.... _Pist._ Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat. _Flu._ Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, 'pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot for your proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them! that is all.[118] FOOTNOTES: [115] 'Hist. and Ant. of the Parish of St. David,' 54. [116] 'The Welchmen's Ivbilee to the honour of St. David, shewing the manner of that solemn celebration which the Welchmen annually hold in honour of St. David, describing likewise the trve and reall cause why they wear that day a _Leek_ on their Hats, with an excellent merry Sonnet annexed unto it, composed by T. Morgan Gent. London. Printed for I. Harrison.' [117] Owen, 'Camb. Biog.' 86. [118] Shaks., 'K. Henry V.,' Act V., Sc. 1. VI. The traditional St. David is a brilliant figure in Welsh story; with the historical character this work has not to deal. The legendary account of him represents a man of gigantic stature and fabulous beauty, whose age at his death was 147 years. He was a direct descendant of the sister of the Virgin Mary, and his first miracles were performed while he was yet unborn. In this condition he regulated the diet of his virgin mother, and struck dumb a preacher who presumed to preach in her presence. At the hour of his birth St. Dewi performed a miracle; another when he was baptized; and he was taught his lessons (at a place called The Old Bush, in South Wales) by a pigeon with a golden beak, which played about his lips. As he grew up, his miraculous powers waxed stronger; and magicians who opposed him were destroyed by fire which he called from heaven to consume them. Thirsty, a fountain rose in Glyn Hodnant at his call, and from this fountain ran not water but good wine. When he went about the country he was always accompanied by an angel. On the banks of the river Teify, a miserable woman wept over her son who lay dead; she appealed to Dewi, who laid hold of the boy's right hand and he arose from the dead as if from a sleep. At Llandewi Brefi, in Cardiganshire, as he was preaching on the surface of the flat ground, the ground rose as a high mount under his feet, so that the people all about could see him as well as hear him. A labourer lifted his pickaxe to strike a friend of Dewi's, which the saint seeing from afar off, raised his hand and willed that the labourer's hand should become stiff--which it did. Another friend, going away to Ireland, forgot and left behind him a little bell that Dewi had given him; but Dewi sent the bell across the sea by an angel, so that it arrived there next day without the aid of human hands. And finally, having made up his mind that he would die and go to heaven, he did so--but quite of his own will--at his own request, so to speak. Having asked that his soul might be taken, an angel informed him it would be taken on the first of March proximo. So David bade his friends good-bye on the 28th of February, greatly to their distress. 'Alas!' they cried, 'the earth will not swallow us! Alas! fire will not consume us! Alas! the sea will not come over the land! Alas! the mountains will not fall to cover us!' On Tuesday night, as the cocks were crowing, a host of angels thronged the streets of the city, and filled it with joy and mirth; and Dewi died. 'The angels took his soul to the place where there is light without end, and rest without labour, and joy without sorrow, and plenty of all good things, and victory, and brightness, and beauty.' There Abel is with the martyrs, Noah is with the sailors, Thomas is with the Indians, Peter is with the apostles, Paul is with the Greeks, other saints are with other suitable persons, and David is with the kings.[119] On the summit which rose under St. Dewi while he stood on it and preached, now stands St. David's church, at Llandewi Brefi. In the days of its glory--i.e. during nearly the whole period of Roman Catholic rule--it was renowned beyond all others in Britain. To go twice to St. David's was deemed equal to going once to Rome, and a superstitious belief prevailed that every man must go to St. David's once, either alive or dead. William the Conqueror marched through Wales in hostile array in 1080, but arriving at St. David's shrine laid aside the warrior for the votary. FOOTNOTE: [119] 'Cambro-British Saints,' 402, etc. VII. St. Patrick's Day is celebrated in Wales with much enthusiasm. The Welsh believe that St. Patrick was a Welshman. Born at Llandeilo Talybont, in Glamorganshire, and educated at the famous college of Llantwit Major, he held St. David's place till the coming of Dewi was announced to him; then he went into Ireland, to do missionary work, as it were. This is the monastic tale. Patrick was comfortably settled in the valley of Rosina, and intended to pass his life there, but an angel came to him and said, 'Thou must leave this place to one who is not yet born.' Patrick was annoyed, even angered, but obedient, and went off to Ireland, where he became a great man.[120] The story of the Iolo MSS., however, presents the matter in a different light: 'About A.D. 420 the Island of Britain seemed to have neither ruler nor proprietor.' The Irish took advantage of this state of things to invade and oppress Britain, robbing her of corn, cattle, 'and every other moveable property that they could lay their hands on.' Among other things, they stole away St. Patrick from the college at Llantwit Major, 'whence that college became destitute of a principal and teacher for more than forty years, and fell into dilapidation'--a condition it remains in at present, by the way. 'Patrick never returned to Wales, choosing rather to reside in Ireland; having ascertained that the Irish were better people than the Welsh, in those times.'[121] Still, it is not the native Welsh who are as a rule the celebrators of St. Patrick's Day in Wales. FOOTNOTES: [120] 'Cambro-British Saints,' 403. [121] Iolo MSS., 455. VIII. Shrove Tuesday was once characterised by a custom called throwing at cocks, now obsolete. Hens which had laid no eggs before that day were threshed with a flail, as being good for nothing. The person who hit the hen with the flail and killed her got her for his reward. The more reputable custom of cramming with crammwythau (pancakes) still survives, and is undoubtedly of extreme antiquity. CHAPTER II. Sundry Lenten Customs--Mothering Sunday--Palm Sunday--Flowering Sunday--Walking Barefoot to Church--Spiritual Potency of Buns--Good Friday Superstitions--Making Christ's Bed--Bad Odour of Friday--Unlucky Days--Holy Thursday--The Eagle of Snowdon--New Clothing at Easter--Lifting--The Crown of Porcelain--Stocsio--Ball-Playing in Churchyards--The Tump of Lies--Dancing in Churchyards--Seeing the Sun Dance--Calan Ebrill, or All Fools' Day--May Day--The Welsh Maypole--The Daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint--Carrying the Kings of Summer and Winter. I. Wearing mourning throughout Lent was formerly common in Wales. In Monmouthshire, Mothering Sunday--the visiting of parents on Mid-Lent Sunday--was observed in the last century, but is nowhere popular in Wales at present. Palm Sunday takes precedence among the Welsh, and is very extensively and enthusiastically observed. The day is called Flowering Sunday, and its peculiar feature is strewing the graves of the dead with flowers. The custom reaches all classes, and all parts of the Principality. In the large towns, as Cardiff, many thousands of people gather at the graves. The custom is associated with the strewing of palms before Christ on his entry into Jerusalem, but was observed by the British Druids in celebration of the awakening life of the earth at this season. II. In Pembrokeshire, it was customary up to the close of the last century, to walk barefoot to church on Good Friday, as had been done since times prior to the Reformation. The old people and the young joined in this custom, which they said was done so as not to 'disturb the earth.' All business was suspended, and no horse nor cart was to be seen in the town. Hot-cross buns also figured in a peculiar manner at this time. They were eaten in Tenby after the return from church. After having tied up a certain number in a bag, the folk hung them in the kitchen, where they remained till the next Good Friday, for use as medicine. It was believed that persons labouring under any disease had only to eat a portion of a bun to be cured. The buns so preserved were used also as a panacea for all the diseases of domestic animals. They were further believed to be serviceable in frightening away goblins of an evil sort. That these buns are of Christian invention is the popular belief, and indeed this notion is not altogether exploded among the more intelligent classes. Their connection with the cross of the Saviour is possible by adoption--as the early Christians adopted many pagan rites and customs--but that they date back to pre-historic times there is abundant testimony. Innumerable are the superstitious customs and beliefs associated with Good Friday. In Pembrokeshire there was a custom called 'making Christ's bed.' A quantity of long reeds were gathered from the river and woven into the shape of a man. This effigy was then stretched on a wooden cross, and laid in some retired field or garden, and left there. The birth of a child on that day is very unlucky--indeed a birth on any Friday of the whole year is to be deprecated as a most unfortunate circumstance. III. The bad odour in which Friday is everywhere held is naturally associated, among Christians, with the crucifixion; but this will not account for the existence of a like superstition regarding Friday among the Brahmins of India, nor for the prevalence of other lucky and unlucky days among both Aryan and Mongolian peoples. In the Middle Ages Monday and Tuesday were unlucky days. A Welshman who lived some time in Russia, tells me Monday is deemed a very unlucky day there, on which no business must be begun. In some English districts Thursday is the unlucky day. In Norway it is lucky, especially for marrying. In South Wales, Friday is the fairies' day, when they have special command over the weather; and it is their whim to make the weather on Friday differ from that of the other days of the week. 'When the rest of the week is fair, Friday is apt to be rainy, or cloudy; and when the weather is foul, Friday is apt to be more fair.' The superstitious prejudice of the quarrymen in North Wales regarding Holy Thursday has been cited. It is not a reverential feeling, but a purely superstitious one, and has pervaded the district from ancient times. It has been supposed that Thursday was a sacred day among the Druids. There is a vulgar tradition (mentioned by Giraldus), that Snowdon mountains are frequented by an eagle, which perches on a fatal stone on every Thursday and whets her beak upon it, expecting a battle to occur, upon which she may satiate her hunger with the carcases of the slain; but the battle is ever deferred, and the stone has become almost perforated with the eagle's sharpening her beak upon it. There may perhaps be a connection traced between these superstitions and the lightning-god Thor, whose day Thursday was. IV. Easter is marked by some striking customs. It is deemed essential for one's well-being that some new article of dress shall be donned at this time, though it be nothing more than a new ribbon. This is also a Hampshire superstition. A servant of mine, born in Hampshire, used always to say, 'If you don't have on something new Easter Sunday the dogs will spit at you.' This custom is associated with Easter baptism, when a new life was assumed by the baptized, clothed in righteousness as a garment. A ceremony called 'lifting' is peculiar to North Wales on Easter Monday and Tuesday. On the Monday bands of men go about with a chair, and meeting a woman in the street compel her to sit, and be lifted three times in the air amidst their cheers: she is then invited to bestow a small compliment on her entertainers. This performance is kept up till twelve o'clock, when it ceases. On Easter Tuesday the women take their turn, and go about in like manner lifting the men. It has been conjectured that in this custom an allusion to the resurrection is intended. [Illustration: LIFTING. (_From an old drawing._)] A custom, the name of which is now lost, was that the village belle should on Easter Eve and Easter Tuesday carry on her head a piece of chinaware of curious shape, made expressly for this purpose, and useless for any other. It may be described as a circular crown of porcelain, the points whereof were cups and candles. The cups were solid details of the crown: the candles were stuck with clay upon the spaces between the cups. The cups were filled with a native beverage called bragawd, and the candles were lighted. To drink the liquor without burning yourself or the damsel at the candle was the difficulty involved in this performance. A stanza was sung by the young woman's companions, the last line of which was, Rhag i'r feinwen losgi ei thalcen. (Lest the maiden burn her forehead.[122]) Stocsio is an Easter Monday custom observed from time immemorial in the town of Aberconwy, and still practised there in 1835. On Easter Sunday crowds of men and boys carrying wands of gorse went to Pen Twthil, and there proclaimed the laws and regulations of the following day. They were to this effect: all men under sixty to be up and out before 6 A.M.; all under forty, before 4 A.M.; all under twenty, to stay up all night. Penalty for disobedience: the stocks. The crier who delivered this proclamation was the man last married in the town previous to Easter Sunday. Other like rules were proclaimed, amid loud cheers. Early next morning a party, headed by a fife and drum, patrolled the town with a cart, in search of delinquents. When one was discovered, he was hauled from his bed and made to dress himself; then put in the cart and dragged to the stocks. His feet being secured therein, he was duly lectured on the sin of laziness, and of breaking an ancient law of the town by lying abed in violation thereof. His right hand was then taken, and he was asked a lot of absurd questions, such as 'Which do you like best, the mistress or the maid?' 'Which do you prefer, ale or buttermilk?' 'If the gate of a field were open, would you go through it, or over the stile?' and the like. His answers being received with derision, his hand was smeared with mud, and he was then released amid cheers. 'This sport, which would be impracticable in a larger and less intimate community, is continued with the greatest good humour until eight; when the rest of the day is spent in playing ball at the Castle.'[123] FOOTNOTES: [122] 'Arch. Camb.' 4 Se., iii., 334. [123] 'Hist. and Ant. of Aberconwy,' 108. V. Ball-playing against the walls of the church between hours of service was a fashion of Easter which is within recollection. It was also common on the Sabbath day itself in many parishes, in the days when dissent was unknown and parishioners had long distances to traverse on a Sunday; 'and that, too, with the sanction of the clergyman, and even his personal superintendence. Old people can remember such a state of things, when the clergyman gave notice that the game must cease by putting the ball into his pocket and marched his young friends into church.'[124] Nowhere less than in a custom like this would the ordinary observer look for traditionary significance; yet there is no doubt our Easter eggs are but another surviving form of the same ancient rite. Before the Reformation there was a Church of England custom of playing ball _in_ church at Easter, according to Dr. Fosbrooke, the dean and clergy participating. There were other sports and pastimes common alike to Easter and to the Sabbath day, which are full of curious interest. Some of them no doubt arose out of the social exigencies of sparsely settled neighbourhoods, which caused people to remain at the church between services, instead of returning to distant homes; but a Druidic origin seems necessary to account for others. That the people should between services gather near the church to talk over the gossip of the day, is natural enough, and is a phenomenon which may still be witnessed in remote parts of the United States. In St. Dogmell's parish, Pembrokeshire, there is a tump which bears the name of 'Cnwc y Celwydd,' videlicet, the Tump of Lies. Here were men and women formerly in the habit of gathering together on the Lord's day in great crowds, and entertaining each other with the inventing and telling of the most lying and wonderful yarns they could conjure up with the aid of an imagination spurred to exercise by rivalry and applause. The custom is discontinued; but there is still hardly a neighbourhood in Wales so rich in tales of fairies and other goblins. The custom of dancing in churchyards was common in many parts of the Principality in the early part of this century. At Aberedwy, Malkin saw a large yew tree in the churchyard under which as many as sixty couples had been seen dancing at once.[125] The dancing was not in that part of the yard consecrated to the dead, but on the north side of the church, where it was not the custom to bury. A tradition is preserved by Giraldus of a solemn festival dance which took place in the churchyard at St. Almedha's church, Breconshire, on that saint's day. The dance was 'led round the churchyard with a song,' and succeeded by the dancers falling down in a trance, followed by a sort of religious frenzy. This is believed to have been a Druidical rite, described on hearsay by Giraldus, and embellished by him with those pious inventions not uncommon in his day. One of the customs of Easter, at a comparatively recent period in Wales, was getting the children up early in the morning to see the sun dance. This exercise the sun was said to perform at rising on Easter Day, in honour of the rising of our Lord. The sun was sometimes aided in this performance by a bowl of clear water, into which the youth must look to see the orb dance, as it would be dangerous to look directly on the sun while thus engaged. The religious dance of the ancient Druids is believed to exist in modern times in a round dance wherein the figures imitate the motions of the sun and moon. The ball-playing in church mentioned above was also accompanied by dancing. FOOTNOTES: [124] 'Arch. Camb.' 4 Se., iii., 333. [125] Malkin's 'South Wales,' 281. VI. The first of April is in Welsh called Calan Ebrill, and an April Fool a Ffwl Ebrill; the similarity of English and Welsh words may be said to typify the similarity of observance. The universality of this observance among Aryan peoples would certainly indicate an origin in a time preceding the dispersion of the human family over the world. The Druids, tradition says, celebrated the revival of Nature's powers in a festival which culminated on the first of April in the most hilarious foolery. The Roman Saturnalia or feast of fools perpetuated the rite, though the purpose of the Christian revelry may quite possibly have been to ridicule the Druidic ceremonies. The festivities of May-day are in like manner associated with the powers of Nature, whose vigour and productiveness were symbolized by the Maypole round which village lads and lasses danced. The rites of love were variously celebrated at this time, and some of these customs locally have long survived the Maypole itself. The ordinance for the destruction of Maypoles in England and Wales, printed in 1644, declared them 'a heathenish vanity, generally abused to superstition and wickedness,' wherefore it was ordained that they should be destroyed, and that no Maypole should thereafter be 'set up, erected, or suffered to be within this kingdom of England or dominion of Wales.' The Maypole in Wales was called Bedwen, because it was always made of birch, bedw, a tree still associated with the gentler emotions. To give a lover a birchen branch, is for a maiden to accept his addresses; to give him a collen, or hazel, the reverse. Games of various sorts were played around the bedwen. The fame of a village depended on its not being stolen away, and parties were constantly on the alert to steal the bedwen, a feat which, when accomplished, was celebrated with peculiar festivities. This rivalry for the possession of the Maypole was probably typical of the ancient idea that the first of May was the boundary day dividing the confines of winter and summer, when a fight took place between the powers of the air, on the one hand striving to continue the reign of winter, on the other to establish that of summer. Here may be cited the Mabinogi of Kilhwch and Olwen, where it speaks of the daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint. 'She was the most splendid maiden in the three Islands of the Mighty, and in the three Islands adjacent,' and for her does Gwyn ap Nudd, the fairy king, fight every first of May till the day of doom.[126] She was to have been the bride of Gwythyr, the son of Greidawl, when Gwyn ap Nudd carried her off by force. The bereaved bridegroom followed, and there was a bloody struggle, in which Gwyn was victorious, and which he signalized by an act of frightful cruelty; he slew an old warrior, took out his heart from his breast, and constrained the warrior's son to eat the heart of his father. When Arthur heard of this he summoned Gwyn ap Nudd before him, and deprived him of the fruits of his victory. But he condemned the two combatants to fight for the radiant maiden henceforth for ever on every first of May till doomsday; the victor on that day to possess the maiden.[127] FOOTNOTES: [126] 'Mabinogion,' 229. [127] 'Mabinogion,' 251. VII. In the remote and primitive parish of Defynog, in Breconshire, until a few years since, a custom survived of carrying the King of Summer and the King of Winter. Two boys were chosen to serve as the two kings, and were covered all over with a dress of brigau bedw, (birchen boughs,) only their faces remaining visible. A coin was tossed and the boy chosen was the summer king; a crown of bright-hued ribbons was put upon his head. Upon the other boy's head was placed a crown of holly, to designate the winter king. Then a procession was formed, headed by two men with drawn swords to clear the way. Four men supported the summer king upon two poles, one under his knees and the other under his arms; and four others bore the winter king in a similar undignified posture. The procession passed round the village and to the farm-houses near by, collecting largess of coin or beer, winding up the perambulation at the churchyard. Here the boys were set free, and received a dole for their services, the winter king getting less than the other. Another May-day custom among the boys of that parish, was to carry about a rod, from which the bark had been partly peeled in a spiral form, and upon the top of which was set either a cock or a cross, the bearers waking the echoes of the village with 'Yo ho! yo ho! yo ho!'[128] FOOTNOTE: [128] 'Arch. Camb.,' 2 Se., iv., 326. CHAPTER III. Midsummer Eve--The Druidic Ceremonies at Pontypridd--The Snake Stone--Beltane Fires--Fourth of July Fires in America--St. Ulric's Day--Carrying Cynog--Marketing on Tombstones--The First Night of Winter--The Three Nights for Spirits--The Tale of Thomas Williams the Preacher--All Hallows Eve Festivities--Running through Fire--Quaint Border Rhymes--The Puzzling Jug--Bobbing for Apples--The Fiery Features of Guy Fawkes' Day--St. Clement's Day--Stripping the Carpenter. I. Midsummer Eve, or St. John's Eve (June 23rd), is one of the ancient Druidic festivals, still liberally honoured in Wales. The custom of lighting bonfires survives in some of the villages, and at Pontypridd there are ceremonies of a solemn sort. Midsummer Eve, in 1878, fell on a Sunday. Upon that day the 'Druids and bards' at Pontypridd held the usual feast of the summer solstice in the face of the sun. There is a breezy common on the top of a high hill overlooking the town, where stand a logan stone and a circle of upright stones constituting the 'temple of the Druids.' Here it is the custom of the present-day adherents of that ancient religion, beside which Christianity is an infant, to celebrate their rites 'within the folds of the serpent,' a circle marked with the signs of the zodiac. The venerable archdruid, Myfyr Morganwg, stands on the logan stone, with a mistletoe sprig in his button-hole, and prays to the god Kali, 'creator of sun, moon, stars, and universe.' Then the white-bearded old man delivers a discourse, and new members are initiated into the 'mysteries,' Occasionally these new members are Americans from over the sea, and they include both sexes. Large crowds gather to witness the impressive spectacle--a shadow of the ancient rites when from Belenian heights flamed high the sacrificial fires. It was a former belief that these fires protected the lands within their light from the machinations of sorcery, so that good crops would follow, and that their ashes were valuable as a medicinal charm. The Snake-stone is another striking Welsh tradition, associated with Midsummer eve. At this time of the year there are certain convocations of snakes, which, hissing sociably together among one another, hiss forth a mystic bubble, which hardens into the semblance of a glass ring. The finder of this ring is a lucky man, for all his undertakings will prosper while he retains it. These rings are called Gleiniau Nadroedd in Welsh--snake-stones in English. They are supposed to have been used by the ancient Druids as charms. There is a Welsh saying, respecting people who lay their heads together in conversation, that the talkers are 'blowing the gem.' II. The traditions connected with the Beltane fires are very interesting, but the subject has received so much attention in published volumes that it need not here be dwelt upon. The lad who in the United States capers around a bonfire on the night of Independence Day has not a suspicion that he is imitating the rites of an antiquity the most remote; that in burning a heap of barrels and boxes in a public square the celebrators of the American Fourth of July imitate the priests who thus worshipped the sun-god Beal. The origins of our most familiar customs are constantly being discovered in such directions as this. On the face of the thing, nothing could be more absurd as a mode of jollification, in a little American town, with its wooden architecture, on a hot night in the midst of summer, than building a roaring fire to make the air still hotter and endanger the surrounding houses. The reason for the existence of such a custom must be sought in another land and another time; had reflection governed the matter, instead of tradition, the American anniversary would have found some more fitting means of celebration than Druidic fires and Chinese charms. (For it may be mentioned further, in this connection, that the fire-crackers of our urchins are quite as superstitious in their original purpose as the bonfire is. In China, even to this day, fire-crackers are charms pure and simple, their office to drive away evil spirits, their use as a means of jollification quite unknown to their inventors.) A far more sensible Midsummer rite, especially in a hot country, would have been to adopt the custom of St. Ulric's day, and eat fish. This saint's day falls on the fourth of July, and Barnabe Googe's translation of Naogeorgius has this couplet concerning it: Wheresoeuer Huldryche hath his place, the people there brings in Both carpes and pykes, and mullets fat, his fauour here to win. III. The Welsh saint called Cynog was one of the numberless children of that famous old patriarch Brychan Brycheiniog, and had his memory honoured, until a comparatively recent period, in the parish of Defynog. Here, on this saint's feast Monday, which fell in October, there was a custom called 'carrying Cynog.' Cynog was represented by a man who was paid for his services with money, or with a suit of clothes--sometimes a 'stranger' from an adjoining parish, but on the last recorded occasion a drunken farmer of the neighbourhood. He was clad in dilapidated garments, and borne through the village; after which he was tumbled headlong into the river amid the jeers of the crowd, to scramble out as best he might. It was not a very respectful way of commemorating a saint who had been buried a thousand years or thereabouts; but such as it was it died out early in the present century. The ducking which ended the performance has been supposed to be a puritan improvement on what was before a religious ceremony, or mystery. It is more than possibly a relic of the Druidic sacrificial rites; in cases where a river ran near, at the time of the Beltane fires, a sacrifice by water was substituted for that of flame. The feast of St. Cynog continued for a week. On the Tuesday there was a singular marketing in the churchyard; from all about the farmers brought their tithe of cheese, and taking it to the churchyard, laid it on the tombstones, where it was sold for the parson's behoof. IV. All Hallows eve is by the Welsh called 'Nos Calan Gauaf,' meaning 'the first night of winter;' sometimes, 'Nos Cyn Gauaf,' the 'night before winter.' It is one of the 'Teir Nos Ysprydnos,' or 'three nights for spirits,' upon which ghosts walk, fairies are abroad, mysterious influences are in the air, strange sights are seen, and in short goblins of every sort are to be with special freedom encountered. They may be conjured to appear, by certain enchantments, and to give their visitors glimpses of the future, especially as regards the subject of marrying. On this night it is customary for the young people, gathered in many a merry circle, to seek by tricks and charms of various sort to become acquainted with their future lovers and sweethearts. Not that it is always necessary to employ such aids, for on the Teir Nos Ysprydnos the phantoms of future companions have been known to appear unsummoned. There are many such stories as that of Thomas Williams, the preacher, who slept in the hills on a Nos Ysprydnos, and although he used no charms nor tricks of any sort, he saw his future wife. As he was just about putting out his light, having jumped into bed, the door opened and the goblin mother of the young woman he subsequently married walked into the room, leading her daughter. 'Here, Thomas,' said she, 'I am going, but I leave you Mary.' And when he came down home out of the mountains he found that the old mother had died in her bed at the very moment he saw her goblin. To have done less than marry the girl, after that, would have been to insult the good old lady's ghost, and cast reflections on the reputation of All Hallows eve. The two other spirit-nights, it may here be mentioned, are May-day eve and Midsummer eve; which with All Hallows were three great festivals of the ancient Druids, when they commemorated the powers of Nature and love in the manner which has been alluded to. I have two accounts of this matter, however, and I know not which is the older in tradition, as I have both from the mouths of the people; but one account calls Christmas-night the third spirit-night. The festivities of All Hallows in Wales are in the main like those of other Christian lands, in so far as they consist of feasting and making merry. Bonfires were kindled in many places until recently, and perhaps are still, in some parts, again in pursuance of the Druidic rites, which the Christian Church adopted and continued while changing their significance. In Owen's account of the Bards occurs a curious description of the autumnal fires kindled in North Wales on the eve of the first of November, and the attendant ceremonies. There was running through the fire and smoke, and casting of stones into the fire, 'all running off at the conclusion to escape from the black short-tailed sow.'[129] This custom of running through the fire is said to survive in Ireland. It is no doubt related to the ancient sacrificial rites. As testimonies to the kinship of our race, all these customs possess a deep interest, which is increased in this direction as they lose in the charm of the unique. On the Welsh Border there prevails a Hallow-e'en custom among the children of going about to the houses singing the rhymes which follow: Wissel wassel, bread and possel, Cwrw da, plas yma: An apple or a pear, a plum or a cherry, Or any good thing to make us merry. Sol cakes, sol cakes, Pray you, good missus, a sol cake; One for Peter, and two for Paul, And three for the good man that made us all. The roads are very dirty, My shoes are very thin, I've got a little pocket, To put a penny in. Up with the kettle and down with the pan, Give us an answer and we'll be gan. (_A loud rap at the door._) _Spoken._ Please to give us a 'apenny. Some of these rhymes are heard in Glamorganshire and elsewhere at Christmas and New Year's. The puzzling jug is a vessel in use in some quarters as a means of increasing the hilarity of a Hallow-e'en party. It is a stone jug, 'out of which each person is compelled to drink. From the brim, extending about an inch below the surface, it has holes fantastically arranged so as to appear like ornamental work, and which are not perceived except by the perspicacious; three projections, of the size and shape of marbles, are around the brim, having a hole of the size of a pea in each; these communicate with the bottom of the jug through the handle, which is hollow, and has a small hole at the top, which, with two of the holes being stopped by the fingers, and the mouth applied to the one nearest the handle, enables one to suck the contents with ease; but this trick is unknown to every one, and consequently a stranger generally makes some mistake, perhaps applying his mouth as he would to another jug, in which case the contents (generally ale) issue through the fissures on his person, to the no small diversion of the spectators.'[130] Another merry custom of All Hallows was--and is--twco am 'falau, bobbing for apples. A large tub (crwc) is brought into the kitchen of a farm-house and filled with water; a dozen apples are thrown into it, and the rustic youths bob for them with their mouths. To catch up two apples at a single mouthful is a triumphant achievement. Again the revellers will form a semicircle before the fire, while there depends above their mouths from a hook in the ceiling, a string with a stick attached. At one end of the stick is an apple, at the other end a candle. To snatch the apple with the lips, and yet avoid the candle, is the aim of the competitors. The stick is so hung that it turns easily on its axis, and the bobbers often find themselves catching the candle in their hair while aiming at the apple. This appears to be a relic of the ancient Welsh game of quintain, or gwyntyn. FOOTNOTES: [129] Brand, 'Pop. Ant.,' i., 191. [130] 'Camb. Sup.,' 174. V. November the Fifth, the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot, is much observed in Wales. 'God grant,' said Bishop Sanderson in one of his sermons, 'that we nor ours ever live to see November the Fifth forgotten, or the solemnity of it silenced.' The words are similar to those used by a great American, of the early days of the Republic, with regard to the 4th of July--God grant it might never be forgotten. But the rites by which both days are celebrated are as old as tradition, and much older than history. As the Americans have given a historical significance to bonfires and fireworks, so the English before them did to sacrificing a puppet on Guy Fawkes' Day; and so again some Catholic nations have made the rite a religious one, in the hanging of Judas. All three customs are traced to the same original--the ancient Druidic sacrifices to the sun-god Beal or Moloch. It is noteworthy that the Fifth of November and the Fourth of July--or rather the fiery features of these days--are alike voted a nuisance by respectable and steady-going people in the countries to which they respectively belong. VI. On St. Clement's Day (the 23rd of November) it was customary in Pembrokeshire in the last century to parade an effigy of a carpenter, which had been hung to the church steeple the night before. Cutting the effigy down from where it hung, the people carried it about the village, repeating loudly some doggerel verses which purported to be the last will and testament of St. Clement, distributing to the different carpenters in town the several articles of dress worn by the effigy. After the image was thus stripped of its garments, one by one, the padded remains were thrown down and carefully kicked to pieces by the crowd. CHAPTER IV. Nadolig, the Welsh Christmas--Bell-Ringing--Carols--Dancing to the Music of the Waits--An Evening in Carmarthenshire--Shenkin Harry, the Preacher, and the Jig Tune--Welsh Morality--Eisteddfodau--Decorating Houses and Churches--The Christmas Thrift-box--The Colliers' Star--The Plygain--Pagan Origin of Christmas Customs. I. We come now to the most interesting holiday season of the year, by reason of its almost universality of observance among Christian peoples, and the variety of customs peculiar to it. In the land of Arthur and Merlin it is a season of such earnest and widespread cordiality, such warm enthusiasm, such hearty congratulations between man and man, that I have been nowhere equally impressed with the geniality and joyousness of the time. In some Catholic countries one sees more merriment on the day itself; indeed, the day itself is not especially merry in Wales, at least in its out-door aspects. It is the season rather than the day which is merry in Wales. The festival is usually understood, throughout Christendom, to include twelve days; the Welsh people not only make much of the twelve days, but they extend the peculiar festivities of the season far beyond those limits. Christmas has fairly begun in Wales a week or two before Christmas-day. The waits are patrolling the streets of Cardiff as early as December 5th, and Christmas festivals are held as early as December 19th, at which Christmas-trees are displayed, and their boughs denuded of the toys and lollipops in which the juvenile heart delights. After Christmas-day the festival continues I know not just how long, but apparently for weeks. The characteristic diversions of the Christmas season are, in the main, alike in all Christian countries. In Wales many well-known old customs are retained which in some other parts of Great Britain have disappeared, such as the mummers, the waits, carols, bell-ringings, etc. Not only do the bell-ringers of the several churches throughout the principality do their handsomest on their own particular bells, but there are grand gatherings, at special points, of all the bell-ringers for leagues around, who vie with each other in showing what feats they can perform, how they can astonish you with their majors, bob-majors, and triple bob-majors, on the brazen clangers of the steeples. At Cowbridge, for instance, on Christmas will come together the ringers from Aberdare, Penarth, St. Fagan's, Llantrisant, Llanblethian, and other places, thirty or forty in number, and after they have rung till the air above the town is black with flying clefs and quavers from the steeples, they will all sit down to a jolly Christmas-dinner at the Bear. The bands of waits, or 'pipers of the watch,' who wake the echoes of the early morning with their carols, are heard in every Welsh town and village. In some towns there are several bands and much good-natured rivalry. The universal love of music among the Welsh saves the waits from degenerating into the woe-begone creatures they are in some parts, where the custom has that poor degree of life which can be kept in it by shivering clusters of bawling beggars who cannot sing. Regularly organised and trained choirs of Welshmen perambulate the Cambrian country, chanting carols at Christmas-tide, and bands of musicians play who, in many cases, would not discredit the finest military orchestras. Carols are sung in both Welsh and English; and, generally, the waits are popular. If their music be not good, they are not tolerated; irate gentlemen attack them savagely and drive them off. Not exactly that boot-jacks and empty bottles are thrown at them, but they are excoriated in 'letters to the editor,' in which strong language is hurled at them as intolerable nuisances, ambulatory disturbers of the night's quiet, and inflicters of suffering upon the innocent. But such cases are rare. The music is almost invariably good, and the effect of the soft strains of melodiously-warbled Welsh coming dreamily to one's ears through the darkness and distance on a winter morning is sweet and soothing to most ears. Sometimes small boys will pipe their carols through the key-holes. The songs vary greatly in character, but usually the religious tone prevails, as in this case: As I sat on a sunny bank, a sunny bank, a sunny bank, All on a Christmas morning, Three ships came sailing by, sailing by, sailing by. Who do you think was in the ships? Who do you think was in the ships? Christ and the Virgin Mary. Both English and Welsh words are sung. Sometimes a group of young men and women will be seen dancing about the waits to the measure of their music, in the hours 'ayont the twal.' In one aspect the Welsh people may be spoken of as a people whose lives are passed in the indulgence of their love for music and dancing. The air of Wales seems always full of music. In the Christmas season there is an unending succession of concerts and of miscellaneous entertainments of which music forms a part, while you cannot enter an inn where a few are gathered together, without the imminent probability that one or more will break forth in song. By this is not meant a general musical howl, such as is apt to be evoked from a room full of men of any nationality when somewhat under the influence of the rosy god, but good set songs, with good Welsh or English words to them, executed with respect for their work by the vocalists, and listened to with a like respect by the rest of the company. When an Englishman is drunk he is belligerent; when a Frenchman is drunk he is amorous; when an Italian is drunk he is loquacious; when a Scotchman is drunk he is argumentative; when a German is drunk he is sleepy; when an American is drunk he brags; and when a Welshman is drunk he sings. Sometimes he dances; but he does not do himself credit as a dancer under these circumstances; for when I speak of dancing I do not refer to those wooden paces and inflections which pass for dancing in society, and which are little more than an amiable pretext for bringing in contact human elements which are slow to mix when planted in chairs about a room: I refer to the individual dancing of men who do not dance for the purpose of touching women's hands, or indulging in small talk, but for the purpose of dancing; and who apply themselves seriously and skilfully to their work--to wit, the scientific performance of a jig. I chanced to pass one evening, in the Christmas-time, at a country inn in a little Carmarthenshire village remote from railways. Certain wanderings through green lanes (and the lanes were still green, although it was cold, mid-winter weather) had brought me to the place at dusk, and, being weary, I had resolved to rest there for the night. Some local festivity of the season had taken place during the day, which had drawn into the village an unusual number of farmer-folk from the immediate neighbourhood. After a simple dinner off a chop and a half-pint of cwrw da, I strolled into what they called the smoke-room, by way of distinguishing it from the tap-room adjoining. It was a plain little apartment, with high-backed wooden settles nearly up to the ceiling, which gave an old-fashioned air of comfort to the place. Two or three farmers were sitting there drinking their beer and smoking their pipes, and toasting their trouserless shins before the blazing fire. Presently a Welsh harper with his harp entered from out-doors, and, seating himself in a corner of the room, began to tune his instrument. The room quickly filled up with men and women, and though no drinks but beer and 'pop' were indulged in (save that some of the women drank tea), Bacchus never saw a more genial company. Some one sang an English song with words like these: Thrice welcome, old Christmas, we greet thee again, With laughter and innocent mirth in thy train; Let joy fill the heart, and shine on the brow, While we snatch a sweet kiss 'neath the mistletoe-bough-- The mistletoe-bough, The mistletoe-bough, We will snatch a sweet kiss 'neath the mistletoe-bough. The words are certainly modern, and as certainly not of a high order of literary merit, but they are extremely characteristic of life at this season in Wales, where kissing under the mistletoe is a custom still honoured by observance. There was dancing, too, in this inn company--performed with stern and determined purpose to excel, by individuals who could do a jig, and wished to do it well. The harper played a wild lilting tune; a serious individual who looked like a school-teacher took off his hat, bowed to the company, jumped into the middle of the floor, and began to dance like a madman. It was a strange sight. With a face whose grave earnestness relaxed no whit, with firmly compressed lips and knitted brow, the serious person shuffled and double-shuffled, and swung and teetered, and flailed the floor with his rattling soles, till the perspiration poured in rivulets down his solemn face. The company was greatly moved; enthusiastic ejaculations in Welsh and English were heard; shouts of approbation and encouragement arose; and still the serious person danced and danced, ending at last with a wonderful pigeon-wing, and taking his seat exhausted, amid a tremendous roar of applause. Scenes like this are common throughout Wales at the Christmas-time; and they contrast strangely with the austerities of religious observance which are everywhere proceeding. But there is not so wide a chasm between the two as would exist in some countries. The best church-members frequently do not deem a little jollity of this sort a hanging matter, and there are ministers who can do a double-shuffle themselves if the worst comes to the worst. A worthy pastor in Glamorganshire related to me, with a suspicious degree of relish, a story about two ministers who were once riding through a certain village of Wales on horseback. One was the Rev. Evan Harris, the other a celebrated old preacher named Shenkin Harry. And, as they rode on, Harris noticed his companion's legs twitching curiously on his horse's sides. 'Why, what ails your leg?' he asked. 'Don't you hear the harp,' was the reply, 'in the public-house yonder? It makes my old toes crazy for a jig.' But the moral tone of Wales is certainly better, on the whole, than that of most countries--better even than that of Great Britain generally, I should say. There is, I know, a prevailing impression quite to the contrary; but it is utterly absurd. It is an impression which has grown, I imagine, out of English injustice to Welshmen in former times, allied to English ignorance in those times concerning this people. Until within the last hundred years, English writers habitually wrote of Wales with contempt and even scurrility. But no one can live in Wales and not form the opinion that the Welsh are, in truth, an exceptionally moral people; and the nature of their public entertainments throughout the Christmas-time enforces this conclusion. Stendhal's declaration that, in true Biblical countries, religion spoils one day out of seven, destroys the seventh part of possible happiness, would find strong illustration in Wales. It is not my purpose to argue whether the illustration would prove or disprove Stendhal's assertion, though one might fairly ask whether religious people are not, perhaps, as happy in going to church on Sunday as irreligious people are in staying away. II. Let it not be supposed that there is any lack of amusement on Christmas-day for people who are willing to be amused in a God-fearing manner. Although you cannot go to the theatre or the circus, you can have a wide liberty of choice among oratorios, concerts, examinations, exhibitions, eisteddfodau, and other odd diversions. Concerts especially thrive. The halls in which they are held are decorated with evergreens, and the familiar custom is in Wales habitually and commonly associated with the ancient Druids, who viewed the green twigs as the symbols of perennial life. Thus a peculiar poetic grace rests with a custom beautiful in itself, and capable in any land of being poetized by any one poetically inclined. Many of those unique gatherings called eisteddfodau are held in different parts of the principality, when poetry, music, and essays, in Welsh and in English, are put forth by the strivers in these Olympian games of intellect and culture, after the prizes which in Hellas would have given them crowns of olive-leaves instead of gold-coins of the realm. When Pindar and Sophocles handed in poems, and Herodotus competed among the essayists, and Phidias and Praxiteles among the cutters of stone, there was no Christmas,--but it is claimed there were eisteddfodau, here in Wales; ay, and before that; for has not Herodotus spoken of the British bards who held them? III. In the family circle, the rules which regulate the Sabbath in Wales--which are almost as repressive as those of bonnie Scotland, where, by the way, Christmas-day is scarcely observed at all--are relaxed, and the aspect of the home is as bright as can be. The rooms are elaborately decorated with flowers and evergreens, holly and ivy, ferns and rare plants. In Glamorganshire, and other of the southern counties looking on the sea, roses and hawthorn-sprays may be sometimes seen in full bloom out-of-doors at Christmas. The decoration of churches is also elaborate beyond anything I have elsewhere seen. It is a sight to behold, the preparations for and the work of decorating a vast pile of ecclesiastical buildings like Llandaff Cathedral--the huge quantities of evergreens and holly, flowers, cedars, etc., which are day by day accumulated by the ladies who have the business in charge; and the slow, continual growth of forms of grace--arches, crosses, wreaths, festoons; green coverings to font, altar, pulpit, choir-stalls, pillars, reredos, and rood-screen; panels faced with scarlet cloth bearing sacred devices worked in evergreen; the very window-sills glowing with banks of colour--until all the wide spaces in chancel, nave, and transepts, are adorned. IV. Of common prevalence formerly, and still observed in numerous parishes, is the custom called the Plygain, or watching for the dawn. This consists in proceeding to the church at three o'clock on Christmas morning, and uniting in a service which is held by the light of small green candles made for the purpose. Sometimes this ceremony is observed at home, the people in a farm-house holding a jollification on the Christmas eve, and sitting up all night to greet the dawn. If the east wind blew on the Christmas eve the circumstance was deemed propitious in this connection. This wind was called 'gwynt traed y meirw,' (the wind blowing over the feet of the corpses,) because it blew towards the foot of the graves in the churchyards. It was also believed that the dumb animals paid their tribute of respect to this night; the bees would hum loudly in their hives at midnight, and the cattle in the cow-houses would bend their knees as in adoration.[131] A Christmas-eve custom among Welsh colliers is to carry from house to house a board stuck over with lighted candles, or to wheel a handbarrow containing a bed of clay in which the candles are stuck. This is called 'the Star,' sometimes 'the Star of Bethlehem,' and when stopping before a house the men kneel about it and sing a carol. A like custom exists in Belgium, among children. The purpose is to solicit a Rhodd Nadolig, or Christmas gift. FOOTNOTE: [131] 'Cymru Fu,' 403. V. The British Boxing-day is well known, both as to its customs and its origin. The Christmas-box, or thrift-box, is still to be seen in barber shops in Wales, fastened to the wall, or standing conveniently under the looking-glass among the pots and brushes. At one time the custom became such a nuisance throughout Britain that an outcry was raised about it. It got to that pass that the butcher and baker would send their apprentices around among their customers to levy contributions. The English Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, in 1837, sent a circular to the different embassies requesting their excellencies and chargés d'affaires to discontinue the customary Christmas-boxes to the 'messengers of the Foreign Department, domestic servants of Viscount Palmerston, foreign postmen, etc.' The nuisance is hardly less prevalent now. The faithful postman in Wales not only expects to be remembered at Christmas, but he expects to be given a precise sum, and if he does not get it he is capable of asking for it. In one case, a postman accustomed to receive five shillings at a certain office, on asking for his 'box,' was told the usual donor was absent in London, whereupon he requested the clerk to write up to him in London immediately on the subject. These things strike a stranger as very singular, among a people usually so self-respecting. Warnings are from time to time issued on this subject by those in authority, but the custom is likely to survive so long as it is not ranked outright with beggary. Like the Christmas-tree, it is a graceful thing among the children, or among friends or household servants, if spontaneous; but as a tax, it is an odious perversion.[132] FOOTNOTE: [132] Among those who last Christmas applied at my house for 'his box, sir, if you please' (as my maid put it), quite as a matter of course, were the postman, the leader of the waits, the boy who brings the daily newspapers, the bookseller's boy, the chimney-sweep, the dustman, the grocer's man, etc., etc., no one of whom I had ever set eyes on. The equal of this I never encountered, except in Paris, on the _jour de l'an_. VI. The pagan origin of most of our Christmas customs is undoubted. Even the cheery Christmas-tree is a symbol of heathen rites in times long antedating Christ. The early Christian fathers, in adopting the popular usages of their predecessors, and bending them to the service of Christianity, made wondrous little change in them, beyond the substitution of new motives and names for the old festivals peculiar to several seasons of the year. The British Druids' feast of Alban Arthur, celebrating the new birth of the sun, occurred at our Christmas time, and is still celebrated at Pontypridd, Glamorganshire, every year. It begins on the 22nd of December, and lasts three days, during which period the sun is supposed to fight with Avagddu, the spirit of darkness, the great luminary having descended into hell for that purpose. On the third day he rose, and the bards struck their harps, rejoicing that the sun had again been found. The Pontypridd ceremonies are similar to those of Midsummer-day, already mentioned. The Arch-Druid presides in the folds of the serpent circle--when he can get there, that is, for he is old, past eighty, and the Druidic hill is apt to be slippery with snow and ice at this time of the year. He prays to the pagan god, and perhaps chants a poem in Welsh.[133] The Druidic fires of the winter solstice feast were continued in customs like that which survived in Herefordshire until recent years, when on old Christmas-eve thirteen fires were lighted in a cornfield, twelve of them being in a circle round a central one which burned higher than the rest. The circle fires were called the Twelve Apostles, and the central one the Virgin Mary. In a shed near by was a cow with a plum-cake between or upon her horns, into whose face a pail of cider was dashed, with a rhyming address, and the cow tossing her horns from her unexpected baptism naturally threw the plum-cake down. If it fell forward, good harvests were predicted; if backward, the omen was evil. A feast among the peasants followed. In the Plygain in like manner survives the Druidic custom of going to the sacred groves before dawn on this morning, to greet the rising of the new-born sun after his struggle with the evil principle. FOOTNOTE: [133] I give a free translation of this effort as delivered on Sunday, December 24th, 1876 (which proved a mild day), and which I find reported in the 'Western Mail' of the 26th as follows: 'The day of the winter solstice has dawned upon us; little is the smile and the halo of Hea. The depth of winter has been reached, but the muse of Wales is budding still. Cold is the snow on the mountains; naked are the trees, and the meadows are bare; but while nature is withering the muse of Wales is budding. When the earth is decked in mourning, and the birds are silent, the muse of Wales, with its harp, is heard in the gorsedd of the holy hill. On the stone ark, within the circle of the caldron of Ceridwen, are throned the sons of Awen; though through their hair the frozen mist is wafted, their bosoms are sympathetic and they rejoice. Peace, love, and truth, encircle our throne; throne without a beginning and without ending, adorned with uchelwydd (mistletoe), symbol of perennial life. The throne of the British Bard--which remains a throne while other thrones decay into dust around it: an everlasting throne! The great wheel of ages revolves and brings around our festivities; repeating our joys it does perpetually. Muse, awake; awake, ye harps; let not any part of the year be forgotten wherein to crown usage (defod), morals (moes), and virtue. The Saviour Hea is about to be born of the winter solstice. He will rise higher still and higher shiningly, and we will have again a new year. Haste hail, haste falling snow, hasten rough storms of winter--hasten away that we may see the happy evidences of the new year.' CHAPTER V. Courtship and Marriage--Planting Weeds and Rue on the Graves of Old Bachelors--Special Significance of Flowers in connection with Virginity--The Welsh Venus--Bundling, or Courting Abed--Kissing Schools--Rhamanta--Lovers' Superstitions--The Maid's Trick--Dreaming on a Mutton Bone--Wheat and Shovel--Garters in a Lovers' Knot--Egg-Shell Cake--Sowing Leeks--Twca and Sheath. I. Welsh courtship is a thorough-going business, early entered upon by the boys and girls of the Principality; and consequently most Welsh women marry young. The ancient laws of Howell the Good (died 948) expressly provided that a woman should be considered marriageable from fourteen upwards, and should be entitled to maintenance from that age until the end of her fortieth year; 'that is to say, from fourteen to forty she ought to be considered in her youth.' By every sort of moral suasion it is deemed right in Wales to encourage matrimony, and no where are old bachelors viewed with less forbearance. There used to be a custom--I know not whether it be extinct now--of expressing the popular disapprobation for celibacy by planting on the graves of old bachelors that ill-scented plant, the rue, and sometimes thistles, nettles, henbane, and other unlovely weeds. The practice was even extended, most illiberally and unjustly, to the graves of old maids, who certainly needed no such insult added to their injury. Probably the custom was never very general, but grew out of similar--but other-meaning--customs which are still prevalent, and which are very beautiful. I refer to the planting of graves with significant flowers in token of the virtues of the dead. Thus where the red rose is planted on a grave, its tenant is indicated as having been in life a person of peculiar benevolence of character. The flower specially planted on the grave of a young virgin is the white rose. There is also an old custom, at the funeral of a young unmarried person, of strewing the way to the grave with evergreens and sweet-scented flowers, and the common saying in connection therewith is that the dead one is going to his or her marriage-bed. Sad extremely, and touchingly beautiful, are these customs; but wherever such exist, there are sure to be ill-conditioned persons who will vent spiteful feelings by similar means. Hence the occasional affront to the remains of antiquated single folk, who had been perhaps of a temperament which rendered them unpopular. The Welsh being generally of an affectionate disposition, courtship, as I have said, is a thorough-going business. To any but a people of the strongest moral and religious tendencies, some of their customs would prove dangerous in the extreme; but no people so link love and religion. More of their courting is done while going home from church than at any other time whatever; and the Welsh Venus is a holy saint, and not at all a wicked Pagan character like her classic prototype. 'Holy Dwynwen, goddess of love, daughter of Brychan,' had a church dedicated to her in Anglesea in 590; and for ages her shrine was resorted to by desponding swains and lovesick maidens. Her name--_Dwyn_, to carry off, and _wen_, white--signifies the bearer off of the palm of fairness; and, ruling the court of love while living, when dead A thousand bleeding hearts her power invoked. Throughout the poetry of the Cymric bards you constantly see the severest moral precepts, and the purest pictures of virtuous felicity, mingling in singularly perfect fusion with the most amorous strains. Among the 'Choice Things' of Geraint, the famous Blue Bard, were: A song of ardent love for the lip of a fair maid; A softly sweet glance of the eye, and love without wantonness; A secluded walking-place to caress one that is fair and slender; To reside by the margin of a brook in a tranquil dell of dry soil; A house small and warm, fronting the bright sunshine. With these, versifications of all the virtues and moralities. 'In the whole range of Kymric poetry,' says the learned Thomas Stephens,[134] 'there is not, I venture to assert, a line of impiety.' FOOTNOTE: [134] Vide 'Lit. of the Kymry.' II. The Welsh custom of Bundling, or courting abed, needs no description. The Welsh words sopen and sypio mean a bundle and to bundle, and they mean a squeezed-up mass, and to squeeze together; but there is a further meaning, equivalent to our word baggage, as applied to a strumpet.[135] The custom of bundling is still practised in certain rural neighbourhoods of Wales. To discuss its moral character is not my province in these pages; but I may properly record the fact that its practice is not confined to the irreligious classes. It is also pertinent here to recall the circumstance that among these people anciently, courtship was guarded by the sternest laws, so that any other issue to courtship than marriage was practically impossible. If a maiden forgot her duty to herself, her parents, and her training, when the evil result became known she was to be thrown over a precipice; the young man who had abused the parents' confidence was also to be destroyed. Murder itself was punished less severely. Customs of promiscuous sleeping arose in the earliest times, out of the necessities of existence in those primitive days, when a whole household lay down together on a common bed of rushes strewn on the floor of the room. In cold weather they lay close together for greater warmth, with their usual clothing on. Cæsar's misconception that the ancient Britons were polyandrous polygamists evidently had here its source. It is only by breathing the very atmosphere of an existence whose primitive influences we may thus ourselves feel, that we can get a just conception of the underlying forces which govern a custom like this. Of course it is sternly condemned by every advanced moralist, even in the neighbourhoods where it prevails. An instance came to my knowledge but a short time ago, (in 1877,) where the vicar of a certain parish (Mydrim, Carmarthenshire) exercised himself with great zeal to secure its abolition. Unfortunately, in this instance, the good man was not content with abolishing bundling, he wanted to abolish more innocent forms of courting; and worst of all, he turned his ethical batteries chiefly upon the lads and lasses of the dissenting congregation. Of course, it was not the vicar's fault that the bundlers were among the meeting-house worshippers, and not among the established church-goers, but nevertheless it injured the impartiality of his championship in the estimation of 'the Methodys.' I am not sure the bundling might not have ceased, in deference to his opinions, notwithstanding, if he had not, in the excess of his zeal, complained of the young men for seeing the girls home after meeting, and casually stretching the walk beyond what was necessary. Such intermeddling as this taxed the patience of the courting community to its extreme limit, and it assumed a rebellious front. The vicar, quite undaunted, pursued the war with vigour; he smote the enemy hip and thigh. He returned to the charge with the assertion that these young people had 'schools for the art of kissing,' a metaphorical expression, I suppose; and that they indulged in flirtation. This was really too much. Bundling might or might not be an exclusively dissenting practice, but the most unreasonable of vicars must know that kissing and flirtation were as universal as the parish itself; and so there was scoffing and flouting of the vicar, and, as rebounds are proverbially extreme, I fear there is now more bundling in Mydrim than ever. FOOTNOTE: [135] The Rev. Dr. Thomas, late President of Pontypool College, whose acquaintance with Welsh customs is very extensive, (and to whose erudition I have been frequently indebted during the progress of these pages through the press,) tells me he never heard the word sopen or sypio, synonymous with bundling, used for the old custom, but only 'caru yn y gwelu,' (courting abed.) III. The customs of Rhamanta, or romantic divination, by which lovers and sweethearts seek to pierce the future, are many and curious, in all parts of Wales. Besides such familiar forms of this widely popular practice as sleeping on a bit of wedding-cake, etc., several unique examples may be mentioned. One known as the Maid's Trick is thus performed; and none must attempt it but true maids, or they will get themselves into trouble with the fairies: On Christmas eve, or on one of the Three Spirit Nights, after the old folks are abed, the curious maiden puts a good stock of coal on the fire, lays a clean cloth on the table, and spreads thereon such store of eatables and drinkables as her larder will afford. Toasted cheese is considered an appropriate luxury for this occasion. Having prepared the feast, the maiden then takes off all her clothing, piece by piece, standing before the fire the while, and her last and closest garment she washes in a pail of clear spring water, on the hearth, and spreads it to dry across a chair-back turned to the fire. She then goes off to bed, and listens for her future husband, whose apparition is confidently expected to come and eat the supper. In case she hears him, she is allowed to peep into the room, should there be a convenient crack or key-hole for that purpose; and it is said there be unhappy maids who have believed themselves doomed to marry a monster, from having seen through a cranny the horrible spectacle of a black-furred creature with fiery eyes, its tail lashing its sides, its whiskers dripping gravy, gorging itself with the supper. But if her lover come, she will be his bride that same year. In Pembrokeshire a shoulder of mutton, with nine holes bored in the blade bone, is put under the pillow to dream on. At the same time the shoes of the experimenting damsel are placed at the foot of the bed in the shape of a letter T, and an incantation is said over them, in which it is trusted by the damsel that she may see her lover in his every-day clothes. In Glamorganshire a form of rhamanta still exists which is common in many lands. A shovel being placed against the fire, on it a boy and a girl put each a grain of wheat, side by side. Presently these edge towards each other; they bob and curtsey, or seem to, as they hop about. They swell and grow hot, and finally pop off the shovel. If both grains go off together, it is a sign the young pair will jump together into matrimony; but if they take different directions, or go off at different times, the omen is unhappy. In Glamorganshire also this is done: A man gets possession of a girl's garters, and weaves them into a true lover's knot, saying over them some words of hope and love in Welsh. This he puts under his shirt, next his heart, till he goes to bed, when he places it under the bolster. If the test be successful the vision of his future wife appears to him in the night. IV. A curious rhamanta among farm-women is thus described by a learned Welsh writer:[136] The maiden would get hold of a pullet's first egg, cut it through the middle, fill one half-shell with wheaten flour and the other with salt, and make a cake out of the egg, the flour, and the salt. One half of this she would eat; the other half was put in the foot of her left stocking under her pillow that night; and after offering up a suitable prayer, she would go to sleep. What with her romantic thoughts, and her thirst after eating this salty cake, it was not perhaps surprising that the future husband should be seen, in a vision of the night, to come to the bedside bearing a vessel of water or other beverage for the thirsty maid. Another custom was to go into the garden at midnight, in the season when 'black seed' was sown, and sow leeks, with two garden rakes. One rake was left on the ground while the young woman worked away with the other, humming to herself the while, Y sawl sydd i gydfydio, Doed i gydgribinio! Or in English: He that would a life partner be, Let him also rake with me. There was a certain young Welshwoman who, about eighty years ago, performed this rhamanta, when who should come into the garden but her master! The lass ran to the house in great fright, and asked her mistress, 'Why have you sent master out into the garden to me?' 'Wel, wel,' replied the good dame, in much heaviness of heart, 'make much of my little children!' The mistress died shortly after, and the husband eventually married the servant. The sterner sex have a form of rhamanta in which the knife plays a part. This is to enter the churchyard at midnight, carrying a twca, which is a sort of knife made out of an old razor, with a handle of sheep or goat-horn, and encircle the church edifice seven times, holding the twca at arm's length, and saying, 'Dyma'r twca, p'le mae'r wain?' (Here's the twca--where's the sheath?) FOOTNOTE: [136] Cynddelw, 'Manion Hynafiaethol,' 53. CHAPTER VI. Wedding Customs--The Bidding--Forms of Cymmhorth--The Gwahoddwr--Horse-Weddings--Stealing a Bride--Obstructions to the Bridal Party--The Gwyntyn--Chaining--Evergreen Arches--Strewing Flowers--Throwing Rice and Shoes--Rosemary in the Garden--Names after Marriage--The Coolstrin--The Ceffyl Pren. I. Wales retains several ancient customs in connection with weddings, which are elsewhere extinct. No one who has ever paid any attention to Wales and its ways can have failed to hear of that most celebrated rite the Bidding, which is, however, one of several picturesque survivals less well known to the outer world. The Bidding wedding must be spoken of as an existing custom, although it be confined to rural neighbourhoods in South Wales, and to obscure and humble folk. Those who strive to prove that all such customs are obsolete everywhere--a thankless and even ungraceful task, it seems to me--will not admit that the Bidding has been known since 1870. I have evidence, however, that in Pembroke, Cardigan, and Carmarthen shires, the custom did not cease on the date named, and there is every probability that it prevails to-day. Nothing could be of smaller importance, it is true, than the precise date on which a given custom recently ceased, since any one may revive it next year who chooses to do so. The Bidding is an invitation sent by a couple who are about to be married, soliciting the presence and donations of the neighbours on their behalf. The presents may be either sums of money or necessaries. Gifts of bread, butter, cheese, tea, sugar, and the like, are common, and sometimes articles of farming stock and household furniture. All gifts of money are recognized by a sort of promissory note, i.e., by setting down the name and residence of the donor, with the amount given; and when a like occasion arises on the part of the giver, the debt is religiously paid. The obligation is an absolute one, and its legality has actually been recognized by the Court of Great Sessions at Cardiff. The gift is even claimable under other circumstances than the donor's getting married. Another sort of contribution is the eatables and drinkables which are set before the guests; these are only repayable when required on a like occasion. The method of bidding the guests was until lately through a personage called the gwahoddwr (inviter or bidder) who tramped about the country some days beforehand, proclaiming the particulars to everybody he met. He usually recited a doggerel set of rhymes before and after the special invitation--a composition of his own, or understood to be such, for rhyme-making was a part of the talent of a popular bidder. Frequently no little humour was displayed in the bidding song. But since the printing press became the cheap and ready servant of the humblest classes, the occupation of the bidder has gradually fallen to decay; a printed circular serves in his place. At the shop of a printer in Carmarthen I procured a copy of the following bidding circular, which may be a real document, or a fictitious one: CARMARTHENSHIRE, JULY 4TH, 1862. As we intend to enter the Matrimonial State, on Wednesday, the 30th of July instant, we purpose to make a BIDDING on the occasion, the same day, at the Young Man's Father's House, called TY'R BWCI, in the Parish of Llanfair ar y Bryn, when and where the favour of your good and agreeable company is respectfully solicited, and whatever donation you may be pleased to confer on us then will be thankfully received, warmly acknowledged, and cheerfully repaid whenever called for on a similar occasion. By your most obedient Servants, OWEN GWYN, ELEN MORGAN. The Young Man, his Father and Mother (Llewelyn and Margaret Gwyn, of Ty'r Bwci), his Brother (Evan Gwyn, Maes y Blodau), his Sisters (Gwladys and Hannah), and his Aunt (Mary Bowen, Llwyn y Fedwen, Llannon), desire that all gifts of the above nature due to them be returned to the Young Man on the above day, and will be thankful for all additional favours granted. The Young Woman, her Father (Rhys Morgan, Castell y Moch), and her Brothers and Sister (Howel, Gruffydd, and Gwenllïan Morgan), desire that all gifts of the above nature due to them be returned to the Young Woman on the above day, and will be thankful for all additional favours conferred on her. The Young Man's company will meet in the Morning at Ty'r Bwci; and the Young Woman's at Pant y Clacwydd, near the Village of Llansadwrn. The Bidding is sometimes held on the day of the wedding, and sometimes on the day and night before it; the custom varies in different districts, as all these customs do. When the latter is the case, the night is an occasion of great merrymaking, with much consumption of cwrw da, and dancing to the music of the harp, for poor indeed would be the Welsh community that could not muster up a harper. This festival is called Nos Blaen, or preceding night, and is a further source of income to the couple, from the sale of cakes and cwrw. 'Base is the slave who pays' is a phrase emphatically reversed at a Welsh wedding. [Illustration: THE OLD-TIME GWAHODDWR.] The Bidding is but one form of a feature of Welsh life which extensively prevails, known by the term Cymmhorth. The Bidding is a Priodas Cymmhorth; the Cyfarfod Cymmhorth, or Assistance Meeting, is much the same thing, minus the wedding feature. The customs of the latter festival are, however, often of a sort distinctly tending toward matrimonial results as an eventuality. A number of farmer girls of the humbler sort will gather at a stated time and place to give a day's work to one needing assistance, and after a day spent in such toil as may be required, the festival winds up with jollity in the evening. The day is signalized on the part of those youths of the neighbourhood who are interested in the girls, by tokens of that interest in the shape of gifts. The lass who receives a gift accompanied by a twig of birch is thereby assured of her lover's constancy. To her whom the young man would inform of his change of heart, a sprig of hazel is given. An earlier feature of this ceremony was the Merry Andrew, who presented the gifts in the name of the lover. This personage was disguised fantastically, and would lead the young woman he selected into another room, where he would deliver the gift and whisper the giver's name. The antiquity of the Bidding as a local custom is undoubted. The old-time gwahoddwr was a person of much importance, skilled in pedigrees and family traditions, and himself of good family. A chieftain would assume the character in behalf of his vassal, and hostile clans respected his person as he went about from castle to castle, from hall to hall. He bore a garlanded staff as the emblem of his office, and on entering a dwelling would strike his staff upon the floor to command the attention of the group before him, and then begin his address. II. The Horse-Wedding is of more ancient origin than the Bidding, and is still a living custom in some parts of Wales, especially Carmarthenshire and western Glamorganshire. It was in other days common throughout South Wales, and was scolded about by old Malkin (generally very cordial in his praise of Welsh customs) in these spicy terms: 'Ill may it befal the traveller, who has the misfortune of meeting a Welsh wedding on the road. He would be inclined to suppose that he had fallen in with a company of lunatics, escaped from their confinement. It is the custom of the whole party who are invited, both men and women, to ride full speed to the church porch, and the person who arrives there first has some privilege or distinction at the marriage feast. To this important object all inferior considerations give way; whether the safety of his majesty's subjects, who are not going to be married, or their own, incessantly endangered by boisterous, unskilful and contentious jockeyship.'[137] Glamorganshire is here spoken of. The custom varies somewhat in different localities, but it preserves the main feature, to force the bride away from her friends, who then gallop after her to church, arriving _toujours trop tard_, of course, like the carabineers in 'Les Brigands.' There have been cases, however, when the bride was caught by a member of the pursuing party, and borne away--an incident which occurred in the knowledge of an acquaintance, who related it to me. As may readily be inferred, the bride in this case was not unwilling to be caught; in fact she was averse to marrying the man who was taking her to church, and who was her parent's choice, not her own. The lover who had her heart caught up with her by dint of good hard riding, and whisked her on his horse within sight of the church-door, to the intense astonishment of the bridegroom, who gazed at them open-mouthed as they galloped away. He thought at first it was a joke, but as the lovers disappeared in the distance the truth dawned upon him: a Welsh custom had served something like its original purpose. But usually, the whole performance is a vehicle for fun of the most good-natured and innocent sort. It begins by the arrival of the neighbours on horseback at the residence of the expectant bridegroom. An eye-witness to a certain wedding gathering in Glamorganshire a few years ago states that the horsemen exceeded one hundred in number. From among them a deputation was chosen to go (still on horseback) to the bride's residence to make formal demand for her. Her door was barred inside, and the demand was made in rhyme, and replied to in the same form from within. It often happens that a brisk contest of wits signalizes this proceeding, for if the voice of any one within is recognized by one of those outside, his personal peculiarities are made the subject of satirical verses. A voice inside being recognized as that of a man who was charged with sheep-stealing, this rhyme was promptly shouted at him: Gwrando, leidr hoyw'r ddafad, Ai ti sydd yma heddyw'n geidwad? Ai dyna y rheswm cloi y drysau, Rhag dwyn y wreigan liw dydd goleu? (Ah, sheep-stealer, art thou a guardian of the fair one? If the doors were not locked thou wouldst steal the bride in broad daylight.) The doors are opened in the end, of course, and after refreshments the wedding party gallops off to church. The bride is stolen away and borne off to a distance on her captor's horse, but only in sport; her captor brings her back to the church, where she is quietly married to the proper person. Sometimes the precaution is taken of celebrating the marriage privately at an early hour, and the racing takes place afterward. Obstructions are raised by the bride's friends, to prevent the bridegroom's party from coming to her house, and these difficulties must be overcome ere the bride can be approached. Sometimes a mock battle on the road is a feature of the racing to church. The obstructions placed in the road in former days included the Gwyntyn, a sort of game of skill which seems to have been used by most nations in Europe, called in English the quintain. It was an upright post, upon which a cross-piece turned freely, at one end of which hung a sand-bag, the other end presenting a flat side. At this the rider tilted with his lance, his aim being to pass without being hit in the rear by the sand-bag. Other obstructions in use are ropes of straw and the like. There is a Welsh custom called Chaining, which probably arose out of the horse-wedding, and still prevails. In the village of Sketty, Glamorganshire, in August, 1877, I saw a chaining, on the occasion of a marriage between an old lady of eighty and a man of fifty. The affair had made so much talk, owing to the age of the bride, that the whole village was in the streets. While the wedding ceremony was in progress, a chain was stretched across the street, forming a barrier which the wedding party could not pass till the chainers were 'tipped.' The driver of the carriage containing the newly wedded pair was an Englishman, and ignorant of the custom, at which he was naturally indignant. His angry efforts to drive through the barrier made great sport for the Welshmen. The origin of the Welsh horse-wedding may be traced to the Romans, if no further back, and may thus be connected with the rape of the Sabines. That the Romans had an exactly similar custom is attested by Apuleius, and it is said to have been established by Romulus in memory of the Sabine virgins. It is not improbable that the Romans may have left the custom behind them when they quitted this territory in the fifth century, after nearly three hundred years' rule. FOOTNOTE: [137] Malkin's 'South Wales,' 67. III. Among the wealthier classes of Wales, certain joyous and genial wedding customs prevail, such as are common in most parts of the British isles, but which do not reappear in the new world across the Atlantic,--a fact by which American life is a heavy loser, in my opinion. When the Rector of Merthyr's daughter (to use the form of speech common) was married, a few months since, the tenants of the estate erected arches of evergreens over the roads, and adorned their houses with garlands, and for two or three days the estate was a scene of festivity, ending with the distribution of meat to the poor of the parish. Such festivities and such decorations are common on the estates of the country gentry not only, but in the towns as well. At Tenby, when the High Sheriff's son was married to the Rector of Tenby's daughter, in 1877, garlands of flowers were hung across the High Street, bearing pleasant mottoes, while flags and banners fluttered from house-tops in all directions. Children strewed flowers in the bride's path as she came out of church, while the bells in the steeple chimed a merry peal, and a park of miniature artillery boomed from the pier-head. This custom of children strewing flowers in the path of the new-made bride is common; so also is that of throwing showers of rice after the wedded pair, by way of expressing good wishes--a pleasanter thing to be thrown under these circumstances than the old shoes of tradition. However, since fashion has taken up the custom of rice-throwing and shoe-throwing, the shoes have become satin slippers. As far back as the 16th century, throwing an old shoe after any one going on an important errand was deemed lucky in Wales. It is thought that in the case of a bride, the custom is derived from the old Jewish law of exchange, when a shoe was given in token that the parents for ever surrendered all dominion over their daughter. But a precisely similar custom prevails in China, where it is usual for the bride to present her husband with a pair of shoes, by way of signifying that for the future she places herself under his control. 'These are carefully preserved in the family and are never given away, like other worn-out articles, it being deemed, that to part with them portends an early separation between husband and wife.'[138] The custom of rice-throwing is also Chinese, the rice being viewed as a sign of abundance. In Sicily, as in some parts of England, wheat is thrown on the bride's head; in Russia, a handful of hops; in the north of England a plateful of shortcake;[139] in Yorkshire, bits of the bride-cake. All these customs, while popularly done 'for luck,' are apparently symbolical of the obedience and the fruitfulness of the newly-wedded wife. And as in Scandinavia the bride tries to get her husband to pick up her handkerchief as an omen of his obeying instead of compelling obedience, so in China the bride tries to sit on a part of her husband's dress. The vulgar story and adage, 'Bandbox now, bandbox always,' expresses the superstition succinctly. There is a saying current on the Welsh border, that when rosemary flourishes in the garden of a married pair, the lady 'rules the roast,' as the phrase is--though if there is anything a woman should rule, one would think the 'roast' is that thing. 'That be rosemary, sir,' said an old gardener in Herefordshire, pointing to where the plant grew; 'they say it grows but where the missus is master, and it do grow here like wildfire.' The idea of feminine obedience to masculine will, merely because it is masculine, is in itself looked upon as a superstition by all cultivated people in these days, I suppose. Sex aside, if the truth were known, it would be found that the stronger is the ruler, in all lands, under all customs, be the outward show of the ruling more or less; and it is not always where the public sees it most clearly, or fancies it does, that the rule of the dame is sternest. The strength here employed is not virile strength; there is nothing necessarily masculine about it. The severest mistress of her lord I ever knew was a feeble little woman with hands like a baby's, and a face of wax, with no more will-power apparently than a week-old kitten, but whose lightest whim lay on her lord like iron, and was obeyed as faithfully as if it were backed by a cat-o'-nine-tails and a six-shooter. To return for a moment to our Welsh wedding customs among the wealthier classes. When the couple return from their bridal tour, the fun often begins all over again. Thus at Lampeter, on the edge of Cardiganshire, last September, when Mr. and Mrs. Jones of Glandennis (Jones of Glandennis, Roberts of the Dingle, Williams of Pwlldu,--such cognomens take the place in Wales of the distinctive names which separate Englishmen one from another, and from Jones of Nevada),--when Jones of Glandennis brought home his bride, the whole neighbourhood was agog to greet them. Thousands of people gathered in a field near the station, and passed their time in athletic sports till the train arrived, when they woke the echoes with their cheers. The Joneses entered their carriage, the horses were unharnessed, and a long procession of tenantry, headed by a brass band, dragged the carriage all the way to Glandennis, two miles off, some bearing torches by the side of the carriage. Arches of evergreens were everywhere; and when they got to the house, nothing would do but Mrs. Jones must appear at a window and make a little speech of thanks to the crowd; which she did accordingly--a thing in itself shocking to superstitious ideas of chivalry, but in strictest accord with the true chivalric spirit toward woman. Then fireworks blazed up the sky, and bonfires were lighted on the tops of all the adjoining hills. Lampeter town was illuminated, and nobody went to bed till the small hours. After marriage, Welshwomen still in some cases retain their maiden names, a custom formerly universal among them. The wife of John Thomas, though the mother of a houseful of children, may be habitually known among her neighbours as Betty Williams. In other cases, she not only assumes her husband's name, but the name of his calling as well; if he is Dick Shon the tailor, she is simply Mrs. Dick Shon the tailor. FOOTNOTES: [138] Dennys, 'Folk-Lore of China,' 18. [139] Henderson, 'Notes on Folk-Lore,' 22. IV. A custom called the Coolstrin is now apparently obsolete, unless in occasional rural communities remote from railroads. It resembles the old custom once known in certain parts of England, called the skimitry or skimmington, in which a man whose wife had struck him was forced to ride behind a woman, with his face to the horse's tail, while a band of pans and cow-horns made music for them. The Welsh custom is, however, more elaborate, and more comical, while it is less severe on the man. A husband who is suspected of having a termagant wife, is made the subject of espionage. If it be found that he drinks his mug of ale standing, with his eye twinkling toward the door, the circumstance is considered most suspicious. Efforts are accordingly made to induce the henpecked man to stay and be merry, and if he can be made drunk a great point is gained, as then a squad of volunteers take him inside his own door and critically observe his reception. A moral point involved appears to be that a henpecked husband is a disgrace to manhood in general; and the purpose of the coolstrin is to reform it altogether. However, although it may even be proved that a woman is in the habit of cuffing her husband, the case does not come under the jurisdiction of the coolstrin court until she has 'drawn blood on him.' Then the court is convened. It is composed, no doubt, of any rakehelly youngsters, married or single, who are ripe for sport. One of them is chosen for judge; a special point is that he must be a married man who is not afraid of his wife; and he is invested with robe and gown, that is to say, the collar-bone of a horse is set on his head, around the crown of a slouch hat, and a bed-quilt is made fast to his shoulders. He marches through the streets, with a youth behind him bearing his bed-quilt train, and mounts a chosen wall for a judge's bench. Officers with long white wands range themselves solemnly on either side of him; men are chosen as advocates; and a posse of rustics with pitchforks keeps order. The court is opened by a crier who calls on all good men who as yet wear their own clos,[140] to attend the court. The case is argued by the advocates; witnesses are examined to prove, first, that the man is henpecked, second, that his wife has struck him and drawn blood with the blow. In one case it was proved that the wife had knocked her beery lord down, and that his nose, striking a stool, had bled. The wife's advocate nearly gravelled the judge, by holding that blood drawn by a stool could not be said to have been drawn by the woman. The judge got over this by deciding that if the woman had taken the stool by one of its three legs, and hit the man, drawing blood, the blood would be clearly chargeable to her. 'And where is the difference,' asked he, triumphantly, 'between knocking the stool against him, and knocking him against the stool?' The woman was found guilty. 'For,' said the prosecuting attorney indignantly, 'if a man shan't drink a blue of beer with a neighbour or so, to what won't it come?' Her condemnation followed; to be ridden on the Ceffyl Pren. A derisive procession was formed, and two fellows were rigged up to personate the husband and wife. The male bore a broom, and the female brandished a ladle, and the two were paraded through the town. A band of 'musicians' marched before them, beating frying-pans with marrow bones, banging gridirons and kettles with pokers, tongs and shovels, and two playing on a fife and drum. These were followed by two standard bearers, one bearing a petticoat on top of a pole, the other a pair of breeches in the same manner. Other orts and ends of rabble made up the procession, which with antic and grimace marched about the village and neighbourhood. The orgie ended by the planting in front of the culprit's house of the pole and petticoat, and the pelting of it with addled eggs, stones, and mud, till it fell to the ground. The noble bifurcated emblem of manhood, the clos, was then elevated proudly aloft, and the woman's punishment was deemed complete. This is the story of a rural village in Glamorganshire. The custom was known in other counties, and varied in its details. In Breconshire, the virago was punished through the ceffyl pren merely by the moral influence of parading it before her cottage. Quarrelsome wives were said to stand in great and constant dread of its possible appearance before their doors. In Cardiganshire, on the contrary, the custom termed the coolstrin is _vice versâ_, and it is only husbands who ill-use their wives who are amenable to its discipline. FOOTNOTE: [140] Breeches. CHAPTER VII. Death and Burial--The Gwylnos--Beer-drinking at Welsh Funerals--Food and Drink over the Coffin--Sponge Cakes at Modern Funerals--The Sin-eater--Welsh Denial that this Custom ever existed--The Testimony concerning it--Superstitions regarding Salt--Plate of Salt on Corpse's Breast--The Scapegoat--The St. Tegla Cock and Hen--Welsh Funeral Processions--Praying at Cross-roads--Superstition regarding Criminals' Graves--Hanging and Welsh Prejudice--The Grassless Grave--Parson's Penny, or Offrwm--Old Shoes to the Clerk--Arian y Rhaw, or Spade Money--Burials without Coffin--The Sul Coffa--Planting and Strewing Graves with Flowers. I. With the growth of modern refinement the people of every land have become constantly more decorous in their grief. The effort of the primitive and untutored mind to utter its sorrow in loud and wild lamentations, and of friends and neighbours to divert the mind of the sufferer from his bereavement, gave rise to many funeral customs of which we still find traces in Wales. Pennant, while travelling in North Wales, noted, with regard to one Thomas Myddleton, a fact which he held 'to prove that the custom of the Irish howl, or Scotch Coranich, was in use among us (the Welsh); for we are told he was buried "cum magno dolore et clamore cognatorum et propinquorum omnium."' No such custom now exists; but there is a very impressive rite, of a corresponding character, but religious, called the Gwylnos. It is a meeting held in the room where the corpse is lying, on the night before the funeral. The Irish cry, 'Why did ye die?' is replaced by pious appeals to Heaven, in which great and strong emotion is expressed, the deceased referred to in stirring sentences, and his death made a theme for warnings on the brevity of earth-life and the importance of the future life of the soul. On the day of the funeral, however, the customs are not always in keeping with modern notions of the praiseworthy. Indulgence in beer-drinking at funerals is still a Welsh practice, and its antiquity is indicated by a proverb: 'Claddu y marw, ac at y cwrw'--(To bury the dead, and to the beer.)[141] The collection of Welsh writings called 'Cymru Fu' refers to the custom thus, (to translate:) 'Before the funeral procession started for the church, the nearest friends and relatives would congregate around the corpse to wail and weep their loss; while the rest of the company would be in an adjoining room drinking warm beer (cwrw brwd) and smoking their pipes; and the women in still another room drinking tea together.'[142] The writer here speaks of the custom in the past tense, but apparently rather as a literary fashion than to indicate a fact; at any rate, the custom is not extinct. Occasionally it leads to appearances in the police-court on the part of injudicious mourners.[143] After taking the coffin out of the house and placing it on a bier near the door, it was formerly customary for one of the relatives of the deceased to distribute bread and cheese to the poor, taking care to hand it to each one over the coffin. These poor people were usually those who had, in expectation of this gift, been busily engaged in gathering flowers and herbs with which to grace the coffin. Sometimes this dole was supplemented by the gift of a loaf of bread or a cheese with a piece of money placed inside it. After that a cup of drink was presented, and the receiver was required to drink a little of it immediately.[144] Alluding to this subject the Rev. E. L. Barnwell[145] says: 'Although this custom is no longer in fashion, yet it is to some extent represented by the practice, especially in funerals of a higher class, to hand to those who are invited to attend the funeral, oblong sponge cakes sealed up in paper, which each one puts into his or her pocket, but the providing and distribution of these cakes are now often part of the undertaker's duty.' [Illustration: GIVING FOOD OVER THE COFFIN. (_From an old drawing._)] FOOTNOTES: [141] So the Spanish say, 'The dead to the bier, the living to good cheer.' [142] 'Cymru Fu,' 91. [143] 'Two Llancaiach men named Servis and Humphrey were arrested for fighting. They had _been to a funeral_, had done the customary honours by the remains of the departed brother or sister who had suffered, died, and was "chested," and then, after drowning their grief in the "cwrw," finished up in the police-court with a _finale_ involving the payment of 5_s._ and costs, and 8_s._ 8_d._ damage, or in default twenty-one days' hard labour.'--'Western Mail,' Jan. 31, 1877. [144] Pennant, quoted by Roberts, 'Camb. Pop. Ant.,' 175. [145] 'Arch. Camb.' 4th Se., iii., 332. II. What connection there may be between these customs and the strange and striking rite of the Sin-eater, is a question worthy of careful consideration. It has been the habit of writers with family ties in Wales, whether calling themselves Welshmen or Englishmen, to associate these and like customs with the well-known character for hospitality which the Cymry have for ages maintained. Thus Malkin writes: 'The hospitality of the country is not less remarkable on melancholy than on joyful occasions. The invitations to a funeral are very general and extensive; and the refreshments are not light, and taken standing, but substantial and prolonged. Any deficiency in the supply of ale would be as severely censured on this occasion, as at a festival.'[146] Some have thought that the bread-eating and beer-drinking are survivals of the sin-eating custom described by Aubrey, and repeated from him by others. But well-informed Welshmen have denied that any such custom as that of the Sin-eater ever existed in Wales at any time, or in the border shires; and it must not be asserted that they are wrong unless we have convincing proof to support the assertion. The existing evidence in support of the belief that there were once Sin-eaters in Wales I have carefully collated and (excluding hearsay and second-hand accounts), it is here produced. The first reference to the Sin-eater anywhere to be found is in the Lansdowne MSS. in the British Museum, in the handwriting of John Aubrey, the author. It runs thus: 'In the county of Hereford was an old custom at funerals to hire poor people, who were to take upon them the sins of the party deceased. One of them (he was a long, lean, ugly, lamentable poor rascal), I remember, lived in a cottage on Rosse highway. The manner was that when the corpse was brought out of the house, and laid on the bier, a loaf of bread was brought out, and delivered to the Sin-eater, over the corpse, as also a mazard bowl of maple, full of beer (which he was to drink up), and sixpence in money, in consideration whereof he took upon him, _ipso facto_, all the sins of the defunct, and freed him or her from walking after they were dead.' Aubrey adds, 'and this custom though rarely used in our days, yet by some people was observed in the strictest time of the Presbyterian Government; as at Dynder (_nolens volens_ the parson of the parish), the kindred of a woman, deceased there, had this ceremony punctually performed, according to her will: and also, the like was done at the city of Hereford, in those times, where a woman kept many years before her death a mazard bowl for the Sin-eater; and the like in other places in this country; as also in Brecon, e.g., at Llangors, where Mr. Gwin, the minister, about 1640, could not hinder the performance of this custom. I believe,' says Aubrey, 'this custom was heretofore used all over Wales.' He states further, 'A.D. 1686: This custom is used to this day in North Wales.' Upon this, Bishop White Kennet made this comment: 'It seems a remainder of this custom which lately obtained at Amersden, in the county of Oxford; where, at the burial of every corpse, one cake and one flaggon of ale, just after the interment, were brought to the minister in the church porch.'[147] No other writer of Aubrey's time, either English or Welsh, appears to have made any reference to the Sin-eater in Wales; and equal silence prevails throughout the writings of all previous centuries. Since Aubrey, many references to it have been made, but never, so far as I can discover, by any writer in the Welsh language--a singular omission if there ever was such a custom, for concerning every other superstitious practice commonly ascribed to Wales the Welsh have written freely. In August, 1852, the Cambrian Archæological Association held its sixth annual meeting at Ludlow, under the Presidency of Hon. R. H. Clive, M.P. At this meeting Mr. Matthew Moggridge, of Swansea, made some observations on the custom of the Sin-eater, when he added details not contained in Aubrey's account given above. He said: 'When a person died, his friends sent for the Sin-eater of the district, who on his arrival placed a plate of salt on the breast of the defunct, and upon the salt a piece of bread. He then muttered an incantation over the bread, which he finally ate, thereby eating up all the sins of the deceased. This done he received his fee of 2_s._ 6_d._ and vanished as quickly as possible from the general gaze; for, as it was believed that he really appropriated to his own use and behoof the sins of all those over whom he performed the above ceremony, he was utterly detested in the neighbourhood--regarded as a mere Pariah--as one irredeemably lost.' The speaker then mentioned the parish of Llandebie where the above practice 'was said to have prevailed to a recent period.' He spoke of the survival of the plate and salt custom near Swansea, and indeed generally, within twenty years, (i.e. since 1830) and added: 'In a parish near Chepstow it was usual to make the figure of a cross on the salt, and cutting an apple or an orange into quarters, to put one piece at each termination of the lines.' Mr. Allen, of Pembrokeshire, testified that the plate and salt were known in that county, where also a lighted candle was stuck in the salt; the popular notion was that it kept away the evil spirit. Mr. E. A. Freeman, (the historian) asked if Sin-eater was the term used in the district where the custom prevailed, and Mr. Moggridge said it was. Such is the testimony. I venture no opinion upon it further than may be conveyed in the remark that I cannot find any direct corroboration of it, as regards the Sin-eater, and I have searched diligently for it. The subject has engaged my attention from the first moment I set foot on Cambrian soil, and I have not only seen no reference to it in Welsh writings, but I have never met any unlettered Welshman who had ever heard of it. All this proves nothing, perhaps; but it weighs something.[148] FOOTNOTES: [146] 'South Wales,' 68. [147] Vide Hone's 'Year Book,' 1832, p. 858. [148] Mr. Eugene Schuyler's mention of a corresponding character in Turkistan is interesting: 'One poor old man, however, I noticed, who seemed constantly engaged in prayer. On calling attention to him I was told that he was an iskatchi, a person who gets his living by taking on himself the sins of the dead, and thenceforth devoting himself to prayer for their souls. He corresponds to the Sin-eater of the Welsh border.'--'Turkistan,' ii., 28. III. Of superstitions regarding salt, there are many in Wales. I have even encountered the special custom of placing a plate of salt on the breast of the corpse. In the case of an old woman from Cardiganshire, who was buried at Cardiff, and who was thus decked by her relatives, I was told the purpose of the plate of salt was to 'prevent swelling.' There is an Irish custom of placing a plate of snuff on the body of a corpse; hence the saying, addressed to an enemy, 'I'll get a pinch off your belly yet.' The Irish also employ the plate of salt in the same manner. In view of the universal prevalence of superstitions regarding salt, too much weight should not be placed on this detail, in connection with the accounts of the Sin-eater. Such superstitions are of extreme antiquity, and they still survive even among the most cultivated classes. Salt falling toward a person was of old considered a most unlucky omen, the evil of which could only be averted by throwing a little of the fallen salt over the shoulder. My own wife observes this heathen rite to this day, and so, I fancy, do most men's wives--jocularly, no doubt, but with a sort of feeling that 'if there _is_ anything in it,' &c. Salt was the ancient symbol of friendship, being deemed incorruptible. In the Isle of Man no important business was ventured on without salt in the pocket; marrying, moving, even the receiving of alms, must be sanctified by an exchange of salt between the parties. An influential legend is noted among the Manx inhabitants, of the dissolution of an enchanted palace on that island, through the spilling of salt on the ground. In Da Vinci's picture of the Lord's Supper, Judas Iscariot is represented as overturning the salt--an omen of the coming betrayal of Christ by that personage. In Russia, should a friend pass you the salt without smiling, a quarrel will follow. The Scotch put salt in a cow's first milk after calving. Even the Chinese throw salt into water from which a person has been rescued from drowning. All these practices point either to lustration or propitiation. IV. It has been suggested that the custom of the Sin-eater is in imitation of the Biblical scapegoat. 'And Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat, and confess over him all the iniquities of the children of Israel, and all their transgressions in all their sins, putting them upon the head of the goat, and shall send him away by the hand of a fit man into the wilderness. And the goat shall bear upon him all their iniquities unto a land not inhabited: and he shall let go the goat in the wilderness.'[149] This brings up the subject of charms and magic, and is illustrated in Wales, if not by the Sin-eater, by the cock and hen of St. Tegla's Well. This well is about half-way between Wrexham and Ruthin, in the parish of Llandegla, and has been considered efficacious in curing epilepsy. One of the common names of that complaint in Welsh is Clwyf y Tegla, (Tegla's disease). Relief is obtained by bathing in the well, and performing a superstitious ceremony in this manner: The patient repairs to the well after sunset, and washes himself in it; then, having made an offering by throwing into the water fourpence, he walks round it three times, and thrice recites the Lord's Prayer. If of the male sex, he offers a cock; if a woman, a hen. The bird is carried in a basket, first round the well, then round the church, and the rite of repeating the Pater Noster again performed. After all this, he enters the church, creeps under the altar, and making the Bible his pillow and the communion cloth his coverlet, remains there until the break of day. In the morning, having made a further offering of sixpence, he leaves the cock (or hen, as the case may be) and departs. 'Should the bird die, it is supposed that the disease has been transferred to it, and the man or woman consequently cured.'[150] The custom is associated with the ancient Druids as well as with the Jews, and its resemblance to the scapegoat is suggestive. FOOTNOTES: [149] Levit. xvi., 21, 22. [150] Ab Ithel, 'Arch. Camb.' 1st Se., i., 184. V. The funeral procession, in rural districts where hearses are unknown, wends its way graveward on foot, with the corpse borne by the nearest relatives of the deceased, a custom probably introduced in Wales during their residence here by the Romans. The coffin of Metellus, the conqueror of Macedon, was borne by his four sons. The coffins of Roman citizens held in high esteem by the Republic, were borne by justices and senators, while those of the enemies of the people were borne by slaves and hired servants. As the Welsh procession winds its way along the green lanes, psalms and hymns are sung continually, except on coming to cross-roads. Here the bier is set down, and all kneel and repeat the Lord's Prayer. The origin of this custom, as given by the Welsh, is to be found in the former practice of burying criminals at cross-roads. It was believed that the spirits of these criminals did not go far away from the place where their bodies lay, and the repeating of the Lord's Prayer was supposed to destroy and do away with any evil influence these spirits might have on the soul of the dear departed.[151] The Welsh retain much of the superstitious feeling regarding the graves of criminals and suicides. There is indeed a strong prejudice against hanging, on account of the troublesome spirits thus let loose. The well-known leniency of a 'Cardigan jury' may be connected with this prejudice, though it is usually associated with a patriotic feeling. 'What! would you have hur hang hur own countryman?' is the famous response of a Cardigan juror, who was asked why he and his brethren acquitted a murderer. The tale may be only a legend; the fact it illustrates is patent. It is related that in a dispute between two Cardigan farmers, some fifty years ago, one of them killed the other. The jury, believing the killing was unintentional, acquitted the homicide; but 'whether the man was guilty or not, his neighbours and the people who lived in the district, and who knew the spot where the farmer was killed, threw a stone upon it whenever they passed, probably to show their abhorrence of the deed that had been perpetrated in that place. By this means a large heap of stones, which was allowed to remain for many years, arose.'[152] They were then removed to repair the turnpike. This custom is apparently Jewish. Hangings are almost unknown in Wales, whether from the extra morality of the people, or the prejudice above noted. FOOTNOTES: [151] 'Cymru Fu,' 92. [152] 'Bye-gones,' March 22, 1876. VI. The legend of the Grassless Grave is a well-known Montgomeryshire tale, concerning a certain spot of earth in the graveyard of Montgomery Castle, upon which the verdure is less luxuriant than in other portions of the yard. One dark November night, many years ago, a man named John Newton, who had been at Welshpool fair, set out for home. Soon after, he was brought back to Welshpool in the custody of two men, who charged him with highway robbery, a crime then punishable with death. He was tried, and executed, in spite of his protestations; and in his last speech, admitting he had committed a former crime, but protesting he was innocent of this, he said: 'I have offered a prayer to Heaven, and believe it has been heard and accepted. And in meek dependence on a merciful God, whom I have offended, but who, through the atonement of His blessed Son, has, I trust, pardoned my offence, I venture to assert that as I am innocent of the crime for which I suffer, the grass, for one generation at least, will not cover my grave.' For thirty years thereafter, the grave was grassless; a bare spot in the shape of a coffin marked, amidst the surrounding luxuriance, the place where lay the penitent criminal, unjustly executed. Then a sacrilegious hand planted the spot with turf; but it withered as if blasted by lightning; and the grave is still grassless--certainly an unnecessary extension of the time set by the defunct for its testimony to his innocence. VII. A curious surviving custom at Welsh funerals is the Offrwm, or parson's penny. After having read the burial service in the church, the parson stands behind a table while a psalm is being sung, and to him go the mourners, one and all, and deposit a piece of money on the table. The parson counts it, states the amount, and pockets it. If the mourner depositing his offrwm be wealthy, he will give perhaps a guinea; if a farmer or tradesman, his gift will be a crown; and if poor, he will lay down his sixpence. 'Each one that intended making an offering of silver, would go up to the altar in his turn, and after each one had contributed there would be a respite, after which those who gave copper as their offering went forward and did likewise; but no coppers were offered at any respectable funeral. These offerings often reached the sum of ten and even twenty pounds in the year.' Thus the Welsh work, 'Cymru Fu,' speaking as usual in the past tense; but the custom is a present-day one. The Welsh believe that this custom was originally intended to compensate the clergyman for praying for the soul of the departed. It has now ceased to mean anything more than a tribute of respect to the deceased, or a token of esteem towards the officiating clergyman. In the parish of Defynog, Breconshire, there was a custom (up to 1843, when it seems to have ceased through the angry action of a lawless widower,) of giving to the parish clerk the best pair of shoes and stockings left behind by the defunct.[153] A still more curious form of the offrwm, which also survives in many rural neighbourhoods, is called the Arian y Rhaw, or spade money. At the grave, the gravedigger rubs the soil off his spade, extends it for donations, and receives a piece of silver from each one in turn, which he also pockets. In Merionethshire the money is received at the grave in a bowl, instead of on the spade, and the gift is simply called the offrwm. 'I well recollect, when a lad,' says an entertaining correspondent,[154] 'at Llanrhaiadr-yn-Mochnant, seeing the clerk or sexton cleaning his spade with the palm of his hand, and blowing the remaining dust, so that the instrument of his calling should be clean and presentable, and then, with due and clerk-like gravity, presenting his polished spade, first to the "cyfneseifiaid" (next-of-kin), and then to the mourners one by one, giving all an opportunity of showing their respect to the dead, by giving the clerk the accustomed offrwm. At times the old clerk, "yr hen glochydd," when collecting the offrwm, rather than go around the grave to the people, to the no small annoyance of the friends, would reach his spade over the grave. At the particular time referred to, the clerk, having nearly had all the offrwm, saw that facetious wag and practical joker, Mr. B., extending his offering towards him from the opposite side of the grave. The clerk, as was his wont, extended the spade over the grave towards the offered gift. The opportunity for fun was not to be lost, and whilst placing his offrwm on the spade, Mr. B. pressed on one corner, and the spade turned in the hands of the unwitting clerk, emptying the whole offering into the grave, to the no small surprise of the clerk, who never forgot the lesson, and the great amusement of the standers-by.' It is noted in this connection that the sexton's spade 'was a terror to the superstitious, for if the gravedigger would but shake his spade at anyone, it was a matter of but short time ere the sexton would be called upon to dig the grave of that person who had come under the evil influence of the spade. "Has the sexton shook his spade at you?" was a question often put to a person in bad health.' FOOTNOTES: [153] 'Arch. Camb.,' 2nd Se., iv., 326. [154] 'Bye-gones,' Oct. 17, 1877. VIII. Until a recent date, burials without a coffin were common in some parts of Wales. Old people in Montgomeryshire not many years ago, could remember such burials, in what was called the cadach deupen, or cloth with two heads. Old Richard Griffith, of Trefeglwys, who died many years ago, recollected a burial in this fashion there, when the cloth gave way and was rent; whereupon the clergyman prohibited any further burials in that churchyard without a coffin. That was the last burial of the kind which took place in Montgomeryshire.[155] In the middle ages there was a Welsh custom of burying the dead in the garment of a monk, as a protection against evil spirits. This was popular among the wealthy, and was a goodly source of priestly revenue. FOOTNOTE: [155] 'Bye-gones,' Nov. 22, 1876. IX. Sul Coffa is an old Welsh custom of honouring the dead on the Sunday following the funeral, and for several succeeding Sundays, until the violence of grief has abated. In the Journal of Thomas Dinelly, Esquire, an Englishman who travelled through Wales and Ireland in the reign of Charles II.,[156] this passage occurs, after description of the wake, the keening, etc.: 'This done y{e} Irish bury their dead, and if it be in or neer y{e} burying place of that family, the servants and followers hugg kiss howle and weep over the skulls that are there digg'd up and once a week for a quarter of an year after come two or three and pay more noyse at the place.' The similarity in spirit between this and the Welsh Sul Coffa is as striking as the difference in practice. The Welsh walk quietly and gravely to the solemn mound beneath which rest the remains of the loved, and there kneeling in silence for five or ten minutes, pray or appear to pray. The Sul Coffa of Ivan the Harper is a well-known anecdote. Ivan the Harper was a noted character in his day, who desired that his coffa should be thus: 'I should like,' said he, on his death-bed, 'to have my coffa; but not in the old style. Instead of the old custom ask Williams of Merllyn and Richard the Harper to attend the church at Llanfwrog, and give these, my disciples, my two harps, and after the service is over, let them walk to my grave; let Williams sit at the head and Richard at the feet, of my grave, and let them play seven Welsh airs, beginning with Dafydd y Garreg Wen,' (David of the White Stone) 'and ending with, Toriad y Dydd,' (the Dawn.) 'The former is in a flat key, like death, and the latter is as sober as the day of judgment.' This request was religiously obeyed by the mourners on the ensuing Sul Coffa. FOOTNOTE: [156] Quoted in the Proceedings of the Kilkenny Arch. Soc., 1858. X. Reference has been made, in the chapter on courtship and marriage, to the Welsh practice of planting graves with flowers. There are graves in Glamorganshire which have been kept blooming with flowers for nearly a century without interruption, through the loving care of descendants of the departed. By a most graceful custom which also prevailed until recently, each mourner at a funeral carried in his hand a sprig of rosemary, which he threw into the grave. The Pagan practice of throwing a sprig of cypress into the grave has been thought to symbolize the annihilation of the body, as these sprigs would not grow if set in the earth: whereas the rosemary was to signify the resurrection or up-springing of the body from the grave. The existing custom of throwing flowers and immortelles into the grave is derivable from the ancient practice. But the Welsh carry the association of graves and floral life to the most lavish extreme, as has already been pointed out. Shakspeare has alluded to this in 'Cymbeline,' the scene of which tragedy is principally in Pembrokeshire, at and about Milford Haven: _Arv._ With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd harebell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Outsweeten'd not thy breath.[157] [Music: DAFYDD Y GARREG WEN.] FOOTNOTE: [157] 'Cymbeline,' Act IV., Sc. 2. BOOK IV. BELLS, WELLS, STONES, AND DRAGONS. Gorgons, and hydras, and chimeras dire. MILTON: _Paradise Lost_. Then up there raise ane wee wee man Franethe the moss-gray stane; His face was wan like the collifloure, For he nouthir had blude nor bane. HOGG: _The Witch of Fife_. ... where he stood, Of auncient time there was a springing well, From which fast trickled forth a silver flood, Full of great vertues, and for med'cine good: ... For unto life the dead it could restore. SPENSER: _Faerie Queene_. CHAPTER I. Base of the Primeval Mythology--Bells and their Ghosts--The Bell that committed Murder and was damned for it--The Occult Powers of Bells--Their Work as Detectives, Doctors, etc.--Legend of the Bell of Rhayader--St. Illtyd's Wonderful Bell--The Golden Bell of Llandaff. I. The human mind in its infancy turns instinctively to fetichism. The mind of primeval man resembled that of a child. Children have to learn by experience that the fire which burns them is not instigated by malice.[158] In his primitive condition, man personified everything in nature. Animate and inanimate objects were alike endowed with feelings, passions, emotions, moral qualities. On this basis rests the primeval mythology. The numerous superstitions associated with bells, wells and stones in Wales, excite constant inquiries as regards their origin in fetichism, in paganism, in solar worship, or in church observances. That bells, especially, should suggest the supernatural to the vulgar mind is not strange. The occult powers of bells have place in the popular belief of many lands. The Flemish child who wonders how the voices got into the bells is paralleled by the Welsh lad who hears the bells of Aberdovey talking in metrical words to a musical chime. The ghosts of bells are believed to haunt the earth in many parts of Wales. Allusion has been made to those castle bells which are heard ringing from the submerged towers in Crumlyn lake. Like fancies are associated with many Welsh lakes. In Langorse Pool, Breconshire, an ancient city is said to lie buried, from whose cathedral bells on a calm day may be heard a faint and muffled chime, pealing solemnly far down in the sepial depths. A legend of Trefethin relates that in the church of St. Cadoc, at that place, was a bell of wondrous powers, a gift from Llewellyn ap Iorwerth, Lord of Caerleon. A little child who had climbed to the belfry was struck by the bell and killed, not through the wickedness of the bell itself, but through a spell which had been put upon the unfortunate instrument by an evil spirit. But though innocent of murderous intent, the wretched bell became forfeit to the demons on account of its fatal deed. They seized it and bore it down through the earth to the shadow-realm of annwn. And ever since that day, when a child is accidentally slain at Trefethin, the bell of St. Cadoc is heard tolling mournfully underneath the ground where it disappeared ages ago. FOOTNOTE: [158] A Mississippi negro-boy who was brought by a friend of mine from his southern home to a northern city, and who had never seen snow, found the ground one morning covered with what he supposed to be salt, and going out to get some, returned complaining that it 'bit his fingers.' II. There was anciently a belief that the sound of brass would break enchantment, as well as cause it; and it is presumed that the original purpose of the common custom of tolling the bell for the dead was to drive away evil spirits. Originally, the bell was tolled not for the dead, but for the dying; it was believed that evil spirits were hovering about the sick chamber, waiting to pounce on the soul as soon as it should get free from the body; and the bell was tolled for the purpose of driving them away. Later, the bell was not tolled till death had occurred, and this form of the custom survives here, as in many lands. Before the Reformation there was kept in all Welsh churches a handbell, which was taken by the sexton to the house where a funeral was to be held, and rung at the head of the procession. When the voices of the singers were silent at the end of a psalm, the bell would take up the burden of complaint in measured and mournful tones, and ring till another psalm was begun. It was at this period deemed sacred. The custom survived long after the Reformation in many places, as at Caerleon, the little Monmouthshire village which was a bustling Roman city when London was a hamlet. The bell--called the bangu--was still preserved in the parish of Llanfair Duffryn Clwyd half-a-dozen years ago. I believe the custom of ringing a handbell before the corpse on its way through the streets is still observed at Oxford, when a university man is buried. The town marshal is the bellman for this office. The custom is associated with the same superstitious belief which is seen in the 'passing bell,' the notes of pure bronze freeing the soul from the power of evil spirits. III. The Welsh were formerly strong in the belief that bells could perform miracles, detect thieves, heal the sick, and the like. In many instances they were possessed of locomotive powers, and would transport themselves from place to place when they had occasion, according to their own sweet will, and without human intervention. It is even recorded that certain handbells required to be tied with the double cord of an exorcism and a piece of twine, or they would get up and walk off in the night. Bells which presaged storms, as well as other disasters, have been believed to exist in many parts of Wales. In Pembrokeshire the unexpected tolling of a church bell in the night is held to be the sure precursor of a calamity--a belief which may be paralleled in London, where there are still people who believe such tolling on the part of the great bell of St. Paul's portends disaster to the royal family. In the Cromwellian wars, the sacrilegious followers of the stern old castle-hater carried off a great bell from St. David's, Pembrokeshire. They managed to get it on shipboard, but in passing through Ramsey Sound the vessel was wrecked--a direct result, the superstitious said, of profanely treating the bell. Ever since that time, Pembroke people have been able to hear this sunken bell ring from its watery grave when a storm is rising. IV. The legend of the Bell of Rhayader perpetuates a class of story which reappears in other parts of Great Britain. It was in the twelfth century that a certain contumacious knight was imprisoned in the castle of Rhayader. His wife, being devoted to him, and a good Catholic, besought the aid of the monks to get him out. They were equal to the occasion, at least in so far as to provide for her service a magical bell, which possessed the power of liberating from confinement any prisoner who should set it up on the wall and ring it. The wife succeeded in getting the bell secretly into her husband's possession, and he set it up on the wall and rang it. But although he had gathered his belongings together and was fully prepared to go, the doors of his prison refused to open. The castellan mocked at the magical bell, and kept the knight in durance vile. So therefore (for of course the story could not be allowed to end here) the castle was struck by lightning, and both it and the town were burned in one night--excepting only the wall upon which the magic bell was hanging. Nothing remains of the castle walls in this day. V. The bell of St. Illtyd was greatly venerated in the middle ages. A legend concerning this wonderful bell relates that a certain king had stolen it from the church, and borne it into England, tied about the neck of one of his horses. For this deed the king was destroyed, but repenting before his death, ordered the bell to be restored to its place in Wales. Without waiting to be driven, the horse with the bell about his neck set out for Wales, followed by a whole drove of horses, drawn by the melodious sound of the bell. Wonderful to tell, the horse was able to cross the river Severn and come into Wales, the great collection of horses following. 'Then hastening along the shore, and over the mountains, and through the woods, he came to the road which went towards Glamorgan, all the horses hearing, and following the sweet sound.' When they came to the banks of the river Taff, a clergyman heard the sound of the bell, and went out to meet the horse, and they together carried the bell to the gate of St. Illtyd's church. There the horse bent down and loosed his precious burden from his neck, 'and it fell on a stone, from which fall a part of it was broken, which is to be seen until the present day, in memory of the eminent miracle.'[159] Some thirty years ago a bell was discovered at Llantwit Major, in Glamorganshire, which was thought to be the identical bell of this saint. The village named was the scene of his exploits, many of which were miraculous to the point of Arabian Nights marvelousness. The discovered bell was inscribed 'Sancte Iltute, ora pro nobis,' and stood upon the gable of the quaint old town-hall. But though the bell was unmistakably ancient, it bore intrinsic evidence of having been cast long after the saint's death, when his name had become venerated. He was one of King Arthur's soldiers, who afterwards renounced the world, and founded several churches in Glamorganshire. FOOTNOTE: [159] 'Cambro-British Saints,' 492. VI. Among the many legends of Llandaff which still linger familiarly on the lips of the people is that of the bell of St. Oudoceus, second bishop of that see. In the ancient 'Book of Llandaff,' where are preserved the records of that cathedral from the earliest days of Christianity on this island, the legend is thus related: 'St. Oudoceus, being thirsty after undergoing labour, and more accustomed to drink water than any other liquor, came to a fountain in the vale of Llandaff, not far from the church, that he might drink, where he found women washing butter, after the manner of the country; and sending to them his messengers and disciples, they requested that they would accommodate them with a vessel, that their pastor might drink therefrom; who, ironically, as mischievous girls, said, "We have no cup besides that which we hold in our hands, namely, the butter." And the man of blessed memory taking it, formed one in the shape of a small bell, and he raised his hand so that he might drink therefrom, and he drank. And it remained in that form, that is, a golden one, so that it appeared to those who beheld it to consist altogether of the purest gold, which, by divine power, is from that day reverently preserved in the church of Llandaff in memory of the holy man, and it is said that by touching it health is given to the diseased.'[160] [Music: CLYCHAU ABERDYFI. (The Bells of Aberdovey.)] FOOTNOTE: [160] 'Liber Landavensis,' 378. CHAPTER II. Mystic Wells--Their Good and Bad Dispositions--St. Winifred's Well--The Legend of St. Winifred--Miracles--St. Tecla's Well--St. Dwynwen's--Curing Love-sickness--St. Cynfran's--St. Cynhafal's--Throwing Pins in Wells--Warts--Barry Island and its Legends--Ffynon Gwynwy--Propitiatory Gifts to Wells--The Dreadful Cursing Well of St. Elian's--Wells Flowing with Milk--St. Illtyd's--Taff's Well--Sanford's Well--Origins of Superstitions of this Class. I. The waters of mystery which flow at Lourdes, in France, are paralleled in numberless Welsh parishes. In every corner of Cambria may be found wells which possess definite attributes, malicious or beneficent, which they are popularly supposed to actively exert toward mankind. In almost every instance, the name of the tutelary saint to whom the well is consecrated is known to the peasantry, and generally they can tell you something about him, or her. Unnumbered centuries have elapsed since the saint lived; nay, generation upon generation has perished since any complete knowledge of his life or character existed, save in mouldering manuscripts left by monks, themselves long turned to dust; yet the tradition of the saint as regards the well is there, a living thing beside its waters. However lightly some forms of superstition may at times be treated by the vulgar, they are seldom capable of irreverent remark concerning the well. In many cases this respect amounts to awe. These wells are of varying power and disposition. Some are healing wells; others are cursing wells; still others combine the power alike to curse and to cure. Some are sovereign in their influence over all the diseases from which men suffer, mental and moral as well as physical; others can cure but one disease, or one specific class of diseases; and others remedy all the misfortunes of the race, make the poor rich, the unhappy happy, and the unlucky lucky. That these various reputations arose in some wells from medicinal qualities found by experience to dwell in the waters, is clear at a glance; but in many cases the character of the patron saint gives character to the well. In parishes dedicated to the Virgin Mary there will almost inevitably be found a Ffynon Mair, (Well of Mary,) the waters of which are supposed to be purer than the waters of other wells. Sometimes the people will take the trouble to go a long distance for water from the Ffynon Mair, though a good well may be nearer, in whose water chemical analysis can find no difference. Formerly, and indeed until within a few years past, no water would do for baptizing but that fetched from the Ffynon Mair, though it were a mile or more from the church. That the water flowed southward was in some cases held to be a secret of its virtue. In other instances, wells which opened and flowed eastward were thought to afford the purest water. II. Most renowned and most frequented of Welsh wells is St. Winifred's, at Holywell. By the testimony of tradition it has been flowing for eleven hundred and eighty years, or since the year 700, and during all this time has been constantly visited by throngs of invalids; and that it will continue to be so frequented for a thousand years to come is not doubted, apparently, by the members of the Holywell Local Board, who have just taken a lease of the well from the Duke of Westminster for 999 years more, at an annual rental of £1. The town of Holywell probably owes not only name but existence to this well. Its miraculous powers are extensively believed in by the Welsh, and by people from all parts of Great Britain and the United States; but Drayton's assertion that no dog could be drowned in its waters, on account of their beneficent disposition, is not an article of the existing faith. The most prodigious fact in connection with this wonderful fountain, when its legendary origin is contemplated, is its size, its abounding life, the great volume of its waters. A well which discharges twenty-one tons of water per minute, which feeds an artificial lake and runs a mill, and has cured unnumbered thousands of human beings of their ills for hundreds of years, is surely one of the wonders of the world, to which even mystic legend can only add one marvel more. The legend of St. Winifred, or Gwenfrewi, as she is called in Welsh, was related by the British monk Elerius in the year 660, or by Robert of Salop in 1190, and is in the Cotton MSS. in the British Museum. It is there written in characters considered to be of the middle of the eleventh century. Winifred was the daughter of a valiant soldier in North Wales; from her youth she loved a heavenly spouse, and refused transitory men. One day Caradoc, a descendant of royal stock, came to her house fatigued from hunting wild beasts, and asked Winifred for drink. But seeing the beauty of the nymph he forgot his thirst in his admiration, and at once besought her to treat him with the familiarity of a sweetheart. Winifred refused, asserting that she was engaged to be married to another. Caradoc became furious at this, and said, 'Leave off this foolish, frivolous, and trifling mode of speaking, and consent to my wish.' Then he asked her to be his wife. Finding he would not be denied, Winifred had recourse to a stratagem to escape from him: she pretended to comply, but asked leave to first make a becoming toilet. Caradoc agreed, on condition that she should make it quickly. The girl went through her chamber with swift feet into the valley, and was escaping, when Caradoc perceived the trick, and mounting his horse spurred after her. He overtook her at the very door of the monastery to which she was fleeing; before she could place her foot within the threshold he struck off her head at one blow. St. Beino coming quickly to the door saw bloody Caradoc standing with his stained sword in his hand, and immediately cursed him as he stood, so that the bloody man melted in his sight like wax before a fire. Beino then took the virgin's head (which had been thrown inside the door by the blow which severed it) and fitted it on the neck of the corpse. Winifred thereupon revived, with no further harm than a small line on her neck. But the floor upon which her bloody head had fallen, cracked open, and a fountain sprang up like a torrent at the spot. 'And the stones appear bloody at present as they did at first, and the moss smells as frankincense, and it cures divers diseases.'[161] Thus far the monastic legend. Some say that Caradoc's descendants were doomed to bark like dogs. Among the miracles related of Winifred's well by her monkish biographer is one characterized as 'stupendous,' concerning three bright stones which were seen in the middle of the ebullition of the fountain, ascending and descending, 'up and down by turns, after the manner of stones projected by a shooter.' They so continued to dance for many years, but one day an unlucky woman was seized with a desire to play with the stones. So she took hold of one; whereat they all vanished, and the woman died. This miracle was supplemented by that of a man who was rebuked for theft at the fountain; and on his denying his guilt, the goat which he had stolen and eaten became his accuser by uttering an audible bleating from his belly. But the miracles of Winifred's well are for the most part records of wonderful cures from disease and deformity. Withered and useless limbs were made whole and useful; the dumb bathed in the water, came out, and asked for their clothes; the blind washed and received their sight; lunatics 'troubled by unclean spirits' were brought to the well in chains, 'tearing with their teeth and speaking vain things,' but returned homeward in full possession of their reason. Fevers, paralysis, epilepsy, stone, gout, cancers, piles--these are but a few of the diseases cured by the marvellous well, on the testimony of the ancient chronicler of the Cotton MSS. 'Nor is it to be hidden in the silence of Lethean oblivion that after the expulsion of the Franks from all North Wales' the fountain flowed with a milky liquor for the space of three days. A priest bottled some of it, and it 'was carried about and drunk in all directions,' curing diseases in the same manner as the well itself. FOOTNOTE: [161] 'Cambro-British Saints,' 519. III. Only second in fame to Winifred's, among the Welsh themselves, is St. Tecla's well, or Ffynon Tegla, in Denbighshire. It springs out of a bog called Gwern Degla, about two hundred yards from the parish church of Llandegla. Some account of the peculiar superstitious ceremony connected with this well has already been given, in the chapter treating of the sin-eater. It is there suggested that the cock to which the fits are transferred by the patient at the well is a substitute for the scapegoat of the Jews. The parish clerk of Llandegla in 1855 said that an old man of his acquaintance 'remembered quite well seeing the birds staggering about from the effects of the fits' which had been transferred to them. IV. Of great celebrity in other days was St. Dwynwen's well, in the parish of Llandwyn, Anglesea. This saint being patron saint of lovers, her well possessed the property of curing love-sickness. It was visited by great numbers, of both sexes, in the fourteenth century, when the popular faith in its waters seems to have been at its strongest. It is still frequented by young women of that part of the country when suffering from the woes inflicted by Dan Cupid. That the well itself has been for many years covered over with sand does not prevent the faithful from displaying their devotion; they seek their cure from 'the water next to the well.' Ffynon Dwynwen, or Fountain of Venus, was also a name given to the sea, according to the Iolo MSS.; and in the legend of Seithenhin the Drunkard, in the 'Black Book of Carmarthen,' this stanza occurs: Accursed be the damsel, Who, after the wailing, Let loose the Fountain of Venus, the raging deep.[162] The story of Aphrodite, born from the foam of the sea, need only be alluded to here. FOOTNOTE: [162] 'Black Book of Carmarthen,' xxxviii. (An ancient MS. in the Hengwrt collection, which belonged of old to the priory of Black Canons at Carmarthen, and at the dissolution of the religious houses in Wales, when their libraries were dispersed, was given by the treasurer of St. David's Church to Sir John Price, one of Henry VIII.'s commissioners.) V. Several wells appear to have been devoted to the cure of the lower animals' diseases. Such was the well of Cynfran, where this ejaculation was made use of: 'Rhad Duw a Chynfran lwydd ar y da!'--(the grace of God and the blessed Cynfran on the cattle.) This Cynfran was one of the many sons of the patriarch Brychan, and his well is near Abergeleu. Pennant speaks also of a well near Abergeleu, which he calls St. George's well, and says that there the British Mars had his offering of horses; 'for the rich were wont to offer one, to secure his blessing on all the rest. He was the tutelar saint of those animals.' VI. St. Cynhafal's well, on a hillside in Llangynhafal parish, Denbighshire, is one of those curing wells in which pins are thrown. Its specialty is warts. To exorcise your wart you stick a pin in it and then throw the pin into this well; the wart soon vanishes. The wart is a form of human trouble which appears to have been at all times and in all countries a special subject of charms, both in connection with wells and with pins. Where a well of the requisite virtue is not conveniently near, the favourite form of charm for wart-curing is in connection with the wasting away of some selected object. Having first been pricked into the wart, the pin is then thrust into the selected object--in Gloucestershire it is a snail--and then the object is buried or impaled on a blackthorn in a hedge, and as it perishes the wart will disappear. The scapegoat principle of the sin-eater also appears in connection with charming away warts, as where a 'vagrom man' counts your warts, marks their number in his hat, and goes away, taking the warts with him into the next county--for a trifling consideration.[163] FOOTNOTE: [163] A popular belief among boys in some parts of the United States is that warts can be rubbed off upon a toad impaled with a sharp stick; as the toad dies the warts will go. _Per contra_, this cruel faith is offset by a theory that toads if ill-treated can spit upon their aggressors' hands and thus cause warts. VII. On Barry Island, near Cardiff, is the famous well of St. Barruc, or Barri, which was still frequented by the credulous up to May, 1879, at which time the island was closed against visitors by its owner, Lord Windsor, and converted into a rabbit warren. Tradition directs that on Holy Thursday he who is troubled with any disease of the eyes shall go to this well, and having thoroughly washed his eyes in its water, shall drop a pin in it. The innkeeper there formerly found great numbers of pins--a pint, in one instance--when cleaning out the well. It had long been utterly neglected by the sole resident of the island, whose house was a long distance from the well, at a point nearer the main land; but pins were still discovered there from time to time. There was in old days a chapel on this island; no vestige of it remains. Tradition says that St. Barruc was buried there, and the now barren and deserted islet appears to have been anciently a popular place among the saints. St. Cadoc had one of his residences there.[164] He was one day sitting on a hill-top in that island when he saw the two saints Barruc and Gwalches drawing near in a boat, and as he looked the boat was overturned by the wind. Both saints were drowned, and Cadoc's manual book, which they had in the boat with them, was lost in the sea. But when Cadoc proceeded to order his dinner, a salmon was brought to him which being cut open was found to have the missing manual book in its belly in an unimpaired condition. Concerning another saint whose name was Barri, a wonderful story is told that one day being on a visit to St. David he borrowed the latter's horse and rode across the sea from Pembrokeshire to the Irish coast. Many have supposed this Barri to be the same person as Barruc, but they were two men. This romantic island was anciently celebrated for certain ghastly noises which were heard in it--sounds resembling the clanking of chains, hammering of iron, and blowing of bellows--and which were supposed to be made by the fiends whom Merlin had set to work to frame the wall of brass to surround Carmarthen. So the noises and eruptions of Etna and Stromboli were in ancient times ascribed to Typhon or Vulcan. But in the case of Barry I have been unable, by any assistance from imagination, to detect these mystic sounds in our day. Camden, in his 'Britannica,' makes a like remark, but says the tradition was universally prevalent. The judicious Malkin, however, thinks it requires but a moderate stretch of fancy to create this cyclopean imagery, when the sea at high tides is often in possession of cavities under the very feet of the stranger, and its voice is at once modified and magnified by confinement and repercussion.[165] FOOTNOTES: [164] 'Cambro-British Saints,' 336. [165] Malkin's 'South Wales,' 132. VIII. Another well whose specialty is warts is a small spring called Ffynon Gwynwy, near Llangelynin church, Carnarvonshire. The pins used here must be crooked in order to be efficacious. It is said that fifty years ago the bottom of this little well was covered with pins; and that everybody was careful not to touch them, fearing that the warts deposited with the pins would grow upon their own hands if they did so.[166] At present the well is overgrown with weeds, like that on Barry Island. FOOTNOTE: [166] 'Arch. Camb.,' 3rd Se., xiii., 61. IX. The use of pins for purposes of enchantment is one of the most curious features of popular superstition. Trivial as it appears to superficial observation, it can be associated with a vast number of mystic rites and ceremonials, and with times the most ancient. There is no doubt that before the invention of pins in this country small pieces of money were thrown into the well instead; indeed it was asserted by a writer in the 'Archæologia Cambrensis' in 1856 that money was still thrown into St. Tecla's well, by persons desirous of recovering from fits. That the same practice prevailed among the Romans is shown by Pliny, who speaks of the sacred spring of the Clitumnus, so pure and clear that you may count the pieces of money that have been thrown into it, and the shining pebbles at the bottom. And in connection with the Welsh well of St. Elian there was formerly a box into which the sick dropped money as they nowadays drop a pin into that well. This box was called cyff-elian, and was in the form of a trunk studded with nails, with an aperture in the top through which the money was dropped. It is said to have got so full of coins that the parishioners opened it, and with the contents purchased three farms. The presentation of pins to the well, though now a meaningless rite on the part of those who practice it, was originally intended as a propitiatory offering to the evil spirit of the well. In some instances the heathen faith is virtually restored, and the well endowed with supernatural powers irrespective of the dedication of its waters to a Christian saint. Indeed in the majority of cases where these wells are now resorted to by the peasantry for any other than curative purposes, the fetichistic impulse is much more conspicuous than any influence associated with religious teaching. X. St. Elian's is accounted the most dreadful well in Wales. It is in the parish of Llanelian, Denbighshire. It is at the head of the cursing wells, of which there are but few in the Principality, and holds still a strong influence over the ignorant mind. The popular belief is that you can 'put' your enemy 'into' this well, i.e., render him subject to its evil influence, so that he will pine away and perhaps die unless the curse be removed. The degree and nature of the curse can be modified as the 'offerer' desires, so that the obnoxious person will suffer aches and pains in his body, or troubles in his pocket--the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. The minister of the well appears to be some heartless wretch residing in the neighbourhood, whose services are enlisted for a small fee. The name of the person to be 'put into' the well is registered in a book kept by the wretch aforesaid, and a pin is cast into the well in his name, together with a pebble inscribed with its initials. The person so cursed soon hears of it, and the fact preys on his mind; he imagines for himself every conceivable ill, and if gifted with a lively faith soon finds himself reduced to a condition where he cannot rest till he has secured the removal of the curse. This is effected by a reversal of the above ceremonies--erasing the name, taking out the pebble, and otherwise appeasing the spirit of the well. It is asserted that death has in many instances resulted from the curse of this wickedly malicious well.[167] FOOTNOTE: [167] 'Camb. Pop. Ant.,' 247. See also 'Arch. Camb.,' 1st Se., i. 46. XI. Occasionally the cursing powers of a well were synonymous with curing powers. Thus a well much resorted to near Penrhos, was able to curse a cancer, i.e., cure it. The sufferer washed in the water, uttering curses upon the disease, and also dropping pins around the well. This well has been drained by the unsympathizing farmer on whose land it was, on account of the serious damage done to his crops by trespassers. XII. Wells from which milk has flowed have been known in several places. That Winifred's well indulged in this eccentricity on one occasion has been noted. The well of St. Illtyd is celebrated for the like performance. This well is in Glamorganshire, in the land called Gower, near Swansea. It was about the nativity of John the Baptist, on the fifth day of the week, in a year not specified, but certainly very remote, that for three hours there flowed from this well a copious stream of milk instead of water. That it was really milk we are not left in any possible doubt, for 'many who were present testified that while they were looking at the milky stream carefully and with astonishment, they also saw among the gravel curds lying about in every direction, and all around the edge of the well a certain fatty substance floating about, such as is collected from milk, so that butter can be made from it.'[168] The origin of this well is a pleasing miracle, and recalls the story of Canute; but while Canute's effort to command the sea was a failure in the eleventh century, that of St. Illtyd five hundred years earlier was a brilliant success. It appears that the saint was very pleasantly established on an estate consisting of a field surrounded on all sides by plains, with an intermediate grove, but was much afflicted by the frequent overflowings of the sea upon his land. In vain he built and rebuilt a very large embankment of mud mixed with stones, the rushing waves burst through again and again. At last the saint's patience was worn out, and he said, 'I will not live here any longer; I much wished it, but troubled with this marine molestation, it is not in my power. It destroys my buildings, it flows to the oratory which we built with great labour.' However, the place was so convenient he was loth to leave it, and he prayed for assistance. On the night before his intended departure an angel came to him and bade him remain, and gave him instructions for driving back the sea. Early in the morning Illtyd went to the fluctuating sea and drove it back; it receded before him 'as if it were a sensible animal,' and left the shore dry. Then Illtyd struck the shore with his staff, 'and thereupon flowed a very clear fountain, which is also beneficial for curing diseases, and which continues to flow without a falling off; and what is more wonderful, although it is near the sea, the water emitted is pure.'[169] FOOTNOTES: [168] 'Arch. Camb.,' 1st Se., iii., 264. [169] 'Cambro-British Saints,' 478. XIII. Some of the Welsh mystic wells are so situated that they are at times overflowed by the waters of the sea, or of a river. Taff's Well, in Glamorganshire, a pleasant walk from Cardiff, is situated practically in the bed of the river Taff. One must wade through running water to reach it, except in the summer season, when the water in the river is very low. A rude hut of sheet iron has been built over it. This well is still noted for its merits in healing rheumatism and kindred ailments. The usual stories are told of miraculous cures. A primitive custom of the place is that when men are bathing at this well they shall hang a pair of trousers outside the hut; women, in their turn, must hang out a petticoat or bonnet. At Newton Nottage, Glamorganshire, a holy well called Sanford's is so situated that the water is regulated in the well by the ocean tides. From time immemorial wondrous tales have been told of this well, how it ebbs and flows daily in direct contrariety to the tidal ebb and flow. The bottom of the well is below high-water mark on the beach, where it has an outlet into the sea. At very low tides in the summer, when the supply of water in the well is scanty, it becomes dry for an hour or two after low water. When the ocean tide rises, the sea-water banks up and drives back the fresh water, and the well fills again and its water rises. The villagers are accustomed to let the well-water rise through what they call the 'nostrils of the well,' and become settled a little before they draw it. Of course this phenomenon has been regarded as something supernatural by the ignorant for ages, and upon the actual visible phenomena have been built a number of magical details of a superstitious character. XIV. The wide prevalence of some form of water-worship among Aryan peoples is a fact of great significance. Superstitions in connection with British wells are generally traceable to a Druidic origin. The worship of natural objects in which the British Druids indulged, particularly as regards rivers and fountains, probably had a connection with traditions of the flood. When the early Christian preachers and teachers encountered such superstitions among the people, they carefully avoided giving unnecessary offence by scoffing at them; on the contrary they preferred to adopt them, and to hallow them by giving them Christian meanings. They utilized the old Druidic circles as places of worship, chose young priests from among the educated Druids, and consecrated to their own saints the mystic wells and fountains. In this manner were continued practices the most ancient. As time passed on, other wells were similarly sanctified, as the new religion spread and parish churches were built. Disease and wickedness being intimately associated in the popular mind--epileptics and like sufferers being held to be possessed of devils, and even such vulgar ills as warts and wens being considered direct results of some evil deed, suffered or performed--so the waters of Christian baptism which cleansed from sin, cleansed also from disease. Ultimately the virtue of the waters came to be among the vulgar a thing apart from the rite of baptism; the good was looked upon as dwelling in the waters themselves, and the Christian rite as not necessarily an element in the work of regeneration. The reader who will recall what has been said in the chapter on changelings, in the first part of this volume, will perceive a survival of the ancient creed herein, in the notion that baptism is a preventive of fairy babe-thievery. Remembering that the changeling notion is in reality nothing but a fanciful way of accounting for the emaciation, ugliness, idiocy, bad temper--in a word, the illness--of the child, it will be seen that the rite of baptism, by curing the first manifestations of evil in the child's system, was the orthodox means of preventing the fairies from working their bad will on the poor innocent. CHAPTER III. Personal Attributes of Legendary Welsh Stones--Stone Worship--Canna's Stone Chair--Miraculous Removals of Stones--The Walking Stone of Eitheinn--The Thigh Stone--The Talking Stone in Pembrokeshire--The Expanding Stone--Magic Stones in the 'Mabinogion'--The Stone of Invisibility--The Stone of Remembrance--Stone Thief-catchers--Stones of Healing--Stones at Cross-roads--Memorials of King Arthur--Round Tables, Carns, Pots, etc.--Arthur's Quoits--The Gigantic Rock-tossers of Old--Mol Walbec and the Pebble in her Shoe--The Giant of Trichrug--Giants and the Mythology of the Heavens--The Legend of Rhitta Gawr. I. In the traditions concerning Welsh stones, abundant personal attributes are accorded them, such as in nature belong only to animals. They were endowed with volition and with voice; they could travel from place to place without mortal aid; they would move uneasily when disturbed by human contact; they expanded and contracted at will; they clung to people who touched them with profane or guilty purpose; they possessed divers qualities which made them valuable to their possessors, such as the power of rendering them invisible, or of filling their pockets with gold. In pursuing the various accounts of these stones in Welsh folk-lore we find ourselves now in fairyland, now in the domains of mother church, now listening to legends of enchantment, now to tales of saintly virtue, now giving ear to a magician, now to a monk. Stone-worship, of which the existing superstitions are remains, was so prevalent under the Saxon monarchy, that it was forbidden by law in the reign of Edgar the Peaceable, (ninth century,) and when Canute came, in the following century, he also found it advisable to issue such a law. That this pagan worship was practised from a time of which there is now no record, is not questioned; and the perpetuation of certain features of this worship by the early Christians was in spite of the laws promulgated for its suppression by a Christian king. In this manner the monks were enabled to draw to themselves the peasantry in whose breasts the ancient superstition was strong, and who willingly substituted the new story for the old, so long as the underlying belief was not rudely uprooted. II. Among the existing stones in Wales with which the ancient ideas of occult power are connected, one in Carmarthenshire is probably unique of its kind. It is called Canna's Stone, and lies in a field adjoining the old church of Llangan, now remote from the population whose ancestors worshipped in it. The church was founded by an Armorican lady of rank named Canna, who was sainted. The stone in question forms a sort of chair, and was used in connection with a magic well called Ffynon Canna, which is now, like the church, deserted and wretched. Patients suffering from ague, in order to profit by its healing power, must sit in the chair of Canna's stone, after drinking of the water. If they could manage to sleep while in the chair, the effect of the water was supposed to be made sure. The process was continued for some days, sometimes for two or three weeks. In the middle of this parish there is a field called Parc y Fonwent, or the churchyard-field, where, according to local tradition, the church was to have been originally built; but the stones brought to the spot during the day were at night removed by invisible hands to the site of the present church. Watchers in the dark heard the goblins engaged in this work, and pronouncing in clear and correct Welsh these words, 'Llangan, dyma'r fan,' which mean, 'Llangan, here is the spot.' Similar miraculous removals of stones are reported and believed in other parts of Wales. Sometimes visible goblins achieve the work; sometimes the stones themselves possess the power of locomotion. The old British historian Nennius[170] speaks of a stone, one of the wonders of the Isle of Anglesea, which walks during the night in the valley of Eitheinn. Being once thrown into the whirlpool Cerevus, which is in the middle of the sea called Menai, it was on the morrow found on the side of the aforesaid valley. Also in Builth is a heap of stones, upon which is one stone bearing the impress of a dog's foot. This was the famous dog of King Arthur, named Cabal, which left its footprint on this stone when it hunted the swine Troynt. Arthur himself gathered this heap of stones, with the magic stone upon it, and called it Carn Cabal; and people who take away this stone in their hands for the space of a day and a night cannot retain it, for it returns itself to the heap. The Anglesea stone is also mentioned by Giraldus, through whom it achieved celebrity under the name of Maen Morddwyd, or the Thigh Stone--'a stone resembling a human thigh, which possesses this innate virtue, that whatever distance it may be carried it returns of its own accord the following night. Hugh, Earl of Chester, in the reign of King Henry I., having by force occupied this island and the adjacent country, heard of the miraculous power of this stone, and for the purpose of trial ordered it to be fastened with strong iron chains to one of a larger size and to be thrown into the sea; on the following morning, however, according to custom, it was found in its original position, on which account the Earl issued a public edict that no one from that time should presume to move the stone from its place. A countryman also, to try the powers of this stone, fastened it to his thigh, which immediately became putrid, and the stone returned to its original situation.'[171] This stone ultimately lost its virtues, however, for it was stolen in the last century and never came back. FOOTNOTES: [170] Harleian MSS., 3859. [171] Sir R. C. Hoare's Giraldus, 'Itin. Camb.,' ii., 104. III. The Talking Stone Llechlafar, or stone of loquacity, served as a bridge over the river Alyn, bounding the churchyard of St. David's in Pembrokeshire, on the northern side. It was a marble slab worn smooth by the tread of many feet, and was ten feet long, six feet broad, and one foot thick. Ancient tradition relates that one day 'when a corpse was being carried over it for interment the stone broke forth into speech, and by the effort cracked in the middle, which fissure is still visible; and on account of this barbarous and ancient superstition the corpses are no longer brought over it.'[172] In this same parish of St. David's, there was a flight of steps leading down to the sea, among which were a certain few which uttered a miraculous sound, like the ringing of a bell. The story goes that in ancient times a band of pirates landed there and robbed the chapel. The bell they took away to sea with them, but as it was heavy they rested it several times on their way, and ever since that day the stones it rested upon have uttered these mysterious sounds when struck. Also in this parish is the renowned Expanding Stone, an excavation in the rock of St. Gowan's chapel, which has the magic property of adapting itself to the size of the person who gets into it, growing smaller for a small man and larger for a large one. Among its many virtues was that if a person got into it and made a wish, and did not change his mind while turning about, the wish would come true. The original fable relates that this hollow stone was once solid; that a saint closely pursued by Pagan persecutors sought shelter of the rock, which thereupon opened and received him, concealing him till the danger was over and then obligingly letting him out. This stone may probably be considered as the monkish parallel for the magic stones which confer on their possessor invisibility, as we find them in the romances of enchantment. In the 'Mabinogion' such stones are frequently mentioned, usually in the favourite form of a gem set within a ring. 'Take this ring,' says the damsel with yellow curling hair,[173] 'and put it on thy finger, with the stone inside thy hand; and close thy hand upon the stone. And as long as thou concealest it, it will conceal thee.' But when it is found, as we find in following these clues further, that this Stone of Invisibility was one of the Thirteen Rarities of Kingly Regalia of the Island of Britain; that it was formerly kept at Caerleon, in Monmouthshire, the city whence St. David journeyed into Pembrokeshire; and that it is mentioned in the Triads thus: 'The Stone of the Ring of Luned, which liberated Owen the son of Urien from between the portcullis and the wall; whoever concealed that stone the stone or bezel would conceal him,' the strong probability appears that we are dealing with one and the same myth in the tale of magic and in the monkish legend. Traced back to a period more remote than that with which these Welsh stories ostensibly deal, we should find their prototype in the ring of Gyges. The Stone of Remembrance is another stone mentioned in the 'Mabinogion,' also a jewel, endowed with valuable properties which it imparts not merely to its wearer, but to any one who looks upon it. 'Rhonabwy,' says Iddawc to the enchanted dreamer on the yellow calf-skin, 'dost thou see the ring with a stone set in it, that is upon the Emperor's hand?' 'I see it,' he answered. 'It is one of the properties of that stone to enable thee to remember that thou seest here to-night, and hadst thou not seen the stone, thou wouldst never have been able to remember aught thereof.'[174] Still another stone of rare good qualities is that which Peredur gave to Etlym, in reward for his attendance,[175] the stone which was on the tail of a serpent, and whose virtues were such that whosoever should hold it in one hand, in the other he would have as much gold as he might desire. Peredur having vanquished the serpent and possessed himself of the stone, immediately gave it away, in that spirit of lavish free-handedness which so commonly characterizes the heroes of chivalric British romance. FOOTNOTES: [172] Ibid., ii., 8. [173] Lady Charlotte Guest's 'Mabinogion,' 13. [174] Lady Charlotte Guest's 'Mabinogion,' 303. [175] Ibid., 111. IV. In the church of St. David's of Llanfaes, according to Giraldus, was preserved among the relics a stone which caught a thieving boy in the act of robbing a pigeon's nest, and held him fast for three days and nights. Only by assiduous and long-continued prayer were the unhappy boy's parents able to get him loose from the terrible stone, and the marks of his five fingers remained ever after impressed upon it, so that all might see them. There was a stone of similar proclivities in the valley of Mowddwy, which did good service for the church. A certain St. Tydecho, a relation of King Arthur, who slept on a blue rock in this valley, was persecuted by Maelgwn Gwynedd. One day this wicked knight came with a pack of white dogs to hunt in that neighbourhood, and sat down upon the saint's blue stone. When he endeavoured to get up he found himself fastened to his seat so that he could not stir, in a manner absurdly suggestive of French farces; and he was obliged to make up matters with the saint. He ceased to persecute the good man, and to make amends for the past gave him the privilege of sanctuary for a hundred ages.[176] FOOTNOTE: [176] 'Celtic Remains,' 420. (Printed for the Cambrian Arch. Soc., London, 1878.) V. As for Stones of Healing, with qualities resembling those abiding in certain wells, they appear in many shapes. Now it is a maenhir, against which the afflicted peasant must rub himself; now it is a pebble which he must carry in his pocket. The inevitable wart reappears in this connection; the stone which cures the wart is found by the roadside, wrapped in a bit of paper, and dropped on a cross-road; to him who picks it up the wart is transferred. Children in Pembrokeshire will not at the present day pick up a small parcel on a cross-road, suspecting the presence of the wart-bearing stone. In Carmarthen are still to be found traces of a belief in the Alluring Stone, whose virtue is that it will cure hydrophobia. It is represented as a soft white stone, about the size of a man's head, originally found on a farm called Dysgwylfa, about twelve miles from Carmarthen town. Grains were scraped from the stone with a knife, and administered to the person who had been bitten by a rabid dog; and a peculiarity of the stone was that though generation after generation had scraped it, nevertheless it did not diminish in size. A woman who ate of this miraculous stone, after having been bitten by a suspicious cur, testified that it caused 'a boiling in her blood.' The stone was said to have fallen from the sky in the first instance. VI. Stones standing at cross-roads are seldom without some superstitious legend. A peasant pointed out to me, on a mountain-top near Crumlyn, Monmouthshire, a cross-roads stone, beneath which, he asserted, a witch sleeps by day, coming forth at night. 'Least they was say so,' he explained, with a nervous look about him, 'but there you! _I_ was never see anything, an' I was pass by there many nights--yes, indeed, often.' The man's eagerness to testify against the truth of the tradition was one of the most impressive illustrations possible of lingering superstitious awe in this connection. A famous Welsh witch, who used to sleep under a stone at Llanberis, in North Wales, was called Canrig Bwt, and her favourite dish at dinner was children's brains. A certain criminal who had received a death-sentence was given the alternative of attacking this frightful creature, his life to be spared should he succeed in destroying her. Arming himself with a sharp sword, the doomed man got upon the stone and called on Canrig to come out. 'Wait till I have finished eating the brains in this sweet little skull,' was her horrible answer. However, forth she came presently, when the valiant man cut off her head at a blow. To this day they scare children thereabout with the name of Canrig Bwt. VII. In every part of Wales one encounters the ancient memorials of King Arthur--sometimes to be dimly connected with the historical character, but more often with the mythical figure--each with its legend, or its bundle of legends, poetic, patriotic, or superstitious. Arthur's Round Table at Caerleon, Monmouthshire, is as well known to every boy in the neighbourhood as any inn or shop of the village. It is a grass-grown Roman amphitheatre, whence alabaster statues of Adrian's day have been disinterred. There is also an Arthur's Round Table in Denbighshire, a flat-topped hill thus called, and in Anglesea another, near the village of Llanfihangel. Arthur's Seat, Arthur's Bed, Arthur's Castle, Arthur's Stone, Arthur's Hill, Arthur's Quoit, Arthur's Board, Arthur's Carn, Arthur's Pot--these are but a few of the well-known cromlechs, rocking-stones, or natural objects to be found in various neighbourhoods. They are often in duplicates, under these names, but they never bear such titles by other authority than traditions reaching back into the dark ages. Some of the stories and superstitions which attach to them are striking, and of the most fascinating interest to the student of folk-lore; others are merely grotesque, as in the case of Arthur's Pot. This is under a cromlech at Dolwillim, on the banks of the Tawe, and in the stream itself when the water is high; it is a circular hole of considerable depth, accurately bored in the stone by the action of the water. This hole is called Arthur's Pot, and according to local belief was made by Merlin for the hero king to cook his dinner in. Arthur's Quoits are found in many parts of the country. A large rock in the bed of the Sawdde river, on the Llangadock side of Mynydd Du, (the Black Mountain,) is one of these quoits. The story is that the king one day flung it from the summit of Pen Arthur, a mile away. There is another large rock beside it, which was similarly flung down by a lady of Arthur's acquaintance, whose gigantic proportions may be guessed from the fact that this boulder was a pebble in her shoe, which annoyed her. VIII. Upon this hint there opens out before the inquirer a wealth of incident and illustration, in connection with gigantic Britons of old time who hurled huge rocks about as pebbles. There is the story of the giant Idris, who dwelt upon Cader Idris, and who found no less a number than three troublesome pebbles in his shoe as he was out walking one day, and who tossed them down where they lie on the road from Dolgelley to Machynlleth, three bulky crags. There are several legends about Mol Walbec's pebbles in Breconshire. This lusty dame has a full score of shadowy castles on sundry heights in that part of Wales; and she is said to have built the castle of Hay in one night. In performing this work she carried the stones in her apron; one of these--a pebble about a foot thick and nine feet long--fell into her shoe. At first she did not notice it, but by-and-by it began to annoy her, and she plucked it out and threw it into Llowes churchyard, three miles away, where it now lies. In many parts of Wales where lie rude heaps of stones, the peasantry say they were carried there by a witch in her apron. The gigantic creatures whose dimensions are indicated by these stones reappear continually in Welsh folk-lore. Arthur is merely the greatest among them; all were of prodigious proportions. Hu Gadarn, Cadwaladr, Rhitta Gawr, Brutus, Idris, are all members of the shadowy race whose 'quoits' and 'pebbles' are scattered about Wales. The remains at Stonehenge have been from time immemorial called by the Cymry the Côr Gawr, Circle or Dance of Giants. How the Carmarthen enchanter, Merlin, transported these stones hither from Killara mountain in Ireland by his magic art, everybody knows. It is only necessary that a stone should be of a size to make the idea of removing it an apparently hopeless one--that Merlin or some other magician brought it there by enchantment, or that Arthur or some other giant tossed it there with his mighty arm, is a matter of course.[177] The giant of Trichrug, (a fairy haunt in Cardiganshire,) appears to have been the champion pebble-tosser of Wales, if local legend may be trusted. Having invited the neighbouring giants to try their strength with him in throwing stones, he won the victory by tossing a huge rock across the sea into Ireland. His grave is traditionally reported to be on that mountain, and to possess the same properties as the Expanding Stone, for it fits any person who lies down in it, be he tall or short. It has the further virtue of imparting extraordinary strength to any one lying in it; but if he gets into it with arms upon his person they will be taken from him and he will never see them more. FOOTNOTE: [177] It is noteworthy that most of the great stones of these legends appear to have really been transported to the place where they are now found, being often of a different rock than that of the immediate locality. To what extent the legends express the first vague inductions of early geological observers, is a question not without interest. IX. The gigantic stone-tossers of Wales associate themselves without effort with the mythology of the heavens. One of their chiefest, Idris, was indeed noted as an astrologer, and is celebrated as such in the Triads: Idris Gawr, or the Giant Idris; Gwydion, or the Diviner by Trees; Gwyn, the Son of Nudd, the Generous; So great was their knowledge of the stars, that they could foretell whatever might be desired to be known until the day of doom. And among Welsh legends none is more familiar than that of Rhitta Gawr, wherein the stars are familiarly spoken of as cows and sheep, and the firmament as their pasture. CHAPTER IV. Early Inscribed Stones--The Stone Pillar of Banwan Bryddin, near Neath--Catastrophe accompanying its Removal--The Sagranus Stone and the White Lady--The Dancing Stones of Stackpool--Human Beings changed to Stones--St. Ceyna and the Serpents--The Devil's Stone at Llanarth--Rocking Stones and their accompanying Superstitions--The Suspended Altar of Loin-Garth--Cromlechs and their Fairy Legends--The Fairies' Castle at St. Nicholas, Glamorganshire--The Stone of the Wolf Bitch--The Welsh Melusina--Parc-y-Bigwrn Cromlech--Connection of these Stones with Ancient Druidism. I. Paleographic students are more or less familiar with about seventy early inscribed stones in Wales. The value of these monuments, as corroborative evidence of historical facts, in connection with waning popular traditions, is well understood. Superstitious prejudice is particularly active in connection with stones of this kind. The peasantry view them askance, and will destroy them if not restrained, as they usually are, by fear of evil results to themselves. Antiquaries have often reason to thank superstition for the existence in our day of these ancient monuments. But there is a sort of progressive movement towards enlightenment which carries the Welsh farmer from the fearsome to the destructive stage, in this connection. That dangerous thing, a little knowledge, sometimes leads its imbiber beyond the reach of all fear of the guardian fairy or demon of the stone, yet leaves him still so superstitious regarding it that he believes its influence to be baleful, and its destruction a sort of duty. It was the common opinion of the peasantry of the parish in which it stood, that whoever happened to read the inscription on the Maen Llythyrog, an early inscribed stone on the top of a mountain near Margam Abbey, in Glamorganshire, would die soon after. In many instances the stones are believed to be transformed human beings, doomed to this guise for some sin, usually an act of sacrilege. Beliefs of this character would naturally be potent in influencing popular feeling against the stones. But on the other hand, however desirable might be their extinction, there would be perils involved, which one would rather his neighbour than himself should encounter. Various awful consequences, but especially the most terrific storms and disturbances of the earth, followed any meddling with them. At Banwan Bryddin, a few miles from Neath, a stone pillar inscribed 'MARCI CARITINI FILII BERICII,' long stood on a tumulus which by the peasants was considered a fairy ring. The late Lady Mackworth caused this stone to be removed to a grotto she was constructing on her grounds, and which she was ornamenting with all the curious stones she could collect. An old man who was an under-gardener on her estate, and who abounded with tales of goblins, declaring he had often had intercourse with these strange people, told the Rev. Mr. Williams of Tir-y-Cwm, that he had always known this act of sacrilege would not go unpunished by the guardians of the stone. He had more than once seen these sprites dancing of an evening in the rings of Banwan Bryddin, where the 'wonder stone' stood, but never since the day the stone was removed had any mortal seen them. Upon the stone, he said, were written mysterious words in the fairy language, which no one had ever been able to comprehend, not even Lady Mackworth herself. When her ladyship removed the stone to Gnoll Gardens the fairies were very much annoyed; and the grotto, which cost Lady Mackworth thousands of pounds to build, was no sooner finished than one night, Duw'n catwo ni! there was such thunder and lightning as never was heard or seen in Glamorganshire before; and next morning the grotto was gone! The hill had fallen over it and hidden it for ever. 'Iss indeed,' said the old man, 'and woe will fall on the Cymro or the Saeson that will dare to clear the earth away. I myself, and others who was there, was hear the fairies laughing loud that night, after the storm has cleared away.' II. The Sagranus Stone at St. Dogmell's, Pembrokeshire, was formerly used as a bridge over a brook not far from where it at present stands--luckily with its inscribed face downwards, so that the sculpture remained unharmed while generations were tramping over it. During its use as a bridge it bore the reputation of being haunted by a white lady, who was constantly seen gliding over it at the witching hour of midnight. No man or woman could be induced to touch the strange stone after dark, and its supernatural reputation no doubt helped materially in its preservation unharmed till the present time. It is considered on paleographic grounds to be of the fourth century. In Pembrokeshire also are found the famous Dancing Stones of Stackpool. These are three upright stones standing about a mile from each other, the first at Stackpool Warren, the second further to the west, on a stone tumulus in a field known as Horestone Park, and the third still further westward. One of many traditions concerning them is to the effect that on a certain day they meet and come down to Sais's Ford to dance, and after their revel is over return home and resume their places. III. There is a curious legend regarding three stones which once stood on the top of Moelfre Hill, in Carnarvonshire, but which were long ago rolled to the bottom of the hill by 'some idle-headed youths' who dug them up. They were each about four feet high, standing as the corners of a triangle; one was red as blood, another white, and the third a pale blue. The tradition says that three women, about the time when Christianity first began to be known in Britain, went up Moelfre Hill on a Sabbath morning to winnow their corn. They had spread their winnowing sheet upon the ground and begun their work, when some of their neighbours came to them and reprehended them for working on the Lord's day. But the women, having a greater eye to their worldly profit than to the observance of the fourth commandment, made light of their neighbours' words, and went on working. Thereupon they were instantly transformed into three pillars of stone, each stone of the same colour as the dress of the woman in whose place it stood, one red, one white, and the third bluish. Legends of the turning to stone of human beings occur in connection with many of the meini hirion (long stones). Near Llandyfrydog, Anglesea, there is a maenhir of peculiar shape. From one point of view it looks not unlike the figure of a humpbacked man, and it is called 'Carreg y Lleidr,' or the Robber's Stone. The tradition connected with it is that a man who had stolen the church Bible, and was carrying it away on his shoulder, was turned into this stone, and must stand here till the last trump sets him free. At Rolldritch (Rhwyldrech?) there is or was a circle of stones, concerning which tradition held that they were the human victims of a witch who, for some offence, transformed them to this shape. In connection with this circle is preserved another form of superstitious belief very often encountered, namely, that the number of stones in the circle cannot be correctly counted by a mortal.[178] It is noteworthy that the only creature which shares with man the grim fate of being turned to stone, in Welsh legends, is the serpent. The monkish account of St. Ceyna, one of the daughters of Prince Brychan, of Breconshire, relates that having consecrated her virginity to the Lord by a perpetual vow, she resolved to seek some desert place where she could give herself wholly up to meditation. So she journeyed beyond the river Severn, 'and there meeting a woody place, she made her request to the prince of that country that she might be permitted to serve God in that solitude. His answer was that he was very willing to grant her request, but that the place did so swarm with serpents that neither man nor beast could inhabit it. But she replied that her firm trust was in the name and assistance of Almighty God to drive all that poisonous brood out of that region. Hereupon the place was granted to the holy virgin, who, prostrating herself before God, obtained of him to change the serpents and vipers into stones. And to this day the stones in that region do resemble the windings of serpents, through all the fields and villages, as if they had been framed by the hand of the sculptor.' The scene of this legend is mentioned by Camden as being at a place near Bristol, called Keynsham, 'where abundance of that fossil called by the naturalists Cornu Ammonis is dug up.' FOOTNOTE: [178] Roberts, 'Camb. Pop. Ant.,' 220. IV. Our old friend the devil is once more to the fore when we encounter the inscribed stone of the twelfth century, which stands in the churchyard of Llanarth, near Aberaeron, in Cardiganshire. A cross covers this stone, with four circular holes at the junction of the arms. The current tradition of the place regarding it is that one stormy night, there was such a tremendous noise heard in the belfry that the whole village was thrown into consternation. It was finally concluded that nobody but the diawl could be the cause of this, and therefore the people fetched his reverence from the vicarage to go and request the intruder to depart. The vicar went up into the belfry, with bell, book, and candle, along the narrow winding stone staircase, and, as was anticipated, there among the bells he saw the devil in person. The good man began the usual 'Conjurate in nomine,' etc., when the fiend sprang up and mounted upon the leads of the tower. The vicar was not to be balked, however, and boldly followed up the remainder of the staircase and got also out upon the leads. The devil finding himself hard pressed, had nothing for it but to jump over the battlements of the tower. He came down plump among the gravestones below, and falling upon one, made with his hands and knees the four holes now visible on the stone in question, which among the country people still bears the name of the Devil's Stone. V. The logan stones in various parts of Wales, which vibrate mysteriously under the touch of a child's finger, and rock violently at a push from a man's stronger hand, are also considered by the superstitious a favourite resort of the fairies and the diawl. The holy aerolite to which unnumbered multitudes bow down at Mecca is indeed no stranger thing than the rocking-stone on Pontypridd's sky-perched common. Among the marvellous stones in Nennius is one concerning a certain altar in Loin-Garth, in Gower, 'suspended by the power of God,' which he says a legend tells us was brought thither in a ship along with the dead body of some holy man who desired to be buried near St. Illtyd's grave, and to remain unknown by name, lest he should become an object of too reverent regard; for Illtyd dwelt in a cave there, the mouth of which faced the sea in those days; and having received this charge, he buried the corpse, and built a church over it, enclosing the wonderful altar, which testified by more than one astounding miracle the Divine power which sustained it. This is thought to be a myth relating to some Welsh rocking-stone no longer known. The temptation to throw down stones of this character has often been too much for the destruction-loving vulgarian, both in Wales and in other parts of the British islands; but the offenders have seldom been the local peasantry, who believe that the guardians of the stone--the fairies or the diawl, as the case may be--will heavily avenge its overthrow on the overthrowers. VI. [Illustration: THE FAIRY FROLIC AT THE CROMLECH.] Venerable in their hoary antiquity stand those monuments of a long-vanished humanity, the cromlechs which are so numerous in Wales, sharing with the logan and the inscribed stone the peasant's superstitious interest. Even more than the others, these solemn rocks are surrounded with legends of enchantment. They figure in many fairy-tales like that of the shepherd of Frennifawr, who stood watching their mad revelry about the old cromlech, where they were dancing, making music on the harp, and chasing their companions in hilarious sort. That the fairies protect the cromlechs with special care, as they also do the logans and others, is a belief the Welsh peasant shares with the superstitious in many lands. There is a remarkable cromlech near the hamlet of St. Nicholas, Glamorganshire, on the estate of the family whose house has the honour of being haunted by the ghost of an admiral. This cromlech is called, by children in that neighbourhood, 'Castle Correg.' A Cardiff gentleman who asked some children who were playing round the cromlech, what they termed it, was struck by the name, which recalled to him the Breton fairies thus designated.[179] The korreds and korregs of Brittany closely resemble the Welsh fairies in numberless details. The korreds are supposed to live in the cromlechs, of which they are believed to have been the builders. They dance around them at night, and woe betide the unhappy peasant who joins them in their roundels.[180] Like beliefs attach to cromlechs in the Haute Auvergne, and other parts of France. A cromlech at Pirols, said to have been built by a fée, is composed of seven massive stones, the largest being twelve feet long by eight and a half feet wide. The fée carried these stones hither from a great distance, and set them up; and the largest and heaviest one she carried on the top of her spindle, and so little was she incommoded by it that she continued to spin all the way.[181] FOOTNOTES: [179] Mr. J. W. Lukis, in an address before the Cardiff Nat. Soc. in July, 1874. [180] Keightley, 'Fairy Mythology,' 432. [181] Cambry, 'Monuments Celtiques,' 232. VII. Among the Welsh peasantry the cromlechs are called by a variety of names, one interesting group giving in Cardiganshire 'the Stone of the Bitch,' in Glamorganshire 'the Stone of the Greyhound Bitch,' in Carmarthenshire and in Monmouthshire 'the Kennel of the Greyhound Bitch,' and in some other parts of Wales 'the Stone of the Wolf Bitch.' These names refer to no fact of modern experience; they are legendary. The Cambrian form of the story of Melusina is before us here, with differing details. The wolf-bitch of the Welsh legend was a princess who for her sins was transformed to that shape, and thus long remained. Her name was Gast Rhymhi, and she had two cubs while a wolf-bitch, with which she dwelt in a cave. After long suffering in this wretched guise, she and her cubs were restored to their human form 'for Arthur,' who sought her out. The unfortunate Melusina, it will be remembered, was never entirely robbed of her human form. 'Ange par la figure, et serpent par le reste,' she was condemned by the lovely fay Pressina to become a serpent from the waist downwards, on every Saturday, till she should meet a man who would marry her under certain specified conditions. The monkish touch is on the Welsh legend, in the medieval form in which we have it in the Mabinogi of 'Kilhwch and Olwen.' The princess is transformed into a wolf-bitch 'for her sins,' and when restored, although it is for Arthur, 'God did change' her to a woman again.[182] FOOTNOTE: [182] 'Mabinogion,' 259. VIII. In a field called Parc-y-Bigwrn, near Llanboidy, Carmarthenshire, are the remains of a cromlech destroyed many years ago, concerning which an old man named John Jones related a superstitious tale. It was to the effect that there were ten men engaged in the work of throwing it down, and that when they were touching the stone they became filled with awe; and moreover, as the stone was being drawn away by six horses the road was suddenly rent asunder in a supernatural manner. This is a frequent phenomenon supposed by the Welsh peasantry to accompany the attempt to move a cromlech. Another common catastrophe is the breaking down of the waggon--not from the weight of the stone, but through the displeasure of its goblin guardians. Sometimes this awful labour is accompanied by fierce storms of hail and wind, or violent thunder and lightning; sometimes by mysterious noises, or swarms of bees which are supposed to be fairies in disguise. IX. A very great number of fanciful legends might be related in connection with stones of striking shape, or upon which there are peculiar marks and figures; but enough of this store of folk-lore has been given to serve present ends. If more were detailed, there would in all cases be found a family resemblance to the legends which have been presented, and which lead us now into the enchanted country where Arthur reigns, now wandering among the monkish records of church and abbey, now to the company of the dwarfs and giants of fairyland. That the British Druids regarded many of these stones with idolatrous reverence, is most probable. Some of them, as the cromlechs and logans, they no doubt employed in their mystic rites, as being symbols of the dimly descried Power they worshipped. Of their extreme antiquity there is no question. The rocking-stones may be considered natural objects, though they were perhaps assisted to their remarkable poise by human hands. The cromlechs were originally sepulchral chambers, unquestionably, but they are so old that neither history nor tradition gives any aid in assigning the date of their erection. Opinions that they were once pulpits of sun-worship, or Druidic altars of sacrifice, are not unwarranted, perhaps, though necessarily conjectural. The evidence that the inscribed stones are simply funeral monuments, is extensive and conclusive. Originally erected in honour of some great chief or warrior, they were venerated by the people, and became shrines about which the latter gathered in a spirit of devotion. With the lapse of ages, the warrior was forgotten; even the language in which he was commemorated decayed, and the marks on the stones became to the peasantry meaningless hieroglyphics, to which was given a mysterious and awful significance; and so for unnumbered centuries the tombstone remained an object of superstitious fear and veneration. CHAPTER V. Baleful Spirits of Storm--The Shower at the Magic Fountain--Obstacles in the way of Treasure-Seekers--The Red Lady of Paviland--The Fall of Coychurch Tower--Thunder and Lightning evoked by Digging--The Treasure-Chest under Moel Arthur in the Vale of Clwyd--Modern Credulity--The Cavern of the Ravens--The Eagle-guarded Coffer of Castell Coch--Sleeping Warriors as Treasure-Guarders--The Dragon which St. Samson drove out of Wales--Dragons in the Mabinogion--Whence came the Red Dragon of Wales?--The Original Dragon of Mythology--Prototypes of the Welsh Caverns and Treasure-Hills--The Goblins of Electricity. I. In the prominent part played by storm--torrents of rain, blinding lightning, deafening thunder--in legends of disturbed cromlechs, and other awful stones, is involved the ancient belief that these elements were themselves baleful spirits, which could be evoked by certain acts. They were in the service of fiends and fairies, and came at their bidding to avenge the intrusion of venturesome mortals, daring to meddle with sacred things. This fascinating superstition is preserved in numberless Welsh legends relating to hidden treasures, buried under cromlechs or rocky mounds, or in caverns. In the 'Mabinogion' it appears in the enchanted barrier to the Castle of the Lady of the Fountain. Under a certain tall tree in the midst of a wide valley there was a fountain, 'and by the side of the fountain a marble slab, and on the marble slab a silver bowl, attached by a chain of silver, so that it may not be carried away. Take the bowl and throw a bowlful of water on the slab,' says the black giant of the wood to Sir Kai, 'and thou wilt hear a mighty peal of thunder, so that thou wilt think that heaven and earth are trembling with its fury. With the thunder there will come a shower so severe that it will be scarce possible for thee to endure it and live. And the shower will be of hailstones; and after the shower the weather will become fair, but every leaf that was upon the tree will have been carried away by the shower.'[183] Of course the knight dares this awful obstacle, throws the bowlful of water upon the slab, receives the terrible storm upon his shield, and fights the knight who owned the fountain, on his coming forth. Sir Kai is worsted, and returns home to Arthur's court; whereupon Sir Owain takes up the contest. He sallies forth, evokes the storm, encounters the black knight, slays him, and becomes master of all that was his--his castle, his lands, his wife, and all his treasures. The peasant of to-day who sets out in quest of hidden treasures evokes the avenging storm in like manner. Sometimes the treasure is in the ground, under a cromlech or a carn; he digs, and the thunder shakes the air, the lightnings flash, torrents descend, and he is frustrated in his search. Again, the treasure is in a cavern, guarded by a dragon, which belches forth fire upon him and scorches his eyeballs. Welsh folk-lore is full of legends of this character; and the curious way in which science and religion sometimes get mixed up with these superstitions is most suggestive--as in the cases of the falling of Coychurch tower, and the Red Lady of Paviland. The latter is the name given a skeleton found by Dr. Buckland in his exploration of the Paviland caves, the bones of which were stained by red oxide of iron. The vulgar belief is that the Red Lady was entombed in the cave by a storm while seeking treasure there--a legend the truth of which no one can dispute with authority, since the bones are certainly of a period contemporary with the Roman rule in this island. Coins of Constantine were found in the same earth, cemented with fragments of charcoal and bone ornaments. In the case of Coychurch tower, it undoubtedly fell because it was undermined by a contractor who had the job of removing certain defunct forefathers from their graves near its base. Some eighteen hundred skulls were taken from the ground and carted off to a hole on the east side of the church. But the country folk pooh-pooh the idea that the tower fell for any reason other than sheer indignation and horror at the disturbance of this hallowed ground by utilitarian pickaxe and spade. They call your attention to the fact that not only did the venerable tower come crashing down, after having stood for centuries erect, but that in falling it struck to the earth St. Crallo's cross--an upright stone in the churchyard as venerable as itself--breaking it all to pieces. FOOTNOTE: [183] 'Mabinogion,' 8. II. A hollow in the road near Caerau, in Cardiganshire, 'rings when any wheeled vehicle goes over it.' Early in this century, two men having been led to believe that there were treasures hidden there (for a fairy in the semblance of a gipsy had appeared and thrown out hints on the fascinating subject from time to time), made up their minds to dig for it. They dug accordingly until they came, by their solemn statement, to the oaken frame of a subterranean doorway; and feeling sure now, that they had serious work before them, prepared for the same by going to dinner. They had no sooner gone than a terrible storm arose; the rain fell in torrents, the thunder pealed and the lightning flashed. When they went back to their work, the hole they had digged was closed up; and nothing would convince them that this was done by any other than a supernatural agency. Moreover, but a little above the place where they were, there had been no rain at all.[184] FOOTNOTE: [184] 'Arch. Camb.' 3rd Se., ix., 306. III. There is a current belief among the peasants about Moel Arthur--a mountain overlooking the Vale of Clwyd--that treasure, concealed in an iron chest with a ring-handle to it, lies buried there. The place of concealment is often illuminated at night by a supernatural light. Several people thereabouts are known to have seen the light, and there are even men who will tell you that bold adventurers have so far succeeded as to grasp the handle of the iron chest, when an outburst of wild tempest wrested it from their hold and struck them senseless. Local tradition points out the place as the residence of an ancient prince, and as a spot charmed against the spade of the antiquary. 'Whoever digs there,' said an old woman in Welsh to some men going home from their work on this spot, after a drenching wet day, 'is always driven away by thunder and lightning and storm; you have been served like everybody else who has made the attempt.' IV. So prevalent are superstitions of this class even in the present day that cases get into the newspapers now and then. The 'Herald Cymraeg' of September 25, 1874, gave an account of some excavations made at Pant-y-Saer cromlech, Anglesea, by the instigation of John Jones of Llandudno, 'a brother of Isaac Jones, the present tenant of Pant-y-Saer,' at the time on a visit to the latter. The immediately exciting cause of the digging was a dream in which the dreamer was told that there was a pot of treasure buried within the cromlech's precincts. The result was the revelation of a large number of human bones, among them five lower jaws with the teeth sound; but no crochan aur (pitcher of gold) turned up, and the digging was abandoned in disgust. Is it credible that between this account and the following yawns the gulf of seven hundred years? Thus Giraldus: In the province of Kemeys, one of the seven cantrefs of Pembrokeshire, 'during the reign of King Henry I., a rich man who had a residence on the northern side of the Preseleu mountains was warned for three successive nights by dreams that if he put his hand under a stone which hung over the spring of a neighbouring well called the Fountain of St. Bernacus, he should find there a golden chain; obeying the admonition, on the third day he received from a viper a deadly wound in his finger; but as it appears that many treasures have been discovered through dreams, it seems to me probable that some ought and some ought not to be believed.'[185] FOOTNOTE: [185] Sir R. C. Hoare's Giraldus, 'Itin. Camb.' ii., 37. V. In a certain cavern in Glamorganshire, called the Ogof Cigfrain, or Cavern of the Ravens, is said to be a chest of gold, watched over by two birds of gloomy plumage, in a darkness so profound that nothing can be seen but the fire of their sleepless eyes. To go there with the purpose of disturbing them is to bring on a heaving and rolling of the ground, accompanied by thunder and lightning. A swaggering drover from Brecknockshire, though warned by a 'dark woman' that he had better not try it, sneered that 'a couple of ravens were a fine matter to be afraid of indeed!' and ventured into the cavern, with a long rope about his waist, and a lantern in his hand. Some men who accompanied him (seeing that he was bent on this rash and dangerous emprise,) held the coil of rope, and paid it out as he went further and further in. The result was prompt and simple: the sky cracked with loud bursts of thunder and flashes of lightning, and the drover roared with affright and rushed out of the dark cavern with his hair on end. No coaxing ever prevailed on him to reveal the terrible sights he had seen; when questioned he would only repeat in Welsh the advice of 'Punch' to those about to marry, viz., 'Peidiwch!' VI. In the legend of Castell Coch, instead of a raven it is a pair of huge eagles which watch the treasure. Castell Coch is an easy and pleasant two hours' walk from Cardiff Castle, with which it is vulgarly believed to be connected by a subterranean passage. A short time ago--well, to be precise, a hundred years ago, but that is no time at all in the history of Castell Coch, which was a crumbling ruin then as it is now[186]--in or about the year 1780, a reduced lady was allowed to fit up three or four rooms in the ruin as a residence, and to live there with two old servants of her house. One night this lady was awakened from her sleep to receive the visit of a venerable ghost in a full dress-suit of an earlier century, who distressed her by his troubled countenance and vexed her by his eccentric behaviour, for when she spoke to him from the depths of her nightcap he at once got through the wall. He came on subsequent nights so often, and frightened the servants so much by the noise he made--in getting through the wall, of course--that the lady gave up her strange abode, and was glad to pay house rent ever after in other parts. This old ghost was in the flesh proprietor of the castle, it appears, and during the civil wars buried an iron chest full of gold in the subterranean passage--which is still there, guarded by two large eagles. A party of gentlemen who somewhere about 1800 attempted to explore the passage saw the eagles, and were attacked by the birds of freedom so fiercely that they retreated in disorder. Subsequently they returned with pistols and shot the eagles, which resented this trifling impertinence by tearing the treasure-seekers in a shocking manner. After having recovered from their wounds, the determined Welshmen renewed the attack--this time with silver bullets, which they had got blessed by a good-natured priest. The bullets rattled harmlessly on the feathers of the terrible birds; the ground shook under foot; rain descended in torrents; with their great wings the eagles beat out the gold-hunters' torches, and they barely escaped with their lives. FOOTNOTE: [186] It is at present being entirely restored and made habitable by its owner, Lord Bute. VII. The shadowy Horror which keeps vigil over these hidden treasures is now a dragon, again a raven or an eagle, again a worm. In the account of the treasure-seeker of Nantyglyn, it is a winged creature of unknown nature, a 'mysterious incubus,' which broods over the chest in the cave. The terrible Crocodile of the Lake, which was drawn from its watery hiding-place by the Ychain Banog, or Prominent Oxen of Hu Gadarn, is also sometimes called a dragon (draig) in those local accounts which survive in the folk-lore of several different districts. It infested the region round about the lake where it lay concealed, and the mighty oxen so strained themselves in the labour of drawing it forth that one of them died and the other rent the mountain in twain with his bellowing. Various legends of Sleeping Warriors appear in Welsh folk-lore, in which the dragon is displaced by a shadowy army of slumbering heroes, lying about in a circle, with their swords and shields by their sides, guarding great heaps of gold and silver. Now they are Owen Lawgoch and his men, who lie in their enchanted sleep in a cavern on the northern side of Mynydd Mawr, in Carmarthenshire; again they are Arthur and his warriors, asleep in a secret ogof under Craig-y-Ddinas, waiting for a day when the Briton and the Saxon shall go to war, when the noise of the struggle will awaken them, and they will reconquer the island, reduce London to dust, and re-establish their king at Caerleon, in Monmouthshire. Dragon or demon, raven or serpent, eagle or sleeping warriors, the guardian of the underground vaults in Wales where treasures lie is a personification of the baleful influences which reside in caverns, graves, and subterraneous regions generally. It is something more than this, when traced back to its source in the primeval mythology; the dragon which watched the golden apples of Hesperides, and the Payshtha-more, or great worm, which in Ireland guards the riches of O'Rourke, is the same malarious creature which St. Samson drove out of Wales. According to the monkish legend, this pestiferous beast was of vast size, and by its deadly breath had destroyed two districts. It lay hid in a cave, near the river. Thither went St. Samson, accompanied only by a boy, and tied a linen girdle about the creature's neck, and drew it out and threw it headlong from a certain high eminence into the sea.[187] This dreadful dragon became mild and gentle when addressed by the saint; did not lift up its terrible wings, nor gnash its teeth, nor put out its tongue to emit its fiery breath, but suffered itself to be led to the sea and hurled therein.[188] In the 'Mabinogion,' the dragon which fights in Lludd's dominion is mentioned as a plague, whose shriek sounded on every May eve over every hearth in Britain; and it 'went through people's hearts, and so scared them, that the men lost their hue and their strength, and the women their children, and the young men and maidens lost their senses.'[189] 'Whence came the _red_ dragon of Cadwaladr?' asks the learned Thomas Stephens.[190] 'Why was the Welsh dragon in the fables of Merddin, Nennius, and Geoffrey, described as _red_, while the Saxon dragon was _white_?' The question may remain long unanswered, for the reason that there is no answer outside the domain of fancy, and therefore no reason which could in our day be accepted as reasonable.[191] The Welsh word 'dragon' means equally a dragon and a leader in war. Red was the most honourable colour of military garments among the British in Arthur's day; and Arthur wore a dragon on his helmet, according to tradition. His haughty helmet, horrid all with gold, Both glorious brightness and great terror bred, For all the crest a dragon did enfold With greedy paws.[192] But the original dragon was an embodiment of mythological ideas as old as mankind, and older than any written record. The mysterious beast of the boy Taliesin's song, in the marvellous legend of Gwion Bach, is a dragon worthy to be classed with the gigantic conceptions of the primeval imagination, which sought by these prodigious figures to explain all the phenomena of nature. 'A noxious creature from the rampart of Satanas,' sings Taliesin; with jaws as wide as mountains; in the hair of its two paws there is the load of nine hundred waggons, and in the nape of its neck three springs arise, through which sea-roughs swim.[193] FOOTNOTES: [187] 'Liber Landavensis,' 301. [188] Ibid., 347. [189] 'Mabinogion,' 461. [190] 'Literature of the Kymry,' 25. [191] Mr. Conway, in his erudite chapter on the Basilisk, appears to think that the red colour of the Welsh dragon, in the legend of Merlin and Vortigern, determines its moral character; that it illustrates the evil principle in the struggle between right and wrong, or light and darkness, as black does in the Persian legends of fighting serpents.--'Demonology and Devil-Lore,' p. 369. (London, Chatto and Windus, 1879.) [192] Spenser, 'Faerie Queene.' [193] 'Mabinogion,' 484. VIII. For the prototype of the dragon-haunted caves and treasure-hills of Wales, we must look to the lightning caverns of old Aryan fable, into which no man might gaze and live, and which were in fact the attempted explanation of thunderstorms, when the clouds appeared torn asunder by the lightning. Scholars have noted the impressive fact that the ancient Aryan people had the same name for cloud and mountain; in the Old Norse, 'klakkr' means both cloud and rock, and indeed the English word cloud has been identified with the Anglo-Saxon 'clûd,' rock.[194] Equally significant here is the fact that in the Welsh language 'draig' means both lightning and dragon. Primeval man, ignorant that the cloud was in any way different in structure from the solid mountains whose peaks it emulated in appearance, started back aghast and trembling when with crashing thunders the celestial rocks opened, displaying for an instant the glowing cavern whose splendour haunted his dreams. From this phenomenon, whose goblins modern science has tamed and taught to run errands along a wire, came a host of glittering legends, the shining hammer of Thor, the lightning spear of Odin, the enchanted arrow of Prince Ahmed, and the forked trident of Poseidon, as well as the fire-darting dragons of our modern folk-lore. [Illustration: {THISTLE DECORATION.}] FOOTNOTE: [194] Max Müller, 'Rig-Veda,' i. 44. And see Mr. Baring-Gould's 'Curious Myths of the Middle Ages,' etc. INDEX A. Aberdovey, the Bells of, 339, 344 Aderyn y Corph, the, 212 All Fools' Day, 274 All Hallows, 280 Alluring Stone, the, 367 American Ghost Stories, 139, 185 Angels, Apparitions of, 208 Animals' Terrors at Goblins, 171 Annwn, the World of Shadows, 7, 34 Antic Spirits, 180 Aphrodite, the Welsh, 350 Apple Gift, the, 253 Arian y Rhaw, 333 Arthur, the Mythic and the Historic, vii. Arthur's Dog, 363 " Pot, 369 " Quoits, 370 " Round Table, 369 " Seat, Bed, Castle, Stone, etc., 369 Ascension Day, Curious Superstition concerning, 25 Aura, the Human, its Perception by Dogs, 172 Avagddu, 219 Avalon, 8 B. Ball-playing in Churchyards, 272 Bangu, the, 340 Banshee, the, 212 " " in America, 247 Banwan Bryddin, the Stone of, 374 Barnwell, Rev. E. L., cited, 324 Baron's Gate, Legend of the, 127 Barry Island, Mysterious Noises on, 353 Basilisks in Mines, 27 Beer-drinking at Funerals, 322 Bells, Superstitions concerning, 339 " of Aberdovey, 339, 344 " " St. Cadoc, 339 " " Rhayader, Legend of the, 341 " " St. Illtyd, 342 " " St. Oudoceus, 343 Beltane Fires, 278 Bendith y Mamau, 12 Betty Griffith and the Fairies, 115 Birds of Rhiannon, the, 91 Blabbing, Penalty of, 119 Black Book of Carmarthen, the, 350 " Maiden of Caerleon, the, 219 " Man of Ffynon yr Yspryd, 178 " Men in the Mabinogion, 178 Blue Petticoat, Old Elves of the, 132 Bogie, the, 32 Boxing-day, 295 Branwen, Daughter of Llyr, 91 Bread and Cheese in Fairy Mythology, 44 Brownie, the, 186 Bundling, or Courting Abed, 300 Buns, 267 Burial Customs, 321 Bush of Heaven, Legend of the, 73 Bute, the Marquis of, cited, 136 Bwbach, the, 30 " and the Preacher, the, 30 C. Cadogan's Ghost, 149 Cadwaladr's Goat, the Legend of, 54 Cae Caled, the Dwarfs of, 28 Cae Mawr, the Mowing of, 61 Caerau, the Woman of, 239 Caerphilly, the Green Lady of, 132 Calan Ebrill, 274 Cân y Tylwyth Teg, the, 99 Canna's Stone, 362 Canrig Bwt, the Legend of, 368 Canwyll Corph, the, 238 Caradoc the Bloody, 348 Caridwen's Caldron, 88 Carols, 288 Carrying the Kings, 276 " Cynog, 279 " Mortals through the Air, 157, 163 Castell Coch, the Eagles of, 390 " Correg, 380 Catrin Gwyn, the Legend of, 144 Catti Shon, the Witch of Pencader, 77 Cavern of Ravens, the, 389 Ceffyl Pren, the, 319 Chained Spirit, the, 168 Chaining at Weddings, 313 Changelings, 56 Cheese in Welsh Fairy Tales, 44 Christmas Observances, 286 Classification of Fairies, 11 " " Ghosts, 141 " " Customs, 252 Coblynau, 24 Cock-crow, Fairy Dislike of, 112 " a Death Omen when Untimely, 213 Colliers' Star, the, 294 Colour in Fairy Costume, 131 Compacts with the Diawl, 202 Conway, Mr., cited, 393 Coolstrin, the, 317 Corpse, an Insulted, 146 " Bird, the, 212 " Candle, the, 238 Courting Abed, 300 Courtship and Marriage, 298 Craig y Ddinas, a Fairy Haunt, 6 Criminals' Graves, Superstitions concerning, 331 Crocodile of the Lake, the, 392 Cromlechs, Superstitions concerning, 379 " Legendary Names of, 381 Cross-roads, Stones at, 368 Crown of Porcelain, the, 269 Crumlyn Lake, Legend of, 35 Curiosity Tales, 86 Cursing Wells, 355 Customs, Superstitious and Traditional, 250 Cutty Wren, the, 257 Cwm Llan, the Shepherds of, 121 Cwm Pwca, Breconshire, 20 Cwn Annwn, 233 Cwn y Wybr, 233 Cyhyraeth, the, 219 " of St. Mellons, the, 221 " " the Sea-coast, the, 221 D. Dancing Stones of Stackpool, the, 375 Dancing in Churchyards, 273 " with Fairies, 70 Death Portents, 212 Devil, when Invented, 210 " as a Familiar Spirit, 197 " exorcising the, 199 " in his Customary Form, 202 " measured for a Suit of Clothes, 202 " his Stupidity, 202 " as a Bridge-builder, 206 " at Tintern Abbey, 207 " and the Foul Pipe, a Legend, 204 Devil's Bridge, Legends of the, 205 " Nags, the, 170 " Pulpit, the, 207 " Stone at Llanarth, the, 378 Dewi Dal and the Fairies, 61 Didactic Purpose in Welsh Fairy Tales, 44 " " " Spirits, 145 Dissenters, Fairy Antipathy to, 6 Divination, 302 Dog of Darkness, the, 168 Dogs of the Fairies, 234 " " Hell, 233 " " the Sky, 233 " Fetichistic Notions of, 172 " Ghosts of, 167 Dracæ, 47 Dragons, 391 Dreams of Flying, 164 Druidic Fires, 278 Druids, Fairies Hiding, 129 Duffryn House, the Ghost of, 143 Duty-compelled Ghosts, 146 Dwarfs, 27 Dwynwen, the Welsh Venus, 299, 350 Dyfed, the Ancient, 5 E. Early Inscribed Stones, Superstitions concerning, 373 Easter Customs, 269 Egg-shell Pottage, Story of the, 60 Eisteddfodau, 293 Eithin Hedges, a Protection against Fairies, 115 Elf Queen, the, 14 Elfin Dames, 34 " Cow, the, 36 Elidurus, the Tale of, 65 Ellylldan, the, 18 Ellyllon, 12 Elves, 13 Enchanted Harp, the, 94 Epimenides, 89 Equestrian Fairies, 107 " Ghosts, 174 Eumenides, 12 Euphemisms, 12, 114, 209 Excalibur, 53 Exorcism of Changelings, 57 " " Devils, 199 " " Fairies, 112, 116 " " Ghosts, 165 " " Child-stealing Elves, 62 Expanding Stone, the, 365 F. Fair Folk, 12 Fairies, existing belief in, 2 " King of the, 6 " Welsh names of, 12 " at Market, 9 " of the Mines, 24 " of the Lakes, 34 " of the Mountains, 49 " Dancing with, 70 " of Frennifawr, Legend of the, 82 " on Horseback, 107 " the Red, 127 " hiding Druids, 129 " why in Wales, 132 " their Origin, 127 " Bad Spirits, 134 " on familiar terms with Ghosts, 157 " of the Cromlechs, 380 Fairy Land, 5 " Queen, 14 " Islands, 8, 45 " Food, 13 " Gloves, 13 " Coal-mining, 27 " Father, the, 45 " a, captured by a Welshwoman, 78 " Song, 99 " Rings, 103 " Conversations, 106 " Battle, a, 107 " Animals, 108 " Sheepfold, the, 109 " Gifts, 119 " Tales, débris of Ancient Mythology, 135 Falling of Coychurch Tower, 386 Familiar Spirits, 187 " " in Female Form, 191 Family Ghosts, 142 Fatal Draught, the, 83 Fetches, 215 Fetichism, 338 Fetichistic Notions of Lower Animals, 171 Ffarwel Ned Pugh, 99 Ffynon yr Yspryd, 178 Ffynon Canna, 362 Fiend Master, Legend of the, 86 Fire-damp Goblins, 27 Fires, Mysterious, 213 First Foot on New Year's Day, 254 First Night of Winter, 280 Flowering Sunday, 266 Food at Funerals, 322 Forest of the Yew, Legend of the, 73 Foul Pipe, Story of the, 204 Fountain of Venus, the, 350 Fountains Flowing with Milk, 356 Fourth of July, 278 Frennifawr, the Fairies of, 82 Friday, its Bad Reputation, 268 Frugal Meal, Legend of the, 58 Funeral Customs, 321 " the Goblin, 231 Future Life, the Question of a, 247 Fuwch Gyfeiliorn, the, 36 G. Gallery under the Sea, 10 Gast Rhymhi, the Legend of, 381 Ghosts, Existing Belief in, 137 " in America, 139 " Classification of, 141 " with a Duty to Perform, 146 " of Ebbw Vale, 142 " on Horseback, 154, 174 " Exorcising, 165 " of Animals, 167 " Grotesque, 174 " Gigantic, 176 " their Origin, 247 " of Bells, 339 " Stories of-- The Weaver's Ghost, 147 Cadogan's Ghost, 149 The Ghost of Ystradgynlais, 157 The Admiral's Ghost, 143 The Miser's Ghost, 152 The Ghost of St. Donat's, 143 The Pont Cwnca Bach Ghost, 144 The Ghost of Noe, 147 Anne Dewy's Ghost, 153 The Clifford Castle Ghost, 155 The Ghost of Ty'n-y-Twr, 155 The Ghost of the Silver Spurs, 156 The Tridoll Valley Sprite, 181 The Mynyddyslwyn Sprite, 187 Giants, 370 Giants' Dance, the, 371 Gigantic Ghosts, 176 Giraldus Cambrensis, 65 Gitto Bach, the Legend of, 119 Gnomes, 24 Goats, Strange Beliefs concerning, 53 Gobelin, the French, 32 Goblin Animals, 167 " Funerals, 231 God's Name as an Exorcism, 112 " " in the Bardic Traditions, 209 Good Friday Customs, 266 Good Old Times, the, 252 Grassless Grave, Legend of the, 331 Green Lady of Caerphilly, the, 132 " Meadows of the Sea, 8 Groaning Spirits, 222 Grotesque Ghosts, 174 Guest, Lady Charlotte, 5 Guy Fawkes Day Customs, 284 Gwahoddwr, the, 307 Gwenfrewi, Legend of, 347 Gwerddonau Llion, 8 Gwion Bach (Taliesin), 88, 394 Gwrach y Rhibyn, the, 216 Gwragedd Annwn, the, 34 Gwraig of the Golden Boat, the, 41 Gwydion, the Wizard Monarch, 5 Gwyllgi, the, 168 Gwyllion, 49 Gwyn ap Nudd, 6, 372 H. Hafod Lwyddog, Legend of, 124 Hallow E'en Customs, 280 Hares, Mythological Details, 162 Harp Music among Welsh Fairies, 94 Haunted Bridge, the, 144 " Castles and Houses, 143 " Margaret, 165 Headless Horse, the, 216 Hecate, 49 Hermes, 236 Hidden Treasures and Perturbed Ghosts, 151 " " Dragon-Guarded, 386 Hobgoblin, 32 Holy Thursday, Superstition concerning, 25, 268 Horse-Weddings, 310 Hot-cross Buns, 267 Household Fairy, the, 31 Howell Dda, 298 I. Iago ap Dewi's Seven Years' Absence, 88 Ianto Llewellyn and the Fairies, 123 Idris the Giant, 370 Incubus, 193 Inscribed Stones, Superstitious Dread of, 373 Iolo ap Hugh, the Legend of, 99 Islands, the Enchanted, 8 J. Jack-muh-Lantern, 18 Jennet Francis and the Fairy Child-Stealers, 62 John the Red Nose, 258 Jones, the Prophet, 104 Juan White, the Spirit of, 50 K. Knife, Exorcism by the, 52 Knockers in Mines, 24 Kobolds, 29 L. Lady of the Fountain, 178, 385 " " Wood, Legend of the, 193 Lake Fairies, 34 Lang, A., cited, 197 Language of the Fairies, 106 Lapse of Time under Enchantment, 89 Laws of the Welsh Spirit-World, 148 Leek, Wearing of the, 260 Lenten Customs, 266 Levitation of Mortals, 157, 163 Levy Dew, 255 Lies, the Tump of, 273 Lifting at Easter, 269 Lightning Caverns, 394 Linen, its Ancient Value, 133 Listening at the Church Door, 214 Lisworney-Crossways, the Legend of, 169 Living with Fairies, 65 Llandaff Gwrach y Rhibyn, the, 217 Llechlafar Stone, 364 Lledrith, the, 215 Llwyd the Magician, 159, 190 Llwyn y Nef, the Bush of Heaven, 72 Llyn Barfog, the Fairy Maiden of, 36 " y Dywarchen, the Lady of, 44 " y Fan Fach, the Sirens of, 38 " Glas, the Shepherd of, 124 " y Morwynion, the Maidens' Lake, 47 Logan Stones, Superstitions concerning, 378 Lord and Beggar, Legend of the, 230 Love Charms, 302 Lucky Days, 268 Lukis, J. W., cited, 3, 380 Luther and the Changeling, 57 M. Mab, 14 Mabinogion, the, 5, 14, 91 Magic Carpet, 164 " Harp, 95 Maidens' Lake, the, 47 Maid's Trick, the, 302 Making Christ's Bed, 267 Mallt y Nos, the, 215 Marget yr Yspryd, 165 Mari Lwyd, the, 256 Marketing on Tombstones, 280 Marriage Customs, 306 May-day Customs, 274 Meddygon Myddfai, Legend of the, 38 Melerius, the Legend of, 192 Melusina, the Welsh, 381 Memorials of Arthur, 369 Men of Ardudwy, the Legend of the, 47 Merlin the Enchanter, as a Stone Remover, 371 " " " and the Red Dragon, 393 " an Early Myth, viii. Mermaids, 35, 47 Merthyr, the Rector of, cited, 3 Methodists, Banishers of Fairies, 6 Mid-Lent Sunday, 266 Midsummer Eve, 277 Milford Haven, the Fairies at, 9 Milk from Fountains, 356 Milk-white Milch Cow, Legend of the, 37 Mine Goblins, 24 Miner's Wraith, the, 215 Mirage, 173 Moel Arthur, the Treasure-Chest of, 388 Moelfre Hill, the Women of, 376 Mol Walbec the Giantess, 370 Monacella's Lambs, 162 Money thrown in Wells, 354 Morgan, Born of the Sea, 47 Morgana, 7 Mothering Sunday, 266 Mountain Ash, the Three Rods of, 210 " the Old Woman of the, 49 Mourning in Lent, 266 Music in Welsh Fairy Tales, 91, 98 Myfyr Morganwg, 277 Mystic Wells, 345 N. Nadolig, 286 Names of Welsh Fairies, 12 Nant yr Ellyllon, 79 Narberth in Mythic Story, 198, 234 New Year's Day Customs, 252 Night Fiend, the, 215 Nights for Spirits, the Three, 280 Nis, the, 186 Noises, Mysterious, on Barry Island, 353 North Wales, Fairyland in, 5 Nos Calan Gauaf, 280 O. Oaks, Superstitions concerning, 105 Odin's Spear, 395 Offrwm, the, 332 Old Woman of the Mountain, 49 " " " Torrent, 216 Origins of Fairies, 127 " " the Devil, 210 " " Death Omens, 245 " " Customs, 251 " " Spirits, 247 " " Mystic Well Superstitions, 359 " " Superstitions regarding Stones, 383 " " Dragons, 395 Owen Lawgoch and his Enchanted Men, 392 Owl's Screech a Death Omen, 213 P. Palm Sunday Customs, 266 Pant Shon Shenkin, the Legend of, 75 Pant-y-Madoc, the Gwyllgi of, 170 Pant-y-Saer, the Treasure-Hunter of, 389 Parc-y-Bigwrn, the Cromlech of, 382 Parson's Penny, 332 Pebble-Tossers, Gigantic, 370 Pembrokeshire a Land of Mystery, 10 Peredur, the Legend of, 202, 366 Phantom Horseman, the, 174 " Ships and Islands, 173 Pigmies, 24 Pins in Enchantment, 354 Place of Strife, the Legend of the, 59 Plant Annwn, 34 Planting Weeds on Graves, 298 " Flowers on Graves, 299, 336 Plentyn-newid, the, 56 Plygain, the, 294 Poetico-Religious Theory of Fairies' Origin, 134 Polly Williams and the Fairies, 81 Polyphemus, the Welsh, 179, 202 Pontypridd, Druidic Ceremonies at, 277 Preacher and Bwbach, the, 30 Prolific Woman, Legend of the, 133 Pronunciation of Welsh Words, Preface Propitiation of Goblins, 12, 114 Psyche, 86 Puck, the Welsh, 20 Puzzling Jug, the, 283 Pwca'r Trwyn, Account of, 187 " " chastises a Servant Girl, 22 " " travels in a Jug, 118 " " a Proscribed Noble, 128 " " was it a Fairy, 190 Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, 234 Q. Quintain, the, 284, 313 Quoits, Arthur's, 370 R. Ravens, Cave of the, 389 Realistic Theory of Fairies' Origin, 129 Red Book of Hergest (Llyfr Coch), 5 " Fairies, the, 127 " Lady of Paviland, the, 386 Rhamanta, 302 Rhitta Gawr, the Giant, 372 Rhys and Llewellyn, the Story of, 70 Rice at Weddings, 314 Richard the Tailor, 160 Rip Van Winkle, the Original of, 89 Robber's Stone, the, 376 Rocking Stone, Superstitions concerning, 378 Rowli Pugh and the Ellyll, 15 S. Sabbath-breakers Turned to Stone, 376 Sacred Wells, 345 Sagranus Stone, the, 375 Sailors' Superstitions, 9 St. Barruc's Well, 352 St. Ceyna, the Legend of, 377 St. Clement's Day, 284 St. Collen, the Legend of, 7 St. Cynfran's Well, 351 St. Cynhafal's Well, 351 St. David the Introducer of Death Portents into Wales, 245 " his Day, 259 " his Legendary Character, 260 St. Dogmell's Parish, 69, 273 St. Dwynwen's Well, 350 St. Elian's Well, 355 St. George's Well, 351 St. Gwenfrewi, the Legend of, 347 St. Gwynwy's Well, 353 St. Illtyd's Well, 357 St. John's Eve, 277 St. Mary's Well, 346 St. Melangell's Lambs, 162 St. Patrick and the Elfin Dames, 35 " a Welshman, 264 " his Day, 264 St. Samson and the Dragon, 392 St. Tegla's Well, 329, 349 St. Tydecho's Blue Stone, 367 St. Ulric's Day, 279 St. Valentine's Day, 259 St. Winifred's Well, 346 Salt at Funerals, 328 Sanford's Well, 358 Scapegoat, the, 329 Science, the Marvels of, 248 Seeing the Sun Dance, 273 Serpents Turned to Stones, 377 Seven Whistlers, the, 213 Sgilti Yscawndroed, the Lightfooted, 164 Shakspeare, his use of Welsh Folk-Lore, 14, 44 " his Visit to Wales, 20 Shepherds of Cwm Llan, the Legends of the, 121 Shoe-throwing, 314 Shon ap Shenkin, the Story of, 92 Showmen's Superstitions, 255 Shrove Tuesday, 265 Shuï Rees and the Fairies, 67 Sin-eater, the, 324 Sion Cent the Magician, 203 Skulls, 145 Sleeping Saints, the, 73 " Heroes, Legends of, 162, 392 Snake Stone, the, 278 Soul, its Future Destiny, 249 Souls of Dogs, 167 Sowling, 258 Spade Money, 333 Spectral Animals, 167 Spirit Fountain, the, 178 " Life, the Question of a, 249 " Nights, the Three, 280 " World, Laws Governing the Welsh, 148 Spirits' Antics, 180 Spiritual Hunting Dogs, 235 Spiritualism, 139 Spitting at the Name of the Devil, 209 Stanley, Hon. W. O., cited, 19, 115 Stone-throwing Spirits, 180, 185 Stone-tossing Giants, 370 Stone-worship, 361 Stone of Invisibility, the, 365 " " Remembrance, the, 366 " " Golden Gifts, the, 366 Stones, Curious Superstitions concerning, 361 " at Cross-roads, 368 " of Healing, 367 Storms, Baleful Spirits of, 385 Stripping the Carpenter, 284 Suicides, Superstitions concerning, 146, 331 Sul Coffa, 335 Summoning Spirits, 199 Supernatural, What is the, 248 Superstition, its Degree of Prevalence, 138, 251 " in the United States, 139, 252 Sweethearts' Charms, 302 T. Taff's Well, 358 Taffy ap Sion, the Shoemaker's Son, Legend of, 75 Tailor Magician of Glanbran, the, 200 Taliesin, the Tale of, 88 " his Dragon, 394 Talking Stone, the, 364 Tan-wedd, the, 213 Teetotallers, Fairy Antipathy to, 6 Teir-nos Ysprydnos, 280 Terrors of the Brute, Creation at Apparitions, 171 Teulu, the, 231 Thief-catching Stone, the, 366 Thigh Stone, the, 363 Thomas, Rev. Dr., cited, 300 Thor's Hammer, 395 Three Blows, the Story of the, 40 " Losses by Disappearance, the, 9 " Nights for Spirits, the, 280 Throwing at Cocks, 265 Thunder and Lightning as a Death Omen, 213 Toads and Warts, 352 Tolaeth, the, 225 Tolling the Bell, 340 Tooling, 258 Toriad y Dydd, 125 Transformation of Human Beings to Animals, 167, 381 " " " Stone, 374, 376 Transportation through the Air, 157, 163 Trichrug, the Giant of, 371 Tricking the Diawl, 203 Tridoll Valley Ghost, the, 181 Tudur of Llangollen, the Story of, 79 Tump of Lies, the, 273 Twelfth Night Customs, 256 Tylwyth Teg, the, 12 U. Unknowable, the, 138 Unlucky Days, 268 V. Vale of Neath, the, its Goblin Fame, 6 Vavasor Powell and the Devil, 198 Veil, the Goblin, 232 Venus, the Welsh, 299 " " her Well, 350 Villemarqué cited, 58 W. Walking Barefoot to Church, 266 Walking-stones, 363 Warts, 351, 367 Water Maidens, 47 " Worship, 359 Wedding Customs, 306 Wells, Mystic, 345 Wesley's Belief in Apparitions, 141 Whistlers, the, 213 Whistling Goblin, the, 178 White as a Fairy Colour, 132 " Catti of the Grove Cave, 144 Whitening Doorsteps to Keep off the Devil, 207 Wife of Supernatural Race, 38 Wild Huntsman, 235 Will-o'-Wisp, 20 Witches Sleeping under Stones, 368 Wonder Stone of Banwan Bryddin, the, 374 Wraiths, 215 Y. Ychain Banog, the, 108, 392 Yellow Spot before Death, the, 216 LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. _A Catalogue of American and Foreign Books Published or Imported by MESSRS. SAMPSON LOW & CO. can be had on application._ _Crown Buildings, 188, Fleet Street, London, April, 1879._ A List of Books PUBLISHED BY SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON. ALPHABETICAL LIST. _A classified Educational Catalogue of Works_ published in Great Britain. Demy 8vo, cloth extra. 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Crown 8vo, boards, 2_s._ ---- _Books I. to VII._ Boards, 3_s._ 6_d._ London: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. Transcriber's Note Minor punctuation errors have been repaired. Hyphenation and accent usage has been made consistent throughout. Capitalisation of items in the Table of contents and chapter headers has been made consistent. On page 181, following an account of the damage caused by spirits is the line "This pleasant experience was often repeated." The word 'pleasant' may be an error on the part of the author or typesetter, and 'unpleasant' was actually intended, or it may be deliberate on the part of the author. Since it is impossible to be sure, it is preserved as printed. The following amendments have been made, addressing typographic errors or inconsistency: Page xi--Llwellyn amended to Llewellyn--"... Ianto Llewellyn and the Tylwyth Teg ..." Page 17--reducable amended to reducible--"... all household tales are reducible to a primeval root ..." Page 45--hurrry amended to hurry--"... in her hurry to remount, ..." Page 49--Llanhyddel amended to Llanhiddel--"... the guise in which she haunted Llanhiddel Mountain ..." Page 75--acccustomed amended to accustomed--"... the barren mountain he was accustomed to." Page 106--Mammau amended to Mamau--"... Ni chytunant hwy mwy na Bendith eu Mamau, ..." Page 117--Dolgelly amended to Dolgelley--"But first consulting a wise woman at Dolgelley, ..." Page 117--gods amended to goods (based on reference to same further up the same page)--"He was flitting with the household goods, ..." Page 125--Mammau amended to Mamau--"... as Bendith y Mamau was poured down ..." Page 135--hape amended to have--"... may desire to know why these fairies have appeared ..." Page 137--Shakespeare amended to Shakspeare--"SHAKSPEARE: _Tempest_." Page 176--Lantarnam amended to Llantarnam--"... who lived in the parish of Llantarnam." Page 241--Landavenis amended to Landavensis--"In the 'Liber Landavensis' it is mentioned ..." Page 275--Llud amended to Lludd--"... the daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint." Page 276--VIII amended to VII--"VII. In the remote and primitive parish ..." Page 314--IV amended to III--"III. Among the wealthier classes ..." Page 317--V amended to IV--"IV. A custom called the Coolstrin ..." Page 338--Faery amended to Faerie--"SPENSER: _Faerie Queene_." Page 343--Taf amended to Taff--"When they came to the banks of the river Taff, ..." Page 358--well amended to Well--"Taff's Well, in Glamorganshire, ..." Page 399--Gwin amended to Gwyn--"Catrin Gwyn, the Legend of, 144" Page 400--Wybyr amended to Wybr--"Cwn y Wybr, 233" Page 404--Howel amended to Howell--"Howell Dda, 298" Page 408--Dyved amended to Dyfed--"Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, 234" The frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title page. Other illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph. 
38041	----	OLD CELTIC ROMANCES OLD CELTIC ROMANCES translated from the gaelic BY P.W. JOYCE, M.A., LL.D., T.C.D. M.R.I.A. _One of the Commissioners for the Publication of the Ancient Laws of Ireland President of the Royal Society of Antiquaries, Ireland_ Author of "A SOCIAL HISTORY OF ANCIENT IRELAND" "THE STORY OF ANCIENT IRISH CIVILISATION" "A SHORT HISTORY OF IRELAND" "A CHILD'S HISTORY OF IRELAND" "IRISH NAMES OF PLACES" "ANCIENT IRISH MUSIC" AND OTHER WORKS RELATING TO IRELAND "I shall tell you a pretty tale" --Coriolanus. DUBLIN THE EDUCATIONAL CO. OF IRELAND, LIMITED 89 TALBOT STREET LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND COMPANY 39 PATERNOSTER ROW 1920 PREFACE. Among the Celtic people of Ireland and the north-west of Scotland, story-telling has always been a favourite amusement. In the olden time, they had professional story-tellers, variously designated according to rank--ollaves, shanachies, filès, bards, etc.--whose duty it was to know by heart a number of old tales, poems, and historical pieces, and to recite them at festive gatherings, for the entertainment of the chiefs and their guests. These story-tellers were always well received at the houses of princes and chiefs, and treated with much consideration; and on occasions when they acquitted themselves well, so as to draw down the applause of the audience, they were often rewarded with costly presents. To meet the demand for this sort of entertainment, ingenious "men of learning," taking legends or historical events as themes, composed stories from time to time; of which those that struck the popular fancy were caught up and remembered, and handed down from one generation of story-tellers to another. In course of time, a body of romantic literature grew up, consisting chiefly of prose tales, which were classified, according to subject, into Battles, Voyages, Tragedies, Military Expeditions, Cattle-Raids, Courtships, Pursuits, Adventures, Visions, etc.[I.] Some of these tales were historical, _i.e._ founded on historical events, and corresponded closely with what is now called the historical romance; while others were altogether fictitious--pure creations of the imagination. But it is to be observed that even in the fictitious tales, the main characters are always historical, or such as were considered so. The old ollaves wove their fictions round Conor Mac Nessa and his Red Branch Knights, or Finn and his Fena, or Luga of the Long Arms and his Dedannans, or Conn the Hundred-fighter, or Cormac Mac Art; like the Welsh legends of Arthur and his Round Table, or the Arabian romances of Haroun-al-Raschid and his Court. The greater number of the tales were, as I have said, in prose. But some were in poetry; and in many of the prose tales the leading characters are often made to express themselves in verse, or some striking incident of the story is repeated in a poetical form. Not unfrequently the fragments of verse introduced into a prose tale are quotations from an older poetical version of the same tale; and hence it often happens that while the prose may be plain enough, the poetry is often archaic and obscure. At some very early period in Ireland--how early we have now no means of determining with certainty--Celtic thought began to be committed to writing; and as everything seems to have been written down that was considered worth preserving, manuscripts accumulated in course of time, which were kept either in monasteries, or in the houses of the hereditary professors of learning. But in the dark time of the Danish ravages, and during the troubled centuries that followed the Anglo-Norman invasion, the manuscript collections were gradually dispersed, and a large proportion lost or destroyed. Yet we have remaining--rescued by good fortune from the general wreck--a great body of manuscript literature. Our two most important collections are those in Trinity College and in the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin; where we have manuscripts of various ages, from the year 1100 down to the present century, on every conceivable subject--Annals, History, Biography, Theology, Romance, Legend, Science, etc. These manuscripts, which, it should be remarked, are nearly all copies from older books, contain a vast collection of romantic literature: it may, indeed, be said that there is scarcely one important event in our early history, or one important native personage or native legend, that has not been made the subject of some fanciful story. The volume I now offer to the notice of the public contains eleven tales, selected and translated from the manuscripts of Trinity College and of the Royal Irish Academy. Some have been already published, with original text and _literal_ translation, and are to be found in the Transactions of various literary societies, where, however, they are inaccessible to the general run of readers; and even if they were accessible, they are almost unreadable, the translations having been executed, not for literary, but for linguistic purposes. Others have never been translated or given to the public in any shape or form till now. Of the whole collection of eleven tales, therefore, it may be said that they are quite new to the general mass of the reading public. And furthermore, this is the first collection of the old Gaelic prose romances that has ever been published in fair English translation. Scraps and fragments of some of these tales have been given to the world in popular publications, by writers who, not being able to read the originals, took their information from printed books in the English language. But I am forced to say that many of these specimens have been presented in a very unfavourable and unjust light--distorted to make them look _funny_, and their characters debased to the mere modern conventional stage Irishman. There is none of this silly and odious vulgarity in the originals of these fine old tales, which are high and dignified in tone and feeling--quite as much so as the old romantic tales of Greece and Rome.[II.] A translation may either follow the very words, or reproduce the life and spirit, of the original; but no translation can do both. If you render word for word, you lose the spirit; if you wish to give the spirit and manner, you must depart from the exact words, and frame your own phrases. I have chosen this latter course. My translation follows the original closely enough in narrative and incident; but so far as mere phraseology is concerned, I have used the English language freely, not allowing myself to be trammelled by too close an adherence to the very words of the text. The originals are in general simple in style; and I have done my best to render them into simple, plain, homely English. In short, I have tried to tell the stories as I conceive the old shanachies themselves would have told them, if they had used English instead of Gaelic. In the originals, the stories run on without break or subdivision;[III.] but I have thought it better to divide the longer ones into chapters, with appropriate headings. In almost all cases I had at my command several copies of the same story, some of them differing in phraseology and in minor points of detail, though agreeing, in the main, in narrative and incident. I found this a considerable advantage, as it gave me more freedom in the choice of expression. I have made full use of the literal translations of those tales that have been already published in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society, in the _Atlantis_, in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, and in the Journal of the Royal Historical and Archæological Association of Ireland. But, in order to secure the advantage of various readings, I compared, in every case, the published text with at least one copy of the story, in the Royal Irish Academy, in Trinity College, or in my own private manuscript collection. The ancient institution of professional story-telling held its ground both in Ireland and in Scotland down to a very recent period; and it is questionable if it be even yet quite extinct. Within my own memory, this sort of entertainment was quite usual among the farming classes of the south of Ireland. The family and workmen, and any neighbours that chose to drop in, would sit round the kitchen fire after the day's work--or perhaps gather in a barn on a summer or autumn evening--to listen to some local shanachie reciting one of his innumerable Gaelic tales. The story-teller never chose his own words--he always had the story by heart, and recited the words from memory, often gliding into a sort of recitative in poetical passages, or when he came to some favourite grandiose description abounding in high-sounding alliterative adjectives. And very interesting it was to mark the rapt attention of the audience, and to hear their excited exclamations when the speaker came to relate some mighty combat, some great exploit of the hero, or some other striking incident. Three years ago, I met a man in Kilkee, who had a great number of these stories by heart, and who actually repeated for me, without the slightest hitch or hesitation, more than half--and if I had not stopped him would have given me the whole--of "Cúirt an Mheadhon-Oidhche" ("The Midnight Court"), a poem about six times as long as Gray's "Elegy." I will now proceed to give a few particulars concerning these tales, including a short account of the manuscript or manuscripts from which each has been translated. THE THREE TRAGIC STORIES OF ERIN. Among the ancient Gaelic tales, three were known as "the three most sorrowful (tales) of story-telling," or "The Three Tragic Stories of Erin;" viz., "The Fate of the Children of Usna," "The Fate of the Children of Lir," and "The Fate of the Children of Turenn." I have not included the first in this volume, but a poetical version of it has been written and published by my brother.[IV.] THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR. Two translations of this tale have been published: one literal, with the Gaelic text, by Professor O'Curry, in the _Atlantis_ (Nos. vii. and viii.); and another, less literal, by Gerald Griffin, in his "Tales of a Jury-Room." The oldest known copies of the tale are, one in the Catholic University, Dublin, made by Andrew Mac Curtin, a well-known Gaelic scholar and scribe of the county Clare, who lived between 1680 and 1740; one in Trinity College, Dublin, made by Hugh O'Daly, in 1758; and one in the British Museum, made by Richard Tipper of Dublin, in 1718.[V.] There is also a very good copy in the Royal Irish Academy (23. C. 26), of which I made considerable use, written in or about 1782, by Peter O'Connell, a good Gaelic scholar of the county Clare. From a comparison of several of these versions, O'Curry made his copy of the text as published in the _Atlantis_. There may be, and there probably are, older copies, in Trinity College, in the British Museum, or elsewhere, if we knew only where to find them. And this observation applies to several of the tales that follow, of which we have at hand only modern copies. THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF TURENN. In the Book of Lecan (folio 28), which was compiled by the Mac Firbises, about A.D. 1416, is a short account, partly in prose and partly in verse, of the celebrated eric-fine imposed on the three sons of Turenn, by Luga of the Long Arms, for killing his father Kian; but this old book does not give the story of the quest for the fine. The full tale, text and literal translation, has been published by O'Curry in the _Atlantis_. There are several good copies in the Royal Irish Academy: one in 23. G. 10, transcribed by Patrick Brown of the county Clare, in 1805; another in 23. E. 16, written out by Michael Oge O'Longan, in 1797; and a third (imperfect) in 23. M. 47, copied by Andrew Mac Curtin, in 1734. There are references to these three sons of Turenn, and to the manner of their death, in two very old authorities, viz., Cormac's "Glossary" (about A.D. 900); and a poem by Flann of Monaster-boice (who died A.D. 1056), a copy of which is in the Book of Leinster, written about A.D. 1130. In the older references to the sons of Turenn, they are called Brian, Iuchar, Iucharba; but in some comparatively modern copies of the tale the names are a little different--for instance, Peter O'Connell calls them Uar, Iuchar, and Iucharba; and they vary still further in other copies. I have taken advantage of this variety to give the names in a more pronounceable form in my translation. In the original, this tale is introduced by an anecdote of Nuada of the Silver Hand and the two great Dedannan leeches, Midac and Armedda (see page 92, _infra_), which has nothing whatever to do with the story, and which I have omitted. THE OVERFLOWING OF LOUGH NEAGH. "Leabhar na h-Uidhre," or "The Book of the Dun Cow," from which this and the two following tales are taken, is the oldest manuscript of miscellaneous Gaelic literature we possess. It was transcribed from older books by Maelmuire Mac Ceilechair, who died A.D. 1106; and it is now deposited in the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin--or rather, I should say, a large fragment of it, for the book has suffered much mutilation. This venerable book may now be said to be in the hands of the public, as it has been lately reproduced in lithograph fac-simile, and published by the Council of the Royal Irish Academy, at the Government expense. The story of "The Overflowing of Lough Neagh" (called in the original "The Destruction of Eocho Mac Mairedo") has been published, with text and literal translation, by the late J. O'Beirne Crowe, in the Kilkenny Archæological Journal volume for 1870-1. In this story I have been obliged to make a few transpositions in the mere order of the incidents, for the narrative in the original is in some places very ill arranged. It is now nearly eight hundred years since this story was _transcribed_ from some old authority into "The Book of the Dun Cow;" and it is singular that the tradition of the formation of Lough Neagh, by the overflow of an enchanted well which was neglected by the woman in charge of it, still maintains a vivid existence among the peasantry. (See on this subject the author's "Origin and History of Irish Names of Places," Series I. 4th edition, page 176.) CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR, AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN. This tale (called in the original "Echtra Condla Cain," "The Adventures of Connla the Comely") is taken from "The Book of the Dun Cow." It has been published, with text and literal translation, by the late J. O'Beirne Crowe, in the Kilkenny Archæological Journal (volume 1874-5, page 128). This is one of the many tales that illustrate the ancient and widespread superstition that fairies sometimes take away mortals to their palaces in the fairy forts and pleasant green hills;[19] of which the last story in this book--"Oisin in Tirnanoge"--is another example. This superstition prevailed in Ireland and the Scottish Highlands as far back as either history or tradition reaches; it flourished in full vigour within my own memory; and it is scarcely quite extinct--in Ireland at least--at the present day.[VI.] In connection with the antiquity of this superstition, it must be borne in mind that the present story was transcribed into "The Book of the Dun Cow" in or about the year 1100, from some older book; and that it relates to the time of Conn the Hundred-fighter, king of Ireland, who reigned in the second century of the Christian era. THE VOYAGE OF MAILDUN. Of this tale (which is now given to the public for the first time) the oldest copy is in "The Book of the Dun Cow" (about the year 1100); but it is imperfect at both beginning and end--a portion having been torn away when the book was mutilated at some former time. There is a perfect copy in the Yellow Book of Lecan, in Trinity College, Dublin, and another in the British Museum (MS. Harl. 5280). After I had made a rough translation of the greater part of this piece, I discovered a good literal translation in manuscript in the Royal Irish Academy, made by the late J. O'Beirne Crowe, which was of great use to me, as it helped to explain some strange terms, and to clear up some obscure passages. This voyage would appear from internal evidence to have been made in the beginning of the eighth century (O'Curry says about the year 700); for I think it likely that Maildun did actually go on a voyage, which was afterwards made the framework of the story. On my translation of this tale, Lord Tennyson founded his poem "The Voyage of Maeldune." Of the _Imrama_ or voluntary sea expeditions (to which the present story belongs) there are, according to O'Curry (Lect. MS. Mat. 289), only four remaining, all very ancient. Of these the best known is the "Voyage of St. Brendan," undertaken in the sixth century, which was at one time celebrated all over Europe, and which has been lately made the theme of a fine poem by Denis Florence McCarthy. Another of these _Imrama_ is the "Voyage of the Sons of O'Corra," which has been described at some length by Professor O'Curry (Lect. MS. Mat. 289). Of this I have a copy which I made from the MS. 23. M. 50, Royal Irish Academy (and which I afterwards carefully compared with another copy lent me by my friend, Mr. W.M. Hennessy). I made a translation of this story, intending to print it in the present volume; but as there is a much older and better copy in the ancient "Book of Fermoy," which I had not time to consult in detail, I have thought it better to hold back for the present the strange adventures of the sons of O'Corra. A beautiful poetical translation of the whole tale has been made by Mr. T.D. Sullivan of Dublin, and published in his volume of Poems. THE FAIRY PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES. The "Bruighean Caerthainn," or "The Fairy Palace of the Quicken Trees," which is now translated for the first time, is one of the most popular of the Gaelic romances. I had three of the Royal Irish Academy MSS. before me when translating it--viz., 23. C. 30, transcribed in 1733, by the Irish writer and lexicographer, Andrew Mac Curtin of the county Clare; 24. B. 15, written in 1841; and 23. L. 24, copied in 1766, by Dermot O'Mulqueen of the county Clare. This is one of a type of stories very common in Gaelic romantic literature:--One or more of the heroes are entrapped by some enchanter and held under a spell in a castle, or a cave, or a dungeon; till, after a series of adventures, they are released by the bravery or mother-wit of some of their companions. "The Chase of Slieve Fuad" and "The Chase of Slieve Cullinn" are two other examples of this class of Gaelic tales. THE PURSUIT OF THE GILLA DACKER AND HIS HORSE. This is a humorous story of a trick--a very serious practical joke--played by Avarta, a Dedannan enchanter, on sixteen of the Fena, whom he carried off to "The Land of Promise;" and of the adventures of Finn, Dermat O'Dyna, and the others, in their pursuit of Avarta (who had taken the shape of the Gilla Dacker) to recover their companions. It may be regarded as belonging to the same class as the last story. O'Curry described the opening of this tale in his Lectures (MS. Mat. 316); and he was the first, so far as I know, to draw attention to it. I think it strange that such a story should not have been noticed before by writers on Gaelic literature; for as a work of imagination, it seems to me a marvellous and very beautiful creation. The battles fought by the king of Sorca, aided by Finn and his Fena, against the King of the World, are described at much length in the original; but I have cut them down to a very short compass; and I have omitted altogether a long episode towards the end, which travels away from the main story. This tale has never been translated till now. I translated it chiefly from the Royal Irish Academy MS., 24. B. 28, a well-written manuscript, which was copied out by Edmond Terry, in 1728: but I kept another good copy beside me for comparison, viz., that contained in the Royal Irish Academy MS., 23. G. 21, written in 1795, by Michael Oge O'Longan of Cork, father of Mr. Joseph O'Longan, now the Irish scribe in the Royal Irish Academy, and the transcriber in fac-simile of "Leabhar na h-Uidhre," "Leabhar Breac," and "Leabhar Laighneach." THE PURSUIT OF DERMAT AND GRANIA. This tale is one of those mentioned in the list contained in the Book of Leinster, which was written about A.D. 1130 (see note, page iv.); but though this proves the tale to be an ancient one, I have never come across a copy older than the last century. "The Pursuit of Dermat and Grania" has been published, with text and a very racy idiomatic literal translation, by Mr. Standish Hayes O'Grady, in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society for 1855, from a comparison of two manuscripts, one of 1780 and the other of 1842. In addition to Mr. O'Grady's published text, I made use of another good copy (MS. Royal Irish Academy, 23. G. 21) written in 1795, by Michael Oge O'Longan, already spoken of. I cannot help believing that this fine story originally ended with the death of Dermat; though in all the current versions (including Mr. O'Grady's printed text) there is an additional part recounting the further proceedings of Grania and her sons, after the death of the hero. But this part is in every respect inferior to the rest--in language, in feeling, and in play of imagination. It seems to me very clear that it was patched on to the original story by some unskilful hand; and I have accordingly omitted it, and ended the story with the death of Dermat. I have also omitted two short episodes--that of the _cnumh_ or reptile of Corca Divna, as a mere excrescence; and Finn's expedition to Scotland for aid against Dermat. And, for the sake of clearness, I have slightly changed the place of that part of the tale which recounts the origin of the Fairy Quicken Tree of Dooros. There are one or two other trifling but very necessary modifications, which need not be mentioned here. THE CHASE OF SLIEVE CULLINN: THE CHASE OF SLIEVE FUAD: OISIN IN TIRNANOGE. In the original Gaelic these are three poetical tales. All three have been printed, with Gaelic text and literal translation, in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society: the two first by the late John O'Daly, and "Oisin in Tirnanoge" by Professor O'Looney. There are many good copies of these tales in the manuscripts of the Royal Irish Academy; though of not one of them have I seen a copy older than the last century. "The Chase of Slieve Cullinn" (commonly known as "The Poem of the Chase") has been translated into English verse by Miss Brooke; and there is another metrical translation in the _Irish Penny Journal_ (page 93). And of "Oisin in Tirnanoge," Mr. T.D. Sullivan has given a graceful poetical rendering in his volume of Poems, already mentioned. PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. In this edition there is an additional tale, "The Fate of the Sons of Usna," a notice of which will be found at page x, above. LYRE-NA-GRENA, LEINSTER ROAD, RATHMINES, 1907. FOOTNOTES: [I.] In the Book of Leinster, a manuscript now in Trinity College, Dublin, which was transcribed about the year 1130, there is a very interesting list of ancient historic tales--187 in all--classified in the manner indicated above, which an ollave was obliged to master, so as to be able to repeat any one of them from memory, whenever his patron required him to do so. (See O'Curry, "Lectures on the MS. Materials of Irish History," pages 243 and 584.) [II.] Macpherson never sinned in this way. He caught the true keynote; and his "Poems of Ossian," however perverted in other respects, are always dignified in thought and expression. Among other examples of the true interpretation of the spirit of these old romances, prose and poetry, I may mention Miss Brooke's "Reliques of Irish Poetry," published in the end of the last century; the Rev. Dr. Drummond's "Ancient Irish Minstrelsy," published in 1852; Lady Ferguson's graceful and interesting book, "The Story of the Irish before the Conquest" (1868); and Mr. Standish O'Grady's ably written volume, the "History of Ireland" (Vol. I., The Heroic Period 1878). [III.] With one partial exception. In "The Book of the Dun Cow," "The Voyage of Maildun" is divided into parts or chapters, which are numbered on the margin in Roman numerals, each chapter relating to one particular island; but no spaces are left, and the chapters have no headings. In this tale I have followed the old sub-division. [IV.] "Deirdrè," by Robert D. Joyce, M.D., M.R.I.A. Boston: Roberts Brothers. Dublin: M.H. Gill and Son. [V.] O'Curry, _Atlantis_, Nos. vii. and viii., page 390. [VI.] See the ballad and air of "The Fairy King's Courtship," in the author's "Ancient Irish Music," page 1. CONTENTS. THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR; OR, THE FOUR WHITE SWANS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Bove Derg chosen King of the Dedannans, 1 II. The Children of Lir, 4 III. The Four Children of Lir are turned into Four White 6 Swans by their Stepmother, IV. The Four White Swans on Lake Darvra, 10 V. The Four White Swans on the Sea of Moyle, 18 VI. The Four White Swans on the Western Sea, 26 VII. The Children of Lir regain their Human Shape and die, 32 THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF TURENN; OR, THE QUEST FOR THE ERIC-FINE. I. The Lochlanns invade Erin, 37 II. The Murder of Kian, 42 III. Defeat and Flight of the Lochlanns, 47 IV. The Eric-Fine on the Sons of Turenn for the Slaying of 51 Kian, V. The Sons of Turenn obtain Mannanan's Canoe, the 60 Wave-Sweeper, VI. The Apples of the Garden of Hisberna, 63 VII. The Gifted Skin of the Pig, 67 VIII. The Blazing Spear of the King of Persia, 71 IX. The Chariot and Steeds of the King of Sigar, 74 X. The Seven Pigs of the King of the Golden Pillars, 78 XI. The Hound-Whelp of the King of Iroda, 81 XII. Return of the Sons of Turenn, with part of the 84 Eric-Fine, XIII. The Cooking-Spit of the Women of Fincara, 87 XIV. The Three Shouts on Midkena's Hill, 89 XV. Return and Death of the Sons of Turenn, 91 THE OVERFLOWING OF LOUGH NEAGH, AND THE STORY OF LIBAN THE MERMAID. 97 CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN. 106 THE VOYAGE OF MAILDUN. I. Maildun's Childhood and Youth. He begins his Voyage in 112 Quest of the Plunderers who slew his Father, II. The First Island. Tidings of the Plunderers, 117 III. The Island of the Monstrous Ants, 119 IV. The Terraced Isle of Birds, 120 V. A Monster, 121 VI. The Demon Horse-Race, 122 VII. The Palace of Solitude, 124 VIII. The Island of the Wonderful Apple Tree, 125 IX. The Island of Bloodthirsty Quadrupeds, 126 X. An Extraordinary Monster, 127 XI. The Isle of Red-Hot Animals, 129 XII. The Palace of the Little Cat, 131 XIII. An Island that dyed Black and White, 133 XIV. The Island of the Burning River, 135 XV. The Miller of Hell, 136 XVI. The Isle of Weeping, 137 XVII. The Isle of the Four Precious Walls, 139 XVIII. The Palace of the Crystal Bridge, 139 XIX. The Isle of Speaking Birds, 143 XX. The Aged Hermit and the Human Souls, 143 XXI. The Island of the Big Blacksmiths, 145 XXII. The Crystal Sea, 147 XXIII. A Lovely Country beneath the Waves, 147 XXIV. An Island guarded by a Wall of Water, 148 XXV. A Water-Arch in the Air, 149 XXVI. The Silver Pillar of the Sea, 150 XXVII. An Island standing on One Pillar, 151 XXVIII. The Island Queen detains them with her Magic 152 Thread-Clew, XXIX. The Isle of Intoxicating Wine-Fruits, 156 XXX. The Isle of the Mystic Lake, 157 XXXI. The Isle of Laughing, 163 XXXII. The Isle of the Blest, 164 XXXIII. The Hermit of the Sea-Rock, 164 XXXIV. Signs of Home, 174 XXXV. Maildun meets his Enemy, and arrives Home, 175 THE FAIRY PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES. I. Colga, King of Lochlann, invades Erin, and is slain, 177 II. Midac, the Son of Colga, meditates Revenge, 181 III. Finn is entrapped by Midac, and held by Enchantment in 189 the Palace of the Quicken Trees, IV. Innsa, Finn's Foster Son, defends the Ford leading to 196 the Palace of the Quicken Trees, V. Ficna, the Son of Finn, defends the Ford, 203 VI. Dermat O'Dyna slays the Three Kings of the Island of 213 the Torrent, breaks the Spell with their Blood, and frees Finn, VII. The Fight at the Ford with the Foreign Army, 219 THE PURSUIT OF THE GILLA DACKER AND HIS HORSE. I. Arrival of the Gilla Dacker and his Horse, 223 II. Conan and Fifteen of the Fena are carried off by the 235 Gilla Dacker's Horse, III. Pursuit, 239 IV. Dermat O'Dyna, in Quest of the Gilla Dacker, 245 encounters the Wizard-Champion at the Well, V. Dermat O'Dyna in Tir-fa-tonn, 253 VI. Finn, in Quest of Dermat, fights many Battles, 259 VII. Finn and Dermat meet, 265 VIII. Conan and his Companions found and rescued, 267 THE PURSUIT OF DERMAT AND GRANIA. I. Finn, the Son of Cumal, seeks the Princess Grania to 274 Wife, II. Dermat O'Dyna secretly espouses the Princess Grania, 277 III. Flight and Pursuit, 285 IV. The Fastness of the Seven Narrow Doors, 289 V. The Three Sea-Champions and their Three Venomous 296 Hounds on the Track of Dermat and Grania, VI. What Befell the Three Sea-Champions and their Three 305 Venomous Hounds, VII. Sharvan, the Surly Giant, and the Fairy Quicken Tree 313 of Dooros, VIII. The Attack of the Witch-Hag, 330 IX. Peace and Rest at Last, 332 X. The Death of Dermat, 334 THE CHASE OF SLIEVE CULLINN, 351 THE CHASE OF SLIEVE FUAD, 362 OISIN IN TIRNANOGE; OR, THE LAST OF THE FENA, 385 THE VOYAGE OF THE SONS OF O'CORRA, 400 THE FATE OF THE SONS OF USNA, 427 NOTES, 455 LIST OF PROPER NAMES, 471 THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR; OR, _THE FOUR WHITE SWANS._ Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water; Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose; While murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. MOORE. CHAPTER I. BOVE DERG CHOSEN KING OF THE DEDANNANS. After the battle of Tailltenn,[VII.] the Dedannans[1][VIII.] of the five provinces of Erin assembled in one place of meeting, to consider on their state, and to choose a king. For their chiefs said it was better for them to have one king over all, than to be divided, as they were, serving sundry lords and princes. Now of those who expected the sovereignty for themselves, the following chiefs were the noblest, namely:--Bove Derg,[IX.] son of the Dagda; his brother Angus, of Bruga on the Boyne, who, however, had no earnest wish to become king, preferring to remain as he was; Ilbrec of Assaroe; Lir of Shee Finnaha; and Midir the Haughty of Bri-Leth.[1] Then the chief people went into council, all except the five above named; and the decision they came to was to elect Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, king over the whole of the Dedannan race. When the election was made known, none of those who were disappointed took the matter to heart except Lir of Shee Finnaha alone. And when Lir found that the chiefs had chosen Bove Derg, he was greatly offended, and straightway left the assembly in anger, without taking leave of any one, and without showing any mark of respect or obedience to the new king. When the chiefs heard this, they were wroth; and they said they would follow him to Shee Finnaha,[X.] and slay him with spear and sword, and burn his house, because he did not yield obedience to the king they had elected in lawful council. But Bove Derg would not permit them to do so. "This man," he said, "will defend his territory, and many will be slain; and I am none the less your king, although he has not submitted to me." Matters remained so for a long time. But at last a great misfortune happened to Lir, for his wife died after an illness of three days. This weighed heavily on him, and his heart was weary with sorrow after her. Her death, moreover, was a great event at that time, and was much spoken of throughout Erin. When the tidings reached the mansion of Bove Derg, where the chief men of the Dedannans were then assembled, the king said-- "As Lir's wife is now dead, my friendship would be of service to him, if he were willing to accept it. For I have in my house three maidens, the most beautiful and the best instructed in all Erin, namely, Eve, Eva, and Alva, my own foster children, and daughters of Allil of Ara."[XI.] The Dedannans agreed to this, and said that their king had spoken wisely and truly. Messengers were accordingly sent to Lir, and they were told to say to him-- "If thou art willing to submit to the king, he will give thee for a wife one of his three foster children; and thou shalt have his friendship for ever." It was pleasing to Lir to make this alliance; and accordingly he set out next day from Shee Finnaha with a company of fifty chariots; and they never halted or turned aside till they reached the palace of Bove Derg, on the shore of the Great Lake.[XII.] Their arrival gave much joy and happiness to the king and his household; for although Lir did not submit at first to Bove Derg, he was a good man, and was greatly beloved by the king himself and by all his subjects. So Lir and his followers got a kindly welcome; and they were supplied with everything necessary, and were well attended to that night. Next day, the three daughters of Allil of Ara sat on the same couch with the queen their foster mother; and the king said to Lir-- "Take thy choice of the three maidens, and whichever thou choosest, she shall be thy wife." "They are all beautiful," said Lir, "and I cannot tell which of them is best; but I will take the eldest, for she must be the noblest of the three." Then the king said, "Eve is the eldest, and she shall be given to thee if it be thy wish." So Lir chose Eve for his wife, and they were wedded that day. Lir remained a fortnight in the king's palace, and then departed with his wife to his own house, Shee Finnaha, where he celebrated his marriage by a great royal wedding feast. FOOTNOTES: [VII.] Now Teltown, on the river Blackwater, between Kells and Navan, in Meath. (See note 1 at the end, for this battle.) [VIII.] The numbers refer to the notes at the end of the book. [IX.] At the end of the book will be found an alphabetical list of all the names of persons and places mentioned through the volume, with their Gaelic forms, and, in many cases, their meanings. [X.] Shee Finnaha, Lir's residence, is thought to have been situated near the boundary of Armagh and Monaghan, not far from Newtown Hamilton. [XI.] Ara, the islands of Aran, in Galway Bay. [XII.] The Great Lake, _i.e._ Lough Derg, on the Shannon, above Killaloe. CHAPTER II. THE CHILDREN OF LIR. In course of time, Lir's wife bore him two children at a birth, a daughter and a son, whose names were Finola and Aed. A second time she brought forth twins, two sons, who were named Ficra and Conn: and she died in giving them birth. This was a cause of great anguish to Lir; and he would almost have died of grief, only that his mind was turned from his sorrow by his great love for his four little children. When the news of Eve's death reached the mansion of Bove Derg, the king was in deep grief, and the people of his household raised three great cries of lamentation for her. And when their mourning was ended, the king said-- "We grieve for our foster child, both on her own account, and for the sake of the good man to whom we gave her; for we are thankful for his alliance and his friendship. But our acquaintance shall not be ended, and our alliance shall not be broken; for I will give him her sister to wife, my second foster child, Eva." Messengers were sent to Lir to Shee Finnaha, to tell him of this; and he consented. So after some time he came to the king's house to espouse her, and they were united; and he brought her home with him to his own house. The four children grew up under Eva's care. She nursed them with great tenderness, and her love for them increased every day. They slept near their father; and he would often rise from his own bed at the dawn of morning, and go to their beds, to talk with them and to fondle them. The king, Bove Derg, loved them almost as well as did their father. He went many times every year to Shee Finnaha to see them; and he used to bring them often to his palace, where he kept them as long as he could on each occasion, and he always felt sad when he sent them home. At this time, too, the Dedannans used to celebrate the Feast of Age[2] at the houses of their chiefs by turns; and whenever it happened that the festival was held at Shee Finnaha, these children were the delight and joy of the Dedannans. For nowhere could four lovelier children be found; so that those who saw them were always delighted with their beauty and their gentleness, and could not help loving them with their whole heart. CHAPTER III. THE FOUR CHILDREN OF LIR ARE TURNED INTO FOUR WHITE SWANS BY THEIR STEPMOTHER. Now when Eva saw that the children of Lir received such attention and affection from their father, and from all others that came to his house, she fancied she was neglected on their account; and a poisonous dart of jealousy entered her heart, which turned her love to hatred; and she began to have feelings of bitter enmity for her sister's children. Her jealousy so preyed on her that she feigned illness, and lay in bed for nearly a year, filled with gall and brooding mischief; and at the end of that time she committed a foul and cruel deed of treachery on the children of Lir. One day she ordered her horses to be yoked to her chariot, and she set out for the palace of Bove Derg, bringing the four children with her. Finola did not wish to go, for it was revealed to her darkly in a dream that Eva was bent on some dreadful deed of fratricide;[XIII.] and she knew well that her stepmother intended to kill her and her brothers that day, or in some other way to bring ruin on them. But she was not able to avoid the fate that awaited her. When they had gone some distance from Shee Finnaha on their way to the palace, Eva tried to persuade her attendants to kill the children. "Kill them, and you shall be rewarded with all the worldly wealth you may desire; for their father loves me no longer, and has neglected and forsaken me on account of his great love for these children." But they heard her with horror, and refused, saying, "We will not kill them. Fearful is the deed thou hast contemplated, O Eva; and evil will surely befall thee for having even thought of killing them." Then she took the sword to slay them herself; but her woman's weakness prevented her, and she was not able to strike them. So they set out once more, and fared on till they came to the shore of Lake Darvra,[XIV.] where they alighted, and the horses were unyoked. She led the children to the edge of the lake, and told them to go to bathe; and as soon as they had got into the clear water, she struck them one by one with a druidical[3] fairy wand, and turned them into four beautiful snow-white swans. And she addressed them in these words-- Out to your home, ye swans, on Darvra's wave; With clamorous birds begin your life of gloom: Your friends shall weep your fate, but none can save; For I've pronounced the dreadful words of doom. After this, the four children of Lir turned their faces to their stepmother; and Finola spoke-- "Evil is the deed thou hast done, O Eva; thy friendship to us has been a friendship of treachery; and thou hast ruined us without cause. But the deed will be avenged; for the power of thy witchcraft is not greater than the druidical power of our friends to punish thee; and the doom that awaits thee shall be worse than ours." Our stepmother loved us long ago; Our stepmother now has wrought us woe: With magical wand and fearful words, She changed us to beautiful snow-white birds; And we live on the waters for evermore, By tempests driven from shore to shore. Finola again spoke and said, "Tell us now how long we shall be in the shape of swans, so that we may know when our miseries shall come to an end." "It would be better for you if you had not put that question," said Eva; "but I shall declare the truth to you, as you have asked me. Three hundred years on smooth Lake Darvra; three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle, between Erin and Alban;[XV.] three hundred years at Irros Domnann and Inis Glora[XVI.] on the Western Sea. Until the union of Largnen, the prince from the north, with Decca, the princess from the south; until the Taillkenn[XVII.] shall come to Erin, bringing the light of a pure faith; and until ye hear the voice of the Christian bell. And neither by your own power, nor by mine, nor by the power of your friends, can ye be freed till the time comes." Then Eva repented what she had done; and she said, "Since I cannot afford you any other relief, I will allow you to keep your own Gaelic speech; and ye shall be able to sing sweet, plaintive, fairy music, which shall excel all the music of the world, and which shall lull to sleep all that listen to it. Moreover, ye shall retain your human reason; and ye shall not be in grief on account of being in the shape of swans." And she chanted this lay-- Depart from me, ye graceful swans; The waters are now your home: Your palace shall be the pearly cave, Your couch the crest of the crystal wave, And your mantle the milk-white foam! Depart from me, ye snow-white swans With your music and Gaelic speech: The crystal Darvra, the wintry Moyle, The billowy margin of Glora's isle;-- Three hundred years on each! Victorious Lir, your hapless sire, His lov'd ones in vain shall call; His weary heart is a husk of gore, His home is joyless for evermore, And his anger on me shall fall! Through circling ages of gloom and fear Your anguish no tongue can tell; Till Faith shall shed her heavenly rays, Till ye hear the Taillkenn's anthem of praise, And the voice of the Christian bell! Then ordering her steeds to be yoked to her chariot she departed westwards, leaving the four white swans swimming on the lake. Our father shall watch and weep in vain; He never shall see us return again. Four pretty children, happy at home; Four white swans on the feathery foam; And we live on the waters for evermore, By tempests driven from shore to shore. FOOTNOTES: [XIII.] The word "fratricide" is the nearest English equivalent to the original word, _fionghal_, which means the murder of a relative. [XIV.] Lake Darvra, now Lough Derravaragh, in Westmeath. [XV.] The sea between Erin and Alban (Ireland and Scotland) was anciently called the Sea of Moyle, from the Moyle, or Mull, of Cantire. [XVI.] Irros Domnann; Erris, in the county Mayo. Inis Glora; a small island about five miles west from Belmullet, in the same county, still known by the same name. [XVII.] Taillkenn, a name given by the druids to St. Patrick. CHAPTER IV. THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON LAKE DARVRA. When Eva arrived at the house of Bove Derg, the chiefs bade her welcome; and the king asked her why she had not brought the Children of Lir to him. "Because," she replied, "Lir no longer loves thee; and he does not wish to intrust his children to thee, lest thou shouldst harm them." The king was greatly astonished and troubled at this, and he said, "How can that be? For I love those children better than I love my own." But he thought in his own mind that Eva had played some treachery on them. And he sent messengers with all speed northwards to Shee Finnaha, to inquire for the children, and to ask that they might be sent to him. When the messengers had told their errand, Lir was startled; and he asked, "Have the children not reached the palace with Eva?" They answered, "Eva arrived alone, and she told the king that you refused to let the children come." A sad and sorrowful heart had Lir when he heard this; and he now felt sure that Eva had destroyed his four lovely children. So, early next morning, his chariot was yoked for him, and he set out with his attendants for the king's palace; and they travelled with all speed till they arrived at the shore of Lake Darvra. The children of Lir saw the cavalcade approaching; and Finola spoke these words-- I see a mystic warrior band From yonder brow approach the strand; I see them winding down the vale, Their bending chariots slow advancing; I see their shields and gilded mail, Their spears and helmets brightly glancing. Ah! well I know that proud array; I know too well their thoughts to-day: The Dannan host and royal Lir; Four rosy children they are seeking: Too soon, alas! they find us here, Four snowy swans like children speaking! Come, brothers dear, approach the coast, To welcome Lir's mysterious host. Oh, woful welcome! woful day, That never brings a bright to-morrow! Unhappy father, doomed for aye To mourn our fate in hopeless sorrow! When Lir came to the shore, he heard the birds speaking, and, wondering greatly, he asked them how it came to pass that they had human voices. "Know, O Lir," said Finola, "that we are thy four children, who have been changed into swans and ruined by the witchcraft of our stepmother, our own mother's sister, Eva, through her baleful jealousy." When Lir and his people heard this, they uttered three long mournful cries of grief and lamentation. After a time, their father asked them, "Is it possible to restore you to your own shapes?" "It is not possible," replied Finola; "no man has the power to release us until Largnen from the north and Decca from the south are united. Three hundred years we shall be on Lake Darvra; three hundred years on the sea-stream of Moyle; three hundred years on the Sea of Glora in the west. And we shall not regain our human shape till the Taillkenn come with his pure faith into Erin, and until we hear the voice of the Christian bell." And again the people raised three great cries of sorrow. "As you have your speech and your reason," said Lir, "come now to land, and ye shall live at home, conversing with me and my people." "We are not permitted to leave the waters of the lake, and we cannot live with our people any more. But the wicked Eva has allowed us to retain our human reason, and our own Gaelic speech; and we have also the power to chant plaintive, fairy music, so sweet that those who listen to us would never desire any other happiness. Remain with us to-night, and we will chant our music for you." Lir and his people remained on the shore of the lake; and the swans sang their slow, fairy music, which was so sweet and sad, that the people, as they listened, fell into a calm, gentle sleep. At the glimmer of dawn next morning, Lir arose, and he bade farewell to his children for a while, to seek out Eva. The time has come for me to part:-- No more, alas! my children dear, Your rosy smiles shall glad my heart, Or light the gloomy home of Lir. Dark was the day when first I brought This Eva in my home to dwell! Hard was the woman's heart that wrought This cruel and malignant spell! I lay me down to rest in vain; For, through the livelong, sleepless night, My little lov'd ones, pictured plain, Stand ever there before my sight. Finola, once my pride and joy; Dark Aed, adventurous and bold; Bright Ficra, gentle, playful boy; And little Conn, with curls of gold;-- Struck down on Darvra's reedy shore, By wicked Eva's magic power: Oh, children, children, never more My heart shall know one peaceful hour! Lir then departed, and travelled south-west till he arrived at the king's palace, where he was welcomed; and Bove Derg began to reproach him, in presence of Eva, for not bringing the children. "Alas!" said Lir; "it was not by me that the children were prevented from coming. But Eva, your own foster child, the sister of their mother, has played treachery on them; and has changed them by her sorcery into four white swans on Lake Darvra." The king was confounded and grieved at this news; and when he looked at Eva, he knew by her countenance that what Lir had told him was true; and he began to upbraid her in a fierce and angry voice. "The wicked deed thou hast committed," said he, "will be worse for thee than for the children of Lir; for their suffering shall come to an end, and they shall be happy at last." Again he spoke to her more fiercely than before; and he asked her what shape of all others, on the earth, or above the earth, or beneath the earth, she most abhorred, and into which she most dreaded to be transformed. And she, being forced to answer truly, said, "A demon of the air."[XVIII.] "That is the form you shall take," said Bove Derg; and as he spoke he struck her with a druidical magic wand, and turned her into a demon of the air. She opened her wings, and flew with a scream upwards and away through the clouds; and she is still a demon of the air, and she shall be a demon of the air till the end of time. Then Bove Derg and the Dedannans assembled on the shore of the lake, and encamped there; for they wished to remain with the birds, and to listen to their music. The Milesian people[XIX.] came and formed an encampment there in like manner; for historians say that no music that was ever heard in Erin could be compared with the singing of these swans. And so the swans passed their time. During the day they conversed with the men of Erin, both Dedannans and Milesians, and discoursed lovingly with their friends and fellow nurselings; and at night they chanted their slow, sweet, fairy music, the most delightful that was ever heard by men; so that all who listened to it, even those who were in grief, or sickness, or pain, forgot their sorrows and their sufferings, and fell into a gentle, sweet sleep, from which they awoke bright and happy. So they continued, the Dedannans and the Milesians, in their encampments, and the swans on the lake, for three hundred years.[XX.] And at the end of that time, Finola said to her brothers-- "Do you know, my dear brothers, that we have come to the end of our time here; and that we have only this one night to spend on Lake Darvra?" When the three sons of Lir heard this, they were in great distress and sorrow; for they were almost as happy on Lake Darvra, surrounded by their friends, and conversing with them day by day, as if they had been in their father's house in their own natural shapes; whereas they should now live on the gloomy and tempestuous Sea of Moyle, far away from all human society. Early next morning, they came to the margin of the lake, to speak to their Father and their friends for the last time, and to bid them farewell; and Finola chanted this lay-- I. Farewell, farewell, our father dear! The last sad hour has come: Farewell, Bove Derg! farewell to all, Till the dreadful day of doom![XXI.] We go from friends and scenes beloved, To a home of grief and pain; And that day of woe Shall come and go, Before we meet again! II. We live for ages on stormy Moyle, In loneliness and fear; The kindly words of loving friends We never more shall hear. Four joyous children long ago; Four snow-white swans to-day; And on Moyle's wild sea Our robe shall be The cold and briny spray. III. Far down on the misty stream of time, When three hundred years are o'er, Three hundred more in storm and cold, By Glora's desolate shore; Till Decca fair is Largnen's spouse; Till north and south unite; Till the hymns are sung, And the bells are rung, At the dawn of the pure faith's light. IV. Arise, my brothers, from Darvra's wave, On the wings of the southern wind; We leave our father and friends to-day In measureless grief behind. Ah! sad the parting, and sad our flight To Moyle's tempestuous main; For the day of woe Shall come and go, Before we meet again! The four swans then spread their wings, and rose from the surface of the water in sight of all their friends, till they reached a great height in the air, then resting, and looking downwards for a moment, they flew straight to the north, till they alighted on the Sea of Moyle between Erin and Alban. The men of Erin were grieved at their departure, and they made a law, and proclaimed it throughout the land, that no one should kill a swan in Erin from that time forth. FOOTNOTES: [XVIII.] demon of the air was held in great abhorrence by the ancient Irish. [XIX.] The Milesian people; the colony who conquered and succeeded the Dedannans. (See note 1 at end.) [XX.] The Dedannans were regarded as gods, and were immortal or semi-immortal. (See note 1 at the end.) [XXI.] It must be remembered that the children of Lir had some obscure foreknowledge of the coming of Christianity. CHAPTER V. THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON THE SEA OF MOYLE. As to the children of Lir, miserable was their abode and evil their plight on the Sea of Moyle. Their hearts were wrung with sorrow for their father and their friends; and when they looked towards the steep, rocky, far-stretching coasts, and saw the great, dark wild sea around them, they were overwhelmed with fear and despair. They began also to suffer from cold and hunger, so that all the hardships they had endured on Lake Darvra appeared as nothing compared with their suffering on the sea-current of Moyle. And so they lived, till one night a great tempest fell upon the sea. Finola, when she saw the sky filled with black, threatening clouds, thus addressed her brothers-- "Beloved brothers, we have made a bad preparation for this night; for it is certain that the coming storm will separate us; and now let us appoint a place of meeting, or it may happen that we shall never see each other again." And they answered, "Dear sister, you speak truly and wisely; and let us fix on Carricknarone, for that is a rock that we are all very well acquainted with." And they appointed Carricknarone as their place of meeting. Midnight came, and with it came the beginning of the storm. A wild, rough wind swept over the dark sea, the lightnings flashed, and the great waves rose, and increased their violence and their thunder. The swans were soon scattered over the waters, so that not one of them knew in what direction the others had been driven. During all that night they were tossed about by the roaring winds and waves, and it was with much difficulty they preserved their lives. Towards morning the storm abated, and the sea became again calm and smooth; and Finola swam to Carricknarone. But she found none of her brothers there, neither could she see any trace of them when she looked all round from the summit of the rock over the wide face of the sea. Then she became terrified, for she thought she should never see them again; and she began to lament them plaintively in these words-- The heart-breaking anguish and woe of this life I am able no longer to bear: My wings are benumbed with this pitiless frost; My three little brothers are scattered and lost; And I am left here to despair. My three little brothers I never shall see Till the dead shall arise from the tomb: How I sheltered them oft with my wings and my breast, And I soothed their sorrows and lulled them to rest, As the night fell around us in gloom! Ah, where are my brothers, and why have I lived, This last worst affliction to know? What now is there left but a life of despair?-- For alas! I am able no longer to bear This heart-breaking anguish and woe.[XXII.] Soon after this she looked again over the sea, and she saw Conn coming towards the rock, with his head drooping, and his feathers all drenched with the salt spray; and she welcomed him with joyful heart. Not long after, Ficra appeared, but he was so faint with wet and cold and hardship, that he was scarce able to reach the place where Finola and Conn were standing; and when they spoke to him he could not speak one word in return. So Finola placed the two under her wings, and she said-- "If Aed were here now, all would be happy with us." In a little time they saw Aed coming towards them, with head erect and feathers all dry and radiant and Finola gave him a joyful welcome. She then placed him under the feathers of her breast, while Conn and Ficra remained under her wings; and she said to them-- "My dear brothers, though ye may think this night very bad, we shall have many like it from this time forth." So they continued for a long time on the Sea of Moyle, suffering hardships of every kind, till one winter night came upon them, of great wind and of snow and frost so severe, that nothing they ever before suffered could be compared to the misery of that night. And Finola uttered these words-- Our life is a life of woe; No shelter or rest we find: How bitterly drives the snow; How cold is this wintry wind! From the icy spray of the sea, From the wind of the bleak north east, I shelter my brothers three, Under my wings and breast. Our stepmother sent us here, And misery well we know:-- In cold and hunger and fear; Our life is a life of woe! Another year passed away on the Sea of Moyle; and one night in January, a dreadful frost came down on the earth and sea, so that the waters were frozen into a solid floor of ice all round them. The swans remained on Carricknarone all night, and their feet and their wings were frozen to the icy surface, so that they had to strive hard to move from their places in the morning; and they left the skin of their feet, the quills of their wings, and the feathers of their breasts clinging to the rock. "Sad is our condition this night, my beloved brothers," said Finola, "for we are forbidden to leave the Sea of Moyle; and yet we cannot bear the salt water, for when it enters our wounds, I fear we shall die of pain." And she spoke this lay-- Our fate is mournful here to-day; Our bodies bare and chill, Drenched by the bitter, briny spray, And torn on this rocky hill! Cruel our stepmother's jealous heart That banished us from home; Transformed to swans by magic art, To swim the ocean foam. This bleak and snowy winter day, Our bath is the ocean wide; In thirsty summer's burning ray, Our drink the briny tide. And here 'mid rugged rocks we dwell, In this tempestuous bay; Four children bound by magic spell;-- Our fate is sad to-day! They were, however, forced to swim out on the stream of Moyle, all wounded and torn as they were; for though the brine was sharp and bitter, they were not able to avoid it. They stayed as near the coast as they could, till after a long time the feathers of their breasts and wings grew again, and their wounds were healed. After this they lived on for a great number of years, sometimes visiting the shores of Erin, and sometimes the headlands of Alban. But they always returned to the sea-stream of Moyle, for it was destined to be their home till the end of three hundred years. One day they came to the mouth of the Bann, on the north coast of Erin, and looking inland, they saw a stately troop of horsemen approaching directly from the south-west. They were mounted on white steeds, and clad in bright-coloured garments, and as they wound towards the shore their arms glittered in the sun. "Do ye know yonder cavalcade?" said Finola to her brothers. "We know them not," they replied; "but it is likely they are a party of the Milesians, or perchance a troop of our own people, the Dedannans." They swam towards the shore, to find out who the strangers were; and the cavalcade on their part, when they saw the swans, knew them at once, and moved towards them till they were within speaking distance. Now these were a party of the Dedannans; and the chiefs who commanded them were the two sons of Bove Derg, the Dedannan king, namely, Aed the Keen-witted, and Fergus the Chess-player, with a third part of the Fairy Host.[XXIII.] They had been for a long time searching for the children of Lir along the northern shores of Erin, and now that they had found them, they were joyful; and they and the swans greeted each other with tender expressions of friendship and love. The children of Lir inquired after the Dedannans, and particularly after their father Lir, and Bove Derg, and all the rest of their friends and acquaintances. "They are all well," replied the chiefs; "and they and the Dedannans in general are now gathered together in the house of your father, at Shee Finnaha, celebrating the Feast of Age,[2] pleasantly and agreeably. Their happiness would indeed be complete, only that you are not with them, and that they know not where you have been since you left Lake Darvra." "Miserable has been our life since that day," said Finola; "and no tongue can tell the suffering and sorrow we have endured on the Sea of Moyle." And she chanted these words-- Ah, happy is Lir's bright home to-day, With mead and music and poet's lay: But gloomy and cold his children's home, For ever tossed on the briny foam. Our wreathèd feathers are thin and light When the wind blows keen through the wintry night: Yet oft we were robed, long, long ago, In purple mantles and furs of snow. On Moyle's bleak current our food and wine Are sandy sea-weed and bitter brine: Yet oft we feasted in days of old, And hazel-mead drank from cups of gold. Our beds are rocks in the dripping caves; Our lullaby song the roar of the waves: But soft rich couches once we pressed, And harpers lulled us each night to rest. Lonely we swim on the billowy main, Through frost and snow, through storm and rain: Alas for the days when round us moved The chiefs and princes and friends we loved! My little twin brothers beneath my wings Lie close when the north wind bitterly stings, And Aed close nestles before my breast; Thus side by side through the night we rest. Our father's fond kisses, Bove Derg's embrace, The light of Mannanan's[1] godlike face, The love of Angus[1]--all, all are o'er; And we live on the billows for evermore! After this they bade each other farewell, for it was not permitted to the children of Lir to remain away from the stream of Moyle. As soon as they had parted, the Fairy Cavalcade returned to Shee Finnaha, where they related to the Dedannan chiefs all that had passed, and described the condition of the children of Lir. And the chiefs answered-- "It is not in our power to help them; but we are glad that they are living; and we know that in the end the enchantment will be broken, and that they will be freed from their sufferings." As to the children of Lir, they returned to their home on the Sea of Moyle, and there they remained till they had fulfilled their term of years. FOOTNOTES: [XXII.] Many of these old poems begin and end with the same line or couplet. [XXIII.] Fairy host; _i.e._ the Dedannans. (See note 1 at the end of the book.) CHAPTER VI. THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON THE WESTERN SEA. And when their three hundred years were ended, Finola said to her brothers-- "It is time for us to leave this place, for our period here has come to an end." The hour has come; the hour has come; Three hundred years have passed: We leave this bleak and gloomy home, And we fly to the west at last! We leave for ever the stream of Moyle; On the clear, cold wind we go; Three hundred years round Glora's isle, Where wintry tempests blow! No sheltered home, no place of rest, From the tempest's angry blast: Fly, brothers, fly, to the distant west, For the hour has come at last! So the swans left the Sea of Moyle, and flew westward, till they reached Irros Domnann and the sea round the isle of Glora. There they remained for a long time, suffering much from storm and cold, and in nothing better off than they were on the Sea of Moyle. It chanced that a young man named Ebric, of good family, the owner of a tract of land lying along the shore, observed the birds and heard their singing. He took great delight in listening to their plaintive music, and he walked down to the shore almost every day, to see them and to converse with them; so that he came to love them very much, and they also loved him. This young man told his neighbours about the speaking swans, so that the matter became noised abroad; and it was he who arranged the story, after hearing it from themselves, and related it as it is related here. Again their hardships were renewed, and to describe what they suffered on the great open Western Sea would be only to tell over again the story of their life on the Moyle. But one particular night came, of frost so hard that the whole face of the sea, from Irros Domnann to Achill, was frozen into a thick floor of ice; and the snow was driven by a north-west wind. On that night it seemed to the three brothers that they could not bear their sufferings any longer, and they began to utter loud and pitiful complaints. Finola tried to console them, but she was not able to do so, for they only lamented the more; and then she herself began to lament with the others. After a time, Finola spoke to them and said, "My dear brothers, believe in the great and splendid God of truth, who made the earth with its fruits, and the sea with its wonders; put your trust in Him, and He will send you help and comfort." "We believe in Him," said they. "And I also," said Finola, "believe in God, who is perfect in everything, and who knows all things." And at the destined hour they all believed, and the Lord of heaven sent them help and protection; so that neither cold nor tempest molested them from that time forth, as long as they abode on the Western Sea. So they continued at the point of Irros Domnann, till they had fulfilled their appointed time there. And Finola addressed the sons of Lir-- "My dear brothers, the end of our time here has come; we shall now go to visit our father and our people." And her brothers were glad when they heard this. Then they rose lightly from the face of the sea, and flew eastward with joyful hopes, till they reached Shee Finnaha. But when they alighted they found the place deserted and solitary, its halls all ruined and overgrown with rank grass and forests of nettles; no houses, no fire, no mark of human habitation. Then the four swans drew close together, and they uttered three loud mournful cries of sorrow. And Finola chanted this lay-- What meaneth this sad, this fearful change, That withers my heart with woe? The house of my father all joyless and lone, Its halls and its gardens with weeds overgrown,-- A dreadful and strange overthrow! No conquering heroes, no hounds for the chase, No shields in array on its walls, No bright silver goblets, no gay cavalcades, No youthful assemblies or high-born maids, To brighten its desolate halls! An omen of sadness--the home of our youth All ruined, deserted, and bare. Alas for the chieftain, the gentle and brave; His glories and sorrows are stilled in the grave, And we left to live in despair! From ocean to ocean, from age unto age, We have lived to the fulness of time; Through a life such as men never heard of we've passed, In suffering and sorrow our doom has been cast, By our stepmother's pitiless crime! The children of Lir remained that night in the ruins of the palace--the home of their forefathers, where they themselves had been nursed; and several times during the night they chanted their sad, sweet, fairy music. Early next morning they left Shee Finnaha, and flew west to Inis Glora, where they alighted on a small lake. There they began to sing so sweetly that all the birds of the district gathered in flocks round them on the lake, and on its shore, to listen to them; so that the little lake came to be called the Lake of the Bird-flocks. During the day the birds used to fly to distant points of the coast to feed, now to Iniskea of the lonely crane,[XXIV.] now to Achill, and sometimes southwards to Donn's Sea Rocks,[XXV.] and to many other islands and headlands along the shore of the Western Sea, but they returned to Inis Glora every night. They lived in this manner till holy Patrick came to Erin with the pure faith; and until Saint Kemoc came to Inis Glora. The first night Kemoc came to the island, the children of Lir heard his bell at early matin time, ringing faintly in the distance. And they trembled greatly, and started, and ran wildly about; for the sound of the bell was strange and dreadful to them, and its tones filled them with great fear. The three brothers were more affrighted than Finola, so that she was left quite alone; but after a time they came to her, and she asked them-- "Do you know, my brothers, what sound is this?" And they answered, "We have heard a faint, fearful voice, but we know not what it is." "This is the voice of the Christian bell," said Finola; "and now the end of our suffering is near; for this bell is the signal that we shall soon be freed from our spell, and released from our life of suffering; for God has willed it." And she chanted this lay-- Listen, ye swans, to the voice of the bell, The sweet bell we've dreamed of for many a year; Its tones floating by on the night breezes, tell That the end of our long life of sorrow is near! Listen, ye swans, to the heavenly strain; 'Tis the anchoret tolling his soft matin bell: He has come to release us from sorrow, from pain, From the cold and tempestuous shores where we dwell! Trust in the glorious Lord of the sky; He will free us from Eva's druidical spell: Be thankful and glad, for our freedom is nigh, And listen with joy to the voice of the bell! Then her brothers became calm; and the four swans remained listening to the music of the bell, till the cleric had finished his matins. "Let us sing our music now," said Finola. And they chanted a low, sweet, plaintive strain of fairy music, to praise and thank the great high King of heaven and earth. Kemoc heard the music from where he stood; and he listened with great astonishment. But after a time it was revealed to him that it was the children of Lir who sang that music; and he was glad, for it was to seek them he had come. When morning dawned he came to the shore of the lake, and he saw the four white swans swimming on the water. He spoke to them, and asked them were they the children of Lir. They replied, "We are indeed the children of Lir, who were changed long ago into swans by our wicked stepmother." "I give God thanks that I have found you," said Kemoc; "for it is on your account I have come to this little island in preference to all the other islands of Erin. Come ye now to land, and trust in me; for it is in this place that you are destined to be freed from your enchantment." So they, filled with joy on hearing the words of the cleric, came to the shore, and placed themselves under his care. He brought them to his own house, and, sending for a skilful workman, he caused him to make two bright, slender chains of silver; and he put a chain between Finola and Aed, and the other chain he put between Ficra and Conn. So they lived with him, listening to his instructions day by day, and joining in his devotions. They were the delight and joy of the cleric, and he loved them with his whole heart; and the swans were so happy that the memory of all the misery they had suffered during their long life on the waters caused them neither distress nor sorrow now. FOOTNOTES: [XXIV.] Iniskea; a little rocky island near the coast of Erris, in Mayo. "The lonely crane of Iniskea" was one of the "Wonders of Ireland." According to an ancient legend, which still lives among the peasantry of Mayo, a crane--one lonely bird--has lived on the island since the beginning of the world, and will live there till the day of judgment. [XXV.] Donn's Sea Rocks--called in the text _Teach-Dhuinn_, or Donn's House, which is also the present Irish name; a group of three rocks off Kenmare Bay, where Donn, one of the Milesian brothers, was drowned. These remarkable rocks are now called in English the "Bull, Cow, and Calf." CHAPTER VII. THE CHILDREN OF LIR REGAIN THEIR HUMAN SHAPE AND DIE. The king who ruled over Connaught at this time was Largnen, the son of Colman; and his queen was Decca, the daughter of Finnin,[XXVI.] king of Munster,--the same king and queen whom Eva had spoken of in her prophecy long ages before. Now word was brought to queen Decca regarding these wonderful speaking swans, and their whole history was related to her; so that even before she saw them, she could not help loving them, and she was seized with a strong desire to have them herself. So she went to the king, and besought him that he would go to Kemoc and get her the swans. But Largnen said that he did not wish to ask them from Kemoc. Whereupon Decca grew indignant; and she declared that she would not sleep another night in the palace till he had obtained the swans for her. So she left the palace that very hour, and fled southwards towards her father's home. Largnen, when he found she had gone, sent in haste after her, with word that he would try to procure the swans; but the messengers did not overtake her till she had reached Killaloe. However, she returned with them to the palace; and as soon as she had arrived, the king sent to Kemoc to request that he would send the birds to the queen; but Kemoc refused to give them. Largnen became very angry at this; and he set out at once for the cleric's house. As soon as he had come, he asked the cleric whether it was true that he had refused to give the swans to the queen. And when Kemoc answered that it was quite true, the king, being very wroth, went up to where the swans stood, and seizing the two silver chains, one in each hand, he drew the birds from the altar, and turned towards the door of the church, intending to bring them by force to the queen; while Kemoc followed him, much alarmed lest they should be injured. The king had proceeded only a little way, when suddenly the white feathery robes faded and disappeared; and the swans regained their human shape, Finola being transformed into an extremely old woman, and the three sons into three feeble old men, white-haired and bony and wrinkled. When the king saw this, he started with affright, and instantly left the place without speaking one word; while Kemoc reproached and denounced him very bitterly. As to the children of Lir, they turned towards Kemoc; and Finola spoke-- "Come, holy cleric, and baptise us without delay, for our death is near. You will grieve after us, O Kemoc; but in truth you are not more sorrowful at parting from us than we are at parting from you. Make our grave here and bury us together; and as I often sheltered my brothers when we were swans, so let us be placed in the grave--Conn standing near me at my right side, Ficra at my left, and Aed before my face."[XXVII.] Come, holy priest, with book and prayer; Baptise and shrive us here: Haste, cleric, haste, for the hour has come, And death at last is near! Dig our grave--a deep, deep grave, Near the church we loved so well; This little church, where first we heard The voice of the Christian bell. As oft in life my brothers dear Were sooth'd by me to rest-- Ficra and Conn beneath my wings, And Aed before my breast; So place the two on either hand-- Close, like the love that bound me; Place Aed as close before my face, And twine their arms around me. Thus shall we rest for evermore, My brothers dear and I: Haste, cleric, haste, baptise and shrive, For death at last is nigh! Then the children of Lir were baptised, and they died immediately. And when they died, Kemoc looked up; and lo, he saw a vision of four lovely children, with light, silvery wings, and faces all radiant with joy. They gazed on him for a moment; but even as they gazed, they vanished upwards, and he saw them no more. And he was filled with gladness, for he knew they had gone to heaven; but when he looked down on the four bodies lying before him, he became sad and wept. And Kemoc caused a wide grave to be dug near the little church; and the children of Lir were buried together, as Finola had directed--Conn at her right hand, Ficra at her left, and Aed standing before her face. And he raised a grave-mound over them, placing a tombstone on it, with their names graved in Ogam;[XXVIII.] after which he uttered a lament for them, and their funeral rites were performed. So far we have related the sorrowful story of the Fate of the Children of Lir. FOOTNOTES: [XXVI.] These are well-known historical personages, who flourished in the seventh century. [XXVII.] Among the ancient Celtic nations, the dead were often buried standing up in the grave. It was in this way Finola and her brothers were buried. [XXVIII.] Ogam, a sort of writing, often used on sepulchral stones to mark the names of the persons buried. THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF TURENN; OR, _THE QUEST FOR THE ERIC-FINE._ For the blood that we spilled, For the hero we killed, Toil and woe, toil and woe, till the doom is fulfilled! CHAPTER I. THE LOCHLANNS INVADE ERIN. When the Dedannans[1] held sway in Erin, a prosperous free-born king ruled over them, whose name was Nuada of the Silver Hand.[4] In the time of this king, the Fomorians,[5] from Lochlann,[6] in the north, oppressed the Dedannans, and forced them to pay heavy tributes; namely, a tax on kneading-troughs, a tax on querns, and a tax on baking flags; and besides all this, an ounce of gold for each man of the Dedannans. These tributes had to be paid every year at the Hill of Usna;[XXIX.] and if any one refused or neglected to pay his part, his nose was cut off by the Fomorian tyrants. At this time a great fair-meeting was held by the king of Ireland, Nuada of the Silver Hand, on the Hill of Usna. Not long had the people been assembled, when they saw a stately band of warriors, all mounted on white steeds, coming towards them from the east; and at their head, high in command over all, rode a young champion, tall and comely, with a countenance as bright and glorious as the setting sun. This young warrior was Luga of the Long Arms.[7] He was accompanied by his foster brothers, namely, the sons of Mannanan Mac Lir; and the troop he led was the Fairy Host from the Land of Promise.[8] Now in this manner was he arrayed. He rode the steed of Mannanan Mac Lir,[8] namely, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane: no warrior was ever killed on the back of this steed, for she was as swift as the clear, cold wind of spring, and she travelled with equal ease on land and on sea. He wore Mannanan's coat of mail: no one could be wounded through it, or above it, or below it. He had on his breast Mannanan's breast-plate, which no weapon could pierce. His helmet had two glittering precious stones set in front, and one behind; and whenever he took it off, his face shone like the sun on a dry day in summer. Mannanan's sword, The Answerer, hung at his left side: no one ever recovered from its wound; and those who were opposed to it in the battle-field were so terrified by looking at it, that their strength left them till they became weaker than a woman in deadly sickness. This troop came forward to where the king of Erin sat surrounded by the Dedannans, and both parties exchanged friendly greetings. A short time after this they saw another company approaching, quite unlike the first, for they were grim and fierce and surly looking; namely, the tax-gatherers of the Fomorians, to the number of nine nines, who were coming to demand their yearly tribute from the men of Erin. When they reached the place where the king sat, the entire assembly--the king himself among the rest--rose up before them. For the whole Dedannan race stood in great dread of these Fomorian tax-collectors; so much so that no man dared even to chastise his own son without first seeking their consent. Then Luga of the Long Arms spoke to the king and said, "Why have ye stood up before this hateful-looking company, when ye did not stand up for us?" "We durst not do otherwise," replied the king; "for if even an infant of a month old remained seated before them, they would deem it cause enough for killing us all." When Luga heard this he brooded in silence for a little while, and then he said, "Of a truth, I feel a great desire to kill all these men!" Then he mused again, and after a time, said, "I am strongly urged to kill these men!" "That deed would doubtless bring great evil on us," said the king, "for then the Fomorians would be sure to send an army to destroy us all." But Luga, after another pause, started up, exclaiming, "Long have ye been oppressed in this manner!" and so saying, he attacked the Fomorians, dealing red slaughter among them. Neither did he hold his hand till he had slain them all except nine. These he spared, because they ran with all speed and sat nigh the king, that he might protect them from Luga's wrath. Then Luga put his sword back into its scabbard, and said, "I would slay you also, only that I wish you to go and tell your king, and the foreigners in general, what you have seen." These nine men accordingly returned to their own country, and they told their tale to the Fomorian people from beginning to end--how the strange, noble-faced youth had slain all the tax-collectors except nine, whom he spared that they might bring home the story. When they had ended speaking, the king, Balor[9] of the Mighty Blows and of the Evil Eye, asked the chiefs, "Do ye know who this youth is?" And when they answered, "No," Kethlenda,[9] Balor's queen, said-- "I know well who the youth is: he is the Ildana,[XXX.] Luga of the Long Arms, the son of your daughter and mine; and it has been long foretold that when he should appear in Erin, our sway over the Dedannans should come to an end." Then the chief people of the Fomorians held council; namely, Balor of the Mighty Blows, and his twelve sons, and his queen Kethlenda of the Crooked Teeth; Ebb and Sencab, the grandsons of Neid; Sotal of the Large Heels; Luath the Long-bodied; Luath the Story-teller; Tinna the Mighty, of Triscadal; Loskenn of the Bare Knees; Lobas, the druid; besides the nine prophetic poets and philosophers of the Fomorians. After they had debated the matter for some time, Bres, the son of Balor, arose and said, "I will go to Erin with seven great battalions of the Fomorian army, and I will give battle to the Ildana, and I will bring his head to you to our palace of Berva."[6] The Fomorian chiefs thought well of this proposal, and it was agreed to. So the ships were got ready for Bres; abundant food and drink and war stores were put into them, their seams were calked with pitch, and they were filled with sweet-smelling frankincense. Meantime the two Luaths, that is to say, Luath the Story-teller and Luath of the Long Body, were sent all over Lochlann to summon the army. And when all the fighting men were gathered together, they arrayed themselves in their battle-dresses, prepared their arms, and set out for Erin. Balor went with them to the harbour where they were to embark, and when they were about to go on board, he said to them-- "Give battle to the Ildana, and cut off his head. And after ye have overcome him and his people, put your cables round this island of Erin, which gives us so much trouble, and tie it at the sterns of your ships: then sail home, bringing the island with you, and place it on the north side of Lochlann, whither none of the Dedannans will ever follow it." Then, having hoisted their many-coloured sails and loosed their moorings, they sailed forth from the harbour into the great sea, and never slackened speed or turned aside from their course till they reached the harbour of Eas-Dara.[XXXI.] And as soon as they landed, they sent forth an army through West Connaught, which wasted and spoiled the whole province. FOOTNOTES: [XXIX.] The Hill of Usna, in the parish of Conry, in Westmeath, one of the royal residences of Ireland. [XXX.] Luga of the Long Arms is often called The Ildana, _i.e._ the Man of many sciences, to signify his various accomplishments. CHAPTER II. THE MURDER OF KIAN. Now the king of Connaught at that time was Bove Derg, the son of the Dagda,[XXXII.] a friend to Luga of the Long Arms. It chanced that Luga was then at Tara,[XXXIII.] and news was brought to him that the Fomorians had landed at Eas-Dara, and were spoiling and wasting the province. He immediately got ready his steed, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane; and early in the morning, when the point of night met the day, he went to the king and told him that the foreigners had landed, and that they had wasted and plundered the province of Bove Derg. "I shall give them battle," said Luga; "and I wish to get from thee some help of men and arms." "I will give no help," said the king; "for I do not wish to avenge a deed that has not been done against myself." When Luga heard this reply he was wroth, and departing straightway from Tara, he rode westward. He had not travelled long when he saw at a distance three warriors, fully armed, riding towards him. Now these were three brothers, the sons of Canta; namely, Kian and Cu and Kethen; and Kian was Luga's father. And they saluted each other, and conversed together for a time. "Why art thou abroad so early?" said they. "Cause enough have I," replied Luga; "for the Fomorians have landed in Erin, and have wasted the province of Bove Derg, the son of the Dagda. It is well indeed that I have met you, for I am about to give them battle, and I wish now to know what aid I shall get from you." "We will go into the battle with you," said they; "and each of us will ward off from you a hundred of the Fomorian warriors." "That, indeed, is good help," said Luga; "but, for the present, I wish you to go to the several places throughout Erin where the Fairy Host[XXXIV.] are abiding, and summon them all to me." The three brothers accordingly separated, Cu and Kethen going south, while Luga's father, Kian, turned his face northwards, and rode on till he came to Moy Murthemna.[XXXV.] He had not been long travelling over the plain when he saw three warriors, clad in armour and fully armed, coming towards him. These were three Dedannan chiefs, the sons of Turenn, and their names were Brian, Ur, and Urcar. Now these three and the three sons of Canta were at deadly feud with each other, on account of an old quarrel, and whenever they met there was sure to be a fight for life or death. As soon as Kian saw these three, he said, "If my two brothers were now with me, we should have a brave fight; but as they are not, and as I am only one against three, it is better to avoid the combat." So saying, he looked round, and seeing near him a herd of swine he struck himself with a golden druidical[3] wand, and changed himself into a pig; and he quickly joined the herd. No sooner had he done so than Brian, the eldest of the sons of Turenn, said to his brothers, "Tell me, my brothers, do you know what has become of the warrior that we saw just now approaching us on the plain?" "We saw him," said they, "but we know not whither he has gone." "You deserve great blame," said he, "that you are not more watchful while traversing the country during this time of war. Now I know what has happened to this warrior; he has changed himself, by a druidical spell, into a pig; and he is now among yonder herd. And whoever he may be, of this be sure--he is no friend of ours." "This is an unlucky matter," said they; "for as these pigs belong to one of the Dedannans, it would be wrong for us to kill them; and even if we should do so, the enchanted pig might escape after all." "But," answered Brian, "I think I can manage to distinguish any druidical beast from a natural one; and if you had attended well to your learning, you would be able to do the same." Saying this, he struck his brothers one after the other with his golden druidical wand, and turned them into two fleet, slender, sharp-nosed hounds. The moment he had done so they put their noses to the earth, and, yelping eagerly, set off towards the herd on the trail of their enemy. When they had come near, the druidical pig fell out from the herd, and made towards a thick grove that grew hard by; but Brian was there before him, and drove his spear through his chest. The pig screamed and said, "You have done an ill deed to cast your spear at me, for you know well who I am." "Your voice, methinks, is the voice of a man," said Brian; "but I know not who you are." And the pig answered, "I am Kian, the son of Canta; and now I ask you to give me quarter." Ur and Urcar, who had regained their shape and come up, said, "We will give you quarter indeed, and we are sorry for what has happened to you." But Brian, on the other hand, said, "I swear by the gods of the air, that if your life returned to you seven times, I would take it from you seven times." "Then," said Kian, "as you will not grant me quarter, allow me first to return to my own shape." "That we will grant you," said Brian; "for I often feel it easier to kill a man than to kill a pig." Kian accordingly took his own shape; and then he said, "You indeed, ye sons of Turenn, are now about to slay me; but even so, I have outwitted you. For if you had slain me in the shape of a pig, you would have to pay only the eric-fine[10] for a pig; whereas, now that I am in my own shape, you shall pay the full fine for a man. And there never yet was killed, and there never shall be killed, a man for whom a greater fine shall be paid, than you will have to pay for me. The weapons with which I am slain shall tell the deed to my son; and he will exact the fine from you." "You shall not be slain with the weapons of a warrior," said Brian; and so saying, he and his brothers laid aside their arms, and smote him fiercely and rudely with the round stones of the earth, till they had reduced his body to a disfigured mass; and in this manner they slew him. They then buried him a man's height in the earth; but the earth, being angry at the fratricide,[XXXVI.] refused to receive the body, and cast it up on the surface. They buried him a second time, and again the body was thrown up from beneath the clay. Six times the sons of Turenn buried the body of Kian a man's height in the earth, and six times did the earth cast it up, refusing to receive it. But when they had buried him the seventh time, the earth refused no longer, and the body remained in the grave. Then the sons of Turenn prepared to go forward after Luga of the Long Arms to the battle. But as they were leaving the grave, they thought they heard a faint, muffled voice coming up from the ground beneath their feet-- The blood you have spilled, The hero you've killed, Shall follow your steps till your doom be fulfilled! FOOTNOTES: [XXXI.] Eas-Dara, now Ballysodare, in the county Sligo. [XXXII.] See page 1. [XXXIII.] Tara, in Meath, the chief seat of the kings of Ireland. [XXXIV.] Fairy Host, _i.e._ the Dedannans. (See notes 1 and 8 at end.) [XXXV.] Moy Murthemna, a plain in the county of Louth. [XXXVI.] Fratricide; Gaelic, _fionghal_, the murder of a relative. (See note, page 7.) The sons of Turenn and the sons of Canta appear to have been related to each other (see the third stanza of the poem, page 94). CHAPTER III. DEFEAT AND FLIGHT OF THE LOCHLANNS. Now as to Luga. After parting from his father, he journeyed westward till he reached Ath-Luan,[XXXVII.] thence to Ros-Coman, and over Moy-Lurg to the Curlieu Hills, and to the mountain of Kesh-Corran, till he reached the "Great Plain of the Assembly," where the foreigners were encamped, with the spoils of Connaught around them. As he drew nigh to the Fomorian encampment, Bres, the son of Balor, arose and said-- "A wonderful thing has come to pass this day; for the sun, it seems to me, has risen in the west." "It would be better that it were so," said the druids,[3] "than that matters should be as they are." "What else can it be, then?" asked Bres. "The light you see," replied the druids, "is the brightness of the face, and the flashing of the weapons of Luga of the Long Arms, our deadly enemy, he who slew our tax-gatherers, and who now approaches." Then Luga came up peacefully and saluted them. "How does it come to pass that you salute us," said they, "since you are, as we know well, our enemy?" "I have good cause for saluting you," answered Luga; "for only one half of my blood is Dedannan; the other half comes from you; for I am the son of the daughter of Balor of the Mighty Blows, your king.[7] And now I come in peace, to ask you to give back to the men of Connaught all the milch cows you have taken from them." "May ill luck follow thee," said one of the Fomorian leaders, in a voice loud and wrathful, "until thou get one of them, either a milch cow or a dry cow!" And the others spoke in a like strain. Then Luga put a druidical spell upon the plundered cattle; and he sent all the milch cows home, each to the door of her owner's house, throughout all that part of Connaught that had been plundered. But the dry cows he left, so that the Fomorians might be cumbered, and that they might not leave their encampment till the Fairy Host should arrive to give them battle. Luga tarried three days and three nights near them, and at the end of that time the Fairy Host arrived, and placed themselves under his command. They encamped near the Fomorians, and in a little time Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, joined them with twenty-nine hundred men. Then they made ready for the fight. The Ildana put on Mannanan's coat of mail and his breast-plate; he took also his helmet, which was called Cannbarr, and it glittered in the sun with dazzling brightness; he slung his broad, dark-blue shield from his shoulder at one side; his long, keen-edged sword hung at his thigh; and lastly, he took his two long, heavy-handled spears, which had been tempered in the poisonous blood of adders. The other kings and chiefs of the men of Erin arrayed their men in battle ranks; hedges of glittering spears rose high above their heads; and their shields, placed edge to edge, formed a firm fence around them. Then at the signal they attacked the Fomorians, and the Fomorians, in no degree dismayed, answered their onset. At first a cloud of whizzing javelins flew from rank to rank across the open space, and as the warriors rushed together in closer conflict, their spears were shivered in their hands. Then they drew their gold-hilted swords, and fought foot to foot and shield to shield, so that a forest of bright flashes rose high above their helmets, from the clashing of their keen-tempered weapons. In the midst of the fight, Luga looked round, and seeing at some distance, Bres, surrounded by his Fomorian warriors, dealing havoc and death among the Dedannans, he rushed through the press of battle, and attacked first Bres's guards so fiercely that in a few moments twenty of them fell beneath his blows. Then he struck at Bres himself, who, unable to withstand his furious onset, cried aloud-- "Why should we be enemies, since thou art of my kin? Let there be peace between us, for nothing can withstand thy blows. Let there be peace, and I will undertake to bring my Fomorians to assist thee at Moytura,[11] and I will promise never again to come to fight against thee." And Bres swore by the sun and the moon, by the sea and land, and by all the elements,[XXXVIII.] to fulfil his engagement; and on these conditions Luga granted him his life. Then the Fomorians, seeing their chief overcome, dropped their arms, and sued for quarter. The Fomorian druids and men of learning next came to Luga to ask him to spare their lives; and Luga answered them-- "So far am I from wishing to slay you, that in truth, if you had taken the whole Fomorian race under your protection, I would have spared them." And after this, Bres, the son of Balor, returned to his own country with his druids, and with those of his army who had escaped from the battle. FOOTNOTES: [XXXVII.] _Ath-Luan_, now Athlone; _Ros-Coman_, now Roscommon; _Moy-Lurg_, a plain in the county Roscommon; Curlieu Hills, a range of hills near Boyle, in Roscommon; Kesh-Corran, a well-known mountain in Sligo. The "Great Plain of the Assembly" must have been near Ballysodare, in Sligo. [XXXVIII.] A usual form of oath among the ancient Irish. (See, for an account of this oath, the author's "Origin and History of Irish Names of Places," Series II. chap. XIV.) CHAPTER IV. THE ERIC-FINE ON THE SONS OF TURENN FOR THE SLAYING OF KIAN. Towards the close of the day, when the battle was ended, Luga espied two of his near friends; and he asked them if they had seen his father, Kian, in the fight. And when they answered, "No," Luga said-- "My father is not alive; for if he lived he would surely have come to help me in the battle. And now I swear that neither food nor drink will I take till I have found out who has slain him, and the manner of his death." Then Luga set out with a small chosen band of the Fairy Host, and he halted not till he reached the place where he had parted from his father. And from that he travelled on to the plain of Murthemna, where Kian had been forced to take the shape of a pig to avoid the sons of Turenn, and where they had slain him. When he had come near to the very spot, he walked some little way before his companions, and the stones of the earth spoke beneath his feet, and said-- "Here thy father lies, O Luga. Grievous was Kian's strait when he was forced to take the shape of a pig on seeing the three sons of Turenn; and here they slew him in his own shape!" The blood that they spilled, The hero they killed, Shall darken their lives till their doom be fulfilled! Luga stood for a while silent, pondering on these words. But as his companions came up, he told them what had happened; and having pointed out the spot from which the voice came, he caused the ground to be dug up. There they found the body, and raised it to the surface; and when they had examined it, they saw that it was covered all over with gory wounds and bruises. Then Luga spoke after a long silence, "A cruel and merciless death has my beloved father suffered at the hands of the sons of Turenn!" He kissed his father's face three times, and again spoke, grieving, "Ill fare the day on which my father was slain! Woful is this deed to me, for my eyes see not, my ears hear not, and my heart's pulse has ceased to beat, for grief. Why, O ye gods whom I worship, why was I not present when this deed was done? Alas! an evil thing has happened, for the Dedannans have slain their brother Dedannan. Ill shall they fare of this fratricide, for its consequences shall follow them, and long shall the crime of brother against brother continue to be committed in Erin!" And he spoke this speech-- A dreadful doom my father found On that ill-omened even-tide; And here I mourn beside the mound, Where, whelmed by numbers, Kian died,-- This lonely mound of evil fame, That long shall bear the hero's name! Alas! an evil deed is done, And long shall Erin rue the day: There shall be strife 'twixt sire and son, And brothers shall their brothers slay; Vengeance shall smite the murderers too, And vengeance all their race pursue! The light has faded from mine eyes; My youthful strength and power have fled Weary my heart with ceaseless sighs; Ambition, hope, and joy are dead; And all the world is draped in gloom-- The shadow of my father's tomb! Then they placed the hero again in the grave, and they raised a tomb over him with his name graved in Ogam;[XXXIX.] after which his lamentation lays were sung, and his funeral games were performed. When these rites were ended, Luga said to his people, "Go ye now to Tara, where the king of Erin sits on his throne with the Dedannans around him; but do not make these things known till I myself have told them." So Luga's people went straightway to Tara, as he had bade them; but of the murder of Kian they said naught. Luga himself arrived some time after, and was received with great honour, being put to sit high over the others, at the king's side; for the fame of his mighty deeds at the battle of the Assembly Plain had been noised over the whole country, and had come to the ears of the king. After he was seated, he looked round the hall, and saw the sons of Turenn in the assembly. Now these three sons of Turenn exceeded all the champions in Tara, in comeliness of person, in swiftness of foot, and in feats of arms; and, next to Luga himself, they were the best and bravest in the battles against the Fomorians; wherefore they were honoured by the king beyond most others. Luga asked the king that the chain of silence[XL.] should be shaken; and when it was shaken, and when all were listening in silence, he stood up and spoke-- "I perceive, ye nobles of the Dedannan race, that you have given me your attention, and now I have a question to put to each man here present: What vengeance would you take of the man who should knowingly and of design kill your father?" They were all struck with amazement on hearing this, and the king of Erin said-- "What does this mean? For that your father has not been killed, this we all know well!" "My father has indeed been killed," answered Luga; "and I see now here in this hall those who slew him. And furthermore, I know the manner in which they put him to death, even as they know it themselves." The sons of Turenn, hearing all this, said nothing; but the king spoke aloud and said-- "If any man should wilfully slay my father, it is not in one hour or in one day I would have him put to death; but I would lop off one of his members each day, till I saw him die in torment under my hands!" All the nobles said the same, and the sons of Turenn in like manner. "The persons who slew my father are here present, and are joining with the rest in this judgment," said Luga; "and as the Dedannans are all now here to witness, I claim that the three who have done this evil deed shall pay me a fitting eric-fine for my father. Should they refuse, I shall not indeed transgress the king's law nor violate his protection; but of a certainty they shall not leave this hall of Micorta[XLI.] till the matter is settled." And the king of Erin said, "If I had killed your father, I should be well content if you were willing to accept an eric-fine from me." Now the sons of Turenn spoke among themselves; and Ur and Urcar said, "It is of us Luga speaks this speech. He has doubtless found out that we slew his father; and it is better that we now acknowledge the deed, for it will avail us naught to hide it." Brian, however, at first set his face against this, saying that he feared Luga only wanted an acknowledgment from them in presence of the other Dedannans, and that afterwards he might not accept a fine. But the other two were earnest in pressing him, so that he consented, and then he spoke to Luga-- "It is of us thou speakest all these things, Luga; for it has been said that we three have been at enmity with the three sons of Canta. Now, as to the slaying of thy father Kian, let that matter rest; but we are willing to pay an eric-fine for him, even as if we had killed him." "I shall accept an eric-fine from you," said Luga, "though ye indeed fear I shall not. I shall now name before this assembly the fine I ask, and if you think it too much, I shall take off a part of it. "The first part of my eric-fine is three apples; the second part is the skin of a pig; the third is a spear; the fourth, two steeds and a chariot; the fifth, seven pigs; the sixth, a hound-whelp; the seventh, a cooking-spit; and the eighth, three shouts on a hill. That is my eric," said Luga; "and if ye think it too much, say so now, that I may remit a part; but if not, then it will be well that ye set about paying it." "So far," said Brian, "we do not deem it too great. It seems, indeed, so small that we fear there is some hidden snare in what you ask, which may work us mischief." "I do not deem my eric too small," said Luga; "and now I engage here, before the assembled Dedannans, that I will ask no more, and that I will seek no further vengeance for my father's death. But, as I have made myself answerable to them for the faithful fulfilment of my promise, I demand the same guarantee from you, that you also be faithful to me." "Alas that you should doubt our plighted word!" said the sons of Turenn. "Are we not ourselves sufficient guarantee for the payment of an eric-fine greater even than this?" "I do not deem your word sufficient guarantee," answered Luga; "for often have we known great warriors like you to promise a fine before all the people, and afterwards to go back of their promise." And the sons of Turenn consented, though unwillingly, for they grieved that their word should be doubted. So they bound themselves on either side--Luga not to increase his claims; and the sons of Turenn, on their part, to pay him the full fine. And the king of Erin and Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, and the nobles of the Dedannans in general, were witnesses and sureties of this bond. Then Luga stood up and said, "It is now time that I give you a full knowledge of this eric-fine. "The three apples I ask are the apples of the Garden of Hisberna,[XLII.] in the east of the world, and none others will I have. There are no apples in the rest of the world like them, for their beauty and for the secret virtues they possess. Their colour is the colour of burnished gold; they have the taste of honey; and if a wounded warrior or a man in deadly sickness eat of them, he is cured immediately. And they are never lessened by being eaten, being as large and perfect at the end as at the beginning. Moreover any champion that possesses one of them may perform with it whatsoever feat he pleases, by casting it from his hand, and the apple will return to him of itself. And though you are three brave warriors, ye sons of Turenn, methinks you will not find it easy to bring away these apples; for it has been long foretold that three young champions from the Island of the West would come to take them by force, so that the king has set guards to watch for your coming. "The pig's skin I seek from you belongs to Tuis, the king of Greece. When the pig was alive, every stream of water through which she walked was turned into wine for nine days, and all sick and wounded people that touched her skin were at once cured, if only the breath of life remained. Now the king's druids told him that the virtue lay, not in the pig herself, but in her skin; so the king had her killed and skinned, and he has her skin now. This, too, ye valiant champions, is a part of my eric-fine which you will find it hard to get, either by force or by friendship. "The spear I demand from you is the venomed spear of Pezar, king of Persia. Its name is Slaughterer. In time of peace, its blazing, fiery head is always kept in a great caldron of water, to prevent it from burning down the king's palace; and in time of war, the champion who bears it to the battle-field can perform any deed he pleases with it. And it will be no easy matter to get this spear from the king of Persia. "The two steeds and the chariot belong to Dobar, king of Sigar.[XLIII.] The chariot exceeds all the chariots in the world for beauty of shape and goodliness of workmanship. The two noble steeds have no equal for strength and fleetness, and they travel with as much ease on sea as on land. "The seven pigs I demand are the pigs of Asal, the king of the Golden Pillars. Whoever eats a part of them shall not suffer from ill health or disease; and even though they should be killed and eaten to-day, they will be alive and well to-morrow. "The hound-whelp belongs to the king of Iroda,[XLIV.] and his name is Failinis. He shines as brightly as the sun in a summer sky; and every wild beast of the forest that sees him falls down to the earth powerless before him. "The cooking-spit belongs to the warlike women of the island of Fincara. They are thrice fifty in number, and woe to the champion who approaches their house; for each of them is a match for three good warriors in single combat; and they never yet gave a cooking-spit to any one without being overcome in battle. "The hill on which I require you to give three shouts is the Hill of Midkena, in the north of Lochlann.[6] Midkena and his sons are always guarding this hill, for they are under gesa[12] not to allow any one to shout on it. Moreover, it was they that instructed my father in championship and feats of arms, and they loved him very much; so that even if I should forgive you his death they would not. And, though you should be able to procure all the rest of the eric-fine, you will not, I think, succeed in this, for they will be sure to avenge on you my father's death. "And this, ye sons of Turenn, is the eric-fine I demand from you!" FOOTNOTES: [XXXIX.] A kind of writing. (See note, page 36.) [XL.] Chain of silence; a chain, probably hung with little bells, which the lord of a mansion shook when he wished to get silence and attention. [XLI.] Mic[=o]'rta; the name of the great banqueting hall of Tara, the ruins of which are to be seen to this day. [XLII.] The Garden of the Hesperides. [XLIII.] Sigar, _i.e._ Sicily. [XLIV.] Iroda was the name given by the Irish to some country in the far north of Europe, probably Norway. CHAPTER V. THE SONS OF TURENN OBTAIN MANNANAN'S CANOE, "THE WAVE-SWEEPER." The sons of Turenn were so astounded on hearing this eric-fine that they spoke not one word; but rising up, they left the meeting, and repaired to the house of their father Turenn. He heard their story to the end, and then said, "Your tidings are bad, my sons, and I fear me you are doomed to meet your death in seeking what the Ildana asks. But the doom is a just one, for it was an evil thing to kill Kian. Now as to this eric-fine: it cannot be obtained by any living man without the help of either Luga himself or of Mannanan Mac Lir;[8] but if Luga wishes to aid you, ye shall be able to get it. Go ye now, therefore, and ask him to lend you Mannanan's steed, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane. If he wishes you to get the full eric-fine, he will lend you the steed; otherwise he will refuse, saying that she does not belong to him, and that he cannot lend what he himself has got on loan. Then, if ye obtain not the steed, ask him for the loan of Mannanan's canoe, the Wave-sweeper, which would be better for you than the steed; and he will lend you that, for he is forbidden to refuse a second request." So the sons of Turenn returned to Luga, and having saluted him, they said-- "It is not in the power of any man to obtain this eric-fine without thy own aid, O Luga; we ask thee, therefore, to lend us Mannanan's steed, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane." "That steed is not my own," said Luga; "and I cannot lend that which I have myself obtained on loan." "If that be so," said Brian, "then I pray thee lend us Mannanan's canoe, the Wave-sweeper." "I shall lend you that," replied Luga; "it lies at Bruga of the Boyne;[XLV.] and ye have my consent to take it." So they came again to their father, and this time Ethnea, their sister, was with him; and they told them that Luga had given them the canoe. "I have much fear," said Turenn, "that it will avail you little against the dangers of your quest. Nevertheless, Luga desires to obtain that part of the eric that will be useful to him at the battle of Moytura,[11] and so far he will help you. But in seeking that which is of no advantage to him, namely, the cooking-spit, and the three shouts on Midkena's Hill, therein he will give you no aid, and he will be glad if ye perish in your attempts to obtain it." They then set out for Bruga of the Boyne, accompanied by their sister Ethnea, leaving Turenn lamenting after them. The canoe they found lying in the river; and Brian went into it and said-- "It seems to me that only one other person can sit here along with me;" and he began to complain very bitterly of its smallness. He ceased, however, at the bidding of Ethnea, who told him that the canoe would turn out large enough when they came to try it, and that it was under strict command not to let any one grumble at its smallness. And she went on to say-- "Alas, my beloved brothers, it was an evil deed to slay the father of Luga of the Long Arms! and I fear you will suffer much woe and hardship on account of it." ETHNEA. The deed was a dark one, a deed full of woe, Your brother Dedannan to slay; And hard and relentless the heart of your foe, The bright-faced Ildana, that forced you to go, This eric of vengeance to pay! THE BROTHERS. Oh, cease, sister Ethnea, cease thy sad wail; Why yield to this terror and gloom? Long, long shall the poets remember the tale, For our courage and valour and swords shall prevail, Or win us a glorious tomb! ETHNEA. Then search ye, my brothers, go search land and sea; Go search ye the isles of the East.-- Alas, that the cruel Ildana's decree Has banished my three gentle brothers from me, On this fearful and perilous quest! FOOTNOTES: [XLV.] Bruga of the Boyne, the palace of Angus, the great Dedannan magician, was situated on the north shore of the Boyne, not far from Slane. (See note 1 at end.) CHAPTER VI. THE APPLES OF THE GARDEN OF HISBERNA. After this the three brothers entered the canoe, which they now found large enough to hold themselves and their arms, and whatsoever else they wished to bring; for this was one of its secret gifts. They then bade their sister farewell, and, leaving her weeping on the shore, they rowed swiftly till they had got beyond the beautiful shores and bright harbours of Erin, out on the open sea. Then the two younger brothers said, "Now our quest begins: what course shall we take?" Brian answered, "As the apples are the first part of the fine, we shall seek them first." And then he spoke to the canoe, "Thou canoe of Mannanan, thou Sweeper of the waves, we ask thee and we command thee, that thou sail straightway to the Garden of Hisberna!" The canoe was not unmindful of the voice of its master, and obeyed the command without delay, according to its wont. It took the shortest way across the deep sea-chasms, and, gliding over the green-sided waves more swiftly than the clear, cold wind of March, it stayed not in its course till it reached the harbour near the land of Hisberna. Brian now spoke to his brothers, "Be sure that this quest is a perilous one, since we know that the best champions of the country, with the king at their head, are always guarding the apples. And now in what manner, think you, is it best for us to approach the garden?" "It seems to us," answered his brothers, "that we had better go straight and attack these champions, and either bring away the apples, or fall fighting for them. For we cannot escape the dangers that lie before us; and if we are doomed to fall in one of these adventures, it may, perchance, be better for us to die here than to prolong our hardships." But Brian answered, "Not so, my brothers; for it becomes a warrior to be prudent and wary as well as brave. We should now act so that the fame of our skill and valour may live after us, and that future men may not say, 'These sons of Turenn did not deserve to be called brave champions, for they were senseless and rash, and sought their own death by their folly.' In the present case, then, what I counsel is this: Let us take the shape of strong, swift hawks; and as we approach the garden, have ye care of the light, sharp lances of the guards, which they will certainly hurl at us: avoid them actively and cunningly, and when the men have thrown all, let us swoop down and bring away an apple each." They approved this counsel; and Brian, striking his two brothers and himself with a druidical magic wand, all three were changed into three beautiful hawks. Then, flying swiftly to the garden, they began to descend in circles towards the tops of the trees; but the sharp-eyed guards perceived them, and with a great shout they threw showers of venomous darts at them. The hawks, however, mindful of Brian's warning, watched the spears with keen glances, and escaped them every one, until the guards had thrown all their light weapons. Then, swooping suddenly down on the trees, the two younger brothers carried off an apple each, and Brian two, one between his talons and the other in his beak; and the three rose again into the air without wound or hurt of any kind. Then, directing their course westward, they flew over the wide sea with the speed of an arrow. The news spread quickly through the city, how three beautiful hawks had carried off the apples; and the king and his people were in great wrath. Now the king had three daughters, very skilful in magic and cunning in counsel; and they forthwith transformed themselves into three swift-winged, sharp-taloned griffins, and pursued the hawks over the sea. But the hawks, when they saw they were pursued, increased their speed, and flew like the wind, and left their pursuers so far behind that they appeared to the griffins like three specks on the sky. Then the angry griffins let fly from their eyes, and from their open beaks, bright flashes of flame straight forward, which overtook and blinded the hawks, and scorched them, so that they could bear the heat no longer. "Evil is our state now," said Ur and Urcar, "for these sheets of flame are burning us, and we shall perish if we do not get relief." "I will try whether I cannot relieve you," said Brian; and with that he struck his brothers and himself with his golden druidical wand; and all three were instantly turned into swans. The swans dropped down on the sea; and when the griffins saw the hawks no longer straight before them, they gave up the chase. And the sons of Turenn went safely to their canoe, bringing the apples with them. CHAPTER VII. THE GIFTED SKIN OF THE PIG. After resting a little while, they held council as to their next journey; and what they resolved on was to go to Greece, to seek the skin of the pig, and to bring it away, either by consent or by force. So they went into the canoe, and Brian spoke-- "Thou canoe of Mannanan, thou Sweeper of the Waves, we ask thee and we command thee that thou sail with us straightway to Greece!" And the canoe, obeying as before, glided swiftly and smoothly over the waves, till the sons of Turenn landed near the palace of the king of Greece. "In what shape, think you, should we go to this court?" said Brian. "We think it best," answered the others, "to go in our own shapes; that is to say, as three bold champions." "Not so," said Brian. "It seems best to me that we should go in the guise of learned poets from Erin; for poets are held in much honour and respect by the great nobles of Greece." "It is, indeed, hard for us to do that," answered his brothers, "for as to poems, we neither have any, nor do we know how to compose them." However, as Brian would have it so, they consented, though unwillingly; and, tying up their hair after the manner of poets, they knocked at the door of the palace. The door-keeper asked who was there. "We are skilful poets from Erin," said Brian, "and we have come to Greece with a poem for the king." The door-keeper went and gave the message. "Let them be brought in," said the king, "for it is to seek a good and bountiful master whom they may serve faithfully that they have come so far from Erin." The sons of Turenn were accordingly led in to the banquet hall, where sat the king surrounded by his nobles; and, bowing low, they saluted him; and he saluted them in return, and welcomed them. They sat at the table among the company, and joined the feast at once, drinking and making merry like the others; and they thought they had never seen a banquet hall so grand, or a household so numerous and mirthful. At the proper time the king's poets arose, according to custom, to recite their poems and their lays for the company. And when they had come to an end, Brian, speaking low, said to his brothers-- "As we have come here as poets, it is meet that we should practise the poetic art like the others; therefore now arise, and recite a poem for the king." "We have no poems," they replied, "and we do not wish to practise any art except the art we have learned and practised from our youth, namely, to fight like brave champions, and to take by valour and force of arms that which we want, if we be stronger than our enemies, or to fall in battle if they be the stronger." "That is not a pleasant way of making poetry," said Brian; and with that he arose and requested attention for his poem. And when they sat listening, he said-- To praise thee, O Tuis, we've come to this land: Like an oak among shrubs, over kings thou dost stand: Thy bounty, great monarch, shall gladden the bard; And the _Imnocta-fessa_ I claim as reward. Two neighbours shall war, with an O to an O; A bard unrequited--how dreadful a foe! Thy bounty shall add to thy wealth and thy fame; And the _Imnocta-fessa_ is all that I claim. "Your poem would doubtless be thought a very good one," said the king, "if we were able to judge of it; but it is unlike all other poems I have ever heard, for I do not in the least understand its sense." "I will unfold its sense," said Brian. To praise thee, O Tuis, we've come to this land: Like an oak among shrubs, over kings thou dost stand: "This means that as the oak excels all the other trees of the forest, so dost thou excel all the other kings of the world for greatness, nobility, and generosity. "'_Imnocta-fessa._' _Imnocta_ means 'skin,' and _fessa_ 'a pig.' That is to say; thou hast, O king, the skin of a pig, which I desire to get from thee as a guerdon for my poetry. Two neighbours shall war, with an O to an O; A bard unrequited--how dreadful a foe! "_O_ means 'an ear;' that is to say, thou and I shall be ear to ear fighting with each other for the skin, if thou give it not of thy own free will. "And that, O king, is the sense of my poem." "Thy poem would have been a very good one," said the king, "and I would have given it due meed of praise if my pig's skin had not been mentioned in it. But it is a foolish request of thine, O ferdana,[XLVI.] to ask for that skin; for, even though all the poets and men of science of Erin, and all the nobles of the whole world were to demand it from me, I would refuse it. Nevertheless, thou shalt not pass unrewarded, for I will give thee thrice the full of the skin of red gold--one for thyself, and one for each of thy brothers." "Thy ransom is a good one, O king," said Brian; "but I am a near-hearted and suspicious man, and I pray thee let me see with my eyes thy servants measure the gold, lest they deal unfairly with me." The king agreed to this; so his servants went with the three sons of Turenn to the treasure-room, and one of them drew forth the skin from its place, to measure the gold. As soon as Brian caught sight of it, he sprang suddenly towards the servant, and, dashing him to the ground with his right hand, he snatched the skin with his left, and bound it hastily over his shoulders. Then the three drew their keen swords, and rushed into the banquet hall. The king's nobles, seeing how matters stood, surrounded and attacked them; but the sons of Turenn, nothing daunted by the number of their foes, hewed down the foremost and scattered the rest, so that scarce one of the whole party escaped death or deadly wounds. Then at last Brian and the king met face to face, nor was either slow to answer the challenge of the other. They fought as great champions fight, and it was long doubtful which should prevail; but the end of the combat was, that the king of Greece fell by the overpowering valour of Brian, the son of Turenn. After this victory, the three brothers rested in the palace till they had regained their strength, and healed up their wounds by means of the apples and the pig's skin; and at the end of three days and three nights they found themselves able to undertake the next adventure. FOOTNOTES: [XLVI.] Ferdana, a poet; literally, "a man of verse." CHAPTER VIII. THE BLAZING SPEAR OF THE KING OF PERSIA. So, after holding council, they resolved to go to seek the spear of the king of Persia; and Brian reminded his brothers that now, as they had the apples and the skin to aid them, it would be all the easier to get the spear, as well as the rest of the fine. Leaving now the shores of Greece with all its blue streams, they went on board the canoe, which, at Brian's command, flew across the wide seas; and soon they made land near the palace of Pezar, king of Persia. And seeing how they had fared so well in their last undertaking, they resolved to put on the guise of poets this time also. And so they put the poet's tie on their hair, and, passing through the outer gate, they knocked at the door of the palace. The door-keeper asked who they were, and from what country they had come. "We are poets from Erin," answered Brian; "and we have brought a poem for the king." So they were admitted and brought to the presence of the king, who seated them among the nobles of his household; and they joined in the drinking and the feasting and the revelry. The king's poets now arose, and chanted their songs for the king and his guests. And when the applause had ceased, Brian, speaking softly, said to his brothers-- "Arise, now, and chant a poem for the king." But they answered, "Ask us not to do that which we are unable to do; but if you wish us to exercise the art we have learned from our youth, we shall do so, namely, the art of fighting and overcoming our foes." "That would be an unusual way of reciting poetry," said Brian; "but I have a poem for the king, and I shall now chant it for him." So saying, he stood up; and when there was silence, he recited this poem-- In royal state may Pezar ever reign, Like some vast yew tree, monarch of the plain; May Pezar's mystic javelin, long and bright, Bring slaughter to his foes in every fight! When Pezar fights and shakes his dreadful spear, Whole armies fly and heroes quake with fear: What shielded foe, what champion can withstand, The blazing spear in mighty Pezar's hand! "Your poem is a good one," said the king; "but one thing in it I do not understand, namely, why you make mention of my spear." "Because," answered Brian, "I wish to get that spear as a reward for my poem." "That is a very foolish request," said the king, "for no man ever escaped punishment who asked me for my spear. And as to your poetry, the highest reward I could now bestow on you, and the greatest favour these nobles could obtain for you, is that I should spare your life." Thereupon Brian and his brothers started up in great wrath and drew their swords, and the king and his chiefs drew their swords in like manner; and they fought a deadly fight. But Brian at last, drawing forth one of his apples, and taking sure aim, cast it at the king and struck him on the forehead; so that Pezar fell, pierced through the brain. After this Brian fought on more fiercely than before, dealing destruction everywhere around him; but when the chiefs saw that their king had fallen, they lost heart and fled through the doors, till at length none remained in the banquet hall but the three sons of Turenn. Then they went to the room where the spear was kept; and they found it with its head down deep in a great caldron of water, which hissed and bubbled round it. And Brian, seizing it boldly in his hand, drew it forth; after which the three brothers left the palace and went to their canoe. CHAPTER IX. THE CHARIOT AND STEEDS OF THE KING OF SIGAR. Resting now for some days from their toil, they resolved to seek the steeds and chariot of the king of Sigar; for this was the next part of the Ildana's eric-fine. So they commanded the canoe, and the canoe, obedient to their behest, glided swiftly and smoothly over the green waves till they landed in Sigar. Brian bore the great, heavy, venomed spear in his hand; and the three brothers were of good heart, seeing how they had succeeded in their last quest, and that they had now three parts of the fine. "In what shape think you we should go to this court?" said Brian. "How should we go," answered the others, "but in our own shapes, namely, as three hostile champions, who have come to get the chariot and steeds, either by force or by good will?" "That is not what seems best to me," said Brian. "My counsel is, that we go as soldiers from Erin, willing to serve for pay; and should the king take us into his service, it is likely we shall find out where the chariot and steeds are kept." His brothers having agreed to this, the three set out for the palace. It happened that the king was holding a fair-meeting on the broad, level green before the palace; and when the three warriors came near, the people made way for them. They bowed low to the king; and he asked them who they were, and from what part of the world they had come. "We are valiant soldiers from Erin," they answered, "seeking for service and pay among the great kings of the world." "Do you wish to enter my service?" asked the king: and they answered, "Yes." So they made a covenant with each other--the king to place them in a post of honour and trust, and they to serve him faithfully, and to name their own reward. Whereupon the brothers entered the ranks of the king's body-guard. They remained in the palace for a month and a fortnight, looking round and carefully noting everything; but they saw nothing of the chariot and steeds. At the end of that time Brian said to his brothers-- "It fares ill with us here, my brothers; for we know nothing of the chariot and steeds at this hour, more than when we first came hither." The others said this was quite true, and asked if he meant to do anything in the matter. "This is what I think we should do," answered Brian. "Let us put on our travelling array, and take our arms of valour in our hands; and in this fashion let us go before the king, and tell him that unless he shows us the chariot and steeds, we shall leave his service." This they did without delay; and when they had come before the king, he asked them why they came to his presence so armed and in travelling gear. "We will tell thee of that, O king," answered Brian. "We are valiant soldiers from Erin, and into whatsoever lands we have travelled, we have been trusted with the secret counsels of the kings who have taken us into their service; and we have been made the guardians of their rarest jewels and of all their gifted arms of victory. But as to thee, O king, thou hast not so treated us since we came hither; for thou hast a chariot and two steeds, which exceed all the chariots and steeds in the world, and yet we have never seen them." "A small thing it is that has caused you to prepare for departure," said the king; "and there is, moreover, no need that you should leave my service; for I would have shown you those steeds the day you came, had I only known that you wished it. But ye shall see them now; for I have never had in my service soldiers from a distant land, in whom I and my people have placed greater trust than we have placed in you." He then sent for the steeds, and had them yoked to the chariot--those steeds that were as fleet as the clear, cold wind of March, and which travelled with equal speed on land and on sea. Brian, viewing them narrowly, said aloud, "Hear me, O king of Sicily. We have served thee faithfully up to this time; and now we wish to name our own pay, according to the covenant thou hast made with us. The guerdon we demand is yonder chariot and steeds; these we mean to have, and we shall ask for nothing more." But the king, in great wrath, said, "Foolish and luckless men! Ye shall certainly die because you have dared to ask for my steeds!" And the king and his warriors drew their swords, and rushed towards the sons of Turenn to seize them. They, on the other hand, were not taken unaware; and a sore fight began. And Brian, watching his opportunity, sprang with a sudden bound into the chariot, and, dashing the charioteer to the ground, he seized the reins in his left hand; then, raising the venomed spear of Pezar in his right, he smote the king with its fiery point in the breast, so that he fell dead. And the three brothers dealt red slaughter among the king's guards, till those who were not slain scattered and fled in all directions. So they fared in this undertaking. CHAPTER X. THE SEVEN PIGS OF THE KING OF THE GOLDEN PILLARS. After resting till their wounds were healed, Ur and Urcar asked where they should go next. "We shall go," said Brian, "to Asal, the king of the Golden Pillars, to ask him for his seven pigs; for this is the next part of the Ildana's eric-fine." So they set out; and the canoe brought them straightway to the land of the Golden Pillars, without delay and without mishap. As they drew nigh to the harbour, they saw the shore lined with men all armed. For the fame of the deeds of these great champions had begun to be noised through many lands; how they had been forced to leave Erin by the hard sentence of the Ildana; and how they were seeking and bearing away the most precious and gifted jewels of the world to pay the fine. Wherefore the king of the Golden Pillars had armed his people, and had sent them to guard the harbours. The king himself came down to the beach to meet them. As soon as they had come within speaking distance, he bade them stay their course; and then he asked them, in an angry and chiding tone, if they were the three champions from Erin, who had overcome and slain so many kings. Brian answered, "Be not displeased with us, O king for in all this matter we are not to blame. The Ildana has demanded a fine which we perforce must pay; for we have promised, and the Dedannans are our guarantee. If the kings to whom he sent us had given us peaceably the precious things we demanded, we would gladly have departed in peace; but as they did not, we fought against them, unwillingly indeed and overthrew them; for no one has as yet been able to withstand us." "Tell me now," said the king, "what has brought you to my country?" "We have come for thy seven pigs," answered Brian; "for they are a part of the fine." "And in what manner do you think ye shall get them?" asked the king. Brian answered, "Thou hast heard, O king, how the Ildana has brought us to these straits, and we must pay him the fine, every jot, or else we shall die at the hands of our people. Thou, perchance, wilt have pity on our hardships, and give us these pigs in token of kindness and friendship, and if so we shall be thankful; but if not, then we will fight for them, and either bring them away by force, after slaying thee and thy people or fall ourselves in the attempt." Hearing this, the king and his people went into council; and after debating the matter at full length, they thought it best to give the pigs peaceably, seeing that no king, however powerful, had as yet been able to withstand the sons of Turenn. The three champions wondered greatly when this was told to them; for in no other country had they been able to get any part of the fine without battle and hardship, and without leaving much of their blood behind them. So they were now very glad; and thanked Asal and his people. The king then brought them to his palace, and gave them a kind welcome; and they were supplied with food and drink to their hearts' desire, and slept on soft, downy beds. So they rested after all their weary journeys and toils. When they arose next morning, they were brought to the king's presence, and the pigs were given to them; and Brian addressed the king in these words-- The prizes we've brought to this land, We have won them in conflict and blood; But the gift we have sought at thy hand, That gift thou hast freely bestowed. The red spear rewarded our deeds, When Pezar the mighty we slew; And the fight for the chariot and steeds, Ah, long shall the Sigarites rue! Great Asal! in happier days, When our deeds bring us glory and fame, Green Erin shall echo thy praise, And her poets shall honour thy name! CHAPTER XI. THE HOUND-WHELP OF THE KING OF IRODA. "Whither do you go next, ye sons of Turenn?" asked Asal. "We go," answered Brian, "to Iroda, for Failinis, the king's hound-whelp." "Then grant me this boon," said the king, "namely, that ye let me go with you to Iroda. For my daughter is the king's wife; and I will try to prevail on him that he give you the hound-whelp freely and without battle." This they agreed to. But the king wished that they should go in his own ship; so it was got ready, and they went on board with all their wealth; and it is not told how they fared till they reached the borders of Iroda. The shores were covered with fierce, armed men, who were there by orders of the king to guard the harbour; and these men shouted at the crew, warning them to come no farther; for they knew the sons of Turenn, and well they knew what they came for. Asal then requested the three champions to remain where they were for a time, while he went on shore to talk with his son-in-law. Accordingly he landed, and went to the king, who, after he had welcomed him, asked what had brought the sons of Turenn to his country. "They have come for your hound-whelp," answered Asal. And the king of Iroda said, "It was an evil counsel you followed, when you came with these men to my shores; for to no three champions in the world have the gods given such strength or such good luck as that they can get my hound-whelp, either by force or by my own free will." "It will be unwise to refuse them," replied Asal. "They have overpowered and slain many great kings; for they have gifted arms that no warrior, however powerful, can withstand; and behold, I have come hither to tell you what manner of men these are, that you might be advised by me, and give them your hound-whelp in peace." So he pressed him earnestly; but his words were only thrown away on the king of Iroda, who spoke scornfully of the sons of Turenn, and refused Asal's request with wrathful words. Asal, much troubled at this, went and told the sons of Turenn how matters stood. And they, having without delay put on their battle-dress, and taken their arms in their hands, challenged the king of Iroda and his people. Then began a very fierce and bloody battle; for though nothing could stand before the sons of Turenn, yet the warriors of Iroda were many and very brave. So they fought till the two younger brothers became separated from Brian, and he was quite surrounded. But as he wielded the dreadful spear of Pezar, with its blazing, fiery point, his enemies fell back dismayed, and the ranks were broken before him, so that those who crossed his path stood in a gap of danger. At length he espied the king of Iroda, where he fought hedged round by spears; and he rushed through the thick of the battle straight towards him, striking down spears and swords and men as he went. And now these two valiant warriors fought hand to hand a stout and watchful and fierce battle--for the others fell back by the king's command; and it was long before any advantage was gained on either side. But though to those who looked on, Brian seemed the more wrathful of the two, yet he held back his hand, so as not to slay his foe; and this it was, indeed, that prolonged the combat, for he sought to tire out the king. At length, watching his opportunity, Brian closed suddenly, and, seizing the king in his strong arms, he lifted him clean off the ground, and bore him to where Asal stood. Then, setting him down, he said-- "Behold thy son-in-law; it would have been easier to kill him three times over than to bring him to thee once!" When the people saw their king a prisoner, they ceased fighting; and the end of all was that peace was made, and the hound-whelp was given over to the sons of Turenn. Then they took their leave, and left the shores of Iroda in friendship with the king and with Asal his father-in-law. CHAPTER XII. RETURN OF THE SONS OF TURENN, WITH PART OF THE ERIC-FINE. Now we shall speak of Luga of the Long Arms. It was revealed to him that the sons of Turenn had obtained all those parts of the fine which he wanted for the battle of Moytura;[11] but that they had not yet got the cooking-spit, or given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill. So he sent after them a druidical spell, which, falling on them soon after they had left Iroda, caused them to forget the remaining part of the fine, and filled them with a longing desire to return to their native home. Accordingly they went on board their canoe, bringing with them every part of the fine they had gotten already; and the canoe glided swiftly over the waves to Erin. At this time Luga was with the king at a fair-meeting on the plain before Tara; and it was made known to him secretly that the sons of Turenn had landed at Bruga of the Boyne. He left the assembly anon, telling no one; and he went direct to Caher-Crofinn[XLVII.] at Tara, and, closing the gates and doors after him, he put on his battle array, namely, the smooth Greek armour of Mannanan Mac Lir, and the enchanted mantle of the daughter of Flidas. Soon after, the sons of Turenn were seen approaching; and as they came forward, the multitude flocked out to meet them, gazing with wonder at the many marvellous things they had brought. When the three champions had come to the royal tent, they were joyfully welcomed by the king and by the Dedannans in general; and then the king spoke kindly to them, and asked if they had brought the eric-fine. "We have obtained it after much hardship and danger," they replied; "and now we wish to know where Luga is, that we may hand it over to him." The king told them that Luga was at the assembly; but when they sent to search for him, he was nowhere to be found. "I can tell where he is," said Brian. "It has been made known to him that we have arrived in Erin, bringing with us gifted arms that none can withstand; and he has gone to one of the strongholds of Tara, to avoid us, fearing we might use these venomed weapons against himself." Messengers were then sent to Luga to tell him that the sons of Turenn had arrived, and to ask him to come forth to the meeting, that they might give him the fine. But he answered, "I will not come to the meeting yet; but go ye back, and tell the sons of Turenn to give the fine to the king for me." The messengers returned with this answer; and the sons of Turenn gave to the king for Luga all the wonderful things they had brought, keeping, however their own arms; after which the whole company went into the palace. When Luga was told how matters stood, he came to where the king and all the others were; and the king gave him the fine. Then Luga, looking narrowly at everything that had been given up to him, said-- "Here, indeed, is an eric enough to pay for any one that ever yet was slain, or that shall be slain to the end of time. But yet there is one kind of fine that must be paid to the last farthing, namely, an eric-fine; for of this it is not lawful to hold back even the smallest part. And moreover, O king, thou and the Dedannans whom I see here present, are guarantees for the full payment of my eric-fine. Now I see here the three apples, and the skin of the pig, and the fiery-headed spear, and the chariot and steeds, and the seven pigs, and the hound-whelp; but where, ye sons of Turenn, is the cooking-spit of the women of Fincara? And I have not heard that ye have given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill." On hearing this, the sons of Turenn fell into a faintness like the faintness before death. And when they had recovered they answered not one word, but left the assembly and went to their father's house. To him and their sister Ethnea they told all that had befallen them; and how they should set out on another quest, as they had forgotten part of the eric-fine through the spells of Luga. At this Turenn was overwhelmed with grief; and Ethnea wept in great fear and sorrow. And so they passed that night. Next day, they went down to the shore, and their father and sister went with them to their ship, and bade them farewell. FOOTNOTES: [XLVII.] Caher-Crofinn, otherwise called Rath-ree, the principal fortress at Tara, the remains of which are still to be seen. CHAPTER XIII. THE COOKING-SPIT OF THE WOMEN OF FINCARA. Then they went on board their ship--for they had Mannanan's canoe no longer--and they sailed forth on the green billowy sea to search for the Island of Fincara. For a whole quarter of a year they wandered hither and thither over the wide ocean, landing on many shores and inquiring of all they met; yet they were not able to get the least tidings of the island. At last, they came across one very old man, who told them that he had heard of the Island of Fincara in the days of his youth; and that it lay not on the surface, but down deep in the waters, for it was sunk beneath the waves by a spell in times long past.[13] Then Brian put on his water-dress, with his helmet of transparent crystal on his head, and, telling his brothers to await his return, he leaped over the side of the ship, and sank at once out of sight. He walked about for a fortnight down in the green salt sea, seeking for the Island of Fincara; and at last he found it. There were many houses on the island; but one he saw larger and grander than the rest. To this he straightway bent his steps, and found it open. On entering, he saw in one large room a great number of beautiful ladies, busily employed at all sorts of embroidery and needlework; and in their midst was a long, bright cooking-spit lying on a table. Without speaking a word, he walked straight to the table, and, seizing the spit in one hand, he turned round and walked towards the door. The women neither spoke nor moved, but each had her eyes fixed on him from the moment he entered, admiring his manly form, his beauty, and his fearlessness; but when they saw him about to walk off with the spit, they all burst out laughing; and one, who seemed chief among them, said-- "Thou hast attempted a bold deed, O son of Turenn! Know that there are thrice fifty warlike women here, and that the weakest among us would be able of herself to prevent thee taking this cooking-spit, even if thy two brothers were here to help thee. But thou art a brave and courageous champion, else thou wouldst not have attempted, unaided, to take it by force, knowing the danger. And for thy boldness and valour, and for the comeliness of thy person, we will let thee take this one, for we have many others besides." So Brian, after thanking them, brought away the spit joyfully, and sought his ship. Ur and Urcar waited for Brian in the same spot the whole time, and when he came not, they began to fear that he would return no more. With these thoughts they were at last about to leave the place, when they saw the glitter of his crystal helmet down deep in the water, and immediately after he came to the surface with the cooking-spit in his hand. They brought him on board, and now all felt very joyful and courageous of heart. CHAPTER XIV. THE THREE SHOUTS ON MIDKENA'S HILL. The three brothers next sailed away towards the north of Lochlann, and never abated speed till they moored their vessel near the Hill of Midkena, which rose smooth and green over the sea-shore. When Midkena saw them approaching, he knew them at once, and, coming towards them armed for battle, he addressed them aloud-- "You it was that slew Kian, my friend and pupil; and now come forth and fight, for you shall not leave these shores till you answer for his death." Brian, in no degree daunted by the fierce look and threatening speech of Midkena, sprang ashore, and the two heroes attacked each other with great fury. When the three sons of Midkena heard the clash of arms, they came forth, and, seeing how matters stood, they rushed down to aid their father; but just as they arrived at the shore, Midkena fell dead, cloven through helmet and head by the heavy sword of Brian. And now a fight began, three on each side; and if men were afar off, even in the land of Hisberna, in the east of the world, they would willingly come the whole way to see this battle, so fierce and haughty were the minds of those mighty champions, so skilful and active were they in the use of their weapons, so numerous and heavy were their blows, and so long did they continue to fight without either party giving way. The three sons of Turenn were at last dreadfully wounded--wounded almost to death. But neither fear nor weakness did this cause them, for their valour and their fury arose all the more for their wounds, and with one mighty onset they drove their spears through the bodies of their foes; and the sons of Midkena fell before them into the long sleep of death. But now that the fight was ended, and the battle-fury of the victors had passed off--now it was that they began to feel the effects of their wounds. They threw themselves full length on the blood-stained sward, and long they remained without moving or speaking a word, as if they were dead; and a heavy curtain of darkness fell over their eyes. At last Brian, raising his head, spoke to his brothers to know if they lived, and when they answered him feebly, he said-- "My dear brothers, let us now arise and give the three shouts on the hill while there is time, for I feel the signs of death." But they were not able to rise. Then Brian, gathering all his remaining strength, stood up and lifted one with each hand, while his own blood flowed plentifully; and then they raised three feeble shouts on Midkena's Hill. CHAPTER XV. RETURN AND DEATH OF THE SONS OF TURENN. Making no further delay, he led them to their ship, and they set sail for Erin. While they were yet far off, Brian, gazing over the sea towards the west, suddenly cried out-- "Lo, I see Ben Edar[XLVIII.] yonder, rising over the waters; and I see also Dun Turenn farther towards the north." And Ur answered from where he reclined with Urcar on the deck, "If we could but get one sight of Ben Edar methinks we should regain our health and strength; and as thou lovest us, and as thou lovest thy own renown, my brother, come and raise our heads and rest them on thy breast, that we may see Erin once more. After that, we shall welcome either life or death." UR. O brother, torch of valour, strong of hand, Come, place our weary heads upon thy breast; And let us look upon our native land, Before we sink to everlasting rest! BRIAN. Belovèd sons of Turenn, woe is me! My wounds are deep, my day of strength is past; Yet not for this I grieve, but that I see Your lives, my noble brothers, ebbing fast! UR. Would we could give our lives to purchase thine; Ah, gladly would we die to ease thy pain! For art thou not the pride of Turenn's line, The noblest champion of green Erin's plain? BRIAN. That mighty Dannan healer, Dianket;[XLIX.] Or Midac, who excelled his sire in skill; The maiden-leech, Armedda, mightier yet, Who knew the herbs to cure, the herbs to kill: Oh, were they here; or had we now at hand Those gifted apples from the distant East; Then might we hope to reach our native land, And live again in joy and peace and rest! UR. Brother, methinks could we but see once more Ben Edar's slopes, or Bregia's[L.] dewy plain, Tailltenn,[LI.] or Bruga's[LII.] mystic mansion hoar, Our blood would course in health and strength again. Or let us once behold our father's home, Or winding Liffey down by Ahaclee,[LIII.] Old Frevan's hill,[LIV.] or Tara's[LV.] regal dome; Then welcome death or life, whiche'er may be! So Brian raised their heads and rested them on his breast, and they gazed on the rocky cliffs and green slopes of Ben Edar while the ship wafted slowly towards land. Soon after this they landed on the north side of Ben Edar, from which they made their way slowly to Dun Turenn. And when they had reached the green in front of the house, Brian cried out-- "Father, dear father, come forth to thy children!" Turenn came forth and saw his sons all wounded and pale and feeble. And Brian said, "Go, beloved father--go quick to Tara, and quickly return. Bring this cooking-spit to Luga, and tell him that we have given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill. Say that we have now paid the full eric-fine, and bring back from him the apples of the Garden of Hisberna, to heal our wounds, else we die." BRIAN. Father, our wounds are deadly; nought can save Thy children's lives but Luga's friendly hand: Go, seek him, father--fare thee fast--and crave The healing apples from Hisberna's land! TURENN. In vain, my sons, ye seek to fly your doom; The stern Ildana's mind too well I know: Alas! far liefer would he see your tomb, Than all the treasures all this world could show! BRIAN. But he is just; and though his sire we slew, Have we not paid full eric for the deed? The great Ildana is our kinsman too, And will relent in this our time of need. Then go, my father, thou art swift and strong; Speed like the wind--why linger here to mourn? Go straight to Luga's home, nor tarry long; Or, father, we shall die ere thou return! Turenn set out and travelled like the wind till he reached Tara, where he found Luga. He gave him the cooking-spit, and said, "Behold, my three sons have now paid thee the full eric-fine, for they have given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill. But they are wounded even unto death; and now give me, I pray thee, the apples from the Garden of Hisberna, to cure them, else they die." But Luga refused, and turned away from Turenn. Turenn hastened back to his sons with a sorrowful heart, and told them that he had failed to get the apples. Then Brian said, "Take me with thee to Tara. I will see him, and perchance he may have pity on us, and give us the apples." And it was done so. But when Brian begged for the apples, Luga said-- "I will not give them to thee. If thou shouldst offer me the full of the whole earth of gold, I would not give them to thee. Thou and thy brothers committed a wicked and pitiless deed when you slew my father. For that deed you must suffer, and with nothing short of your death shall I be content." For the blood that you spilled, For the hero you killed-- The deed is avenged, and your doom is fulfilled! Brian turned away and went back to his brothers, and, lying down between them, his life departed; and his brothers died at the same moment. Then their father and their sister stood hand in hand over their bodies, lamenting. And Turenn spoke this lay-- Oh, pulseless is my heart this woful hour, My strength is gone, my joy for ever fled; Three noble champions, Erin's pride and power, My three fair youths, my children, cold and dead! Mild Ur, the fair-haired; Urcar, straight and tall; The kings of Banba[LVI.] worthy both to be; And Brian, bravest, noblest, best of all, Who conquered many lands beyond the sea: Lo, I am Turenn, your unhappy sire, Mourning with feeble voice above your grave; No life, no wealth, no honours I desire; A place beside my sons is all I crave! After this Turenn and Ethnea fell on the bodies of the three young heroes and died. And they were all buried in one grave. This is the story of the Fate of the Children of Turenn. FOOTNOTES: [XLVIII.] Ben Edar, now Howth Hill, near Dublin. Dun Turenn, the fortress of their father Turenn. [XLIX.] Dianket, the great Dedannan physician. His son Midac and his daughter Armedda were still more skilful than their father. (See note 1 at the end.) [L.] Bregia, the plain lying between the Liffey and the Boyne. [LI.] Tailltenn, now Teltown, on the Blackwater, about midway between Navan and Kells, in Meath. Here annual meetings were held from the most ancient times, on the first of August, and for some days before and after, at which games were celebrated, like the Olympic games of Greece. [LII.] Bruga on the Boyne, where Angus or Mac Indoc, the great Dedannan enchanter, had his "mystic mansion hoar." (See note 1 at the end.) [LIII.] Ahaclee, the old name of Dublin. [LIV.] Frevan, now the hill of Frewen, rising over Lough Owei, near Mullingar, where the ancient Irish kings had one of their palaces. [LV.] Tara, in Meath, the chief seat of the Irish kings. [LVI.] Banba, one of the ancient names of Ireland. THE OVERFLOWING OF LOUGH NEAGH, AND THE STORY OF LIBAN THE MERMAID. In the days of old a good king ruled over Muman,[LVII.] whose name was Marid Mac Carido. He had two sons, Ecca and Rib. Ecca was restless and unruly, and in many ways displeased the king; and he told his brother Rib that he had made up his mind to leave his home, and win lands for himself in some far off part of the country. Rib tried hard to dissuade him; but though this delayed his departure for a while, he was none the less bent on going. At last Ecca, being wrought upon by his stepmother Ebliu (from whom Slieve Eblinne[LVIII.] was afterwards named), did a grievous wrong to his father, and fled from Muman with all his people; and his brother Rib and his stepmother Ebliu went with him. Ten hundred men they were in all, besides women and children; and they turned their faces towards the north. After they had travelled for some time, their druids[3] told them that it was not fated for them to settle in the same place; and accordingly, when they had come to the Pass of the two Pillar Stones, they parted. Rib and his people turned to the west, and they journeyed till they came to the plain of Arbthenn. And there the water of a fountain burst forth over the land, and drowned them all; and a great lake was formed, which to this day is called the Lake of Rib.[LIX.] Ecca continued his journey northwards; and he and his people fared slowly on till they came near to Bruga[LX.] of the Boyne, the palace of Mac Indoc, where they were fain to rest. No sooner had they halted, than a tall man came forth from the palace, namely, Angus Mac Indoc of the Bruga, son of the Dagda, and commanded them to leave the place without delay. But they, being spent with the toil of travel, heeded not his words, and, pitching their tents, they rested on the plain before the palace. Whereupon Angus, being wroth that his commands were unheeded, killed all their horses that night. Next day, he came forth again, and he said to them, "Your horses I slew last night; and now, unless ye depart from this place, I will slay your people to-night." And Ecca said to him, "Much evil hast thou done to us already, for thou hast killed all our horses. And now we cannot go, even though we desire it, for without horses we cannot travel." Then Angus brought to them a very large horse in full harness, and they put all their goods on him. And when they were about to go, he said to them-- "Beware that ye keep this great steed walking continually; not even a moment's rest shall ye give him, otherwise he will certainly be the cause of your death."[14] After this they set out again, on a Sunday in the mid-month of autumn, and travelled on till they reached the Plain of the Grey Copse,[LXI.] where they intended to abide. They gathered then round the great steed to take their luggage off him, and each was busy seeing after his own property, so that they forgot to keep the horse moving. And the moment he stood still, a magic well sprang up beneath his feet.[14] Now Ecca, when he saw the well spring up, was troubled, remembering Angus's warning. And he caused a house to be built round it, and near it he built his palace, for the better security. And he chose a woman to take care of the well, charging her strictly to keep the door locked, except when the people of the palace came for water. After that the King of Ulad,[LXII.] that is to say, Muridach, the son of Fiaca Findamnas (who was grandson of Conal Carna of the Red Branch[15]) came against Ecca to drive him forth from Ulad. But Ecca made a stout fight, so that he won the lordship of half of Ulad from Muridach. And after that his people settled down on the Plain of the Grey Copse. Now Ecca had two daughters, Ariu and Liban, of whom Ariu was the wife of Curnan the Simpleton. And Curnan went about among the people, foretelling that a lake would flow over them from the well, and urging them earnestly to make ready their boats. Come forth, come forth, ye valiant men; build boats, and build ye fast! I see the water surging out, a torrent deep and vast; I see our chief and all his host o'erwhelmed beneath the wave; And Ariu, too, my best beloved, alas! I cannot save. But Liban east and west shall swim Long ages on the ocean's rim, By mystic shores and islets dim, And down in the deep sea cave! And he ceased not to warn all he met, repeating this verse continually; but the people gave no heed to the words of the Simpleton. Now the woman who had charge of the well, on a certain occasion forgot to close the door, so that the spell was free to work evil. And immediately the water burst forth over the plain, and formed a great lake, namely the Lake of the Copse. And Ecca and all his family and all his folk were drowned, save only his daughter Liban, and Conang, and Curnan the Simpleton. And they buried Ariu, and raised a mound over her, which is called from her Carn-Arenn. Of Conang nothing more is told. But as to Curnan, he died of grief after his wife Ariu; and he was buried in a mound, which is called Carn-Curnan to this day in memory of him. And thus the great Lake of the Copse was formed, which is now called Lough Necca,[LXIII.] in memory of Ecca, the son of Marid. And it was the overflow of this lake which, more than all other causes, scattered the Ultonians over Erin. Now as to Liban. She also was swept away like the others; but she was not drowned. She lived for a whole year with her lap-dog, in her chamber beneath the lake, and God protected her from the water. At the end of the year she was weary; and when she saw the speckled salmon swimming and playing all round her, she prayed and said-- "O my Lord, I wish I were a salmon, that I might swim with the others through the clear green sea!" And at the words she took the shape of a salmon, except her face and breast, which did not change. And her lap-dog was changed to an otter, and attended her afterwards whithersoever she went, as long as she lived in the sea. And so she remained swimming about from sea to sea for three hundred years; that is to say, from the time of Ecca, the son of Marid, to the time of Comgall of Bangor.[16] Now on one occasion, Comgall sent Beoc, the son of Indli, from Bangor to Rome, to talk with Gregory[LXIV.] concerning some matters of order and rule. And when Beoc's curragh[17] was sailing over the sea, he and his crew heard sweet singing in the waters beneath them, as it were the chanting of angels. And Beoc, having listened for a while, looked down into the water, and asked what the chant was for, and who it was that sang. And Liban answered, "I am Liban, the daughter of Ecca, son of Marid; and it is I who sang the chant thou hast heard." "Why art thou here?" asked Beoc. And she replied, "Lo, I have lived for three hundred years beneath the sea; and I have come hither to fix a day and a place of meeting with thee. I shall now go westward; and I beseech thee, for the sake of the holy men of Dalaradia,[LXV.] to come to Inver Ollarba[LXVI.] to meet me, on this same day at the end of a year. Say also to Comgall and to the other holy men of Bangor, all that I say to thee. Come with thy boats and thy fishing-nets, and thou shalt take me from the waters in which I have lived." "I shall not grant thee the boon thou askest," said Beoc, "unless thou give me a reward." "What reward dost thou seek?" asked Liban. "That thou be buried in one grave with me in my own monastery," answered Beoc. "That shall be granted to thee," said Liban. Beoc then went on his way to Rome. And when he had returned, he related to Comgall and to the other saints of the monastery at Bangor, the story of the mermaid. And now the end of the year was nigh. Then they made ready their nets, and on the day appointed they went in their boats to Inver Ollarba, a goodly company of the saints of Erin. And Liban was caught in the net of Fergus of Miluc:[LXVII.] and her head and shoulders were those of a maiden, but she had the body of a fish. Now the boat in which she was brought to land was kept half full of sea water, in which she remained swimming about. And many came to see her; and all were filled with wonder when they saw her strange shape and heard her story. Among the rest came the chief of the tribe of Hua-Conang, wearing a purple cloak; and she kept gazing at him earnestly. The young chief, seeing this, said to her-- "Dost thou wish to have this cloak? If so, I will give it to thee willingly." But she answered, "Not so: I desire not thy cloak. But it brings to my mind my father Ecca; for on the day he was drowned, he wore a cloak of purple like thine. But may good luck be on thee for thy gentleness, and on him who shall come after thee in thy place; and in every assembly where thy successor sits, may he be known to all without inquiry." After that there came up a large-bodied, dark-visaged, fierce hero, and killed her lap-dog. Whereupon she was grieved; and she told him that the heroism of himself and his tribe should be stained by the baseness of their minds, and that they should not be able to defend themselves against injuries till they should do penance, by fasting, for her sake. Then the warrior repented what he had done, and humbled himself before her. And now there arose a contention about her, as to whom she should belong. Comgall said she was his, forasmuch as she was caught in his territory. But Fergus urged that she belonged to him by right, as it was in his net she was taken. And Beoc said he had the best right of all to her, on account of the promise she had made to him. And as no one could settle the dispute, these three saints fasted and prayed that God would give a judgment between them, to show who should own Liban. And an angel said to one of the company, "Two wild oxen will come hither to-morrow from Carn-Arenn, that is to say, from the grave-mound of Liban's sister, Ariu. Yoke a chariot to them, and place the mermaid in it; and into whatsoever territory they shall bring her, she shall remain with the owner thereof." The oxen came on the morrow, as the angel had foretold. And when they were yoked, and when Liban was placed in the chariot, they brought her straightway to Beoc's church, namely to Tec-Da-Beoc. Then the saints gave her a choice--either to die immediately after baptism, and go to heaven; or to live on earth as long as she had lived in the sea, and then to go to heaven after these long ages. And the choice she took was to die immediately. Whereupon Comgall baptised her; and he gave her the name of Murgen, that is, "Sea-born," or Murgelt, that is "Mermaid." And she is counted among the holy virgins, and held in honour and reverence, as God ordained for her in heaven; and wonders and miracles are performed through her means at Tec-Da-Beoc. FOOTNOTES: [LVII.] Muman, _i.e._ Munster. [LVIII.] Slieve Eblinne, now Slieve Eelim or Slieve Phelim, in Tipperary, sometimes called the Twelve Hills of Evlinn. "Eblinne" is the genitive of "Ebliu." [LIX.] Now Lough Ree, on the Shannon. [LX.] See note, page 62; see also note 1 at the end of the book. [LXI.] The Plain of the Grey Copse, according to the legend, was the name of the plain now covered by Lough Neagh. [LXII.] Ulad, _i.e._ Ulster. [LXIII.] Lough Necca, now Lough Neagh. [LXIV.] Gregory, _i.e._ Pope Gregory. [LXV.] Dalaradia, the old name of a territory which included the southern half of the county Antrim and a part of Down. [LXVI.] Inver Ollarba, _i.e._ the _inver_, or mouth of the river Ollarba, which was the ancient name of the Larne Water, in Antrim. [LXVII.] Miluc, or Meelick, the name of an ancient ecclesiastical establishment in the county Antrim. See "Ecclesiastical Antiquities of Down, Connor, and Dromore" (page 3), by the Rev. William Reeves, M.B., M.R.I.A. CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR, AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN. Connla of the Golden Hair was the son of Conn the Hundred-fighter.[18] One day as he stood with his father on the royal Hill of Usna,[LXVIII.] he saw a lady a little way off, very beautiful, and dressed in strange attire. She approached the spot where he stood; and when she was near, he spoke to her, and asked who she was, and from what place she had come. The lady replied, "I have come from the Land of the Living[19]--a land where there is neither death nor old age, nor any breach of law. The inhabitants of earth call us Aes-shee,[19] for we have our dwellings within large, pleasant, green hills. We pass our time very pleasantly in feasting and harmless amusements, never growing old; and we have no quarrels or contentions." The king and his company marvelled very much; for though they heard this conversation, no one saw the lady except Connla alone. "Who is this thou art talking to, my son?" said the king. And anon she answered for the youth, "Connla is speaking with a lovely, noble-born young lady, who will never die, and who will never grow old. I love Connla of the Golden Hair, and I have come to bring him with me to Moy-mell,[19] the plain of never-ending pleasure. On the day that he comes with me he shall be made king; and he shall reign for ever in Fairyland, without weeping and without sorrow. Come with me, O gentle Connla of the ruddy cheek, the fair, freckled neck, and the golden hair! Come with me, beloved Connla, and thou shalt retain the comeliness and dignity of thy form, free from the wrinkles of old age, till the awful day of judgment!" Thy flowing golden hair, thy comely face, Thy tall majestic form of peerless grace, That show thee sprung from Conn's exalted race. King Conn the Hundred-fighter, being much troubled, called then on his druid,[3] Coran, to put forth his power against the witchery of the banshee[19]-- "O Coran of the mystic arts and of the mighty incantations, here is a contest such as I have never been engaged in since I was made king at Tara--a contest with an invisible lady, who is beguiling my son to Fairyland by her baleful charms. Her cunning is beyond my skill, and I am not able to withstand her power; and if thou, Coran, help not, my son will be taken away from me by the wiles and witchery of a woman from the fairy hills." Coran, the druid, then came forward, and began to chant against the voice of the lady. And his power was greater than hers for that time, so that she was forced to retire. As she was going away she threw an apple to Connla, who straightway lost sight of her; and the king and his people no longer heard her voice. The king and the prince returned with their company to the palace; and Connla remained for a whole month without tasting food or drink, except the apple. And though he ate of it each day, it was never lessened, but was as whole and perfect in the end as at the beginning. Moreover, when they offered him aught else to eat or drink, he refused it; for while he had his apple he did not deem any other food worthy to be tasted. And he began to be very moody and sorrowful, thinking of the lovely fairy maiden. At the end of the month, as Connla stood by his father's side among the nobles, on the Plain of Arcomin, he saw the same lady approaching him from the west. And when she had come near, she addressed him in this manner-- "A glorious seat, indeed, has Connla among wretched, short-lived mortals, awaiting the dreadful stroke of death! But now, the ever-youthful people of Moy-mell, who never feel old age, and who fear not death, seeing thee day by day among thy friends, in the assemblies of thy Fatherland, love thee with a strange love; and they will make thee king over them if thou wilt come with me." When the king heard the words of the lady, he commanded his people to call the druid again to him, saying-- "Bring my druid, Coran, to me; for I see that the fairy lady has this day regained the power of her voice." At this the lady said, "Valiant Conn, fighter of a hundred, the faith of the druids has come to little honour among the upright, mighty, numberless people of this land. When the righteous law shall be restored, it will seal up the lips of the false, black demon; and his druids shall no longer have power to work their guileful spells." Now the king observed, and marvelled greatly, that whenever the lady was present, his son never spoke one word to any one, nay, even though they addressed him many times. And when the lady had ceased to speak, the king said-- "Connla, my son, has thy mind been moved by the words of the lady?" Connla spoke then, and replied, "Father, I am very unhappy; for though I love my people beyond all, yet I am filled with sadness on account of this lady!" When Connla had said this, the maiden again addressed him, and chanted these words in a very sweet voice-- THE CHANT OF THE FAIRY MAIDEN TO CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR. I. A land of youth, a land of rest, A land from sorrow free; It lies far off in the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea. A swift canoe of crystal bright, That never met mortal view-- We shall reach the land ere fall of night, In that strong and swift canoe: We shall reach the strand Of that sunny land, From druids and demons free; The land of rest, In the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea! II. A pleasant land of winding vales, bright streams, and verdurous plains, Where summer all the live-long year, in changeless splendour reigns; A peaceful land of calm delight, of everlasting bloom; Old age and death we never know, no sickness, care, or gloom; The land of youth, Of love and truth, From pain and sorrow free; The land of rest, In the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea! III. There are strange delights for mortal men in that island of the west; The sun comes down each evening in its lovely vales to rest; And though far and dim On the ocean's rim It seems to mortal view, We shall reach its halls Ere the evening falls, In my strong and swift canoe; And ever more That verdant shore Our happy home shall be; The land of rest, In the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea! IV. It will guard thee, gentle Connla of the flowing golden hair, It will guard thee from the druids, from the demons of the air; My crystal boat will guard thee, till we reach that western shore, Where thou and I in joy and love shall live for evermore: From the druid's incantation, From his black and deadly snare, From the withering imprecation Of the demon of the air, It will guard thee, gentle Connla of the flowing golden hair: My crystal boat will guard thee, till we reach that silver strand Where thou shalt reign in endless joy, the king of the Fairy-land! [LXIX.] When the maiden had ended her chant, Connla suddenly walked away from his father's side, and sprang into the curragh, the gleaming, straight-gliding, strong, crystal canoe. The king and his people saw them afar off and dimly, moving away over the bright sea towards the sunset. They gazed sadly after them, till they lost sight of the canoe over the utmost verge; and no one can tell whither they went, for Connla was never again seen in his native land. FOOTNOTES: [LXVIII.] Hill of Usna. (See note, page 37.) [LXIX.] This is an expansion, rather than a translation, of the original, which is very short, and in some places very obscure. THE VOYAGE OF MAILDUN. AN ACCOUNT OF THE ADVENTURES OF MAILDUN AND HIS CREW, AND OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THEY SAW DURING THEIR VOYAGE OF THREE YEARS AND SEVEN MONTHS, IN THEIR CURRAGH,[17] ON THE WESTERN SEA. CHAPTER I. MAILDUN'S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. HE BEGINS HIS VOYAGE IN QUEST OF THE PLUNDERERS WHO SLEW HIS FATHER. There was once an illustrious man of the tribe of Owenaght[LXX.] of Ninus, Allil Ocar Aga by name, a goodly hero, and lord of his own tribe and territory. One time, when he was in his house unguarded, a fleet of plunderers landed on the coast, and spoiled his territory. The chief fled for refuge to the church of Dooclone; but the spoilers followed him thither, slew him, and burned the church over his head. Not long after Allil's death, a son was born to him. The child's mother gave him the name of Maildun; and, wishing to conceal his birth, she brought him to the queen of that country, who was her dear friend. The queen took him to her, and gave out that he was her own child, and he was brought up with the king's sons, slept in the same cradle with them, and was fed from the same breast and from the same cup. He was a very lovely child; and the people who saw him thought it doubtful if there was any other child living at the time equally beautiful. As he grew up to be a young man, the noble qualities of his mind gradually unfolded themselves. He was high-spirited and generous, and he loved all sorts of manly exercises. In ball-playing, in running and leaping, in throwing the stone, in chess-playing, in rowing, and in horse-racing, he surpassed all the youths that came to the king's palace, and won the palm in every contest. One day, when the young men were at their games, a certain youth among them grew envious of Maildun; and he said, in an angry and haughty tone of voice-- "It is a cause of much shame to us that we have to yield in every game, whether of skill or of strength, whether on land or on water, to an obscure youth, of whom no one can tell who is his father or his mother, or what race or tribe he belongs to." On hearing this, Maildun ceased at once from play; for until that moment he believed that he was the son of the king of the Owenaght, and of the queen who had nursed him. And going anon to the queen, he told her what had happened; and he said to her-- "If I am not thy son, I will neither eat nor drink till thou tell me who my father and mother are." She tried to soothe him, and said, "Why do you worry yourself searching after this matter? Give no heed to the words of this envious youth. Am I not a mother to you? And in all this country, is there any mother who loves her son better than I love you?" He answered, "All this is quite true; yet I pray thee let me know who my parents are." The queen then, seeing that he would not be put off, brought him to his mother, and put him into her hands. And when he had spoken with her, he asked her to tell him who his father was. "You are bent on a foolish quest, my child," she said; "for even if you knew all about your father, the knowledge would bring neither advantage nor happiness to you; for he died before you were born." "Even so," he replied, "I wish to know who he was." So his mother told him the truth, saying, "Your father was Allil Ocar Aga, of the tribe of Owenaght of Ninus." Maildun then set out for his father's territory; and his three foster brothers, namely, the king's three sons, who were noble and handsome youths like himself, went with him. When the people of his tribe found out that the strange youth was the son of their chief, whom the plunderers had slain years before, and when they were told that the three others were the king's sons, they gave them all a joyful welcome, feasting them, and showing them much honour; so that Maildun was made quite happy, and soon forgot all the abasement and trouble he had undergone. Some time after this, it happened that a number of young people were in the churchyard of Dooclone--the same church in which Maildun's father had been slain--exercising themselves in casting a hand-stone. The game was to throw the stone clear over the charred roof of the church that had been burned; and Maildun was there contending among the others. A foul-tongued fellow named Brickna, a servant of the people who owned the church, was standing by; and he said to Maildun-- "It would better become you to avenge the man who was burned to death here, than to be amusing yourself casting a stone over his bare, burnt bones." "Who was he?" inquired Maildun. "Allil Ocar Aga, your father," replied the other. "Who slew him?" asked Maildun. "Plunderers from a fleet slew him and burned him in this church," replied Brickna; "and the same plunderers are still sailing in the same fleet." Maildun was disturbed and sad after hearing this. He dropped the stone that he held in his hand, folded his cloak round him, and buckled on his shield. And he left the company, and began to inquire of all he met, the road to the plunderers' ships. For a long time he could get no tidings of them; but at last some persons, who knew where the fleet lay, told him that it was a long way off, and that there was no reaching it except by sea. Now Maildun was resolved to find out these plunderers, and to avenge on them the death of his father. So he went without delay into Corcomroe,[LXXI.] to the druid[3] Nuca, to seek his advice about building a curragh, and to ask also for a charm to protect him, both while building it, and while sailing on the sea afterwards. The druid gave him full instructions. He told him the day he should begin to build his curragh, and the exact day on which he was to set out on his voyage; and he was very particular about the number of the crew, which, he said, was to be sixty chosen men, neither more nor less. So Maildun built a large triple-hide curragh,[17] following the druid's directions in every particular, chose his crew of sixty, among whom were his two friends, Germane and Diuran Lekerd; and on the day appointed put out to sea. When he had got only a very little way from the land, he saw his three foster brothers running down to the shore, signalling and calling out to him to return and take them on board; for they said they wished to go with him. "We shall not turn back," said Maildun; "and you cannot come with us; for we have already got our exact number." "We will swim after you in the sea till we are drowned, if you do not return for us," replied they; and so saying, the three plunged in and swam after the curragh. When Maildun saw this, he turned his vessel towards them, and took them on board rather than let them be drowned. FOOTNOTES: [LXX.] There were several tribes named Owenaght in the south of Ireland. This particular tribe were called, as in the text, the Owenaght of Ninus, and also, according to an interlined gloss in the "Book of the Dun Cow," the Owenaght of the Aras, _i.e._ of the Aran Islands. Their territory was situated in the north-west of the county Clare, opposite the Islands of Aran. [LXXI.] Corcomroe, an ancient territory, now a barony in the north-west of the county Clare. (For the meaning and history of this name, see the author's "Origin and History of Irish Names of Places," Series I. Part i. Chapter ii.) CHAPTER II. THE FIRST ISLAND. TIDINGS OF THE PLUNDERERS. They sailed that day and night, as well as the whole of next day, till darkness came on again; and at midnight they saw two small bare islands, with two great houses on them near the shore. When they drew near, they heard the sounds of merriment and laughter, and the shouts of revellers intermingled with the loud voices of warriors boasting of their deeds. And listening to catch the conversation, they heard one warrior say to another-- "Stand off from me, for I am a better warrior than thou; it was I who slew Allil Ocar Aga, and burned Dooclone over his head; and no one has ever dared to avenge it on me. Thou hast never done a great deed like that!" "Now surely," said Germane and Diuran to Maildun, "Heaven has guided our ship to this place! Here is an easy victory. Let us now sack this house, since God has revealed our enemies to us, and delivered them into our hands!" While they were yet speaking, the wind arose, and a great tempest suddenly broke on them. And they were driven violently before the storm, all that night and a part of next day, into the great and boundless ocean; so that they saw neither the islands they had left nor any other land; and they knew not whither they were going. Then Maildun said, "Take down your sail and put by your oars, and let the curragh drift before the wind in whatsoever direction it pleases God to lead us;" which was done. He then turned to his foster brothers, and said to them, "This evil has befallen us because we took you into the curragh, thereby violating the druid's directions; for he forbade me to go to sea with more than sixty men for my crew, and we had that number before you joined us. Of a surety more evil will come of it." His foster brothers answered nothing to this, but remained silent. CHAPTER III. THE ISLAND OF THE MONSTROUS ANTS. For three days and three nights they saw no land. On the morning of the fourth day, while it was yet dark, they heard a sound to the north-east; and Germane said-- "This is the voice of the waves breaking on the shore." As soon as it was light they saw land and made towards it. While they were casting lots to know who should go and explore the country, they saw great flocks of ants coming down to the beach, each of them as large as a foal. The people judged by their numbers, and by their eager and hungry look, that they were bent on eating both ship and crew; so they turned their vessel round and sailed quickly away. Their multitudes countless, prodigious their size; Were never such ants seen or heard of before. They struggled and tumbled and plunged for the prize, And fiercely the famine-fire blazed from their eyes, As they ground with their teeth the red sand of the shore! CHAPTER IV. THE TERRACED ISLE OF BIRDS. Again for three days and three nights they saw no land. But on the morning of the fourth day they heard the murmur of the waves on the beach; and as the day dawned, they saw a large high island, with terraces all round it, rising one behind another. On the terraces grew rows of tall trees, on which were perched great numbers of large, bright-coloured birds. When the crew were about to hold council as to who should visit the island and see whether the birds were tame, Maildun himself offered to go. So he went with a few companions; and they viewed the island warily, but found nothing to hurt or alarm them; after which they caught great numbers of the birds and brought them to their ship. A shield-shaped island, with terraces crowned, And great trees circling round and round: From the summit down to the wave-washed rocks, There are bright-coloured birds in myriad flocks-- Their plumes are radiant; but hunger is keen; So the birds are killed, Till the curragh is filled, And the sailors embark on the ocean green! CHAPTER V. A MONSTER. They sailed from this, and on the fourth day discovered a large, sandy island, on which, when they came near, they saw a huge, fearful animal standing on the beach, and looking at them very attentively. He was somewhat like a horse in shape; but his legs were like the legs of a dog; and he had great, sharp claws of a blue colour. Maildun, having viewed this monster for some time, liked not his look; and, telling his companions to watch him closely, for that he seemed bent on mischief, he bade the oarsmen row very slowly towards land. The monster seemed much delighted when the ship drew nigh the shore, and gambolled and pranced about with joy on the beach, before the eyes of the voyagers; for he intended to eat the whole of them the moment they landed. "He seems not at all sorry to see us coming," said Maildun; "but we must avoid him and put back from the shore." This was done. And when the animal observed them drawing off, he ran down in a great rage to the very water's edge, and digging up large, round pebbles with his sharp claws, he began to fling them at the vessel; but the crew soon got beyond his reach, and sailed into the open sea. A horrible monster, with blazing eyes, In shape like a horse and tremendous in size, Awaiting the curragh, they saw; With big bony jaws And murderous claws, That filled them with terror and awe: How gleeful he dances, And bellows and prances, As near to the island they draw; Expecting a feast-- The bloodthirsty beast-- With his teeth like edge of a saw: Then he ran to the shore, With a deafening roar, Intending to swallow them raw: But the crew, with a shout, Put their vessel about, And escaped from his ravenous maw![LXXII.] CHAPTER VI. THE DEMON HORSE-RACE. After sailing a long distance, they came in view of a broad, flat island. It fell to the lot of Germane to go and examine it, and he did not think the task a pleasant one. Then his friend Diuran said to him-- "I will go with you this time; and when next it falls to my lot to visit an island, you shall come with me." So both went together. They found the island very large; and some distance from the shore they came to a broad green race-course, in which they saw immense hoof-marks, the size of a ship's sail, or of a large dining-table. They found nut-shells, as large as helmets, scattered about; and although they could see no one, they observed all the marks and tokens that people of huge size were lately employed there at sundry kinds of work. Seeing these strange signs, they became alarmed, and went and called their companions from the boat to view them. But the others, when they had seen them, were also struck with fear, and all quickly retired from the place and went on board their curragh. When they had got a little way from the land, they saw dimly, as it were through a mist, a vast multitude of people on the sea, of gigantic size and demoniac look, rushing along the crests of the waves with great outcry. As soon as this shadowy host had landed, they went to the green, where they arranged a horse-race. The horses were swifter than the wind; and as they pressed forward in the race, the multitudes raised a mighty shout like thunder, which reached the crew as if it were beside them. Maildun and his men, as they sat in their curragh, heard the strokes of the whips and the cries of the riders; and though the race was far off, they could distinguish the eager words of the spectators:--"Observe the grey horse!" "See that chestnut horse!" "Watch the horse with the white spots!" "My horse leaps better than yours!" After seeing and hearing these things, the crew sailed away from the island as quickly as they were able, into the open ocean, for they felt quite sure that the multitude they saw was a gathering of demons. A spacious isle of meadowy plains, with a broad and sandy shore: Two bold and trusty spies are sent, its wonders to explore. Mysterious signs, strange, awful sights, now meet the wanderers' eyes: Vast hoof-marks, and the traces dire of men of monstrous size: And lo! on the sea, in countless hosts, their shadowy forms expand; They pass the affrighted sailors by, and like demons they rush to land; They mount their steeds, and the race is run, in the midst of hell's uproar: Then the wanderers quickly raise their sails, and leave the accursèd shore. FOOTNOTES: [LXXII.] See note, page 128. CHAPTER VII. THE PALACE OF SOLITUDE. They suffered much from hunger and thirst this time, for they sailed a whole week without making land; but at the end of that time they came in sight of a high island, with a large and very splendid house on the beach near the water's edge. There were two doors--one turned inland, and the other facing the sea; and the door that looked towards the sea was closed with a great flat stone. In this stone was an opening, through which the waves, as they beat against the door every day, threw numbers of salmon into the house. The voyagers landed, and went through the whole house without meeting any one. But they saw in one large room an ornamented couch, intended for the head of the house, and in each of the other rooms was a larger one for three members of the family: and there was a cup of crystal on a little table before each couch. They found abundance of food and ale, and they ate and drank till they were satisfied, thanking God for having relieved them from hunger and thirst. Aloft, high towering o'er the ocean's foam, The spacious mansion rears its glittering dome. Each day the billows, through the marble door, Shoot living salmon floundering on the floor. Couches that lure the sailors to recline, Abundant food, brown ale, and sparkling wine; Tables and chairs in order duly placed, With crystal cups and golden goblets graced. But not a living soul the wanderers found; 'Twas silence all and solitude profound. They eat and drink, give thanks, then hoist their sail, And skim the deep once more, obedient to the gale. CHAPTER VIII. THE ISLAND OF THE WONDERFUL APPLE TREE. After leaving this, they suffered again from hunger, till they came to an island with a high hill round it on every side. A single apple tree grew in the middle, very tall and slender, and all its branches were in like manner exceedingly slender, and of wonderful length, so that they grew over the hill and down to the sea. When the ship came near the island, Maildun caught one of the branches in his hand. For three days and three nights the ship coasted the island, and during all this time he held the branch, letting it slide through his hand, till on the third day he found a cluster of seven apples on the very end. Each of these apples supplied the travellers with food and drink for forty days and forty nights. CHAPTER IX. THE ISLAND OF BLOODTHIRSTY QUADRUPEDS. A beautiful island next came in view, in which they saw, at a distance, multitudes of large animals shaped like horses. The voyagers, as they drew near, viewed them attentively, and soon observed that one of them opened his mouth and bit a great piece out of the side of the animal that stood next him, bringing away skin and flesh. Immediately after, another did the same to the nearest of his fellows. And, in short, the voyagers saw that all the animals in the island kept worrying and tearing each other from time to time in this manner; so that the ground was covered far and wide with the blood that streamed from their sides. In needless strife they oft contend, A cruel, mutual-mangling brood; Their flesh with gory tusks they rend, And crimson all the isle with blood. CHAPTER X. AN EXTRAORDINARY MONSTER. The next island had a wall all round it. When they came near the shore, an animal of vast size, with a thick, rough skin, started up inside the wall, and ran round the island with the swiftness of the wind. When he had ended his race, he went to a high point, and standing on a large, flat stone, began to exercise himself according to his daily custom, in the following manner. He kept turning himself completely round and round in his skin, the bones and flesh moving, while the skin remained at rest. When he was tired of this exercise, he rested a little; and he then began turning his skin continually round his body, down at one side and up at the other like a mill-wheel; but the bones and flesh did not move. After spending some time at this sort of work, he started and ran round the island as at first, as if to refresh himself. He then went back to the same spot, and this time, while the skin that covered the lower part of his body remained without motion, he whirled the skin of the upper part round and round like the movement of a flat-lying millstone. And it was in this manner that he spent most of his time on the island. Maildun and his people, after they had seen these strange doings, thought it better not to venture nearer. So they put out to sea in great haste. The monster, observing them about to fly, ran down to the beach to seize the ship; but finding that they had got out of his reach, he began to fling round stones at them with great force and an excellent aim. One of them struck Maildun's shield and went quite through it, lodging in the keel of the curragh; after which the voyagers got beyond his range and sailed away. In a wall-circled isle a big monster they found, With a hide like an elephant, leathery and bare; He threw up his heels with a wonderful bound, And ran round the isle with the speed of a hare. But a feat more astounding has yet to be told: He turned round and round in his leathery skin; His bones and his flesh and his sinews he rolled-- He was resting outside while he twisted within! Then, changing his practice with marvellous skill, His carcase stood rigid and round went his hide; It whirled round his bones like the wheel of a mill-- He was resting within while he twisted outside! Next, standing quite near on a green little hill, After galloping round in the very same track, While the skin of his belly stood perfectly still, Like a millstone he twisted the skin of his back! But Maildun and his men put to sea in their boat, For they saw his two eyes looking over the wall; And they knew by the way that he opened his throat, He intended to swallow them, curragh and all![LXXIII.] FOOTNOTES: [LXXIII.] The verse in the original is quite serious; but I could not resist the temptation to give it a humorous turn. The same observation applies to the verse at page 122. CHAPTER XI. THE ISLE OF RED-HOT ANIMALS. Not daring to land on this island, they turned away hurriedly, much disheartened, not knowing whither to turn or where to find a resting-place. They sailed for a long time, suffering much from hunger and thirst, and praying fervently to be relieved from their distress. At last, when they were beginning to sink into a state of despondency, being quite worn out with toil and hardship of every kind, they sighted land. It was a large and beautiful island, with innumerable fruit trees scattered over its surface, bearing abundance of gold-coloured apples. Under the trees they saw herds of short, stout animals, of a bright red colour, shaped somewhat like pigs; but coming nearer, and looking more closely, they perceived with astonishment that the animals were all fiery, and that their bright colour was caused by the red flames which penetrated and lighted up their bodies. The voyagers now observed several of them approach one of the trees in a body, and striking the trunk all together with their hind legs, they shook down some of the apples and ate them. In this manner the animals employed themselves every day, from early morning till the setting of the sun when they retired into deep caves, and were seen no more till next morning. Numerous flocks of birds were swimming on the sea, all round the island. From morning till noon, they continued to swim away from the land, farther and farther out to sea; but at noon they turned round, and from that to sunset they swam back towards the shore. A little after sunset, when the animals had retired to their caves, the birds flocked in on the island, and spread themselves over it, plucking the apples from the trees and eating them. Maildun proposed that they should land on the island, and gather some of the fruit, saying that it was not harder or more dangerous for them than for the birds; so two of the men were sent beforehand to examine the place. They found the ground hot under their feet, for the fiery animals, as they lay at rest, heated the earth all around and above their caves; but the two scouts persevered notwithstanding, and brought away some of the apples. When morning dawned, the birds left the island and swam out to sea; and the fiery animals, coming forth from their caves, went among the trees as usual, and ate the apples till evening. The crew remained in their curragh all day; and as soon as the animals had gone into their caves for the night, and the birds had taken their place, Maildun landed with all his men. And they plucked the apples till morning, and brought them on board, till they had gathered as much as they could stow into their vessel. CHAPTER XII. THE PALACE OF THE LITTLE CAT. After rowing for a long time, their store of apples failed them, and they had nothing to eat or drink; so that they suffered sorely under a hot sun, and their mouths and nostrils were filled with the briny smell of the sea. At last they came in sight of land--a little island with a large palace on it. Around the palace was a wall, white all over, without stain or flaw, as if it had been built of burnt lime, or carved out of one unbroken rock of chalk; and where it looked towards the sea it was so lofty that it seemed almost to reach the clouds. The gate of this outer wall was open, and a number of fine houses, all snowy white, were ranged round on the inside, enclosing a level court in the middle, on which all the houses opened. Maildun and his people entered the largest of them, and walked through several rooms without meeting with any one. But on reaching the principal apartment, they saw in it a small cat, playing among a number of low, square, marble pillars, which stood ranged in a row; and his play was, leaping continually from the top of one pillar to the top of another. When the men entered the room, the cat looked at them for a moment, but returned to his play anon, and took no further notice of them. Looking now to the room itself, they saw three rows of precious jewels ranged round the wall from one door-jamb to the other. The first was a row of brooches of gold and silver, with their pins fixed in the wall, and their heads outwards; the second, a row of torques of gold and silver; and the third, a row of great swords, with hilts of gold and silver. Round the room were arranged a number of couches, all pure white and richly ornamented. Abundant food of various kinds was spread on tables, among which they observed a boiled ox and a roast hog; and there were many large drinking-horns, full of good, intoxicating ale. "Is it for us that this food has been prepared?" said Maildun to the cat. The cat, on hearing the question, ceased from playing, and looked at him; but he recommenced his play immediately. Whereupon Maildun told his people that the dinner was meant for them; and they all sat down, and ate and drank till they were satisfied, after which they rested and slept on the couches. When they awoke, they poured what was left of the ale into one vessel; and they gathered the remnants of the food to bring them away. As they were about to go, Maildun's eldest foster brother asked him-- "Shall I bring one of those large torques away with me?" "By no means," said Maildun; "it is well that we have got food and rest. Bring nothing away, for it is certain that this house is not left without some one to guard it." The young man, however, disregarding Maildun's advice, took down one of the torques and brought it away. But the cat followed him, and overtook him in the middle of the court, and, springing on him like a blazing, fiery arrow, he went through his body, and reduced it in a moment to a heap of ashes. He then returned to the room, and, leaping up on one of the pillars, sat upon it. Maildun turned back, bringing the torque with him, and, approaching the cat, spoke some soothing words; after which he put the torque back to the place from which it had been taken. Having done this, he collected the ashes of his foster brother, and, bringing them to the shore, cast them into the sea. They all then went on board the curragh, and continued their voyage, grieving for their lost companion, but thanking God for His many mercies to them. CHAPTER XIII. AN ISLAND THAT DYED BLACK AND WHITE. On the morning of the third day, they came to another island, which was divided into two parts by a wall of brass running across the middle. They saw two great flocks of sheep, one on each side of the wall; and all those at one side were black, while those at the other side were white. A very large man was employed in dividing and arranging the sheep; and he often took up a sheep and threw it with much ease over the wall from one side to the other. When he threw over a white sheep among the black ones, it became black immediately; and in like manner, when he threw a black sheep over, it was instantly changed to white. The travellers were very much alarmed on witnessing these doings and Maildun said-- "It is very well that we know so far. Let us now throw something on shore, to see whether it also will change colour; if it does, we shall avoid the island." So they took a branch with black-coloured bark and threw it towards the white sheep, and no sooner did it touch the ground than it became white. They then threw a white-coloured branch on the side of the black sheep, and in a moment it turned black. "It is very lucky for us," said Maildun, "that we did not land on the island, for doubtless our colour would have changed like the colour of the branches." So they put about with much fear, and sailed away. CHAPTER XIV. THE ISLAND OF THE BURNING RIVER. On the third day, they came in view of a large, broad island, on which they saw a herd of gracefully shaped swine; and they killed one small porkling for food. Towards the centre rose a high mountain, which they resolved to ascend, in order to view the island; and Germane and Diuran Lekerd were chosen for this task. When they had advanced some distance towards the mountain, they came to a broad, shallow river; and sitting down on the bank to rest, Germane dipped the point of his lance into the water, which instantly burned off the top, as if the lance had been thrust into a furnace. So they went no farther. On the opposite side of the river, they saw a herd of animals like great hornless oxen, all lying down; and a man of gigantic size near them: and Germane began to strike his spear against his shield, in order to rouse the cattle. "Why are you frightening the poor young calves in that manner?" demanded the big shepherd, in a tremendous voice. Germane, astonished to find that such large animals were nothing more than calves, instead of answering the question, asked the big man where the mothers of those calves were. "They are on the side of yonder mountain," he replied. Germane and Diuran waited to hear no more; but, returning to their companions, told them all they had seen and heard; after which the crew embarked and left the island. CHAPTER XV. THE MILLER OF HELL. The next island they came to, which was not far off from the last, had a large mill on it; and near the door stood the miller, a huge-bodied, strong, burly man. They saw numberless crowds of men and horses laden with corn, coming towards the mill; and when their corn was ground they went away towards the west. Great herds of all kinds of cattle covered the plain as far as the eye could reach, and among them many wagons laden with every kind of wealth that is produced on the ridge of the world. All these the miller put into the mouth of his mill to be ground; and all, as they came forth, went westwards. Maildun and his people now spoke to the miller, and asked him the name of the mill, and the meaning of all they had seen on the island. And he, turning quickly towards them, replied in few words-- "This mill is called the Mill of Inver-tre-Kenand, and I am the miller of hell. All the corn and all the riches of the world that men are dissatisfied with, or which they complain of in any way, are sent here to be ground; and also every precious article, and every kind of wealth, which men try to conceal from God. All these I grind in the Mill of Inver-tre-Kenand, and send them afterwards away to the west." He spoke no more, but turned round and busied himself again with his mill. And the voyagers, with much wonder and awe in their hearts, went to their curragh and sailed away.[LXXIV.] CHAPTER XVI. THE ISLE OF WEEPING. After leaving this, they had not been long sailing when they discovered another large island, with a great multitude of people on it. They were all black, both skin and clothes, with black head-dresses also; and they kept walking about, sighing and weeping and wringing their hands, without the least pause or rest. It fell to the lot of Maildun's second foster brother to go and examine the island. And when he went among the people, he also grew sorrowful, and fell to weeping and wringing his hands, with the others. Two of the crew were sent to bring him back; but they were unable to find him among the mourners; and, what was worse, in a little time they joined the crowd, and began to weep and lament like all the rest. Maildun then chose four men to go and bring back the others by force, and he put arms in their hands, and gave them these directions-- "When you land on the island, fold your mantles round your faces, so as to cover your mouths and noses, that you may not breathe the air of the country; and look neither to the right nor to the left, neither at the earth nor at the sky, but fix your eyes on your own men till you have laid hands on them." They did exactly as they were told, and having come up with their two companions, namely, those who had been sent after Maildun's foster brother, they seized them and brought them back by force. But the other they could not find. When these two were asked what they had seen on the island, and why they began to weep, their only reply was-- "We cannot tell; we only know that we did what we saw the others doing." And after this the voyagers sailed away from the island, leaving Maildun's second foster brother behind. FOOTNOTES: [LXXIV.] The incident of the big miller occurs in the Voyage of the Sons of O'Corra, as well as in the Voyage of Maildun. The two accounts are somewhat different; and I have combined both here. CHAPTER XVII. THE ISLE OF THE FOUR PRECIOUS WALLS. The next was a high island, divided into four parts by four walls meeting in the centre. The first was a wall of gold; the second, a wall of silver; the third, a wall of copper; and the fourth, a wall of crystal. In the first of the four divisions were kings; in the second, queens; in the third, youths; and in the fourth, young maidens. When the voyagers landed, one of the maidens came to meet them, and leading them forward to a house, gave them food. This food, which she dealt out to them from a small vessel, looked like cheese, and whatever taste pleased each person best, that was the taste he found on it. And after they had eaten till they were satisfied, they slept in a sweet sleep, as if gently intoxicated, for three days and three nights. When they awoke on the third day, they found themselves in their curragh on the open sea; and there was no appearance in any direction either of the maiden or of the island. CHAPTER XVIII. THE PALACE OF THE CRYSTAL BRIDGE. They came now to a small island, with a palace on it, having a copper chain in front, hung all over with a number of little silver bells. Straight before the door there was a fountain, spanned by a bridge of crystal, which led to the palace. They walked towards the bridge, meaning to cross it, but every time they stepped on it they fell backwards flat on the ground. After some time, they saw a very beautiful young woman coming out of the palace, with a pail in her hand; and she lifted a crystal slab from the bridge, and, having filled her vessel from the fountain, she went back into the palace. "This woman has been sent to keep house for Maildun," said Germane. "Maildun indeed!" said she, as she shut the door after her. After this they began to shake the copper chain, and the tinkling of the silver bells was so soft and melodious that the voyagers gradually fell into a gentle, tranquil sleep, and slept so till next morning. When they awoke, they saw the same young woman coming forth from the palace, with the pail in her hand; and she lifted the crystal slab as before, filled her vessel, and returned into the palace. "This woman has certainly been sent to keep house for Maildun," said Germane. "Wonderful are the powers of Maildun!" said she, as she shut the door of the court behind her. They stayed in this place for three days and three nights, and each morning the maiden came forth in the same manner, and filled her pail. On the fourth day, she came towards them, splendidly and beautifully dressed, with her bright yellow hair bound by a circlet of gold, and wearing silver-work shoes on her small, white feet. She had a white mantle over her shoulders, which was fastened in front by a silver brooch studded with gold; and under all, next her soft, snow-white skin, was a garment of fine white silk. "My love to you, Maildun, and to your companions," she said; and she mentioned them all, one after another, calling each by his own proper name. "My love to you," said she. "We knew well that you were coming to our island, for your arrival has long been foretold to us." Then she led them to a large house standing by the sea, and she caused the curragh to be drawn high up on the beach. They found in the house a number of couches, one of which was intended for Maildun alone, and each of the others for three of his people. The woman then gave them, from one vessel, food which was like cheese; first of all ministering to Maildun, and then giving a triple share to every three of his companions; and whatever taste each man wished for, that was the taste he found on it. She then lifted the crystal slab at the bridge, filled her pail, and dealt out drink to them; and she knew exactly how much to give, both of food and of drink, so that each had enough and no more. "This woman would make a fit wife for Maildun," said his people. But while they spoke, she went from them with her pail in her hand. When she was gone, Maildun's companions said to him, "Shall we ask this maiden to become thy wife?" He answered, "What advantage will it be to you to ask her?" She came next morning, and they said to her, "Why dost thou not stay here with us? Wilt thou make friendship with Maildun; and wilt thou take him for thy husband?" She replied that she and all those that lived on the island were forbidden to marry with the sons of men; and she told them that she could not disobey, as she knew not what sin or transgression was. She then went from them to her house; and on the next morning, when she returned, and after she had ministered to them as usual, till they were satisfied with food and drink, and were become cheerful, they spoke the same words to her. "To-morrow," she replied, "you will get an answer to your question;" and so saying, she walked towards her house, and they went to sleep on their couches. When they awoke next morning, they found themselves lying in their curragh on the sea, beside a great high rock; and when they looked about, they saw neither the woman, nor the palace of the crystal bridge, nor any trace of the island where they had been sojourning. CHAPTER XIX. THE ISLE OF SPEAKING BIRDS. One night, soon after leaving this, they heard in the distance, towards the north-east, a confused murmur of voices, as if from a great number of persons singing psalms. They followed the direction of the sound, in order to learn from what it proceeded; and at noon the next day, they came in view of an island, very hilly and lofty. It was full of birds, some black, some brown, and some speckled, who were all shouting and speaking with human voices; and it was from them that the great clamour came. CHAPTER XX. THE AGED HERMIT, AND THE HUMAN SOULS. At a little distance from this they found another small island, with many trees on it, some standing singly, and some in clusters, on which were perched great numbers of birds. They also saw an aged man on the island, who was covered thickly all over with long, white hair, and wore no other dress. And when they landed, they spoke to him, and asked him who he was and what race he belonged to. "I am one of the men of Erin," he replied. "On a certain day, a long, long time ago, I embarked in a small curragh, and put out to sea on a pilgrimage; but I had got only a little way from shore, when my curragh became very unsteady, as if it were about to overturn. So I returned to land, and, in order to steady my boat, I placed under my feet at the bottom, a number of green surface sods, cut from one of the grassy fields of my own country, and began my voyage anew. Under the guidance of God, I arrived at this spot; and He fixed the sods in the sea for me, so that they formed a little island. At first I had barely room to stand; but every year, from that time to the present, the Lord has added one foot to the length and breadth of my island, till in the long lapse of ages it has grown to its present size. And on one day in each year, He has caused a single tree to spring up, till the island has become covered with trees. Moreover, I am so old that my body, as you see, has become covered with long, white hair, so that I need no other dress. "And the birds that ye see on the trees," he continued, "these are the souls of my children, and of all my descendants, both men and women, who are sent to this little island to abide with me according as they die in Erin. God has caused a well of ale to spring up for us on the island: and every morning the angels bring me half a cake, a slice of fish, and a cup of ale from the well; and in the evening the same allowance of food and ale is dealt out to each man and woman of my people. And it is in this manner that we live, and shall continue to live till the end of the world; for we are all awaiting here the day of judgment." Maildun and his companions were treated hospitably on the island by the old pilgrim for three days and three nights; and when they were taking leave of him, he told them that they should all reach their own country except one man. CHAPTER XXI. THE ISLAND OF THE BIG BLACKSMITHS. When they had been for a long time tossed about on the waters, they saw land in the distance. On approaching the shore, they heard the roaring of a great bellows, and the thundering sound of smiths' hammers striking a large glowing mass of iron on an anvil; and every blow seemed to Maildun as loud as if a dozen men had brought down their sledges all together. When they had come a little nearer, they heard the big voices of the smiths in eager talk. "Are they near?" asked one. "Hush! silence!" says another. "Who are they that you say are coming?" inquired a third. "Little fellows, that are rowing towards our shore in a pigmy boat," says the first. When Maildun heard this, he hastily addressed the crew-- "Put back at once, but do not turn the curragh: reverse the sweep of your oars, and let her move stern forward, so that those giants may not perceive that we are flying!" The crew at once obey, and the boat begins to move away from the shore, stern forward, as he had commanded. The first smith again spoke. "Are they near enough to the shore?" said he to the man who was watching. "They seem to be at rest," answered the other; "for I cannot perceive that they are coming closer, and they have not turned their little boat to go back." In a short time the first smith asks again, "What are they doing now?" "I think," said the watcher, "they are flying; for it seems to me that they are now farther off than they were a while ago." At this the first smith rushed out of the forge--a huge, burly giant--holding, in the tongs which he grasped in his right hand, a vast mass of iron sparkling and glowing from the furnace; and, running down to the shore with long, heavy strides, he flung the red-hot mass with all his might after the curragh. It fell a little short, and plunged down just near the prow, causing the whole sea to hiss and boil and heave up around the boat. But they plied their oars, so that they quickly got beyond his reach, and sailed out into the open ocean. CHAPTER XXII. THE CRYSTAL SEA. After a time, they came to a sea like green crystal. It was so calm and transparent that they could see the sand at the bottom quite clearly, sparkling in the sunlight. And in this sea they saw neither monsters, nor ugly animals, nor rough rocks; nothing but the clear water and the sunshine and the bright sand. For a whole day they sailed over it, admiring its splendour and beauty. CHAPTER XXIII. A LOVELY COUNTRY BENEATH THE WAVES. After leaving this they entered on another sea, which seemed like a clear, thin cloud; and it was so transparent, and appeared so light, that they thought at first it would not bear up the weight of the curragh. Looking down, they could see, beneath the clear water, a beautiful country, with many mansions surrounded by groves and woods. In one place was a single tree; and, standing on its branches, they saw an animal fierce and terrible to look upon. Round about the tree was a great herd of oxen grazing, and a man stood near to guard them, armed with shield and spear and sword; but when he looked up and saw the animal on the tree, he turned anon and fled with the utmost speed. Then the monster stretched forth his neck, and, darting his head downward, plunged his fangs into the back of the largest ox of the whole herd, lifted him off the ground into the tree, and swallowed him down in the twinkling of an eye; whereupon the whole herd took to flight. When Maildun and his people saw this, they were seized with great terror; for they feared they should not be able to cross the sea over the monster, on account of the extreme mist-like thinness of the water; but after much difficulty and danger they got across it safely. CHAPTER XXIV. AN ISLAND GUARDED BY A WALL OF WATER. When they came to the next island, they observed with astonishment that the sea rose up over it on every side, steep and high, standing, as it were, like a wall all round it. When the people of the island saw the voyagers, they rushed hither and thither, shouting, "There they are, surely! There they come again for another spoil!" Then Maildun's people saw great numbers of men and women, all shouting and driving vast herds of horses, cows, and sheep. A woman began to pelt the crew from below with large nuts; she flung them so that they alighted on the waves round the boat, where they remained floating; and the crew gathered great quantities of them and kept them for eating. When they turned to go away, the shouting ceased: and they heard one man calling aloud, "Where are they now?" and another answering him, "They are gone away!" From what Maildun saw and heard at this island, it is likely that it had been foretold to the people that their country should some day be spoiled by certain marauders; and that they thought Maildun and his men were the enemies they expected. CHAPTER XXV. A WATER-ARCH IN THE AIR. On the next island they saw a very wonderful thing, namely, a great stream of water which, gushing up out of the strand, rose into the air in the form of a rainbow, till it crossed the whole island and came down on the strand at the other side. They walked under it without getting wet; and they hooked down from it many large salmon. Great quantities of salmon of a very great size fell also out of the water over their heads down on the ground; so that the whole island smelled of fish, and it became troublesome to gather them on account of their abundance. From the evening of Sunday till the evening of Monday, the stream never ceased to flow, and never changed its place, but remained spanning the island like a solid arch of water. Then the voyagers gathered the largest of the salmon, till they had as much as the curragh would hold; after which they sailed out into the great sea. CHAPTER XXVI. THE SILVER PILLAR OF THE SEA. The next thing they found after this was an immense silver pillar standing in the sea. It had eight sides, each of which was the width of an oar-stroke of the curragh, so that its whole circumference was eight oar-strokes. It rose out of the sea without any land or earth about it, nothing but the boundless ocean; and they could not see its base deep down in the water, neither were they able to see the top on account of its vast height. A silver net hung from the top down to the very water, extending far out at one side of the pillar; and the meshes were so large that the curragh in full sail went through one of them. When they were passing through it, Diuran struck the mesh with the edge of his spear, and with the blow cut a large piece off it. "Do not destroy the net," said Maildun; "for what we see is the work of great men." "What I have done," answered Diuran, "is for the honour of my God, and in order that the story of our adventures may be more readily believed; and I shall lay this silver as an offering on the altar of Armagh, if I ever reach Erin." That piece of silver weighed two ounces and a half, as it was reckoned afterwards by the people of the church of Armagh. After this they heard some one speaking on the top of the pillar, in a loud, clear, glad voice; but they knew neither what he said, nor in what language he spoke. CHAPTER XXVII. AN ISLAND STANDING ON ONE PILLAR. The island they saw after this was named Encos;[LXXV.] and it was so called because it was supported by a single pillar in the middle. They rowed all round it, seeking how they might get into it; but could find no landing-place. At the foot of the pillar, however, down deep in the water, they saw a door securely closed and locked, and they judged that this was the way into the island. They called aloud, to find out if any persons were living there; but they got no reply. So they left it, and put out to sea once more. FOOTNOTES: [LXXV.] Encos means "one foot." CHAPTER XXVIII. THE ISLAND QUEEN DETAINS THEM WITH HER MAGIC THREAD-CLEW. The next island they reached was very large. On one side rose a lofty, smooth, heath-clad mountain, and all the rest of the island was a grassy plain. Near the sea-shore stood a great high palace, adorned with carvings and precious stones, and strongly fortified with a high rampart all round. After landing, they went towards the palace, and sat to rest on the bench before the gateway leading through the outer rampart; and, looking in through the open door, they saw a number of beautiful young maidens in the court. After they had sat for some time, a rider appeared at a distance, coming swiftly towards the palace; and on a near approach, the travellers perceived that it was a lady, young and beautiful and richly dressed. She wore a blue, rustling silk head-dress; a silver-fringed purple cloak hung from her shoulders; her gloves were embroidered with gold thread; and her feet were laced becomingly in close-fitting scarlet sandals. One of the maidens came out and held her horse, while she dismounted and entered the palace; and soon after she had gone in, another of the maidens came towards Maildun and his companions and said-- "You are welcome to this island. Come into the palace; the queen has sent me to invite you, and is waiting to receive you." They followed the maiden into the palace; and the queen bade them welcome, and received them kindly. Then, leading them into a large hall in which a plentiful dinner was laid out, she bade them sit down and eat. A dish of choice food and a crystal goblet of wine were placed before Maildun; while a single dish and a single drinking-bowl, with a triple quantity of meat and drink, were laid before each three of his companions. And having eaten and drunk till they were satisfied, they went to sleep on soft couches till morning. Next day, the queen addressed Maildun and his companions-- "Stay now in this country, and do not go a-wandering any longer over the wide ocean from island to island. Old age or sickness shall never come upon you; but you shall be always as young as you are at present, and you shall live for ever a life of ease and pleasure." "Tell us," said Maildun, "how you pass your life here." "That is no hard matter," answered the queen. "The good king who formerly ruled over this island was my husband, and these fair young maidens that you see are our children. He died after a long reign, and as he left no son, I now reign, the sole ruler of the island. And every day I go to the Great Plain, to administer justice and to decide causes among my people." "Wilt thou go from us to-day?" asked Maildun. "I must needs go even now," she replied, "to give judgments among the people; but as to you, you will all stay in this house till I return in the evening, and you need not trouble yourselves with any labour or care." They remained in that island during the three months of winter. And these three months appeared to Maildun's companions as long as three years, for they began to have an earnest desire to return to their native land. At the end of that time, one of them said to Maildun-- "We have been a long time here; why do we not return to our own country?" "What you say is neither good nor sensible," answered Maildun, "for we shall not find in our own country anything better than we have here." But this did not satisfy his companions, and they began to murmur loudly. "It is quite clear," said they, "that Maildun loves the queen of this island; and as this is so, let him stay here; but as for us, we will return to our own country." Maildun, however, would not consent to remain after them, and he told them that he would go away with them. Now, on a certain day, not long after this conversation, as soon as the queen had gone to the Great Plain to administer justice, according to her daily custom, they got their curragh ready and put out to sea. They had not gone very far from land when the queen came riding towards the shore; and, seeing how matters stood, she went into the palace and soon returned with a ball of thread in her hand. Walking down to the water's edge, she flung the ball after the curragh, but held the end of the thread in her hand. Maildun caught the ball as it was passing, and it clung to his hand; and the queen, gently pulling the thread towards her, drew back the curragh to the very spot from which they had started in the little harbour. And when they had landed, she made them promise that if ever this happened again, some one should always stand up in the boat and catch the ball. The voyagers abode on the island, much against their will, for nine months longer. For every time they attempted to escape, the queen brought them back by means of the clew, as she had done at first, Maildun always catching the ball. At the end of the nine months, the men held council, and this is what they said-- "We know now that Maildun does not wish to leave the island; for he loves this queen very much, and he catches the ball whenever we try to escape, in order that we may be brought back to the palace." Maildun replied, "Let some one else attend to the ball next time, and let us try whether it will cling to his hand." They agreed to this, and, watching their opportunity, they again put off towards the open sea. The queen arrived, as usual, before they had gone very far and flung the ball after them as before. Another man of the crew caught it, and it clung as firmly to his hand as to Maildun's; and the queen began to draw the curragh towards the shore. But Diuran, drawing his sword, cut off the man's hand, which fell with the ball into the sea; and the men gladly plying their oars, the curragh resumed her outward voyage. When the queen saw this, she began to weep and lament, wringing her hands and tearing her hair with grief; and her maidens also began to weep and cry aloud and clap their hands, so that the whole palace was full of grief and lamentation. But none the less did the men bend to their oars, and the curragh sailed away; and it was in this manner that the voyagers made their escape from the island. CHAPTER XXIX. THE ISLE OF INTOXICATING WINE-FRUITS. They were now a long time tossed about on the great billows, when at length they came in view of an island with many trees on it. These trees were somewhat like hazels, and they were laden with a kind of fruit which the voyagers had not seen before, extremely large, and not very different in appearance from apples, except that they had a rough, berry-like rind. After the crew had plucked all the fruit off one small tree, they cast lots who should try them, and the lot fell on Maildun. So he took some of them, and, squeezing the juice into a vessel, drank it. It threw him into a sleep of intoxication so deep that he seemed to be in a trance rather than in a natural slumber, without breath or motion, and with the red foam on his lips. And from that hour till the same hour next day, no one could tell whether he was living or dead. When he awoke next day, he bade his people to gather as much of the fruit as they could bring away with them; for the world, as he told them, never produced anything of such surpassing goodness. They pressed out the juice of the fruit till they had filled all their vessels; and so powerful was it to produce intoxication and sleep, that, before drinking it, they had to mix a large quantity of water with it to moderate its strength. CHAPTER XXX. THE ISLE OF THE MYSTIC LAKE. The island they came to next was larger than most of those they had seen. On one side grew a wood of yew trees and great oaks; and on the other side was a grassy plain, with one small lake in the midst. A noble-looking house stood on the near part of the plain, with a small church not far off; and numerous flocks of sheep browsed over the whole island. The travellers went to the church, and found in it a hermit, with snow-white beard and hair, and all the other marks of great old age. Maildun asked who he was, and whence he had come. He replied, "I am one of the fifteen people, who, following the example of our master, Brendan of Birra,[20] sailed on a pilgrimage out into the great ocean. After many wanderings, we settled on this island, where we lived for a long time; but my companions died one after another, and of all who came hither, I alone am left." The old pilgrim then showed them Brendan's satchel,[21] which he and his companions had brought with them on their pilgrimage; and Maildun kissed it, and all bowed down in veneration before it. And he told them that as long as they remained there, they might eat of the sheep and of the other food of the island; but to waste nothing. One day, as they were seated on a hill, gazing out over the sea, they saw what they took to be a black cloud coming towards them from the south-west. They continued to view it very closely as it came nearer and nearer; and at last they perceived with amazement that it was an immense bird, for they saw quite plainly the slow, heavy flapping of his wings. When he reached the island, he alighted on a little hillock over the lake; and they felt no small alarm, for they thought, on account of his vast size, that if he saw them, he might seize them in his talons, and carry them off over the sea. So they hid themselves under trees and in the crannies of rocks; but they never lost sight of the bird, for they were bent on watching his movements. He appeared very old, and he held in one claw a branch of a tree, which he had brought with him over the sea, larger and heavier than the largest full-grown oak. It was covered with fresh, green leaves, and was heavily laden with clusters of fruit, red and rich-looking like grapes, but much larger. He remained resting for a time on the hill, being much wearied after his flight, and at last he began to eat the fruit off the branch. After watching him for some time longer, Maildun ventured warily towards the hillock, to see whether he was inclined to mischief; but the bird showed no disposition to harm him. This emboldened the others, and they all followed their chief. The whole crew now marched in a body round the bird, headed by Maildun, with their shields raised; and as he still made no stir, one of the men, by Maildun's directions, went straight in front of him, and brought away some of the fruit from the branch which he still held in his talons. But the bird went on plucking and eating his fruit, and never took the least notice. On the evening of that same day, as the men sat looking over the sea to the south-west, where the great bird first appeared to them, they saw in the distance two others, quite as large, coming slowly towards them from the very same point. On they came, flying at a vast height, nearer and nearer, till at last they swooped down and alighted on the hillock in front of the first bird, one on each side. Although they were plainly much younger than the other, they seemed very tired, and took a long rest. Then, shaking their wings, they began picking the old bird all over, body, wings, and head, plucking out the old feathers and the decayed quill points, and smoothing down his plumage with their great beaks. After this had gone on for some time, the three began plucking the fruit off the branch, and they ate till they were satisfied. Next morning, the two birds began at the very same work, picking and arranging the feathers of the old bird as before; and at midday they ceased, and began again to eat the fruit, throwing the stones and what they did not eat of the pulp, into the lake, till the water became red like wine. After this the old bird plunged into the lake and remained in it, washing himself, till evening, when he again flew up on the hillock, but perched on a different part of it, to avoid touching and defiling himself with the old feathers and the other traces of age and decay, which the younger birds had removed from him. On the morning of the third day, the two younger birds set about arranging his feathers for the third time; and on this occasion they applied themselves to their task in a manner much more careful and particular than before, smoothing the plumes with the nicest touches, and arranging them in beautiful lines and glossy tufts and ridges. And so they continued without the least pause till midday, when they ceased. Then, after resting for a little while, they opened their great wings, rose into the air, and flew away swiftly towards the south-west, till the men lost sight of them in the distance. Meantime the old bird, after the others had left, continued to smooth and plume his feathers till evening; then, shaking his wings, he rose up, and flew three times round the island, as if to try his strength. And now the men observed that he had lost all the appearances of old age: his feathers were thick and glossy, his head was erect and his eye bright, and he flew with quite as much power and swiftness as the others. Alighting for the last time on the hillock, after resting a little, he rose again, and turning his flight after the other two, to the point from which he had come, he was soon lost to view, and the voyagers saw no more of him. It now appeared very clear to Maildun and his companions that this bird had undergone a renewal of youth from old age, according to the word of the prophet, which says, "Thy youth shall be renewed as the eagle." Diuran, seeing this great wonder, said to his companions-- "Let us also bathe in the lake, and we shall obtain a renewal of youth like the bird." But they said, "Not so, for the bird has left the poison of his old age and decay in the water." Diuran, however, would have his own way; and he told them he was resolved to try the virtue of the water, and that they might follow his example or not, whichever they pleased. So he plunged in and swam about for some time, after which he took a little of the water and mixed it in his mouth; and in the end he swallowed a small quantity. He then came out perfectly sound and whole; and he remained so ever after, for as long as he lived he never lost a tooth or had a grey hair, and he suffered not from disease or bodily weakness of any kind. But none of the others ventured in. The voyagers, having remained long enough on this island, stored in their curragh a large quantity of the flesh of the sheep; and after bidding farewell to the ancient cleric, they sought the ocean once more. Now once again, when winds and tide combine, The flying curragh cleaves the crested brine. Far to the west an island rose to view, With verdant plains, clear streams, and mountains blue. An aged hermit, bred in Erin's land, Welcomed and blessed the chieftain and his band; Brought food and drink, and bade them rest awhile, And view the wonders of that lovely isle. Lo, from the sea, three birds of monstrous size, With vast wings slowly moving, cleave the skies; And as they nearer drew, the sailors saw One held a fruit branch firmly in his claw. Down by the dear, mysterious lake they light, Eat from the branch, and rest them from their flight. The aged bird, with plumes decayed and thin, Paused on the brink awhile, then, plunging in, He bath'd and smooth'd his feathers o'er and o'er, Shook his great wings and rested on the shore. Now while the other two his plumes arrange, Through all his frame appears a wondrous change: His eyes grow bright, his head erect and bold, His glossy plumage shines like burnished gold; Free from old age, his glorious form expands; In radiant youth and beauty proud he stands! Such was the gift that lake of wonder gave; Such was the virtue of its mystic wave. CHAPTER XXXI. THE ISLE OF LAUGHING. They next came to an island with a great plain extending over its whole surface. They saw a vast multitude of people on it, engaged in sundry youthful games, and all continually laughing. The voyagers cast lots who should go to examine the island; and the lot fell upon Maildun's third foster brother. The moment he landed he went among the others and joined in their pastimes and in their laughter, as if he had been among them all his life. His companions waited for him a very long time, but were afraid to venture to land after him; and at last, as there seemed no chance of his returning, they left him and sailed away. CHAPTER XXXII. THE ISLE OF THE BLEST. They came now to a small island with a high rampart of fire all round it; and that rampart revolved continually round the island. There was one large open door in the rampart; and whenever the door, in its involution, came in front of them, they could see almost the whole island through it, and all that was therein. And this is what they saw: A great number of people, beautiful and glorious-looking, wearing rich garments adorned and radiant all over, feasting joyously, and drinking from embossed vessels of red gold which they held in their hands. The voyagers heard also their cheerful, festive songs; and they marvelled greatly, and their hearts were full of gladness at all the happiness they saw and heard. But they did not venture to land. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE HERMIT OF THE SEA-ROCK. A little time after leaving this, they saw something a long way off towards the south, which at first they took to be a large white bird floating on the sea, and rising and falling with the waves; but on turning their curragh towards it for a nearer view, they found that it was a man. He was very old, so old that he was covered all over with long, white hair, which grew from his body; and he was standing on a broad, bare rock, and kept continually throwing himself on his knees, and never ceased praying. When they saw that he was a holy man, they asked and received his blessing; after which they began to converse with him; and they inquired who he was, and how he had come to that rock. Then the old man gave them the following account:-- "I was born and bred in the island of Tory.[LXXVI.] When I grew up to be a man, I was cook to the brotherhood of the monastery; and a wicked cook I was; for every day I sold part of the food intrusted to me, and secretly bought many choice and rare things with the money. Worse even than this I did; I made secret passages underground into the church and into the houses belonging to it, and I stole from time to time great quantities of golden vestments, book-covers adorned with brass and gold, and other holy and precious things. "I soon became very rich, and had my rooms filled with costly couches, with clothes of every colour, both linen and woollen, with brazen pitchers and caldrons, and with brooches and armlets of gold. Nothing was wanting in my house, of furniture and ornament, that a person in a high rank of life might be expected to have; and I became very proud and overbearing. "One day, I was sent to dig a grave for the body of a rustic that had been brought from the mainland to be buried on the island. I went and fixed on a spot in the little graveyard; but as soon as I had set to work, I heard a voice speaking down deep in the earth beneath my feet-- "'Do not dig this grave!' "I paused for a moment, startled; but, recovering myself, I gave no further heed to the mysterious words, and again I began to dig. The moment I did so, I heard the same voice, even more plainly than before-- "'Do not dig this grave! I am a devout and holy person, and my body is lean and light; do not put the heavy, pampered body of that sinner down upon me!' "But I answered, in the excess of my pride and obstinacy, 'I will certainly dig this grave; and I will bury this body down on you!' "'If you put that body down on me, the flesh will fall off your bones, and you will die, and be sent to the infernal pit at the end of three days; and, moreover, the body will not remain where you put it.' "'What will you give me,' I asked, 'if I do not bury the corpse on you?' "'Everlasting life in heaven,' replied the voice. "'How do you know this; and how am I to be sure of it?' I inquired. "And the voice answered me, 'The grave you are digging is clay. Observe now whether it will remain so, and then you will know the truth of what I tell you. And you will see that what I say will come to pass, and that you cannot bury that man on me, even if you should try to do so.' "These words were scarce ended, when the grave was turned into a mass of white sand before my face. And when I saw this, I brought the body away, and buried it elsewhere. "It happened, some time after, that I got a new curragh made, with the hides painted red all over; and I went to sea in it. As I sailed by the shores and islands, I was so pleased with the view of the land and sea from my curragh that I resolved to live altogether in it for some time; and I brought on board all my treasures--silver cups, gold bracelets, and ornamented drinking-horns, and everything else, from the largest to the smallest article. "I enjoyed myself for a time, while the air was clear and the sea calm and smooth. But one day, the winds suddenly arose and a storm burst upon me, which carried me out to sea, so that I quite lost sight of land, and I knew not in what direction the curragh was drifting. After a time, the wind abated to a gentle gale, the sea became smooth, and the curragh sailed on as before, with a quiet, pleasant movement. "But suddenly, though the breeze continued to blow, I thought I could perceive that the curragh ceased moving, and, standing up to find out the cause, I saw with great surprise an old man not far off, sitting on the crest of a wave. "He spoke to me; and, as soon as I heard his voice, I knew it at once, but I could not at the moment call to mind where I had heard it before. And I became greatly troubled, and began to tremble, I knew not why. "'Whither art thou going?' he asked. "'I know not,' I replied; 'but this I know, I am pleased with the smooth, gentle motion of my curragh over the waves.' "'You would not be pleased,' replied the old man, 'if you could see the troops that are at this moment around you.' "'What troops do you speak of?' I asked. And he answered-- "'All the space round about you, as far as your view reaches over the sea, and upwards to the clouds, is one great towering mass of demons, on account of your avarice, your thefts, your pride, and your other crimes and vices.' "He then asked, 'Do you know why your curragh has stopped?' "I answered, 'No;' and he said, 'It has been stopped by me; and it will never move from that spot till you promise me to do what I shall ask of you.' "I replied that perhaps it was not in my power to grant his demand. "'It is in your power,' he answered; 'and if you refuse me, the torments of hell shall be your doom.' "He then came close to the curragh, and, laying his hands on me, he made me swear to do what he demanded. "'What I ask is this,' said he; 'that you throw into the sea this moment all the ill-gotten treasures you have in the curragh.' "This grieved me very much, and I replied, 'It is a pity that all these costly things should be lost.' "To which he answered, 'They will not go to loss; a person will be sent to take charge of them. Now do as I say.' "So, greatly against my wishes, I threw all the beautiful precious articles overboard, keeping only a small wooden cup to drink from. "'You will now continue your voyage,' he said; 'and the first solid ground your curragh reaches, there you are to stay.' "He then gave me seven cakes and a cup of watery whey as food for my voyage; after which the curragh moved on, and I soon lost sight of him. And now I all at once recollected that the old man's voice was the same as the voice that I had heard come from the ground, when I was about to dig the grave for the body of the rustic. I was so astonished and troubled at this discovery, and so disturbed at the loss of all my wealth, that I threw aside my oars, and gave myself up altogether to the winds and currents, not caring whither I went; and for a long time I was tossed about on the waves, I knew not in what direction. "At last it seemed to me that my curragh ceased to move; but I was not sure about it, for I could see no sign of land. Mindful, however, of what the old man had told me, that I was to stay wherever my curragh stopped, I looked round more carefully; and at last I saw, very near me, a small rock level with the surface, over which the waves were gently laughing and tumbling. I stepped on to the rock; and the moment I did so, the waves seemed to spring back, and the rock rose high over the level of the water; while the curragh drifted by and quickly disappeared, so that I never saw it after. This rock has been my abode from that time to the present day. "For the first seven years, I lived on the seven cakes and the cup of whey given me by the man who had sent me to the rock. At the end of that time the cakes were all gone; and for three days I fasted, with nothing but the whey to wet my mouth. Late in the evening of the third day, an otter brought me a salmon out of the sea; but though I suffered much from hunger, I could not bring myself to eat the fish raw, and it was washed back again into the waves. "I remained without food for three days longer; and in the afternoon of the third day, the otter returned with the salmon. And I saw another otter bring firewood; and when he had piled it up on the rock, he blew it with his breath till it took fire and lighted up. And then I broiled the salmon and ate till I had satisfied my hunger. "The otter continued to bring me a salmon every day, and in this manner I lived for seven years longer. The rock also grew larger and larger daily, till it became the size you now see it. At the end of seven years, the otter ceased to bring me my salmon, and I fasted for three days. But at the end of the third day, I was sent half a cake of fine wheaten flour and a slice of fish; and on the same day my cup of watery whey fell into the sea, and a cup of the same size, filled with good ale, was placed on the rock for me. "And so I have lived, praying and doing penance for my sins to this hour. Each day my drinking-vessel is filled with ale, and I am sent half a wheat-flour cake and a slice of fish; and neither rain nor wind, nor heat, nor cold, is allowed to molest me on this rock." This was the end of the old man's history. In the evening of that day, each man of the crew received the same quantity of food that was sent to the old hermit himself, namely, half a cake and a slice of fish; and they found in the vessel as much good ale as served them all. The next morning he said to them, "You shall all reach your own country in safety. And you, Maildun, you shall find in an island on your way, the very man that slew your father; but you are neither to kill him nor take revenge on him in any way. As God has delivered you from the many dangers you have passed through, though you were very guilty, and well deserved death at His hands; so you forgive your enemy the crime he committed against you." After this they took leave of the old man and sailed away. THE OLD HERMIT'S STORY. The storms may roar and the seas may rage, But here, on this bare, brown rock, I pray and repent and I tell my beads, Secure from the hurricane's shock. For the good, kind God, in pity to me, Holds out His protecting hand; And cold nor heat nor storm nor sleet, Can molest me where I stand. I robbed the churches and wronged the poor, And grew richer day by day; But now on this bare, brown ocean rock, A heavy penance I pay. A bloated sinner died unshrived, And they brought his corse to me-- "Go, dig the grave and bury the dead, And pray for the soul set free." I dug the grave, but my hands were stayed By a solemn and fearful sound, For the feeble tones of a dead man's voice Came up from the hollow ground! _The dead monk speaks up from the grave_-- Place not that pampered corse on mine, For my bones are weak and thin; I cannot bear the heavy weight Of a body defiled by sin. I was a meek and holy man; I fasted and watched and prayed; A sinner's corse would defile the clay Where my wasted body is laid. _The old hermit continues his story_-- The voice then ceased, and I heard no more Its hollow, beseeching tone; Then I closed the grave, and left the old monk To rest in his coffin alone. My curragh sailed on the western main, And I saw, as I viewed the sea, A withered old man upon a wave; And he fixed his eyes on me. He spoke, and his voice my heart's blood froze, And I shook with horror and fear: 'Twas the very voice of the dead old monk That sounded in mine ear! _The dead monk speaks again_-- Far from my grave the sinner's corse In unhallowed clay lies deep; And now in my coffin, undefiled, For ever in peace I sleep. Go, live and pray on the bare, brown rock, Far out in the stormy sea; A heavy penance for heavy crimes, And heaven at last for thee! _The old hermit ends his story_-- And here I live from age to age; I pray and repent and fast; An otter brings me food each day, And I hope for heaven at last. The tempests roar and the billows rage, But God holds forth His hand, And cold nor heat nor storm nor sleet, Can harm me where I stand. FOOTNOTES: [LXXVI.] Tory Island, off the coast of Donegal, where there was a monastery dedicated to St. Columkille. CHAPTER XXXIV. SIGNS OF HOME. Soon after they saw a beautiful verdant island, with herds of oxen, cows, and sheep browsing all over its hills and valleys; but no houses nor inhabitants were to be seen. And they rested for some time on this island, and ate the flesh of the cows and sheep. One day, while they were standing on a hill, a large falcon flew by; and two of the crew, who happened to look closely at him, cried out, in the hearing of Maildun-- "See that falcon! he is surely like the falcons of Erin!" "Watch him closely," cried Maildun; "and observe exactly in what direction he is flying!" And they saw that he flew to the south-east, without turning or wavering. They went on board at once; and, having unmoored, they sailed to the south-east after the falcon. After rowing the whole day, they sighted land in the dusk of the evening, which seemed to them like the land of Erin. CHAPTER XXXV. MAILDUN MEETS HIS ENEMY, AND ARRIVES HOME. On a near approach, they found it was a small island; and now they recognised it as the very same island they had seen in the beginning of their voyage, in which they had heard the man in the great house boast that he had slain Maildun's father, and from which the storm had driven them out into the great ocean. They turned the prow of their vessel to the shore, landed, and went towards the house. It happened that at this very time the people of the house were seated at their evening meal; and Maildun and his companions, as they stood outside, heard a part of their conversation. Said one to another, "It would not be well for us if we were now to see Maildun." "As to Maildun," answered another, "it is very well known that he was drowned long ago in the great ocean." "Do not be sure," observed a third; "perchance he is the very man that may waken you up some morning from your sleep." "Supposing he came now," asks another, "what should we do?" The head of the house now spoke in reply to the last question; and Maildun at once knew his voice-- "I can easily answer that," said he. "Maildun has been for a long time suffering great afflictions and hardships; and if he were to come now, though we were enemies once, I should certainly give him a welcome and a kind reception." When Maildun heard this he knocked at the door, and the door-keeper asked who was there; to which Maildun made answer-- "It is I, Maildun, returned safely from all my wanderings." The chief of the house then ordered the door to be opened; and he went to meet Maildun, and brought himself and his companions into the house. They were joyfully welcomed by the whole household; new garments were given to them; and they feasted and rested, till they forgot their weariness and their hardships. They related all the wonders God had revealed to them in the course of their voyage, according to the word of the sage who says, "It will be a source of pleasure to remember these things at a future time." After they had remained here for some days, Maildun returned to his own country. And Diuran Lekerd took the five half-ounces of silver he had cut down from the great net at the Silver Pillar, and laid it, according to his promise, on the high altar of Armagh. THE FAIRY PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES.[LXXVII.] CHAPTER I. COLGA, KING OF LOCHLANN, INVADES ERIN, AND IS SLAIN. Once upon a time, a noble, warlike king ruled over Lochlann,[6] whose name was Colga of the Hard Weapons. On a certain occasion, this king held a meeting of his chief people, on the broad, green plain before his palace of Berva.[6] And when they were all gathered together, he spoke to them in a loud, clear voice, from where he sat high on his throne; and he asked them whether they found any fault with the manner in which he ruled them, and whether they knew of anything deserving of blame in him as their sovereign lord and king. They replied, as if with the voice of one man, that they found no fault of any kind. Then the king spoke again and said, "You see not as I see. Do you not know that I am called King of the Four Tribes of Lochlann, and of the Islands of the Sea? And yet there is one island which acknowledges not my rule." And when they had asked which of the islands he meant, he said-- "That island is Erin of the green hills. My forefathers, indeed, held sway over it, and many of our brave warriors died there in fight. There fell the great king, Balor of the Mighty Blows;[9] his son Bres[9] also; and his queen, Kethlenda of the Crooked Teeth;[9] there, too, fell Irann and Slana, sisters of the king; and many others that I do not name. But though our hosts at last subdued the land and laid it under tribute, yet they held it not long; for the men of Erin arose and expelled our army, regaining their ancient freedom. "And now it is my desire that we once more sail to Erin with a fleet and an army, to bring it under my power, and take, either by consent or by force, the tributes that are due to me by right. And we shall thereafter hold the island in subjection till the end of the world." The chiefs approved the counsel of the king, and the meeting broke up. Then the king made proclamation, and sent his swift scouts and couriers all over the land, to muster his fighting men, till he had assembled a mighty army in one place. And when they had made ready their curve-sided, white-sailed ships, and their strong, swift-gliding boats, the army embarked. And they raised their sails and plied their oars; and they cleft the billowy, briny sea; and the clear, cold winds whistled through their sails; and they made neither stop nor stay, till they landed on the shore of the province of Ulad.[LXXVIII.] The King of Ireland at that time was Cormac Mac Art,[22] the grandson of Conn the Hundred-fighter.[18] And when Cormac heard that a great fleet had come to Erin, and landed an army of foreigners, he straightway sent tidings of the invasion to Allen[LXXIX.] of the green hill-slopes, where lived Finn,[23] and the noble Fena[23] of the Gaels. When the king's messengers had told their tale, Finn despatched his trusty, swift-footed couriers to every part of Erin where he knew the Fena dwelt; and he bade them to say that all should meet him at a certain place, near that part of the coast where the Lochlann army lay encamped. And he himself led the Fena of Leinster northwards to join the muster. They attacked the foreigners, and the foreigners were not slow to meet their onset; and the Fena were sore pressed in that battle, so that at one time the Lochlanns were like to prevail. Oscar, the son of Oisin,[23] when he saw his friends falling all round him, was grieved to the heart; and he rested for a space to gather his wrath and his strength. Then, renewing the fight, he rushed with fury towards the standard of Colga, the Lochlann king, dealing havoc and slaughter among those foreigners that stood in his track. The king saw Oscar approach, and met him; and they fought a deadly battle hand-to-hand. Soon their shields were rent, their hard helmets were dinted with sword-blows, their armour was pierced in many places, and their flesh was torn with deep wounds. And the end of the fight was, that the king of the foreigners was slain by Oscar, the son of Oisin. When the Lochlanns saw their king fall, they lost heart, and the battle went against them. But they fought on nevertheless, till evening, when their army entirely gave way, and fled from the field. And of all the nobles and princes and mighty chiefs who sailed to Erin on that expedition, not one was left alive, except the youngest son of the king, whose name was Midac. Him Finn spared on account of his youth; with intent to bring him up in his own household. After the Fena had rested for a time, and buried their dead, they turned their faces southward, and marched slowly towards Allen, bringing their sick and wounded companions. And Finn placed Midac among the household of Allen, treating him honourably, and giving him servants and tutors. Moreover, he enlisted him in the Fena, and gave him a high post as befitted a prince. FOOTNOTES: [LXXVII.] The quicken tree, or quickbeam, or mountain ash, or roan-tree; Gaelic, _caerthainn_. Many mystic virtues were anciently attributed to this tree. [LXXVIII.] Ulad, _i.e._ Ulster. [LXXIX.] The Hill of Allen, in the county Kildare, where Finn had his palace. (See note 23 at the end.) CHAPTER II. MIDAC, THE SON OF COLGA, MEDITATES REVENGE. After this things went on as before, while Midac grew up towards manhood, and hunted and feasted with the Fena, and fought with them when they fought. But he never lost an opportunity of making himself acquainted with all their haunts and hunting-grounds, their palaces and fortresses, and in particular with their manner of carrying on war. It happened one day that Finn and some of his leading chiefs were in council, considering sundry matters, especially the state and condition of the Fena; and each chief was commanded by Finn to speak, and give his opinion or advice on anything that he deemed weighty enough to be debated by the meeting. And after many had spoken, Conan Mail, the son of Morna, stood up and said-- "It seems to me, O king, that you and I and the Fena in general are now in great danger. For you have in your house, and mixing with your people, a young man who has good cause of enmity towards you; that is to say, Midac, the son of the king of Lochlann. For was it not by you that his father and brothers and many of his friends were slain? Now I notice that this young prince is silent and distant, and talks little to those around him. Moreover, I see that day after day he takes much pains to know all matters relating to the Fena; and as he has friends in Lochlann, mighty men with armies and ships, I fear me the day may come when this prince will use his knowledge to our destruction." The king said that all this was quite true, and he asked Conan to give his opinion as to what should be done. "What I advise in the matter is this," said Conan, "that Midac be not allowed to abide any longer in the palace of Allen. But as it is meet that he should be treated in a manner becoming a prince, let him be given a tract of land for himself in some other part of Erin, with a home and a household of his own. Then shall we be freed from his presence, and he can no longer listen to our counsels, and learn all our secrets and all our plans." This speech seemed to Finn and the other chiefs reasonable and prudent, and they agreed to follow the advice of Conan Mail. Accordingly Finn sent for the prince, and said to him-- "Thou knowest, Midac, that thou hast been brought up from boyhood in my household, and that thou hast been dealt with in every way as becomes a prince. Now thou art a man, and standest in no further need of instruction, for thou hast learned everything needful for a prince and for a champion of the Fena; and it is not meet that thou shouldst abide longer in the house of another. Choose, therefore, the two cantreds that please thee best in all Erin, and they shall be given to thee and to thy descendants for ever as a patrimony. There thou shalt build houses and a homestead for thyself, and I will help thee with men and with cattle and with all things else necessary." Midac listened in silence; and when the king had done speaking, he replied in a cold and distant manner and in few words, that the proposal was reasonable and proper, and pleased him well. And thereupon he chose the rich cantred of Kenri on the Shannon, and the cantred of the Islands lying next to it on the north, at the other side of the river.[LXXX.] Now Midac had good reasons for choosing these two territories beyond all others in Erin. For the river opens out between them like a great sea, in which are many islands and sheltered harbours, where ships might anchor in safety; and he hoped to bring a fleet and an army into Erin some day, to avenge on Finn and the Fena the defeats they had inflicted on his countrymen, and above all, the death of his father and brothers. And being bent on treachery, he could not have chosen in all Erin a territory better suited for carrying out his secret designs. So these two cantreds were bestowed on Midac. Finn gave him also much cattle and wealth of all kinds; so that when his houses were built, and when he was settled in his new territory, with his servants and his cattle and his wealth all round him, there was no brugaid[LXXXI.] in Erin richer or more prosperous than he. For fourteen years Midac lived in his new home, growing richer every year. But the Fena knew nothing of his way of life, for he kept himself apart, and none of his old acquaintances visited him. And though he was enrolled in the ranks of the Fena, he never, during all that time, invited one of them to his house, or offered them food or drink or entertainment of any kind. One day, Finn and the Fena went to hunt in the district of Fermorc,[C] and over the plains of Hy Conall Gavra.[LXXXII.] And when all was arranged and the chase about to begin, Finn himself, and a few of his companions, went to the top of the hill of Knockfierna[LXXXIII.] to see the sport; while the main body of the Fena scattered themselves over the plain with their dogs and attendants, to start the deer and the wild boars and all the other game of the forest. Then Finn's people pitched their tents, and made soft couches of rushes and heather, and dug cooking-places[24]; for they intended the hill to be the resting-place of all who chose to rest, till the chase was ended. After Finn and his companions had sat for some time on the hill, they saw a tall warrior coming towards them, armed in full battle array. He wore a splendid coat of mail of Lochlann workmanship, and over it a mantle of fine satin dyed in divers colours. A broad shield hung on his left shoulder, and his helmet glittered in the morning sun like polished silver. At his left side hung a long sword, with golden hilt and enamelled sheath; and he held in his right hand his two long, polished, death-dealing spears. His figure and gait were wonderfully majestic, and as he came near, he saluted the king in stately and courteous words. Finn returned the salutation, and spoke with him for a while; and at length he asked him whence he had come, and if he had brought any tidings. "As to the place I came from," he answered, "that need not be spoken of; and for news, I have nothing to tell except that I am a ferdana,[LXXXIV.] and that I have come to thee, O king of the Fena, with a poem." "Methinks, indeed," replied Finn, "that conflict and battle are the poetry you profess; for never have I seen a hero more noble in mien and feature." "I am a ferdana nevertheless," answered the stranger; "and if thou dost not forbid me, I will prove it by reciting a poem I have brought for thee." "A mountain-top is not the place for poetry," said Finn; "and moreover, there is now no opportunity either for reciting or listening. For I and these few companions of mine have come to sit here that we may view the chase, and listen to the eager shouts of the men, and the sweet cry of the hounds. "But if you are, as you say," continued Finn, "a ferdana, remain here with us till the chase is ended; and then you shall come with me to one of our palaces, where I shall listen to your poem, and bestow on you such gifts as are meet for a poet of your rank." But the strange champion answered, "It is not my wish to go to your palace; and I now put you under gesa,[12] which true heroes do not suffer, that you listen to my poem, and that you find out and explain its meaning." "Well then," said Finn, "let there be no further delay; repeat your poem." So the hero recited the following verse:-- I saw a house by a river's shore, Famed through Erin in days of yore, Radiant with sparkling gems all o'er, Its lord deep skilled in magical lore; No conqueror ever defiled its floor; No spoiler can rive its golden store; Fire cannot burn its battlements hoar; Safe it stands when the torrents pour; Feasting and joy for evermore, To all who enter its open door! Now if thou hast learned a champion's lore, Tell me the name of that mansion hoar, With roof of crystal and marble floor-- The mansion I saw by the river's shore. "I can explain that poem," said Finn. "The mansion you saw is Bruga of the Boyne,[LXXXV.] the fairy palace of Angus, the Dedannan prince, son of the Dagda, which is open to all who wish to partake of its feasts and its enjoyments. It cannot be burned by fire, or drowned by water, or spoiled by robbers, on account of the great power of its lord and master; for there is not now, and there never was, and there never shall be, in Erin, a man more skilled in magic arts than Angus of the Bruga." "That is the sense of my poem," said the stranger; "and now listen to this other, and explain it to me if thou canst"-- I saw to the south a bright-faced queen, With couch of crystal and robe of green; A numerous offspring, sprightly and small, Plain through her skin you can see them all; Slowly she moves, and yet her speed Exceeds the pace of the swiftest steed! Now tell me the name of that wondrous queen, With her couch of crystal and robe of green.[LXXXVI.] "I understand the sense of that poem also," said Finn. "The queen you saw is the river Boyne, which flows by the south side of the palace of Bruga. Her couch of crystal is the sandy bed of the river; and her robe of green the grassy plain of Bregia,[LXXXVII.] through which it flows. Her children, which you can see through her skin, are the speckled salmon, the lively, pretty trout, and all the other fish that swim in the clear water of the river. The river flows slowly indeed; but its waters traverse the whole world in seven years, which is more than the swiftest steed can do." "These are my poems," said the champion; "and thou hast truly explained their meaning." "And now," said Finn, "as I have listened to thy poetry and explained it, tell us, I pray thee, who thou art and whence thou hast come; for I marvel much that so noble a champion should live in any of the five provinces of Erin without being known to me and my companions." Then Conan Mail spoke. "Thou art, O king, the wisest and most far-seeing of the Fena, and thou hast unravelled and explained the hard poetical puzzles of this champion. Yet, on the present occasion, thou knowest not a friend from a foe; for this man is Midac, whom thou didst bring up with much honour in thine own house, and afterwards made rich, but who is now thy bitter enemy, and the enemy of all the Fena. Here he has lived for fourteen years, without fellowship or communication with his former companions. And though he is enrolled in the order of the Fena, he has never, during all that time, invited thee to a banquet, or come to see any of his old friends, or given food or entertainment to any of the Fena, either master or man." Midac answered, "If Finn and the Fena have not feasted with me, that is none of my fault; for my house has never been without a banquet fit for either king or chief; but you never came to partake of it. I did not, indeed, send you an invitation; but that you should not have waited for, seeing that I was one of the Fena, and that I was brought up in your own household. Howbeit, let that pass. I have now a feast ready, in all respects worthy of a king; and I put you under gesa that you and the chiefs that are here with you, come this night to partake of it. I have two palaces, and in each there is a banquet. One is the Palace of the Island, which stands on the sea; and the other is the Palace of the Quicken Trees, which is a little way off from this hill; and it is to this that I wish you to come." Finn consented; and Midac, after he had pointed out the way to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, left them, saying he would go before, that he might have things in readiness when they should arrive. FOOTNOTES: [LXXX.] The cantreds of Kenri and Islands are now two baronies: the former the barony of Kenry, in Limerick, a little below the city; the latter the barony of Islands, in Clare, on the opposite side of the Shannon, including the mouth of the river Fergus, with its numerous _islands_, from which the barony has its name. [LXXXI.] Brugaid, a sort of local officer, who was allowed a tract of land free, on condition that he maintained a large establishment as a house of public hospitality. Many of the brugaids were very rich. [LXXXII.] Fermorc and Hy Conall Gavra are now the baronies of Upper and Lower Connello, in the county Limerick. [LXXXIII.] Knockfierna, a conspicuous hill, celebrated for its fairy lore, near Croom, in the county Limerick; very near Kenri, Midac's territory. [LXXXIV.] Ferdana, a poet. [LXXXV.] Bruga of the Boyne. (See note, page 62.) [LXXXVI.] The poets were much given to proposing poetical puzzles of this kind; and it was considered a mark of superior education, and of great acuteness in a champion to be able to explain them. (For another example, see the enigmatical verse about the skin of the pig, in the story of "The Children of Turenn," page 69.) [LXXXVII.] Bregia or Magh Breagh, the ancient name of the plain extending from the Liffey northwards to the borders of the county Louth. (For this name, see the author's "Irish Names of Places," Series II. Part IV. chap. II.) CHAPTER III. FINN IS ENTRAPPED BY MIDAC, AND HELD BY ENCHANTMENT IN THE PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES. Finn now held council with his companions, and they agreed that the king's son, Oisin, and five other chiefs, with their followers, should tarry on the hill till the hunting party returned, while Finn went to the palace with the rest. And it was arranged that Finn should send back word immediately to the party on the hill, how he fared; and that Oisin and the others were to follow him to the palace when the hunting party had returned. Those that remained with Oisin were Dermat O'Dyna; Fatha Conan, the son of the son of Conn; Kylta Mac Ronan; Ficna, the son of Finn; and Innsa, the son of Swena Selga. And of those who went with Finn to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, the chief were Gaul Mac Morna; Dathkeen the Strong-limbed; Mac Luga of the Red Hand; Glas Mac Encarda from Beara; the two sons of Aed the Lesser, son of Finn; Racad and Dalgus, the two kings of Leinster; Angus Mac Bresal Bola; and the two leaders of the Connaught Fena, namely, Mac-na-Corra and Corr the Swift-footed. As Finn and his party came nigh to the palace, they were amazed at its size and splendour; and they wondered greatly that they had never seen it before. It stood on a level green, which was surrounded by a light plantation of quicken trees, all covered with clusters of scarlet berries. At one side of the little plain, very near the palace, was a broad river, with a rocky bank at the near side, and a steep pathway leading down to a ford. But what surprised them most was that all was lonely and silent--not a living soul could they see in any direction; and Finn, fearing some foul play, would have turned back, only that he bethought him of his gesa and his promise. The great door was wide open, and Conan went in before the others; and after viewing the banqueting hall, he came out quite enraptured with what he had seen. He praised the beauty and perfect arrangement of everything, and told his companions that no other king or chief in all Erin had a banqueting hall to match the hall of Midac, the son of Colga. They all now entered, but they found no one--neither host nor guests nor attendants. As they gazed around, they thought they had never seen a banquet hall so splendid. A great fire burned brightly in the middle, without any smoke, and sent forth a sweet perfume, which filled the whole room with fragrance, and cheered and delighted the heroes. Couches were placed all round, with rich coverlets and rugs, and soft, glossy furs. The curved walls were of wood,[LXXXVIII.] close-jointed and polished like ivory; and each board was painted differently from those above and below; so that the sides of the room, from floor to roof, were all radiant with a wonderful variety of colours. Still seeing no one, they seated themselves on the couches and rugs. Presently a door opened, and Midac walked into the room. He stood for a few moments before the heroes, and looked at them one after another, but never spoke one word; then, turning round, he went out and shut the great door behind him. Finn and his friends were much surprised at this; however, they said nothing, but remained resting as they were for some time, expecting Midac's return. Still no one came, and at length Finn spoke-- "We have been invited here, my friends, to a banquet; and it seems to me very strange that we should be left so long without attendance, and without either food or drink. Perhaps, indeed, Midac's attendants have made some mistake, and that the feast intended for this palace has been prepared in the Palace of the Island. But I wonder greatly that such a thing should have happened." "I see something more wonderful than that," said Gaul Mac Morna; "for lo, the fire, which was clear and smokeless when we first saw it, and which smelled more sweetly than the flowers of the plain, now fills the hall with a foul stench, and sends up a great cloud of black, sooty smoke!" "I see something more wonderful than that," said Glas Mac Encarda; "for the boards in the walls of this banquet hall, which were smooth and close-jointed and glorious all over with bright colours when we came, are now nothing but rough planks, clumsily fastened together with tough quicken tree withes, and as rude and unshapen as if they had been hacked and hewed with a blunt axe!" "I see something more wonderful than that," said Foilan, the son of Aed the Lesser; "for this palace, which had seven great doors when we came in, all wide open, and looking pleasantly towards the sunshine, has now only one small, narrow door, close fastened, and facing straight to the north!" "I see something more wonderful than that," said Conan Mail; "for the rich rugs and furs and the soft couches, which were under us when we sat here first, are all gone, not as much as a fragment or a thread remaining; and we are now sitting on the bare, damp earth, which feels as cold as the snow of one night!"[LXXXIX.] Then Finn again spoke. "You know, my friends, that I never tarry in a house having only one door. Let one of you then, arise, and break open that narrow door, so that we may go forth from this foul, smoky den!" "That shall be done," cried Conan; and, so saying, he seized his long spear, and, planting it on the floor, point downwards, he attempted to spring to his feet. But he found that he was not able to move, and turning to his companions, he cried out with a groan of anguish-- "Alas, my friends! I see now something more wonderful than all; for I am firmly fixed by some druidical spell to the cold clay floor of the Palace of the Quicken Trees!" And immediately all the others found themselves, in like manner, fixed where they sat. And they were silent for a time, being quite confounded and overwhelmed with fear and anguish. At length Gaul spoke, and said, "It seems clear, O king, that Midac has planned this treachery, and that danger lies before us. I wish, then, that you would place your thumb under your tooth of knowledge,[25] and let us know the truth; so that we may at once consider as to the best means of escaping from this strait." Whereupon Finn placed his thumb under his tooth of knowledge, and mused for a little while. Then suddenly withdrawing his thumb, he sank back in his seat and groaned aloud. "May it be the will of the gods," said Gaul, "that it is the pain of thy thumb that has caused thee to utter that groan!" "Alas! not so," replied Finn. "I grieve that my death is near, and the death of these dear companions! For fourteen years has Midac, the son of the king of Lochlann, been plotting against us; and now at last he has caught us in this treacherous snare, from which I can see no escape. "For in the Palace of the Island there is, at this moment, an army of foreigners, whom Midac has brought hither for our destruction. Chief over all is Sinsar of the Battles, from Greece, the Monarch of the World, who has under his command sixteen warlike princes, with many others of lesser note. Next to Sinsar is his son, Borba the Haughty, who commands also a number of fierce and hardy knights. "There are, besides, the three kings of the Island of the Torrent, large-bodied and bloodthirsty, like three furious dragons, who have never yet yielded to an enemy on the field of battle. It is these who, by their sorcery, have fixed us here; for this cold clay that we sit on is part of the soil of the enchanted Island of the Torrent, which they brought hither, and placed here with foul spells. Moreover, the enchantment that binds us to this floor can never be broken unless the blood of these kings be sprinkled on the clay. And very soon some of Sinsar's warriors will come over from the Palace of the Island, to slay us all, while we are fixed here helpless, and unable to raise a hand in our own defence." Full of alarm and anguish were the heroes when they heard these tidings. And some began to shed bitter tears in silence, and some lamented aloud. But Finn again spoke and said-- "It becomes us not, my friends, being heroes, to weep and wail like women, even though we are in danger of death; for tears and lamentations will avail us nothing. Let us rather sound the Dord-Fian,[XC.] sweetly and plaintively, according to our wont, that it may be a comfort to us before we die." So they ceased weeping, and, joining all together, they sounded the Dord-Fian in a slow, sad strain. FOOTNOTES: [LXXXVIII.] The houses of the ancient Irish were circular, and generally made of wood. [LXXXIX.] "As cold as the snow of one night;" "As white as the snow of one night," are usual comparisons in Gaelic. The first night's snow seems particularly cold and white when you see it in the morning on account of the contrast with the green fields of the day before. [XC.] Dord-Fian, or Dord-Fiansa, a sort of musical war-cry, usually performed by several persons in chorus. CHAPTER IV. INNSA, FINN'S FOSTER SON, DEFENDS THE FORD LEADING TO THE PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES. Now let us speak of Oisin, and the party who tarried with him on the hill of Knockfierna. When he found that his father Finn had not sent back a messenger as he had promised, though the night was now drawing nigh, he began to fear that something was wrong; and he said to his companions-- "I marvel much that we have got no news from the king, how he and his companions have fared in the Palace of the Quicken Trees. It is clear to me that he would have fulfilled his promise to send us word, if he had not been hindered by some unforeseen difficulty. Now, therefore, I wish to know who will go to the palace and bring me back tidings." Ficna, the son of Finn, stood forth and offered to go; and Finn's foster son, Innsa, the son of Swena Selga, said he would go with him. They both set out at once, and as they travelled with speed, they soon reached the plain on which stood the Palace of the Quicken Trees; and now the night was darkening around them. As they came near to the palace, they marvelled to hear the loud, slow strains of the Dord-Fian; and Innsa exclaimed joyfully-- "Things go well with our friends, seeing that they are amusing themselves with the Dord-Fian!" But Ficna, who guessed more truly how things really stood, replied-- "It is my opinion, friend, that matters are not so pleasant with them as you think; for it is only in time of trouble or danger that Finn is wont to have the Dord-Fian sounded in a manner so slow and sad." While they talked in this wise, it chanced that the Dord-Fian ceased for a little space; and Finn hearing the low hum of conversation outside, asked was that the voice of Ficna. And when Ficna answered, "Yes," Finn said to him-- "Come not nearer, my son; for this place teems with dangerous spells. We have been decoyed hither by Midac, and we are all held here by the foul sorcery of the three kings of the Island of the Torrent." And thereupon Finn told him the whole story of the treachery that had been wrought on them, from beginning to end; and he told him also that nothing could free them but the blood of those three kings sprinkled on the clay. Then he asked who the second man was whom he had heard conversing with Ficna; and when he was told that it was Innsa, the son of Swena Selga, he addressed Ficna earnestly-- "Fly, my son, from this fatal place! Fly, and save my foster child from the treacherous swords of the foreigners; for they are already on their way hither!" But Innsa quickly answered, "That I will never do. It would, indeed, be an ungrateful return to a kind foster father, to leave thee now in deadly strait, and seek my own safety." And Ficna spoke in a like strain. Then Finn said, "Be it so, my sons; but a sore trial awaits you. Those who come hither from the Palace of the Island must needs pass the ford under the shadow of these walls. Now this ford is rugged and hard to be crossed; and one good man, standing in the steep, narrow entrance at the hither side, might dispute the passage for a time against many. Go now, and defend this ford; and haply some help may come in time." So both went to the ford. And when they had viewed it carefully, Ficna, seeing that one man might defend it for a short time almost as well as two, said to Innsa-- "Stay thou here to guard the ford for a little time, while I go to the Palace of the Island to see how the foreigners might be attacked. Haply, too, I may meet with the party coming hither, and decoy them on some other track." And Innsa consented; and Ficna set out straightway for the Palace of the Island. Now as to the Palace of the Island. When Midac returned in the morning, and told how Finn and his people were held safe in the Palace of the Quicken Trees, the foreigners were in great joy. And they feasted and drank and were merry till evening; when an Irla[XCI.] of the King of the World spoke in secret to his brother, and said-- "I will go now to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, and I will bring hither the head of Finn the son of Cumal; and I shall gain thereby much renown, and shall be honoured by the King of the World." So he went, bringing with him a goodly number of his own knights; and nothing is told of what befell them till they arrived at the brink of the ford under the Palace of the Quicken Trees. Looking across through the darkness, the Irla thought he saw a warrior standing at the other brink; and he called aloud to ask who was there, and whether he belonged to the noble or the ignoble races of the world. And when Innsa answered that he belonged to the household of Finn, the son of Cumal, the Irla said-- "Lo, we are going to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, to bring Finn's head to the King of the World; and thou shalt come with us and lead us to the door." "That, indeed," replied Innsa, "would be a strange way for a champion to act who has been sent hither by Finn to guard this ford. I will not allow any foe to pass--of that be sure; and I warn you that you come not to my side of the ford!" At this the Irla said to his knights, "Force the ford: then shall we see if yonder hero can fight as well as he threatens." And at the word, they rushed through the water, as many as could find room. But only one or two at a time could attack; and the young champion struck them down right and left as fast as they came up, till the ford became encumbered with their bodies. And when the conflict had lasted for a long time, and when they found that they could not dislodge him, the few that remained retired across the ford; and Innsa was fain to rest after his long combat. But the Irla, seeing so many of his knights slain, was mad with wrath; and, snatching up his sword and shield, he attacked Innsa; and they fought a long and bloody fight. Now the Irla was fresh and strong, while Innsa was weary and sore wounded; and at length the young hero fell in the ford, and the Irla beheaded him, and, exulting in his victory, brought the head away. Finn and his companions, as they sat in miserable plight in the Palace of the Quicken Trees, heard the clash of arms at the ford, and the shouts and groans of warriors; and after a time all was still again; and they knew not how the fight had ended. And now the Irla, thinking over the matter, deemed it unsafe to go to the Palace of the Quicken Trees without a larger body of knights; so he returned towards the Palace of the Island, intending to bring Innsa's head to the King of the World. When he had come within a little distance of the palace, he met Ficna, who was then on his way back to the ford; and seeing that he was coming from the Palace of the Island, he deemed that he was one of the knights of the King of the World. Ficna spoke to him, and asked whither he had come. "I come," replied the Irla, "from the ford of the Palace of the Quicken Trees. There, indeed, on our way to the palace, to slay Finn the son of Cumal, we were met by a young champion, who defended the ford and slew my knights. But he fell at length beneath my sword; and, lo, I have brought his head for a triumph to the King of the World!" Ficna took the head tenderly, and kissed the cheek thrice, and said, sorrowing-- "Alas, dear youth! only this morning I saw the light of valour in those dim eyes, and the bloom of youth on that faded cheek!" Then turning wrathfully to the Irla, he asked-- "Knowest thou to whom thou hast given the young warrior's head?" And the Irla replied, "Hast thou not come from the Palace of the Island, and dost thou not belong to the host of the King of the World?" "I am not one of his knights," answered Ficna; "and neither shalt thou be, after this hour!" Whereupon they drew their swords, and fought where they stood; and the foreign Irla fell by the avenging sword of Ficna, the son of Finn. Ficna beheaded him and returned to the ford, bringing the head, and also the head of Innsa. And when he had come to the ford, he made a grave of green sods on the bank, in which he laid the body and the head of Innsa, sometimes grieving for the youth, and sometimes rejoicing that his death had been avenged. Then he went on to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, bringing the Irla's head; and when he had come nigh the door, he called aloud to Finn, who, impatient and full of anxious thoughts, asked-- "Tell us, Ficna, who fought the battle at the ford, and how it has ended." "Thine own foster son, Innsa, defended the ford against many foes, whose bodies now encumber the stream." "And how is it now with my foster son?" asked Finn. "He died where he fought," replied Ficna; "for at the end, when he was weary and sore wounded, the foreign Irla attacked him, and slew him." "And thou, my son, didst thou stand by and see my nursling slain?" "Truly I did not," answered Ficna. "Would that I had been there, and I would have defended and saved him! And even now he is well avenged; for I met the Irla soon after, and lo, I have brought thee his head. Moreover, I buried thy nursling tenderly in a grave of green sods by the ford." And Finn wept and said, "Victory and blessings be with thee, my son! Never were children better than mine. Before I saw them, few were my possessions and small my consideration in Erin; but since they have grown up around me, I have been great and prosperous, till I fell by treachery into this evil plight. And now, Ficna, return and guard the ford, and peradventure our friends may send help in time." So Ficna went and sat on the brink of the ford. FOOTNOTES: [XCI.] Irla, _i.e._ an earl, a chief. CHAPTER V. FICNA, THE SON OF FINN, DEFENDS THE FORD. Now at the Palace of the Island, another Irla, whose name was Kironn, brother to him who had been slain by Ficna, spoke to some of his own followers-- "It is long since my brother left for the Palace of the Quicken Trees; I fear me that he and his people have fared ill in their quest. And now I will go to seek for them." And he went, bringing a company of knights well armed; and when they had come to the ford, they saw Ficna at the far side. Kironn called out and asked who he was, and asked also who had made such a slaughter in the ford. Ficna answered, "I am one of the household champions of Finn the son of Cumal, and he has sent me here to guard this ford. As to the slaughter of yonder knights, your question stirs my mind to wrath, and I warn you, if you come to this side of the ford, you will get a reply, not in words, but in deeds." Then Kironn and his men rushed through the water, blind with rage, and struck wildly at Ficna. But the young hero watchfully parried their strokes and thrusts; and one after another they fell beneath his blows, till only a single man was left, who ran back with all speed to the Palace of the Island to tell the tale. And Ficna sat down on the brink, covered all over with wounds, and weary from the toil of battle. When these tidings were brought to the palace, Midac was very wroth, and he said, "These men should not have gone to force the ford without my knowledge; for they were far too few in number, and neither were they bold and hardy enough to meet Finn's valiant champions. I know these Fena well, and it is not to me a matter of surprise that the Irla and his people fell by them. "But I will now go with a choice party of my own brave men; and I will cross the ford despite their guards, and slay Finn and all his companions in the Palace of the Quicken Trees. "Moreover, there is one man among them, namely, Conan Mail,[23] who of all the men of Erin has the largest appetite, and is fondest of choice eating and drinking. To him will I bring savoury food and delicious drink, not, indeed, to delight him with eating and drinking, but that I may torment him with the sight and smell of what he cannot taste." So, having got the food, he set out with a chosen band; and when he had arrived at the ford, he saw a warrior at the far side. He asked who he was, and finding that it was Ficna, he spoke guilefully to him. "Dear art thou to me, Ficna, dearer even than all the rest of Finn's household; for during the time I lived among the Fena, you never used me ill, or lifted a hand to either man or dog belonging to me." But Ficna spurned his smooth words, and replied, "While you lived among the Fena, there was not a man among them that had less to do with you than I. But this I know, that you were treated kindly by all, especially by my father Finn, and you have repaid him by ingratitude and treachery." When Midac heard this speech he was filled with wrath, and no longer hiding his evil mind, he ordered Ficna with threats to leave the ford. But Ficna laughed with scorn, and replied-- "The task is easy, friend Midac, to dislodge a single champion; and surely it is a small matter to you whether I stand in this narrow pass or abandon my post. Come forward, then, you and your knights; but here I will remain to receive you. I only regret you did not come sooner, while my blood was hot, and before my wounds grew stiff, when you would have got a better welcome!" Then Midac ordered forward his knights, and they ran eagerly across the ford. But Ficna overthrew them with a mighty onset, like a hawk among a flight of small birds, or like a wolf among a flock of sheep. When Midac saw this, he buckled on his shield and took his sword. Then, treading warily over the rough rocks, and over the dead bodies of his knights, he confronted Ficna, and they attacked each other with deadly hate and fury. We shall now speak of those who remained on Knockfierna. When Oisin found that the two heroes did not return as soon as he expected, he thus addressed his companions-- "It seems to me a long time, my friends, since Ficna and Innsa went to the Palace of the Quicken Trees; methinks if they have sped successfully they should have long since come back with tidings of Finn and the others." And one of his companions answered, "It is plain that they have gone to partake of the feast, and it fares so well with them that they are in no haste to leave the palace." But Dermat O'Dyna of the Bright Face spoke and said, "It may be as you say, friend, but I should like to know the truth of the matter. And now I will go and find out why they tarry, for my mind misgives me that some evil thing has happened." And Fatha Conan said he would go with him. So the two heroes set out for the Palace of the Quicken Trees; and when they were yet a good way off from the ford they heard the clash of arms. They paused for a moment, breathless, to listen, and then Dermat exclaimed-- "It is the sound of single combat, the combat of mighty heroes; it is Ficna fighting with the foreigners, for I know his war-shout. I hear the clash of swords and the groans of warriors; I hear the shrieks of the ravens over the fairy-mansions, and the howls of the wild men of the glens! Hasten, Fatha, hasten, for Ficna is in sore strait, and his shout is a shout for help!" And so they ran like the wind till they reached the hill-brow over the river; and, looking across in the dim moonlight, they saw the whole ford heaped with the bodies of the slain, and the two heroes fighting to the death at the far side. And at the first glance they observed that Ficna, being sore wounded, was yielding and sheltering behind his shield, and scarce able to ward off the blows of Midac. Then Fatha cried out, "Fly, Dermat, fly! Save our dear companion! Save the king's son from death." And Dermat, pausing for a moment, said, as if communing with himself-- "This is surely an evil plight: for if I run to the other side, the foreigner, being the more enraged for seeing me, will strike with greater fury, and I may not overtake the prince alive; and if I cast my spear, I may strike the wrong man!" But Fatha, overhearing him, said, "Fear not, Dermat, for you never yet threw an erring cast of a spear!" Then Dermat, putting his finger in the silken loop of his spear, threw a deadly cast with unerring aim, and struck Midac, so that the iron spear-head went right through his body, and the length of a warrior's hand beyond. "Woe to the man," exclaimed Midac--"woe to him whom that spear reaches: for it is the spear of Dermat O'Dyna!" And now his wrath increased, and he struck at Ficna more fiercely than before. Dermat shouted to him to hold his hand and not slay the king's son; and as he spoke he rushed down the slope and across the ford, to save the young hero. But Midac, still pressing on with unabated strength and fury, replied-- "Had you wished to save the prince's life, you should have spared mine: now that I have been wounded to death by your spear, Finn shall never see his son alive!" Even as he spoke, he raised his sword for a mighty blow; and just as Dermat, shouting earnestly, was closing on them, he struck the prince lifeless to the earth, but fell down himself immediately after. Dermat came up on the instant, and looked sadly at his friend lying dead. Then, addressing Midac, he said-- "If I had found thee dead, I would have passed thee untouched; but now that I have overtaken thee alive, I must needs behead thee, for thy head will be to Finn a worthy eric[10] for his son." And so saying, he struck off Midac's head with one sweep of his heavy sword. Dermat now repaired to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, leaving Fatha to watch the ford till his return. And when he had come near, he called aloud and struck the door with his heavy spear, for his wrath had not yet left him; but the door yielded not. Finn knew the voice, and called out impatiently, "Do not try to enter here, Dermat, for this place is full of foul spells. But tell us first, I pray thee, who fought that long and bitter fight; for we heard the clash of arms and the shouts of warriors, but we know nothing more." "Thy noble son, Ficna," returned Dermat, "fought single-handed against the foreigners." "And how fares it with my son after that battle?" "He is dead," answered Dermat; "first sore wounded by many foes whom he slaughtered, and afterwards slain by Midac, the son of Colga. But thy son is avenged; for though I came to the ford indeed too late to save him, I have slain Midac, and here I have brought thee his head as an eric." And for a long time Dermat heard no more. At last Finn spoke again and said-- "Victory and blessings be with you, Dermat, for often before did you relieve the Fena from sore straits. But never have we been in such plight as this. For here we sit spell-bound, and only one thing can release us, the blood of the three fierce kings of the Island of the Torrent sprinkled on this clay. Meantime, unless the ford be well defended, the foreigners will come and slay us. In you, Dermat, we trust, and unless you aid us well and faithfully now, we shall of a certainty perish. Guard the ford till the rising of the sun, for then I know the Fena will come to aid you." "I and Fatha will of a certainty keep the enemy at bay," replied Dermat; and he bade them farewell for a time, and was about to return to the ford: but Conan Mail, with a groan, said-- "Miserable was the hour when I came to this palace, and cold and comfortless is the clay on which I sit--the clay of the Island of the Torrent. But worst of all to be without food and drink so long. And while I sit here, tormented with hunger and thirst, there is great plenty of ale and wine and of rich, savoury food yonder in the Palace of the Island. I am not able to bear this any longer; and now, Dermat, I beseech you to bring me from the palace as much food as I can eat and a drinking-horn of wine." "Cursed be the tongue that spoke these selfish words!" said Dermat. "A host of foreigners are now seeking to compass your death, with only Fatha and myself to defend you. Surely this is work enough for two good men! And now it seems I must abandon my post, and undertake a task of much danger, to get food for the gluttonous Conan Mail!" "Alas, Dermat-na-man!"[23] replied Conan, "if it were a lovely maiden, with bright eyes and golden hair, who made this little request, quickly and eagerly you would fly to please her, little recking of danger or trouble. But now you refuse me, and the reason is not hard to see. For you formerly crossed me four times in my courtships; and now it likes you well to see me die of hunger in this dungeon!" "Well, then," said Dermat, "cease your upbraiding, and I will try to bring you food; for it is better to face danger than to suffer the revilings of your foul tongue." So saying, he went back to the ford to Fatha, where he stood watching; and after he had told him how matters stood, he said to him-- "I must needs go to the Palace of the Island, to get food for Conan Mail; and you shall guard the ford till I return." But Fatha told him that there was food and drink enough at the other side of the ford, which Midac had brought from the palace, and urged him to bring a good meal of this to Conan. "Not so," said Dermat. "He would taunt me with bringing him food taken from the hands of dead men; and though one may recover from his blow, it is not so easy to recover from the venom of his tongue."[XCII.] So he left Fatha at the ford, and repaired to the Palace of the Island. As he drew nigh, he heard the noise of feasting and revelry, and the loud talk and laughter of men deep in drink. Walking tiptoe, he peered warily through the open door, and saw the chiefs and the knights sitting at the tables; with Sinsar of the Battles and his son Borba high seated over all. He saw also many attendants serving them with food and drink, each holding in his hand a large ornamented drinking-horn, filled with wine. Dermat entered the outer door softly, and stood in a dark part of the passage near the door, silent and stern, with sword drawn, watching his opportunity. And after a time one of the attendants, unsuspecting, passed close to him; when Dermat, with a swift, sure blow, struck off his head. And he snatched the drinking-horn from the man's hand before he fell, so that not a drop of the wine was spilled. Then, laying the drinking-horn aside for a moment, he walked straight into the hall, and taking up one of the dishes near where the king sat, he went out through the open door, bringing with him both dish and drinking-horn. And amidst the great crowd, and the drinking, and the noise, no one took the least notice of him, so that he got off without hindrance or harm of any kind. When he reached the ford, he found Fatha lying fast asleep on the bank. He wondered very much that he could sleep in the midst of such a slaughter; but knowing that the young warrior was worn out with watching and toil, he left him lying asleep, and went to the Palace of the Quicken Trees with the food for Conan. When he had come to the door, he called aloud to Conan and said-- "I have here a goodly meal of choice food: how am I to give it to thee?" Conan said, "Throw it towards me through yonder little opening." Dermat did so; and as fast as he threw the food, Conan caught it in his large hands, and ate it up ravenously. And when it was all gone, Dermat said-- "I have here a large drinking-horn of good wine: how am I to give it to thee?" Conan answered, "There is a place behind the palace where, from a rock, you may reach the lower parapet with a light, airy bound. Come from that straight over me, and break a hole in the roof with your spear, through which you can pour the wine down to me." Dermat did so; and as he poured down the wine, Conan, with upturned face, opened his great mouth and caught it, and swallowed it every drop. After this Dermat came down and returned to the ford, where he found Fatha still asleep; and he sat beside him, but did not awaken him. FOOTNOTES: [XCII.] A satirical allusion to Conan's well-known cowardice. CHAPTER VI. DERMAT O'DYNA SLAYS THE THREE KINGS OF THE ISLAND OF THE TORRENT, BREAKS THE SPELL WITH THEIR BLOOD, AND FREES FINN. Tidings were brought to the Palace of the Island that Midac and all whom he led were slain at the ford; and the three kings of the Island of the Torrent said-- "The young king of Lochlann did wrong to make this attempt without asking our counsel; and had we known of the thing we would have hindered him. For to us belongs the right to behead Finn and his companions, since it is the spell-venom of the clay which we brought from the Island of the Torrent that holds them bound in the Palace of the Quicken Trees. And now, indeed, we will go and slay them all." So they set out with a strong party, and soon reached the ford. Looking across in the dim light, they saw Dermat, and called aloud to ask who he was. "I am Dermat O'Dyna," he replied, "one of Finn's champions. He has sent me to guard this ford, and whoever you are, I warn you not to cross!" Then they sought to beguile Dermat, and to win him over by smooth words; and they replied-- "It is a pleasure to us to meet you, Dermat; for we are old friends of yours. We are the three kings of the Island of the Torrent, your fellow-pupils in valour and all heroic feats. For you and we lived with the same tutors from the beginning; and you never learned a feat of arms that we did not learn in like manner. Leave the ford, then, that we may pass on to the Palace of the Quicken Trees." But Dermat answered in few words, "Finn and his companions are under my protection till morning; and I will defend the ford as long as I am alive!" And he stood up straight and tall like a pillar, and scowled across the ford. A number of the foreigners now rushed towards Dermat, and raging in a confused crowd, assailed him. But the strong hero met them as a rock meets the waves, and slew them with ease as they came within the range of his sword. Yet still they pressed on, others succeeding those that fell; and in the midst of the rage of battle, Fatha started up from his sleep, awakened by the crashing of weapons and the riving of shields. He gazed for a moment, bewildered, at the combatants, and, seeing how matters stood, he was wroth with Dermat for not awakening him; so that he ran at him fiercely with drawn sword. But Dermat stepped aside, and, being angry, thus addressed him-- "Slake thy vengeance on our foes for the present: for me, the swords of the foreigners are enough, methinks, without thine to aid them!" Then Fatha turned and attacked the foe, and his onset was even more deadly than that of Dermat; so that they fell before him to the right and left on the ford. And now at last the three kings, seeing so many of their men falling, advanced slowly towards Dermat; and Dermat, unterrified, stood in his place to meet them. And their weapons clashed and tore through their shields, and the fight was long and furious; till at last the champion-pride and the battle-fury of Dermat arose, so that the three dragon-like kings fell slain one by one before him, on that ford of red slaughter. And now, though smarting with wounds, and breathless, and weary, Dermat and Fatha remembered Finn and the Fena; and Dermat called to mind what Finn had told him as to how the spell was to be broken. So he struck off the heads of the three kings, and, followed by Fatha, he ran with them, all gory as they were, to the Palace of the Quicken Trees. As they drew nigh to the door, Finn, knowing their voices and their footsteps, called aloud anxiously to ask how it fared with the combatants at the ford; "For," said he, "the crashing and the din of that battle exceeded all we have yet heard, and we know not how it has ended." Dermat answered, "King of the Fena, Fatha and I have slain the three kings of the Island of the Torrent; and lo, here we have their heads all bloody; but how am I to bring them to thee?" "Victory and blessings be with you, Dermat; you and Fatha have fought a valiant fight, worthy of the Fena of Erin! Now sprinkle the door with the blood." Dermat did so, and in a moment the door flew wide open with a crash. And inside they saw the heroes in sore plight, all pale and faint, seated on the cold clay round the wall. Dermat and Fatha, holding the gory heads by the hair, sprinkled the earth under each with the blood, beginning with Finn, and freed them one by one; and the heroes, as they found the spell broken, sprang to their feet with exulting cries. And they thanked the gods for having relieved them from that perilous strait, and they and the two heroes joyfully embraced each other. But danger still threatened, and they now took counsel what they should do; and Finn, addressing Dermat and Fatha, said-- "The venom of these foul spells has withered our strength, so that we are not able to fight; but at sunrise they will lose their power, and we shall be strong again. It is necessary, therefore, that you still guard the ford, and at the rising of the sun we shall relieve you." So the two heroes went to the ford, and Fatha returned with food and drink for Finn and the others. After the last battle at the ford, a few who had escaped brought back tidings to the King of the World and his people, that the three kings of the Island of the Torrent had fallen by the hands of Dermat and Fatha. But they knew not that Finn and the others had been released. Then arose the king's son, Borba the Haughty, who, next to the king himself, was mightiest in battle of all the foreign host. And he said-- "Feeble warriors were they who tried to cross this ford. I will go now and avenge the death of our people on these Fena, and I will bring hither the head of Finn the son of Cumal, and place it at my father's feet." So he marched forth without delay, with a large body of chosen warriors, till he reached the edge of the ford. And although Dermat and Fatha never trembled before a foe, yet when they saw the dark mass drawing nigh, and heard the heavy tread and clank of arms, they dreaded that they might be dislodged and overpowered by repeated attacks, leaving Finn and the rest helpless and unprotected. And each in his heart longed for the dawn of morning. No parley was held this time, but the foreigners came straight across the ford--as many abreast as could find footing. And as they drew near, Dermat spoke to Fatha-- "Fight warily, my friend: ward the blows of the foremost, and be not too eager to slay, but rather look to thy own safety. It behoves us to nurse our strength and prolong the fight, for the day is dawning, and sunrise is not far off!" The foreigners came on, many abreast; but their numbers availed them naught, for the pass was narrow; and the two heroes, one taking the advancing party to the right, and the other to the left, sometimes parried and sometimes slew, but never yielded an inch from where they stood. And now at last the sun rose up over the broad plain of Kenri; and suddenly the withering spell went forth from the bones and sinews of the heroes who sat at the Palace of the Quicken Trees, listening with anxious hearts to the clash of battle at the ford. Joyfully they started to their feet, and, snatching up their arms, hastened down to the ford with Finn at their head; but one they sent, the swiftest among them, to Knockfierna, to take the news to Oisin. Dermat and Fatha, fighting eagerly, heeded not that the sun had risen, though it was now indeed glittering before their eyes on the helmets and arms of their foes. But as they fought, there rose a great shout behind them; and Finn and Gaul and the rest ran down the slope to attack the foreigners. The foreigners, not in the least dismayed, answered the attack; and the fight went on, till Gaul Mac Morna and Borba the Haughty met face to face in the middle of the ford, and they fought a hard and deadly combat. The battle-fury of Gaul at length arose, so that nothing could stand before him, and, with one mighty blow, he cleft the head from the body of Borba. And now the foreigners began to yield: but they still continued to fight, till a swift messenger sped to the Palace of the Island, and told the great king, Sinsar of the Battles, that his son was dead, slain by Gaul; and that his army was sore pressed by the Fena, with Finn at their head. When the people heard these tidings, they raised a long and sorrowful cry of lamentation for the king's son; but the king himself, though sorrow filled his heart, showed it not. And he arose and summoned his whole host; and, having arranged them in their battalions and in their companies under their princes and chiefs, he marched towards the battle-field, desiring vengeance on the Fena more than the glory of victory. CHAPTER VII. THE FIGHT AT THE FORD, WITH THE FOREIGN ARMY. All the Fena who had gone to the chase from Knockfierna had returned, and were now with Oisin, the son of Finn. And the messenger came slowly up the hill-side, and told them, though with much difficulty, for he was weary and breathless, the whole story from beginning to end, of Finn's enchantment, and of the battles at the ford, and how their companions at that moment stood much in need of aid against the foreigners. Instantly the whole body marched straight towards the Palace of the Quicken Trees, and arrived on the hill-brow over the ford, just as the King of the World and his army were approaching from the opposite direction. And now the fight at the ford ceased for a time, while the two armies were put in battle array; and on neither side was there any cowardice or any desire to avoid the combat. The Fena were divided into four battalions. The active, bright-eyed Clann Baskin marched in front of the first battalion; the fierce, champion-like Clann Morna led the second; the strong, sanguinary Mic-an-Smoil brought up the third; and the fourth was led forward by the fearless, venomous Clann O'Navnan. And they marched forward, with their silken banners, each banner-staff in the hand of a tall, trusty hero; their helmets glittering with precious gems; their broad, beautiful shields on their left shoulders; with their long, straight, deadly lances in their hands; and their heavy, keen-edged swords hanging at the left side of each. Onward they marched; and woe to those who crossed the path of that host of active, high-minded champions, who never turned their backs on an enemy in battle! And now at last the fight began with showers of light, venomous missiles; and many a hero fell even before the combatants met face to face. Then they drew their long, broad-bladed swords, and the ranks closed and mingled in deadly strife. It would be vain to attempt a description of that battle, for it was hard to distinguish friend from foe. Many a high-souled hero fell wounded and helpless, and neither sigh nor groan of pain escaped them; but they died, encouraging their friends to vengeance with voice and gesture. And the first thought of each champion was to take the life of his foe rather than to save his own. The great king Finn himself moved tall and stately from battalion to battalion, now fighting in the foremost ranks, and now encouraging his friends and companions, his mighty voice rising clear over the clash of arms and the shouts of the combatants. And wherever he moved, there the courage of the Fena rose high, and their valour and their daring increased, so that the ranks of their foes fell back thinned and scattered before them. Oscar, resting for a moment from the toil of battle, looked round, and espied the standard of the King of the World, where he stood guarded by his best warriors, to protect him from the danger of being surrounded and outnumbered by his foes; and the young hero's wrath was kindled when he observed that the Fena were falling back dismayed wherever that standard was borne. Rushing through the opposing ranks like a lion maddened by dogs, he approached the king; and the king laughed a grim laugh of joy when he saw him, and ordered his guards back; for he was glad in his heart, expecting to revenge his son's death by slaying with his own hand Finn's grandson, who was most loved of all the youthful champions of the Fena. Then these two great heroes fought a deadly battle; and many a warrior stayed his hand to witness this combat. It seemed as if both should fall; for each inflicted on the other many wounds. The king's rage knew no bounds at being so long withstood, for at first sight he despised Oscar for his youth and beauty; and he made an onset that caused Oscar's friends, as they looked on, to tremble; for during this attack the young hero defended himself, and no more. But now, having yielded for a time, he called to mind the actions and the fame of his forefathers, and attacked the king in turn, and, with a blow that no shield or buckler could withstand, he swept the head from the king's body. Then a great shout went up from the Fena, and the foreigners instantly gave way; and they were pursued and slaughtered on every side. A few threw away their arms and escaped to the shore, where, hastily unmooring their ships, they sailed swiftly away to their own country, with tidings of the death of their king and the slaughter of their army. THE PURSUIT OF THE GILLA DACKER AND HIS HORSE. CHAPTER I. ARRIVAL OF THE GILLA DACKER AND HIS HORSE. One day in the beginning of summer, Finn, the son of Cumal, the son of Trenmore O'Baskin,[23] feasted the chief people of Erin at Allen[23] of the broad hill-slopes. And when the feast was over, the Fena reminded him that it was time to begin the chase through the plains and the glens and the wildernesses of Erin. For this was the manner in which the Fena were wont to spend their time. They divided the year into two parts. During the first half, namely, from Beltane to Samin,[XCIII.] they hunted each day with their dogs; and during the second half, namely, from Samin to Beltane, they lived in the mansions and the betas[XCIV.] of Erin; so that there was not a chief or a great lord or a keeper of a house of hospitality in the whole country that had not nine of the Fena quartered on him during the winter half of the year. Finn and his chiefs now held council as to which of the provinces of Erin they should begin with; and they chose Munster for the first chase. Next day they set out, both dogs and men; and they travelled through Offaly,[XCV.] and by one side of Fera-call, and to Brosna of Slieve Bloma, and by the Twelve Mountains of Evlinn, till they came to Collkilla, which is now called Knockainy. The chase was then set in order, and they scattered themselves over the broad plains of Munster. They began at Ardpatrick,[XCVI.] and they hunted over Kenn-Avrat of Slieve-Keen, and over Coill-na-drua, which is now called the district of Fermoy; over the fruitful lands of Lehan, and over the confines of Fermorc, which is now called Hy Conall Gavra. Then south to the patrimony of Curoi Mac Dara, and by the shores of Loch Lein; afterwards along the blue-streamy Suir, by Caher-Dun-Isca, over the great plain of Femin, and across the speckled summit of Slieve-na-man-finn; all over East Munster and West Munster, as far as Balla-Gavran on the one side, and on the other across the Shannon to Cratloe, near Limerick of the blue waters. In short, there was not a plain or a valley, a wood or a brake, a mountain or a wilderness, in the two provinces of Munster, that they did not hunt over on that occasion. Now it chanced at one time during the chase, while they were hunting over the plain of Cliach,[XCVII.] that Finn went to rest on the hill of Collkilla, which is now called Knockainy; and he had his hunting-tents pitched on a level spot near the summit. Some of his chief heroes tarried with him; namely, his son Oisin; the valiant Oscar, the son of Oisin; Gaul Mac Morna of the Mighty Deeds; Finn's shield-bearer, Skeabrac; Kylta Mac Ronan; Dermat O'Dyna of the Bright Face; Ligan Lumina the Swift-footed; Conan Mail of the Foul Tongue; and Finn Ban Mac Bresal. When the king and his companions had taken their places on the hill, the Fena unleashed their gracefully shaped, sweet-voiced hounds through the woods and sloping glens. And it was sweet music to Finn's ear, the cry of the long-snouted dogs, as they routed the deer from their covers, and the badgers from their dens; the pleasant, emulating shouts of the youths; the whistling and signalling of the huntsmen; and the encouraging cheers of the mighty heroes, as they spread themselves through the glens and woods, and over the broad, green plain of Cliach. Then did Finn ask who of all his companions would go to the highest point of the hill directly over them, to keep watch and ward, and to report how the chase went on. For, he said, the Dedannans[1] were ever on the watch to work the Fena mischief by their druidical spells, and more so during the chase than at other times. Finn Ban Mac Bresal stood forward and offered to go: and, grasping his broad spears, he went to the top, and sat viewing the plain to the four points of the sky. And the king and his companions brought forth the chess-board and chess-men,[26] and sat them down to a game. Finn Ban Mac Bresal had been watching only a little time, when he saw on the plain to the east, a Fomor[XCVIII.] of vast size coming towards the hill, leading a horse. As he came nearer, Finn Ban observed that he was the ugliest-looking giant his eyes ever lighted on. He had a large, thick body, bloated and swollen out to a great size; clumsy, crooked legs; and broad, flat feet, turned inwards. His hands and arms and shoulders were bony and thick and very strong-looking; his neck was long and thin; and while his head was poked forward, his face was turned up, as he stared straight at Finn Mac Bresal. He had thick lips, and long, crooked teeth; and his face was covered all over with bushy hair. He was fully armed; but all his weapons were rusty and soiled and slovenly looking. A broad shield of a dirty, sooty colour, rough and battered, hung over his back; he had a long, heavy, straight sword at his left hip; and he held in his left hand two thick-handled, broad-headed spears, old and rusty, and seeming as if they had not been handled for years. In his right hand he held an iron club, which he dragged after him, with its end on the ground; and, as it trailed along, it tore up a track as deep as the furrow a farmer ploughs with a team of oxen. The horse he led was even larger in proportion than the giant himself, and quite as ugly. His great carcase was covered all over with tangled, scraggy hair, of a sooty black; you could count his ribs, and all the points of his big bones through his hide; his legs were crooked and knotty; his neck was twisted; and as for his jaws, they were so long and heavy that they made his head look twice too large for his body. The giant held him by a thick halter, and seemed to be dragging him forward by main force, the animal was so lazy and so hard to move. Every now and then, when the beast tried to stand still, the giant would give him a blow on the ribs with his big iron club, which sounded as loud as the thundering of a great billow against the rough-headed rocks of the coast. When he gave him a pull forward by the halter, the wonder was that he did not drag the animal's head away from his body; and, on the other hand, the horse often gave the halter such a tremendous tug backwards that it was equally wonderful how the arm of the giant was not torn away from his shoulder. Now it was not an easy matter to frighten Finn Ban Mac Bresal; but when he saw the giant and his horse coming straight towards him in that wise, he was seized with such fear and horror that he sprang from his seat, and, snatching up his arms, he ran down the hill-slope with his utmost speed towards the king and his companions, whom he found sitting round the chess-board, deep in their game. They started up when they saw Finn Ban looking so scared; and, turning their eyes towards where he pointed, they saw the big man and his horse coming up the hill. They stood gazing at him in silent wonder, waiting till he should arrive; but although he was no great way off when they first caught sight of him, it was a long time before he reached the spot where they stood, so slow was the movement of himself and his horse. When at last he had come up, he bowed his head, and bended his knee, and saluted the king with great respect. Finn addressed him; and after having given him leave to speak, he asked him who he was, and what was his name; from which of the three chief divisions of the world he had come, and whether he belonged to one of the noble or ignoble races; also what was his profession or craft, and why he had no servant to attend to his horse--if, indeed, such an ugly old spectre of an animal could be called a horse at all. The big man made answer and said, "King of the Fena, I will answer everything you ask me, as far as lies in my power. Whether I come of a noble or of an ignoble race, that, indeed, I cannot tell, for I know not who my father and mother were. As to where I came from, I am a Fomor of Lochlann[6] in the north; but I have no particular dwelling-place, for I am continually travelling about from one country to another, serving the great lords and nobles of the world, and receiving wages for my service. "In the course of my wanderings I have often heard of you, O king, and of your greatness and splendour and royal bounty; and I have come now to visit you, and to ask you to take me into your service for one year; and at the end of that time I shall fix my own wages, according to my custom. "You ask me also why I have no servant for this great horse of mine. The reason of that is this: at every meal I eat, my master must give me as much food and drink as would be enough for a hundred men; and whosoever the lord or chief may be that takes me into his service, it is quite enough for him to have to provide for me, without having also to feed my servant. "Moreover, I am so very heavy and lazy that I should never be able to keep up with a company on march if I had to walk; and this is my reason for keeping a horse at all. "My name is the Gilla Dacker,[XCIX.] and it is not without good reason that I am so called. For there never was a lazier or worse servant than I am, or one that grumbles more at doing a day's work for his master. And I am the hardest person in the whole world to deal with; for, no matter how good or noble I may think my master, or how kindly he may treat me, it is hard words and foul reproaches I am likely to give him for thanks in the end. "This, O Finn, is the account I have to give of myself, and these are my answers to your questions." "Well," answered Finn, "according to your own account, you are not a very pleasant fellow to have anything to do with; and of a truth there is not much to praise in your appearance. But things may not be so bad as you say; and, anyhow, as I have never yet refused any man service and wages, I will not now refuse you." Whereupon Finn and the Gilla Dacker made covenants, and the Gilla Dacker was taken into service for a year. Then the big man turned to Conan Mail, and asked him whether the foot-service or the horse-service had the better pay among the Fena; and Conan answered that the horsemen had twice as much pay as the footmen. "If that be so," replied the Gilla Dacker, "I will join the horse-service, as I have a fine steed of my own; and indeed, if I had known this before, I would certainly have come hither on horseback, instead of walking. "And now, as to this same horse of mine, I find I must attend to him myself, as I see no one here worthy of putting a hand near him. So I will lead him to the nearest stud, as I am wont to do, and let him graze among your horses. I value him greatly, however, and it would grieve me very much if any harm were to befall him; so," continued he, turning to the king, "I put him under your protection, O king, and under the protection of all the Fena that are here present." At this speech the Fena all burst out laughing, to see the Gilla Dacker showing such concern for his miserable, worthless old skeleton of a horse. Howbeit, the big man, giving not the least heed to their merriment, took the halter off the horse's head, and turned him loose among the horses of the Fena. But now, this same wretched-looking old animal, instead of beginning to graze, as every one thought he would, ran in among the horses of the Fena, and began straightway to work all sorts of mischief. He cocked his long, hard, switchy tail straight out like a rod, and, throwing up his hind legs, he kicked about on this side and on that, maiming and disabling several of the horses. Sometimes he went tearing through the thickest of the herd, butting at them with his hard, bony forehead; and he opened out his lips with a vicious grin, and tore all he could lay hold on, with his sharp, crooked teeth, so that none were safe that came in his way either before or behind. And the end of it was, that not an animal of the whole herd escaped, without having a leg broken, or an eye knocked out, or his ribs fractured, or his ear bitten off, or the side of his face torn open, or without being in some other way cut or maimed beyond cure. At last he left them, and was making straight across to a small field where Conan Mail's horses were grazing by themselves, intending to play the same tricks among them. But Conan, seeing this, shouted in great alarm to the Gilla Dacker, to bring away his horse, and not let him work any more mischief; and threatening, if he did not do so at once, to go himself and knock the brains out of the vicious old brute on the spot. But the Gilla Dacker took the matter quite cool; and he told Conan that he saw no way of preventing his horse from joining the others, except some one put the halter on him and held him, which would, of course, he said, prevent the poor animal from grazing, and would leave him with a hungry belly at the end of the day. He said, moreover, that as he had no horse-boy, and must needs do everything for himself, he thought it quite time enough to look after his horse when he had to make ready for a journey. "But," said he to Conan, "there is the halter; and if you are in any fear for your own animals, you may go yourself and bring him away from the field." Conan was in a mighty rage when he heard this; and as he saw the big horse just about to cross the fence, he snatched up the halter, and running forward, with long strides, he threw it over the animal's head and thought to lead him back. But in a moment the horse stood stock still, and his body and legs became as stiff as if they were made of wood; and though Conan pulled and tugged with might and main, he was not able to stir him an inch from his place. He gave up pulling at last, when he found it was no use; but he still kept on holding the halter, while the big horse never made the least stir, but stood as if he had been turned into stone; the Gilla Dacker all the time looking on quite unconcernedly, and the others laughing at Conan's perplexity. But no one offered to relieve him. At last Fergus Finnvel, the poet, spoke to Conan, and said, "I never would have believed, Conan Mail, that you could be brought to do horse-service for any knight or noble in the whole world; but now, indeed, I see that you have made yourself a horse-boy to an ugly foreign giant, so hateful-looking and low-born that not a man of the Fena would have anything to say to him. As you have, however, to mind this old horse in order to save your own, would it not be better for you to mount him, and revenge yourself for all the trouble he is giving you, by riding him across the country, over the hill-tops, and down into the deep glens and valleys, and through stones and bogs and all sorts of rough places, till you have broken the heart in his big, ugly body?" Conan, stung by the cutting words of the poet, and by the jeers of his companions, jumped upon the horse's back, and began to beat him mightily with his heels, and with his two big, heavy fists, to make him go; but the horse seemed not to take the least notice and never stirred. "I know the reason he does not go," said Fergus Finnvel; "he has been accustomed to carry a horseman far heavier than you, that is to say, the Gilla Dacker; and he will not move till he has the same weight on his back." At this Conan Mail called out to his companions, and asked which of them would mount with him, and help to avenge the damage done to their horses. "I will go," said Coil Croda the Battle Victor, son of Criffan; and up he went. But the horse never moved. Dara Donn Mac Morna next offered to go, and mounted behind the others; and after him Angus Mac Art Mac Morna. And the end of it was, that fourteen men of the Clann Baskin and Clann Morna[23] got up along with Conan; and all began to thrash the horse together, with might and main. But they were none the better of it, for he remained standing stiff and immovable as before. They found, moreover, that their seat was not at all an easy one--the animal's back was so sharp and bony. FOOTNOTES: [XCIII.] Beltane, the first of May; Samin, the first of November. [XCIV.] Beta, a public house of hospitality. [XCV.] Offaly, now the name of two baronies in the county Kildare. Fera-call, or Fircal, an ancient territory in the present King's County. Brosna, a small river rising in the Slieve Bloma, or Slieve Bloom mountains, which flows by Birr, and falls into the Shannon near Banagher; usually called the Little Brosna, to distinguish it from the Great Brosna, which flows through King's County into the Shannon. The Twelve Mountains of Evlinn. (See note, page 97.) Knockainy, a small hill much celebrated in fairy lore, in the county Limerick, giving name to the village of Knockainy at its base. It appears from the text that it was more anciently called Collkilla, or hazel-wood. [XCVI.] Ardpatrick, a beautiful green hill, with a remarkable church ruin and graveyard on its summit, two miles from Kilfinane, county Limerick. Kenn-Avrat was the ancient name of Seefin mountain, rising over the village of Glenosheen, two miles from Ardpatrick. Slieve-Keen, the old name of the hill of Carrigeennamroanty, near Seefin. Fermoy, a well-known town and barony in the county Cork. It appears from the text that the district was anciently known by the name of Coill-na-drua, or the wood of the druids. Lehan, the ancient name of the district round Castlelyons, in the county Cork. Fermorc, now the baronies of Connello, in Limerick. (See note, page 184.) Curoi Mac Dara, a celebrated chief who flourished in the time of the Red Branch Knights of Ulster, viz., in the first century of the Christian era. Curoi had his residence on a mountain near Tralee, still called Caherconree (the fortress of Curoi), and his "patrimony" was South Munster. The remains of Curoi's great stone fortress are still to be seen on Caherconree. Loch Lein, the Lakes of Killarney. Caher-Dun-Isca, now the town of Caher, on the Suir, in Tipperary. Femin was the name of the great plain lying to the south and west of the mountain of Slievenaman, or Slieve-na-man-finn, near Clonmel, in Tipperary. Balla-Gavran, or the pass of Gavran, an ancient road, which ran by Gavran (now Gowran), in the county Kilkenny. Cratloe, a well-known district on the Clare side of the Shannon, near Limerick. [XCVII.] Cliach, the old name of the plain lying round Knockainy. [XCVIII.] Fomor, a gigantic warrior, a giant; its primitive meaning is "a sea-robber," commonly called a Fomorian. (See note 5 at the end.) [XCIX.] Gilla Dacker means "a slothful fellow"--a fellow hard to move, hard to manage, hard to have anything to do with. CHAPTER II. CONAN AND FIFTEEN OF THE FENA ARE CARRIED OFF BY THE GILLA DACKER'S HORSE. When the Gilla Dacker saw the Fena beating his horse at such a rate, he seemed very angry, and addressed the king in these words-- "King of the Fena, I now see plainly that all the fine accounts I heard about you and the Fena are false, and I will not stay in your service--no, not another hour. You can see for yourself the ill usage these men are giving my horse without cause; and I leave you to judge whether any one could put up with it--any one who had the least regard for his horse. The time is, indeed, short since I entered your service, but I now think it a great deal too long; so pay me my wages, and let me go my ways." But Finn said, "I do not wish you to go; stay on till the end of your year, and then I will pay you all I promised you." "I swear," answered the Gilla Dacker, "that if this were the very last day of my year, I would not wait till morning for my wages, after this insult. So, wages or no wages, I will now seek another master; but from this time forth I shall know what to think of Finn Mac Cumal and his Fena!" With that the Gilla Dacker stood up as straight as a pillar, and, turning his face towards the south-west, he walked slowly away. When the horse saw his master leaving the hill, he stirred himself at once and walked quietly after him, bringing the fifteen men away on his back. And when the Fena saw this they raised a loud shout of laughter, mocking them. The Gilla Dacker, after he had walked some little way, looked back, and seeing that his horse was following, he stood for a moment to tuck up his skirts. Then, all at once changing his pace, he set out with long, active strides; and if you know what the speed of a swallow is, flying across a mountain-side, or the dry, fairy wind of a March day sweeping over the plains, then you can understand the swiftness of the Gilla Dacker, as he ran down the hill-side towards the south-west. Neither was the horse behindhand in the race; for, though he carried a heavy load, he galloped like the wind after his master, plunging and bounding forward with as much freedom as if he had nothing at all on his back. The men now tried to throw themselves off; but this, indeed, they were not able to do, for the good reason that they found themselves fastened firmly, hands and feet and all, to the horse's back. And now Conan, looking round, raised his big voice, and shouted to Finn and the Fena, asking them were they content to let their friends be carried off in that manner by such a horrible, foul-looking old spectre of a horse. Finn and the others, hearing this, seized their arms and started off in pursuit. Now the way the Gilla Dacker and his horse took was first through Fermorc,[C.] which is at the present day called Hy Conall Gavra; next over the wide, heathy summit of Slieve Lougher; from that to Corca Divna; and they ran along by Slieve Mish, till they reached Cloghan Kincat, near the deep green sea. During all this time Finn and his people kept them in view, but were not able to overtake them; and Ligan Lumina, one of the swiftest of the Fena, kept ahead of the others. The horse now passed by Cloghan Kincat without in the least abating his speed; and when he had arrived on the beach, even at the very water's edge, Ligan overtook him, and caught him by the tail with his two hands, intending to hold him till the rest of the Fena came up. He gave a mighty pull back; but the horse, not in the least checked by this, made no more ado but plunged forward through the waves, dragging Ligan after him hanging at his tail. And Ligan now found that he could neither help his friends nor free himself, for his two hands clung fast to the tail of the horse. And so the great horse continued his course without stop or stay, bringing the sixteen Fena with him through the sea. Now this is how they fared in the sea, while the horse was rushing swiftly farther and farther to the west: they had always a dry, firm strand under them, for the waters retired before the horse while behind them was a wild, raging sea, which followed close after, and seemed ready every moment to topple over their heads. But, though the billows were tumbling and roaring all round, neither horse nor riders were wetted by as much as a drop of brine or a dash of spray. FOOTNOTES: [C.] Fermorc, now the baronies of Connello, in Limerick. Slieve Lougher, a celebrated mountain near Castle Island, in Kerry. Corca Divna, now the barony of Corkaguiny, the long peninsula lying west of Tralee, and containing the town of Dingle, and the mountain range of Slieve Mish. Cloghan Kincat, now called Cloghan, a small village on the northern coast of the peninsula. CHAPTER III. PURSUIT. Now as to Finn and the others. They stood on the bank over the beach, watching the horse and men till they lost sight of them in the sea afar off; and then they sat them down, weary after their long chase, and full of sadness for the loss of their companions. After a long silence, Finn spoke and asked the chiefs what they thought best to be done. But they replied that he was far beyond them all in knowledge and wisdom; and they told him they would follow whatsoever counsel he and Fergus Finnvel, the poet, gave them. Then Finn told Fergus to speak his mind; and Fergus said-- "My counsel is that we go straightway to Ben Edar,[CI.] where we shall find a ship ready to sail. For our forefathers, when they wrested the land from the gifted, bright-complexioned Dedannans, bound them by covenant to maintain this ship for ever, fitted with all things needful for a voyage, even to the smallest article, as one of the privileges of Ben Edar; so that if at any time one of the noble sons of Gael Glas[CII.] wished to sail to distant lands from Erin, he should have a ship lying at hand in the harbour ready to begin his voyage." They agreed to this counsel, and turned their steps without delay northwards towards Ben Edar. They had not gone far when they met two noble-looking youths, fully armed, and wearing over their armour beautiful mantles of scarlet silk, fastened by brooches of gold. The strangers saluted the king with much respect; and the king saluted them in return. Then, having given them leave to converse, he asked them who they were, whither they had come, and who the prince or chief was that they served. And the elder answered-- "My name is Feradach, and my brother's name is Foltlebar; and we are the two sons of the king of Innia. Each of us professes an art; and it has long been a point of dispute between us, which art is the better, my brother's or mine. Hearing that there is not in the world a wiser or more far-seeing man than thou art, O king, we have come to ask thee to take us into thy service among thy household troops for a year, and at the end of that time to give judgment between us in this matter." Finn asked them what were the two arts they professed. "My art," answered Feradach, "is this: If at any time a company of warriors need a ship, give me only my joiner's axe and my crann-tavall,[CIII.] and I am able to provide a ship for them without delay. The only thing I ask them to do is this--to cover their heads close, and keep them covered, while I give the crann-tavall three blows of my axe. Then I tell them to uncover their heads; and lo, there lies the ship in harbour, ready to sail!" Then Foltlebar spoke and said, "This, O king, is the art I profess: On land I can track the wild duck over nine ridges and nine glens, and follow her without being once thrown out, till I drop upon her in her nest. And I can follow up a track on sea quite as well as on land, if I have a good ship and crew." Finn replied, "You are the very men I want; and I now take you both into my service. At this moment I need a good ship and a skilful pilot more than any two things in the whole world. And though our own track-men, namely, the Clann Navin, are good, yet we now need some one still more skilful, to follow the Gilla Dacker through unknown seas." Then the two brothers asked Finn what strait he was in at that moment, and why he wanted a ship and pilot so much. Whereupon Finn told them the whole story of the Gilla Dacker's doings from beginning to end. "And we are now," said he, "on our way to Ben Edar, to seek a ship, that we may follow this giant and his horse, and rescue our companions." Then Feradach said, "I will get you a ship--a ship that will sail as swiftly as a swallow can fly!" And Foltlebar said, "I will guide your ship in the track of the Gilla Dacker till ye lay hands on him, in whatsoever quarter of the world he may have hidden himself!" And so they turned back to Cloghan Kincat. And when they had come to the beach, Feradach told them to cover their heads; and they did so. Then he struck three blows of his axe on the crann-tavall; after which he bade them look. And lo, they saw a ship, fully fitted out with oars and sails, and with all things needed for a long voyage, riding before them in the harbour! Then Kylta Mac Ronan went to the top of a high hill; and, turning his face inland, he uttered three mighty shouts, which were taken up by the people of the next valley, and after them by those of the next valley beyond. And so the signal spread, till a shout of alarm was heard in every plain and hill-side, glen and valley, wood and wilderness, in the two provinces of Munster. And when the Fena heard these shouts, they ceased anon from their sports and pastimes; for they knew their king was in danger or strait of some kind. And they formed themselves into ranks and troops and battalions, and began their march; and it is not told how they fared till they reached Cloghan Kincat. Finn told them the whole story of the Gilla Dacker and his horse, and how he had carried away Conan and fifteen others to some far-off island in the Western Ocean. He also showed them the ship, and told them that he himself and a chosen band of the Fena were about to sail westward in quest of their friends. And Oisin asked him how many of the chief men of the Fena he wished to take with him. Finn replied, "I foresee that this will be a perilous quest; and I think all the chiefs here present few enough to bring with me." "Say not so, O king," said Oisin; "too many have gone already, and some must be left behind to guard the country, and to keep order. If fifteen good men go with you, and that you find the others, the whole party will be a match for any foe you are like to meet in these western lands." And Oscar and Gaul Mac Morna spoke in like manner. To this Finn agreed. Then he picked out fifteen men, the bravest and best, the most dexterous at the sword, and the swiftest of foot among the Fena. The question then arose, who should lead the Fena in the king's absence; and what they agreed on was that Oisin should remain behind and take command, as he was the eldest and bravest and wisest of the king's sons. Of those who were chosen to go with Finn, the chief men were Dermat O'Dyna; Gaul Mac Morna; Oscar, the son of Oisin; Aed Beg, the son of Finn; Fergus Finnvel, the poet; the three sons of Encarda; and Feradach and Foltlebar, the two sons of the king of Innia. So the king and his party took leave of Oisin and the rest. And sad, indeed, were they on both sides; for no one knew how far the king might have to sail among unknown seas and islands, or how long he should be away from Erin, or the spells and dangers he and his men might encounter in this pursuit. Then they went on board, and launched their ship on the cold, bright sea; and Foltlebar was their pilot and steersman. And they set their sail and plied their slender oars, and the ship moved swiftly westward till they lost sight of the shores of Erin; and they saw nothing all round them but a wide girdle of sea. After some days' sailing, a great storm came from the west, and the black waves rose up against them, so that they had much ado to keep their vessel from sinking. But through all the roaring of the tempest, through the rain and blinding spray, Foltlebar never stirred from the helm or changed his course, but still kept close on the track of the Gilla Dacker. At length the storm abated, and the sea grew calm. And when the darkness had cleared away, they saw to the west, a little way off, a vast rocky cliff towering over their heads to such a height, that its head seemed hidden among the clouds. It rose up sheer from the very water, and looked at that distance as smooth as glass, so that at first sight there seemed no way to reach the top. Foltlebar, after examining to the four points of the sky, found the track of the Gilla Dacker as far as the cliff, but no farther. And he accordingly told the heroes that he thought it was on the top of that rock the giant lived; and that, anyhow, the horse must have made his way up the face of the cliff with their companions. When the heroes heard this they were greatly cast down and puzzled what to do; for they saw no way of reaching the top of the rock; and they feared they should have to give up the quest and return without their companions. And they sat down and looked up at the cliff, with sorrow and vexation in their hearts. FOOTNOTES: [CI.] Ben Edar, now Howth Hill, near Dublin. [CII.] Gael Glas, the traditional ancestor of the Gaels. [CIII.] Crann-tav'all, a sort of sling for projecting stones, made of an elastic piece of wood, and strung somewhat like a cross-bow. CHAPTER IV. DERMAT O'DYNA, IN QUEST OF THE GILLA DACKER, ENCOUNTERS THE WIZARD-CHAMPION AT THE WELL. When now they had been silent for a time, Fergus Finnvel, the poet, arose and said-- "My friends, we have here amongst us one who has been fostered and taught from the child to the man, by Mannanan Mac Lir[8] in Fairyland, and by Angus,[1] the wisest of the Dedannans, at Bruga of the Boyne. He has been carefully trained by both in everything a warrior should learn, and in much druidical lore besides; so that he is skilled beyond us all in manly arts and champion-feats. But now it seems that all his arts and accomplishments go for nought, seeing that he is unable to make use of them just at the time that we stand most in need of them. On the top of that rock, doubtless, the Gilla Dacker lives, and there he holds Conan and the others in bondage; and surely this hero, who now sits idly with us here in our ship, should be able to climb up the face of that cliff, and bring us back tidings of our dear friends and companions." When Dermat O'Dyna heard this speech, his cheek grew red with shame, and he made this reply-- "It is of me you have spoken these words, Fergus. Your reproaches are just; and though the task is hard, I will attempt to follow the track of the Gilla Dacker, and find out some tidings of our friends." So saying, Dermat arose, and girded on his armour, and put on his glittering helmet. He hung his sword at his left hip; and he took his two long, deadly spears, one in each hand, namely, the Crann-boi and the Ga-derg;[CIV.] and the battle-fury of a warrior descended on him, so that he looked a dreadful foe to meet in single combat. Then, leaning on the handles of his spears, after the manner of skilful champions, he leaped with a light, airy bound on the nearest shelf of rock. And using his spears and his hands, he climbed from ledge to ledge, while his companions watched him anxiously from below; till, after much toil, he measured the soles of his two feet on the green sod at the top of the rock. And when, recovering breath, he turned round and looked at his companions in the ship far below, he started back with amazement and dread at the dizzy height. He now looked inland, and saw a beautiful country spread out before him:--a lovely, flowery plain straight in front, bordered with pleasant hills, and shaded with groves of many kinds of trees. It was enough to banish all care and sadness from one's heart to view this country, and to listen to the warbling of the birds, the humming of the bees among the flowers, the rustling of the wind through the trees, and the pleasant voices of the streams and waterfalls. Making no delay, Dermat set out to walk across the plain. He had not been long walking when he saw, right before him, a great tree laden with fruit, overtopping all the other trees of the plain. It was surrounded at a little distance by a circle of pillar-stones; and one stone, taller than the others, stood in the centre near the tree. Beside this pillar-stone was a spring well, with a large, round pool as clear as crystal; and the water bubbled up in the centre, and flowed away towards the middle of the plain in a slender stream. Dermat was glad when he saw the well; for he was hot and thirsty after climbing up the cliff. He stooped down to take a drink; but before his lips touched the water, he heard the heavy tread of a body of warriors, and the loud clank of arms, as if a whole host were coming straight down on him. He sprang to his feet and looked round; but the noise ceased in an instant, and he could see nothing. After a little while he stooped again to drink; and again, before he had wet his lips, he heard the very same sounds, nearer and louder than before. A second time he leaped to his feet; and still he saw no one. He knew not what to think of this; and as he stood wondering and perplexed, he happened to cast his eyes on the tall pillar-stone that stood on the brink of the well; and he saw on its top a large, beautiful drinking-horn, chased with gold and enamelled with precious stones. "Now surely," said Dermat, "I have been doing wrong; it is, no doubt, one of the virtues of this well that it will not let any one drink of its waters except from the drinking-horn." So he took down the horn, dipped it into the well, and drank without hindrance, till he had slaked his thirst. Scarcely had he taken the horn from his lips, when he saw a tall wizard-champion[CV.] coming towards him from the east, clad in a complete suit of mail, and fully armed with shield and helmet, sword and spear. A beautiful scarlet mantle hung over his armour, fastened at his throat by a golden brooch; and a broad circlet of sparkling gold was bended in front across his forehead, to confine his yellow hair, and keep it from being blown about by the wind. As he came nearer, he increased his pace, moving with great strides; and Dermat now observed that he looked very wrathful. He offered no greeting, and showed not the least courtesy; but addressed Dermat in a rough, angry voice-- "Surely, Dermat O'Dyna, Erin of the green plains should be wide enough for you; and it contains abundance of clear, sweet water in its crystal springs and green bordered streams, from which you might have drunk your fill. But you have come into my island without my leave, and you have taken my drinking-horn, and have drunk from my well; and this spot you shall never leave till you have given me satisfaction for the insult." So spoke the wizard-champion, and instantly advanced on Dermat with fury in his eyes. But Dermat was not the man to be terrified by any hero or wizard-champion alive. He met the foe half-way; and now, foot to foot, and knee to knee, and face to face, they began a fight, watchful and wary at first, but soon hot and vengeful, till their shields and helmets could scarce withstand their strong thrusts and blows. Like two enraged lions fighting to the death, or two strong serpents intertwined in deadly strife, or two great opposing billows thundering against each other on the ocean border; such was the strength and fury and determination of the combat of these two heroes. And so they fought through the long day, till evening came, and it began to be dusk; when suddenly the wizard-champion sprang outside the range of Dermat's sword, and leaping up with a great bound, he alighted in the very centre of the well. Down he went through it, and disappeared in a moment before Dermat's eyes, as if the well had swallowed him up. Dermat stood on the brink, leaning on his spear, amazed and perplexed, looking after him in the water; but whether the hero had meant to drown himself, or that he had played some wizard trick, Dermat knew not. He sat down to rest, full of vexation that the wizard-champion should have got off so easily. And what chafed him still more was that the Fena knew nought of what had happened, and that when he returned, he could tell them nothing of the strange hero; neither had he the least token or trophy to show them after his long fight. Then he began to think what was best to be done; and he made up his mind to stay near the well all night, with the hope of finding out something further about the wizard-champion on the morrow. He walked towards the nearest point of a great forest that stretched from the mountain down to the plain on his left; and as he came near, a herd of speckled deer ran by among the trees. He put his finger into the silken loop of his spear, and, throwing it with an unerring cast, brought down the nearest of the herd. Then, having lighted a fire under a tree, he skinned the deer and fixed it on long hazel spits to roast, having first, however, gone to the well, and brought away the drinking-horn full of water. And he sat beside the roasting deer to turn it and tend the fire, waiting impatiently for his meal; for he was hungry and tired after the toil of the day. When the deer was cooked, he ate till he was satisfied, and drank the clear water of the well from the drinking-horn; after which he lay down under the shade of the tree, beside the fire, and slept a sound sleep till morning. Night passed away and the sun rose, bringing morning with its abundant light. Dermat started up, refreshed after his long sleep, and, repairing to the forest, he slew another deer, and fixed it on hazel spits to roast at the fire as before. For Dermat had this custom, that he would never eat of any food left from a former meal. And after he had eaten of the deer's flesh and drunk from the horn, he went towards the well. But though his visit was early, he found the wizard-champion there before him, standing beside the pillar-stone, fully armed as before, and looking now more wrathful than ever. Dermat was much surprised; but before he had time to speak the wizard-champion addressed him-- "Dermat O'Dyna, you have now put the cap on all your evil deeds. It was not enough that you took my drinking-horn and drank from my well: you have done much worse than this, for you have hunted on my grounds, and have killed some of my speckled deer. Surely there are many hunting-grounds in Erin of the green plains, with plenty of deer in them; and you need not have come hither to commit these robberies on me. But now for a certainty you shall not go from this spot till I have taken revenge for all these misdeeds." And again the two champions attacked each other, and fought during the long day, from morning till evening. And when the dusk began to fall, the wizard-champion leaped into the well, and disappeared down through it, even as he had done the day before. The selfsame thing happened on the third day. And each day, morning and evening, Dermat killed a deer, and ate of its flesh, and drank of the water of the well from the drinking-horn. On the fourth morning, Dermat found the wizard-champion standing as usual by the pillar-stone near the well. And as each morning he looked more angry than on the morning before, so now he scowled in a way that would have terrified any one but Dermat O'Dyna. And they fought during the day till the dusk of evening. But now Dermat watched his foe narrowly; and when he saw him about to spring into the well, he closed on him and threw his arms round him. The wizard-champion struggled to free himself, moving all the time nearer and nearer to the brink; but Dermat held on, till at last both fell into the well. Down they went, clinging to each other, Dermat and the wizard-champion; down, down, deeper and deeper they went; and Dermat tried to look round, but nothing could he see save darkness and dim shadows. At length there was a glimmer of light; then the bright day burst suddenly upon them; and presently they came to the solid ground, gently and without the least shock. FOOTNOTES: [CIV.] See note, page 302. [CV.] The original word, which I have translated "wizard-champion," is _gruagach_. This word literally means "hairy," "a hairy fellow;" and it is often used in the sense of "giant." But in these romantic tales it is commonly used to signify a champion who has always something of the supernatural about him, yet not to such a degree as to shield him completely from the valour of a great mortal hero like Dermat O'Dyna. CHAPTER V. DERMAT O'DYNA IN TIR-FA-TONN.[CVI.] At the very moment they reached the ground, the wizard-champion, with a sudden effort, tore himself away from Dermat's grasp and ran forward with great speed. Dermat leaped to his feet; and he was so amazed at what he saw around him that he stood stock still and let the wizard-champion escape: a lovely country, with many green-sided hills and fair valleys between, woods of red yew trees, and plains laughing all over with flowers of every hue. Right before him, not far off, lay a city of great tall houses with glittering roofs; and on the side nearest to him was a royal palace, larger and grander than the rest. On the level green in front of the palace were a number of knights, all armed, and amusing themselves with various warlike exercises of sword and shield and spear. Straight towards this assembly the wizard-champion ran; which, when Dermat saw, he set off in pursuit, hoping to overtake him. But the wizard-champion had too long a start, and when he reached the exercise green, the knights opened to the right and left, leaving a broad way through which he rushed. He never halted or looked behind till he had got inside the palace gate; and the moment he had passed in, the knights closed their ranks, and stood facing Dermat with threatening looks and gestures. Nothing daunted, Dermat held on his pace towards them; and now those of the front rank started forward with spears and swords, intending to crush him at once, and hew his body to mincemeat. But it was not terror nor weakness nor a desire of flight that this produced in Dermat, for his battle-fury was on him; and he rushed through them and under them and over them, as a hawk rushes among a flight of sparrows, or like a whale through a shoal of little fishes, or like a raging wolf among a flock of sheep, or like a vast billow among a fleet of small vessels, or like a great brown torrent rushing down the steep side of a mountain, that sweeps everything headlong before it. So did Dermat cleave a wide laneway through the hosts, till, from a solid band of warriors, he turned them into a scattered crowd, flying in all directions. And those that did not fall by his hand, ran hither and thither, some to hide themselves in the thick forests and remote, wooded glens of the surrounding country; while others rushed in through the outer gate of the palace, and shut themselves up in the strongest part of the fortress, neither did they deem themselves safe till they had shot home every bolt, and securely fastened every strong iron lock. At last not a living soul remained on the green, and Dermat sat down, weary after his battle-toil, and smarting all over with wounds. He was grieved and downcast also, for he knew not where he was, and he saw no chance that he should be able either to find any tidings of the friends he was in search of, or to return to his companions in the ship. At length, being quite overcome with weariness, he fell into a deep sleep. After sleeping for some time, he was awakened by a smart blow. He started up, and saw a young man standing over him, tall, and of a commanding appearance, with long, golden hair, and a manly, open countenance. Now this young man had come to Dermat, and finding him asleep in such a dangerous place, he struck him with the flat of his sword to awaken him. In an instant Dermat sprang to his feet and seized his arms; but the youth addressed him in a friendly voice, and said-- "Dermat O'Dyna, put up your arms; I am no enemy, and I have come, not to harm, but to serve you. This, indeed, is a strange place for you to fall asleep, before the very door of the castle, and within sight of your enemies. Come now with me, and I will give you a better place to sleep in, where you will also get a welcome and kindly entertainment." This speech pleased Dermat very much; and he thanked the young man and went with him. After walking for some time, they came to a large splendid house, and passing through the outer gate they entered the banqueting hall. There they found a noble company of twelve score and ten knights, and almost as many beautiful ladies, with their long hair falling on their shoulders, shining like the golden flower of the marsh-flag, and gentle and modest in their looks and conversation. They wore mantles of scarlet satin, and each mantle was fastened in front by a brooch of burnished gold. The company sat at tables round the walls of the banquet hall, some feasting, some playing chess, and some listening to the music of harps. When the two heroes entered, all the knights and ladies rose and received them with much respect, and they welcomed Dermat and invited him to join their entertainment. But the young prince--for he was in truth a prince--pointing to Dermat's clothes and arms, all soiled and stained, told them that he had endured much toil that day, and that he wanted rest and refreshment. He then brought Dermat away, and ordered the attendants to prepare a bath in a great caldron. He put soothing balsams and healing herbs into it with his own hands, and when Dermat had bathed he was immediately healed of his wounds, and he came forth refreshed and cheerful. The prince then directed that his clothes should be put aside, and had him clad in rich garments like the others. Dermat now joined the company, and ate and drank, for he had taken neither food nor drink since he had made his meal on the deer early that morning near the well; after which he talked and was cheerful with the others. Then rose up the harpers, and the professors of divers arts and sciences, and one after another they played their sweet music, and recited their poems and their tales of the heroes of the olden time. And when they had ended, the knights gave them gifts of gold and silver and jewels. At last the company broke up, and Dermat was shown to a bed richly ornamented, and soft with the red feathers of wild fowl, and soon he fell into a sound sleep after his long day's adventures. Now Dermat marvelled much at all he saw and heard; and he knew not what place he was in, or who the people were, that had treated him with such kindness. So next morning, when the company had again assembled, he stood up, and addressed the prince with gentle words and modest demeanour; and this is what he said-- "I am much surprised, O prince, at what I have seen, and at all that has befallen me in this land. Though I am here a stranger, thou hast shown me much kindness, and these noble knights and ladies have permitted me to join their sports, and have treated me with much gentleness and consideration. I wish to know, then, who thou art, O prince, and what country this is, of which I have never before heard, and who is the king thereof. Tell me also, I pray thee, the name of the champion who fought with me for four days at the well, till at last he escaped from me at the palace." The prince replied, "I will tell you all, Dermat, as you have asked, concealing nothing. This country is Tir-fa-tonn; the champion who fought with you is called the Knight of the Fountain, and that very champion is king of this land. I am the brother of the king, and my name is the Knight of Valour. Good reason indeed have I to be kind to you, Dermat O'Dyna, for though you do not remember me, I spent a year and a day in the household of Finn the son of Cumal. "A part of this kingdom belongs by right to me. But the king and his son have seized on my patrimony, and have banished me from the palace, forcing me to live here in exile with a few of my faithful followers. "It is my intention, however, to make war on the king for my part of the kingdom; and right glad I am that you have come hither, for I would rather have you on my side than all the other Fena put together, for your nobleness of mind and your valour in battle. "I have here in my household seven score and ten heroes, all champions of great deeds; and if you consent to aid me, these shall be placed under your command. By day you shall fight against the king of Tir-fa-tonn and his son, and by night you shall feast and rest and sleep with me in this palace. If you enter into friendship with me and fight on my side, well I know that I shall win back my right without delay." Dermat agreed to this. So he and the Knight of Valour made a covenant; and, placing hand in hand, they pledged themselves to observe faithfully the conditions of the league of friendship. FOOTNOTES: [CVI.] Tir-fa-tonn, literally "the country beneath the wave." (See note 13 at the end.) CHAPTER VI. FINN, IN QUEST OF DERMAT, FIGHTS MANY BATTLES. As to Finn Mac Cumal and those that remained behind with him in the ship, I will now relate what befell them. It was now many days since Dermat had left them, and they marvelled much that he did not return with tidings of the Gilla Dacker. At length, when they began to be alarmed, the two sons of the king of Innia offered to go in search of him; but Finn said no, for that they should all go together. So Feradach and Foltlebar took all the cables and ropes they could find in the ship, and tied them end to end in hard, sure knots, till they had a rope long enough to reach from the top of the rock to the bottom. Then they clambered up the steep face of the cliff, bringing with them the end of the rope; and one by one they drew up Finn and the rest. And when they looked round, they were as much surprised and delighted as Dermat was at the look of the country. Foltlebar now made a search, and soon found the track of Dermat; and the whole party set out to walk across the plain, Foltlebar leading the way. Having travelled some distance, they saw the great fruit tree afar off; and, turning to the left, they found a place where a fire had been lighted, and near it the remains of several meals of deer's flesh. By this they knew that it was here Dermat had slept, for all were well aware of his custom not to eat of what was left from a meal. They then went towards the tree, and there they found the traces of deadly combat--the ground all trampled and ploughed up, and a broken spear handle lying at the brink of the well. While they stood pondering on these things, with anxious hearts, they saw a horseman at a distance, speeding towards them across the plain. In a little while he came up and reined in. He was a young man of majestic mien, fair and noble of countenance; and he rode a beautiful chestnut steed, with a bridle of twisted gold, and a saddle of surpassing splendour, ornamented all over with gold and jewels. He alighted and saluted Finn and the Fena, and told them they were welcome to his country, for that he was king; and he put his hand on Finn's neck and kissed his cheek three times. Then he invited them to go with him, saying that the Plain of the Fountain was a comfortless resting-place after a long journey. Finn's heart was glad at this, for he and his companions were weary; and they set out to walk across the plain with the young king. Having walked a good distance, they came in sight of a noble palace, with tall towers and carved front. As they came near, they were met by a company of knights on the level green in front, who welcomed them with gentle words. And so they passed into the palace. A bath was prepared, and they bathed and were refreshed after their toils. Then they sat down to supper; and while they ate and drank, the harpers played for them, and the poets told their tales and sang their songs. They slept that night in the palace; and next day they mingled with the knights on the green, and took part in their games and pastimes. In the evening they sat down to a feast. The people of the palace were ranged at tables according to rank and inheritance, every man in his proper place. Then the feast went on; and abundance of the newest food and of the oldest drink was served out; and they ate of the savoury food, and drank of the sparkling wines and of the strong ales, till they became merry and gently intoxicated. And Finn could not call to mind that he ever saw an entertainment in the house of either king or chief better ordered. In this manner they were feasted and entertained for three days and three nights. At the end of that time a meeting was held by the king on the palace green. And Finn stood up and said-- "Tell me, I pray thee, thy name and the name of this country, which I have never seen before, or even heard of." "This country," replied the king, "is called Sorca, of which I am king; and although you know us not, we know you well, for the fame of your deeds has reached even to this land. But now I wish to know why you have come hither; also the reason why you have brought so few companions, and where the rest have tarried." Then Finn told him the whole story from beginning to end; how the Gilla Dacker and his great horse had carried off sixteen of their chief men; "And," added Finn, "I and these fifteen companions of mine are now in quest of them." The king replied, "This is a dangerous undertaking; and you and your fifteen men, valiant even as you are, are too few to venture into unknown lands, where you may meet with many enemies. Now my knights are brave and generous, and they love battle and adventure. Wherefore I will place a band of them under your command, who will follow you whithersoever you go, and who will not be behindhand even with the Fena in facing hardship and danger." Finn stood up to thank the king; but before he had time to speak, they saw a messenger speeding towards them across the plain from the north-west, breathless, and begrimed all over with mud and dust. When he had come in presence of the company, he bowed low to the king, and, standing up, waited impatient for leave to speak. The king asked him what news he had brought and he replied-- "Bad and direful news I have for thee, O king. A foreign fleet has come to our shores, which seems to cover all the sea, even as far as the eye can reach; and until the stars of heaven are counted, and the sands of the sea, and the leaves of the woods, the hosts that are landing from their black ships shall not be numbered. Even already they have let loose their plunderers over the country, who are burning and spoiling the farmsteads and the great mansions; and many noble heroes and keepers of houses of hospitality, and many people of the common sort, have been slain by them. Some say that it is the King of the World and his host, who, after conquering every country he has yet visited, has come now to ravage this land with fire and sword and spear, and bring it under his power; but I know not if this be true. And this, O king, is the news I bring thee." When the messenger had ended, the king spoke nought, though his countenance, indeed, showed trouble; but he looked earnestly at Finn. Finn understood this to mean that the king sought his help; and, with clear voice, he spoke-- "Thou hast been generous to me and my people in our day of need, O king of Sorca; and now thou shalt not find the Fena lacking in grateful memory of thy kindness. We will, for a time, give up the pursuit of the Gilla Dacker, and we will place ourselves under thy command, and help thee against these marauders. Neither do I fear the outcome of this war; for many a time have we met these foreigners on the shores of Erin and elsewhere, and they have always yielded to us in the battle-field." The king of Sorca was glad of heart when he heard these words; and he sent his swift scouts all over the country to gather his fighting men. And when all had come together, he arranged them in fighting order, and marched towards the shore where the foreigners were spoiling the land. And they met the plundering parties, and drove them with great slaughter back to their ships, retaking all the spoils. Then they formed an encampment on the shore, with ramparts and deep ditches and long rows of pointed stakes all round. And each day a party of the foreigners landed, led by one of their captains, who were met by an equal number of the men of Sorca, led by one of the Fena; and each time they were driven back to their ships, after losing their best men. When, now, this had continued for many days, the King of the World called a meeting of the chiefs of his army, and asked their counsel as to what should be done. And they spoke as one man, that their best chiefs had fallen, and that they were in worse case now for overcoming the men of Sorca than they were at first; that their sages and prophets had declared against them; and that they had met with ill luck from the day of their arrival. And the advice they gave the king was to depart from the shores of Sorca, for there seemed no chance of conquering the country as long as the Fena were there to help the king. So the king ordered the sails to be set, and he left the harbour in the night with his whole fleet, without bringing the king of Sorca under subjection, and without imposing tribute on the people. CHAPTER VII. FINN AND DERMAT MEET. When the people of Sorca and the Fena arose next morning, not a ship was in sight; and they began to rejoice greatly, finding themselves freed from this invasion. And while the king and Finn, with the chiefs and people, stood eagerly conversing on all these matters, they saw a troop at a distance coming towards them, with banners and standards and arms glittering in the morning sun. Now they wondered much who these might be; and Finn desired that some one might go and bring back tidings. So Fergus Finnvel went with a few followers, and when he was yet a good way off, he knew Dermat O'Dyna at the head of the troop, and ran forward with joy to meet him. And they embraced, even as brothers embrace who meet after being long parted. Then they came towards the assembly; and when the Fena saw Dermat they shouted with joy and welcome And Dermat, on his part, could scarce restrain the excess of his joyfulness; for, indeed, he did not expect to meet his friends so soon; and he embraced them one by one, with glad heart, beginning with Finn. Then Finn inquired from Dermat all particulars, what places he had visited since the day he had climbed up the rock, and whether he had heard any news of their lost companions; and he asked him also who were they--those valiant-looking fighting men--he had brought with him. Dermat told him of all his adventures from first to last--of his long combat at the well with the Knight of the Fountain, of his descent to Tir-fa-tonn, and how the Knight of Valour had entertained him hospitably in his palace. He related also how he headed the men of the Knight of Valour, and made war on the king of Tir-fa-tonn (who was also called the Knight of the Fountain, the wizard-champion who fought with Dermat at the well), whom he slew, and defeated his army. "And now," continued he, bringing forth the Knight of Valour from among the strange host, "this is he who was formerly called the Knight of Valour, but who is now the king of Tir-fa-tonn. Moreover, this king has told me, having himself found it out by his druidical art, that it was Avarta the Dedannan (the son of Illahan of the Many-coloured Raiment) who took the form of the Gilla Dacker, and who brought the sixteen Fena away to the Land of Promise,[8] where he now holds them in bondage." Finn and the young king then put hand in hand and made covenants of lasting friendship with each other. And the Fena were much rejoiced that they had at last got some tidings of their lost companions. CHAPTER VIII. CONAN AND HIS COMPANIONS FOUND AND RESCUED. Now after they had rested some days in the palace of the king of Sorca, Fergus Finnvel told Finn that it was time to begin once more their quest after Conan and the others. They held council, therefore; and the resolution they came to was to return to the rock at the spot where they had turned aside from the track of the Gilla Dacker, and to begin their search anew from that. And when both the king of Sorca and the king of Tir-fa-tonn would have sent men with them, Finn thanked them, but said that the small party of Fena he had with him were quite enough for that adventure. So they took leave of the two kings, and went back to the rock, and Foltlebar at once found the track. He traced it from the very edge of the rock across the plain to the sea at the other side; and they brought round their ship and began their voyage. But this time Foltlebar found it very hard to keep on the track; for the Gilla Dacker, knowing that there were not in the world men more skilled in following up a quest than the Fena, took great pains to hide all traces of the flight of himself and his horse; so that Foltlebar was often thrown out; but he always recovered the track after a little time. And so they sailed from island to island, and from bay to bay, over many seas and by many shores, ever following the track, till at length they arrived at the Land of Promise. And when they had made the land, and knew for a certainty that this was indeed the Land of Promise, they rejoiced greatly; for in this land Dermat O'Dyna had been nurtured by Mannanan Mac Lir of the Yellow Hair. Then they held council as to what was best to be done; and Finn's advice was that they should burn and spoil the country, in revenge of the outrage that had been done to his people. Dermat, however, would not hear of this. And he said-- "Not so, O king. The people of this land are of all men the most skilled in druidic art; and it is not well that they should be at feud with us. Let us rather send to Avarta a trusty herald, to demand that he should set our companions at liberty. If he does so, then we shall be at peace; if he refuse, then shall we proclaim war against him and his people, and waste this land with fire and sword, till he be forced, even by his own people, to give us back our friends." This advice was approved by all. And then Finn said-- "But how shall heralds reach the dwelling of this enchanter; for the ways are not open and straight, as in other lands, but crooked and made for concealment, and the valleys and plains are dim and shadowy, and hard to be traversed?" But Foltlebar, nothing daunted by the dangers and the obscurity of the way, offered to go with a single trusty companion; and they took up the track and followed it without being once thrown out, till they reached the mansion of Avarta. There they found their friends amusing themselves on the green outside the palace walls; for, though kept captive in the island, yet were they in no wise restrained, but were treated by Avarta with much kindness. When they saw the heralds coming towards them, their joy knew no bounds; they crowded round to embrace them, and asked them many questions regarding their home and their friends. At last Avarta himself came forth, and asked who these strangers were; and Foltlebar replied-- "We are of the people of Finn Mac Cumal, who has sent us as heralds to thee. He and his heroes have landed on this island, guided hither by me; and he bade us tell thee that he has come to wage war and to waste this land with fire and sword, as a punishment for that thou hast brought away his people by foul spells, and even now keepest them in bondage." When Avarta heard this, he made no reply, but called a council of his chief men, to consider whether they should send back to Finn an answer of war or of peace. And they, having much fear of the Fena, were minded to restore Finn's people, and to give him his own award in satisfaction for the injury done to him; and to invite Finn himself and those who had come with him to a feast of joy and friendship in the house of Avarta. Avarta himself went with Foltlebar to give this message. And after he and Finn had exchanged friendly greetings, he told them what the council had resolved; and Finn and Dermat and the others were glad at heart. And Finn and Avarta put hand in hand, and made a league of friendship. So they went with Avarta to his house, where they found their lost friends; and, being full of gladness, they saluted and embraced each other. Then a feast was prepared; and they were feasted for three days, and they ate and drank and made merry. On the fourth day, a meeting was called on the green to hear the award. Now it was resolved to make amends on the one hand to Finn, as king of the Fena, and on the other, to those who had been brought away by the Gilla Dacker. And when all were gathered together, Finn was first asked to name his award; and this is what he said-- "I shall not name an award, O Avarta; neither shall I accept an eric from thee. But the wages I promised thee when we made our covenant at Knockainy, that I will give thee. For I am thankful for the welcome thou hast given us here; and I wish that there should be peace and friendship between us for ever." But Conan, on his part, was not so easily satisfied; and he said to Finn-- "Little hast thou endured, O Finn, in all this matter; and thou mayst well waive thy award. But hadst thou, like us, suffered from the sharp bones and the rough carcase of the Gilla Dacker's monstrous horse, in a long journey from Erin to the Land of Promise, across wide seas, through tangled woods, and over rough-headed rocks, thou wouldst then, methinks, name an award." At this, Avarta, and the others who had seen Conan and his companions carried off on the back of the big horse, could scarce keep from laughing; and Avarta said to Conan-- "Name thy award, and I will fulfil it every jot: for I have heard of thee, Conan, and I dread to bring the gibes and taunts of thy foul tongue on myself and my people." "Well then," said Conan, "my award is this: that you choose fifteen of the best and noblest men in the Land of Promise, among whom are to be your own best beloved friends; and that you cause them to mount on the back of the big horse, and that you yourself take hold of his tail. In this manner you shall fare to Erin, back again by the selfsame track the horse took when he brought us hither--through the same surging seas, through the same thick thorny woods, and over the same islands and rough rocks and dark glens. And this, O Avarta, is my award," said Conan. Now Finn and his people were rejoiced exceedingly when they heard Conan's award--that he asked from Avarta nothing more than like for like. For they feared much that he might claim treasure of gold and silver, and thus bring reproach on the Fena. Avarta promised that everything required by Conan should be done, binding himself in solemn pledges. Then the heroes took their leave; and having launched their ship on the broad, green sea, they sailed back by the same course to Erin. And they marched to their camping-place at Knockainy, where they rested in their tents. Avarta then chose his men. And he placed them on the horse's back, and he himself caught hold of the tail; and it is not told how they fared till they made harbour and landing-place at Cloghan Kincat. They delayed not, but straightway journeyed over the selfsame track as before, till they reached Knockainy. Finn and his people saw them afar off coming towards the hill with great speed; the Gilla Dacker, quite as large and as ugly as ever, running before the horse; for he had let go the tail at Cloghan Kincat. And the Fena could not help laughing heartily when they saw the plight of the fifteen chiefs on the great horse's back; and they said with one voice that Conan had made a good award that time. When the horse reached the spot from which he had at first set out, the men began to dismount. Then the Gilla Dacker, suddenly stepping forward, held up his arm and pointed earnestly over the heads of the Fena towards the field where the horses were standing; so that the heroes were startled, and turned round every man to look. But nothing was to be seen except the horses grazing quietly inside the fence. Finn and the others now turned round again, with intent to speak to the Gilla Dacker and bring him and his people into the tents; but much did they marvel to find them all gone. The Gilla Dacker and his great horse and the fifteen nobles of the Land of Promise had disappeared in an instant; and neither Finn himself nor any of his chiefs ever saw them afterwards. So far we have related the story of the pursuit of the Gilla Dacker and his horse. THE PURSUIT OF DERMAT AND GRANIA. CHAPTER I. FINN, THE SON OF CUMAL, SEEKS THE PRINCESS GRANIA TO WIFE. On a certain day, Finn, the son of Cumal, rose at early morn in Allen of the broad hill-slopes, and, going forth, sat him down on the green lawn before the palace, without companion or attendant. And two of his people followed him, namely, Oisin his son, and Dering the son of Dobar O'Baskin. Oisin spoke to him and asked, "Why, O king, hast thou come forth so early?" "Cause enough have I indeed," replied Finn; "for I am without a wife since Manissa, the daughter of Garad of the Black Knee, died; and who can enjoy sweet sleep when his life is lonely like mine, with no wife to comfort and cheer him? This, my friends, is the cause of my early rising." And Oisin said, "Why should you be without a wife if you desire one? For there is not, within the sea-circle of green Erin, a maiden that we will not bring you, either by consent or by force, if you only turn the light of your eyes on her." Then Dering spoke and said, "I know where there is a maiden, who in all respects is worthy to be thy wife." And when Finn asked who she was, Dering replied-- "The maiden is Grania, daughter of king Cormac,[22] the son of Art, the son of Conn the Hundred-fighter; the most beautiful, the best instructed, and the most discreet in speech and manner of all the maidens of Erin." "There has been strife between me and Cormac for a long time," said Finn, "and it may happen that he will not give me his daughter in marriage. But go ye to Tara in my name, you and Oisin, and ask the maiden for me: if the king should refuse, so let it be; but I can better bear a refusal to you than to myself." "We will go," said Oisin; "but it is better that no man know of our journey till we return." So the two heroes took leave of Finn and went their way; and nothing is told of what befell them till they reached Tara. It chanced that the king was at this time holding a meeting; and the chiefs and great nobles of Tara were assembled round him. And when the two warriors arrived, they were welcomed, and the meeting was put off for that day; for the king felt sure that it was on some business of weight they had come. After they had eaten and drunk, the king, sending away all others from his presence, bade the two chiefs tell their errand. So Oisin told him they had come to seek his daughter Grania in marriage for Finn the son of Cumal. Then the king said, "In all Erin there is scarce a young prince or noble who has not sought my daughter in marriage; and she has refused them all. And it is on me that the ill feeling and reproach caused by her refusals have fallen; for she has ever made me the bearer of her answers. Wherefore now you shall come to my daughter's presence, and I will not mention the matter to her till she give you an answer from her own lips: so shall I be blameless if she refuse." So they went to the apartments of the women, at the sunny side of the palace. And when they had entered the princess's chamber, the king sat with her on the couch and said-- "Here, my daughter, are two of the people of Finn the son of Cumal, who have come to ask thee as a wife for him." And Grania, giving, indeed, not much thought to the matter, answered, "I know not whether he is worthy to be thy son-in-law; but if he be, why should he not be a fitting husband for me?" The two messengers were satisfied with this answer, and retired. And Cormac made a feast for them; and they ate and drank and made merry with the chiefs and nobles of the palace; after which the king bade them tell Finn to come at the end of a fortnight to claim his bride. So the two heroes returned to Allen, and told how they had fared in their quest. And as all things come at last to an end, so this fortnight wore slowly away; and at the end of the time, Finn, having collected round him the chief men of the seven standing battalions of the Fena to be his guard, marched to Tara. The king received him with great honour, and welcomed the Fena, and they were feasted with the nobles of Erin in the great banquet hall of Micorta.[CVII.] And the king sat on his throne to enjoy the feast with his guests, having Finn on his right hand, and on his left the queen, Etta, the daughter of Atan of Corca; and Grania sat next the queen, her mother, on the left. And all the others sat according to their rank and patrimony. CHAPTER II. DERMAT O'DYNA SECRETLY ESPOUSES THE PRINCESS GRANIA. Now while the feast went on, it chanced that Dara of the Poems, one of Finn's druids, sat near Grania. And he recited for her many lays about the deeds of her forefathers; after which a pleasant conversation arose between them. And when they had talked for some time, she asked him-- "What means all this feasting? And why has Finn come with his people on this visit to my father the king?" Dara was surprised at this question, and answered, "If thou dost not know, it is hard for me to know." And Grania answered, "I wish, indeed, to learn from you what has brought Finn to Tara." "It is strange to hear thee ask this question," said the druid. "Knowest thou not that he has come to claim thee for his wife?" Grania was silent for a long time after hearing this. And again she spoke-- "If, indeed, Finn had sought me for his son Oisin, or for the youthful Oscar, there would be nothing to wonder at; but I marvel much that he seeks me for himself, seeing that he is older than my father." Then Grania meditated in silence; and after a time she said to the druid-- "This is a goodly company, but I know not one among them, except only Oisin, the son of Finn. Tell me now who is that warrior on the right of Oisin." "That knightly warrior," answered the druid, "is Gaul Mac Morna the Terrible in Battle." "Who is the youthful champion to the right of Gaul?" asked Grania. "That is Oscar, the son of Oisin," said the druid. "Who is the graceful and active-looking chief sitting next Oscar?" asked the princess. "That is Kylta Mac Ronan the Swift-footed," said the druid. "Next to Kylta Mac Ronan sits a champion with fair, freckled skin, raven-black curls, a gentle, handsome, manly countenance, and soft voice: pray who is he?" "That is Dermat O'Dyna of the Bright Face, the favourite of maidens, and beloved of all the Fena for his high-mindedness, his bravery, and his generous disposition." "Who is he sitting at Dermat's shoulder?" asked Grania. "That is Dering, the son of Dobar O'Baskin," replied the druid; "a valiant champion, and also a druid and a man of science." Then Grania called her handmaid, and said to her, "Bring me the large jewelled, gold-chased drinking-horn that lies in my chamber." The handmaid brought the drinking-horn; and Grania, having filled it to the brim, said-- "Take it now to Finn from me, and tell him that I desire him to drink from it." The handmaiden did so, and Finn took a full draught. He passed the drinking-horn to the king, and the king drank; and after him the queen. Then again Grania bade the handmaid bring it to Carbri of the Liffey, the king's son; and she ceased not till all she wished to drink had drunk from the gold-chased horn. And after a little time, those who had drunk fell into a deep sleep, like the sleep of death. Then the princess rose from her seat, and, walking softly across the hall, sat down near Dermat O'Dyna; and with downcast eyes and low voice, she said-- "Wilt thou, Dermat, return my love if I give it to thee?" Dermat heard her at first with amazement and alarm. Then for a moment, even before he was aware, his heart leaped with joy; but when he bethought him of his duty to his chief, he hardened his mind, and answered with cold looks and words-- "The maiden who is betrothed to Finn, I will not love; and even if I were so minded, I dare not." And with eyes still cast down, Grania said, "I know well it is thy duty, and not thy heart, that prompts thee to speak so. Thou seest how it is with me; and I am forced to speak more boldly than a maiden should. Finn has come to ask me for his wife; but he is an old man, even older than my father, and I love him not. But I love thee, Dermat, and I beseech thee to save me from this hateful marriage. And, lest thou think that my love for thee is only a passing fancy, hear now what befell. "Of a day when a hurling match was played on the green of Tara, between Mac Luga and the Fena on the one side, and Carbri of the Liffey and the men of Tara on the other, I sat high up at the window of my sunny chamber to see the game. Thou didst remain sitting with some others that day, not meaning to take part in the play. But at last, when the game began to go against thy friends, I saw thee start up; and, snatching the hurlet from the man nearest to thee, thou didst rush into the thick of the crowd; and before sitting down thou didst win the goal three times on the men of Tara. At that hour my eyes and my heart were turned to thee; and well I knew thee to-day in this banquet hall, though I knew not thy name till the druid told me. At that same hour, too, I gave thee my love--what I never gave, and never will give, to any other." Then was Dermat sore troubled. He strove with himself, but strove in vain; for he could not help loving the princess with his whole heart. Yet none the less did he hide his thoughts; for his duty to his chief prevailed. And with looks and words cold and stern, he replied-- "I marvel greatly that thou hast not given thy love to Finn, who deserves it much better than any other man alive. And still more do I marvel that thou hast lighted on me beyond all the princes and nobles of Tara; for truly there is not one among them less worthy of thy love than I. But that thou shouldst be my wife, by no means can this be; for even were I to consent, there is not in Erin a fastness or a wilderness, however strong or remote, that could shelter us from Finn's vengeance." Then Grania said, "I read thy thoughts; and I know thou art striving against what thy heart prompts. And now, O Dermat, I place thee under gesa,[12] and under the bonds of heavy druidical spells--bonds that true heroes never break through, that thou take me for thy wife before Finn and the others awaken from their sleep; and save me from this hateful marriage." And Dermat, still unyielding, replied, "Evil are those gesa thou hast put on me; and evil, I fear, will come of them. But dost thou not know, princess, that whenever Finn sleeps at Tara, it is one of his privileges to have in his own keeping the keys of the great gates; so that even if we so willed it, we should not be able to leave the fortress?" "There is a wicket gate leading out from my apartments," said Grania, "and through that we shall pass forth." "That I cannot do," answered Dermat; "for it is one of my gesa[12] never to enter a king's mansion, or leave it, by a wicket gate." And Grania answered, "I have heard it said that every true champion, who has been instructed in all the feats that a warrior should learn, can bound over the highest rampart of a fort by means of the handles of his spears; and well I know that thou art the most accomplished champion among the Fena. I will now pass out through the wicket gate; and even if thou dost not follow, I will fly alone from Tara." And so she went forth from the banquet hall. Then Dermat, much doubting how to act, spoke to his friends and asked counsel of them. And first he addressed Oisin, the son of Finn, and asked him how he should deal with the heavy gesa-bonds that had been laid on him by the princess; and what he should do in the case. "You are blameless in regard to these bonds," answered Oisin; "and I counsel you to follow Grania; but guard yourself well against the wiles of Finn." "O dear friend Oscar," spoke Dermat again, "what think you is best for me to do, seeing that these heavy gesa-bonds have been put on me?" "I say you should follow Grania," answered Oscar; "for he, indeed, is but a pitiful champion who fears to keep his bonds." "What counsel do you give me, Kylta?" said Dermat to Kylta Mac Ronan. "I say," answered Kylta, "that I would gladly give the world's wealth that the princess had given me her love; and I counsel you to follow her." Last of all, Dermat spoke to Dering, the son of Dobar O'Baskin, and said, "Give me your judgment in this hard matter, friend Dering." And Dering answered, "If you espouse Grania, I foresee that your death will come of it, which grieves me even to think of; but even so, I counsel you to follow the princess rather than break through your gesa." And Dermat, doubting even still, asked for the last time, "Is this, my friends, the counsel you all give?" And they all answered, "Yes," as with the voice of one man. Then Dermat arose and put on his armour and his helmet; and he took his shield, and his two heavy spears, and his sword. And with tears he bade farewell to his dear companions; for well he knew that it would be long before they should meet again; and he foresaw trouble and danger. Then he went forth to where the steep side of the inner mound overlooked the outer rampart; and, placing his two spears point downwards, and leaning on them after the manner of skilful champions, with two light, airy bounds he cleared rampart and ditch, and measured the length of his two feet on the level green outside. And there the princess met him; and he said to her, with voice and manner still distant and stern-- "Evil will certainly come of this espousal, O princess, both to thee and to me. Far better would it be for thee to choose Finn and to pass me by; for now we shall wander without home or rest, fleeing from his wrath. Return, then, princess, return even now through the wicket gate, for the sleepers have not yet awakened; and Finn shall never learn what has happened." But Grania, gentle and sad indeed, but quite unmoved, replied, "I will never return; and until death takes me I will not part from thee." Then at last Dermat yielded and strove no longer; and putting off his sternness of manner and voice, he spoke gently to the princess and said-- "I will hide my thoughts from thee no more, Grania. I will be thy husband, all unworthy of thee as I am; and I will guard thee and defend thee to the death from Finn and his hirelings." And they plighted their faith, and vowed solemn vows to be faithful to each other as man and wife for ever. FOOTNOTES: [CVII.] See foot-note, page 55. CHAPTER III. FLIGHT AND PURSUIT. Then Grania showed Dermat the fenced meadow where her father's horses grazed, and bade him yoke two horses to a chariot. And when he had done so, he and Grania sat in the chariot and travelled with all speed westward, till they reached Ath-Luan.[CVIII.] And when they had come to the ford, Dermat said, "Finn will doubtless pursue us, and it will be all the easier for him to follow our track, that we have the horses." And Grania answered, "As we are now so far from Tara, we may leave the chariot and horses here, and I will fare on foot henceforward." So they alighted from the chariot; and Dermat, leading one of the horses across, left them both some distance above the ford, one at each side of the river. And he took up Grania in his strong arms, and brought her tenderly across the ford, so that not even the sole of her foot, or the skirt of her mantle was wetted. Then they walked against the stream for a mile, and turned south-west, till they reached the Wood of the two Tents.[CIX.] In the midst of the wood, where it was thickest, Dermat lopped off branches and wove a hut, where they rested. And he brought Grania the wild animals of the wood to eat, and gave her the water of a clear spring to drink. As to Finn, the son of Cumal, I will now tell what befell him. When the king and his guests arose from their sleep at early dawn next morning, they found Dermat and Grania gone; and a burning jealousy seized on Finn, and his rage was so great that for a time all his strength left him. Then he sent for his tracking-men, namely, the Clann Navin; and he commanded them forthwith to follow the track of Dermat and Grania. This they did with much ease as far as Ath-Luan, while Finn and the others followed after; but when they had come to the ford, they lost the track. Whereupon Finn, being now indeed easily kindled to wrath, told them that unless they took up the track again speedily, he would hang every man of the Clann Navin on the edge of the ford. So the trackers, being sore afraid, searched upwards against the stream, and found the two horses where they had been left, one on each side of the river. And going on a mile further, they came to the spot where Dermat and Grania had turned from the river; and there they lighted on the south-west track, Finn and the Fena still following. And when the Clann Navin had pointed out to Finn the direction of the track, he said-- "Well do I know now where we shall find Dermat and Grania; for of a certainty they have hidden themselves in the Wood of the two Tents." Now it chanced that Oisin, and Oscar, and Kylta, and Dering were present when Finn spoke these words; and they were troubled, for they loved Dermat. And going aside, they held council among themselves, and Oisin spoke-- "There is much likelihood, friends, that Finn speaks truth; for he is far-seeing, and judges not hastily. It is needful, therefore, that we send Dermat warning, lest he be taken unawares. My counsel is that you, Oscar, find out Finn's hound, Bran, and tell him to go to the Wood of the two Tents with a warning to Dermat; for Bran does not love his own master Finn better than he loves Dermat." So Oscar called Bran secretly, and told him what he should do. Bran listened with sagacious eye and ears erect, and understood Oscar's words quite well. Then, running back to the rear of the host, so that Finn might not see him, he followed the track without once losing it, till he arrived at the Wood of the two Tents. There he found Dermat and Grania asleep in their hut, and he put his head into Dermat's bosom. Dermat started up from his sleep, and seeing Bran, he awakened Grania, and said-- "Here is Bran, Finn's hound; he has come to warn me that Finn himself is near." And Grania trembled and said, "Let us take the warning, then, and fly!" But Dermat answered, "I will not leave this hut; for however long we fly, we cannot escape from Finn; and it is not worse to fall into his hands now than at any other time. Howbeit, they shall not come into this fastness unless I permit them." Then great fear fell on Grania; but, seeing Dermat gloomy and downcast, she urged the point no further. Again Oisin spoke to his three companions and said, "I fear me that Bran may not have been able to baffle Finn, or that some other mischance may have hindered him from finding Dermat; so we must needs send him another warning. Bring hither, therefore, Fergor, Kylta's errand-man." And Kylta brought forward Fergor. Now this Fergor had a voice so loud that his shout was heard over the three nearest cantreds. So they caused him to give three shouts that Dermat might hear. And Dermat heard Fergor's shouts, and, awakening Grania from her sleep, said to her-- "I hear the shout of Fergor, Kylta's errand-man. And he is with Kylta, and Kylta is with Finn; and I know that my friends have sent me this warning, as a sign that Finn himself is coming." And again Grania trembled and said, "Let us take this warning and fly!" But Dermat answered, "I will not fly; and we shall not leave this wood till Finn and the Fena overtake us. Howbeit, none shall come into this fastness unless I permit them." And Grania was in great fear; but this time Dermat looked gloomy and stern, and she pressed the matter no further. FOOTNOTES: [CVIII.] Ath-Luan, now Athlone, on the Shannon. In ancient times the river had to be crossed by a ford, where the bridge is now built. [CIX.] The Wood of the two Tents was situated in the territory of Clanrickard, in the county Galway. CHAPTER IV. THE FASTNESS OF THE SEVEN NARROW DOORS. Now as to Finn. He and the others went forward till they reached the Wood of the two Tents. And he sent forward the Clann Navin to make search; who went, and having made their way to the thickest part of the wood, they came to a fence which they could not cross. For Dermat had cleared a space round his hut, and surrounded it with a fence that no man could pierce, with seven narrow doors of strong poles woven with saplings, to face seven different parts of the wood. Then the Clann Navin climbed up to a high tree branch, and looked over the fence; and they saw Dermat with a lady. And when they had returned, Finn asked them if Dermat and Grania were in the wood. And they answered-- "Dermat, indeed, is there, and we saw a lady with him; but whether she be Grania or not we cannot tell, for we know not the princess." "May ill luck attend Dermat, and all his friends for his sake!" said Finn. "I know he is in this wood; and he shall never leave it till he give me quittance for the injury he has done me." And Oisin said, "Certain it is, that you, Finn, are blinded by jealousy; else you would never think that Dermat would await you on this plain, with no stronger fastness to shelter him from your wrath than the Wood of the two Tents." To which Finn, being angry, replied, "Your words will profit you nothing, Oisin; neither will your friendship for Dermat avail him aught. Well I knew, indeed, when I heard Fergor's three shouts, that it was ye who caused him to shout, as a warning signal to Dermat; and I know also that ye sent my dog Bran to him with another warning. But these warnings will not avail you; for he shall never leave this wood till he pay me such eric[10] as I seek for the injury he has done me." Then Oscar spoke and said, "Surely, Finn, it is mere folly to believe that Dermat would wait here for you, knowing, as he does, that you seek his head." As Oscar spoke these words, they arrived at the fence; and Finn answered, "Who then, think you, has cleared the wood in this manner, and fenced the space with this strong, sheltering enclosure, and fitted it with these narrow doors? But indeed," added he, "I will find out the truth of the matter in another way." So, raising his voice a little, he called out, "Tell us now, Dermat, which of us is telling truth, Oscar or I." And Dermat, who would not hide when called on, answered from within, "You never erred in your judgment, O king: Grania and I are here; but none shall come in unless I permit them." Then Finn placed his men around the enclosure, a company at each narrow door; and he said to each company, "If Dermat tries to escape by this door, seize him and keep him securely for me." Now when Grania saw these preparations, and overheard Finn's words, she was overcome with fear, and wept and trembled very much. And Dermat had pity on his wife, and comforted her; and he kissed her three times, bidding her be of good cheer, for that all would be well with them yet. And when Finn saw this--for he stood with some others viewing the hut from a mound at a little way off--a flame of burning jealousy went through his heart; and he said-- "Now of a certainty Dermat shall not escape from me; and I shall have his head for all these injuries!" Now Angus of Bruga,[1] the wisest and most skilled in magic arts of all the Dedannan race, was Dermat's foster father. For he had reared him from childhood, and had taught him all the arts and accomplishments of a champion; and he loved him even as a father loves his only son. And it was revealed to Angus that Dermat was in deadly strait So he arose and travelled on the wings of the cool, east wind, neither did he halt till he reached the Wood of the two Tents; and he passed into the hut without being perceived by Finn and his men. And when Dermat saw the old man his heart leaped with joy. Angus greeted Dermat and Grania, and said, "What is this thing thou hast done, my son?" And Dermat answered, "The princess Grania, daughter of the king of Tara, asked me to take her for my wife, putting heavy gesa-bonds on me; and I did so, and we fled from her father's house. And Finn, the son of Cumal, has pursued us with intent to kill me, for he sought the princess to wife for himself." And Angus said, "Come now, children, under my mantle, one under each border, and I will bring you both away from this place without the knowledge of Finn." But Dermat answered, "Take Grania; but for me, I will not go with you. However, I will leave this place; and if I am alive I will follow you. But if they slay me, send the princess to her father, and tell him to treat her neither better nor worse on account of taking me for her husband." Then Dermat kissed Grania, and bade her be of good cheer, for that he feared not his foes. And Angus placed her under his mantle, and, telling Dermat whither to follow, went forth from the enclosure without the knowledge of Finn and the Fena. They turned south then, and nothing is told of what befell them till they came to the Wood of the two Sallows, which is now called Limerick. Now as to Dermat. After Angus and Grania had left him, he girded on his armour, and took his sharp weapons in his hands; and he stood up tall and straight like a pillar, meditating in silence for a space. Then he went to one of the seven narrow doors, and asked who was outside. "No enemy of thine is here, but Oisin and Oscar, with the men of the Clann Baskin. Come out to us, and no one will dare to harm thee." "I must needs find the door where Finn himself keeps guard," answered Dermat; "so I will not go out to you." He went to the second narrow door, and asked who was there. "Kylta Mac Ronan with the Clann Ronan around him. Come out at this door, and we will fight to the death for thy sake." "I will not go out to you," answered Dermat; "for I do not wish to bring Finn's anger on you for treating me with kindness." He went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "Conan of the Grey Rushes and the Clann Morna. We are no friends to Finn; but thee we all love. Come out to us, then, and no one will dare to harm thee." "Of a certainty I will not go out at this door," answered Dermat; "for well I know that Finn would rather see you all dead than that I should escape!" He went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "A friend and a dear comrade of thine is here; Cuan, the chief of the Munster Fena, and his Munster men with him. Thou and we come from the same territory; and if need be we will give our lives in fight for thy sake." "I will not go out to you," said Dermat; "for it would bring Finn's sure displeasure on you to act kindly towards me." He went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "Finn, the son of Glore of the Loud Voice, chief of the Fena of Ulster, and the Ulster men around him. Thou and we come not from the same territory; but we all love thee, Dermat; and now come forth to us, and who will dare to wound or harm thee?" "I will not go out to you," replied Dermat; "you are a faithful friend of mine, and your father in like manner; and I do not wish you to earn the enmity of Finn on my account." He went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "No friend of thine! Here stand the Clann Navin watching for thee; namely, Aed the Lesser, and Aed the Tall, and Gonna the Wounder, and Gothan the Loud-voiced, and Cuan the Tracker, with all their men. We bear thee no love; and if thou come out at this door, we shall make thee a mark for our swords and spears!" And Dermat answered, "Lying and mean-faced dogs! It is not fear of you that keeps me from going forth at this door; but I do not wish to defile my spear with the blood of your shoeless, tracking vagabonds!" And he went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "Finn, the son of Cumal, the son of Art, the son of Trenmore O'Baskin, and with him the Leinster Fena. No love awaits thee here; and if thou come forth we will cleave thee, flesh and bones!" "The door I have sought I have found at last!" cried Dermat; "for the door where thou, Finn, standest, that, of a certainty, is the very door by which I shall pass out!" Then Finn charged his men, under pain of death, not to let Dermat pass. But Dermat, watching an unguarded place, rose by means of his two spears with a light, airy bound over the fence, and alighted on the clear space outside; and running swiftly forward, was in a moment beyond the reach of sword and spear. And so dismayed were they by his threatening look, that not a man attempted to follow him. Then, turning southward, he never halted till he came to the Wood of the two Sallows, where he found Angus and Grania in a warm hut, with a boar fixed on hazel spits roasting before a great flaming fire. Dermat greeted them; and the spark of life all but leaped from Grania's heart with joy when she saw him.[CX.] So he told them all that had befallen him; and they ate their meal and slept in peace that night, till the morning of next day filled the world with light. Then Angus arose with the dawn, and said to Dermat, "I will now depart, my son; but Finn will still pursue you, and I leave you this counsel to guide you when I am gone. Go not into a tree having only one trunk; never enter a cave that has only one opening; never land on an island of the sea that has only one channel of approach; where you cook your food, there eat it not; where you eat, sleep not there; and where you sleep to-night, sleep not there to-morrow night!" So Angus bade them farewell; and they were sad after him. FOOTNOTES: [CX.] Original: "It was little but that the salmon of her life fled through her mouth with joy before Dermat." CHAPTER V. THE THREE SEA-CHAMPIONS AND THEIR THREE VENOMOUS HOUNDS ON THE TRACK OF DERMAT AND GRANIA. After Angus was gone, Dermat and Grania journeyed westward, keeping the Shannon on their right, till they reached the Rough Stream of the Champions, which is now called the Laune.[CXI.] They rested there; and Dermat killed a salmon with his spear, and fixed it on a hazel spit to broil on the near bank; and he crossed the river with Grania, to eat it on the further bank, as Angus had told him. And after they had eaten, they sought a sleeping-place further west. They rose early next morning, and journeyed still west, till they reached the Grey Moor of Finnlia.[CXII.] There they met a man of great size, noble in gait and feature, but with arms and armour not befitting his appearance. Dermat greeted him, and asked who he was; and he replied-- "My name is Modan, and I am seeking a lord whom I may serve for pay." "If I take you into my service," asked Dermat, "what can you do for us?" "I will serve you by day and watch for you by night," answered Modan. Whereupon they entered into bonds of agreement with one another, Modan to serve by day and watch by night, and Dermat to pay him wages. Then the three went westward till they reached the river of Carra,[CXIII.] and Modan lifted Dermat and Grania with the greatest ease, and bore them dry across the stream. From that further west to Beha,[CXIV.] and Modan bore them over this stream in like manner. Here they found a cave, on the side of the hill over that part of the sea called Tonn Toma,[CXV.] namely, the hill of Curra-Kenn-Ammid; and Modan prepared a couch of soft rushes and birch tops in the innermost part of the cave, for Dermat and Grania. After this he went to the nearest wood and cut him a long, straight quicken tree rod; and, having put a hair and a hook on the rod, and a holly berry on the hook, he stood on the brink of the stream, and with three casts he hooked three salmon. Then he put the rod by for next day; and, putting the hook and the hair under his girdle, he returned to Dermat and Grania. And he broiled the fish, and they ate their meal, Modan giving the largest salmon to Dermat, the second in size to Grania, and keeping the smallest for himself. After which Dermat and Grania went to sleep in the cave, and Modan kept watch and ward at the mouth, till morning arose with its abundant light. Dermat rose early and set out for the nearest high hill, to look round the country, telling Grania to keep watch at the mouth of the cave while Modan slept. Having come to the top of the hill, he viewed the country all round to the four points of the sky; and after a little while, he saw a fleet of black ships approaching from the west. When they had come near enough to the shore, a company of nine nines landed at the very foot of the hill where Dermat stood. He went to them, and, after greeting them, asked who they were, and from what country they had come. "We are three sea-champions from the Iccian Sea,[CXVI.] who are at the head of this troop," replied they, "and our names are Ducoss, Fincoss, and Trencoss;[CXVII.] and we have come hither at the suit of Finn the son of Cumal. For a certain chief named Dermat O'Dyna has rebelled against him, and is now an outlaw, flying through the country from one fastness to another. And Finn has asked us to come with our fleet to watch the coast, while he himself watches inland, so that this marauder may no longer escape punishment. We hear, moreover, that this Dermat is valiant and dangerous to attack, and we have brought hither three venomous hounds to loose them on his track, and scent him to his hiding-place: fire cannot burn them, water cannot drown them, and weapons cannot wound them. And now tell us who thou art, and whether thou hast heard any tidings of this Dermat O'Dyna." "I saw him, indeed, yesterday," answered Dermat. "I know him well too, and I counsel you to follow your quest warily; for if you meet with Dermat O'Dyna you will have no common man to deal with." Then he asked if they had got any wine in their ships. They replied that they had; so he asked that a tun might be brought, as he wished to drink; and he told them he would show them a champion-feat after he had drunk. Two men were accordingly sent on board for a tun of wine. When they had brought it, Dermat raised it in his arms and drank; and the others drank in like manner till the tun was empty. Then he said, "I will now show you a champion-feat that Dermat O'Dyna taught me; and I challenge any man among you to do it after me. And from this you may learn what manner of man you will have to deal with, should you have the ill luck to meet with Dermat himself." So saying, he brought the tun to the crest of the hill, and set it down at the edge of a steep cliff. Then, leaping up on it, he turned it cunningly aside from the cliff, and let it roll down the smooth slope of the hill till it reached the very bottom, while he himself remained standing on it the whole time. And three times did he do this while the strangers looked on. But they laughed, mocking him, and said, "Do you call that a champion-feat indeed? Truly, you have never in your life seen a good champion-feat!" Thereupon one among them started up and brought the tun to the top of the hill, intending to do the same feat; and, placing it on the edge of the cliff, he leaped up on it. And while he stood on it, Dermat pushed it with his foot to set it going. But the moment it moved, the man lost his balance, and while the tun went rolling down the face of the hill, he himself fell over the cliff, and was dashed to pieces on the sharp edges and points of the rocks. Another man tried the same thing, and he in like manner fell down and was killed among the rocks. And the end of the matter was, that before they would acknowledge themselves beaten, fifty of their men attempted the feat, and every man of the fifty fell over the cliff and was killed. So the others went on board their ships, gloomy and heart-sore. Dermat returned to the cave, and Grania's heart was glad when she saw him. Modan went then, and putting the hair and the hook on the rod as before, he hooked three salmon; and he went back to the cave and broiled them on hazel spits. And they ate their meal; and Modan kept watch and ward, while Dermat and Grania slept in the cave, till the pleasant morning filled the world with light. Dermat rose up with the dawn, and telling Grania to keep watch while Modan slept, he went to the same hill, and found the three sea-champions with their men on the shore before him. He greeted them, and asked whether they wished for any more champion-feats. But they answered that they would much rather he would give them some tidings of Dermat O'Dyna. Whereupon he said-- "I have seen a man who saw him this very morning. And now I will show you a champion-feat he taught me, in order that you may know what is before you, should you meet with Dermat O'Dyna himself." When he had said this, he threw off helmet and tunic and armour, till only his shirt remained over his brawny shoulders; and, taking the Ga-boi,[CXVIII.] the spear of Mannanan Mac Lir, he fixed it firmly in the earth, standing point upwards. Then, walking back some little way, he ran towards the spear, and, rising from the earth with a bird-like bound, he alighted softly on the very point; and, again leaping off it, he came to the ground on his feet without wound or hurt of any kind. Then arose one of the strange warriors and said, "If you call that a champion-feat, it is plain that you have never seen a good champion-feat in your life!" And so saying, he ran swiftly towards the spear and made a great bound; but he fell heavily on the sharp point, so that it pierced him through the heart, and he was taken down dead. Another man attempted the feat, and was killed in like manner; and before they ceased, fifty of their men were slain by Dermat's spear. Then they bade him draw his spear from the earth, saying that no more should try that feat; and they went on board their ships. So Dermat returned to the cave; and Modan hooked three salmon; and Dermat and Grania ate their meal and slept till morning, Modan keeping watch. Next morning, Dermat went to the hill, bringing two strong forked poles cut from the wood. He found the three sea-champions with their men on the shore; and he greeted them, and said-- "I have come to-day to show you a champion-feat I learned from Dermat O'Dyna, that you may know what to expect if you should meet with Dermat himself." He then fixed the poles standing firmly in the earth; and he placed the Morallta, that is, the long sword of Angus of the Bruga, in the forks, edge upwards, the hilt on one, and the point on the other, binding it firmly with withes. Then, rising up with a bound, he alighted gently on the edge; and he walked cunningly three times from hilt to point, and from point to hilt, and then leaped lightly to the earth without wound or hurt. And he challenged the strangers to do that feat. Then one arose and said, "There never yet was done a champion-feat by a man of Erin, that one among us will not do likewise." And he leaped up, intending to alight on his feet; but he came down heavily on the sharp edge, so that the sword cut him clean in two. Another tried the same, and was killed also; and, they ceased not till as many were killed that day by Dermat's sword as were killed on each of the two days before. When they were about to return to their ships, they asked him had he got any tidings of Dermat O'Dyna; and he answered-- "I have seen him this day: I will now go to seek him, and methinks I shall bring him to you in the morning." Then he returned to the cave; and he and Grania ate their meal, and slept that night, while Modan kept watch. Next morning, Dermat arose with the dawn, and this time he arrayed himself for battle. He put on his heavy armour--no man who wore it could be wounded through it, or above it, or beneath it. He hung the Morallta at his left hip, the sword of Angus of the Bruga, which never left anything for a second blow; and he took his two thick-handled spears, the Ga-derg and the Ga-boi, whose wounds no one ever recovered. Then he awakened Grania, telling her to keep watch till he returned, that Modan might sleep. And when she saw him so arrayed, she trembled with fear, for she well knew that this was his manner of preparing for battle. And she asked him what he meant to do to-day, and whether Finn's pursuers had found them. But he, to quiet her fears, put off the matter lightly, and said, "It is better to be prepared, lest the enemy come in my way;" and this soothed her. So he went to the hill, and met the strangers on the shore as before. And they asked him had he any tidings to give them of Dermat O'Dyna. He answered, "He is not very far off, for I have seen him just now." "Then," said they, "lead us to his hiding-place, that we may bring his head to Finn the son of Cumal." "That would, indeed, be an ill way of repaying friendship," answered he. "Dermat O'Dyna is my friend; and he is now under the protection of my valour: so of this be sure, I will do him no treachery." And they replied wrathfully, "If thou art a friend to Dermat O'Dyna, thou art a foe to Finn; and now we will take thy head and bring it to him along with the head of Dermat." "You might indeed do that with much ease," answered Dermat, "if I were bound hand and foot; but being as I am, free, I shall defend myself after my usual custom." Then he drew the Morallta from its sheath, and, springing forward to meet them as they closed on him, he clove the body of the foremost in two with one blow. Then he rushed through them and under them and over them, like a wolf among sheep, or a hawk among sparrows, cleaving and slaughtering them, till only a few were left, who hardly escaped to their ships. FOOTNOTES: [CXI.] The river Laune, flowing from the Lakes of Killarney into Dingle Bay. [CXII.] The Grey Moor of Finnlia (_Bogach-Fhinnléithe_ in the original) was somewhere between the river Laune and the river Caragh, but the name is now forgotten. [CXIII.] The river of Carra, the Caragh river, flowing into Dingle Bay from the beautiful lake Caragh, twenty miles west of Killarney. [CXIV.] Beha, the river Behy, about a mile and a half west from the Caragh, flowing through Glanbehy into Rossbehy creek. [CXV.] Tonn Toma, the wave of Toma (a woman). The word Tonn (a wave or billow) was often applied to the sea-waves that break over certain sandbanks and rocks with an exceptionally loud roaring. Tonn Toma is the name of a sandbank at the head of Dingle Bay, just outside the extreme point of Rossbehy peninsula; and in the winter storms, the sea thunders on this sandbank, and indeed on the whole length of the beach of the peninsula, so as often to be heard twenty miles inland. This roaring is popularly believed to predict rain. There is a chain of three hills, Stookaniller, Knockatinna, and Knockboy, lying between Behy bridge on the east and Drung mountain on the west, and isolated from the hills to the south-east by the valley of Glanbehy. These hills rise directly over Tonn Toma; and the old Gaelic name, Currach-Cinn-Adhmuid (the moor of the head [or hill] of timber) must have been anciently applied to one or all of them. (See, for an account of the great historical _tonns_ of Ireland, the author's "Origin and History of Irish Names of Places," series ii. page 251.) [CXVI.] Iccian Sea (Irish, _Muir nIcht_), the Irish name for the sea between England and France. [CXVII.] Ducoss, Fincoss, and Trencoss, _i.e._ Blackfoot, Whitefoot, and Strongfoot. [CXVIII.] Dermat had two spears, the great one called the Ga-derg or Crann-derg (red javelin), and the small one called Ga-boi or Crann-boi (yellow javelin): he had also two swords: the Morallta (great fury), and the Begallta (little fury). These spears and swords he got from Mannanan Mac Lir and from Angus of the Bruga. He carried the great spear and sword in affairs of life and death; and the smaller in adventures of less danger. CHAPTER VI. WHAT BEFELL THE THREE SEA-CHAMPIONS AND THEIR THREE VENOMOUS HOUNDS. After this Dermat returned to the cave without wound or hurt; and he and Grania ate and slept, and Modan watched till morning. Then he repaired to the hill, fully armed as before, and standing right over the ships, he struck his hollow-sounding shield[CXIX.] with his spear for a challenge, till the whole shore and the surrounding hills re-echoed. And Ducoss straightway armed himself and came ashore to fight Dermat single hand. Now Dermat by no means wished to slay his foe immediately, being, indeed, intent on worse punishment. So he closed with Ducoss; and the two champions, throwing aside their weapons, seized each other round the waists with their sinewy arms. Then they twisted and tugged and wrestled in deadly silence; and their swollen sinews strained and crackled; and the earth trembled beneath their feet; like two great writhing serpents, or like two raging lions, or like two savage bulls that strive and struggle to heave each other with horns interlocked. Thus did the heroes contend; till at last Dermat, heaving Ducoss on his shoulder, dashed him helpless and groaning to the ground; and instantly seizing him, he bound him in hard iron bonds. Fincoss came next against Dermat, and after him Trencoss; but he overcame them both, and bound them with like bonds; and then, leaving the three writhing with pain, he said to them-- "I would strike off your heads, but that I wish to prolong your torment; for none can release you from these bonds till you die!" Dermat then returned to the cave; and he and Grania ate their meal and slept that night, Modan watching. In the morning, Dermat told Grania all that had happened from beginning to end; how fifty of the foreigners had been killed each day for the first three days; how he had slain a much greater number on the fourth day; and how he had overcome and bound the three sea-champions in hard iron bonds. "I have left them bound on the hill," continued he, "instead of killing them; because I would rather their torment to be long than short. For there are only four men in Erin that can loosen the bonds I tie; that is to say, Oisin, and Oscar, and Mac Luga, and Conan Mail; and I think no one of these will free them. Finn will doubtless hear of their state, and the news will sting him to the heart. But he will know that we are here; so we must now leave this cave, to escape him, and also to escape the three venomous dogs." So they came forth from the cave, and travelled eastward till they came to the Grey Moor of Finnlia; and whenever Grania was tired, or when they had to walk over rugged places, Modan lifted her tenderly and carried her, without ever being in the least tired himself. And so they journeyed, till they reached the broad, heathery slopes of Slieve Lougher;[CXX.] and they sat down to rest on the green bank of a stream that wound through the heart of the mountain. Now as to the sea-strangers. Those of them that were left alive landed from their ships, and coming to the hill, found their three chiefs bound tightly, hand and foot and neck. And they tried to loose them, but only made their bonds the tighter. While they were so engaged, they saw Finn's errand-woman coming towards them, with the speed of a swallow, or of a weasel, or of the swift, cold wind blowing over a mountain-side. When she had come near, she greeted them, and, seeing the bodies of the slain, she asked who it was that had made that fearful slaughter. "Tell us first," said they, "who art thou that makest this inquiry?" "I am Derdri of the Black Mountain, the errand-woman of Finn the son of Cumal," she replied; "and he has sent me hither to look for you." And they said, "We know not who made this slaughter; but we can tell thee his appearance, for that we know well. He was a tall warrior, with a fair, handsome, open countenance, and jet-black, curly hair. He has been three days fighting against us; and what grieves us even more than the slaughter of our men is that our three chiefs lie here bound by him so firmly that we are not able to loose them from their bonds." "Alas, friends!" said Derdri; "you have sped but badly at the very beginning of your quest; for this man was Dermat O'Dyna himself. And now loose your three venomous dogs on his track without delay; and I will return and send Finn to meet you." Then they brought forth the three hounds, and loosed them on the track of Dermat; and leaving one of their druids to attend to the three fettered chiefs, they followed the hounds till they came to the cave, where they found the soft, rushy bed of Dermat and Grania. From that they fared east, and crossing the Carra, and the Grey Moor of Finnlia, and the Laune, they reached at length the broad, heathy Slieve Lougher. As Dermat sat by the mountain stream with Grania and Modan, looking westward, he saw the silken banners of the foreigners at a distance as they approached the hill. In front of all marched three warriors with mantles of green, who held the three fierce hounds by three chains. And Dermat, when he saw the hounds, was filled with loathing and hatred of them. Then Modan lifted Grania, and walked a mile with Dermat up the stream into the heart of the mountain. When the green-clad warriors saw them, they loosed one of the three hounds; and when Grania heard his hoarse yelps down the valley, she was in great dread. But Modan bade her not fear, for that he would deal with this hound; and then, turning round, he drew forth from beneath his girdle a small hound-whelp, and placed it on the palm of his hand. There it stood till the great hound came up raging, with jaws wide open; when the little whelp leaped from Modan's hand down the dog's throat, and broke his heart, so that he fell dead. And after that the whelp leaped back again on Modan's hand; and Modan put him under his girdle. Then they walked another mile up the stream through the mountain, Modan bringing Grania. But the second hound was loosed, and soon overtook them; and Dermat said-- "I will try the Ga-derg on this hound. For no spell can guard against the magic spear of Angus of the Bruga; and I have heard it said also that there is no charm that can shield the throat of an animal from being wounded." Then, while Modan and Grania stood to look, Dermat, putting his finger into the silken loop of the spear, threw a cast, and drove the spear-head down the hound's throat, so that the entrails of the brute were scattered about; and Dermat, leaping forward, drew the spear, and followed Modan and Grania. After they had walked yet another mile, the third hound was loosed; and Grania, seeing him coming on, said, trembling-- "This is the fiercest of the three, and I greatly fear him; guard yourself, Dermat, guard yourself well against this hound!" Even while she spoke, the hound overtook them at the place called Duban's Pillar-stone; and as they stood looking back at him, Dermat stepped in front of Grania to shield her. The hound rose with a great spring over Dermat's head to seize Grania; but Dermat grasped him by the two hind legs as he passed, and, swinging him round, he struck his carcase against a rock and dashed out his brains. Then, putting his tapering finger into the silken string of the Ga-derg, he threw the spear at the foremost of the green-clad knights, and slew him. He made another cast of the Ga-boi and brought down the second warrior; and, drawing the Morallta, he sprang on the third, and swept off his head. When the foreigners saw their leaders slain, they fled hither and thither in utter rout. And Dermat fell upon them with sword and spear, scattering and slaughtering them, so that there seemed no escape for them, unless, indeed, they could fly over the tops of the trees, or hide themselves under the earth, or dive beneath the water. And when Derdri of the Black Mountain saw this havoc, she ran, panic-stricken and crazed with fright, off the field towards the hill where the three kings lay bound. Now as to Finn. Tidings were brought to him of what happened to the three sea-kings, and how they were lying bound in hard bonds on the hill over Tonn-Toma. So he set out straightway from Allen, and travelled by the shortest ways till he reached the hill. And when he saw the three champions, he was grieved to the heart; for he knew of old that the iron fetters bound by Dermat slew by slow torment, and that none could loose them except Oisin, or Oscar, or Mac Luga, or Conan Mail. And Finn asked Oisin to loose the bonds and relieve the kings. "I cannot do so," answered Oisin, "for Dermat bound me under gesa[12] never to loose any warrior that he should bind." He next asked Oscar; but the young warrior answered, "None shall be released by me who seeks to harm Dermat O'Dyna. Fain would I indeed put heavier bonds on them." And when he asked Mac Luga and Conan, they refused in like manner. Now while they were speaking in this wise, they saw the errand-woman, Derdri of the Black Mountain, running towards them, breathless and with failing steps, and her eyes starting from the sockets with terror. And Finn asked her what tidings she had brought. "Tidings indeed, O king, tidings of grievous mishap and woe!" Whereupon she told him all that she had seen--how Dermat O'Dyna had killed the three fierce hounds, and had made a slaughter of the foreigners. "And hardly, indeed," she cried, "hardly have I myself got off scathless with the news!" The three kings, hearing this, and being worn out with the straitness and torment of their bonds, died at the same moment. And Finn caused them to be buried in three wide graves; and flagstones were placed over them with their names graved in Ogam;[CXXI.] and their funeral rites were performed. Then, with heart full of grief and gall, Finn marched northwards with his men to Allen of the green hill-slopes. FOOTNOTES: [CXIX.] A usual form of challenge among the ancient Irish warriors. It is very curious that this custom is remembered to the present day in the _patois_ of the peasantry, even where the Irish language is no longer spoken. In the south, and in parts of the west, they call a distinguished fighting man a _buailim sciach_, an expression which means literally, "I strike the shield." [CXX.] Slieve Lougher, a mountain near Castle Island. (See note, page 237.) [CXXI.] See note, page 36. CHAPTER VII. SHARVAN, THE SURLY GIANT, AND THE FAIRY QUICKEN TREE OF DOOROS. Now touching Dermat and Grania. They travelled eastward from Slieve Lougher, through Hy Conall Gavra, keeping the Shannon on their left, till they reached the Wood of the two Sallow Trees, which is now called Limerick. Here they rested; and Dermat killed a wild deer, and they ate of its flesh, and drank pure spring water, and slept that night. Next morning Modan bade them farewell, and left them. And Dermat and Grania were sad after him, for he was very gentle, and had served them faithfully. On that same day they departed from the Wood of the two Sallows; and nothing is related of what befell them till they arrived at the Forest of Dooros, in the district of Hy Ficra[CXXII.] of the Moy, which was at that time guarded by Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann. Now this is the history of Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann. On a certain occasion, a game of hurley was played by the Dedannans against the Fena, on the plain beside the Lake of Lein of the Crooked Teeth.[CXXIII.] They played for three days and three nights, neither side being able to win a single goal from the other during the whole time. And when the Dedannans found that they could not overcome the Fena, they suddenly withdrew from the contest, and departed from the lake, journeying in a body northwards. The Dedannans had for food during the game, and for their journey afterwards, crimson nuts and arbutus apples and scarlet quicken berries, which they had brought from the Land of Promise.[CXXIV.] These fruits were gifted with many secret virtues; and the Dedannans were careful that neither apple nor nut nor berry should touch the soil of Erin. But as they passed through the Wood of Dooros, in Hy Ficra of the Moy, one of the scarlet quicken berries dropped on the earth; and the Dedannans passed on, not heeding. From this berry a great quicken tree[CXXV.] sprang up, which had the virtues of the quicken trees that grow in Fairyland. For its berries had the taste of honey, and those who ate of them felt a cheerful flow of spirits, as if they had drunk of wine or old mead; and if a man were even a hundred years old, he returned to the age of thirty, as soon as he had eaten three of them. Now when the Dedannans heard of this tree, and knew of its many virtues, they would not that any one should eat of the berries but themselves; and they sent a Fomor[CXXVI.] of their own people to guard it, namely, Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann; so that no man dared even to approach it. For this Sharvan was a giant of the race of the wicked Cain, burly and strong; with heavy bones, large, thick nose, crooked teeth, and one broad, red, fiery eye in the middle of his black forehead. And he had a great club tied by a chain to an iron girdle which was round his body. He was, moreover, so skilled in magic that fire could not burn him, water could not drown him, and weapons could not wound him; and there was no way to kill him but by giving him three blows of his own club. By day he sat at the foot of the tree, watching; and at night he slept in a hut he had made for himself, high up among the branches. Into this land Dermat came, knowing well that he should be safe there from the pursuit of Finn. For Sharvan did not let any of the Fena hunt in Hy Ficra. And neither they nor any others dared to come near the great Wood of Dooros, for dread of the giant; so that the land around the quicken tree for many miles was a wilderness. Dermat, leaving Grania behind in safe shelter, went boldly to the giant, where he sat at the foot of the tree, and told him he wished to live amidst the woods of Hy Ficra, and chase its wild animals for food. Whereupon the giant, bending his red eye on him, told him, in words few and surly, that he might live and hunt where he pleased, as long as he did not take and eat the berries of the quicken tree. So Dermat built him a hunting-booth near a spring, in the thick of the Forest of Dooros; and, clearing a space all round, fenced it with strong stakes interwoven with tough withes, leaving one narrow door well barred and secured. And they lived in peace for a time, eating the flesh of the wild animals of Dooros, which Dermat brought down each day in the chase, and drinking the water of the well. Now let us speak of Finn, the son of Cumal. One day, soon after his return to Allen, as he and his household troops were on the exercise green before the palace, a company of fifty horsemen were seen approaching from the east, led by two taller and nobler looking than the others. Having come near, they bowed low and greeted the king; and when he asked them who they were, and from whence they had come, they answered-- "We are enemies of thine, who now desire to make peace; and our names are Angus, the son of Art Mac Morna, and Aed, the son of Andala Mac Morna. Our fathers were present at the battle of Knocka,[27] aiding those who fought against thy father, Cumal, when he was slain; for which thou didst afterwards slay them both, and didst outlaw us, their sons, though indeed we were blameless in the matter, seeing that we were not born till after the death of Cumal. However, we have come now to ask this boon of thee: that thou make peace with us, and give us the places our fathers held in the ranks of the Fena." "I will grant your request," answered Finn, "provided you pay me eric for the death of my father." "We would indeed pay thee eric willingly if we could," answered they; "but we have neither gold, nor silver, nor cattle, nor wealth of any kind to give." And then Oisin spoke and said, "Ask them not for eric, O king; surely the death of their fathers should be eric enough." But Finn replied, "Of a truth, I think, Oisin, that if any one should slay me, it would not be hard to satisfy you in the matter of an eric. But, indeed, none of those who fought at Knocka against my father, and none of their sons, shall ever get peace from me, or join the Fena, without such eric as I demand." Then Angus, one of the two, asked, "What eric dost thou require, O king?" "I ask only one or the other of two things," answered Finn; "namely, the head of a warrior, or the full of my hand of the berries of a quicken tree." "I will give you counsel, ye sons of Morna, that will stand you in good stead, if you follow it," said Oisin, addressing the two strange chiefs; "and my counsel is, that you return to the place from whence you came, and seek this peace no longer. Know that the head the king seeks from you is the head of Dermat O'Dyna, the most dangerous of all the Fena to meddle with, who is well able to defend himself, even if you were twenty times as many as you are; and who will certainly take your heads if you attempt to take his. Know also that the berries Finn seeks from you are the berries of the quicken tree of Dooros. And it is hard to say if this be not a more perilous quest than the other; for the quicken tree belongs to the Dedannans, who have sent Sharvan, the surly giant of Lochlann, to guard it day and night." But the two chiefs, unmoved by what they had heard from Oisin, said that they would rather perish in seeking out the eric than return to their mother's country. So, leaving their people in the care of Oisin, they set out on their quest. They travelled through the Wood of the two Sallows, and from that to Dooros of the Moy, where they found the track of Dermat and Grania, and followed it till they came to the hunting-booth. Dermat heard their voices and footsteps outside, and, snatching up his weapons, went to the door and asked who was there. "We are Aed, the son of Andala Mac Morna, and Angus, the son of Art Mac Morna," they replied. "We have come hither from Allen of Leinster, to get either the head of Dermat O'Dyna, or a handful of the berries of the quicken tree of Dooros; for Finn, the son of Cumal, has demanded of us that we bring him either the one or the other, as an eric for the killing of his father." Dermat laughed when he heard this, and said, "Truly this is not pleasant news for me to hear, for I am Dermat O'Dyna. But however, friends, I am not willing to give you my head, and you will find it no easy matter to take it. And as for the berries, these are quite as hard to get; for you will have to fight the surly giant Sharvan, who cannot be burned with fire, or drowned with water, or wounded with weapons. But woe to the man who falls under the power of Finn, the son of Cumal. And you have come, methinks, on a bootless quest; for even if you should be able to bring him either of the two things he asks for, he will not grant you the place or the rank ye seek after all. And now," asked Dermat, "which of the two do ye wish to strive for first, my head or the quicken berries?" And they answered, "We will do battle with thee first." So Dermat opened the door, and they made ready for the combat. Now this is the manner in which they agreed to fight: to throw aside their weapons, and to use the strength of their hands alone. And if the sons of Morna were able to overcome Dermat, they should take his head to Finn; but if, on the other hand, they were overpowered and bound by Dermat, their heads should be in like manner forfeit to him. But the fight was, indeed, a short one; for these two chiefs were even as children in Dermat's hands, and he bound them in close and bitter bonds. Now when Grania heard of the berries of the quicken tree, she was seized with a longing desire to taste them. At first she strove against it and was silent, knowing the danger; but now she was not able to hide it any longer, and she told Dermat that she should certainly die if she did not get some of the berries to eat. This troubled Dermat, for he did not wish to quarrel with the giant Sharvan; but, seeing that harm might come to Grania if she did not get the berries, he told her he would go and get some for her, either by good will or by force. When the sons of Morna heard this, they said, "Loose these bonds, and we will go with thee and help thee to fight the giant." But Dermat answered, "Not much help, indeed, could ye give me, as I think, for the mere sight of this giant would be enough to unman you. But even were it otherwise, I would not seek your help, for if I fight at all I shall fight unaided." And they said, "Even so, let us go. Our lives are now forfeit to thee, but grant us this request before we die, to let us see thee fight this giant." And he consented to this. So Dermat went straightway to the quicken tree, followed by the two sons of Morna; and he found the giant lying asleep at the foot of the tree. He dealt him a heavy blow to awaken him, and the giant, raising his head, glared at him with his great red eye, and said-- "There has been peace between us hitherto; do you now wish for strife?" "I seek not strife," answered Dermat; "but the Princess Grania, my wife, the daughter of king Cormac Mac Art, longs to taste of these quicken berries; and if she does not get them she will die. This is why I have come; and now I pray you give me a few of the berries for the princess." But the giant answered, "I swear that if the princess and her child were now dying, and that one of my berries would save them, I would not give it!" Then Dermat said, "I do not wish to deal unfairly with you; and I have accordingly awakened you from your sleep, and made my request openly, wishing for peace. But now understand that before I leave this spot, I will have some of these quicken berries, whether you will or no." When the giant heard this, he rose up, and, seizing his club, dealt Dermat three great blows, which the hero had much ado to ward off; nor did he escape without some hurt, even though his shield was tough and his arm strong. But now, watching narrowly, and seeing that the giant expected to be attacked with sword and spear, he suddenly threw down his weapons and sprang upon him, taking him unguarded. He threw his arms round his body, and, heaving him with his shoulder, hurled him with mighty shock to the earth; and then, seizing the heavy club, he dealt him three blows, dashing out his brains with the last. Dermat sat down to rest, weary and breathless. And the sons of Morna, having witnessed the fight from beginning to end, came forth rejoiced when they saw the giant slain. Dermat told them to drag the body into the wood and bury it out of sight, lest Grania might see it and be affrighted; and when they had done so, he sent them for the princess. When she had come, Dermat said to her-- "Behold the quicken berries, Grania: take now and eat." But she answered, "I will eat no berries except those that are plucked by the hands of my husband." So Dermat stood up and plucked the berries; and Grania ate till she was satisfied. And he also plucked some for the sons of Morna, and said-- "Take these berries now, friends, as much as you please, and pay your eric to Finn; and you may, if you are so minded, tell him that it was you who slew Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann." They answered, "We will bring to Finn as much as he demanded, one handful and no more; and we grudge even so much." Then they thanked Dermat very much; for he had given them the berries, what they should never have been able to get for themselves; and though their lives were forfeit to him, he had not so much as mentioned the matter, but had allowed them to return freely. And after bidding Dermat and Grania farewell, they went their ways. After that Dermat left his hunting-booth, and he and Grania lived thenceforth in Sharvan's hut among the branches. And they found the berries on the top of the tree the most delicious of all; those on the lower branches being as it were bitter in comparison. When the sons of Morna reached Allen, Finn asked them how they had fared, and whether they had brought him the eric: and they answered-- "Sharvan, the surly giant of Lochlann, is slain; and here we have brought thee the berries of the quicken tree of Dooros as eric for the death of thy father, Cumal, that we may have peace from thee, and be placed in our due rank among the Fena." Finn took the berries and knew them; and he smelled them three times, and said-- "These, indeed, are the berries of the quicken tree of Dooros; but they have passed through the hands of Dermat O'Dyna, for I smell his touch. And sure I am that it was Dermat, and not you, who slew Sharvan, the surly giant. It shall profit you nothing, indeed, to have brought me these berries; neither will you get from me the peace you seek, nor your place among the Fena, till you pay me fair eric for my father's death. For you have gotten the berries not by your own strength; and you have, besides, made peace with my enemy. And now I shall go to the Wood of Dooros, to learn if Dermat abides near the quicken tree." After this he gathered together the choice men of the seven battalions of the Fena, and marched with them to Dooros of Hy Ficra. They followed Dermat's track to the foot of the quicken tree, and found the berries without any one to guard them; and they ate of them as much as they pleased. Now it was noon when they had come to the tree; and the sun shone hot, and Finn said-- "We shall rest under this tree till evening come, and the heat pass away; for well I know that Dermat O'Dyna is on the tree among the branches." And Oisin said, "Truly your mind must be blinded by jealousy, if you think that Dermat O'Dyna has waited for you on that tree, since he knows well that you seek his head." Finn answered nothing to this speech, but called for a chess-board and men.[26] And he and Oisin sat down to a game; while Oscar and Mac Luga and Dering, the son of Dobar O'Baskin, sat near Oisin to advise him; for Finn played against them all. They played on for a time warily and skilfully, till at last Oisin had only one move to make; and Finn said-- "One move more would win you the game, Oisin, but I challenge all your helpers to show you that move." And Oisin was puzzled. Dermat had been viewing the game from the beginning, where he sat among the branches; and he said, speaking to himself-- "Pity that you should be in a strait, Oisin, and I not near to advise your move." Grania, sitting near, overheard him, and said, "It is a small matter whether Oisin win or lose a game; far worse is it for you to be in this hut, while the men of the seven battalions of the Fena are round about you, waiting to kill you." Then Dermat, not giving heed to Grania's words, plucked a berry, and, flinging it down with true aim, struck Oisin's chess-man--the man that should be moved. And Oisin moved the man, and won the game against Finn. The game was begun again, and it went on till it came to the same pass as before, Oisin having to make only one move to win, but that move hard to make out. And again Dermat threw a berry and struck the right man; and Oisin made the move, and won the game. A third time the game went on, and Dermat struck the chess-man as before; and Oisin won the game the third time. Whereupon the Fena raised a mighty shout. "I marvel not that you should win the game, Oisin," said Finn, "seeing that you have the best help of Oscar, and the zeal of Dering, and the skill of Mac Luga; and that, along with all, you have been prompted by Dermat O'Dyna." "It shows a mind clouded by great jealousy," said Oscar, "that you should think that Dermat O'Dyna is in that tree waiting for you to kill him." "Which of us tells truth, Dermat," said Finn, looking up, "Oscar or I?" "You, Finn, have never yet erred in your judgment," answered Dermat from the tree; "for indeed I am here with the princess Grania, in the hut of Sharvan, the surly giant of Lochlann." And, looking up, Finn and the others saw them plainly through an opening in the branches. But now Grania, seeing the danger, began to tremble with great fear, and to weep; and Dermat, taking pity on her, comforted her and kissed her three times. And Finn, seeing this, said, "Much more than this did it grieve me the night you espoused Grania, and brought her away from Tara before all the men of Erin; but even for these kisses you shall certainly pay quittance with your head!" Whereupon Finn, being now bent on killing Dermat, arose, and ordered his hirelings to surround the tree, catching hand in hand, so as to leave no gap; and he warned them, on pain of death, not to let Dermat pass out. Having done this, he offered a suit of armour and arms, and a high place of honour among the Fena, to any man who would go up into the tree, and either bring him the head of Dermat O'Dyna, or force him to come down. Garva of Slieve Cua[CXXVII.] started up and said, "Lo, I am the man! For it was Dermat's father, Donn, that slew my father; and I will now avenge the deed." And he went up the tree. Now it was revealed to Angus of the Bruga that Dermat was in deadly strait; and he came to the tree to his aid, without the knowledge of the Fena; and Dermat and Grania were filled with joy when they saw the old man. And when Garva, climbing from branch to branch, had come near the hut, Dermat dealt him a blow with his foot, which dashed him to the ground among the Fena. And Finn's hirelings cut off his head on the spot, for Angus had caused him to take the shape of Dermat; but after he was slain he took his own shape, so that all knew that it was Garva of Slieve Cua that had been killed. Then Garva of Slieve Crot[CXXVIII.] said, "It was Dermat's father, Donn, that slew my father; and I will now avenge the deed on Dermat." So saying, he went up the tree. But Angus gave him a blow which hurled him to the ground under the shape of Dermat, so that the hirelings fell on him and slew him. And then Finn told them that it was not Dermat they had killed, but Garva of Slieve Cua. Garva of Slieve Gora[CXXIX.] next started up, and said that his father had been slain by Dermat's father; and he began to climb up the tree to take Dermat's head in revenge. But Dermat flung him down like the others, while Angus gave him for the time the shape of Dermat, so that the hirelings slew him. And so matters went on till the nine Garvas had fallen; namely, Garva of Slieve Cua, Garva of Slieve Crot, Garva of Slieve Gora, Garva of Slieve Mucka,[CXXX.] Garva of Slieve-more, Garva of Slieve Luga, Garva of Ath-free, Garva of Slieve Mish, and Garva of Drom-more. And full of grief and bitterness was the heart of Finn, witnessing this. Then Angus said he would take Grania away from that place of danger. And Dermat was glad, and said-- "Take her with thee; and if I live till evening I will follow you. But if Finn slays me, send her to Tara to her father, and tell him to use her well." Then Dermat kissed his dear wife; and Angus, having thrown his mantle round her, passed out from the tree without the knowledge of the Fena, and went straightway to Bruga of the Boyne. After Angus and Grania had gone, Dermat, addressing Finn from the tree, said-- "I will now go down from this tree; and I will slaughter many of thy hirelings before they slay me. For I see that thou art resolved to compass my death; and why should I fear to die now more than at a future time? There is, indeed, no escape for me, even should I pass from this place unharmed; since I can find no shelter in Erin from thy wrath. Neither have I a friend in the far-off countries of this great world to give me protection, seeing that I have from time to time dealt defeat and slaughter among them, every one, for thy sake. For never have the Fena been caught in any strait or danger, that I did not venture my life for them and for thee. When we went to battle, moreover, I was always in front of you; and I was always behind you when leaving the field. And now I care no longer to seek to prolong my life; but of a certainty thou shalt purchase my death dearly, for I shall avenge myself by dealing destruction among thy hirelings." "Dermat speaks truly," said Oscar; "and now let him have mercy and forgiveness; for he has suffered enough already." "I swear that I will never grant him peace or forgiveness to the end of my life," answered Finn, "till he has given me the eric I seek from him for the injury he has done me; that is to say, his head." "Shame it is to hear thee say so, and a sure mark of jealousy," answered Oscar. "And now I take the body and life of Dermat under the protection of my knighthood and valour; and I pledge the word of a true champion, that sooner shall the firmament fall on me, or the earth open up and swallow me, than that I shall let any man harm Dermat O'Dyna!" Then, looking upwards, he said, "Come down now, Dermat, and thou shalt certainly go in safety from this place; for as long as I am alive, no man will dare to offer thee hurt!" Then Dermat, choosing that side of the tree where the men stood nearest to the trunk, walked along a thick branch unseen, and, leaning on the shafts of his spears, he sprang forward and downward with a light, airy bound, and alighted outside the circle of those who stood round with joined hands; and in a moment he was beyond the reach of sword and spear. And Oscar joined him, looking back threateningly, so that no man of Finn's hirelings durst follow. So the two heroes fared on together, crossing the Shannon; and nothing is told of what befell them till they reached Bruga of the Boyne, where they met Angus and Grania. And Grania was almost beside herself with joy when she saw Dermat without wound or hurt of any kind. And the two champions were welcomed by Angus; and Dermat related to him and Grania the whole story, how he had escaped from Finn and his hirelings, Oscar helping. And as Grania listened, her spirit almost left her, at the deadly peril Dermat had passed through. FOOTNOTES: [CXXII.] Hy Ficra, now the barony of Tireragh, in Sligo. [CXXIII.] The Lake of Lein of the Crooked Teeth, _i.e._ Loch Lein, or the Lakes of Killarney. [CXXIV.] The Land of Promise, or Fairyland. (See note 8 at the end.) [CXXV.] Quicken tree. (See note, page 177.) [CXXVI.] Fomor, a giant. (See note, page 227.) [CXXVII.] Slieve Cua, the ancient name of the highest of the Knockmeal-down mountains, in Waterford. [CXXVIII.] Slieve Crot, the ancient name of the Galty mountains. [CXXIX.] Slieve Gora, a mountainous district in the barony of Clankee, County Cavan. [CXXX.] Slieve Mucka, now Slievenamuck (the mountain of the pig), a long mountain ridge in Tipperary, separated from the Galties by the Glen of Aherlow. Slieve Luga, a mountainous district, formerly belonging to the O'Garas, in the barony of Costello, county Mayo. Slieve Mish, a mountain range west of Tralee. CHAPTER VIII. THE ATTACK OF THE WITCH-HAG. Now as regards Finn. After the departure of Dermat and Oscar, his heart was filled with anger and bitterness, and he vowed he would never rest till he had revenged himself on Dermat. And, leaving the Wood of Dooros, he marched eastward till he reached Allen. Making no delay, he ordered his trusted servants to make ready his best ship, and to put therein food and drink for a voyage. Then going on board, he put out to sea; and nothing is told of him till he reached the Land of Promise,[8] where his old nurse lived. When he appeared before her, she gave him a joyful welcome. And after he had eaten and drunk, she asked him the cause of his journey, knowing that some weighty matter had brought him thither. So he told her the whole story of what Dermat O'Dyna had done against him; and said that he had come to seek counsel from her how he should act. "For," he said, "no strength or cunning of men can compass his death; magic alone can overmatch him." Then the old woman told him that she would go with him next day and work magic against Dermat. Whereupon Finn was much rejoiced, and they rested that night. Next day, they set out, Finn and his people and his nurse; and it is not told how they fared till they reached Bruga of the Boyne. And the men of Erin knew not that they had come thither, for the witch-hag threw a druidical mist round them, so that no man might see them. It chanced that Dermat hunted that day in the forest, alone; for Oscar had gone from Bruga the day before. When this was known to the witch-hag, she caused herself to fly into the air by magic, on a water-lily, having by her spells turned the pale flat leaf into a broad millstone with a hole in the middle. And, rising over the tops of the trees, she floated on the clear, cold wind, till she had come straight over the hero. Then, standing on the flat millstone, she began to aim deadly poisoned darts at him through the hole. And no distress Dermat ever suffered could compare with this; for the darts stung him even through his shield and armour, the witch having breathed venomous spells on them. Seeing at last that there was no escape from death unless he could slay the witch-hag, he seized the Ga-derg, and, leaning backwards, flung it with sure aim at the millstone, so that it went right through the hole, and pierced the hag; and she fell dead at Dermat's feet. Then he beheaded her, and brought the head to Angus of the Bruga; and he related to him and to Grania how he had escaped that great danger. CHAPTER IX. PEACE AND REST AT LAST. Angus arose next morning, and, going to Finn, asked him whether he would make peace with Dermat. Finn, seeing that he was worsted in every attempt against the hero, and that moreover he had lost his nurse and many of his men, told Angus that he was weary of the quarrel, and that he was fain to make peace on whatever terms Dermat should choose. He next went to Tara to the king, Cormac, the grandson of Conn. Him he asked in like manner whether he was willing to grant Dermat peace and forgiveness; and Cormac answered that he was quite willing. Then he came to Dermat and said, "Peace is better for thee: art thou willing now to be at peace with Finn and Cormac?" And Dermat answered, "Gladly will I make peace, if they grant me such conditions as befit a champion and the husband of the princess Grania." And when Angus asked what these conditions were, he answered-- "The cantred which my father had, that is to say, the cantred of O'Dyna,[CXXXI.] without rent or tribute to the king of Erin; also the cantred of Ben-Damis,[CXXXII.] namely, Ducarn of Leinster. These two to be granted to me by Finn; and he shall not hunt over them, nor any of his Fena, without my leave. And the king of Erin shall grant me the cantred of Kesh-Corran,[CXXXIII.] as a dowry with his daughter. On these conditions will I make peace." Angus went to Finn, and afterwards to the king, with these conditions. And they granted them, and forgave Dermat all he had done against them during the time he was outlawed. So they made peace. And Cormac gave his other daughter to Finn to wife. Dermat and Grania went to live in the cantred of Kesh-Corran, far away from Finn and Cormac; and they built a house for themselves, namely, Rath-Grania, in which they abode many years in peace. And Grania bore Dermat four sons and one daughter. And his possessions increased year by year, insomuch that people said that no man of his time was richer than Dermat, in gold and silver and jewels, in sheep, and in cattle-herds. FOOTNOTES: [CXXXI.] The cantred of O'Dyna, now the barony of Corkaguiny, in Kerry. (See note, page 237.) [CXXXII.] The cantred of Ben-Damis, or Ducarn of Leinster, probably the district round Douce mountain, in the county Wicklow. [CXXXIII.] The district round the mountain of Kesh-Corran, in Sligo. CHAPTER X. THE DEATH OF DERMAT. Now when many years had passed, Grania said one day to Dermat-- "It is surely a thing unworthy of us, seeing the greatness of our household and our wealth, and the number of our folk, that we should live in a manner so much removed from the world. And in a special manner it is unbecoming that the two most illustrious men in Erin have never been in our house, namely, my father the king, and Finn the son of Cumal." For indeed she had not seen her father since the night she had left Tara with Dermat, and her heart yearned for him. "Wherefore say you this, Grania?" answered Dermat; "for though there is indeed peace between us, they are both none the less enemies of mine; and for this reason have I removed my dwelling far apart from them." And Grania said, "Their enmity has surely softened with length of time: and now I would that you give them a feast: so shall we win back their friendship and love." And in an evil hour Dermat consented. For a full year were they preparing for that great feast, and when it was ready, messengers were sent to invite the king, with his house-folk, and Finn, with the chief men of the seven batallions of the Fena. So they came, with their attendants and followers, their horses and dogs; and they lived for a whole year in Rath-Grania, hunting and feasting. It chanced one night, at the end of the year, long after all had gone to rest, that Dermat heard, through the silence of the night, the distant yelping of a hound; and he started up from his sleep. But Grania, being scared, started up also, and, throwing her arms round him, asked him what he had seen. "I have heard the voice of a hound," answered Dermat; "and I marvel much to hear it at midnight." "May all things guard thee from harm!" said Grania. "This is surely a trap laid for thee by the Dedannans, unknown to Angus of the Bruga: and now lie down on thy bed again." Dermat lay down, but did not sleep, and again he heard the hound's voice. He started up, and this time was fain to go and look to the matter; but Grania caught him and kept him back a second time, saying that it was not meet for him to seek a hound whose voice he heard in the night. A gentle slumber now fell on Dermat, and he slept through a good part of the night. But the yelping of the hound came a third time, and awakened him, so that he started up; and it being now broad day, he told Grania that he would go to seek the hound, and find out why he was abroad in the night. And though Grania consented, she felt, she knew not why, ill at ease; and she said-- "Bring with you the Morallta, the sword of Mannanan Mac Lir, and the Ga-derg,[A] Angus's spear; for there may be danger." But Dermat, regarding the matter lightly, and forced by fate to the worse choice, answered-- "How can danger arise from such a small affair? I will bring the Begallta and the Ga-boi;[CXXXIV.] and I will also bring my good hound Mac-an-coill, leading him by his chain." So Dermat went forth, and he delayed not till he reached the summit of Ben-Gulban,[CXXXV.] where he found Finn; and Dermat, offering him no salute, asked him who it was that held the chase. Finn answered-- "Some of our men came out from Rath-Grania at midnight with their hounds; and one of the hounds coming across the track of a wild boar, both men and dogs have followed it up. I indeed would have held them back, but the men were eager, and left me here alone. For this is the track of the wild boar of Ben-Gulban, and they who follow him are bent on a vain and dangerous pursuit. Often has he been chased; and he has always escaped, after killing many men and dogs. Even now thou canst see in the distance that the Fena are flying before him; and he has slain several this morning. He is coming towards this hillock where we stand; and the sooner we get out of his way the better." But Dermat said he would not leave the hillock through fear of any wild boar. "It is not meet that thou shouldst tarry here," answered Finn. "Dost thou not know that thou art under gesa[12] never to hunt a boar?" Dermat answered, "I know nothing of these gesa; wherefore were they placed on me?" And Finn said, "I will tell thee of this matter, for well do I remember it. When thou wert taken to Bruga of the Boyne, to be fostered by Angus, the son of Angus's steward was fostered with thee, that he might be a companion and playmate to thee. Now the steward, being a man of the common sort, agreed to send each day to Bruga, food and drink for nine men, as a price for having his son fostered with thee--thy father, Donn, being one of the nobles of the Fena. And thy father was accordingly permitted to visit the house of Angus when it pleased him, with eight companions, and claim the food sent by the steward; and when he did not come, it was to be given to Angus's house-folk. "It chanced on a certain day that I was at Allen of the broad hill-slopes, with the chief men of the seven battalions of the Fena. And Bran Beg O'Bucan brought to my mind, what indeed I had forgotten, that it was forbidden to me to sleep at Allen more than nine nights one after another, and that the next would be the tenth. "Now this restriction had not been placed on any of the Fena save myself, and they all went into the hall except thy father and a few others. Then I asked where we should get entertainment for that night. And thy father, Donn, answered that he would give me entertainment at Bruga of the Boyne; where food and drink awaited himself and his companions whenever he visited Angus. Donn said, moreover, that he had not been to see his son for a year, and that we were sure to get a welcome. "So Donn and I and the few that were with us went to the house of Angus, bringing our hounds; and Angus welcomed us. And thou and the steward's son were there, two children. After a while we could see that Angus loved thee, Dermat, very much, but that the house-folk loved the son of the steward; and thy father was filled with jealousy, that the people should show fondness for him and not for thee. "After night had fallen, it chanced that our hounds quarrelled over some broken meat we had thrown to them, and began to fight in the court; and the women and lesser people fled from them hither and thither. The son of the steward happened to run between thy father's knees, who, calling now to mind how the people favoured him more than thee, gave him a sudden strong squeeze with his knees, and killed him on the spot. And, without being seen by any one, he threw him under the feet of the hounds. "When at last the dogs were put asunder, the child was found dead; and the steward uttered a long, mournful cry. Then he came to me and said-- "'Of all the men in Angus's house to-night, I have come worst out of this uproar; for this boy was my only child. And now, O Finn, I demand eric from thee for his death; for thy hounds have slain him.' "I told him to examine the body of his son, and that if he found the mark of a hound's tooth or nail, I would give him eric. So the child was examined, but no hurt--either bite or scratch--was found on him. "Then the steward laid me under fearful bonds of druidical gesa,[12] to find out for him who slew his son. So I called for a chess-board and some water, and, having washed my hands, I put my thumb under my tooth of knowledge;[25] and then it was revealed to me that the boy had been slain by thy father. Not wishing to make this known, I now offered to pay eric for the boy; but the steward refused, saying that he should know who killed his son. So I was forced to tell him: whereupon he said-- "'It is easier for Donn to pay me eric than for any other man in this house. And the eric I demand is that his son be placed between my knees: if the lad gets off safe, then I shall follow up the matter no further.' "Angus was very wroth at this; and thy father would have struck off the steward's head if I had not come between and saved him. "The steward said no more, but went aside and brought forth a druidical magic wand, and, striking his son with it, he turned him into a great bristly wild boar, having neither ears nor tail. And, holding the wand aloft, he chanted this incantation over the boar-- "By this magical wand, By the wizard's command, I appoint and decree, For Dermat and thee, The same bitter strife, The same span of life: In the pride of his strength, Thou shalt slay him at length: Lo, Dermat O'Dyna Lies stretched in his gore; Behold my avengers, The tusks of the boar! And thus is decreed, For Donn's cruel deed, Sure vengeance to come-- His son's bloody doom; By this wand in my hand, By the wizard's command! "The moment he had ended the incantation, the boar rushed out through the open door, and we knew not whither he betook himself. "When Angus heard the steward's words, he laid a command on thee never to hunt a wild boar, that so thou mightest avoid the doom foretold for thee. "That same boar is the wild boar of Binbulbin; and he is now rushing furiously towards us. Come, then, let us leave this hill at once, that we may avoid him in time!" "I know nothing of these incantations and prohibitions," replied Dermat; "or if, as thou sayest, they were put on me in my boyhood, I forget them all now. And neither for fear of this wild boar of Ben-Gulban nor of any other wild beast will I leave this hillock. But thou, before thou goest, leave me thy hound, Bran, to help and encourage my dog, Mac-an-coill." "I will not leave him," answered Finn; "for often has Bran chased this boar, and has always barely escaped with his life. And now I leave; for lo, here he comes over yonder hill-shoulder." So Finn went his ways, and left Dermat standing alone on the hill. And after he had left Dermat said-- "I fear me, indeed, that thou hast begun this chase hoping that it would lead to my death. But here will I await the event; for if I am fated to die in this spot, I cannot avoid the doom in store for me." Immediately the boar came rushing up the face of the hill, with the Fena following far behind. Dermat loosed Mac-an-coill against him, but to no profit; for the hound shied and fled before him at the first glance. Then Dermat said, communing with himself-- "Woe to him who does not follow the advice of a good wife! For this morning Grania bade me bring the Morallta and the Ga-derg; but I brought instead the Begallta and the Ga-boi, disregarding her counsel." Then, putting his white taper finger into the silken loop of the Ga-boi, he threw it with careful aim, and struck the boar in the middle of the forehead; but to no purpose, for the spear fell harmless to the ground, having neither wounded nor scratched the boar, nor disturbed even a single bristle. Seeing this, Dermat, though indeed he knew not fear, felt his courage a little damped. And thereupon drawing the Begallta from its sheath, he dealt a blow on the boar's neck, with the full strength of his brawny arm. But neither did he fare better this time; for the sword flew in pieces, leaving the hilt in his hand, while not a bristle of the boar was harmed. And now the boar rushed on him as he stood defenceless, and with furious onset hurled him headlong to the earth; and, turning round, he gashed the hero's side with his tusk, inflicting a deep and ghastly wound. Turning again, he was about to renew the attack, when Dermat flung the hilt of the sword at him, and drove it through the skull to his brain, so that the brute fell dead on the spot. Finn and the Fena now came up, and found Dermat lying pale and bleeding, in the pangs of death. And Finn said-- "It likes me well, Dermat, to see thee in this plight; only I am grieved that all the women of Erin cannot see thee also. For now, indeed, the surpassing beauty of thy form, that they loved so well, is gone from thee, and thou art pale and deformed!" And Dermat answered, "Alas, O Finn! these words surely come from thy lips only, and not from thy heart. And indeed it is in thy power to heal me even now if thou wilt." "How should I heal thee?" asked Finn. "It is not hard for thee to do so," answered Dermat. "For when, at the Boyne, the noble gift of foreknowledge was given to thee,[25] this gift also thou didst receive--that to whomsoever thou shouldst give a drink of water from the closed palms of thy two hands, he should be healed from sickness or wounds, even though he stood at the point of death." "Why should I heal thee by giving thee drink from my hands?" replied Finn. "For of a certainty thou of all men dost least deserve it from me." "Thou surely speakest hastily, not remembering past services," answered Dermat. "Well, indeed, do I deserve that thou shouldst heal me. Dost thou forget the day thou didst go with the chiefs and nobles of the Fena, to the house of Derca, the son of Donnara, to a banquet? And even as we sat down, and before the feast began, Carbri of the Liffey, son of Cormac, with the men of Tara, and of Bregia, and of Meath, and of Carmna, surrounded the palace, intent on slaying thee and all thy people. And they uttered three great shouts, and threw firebrands to burn the palace over our heads. Then thou didst arise and prepare to issue forth, but I put thee back and bade thee enjoy thy feast; and, leaving the banquet untasted, I rushed forth with a chosen few of my own men, and quenched the flames. Thrice we made a circuit of the palace, dealing slaughter amongst thy foes, so that we left fifty of them dead after each circuit. And having put Carbri and his men to flight, we returned to join the feast. Had I asked thee for a drink that night, gladly wouldst thou have given it to me. And yet, not more justly was it due to me then than it is now." "Ill dost thou deserve a healing drink from me, or any other favour," said Finn; "for it was thy part to guard Grania the night we came to Tara; but thou didst espouse her secretly, and didst fly with her from Tara, knowing that she was betrothed to me." "Lay not the blame of that on me," said Dermat; "for Grania put me under heavy gesa, which for all the wealth of the world I would not break through--no, not even for life itself. Neither did I rest on my own judgment in the matter; for well thou knowest that Oisin, and Oscar, and Dering, and Mac Luga counselled me to the course I took. "And now, O Finn, I pray thee let me drink from thy hands, for I feel the weakness of death coming on me. And thou wilt not gainsay that I deserve it, if thou wilt only remember the feast that Midac, the son of Colga, made for thee in the Fairy Palace of the Quicken Trees.[CXXXVI.] To this feast Midac invited thee and thy companions; while to the Palace of the Island he brought secretly the King of the World with a great host, and the three kings of the Island of the Torrent, with intent to slay thee and all thy Fena. "Now Midac caused some of the clay of the Island of the Torrent to be placed under you, with foul spells, in the Palace of the Quicken Trees, so that your feet and your hands clove to the ground. And it was revealed to thee that the King of the World was about to send a chief with a troop of warriors, to slay you, helpless as you were, and to bring him your heads to the Palace of the Island. "But at that same time, I came to thee outside the Palace of the Quicken Trees; and thou didst make known to me your deadly strait. Then did I take thee, Finn, and those who were with thee, under the protection of my knighthood and valour; and I went to the ford to defend it against the foreigners. "And after a little time the three dragon-like kings of the Island of the Torrent came towards the palace: but I defended the ford, and, venturing my life for thee, I bore their attack and slew them all three. And I swept off their heads, and brought them, all gory as they were, in the hollow of my shield, to the palace where you lay miserably bound; and, sprinkling the clay with the blood, I broke the spell and set you free. And had I asked thee for a drink on that night, O Finn, of a surety thou wouldst not have refused me. "And many another deadly strait did I free you from, since the day I was admitted among the Fena, always putting myself forward to the post of danger, and perilling my life for your safety; and now why dost thou requite me with this foul treachery? "Moreover, many a king's son and many a brave warrior hast thou slain; and thou hast earned the enmity of powerful foes: neither is there yet an end of it. For the day will come--I see it even now--a day of direful overthrow and slaughter,[CXXXVII.] when few, alas! of the Fena will be left to tell the tale. Then thou shalt sorely need my help, O Finn, and sorely shalt thou rue this day. I grieve not, indeed, for thee, but for my dear, faithful companions--for Oscar and Mac Luga and Dering, and more than all for Oisin, who shall long outlive the others in sad old age.[CXXXVIII.] Alas! how deadly shall be their strait when I am not near to aid them!" Then Oscar, moved with pity even to tears, addressing Finn, said, "Although I am nearer akin to thee, O king, than to Dermat, yet I cannot suffer that he die, when a drink from thy hands would heal him. Bring him, then, a drink without delay." And Finn answered, "I know of no well on this mountain from which to bring drink." "Therein thou speakest not truth," said Dermat; "for thou knowest that not more than nine paces from thee, hidden under yonder bush, is a well of crystal water." Thereupon Finn went to the well, and, holding his two hands tightly together, he brought up some of the water, and came towards Dermat; but after he had walked a little way, he let it spill through his fingers, saying that he was not able to bring water in his hands so far. "Not so, Finn," said Dermat. "I saw thee that of thy own will thou didst let it spill. And now, O king, hasten, for death is on me." Again he went to the well, and was bringing the water slowly, while Dermat followed the dripping hands with his eyes; but when Finn thought of Grania he let the water spill a second time. And Dermat, seeing this, uttered a piteous sigh of anguish. And now was Oscar no longer able to contain his grief and rage; and he said, "I swear, O king, if thou dost not bring the water, that only one of us two--thou or I--shall leave this hill alive!" Hearing Oscar's words, and seeing the frowning looks of the others, Finn dipped up the water a third time, and was hastening forward; but before he had got half-way, Dermat's head dropped backwards, and his life departed. And all the Fena present raised three long loud cries of sorrow for Dermat O'Dyna. Then Oscar, looking fiercely on Finn, spoke and said, "Would that thou thyself lay dead here instead of Dermat! For now indeed the noblest heart of the Fena is still; and our mainstay in battle and danger is gone. Ah! why did I not foresee this? Why was I not told that Dermat's life was linked with the life of the wild boar of Ben-Gulban? Then would I have stayed this chase, and put off the evil day!" And Oscar wept; and Oisin, and Dering, and Mac Luga wept also, for Dermat was much loved by all. After a time, Finn said, "Let us now leave this hill, lest Angus of the Bruga overtake us. For although we had no hand in Dermat's death, nevertheless he may not believe us." So Finn and the Fena departed from the hill, Finn leading Dermat's dog, Mac-an-coill. But Oisin, and Oscar, and Dering, and Mac Luga turned back, and with tears, threw their mantles over Dermat; after which they followed the others. Grania sat that day on the highest rampart of Rath-Grania, watching for Dermat's return; for a dark fear haunted her mind on account of this chase. And when at last the Fena came in view, she saw Dermat's dog led by Finn; but not seeing Dermat himself, she said-- "Ah me! what is this I see? Surely if Dermat were alive, it is not by Finn that Mac-an-coill would be led to his home!" And as she spoke she fell forward off the rampart, and lay long in a swoon as if her spirit had fled, while her handmaid stood over her, weeping and distracted. And when at last she opened her eyes, then indeed they told her that Dermat was dead; and she uttered a long and piteous cry, so that her women and all the people of the court came round her to ask the cause of her sorrow. And when they were told that Dermat had perished by the wild boar of Ben-Gulban, they raised three loud, bitter cries of lamentation, which were heard in the glens and wildernesses around, and which pierced the clouds of heaven. When at length Grania became calm, she ordered that five hundred of her people should go to Ben-Gulban, to bring home the body of Dermat. Then, turning to Finn, who still held Mac-an-coill in his hand, she asked him to leave her Dermat's hound; but Finn refused, saying that a hound was a small matter, and that he might be allowed to inherit at least so much of Dermat's riches. When Oisin heard this, he came forward and took the hound from the hand of Finn and gave him to Grania. At the time that the men left Rath-Grania to go for the body of Dermat, it was revealed to Angus that the hero was lying dead on Ben-Gulban. And he set out straightway, and travelling on the pure, cool wind, soon reached the mountain; so that when Grania's people came up, they found him standing over the body, sorrowing, with his people behind him. And they held forward the wrong sides of their shields in token of peace. Then both companies, having viewed the dead hero, raised three mighty cries of sorrow, so loud and piercing that they were heard in the wastes of the firmament, and over the five provinces of Erin. And when they had ceased, Angus spoke and said, "Alas! why did I abandon thee, even for once, O my son? For from the day I took thee to Bruga, a tender child, I have watched over thee and guarded thee from thy foes, until last night. Ah! why did I abandon thee to be decoyed to thy doom by the guileful craft of Finn? By my neglect hast thou suffered, O Dermat; and now, indeed, I shall for ever feel the bitter pangs of sorrow!" Then Angus asked Grania's people what they had come for. And when they told him that Grania had sent them to bring the body of Dermat to Rath-Grania, he said-- "I will bring the body of Dermat with me to Bruga of the Boyne; and I will keep him on his bier, where he shall be preserved by my power, as if he lived. And though I cannot, indeed, restore him to life, yet I will breathe a spirit into him, so that for a little while each day he shall talk with me." Then he caused the body to be placed on a golden bier, with the hero's javelins fixed one on each side, points upwards. And his people raised the bier and carried it before him; and in this manner they marched slowly to Bruga of the Boyne. Grania's people then returned; and when they had told her the whole matter, though she was grieved at first, yet in the end she was content, knowing how Angus loved Dermat. FOOTNOTES: [CXXXIV.] See note, page 302. [CXXXV.] Now Benbulbin, a mountain five miles north of the town of Sligo. [CXXXVI.] See this story told at length, page 177. [CXXXVII.] A prophetic allusion to the battle of Gavra. (See note 28 at the end.) [CXXXVIII.] A prophetic allusion to the events related in the story of "Oisin in Tirnanoge," page 385. THE CHASE OF SLIEVE CULLINN. IN WHICH IT IS RELATED HOW FINN'S HAIR WAS CHANGED IN ONE DAY FROM THE COLOUR OF GOLD TO SILVERY GREY.[CXXXIX.] Culand, the smith of the Dedannans,[1] who lived at Slieve Cullinn,[CXL.] had two beautiful daughters, Milucra and Aina. They both loved Finn,[23] and each sought him for her husband. As they walked together one evening near Allen,[CXLI.] they fell to talking of many things; and their conversation turning at last on their future husbands, Aina said she would never marry a man with grey hair. When Milucra heard this, she resolved with herself that if she could not get Finn, she would plan so that he should not marry her sister Aina. So she departed immediately, and, turning her steps northwards, she summoned the Dedannans to meet her at Slieve Cullinn. Having brought them all together, she caused them to make her a lake[CXLII.] near the top of the mountain; and she breathed a druidical virtue on its waters, that all who bathed in it should become grey. On a morning not long after this, Finn happened to be walking alone on the lawn before the palace of Allen, when a doe sprang out from a thicket, and, passing quite close to him, bounded past like the wind. Without a moment's delay, he signalled for his companions and dogs; but none heard except his two hounds, Bran and Skolan. He instantly gave chase, with no other arms than his sword, Mac-an-Lona, and accompanied only by his two dogs; and before the Fena[23] knew of his absence, he had left Allen of the green slopes far behind. The chase turned northwards; and though the hounds kept close to the doe, the chief kept quite as close to the hounds the whole way. And so they continued without rest or pause, till they reached Slieve Cullinn, far in the north. Here the doe made a sudden turn and disappeared; and what direction she took, whether east or west, Finn knew not, for he never caught sight of her after. And he marvelled much that any doe in the world should be able to lead Bran and Skolan so long a chase, and escape from them in the end. Meantime they kept searching, Finn taking one side of the hill and the dogs another, so that he was at last left quite alone. While he was wandering about the hill and whistling for his hounds, he heard the plaintive cry of a woman at no great distance; and, turning his steps towards the place, he saw a lady sitting on the brink of a little lake, weeping as if her heart would break. Never before did the chieftain see a maiden so lovely. The rose colour on her cheeks was heightened by her grief; her lips were like ruddy quicken berries; the delicate blossom of the apple tree was not more white than her neck; her hair fell in heavy golden ringlets on her shoulders; and as she looked up at the chief, her eyes beamed like stars on a frosty night. Finn accosted her; and, seeing that she ceased her weeping for a moment, he asked her had she seen his two hounds pass that way. "I have not seen thy hounds," she replied, "nor have I been at all concerned in the chase; for, alas, there is something that troubles me more nearly, a misadventure that has caused me great sorrow!" And as she spoke these words, she burst out weeping and sobbing more bitterly than before. Finn was greatly moved at this, so much so, that he quite forgot all about his hounds and his own troubles; and he asked her-- "What is the cause of this great grief, gentle lady? Has death robbed you of your husband or your child, or what other evil has befallen you? I am much concerned to see a lady in such distress; and I wish you to tell me if anything can be done to lighten your sorrow, or to remove the cause of it?" She replied, "I had a precious gold ring on my finger, which I prized beyond anything in the world; and it has fallen from me into the water. I saw it roll down the steep slope at the bottom, till it went quite out of my sight. This is the cause of my sorrow, and thou canst remedy the mishap if thou wilt. The Fena are sworn never to refuse help to a woman in distress; and I now put on thee those gesa[12] that true heroes dare not break through, to search for the ring, and cease not till thou find it and restore it to me." Though the chief had indeed at the moment no inclination to swim, he could not refuse a prayer urged in this manner. So he plunged in without a moment's hesitation, and examined the lake on all sides, diving and searching into every nook and cranny at the bottom. After swimming in this manner three times round and round the lake, he found the ring at last; and, approaching the lady, he handed it to her from the water. The moment she had got it she sprang into the lake before his eyes, and, diving down, disappeared in an instant. The chief, wondering greatly at this strange behaviour, stepped forth from the water; but as soon as his feet had touched the dry land, he lost all his strength, and fell on the brink, a withered, grey old man, shrunken up and trembling all over with weakness. He sat him down in woful plight; and soon his hounds came up. They looked at him wistfully and sniffed and whined around him; but they knew him not, and, passing on, they ran round the lake, searching in vain for their master. On that day the Fena were assembled in the banquet hall of the palace of Allen; some feasting and drinking, some playing chess, and others listening to the sweet music of the harpers. While all were in this wise pleasantly engaged, Kylta Mac Ronan[23] stood up in the midst, and said in the hearing of all-- "I have observed, friends, that our master and king, Finn the son of Cumal, has not been amongst us to-day, as is his wont; and I wish to know whither he has gone." This speech caused a sudden alarm amongst us; for no one knew aught of the chief, or was aware till that moment that he was absent at all; and we knew not wherefore he had disappeared or whither he had gone. In the midst of our anxious tumult, the envious and foul-mouthed Conan Mail[23] stood up, and said-- "I have never heard sweeter music than your words, Kylta! The Fena are now about to seek for their king; and my only wish is that their quest may last for a whole year, and that it may prove a vain search in the end! Be not cast down, however, O Fena; if you should fail to find the son of Cumal, you will not be so ill off as you think; for I will undertake to be your king from this time forth!" Though we were at the time more inclined to be sad than mirthful, being weighed down with much anxiety, we could not help laughing when we heard the loud, foolish talk of Conan Mail; but we took no further notice of him. Inquiring now from the lesser people about the palace, we found that the chief and his two dogs had followed a doe northwards. So, having mustered a strong party of the Fena, we started in pursuit. Kylta and I took the lead, the rest keeping close behind; and in this order we followed the track, never taking rest or slackening speed till we reached Slieve Cullinn. We began to search round the hill, hoping to find either the chief himself or some person who might give us tidings of him. After wandering among brakes and rough, rocky places, we at last espied a grey-headed old man sitting on the brink of a lake. I went up to him to ask a question, followed by the rest of the Fena. At first I thought he might be a fisherman who had come up from the plains to fish; but when we came near him, he seemed so wretched an old creature, all shrivelled up, with the skin hanging in wrinkles over the bare points of his bones, that I felt quite sure he was not a fisherman, and that he was reduced to that state more by sickness and want than by old age. I asked the poor old man if he had seen a noble-looking hero pass that way, with two hounds, chasing a doe. He never answered a word, neither did he stir from where he sat, or even look up; but at the question, his head sank on his breast, and his limbs shook all over as with palsy. Then he fell into a sudden fit of grief, wringing his hands and uttering feeble cries of woe. We soothed him and used him gently for a time, hoping he might speak at last; but to no purpose, for he still kept silent. Then at last growing impatient, and thinking that this might be a mere headstrong humour, we drew our swords, and threatened him with instant death if he did not at once tell us all he knew of the chief and his hounds--for we felt sure he had seen them. But he only lamented the more, and still answered nothing. At last, after this had gone on for some time, and when we were about to leave him, he beckoned to Kylta Mac Ronan; and when Kylta had come near, the old man whispered into his ear the dreadful secret. And then we all came to know the truth. When we found that the withered old man was no other than our beloved king, Finn, himself, we uttered three shouts of lamentation and anger, so loud and prolonged that the foxes and badgers rushed affrighted from their dens in the hollows of the mountain. Conan now stepped forward, looking very fierce; and, unsheathing his sword with mighty bluster, he began in a loud voice to revile Finn and the Fena with the foulest language he could think of. And he ended by saying that he meant to slay the king that moment-- "Now, O Finn Mac Cumal, I will certainly strike off your head; for you are the man that never gave me credit for valour, or praised my noble deeds in battle. Ever since your father, Cumal of the Hosts, was slain on the field of Knocka[CXLIII.] by the Clann Morna[23] of the Golden Shields, you have been our bitter foe; and it is against your will that any of us are now alive. I am very glad to see you, Finn Mac Cumal, brought down to what you now are; and I only wish that the rest of the Clann Baskin[23] were like you. Then should I very soon make short work of them all; and joyful to me would be the task of raising a great carn to their memory!" To which Oscar replied with great scorn, "It is not worth while drawing a sword to punish thee, Conan Mail, vain and foolish boaster as thou art; and besides, we have at present something else to think of. But if it were not for the trouble that now lies heavy on us on account of our king, I would of a certainty chastise thee by breaking all the bones of thy mouth with my fist!" "Cease, Oscar," returned Conan, in a voice still louder than before; "cease your foolish talk! It is actions and not words that prove a man; and as to the noble warlike deeds done in past times by the Fena, it was by the Clann Morna they were performed, and not by the chicken-hearted Clann Baskin!" The fiery Oscar could bear this no longer. He rushed towards Conan Mail; but Conan, terrified at his vengeful look, ran in amongst the Fena with great outcry, beseeching them to save him from the rage of Oscar. We straightway confronted the young hero, and checked him in his headlong career; and after much ado, we soothed his anger and made peace between him and Conan. When quietness was restored, Kylta asked Finn how this dread evil had befallen him, who was the enchanter, and whether there was any hope of restoring him to his own shape. Finn told him that it was the daughter of Culand the smith who had transformed him by her spells. And then he recounted how she had lured him to swim in the lake, and how, when he came forth, he was turned into a withered old man. We now made a framework litter of slender poles, and, placing our king on it, we lifted him tenderly on our shoulders. And, turning from the lake, we marched slowly up-hill till we came to the fairy palace of Slieve Cullinn, where we knew the daughter of Culand had her dwelling deep under ground.[19] Here we set him down, and the whole troop began at once to dig, determined to find the enchantress in her cave-palace, and to take vengeance on her if she did not restore our chief. For three days and three nights we dug, without a moment's rest or pause, till at length we reached her hollow dwelling; when she, affrighted at the tumult and at the vengeful look of the heroes, suddenly started forth from the cave and stood before us. She held in her hand a drinking-horn of red gold, which was meant for the king. Yet she appeared unwilling, and held it back, notwithstanding the threatening looks of the Fena. But, happening to cast her eyes on the graceful and manly youth, Oscar, she was moved with such admiration and love for him that she wavered no longer, but placed the fairy drinking-horn in the hands of the king. No sooner had he drunk from it, than his own shape and features returned, save only that his hair remained of a silvery grey. When we gazed on our chief in his own graceful and manly form, we were all pleased with the soft, silvery hue of the grey hairs. And, though the enchantress appeared ready to restore this also, Finn himself told her that it pleased him as it pleased the others, and that he chose to remain grey for the rest of his life. When the king had drunk from the horn, he passed it to Mac Reth, who drank from it in like manner and gave it to Dering. Dering, after drinking, was about to hand it to the next, when it gave a sudden twist out of his hand, and darted into the loose earth at our feet, where it sank out of sight. We ran at once to recover it; but, though we turned up the earth deeply all round, we were not able to find the drinking-horn. This was a disappointment that vexed us exceedingly, for if we had all drunk from it, we should have been gifted with a foreknowledge of future events. A growth of slender twigs grew up afterwards over the spot where it sank into the ground; and this little thicket is still gifted with a part of the virtue of the golden drinking-horn. For any one who looks on it in the morning fasting, will know in a moment all things that are to happen that day. So ended the Chase of Slieve Cullinn; and in this wise it came to pass that Finn's hair was turned in one day from golden yellow to silvery grey. FOOTNOTES: [CXXXIX.] It is necessary to remind the reader that this story and the two following are related by Oisin, in his old age, to St. Patrick. (See the prefatory note to the story of "Oisin in Tirnanoge," p. 385; and see also note 23 at the end.) [CXL.] Now Slieve Gullion, a lofty, isolated mountain in the south of the county Armagh, celebrated in legendary lore. [CXLI.] The Hill of Allen, in Kildare, where Finn had his palace. (See note 23 at the end.) [CXLII.] The little lake for which this legendary origin is assigned lies near the top of Slieve Gullion. There were several wells in Ireland which, according to the belief of old times, had the property of turning the hair grey. Giraldus Cambrensis tells us of such a well in Munster; and he states that he once saw a man who had washed a part of his head in this well, and that the part washed was white, while the rest was black! It is to be observed that the peasantry of the district retain to this day a lingering belief in the power of the lake of Slieve Gullion to turn the hair grey. [CXLIII.] Knocka, now Castleknock, near Dublin. (See note 27 at the end.) THE CHASE OF SLIEVE FUAD. IN WHICH IT IS RELATED HOW AILNA, THE WIFE OF MERGAH OF THE SHARP SPEARS, IN ORDER TO BE REVENGED ON THE FENA FOR THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND, TRANSFORMED HERSELF INTO A DEER, AND DECOYED THEM TILL SHE GOT THEM INTO THE POWER OF HER BROTHER, DRYANTORE, A GIANT AND AN ENCHANTER; HOW HE THREW THEM INTO A DUNGEON, WITH INTENT TO KILL THEM; AND HOW THEY WERE IN THE END SET FREE BY CONAN MAIL.[CXLIV.] Finn and the Fena[23] went one day to hunt at Slieve Fuad.[CXLV.] When they had come very near to the top of the mountain, a deer suddenly bounded from a thicket right before them, very large and fierce, with a great pair of sharp, dangerous antlers. At once they loosed their dogs and gave chase; and those who were scattered here and there about the hill gave up the pursuit of smaller game to join the main body for it was very seldom they fell in with a deer that promised better sport. She led them through rugged places, over rocks and bogs, and into deep glens. The hounds several times surrounded her; but she fought her way with so much strength and fury that she always escaped, after killing many of the dogs and disabling some of the men. Soon she left Slieve Fuad behind, nor did she slacken speed till she reached the green hill of Lidas, while the hunters and dogs followed in full chase close behind. She then made her way across the open country to a rugged and bushy hill--the hill of Carrigan;[CXLVI.] and here they suddenly lost her among the rocks and thickets. They searched round the hill without avail, north, south, east, and west, till all, both men and dogs, were quite scattered; and Finn and Dara the Melodious were left alone. At length Finn's dog, Skolan, started the deer once more, and again the chase began. Back over the selfsame course she ran, by the hill of Lidas, and straight on towards Slieve Fuad, Finn and Dara close on her track; while the main body of the Fena followed far behind, guided by the cries of the dogs. When the deer reached Slieve Fuad, she again took cover and disappeared at the very spot where they had first started her; and the two chiefs, after beating the thickets on every side, were at length forced to give up the search. A druidical mist now rose up, darkening the air, and enfolding them on every side; so that they lost their way. They tried many times to regain the path, but to no purpose; for they only lost themselves more and more among the quagmires and thickets. At last they sat down to rest, weary and baffled; and Dara played a mournful strain on his timpan; after which they sounded the Dord-Fian,[CXLVII.] as a signal to their friends. When the Fena heard the Dord-Fian sounding afar off, they felt sure that their leader was in trouble or strait of some kind; and they started to his relief, making northwards straight towards the point from which they thought the signal came. But they had not gone far when they heard it sounding from the east, and altered their course accordingly. Again it changed to the west; and no sooner had they set forward in that direction than it seemed to come from the south. In this manner were they led hither and thither, till they became quite bewildered; and they found themselves no nearer to those they were in search of, for every time they heard the Dord-Fian, it seemed as far off as ever. Meantime Finn and Dara, after resting for a time, again started off, intent on trying once more to reach their friends; for they heard their shouts, and knew they were seeking them. As they were making their way through the thick fog, they heard a voice at a little distance, as if from one in distress; and, turning their steps that way, they met a young woman, very beautiful, and very pleasing in manner, but looking weary and sore perplexed, and all over in sad plight from the bogs and brambles. Finn accosted her in a gentle voice, asking how she came to be alone in a place so wild. She replied, "I and my husband were journeying along over the plain, when we heard the melodious cry of hounds; and he left me to follow the chase, telling me to continue along the same path, and promising to rejoin me without delay. But this fairy fog has risen around me, and I have lost my way, so that I know not now in what direction to go." Finn then asked her name and the name of her husband. "My husband's name is Lavaran, and mine is Glanlua. But I perceive that you are one of the Fena; and indeed I think, from your arms and from your noble mien, that you must be the great chief Finn himself. If this be so, I place myself under your protection; and I know well that you will lead me safely out of this place to my husband; for the Fena never yet refused their help to a woman in distress." Finn replied, "You are quite right, lady, for I am Finn; and this chase that has parted you and your husband belongs to me. We will certainly take you under our protection, and we will neither abandon you on this mountain, nor suffer any one to harm you. But as to leading you to your husband, it is not at present in our power to do that; for you must know, lady, that we also have been set astray by this magical fairy fog. Nevertheless, we will do the best we can; and now you had better come with us." So the three set forward in the direction they thought most likely to lead to the open plain. After walking for some time, they heard a low, sweet strain of fairy music; and they stopped to listen. It seemed to be near them and around them in the fog, so that Finn thought it came from the spot where the lady stood; and she thought it came from Finn or Dara: and the music was followed by shouts and noise, as if from a great company. When the noise ceased, the music began again more sweetly than before; so that they felt heavy, and as if inclined to sleep. Still more drowsy and powerless they became as they listened; and at last they all three sank on the ground, in a trance deep and deathlike. After a time they awoke, and slowly regained their senses; though they were so weak that they could scarcely move. The fog had cleared away, leaving the air bright and warm; and when they were able to look around, they found themselves on the margin of a blue lake. The part of the lake that lay in front of them was narrow, and quite calm and smooth; but on each side, to the right and left, it opened out into two broad, green-bordered seas, with great waves tumbling wildly about, as if the waters were torn up by whirlwinds. But where they sat, not a breath was blowing. And looking across the narrow part, they saw a stately palace right before them on the opposite shore. As they were gazing at all these strange things, silent and much astonished, they saw a warrior coming forth from the palace, in size like a giant, rough and fierce-looking, with a beautiful woman by his side. The two walked quickly down to the shore, and, plunging in, they swam straight across the middle of the lake. And Dara and Glanlua, turning to Finn, said-- "Of a surety, it is not for our good yonder strangers are approaching; but to work us treachery and mischief!" This forecast turned out to be true. The large warrior and the beautiful lady had no sooner gained the land than they came up to Finn and his two companions; and without speaking a word, the giant seized them roughly, and led them down to the shore of the lake. For the two heroes were still so weak from the spell of the fairy music that they were not able to raise a hand to defend either the lady or themselves. The giant and his companion, making no delay, plunged in, and swam back towards the palace, bringing the three with them; and as soon as they had reached the shore, the strange warrior, addressing Finn in a fierce and surly manner, said-- "For a long time have I sought Finn Mac Cumal, the evil-minded and crafty; and now, O Finn, now that thou hast been by a well-laid plan cast under my power, I will take good care that thou shalt not escape till I take revenge, even to the full, for all the injuries thou hast done to me and to my sister!" Finn listened to this speech with much surprise, for he could not call to mind that he had ever seen the hero before; and he said-- "Tell me, I pray thee, who thou art; for I know thee not; neither do I know of any injury thou hast suffered at my hands. Thou art, indeed, large of body, and fierce and boastful in speech; but know that to take revenge on a foe who is unable to defend himself, is a deed quite unbecoming a hero!" The large man replied, "Do you not remember the treachery you practised on Mergah of the Sharp Spears, and on my sons, two fair youths, whom you slew by unfair means, at the battle of Knockanare?[CXLVIII.] Well indeed do I know thee, Finn, for I am Dryantore, and this is Ailna my sister, the wife of Mergah. She is left without her husband, and I without my sons, by your cruel wiles; for it was by fraud and foul play, and not by fair fighting, that you gained the battle of Knockanare, and slew Mergah and his host!" "I remember well," said Finn, "that they all fell on the battle-field; but it was not by craft or treachery. Mergah of the Sharp Spears came with a mighty host to conquer Erin, and lay it under tribute. But they were met at Knockanare, and every man of them slain in fair, open fight, though not without sore loss to the Fena." "You may say what you please on the matter," said Dryantore; "but it is quite enough for me that you have slain Ailna's husband and my two sons. And now, indeed, I shall take revenge--of that be sure--both on you and on all the Fena that come within my reach." And having so spoken, he began without more ado to bind Finn, Dara, and Glanlua in strong fetters; and having done so, he threw them into a dungeon, where he left them without food or drink or comfort of any kind. Meantime the Fena ceased not to search for their king. They knew, by the sad strain they had heard in the distance, and by the strange manner in which the music had shifted from place to place, that he was caught under some druidic spell; and they vowed they would never rest till they had found him and punished the enchanter, whoever he might be. Next day, Ailna visited the dungeon; and Finn addressed her-- "Hast thou forgotten, Ailna, that when thou didst come to Erin after the death of thy husband, Mergah of the Sharp Spears, the Fena received thee hospitably, and, pitying thy distress, treated thee with much kindness? But for this thou hast indeed given us an ungrateful and unbecoming return; for thou hast shut us up in this dungeon, without food or drink, having, by guileful druidical spells, taken away our strength." "I remember very well," said Ailna, "that you treated me kindly. But you killed my husband; and I am well pleased that it has now come to my turn to avenge his death. I do not feel the least pity for you; and I only wish that the whole of the Fena were with you in that dungeon, to be dealt with by my brother." Then, casting her eyes on Glanlua, she began to upbraid her in bitter words for having been in the company of Finn and Dara. But Glanlua explained the matter, saying that she had never seen either of the chiefs before, and that it was only by chance she had fallen on them when she had lost her way in the fog. "If that be so," said Ailna, "it is not just that you should be punished for the evil deeds of the others." And she went and told Dryantore, who came forthwith to release the lady. Glanlua took leave of Finn and Dara, and left the prison, grieving much for their evil plight; for she was grateful for their kindness on the mountain. Ailna led her to the palace; and, having placed food before her, bade her eat. But Glanlua, being overcome by weakness, suddenly fell into a swoon, and remained for a long time without sense or motion, like one dead. When at last she opened her eyes, she saw Ailna standing near, holding in her hand a golden drinking-horn. And Ailna gave her to drink, and immediately the spells lost their power; and she regained her strength; and the bloom and beauty of her countenance returned. But now she bethought her of the two heroes; and, remembering their dismal plight in the dungeon, she became sorrowful, and began to sigh and weep. And when Ailna and Dryantore came to know the cause of her tears, they told her with much severity that Finn and Dara deserved their punishment; and that both should stay in prison till the time had come to put them to death. "I seek not to release them from prison or to save them from death," said Glanlua; "but that they are left without food and drink--this it is that moves me to pity." And Dryantore said, "If only that has caused your tears, you may, if you so please, bring them food. Besides, I do not mean to put them to death immediately. I shall let them live yet awhile, that I may decoy by them the other Fena, who are now wandering hither and thither in quest of their chief. And it is my firm belief that in a little time I shall have them all in that dungeon." So Glanlua went to the prison, bringing food and drink, and Ailna went with her. They found the heroes sitting on the floor, sorrowing, their strength and activity all gone; for the music-spell still held them, and they suffered also from want of food. And when they saw the two ladies, they shed bitter tears. Glanlua, on her part, wept with pity when she looked on the wasted face of the chief. But not so Ailna; she was pleased at their distress, for her heart was hardened with vengeance, and she longed for the time when they should suffer death. Howbeit, Glanlua placed food and drink before them, and they ate and drank and were strengthened for the time. When the two ladies returned, Dryantore asked Glanlua if it were true what he had heard, that Dara was a favourite among the Fena; and why it was that they loved him so. Glanlua replied, "I only know that he is a very skilful musician; for I never heard melody sweeter than the strains he played yesterday, when I met himself and Finn in the fog." "I should like very much to hear this music," said Dryantore, "if it be so melodious as you say;" and as he spoke these words he went towards the dungeon. And when he had come to the door, he said to Dara, in a loud, harsh, surly voice-- "I have heard that you are a skilful musician, and can play very sweet strains. I wish you to play for me now that I may know if this be true." To which Dara replied, "If I had the Fena around me, I could delight them with the melody of my timpan; but as for you, guileful and cruel as you are, I do not believe that you can take any pleasure in music. Moreover, how can you expect that I should play sweet music for you, seeing that I am shut up here in this dismal dungeon, and that all manly strength and cheerfulness of mind have left me through your foul spells?" "I will take off the spells if only you play for me," said Dryantore; "and if your strains be as delightful as I have heard reported, I will bring you forth from your prison, and I will keep you for ever in my castle, and you shall play for me whensoever I wish for music." "I shall never consent to be released, neither will I play any music for you, so long as my chief lies in bondage and under enchantment," said Dara; "for I grieve not indeed for myself, but for him." Dryantore replied, "I will lift the spells from both of you for a time; but as to releasing Finn, that is a matter I do not wish to talk of now." Whereupon Dryantore removed the spells, and the heroes regained their strength and courage. Dara then played a low, sweet tune; and Dryantore, who had never before heard such music, listened with delight and wonder. He was so charmed that he called Ailna and Glanlua, that they also might hear; and they were as much delighted as the giant. But what pleased Glanlua most was to see the heroes restored to their wonted cheerfulness. Now all this time the Fena were seeking among the glens and hollows of the mountain for Finn and Dara. After walking for some time over a stony and rugged way, a faint strain of music struck on their ears. They stopped to listen, breathless; and every man knew the sound of Dara's timpan; and they raised a shout of gladness, which reached Finn and Dara in their dungeon. At the same moment they came in view of the palace, and they drew their swords and put their shields and spears in readiness, as men do going to battle. And they went forward warily, for they feared foul play, and their hearts had a forecast that a foe was near. But, indeed, they little deemed what manner of foe they should meet. When Dryantore heard the shouts, he hid himself from the view of the Fena, and forthwith betook him to his magic arts. And again the spell fell on the two heroes, and their strength departed; and Dara's hand, losing its cunning, trembled on the strings, so that his music became dull and broken. And when Dara's music ceased, the Fena heard a low, hoarse murmur, which, growing each moment louder, sounded at last like the hollow roar of waves. And anon their strength and their swiftness left them, and they fell to the ground every man, in a deep trance as if they slept the sleep of death. Then Dryantore and Ailna came forth, and having bound them one by one in strong, hard fetters, they roused them up and led them helpless and faltering to the dungeon, where they shut them in with Finn and Dara. The Fena looked sadly on their king; and he, on his part, shed bitters tears to think that he had decoyed them--though, indeed, he had done so unwittingly--into the hands of their foe. In the midst of their sighs and tears they heard the loud voice of the giant, who, looking in on them from the open door, addressed them-- "Now at last, ye Fena, you are in my safe keeping. Truly you have done great deeds in your time, but yet, methinks, you will not be able to escape from this prison till I have taken just vengeance on you for slaying Mergah of the Sharp Spears, and my two sons, at the battle of Knockanare!" And having so spoken, he shut the door and went his way. When he came to the palace, he found that Glanlua's husband, Lavaran, had been there. Upon which he fell into a mighty rage; for he feared to let any man know the secrets of the palace; and he feared also that Lavaran might try to aid Finn and the others. He inquired of the two ladies whither he had gone; but they replied they did not know. He then began to search through the rooms, and, raising his voice, he called aloud for Lavaran; and the Fena, even in their dungeon, heard the roar quite plainly. Lavaran, hearing him, was sore afraid, and answered from a remote part of the palace. And as he came forward, the giant placed him under his spells, and, having bound him, flung him into the dungeon with the others. Dryantore's fury had not in the least abated; and, entering the dungeon, he struck off the heads of several of the Fena with his great sword, saying he would visit them each day, and do in like manner till he had killed them all. During this time the Fena were unable to defend themselves; for, besides that their strength had gone out from their limbs on account of the spells, they found that from the time the enchanter entered the prison, they were all fixed firmly in their places, every man cleaving to the ground, in whatsoever position he chanced to be, sitting, lying, or standing. And Finn shed tears--even tears of blood in sight of all--seeing his men fall one by one, while he had to look on without power to help them. After Dryantore had in this manner slain several, he approached Conan Mail,[23] with intent to end that day's work by cutting off his head; and as it chanced, Conan was lying full length on the floor. Now Conan, though he was large-boned and strong, and very boastful in his speech, was a coward at heart, and more afraid of wounds and death than any man that ever lived. So when he saw Dryantore coming towards him with his sword in his hand all dripping, he shouted aloud-- "Hold thy hand, Dryantore! Hold thy hand for a little while, and be not guilty of such treachery!" But the giant, not heeding in the least Conan's words, raised his sword with his two hands and rose on tiptoe for a mighty blow. Then Conan, terrified beyond measure, put forth all his strength to free himself, and bounded from the floor clear outside the range of the sword; but left behind him, clinging to the floor, all the skin of his back, even from the points of his shoulders to the calves of his legs. When he saw the giant still making towards him in a greater rage than ever for missing his blow, he again cried aloud-- "Hold your hand this time, Dryantore! Is it not enough that you see me in this woful plight? For it is plain that I cannot escape death. Leave me, then, to die of my wounds, and slay me not thus suddenly!" Dryantore held his hand; but he told Conan that he would for a certainty kill him next time he came, if he did not find him already dead of his wounds. Then he stalked out of the dungeon, and, shutting close the door, left the Fena in gloom and sadness. Though Lavaran had been only a little while in the palace, he made good use of his time, and now approaching Finn, he whispered in his ear-- "There is that in yonder palace which would free us from those accursed spells if we only could get at it." And when Finn asked what it was, he replied, "A magical golden drinking-horn of wondrous virtue. I saw it in the palace among many other precious jewels." And when Finn again questioned him how he knew of its secret power, he said-- "Glanlua, my wife, told me. For she said that, being herself at the point of death, Ailna fetched this drinking-horn and bade her drink. And when she had drunk, she was immediately freed from spells and sickness. She told me, moreover, that it would remove the spell from the Fena, and bring back their strength and heal their wounds, if they could get to drink from it." Conan, being near, overheard this conversation; and he inwardly resolved that he would try to secure the drinking-horn, if perchance he might be able to heal his wounds by means of it. Not long after, the giant again came to the prison, sword in hand, and addressed Conan in these words-- "Come forward now, O big, bald man, for I am about to fulfil my promise to you! Come forward, that I may strike off your large head; for I see that your wounds have not killed you!" But Conan, instead of coming forward, fell back even to the farthest part of the dungeon, and replied-- "You must know, Dryantore, that I, of all men alive, am the most unwilling to die any death unworthy of a brave hero. You see my evil plight, all wounded and faint from loss of blood; and, being as I am a valiant warrior, it would surely be a shameful thing and a foul blot on my fame, to be slain while in this state. I ask only one favour--that you cure me of my wounds first. After this, you may put me to death in any manner that is most agreeable to you." To this Dryantore consented, seeing that Conan was secure; and he called to Ailna and bade her fetch him the magical golden drinking-horn. "For I wish," said he, "to heal the wounds of yonder big, bald man." But Ailna replied, "Of what concern are his wounds to us? Is it not better that he should die at once, and all the other Fena with him?" Conan spoke out from where he stood, "Lovely Ailna, I seek not to escape death. I ask only to be healed first and slain afterwards!" Ailna went to the palace and soon returned, bringing, not the drinking-horn, but a large sheepskin, covered all over with a long growth of wool. Dryantore took it from her, and doing as she told him, he fitted it on Conan's back, where it cleaved firmly, so that his wounds were all healed up in an instant. As long as Conan lived afterwards, this sheepskin remained on his back; and the wool grew upon it every year, even as wool grows on the back of a living sheep. And from that time forth, the other Fena were always mocking him and laughing at him and calling him nicknames. As soon as Conan felt his wounds healed, he again spoke to the giant-- "It is my opinion, Dryantore, that it would be a very unwise thing for you to put me to death. I see plainly you want a servant. Now, although I am large of bone and strong of body, and very brave withal, still I am very harmless. And if you let me live, I shall be your servant for ever, and you will find me very useful to you." The giant saw the force and wisdom of Conan's words; and he felt that he wanted a servant very much, though he never perceived it till that moment, when Conan reminded him of it. So he said, "I believe, indeed, Conan, that your words are truth. Wherefore, I will not put you to death. You are now my servant, and so shall you be for the rest of your life." He then led Conan forth from the dungeon towards the palace; and he was in such good humour at having got a servant, that he forgot to kill any of the Fena on that occasion. He called to him Ailna and Glanlua, to tell them of what he had done. And he said to them-- "I find that I need a servant very much. Wherefore, I have made Conan my servant. And I am now about to free him from the spell and give him back his strength by a drink from the golden drinking-horn, so that he may be able to wait on me and do my work." For Conan, though his wounds were healed, was still so weak from the spell that he was scarce able to walk. "I do not at all approve what you have done," said Ailna. "It would be, methinks, much better to put him straightway to death along with all the others. As long as he is with us as our servant, I shall never think myself free from danger; for the Fena are treacherous all alike." "As for the other Fena," replied Dryantore, "you need not be in any trouble on their account, for their time is short. As soon as I have got Conan free from the spell, I will go straight to the dungeon and kill them, every man. And when they are fairly put out of the way, it seems to me that we need not fear danger from this big, bald man with the sheepskin on his back." When Ailna heard that the death of the Fena was near at hand, she no longer gainsaid her brother. So Dryantore led Conan to the palace; and placing the magical drinking-horn in his hand, bade him drink. And Conan drank; and immediately his strength and his spirits returned. Now it so happened, while these things went on, that Finn asked Dara to play one of his sweet, sad tunes, that they might hear the music of his timpan before they died. And Dara took his timpan, and began to play; and historians say that no one either before or since ever played sweeter strains. At the very moment that Conan had finished drinking, he and Dryantore heard the music sounding faintly in the distance; and the giant opened the door and stood on the threshold to listen. He was so charmed that he quite forgot all about Conan and the drinking-horn; and finding that he could not hear the music plainly enough where he stood, he walked hastily towards the dungeon, leaving Conan behind with the drinking-horn in his hand. No sooner had he gone out than Conan hid the drinking-horn under his cloak, and went to the dungeon after him. And when the giant saw him he said, "Why have you followed me; and what business have you here? Are you not my servant; and why have you come without being bidden by me?" "I thought," replied Conan, "that you were about to put the Fena to death; and I came to look at them once more before they died." Then suddenly Dryantore bethought him of the drinking-horn, and he said, "Where is the golden drinking-horn I gave you?" "I left it," said Conan, "just where I found it in the palace." The giant ran hastily towards the palace to secure the drinking-horn; and no sooner was he out of sight than Conan, drawing forth the horn, put it to the lips of each to drink, beginning with Finn. Only Finn and Oscar had drunk, when they heard the heavy steps of the giant running towards the dungeon; and now they saw that he was indeed inflamed with fury. Oscar seized his great, polished spear, and sprang to the door; and the others raised a mighty shout of joy; while Conan went on releasing the heroes one by one. When Dryantore saw Oscar, he uttered a roar of rage and disappointment; and then called aloud to Ailna to come to him. And she came forth; and when she saw how matters stood, she was seized with such grief and terror that she dropped down and died immediately. Glanlua was standing near at hand, rejoicing at the release of her husband and friends; but when she saw Ailna fall to the ground dead, she became sad, and, stooping down, wept over her. All this Oscar saw from where he stood; and it was with much ado he checked his tears. For though my son was the bravest of the heroes, and the most terrible in battle, he had a gentle heart, and never saw a woman or a child in distress without being moved to pity. But Conan felt not the least pity. On the contrary, he was very glad to see Ailna dead; and he told Oscar that it was very well she was out of the way, for that she was a vicious woman, and had wrought the Fena much trouble and woe. And now Oscar, casting his eyes again on Dryantore, hardened his heart for battle, and addressed the giant in these words-- "It has at last come to pass, O Dryantore, that you are in the power of the Fena; and there is no escape for you, though you are a large and strong giant, and a druid with powerful magical spells. But the Fena never yet treated an enemy ungenerously. You indeed dealt unfairly and treacherously with us; and meant to kill us all, after having taken away our strength and valour by your black, guileful magic. But even so, we give you your choice; and we challenge you now to single combat with any of our champions you may wish to choose." To which Dryantore replied, "It is very true that the Fena have prevailed over me; and it is a just punishment for my folly in releasing Conan the Bald from my spells. I desire single combat. I will fight the Fena one after another, till I either fall myself or slay them all; and I will begin with you!" Oscar then took his shield and made ready for battle. Meantime the giant, harbouring great wrath against Conan, approached him unawares; and when he had come near enough, he sprang suddenly on him, and aimed a blow with all his might at his head. But Conan, springing aside, barely escaped the edge of the sword; and, running in great fear, called to Oscar with great outcry to save him from the giant. Then Oscar ran between; and he and the giant fought a long and fierce fight, while we looked on with anxious hearts. The giant was furious and strong; but my son was active and watchful and fearless of heart; and Dryantore at length fell at the door of his own palace, pierced through and through by the long, smooth spear of Oscar. When the Fena saw the giant fall, they raised three mighty shouts of joy. And Glanlua brought the magic drinking-horn to Oscar, from which he drank, so that his wounds were healed, and his strength straightway returned to him. The Fena then went into the palace, where they found food in great plenty, with wine and mead in golden bowls and drinking-horns. And they ate and drank and made merry; after which they rested that night on soft beds and couches. When they awoke in the morning, all was changed. The palace and the lake were gone; and the heroes found themselves lying on the heathy side of Slieve Fuad, at the selfsame spot where they had first started the deer; with the morning sun shining brightly over their heads. FOOTNOTES: [CXLIV.] This story is told by Oisin to St. Patrick. (See the prefatory note to the next story, "Oisin in Tirnanoge," page 385.) [CXLV.] Slieve Fuad was the ancient name of the highest of the Fews mountains, near Newtown Hamilton, in Armagh; but the name is now lost. [CXLVI.] Now probably the village of Carrigans, on the river Foyle, five miles south-west of Londonderry. [CXLVII.] Dord-Fian, a sort of musical war-cry. (See note, page 195.) [CXLVIII.] Knockanare (the hill of slaughter), where a great battle was fought between the Fena under Finn, and the foreigners under Mergah of the Sharp Spears, in which Mergah was defeated and slain. This battle forms the subject of a poetical romance. It may be as well to observe that this hill is _not_ Knockanare in Kerry, near the mouth of the Shannon, as some say. OISIN IN TIRNANOGE;[CXLIX.] OR, THE LAST OF THE FENA. [According to an ancient legend, Finn's son, Oisin, the hero-poet, survived to the time of St. Patrick, two hundred years (the legend makes it three hundred) after the other Fena. On a certain occasion, when the saint asked him how he had lived to such a great age, the old hero related the following story.] A short time after the fatal battle of Gavra,[CL.] where so many of our heroes fell, we were hunting on a dewy morning near the brink of Lough Lein,[CLI.] where the trees and hedges around us were all fragrant with blossoms, and the little birds sang melodious music on the branches. We soon roused the deer from the thickets, and as they bounded over the plain, our hounds followed after them in full cry. We were not long so engaged, when we saw a rider coming swiftly towards us from the west; and we soon perceived that it was a maiden on a white steed. We all ceased from the chase on seeing the lady, who reined in as she approached. And Finn and the Fena were greatly surprised, for they had never before seen so lovely a maiden. A slender golden diadem encircled her head; and she wore a brown robe of silk, spangled with stars of red gold, which was fastened in front by a golden brooch, and fell from her shoulders till it swept the ground. Her yellow hair flowed far down over her robe in bright, golden ringlets. Her blue eyes were as clear as the drops of dew on the grass; and while her small, white hand held the bridle and curbed her steed with a golden bit, she sat more gracefully than the swan on Lough Lein. The white steed was covered with a smooth, flowing mantle. He was shod with four shoes of pure yellow gold, and in all Erin a better or more beautiful steed could not be found. As she came slowly to the presence of Finn, he addressed her courteously in these words-- "Who art thou, O lovely youthful princess? Tell us thy name and the name of thy country, and relate to us the cause of thy coming." She answered in a sweet and gentle voice, "Noble king of the Fena, I have had a long journey this day, for my country lies far off in the Western Sea. I am the daughter of the king of Tirnanoge, and my name is Niam of the Golden Hair." "And what is it that has caused thee to come so far across the sea? Has thy husband forsaken thee; or what other evil has befallen thee?" "My husband has not forsaken me, for I have never been married or betrothed to any man. But I love thy noble son, Oisin; and this is what has brought me to Erin. It is not without reason that I have given him my love, and that I have undertaken this long journey: for I have often heard of his bravery, his gentleness, and the nobleness of his person. Many princes and high chiefs have sought me in marriage; but I was quite indifferent to all men, and never consented to wed, till my heart was moved with love for thy gentle son, Oisin." When I heard these words, and when I looked on the lovely maiden with her glossy, golden hair, I was all over in love with her. I came near, and, taking her small hand in mine, I told her she was a mild star of brightness and beauty, and that I preferred her to all the princesses in the world for my wife. "Then," said she, "I place you under gesa,[12] which true heroes never break through, to come with me on my white steed to Tirnanoge, the land of never-ending youth. It is the most delightful and the most renowned country under the sun. There is abundance of gold and silver and jewels, of honey and wine; and the trees bear fruit and blossoms and green leaves together all the year round. You will get a hundred swords and a hundred robes of silk and satin, a hundred swift steeds, and a hundred slender, keen-scenting hounds. You will get herds of cows without number, and flocks of sheep with fleeces of gold; a coat of mail that cannot be pierced, and a sword that never missed a stroke and from which no one ever escaped alive. There are feasting and harmless pastimes each day. A hundred warriors fully armed shall always await you at call, and harpers shall delight you with their sweet music. You will wear the diadem of the king of Tirnanoge, which he never yet gave to any one under the sun, and which will guard you day and night, in tumult and battle and danger of every kind. Lapse of time shall bring neither decay nor death, and you shall be for ever young, and gifted with unfading beauty and strength. All these delights you shall enjoy, and many others that I do not mention; and I myself will be your wife if you come with me to Tirnanoge." I replied that she was my choice above all the maidens in the world, and that I would willingly go with her to the Land of Youth. When my father, Finn, and the Fena heard me say this, and knew that I was going from them, they raised three shouts of grief and lamentation. And Finn came up to me and took my hand in his, saying sadly-- "Woe is me, my son, that you are going away from me, for I do not expect that you will ever return to me!" The manly beauty of his countenance became quite dimmed with sorrow; and though I promised to return after a little time, and fully believed that I should see him again, I could not check my tears, as I gently kissed my father's cheek. I then bade farewell to my dear companions, and mounted the white steed, while the lady kept her seat before me. She gave the signal, and the steed galloped swiftly and smoothly towards the west, till he reached the strand; and when his gold-shod hoofs touched the waves, he shook himself and neighed three times. He made no delay, but plunged forward at once, moving over the face of the sea with the speed of a cloud-shadow on a March day. The wind overtook the waves and we overtook the wind, so that we straightway lost sight of land; and we saw nothing but billows tumbling before us and billows tumbling behind us. Other shores came into view, and we saw many wonderful things on our journey--islands and cities, lime-white mansions, bright greenans[CLII.] and lofty palaces. A hornless fawn once crossed our course, bounding nimbly along from the crest of one wave to the crest of another; and close after, in full chase, a white hound with red ears. We saw also a lovely young maiden on a brown steed, with a golden apple in her hand; and as she passed swiftly by, a young warrior on a white steed plunged after her, wearing a long, flowing mantle of yellow silk, and holding a gold-hilted sword in his hand. I knew naught of these things, and, marvelling much, I asked the princess what they meant; but she answered-- "Heed not what you see here, Oisin; for all these wonders are as nothing compared with what you shall see in Tirnanoge." At last we saw at a great distance, rising over the waves on the very verge of the sea, a palace more splendid than all the others; and, as we drew near, its front glittered like the morning sun. I asked the lady what royal house this was, and who was the prince that ruled over it. "This country is the Land of Virtues," she replied. "Its king is the giant, Fomor of the Blows, and its queen the daughter of the king of the Land of Life.[19] This Fomor brought the lady away by force from her own country, and keeps her in his palace; but she has put him under gesa[12] that he cannot break through, never to ask her to marry him till she can find a champion to fight him in single combat. But she still remains in bondage; for no hero has yet come hither who has the courage to meet the giant." "A blessing on you, golden-haired Niam," I replied; "I have never heard music sweeter than your voice; and although I feel pity for this princess, yet your story is pleasant to me to hear; for of a certainty I will go to the palace, and try whether I cannot kill this Fomor, and free the lady." So we came to land; and as we drew nigh to the palace, the lovely young queen met us and bade us welcome. She led us in and placed us on chairs of gold; after which choice food was placed before us, and drinking-horns filled with mead, and golden goblets of sweet wine. When we had eaten and drunk, the mild young princess told us her story, while tears streamed from her soft, blue eyes; and she ended by saying-- "I shall never return to my own country and to my father's house, so long as this great and cruel giant is alive!" When I heard her sad words, and saw her tears falling, I was moved with pity; and telling her to cease from her grief, I gave her my hand as a pledge that I would meet the giant, and either slay him or fall myself in her defence. While we were yet speaking, we saw the giant coming towards the palace, large of body, and ugly and hateful in appearance, carrying a load of deerskins on his back, and holding a great iron club in his hand. He threw down his load when he saw us, turned a surly look on the princess, and, without greeting us or showing the least mark of courtesy, he forthwith challenged me to battle in a loud, rough voice. It was not my wont to be dismayed by a call to battle, or to be terrified at the sight of an enemy; and I went forth at once without the least fear in my heart. But though I had fought many battles in Erin against wild boars and enchanters and foreign invaders, never before did I find it so hard to preserve my life. We fought for three days and three nights without food or drink or sleep; for the giant did not give me a moment for rest, and neither did I give him. At length, when I looked at the two princesses weeping in great fear, and when I called to mind my father's deeds in battle, the fury of my valour arose; and with a sudden onset I felled the giant to the earth; and instantly, before he could recover himself, I cut off his head. When the maidens saw the monster lying on the ground dead, they uttered three cries of joy; and they came to me, and led me into the palace. For I was indeed bruised all over, and covered with gory wounds; and a sudden dizziness of brain and feebleness of body seized me. But the daughter of the king of the Land of Life applied precious balsam and healing herbs to my wounds; and in a short time I was healed, and my cheerfulness of mind returned. Then I buried the giant in a deep and wide grave; and I raised a great carn over him, and placed on it a stone with his name graved in Ogam. We rested that night, and at the dawn of next morning Niam said to me that it was time for us to resume our journey to Tirnanoge. So we took leave of the daughter of the king of the Land of Life; and though her heart was joyful after her release, she wept at our departure, and we were not less sorry at parting from her. When we had mounted the white steed, he galloped towards the strand; and as soon as his hoofs touched the wave, he shook himself and neighed three times. We plunged forward over the clear, green sea with the speed of a March wind on a hill-side; and soon we saw nothing but billows tumbling before us and billows tumbling behind us. We saw again the fawn chased by the white hound with red ears; and the maiden with the golden apple passed swiftly by, followed by the young warrior in yellow silk on his white steed. And again we passed many strange islands and cities and white palaces. The sky now darkened, so that the sun was hidden from our view. A storm arose, and the sea was lighted up with constant flashes. But though the wind blew from every point of the heavens, and the waves rose up and roared around us, the white steed kept his course straight on, moving as calmly and swiftly as before, through the foam and blinding spray, without being delayed or disturbed in the least, and without turning either to the right or to the left. At length the storm abated, and after a time the sun again shone brightly; and when I looked up, I saw a country near at hand, all green and full of flowers, with beautiful smooth plains, blue hills, and bright lakes and waterfalls. Not far from the shore stood a palace of surpassing beauty and splendour. It was covered all over with gold and with gems of every colour--blue, green, crimson, and yellow; and on each side were greenans shining with precious stones, built by artists the most skilful that could be found. I asked Niam the name of that delightful country, and she replied-- "This is my native country, Tirnanoge; and there is nothing I have promised you that you will not find in it." As soon as we reached the shore, we dismounted; and now we saw advancing from the palace a troop of noble-looking warriors, all clad in bright garments, who came forward to meet and welcome us. Following these we saw a stately glittering host, with the king at their head wearing a robe of bright yellow satin covered with gems, and a crown that sparkled with gold and diamonds. The queen came after, attended by a hundred lovely young maidens; and as they advanced towards us, it seemed to me that this king and queen exceeded all the kings and queens of the world in beauty and gracefulness and majesty. After they had kissed their daughter, the king took my hand, and said aloud in the hearing of the host-- "This is Oisin, the son of Finn, for whom my daughter, Niam, travelled over the sea to Erin. This is Oisin, who is to be the husband of Niam of the Golden Hair. We give you a hundred thousand welcomes, brave Oisin. You will be for ever young in this land. All kinds of delights and innocent pleasures are awaiting you, and my daughter, the gentle, golden-haired Niam, shall be your wife; for I am the king of Tirnanoge." I gave thanks to the king, and I bowed low to the queen; after which we went into the palace, where we found a banquet prepared. The feasting and rejoicing lasted for ten days, and on the last day, I was wedded to the gentle Niam of the Golden Hair. I lived in the Land of Youth more than three hundred years; but it appeared to me that only three years had passed since the day I parted from my friends. At the end of that time, I began to have a longing desire to see my father, Finn, and all my old companions, and I asked leave of Niam and of the king to visit Erin. The king gave permission, and Niam said-- "I will give consent, though I feel sorrow in my heart, for I fear much you will never return to me." I replied that I would surely return, and that she need not feel any doubt or dread, for that the white steed knew the way, and would bring me back in safety. Then she addressed me in these words, which seemed very strange to me-- "I will not refuse this request, though your journey afflicts me with great grief and fear. Erin is not now as it was when you left it. The great king Finn and his Fena are all gone; and you will find, instead of them, a holy father and hosts of priests and saints. Now, think well on what I say to you, and keep my words in your mind. If once you alight from the white steed, you will never come back to me. Again I warn you, if you place your feet on the green sod in Erin, you will never return to this lovely land. A third time, O Oisin, my beloved husband, a third time I say to you, if you alight from the white steed, you will never see me again." I promised that I would faithfully attend to her words, and that I would not alight from the white steed. Then, as I looked into her gentle face and marked her grief, my heart was weighed down with sadness, and my tears flowed plentifully; but even so, my mind was bent on coming back to Erin. When I had mounted the white steed, he galloped straight towards the shore. We moved as swiftly as before over the clear sea. The wind overtook the waves and we overtook the wind, so that we straightway left the Land of Youth behind; and we passed by many islands and cities, till at length we landed on the green shores of Erin. As I travelled on through the country, I looked closely around me; but I scarcely knew the old places, for everything seemed strangely altered. I saw no sign of Finn and his host, and I began to dread that Niam's saying was coming true. At length, I espied at a distance a company of little men and women,[CLIII.] all mounted on horses as small as themselves; and when I came near, they greeted me kindly and courteously. They looked at me with wonder and curiosity, and they marvelled much at my great size, and at the beauty and majesty of my person. I asked them about Finn and the Fena; whether they were still living, or if any sudden disaster had swept them away. And one replied-- "We have heard of the hero Finn, who ruled the Fena of Erin in times of old, and who never had an equal for bravery and wisdom. The poets of the Gaels have written many books concerning his deeds and the deeds of the Fena, which we cannot now relate; but they are all gone long since, for they lived many ages ago. We have heard also, and we have seen it written in very old books, that Finn had a son named Oisin. Now this Oisin went with a young fairy maiden to Tirnanoge, and his father and his friends sorrowed greatly after him, and sought him long; but he was never seen again." When I heard all this, I was filled with amazement, and my heart grew heavy with great sorrow. I silently turned my steed away from the wondering people, and set forward straightway for Allen of the mighty deeds, on the broad, green plains of Leinster. It was a miserable journey to me; and though my mind, being full of sadness at all I saw and heard, forecasted further sorrows, I was grieved more than ever when I reached Allen. For there, indeed, I found the hill deserted and lonely, and my father's palace all in ruins and overgrown with grass and weeds. I turned slowly away, and afterwards fared through the land in every direction in search of my friends. But I met only crowds of little people, all strangers, who gazed on me with wonder; and none knew me. I visited every place throughout the country where I knew the Fena had lived; but I found their houses all like Allen, solitary and in ruins. At length I came to Glenasmole,[CLIV.] where many a time I had hunted in days of old with the Fena, and there I saw a crowd of people in the glen. As soon as they saw me, one of them came forward and said-- "Come to us, thou mighty hero, and help us out of our strait; for thou art a man of vast strength." I went to them, and found a number of men trying in vain to raise a large, flat stone. It was half lifted from the ground; but those who were under it were not strong enough either to raise it further or to free themselves from its weight. And they were in great distress, and on the point of being crushed to death. I thought it a shameful thing that so many men should be unable to lift this stone, which Oscar, if he were alive, would take in his right hand and fling over the heads of the feeble crowd. After I had looked a little while, I stooped forward and seized the flag with one hand; and, putting forth my strength, I flung it seven perches from its place, and relieved the little men. But with the great strain the golden saddle-girth broke, and, bounding forward to keep myself from falling, I suddenly came to the ground on my two feet. The moment the white steed felt himself free, he shook himself and neighed. Then, starting off with the speed of a cloud-shadow on a March day, he left me standing helpless and sorrowful. Instantly a woeful change came over me: the sight of my eyes began to fade, the ruddy beauty of my face fled, I lost all my strength, and I fell to the earth, a poor, withered old man, blind and wrinkled and feeble. The white steed was never seen again. I never recovered my sight, my youth, or my strength; and I have lived in this manner, sorrowing without ceasing for my gentle, golden-haired wife, Niam, and thinking ever of my father, Finn, and of the lost companions of my youth. FOOTNOTES: [CXLIX.] Tirnanoge, the Land of Youth. (See note 19 at the end.) [CL.] Gavra, now Garristown, in the north-west of the county Dublin. (For an account of this battle, see note 28 at the end.) [CLI.] Lough Lein, the Lakes of Killarney. [CLII.] Greenan, a summer-house; a house in a bright, sunny spot. [CLIII.] The gigantic race of the Fena had all passed away, and Erin was now inhabited by people who looked very small in Oisin's eyes. [CLIV.] Glenasmole, a fine valley about seven miles south of Dublin, through which the river Dodder flows. THE VOYAGE OF THE SONS OF O'CORRA.[CLV.] A princely upright hundred-herd brugaid[CLVI.] was born one time in the lovely province of Connaught, namely, Conall Derg O'Corra the fair-haired. And thus was this brugaid (circumstanced):--he was a fortunate, rich, prosperous man; and his house was never found without three shouts in it--the shout of the brewers brewing ale, and the shout of the servants over the caldrons distributing (meat) to the hosts, and the shout of the youths over the chessboards[CLVII.] winning games from one another. The same house was never without three measures:--a measure of malt for making yeast, a measure of wheat for providing bread for the guests, and a measure of salt for savouring each kind of food. His wife was Cairderga[CLVIII.] the daughter of the Erenach[CLIX.] of Clogher.[CLX.] They felt no want of any kind except being without children; and it was not that they were without children (being born to them), but that the infants always died the moment after birth. Then this brugaid said (one day) to his wife as she reclined near him on the couch:--"It is a sad thing for us," said he, "that we have no children who would take our place and fill it worthily when we are gone." "What desire is in your mind in regard to that?" says the wife. "It is my desire," says the brugaid, "to make a bond with the demon to try if he would give us a son or a daughter who would take our place after us (since God has not done so)." "Let us do that," said the woman. They accordingly fasted (and prayed) to the demon; (and the demon hearkened unto them. And in due time) the pains and struggles, of childbirth came upon the lady; and she bore three sons at that great birth, namely, a son at the beginning of the night, and a son at the middle of the night, and a son at the end of the night. And they were baptised according to the baptism of the pagans (by which they were dedicated not to God but to the demon); and their names were Lochan, Enna, and Silvester. And after that, they were reared and carefully trained up till they were swift and active on sea and land; so that they were an overmatch for all the young people of their own age in every game and in every accomplishment. And they were in the mouths and on the tongues of all who saw or heard of them in their day. One day when they were resting at the railings of the house of their father and mother, wearied after their hurling and their martial games, the housefolk said that they saw no fault or defect in these handsome much-renowned youths, except only their being baptised in the service of the devil. (And the youths hearing this said):--"If it be so," said they, "that the devil is our lord and master, it is very wrong of us not to bring ruin and wrath and woe on his enemies, that is to say, (we ought) to slaughter the clergy, and burn and spoil their churches." Then did these three youths arise, (and collecting a band), and taking unto them their arms, they came to Tuam-da-Gualann,[CLXI.] and spoiled and burned the town. And (after that) they plundered and made dreadful havoc on the churches and clergy throughout the province of Connaught, until their wicked and bloodthirsty ravages were noised over the four quarters of Erin. Thus did they run their evil course without ceasing for a whole year, during which time they destroyed more than half the churches of Connaught. At the end of the year Lochan said to his brothers: "We have made one great mistake through forgetfulness," says he, "and our lord the devil will not be thankful to us on account of it." "What is that?" said the other two youths. "Our grandfather," says he, "that is our mother's father--not to have killed him and burned his church." So they set out straightway, journeying without sparing or respite (to Clogher), and this was how they found the erenach, namely, on the green of the church with a great company of his folk around him, (waiting for the O'Corras), in order to attend on them and to deal out to them the choice of every food and the best of every ale. And the intention that the elder had towards them, that indeed was not the intention they had towards him, but to murder him and to burn and spoil his church. Then the O'Corras came to the spot where the elder was standing, and they made up their minds not to kill him or burn the houses till night, when the cows and the (other) cattle of the homestead would be housed, all in their own proper places. The elder welcomed them and led them to the homestead; and he now became aware of their intention. Nevertheless he put them in a goodly pleasant _Greenan_,[CLXII.] and they were served with food and ale till they became exhilarated and cheerful: after which couches were made ready for them on lofty bedsteads. And now deep slumber and heavy sleep fell on them, and a wonderful vision was revealed in a dream to Lochan, the eldest of the sons of O'Corra, in which he was carried to see heaven and hell. And after this he awoke. The other two awoke at the same time, and they said:--"Let us now arise, for it is time to plunder and destroy the homestead." "Seems to me," said Lochan, "that this is not the right thing for us to do: for evil is the lord we have served until now, and good is the Lord we have plundered and outraged. "And last night I had," said he, "a fearful dream, in which I saw a vision of heaven and hell. And first I was taken to see hell, where were countless souls of men and vast crowds of demons suffering divers tortures, and plagues unexampled. And I saw the four rivers of hell, that is to say, a river of toads, a river of serpents, a river of fire, and a river of snow. I saw also a monstrous serpent with many heads and legs, at sight whereof, even though it were only a single glance, all the men in the world would drop dead with loathing and horror. "After this methought I was taken to see heaven; where I beheld the Lord Himself seated on His kingly throne, and angels in the shapes of white birds singing for Him. And among them was one great snow-white bird of dazzling brightness that excelled all the others in size and beauty and voice, chanting strains of surpassing sweetness. Women in travail and men sore wounded and sick people racked with pain would fall asleep if they heard the delightful harmony of his voice. And it was made known to me that this great bird who chanted such heavenly music to his mild Lord was Michael the Archangel. "And now my brothers," said Lochan, "it is my counsel to you that you follow God henceforward." "But," said the others, "will the Lord accept repentance from us for the dreadful evils we have already done?" They go to the father of their mother, namely, the erenach, and they ask this thing of him. "He will accept your repentance without doubt," says the erenach. "Well then," said Lochan, "let Mass be celebrated for us, and put us under instruction, and let us offer our confession to God. After that we will make staffs of the handles of our spears; and we will go to Finnen of Clonard,[CLXIII.] the tutor of the saints and of the just men of all Erin. He is a very holy man, and he will advise us in regard to what we ought to do." To this counsel they agreed; and on the morrow they set out for the place where Finnen was; whom they found on the green of Clonard with a number of his clerics. "Who are these coming towards us?" said the clerics. And one said, "They are the O'Corras the robbers." Hearing this they fled, like lightning, in a body from their master, for they felt quite sure that the O'Corras were coming to slay them; so that Finnen was left quite alone before the three brothers. "It is from us the clerics are fleeing:" says Lochan. "Of a certainty it is," said his brothers. "Let us," said Lochan, "cast from us our staffs, the only little remnant of our arms left with us; and let us throw ourselves on our knees before the cleric." And this they did. "What is your desire?" says the cleric (Finnen). "Our desire," said they, "is faith and piety, and to serve God, and to abandon the lord whom we have hitherto served, namely, the devil." "That is a good resolution," says the cleric; "and let us go now to the homestead yonder, the place where live our brotherhood." They go accordingly with him to the brotherhood; and after the matter had been considered, it was arranged to set apart a young cleric to teach them; and it was decreed that they should not speak to any one except their own master till the end of a year. So they continued for a whole year till they had read the Canons through, and by the time they had come to be able to read them, the whole brotherhood felt grateful (to God) for their piety and their gentleness. At the end of the year they came to Finnen; and they knelt before him, and said to him:--"It is time now that we should be judged and sentence passed on us for the great crimes we have committed. "What," said Finnen, "do ye not think it enough--the penance you have done already for a whole year among the brotherhood?" "It is not enough," said they. "What then are the greatest crimes ye have committed?" says Finnen. "We have burned more than half the churches of Connaught; and neither priest nor bishop got quarter or protection from us." "You cannot" replied Finnen, "give back life to the people you have killed; but do ye that which will be in your power, namely, to build up the churches ye have burned, and to repair every other damage ye have committed in them. And I will give to each man of you," says he, "the swiftness and strength of a hundred; and I will take from you all weariness of feet, of hands, and of body; and I will give you light and understanding which will have neither decay nor end." So the O'Corras departed, and went first to Tuam-da-Gualann; and after that, they fared through the province, obedient to rule and working hard each day, until it came to pass that they had restored everything they had previously destroyed. After that they came at the end of the year to speak with Finnen. "Have you been able," asks Finnen, "to repair everything ye destroyed belonging to the Church?" "We have," said they, "except one place alone, namely Kenn-Mara."[CLXIV.] "Alas for that," says Finnen; "that is the very first place you should have repaired; for it is the homestead of the oldest of all the saints of Ireland, namely, the aged Camann of Kenn-Mara. And now go and carefully restore everything ye have destroyed in that homestead. And the sentence that holy man passes on you, fulfil it patiently." So they went gladly to Kenn-Mara; and they repaired everything they had ruined there. One day when they had come forth from the homestead, they sat on the margin of the little bay, watching the sun as it went westward. And as they gazed and reflected on the course of the sun, they began to marvel greatly, pondering whither it went after it had gone down beneath the verge of the sea. "What more wonderful thing is there in the whole world," said they, "than that the sea does not freeze into ice, while ice is formed in every other water!" Thereupon they formed the resolution on the spot to bring unto them a certain artificer who was a fast friend of theirs, and to (get him) to make a three-hide curragh[CLXV.] for them. Accordingly the curragh was made, and a strong-sided one it was. And the reward the artificer asked for building it was to be let go with them. When the time had come, and they were about to embark, they saw a large crowd passing close by; and this crowd was a company of _crossans_.[CLXVI.] When the _crossans_ saw the curragh putting forth on the sea, they inquired:--"Who are yonder people that are launching this curragh on the sea?" said they. The _furshore_ (juggler) of the crossans said:--"I know them well; they are the sons of Conall derg O'Corra the fair-haired of Connaught, the destroyers and robbers, going on their pilgrimage on the sea and on the great ocean, to make search for their Lord." "And indeed," added the _furshore_, "my word for it, they do not stand more in need of seeking for heaven than we do." "It is a long day I fancy till you go on your pilgrimage," said the leader of the band. "Say not so," answered the _furshore_: "for I will certainly go with these people on my pilgrimage now without delay." "Upon our word," said the _crossans_, "you will not take away our clothes with you; for not a single article of the garments you wear belongs to you." "It is not so small a matter that would keep me with you," says he. So they stripped off all his clothes, and sent him away mother naked to the curragh. "Who and what in the world are you, good man?" asked the crew. "A poor wretch who wishes to go with you on pilgrimage," said he. "Indeed," said they, "you shall not by any means come with us, seeing that you are stark naked." "Say not so, young men," said he, "for the sake of God do not refuse me; for I will amuse you and keep your hearts cheerful (with my music and singing); and your piety will not be a whit the worse for it." And (inasmuch as he had asked) for the sake of God they consented to let him go. Now this is how it was with the crew:--each man of them had built a church and raised an altar to the Lord in his own district. Their number was nine; among whom was a bishop, and a priest, and a deacon; and they had one _gilla_ (attendant) who was the ninth man. "Let us go aboard our curragh now," says Lochan, "as we have finished our task of restoring the churches, and as we have, besides, each of us built a church to the Lord in our own district." It was then they put up their prayers fervently to God in the hope that they might have fine weather; and that the Lord would quell the fury of the billows, and the might of the ocean, and the rage of the terrible sea monsters. So they embarked in their curragh, bringing their oars; and they began to question among themselves what direction they should take. "The direction in which this wind will bring us," says the bishop. And having commended themselves to God, one and all, they betook them to their oars. A great wind now arose, which drove them out on the waste of waters straight to the west; and they were forty days and forty nights on the ocean. And God revealed to them great and unheard of wonders. They had not been long rowing when the _crossan_ died; and sad and sorrowful were they for his loss, and wept much. While they were still mourning, they saw a little bird alight on the deck of the curragh. And the little bird spoke and said to them:--"Good people, tell me now in God's name what is the cause of your sorrow." "A _crossan_ that we had playing music for us; and he died a little while ago in this curragh; and that is the cause of our sorrow." And the bird said:--"Lo, I am your little _crossan_: and now be not sorrowful any longer, for I am going straightway to heaven." So saying he bade them farewell and flew away. I. They row forward for a long time till there was shown to them a wonderful island, and in it a great grove of marvellous beauty, laden with apples, golden coloured and sweet scented. A sparkling rivulet of wine flowed through the midst of the grove; and when the wind blew through the trees, sweeter than any music was the rustling it made. The O'Corras ate some of the apples and drank from the rivulet of wine, and were immediately satisfied. And from that time forth they were never troubled by either wounds or sickness. II. Then they took to their oars; and after a time they came in view of another island, and four companies of people in it, such as had never been seen before. Now these people had divided the island into four parts: old greyheaded people were in the first division; princes in the second; warriors in the third; and servants in the fourth. They were all beautiful and glorious to behold; and they diverted themselves continually with games and pastimes. One of the crew went to them to ask news: (he was a comely, well-favoured youth, but) he seemed ugly and dark-visaged in presence of these glorious people. When he had got among them, he became in a moment beautiful like the others; and he joined in their games, and laughed, and made merry. Moreover he remembered nothing more of his companions; and he sojourned in the island after that for evermore. And the O'Corras were at length forced to depart, though much grieved for the loss of their companion. III. Then they set out and rowed for some time till they sighted another marvellous island. It stood up in the air high over the great sea; and it was propped up by a pillar like a single foot standing under it in the middle. And the crew heard great shouting and the loud conversation of people on the top of the island overhead; but though the O'Corras sailed round and round, they could not get a sight of them. IV. They row forward after that till they come to an island in which lived one lone cleric. Very lovely was that island, and glorious its history. Beautiful purple flowers covered all the plains, dropping honey in abundance; and on the trees were perched flocks of bright-coloured birds singing slow sweet fairy-music. The O'Corras went to ask the cleric about himself and about the island. And he spoke as follows:-- "I am a disciple of St. Andrew the Apostle, and Dega is my name. On a certain night I neglected to read my Matins; and it is for this that I was sent on a pilgrimage on the ocean; and here I am awaiting the Judgment day. And yonder birds that are singing those incomparable strains on the trees, these are the souls of holy men." V. They took leave of the old man and plied their oars, till they reached another island, with dead people on one side of it, and living people on the other side: and many of the living people had feet of iron. All round was a burning sea, which broke over the island continually in mighty waves. And the living people uttered fearful cries when the fiery waves flowed over them, for their torments thereby were great and terrible. VI. After leaving this they rowed on till they saw an island formed of great flat stones for ever burning red hot. And thereon they saw whole hosts of people burning in great torment; and many had red fiery spits thrust through their bodies. And they uttered great cries of pain without ceasing. The crew called out from a distance to ask who they were: whereupon one answered:-- "This is one of the flagstones of hell. We are souls who in life did not fulfil the penance imposed on us; and warn all men to avoid this place; for whosoever cometh hither shall never go hence till the Day of Judgment." VII. The next island they saw was very beautiful and glorious to look upon. It had a wall of copper all round it, with a network of copper hanging out from each corner; and in the centre stood a palace. The crew left their curragh on the strand and went towards the palace. And when they had come nigh unto the wall, the wind, as it rustled and murmured through the copper network, made music so soft and sweet that they fell into a gentle slumber, and slept for three days and three nights. When they awoke they saw a beautiful maiden coming towards them from the palace. She had sandals of _findrina_ (a sort of white metal) on her feet, and an inner garment of fine silk next her snow-white skin. She wore a beautiful gold-coloured vest, and over all a bright-tinted mantle, plaited fivefold on its upper border, and fastened at the neck with a brooch of burnished gold. In one hand she held a pitcher of copper, and in the other a silver goblet. When she had come near she greeted them and bade them welcome. And she gave them food from the copper pitcher which seemed to them like cheese; and she brought them water in the silver goblet from a well on the strand. And there was no delicious flavour that was ever tasted by man that they did not find in this food and drink. Then the maiden said to them:--"Although we are all--you and I--of one race, yet shall ye go hence without delay, for your resurrection is not to be here." So they bade her farewell and took to their oars once more. VIII. After rowing for some time they saw flocks of large birds of divers colours flying over the sea; and their number was great beyond counting. One of them alighted on the deck of the curragh. "It would be a delightful thing," said one of the clerics, "if this bird were a messenger from the Lord, sent to give us news." "That would be quite possible with God," said the eldest; and as he spoke he raised his eyes and looked at the bird. Whereupon the bird spoke and said:-- "It is indeed to converse with you that I have come; for I am of the land of Erin." Now this bird was crimson red all over, except three beautiful streaks on her breast, which shone as bright as the sun. And after a time she said to the same cleric:-- "I am the soul of a woman; and I am your friend. And come ye now," says she, "to hear yonder birds; for these are the souls that are permitted to come out of hell every Sunday." "It is better that we leave this place at once," said the same old cleric. And his companions said to him:-- "We will go with thee whithersoever thou goest." So they departed from that place; (and the crimson red bird went with them). IX. And as they went, they saw three wonderful streams, namely, a stream of otters, a stream of eels, and a stream of black swans. Great flocks of birds arose from these three streams and flew past the voyagers; and the black swans followed close after, tearing and tormenting the birds. And the crimson red bird said:-- "Marvel not, neither be ye sad of heart; for these bird-shapes that ye see are the souls of people suffering the punishment of their crimes. And the black swans that follow them, these are devils who are for ever tormenting them; and the birds scream fearfully, and are for ever trying to fly from the demons and to free themselves from their torment. "And now as to me," continued the bird, "I am about to depart from you. It is not permitted me to make known to you what is to befall you; but in a little time another will tell you all that you need to know." And the cleric said:--"Tell us, I beseech thee, what are those three beautiful streaks on thy breast." "I will tell you that," answered the bird. "When I was in the world I was married; but I did not yield obedience to my husband, neither did I fulfil my lawful homely duties as a wife. And when a grievous sickness came upon him I left him to die. But thrice I went in pity to him:--once to see him and ask after his illness; once to bring him such food as befitted his state; and the third time when he was dead, to watch by the body and see it buried. These three good deeds are the three beautiful streaks that you see on my breast; and I should have been bright all over like these streaks if I had not violated my lawful marriage duties." And having so spoken, the bird bade them farewell and flew away. X. They next discovered a very beautiful island. The grass was bright green, and it was all over intermingled with pretty purple-coloured flowers. Flocks of lovely little birds of many bright colours, and myriads of bees, flew among the trees and flowers, humming and singing harmonious music. The voyagers saw a venerable grey-headed old man with a harp in his hand. He played this harp on the island continually; and the music thereof was sweeter than any music they had ever heard. They saluted the old man, who saluted them in return, with a blessing. But immediately he bade them to depart. XI. So they rowed away till they came to another island, on which they saw a man digging in a field; and his spade was all fiery, and the handle thereof, which he held in his hand, was red hot. From the sea at one side arose at times a mighty wave all flaming red with fire, which flowed quite over the island and over the man. And ever when he saw the wave coming he cried out with fear; and when the burning torrent covered him, he strove to raise his head above the flames, and roared with his great torment. Now when one of the waves had retired they spoke to him and asked:-- "Who art thou, O wretched man?" And he answered:--"Lo, this is my punishment for my misdeeds. For when I lived on earth I always worked on Sundays, digging in my garden; for which I am condemned to dig with this fiery spade, and to suffer the torments of these fiery waves. And now, for the sake of God, offer up your prayers for me, that my pains may be lightened." And they prayed fervently; after which they departed from the island. XII. Soon after leaving this they saw a horseman of vast size riding on the sea; and the horse he rode was made of fire flaming red. And as he rode, great waves of fire came after him along the sea; and when a wave began to roll over him, he yelled aloud with fear and pain. Then they asked him why he was thus tormented; and he answered:-- "I am he who stole my brother's horse; and after I had gotten him I rode him every Sunday. For this I am now undergoing my punishment, riding on this horse of fire, and tormented with these great waves of fire." XIII. After leaving this they came in sight of another island, full of people, all weeping and lamenting grievously. Great numbers of jet-black birds with beaks of fire and red-hot fiery talons followed and fluttered round about them, tearing and burning them with their talons, and rending away pieces of flesh, the full of their fiery beaks. Then the crew said aloud:-- "Who are ye, O miserable people?" "We are dishonest smiths and artisans; and because we cheated while we lived, we are punished by these hateful fiery birds. Moreover, our tongues are burning, being all afire in our heads; for that we reviled people with bitter words and foul taunts." XIV. Coming now to another place, they saw a giant huge in size, and of a sooty black colour all over. His mouth was all on fire; and from his throat he belched forth great flakes of fire, each flake as it came from his mouth larger than the skin of a three-year-old wether. He held in his hand an iron club larger than the shaft of a mill wheel; and on his back he bore an immense faggot of firewood, a good load for a team of horses. Now this faggot often blazed up and burned him; and he tried to free himself from his torment by lying down so that the sea might flow over him. But ever as he did so, the sea around him turned to fire, and rose up in mighty burning billows, covering him all over, so that he made the place resound with his bellowings. "Miserable wretch, who art thou?" asked the crew. And he answered:--"I will tell you truly. When I lived I used to cut faggots and bring them home on my back every Sunday: and lo, here is my punishment." XV. They came after that to a sea of fire full of men's heads, all black, and continually fighting with each other. And many great serpents rose up among the heads and came with fury to attack the curragh, so that at one time they pierced through the outer hide. And one of the crew who looked on cried out in great horror, and said:-- "It is enough to strike one dead to behold the fearful things I see!" And the whole crew when they saw the heads and the serpents fell flat with fear. But the elder (the bishop) comforted them, saying:-- "Be ye not afraid or troubled on account of these things; for God is able to protect us, even though we were in a curragh of only one hide; and if He wishes to save us, these monsters cannot hurt us, however furious they may be to slay us." And they took courage after this, and rowed out into the open sea. XVI. There was shown to them next another beautiful island, having in one place an open wood. The trees were laden with fruit, and the leaves dropped honey to the ground. The sides of the hills were clothed with purple blossomed heather, mixed with soft, green grass to its very centre. In the midst of the island was a pretty lake, whose waters tasted like sweet wine. They rested for a week on the shore of this lake, and cast off their weariness. And now, being about to leave the island, as they turned to go to the curragh, a monstrous reptile[CLXVII.] rose up from the lake and looked at them. And they trembled with fear at the sight of this terrible beast; for each man thought that he himself would be the first to be attacked. But after a little time the reptile dived again into the water, and they saw no more of him. XVII. From this they rowed away; and after a long time they came at midnight to an island wherein was a community of Ailbe of Emly.[CLXVIII.] On the beach they found two spring wells; one foul, the other bright and clear. The gilla wished to drink of the clear well; but the elder (the bishop) told him it was better to ask leave, if there was anyone living on the island. Then they saw a great light; and coming closer, they found the twelve men of the community at their prayers; and now they perceived that the bright light they saw came from the radiant faces of the twelve; so that these holy men needed no other light. One of them, an old man, comes towards the voyagers; and he bids them welcome and asks news of them. They tell him all their adventures, and ask his leave to drink from the well; whereupon he said to them:--"Ye may fill your pitchers from the clear well, if your elder (_i.e._ the bishop) gives you leave." "Who are ye?" asks the gilla. "A community of Ailbe of Emly," says he: "and we are the crew of one of Ailbe's curraghs. God has permitted that we live here till the Day of Judgment, praying for everyone who is drowned at sea. And now leave this land before morning," he added, "for your resurrection is not to be here. And if ye have not left by the dawn, so much the worse for yourselves; for if once ye get a view of this island in the light of day, bitter will be your anguish of mind for leaving it (on account of its surpassing loveliness). So it is better for you to go away during the night." And they did exactly all he told them to do. "Shall we take away some of the pebbles of the strand?" said they (talking among themselves). "It is better to ask leave," answered the cleric. So the gilla asked leave of the same old man. "Yes, if you have the permission (of your bishop)," answered he. "Nevertheless," he added, "those who take them will be sorry; and those who do not take them will be sorry also." They pick up pebbles, some bringing away one, some two, some three. (After which they row away in the dark night from the island.) In the morning they drank some of the spring water of the island from their pitchers; which threw them into a deep sleep from that time till next day. On wakening up, they examined their pebbles in the light; and some were found to be crystal, some silver, and some gold. Then those who brought some away were in sorrow that they had not brought more; and much greater was the sorrow of those who had brought away none. So the words of the old man came true. XVIII. After leaving this they came to a lovely island on which was a church standing all alone: and when they drew nigh they heard the voice of a cleric singing the psalms with a sweet voice. They came to the door and struck it with the hand-wood; and straightway a beautiful bright-coloured bird came to speak with them. When they had told him who they were and what they wanted, he flew back to the cleric, who bade him have the door opened for the pilgrims. And when they had come in, they found the cleric--a very old man with white hair--who sang his hymns continually. And they saluted each other; and the pilgrims stayed there that night. And an angel came and brought them supper, and ministered unto them. On the morrow the old priest bade them depart, since that was not to be the place of their resurrection on the Judgment Day. But before they went he foretold all that should happen to them during the rest of their voyage. XIX. From that they came to an island in which was a disciple of Christ. Glorious and beautiful was that island; and on it stood a church and a kingly shrine. As they came near they heard some one singing the Pater to God in the door of the church: whereupon one of the clerics said:-- "Welcome the prayer of our father and teacher, Jesus." And the priest who stood praying at the door said:-- "Why say you so? Who are ye; and where have ye seen Him?" And when they had told him that they were servants of Jesus, he spoke again:-- "I too am one of His disciples. And when I first took Him for my Lord I was faithful and steady; but after a time I left Him and came to sea in my curragh, and rowed till I came to this island. For a long time I lived on fruit and herbs; till at length an angel came from heaven to visit me. And he said to me:-- "'Thou hast not done well: nevertheless thou shalt abide on this island, eating the same food without either decay or death till the Judgment Day.' And so I have lived here to this hour: and no daily meal is sent to me, but I eat of the herbs and fruit that grow on the island." Then they all went together into one house; and being very hungry, they prayed fervently for food. And presently an angel came down from heaven; and while they looked on he placed a supper for them on a flagstone hard by the strand, namely, a cake with a slice of fish for each. And while they ate, whatsoever taste each man separately wished for, that taste he found on the food. In the morning, when they were about to bid the cleric farewell, he foretold all that should happen to them, saying:-- "Ye shall go from me now on sea till ye reach the western point of Spain. And as ye near the land, ye shall meet a boat with a crew of men fishing, who will bring you with them to land." Then turning to the bishop, he said:--"Immediately after leaving the curragh, as soon as thou hast reached the land, prostrate thyself three times to God. And the place on which thou shalt first set thy foot, there a great crowd shall gather round thee from every quarter. And they will treat thee kindly, and will give thee land on which they will build a church for thee; and after this thy fame shall spread over the whole world. And the successor of Peter (the Pope) shall bring thee eastwards to Rome. Yonder priest thou shalt leave as thy successor in the church, and the deacon thou shalt leave to be his sacristan. That place and that church shall be revered, and shall be preserved for ever. And thou shalt leave the Gilla in Britain, where he will live for the rest of his life." After this they bade the old man farewell and left the island. And all fell out just as he had foretold. And the bishop went to Rome; and he afterwards related these adventures to Saerbrethach bishop of West Munster, and to Mocolmoc, one of the holy men of Aran, as we have set them down here. Thus far the Voyage of the Sons of O'Corra. FOOTNOTES: [CLV.] I translated this tale fifteen years ago (as mentioned in Preface, page xiii) from two Royal Irish Academy MSS., 23. N. 15 and 23. M. 50; and I subsequently made some modifications after I had an opportunity of consulting the more correct text of the Book of Fermoy. This last text has since been published, with literal translation, by Dr. Whitley Stokes, in the _Revue Celtique_ (Jan. 1893). After comparing my somewhat free version with Dr. Stokes's close translation, I have not thought it necessary to make any changes. A few of the adventures in this tale are identical with those described in the Voyage of Maildun: the description of these I have omitted here. Lochan, Enna, and Silvester, the chief characters in this extraordinary fiction, are historical: they were saints of the primitive Irish church, and lived in the sixth century. [CLVI.] _Brugaid_, a sort of local officer who maintained a large establishment as keeper of a house of public hospitality. See my "Short History of Ireland," p. 57. [CLVII.] Chess-playing was a favourite amusement among the ancient Irish. [CLVIII.] Cairderga: original _Caer-derg_, red berry. [CLIX.] _Erenach_, the holder or _impropriator_ of a church and its lands: usually a layman. [CLX.] Clogher in Tyrone where there was a monastery. [CLXI.] Tuam-da-Gualann, where was formerly a celebrated ecclesiastical establishment: now Tuam in Galway. [CLXII.] Greenan: original _grianan_, literally a sunny place: a summer-house: the most lightsome, airy, and pleasant apartment of a house. See this word discussed in my "Irish Names of Places," vol. i. p. 291. [CLXIII.] For St. Finnen of Clonard in the County Meath, see my "Short History of Ireland," p. 175 [CLXIV.] _Kenn-Mara_, now Kinvarra on Galway bay. [CLXV.] _Curragh_, see note 17 at end. Some curraghs were made with two--some with three--hides, one outside another, for the better security. [CLXVI.] _Crossans_: travelling gleemen: the clothes, musical instruments, &c., were the property of the company. This word is the origin of the Scotch and Irish family name MacCrossan, now often changed to Crosbie. A company of crossans had always among them a _fuirseoir_, i.e. a juggler or buffoon. [CLXVII.] According to very ancient legends, which are still vividly remembered and recounted all over the country, almost every lake in Ireland has a tremendous hairy reptile in its waters. Some say they are demons, sent by St. Patrick to reside at the bottom of the lakes to the Day of Judgment. [CLXVIII.] St. Ailbe, the patron of Munster, was a contemporary of St. Patrick. He founded his great monastery and school at Emly in the County Limerick. THE FATE OF THE SONS OF USNA.[CLXIX.] Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin On him who the brave sons of Usna betrayed. MOORE. FOOTNOTES: [CLXIX.] The translation that follows is my own, and is of course copyright, like all the other translations in this book. On this fine story is founded the epic poem of "Deirdre," by Robert Dwyer Joyce, M.D. CHAPTER I. THE FLIGHT TO ALBAN. Concobar mac Nessa, king of Ulaid,[CLXX.] ruled in Emain. And his chief story-teller, Felimid, made a feast for the king and for the knights of the Red Branch,[CLXXI.] who all came to partake of it in his house. While they were feasting right joyously, listening to the sweet music of the harps and the mellow voices of the bards, a messenger brought word that Felimid's wife had given birth to a little daughter, an infant of wondrous beauty. And when Caffa, the king's druid and seer, who was of the company, was ware of the birth of the child, he went forth to view the stars and the clouds, if he might thereby glean knowledge of what was in store for that little babe.[CLXXII.] And when he had returned to his place, he sat deep pondering for a time: and then standing up and obtaining silence, he said:-- "This child shall be called Deir-dr[)e][CLXXIII.]; and fittingly is she so named: for much of woe will befall Ulaid and Erin in general on her account. There shall be jealousies, and strifes, and wars: evil deeds will be done: many heroes will be exiled: many will fall." When the heroes heard this, they were sorely troubled, and some said that the child should be killed. But the king said:--"Not so, ye Knights of the Red Branch; it is not meet to commit a base deed in order to escape evils that may never come to pass. This little maid shall be reared out of the reach of mischief, and when she is old enough she shall be my wife: thus shall I be the better able to guard against those evils that Caffa forecasts for us." And the Ultonians did not dare to gainsay the word of the king. Then king Concobar caused the child to be placed in a strong fortress on a lonely spot nigh the palace, with no opening in front, but with door and windows looking out at the back on a lovely garden watered by a clear rippling stream: and house and garden were surrounded by a wall that no man could surmount. And those who were put in charge of her were, her tutor, and her nurse, and Concobar's poetess, whose name was Lavarcam: and save these three, none were permitted to see her. And so she grew up in this solitude, year by year, till she was of marriageable age, when she excelled all the maidens of her time for beauty. One snowy day as she and Lavarcam looked forth from the window, they saw some blood on the snow, where her tutor had killed a calf for dinner; and a raven alighted and began to drink of it. "I should like," said Deirdre, "that he who is to be my husband should have these three colours: his hair as black as the raven: his cheeks red as the blood: his skin like the snow. And I saw such a youth in a dream last night; but I know not where he is, or whether he is living on the ridge of the world." "Truly," said Lavarcam, "the young hero that answers to thy words is not far from thee; for he is among Concobar's knights: namely, Naisi the son of Usna." Now Naisi and his brothers, Ainnli and Ardan, the three sons of Usna, were the best beloved of all the Red Branch Knights, so gracious and gentle were they in time of peace, so skilful and swift-footed in the chase, so strong and valiant in battle. And when Deirdre heard Lavarcam's words, she said:--"If it be as thou sayest, that this young knight is near us, I shall not be happy till I see him: and I beseech thee to bring him to speak to me." "Alas, child," replied Lavarcam, "thou knowest not the peril of what thou askest me to do: for if thy tutor come to know of it, he will surely tell the king; and the king's anger none can bear." Deirdre answered not: but she remained for many days sad and silent: and her eyes often filled with tears through memory of her dream: so that Lavarcam was grieved: and she pondered on the thing if it could be done, for she loved Deirdre very much, and had compassion on her. At last she contrived that these two should meet without the tutor's knowledge: and the end of the matter was that they loved each other: and Deirdre said she would never wed the king, but she would wed Naisi. Knowing well the doom that awaited them when Concobar came to hear of this, Naisi and his young wife and his two brothers, with thrice fifty fighting men, thrice fifty women, thrice fifty attendants, and thrice fifty hounds, fled over sea to Alban. And the king of the western part of Alban received them kindly, and took them into military service. Here they remained for a space, gaining daily in favour: but they kept Deirdre apart, fearing evil if the king should see her. And so matters went on, till it chanced that the king's steward, coming one day by Naisi's house, saw the couple as they sat on their couch: and going directly to his master, he said:-- "O king, we have long sought in vain for a woman worthy to be thy wife, and now at last we have found her: for the woman, Deirdre, who is with Naisi, is worthy to be the wife of the king of the western world. And now I give thee this counsel:--Let Naisi be killed, and then take thou Deirdre for thy wife." The king basely agreed to do so; and forthwith he laid a plot to slay the sons of Usna; which matter coming betimes to the ears of the brothers, they fled by night with all their people. And when they had got to a safe distance, they took up their abode in a wild place, where with much ado they obtained food by hunting and fishing. And the brothers built them three hunting booths in the forest, a little distance from that part of the seashore looking towards Erin: and the booth in which their food was prepared, in that they did not eat; and the one in which they ate, in that they did not sleep. And their people in like manner built themselves booths and huts, which gave them but scant shelter from wind and weather. Now when it came to the ears of the Ultonians, that the sons of Usna and their people were in discomfort and danger, they were sorely grieved: but they kept their thoughts to themselves, for they dared not speak their mind to the king. FOOTNOTES: [CLXX.] Ulaid (pronounced _Ulla_), Ulster. [CLXXI.] For Concobar and the Red Branch Knights, see note 15 farther on: and for much fuller information, see my "Social History of Ancient Ireland," vol. i, page 83; or the Smaller Soc. Hist., page 38. [CLXXII.] The druids professed to be able to foretell by observing the stars and clouds. See Smaller Social History, p. 98. [CLXXIII.] "Deirdre" is said to mean "alarm." CHAPTER II. CONCOBAR'S GUILEFUL MESSAGE. AT this same time a right joyous and very splendid feast was given by Concobar in Emain Macha to the nobles and the knights of his household. And the number of the king's household that sat them down in the great hall of Emain on that occasion was five and three score above six hundred and one thousand.[CLXXIV.] Then arose, in turn, their musicians to sound their melodious harpstrings, and their poets and their story-tellers to sing their sweet poetic strains, and to recount the deeds of the mighty heroes of the olden time. And the feasting and the enjoyment went on, and the entire assembly were gay and cheerful. At length Concobar arose from where he sat high up on his royal seat; whereupon the noise of mirth was instantly hushed. And he raised his kingly voice and said:-- "I desire to know from you, ye Nobles and Knights of the Red Branch, have you ever seen in any quarter of Erin a house better than this house of Emain, which is my mansion: and whether you see any want in it." And they answered that they saw no better house, and that they knew of no want in it. And the king said: "I know of a great want: namely, that we have not present among us the three noble sons of Usna. And why now should they be in banishment on account of any woman in the world?" And the nobles replied:--"Truly it is a sad thing that the sons of Usna, our dear comrades, should be in exile and distress. They were a shield of defence to Ulaid: and now, O king, it will please us well that thou send for them and bring them back, lest they and their people perish by famine or fall by their enemies." "Let them come," replied Concobar, "and make submission to me: and their homes, and their lands and their places among the Knights of the Red Branch shall be restored to them." Now Concobar was mightily enraged at the marriage and flight of Naisi and Deirdre, though he hid his mind from all men; and he spoke these words pretending forgiveness and friendship. But there was guile in his heart, and he planned to allure them back to Ulaid that he might kill them. When the feast was ended, and the company had departed, the king called unto him Fergus mac Roy, and said:--"Go thou, Fergus, and bring back the sons of Usna and their people. I promise thee that I will receive them as friends should be received, and that what awaits them here is not enmity or injury, but welcome and friendship. Take my message of peace and good will, and give thyself as pledge and surety for their safety. But these two things I charge thee to do:--That the moment you land in Ulaid on your way back, you proceed straight to Barach's house which stands on the sea cliff high over the landing place fronting Alban: and that whether the time of your arrival be by day or by night, thou see that the sons of Usna tarry not, but let them come hither direct to Emain, that they may not eat food in Erin till they eat of mine." And Fergus, suspecting no evil design, promised to do as the king directed: for he was glad to be sent on this errand, being a fast friend to the sons of Usna. Fergus set out straightway, bringing with him only his two sons, Illan the Fair and Buinni the Red, and his shield-bearer to carry his shield. And as soon as he had departed, Concobar sent for Barach and said to him:-- "Prepare a feast in thy house for Fergus: and when he visits thee returning with the sons of Usna, invite him to partake of it." And Barach thereupon departed for his home to do the bidding of the king and prepare the feast. Now those heroes of old, on the day they received knighthood, were wont to make certain pledges which were to bind them for life, some binding themselves to one thing, some to another. And as they made the promises on the faith of their knighthood, with great vows, in presence of kings and nobles, they dared not violate them; no, not even if it was to save the lives of themselves and all their friends: for whosoever broke through his knighthood pledge was foully dishonoured for evermore. And one of Fergus's obligations was never to refuse an invitation to a banquet: a thing which was well known to King Concobar and to Barach. As to Fergus mac Roy and his sons: they went on board their galley and put to sea, and made no delay till they reached the harbour nigh the campment of the sons of Usna. And coming ashore, Fergus gave the loud shout of a mighty man of chase. The sons of Usna were at that same hour in their booth; and Naisi and Deirdre were sitting with a polished chessboard between them playing a game. And when they heard the shout, Naisi said:--"That is the call of a man from Erin." "Not so," replied Deirdre, "it is the call of a man of Alban." And after a little time when a second shout came, Naisi said:--"That of a certainty is the call of a man of Erin!" But Deirdre again replied:--"No, indeed: it concerns us not: let us play our game." But when a third shout came sounding louder than those before, Naisi arose and said:--"Now I know the voice: that is the shout of Fergus!" And straightway he sent Ardan to the shore to meet him. Now Deirdre knew the voice of Fergus from the first: but she kept her thoughts to herself: for her heart misgave her that the visit boded evil. And when she told Naisi that she knew the first shout, he said:--"Why, my queen, didst thou conceal it then?" And she replied:--"Lo, I saw a vision in my sleep last night: three birds came to us from Emain Macha, with three drops of honey in their beaks, and they left us the honey and took away three drops of our blood." "What dost thou read from that vision, O princess?" said Naisi. "It denotes the message from Concobar to us," said Deirdre; "for sweet as honey is the message of peace from a false man, while he has thoughts of blood hidden deep in his heart." When Ardan arrived at the shore, the sight of Fergus and his two sons was to him like rain on the parched grass; for it was long since he had seen any of his dear comrades from Erin. And he cried out as he came near, "An affectionate welcome to you, my dear companions": and he fell on Fergus's neck and kissed his cheeks, and did the like to his sons. Then he brought them to the hunting-booth; and Naisi, Ainnli, and Deirdre gave them a like kind welcome; after which they asked the news from Erin. "The best news I have," said Fergus, "is that Concobar has sent me to you with kindly greetings, to bring you back to Emain and restore you to your lands and homes, and to your places in the Red Branch; and I am myself a pledge for your safety." "It is not meet for them to go," said Deirdre: "for here they are under no man's rule; and their sway in Alban is even as great as the sway of Concobar in Erin." But Fergus said: "One's mother country is better than all else, and gloomy is life when a man sees not his home each morning." "Far dearer to me is Erin than Alban," said Naisi, "even though my sway should be greater here." It was not with Deirdre's consent he spoke these words: and she still earnestly opposed their return to Erin. But Fergus tried to re-assure her:--"If all the men of Erin were against you," said he, "it would avail nought once I have passed my word for your safety." "We trust in thee," said Naisi, "and we will go with thee to Erin." FOOTNOTES: [CLXXIV.] That is 1665. This inverted method of enumeration was often used in Ireland. But they also used direct enumeration like ours. CHAPTER III. THE RETURN TO EMAIN. Going next morning on board their galleys, Fergus and his companions put out on the wide sea: and oar and wind bore them on swiftly till they landed on the shore of Erin near the house of Barach. And Deirdre, seating herself on a cliff, looked sadly over the waters at the blue headlands of Alban: and she uttered this farewell:-- I. "Dear to me is yon eastern land: Alban with its wonders. Beloved is Alban with its bright harbours and its pleasant hills of the green slopes. From that land I would never depart except to be with Naisi. II. "Kil-Cuan, O Kil-Cuan,[CLXXV.] whither Ainnli was wont to resort: short seemed the time to me while I sojourned there with Naisi on the margins of its streams and waterfalls. III. "Glen-Lee, O Glen-Lee, where I slept happy under soft coverlets: fish and fowl, and the flesh of red deer and badgers; these were our fare in Glen-Lee. IV. "Glen-Masan, O Glen-Masan: tall its cresses of white stalks: often were we rocked to sleep in our curragh in the grassy harbour of Glen-Masan. V. "Glen-Orchy, O Glen-Orchy: over thy straight glen rises the smooth ridge that oft echoed to the voices of our hounds. No man of the clan was more light-hearted than my Naisi when following the chase in Glen-Orchy. VI. "Glen-Ettive, O Glen-Ettive: there it was that my first house was raised for me: lovely its woods in the smile of the early morn: the sun loves to shine on Glen-Ettive. VII. "Glen-da-Roy, O Glen-da-Roy: the memory of its people is dear to me: sweet is the cuckoo's note from the bending bough on the peak over Glen-da-Roy. VIII. "Dear to me is Dreenagh over the resounding shore: dear to me its crystal waters over the speckled sand. From those sweet places I would never depart, but only to be with my beloved Naisi." After this they entered the house of Barach; and when Barach had welcomed them, he said to Fergus: "Here I have a three-days banquet ready for thee, and I invite thee to come and partake of it." When Fergus heard this, his heart sank and his face waxed all over a crimson red: and he said fiercely to Barach:--"Thou hast done an evil thing to ask me to this banquet: for well thou knowest I cannot refuse thee. Thou knowest, too, that I am under solemn pledge to send the Sons of Usna this very hour to Emain: and if I remain feasting in thy house, how shall I see that my promise of safety is respected?" But none the less did Barach persist; for he was one of the partners in Concobar's treacherous design. Then Fergus turned to Naisi and said:--"I dare not violate my knighthood promise: what am I to do in this strait?" But Deirdre answered for her husband:--"The choice is before thee, Fergus; and it is more meet for thee to abandon thy feast than to abandon the sons of Usna, who have come over on thy pledge." Then Fergus was in sore perplexity; and pondering a little he said:--"I will not forsake the sons of Usna: for I will send with them to Emain Macha my two sons, Illan the Fair and Buinni the Red, who will be their pledge instead of me." But Naisi said: "We need not thy sons for guard or pledge: we have ever been accustomed to defend ourselves!" And he moved from the place in great wrath: and his two brothers, and Deirdre, and the two sons of Fergus followed him, with the rest of the clan; while Fergus remained behind silent and gloomy: for his heart misgave him that mischief was brewing for the sons of Usna. Then Deirdre tried to persuade the sons of Usna to go to Rathlin, between Erin and Alban, and tarry there till Barach's feast was ended: but they did not consent to do so, for they deemed it would be a mark of cowardice: and they sped on by the shortest ways towards Emain Macha. When now they had come to Fincarn of the Watch-tower on Slieve Fuad, Deirdre and her attendants stayed behind the others a little: and she fell asleep. And when Naisi missed her, he turned back and found her just awakening; and he said to her:--"Why didst thou tarry, my princess?" And she answered:--"I fell asleep and had a dream. And this is what I saw in my dream:--Illan the Fair took your part: Buinni the Red did not: and I saw Illan without his head: but Buinni had neither wound nor hurt." "Alas, O beauteous princess," said Naisi, "thou utterest nought but evil forebodings: but the king is true and will not break his plighted word." So they fared on till they had come to the Ridge of the Willows,[CLXXVI.] an hour's journey from the palace: and Deirdre, looking upwards in great fear, said to Naisi:--"O Naisi, see yonder cloud in the sky over Emain, a fearful chilling cloud of a blood-red tinge: a baleful red cloud that bodes disaster! Come ye now to Dundalgan and abide there with the mighty hero Cuculainn till Fergus returns from Barach's feast; for I fear Concobar's treachery." But Naisi answered:--"We cannot follow thy advice, beloved Deirdre, for it would be a mark of fear: and we have no fear." And as they came nigh the palace Deirdre said to them:--"I will now give you a sign if Concobar meditates good or evil. If you are brought into his own mansion where he sits surrounded by his nobles, to eat and drink with him, this is a token that he means no ill; for no man will injure a guest that has partaken of food at his table: but if you are sent to the house of the Red Branch, be sure he is bent on treachery." When at last they arrived at the palace, they knocked loudly with the handwood: and the door-keeper swang the great door wide open. And when he had spoken with them, he went and told Concobar that the sons of Usna and Fergus's two sons had come, with their people. And Concobar called to him his stewards and attendants and asked them:--"How is it in the house of the Red Branch as to food and drink?" And they replied that if the seven battalions of Ulaid were to come to it, they would find enough of all good things. "If that is so," said Concobar, "take the sons of Usna and their people to the Red Branch." Even then Deirdre besought them not to enter the Red Branch: for she deemed now that of a certainty there was mischief afoot. But Illan the Fair said:--"Never did we show cowardice or unmanliness, and we shall not do so now." Then she was silent and went with them into the house. And the company, when they had come in, sat them down so that they filled the great hall: and alluring viands and delicious drinks were set before them: and they ate and drank till they became satisfied and cheerful: all except Deirdre and the Sons of Usna, who did not partake much of food or drink. And Naisi asked for the king's chessboard and chessmen; which were brought: and he and Deirdre began to play. FOOTNOTES: [CLXXV.] This and the other places named in Deirdre's Farewell are all in the west of Scotland. [CLXXVI.] Irish name, _Drum-Sailech_; the ridge on which Armagh was afterwards built. CHAPTER IV. TROUBLE LOOMING. Let us now speak of Concobar. As he sat among his nobles, the thought of Deirdre came into his mind, and he said:--"Who among you will go to the Red Branch and bring me tidings of Deirdre, whether her youthful shape and looks still live upon her: for if so there is not on the ridge of the world a woman more beautiful." And Lavarcam said she would go. Now the sons of Usna were very dear to Lavarcam: and Naisi was dearer than the others. And rising up she went to the Red Branch, where she found Naisi and Deirdre with the chessboard between them, playing. And she saluted them affectionately: and she embraced Deirdre, and wept over her, and kissed her many times with the eagerness of her love: and she kissed the cheeks of Naisi and of his brothers. And when her loving greeting was ended, she said:--"Beloved children, evil is the deed that is to be done this night in Emain: for the three torches of valour of the Gaels will be treacherously assailed, and Concobar is certainly resolved to put them to death. And now set your people on guard, and bolt and bar all doors, and close all windows; and be steadfast and valorous, and defend your dear charge manfully, if you may hold the assailants at bay till Fergus comes." And she departed weeping piteously. And when Lavarcam had returned to Concobar he asked what tidings she brought. "Good tidings have I," said she: "for the three sons of Usna have come, the three valiant champions of Ulaid: and now that they are with thee, O king, thou wilt hold sway in Erin without dispute. And bad tidings I bring also: Deirdre indeed is not as she was, for her youthful form and the splendour of her countenance have fled from her." And when Concobar heard this, his jealousy abated, and he joined in the feasting. But again the thought of Deirdre came to him, and he asked:--"Who now will go for me to the Red Branch, and bring me further tidings of Deirdre and of the sons of Usna?" for he distrusted Lavarcam. But the Knights of the Red Branch had misgivings of some evil design, and all remained silent. Then he called to him Trendorn, one of the lesser chiefs: and he said:--"Knowest thou, Trendorn, who slew thy father and thy three brothers in battle?" And Trendorn answered:--"Verily, it was Naisi, the son of Usna, that slew them." Then the king said:--"Go now to the Red Branch and bring me back tidings of Deirdre and of the sons of Usna." Trendorn went right willingly. But when he found the doors and windows of the Red Branch shut up, he was seized with fear, and he said:--"It is not safe to approach the sons of Usna, for they are surely in wrathful mood: nevertheless I must needs bring back tidings to the king." Whereupon, not daring to knock at the door, he climbed nimbly to a small window high up that had been unwittingly left open, through which he viewed the spacious banquet hall, and saw Naisi and Deirdre playing chess. Deirdre chanced to look up at that moment, and seeing the face of the spy with eyes intently gazing on her, she started with affright and grasped Naisi's arm, as he was making a move with the chessman. Naisi, following her gaze, and seeing the evil-looking face, flung the chessman with unerring aim, and broke the eye in Trendorn's head. Trendorn dropped down in pain and rage; and going straight to Concobar, he said:--"I have tidings for thee, O king: the three sons of Usna are sitting in the banquet hall, stately and proud like kings: and Deirdre is seated beside Naisi; and verily for beauty and queenly grace her peer cannot be found." When Concobar heard this, a flame of jealousy and fury blazed up in his heart, and he resolved that by no means should the sons of Usna escape the doom he planned for them. CHAPTER V. THE ATTACK ON THE SONS OF USNA. Coming forth on the lawn of Emain, King Concobar now ordered a large body of hireling troops to beset the Red Branch: and he bade them force the doors and bring forth the sons of Usna. And they uttered three dreadful shouts of defiance, and assailed the house on every side; but the strong oak stood bravely, and they were not able to break through doors or walls. So they heaped up great piles of wood and brambles, and kindled them till the red flames blazed round the house. Buinni the Red now stood up and said to the sons of Usna:--"To me be entrusted the task to repel this first assault: for I am your pledge in place of my father." And marshalling his men, and causing the great door to be thrown wide open, he sallied forth and scattered the assailants, and put out the fires: slaying thrice fifty hirelings in that onslaught. But Buinni returned not to the Red Branch: for the king sent to him with a secret offer of great favours and bribes: namely, his own royal friendship, and a fruitful tract of land; which Buinni took and basely abandoned the sons of Usna. But none the better luck came to him of it: for at that same hour a blight fell on the land, so that it became a moor, waste and profitless, which is at this day called Slieve Fuad. When Illan the Fair became aware of his brother's treason, he was grieved to the heart, and he said:--"I am the second pledge in place of my father for the sons of Usna, and of a certainty I will not betray them: while this straight sword lives in my hand I will be faithful: and I will now repel this second attack." For at this time the king's hirelings were again thundering at the doors. Forth he issued with his band: and he made three quick furious circuits round the Red Branch, scattering the troops as he went: after which he returned to the mansion and found Naisi and Deirdre still playing.[CLXXVII.] But as the hireling hordes returned to the attack, he went forth a second time and fell on them, dealing death and havoc whithersoever he went. Then, while the fight was still raging, Concobar called to him his son Ficra, and said to him:--"Thou and Illan the Fair were born on the same night: and as he has his father's arms, so thou take mine, namely, my shield which is called the Ocean, and my two spears which are called Dart and Slaughter, and my great sword, the Blue-green blade. And bear thyself manfully against him, and vanquish him, else none of my troops will survive." Ficra did so and went against Illan the Fair; and they made a stout, warlike, red-wounding attack on each other, while the others looked on anxious: but none dared to interfere. And it came to pass that Illan prevailed, so that Ficra was fain to shelter himself behind his father's shield the Ocean, and he was like to be slain. Whereupon, the shield moaned, and the Three Waves of Erin uttered their hollow melancholy roar.[CLXXVIII.] The hero Conall Carnagh, sitting in his dun afar off, heard the moan of the shield and the roar of the Wave of Tuath: and springing up from where he sat, he said: "Verily, the king is in danger: I will go to his rescue." He ran with the swiftness of the wind, and arrived on the Green of Emain, where the two young heroes were fighting. Thinking it was Concobar that crouched beneath the shield, he attacked Illan, not knowing him, and wounded him even unto death. And Illan looking up said, "Is it thou, Conall? Alas, dreadful is the deed thou hast done, not knowing me, and not knowing that I am fighting in defence of the sons of Usna, who are now in deadly peril from the treachery of Concobar." And Conall, finding he had unwittingly wounded his dear young friend Illan, turned in his grief and rage on the other, and swept off his head. And he stalked fierce and silent out of the battlefield. Illan, still faithful to his charge, called aloud to Naisi to defend himself bravely: then putting forth his remaining strength, he flung his arms, namely, his sword and his spears and his shield, into the Red Branch; and falling prone on the green sward, the shades of death dimmed his eyes, and his life departed. And now when it was the dusk of evening, another great battalion of the hirelings assailed the Red Branch, and kindled fagots around it: whereupon Ardan sallied out with his valorous band and scattered them, and put out the fires, and held guard for the first third of the night. And during the second third Ainnli kept them at bay. Then Naisi took his turn, issuing forth, and fought with them till the morning's dawn: and until the sands of the seashore, or the leaves of the forest, or the dew-drops on the grass, or the stars of heaven are counted, it will not be possible to number the hirelings that were slain in that fight by Naisi and his band of heroes. And as he was returning breathless from the rout, all grimy and terrible with blood and sweat, he spied Lavarcam, as she stood watching the battle anxiously; and he said:--"Go, Lavarcam, go and stand on the outer rampart, and cast thine eyes eastwards, if perchance thou shouldst see Fergus and his men coming." For many of Naisi's brave followers had fallen in these encounters: and he doubted that he and the others could sustain much longer the continual assaults of superior numbers. And Lavarcam went, but returned downcast, saying she saw nought eastwards, but the open plain with the peaceful herds browsing over it. FOOTNOTES: [CLXXVII.] These champions, as well as their wives, took care never to show any signs of fear or alarm even in the time of greatest danger: so Naisi and Deirdre kept playing quietly as if nothing was going on outside, though they heard the din of battle resounding. [CLXXVIII.] The "Three _Tonns_ or Waves of Erin" were the Wave of Tuath outside the mouth of the river Bann, off the coast of Derry; the Wave of Rury in Dundrum Bay, off the county Down; and the Wave of Cleena in Glandore Harbour in the south of Cork. In stormy weather, when the wind blows from certain directions, the sea at those places, as it tumbles over the sandbanks, or among the caves and fissures of the rocks, utters a loud and solemn roar, which in old times was believed to forebode the death of some king. The legends also tell that the shield belonging to a king moaned when the person who wore it in battle--whether the king himself or a member of his family--was in danger of death: the moan was heard all over Ireland; and the "Three Waves of Erin" roared in response. See "Irish Names of Places," Vol. II., Chap. XVI. CHAPTER VI. DEATH OF THE SONS OF USNA. Believing now that they could no longer defend the Red Branch, Naisi took council with his brothers; and what they resolved on was this:--To sally forth with all their men and fight their way to a place of safety. Then making a close, firm fence of shields and spears round Deirdre, they marched out in solid ranks and attacked the hireling battalions and slew three hundred in that onslaught. Concobar, seeing the rout of his men, and being now sure that it was not possible to subdue the sons of Usna in open fight, cast about if he might take them by falsehood and craft. And sending for Caffa, the druid, who loved them, he said:-- "These sons of Usna are brave men, and it is our pleasure to receive them back into our service. Go now unto them, for thou art their loved friend; and say to them that if they lay down their arms and submit to me, I will restore them to favour and give them their places among the Red Branch Knights. And I pledge thee my kingly word and my troth as a true knight, that no harm shall befall them." Caffa, by no means distrusting him, went to the sons of Usna, and told them all the king had said. And they, suspecting neither guile nor treachery, joyfully threw their swords and spears aside, and went towards the king to make submission. But now, while they stood defenceless, the king caused them to be seized and bound. Then, turning aside, he sought for some one to put them to death; but he found no man of the Ultonians willing to do so. Among his followers was a foreigner named Maini of the Rough Hand, whose father and two brothers had fallen in battle by Naisi: and this man undertook to kill the sons of Usna. When they were brought forth to their doom, Ardan said:--"I am the youngest: let me be slain first, that I may not see the death of my brothers." And Ainnli earnestly pleaded for the same thing for himself, saying that he was born before Ardan, and should die before him. But Naisi said:--"Lo, I have a sword, the gift of Mannanan mac Lir, which leaves no remnant unfinished after a blow: let us be struck with it, all three together, and we shall die at the same moment." This was agreed to: and the sword was brought forth, and they laid their heads close together, and Maini swept off all three with one blow of the mighty sword. And when it became known that the sons of Usna were dead, the men of Ulaid sent forth three great cries of grief and lamentation. As for Deirdre, she cried aloud, and tore her golden hair, and became like one distracted. And after a time, when her calmness had a little returned, she uttered a lament:-- I. "Three lions of the hill are dead, and I am left alone to weep for them. The generous princes who made the stranger welcome have been guilefully lured to their doom. II. "The three strong hawks of Slieve Cullinn,[CLXXIX.] a king's three sons, strong and gentle: willing obedience was yielded to them by heroes who had conquered many lands. III. "Three generous heroes of the Red Branch, who loved to praise the valour of others: three props of the battalions of Quelna: their fall is the cause of bitter grief. IV. "Ainnli and Ardan, haughty and fierce in battle, to me were ever loving and gentle: Naisi, Naisi, beloved spouse of my choice, thou canst not hear thy Deirdre lamenting thee. V. "When they brought down the fleet red deer in the chase, when they speared the salmon skilfully in the clear water, joyful and proud were they if I looked on. VI. "Often when my feeble feet grew weary wandering along the valleys, and climbing the hills to view the chase, often would they bear me home lightly on their linked shields and spears. VII. "It was gladness of heart to be with the sons of Usna: long and weary is the day without their company: short will be my span of life since they have left me. VIII. "Sorrow and tears have dimmed my eyes, looking at the grave of Naisi: a dark deadly sickness has seized my heart: I cannot, I cannot live after Naisi. IX. "O thou who diggest the new grave, make it deep and wide: let it be a grave for four; for I will sleep for ever beside my beloved." When she had spoken these words, she fell beside the body of Naisi and died immediately. And a great cairn of stones was piled over their grave, and their names were inscribed in Ogham, and their funeral rites were performed. This is the sorrowful tale of The Fate of the Sons of Usna. FOOTNOTES: [CLXXIX.] Slieve Cullinn, now Slieve Gullion mountain in Armagh. NOTES. NOTE 1.--_The Dedannans._ According to the old bardic legends, the first man who led a colony to Ireland after the Flood was Parthalon. Next came Nemed and his people; and after these the Firbolgs, who were conquered and succeeded by the Dedannans. The legend relates that the Dedannans, in the course of their wanderings, spent some time in Greece, where they learned magic and other curious arts. From this they migrated to Lochlann, in the north of Europe (see note 6), from which they came through Scotland to their final resting-place, Ireland. From the three queens of their three last kings, Ireland got the three names, Erin, F[=o]la, and Banba. After the Dedannans had held sway in Ireland for about two hundred years, they were in their turn conquered by the last and greatest colony of all, the people of Milèd or Milesius, who are commonly known by the name of Milesians, and who are the ancestors of the leading Gaelic families of Ireland. The Milesians defeated the Dedannans in two great battles: one fought at _Tailltenn_, now Teltown, on the river Blackwater, between Navan and Kells, in Meath; and the other at _Druim-Lighean_, now Drumleene, about three miles from Lifford, in Donegal. In the legendary and romantic literature of Ireland, the Dedannans are celebrated as magicians. By the Milesians and their descendants they were regarded as gods, and ultimately, in the imagination of the people, they became what are now in Ireland called "fairies." After their defeat by the Milesians, they seem to have retired to remote and lonely places; and their reputation as magicians, as well as the obscure and mysterious manner in which they lived, gradually impressed the vulgar with the belief that they were supernatural beings. The notion was that they lived in splendid palaces in the interior of pleasant green hills. These hills were called _sidh_ (pronounced _shee_); and hence the Dedannans were called _Daoine-sidhe_ (_Deena-shee_), or people of the fairy hills; _Marcra-sidhe_ (_Markra-shee_), fairy cavalcade; and _Sluagh-sidhe_ (_Sloo-shee_), fairy host. Of this mysterious race, the following are the principal characters mentioned in these tales. Mannanan Mac Lir, the Gaelic sea-god. In "Cormac's Glossary" (written A.D. 900), we are told that he was a famous merchant who resided in, and gave name to, _Inis-Manann_, or the Isle of Man; that he was the best merchant in Western Europe; and that he used to know, by examining the heavens, the length of time the fair and the foul weather would last. The Dagda, whose name some interpret to mean "the great good fire," so called from his military ardour, who reigned as king of Ireland from A.M. 3370 to 3450. Angus or Angus Oge, the son of the Dagda, who lived at _Brugh_ or Bruga, on the north shore of the Boyne, a little below the village of Slane. Angus is spoken of as the wisest and the most skilled in magic of all the Dedannan race. Nuada of the Silver Hand. (See note 4.) Lir of Shee Finnaha, the father of the four "Children of Lir," and Bove Derg of Shee Bove, of whom we know little more than what is told of them in the "Fate of the Children of Lir." Shee Finnaha is supposed to have been situated near Newtown Hamilton, in Armagh; and Shee Bove was on the shore of Lough Derg, on the Shannon. Luga of the Long Arms, who imposed the eric-fine on the three sons of Turenn for slaying his father Kian. (See note 7 for a further account of this Luga.) Dianket, the great physician, of whose powers of cure extraordinary stories are told. He had a son Midac, and a daughter Armedda, more skilful than himself. The old legend relates that Midac took off the silver arm which his father Dianket had put on Nuada (see note 4), and, having procured the bones of the real arm, he clothed them with flesh and skin, and fixed the arm in its place as well as ever "in three moments." Dianket was so enraged at being outdone by his son that he slew him. After Midac had been buried for some time, three hundred and sixty-five healing herbs grew up from his grave, one from every joint and sinew of his body--each herb to cure disease in that part of the human body from which it grew--all which were gathered by his sister Armedda, and placed carefully in her cloak in their proper order. But before she had time to study their several virtues fully, her father Dianket mixed them all up in utter confusion. (O'Curry, _Atlantis_, vii. and viii. 158.) Were it not for this churlish proceeding, Armedda would have found out, and we should now know, the exact herb to cure each particular disease of the human frame. NOTE 2.--_The Feast of Age._ This was also called the Feast of Gobnenn the Dedannan smith. It was instituted by Mannanan Mac Lir, and whoever was present at it, and partook of the food and drink, was free ever after from sickness, decay, and old age. NOTE 3.--_The Druids._ The ancient Irish druids do not appear to have been _priests_ in any sense of the word. They were, in popular estimation, men of knowledge and power--"Men of science," as they were often designated; they knew the arts of healing and divination; and they were skilled above all in magic. In fact, the Irish druids were magicians, neither more nor less; and hence the Gaelic word for "druidical" is almost always applied where we should use the term "magical"--to spells, incantations, metamorphoses, etc. (See O'Curry, "Lectures on the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish," Lecture ix.) NOTE 4.--_Nuada of the Silver Hand._ Nuada of the Silver Hand was king of Ireland, according to the chronology of the Four Masters, from A.M. 3311 to 3330. He commanded the Dedannans in the first battle of Moytura (see note 11), where his arm was cut off with a sword-blow by Sreng, the great Firbolg champion. Afterwards Credne the artificer made him a silver arm with a hand, which was fixed on by Dianket, the physician (see note 1). Nuada was slain in the second battle of Moytura, by Balor of the Mighty Blows (see note 11). NOTE 5.--_The Fomorians._ "Fomor," the simple form of this word, means, according to the old etymologists, a sea-robber, from _fo_, on or along, and _muir_, the sea. The word is also used to denote a giant, or a gigantic champion. The Fomorians of Irish history were sea-robbers, who infested the coasts, and indeed the interior, of Ireland, for a long series of years, and at one time fortified themselves in Tory Island. They are stated to have come to Ireland from Lochlann, in the north of Europe (for which see next note); but they were originally from Africa, being, according to the legend, the descendants of Ham the son of Noah. NOTE 6.--_Lochlann: The Lochlanns._ Lochlann was the Gaelic designation of the country from which came the people who are known in European history as Danes, _i.e._ the country round the southern shores of the Baltic, including the south part of Sweden. The Lochlanns, or Lochlannachs, or Danes, it need hardly be said, make a very conspicuous figure in our early history, and in our mediæval romantic literature. In the Gaelic tales, the chief city of Lochlann is always Berva; but whether this represents a real name, or is merely an invention of the old story-tellers, I cannot tell. NOTE 7.--_Luga of the Long Arms: The Ildana._ Luga of the Long Arms was the son of Ethlenn, daughter of the Fomorian king, Balor of the Mighty Blows (see note 9). His father, Kian (who was slain by the three sons of Turenn), was a Dedannan; so that Luga was half Fomorian and half Dedannan. But he always took the side of the Dedannans against the Fomorians. Luga is often called The Ildana, the Man of many sciences, to signify his accomplishments as a warrior and a man of general knowledge. It had been foretold that Balor would be slain by his own grandson. Accordingly, when Luga was born, Balor sent him off to be drowned. But Luga escaped, and lived to revenge the unnatural conduct of his grandfather, whom he slew in the second battle of Moytura (see note 11), after Balor had slain the Dedannan king, Nuada of the Silver Hand. Luga succeeded Nuada as king of Ireland, and reigned, according to the chronology of the Four Masters, from A.M. 3330 to 3370. It was by Luga that the celebrated yearly assembly of Tailltenn was instituted, in honour of his foster mother _Taillte_, after whom the place was called. (See note page 93, _supra._) NOTE 8.--_The Land of Promise: Fairyland._ In ancient Gaelic romantic tales, mention is often made of _Tir Tairrngire_, the Land of Promise, Fairyland, as being one of the chief dwelling-places of the Dedannans or fairy host. In many passages this Land of Promise is identified with _Inis-Manann_, or the Isle of Man, which was ruled over by Mannanan Mac Lir, the sea-god, and named from him. NOTE 9.--_Balor of the Mighty Blows._ Balor was king of the Fomorians from Lochlann in the north; his wife was Kethlenda; and his son, Bres. Balor is often called Balor of the Mighty Blows; and also Balor of the Evil Eye, for he had one eye which would strike people dead or turn them into stone, so that he kept it covered, except when he wished to use it against his enemies. Balor is remembered very vividly in tradition by the peasantry of Ireland, especially in Donegal and in Tory Island, where a very high, tower-like rock is called to this day Balor's Castle. NOTE 10.--_Eric._ The eric was a fine paid as compensation for murder or homicide. The friends of the murdered person might accept an eric, or they might refuse it and seek instead the death of the murderer. An eric was often paid for other crimes or injuries against the individual, as well as for homicide. NOTE 11.--_Battle of Moytura._ There were two great battles, each called the battle of Moytura. _First Battle of Moytura._ When the Dedannans came to invade Erin, they found the country occupied by the Firbolgs, who were by no means inclined to give up quiet possession to the newcomers. After some parleying and manoeuvring, a great battle was fought between them, A.M. 3303, at Moytura, near Cong, in Mayo, lasting for four days, in which the Firbolgs were defeated with great slaughter, and their king slain; after which the Dedannans took possession of the country, leaving Connaught, however, to a powerful remnant of the Firbolgs who survived the battle. This is called the First Battle of Moytura, or the Battle of the Southern Moytura. On the plain where it was fought, there are still great numbers of mounds, cromlechs, and other sepulchral monuments. (See Sir William Wilde's "Lough Corrib," page 210.) _Second Battle of Moytura._ King Nuada, who led the Dedannans in the first battle of Moytura, had his arm cut off by Sreng, one of the Firbolg champions. He was under cure for seven years; during which time Bres, the son of Elatha, who was a Fomorian by his father and a Dedannan by his mother, ruled Ireland as regent. But at the end of the seven years, Bres had to retire in favour of Nuada. Whereupon he repaired in anger to his father in Lochlann; and at his instigation an army of Fomorians was raised, after some years, for the invasion of Ireland, and placed under the command of Balor of the Mighty Blows. Luga of the Long Arms seems to have foreseen this invasion. He knew that Bres would have to abdicate whenever Nuada's arm came to be healed, and he conjectured truly that he would not resign the sovereignty without a struggle. But the old tales would lead to the inference that Luga had some preternatural foreknowledge of the battle. Anyhow, the legend says that for many years he made preparations for the coming struggle; and it was with this intention that he imposed the celebrated eric-fine on the sons of Turenn. The Fomorians landed, and were met by the Dedannan army at the Northern Moytura, or, as it is often called, Moytura of the Fomorians, situated in the parish of Kilmactranny, barony of Tirerrill, county Sligo. The battle was fought on the eve of Samin, _i.e._ on the last day of October, A.M. 3330; and the Fomorians were defeated with the slaughter of their principal men and the best part of their army. In the course of the battle, Nuada of the Silver Hand, the Dedannan king, was slain by Balor; but soon after, Balor himself was killed by his grandson, Luga. Luga, we are told, flung a stone at him from a crann-tavall or sling (see note, page 240), and struck him in the evil eye with so much force that the stone went clean through his head and out at the back. The site of this battle, like that of the Southern Moytura, abounds to this day in sepulchral monuments. These two battles of Moytura form the subjects of two historic tales, which are still in existence, though they have never been published. NOTE 12.--_Gesa._ "Gesa" (pronounced _gessa_, the _g_ hard, as in _get_) is plural: singular _geis_, plural _geasa_ or _gesa_. Gesa means solemn vows, conjurations, injunctions, prohibitions. "I put you under gesa" means, I adjure you solemnly, so solemnly that you dare not disobey. It would appear that individuals were often under gesa or solemn vows to observe, or to refrain from, certain lines of conduct--the vows being either taken on themselves voluntarily, or imposed on them, with their consent, by others. Thus Dermat O'Dyna was under gesa never to pass through a wicket gate when entering or leaving a palace (page 282); Finn was under gesa not to sleep at Allen more than nine nights in succession (page 337); Dermat put Oisin under gesa not to loose any one whom he bound (page 312). It would appear, also, that if one person went through the form of putting another under gesa to grant any reasonable request, the abjured person could not refuse without loss of honour and reputation. Thus Midac places Finn under gesa to come to the banquet in the Fairy Palace of the Quicken Trees (page 189); and the witch-lady places gesa on Finn to search for the ring in the lake (page 354). And sometimes, on very solemn or urgent occasions, the gesa seem to have been imposed with spells, so as to draw down ill luck as well as loss of honour on the person who disregarded the injunction (page 281). Geis or gesa also means a charm or spell. NOTE 13.--_Tir-fa-tonn._ The Gaelic tales abound in allusions to a beautiful country situated under the sea--an enchanted land sunk at some remote time, and still held under spell. In some romantic writings it is called _Tir-fa-tonn_, the land beneath the wave; and occasionally one or more of the heroes find their way to it, and meet with many strange adventures (page 253). Sometimes it is _O'Brasil_, that dim land which appears over the water once every seven years--"on the verge of the azure sea"--and which would be freed from the spell, and would remain permanently over water, if any one could succeed in throwing fire on it. (See Gerald Griffin's beautiful ballad, "O'Brasil, the Isle of the Blest.") The Island of Fincara (page 87), and the beautiful country seen beneath the waves by Maildun (page 147), are remnants of the same superstition. This very old Celtic tradition is obviously the same as the legend of the continent of Atlantis, mentioned by Plato, which at some remote time was overwhelmed and sunk under the Atlantic Ocean. And it would seem that they have the same shadowy tradition in the East; for in "Lalla Rookh" Moore makes the Peri say, in her soliloquy: "I know where the Isles of Perfume are, Many a fathom down in the sea, To the south of sun-bright Araby." NOTE 14.--_The Enchanted Well._ Res autem sic revera evenit. Cum Angus magus equum giganteum Eochaidio et popularibus traderet, monebat homines nec stabulandi neque omnino requiescendi copiam equo faciendam; ne forte quiescendo urinam demitteret, quod si fieret exitio omnibus fore. Postea vero quam at Planitiem Silvulæ Cinereæ pervenissent, intenti adeo sarcinis ingentis equi dorso detrahendis incumbebant, ut monitorum Angi obliviscerentur; restitit autem equus, et subinde urinam demisit. Extemplo hinc fons ortus; qui cum scaturiisset, submersit omnes, sicuti in historiâ narratur. NOTE 15.--_Conal Carna of the Red Branch._ The Red Branch Knights of Ulster, a sort of militia in the service of the monarch, much like the Fena of later date (see note 23), flourished in the first century of the Christian era. Their home was the palace of Emania, near the city of Armagh; and they received their name from one of the houses of the palace in which they resided, which was called _Craebh-ruadh_, or Red Branch. They attained their greatest glory in the reign of Conor Mac Nessa, king of Ulster in the first century; and Conal Carna, mentioned in the story of "Liban the Mermaid," was one of their most illustrious champions. NOTE 16.--_Ecca the Son of Marid: Comgall of Bangor._ This Marid was king of Munster about the beginning of the second century of the Christian era. St. Comgall, one of the greatest saints of the early Irish Church, flourished in the sixth century, and was the founder of the celebrated monastery of Bangor in the county of Down. NOTE 17.--_Curragh._ It would appear that in Ireland, and indeed in England and Scotland as well, navigation was carried on in ancient times chiefly by means of curraghs. The curragh was a boat or canoe, consisting of a light framework of wood, covered over with the skins of animals. Curraghs are still used on many parts of the western coast of Ireland; but they are now covered with tarred canvas instead of skins. NOTE 18.--_Conn the Hundred-fighter._ Conn Ced-cathach or Conn the Fighter of a Hundred (not Conn of the Hundred Battles, as the name is generally translated), was king of Ireland from A.D. 123 to 158. NOTE 19.--_Land of the Living: Land of Life, etc._ The ancient Irish had a sort of dim, vague belief that there was a land where people were always youthful, and free from care and trouble, suffered no disease, and lived for ever. This country they called by various names:--_Tir-na-mbeo_, the land of the [ever-]living; _Tir-na-nóg_, the land of the [ever-]youthful; _Moy-Mell_, the plain of pleasure, etc. It had its own inhabitants--fairies; but mortals were sometimes brought there; and while they lived in it, were gifted with the everlasting youth and beauty of the fairy people themselves, and partook of their pleasures. As to the exact place where Tirnanoge was situated, the references are shadowy and variable, but they often place it far out in the Atlantic Ocean, as far as the eye can reach from the high cliffs of the western coast. And here it is identical with O'Brasil, of which mention has been made in note 13. I have already remarked (see note 1) that the fairies were also supposed to live in palaces in the interior of pleasant green hills, and that they were hence called Aes-shee or Deena-shee, i.e. people of the _shee_ or fairy hills; and hence also the word "banshee" _i.e._ a woman (_bean_) of the fairy hills. Tirnanoge was often regarded as identical with these bright, subterranean palaces. In my boyhood days, the peasantry believed that the great limestone cavern near Mitchelstown, in the county Cork, was one of the entrances to Tirnanoge. NOTE 20.--_St. Brendan of Birra._ I have already, in the preface (page xiii.), spoken of the celebrated voyage of St. Brendan of Birra (Birr, in King's County), undertaken in the sixth century. He set out from near Brandon Mountain, in Kerry, sailing westwards into the Atlantic Ocean, and, according to the belief of some, landed on the shore of America. He had many imitators, who ventured out on the great ocean in their curraghs as pilgrims; but none were so enterprising as himself, or met with such a variety of strange lands, if we except Maildun and the three sons of O'Corra, whose adventures are quite as surprising as those of Brendan. NOTE 21.--_Brendan's Satchel._ The ancient Irish saints, when on their missionary journeys through the country, kept their precious books, as well as the portable sacred utensils, in leather satchels, which they brought with them from place to place. These satchels were often highly ornamented, and, like other relics, were held in extraordinary veneration after the death of the owners. The Gaelic term for this kind of satchel is _polaire_. (See Petrie, "Round Towers," page 336.) NOTE 22.--_Cormac Mac Art._ Cormac Mac Art, the most illustrious of the Irish kings, who began his reign A.D. 254, was the son of Art the Lonely, who was son of Conn the Hundred-fighter. During his reign flourished the Fena or militia, spoken of in the next note; and the old chroniclers never tire of dwelling on the magnificence of his court at Tara, and the prosperity of the country during his reign. He was renowned for learning and wisdom, and he wrote a book called _Tegusc-righ_, or instruction for kings, copies of which are extant in the Books of Leinster and Ballymote. He also caused the records of the kingdom to be collected and written down in one great book called the Psalter of Tara, but no portion of this book is now known to exist; and he established three schools at Tara--one for military science, one for law, and one for history and chronology. He spent the last years of his life in retirement and study at Cletty on the Boyne, and died A.D. 277, forty years after he had ascended the throne. NOTE 23.--_Finn and the Fena._ The Fena or "Fena of Erin" were a sort of militia or standing army, permanently maintained by the monarch for the support of the throne, and regularly trained to military service. They attained their greatest glory in the reign of Cormac Mac Art (see previous note). Each province had its own militia under its own captain, but all were under the command of one general-in-chief. Their most renowned commander was Finn the son of Cumal, who of all the heroes of ancient Ireland is most vividly remembered in popular tradition. Finn had his palace on the top of the Hill of Allen, a remarkable flat-topped hill, lying about four miles to the right of the railway as you pass Newbridge and approach Kildare, rendered more conspicuous of late years by a tall pillar erected on the top, on the very site of Finn's palace. Before the erection of the pillar, there were considerable remains of the old fort on the hill, but at present nearly every vestige is obliterated, cleared away partly to make room for the foundation of the pillar, and partly by cultivation; for the land has been tilled and cropped to the very summit. The whole neighbourhood, however, teems with living traditions of Finn and the Fena. The Fena were divided into distinct tribes or clanns, belonging to the several provinces, each under its own commander. Of these, the Clann Baskin of Leinster, under the immediate command of Finn; and the Clann Morna of Connaught, commanded by Gaul Mac Morna, were rival tribes, and, for reasons stated in note 27, regarded each other with hatred and distrust. The following are some of the principal characters celebrated in the romantic literature of the Fena. Finn the son of Cumal, commander-in-chief of the Fena under king Cormac Mac Art (see note 22); brave, wise, and far-seeing, a man of supreme military ability. His foresight seemed so extraordinary, that the people believed it was a preternatural gift of divination, and the shanachies invented a legend to account for it (see note 25). Like many great commanders, he had a little of the tyrant in his character, and was unforgiving to those who injured him. But in the story of Dermat and Grania, he is drawn in too unfavourable a light. In his old age he was killed by a fisherman at a place called Athbrea on the Boyne, A.D. 284, as recorded in the Annals of Tighernach, of the Four Masters, and of Innisfallen. Oisin or Ossian, Finn's son, the renowned hero-poet, to whom the bards attribute many poems still extant. Oscar, the son of Oisin, youthful and handsome, kind-hearted, and one of the most valiant of the Fena. Dermat O'Dyna, noble-minded, generous, of untarnished honour, and the bravest of the brave. He was as handsome as he was valiant, whence he is often styled Dermat of the Bright Face, Dermat of the White Teeth, etc. He was the idol of the ladies of Ireland, and hence he is often called Dermat-na-man, or Dermat of the Women (page 210). The Munster traditions represent him as a native of Kerry; but he was in reality a Leinsterman, though his descendants migrated to Munster at a very early period. Mr. O'Grady, in his edition of the story of Dermat and Grania (page 294), has given an ancient poetical genealogy of Dermat. This hero is equally celebrated in popular story in the Highlands of Scotland. According to Highland tradition, the great and illustrious Clann Campbell, represented by the Duke of Argyll, descend from him; and their crest is a boar's head, in memory of the manner of Dermat's death.[CLXXX.] Dermat O'Dyna is, on the whole, the finest type of hero among the Fena--as fine indeed as can be found in any literature; and his noble character is very well maintained throughout the Ossianic tales. Kylta Mac Ronan, Finn's nephew, renowned for his fleetness of foot. Dering, the son of Dobar O'Baskin, who was not only a brave warrior, but also "a man of knowledge," gifted with some insight into futurity. Ligan Lumina, also celebrated for swiftness of foot. Fergus Finnvel, poet, warrior, and frequent adviser of the Fena. Gaul Mac Morna, the leader of the Clann Morna or Connaught Fena, one of the mightiest of all the heroes. He served under Finn, but the two chiefs bore no love to each other, for Gaul had slain Finn's father, Cumal, in the battle of Knocka (see note 27). Conan Mail or Conan the Bald, the best-marked and best-sustained character in the Ossianic romances; large-bodied, a great boaster, a great coward, and a great glutton. He had a venomous tongue, and hardly ever spoke a good word of any one. He belonged to the Clann Morna, and was always reviling the Clann Baskin. He was the butt for the gibes and mockery of the Fena, but they dreaded his foul tongue. The story-tellers never lose an opportunity of having a fling at Conan, and of turning him into ridicule for his cowardice, his big talk, and his gluttony. NOTE 24.--_Cooking-Places._ The Fena, as related in the beginning of the story of the Gilla Dacker, were quartered on the principal householders during the winter half-year; and maintained themselves chiefly by the chase during the summer months. When they were on their hunting expeditions, we are told that they ate only one meal a day; and for this meal they cooked the flesh of the animals brought down in the chase, in the following manner. They first dug a deep pit in the earth near their camping-place, and, having lighted a great fire beside it, they heated a number of round stones. They next covered the bottom of the pit with the hot stones, on which they placed the meat, bound up with sedge and grass ropes, and on this again they put another layer of heated stones; and, having closely covered up the whole with branches, they let it stand till the meat was sufficiently cooked. The remains of these old earth-ovens are still to be seen, and are called by the peasantry _fulachta-na-bhfiann_, the cooking-places of the Fena. NOTE 25.--_Finn's Tooth of Knowledge._ It had been prophesied of old that a man named Finn would be the first to eat of the salmon of knowledge, which swam in the pool of Linn-Fec, in the Boyne (near the present village of Slane); and that he would thereby obtain the gifts of knowledge and of divination. A certain old poet named Finn, knowing this, hoped that he might be the lucky man; so he took up his abode on the shore of Linn-Fec; and he fished in the pool every day from morn till night, in the hope of catching the salmon of knowledge. At this time, Finn the son of Cumal was a boy, fleeing from place to place from his hereditary enemies, the Clann Morna, disguised, and bearing the assumed name of Demna; and, happening to come to Linn-Fec, the old poet took him as his servant. After long watching and waiting, Finn the poet hooked the salmon at last, and gave it to Demna to broil, warning him very strictly not to eat or even taste of it. Demna proceeded to broil the fish; and soon the heat of the fire raised a great blister from its side, which the boy pressed with his thumb to keep it down, thereby scalding himself so severely that he unthinkingly thrust his thumb into his mouth. When the salmon was cooked, the poet asked Demna had he eaten of it. "No," replied the boy; "but I scalded my thumb on the fish, and put it into my mouth." "Thy name is not Demna, but Finn," exclaimed the poet: "in thee has the prophecy been fulfilled; and thou art now a diviner and a man of knowledge!" In this manner Finn obtained the gift of divination, so that ever after, when he wished to look into futurity, he put his thumb under his tooth of knowledge, as he did when cooking the salmon of Linn-Fec, and the whole future was revealed to him. There appears to have been some sort of ceremony used, however (see page 339, _supra_); and it would seem that the process was attended with pain (page 194), so that it was only on very solemn and trying occasions he put his thumb under his tooth of knowledge.[CLXXXI.] NOTE 26.--_The Game of Chess._ Chess-playing was one of the favourite amusements of the ancient Irish chiefs. The game is constantly mentioned in the very oldest Gaelic tales; as, for instance, in the "Cattle-Spoil of Cooley," in "The Book of the Dun Cow" (A.D. 1100). (See O'Donovan's "Introduction to the Book of Rights," page lxi.) NOTE 27.--_Battle of Knocka._ The battle of Knocka or _Cnucha_ (now Castleknock, near Dublin) was fought in the reign of Conn the Hundred-fighter (see note 18). The contending parties were, on the one side, Conn with his royal forces, and the renowned hero, Gaul Mac Morna, with his Connaught Fena, the Clann Morna; and on the other side, Cumal, the father of Finn, with the Clann Baskin and the Leinster forces in general, aided by Owen More, heir to the throne of Munster, with a large army of Munstermen. The Leinster and Munster armies were defeated, chiefly through the valour of Gaul, who slew Cumal with his own hand. This was the cause of the irreconcilable enmity that existed ever after between the Clann Baskin and the Clann Morna. When Finn the son of Cumal grew up to man's estate, he succeeded to the position held by his father as leader of the Fena. But though he made peace with Gaul Mac Morna, and though Gaul submitted to his command, there was always a feeling of ill-concealed hatred and distrust between them. NOTE 28.--_Battle of Gavra._ When Carbri of the Liffey, son of Cormac Mac Art, ascended the throne of Ireland, one of his first acts was to disband and outlaw the Clann Baskin; and he took into his service in their place their rivals and deadly enemies, the Clann Morna from Connaught. Whereupon the Clann Baskin marched southwards, and entered the service of Fercorb, king of Munster, Finn's grandson, in direct disobedience to king Carbri's commands. This led to the bloody battle of Gavra, celebrated in Ossianic literature, which was fought A.D. 284, at Garristown, in the north-west of the county Dublin, where the rival clanns slaughtered each other almost to annihilation. In the heat of the battle, Carbri and Oscar met in single combat; and, after a long and terrible fight, the heroic Oscar fell pierced by Carbri's spear, and died on the evening of the same day. But Carbri himself was dreadfully wounded; and, while retiring from the field, his own kinsman, Semeon, whom he had previously banished from Tara, fell on him, and despatched him with a single blow. This battle is the subject of a poem which the bards ascribe to Oisin, and which has been published, with translation, in the first volume of the Ossianic Transactions. In this poem there is an affecting description of the death of Oscar, surrounded by his few surviving companions, and in presence of his father Oisin. FOOTNOTES: [CLXXX.] For a full account of the Highland traditions regarding Dermat, and of the Highland monuments that commemorate his name, see "Loch Etive and the Sons of Uisnach" (p. 255), a very valuable and interesting book, recently published, which came into my hands after I had written the above. [CLXXXI.] The above legend is taken from "The Boyish Exploits of Finn Mac Cumal," published, with translation, by John O'Donovan, LL.D., in the fourth volume of the Ossianic Society's Transactions, from a MS. _transcribed_ in 1453, now lying in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. But the internal evidence of the language shows that the piece is far more ancient than the fifteenth century. The legend of Finn and the Salmon of Knowledge is still current among the peasantry; and a modern popular version of it may be seen in the _Dublin Penny Journal_, Vol. I. page 110. As to the process of putting his thumb under his tooth of knowledge, even the English-speaking peasantry of the south still retain a tradition that it was painful; for they say that Finn "chewed his thumb from the skin to the flesh, from the flesh to the bone, from the bone to the marrow, and from the marrow to the _smoosagh_." LIST OF PROPER NAMES. ALPHABETICAL LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL PROPER NAMES OCCURRING IN THIS VOLUME, WITH THEIR ORIGINAL GAELIC FORMS, AND, IN MANY CASES, THEIR MEANINGS. Every writer who attempts to popularise the Gaelic literature of Ireland and Scotland, finds the proper names a serious difficulty. If they are given in their original Gaelic forms, they are not unfrequently unpronounceable and repulsive to the English reader; if they are written phonetically, they are often strange and barbarous looking. In this book, I have not followed any general principle in reducing the names to forms suitable to readers of English. I have dealt with each, as it were, on its own merits. Sometimes--very often, indeed--I have given the original spelling; sometimes I have given the names phonetically; and frequently I have mixed the two modes. But all through I have avoided any great departure from the original forms, as will be seen by a glance at the following list. In all cases the names occurring through the book may be pronounced just as the letters would indicate to the English reader. Aed, _Aedh_, a flame of fire. Ahaclee, _Ath-cliath_, hurdle-ford. Ailna, _Ailne_, beauty, joy. Aina, _Aine_. Allil, _Ailioll_, _Ailell_, or _Oilioll_. Allil Ocar Aga, _Ailell Ochair Aga_. Alva, _Ailbhe_. Balor, _Balar_. Baskin, _Baoiscne_. Begallta, _Beagalltach_, little fury. Ben-Damis, _Beann-Damhuis_. Beoc, _Beóc_, _Dabheóc_, and _Beoán_. Berva, _Berbhe_. Borba, _Borb_, proud. Bran, _Bran_, a raven. Bres, _Breas_. Brian, _Brian_. Brickna, _Briccne_. Bruga of the _Brugh-na-Boinne_. Boyne, Canta, _Cainte_. Carn-Arenn, _Carnn-Airenn_. Carricknarone, _Carraic-na-rón_, the rock of the seals. Clann Navin, _Clann-Neamhuinn_. Cloghan Kincat, _Clochan-chinn-chait_, the stepping-stones of the cat's head. Coil Croda, _Cael-crodha_, the slender valiant [man]. Colga, _Colga_. Colman, _Colman_, little dove. Comgall, _Comhghall_. Conal Carna, _Conall Cernach_. Conan Mail, _Conan Mael_, Conan the Bald. Conang, _Conaing_. Conn, the Hundred-fighter (not Conn of the Hundred Battles, as it is usually translated), _Conn-Cédcathach_. Connla, _Connla_. Coran, _Coran_. Cormac Mac Art, _Cormac Mac Airt_. Corr the _Coir Cos-luath_. Swift-footed, Cuan, _Cuan_ or _Cuadhan_. Culand, _Culand_. Curnan the _Curnan Onmit_. Simpleton, Curoi Mac Dara, _Curoi Mac Dáire_. Dagda, _Dagda_. Dara Donn, _Dáire Donn_. Darvra, Lake, _Loch Dairbhreach_, the lake of oaks. Dathkeen, _Dathchaoin_, bright-complexioned. Decca, _Deoch_. Dedannans, _Tuatha De Danann_. Derdri of the _Deirdre Duibhshleibhe_. Black Mountain, Dering, _Diorraing_. Dermat O'Dyna, _Diarmait O'Duibhne_. Dianket, _Diancecht_. Diuran Lekerd, _Diuran Lecerd_. Dobar O'Baskin, _Dobhar O'Baoiscne_. Dooclone, _Dubhchluain_, dark-coloured meadow. Dord-Fian, _Dord-Fiann_. Dryantore, _Draoigheantóir_. Ducoss, _Dubhchosach_, black-foot. Eas-Dara, _Eas-Dara_. Ebb, _Eab_. Ebliu, _Ebliu_. Ebric, _Aibhric_. Ecca, _Eochaidh_, a horseman. Enbarr, _Aenbharr_, splendid mane. Encoss, _Aenchos_, one foot. Ethnea, _Eithne_, sweet nut-kernel. Etta, _Eitche_. Eva, _Aeife_. Eve, _Aebh_. Failinis, _Failinis_. Fatha Conan, _Fatha Chonain_. Femin, _Feimeann_. Fena, _Fianna_. Ferdana, _Feardána_. Fergor, _Fearghoir_, manly or strong voice. Fergus, _Fearghus_, manly strength. Fiaca Findamnas, _Fiacha Findamnais_. Ficna, _Fiachna_, little raven. Ficra, _Fiachra_. Fincara, _Fianchaire_. Fincoss, _Finnchosach_, white-foot. Finn, _Finn_ or _Fionn_, fair-haired. Finnin, _Finghín_, fair offspring. Finola, _Fionnghuala_, white shoulder. Flidas, _Flidas_. Foltlebar, _Folt-leabhar_, long hair. Frevan, _Freamhainn_. Ga-boi, _Ga-buidhe_, yellow javelin. Ga-derg, _Ga-dearg_, red javelin. Gael Glas, _Gaodhal-Glas_. Garva, _Garbh_, rough. Gaul Mac Morna, _Goll Mac Morna_. Germane, _Germane_. Gilla Dacker, _Giolla Deacair_, lazy fellow. Glanlua, _Glanluadh_, pure-spoken. Glas Mac Encarda, _Glas Mac Aeinchearda_. Glore, _Glór_, a voice. Ilbrec, _Ilbhreach_. Ildana, _Ioldhanach_. Inis Glora, _Inis Gluaire_. Innia, _Innia_. Innsa, _Inse_. Inver-tre-Kenand, _Inbher-Tre-Cenand_. Iraun, _Irann_. Iroda, _Ioruaidhe_. Irros Domnann, _Iorrus Domnann_. Island of the _Inis Tuile_. Torrent, Kemoc, _Caemhoc_ or _Mochoemhoc_. Kenn-Avrat, _Ceann-Abhrat_. Kenri, _Caenraighe_. Kethen, _Cethen_. Kethlenda, _Ceithleann_ or _Ceithleand_. Kian, _Cian_. Kylta Mac Ronan, _Caeilte Mac Ronain_. Largnen, _Lairgnen_. Lavaran, _Lobharan_. Liban, _Liban_. Lidas, _Liadhas_. Ligan Lumina, _Liagan Luaimneach_, Ligan the Bounding. Lir, _Lir_. Lobas, _Lobais_. Lochlann, _Lochlann_. Loskenn of the _Loiscinn Lomghlúineach_. Bare Knees, Luath, _Luaith_, swift. Luga of the Long _Lugh Lamh-fada_. Arms, Mac-an-Lona, _Mac-an-Luin_. Mac Luga, _Mac Luigheach_. Mac-na-Corra, _Mac-na-Corra_. Maildun, _Mail Duin_, chief of the fort. Manissa, _Maighneis_. Mannanan Mac Lir, _Manannan Mac Lir_. Marid Mac Carido, _Mairid Mac Cairedo_. Mergah, _Meargach_. Micorta, _Miodhchuarta_. Midac, _Miodhach_ or _Mioch_. Midir, _Midhir_. Midkena, _Miodhchaoin_. Milucra, _Miluchradh_. Modan, _Muadhan_. Morallta, _Moralltach_, great fury. Moyle, _Mael_, a bare hill. Moy-Mell, _Magh-Mell_, plain of pleasures. Moytura, _Magh-tuireadh_, plain of towers. Muman, _Mumha_, gen. _Mumhan_. Muridach, _Muridach_. Murthemna, _Muirthemhne_. Niam, _Niamh_, beauty. Nuada of the _Nuadha Airgeatlaimh_. Silver Hand, Nuca, _Nuca_. Oisin, _Oisin_ (pronounced _Isheen_ in Munster, and _Osh'in_ in Ulster and in Scotland). Oscar, _Oscar_. Owenaght, _Eoghanacht_, descendants of Owen. Pezar, _Pisear_. Racad, _Rachadh_. Rib, _Rib_. Sencab, _Seanchab_, old mouth. Sharvan, _Searbhan_, a surly person. Shee Finnaha, _Sidh-Fionnachaidh_. Skeabrac, _Sciath-bhreac_, speckled shield. Skolan, _Sceolaing_. Slana, _Slánach_, healthy. Sorca, _Sorcha_. Sotal of the Large _Sotal Sálmhór_. Heels, Taillkenn, _Tailcenn_. Tinna the Mighty, _Tinne Mór_. Tir-fa-tonn, _Tir-fa-thuinn_, country beneath the wave. Tirnanoge, _Tir na n-óg_, land of youths. Trencoss, _Treunchosach_, strongfoot. Trenmore O'Baskin, _Treunmór O'Baoiscne_. Triscadal, _Triscadal_. Tuis, _Tuis_. Turenn, _Tuireann_. Ur, _Uar_. Urcar, _Urchar_. THE END Transcriber's Notes: Footnotes formatted in Roman. Endnotes formatted in Arabic. Italics shown as _Italics_. Ligatures: [=o] o macron, [)e] e breve. Inconsistent and archaic spelling retained. 
14465	----	GODS AND FIGHTING MEN: THE STORY OF THE TUATHA DE DANAAN AND OF THE FIANNA OF IRELAND, ARRANGED AND PUT INTO ENGLISH BY LADY GREGORY. WITH A PREFACE BY W.B. YEATS 1905 DEDICATION TO THE MEMBERS OF THE IRISH LITERARY SOCIETY OF NEW YORK My Friends, those I know and those I do not know, I am glad in the year of the birth of your Society to have this book to offer you. It has given great courage to many workers here--working to build up broken walls--to know you have such friendly thoughts of them in your minds. A few of you have already come to see us, and we begin to hope that one day the steamers across the Atlantic will not go out full, but come back full, until some of you find your real home is here, and say as some of us say, like Finn to the woman of enchantments-- [Illustration: Irish Gaelic] "We would not give up our own country--Ireland--if we were to get the whole world as an estate, and the Country of the Young along with it." AUGUSTA GREGORY. PREFACE I A few months ago I was on the bare Hill of Allen, "wide Almhuin of Leinster," where Finn and the Fianna lived, according to the stories, although there are no earthen mounds there like those that mark the sites of old buildings on so many hills. A hot sun beat down upon flowering gorse and flowerless heather; and on every side except the east, where there were green trees and distant hills, one saw a level horizon and brown boglands with a few green places and here and there the glitter of water. One could imagine that had it been twilight and not early afternoon, and had there been vapours drifting and frothing where there were now but shadows of clouds, it would have set stirring in one, as few places even in Ireland can, a thought that is peculiar to Celtic romance, as I think, a thought of a mystery coming not as with Gothic nations out of the pressure of darkness, but out of great spaces and windy light. The hill of Teamhair, or Tara, as it is now called, with its green mounds and its partly wooded sides, and its more gradual slope set among fat grazing lands, with great trees in the hedgerows, had brought before one imaginations, not of heroes who were in their youth for hundreds of years, or of women who came to them in the likeness of hunted fawns, but of kings that lived brief and politic lives, and of the five white roads that carried their armies to the lesser kingdoms of Ireland, or brought to the great fair that had given Teamhair its sovereignty, all that sought justice or pleasure or had goods to barter. II It is certain that we must not confuse these kings, as did the mediæval chroniclers, with those half-divine kings of Almhuin. The chroniclers, perhaps because they loved tradition too well to cast out utterly much that they dreaded as Christians, and perhaps because popular imagination had begun the mixture, have mixed one with another ingeniously, making Finn the head of a kind of Militia under Cormac MacArt, who is supposed to have reigned at Teamhair in the second century, and making Grania, who travels to enchanted houses under the cloak of Angus, god of Love, and keeps her troubling beauty longer than did Helen hers, Cormac's daughter, and giving the stories of the Fianna, although the impossible has thrust its proud finger into them all, a curious air of precise history. It is only when one separates the stories from that mediæval pedantry, as in this book, that one recognises one of the oldest worlds that man has imagined, an older world certainly than one finds in the stories of Cuchulain, who lived, according to the chroniclers, about the time of the birth of Christ. They are far better known, and one may be certain of the antiquity of incidents that are known in one form or another to every Gaelic-speaking countryman in Ireland or in the Highlands of Scotland. Sometimes a labourer digging near to a cromlech, or Bed of Diarmuid and Crania as it is called, will tell one a tradition that seems older and more barbaric than any description of their adventures or of themselves in written text or story that has taken form in the mouths of professed story-tellers. Finn and the Fianna found welcome among the court poets later than did Cuchulain; and one finds memories of Danish invasions and standing armies mixed with the imaginations of hunters and solitary fighters among great woods. One never hears of Cuchulain delighting in the hunt or in woodland things; and one imagines that the story-teller would have thought it unworthy in so great a man, who lived a well-ordered, elaborate life, and had his chariot and his chariot-driver and his barley-fed horses to delight in. If he is in the woods before dawn one is not told that he cannot know the leaves of the hazel from the leaves of the oak; and when Emer laments him no wild creature comes into her thoughts but the cuckoo that cries over cultivated fields. His story must have come out of a time when the wild wood was giving way to pasture and tillage, and men had no longer a reason to consider every cry of the birds or change of the night. Finn, who was always in the woods, whose battles were but hours amid years of hunting, delighted in the "cackling of ducks from the Lake of the Three Narrows; the scolding talk of the blackbird of Doire an Cairn; the bellowing of the ox from the Valley of the Berries; the whistle of the eagle from the Valley of Victories or from the rough branches of the Ridge of the Stream; the grouse of the heather of Cruachan; the call of the otter of Druim re Coir." When sorrow comes upon the queens of the stories, they have sympathy for the wild birds and beasts that are like themselves: "Credhe wife of Cael came with the others and went looking through the bodies for her comely comrade, and crying as she went. And as she was searching she saw a crane of the meadows and her two nestlings, and the cunning beast the fox watching the nestlings; and when the crane covered one of the birds to save it, he would make a rush at the other bird, the way she had to stretch herself out over the birds; and she would sooner have got her own death by the fox than the nestlings to be killed by him. And Credhe was looking at that, and she said: 'It is no wonder I to have such love for my comely sweetheart, and the bird in that distress about her nestlings.'" III One often hears of a horse that shivers with terror, or of a dog that howls at something a man's eyes cannot see, and men who live primitive lives where instinct does the work of reason are fully conscious of many things that we cannot perceive at all. As life becomes more orderly, more deliberate, the supernatural world sinks farther away. Although the gods come to Cuchulain, and although he is the son of one of the greatest of them, their country and his are far apart, and they come to him as god to mortal; but Finn is their equal. He is continually in their houses; he meets with Bodb Dearg, and Angus, and Manannan, now as friend with friend, now as with an enemy he overcomes in battle; and when he has need of their help his messenger can say: "There is not a king's son or a prince, or a leader of the Fianna of Ireland, without having a wife or a mother or a foster-mother or a sweetheart of the Tuatha de Danaan." When the Fianna are broken up at last, after hundreds of years of hunting, it is doubtful that he dies at all, and certain that he comes again in some other shape, and Oisin, his son, is made king over a divine country. The birds and beasts that cross his path in the woods have been fighting men or great enchanters or fair women, and in a moment can take some beautiful or terrible shape. One thinks of him and of his people as great-bodied men with large movements, that seem, as it were, flowing out of some deep below the narrow stream of personal impulse, men that have broad brows and quiet eyes full of confidence in a good luck that proves every day afresh that they are a portion of the strength of things. They are hardly so much individual men as portions of universal nature, like the clouds that shape themselves and re-shape themselves momentarily, or like a bird between two boughs, or like the gods that have given the apples and the nuts; and yet this but brings them the nearer to us, for we can remake them in our image when we will, and the woods are the more beautiful for the thought. Do we not always fancy hunters to be something like this, and is not that why we think them poetical when we meet them of a sudden, as in these lines in "Pauline": "An old hunter Talking with gods; or a nigh-crested chief Sailing with troops of friends to Tenedos" IV One must not expect in these stories the epic lineaments, the many incidents, woven into one great event of, let us say, the story of the War for the Brown Bull of Cuailgne, or that of the last gathering at Muirthemne. Even Diarmuid and Grania, which is a long story, has nothing of the clear outlines of Deirdre, and is indeed but a succession of detached episodes. The men who imagined the Fianna had the imagination of children, and as soon as they had invented one wonder, heaped another on top of it. Children--or, at any rate, it is so I remember my own childhood--do not understand large design, and they delight in little shut-in places where they can play at houses more than in great expanses where a country-side takes, as it were, the impression of a thought. The wild creatures and the green things are more to them than to us, for they creep towards our light by little holes and crevices. When they imagine a country for themselves, it is always a country where one can wander without aim, and where one can never know from one place what another will be like, or know from the one day's adventure what may meet one with to-morrow's sun. I have wished to become a child again that I might find this book, that not only tells one of such a country, but is fuller than any other book that tells of heroic life, of the childhood that is in all folk-lore, dearer to me than all the books of the western world. Children play at being great and wonderful people, at the ambitions they will put away for one reason or another before they grow into ordinary men and women. Mankind as a whole had a like dream once; everybody and nobody built up the dream bit by bit, and the ancient story-tellers are there to make us remember what mankind would have been like, had not fear and the failing will and the laws of nature tripped up its heels. The Fianna and their like are themselves so full of power, and they are set in a world so fluctuating and dream-like, that nothing can hold them from being all that the heart desires. I have read in a fabulous book that Adam had but to imagine a bird, and it was born into life, and that he created all things out of himself by nothing more important than an unflagging fancy; and heroes who can make a ship out of a shaving have but little less of the divine prerogatives. They have no speculative thoughts to wander through eternity and waste heroic blood; but how could that be otherwise, for it is at all times the proud angels who sit thinking upon the hill-side and not the people of Eden. One morning we meet them hunting a stag that is "as joyful as the leaves of a tree in summer-time"; and whatever they do, whether they listen to the harp or follow an enchanter over-sea, they do for the sake of joy, their joy in one another, or their joy in pride and movement; and even their battles are fought more because of their delight in a good fighter than because of any gain that is in victory. They live always as if they were playing a game; and so far as they have any deliberate purpose at all, it is that they may become great gentlemen and be worthy of the songs of poets. It has been said, and I think the Japanese were the first to say it, that the four essential virtues are to be generous among the weak, and truthful among one's friends, and brave among one's enemies, and courteous at all times; and if we understand by courtesy not merely the gentleness the story-tellers have celebrated, but a delight in courtly things, in beautiful clothing and in beautiful verse, one understands that it was no formal succession of trials that bound the Fianna to one another. Only the Table Round, that is indeed, as it seems, a rivulet from the same river, is bound in a like fellowship, and there the four heroic virtues are troubled by the abstract virtues of the cloister. Every now and then some noble knight builds himself a cell upon the hill-side, or leaves kind women and joyful knights to seek the vision of the Grail in lonely adventures. But when Oisin or some kingly forerunner--Bran, son of Febal, or the like--rides or sails in an enchanted ship to some divine country, he but looks for a more delighted companionship, or to be in love with faces that will never fade. No thought of any life greater than that of love, and the companionship of those that have drawn their swords upon the darkness of the world, ever troubles their delight in one another as it troubles Iseult amid her love, or Arthur amid his battles. It is one of the ailments of our speculation that thought, when it is not the planning of something, or the doing of something or some memory of a plain circumstance separates us from one another because it makes us always more unlike, and because no thought passes through another's ear unchanged. Companionship can only be perfect when it is founded on things, for things are always the same under the hand, and at last one comes to hear with envy of the voices of boys lighting a lantern to ensnare moths, or of the maids chattering in the kitchen about the fox that carried off a turkey before breakfast. This book is full of fellowship untroubled like theirs, and made noble by a courtesy that has gone perhaps out of the world. I do not know in literature better friends and lovers. When one of the Fianna finds Osgar dying the proud death of a young man, and asks is it well with him, he is answered, "I am as you would have me be." The very heroism of the Fianna is indeed but their pride and joy in one another, their good fellowship. Goll, old and savage, and letting himself die of hunger in a cave because he is angry and sorry, can speak lovely words to the wife whose help he refuses. "'It is best as it is,' he said, 'and I never took the advice of a woman east or west, and I never will take it. And oh, sweet-voiced queen,' he said, 'what ails you to be fretting after me? and remember now your silver and your gold, and your silks ... and do not be crying tears after me, queen with the white hands,' he said, 'but remember your constant lover Aodh, son of the best woman of the world, that came from Spain asking for you, and that I fought on Corcar-an-Dearg; and go to him now,' he said, 'for it is bad when a woman is without a good man.'" VI They have no asceticism, but they are more visionary than any ascetic, and their invisible life is but the life about them made more perfect and more lasting, and the invisible people are their own images in the water. Their gods may have been much besides this, for we know them from fragments of mythology picked out with trouble from a fantastic history running backward to Adam and Eve, and many things that may have seemed wicked to the monks who imagined that history, may have been altered or left out; but this they must have been essentially, for the old stories are confirmed by apparitions among the country-people to-day. The Men of Dea fought against the mis-shapen Fomor, as Finn fights against the Cat-Heads and the Dog-Heads; and when they are overcome at last by men, they make themselves houses in the hearts of hills that are like the houses of men. When they call men to their houses and to their country Under-Wave they promise them all that they have upon earth, only in greater abundance. The god Midhir sings to Queen Etain in one of the most beautiful of the stories: "The young never grow old; the fields and the flowers are as pleasant to be looking at as the blackbird's eggs; warm streams of mead and wine flow through that country; there is no care or no sorrow on any person; we see others, but we ourselves are not seen." These gods are indeed more wise and beautiful than men; but men, when they are great men, are stronger than they are, for men are, as it were, the foaming tide-line of their sea. One remembers the Druid who answered, when some one asked him who made the world, "The Druids made it." All was indeed but one life flowing everywhere, and taking one quality here, another there. It sometimes seems to one as if there is a kind of day and night of religion, and that a period when the influences are those that shape the world is followed by a period when the greater power is in influences that would lure the soul out of the world, out of the body. When Oisin is speaking with S. Patrick of the friends and the life he has outlived, he can but cry out constantly against a religion that has no meaning for him. He laments, and the country-people have remembered his words for centuries: "I will cry my fill, but not for God, but because Finn and the Fianna are not living." VII Old writers had an admirable symbolism that attributed certain energies to the influence of the sun, and certain others to the lunar influence. To lunar influence belong all thoughts and emotions that were created by the community, by the common people, by nobody knows who, and to the sun all that came from the high disciplined or individual kingly mind. I myself imagine a marriage of the sun and moon in the arts I take most pleasure in; and now bride and bridegroom but exchange, as it were, full cups of gold and silver, and now they are one in a mystical embrace. From the moon come the folk-songs imagined by reapers and spinners out of the common impulse of their labour, and made not by putting words together, but by mixing verses and phrases, and the folk-tales made by the capricious mixing of incidents known to everybody in new ways, as one deals out cards, never getting the same hand twice over. When one hears some fine story, one never knows whether it has not been hazard that put the last touch of adventure. Such poetry, as it seems to me, desires an infinity of wonder or emotion, for where there is no individual mind there is no measurer-out, no marker-in of limits. The poor fisher has no possession of the world and no responsibility for it; and if he dreams of a love-gift better than the brown shawl that seems too common for poetry, why should he not dream of a glove made from the skin of a bird, or shoes made from the skin of a fish, or a coat made from the glittering garment of the salmon? Was it not Aeschylus who said he but served up fragments from the banquet of Homer?--but Homer himself found the great banquet on an earthen floor and under a broken roof. We do not know who at the foundation of the world made the banquet for the first time, or who put the pack of cards into rough hands; but we do know that, unless those that have made many inventions are about to change the nature of poetry, we may have to go where Homer went if we are to sing a new song. Is it because all that is under the moon thirsts to escape out of bounds, to lose itself in some unbounded tidal stream, that the songs of the folk are mournful, and that the story of the Fianna, whenever the queens lament for their lovers, reminds us of songs that are still sung in country-places? Their grief, even when it is to be brief like Grania's, goes up into the waste places of the sky. But in supreme art or in supreme life there is the influence of the sun too, and the sun brings with it, as old writers tell us, not merely discipline but joy; for its discipline is not of the kind the multitudes impose upon us by their weight and pressure, but the expression of the individual soul turning itself into a pure fire and imposing its own pattern, its own music, upon the heaviness and the dumbness that is in others and in itself. When we have drunk the cold cup of the moon's intoxication, we thirst for something beyond ourselves, and the mind flows outward to a natural immensity; but if we have drunk from the hot cup of the sun, our own fullness awakens, we desire little, for wherever one goes one's heart goes too; and if any ask what music is the sweetest, we can but answer, as Finn answered, "what happens." And yet the songs and stories that have come from either influence are a part, neither less than the other, of the pleasure that is the bride-bed of poetry. VIII Gaelic-speaking Ireland, because its art has been made, not by the artist choosing his material from wherever he has a mind to, but by adding a little to something which it has taken generations to invent, has always had a popular literature. One cannot say how much that literature has done for the vigour of the race, for one cannot count the hands its praise of kings and high-hearted queens made hot upon the sword-hilt, or the amorous eyes it made lustful for strength and beauty. One remembers indeed that when the farming people and the labourers of the towns made their last attempt to cast out England by force of arms they named themselves after the companions of Finn. Even when Gaelic has gone, and the poetry with it, something of the habit of mind remains in ways of speech and thought and "come-all-ye"s and poetical saying; nor is it only among the poor that the old thought has been for strength or weakness. Surely these old stories, whether of Finn or Cuchulain, helped to sing the old Irish and the old Norman-Irish aristocracy to their end. They heard their hereditary poets and story-tellers, and they took to horse and died fighting against Elizabeth or against Cromwell; and when an English-speaking aristocracy had their place, it listened to no poetry indeed, but it felt about it in the popular mind an exacting and ancient tribunal, and began a play that had for spectators men and women that loved the high wasteful virtues. I do not think that their own mixed blood or the habit of their time need take all, or nearly all, credit or discredit for the impulse that made our modern gentlemen fight duels over pocket-handkerchiefs, and set out to play ball against the gates of Jerusalem for a wager, and scatter money before the public eye; and at last, after an epoch of such eloquence the world has hardly seen its like, lose their public spirit and their high heart and grow querulous and selfish as men do who have played life out not heartily but with noise and tumult. Had they understood the people and the game a little better, they might have created an aristocracy in an age that has lost the meaning of the word. When one reads of the Fianna, or of Cuchulain, or of some great hero, one remembers that the fine life is always a part played finely before fine spectators. There also one notices the hot cup and the cold cup of intoxication; and when the fine spectators have ended, surely the fine players grow weary, and aristocratic life is ended. When O'Connell covered with a dark glove the hand that had killed a man in the duelling field, he played his part; and when Alexander stayed his army marching to the conquest of the world that he might contemplate the beauty of a plane-tree, he played his part. When Osgar complained as he lay dying, of the keening of the women and the old fighting men, he too played his part; "No man ever knew any heart in me," he said, "but a heart of twisted horn, and it covered with iron; but the howling of the dogs beside me," he said, "and the keening of the old fighting men and the crying of the women one after another, those are the things that are vexing me." If we would create a great community--and what other game is so worth the labour?--we must recreate the old foundations of life, not as they existed in that splendid misunderstanding of the eighteenth century, but as they must always exist when the finest minds and Ned the beggar and Seaghan the fool think about the same thing, although they may not think the same thought about it. IX When I asked the little boy who had shown me the pathway up the Hill of Allen if he knew stories of Finn and Oisin, he said he did not, but that he had often heard his grandfather telling them to his mother in Irish. He did not know Irish, but he was learning it at school, and all the little boys he knew were learning it. In a little while he will know enough stories of Finn and Oisin to tell them to his children some day. It is the owners of the land whose children might never have known what would give them so much happiness. But now they can read this book to their children, and it will make Slieve-na-man, Allen, and Benbulben, the great mountain that showed itself before me every day through all my childhood and was yet unpeopled, and half the country-sides of south and west, as populous with memories as are Dundealgan and Emain Macha and Muirthemne; and after a while somebody may even take them to some famous place and say, "This land where your fathers lived proudly and finely should be dear and dear and again dear"; and perhaps when many names have grown musical to their ears, a more imaginative love will have taught them a better service. X I need say nothing about the translation and arrangement of this book except that it is worthy to be put beside "Cuchulain of Muirthemne." Such books should not be commended by written words but by spoken words, were that possible, for the written words commending a book, wherein something is done supremely well, remain, to sound in the ears of a later generation, like the foolish sound of church bells from the tower of a church when every pew is full. W.B. YEATS. CONTENTS PART I. THE GODS Book I. The Coming of the Tuatha de Danaan Chap. I. The Fight with the Firbolgs II. The Reign of Bres Book II. Lugh of the Long Hand Chap. I. The Coming of Lugh II. The Sons of Tuireann III. The Great Battle of Magh Tuireadh IV. The Hidden House of Lugh Book III. The Coming of the Gael Chap. I. The Landing II. The Battle of Tailltin Book IV. The Ever-Living Living Ones Chap. I. Bodb Dearg II. The Dagda III. Angus Og IV. The Morrigu V. Aine VI. Aoibhell VII. Midhir and Etain VIII. Manannan IX. Manannan at play X. His Call to Bran XI. His Three Calls to Cormac XII. Cliodna's Wave XIII. His Call to Connla XIV. Tadg in Manannan's Islands XV. Laegaire in the Happy Plain Book V. The Fate of The Children of Lir PART II. THE FIANNA Book I. Finn, Son of Cumhal Chap. I. The Coming of Finn II. Finn's Household III. Birth of Bran IV. Oisin's Mother V. The Best Men of the Fianna Book II. Finn's Helpers Chap. I. The Lad of the Skins II. Black, Brown, and Grey III. The Hound IV. Red Ridge Book III. The Battle of the White Strand Chap. I. The Enemies of Ireland II. Cael and Credhe III. Conn Crither IV. Glas, Son of Dremen V. The Help of the Men of Dea VI. The March of the Fianna VII. The First Fighters VIII. The King of Ulster's Son IX. The High King's Son X. The King of Lochlann and his Sons XI. Labran's Journey XII. The Great Fight XIII. Credhe's Lament Book IV. Huntings and Enchantments Chap. I. The King of Britain's Son II. The Cave of Ceiscoran III. Donn, Son of Midhir IV. The Hospitality of Cuanna's House V. Cat-Heads and Dog-Heads VI. Lomna's Head VII. Ilbrec of Ess Ruadh VIII. The Cave of Cruachan IX. The Wedding at Ceann Slieve X. The Shadowy One XI. Finn's Madness XII. The Red Woman XIII. Finn and the Phantoms XIV. The Pigs of Angus XV. The Hunt of Slieve Cuilinn Book V. Oisin's Children Book VI. Diarmuid Chap. I. Birth of Diarmuid II. How Diarmuid got his Love-Spot III. The Daughter of King Under-Wave IV. The Hard Servant V. The House of the Quicken Trees Book VII. Diarmuid and Grania Chap. I. The Flight from Teamhair II. The Pursuit III. The Green Champions IV. The Wood of Dubhros V. The Quarrel VI. The Wanderers VII. Fighting and Peace VIII. The Boar of Beinn Gulbain Book VIII. Cnoc-an-Air Chap. I. Tailc, Son of Treon II. Meargach's Wife III. Ailne's Revenge Book IX. The Wearing Away of the Fianna Chap. I. The Quarrel with the Sons of Morna II. Death of Goll III. The Battle of Gabhra Book X. The End of the Fianna Chap. I. Death of Bran II. The Call of Oisin III. The Last of the Great Men Book XI. Oisin and Patrick Chap. I. Oisin's Story II. Oisin in Patrick's House III. The Arguments IV. Oisin's Laments GODS AND FIGHTING MEN. PART ONE: THE GODS. BOOK ONE: THE COMING OF THE TUATHA DE DANAAN. CHAPTER I. THE FIGHT WITH THE FIRBOLGS It was in a mist the Tuatha de Danaan, the people of the gods of Dana, or as some called them, the Men of Dea, came through the air and the high air to Ireland. It was from the north they came; and in the place they came from they had four cities, where they fought their battle for learning: great Falias, and shining Gorias, and Finias, and rich Murias that lay to the south. And in those cities they had four wise men to teach their young men skill and knowledge and perfect wisdom: Senias in Murias; and Arias, the fair-haired poet, in Finias; and Urias of the noble nature in Gorias; and Morias in Falias itself. And they brought from those four cities their four treasures: a Stone of Virtue from Falias, that was called the Lia Fail, the Stone of Destiny; and from Gorias they brought a Sword; and from Finias a Spear of Victory; and from Murias the fourth treasure, the Cauldron that no company ever went away from unsatisfied. It was Nuada was king of the Tuatha de Danaan at that time, but Manannan, son of Lir, was greater again. And of the others that were chief among them were Ogma, brother to the king, that taught them writing, and Diancecht, that understood healing, and Neit, a god of battle, and Credenus the Craftsman, and Goibniu the Smith. And the greatest among their women were Badb, a battle goddess; and Macha, whose mast-feeding was the heads of men killed in battle; and the Morrigu, the Crow of Battle; and Eire and Fodla and Banba, daughters of the Dagda, that all three gave their names to Ireland afterwards; and Eadon, the nurse of poets; and Brigit, that was a woman of poetry, and poets worshipped her, for her sway was very great and very noble. And she was a woman of healing along with that, and a woman of smith's work, and it was she first made the whistle for calling one to another through the night. And the one side of her face was ugly, but the other side was very comely. And the meaning of her name was Breo-saighit, a fiery arrow. And among the other women there were many shadow-forms and great queens; but Dana, that was called the Mother of the Gods, was beyond them all. And the three things they put above all others were the plough and the sun and the hazel-tree, so that it was said in the time to come that Ireland was divided between those three, Coll the hazel, and Cecht the plough, and Grian the sun. And they had a well below the sea where the nine hazels of wisdom were growing; that is, the hazels of inspiration and of the knowledge of poetry. And their leaves and their blossoms would break out in the same hour, and would fall on the well in a shower that raised a purple wave. And then the five salmon that were waiting there would eat the nuts, and their colour would come out in the red spots of their skin, and any person that would eat one of those salmon would know all wisdom and all poetry. And there were seven streams of wisdom that sprang from that well and turned back to it again; and the people of many arts have all drank from that well. It was on the first day of Beltaine, that is called now May Day, the Tuatha de Danaan came, and it was to the north-west of Connacht they landed. But the Firbolgs, the Men of the Bag, that were in Ireland before them, and that had come from the South, saw nothing but a mist, and it lying on the hills. Eochaid, son of Erc, was king of the Firbolgs at that time, and messengers came to him at Teamhair, and told him there was a new race of people come into Ireland, but whether from the earth or the skies or on the wind was not known, and that they had settled themselves at Magh Rein. They thought there would be wonder on Eochaid when he heard that news; but there was no wonder on him, for a dream had come to him in the night, and when he asked his Druids the meaning of the dream, it is what they said, that it would not be long till there would be a strong enemy coming against him. Then King Eochaid took counsel with his chief advisers, and it is what they agreed, to send a good champion of their own to see the strangers and to speak with them. So they chose out Sreng, that was a great fighting man, and he rose up and took his strong red-brown shield, and his two thick-handled spears, and his sword, and his head-covering, and his thick iron club, and he set out from Teamhair, and went on towards the place the strangers were, at Magh Rein. But before he reached it, the watchers of the Tuatha de Danaan got sight of him, and they sent out one of their own champions, Bres, with his shield and his sword and his two spears, to meet him and to talk with him. So the two champions went one towards the other slowly, and keeping a good watch on one another, and wondering at one another's arms, till they came near enough for talking; and then they stopped, and each put his shield before his body and struck it hard into the ground, and they looked at one another over the rim. Bres was the first to speak, and when Sreng heard it was Irish he was talking, his own tongue, he was less uneasy, and they drew nearer, and asked questions as to one another's family and race. And after a while they put their shields away, and it was what Sreng said, that he had raised his in dread of the thin, sharp spears Bres had in his hand. And Bres said he himself was in dread of the thick-handled spears he saw with Sreng, and he asked were all the arms of the Firbolgs of the same sort. And Sreng took off the tyings of his spears to show them better, and Bres wondered at them, being so strong and so heavy, and so sharp at the sides though they had no points. And Sreng told him the name of those spears was Craisech, and that they would break through shields and crush flesh and bones, so that their thrust was death or wounds that never healed. And then he looked at the sharp, thin, hard-pointed spears that were with Bres. And in the end they made an exchange of spears, the way the fighters on each side would see the weapons the others were used to. And it is the message Bres sent to the Firbolgs, that if they would give up one half of Ireland, his people would be content to take it in peace; but if they would not give up that much, there should be a battle. And he and Sreng said to one another that whatever might happen in the future, they themselves would be friends. Sreng went back then to Teamhair and gave the message and showed the spear; and it is what he advised his people, to share the country and not to go into battle with a people that had weapons so much better than their own. But Eochaid and his chief men consulted together, and they said in the end: "We will not give up the half of the country to these strangers; for if we do," they said, "they will soon take the whole." Now as to the Men of Dea, when Bres went back to them, and showed them the heavy spear, and told them of the strong, fierce man he had got it from, and how sturdy he was and well armed, they thought it likely there would soon be a battle. And they went back from where they were to a better place, farther west in Connacht, and there they settled themselves, and made walls and ditches on the plain of Magh Nia, where they had the great mountain, Belgata, in their rear. And while they were moving there and putting up their walls, three queens of them, Badb and Macha and the Morrigu, went to Teamhair where the Firbolgs were making their plans. And by the power of their enchantments they brought mists and clouds of darkness over the whole place, and they sent showers of fire and of blood over the people, the way they could not see or speak with one another through the length of three days. But at the end of that time, the three Druids of the Firbolgs, Cesarn and Gnathach and Ingnathach, broke the enchantment. The Firbolgs gathered their men together then, and they came with their eleven battalions and took their stand at the eastern end of the plain of Magh Nia. And Nuada, king of the Men of Dea, sent his poets to make the same offer he made before, to be content with the half of the country if it was given up to him. King Eochaid bade the poets to ask an answer of his chief men that were gathered there; and when they heard the offer they would not consent. So the messengers asked them when would they begin the battle. "We must have a delay," they said; "for we want time to put our spears and our armour in order, and to brighten our helmets and to sharpen our swords, and to have spears made like the ones you have. And as to yourselves," they said, "you will be wanting to have spears like our Craisechs made for you." So they agreed then to make a delay of a quarter of a year for preparation. It was on a Midsummer day they began the battle. Three times nine hurlers of the Tuatha de Danaan went out against three times nine hurlers of the Firbolgs, and they were beaten, and every one of them was killed. And the king, Eochaid, sent a messenger to ask would they have the battle every day or every second day. And it is what Nuada answered that they would have it every day, but there should be just the same number of men fighting on each side. Eochaid agreed to that, but he was not well pleased, for there were more men of the Firbolgs than of the Men of Dea. So the battle went on for four days, and there were great feats done on each side, and a great many champions came to their death. But for those that were alive at evening, the physicians on each side used to make a bath of healing, with every sort of healing plant or herb in it, the way they would be strong and sound for the next day's fight. And on the fourth day the Men of Dea got the upper hand, and the Firbolgs were driven back. And a great thirst came on Eochaid, their king, in the battle, and he went off the field looking for a drink, and three fifties of his men protecting him; but three fifties of the Tuatha de Danaan followed after them till they came to the strand that is called Traigh Eothaile, and they had a fierce fight there, and at the last King Eochaid fell, and they buried him there, and they raised a great heap of stones over his grave. And when there were but three hundred men left of the eleven battalions of the Firbolgs, and Sreng at the head of them, Nuada offered them peace, and their choice among the five provinces of Ireland. And Sreng said they would take Connacht; and he and his people lived there and their children after them. It is of them Ferdiad came afterwards that made such a good fight against Cuchulain, and Erc, son of Cairbre, that gave him his death. And that battle, that was the first fought in Ireland by the Men of Dea, was called by some the first battle of Magh Tuireadh. And the Tuatha de Danaan took possession of Teamhair, that was sometimes called Druim Cain, the Beautiful Ridge, and Liathdruim, the Grey Ridge, and Druim na Descan, the Ridge of the Outlook, all those names were given to Teamhair. And from that time it was above all other places, for its king was the High King over all Ireland. The king's rath lay to the north, and the Hill of the Hostages to the north-east of the High Seat, and the Green of Teamhair to the west of the Hill of the Hostages. And to the north-east, in the Hill of the Sidhe, was a well called Nemnach, and out of it there flowed a stream called Nith, and on that stream the first mill was built in Ireland. And to the north of the Hill of the Hostages was the stone, the Lia Fail, and it used to roar under the feet of every king that would take possession of Ireland. And the Wall of the Three Whispers was near the House of the Women that had seven doors to the east, and seven doors to the west; and it is in that house the feasts of Teamhair used to be held. And there was the Great House of a Thousand Soldiers, and near it, to the south, the little Hill of the Woman Soldiers. CHAPTER II. THE REIGN OF BRES But if Nuada won the battle, he lost his own arm in it, that was struck off by Sreng; and by that loss there came troubles and vexation on his people. For it was a law with the Tuatha de Danaan that no man that was not perfect in shape should be king. And after Nuada had lost the battle he was put out of the kingship on that account. And the king they chose in his place was Bres, that was the most beautiful of all their young men, so that if a person wanted to praise any beautiful thing, whether it was a plain, or a dun, or ale, or a flame, or a woman, or a man, or a horse, it is what he would say, "It is as beautiful as Bres." And he was the son of a woman of the Tuatha de Danaan, but who his father was no one knew but herself. But in spite of Bres being so beautiful, his reign brought no great good luck to his people; for the Fomor, whose dwelling-place was beyond the sea, or as some say below the sea westward, began putting tribute on them, the way they would get them under their own rule. It was a long time before that the Fomor came first to Ireland; dreadful they were to look at, and maimed, having but one foot or one hand, and they under the leadership of a giant and his mother. There never came to Ireland an army more horrible or more dreadful than that army of the Fomor. And they were friendly with the Firbolgs and content to leave Ireland to them, but there was jealousy between them and the Men of Dea. And it was a hard tax they put on them, a third part of their corn they asked, and a third part of their milk, and a third part of their children, so that there was not smoke rising from a roof in Ireland but was under tribute to them. And Bres made no stand against them, but let them get their way. And as to Bres himself, he put a tax on every house in Ireland of the milk of hornless dun cows, or of the milk of cows of some other single colour, enough for a hundred men. And one time, to deceive him, Nechtan singed all the cows of Ireland in a fire of fern, and then he smeared them with the ashes of flax seed, the way they were all dark brown. He did that by the advice of the Druid Findgoll, son of Findemas. And another time they made three hundred cows of wood with dark brown pails in place of udders, and the pails were filled with black bog stuff. Then Bres came to look at the cows, and to see them milked before him, and Cian, father of Lugh, was there. And when they were milked it was the bog stuff that was squeezed out; and Bres took a drink of it thinking it to be milk, and he was not the better of it for a long time. And there was another thing against Bres; he was no way open-handed, and the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan grumbled against him, for their knives were never greased in his house, and however often they might visit him there was no smell of ale on their breath. And there was no sort of pleasure or merriment in his house, and no call for their poets, or singers, or harpers, or pipers, or horn-blowers, or jugglers, or fools. And as to the trials of strength they were used to see between their champions, the only use their strength was put to now was to be doing work for the king. Ogma himself, the shining poet, was under orders to bring firing to the palace every day for the whole army from the Islands of Mod; and he so weak for want of food that the sea would sweep away two-thirds of his bundle every day. And as to the Dagda, he was put to build raths, for he was a good builder, and he made a trench round Rath Brese. And he used often to be tired at the work, and one time he nearly gave in altogether for want of food, and this is the way that happened. He used to meet in the house an idle blind man, Cridenbel his name was, that had a sharp tongue, and that coveted the Dagda's share of food, for he thought his own to be small beside it. So he said to him: "For the sake of your good name let the three best bits of your share be given to me." And the Dagda gave in to that every night; but he was the worse of it, for what the blind man called a bit would be the size of a good pig, and with his three bits he would take a full third of the whole. But one day, as the Dagda was in the trench, he saw his son, Angus Og, coming to him. "That is a good meeting," said Angus; "but what is on you, for you have no good appearance to-day?" "There is a reason for that," said the Dagda, "for every evening, Cridenbel, the blind man, makes a demand for the three best bits of my share of food, and takes them from me." "I will give you an advice," said Angus. He put his hand in his bag then, and took out three pieces of gold and gave them to him. "Put these pieces of gold into the three bits you will give this evening to Cridenbel," he said, "and they will be the best bits in the dish, and the gold will turn within him the way he will die." So in the evening the Dagda did that; and no sooner had Cridenbel swallowed down the gold than he died. Some of the people said then to the king: "The Dagda has killed Cridenbel, giving him some deadly herb." The king believed that, and there was anger on him against the Dagda, and he gave orders he should be put to death. But the Dagda said: "You are not giving the right judgment of a prince." And he told all that had happened, and how Cridenbel used to say, "Give me the three best bits before you, for my own share is not good to-night." "And on this night," he said, "the three pieces of gold were the best things before me, and I gave them to him, and he died." The king gave orders then to have the body cut open. And they found the gold inside it, and they knew it was the truth the Dagda had told. And Angus came to him again the next day, and he said: "Your work will soon be done, and when you are given your wages, take nothing they may offer you till the cattle of Ireland are brought before you, and choose out a heifer then, black and black-maned, that I will tell you the signs of." So when the Dagda had brought his work to an end, and they asked him what reward he wanted, he did as Angus had bidden him. And that seemed folly to Bres; he thought the Dagda would have asked more than a heifer of him. There came a day at last when a poet came to look for hospitality at the king's house, Corpre, son of Etain, poet of the Tuatha de Danaan. And it is how he was treated, he was put in a little dark narrow house where there was no fire, or furniture, or bed; and for a feast three small cakes, and they dry, were brought to him on a little dish. When he rose up on the morrow he was no way thankful, and as he was going across the green, it is what he said: "Without food ready on a dish; without milk enough for a calf to grow on; without shelter; without light in the darkness of night; without enough to pay a story-teller; may that be the prosperity of Bres." And from that day there was no good luck with Bres, but it is going down he was for ever after. And that was the first satire ever made in Ireland. Now as to Nuada: after his arm being struck off, he was in his sickness for a while, and then Diancecht, the healer, made an arm of silver for him, with movement in every finger of it, and put it on him. And from that he was called Nuada Argat-lamh, of the Silver Hand, for ever after. Now Miach, son of Diancecht, was a better hand at healing than his father, and had done many things. He met a young man, having but one eye, at Teamhair one time, and the young man said: "If you are a good physician you will put an eye in the place of the eye I lost." "I could put the eye of that cat in your lap in its place," said Miach. "I would like that well," said the young man. So Miach put the cat's eye in his head; but he would as soon have been without it after, for when he wanted to sleep and take his rest, it is then the eye would start at the squeaking of the mice, or the flight of the birds, or the movement of the rushes; and when he was wanting to watch an army or a gathering, it is then it was sure to be in a deep sleep. And Miach was not satisfied with what his father had done to the king, and he took Nuada's own hand that had been struck off, and brought it to him and set it in its place, and he said: "Joint to joint, and sinew to sinew." Three days and three nights he was with the king; the first day he put the hand against his side, and the second day against his breast, till it was covered with skin, and the third day he put bulrushes that were blackened in the fire on it, and at the end of that time the king was healed. But Diancecht was vexed when he saw his son doing a better cure than himself, and he threw his sword at his head, that it cut the flesh, but the lad healed the wound by means of his skill. Then Diancecht threw it a second time, that it reached the bone, but the lad was able to cure the wound. Then he struck him the third time and the fourth, till he cut out the brain, for he knew no physician could cure him after that blow; and Miach died, and he buried him. And herbs grew up from his grave, to the number of his joints and sinews, three hundred and sixty-five. And Airmed, his sister, came and spread out her cloak and laid out the herbs in it, according to their virtue. But Diancecht saw her doing that, and he came and mixed up the herbs, so that no one knows all their right powers to this day. Then when the Tuatha de Danaan saw Nuada as well as he was before, they gathered together to Teamhair, where Bres was, and they bade him give up the kingship, for he had held it long enough. So he had to give it up, though he was not very willing, and Nuada was put back in the kingship again. There was great vexation on Bres then, and he searched his mind to know how could he be avenged on those that had put him out, and how he could gather an army against them; and he went to his mother, Eri, daughter of Delbaith, and bade her tell him what his race was. "I know that well," she said; and she told him then that his father was a king of the Fomor, Elathan, son of Dalbaech, and that he came to her one time over a level sea in some great vessel that seemed to be of silver, but she could not see its shape, and he himself having the appearance of a young man with yellow hair, and his clothes sewed with gold, and five rings of gold about his neck. And she that had refused the love of all the young men of her own people, gave him her love, and she cried when he left her. And he gave her a ring from his hand, and bade her give it only to the man whose finger it would fit, and he went away then the same way as he had come. And she brought out the ring then to Bres, and he put it round his middle finger, and it fitted him well. And they went then together to the hill where she was the time she saw the silver vessel coming, and down to the strand, and she and Bres and his people set out for the country of the Fomor. And when they came to that country they found a great plain with many gatherings of people on it, and they went to the gathering that looked the best, and the people asked where did they come from, and they said they were come from Ireland. "Have you hounds with you?" they asked them then, for it was the custom at that time, when strangers came to a gathering, to give them some friendly challenge. "We have hounds," said Bres. So the hounds were matched against one another, and the hounds of the Tuatha de Danaan were better than the hounds of the Fomor. "Have you horses for a race?" they asked then. "We have," said Bres. And the horses of the Tuatha de Danaan beat the horses of the Fomor. Then they asked was any one among them a good hand with the sword, and they said Bres was the best. But when he put his hand to his sword, Elathan, his father, that was among them, knew the ring, and he asked who was this young man. Then his mother answered him and told the whole story, and that Bres was his own son. There was sorrow on his father then, and he said: "What was it drove you out of the country you were king over?" And Bres said: "Nothing drove me out but my own injustice and my own hardness; I took away their treasures from the people, and their jewels, and their food itself. And there were never taxes put on them before I was their king." "That is bad," said his father; "it is of their prosperity you had a right to think more than of your own kingship. And their good-will would be better than their curses," he said; "and what is it you are come to look for here?" "I am come to look for fighting men," said Bres, "that I may take Ireland by force." "You have no right to get it by injustice when you could not keep it by justice," said his father. "What advice have you for me then?" said Bres. And Elathan bade him go to the chief king of the Fomor, Balor of the Evil Eye, to see what advice and what help would he give him. BOOK TWO: LUGH OF THE LONG HAND. CHAPTER I. THE COMING OF LUGH Now as to Nuada of the Silver Hand, he was holding a great feast at Teamhair one time, after he was back in the kingship. And there were two door-keepers at Teamhair, Gamal, son of Figal, and Camel, son of Riagall. And a young man came to the door where one of them was, and bade him bring him in to the king. "Who are you yourself?" said the door-keeper. "I am Lugh, son of Cian of the Tuatha de Danaan, and of Ethlinn, daughter of Balor, King of the Fomor," he said; "and I am foster-son of Taillte, daughter of the King of the Great Plain, and of Echaid the Rough, son of Duach." "What are you skilled in?" said the door-keeper; "for no one without an art comes into Teamhair." "Question me," said Lugh; "I am a carpenter." "We do not want you; we have a carpenter ourselves, Luchtar, son of Luachaid." "Then I am a smith." "We have a smith ourselves, Colum Cuaillemech of the Three New Ways." "Then I am a champion." "That is no use to us; we have a champion before, Ogma, brother to the king." "Question me again," he said; "I am a harper." "That is no use to us; we have a harper ourselves, Abhean, son of Bicelmos, that the Men of the Three Gods brought from the hills." "I am-a poet," he said then, "and a teller of tales." "That is no use to us; we have a teller of tales ourselves, Ere, son of Ethaman." "And I am a magician." "That is no use to us; we have plenty of magicians and people of power." "I am a physician," he said. "That is no use; we have Diancecht-for our physician." "Let me be a cup-bearer," he said. "We do not want you; we have nine cup-bearers ourselves." "I am a good worker in brass." "We have a worker in brass ourselves, that is Credne Cerd." Then Lugh said: "Go and ask the king if he has any one man that can do all these things, and if he has, I will not ask to come into Teamhair." The door-keeper went into the king's house then and told him all that. "There is a young man at the door," he said, "and his name should be the Ildánach, the Master of all Arts, for all the things the people of your house can do, he himself is able to do every one of them." "Try him with the chess-boards," said Nuada. So the chess-boards were brought out, and every game that was played, Lugh won it. And when Nuada was told that, he said: "Let him in, for the like of him never came into Teamhair before." Then the door-keeper let him pass, and he came into the king's house and sat down in the seat of knowledge. And there was a great flag-stone there that could hardly be moved by four times twenty yoke of oxen, and Ogma took it up and hurled it out through the house, so that it lay on the outside of Teamhair, as a challenge to Lugh. But Lugh hurled it back again that it lay in the middle of the king's house. He played the harp for them then, and he had them laughing and crying, till he put them asleep at the end with a sleepy tune. And when Nuada saw all the things Lugh could do, he began to think that by his help the country might get free of the taxes and the tyranny put on it by the Fomor. And it is what he did, he came down from his throne, and he put Lugh on it in his place, for the length of thirteen days, the way they might all listen to the advice he would give. This now is the story of the birth of Lugh. The time the Fomor used to be coming to Ireland, Balor of the Strong Blows, or, as some called him, of the Evil Eye, was living on the Island of the Tower of Glass. There was danger for ships that went near that island, for the Fomor would come out and take them. And some say the sons of Nemed in the old time, before the Firbolgs were in Ireland, passed near it in their ships, and what they saw was a tower of glass in the middle of the sea, and on the tower something that had the appearance of men, and they went against it with Druid spells to attack it. And the Fomor worked against them with Druid spells of their own; and the sons of Nemed attacked the tower, and it vanished, and they thought it was destroyed. But a great wave rose over them then, and all their ships went down and all that were in them. And the tower was there as it was before, and Balor living in it. And it is the reason he was called "of the Evil Eye," there was a power of death in one of his eyes, so that no person could look at it and live. It is the way it got that power, he was passing one time by a house where his father's Druids were making spells of death, and the window being open he looked in, and the smoke of the poisonous spells was rising up, and it went into his eye. And from that time he had to keep it closed unless he wanted to be the death of some enemy, and then the men that were with him would lift the eyelid with a ring of ivory. Now a Druid foretold one time that it was by his own grandson he would get his death. And he had at that time but one child, a daughter whose name was Ethlinn; and when he heard what the Druid said, he shut her up in the tower on the island. And he put twelve women with her to take charge of her and to guard her, and he bade them never to let her see a man or hear the name of a man. So Ethlinn was brought up in the tower, and she grew to be very beautiful; and sometimes she would see men passing in the currachs, and sometimes she would see a man in her dreams. But when she would speak of that to the women, they would give her no answer. So there was no fear on Balor, and he went on with war and robbery as he was used, seizing every ship that passed by, and sometimes going over to Ireland to do destruction there. Now it chanced at that time there were three brothers of the Tuatha de Danaan living together in a place that was called Druim na Teine, the Ridge of the Fire, Goibniu and Samthainn and Cian. Cian was a lord of land, and Goibniu was the smith that had such a great name. Now Cian had a wonderful cow, the Glas Gaibhnenn, and her milk never failed. And every one that heard of her coveted her, and many had tried to steal her away, so that she had to be watched night and day. And one time Cian was wanting some swords made, and he went to Goibniu's forge, and he brought the Glas Gaibhnenn with him, holding her by a halter. When he came to the forge his two brothers were there together, for Samthainn had brought some steel to have weapons made for himself; and Cian bade Samthainn to hold the halter while he went into the forge to speak with Goibniu. Now Balor had set his mind for a long time on the Glas Gaibhnenn, but he had never been able to get near her up to this time. And he was watching not far off, and when he saw Samthainn holding the cow, he put on the appearance of a little boy, having red hair, and came up to him and told him he heard his two brothers that were in the forge saying to one another that they would use all his steel for their own swords, and make his of iron. "By my word," said Samthainn, "they will not deceive me so easily. Let you hold the cow, little lad," he said, "and I will go in to them." With that he rushed into the forge, and great anger on him. And no sooner did Balor get the halter in his hand than he set out, dragging the Glas along with him, to the strand, and across the sea to his own island. When Cian saw his brother coming in he rushed out, and there he saw Balor and the Glas out in the sea. And he had nothing to do then but to reproach his brother, and to wander about as if his wits had left him, not knowing what way to get his cow back from Balor. At last he went to a Druid to ask an advice from him; and it is what the Druid told him, that so long as Balor lived, the cow would never be brought back, for no one would go within reach of his Evil Eye. Cian went then to a woman-Druid, Birog of the Mountain, for her help. And she dressed him in a woman's clothes, and brought him across the sea in a blast of wind, to the tower where Ethlinn was. Then she called to the women in the tower, and asked them for shelter for a high queen she was after saving from some hardship, and the women in the tower did not like to refuse a woman of the Tuatha de Danaan, and they let her and her comrade in. Then Birog by her enchantments put them all into a deep sleep, and Cian went to speak with Ethlinn. And when she saw him she said that was the face she had seen in her dreams. So she gave him her love; but after a while he was brought away again on a blast of wind. And when her time came, Ethlinn gave birth to a son. And when Balor knew that, he bade his people put the child in a cloth and fasten it with a pin, and throw him into a current of the sea. And as they were carrying the child across an arm of the sea, the pin dropped out, and the child slipped from the cloth into the water, and they thought he was drowned. But he was brought away by Birog of the Mountain, and she brought him to his father Cian; and he gave him to be fostered by Taillte, daughter of the King of the Great Plain. It is thus Lugh was born and reared. And some say Balor came and struck the head off Cian on a white stone, that has the blood marks on it to this day; but it is likely it was some other man he struck the head off, for it was by the sons of Tuireann that Cian came to his death. And after Lugh had come to Teamhair, and made his mind up to join with his father's people against the Fomor, he put his mind to the work; and he went to a quiet place in Grellach Dollaid, with Nuada and the Dagda, and with Ogma; and Goibniu and Diancecht were called to them there. A full year they stopped there, making their plans together in secret, the way the Fomor would not know they were going to rise against them till such time as all would be ready, and till they would know what their strength was. And it is from that council the place got the name afterwards of "The Whisper of the Men of Dea." And they broke up the council, and agreed to meet again that day three years, and every one of them went his own way, and Lugh went back to his own friends, the sons of Manannan. And it was a good while after that, Nuada was holding a great assembly of the people on the Hill of Uisnech, on the west side of Teamhair. And they were not long there before they saw an armed troop coming towards them from the east, over the plain; and there was a young man in front of the troop, in command over the rest, and the brightness of his face was like the setting sun, so that they were not able to look at him because of its brightness. And when he came nearer they knew it was Lugh Lamh-Fada, of the Long Hand, that had come back to them, and along with him were the Riders of the Sidhe from the Land of Promise, and his own foster-brothers, the sons of Manannan, Sgoith Gleigeil, the White Flower, and Goitne Gorm-Shuileach, the Blue-eyed Spear, and Sine Sindearg, of the Red Ring, and Donall Donn-Ruadh, of the Red-brown Hair. And it is the way Lugh was, he had Manannan's horse, the Aonbharr, of the One Mane, under him, that was as swift as the naked cold wind of spring, and the sea was the same as dry land to her, and the rider was never killed off her back. And he had Manannan's breast-plate on him, that kept whoever was wearing it from wounds, and a helmet on his head with two beautiful precious stones set in the front of it and one at the back, and when he took it off, his forehead was like the sun on a dry summer day. And he had Manannan's sword, the Freagarthach, the Answerer, at his side, and no one that was wounded by it would ever get away alive; and when that sword was bared in a battle, no man that saw it coming against him had any more strength than a woman in child-birth. And the troop came to where the King of Ireland was with the Tuatha de Danaan, and they welcomed one another. And they were not long there till they saw a surly, slovenly troop coming towards them, nine times nine of the messengers of the Fomor, that were coming to ask rent and taxes from the men of Ireland; and the names of the four that were the hardest and the most cruel were Eine and Eathfaigh and Coron and Compar; and there was such great dread of these four on the Tuatha de Danaan, that not one of them would so much as punish his own son or his foster-son without leave from them. They came up then to where the King of Ireland was with the Riders of the Sidhe, and the king and all the Tuatha de Danaan stood up before them. And Lugh of the Long Hand said: "Why do you rise up before that surly, slovenly troop, when you did not rise up before us?" "It is needful for us to do it," said the king; "for if there was but a child of us sitting before them, they would not think that too small a cause for killing him." "By my word," said Lugh, "there is a great desire coming on me to kill themselves." "That is a thing would bring harm on us," said the king, "for we would meet our own death and destruction through it." "It is too long a time you have been under this oppression," said Lugh. And with that he started up and made an attack on the Fomor, killing and wounding them, till he had made an end of eight nines of them, but he let the last nine go under the protection of Nuada the king. "And I would kill you along with the others," he said, "but I would sooner see you go with messages to your own country than my own people, for fear they might get any ill-treatment." So the nine went back then till they came to Lochlann, where the men of the Fomor were, and they told them the story from beginning to end, and how a young well-featured lad had come into Ireland and had killed all the tax-gatherers but themselves, "and it is the reason he let us off," they said, "that we might tell you the story ourselves." "Do you know who is the young man?" said Balor of the Evil Eye then. "I know well," said Ceithlenn, his wife; "he is the son of your daughter and mine. And it was foretold," she said, "that from the time he would come into Ireland, we would never have power there again for ever." Then the chief men of the Fomor went into a council, Eab, son of Neid, and Seanchab, grandson of Neid, and Sital Salmhor, and Liath, son of Lobais, and the nine poets of the Fomor that had learning and the gift of foreknowledge, and Lobais the Druid, and Balor himself and his twelve white-mouthed sons, and Ceithlenn of the Crooked Teeth, his queen. And it was just at that time Bres and his father Elathan were come to ask help of the Fomor, and Bres said: "I myself will go to Ireland, and seven great battalions of the Riders of the Fomor along with me, and I will give battle to this Ildánach, this master of all arts, and I will strike his head off and bring it here to you, to the green of Berbhe." "It would be a fitting thing for you to do," said they all. "Let my ships be made ready for me," said Bres, "and let food and provisions be put in them." So they made no delay, but went and got the ships ready, and they put plenty of food and drink in them, and the two swift Luaths were sent out to gather the army to Bres. And when they were all gathered, they made ready their armour and their weapons, and they set out for Ireland. And Balor the king followed them to the harbour, and he said: "Give battle to that Ildánach, and strike off his head; and tie that island that is called Ireland to the back of your ships, and let the destroying water take its place, and put it on the north side of Lochlann, and not one of the Men of Dea will follow it there to the end of life and time." Then they pushed out their ships and put up their painted sails, and went out from the harbour on the untilled country, on the ridges of the wide-lying sea, and they never turned from their course till they came to the harbour of Eas Dara. And from that they sent out an army through West Connacht and destroyed it altogether, through and through. And the King of Connacht at that time was Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda. CHAPTER II. THE SONS OF TUIREANN And Lugh of the Long Hand was at that time at Teamhair with the King of Ireland, and it was showed to him that the Fomor were after landing at Eas Dara. And when he knew that, he made ready Manannan's horse, the Aonbharr, at the time of the battle of the day and night; and he went where Nuada the king was, and told him how the Fomor had landed at Eas Dara and had spoiled Bodb Dearg's country; "and it is what I want," he said, "to get help from you to give battle to them." But Nuada was not minded to avenge the destruction that was done on Bodb Dearg and not on himself, and Lugh was not well pleased with his answer, and he went riding out of Teamhair westward. And presently he saw three armed men coming towards him, his own father Cian, with his brothers Cu and Ceithen, that were the three sons of Cainte, and they saluted him. "What is the cause of your early rising?" they said. "It is good cause I have for it," said Lugh, "for the Fomor are come into Ireland and have robbed Bodb Dearg; and what help will you give me against them?" he said. "Each one of us will keep off a hundred from you in the battle," said they. "That is a good help," said Lugh; "but there is a help I would sooner have from you than that: to gather the Riders of the Sidhe to me from every place where they are." So Cu and Ceithen went towards the south, and Cian set out northward, and he did not stop till he reached the Plain of Muirthemne. And as he was going across the plain he saw three armed men before him, that were the three sons of Tuireann, son of Ogma. And it is the way it was between the three sons of Tuireann and the three sons of Cainte, they were in hatred and enmity towards one another, so that whenever they met there was sure to be fighting among them. Then Cian said: "If my two brothers had been here it is a brave fight we would make; but since they are not, it is best for me to fall back." Then he saw a great herd of pigs near him, and he struck himself with a Druid rod that put on him the shape of a pig of the herd, and he began rooting up the ground like the rest. Then Brian, one of the sons of Tuireann, said to his brothers: "Did you see that armed man that was walking the plain a while ago?" "We did see him," said they. "Do you know what was it took him away?" said Brian. "We do not know that," said they. "It is a pity you not to be keeping a better watch over the plains of the open country in time of war," said Brian; "and I know well what happened him, for he struck himself with his Druid rod into the shape of a pig of these pigs, and he is rooting up the ground now like any one of them; and whoever he is, he is no friend to us." "That is bad for us," said the other two, "for the pigs belong to some one of the Tuatha de Danaan, and even if we kill them all, the Druid pig might chance to escape us in the end." "It is badly you got your learning in the city of learning," said Brian, "when you cannot tell an enchanted beast from a natural beast." And while he was saying that, he struck his two brothers with his Druid rod, and he turned them into two thin, fast hounds, and they began to yelp sharply on the track of the enchanted pig. And it was not long before the pig fell out from among the others, and not one of the others made away but only itself, and it made for a wood, and at the edge of the wood Brian gave a cast of his spear that went through its body. And the pig cried out, and it said: "It is a bad thing you have done to have made a cast at me when you knew me." "It seems to me you have the talk of a man," said Brian. "I was a man indeed," said he; "I am Cian, son of Cainte, and give me your protection now." "I swear by the gods of the air," said Brian, "that if the life came back seven times to you, I would take it from you every time." "If that is so," said Cian, "give me one request: let me go into my own shape again." "We will do that," said Brian, "for it is easier to me to kill a man than a pig." So Cian took his own shape then, and he said: "Give me mercy now." "We will not give it," said Brian. "Well, I have got the better of you for all that," said Cian; "for if it was in the shape of a pig you had killed me there would only be the blood money for a pig on me; but as it is in my own shape you will kill me, there never was and never will be any person killed for whose sake a heavier fine will be paid than for myself. And the arms I am killed with," he said, "it is they will tell the deed to my son." "It is not with weapons you will be killed, but with the stones lying on the ground," said Brian. And with that they pelted him with stones, fiercely and roughly, till all that was left of him was a poor, miserable, broken heap; and they buried him the depth of a man's body in the earth, and the earth would not receive that murder from them, but cast it up again. Brian said it should go into the earth again, and they put it in the second time, and the second time the earth would not take it. And six times the sons of Tuireann buried the body, and six times it was cast up again; but the seventh time it was put underground the earth kept it. And then they went on to join Lugh of the Long Hand for the battle. Now as to Lugh; upon parting with his father he went forward from Teamhair westward, to the hills that were called afterwards Gairech and Ilgairech, and to the ford of the Shannon that is now called Athluain, and to Bearna nah-Eadargana, the Gap of Separation, and over Magh Luirg, the Plain of Following, and to Corr Slieve na Seaghsa, the Round Mountain of the Poet's Spring, and to the head of Sean-Slieve, and through the place of the bright-faced Corann, and from that to Magh Mor an Aonaigh, the Great Plain of the Fair, where the Fomor were, and the spoils of Connacht with them. It is then Bres, son of Elathan, rose up and said: "It is a wonder to me the sun to be rising in the west to-day, and it rising in the east every other day." "It would be better for us it to be the sun," said the Druids. "What else is it?" said he. "It is the shining of the face of Lugh, son of Ethlinn," said they. Lugh came up to them then and saluted them. "Why do you come like a friend to us?" said they. "There is good cause for that," he said, "for there is but one half of me of the Tuatha de Danaan, and the other half of yourselves. And give me back now the milch cows of the men of Ireland," he said. "May early good luck not come to you till you get either a dry or a milch cow here," said a man of them, and anger on him. But Lugh stopped near them for three days and three nights, and at the end of that time the Riders of the Sidhe came to him. And Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, came with twenty-nine hundred men, and he said: "What is the cause of your delay in giving battle?" "Waiting for you I was," said Lugh. Then the kings and chief men of the men of Ireland took their armour on them, and they raised the points of their spears over their heads, and they made close fences of their shields. And they attacked their enemies on Magh Mor an Aonaigh, and their enemies answered them, and they threw their whining spears at one another, and when their spears were broken they drew their swords from their blue-bordered sheaths and began to strike at one another, and thickets of brown flames rose above them from the bitterness of their many-edged weapons. And Lugh saw the battle pen where Bres, son of Elathan, was, and he made a fierce attack on him and on the men that were guarding him, till he had made an end of two hundred of them. When Bres saw that, he gave himself up to Lugh's protection. "Give me my life this time," he said, "and I will bring the whole race of the Fomor to fight it out with you in a great battle; and I bind myself to that, by the sun and the moon, the sea and the land," he said. On that Lugh gave him his life, and then the Druids that were with him asked his protection for themselves. "By my word," said Lugh, "if the whole race of the Fomor went under my protection they would not be destroyed by me." So then Bres and the Druids set out for their own country. Now as to Lugh and the sons of Tuireann. After the battle of Magh Mor an Aonaigh, he met two of his kinsmen and asked them did they see his father in the fight. "We did not," said they. "I am sure he is not living," said Lugh; "and I give my word," he said, "there will no food or drink go into my mouth till I get knowledge by what death my father died." Then he set out, and the Riders of the Sidhe after him, till they came to the place where he and his father parted from one another, and from that to the place where his father went into the shape of a pig when he saw the sons of Tuireann. And when Lugh came to that place the earth spoke to him, and it said: "It is in great danger your father was here, Lugh, when he saw the sons of Tuireann before him, and it is into the shape of a pig he had to go, but it is in his own shape they killed him." Then Lugh told that to his people, and he found the spot where his father was buried, and he bade them dig there, the way he would know by what death the sons of Tuireann had made an end of him. Then they raised the body out of the grave and looked at it, and it was all one bed of wounds. And Lugh said: "It was the death of an enemy the sons of Tuireann gave my dear father." And he gave him three kisses, and it is what he said: "It is bad the way I am myself after this death, for I can hear nothing with my ears, and I can see nothing with my eyes, and there is not a living pulse in my heart, with grief after my father. And you gods I worship," he said, "it is a pity I not to have come here the time this thing was done. And it is a great thing that has been done here," he said, "the people of the gods of Dana to have done treachery on one another, and it is long they will be under loss by it and be weakened by it. And Ireland will never be free from trouble from this out, east and west," he said. Then they put Cian under the earth again, and after that there was keening made over his grave, and a stone was raised on it, and his name was written in Ogham, And Lugh said: "This hill will take its name from Cian, although he himself is stripped and broken. And it was the sons of Tuireann did this thing," he said, "and there will grief and anguish fall on them from it, and on their children after them. And it is no lying story I am telling you," he said; "and it is a pity the way I am, and my heart is broken in my breast since Cian, the brave man, is not living." Then he bade his people to go before him to Teamhair, "But do not tell the story till I tell it myself," he said. And when Lugh came to Teamhair he sat in the high seat of the king, and he looked about him and he saw the three sons of Tuireann. And those were the three that were beyond all others at Teamhair at that time for quickness and skill, for a good hand in battle, for beauty and an honourable name. Then Lugh bade his people to shake the chain of silence, and they did so, and they all listened. And Lugh said: "What are your minds fixed on at this time, Men of Dea?" "On yourself indeed," said they. "I have a question to ask of you," he said. "What is the vengeance each one of you would take on the man that would kill your father?" There was great wonder on them when they heard that, and one of the chief men among them said: "Tell us was it your own father that was killed?" "It was indeed," said Lugh; "and I see now in this house," he said, "the men that killed him, and they know themselves what way they killed him better than I know it." Then the king said: "It is not a death of one day only I would give the man that had killed my father, if he was in my power, but to cut off one of his limbs from day to day till I would make an end of him." All the chief men said the same, and the sons of Tuireann like the rest. "There are making that answer," said Lugh, "the three men that killed my father; and let them pay the fine for him now, since you are all together in the one place. And if they will not," he said, "I will not break the protection of the king's house, but they must make no attempt to quit this house till they have settled with me." "If it was I myself had killed your father," said the king, "I would be well content you to take a fine from me for him." "It is at us Lugh is saying all this," said the sons of Tuireann among themselves. "Let us acknowledge the killing of his father to him," said Iuchar and Iucharba. "I am in dread," said Brian, "that it is wanting an acknowledgment from us he is, in the presence of all the rest, and that he will not let us off with a fine afterwards." "It is best to acknowledge it," said the others; "and let you speak it out since you are the eldest." Then Brian, son of Tuireann, said: "It is at us you are speaking, Lugh, for you are thinking we went against the sons of Cainte before now; and we did not kill your father," he said, "but we will pay the fine for him the same as if we did kill him." "I will take a fine from you that you do not think of," said Lugh, "and I will say here what it is, and if it is too much for you, I will let you off a share of it." "Let us hear it from you," said they. "Here it is," said Lugh; "three apples, and the skin of a pig, and a spear, and two horses, and a chariot, and seven pigs, and a dog's whelp, and a cooking-spit, and three shouts on a hill. That is the fine I am asking," he said; "and if it is too much for you, a part of it will be taken off you presently, and if you do not think it too much, then pay it" "It is not too much," said Brian, "or a hundred times of it would not be too much. And we think it likely," he said, "because of its smallness that you have some treachery towards us behind it." "I do not think it too little of a fine," said Lugh; "and I give you the guarantee of the Tuatha de Danaan I will ask no other thing, and I will be faithful to you, and let you give the same pledge to me." "It is a pity you to ask that," said Brian, "for our own pledge is as good as any pledge in the world." "Your own pledge is not enough," said Lugh, "for it is often the like of you promised to pay a fine in this way, and would try to back out of it after." So then the sons of Tuireann bound themselves by the King of Ireland, and by Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, and by the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan, that they would pay that fine to Lugh. "It would be well for me now," said Lugh, "to give you better knowledge of the fine." "It would be well indeed," said they. "This is the way of it then," said Lugh. "The three apples I asked of you are the three apples from the Garden in the East of the World, and no other apples will do but these, for they are the most beautiful and have most virtue in them of the apples of the whole world. And it is what they are like, they are of the colour of burned gold, and they are the size of the head of a child a month old, and there is the taste of honey on them, and they do not leave the pain of wounds or the vexation of sickness on any one that eats them, and they do not lessen by being eaten for ever. And the skin I asked of you," he said, "is the pig skin of Tuis, King of Greece, and it heals all the wounds and all the sickness of the world, and whatever danger a man may be in, if it can but overtake the life in him, it will cure him; and it is the way it was with that pig, every stream of water it would go through would be turned into wine to the end of nine days after, and every wound it touched was healed; and it is what the Druids of Greece said, that it is not in itself this virtue was, but in the skin, and they skinned it, and the skin is there ever since. And I think, too, it will not be easy for you to get it, with or without leave." "And do you know what is the spear I am asking of you?" he said. "We do not," said they. "It is a very deadly spear belonging to the King of Persia, the Luin it is called, and every choice thing is done by it, and its head is kept steeped in a vessel of water, the way it will not burn down the place where it is, and it will be hard to get it. And do you know what two horses and what chariot I am asking of you? They are the chariot and the two wonderful horses of Dobar, King of Siogair, and the sea is the same as land to them, and there are no faster horses than themselves, and there is no chariot equal to that one in shape and in strength. "And do you know what are the seven pigs I asked of you? They are the pigs of Easal, King of the Golden Pillars; and though they are killed every night, they are found alive again the next day, and there will be no disease or no sickness on any person that will eat a share of them. "And the whelp I asked of you is Fail-Inis, the whelp belonging to the King of Ioruaidh, the Cold Country. And all the wild beasts of the world would fall down at the sight of her, and she is more beautiful than the sun in his fiery wheels, and it will be hard to get her. "And the cooking-spit I asked of you is a spit of the spits of the women of Inis Cenn-fhinne, the Island of Caer of the Fair Hair. And the three shouts you are to give on a hill must be given on the Hill of Miochaoin in the north of Lochlann. And Miochaoin and his sons are under bonds not to allow any shouts to be given on that hill; and it was with them my father got his learning, and if I would forgive you his death, they would not forgive you. And if you get through all your other voyages before you reach to them, it is my opinion they themselves will avenge him on you. And that is the fine I have asked of you," said Lugh. There was silence and darkness on the sons of Tuireann when they heard that. And they went to where their father was, and told him the fine that had been put on them. "It is bad news that is," said Tuireann; "and it is to your death and your destruction you will be going, looking for those things. But for all that, if Lugh himself had a mind to help you, you could work out the fine, and all the men of the world could not do it but by the power of Manannan or of Lugh. Go then and ask the loan of Manannan's horse, the Aonbharr, from Lugh, and if he has any wish to get the fine, he will give it to you; but if he does not wish it he will say the horse is not his, and that he would not give the loan of a loan. Ask him then for the loan of Manannan's curragh, the Scuabtuinne, the Sweeper of the Waves. And he will give that, for he is under bonds not to refuse a second request, and the curragh is better for you than the horse," he said. So the sons of Tuireann went to where Lugh was, and they saluted him, and they said they could not bring him the fine without his own help, and for that reason it would be well for them to get a loan of the Aonbharr. "I have that horse only on loan myself," said Lugh, "and I will not give a loan of a loan." "If that is so, give us the loan of Manannan's curragh," said Brian. "I will give that," said Lugh. "What place is it?" said they. "At Brugh na Boinn," said Lugh. Then they went back again to where Tuireann was, and his daughter Ethne, their sister, with him, and they told him they had got the curragh. "It is not much the better you will be for it," said Tuireann, "although Lugh would like well to get every part of this fine he could make use of before the battle with the Fomor. But he would like yourselves to come to your death looking for it." Then they went away, and they left Tuireann sorrowful and lamenting, and Ethne went with them to where the curragh was. And Brian got into it, and he said: "There is place but for one other person along with me here." And he began to find fault with its narrowness. "You ought not to be faulting the curragh," said Ethne; "and O my dear brother," she said, "it was a bad thing you did, to kill the father of Lugh of the Long Hand; and whatever harm may come to you from it, it is but just." "Do not say that, Ethne," they said, "for we are in good heart, and we will do brave deeds. And we would sooner be killed a hundred times over," they said, "than to meet with the death of cowards." "My grief," said Ethne, "there is nothing more sorrowful than this, to see you driven out from your own country." Then the three pushed out their curragh from the beautiful clear-bayed shore of Ireland. "What course shall we take first?" said they. "We will go look for the apples," said Brian, "as they were the first thing we were bade bring. And so we ask of you, curragh of Manannan that is under us, to sail to the Garden in the East of the World." And the curragh did not neglect that order, but it sailed forward over the green-sided waves and deep places till it came to its harbour in the east of the world. And then Brian asked his brothers: "What way have you a mind to get into the garden? for I think," he said, "the king's champions and the fighting men of the country are always guarding it, and the king himself is chief over them." "What should we do," said his brothers, "but to make straight at them and attack them, and bring away the apples or fall ourselves, since we cannot escape from these dangers that are before us without meeting our death in some place." "It would be better," said Brian, "the story of our bravery and our craftiness to be told and to live after us, than folly and cowardice to be told of us. And what is best for us to do now," he said, "is to go in the shape of swift hawks into the garden, and the watchers have but their light spears to throw at us, and let you take good care to keep out of their reach; and after they have thrown them all, make a quick flight to the apples and let each of you bring away an apple of them in your claws, and I will bring away the third." They said that was a good advice, and Brian struck himself and the others with his Druid rod, and changed them into beautiful hawks. And they flew towards the garden, and the watchers took notice of them and shouted on every side of them, and threw showers of spears and darts, but the hawks kept out of their reach as Brian had bade them, till all the spears were spent, and then they swept down bravely on the apples, and brought them away with them, without so much as a wound. And the news went through the city and the whole district, and the king had three wise, crafty daughters, and they put themselves into the shape of three ospreys, and they followed the hawks to the sea, and sent flashes of lightning before them and after them, that scorched them greatly. "It is a pity the way we are now," said the sons of Tuireann, "for we will be burned through and through with this lightning if we do not get some relief." "If I can give you relief I will do it," said Brian. With that he struck himself and his brothers with the Druid rod, and they were turned into three swans, and they went down quickly into the sea, and the ospreys went away from them then, and the sons of Tuireann went into their boat. After that they consulted together, and it is what they agreed, to go to Greece and to bring away the skin of the pig, with or without leave. So they went forward till they came near to the court of the King of Greece. "What appearance should we put on us going in here?" said Brian. "What appearance should we go in with but our own?" said the others. "That is not what I think best," said Brian; "but to go in with the appearance of poets from Ireland, the way the high people of Greece will hold us in respect and in honour." "It would be hard for us to do that," they said, "and we without a poem, and it is little we know how to make one." However, they put the poet's tie on their hair, and they knocked at the door of the court, and the door-keeper asked who was in it. "We are poets of Ireland," said Brian, "and we are come with a poem to the king." The door-keeper went in and told the king that there were poets from Ireland at the door. "Let them in," said the king, "for it is in search of a good man they came so far from their own country." And the king gave orders that everything should be well set out in the court, the way they would say they had seen no place so grand in all their travels. The sons of Tuireann were let in then, having the appearance of poets, and they fell to drinking and pleasure without delay; and they thought they had never seen, and there was not in the world, a court so good as that or so large a household, or a place where they had met with better treatment. Then the king's poets got up to give out their poems and songs. And then Brian, son of Tuireann, bade his brothers to say a poem for the king. "We have no poem," said they; "and do not ask any poem of us, but the one we know before, and that is to take what we want by the strength of our hand if we are the strongest, or to fall by those that are against us if they are the strongest." "That is not a good way to make a poem," said Brian. And with that he rose up himself and asked a hearing. And they all listened to him, and it is what he said: "O Tuis, we do not hide your fame; we praise you as the oak among kings; the skin of a pig, bounty without hardness, this is the reward I ask for it. "The war of a neighbour against an ear; the fair ear of his neighbour will be against him; he who gives us what he owns, his court will not be the scarcer for it. "A raging army and a sudden sea are a danger to whoever goes against them. The skin of a pig, bounty without hardness, this is the reward I ask, O Tuis." "That is a good poem," said the king; "but I do not know a word of its meaning." "I will tell you its meaning," said Brian. "'O Tuis, we do not hide your fame; we praise you as the oak above the kings.' That is, as the oak is beyond the kingly trees of the wood, so are you beyond the kings of the world for open-handedness and for grandeur. "'The skin of a pig, bounty without hardness.' That is, the skin of a pig you own is what I would wish to get from you as a reward for my poem. "'The war of a neighbour against an ear, the fair ear of his neighbour will be against him.' That is, you and I will be by the ears about the skin, unless I get it with your consent. "And that is the meaning of the poem," said Brian. "I would praise your poem," said the king, "if there was not so much about my pig-skin in it; and you have no good sense, man of poetry," he said, "to be asking that thing of me, and I would not give it to all the poets and the learned men and the great men of the world, since they could not take it away without my consent. But I will give you three times the full of the skin of gold as the price of your poem," he said. "May good be with you, king," said Brian, "and I know well it was no easy thing I was asking, but I knew I would get a good ransom for it. And I am that covetous," he said, "I will not be satisfied without seeing the gold measured myself into the skin." The king sent his servants with them then to the treasure-house to measure the gold. "Measure out the full of it to my brothers first," said Brian, "and then give good measure to myself, since it was I made the poem." But when the skin was brought out, Brian made a quick sudden snatch at it with his left hand, and drew his sword and made a stroke at the man nearest him, and made two halves of him. And then he kept a hold of the skin and put it about himself, and the three of them rushed out of the court, cutting down every armed man before them, so that not one escaped death or wounding. And then Brian went to where the king himself was, and the king made no delay in attacking him, and they made a hard fight of it, and at the end the King of Greece fell by the hand of Brian, son of Tuireann. The three brothers rested for a while after that, and then they said they would go and look for some other part of the fine. "We will go to Pisear, King of Persia," said Brian, "and ask him for the spear." So they went into their boat, and they left the blue streams of the coast of Greece, and they said: "We are well off when we have the apples and the skin." And they stopped nowhere till they came to the borders of Persia. "Let us go to the court with the appearance of poets," said Brian, "the same as we went to the King of Greece." "We are content to do that," said the others, "as all turned out so well the last time we took to poetry; not that it is easy for us to take to a calling that does not belong to us." So they put the poet's tie on their hair, and they were as well treated as they were at the other court; and when the time came for poems Brian rose up, and it is what he said: "It is little any spear looks to Pisear; the battles of enemies are broken, it is not too much for Pisear to wound every one of them. "A yew, the most beautiful of the wood, it is called a king, it is not bulky. May the spear drive on the whole crowd to their wounds of death." "That is a good poem," said the king, "but I do not understand why my own spear is brought into it, O Man of Poetry from Ireland." "It is because it is that spear of your own I would wish to get as the reward of my poem," said Brian. "It is little sense you have to be asking that of me," said the king; "and the people of my court never showed greater respect for poetry than now, when they did not put you to death on the spot." When Brian heard that talk from the king, he thought of the apple that was in his hand, and he made a straight cast and hit him in the forehead, so that his brains were put out at the back of his head, and he bared the sword and made an attack on the people about him. And the other two did not fail to do the same, and they gave him their help bravely till they had made an end of all they met of the people of the court. And then they found the spear, and its head in a cauldron of water, the way it would not set fire to the place. And after a while they said it was time for them to go and look for the rest of the great fine that was on them, and they asked one another what way should they go. "We will go to the King of the Island of Siogair," said Brian, "for it is with him are the two horses and the chariot the Ildánach asked of us." They went forward then and brought the spear with them, and it is proud the three champions were after all they had done. And they went on till they were come to the court of the King of Siogair. "It is what we will do this time," said Brian, "we will go in with the appearance of paid soldiers from Ireland, and we will make friends with the king, the way we will get to know in what place the horses and the chariot are kept." And when they had settled on that they went forward to the lawn before the king's house. The king and the chief men that were with him rose up and came through the fair that was going on there, and they saluted the king, and he asked who were they. "We are trained fighting men from Ireland," they said, "and we are earning wages from the kings of the world." "Is it your wish to stop with me for a while?" said the king. "That is what we are wanting," said they. So then they made an agreement and took service with him. They stopped in the court a fortnight and a month, and they never saw the horses through that time. Then Brian said: "This is a bad way we are in, to have no more news of the horses now than the first day we came to the place." "What is best for us to do now?" said his brothers. "Let us do this," said Brian, "let us take our arms and gather our things together, and go to the king and tell him we will leave the country and this part of the world unless he will show us those horses." So they went to the king that very day, and he asked them what did they mean by getting themselves ready for a journey. "You will hear that, high king," said Brian; "it is because trained fighting men from Ireland, like ourselves, have always trust put in them by the kings they guard, and we are used to be told the secrets and the whispers of any person we are with, and that is not the way you have treated us since we came to you. For you have two horses and a chariot that are the best in the world, as we have been told, and we have not been given a sight of them yet." "It would be a pity you to go on that account," said the king, "when I would have showed them to you the first day, if I had known you had a wish to see them. And if you have a mind to see them now," he said, "you may see them; for I think there never came soldiers from Ireland to this place that were thought more of by myself and by my people than yourselves." He sent for the horses then, and they were yoked to the chariot, and their going was as fast as the cold spring wind, and the sea was the same as the land to them. And Brian was watching the horses closely, and on a sudden he took hold of the chariot and took the chariot driver out and dashed him against the nearest rock, and made a leap into his place himself, and made a cast of the Persian spear at the king, that went through his heart. And then he and his brothers scattered the people before them, and brought away the chariot. "We will go now to Easal, the King of the Golden Pillars," said Brian, "to look for the seven pigs the Ildánach bade us bring him." They sailed on then without delay or drawback to that high country. And it is the way the people of that country were, watching their harbours for fear of the sons of Tuireann, for the story of them had been told in all parts, how they had been sent out of Ireland by force, and how they were bringing away with them all the gifted treasures of the whole world. Easal came to the edge of the harbour to meet them, and he asked was it true what he heard, that the king of every country they had gone to had fallen by them. Brian said it was true, whatever he might wish to do to them for it. "What was it made you do that?" said Easal. Brian told him then it was the oppression and the hard sentence of another had put them to it; and he told him all that had happened, and how they had put down all that offered to stand against them until that time. "What did you come to this country now for?" said the king. "For the pigs belonging to yourself," said Brian; "for to bring them away with us is a part of the fine." "What way do you think to get them?" said the king. "If we get them with good-will," said Brian, "we are ready to take them thankfully; and if we do not, we are ready to do battle with yourself and your people on the head of them, that you may fall by us, and we may bring away the pigs in spite of you." "If that is to be the end of it," said the king, "it would be a pity to bring my people into a battle." "It would be a pity indeed," said Brian. Then the king whispered and took advice with his people about the matter, and it is what they agreed, to give up the pigs of their own free will to the sons of Tuireann, since they could not see that any one had been able to stand against them up to that time. Then the sons of Tuireann gave their thanks to Easal, and there was wonder on them to have got the pigs like that, when they had to fight for every other part of the fine. And more than that, they had left a share of their blood in every other place till then. Easal brought them to his own house that night, and they were served with food, and drink, and good beds, and all they could wish for. And they rose up on the morrow and came into the king's presence, and the pigs were given to them. "It is well you have done by us, giving us these pigs," said Brian, "for we did not get any share of the fine without fighting but these alone." And he made a poem for the king then, praising him, and putting a great name on him for what he had done. "What journey are you going to make now, sons of Tuireann?" said Easal. "We are going," they said, "to the country of Ioruaidh, on account of a whelp that is there." "Give me one request," said Easal, "and that is to bring me with you to the King of Ioruaidh, for a daughter of mine is his wife, and I would wish to persuade him to give you the whelp without a battle." "That will please us well," they said. So the king's ship was made ready, and we have no knowledge of what happened till they came to the delightful, wonderful coast of Ioruaidh. The people and the armies were watching the harbours and landing-places before them, and they knew them at once and shouted at them. Then Easal went on shore peaceably, and he went to where his son-in-law, the king, was, and told him the story of the sons of Tuireann from beginning to end. "What has brought them to this country?" said the King of Ioruaidh. "To ask for the hound you have," said Easal. "It was a bad thought you had coming with them to ask it," said the king, "for the gods have not given that much luck to any three champions in the world, that they would get my hound by force or by good-will." "It would be better for you to let them have the hound," said Easal, "since they have put down so many of the kings of the world." But all he could say was only idleness to the king. So he went then to where the sons of Tuireann were, and gave them the whole account. And when they heard the king's answer, they made no delay, but put quick hands on their arms, and offered to give battle to the army of Ioruaidh. And when they met, there was a brave battle fought on both sides. And as for the sons of Tuireann, they began to kill and to strike at the men of Ioruaidh till they parted from one another in the fight, so that Iuchar and Iucharba chanced to be on one side, and Brian by himself on the other side. It was a gap of danger and a breaking of ranks was before Brian in every path he took, till he came to the King of Ioruaidh in the battle pen where he was. And then the two brave champions began a fierce fight together, and they did not spare one another in it. And at the last Brian overcame the king, and bound him, and brought him through the middle of the army, till he came to the place where Easal was, and it is what he said: "There is your son-in-law for you, and I swear by my hand of valour, I would think it easier to kill him three times than to bring him to you once like this." So then the whelp was given to the sons of Tuireann, and the king was unbound, and peace was made between them. And when they had brought all this to an end, they bade farewell to Easal and to all the rest. Now as to Lugh of the Long Hand, it was showed to him that the sons of Tuireann had got all the things that were wanting to him against the battle with the Fomor; and on that he sent a Druid spell after them to put forgetfulness on them of the rest of the fine that they had not got. And he put a great desire and longing on them to go back to Ireland; so they forgot that a part of the fine was wanting to them, and they turned back again toward home. And it is the place where Lugh was at the time, at a gathering of the people for a fair on the green outside Teamhair, and the King of Ireland along with him. And it was made known to Lugh that the sons of Tuireann were landed at Brugh na Boinn. And he went into the city of Teamhair, and shut the gate after him, and he put on Manannan's smooth armour, and the cloak, of the daughters of Flidais, and he took his own arms in his hand. And the sons of Tuireann came where the king was, and they were made welcome by him and by the Tuatha de Danaan. And the king asked them did they get the fine. "We did get it," said they; "and where is Lugh till we give it to him?" "He was here a while ago," said the king. And the whole fair was searched for him, but he was not found. "I know the place where he is," said Brian; "for it has been made known to him that we are come to Ireland, and these deadly arms with us, and he is gone into Teamhair to avoid us." Messengers were sent to him then, and it is the answer he gave them that he would not come, but that the fine should be given to the king. So the sons of Tuireann did that, and when the king had taken the fine they all went to the palace in Teamhair; and Lugh came out on the lawn and the fine was given to him, and it is what he said: "There is a good payment here for any one that ever was killed or that ever will be killed. But there is something wanting to it yet that it is not lawful to leave out. And where is the cooking-spit?" he said; "and where are the three shouts on the hill that you did not give yet?" And when the sons of Tuireann heard that there came clouds of weakness on them. And they left the place and went to their father's house that night, and they told him all they had done, and the way Lugh had treated them. There was grief and darkness on Tuireann then, and they spent the night together. And on the morrow they went to their ship, and Ethne, their sister, with them, and she was crying and lamenting, and it is what she said: "It is a pity, Brian of my life, it is not to Teamhair your going is, after all the troubles you have had before this, even if I could not follow you. "O Salmon of the dumb Boinn, O Salmon of the Lifé River, since I cannot keep you here I am loath to part from you. "O Rider of the Wave of Tuaidh, the man that stands best in the fight, if you come back again, I think it will not be pleasing to your enemy. "Is there pity with you for the sons of Tuireann leaning now on their green shields? Their going is a cause for pity, my mind is filled up with it. "You to be to-night at Beinn Edair till the heavy coming of the morning, you who have taken forfeits from brave men, it is you have increased our grief. "It is a pity your journey is from Teamhair, and from the pleasant plains, and from great Uisnech of Midhe; there is nothing so pitiful as this." After that complaint they went out on the rough waves of the green sea; and they were a quarter of a year on the sea without getting any news of the island. Then Brian put on his water dress and he made a leap, and he was a long time walking in the sea looking for the Island of the Fair-Haired Women, and he found it in the end. And he went looking for the court, and when he came to it, all he found was a troop of women doing needlework and embroidering borders. And among all the other things they had with them, there was the cooking-spit. And when Brian saw it, he took it up in his hand and he was going to bring it with him to the door. And all the women began laughing when they saw him doing that, and it is what they said: "It is a brave deed you put your hand to; for even if your brothers were along with you, the least of the three times fifty women of us would not let the spit go with you or with them. But for all that," they said, "take a spit of the spits with you, since you had the daring to try and take it in spite of us." Brian bade them farewell then, and went to look for the boat. And his brothers thought it was too long he was away from them, and just as they were going to leave the place they were, they saw him coming towards them, and that raised their courage greatly. And he went into the boat, and they went on to look for the Hill of Miochaoin. And when they came there, Miochaoin, that was the guardian of the hill, came towards them; and when Brian saw him he attacked him, and the fight of those two champions was like the fight of two lions, till Miochaoin fell at the last. And after Miochaoin had fallen, his three sons came out to fight with the three sons of Tuireann. And if any one ever came from the east of the world to look at any fight, it is to see the fight of these champions he had a right to come, for the greatness of their blows and the courage of their minds. The names of the sons of Miochaoin were Core and Conn and Aedh, and they drove their three spears through the bodies of the sons of Tuireann, and that did not discourage them at all and they put their own three spears through the bodies of the sons of Miochaoin, so that they fell into the clouds and the faintness of death. And then Brian said: "What way are you now, my dear brothers?" "We are near our death," said they. "Let us rise up," he said, "and give three shouts upon the hill, for I see the signs of death coming on us." "We are not able to do that," said they. Then Brian rose up and raised each of them with one hand, and he shedding blood heavily all the time, until they gave the three shouts. After that Brian brought them with him to the boat, and they were travelling the sea for a long time, but at last Brian said: "I see Beinn Edair and our father's dun, and Teamhair of the Kings." "We would have our fill of health if we could see that," said the others; "and for the love of your good name, brother," they said, "raise up our heads on your breast till we see Ireland again, and life or death will be the same to us after that. And O Brian," they said, "Flame of Valour without treachery, we would sooner death to bring ourselves away, than to see you with wounds upon your body, and with no physician to heal you." Then they came to Beinn Edair, and from that they went on to their father's house, and Brian said to Tuireann: "Go, dear father, to Teamhair, and give this spit to Lugh, and bring the skin that has healing in it for our relief. Ask it from him for the sake of friendship," he said, "for we are of the one blood, and let him not give hardness for hardness. And O dear father," he said, "do not be long on your journey, or you will not find us alive before you." Then Tuireann went to Teamhair, and he found Lugh of the Long Hand before him, and he gave him the spit, and he asked the skin of him to heal his children, and Lugh said he would not give it And Tuireann came back to them and told them he had not got the skin. And Brian said: "Bring me with you to Lugh, to see would I get it from him." So they went to Lugh, and Brian asked the skin of him. And Lugh said he would not give it, and that if they would give him the breadth of the earth in gold for it, he would not take it from them, unless he was sure their death would come on them in satisfaction for the deed they had done. When Brian heard that, he went to the place his two brothers were, and he lay down between them, and his life went out from him, and out from the other two at the same time. And their father cried and lamented over his three beautiful sons, that had the making of a king of Ireland in each of them, and his strength left him and he died; and they were buried in the one grave. CHAPTER III. THE GREAT BATTLE OF MAGH TUIREADH And it was not long after Lugh had got the fine from the sons of Tuireann that the Fomor came and landed at Scetne. The whole host of the Fomor were come this time, and their king, Balor, of the Strong Blows and of the Evil Eye, along with them; and Bres, and Indech, son of De Domnann, a king of the Fomor, and Elathan, son of Lobos, and Goll and Ingol, and Octriallach, son of Indech, and Elathan, son of Delbaeth. Then Lugh sent the Dagda to spy out the Fomor, and to delay them till such time as the men of Ireland would come to the battle. So the Dagda went to their camp, and he asked them for a delay, and they said he might have that. And then to make sport of him, the Fomor made broth for him, for he had a great love for broth. So they filled the king's cauldron with four times twenty gallons of new milk, and the same of meal and fat, and they put in goats and sheep and pigs along with that, and boiled all together, and then they poured it all out into a great hole in the ground. And they called him to it then, and told him he should eat his fill, the way the Fomor would not be reproached for want of hospitality the way Bres was. "We will make an end of you if you leave any part of it after you," said Indech, son of De Domnann. So the Dagda took the ladle, and it big enough for a man and a woman to lie in the bowl of it, and he took out bits with it, the half of a salted pig, and a quarter of lard a bit would be. "If the broth tastes as well as the bits taste, this is good food," he said. And he went on putting the full of the ladle into his mouth till the hole was empty; and when all was gone he put down his hand and scraped up all that was left among the earth and the gravel. Sleep came on him then after eating the broth, and the Fomor were laughing at him, for his belly was the size of the cauldron of a great house. But he rose up after a while, and, heavy as he was, he made his way home; and indeed his dress was no way sightly, a cape to the hollow of the elbows, and a brown coat, long in the breast and short behind, and on his feet brogues of horse hide, with the hair outside, and in his hand a wheeled fork it would take eight men to carry, so that the track he left after him was deep enough for the boundary ditch of a province. And on his way he saw the Battle-Crow, the Morrigu, washing herself in the river Unius of Connacht, and one of her two feet at Ullad Echne, to the south of the water, and the other at Loscuinn, to the north of the water, and her hair hanging in nine loosened locks. And she said to the Dagda, that she would bring the heart's blood of Indech, son of De Domnann, that had threatened him, to the men of Ireland. And while he was away Lugh had called together the Druids, and smiths, and physicians, and law-makers, and chariot-drivers of Ireland, to make plans for the battle. And he asked the great magician Mathgen what could he do to help them. "It is what I can do," said Mathgen, "through my power I can throw down all the mountains of Ireland on the Fomor, until their tops will be rolling on the ground. And the twelve chief mountains of Ireland will bring you their help," he said, "and will fight for you: Slieve Leag and Denda Ulad, and Bennai Boirche and Bri Ruri, and Slieve Bladma and Slieve Snechtae, and Slieve Mis and Blai-Slieve, and Nemthann and Slieve Macca Belgodon, and Segois and Cruachan Aigle." Then he asked the cup-bearers what help they could give. "We will put a strong thirst on the Fomor," they said, "and then we will bring the twelve chief lochs of Ireland before them, and however great their thirst may be, they will find no water in them: Derc-Loch, Loch Luimnech, Loch Orbsen, Loch Righ, Loch Mescdhae, Loch Cuan, Loch Laeig, Loch Echach, Loch Febail, Loch Decket, Loch Riach, Mor-Loch. And we will go," they said, "to the twelve chief rivers of Ireland: the Buas, the Boinn, the Banna, the Nem, the Laoi, the Sionnan, the Muaid, the Sligech, the Samair, the Fionn, the Ruirtech, the Siuir; and they will all be hidden away from the Fomor the way they will not find a drop in them. But as for the men of Ireland," they said, "there will be drink for them if they were to be in the battle to the end of seven years." And Figol, son of Mamos, the Druid, was asked then what he would do, and he said: "It is what I will do, I will cause three showers of fire to pour on the faces of the army of the Fomor, and I will take from them two-thirds of their bravery and their strength, and I will put sickness on their bodies, and on the bodies of their horses. But as to the men of Ireland," he said, "every breath they breathe will be an increase of strength and of bravery to them; and if they are seven years in the battle they will never be any way tired." Then Lugh asked his two witches, Bechulle and Dianan: "What power can you bring to the battle?" "It is easy to say that," they said. "We will put enchantment on the trees and the stones and the sods of the earth, till they become an armed host against the Fomor, and put terror on them and put them to the rout." Then Lugh asked Carpre, the poet, son of Etain, what could he do. "It is not hard to say that," said Carpre. "I will make a satire on them at sunrise, and the wind from the north, and I on a hill-top and my back to a thorn-tree, and a stone and a thorn in my hand. And with that satire," he said, "I will put shame on them and enchantment, the way they will not be able to stand against fighting men." Then he asked Goibniu the Smith what would he be able to do. "I will do this," he said. "If the men of Ireland stop in the battle to the end of seven years, for every sword that is broken and for every spear that is lost from its shaft, I will put a new one in its place. And no spear-point that will be made by my hand," he said, "will ever miss its mark; and no man it touches will ever taste life again. And that is more than Dolb, the smith of the Fomor, can do," he said. "And you, Credne," Lugh said then to his worker in brass, "what help can you give to our men in the battle?" "It is not hard to tell that," said Credne, "rivets for their spears and hilts for their swords and bosses and rims for their shields, I will supply them all." "And you, Luchta," he said then to his carpenter, "what will you do?" "I will give them all they want of shields and of spear shafts," said Luchta. Then he asked Diancecht, the physician, what would he do, and it is what he said: "Every man that will be wounded there, unless his head is struck off, or his brain or his marrow cut through, I will make him whole and sound again for the battle of the morrow." Then the Dagda said: "Those great things you are boasting you will do, I will do them all with only myself." "It is you are the good god!" said they, and they all gave a great shout of laughter. Then Lugh spoke to the whole army and put strength in them, so that each one had the spirit in him of a king or a great lord. Then when the delay was at an end, the Fomor and the men of Ireland came on towards one another till they came to the plain of Magh Tuireadh. That now was not the same Magh Tuireadh where the first battle was fought, but it was to the north, near Ess Dara. And then the two armies threatened one another. "The men of Ireland are daring enough to offer battle to us," said Bres to Indech, son of De Domnann. "I give my word," said Indech, "it is in small pieces their bones will be, if they do not give in to us and pay their tribute." Now the Men of Dea had determined not to let Lugh go into the battle, because of the loss his death would be to them; and they left nine of their men keeping a watch on him. And on the first day none of the kings or princes went into the battle, but only the common fighting men, and they fierce and proud enough. And the battle went on like that from day to day with no great advantage to one or the other side. But there was wonder on the Fomor on account of one thing. Such of their own weapons as were broken or blunted in the fight lay there as they were, and such of their own men as were killed showed no sign of life on the morrow; but it was not so with the Tuatha de Danaan, for if their men were killed or their weapons were broken to-day, they were as good as before on the morrow. And this is the way that happened. The well of Slaine lay to the west of Magh Tuireadh to the east of Loch Arboch. And Diancecht and his son Octruil and his daughter Airmed used to be singing spells over the well and to be putting herbs in it; and the men that were wounded to death in the battle would be brought to the well and put into it as dead men, and they would come out of it whole and sound, through the power of the spells. And not only were they healed, but there was such fire put into them that they would be quicker in the fight than they were before. And as to the arms, it is the way they were made new every day. Goibniu the Smith used to be in the forge making swords and spears, and he would make a spear-head by three turns, and then Luchta the Carpenter would make the shaft by three cuts, and the third cut was a finish, and would set it in the ring of the spear. And when the spear-heads were stuck in the side of the forge, he would throw the shaft and the rings the way they would go into the spear-head and want no more setting. And then Credne the Brazier would make the rivets by three turns and would cast the rings of the spears to them, and with that they were ready and were set together. And all this went against the Fomor, and they sent one of their young men to spy about the camp and to see could he find out how these things were done. It was Ruadan, son of Bres and of Brigit daughter of the Dagda they sent, for he was a son and grandson of the Tuatha de Danaan. So he went and saw all that was done, and came back to the Fomor. And when they heard his story it is what they thought, that Goibniu the Smith was the man that hindered them most. And they sent Ruadan back again, and bade him make an end of him. So he went back again to the forge, and he asked Goibniu would he give him a spear-head. And then he asked rivets of Credne, and a shaft of the carpenter, and all was given to him as he asked. And there was a woman there, Cron, mother to Fianlug, grinding the spears. And after the spear being given to Ruadan, he turned and threw it at Goibniu, that it wounded him. But Goibniu pulled it out and made a cast of it at Ruadan, that it went through him and he died; and Bres, his father, and the army of the Fomor, saw him die. And then Brigit came and keened her son with shrieking and with crying. And as to Goibniu, he went into the well and was healed. But after that Octriallach, son of Indech, called to the Fomor and bade each man of them bring a stone of the stones of Drinnes and throw them into the well of Slane. And they did that till the well was dried up, and a cairn raised over it, that is called Octriallach's Cairn. And it was while Goibniu was making spear-heads for the battle of Magh Tuireadh, a charge was brought against his wife. And it was seen that it was heavy news to him, and that jealousy came on him. And it is what he did, there was a spear-shaft in his hand when he heard the story, Nes its name was; and he sang spells over the spear-shaft, and any one that was struck with that spear afterwards, it would burn him up like fire. And at last the day of the great battle came, and the Fomor came out of their camp and stood in strong ranks. And there was not a leader or a fighting man of them was without good armour to his skin, and a helmet on his head, a broad spear in his right hand, a heavy sword in his belt, a strong shield on his shoulder. And to attack the army of the Fomor that day was to strike the head against a rock, or to go up fighting against a fire. And the Men of Dea rose up and left Lugh and his nine comrades keeping him, and they went on to the battle; and Midhir was with them, and Bodb Dearg and Diancecht. And Badb and Macha and the Morrigu called out that they would go along with them. And it was a hard battle was fought, and for a while it was going against the Tuatha de Danaan; and Nuada of the Silver Hand, their King, and Macha, daughter of Emmass, fell by Balor, King of the Fomor. And Cass-mail fell by Octriallach, and the Dagda got a dreadful wound from a casting spear that was thrown by Ceithlenn, wife of Balor. But when the battle was going on, Lugh broke away from those that were keeping him, and rushed out to the front of the Men of Dea. And then there was a fierce battle fought, and Lugh was heartening the men of Ireland to fight well, the way they would not be in bonds any longer. For it was better for them, he said, to die protecting their own country than to live under bonds and under tribute any longer. And he sang a song of courage to them, and the hosts gave a great shout as they went into battle, and then they met together, and each of them began to attack the other. And there was great slaughter, and laying low in graves, and many comely men fell there in the stall of death. Pride and shame were there side by side, and hardness and red anger, and there was red blood on the white skin of young fighting men. And the dashing of spear against shield, and sword against sword, and the shouting of the fighters, and the whistling of casting spears and the rattling of scabbards was like harsh thunder through the battle. And many slipped in the blood that was under their feet, and they fell, striking their heads one against another; and the river carried away bodies of friends and enemies together. Then Lugh and Balor met in the battle, and Lugh called out reproaches to him; and there was anger on Balor, and he said to the men that were with him: "Lift up my eyelid till I see this chatterer that is talking to me." Then they raised Balor's eyelid, but Lugh made a cast of his red spear at him, that brought the eye out through the back of his head, so that it was towards his own army it fell, and three times nine of the Fomor died when they looked at it. And if Lugh had not put out that eye when he did, the whole of Ireland would have been burned in one flash. And after this, Lugh struck his head off. And as for Indech, son of De Domnann, he fell and was crushed in the battle, and blood burst from his mouth, and he called out for Leat Glas, his poet, as he lay there, but he was not able to help him. And then the Morrigu came into the battle, and she was heartening the Tuatha de Danaan to fight the battle well; and, as she had promised the Dagda, she took the full of her two hands of Indech's blood, and gave it to the armies that were waiting at the ford of Unius; and it was called the Ford of Destruction from that day. And after that it was not a battle any more, but a rout, and the Fomor were beaten back to the sea. And Lugh and his comrades were following them, and they came up with Bres, son of Elathan, and no guard with him, and he said: "It is better for you to spare my life than to kill me. And if you spare me now," he said, "the cows of Ireland will never go dry." "I will ask an advice about that from our wise men," said Lugh. So he told Maeltine Mor-Brethach, of the Great Judgments, what Bres was after saying. But Maeltine said: "Do not spare him for that, for he has no power over their offspring, though he has power so long as they are living." Then Bres said: "If you spare me, the men of Ireland will reap a harvest of corn every quarter." But Maeltine said: "The spring is for ploughing and sowing, and the beginning of summer for the strength of corn, and the beginning of autumn for its ripeness, and the winter for using it." "That does not save you," said Lugh then to Bres. But then to make an excuse for sparing him, Lugh said: "Tell us what is the best way for the men of Ireland to plough and to sow and to reap." "Let their ploughing be on a Tuesday, and their casting seed into the field on a Tuesday, and their reaping on a Tuesday," said Bres. So Lugh said that would do, and he let him go free after that. It was in this battle Ogma found Orna, the sword of Tethra, a king of the Fomor, and he took it from its sheath and cleaned it. And when the sword was taken out of the sheath, it told all the deeds that had been done by it, for there used to be that power in swords. And Lugh and the Dagda and Ogma followed after the Fomor, for they had brought away the Dagda's harp with them, that was called Uaitne. And they came to a feasting-house, and in it they found Bres and his father Elathan, and there was the harp hanging on the wall. And it was in that harp the Dagda had bound the music, so that it would not sound till he would call to it. And sometimes it was called Dur-da-Bla, the Oak of Two Blossoms, and sometimes Coir-cethar-chuin, the Four-Angled Music. And when he saw it hanging on the wall it is what he said: "Come summer, come winter, from the mouth of harps and bags and pipes." Then the harp sprang from the wall, and came to the Dagda, and it killed nine men on its way. And then he played for them the three things harpers understand, the sleepy tune, and the laughing tune, and the crying tune. And when he played the crying tune, their tearful women cried, and then he played the laughing tune, till their women and children laughed; and then he played the sleepy tune, and all the hosts fell asleep. And through that sleep the three went away through the Fomor that would have been glad to harm them. And when all was over, the Dagda brought out the heifer he had got as wages from Bres at the time he was making his dun. And she called to her calf, and at the sound of her call all the cattle of Ireland the Fomor had brought away as tribute, were back in their fields again. And Cé, the Druid of Nuada of the Silver Hand, was wounded in the battle, and he went southward till he came to Carn Corrslebe. And there he sat down to rest, tired with his wounds and with the fear that was on him, and the journey. And he saw a smooth plain before him, and it full of flowers, and a great desire came on him to reach to that plain, and he went on till he came to it, and there he died. And when his grave was made there, a lake burst out over it and over the whole plain, and it was given the name of Loch Cé. And there were but four men of the Fomor left in Ireland after the battle, and they used to be going through the country, spoiling corn and milk and fruit, and whatever came from the sea, till they were driven out one Samhain night by the Morrigu and by Angus Og, that the Fomor might never be over Ireland again. And after the battle was won, and the bodies were cleared away, the Morrigu gave out the news of the great victory to the hosts and to the royal heights of Ireland and to its chief rivers and its invers, and it is what she said: "Peace up to the skies, the skies down to earth, the earth under the skies; strength to every one." And as to the number of men that fell in the battle, it will not be known till we number the stars of the sky, or flakes of snow, or the dew on the grass, or grass under the feet of cattle, or the horses of the Son of Lir in a stormy sea. And Lugh was made king over the Men of Dea then, and it was at Nas he had his court. And while he was king, his foster-mother Taillte, daughter of Magh Mor, the Great Plain, died. And before her death she bade her husband Duach the Dark, he that built the Fort of the Hostages in Teamhair, to clear away the wood of Cuan, the way there could be a gathering of the people around her grave. So he called to the men of Ireland to cut down the wood with their wide-bladed knives and bill-hooks and hatchets, and within a month the whole wood was cut down. And Lugh buried her in the plain of Midhe, and raised a mound over her, that is to be seen to this day. And he ordered fires to be kindled, and keening to be made, and games and sports to be held in the summer of every year out of respect to her. And the place they were held got its name from her, that is Taillten. And as to Lugh's own mother, that was tall beautiful Ethlinn, she came to Teamhair after the battle of Magh Tuireadh, and he gave her in marriage to Tadg, son of Nuada. And the children that were born to them were Muirne, mother of Finn, the Head of the Fianna of Ireland, and Tuiren, that was mother of Bran. CHAPTER IV. THE HIDDEN HOUSE OF LUGH And after Lugh had held the kingship for a long time, the Dagda was made king in his place. And Lugh went away out of Ireland, and some said he died at Uisnech, the place where the five provinces meet, and the first place there was ever a fire kindled in Ireland. It was by Mide, son of Brath, it was kindled, for the sons of Nemed, and it was burning through six years, and it was from that fire every chief fire was kindled in Ireland. But Lugh was seen again in Ireland at the time Conchubar and the Men of the Red Branch went following white birds southward to the Boinn at the time of Cuchulain's birth. And it was he came and kept watch over Cuchulain in his three days' sleep at the time of the War for the Bull of Cuailgne. And after that again he was seen by Conn of the Hundred Battles, and this is the way that happened. Conn was in Teamhair one time, and he went up in the early morning to the Rath of the Kings at the rising of the sun, and his three Druids with him, Maol and Bloc and Bhuice; and his three poets, Ethain and Corb and Cesarn. And the reason he had for going up there with them every day, was to look about on every side, the way if any men of the Sidhe would come into Ireland they would not come unknown to him. And on this day he chanced to stand upon a stone that was in the rath, and the stone screamed under his feet, that it was heard all over Teamhair and as far as Bregia. Then Conn asked his chief Druid how the stone came there, and what it screamed for. And the Druid said he would not answer that till the end of fifty-three days. And at the end of that time, Conn asked him again, and it is what the Druid said: "The Lia Fail is the name of the stone; it is out of Falias it was brought, and it is in Teamhair it was set up, and in Teamhair it will stay for ever. And as long as there is a king in Teamhair it is here will be the gathering place for games, and if there is no king to come to the last day of the gathering, there will be hardness in that year. And when the stone screamed under your feet," he said, "the number of the screams it gave was a foretelling of the number of kings of your race that would come after you. But it is not I myself will name them for you," he said. And while they were in the same place, there came a great mist about them and a darkness, so that they could not know what way they were going, and they heard the noise of a rider coming towards them. "It would be a great grief to us," said Conn, "to be brought away into a strange country." Then the rider threw three spears at them, and every one came faster than the other. "It is the wounding of a king indeed," said the Druids, "any one to cast at Conn of Teamhair." The rider stopped casting his spears on that, and he came to them and bade Conn welcome, and asked him to come to his house. They went on then till they came to a beautiful plain, and there they saw a king's rath, and a golden tree at its door, and inside the rath a grand house with a roof of white bronze. So they went into the house, and the rider that had come to meet them was there before them, in his royal seat, and there had never been seen a man like him in Teamhair for comeliness or for beauty, or the wonder of his face. And there was a young woman in the house, having a band of gold on her head, and a silver vessel with hoops of gold beside her, and it full of red ale, and a golden bowl on its edge, and a golden cup at its mouth. She said then to the master of the house: "Who am I to serve drink to?" "Serve it to Conn of the Hundred Battles," he said, "for he will gain a hundred battles before he dies." And after that he bade her to pour out the ale for Art of the Three Shouts, the son of Conn; and after that he went through the names of all the kings of Ireland that would come after Conn, and he told what would be the length of their lifetime. And the young woman left the vessel with Conn, and the cup and the bowl, and she gave him along with that the rib of an ox and of a hog; twenty-four feet was the length of the ox-rib. And the master of the house told them the young woman was the Kingship of Ireland for ever. "And as for myself," he said, "I am Lugh of the Long Hand, son of Ethlinn." BOOK THREE: THE COMING OF THE GAEL. CHAPTER I. THE LANDING It is not known, now, for what length of time the Tuatha de Danaan had the sway over Ireland, and it is likely it was a long time they had it, but they were put from it at last. It was at Inver Slane, to the north of Leinster, the sons of Gaedhal of the Shining Armour, the Very Gentle, that were called afterwards the Sons of the Gael, made their first attempt to land in Ireland to avenge Ith, one of their race that had come there one time and had met with his death. It is under the leadership of the sons of Miled they were, and it was from the south they came, and their Druids had told them there was no country for them to settle in till they would come to that island in the west. "And if you do not get possession of it yourselves," they said, "your children will get possession of it." But when the Tuatha de Danaan saw the ships coming, they flocked to the shore, and by their enchantments they cast such a cloud over the whole island that the sons of Miled were confused, and all they could see was some large thing that had the appearance of a pig. And when they were hindered from landing there by enchantments, they went sailing along the coast till at last they were able to make a landing at Inver Sceine in the west of Munster. From that they marched in good order as far as Slieve Mis. And there they were met by a queen of the Tuatha de Danaan, and a train of beautiful women attending on her, and her Druids and wise men following her. Amergin, one of the sons of Miled, spoke to her then, and asked her name, and she said it was Banba, wife of Mac Cuill, Son of the Hazel. They went on then till they came to Slieve Eibhline, and there another queen of the Tuatha de Danaan met them, and her women and her Druids after her, and they asked her name, and she said it was Fodhla, wife of Mac Cecht, Son of the Plough. They went on then till they came to the hill of Uisnech, and there they saw another woman coming towards them. And there was wonder on them while they were looking at her, for in the one moment she would be a wide-eyed most beautiful queen, and in another she would be a sharp-beaked, grey-white crow. She came on to where Eremon, one of the sons of Miled, was, and sat down before him, and he asked her who was she, and she said: "I am Eriu, wife of Mac Greine, Son of the Sun." And the names of those three queens were often given to Ireland in the after time. The Sons of the Gael went on after that to Teamhair, where the three sons of Cermait Honey-Mouth, son of the Dagda, that had the kingship between them at that time held their court. And these three were quarrelling with one another about the division of the treasures their father had left, and the quarrel was so hot it seemed likely it would come to a battle in the end. And the Sons of the Gael wondered to see them quarrelling about such things, and they having so fruitful an island, where the air was so wholesome, and the sun not too strong, or the cold too bitter, and where there was such a plenty of honey and acorns, and of milk, and of fish, and of corn, and room enough for them all. Great grandeur they were living in, and their Druids about them, at the palace of Teamhair. And Amergin went to them, and it is what he said, that they must give up the kingship there and then, or they must leave it to the chance of a battle. And he said he asked this in revenge for the death of Ith, of the race of the Gael, that had come to their court before that time, and that had been killed by treachery. When the sons of Cermait Honey-Mouth heard Amergin saying such fierce words, there was wonder on them, and it is what they said, that they were not willing to fight at that time, for their army was not ready. "But let you make an offer to us," they said, "for we see well you have good judgment and knowledge. But if you make an offer that is not fair," they said, "we will destroy you with our enchantments." At that Amergin bade the men that were with him to go back to Inver Sceine, and to hurry again into their ships with the rest of the Sons of the Gael, and to go out the length of nine waves from the shore. And then he made his offer to the Tuatha de Danaan, that if they could hinder his men from landing on their island, he and all his ships would go back again to their own country, and would never make any attempt to come again; but that if the Sons of the Gael could land on the coast in spite of them, then the Tuatha de Danaan should give up the kingship and be under their sway. The Tuatha de Danaan were well pleased with that offer, for they thought that by the powers of their enchantments over the winds and the sea, and by their arts, they would be well able to keep them from ever setting foot in the country again. So the Sons of the Gael did as Amergin bade them and they went back into their ship and drew up their anchors, and moved out to the length of nine waves from the shore. And as soon as the Men of Dea saw they had left the land, they took to their enchantments and spells, and they raised a great wind that scattered the ships of the Gael, and drove them from one another. But Amergin knew it was not a natural storm was in it, and Arranan, son of Miled, knew that as well, and he went up in the mast of his ship to look about him. But a great blast of wind came against him, and he fell back into the ship and died on the moment. And there was great confusion on the Gael, for the ships were tossed to and fro, and had like to be lost. And the ship that Donn, son of Miled, was in command of was parted from the others by the dint of the storm, and was broken in pieces, and he himself and all with him were drowned, four-and-twenty men and women in all. And Ir, son of Miled, came to his death in the same way, and his body was cast on the shore, and it was buried in a small island that is now called Sceilg Michill. A brave man Ir was, leading the Sons of the Gael to the front of every battle, and their help and their shelter in battle, and his enemies were in dread of his name. And Heremon, another of the sons of Miled, with his share of the ships, was driven to the left of the island, and it is hardly he got safe to land. And the place where he landed was called Inver Colpa, because Colpa of the Sword, another of the sons of Miled, was drowned there, and he trying to get to land. Five of the sons of Miled in all were destroyed by the storm and the winds the Men of Dea had raised by their enchantments, and there were but three of them left, Heber, and Heremon, and Amergin. And one of them, Donn, before he was swept into the sea, called out: "It is treachery our knowledgeable men are doing on us, not to put down this wind." "There is no treachery," said Amergin, his brother. And he rose up then before them, and whatever enchantment he did on the winds and the sea, he said these words along with it: "That they that are tossing in the great wide food-giving sea may reach now to the land. "That they may find a place upon its plains, its mountains, and its valleys; in its forests that are full of nuts and of all fruits; on its rivers and its streams, on its lakes and its great waters. "That we may have our gatherings and our races in this land; that there may be a king of our own in Teamhair; that it may be the possession of our many kings. "That the sons of Miled may be seen in this land, that their ships and their boats may find a place there. "This land that is now under darkness, it is for it we are asking; let our chief men, let their learned wives, ask that we may come to the noble woman, great Eriu." After he had said this, the wind went down and the sea was quiet again on the moment. And those that were left of the sons of Miled and of the Sons of the Gael landed then at Inver Sceine. And Amergin was the first to put his foot on land, and when he stood on the shore of Ireland, it is what he said: "I am the wind on the sea; I am the wave of the sea; I am the bull of seven battles; I am the eagle on the rock; I am a flash from the sun; I am the most beautiful of plants; I am a strong wild boar; I am a salmon in the water; I am a lake in the plain; I am the word of knowledge; I am the head of the spear in battle; I am the god that puts fire in the head; Who spreads light in the gathering on the hills? Who can tell the ages of the moon? Who can tell the place where the sun rests?" CHAPTER II. THE BATTLE OF TAILLTIN And three days after the landing of the Gael, they were attacked by Eriu, wife of Mac Greine, Son of the Sun, and she having a good share of men with her. And they fought a hard battle, and many were killed on both sides. And this was the first battle fought between the Sons of the Gael and the Men of Dea for the kingship of Ireland. It was in that battle Fais, wife of Un, was killed in a valley at the foot of the mountain, and it was called after her, the Valley of Fais. And Scota, wife of Miled, got her death in the battle, and she was buried in a valley on the north side of the mountain near the sea. But the Sons of the Gael lost no more than three hundred men, and they beat back the Men of Dea and killed a thousand of them. And Eriu was beaten back to Tailltin, and as many of her men as she could hold together; and when she came there she told the people how she had been worsted in the battle, and the best of her men had got their death. But the Gael stopped on the battle-field, and buried their dead, and they gave a great burial to two of their Druids, Aer and Eithis, that were killed in the fight. And after they had rested for a while, they went on to Inver Colpa in Leinster, and Heremon and his men joined them there. And then they sent messengers to the three kings of Ireland, the three sons of Cermait Honey-Mouth, and bade them to come out and fight a battle that would settle the ownership of the country once for all. So they came out, and the best of the fighters of the Tuatha de Danaan with them, to Tailltin. And there they attacked one another, and the Sons of the Gael remembered the death of Ith, and there was great anger on them, and they fell on the Men of Dea to avenge him, and there was a fierce battle fought. And for a while neither side got the better of the other, but at the last the Gael broke through the army of the Men of Dea and put them to the rout, with great slaughter, and drove them out of the place. And their three kings were killed in the rout, and the three queens of Ireland, Eriu and Fodhla and Banba. And when the Tuatha de Danaan saw their leaders were dead they fell back in great disorder, and the Sons of the Gael followed after them. But in following them they lost two of their best leaders, Cuailgne, son of Breagan, at Slieve Cuailgne, and Fuad, his brother, at Slieve Fuad. But they were no way daunted by that, but followed the Men of Dea so hotly that they were never able to bring their army together again, but had to own themselves beaten, and to give up the country to the Gael. And the leaders, the sons of Miled, divided the provinces of Ireland between them. Heber took the two provinces of Munster, and he gave a share of it to Amergin; and Heremon got Leinster and Connacht for his share, and Ulster was divided between Eimhir, son of Ir, son of Miled, and some others of their chief men. And it was of the sons of Eimhir, that were called the Children of Rudraighe, and that lived in Emain Macha for nine hundred years, some of the best men of Ireland came; Fergus, son of Rogh, was of them, and Conall Cearnach, of the Red Branch of Ulster. And from the sons of Ith, the first of the Gael to get his death in Ireland, there came in the after time Fathadh Canaan, that got the sway over the whole world from the rising to the setting sun, and that took hostages of the streams and the birds and the languages. And it is what the poets of Ireland used to be saying, that every brave man, good at fighting, and every man that could do great deeds and not be making much talk about them, was of the Sons of the Gael; and that every skilled man that had music and that did enchantments secretly, was of the Tuatha de Danaan. But they put a bad name on the Firbolgs and the men of Domnand and the Gaileoin, for lies and for big talk and injustice. But for all that there were good fighters among them, and Ferdiad, that made so good a stand against Cuchulain, in the war for the Bull of Cuailgne was one of them. And the Gaileoin fought well in the same war; but the men of Ireland had no great liking for them, and their Druids drove them out of the country afterwards. BOOK FOUR: THE EVER-LIVING LIVING ONES. CHAPTER I. BODB DEARG But as to the Tuatha de Danaan after they were beaten, they would not go under the sway of the sons of Miled, but they went away by themselves. And because Manannan, son of Lir, understood all enchantments, they left it to him to find places for them where they would be safe from their enemies. So he chose out the most beautiful of the hills and valleys of Ireland for them to settle in; and he put hidden walls about them, that no man could see through, but they themselves could see through them and pass through them. And he made the Feast of Age for them, and what they drank at it was the ale of Goibniu the Smith, that kept whoever tasted it from age and from sickness and from death. And for food at the feast he gave them his own swine, that though they were killed and eaten one day, would be alive and fit for eating again the next day, and that would go on in that way for ever. And after a while they said: "It would be better for us one king to be over us, than to be scattered the way we are through the whole of Ireland." Now the men among them that had the best chance of getting the kingship at that time were Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda; and Ilbrech of Ess Ruadh; and Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh, the Hill of the White Field, on Slieve Fuad; and Midhir the Proud of Bri Leith, and Angus Og, son of the Dagda; but he did not covet the kingship at all, but would sooner be left as he was. Then all the chief men but those five went into council together, and it is what they agreed, to give the kingship to Bodb Dearg, for the sake of his father, for his own sake, and because he was the eldest among the children of the Dagda. It was in Sidhe Femen Bodb Dearg had his house, and he put great enchantments about it. Cliach, the Harper of the King of the Three Rosses in Connacht, went one time to ask one of his daughters in marriage, and he stayed outside the place through the whole length of a year, playing his harp, and able to get no nearer to Bodb or to his daughter. And he went on playing till a lake burst up under his feet, the lake that is on the top of a mountain, Loch Bel Sead. It was Bodb's swineherd went to Da Derga's Inn, and his squealing pig along with him, the night Conaire, the High King of Ireland, met with his death; and it was said that whatever feast that swineherd would go to, there would blood be shed before it was over. And Bodb had three sons, Angus, and Artrach, and Aedh. And they used often to be living among men in the time of the Fianna afterwards. Artrach had a house with seven doors, and a free welcome for all that came, and the king's son of Ireland, and of Alban, used to be coming to Angus to learn the throwing of spears and darts; and troops of poets from Alban and from Ireland used to be with Aedh, that was the comeliest of Bodb's sons, so that his place used to be called "The Rath of Aedh of the Poets." And indeed it was a beautiful rath at that time, with golden-yellow apples in it and crimson-pointed nuts of the wood. But after the passing away of the Fianna, the three brothers went back to the Tuatha de Danaan. And Bodb Dearg was not always in his own place, but sometimes he was with Angus at Brugh na Boinn. Three sons of Lugaidh Menn, King of Ireland, Eochaid, and Fiacha, and Ruide, went there one time, for their father refused them any land till they would win it for themselves. And when he said that, they rose with the ready rising of one man, and went and sat down on the green of Brugh na Boinn, and fasted there on the Tuatha de Danaan, to see if they could win some good thing from them. And they were not long there till they saw a young man, quiet and with pleasant looks, coming towards them, and he wished them good health, and they answered him the same way. "Where are you come from?" they asked him then. "From the rath beyond, with the many lights," he said. "And I am Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda," he said, "and come in with me now to the rath." So they went in, and supper was made ready for them, but they did not use it. Bodb Dearg asked them then why was it they were using nothing. "It is because our father has refused land to us," said they; "and there are in Ireland but the two races, the Sons of the Gael and the Men of Dea, and when the one failed us we are come to the other." Then the Men of Dea consulted together. And the chief among them was Midhir of the Yellow Hair, and it is what he said: "Let us give a wife to every one of these three men, for it is from a wife that good or bad fortune comes." So they agreed to that, and Midhir's three daughters, Doirenn, and Aife, and Aillbhe, were given to them. Then Midhir asked Bodb to say what marriage portion should be given to them. "I will tell you that," said Bodb. "We are three times fifty sons of kings in this hill; let every king's son give three times fifty ounces of red gold. And I myself," he said, "will give them along with that, three times fifty suits of clothing of all colours." "I will give them a gift," said a young man of the Tuatha de Danaan, from Rachlainn in the sea. "A horn I will give them, and a vat. And there is nothing wanting but to fill the vat with pure water, and it will turn into mead, fit to drink, and strong enough to make drunken. And into the horn," he said, "you have but to put salt water from the sea, and it will turn into wine on the moment." "A gift to them from me," said Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh, "three times fifty swords, and three times fifty well-riveted long spears." "A gift from me," said Angus Og, son of the Dagda, "a rath and a good town with high walls, and with bright sunny houses, and with wide houses, in whatever place it will please them between Rath Chobtaige and Teamhair." "A gift to them from me," said Aine, daughter of Modharn, "a woman-cook that I have, and there is _geasa_ on her not to refuse food to any; and according as she serves it out, her store fills up of itself again." "Another gift to them from me," said Bodb Dearg, "a good musician that I have, Fertuinne, son of Trogain; and although there were women in the sharpest pains of childbirth, and brave men wounded early in the day, in a place where there were saws going through wood, they would sleep at the sweetness of the music he makes. And whatever house he may be in, the people of the whole country round will hear him." So they stopped in Brugh na Boinne three days and three nights, and when they left it, Angus bade them bring away from the oak-wood three apple-trees, one in full bloom, and one shedding its blossom, and the third covered with ripe fruit. They went then to their own dun that was given them, and it is a good place they had there, and a troop of young men, and great troops of horses and of greyhounds; and they had three sorts of music that comely kings liked to be listening to, the music of harps and of lutes, and the chanting of Trogain's son; and there were three great sounds, the tramping on the green, and the uproar of racing, and the lowing of cattle; and three other sounds, the grunting of good pigs with the fat thick on them, and the voices of the crowd on the green lawn, and the noise of men drinking inside the house. And as to Eochaid, it was said of him that he never took a step backwards in flight, and his house was never without music or drinking of ale. And it was said of Fiacha that there was no man of his time braver than himself, and that he never said a word too much. And as to Ruide, he never refused any one, and never asked anything at all of any man. And when their lifetime was over, they went back to the Tuatha de Danaan, for they belonged to them through their wives, and there they have stopped ever since. And Bodb Dearg had a daughter, Scathniamh, the Flower of Brightness, that gave her love to Caoilte in the time of the Fianna; and they were forced to part from one another, and they never met again till the time Caoilte was, old and withered, and one of the last that was left of the Fianna. And she came to him out of the cave of Cruachan, and asked him for the bride-price he had promised her, and that she was never able to come and ask for till then. And Caoilte went to a cairn that was near and that was full up of gold, that was wages earned by Conan Maol and hidden there, and he gave the gold to Bodb Dearg's daughter. And the people that were there wondered to see the girl so young and comely, and Caoilte so grey and bent and withered. "There is no wonder in that," said Caoilte, "for I am of the sons of Miled that wither and fade away, but she is of the Tuatha de Danaan that never change and that never die." CHAPTER II. THE DAGDA And it was at Brugh na Boinne the Dagda, the Red Man of all Knowledge, had his house. And the most noticeable things in it were the Hall of the Morrigu, and the Bed of the Dagda, and the Birthplace of Cermait Honey-Mouth, and the Prison of the Grey of Macha that was Cuchulain's horse afterwards. And there was a little hill by the house that was called the Comb and the Casket of the Dagda's wife; and another that was called the Hill of Dabilla, that was the little hound belonging to Boann. And the Valley of the Mata was there, the Sea-Turtle that could suck down a man in armour. And it is likely the Dagda put up his cooking oven there, that Druimne, son of Luchair, made for him at Teamhair. And it is the way it was, the axle and the wheel were of wood, and the body was iron, and there were twice nine wheels in its axle, that it might turn the faster; and it was as quick as the quickness of a stream in turning, and there were three times nine spits from it, and three times nine pots. And it used to lie down with the cinders and to rise to the height of the roof with the flame. The Dagda himself made a great vat one time for Ainge, his daughter, but she was not well satisfied with it, for it would not stop from dripping while the sea was in flood, though it would not lose a drop during the ebb-tide. And she gathered a bundle of twigs to make a new vat for herself, but Gaible, son of Nuada of the Silver Hand, stole it from her and hurled it away. And in the place where it fell a beautiful wood grew up, that was called Gaible's Wood. And the Dagda had his household at Brugh na Boinne, and his steward was Dichu, and Len Linfiaclach was the smith of the Brugh. It was he lived in the lake, making the bright vessels of Fand, daughter of Flidhais; and every evening when he left off work he would make a cast of the anvil eastward to Indeoin na Dese, the Anvil of the Dese, as far as the Grave End. Three showers it used to cast, a shower of fire, and a shower of water, and a shower of precious stones of pure purple. But Tuirbe, father of Goibniu the Smith, used to throw better again, for he would make a cast of his axe from Tulach na Bela, the Hill of the Axe, in the face of the flood tide, and he would put his order on the sea, and it would not come over the axe. And Corann was the best of the harpers of the household; he was harper to the Dagda's son, Diancecht. And one time he called with his harp to Cailcheir, one of the swine of Debrann. And it ran northward with all the strength of its legs, and the champions of Connacht were following after it with all their strength of running, and their hounds with them, till they got as far as Ceis Corain, and they gave it up there, all except Niall that went on the track of the swine till he found it in the oak-wood of Tarba, and then it made away over the plain of Ai, and through a lake. And Niall and his hound were drowned in following it through the lake. And the Dagda gave Corann a great tract of land for doing his harping so well. But however great a house the Dagda had, Angus got it away from him in the end, through the help of Manannan, son of Lir. For Manannan bade him to ask his father for it for the length of a day and a night, and that he by his art would take away his power of refusing. So Angus asked for the Brugh, and his father gave it to him for a day and a night. But when he asked it back again, it is what Angus said, that it had been given to him for ever, for the whole of life and time is made up of a day and a night, one following after the other. So when the Dagda heard that he went away and his people and his household with him, for Manannan had put an enchantment on them all. But Dichu the Steward was away at the time, and his wife and his son, for they were gone out to get provisions for a feast for Manannan and his friends. And when he came back and knew his master was gone, he took service with Angus. And Angus stopped in Brugh na Boinne, and some say he is there to this day, with the hidden walls about him, drinking Goibniu's ale and eating the pigs that never fail. As to the Dagda, he took no revenge, though he had the name of being revengeful and quick in his temper. And some say it was at Teamhair he made his dwelling-place after that, but wherever it was, a great misfortune came on him. It chanced one time Corrgenn, a great man of Connacht, came to visit him, and his wife along with him. And while they were there, Corrgenn got it in his mind that there was something that was not right going on between his wife and Aedh, one of the sons of the Dagda. And great jealousy and anger came on him, and he struck at the young man and killed him before his father's face. Every one thought the Dagda would take Corrgenn's life then and there in revenge for his son's life. But he would not do that, for he said if his son was guilty, there was no blame to be put on Corrgenn for doing what he did. So he spared his life for that time, but if he did, Corrgenn did not gain much by it. For the punishment he put on him was to take the dead body of the young man on his back, and never to lay it down till he would find a stone that would be its very fit in length and in breadth, and that would make a gravestone for him; and when he had found that, he could bury him in the nearest hill. So Corrgenn had no choice but to go, and he set out with his load; but he had a long way to travel before he could find a stone that would fit, and it is where he found one at last, on the shore of Loch Feabhail. So then he left the body up on the nearest hill, and he went down and raised the stone and brought it up and dug a grave and buried the Dagda's son. And it is many an Ochone! he gave when he was putting the stone over him, and when he had that done he was spent, and he dropped dead there and then. And the Dagda brought his two builders, Garbhan and Imheall, to the place, and he bade them build a rath there round the grave. It was Garbhan cut the stones and shaped them, and Imheall set them all round the house till the work was finished, and then he closed the top of the house with a slab. And the place was called the Hill of Aileac, that is, the Hill of Sighs and of a Stone, for it was tears of blood the Dagda shed on account of the death of his son. CHAPTER III. ANGUS OG And as to Angus Og, son of the Dagda, sometimes he would come from Brugh na Boinn and let himself be seen upon the earth. It was a long time after the coming of the Gael that he was seen by Cormac, King of Teamhair, and this is the account he gave of him. He was by himself one day in his Hall of Judgment, for he used to be often reading the laws and thinking how he could best carry them out. And on a sudden he saw a stranger, a very comely young man, at the end of the hall; and he knew on the moment it was Angus Og, for he had often heard his people talking of him, but he himself used to be saying he did not believe there was any such person at all. And when his people came back to the hall, he told them how he had seen Angus himself, and had talked with him, and Angus had told him his name, and had foretold what would happen him in the future. "And he was a beautiful young man," he said, "with high looks, and his appearance was more beautiful than all beauty, and there were ornaments of gold on his dress; in his hand he held a silver harp with strings of red gold, and the sound of its strings was sweeter than all music under the sky; and over the harp were two birds that seemed to be playing on it. He sat beside me pleasantly and played his sweet music to me, and in the end he foretold things that put drunkenness on my wits." The birds, now, that used to be with Angus were four of his kisses that turned into birds and that used to be coming about the young men of Ireland, and crying after them. "Come, come," two of them would say, and "I go, I go," the other two would say, and it was hard to get free of them. But as to Angus, even when he was in his young youth, he used to be called the Frightener, or the Disturber; for the plough teams of the world, and every sort of cattle that is used by men, would make away in terror before him. And one time he appeared in the shape of a land-holder to two men, Ribh and Eocho, that were looking for a place to settle in. The first place they chose was near Bregia on a plain that was belonging to Angus; and it was then he came to them, leading his horse in his hand, and told them they should not stop there. And they said they could not carry away their goods without horses. Then he gave them his horse, and bade them to put all they had a mind to on that horse and he would carry it, and so he did. But the next place they chose was Magh Find, the Fine Plain, that was the playing ground of Angus and of Midhir. And that time Midhir came to them in the same way and gave them a horse to put their goods on, and he went on with them as far as Magh Dairbthenn. And there were many women loved Angus, and there was one Enghi, daughter of Elcmair, loved him though she had not seen him. And she went one time looking for him to the gathering for games between Cletech and Sidhe in Broga; and the bright troops of the Sidhe used to come to that gathering every Samhain evening, bringing a moderate share of food with them, that is, a nut. And the sons of Derc came from the north, out of Sidhe Findabrach, and they went round about the young men and women without their knowledge and they brought away Elcmair's daughter. There were great lamentations made then, and the name the place got was Cnoguba, the Nut Lamentation, from the crying there was at that gathering. And Derbrenn, Eochaid Fedlech's daughter, was another that was loved by Angus, and she had six fosterlings, three boys and three girls. But the mother of the boys, Dalb Garb, the Rough, put a spell on them she made from a gathering of the nuts of Caill Ochuid, that turned them into swine. And Angus gave them into the care of Buichet, the Hospitaller of Leinster, and they stopped a year with him. But at the end of that time there came a longing On Buichet's wife to eat a bit of the flesh of one of them. So she gathered a hundred armed men and a hundred hounds to take them. But the pigs made away, and went to Brugh na Boinn, to Angus, and he bade them welcome, and they asked him to give them his help. But he said he could not do that till they had shaken the Tree of Tarbga, and eaten the salmon of Inver Umaill. So they went to Glascarn, and stopped a year in hiding with Derbrenn. And then they shook the Tree of Tarbga, and they went on towards Inver Umaill. But Maeve gathered the men of Connacht to hunt them, and they all fell but one, and their heads were put in a mound, and it got the name of Duma Selga, the Mound of the Hunting. And it was in the time of Maeve of Cruachan that Angus set his love on Caer Ormaith, of the Province of Connacht, and brought her away to Brugh na Boinn. CHAPTER IV. THE MORRIGU As to the Morrigu, the Great Queen, the Crow of Battle, where she lived after the coming of the Gael is not known, but before that time it was in Teamhair she lived. And she had a great cooking-spit there, that held three sorts of food on it at the one time: a piece of raw meat, and a piece of dressed meat, and a piece of butter. And the raw was dressed, and the dressed was not burned, and the butter did not melt, and the three together on the spit. Nine men that were outlaws went to her one time and asked for a spit to be made for themselves. And they brought it away with them, and it had nine ribs in it, and every one of the outlaws would carry a rib in his hand wherever he would go, till they would all meet together at the close of day. And if they wanted the spit to be high, it could be raised to a man's height, and at another time it would not be more than the height of a fist over the fire, without breaking and without lessening. And Mechi, the son the Morrigu had, was killed by Mac Cecht on Magh Mechi, that till that time had been called Magh Fertaige. Three hearts he had, and it is the way they were, they had the shapes of three serpents through them. And if Mechi had not met with his death, those serpents in him would have grown, and what they left alive in Ireland would have wasted away. And Mac Cecht burned the three hearts on Magh Luathad, the Plain of Ashes, and he threw the ashes into the stream; and the rushing water of the stream stopped and boiled up, and every creature in it died. And the Morrigu used often to be meddling in Ireland in Cuchulain's time, stirring up wars and quarrels. It was she came and roused up Cuchulain one time when he was but a lad, and was near giving in to some enchantment that was used against him. "There is not the making of a hero in you," she said to him, "and you lying there under the feet of shadows." And with that Cuchulain rose up and struck off the head of a shadow that was standing over him, with his hurling stick. And the time Conchubar was sending out Finched to rouse up the men of Ulster at the time of the war for the Bull of Cuailgne, he bade him to go to that terrible fury, the Morrigu, to get help for Cuchulain. And she had a dispute with Cuchulain one time he met her, and she bringing away a cow from the Hill of Cruachan; and another time she helped Talchinem, a Druid of the household of Conaire Mor, to bring away a bull his wife had set her mind on. And indeed she was much given to meddling with cattle, and one time she brought away a cow from Odras, that was of the household of the cow-chief of Cormac Hua Cuined, and that was going after her husband with cattle. And the Morrigu brought the cow away with her to the Cave of Cruachan, and the Hill of the Sidhe. And Odras followed her there till sleep fell on her in the oak-wood of Falga; and the Morrigu awoke her and sang spells over her, and made of her a pool of water that went to the river that flows to the west of Slieve Buane. And in the battle of Magh Rath, she fluttered over Congal Claen in the shape of a bird, till he did not know friend from foe. And after that again at the battle of Cluantarbh, she was flying over the head of Murchadh, son of Brian; for she had many shapes, and it was in the shape of a crow she would sometimes fight her battles. And if it was not the Morrigu, it was Badb that showed herself in the battle of Dunbolg, where the men of Ireland were fighting under Aedh, son of Niall; and Brigit was seen in the same battle on the side of the men of Leinster. CHAPTER V. AINE And as to Aine, that some said was a daughter of Manannan, but some said was the Morrigu herself, there was a stone belonging to her that was called Cathair Aine. And if any one would sit on that stone he would be in danger of losing his wits, and any one that would sit on it three times would lose them for ever. And people whose wits were astray would make their way to it, and mad dogs would come from all parts of the country, and would flock around it, and then they would go into the sea to Aine's place there. But those that did cures by herbs said she had power over the whole body; and she used to give gifts of poetry and of music, and she often gave her love to men, and they called her the Leanan Sidhe, the Sweet-heart of the Sidhe. And it was no safe thing to offend Aine, for she was very revengeful. Oilioll Oluim, a king of Ireland, killed her brother one time, and it is what she did, she made a great yew-tree by enchantment beside the river Maigh in Luimnech, and she put a little man in it, playing sweet music on a harp. And Oilioll's son was passing the river with his step-brother, and they saw the tree and heard the sweet music from it. And first they quarrelled as to which of them would have the little harper, and then they quarrelled about the tree, and they asked a judgment from Oilioll, and he gave it for his own son. And it was the bad feeling about that judgment that led to the battle of Magh Mucruimhe, and Oilioll and his seven sons were killed there, and so Aine got her revenge. CHAPTER VI. AOIBHELL And Aoibhell, another woman of the Sidhe, made her dwelling-place in Craig Liath, and at the time of the battle of Cluantarbh she set her love on a young man of Munster, Dubhlaing ua Artigan, that had been sent away in disgrace by the King of Ireland. But before the battle he came back to join with Murchadh, the king's son, and to fight for the Gael. And Aoibhell came to stop him; and when he would not stop with her she put a Druid covering about him, the way no one could see him. And he went where Murchadh was fighting, and he made a great attack on the enemies of Ireland, and struck them down on every side. And Murchadh looked around him, and he said; "It seems to me I hear the sound of the blows of Dubhlaing ua Artigan, but I do not see himself." Then Dubhlaing threw off the Druid covering that was about him, and he said: "I will not keep this covering upon me when you cannot see me through it. And come now across the plain to where Aoibhell is," he said, "for she can give us news of the battle." So they went where she was, and she bade them both to quit the battle, for they would lose their lives in it. But Murchadh said to her, "I will tell you a little true story," he said; "that fear for my own body will never make me change my face. And if we fall," he said, "the strangers will fall with us; and it is many a man will fall by my own hand, and the Gael will be sharing their strong places." "Stop with me, Dubhlaing," she said then, "and you will have two hundred years of happy life with myself." "I will not give up Murchadh," he said, "or my own good name, for silver or gold." And there was anger on Aoibhell when he said that, and she said: "Murchadh will fall, and you yourself will fall, and your proud blood will be on the plain to-morrow." And they went back into the battle, and got their death there. And it was Aoibhell gave a golden harp to the son of Meardha the time he was getting his learning at the school of the Sidhe in Connacht and that he heard his father had got his death by the King of Lochlann. And whoever heard the playing of that harp would not live long after it. And Meardha's son went where the three sons of the King of Lochlann were, and played on his harp for them, and they died. It was that harp Cuchulain heard the time his enemies were gathering against him at Muirthemne, and he knew by it that his life was near its end. CHAPTER VII. MIDHIR AND ETAIN And Midhir took a hill for himself, and his wife Fuamach was with him there, and his daughter, Bri. And Leith, son of Celtchar of Cualu, was the most beautiful among the young men of the Sidhe of Ireland at that time, and he loved Bri, Midhir's daughter. And Bri went out with her young girls to meet him one time at the Grave of the Daughters beside Teamhair. And Leith came and his young men along with him till he was on the Hill of the After Repentance. And they could not come nearer to one another because of the slingers on Midhir's hill that were answering one another till their spears were as many as a swarm of bees on a day of beauty. And Cochlan, Leith's servant, got a sharp wound from them and he died. Then the girl turned back to Midhir's hill, and her heart broke in her and she died. And Leith said: "Although I am not let come to this girl, I will leave my name with her." And the hill was called Bri Leith from that time. After a while Midhir took Etain Echraide to be his wife. And there was great jealousy on Fuamach, the wife he had before, when she saw the love that Midhir gave to Etain, and she called to the Druid, Bresal Etarlaim to help her, and he put spells on Etain the way Fuamach was able to drive her away. And when she was driven out of Bri Leith, Angus Og, son of the Dagda, took her into his keeping; and when Midhir asked her back, he would not give her up, but he brought her about with him to every place he went. And wherever they rested, he made a sunny house for her, and put sweet-smelling flowers in it, and he made invisible walls about it, that no one could see through and that could not be seen. But when news came to Fuamach that Etain was so well cared by Angus, anger and jealousy came on her again, and she searched her mind for a way to destroy Etain altogether. And it is what she did, she persuaded Midhir and Angus to go out and meet one another and to make peace, for there had been a quarrel between them ever since the time Etain was sent away. And when Angus was away from Brugh na Boinn, Fuamach went and found Etain there, in her sunny house. And she turned her with Druid spells into a fly, and then she sent a blast of wind into the house, that swept her away through the window. But as to Midhir and Angus, they waited a while for Fuamach to come and join them. And when she did not come they were uneasy in their minds, and Angus hurried back to Brugh na Boinn. And when he found the sunny house empty, he went in search of Fuamach, and it was along with Etarlaim, the Druid, he found her, and he struck her head off there and then. And for seven years Etain was blown to and fro through Ireland in great misery. And at last she came to the house of Etar, of Inver Cechmaine, where there was a feast going on, and she fell from a beam of the roof into the golden cup that was beside Etar's wife. And Etar's wife drank her down with the wine, and at the end of nine months she was born again as Etar's daughter. And she had the same name as before, Etain; and she was reared as a king's daughter, and there were fifty young girls, daughters of princes, brought up with her to keep her company. And it happened one day Etain and all the rest of the young girls were out bathing in the bay at Inver Cechmaine, and they saw from the water a man, with very high looks, coming towards them over the plain, and he riding a bay horse with mane and tail curled. A long green cloak he had on him, and a shirt woven with threads of red gold, and a brooch of gold that reached across to his shoulders on each side. And he had on his back a shield of silver with a rim of gold and a boss of gold, and in his hand a sharp-pointed spear covered with rings of gold from heel to socket. Fair yellow hair he had, coming over his forehead, and it bound with a golden band to keep it from loosening. And when he came near them he got down from his horse, and sat down on the bank, and it is what he said: "It is here Etain is to-day, at the Mound of Fair Women. It is among little children is her life on the strand of Inver Cechmaine. "It is she healed the eye of the king from the well of Loch da Lig; it is she was swallowed in a heavy drink by the wife of Etar. "Many great battles will happen for your sake to Echaid of Midhe; destruction will fall upon the Sidhe, and war on thousands of men." And when he had said that, he vanished, and no one knew where he went. And they did not know the man that had come to them was Midhir of Bri Leith. And when Etain was grown to be a beautiful young woman, she was seen by Eochaid Feidlech, High King of Ireland, and this is the way that happened. He was going one time over the fair green of Bri Leith, and he saw at the side of a well a woman, with a bright comb of gold and silver, and she washing in a silver basin having four golden birds on it, and little bright purple stones set in the rim of the basin. A beautiful purple cloak she had, and silver fringes to it, and a gold brooch; and she had on her a dress of green silk with a long hood, embroidered in red gold, and wonderful clasps of gold and silver on her breasts and on her shoulder. The sunlight was falling on her, so that the gold and the green silk were shining out. Two plaits of hair she had, four locks in each plait, and a bead at the point of every lock, and the colour of her hair was like yellow flags in summer, or like red gold after it is rubbed. There she was, letting down her hair to wash it, and her arms out through the sleeve-holes of her shift. Her soft hands were as white as the snow of a single night, and her eyes as blue as any blue flower, and her lips as red as the berries of the rowan-tree, and her body as white as the foam of a wave. The bright light of the moon was in her face, the highness of pride in her eyebrows, a dimple of delight in each of her cheeks, the light of wooing in her eyes, and when she walked she had a step that was steady and even like the walk of a queen. And Eochaid sent his people to bring her to him, and he asked her name, and she told him her name was Etain, daughter of Etar, King of the Riders of the Sidhe. And Eochaid gave her his love, and he paid the bride-price, and brought her home to Teamhair as his wife, and there was a great welcome before her there. And after a while there was a great feast made at Teamhair, and all the chief men of Ireland came to it, and it lasted from the fortnight before Samhain to the fortnight after it. And King Eochaid's brother Ailell, that was afterwards called Ailell Anglonach, of the Only Fault, came to the feast. And when he saw his brother's wife Etain, he fell in love with her on the moment, and all through the length of the feast he was not content unless he could be looking at her. And a woman, the daughter of Luchta Lamdearg, of the Red Hand, took notice of it, and she said: "What far thing are you looking at, Ailell? It is what I think, that to be looking the way you are doing is a sign of love." Then Ailell checked himself, and did not look towards Etain any more. But when the feast was at an end, and the gathering broken up, great desire and envy came on Ailell, so that he fell sick, and they brought him to a house in Teffia. And he stopped there through the length of a year, and he was wasting away, but he told no one the cause of his sickness. And at the end of the year, Eochaid came to visit his brother, and he passed his hand over his breast, and Ailell let a groan. "What way are you?" said Eochaid then. "Are you getting any easier, for you must not let this illness come to a bad end." "By my word," said Ailell, "it is not easier I am, but worse and worse every day and every night." "What is it ails you?" said Eochaid. "And what is it that is coming against you." "By my word, I cannot tell you that," said Ailell. "I will bring one here that will know the cause of your sickness," said the king. With that he sent Fachtna, his own physician, to Ailell; and when he came he passed his hand over Ailell's heart, and at that he groaned again. "This sickness will not be your death," said Fachtna then; "and I know well what it comes from. It is either from the pains of jealousy, or from love you have given, and that you have not found a way out of." But there was shame on Ailell, and he would not confess to the physician that what he said was right. So Fachtna went away then and left him. As to King Eochaid, he went away to visit all the provinces of Ireland that were under his kingship, and he left Etain after him, and it is what he said: "Good Etain," he said, "take tender care of Ailell so long as he is living; and if he should die from us, make a sodded grave for him, and raise a pillar stone over it, and write his name on it in Ogham." And with that he went away on his journey. One day, now, Etain went into the house where Ailell was lying in his sickness, and they talked together, and then she made a little song for him, and it is what she said: "What is it ails you, young man, for it is a long time you are wasted with this sickness, and it is not the hardness of the weather has stopped your light footstep." And Ailell answered her in the same way, and he said: "I have good cause for my hurt; the music of my own harp does not please me; there is no sort of food is pleasant to me, and so I am wasted away." Then Etain said: "Tell me what is it ails you, for I am a woman that is wise. Tell me is there anything that would cure you, the way I may help you to it?" And Ailell answered her: "O kind, beautiful woman, it is not good to tell a secret to a woman, but sometimes it may be known through the eyes." And Etain said: "Though it is bad to tell a secret, yet it ought to be told now, or how can help be given to you?" And Ailell answered: "My blessing on you, fair-haired Etain. It is not fit I am to be spoken with; my wits have been no good help to me; my body is a rebel to me. All Ireland knows, O king's wife, there is sickness in my head and in my body." And Etain said: "If there is a woman of the fair-faced women of Ireland tormenting you this way, she must come to you here if it pleases you; and it is I myself will woo her for you," she said. Then Ailell said to her: "Woman, it would be easy for you yourself to put my sickness from me. And my desire," he said, "is a desire that is as long as a year; but it is love given to an echo, the spending of grief on a wave, a lonely fight with a shadow, that is what my love and my desire have been to me." And it is then Etain knew what was the sickness that was on him, and it was a heavy trouble to her. But she came to him every day to tend him, and to make ready his food, and to pour water over his hands, and all she could do she did for him, for it was a grief to her, he to wither away and to be lost for her sake. And at last one day she said to him: "Rise up, Ailell, son of a king, man of high deeds, and I will do your healing." Then he put his arms about her, and she kissed him, and she said: "Come at the morning of to-morrow at the break of day to the house outside the dun, and I will give you all your desire." That night Ailell lay without sleep until the morning was at hand. And at the very time he should have risen to go to her, it was at that time his sleep settled down upon him, and he slept on till the full light of day. But Etain went to the house outside the dun, and she was not long there when she saw a man coming towards her having the appearance of Ailell, sick and tired and worn. But when he came near and she looked closely at him, she saw it was not Ailell that was in it. Then he went away, and after she had waited a while, she herself went back into the dun. And it was then Ailell awoke, and when he knew the morning had passed by, he would sooner have had death than life, and he fretted greatly. And Etain came in then, and he told her what had happened him. And she said: "Come to-morrow to the same place." But the same thing happened the next day. And when it happened on the third day, and the same man came to meet Etain, she said to him: "It is not you at all I come to meet here, and why is it that you come to meet me? And as to him I came to meet," she said, "indeed it is not for gain or through lightness I bade him come to me, but to heal him of the sickness he is lying under for my sake." Then the man said: "It would be more fitting for you to come to meet me than any other one. For in the time long ago," he said, "I was your first husband, and your first man." "What is it you are saying," she said, "and who are you yourself?" "It is easy to tell that," he said; "I am Midhir of Bri Leith." "And what parted us if I was your wife?" said Etain. "It was through Fuamach's sharp jealousy and through the spells of Bresal Etarlaim, the Druid, we were parted. And will you come away with me now?" he said. But Etain said: "It is not for a man whose kindred is unknown I will give up the High King of Ireland." And Midhir said: "Surely it was I myself put that great desire for you on Ailell, and it was I hindered him from going to meet you, the way you might keep your good name." And when she went back to Ailell's house, she found his sickness was gone from him, and his desire. And she told him all that had happened, and he said: "It has turned out well for us both: I am well of my sickness and your good name is not lessened." "We give thanks to our gods for that," said Etain, "for we are well pleased to have it so." And just at that time Eochaid came back from his journey, and they told him the whole story, and he was thankful to his wife for the kindness she had showed to Ailell. It was a good while after that, there was a great fair held at Teamhair, and Etain was out on the green looking at the games and the races. And she saw a rider coming towards her, but no one could see him but herself; and when he came near she saw he had the same appearance as the man that came and spoke with her and her young girls the time they were out in the sea at Inver Cechmaine. And when he came up to her he began to sing words to her that no one could hear but herself. And it is what he said: "O beautiful woman, will you come with me to the wonderful country that is mine? It is pleasant to be looking at the people there, beautiful people without any blemish; their hair is of the colour of the flag-flower, their fair body is as white as snow, the colour of the foxglove is on every cheek. The young never grow old there; the fields and the flowers are as pleasant to be looking at as the blackbird's eggs; warm, sweet streams of mead and of wine flow through that country; there is no care and no sorrow on any person; we see others, but we ourselves are not seen. "Though the plains of Ireland are beautiful, it is little you would think of them after our great plain; though the ale of Ireland is heady, the ale of the great country is still more heady. O beautiful woman, if you come to my proud people it is the flesh of pigs newly killed I will give you for food; it is ale and new milk I will give you for drink; it is feasting you will have with me there; it is a crown of gold you will have upon your hair, O beautiful woman! "And will you come there with me, Etain?" he said. But Etain said she would not leave Eochaid the High King. "Will you come if Eochaid gives you leave?" Midhir said then. "I will do that," said Etain. One day, after that time, Eochaid the High King was looking out from his palace at Teamhair, and he saw a strange man coming across the plain. Yellow hair he had, and eyes blue and shining like the flame of a candle, and a purple dress on him, and in his hand a five-pronged spear and a shield having gold knobs on it. He came up to the king, and the king bade him welcome. "Who are you yourself?" he said; "and what are you come for, for you are a stranger to me?" "If I am a stranger to you, you are no stranger to me, for I have known you this long time," said the strange man. "What is your name?" said the king. "It is nothing very great," said he; "I am called Midhir of Bri Leith." "What is it brings you here?" said Eochaid. "I am come to play a game of chess with you," said the stranger. "Are you a good player?" said the king. "A trial will tell you that," said Midhir. "The chessboard is in the queen's house, and she is in her sleep at this time," said Eochaid. "That is no matter," said Midhir, "for I have with me a chess-board as good as your own." And with that he brought out his chessboard, and it made of silver, and precious stones shining in every corner of it. And then he brought out the chessmen, and they made of gold, from a bag that was of shining gold threads. "Let us play now," said Midhir. "I will not play without a stake," said the king. "What stake shall We play for?" said Midhir. "We can settle that after the game is over," said the king. They played together then, and Midhir was beaten, and it is what the king asked of him, fifty brown horses to be given to him. And then they played the second time, and Midhir was beaten again, and this time the king gave him four hard things to do: to make a road over Moin Lamraide, and to clear Midhe of stones, and to cover the district of Tethra with rushes, and the district of Darbrech with trees. So Midhir brought his people from Bri Leith to do those things, and it is bard work they had doing them. And Eochaid used to be out watching them, and he took notice that when the men of the Sidhe yoked their oxen, it was by the neck and the shoulder they used to yoke them, and not by the forehead and the head. And it was after Eochaid taught his people to yoke them that way, he was given the name of Eochaid Airem, that is, of the Plough. And when all was done, Midhir came to Eochaid again, looking thin and wasted enough with the dint of the hard work he had been doing, and he asked Eochaid to play the third game with him. Eochaid agreed, and it was settled as before, the stake to be settled by the winner. It was Midhir won the game that time, and when the king asked him what he wanted, "It is Etain, your wife, I want," said he. "I will not give her to you," said the king. "All I will ask then," said Midhir, "is to put my arms about her and to kiss her once." "You may do that," said the king, "if you will wait to the end of a month." So Midhir agreed to that, and went away for that time. At the end of the month he came back again, and stood in the great hall at Teamhair, and no one had ever seen him look so comely as he did that night. And Eochaid had all his best fighting men gathered in the hall, and he shut all the doors of the palace when he saw Midhir come in, for fear he would try to bring away Etain by force. "I am come to be paid what is due to me," said Midhir. "I have not been thinking of it up to this time," said Eochaid, and there was anger on him. "You promised me Etain, your wife," said Midhir. The redness of shame came on Etain when she heard that, but Midhir said: "Let there be no shame on you, Etain, for it is through the length of a year I have been asking your love, and I have offered you every sort of treasure and riches, and you refused to come to me till such a time as your husband would give you leave." "It is true I said that," said Etain, "I will go if Eochaid gives me up to you." "I will not give you up," said Eochaid; "I will let him do no more than put his arms about you in this place, as was promised him." "I will do that," said Midhir. With that he took his sword in his left hand, and he took Etain in his right arm and kissed her. All the armed men in the house made a rush at him then, but he rose up through the roof bringing Etain with him, and when they rushed out of the house to follow him, all they could see was two swans high up in the air, linked together by a chain of gold. There was great anger on Eochaid then, and he went and searched all through Ireland, but there were no tidings of them to be had, for they were in the houses of the Sidhe. It was to the Brugh of Angus on the Boinn they went first, and after they had stopped there a while they went to a hill of the Sidhe in Connacht. And there was a serving-maid with Etain at that time, Cruachan Croderg her name was, and she said to Midhir: "Is this your own place we are in?" "It is not," said Midhir; "my own place is nearer to the rising of the sun." She was not well pleased to stop there when she heard that, and Midhir said to quiet her: "It is your own name will be put on this place from this out." And the hill was called the Hill of Cruachan from that time. Then they went to Bri Leith; and Etain's daughter Esa came to them there, and she brought a hundred of every sort of cattle with her, and Midhir fostered her for seven years. And all through that time Eochaid the High King was making a search for them. But at last Codal of the Withered Breast took four rods of yew and wrote Oghams on them, and through them and through his enchantments he found out that Etain was with Midhir in Bri Leith. So Eochaid went there, and made an attack on the place, and he was for nine years besieging it, and Midhir was driving him away. And then his people began digging through the hill; and when they were getting near to where Etain was, Midhir sent three times twenty beautiful women, having all of them the appearance of Etain, and he bade the king choose her out from among them. And the first he chose was his own daughter Esa. But then Etain called to him, and he knew her, and he brought her home to Teamhair. And Eochaid gave his daughter Esa her choice of a place for herself. And she chose it, and made a rath there, that got the name of Rath Esa. And from it she could see three notable places, the Hill of the Sidhe in Broga, and the Hill of the Hostages in Teamhair, and Dun Crimthain on Beinn Edair. But there was great anger on Midhir and his people because of their hill being attacked and dug into. And it was in revenge for that insult they brought Conaire, High King of Ireland, that was grandson of Eochaid and of Etain, to his death afterwards at Da Derga's Inn. CHAPTER VIII. MANANNAN Now as to Manannan the Proud, son of Lir, after he had made places for the rest of the Tuatha de Danaan to live in, he went away out of Ireland himself. And some said he was dead, and that he got his death by Uillenn Faebarderg, of the Red Edge, in battle. And it is what they said, that the battle was fought at Magh Cuilenn, and that Manannan was buried standing on his feet, and no sooner was he buried than a great lake burst up under his feet in the place that was a red bog till that time. And the lake got the name of Loch Orbson, from one of the names of Manannan. And it was said that red Badb was glad and many women were sorry at that battle. But he had many places of living, and he was often heard of in Ireland after. It was he sent a messenger to Etain, mother of Conaire the High King, the time she was hidden in the cowherd's house. And it was he brought up Deirdre's children in Emhain of the Apple Trees, and it was said of that place, "a house of peace is the hill of the Sidhe of Emhain." And it was he taught Diarmuid of the Fianna the use of weapons, and it was he taught Cuchulain the use of the Gae Bulg, and some say it was he was Deirdre's father, and that he brought Conchubar, king of Ulster, to the place she was hidden, and he running with the appearance of a hare before the hounds of the men of Ulster to bring them there. And it is what they say, that the time Conchubar had brought the sons of Usnach to Emain Macha, and could not come at them to kill them because of their bravery, it was to Manannan he went for help. And Manannan said he would give him no help, for he had told him at the time he brought Deirdre away that she would be the cause of the breaking up of his kingdom, and he took her away in spite of him. But Conchubar asked him to put blindness for a while on the sons of Usnach, or the whole army would be destroyed with their blows. So after a while he consented to that. And when the sons of Usnach came out again against the army of Ulster, the blindness came on them, and it was at one another they struck, not seeing who was near them, and it was by one another's hands they fell. But more say Manannan had no hand in it, and that it was Cathbad, the Druid, put a sea about them and brought them to their death by his enchantments. And some say Culain, the Smith, that gave his name to Cuchulain afterwards, was Manannan himself, for he had many shapes. Anyway, before Culain came to Ulster, he was living in the Island of Falga, that was one of Manannan's places. And one time before Conchubar came into the kingdom, he went to ask advice of a Druid, and the Druid bade him to go to the Island of Falga and to ask Culain, the smith he would find there, to make arms for him. So Conchubar did so, and the smith promised to make a sword and spear and shield for him. And while he was working at them Conchubar went out one morning early to walk on the strand, and there he saw a sea-woman asleep on the shore. And he put bonds on her in her sleep, the way she would not make her escape. But when she awoke and saw what had happened, she asked him to set her free. "And I am Tiabhal," she said, "one of the queens of the sea. And bid Culain," she said, "that is making your shield for you, to put my likeness on it and my name about it. And whenever you will go into a battle with that shield the strength of your enemies will lessen, and your own strength and the strength of your people will increase." So Conchubar let her go, and bade the smith do as she had told him. And when he went back to Ireland he got the victory wherever he brought that shield. And he sent for Culain then, and offered him a place on the plains of Muirthemne. And whether he was or was not Manannan, it is likely he gave Cuchulain good teaching the time he stopped with him there after killing his great dog. Manannan had good hounds one time, but they went hunting after a pig that was destroying the whole country, and making a desert of it. And they followed it till they came to a lake, and there it turned on them, and no hound of them escaped alive, but they were all drowned or maimed. And the pig made for an island then, that got the name of Muc-inis, the Pigs Island afterwards; and the lake got the name of Loch Conn, the Lake of the Hounds. And it was through Manannan the wave of Tuaig, one of the three great waves of Ireland, got its name, and this is the way that happened. There was a young girl of the name of Tuag, a fosterling of Conaire the High King, was reared in Teamhair, and a great company of the daughters of the kings of Ireland were put about her to protect her, the way she would be kept for a king's asking. But Manannan sent Fer Ferdiad, of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was a pupil of his own and a Druid, in the shape of a woman of his own household, and he went where Tuag was, and sang a sleep-spell over her, and brought her away to Inver Glas. And there he laid her down while he went looking for a boat, that he might bring her away in her sleep to the Land of the Ever-Living Women. But a wave of the flood-tide came over the girl, and she was drowned, and Manannan killed Fer Ferdiad in his anger. And one time Manannan's cows came up out of the sea at Baile Cronin, three of them, a red, and a white, and a black, and the people that were there saw them standing on the strand for a while, as if thinking, and then they all walked up together, side by side, from the strand. And at that time there were no roads in Ireland, and there was great wonder on the people when they saw a good wide road ready before the three cows to walk on. And when they got about a mile from the sea they parted; the white cow went to the north-west, towards Luimnech, and the red cow went to the south-west, and on round the coast of Ireland, and the black cow went to the north-east, towards Lis Mor, in the district of Portlairge, and a road opened before each of them, that is to be seen to this day. And some say it was Manannan went to Finn and the Fianna in the form of the Gilla Decair, the Bad Servant, and brought them away to Land-under-Wave. Anyway, he used often to go hunting with them on Cnoc Aine, and sometimes he came to their help. CHAPTER IX. MANANNAN AT PLAY And it was he went playing tricks through Ireland a long time after that again, the time he got the name of O'Donnell's Kern. And it is the way it happened, Aodh Dubh O'Donnell was holding a feast one time in Bel-atha Senaig, and his people were boasting of the goodness of his house and of his musicians. And while they were talking, they saw a clown coming towards them, old striped clothes he had, and puddle water splashing in his shoes, and his sword sticking out naked behind him, and his ears through the old cloak that was over his head, and in his hand he had three spears of hollywood scorched and blackened. He wished O'Donnell good health, and O'Donnell did the same to him, and asked where did he come from. "It is where I am," he said, "I slept last night at Dun Monaidhe, of the King of Alban; I am a day in Ile, a day in Cionn-tire, a day in Rachlainn, a day in the Watchman's Seat in Slieve Fuad; a pleasant, rambling, wandering man I am, and it is with yourself I am now, O'Donnell," he said. "Let the gate-keeper be brought to me," said O'Donnell. And when the gate-keeper came, he asked was it he let in this man, and the gate-keeper said he did not, and that he never saw him before. "Let him off, O'Donnell," said the stranger, "for it was as easy for me to come in, as it will be to me to go out again." There was wonder on them all then, any man to have come into the house without passing the gate. The musicians began playing their music then, and all the best musicians of the country were there at the time, and they played very sweet tunes on their harps. But the strange man called out: "By my word, O'Donnell, there was never a noise of hammers beating on iron in any bad place was so bad to listen to as this noise your people are making." With that he took a harp, and he made music that would put women in their pains and wounded men after a battle into a sweet sleep, and it is what O'Donnell said: "Since I first heard talk of the music of the Sidhe that is played in the hills and under the earth below us, I never heard better music than your own. And it is a very sweet player you are," he said. "One day I am sweet, another day I am sour," said the clown. Then O'Donnell bade his people to bring him up to sit near himself. "I have no mind to do that," he said; "I would sooner be as I am, an ugly clown, making sport for high-up people." Then O'Donnell sent him down clothes, a hat and a striped shirt and a coat, but he would not have them. "I have no mind," he said, "to let high-up people be making a boast of giving them to me." They were afraid then he might go from them, and they put twenty armed horsemen and twenty men on foot to hold him back from leaving the house, and as many more outside at the gate, for they knew him not to be a man of this world. "What are these men for?" said he. "They are to keep you here," said O'Donnell. "By my word, it is not with you I will be eating my supper to-morrow," he said, "but at Cnoc Aine, where Seaghan, Son of the Earl is, in Desmumain." "If I find you giving one stir out of yourself, between this and morning, I will knock you into a round lump there on the ground," said O'Donnell. But at that the stranger took up the harp again, and he made the same sweet music as before. And when they were all listening to him, he called out to the men outside: "Here I am coming, and watch me well now or you will lose me." When the men that were watching the gate heard that, they lifted up their axes to strike at him, but in their haste it was at one another they struck, till they were all lying stretched in blood. Then the clown said to the gate-keeper: "Let you ask twenty cows and a hundred of free land of O'Donnell as a fee for bringing his people back to life. And take this herb," he said, "and rub it in the mouth of each man of them, and he will rise up whole and well again." So the gate-keeper did that, and he got the cows and the land from O'Donnell, and he brought all the people to life again. Now at that time Seaghan, Son of the Earl, was holding a gathering on the green in front of his dun, and he saw the same man coming towards him, and dressed in the same way, and the water splashing in his shoes. But when he asked who was he, he gave himself the name of a very learned man, Duartane O'Duartane, and he said it was by Ess Ruadh he was come, and by Ceiscorainn and from that to Corrslieve, and to Magh Lorg of the Dagda, and into the district of Hy'Conaill Gabhra, "till I came to yourself," he said, "by Cruachan of Magh Ai." So they brought him into the house, and gave him wine for drinking and water for washing his feet, and he slept till the rising of the sun on the morrow. And at that time Seaghan, Son of the Earl, came to visit him, and he said: "It is a long sleep you had, and there is no wonder in that, and your journey so long yesterday. But I often heard of your learning in books and of your skill on the harp, and I would like to hear you this morning," he said. "I am good in those arts indeed," said the stranger. So they brought him a book, but he could not read a word of it, and then they brought him a harp, and he could not play any tune. "It is likely your reading and your music are gone from you," said Seaghan; and he made a little rann on him, saying it was a strange thing Duartane O'Duartane that had such a great name not to be able to read a line of a book, or even to remember one. But when the stranger heard how he was being mocked at, he took up the book, and read from the top to the bottom of the page very well and in a sweet-sounding voice. And after that he took the harp and played and sang the same way he did at O'Donnell's house the day before. "It is a very sweet man of learning you are," said Seaghan. "One day I am sweet, another day I am sour," said the stranger. They walked out together then on Cnoc Aine, but while they were talking there, the stranger was gone all of a minute, and Seaghan, Son of the Earl, could not see where he went. And after that he went on, and he reached Sligach just at the time O'Conchubar was setting out with the men of Connacht to avenge the Connacht hag's basket on the hag of Munster. And this time he gave himself the name of the Gilla Decair, the Bad Servant. And he joined with the men of Connacht, and they went over the Sionnan westward into Munster, and there they hunted and drove every creature that could be made travel, cattle and horses and flocks, into one place, till they got the hornless bull of the Munster hag and her two speckled cows, and O'Conchubar brought them away to give to the Connacht hag in satisfaction for her basket. But the men of Munster made an attack on them as they were going back; and the Gilla Decair asked O'Conchubar would he sooner have the cows driven, or have the Munster men checked, and he said he would sooner have the Munster men checked. So the Gilla Decair turned on them, and with his bow and twenty-four arrows he kept them back till O'Conchubar and his people were safe out of their reach in Connacht. But he took some offence then, on account of O'Conchubar taking the first drink himself when they came to his house, and not giving it to him, that had done so much, and he took his leave and went from them on the moment. After that he went to where Tadg O'Cealaigh was, and having his old striped clothes and his old shoes as before. And when they asked him what art he had, he said: "I am good at tricks. And if you will give me five marks I will show you a trick," he said. "I will give that," said Tadg. With that the stranger put three rushes on the palm of his hand. "I will blow away the middle rush now," he said, "and the other two will stop as they are." So they told him to do that, and he put the tops of two of his fingers on the two outside rushes, and blew the middle one away. "There is a trick now for you, Tadg O'Cealaigh," he said then. "By my word, that is not a bad trick," said O'Cealaigh. But one of his men said: "That there may be no good luck with him that did it. And give me the half of that money now, Tadg," he said, "and I will do the same trick for you myself." "I will give you the half of what I got if you will do it," said the stranger. So the other put the rushes on his hand, but if he did, when he tried to do the trick, his two finger-tips went through the palm of his hand. "Ob-Ob-Ob!" said the stranger, "that is not the way I did the trick. But as you have lost the money," he said, "I will heal you again." "I could do another trick for you," he said; "I could wag the ear on one side of my head and the ear on the other side would stay still." "Do it then," said O'Cealaigh. So the man of tricks took hold of one of his ears and wagged it up and down. "That is a good trick indeed," said O'Cealaigh. "I will show you another one now," he said. With that he took from his bag a thread of silk, and gave a cast of it up into the air, that it was made fast to a cloud. And then he took a hare out of the same bag, and it ran up the thread; and then took out a little dog and laid it on after the hare, and it followed yelping on its track; and after that again he brought out a little serving-boy and bade him to follow dog and hare up the thread. Then out of another bag he had with him he brought out a beautiful, well-dressed young woman, and bade her to follow after the hound and the boy, and to take care and not let the hare be torn by the dog. She went up then quickly after them, and it was a delight to Tadg O'Cealaigh to be looking at them and to be listening to the sound of the hunt going on in the air. All was quiet then for a long time, and then the man of tricks said: "I am afraid there is some bad work going on up there." "What is that?" said O'Cealaigh. "I am thinking," said he, "the hound might be eating the hare, and the serving-boy courting the girl." "It is likely enough they are," said O'Cealaigh. With that the stranger drew in the thread, and it is what he found, the boy making love to the girl and the hound chewing the bones of the hare. There was great anger on the man of tricks when he saw that, and he took his sword and struck the head off the boy. "I do not like a thing of that sort to be done in my presence," said Tadg O'Cealaigh. "If it did not please you, I can set all right again," said the stranger. And with that he took up the head and made a cast of it at the body, and it joined to it, and the young man stood up, but if he did his face was turned backwards. "It would be better for him to be dead than to be living like that," said O'Cealaigh. When the man of tricks heard that, he took hold of the boy and twisted his head straight, and he was as well as before. And with that the man of tricks vanished, and no one saw where was he gone. That is the way Manannan used to be going round Ireland, doing tricks and wonders. And no one could keep him in any place, and if he was put on a gallows itself, he would be found safe in the house after, and some other man on the gallows in his place. But he did no harm, and those that would be put to death by him, he would bring them to life again with a herb out of his bag. And all the food he would use would be a vessel of sour milk and a few crab-apples. And there never was any music sweeter than the music he used to be playing. CHAPTER X. HIS CALL TO BRAN And there were some that went to Manannan's country beyond the sea, and that gave an account of it afterwards. One time Bran, son of Febal, was out by himself near his dun, and he heard music behind him. And it kept always after him, and at last he fell asleep with the sweetness of the sound. And when he awoke from his sleep he saw beside him a branch of silver, and it having white blossoms, and the whiteness of the silver was the same as the whiteness of the blossoms. And he brought the branch in his hand into the royal house, and when all his people were with him they saw a woman with strange clothing standing in the house. And she began to make a song for Bran, and all the people were looking at her and listening to her, and it is what she said: "I bring a branch of the apple-tree from Emhain, from the far island around which are the shining horses of the Son of Lir. A delight of the eyes is the plain where the hosts hold their games; curragh racing against chariot in the White Silver Plain to the south. "There are feet of white bronze under it, shining through life and time; a comely level land through the length of the world's age, and many blossoms falling on it. "There is an old tree there with blossoms, and birds calling from among them; every colour is shining there, delight is common, and music, in the Gentle-Voiced Plain, in the Silver Cloud Plain to the south. "Keening is not used, or treachery, in the tilled familiar land; there is nothing hard or rough, but sweet music striking on the ear. "To be without grief, without sorrow, without death, without any sickness, without weakness; that is the sign of Emhain; it is not common wonder that is. "There is nothing to liken its mists to, the sea washes the wave against the land; brightness falls from its hair. "There are riches, there are treasures of every colour in the Gentle Land, the Bountiful Land. Sweet music to be listening to; the best of wine to drink. "Golden chariots in the Plain of the Sea, rising up to the sun with the tide; silver chariots and bronze chariots on the Plain of Sports. "Gold-yellow horses on the strand, and crimson horses, and others with wool on their backs, blue like the colour of the sky. "It is a day of lasting weather, silver is dropping on the land; a pure white cliff on the edge of the sea, getting its warmth from the sun. "The host race over the Plain of Sports; it is beautiful and not weak their game is; death or the ebbing of the tide will not come to them in the Many-Coloured Land. "There will come at sunrise a fair man, lighting up the level lands; he rides upon the plain that is beaten by the waves, he stirs the sea till it is like blood. "An army will come over the clear sea, rowing to the stone that is in sight, that a hundred sounds of music come from. "It sings a song to the army; it is not sad through the length of time; it increases music with hundreds singing together; they do not look for death or the ebb-tide. "There are three times fifty far islands in the ocean to the west of us, and every one of them twice or three times more than Ireland. "It is not to all of you I am speaking, though I have made all these wonders known. Let Bran listen from the crowd of the world to all the wisdom that has been told him. "Do not fall upon a bed of sloth; do not be overcome by drunkenness; set out on your voyage over the clear sea, and you may chance to come to the Land of Women." With that the woman went from them, and they did not know where she went. And she brought away her branch with her, for it leaped into her hand from Bran's hand, and he had not the strength to hold it. Then on the morrow Bran set out upon the sea, and three companies of nine along with him; and one of his foster-brothers and comrades was set over each company of nine. And when they had been rowing for two days and two nights, they saw a man coming towards them in a chariot, over the sea. And the man made himself known to them, and he said that he was Manannan, son of Lir. And then Manannan spoke to him in a song, and it is what he said: "It is what Bran thinks, he is going in his curragh over the wonderful, beautiful clear sea; but to me, from far off in my chariot, it is a flowery plain he is riding on. "What is a clear sea to the good boat Bran is in, is a happy plain with many flowers to me in my two-wheeled chariot. "It is what Bran sees, many waves beating across the clear sea; it is what I myself see, red flowers without any fault. "The sea-horses are bright in summer-time, as far as Bran's eyes can reach; there is a wood of beautiful acorns under the head of your little boat. "A wood with blossom and with fruit, that has the smell of wine; a wood without fault, without withering, with leaves of the colour of gold. "Let Bran row on steadily, it is not far to the Land of Women; before the setting of the sun you will reach Emhain, of many-coloured hospitality." With that Bran went from him; and after a while he saw an island, and he rowed around it, and there was a crowd on it, wondering at them, and laughing; and they were all looking at Bran and at his people, but they would not stop to talk with them, but went on giving out gusts of laughter. Bran put one of his men on the island then, but he joined with the others, and began to stare the same way as the men of the island. And Bran went on rowing round about the island; and whenever they went past his own man, his comrades would speak to him, but he would not answer them, but would only stare and wonder at them. So they went away and left him on that island that is called the Island of Joy. It was not long after that they reached to the Land of Women. And they saw the chief one of the women at the landing-place, and it is what she said: "Come hither to land, Bran, son of Febal, it is welcome your coming is." But Bran did not dare to go on shore. Then the woman threw a ball of thread straight to him, and he caught it in his hand, and it held fast to his palm, and the woman kept the thread in her own hand, and she pulled the curragh to the landing-place. On that they went into a grand house, where there was a bed for every couple, three times nine beds. And the food that was put on every dish never came to an end, and they had every sort of food and of drink they wished for. And it seemed to them they were only a year there when the desire of home took hold on one of them, Nechtan, son of Collbrain, and his kinsmen were begging and praying Bran to go back with him to Ireland. The woman said there would be repentance on them if they went; but in spite of that they set out in the end. And the woman said to them not to touch the land when they would come to Ireland, and she bade them to visit and to bring with them the man they left in the Island of Joy. So they went on towards Ireland till they came to a place called Srub Bruin. And there were people on the strand that asked them who they were that were coming over the sea. And Bran said: "I am Bran, son of Febal." But the people said: "We know of no such man, though the voyage of Bran is in our very old stories." Then Nechtan, son of Collbrain, made a leap out of the curragh, and no sooner did he touch the shore of Ireland than he was a heap of ashes, the same as if he had been in the earth through hundreds of years. And then Bran told the whole story of his wanderings to the people, from the beginning. And after that he bade them farewell, and his wanderings from that time are not known. CHAPTER XI. HIS THREE CALLS TO CORMAC And another that went to Manannan's country was Cormac, grandson of Conn, King of Teamhair, and this is the way it happened. He was by himself in Teamhair one time, and he saw an armed man coming towards him, quiet, with high looks, and having grey hair; a shirt ribbed with gold thread next his skin, broad shoes of white bronze between his feet and the ground, a shining branch, having nine apples of red gold, on his shoulder. And it is delightful the sound of that branch was, and no one on earth would keep in mind any want, or trouble, or tiredness, when that branch was shaken for him; and whatever trouble there might be on him, he would forget it at the sound. Then Cormac and the armed man saluted one another, and Cormac asked where did he come from. "I come," he said, "from a country where there is nothing but truth, and where there is neither age nor withering away, nor heaviness, nor sadness, nor jealousy nor envy, nor pride." "That is not so with us," said Cormac, "and I would be well pleased to have your friendship," he said. "I am well pleased to give it," said the stranger. "Give me your branch along with it," said Cormac. "I will give it," said the stranger, "if you will give me the three gifts I ask in return." "I will give them to you indeed," said Cormac. Then the strange man left the branch and went away, and Cormac did not know where was he gone to. He went back then into the royal house, and there was wonder on all the people when they saw the branch. And he shook it at them, and it put them all asleep from that day to the same time on the morrow. At the end of a year the strange man came back again, and he asked for the first of his three requests. "You will get it," said Cormac. "I will take your daughter, Aille, to-day," said the stranger. So he brought away the girl with him, and the women of Ireland gave three loud cries after the king's daughter. But Cormac shook the branch at them, until it put away sorrow from them, and put them all into their sleep. That day month the stranger came again, and he brought Cormac's son, Carpre Lifecar, away with him. There was crying and lamenting without end in Teamhair after the boy, and on that night no one ate or slept, and they were all under grief and very downhearted. But when Cormac shook the branch their sorrow went from them. Then the stranger came the third time, and Cormac asked him what did he want. "It is your wife, Ethne, I am asking this time," he said. And he went away then, bringing Ethne, the queen, along with him. But Cormac would not bear that, and he went after them, and all his people were following him. But in the middle of the Plain of the Wall, a thick mist came on them, and when it was gone, Cormac found himself alone on a great plain. And he saw a great dun in the middle of the plain, with a wall of bronze around it, and in the dun a house of white silver, and it half thatched with the white wings of birds. And there was a great troop of the Riders of the Sidhe all about the house, and their arms full of white birds' wings for thatching. But as soon as they would put on the thatch, a blast of wind would come and carry it away again. Then he saw a man kindling a fire, and he used to throw a thick oak-tree upon it. And when he would come back with a second tree, the first one would be burned out. "I will be looking at you no longer," Cormac said then, "for there is no one here to tell me your story, and I think I could find good sense in your meanings if I understood them," he said. Then he went on to where there was another dun, very large and royal, and another wall of bronze around it, and four houses within it. And he went in and saw a great king's house, having beams of bronze and walls of silver, and its thatch of the wings of white birds. And then he saw on the green a shining well, and five streams flowing from it, and the armies drinking water in turn, and the nine lasting purple hazels of Buan growing over it. And they were dropping their nuts into the water, and the five salmon would catch them and send their husks floating down the streams. And the sound of the flowing of those streams is sweeter than any music that men sing. Then he went into the palace, and he found there waiting for him a man and a woman, very tall, and having clothes of many colours. The man was beautiful as to shape, and his face wonderful to look at; and as to the young woman that was with him, she was the loveliest of all the women of the world, and she having yellow hair and a golden helmet. And there was a bath there, and heated stones going in and out of the water of themselves, and Cormac bathed himself in it. "Rise up, man of the house," the woman said after that, "for this is a comely traveller is come to us; and if you have one kind of food or meat better than another, let it be brought in." The man rose up then and he said: "I have but seven pigs, but I could feed the whole world with them, for the pig that is killed and eaten to-day, you will find it alive again to-morrow." Another man came into the house then, having an axe in his right hand, and a log in his left hand, and a pig behind him. "It is time to make ready," said the man of the house, "for we have a high guest with us to-day." Then the man struck the pig and killed it, and he cut the logs and made a fire and put the pig on it in a cauldron. "It is time for you to turn it," said the master of the house after a while. "There would be no use doing that," said the man, "for never and never will the pig be boiled until a truth is told for every quarter of it." "Then let you tell yours first," said the master of the house. "One day," said the man, "I found another man's cows in my land, and I brought them with me into a cattle pound. The owner of the cows followed me, and he said he would give me a reward to let the cows go free. So I gave them back to him, and he gave me an axe, and when a pig is to be killed, it is with the axe it is killed, and the log is cut with it, and there is enough wood to boil the pig, and enough for the palace besides. And that is not all, for the log is found whole again in the morning. And from that time till now, that is the way they are." "It is true indeed that story is," said the man of the house. They turned the pig in the cauldron then, and but one quarter of it was found to be cooked. "Let us tell another true story," they said. "I will tell one," said the master of the house. "Ploughing time had come, and when we had a mind to plough that field outside, it is the way we found it, ploughed, and harrowed, and sowed with wheat. When we had a mind to reap it, the wheat was found in the haggard, all in one thatched rick. We have been using it from that day to this, and it is no bigger and no less." Then they turned the pig, and another quarter was found to be ready. "It is my turn now," said the woman. "I have seven cows," she said, "and seven sheep. And the milk of the seven cows would satisfy the whole of the men of the world, if they were in the plain drinking it, and it is enough for all the people of the Land of Promise, and it is from the wool of the seven sheep all the clothes they wear are made." And at that story the third quarter of the pig was boiled. "If these stories are true," said Cormac to the man of the house, "you are Manannan, and this is Manannan's wife; for no one on the whole ridge of the world owns these treasures but himself. It was to the Land of Promise he went to look for that woman, and he got those seven cows with her." They said to Cormac that it was his turn now. So Cormac told them how his wife, and his son, and his daughter, had been brought away from him, and how he himself had followed them till he came to that place. And with that the whole pig was boiled, and they cut it up, and Cormac's share was put before him. "I never used a meal yet," said he, "having two persons only in my company." The man of the house began singing to him then, and put him asleep. And when he awoke, he saw fifty armed men, and his son, and his wife, and his daughter, along with them. There was great gladness and courage on him then, and ale and food were given out to them all. And there was a gold cup put in the hand of the master of the house, and Cormac was wondering at it, for the number of the shapes on it, and for the strangeness of the work. "There is a stranger thing yet about it," the man said; "let three lying words be spoken under it, and it will break into three, and then let three true words be spoken under it, and it will be as good as before." So he said three lying words under it, and it broke in three pieces. "It is best to speak truth now under it," he said, "and to mend it. And I give my word, Cormac," he said, "that until to-day neither your wife or your daughter has seen the face of a man since they were brought away from you out of Teamhair, and that your son has never seen the face of a woman." And with that the cup was whole again on the moment. "Bring away your wife and your children with you now," he said, "and this cup along with them, the way you will have it for judging between truth and untruth. And I will leave the branch with you for music and delight, but on the day of your death they will be taken from you again." "And I myself," he said, "am Manannan, son of Lir, King of the Land of Promise, and I brought you here by enchantments that you might be with me to-night in friendship. "And the Riders you saw thatching the house," he said, "are the men of art and poets, and all that look for a fortune in Ireland, putting together cattle and riches. For when they go out, all that they leave in their houses goes to nothing, and so they go on for ever. "And the man you saw kindling the fire," he said, "is a young lord that is more liberal than he can afford, and every one else is served while he is getting the feast ready, and every one else profiting by it. "And the well you saw is the Well of Knowledge, and the streams are the five streams through which all knowledge goes. And no one will have knowledge who does not drink a draught out of the well itself or out of the streams. And the people of many arts are those who drink from them all." And on the morning of the morrow, when Cormac rose up, he found himself on the green of Teamhair, and his wife, and his son, and his daughter, along with him, and he having his branch and his cup. And it was given the name of Cormac's Cup, and it used to judge between truth and falsehood among the Gael. But it was not left in Ireland after the night of Cormac's death, as Manannan had foretold him. CHAPTER XII. CLIODNA'S WAVE And it was in the time of the Fianna of Ireland that Ciabhan of the Curling Hair, the king of Ulster's son, went to Manannan's country. Ciabhan now was the most beautiful of the young men of the world at that time, and he was as far beyond all other kings' sons as the moon is beyond the stars. And Finn liked him well, but the rest of the Fianna got to be tired of him because there was not a woman of their women, wed or unwed, but gave him her love. And Finn had to send him away at the last, for he was in dread of the men of the Fianna because of the greatness of their jealousy. So Ciabhan went on till he came to the Strand of the Cairn, that is called now the Strand of the Strong Man, between Dun Sobairce and the sea. And there he saw a curragh, and it having a narrow stern of copper. And Ciabhan got into the curragh, and his people said: "Is it to leave Ireland you have a mind, Ciabhan?" "It is indeed," he said, "for in Ireland I get neither shelter or protection." He bade farewell to his people then, and he left them very sorrowful after him, for to part with him was like the parting of life from the body. And Ciabhan went on in the curragh, and great white shouting waves rose up about him, every one of them the size of a mountain; and the beautiful speckled salmon that are used to stop in the sand and the shingle rose up to the sides of the curragh, till great dread came on Ciabhan, and he said: "By my word, if it was on land I was I could make a better fight for myself" And he was in this danger till he saw a rider coming towards him on a dark grey horse having a golden bridle, and he would be under the sea for the length of nine waves, and he would rise with the tenth wave, and no wet on him at all. And he said: "What reward would you give to whoever would bring you out of this great danger?" "Is there anything in my hand worth offering you?" said Ciabhan. "There is," said the rider, "that you would give your service to whoever would give you his help." Ciabhan agreed to that, and he put his hand into the rider's hand. With that the rider drew him on to the horse, and the curragh came on beside them till they reached to the shore of Tir Tairngaire, the Land of Promise. They got off the horse there, and came to Loch Luchra, the Lake of the Dwarfs, and to Manannan's city, and a feast was after being made ready there, and comely serving-boys were going round with smooth horns, and playing on sweet-sounding harps till the whole house was filled with the music. Then there came in clowns, long-snouted, long-heeled, lean and bald and red, that used to be doing tricks in Manannan's house. And one of these tricks was, a man of them to take nine straight willow rods, and to throw them up to the rafters of the house, and to catch them again as they came down, and he standing on one leg, and having but one hand free. And they thought no one could do that trick but themselves, and they were used to ask strangers to do it, the way they could see them fail. So this night when one of them had done the trick, he came up to Ciabhan, that was beyond all the Men of Dea or the Sons of the Gael that were in the house, in shape and in walk and in name, and he put the nine rods in his hand. And Ciabhan stood up and he did the feat before them all, the same as if he had never learned to do any other thing. Now Gebann, that was a chief Druid in Manannan's country, had a daughter, Cliodna of the Fair Hair, that had never given her love to any man. But when she saw Ciabhan she gave him her love, and she agreed to go away with him on the morrow. And they went down to the landing-place and got into a curragh, and they went on till they came to Teite's Strand in the southern part of Ireland. It was from Teite Brec the Freckled the strand got its name, that went there one time for a wave game, and three times fifty young girls with her, and they were all drowned in that place. And as to Ciabhan, he came on shore, and went looking for deer, as was right, under the thick branches of the wood; and he left the young girl in the boat on the strand. But the people of Manannan's house came after them, having forty ships. And Iuchnu, that was in the curragh with Cliodna, did treachery, and he played music to her till she lay down in the boat and fell asleep. And then a great wave came up on the strand and swept her away. And the wave got its name from Cliodna of the Fair Hair, that will be long remembered. CHAPTER XIII. HIS CALL TO CONNLA And it is likely it was Manannan sent his messenger for Connla of the Red Hair the time he went away out of Ireland, for it is to his country Connla was brought; and this is the way he got the call. It chanced one day he was with his father Conn, King of Teamhair, on the Hill of Uisnach, and he saw a woman having wonderful clothing coming towards him. "Where is it you come from?" he asked her. "I come," she said, "from Tir-nam-Beo, the Land of the Ever-Living Ones, where no death comes. We use feasts that are lasting," she said, "and we do every kind thing without quarrelling, and we are called the people of the Sidhe." "Who are you speaking to, boy?" said Conn to him then, for no one saw the strange woman but only Connla. "He is speaking to a high woman that death or old age will never come to," she said. "I am asking him to come to Magh Mell, the Pleasant Plain where the triumphant king is living, and there he will be a king for ever without sorrow or fret. Come with me, Connla of the Red Hair," she said, "of the fair freckled neck and of the ruddy cheek; come with me, and your body will not wither from its youth and its comeliness for ever." They could all hear the woman's words then, though they could not see her, and it is what Conn said to Coran his Druid: "Help me, Coran, you that sing spells of the great arts. There is an attack made on me that is beyond my wisdom and beyond my power, I never knew so strong an attack since the first day I was a king. There is an unseen figure fighting with me; she is using her strength against me to bring away my beautiful son; the call of a woman is bringing him away from the hands of the king." Then Coran, the Druid, began singing spells against the woman of the Sidhe, the way no one would hear her voice, and Connla could not see her any more. But when she was being driven away by the spells of the Druid, she threw an apple to Connla. And through the length of a month from that time, Connla used no other food nor drink but that apple, for he thought no other food or drink worth the using. And for all he ate of it, the apple grew no smaller, but was whole all the while. And there was great trouble on Connla on account of the woman he had seen. And at the end of a month Connla was at his father's side in Magh Archomnim, and he saw the same woman coming towards him, and it is what she said: "It is a high place indeed Connla has among dying people, and death before him. But the Ever-Living Living Ones," she said, "are asking you to take the sway over the people of Tethra, for they are looking at you every day in the gatherings of your country among your dear friends." When Conn, the king, heard her voice, he said to his people: "Call Coran, the Druid to me, for I hear the sound of the woman's voice again." But on that she said: "O Conn, fighter of a hundred, it is little love and little respect the wonderful tribes of Traig Mor, the Great Strand, have for Druids; and where its law comes, it scatters the spells on their lips." Then Conn looked to his son Connla to see what he would say, and Connla said: "My own people are dearer to me than any other thing, yet sorrow has taken hold of me because of this woman." Then the woman spoke to him again, and it is what she said: "Come now into my shining ship, if you will come to the Plain of Victory. There is another country it would not be worse for you to look for; though the bright sun is going down, we shall reach to that country before night. That is the country that delights the mind of every one that turns to me. There is no living race in it but women and girls only." And when the woman had ended her song, Connla made a leap from his people into the shining boat, and they saw him sailing away from them far off and as if in a mist, as far as their eyes could see. It is away across the sea they went, and they have never come back again, and only the gods know where was it they went. CHAPTER XIV. TADG IN MANANNAN'S ISLANDS And another that went to the Land of the Ever-Living Ones, but that came back again, was Tadg, son of Cian, son of Olioll; and this is the way that happened. It was one time Tadg was going his next heir's round, into the west of Munster, and his two brothers, Airnelach and Eoghan, along with him. And Cathmann, son of Tabarn, that was king of the beautiful country of Fresen that lay to the south-east of the Great Plain, was searching the sea for what he could find just at that time, and nine of his ships with him. And they landed at Beire do Bhunadas, to the west of Munster, and the country had no stir in it, and so they slipped ashore, and no one took notice of them till all were surrounded, both men and cattle. And Tadg's wife Liban, daughter of Conchubar Abratrudh of the Red Brows, and his two brothers, and a great many of the people of Munster, were taken by the foreigners and brought away to the coasts of Fresen. And Cathmann took Liban to be his own wife, and he put hardship on Tadg's two brothers: Eoghan he put to work a common ferry across a channel of the coast, and Airnelach to cut firing and to keep up fires for all the people; and all the food they got was barley seed and muddy water. And as to Tadg himself, it was only by his courage and the use of his sword he made his escape, but there was great grief and discouragement on him, his wife and his brothers to have been brought away. But he had forty of his fighting men left that had each killed a man of the foreigners, and they had brought one in alive. And this man told them news of the country he came from. And when Tadg heard that, he made a plan in his own head, and he gave orders for a curragh to be built that would be fit for a long voyage. Very strong it was, and forty ox-hides on it of hard red leather, that was after being soaked in bark. And it was well fitted with masts, and oars, and pitch, and everything that was wanting. And they put every sort of meat, and drink, and of clothes in it, that would last them through the length of a year. When all was ready, and the curragh out in the tide, Tadg said to his people: "Let us set out now on the high sea, looking for our own people that are away from us this long time." They set out then over the stormy, heavy flood, till at last they saw no land before them or behind them, but only the hillsides of the great sea. And farther on again they heard the singing of a great flock of unknown birds; and pleasant white-bellied salmon were leaping about the curragh on every side, and seals, very big and dark, were coming after them, breaking through the shining wash of the oars; and great whales after them again, so that the young men liked to be looking at them, for they were not used to see the like before. They went on rowing through twenty days and twenty nights, and at the end of that time they got sight of a high land, having a smooth coast. And when they reached it they all landed, and they pulled up the curragh and lit their fires, and food was given out to them, and they were not long making an end of it. They made beds for themselves then on the beautiful green grass, and enjoyed their sleep till the rising of the sun on the morrow. Tadg rose up then and put on his arms, and went out, and thirty of his men along with him, to search the whole island. They went all through it, but they found no living thing on it, man or beast, but only flocks of sheep. And the size of the sheep was past all telling, as big as horses they were, and the whole island was filled with their wool. And there was one great flock beyond all the others, all of very big rams, and one of them was biggest of all, nine horns he had, and he charged on Tadg's chief men, attacking them and butting at them. There was vexation on them then, and they attacked him again, and there was a struggle between them. And at the first the ram broke through five of their shields. But Tadg took his spear that there was no escape from, and made a lucky cast at the ram and killed him. And they brought the ram to the curragh and made it ready for the young men to eat, and they stopped three nights on the island, and every night it was a sheep they had for their food. And they gathered a good share of the wool and put it in the curragh because of the wonder and the beauty of it. And they found the bones of very big men on the island, but whether they died of sickness or were killed by the rams they did not know. They left that island then and went forward till they found two strange islands where there were great flocks of wonderful birds, like blackbirds, and some of them the size of eagles or of cranes, and they red with green heads on them, and the eggs they had were blue and pure crimson. And some of the men began eating the eggs, and on the moment feathers began to grow out on them. But they went bathing after that, and the feathers dropped off them again as quick as they came. It was the foreigner they had with them gave them the course up to this time, for he had been on the same track before. But now they went on through the length of six weeks and never saw land, and he said then, "We are astray on the great ocean that has no boundaries." Then the wind with its sharp voice began to rise, and there was a noise like the tramping of feet in the sea, and it rose up into great mountains hard to climb, and there was great fear on Tadg's people, for they had never seen the like. But he began to stir them up and to rouse them, and he bade them to meet the sea like men. "Do bravery," he said, "young men of Munster, and fight for your lives against the waves that are rising up and coming at the sides of the curragh." Tadg took one side of the curragh then and his men took the other side, and he was able to pull it round against the whole twenty-nine of them, and to bale it out and keep it dry along with that. And after a while they got a fair wind and put up their sail, the way less water came into the curragh, and then the sea went down and lay flat and calm, and there were strange birds of many shapes singing around them in every part. They saw land before them then, with a good coast, and with that courage and gladness came on them. And when they came nearer to the land they found a beautiful inver, a river's mouth, with green hills about it, and the bottom of it sandy and as bright as silver, and red-speckled salmon in it, and pleasant woods with purple tree-tops edging the stream. "It is a beautiful country this is," said Tadg, "and it would be happy for him that would be always in it; and let you pull up the ship now," he said, "and dry it out." A score of them went forward then into the country, and a score stopped to mind the curragh. And for all the cold and discouragement and bad weather they had gone through, they felt no wish at all for food or for fire, but the sweet smell of the crimson branches in the place they were come to satisfied them. They went on through the wood, and after a while they came to an apple garden having red apples in it, and leafy oak-trees, and hazels yellow with nuts. "It is a wonder to me," said Tadg, "to find summer here, and it winter time in our own country." It was a delightful place they were in, but they went on into another wood, very sweet smelling, and round purple berries in it, every one of them bigger than a man's head, and beautiful shining birds eating the berries, strange birds they were, having white bodies and purple heads and golden beaks. And while they were eating the berries they were singing sweet music, that would have put sick men and wounded men into their sleep. Tadg and his men went farther on again till they came to a great smooth flowery plain with a dew of honey over it, and three steep hills on the plain, having a very strong dun on every one of them. And when they got to the nearest hill they found a white-bodied woman, the best of the women of the whole world, and it is what she said: "Your coming is welcome, Tadg, son of Cian, and there will be food and provision for you as you want it." "I am glad of that welcome," said Tadg; "and tell me now, woman of sweet words," he said, "what is that royal dun on the hill, having walls of white marble around it?" "That is the dun of the royal line of the kings of Ireland, from Heremon, son of Miled, to Conn of the Hundred Battles, that was the last to go into it." "What is the name of this country?" Tadg said then. "It is Inislocha, the Lake Island," she said, "and there are two kings over it, Rudrach and Dergcroche, sons of Bodb." And then she told Tadg the whole story of Ireland, to the time of the coming of the Sons of the Gael. "That is well," said Tadg then, "and you have good knowledge and learning. And tell me now," he said, "who is living in that middle dun that has the colour of gold?" "It is not myself will tell you that," she said, "but go on to it yourself and you will get knowledge of it." And with that she went from them into the dun of white marble. Tadg and his men went on then till they came to the middle dun, and there they found a queen of beautiful shape, and she wearing a golden dress. "Health to you, Tadg," she said. "I thank you for that," said Tadg. "It is a long time your coming on this journey was foretold," she said. "What is your name?" he asked then. "I am Cesair," she said, "the first that ever reached Ireland. But since I and the men that were with me came out of that dark, unquiet land, we are living for ever in this country." "Tell me, woman," said Tadg, "who is it lives in that dun having a wall of gold about it?" "It is not hard to tell that," she said, "every king, and every chief man, and every noble person that was in a high place of all those that had power in Ireland, it is in that dun beyond they are; Parthalon and Nemed, Firbolgs and Tuatha de Danaan." "It is good knowledge and learning you have," said Tadg. "Indeed I have good knowledge of the history of the world," she said, "and this island," she said, "is the fourth paradise of the world; and as to the others, they are Inis Daleb to the south, and Inis Ercandra to the north, and Adam's Paradise in the east of the world." "Who is there living in that dun with the silver walls?" said Tadg then. "I will not tell you that, although I have knowledge of it," said the woman; "but go to the beautiful hill where it is, and you will get knowledge of it." They went on then to the third hill, and on the top of the hill was a very beautiful resting-place, and two sweethearts there, a boy and a girl, comely and gentle. Smooth hair they had, shining like gold, and beautiful green clothes of the one sort, and any one would think them to have had the same father and mother. Gold chains they had around their necks, and bands of gold above those again. And Tadg spoke to them: "O bright, comely children," he said, "it is a pleasant place you have here." And they answered him back, and they were praising his courage and his strength and his wisdom, and they gave him their blessing. And it is how the young man was, he had a sweet-smelling apple, having the colour of gold, in his hand, and he would eat a third part of it, and with all he would eat, it would never be less. And that was the food that nourished the two of them, and neither age or sorrow could touch them when once they had tasted it. "Who are you yourself?" Tadg asked him then. "I am son to Conn of the Hundred Battles," he said. "Is it Connla you are?" said Tadg. "I am indeed," said the young man, "and it is this girl of many shapes that brought me here." And the girl said: "I have given him my love and my affection, and it is because of that I brought him to this place, the way we might be looking at one another for ever, and beyond that we have never gone." "That is a beautiful thing and a strange thing," said Tadg, "and a thing to wonder at. And who is there in that grand dun with the silver walls?" he said. "There is no one at all in it," said the girl. "What is the reason of that?" said Tadg. "It is for the kings that are to rule Ireland yet," she said; "and there will be a place in it for yourself, Tadg. And come now," she said, "till you see it." The lovers went on to the dun, and it is hardly the green grass was bent under their white feet. And Tadg and his people went along with them. They came then to the great wonderful house that was ready for the company of the kings; it is a pleasant house that was, and any one would like to be in it. Walls of white bronze it had, set with crystal and with carbuncles, that were shining through the night as well as through the day. Tadg looked out from the house then, and he saw to one side of him a great sheltering apple-tree, and blossoms and ripe fruit on it. "What is that apple tree beyond?" said Tadg. "It is the fruit of that tree is food for the host in this house," said the woman. "And it was an apple of that apple-tree brought Connla here to me; a good tree it is, with its white-blossomed branches, and its golden apples that would satisfy the whole house." And then Connla and the young girl left them, and they saw coming towards them a troop of beautiful women. And there was one among them was most beautiful of all, and when she was come to them she said: "A welcome to you, Tadg." "I thank you for that welcome," said Tadg; "and tell me," he said, "who are you yourself?" "I am Cliodna of the Fair Hair," she said, "daughter of Gebann, son of Treon, of the Tuatha de Danaan, a sweetheart of Ciabhan of the Curling Hair; and it is from me Cliodna's wave on the coast of Munster got its name; and I am a long time now in this island, and it is the apples of that tree you saw that we use for food." And Tadg was well pleased to be listening to her talk, but after a while he said: "It is best for us to go on now to look for our people." "We will be well pleased if you stop longer with us," said the woman. And while she was saying those words they saw three beautiful birds coming to them, one of them blue and his head crimson, and one was crimson and his head green, and the third was speckled and his head the colour of gold, and they lit on the great apple-tree, and every bird of them ate an apple, and they sang sweet music then, that would put sick men into their sleep. "Those birds will go with you," Cliodna said then; "they will give you guidance on your way, and they will make music for you, and there will be neither sorrow or sadness on you, by land or by sea, till you come to Ireland. And bring away this beautiful green cup with you," she said, "for there is power in it, and if you do but pour water into it, it will be turned to wine on the moment. And do not let it out of your hand," she said, "but keep it with you; for at whatever time it will escape from you, your death will not be far away. And it is where you will meet your death, in the green valley at the side of the Boinn; and it is a wandering wild deer will give you a wound, and after that, it is strangers will put an end to you. And I myself will bury your body, and there will be a hill over it, and the name it will get is Croidhe Essu." They went out of the shining house then, and Cliodna of the Fair Hair went with them to the place they had left their ship, and she bade their comrades a kindly welcome; and she asked them how long had they been in that country. "It seems to us," they said, "we are not in it but one day only." "You are in it through the whole length of a year," said she, "and through all that time you used neither food nor drink. But however long you would stop here," she said, "cold or hunger would never come on you." "It would be a good thing to live this way always," said Tadg's people when they heard that. But he himself said: "It is best for us to go on and to look for our people. And we must leave this country, although it is displeasing to us to leave it." Then Cliodna and Tadg bade farewell to one another, and she gave her blessing to him and to his people. And they set out then over the ridges of the sea; and they were downhearted after leaving that country until the birds began to sing for them, and then their courage rose up, and they were glad and light-hearted. And when they looked back they could not see the island they had come from, because of a Druid mist that came on it and hid it from them. Then by the leading of the birds they came to the country of Fresen, and they were in a deep sleep through the whole voyage. And then they attacked the foreigners and got the better of them, and Tadg killed Cathmann, the king, after a hard fight; and Liban his wife made no delay, and came to meet her husband and her sweetheart, and it is glad she was to see him. And after they had rested a while they faced the sea again, and Tadg and his wife Liban, and his two brothers, and a great many other treasures along with them, and they came home to Ireland safely at the last. CHAPTER XV. LAEGAIRE IN THE HAPPY PLAIN And another that went to visit Magh Mell, the Happy Plain, was Laegaire, son of the King of Connacht, Crimthan Cass. He was out one day with the king, his father, near Loch na-n Ean, the Lake of Birds, and the men of Connacht with them, and they saw a man coming to them through the mist. Long golden-yellow hair he had, and it streaming after him, and at his belt a gold-hilted sword, and in his hand two five-barbed darts, a gold-rimmed shield on his back, a five-folded crimson cloak about his shoulders. "Give a welcome to the man that is coming towards you," said Laegaire, that had the best name of all the men of Connacht, to his people. And to the stranger he said: "A welcome to the champion we do not know." "I am thankful to you all," said he. "What is it you are come for, and where are you going?" said Laegaire then. "I am come to look for the help of fighting men," said the stranger. "And my name," he said, "is Fiachna, son of Betach, of the men of the Sidhe; and it is what ails me, my wife was taken from my pillow and brought away by Eochaid, son of Sal. And we fought together, and I killed him, and now she is gone to a brother's son of his, Goll, son of Dalbh, king of a people of Magh Mell. Seven battles I gave him, but they all went against me; and on this very day there is another to be fought, and I am come to ask help. And to every one that deserves it, I will give a good reward of gold and of silver for that help." And it is what he said: "The most beautiful of plains is the Plain of the Two Mists; it is not far from this; it is a host of the men of the Sidhe full of courage are stirring up pools of blood upon it. "We have drawn red blood from the bodies of high nobles; many women are keening them with cries and with tears. "The men of the host in good order go out ahead of their beautiful king; they march among blue spears, white troops of fighters with curled hair. "They scatter the troops of their enemies, they destroy every country they make an attack on; they are beautiful in battle, a host with high looks, rushing, avenging. "It is no wonder they to have such strength: every one of them is the son of a king and a queen; manes of hair they have of the colour of gold. "Their bodies smooth and comely; their eyes blue and far-seeing; their teeth bright like crystal, within their thin red lips. "White shields they have in their hands, with patterns on them of white silver; blue shining swords, red horns set with gold. "They are good at killing men in battle; good at song-making, good at chess-playing. "The most beautiful of plains is the Plain of the Two Mists; the men of the Sidhe are stirring up pools of blood on it; it is not far from this place." "It would be a shameful thing not to give our help to this man," said Laegaire. Fiachna, son of Betach, went down into the lake then, for it was out of it he had come, and Laegaire went down into it after him, and fifty fighting men along with him. They saw a strong place before them then, and a company of armed men, and Goll, son of Dalbh, at the head of them. "That is well," said Laegaire, "I and my fifty men will go out against this troop." "I will answer you," said Goll, son of Dalbh. The two fifties attacked one another then, and Goll fell, but Laegaire and his fifty escaped with their lives and made a great slaughter of their enemies, that not one of them made his escape. "Where is the woman now?" said Laegaire. "She is within the dun of Magh Mell, and a troop of armed men keeping guard about it," said Fiachna. "Let you stop here, and I and my fifty will go there," said Laegaire. So he and his men went on to the dun, and Laegaire called out to the men that were about it: "Your king has got his death, your chief men have fallen, let the woman come out, and I will give you your own lives." The men agreed to that, and they brought the woman out. And when she came out she made this complaint: "It is a sorrowful day that swords are reddened for the sake of the dear dead body of Goll, son of Dalbh. It was he that loved me, it was himself I loved, it is little Laegaire Liban cares for that. "Weapons were hacked and were split by Goll; it is to Fiachna, son of Betach, I must go; it is Goll son of Dalbh, I loved." And that complaint got the name of "The Lament of the Daughter of Eochaid the Dumb." Laegaire went back with her then till he put her hand in Fiachna's hand. And that night Fiachna's daughter, Deorgreine, a Tear of the Sun, was given to Laegaire as his wife, and fifty other women were given to his fifty fighting men, and they stopped with them there to the end of a year. And at the end of that time, Laegaire said: "Let us go and ask news of our own country." "If you have a mind to go," said Fiachna, "bring horses with you; but whatever happens," he said, "do not get off from them." So they set out then; and when they got back to Ireland, they found a great gathering of the whole of the men of Connacht that were keening them. And when the men of Connacht saw them coming they rose up to meet them, and to bid them welcome. But Laegaire called out: "Do not come to us, for it is to bid you farewell we are here." "Do not go from us again," said Crimthan, his father, "and I will give you the sway over the three Connachts, their silver and their gold, their horses and their bridles, and their beautiful women, if you will not go from us." And it is what Laegaire said: "In the place we are gone to, the armies move from kingdom to kingdom, they listen to the sweet-sounding music of the Sidhe, they drink from shining cups, we talk with those we love, it is beer that falls instead of rain. "We have brought from the dun of the Pleasant Plain thirty cauldrons, thirty drinking horns; we have brought the complaint that was sung by the Sea, by the daughter of Eochaid the Dumb. "There is a wife for every man of the fifty; my own wife to me is the Tear of the Sun; I am made master of a blue sword; I would not give for all your whole kingdom one night of the nights of the Sidhe." With that Laegaire turned from them, and went back to the kingdom. And he was made king there along with Fiachna, son of Betach, and his daughter, and he did not come out of it yet. BOOK FIVE: THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR Now at the time when the Tuatha de Danaan chose a king for themselves after the battle of Tailltin, and Lir heard the kingship was given to Bodb Dearg, it did not please him, and he left the gathering without leave and with no word to any one; for he thought it was he himself had a right to be made king. But if he went away himself, Bodb was given the kingship none the less, for not one of the five begrudged it to him but only Lir, And it is what they determined, to follow after Lir, and to burn down his house, and to attack himself with spear and sword, on account of his not giving obedience to the king they had chosen. "We will not do that," said Bodb Dearg, "for that man would defend any place he is in; and besides that," he said, "I am none the less king over the Tuatha de Danaan, although he does not submit to me." All went on like that for a good while, but at last a great misfortune came on Lir, for his wife died from him after a sickness of three nights. And that came very hard on Lir, and there was heaviness on his mind after her. And there was great talk of the death of that woman in her own time. And the news of it was told all through Ireland, and it came to the house of Bodb, and the best of the Men of Dea were with him at that time. And Bodb said: "If Lir had a mind for it," he said, "my help and my friendship would be good for him now, since his wife is not living to him. For I have here with me the three young girls of the best shape, and the best appearance, and the best name in all Ireland, Aobh, Aoife, and Ailbhe, the three daughters of Oilell of Aran, my own three nurselings." The Men of Dea said then it was a good thought he had, and that what he said was true. Messages and messengers were sent then from Bodb Dearg to the place Lir was, to say that if he had a mind to join with the Son of the Dagda and to acknowledge his lordship, he would give him a foster-child of his foster-children. And Lir thought well of the offer, and he set out on the morrow with fifty chariots from Sidhe Fionnachaidh; and he went by every short way till he came to Bodb's dwelling-place at Loch Dearg, and there was a welcome before him there, and all the people were merry and pleasant before him, and he and his people got good attendance that night. And the three daughters of Oilell of Aran were sitting on the one seat with Bodb Dearg's wife, the queen of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was their foster-mother. And Bodb said: "You may have your choice of the three young girls, Lir." "I cannot say," said Lir, "which one of them is my choice, but whichever of them is the eldest, she is the noblest, and it is best for me to take her." "If that is so," said Bodb, "it is Aobh is the eldest, and she will be given to you, if it is your wish." "It is my wish," he said. And he took Aobh for his wife that night, and he stopped there for a fortnight, and then he brought her away to his own house, till he would make a great wedding-feast. And in the course of time Aobh brought forth two children, a daughter and a son, Fionnuala and Aodh their names were. And after a while she was brought to bed again, and this time she gave birth to two sons, and they called them Fiachra and Conn. And she herself died at their birth. And that weighed very heavy on Lir, and only for the way his mind was set on his four children he would have gone near to die of grief. The news came to Bodb Dearg's place, and all the people gave out three loud, high cries, keening their nursling. And after they had keened her it is what Bodb Dearg said: "It is a fret to us our daughter to have died, for her own sake and for the sake of the good man we gave her to, for we are thankful for his friendship and his faithfulness. However," he said, "our friendship with one another will not be broken, for I will give him for a wife her sister Aoife." When Lir heard that, he came for the girl and married her, and brought her home to his house. And there was honour and affection with Aoife for her sister's children; and indeed no person at all could see those four children without giving them the heart's love. And Bodb Dearg used often to be going to Lir's house for the sake of those children; and he used to bring them to his own place for a good length of time, and then he would let them go back to their own place again. And the Men of Dea were at that time using the Feast of Age in every hill of the Sidhe in turn; and when they came to Lir's hill those four children were their joy and delight, for the beauty of their appearance; and it is where they used to sleep, in beds in sight of their father Lir. And he used to rise up at the break of every morning, and to lie down among his children. But it is what came of all this, that a fire of jealousy was kindled in Aoife, and she got to have a dislike and a hatred of her sister's children. Then she let on to have a sickness, that lasted through nearly the length of a year. And the end of that time she did a deed of jealousy and cruel treachery against the children of Lir. And one day she got her chariot yoked, and she took the four children in it, and they went forward towards the house of Bodb Dearg; but Fionnuala had no mind to go with her, for she knew by her she had some plan for their death or their destruction, and she had seen in a dream that there was treachery against them in Aoife's mind. But all the same she was not able to escape from what was before her. And when they were on their way Aoife said to her people: "Let you kill now," she said, "the four children of Lir, for whose sake their father has given up my love, and I will give you your own choice of a reward out of all the good things of the world." "We will not do that indeed," said they; "and it is a bad deed you have thought of, and harm will come to you out of it." And when they would not do as she bade them, she took out a sword herself to put an end to the children with; but she being a woman and with no good courage, and with no great strength in her mind, she was not able to do it. They went on then west to Loch Dairbhreach, the Lake of the Oaks, and the horses were stopped there. And Aoife bade the children of Lir to go out and bathe in the lake, and they did as she bade them. And as soon as Aoife saw them out in the lake she struck them with a Druid rod, and put on them the shape of four swans, white and beautiful. And it is what she said: "Out with you, children of the king, your luck is taken away from you for ever; it is sorrowful the story will be to your friends; it is with flocks of birds your cries will be heard for ever." And Fionnuala said: "Witch, we know now what your name is, you have struck us down with no hope of relief; but although you put us from wave to wave, there are times when we will touch the land. We shall get help when we are seen; help, and all that is best for us; even though we have to sleep upon the lake, it is our minds will be going abroad early." And then the four children of Lir turned towards Aoife, and it is what Fionnuala said: "It is a bad deed you have done, Aoife, and it is a bad fulfilling of friendship, you to destroy us without cause; and vengeance for it will come upon you, and you will fall in satisfaction for it, for your power for our destruction is not greater than the power of our friends to avenge it on you; and put some bounds now," she said, "to the time this enchantment is to stop on us." "I will do that," said Aoife, "and it is worse for you, you to have asked it of me. And the bounds I set to your time are this, till the Woman from the South and the Man from the North will come together. And since you ask to hear it of me," she said, "no friends and no power that you have will be able to bring you out of these shapes you are in through the length of your lives, until you have been three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach, and three hundred years on Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban, and three hundred years at Irrus Domnann and Inis Gluaire; and these are to be your journeys from this out," she said. But then repentance came on Aoife, and she said: "Since there is no other help for me to give you now, you may keep your own speech; and you will be singing sweet music of the Sidhe, that would put the men of the earth to sleep, and there will be no music in the world equal to it; and your own sense and your own nobility will stay with you, the way it will not weigh so heavy on you to be in the shape of birds. And go away out of my sight now, children of Lir," she said, "with your white faces, with your stammering Irish. It is a great curse on tender lads, they to be driven out on the rough wind. Nine hundred years to be on the water, it is a long time for any one to be in pain; it is I put this on you through treachery, it is best for you to do as I tell you now. "Lir, that got victory with so many a good cast, his heart is a kernel of death in him now; the groaning of the great hero is a sickness to me, though it is I that have well earned his anger." And then the horses were caught for Aoife, and the chariot yoked for her, and she went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a welcome before her from the chief people of the place. And the son of the Dagda asked her why she did not bring the children of Lir with her. "I will tell you that," she said. "It is because Lir has no liking for you, and he will not trust you with his children, for fear you might keep them from him altogether." "I wonder at that," said Bodb Dearg, "for those children are dearer to me than my own children." And he thought in his own mind it was deceit the woman was doing on him, and it is what he did, he sent messengers to the north to Sidhe Fionnachaidh. And Lir asked them what did they come for. "On the head of your children," said they. "Are they not gone to you along with Aoife?" he said. "They are not," said they; "and Aoife said it was yourself would not let them come." It is downhearted and sorrowful Lir was at that news, for he understood well it was Aoife had destroyed or made an end of his children. And early in the morning of the morrow his horses were caught, and he set out on the road to the south-west. And when he was as far as the shore of Loch Dairbhreach, the four children saw the horses coming towards them, and it is what Fionnuala said: "A welcome to the troop of horses I see coming near to the lake; the people they are bringing are strong, there is sadness on them; it is us they are following, it is for us they are looking; let us move over to the shore, Aodh, Fiachra, and comely Conn. Those that are coming can be no others in the world but only Lir and his household." Then Lir came to the edge of the lake, and he took notice of the swans having the voice of living people, and he asked them why was it they had that voice. "I will tell you that, Lir," said Fionnuala. "We are your own four children, that are after being destroyed by your wife, and by the sister of our own mother, through the dint of her jealousy." "Is there any way to put you into your own shapes again?" said Lir. "There is no way," said Fionnuala, "for all the men of the world could not help us till we have gone through our time, and that will not be," she said, "till the end of nine hundred years." When Lir and his people heard that, they gave out three great heavy shouts of grief and sorrow and crying. "Is there a mind with you," said Lir, "to come to us on the land, since you have your own sense and your memory yet?" "We have not the power," said Fionnuala, "to live with any person at all from this time; but we have our own language, the Irish, and we have the power to sing sweet music, and it is enough to satisfy the whole race of men to be listening to that music. And let you stop here to-night," she said, "and we will be making music for you." So Lir and his people stopped there listening to the music of the swans, and they slept there quietly that night. And Lir rose up early on the morning of the morrow and he made this complaint:-- "It is time to go out from this place. I do not sleep though I am in my lying down. To be parted from my dear children, it is that is tormenting my heart. "It is a bad net I put over you, bringing Aoife, daughter of Oilell of Aran, to the house. I would never have followed that advice if I had known what it would bring upon me. "O Fionnuala, and comely Conn, O Aodh, O Fiachra of the beautiful arms; it is not ready I am to go away from you, from the border of the harbour where you are." Then Lir went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a welcome before him there; and he got a reproach from Bodb Dearg for not bringing his children along with him. "My grief!" said Lir. "It is not I that would not bring my children along with me; it was Aoife there beyond, your own foster-child and the sister of their mother, that put them in the shape of four white swans on Loch Dairbhreach, in the sight of the whole of the men of Ireland; but they have their sense with them yet, and their reason, and their voice, and their Irish." Bodb Dearg gave a great start when he heard that, and he knew what Lir said was true, and he gave a very sharp reproach to Aoife, and he said: "This treachery will be worse for yourself in the end, Aoife, than to the children of Lir. And what shape would you yourself think worst of being in?" he said. "I would think worst of being a witch of the air," she said. "It is into that shape I will put you now," said Bodb. And with that he struck her with a Druid wand, and she was turned into a witch of the air there and then, and she went away on the wind in that shape, and she is in it yet, and will be in it to the end of life and time. As to Bodb Dearg and the Tuatha de Danaan they came to the shore of Loch Dairbhreach, and they made their camp there to be listening to the music of the swans. And the Sons of the Gael used to be coming no less than the Men of Dea to hear them from every part of Ireland, for there never was any music or any delight heard in Ireland to compare with that music of the swans. And they used to be telling stories, and to be talking with the men of Ireland every day, and with their teachers and their fellow-pupils and their friends. And every night they used to sing very sweet music of the Sidhe; and every one that heard that music would sleep sound and quiet whatever trouble or long sickness might be on him; for every one that heard the music of the birds, it is happy and contented he would be after it. These two gatherings now of the Tuatha de Danaan and of the Sons of the Gael stopped there around Loch Dairbhreach through the length of three hundred years. And it is then Fionnuala said to her brothers: "Do you know," she said, "we have spent all we have to spend of our time here, but this one night only." And there was great sorrow on the sons of Lir when they heard that, for they thought it the same as to be living people again, to be talking with their friends and their companions on Loch Dairbhreach, in comparison with going on the cold, fretful sea of the Maoil in the north. And they came early on the morrow to speak with their father and with their foster-father, and they bade them farewell, and Fionnuala made this complaint:-- "Farewell to you, Bodb Dearg, the man with whom all knowledge is in pledge. And farewell to our father along with you, Lir of the Hill of the White Field. "The time is come, as I think, for us to part from you, O pleasant company; my grief it is not on a visit we are going to you. "From this day out, O friends of our heart, our comrades, it is on the tormented course of the Maoil we will be, without the voice of any person near us. "Three hundred years there, and three hundred years in the bay of the men of Domnann, it is a pity for the four comely children of Lir, the salt waves of the sea to be their covering by night. "O three brothers, with the ruddy faces gone from you, let them all leave the lake now, the great troop that loved us, it is sorrowful our parting is." After that complaint they took to flight, lightly, airily, till they came to Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban. And that was a grief to the men of Ireland, and they gave out an order no swan was to be killed from that out, whatever chance there might be of killing one, all through Ireland. It was a bad dwelling-place for the children of Lir they to be on Sruth na Maoile. When they saw the wide coast about them, they were filled with cold and with sorrow, and they thought nothing of all they had gone through before, in comparison to what they were going through on that sea. Now one night while they were there a great storm came on them, and it is what Fionnuala said: "My dear brothers," she said, "it is a pity for us not to be making ready for this night, for it is certain the storm will separate us from one another. And let us," she said, "settle on some place where we can meet afterwards, if we are driven from one another in the night." "Let us settle," said the others, "to meet one another at Carraig na Ron, the Rock of the Seals, for we all have knowledge of it." And when midnight came, the wind came on them with it, and the noise of the waves increased, and the lightning was flashing, and a rough storm came sweeping down, the way the children of Lir were scattered over the great sea, and the wideness of it set them astray, so that no one of them could know what way the others went. But after that storm a great quiet came on the sea, and Fionnuala was alone on Sruth na Maoile; and when she took notice that her brothers were wanting she was lamenting after them greatly, and she made this complaint:-- "It is a pity for me to be alive in the state I am; it is frozen to my sides my wings are; it is little that the wind has not broken my heart in my body, with the loss of Aodh. "To be three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach without going into my own shape, it is worse to me the time I am on Sruth na Maoile. "The three I loved, Och! the three I loved, that slept under the shelter of my feathers; till the dead come back to the living I will see them no more for ever. "It is a pity I to stay after Fiachra, and after Aodh, and after comely Conn, and with no account of them; my grief I to be here to face every hardship this night." She stopped all night there upon the Rock of the Seals until the rising of the sun, looking out over the sea on every side till at last she saw Conn coming to her, his feathers wet through and his head hanging, and her heart gave him a great welcome; and then Fiachra came wet and perished and worn out, and he could not say a word they could understand with the dint of the cold and the hardship he had gone through. And Fionnuala put him under her wings, and she said: "We would be well off now if Aodh would but come to us." It was not long after that, they saw Aodh coming, his head dry and his feathers beautiful, and Fionnuala gave him a great welcome, and she put him in under the feathers of her breast, and Fiachra under her right wing and Conn under her left wing, the way she could put her feathers over them all. "And Och! my brothers," she said, "this was a bad night to us, and it is many of its like are before us from this out." They stayed there a long time after that, suffering cold and misery on the Maoil, till at last a night came on them they had never known the like of before, for frost and snow and wind and cold. And they were crying and lamenting the hardship of their life, and the cold of the night and the greatness of the snow and the hardness of the wind. And after they had suffered cold to the end of a year, a worse night again came on them, in the middle of winter. And they were on Carraig na Ron, and the water froze about them, and as they rested on the rock, their feet and their wings and their feathers froze to the rock, the way they were not able to move from it. And they made such a hard struggle to get away, that they left the skin of their feet and their feathers and the tops of their wings on the rock after them. "My grief, children of Lir," said Fionnuala, "it is bad our state is now, for we cannot bear the salt water to touch us, and there are bonds on us not to leave it; and if the salt water goes into our sores," she said, "we will get our death." And she made this complaint:-- "It is keening we are to-night; without feathers to cover our bodies; it is cold the rough, uneven rocks are under our bare feet. "It is bad our stepmother was to us the time she played enchantments on us, sending us out like swans upon the sea. "Our washing place is on the ridge of the bay, in the foam of flying manes of the sea; our share of the ale feast is the salt water of the blue tide. "One daughter and three sons; it is in the clefts of the rocks we are; it is on the hard rocks we are, it is a pity the way we are." However, they came on to the course of the Maoil again, and the salt water was sharp and rough and bitter to them, but if it was itself, they were not able to avoid it or to get shelter from it. And they were there by the shore under that hardship till such time as their feathers grew again, and their wings, and till their sores were entirely healed. And then they used to go every day to the shore of Ireland or of Alban, but they had to come back to Sruth na Maoile every night. Now they came one day to the mouth of the Banna, to the north of Ireland, and they saw a troop of riders, beautiful, of the one colour, with well-trained pure white horses under them, and they travelling the road straight from the south-west. "Do you know who those riders are, sons of Lir?" said Fionnuala. "We do not," they said; "but it is likely they might be some troop of the Sons of the Gael, or of the Tuatha de Danaan." They moved over closer to the shore then, that they might know who they were, and when the riders saw them they came to meet them until they were able to hold talk together. And the chief men among them were two sons of Bodb Dearg, Aodh Aithfhiosach, of the quick wits, and Fergus Fithchiollach, of the chess, and a third part of the Riders of the Sidhe along with them, and it was for the swans they had been looking for a long while before that, and when they came together they wished one another a kind and loving welcome. And the children of Lir asked for news of all the Men of Dea, and above all of Lir, and Bodb Dearg and their people. "They are well, and they are in the one place together," said they, "in your father's house at Sidhe Fionnachaidh, using the Feast of Age pleasantly and happily, and with no uneasiness on them, only for being without yourselves, and without knowledge of what happened you from the day you left Loch Dairbhreach." "That has not been the way with us," said Fionnuala, "for we have gone through great hardship and uneasiness and misery on the tides of the sea until this day." And she made this complaint:-- "There is delight to-night with the household of Lir! Plenty of ale with them and of wine, although it is in a cold dwelling-place this night are the four children of the king. "It is without a spot our bedclothes are, our bodies covered over with curved feathers; but it is often we were dressed in purple, and we drinking pleasant mead. "It is what our food is and our drink, the white sand and the bitter water of the sea; it is often we drank mead of hazel-nuts from round four-lipped drinking cups. "It is what our beds are, bare rocks out of the power of the waves; it is often there used to be spread out for us beds of the breast-feathers of birds. "Though it is our work now to be swimming through the frost and through the noise of the waves, it is often a company of the sons of kings were riding after us to the Hill of Bodb. "It is what wasted my strength, to be going and coming over the current of the Maoil the way I never was used to, and never to be in the sunshine on the soft grass. "Fiachra's bed and Conn's bed is to come under the cover of my wings on the sea. Aodh has his place under the feathers of my breast, the four of us side by side. "The teaching of Manannan without deceit, the talk of Bodb Dearg on the pleasant ridge; the voice of Angus, his sweet kisses; it is by their side I used to be without grief." After that the riders went on to Lir's house, and they told the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan all the birds had gone through, and the state they were in. "We have no power over them," the chief men said, "but we are glad they are living yet, for they will get help in the end of time." As to the children of Lir, they went back towards their old place in the Maoil, and they stopped there till the time they had to spend in it was spent. And then Fionnuala said: "The time is come for us to leave this place. And it is to Irrus Domnann we must go now," she said, "after our three hundred years here. And indeed there will be no rest for us there, or any standing ground, or any shelter from the storms. But since it is time for us to go, let us set out on the cold wind, the way we will not go astray." So they set out in that way, and left Sruth na Maoile behind them, and went to the point of Irrus Domnann, and there they stopped, and it is a life of misery and a cold life they led there. And one time the sea froze about them that they could not move at all, and the brothers were lamenting, and Fionnuala was comforting them, for she knew there would help come to them in the end. And they stayed at Irrus Domnann till the time they had to spend there was spent. And then Fionnuala said: "The time is come for us to go back to Sidhe Fionnachaidh, where our father is with his household and with all our own people." "It pleases us well to hear that," they said. So they set out flying through the air lightly till they came to Sidhe Fionnachaidh; and it is how they found the place, empty before them, and nothing in it but green hillocks and thickets of nettles, without a house, without a fire, without a hearthstone. And the four pressed close to one another then, and they gave out three sorrowful cries, and Fionnuala made this complaint:-- "It is a wonder to me this place is, and it without a house, without a dwelling-place. To see it the way it is now, Ochone! it is bitterness to my heart. "Without dogs, without hounds for hunting, without women, without great kings; we never knew it to be like this when our father was in it. "Without horns, without cups, without drinking in the lighted house; without young men, without riders; the way it is to-night is a foretelling of sorrow. "The people of the place to be as they are now, Ochone! it is grief to my heart! It is plain to my mind to-night the lord of the house is not living. "Och, house where we used to see music and playing and the gathering of people! I think it a great change to see it lonely the way it is to-night. "The greatness of the hardships we have gone through going from one wave to another of the sea, we never heard of the like of them coming on any other person. "It is seldom this place had its part with grass and bushes; the man is not living that would know us, it would be a wonder to him to see us here." However, the children of Lir stopped that night in their father's place and their grandfather's, where they had been reared, and they were singing very sweet music of the Sidhe. And they rose up early on the morning of the morrow and went to Inis Gluaire, and all the birds of the country gathered near them on Loch na-n Ean, the Lake of the Birds. And they used to go out to feed every day to the far parts of the country, to Inis Geadh and to Accuill, the place Donn, son of Miled, and his people that were drowned were buried, and to all the western islands of Connacht, and they used to go back to Inis Gluaire every night. It was about that time it happened them to meet with a young man of good race, and his name was Aibric; and he often took notice of the birds, and their singing was sweet to him and he loved them greatly, and they loved him. And it is this young man that told the whole story of all that had happened them, and put it in order. And the story he told of what happened them in the end is this. It was after the faith of Christ and blessed Patrick came into Ireland, that Saint Mochaomhog came to Inis Gluaire. And the first night he came to the island, the children of Lir heard the voice of his bell, ringing near them. And the brothers started up with fright when they heard it "We do not know," they said, "what is that weak, unpleasing voice we hear." "That is the voice of the bell of Mochaomhog," said Fionnuala; "and it is through that bell," she said, "you will be set free from pain and from misery." They listened to that music of the bell till the matins were done, and then they began to sing the low, sweet music of the Sidhe. And Mochaomhog was listening to them, and he prayed to God to show him who was singing that music, and it was showed to him that the children of Lir were singing it. And on the morning of the morrow he went forward to the Lake of the Birds, and he saw the swans before him on the lake, and he went down to them at the brink of the shore. "Are you the children of Lir?" he said. "We are indeed," said they. "I give thanks to God for that," said he, "for it is for your sakes I am come to this island beyond any other island, and let you come to land now," he said, "and give your trust to me, that you may do good deeds and part from your sins." They came to the land after that, and they put trust in Mochaomhog, and he brought them to his own dwelling-place, and they used to be hearing Mass with him. And he got a good smith and bade him make chains of bright silver for them, and he put a chain between Aodh and Fionnuala, and a chain between Conn and Fiachra. And the four of them were raising his heart and gladdening his mind, and no danger and no distress that was on the swans before put any trouble on them now. Now the king of Connacht at that time was Lairgnen, son of Colman, son of Cobthach, and Deoch, daughter of Finghin, was his wife. And that was the coming together of the Man from the North and the Woman from the South, that Aoife had spoken of. And the woman heard talk of the birds, and a great desire came on her to get them, and she bade Lairgnen to bring them to her, and he said he would ask them of Mochaomhog. And she gave her word she would not stop another night with him unless he would bring them to her. And she set out from the house there and then. And Lairgnen sent messengers after her to bring her back, and they did not overtake her till she was at Cill Dun. She went back home with them then, and Lairgnen sent messengers to ask the birds of Mochaomhog, and he did not get them. There was great anger on Lairgnen then, and he went himself to the place Mochaomhog was, and he asked was it true he had refused him the birds. "It is true indeed," said he. At that Lairgnen rose up, and he took hold of the swans, and pulled them off the altar, two birds in each hand, to bring them away to Deoch. But no sooner had he laid his hand on them than their bird skins fell off, and what was in their place was three lean, withered old men and a thin withered old woman, without blood or flesh. And Lairgnen gave a great start at that, and he went out from the place. It is then Fionnuala said to Mochaomhog: "Come and baptize us now, for it is short till our death comes; and it is certain you do not think worse of parting with us than we do of parting with you. And make our grave afterwards," she said, "and lay Conn at my right side and Fiachra on my left side, and Aodh before my face, between my two arms. And pray to the God of Heaven," she said, "that you may be able to baptize us." The children of Lir were baptized then, and they died and were buried as Fionnuala had desired; Fiachra and Conn one at each side of her, and Aodh before her face. And a stone was put over them, and their names were written in Ogham, and they were keened there, and heaven was gained for their souls. And that is the fate of the children of Lir so far. PART TWO: THE FIANNA. BOOK ONE: FINN, SON OF CUMHAL. CHAPTER I. THE COMING OF FINN At the time Finn was born his father Cumhal, of the sons of Baiscne, Head of the Fianna of Ireland, had been killed in battle by the sons of Morna that were fighting with him for the leadership. And his mother, that was beautiful long-haired Muirne, daughter of Tadg, son of Nuada of the Tuatha de Danaan and of Ethlinn, mother of Lugh of the Long Hand, did not dare to keep him with her; and two women, Bodhmall, the woman Druid, and Liath Luachra, came and brought him away to care him. It was to the woods of Slieve Bladhma they brought him, and they nursed him secretly, because of his father's enemies, the sons of Morna, and they kept him there a long time. And Muirne, his mother, took another husband that was king of Carraighe; but at the end of six years she came to see Finn, going through every lonely place till she came to the wood, and there she found the little hunting cabin, and the boy asleep in it, and she lifted him up in her arms and kissed him, and she sang a little sleepy song to him; and then she said farewell to the women, and she went away again. And the two women went on caring him till he came to sensible years; and one day when he went out he saw a wild duck on the lake with her clutch, and he made a cast at her that cut the wings off her that she could not fly, and he brought her back to the cabin, and that was his first hunt. And they gave him good training in running and leaping and swimming. One of them would run round a tree, and she having a thorn switch, and Finn after her with another switch, and each one trying to hit at the other; and they would leave him in a field, and hares along with him, and would bid him not to let the hares quit the field, but to keep before them whichever way they would go; and to teach him swimming they would throw him into the water and let him make his way out. But after a while he went away with a troop of poets, to hide from the sons of Morna, and they hid him in the mountain of Crotta Cliach; but there was a robber in Leinster at that time, Fiacuil, son of Codhna, and he came where the poets were in Fidh Gaible and killed them all. But he spared the child and brought him to his own house, that was in a cold marsh. But the two women, Bodhmall and Liath, came looking for him after a while, and Fiacuil gave him up to them, and they brought him back to the same place he was before. He grew up there, straight and strong and fair-haired and beautiful. And one day he was out in Slieve Bladhma, and the two women along with him, and they saw before them a herd of the wild deer of the mountain. "It is a pity," said the old women, "we not to be able to get a deer of those deer." "I will get one for you," said Finn; and with that he followed after them, and caught two stags of them and brought them home to the hunting cabin. And after that he used to be hunting for them every day. But at last they said to him: "It is best for you to leave us now, for the sons of Morna are watching again to kill you." So he went away then by himself, and never stopped till he came to Magh Lifé, and there he saw young lads swimming in a lake, and they called to him to swim against them. So he went into the lake, and he beat them at swimming. "Fair he is and well shaped," they said when they saw him swimming, and it was from that time he got the name of Finn, that is, Fair. But they got to be jealous of his strength, and he went away and left them. He went on then till he came to Loch Lein, and he took service there with the King of Finntraigh; and there was no hunter like him, and the king said: "If Cumhal had left a son, you would be that son." He went from that king after, and he went into Carraighe, and there he took service with the king, that had taken his mother Muirne for his wife. And one day they were playing chess together, and he won seven games one after another. "Who are you at all?" said the king then. "I am a son of a countryman of the Luigne of Teamhair," said Finn. "That is not so," said the king, "but you are the son that Muirne my wife bore to Cumhal. And do not stop here any longer," he said, "that you may not be killed under my protection." From that he went into Connacht looking for his father's brother, Crimall, son of Trenmor; and as he was going on his way he heard the crying of a lone woman. He went to her, and looked at her, and tears of blood were on her face. "Your face is red with blood, woman," he said. "I have reason for it," said she, "for my only son is after being killed by a great fighting man that came on us." And Finn followed after the big champion and fought with him and killed him. And the man he killed was the same man that had given Cumhal his first wound in the battle where he got his death, and had brought away his treasure-bag with him. Now as to that treasure-bag, it is of a crane skin it was made, that was one time the skin of Aoife, the beautiful sweetheart of Ilbrec, son of Manannan, that was put into the shape of a crane through jealousy. And it was in Manannan's house it used to be, and there were treasures kept in it, Manannan's shirt and his knife, and the belt and the smith's hook of Goibniu, and the shears of the King of Alban, and the helmet of the King of Lochlann, and a belt of the skin of a great fish, and the bones of Asal's pig that had been brought to Ireland by the sons of Tuireann. All those treasures would be in the bag at full tide, but at the ebbing of the tide it would be empty. And it went from Manannan to Lugh, son of Ethlinn, and after that to Cumhal, that was husband to Muirne, Ethlinn's daughter. And Finn took the bag and brought it with him till he found Crimall, that was now an old man, living in a lonely place, and some of the old men of the Fianna were with him, and used to go hunting for him. And Finn gave him the bag, and told him his whole story. And then he said farewell to Crimall, and went on to learn poetry from Finegas, a poet that was living at the Boinn, for the poets thought it was always on the brink of water poetry was revealed to them. And he did not give him his own name, but he took the name of Deimne. Seven years, now, Finegas had stopped at the Boinn, watching the salmon, for it was in the prophecy that he would eat the salmon of knowledge that would come there, and that he would have all knowledge after. And when at the last the salmon of knowledge came, he brought it to where Finn was, and bade him to roast it, but he bade him not to eat any of it. And when Finn brought him the salmon after a while he said: "Did you eat any of it at all, boy?" "I did not," said Finn; "but I burned my thumb putting down a blister that rose on the skin, and after doing that, I put my thumb in my mouth." "What is your name, boy?" said Finegas. "Deimne," said he. "It is not, but it is Finn your name is, and it is to you and not to myself the salmon was given in the prophecy." With that he gave Finn the whole of the salmon, and from that time Finn had the knowledge that came from the nuts of the nine hazels of wisdom that grow beside the well that is below the sea. And besides the wisdom he got then, there was a second wisdom came to him another time, and this is the way it happened. There was a well of the moon belonging to Beag, son of Buan, of the Tuatha de Danaan, and whoever would drink out of it would get wisdom, and after a second drink he would get the gift of foretelling. And the three daughters of Beag, son of Buan, had charge of the well, and they would not part with a vessel of it for anything less than red gold. And one day Finn chanced to be hunting in the rushes near the well, and the three women ran out to hinder him from coming to it, and one of them that had a vessel of the water in her hand, threw it at him to stop him, and a share of the water went into his mouth. And from that out he had all the knowledge that the water of that well could give. And he learned the three ways of poetry; and this is the poem he made to show he had got his learning well:-- "It is the month of May is the pleasant time; its face is beautiful; the blackbird sings his full song, the living wood is his holding, the cuckoos are singing and ever singing; there is a welcome before the brightness of the summer. "Summer is lessening the rivers, the swift horses are looking for the pool; the heath spreads out its long hair, the weak white bog-down grows. A wildness comes on the heart of the deer; the sad restless sea is asleep. "Bees with their little strength carry a load reaped from the flowers; the cattle go up muddy to the mountains; the ant has a good full feast. "The harp of the woods is playing music; there is colour on the hills, and a haze on the full lakes, and entire peace upon every sail. "The corncrake is speaking, a loud-voiced poet; the high lonely waterfall is singing a welcome to the warm pool, the talking of the rushes has begun. "The light swallows are darting; the loudness of music is around the hill; the fat soft mast is budding; there is grass on the trembling bogs. "The bog is as dark as the feathers of the raven; the cuckoo makes a loud welcome; the speckled salmon is leaping; as strong is the leaping of the swift fighting man. "The man is gaining; the girl is in her comely growing power; every wood is without fault from the top to the ground, and every wide good plain. "It is pleasant is the colour of the time; rough winter is gone; every plentiful wood is white; summer is a joyful peace. "A flock of birds pitches in the meadow; there are sounds in the green fields, there is in them a clear rushing stream. "There is a hot desire on you for the racing of horses; twisted holly makes a leash for the hound; a bright spear has been shot into the earth, and the flag-flower is golden under it. "A weak lasting little bird is singing at the top of his voice; the lark is singing clear tidings; May without fault, of beautiful colours. "I have another story for you; the ox is lowing, the winter is creeping in, the summer is gone. High and cold the wind, low the sun, cries are about us; the sea is quarrelling. "The ferns are reddened and their shape is hidden; the cry of the wild goose is heard; the cold has caught the wings of the birds; it is the time of ice-frost, hard, unhappy." And after that, Finn being but a young lad yet, made himself ready and went up at Samhain time to the gathering of the High King at Teamhair. And it was the law at that gathering, no one to raise a quarrel or bring out any grudge against another through the whole of the time it lasted. And the king and his chief men, and Goll, son of Morna, that was now Head of the Fianna, and Caoilte, son of Ronan, and Conan, son of Morna, of the sharp words, were sitting at a feast in the great house of the Middle Court; and the young lad came in and took his place among them, and none of them knew who he was. The High King looked at him then, and the horn of meetings was brought to him, and he put it into the boy's hand, and asked him who was he. "I am Finn, son of Cumhal," he said, "son of the man that used to be head over the Fianna, and king of Ireland; and I am come now to get your friendship, and to give you my service." "You are son of a friend, boy," said the king, "and son of a man I trusted." Then Finn rose up and made his agreement of service and of faithfulness to the king; and the king took him by the hand and put him sitting beside his own son, and they gave themselves to drinking and to pleasure for a while. Every year, now, at Samhain time, for nine years, there had come a man of the Tuatha de Danaan out of Sidhe Finnachaidh in the north, and had burned up Teamhair. Aillen, son of Midhna, his name was, and it is the way he used to come, playing music of the Sidhe, and all the people that heard it would fall asleep. And when they were all in their sleep, he would let a flame of fire out of his mouth, and would blow the flame till all Teamhair was burned. The king rose up at the feast after a while, and his smooth horn in his hand, and it is what he said: "If I could find among you, men of Ireland, any man that would keep Teamhair till the break of day to-morrow without being burned by Aillen, son of Midhna, I would give him whatever inheritance is right for him to have, whether it be much or little." But the men of Ireland made no answer, for they knew well that at the sound of the sweet pitiful music made by that comely man of the Sidhe, even women in their pains and men that were wounded would fall asleep. It is then Finn rose up and spoke to the King of Ireland. "Who will be your sureties that you will fulfil this?" he said. "The kings of the provinces of Ireland," said the king, "and Cithruadh with his Druids." So they gave their pledges, and Finn took in hand to keep Teamhair safe till the breaking of day on the morrow. Now there was a fighting man among the followers of the King of Ireland, Fiacha, son of Conga, that Cumhal, Finn's father, used to have a great liking for, and he said to Finn: "Well, boy," he said, "what reward would you give me if I would bring you a deadly spear, that no false cast was ever made with?" "What reward are you asking of me?" said Finn. "Whatever your right hand wins at any time, the third of it to be mine," said Fiacha, "and a third of your trust and your friendship to be mine." "I will give you that," said Finn. Then Fiacha brought him the spear, unknown to the sons of Morna or to any other person, and he said: "When you will hear the music of the Sidhe, let you strip the covering off the head of the spear and put it to your forehead, and the power of the spear will not let sleep come upon you." Then Finn rose up before all the men of Ireland, and he made a round of the whole of Teamhair. And it was not long till he heard the sorrowful music, and he stripped the covering from the head of the spear, and he held the power of it to his forehead. And Aillen went on playing his little harp, till he had put every one in their sleep as he was used; and then he let a flame of fire out from his mouth to burn Teamhair. And Finn held up his fringed crimson cloak against the flame, and it fell down through the air and went into the ground, bringing the four-folded cloak with it deep into the earth. And when Aillen saw his spells were destroyed, he went back to Sidhe Finnachaidh on the top of Slieve Fuad; but Finn followed after him there, and as Aillen was going in at the door he made a cast of the spear that went through his heart. And he struck his head off then, and brought it back to Teamhair, and fixed it on a crooked pole and left it there till the rising of the sun over the heights and invers of the country. And Aillen's mother came to where his body was lying, and there was great grief on her, and she made this complaint:-- "Ochone! Aillen is fallen, chief of the Sidhe of Beinn Boirche; the slow clouds of death are come on him. Och! he was pleasant, Och! he was kind. Aillen, son of Midhna of Slieve Fuad. "Nine times he burned Teamhair. It is a great name he was always looking for, Ochone, Ochone, Aillen!" And at the breaking of day, the king and all the men of Ireland came out upon the lawn at Teamhair where Finn was. "King," said Finn, "there is the head of the man that burned Teamhair, and the pipe and the harp that made his music. And it is what I think," he said, "that Teamhair and all that is in it is saved." Then they all came together into the place of counsel, and it is what they agreed, the headship of the Fianna of Ireland to be given to Finn. And the king said to Goll, son of Morna: "Well, Goll," he said, "is it your choice to quit Ireland or to put your hand in Finn's hand?" "By my word, I will give Finn my hand," said Goll. And when the charms that used to bring good luck had done their work, the chief men of the Fianna rose up and struck their hands in Finn's hand, and Goll, son of Morna, was the first to give him his hand the way there would be less shame on the rest for doing it. And Finn kept the headship of the Fianna until the end; and the place he lived in was Almhuin of Leinster, where the white dun was made by Nuada of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was as white as if all the lime in Ireland was put on it, and that got its name from the great herd of cattle that died fighting one time around the well, and that left their horns there, speckled horns and white. And as to Finn himself, he was a king and a seer and a poet; a Druid and a knowledgeable man; and everything he said was sweet-sounding to his people. And a better fighting man than Finn never struck his hand into a king's hand, and whatever any one ever said of him, he was three times better. And of his justice it used to be said, that if his enemy and his own son had come before him to be judged, it is a fair judgment he would have given between them. And as to his generosity it used to be said, he never denied any man as long as he had a mouth to eat with, and legs to bring away what he gave him; and he left no woman without her bride-price, and no man without his pay; and he never promised at night what he would not fulfil on the morrow, and he never promised in the day what he would not fulfil at night, and he never forsook his right-hand friend. And if he was quiet in peace he was angry in battle, and Oisin his son and Osgar his son's son followed him in that. There was a young man of Ulster came and claimed kinship with them one time, saying they were of the one blood. "If that is so," said Oisin, "it is from the men of Ulster we took the madness and the angry heart we have in battle." "That is so indeed," said Finn. CHAPTER II. FINN'S HOUSEHOLD And the number of the Fianna of Ireland at that time was seven score and ten chief men, every one of them having three times nine righting men under him. And every man of them was bound to three things, to take no cattle by oppression, not to refuse any man, as to cattle or riches; no one of them to fall back before nine fighting men. And there was no man taken into the Fianna until his tribe and his kindred would give securities for him, that even if they themselves were all killed he would not look for satisfaction for their death. But if he himself would harm others, that harm was not to be avenged on his people. And there was no man taken into the Fianna till he knew the twelve books of poetry. And before any man was taken, he would be put into a deep hole in the ground up to his middle, and he having his shield and a hazel rod in his hand. And nine men would go the length of ten furrows from him and would cast their spears at him at the one time. And if he got a wound from one of them, he was not thought fit to join with the Fianna. And after that again, his hair would be fastened up, and he put to run through the woods of Ireland, and the Fianna following after him to try could they wound him, and only the length of a branch between themselves and himself when they started. And if they came up with him and wounded him, he was not let join them; or if his spears had trembled in his hand, or if a branch of a tree had undone the plaiting of his hair, or if he had cracked a dry stick under his foot, and he running. And they would not take him among them till he had made a leap over a stick the height of himself, and till he had stooped under one the height of his knee, and till he had taken a thorn out from his foot with his nail, and he running his fastest. But if he had done all these things, he was of Finn's people. It was good wages Finn and the Fianna got at that time; in every district a townland, in every house the fostering of a pup or a whelp from Samhain to Beltaine, and a great many things along with that. But good as the pay was, the hardships and the dangers they went through for it were greater. For they had to hinder the strangers and robbers from beyond the seas, and every bad thing, from coming into Ireland. And they had hard work enough in doing that. And besides the fighting men, Finn had with him his five Druids, the best that ever came into the west, Cainnelsciath, of the Shining Shield, one of them was, that used to bring down knowledge from the clouds in the sky before Finn, and that could foretell battles. And he had his five wonderful physicians, four of them belonging to Ireland, and one that came over the sea from the east. And he had his five high poets and his twelve musicians, that had among them Daighre, son of Morna, and Suanach, son of Senshenn, that was Finn's teller of old stories, the sweetest that ever took a harp in his hand in Ireland or in Alban. And he had his three cup-bearers and his six door-keepers and his horn-players and the stewards of his house and his huntsman, Comhrag of the five hundred hounds, and his serving-men that were under Garbhcronan, of the Rough Buzzing; and a great troop of others along with them. And there were fifty of the best sewing-women in Ireland brought together in a rath on Magh Feman, under the charge of a daughter of the King of Britain, and they used to be making clothing for the Fianna through the whole of the year. And three of them, that were a king's daughters, used to be making music for the rest on a little silver harp; and there was a very great candlestick of stone in the middle of the rath, for they were not willing to kindle a fire more than three times in the year for fear the smoke and the ashes might harm the needlework. And of all his musicians the one Finn thought most of was Cnu Deireoil, the Little Nut, that came to him from the Sidhe. It was at Slieve-nam-ban, for hunting, Finn was the time he came to him. Sitting down he was on the turf-built grave that is there; and when he looked around him he saw a small little man about four feet in height standing on the grass. Light yellow hair he had, hanging down to his waist, and he playing music on his harp. And the music he was making had no fault in it at all, and it is much that the whole of the Fianna did not fall asleep with the sweetness of its sound. He came up then, and put his hand in Finn's hand. "Where do you come from, little one, yourself and your sweet music?" said Finn. "I am come," he said, "out of the place of the Sidhe in Slieve-nam-ban, where ale is drunk and made; and it is to be in your company for a while I am come here." "You will get good rewards from me, and riches and red gold," said Finn, "and my full friendship, for I like you well." "That is the best luck ever came to you, Finn," said all the rest of the Fianna, for they were well pleased to have him in their company. And they gave him the name of the Little Nut; and he was good in speaking, and he had so good a memory he never forgot anything he heard east or west; and there was no one but must listen to his music, and all the Fianna liked him well. And there were some said he was a son of Lugh Lamh-Fada, of the Long Hand. And the five musicians of the Fianna were brought to him, to learn the music of the Sidhe he had brought from that other place; for there was never any music heard on earth but his was better. These were the three best things Finn ever got, Bran and Sceolan that were without fault, and the Little Nut from the House of the Sidhe in Slieve-nam-ban. CHAPTER III. BIRTH OF BRAN. This, now, is the story of the birth of Bran. Finn's mother, Muirne, came one time to Almhuin, and she brought with her Tuiren, her sister. And Iollan Eachtach, a chief man of the Fianna of Ulster, was at Almhuin at the time, and he gave his love to Tuiren, and asked her in marriage, and brought her to his own house. But before they went, Finn made him gave his word he would bring her back safe and sound if ever he asked for her, and he bade him find sureties for himself among the chief men of the Fianna. And Iollan did that, and the sureties he got were Caoilte and Goll and Lugaidh Lamha, and it was Lugaidh gave her into the hand of Iollan Eachtach. But before Iollan made that marriage, he had a sweetheart of the Sidhe, Uchtdealb of the Fair Breast; and there came great jealousy on her when she knew he had taken a wife. And she took the appearance of Finn's woman-messenger, and she came to the house where Tuiren was, and she said: "Finn sends health and long life to you, queen, and he bids you to make a great feast; and come with me now," she said, "till I speak a few words with you, for there is hurry on me." So Tuiren went out with her, and when they were away from the house the woman of the Sidhe took out her dark Druid rod from under her cloak and gave her a blow of it that changed her into a hound, the most beautiful that was ever seen. And then she went on, bringing the hound with her, to the house of Fergus Fionnliath, king of the harbour of Gallimh. And it is the way Fergus was, he was the most unfriendly man to dogs in the whole world, and he would not let one stop in the same house with him. But it is what Uchtdealb said to him: "Finn wishes you life and health, Fergus, and he says to you to take good care of his hound till he comes himself; and mind her well," she said, "for she is with young, and do not let her go hunting when her time is near, or Finn will be no way thankful to you." "I wonder at that message," said Fergus, "for Finn knows well there is not in the world a man has less liking for dogs than myself. But for all that," he said, "I will not refuse Finn the first time he sent a hound to me." And when he brought the hound out to try her, she was the best he ever knew, and she never saw the wild creature she would not run down; and Fergus took a great liking for hounds from that out. And when her time came near, they did not let her go hunting any more, and she gave birth to two whelps. And as to Finn, when he heard his mother's sister was not living with Iollan Eachtach, he called to him for the fulfilment of the pledge that was given to the Fianna. And Iollan asked time to go looking for Tuiren, and he gave his word that if he did not find her, he would give himself up in satisfaction for her. So they agreed to that, and Iollan went to the hill where Uchtdealb was, his sweetheart of the Sidhe, and told her the way things were with him, and the promise he had made to give himself up to the Fianna. "If that is so," said she, "and if you will give me your pledge to keep me as your sweetheart to the end of your life, I will free you from that danger." So Iollan gave her his promise, and she went to the house of Fergus Fionnliath, and she brought Tuiren away and put her own shape on her again, and gave her up to Finn. And Finn gave her to Lugaidh Lamha that asked her in marriage. And as to the two whelps, they stopped always with Finn, and the names he gave them were Bran and Sceolan. CHAPTER IV. OISIN'S MOTHER. It happened one time Finn and his men were coming back from the hunting, a beautiful fawn started up before them, and they followed after it, men and dogs, till at last they were all tired and fell back, all but Finn himself and Bran and Sceolan. And suddenly as they were going through a valley, the fawn stopped and lay down on the smooth grass, and Bran and Sceolan came up with it, and they did not harm it at all, but went playing about it, licking its neck and its face. There was wonder on Finn when he saw that, and he went on home to Almhuin, and the fawn followed after him playing with the hounds, and it came with them into the house at Almhuin. And when Finn was alone late that evening, a beautiful young woman having a rich dress came before him, and she told him it was she herself was the fawn he was after hunting that day. "And it is for refusing the love of Fear Doirche, the Dark Druid of the Men of Dea," she said, "I was put in this shape. And through the length of three years," she said, "I have lived the life of a wild deer in a far part of Ireland, and I am hunted like a wild deer. And a serving-man of the Dark Druid took pity on me," she said, "and he said that if I was once within the dun of the Fianna of Ireland, the Druid would have no more power over me. So I made away, and I never stopped through the whole length of a day till I came into the district of Almhuin. And I never stopped then till there was no one after me but only Bran and Sceolan, that have human wits; and I was safe with them, for they knew my nature to be like their own." Then Finn gave her his love, and took her as his wife, and she stopped in Almhuin. And so great was his love for her, he gave up his hunting and all the things he used to take pleasure in, and gave his mind to no other thing but herself. But at last the men of Lochlann came against Ireland, and their ships were in the bay below Beinn Edair, and they landed there. And Finn and the battalions of the Fianna went out against them, and drove them back. And at the end of seven days Finn came back home, and he went quickly over the plain of Almhuin, thinking to see Sadbh his wife looking out from the dun, but there was no sign of her. And when he came to the dun, all his people came out to meet him, but they had a very downcast look. "Where is the flower of Almhuin, beautiful gentle Sadbh?" he asked them. And it is what they said: "While you were away fighting, your likeness, and the likeness of Bran and of Sceolan appeared before the dun, and we thought we heard the sweet call of the Dord Fiann. And Sadbh, that was so good and so beautiful, came out of the house," they said, "and she went out of the gates, and she would not listen to us, and we could not stop her." "Let me go meet my love," she said, "my husband, the father of the child that is not born." And with that she went running out towards the shadow of yourself that was before her, and that had its arms stretched out to her. But no sooner did she touch it than she gave a great cry, and the shadow lifted up a hazel rod, and on the moment it was a fawn was standing on the grass. Three times she turned and made for the gate of the dun, but the two hounds the shadow had with him went after her and took her by the throat and dragged her back to him. "And by your hand of valour, Finn," they said, "we ourselves made no delay till we went out on the plain after her. But it is our grief, they had all vanished, and there was not to be seen woman, or fawn or Druid, but we could hear the quick tread of feet on the hard plain, and the howling of dogs. And if you would ask every one of us in what quarter he heard those sounds, he would tell you a different one." When Finn heard that, he said no word at all, but he struck his breast over and over again with his shut hands. And he went then to his own inside room, and his people saw him no more for that day, or till the sun rose over Magh Lifé on the morrow. And through the length of seven years from that time, whenever he was not out fighting against the enemies of Ireland, he went searching and ever searching in every far corner for beautiful Sadbh. And there was great trouble on him all the time, unless he might throw it off for a while in hunting or in battle. And through all that time he never brought out to any hunting but the five hounds he had most trust in, Bran and Sceolan and Lomaire and Brod and Lomluath, the way there would be no danger for Sadbh if ever he came on her track. But after the end of seven years, Finn and some of his chief men were hunting on the sides of Beinn Gulbain, and they heard a great outcry among the hounds, that were gone into some narrow place. And when they followed them there, they saw the five hounds of Finn in a ring, and they keeping back the other hounds, and in the middle of the ring was a young boy, with high looks, and he naked and having long hair. And he was no way daunted by the noise of the hounds, and did not look at them at all, but at the men that were coming up. And as soon as the fight was stopped Bran and Sceolan went up to the little lad, and whined and licked him, that any one would think they had forgotten their master. Finn and the others came up to him then, and put their hands on his head, and made much of him. And they brought him to their own hunting cabin, and he ate and drank with them, and before long he lost his wildness and was the same as themselves. And as to Bran and Sceolan, they were never tired playing about him. And it is what Finn thought, there was some look of Sadbh in his face, and that it might be he was her son, and he kept him always beside him. And little by little when the boy had learned their talk, he told them all he could remember. He used to be with a deer he loved very much, he said, and that cared and sheltered him, and it was in a wide place they used to be, having hills and valleys and streams and woods in it, but that was shut in with high cliffs on every side, that there was no way of escape from it. And he used to be eating fruits and roots in the summer, and in the winter there was food left for him in the shelter of a cave. And a dark-looking man used to be coming to the place, and sometimes he would speak to the deer softly and gently, and sometimes with a loud angry voice. But whatever way he spoke, she would always draw away from him with the appearance of great dread on her, and the man would go away in great anger. And the last time he saw the deer, his mother, the dark man was speaking to her for a long time, from softness to anger. And at the end he struck her with a hazel rod, and with that she was forced to follow him, and she looking back all the while at the child, and crying after him that any one would pity her. And he tried hard to follow after her, and made every attempt, and cried out with grief and rage, but he had no power to move, and when he could hear his mother no more he fell on the grass and his wits went from him. And when he awoke it is on the side of the hill he was, where the hounds found him. And he searched a long time for the place where he was brought up, but he could not find it. And the name the Fianna gave him was Oisin, and it is he was their maker of poems, and their good fighter afterwards. CHAPTER V. THE BEST MEN OF THE FIANNA And while Oisin was in his young youth, Finn had other good men along with him, and the best of them were Goll, son of Morna, and Caoilte, son of Ronan, and Lugaidh's Son. As to Goll, that was of Connacht, he was very tall and light-haired, and some say he was the strongest of all the Fianna. Finn made a poem in praise of him one time when some stranger was asking what sort he was, saying how hardy he was and brave in battle, and as strong as a hound or as the waves, and with all that so kind and so gentle, and open-handed and sweet-voiced, and faithful to his friends. And the chessboard he had was called the Solustairtech, the Shining Thing, and some of the chessmen were made of gold, and some of them of silver, and each one of them was as big as the fist of the biggest man of the Fianna; and after the death of Goll it was buried in Slieve Baune. And as to Caoilte, that was a grey thin man, he was the best runner of them all. And he did a good many great deeds; a big man of the Fomor he killed one time, and he killed a five-headed giant in a wheeling door, and another time he made an end of an enchanted boar that no one else could get near, and he killed a grey stag that had got away from the Fianna through twenty-seven years. And another time he brought Finn out of Teamhair, where he was kept by force by the High King, because of some rebellion the Fianna had stirred up. And when Caoilte heard Finn had been brought away to Teamhair, he went out to avenge him. And the first he killed was Cuireach, a king of Leinster that had a great name, and he brought his head up to the hill that is above Buadhmaic. And after that he made a great rout through Ireland, bringing sorrow into every house for the sake of Finn, killing a man in every place, and killing the calves with the cows. And every door the red wind from the east blew on, he would throw it open, and go in and destroy all before him, setting fire to the fields, and giving the wife of one man to another. And when he came to Teamhair, he came to the palace, and took the clothes off the door-keeper, and he left his own sword that was worn thin in the king's sheath, and took the king's sword that had great power in it. And he went into the palace then in the disguise of a servant, to see how he could best free Finn. And when evening came Caoilte held the candle at the king's feast in the great hall, and after a while the king said: "You will wonder at what I tell you, Finn, that the two eyes of Caoilte are in my candlestick." "Do not say that," said Finn, "and do not put reproach on my people although I myself am your prisoner; for as to Caoilte," he said, "that is not the way with him, for it is a high mind he has, and he only does high deeds, and he would not stand serving with a candle for all the gold of the whole world." After that Caoilte was serving the King of Ireland with drink, and when he was standing beside him he gave out a high sorrowful lament. "There is the smell of Caoilte's skin on that lament," said the king. And when Caoilte saw he knew him he spoke out and he said: "Tell me what way I can get freedom for my master." "There is no way to get freedom for him but by doing one thing," said the king, "and that is a thing you can never do. If you can bring me together a couple of all the wild creatures of Ireland," he said, "I will give up your master to you then." When Caoilte heard him say that he made no delay, but he set out from Teamhair, and went through the whole of Ireland to do that work for the sake of Finn. It is with the flocks of birds he began, though they were scattered in every part, and from them he went on to the beasts. And he gathered together two of every sort, two ravens from Fiodh da Bheann; two wild ducks from Loch na Seillein; two foxes from Slieve Cuilinn; two wild oxen from Burren; two swans from blue Dobhran; two owls from the wood of Faradhruim; two polecats from the branchy wood on the side of Druim da Raoin, the Ridge of the Victories; two gulls from the strand of Loch Leith; four woodpeckers from white Brosna; two plovers from Carraigh Dhain; two thrushes from Leith Lomard; two wrens from Dun Aoibh; two herons from Corrain Cleibh; two eagles from Carraig of the stones; two hawks from Fiodh Chonnach; two sows from Loch Meilghe; two water-hens from Loch Erne; two moor-hens from Monadh Maith; two sparrow-hawks from Dubhloch; two stonechats from Magh Cuillean; two tomtits from Magh Tuallainn; two swallows from Sean Abhla; two cormorants from Ath Cliath; two wolves from Broit Cliathach; two blackbirds from the Strand of the Two Women; two roebucks from Luachair Ire; two pigeons from Ceas Chuir; two nightingales from Leiter Ruadh; two starlings from green-sided Teamhair; two rabbits from Sith Dubh Donn; two wild pigs from Cluaidh Chuir; two cuckoos from Drom Daibh; two lapwings from Leanain na Furraich; two woodcocks from Craobh Ruadh; two hawks from the Bright Mountain; two grey mice from Luimneach; two otters from the Boinn; two larks from the Great Bog; two bats from the Cave of the Nuts; two badgers from the province of Ulster; two landrail from the banks of the Sionnan; two wagtails from Port Lairrge; two curlews from the harbour of Gallimh; two hares from Muirthemne; two deer from Sith Buidhe; two peacocks from Magh Mell; two cormorants from Ath Cliath; two eels from Duth Dur; two goldfinches from Slieve na-n Eun; two birds of slaughter from Magh Bhuilg; two bright swallows from Granard; two redbreasts from the Great Wood; two rock-cod from Cala Chairge; two sea-pigs from the great sea; two wrens from Mios an Chuil; two salmon from Eas Mhic Muirne; two clean deer from Gleann na Smoil; two cows from Magh Mor; two cats from the Cave of Cruachan; two sheep from bright Sidhe Diobhlain; two pigs of the pigs of the son of Lir; a ram and a crimson sheep from Innis. And along with all these he brought ten hounds of the hounds of the Fianna, and a horse and a mare of the beautiful horses of Manannan. And when Caoilte had gathered all these, he brought them to the one place. But when he tried to keep them together, they scattered here and there from him; the raven went away southward, and that vexed him greatly, but he overtook it again in Gleann da Bheann, beside Loch Lurcan. And then his wild duck went away from him, and it was not easy to get it again, but he followed it through every stream to grey Accuill till he took it by the neck and brought it back, and it no way willing. And indeed through the length of his life Caoilte remembered well all he went through that time with the birds, big and little, travelling over hills and ditches and striving to bring them with him, that he might set Finn his master free. And when he came to Teamhair he had more to go through yet, for the king would not let him bring them in before morning, but gave him a house having nine doors in it to put them up in for the night. And no sooner were they put in than they raised a loud screech all together, for a little ray of light was coming to them through fifty openings, and they were trying to make their escape. And if they were not easy in the house, Caoilte was not easy outside it, watching every door till the rising of the sun on the morrow. And when he brought out his troop, the name the people gave them was "Caoilte's Rabble," and there was no wonder at all in that. But all the profit the King of Ireland got from them was to see them together for that one time. For no sooner did Finn get his freedom than the whole of them scattered here and there, and no two of them went by the same road out of Teamhair. And that was one of the best things Caoilte, son of Ronan, ever did. And another time he ran from the wave of Cliodna in the south to the wave of Rudraige in the north. And Colla his son was a very good runner too, and one time he ran a race backwards against the three battalions of the Fianna for a chessboard. And he won the race, but if he did, he went backward over Beinn Edair into the sea. And very good hearing Caoilte had. One time he heard the King of the Luigne of Connacht at his hunting, and Blathmec that was with him said, "What is that hunt, Caoilte?" "A hunt of three packs of hounds," he said, "and three sorts of wild creatures before them. The first hunt," he said, "is after stags and large deer and the second hunt is after swift small hares, and the third is a furious hunt after heavy boars." "And what is the fourth hunt, Caoilte?" said Blathmec. "It is the hunting of heavy-sided, low-bellied badgers." And then they heard coming after the hunt the shouts of the lads and of the readiest of the men and the serving-men that were best at carrying burdens. And Blathmec went out to see the hunting, and just as Caoilte had told him, that was the way it was. And he understood the use of herbs, and one time he met with two women that were very downhearted because their husbands had gone from them to take other wives. And Caoilte gave them Druid herbs, and they put them in the water of a bath and washed in it, and the love of their husbands came back to them, and they sent away the new wives they had taken. And as to Lugaidh's Son, that was of Finn's blood, and another of the best men of the Fianna, he was put into Finn's arms as a child, and he was reared up by Duban's daughter, that had reared eight hundred fighting men of the Fianna, till his twelfth year, and then she gave him all he wanted of arms and of armour, and he went to Chorraig Conluain and the mountains of Slieve Bladhma, where Finn and the Fianna were at that time. And Finn gave him a very gentle welcome, and he struck his hand in Finn's hand, and made his agreement of service with him. And he stopped through the length of a year with the Fianna; but he was someway sluggish through all that time, so that under his leading not more than nine of the Fianna got to kill so much as a boar or a deer. And along with that, he used to beat both his servants and his hounds. And at last the three battalions of the Fianna went to where Finn was, at the Point of the Fianna on the edge of Loch Lein, and they made their complaint against Lugaidh's Son, and it is what they said: "Make your choice now, will you have us with you, or will you have Lugaidh's Son by himself." Then Lugaidh's Son came to Finn, and Finn asked him, "What is it has put the whole of the Fianna against you?" "By my word," said the lad, "I do not know the reason, unless it might be they do not like me to be doing my feats and casting my spears among them." Then Finn gave him an advice, and it is what he said: "If you have a mind to be a good champion, be quiet in a great man's house; be surly in the narrow pass. Do not beat your hound without a cause; do not bring a charge against your wife without having knowledge of her guilt; do not hurt a fool in fighting, for he is without his wits. Do not find fault with high-up persons; do not stand up to take part in a quarrel; have no dealings with a bad man or a foolish man. Let two-thirds of your gentleness be showed to women and to little children that are creeping on the floor, and to men of learning that make the poems, and do not be rough with the common people. Do not give your reverence to all; do not be ready to have one bed with your companions. Do not threaten or speak big words, for it is a shameful thing to speak stiffly unless you can carry it out afterwards. Do not forsake your lord so long as you live; do not give up any man that puts himself under your protection for all the treasures of the world. Do not speak against others to their lord, that is not work for a good man. Do not be a bearer of lying stories, or a tale-bearer that is always chattering. Do not be talking too much; do not find fault hastily; however brave you may be, do not raise factions against you. Do not be going to drinking-houses, or finding fault with old men; do not meddle with low people; this is right conduct I am telling you. Do not refuse to share your meat; do not have a niggard for your friend; do not force yourself on a great man or give him occasion to speak against you. Hold fast to your arms till the hard fight is well ended. Do not give up your opportunity, but with that follow after gentleness." That was good advice Finn gave, and he was well able to do that; for it was said of him that he had all the wisdom of a little child that is busy about the house, and the mother herself not understanding what he is doing; and that is the time she has most pride in him. And as to Lugaidh's Son, that advice stayed always with him, and he changed his ways, and after a while he got a great name among the poets of Ireland and of Alban, and whenever they would praise Finn in their poems, they would praise him as well. And Aoife, daughter of the King of Lochlann, that was married to Mal, son of Aiel, King of Alban, heard the great praise the poets were giving to Lugaidh's Son, and she set her love on him for the sake of those stories. And one time Mal her husband and his young men went hunting to Slieve-mor-Monaidh in the north of Alban. And when he was gone Aoife made a plan in her sunny house where she was, to go over to Ireland, herself and her nine foster-sisters. And they set out and went over the manes of the sea till they came to Beinn Edair, and there they landed. And it chanced on that day there was a hunting going on, from Slieve Bladhma to Beinn Edair. And Finn was in his hunting seat, and his fosterling, brown-haired Duibhruinn, beside him. And the little lad was looking about him on every side, and he saw a ship coming to the strand, and a queen with modest looks in the ship, and nine women along with her. They landed then, and they came up to where Finn was, bringing every sort of present with them, and Aoife sat down beside him. And Finn asked news of her, and she told him the whole story, and how she had given her love to Lugaidh's Son, and was come over the sea looking for him; and Finn made her welcome. And when the hunting was over, the chief men of the Fianna came back to where Finn was, and every one asked who was the queen that was with him. And Finn told them her name, and what it was brought her to Ireland. "We welcome her that made that journey," said they all; "for there is not in Ireland or in Alban a better man than the man she is come looking for, unless Finn himself." And as to Lugaidh's Son, it was on the far side of Slieve Bladhma he was hunting that day, and he was the last to come in. And he went into Finn's tent, and when he saw the woman beside him he questioned Finn the same as the others had done, and Finn told him the whole story. "And it is to you she is come," he said; "and here she is to you out of my hand, and all the war and the battles she brings with her; but it will not fall heavier on you," he said, "than on the rest of the Fianna." And she was with Lugaidh's Son a month and a year without being asked for. But one day the three battalions of the Fianna were on the Hill of the Poet in Leinster, and they saw three armed battalions equal to themselves coming, against them, and they asked who was bringing them. "It is Mal, son of Aiel, is bringing them," said Finn, "to avenge his wife on the Fianna. And it is a good time they are come," he said, "when we are gathered together at the one spot." Then the two armies went towards one another, and Mal, son of Aiel, took hold of his arms, and three times he broke through the Fianna, and every time a hundred fell by him. And in the middle of the battle he and Lugaidh's Son met, and they fought against one another with spear and sword. And whether the fight was short or long, it was Mal fell by Lugaidh's Son at the last. And Aoife stood on a hill near by, as long as the battle lasted. And from that out she belonged to Lugaidh's Son, and was a mother of children to him. BOOK TWO: FINN'S HELPERS CHAPTER I. THE LAD OF THE SKINS Besides all the men Finn had in his household, there were some that would come and join him from one place or another. One time a young man wearing a dress of skins came to Finn's house at Almhuin, and his wife along with him, and he asked to take service with Finn. And in the morning, as they were going to their hunting, the Lad of the Skins said to Finn: "Let me have no one with me but myself, and let me go into one part of the country by myself, and you yourself with all your men go to another part." "Is it on the dry ridges you will go," said Finn, "or is it in the deep bogs and marshes, where there is danger of drowning?" "I will go in the deep boggy places," said he. So they all went out from Almhuin, Finn and the Fianna to one part, and the Lad of the Skins to another part, and they hunted through the day. And when they came back at evening, the Lad of the Skins had killed more than Finn and all his men together. When Finn saw that, he was glad to have so good a servant. But Conan said to him: "The Lad of the Skins will destroy ourselves and the whole of the Fianna of Ireland unless you will find some way to rid yourself of him." "I never had a good man with me yet, Conan," said Finn, "but you wanted me to put him away; and how could I put away a man like that?" he said. "The way to put him away," said Conan, "is to send him to the King of the Floods to take from him the great cauldron that is never without meat, but that has always enough in it to feed the whole world. And let him bring that cauldron back here with him to Almhuin," he said. So Finn called to the Lad of the Skins, and he said: "Go from me now to the King of the Floods and get the great cauldron that is never empty from him, and bring it here to me." "So long as I am in your service I must do your work," said the Lad of the Skins. With that he set out, leaping over the hills and valleys till he came to the shore of the sea. And then he took up two sticks and put one of them across the other, and a great ship rose out of the two sticks. The Lad of the Skins went into the ship then, and put up the sails and set out over the sea, and he heard nothing but the whistling of eels in the sea and the calling of gulls in the air till he came to the house of the King of the Floods. And at that time there were hundreds of ships waiting near the shore; and he left his ship outside them all, and then he stepped from ship to ship till he stood on land. There was a great feast going on at that time in the king's house, and the Lad of the Skins went up to the door, but he could get no farther because of the crowd. So he stood outside the door for a while, and no one looked at him, and he called out at last: "This is a hospitable house indeed, and these are mannerly ways, not to ask a stranger if there is hunger on him or thirst." "That is true," said the king; "and give the cauldron of plenty now to this stranger," he said, "till he eats his fill." So his people did that, and no sooner did the Lad of the Skins get a hold of the cauldron than he made away to the ship and put it safe into it. But when he had done that he said: "There is no use in taking the pot by my swiftness, if I do not take it by my strength." And with that he turned and went to land again. And the whole of the men of the army of the King of the Floods were ready to fight; but if they were, so was the Lad of the Skins, and he went through them and over them all till the whole place was quiet. He went back to his ship then and raised the sails and set out again for Ireland, and the ship went rushing back to the place where he made it. And when he came there, he gave a touch of his hand to the ship, and there was nothing left of it but the two sticks he made it from, and they lying on the strand before him, and the cauldron of plenty with them. And he took up the cauldron on his back, and brought it to Finn, son of Cumhal, at Almhuin. And Finn gave him his thanks for the work he had done. One day, now, Finn was washing himself at the well, and a voice spoke out of the water, and it said: "You must give back the cauldron, Finn, to the King of the Floods, or you must give him battle in place of it." Finn told that to the Lad of the Skins, but the answer he got from him was that his time was up, and that he could not serve on time that was past. "But if you want me to go with you," he said, "let you watch my wife, that is Manannan's daughter, through the night; and in the middle of the night, when she will be combing her hair, any request you make of her, she cannot refuse it. And the request you will make is that she will let me go with you to the King of the Floods, to bring the cauldron to his house and to bring it back again." So Finn watched Manannan's daughter through the night, and when he saw her combing her hair, he made his request of her. "I have no power to refuse you," she said; "but you must promise me one thing, to bring my husband back to me, alive or dead. And if he is alive," she said, "put up a grey-green flag on the ship coming back; but if he is dead, put up a red flag." So Finn promised to do that, and he himself and the Lad of the Skins set out together for the dun of the King of the Floods, bringing the cauldron with them. No sooner did the king see them than he gave word to all his armies to make ready. But the Lad of the Skins made for them and overthrew them, and he went into the king's dun, and Finn with him, and they overcame him and brought away again the cauldron that was never empty. But as they were going back to Ireland, they saw a great ship coming towards them. And when the Lad of the Skins looked at the ship, he said: "I think it is an old enemy of my own is in that ship, that is trying to bring me to my death, because of my wife that refused him her love." And when the ship came alongside, the man that was in it called out: "I know you well, and it is not by your dress I know you, son of the King of the Hills." And with that he made a leap on to the ship, and the two fought a great battle together, and they took every shape; they began young like two little boys, and fought till they were two old men; they fought from being two young pups until they were two old dogs; from being two young horses till they were two old horses. And then they began to fight in the shape of birds, and it is in that shape they killed one another at the last. And Finn threw the one bird into the water, but the other, that was the Lad of the Skins, he brought with him in the ship. And when he came in sight of Ireland, he raised a red flag as he had promised the woman. And when he came to the strand, she was there before him, and when she saw Finn, she said: "It is dead you have brought him back to me." And Finn gave her the bird, and she asked was that what she was to get in the place of her husband. And she was crying over the bird, and she brought it into a little boat with her, and she bade Finn to push out the boat to sea. And he pushed it out, and it was driven by wind and waves till at last she saw two birds flying, having a dead one between them. And the two living birds let down the dead one on an island; and it was not long till it rose up living, and the three went away together. And when Manannan's daughter saw that, she said: "There might be some cure for my man on the island, the way there was for that dead bird." And the sea brought the boat to the island, and she went searching around, but all she could find was a tree having green leaves. "It might be in these leaves the cure is," she said; and she took some of the leaves and brought them to where the Lad of the Skins was, and put them about him. And on that moment he stood up as well and as sound as ever he was. They went back then to Ireland, and they came to Almhuin at midnight, and the Lad of the Skins knocked at the door, and he said: "Put me out my wages." "There is no man, living or dead, has wages on me but the Lad of the Skins," said Finn; "and I would sooner see him here to-night," he said, "than the wages of three men." "If that is so, rise up and you will see him," said he. So Finn rose up and saw him, and gave him a great welcome, and paid him his wages. And after that he went away and his wife with him to wherever his own country was; but there were some said he was gone to the country of his wife's father, Manannan, Son of the Sea. CHAPTER II. BLACK, BROWN, AND GREY Finn was hunting one time near Teamhair of the Kings, and he saw three strange men coming towards him, and he asked what were their names. "Dubh and Dun and Glasan, Black, Brown, and Grey, are our names," they said, "and we are come to find Finn, son of Cumhal, Head of the Fianna, and to take service with him." So Finn took them into his service, and when evening came he said: "Let each one of you watch through a third part of the night." And there was a trunk of a tree there, and he bade them make three equal parts of it, and he gave a part to each of the three men, and he said: "When each one of you begins his watch, let him set fire to his own log, and as long as the wood burns let him watch." Then they drew lots, and the lot fell to Dubh to go on the first watch. So he set fire to his log, and he went out around the place, and Bran with him. He went farther and farther till at last he saw a bright light, and when he came to the place where it was, he saw a large house. He went inside, and there was a great company of very strange-looking men in it, and they drinking out of a single cup. One of the men, that seemed to be the highest, gave the cup to the man nearest him; and after he had drunk his fill he passed it on to the next, and so on to the last. And while it was going round, he said: "This is the great cup that was taken from Finn, son of Cumhal, a hundred years ago, and however many men may be together, every man of them can drink his fill from it, of whatever sort of drink he has a mind for." Dubh was sitting near the door, on the edge of the crowd, and when the cup came to him he took a drink from it, and then he slipped away in the dark, bringing it with him. And when he came to the place where Finn was, his log was burned out. Then it was the turn of Dun to go out, for the second lot had fallen on him, and he put a light to his log, and went out, and Bran with him. He walked on through the night till he saw a fire that was shining from a large house, and when he went in he saw a crowd of men, and they fighting. And a very old man that was in a high place above the rest called out: "Stop fighting now, for I have a better gift for you than the one you lost to-night." And with that he drew a knife out of his belt and held it up, and said: "This is the wonderful knife, the small knife of division, that was stolen from Finn, son of Cumhal, a hundred years ago; and you have but to cut on a bone with that knife and you will get your fill of the best meat in the world." Then he gave the knife to the man nearest him, and a bare bone with it, and the man began to cut, and there came off the bone slices of the best meat in the world. The knife and the bone were sent round then from man to man till they came to Dun, and as soon as he had the knife in his hand he slipped out unknown and hurried back, and he had just got to the well where Finn was, when his part of the log burned out. Then Glasan lighted his log and went out on his watch till he came to the house, the same way the others did. And he looked in and he saw the floor full of dead bodies, and he thought to himself: "There must be some great wonder here. And if I lie down on the floor and put some of the bodies over me," he said, "I will be able to see all that happens." So he lay down and pulled some of the bodies over him, and he was not long there till he saw an old hag coming into the house, having one leg and one arm and one upper tooth, that was long enough to serve her in place of a crutch. And when she came inside the door she took up the first dead body she met with, and threw it aside, for it was lean. And as she went on, she took two bites out of every fat body she met with, and threw away every lean one. She had her fill of flesh and blood before she came to Glasan, and she dropped down on the floor and fell asleep, and Glasan thought that every breath she drew would bring down the roof on his head. He rose up then and looked at her, and wondered at the bulk of her body. And at last he drew his sword and hit her a slash that killed her; but if he did, three young men leaped out of her body. And Glasan made a stroke that killed the first of them, and Bran killed the second, but the third made his escape. Glasan made his way back then, and just when he got to where Finn was, his log of wood was burned out, and the day was beginning to break. And when Finn rose up in the morning he asked news of the three watchers, and they gave him the cup and the knife and told him all they had seen, and he gave great praise to Dubh and to Dun; but to Glasan he said: "It might have been as well for you to have left that old hag alone, for I am in dread the third young man may bring trouble on us all." It happened at the end of twenty-one years, Finn and the Fianna were at their hunting in the hills, and they saw a Red-Haired Man coming towards them, and he spoke to no one, but came and stood before Finn. "What is it you are looking for?" said Finn. "I am looking for a master for the next twenty-one years," he said. "What wages are you asking?" said Finn. "No wages at all, but only if I die before the twenty-one years are up, to bury me on Inis Caol, the Narrow Island." "I will do that for you," said Finn. So the Red-Haired Man served Finn well through the length of twenty years. But in the twenty-first year he began to waste and to wither away, and he died. And when he was dead, the Fianna were no way inclined to go to Inis Caol to bury him. But Finn said he would break his word for no man, and that he himself would bring his body there. And he took an old white horse that had been turned loose on the hills, and that had got younger and not older since it was put out, and he put the body of the Red-Haired Man on its back, and let it take its own way, and he himself followed it, and twelve men of the Fianna. And when they came to Inis Caol they saw no trace of the horse or of the body. And there was an open house on the island, and they went in. And there were seats for every man of them inside, and they sat down to rest for a while. But when they tried to rise up it failed them to do it, for there was enchantment on them. And they saw the Red-Haired Man standing before them in that moment. "The time is come now," he said, "for me to get satisfaction from you for the death of my mother and my two brothers that were killed by Glasan in the house of the dead bodies." He began to make an attack on them then, and he would have made an end of them all, but Finn took hold of the Dord Fiann, and blew a great blast on it. And before the Red-Haired Man was able to kill more than three of them, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, that had heard the sound of the Dord Fiann, came into the house and made an end of him, and put an end to the enchantment. And Finn, with the nine that were left of the Fianna, came back again to Almhuin. CHAPTER III. THE HOUND One day the three battalions of the Fianna came to Magh Femen, and there they saw three young men waiting for them, having a hound with them; and there was not a colour in the world but was on that hound, and it was bigger than any other hound. "Where do you come from, young men?" said Finn. "Out of the greater Iruath in the east," said they; "and our names are Dubh, the Dark, and Agh, the Battle, and Ilar, the Eagle." "What is it you came for?" "To enter into service, and your friendship," said they. "What good will it do us, you to be with us?" said Finn. "We are three," said they, "and you can make a different use of each one of us." "What uses are those?" said Finn. "I will do the watching for all the Fianna of Ireland and of Alban," said one of them. "I will take the weight of every fight and every battle that will come to them, the way they can keep themselves in quiet," said the second. "I will meet every troublesome thing that might come to my master," said the third; "and let all the wants of the world be told to me and I will satisfy them. And I have a pipe with me," he said; "and all the men of the world would sleep at the sound of it, and they in their sickness. And as to the hound," he said, "as long as there are deer in Ireland he will get provision for the Fianna every second night. And I myself," he said, "will get it on the other nights." "What will you ask of us to be with us like that?" said Finn. "We will ask three things," they said: "no one to come near to the place where we have our lodging after the fall of night; nothing to be given out to us, but we to provide for ourselves; and the worst places to be given to us in the hunting." "Tell me by your oath now," said Finn, "why is it you will let no one see you after nightfall?" "We have a reason," said they; "but do not ask it of us, whether we are short or long on the one path with you. But we will tell you this much," they said, "every third night, one of us three is dead and the other two are watching him, and we have no mind for any one to be looking at us." So Finn promised that; but if he did there were some of the Fianna were not well pleased because of the ways of those three men, living as they did by themselves, and having a wall of fire about them, and they would have made an end of them but for Finn protecting them. About that time there came seven men of poetry belonging to the people of Cithruadh, asking the fee for a poem, three times fifty ounces of gold and the same of silver to bring back to Cithruadh at Teamhair. "Whatever way we get it, we must find some way to get that," said a man of the Fianna. Then the three young men from Iruath said: "Well, men of learning," they said, "would you sooner get the fee for your poem to-night or to-morrow?" "To-morrow will be time enough," said they. And the three young men went to the place where the hound had his bed a little way off from the rath, and the hound threw out of his mouth before them the three times fifty ounces of gold and three times fifty of silver, and they gave them to the men of poetry, and they went away. Another time Finn said: "What can the three battalions of the Fianna do to-night, having no water?" And one of the men of Iruath said: "How many drinking-horns are with you?" "Three hundred and twelve," said Caoilte. "Give me the horns into my hand," said the young man, "and whatever you will find in them after that, you may drink it." He filled the horns then with beer and they drank it, and he did that a second and a third time; and with the third time of filling they were talkative and their wits confused. "This is a wonderful mending of the feast," said Finn. And they gave the place where all that happened the name of the Little Rath of Wonders. And one time after that again there came to Finn three bald red clowns, holding three red hounds in their hands, and three deadly spears. And there was poison on their clothes and on their hands and their feet, and on everything they touched. And Finn asked them who were they. And they said they were three sons of Uar, son of Indast of the Tuatha de Danaan; and it was by a man of the Fianna, Caoilte son of Ronan, their father was killed in the battle of the Tuatha de Danaan on Slieve nan Ean, the Mountain of Birds, in the east. "And let Caoilte son of Ronan give us the blood-fine for him now," they said. "What are your names?" said Finn. "Aincel and Digbail and Espaid; Ill-wishing and Harm and Want are our names. And what answer do you give us now, Finn?" they said. "No one before me ever gave a blood-fine for a man killed in battle, and I will not give it," said Finn. "We will do revenge and robbery on you so," said they. "What revenge is that?" said Finn. "It is what I will do," said Aincel, "if I meet with two or three or four of the Fianna, I will take their feet and their hands from them." "It is what I will do," said Digbail, "I will not leave a day without loss of a hound or a serving-boy or a fighting man to the Fianna of Ireland." "And I myself will be always leaving them in want of people, or of a hand, or of an eye," said Espaid. "Without we get some help against them," said Caoilte, "there will not be one of us living at the end of a year." "Well," said Finn, "we will make a dun and stop here for a while, for I will not be going through Ireland and these men following after me, till I find who are the strongest, themselves or ourselves." So the Fianna made little raths for themselves all about Slieve Mis, and they stopped there through a month and a quarter and a year. And through all that time the three red bald-headed men were doing every sort of hurt and harm upon them. But the three sons of the King of Iruath came to speak with Finn, and it is what they said: "It is our wish, Finn, to send the hound that is with us to go around you three times in every day, and however many may be trying to hurt or to rob you, they will not have power to do it after that. But let there be neither fire nor arms nor any other dog in the house he goes into," they said. "I will let none of these things go into the one house with him," said Finn, "and he will go safe back to you." So every day the hound would be sent to Finn, having his chain of ridges of red gold around his neck, and he would go three times around Finn, and three times he would put his tongue upon him. And to the people that were nearest to the hound when he came into the house it would seem like as if a vat of mead was being strained, and to others there would come the sweet smell of an apple garden. And every harm and sickness the three sons of Uar would bring on the Fianna, the three sons of the King of Iruath would take it off them with their herbs and their help and their healing. And after a while the High King of Ireland came to Slieve Mis with a great, troop of his men, to join with Finn and the Fianna. And they told the High King the whole story, and how the sons of Uar were destroying them, and the three sons of the King of Iruath were helping them against them. "Why would not the men that can do all that find some good spell that would drive the sons of Uar out of Ireland?" said the High King. With that Caoilte went looking for the three young men from Iruath and brought them to the High King. "These are comely men," said the High King, "good in their shape and having a good name. And could you find any charm, my sons," he said, "that will drive out these three enemies that are destroying the Fianna of Ireland?" "We would do that if we could find those men near us," said they; "and it is where they are now," they said, "at Daire's Cairn at the end of the raths." "Where are Garb-Cronan, the Rough Buzzing One, and Saltran of the Long Heel?" said Finn. "Here we are, King of the Fianna," said they. "Go out to those men beyond, and tell them I will give according to the judgment of the King of Ireland in satisfaction for their father." The messengers went out then and brought them in, and they sat down on the bank of the rath. Then the High King said: "Rise up, Dubh, son of the King of Iruath, and command these sons of Uar with a spell to quit Ireland." And Dubh rose up, and he said: "Go out through the strength of this spell and this charm, you three enemies of the Fianna, one-eyed, lame-thighed, left-handed, of the bad race. And go out on the deep bitter sea," he said, "and let each one of you strike a blow of his sword on the head of his brothers. For it is long enough you are doing harm and destruction on the King of the Fianna, Finn, son of Cumhal." With that the hound sent a blast of wind under them that brought them out into the fierce green sea, and each of them struck a blow on the head of the others. And that was the last that was seen of the three destroying sons of Uar, Aincel and Digbail and Espaid. But after the time of the Fianna, there came three times in the one year, into West Munster, three flocks of birds from the western sea having beaks of bone and fiery breath, and the wind from their wings was as cold as a wind of spring. And the first time they came was at reaping time, and every one of them brought away an ear of corn from the field. And the next time they came they did not leave apple on tree, or nut on bush, or berry on the rowan; and the third time they spared no live thing they could lift from the ground, young bird or fawn or silly little child. And the first day they came was the same day of the year the three sons of Uar were put out in the sea. And when Caoilte, that was one of the last of the Fianna, and that was living yet, heard of them, he remembered the sons of Uar, and he made a spell that drove them out into the sea again, and they perished there by one another. It was about the length of a year the three sons of the King of Iruath stopped with Finn. And at the end of that time Donn and Dubhan, two sons of the King of Ulster, came out of the north to Munster. And one night they kept watch for the Fianna, and three times they made a round of the camp. And it is the way the young men from Iruath used to be, in a place by themselves apart from the Fianna, and their hound in the middle between them; and at the fall of night there used a wall of fire to be around them, the way no one could look at them. And the third time the sons of the King of Ulster made the round of the camp, they saw the fiery wall, and Donn said: "It is a wonder the way those three young men are through the length of a year now, and their hound along with them, and no one getting leave to look at them." With that he himself and his brother took their arms in their hands, and went inside the wall of fire, and they began looking at the three men and at the hound. And the great hound they used to see every day at the hunting was at this time no bigger than a lap-dog that would be with a queen or a high person. And one of the young men was watching over the dog, and his sword in his hand, and another of them was holding a vessel of white silver to the mouth of the dog; and any drink any one of the three would ask for, the dog would put it out of his mouth into the vessel. Then one of the young men said to the hound: "Well, noble one and brave one and just one, take notice of the treachery that is done to you by Finn." When the dog heard that he turned to the King of Ulster's sons, and there rose a dark Druid wind that blew away the shields from their shoulders and the swords from their sides into the wall of fire. And then the three men came out and made an end of them; and when that was done the dog came and breathed on them, and they turned to ashes on the moment, and there was never blood or flesh or bone of them found after. And the three battalions of the Fianna divided themselves into companies of nine, and went searching through every part of Ireland for the King of Ulster's two sons. And as to Finn, he went to Teamhair Luachra, and no one with him but the serving-lads and the followers of the army. And the companies of nine that were looking for the King of Ulster's sons came back to him there in the one night; but they brought no word of them, if they were dead or living. But as to the three sons of the King of Iruath and the hound that was with them, they were seen no more by Finn and the Fianna. CHAPTER IV. RED RIDGE There was another young man came and served Finn for a while; out of Connacht he came, and he was very daring, and the Red Ridge was the name they gave him. And he all but went from Finn one time, because of his wages that were too long in coming to him. And the three battalions of the Fianna came trying to quiet him, but he would not stay for them. And at the last Finn himself came, for it is a power he had, if he would make but three verses he would quiet any one. And it is what he said: "Daring Red Ridge," he said, "good in battle, if you go from me to-day with your great name it is a good parting for us. But once at Rath Cro," he said, "I gave you three times fifty ounces in the one day; and at Cam Ruidhe I gave you the full of my cup of silver and of yellow gold. And do you remember," he said, "the time we were at Rath Ai, when we found the two women, and when we ate the nuts, myself and yourself were there together." And after that the young man said no more about going from him. And another helper came to Finn one time he was fighting at a ford, and all his weapons were used or worn with the dint of the fight. And there came to him a daughter of Mongan of the Sidhe, bringing him a flat stone having a chain of gold to it. And he took the stone and did great deeds with it. And after the fight the stone fell into the ford, that got the name of Ath Liag Finn. And that stone will never be found till the Woman of the Waves will find it, and will bring it to land on a Sunday morning; and on that day seven years the world will come to an end. BOOK THREE: THE BATTLE OF THE WHITE STRAND. CHAPTER I. THE ENEMIES OF IRELAND Of all the great battles the Fianna fought to keep the foreigners out of Ireland, the greatest was the one that was fought at Finntraigh the White Strand, in Munster; and this is the whole story of it, and of the way the Fianna came to have so great a name. One time the enemies of Ireland gathered together under Daire Donn, High King of the Great World, thinking to take Ireland and to put it under tribute. The King of Greece was of them, and the King of France, and the King of the Eastern World, and Lughman of the Broad Arms, King of the Saxons, and Fiacha of the Long Hair, King of the Gairean, and Tor the son of Breogan, King of the Great Plain, and Sligech, son of the King of the Men of Cepda, and Comur of the Crooked Sword, King of the Men of the Dog-Heads, and Caitchenn, King of the Men of the Cat-Heads, and Caisel of the Feathers, King of Lochlann, and Madan of the Bent Neck, son of the King of the Marshes, and three kings from the rising of the sun in the east, and Ogarmach, daughter of the King of Greece, the best woman-warrior that ever came into the world, and a great many other kings and great lords. The King of the World asked then: "Who is there can give me knowledge of the harbours of Ireland?" "I will do that for you, and I will bring you to a good harbour," said Glas, son of Bremen, that had been put out of Ireland by Finn for doing some treachery. Then the armies set out in their ships, and they were not gone far when the wind rose and the waves, and they could hear nothing but the wild playing of the sea-women, and the screams of frightened birds, and the breaking of ropes and of sails. But after a while, when the wind found no weakness in the heroes, it rose from them and went up into its own high place. And then the sea grew quiet and the waves grew tame and the harbours friendly, and they stopped for a while at an island that was called the Green Rock. But the King of the World said then: "It is not a harbour like this you promised me, Glas, son of Dremen, but a shore of white sand where my armies could have their fairs and their gatherings the time they would not be fighting." "I know a harbour of that sort in the west of Ireland," said Glas, "the Harbour of the White Strand in Corca Duibhne." So they went into their ships again, and went on over the sea towards Ireland. CHAPTER II. CAEL AND CREDHE Now as to Finn, when it was shown to him that the enemies of Ireland were coming, he called together the seven battalions of the Fianna. And the place where they gathered was on the hill that was called Fionntulach, the White Hill, in Munster. They often stopped on that hill for a while, and spear-shafts with spells on them were brought to them there, and they had every sort of thing for food, beautiful blackberries, haws of the hawthorn, nuts of the hazels of Cenntire, tender twigs of the bramble bush, sprigs of wholesome gentian, watercress at the beginning of summer. And there would be brought to their cooking-pots birds out of the oak-woods, and squirrels from Berramain, and speckled eggs from the cliffs, and salmon out of Luimnech, and eels of the Sionnan, and woodcocks of Fidhrinne, and otters from the hidden places of the Doile, and fish from the coasts of Buie and Beare, and dulse from the bays of Cleire. And as they were going to set out southwards, they saw one of their young men, Gael, grandson of Nemhnain, coming towards them. "Where are you come from, Cael?" Finn asked him. "From Brugh na Boinne," said he. "What were you asking there?" said Finn. "I was asking to speak with Muirenn, daughter of Derg, that was my own nurse," said he. "For what cause?" said Finn. "It was about a high marriage and a woman of the Sidhe that was showed to me in a dream; Credhe it was I saw, daughter of the King of Ciarraighe Luachra." "Do you know this, Cael," said Finn, "that she is the greatest deceiver of all the women of Ireland; and there is hardly a precious thing in Ireland but she has coaxed it away to her own great dun." "Do you know what she asks of every man that comes asking for her?" said Cael. "I know it," said Finn; "she will let no one come unless he is able to make a poem setting out the report of her bowls and her horns and her cups, her grand vessels and all her palaces." "I have all that ready," said Cael; "it was given to me by my nurse, Muirenn, daughter of Derg." They gave up the battle then for that time, and they went on over every hilly place and every stony place till they came to Loch Cuire in the west; and they came to the door of the hill of the Sidhe and knocked at it with the shafts of their long gold-socketted spears. And there came young girls having yellow hair to the windows of the sunny houses; and Credhe herself, having three times fifty women with her, came out to speak with them. "It is to ask you in marriage we are come," said Finn. "Who is it is asking for me?" said she. "It is Cael, the hundred-killer, grandson of Nemhnain, son of the King of Leinster in the east." "I have heard talk of him, but I have never seen him," said Credhe. "And has he any poem for me?" she said. "I have that," said Cael, and he rose up then and sang his poem: "A journey I have to make, and it is no easy journey, to the house of Credhe against the breast of the mountain, at the Paps of Dana; it is there I must be going through hardships for the length of seven days. It is pleasant her house is, with men and boys and women, with Druids and musicians, with cup-bearer and door-keeper, with horse-boy that does not leave his work, with distributer to share food; and Credhe of the Fair Hair having command over them all. "It would be delightful to me in her dun, with coverings and with down, if she has but a mind to listen to me. "A bowl she has with juice of berries in it to make her eyebrows black; crystal vats of fermenting grain; beautiful cups and vessels. Her house is of the colour of lime; there are rushes for beds, and many silken coverings and blue cloaks; red gold is there, and bright drinking-horns. Her sunny house is beside Loch Cuire, made of silver and yellow gold; its ridge is thatched without any fault, with the crimson wings of birds. The doorposts are green, the lintel is of silver taken in battle. Credhe's chair on the left is the delight of delights, covered with gold of Elga; at the foot of the pleasant bed it is, the bed that was made of precious stones by Tuile in the east. Another bed there is on the right, of gold and silver, it is made without any fault, curtains it has of the colour of the foxglove, hanging on rods of copper. "The people of her house, it is they have delight, their cloaks are not faded white, they are not worn smooth; their hair is fair and curling. Wounded men in their blood would sleep hearing the birds of the Sidhe singing in the eaves of the sunny house. "If I have any thanks to give to Credhe, for whom the cuckoo calls, she will get better praise than this; if this love-service I have done is pleasing to her, let her not delay, let her say, 'Your coming is welcome to me.' "A hundred feet there are in her house, from one corner to another; twenty feet fully measured is the width of her great door; her roof has its thatch of the wings of blue and yellow birds, the border of her well is of crystals and carbuncles. "There is a vat there of royal bronze; the juice of pleasant malt is running from it; over the vat is an apple-tree with its heavy fruit; when Credhe's horn is filled from the vat, four apples fall into it together. "She that owns all these things both at low water and at flood, Credhe from the Hill of the Three Peaks, she is beyond all the women of Ireland by the length of a spear-cast. "Here is this song for her, it is no sudden bride-gift it is, no hurried asking; I bring it to Credhe of the beautiful shape, that my coming may be very bright to her." Then Credhe took him for her husband, and the wedding-feast was made, and the whole of the Fianna stopped there through seven days, at drinking and pleasure, and having every good thing. CHAPTER III. CONN CRITHER Finn now, when he had turned from his road to go to Credhe's house, had sent out watchmen to every landing-place to give warning when the ships of the strangers would be in sight. And the man that was keeping watch at the White Strand was Conn Crither, son of Bran, from Teamhair Luachra. And after he had been a long time watching, he was one night west from the Round Hill of the Fianna that is called Cruachan Adrann, and there he fell asleep. And while he was in his sleep the ships came; and what roused him was the noise of the breaking of shields and the clashing of swords and of spears, and the cries of women and children and of dogs and horses that were under flames, and that the strangers were making an attack on. Conn Crither started up when he heard that, and he said: "It is great trouble has come on the people through my sleep; and I will not stay living after this," he said, "for Finn and the Fianna of Ireland to see me, but I will rush into the middle of the strangers," he said, "and they will fall by me till I fall by them." He put on his suit of battle then and ran down towards the strand. And on the way he saw three women dressed in battle clothes before him, and fast as he ran he could not overtake them. He took his spear then to make a cast of it at the woman was nearest him, but she stopped on the moment, and she said: "Hold your hand and do not harm us, for we are not come to harm you but to help you." "Who are you yourselves?" said Conn Crither. "We are three sisters," she said, "and we are come from Tir nan Og, the Country of the Young, and we have all three given you our love, and no one of us loves you less than the other, and it is to give you our help we are come." "What way will you help me?" said Conn. "We will give you good help," she said, "for we will make Druid armies about you from stalks of grass and from the tops of the watercress, and they will cry out to the strangers and will strike their arms from their hands, and take from them their strength and their eyesight. And we will put a Druid mist about you now," she said, "that will hide you from the armies of the strangers, and they will not see you when you make an attack on them. And we have a well of healing at the foot of Slieve Iolair, the Eagle's Mountain," she said, "and its waters will cure every wound made in battle. And after bathing in that well you will be as whole and as sound as the day you were born. And bring whatever man you like best with you," she said, "and we will heal him along with you." Conn Crither gave them his thanks for that, and he hurried on to the strand. And it was at that time the armies of the King of the Great Plain were taking spoils from Traigh Moduirn in the north to Finntraighe in the south. And Conn Crither came on them, and the Druid army with him, and he took their spoils from them, and the Druid army took their sight and their strength from them, and they were routed, and they made away to where the King of the Great Plain was, and Conn Crither followed, killing and destroying. "Stop with me, king-hero," said the King of the Great Plain, "that I may fight with you on account of my people, since there is not one of them that turns to stand against you." So the two set their banners in the earth and attacked one another, and fought a good part of the day until Conn Crither struck off the king's head. And he lifted up the head, and he was boasting of what he had done. "By my word," he said, "I will not let myself be parted from this body till some of the Fianna, few or many, will come to me." CHAPTER IV. GLAS, SON OF BREMEN The King of the World heard that, and he said: "It is a big word that man is saying," he said; "and rise up now, Glas, son of Dremen, and see which of the Fianna of Ireland it is that is saying it." Glas left the ship then, and he went to where Conn Crither was, and he asked who was he. "I am Conn Crither, son of Bran, from Teamhair Luachra," said he. "If that is so," said Glas, "you are of the one blood with myself, for I am Glas, son of Bremen from Teamhair Luachra." "It is not right for you to come fighting against me from those foreigners, so," said Conn. "It is a pity indeed," said Glas; "and but for Finn and the Fianna driving me from them, I would not fight against you or against one of themselves for all the treasures of the whole world." "Do not say that," said Conn, "for I swear by my hand of valour," he said, "if you had killed Finn's own son and the sons of his people along with him, you need not be in dread of him if only you came under his word and his protection." "I think indeed the day is come for me to fight beside you," said Glas, "and I will go back and tell that to the King of the World." He went back then to where the king was, and the king asked him which of the men of the Fianna was in it. "It is a kinsman of my own is in it, High King," said Glas; "and it is weak my heart is, he to be alone, and I have a great desire to go and help him." "If you go," said the King of the World, "it is what I ask you, to come and to tell me every day how many of the Fianna of Ireland have fallen by me; and if a few of my own men should fall," he said, "come and tell me who it was they fell by." "It is what I ask you," said Glas, "not to let your armies land till the Fianna come to us, but to let one man only come to fight with each of us until that time," he said. So two of the strangers were sent against them that day, and they got their death by Glas and by Conn Crither. Then they asked to have two men sent against each of them, and that was done; and three times nine fell by them before night. And Conn Crither was covered with wounds after the day, and he said to Glas: "Three women came to me from the Country of the Young, and they promised to put me in a well of healing for my wounds. And let you watch the harbour to-night," he said, "and I will go look for them." So he went to them, and they bathed him in the well of healing, and he was whole of his wounds. And as to Glas, son of Dremen, he went down to the harbour, and he said: "O King of the World," he said, "there is a friend of mine in the ships, Madan of the Bent Neck, son of the King of the Marshes; and it is what he said in the great world in the east, that he himself would be enough to take Ireland for you, and that he would bring it under tribute to you by one way or another. And I ask you to let him come alone against me to-night, till we see which of us will fight best for Ireland." So Madan came to the land, and the two attacked one another, and made a very hard fight; but as it was not in the prophecy that Glas would find his death there, it was the son of the King of the Marshes that got his death by him. And not long after that Conn Crither came back to Glas, and he gave Glas great praise for all he had done. CHAPTER V. THE HELP OF THE MEN OF DEA Then Taistellach that was one of Finn's messengers came to the White Strand asking news; and Conn bade him go back to where Finn was and tell him the way things were. But Taistellach would not go until he had wetted his sword in the blood of one of the enemies of Ireland, the same as the others had done. And he sent a challenge to the ships, and Coimhleathan, a champion that was very big and tall, came and fought with him on the strand, and took him in his arms to bring him back living to the ship of the High King; but Taistellach struck his head off in the sea and brought it back to land. "Victory and blessing be with you!" said Conn Crither. "And go now to-night," he said, "to the house of Bran, son of Febal my father at Teamhair Luachra, and bid him to gather all the Tuatha de Danaan to help us; and go on to-morrow to the Fianna of Ireland." So Taistellach went on to Bran's house, and he told him the whole story and gave him the message. Then Bran, son of Febal, went out to gather the Tuatha de Danaan, and he went to Dun Sesnain in Ui Conall Gabra, where they were holding a feast at that time. And there he found three of the best young men of the Tuatha de Danaan, Ilbrec the Many Coloured, son of Manannan, and Nemanach the Pearly, son of Angus Og, and Sigmall, grandson of Midhir, and they made him welcome and bade him to stop with them. "There is a greater thing than this for you to do, Men of Dea," said Bran; and he told them the whole story, and the way Conn Crither his son was. "Stop with me to-night," said Sesnan, "and my son Dolb will go to Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, and gather in the Tuatha de Danaan to us." So he stopped there, and Dolb, son of Sesnan, went to Sidhe Bean Finn above Magh Femen, and Bodb Dearg was there at that time, and Dolb gave him his message. "Young man," said Bodb Dearg, "we are no way bound to help the men of Ireland out of that strait." "Do not say that," said Dolb, "for there is not a king's son or a prince or a leader of the Fianna of Ireland without having a wife or a mother or a foster-mother or a sweetheart of the Tuatha de Danaan; and it is good help they have given you every time you were in want of it." "I give my word," said Bodb Dearg, "it is right to give a good answer to so good a messenger." With that he sent word to the Tuatha de Danaan in every place where they were, and they gathered to him. And from that they went on to Dun Sesnain, and they stopped there through the night And they rose up in the morning and put on their shirts of the dearest silk and their embroidered coats of rejoicing, and they took their green shields and their swords and their spears. And their leaders at that time besides Bodb Dearg were Midhir of Bri Leith, and Lir of Sidhe Finnachaidh, and Abarthach, son of Ildathach, and Ilbrec, son of Manannan, and Fionnbhar of Magh Suil, and Argat Lamh, the Silver Hand, from the Sionnan, and the Man of Sweet Speech from the Boinn. And the whole army of them came into Ciarraighe Luachra, and to red-haired Slieve Mis, and from that to the harbour of the White Strand. "O Men of Dea," said Abarthach then, "let a high mind and high courage rise within you now in the face of the battle. For the doings of every one among you," he said, "will be told till the end of the world; and let you fulfil now the big words you have spoken in the drinking-houses." "Rise up, Glas, son of Dremen," said Bodb Dearg then, "and tell out to the King of the World that I am come to do battle." Glas went then to the King of the World. "Are those the Fianna of Ireland I see?" said the king. "They are not," said Glas, "but another part of the men of Ireland that do not dare to be on the face of the earth, but that live in hidden houses under the earth, and it is to give warning of battle from them I am come." "Who will answer the Tuatha de Danaan for me?" said the King of the World. "We will go against them," said two of the kings that were with him, Comur Cromchenn, King of the Men of the Dog-Heads, and Caitchenn, King of the Men of the Cat-Heads. And they had five red-armed battalions with them, and they went to the shore like great red waves. "Who is there to match with the King of the Dog-Heads for me?" said Bodb Dearg. "I will go against him," said Lir of Sidhe Finnachaidh, "though I heard there is not in the world a man with stronger hands than himself." "Who will be a match for the King of the Cat-Heads?" said Bodb Dearg. "I will be a match for him," said Abarthach, son of Ildathach. So Lir and the King of the Dog-Heads attacked one another, and they made a hard fight; but after a while Lir was getting the worst of it. "It is a pity the way Lir is," said Bodb Dearg; "and let some of you rise up and help him," he said. Then Ilbrec, son of Manannan, went to his help; but if he did, he got a wound himself and could do nothing. Then Sigmal, grandson of Midhir, went to his help, and after him the five sons of Finnaistucan, and others of the Men of Dea, but they were all driven off by the King of the Dog-Heads. But at that time Abarthach had made an end of the King of the Cat-Heads, and he rose on his spear, and made a leap, and came down between Lir and his enemy. "Leave off now and look on at the fight," he said to Lir, "and leave it to me and the foreigner." With that he took his sword in his left hand and made a thrust with his spear in through the king's armour. And as the king was raising up his shield, he struck at him with the sword that was in his left hand, and cut off both his legs at the knees, and the king let fall his shield then, and Abarthach struck off his head. And the two kings being dead, their people broke away and ran, but the Men of Dea followed them and made an end of them all; but if they did, they lost a good many of their own men. CHAPTER VI. THE MARCH OF THE FIANNA Ana Finn and the Fianna were at the house of Credhe yet, and they saw Taistellach coming towards them. It was the custom, now, with Finn when he sent any one looking for news, that it was to himself it was to be told first, the way that if he got bad news he would let on not to mind it; and if it was good news he got, he would have the satisfaction of telling it himself. So Taistellach told him how the foreigners were come to the harbour of the White Strand. Then Finn turned to his chief men, and he said: "Fianna of Ireland, there never came harm or danger to Ireland to be put aside this great danger that is come against us now. And you get great tribute and great service from the chief men of Ireland," he said, "and if you take that from them it is right for you to defend them now." And the Fianna all said they would not go back one step from the defence of Ireland. And as to Credhe, she gave every one of them a battle dress, and they were taking leave of her, and Finn said: "Let the woman come along with us till we know is it good or bad the end of this journey will be." So she came with them, bringing a great herd of cattle; and through the whole length of the battle, that lasted a year and a day, she had new milk for them, and it was to her house the wounded were brought for healing. Then the Fianna set out, and they went to the borders of Ciarraighe Luachra and across by the shores of the Bannlid with their left hand to Slieve Mis, and they made shelters for themselves that night, and kindled fires. But Caoilte and Oisin and Lugaidh's Son said to one another they would go on to the harbour, the way they would have time to redden their hands in the blood of the foreigners before the rest of the Fianna would come. And at that time the King of the World bade some of his chief men to go on shore and to bring him back some spoils. So they went to land and they gave out a great shout, and the people of the ships gave out a great shout at the same time. "I swear by the oath my people swear by," said Caoilte, "I have gone round the whole world, but I never heard so many voices together in the one place." And with that he himself and Oisin and Lugaidh's Son made an attack on the strangers, and struck great blows at them. And when Conn Crither and Glas, son of Bremen, heard the noise of those blows, they knew they were struck by some of the Fianna of Ireland, and they came and joined with them, and did great destruction on the strangers, till there was not one left of all that had come to land. CHAPTER VII. THE FIRST FIGHTERS And in the morning they saw Finn and all his people coming to the rath that is above the harbour. "My father Finn," said Oisin than, "let us fight now with the whole of the foreigners altogether." "That is not my advice," said Finn, "for the number of their armies is too great for us, and we could not stand against them. But we will send out every day," he said, "some son of a king or of a leader against some king of the kings of the world that is equal in blood to ourselves. And let none of you redden your arms," he said, "but against a king or a chief man at first, for when a king is fallen, his people will be more inclined to give way. And who will give out a challenge of battle from me now?" he said. "I will do that," said the son of Cuban, leader of the Fianna of Munster. "Do not go, my son," said Finn, "for it is not showed to me that you will have good luck in the battle, and I never sent out any man to fight without I knew he would come back safe to me." "Do not say that," said Cuban's son, "for I would not for the treasure of the whole world go back from a fight on account of a bad foretelling. And as it is my own country they have done their robbery in first," he said, "I will defend it for you." "It is sorrowful I am for that," said Finn, "for whichever of the kings of the world will meet you to-day, yourself and himself will fall together." Then Glas, son of Dremen, gave out a challenge of fight from Cuban's son, and the King of Greece answered it. And the two fought hand to hand, and the King of Greece made a great cast of his thick spear at Cuban's son, that went through his body and broke his back in two. But he did not take that blow as a gift, but he paid for it with a strong cast of his own golden spear that went through the ringed armour of the King of Greece. And those two fell together, sole to sole, and lip to lip. "There is grief on me, Cuban's son to have fallen," said Finn, "for no one ever went from his house unsatisfied; and a man that I would not keep, or the High King of Ireland would not keep for a week, he would keep him in his house through the length of a year. And let Follamain, his son, be called to me now," he said, "and I will give him his father's name and place." They stopped there then till the next morning. "Who will go and fight to-day?" said Finn then. "I will do that," said Goll Garb, son of the King of Alban and of the daughter of Goll, son of Morna. So he put on his battle dress, and there came against him the three kings from the rising of the sun in the east, and their three battalions with them. And Goll Garb rushed among their men, and wounded and maimed and destroyed them, and blinded their eyes for ever, so that their wits went from them, and they called to him to stop his deadly sword for a while. So he did that; and it is what they agreed to take their three kings and to give them over to Goll Garb that he might stop doing destruction with his sword. "Who will go out and fight to-day?" said Finn, on the morning of the morrow. "I will go," said Oisin, "and the chief men of the sons of Baiscne with me; for we get the best share of all the pleasant things of Ireland, and we should be first to defend her." "I will answer that challenge," said the King of France, "for it is against Finn I am come to Ireland, on account of my wife that he brought away from me; and these men will fall by me now," he said, "and Finn himself at the last; for when the branches of a tree are cut off, it is not hard to cut down the tree itself." So the King of France and Oisin met one another at the eastern end of the strand, and they struck their banners of soft silk into the green hill, and bared their swords and made a quick attack on one another. And at one time the king struck such a great blow that he knocked a groan out of Oisin. But for all that he was worsted in the end, and great fear came on him, like the fear of a hundred horses at the sound of thunder, and he ran from Oisin, and he rose like a swallow, that his feet never touched the earth at all; and he never stopped till he came to Gleann na-n Gealt, the Valley of Wild Men. And ever since that time, people that have lost their wits make for that valley; and every mad person in Ireland, if he had his way, would go there within twenty-four hours. And there rose great cries of lamentation from the armies of the World when they saw him going from them, and the Fianna of Ireland raised great shouts of joy. And when the night was coming on, it is what Finn said: "It is sad and gloomy the King of the World is to-night; and it is likely he will make an attack on us. And which of you will keep watch over the harbour through the night?" he said. "I will," said Oisin, "with the same number that was fighting along with me to-day; for it is not too much for you to fight for the Fianna of Ireland through a day and a night," he said. So they went down to the harbour, and it was just at that time the King of the World was saying, "It seems to me, men of the World, that our luck of battle was not good to-day. And let a share of you rise up now," he said, "and make an attack on the Fianna of Ireland." Then there rose up the nine sons of Garb, King of the Sea of Icht, that were smiths, and sixteen hundred of their people along with them, and they all went on shore but Dolar Durba that was the eldest of them. And the sons of Baiscne were ready for them, and they fought a great battle till the early light of the morrow. And not one of them was left alive on either side that could hold a weapon but only Oisin and one of the sons of Garb. And they made rushes at one another, and threw their swords out of their hands, and closed their arms about one another, and wrestled together, so that it was worth coming from the east to the west of the world to see the fight of those two. Then the foreigner gave a sudden great fall to Oisin, to bring him into the sea, for he was a great swimmer, and he thought to get the better of him there. And Oisin thought it would not be worthy of him to refuse any man his place of fighting. So they went into the water together, and they were trying to drown one another till they came to the sand and the gravel of the clear sea. And it was a torment to the heart of the Fianna, Oisin to be in that strait. "Rise up, Fergus of the Sweet Lips," said Finn then, "and go praise my son and encourage him." So Fergus went down to the edge of the sea, and he said: "It is a good fight you are making, Oisin, and there are many to see it, for the armies of the whole world are looking at you, and the Fianna of Ireland. And show now," he said, "your ways and your greatness, for you never went into any place but some woman of high beauty or some king's daughter set her love on you." Then Oisin's courage increased, and anger came on him and he linked his hands behind the back of the foreigner and put him down on the sand under the sea with his face upwards, and did not let him rise till the life was gone from him. And he brought the body to shore then, and struck off his head and brought it to the Fianna. But there was great grief and anger on Dolar Durba, the eldest of the sons of Garb, that had stopped in the ship, and he made a great oath that he would have satisfaction for his brothers. And he went to the High King, and he said: "I will go alone to the strand, and I will kill a hundred men every day till I have made an end of the whole of the armies of Ireland; and if any one of your own men comes to interfere with me," he said, "I will kill him along with them." The next morning Finn asked who would lead the battle that day. "I will," said Dubhan, son of Donn. "Do not," said Finn, "but let some other one go." But Dubhan went to the strand, and a hundred men along with him; and there was no one there before him but Dolar Durba, and he said he was there to fight with the whole of them. And Dubhan's men gave a great shout of laughter when they heard that; but Dolar Durba rushed on them, and he made an end of the whole hundred, without a man of them being able to put a scratch on him. And then he took a hurling stick and a ball, and he threw up the ball and kept it in the air with the hurl from the west to the east of the strand without letting it touch the ground at all. And then he put the ball on his right foot and kicked it high into the air, and when it was coming down he gave it a kick of his left foot and kept it in the air like that, and he rushing like a blast of March wind from one end of the strand to the other. And when he had done that he walked up and down on the strand making great boasts, and challenging the men of Ireland to do the like of those feats. And every day he killed a hundred of the men that were sent against him. CHAPTER VIII. THE KING OF ULSTER'S SON Now it chanced at that time that news of the great battle that was going on reached to the court of the King of Ulster. And the king's son, that was only twelve years of age, and that was the comeliest of all the young men of Ireland, said to his father: "Let me go to help Finn, son of Cumhal, and his men." "You are not old enough, or strong enough, boy; your bones are too soft," said the king. And when the boy went on asking, his father shut him up in some close place, and put twelve young men, his foster-brothers, in charge of him. There was great anger on the young lad then, and he said to his foster-brothers: "It is through courage and daring my father won a great name for himself in his young youth, and why does he keep me from winning a name for myself? And let you help me now," he said, "and I will be a friend to you for ever." And he went on talking to them and persuading them till he got round them all, and they agreed to go with him to join Finn and the Fianna. And when the king was asleep, they went into the house where the arms were kept, and every lad of them brought away with him a shield and a sword and a helmet and two spears and two greyhound whelps. And they went across Ess Ruadh in the north, and through Connacht of many tribes, and through Caille an Chosanma, the Woods of Defence, that were called the choice of every king and the true honour of every poet, and into Ciarraighe, and so on to the White Strand. And when they came there Dolar Durba was on the strand, boasting before the men of Ireland. And Oisin was rising up to go against him, for he said he would sooner die fighting with him than see the destruction he was doing every day on his people. And all the wise men and the fighting men and the poets and the musicians of the Fianna gave a great cry of sorrow when they heard Oisin saying that. And the King of Ulster's son went to Finn and stood before him and saluted him, and Finn asked who was he, and where did he come from. "I am the son of the King of Ulster," he said; "and I am come here, myself and my twelve foster-brothers, to give you what help we can." "I give you a welcome," said Finn. Just then they heard the voice of Dolar Durba, very loud and boastful. "Who is that I hear?" said the king's son. "It is a man of the foreigners asking for a hundred of my men to go and meet him," said Finn. Now, when the twelve foster-brothers heard that, they said no word but went down to the strand, unknown to the king's son and to Finn. "You are not a grown man," said Conan; "and neither yourself or your comrades are fit to face any fighting man at all." "I never saw the Fianna of Ireland till this day," said the young lad; "but I know well that you are Conan Maol, that never says a good word of any man. And you will see now," he said, "if I am in dread of that man on the strand, or of any man in the world, for I will go out against him by myself." But Finn kept him back and was talking with him; but then Conan began again, and he said: "It is many men Dolar Durba has made an end of, and there was not a man of all those that could not have killed a hundred of the like of you every day." When the king's son heard that, there was great anger on him, and he leaped up, and just then Dolar Durba gave a great shout on the strand. "What is he giving, that shout for?" said the king's son. "He is shouting for more men to come against him," said Conan, "for he is just after killing your twelve comrades." "That is a sorrowful story," said the king's son. And with that he took hold of his arms, and no one could hold him or hinder him, and he rushed down to the strand where Dolar Durba was. And all the armies of the strangers gave a great shout of laughter, for they thought all Finn's men had been made an end of, when he sent a young lad like that against their best champion. And when the boy heard that, his courage grew the greater, and he fell on Dolar Durba and gave him many wounds before he knew he was attacked at all. And they fought a very hard fight together, till their shields and their swords were broken in pieces. And that did not stop the battle, but they grappled together and fought and wrestled that way, till the tide went over them and drowned them both. And when the sea went over them the armies on each side gave out a great sorrowful cry. And after the ebb-tide on the morrow, the two bodies were found cold and quiet, each one held fast by the other. But Dolar Durba was beneath the king's son, so they knew it was the young lad was the best and had got the victory. And they buried him, and put a flag-stone over his grave, and keened him there. CHAPTER IX. THE HIGH KING'S SON Then Finn said he would send a challenge himself to Daire Bonn, the King of the Great World. But Caoilte asked leave to do that day's fighting himself. And Finn said he would agree to that if he could find enough of men to go with him. And he himself gave him a hundred men, and Oisin did the same, and so on with the rest. And he gave out his challenge, and it was the son of the King of the Great Plain that answered it. And while they were in the heat of the fight, a fleet of ships came into the harbour, and Finn thought they were come to help the foreigners. But Oisin looked at them, and he said: "It is seldom your knowledge fails you, Finn, but those are friends of our own: Fiachra, son of the King of the Fianna of the Bretons, and Duaban Donn, son of the King of Tuathmumain with his own people." And when those that were in the ships came on shore, they saw Caoilte's banner going down before the son of the King of the Great Plain. And they all went hurrying on to his help, and between them they made an end of the king's son and of all his people. "Who will keep watch to-night?" said Finn then. "We will," said the nine Garbhs of the Fianna, of Slieve Mis, and Slieve Cua, and Slieve Clair, and Slieve Crot, and Slieve Muice, and Slieve Fuad, and Slieve Atha Moir, and Dun Sobairce and Dundealgan. And they were not long watching till they saw the King of the Men of Dregan coming towards them, and they fought a fierce battle; and at the end of the night there were left standing but three of the Garbhs, and the King of the Men of Dregan. And they fought till their wits were gone from them; and those four fell together, sole against sole, and lip against lip. And the fight went on from day to day, and from week to week, and there were great losses on both sides. And when Fergus of the Sweet Lips saw that so many of the Fianna were fallen, he asked no leave but went to Teamhair of the Kings, where the High King of Ireland was, and he told him the way it was with Finn and his people. "That is good," said the High King, "Finn to be in that strait; for there is no labouring man dares touch a pig or a deer or a salmon if he finds it dead before him on account of the Fianna; and there is no man but is in dread to go from one place to another without leave from Finn, or to take a wife till he knows if she has a sweetheart among the Fianna of Ireland. And it is often Finn has given bad judgments against us," he said, "and it would be better for us the foreigners to gain the day than himself." Then Fergus went out to the lawn where the High King's son was playing at ball. "It is no good help you are giving to Ireland," said Fergus then, "to be playing a game without lasting profit, and strangers taking away your country from you." And he was urging him and blaming him, and great shame came on the young man, and he threw away the stick and went through the people of Teamhair and brought together all the young men, a thousand and twenty of them that were in it. And they asked no leave and no advice from the High King, but they set out and went on till they came to Finntraigh. And Fergus went to where Finn was, and told him the son of the High King of Ireland was come with him; and all the Fianna rose up before the young man and bade him welcome. And Finn said: "Young man," he said, "we would sooner see you coming at a time when there would be musicians and singers and poets and high-up women to make pleasure for you than at the time we are in the straits of battle the way we are now." "It is not for playing I am come," said the young man, "but to give you my service in battle." "I never brought a lad new to the work into the breast of battle," said Finn, "for it is often a lad coming like that finds his death, and I would not wish him to fall through me." "I give my word," said the young man, "I will do battle with them on my own account if I may not do it on yours." Then Fergus of the Fair Lips went out to give a challenge of battle from the son of the High King of Ireland to the King of the World. "Who will answer the King of Ireland's son for me?" said the King of the World. "I will go against him," said Sligech, King of the Men of Cepda; and he went on shore, and his three red battalions with him. And the High King's son went against them, and his comrades were near him, and they were saying to him: "Take a good heart now into the fight, for the Fianna will be no better pleased if it goes well with you than if it goes well with the foreigner." And when the High King's son heard that, he made a rush through the army of the foreigners, and began killing and overthrowing them, till their chief men were all made an end of. Then Sligech their king came to meet him, very angry and destroying, and they struck at one another and made a great fight, but at the last the King of Ireland's son got the upper hand, and he killed the King of the Men of Cepda and struck off his head. CHAPTER X. THE KING OF LOCHLANN AND HIS SONS And the fighting went on from day to day, and at last Finn said to Fergus of the Sweet Lips: "Go out, Fergus, and see how many of the Fianna are left for the fight to-day." And Fergus counted them, and he said: "There is one battalion only of the Fianna left in good order; but there are some of the men of it," he said, "are able to fight against three, and some that are able to fight against nine or thirty or a hundred." "If that is so," said Finn, "rise up and go to where the King of the World is, and bid him to come out to the great battle." So Fergus went to the King of the World, and it is the way he was, on his bed listening to the music of harps and pipes. "King of the World," said Fergus, "it is long you are in that sleep; and that is no shame for you," he said, "for it will be your last sleep. And the whole of the Fianna are gone out to their place of battle," he said, "and let you go out and answer them." "In my opinion," said the King of the World, "there is not a man of them is able to fight against me; and how many are there left of the Fianna of Ireland?" "One battalion only that is in good order," said Fergus. "And how many of the armies of the World are there left?" he said. "Thirty battalions came with me to Ireland; and there are twenty of them fallen by the Fianna, and what is left of them is ten red battalions in good order. And there are eight good fighters of them," he said, "that would put down the men of the whole world if they were against me; that is, myself, and Conmail my son, and Ogarmach, the daughter of the King of Greece, that is the best hand in battle of the whole world after myself, and Finnachta of the Teeth, the chief of my household, and the King of Lochlann, Caisel Clumach of the Feathers, and his three sons, Tocha, and Forne of the Broad Shoulders, and Mongach of the Sea." "I swear by the oath of my people," said the King of Lochlann then, "if any man of the armies goes out against the Fianna before myself and my three sons, we will not go at all, for we would not get the satisfaction we are used to, unless our swords get their fill of blood." "I will go out against them alone," said Forne, the youngest son of the King of Lochlann. With that he put on his battle suit, and he went among the Fianna of Ireland, and a red-edged sword in each of his hands. And he destroyed those of their young men that were sent against him, and he made the strand narrow with their bodies. And Finn saw that, and it was torment to his heart, and danger of death and loss of wits to him, and he was encouraging the men of Ireland against Forne. And Fergus of the True Lips stood up, and it is what he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "it is a pity the way you are under hardship and you defending Ireland. And one man is taking her from you to-day," he said, "and you are like no other thing but a flock of little birds looking for shelter in a bush from a hawk that is after them. And it is going into the shelter of Finn and Oisin and Caoilte you are," he said; "and not one of you is better than another, and none of you sets his face against the foreigner." "By my oath," said Oisin, "all that is true, and no one of us tries to do better than another keeping him off." "There is not one of you is better than another," said Fergus. Then Oisin gave out a great shout against the King of Lochlann's son. "Stop here with me, king's son," he said, "until I fight with you for the Fianna." "I give my word it is short the delay will be," said Forne. Then he himself and Oisin made an attack on one another, and it seemed for a while that the battle was going against Oisin. "By my word, Man of Poetry," said Finn then to Fergus of the True Lips, "it is a pity the way you sent my son against the foreigner. And rise up and praise him and hearten him now," he said. So Fergus went down to where the fight was, and he said: "There is great shame on the Fianna, Oisin, seeing you so low in this fight; and there is many a foot messenger and many a horsemen from the daughters of the kings and princes of Ireland looking at you now," he said. And great courage rose in Oisin then, and he drove his spear through the body of Forne, the King of Lochlann's son. And he himself came back to the Fianna of Ireland. Then the armies of the World gave out a great cry, keening Forne; and there was anger and not fear on his brothers, for they thought it no right thing he to have fallen by a man of the Fianna. And Tocha, the second son of the King of Lochlann, went on shore to avenge his brother. And he went straight into the middle of the Fianna, and gave his sword good feeding on their bodies, till they broke away before him and made no stand till Lugaidh's Son turned round against him. And those two fought a great fight, till their swords were bent and their spears crumbled away, and they lost their golden shields. And at the last Lugaidh's Son made a stroke of his sword that cut through the foreigner's sword, and then he made another stroke that cut his heart in two halves. And he came back high and proud to the Fianna. Then the third son of the King of Lochlann, Mongach of the Sea, rose up, and all the armies rose up along with him. "Stop here, Men of the World," he said, "for it is not you but myself that has to go and ask satisfaction for the bodies of my brothers." So he went on shore; and it is the way he was, with a strong iron flail in his hand having seven balls of pure iron on it, and fifty iron chains, and fifty apples on every chain, and fifty deadly thorns on every apple. And he made a rush through the Fianna to break them up entirely and to tear them into strings, and they gave way before him. And great shame came on Fidach, son of the King of the Bretons, and he said: "Come here and praise me, Fergus of the True Lips, till I go out and fight with the foreigner." "It is easy to praise you, son," said Fergus, and he was praising him for a long time. Then the two looked at one another and used fierce, proud words. And then Mongach of the Sea raised his iron flail and made a great blow at the King of the Bretons' son. But he made a quick leap to one side and gave him a blow of his sword that cut off his two hands at the joint; and he did not stop at that, but made a blow at his middle that cut him into two halves. But as he fell, an apple of the flail with its deadly thorns went into Fidach's comely mouth and through his brain, and it was foot to foot those two fell, and lip to lip. And the next that came to fight on the strand was the King of Lochlann himself, Caisel of the Feathers. And he came to the battle having his shield on his arm; and it is the way the shield was, that was made for him by the smith of the Fomor, there were red flames coming from it; and if it was put under the sea itself, not one of its flames would stop blazing. And when he had that shield on his arm no man could come near him. And there was never such destruction done on the men of Ireland as on that day, for the flames of fire that he sent from his shield went through the bodies of men till they blazed up like a splinter of oak that was after hanging through the length of a year in the smoke of a chimney; and any one that would touch the man that was burning would catch fire himself. And every other harm that ever came into Ireland before was small beside this. Then Finn said: "Lift up your hands, Fianna of Ireland, and give three shouts of blessing to whoever will hinder this foreigner." And the Fianna gave those three shouts; and the King of Lochlann gave a great laugh when he heard them. And Druimderg, grandson of the Head of the Fianna of Ulster, was near him, and he had with him a deadly spear, the Croderg, the Red-Socketed, that came down from one to another of the sons of Rudraighe. And he looked at the King of Lochlann, and he could see no part of him without armour but his mouth that was opened wide, and he laughing at the Fianna. Then Druimderg made a cast with the Croderg that hit him in the open mouth, and he fell, and his shield fell along with its master, and its flame went out. And Druimderg struck the head from his body, and made great boasts of the things he had done. CHAPTER XI. LABRAN'S JOURNEY It is then Fergus of the True Lips set out again and went through the length of Ireland till he came to the house of Tadg, son of Nuada, that was grandfather to Finn. And there was great grief on Muirne, Finn's mother, and on Labran of the Long Hand her brother, and on all her people, when they knew the great danger he was in. And Tadg asked his wife who did she think would escape with their lives from the great fighting at the White Strand. "It is a pity the way they are there," said she; "for if all the living men of the world were on one side, Daire Donn, the King of the World, would put them all down; for there are no weapons in the world that will ever be reddened on him. And on the night he was born, the smith of the Fomor made a shield and a sword, and it is in the prophecy that he will fall by no other arms but those. And it is to the King of the Country of the Fair Men he gave them to keep, and it is with him they are now." "If that is so," said Tadg, "you might be able to get help for Finn, son of Cumhal, the only son of your daughter. And bid Labran Lamfada to go and ask those weapons of him," he said. "Do not be asking me," said she, "to go against Daire Donn that was brought up in my father's house." But after they had talked for a while, they went out on the lawn, and they sent Labran looking for the weapons in the shape of a great eagle. And he went on from sea to sea, till at noon on the morrow he came to the dun of the King of the Country of the Fair Men; and he went in his own shape to the dun and saluted the king, and the king bade him welcome, and asked him to stop with him for a while. "There is a thing I want more than that," said Labran, "for the wife of a champion of the Fianna has given me her love, and I cannot get her without fighting for her; and it is the loan of that sword and that shield you have in your keeping I am come asking now," he said. There were seven rooms, now, in the king's house that opened into one another, and on the first door was one lock, and on the second two locks, and so on to the door of the last room that had seven locks; and it was in that the sword and the shield that were made by the smith of the Fomor were kept. And they were brought out and were given to Labran, and stalks of luck were put with them, and they were bound together with shield straps. Then Labran of the Long Hand went back across the seas again, and he reached his father's dun between the crowing of the cock and the full light of day; and the weakness of death came on him. "It is a good message you are after doing, my son," said Tadg, "and no one ever went that far in so short a time as yourself." "It is little profit that is to me," said Labran, "for I am not able to bring them to Finn in time for the fight to-morrow." But just at that time one of Tadg's people saw Aedh, son of Aebinn, that was as quick as the wind over a plain till the middle of every day, and after that, there was no man quicker than he was. "You are come at a good time," said Tadg. And with that he gave him the sword and the shield to bring to Finn for the battle. So Aedh, son of Aebinn, went with the swiftness of a hare or of a fawn or a swallow, till at the rising of the day on the morrow he came to the White Strand. And just at that time Fergus of the True Lips was rousing up the Fianna for the great fight, and it is what he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "if there was the length of seven days in one day, you would have work to fill it now; for there never was and there never will be done in Ireland a day's work like the work of to-day." Then the Fianna of Ireland rose up, and they saw Aedh, son of Aebinn, coming towards them with his quick running, and Finn asked news from him. "It is from the dun of Tadg, son of Nuada, I am come," he said, "and it is to yourself I am sent, to ask how it is you did not redden your weapons yet upon the King of the World." "I swear by the oath of my people," said Finn, "if I do not redden my weapons on him, I will crush his body within his armour." "I have here for you, King of the Fianna," said Aedh then, "the deadly weapons that will bring him to his death; and it was Labran of the Long Hand got them for you through his Druid arts." He put them in Finn's hand then, and Finn took the coverings off them, and there rose from them flashes of fire and deadly bubbles; and not one of the Fianna could stay looking at them, but it put great courage into them to know they were with Finn. "Rise up now," said Finn to Fergus of the True Lips, "and go where the King of the World is, and bid him to come out to the place of the great fight." CHAPTER XII. THE GREAT FIGHT Then the King of the World came to the strand, and all his armies with him; and all that were left of the Fianna went out against them, and they were like thick woods meeting one another, and they made great strokes, and there were swords crashing against bones, and bodies that were hacked, and eyes that were blinded, and many a mother was left without her son, and many a comely wife without her comrade. Then the creatures of the high air answered to the battle, foretelling the destruction that would be done that day; and the sea chattered of the losses, and the waves gave heavy shouts keening them, and the water-beasts roared to one another, and the rough hills creaked with the danger of the battle, and the woods trembled mourning the heroes, and the grey stones cried out at their deeds, and the wind sobbed telling them, and the earth shook, foretelling the slaughter; and the cries of the grey armies put a blue cloak over the sun, and the clouds were dark; and the hounds and the whelps and the crows, and the witches of the valley, and the powers of the air, and the wolves of the forests, howled from every quarter and on every side of the armies, urging them against one another. It was then Conan, son of Morna, brought to mind that himself and his kindred had done great harm to the sons of Baiscne, and he had a wish to do some good thing for them on account of that, and he raised up his sword and did great deeds. And Finn was over the battle, encouraging the Fianna; and the King of the World was on the other side encouraging the foreigners. "Rise up now, Fergus," said Finn, "and praise Conan for me that his courage may be the greater, for it is good work he is doing on my enemies." So Fergus went where Conan was, and at that time he was heated with the dust of the fight, and he was gone outside to let the wind go about him. "It is well you remember the old quarrel between the sons of Morna and the sons of Baiscne, Conan," said Fergus; "and you would be ready to go to your own death if it would bring harm on the sons of Baiscne," he said. "For the love of your good name, Man of Poetry," said Conan, "do not be speaking against me without cause, and I will do good work on the foreigners when I get to the battle again." "By my word," said Fergus, "that would be a good thing for you to do." He sang a verse of praise for him then, and Conan went back into the battle, and his deeds were not worse this time than they were before. And Fergus went back to where Finn was. "Who is best in the battle now?" said Finn. "Duban, son of Cas, a champion of your own people," said Fergus, "for he never gives but the one stroke to any man, and no man escapes with his life from that stroke, and three times nine and eighty men have fallen by him up to this time." And Duban Donn, great-grandson of the King of Tuathmumhain, was there listening to him, and it is what he said: "By my oath, Fergus," he said, "all you are saying is true, for there is not a son of a king or of a lord is better in the battle than Duban, son of Cas; and I will go to my own death if I do not go beyond him." With that he went rushing through the battle like flames over a high hill that is thick with furze. Nine times he made a round of the battle, and he killed nine times nine in every round. "Who is best in the battle now?" said Finn, after a while. "It is Duban Donn that is after going from us," said Fergus. "For there has been no one ahead of him since he was in his seventh year, and there is no one ahead of him now." "Rise up and praise him that his courage may be the greater," said Finn. "It is right to praise him," said Fergus, "and the foreigners running before him on every side as they would run from a heavy drenching of the sea." So Fergus praised him for a while, and he went back then to Finn. "Who is best in the battle now?" said Finn. "It is Osgar is best in it now," said Fergus, "and he is fighting alone against two hundred Franks and two hundred of the men of Gairian, and the King of the Men of Gairian himself. And all these are beating at his shield," he said, "and not one of them has given him a wound but he gave him a wound back for it." "What way is Caoilte, son of Ronan?" said Finn. "He is in no great strait after the red slaughter he has made," said Fergus. "Go to him then," said Finn, "and bid him to keep off a share of the foreigners from Osgar." So Fergus went to him. "Caoilte," he said, "it is great danger your friend Osgar is in under the blows of the foreigners, and let you rise up and give him some help," he said. Caoilte went then to the place where Osgar was, and he gave a straight blow of his sword at the man who was nearest him, that made two halves of him. Osgar raised his head then and looked at him. "It is likely, Caoilte," he said, "you did not dare redden your sword on any one till you struck down a man that was before my sword. And it is a shame for you," he said, "all the men of the great world and the Fianna of Ireland to be in the one battle, and you not able to make out a fight for yourself without coming to take a share of my share of the battle. And I give my oath," he said, "I would be glad to see you put down in your bed of blood on account of that thing." Caoilte's mind changed when he heard that, and he turned again to the army of the foreigners with the redness of anger on his white face; and eighty fighting men fell in that rout. "What way is the battle now?" said Finn. "It is a pity," said Fergus, "there never came and there never will come any one that can tell the way it is now. For by my word," he said, "the tree-tops of the thickest forest in the whole of the western world are not closer together than the armies are now. For the bosses of their shields are in one another's hands. And there is fire coming from the edges of their swords," he said, "and blood is raining down like a shower on a day of harvest; and there were never so many leaves torn by the wind from a great forest as there are locks of long golden hair, and of black curled hair, cut off by sharp weapons, blowing into the clouds at this time. And there is no person could tell one man from another, now," he said, "unless it might be by their voices." With that he went into the very middle of the fight to praise and to hearten the men of the Fianna. "Who is first in the battle now, Fergus?" said Finn, when he came back to him. "By my oath, it is no friend of your own is first in it," said Fergus, "for it is Daire Donn, the King of the World; and it is for you he is searching through the battle," he said, "and three times fifty of his own people were with him. But two of the men of your Fianna fell on them," he said, "Cairell the Battle Striker, and Aelchinn of Cruachan, and made an end of them. But they were not able to wound the King of the World," he said, "but the two of them fell together by him." Then the King of the World came towards Finn, and there was no one near him but Arcallach of the Black Axe, the first that ever brought a wide axe into Ireland. "I give my word," said Arcallach, "I would never let Finn go before me into any battle." He rose up then and made a terrible great blow of his axe at the king, that went through his royal crown to the hair of his head, but that did not take a drop of blood out of him, for the edge of the axe turned and there went balls of fire over the plain from that blow. And the King of the World struck back at Arcallach, and made two halves of him. Then Finn and the King of the World turned on one another. And when the king saw the sword and the shield in Finn's hand, he knew those were the weapons that were to bring him to his death, and great dread came on him, and his comeliness left him, and his fingers were shaking, and his feet were unsteady, and the sight of his eyes was weakened. And then the two fought a great fight, striking at one another like two days of judgment for the possession of the world. But the king, that had never met with a wound before, began to be greatly weakened in the fight. And Finn gave great strokes that broke his shield and his sword, and that cut off his left foot, and at the last he struck off his head. But if he did, he himself fell into a faint of weakness with the dint of the wounds he had got. Then Finnachta of the Teeth, the first man of the household of the King of the World, took hold of the royal crown of the king, and brought it where Conmail his son was, and put it on his head. "That this may bring you success in many battles, my son," he said. And he gave him his father's weapons along with it; and the young man went through the battle looking for Finn, and three fifties of the men of the Fianna fell by him. Then Goll Garbh the Rough, son of the King of Alban, saw him and attacked him, and they fought a hard fight. But the King of Albain's son gave him a blow under the shelter of the shield, in his left side, that made an end of him. Finnachta of the Teeth saw that, and he made another rush at the royal crown, and brought it to where Ogarmach was, the daughter of the King of Greece. "Put on that crown, Ogarmach," he said, "as it is in the prophecy the world will be owned by a woman; and it will never be owned by any woman higher than yourself," he said. She went then to look for Finn in the battle, and Fergus of the True Lips saw her, and he went where Finn was. "O King of the Fianna," he said then, "bring to mind the good fight you made against the King of the World and all your victories before that; for it is a great danger is coming to you now," he said, "and that is Ogarmach, daughter of the King of Greece." With that the woman-fighter came towards him. "O Finn," she said, "it is little satisfaction you are to me for all the kings and lords that have fallen by you and by your people; but for all that," she said, "there is nothing better for me to get than your own self and whatever is left of your people." "You will not get that," said Finn, "for I will lay your head in its bed of blood the same as I did to every other one." Then those two attacked one another like as if there had risen to smother one another the flooded wave of Cliodna, and the seeking wave of Tuaigh, and the big brave wave of Rudraighe. And though the woman-warrior fought for a long time, a blow from Finn reached to her at last and cut through the royal crown, and with a second blow he struck her head off. And then he fell himself in his bed of blood, and was the same as dead, but that he rose again. And the armies of the World and the Fianna of Ireland were fallen side by side there, and there were none left fit to stand but Cael, son of Crimthan of the Harbours, and the chief man of the household of the King of the World, Finnachta of the Teeth. And Finnachta went among the dead bodies and lifted up the body of the King of the World and brought it with him to his ship, and he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "although it is bad this battle was for the armies of the World, it was worse for yourselves; and I am going back to tell that in the East of the World," he said. Finn heard him saying that, and he lying on the ground in his blood, and the best men of the sons of Baiscne about him, and he said: "It is a pity I not to have found death before I heard the foreigner saying those words. And nothing I myself have done, or the Fianna of Ireland, is worth anything since there is left a man of the foreigners alive to go back into the great world again to tell that story. And is there any one left living near me?" he said. "I am," said Fergus of the True Lips. "What way is the battle now?" said Finn. "It is a pity the way it is," said Fergus, "for, by my word," he said, "since the armies met together to-day, no man of the foreigners or of the men of Ireland took a step backward from one another till they all fell foot to foot, and sole to sole. And there is not so much as a blade of grass or a grain of sand to be seen," he said, "with the bodies of fighting men that are stretched on them; and there is no man of the two armies that is not stretched in that bed of blood, but only the chief man of the household of the King of the World, and your own foster-son, Cael, son of Crimthan of the Harbours." "Rise up and go to him," said Finn. So Fergus went where Cael was, and asked what way was he. "It is a pity the way I am," said Cael, "for I swear by my word that if my helmet and my armour were taken from me, there is no part of my body but would fall from the other; and by my oath," he said, "it is worse to me to see that man beyond going away alive than I myself to be the way I am. And I leave my blessing to you, Fergus," he said; "and take me on your back to the sea till I swim after the foreigner, and it is glad I would be the foreigner to fall by me before the life goes out from my body." Fergus lifted him up then and brought him to the sea, and put him swimming after the foreigner. And Finnachta waited for him to reach the ship, for he thought he was one of his own people. And Cael raised himself up when he came beside the ship, and Finnachta stretched out his hand to him. And Cael took hold of it at the wrist, and clasped his fingers round it, and gave a very strong pull at him, that brought him over the side. Then their hands shut across one another's bodies, and they went down to the sand and the gravel of the clear sea. CHAPTER XIII. CREDHE'S LAMENT Then there came the women and the musicians and the singers and the physicians of the Fianna of Ireland to search out the kings and the princes of the Fianna, and to bury them; and every one that might be healed was brought to a place of healing. And Credhe, wife of Cael, came with the others, and went looking through the bodies for her comely comrade, and crying as she went. And as she was searching, she saw a crane of the meadows and her two nestlings, and the cunning beast the fox watching the nestlings; and when the crane covered one of the birds to save it, he would make a rush at the other bird, the way she had to stretch herself out over the birds; and she would sooner have got her own death by the fox than her nestlings to be killed by him. And Credhe was looking at that, and she said: "It is no wonder I to have such love for my comely sweetheart, and the bird in that distress about her nestlings." Then she heard a stag in Druim Ruighlenn above the harbour, that was making great lamentations for his hind from place to place, for they had been nine years together, and had lived in the wood at the foot of the harbour, Fidh Leis, and Finn had killed the hind, and the stag was nineteen days without tasting grass or water, lamenting after the hind. "It is no shame for me," said Credhe, "I to die for grief after Cael, since the stag is shortening his life sorrowing after the hind." Then she met with Fergus of the True Lips. "Have you news of Cael for me, Fergus?" she said. "I have news," said Fergus, "for he and the last man that was left of the foreigners, Finnachta Fiaclach, are after drowning one another in the sea." And at that time the waves had put Cael back on the strand, and the women and the men of the Fianna that were looking for him raised him up, and brought him to the south of the White Strand. And Credhe came to where he was, and she keened him and cried over him, and she made this complaint:-- "The harbour roars, O the harbour roars, over the rushing race of the Headland of the Two Storms, the drowning of the hero of the Lake of the Two Dogs, that is what the waves are keening on the strand. "Sweet-voiced is the crane, O sweet-voiced is the crane in the marshes of the Ridge of the Two Strong Men; it is she cannot save her nestlings, the wild dog of two colours is taking her little ones. "Pitiful the cry, pitiful the cry the thrush is making in the Pleasant Ridge, sorrowful is the cry of the blackbird in Leiter Laeig. "Sorrowful the call, O sorrowful the call of the deer in the Ridge of Two Lights; the doe is lying dead in Druim Silenn, the mighty stag cries after her. "Sorrowful to me, O sorrowful to me the death of the hero that lay beside me; the son of the woman of the Wood of the Two Thickets, to be with a bunch of grass under his head. "Sore to me, O sore to me Cael to be a dead man beside me, the waves to have gone over his white body; it is his pleasantness that has put my wits astray. "A woeful shout, O a woeful shout the waves are making on the strand; they that took hold of comely Cael, a pity it is he went to meet them. "A woeful crash, O a woeful crash the waves are making on the strand to the north, breaking against the smooth rock, crying after Cael now he is gone. "A sorrowful fight, O a sorrowful fight, the sea is making with the strand to the north; my beauty is lessened; the end of my life is measured. "A song of grief, O a song of grief is made by the waves of Tulcha Leis; all I had is gone since this story came to me. Since the son of Crimthann is drowned I will love no one after him for ever; many a king fell by his hand; his shield never cried out in the battle." After she had made that complaint, Credhe laid herself down beside Cael and died for grief after him. And they were put in the one grave, and it was Caoilte raised the stone over them. And after that great battle of the White Strand, that lasted a year and a day, there was many a sword and shield left broken, and many a dead body lying on the ground, and many a fighting man left with a foolish smile on his face. And the great name that was on the armies of the World went from them to the Fianna of Ireland; and they took the ships and the gold and the silver and all the spoils of the armies of the World. And from that time the Fianna had charge of the whole of Ireland, to keep it from the Fomor and from any that might come against it. And they never lost power from that time until the time of their last battle, the sorrowful battle of Gabhra. BOOK FOUR: HUNTINGS AND ENCHANTMENTS. CHAPTER I. THE KING OF BRITAIN'S SON Arthur, son of the King of Britain, came one time to take service with Finn, and three times nine men along with him. And they went hunting one day on Beinn Edair, and Finn took his place on the Cairn of the Fianna between the hill and the sea, and Arthur took his stand between the hunt and the sea, the way the deer would not escape by swimming. And while Arthur was there he took notice of three of Finn's hounds, Bran, and Sceolan and Adhnuall, and he made a plan in his mind to go away across the sea, himself and his three nines, bringing those three hounds along with him. So he did that, and he himself and his men brought away the hounds and crossed the sea, and the place where they landed was Inver Mara Gamiach on the coast of Britain. And after they landed, they went to the mountain of Lodan, son of Lir, to hunt on it. And as to the Fianna, after their hunting was done they gathered together on the hill; and as the custom was, all Finn's hounds were counted. Three hundred full-grown hounds he had, and two hundred whelps; and it is what the poets used to say, that to be counting them was like counting the branches on a tree. Now on this day when they were counted, Bran and Sceolan and Adhnuall were missing; and that was told to Finn. He bade his people to search again through the three battalions of the Fianna, but search as they would, the hounds were not to be found. Then Finn sent for a long-shaped basin of pale gold, and water in it, and he put his face in the water, and his hand over his face, and it was showed him what had happened, and he said: "The King of Britain's son has brought away the hound. And let nine men be chosen out to follow after them," he said. So nine men were chosen out, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne; Goll, son of Morna; Oisin, son of Finn; Faolan, the friend of the hounds, son of a woman that had come over the sea to give her love to Finn; Ferdoman, son of Bodb Dearg; two sons of Finn, Raighne Wide Eye and Cainche the Crimson-Red; Glas, son of Enchered Bera, with Caoilte and Lugaidh's Son. And their nine put their helmets on their heads, and took their long spears in their hands, and they felt sure they were a match for any four hundred men from the east to the west of the world. They set out then, till they came to the mountain of Lodan, son of Lir; and they were not long there till they heard talk of men that were hunting in that place. Arthur of Britain and his people were sitting on a hunting mound just at that time, and the nine men of the Fianna made an attack on them and killed all of them but Arthur, that Goll, son of Morna, put his two arms about and saved from death. Then they turned to go back to Ireland, bringing Arthur with them, and the three hounds. And as they were going, Goll chanced to look around him and he saw a dark-grey horse, having a bridle with fittings of worked gold. And then he looked to the left and saw a bay mare that was not easy to get hold of, and it having a bridle of silver rings and a golden bit. And Goll took hold of the two, and he gave them into Oisin's hand, and he gave them on to Diarmuid. They went back to Finn then, bringing his three hounds with them, and the King of Britain's son as a prisoner; and Arthur made bonds with Finn, and was his follower till he died. And as to the horse and the mare, they gave them to Finn; and the mare bred eight times, at every birth eight foals, and it is of that seed came all the horses of the fair Fianna of the Gael, for they had used no horses up to that time. And that was not the only time Finn was robbed of some of his hounds. For there was a daughter of Roman was woman-Druid to the Tuatha de Danaan, and she set her love on Finn. But Finn said, so long as there was another woman to be found in the world, he would not marry a witch. And one time, three times fifty of Finn's hounds passed by the hill where she was; and she breathed on the hounds and shut them up in the hill, and they never came out again. It was to spite Finn she did that, and the place got the name of Duma na Conn, the Mound of the Hounds. And as to Adhnuall, one of the hounds Finn thought most of, and that was brought back from the King of Britain's son, this is the way he came to his death afterwards. There was a great fight one time between the Fianna and Macoon, son of Macnia, at some place in the province of Leinster, and a great many of the Fianna were killed. And the hound Adhnuall went wandering northward from the battle and went astray; and three times he went round the whole of Ireland, and then he came back to the place of the battle, and to a hill where three young men of the Fianna that had fallen there were buried after their death, and three daughters of a King of Alban that had died for love of them. And when Adhnuall came to that hill, he gave three loud howls and he stretched himself out and died. CHAPTER II. THE CAVE OF CEISCORAN Finn called for a great hunt one time on the plains of Magh Chonaill and in the forest parts of Cairbre of the Nuts. And he himself went up to the top of Ceiscoran, and his two dogs Bran and Sceolan with him. And the Fianna were shouting through the whole country where they were hunting, the way the deer were roused in their wild places and the badgers in their holes, and foxes in their wanderings, and birds on the wing. And Conaran, son of Imidd, of the Tuatha de Danaan, had the sway in Ceiscoran at that time, and when he heard the shouting and the cry of the hounds all around, he bade his three daughters that had a great share of enchantments, to do vengeance on Finn for his hunting. The three women went then to the opening of a cave that was in the hills, and there they sat down together, and they put three strong enchanted hanks of yarn on crooked holly-sticks, and began to reel them off outside the cave. They were not long there till Finn and Conan came towards them, and saw the three ugly old hags at their work, their coarse hair tossed, their eyes red and bleary, their teeth sharp and crooked, their arms very long, their nails like the tips of cows' horns, and the three spindles in their hands. Finn and Conan passed through the hanks of yarn to get a better look at the hags. And no sooner had they done that, than a deadly trembling came on them and a weakness, and the bold hags took hold of them and put them in tight bonds. Two other men of the Fianna came up then, and the sons of Menhann along with them, and they went through the spindles to where Finn and Conan were, and their strength went from them in the same way, and the hags tied them fast and carried them into the cave. They were not long there till Caoilte and Lugaidh's Son came to the place, and along with them the best men of the sons of Baiscne. The sons of Morna came as well, and no sooner did they see the hanks than their strength and their bravery went out of them the same as it went from the others. And in the end the whole number of them, gentle and simple, were put in bonds by the hags, and brought into the cave. And there began at the mouth of the cave a great outcry of hounds calling for their masters that had left them there. And there was lying on the hillside a great heap of deer, and wild pigs, and hares, and badgers, dead and torn, that were brought as far as that by the hunters that were tied up now in the cave. Then the three women came in, having swords in their hands, to the place where they were lying, to make an end of them. But first they looked out to see was there ever another man of the Fianna to bring in and to make an end of with the rest. And they saw coming towards them a very tall man that was Goll, son of Morna, the Flame of Battle. And when the three hags saw him they went to meet him, and they fought a hard battle with him. And great anger came on Goll, and he made great strokes at the witches, and at the last he raised up his sword, and with one blow he cut the two that were nearest him through and through. And then the oldest of the three women wound her arms about Goll, and he beheading the two others, and he turned to face her and they wrestled together, till at last Goll gave her a great twist and threw her on the ground. He tied her fast then with the straps of a shield, and took his sword to make an end of her. But the hag said: "O champion that was never worsted, strong man that never went back in battle, I put my body and my life under the protection of your bravery. And it is better for you," she said, "to get Finn and the Fianna safe and whole than to have my blood; and I swear by the gods my people swear by," she said, "I will give them back to you again." With that Goll set her free, and they went together into the hill where the Fianna were lying. And Goll said: "Loose off the fastenings first from Fergus of the True Lips and from the other learned men of the Fianna; and after that from Finn, and Oisin, and the twenty-nine sons of Morna, and from all the rest." She took off the fastenings then, and the Fianna made no delay, but rose up and went out and sat down on the side of the hill. And Fergus of the Sweet Lips looked at Goll, son of Morna, and made great praises of him, and of all that he had done. CHAPTER III. DONN SON OF MIDHIR One time the Fianna were at their hunting at the island of Toraig to the north of Ireland, and they roused a fawn that was very wild and beautiful, and it made for the coast, and Finn and six of his men followed after it through the whole country, till they came to Slieve-nam-Ban. And there the fawn put down its head and vanished into the earth, and none of them knew where was it gone to. A heavy snow began to fall then that bent down the tops of the trees like a willow-gad, and the courage and the strength went from the Fianna with the dint of the bad weather, and Finn said to Caoilte: "Is there any place we can find shelter to-night?" Caoilte made himself supple then, and went over the elbow of the hill southward. And when he looked around him he saw a house full of light, with cups and horns and bowls of different sorts in it. He stood a good while before the door of the house, that he knew to be a house of the Sidhe, thinking would it be best go in and get news of it, or to go back to Finn and the few men that were with him. And he made up his mind to go into the house, and there he sat down on a shining chair in the middle of the floor; and he looked around him, and he saw, on the one side, eight-and-twenty armed men, each of them having a well-shaped woman beside him. And on the other side he saw six nice young girls, yellow-haired, having shaggy gowns from their shoulders. And in the middle there was another young girl sitting in a chair, and a harp in her hand, and she playing on it and singing. And every time she stopped, a man of them would give her a horn to drink from, and she would give it back to him again, and they were all making mirth around her. She spoke to Caoilte then. "Caoilte, my life," she said, "give us leave to attend on you now." "Do not," said Caoilte, "for there is a better man than myself outside, Finn, son of Cumhal, and he has a mind to eat in this house to-night." "Rise up, Caoilte, and go for Finn," said a man of the house then; "for he never refused any man in his own house, and he will get no refusal from us." Caoilte went back then to Finn, and when Finn saw him he said: "It is long you are away from us, Caoilte, for from the time I took arms in my hands I never had a night that put so much hardship on me as this one." The six of them went then into the lighted house and their shields and their arms with them. And they sat down on the edge of a seat, and a girl having yellow hair came and brought them to a shining seat in the middle of the house, and the newest of every food, and the oldest of every drink was put before them. And when the sharpness of their hunger and their thirst was lessened, Finn said: "Which of you can I question?" "Question whoever you have a mind to," said the tallest of the men that was near him. "Who are you yourself then?" said Finn, "for I did not think there were so many champions in Ireland, and I not knowing them." "Those eight-and-twenty armed men you see beyond," said the tall man, "had the one father and mother with myself; and we are the sons of Midhir of the Yellow Hair, and our mother is Fionnchaem, the fair, beautiful daughter of the King of the Sidhe of Monaid in the east. And at one time the Tuatha de Danaan had a gathering, and gave the kingship to Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, at his bright hospitable place, and he began to ask hostages of myself and of my brothers; but we said that till all the rest of the Men of Dea had given them, we would not give them. Bodb Dearg said then to our father: 'Unless you will put away your sons, we will wall up your dwelling-place on you.' So the eight-and-twenty brothers of us came out to look for a place for ourselves; and we searched all Ireland till we found this secret hidden place, and we are here ever since. And my own name," he said, "is Donn, son of Midhir. And we had every one of us ten hundred armed men belonging to himself, but they are all worn away now, and only the eight-and-twenty of us left." "What is it is wearing you away?" said Finn. "The Men of Dea," said Donn, "that come three times in every year to give battle to us on the green outside." "What is the long new grave we saw on the green outside?" said Finn. "It is the grave of Diangalach, a man of enchantments of the Men of Dea; and that is the greatest loss came on them yet," said Donn; "and it was I myself killed him," he said. "What loss came next to that?" said Finn. "All the Tuatha de Danaan had of jewels and riches and treasures, horns and vessels and cups of pale gold, we took from them at the one time." "What was the third greatest loss they had?" said Finn. "It was Fethnaid, daughter of Feclach, the woman-harper of the Tuatha de Danaan, their music and the delight of their minds," said Donn. "And to-morrow," he said, "they will be coming to make an attack on us, and there is no one but myself and my brothers left; and we knew we would be in danger, and that we could make no stand against them. And we sent that bare-headed girl beyond to Toraig in the North in the shape of a foolish fawn, and you followed her here. It is that girl washing herself, and having a green cloak about her, went looking for you. "And the empty side of the house," he said, "belonged to our people that the Men of Dea have killed." They spent that night in drinking and in pleasure. And when they rose up in the morning of the morrow, Donn, son of Midhir, said to Finn, "Come out with me now on the lawn till you see the place where we fight the battles every year." They went out then and they looked at the graves and the flag-stones, and Donn said: "It is as far as this the Men of Dea come to meet us." "Which of them come here?" said Finn. "Bodb Dearg with his seven sons," said Donn; "and Angus Og, son of the Dagda, with his seven sons; and Finnbharr of Cnoc Medha with his seventeen sons; Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh with his twenty-seven sons and their sons; Tadg, son of Nuada, out of the beautiful hill of Almhuin; Donn of the Island and Donn of the Vat; the two called Glas from the district of Osraige; Dobhran Dubthaire from the hill of Liamhain of the Smooth Shirt; Aedh of the Island of Rachrainn in the north; Ferai and Aillinn and Lir and Fainnle, sons of Eogobal, from Cnoc Aine in Munster; Cian and Coban and Conn, three sons of the King of Sidhe Monaid in Alban; Aedh Minbhreac of Ess Ruadh with his seven sons; the children of the Morrigu, the Great Queen, her six-and-twenty women warriors, the two Luaths from Magh Life; Derg and Drecan out of the hill of Beinn Edair in the east; Bodb Dearg himself with his great household, ten hundred ten score and ten. Those are the chief leaders of the Tuatha de Danaan that come to destroy our hill every year." Finn went back into the hill then, and told all that to his people. "My people," he said, "it is in great need and under great oppression the sons of Midhir are, and it is into great danger we are come ourselves. And unless we make a good fight now," he said, "it is likely we will never see the Fianna again." "Good Finn," every one of them said then, "did you ever see any drawing-back in any of us that you give us that warning?" "I give my word," said Finn, "if I would go through the whole world having only this many of the Fianna of Ireland along with me, I would not know fear nor fright. And good Donn," he said, "is it by day or by night the Men of Dea come against you?" "It is at the fall of night they come," said Donn, "the way they can do us the most harm." So they waited till night came on, and then Finn said: "Let one of you go out now on the green to keep watch for us, the way the Men of Dea will not come on us without word or warning." And the man they set to watch was not gone far when he saw five strong battalions of the Men of Dea coming towards him. He went back then to the hill and he said: "It is what I think, that the troops that are come against us this time and are standing now around the grave of the Man of Enchantments are a match for any other fighting men." Finn called to his people then, and he said: "These are good fighters are come against you, having strong red spears. And let you all do well now in the battle. And it is what you have to do," he said, "to keep the little troop of brothers, the sons of Midhir, safe in the fight; for it would be a treachery to friendship any harm to come on them, and we after joining them; and myself and Caoilte are the oldest among you, and leave the rest of the battle to us." Then from the covering time of evening to the edge of the morning they fought the battle. And the loss of the Tuatha de Danaan was no less a number than ten hundred ten score and ten men. Then Bodb Dearg and Midhir and Fionnbhar said to one another: "What are we to do with all these? And let Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh give us an advice," they said, "since he is the oldest of us." And Lir said: "It is what I advise, let every one carry away his friends and his fosterlings, his sons and his brothers, to his own place. And as for us that stop here," he said, "let a wall of fire be made about us on the one side, and a wall of water on the other side." Then the Men of Dea put up a great heap of stones, and brought away their dead; and of all the great slaughter that Finn and his men and the sons of Midhir had made, there was not left enough for a crow to perch upon. And as to Finn and his men, they went back into the hill, hurt and wounded and worn-out. And they stopped in the hill with the sons of Midhir through the whole length of a year, and three times in the year the Men of Dea made an attack on the hill, and a battle was fought. And Conn, son of Midhir, was killed in one of the battles; and as to the Fianna, there were so many wounds on them that the clothing was held off from their bodies with bent hazel sticks, and they lying in their beds, and two of them were like to die. And Finn and Caoilte and Lugaidh's Son went out on the green, and Caoilte said: "It was a bad journey we made coming to this hill, to leave two of our comrades after us." "It is a pity for whoever will face the Fianna of Ireland," said Lugaidh's Son, "and he after leaving his comrades after him." "Whoever will go back and leave them, it will not be myself," said Finn. Then Bonn, son of Midhir, came to them. "Good Donn," said Finn, "have you knowledge of any physician that can cure our men?" "I only know one physician could do that," said Donn; "a physician the Tuatha de Danaan have with them. And unless a wounded man has the marrow of his back cut through, he will get relief from that physician, the way he will be sound at the end of nine days." "How can we bring that man here," said Finn, "for those he is with are no good friends to us?" "He goes out every morning at break of day," said Donn, "to gather healing herbs while the dew is on them." "Find some one, Donn," said Caoilte, "that will show me that physician, and, living or dead, I will bring him with me." Then Aedh and Flann, two of the sons of Midhir, rose up. "Come with us, Caoilte," they said, and they went on before him to a green lawn with the dew on it; and when they came to it they saw a strong young man armed and having a cloak of the wool of the seven sheep of the Land of Promise, and it full of herbs of healing he was after gathering for the Men of Dea that were wounded in the battle. "Who is that man?" said Caoilte. "That is the man we came looking for," said Aedh. "And mind him well now," he said, "that he will not make his escape from us back to his own people." They ran at him together then, and Caoilte took him by the shoulders and they brought him away with them to the ford of the Slaine in the great plain of Leinster, where the most of the Fianna were at that time; and a Druid mist rose up about them that they could not be seen. And they went up on a little hill over the ford, and they saw before them four young men having crimson fringed cloaks and swords with gold hilts, and four good hunting hounds along with them. And the young man could not see them because of the mist, but Caoilte saw they were his own two sons, Colla and Faolan, and two other young men of the Fianna, and he could hear them talking together, and saying it was a year now that Finn, son of Cumhal, was gone from them. "And what will the Fianna of Ireland do from this out," said one of them, "without their lord and their leader?" "There is nothing for them to do," said another, "but to go to Teamhair and to break up there, or to find another leader for themselves." And there was heavy sorrow on them for the loss of their lord; and it was grief to Caoilte to be looking at them. And he and the two sons of Midhir went back then by the Lake of the Two Birds to Slieve-nam Ban, and they went into the hill. And Finn and Donn gave a great welcome to Luibra, the physician, and they showed him their two comrades that were lying in their wounds. "Those men are brothers to me," said Donn, "and tell me how can they be cured?" Luibra looked then at their wounds, and he said: "They can be cured if I get a good reward." "You will get that indeed," said Caoilte; "and tell me now," he said, "how long will it take to cure them?" "It will take nine days," said Luibra. "It is a good reward you will get," said Caoilte, "and this is what it is, your own life to be left to you. But if these young men are not healed," he said, "it is my own hand will strike off your head." And within nine days the physician had done a cure on them, and they were as well and as sound as before. And it was after that time the High King sent a messenger to bring the Fianna to the Feast of Teamhair. And they all gathered to it, men and women, boys and heroes and musicians. And Goll, son of Morna, was sitting at the feast beside the king. "It is a great loss you have had, Fianna of Ireland," said the king, "losing your lord and your leader, Finn, son of Cumhal." "It is a great loss indeed," said Goll. "There has no greater loss fallen on Ireland since the loss of Lugh, son of Ethne," said the king. "What orders will you give to the Fianna now, king?" said Goll. "To yourself, Goll," said the king, "I will give the right of hunting over all Ireland till we know if the loss of Finn is lasting." "I will not take Finn's place," said Goll, "till he has been wanting to us through the length of three years, and till no person in Ireland has any hope of seeing him again." Then Ailbe of the Freckled Face said to the king: "What should these seventeen queens belonging to Finn's household do?" "Let a safe, secret sunny house be given to every one of them," said the king; "and let her stop there and her women with her, and let provision be given to her for a month and a quarter and a year till we have knowledge if Finn is alive or dead." Then the king stood up, and a smooth drinking-horn in his hand, and he said: "It would be a good thing, men of Ireland, if any one among you could get us news of Finn in hills or in secret places, or in rivers or invers, or in any house of the Sidhe in Ireland or in Alban." With that Berngal, the cow-owner from the borders of Slieve Fuad, that was divider to the King of Ireland, said: "The day Finn came out from the north, following after a deer of the Sidhe, and his five comrades with him, he put a sharp spear having a shining head in my hand, and a hound's collar along with it, and he bade me to keep them till he would meet me again in the same place." Berngal showed the spear and the collar then to the king and to Goll, and they looked at them and the king said: "It is a great loss to the men of Ireland the man is that owned this collar and this spear. And were his hounds along with him?" he said. "They were," said Berngal; "Bran and Sceolan were with Finn, and Breac and Lainbhui with Caoilte, and Conuall and Comrith with Lugaidh's Son." The High King called then for Fergus of the True Lips, and he said: "Do you know how long is Finn away from us?" "I know that well," said Fergus; "it is a month and a quarter and a year since we lost him. And indeed it is a great loss he is to the Fianna of Ireland," he said, "himself and the men that were with him." "It is a great loss indeed," said the king, "and I have no hope at all of finding those six that were the best men of Ireland or of Alban." And then he called to Cithruadh, the Druid, and he said: "It is much riches and many treasures Finn gave you, and tell us now is he living or is he dead?" "He is living," said Cithruadh then. "But as to where he is, I will give no news of that," he said, "for he himself would not like me to give news of it." There was great joy among them when they heard that, for everything Cithruadh had ever foretold had come true. "Tell us when will he come back?" said the king. "Before the Feast of Teamhair is over," said the Druid, "you will see the Leader of the Fianna drinking at it." And as to Finn and his men, they stopped in the House of the Two Birds till they had taken hostages for Donn, son of Midhir, from the Tuatha de Danaan. And on the last day of the Feast of Teamhair they came back to their people again. And from that time out the Fianna of Ireland had not more dealings with the people living in houses than they had with the People of the Gods of Dana. CHAPTER IV. THE HOSPITALITY OF CUANNA'S HOUSE It happened one day Finn and Oisin and Caoilte and Diarmuid and Lugaidh's Son went up on the top of Cairn Feargall, and their five hounds with them, Bran and Sceolan, Sear Dubh, Luath Luachar and Adhnuall. And they were not long there till they saw a giant coming towards them, very tall and rough and having an iron fork on his back and a squealing pig between the prongs of the fork. And there was a beautiful eager young girl behind the giant, shoving him on before her. "Let some one go speak with those people," said Finn. So Diarmuid went towards them, but they turned away before he came to them. Then Finn and the rest rose up and went after them, but before they came to the giant and the girl, a dark Druid mist rose up that hid the road. And when the mist cleared away, Finn and the rest looked about them, and they saw a good light-roofed house at the edge of a ford near at hand. They went on to the house, and there was a green lawn before it, and in the lawn two wells, and on the edge of one well there was a rough iron vessel, and on the edge of the other a copper vessel. They went into the house then, and they found there a very old white-haired man, standing to the right hand of the door, and the beautiful young girl they saw before, sitting near him, and the great rough giant beside the fire, and he boiling a pig. And on the other side of the fire there was an old countryman, having dark-grey hair and twelve eyes in his head, and his twelve eyes were twelve sons of battle. And there was a ram in the house having a white belly and a very black head, and dark-blue horns and green feet. And there was a hag in the end of the house and a worn grey gown on her, and there was no one in the house but those. And the man at the door gave them a welcome, and then the five of them sat down on the floor of the house, and their hounds along with them. "Let great respect be shown to Finn, son of Cumhal, and to his people," said the man at the door. "It is the way I am," said the giant, "to be asking always and getting nothing." But for all that he rose up and showed respect to Finn. Presently there came a great thirst on Finn, and no one took notice of it but Caoilte, and he began complaining greatly. "Why are you complaining, Caoilte?" said the man at the door; "you have but to go out and get a drink for Finn at whichever of the wells you will choose." Caoilte went out then, and he brought the full of the copper vessel to Finn, and Finn took a drink from it, and there was the taste of honey on it while he was drinking, and the taste of gall on it after, so that fierce windy pains and signs of death came on him, and his appearance changed, that he would hardly be known. And Caoilte made greater complaints than he did before on account of the way he was, till the man at the door bade him to go out and to bring him a drink from the other well. So Caoilte did that, and brought in the full of the iron vessel. And Finn never went through such great hardship in any battle as he did drinking that draught, from the bitterness of it; but no sooner did he drink it than his own colour and appearance came back to him and he was as well as before, and his people were very glad when they saw that. Then the man of the house asked was the pig ready that was in the cauldron. "It is ready," said the giant; "and leave the dividing of it to me," he said. "What way will you divide it?" said the man of the house. "I will give one hind quarter to Finn and his dogs," said the giant, "and the other hind quarter to Finn's four comrades; and the fore quarter to myself, and the chine and the rump to the old man there by the fire and the hag in the corner; and the entrails to yourself and to the young girl that is beside you." "I give my word," said the man of the house, "you have shared it well." "I give my word," said the ram, "it is a bad division to me, for you have forgotten my share in it." With that he took hold of the quarter that was before the Fianna, and brought it into a corner and began to eat it. On that the four of them attacked him with their swords, but with all the hard strokes they gave they could not harm him at all, for the swords slipped from his back the same as they would from a rock. "On my word it is a pity for any one that has the like of you for comrades," said the man with the twelve eyes, "and you letting a sheep bring away your food from you." With that he went up to the ram and took him by the feet and threw him out from the door that he fell on his back, and they saw him no more. It was not long after that, the hag rose up and threw her pale grey gown over Finn's four comrades, and they turned to four old men, weak and withered, their heads hanging. When Finn saw that there came great dread on him, and the man at the door saw it, and he bade him to come over to him, and to put his head in his breast and to sleep. Finn did that, and the hag took her covering off the four men, the way that when Finn awoke they were in their own shape again, and it is well pleased he was to see that. "Is there wonder on you, Finn?" said the man at the door, "at the ways of this house?" "I never wondered more at anything I ever saw," said Finn. "I will tell you the meaning of them, so," said the man. "As to the giant you saw first," he said, "having the squealing pig in the prongs of his fork, Sluggishness is his name; and the girl here beside me that was shoving him along is Liveliness, for liveliness pushes on sluggishness, and liveliness goes farther in the winking of an eye than the foot can travel in a year. The old man there beyond with the twelve bright eyes betokens the World, and he is stronger than any other, and he showed that when he made nothing of the ram. The ram you saw betokens the Desires of Men. The hag is Old Age, and her gown withered up your four comrades. And the two wells you drank the two draughts out of," he said, "betoken Lying and Truth; for it is sweet to people to be telling a lie, but it is bitter in the end. And as to myself," he said, "Cuanna from Innistuil is my name, and it is not here I am used to be, but I took a very great love for you, Finn, because of your wisdom and your great name, and so I put these things in your way that I might see you. And the hospitality of Cuanna's house to Finn will be the name of this story to the end of the world. And let you and your men come together now," he said, "and sleep till morning." So they did that, and when they awoke in the morning, it is where they were, on the top of Cairn Feargall, and their dogs and their arms beside them. CHAPTER V. CAT-HEADS AND DOG-HEADS Nine of the Fianna set out one time, looking for a pup they wanted, and they searched through many places before they found it. All through Magh Leine they searched, and through the Valley of the Swords, and through the storm of Druim Cleibh, and it is pleasant the Plain of the Life looked after it; but not a pup could they find. Then they went searching through Durlass of the generous men, and great Teamhair and Dun Dobhran and Ceanntsaile, men and dogs searching the whole of Ireland, but not a pup could they find. And while they were going from place to place, and their people with them, they saw the three armies of the sons of the King of Ruadhleath coming towards them. Cat-headed one army was, and the one alongside of it was Dog-headed, and the men of the third army were White-backed. And when the Fianna saw them coming, Finn held up his shining spear, and light-hearted Caoilte gave out a great shout that was heard in Almhuin, and in Magh Leine, and in Teamhair, and in Dun Reithlein. And that shout was answered by Goll, son of Morna, and by Faolan, Finn's son that was with him, and by the Stutterers from Burren, and by the two sons of Maith Breac, and by Iolunn of the Sharp Edge, and by Cael of the Sharp Sword, that never gave his ear to tale-bearers. It is pleasant the sound was then of the spears and the armies and of the silken banners that were raised up in the gusty wind of the morning. And as to the banners, Finn's banner, the Dealb-Greine, the Sun-Shape, had the likeness of the sun on it; and Coil's banner was the Fulang Duaraidh, that was the first and last to move in a battle; and Faolan's banner was the Coinneal Catha, the Candle of Battle; and Oisin's banner was the Donn Nimhe, the Dark Deadly One; and Caoilte's was the Lamh Dearg, the Red Hand; and Osgar's was the Sguab Gabhaidh that had a Broom of rowan branches on it, and the only thing asked when the fight was at the hottest was where that Broom was; and merry Diarmuid's banner was the Liath Loinneach, the Shining Grey; and the Craobh Fuileach, the Bloody Branch, was the banner of Lugaidh's Son. And as to Conan, it is a briar he had on his banner, because he was always for quarrels and for trouble. And it used to be said of him he never saw a man frown without striking him, or a door left open without going in through it. And when the Fianna had raised their banners they attacked the three armies; and first of all they killed the whole of the Cat-Heads, and then they took the Dog-Heads in hand and made an end of them, and of the White-Backs along with them. And after that they went to a little hill to the south, having a double dun on it, and it is there they found a hound they were able to get a pup from. And by that time they had searched through the whole of Ireland, and they did not find in the whole of it a hundred men that could match their nine. And as well as their banners, some of the Fianna had swords that had names to them, Mac an Luin, Son of the Waves, that belonged to Finn; and Ceard-nan Gallan, the Smith of the Branches, that was Oisin's; and Caoilte's Cruadh-Chosgarach, the Hard Destroying One; and Diarmuid's Liomhadoir, the Burnisher; and Osgar's Cosgarach Mhor, the Great Triumphant One. And it is the way they got those swords: there came one time to where Finn and Caoilte and some others of the Fianna were, a young man, very big and ugly, having but one foot and one eye; a cloak of black skins he had over his shoulders, and in his hand a blunt ploughshare that was turning to red. And he told them he was Lon, son of Liobhan, one of the three smiths of the King of Lochlann. And whether he thought to go away from the Fianna, or to bring them to his smithy, he started running, and they followed after him all through Ireland, to Slieve-na-Righ, and to Luimnech, and to Ath Luain, and by the right side of Cruachan of Connacht, and to Ess Ruadh and to Beinn Edair, and so to the sea. And wherever it was they found the smithy, they went into it, and there they found four smiths working, and every one of them having seven hands. And Finn and Caoilte and the rest stopped there watching them till the swords were made, and they brought them away with them then, and it is good use they made of them afterwards. And besides his sword, Mac an Luin, Finn had a shield was called Sgiath Gailbhinn, the Storm Shield; and when it called out it could be heard all through Ireland. And whether or not it was the Storm Shield, Finn had a wonderful shield that he did great deeds with, and the story of it is this: At the time of the battle of the Great Battle of Magh Tuireadh, Lugh, after he had struck the head off Balor of the Evil Eye, hung it in the fork of a hazel-tree. And the tree split, and the leaves fell from it with the dint of the poison that dropped from the head. And through the length of fifty years that tree was a dwelling-place of crows and of ravens. And at the end of that time Manannan, son of Lir, was passing by, and he took notice of the tree that it was split and withered, and he bade his men to dig it up. And when they began to dig, a mist of poison rose up from the roots, and nine of the men got their death from it, and another nine after them, and the third nine were blinded. And Luchtaine the Carpenter made a shield of the wood of that hazel for Manannan. And after a while Manannan gave it, and a set of chessmen along with it, to Tadg, son of Nuada; and from him it came to his grandson, Finn, son of Muirne and of Cumhal. CHAPTER VI. LOMNA'S HEAD FINN took a wife one time of the Luigne of Midhe. And at the same time there was in his household one Lomna, a fool. Finn now went into Tethra, hunting with the Fianna, but Lomna stopped at the house. And after a while he saw Coirpre, a man of the Luigne, go in secretly to where Finn's wife was. And when the woman knew he had seen that, she begged and prayed of Lomna to hide it from Finn. And Lomna agreed to that, but it preyed on him to have a hand in doing treachery on Finn. And after a while he took a four-square rod and wrote an Ogham on it, and these were the words he wrote:--"An alder stake in a paling of silver; deadly night-shade in a bunch of cresses; a husband of a lewd woman; a fool among the well-taught Fianna; heather on bare Ualann of Luigne." Finn saw the message, and there was anger on him against the woman; and she knew well it was from Lomna he had heard the story, and she sent a message to Coirpre bidding him to come and kill the fool. So Coirpre came and struck his head off, and brought it away with him. And when Finn came back in the evening he saw the body, and it without a head. "Let us know whose body is this," said the Fianna. And then Finn did the divination of rhymes, and it is what he said: "It is the body of Lomna; it is not by a wild boar he was killed; it is not by a fall he was killed; it is not in his bed he died; it is by his enemies he died; it is not a secret to the Luigne the way he died. And let out the hounds now on their track," he said. So they let out the hounds, and put them on the track of Coirpre, and Finn followed them, and they came to a house, and Coirpre in it, and three times nine of his men and he cooking fish on a spit; and Lomna's head was on a spike beside the fire. And the first of the fish that was cooked Coirpre divided between his men, but he put no bit into the mouth of the head. And then he made a second division in the same way. Now that was against the law of the Fianna, and the head spoke, and it said: "A speckled white-bellied salmon that grows from a small fish under the sea; you have shared a share that is not right; the Fianna will avenge it upon you, Coirpre." "Put the head outside," said Coirpre, "for that is an evil word for us." Then the head said from outside: "It is in many pieces you will be; it is great fires will be lighted by Finn in Luigne." And as it said that, Finn came in, and he made an end of Coirpre, and of his men. CHAPTER VII. ILBREC OF ESS RUADH One time Caoilte was hunting on Beinn Gulbain, and he went on to Ess Ruadh. And when he came near the hill of the Sidhe that is there, he saw a young man waiting for him, having a crimson fringed cloak about him, and on his breast a silver brooch, and a white shield, ornamented with linked beasts of red gold, and his hair rolled in a ball at the back, and covered with a golden cup. And he had heavy green weapons, and he was holding two hounds in a silver chain. And when Caoilte came up to him he gave him three loving kisses, and sat down beside him on the grass. "Who are you, young champion?" said Caoilte. "I am Derg, son of Eoghan of the people of Usnach," he said, "and foster-brother of your own." Caoilte knew him then, and he said: "And what is your life with your mother's people, the Tuatha de Danaan in Sidhe Aedha?" "There is nothing wanting to us there of food or of clothing," said the young man. "But for all that," he said, "I would sooner live the life of the worst treated of the serving-boys of the Fianna than the life I am living in the hill of the Sidhe." "Lonely as you are at your hunting to-day," said Caoilte, "it is often I saw you coming to the Valley of the Three Waters in the south, where the Siuir and the Beoir and the Berba come together, with a great company about you; fifteen hundred young men, fifteen hundred serving-boys, and fifteen hundred women." "That was so," said Derg; "and although myself and my gentle hound are living in the hill of the Sidhe, my mind is always on the Fianna. And I remember well the time," he said, "when you yourself won the race against Finn's lasting black horse. And come now into the hill," he said, "for the darkness of the night is coming on." So he brought Caoilte into the hill with him, and they were set down in their right places. It was at that time, now, there was great war between Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh and Ilbrec of Ess Ruadh. There used a bird with an iron beak and a tail of fire to come every evening to a golden window of Ilbrec's house, and there he would shake himself till he would not leave sword on pillow, or shield on peg, or spear in rack, but they would come down on the heads of the people of the house; and whatever they would throw at the bird, it is on the heads of some of themselves it would fall. And the night Caoilte came in, the hall was made ready for a feast, and the bird came in again, and did the same destruction as before, and nothing they threw at him would touch him at all. "Is it long the bird has been doing this?" said Caoilte. "Through the length of a year now," said Derg, "since we went to war with Sidhe Fionnachaidh." Then Caoilte put his hand within the rim of his shield, and he took out of it a copper rod he had, and he made a cast of it at the bird, that brought it down on the floor of the hall. "Did any one ever make a better cast than that?" said Ilbrec. "By my word," said Caoilte, "there is no one of us in the Fianna has any right to boast against another." Then Ilbrec took down a sharp spear, having thirty rivets of gold in it, from its place, and he said: "That is the Spear of Fiacha, son of Congha, and it is with that Finn made an end of Aillen, son of Midhna, that used to burn Teamhair. And keep it beside you now, Caoilte," he said, "till we see will Lir come to avenge his bird on us." Then they took up their horns and their cups, and they were at drinking and pleasure, and Ilbrec said: "Well, Caoilte," he said, "if Lir comes to avenge his bird on us, who will you put in command of the battle?" "I will give the command to Derg there beyond," said he. "Will you take it in hand, Derg?" said the people of the hill. "I will take it," said Derg, "with its loss and its gain." So that is how they spent the night, and it was not long in the morning till they heard blowing of horns, and rattling of chariots, and clashing of shields, and the uproar of a great army that came all about the hill. They sent some of their people out then to see were there many in it, and they saw three brave armies of the one size. "It would be a great vexation to me," said Aedh Nimbrec, the Speckled, then, "we to get our death and Lir's people to take the hill." "Did you never hear, Aedh," said Caoilte, "that the wild boar escapes sometimes from both hounds and from wolves, and the stag in the same way goes away from the hounds with a sudden start; and what man is it you are most in dread of in the battle?" he said. "The man that is the best fighter of all the Men of Dea," said they all, "and that is Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh." "The thing I have done in every battle I will not give up to-day," said Caoilte, "to meet the best man that is in it hand to hand." "The two that are next to him in fighting," they said then, "are Donn and Dubh." "I will put down those two," said Derg. Then the host of the Sidhe went out to the battle, and the armies attacked one another with wide green spears and with little casting spears, and with great stones; and the fight went on from the rising of the day till midday. And then Caoilte and Lir met with one another, and they made a very fierce fight, and at the last Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh fell by the hand of Caoilte. Then the two good champions Dubh and Donn, sons of Eirrge, determined to go on with the battle, and it is how they fought, Dubh in the front of the whole army, and Donn behind all, guarding the rear. But Derg saw that, and he put his finger into the thong of his spear and made a cast at the one that was nearest him, and it broke his back and went on into the body of the other, so that the one cast made an end of the two. And that ended the battle, and all that was left of the great army of Lir went wearing away to the north. And there was great rejoicing in the hill at Ess Ruadh, and Ilbrec took the spoils of the beaten army for his people, and to Caoilte he gave the enchanted spear of Fiacha, together with nine rich cloaks and nine long swords with hilts and guards of gold, and nine hounds for hunting. And they said farewell to one another, and Caoilte left his blessing to the people of the hill, and he brought their thanks with him. And as hard as the battle had been, it was harder again for Derg to part from his comrade, and the day he was parted from Finn and from all the Fianna was no sadder to him than this day. It was a long time after that Caoilte went again to the hill of Ilbrec at Ess Ruadh, and this is the way it happened. It was in a battle at Beinn Edair in the east that Mane, son of the King of Lochlann, made a cast at him in the middle of the battle with a deadly spear. And he heard the whistling of the spear, and it rushing to him; and he lifted his shield to protect his head and his body, but that did not save him, for it struck into his thigh, and left its poison in it, so that he had to go in search of healing. And it is where he went, to the hill of the Sidhe at Ess Ruadh, to ask help of Bebind, daughter of Elcmar of Brugh na Boinne, that had the drink of healing of the Tuatha de Danaan, and all that was left of the ale of Goibniu that she used to be giving out to them. And Caoilte called to Cascorach the Musician, son of Caincenn, and bade him bring his harp and come along with him. And they stopped for a night in the hill of the Sidhe of Druim Nemed in Luigne of Connacht, and from that they went forward by Ess Dara, the Fall of the Oaks, and Druim Dearg na Feinne, the Red Ridge of the Fianna, and Ath Daim Glas, the Ford of the Grey Stag, and to Beinn Gulbain, and northward into the plain of Ceitne, where the Men of Dea used to pay their tribute to the Fomor; and up to the Footstep of Ess Ruadh, and the High Place of the Boys, where the boys of the Tuatha de Danaan used to be playing their hurling. And Aedh of Ess Ruadh and Ilbrec of Ess Ruadh were at the door of the hill, and they gave Caoilte a true welcome. "I am glad of that welcome," said Caoilte. And then Bebind, daughter of Elcmar of Brugh na Boinne, came out, and three times fifty comely women about her, and she sat down on the green grass and gave three loving kisses to the three, to Caoilte and to Cascorach and to Fermaise, that had come with them out of the hill of the Sidhe in Luigne of Connacht. And all the people of the hill welcomed them, and they said: "It is little your friendship would be worth if you would not come to help us and we in need of help." "It was not for bravery I was bade come," said Cascorach; "but when the right time comes I will make music for you if you have a mind to hear it." "It is not for deeds of bravery we are come," said Fermaise, "but we will give you our help if you are in need of it." Then Caoilte told them the cause of his journey. "We will heal you well," said they. And then they all went into the hill and stayed there three days and three nights at drinking and pleasure. And indeed it was good help Caoilte and Cascorach gave them after that. For there was a woman-warrior used to come every year with the ships of the men of Lochlann to make an attack on the Tuatha de Danaan. And she had been reared by a woman that knew all enchantments, and there was no precious thing in all the hills of the Sidhe but she had knowledge of it, and would bring it away. And just at this time there came a messenger to the door of the hill with news that the harbour was full of ships, and that a great army had landed, and the woman-warrior along with it. And it was Cascorach the Musician went out against her, having a shield he got the loan of from Donn, son of Midhir; and she used high words when she saw so young a man coming to fight with her, and he alone. But he made an end of her for all her high talk, and left her lying on the strand with the sea foam washing up to her. And as to Caoilte, he went out in a chariot belonging to Midhir of the Yellow Hair, son of the Dagda, and a spear was given him that was called Ben-badb, the War-Woman, and he made a cast of the spear that struck the King of Lochlann, that he fell in the middle of his army, and the life went from him. And Fermaise went looking for the king's brother, Eolus, that was the comeliest of all the men of the world; and he knew him by the band of gold around his head, and his green armour, and his red shield, and he killed him with a cast of a five-pronged spear. And when the men of Lochlann saw their three leaders were gone, they went into their ships and back to their own country. And there was great joy through the whole country, both among the men of Ireland and the Tuatha de Danaan, the men of Lochlann to have been driven away by the deeds of Caoilte and Fermaise and Cascorach. And that was not all they did, for it was at that time there came three flocks of beautiful red birds from Slieve Fuad in the north, and began eating the green grass before the hill of the Sidhe. "What birds are those?" said Caoilte. "Three flocks they are that come and destroy the green every year, eating it down to the bare flag-stones, till they leave us no place for our races," said Ilbrec. Then Caoilte and his comrades took up three stones and threw them at the flocks and drove them away. "Power and blessings to you," said the people of the Sidhe then, "that is a good work you have done. And there is another thing you can do for us," they said, "for there are three ravens come to us every year out of the north, and the time the young lads of the hill are playing their hurling, each one of the ravens carries off a boy of them. And it is to-morrow the hurling will be," they said. So when the full light of day was come on the morrow, the whole of the Tuatha de Danaan went out to look at the hurling; and to every six men of them was given a chess-board, and a board for some other game to every five, and to every ten men a little harp, and a harp to every hundred men, and pipes that were sharp and powerful to every nine. Then they saw the three ravens from the north coming over the sea, and they pitched on the great tree of power that was on the green, and they gave three gloomy screeches, that if such a thing could be, would have brought the dead out of the earth or the hair off the head of the listeners; and as it was, they took the courage out of the whole gathering. Then Cascorach, son of Caincenn, took a man of the chessmen and made a cast at one of the ravens that struck his beak and his throat, and made an end of him; and Fermaise killed the second of them, and Caoilte the third of them in the same way. "Let my cure be done now," said Caoilte, "for I have paid my fee for it, and it is time." "You have paid it indeed," said Ilbrec. "And where is Bebind, daughter of Elcmar?" he said. "I am here," said she. "Bring Caoilte, son of Ronan, with you into some hidden place," he said, "and do his cure, and let him be well served, for he has driven every danger from the Men of Dea and from the Sons of the Gael. And let Cascorach make music for him, and let Fermaise, son of Eogabil, be watching him and guarding him and attending him." So Elcmar's daughter went to the House of Arms, and her two sons with her, and a bed of healing was made ready for Caoilte, and a bowl of pale gold was brought to her, and it full of water. And she took a crystal vessel and put herbs into it, and she bruised them and put them in the water, and gave the bowl to Caoilte, and he drank a great drink out of it, that made him cast up the poison of the spear that was in him. Five drinks of it he took, and after that she gave him new milk to drink; but with the dint of the reaching he was left without strength through the length of three days and three nights. "Caoilte, my life," she said then, "in my opinion you have got relief." "I have got it indeed," he said, "but that the weakness of my head is troubling me." "The washing of Flann, daughter of Flidais, will be done for you now," she said, "and the head that washing is done for will never be troubled with pain, or baldness, or weakness of sight." So that cure was done to him for a while; and the people of the hill divided themselves into three parts; the one part of their best men and great nobles, and another of their young men, and another of their women and poets, to be visiting him and making mirth with him as long as he would be on his bed of healing. And everything that was best from their hunting, it was to him they would bring it. And one day, when Elcmar's daughter and her two sons and Cascorach and Fermaise were with Caoilte, there was heard a sound of music coming towards them from the waters of Ess Ruadh, and any one would leave the music of the whole world for that music. And they put their harps on the corners of the pillars and went out, and there was wonder on Caoilte that they left him. And he took notice that his strength and the strength of his hands was not come to him yet, and he said: "It is many a rough battle and many a hard fight I went into, and now there is not enough strength in me so much as to go out along with the rest," and he cried tears down. And the others came back to him then, and he asked news of them. "What was that sound of music we heard?" he said. "It was Uaine out of the hill of the Sidhe, at the Wave of Cliodna in the south," said they; "and with her the birds of the Land of Promise; and she is musician to the whole of that country. And every year she goes to visit one of the hills of the Sidhe, and it is our turn this time." Then the woman from the Land of Promise came into the house, and the birds came in along with her, and they pitched on the pillars and the beams, and thirty of them came in where Caoilte was, began singing together. And Cascorach took his harp, and whatever he would play, the birds would sing to it. "It is much music I have heard," said Caoilte, "but music so good as that I never heard before." And after that Caoilte asked to have the healing of his thigh done, and the daughter of Elcmar gave herself to that, and all that was bad was sucked from the wound by her serving people till it was healed. And Caoilte stopped on where he was for three nights after that. And then the people of the hill rose up and went into the stream to swim. And Caoilte said: "What ails me now not to go swim, since my health has come back to me?" And with that he went into the water. And afterwards they went back into the hill, and there was a great feast made that night. And Caoilte bade them farewell after that, and Cascorach, but Fermaise stopped with them for a while. And the people of the hill gave good gifts to Caoilte; a fringed crimson cloak of wool from the seven sheep of the Land of Promise; and a fish-hook that was called Aicil mac Mogha, and that could not be set in any river or inver but it would take fish; and along with that they gave him a drink of remembrance, and after that drink there would be no place he ever saw, or no battle or fight he ever was in, but it would stay in his memory. "That is a good help from kinsmen and from friends," said Caoilte. Then Caoilte and Cascorach went out from the hill, and the people of it made a great lamentation after them. CHAPTER VIII. THE CAVE OF CRUACHAN CAOLITE was one time at Cruachan of Connacht, and Cascorach was with him, and there he saw sitting on a heap of stones a man with very rough grey hair, having a dark brown cloak fastened with a pin of bronze, and a long stick of white hazel in his hand; and there was a herd of cattle before him in a fenced field. Caoilte asked news of him. "I am steward to the King of Ireland," said the old man, "and it is from him I hold this land. And we have great troubles on us in this district," he said. "What troubles are those?" said Caoilte. "I have many herds of cattle," he said, "and every year at Samhain time, a woman comes out of the hill of the Sidhe of Cruachan and brings away nine of the best out of every herd. And as to my name, I am Bairnech, son of Carbh of Collamair of Bregia." "Who was the best man that ever came out of Collamair?" said Caoilte. "I know, and the men of Ireland and of Alban know," said he, "it was Caoilte, son of Ronan. And do you know where is that man now?" he said. "I myself am that man and your own kinsman," said Caoilte. When Bairnech heard that, he gave him a great welcome, and Caoilte gave him three kisses. "It seems to me that to-night is Samhain night," said Caoilte. "If that is so, it is to-night the woman will come to rob us," said Bernech. "Let me go to-night to the door of the hill of the Sidhe," said Cascorach. "You may do that, and bring your arms with you," said Caoilte. So Cascorach went then, and it was not long till he saw the girl going past him out of the hill of Cruachan, having a beautiful cloak of one colour about her; a gown of yellow silk tied up with a knot between her thighs, two spears in her hands, and she not in dread of anything before her or after her. Then Cascorach blew a blast against her, and put his finger into the thong of his spear, and made a cast at the girl that went through her, and that is the way she was made an end of by Cascorach of the Music. And then Bernech said to Caoilte: "Caoilte," he said, "do you know the other oppression that is on me in this place?" "What oppression is that?" said Caoilte. "Three she-wolves that come out of the Cave of Cruachan every year and destroy our sheep and our wethers, and we can do nothing against them, and they go back into the cave again. And it will be a good friend that will rid us of them," he said. "Well, Cascorach," said Caoilte, "do you know what are the three wolves that are robbing this man?" "I know well," said Cascorach, "they are the three daughters of Airetach, of the last of the people of oppression of the Cave of Cruachan, and it is easier for them to do their robbery as wolves than as women." "And will they come near to any one?" said Caoilte. "They will only come near to one sort," said Cascorach; "if they see the world's men having harps for music, they will come near to them." "And how would it be for me," he said, "to go to-morrow to the cairn beyond, and to bring my harp with me?" So in the morning he rose up and went to the cairn and stopped on it, playing his harp till the coming of the mists of the evening. And while he was there he saw the three wolves coming towards him, and they lay down before him, listening to the music. But Cascerach found no way to make an attack on them, and they went back into the cave at the end of the day. Cascorach went back then to Caoilte and told him what had happened. "Go up to-morrow to the same place," said Caoilte, "and say to them it would be better for them to be in the shape of women for listening to music than in the shape of wolves." So on the morrow Cascorach went out to the same cairn, and set his people about it, and the wolves came there and stretched themselves to listen to the music. And Cascorach was saying to them: "If you were ever women," he said, "it would be better for you to be listening to the music as women than as wolves." And they heard that, and they threw off the dark trailing coverings that were about them, for they liked well the sweet music of the Sidhe. And when Caoilte saw them there side by side, and elbow by elbow, he made a cast of his spear, and it went through the three women, that they were like a skein of thread drawn together on the spear. And that is the way he made an end of the strange, unknown three. And that place got the name of the Valley of the Shapes of the Wolves. CHAPTER IX. THE WEDDING AT CEANN SLIEVE Finn and the Fianna made a great hunting one time on the hill of Torc that is over Loch Lein and Feara Mor. And they went on with their hunting till they came to pleasant green Slieve Echtge, and from that it spread over other green-topped hills, and through thick tangled woods, and rough red-headed hills, and over the wide plains of the country. And every chief man among them chose the place that was to his liking, and the gap of danger he was used to before. And the shouts they gave in the turns of the hunt were heard in the woods all around, so that they started the deer in the wood, and sent the foxes wandering, and the little red beasts climbing rocks, and badgers from their holes, and birds flying, and fawns running their best. Then they let out their angry small-headed hounds and set them hunting. And it is red the hands of the Fianna were that day, and it is proud they were of their hounds that were torn and wounded before evening. It happened that day no one stopped with Finn but only Diorraing, son of Domhar. "Well, Diorraing," said Finn, "let you watch for me while I go asleep, for it is early I rose to-day, and it is an early rising a man makes when he cannot see the shadow of his five fingers between himself and the light of day, or know the leaves of the hazel from the leaves of the oak." With that he fell into a quiet sleep that lasted till the yellow light of the evening. And the rest of the Fianna, not knowing where he was gone, gave over the hunt. And the time was long to Diorraing while Finn was asleep, and he roused him and told him the Fianna must have given up the hunt, for he could not hear a cry or a whistle from them. "The end of day is come," said Finn then, "and we will not follow them to-night. And go now to the wood," he said, "and bring timber and dead branches for a shelter, and I will go looking for food for the night." So Diorraing went to the wood, but he was not gone far till he saw a fine well-lighted house of the Sidhe before him on the edge of the wood near at hand, and he went back to Finn with the news. "Let us go to it," said Finn, "for we ought not to be working in this place, and people living so near at hand." They went then to the door of the house and knocked at it, and the door-keeper came to it. "Whose house is this?" said Diorraing. "It belongs to Conan of Ceann Slieve," said the door-keeper. "Tell him," said Diorraing, "there are two of the Fianna of the Gael at the door." The door-keeper went in then and told Conan there were two men of the Fianna at the door. "The one of them," he said, "is young and strong, and quiet and fair-haired, and more beautiful than the rest of the men of the world, and he has in his hand a small-headed, white-breasted hound, having a collar of rubbed gold and a chain of old silver. And the other of them," he said, "is brown and ruddy and white-toothed, and he is leading a yellow-spotted hound by a chain of bright bronze." "It is well you have made your report of them," said Conan, "and I know them by it; for the man you spoke of first is Finn, son of Cumhal, Head of the Fianna of Ireland, and Bran in his hand; and the other is Diorraing, and Sceolan in his hand. And go now quickly and let them in," he said. Finn and Diorraing were brought in then, and they got good attendance, and their arms were taken from them, and a grand feast was made ready that pleased them well. And the wife of Conan was at the one side of Finn, and his daughter, Finndealbh, of the Fair Shape, was at his other side. And they had a great deal of talk together, and at last, seeing her so beautiful, the colour of gold on her curled hair, and her eyes as blue as flowers, and a soft four-cornered cloak fastened at her breast with a silver pin, he asked her of Conan for his wife. "Leave asking that, Finn," said Conan, "for your own courage is not greater than the courage of the man she is promised to." "Who is that?" said Finn. "He is Fatha, son of the King of Ess Ruadh," said Conan. "Your wounds and your danger on yourself," said Diorraing; "and it would be right," he said, "that stammering tongue that gave out those words to be tied and to be shortened for ever, and a drink of death to be given to you; for if the whole of the Men of Dea," he said, "could be put into the one body, Finn would be better than them all." "Leave off, Diorraing," said Finn, "for it is not fighting I am here, but asking a wife, and I will get her whether the Men of Dea think good or bad of it." "I will not be making a quarrel with you," said Conan, "but I put you under bonds as a true hero to answer me everything I am going to ask you." "I will do that," said Finn. With that Conan put questions to Finn as to his birth and his rearing, and the deeds he had done since he came to the Fianna, and Finn gave full answers to them all. And at last he said: "Let us go on with this no longer, but if you have musicians with you, let them be brought to us now; for it is not my custom," he said, "to be for a single night without music." "Tell me this first," said Conan, "who was it made the Dord Fiann, the Mutterer of the Fianna, and when was it made?" "I will tell you the truth of that," said Finn; "it was made in Ireland by the three sons of Cearmait Honey-Mouth; and nine men used to be sounding it, and since it came to me I have fifty men sounding it." "And tell me this," said Conan, "what is the music pleased you best of all you ever heard?" "I will tell you that," said Finn; "the time the seven battalions of the Fianna are gathered in the one place and raise their spear-shafts over their heads, and the sharp whining of the clear, cold wind goes through them, that is very sweet to me. And when the drinking-hall is set out in Almhuin, and the cup-bearers give out the bright cups to the chief men of the Fianna, that is very sweet to me; and it is sweet to me to be listening to the voice of the sea-gull and the heron, and the noise of the waves of Traig Liath, the song of the three sons of Meardha, the whistle of Lugaidh's Son, and the voice of the cuckoo in the beginning of summer, and the grunting of the pigs on the Plain of Eithne, and the shouting of laughter in Doire." And it is what he said: "The Dord in the green-topped woods, the lasting wash of the waves against the shore, the noise of the waves at Traig Liath meeting with the river of the White Trout; the three men that came to the Fianna, a man of them gentle and a man of them rough, another man of them ploughing the clouds, they were sweeter than any other thing. "The grey mane of the sea, the time a man cannot follow its track; the swell that brings the fish to the land, it is sleep-music, its sound is sweet. "Feargall, son of Fionn, a man that was ready-handed, it is long his leap was, it is well marked his track is; he never gave a story that did not do away with secrets; it is his voice was music of sleep to me." And when Finn had answered all the questions so well, Conan said he would give him his daughter, and that he would have a wedding-feast ready at the end of a month. They spent the rest of the night then in sleep; but Finn saw a dreadful vision through his sleep that made him start three times from his bed. "What makes you start from your bed, Finn?" said Diorraing. "It was the Tuatha de Danaan I saw," said he, "taking up a quarrel against me, and making a great slaughter of the Fianna." Now as to the Fianna, they rested at Fotharladh of Moghna that night, and they were downhearted, having no tidings of Finn. And early on the morrow two of them, Bran Beag and Bran Mor, rose up and went to Mac-an-Reith, son of the Ram, that had the gift of true knowledge, and they asked him where did Finn spend the night. And Mac-an-Reith was someway unwilling to tell them, but at the last he said it was at the house of Conan of Ceann Slieve. The two Brans went on then to Conan's house, and Finn made them welcome; but they blamed him when they heard he was taking a wife, and none of his people with him. "Bid all the Fianna to come to the feast at the end of a month," said Conan then. So Finn and Diorraing and the two Brans went back to where the Fianna were and told them all that had happened, and they went on to Almhuin. And when they were in the drinking-hall at Almhuin that night, they saw the son of the King of Ireland coming to where they were. "It is a pity the king's son to have come," said Finn; "for he will not be satisfied without ordering everything in the hall in his own way." "We will not take his orders," said Oisin, "but we will leave the half of the hall to him, and keep the other half ourselves." So they did that; but it happened that in the half of the house that was given up to the King of Ireland's son, there were sitting two of the Men of Dea, Failbhe Mor and Failbhe Beag; and it is what they said, that it is because they were in that side of the hall it was given up. "It is a pity," said Failbhe Beag, "this shame and this great insult to have been put on us to-night; and it is likely Finn has a mind to do more than that again to us," he said, "for he is going to bring away the woman that is promised to the third best man of the Tuatha de Danaan, and against the will of her father and mother." And these two went away early in the morning to Fionnbhar of Magh Feabhail, and told him of the insults Finn and the Fianna of Ireland had a mind to put on the Tuatha de Danaan. And when Fionnbhar that was king over the Tuatha de Danaan heard that, he sent out messengers through the length of Ireland to gather them all to him. And there came six good battalions to him on the edge of Loch Derg Dheirc at the end of a month; and it was the same day Conan had the wedding-feast made ready for Finn and his people. And Finn was at Teamhair Luachra at that time, and when he heard the feast was ready, he set out to go to it. And it chanced that the most of the men he had with him at that time were of the sons of Morna. And when they were on their way, Finn said to Goll, "O Goll," he said, "I never felt any fear till now going to a feast. And there are but few of my people with me," he said; "and I know there is no good thing before me, but the Men of Dea are going to raise a quarrel against me and to kill my people." "I will defend you against anything they may do," said Goll. They went on then to Conan's house, and there was a welcome before them, and they were brought into the drinking-hall, and Finn was put in the place beside the door, and Goll on his right and Finndeilb, of the Fair Shape, on his left, and all the rest in the places they were used to. And as to Fionnbhar of Magh Feabhail and the Tuatha de Danaan, they put a Druid mist about themselves and went on, hidden and armed, in sixteen battalions, to the lawn before Conan's house. "It is little profit we have being here," they said then, "and Goll being with Finn against us." "Goll will not protect him this time," said Ethne, the woman-Druid, "for I will entice Finn out of the house, however well he is watched." She went on to the house then, and took her stand before Finn outside. "Who is that before me?" she said then. "It is I myself," said Finn. "I put you under the bonds a true hero never broke," she said, "to come out to me here." When Finn heard that, he made no delay and went out to her; and for all there were so many in the house, not one of them took notice of him going, only Caoilte, and he followed him out. And at the same time the Tuatha de Danaan let out a flock of blackbirds having fiery beaks, that pitched on the breasts of all the people in the house, and burned them and destroyed them, till the young lads and the women and children of the place ran out on all sides, and the woman of the house, Conan's wife, was drowned in the river outside the dun. But as to Ethne, the woman-Druid, she asked Finn would he run against her. "For it is to run a race against you I called you out," she said. "What length of a race?" said Finn. "From Doire da Torc, the Wood of the Two Boars, to Ath Mor, the Great Ford," she said. So they set out, but Finn got first over the ford. And Caoilte was following after them, and Finn was urging him, and he said: "It is ashamed of your running you should be, Caoilte, a woman to be going past you." On that Caoilte made a leap forward, and when he was in front of the witch he turned about and gave a blow of his sword that made two equal halves of her. "Power and good luck to you, Caoilte!" said Finn; "for though it is many a good blow you have struck, you never struck a better one than this." They went back then to the lawn before Conan's dun, and there they found the whole company of the Tuatha de Danaan, that had put the Druid mist off them. "It seems to me, Caoilte," said Finn, "that we are come into the middle of our enemies." With that they turned their backs to one another, and they were attacked on all sides till groans of weakness from the unequal fight were forced from Finn. And when Goll, that was in the house, heard that, he said: "It is a pity the Tuatha de Danaan to have enticed Finn and Caoilte away from us; and let us go to their help and make no delay," he said. Then he rushed out, and all that were there of the Fianna with him, and Conan of Ceann Slieve and his sons. And great anger came on Goll, that he looked like a tall mountain under his grey shield in the battle. And he broke through the Tuatha de Danaan till he reached to Fionnbhar their leader, and they attacked one another, cutting and wounding, till at the last Fionnbhar of Magh Feabhail fell by the strokes of Goll. And a great many others fell in that battle, and there never was a harder battle fought in Ireland, for there was no man on one side or the other had a mind to go back one step before whoever he was fighting against. For they were the two hardest fighting troops to be found in the four parts of the world, the strong, hardy Fianna of the Gael, and the beautiful Men of Dea; and they went near to being all destroyed in that battle. But after a while they saw the rest of the Fianna that were not in the battle coming from all parts of Ireland. And when the Tuatha de Danaan saw them coming, they put the Druid mist about themselves again and made away. And clouds of weakness came on Finn himself, and on them that were with him, with the dint of the fight. And there were many men of the Fianna lost in that battle; and as to the rest, it is a long time they stopped in Almhuin of Leinster, till their wounds were entirely healed. CHAPTER X. THE SHADOWY ONE And indeed Finn had no great luck in going to look for a wife that time; and he had no better luck another time he asked a wife from among the Sidhe. And this is the way that happened. It was on the mountain of Bearnas Mor he was hunting, and a great wild pig turned on the hounds of the Fianna and killed the most of them, but Bran made an attack on it then and got the best of it. And the pig began to scream, and with that a very tall man came out of the hill and he asked Finn to let the pig go free. And when he agreed to that, the man brought them into the hill of the Sidhe at Glandeirgdeis; and when they came to the door of the house he struck the pig with his Druid rod, and on the moment it changed into a beautiful young woman, and the name he called her by was Scathach, the Shadowy One. And he made a great feast for the Fianna, and Finn asked the young girl in marriage, and the tall man, her father, said he would give her to him on that very night. But when night came on, Scathach asked the loan of a harp, and it was brought to her. One string it had of iron, and one of bronze, and one of silver. And when the iron string would be played, it would set all the hosts of the world crying and ever crying; and when the bright bronze string would be played, it would set them all laughing from the one day to the same hour on the morrow; and when the silver string would be played, all the men of the whole world would fall into a long sleep. And it is the sleepy silver string the Shadowy One played upon, till Finn and Bran and all his people were in their heavy sleep. And when they awoke at the rising of the sun on the morrow, it is outside on the mountain of Bearnas they were, where they first saw the wild pig. CHAPTER XI. FINN'S MADNESS One time Finn and the Fianna were come to a ford of the Slaine, and they sat down for a while. And as they were sitting there they saw on the round rock up over the ford a young woman, having a dress of silk and a green cloak about her, and a golden brooch in the cloak, and the golden crown that is the sign of a queen on her head. "Fianna of Ireland," she said, "let one of you come now and speak with me." Then Sciathbreac, of the Speckled Shield, went towards her. "Who is it you are wanting?" he said, "Finn, son of Cumhal," said she. Finn went over then to talk with her. "Who are you?" he said, "and what is it you are wanting?" "I am Daireann, daughter of Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda," she said; "and I am come to be your wife if you will give me the bride-gift I ask." "What bride-gift is that?" said Finn. "It is your promise," said she, "I to be your only wife through the length of a year, and to have the half of your time after that." "I will not give that promise," said Finn, "to any woman of the world, and I will not give it to you," he said. On that the young woman took a cup of white silver from under a covering, and filled it with strong drink, and she gave it to Finn. "What is this?" said Finn. "It is very strong mead," said she. Now there were bonds on Finn not to refuse anything belonging to a feast, so he took the cup and drank what was in it, and on the moment he was like one gone mad. And he turned his face towards the Fianna, and every harm and every fault and every misfortune in battle that he knew against any one of them, he sprang it on them, through the mad drunkenness the young woman had put on him. Then the chief men of the Fianna of Ireland rose up and left the place to him, every one of them setting out for his own country, till there was no one left upon the hill but Finn and Caoilte. And Caoilte rose up and followed after them, and he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "do not leave your lord and your leader through the arts and the tricks of a woman of the Sidhe." Thirteen times he went after them, bringing them back to the hill in that way. And with the end of the day and the fall of night the bitterness went from Finn's tongue; and by the time Caoilte had brought back the whole of the Fianna, his sense and his memory were come back to him, and he would sooner have fallen on his sword and got his death, than have stayed living. And that was the hardest day's work Caoilte ever did, unless the day he brought the flock of beasts and birds to Teamhair, to ransom Finn from the High King of Ireland. Another time Maer, wife of Bersa of Berramain, fell in love with Finn, and she made nine nuts of Segair with love charms, and sent them to Finn, and bade him eat them. "I will not," said Finn; "for they are not nuts of knowledge, but nuts of ignorance; and it is not known what they are, unless they might be an enchantment for drinking love." So he buried them a foot deep in the earth. CHAPTER XII. THE RED WOMAN One time the Fianna were in Almhuin with no great work to do, and there came a very misty morning, and Finn was in dread that sluggishness would come on his men, and he rose up, and he said: "Make yourselves ready, and we will go hunting to Gleann-na-Smol." They all said the day was too misty to go hunting; but there was no use in talking: they had to do as Finn bade them. So they made themselves ready and went on towards Gleann-na-Smol; and they were not gone far when the mist lifted and the sun came shining out. And when they were on the edge of a little wood, they saw a strange beast coming towards them with the quickness of the wind, and a Red Woman on its track. Narrow feet the beast had, and a head like the head of a boar, and long horns on it; but the rest of it was like a deer, and there was a shining moon on each of its sides. Finn stopped, and he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "did you ever see a beast like that one until now?" "We never did indeed," said they; "and it would be right for us to let out the hounds after it." "Wait a while," said Finn, "till I speak with the Red Woman; but do not let the beast go past you," he said. They thought to keep back the beast then, going before it; but they were hardly able to hinder it at all, and it went away through them. And when the Red Woman was come up to them, Finn asked her what was the name of the beast she was following. "I do not know that," she said, "though I am on its track since I left the borders of Loch Dearg a month ago, and I never lost sight of it since then; and the two moons that are on its two sides shine through the country all around in the night time. And I must follow it till it falls," she said, "or I will lose my own life and the lives of my three sons that are the best fighting men in the whole world." "We will take the beast for you if you have a mind," said Finn. "Do not try to do that," she said, "for I myself am swifter than you are, and I cannot come up with it." "We will not let it go till we know what sort of a beast is it," said Finn. "If you yourself or your share of men go after it, I will bind you hand and foot," said she. "It is too stiff your talk is," said Finn. "And do you not know," he said, "I am Finn, son of Cumhal; and there are fourscore fighting men along with me that were never beaten yet." "It is little heed I give to yourself or your share of men," said the Red Woman; "and if my three sons were here, they would stand up against you." "Indeed it will be a bad day," said Finn, "when the threat of a woman will put fear on myself or on the Fianna of Ireland." With that he sounded his horn, and he said: "Let us all follow now, men and dogs, after that beast that we saw." He had no sooner said that word than the woman made a great water-worm of herself, and made an attack on Finn, and she would have killed him then and there but for Bran being with him. Bran took a grip of the worm and shook it, and then it wound itself round Bran's body, and would have crushed the life out of her, but Finn thrust his sharp sword into its throat. "Keep back your hand," said the worm then, "and you will not have the curse of a lonely woman upon you." "It is what I think," said Finn, "that you would not leave me my life if you could take it from me; but go out of my sight now," he said, "and that I may never see you again." Then she made herself into a Red Woman again, and went away into the wood. All the Fianna were gone on the track of the beast while Finn was talking and fighting with the Red Woman; and he did not know in what place they were, but he went following after them, himself and Bran. It was late in the evening when he came up with a share of them, and they still on the track of the beast. The darkness of the night was coming on, but the two moons in the sides of the beast gave a bright light, and they never lost it from sight. They followed it on always; and about midnight they were pressing on it, and it began to scatter blood after it, and it was not long till Finn and his men were red from head to foot. But that did not hinder them, and they followed him on till they saw him going in at the foot of Cnoc-na-righ at the breaking of day. When they came to the foot of the hill the Red Woman was standing there before them. "You did not take the beast," she said. "We did not take it, but we know where it is," said Finn. She took a Druid rod then, and she struck a blow on the side of the hill, and on the moment a great door opened, and they heard sweet music coming from within. "Come in now," said the Red Woman, "till you see the wonderful beast." "Our clothing is not clean," said Finn, "and we would not like to go in among a company the way we are," he said. She put a horn to her mouth and blew it, and on the moment there came ten young men to her. "Bring water for washing," she said, "and four times twenty suits of clothes, and a beautiful suit and a crown of shining stones for Finn, son of Cumhal." The young men went away then, and they came back at the end of a minute with water and with clothing. When the Fianna were washed and dressed, the Red Woman brought them into a great hall, where there was the brightness of the sun and of the moon on every side. From that she brought them into another great room; and although Finn and his men had seen many grand things up to that time, they had never seen any sight so grand as what they saw in this place. There was a king sitting in a golden chair, having clothes of gold and of green, and his chief people were sitting around him, and his musicians were playing. And no one could know what colour were the dresses of the musicians, for every colour of the rainbow was in them. And there was a great table in the middle of the room, having every sort of thing on it, one better than another. The king rose up and gave a welcome to Finn and to his men, and he bade them to sit down at the table; and they ate and drank their fill, and that was wanting to them after the hunt they had made. And then the Red Woman rose up, and she said: "King of the Hill, if it is your will, Finn and his men have a mind to see the wonderful beast, for they spent a long time following after it, and that is what brought them here." The king struck a blow then on his golden chair, and a door opened behind him, and the beast came through it and stood before the king. And it stooped down before him, and it said: "I am going on towards my own country now; and there is not in the world a runner so good as myself, and the sea is the same to me as the land. And let whoever can come up with me come now," it said, "for I am going." With that the beast went out from the hill as quick as a blast of wind, and all the people that were in it went following after it. It was not long till Finn and his men were before the rest, in the front of the hunt, gaining on the beast. And about midday Bran made the beast turn, and then she forced it to turn a second time, and it began to put out cries, and it was not long until its strength began to flag; and at last, just at the setting of the sun, it fell dead, and Bran was at its side when it fell. Then Finn and his men came up, but in place of a beast it was a tall man they saw lying dead before them. And the Red Woman came up at the same time, and she said: "High King of the Fianna, that is the King of the Firbolgs you have killed; and his people will put great troubles on this country in the time to come, when you yourself, Finn, and your people will be under the sod. And I myself am going now to the Country of the Young," she said, "and I will bring you with me if you have a mind to come." "We give you our thanks for that," said Finn, "but we would not give up our own country if we were to get the whole world as an estate, and the Country of the Young along with it." "That is well," said the Red Woman; "but you are going home empty after your hunt." "It is likely we will find a deer in Gleann-na-Smol," said Finn. "There is a fine deer at the foot of that tree beyond," said the Red Woman, "and I will rouse it for you." With that she gave a cry, and the deer started out and away, and Finn and his men after it, and it never stopped till it came to Gleann-na-Smol, but they could not come up with it. Then the Red Woman came to them, and she said: "I think you are tired now with following after the deer; and call your hounds off now," she said, "and I will let out my own little dog after it." So Finn sounded a little horn he had at his side, and on the moment the hounds came back to him. And then the Red Woman brought out a little hound as white as the snow of the mountains, and put it after the deer; and it was not long till it had come up with the deer and killed it, and then it came back and made a leap in under the cloak of the Red Woman. There was great wonder on Finn; but before he could ask a question of the Red Woman, she was gone out of sight. And as to the deer, Finn knew there was enchantment on it, and so he left it there after him. And it is tired and empty the Fianna were, going back to Almhuin that night. CHAPTER XIII. FINN AND THE PHANTOMS Finn went to a gathering one time at Aonach Clochair, and a great many of the men of Munster crowded to it. And the horses of the Fianna were brought there, and the horses of the men of Munster, and they ran races against one another. And Fiachu, son of Eoghan, was in it; and when the games were over he gave good presents to Finn, a lasting black horse that won the three prizes of the gathering, and a chariot, and a horse for the chariot-driver, and a spear, having a deadly spell, and weapons of silver, and three comely hounds, Feirne and Derchaem and Dialath, having collars of yellow gold and chains of white bronze. And Finn rose up and gave his thanks to Fiachu, son of Eoghan, and he and his people set out to the house of Cacher at Cluain-da-loch. And they stopped three days feasting in Cacher's house, and then Finn gave him the price of his feast and of his ale, fifty rings, and fifty horses and fifty cows. And he himself and the Fianna went on from that over Luachair to the strand at Berramain. And Finn went trying his black horse on the strand, and Caoilte and Oisin went racing against him; but it was only folly for them to do that, for he gave a blow to his horse, and away with him to Traigh Liath and over the Plain of Health to the Old Yew of the Old Valley, and to the inver of the Flesc and the inver of the Lemain to Loch Lein, till he came to the hill of Bairnech, and Caoilte and Oisin after him. "Night is coming on us," said Finn then; "and go look for some place where we can sleep," he said. He looked round then at the rocks on his left hand and he saw a house, and a fire shining out from it in the valley below. "I never knew of a house in this valley," he said. "It is best for us to go see it," said Caoilte, "for there are many things we have no knowledge of." The three went on then to the house, and they heard screams and crying from it; and when they came to the house, the people of it were very fierce and rough; and a big grey man took hold of their horses and brought them in and shut the door of the house with iron hooks. "My welcome to you, Finn of the great name," he said then; "it is a long time you were in coming here." They sat down then on the hard boards of a bed, and the grey man kindled a fire, and he threw logs of elder-wood on it, till they went near being smothered with the smoke. They saw a hag in the house then having three heads on her lean neck; and there was on the other side a man without a head, having one eye, and it in his breast. "Rise up, you that are in the house, and make music for the King of the Fianna," said the grey man then. With that nine bodies rose up out of the corner nearest the Fianna, and nine heads rose up on the other side of the bed, and they raised nine harsh screeches together, that no one would like to be listening to. And then the hag answered to them, and the headless man answered; and if all of that music was harsh, there was none of it that you would not wish to hear sooner than the music of the one-eyed man. And the music that was sung went near to breaking the bones of their heads; and indeed it is no sweet music that was. Then the big grey man rose up and took the axe that was for cutting logs, and he began striking at the horses, flaying and destroying them. Then there were brought fifty pointed spits of the rowan-tree, and he put a piece of the horse's flesh on each one of the spits, and settled them on the hearth. But when he took the spits from the fire and put them before Finn, it is raw the flesh was on them yet. "Take your food away," said Finn then, "for I have never eaten meat that was raw, and I never will eat it because of being without food for one day." "If you are come into our house to refuse our food," said the grey man, "we will surely go against yourselves, Finn and Caoilte and Oisin." With that all in the house made an attack on the three; and they were driven back into the corner, and the fire was quenched, and the fight went on through the whole night in the darkness, and but for Finn and the way he fought, they would have been put down. And when the sun rose and lighted up the house on the morrow, a mist came into the head of each of the three, so that they fell as if dead on the floor. But after awhile they rose up again, and there was nothing to be seen of the house or of the people of the house, but they had all vanished. And their horses were there, and they took them and went on, very weak and tired, for a long way, till they came to the strand of Berramain. And those three that fought against them were the three Shapes out of the Valley of the Yew Tree that came to avenge their sister, Cuillen of the Wide Mouth. Now as to Cuillen, she was a daughter of the King of Munster, and her husband was the King of Ulster's son. And they had a son that was called Fear Og, the Young Man; and there was hardly in Ireland a man so good as himself in shape and in courage and in casting a spear. And one time he joined in a game with the Fianna, and he did better than them all, and Finn gave him a great reward. And after that he went out to a hunt they made, and it was by him and by none of the Fianna the first blood was got of pig or of deer. And when they came back, a heavy sickness fell on the young man through the eyes and the envy of the Fianna, and it left him without life at the end of nine days. And he was buried under a green hill, and the shining stone he used to hold in his hand, and he doing his feats, was put over his head. And his mother, Cuillen, came to his grave keening him every day through the length of a year. And one day she died there for grief after her son, and they put her into the same green hill. But as to Finn, he was afraid of no earthly thing, and he killed many great serpents in Loch Cuilinn and Loch Neathach, and at Beinn Edair; and Shadow-Shapes at Loch Lein and Drom Cleib and Loch Liath, and a serpent and a cat in Ath Cliath. CHAPTER XIV. THE PIGS OF ANGUS Angus Og, son of the Dagda, made a feast one time at Brugh na Boinne for Finn and the Fianna of the Gael. Ten hundred of them were in it, and they wearing green clothing and crimson cloaks; and as to the people of Angus' house, it is clothing of red silk they had. And Finn was sitting beside Angus in the beautiful house, and it is long since the like of those two were seen in Ireland. And any stranger would wonder to see the way the golden cups were going from hand to hand. And Angus said out in a loud voice that every one could hear: "It is a better life this is than to be hunting." There was anger on Finn then, and he said: "It is a worse life than hunting to be here, without hounds, without horses, without battalions, without the shouting of armies." "Why are you talking like that, Finn?" said Angus, "for as to the hounds you have," he said, "they would not kill so much as one pig." "You have not yourself," said Finn, "and the whole host of the Tuatha de Danaan have not a pig that ever went on dry land that Bran and Sceolan would not kill." "I will send you a pig," said Angus, "that will go from you and your hounds, and that will kill them in the end." The steward of the house called out then in a loud voice: "Let every one go now to his bed, before the lightness of drunkenness comes on you." But Finn said to his people: "Let us make ready and leave this; for we are but a few," he said, "among the Men of Dea." So they set out and went westward till they came to Slieve Fuad where the Fianna were at that time. And through the whole length of a year after that, the Tuatha de Danaan were boasting how they would get the better of the Fianna, and the Fianna were thinking how they could do best in the hunt. And at the end of that time Angus sent messengers to Finn, asking him with great respect if he was ready to keep his word. And Finn said he was, and the hounds were brought out, and he himself was holding Bran and Sceolan, one in each hand, and Caoilte had Adhnuall, and Oisin had Ablach, and merry Bran Beag had Lonn, and Diarmuid was holding Eachtach, and Osgar was holding Mac an Truim, and Garraidh was held by Faolan, and Rith Fada, of the Long Run, by hungry Conan. And they were not long there with their hounds till they saw on the plain to the east a terrible herd of great pigs, every one of them the height of a deer. And there was one pig out in front of the rest was blacker than a smith's coal, and the bristles on its head were like a thicket of thorn-trees. Then Caoilte let out Adhnuall, and she was the first to kill a pig of the herd. And then Bran made away from the leash that Finn was holding, and the pigs ran their best, but she came up with them, and took hold of a pig of them. And at that Angus said: "O Bran, fosterling of fair-haired Fergus, it is not a right thing you are doing, to kill my own son." But when Bran heard that, her ways changed and it was like an enemy she took hold of the pig, and did not let it go, and held her breath back and kept it for the Fianna. And it was over Slieve Cua the hunt went, and Slieve Crot, and from Magh Cobha to Cruachan, and to Fionnabraic and to Finnias. And at evening when the hunt was over, there was not one pig of the whole herd without a hurt, and there were but a hundred and ten pigs left living. But if the hunt brought destruction on Angus, it brought losses on the Fianna as well, for there were ten hundred of their men missing besides serving-lads and dogs. "Let us go to Brugh na Boinne and get satisfaction for our people," said Oisin then. "That is the advice of a man without sense," said Finn; "for if we leave these pigs the way they are, they will come to life again. And let us burn them," he said, "and throw their ashes in the sea." Then the seven battalions of the Fianna made seven fires to every battalion; but for all they could do, they could not set fire to one pig. Then Bran, that had great sense and knowledge, went away, and she came back bringing three logs along with her, but no one knows what wood it was they came from. And when the logs were put on the fire they lit up like a candle, and it is with them the pigs were burned; and after that their ashes were thrown into the sea. Then Oisin said again: "Let us go now to Brugh na Boinne and avenge the death of our people." So the whole of the Fianna set out for Brugh na Boinne, and every step they made could surely be heard through the whole of the skies. And Angus sent out messengers to where Finn was, offering any one thing to him if he would spare his people. "I will take no gift at all from you, Angus of the slender body," said Finn, "so long as there is a room left in your house, north or east, without being burned." But Angus said: "Although you think bad of the loss of your fine people that you have the sway over, yet, O Finn, father of Oisin, it is sorrowful to me the loss of my own good son is. For as to the black pig that came before you on the plain," he said, "it was no common pig was in it, but my own son. And there fell along with him," he said, "the son of the King of the Narrow Sea, and the son of the King of the Sea of Gulls, and the son of Ilbhrec, son of Manannan, and seven score of the comely sons of kings and queens. And it is what destroyed my strength and my respect entirely, they to have been burned away from me in a far place. And it is a pity for you, sweet daring Bran," he said, "fosterling of Fergus of the thirty woods and plains, that you did not do something worth praise before killing your own foster-brother. And I will put a curse on you, Bran," he said, "beyond every hound in Ireland, that you will never see with your eyes any deer you may ever kill." There was anger on Finn when he heard that, and he said: "If you put a curse on Bran, Angus, there will not be a room left, east or west, in the whole of your great house without being burned." "If you do that," said Angus, "I will put trees and stones in front of you in every battle; and I will know what number of men you have in your armies," he said, "looking at them through my ring." Then Oisin, that was wise, said: "It is best for you to agree between yourselves now; and let us be helpful to one another," he said, "and pay whatever fines are due." So they agreed to that, and they made peace, and gave children to be fostered by one another: a son of Finn's to Angus, and son of Angus Og to the Fianna. But for all that, it is not very friendly to Finn Angus was afterwards, at the time he was following after Diarmuid and Grania through the whole length of Ireland. CHAPTER XV. THE HUNT OF SLIEVE CUILINN Finn was one time out on the green of Almhuin, and he saw what had the appearance of a grey fawn running across the plain. He called and whistled to his hounds then, but neither hound nor man heard him or came to him, but only Bran and Sceolan. He set them after the fawn, and near as they kept to her, he himself kept nearer to them, till at last they reached to Slieve Cuilinn in the province of Ulster. But they were no sooner at the hill than the fawn vanished from them, and they did not know where was she gone, and Finn went looking for her eastward, and the two hounds went towards the west. It was not long till Finn came to a lake, and there was sitting on the brink of it a young girl, the most beautiful he had ever seen, having hair of the colour of gold, and a skin as white as lime, and eyes like the stars in time of frost; but she seemed to be some way sorrowful and downhearted. Finn asked her did she see his hounds pass that way. "I did not see them," she said; "and it is little I am thinking of your hounds or your hunting, but of the cause of my own trouble." "What is it ails you, woman of the white hands?" said Finn; "and is there any help I can give you?" he said. "It is what I am fretting after," said she, "a ring of red gold I lost off my finger in the lake. And I put you under bonds, Finn of the Fianna," she said, "to bring it back to me out of the lake." With that Finn stripped off his clothes and went into the lake at the bidding of the woman, and he went three times round the whole lake and did not leave any part of it without searching, till he brought back the ring. He handed it up to her then out of the water, and no sooner had he done that than she gave a leap into the water and vanished. And when Finn came up on the bank of the lake, he could not so much as reach to where his clothes were; for on the moment he, the head and the leader of the Fianna of Ireland, was but a grey old man, weak and withered. Bran and Sceolan came up to him then, but they did not know him, and they went on round the lake, searching after their master. In Almhuin, now, when he was missed, Caoilte began asking after him. "Where is Finn," he said, "of the gentle rule and of the spears?" But no one knew where was he gone, and there was grief on the Fianna when they could not find him. But it is what Conan said: "I never heard music pleased me better than to hear the son of Cumhal is missing. And that he may be so through the whole year," he said, "and I myself will be king over you all." And downhearted as they were, it is hardly they could keep from laughing when they heard Conan saying that. Caoilte and the rest of the chief men of the Fianna set out then looking for Finn, and they got word of him; and at last they came to Slieve Cuilinn, and there they saw a withered old man sitting beside the lake, and they thought him to be a fisherman. "Tell us, old man," said Caoilte, "did you see a fawn go by, and two hounds after her, and a tall fair-faced man along with them?" "I did see them," he said, "and it is not long since they left me." "Tell us where are they now?" said Caoilte. But Finn made no answer, for he had not the courage to say to them that he himself was Finn their leader, being as he was an ailing, downhearted old man, without leaping, without running, without walk, grey and sorrowful. Caoilte took out his sword from the sheath then, and he said: "It is short till you will have knowledge of death unless you will tell us what happened those three." Then Finn told them the whole story; and when the seven battalions of the Fianna heard him, and knew it was Finn that was in it, they gave three loud sorrowful cries. And to the lake they gave the name of Loch Doghra, the Lake of Sorrow. But Conan of the sharp tongue began abusing Finn and all the Fianna by turns. "You never gave me right praise for my deeds, Finn, son of Cumhal," he said, "and you were always the enemy of the sons of Morna; but we are living in spite of you," he said, "and I have but the one fault to find with your shape, and that is, that it was not put on the whole of the Fianna the same as on yourself." Caoilte made at him then; "Bald, senseless Conan," he said, "I will break your mouth to the bone." But Conan ran in then among the rest of the Fianna and asked protection from them, and peace was made again. And as to Finn, they asked him was there any cure to be found for him. "There is," he said; "for I know well the enchantment was put on me by a woman of the Sidhe, Miluchradh, daughter of Cuilinn, through jealousy of her sister Aine. And bring me to the hill that belongs to Cuilinn of Cuailgne," he said, "for he is the only one can give me my shape again." They came around him then, and raised him up gently on their shields, and brought him on their shoulders to the hill of the Sidhe in Cuailgne, but no one came out to meet them. Then the seven battalions began digging and rooting up the whole hill, and they went on digging through the length of three nights and three days. And at the end of that time Cuilinn of Cuailgne, that some say was Manannan, son of Lir, came out of the hill, holding in his hand a vessel of red gold, and he gave the vessel into Finn's hand. And no sooner did Finn drink what was in the vessel than his own shape and his appearance came back to him. But only his hair, that used to be so fair and so beautiful, like the hair of a woman, never got its own colour again, for the lake that Cuilinn's daughter had made for Finn would have turned all the men of the whole world grey if they had gone into it. And when Finn had drunk all that was in the vessel it slipped from his hand into the earth, that was loosened with the digging, and he saw it no more. But in the place where it went into the earth, a tree grew up, and any one that would look at the branches of that tree in the morning, fasting, would have knowledge of all that was to happen on that day. That, now, is the way Finn came by his grey hair, through the jealousy of Miluchradh of the Sidhe, because he had not given his love to her, but to her sister Aine. BOOK FIVE: OISIN'S CHILDREN Now as to Oisin, that was so brave and so comely, and that could overtake a deer at its greatest speed, and see a thistle thorn on the darkest night, the wife he took was Eibhir of the plaited yellow hair, that was the foreign sweetheart of the High King of Ireland. It is beyond the sea she lived, in a very sunny place; and her father's name was lunsa, and her sunny house was thatched with the feathers of birds, and the doorposts were of gold, and the doors of ribbed grass. And Oisin went there looking for her, and he fought for her against the High King and against an army of the Firbolgs he had helping him; and he got the better of them all, and brought away Eibhir of the yellow hair to Ireland. And he had a daughter that married the son of Oiliol, son of Eoghan, and of Beara, daughter of the King of Spain. It was that Eoghan was driven out of Ireland one time, and it is to Spain he went for safety. And Beara, that was daughter of the King of Spain, was very shining and beautiful, and her father had a mind to know who would be her husband, and he sent for his Druid and asked the question of him. "I can tell you that," said the Druid, "for the man that is to be her husband will come to land in Spain this very night. And let your daughter go eastward to the river Eibhear," he said, "and she will find a crimson-spotted salmon in that river, having shining clothing on him from head to tail. And let her strip that clothing off him," he said, "and make with it a shining shirt for her husband." So Beara went to the river Eibhear, and found the golden salmon as the Druid had said, and she stripped him of his crimson clothing and made a shining shirt of it. And as to Eoghan, the waves of the shore put a welcome before him, and he came the same night to the king's house. And the king gave him a friendly welcome; and it is what all the people said, that there was never seen a comelier man than Eoghan, or a woman more beautiful than Beara, and that it was fitting for them to come together. And Eoghan's own people said they would not be sorry for being sent away out of Ireland, if only Eoghan could get her for his wife. And after a while the king sent his Druid to ask Eoghan why he did not ask for Beara. "I will tell you that," said Eoghan; "it would not be fitting for me to be refused a wife, and I am but an exile in this country, and I have brought no treasures or goods with me out of Ireland for giving to learned men and to poets. But for all that," he said, "the king's daughter is dear to me, and I think I have the friendship of the king." The Druid went back with that message. "That is the answer of a king," said the King of Spain; "and bid my daughter to sit at Eoghan's right hand," he said, "and I will give her to him this very night." And when Beara, the king's daughter, heard that, she sent out her serving-maid to bring the shirt she had made for Eoghan, and he put it on him over his armour, and its shining was seen in every place; and it was from wearing that shirt he got the name of Eoghan the Bright. And Oiliol was the first son they had; it was he that had his ear bitten off by Aine of the Sidhe in revenge for her brother, and it was his son married Oisin's daughter afterwards. And as to Osgar, that was Oisin's son, of all the young men of the Fianna he was the best in battle. And when he was but a young child he was made much of by the whole of the Fianna, and it is for him they used to keep the marrow bones, and they did not like to put any hardship on him. And he grew up tall and idle, and no one thought he would turn out so strong as he did. And one day there was an attack made on a troop of the Fianna, and all that were in it went out to fight, but they left Osgar after them. And when he knew the fight was going on, he took a log of wood that was the first thing he could find, and attacked the enemy and made a great slaughter, and they gave way and ran before him. And from that out there was no battle he did not go into; and he was said to be the strongest of all the Fianna, though the people of Connacht said that Goll was the strongest. And he and Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, were comrades and dear friends; and it was Diarmuid taught him feats of arms and of skill, and chess-playing. And Oisin his father took great pride in him, and his grandfather Finn. And one time Finn was holding a feast at Almhuin, and he asked the chief men of the Fianna that were there what was the music they thought the best. "To be playing at games," said Conan, "that is the best music I ever heard;" for though Conan was a good hand against an enemy, there never was a man had less sense. "The music I like the best is to be talking with a woman," said Diarmuid. "My music is the outcry of my hounds, and they putting a deer to its last stand," said Lugaidh's Son. "The music of the woods is best to me," said Oisin; "the sound of the wind and of the cuckoo and the blackbird, and the sweet silence of the crane." And then Osgar was asked, and he said: "The best music is the striking of swords in a battle." And it is likely he took after Finn in that, for in spite of all the sweet sounds he gave an account of the time he was at Conan's house, at Ceann Slieve, it used to be said by the Fianna that the music that was best with Finn was what happened. This now is the way Osgar met with his wife. One time Finn and his men came to Slieve Crot, and they saw a woman waiting there before them, having a crimson fringed cloak, and a gold brooch in it, and a band of yellow gold on her forehead. Finn asked her name, and where she came from. "Etain of the Fair Hair is my name," she said, "daughter of Aedh of the White Breast, of the hill of the Sidhe at Beinn Edair, son of Angus Og." "What is it brought you here, girl?" said Finn. "To ask a man of the Fianna of Ireland to run a race with me." "What sort of a runner are you?" said Diarmuid. "I am a good runner," said the girl; "for it is the same to me if the ground is long or short under my feet." All of the Fianna that were there then set out to run with her, and they ran to the height over Badhamair and on to Ath Cliath, and from that on to the hill of the Sidhe at Beinn Edair. And there was a good welcome before them, and they were brought meat and wine for drinking, and water for washing their feet. And after a while they saw a nice fair-haired girl in front of the vats, and a cup of white silver in her hand, and she giving out drink to every one. "It seems to me that is the girl came asking the Fianna to race against her at Slieve Crot," said Finn. "It is not," said Aedh of the White Breast, "for that is the slowest woman there is among us." "Who was it so?" said Finn. "It was Be-mannair, daughter of Ainceol, woman-messenger of the Tuatha de Danaan. And it is she that changes herself into all shapes; and she will take the shape of a fly, and of a true lover, and every one leaves their secret with her. And it was she outran you coming from the east," he said, "and not this other girl that was drinking and making merry here in the hall." "What is her name?" said Finn. "Etain of the Fair Hair," he said; "a daughter of my own, and a darling of the Tuatha de Danaan. And it is the way with her, she has a lover of the men of the Fianna." "That is well," said Finn; "and who is that lover?" "It is Osgar, son of Oisin," said Aedh; "and it is she herself sent her messenger for you," he said, "in her own shape, to Slieve Crot in the south. And the son of the High King of Ireland has offered a great bride-price to the Men of Dea for her," he said, "three hundreds of the land nearest to Bregia and to Midhe, and to put himself and his weight of gold into a balance, and to give it all to her. But we did not take it," he said, "since she had no mind or wish for it herself, and so we made no dealing or agreement about her." "Well," said Finn, "and what conditions will you ask of Osgar?" "Never to leave me for anything at all but my own fault," said the girl. "I will make that agreement with you indeed," said Osgar. "Give me sureties for it," said she; "give me the sureties of Goll for the sons of Morna, and of Finn, son of Cumhal, for the Fianna of Ireland." So they gave those sureties, and the wedding-feast was made, and they stopped there for twenty nights. And at the end of that time Osgar asked Finn where would he bring his wife. "Bring her to wide Almhuin for the first seven years," said Finn. But a while after that, in a great battle at Beinn Edair, Osgar got so heavy a wound that Finn and the Fianna were as if they had lost their wits. And when Etain of the Fair Hair came to the bed where Osgar was lying, and saw the way he was, and that the great kinglike shape he had was gone from him, greyness and darkness came on her, and she raised pitiful cries, and she went to her bed and her heart broke in her like a nut; and she died of grief for her husband and her first love. But it was not at that time Osgar got his death, but afterwards in the battle of Gabhra. BOOK SIX: DIARMUID. CHAPTER I. BIRTH OF DIARMUID Diarmuid, now, was son of Bonn, son of Duibhne of the Fianna, and his mother was Crochnuit, that was near in blood to Finn. And at the time he was born, Bonn was banished from the Fianna because of some quarrel they had with him, and Angus Og took the child from him to rear him up at Brugh na Boinne. And after a while Crochnuit bore another son to Roc Diocain, that was Head Steward to Angus. Roc Diocain went then to Donn, and asked would he rear up his son for him, the way Angus was rearing Donn's son. But Donn said he would not take the son of a common man into his house, and it would be best for Angus to take him. So Angus took the child into Brugh na Boinne, and he and Diarmuid were reared up together. And one day Finn was on the great Hill at Almhuin of Leinster, and no one with him but Donn and a few of the poets and learned men of the Fianna, and their hounds and dogs, and Bran Beag came in and asked did he remember there were bonds on him, not to stop in Almhuin for ten nights together. Finn asked the people about him then where would he go and be entertained for that night, and Donn said: "I will bring you to the house of Angus, son of the Dagda, where my young son is being reared." So they went together to the house of Angus at Brugh na Boinne, and the child Diarmuid was there, and it is great love Angus had for him. And the Steward's son was with him that night, and the people of the household made as much of him as Angus made of Diarmuid; and there was great vexation on Donn when he saw that. It chanced after a while a great fight rose between two of Finn's hounds about some broken meat that was thrown to them; and the women and the common people of the place ran from them, and the others rose up to part them from one another. And in running away, the Steward's child ran between the knees of Donn, and Donn gave the child a strong squeeze between his two knees that killed him on the moment, and he threw him under the feet of the hounds. And when the Steward came after that and found his son dead, he gave a long very pitiful cry, and he said to Finn: "There is not a man in the house to-night has suffered more than myself from this uproar, for I had but one son only, and he has been killed; and what satisfaction will I get from you for that, Finn?" he said. "Try can you find the mark of a tooth or of a nail of one of the hounds on him," said Finn, "and if you can, I will give you satisfaction for him." So they looked at the child, and there was no scratch or mark of a tooth on him at all. Then the Steward put Finn under the destroying bonds of the Druid cave of Cruachan, to give him knowledge of who it was killed his son. And Finn asked for a chess-board, and for water to be brought to him, in a basin of pale gold, and he searched, and it was shown to him truly that it was Donn had killed the Steward's son between his two knees. When Finn knew that, he said he would take the fine on himself; but the Steward would not consent to that, but forced him to tell who was it had done him the wrong. And when he knew it was Donn had killed the child, he said: "There is no man in the house it is easier to get satisfaction from than from him, for his own son is here, and I have but to put him between my two knees, and if I let him go from me safe, I will forgive the death of my son." Angus was vexed at what the Steward said, and as to Donn, he thought to strike his head off till Finn put him back from him. Then the Steward came again, having a Druid rod with him, and he struck his own son with the rod, and he made of him a wild boar, without bristle or ear or tail, and he said: "I put you under bonds to bring Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, to his death; and your own life will be no longer than his life," he said. With that the wild boar rose up and ran out of the open door; and he was called afterwards the Boar of Slieve Guillion, and it was by him Diarmuid came to his death at the last. And when Diarmuid came to his full strength he was given a place among the Fianna of Ireland; and all women loved him, and he did many great deeds, fighting with the enemies of the Fianna and of Ireland; and one time he fought a wild ox through the length of seven days and seven nights on the top of the Mountain of Happiness. CHAPTER II. HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE-SPOT Diarmuid and Conan and Goll and Osgar went one day hunting, and they went so far they could not get home in the evening, and they spent the first part of the night walking through the woods and pulling berries and eating them. And when it was about midnight they saw a light, and they went towards it, and they found a little house before them, and the light shining from it. They went in then, and they saw an old man there, and he bade them welcome, and he called them all by their names. And they saw no one in the house but the old man and a young girl and a cat. And the old man bade the girl to make food ready for the Fianna of Ireland, for there was great hunger on them. And when the food was ready and put on the table, there came a great wether that was fastened up in the back of the house, and he rose up on the table where they were eating, and when they saw that, they looked at one another. "Rise up, Conan," said Goll, "and fasten that wether in the place it was before." Conan rose up and took hold of it, but the wether gave itself a shake that threw Conan under one of its feet. The rest were looking at that, and Goll said: "Let you rise up, Diarmuid, and fasten up the wether." So Diarmuid rose up and took hold of it, but it gave itself a shake the same way as before; and when Diarmuid was down it put one of its feet on him. Goll and Osgar looked at one another then, and shame came on them, a wether to have done so much as that. And Osgar got up, but the wether put him down under one of his feet, so that it had now the three men under him. Then Goll rose up and took hold of it and threw it down; but if he did, it rose up again in spite of him, and put Goll under his fourth foot. "It is a great shame," said the old man then, "the like of that to be done to the Fianna of Ireland. And rise up now, cat," he said, "and tie the wether in the place where he was." The cat rose up then and took hold of the wether, and brought it over and tied it in its place at the end of the house. The men rose up then, but they had no mind to go on eating, for there was shame on them at what the wether had done to them. "You may go on eating," said the old man; "and when you are done I will show you that now you are the bravest men of the world." So they ate their fill then, and the old man spoke to them, and it is what he said: "Goll," he said, "you are the bravest of all the men of the world, for you have wrestled with the world and you threw it down. The strength of the world is in the wether, but death will come to the world itself; and that is death," he said, showing them the cat. They were talking together then, and they had their food eaten, and the old man said their beds were ready for them that they could go to sleep. The four of them went then into the one room, and when they were in their beds the young girl came to sleep in the same room with them, and the light of her beauty was shining on the walls like as if it was the light of a candle. And when Conan saw her he went over to the side of the bed where she was. Now, it was Youth the young girl was, and when she saw Conan coming to her: "Go back to your bed, Conan," she said; "I belonged to you once, and I will never belong to you again." Conan went back to his bed then, and Osgar had a mind to go over where she was. Then she said to him: "Where are you going?" "I am going over to yourself for a while," said he. "Go back again, Osgar," she said; "I belonged to you once, and I will never belong to you again." Then Diarmuid rose up to go to her: "Where are you going, Diarmuid?" she said. "I am going over to yourself for a while," said he. "O Diarmuid," she said, "that cannot be; I belonged to you once, and I can never belong to you again; but come over here to me, Diarmuid," she said, "and I will put a love-spot on you, that no woman will ever see without giving you her love." So Diarmuid went over to her, and she put her hand on his forehead, and she left the love-spot there, and no woman that ever saw him after that was able to refuse him her love. CHAPTER III. THE DAUGHTER OF KING UNDER-WAVE One snowy night of winter the Fianna were come into the house after their hunting. And about midnight they heard a knocking at the door, and there came in a woman very wild and ugly, and her hair hanging to her heels. She went to the place Finn was lying, and she asked him to let her in under the border of his covering. But when he saw her so strange and so ugly and so wild-looking he would not let her in. She gave a great cry then, and she went to where Oisin was, and asked him to let her shelter under the border of his covering. But Oisin refused her the same way. Then she gave another great scream, and she went over where Diarmuid was. "Let me in," she said, "under the border of your covering." Diarmuid looked at her, and he said: "You are strange-looking and wild and ugly, and your hair is down to your heels. But come in for all that," he said. So she came in under the border of his covering. "O Diarmuid," she said then, "I have been travelling over sea and ocean through the length of seven years, and in all that time I never got shelter any night till this night. And let me to the warmth of the fire now," she said. So Diarmuid brought her over to the fire, and all the Fianna that were sitting there went away from it seeing her so ugly and so dreadful to look at. And she was not long at the fire when she said: "Let me go under the warmth of the covering with you now." "It is asking too much you are," said Diarmuid; "first it was to come under the border you asked, and then to come to the fire, and now it is under the bed-covering with me you want to be. But for all that you may come," he said. So she came in under the covering, and he turned a fold of it between them. But it was not long till he looked at her, and what he saw was a beautiful young woman beside him, and she asleep. He called to the others then to come over, and he said: "Is not this the most beautiful woman that ever was seen?" "She is that," they said, and they covered her up and did not awaken her. But after a while she stirred, and she said: "Are you awake, Diarmuid?" "I am awake," he said. "Where would you like to see the best house built that ever was built?" she said. "Up there on the hillside, if I had my choice," said he, and with that he fell asleep. And in the morning two men of the Fianna came in, and they said they were after seeing a great house up on the hill, where there was not a house before. "Rise up, Diarmuid," said the strange woman then; "do not be lying there any longer, but go up to your house, and look out now and see it," she said. So he looked out and he saw the great house that was ready, and he said: "I will go to it, if you will come along with me." "I will do that," she said, "if you will make me a promise not to say to me three times what way I was when I came to you." "I will never say it to you for ever," said Diarmuid. They went up then to the house, and it was ready for them, with food and servants; and everything they could wish for they had it. They stopped there for three days, and when the three days were ended, she said: "You are getting to be sorrowful because you are away from your comrades of the Fianna." "I am not sorrowful indeed," said Diarmuid. "It will be best for you to go to them; and your food and your drink will be no worse when you come back than they are now," said she. "Who will take care of my greyhound bitch and her three pups if I go?" said Diarmuid. "There is no fear for them," said she. So when he heard that, he took leave of her and went back to the Fianna, and there was a great welcome before him. But for all that they were not well pleased but were someway envious, Diarmuid to have got that grand house and her love from the woman they themselves had turned away. Now as to the woman, she was outside the house for a while after Diarmuid going away, and she saw Finn, son of Cumhal, coming towards her, and she bade him welcome. "You are vexed with me, Queen?" he said. "I am not indeed," she said; "and come in now and take a drink of wine from me." "I will go in if I get my request," said Finn. "What request is there that you would not get?" said she. "It is what I am asking, one of the pups of Diarmuid's greyhound bitch." "That is no great thing to ask," she said; "and whichever one you choose of them you may bring it away." So he got the pup, and he brought it away with him. At the fall of night Diarmuid came back to the house, and the greyhound met him at the door and gave a yell when she saw him, and he looked for the pups, and one of them was gone. There was anger on him then, and he said to the woman: "If you had brought to mind the way you were when I let you in, and your hair hanging, you would not have let the pup be brought away from me." "You ought not to say that, Diarmuid," said she. "I ask your pardon for saying it," said Diarmuid. And they forgave one another, and he spent the night in the house. On the morrow Diarmuid went back again to his comrades, and the woman stopped at the house, and after a while she saw Oisin coming towards her. She gave him a welcome, and asked him into the house, and he said he would come if he would get his request. And what he asked was another of the pups of the greyhound. So she gave him that, and he went away bringing the pup with him. And when Diarmuid came back that night the greyhound met him, and she cried out twice. And he knew that another of the pups was gone, and he said to the greyhound, and the woman standing there: "If she had remembered the way she was when she came to me, she would not have let the pup be brought away." The next day he went back again to the Fianna, and when he was gone, the woman saw Caoilte coming towards her, and he would not come in to take a drink from her till he had got the promise of one of the pups the same as the others. And when Diarmuid came back that night the greyhound met him and gave three yells, the most terrible that ever were heard. There was great anger on him then, when he saw all the pups gone, and he said the third time: "If this woman remembered the way she was when I found her, and her hair down to her heels, she would not have let the pup go." "O Diarmuid, what is it you are after saying?" she said. He asked forgiveness of her then, and he thought to go into the house, but it was gone and the woman was gone on the moment, and it was on the bare ground he awoke on the morrow. There was great sorrow on him then, and he said he would search in every place till he would find her again. So he set out through the lonely valleys, and the first thing he saw was the greyhound lying dead, and he put her on his shoulder and would not leave her because of the love he had for her. And after a while he met with a cowherd, and he asked him did he see a woman going the way. "I saw a woman early in the morning of yesterday, and she walking hard," said the cowherd. "What way was she going?" said Diarmuid. "Down that path below to the strand, and I saw her no more after that," he said. So he followed the path she took down to the strand till he could go no farther, and then he saw a ship, and he leaned on the handle of his spear and made a light leap on to the ship, and it went on till it came to land, and then he got out and lay down on the side of a hill and fell asleep, and when he awoke there was no ship to be seen. "It is a pity for me to be here," he said, "for I see no way of getting from it again." But after a while he saw a boat coming, and a man in the boat rowing it, and he went down and got into the boat, and brought the greyhound with him. And the boat went out over the sea, and then down below it; and Diarmuid, when he went down, found himself on a plain. And he went walking along it, and it was not long before he met with a drop of blood. He took it up and put it in a napkin. "It is the greyhound lost this," he said. And after a while he met with another drop of blood, and then with a third, and he put them in the napkin. And after that again he saw a woman, and she gathering rushes as if she had lost her wits. He went towards her and asked her what news had she. "I cannot tell it till I gather the rushes," she said. "Be telling it while you are gathering them," said Diarmuid. "There is great haste on me," she said. "What is this place where we are?" said Diarmuid. "It is Land-under-Wave," said she. "And what use have you for the rushes when they are gathered?" "The daughter of King Under-Wave is come home," she said, "and she was for seven years under enchantment, and there is sickness on her now, and all the physicians are gathered together and none of them can do her any good, and a bed of rushes is what she finds the wholesomest." "Will you show me where the king's daughter is?" said Diarmuid. "I will do that," said the woman; "I will put you in the sheaf of rushes, and I will put the rushes under you and over you, and I will carry you to her on my back." "That is a thing you cannot do," said Diarmuid. But she put the rushes about him, and lifted him on her back, and when she got to the room she let down the bundle. "O come here to me," said the daughter of King Under-Wave, and Diarmuid went over to her, and they took one another's hands, and were very joyful at that meeting. "Three parts of my sickness is gone from me now," she said then; "but I am not well yet, and I never will be, for every time I thought of you, Diarmuid, on my journey, I lost a drop of the blood of my heart." "I have got those three drops here in this napkin," said Diarmuid, "and take them now in a drink and you will be healed of your sickness." "They would do nothing for me," she said, "since I have not the one thing in the world that I want, and that is the thing I will never get," she said. "What thing is that?" said Diarmuid. "It is the thing you will never get, nor any man in the world," she said, "for it is a long time they have failed to get it." "If it is in any place on the whole ridge of the world I will get it," said Diarmuid. "It is three draughts from the cup of the King of Magh an Ionganaidh, the Plain of Wonder," she said, "and no man ever got it or ever will get it." "Tell me where that cup is to be found," said Diarmuid, "for there are not as many men as will keep it from me on the whole ridge of the world." "That country is not far from the boundary of my father's country," she said; "but there is a little river between, and you would be sailing on that river in a ship, having the wind behind it, for a year and a day before you would reach to the Plain of Wonder." Diarmuid set out then, and he came to the little river, and he was a good while walking beside it, and he saw no way to cross it. But at last he saw a low-sized, reddish man that was standing in the middle of the river. "You are in straits, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne," he said; "and come here and put your foot in the palm of my hand and I will bring you through." Diarmuid did as he bade him, and put his foot in the red man's palm, and he brought him across the river. "It is going to the King of the Plain of Wonder you are," he said, "to bring away his cup from him; and I myself will go with you." They went on then till they came to the king's dun, and Diarmuid called out that the cup should be sent out to him, or else champions to fight with him should be sent out. It was not the cup was sent out, but twice eight hundred fighting men; and in three hours there was not one of them left to stand against him. Then twice nine hundred better fighters again were sent out against him, and within four hours there was not one of them left to stand against him. Then the king himself came out, and he stood in the great door, and he said: "Where did the man come from that has brought destruction on the whole of my kingdom?" "I will tell you that," said he; "I am Diarmuid, a man of the Fianna of Ireland." "It is a pity you not to have sent a messenger telling me that," said the king, "and I would not have spent my men upon you; for seven years before you were born it was put in the prophecy that you would come to destroy them. And what is it you are asking now?" he said. "It is the cup of healing from your own hand I am asking," said Diarmuid. "No man ever got that cup from me but yourself," said the king, "but it is easy for me to give it to you, whether or not there is healing in it." Then the King of the Plain of Wonder gave Diarmuid the cup, and they parted from one another; and Diarmuid went on till he came to the river, and it was then he thought of the red man, that he had given no thought to while he was at the king's house. But he was there before him, and took his foot in the palm of his hand and brought him over the river. "I know where it is you are going, Diarmuid," he said then; "it is to heal the daughter of King Under-Wave that you have given your love to. And it is to a well I will give you the signs of you should go," he said, "and bring a share of the water of that well with you. And when you come where the woman is, it is what you have to do, to put that water in the cup, and one of the drops of blood in it, and she will drink it, and the same with the second drop and the third, and her sickness will be gone from her from that time. But there is another thing will be gone along with it," he said, "and that is the love you have for her." "That will not go from me," said Diarmuid. "It will go from you," said the man; "and it will be best for you make no secret of it, for she will know, and the king will know, that you think no more of her then than of any other woman. And King Under-Wave will come to you," he said, "and will offer you great riches for healing his daughter. But take nothing from him," he said, "but ask only a ship to bring you home again to Ireland. And do you know who am I myself?" he said. "I do not know," said Diarmuid. "I am the messenger from beyond the world," he said; "and I came to your help because your own heart is hot to come to the help of another." So Diarmuid did as he bade him, and he brought the water and the cup and the drops of blood to the woman, and she drank them, and at the third draught she was healed. And no sooner was she healed than the love he had for her was gone, and he turned away from her. "O Diarmuid," she said, "your love is gone from me." "O, it is gone indeed," said he. Then there was music made in the whole place, and the lamenting was stopped, because of the healing of the king's daughter. And as to Diarmuid, he would take no reward and he would not stop there, but he asked for a ship to bring him home to Ireland, to Finn and the Fianna. And when he came where they were, there was a joyful welcome before him. CHAPTER IV. THE HARD SERVANT The Fianna went hunting one time in the two proud provinces of Munster. They went out from Almhuin by the nearest paths till they came to the Brosna river in Slieve Bladhma, and from there to the twelve mountains of Eiblinne, and on to Aine Cliach, the harp of Aine. They scattered themselves then and hunted through the borders of the forest that is called Magh Breogain, through blind trackless places and through broken lands, over beautiful level plains and the high hills of Desmumum, under pleasant Slieve Crot and smooth Slieve na Muc, along the level banks of the blue Siuir and over the green plain of Feman and the rough plain of Eithne, and the dark woods of Belach Gabrain. And Finn was at the side of a hill, and the chief men of the Fianna along with him, to watch the hunting; for they liked to be listening to the outcry of the hounds and the hurried cries of the boys, and the noise and the whistling and the shouts of the strong men. Finn asked then which of the men that were with him would go and keep watch on the side of the hill where they were. And Finnbane, son of Bresel, said he would go. And he went on to the top of the hill, where he could see about him on all sides. And he was not long there till he saw coming from the east a very big man, ugly and gloomy and deformed; and it is how he was, a dark-coloured shield on his back, a wide sword on his crooked left thigh, two spears on his shoulder, a torn loose cloak over his limbs, that were as black as a quenched coal. A sulky horse he had with him that had no good appearance, bony and thin as to body, and weak in the legs, and he leading it with a rough iron halter; and it was a great wonder the head was not pulled from the horse's body, or the arms pulled out of his owner, with the sudden stands and stops and the jerks it made. And the big man was striking blows on the horse with an iron cudgel to try and knock some going out of him, and the sound of the blows was like the breaking of strong waves. And when Finnbane saw all that, he thought to himself it would not be right to let the like of that stranger go up unknown to Finn and the Fianna, and he ran back in haste to where they were and told them all he had seen. And when he had told his story, they saw the big man coming towards them; but as short as he was from them he was long in coming, from the badness of his walk and his going. And when he came into Finn's presence he saluted him, and bowed his head and bent his knee, making signs of humility. Finn raised his hand over his head then, and asked news of him, and if he was of the noble or of the mean blood of the great world. He answered that he had no knowledge who he came from, but only that he was a man of the Fomor, travelling in search of wages to the kings of the earth, "and I heard," he said, "that Finn never refused wages to any man." "I never did indeed," said Finn, "and I will not refuse you. But why is it," he said, "you are without a boy to mind your horse?" "I have a good reason for that," said the big man; "there is nothing in the world is worse to me than a boy to be with me; for it is a hundred men's share of food," he said, "that serves me for one day, and it is little enough I think it, and I would begrudge a boy to be sharing it with me." "What is the name you have?" said Finn. "The name I have is the Gilla Decair, the Hard Servant," said he. "Why did you get that name?" said Finn. "There is a good reason for that," said the big man, "for there is nothing in the world is harder to me than to do anything at all for my master, or whatever person I am with. And tell me this, Conan, son of Morna," he said, "who gets the best wages, a horseman or a man afoot?" "A horseman gets twice as much," said Conan. "Then I call you to witness, Conan," he said, "that I am a horseman, and that it was as a horseman I came to the Fianna. And give me your guarantee now, Finn, son of Cumhal, and the guarantee of the Fianna, and I will turn out my horse with your horses." "Let him out then," said Finn. The big man pulled off the iron halter then from his horse, and it made off as hard as it could go, till it came where the horses of the Fianna were; and it began to tear and to kick and to bite at them, killing and maiming. "Take your horse out of that, big man," said Conan; "and by the earth and the sky," he said, "only it was on the guarantee of Finn and the Fianna you took the halter off him, I would let out his brains through the windows of his head; and many as is the bad prize Finn has found in Ireland," he said, "he never got one as bad as yourself." "And I swear by earth and sky as well as yourself," said the big man, "I will never bring him out of that; for I have no serving-boy to do it for me, and it is not work for me to be leading my horse by the hand." Conan, son of Morna, rose up then and took the halter and put it on the horse, and led it back to where Finn was, and held it with his hand. "You would never have done a horse-boy's service, Conan," said Finn, "to any one of the Fianna, however far he might be beyond this Fomor. And if you will do what I advise," he said, "you will get up on the horse now, and search out with him all the hills and hollows and flowery plains of Ireland, till his heart is broken in his body in payment for the way he destroyed the horses of the Fianna." Conan made a leap then on to the horse, and struck his heels hard into him, but with all that the horse would not stir. "I know what ails him," said Finn, "he will not stir till he has the same weight of horsemen on him as the weight of the big man." On that thirteen men of the Fianna went up behind Conan, and the horse lay down with them and rose up again. "I think that you are mocking at my horse and at myself," said the big man; "and it is a pity for me to be spending the rest of the year with you, after all the humbugging I saw in you to-day, Finn. And I know well," he said, "that all I heard about you was nothing but lies, and there was no cause for the great name you have through the world. And I will quit you now, Finn," he said. With that he went from them, slow and weak, dragging himself along till he had put a little hill between himself and the Fianna. And as soon as he was on the other side of it, he tucked up his cloak to his waist, and away with him, as if with the quickness of a swallow or a deer, and the rush of his going was like a blast of loud wind going over plains and mountains in spring-time. When the horse saw his master going from him, he could not bear with it, but great as his load was he set out at full gallop following after him. And when Finn and the Fianna saw the thirteen men behind Conan, son of Morna, on the horse, and he starting off, they shouted with mocking laughter. And when Conan found that he was not able to come down off the horse, he screeched and shouted to them not to let him be brought away with the big man they knew nothing of, and he began abusing and reproaching them. "A cloud of death over water on you, Finn," he said, "and that some son of a slave or a robber of the bad blood, one that is a worse son of a father and mother even than yourself, may take all that might protect your life, and your head along with that, unless you follow us to whatever place or island the big man will carry us to, and unless you bring us back to Ireland again." Finn and the Fianna rose up then, and they followed the Gilla Decair over every bald hill, and through every valley and every river, on to pleasant Slieve Luachra, into the borders of Corca Duibhne; and the big man, that was up on the horse then along with Conan and the rest, faced towards the deep sea. And Liagan Luath of Luachar took hold of the horse's tail with his two hands, thinking to drag him back by the hair of it; but the horse gave a great tug, and away with him over the sea, and Liagan along with him, holding on to his tail. It was a heavy care to Finn, those fourteen men of his people to be brought away from him, and he himself under bonds to bring them back. "What can we do now?" Oisin asked him. "What should we do, but to follow our people to whatever place or island the big man has brought them, and, whatever way we do it, to bring them back to Ireland again." "What can we do, having neither a ship or any kind of boat?" said Oisin. "We have this," said Finn, "the Tuatha de Danaan left as a gift to the children of the Gael, that whoever might have to leave Ireland for a while, had but to go to Beinn Edair, and however many would go along with him, they would find a ship that would hold them all." Finn looked towards the sea then, and he saw two strong armed men coming towards him. The first one had on his back a shield ribbed and of many colours, having shapes of strange, wonderful beasts engraved on it, and a heavy sword at his side, and two thick spears on his shoulders; a cloak of lasting crimson about him, with a gold brooch on the breast; a band of white bronze on his head, gold under each of his feet; and the other was dressed in the same way. They made no delay till they came to where Finn was, and they bowed their heads and bent their knees before him, and Finn raised his hand over their heads, and bade them to give an account of themselves. "We are sons of the King of the Eastern World," they said, "and we are come to Ireland asking to be taken into the service of Finn; for we heard there was not a man in all Ireland," they said, "would be better than yourself to judge of the skill we have." "What is your name, and what skill is that?" said Finn. "My name is Feradach, the Very Brave," he said; "and I have a carpenter's axe and a sling, and if there were so many as thirty hundred of the men of Ireland along with me in one spot, with three blows of the axe on the sling-stick I could get a ship that would hold them all. And I would ask no more help of them," he said, "than to bow down their heads while I was striking those three blows." "That is a good art," said Finn. "And tell me now," he said, "what can the other man do?" "I can do this," he said, "I can follow the track of the teal over nine ridges and nine furrows until I come on her in her bed; and it is the same to me to do it on sea as on land," he said. "That is a good art," said Finn; "and it would be a good help to us if you would come following a track with us now." "What is gone from you?" said one of the men. Finn told them then the whole story of the Hard Servant. Then Feradach, the Very Brave, struck three blows on his sling-stick with the axe that he had, and the whole of the Fianna bowed their heads, and on the moment the whole of the bay and of the harbour was filled with ships and with fast boats. "What will we do with that many ships?" said Finn. "We will do away with all you make no use of," he said. Caoilte rose up then and let out three great shouts, and all the Fianna of Ireland, in whatever places they were, heard them, and they thought Finn and his people to be in some kind of danger from men from beyond the sea. They came then in small companies as they chanced to be, till they came to the stepping-stones of the Cat's Head in the western part of Corca Duibhne. And they asked news of Finn, what had happened that he called them away from their hunting, and Finn told them all that had happened. Then Finn and Oisin went into council together, and it is what they agreed; that as but fifteen of his people were brought away from Finn, he himself with fifteen others would go on their track; Oisin to be left at the head of the Fianna to guard Ireland. And they said farewell to one another, and a grand ship was made ready for Finn and his people, and there was food put in it for using and gold for giving away. The young men and the heroes took to their seats then, and took hold of the oars, and they set out over the restless hills and the dark valleys of the great sea. And the sea rose up and bellowed, and there was madness on the broken green waters; but to Finn and his people it was a call in the morning and a sleepy time at night to be listening to the roaring and the crooning that was ever and always about the sides of the ship. They went on like that for three days and three nights, and saw no country or island. But at the end of that time a man of them went up into the head of the ship, and he saw out before them a great, rough grey cliff. They went on towards it then, and they saw on the edge of the cliff a high rock, round-shaped, having sides more slippery than an eel's back. And they found the track of the Hard Servant as far as to the foot of the rock. Fergus of the True Lips said then to Diarmuid: "It is no brave thing you are doing, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, to hold back like this, for it was with Manannan the Powerful, son of Lir, you were reared and got your learning, in the Land of Promise and in the coasts of the harbours, and with Angus Og, the Dagda's son. And are you without any share of their skill and their daring now," he said, "that would bring Finn and his people up this rock?" Diarmuid's face reddened when he heard those words, and he took hold of Manannan's staves of power that were with him, and he reddened again, and he rose on the staves and gave a leap, and got a standing-place for his two feet on the overhanging rock. He looked down from that on Finn and his people, but whatever wish he had to bring them up to where he was, he was not able to do it. He left the rock behind him then, and he was not gone far when he saw a wild tangled place before him, with thick woods that were of all he had ever walked the most leafy and the fullest of the sounds of wind and streams and birds, and of the humming of bees. He went on walking the plain, and as he was looking about him, he saw a great tree with many twigs and branches, and a rock beside it, and a smooth-pointed drinking-horn on it, and a beautiful fresh well at its foot. And there was a great drouth on Diarmuid after the sea-journey, and he had a mind to drink a hornful of the water. But when he stooped to it he heard a great noise coming towards him, and he knew then there was enchantment in the water. "I will drink my fill of it for all that," he said. And it was not long after that till he saw a Man of Enchantments coming towards him armed, having no friendly look. And it was in no friendly way he spoke to Diarmuid when he came up to him, but he gave him great abuse. "It is no right thing," he said, "to be walking through my thickets and to be drinking up my share of water." With that they faced one another angrily, and they fought till the end of the day. The Enchanter thought it well to leave off fighting then, and he made a leap into the bottom of the well away from him, but there was vexation on Diarmuid to be left like that. He looked around him then, and he saw a herd of deer coming through the scrub, and he went towards them, and threw a spear that went through the nearest stag and drove the bowels out of him. He kindled a fire then, and he cut thin bits of the flesh and put them on spits of white hazel, and that night he had his fill of meat and of the water of the well. He rose up early on the morrow, and he found the Enchanter at the well before him. "It seems to me, Grandson of Duibhne," he said, "that it is not enough for you to be walking my scrub and my woods without killing my deer as well." With that they started again, giving one another blow for blow, thrust for thrust, and wound for wound till the end of the day came on them. And Diarmuid killed another great deer that night, and in the morning the fight began again. But in the evening, when the Enchanter was making his leap into the well, Diarmuid threw his arms about his neck, thinking to stop him, but it is what happened, he fell in himself. And when he was at the bottom of the well the Enchanter left him. Diarmuid went then following after the Enchanter, and he found before him a beautiful wide flowery plain, and a comely royal city in the plain, and on the green before the dun he saw a great army; and when they saw Diarmuid following after the Enchanter, they left a way and a royal road for the Enchanter to pass through till he got inside the dun. And then they shut the gates, and the whole army turned on Diarmuid. But that put no fear or cowardice on him, but he went through them and over them like a hawk would go through little birds, or a wild dog through a flock of sheep, killing all before him, till some of them made away to the woods and wastes, and another share of them through the gates of the dun, and they shut them, and the gates of the city after them. And Diarmuid, all full of hurts and wounds after the hard fight, lay down on the plain. A very strong daring champion came then and kicked at him from behind, and at that Diarmuid roused himself up, and put out his brave ready hand for his weapons. "Wait a while, Grandson of Duibhne," the champion said then; "it is not to do you any hurt or harm I am come, but to say to you it is a bad sleeping-place for you to have, and it on your ill-wisher's lawn. And come now with me," he said, "and I will give you a better resting-place." Diarmuid followed him then, and they went a long, long way from that, till they came to a high-topped city, and three times fifty brave champions in it, three times fifty modest women, and another young woman on a bench, with blushes in her cheeks, and delicate hands, and having a silken cloak about her, and a dress sewed with gold threads, and on her head the flowing veil of a queen. There was a good welcome before Diarmuid for his own sake and the sake of his people, and he was put in a house of healing that was in the city, and good herbs were put to his hurts till he was smooth and sound again. And a feast was made then, and the tables and the benches were set, and no high person was put in the place of the mean, or mean in the place of the high, but every one in his own place, according to his nobility, or his descent, or his art. Plenty of good food was brought to them then, and well-tasting strong drinks, and they spent the first part of the night in drinking, and the second part with music and delight and rejoicing of the mind, and the third part in sound sleep that lasted till the sun rose over the heavy sodded earth on the morrow. Three days and three nights Diarmuid stopped in that city, and the best feast he ever found was given to him all through. And at the end of that time he asked what was the place he was in, and who was head of it. And the champion that brought him there told him it was Land-Under-Wave, and that the man that had fought with him was its king. "And he is an enemy of the Red Hand to me," he said. "And as to myself," he said, "I was one time getting wages from Finn, son of Cumhal, in Ireland, and I never put a year over me that pleased me better. And tell me now," he said, "what is the journey or the work that is before you?" And Diarmuid told him the story of the Hard Servant then from beginning to end. Now, as to Finn and his people, when they thought Diarmuid was too long away from them, they made ladders of the cords of the ship and put them against the rock, looking for him. And after a while they found the leavings of the meat he had eaten, for Diarmuid never ate meat without leaving some after him. Finn looked then on every side, and he saw a rider coming towards him over the plain on a dark-coloured beautiful horse, having a bridle of red gold. Finn saluted him when he came up, and the rider stooped his head and gave Finn three kisses, and asked him to go with him. They went on a long way till they came to a wide, large dwelling-place full of arms, and a great troop of armed men on the green before the fort. Three nights and three days Finn and his people stopped in the dun, and the best feast they ever got was served out to them. At the end of that time Finn asked what country was he in, and the man that brought him there told him it was the land of Sorcha, and that he himself was its king. "And I was with yourself one time, Finn, son of Cumhal," he said, "taking your wages through the length of a year in Ireland." Then Finn and the King of Sorcha called a great gathering of the people and a great meeting. And when it was going on they saw a woman-messenger coming to them through the crowd, and the king asked news of her. "I have news indeed," she said; "the whole of the bay and the harbour is full of ships and of boats, and there are armies all through the country robbing all before them." "I know well," said the king, "it is the High King of Greece is in it, for he has a mind to put the entire world under him, and to get hold of this country like every other." The King of Sorcha looked at Finn then, and Finn understood it was help from him he was asking, and it is what he said: "I take the protection of this country on myself so long as I am in it." He and his people rose up then, and the King of Sorcha along with them, and they went looking for the strange army. And when they came up with it they made great slaughter of its champions, and those they did not kill ran before them, and made no better stand than a flock of frightened birds, till there were hardly enough of them left to tell the story. The High King spoke then, and it is what he said: "Who is it has done this great slaughter of my people? And I never heard before," he said, "any talk of the courage or of the doings of the men of Ireland either at this time or in the old times. But from this out," he said, "I will banish the Sons of the Gael for ever to the very ends of the earth." But Finn and the King of Sorcha raised a green tent in view of the ships of the Greeks. The King of the Greeks called then for help against Finn and the King of Sorcha, to get satisfaction for the shame that was put on his people. And the sons of kings of the eastern and southern world came to his help, but they could make no stand against Finn and Osgar and Oisin and Goll, son of Morna. And at the last the King of Greece brought all his people back home, the way no more of them would be put an end to. And then Finn and the King of Sorcha called another great gathering. And while it was going on, they saw coming towards them a great troop of champions, bearing flags of many-coloured silk, and grey swords at their sides and high spears reared up over their heads. And in the front of them was Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne. When Finn saw him, he sent Fergus of the True Lips to ask news of him, and they told one another all that had happened. And it would take too long to tell, and it would tire the hearers, how Finn made the Hard Servant bring home his fifteen men that he had brought away. And when he had brought them back to Ireland, the whole of the Fianna were watching to see him ride away again, himself and his long-legged horse. But while they were watching him, he vanished from them, and all they could see was a mist, and it stretching out towards the sea. And that is the story of the Hard Servant, and of Diarmuid's adventures on the island Under-Wave. CHAPTER V. THE HOUSE OF THE QUICKEN TREES And it is often the Fianna would have been badly off without the help of Diarmuid. It was he came to their help the time Miodac, the son of the King of Lochlann, brought them into the enchanted House of the Quicken Trees. It was by treachery he brought them in, giving himself out to be a poet, and making poems for Finn to make out the meaning of. A verse he made about a great army that he saw riding over the plains to victory, and robbing all before it, and the riders of it having no horses but plants and branches. "I understand that," said Finn, "it was an army of bees you saw, that was gathering riches from the flowers as it went." And another verse Miodac made was about a woman in Ireland that was swifter than the swiftest horse. "I know that," said Finn, "that woman is the River Boinn; and if she goes slow itself, she is swifter in the end than the swiftest horse, for her going never stops." And other verses he made about Angus' house at Brugh na Boinn, but Finn made them all out. And after that he said he had a feast ready for them, and he bade them go into his House of the Quicken Trees till he would bring it. And they did that, and went in, and it was a beautiful house, having walls of every colour, and foreign coverings of every colour on the floor, and a fire that gave out a very pleasant smoke. And they sat down there, and after a while Finn said: "It is a wonder such a beautiful house to be here." "There is a greater wonder than that," said Goll; "that fire that was so pleasant when we came in is giving out now the worst stench in the world." "There is a greater wonder than that," said Glas; "the walls that were of all colours are now but rough boards joined together." "There is a greater wonder than that," said Fiacha; "where there were seven high doors to the house there is now but one little door, and it shut." "Indeed, there is a more wonderful thing than that," said Conan; "for we sat down on beautiful coverings, and now there is nothing between us and the bare ground, and it as cold as the snow of one night." And he tried to rise up, but he could not stir, or any of the rest of them, for there was enchantment that kept them where they were. And it was the treachery of Miodac, and the spells of the Three Kings of the Island of the Floods that had brought them into that danger. And Finn knew by his divination that their enemies were gathering to make an end of them, and he said to his people there was no use in making complaints, but to sound the music of the Dord Fiann. And some of the Fianna that were waiting for him not far off heard that sorrowful music, and came fighting against Miodac and his armies, and they fought well, but they could not stand against them. And at the last it was Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, that made an end of Miodac that was so treacherous, and of the Three Kings of the Island of the Floods, and took the enchantment off the floor of the House of the Rowan Trees with their blood. And when he was freeing the Fianna, Conan called out, asking him to bring him a share of the feast Miodac had made ready for his own friends, for there was hunger on him. And when Diarmuid took no heed of him, he said: "If it was a comely woman was speaking to you, Diarmuid, you would not refuse to listen." For if many women loved Diarmuid, there were many he himself gave his love to; and if he was often called Diarmuid the brave, or the hardy, or the comely, or the Hawk of Ess Ruadh, it is often he was called as well the friend and the coaxer of women, Diarmuid-na-man. BOOK SEVEN: DIARMUID AND GRANIA. CHAPTER I. THE FLIGHT FROM TEAMHAIR Finn rose up one morning early in Almhuin of Leinster, and he sat out alone on the green lawn without a boy or a servant being with him. And Oisin followed him there, and Diorraing the Druid. "What is the cause of your early rising, Finn?" said Oisin. "It is not without cause, indeed, I rise early," said Finn, "for I am without a wife or a companion since Maighneis, daughter of Black Garraidh, died from me; for quiet sleep is not used to come to a man that is without a fitting wife." "Why would you be like that?" said Oisin, "for there is not a woman in all green Ireland you would throw a look on but we would bring her to you, willing or unwilling." "I myself could find a wife would be fitting for you," said Diorraing. "Who is that?" said Finn. "It is Grania, daughter of the High King of Ireland," said Diorraing; "and she is the woman of the best make and shape and the best speech of the women of the whole world." "By my word, Diorraing," said Finn, "there is strife and disagreement between the High King and myself this long time, and it would not be pleasing to me to get a refusal from him. And it is best for you two to go together," he said, "and to ask his daughter for me in marriage; the way that if he gives a refusal, it will be to you and not to myself he will give it." "We will go," said Oisin, "even if it is little profit we will get by it. And let no one at all know of our going," he said, "until such time as we are come back again." After that the two bade farewell to Finn, and set out, and it is not told what they did till they came to Teamhair. The King of Ireland was holding a gathering at that time on the green of Teamhair, and the chief nobles of his people were with him. And there was a friendly welcome given to Oisin and to Diorraing, and the king put off the gathering till the next day, for he was sure it was some pressing thing had brought these two men of the Fianna to Teamhair. And Oisin went aside with him, and told him it was to ask his daughter Grania in marriage they were come from Finn, Head of the Fianna of Ireland. The king spoke, and it is what he said: "There is not a son of a king or of a great prince, there is not a champion in Ireland my daughter has not given a refusal to, and it is on me they all lay the blame of that. And I will give you no answer at all," he said, "till you go to herself; for it is better for you to get her own answer, than to be displeased with me." So they went together to the sunny house of the women, and the king sat down at the head of the high seat beside Grania, and he said: "Here, Grania, are two of the people of Finn, son of Cumhal, come to ask you as a wife for him, and what answer have you a mind to give them?" And it is what Grania said: "If he is a fitting son-in-law for you, why would he not be a fitting husband for me?" They were satisfied then, and there was a feast made for them that night in Grania's sunny house, and the king settled for a meeting a fortnight from that time between himself and Finn at Teamhair. So Oisin and Diorraing went back again to Almhuin, and told Finn their story from beginning to end. And as everything wears away, so did that time of delay. And then Finn gathered together the seven battalions of the Fianna from every part where they were to Almhuin. And they set out in great bands and troops till they came to Teamhair. The king was out on the green before them, and the great people of the men of Ireland, and there was a great welcome before Finn and the Fianna. But when Grania saw grey-haired Finn, she said: "It is a great wonder it was not for Oisin Finn asked me, for he would be more fitting for me than a man that is older than my father." But they talked together for a while, and Finn was putting questions to Grania, for she had the name of being very quick with answers. "What is whiter than snow?" he said. "The truth," said Grania. "What is the best colour?" said Finn. "The colour of childhood," said she. "What is hotter than fire?" "The face of a hospitable man when he sees a stranger coming in, and the house empty." "What has a taste more bitter than poison?" "The reproach of an enemy." "What is best for a champion?" "His doings to be high, and his pride to be low." "What is the best of jewels?" "A knife." "What is sharper than a sword?" "The wit of a woman between two men." "What is quicker than the wind?" said Finn then. "A woman's mind," said Grania. And indeed she was telling no lie when she said that. And for all their talk together she had no liking for Finn, and she felt the blood in her heart to be rising against him. And the wedding-feast was made ready then, and they all went into the king's feasting-house in the Middle Court. And the king sat down to take his share of drinking and pleasure, and his wife at his left side, and Grania beside her again; and Finn, son of Cumhal, at the right hand of the king, and Oisin at the other side, and every other one according to his nobility and his birth. Then Daire of the poems stood up before Grania, and sang the songs and good poems of her fathers to her. And there was sitting near to Grania a knowledgeable man, a Druid of Finn's people, and it was not long until they began to talk together. "Tell me now," said Grania, "who is that man on the right hand of Oisin?" "That is Goll, son of Morna," said the Druid, "the ready fighter." "Who is that beside Goll?" said Grania. "Osgar, son of Oisin," said the Druid. "And who is that thin-legged man beside Osgar?" "That is Caoilte, son of Ronan." "Who is that proud, hasty man beside Caoilte?" "Lugaidh's Son of the Strong Hand." "Who is that sweet-worded man," she said then, "with the dark hair, and cheeks like the rowan berry, on the left side of Oisin, son of Finn?" "That is Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne," said the Druid, "that is the best lover of women in the whole world." "That is a good company," said Grania. And after the feast had gone on a while, their own feast was made for the dogs outside. And the dogs began to fight with one another, and the noise was heard in the hall, and the chief men of the Fianna went to drive them away from one another. Now Diarmuid was used to keep his cap always over the love-spot the woman had left on his forehead, for no woman could see that spot but she would give him her love. And it chanced, while he was driving the dogs apart, the cap fell from him, and Grania was looking cut at him as it fell, and great love for him came on her there and then. And she called her serving-maid to her, and bade her bring the great golden cup that held drink for nine times nine men from the sunny house. And when the serving-maid brought the cup, she filled it with wine that had enchantment in it, and she said: "Give the cup first to Finn, and bid him take a drink from it, and tell him it is I myself sent it to him." So the serving-maid did that, and Finn took the cup and drank out of it, and no sooner did he drink than he fell into a deep sleep. And then the cup was given to the king, and the queen, and the sons of kings, and the whole company, but only Oisin and Osgar and Caoilte and Diarmuid, and Diorraing the Druid. And all that drank of it fell into the same heavy sleep. And when they were all in their sleep, Grania rose up softly from the seat where she was, and she turned her face to Diarmuid, and she said: "Will you take my love, Diarmuid, son of Duibhne, and will you bring me away out of this house to-night?" "I will not," said Diarmuid; "I will not meddle with the woman that is promised to Finn." "If that is so," said Grania, "I put you under Druid bonds, to bring me out of this house to-night before the awaking of Finn and of the King of Ireland from their sleep." "It is under bad bonds you are putting me, Grania," said Diarmuid. "And why is it," he said, "that you put them on me more than on the great men and sons of kings that are in the Middle Court to-night? for there is not one of them all but is as well worthy of a woman's love as myself." "By my hand, Diarmuid, it is not without cause I laid those bonds on you," said Grania; "for I was at the door a while ago when you were parting the dogs," she said, "and my eyes fell on you, and I gave you the love there and then that I never gave to any other, and never will give for ever." "It is a wonder you to give that love to me, and not to Finn," said Diarmuid, "for there is not in Ireland a man is a better lover of a woman than himself. And do you know this, Grania," he said, "the night Finn is in Teamhair it is he himself is the keeper of its gates. And as that is so, we cannot leave the town." "There is a side door of escape at my sunny house," said Grania, "and we will go out by it." "It is a thing I will never do," said Diarmuid, "to go out by any side door of escape at all." "That may be so," said Grania, "but I heard it said that every fighting man has leave to pass over the walls of any dun and of any strong place at all by the shafts of his spears. And I will go out through the door," she said, "and let you follow me like that." With that she went out, and Diarmuid spoke to his people, and it is what he said, "O Oisin, son of Finn, what must I do with these bonds that are laid on me?" "You are not guilty if the bonds were laid on you," said Oisin; "and I tell you to follow Grania, and to keep yourself well out of the hands of Finn." "Osgar, son of Oisin," he said then, "what must I do with these bonds that are put on me?" "I tell you to follow Grania," said Osgar, "for it is a pitiful man that would break his bonds." "What advice do you give me, Caoilte?" said Diarmuid. "It is what I say," said Caoilte, "that I myself have a fitting wife; and that it would be better to me than all the riches of the world Grania to have given me that love." "What advice do you give me, Diorraing?" "I tell you to follow Grania," said Diorraing, "although you will get your death by it, and that is bad to me." "Is that the advice you all give me?" said Diarmuid. "It is," said Oisin, and all the rest with him. With that Diarmuid stood up and stretched out his hand for his weapons, and he said farewell to Oisin and the others, and every tear he shed was of the size of a mountain berry. He went out then to the wall of the dun, and he put the shafts of his two spears under him, and he rose with a light leap and he came down on the grassy earth outside, and Grania met him there. Then Diarmuid said: "It is a bad journey you are come on, Grania. For it would be better for you to have Finn, son of Cumhal, as a lover than myself, for I do not know any part or any western corner of Ireland that will hide you. And if I do bring you with me," he said, "it is not as a wife I will bring you, but I will keep my faith to Finn. And turn back now to the town," he said, "and Finn will never get news of what you are after doing." "It is certain I will not turn back," said Grania, "and I will never part with you till death parts us." "If that is so, let us go on, Grania," said Diarmuid. They went on then, and they were not gone far out from the town when Grania said: "I am getting tired, indeed." "It is a good time to be tired," said Diarmuid, "and go now back again to your own house. For I swear by the word of a true champion," he said, "I will never carry yourself or any other woman to the end of life and time." "That is not what you have to do," said Grania, "for my father's horses are in a grass field by themselves, and chariots with them; and turn back now, and bring two horses of them, and I will wait in this place till you come to me again." Diarmuid went back then for the horses, and we have no knowledge of their journey till they reached to the ford on the Sionnan, that is called now Ath-luain. And Diarmuid said then to Grania: "It is easier to Finn to follow our track, the horses being with us." "If that is so," said Grania: "leave the horses here, and I will go on foot from this out." Diarmuid went down to the river then, and he brought a horse with him over the ford, and left the other horse the far side of the river. And he himself and Grania went a good way with the stream westward, and they went to land at the side of the province of Connacht. And wherever they went, Diarmuid left unbroken bread after him, as a sign to Finn he had kept his faith with him. And from that they went on to Doire-da-Bhoth, the Wood of the Two Huts. And Diarmuid cut down the wood round about them, and he made a fence having seven doors of woven twigs, and he set out a bed of soft rushes and of the tops of the birch-tree for Grania in the very middle of the wood. CHAPTER II. THE PURSUIT And as to Finn, son of Cumhal, I will tell out his story now. All that were in Teamhair rose up early in the morning of the morrow, and they found Diarmuid and Grania were wanting from them, and there came a scorching jealousy and a weakness on Finn. He sent out his trackers then on the plain, and bade them to follow Diarmuid and Grania. And they followed the track as far as the ford on the Sionnan, and Finn and the Fianna followed after them, but they were not able to carry the track across the ford. And Finn gave them his word that unless they would find the track again without delay, he would hang them on each side of the ford. Then the sons of Neamhuin went up against the stream, and they found a horse on each side of it, and then they went on with the stream westward, and they found the track going along the side of the Province of Connacht, and Finn and the Fianna of Ireland followed it on. And Finn said: "I know well where we will find Diarmuid and Grania now; it is in Doire-da-Bhoth they are." Oisin and Osgar and Caoilte and Diorraing were listening when Finn said those words. And Osgar spoke to the others, and it is what he said: "There is danger they might be there, and it would be right for us to give them some warning; and look now, Osgar, where is Bran the hound, for Finn himself is no dearer to him than Diarmuid, and bid him go now with a warning to him." So Osgar told Bran, and Bran understood him well, and she went to the rear of the whole troop the way Finn would not see her, and she followed on the track of Diarmuid and Grania till she came to Doire-da-Bhoth, and she put her head into Diarmuid's bosom, and he in his sleep. Diarmuid started up out of his sleep then, and he awoke Grania, and said to her: "Here is Bran, Finn's hound, and she is come with a warning to tell us Finn himself is coming." "Let us take that warning, then," said Grania, "and make your escape." "I will not take it," said Diarmuid, "for if I cannot escape Finn, I would as soon he took me now as at any other time." When Grania heard that, great fear came on her. Bran went away from them then, and when Oisin saw her coming back, he said: "I am in dread Bran found no chance to get to Diarmuid, and we should send him some other warning. And look where is Fearghoin," he said, "Caoilte's serving-man." Now it was the way with Fearghoin, every shout he would give would be heard in the three nearest hundreds to him. So they made him give out three shouts the way Diarmuid would hear him. And Diarmuid heard him, and he said to Grania: "I hear Caoilte's serving-man, and it is with Caoilte he is, and it is along with Finn Caoilte is, and those shouts were sent as a warning to me." "Take that warning," said Grania. "I will not take it," said Diarmuid, "for Finn and the Fianna will come up with us before we leave the wood." And fear and great dread came on Grania when she heard him say that. As for Finn, he did not leave off following the track till he came to Doire-da-Bhoth, and he sent the sons of Neamhuin to search through the wood, and they saw Diarmuid, and the woman along with him. They came back then where Finn was, and he asked them were Diarmuid and Grania in the wood? "Diarmuid is in it," they said, "and there is some woman with him, but we knew Diarmuid, and we do not know Grania." "May no good come to the friends of Diarmuid for his sake," said Finn, "and he will not quit that wood till he has given me satisfaction for everything he has done to me." "It is jealousy has put you astray, Finn," said Oisin; "you to think Diarmuid would stop here on the plain of Maen Mhagh, and no close place in it but Doire-da-Bhoth, and you following after him." "Saying that will do you no good," said Finn, "for I knew well when I heard the three shouts Caoilte's serving-man gave out, it was you sent them to Diarmuid as a warning. And another thing," he said, "it was you sent my own hound Bran to him. But none of those things you have done will serve you, for he will not leave Doire-da-Bhoth till he gives me satisfaction for everything he has done to me, and every disgrace he has put on me." "It is great foolishness for you, Finn," said Osgar then, "to be thinking Diarmuid would stop in the middle of this plain and you waiting here to strike the head off him." "Who but himself cut the wood this way," said Finn, "and made this close sheltered place with seven woven narrow doors to it. And O Diarmuid," he said out then, "which of us is the truth with, myself or Oisin?" "You never failed from your good judgment, Finn," said Diarmuid, "and indeed I myself and Grania are here." Then Finn called to his men to go around Diarmuid and Grania, and to take them. Now it was shown at this time to Angus Og, at Brugh na Boinne, the great danger Diarmuid was in, that was his pupil at one time, and his dear foster-son. He set out then with the clear cold wind, and did not stop in any place till he came to Doire-da-Bhoth. And he went unknown to Finn or the Fianna into the place where Diarmuid and Grania were, and he spoke kind words to Diarmuid, and he said: "What is the thing you have done, grandson of Duibhne?" "It is," said Diarmuid, "the daughter of the King of Ireland that has made her escape with me from her father and from Finn, and it is not by my will she came." "Let each of you come under a border of my cloak, so," said Angus, "and I will bring you out of the place where you are without knowledge of Finn or his people." "Bring Grania with you," said Diarmuid, "but I will never go with you; but if I am alive I will follow you before long. And if I do not," he said, "give Grania to her father, and he will do well or ill to her." With that Angus put Grania under the border of his cloak, and brought her out unknown to Finn or the Fianna, and there is no news told of them till they came to Ros-da-Shoileach, the Headland of the Two Sallows. And as to Diarmuid, after Angus and Grania going from him, he stood up as straight as a pillar and put on his armour and his arms, and after that he went to a door of the seven doors he had made, and he asked who was at it. "There is no enemy to you here," they said, "for there are here Oisin and Osgar and the best men of the sons of Baiscne along with us. And come out to us now, and no one will have the daring to do any harm or hurt on you." "I will not go out to you," said Diarmuid, "till I see at what door Finn himself is." He went then to another door of the seven and asked who was at it. "Caoilte, son of Ronan, and the rest of the sons of Ronan along with him; and come out to us now, and we will give ourselves for your sake." "I will not go out to you," said Diarmuid, "for I will not put you under Finn's anger for any well-doing to myself." He went on to another door then and asked who was at it. "There is Conan, son of Morna, and the rest of the sons of Morna along with him; and it is enemies to Finn we are, and you are a great deal more to us than he is, and you may come out and no one will dare lay a hand on you." "I will not indeed," said Diarmuid, "for Finn would be better pleased to see the death of every one of you than to let me escape." He went then to another door and asked who was at it. "A friend and a comrade of your own, Fionn, son of Cuadan, head of the Fianna of Munster, and his men along with him; and we are of the one country and the one soil, and we will give our bodies and our lives for your sake." "I will not go out to you," said Diarmuid, "for I would not like Finn to have a grudge against you for any good you did to me." He went then to another door and asked who was at it. "It is Fionn, son of Glor, head of the Fianna of Ulster, and his men along him; and come out now to us and there is no one will dare hurt or harm you." "I will not go out to you," said Diarmuid, "for you are a friend to me, and your father along with you, and I would not like the unfriendliness of Finn to be put on you for my sake." He went then to another door, and he asked who was at it. "There is no friend of yours here," they said, "for there is here Aodh Beag the Little from Eamhuin, and Aodh Fada the Long from Eamhuin, and Caol Crodha the Fierce, and Goineach the Wounder, and Gothan the White-fingered, and Aoife his daughter, and Cuadan the Tracker from Eamhuin; and we are unfriendly people to you, and if you come out to us we will not spare you at all, but will make an end of you." "It is a bad troop is in it," said Diarmuid; "you of the lies and of the tracking and of the one shoe, and it is not fear of your hands is upon me, but because I am your enemy I will not go out." He went then to the last of the seven doors and asked who was at it. "No friend of yours," they said, "but it is Finn, son of Cumhal, and four hundred paid fighting men along with him; and if you will come out to us we will make opened marrow of you." "I give you my word, Finn," said Diarmuid, "that the door you are at yourself is the first door I will pass out of." When Finn heard that, he warned his battalions on pain of lasting death not to let Diarmuid past them unknown. But when Diarmuid heard what he said, he rose on the staves of his spears and he went with a very high, light leap on far beyond Finn and his people, without their knowledge. He looked back at them then, and called out that he had gone past them, and he put his shield on his back and went straight on towards the west, and it was not long before he was out of sight of Finn and the Fianna. Then when he did not see any one coming after him, he turned back to where he saw Angus and Grania going out of the wood, and he followed on their track till he came to Ros-da-Shoileach. He found Angus and Grania there in a sheltered, well-lighted cabin, and a great blazing fire kindled in it, and the half of a wild boar on spits. Diarmuid greeted them, and the life of Grania all to went out of her with joy before him. Diarmuid told them his news from beginning to end, and they ate their share that night, and they went to sleep till the coming of the day and of the full light on the morrow. And Angus rose up early, and he said to Diarmuid: "I am going from you now, grandson of Duibhne; and I leave this advice with you," he said, "not to go into a tree with one trunk, and you flying before Finn, and not to be going into a cave of the earth that has but one door, and not to be going to an island of the sea that has but one harbour. And in whatever place you cook your share of food," he said, "do not eat it there; and in whatever place you eat it, do not lie down there; and in whatever place you lie down, do not rise up there on the morrow." He said farewell to them after that, and went his way. CHAPTER III. THE GREEN CHAMPIONS Then Diarmuid and Grania went along the right bank of the Sionnan westward till they came to Garbh-abha-na-Fiann, the rough river of the Fianna. And Diarmuid killed a salmon on the brink of the river, and put it to the fire on a spit. Then he himself and Grania went across the stream to eat it, as Angus bade them; and then they went westward to sleep. They rose up early on the morrow, and they travelled straight westward till they came to the marsh of Finnliath. And on the marsh they met with a young man, having a good shape and appearance, but without fitting dress or arms. Diarmuid greeted the young man, and asked news of him. "A fighting lad I am, looking for a master," he said, "and Muadhan is my name." "What would you do for me, young man?" said Diarmuid. "I would be a servant to you in the day, and watch for you in the night," he said. "I tell you to keep that young man," said Grania, "for you cannot be always without people." Then they made an agreement with him, and bound one another, and they went on together westward till they reached the Carrthach river. And then Muadhan bade Diarmuid and Grania to go up on his back till he would carry them over the stream. "That would be a big load for you," said Grania. But he put them upon his back and carried them over. Then they went on till they came to the Beith, and Muadhan brought them over on his back the same way. And they went into a cave at the side of Currach Cinn Adhmuid, the Woody Headland of the Bog, over Tonn Toime, and Muadhan made ready beds of soft rushes and tops of the birch for them in the far end of the cave. And he went himself into the scrub that was near, and took a straight long rod of a quicken-tree, and he put a hair and a hook on the rod, and a holly berry on the hook, and he went up the stream, and he took a salmon with the first cast. Then he put on a second berry and killed another fish, and he put on a third berry and killed the third fish. Then he put the hook and the hair under his belt, and struck the rod into the earth, and he brought the three salmon where Diarmuid and Grania were, and put them on spits. When they were done, Muadhan said: "I give the dividing of the fish to you, Diarmuid." "I would sooner you to divide it than myself," said Diarmuid. "I will give the dividing of the fish to you, so, Grania," said he. "I am better satisfied you to divide it," said Grania. "If it was you that divided the fish, Diarmuid," said Muadhan, "you would have given the best share to Grania; and if it was Grania divided it, she would have given you the best share; and as it is myself is dividing it, let you have the biggest fish, Diarmuid, and let Grania have the second biggest, and I myself will have the one is smallest." They spent the night there, and Diarmuid and Grania slept in the far part of the cave, and Muadhan kept watch for them until the rising of the day and the full light of the morrow. Diarmuid rose up early, and he bade Grania keep watch for Muadhan, and that he himself would go and take a walk around the country. He went out then, and he went up on a hill that was near, and he was looking about him, east and west, north and south. He was not long there till he saw a great fleet of ships coming from the west, straight to the bottom of the hill where he was. And when they were come to land, nine times nine of the chief men of the ships came on shore, and Diarmuid went down and greeted them, and asked news of them, and to what country they belonged. "Three kings we are of the Green Champions of Muir-na-locht," said they; "and Finn, son of Cumhal, sent looking for us by cause of a thief of the woods, and an enemy of his own that has gone hiding from him; and it is to hinder him we are come. And we are twenty hundred good fighting men, and every one of us is a match for a hundred, and besides that," he said, "we have three deadly hounds with us; fire will not burn them, and water will not drown them, and arms will not redden on them, and we will lay them on his track, and it will be short till we get news of him. And tell us who you are yourself?" they said, "and have you any word of the grandson of Duibhne?" "I saw him yesterday," said Diarmuid; "and I myself," he said, "am but a fighting man, walking the world by the strength of my hand and by the hardness of my sword. And by my word," he said, "you will know Diarmuid's hand when you will meet it." "Well, we found no one up to this," said they. "What are your own names?" said Diarmuid. "Dubh-chosach, the Black-footed, Fionn-chosach, the Fair-footed, and Treun-chosach, the Strong-footed," they said. "Is there wine in your ships?" said Diarmuid. "There is," said they. "If you have a mind to bring out a tun of wine," said Diarmuid, "I will do a trick for you." They sent men to get the tun, and when it came Diarmuid took it between his two hands and drank a drink out of it, and the others drank what was left of it. Diarmuid took up the tun after that, and brought it to the top of the hill, and he went up himself on the tun, and let it go down the steep of the hill till it was at the bottom. And then he brought the tun up the hill again, and he himself on it coming and going, and he did that trick three times before the strangers. But they said he was a man had never seen a good trick when he called that a trick; and with that a man of them went up on the tun, but Diarmuid gave a stroke of his foot at it and the young man fell from it before it began to move, and it rolled over him and crushed him, that he died. And another man went on it, and another after him again, till fifty of them were killed trying to do Diarmuid's trick, and as many of them as were not killed went back to their ships that night. Diarmuid went back then to where he left Grania; and Muadhan put the hair and the hook on the rod till he killed three salmon; and they ate their meal that night, and he kept watch for them the same way he did before. Diarmuid went out early the next day again to the hill, and it was not long till he saw the three strangers coming towards him, and he asked them would they like to see any more tricks. They said they would sooner get news of the grandson of Duibhne. "I saw a man that saw him yesterday," said Diarmuid. And with that he put off his arms and his clothes, all but the shirt that was next his skin, and he struck the Crann Buidhe, the spear of Manannan, into the earth with the point upwards. And then he rose with a leap and lit on the point of the spear as light as a bird, and came down off it again without a wound on him. Then a young man of the Green Champions said: "It is a man has never seen feats that would call that a feat"; and he put off his clothing and made a leap, and if he did he came down heavily on the point of the spear, and it went through his heart, and he fell to the ground. The next day Diarmuid came again, and he brought two forked poles out of the wood and put them standing upright on the hill, and he put the sword of Angus Og, the Mor-alltach, the Big-fierce one, between the two forks on its edge. Then he raised himself lightly over it, and walked on the sword three times from the hilt to the point, and he came down and asked was there a man of them could do that feat. "That is a foolish question," said a man of them then, "for there was never any feat done in Ireland but a man of our own would do it." And with that he rose up to walk on the sword; but it is what happened, he came down heavily on it the way he was cut in two halves. The rest of the champions bade him take away his sword then, before any more of their people would fall by it; and they asked him had he any word of the grandson of Duibhne. "I saw a man that saw him to-day," said Diarmuid, "and I will go ask news of him to-night." He went back then to where Grania was, and Muadhan killed three salmon for their supper, and kept a watch for them through the night. And Diarmuid rose up at the early break of day, and he put his battle clothes on him, that no weapon could go through, and he took the sword of Angus, that left no leavings after it, at his left side, and his two thick-handled spears, the Gae Buidhe and the Gae Dearg, the Yellow and the Red, that gave wounds there was no healing for. And then he wakened Grania, and he bade her to keep watch for Muadhan, and he himself would go out and take a look around. When Grania saw him looking so brave, and dressed in his clothes of anger and of battle, great fear took hold of her, and she asked what was he going to do. "It is for fear of meeting my enemies I am like this," said he. That quieted Grania, and then Diarmuid went out to meet the Green Champions. They came to land then, and they asked had he news of the grandson of Duibhne. "I saw him not long ago," said Diarmuid. "If that is so, let us know where is he," said they, "till we bring his head to Finn, son of Cumhal." "I would be keeping bad watch for him if I did that," said Diarmuid, "for his life and his body are under the protection of my valour, and by reason of that I will do no treachery on him." "Is that true?" said they. "It is true indeed," said Diarmuid. "Let you yourself quit this place, so," they said, "or we will bring your head to Finn since you are an enemy to him." "It is in bonds I would be," said Diarmuid, "the time I would leave my head with you." And with that he drew his sword the Mor-alltach out of its sheath, and he made a fierce blow at the head nearest him that put it in two halves. Then he made an attack on the whole host of the Green Champions, and began to destroy them, cutting through the beautiful shining armour of the men of Muir-na-locht till there was hardly a man but got shortening of life and the sorrow of death, or that could go back to give news of the fight, but only the three kings and a few of their people that made their escape back to their ships. Diarmuid turned back then without wound or hurt on him, and he went to where Crania and Muadhan were. They bade him welcome, and Grania asked him did he hear any news of Finn and the Fianna of Ireland, and he said he did not, and they ate their food and spent the night there. He rose up again with the early light of the morrow and went back to the hill, and when he got there he struck a great blow on his shield that set the strand shaking with the sound. And Dubh-chosach heard it, and he said he himself would go fight with Diarmuid, and he went on shore there and then. And he and Diarmuid threw the arms out of their hands and rushed on one another like wrestlers, straining their arms and their sinews, knotting their hands on one another's backs, fighting like bulls in madness, or like two daring hawks on the edge of a cliff. But at the last Diarmuid raised up Dubh-chosach on his shoulder and threw his body to the ground, and bound him fast and firm on the spot. And Fionn-chosach and Treun-chosach came one after the other to fight with him then, and he put the same binding on them; and he said he would strike the heads off them, only he thought it a worse punishment to leave them in those bonds. "For there is no one can free you," he said. And he left them there, worn out and sorrowful. The next morning after that, Diarmuid told Grania the whole story of the strangers from beginning to end, and of all he had done to them, and how on the fifth day he had put their kings in bonds. "And they have three fierce hounds in a chain ready to hunt me," he said. "Did you take the heads off those three kings?" said Grania, "I did not," said Diarmuid, "for there is no man of the heroes of Ireland can loosen those bonds but four only, Oisin, son of Finn, and Osgar, son of Oisin, and Lugaidh's Son of the Strong Hand, and Conan, son of Morna; and I know well," he said, "none of those four will do it. But all the same, it is short till Finn will get news of them, and it is best for us to be going from this cave, or Finn and the three hounds might come on us." After that they left the cave, and they went on till they came to the bog of Finnliath. Grania began to fall behind them, and Muadhan put her on his back and carried her till they came to the great Slieve Luachra. Then Diarmuid sat down on the brink of the stream that was flowing through the heart of the mountain, and Grania was washing her hands, and she asked his knife from him to cut her nails with. As to the strangers, as many of them as were alive yet, they came to the hill where their three leaders were bound, and they thought to loose them; but it is the way those bonds were, all they did by meddling with them was to draw them tighter. And they were not long there till they saw a woman coming towards them with the quickness of a swallow or a weasel or a blast of wind over bare mountain-tops. And she asked them who was it had done that great slaughter on them. "Who are you that is asking that?" said they. "I am the Woman of the Black Mountain, the woman-messenger of Finn, son of Cumhal," she said; "and it is looking for you Finn sent me." "Indeed we do not know who it was did this slaughter," they said, "but we will tell you his appearance. A young man he was, having dark curling hair and ruddy cheeks. And it is worse again to us," they said, "our three leaders to be bound this way, and we not able to loose them." "What way did that young man go from you?" said the woman. "It was late last night he left us," they said, "and we do not know where is he gone." "I give you my word," she said, "it was Diarmuid himself that was in it; and take your hounds now and lay them on his track, and I will send Finn and the Fianna of Ireland to you." They left a woman-Druid then attending on the three champions that were bound, and they brought their three hounds out of the ship and laid them on Diarmuid's track, and followed them till they came to the opening of the cave, and they went into the far part of it and found the beds where Diarmuid and Crania had slept. Then they went on westward till they came to the Carrthach river, and to the bog of Finnliath, and so on to the great Slieve Luachra. But Diarmuid did not know they were after him till he got sight of them with their banners of soft silk and their three wicked hounds in the front of the troop and three strong champions holding them in chains. And when he saw them coming like that he was filled with great hatred of them. There was one of them had a well-coloured green cloak on him, and he came out far beyond the others, and Grania gave the knife back to Diarmuid. "I think you have not much love for that young man of the green cloak, Grania," said Diarmuid. "I have not indeed," said Grania; "and it would be better if I had never given love to any man at all to this day." Diarmuid put the knife in the sheath then, and went on; and Muadhan put Grania on his back and carried her on into the mountain. It was not long till a hound of the three hounds was loosed after Diarmuid, and Muadhan said to him to follow Grania, and he himself would check the hound. Then Muadhan turned back, and he took a whelp out of his belt, and put it on the flat of his hand. And when the whelp saw the hound rushing towards him, and its jaws open, he rose up and made a leap from Muadhan's hand into the throat of the hound, and came out of its side, bringing the heart with it, and he leaped back again to Muadhan's hand, and left the hound dead after him. Muadhan went on then after Diarmuid and Grania, and he took up Grania again and carried her a bit of the way into the mountain. Then another hound was loosened after them, and Diarmuid said to Muadhan: "I often heard there is nothing can stand against weapons of Druid wounding, and the throat of no beast can be made safe from them. And will you stand now," he said, "till I put the Gae Dearg, the Red Spear, through that hound." Then Muadhan and Grania stopped to see the cast. And Diarmuid made a cast at the hound, and the spear went through its body and brought out its bowels; and he took up the spear again, and they went forward. It was not long after that the third hound was loosed. And Grania said then: "This is the one is fiercest of them, and there is great fear on me, and mind yourself now, Diarmuid." It was not long till the hound overtook them, and the place he overtook them was Lic Dhubhain, the flag-stone of Dubhan, on Slieve Luachra. He rose with a light leap over Diarmuid, as if he had a mind to seize on Grania, but Diarmuid took him by the two hind legs, and struck a blow of his carcase against the side of the rock was nearest, till he had let out his brains through the openings of his head and of his ears. And then Diarmuid took up his arms and his battle clothes, and put his narrow-topped finger into the silken string of the Gae Dearg, and he made a good cast at the young man of the green cloak that was at the head of the troop that killed him. Then he made another cast at the second man and killed him, and the third man in the same way. And as it is not the custom to stand after leaders are fallen, the strangers when they saw what had happened took to flight. And Diarmuid followed after them, killing and scattering, so that unless any man of them got away over the forests, or into the green earth, or under the waters, there was not a man or messenger of them left to tell the news, but only the Woman-messenger of the Black Mountain, that kept moving around about when Diarmuid was putting down the strangers. And it was not long till Finn saw her coming towards him where he was, her legs failing, and her tongue muttering, and her eyes drooping, and he asked news of her. "It is very bad news I have to tell you," she said; "and it is what I think, that it is a person without a lord I am." Then she told Finn the whole story from beginning to end, of the destruction Diarmuid had done, and how the three deadly hounds had fallen by him. "And it is hardly I myself got away," she said. "What place did the grandson of Duibhne go to?" said Finn. "I do not know that," she said. And when Finn heard of the Kings of the Green Champions that were bound by Diarmuid, he called his men to him, and they went by every short way and every straight path till they reached the hill, and it was torment to the heart of Finn to see the way they were. Then he said: "Oisin," he said, "loosen those three kings for me." "I will not loosen them," said Oisin, "for Diarmuid put bonds on me not to loosen any man he would bind." "Loosen them, Osgar," said Finn then. "I give my word," said Osgar, "it is more bonds I would wish to put on them sooner than to loosen them." Neither would Conan help them, or Lugaidh's Son. And any way, they were not long talking about it till the three kings died under the hardness of the bonds that were on them. Then Finn made three wide-sodded graves for them, and a flag-stone was put over them, and another stone raised over that again, and their names were written in branching Ogham, and it is tired and heavy-hearted Finn was after that; and he and his people went back to Almhuin of Leinster. CHAPTER IV. THE WOOD OF DUBHROS And as to Diarmuid and Grania and Muadhan, they went on through Ui Chonaill Gabhra, and left-hand ways to Ros-da-Shoileach, and Diarmuid killed a wild deer that night, and they had their fill of meat and of pure water, and they slept till the morning of the morrow. And Muadhan rose up early, and spoke to Diarmuid, and it is what he said, that he himself was going away. "It is not right for you to do that," said Diarmuid, "for everything I promised you I fulfilled it, without any dispute." But he could not hinder him, and Muadhan said farewell to them and left them there and then, and it is sorrowful and downhearted Diarmuid and Grania were after him. After that they travelled on straight to the north, to Slieve Echtge, and from that to the hundred of Ui Fiachrach; and when they got there Grania was tired out, but she took courage and went on walking beside Diarmuid till they came to the wood of Dubhros. Now, there was a wonderful quicken-tree in that wood, and the way it came to be there is this: There rose a dispute one time between two women of the Tuatha de Danaan, Aine and Aoife, daughters of Manannan, son of Lir, for Aoife had given her love to Lugaidh's Son, and Aine had given her love to a man of her own race, and each of them said her own man was a better hurler than the other. And it came from that dispute that there was a great hurling match settled between the Men of Dea and the Fianna of Ireland, and the place it was to be played was on a beautiful plain near Loch Lein. They all came together there, and the highest men and the most daring of the Tuatha de Danaan were there, the three Garbhs of Slieve Mis, and the three Mases of Slieve Luachra, and the three yellow-haired Murchadhs, and the three Eochaidhs of Aine, and the three Fionns of the White House, and the three Sgals of Brugh na Boinne, and the three Ronans of Ath na Riogh, and the Suirgheach Suairc, the Pleasant Wooer from Lionan, and the Man of Sweet Speech from the Boinn, and Ilbrec, the Many-Coloured, son of Manannan, and Neamhanach, son of Angus Og, and Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, and Manannan, son of Lir. They themselves and the Fianna were playing the match through the length of three days and three nights, from Leamhain to the valley of the Fleisg, that is called the Crooked Valley of the Fianna, and neither of them winning a goal. And when the Tuatha de Danaan that were watching the game on each side of Leamhain saw it was so hard for their hurlers to win a goal against the Fianna, they thought it as well to go away again without playing out the game. Now the provision the Men of Dea had brought with them from the Land of Promise was crimson nuts, and apples, and sweet-smelling rowan berries. And as they were passing through the district of Ui Fiachrach by the Muaidh, a berry of the rowan berries fell from them, and a tree grew up from it. And there was virtue in its berries, and no sickness or disease would ever come on any person that would eat them, and those that would eat them would feel the liveliness of wine and the satisfaction of mead in them, and any old person of a hundred years that would eat them would go back to be young again, and any young girl that would eat them would grow to be a flower of beauty. And it happened one time after the tree was grown, there were messengers of the Tuatha de Danaan going through the wood of Dubhros. And they heard a great noise of birds and of bees, and they went where the noise was, and they saw the beautiful Druid tree. They went back then and told what they had seen, and all the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan when they heard it knew the tree must have grown from a berry of the Land of the Ever-Living Living Ones. And they enquired among all their people, till they knew it was a young man of them, that was a musician, had dropped the berry. And it is what they agreed, to send him in search of a man of Lochlann that would guard the tree by day and sleep in it by night. And the women of the Sidhe were very downhearted to see him going from them, for there was no harper could play half so sweetly on his harp as he could play on an ivy leaf. He went on then till he came to Lochlann, and he sat down on a bank and sleep came on him. And he slept till the rising of the sun on the morrow; and when he awoke he saw a very big man coming towards him, that asked him who was he. "I am a messenger from the Men of Dea," he said; "and I am come looking for some very strong man that would be willing to guard a Druid tree that is in the wood of Dubhros. And here are some of the berries he will be eating from morning to night," he said. And when the big man had tasted the berries, he said: "I will go and guard all the trees of the wood to get those berries." And his name was the Searbhan Lochlannach, the Surly One of Lochlann. Very black and ugly he was, having crooked teeth, and one eye only in the middle of his forehead. And he had a thick collar of iron around his body, and it was in the prophecy that he would never die till there would be three strokes of the iron club he had, struck upon himself. And he slept in the tree by night and stopped near it in the daytime, and he made a wilderness of the whole district about him, and none of the Fianna dared go hunt there because of the dread of him that was on them. But when Diarmuid came to the wood of Dubhros, he went into it to where the Surly One was, and he made bonds of agreement with him, and got leave from him to go hunting in the wood, so long as he would not touch the berries of the tree. And he made a cabin then for himself and for Grania in the wood. As for Finn and his people, they were not long at Almhuin till they saw fifty armed men coming towards them, and two that were taller and handsomer than the rest in the front of them. Finn asked did any of his people know them. "We do not know them," they said, "but maybe you yourself know them, Finn." "I do not," he said; "but it seems to be they are enemies to myself." The troop of armed men came up to them then and they greeted him, and Finn asked news of them, and from what country they came. "I am Aonghus, son of Art Og of the children of Morna," one of them said, "and this is Aodh, son of Andela; and we are enemies of your own, and our fathers were at the killing of your father, and they themselves died for that deed. And it is to ask peace we are come now to you," they said. "Where were you the time my father was killed?" "In our mothers' wombs," said they; "and our mothers were two women of the Tuatha de Danaan, and it is time for us now to get our father's place among the Fianna." "I will give you that," said Finn, "but I must put a fine on you first in satisfaction for my father's death." "We have neither gold or silver or goods or cattle to give you, Finn," said they. "Do not put a fine on them, Finn," said Oisin, "beyond the death of their fathers for your father." "It is what I think," said Finn, "if any one killed myself, Oisin, it would be easy to pay the fine you would ask. And there will no one come among the Fianna," he said, "without giving what I ask in satisfaction for my father's death." "What is it you are asking of us?" said Aonghus, son of Art Og. "I am asking but the head of a champion, or the full of a fist of the berries of the quicken-tree at Dubhros." "I will give you a good advice, children of Morna," said Oisin, "to go back to the place you were reared, and not to ask peace of Finn through the length of your lives. For it is not an easy thing Finn is asking of you; and do you know whose head he is asking you to bring him?" "We do not," said they. "The head of Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, is the head he is asking of you. And if you were twenty hundred men in their full strength, Diarmuid would not let you take that head." "And what are the berries Finn is asking of us?" they said then. "There is nothing is harder for you to get than those berries," said Oisin. He told them then the whole story of the tree, and of the Searbhan, the Surly One of Lochlann, that was put to mind it by the Tuatha de Danaan. But Aodh, son of Andela, spoke then, and it is what he said, that he would sooner get his death looking for those berries than to go home again to his mother's country. And he said to Oisin to care his people till he would come back again, and if anything should happen himself and his brother in their journey, to send them back again to the Land of Promise. And the two said farewell then to Oisin and to the chief men of the Fianna, and they went forward till they reached Dubhros. And they went along the wood till they found a track, and they followed it to the door of the hunting-cabin where Diarmuid and Grania were. Diarmuid heard them coming, and he put his hand on his weapons and asked who was at the door. "We are of the children of Morna," they said, "Aodh, son of Andela, and Aonghus, son of Art Og." "What brings you to this wood?" said Diarmuid. "Finn, son of Cumhal, that put us looking for your head, if you are Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne," said they. "I am indeed," said Diarmuid. "If that is so," they said, "Finn will take nothing from us but your head, or a fistful of the berries of the quicken-tree of Dubhros as satisfaction for the death of his father." "It is not easy for you to get either of those things," said Diarmuid, "and it is a pity for any one to be under the power of that man. And besides that," he said, "I know it was he himself made an end of your fathers, and that was enough satisfaction for him to get; and if you do bring him what he asks, it is likely he will not make peace with you in the end." "Is it not enough for you," said Aodh, "to have brought his wife away from Finn without speaking ill of him?" "It is not for the sake of speaking ill of him I said that," said Diarmuid, "but to save yourselves from the danger he has sent you into." "What are those berries Finn is asking?" said Grania, "that they cannot be got for him?" Diarmuid told her then the whole story of the berry the Tuatha de Danaan had lost, and of the tree that had sprung up from it, and of the man of Lochlann that was keeping the tree. "And at the time Finn sent me hiding here and became my enemy," he said, "I got leave from the Surly One to hunt, but he bade me never to meddle with the berries. And now, sons of Morna," he said, "there is your choice, to fight with me for my head, or to go asking the berries of the Surly One." "I swear by the blood of my people," said each of them, "I will fight with yourself first." With that the two young men made ready for the fight. And it is what they chose, to fight with the strength of their hands alone. And Diarmuid put them down and bound the two of them there and then. "That is a good fight you made," said Grania. "But, by my word," she said, "although the children of Morna do not go looking for those berries, I will not lie in a bed for ever till I get a share of them; and I will not live if I do not get them," she said. "Do not make me break my peace with the Surly One," said Diarmuid, "for he will not let me take them." "Loose these tyings from us," said the two young men, "and we will go with you, and we will give ourselves for your sake." "You must not come with me," said Diarmuid; "for if you got the full of your eyes of that terrible one, you would be more likely to die than to live." "Well, do us this kindness," they said then; "loosen these bonds on us, and give us time to go by ourselves and see the fight before you strike off our heads." So Diarmuid did that for them. Then Diarmuid went to the Surly One, and he chanced to be asleep before him, and he gave him a stroke of his foot the way he lifted his head and looked up at him, and he said: "Have you a mind to break our peace, Grandson of Duibhne?" "That is not what I want," said Diarmuid; "but it is Grania, daughter of the High King," he said, "has a desire to taste those berries, and it is to ask a handful of them I am come." "I give my word," said he, "if she is to die for it, she will never taste a berry of those berries." "I would not do treachery on you," said Diarmuid; "and so I tell you, willing or unwilling, I will take those berries from you." When the Surly One heard that, he rose up on his feet and lifted his club and struck three great blows on Diarmuid, that gave him some little hurt in spite of his shield. But when Diarmuid saw him not minding himself, he threw down his weapons, and made a great leap and took hold of the club with his two hands. And when he had a hold of the club he struck three great blows on him that put his brains out through his head. And the two young men of the sons of Morna were looking at the whole fight; and when they saw the Surly One was killed they came out. And Diarmuid sat down, for he was spent with the dint of the fight, and he bid the young men to bury the body under the thickets of the wood, the way Grania would not see it. "And after that," he said, "let you go back to her and bring her here." So they dragged away the body and buried it, and they went then for Grania and brought her to Diarmuid. "There are the berries you were asking, Grania," he said, "and you may take what you like of them now." "I give my word," said Grania, "I will not taste a berry of those berries but the one your own hand will pluck, Diarmuid." Diarmuid rose up then and plucked the berries for Grania, and for the children of Morna, and they ate their fill of them. And he said then to the young men: "Take all you can of these berries, and bring them with you to Finn, and tell him it was yourselves made an end of the Surly One of Lochlann." "We give you our word," said they, "we begrudge giving any of them to Finn." But Diarmuid plucked a load of the berries for them, and they gave him great thanks for all he had done; and they went back to where Finn was with the Fianna. And Diarmuid and Grania went up into the top of the tree where the bed of the Surly One was. And the berries below were but bitter berries beside the ones above in the tree. And when the two young men came to Finn, he asked news of them. "We have killed the Surly One of Lochlann," they said; "and we have brought you berries from the quicken-tree of Dubhros, in satisfaction for your father, that we may get peace from you." They gave the berries then into Finn's hand, and he knew them, and he said to the young men: "I give you my word," he said, "it was Diarmuid himself plucked those berries, for I know the smell of his hand on them; and I know well it was he killed the Surly One, and I will go now and see is he himself alive at the quicken-tree." After that he called for the seven battalions of the Fianna, and he set out and went forward to Dubhros. And they followed the track of Diarmuid to the foot of the quicken-tree, and they found the berries without protection, so they ate their fill of them. And the great heat of the day came on them, and Finn said they would stop where they were till the heat would be past; "for I know well," he said, "Diarmuid is up in the quicken-tree." "It is a great sign of jealousy in you, Finn," said Oisin, "to think that Diarmuid would stop there up in the quicken-tree and he knowing you are wanting to kill him." Finn asked for a chess-board after that, and he said to Oisin: "I will play a game with you now on this." They sat down then, Oisin and Osgar and Lugaidh's Son and Diorraing on the one side of the board, and Finn on the other side. And they were playing that game with great skill and knowledge, and Finn pressed Oisin so hard that he had no move to make but the one, and Finn said: "There is one move would win the game for you, Oisin, and I defy all that are with you to show you that move." Then Diarmuid said up in the tree where he was, and no one heard him but Grania: "It is a pity you be in straits, and without myself to show you that move." "It is worse off you are yourself," said Grania, "to be in the bed of the Surly One of Lochlann in the top of the quicken-tree, and the seven battalions of the Fianna round about it to take your life." But Diarmuid took a berry of the tree, and aimed at the one of the chessmen that ought to be moved, and Oisin moved it and turned the game against Finn by that move. It was not long before the game was going against Oisin the second time, and when Diarmuid saw that he threw another berry at the chessman it was right to move, and Oisin moved it and turned the game against Finn in the same way. And the third time Finn was getting the game from Oisin, and Diarmuid threw the third berry on the man that would give the game to Oisin, and the Fianna gave a great shout when the game was won. Finn spoke then, and it is what he said: "It is no wonder you to win the game, Oisin, and you having the help of Osgar, and the watchfulness of Diorraing, and the skill of Lugaidh's Son, and the teaching of the grandson of Duibhne with you." "That is a great sign of jealousy in you, Finn," said Osgar, "to think Diarmuid would stop in this tree, and you so near him." "Which of us has the truth, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne," Finn said out then, "myself or Osgar?" "You never lost your good judgment, Finn," said Diarmuid then; "and I myself and Grania are here, in the bed of the Surly One of Lochlann." Then Diarmuid rose up and gave three kisses to Grania in the sight of Finn and the Fianna. And a scorching jealousy and a weakness came on Finn when he saw that, and he said: "It was worse to me, Diarmuid, the seven battalions of the Fianna to see what you did at Teamhair, taking away Grania the night you were yourself my guard. But for all that," he said, "you will give your head for the sake of those three kisses." With that Finn called to the four hundred paid fighting men that were with him that they might make an end of Diarmuid; and he put their hands into one another's hands around that quicken-tree, and bade them, if they would not lose their lives, not to let Diarmuid pass out through them. And he said that to whatever man would take Diarmuid, he would give his arms and his armour, and a place among the Fianna of Ireland. Then one of the Fianna, Garbh of Slieve Cua, said it was Diarmuid had killed his own father, and he would avenge him now, and he went up the quicken-tree to make an end of him. Now, about that time it was made known to Angus Og, in Brugh na Boinne, the danger Diarmuid was in, and he came to his help, unknown to the Fianna. And when Garbh of Slieve Cua was coming up the tree, Diarmuid gave him a kick of his foot, and he fell down among the hired men, and they struck off his head, for Angus Og had put the appearance of Diarmuid on him. But after he was killed, his own shape came on him again, and the Fianna knew that it was Garbh was killed. Then Garbh of Slieve Crot said it was Diarmuid had killed his father, and he went up to avenge him, and the same thing happened. And in the end all the nine Garbhs, of Slieve Guaire, and Slieve Muice, and Slieve Mor, and Slieve Lugha, and Ath Fraoch, and Slieve Mis and Drom-mor, went trying to take Diarmuid's life and lost their own lives, every one of them having the shape and appearance of Diarmuid when he died. And Finn was very sorry and discouraged when he saw that these nine men had come to their death. Then Angus said he would bring away Grania with him. "Do so," said Diarmuid; "and if I am living at evening I will follow you." Then Angus said farewell to Diarmuid, and he put his Druid cloak about Grania and about himself, and they went away in the safety of the cloak, unknown to Finn and the Fianna, till they came to Brugh na Boinne. Then Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, spoke, and it is what he said: "I will come down to you, Finn, and to the Fianna. And I will do death and destruction on you and on your people, for I am certain your mind is made up to give me no rest, but to bring me to my death in some place. And I have nowhere to go from this danger," he said, "for I have no friend or comrade under whose protection I could go in any far part of the great world, for it is often I fought against the men of the great world for love of you. For there never came battle or fight, danger or trouble on you, but I would go into it for your sake and the sake of the Fianna; and not only that, but I would fight before you and after you. And I give my word, Finn," he said, "you will pay hard for me, and you will not get me as a free gift." "It is the truth Diarmuid is speaking," said Osgar, "and give him forgiveness now, and peace." "I will not do that," said Finn, "to the end of life and time; and he will not get peace or rest for ever till I get satisfaction from him for every reproach he has put on me." "It is a great shame and a great sign of jealousy you to say that," said Osgar. "And I give the word of a true champion," he said, "that unless the skies come down upon me, or the earth opens under my feet, I will not let you or any one of the Fianna of Ireland give him cut or wound; and I take his body and his life under the protection of my valour, and I will keep him safe against all the men of Ireland." "Those are big words you have, Osgar," said Goll then, "to say you would bring a man away in spite of all the men of Ireland." "It is not you will raise them up against me, Goll," said Osgar, "for none of them would mind what you would say." "If that is what you are saying, you champion of great fights," said Goll, "let us see now what you can do." "You will have to go through with the fight you have taken on yourself," said Corrioll, son of Goll, in a loud voice. And Osgar answered him fiercely: "If I do I will shorten your bones, and your father's bones along with them. And come down now, Diarmuid," he said, "since Finn has no mind to leave you in peace, and I promise on my body and my life there will no harm be done to you to-day." Then Diarmuid stood up on a high bough of the boughs of the tree, and he rose with a light leap by the shaft of his spear, and lit on the grass far beyond Finn and the Fianna. And he himself and Osgar went towards one another, in spite of the Fianna that went between them, and Diarmuid struck down those that were in his way; and as to Osgar, the throwing of his spears as he scattered the Fianna was like the sound of the wind going through a valley, or water falling over flag-stones. And Conan, that was always bitter, said: "Let the sons of Baiscne go on killing one another." But Finn, when he saw Diarmuid was gone from him, bade them put their weapons up, and turn back again to Almhuin. And he sent those of his men that could be healed to places of healing, and the nine Garbhs, and the others of his men that were killed, he put into wide-sodded graves. And it is tired and downhearted and sorrowful he was after that, and he made an oath he would take no great rest till he would have avenged on Diarmuid all that he had done. CHAPTER V. THE QUARREL And as to Osgar and Diarmuid, they went on, and no cut or wound on them, to where Angus and Grania were at Brugh na Boinne; and there was a good welcome before them, and Diarmuid told them the whole story from beginning to end, and it is much that Grania did not die then and there, hearing all he had gone through. And then she and Diarmuid set out again, and they went and stopped for a while in a cave that was near the sea. And one night while they were there a great storm came on, so that they went into the far part of the cave. But bad as the night was, a man of the Fomor, Ciach, the Fierce One, his name was, came over the western ocean in a currach, with two oars, and he drew it into the cave for shelter. And Diarmuid bade him welcome, and they sat down to play chess together. And he got the best of the game, and what he asked as his winnings was Grania to be his wife, and he put his arms about her as if to bring her away. And Grania said: "I am this long time going with the third best man of the Fianna, and he never came as near as that to me." And Diarmuid took his sword to kill Ciach, and there was anger on Grania when she saw that, and she had a knife in her hand and she struck it into Diarmuid's thigh. And Diarmuid made an end of the Fomor, and he said no word to Grania, but ran out and away through the storm. And Grania went following after him, and calling to him, but there was great anger on him and he would not answer her. And at last at the break of day she overtook him, and after a while they heard the cry of a heron, and she asked him what was it made the heron cry out. "Tell me that," she said, "Grandson of Duibhne, to whom I gave my love." And Diarmuid said: "O Grania, daughter of the High King, woman who never took a step aright, it is because she was frozen to the rocks she gave that cry." And Grania was asking forgiveness of him, and he was reproaching her, and it is what he said: "O Grania of the beautiful hair, though you are more beautiful than the green tree under blossom, your love passes away as quickly as the cold cloud at break of day. And you are asking a hard thing of me now," he said, "and it is a pity what you said to me, Grania, for it was you brought me away from the house of my lord, that I am banished from it to this day; and now I am troubled through the night, fretting after its delight in every place. "I am like a wild deer, or a beast that is astray, going ever and always through the long valleys; there is great longing on me to see one of my kindred from the host. "I left my own people that were brighter than lime or snow; their heart was full of generosity to me, like the sun that is high above us; but now they follow me angrily, to every harbour and every strand. "I lost my people by you, and my lord, and my large bright ships on every sea; I lost my treasure and my gold; it is hunger you gave me through your love. "I lost my country and my kindred; my men that were used to serve me; I lost quietness and affection; I lost the men of Ireland and the Fianna entirely. "I lost delight and music; I lost my own right doing and my honour; I lost the Fianna of Ireland, my great kinsmen, for the sake of the love you gave me. "O Grania, white as snow, it would have been a better choice for you to have given hatred to me, or gentleness to the Head of the Fianna." And Grania said: "O Diarmuid of the face like snow, or like the down of the mountains, the sound of your voice was dearer to me than all the riches of the leader of the Fianna. "Your blue eye is dearer to me than his strength, and his gold and his great hall; the love-spot on your forehead is better to me than honey in streams; the time I first looked on it, it was more to me than the whole host of the King of Ireland. "My heart fell down there and then before your high beauty; when you came beside me, it was like the whole of life in one day. "O Diarmuid of the beautiful hands, take me now the same as before; it was with me the fault was entirely; give me your promise not to leave me." But Diarmuid said: "How can I take you again, you are a woman too fond of words; one day you give up the Head of the Fianna, and the next day myself, and no lie in it. "It is you parted me from Finn, the way I fell under sorrow and grief; and then you left me yourself, the time I was full of affection." And Grania said: "Do not leave me now this way, and my love for you ever growing like the fresh branches of the tree with the kind long heat of the day." But Diarmuid would not give in to her, and he said: "You are a woman full of words, and it is you have put me under sorrow. I took you with myself, and you struck at me for the sake of the man of the Fomor." They came then to a place where there was a cave, and water running by it, and they stopped to rest; and Grania said: "Have you a mind to eat bread and meat now, Diarmuid?" "I would eat it indeed if I had it," said Diarmuid. "Give me a knife, so," she said, "till I cut it." "Look for the knife in the sheath where you put it yourself," said Diarmuid. She saw then that the knife was in his thigh where she had struck it, for he would not draw it out himself. So she drew it out then; and that was the greatest shame that ever came upon her. They stopped then in the cave. And the next day when they went on again, Diarmuid did not leave unbroken bread like he had left every other day as a sign to Finn that he had kept his faith with him, but it was broken bread he left after him. CHAPTER VI. THE WANDERERS And they went on wandering after that, all through Ireland, hiding from Finn in every place, sleeping under the cromlechs, or with no shelter at all, and there was no place they would dare to stop long in. And wherever they went Finn would follow them, for he knew by his divination where they went. But one time he made out they were on a mountain, for he saw them with heather under them; and it was beside the sea they were, asleep on heather that Diarmuid had brought down from the hills for their bed; and so he went searching the hills and did not find them. And Grania would be watching over Diarmuid while he slept, and she would make a sleepy song for him, and it is what she would be saying: "Sleep a little, a little little, for there is nothing at all to fear, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne; sleep here soundly, soundly, Diarmuid, to whom I have given my love. "It is I will keep watch for you, grandchild of shapely Duibhne; sleep a little, a blessing on you, beside the well of the strong field; my lamb from above the lake, from the banks of the strong streams. "Let your sleep be like the sleep in the South, of Dedidach of the high poets, the time he took away old Morann's daughter, for all Conall could do against him. "Let your sleep be like the sleep in the North, of fair comely Fionnchadh of Ess Ruadh, the time he took Slaine with bravery as we think, in spite of Failbhe of the Hard Head. "Let your sleep be like the sleep in the West, of Aine, daughter of Gailian, the time she went on a journey in the night with Dubhthach from Doirinis, by the light of torches. "Let your sleep be like the sleep in the East, of Deaghadh the proud, the brave fighter, the time he took Coincheann, daughter of Binn, in spite of fierce Decheall of Duibhreann. "O heart of the valour of the lands to the west of Greece, my heart will go near to breaking if I do not see you every day. The parting of us two will be the parting of two children of the one house; it will be the parting of life from the body, Diarmuid, hero of the bright lake of Carman." And then to rouse him she would make another song, and it is what she would say: "Caoinche will be loosed on your track; it is not slow the running of Caoilte will be; do not let death reach to you, do not give yourself to sleep for ever. "The stag to the east is not asleep, he does not cease from bellowing; though he is in the woods of the blackbirds, sleep is not in his mind; the hornless doe is not asleep, crying after her speckled fawn; she is going over the bushes, she does not sleep in her home. "The cuckoo is not asleep, the thrush is not asleep, the tops of the trees are a noisy place; the duck is not asleep, she is made ready for good swimming; the bog lark is not asleep to-night on the high stormy bogs; the sound of her clear voice is sweet; she is not sleeping between the streams." One time they were in a cave of Beinn Edair, and there was an old woman befriending them and helping them to keep a watch. And one day she chanced to go up to the top of Beinn Edair, and she saw an armed man coming towards her, and she did now know him to be Finn; and when he was come near she asked what was he looking for. "It is looking for a woman I am come," he said, "and for a woman's love. And will you do all I will ask you?" he said. "I will do that," she said; for she thought it was her own love he was asking. "Tell me then," he said, "where is Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne?" So she told him where he was hiding, and he bade her to keep him in the cave till such time as he would come back with his men. The old woman went back then, and it is what she did, she dipped her cloak in the sea-water before she went into the cave; and Diarmuid asked her why was her cloak so wet. "It is," she said, "that I never saw or never heard of the like of this day for cold and for storms. There is frost on every hillside," she said, "and there is not a smooth plain in all Elga where there is not a long rushing river between every two ridges. And there is not a deer or a crow in the whole of Ireland can find a shelter in any place." And she was shaking the wet off her cloak, and she was making a complaint against the cold, and it is what she said: "Cold, cold, cold to-night is the wide plain of Lurg; the snow is higher than the mountains, the deer cannot get at their share of food. "Cold for ever; the storm is spread over all; every furrow on the hillside is a river, every ford is a full pool, every full loch is a great sea; every pool is a full loch; horses cannot go through the ford of Ross any more than a man on his two feet. "The fishes of Inisfail are going astray; there is no strand or no pen against the waves; there are no dwellings in the country, there is no bell heard, no crane is calling. "The hounds of the wood of Cuan find no rest or no sleep in their dwelling-place; the little wren cannot find shelter in her nest on the slope of Lon. "A sharp wind and cold ice have come on the little company of birds; the blackbird cannot get a ridge to her liking or shelter for her side in the woods of Cuan. "It is steady our great pot hangs from its hook; it is broken the cabin is on the slope of Lon; the snow has made the woods smooth, it is hard to climb to the ridge of Bennait Bo. "The ancient bird of Glen Ride gets grief from the bitter wind; it is great is her misery and her pain, the ice will be in her mouth. "Mind well not to rise up from coverings and from down, mind this well; there would be no good sense in it. Ice is heaped up in every ford; it is for that I am saying and ever saying 'Cold.'" The old woman went out after that, and when she was gone, Grania took hold of the cloak she had left there and she put her tongue to it, and found the taste of salt water on it. "My grief, Diarmuid," she said then, "the old woman has betrayed us. And rise up now," she said, "and put your fighting suit upon you." So Diarmuid did that, and he went out, and Grania along with him. And no sooner were they outside than they saw Finn and the Fianna of Ireland coming towards them. Then Diarmuid looked around him and he saw a little boat at hand in the shelter of the harbour, and he himself and Grania went into it. And there was a man before them in the boat having beautiful clothes on him, and a wide embroidered golden-yellow cloak over his shoulders behind. And they knew it was Angus was in it, that had come again to help them to escape from Finn, and they went back with him for a while to Brugh na Boinne, and Osgar came to them there. CHAPTER VII. FIGHTING AND PEACE And after a while Finn bade his people to make his ship ready, and to put a store of food and of drink in it. They did that, and he himself and a thousand of his men went into the ship; and they were nine days between sailing and rowing till they came to harbour in the north of Alban. They bound the ship to the posts of the harbour then, and Finn with five of his people went to the dun of the King of Alban, and Finn struck a blow with the hand-wood on the door, and the door-keeper asked who was in it, and they told him it was Finn, son of Cumhal. "Let him in," said the king. Then Finn and his people went in, and the king made them welcome, and he bade Finn to sit down in his own place, and they were given strong pleasant drinks, and the king sent for the rest of Finn's people and bade them welcome to the dun. Then Finn told what it was brought him there, and that it was to ask help and advice against the grandson of Duibhne he was come. "And you have a right to give me your help," he said, "for it was he that killed your father and your two brothers, and many of your best men along with them." "That is true," said the king; "and I will give you my own two sons and a thousand men with each of them." Finn was glad when he heard that, and he and his men took leave of the king and of his household, and left wishes for life and health with them, and the king did the same by them. And it was near Brugh na Boinne Finn and his people came to land, and Finn sent messengers to the house of Angus to give out a challenge of battle against Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne. "What should I do about this, Osgar?" said Diarmuid. "We will both go out and make a stand against them, and we will not let a serving-man of them escape, but we will make an end of them all," said Osgar. So they rose up on the morning of the morrow and they put their suits of battle on their comely bodies; and it would be a pity for those, be they many or few, that would meet those two men, and their anger on them. And they bound the rims of their shields together the way they would not be parted from one another in the right. And the sons of the King of Alban said that they themselves and their people would go first to meet them. So they came to shore, and made a rush to meet Diarmuid and Osgar. But the two fought so well that they beat them back and scattered them, and made a great slaughter, and put great terror on them, so that at the last there was not a man left to stand against them. And after that, Finn went out again on the sea, and his people with him, and there is no word of them till they came to the Land of Promise where Finn's nurse was. And when she saw Finn coming she was very joyful before him. And Finn told her the whole story from beginning to end, and the cause of his quarrel with Diarmuid; and he said it was to ask an advice from her he was come, and that it was not possible to put him down by any strength of an army, unless enchantment would put him down. "I will go with you," said the old woman, "and I will do enchantment on him." Finn was very glad when he heard that, and he stopped there that night, and they set out for Ireland on the morrow. And when they came to Brugh na Boinne, the nurse put a Druid mist around Finn and the Fianna, the way no one could know they were there. Now the day before that, Osgar had parted from Diarmuid, and Diarmuid was out hunting by himself. That was shown to the hag, and she took a drowned leaf having a hole in it, like the quern of a mill, and she rose with that by her enchantments on a blast of Druid wind over Diarmuid, and began to aim at him through the hole with deadly spears, till she had done him great harm, for all his arms and his clothing, and he could not make away he was so hard pressed. And every danger he was ever in was little beside that danger. And it is what he thought, that unless he could strike the old woman through the hole that was in the leaf, she would give him his death there and then. And he lay down on his back, and the Gae Dearg, the Red Spear, in his hand, and he made a great cast of the spear, that it went through the hole, and the hag fell dead on the spot. And he struck off her head and brought it back with him to Angus Og. And the next morning early, Angus rose up, and he went where Finn was, and he asked would he make peace with Diarmuid, and Finn said he would. And then he went to the King of Ireland to ask peace for Diarmuid, and he said he would agree to it. And then he went back to where Diarmuid and Grania were, and asked him would he make peace with the High King and with Finn. "I am willing," said Diarmuid, "if they will give the conditions I will ask." "What conditions are those?" said Angus. "The district my father had," said Diarmuid, "that is, the district of Ui Duibhne, without right of hunting to Finn, and without rent or tribute to the King of Ireland, and with that the district of Dumhais in Leinster, for they are the best in Ireland, and the district of Ceis Corainn from the King of Ireland as a marriage portion with his daughter; and those are the conditions on which I will make peace with them." "Would you be peaceable if you got those conditions?" said Angus. "It would go easier with me to make peace if I got them," said Diarmuid. Then Angus went with that news to where the King of Ireland was with Finn. And they gave him all those conditions, and they forgave him all he had done through the whole of the time he had been in his hiding, that was sixteen years. And the place Diarmuid and Grania settled in was Rath Grania, in the district of Ceis Corainn, far away from Finn and from Teamhair. And Grania bore him children there, four sons and one daughter. And they lived there in peace, and the people used to be saying there was not a man living at the same time was richer as to gold and to silver, as to cattle and to sheep, than Diarmuid. CHAPTER VIII. THE BOAR OF BEINN GULBAIN But at last one day Grania spoke to Diarmuid, and it is what she said, that it was a shame on them, with all the people and the household they had, and all their riches, the two best men in Ireland never to have come to the house, the High King, her father, and Finn, son of Cumhal. "Why do you say that, Grania," said Diarmuid, "and they being enemies to me?" "It is what I would wish," said Grania, "to give them a feast, the way you would get their affection." "I give leave for that," said Diarmuid. So Grania was making ready a great feast through the length of a year, and messengers were sent for the High King of Ireland, and for Finn and the seven battalions of the Fianna; and they came, and they were using the feast from day to day through the length of a year. And on the last night of the year, Diarmuid was in his sleep at Rath Grania; and in the night he heard the voice of hounds through his sleep, and he started up, and Grania caught him and put her two arms about him, and asked what had startled him. "The voice of a hound I heard," said he; "and it is a wonder to me to hear that in the night." "Safe keeping on you," said Grania, "for it is the Tuatha de Danaan are doing that on you, on account of Angus of Brugh na Boinn, and lie down on the bed again." But for all that no sleep came to him, and he heard the voice of the hound again, and he started up a second time to follow after it. But Grania caught hold of him the second time and bade him to lie down, and she said it was no fitting thing to go after the voice of a hound in the night. So he lay down again, and he fell asleep, but the voice of the hound awakened him the third time. And the day was come with its full light that time, and he said: "I will go after the voice of the hound now, since the day is here." "If that is so," said Grania, "bring the Mor-alltach, the Great Fierce One, the sword of Manannan, with you, and the Gae Dearg." "I will not," he said; "but I will take the Beag-alltach, the Little Fierce One, and the Gae Buidhe in the one hand, and the hound Mac an Chuill, the Son of the Hazel, in the other hand." Then Diarmuid went out of Rath Grania, and made no delay till he came to the top of Beinn Gulbain, and he found Finn before him there, without any one at all in his company. Diarmuid gave him no greeting, but asked him was it he was making that hunt. Finn said it was not a hunt he was making, but that he and some of the Fianna had gone out after midnight; "and one of our hounds that was loose beside us, came on the track of a wild boar," he said, "and they were not able to bring him back yet. And there is no use following that boar he is after," he said, "for it is many a time the Fianna hunted him, and he went away from them every time till now, and he has killed thirty of them this morning. And he is coming up the mountain towards us," he said, "and let us leave this hill to him now." "I will not leave the hill through fear of him," said Diarmuid. "It would be best for you, Diarmuid," said Finn, "for it is the earless Green Boar of Beinn Gulbain is in it, and it is by him you will come to your death, and Angus knew that well when he put bonds on you not to go hunting pigs." "I never knew of those bonds," said Diarmuid; "but however it is, I will not quit this through fear of him. And let you leave Bran with me now," he said, "along with Mac an Chuill." "I will not," said Finn, "for it is often he met this boar before and could do nothing against him." He went away then and left Diarmuid alone on the top of the hill. "I give my word," said Diarmuid, "you made this hunt for my death, Finn; and if it is here I am to find my death," he said, "I have no use in going aside from it now." The boar came up the face of the mountain then, and the Fianna after him. Diarmuid loosed Mac an Chuill from his leash then, but that did not serve him, for he did not wait for the boar, but ran from him. "It is a pity not to follow the advice of a good woman," said Diarmuid, "for Grania bade me this morning to bring the Mor-alltach and the Gae Dearg with me." Then he put his finger into the silken string of the Gae Buidhe, and took a straight aim at the boar and hit him full in the face; but if he did, the spear did not so much as give him a scratch. Diarmuid was discouraged by that, but he drew the Beag-alltach, and made a full stroke at the back of the boar, but neither did that make a wound on him, but it made two halves of the sword. Then the boar made a brave charge at Diarmuid, that cut the sod from under his feet and brought him down; but Diarmuid caught hold of the boar on rising, and held on to him, having one of his legs on each side of him, and his face to his hinder parts. And the boar made away headlong down the hill, but he could not rid himself of Diarmuid; and he went on after that to Ess Ruadh, and when he came to the red stream he gave three high leaps over it, backwards and forwards, but he could not put him from his back, and he went back by the same path till he went up the height of the mountain again. And at last on the top of the mountain he freed himself, and Diarmuid fell on the ground. And then the boar made a rush at him, and ripped him open, that his bowels came out about his feet. But if he did, Diarmuid made a cast at him with the hilt of his sword that was in his hand yet, and dashed out his brains, so that he fell dead there and then. And Rath na h-Amhrann, the Rath of the Sword Hilt, is the name of that place to this day. It was not long till Finn and the Fianna of Ireland came to the place, and the pains of death were coming on Diarmuid at that time. "It is well pleased I am to see you that way, Diarmuid," said Finn; "and it is a pity all the women of Ireland not to be looking at you now, for your great beauty is turned to ugliness, and your comely shape to uncomeliness." "For all that, you have power to heal me, Finn," said Diarmuid, "if you had a mind to do it." "What way could I heal you?" said Finn. "Easy enough," said Diarmuid, "for the time you were given the great gift of knowledge at the Boinn, you got this gift with it, that any one you would give a drink to out of the palms of your hands would be young and well again from any sickness after it." "You are not deserving of that drink from me," said Finn. "That is not true," said Diarmuid; "it is well I deserve it from you; for the time you went to the house of Dearc, son of Donnarthadh, and your chief men with you for a feast, your enemies came round the house, and gave out three great shouts against you, and threw fire and firebrands into it. And you rose up and would have gone out, but I bade you to stop there at drinking and pleasure, for that I myself would go out and put them down. And I went out, and put out the flames, and made three red rushes round the house, and I killed fifty in every rush, and I came in again without a wound. And it is glad and merry and in good courage you were that night, Finn," he said, "and if it was that night I had asked a drink of you, you would have given it; and it would be right for you to give it to me now." "That is not so," said Finn; "it is badly you have earned a drink or any good thing from me; for the night you went to Teamhair with me, you took Grania away from me in the presence of all the men of Ireland, and you being my own guard over her that night." "Do not blame me for that, Finn," said Diarmuid, "for what did I ever do against you, east or west, but that one thing; and you know well Grania put bonds on me, and I would not fail in my bonds for the gold of the whole world. And you will know it is well I have earned a drink from you, if you bring to mind the night the feast was made in the House of the Quicken Tree, and how you and all your men were bound there till I heard of it, and came fighting and joyful, and loosed you with my own blood, and with the blood of the Three Kings of the Island of the Floods; and if I had asked a drink of you that night, Finn, you would not have refused it. And I was with you in the smiting of Lon, son of Liobhan, and you are the man that should not forsake me beyond any other man. And many is the strait has overtaken yourself and the Fianna of Ireland since I came among you, and I was ready every time to put my body and my life in danger for your sake, and you ought not to do this unkindness on me now. And besides that," he said, "there has many a good champion fallen through the things you yourself have done, and there is not an end of them yet; and there will soon come great misfortunes on the Fianna, and it is few of their seed will be left after them. And it is not for yourself I am fretting, Finn," he said, "but for Oisin and Osgar, and the rest of my dear comrades, and as for you, Oisin, you will be left lamenting after the Fianna. And it is greatly you will feel the want of me yet, Finn," he said; "and if the women of the Fianna knew I was lying in my wounds on this ridge, it is sorrowful their faces would be at this time." And Osgar said then: "Although I am nearer in blood to you, Finn, than to Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, I will not let you refuse him this drink; and by my word," he said, "if any prince in the world would do the same unkindness to Diarmuid that you have done, it is only the one of us that has the strongest hand would escape alive. And give him a drink now without delay," he said. "I do not know of any well at all on this mountain," said Finn. "That is not so," said Diarmuid, "for there is not nine footsteps from you the well that has the best fresh water that can be found in the world." Then Finn went to the well, and he took the full of his two hands of the water. But when he was no more than half-way back, the thought of Grania came on him, and he let the water slip through his hands, and he said he was not able to bring it. "I give my word," said Diarmuid, "it was of your own will you let it from you." Then Finn went back the second time to get the water, but coming back he let it through his hands again at the thought of Grania. And Diarmuid gave a pitiful sigh of anguish when he saw that. "I swear by my sword and by my spear," said Osgar, "that if you do not bring the water without any more delay, Finn, there will not leave this hill but yourself or myself." Finn went back the third time to the well after what Osgar said, and he brought the water to Diarmuid, but as he reached him the life went out of his body. Then the whole company of the Fianna that were there gave three great heavy shouts, keening for Diarmuid. And Osgar looked very fiercely at Finn, and it is what he said, that it was a greater pity Diarmuid to be dead than if he himself had died. And the Fianna of Ireland had lost their yoke of battle by him, he said. "Let us leave this hill," said Finn then, "before Angus and the Tuatha de Danaan come upon us, for although we have no share in the death of Diarmuid, he would not believe the truth from us." "I give my word," said Osgar, "if I had thought it was against Diarmuid you made the hunt of Beinn Gulbain, you would never have made it" Then Finn and the Fianna went away from the hill, and Finn leading Diarmuid's hound Mac an Chuill. But Oisin and Osgar and Caoilte and Lugaidh's Son turned back again and put their four cloaks over Diarmuid, and then they went after the rest of the Fianna. And when they came to the Rath, Grania was out on the wall looking for news of Diarmuid; and she saw Finn and the Fianna of Ireland coming towards her. Then she said: "If Diarmuid was living, it is not led by Finn that Mac an Chuill would be coming home." And she was at that time heavy with child, and her strength went from her and she fell down from the wall. And when Oisin saw the way she was he bade Finn and the others to go on from her, but she lifted up her head and she asked Finn to leave Mac an Chuill with her. And he said he would not, and that he did not think it too much for him to inherit from Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne. When Oisin heard that, he snatched the hound out of Finn's hand and gave it to Grania, and then he followed after his people. Then when Grania was certain of Diarmuid's death she gave out a long very pitiful cry that was heard through the whole place, and her women and her people came to her, and asked what ailed her to give a cry like that. And she told them how Diarmuid had come to his death by the Boar of Beinn Gulbain in the hunt Finn had made. "And there is grief in my very heart," she said, "I not to be able to fight myself with Finn, and I would not have let him go safe out of this place." When her people heard of the death of Diarmuid they gave three great heavy cries in the same way, that were heard in the clouds and the waste places of the sky. And then Grania bade the five hundred that she had for household to go to Beinn Gulbain for the body of Diarmuid. And when they were bringing it back, she went out to meet them, and they put down the body of Diarmuid, and it is what she said: "I am your wife, beautiful Diarmuid, the man I would do no hurt to; it is sorrowful I am after you to-night. "I am looking at the hawk and the hound my secret love used to be hunting with; she that loved the three, let her be put in the grave with Diarmuid. "Let us be glad to-night, let us make all welcome to-night, let us be open-handed to-night, since we are sitting by the body of a king. "And O Diarmuid," she said, "it is a hard bed Finn has given you, to be lying on the stones and to be wet with the rain. Ochone!" she said, "your blue eyes to be without sight, you that were friendly and generous and pursuing. O love! O Diarmuid! it is a pity it is he sent you to your death. "You were a champion of the men of Ireland, their prop in the middle of the fight; you were the head of every battle; your ways were glad and pleasant. "It is sorrowful I am, without mirth, without light, but only sadness and grief and long dying; your harp used to be sweet to me, it wakened my heart to gladness. Now my courage is fallen down, I not to hear you but to be always remembering your ways. Och! my grief is going through me. "A thousand curses on the day when Grania gave you her love, that put Finn of the princes from his wits; it is a sorrowful story your death is to-day. "Many heroes were great and strong about me in the beautiful plain; their hands were good at wrestling and at battle; Ochone! that I did not follow them. "You were the man was best of the Fianna, beautiful Diarmuid, that women loved. It is dark your dwelling-place is under the sod, it is mournful and cold your bed is; it is pleasant your laugh was to-day; you were my happiness, Diarmuid." And she went back then into the Rath, and bade her people to bring the body to her there. Now just at this time, it was showed to Angus at Brugh na Boinne that Diarmuid was dead on Beinn Gulbain, for he had kept no watch over him the night before. And he went on the cold wind towards Beinn Gulbain, and his people with him, and on the way they met with Grania's people that were bringing the body to the Rath. And when they saw him they held out the wrong sides of their shields as a sign of peace, and Angus knew them; and he and his people gave three great terrible cries over the body of Diarmuid. And Angus spoke then, and it is what he said: "I was never one night since the time I brought you to Brugh na Boinne, being nine months old, without keeping watch and protection over you till last night, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne; and now your blood has been shed and you have been cut off sharply, and the Boar of Beinn Gulbain has put you down, Diarmuid of the bright face and the bright sword. And it is a pity Finn to have done this treachery," he said, "and you at peace with him. "And lift up his body now," he said, "and bring it to the Brugh in the lasting rocks. And if I cannot bring him back to life," he said, "I will put life into him the way he can be talking with me every day." Then they put his body on a golden bier, and his spears over it pointed upwards, and they went on till they came to Brugh na Boinne. And Grania's people went to her and told her how Angus would not let them bring the body into the Rath, but brought it away himself to Brugh na Boinne. And Grania said she had no power over him. And she sent out then for her four sons that were being reared in the district of Corca Ui Duibhne. And when they came she gave them a loving welcome, and they came into the Rath and sat down there according to their age. And Grania spoke to them with a very loud, clear voice, and it is what she said: "My dear children, your father has been killed by Finn, son of Cumhal, against his own bond and agreement of peace, and let you avenge it well upon him. And here is your share of the inheritance of your father," she said, "his arms and his armour, and his feats of valour and power; and I will share these arms among you myself," she said, "and that they may bring you victory in every battle. Here is the sword for Donnchadh," she said, "the best son Diarmuid had; and the Gae Dearg for Eochaidh; and here is the armour for Ollann, for it will keep the body it is put on in safety; and the shield for Connla. And make no delay now," she said, "but go and learn every sort of skill in fighting, till such time as you will come to your full strength to avenge your father." So they took leave of her then, and of their household. And some of their people said: "What must we do now, since our lords will be going into danger against Finn and the Fianna of Ireland?" And Donnchadh, son of Diarmuid, bade them stop in their own places; "for if we make peace with Finn," he said, "there need be no fear on you, and if not, you can make your choice between ourselves and him." And with that they set out on their journey. But after a while Finn went secretly and unknown to the Fianna to the place where Grania was, and he got to see her in spite of all her high talk, and he spoke gently to her. And she would not listen to him, but bade him to get out of her sight, and whatever hard thing her tongue could say, she said it. But all the same, he went on giving her gentle talk and loving words, till in the end he brought her to his own will. And there is no news told of them, until such time as they came to where the seven battalions of the Fianna were waiting for Finn. And when they saw him coming, and Grania with him, like any new wife with her husband, they gave a great shout of laughter and of mockery, and Grania bowed down her head with shame, "By my word, Finn," said Oisin, "you will keep a good watch on Grania from this out." And some said the change had come on her because the mind of a woman changes like the water of a running stream; but some said it was Finn that had put enchantment on her. And as to the sons of Diarmuid, they came back at the end of seven years, after learning all that was to be learned of valour in the far countries of the world. And when they came back to Rath Grania they were told their mother was gone away with Finn, son of Cumhal, without leaving any word for themselves or for the King of Ireland. And they said if that was so, there was nothing for them to do. But after that they said they would make an attack on Finn, and they went forward to Almhuin, and they would take no offers, but made a great slaughter of every troop that came out against them. But at last Grania made an agreement of peace between themselves and Finn, and they got their father's place among the Fianna; and that was little good to them, for they lost their lives with the rest in the battle of Gabhra. And as to Finn and Grania, they stopped with one another to the end. BOOK EIGHT: CNOC-AN-AIR. CHAPTER I. TAILC, SON OF TREON One time the Fianna were all gathered together doing feats and casting stones. And after a while the Druid of Teamhair that was with them said: "I am in dread, Finn of the Fianna, that there is some trouble near at hand; and look now at those dark clouds of blood," he said, "that are threatening us side by side overhead. And there is fear on me," he said, "that there is some destruction coming on the Fianna." Finn looked up then, and he saw the great cloud of blood, and he called Osgar to look at it. "That need not knock a start from you," said Osgar, "with all the strength there is in your arms, and in the men that are with you." Then all the Fianna looked up at the cloud, and some of them were glad and cheerful and some were downhearted. Then the Druid bade Finn to call all his battalions together and to divide them into two halves, that they could be watching for the coming of the enemy. So Finn sounded the Dord Fiann, and they answered with a shout, every one hurrying to be the first. And Finn bade Osgar and Goll and Faolan to keep watch through the night, and he bade Conan the Bald to stop in the darkness of the cave of Liath Ard. "For it is you can shout loudest," he said, "to warn us if you see the enemy coming." "That I may be pierced through the middle of my body," said Conan, "if I will go watching for troubles or for armies alone, without some more of the Fianna being with me." "It is not fitting for you to refuse Finn," said Lugaidh's Son; "and it is you can shout the loudest," he said, "if the enemies come near the height." "Do not be speaking to me any more," said Conan, "for I will not go there alone, through the length of my days, for Finn and the whole of the Fianna." "Go then, Conan," said Osgar, "and Aodh Beag will go with you, and you can bring dogs with you, Bran and Sceolan and Fuaim and Fearagan; and let you go now without begrudging it," he said. So Conan went then to Liath Ard, and Aodh Beag and Finn's hounds along with him. And as to Finn, he lay down to sleep, and it was not long till he saw through his sleep Aodh Beag his son, and he without his head. And after that he saw Goll fighting with a very strong man. And he awoke from his sleep, and called the Druid of the Fianna to him, and asked him the meaning of what he saw. "I am in dread there is some destruction coming on the Fianna," said the Druid; "but Aodh Beag will not be wounded in the fight, or Goll," he said. And it was not long till Finn heard a great shout, and he sounded the Dord Fiann, and then he saw Conan running, and the hounds after him. And Finn sounded the Dord Fiann again before Conan came up, and when he came, Osgar asked him where was Aodh Beag. "He was at the door of the cave when I left it," said Conan, "but I did not look behind me since then," he said; "and it was not Aodh Beag was troubling me." "What was troubling you then?" said Osgar. "Nothing troubles me but myself," said Conan; "although I am well pleased at any good that comes to you," he said. Osgar went then running hard, till he came to the cave, and there he found Aodh Beag with no fear or trouble on him at all, stopping there till he would hear the noise of the shields. And Osgar brought him back to where the Fianna were, and they saw a great army coming as if in search of them. And a beautiful woman, having a crimson cloak, came to them over the plain, and she spoke to Finn, and her voice was as sweet as music. And Finn asked her who was she, and who did she come looking for. "I am the daughter of Garraidh, son of Dolar Dian, the Fierce," she said; "and my curse upon the King of Greece that bound me to the man that is following after me, and that I am going from, Tailc, son of Treon." "Tell me why are you shunning him, and I will protect you in spite of him," said Finn. "It is not without reason I hate him," said she, "for he has no good appearance, and his skin is of the colour of coal, and he has the head and the tail of a cat. And I have walked the world three times," she said, "and I did not leave a king or a great man without asking help from him, and I never got it yet." "I will give you protection," said Finn, "or the seven battalions of the Fianna will fall for your sake." With that they saw the big strange man, Tailc, son of Treon, coming towards them, and he said no word at all of greeting to Finn, but he called for a battle on account of his wife. So a thousand of the Fianna went out to meet him and his men; and if they did they all fell, and not one of them came back again. And then another thousand of the best men of the Fianna, having blue and green shields, went out under Caoilte, son of Ronan, and they were worsted by Tailc and his people. And then Osgar asked leave of Finn to go out and fight the big man. "I will give you leave," said Finn, "although I am sure you will fall by him." So Osgar went out, and he himself and Tailc, son of Treon, were fighting through the length of five days and five nights without food or drink or sleep. And at the end of that time, Osgar made an end of Tailc, and struck his head off. And when the Fianna saw that, they gave a shout of lamentation for those they had lost of the Fianna, and two shouts of joy for the death of Tailc. And as to the young woman, when she saw all the slaughter that had been done on account of her, shame reddened her face, and she fell dead there and then. And to see her die like that, after all she had gone through, preyed more on the Fianna than any other thing. CHAPTER II. MEARGACH'S WIFE And while the Fianna were gathered yet on the hill where Tailc, son of Treon, had been put down, they saw a very great champion coming towards them, having an army behind him. He took no notice of any one more than another, but he asked in a very rough voice where was Finn, the Head of the Fianna. And Aodh Beag, that had a quiet heart, asked him who was he, and what was he come for. "I will tell you nothing at all, child," said the big man, "for it is short your years are, and I will tell nothing at all to any one but Finn." So Aodh Beag brought him to where Finn was, and Finn asked him his name. "Meargach of the Green Spears is my name," he said; "and arms were never reddened yet on my body, and no one ever boasted of driving me backwards. And was it you, Finn," he said, "put down Tailc, son of Treon?" "It was not by me he fell," said Finn, "but by Osgar of the strong hand." "Was it not a great shame for you, Finn," said Meargach then, "to let the queen-woman that had such a great name come to her death by the Fianna?" "It was not by myself or by any of the Fianna she got her death," said Finn; "it was seeing the army lost that brought her to her death. But if it is satisfaction for her death or the death of Tailc you want," he said, "You can get it from a man of the Fianna, or you can go quietly from this place." Then Meargach said he would fight with any man they would bring against him, to avenge Tailc, son of Treon. And it was Osgar stood up against him, and they fought a very hard fight through the length of three days, and at one time the Fianna thought it was Osgar was worsted, and they gave a great sorrowful shout. But in the end Osgar put down Meargach and struck his head off, and at that the seven battalions of the Fianna gave a shout of victory, and the army of Meargach keened him very sorrowfully. And after that, the two sons of Meargach, Ciardan the Swift and Liagan the Nimble, came up and asked who would come against them, hand to hand, that they might get satisfaction for their father. And it was Goll stood up against Ciardan, and it was not long till he put him down; and Conan came out against Liagan, and Liagan mocked at him and said: "It is foolishness your coming is, bald man!" But Conan made a quick blow and struck his head off before the fight was begun at all. And Faolan said that was a shameful thing to do, not to stand his ground and make a fair fight. But Conan said: "If I could make an end of the whole army by one blow, I would do it, and I would not be ashamed, and the whole of the Fianna could not shelter them from me." Then the two armies came towards each other, and they were making ready for the attack. And they saw a beautiful golden-haired woman coming towards them, and she crying and ever crying, and the battle was given up on both sides, waiting for her to come; and the army of Meargach knew it was their queen, Ailne of the Bright Face, and they raised a great cry of grief; and the Fianna were looking at her, and said no word. And she asked where was her husband, and where were her two sons. "High Queen," said Finn then, "for all they were so complete and quick and strong, the three you are asking for fell in fight." And when the queen-woman heard that, she cried out aloud, and she went to the place where her husband and her two sons were lying, and she stood over their bodies, and her golden hair hanging, and she keened them there. And her own people raised a sharp lamentation listening to her, and the Fianna themselves were under grief. And it is what she said: "O Meargach," she said, "of the sharp green spears, it is many a fight and many a heavy battle your hard hand fought in the gathering of the armies or alone. "I never knew any wound to be on your body after them; and it is full sure I am, it was not strength but treachery got the upper hand of you now. "It is long your journey was from far off, from your own kind country to Inisfail, to come to Finn and the Fianna, that put my three to death through treachery. "My grief! to have lost my husband, my head, by the treachery of the Fianna; my two sons, my two men that were rough in the fight. "My grief! my food and my drink; my grief! my teaching everywhere; my grief! my journey from far off, and I to have lost my high heroes. "My grief! my house thrown down; my grief! my shelter and my shield; my grief! Meargach and Ciardan; my grief! Liagan of the wide chest. "My grief! my protection and my shelter; my grief! my strength and my power; my grief! there is darkness come from this thing; my grief to-night you to be in your weakness. "My grief! my gladness and my pleasure; my grief! my desire in every place; my grief! my courage is gone and my strength; my grief from this night out for ever. "My grief! my guide and my going; my grief! my desire to the day of my death; my grief! my store and my sway; my grief! my heroes that were open-handed. "My grief! my bed and my sleep; my grief! my journey and my coming; my grief! my teacher and my share; my sorrowful grief! my three men. "My grief! my beauty and my ornaments; my grief! my jewels and my riches; my grief! my treasures and my goods; my grief! my three Candles of Valour. "My grief! my friends and my kindred; my grief! my people and my friends. My grief! my father and my mother; my grief and my trouble! you to be dead. "My grief my portion and my welcome; my grief! my health at every time; my grief! my increase and my light; my sore trouble, you to be without strength. "My grief! your spear and your sword; my grief! your gentleness and your love; my grief! your country and your home; my grief! you to be parted from my reach. "My grief! my coasts and my harbours; my grief! my wealth and my prosperity; my grief! my greatness and my kingdom; my grief and my crying are until death. "My grief! my luck altogether; my grief for you in time of battle; my grief! my gathering of armies; my grief! my three proud lions. "My grief! my games and my drinking; my grief! my music and my delight; my grief! my sunny house and my women; my crying grief, you to be under defeat. "My grief! my lands and my hunting; my grief! my three sure fighters; Och! my grief! they are my sorrow, to fall far off by the Fianna. "I knew by the great host of the Sidhe that were fighting over the dun, giving battle to one another in the valleys of the air, that destruction would put down my three. "I knew by the noise of the voices of the Sidhe coming into my ears, that a story of new sorrow was not far from me; it is your death it was foretelling. "I knew at the beginning of the day when my three good men went from me, when I saw tears of blood on their cheeks, that they would not come back to me as winners. "I knew by the voice of the battle-crow over your dun every evening, since you went from me comely and terrible, that misfortune and grief were at hand. "It is well I remember, my three strong ones, how often I used to be telling you that if you would go to Ireland, I would not see the joy of victory on your faces. "I knew by the voice of the raven every morning since you went from me, that your fall was sure and certain; that you would never come back to your own country. "I knew, my three great ones, by your forgetting the thongs of your hounds, that you would not gain the day or escape from the treachery of the Fianna. "I knew, Candles of Valour, by the stream near the dun turning to blood when you set out, that there would be treachery in Finn. "I knew by the eagle coming every evening over the dun, that it would not be long till I would hear a story of bad news of my three. "I knew by the withering of the tree before the dun, that you would never come back as conquerors from the treachery of Finn, son of Cumhal." When Grania, now, heard what the woman was saying, there was anger on her, and she said: "Do not be speaking against Finn or the Fianna, Queen, for it was not by any treachery or any deceit your three men were brought to their end." But Ailne made her no answer and gave no heed to her, but she went on with her complaint, and she crying and ever crying. "I knew, looking after you the day you went out from the dun, by the flight of the raven before you, there was no good sign of your coming back again. "I knew by Ciardan's hounds that were howling mournfully every evening, that it would not be long till I would have bad news of you. "I knew by my sleep that went from me, by my tears through every lasting night, that there was no luck before you. "I knew by the sorrowful vision that showed myself in danger, my head and my hands cut off, that it was yourselves were without sway. "I knew by the voice of Uaithnin, the hound that is dearest to Liagan, howling early every morning, that death was certain for my three. "I knew when I saw in a vision a lake of blood in the place of the dun, that my three were put down by the deceit that was always with Finn." "Do not be faulting Finn," said Grania then, "however vexed your heart may be. And leave off now," she said, "speaking against the Fianna and against himself; for if your men had stopped in their own country," she said, "without coming to avenge the son of Treon, there would no harm have happened them." "I would not put any reproach on the Fianna, Grania," said Ailne, "if my three men had been put down in fair battle, but they are not living to bear witness to me," she said; "and it is likely they were put under Druid spells at the first, or they would never have given in." "If they were living, Queen," said Grania, "they would not be running down the Fianna, but they would tell you it was by bravery and the strong hand they fell." "I do not believe you or the Fianna when you say that," said Ailne; "for no one that came to meet them ever got the sway over them by the right of the sword." "If you do not believe what I am saying, beautiful Ailne," said Grania, "I tell you more of your great army will fall by the Fianna, and that not by treachery." "That is not so," said Ailne, "but I have good hopes that my own army will do destruction on the Fianna, for the sake of the men that are dead." "Well, Ailne," said Grania, "I know it is a far journey you have come. And come now and eat and drink," she said, "with myself and with the Fianna." But Ailne would not do that, but she said it would not be fitting for her to take food from people that did such deeds, and what she wanted was satisfaction for the death of her husband and her two sons. And first it was settled for two men of each side to go out against one another; and then Ailne said that there should be thirty men on each side, and then she said she would not be satisfied to go back to her own country till she brought the head of Finn with her, or till the last of his men had fallen. And there was a great battle fought in the end, and it is seldom the Fianna fought so hard a battle as that. And it would be too long to tell, and it would tire the hearers, how many good men were killed on each side. But in the end Ailne of the Bright Face was worsted, and she went back with what were left of her men to their own country, and no one knew where they went. And the hill in the west those battles were fought on got the name of Cnoc-an-Air, the Hill of Slaughter. CHAPTER III. AILNE'S REVENGE One day Finn and his people were hunting on Slieve Fuad, and a stag stood against them for a while and fought with his great rough horns, and then he turned and ran, and the Fianna followed after him till they came to the green hill of Liadhas, and from that to rocky Cairgin. And there they lost him again for a while, till Sceolan started him again, and he went back towards Slieve Fuad, and the Fianna after him. But Finn and Daire of the Songs, that were together, went astray and lost the rest of their people, and they did not know was it east or west they were going. Finn sounded the Dord Fiann then, and Daire played some sorrowful music to let their people know where they were. But when the Fianna heard the music, it seemed to be a long way off; and sometimes they thought it was in the north it was, and sometimes in the east, and then it changed to the west, the way they did not know in the wide world where was it coming from. And as to Finn and Daire, a Druid mist came about them, and they did not know what way they were going. And after a while they met with a young woman, comely and pleasant, and they asked who was she, and what brought her there. "Glanluadh is my name," she said, "and my husband is Lobharan; and we were travelling over the plain together a while ago, and we heard the cry of hounds, and he left me and went after the hunt, and I do not know where is he, or what way did he go." "Come on then with us," said Finn, "and we will take care of you, for we ourselves do not know what way the hunt is gone, east or west." So they went on, and before long they came to a hill, and they heard sleepy music of the Sidhe beside them. And after that there came shouts and noises, and then the music began again, and heavy sleep came on Finn and Daire. And when they awoke from their sleep they saw a very large lighted house before them, and a stormy blue sea around it. Then they saw a very big grey man coming through the waves, and he took hold of Finn and of Daire, and all their strength went from them, and he brought them across the waves and into the house, and he shut the door of the house with iron hooks. "My welcome to you, Finn of the great name," he said then in a very harsh voice; "it is long we are waiting here for you." They sat down then on the hard side of a bed, and the woman of the house came to them, and they knew her to be Ailne, wife of Meargach. "It is long I am looking for you, Finn," she said, "to get satisfaction for the treachery you did on Meargach and on my two comely young sons, and on Tailc, son of Treon, and all his people. And do you remember that, Finn?" she said. "I remember well," said Finn, "that they fell by the swords of the Fianna, not by treachery but in fighting." "It was by treachery they fell," said the Grey Man then; "and it is our witness to it, pleasant Ailne to be the way she is, and many a strong army under grief on account of her." "What is Ailne to you, man of the rough voice?" said Finn. "I am her own brother," said the man. With that he put bonds on the three, Finn and Daire and Glanluadh, and he put them down into some deep shut place. They were very sorrowful then, and they stopped there to the end of five days and five nights, without food, without drink, without music. And Ailne went to see them then, and Finn said to her: "O Ailne," he said, "bring to mind the time you come to Cnoc-an-Air, and the way the Fianna treated you with generosity; and it is not fitting for you," he said, "to keep us now under shame and weakness and in danger of death." "I know well I got kind treatment from Grania," said Ailne in a sorrowful voice; "but for all that, Finn," she said, "if all the Fianna were in that prison along with you under hard bonds, it would please me well, and I would not pity their case. And what is it set you following after Finn," she said then to Glanluadh, "for that is not a fitting thing for you to do, and his own kind wife living yet." Then Glanluadh told her the whole story, and how she was walking the plain with Lobharan her husband, and he followed the hunt, and the mist came about her that she did not know east from west, and how she met then with Finn that she never saw before that time. "If that is so," said Ailne, "it is not right for you to be under punishment without cause." She called then to her brother the Grey Man, and bade him take the spells off Glanluadh. And when she was set free it is sorry she was to leave Daire in bonds, and Finn. And when she had bidden them farewell she went out with Ailne, and there was food brought to her, but a cloud of weakness came on her of a sudden, that it was a pity to see the way she was. And when Ailne saw that, she brought out an enchanted cup of the Sidhe and gave her a drink from it. And no sooner did Glanluadh drink from the cup than her strength and her own appearance came back to her again; but for all that, she was fretting after Finn and Daire in their bonds. "It seems to me, Glanluadh, you are fretting after those two men," said Ailne. "I am sorry indeed," said Glanluadh, "the like of those men to be shut up without food or drink." "If it is pleasing to you to give them food you may give it," said Ailne, "for I will not make an end of them till I see can I get the rest of the Fianna into bonds along with them." The two women brought food and drink then to Finn, and to Daire; and Glanluadh gave her blessing to Finn, and she cried when she saw the way he was; but as to Ailne, she had no pity at all for the King of the Fianna. Now as to the Grey Man, he heard them talking of the Fianna, and they were saying that Daire had a great name for the sweetness of his music. "I have a mind to hear that sweet music," said he. So he went to the place where they were, and he bade Daire to let him hear what sort of music he could make. "My music pleased the Fianna well," said Daire; "but I think it likely it would not please you." "Play it for me now, till I know if the report I heard of you is true," said the Grey Man. "Indeed, I have no mind for music," said Daire, "being weak and downhearted the way I am, through your spells that put down my courage." "I will take my spells off you for so long as you play for me," said the Grey Man. "I could never make music seeing Finn in bonds the way he is," said Daire; "for it is worse to me, he to be under trouble than myself." "I will take the power of my spells off Finn till you play for me," said the Grey Man. He weakened the spells then, and gave them food and drink, and it pleased him greatly the way Daire played the music, and he called to Glanluadh and to Ailne to come and to listen to the sweetness of it. And they were well pleased with it, and it is glad Glanluadh was, seeing them not so discouraged as they were. Now as to the Fianna, they were searching for Finn and for Daire in every place they had ever stopped in. And when they came to this place they could hear Daire's sweet music; and at first they were glad when they heard it, and then when they knew the way he himself and Finn were, they made an attack on Ailne's dun to release them. But the Grey Man heard their shouts, and he put the full power of his spells again on Finn and on Daire. And the Fianna heard the music as if stammering, and then they heard a great noise like the loud roaring of waves, and when they heard that, there was not one of them but fell into a sleep and clouds of death, under those sorrowful spells. And then the Grey Man and Ailne came out quietly from where they were, and they brought the whole of the men of the Fianna that were there into the dun. And they put hard bonds on them, and put them where Finn and Daire were. And there was great grief on Finn and Daire when they saw them, and they were all left there together for a while. Then Glanluadh said to the Grey Man: "If Daire's music is pleasing to you, let him play it to us now." "If you have a mind for music," said the Grey Man, "Daire must play it for us, and for Finn and his army as well." They went then to where they were, and bade Daire to play. "I could never play sweet music," said Daire, "the time the Fianna are in any trouble; for when they are in trouble, I myself am in trouble, and I could not sound any sweet string," he said, "while there is trouble on any man of them." The Grey Man weakened the spells then on them all, and Daire played first the strings of sweetness, and of the noise of shouting, and then he sang his own grief and the grief of all the Fianna. And at that the Grey Man said it would not be long before he would put the whole of the Fianna to death; and then Daire played a tune of heavy shouts of lamentation. And then at Finn's bidding he played the music of sweet strings for the Fianna. They were kept, now, a long time in that prison, and they got very hard treatment; and sometimes Ailne's brother would come in and strike the heads off some of them, for none of them could rise up from the seats they were sitting on through his enchantments. But one time he was going to strike the bald head off Conan, and Conan made a great leap from the seat; but if he did, he left strips of his skin hanging to it, that his back was left bare. And then he came round the Grey Man with his pitiful words: "Stop your hand now," he said, "for that is enough for this time; and do not send me to my death yet awhile, and heal me of my wounds first," he said, "before you make an end of me." And the reason he said that was because he knew Ailne to have an enchanted cup in the dun, that had cured Glanluadh. And the Grey Man took pity on his case, and he brought him out and bade Ailne to bring the cup to him and to cure his wounds. "I will not bring it," said Ailne, "for it would be best give no time at all to him or to the Fianna, but to make an end of them." "It is not to be saved from death I am asking, bright-faced Ailne," said Conan, "but only not to go to my death stripped bare the way I am." When Ailne heard that, she brought a sheepskin and she put it on Conan's back, and it fitted and grew to him, and covered his wounds. "I will not put you to death, Conan," said the Grey Man then, "but you can stop with myself to the end of your life." "You will never be without grief and danger and the fear of treachery if you keep him with you," said Ailne; "for there is treachery in his heart the same as there is in the rest of them." "There is no fear of that," said her brother, "or I will make no delay until I put the whole of the Fianna to death." And with that he brought Conan to where the enchanted cup was, and he put it in his hand. And just at that moment they heard Daire playing very sweet sorrowful music, and the Grey Man went to listen to it, very quick and proud. And Conan followed him there, and after a while the Grey Man asked him what did he do with the enchanted cup. "I left it where I found it, full of power," said Conan. The Grey Man hurried back then to the place where the treasures of the dun were. But no sooner was he gone than Conan took out the cup that he had hidden, and he gave a drink from it to Finn and to Osgar and to the rest of the Fianna. And they that were withered and shaking, without strength, without courage, got back their own appearance and their strength again on the moment. And when the Grey Man came back from looking for the cup, and saw what had happened, he took his sword and made a stroke at Conan. But Conan called to Osgar to defend him, and Osgar attacked the Grey Man, and it was not long till he made him acquainted with death. And when Ailne saw that, with the grief and the dread that came on her, she fell dead then and there. Then all the Fianna made a feast with what they found of food and of drink, and they were very joyful and merry. But when they rose up in the morning, there was no trace or tidings of the dun, but it was on the bare grass they were lying. But as to Conan, the sheepskin never left him; and the wool used to grow on it every year, the same as it would on any other skin. BOOK NINE: THE WEARING AWAY OF THE FIANNA. CHAPTER I. THE QUARREL WITH THE SONS OF MORNA One time when the Fianna were gone here and there hunting, Black Garraidh and Caoilte were sitting beside Finn, and they were talking of the battle where Finn's father was killed. And Finn said then to Garraidh: "Tell me now, since you were there yourself, what way was it you brought my father Cumhal to his death?" "I will tell you that since you ask me," said Garraidh; "it was my own hand and the hands of the rest of the sons of Morna that made an end of him." "That is cold friendship from my followers the sons of Morna," said Finn. "If it is cold friendship," said Garraidh, "put away the liking you are letting on to have for us, and show us the hatred you have for us all the while." "If I were to lift my hand against you now, sons of Morna," said Finn, "I would be well able for you all without the help of any man." "It was by his arts Cumhal got the upper hand of us," said Garraidh; "and when he got power over us," he said, "he banished us to every far country; a share of us he sent to Alban, and a share of us to dark Lochlann, and a share of us to bright Greece, parting us from one another; and for sixteen years we were away from Ireland, and it was no small thing to us to be without seeing one another through that time. And the first day we came back to Ireland," he said, "we killed sixteen hundred men, and no lie in it, and not a man of them but would be keened by a hundred. And we took their duns after that," he said, "and we went on till we were all around one house in Munster of the red walls. But so great was the bravery of the man in that house, that was your father, that it was easier to find him than to kill him. And we killed all that were of his race out on the hill, and then we made a quick rush at the house where Cumhal was, and every man of us made a wound on his body with his spear. And I myself was in it, and it was I gave him the first wound. And avenge it on me now, Finn, if you have a mind to," he said. * * * * * It was not long after that, Finn gave a feast at Almhuin for all his chief men, and there came to it two sons of the King of Alban, and sons of the kings of the great world. And when they were all sitting at the feast, the serving-men rose up and took drinking-horns worked by skilled men, and having shining stones in them, and they poured out strong drink for the champions; and it is then mirth rose up in their young men, and courage in their fighting men, and kindness and gentleness in their women, and knowledge and foreknowledge in their poets. And then a crier rose up and shook a rough iron chain to silence the clowns and the common lads and idlers, and then he shook a chain of old silver to silence the high lords and chief men of the Fianna, and the learned men, and they all listened and were silent. And Fergus of the True Lips rose up and sang before Finn the songs and the good poems of his forefathers; and Finn and Oisin and Lugaidh's Son rewarded him with every good thing. And then he went on to Goll, son of Morna, and told the fights and the destructions and the cattle-drivings and the courtings of his fathers; and it is well-pleased and high-minded the sons of Morna were, listening to that. And Goll said then: "Where is my woman-messenger?" "I am here, King of the Fianna," said she. "Have you brought me my hand-tribute from the men of Lochlann?" "I have brought it surely," said she. And with that she rose up and laid on the floor of the hall before Goll a load of pure gold, the size of a good pig, and that would be a heavy load for a strong man. And Goll loosened the covering that was about it, and he gave Fergus a good reward from it as he was used to do; for there never was a wise, sharp-worded poet, or a sweet harp-player, or any learned man of Ireland or of Alban, but Goll would give him gold or silver or some good thing. And when Finn saw that, he said: "How long is it, Goll, you have this rent on the men of Lochlann, and my own rent being on them always with it, and one of my own men, Ciaran son of Latharne, and ten hundred men of his household, guarding it and guarding my right of hunting?" And Goll saw there was anger on Finn, and he said: "It is a long time, Finn, I have that rent on the men of Lochlann, from the time your father put war and quarrels on me, and the King of Ireland joined with him, and I was made to quit Ireland by them. And I went into Britain," he said, "and I took the country and killed the king himself and did destruction on his people, but Cumhal put me out of it; and from that I went to Fionnlochlann, and the king fell by me, and his household, and Cumhal put me out of it; and I went from that to the country of the Saxons, and the king and his household fell by me, and Cumhal put me out of it. But I came back then to Ireland, and I fought a battle against your father, and he fell by me there. And it was at that time I put this rent upon the men of Lochlann. And, Finn," he said, "it is not a rent of the strong hand you have put on them, but it is a tribute for having the protection of the Fianna of Ireland, and I do not lessen that. And you need not begrudge that tribute to me," he said, "for if I had more than that again, it is to you and to the men of Ireland I would give it." There was great anger on Finn then, and he said: "You tell me, Goll," he said, "by your own story, that you came from the city of Beirbhe to fight against my father, and that you killed him in the battle; and it is a bold thing you to tell that to me." "By your own hand," said Goll, "if you were to give me the same treatment your father gave me, I would pay you the same way as I paid him." "It would be hard for you to do that," said Finn, "for there are a hundred men in my household against every man there is in your household." "That was the same with your father," said Goll, "and I avenged my disgrace on him; and I would do the same on yourself if you earned it," he said. Then Cairell of the White Skin, son of Finn, said: "It is many a man of Finn's household you have put down, Goll!" And Bald Conan when he heard that said: "I swear by my arms, Goll was never without having a hundred men in his household, every one of them able to get the better of yourself." "And is it to them you belong, crooked-speaking, bare-headed Conan?" said Cairell. "It is to them I belong, you black, feeble, nail-scratching, rough-skinned Cairell; and I will make you know it was Finn was in the wrong," said Conan. With that Cairell rose up and gave a furious blow of his fist to Conan, and Conan took it with no great patience, but gave him back a blow in his teeth, and from that they went on to worse blows again. And the two sons of Goll rose up to help Conan, and Osgar went to the help of Cairell, and it was not long till many of the chief men of the Fianna were fighting on the one side or the other, on the side of Finn or on the side of the sons of Morna. But then Fergus of the True Lips rose up, and the rest of the poets of the Fianna along with him, and they sang their songs and their poems to check and to quiet them. And they left off their fighting at the sound of the poets' songs, and they let their weapons fall on the floor, and the poets took them up, and made peace between the fighters; and they put bonds on Finn and on Goll to keep the peace for a while, till they could ask for a judgment from the High King of Ireland. And that was the end for that time of the little quarrel at Almhuin. But it broke out again, one time there was a falling out between Finn and Goll as to the dividing of a pig of the pigs of Manannan. And at Daire Tardha, the Oak Wood of Bulls, in the province of Connacht, there was a great fight between Finn's men and the sons of Morna. And the sons of Morna were worsted, and fifteen of their men were killed; and they made their mind up that from that time they would set themselves against any friends of Finn or of his people. And it was Conan the Bald gave them that advice, for he was always bitter, and a maker of quarrels and of mischief in every place. And they kept to their word, and spared no one. There was a yellow-haired queen that Finn loved, Berach Brec her name was, and she was wise and comely and worthy of any good man, and she had her house full of treasures, and never refused the asking of any. And any one that came to her house at Samhain time might stay till Beltaine, and have his choice then to go or to stay. And the sons of Morna had fostered her, and they went where she was and bade her to give up Finn and she need be in no dread of them. But she said she would not give up her kind lover to please them; and she was going away from them to her ship, and Art, son of Morna, made a cast of his spear that went through her body, that she died, and her people brought her up from the strand and buried her. And as to Goll, he took a little hound that Finn thought a great deal of, Conbeg its name was, and he drowned it in the sea; and its body was brought up to shore by a wave afterwards, and it was buried under a little green hill by the Fianna. And Caoilte made a complaint over it, and he said how swift the little hound was after deer, or wild pigs, and how good at killing them, and that it was a pity it to have died, out on the cold green waves. And about that time, nine women of the Tuatha de Danaan came to meet with nine men of the Fianna, and the sons of Morna saw them coming and made an end of them. And when Caoilte met with Goll, he made a cast of his spear at him that struck the golden helmet off his head and a piece of his flesh along with it. But Goll took it very proudly, and put on the helmet again and took up his weapons, and called out to his brothers that he was no way ashamed. And Finn went looking for the sons of Morna in every place to do vengeance on them. They were doing robbery and destruction one time in Slieve Echtge, that got its name from Echtge, daughter of Nuada of the Silver Hand, and Finn and the Fianna were to the west, at Slieve Cairn in the district of Corcomruadh. And Finn was in doubt if the sons of Morna were gone southward into Munster or north into Connacht. So he sent Aedan and Cahal, two sons of the King of Ulster, and two hundred righting men with them, into the beautiful pleasant province of Connacht, and every day they used to go looking for the sons of Morna from place to place. But after a while the three battalions of the Fianna that were in Corcomruadh saw the track of a troop of men, and they thought it to be the track of the sons of Morna; and they closed round them at night, and made an end of them all. But when the full light came on the morrow, they knew them to be their own people, that were with the King of Ulster's sons, and they gave three great heavy cries, keening the friends they had killed in mistake. And Caoilte and Oisin went to Rath Medba and brought a great stone and put it over the king's sons, and it was called Lia an Imracail, the Stone of the Mistake. And the place where Goll brought his men the time he parted from Finn in anger got the name of Druimscarha, the Parting Hill of Heroes. CHAPTER II. DEATH OF GOLL And at last it chanced that Goll and Cairell, son of Finn, met with one another, and said sharp words, and they fought in the sea near the strand, and Cairell got his death by Goll. And there was great anger and great grief on Finn, seeing his son, that was so strong and comely, lying dead and grey, like a blighted branch. And as to Goll, he went away to a cave that was in a point stretching out into the sea; and he thought to stop there till Finn's anger would have passed. And Osgar knew where he was, and he went to see him, that had been his comrade in so many battles. But Goll thought it was as an enemy he came, and he made a cast of his spear at him, and though Osgar got no wound by it, it struck his shield and crushed it. And Finn took notice of the way the shield was, and when he knew that Goll had made a cast at Osgar there was greater anger again on him. And he sent out his men and bade them to watch every path and every gap that led to the cave where Goll was, the way they would make an end of him. And when Goll knew Finn to be watching for his life that way, he made no attempt to escape, but stopped where he was, without food, without drink, and he blinded with the sand that was blowing into his eyes. And his wife came to a rock where she could speak with him, and she called to him to come to her. "Come over to me," she said; "and it is a pity you to be blinded where you are, on the rocks of the waste sea, with no drink but the salt water, a man that was first in every fight. And come now to be sleeping beside me," she said; "and in place of the hard sea-water I will nourish you from my own breast, and it is I will do your healing. And the gold of your hair is my desire for ever," she said, "and do not stop withering there like an herb in the winter-time, and my heart black with grief within me." But Goll would not leave the spot where he was for all she could say. "It is best as it is," he said, "and I never took the advice of a woman east or west, and I never will take it. And O sweet-voiced queen," he said, "what ails you to be fretting after me; and remember now your silver and your gold, and your silks and stuffs, and remember the seven hounds I gave you at Cruadh Ceirrge, and every one of them without slackness till he has killed the deer. And do not be crying tears after me, queen with the white hands," he said; "but remember your constant lover, Aodh, the son of the best woman of the world, that came out from Spain asking for you, and that I fought at Corcar-an-Deirg; and go to him now," he said, "for it is bad when a woman is in want of a good man." And he lay down on the rocks, and at the end of twelve days he died. And his wife keened him there, and made a great lamentation for her husband that had such a great name, and that was the second best of the Fianna of Ireland. And when Conan heard of the death of Goll his brother, there was great anger on him, and he went to Garraidh, and asked him to go with him to Finn to ask satisfaction for Goll. "I am not willing to go," said Garraidh, "since we could get no satisfaction for the great son of Morna." "Whether you have a mind to go or not, I will go," said Conan; "and I will make an end of every man I meet with, for the sake of yellow-haired Goll; I will have the life of Oisin, Finn's great son, and of Osgar and of Caoilte and of Daire of the Songs; I will have no forgiveness for them; we must show no respect for Finn, although we may die in the fight, having no help from Goll. And let us take that work in hand, and make no delay," he said; "for if Finn is there, his strength will be there, until we put him under his flag-stone." But it is not likely Garraidh went with him, and he after speaking such foolish words. And what happened Conan in the end is not known. But there is a cairn of stones on a hill of Burren, near to Corcomruadh, and the people of Connacht say it is there he is buried, and that there was a stone found there one time, having on it in the old writing: "Conan the swift-footed, the bare-footed." But the Munster people say it is on their own side of Burren he is buried. CHAPTER III. THE BATTLE OF GABHRA Now, with one thing and another, the High King of Ireland had got to be someway bitter against Finn and the Fianna; and one time that he had a gathering of his people he spoke out to them, and he bade them to remember all the harm that had been done them through the Fianna, and all their pride, and the tribute they asked. "And as to myself," he said, "I would sooner die fighting the Fianna, if I could bring them down along with me, than live with Ireland under them the way it is now." All his people were of the same mind, and they said they would make no delay, but would attack the Fianna and make an end of them. "And we will have good days of joy and of feasting," they said, "when once Almhuin is clear of them." And the High King began to make plans against Finn; and he sent to all the men of Ireland to come and help him. And when all was ready, he sent and bade Osgar to come to a feast he was making at Teamhair. And Osgar, that never was afraid before any enemy, set out for Teamhair, and three hundred of his men with him. And on the way they saw a woman of the Sidhe washing clothes at a river, and there was the colour of blood on the water where she was washing them. And Osgar said to her: "There is red on the clothes you are washing; and it is for the dead you are washing them." And the woman answered him, and it is what she said: "It is not long till the ravens will be croaking over your own head after the battle." "Is there any weakness in our eyes," said Osgar, "that a little story like that would set us crying? And do another foretelling for us now," he said, "and tell us will any man of our enemies fall by us before we ourselves are made an end of?" "There will nine hundred fall by yourself," she said; "and the High King himself will get his death-wound from you." Osgar and his men went on then to the king's house at Teamhair, and they got good treatment, and the feast was made ready, and they were three days at pleasure and at drinking. And on the last day of the drinking, the High King called out with a loud voice, and he asked Osgar would he make an exchange of spears with him. "Why do you ask that exchange," said Osgar, "when I myself and my spear were often with yourself in time of battle? And you would not ask it of me," he said, "if Finn and the Fianna were with me now." "I would ask it from any fighting man among you," said the king, "and for rent and tribute along with it." "Any gold or any treasure you might ask of us, we would give it to you," said Osgar, "but it is not right for you to ask my spear." There were very high words between them then, and they threatened one another, and at the last the High King said: "I will put my spear of the seven spells out through your body." "And I give my word against that," said Osgar, "I will put my spear of the nine spells between the meeting of your hair and your beard." With that he and his men rose up and went out of Teamhair, and they stopped to rest beside a river, and there they heard the sound of a very sorrowful tune, that was like keening, played on a harp. And there was great anger on Osgar when he heard that, and he rose up and took his arms and roused his people, and they went on again to where Finn was. And there came after them a messenger from the High King, and the message he brought was this, that he never would pay tribute to the Fianna or bear with them at all from that time. And when Finn heard that, he sent a challenge of battle, and he gathered together all the Fianna that were left to him. But as to the sons of Morna, it was to the High King of Ireland they gathered. And it was at the hill of Gabhra the two armies met, and there were twenty men with the King of Ireland for every man that was with Finn. And it is a very hard battle was fought that day, and there were great deeds done on both sides; and there never was a greater battle fought in Ireland than that one. And as to Osgar, it would be hard to tell all he killed on that day; five score of the Sons of the Gael, and five score fighting men from the Country of Snow, and seven score of the Men of Green Swords that never went a step backward, and four hundred from the Country of the Lion, and five score of the sons of kings; and the shame was for the King of Ireland. But as to Osgar himself, that began the day so swift and so strong, at the last he was like leaves on a strong wind, or like an aspen-tree that is falling. But when he saw the High King near him, he made for him like a wave breaking on the strand; and the king saw him coming, and shook his greedy spear, and made a cast of it, and it went through his body and brought him down on his right knee, and that was the first grief of the Fianna. But Osgar himself was no way daunted, but he made a cast of his spear of the nine spells that went into the High King at the meeting of the hair and the beard, and gave him his death. And when the men nearest to the High King saw that, they put the king's helmet up on a pillar, the way his people would think he was living yet. But Osgar saw it, and he lifted a thin bit of a slab-stone that was on the ground beside him, and he made a cast of it that broke the helmet where it was; and then he himself fell like a king. And there fell in that battle the seven sons of Caoilte, and the son of the King of Lochlann that had come to give them his help, and it would be hard to count the number of the Fianna that fell in that battle. And when it was ended, those that were left of them went looking for their dead. And Caoilte stooped down over his seven brave sons, and every living man of the Fianna stooped over his own dear friends. And it was a lasting grief to see all that were stretched in that place, but the Fianna would not have taken it to heart the way they did, but for being as they were, a beaten race. And as to Oisin, he went looking for Osgar, and it is the way he found him, lying stretched, and resting on his left arm and his broken shield beside him, and his sword in his hand yet, and his blood about him on every side. And he put out his hand to Oisin, and Oisin took it and gave out a very hard cry. And Osgar said: "It is glad I am to see you safe, my father." And Oisin had no answer to give him. And just then Caoilte came where they were, and he looked at Osgar. "What way are you now, my darling?" he said. "The way you would like me to be," said Osgar. Then Caoilte searched the wound, and when he saw how the spear had torn its way through to the back, he cried out, and a cloud came over him and his strength failed him. "O Osgar," he said, "you are parted from the Fianna, and they themselves must be parted from battle from this out," he said, "and they must pay their tribute to the King of Ireland." Then Caoilte and Oisin raised up Osgar on their shields and brought him to a smooth green hill till they would take his dress off. And there was not a hands-breadth of his white body that was without a wound. And when the rest of the Fianna saw what way Osgar was, there was not a man of them that keened his own son or his brother, but every one of them came keening Osgar. And after a while, at noonday, they saw Finn coming towards them, and what was left of the Sun-banner raised on a spear-shaft. All of them saluted Finn then, but he made no answer, and he came up to the hill where Osgar was. And when Osgar saw him coming he saluted him, and he said: "I have got my desire in death, Finn of the sharp arms." And Finn said: "It is worse the way you were, my son, on the day of the battle at Beinn Edair when the wild geese could swim on your breast, and it was my hand that gave you healing." "There can no healing be done for me now for ever," said Osgar, "since the King of Ireland put the spear of seven spells through my body." And Finn said: "It is a pity it was not I myself fell in sunny scarce Gabhra, and you going east and west at the head of the Fianna." "And if it was yourself fell in the battle," said Osgar, "you would not hear me keening after you; for no man ever knew any heart in me," he said, "but a heart of twisted horn, and it covered with iron. But the howling of the dogs beside me," he said, "and the keening of the old righting men, and the crying of the women one after another, those are the things that are vexing me." And Finn said: "Child of my child, calf of my calf, white and slender, it is a pity the way you are. And my heart is starting like a deer," he said, "and I am weak after you and after the Fianna of Ireland. And misfortune has followed us," he said; "and farewell now to battles and to a great name, and farewell to taking tributes; for every good thing I ever had is gone from me now," he said. And when Osgar heard those words he stretched out his hands, and his eyelids closed. And Finn turned away from the rest, and he cried tears down; and he never shed a tear through the whole length of his lifetime but only for Osgar and for Bran. And all that were left of the Fianna gave three gorrowful cries after Osgar, for there was not one of the Fianna beyond him, unless it might be Finn or Oisin. And it is many of the Fianna were left dead in Gabhra, and graves were made for them. And as to Lugaidh's Son, that was so tall a man and so good a fighter, they made a very wide grave for him, as was fitting for a king. And the whole length of the rath at Gabhra, from end to end, it is that was the grave of Osgar, son of Oisin, son of Finn. And as to Finn himself, he never had peace or pleasure again from that day. BOOK TEN: THE END OF THE FIANNA. CHAPTER I. DEATH OF BRAN One day Finn was hunting, and Bran went following after a fawn. And they were coming towards Finn, and the fawn called out, and it said: "If I go into the sea below I will never come back again; and if I go up into the air above me, it will not save me from Bran." For Bran would overtake the wild geese, she was that swift. "Go out through my legs," said Finn then. So the fawn did that, and Bran followed her; and as Bran went under him, Finn squeezed his two knees on her, that she died on the moment. And there was great grief on him after that, and he cried tears down the same as he did when Osgar died. And some said it was Finn's mother the fawn was, and that it was to save his mother he killed Bran. But that is not likely, for his mother was beautiful Muirne, daughter of Tadg, son of Nuada of the Tuatha de Danaan, and it was never heard that she was changed into a fawn. It is more likely it was Oisin's mother was in it. But some say Bran and Sceolan are still seen to start at night out of the thicket on the hill of Almhuin. CHAPTER II. THE CALL OF OISIN One misty morning, what were left of the Fianna were gathered together to Finn, and it is sorrowful and downhearted they were after the loss of so many of their comrades. And they went hunting near the borders of Loch Lein, where the bushes were in blossom and the birds were singing; and they were waking up the deer that were as joyful as the leaves of a tree in summer-time. And it was not long till they saw coming towards them from the west a beautiful young woman, riding on a very fast slender white horse. A queen's crown she had on her head, and a dark cloak of silk down to the ground, having stars of red gold on it; and her eyes were blue and as clear as the dew on the grass, and a gold ring hanging down from every golden lock of her hair; and her cheeks redder than the rose, and her skin whiter than the swan upon the wave, and her lips as sweet as honey that is mixed through red wine. And in her hand she was holding a bridle having a golden bit, and there was a saddle worked with red gold under her. And as to the horse, he had a wide smooth cloak over him, and a silver crown on the back of his head, and he was shod with shining gold. She came to where Finn was, and she spoke with a very kind, gentle voice, and she said: "It is long my journey was, King of the Fianna." And Finn asked who was she, and what was her country and the cause of her coming. "Niamh of the Golden Head is my name," she said; "and I have a name beyond all the women of the world, for I am the daughter of the King of the Country of the Young." "What was it brought you to us from over the sea, Queen?" said Finn then. "Is it that your husband is gone from you, or what is the trouble that is on you?" "My husband is not gone from me," she said, "for I never went yet to any man. But O King of the Fianna," she said, "I have given my love and my affection to your own son, Oisin of the strong hands." "Why did you give your love to him beyond all the troops of high princes that are under the sun?" said Finn. "It was by reason of his great name, and of the report I heard of his bravery and of his comeliness," she said. "And though there is many a king's son and high prince gave me his love, I never consented to any till I set my love on Oisin." When Oisin heard what she was saying, there was not a limb of his body that was not in love with beautiful Niamh; and he took her hand in his hand, and he said: "A true welcome before you to this country, young queen. It is you are the shining one," he said; "it is you are the nicest and the comeliest; it is you are better to me than any other woman; it is you are my star and my choice beyond the women of the entire world." "I put on you the bonds of a true hero," said Niamh then, "you to come away with me now to the Country of the Young." And it is what she said: "It is the country is most delightful of all that are under the sun; the trees are stooping down with fruit and with leaves and with blossom. "Honey and wine are plentiful there, and everything the eye has ever seen; no wasting will come on you with the wasting away of time; you will never see death or lessening. "You will get feasts, playing and drinking; you will get sweet music on the strings; you will get silver and gold and many jewels. "You will get, and no lie in it, a hundred swords; a hundred cloaks of the dearest silk; a hundred horses, the quickest in battle; a hundred willing hounds. "You will get the royal crown of the King of the Young that he never gave to any one under the sun. It will be a shelter to you night and day in every rough fight and in every battle. "You will get a right suit of armour; a sword, gold-hilted, apt for striking; no one that ever saw it got away alive from it. "A hundred coats of armour and shirts of satin; a hundred cows and a hundred calves; a hundred sheep having golden fleeces; a hundred jewels that are not of this world. "A hundred glad young girls shining like the sun, their voices sweeter than the music of birds; a hundred armed men strong in battle, apt at feats, waiting on you, if you will come with me to the Country of the Young. "You will get everything I have said to you, and delights beyond them, that I have no leave to tell; you will get beauty, strength and power, and I myself will be with you as a wife." And after she had made that song, Oisin said: "O pleasant golden-haired queen, you are my choice beyond the women of the world; and I will go with you willingly," he said. And with that he kissed Finn his father and bade him farewell, and he bade farewell to the rest of the Fianna, and he went up then on the horse with Niamh. And the horse set out gladly, and when he came to the strand he shook himself and he neighed three times, and then he made for the sea. And when Finn and the Fianna saw Oisin facing the wide sea, they gave three great sorrowful shouts. And as to Finn, he said: "It is my grief to see you going from me; and I am without a hope," he said, "ever to see you coming back to me again." CHAPTER III. THE LAST OF THE GREAT MEN And indeed that was the last time Finn and Oisin and the rest of the Fianna of Ireland were gathered together, for hunting, for battle, for chess-playing, for drinking or for music; for they all wore away after that, one after another. As to Caoilte, that was old and had lost his sons, he used to be fretting and lonesome after the old times. And one day that there was very heavy snow on the ground, he made this complaint:-- "It is cold the winter is; the wind is risen; the fierce high-couraged stag rises up; it is cold the whole mountain is to-night, yet the fierce stag is calling. The deer of Slievecarn of the gatherings does not lay his side to the ground; he no less than the stag of the top of cold Echtge hears the music of the wolves. "I, Caoilte, and brown-haired Diarmuid and pleasant light-footed Osgar, we used to be listening to the music of the wolves through the end of the cold night. It is well the brown deer sleeps with its hide to the hollow, hidden as if in the earth, through the end of the cold night. "To-day I am in my age, and I know but a few men; I used to shake my spear bravely in the ice-cold morning. It is often I put silence on a great army that is very cold to-night." And after a while he went into a hill of the Sidhe to be healed of his old wounds. And whether he came back from there or not is not known; and there are some that say he used to be talking with Patrick of the Bells the same time Oisin was with him. But that is not likely, or Oisin would not have made complaints about his loneliness the way he did. But a long time after that again, there was a king of Ireland making a journey. And he and his people missed their way, and when night-time came on, they were in a dark wood, and no path before them. And there came to them a very tall man, that was shining like a burning flame, and he took hold of the bridle of the king's horse, and led him through the wood till they came to the right road. And the King of Ireland asked him who was he, and first he said: "I am your candlestick"; and then he said: "I was with Finn one time." And the king knew it was Caoilte, son of Ronan, was in it. And three times nine of the rest of the Fianna came out of the west one time to Teamhair. And they took notice that now they were wanting their full strength and their great name, no one took notice of them or came to speak with them at all. And when they saw that, they lay down on the side of the hill at Teamhair, and put their lips to the earth and died. And for three days and a month and a year from the time of the destruction of the Fianna of Ireland, Loch Dearg was under mists. * * * * * And as to Finn, there are some say he died by the hand of a fisherman; but it is likely that is not true, for that would be no death for so great a man as Finn, son of Cumhal. And there are some say he never died, but is alive in some place yet. And one time a smith made his way into a cave he saw, that had a door to it, and he made a key that opened it. And when he went in he saw a very wide place, and very big men lying on the floor. And one that was bigger than the rest was lying in the middle, and the Dord Fiann beside him; and he knew it was Finn and the Fianna were in it. And the smith took hold of the Dord Fiann, and it is hardly he could lift it to his mouth, and he blew a very strong blast on it, and the sound it made was so great, it is much the rocks did not come down on him. And at the sound, the big men lying on the ground shook from head to foot. He gave another blast then, and they all turned on their elbows. And great dread came on him when he saw that, and he threw down the Dord Fiann and ran from the caye and locked the door after him, and threw the key into the lake. And he heard them crying after him, "You left us worse than you found us." And the cave was not found again since that time. But some say the day will come when the Dord Fiann will be sounded three times, and that at the sound of it the Fianna will rise up as strong and as well as ever they were. And there are some say Finn, son of Cumhal, has been on the earth now and again since the old times, in the shape of one of the heroes of Ireland. And as to the great things he and his men did when they were together, it is well they have been kept in mind through the poets of Ireland and of Alban. And one night there were two men minding sheep in a valley, and they were saying the poems of the Fianna while they were there. And they saw two very tall shapes on the two hills on each side of the valley, and one of the tall shapes said to the other: "Do you hear that man down below? I was the second doorpost of battle at Gabhra, and that man knows all about it better than myself." BOOK ELEVEN: OISIN AND PATRICK. CHAPTER I. OISIN'S STORY As to Oisin, it was a long time after he was brought away by Niamh that he came back again to Ireland. Some say it was hundreds of years he was in the Country of the Young, and some say it was thousands of years he was in it; but whatever time it was, it seemed short to him. And whatever happened him through the time he was away, it is a withered old man he was found after coming back to Ireland, and his white horse going away from him, and he lying on the ground. And it was S. Patrick had power at that time, and it was to him Oisin was brought; and he kept him in his house, and used to be teaching him and questioning him. And Oisin was no way pleased with the way Ireland was then, but he used to be talking of the old times, and fretting after the Fianna. And Patrick bade him to tell what happened him the time he left Finn and the Fianna and went away with Niamh. And it is the story Oisin told:--"The time I went away with golden-haired Niamh, we turned our backs to the land, and our faces westward, and the sea was going away before us, and filling up in waves after us. And we saw wonderful things on our journey," he said, "cities and courts and duns and lime-white houses, and shining sunny-houses and palaces. And one time we saw beside us a hornless deer running hard, and an eager white red-eared hound following after it. And another time we saw a young girl on a horse and having a golden apple in her right hand, and she going over the tops of the waves; and there was following after her a young man riding a white horse, and having a crimson cloak and a gold-hilted sword in his right hand." "Follow on with your story, pleasant Oisin," said Patrick, "for you did not tell us yet what was the country you went to." "The Country of the Young, the Country of Victory, it was," said Oisin. "And O Patrick," he said, "there is no lie in that name; and if there are grandeurs in your Heaven the same as there are there, I would give my friendship to God. "We turned our backs then to the dun," he said, "and the horse under us was quicker than the spring wind on the backs of the mountains. And it was not long till the sky darkened, and the wind rose in every part, and the sea was as if on fire, and there was nothing to be seen of the sun. "But after we were looking at the clouds and the stars for a while the wind went down, and the storm, and the sun brightened. And we saw before us a very delightful country under full blossom, and smooth plains in it, and a king's dun that was very grand, and that had every colour in it, and sunny-houses beside it, and palaces of shining stones, made by skilled men. And we saw coming out to meet us three fifties of armed men, very lively and handsome. And I asked Niamh was this the Country of the Young, and she said it was. 'And indeed, Oisin,' she said, 'I told you no lie about it, and you will see all I promised you before you for ever.' "And there came out after that a hundred beautiful young girls, having cloaks of silk worked with gold, and they gave me a welcome to their own country. And after that there came a great shining army, and with it a strong beautiful king, having a shirt of yellow silk and a golden cloak over it, and a very bright crown on his head. And there was following after him a young queen, and fifty young girls along with her. "And when all were come to the one spot, the king took me by the hand, and he said out before them all: 'A hundred thousand welcomes before you, Oisin, son of Finn. And as to this country you are come to,' he said, 'I will tell you news of it without a lie. It is long and lasting your life will be in it, and you yourself will be young for ever. And there is no delight the heart ever thought of,' he said, 'but it is here against your coming. And you can believe my words, Oisin,' he said, 'for I myself am the King of the Country of the Young, and this is its comely queen, and it was golden-headed Niamh our daughter that went over the sea looking for you to be her husband for ever.' I gave thanks to him then, and I stooped myself down before the queen, and we went forward to the royal house, and all the high nobles came out to meet us, both men and women, and there was a great feast made there through the length of ten days and ten nights. "And that is the way I married Niamh of the Golden Hair, and that is the way I went to the Country of the Young, although it is sorrowful to me to be telling it now, O Patrick from Rome," said Oisin. "Follow on with your story, Oisin of the destroying arms," said Patrick, "and tell me what way did you leave the Country of the Young, for it is long to me till I hear that; and tell us now had you any children by Niamh, and was it long you were in that place." "Two beautiful children I had by Niamh," said Oisin, "two young sons and a comely daughter. And Niamh gave the two sons the name of Finn and of Osgar, and the name I gave to the daughter was The Flower. "And I did not feel the time passing, and it was a long time I stopped there," he said, "till the desire came on me to see Finn and my comrades again. And I asked leave of the king and of Niamh to go back to Ireland. 'You will get leave from me,' said Niamh; 'but for all that,' she said, 'it is bad news you are giving me, for I am in dread you will never come back here again through the length of your days.' But I bade her have no fear, since the white horse would bring me safe back again from Ireland. 'Bear this in mind, Oisin,' she said then, 'if you once get off the horse while you are away, or if you once put your foot to ground, you will never come back here again. And O Oisin,' she said, 'I tell it to you now for the third time, if you once get down from the horse, you will be an old man, blind and withered, without liveliness, without mirth, without running, without leaping. And it is a grief to me, Oisin,' she said, 'you ever to go back to green Ireland; and it is not now as it used to be, and you will not see Finn and his people, for there is not now in the whole of Ireland but a Father of Orders and armies of saints; and here is my kiss for you, pleasant Oisin,' she said, 'for you will never come back any more to the Country of the Young.' "And that is my story, Patrick, and I have told you no lie in it," said Oisin. "And O Patrick," he said, "if I was the same the day I came here as I was that day, I would have made an end of all your clerks, and there would not be a head left on a neck after me." "Go on with your story," said Patrick, "and you will get the same good treatment from me you got from Finn, for the sound of your voice is pleasing to me." So Oisin went on with his story, and it is what he said: "I have nothing to tell of my journey till I came back into green Ireland, and I looked about me then on all sides, but there were no tidings to be got of Finn. And it was not long till I saw a great troop of riders, men and women, coming towards me from the west. And when they came near they wished me good health; and there was wonder on them all when they looked at me, seeing me so unlike themselves, and so big and so tall. "I asked them then did they hear if Finn was still living, or any other one of the Fianna, or what had happened them. 'We often heard of Finn that lived long ago,' said they, 'and that there never was his equal for strength or bravery or a great name; and there is many a book written down,' they said, 'by the sweet poets of the Gael, about his doings and the doings of the Fianna, and it would be hard for us to tell you all of them. And we heard Finn had a son,' they said, 'that was beautiful and shining, and that there came a young girl looking for him, and he went away with her to the Country of the Young.' "And when I knew by their talk that Finn was not living or any of the Fianna, it is downhearted I was, and tired, and very sorrowful after them. And I made no delay, but I turned my face and went on to Almhuin of Leinster. And there was great wonder on me when I came there to see no sign at all of Finn's great dun, and his great hall, and nothing in the place where it was but weeds and nettles." And there was grief on Oisin then, and he said: "Och, Patrick! Och, ochone, my grief! It is a bad journey that was to me; and to be without tidings of Finn or the Fianna has left me under pain through my lifetime." "Leave off fretting, Oisin," said Patrick, "and shed your tears to the God of grace. Finn and the Fianna are slack enough now, and they will get no help for ever." "It is a great pity that would be," said Oisin, "Finn to be in pain for ever; and who was it gained the victory over him, when his own hand had made an end of so many a hard fighter?" "It is God gained the victory over Finn," said Patrick, "and not the strong hand of an enemy; and as to the Fianna, they are condemned to hell along with him, and tormented for ever." "O Patrick," said Oisin, "show me the place where Finn and his people are, and there is not a hell or a heaven there but I will put it down. And if Osgar, my own son, is there," he said, "the hero that was bravest in heavy battles, there is not in hell or in the Heaven of God a troop so great that he could not destroy it." "Let us leave off quarrelling on each side now," said Patrick; "and go on, Oisin, with your story. What happened you after you knew the Fianna to be at an end?" "I will tell you that, Patrick," said Oisin. "I was turning to go away, and I saw the stone trough that the Fianna used to be putting their hands in, and it full of water. And when I saw it I had such a wish and such a feeling for it that I forgot what I was told, and I got off the horse. And in the minute all the years came on me, and I was lying on the ground, and the horse took fright and went away and left me there, an old man, weak and spent, without sight, without shape, without comeliness, without strength or understanding, without respect. "There, Patrick, is my story for you now," said Oisin, "and no lie in it, of all that happened me going away and coming back again from the Country of the Young." CHAPTER II. OISIN IN PATRICK'S HOUSE And Oisin stopped on with S. Patrick, but he was not very well content with the way he was treated. And one time he said: "They say I am getting food, but God knows I am not, or drink; and I Oisin, son of Finn, under a yoke, drawing stones." "It is my opinion you are getting enough," said S. Patrick then, "and you getting a quarter of beef and a churn of butter and a griddle of bread every day." "I often saw a quarter of a blackbird bigger than your quarter of beef," said Oisin, "and a rowan berry as big as your churn of butter, and an ivy leaf as big as your griddle of bread." S, Patrick was vexed when he heard that, and he said to Oisin that he had told a lie. There was great anger on Oisin then, and he went where there was a litter of pups, and he bade a serving-boy to nail up the hide of a freshly killed bullock to the wall, and to throw the pups against it one by one. And every one that he threw fell down from the hide till it came to the last, and he held on to it with his teeth and his nails. "Rear that one," said Oisin, "and drown all the rest." Then he bade the boy to keep the pup in a dark place, and to care it well, and never to let it taste blood or see the daylight. And at the end of a year, Oisin was so well pleased with the pup, that he gave it the name of Bran Og, young Bran. And one day he called to the serving-boy to come on a journey with him, and to bring the pup in a chain. And they set out and passed by Slieve-nam-ban, where the witches of the Sidhe do be spinning with their spinning-wheels; and then they turned eastward into Gleann-na-Smol. And Oisin raised a rock that was there, and he bade the lad take from under it three things, a great sounding horn of the Fianna, and a ball of iron they had for throwing, and a very sharp sword. And when Oisin saw those things, he took them in his hands, and he said: "My thousand farewells to the day when you were put here!" He bade the lad to clean them well then; and when he had done that, he bade him to sound a blast on the horn. So the boy did that, and Oisin asked him did he see anything strange. "I did not," said the boy. "Sound it again as loud as you can," said Oisin. "That is as hard as I can sound it, and I can see nothing yet," said the boy when he had done that. Then Oisin took the horn himself, and he put it to his mouth, and blew three great blasts on it. "What do you see now?" he said. "I see three great clouds coming," he said, "and they are settling down in the valley; and the first cloud is a flight of very big birds, and the second cloud is a flight of birds that are bigger again, and the third flight is of the biggest and the blackest birds the world ever saw." "What is the dog doing?" said Oisin. "The eyes are starting from his head, and there is not a rib of hair on him but is standing up." "Let him loose now," said Oisin. The dog rushed down to the valley then, and he made an attack on one of the birds, that was the biggest of all, and that had a shadow like a cloud. And they fought a very fierce fight, but at last Bran Og made an end of the big bird, and lapped its blood. But if he did, madness came on him, and he came rushing back towards Oisin, his jaws open and his eyes like fire. "There is dread on me, Oisin," said the boy, "for the dog is making for us, mad and raging." "Take this iron ball and make a cast at him when he comes near," said Oisin. "I am in dread to do that," said the boy. "Put it in my hand, and turn it towards him," said Oisin. The boy did that, and Oisin made a cast of the ball that went into the mouth and the throat of the dog, and choked him, and he fell down the slope, twisting and foaming. Then they went where the great bird was left dead, and Oisin bade the lad to cut a quarter off it with the sword, and he did so. And then he bade him cut open the body, and in it he found a rowan berry, the biggest he had ever seen, and an ivy leaf that was bigger than the biggest griddle. So Oisin turned back then, and went to where S. Patrick was, and he showed him the quarter of the bird that was bigger than any quarter of a bullock, and the rowan berry that was bigger than a churning of butter, and the leaf. "And you know now, Patrick of the Bells," he said, "that I told no lie; and it is what kept us all through our lifetime," he said, "truth that was in our hearts, and strength in our arms, and fulfilment in our tongues." "You told no lie indeed," said Patrick. And when Oisin had no sight left at all, he used every night to put up one of the serving-men on his shoulders, and to bring him out to see how were the cattle doing. And one night the servants had no mind to go, and they agreed together to tell him it was a very bad night. And it is what the first of them said; "It is outside there is a heavy sound with the heavy water dropping from the tops of trees; the sound of the waves is not to be heard for the loud splashing of the rain." And then the next one said: "The trees of the wood are shivering, and the birch is turning black; the snow is killing the birds; that is the story outside." And the third said: "It is to the east they have turned their face, the white snow and the dark rain; it is what is making the plain so cold is the snow that is dripping and getting hard." But there was a serving-girl in the house, and she said: "Rise up, Oisin, and go out to the white-headed cows, since the cold wind is plucking the trees from the hills." Oisin went out then, and the serving-man on his shoulders; but it is what the serving-man did, he brought a vessel of water and a birch broom with him, and he was dashing water in Oisin's face, the way he would think it was rain. But when they came to the pen where the cattle were, Oisin found the night was quiet, and after that he asked no more news of the weather from the servants. CHAPTER III. THE ARGUMENTS And S. Patrick took in hand to convert Oisin, and to bring him to baptism; but it was no easy work he had to do, and everything he would say, Oisin would have an answer for it. And it is the way they used to be talking and arguing with one another, as it was put down afterwards by the poets of Ireland:-- PATRICK. "Oisin, it is long your sleep is. Rise up and listen to the Psalm. Your strength and your readiness are gone from you, though you used to be going into rough fights and battles." OLSIN. "My readiness and my strength are gone from me since Finn has no armies living; I have no liking for clerks, their music is not sweet to me after his." PATRICK. "You never heard music so good from the beginning of the world to this day; it is well you would serve an army on a hill, you that are old and silly and grey." OLSIN. "I used to serve an army on a hill, Patrick of the closed-up mind; it is a pity you to be faulting me; there was never shame put on me till now. "I have heard music was sweeter than your music, however much you are praising your clerks: the song of the blackbird in Leiter Laoi, and the sound of the Dord Fiann; the very sweet thrush of the Valley of the Shadow, or the sound of the boats striking the strand. The cry of the hounds was better to me than the noise of your schools, Patrick. "Little Nut, little Nut of my heart, the little dwarf that was with Finn, when he would make tunes and songs he would put us all into deep sleep. "The twelve hounds that belonged to Finn, the time they would be let loose facing out from the Siuir, their cry was sweeter than harps and than pipes. "I have a little story about Finn; we were but fifteen men; we took the King of the Saxons of the feats, and we won a battle against the King of Greece. "We fought nine battles in Spain, and nine times twenty battles in Ireland; from Lochlann and from the eastern world there was a share of gold coming to Finn. "My grief! I to be stopping after him, and without delight in games or in music; to be withering away after my comrades; my grief it is to be living. I and the clerks of the Mass books are two that can never agree. "If Finn and the Fianna were living, I would leave the clerks and the bells; I would follow the deer through the valleys, I would like to be close on his track. "Ask Heaven of God, Patrick, for Finn of the Fianna and his race; make prayers for the great man; you never heard of his like." PATRICK. "I will not ask Heaven for Finn, man of good wit that my anger is rising against, since his delight was to be living in valleys with the noise of hunts." OISIN. "If you had been in company with the Fianna, Patrick of the joyless clerks and of the bells, you would not be attending on schools or giving heed to God." PATRICK. "I would not part from the Son of God for all that have lived east or west; O Oisin, O shaking poet, there will harm come on you in satisfaction for the priests." OISIN. "It was a delight to Finn the cry of his hounds on the mountains, the wild dogs leaving their harbours, the pride of his armies, those were his delights." PATRICK. "There was many a thing Finn took delight in, and there is not much heed given to it after him; Finn and his hounds are not living now, and you yourself will not always be living, Oisin." OISIN. "There is a greater story of Finn than of us, or of any that have lived in our time; all that are gone and all that are living, Finn was better to give out gold than themselves." PATRICK. "All the gold you and Finn used to be giving out, it is little it does for you now; he is in Hell in bonds because he did treachery and oppression." OISIN. "It is little I believe of your truth, man from Rome with the white books, Finn the open-handed head of the Fianna to be in the hands of devils or demons." PATRICK. "Finn is in bonds in Hell, the pleasant man that gave out gold; in satisfaction for his disrespect to God, he is under grief in the house of pain." OISIN. "If the sons of Morna were within it, or the strong men of the sons of Baiscne, they would take Finn out of it, or they would have the house for themselves." PATRICK. "If the five provinces of Ireland were within it, or the strong seven battalions of the Fianna, they would not be able to bring Finn out of it, however great their strength might be." OISIN. "If Faolan and Goll were living, and brown-haired Diarmuid and brave Osgar, Finn of the Fianna could not be held in any house that was made by God or devils." PATRICK. "If Faolan and Goll were living, and all the Fianna that ever were, they could not bring out Finn from the house where he is in pain." OISIN. "What did Finn do against God but to be attending on schools and on armies? Giving gold through a great part of his time, and for another while trying his hounds." PATRICK. "In payment for thinking of his hounds and for serving the schools of the poets, and because he gave no heed to God, Finn of the Fianna is held down." OISIN. "You say, Patrick of the Psalms, that the Fianna could not take out Finn, or the five provinces of Ireland along with them. "I have a little story about Finn. We were but fifteen men when we took the King of Britain of the feasts by the strength of our spears and our own strength. "We took Magnus the great, the son of the King of Lochlann of the speckled ships; we came back no way sorry or tired, we put our rent on far places. "O Patrick, the story is pitiful, the King of the Fianna to be under locks; a heart without envy, without hatred, a heart hard in earning victory. "It is an injustice, God to be unwilling to give food and riches; Finn never refused strong or poor, although cold Hell is now his dwelling-place. "It is what Finn had a mind for, to be listening to the sound of Druim Dearg; to sleep at the stream of Ess Ruadh, to be hunting the deer of Gallimh of the bays. "The cries of the blackbird of Leiter Laoi, the wave of Rudraighe beating the strand, the bellowing of the ox of Magh Maoin, the lowing of the calf of Gleann da Mhail. "The noise of the hunt on Slieve Crot, the sound of the fawns round Slieve Cua, the scream of the sea-gulls there beyond on Iorrus, the screech of the crows over the battle. "The waves vexing the breasts of the boats, the howling of the hounds at Druim Lis; the voice of Bran on Cnoc-an-Air, the outcry of the streams about Slieve Mis. "The call of Osgar going to the hunt; the voice of the hounds on the road of the Fianna, to be listening to them and to the poets, that was always his desire. "A desire of the desires of Osgar was to listen to the striking of shields; to be hacking at bones in a battle, it is what he had a mind for always. "We went westward one time to hunt at Formaid of the Fianna, to see the first running of our hounds. "It was Finn was holding Bran, and it is with myself Sceolan was; Diarmuid of the Women had Fearan, and Osgar had lucky Adhnuall. "Conan the Bald had Searc; Caoilte, son of Ronan, had Daol; Lugaidh's Son and Goll were holding Fuaim and Fothran. "That was the first day we loosed out a share of our hounds to a hunting; and Och! Patrick, of all that were in it, there is not one left living but myself. "O Patrick, it is a pity the way I am now, a spent old man without sway, without quickness, without strength, going to Mass at the altar. "Without the great deer of Slieve Luchra; without the hares of Slieve Cuilinn; without going into fights with Finn; without listening to the poets. "Without battles, without taking of spoils; without playing at nimble feats; without going courting or hunting, two trades that were my delight." PATRICK. "Leave off, old man, leave your foolishness; let what you have done be enough for you from this out. Think on the pains that are before you; the Fianna are gone, and you yourself will be going." OISIN. "If I go, may yourself not be left after me, Patrick of the hindering heart; if Conan, the least of the Fianna, were living, your buzzing would not be left long to you." "Or if this was the day I gave ten hundred cows to the headless woman that came to the Valley of the Two Oxen; the birds of the air brought away the ring I gave her, I never knew where she went herself from me." PATRICK. "That is little to trouble you, Oisin; it was but for a while she was with you; it is better for you to be as you are than to be among them again." OISIN. "O Son of Calphurn of the friendly talk, it is a pity for him that gives respect to clerks and bells; I and Caoilte my friend, we were not poor when we were together. "The music that put Finn to his sleep was the cackling of the ducks from the lake of the Three Narrows; the scolding talk of the blackbird of Doire an Cairn, the bellowing of the ox from the Valley of the Berries. "The whistle of the eagle from the Valley of Victories, or from the rough branches of the ridge by the stream; the grouse of the heather of Cruachan; the call of the otter of Druim-re-Coir. "The song of the blackbird of Doire an Cairn indeed I never heard sweeter music, if I could be under its nest. "My grief that I ever took baptism; it is little credit I got by it, being without food, without drink, doing fasting and praying." PATRICK. "In my opinion it did not harm you, old man; you will get nine score cakes of bread, wine and meat to put a taste on it; it is bad talk you are giving." OISIN. "This mouth that is talking with you, may it never confess to a priest, if I would not sooner have the leavings of Finn's house than a share of your own meals." PATRICK. "He got but what he gathered from the banks, or whatever he could kill on the rough hills; he got hell at the last because of his unbelief." OISIN. "That was not the way with us at all, but our fill of wine and of meat; justice and a right beginning at the feasts, sweet drinks and every one drinking them. "It is fretting after Diarmuid and Goll I am, and after Fergus of the True Lips, the time you will not let me be speaking of them, O new Patrick from Rome." PATRICK. "We would give you leave to be speaking of them, but first you should give heed to God. Since you are now at the end of your days, leave your foolishness, weak old man." OISIN. "O Patrick, tell me as a secret, since it is you have the best knowledge, will my dog or my hound be let in with me to the court of the King of Grace?" PATRICK. "Old man in your foolishness that I cannot put any bounds to, your dog or your hound will not be let in with you to the court of the King of Power." OISIN. "If I had acquaintance with God, and my hound to be at hand, I would make whoever gave food to myself give a share to my hound as well. "One strong champion that was with the Fianna of Ireland would be better than the Lord of Piety, and than you yourself, Patrick." PATRICK. "O Oisin of the sharp blades, it is mad words you are saying. God is better for one day than the whole of the Fianna of Ireland." OISIN. "Though I am now without sway and my life is spent to the end, do not put abuse, Patrick, on the great men of the sons of Baiscne. "If I had Conan with me, the man that used to be running down the Fianna, it is he would break your head within among your clerks and your priests." PATRICK. "It is a silly thing, old man, to be talking always of the Fianna; remember your end is come, and take the Son of God to help you." OISIN. "I used to sleep out on the mountain under the grey dew; I was never used to go to bed without food, while there was a deer on the hill beyond." PATRICK. "You are astray at the end of your life between the straight way and the crooked. Keep out from the crooked path of pains, and the angels of God will come beneath your head." OISIN. "If myself and open-handed Fergus and Diarmuid were together now on this spot, we would go in every path we ever went in, and ask no leave of the priests." PATRICK. "Leave off, Oisin; do not be speaking against the priests that are telling the word of God in every place. Unless you leave off your daring talk, it is great pain you will have in the end." OISIN. "When myself and the leader of the Fianna were looking for a boar in a valley, it was worse to me not to see it than all your clerks to be without their heads." PATRICK. "It is pitiful seeing you without sense; that is worse to you than your blindness; if you were to get sight within you, it is great your desire would be for Heaven." OISIN. "It is little good it would be to me to be sitting in that city, without Caoilte, without Osgar, without my father being with me. "The leap of the buck would be better to me, or the sight of badgers between two valleys, than all your mouth is promising me, and all the delights I could get in Heaven." PATRICK. "Your thoughts are foolish, they will come to nothing; your pleasure and your mirth are gone. Unless you will take my advice to-night, you will not get leave on this side or that." OISIN. "If myself and the Fianna were on the top of a hill to-day drawing our spear-heads, we would have our choice of being here or there in spite of books and priests and bells." PATRICK. "You were like the smoke of a wisp, or like a stream in a valley, or like a whirling wind on the top of a hill, every tribe of you that ever lived." OISIN. "If I was in company with the people of strong arms, the way I was at Bearna da Coill, I would sooner be looking at them than at this troop of the crooked croziers. "If I had Scolb Sceine with me, or Osgar, that was smart in battles, I would not be without meat to-night at the sound of the bell of the seven tolls." PATRICK. "Oisin, since your wits are gone from you be glad at what I say; it is certain to me you will leave the Fianna and that you will receive the God of the stars." OISIN. "There is wonder on me at your hasty talk, priest that has travelled in every part, to say that I would part from the Fianna, a generous people, never niggardly." PATRICK. "If you saw the people of God, the way they are settled at feasts, every good thing is more plentiful with them than with Finn's people, however great their name was. "Finn and the Fianna are lying now very sorrowful on the flag-stone of pain; take the Son of God in their place; make your repentance and do not lose Heaven." OISIN. "I do not believe your talk now. O Patrick of the crooked staves, Finn and the Fianna to be there within, unless they find pleasure being in it." PATRICK. "Make right repentance now, before you know when your end is coming; God is better for one hour than the whole of the Fianna of Ireland." OISIN. "That is a daring answer to make to me, Patrick of the crooked crozier; your crozier would be in little bits if I had Osgar with me now. "If my son Osgar and God were hand to hand on the Hill of the Fianna, if I saw my son put down, I would say that God was a strong man. "How could it be that God or his priests could be better men than Finn, the King of the Fianna, a generous man without crookedness. "If there was a place above or below better than the Heaven of God, it is there Finn would go, and all that are with him of his people. "You say that a generous man never goes to the hell of pain; there was not one among the Fianna that was not generous to all. "Ask of God, Patrick, does He remember when the Fianna were alive, or has He seen east or west any man better than themselves in their fighting. "The Fianna used not to be saying treachery; we never had the name of telling lies. By truth and the strength of our hands we came safe out of every battle. "There never sat a priest in a church, though you think it sweet to be singing psalms, was better to his word than the Fianna, or more generous than Finn himself. "If my comrades were living to-night, I would take no pleasure in your crooning in the church; as they are not living now, the rough voice of the bells has deafened me. "Och! in the place of battles and heavy fights, where I used to have my place and to take my pleasure, the crozier of Patrick being carried, and his clerks at their quarrelling. "Och! slothful, cheerless Conan, it is great abuse I used to be giving you; why do you not come to see me now? you would get leave for making fun and reviling through the whole of the niggardly clerks. "Och! where are the strong men gone that they do not come together to help me! O Osgar of the sharp sword of victory, come and free your father from his bonds! "Where is the strong son of Lugaidh? Och! Diarmuid of all the women! Och! Caoilte, son of Ronan, think of our love, and travel to me!" PATRICK. "Stop your talk, you withered, witless old man; it is my King that made the Heavens, it is He that gives blossom to the trees, it is He made the moon and the sun, the fields and the grass." OISIN. "It was not in shaping fields and grass that my king took his delight, but in overthrowing fighting men, and defending countries, and bringing his name into every part. "In courting, in playing, in hunting, in baring his banner at the first of a fight; in playing at chess, at swimming, in looking around him at the drinking-hall. "O Patrick, where was your God when the two came over the sea that brought away the queen of Lochlann of the Ships? Where was He when Dearg came, the son of the King of Lochlann of the golden shields? Why did not the King of Heaven protect them from the blows of the big man? "Or when Tailc, son of Treon, came, the man that did great slaughter on the Fianna; it was not by God that champion fell, but by Osgar, in the sight of all. "Many a battle and many a victory was gained by the Fianna of Ireland; I never heard any great deed was done by the King of Saints, or that He ever reddened His hand. "It would be a great shame for God not to take the locks of pain off Finn; if God Himself were in bonds, my king would fight for His sake. "Finn left no one in pain or in danger without freeing him by silver or gold, or by fighting till he got the victory. "For the strength of your love, Patrick, do not forsake the great men; bring in the Fianna unknown to the King of Heaven. "It is a good claim I have on your God, to be among his clerks the way I am; without food, without clothing, without music, without giving rewards to poets. "Without the cry of the hounds or the horns, without guarding coasts, without courting generous women; for all that I have suffered by the want of food, I forgive the King of Heaven in my will." Oisin said: "My story is sorrowful. The sound of your voice is not pleasant to me. I will cry my fill, but not for God, but because Finn and the Fianna are not living." CHAPTER IV. OISIN'S LAMENTS And Oisin used to be making laments, and sometimes he would be making praises of the old times and of Finn; and these are some of them that are remembered yet:-- I saw the household of Finn; it was not the household of a soft race; I had a vision of that man yesterday. I saw the household of the High King, he with the brown, sweet-voiced son; I never saw a better man. I saw the household of Finn; no one saw it as I saw it; I saw Finn with the sword, Mac an Luin. Och! it was sorrowful to see it. I cannot tell out every harm that is on my head; free us from our trouble for ever; I have seen the household of Finn. It is a week from yesterday I last saw Finn; I never saw a braver man. A king of heavy blows; my law, my adviser, my sense and my wisdom, prince and poet, braver than kings, King of the Fianna, brave in all countries; golden salmon of the sea, clean hawk of the air, rightly taught, avoiding lies; strong in his doings, a right judge, ready in courage, a high messenger in bravery and in music. His skin lime-white, his hair golden; ready to work, gentle to women. His great green vessels full of rough sharp wine, it is rich the king was, the head of his people. Seven sides Finn's house had, and seven score shields on every side. Fifty fighting men he had about him having woollen cloaks; ten bright drinking-cups in his hall; ten blue vessels, ten golden horns. It is a good household Finn had, without grudging, without lust, without vain boasting, without chattering, without any slur on any one of the Fianna. Finn never refused any man; he never put away any one that came to his house. If the brown leaves falling in the woods were gold, if the white waves were silver, Finn would have given away the whole of it. Blackbird of Doire an Chairn, your voice is sweet; I never heard on any height of the world music was sweeter than your voice, and you at the foot of your nest. The music is sweetest in the world, it is a pity not to be listening to it for a while, O son of Calphurn of the sweet bells, and you would overtake your nones again. If you knew the story of the bird the way I know it, you would be crying lasting tears, and you would give no heed to your God for a while. In the country of Lochlann of the blue streams, Finn, son of Cumhal, of the red-gold cups, found that bird you hear now; I will tell you its story truly. Doire an Chairn, that wood there to the west, where the Fianna used to be delaying, it is there they put the blackbird, in the beauty of the pleasant trees. The stag of the heather of quiet Cruachan, the sorrowful croak from the ridge of the Two Lakes; the voice of the eagle of the Valley of the Shapes, the voice of the cuckoo on the Hill of Brambles. The voice of the hounds in the pleasant valley; the scream of the eagle on the edge of the wood; the early outcry of the hounds going over the Strand of the Red Stones. The time Finn lived and the Fianna, it was sweet to them to be listening to the whistle of the blackbird; the voice of the bells would not have been sweet to them. There was no one of the Fianna without his fine silken shirt and his soft coat, without bright armour, without shining stones on his head, two spears in his hand, and a shield that brought victory. If you were to search the world you would not find a harder man, best of blood, best in battle; no one got the upper hand of him. When he went out trying his white hound, which of us could be put beside Finn? One time we went hunting on Slieve-nam-ban; the sun was beautiful overhead, the voice of the hounds went east and west, from hill to hill. Finn and Bran sat for a while on the hill, every man was jealous for the hunt. We let out three thousand hounds from their golden chains; every hound of them brought down two deer. Patrick of the true crozier, did you ever see, east or west, a greater hunt than that hunt of Finn and the Fianna? O son of Calphurn of the bells, that day was better to me than to be listening to your lamentations in the church. * * * * * There is no strength in my hands to-night, there is no power within me; it is no wonder I to be sorowful, being thrown down in the sorrow of old age. Everything is a grief to me beyond any other man on the face of the earth, to be dragging stones along to the church and the hill of the priests. I have a little story of our people. One time Finn had a mind to make a dun on the bald hill of Cuailgne, and he put it on the Fianna of Ireland to bring stones for building it; a third on the sons of Morna, a third on myself, and a third on the sons of Baiscne. I gave an answer to Finn, son of Cumhal; I said I would be under his sway no longer, and that I would obey him no more. When Finn heard that, he was silent a long time, the man without a He, without fear. And he said to me then: "You yourself will be dragging stones before your death comes to you." I rose up then with anger on me, and there followed me the fourth of the brave battalions of the Fianna. I gave my own judgments, there were many of the Fianna with me. Now my strength is gone from me, I that was adviser to the Fianna; my whole body is tired to-night, my hands, my feet, and my head, tired, tired, tired. It is bad the way I am after Finn of the Fianna; since he is gone away, every good is behind me. Without great people, without mannerly ways; it is sorrowful I am after our king that is gone. I am a shaking tree, my leaves gone from me; an empty nut, a horse without a bridle; a people without a dwelling-place, I Oisin, son of Finn. * * * * * It is long the clouds are over me to-night! it is long last night was; although this day is long, yesterday was longer again to me; every day that comes is long to me! That is not the way I used to be, without fighting, without battles, without learning feats, without young girls, without music, without harps, without bruising bones, without great deeds; without increase of learning, without generosity, without drinking at feasts, without courting, without hunting, the two trades I was used to; without going out to battle, Ochone! the want of them is sorrowful to me. No hunting of deer or stag, it is not like that I would wish to be; no leashes for our hounds, no hounds; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! Without rising up to do bravery as we were used, without playing as we had a mind; without swimming of our fighting men in the lake; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! There is no one at all in the world the way I am; it is a pity the way I am; an old man dragging stones; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! I am the last of the Fianna, great Oisin, son of Finn, listening to the voice of bells; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! NOTES I. THE APOLOGY The Irish text of the greater number of the stories in this book has been published, and from this text I have worked, making my own translation as far as my scholarship goes, and when it fails, taking the meaning given by better scholars. In some cases the Irish text has not been printed, and I have had to work by comparing and piecing together various translations. I have had to put a connecting sentence of my own here and there, and I have fused different versions together, and condensed many passages, and I have left out many, using the choice that is a perpetual refusing, in trying to get some clear outline of the doings of the heroes. I have found it more natural to tell the stories in the manner of the thatched houses, where I have heard so many legends of Finn and his friends, and Oisin and Patrick, and the Ever-Living Ones, and the Country of the Young, rather than in the manner of the slated houses, where I have not heard them. Four years ago, Dr Atkinson, a Professor of Trinity College, Dublin, in his evidence before the Commission of Intermediate Education, said of the old literature of Ireland:--"It has scarcely been touched by the movements of the great literatures; it is the untrained popular feeling. Therefore it is almost intolerably low in tone--I do not mean naughty, but low; and every now and then, when the circumstance occasions it, it goes down lower than low ... If I read the books in the Greek, the Latin or the French course, in almost every one of them there is something with an ideal ring about it--something that I can read with positive pleasure--something that has what the child might take with him as a [Greek: ktêma eis dei]--a perpetual treasure; but if I read the Irish books, I see nothing ideal in them, and my astonishment is that through the whole range of Irish literature that I have read (and I have read an enormous range of it), the smallness of the element of idealism is most noticeable ... And as there is very little idealism there is very little imagination ... The Irish tales as a rule are devoid of it fundamentally." Dr Atkinson is an Englishman, but unfortunately not only fellow-professors in Trinity but undergraduates there have been influenced by his opinion, that Irish literature is a thing to be despised. I do not quote his words to draw attention to a battle that is still being fought, but to explain my own object in working, as I have worked ever since that evidence was given, to make a part of Irish literature accessible to many, especially among my young countrymen, who have not opportunity to read the translations of the chief scholars, scattered here and there in learned periodicals, or patience and time to disentangle overlapping and contradictory versions, that they may judge for themselves as to its "lowness" and "want of imagination," and the other well-known charges brought against it before the same Commission. I believe that those who have once learned to care for the story of Cuchulain of Muirthemne, and of Finn and Lugh and Etain, and to recognise the enduring belief in an invisible world and an immortal life behind the visible and the mortal, will not be content with my redaction, but will go, first to the fuller versions of the best scholars, and then to the manuscripts themselves. I believe the forty students of old Irish lately called together by Professor Kuno Meyer will not rest satisfied until they have explored the scores and scores of uncatalogued and untranslated manuscripts in Trinity College Library, and that the enthusiasm which the Gaelic League has given birth to will lead to much fine scholarship. A day or two ago I had a letter from one of the best Greek scholars and translators in England, who says of my "Cuchulain": "It opened up a great world of beautiful legend which, though accounting myself as an Irishman, I had never known at all. I am sending out copies to Irish friends in Australia who, I am sure, will receive the same sort of impression, almost an impression of pride in the beauty of the Irish mind, as I received myself." And President Roosevelt wrote to me a little time ago that after he had read "Cuchulain of Muirthemne," he had sent for all the other translations from the Irish he could get, to take on his journey to the Western States. I give these appreciative words not, I think, from vanity, for they are not for me but for my material, to show the effect our old literature has on those who come fresh to it, and that they do not complain of its "want of imagination." I am, of course, very proud and glad in having had the opportunity of helping to make it known, and the task has been pleasant, although toil-some. Just now, indeed, on the 6th October, I am tired enough, and I think with sympathy of the old Highland piper, who complained that he was "withered with yelping the seven Fenian battalions." II. THE AGE AND ORIGIN OF THE STORIES OF THE FIANNA Mr Alfred Nutt says in _Ossian and the Ossianic Literature,_ No. 3 of his excellent series of sixpenny pamphlets, _Popular Studies in Mythology, Romance, and Folklore_:-- "The body of Gaelic literature connected with the name of Ossian is of very considerable extent and of respectable antiquity. The oldest texts, prose for the most part, but also in verse, are preserved in Irish MSS. of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and go back to a period from one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty years older at least. The bulk of Ossianic literature is, however, of later date as far as the form under which it has come down to us is concerned. A number of important texts, prose for the most part, are preserved in MSS. of the fourteenth century, but were probably redacted in the thirteenth and twelfth centuries. But by far the largest mass consists of narrative poems, as a rule dramatic in structure. These have come down to us in MSS. written in Scotland from the end of the fifteenth to the middle of the seventeenth century, in Ireland from the sixteenth down to the middle of the nineteenth century. The Gaelic-speaking peasantry, alike in Ireland and Scotland, have preserved orally a large number of these ballads, as also a great mass of prose narratives, the heroes of which are Ossian and his comrades. "Were all Ossianic texts preserved in MSS. older than the present century to be printed, they would fill some eight to ten thousand octavo pages. The mere bulk of the literature, even if we allow for considerable repetition of incident, arrests attention. If we further recall that for the last five hundred years this body of romance has formed the chief imaginative recreation of Gaeldom, alike in Ireland and Scotland, and that a peasantry unable to read or write has yet preserved it almost entire, its claims to consideration and study will appear manifest." He then goes on to discuss how far the incidents in the stories can be accepted as they were accepted by Irish historical writers of the eleventh century as authentic history:-- "Fortunately there is little need for me to discuss the credibility or otherwise of the historic records concerning Finn, his family, and his band of warriors. They may be accepted or rejected according to individual bent of mind without really modifying our view of the literature. For when we turn to the romances, whether in prose or verse, we find that, although the history is professedly the same as that of the Annals, firstly, we are transported to a world entirely romantic, in which divine and semi-divine beings, ungainly monsters and giants, play a prominent part, in which men and women change shapes with animals, in which the lives of the heroes are miraculously prolonged--in short, we find ourselves in a land of Faery; secondly, we find that the historic conditions in which the heroes are represented as living do not, for the most part, answer to anything we know or can surmise of the third century. For Finn and his warriors are perpetually on the watch to guard Ireland against the attacks of over-sea raiders, styled Lochlannac by the narrators, and by them undoubtedly thought of as Norsemen. But the latter, as is well known, only came to Ireland at the close of the eighth century, and the heroic period of their invasions extended for about a century, from 825 to 925; to be followed by a period of comparative settlement during the tenth century, until at the opening of the eleventh century the battle of Clontarf, fought by Brian, the great South Irish chieftain, marked the break-up of the separate Teutonic organisations and the absorption of the Teutons into the fabric of Irish life. In these pages then we may disregard the otherwise interesting question of historic credibility in the Ossianic romances: firstly, because they have their being in a land unaffected by fact; secondly, because if they ever did reflect the history of the third century the reflection was distorted in after-times, and a pseudo-history based upon events of the ninth and tenth centuries was substituted for it. What the historian seeks for in legend is far more a picture of the society in which it took rise than a record of the events which it commemorates." In a later part of the pamphlet Mr Nutt discusses such questions as whether we may look for examples of third-century customs in the stories, what part of the stories first found their way into writing, whether the Oisin and Patrick dialogues were written under the influence of actual Pagan feeling persisting from Pagan times, or whether "a change came over the feeling of Gaeldom during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries," when the Oisin and Patrick dialogues in their present form began to be written. His final summing-up is that "well-nigh the same stories that were told of Finn and his warrior braves by the Gael of the eleventh century are told in well-nigh the same way by his descendant to-day." Mr Nutt does not enquire how long the stories may have been told before the first story was written down. Larminie, however, whose early death was the first great loss of our intellectual movement, pushes them backward for untold ages in the introduction to his _West Irish Folk Tales and Romances_. He builds up a detailed and careful argument, for which I must refer readers to his book, to prove that the Scottish Highlands and Ireland have received their folk-lore both from "Aryan and Non-Aryan sources," and that in the Highlands there is more non-Aryan influence and more non-Aryan blood than in Ireland. He argues that nothing is more improbable than that all folk-tales are Aryan, as has sometimes been supposed, and sums up as follows:-- "They bear the stamp of the genius of more than one race. The pure and placid but often cold imagination of the Aryan has been at work on some. In others we trace the more picturesque fancy, the fierceness and sensuality, the greater sense of artistic elegance belonging to races whom the Aryan, in spite of his occasional faults of hardness and coarseness, has, on the whole, left behind him. But as the greatest results in the realm of the highest art have always been achieved in the case of certain blends of Aryan with other blood, I should hardly deem it extravagant if it were asserted that in the humbler regions of the folk-tale we might trace the working of the same law. The process which has gone on may in part have been as follows:--Every race which has acquired very definite characteristics must have been for a long time isolated. The Aryans during their period of isolation probably developed many of their folk-germs into their larger myths, owing to the greater constructiveness of their imagination, and thus, in a way, they used up part of their material. Afterwards, when they became blended with other races less advanced, they acquired fresh material to work on. We have in Ireland an instance to hand, of which a brief discussion may help to illustrate the whole race theory. "The larger Irish legendary literature divides itself into three cycles--the divine, the heroic, the Fenian. Of these three the last is so well-known orally in Scotland that it has been a matter of dispute to which country it really belongs. It belongs, in fact, to both. Here, however, comes in a strange contrast with the other cycles. The first is, so far as I am aware, wholly unknown in Scotland, the second comparatively unknown. What is the explanation? Professor Zimmer not having established his late-historical view as regards Finn, and the general opinion among scholars having tended of recent years towards the mythical view, we want to know why there is so much more community in one case than in the other. Mr O'Grady long since seeing this difficulty, and then believing Finn to be historical, was induced to place the latter in point of time before Cuchulain and his compeers. But this view is of course inadmissible when Finn is seen not to be historical at all. There remains but one explanation. The various bodies of legend in question are, so far as Ireland is concerned, only earlier or later, as they came into the island with the various races to which they belonged. The wider prevalence, then, of the Finn Saga would indicate that it belonged to an early race occupying both Ireland and Scotland. Then entered the Aryan Gael, and for him henceforth, as the ruler of the island, his own gods and heroes were sung by his own bards. His legends became the subject of what I may call the court poetry, the aristocratic literature. When he conquered Scotland, he took with him his own gods and heroes; but in the latter country the bardic system never became established, and hence we find but feeble echoes of the heroic cycle among the mountains of the North. That this is the explanation is shown by what took place in Ireland. Here the heroic cycle has been handed down in remembrance almost solely by the bardic literature. The popular memory retains but few traces of it. Its essentially aristocratic character is shown by the fact that the people have all but forgotten it, if they ever knew it. But the Fenian cycle has not been forgotten. Prevailing everywhere, still cherished by the conquered peoples, it held its ground in Scotland and Ireland alike, forcing its way in the latter country even into the written literature, and so securing a twofold lease of existence ... The Fenian cycle, in a word, is non-Aryan folk-literature partially subjected to Aryan treatment." The whole problem is extremely complex, and several other writers have written upon it. Mr Borlase, for instance, has argued in his big book on the Dolmens that the cromlechs, and presumably the Diarmuid and Crania legend, is connected with old religious rites of an erotic nature coming down from a very primitive state of society. I have come to my own conclusion not so much because of any weight of argument, as because I found it impossible to arrange the stories in a coherent form so long as I considered them a part of history. I tried to work on the foundation of the Annalists, and fit the Fianna into a definite historical epoch, but the whole story seemed trivial and incoherent until I began to think of them as almost contemporaneous with the battle of Magh Tuireadh, which even the Annalists put back into mythical ages. In this I have only followed some of the story-tellers, who have made the mother of Lugh of the Long Hand the grandmother of Finn, and given him a shield soaked with the blood of Balor. I cannot think of any of the stories as having had a modern origin, or that the century in which each was written down gives any evidence as to its age. "How Diarmuid got his Love-Spot," for instance, which was taken down only a few years ago from some old man's recitation by Dr Hyde, may well be as old as "Finn and the Phantoms," which is in one of the earliest manuscripts. It seems to me that one cannot choose any definite period either from the vast living mass of folk-lore in the country or from the written text, and that there is as good evidence of Finn being of the blood of the gods as of his being, as some of the people tell me, "the son of an O'Shaughnessy who lived at Kiltartan Cross." Dr Douglas Hyde, although he placed the Fenian after the Cuchulain cycle in his _History of Irish Literature_, has allowed me to print this note:-- "While believing in the real objective existence of the Fenians as a body of Janissaries who actually lived, ruled, and hunted in King Cormac's time, I think it equally certain that hundreds of stories, traits, and legends far older and more primitive than any to which they themselves could have given rise, have clustered about them. There is probably as large a bulk of primitive mythology to be found in the Finn legend as in that of the Red Branch itself. The story of the Fenians was a kind of nucleus to which a vast amount of the flotsam and jetsam of a far older period attached itself, and has thus been preserved." As I found it impossible to give that historical date to the stories, I, while not adding in anything to support my theory, left out such names as those of Cormac and Art, and such more or less historical personages, substituting "the High King." And in the "Battle of the White Strand," I left out the name of Caelur, Tadg's wife, because I had already followed another chronicler in giving him Ethlinn for a wife. In the earlier part I have given back to Angus Og the name of "The Disturber," which had, as I believe, strayed from him to the Saint of the same name. III. THE AUTHORITIES The following is a list of the authorities I have been chiefly helped by in putting these stories together and in translation of the text. But I cannot make it quite accurate, for I have sometimes transferred a mere phrase, sometimes a whole passage from one story to another, where it seemed to fit better. I have sometimes, in the second part of the book, used stories preserved in the Scottish Gaelic, as will be seen by my references. I am obliged to write these notes away from libraries, and cannot verify them, but I think they are fairly correct. PART ONE. BOOKS ONE, TWO, AND THREE THE COMING OF THE TUATHA DE DANAAN, AND LUGH OF THE LONG HAND, AND THE COMING OF THE GAEL.-- O'Curry, _Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish_; _MSS. Materials_; _Atlantis_; De Jubainville, _Cycle Mythologique_; Hennessy, _Chronicum Scotorum_; Atkinson, _Book of Leinster_; _Annals of the Four Masters_; Nennius, _Hist, Brit._ (Irish Version); Zimmer, _Glossae Hibernacae_; Whitley Stokes, _Three Irish Glossaries_; _Revue Celtique_ and _Irische Texte_; _Gaedelica_; Nutt, _Voyage of Bran_; _Proceedings Ossianic Societ_; O'Beirne Crowe, _Amra Columcille_; Dean of Lismore's Book; Windisch, _Irische Texte_; Hennessy and others in _Revue Celtique_; _Kilkenny Archaeological Journal_; Keatinge's _History_; _Ogyia_; Curtin's _Folk Tales_; _Proceedings Royal Irish Academy_, MSS. Series; Dr Sigerson, _Bards of Gael and Gall_; Miscellanies, _Celtic Society_. BOOK FOUR THE EVER-LIVING LIVING ONES I have used many of the above, and for separate stories, I may give these authorities:-- MIDHIR AND ETAIN.-- O'Curry, _Manners and Customs_; Whitley Stokes, _Dinnsenchus_; Müller, _Revue Celtique_; Nutt, _Voyage of Bran_; De Jubainville, _Epopée Celtique_; Standish Hayes O'Grady, MS. lent me by him. MANANNAN AT PLAY.-- S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_. HIS CALL TO BRAN.-- Professor Kuno Meyer in Nutt's _Voyage of Bran_; S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_; De Jubainville, _Cycle Mythologique_. HIS THREE CALLS TO CORMAC.-- Whitley Stokes, _Irische Texte_. CLIODNA'S WAVE.-- S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_; Whitley Stokes, _Dinnsenchus_. HIS CALL TO CONNLA.-- O'Beirne Crowe, _Kilkenny Arch. Journal_; Windisch, _Irische Texte_. TADG IN THE ISLANDS.-- S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_. LAEGAIRE IN THE HAPPY PLAIN.-- S.H. O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_; Kuno Meyer in Nutt's _Voyage of Bran_. FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR.-- O'Curry, _Atlantis_. PART TWO. THE FIANNA THE COMING OF FINN, AND FINN'S HOUSEHOLD.-- _Proceedings Ossianic Society_; Kuno Meyer, _Four Songs of Summer and Winter_; _Revue Celtique_; S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_; Curtin's _Folk Tales_. BIRTH OF BRAN.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. OISIN'S MOTHER.-- Kennedy, _Legendary Fictions Irish Celts_; Mac Innis; _Leabhar na Feinne_. BEST MEN OF THE FIANNA.-- Dean of Lismore's Book; _Silva Gaedelica; Leabhar na Feinne_. LAD OF THE SKINS.-- _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition_; Larminie's _Folk Tales_; Curtin's _Tales_. THE HOUND.-- _Silva Gaedelica_; Whitley Stokes, _Dinnsenchus_. RED RIDGE.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. BATTLE OF THE WHITE STRAND.-- Kuno Meyer, _Anec. Oxonienses_; Hanmer's _Chronicle_; Dean of Lismore; Curtin's _Tales_; _Silva Gaedelica_. KING OF BRITAIN'S SON.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. THE CAVE OF CEISCORAN.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. DONN, SON OF MIDHIR.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. HOSPITALITY OF CUANNA'S HOUSE.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. CAT-HEADS AND DOG-HEADS.-- Dean of Lismore; _Leabhar na Feinne_; Campbell's _Popular Tales of the Western Highlands_. LOMNA'S HEAD.-- O'Curry, _Orc. Treith_, O'Donovan, ed. Stokes. ILBREC OF ESS RUADH.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. CAVE OF CRUACHAN.-- Stokes, _Irische Texts._ WEDDING AT CEANN SLIEVE.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. THE SHADOWY ONE.-- O'Curry. FINN'S MADNESS.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. THE RED WOMAN.-- Hyde, _Sgealuidhe Gaedhealach_. FINN AND THE PHANTOMS.-- Kuno Meyer, _Revue Celtique_. THE PIGS OF ANGUS.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. HUNT OF SLIEVE CUILINN.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. OISIN'S CHILDREN.-- O'Curry; _Leabhar na Feinne_; Campbell's _Popular Tales of the Western Highlands_; Stokes, _Irische Texte_; Dean of Lismore; _Celtic Magazine_; _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition_. BIRTH OF DIARMUID.-- _Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grania_ (Society for Preservation of the Irish Language); Campbell's _Popular Tales_. HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE-SPOT.-- Hyde, _Sgealuidhe Gaedhealach_. DAUGHTER OF KING UNDER-WAVE.-- Campbell's _Popular Tales_. THE HARD SERVANT.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. HOUSE OF THE QUICKEN TREES.-- MSS. in Royal Irish Academy, and in Dr Hyde's possession. DIARMUID AND GRANIA.-- Text Published by S. Hayes O'Grady, _Proc. Ossianic Society_, and re-edited by N. O'Duffey for Society for Preservation of the Irish Language; Kuno Meyer, _Revue Celtique_, and _Four Songs_; _Leabhar na Feinne_; Campbell's _Popular Tales_; _Kilkenny Arch. Journal_; _Folk Lore_, vol. vii., 1896; Dean of Lismore; Nutt, _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition_. CNOC-AN-AIR, ETC.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. WEARING AWAY OF THE FIANNA.-- _Silva Gaedelica_; Dean of Lismore; _Leabhar na Feinne_; Campbell's _Popular Tales_; _Proc. Ossianic Society_; O'Curry; _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition_; Stokes, _Irische Texte_. THE END OF THE FIANNA.-- Hyde, _Sgealuidhe Gaedhealach_; _Proc. Ossianic Society_; _Silva Gaedelica_; Miss Brooke's _Reliques_; _Annals of the Four Masters_; _Celtic Magazine_. OISIN AND PATRICK, AND OISIN'S LAMENTS.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_; Dean of Lismore; _Kilkenny Arch, fournal_; Curtin's _Tales_. I have taken Grania's sleepy song, and the description of Finn's shield and of Cumhal's treasure-bag, and the fact of Finn's descent from Ethlinn, from _Duanaire Finn_, now being edited for the Irish Texts Society by Mr John MacNeill, the proofs of which I have been kindly allowed to see. And I have used sometimes parts of stories, or comments on them gathered directly from the people, who have kept these heroes so much in mind. The story of Caoilte coming to the help of the King of Ireland in a dark wood is the only one I have given without either a literary or a folk ancestry. It was heard or read by Mr Yeats, he cannot remember where, but he had, with it in his mind, written of "Caoilte's burning hair" in one of his poems. I and my readers owe special thanks to those good workers in the discovery of Irish literature, Professor Kuno Meyer and Mr Whitley Stokes, translators of so many manuscripts; and to my friend and kinsman Standish Hayes O'Grady, for what I have taken from that wonderful treasure-house, his _Silva Gaedelica_. IV. THE PRONUNCIATION This is the approximate pronunciation of some of the more difficult names: Adhnuall Ai-noo-al. Ailbhe. Alva. Almhuin All-oon, _or_ Alvin. Aobh Aev, _or_ Eev. Aodh Ae (rhyming to "day"). Aoibhill Evill. Aoife Eefa. Badb Bibe. Beltaine, or Bealtaine Bal-tinna. Bladhma Bly-ma. Bodb Dearg Bove Darrig. Caoilte Cweeltia. Cam Ruidhe Corn Rwee. Ciabhan Kee-a-van. Cliodna Cleevna. Coincheann Kun-Kann. Crann Buidhe Cran bwee. Credhe Crae-a. Cumhal Coo-al. Deaghadh D'ya-a. Dubhthach Duffach. Duibhreann Dhiv-ran. Duibhrium Dhiv-rinn. Dun Doon. Eimher Aevir. Emhain Avvin. Eochaid Eohee. Eoghan Owen. Fionnchad Finn-ach-a. Fodhla Fóla. Fodla Fola. Gallimh Gol-yiv. Glas Gaibhnenn Glos Gov-nan. Leith Laeig Leh Laeg. Loch Dairbhreach Loch Darvragh. Lugaidh Loo-ee, _or_ Lewy. Lugh Loo. Magh an Ionganaidh Moy-in-eean-ee. Magh Cuillean Moy Cullin. Magh Feabhail Moy Fowl. Magh Macraimhe Moy Mucrivva. Magh Mell Moy Mal. Magh Rein Moy Raen. Magh Tuireadh Moytirra. Manannan Mananaun. Midhe Mee. Midhna Mec-na. Mochaomhog Mo-cwecv-og. Muadhan Moo-aun. Murchadh Murachu. Nemhnain Now-nin. Niamh Nee-av. Og Og. Rath Medba, or Meadhbha Ra Maev-a. Rudraighe Rury. Samhain Sow-in. Scathniamh Scau-nee-av. Sceolan Skolaun. Searbhan Sharavaun. Sidhe Shee. Slieve Echtge Sleev Acht-ga. Tadg Teig. Teamhair T'yower, _or_ Tavvir. Tuatha de Danaan Too-a-ha dae Donnan. Tuathmumhain Too-moon. I have not followed a fixed rule as to the spelling of Irish names; I have taken the spelling I give from various good authorities, but they vary so much that, complete accuracy not being easy, I sometimes look to custom and convenience. I use, for instance, "Slieve" for "Sliabh," because it comes so often, and a mispronunciation would spoil so many names. I have treated "Inbhir" (a river mouth) in the same way, spelling it "Inver," and even adopting it as an English word, because it is so useful. The forty scholars of the New School of Old Irish will do us good service if they work at the question both of spelling and of pronunciation of the old names and settle them as far as is possible. V. THE PLACE NAMES Accuill Achill, Co. Mayo. Aine Cliach Cnoc Aine, Co. Limerick. Almhuin Near Kildare. Ath Cliath Dublin. Athluain Athlone. Ath na Riogh Athenry. Badhamain Cahir, Co. Tipperary. Baile Cronin Barony of Imokilty, Co. Cork. Banna The Bann. Beare Berehaven. Bearna na Eadargana Roscommon. Bearnas Mor Co. Donegal. Beinn Gulbain Benbulban, Co. Sligo. Beire do Bhunadas Berehaven. Bel-atha Senaig Ballyshannon. Belgata In Connemara. Benna Boirde Source of the Bann and Mourne Mountains. Berramain Near Tralee. Bhas River Bush. Boinn River Boyne. Bri Leith Co. Longford. Cairbre Carbury. Cairgin Three miles south of Londonderry. Carrthach River River Carra, near Dunkerrin Mountains. Ceanntaile Kinsale. Ceiscorainn Co. Sligo. Cill Dolun Killaloe, Co. Clare. Cliodna's Wave At Glandore, Co. Cork. Cluantarbh Clontarf. Cnoc Aine Co. Limerick. Cnoc-an-Air Co. Kerry. Cnoc na righ Co. Sligo. Corca Duibhne Corcaguiny, Co. Kerry. Corrslieve Carlow Mountains. Crotta Cliach Galtee Mountains. Cruachan Co. Roscommon. Cruachan Aigle Croagh Patrick. Doire a Cairn Derrycarn, Co. Meath. Doire-da-Bhoth In Slieve Echtge. Druim Cleibh Co. Sligo. Druim Lis Near Loch Gill. Druimscarha Near River Arighis, Co. Cork. Dun Sobairce Dunsevenh, Co. Antrim. Durlas Thurles. Ess Dara Near Sligo. Ess Ruadh Assaroe, Co. Donegal. Fidh Gaible Fergill, Co. Sligo. Finntraighe Ventry. Fionn The Finn. Fionnabraic Kilfenna, Co. Clare. Fionntutach Co. Limerick. Fleisge Co. Kerry. Gabhra Near Tara. Gaibh atha na Fiann River Leamhar, flows from Killarney. Gairech and Ilgairech Hills near Mullingar. Gallimh Galway. Gleann na Caor Co. Cork. Gullach Dollairb Barony of Rathconrath. Hill of Bairnech Near Killarney. Hill of Uisnech Co. Westmeath. Inver Cechmaine East coast of Ulster. Inver Colpa Drogheda. Inver Slane N.E. of Leinster. Irrus Domnann Erris, Co. Mayo. Island of Toraig Tory Island, Co. Donegal. Laoi River Lee. Leith Laoi Leitrim. Linn Feic Near Slaney. Loch Bel Sead Co. Tipperary. Loch Cé Co. Roscommon. Loch Dairbhreach Loch Derryvaragh, Co. Westmeath. Loch Deirg Dheirc Loch Derg on the Shannon. Loch Eirne Loch Erne. Loch Feabhail Loch Foyle. Loch Lein Killarney. Loch Orbson Loch Corrib. Loch na-n Ean In Co. Roscommon. Lough Neatach Loch Neagh. Luimneach Limerick. Maev Mhagh Plain about Loughrea. Magh Cobha Iveagh, Co. Down. Magh Cuilenn Moycullen, Co. Galway. Magh Femen Co. Tipperary. Magh Larg Co. Roscommon. Magh Leine King's County. Magh Luirg Co. Roscommon. Magh Maini Co. Wexford. Magh Mucraimhe Near Athenry. Magh Nia Same as Magh Tuireadh. Magh Rein Co. Leitrim. Magh Tuireadh Moytura near Sligo, scene of great battle, and Moytura, near Cong, scene of first battle. March of Finnliath River Lee, near Tralee. Midhe Meath, west of Ardagh. Mis Geadh In Bay of Erris. Muaid River Moy. Muc-inis Muckinish, off Connemara. Nas Naas. Nem The Nem. Oenach Clochan Morristown, Co. Limerick. Osraige Ossory. Paps of Dana Co. Kerry. Portlairge Waterford. River Maigh Co. Limerick. Ros da Shioleach Limerick. Ruirlech Liffey. Samair R. Cumhair, runs through Bruff. Sionnan River Shannon. Siuir River Suir, Co. Tipperary. Siuir and Beoir Suir and Nore and Barrow. and Berba Slieve Baisne Co. Roscommon. Slieve Bladmai Slieve Bloom. Slieve Buane Slieve Banne, Co. Roscommon. Slieve Conaill Border of Leitrim and Donegal. Slieve Crot Co. Tipperary. Slieve Cua Co. Waterford. Slieve Cua and Slieve Crot In Galtee Mountains. Slieve Cuailgne Co. Louth. Slieve Echtge Co. Galway. Slieve Fuad Co. Armagh. Slieve Guaire Co. Cavan. Slieve Luchra Co. Kerry. Slieve Lugha Co. Mayo. Slieve Mis Co. Kerry. Slieve Muice Co. Tipperary. Slieve-nam-Ban Co. Tipperary Sligach Sligo. Srub Bruin In West Kerry. Sruth na Maoile Mull of Cantire. Tailltin Telltown. Teamhair Tara, Co. Meath. Teunhair Luchra Near Castle Island, Co. Kerry. The Beith River Behy, Barony of Dunkerrin. The Beoir The Berba. The Islands of Mod In Clew Bay. The Lemain River Laune, Co. Kerry. The Muaidh River Moy, Co. Sligo. Tonn Toime Toines, near Killarney. Traigh Eothaile Near Ballisodare. Tuathmumain Thomond. Ui Chonaill Gabhra Co. Limerick. Ui Fiachraih, Fiachraig Co. Mayo. Wave of Rudraighe Bay of Dundrum. 
5680	----	This eBook was produced by John B. Hare and Carrie Lorenz. HEROIC ROMANCES OF IRELAND TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE, WITH PREFACE, SPECIAL INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES BY A. H. LEAHY IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I PREFACE At a time like the present, when in the opinion of many the great literatures of Greece and Rome are ceasing to hold the influence that they have so long exerted upon human thought, and when the study of the greatest works of the ancient world is derided as "useless," it may be too sanguine to hope that any attention can be paid to a literature that is quite as useless as the Greek; which deals with a time, which, if not actually as far removed from ours as are classical times, is yet further removed in ideas; a literature which is known to few and has yet to win its way to favour, while the far superior literature of Greece finds it hard to defend the position that it long ago won. It may be that reasons like these have weighed with those scholars who have opened up for us the long-hidden treasures of Celtic literature; despairing of the effort to obtain for that literature its rightful crown, and the homage due to it from those who can appreciate literary work for itself, they have been contented to ask for the support of that smaller body who from philological, antiquarian, or, strange as it may appear, from political reasons, are prepared to take a modified interest in what should be universally regarded as in its way one of the most interesting literatures of the world. The literary aspect of the ancient literature of Ireland has not indeed been altogether neglected. It has been used to furnish themes on which modern poems can be written; ancient authority has been found in it for what is essentially modern thought: modern English and Irish poets have claimed the old Irish romances as inspirers, but the romances themselves have been left to the scholars and the antiquarians. This is not the position that Irish literature ought to fill. It does undoubtedly tell us much of the most ancient legends of modern Europe which could not have been known without it; but this is not its sole, or even its chief claim to be heard. It is itself the connecting-link between the Old World and the New, written, so far as can be ascertained, at the time when the literary energies of the ancient world were dead, when the literatures of modern Europe had not been born,[FN#1] in a country that had no share in the ancient civilisation of Rome, among a people which still retained many legends and possibly a rudimentary literature drawn from ancient Celtic sources, and was producing the men who were the earliest classical scholars of the modern world. [FN#1] The only possible exceptions to this, assuming the latest possible date for the Irish work, and the earliest date for others, are the kindred Welsh literature and that of the Anglo-Saxon invaders of Britain. The exact extent of the direct influence of Irish literature upon the development of other nations is hard to trace, chiefly because the influence of Ireland upon the Continent was at its height at the time when none of the languages of modern Europe except Welsh and Anglo-Saxon had reached a stage at which they might be used for literary purposes, and a Continental literature on which the Irish one might have influence simply did not exist. Its subsequent influence, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, upon Welsh, and through Welsh upon the early Breton literature (now lost) appears to be established; it is usually supposed that its action upon the earliest French compositions was only through the medium of these languages, but it is at least possible that its influence in this case also was more direct. In Merovingian and early Carlovingian times, when French songs were composed, which are now lost but must have preceded the extant chansons de geste, the Irish schools were attracting scholars from the neighbouring countries of Europe; Ireland was sending out a steady stream of "learned men" to France, Germany, and Italy; and it is at least possible that some who knew the Irish teachers realized the merit of the literary works with which some of these teachers must have been familiar. The form of the twelfth-century French romance, "Aucassin and Nicolete," is that of the chief Irish romances, and may well have been suggested by them; whilst the variety of the rhythm and the elaborate laws of the earliest French poetry, which, both in its Northern and Southern form, dates from the first half of the twelfth century, almost imply a pre-existing model; and such a model is more easily traced in Irish than in any other vernacular literature that was then available. It is indeed nearly as hard to suppose that the beautiful literature of Ireland had absolutely no influence upon nations known to be in contact with it, as it would be to hold to the belief that the ancient Cretan civilisation had no effect upon the liter ary development that culminated in the poems of Homer. Before speaking of what the Irish literature was, it may be well to say what it was not. The incidents related in it date back, according to the "antiquaries" of the ninth to the twelfth centuries, some to the Christian era, some to a period long anterior to it; but occasional allusions to events that were unknown in Ireland before the introduction of Christianity, and a few to classical personages, show that the form of the present romances can hardly be pre-Christian, or even close translations into Old or Middle Irish of Druidic tales. It has therefore been the fashion to speak of the romances as inaccurate survivals of pre-Christian works, which have been added to by successive generations of "bards," a mode of viewing our versions of the romances which of course puts them out of the category of original literature and hands them over to the antiquarians; but before they suffer this fate, it is reasonable to ask that their own literary merit should be considered in a more serious manner than has yet been attempted. The idea that our versions of the romances are inaccurate reproductions of Druidic tales is not at all borne out by a study of the romances themselves; for each of these, except for a few very manifestly late insertions, has a style and character of its own. There were, undoubtedly, old traditions, known to the men who in the sixth and seventh centuries may have written the tales that we have, known even to men who in the tenth and eleventh centuries copied them and commented upon them; but the romances as they now stand do not look like pieces of patchwork, but like the works of men who had ideas to convey; and to me at least they seem to bear approximately the same relation to the Druid legends as the works of the Attic tragedians bear to the archaic Greek legends on which their tragedies were based. In more than one case, as in the "Courtship of Etain," which is more fully discussed below, there are two versions of the same tale, the framework being the same in both, while the treatment of the incidents and the view of the characters of the actors is essentially different; and when the story is treated from the antiquarian point of view, that which regards both versions as resting upon a common prehistoric model, the question arises, which of the two more nearly represents the "true" version? There is, I would submit, in such cases, no true version. The old Druidic story, if it could be found, would in all probability contain only a very small part of either of our two versions; it would be bald, half-savage in tone, like one of the more ancient Greek myths, and producing no literary effect; the literary effect of both the versions that we have, being added by men who lived in Christian times, were influenced by Christian ideals, and probably were, like many of their contemporaries, familiar with the literary bequests of the ancient world.[FN#2] [FN#2] It seems to be uncertain whether or not the writers of the Irish romances shared in the classical learning for which Ireland was noted in their time. The course of study at the schools established for the training of the fili in the tenth and eleventh centuries was certainly, as has been pointed out, very different from that of the ecclesiastical schools (see Joyce, vol. i. p. 430). No classical instruction was included in this training, but it is not certain that this separation of studies was so complete before what is called the "antiquarian age" set in. Cormac mac Cuninan, for example, was a classical scholar, and at the same time skilled in the learning of the fili. It should also be observed that the course at the ecclesiastical schools, as handed down to us, hardly seems to be classical enough to have produced a Columbanus or an Erigena; the studies that produced these men must have been of a different kind, and the lay schools as originally established by Sanchan Torpest may have included much that afterwards gave place to a more purely Irish training. The tale of Troy seems to have been known to the fili, and there are in their works allusions to Greek heroes, to Hercules and Hector, but it has been pointed out by Mr. Nutt that there is little if any evidence of influence produced by Latin or Greek literature on the actual matter or thought of the older Irish work. On this point reference may be made to a note on "Mae Datho's Boar" in this volume (p. 173), but even if this absence of classical influence is established (and it is hard to say what will not be found in Irish literature), it is just possible that the same literary feeling which made Irish writers of comparatively late tales keep the bronze weapons and chariots of an earlier date in their accounts of ancient wars, while they described arms of the period when speaking of battles of their own time, affected them in this instance also; and that they had enough restraint to refrain from introducing classical and Christian ideas when speaking of times in which they knew these ideas would have been unfamiliar. It may be, and often is, assumed that the appearance of grotesque or savage passages in a romance is an indication of high antiquity, and that these passages at least are faithful reproductions of Druidic originals, but this does not seem to be quite certain. Some of these passages, especially in the case of romances preserved in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri (The Book of the Dun Cow), look like insertions made by scribes of an antiquarian turn of mind,[FN#3] and are probably of very ancient date; in other cases, as for example in the "Boar of Mac Datho," where Conall dashes Anluan's head into Ket's face, the savagery is quite in 'keeping with the character of the story, and way have been deliberately invented by an author living in Christian times, to add a flavour to his tale, although in doing so he probably imitated a similar incident in some other legend. To take a classical parallel, the barbarity shown by Aeneas in Aeneid x. 518-520, in sacrificing four youths on the funeral pyre of Pallas, an act which would have been regarded with horror in Virgil's own day, does not prove that there was any ancient tale of the death of Pallas in which these victims were sacrificed, nor even that such victims were sacrificed in ancient Latium in Pallas' day; but it does show that Virgil was familiar with the fact that such victims used in some places to be sacrificed on funeral pyres; for, in a sense, he could not have actually invented the incident. [FN#3] See the exhibition of the tips of tongues in the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," page 57. Thus the appearance of an archaic element in an Irish romance is in itself no proof of the Druidic origin of that form of the romance, nor even of the existence of that element in the romance's earliest form: upon such a principle the archaic character of the motif of the "Oedipus Coloneus" would prove it to be the oldest of the Greek tragedies, while as a matter of fact it seems to be doubtful whether the introduction of this motif into the story of Oedipus was not due to Sophocles himself, although of course he drew the idea of it, if not from the original legend of Oedipus, from some other early legend. The most satisfactory test of the authorship of an Irish romance, and one of the most satisfactory tests of its date, is its literary character; and if we look at the literary character of the best of the Irish romances, there is one point that is immediately apparent, the blending of prose and verse. One, the most common, explanation of this, is that the verse was added to the original tale, another that the verse is the older part, the prose being added to make a framework for the verse, but a general view of some of the original romances appears to lead to a very different conclusion. It seems much more probable that the Irish authors deliberately chose a method of making their work at once literary and suited to please a popular audience; they told their stories in plain prose, adding to them verse, possibly chanted by the reciters of the stories, so that while the prose told the story in simple language, the emotions of pity, martial ardour, and the like were awakened by the verse. They did not use the epic form, although their knowledge of classical literature must have made them familiar with it; the Irish epic form is Romance. They had, besides the prose and what may be called the "regular" verse, a third form, that of rose, or as it is sometimes called rhetoric, which is a very irregular form of verse. Sometimes it rhymes, but more often not; the lines are of varying lengths, and to scan them is often very difficult, an alliteration taking the place of scansion in many cases. The rhetoric does not in general develop the story nor take the form of description, it usually consists of songs of triumph, challenges, prophecies, and exhortations, though it is sometimes used for other purposes. It does not conform to strict grammatical rules like the more regular verse and the prose, and many of the literal translations which Irish scholars have made for us of the romances omit this rhetoric entirely, owing to the difficulty in rendering it accurately, and because it does not develop the plots of the stories. Notable examples of such omissions are in Miss Faraday's translation of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "Great Tain," and in Whitley Stokes' translation of the "Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel." With all respect to these scholars, and with the full consciousness of the difficulty of the task that has naturally been felt by one who has vainly attempted to make sense of what their greater skill has omitted, it may be suggested that the total omission of such passages injures the literary effect of a romance in a manner similar to the effect of omitting all the choric pieces in a Greek tragedy: the rhetoric indeed, on account of its irregularity, its occasional strophic correspondence, its general independence of the action of the tale, and its difficulty as compared with the other passages, may be compared very closely to a Greek "chorus." Few of the romances written in prose and verse are entirely without rhetoric; but some contain very little of it; all the six romances of this character given in the present volume (counting as two the two versions of "Etain") contain some rhetoric, but there are only twenty-one such passages in the collection altogether, ten of which are in one romance, the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain." The present collection is an attempt to give to English readers some of the oldest romances in English literary forms that seem to correspond to the literary forms which were used in Irish to produce the same effect, and has been divided into two parts. The first part contains five separate stories, all of which are told in the characteristic form of prose and verse: they are the "Courtship of Etain," the "Boar of Mac Datho," the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the "Death of the Sons of Usnach" (Book of Leinster version), and the "Combat at the Ford" out of the Book of Leinster version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge." Two versions are given of the "Courtship of Etain "; and the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," as is pointed out in the special preface prefixed to it, really consists of two independent versions. It was at first intended to add the better-known version of the "Death of the Sons of Usnach" known as that of the Glenn Masain MS., but the full translation of this has been omitted, partly to avoid making the volume too bulky, partly because this version is readily attainable in a literal form; an extract from it has, however, been added to the Book of Leinster version for the purpose of comparison. In the renderings given of these romances the translation of the prose is nearly literal, but no attempt has been made to follow the Irish idiom where this idiom sounds harsh in English; actives have been altered to passive forms and the reverse, adjectives are sometimes replaced by short sentences which give the image better in English, pronouns, in which Irish is very rich, are often replaced by the persons or things indicated, and common words, like iarom, iarsin, iartain, immorro, and the like (meaning thereafter, moreover, &c.), have been replaced by short sentences that refer back to the events indicated by the words. Nothing has been added to the Irish, except in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain," where there is a lacuna to be filled up, and there are no omissions. The translations of the verse and of the rhetoric are, so far as is possible, made upon similar lines; it was at first intended to add literal renderings of all the verse passages, but it was found that to do so would make the volume of an unmanageable size for its purpose. Literal renderings of all the verse passages in "Etain," the first of the tales in volume i., are given in the notes to that story; the literal renderings of Deirdre's lament in the "Sons of Usnach," and of two poems in "The Combat at the Ford," are also given in full as specimens, but in the case of most of the poems reference is made to easily available literal translations either in English or German: where the literal rendering adopted differs from that referred to, or where the poem in question has not before been translated, the literal rendering has been given in the notes. These examples will, it is believed, give a fair indication of the relation between my verse translations and the originals, the deviations from which have been made as small as possible. The form of four-line verse divided into stanzas has generally been used to render the passages in four-lined verse in the Irish, the only exception to this rule being in the verses at the end of the "Boar of Mac Datho": these are in the nature of a ballad version of the whole story, and have been rendered in a ballad metre that does not conform to the arrangement in verses of the original. The metre of all the Irish four-lined verses in this volume is, except in two short pieces, a seven-syllabled line, the first two lines usually rhyming with each other, and the last two similarly rhyming,[FN#4] in a few cases in the "Boar of Mac Datho" these rhymes are alternate, and in the extract from the Glenn Masain version of the "Sons of Usnach" there is a more complicated rhyme system. It has not been thought necessary to reproduce this metre in all cases, as to do so would sound too monotonous in English; the metre is, however, reproduced once at least in each tale except in that of the "Death of the Sons of Usnach." The eight-lined metre that occurs in five of the verse passages in the "Combat at the Ford" has in one case been reproduced exactly, and in another case nearly exactly, but with one syllable added to each line; the two passages in this romance that are in five-syllabled lines have been reproduced exactly in the Irish metre, in one case with the rhyme-system of the original. With the rhetoric greater liberty has been used; sometimes the original metre has been followed, but more often not; and an occasional attempt has been made to bring out the strophic correspondence in the Irish. [FN#4] An example of this metre is as follows:-- All the elves of Troom seem dead, All their mighty deeds are fled; For their Hound, who hounds surpassed, Elves have bound in slumber fast. In the first volume of the collection the presentation has then been made as near as may be to the form and matter of the Irish; in the second volume, called "Versified Romances," there is a considerable divergence from the Irish form but not from its sense. This part includes the five "Tains" or Cattle-Forays of Fraech, Dartaid, Regamon, Flidais, and Regamna; which in the originals differ from the five tales in volume i, in that they include no verse, except for a few lines in Regamna, most of which are untranslatable. The last four of these are short pieces written in a prose extremely rapid in its action, and crowded with incident. They are all expressly named as "fore-tales," remscela, or preludes to the story of the great war of Cualnge, which is the central event in the Ulster heroic cycle, and appear suited for rapid prose recitations, which were apparently as much a feature in ancient as they are in modern Irish. Such pieces can hardly be reproduced in English prose so as to bring out their character; they are represented in English by the narrative ballad, and they have been here rendered in this way. Literal translations in prose are printed upon the opposite page to the verse, these translations being much more exact than the translations in the first volume, as the object in this case is to show the literal Irish form, not its literal English equivalent, which is in this case the verse. The "Tain bo Fraich" is also, in a sense, a "fore-tale" to the Great Raid, but is of a different character to the others. It consists of two parts, the second of which is not unlike the four that have just been mentioned, but the first part is of a much higher order, containing brilliant descriptions, and at least one highly poetic passage although its Irish form is prose. Fraech has been treated like the other fore-tales, and rendered in verse with literal prose opposite to the verse for the purpose of comparison. The notes to all the five Tana in the second volume accompany the text; in the first volume all the notes to the different romances are collected together, and placed at the end of the volume. The second volume also includes a transcript from the facsimile of that part of the Irish text of the tale of Etain which has not before been published, together with an interlinear literal translation. It is hoped that this arrangement may assist some who are not Middle Irish scholars to realise what the original romances are. The manuscript authorities for the eleven different romances (counting as two the two versions of "Etain") are all old; seven are either in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, an eleventh-century manuscript, or in the Book of Leinster, a twelfth-century one; three of the others are in the fourteenth-century Yellow Book of Lecan, which is often, in the case of texts preserved both in it and the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, regarded as the better authority of the two; and the remaining one, the second version of "Etain," is in the fifteenth-century manuscript known as Egerton, 1782, which gives in an accurate form so many texts preserved in the older manuscripts that it is very nearly as good an authority as they. The sources used in making the translations are also stated in the special introductions, but it may be mentioned as a summary that the four "Preludes," the Tana of Dartaid, Regamon, Flidais, and Regamna, are taken from the text printed with accompanying German translations by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. ii.; Windisch's renderings being followed in those portions of the text that he translates; for the "Tain bo Fraich" and the "Combat at the Ford" the Irish as given by O'Beirne Crowe and by O'Curry, with not very trustworthy English translations, has been followed; in the case of the fragment of the Glenn Masain version of "Deirdre" little reference has been made to the Irish, the literal translation followed being that given by Whitley Stokes. The remaining five romances, the "Boar of Mac Datho," the Leinster version of "Deirdre," the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the Egerton version of "Etain," and the greater part of the Leabbar na h-Uidhri version of the same, are taken from the Irish text printed without translation in Irische Texte, vol. i., the end of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version omitted by Windisch being taken from the facsimile of the manuscript published by the Royal Irish Academy. I have to acknowledge with gratitude many corrections to O'Beirne Crowe's translation of the "Tain bo Fraich" kindly given me by Professor Kuno Meyer; in the case of O'Curry's translation of the "Combat at the Ford," similar help kindly given me by Mr. E. J. Quiggin; and in the case of the two versions of "Etain," more especially for the part taken direct from the facsimile, I have to express gratitude for the kind and ready help given to me by Professor Strachan. Professor Strachan has not only revised my transcript from the facsimile, and supplied me with translations of the many difficult passages in this of which I could make no sense, but has revised all the translation which was made by the help of Windisch's glossary to the Irische Texte of both the versions of "Etain," so that the translations given of these two romances should be especially reliable, although of course I may have made some errors which have escaped Professor Strachan's notice. The three other romances which have been translated from the Irish in Irische Texte have not been similarly revised, but all passages about which there appeared to be doubt have been referred to in the notes to the individual romances. It remains to add some remarks upon the general character of the tales, which, as may be seen after a very cursory examination, are very different both in tone and merit, as might indeed be expected if we remember that we are probably dealing with the works of men who were separated from each other by a gap of hundreds of years. Those who have read the actual works of the ancient writers of the Irish romances will not readily indulge in the generalisations about them used by those to whom the romances are only known by abstracts or a compilation. Perhaps the least meritorious of those in this collection are the "Tains" of Dartaid, Regamon, and Flidais, but the tones of these three stories are very different. Dartaid is a tale of fairy vengeance for a breach of faith; Flidais is a direct and simple story of a raid like a Border raid, reminding us of the "riding ballads" of the Scottish Border, and does not seem to trouble itself much about questions of right or wrong; Regamon is a merry tale of a foray by boys and girls; it troubles itself with the rights of the matter even less than Flidais if possible, and is an example of an Irish tale with what is called in modern times a "good ending." It may be noted that these last two tales have no trace of the supernatural element which some suppose that the Irish writers were unable to dispense with. The "Tain bo Regamna," the shortest piece in the collection, is a grotesque presentation of the supernatural, and is more closely associated with the Great Tain than any of the other fore-tales to it, the series of prophecies with which it closes exactly following the action of the part of the Tain, to which it refers. Some of the grotesque character of Regamna appears in the "Boar of Mac Datho," which, however, like Regamon and Flidais, has no supernatural element; its whole tone is archaic and savage, relieved by touches of humour, but the style of the composition is much superior to that of the first three stories. A romance far superior to "Mae Datho" is the Leinster version of the well-known Deirdre story, the "Death of the Sons of Usnach." The opening of the story is savage, the subsequent action of the prose is very rapid, while the splendid lament at the end, one of the best sustained laments in the language, and the restraint shown in its account of the tragic death of Deirdre, place this version of the story in a high position. As has been already mentioned, parts of the fifteenth-century version of the story have been added to this version for purposes of comparison: the character of the Deirdre of the Leinster version would not have been in keeping with the sentiment of the lament given to her in the later account. The remaining five romances (treating as two the two versions of "Etain") all show great beauty in different ways. Three of the four tales given in them have "good endings," and the feeling expressed in them is less primitive than that shown in the other stories, although it is an open question whether any of them rises quite so high as Deirdre's lament. "Fraech" has, as has been mentioned before, two quite separate parts; the second part is of inferior quality, showing, however, an unusual amount of knowledge of countries lying outside Celtdom, but the first is a most graceful romance; although the hero is a demi-god, and the fairies play a considerable part in it, the interest is essentially human; and the plot is more involved than is the case in most of the romances. It abounds in brilliant descriptions; the description of the Connaught palace is of antiquarian interest; and one of the most beautiful pieces of Celtic mythology, the parentage of the three fairy harpers, is included in it. The "Sick-bed of Cuchulain" and the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "Courtship of Etain" seem to have had their literary effect injured by the personality of the compiler of the manuscript from which the Leabhar na h-Uidhri was copied. Seemingly an antiquarian, interested in the remains of the old Celtic religion and in old ceremonies, he has inserted pieces of antiquarian information into several of the romances that he has preserved for us, and though these are often of great interest in themselves, they spoil the literary effect of the romances in which they appear. It is possible that both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain" and the "Sick-bed" might be improved by a little judicious editing; they have, however, been left just as they stand in the manuscript. The "Sick-bed," as is pointed out in the special introduction to it, consists of two separate versions; the first has plainly some of the compiler's comments added to it, but the second and longer part seems not to have been meddled with; and, although a fragment, it makes a stately romance, full of human interest although dealing with supernatural beings; and its conclusion is especially remarkable in early literature on account of the importance of the action of the two women who are the heroines of this part of the tale. The action of Fand in resigning her lover to the weaker mortal woman who has a better claim upon him is quite modern in its tone. The nearest parallel to the longer version of the "Sick-bed" is the Egerton version of "Etain," which is a complete one, and makes a stately romance. It is full of human interest, love being its keynote; it keeps the supernatural element which is an essential to the original legend in the background, and is of quite a different character to the earlier Leabhar na h-Uidhri version, although there is no reason to assume that the latter is really the more ancient in date. In the Leabbar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain," all that relates to the love-story is told in the baldest manner, the part which deals with the supernatural being highly descriptive and poetic. I am inclined to believe that the antiquarian compiler of the manuscript did here what he certainly did in the case of the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," and pieced together two romances founded upon the same legend by different authors. The opening of the story in Fairyland and the concluding part where Mider again appears are alike both in style and feeling, while the part that comes between is a highly condensed version of the love-story of the Egerton manuscript, and suggests the idea of an abstract of the Egerton version inserted into the story as originally composed, the effect being similar to that which would be produced upon us if we had got Aeschylus' "Choaphorae" handed down to us with a condensed version of the dialogue between Electra and Chrysothemis out of Sophocles' "Electra" inserted by a conscientious antiquarian who thought that some mention of Chrysothemis was necessary. This version of the legend, however, with its strong supernatural flavour, its insistence on the idea of re-birth, its observation of nature, and especially the fine poem in which Mider invites Etain to Fairyland, is a most valuable addition to the literature, and we have to lament the gap in it owing to the loss of a column in that part of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri manuscript which has been preserved. The last piece to be mentioned is the extract from the "Tain be Cuailnge" known as the "Combat at the Ford." This seems to me the finest specimen of old Irish work that has been preserved for us; the brilliance of its descriptions, the appropriate changes in its metres, the chivalry of its sentiments, and the rapidity of its action should, even if there were nothing to stand beside it in Irish literature, give that literature a claim to be heard: as an account of a struggle between two friends, it is probably the finest in any literature. It has been stated recently, no doubt upon sound authority, that the grammatical forms of this episode show it to be late, possibly dating only to the eleventh century. The manuscript in which it appears, however, is of the earlier part of the twelfth century; no literary modem work other than Irish can precede it in time; and if it is the work of an eleventh-century author, it does seem strange that his name or the name of some one of that date who could have written it has not been recorded, as MacLiag's name has been as the traditional author of the eleventh-century "Wars of the Gaedhill and the Gaill," for the names of several Irish authors of that period axe well known, and the Early Middle Irish texts of that period are markedly of inferior quality. Compare for example the Boromaean Tribute which Stokes considers to take high rank among texts of that period (Revue Celtique, xiii. p. 32). One would certainly like to believe that this episode of the "Combat at the Ford" belongs to the best literary period, with which upon literary grounds it seems to be most closely connected. But, whether this comparative lateness of the "Combat at the Ford" be true or not, it, together with all the varied work contained in this collection, with the possible exception of the short extract from the Glenn Masain "Deirdre," is in the actual form that we have it, older than the Norman Conquest of Ireland, older than the Norse Sagas. Its manuscript authority is older than that of the Volsunga Saga; its present form precedes the birth of Chretien de Troyes, the first considerable name in French literature, and, in a form not much unlike that in which we have it, it is probably centuries older than its actual manuscript date. The whole thing stands at the very beginning of the literature of Modern Europe, and compares by no means unfavourably with that which came after, and may, in part, have been inspired by it. Surely it deserves to be raised from its present position as a study known only to a few specialists, and to form part of the mental equipment of every man who is for its own sake interested in and a lover of literature. INTRODUCTION IN VERSE 'Tis hard an audience now to win For lore that Ireland's tales can teach; And faintly, 'mid the modern din, Is heard the old heroic speech. For long the tales in silence slept; The ancient tomes by few were read; E'en those who still its knowledge kept Have thought the living music dead. And some, to save the lore from death, With modern arts each tale would deck, Inflate its rhymes with magic breath, As if to buoy a sinking wreck. They graft new morbid magic dreams On tales where beating life is felt: In each romance find mystic gleams, And traces of the "moody Celt." Yet, though with awe the grassy mound That fairies haunt, is marked to-day; And though in ancient tales are found Dim forms of gods, long passed away; Though later men to magic turned, Inserting many a Druid spell; And ill the masters' craft had learned Who told the tales, and told them well; No tale should need a magic dress Or modern art, its life to give: Each for itself, or great, or less, Should speak, if it deserves to live. Think not a dull, a scribal pen Dead legends wrote, half-known, and feared: In lettered lands to poet men Romance, who lives to-day, appeared. For when, in fear of warrior bands, Had Learning fled the western world, And, raised once more by Irish hands, Her banner stood again unfurled; 'Twas there, where men her laws revered, That Learning aided Art's advance; And Ireland bore, and Ireland reared These Eldest Children of Romance. Her poets knew the Druid creeds; Yet not on these their thoughts would rest: They sang of love, of heroes' deeds, Of kingly pomp, of cheerful jest. Not as in Greece aspired their thought, They joyed in battles wild and stern; Yet pity once to men they taught From whom a fiercer age could learn. Their frequent theme was war: they sang The praise of chiefs of courage high; Yet, from their harps the accents rang That taught to knighthood chivalry. Their heroes praise a conquered foe, Oppose their friends for honour's sake, To weaker chieftains mercy show, And strength of cruel tyrants break. Their nobles, loving fame, rejoice In glory, got from bards, to shine; Yet thus ascends Cuchulain's voice: "No skill indeed to boast is mine!" They sang, to please a warlike age, Of wars, and women's wild lament, Yet oft, restraining warriors' rage, Their harps to other themes were bent. They loved on peaceful pomp to dwell, Rejoiced in music's magic strains,. All Nature's smiling face loved well, And "glowing hues of flowery plains." Though oft of Fairy Land they spoke, No eerie beings dwelled therein, 'Twas filled throughout with joyous folk Like men, though freed from death and sin. And sure those bards were truest knights Whose thoughts of women high were set, Nor deemed them prizes, won in fights, But minds like men's, and women yet. With skilful touch they paint us each, Etain, whose beauty's type for all; Scathach, whose warriors skill could teach Emer, whose words in wisdom fall; Deirdre the seer, by love made keen; Flidais, whose bounty armies feeds The prudent Mugain, Conor's queen; Crund's wife, more swift than Conor's steeds; Finnabar, death for love who dared; Revengeful Ferb, who died of grief Fand, who a vanquished rival spared; Queen Maev, who Connaught led, its chief. Not for the creeds their lines preserve Should Ireland's hero tales be known Their pictured pages praise deserve From all, not learned men alone. Their works are here; though flawed by time, To all the living verses speak Of men who taught to Europe rhyme, Who knew no masters, save the Greek. In forms like those men loved of old, Naught added, nothing torn away, The ancient tales again are told, Can none their own true magic sway? PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES The following list of suggested pronunciations does not claim to be complete or to be necessarily correct in all cases. Some words like Ferdia and Conchobar (Conor) have an established English pronunciation that is strictly speaking wrong; some, like Murthemne are doubtful; the suggestions given here are those adopted by the editor for such information as is at his disposal. It seems to be unnecessary to give all the names, as the list would be too long; this list contains those names in the first volume as are of frequent occurrence; names that occur less commonly, and some of those in the following list, have a pronunciation indicated in foot-notes. The most important names are in small capitals. LIST OF NAMES Aife (Ee-fa), pp. 117, 129, 1342 141, 148, an instructress of Cuchulain, Ferdia, and others in the art of war. Cathbad (Cah-ba), pp. 91, 92, 93, 95, a Druid. Cualgne (Kell-ny), mentioned in the Preface, Introductions, the "Combat" and elsewhere; a district corresponding to County Louth. Cuchulain (Cu-hoo-lin), the hero of the "Sick-bed" and the "Combat," and of the Ulster Heroic cycle in general. Deirdre (Dire-dree), the heroine of the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach." Dubhtach (Doov-ta), pp. 48, 97, 98, 107, an Ulster hero. Eochaid Airem (Yeo-hay Arrem), the king in the "Courtship of Etain." Eochaid Juil (Yeo-hay Yool), pp. 63, 70, 76, 79, a fairy king killed by Cuchulain. Eogan mac Durthacht (Yeogan mac Door-ha), pp. 43, 48, 93, 97, 101, 107; an Ulster hero, the slayer of the sons of Usnach. Etain (Et-oyn), the heroine of the "Courtship of Etain." Ferdia (Fer-dee-a), Cuchulain's opponent in the "Combat at the Ford." The true pronunciation is probably Fer-deed. Fuamnach (Foom-na), pp. 79 9, 10, 19, 26, a sorceress. Laeg (Layg), son of Riangabra (Reen-gabra), the charioteer and friend of Cuchulain, frequently mentioned in the "Sick-bed" and the "Combat at the Ford." Laegaire (Leary), pp. 42, 46, 67, an Ulster hero. Leabhar na h-Uidhri (Lyow-er na hoorie), frequently mentioned, the oldest Irish manuscript of romance. It means the "Book of the Dun Cow," sometimes referred to as L.U. Mac Datho (Mac Da-ho), king of Leinster in the "Boar of Mac Datho," the word means "son of two mutes." Murthemne (Moor-temmy), pp. 57, 59, 61, 73, 77, 78, a district in Ulster, with which Cuchulain is connected in the "Sick-bed" (in the "Combat" he is "Cuchulain of Cualgne"). Naisi (Nay-see), the hero of the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach." Scathach (Ska-ha), pp. 117, 129) 131, 134, 141, 149, 151 a sorceress in the Isle of Skye, instructress of Cuchulain in war. Uathach (Oo-ha), pp. 117, 129, 134; 141) 149, daughter of Scathach. Other prominent characters, in the pronunciation of whose names as given in the text no special assistance is required, are: Ailill mac Mata (Al-ill), king of Connaught. Ailill Anglonnach, lover of Etain, in the "Courtship of Etain." Conall Cernach, Conall the Victorious, second champion of Ulster after Cuchulain. Conor (properly spelt Conchobar and pronounced Con-ower), king of Ulster. Emer, wife of Cuchulain, appears often in the "Sick-bed." This name is by some pronounced A-vair, probably from a different spelling. Fand, the fairy princess, in love with Cuchulain, in the "Sick-bed." Fergus, son of Rog, prominent in the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach," and in "Combat"; step-father to King Conor, he appears in most of the romances. Ket (spelt Cet), son of Mata, the Connaught champion, appears in the "Boar of Mac Datho." Maev (spelt Medb), the great Queen of Connaught. Mider, Etain's fairy lover, in the "Courtship of Etain." CONTENTS THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN MAC DATHO'S BOAR THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH THE COMBAT AT THE FORD SPECIAL NOTE ON THE COMBAT AT THE FORD GENERAL NOTES THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN INTRODUCTION The date which tradition assigns to the events related in the tale of the "Courtship of Etain" is about B.C. 100, two or, according to some accounts, three generations before the king Conaire Mor, or Conary, whose death is told in the tale called the "Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel." This king is generally spoken of as a contemporary of the chief personages of what is called more especially the "Heroic Age" of Ireland; and the two versions of the "Courtship of Etain" given in this volume at once introduce a difficulty; for the sub-kings who were tributary to Eochaid, Etain's husband, are in both versions stated to be Conor, Ailill mac Mata, Mesgegra, and Curoi, all of whom are well-known figures in the tales of the Heroic Age. As Conary is related to have ruled sixty years, and several of the characters of the Heroic Age survived him, according to the tale that describes his death, the appearance of the names of Conor and Ailill in a tale about his grandfather (or according to the Egerton version his great-grandfather) introduces an obvious discrepancy. It appears to be quite impossible to reconcile the dates given to the actors in the tales of the Heroic and preceding age. They seem to have been given in the "antiquarian age" of the tenth and eleventh centuries; not only do they differ according to different chronologers by upwards of a hundred years, but the succession of kings in the accounts given by the same chronologer is often impossible in view of their mutual relationships. The real state of things appears to be that the "Courtship of Etain," together with the story of Conary, the lost tale of the destruction of the Fairy Hill of Nennta,[FN#5] and the tale of the Bull-Feast and election of Lugaid Red-Stripes as king of Ireland, forms a short cycle of romance based upon ancient legends that had originally no connection at all with those on which the romances of the Heroic Age were built. The whole government of the country is essentially different in the two cycles; in the Etain cycle the idea is that of a land practically governed by one king, the vassal kings being of quite small importance; in the tales of the Heroic Age proper, the picture we get is of two, if not of four, practically independent kingdoms, the allusions to any over-king being very few, and in great part late. But when the stories of Etain and of Conary assumed their present forms, when the writers of our romances formed them out of the traditions which descended to them from pro-Christian sources, both cycles of tradition were pretty well known; and there was a natural tendency to introduce personages from one cycle into the other, although these personages occupy a subordinate position in the cycle to which they do not properly belong. Even Conall Cernach, who is a fairly prominent figure in the tale of the death of Conary, has little importance given to him compared with the people who really belong to the cycle, and the other warriors of the Heroic Age mentioned in the tale are little but lay figures compared with Conary, Ingcel, and Mac Cecht. A wish to connect the two cycles probably accounts for the connection of Lugaid Red-Stripes with Cuchulain, the introduction of Conor and Ailill into the story of Etain may be due to the same cause, and there is no need to suppose that the authors of our versions felt themselves bound by what other men had introduced into the tale of Conary. The practice of introducing heroes from one cycle into another was by no means uncommon, or confined to Ireland; Greek heroes' names sometimes appear in the Irish tales; Cuchulain, in much later times, comes into the tales of Finn; and in Greece itself, characters who really belong to the time of the Trojan War appear in tales of the Argonauts. [FN#5] A short account of this is in the story of King Dathi (O'Curry Lectures, p. 286). The tale seems to be alluded to in the quatrain on p. 10 of this volume. There are very few corresponding allusions to personages from the small Etain cycle found in the great cycle of romances that belong to the Heroic Age, but MacCecht's name appears in a fifteenth-century manuscript which gives a version of the tale of Flidais; and I suspect an allusion to the Etain story in a verse in the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain" (see note, p. 184). It may be observed that the introduction of Conor and his contemporaries into the story of Conary's grandparents is an additional piece of evidence that our form of the story of Etain precedes the "antiquarian age"; for at that time the version which we have of the story of Conary must have been classical and the connection of Conor's warriors with Conary well-known. A keen eye was at that time kept on departures from the recognised historical order (compare a note by Mr. Nutt in the "Voyage of Bran," vol. ii. p. 61); and the introduction of Conor into our version of the tale of Etain must have been at an earlier date. The two versions of the "Courtship of Etain," the Egerton one, and that in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, have been compared in the general preface to the volume, and little more need be said on this point; it may, however, be noted that eight pages of the Egerton version (pp. 11 to 18) are compressed into two pages in L.U. (pp. 23 and 24). References to the Etain story are found in different copies of the "Dindshenchas," under the headings of Rath Esa, Rath Croghan, and Bri Leith; the principal manuscript authorities, besides the two translated here, are the Yellow Book of Lecan, pp. 91 to 104, and the Book of Leinster, 163b (facsimile). These do not add much to our versions; there are, however, one or two new points in a hitherto untranslated manuscript source mentioned by O'Curry ("Manners and Customs," vol. ii. p 192 to 194). The Leabhar na h-Uidhri version is defective both at the beginning and at the end; there is also a complete column torn from the manuscript, making the description of the chess match defective. These three gaps have been filled up by short passages enclosed in square brackets, at the commencement of the Prologue, on p. 28, and at the end of the L.U. version. The two first of these insertions contain no matter that cannot be found by allusions in the version itself; the conclusion of the tale is drawn, partly from the "Dindshenchas" of Rath Esa, partly from the passage in O'Curry's "Manners and Customs." The only alteration that has been made is that, following a suggestion in Windisch (Irische Texte, i. p. 132), the poem on page 26 has been placed four pages earlier than the point at which it occurs in the manuscript. Three very difficult lines (Leabhar na h-Uidhri, 132a, lines 12 to 14) have not been attempted; there are no other omissions, and no insertions except the three noted above. The Prologue out of the L.U. version has been placed first, as it is essential to the understanding of any version, then follows the Egerton version as the longer of the two, then the L.U. version of the Courtship, properly so called. PROLOGUE IN FAIRYLAND FROM THE LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI Etain of the Horses, the daughter of Ailill, was the wife of Mider, the Fairy Dweller in Bri Leith.[FN#6] Now Mider had also another wife named Fuamnach[FN#7] who was filled with jealousy against Etain, and sought to drive her from her husband's house. And Fuamnach sought out Bressal Etarlam the Druid and besought his aid; and by the spells of the Druid, and the sorcery of Fuamnach, Etain was changed into the shape of a butterfly that finds its delight among flowers. And when Etain was in this shape she was seized by a great wind that was raised by Fuamnach's spells; and she was borne from her husband's house by that wind for seven years till she came to the palace of Angus Mac O'c who was son to the Dagda, the chief god of the men of ancient Erin. Mac O'c had been fostered by Mider, but he was at enmity with his foster-father, and he recognised Etain, although in her transformed shape, as she was borne towards him by the force] of the wind. And he made a bower for Etain with clear windows for it through which she might pass, and a veil of purple was laid upon her; and that bower was carried about by Mac O'c wherever he went. And there each night she slept beside him by a means that he devised, so that she became well-nourished and fair of form; for that bower was filled with marvellously sweet-scented shrubs, and it was upon these that she thrived, upon the odour and blossom of the best of precious herbs. [FN#6] Pronounced Bree Lay. [FN#7] Pronounced Foom-na. Now to Fuamnach came tidings of the love and the worship that Etain had from Mac O'c, and she came to Mider, and "Let thy foster-son," said she, "be summoned to visit thee, that I may make peace between you two, and may then go to seek for news of Etain." And the messenger from Mider went to Mac O'c, and Mac O'c went to Mider to greet him; but Fuamnach for a long time wandered from land to land till she was in that very mansion where Etain was; and then she blew beneath her with the same blast as aforetime, so that the blast carried her out of her bower, and she was blown before it, as she had been before for seven years through all the land of Erin, and she was driven by the wind of that blast to weakness and woe. And the wind carried her over the roof of a house where the men of Ulster sat at their ale, so that she fell through the roof into a cup of gold that stood near the wife of Etar the Warrior, whose dwelling-place was near to the Bay of Cichmany in the province that was ruled over by Conor. And the woman swallowed Etain together with the milk that was in the cup, and she bare her in her womb, till the time came that she was born thereafter as in earthly maid, and the name of Etain, the daughter of Etar, was given to her. And it was one thousand and twelve years since the time of the first begetting of Etain by Ailill to the time when she was born the second time as the daughter of Etar. Now Etain was nurtured at Inver Cichmany in the house of Etar, with fifty maidens about her of the daughters of the chiefs of the land; and it was Etar himself who still nurtured and clothed them, that they might be companions to his daughter Etain. And upon a certain day, when those maidens were all at the river-mouth to bathe there, they saw a horseman on the plain who came to the water towards them. A horse he rode that was brown, curvetting, and prancing, with a broad forehead and a curly mane and tail. Green, long, and flowing was the cloak that was about him, his shirt was embroidered with embroidery of red gold, and a great brooch of gold in his cloak reached to his shoulder on either side. Upon the back of that man was a silver shield with a golden rim; the handle for the shield was silver, and a golden boss was in the midst of the shield: he held in his hand a five-pointed spear with rings of gold about it from the haft to the head. The hair that was above his forehead was yellow and fair; and upon his brow was a circlet of gold, which confined the hair so that it fell not about his face. He stood for a while upon the shore of the bay; and he gazed upon the maidens, who were all filled with love for him, and then he sang this song: West of Alba, near the Mound[FN#8] Where the Fair-Haired Women play, There, 'mid little children found, Etain dwells, by Cichmain's Bay. She hath healed a monarch's eye By the well of Loch-da-lee; Yea, and Etar's wife, when dry, Drank her: heavy draught was she! Chased by king for Etain's sake, Birds their flight from Teffa wing: 'Tis for her Da-Arbre's lake Drowns the coursers of the king. Echaid, who in Meath shall reign, Many a war for thee shall wage; He shall bring on fairies bane, Thousands rouse to battle's rage. Etain here to harm was brought, Etain's form is Beauty's test; Etain's king in love she sought: Etain with our folk shall rest! [FN#8] The metre of these verses is that of the Irish. And after that he had spoken thus, the young warrior went away from the place where the maidens were; and they knew not whence it was that he had come, nor whither he departed afterwards. Moreover it is told of Mac O'c, that after the disappearance of Etain he came to the meeting appointed between him and Mider; and when he found that Fuamnach was away: "'Tis deceit," said Mider, "that this woman hath practised upon us; and if Etain shall be seen by her to be in Ireland, she will work evil upon Etain." "And indeed," said Mac O'c, "it seemeth to me that thy guess may be true. For Etain hath long since been in my own house, even in the palace where I dwell; moreover she is now in that shape into which that woman transformed her; and 'tis most likely that it is upon her that Fuamnach hath rushed." Then Mac O'c went back to his palace, and he found his bower of glass empty, for Etain was not there. And Mac O'c turned him, and he went upon the track of Fuamnach, and he overtook her at Oenach Bodbgnai, in the house of Bressal Etarlam the Druid. And Mac O'c attacked her, and he struck off her head, and he carried the head with him till he came to within his own borders. Yet a different tale hath been told of the end of Fuamnach, for it hath been said that by the aid of Manannan both Fuamnach and Mider were slain in Bri Leith, and it is of that slaying that men have told when they said: Think on Sigmall, and Bri with its forest: Little wit silly Fuamnach had learned; Mider's wife found her need was the sorest, When Bri Leith by Manannan was burned. THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN EGERTON VERSION Once there was a glorious and stately king who held the supreme lordship over all the land of Ireland. The name of the king was Eochaid Airemm, and he was the son of Finn, who was the son of Finntan; who was the son of Rogan the Red; who was the son of Essamain; who was the son of Blathecht; who was the son of Beothecht; who was the son of Labraid the Tracker; who was the son of Enna the Swift; who was the son of Angus of Tara, called the Shamefaced; who was the son of Eochaid the Broad-jointed; who was the son of Ailill of the Twisted Teeth; who was the son of Connla the Fair; who was the son of Irer; who was the son of Melghe the Praiseworthy; who was the son of Cobhtach the Slender from the plain of Breg; who was the son of Ugaine the Great; who was the son of Eochaid the Victorious. Now all the five provinces of Ireland were obedient to the rule of Eochaid Airemm: for Conor the son of Ness, the king of Ulster, was vassal to Eochaid; and Messgegra the king of Leinster was his vassal; and so was Curoi, the son of Dare, king of the land of Munster; and so were Ailill and Maev, who ruled over the land of Connaught. Two great strongholds were in the hands of Eochaid: they were the strongholds of Fremain in Meath, and of Fremain in Tethba; and the stronghold that he had in Tethba was more pleasing to him than any of those that he possessed. Less than a year had passed since Eochaid first assumed the sovereignty over Erin, when the news was proclaimed at once throughout all the land that the Festival of Tara should be held, that all the men of Ireland should come into the presence of their king, and that he desired full knowledge of the tributes due from, and the customs proper to each. And the one answer that all of the men of Ireland made to his call was: "That they would not attend the Festival of Tara during such time, whether it be long or short, that the king of Ireland remained without a wife that was worthy of him;" for there is no noble who is a wifeless man among the men of Ireland; nor can there be any king without a queen; nor does any man go to the Festival of Tara without his wife; nor does any wife go thither without her husband. Thereupon Eochaid sent out from him his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and his couriers of the boundaries throughout all Ireland; and they searched all Ireland as they sought for a wife that should be worthy of the king, in her form, and her grace, and her countenance, and her birth. And in addition to all this there yet remained one condition: that the king would take as his wife none who had been before as a wife to any other man before him. And after that they had received these commands, his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries went out; and they searched all Ireland south and north; and near to the Bay of Cichmany they found a wife worthy of the king; and her name was Etain the daughter of Etar, who was the king of Echrad. And his messengers returned to Eochaid, and they told him of the maiden, of her form, and her grace, and her countenance. And Eochaid came to that place to take the maiden thence, and this was the way that he took; for as he crossed over the ground where men hold the assembly of Bri Leith, he saw the maiden at the brink of the spring. A clear comb of silver was held in her hand, the comb was adorned with gold; and near her, as for washing, was a bason of silver whereon four birds had been chased, and there were little bright gems of carbuncle on the rims of the bason. A bright purple mantle waved round her; and beneath it was another mantle, ornamented with silver fringes: the outer mantle was clasped over her bosom with a golden brooch. A tunic she wore, with a long hood that might cover her head attached to it; it was stiff and glossy with green silk beneath red embroidery of gold, and was clasped over her breasts with marvellously wrought clasps of silver and gold; so that men saw the bright gold and the green silk flashing against the sun. On her head were two tresses of golden hair, and each tress had been plaited into four strands; at the end of each strand was a little ball of gold. And there was that maiden, undoing her hair that she might wash it, her two arms out through the armholes of her smock. Each of her two arms was as white as the snow of a single night, and each of her cheeks was as rosy as the foxglove. Even and small were the teeth in her head, and they shone like pearls. Her eyes were as blue as a hyacinth, her lips delicate and crimson; very high, soft, and white were her shoulders. Tender, polished, and white were her wrists; her fingers long, and of great whiteness; her nails were beautiful and pink. White as the snow, or as the foam of the wave, was her side; long was it, slender, and as soft as silk. Smooth and white were her thighs; her knees were round and firm and white; her ankles were as straight as the rule of a carpenter. Her feet were slim, and as white as the ocean's foam; evenly set were her eyes; her eyebrows were of a bluish black, such as ye see upon the shell of a beetle. Never a maid fairer than she, or more worthy of love, was till then seen by the eyes of men; and it seemed to them that she must be one of those who have come from the fairy mounds: it is of this maiden that men have spoken when it hath been said: "All that's graceful must be tested by Etain; all that's lovely by the standard of Etain." Grace with Etain's grace compare! Etain's face shall test what's fair! And desire of her seized upon the king; and he sent a man of his people in front of him to go to her kindred, in order that she might abide to await his coming. And afterwards the king came to the maiden, and he sought speech from her: "Whence art thou sprung, O maiden?" says Eochaid, "and whence is it that thou hast come?" "It is easy to answer thee," said the maiden: "Etain is my name, the daughter of the king of Echrad; 'out of the fairy mound' am I" "Shall an hour of dalliance with thee be granted to me?" said Eochaid. "'Tis for that I have come hither under thy safeguard," said she. "And indeed twenty years have I lived in this place, ever since I was born in the mound where the fairies dwell, and the men who dwell in the elf-mounds, their kings and their nobles, have been a-wooing me: yet to never a one of them was granted sleep with me, for I have loved thee, and have set my love and affection upon thee; and that ever since I was a little child, and had first the gift of speech. It was for the high tales of thee, and of thy splendour, that I have loved thee thus; and though I have never seen thee before, I knew thee at once by reason of the report of thee that I had heard; it is thou, I know, to whom we have attained." "It is no evil-minded lover who now inviteth thee," says Eochaid. "Thou shalt be welcomed by me, and I will leave all women for thy sake, and thine alone will I be so long as it is pleasing to thee." "Let the bride-price that befits me be paid," said the maiden, "and after that let my desire be fulfilled." "It shall be as thou hast said," the king answered her; and he gave the value of seven cumals to be her brideprice; and after that he brought her to Tara, whereon a fair and hearty welcome was made to her. Now there were three brothers of the one blood, all sons of Finn, namely, Eochaid Airem, and Eochaid, and Ailill Anglonnach, or Ailill of the Single Stain, because the only stain that was upon him was the love that he had for his brother's wife. And at that time came all the men of Ireland to hold the festival of Tara; they were there for fourteen days before Samhain, the day when the summer endeth, and for fourteen days after that day. It was at the feast of Tara that love for Etain the daughter of Etar came upon Ailill Anglonnach; and ever so long as they were at the Tara Feast, so long he gazed upon the maid. And it was there that the wife of Ailill spoke to him; she who was the daughter of Luchta of the Red Hand, who came from the province of Leinster: "Ailill," said she, "why dost thou gaze at her from afar? for long gazing is a token of love." And Ailill gave blame to himself for this thing, and after that he looked not upon the maid. Now it followed that after that the Feast of Tara had been consumed, the men of Ireland parted from one another, and then it was that Ailill became filled with the pangs of envy and of desire; and he brought upon himself the choking misery of a sore sickness, and was borne to the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba after that he had fallen into that woe. There also, until a whole year had ended, sickness long brooded over Ailill, and for long was he in distress, yet he allowed none to know of his sickness. And there Eochaid came to learn of his brother's state, and he came near to his brother, and laid his hand upon his chest; and Ailill heaved a sigh. "Why," said Eochaid, "surely this sickness of thine is not such as to cause thee to lament; how fares it with thee?" "By my word," said Ailill, "'tis no easier that I grow; but it is worse each day, and each night." "Why, what ails thee?" said Eochaid, "By my word of truth," said Ailill, "I know not." "Bring one of my folk hither," said Eochaid, "one who can find out the cause of this illness." Then Fachtna, the chief physician of Eochaid, was summoned to give aid to Ailill, and he laid his hand upon his chest, and Ailill heaved a sigh. "Ah," said Fachtna, "there is no need for lament in this matter, for I know the cause of thy sickness; one or other of these two evils oppresseth thee, the pangs of envy, or the pangs of love: nor hast thou been aided to escape from them until now." And Ailill was full of shame, and he refused to confess to Fachtna the cause of his illness, and the physician left him. Now, after all this, king Eochaid went in person to make a royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and he left Etain behind him in his fortress; and "Lady," said he, "deal thou gently with Ailill so long as he is yet alive; and, should he die," said he, "do thou see that his burial mound be heaped for him; and that a standing-stone be set up in memory of him; and let his name be written upon it in letters of Ogham." Then the king went away for the space of a year, to make his royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and Ailill was left behind, in the stronghold of Fremain of Tethba; there to pass away and to die. Now upon a certain day that followed, the lady Etain came to the house where Ailill lay in his sickness, and thus she spoke to him: "What is it," she said, "that ails thee? thy sickness is great, and if we but knew anything that would content thee, thou shouldest have it." It was thus that at that time she spoke, and she sang a verse of a song, and Ailill in song made answer to her: Etain Young man, of the strong step and splendid, What hath bound thee? what ill dost thou bear? Thou hast long been on sick-bed extended, Though around thee the sunshine was fair. Ailill There is reason indeed for my sighing, I joy naught at my harp's pleasant sound; Milk untasted beside me is lying; And by this in disease am I bound. Etain Tell me all, thou poor man, of thine ailing; For a maiden am I that is wise; Is there naught, that to heal thee availing, Thou couldst win by mine aid, and arise Ailill If I told thee, thou beautiful maiden, My words, as I formed them, would choke, For with fire can eyes' curtains be laden: Woman-secrets are evil, if woke. Etain It is ill woman-secrets to waken; Yet with Love, its remembrance is long; And its part by itself may be taken, Nor a thought shall remain of the wrong. Ailill I adore thee, white lady, as grateful; Yet thy bounty deserve I but ill: To my soul is my longing but hateful, For my body doth strive with me still. Eocho Fedlech,[FN#9] his bride to him taking, Made thee queen; and from thence is my woe: For my head and my body are aching, And all Ireland my weakness must know. Etain If, among the white women who near me abide, There is one who is vexing, whose love thou dost hide; To thy side will I bring her, if thus I may please; And in love thou shalt win her, thy sickness to ease. Ah lady! said Ailill, "easily could the cure of my sickness be wrought by the aid of thee, and great gain should there come from the deed, but thus it is with me until that be accomplished: Long ago did my passion begin, A full year it exceeds in its length; And it holds me, more near than my skin, And it rules over wrath in its strength. And the earth into four it can shake, Can reach up to the heights of the sky And a neck with its might it can break, Nor from fight with a spectre would fly. In vain race up to heaven 'tis urged; It is chilled, as with water, and drowned: 'Tis a weapon, in ocean submerged; 'Tis desire for an echo, a sound. 'Tis thus my love, my passion seem; 'tis thus I strive in vain To win the heart of her whose love I long so much to gain. [FN#9] Pronounced Yeo-ho Fayllya, see note, p. 166. And the lady stood there in that place, and she looked upon Ailill, and the sickness in which he lay was perceived by her; and she was grieved on account of it: so that upon a certain day came the lady to Ailill, and "Young man," she said, "arouse thyself quickly, for in very truth thou shalt have all that thou desirest; and thereon did she make this lay: Now arouse thyself, Ailill the royal: Let thy heart, and thy courage rise high; Every longing thou hast shall be sated, For before thee, to heal thee, am I. Is my neck and its beauty so pleasing? 'Tis around it thine arms thou shalt place; And 'tis known as a courtship's beginning When a man and a woman embrace. And if this cometh not to content thee, O thou man, that art son to a king! I will dare to do crime for thy healing, And my body to please thee will bring. There were steeds, with their bridles, one hundred, When the price for my wedding was told; And one hundred of gay-coloured garments, And of cattle, and ounces of gold. Of each beast that men know, came one hundred; And king Eocho to grant them was swift: When a king gave such dowry to gain me, Is't not wondrous to win me, as gift? Now each day the lady came to Ailill to tend him, and to divide for him the portion of food that was allotted to him; and she wrought a great healing upon him: for it grieved her that he should perish for her sake. And one day the lady spoke to Ailill: "Come thou to-morrow," said she, "to tryst with me at the break of day, in the house which lieth outside, and is beyond the fort, and there shalt thou have granted thy request and thy desire." On that night Ailill lay without sleep until the coming of the morning; and when the time had come that was appointed for his tryst, his sleep lay heavily upon him; so that till the hour of his rising he lay deep in his sleep. And Etain went to the tryst, nor had she long to wait ere she saw a man coming towards her in the likeness of Ailill, weary and feeble; but she knew that he was not Ailill, and she continued there waiting for Ailill. And the lady came back from her tryst, and Ailill awoke, and thought that he would rather die than live; and he went in great sadness and grief. And the lady came to speak with him, and when he told her what had befallen him: "Thou shalt come," said she, "to the same place, to meet with me upon the morrow." And upon the morrow it was the same as upon the first day; each day came that man to her tryst. And she came again upon the last day that was appointed for the tryst, and the same man met her. "'Tis not with thee that I trysted," said she, "why dost thou come to meet me? and for him whom I would have met here; neither from desire of his love nor for fear of danger from him had I appointed to meet him, but only to heal him, and to cure him from the sickness which had come upon him for his love of me." "It were more fitting for thee to come to tryst with me," says the man, "for when thou wast Etain of the Horses, and when thou wast the daughter of Ailill, I myself was thy husband. "Why," said she, "what name hast thou in the land? that is what I would demand of thee." "It is not hard to answer thee," he said; "Mider of Bri Leith is my name." "And what made thee to part from me, if we were as thou sayest?" said Etain. "Easy again is the answer," said Mider; "it was the sorcery of Fuamnach and the spells of Bressal Etarlam that put us apart." And Mider said to Etain: "Wilt thou come with me?" "Nay," answered Etain, "I will not exchange the king of all Ireland for thee; for a man whose kindred and whose lineage is unknown." "It was I myself indeed," said Mider, "who filled all the mind of Ailill with love for thee: it was I also who prevented his coming to the tryst with thee, and allowed him not thine honour to spoil it." After all this the lady went back to her house, and she came to speech with Ailill, and she greeted him. "It hath happened well for us both," said Ailill, "that the man met thee there: for I am cured for ever from my illness, thou also art unhurt in thine honour, and may a blessing rest upon thee!" "Thanks be to our gods," said Etain, "that both of us do indeed deem that all this hath chanced so well." And after that Eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he asked at once for his brother; and the tale was told to him from the beginning to the end, and the king was grateful to Etain, in that she had been gracious to Ailill; and, "What hath been related in this tale," said Eochaid, "is well-pleasing to ourselves." And, for the after history of Eochaid and Etain, it is told that once when Eochaid was in Fremain, at such time as the people had prepared for themselves a great gathering and certain horse-races; thither also to that assembly came Etain, that she might see the sight. Thither also came Mider, and he searched through that assembly to find out where Etain might be; and he found Etain, and her women around her, and he bore her away with him, also one of her handmaidens, called Crochen the Ruddy: hideous was the form in which Mider approached them. And the wives of the men of Ireland raised cries of woe, as the queen was carried off from among them; and the horses of Ireland were loosed to pursue Mider, for they knew not whether it was into the air or into the earth he had gone. But, as for Mider, the course that he had taken was the road to the west, even to the plain of Croghan; and as he came thither, "How shall it profit us," said Crochen the Ruddy, "this journey of ours to this plain?" "For evermore," said Mider, "shall thy name be over all this plain:" and hence cometh the name of the plain of Croghan, and of the Fort of Croghan. Then Mider came to the Fairy Mound of Croghan; for the dwellers in that mound were allied to him, and his friends; and for nine days they lingered there, banqueting and feasting; so that "Is this the place where thou makest thy home?" said Crochen to Mider. "Eastwards from this is my dwelling," Mider answered her; "nearer to the rising-place of the sun;" and Mider, taking Etain with him, departed, and came to Bri Leith, where the son of Celthar had his palace. Now just at the time when they came to this palace, king Eochaid sent out from him the horsemen of Ireland, also his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, that they might search through Ireland, and find out where his wife might be; and Eochaid himself wandered throughout Ireland to seek for his wife; and for a year from that day until the same day upon the year that followed he searched, and he found nothing to profit him. Then, at the last, king Eochaid sent for his Druid, and he set to him the task to seek for Etain; now the name of the Druid was Dalan. And Dalan came before him upon that day; and he went westwards, until he came to the mountain that was after that known as Slieve Dalan; and he remained there upon that night. And the Druid deemed it a grievous thing that Etain should be hidden from him for the space of one year, and thereupon he made three wands of yew; and upon the wands he wrote an ogham; and by the keys of wisdom that he had, and by the ogham, it was revealed to him that Etain was in the fairy mound of Bri Leith, and that Mider had borne her thither. Then Dalan the Druid turned him, and went back to the east; and he came to the stronghold of Fremain, even to the place where the king of Ireland was; and Eochaid asked from the Druid his news. Thither also came the horsemen, and the wizards, and the officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, to the king of Ireland, and he asked them what tidings they had, and whether they had found news of Mider and Etain. And they said that they had found nothing at all; until at the last said his Druid to him: "A great evil hath smitten thee, also shame, and misfortune, on account of the loss of thy wife. Do thou assemble the warriors of Ireland, and depart to Bri Leith, where is the palace of the son of Celthar; let that palace be destroyed by thy hand, and there thou shalt find thy wife: by persuasion or by force do thou take her thence." Then Eochaid and the men of Ireland marched to Bri Leith, and they set themselves to destroy that fairy dwelling, and to demand that Etain be brought to them, and they brought her not. Then they ruined that fairy dwelling, and they brought Etain out from it; and she returned to Fremain, and there she had all the worship that a king of Ireland can bestow, fair wedded love and affection, such as was her due from Eochaid Airemm. This is that Eochaid who ruled over Ireland for twelve years, until the fire burned him in Fremain; and this tale is known by the name of the "Sick-bed of Ailill," also as "The Courtship of Etain." Etain bore no children to Eochaid Airemm, save one daughter only; and the name of her mother was given to her, and she is known by the name of Etain, the daughter of Eochaid Airemm. And it was her daughter Messbuachalla who was the mother of king Conary the Great, the son of Eterscel, and it was for this cause that the fairy host of Mag Breg and Mider of Bri Leith violated the tabus of king Conary, and devastated the plain of Breg, and out off Conary's life; on account of the capture of that fairy dwelling, and on account of the recovery of Etain, when she was carried away by violence, even by the might of Eochaid Airemm. THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI VERSION Eochaid Airemon took the sovereignty over Erin, and the five provinces of Ireland were obedient to him, for the king of each province was his vassal. Now these were they who were the kings of the provinces at that time, even Conor the son of Ness, and Messgegra, and Tigernach Tetbannach, and Curoi, and Ailill the son of Mata of Muresc. And the royal forts that belonged to Eochaid were the stronghold of Fremain in Meath, and the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba; moreover the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba was more pleasing to him than any other of the forts of Erin. Now a year after that Eochaid had obtained the sovereignty, he sent out his commands to the men of Ireland that they should come to Tara to hold festival therein, in order that there should be adjusted the taxes and the imposts that should be set upon them, so that these might be settled for a period of five years. And the one answer that the men of Ireland made to Eochaid was that they would not make for the king that assembly which is the Festival of Tara until he found for himself a queen, for there was no queen to stand by the king's side when Eochaid first assumed the kingdom. Then Eochaid sent out the messengers of each of the five provinces to go through the land of Ireland to seek for that woman or girl who was the fairest to be found in Erin; and he bade them to note that no woman should be to him as a wife, unless she had never before been as a wife to any one of the men of the land. And at the Bay of Cichmany a wife was found for him, and her name was Etain, the daughter of Etar; and Eochaid brought her thereafter to his palace, for she was a wife meet for him, by reason of her form, and her beauty, and her descent, and her brilliancy, and her youth, and her renown. Now Finn the son of Findloga had three sons, all sons of a queen, even Eochaid Fedlech, and Eochaid Airemm, and Ailill Anguba. And Ailill Anguba was seized with love for Etain at the Festival of Tara, after that she had been wedded to Eochaid; since he for a long time gazed upon her, and, since such gazing is a token of love, Ailill gave much blame to himself for the deed that he was doing, yet it helped him not. For his longing was too strong for his endurance, and for this cause he fell into a sickness; and, that there might be no stain upon his honour, his sickness was concealed by him from all, neither did he speak of it to the lady herself. Then Fachtna, the chief physician of Eochaid, was brought to look upon Ailill, when it was understood that his death might be near, and thus the physician spoke to him: "One of the two pangs that slay a man, and for which there is no healing by leechcraft, is upon thee; either the pangs of envy or the pangs of love. And Ailill refused to confess the cause of his illness to the physician, for he was withheld by shame and he was left behind in Fremain of Tethba to die; and Eochaid went upon his royal progress throughout all Erin, and he left Etain behind him to be near Ailill, in order that the last rites of Ailill might be done by her; that she might cause his grave to be dug, and that the keen might be raised for him, and that his cattle should be slain for him as victims. And to the house where Ailill lay in his sickness went Etain each day to converse with him, and his sickness was eased by her presence; and, so long as Etain was in that place where he was, so long was he accustomed to gaze at her. Now Etain observed all this, and she bent her mind to discover the cause, and one day when they were in the house together, Etain asked of Ailill what was the cause of his sickness. "My sickness," said Ailill, "comes from my love for thee." "'Tis pity," said she, "that thou hast so long kept silence, for thou couldest have been healed long since, had we but known of its cause." "And even now could I be healed," said Ailill, "did I but find favour in thy sight." "Thou shalt find favour," she said. Each day after they had spoken thus with each other, she came to him for the fomenting of his head, and for the giving of the portion of food that was required by him, and for the pouring of water over his hands; and three weeks after that, Ailill was whole. Then he said to Etain: "Yet is the completion of my cure at thy hands lacking to me; when may it be that I shall have it?" "'Tis to-morrow it shall be," she answered him, "but it shall not be in the abode of the lawful monarch of the land that this felony shall be done. Thou shalt come," she said, "on the morrow to yonder hill that riseth beyond the fort: there shall be the tryst that thou desirest." Now Ailill lay awake all that night, and he fell into a sleep at the hour when he should have kept his tryst, and he woke not from his sleep until the third hour of the day. And Etain went to her tryst, and she saw a man before her; like was his form to the form of Ailill, he lamented the weakness that his sickness had caused him, and he gave to her such answers as it was fitting that Ailill should give. But at the third hour of the day, Ailill himself awoke: and he had for a long time remained in sorrow when Etain came into the house where he was; and as she approached him, "What maketh thee so sorrowful?" said Etain. "'Tis because thou wert sent to tryst with me," said Ailill, "and I came not to thy presence, and sleep fell upon me, so that I have but now awakened from it; and surely my chance of being healed hath now gone from me." "Not so, indeed," answered Etain, "for there is a morrow to follow to-day." And upon that night he took his watch with a great fire before him, and with water beside him to put upon his eyes. At the hour that was appointed for the tryst, Etain came for her meeting with Ailill; and she saw the same man, like unto Ailill, whom she had seen before; and Etain went to the house, and saw Ailill still lamenting. And Etain came three times, and yet Ailill kept not his tryst, and she found that same man there every time. "'Tis not for thee," she said, "that I came to this tryst: why comest thou to meet me? And as for him whom I would have met, it was for no sin or evil desire that I came to meet him; but it was fitting for the wife of the king of Ireland to rescue the man from the sickness under which he hath so long been oppressed." "It were more fitting for thee to tryst with me myself," said the man, "for when thou wert Etain of the Horses, the daughter of Ailill, it was I who was thy husband. And when thou camest to be wife to me, thou didst leave a great price behind thee; even a marriage price of the chief plains and waters of Ireland, and as much of gold and of silver as might match thee in value." "Why," said she, "what is thy name?" "'Tis easy to say," he answered; "Mider of Bri Leith is my name." "Truly," said she; "and what was the cause that parted us?" "That also is easy," he said; "it was the sorcery of Fuamnach, and the spells of Bressal Etarlam. And then Mider said to Etain: Wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? to dwell In the marvellous land of the musical spell, Where the crowns of all heads are, as primroses, bright, And from head to the heel all men's bodies snow-white. In that land of no "mine" nor of "thine" is there speech, But there teeth flashing white and dark eyebrows hath each; In all eyes shine our hosts, as reflected they swarm, And each cheek with the pink of the foxglove is warm. With the heather's rich tint every blushing neck glows, In our eyes are all shapes that the blackbird's egg shows; And the plains of thine Erin, though pleasing to see, When the Great Plain is sighted, as deserts shall be. Though ye think the ale strong in this Island of Fate, Yet they drink it more strong in the Land of the Great; Of a country where marvel abounds have I told, Where no young man in rashness thrusts backward the old. There are streams smooth and luscious that flow through that land, And of mead and of wine is the best at each hand; And of crime there is naught the whole country within, There are men without blemish, and love without sin. Through the world of mankind, seeing all, can we float, And yet none, though we see them, their see-ers can note; For the sin of their sire is a mist on them flung, None may count up our host who from Adam is sprung. Lady, come to that folk; to that strong folk of mine; And with gold on thy head thy fair tresses shall shine: 'Tis on pork the most dainty that then thou shalt feed, And for drink have thy choice of new milk and of mead. "I will not come with thee," answered Etain, "I will not give up the king of Ireland for thee, a man who knows not his own clan nor his kindred." "It was indeed myself," said Mider, "who long ago put beneath the mind of Ailill the love that he hath felt for thee, so that his blood ceased to run, and his flesh fell away from him: it was I also who have taken away his desire, so that there might be no hurt to thine honour. But wilt thou come with me to my land," said Mider, "in case Eochaid should ask it of thee?" "I would come in such case," answered to him Etain. After all this Etain departed to the house. "It hath indeed been good, this our tryst," said Ailill, "for I have been cured of my sickness; moreover, in no way has thine honour been stained." "'Tis glorious that it hath fallen out so," answered Etain. And afterwards Eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he was grateful for that his brother's life had been preserved, and he gave all thanks to Etain for the great deed she had done while he was away from his palace. Now upon another time it chanced that Eochaid Airemm, the king of Tara, arose upon a certain fair day in the time of summer; and he ascended the high ground of Tara to behold the plain of Breg; beautiful was the colour of that plain, and there was upon it excellent blossom, glowing with all hues that are known. And, as the aforesaid Eochaid looked about and around him, he saw a young strange warrior upon the high ground at his side. The tunic that the warrior wore was purple in colour, his hair was of a golden yellow, and of such length that it reached to the edge of his shoulders. The eyes of the young warrior were lustrous and grey; in the one hand he held a five-pointed spear, in the other a shield with a white central boss, and with gems of gold upon it. And Eochaid held his peace, for he knew that none such had been in Tara on the night before, and the gate that led into the Liss had not at that hour been thrown open. The warrior came, and placed himself under the protection of Eochaid; and "Welcome do I give," said Eochaid, "to the hero who is yet unknown." "Thy reception is such as I expected when I came," said the warrior. "We know thee not," answered Eochaid. "Yet thee in truth I know well!" he replied. "What is the name by which thou art called?" said Eochaid. "My name is not known to renown," said the warrior; "I am Mider of Bri Leith." "And for what purpose art thou come?" said Eochaid. "I have come that I may play a game at the chess with thee," answered Mider. "Truly," said Eochaid, "I myself am skilful at the chess-play." "Let us test that skill! said Mider. "Nay," said Eochaid, the queen is even now in her sleep; and hers is the palace in which the chessboard lies." "I have here with me," said Mider, "a chessboard which is not inferior to thine." It was even as he said, for that chessboard was silver, and the men to play with were gold; and upon that board were costly stones, casting their light on every side, and the bag that held the men was of woven chains of brass. Mider then set out the chessboard, and he called upon Eochaid to play. "I will not play," said Eochaid, "unless we play for a stake." "What stake shall we have upon the game then?" said Mider. "It is indifferent to me," said Eochaid. "Then," said Mider, "if thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake, I will bestow on thee fifty steeds of a dark grey, their heads of a blood-red colour, but dappled; their ears pricked high, and their chests broad; their nostrils wide, and their hoofs slender; great is their strength, and they are keen like a whetted edge; eager are they, high-standing, and spirited, yet easily stopped in their course." [Many games were played between Eochaid and Mider; and, since Mider did not put forth his whole strength, the victory on all occasions rested with Eochaid. But instead of the gifts which Mider had offered, Eochaid demanded that Mider and his folk should perform for him services which should be of benefit to his realm; that he should clear away the rocks and stones from the plains of Meath, should remove the rushes which made the land barren around his favourite fort of Tethba, should cut down the forest of Breg, and finally should build a causeway across the moor or bog of Lamrach that men might pass freely across it. All these things Mider agreed to do, and Eochaid sent his steward to see how that work was done. And when it came to the time after sunset, the steward looked, and he saw that Mider and his fairy host, together with fairy oxen, were labouring at the causeway over the bog;] and thereupon much of earth and of gravel and of stones was poured into it. Now it had, before that time, always been the custom of the men of Ireland to harness their oxen with a strap over their foreheads, so that the pull might be against the foreheads of the oxen; and this custom lasted up to that very night, when it was seen that the fairy-folk had placed the yoke upon the shoulders of the oxen, so that the pull might be there; and in this way were the yokes of the oxen afterwards placed by Eochaid, and thence cometh the name by which he is known; even Eochaid Airemm, or Eochaid the Ploughman, for he was the first of all the men of Ireland to put the yokes on the necks of the oxen, and thus it became the custom for all the land of Ireland. And this is the song that the host of the fairies sang, as they laboured at the making of the road: Thrust it in hand! force it in hand! Nobles this night, as an ox-troop, stand: Hard is the task that is asked, and who From the bridging of Lamrach shall gain, or rue? Not in all the world could a road have been found that should be better than the road that they made, had it not been that the fairy folk were observed as they worked upon it; but for that cause a breach hath been made in that causeway. And the steward of Eochaid thereafter came to him; and he described to him that great labouring band that had come before his eyes, and he said that there was not over the chariot-pole of life a power that could withstand its might. And, as they spake thus with each other, they saw Mider standing before them; high was he girt, and ill-favoured was the face that he showed; and Eochaid arose, and he gave welcome to him. "Thy welcome is such as I expected when I came," said Mider. "Cruel and senseless hast thou been in thy treatment of me, and much of hardship and suffering hast thou given me. All things that seemed good in thy sight have I got for thee, but now anger against thee hath filled my mind!" "I return not anger for anger," answered Eochaid; "what thou wishest shall be done." "Let it be as thou wishest," said Mider; "shall we play at the chess?" said he. "What stake shall we set upon the game?" said Eochaid. "Even such stake as the winner of it shall demand," said Mider. And in that very place Eochaid was defeated, and he forfeited his stake. "My stake is forfeit to thee," said Eochaid. "Had I wished it, it had been forfeit long ago," said Mider. "What is it that thou desirest me to grant?" said Eochaid. "That I may hold Etain in my arms, and obtain a kiss from her!" answered Mider. Eochaid was silent for a while and then he said: "One month from this day thou shalt come, and the very thing that thou hast asked for shall be given to thee." Now for a year before that Mider first came to Eochaid for the chess-play, had he been at the wooing of Etain, and he obtained her not; and the name which he gave to Etain was Befind, or Fair-haired Woman, so it was that he said: Wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? as has before been recited. And it was at that time that Etain said: "If thou obtainest me from him who is the master of my house, I will go; but if thou art not able to obtain me from him, then I will not go." And thereon Mider came to Eochaid, and allowed him at the first to win the victory over him, in order that Eochaid should stand in his debt; and therefore it was that he paid the great stakes to which he had agreed; and therefore also was it that he had demanded of him that he should play that game in ignorance of what was staked. And when Mider and his folk were paying those agreed-on stakes, which were paid upon that night; to wit, the making of the road, and the clearing of the stones from Meath, the rushes from around Tethba, and of the forest that is over Breg, it was thus that he spoke, as it is written in the Book of Drom Snechta: Pile on the soil; thrust on the soil: Red are the oxen around who toil: Heavy the troops that my words obey; Heavy they seem, and yet men are they. Strongly, as piles, are the tree-trunks placed Red are the wattles above them laced: Tired are your hands, and your glances slant; One woman's winning this toil may grant! Oxen ye are, but revenge shall see; Men who are white shall your servants be: Rushes from Teffa are cleared away: Grief is the price that the man shall pay: Stones have been cleared from the rough Meath ground; Whose shall the gain or the harm be found? Now Mider appointed a day at the end of the month when he was to meet Eochaid, and Eochaid called the armies of the heroes of Ireland together, so that they came to Tara; and all the best of the champions of Ireland, ring within ring, were about Tara, and they were in the midst of Tara itself, and they guarded it, both without and within; and the king and the queen were in the midst of the palace, and the outer court thereof was shut and locked, for they knew that the great might of men would come upon them. And upon the appointed night Etain was dispensing the banquet to the kings, for it was her duty to pour out the wine, when in the midst of their talk they saw Mider standing before them in the centre of the palace. He was always fair, yet fairer than he ever was seemed Mider to be upon that night. And he brought to amazement all the hosts on which he gazed, and all thereon were silent, and the king gave a welcome to him. "Thy reception is such as I expected when I came," said Mider; "let that now be given to me that hath been promised. 'Tis a debt that is due when a promise hath been made; and I for my part have given to thee all that was promised by me." "I have not yet considered the matter," said Eochaid. "Thou hast promised Etain's very self to me," said Mider; "that is what hath come from thee." Etain blushed for shame when she heard that word. "Blush not," said Mider to Etain, "for in nowise hath thy wedding-feast been disgraced. I have been seeking thee for a year with the fairest jewels and treasures that can be found in Ireland, and I have not taken thee until the time came when Eochaid might permit it. 'Tis not through any will of thine that I have won thee." "I myself told thee," said Etain, "that until Eochaid should resign me to thee I would grant thee nothing. Take me then for my part, if Eochaid is willing to resign me to thee." "But I will not resign thee!" said Eochaid; "nevertheless he shall take thee in his arms upon the floor of this house as thou art." "It shall be done!" said Mider. He took his weapons into his left hand and the woman beneath his right shoulder; and he carried her off through the skylight of the house. And the hosts rose up around the king, for they felt that they had been disgraced, and they saw two swans circling round Tara, and the way that they took was the way to the elf-mound of Femun. And Eochaid with an army of the men of Ireland went to the elf-mound of Femun, which men call the mound of the Fair-haired-Women. And he followed the counsel of the men of Ireland, and he dug up each of the elf-mounds that he might take his wife from thence. [And Mider and his host opposed them and the war between them was long: again and again the trenches made by Eochaid were destroyed, for nine years as some say lasted the strife of the men of Ireland to enter into the fairy palace. And when at last the armies of Eochaid came by digging to the borders of the fairy mansion, Mider sent to the side of the palace sixty women all in the shape of Etain, and so like to her that none could tell which was the queen. And Eochaid himself was deceived, and he chose, instead of Etain, her daughter Messbuachalla (or as some say Esa.) But when he found that he had been deceived, he returned again to sack Bri Leith, and this time Etain made herself known to Eochaid, by proofs that he could not mistake, and he bore her away in triumph to Tara, and there she abode with the king.] MAC DATHO'S BOAR INTRODUCTION The tale of "Mac Datho's Boar" seems to deal with events that precede the principal events of the Heroic Period; most of the characters named in it appear as the chief actors in other romances; Conor and Ailill are as usual the leaders of Ulster and Connaught, but the king of Leinster is Mesroda Mac Datho, not his brother Mesgegra, who appears in the "Siege of Howth" (see Hull, Cuchullin Saga, p. 87), and the Ulster champion is not Cuchulain, but his elder comrade, Conall Cernach. The text followed is that of the Book of Leinster as printed by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. i.; the later Harleian manuscript's readings given by Windisch have been taken in a few cases where the Leinster text seems untranslatable. There is a slightly different version, given by Kuno Meyer in the Anecdota Oxoniensia, taken from Rawlinson, B. 512, a fifteenth-century manuscript, but the text is substantially that of the Leinster version, and does not give, as in the case of the tale of Etain, a different view of the story. The verse passages differ in the two versions; two verse passages on pages 37 and 46 have been inserted from the Rawlinson manuscript, otherwise the rendering follows the Leinster text. The style of the tale is more barbaric than that of the other romances, but is relieved by touches of humour; the only supernatural touch occurs in one of the variations of the Rawlinson manuscript. Some of the chief variations en in this manuscript are pointed out in the notes; the respectful men on of Curoi mac Dari, who seems to have been a Munster hero, overshadowed in the accepted versions by the superior glory of Ulster, may be noted; also the remark that Ferloga did not get his cepoc, which seems to have been inserted by a later band of a critic who disapproved of the frivolity of the original author, or was jealous for the honour of the Ulster ladies. MAC DATHO'S BOAR FROM THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (TWELFTH-CENTURY MS.) With some Additions from Rawlinson, B. 512, written about 1560 A glorious king once hold rule over the men of Leinster; his name was Mesroda Mac Datho. Now Mac Datho had among his possessions a hound which was the guardian of all Leinster; the name of the hound was Ailbe, and all of the land of Leinster was filled with reports of the fame of it, and of that hound hath it been sung: Mesroda, son of Datho, Was he the boar who reared; And his the hound called Ailbe; No lie the tale appeared! The splendid hound of wisdom, The hound that far is famed, The hound from whom Moynalvy For evermore is named. By King Ailill and Queen Maev were sent folk to the son of Datho to demand that hound, and at that very hour came heralds from Conor the son of Ness to demand him; and to all of these a welcome was bid by the people of Mac Datho, and they were brought to speak with Mac Datho in his palace. At the time that we speak of, this palace was a hostelry that was the sixth of the hostelries of Ireland.; there were beside it the hostelry of Da Derga in the land of Cualan in Leinster; also the hostelry of Forgall the Wily, which is beside Lusk; and the hostelry of Da Reo in Breffny; and the hostelry of Da Choca in the west of Meath; and the hostelry of the landholder Blai in the country of the men of Ulster. There were seven doors to that palace, and seven passages ran through it; also there stood within it seven cauldrons, and in every one of the cauldrons was seething the flesh of oxen and the salted flesh of swine. Every traveller who came into the house after a journey would thrust a fork into a cauldron, and whatsoever he brought out at the first thrust, that had he to eat: if he got nothing at the first thrust, no second attempt was allowed him. They brought the heralds before Mac Datho as he sat upon his throne, that he might learn of their requests before they made their meal, and in this manner they made known their message. "We have come," said the men who were sent from Connaught, "that we might ask for thy hound; 'tis by Ailill and Maev we are sent. Thou shalt have in payment for him six thousand milch cows, also a two-horsed chariot with its horses, the best to be had in Connaught, and at the end of a year as much again shall be thine." "We also," said the heralds from Ulster, "have come to ask for thy hound; we have been sent by Conor, and Conor is a friend who is of no less value than these. He also will give to thee treasures and cattle, and the same amount at the end of a year, and he will be a stout friend to thee." Now after he had received this message Mac Datho sank into a deep silence, he ate nothing, neither did he sleep, but tossed about from one side to another, and then said his wife to him: "For a long time hast thou fasted; food is before thee, yet thou eatest not; what is it that ails thee? and Mac Datho made her no answer, whereupon she said: The Wife[FN#10] Gone is King Mac Datho's sleep, Restless cares his home invade; Though his thoughts from all he keep, Problems deep his mind hath weighed. He, my sight avoiding, turns Towards the wall, that hero grim; Well his prudent wife discerns Sleep hath passed away from him. [FN#10] The Irish metre is followed in the first four verses. Mac Datho Crimthann saith, Nar's sister's son, "Secrets none to women tell. Woman's secret soon is won; Never thrall kept jewel well." The Wife Why against a woman speak Till ye test, and find she fails? When thy mind to plan is weak, Oft another's wit avails. Mac Datho At ill season indeed came those heralds Who his hound from Mac Datho would take; In more wars than by thought can be counted Fair-haired champions shall fall for its sake. If to Conor I dare to deny him, He shall deem it the deed of a churl Nor shall cattle or country be left me By the hosts he against me can hurl. If refusal to Ailill I venture, With all Ireland my folk shall he sack; From our kingdom Mac Mata shall drive us, And our ashes may tell of his track. The Wife Here a counsel I find to deliver, And in woe shall our land have no share; Of that hound to them both be thou giver, And who dies for it little we care. Mac Datho Ah! the grief that I had is all ended, I have joy for this speech from thy tongue Surely Ailbe from heaven descended, There is none who can say whence he sprung. After these words the son of Datho rose up, and he shook himself, and May this fall out well for us," said he, "and well for our guests who come here to seek for him." His guests abode three days and three nights in his house, and when that time was ended, he bade that the heralds from Connaught be called to confer with him apart, and he spoke thus: "I have been," he said, "in great vexation of spirit, and for long have I hesitated before I made a decision what to do. But now have I decided to give the hound to Ailill and Maev, let them come with splendour to bear it away. They shall have plenty both to eat and to drink, and they shall have the hound to hold, and welcome shall they be." And the messengers from Connaught were well pleased with this answer that they had. Then he went to where the heralds from Ulster were, and thus he addressed them: "After long hesitation," said he, "I have awarded the hound to Conor, and a proud man should he be. Let the armies of the nobles of Ulster come to bear him away; they shall have presents, and I will make them welcome;" and with this the messengers from Ulster were content. Now Mac Datho had so planned it that both those armies, that from the East and that from the West, should arrive at his palace upon the selfsame day. Nor did they fail to keep their tryst; upon the same day those two provinces of Ireland came to Mac Datho's palace, and Mac Datho himself went outside and greeted them: "For two armies at the same time we were not prepared; yet I bid welcome to you, ye men. Enter into the court of the house." Then they went all of them into the palace; one half of the house received the Ulstermen, and the other half received the men of Connaught. For the house was no small one: it had seven doors and fifty couches between each two doors; and it was no meeting of friends that was then seen in that house, but the hosts that filled it were enemies to each other, for during the whole time of the three hundred years that preceded the birth of Christ there was war between Ulster and Connaught. Then they slaughtered for them Mac Datho's Boar; for seven years had that boar been nurtured upon the milk of fifty cows, but surely venom must have entered into its nourishment, so many of the men of Ireland did it cause to die. They brought in the boar, and forty oxen as side-dishes to it, besides other kind of food; the son of Datho himself was steward to their feast: "Be ye welcome!" said he; "this beast before you hath not its match; and a goodly store of beeves and of swine may be found with the men of Leinster! And, if there be aught lacking to you, more shall be slain for you in the morning." "It is a mighty Boar," said Conor. "'Tis a mighty one indeed," said Ailill. "How shall it be divided, O Conor?" said he. "How?" cried down Bricriu,[FN#11] the son of Carbad, from above; "in the place where the warriors of Ireland are gathered together, there can be but the one test for the division of it, even the part that each man hath taken in warlike deeds and strife: surely each man of you hath struck the other a buffet on the nose ere now!" "Thus then shall it be," said Ailill. "'Tis a fair test," said Conor in assent; "we have here a plenty of lads in this house who have done battle on the borders." "Thou shalt lose thy lads to-night, Conor," said Senlaech the charioteer, who came from rushy Conalad in the West; "often have they left a fat steer for me to harry, as they sprawled on their backs upon the road that leadeth to the rushes of Dedah." "Fatter was the steer that thou hadst to leave to us," said Munremur,[FN#12] the son of Gerrcind; "even thine own brother, Cruachniu, son of Ruadlam; and it was from Conalad of Cruachan that he came." "He was no better," cried Lugaid the son of Curoi of Munster, "than Loth the Great, the son of Fergus Mac Lete; and Echbel the son of Dedad left him lying in Tara Luachra."[FN#13] [FN#11] Pronounced Brik-roo. [FN#12] Pronounced Moon-raymer. [FN#13] Pronounced Looch-ra. "What sort of a man was he whom ye boast of?" cried Celtchar of Ulster. "I myself slew that horny-skinned son of Dedad, I cut the head from his shoulders." At the last it fell out that one man raised himself above all the men of Ireland; he was Ket, the son of Mata, he came from the land of Connaught. He hung up his weapons at a greater height than the weapons of any one else who was there, he took a knife in his hand, and he placed himself at the side of the Boar. "Find ye now," said he, "one man among the men of Ireland who can equal my renown, or else leave the division of the Boar to me." All of the Ulstermen were thrown into amazement. "Seest thou that, O Laegaire?"[FN#14] said Conor. [FN#14] Pronounced Leary. "Never shall it be," said Laegaire the Triumphant, "that Ket should have the division of this Boar in the face of us all." "Softly now, O Laegaire!" said Ket; "let me hold speech with thee. With you men of Ulster it hath for long been a custom that each lad among you who takes the arms of a warrior should play first with us the game of war: thou, O Laegaire, like to the others didst come to the border, and we rode against one another. And thou didst leave thy charioteer, and thy chariot and thy horses behind thee, and thou didst fly pierced through with a spear. Not with such a record as that shalt thou obtain the Boar;" and Laegaire sat himself down. "It shall never come to pass," said a great fair-haired warrior, stepping forward from the bench whereon he had sat, "that the division of the Boar shall be left to Ket before our very eyes." "To whom then appertains it?" asked Ket. "To one who is a better warrior than thou," he said, "even to Angus, the son of Lama Gabaid (Hand-in-danger) of the men of Ulster." "Why namest thou thy father 'Hand-in-danger?" said Ket. "Why indeed, I know not," he said. "Ah! but I know it!" said Ket. "Long ago I went upon a journey in the east, a war-cry was raised against me, all men attacked me, and Lama Gabaid was among them. He made a cast of a great spear against me, I hurled the same spear back upon him, and the spear cut his hand from him so that it lay upon the ground. How dares the son of that man to measure his renown with mine?" and Angus went back to his place. "Come, and claim a renown to match mine," said Ket; "else let me divide this Boar." "It shall never be thy part to be the first to divide it," said a great fair-haired warrior of the men of Ulster. "Who then is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Eogan, son of Durthacht,"[FN#15] said they all; "Eogan, the lord of Fernmay." "I have seen him upon an earlier day," said Ket. "Where hast thou seen me?" said Eogan. "It was before thine own house," said Ket. "As I was driving away thy cattle, a cry of war was raised in the lands about me; and thou didst come out at that cry. Thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and it was fixed in my shield; but I hurled the same spear back against thee, and it tore out one of thy two eyes. All the men of Ireland can see that thou art one-eyed; here is the man that struck thine other eye out of thy head," and he also sat down. "Make ye ready again for the strife for renown, O ye men of Ulster!" cried Ket. "Thou hast not yet gained the right to divide the Boar," said Munremur, Gerrcind's son. "Is that Munremur?" cried Ket; "I have but one short word for thee, O Munremur! Not yet hath the third day passed since I smote the heads off three warriors who came from your lands, and the midmost of the three was the head of thy firstborn son!" and Munremur also sat down. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That strife will I give to thee," said Mend the son of Salcholcam (the Sword-heeled). "Who is this?" asked Ket. "'Tis Mend," said all who were there. "Hey there!" cried Ket. "The son of the man with the nickname comes to measure his renown with mine! Why, Mend, it was by me that the nickname of thy father came; 'twas I who cut the heel from him with my sword so that he hopped away from me upon one leg! How shall the son of that one-legged man measure his renown with mine?" and he also sat down. [FN#15] Pronounced Yeogan, son of Doorha. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That warfare shalt thou have from me!" said an Ulster warrior, tall, grey, and more terrible than the rest. "Who is this?" asked Ket. "'Tis Celtchar, the son of Uitechar," cried all. "Pause thou a little, Celtchar," said Ket, "unless it be in thy mind to crush me in an instant. Once did I come to thy dwelling, O Celtchar, a cry was raised about me, and all men hurried up at that cry, and thou also camest beside them. It was in a ravine that the combat between us was held; thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and against thee I also hurled my spear; and my spear pierced thee through the leg and through the groin, so that from that hour thou hast been diseased, nor hath son or daughter been born to thee. How canst thou strive in renown with me?" and he also sat down. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That strife shalt thou have," said Cuscrid the Stammerer, of Macha, king Conor's son. "Who is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Cuscrid," said all; "he hath a form which is as the form of a king." "Nor hath he aught to thank thee for," said the youth. "Good!" said Ket. "It was against me that thou didst come on the day when thou didst first make trial of thy weapons, my lad: 'twas in the borderland that we met. And there thou didst leave the third part of thy folk behind thee, and thou didst fly with a spear-thrust through thy throat so that thou canst speak no word plainly, for the spear cut in sunder the sinews of thy neck; and from that hour thou hast been called Cuscrid the Stammerer." And in this fashion did Ket put to shame all the warriors of the province of Ulster. But as he was exulting near to the Boar, with his knife in his hand, all saw Conall, the Victorious enter the palace; and Conall sprang into the midst of the house, and the men of Ulster hailed him with a shout; and Conor himself took his helmet from his head, and swung it on high to greet him. "'Tis well that I wait for the portion that befalls me!" said Conall. Who is he who is the divider of the Boar for ye?" "That office must be given to the man who stands there," said Conor, "even to Ket, the son of Mata." "Is this true, O Ket?" said Conall. "Art thou the man to allot this Boar?" And then sang Ket: Conall, all hail! Hard stony spleen Wild glowing flame! Ice-glitter keen! Blood in thy breast Rageth and boils; Oft didst thou wrest Victory's spoils: Thou scarred son of Finuchoem,[FN#16] thou truly canst claim To stand rival to me, and to match me in fame! And Conall replied to him: Hail to thee, Ket! Well are we met! Heart icy-cold, Home for the bold! Ender of grief! Car-riding chief! Sea's stormy wave! Bull, fair and brave! Ket! first of the children of Matach! The proof shall be found when to combat we dart, The proof shall be found when from combat we part; He shall tell of that battle who guardeth the stirks, He shall tell of that battle at handcraft who works; And the heroes shall stride to the wild lion-fight, For by men shall fall men in this palace to-night: Welcome, Ket![FN#17] [FN#16] Pronounced Finn-hoom. [FN#17] The short lines of this rhetoric have the metre of the original Irish. "Rise thou, and depart from this Boar," said Conall. "What claim wilt thou bring why I should do this?" said Ket. "'Tis true indeed," said Conall, "thou art contending in renown with me. I will give thee one claim only, O Ket! I swear by the oath of my tribe that since the day that I first received a spear into my hand I have seldom slept without the head of a slain man of Connaught as my pillow; and I have not let pass a day or a night in which a man of Connaught hath not fallen by my hand." "'Tis true indeed," said Ket, "thou art a better warrior than I. Were but Anluan here, he could battle with thee in another fashion; shame upon us that he is not in this house!" "Aye, but Anluan is here! "cried Conall, and therewith he plucked Anluan's head from his belt. And he threw the head towards Ket, so that it smote him upon the chest, and a gulp of the blood was dashed over his lips. And Ket came away from the Boar, and Conall placed himself beside it. "Now let men come to contend for renown with me!" cried Conall. But among the men of Connaught there was none who would challenge him, and they raised a wall of shields, like a great vat around him, for in that house was evil wrangling, and men in their malice would make cowardly casts at him. And Conall turned to divide the Boar, and he took the end of the tail in his mouth. And although the tail was so great that it was a full load for nine men, yet he sucked it all into his mouth so that nothing of it was left; and of this hath been said: Strong hands on a cart thrust him forward; His great tail, though for nine men a load, Was devoured by the brave Conall Cernach, As the joints he so gaily bestowed. Now to the men of Connaught Conall gave nothing except the two fore-legs of the Boar, and this share seemed to be but small to the men of Connaught, and thereon they sprang up, and the men of Ulster also sprang up, and they rushed at each other. They buffeted each other so that the heap of bodies inside the house rose as high as the side-walls of it; and streams of blood flowed under the doors. The hosts brake out through the doors into the outer court, and great was the din that uprose; the blood upon the floor of the house might have driven a mill, so mightily did each man strike out at his fellow. And at that time Fergus plucked up by the roots a great oak-tree that stood in the outer court in the midst of it; and they all burst out of the court, and the battle went on outside. Then came out Mac Datho, leading the hound by a leash in his hand, that he might let him loose between the two armies, to see to which side the sense of the hound would turn. And the hound joined himself with the men of Ulster, and he rushed on the defeated Connaughtmen, for these were in flight. And it is told that in the plain of Ailbe, the hound seized hold of the poles of the chariot in which Ailill and Maev rode: and there Fer-loga, charioteer to Ailill and Maev, fell upon him, so that he cast his body to one side, and his head was left upon the poles of the chariot. And they say that it is for that reason that the plain of Ailbe is so named, for from the hound Ailbe the name hath come. The rout went on northwards, over Ballaghmoon, past Rurin Hill, over the Midbine Ford near to Mullaghmast, over Drum Criach Ridge which is opposite to what is Kildare to-day, over Rath Ingan which is in the forest of Gabla, then by Mac Lugna's Ford over the ridge of the two plains till they came to the Bridge of Carpre that is over the Boyne. And at the ford which is known as the Ford of the Hound's Head, which standeth in the west of Meath, the hound's head fell from the chariot. And, as they went over the heather of Meath, Ferloga the charioteer of Ailill fell into the heather, and he sprang behind Conor who followed after them in his chariot, and he seized Conor by the head. "I claim a boon from thee if I give thee thy life, O Conor!" said he. "I choose freely to grant that boon," said Conor. "'Tis no great matter," said Ferloga. "Take me with thee to Emain Macha, and at each ninth hour let the widows and the growing maidens of Ulster serenade me[FN#18] with the song: 'Ferloga is my darling.'" [FN#18] Literally, "sing me a cepoc," or a choral song. And the women were forced to do it; for they dared not to deny him, fearing the wrath of Conor; and at the end of a year Ferloga crossed byAthlone into Connaught, and he took with him two of Conor's horses bridled with golden reins. And concerning all this hath it been sung: Hear truth, ye lads of Connaught; No lies your griefs shall fill, A youth the Boar divided; The share you had was ill. Of men thrice fifty fifties Would win the Ailbe Hound; In pride of war they struggled, Small cause for strife they found. Yet there came conquering Conor, And Ailill's hosts, and Ket; No law Cuchulain granted, And brooding Bodb[FN#19] was met. Dark Durthacht's son, great Eogan, Shall find that journey hard; From east came Congal Aidni, And Fiaman,[FN#20] sailor bard; Three sons of Nera, famous For countless warlike fields; Three lofty sons of Usnach, With hard-set cruel shields. From high Conalad Croghan Wise Senlaech[FN#21] drave his car; And Dubhtach[FN#22] came from Emain, His fame is known afar; And Illan came, whom glorious For many a field they hail: Loch Sail's grim chief, Munremur; Berb Baither, smooth of tale; [FN#19] Pronounced Bobe, with sound of 'robe.' [FN#20] Pronounced Feeman. [FN#21] Pronounced Senlay, with the light final ch. [FN#22] Pronounced Doov-ta. And Celtchar, lord in Ulster; And Conall's valour wild; And Marcan came; and Lugaid Of three great hounds the child. Fergus, awaiting the glorious hound, Spreadeth a cloak o'er his mighty shield, Shaketh an oak he hath plucked from ground, Red was the woe the red cloak concealed. Yonder stood Cethern,[FN#23] of Finntan son, Holding them back; till six hours had flown Connaughtmen's slaughter his hand hath done, Pass of the ford he hath held alone. Armies with Feidlim[FN#24] the war sustain, Laegaire the Triumpher rides on east, Aed, son of Morna, ye hear complain, Little his thought is to mourn that beast. High are the nobles, their deeds show might, Housefellows fair, and yet hard in fight; Champions of strength upon clans bring doom, Great are the captives, and vast the tomb. [FN#23] Pronounced Kay-hern. [FN#24] Pronounced Fay-lim. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN INTRODUCTION The romance called the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the latter part of which is also known as the "Jealousy of Emer," is preserved in two manuscripts, one of which is the eleventh-century Leabhar na h-Uidhri, the other a fifteenth century manuscript in the Trinity College Library. These two manuscripts give substantially the same account, and are obviously taken from the same source, but the later of the two is not a copy of the older manuscript, and sometimes preserves a better reading. The eleventh-century manuscript definitely gives a yet older book, the Yellow Book of Slane, now lost, as its authority, and this may be the ultimate authority for the tale as we have it. But, although there is only one original version of the text, it is quite plain from internal evidence that the compiler of the Yellow Book of Slane, or of an earlier book, had two quite different forms of the story to draw from, and combined them in the version that we have. The first, which may be called the "Antiquarian" form, relates the cause of Cuchulain's illness, tells in detail of the journey of his servant Laeg to Fairyland, in order to test the truth of a message sent to Cuchulain that he can be healed by fairy help, and then breaks off. In both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and in the fifteenth-century manuscript, follows a long passage which has absolutely nothing to do with the story, consisting of an account how Lugaid Red-Stripes was elected to be king over Ireland, and of the Bull Feast at which the coming of Lugaid is prophesied. Both manuscripts then give the counsel given by Cuchulain to Lugaid on his election (this passage being the only justification for the insertion, as Cuchulain is supposed to be on his sick-bed when the exhortation is given); and both then continue the story in a quite different form, which may be called the "Literary" form. The cause of the sickness is not given in the Literary form, which commences with the rousing of Cuchulain from his sick-bed, this rousing being due to different agency from that related in the Antiquarian form, for in the latter Cuchulain is roused by a son of the fairy king, in the former b his wife Emer. The journey of Laeg to Fairyland is then told in the literary form with different detail to that given in the Antiquarian one, and the full conclusion is then supplied in this form alone; so that we have, although in the same manuscript version, two quite distinct forms of the original legend, the first defective at the end of the story, the other at its beginning. Not only are the incidents of the two forms of the story different in many respects, but the styles are so absolutely different that it would seem impossible to attribute them to the same author. The first is a mere compilation by an antiquarian; it is difficult to imagine that it was ever recited in a royal court, although the author may have had access to a better version than his own. He inserts passages which do not develop the interest of the story; hints at incidents (the temporary absence of Fergus and Conall) which are not developed or alluded to afterwards, and is a notable early example of the way in which Irish literature can be spoiled by combining several different independent stories into one. There is only one gem, strictly so called, and that not of a high order; the only poetic touches occur in the rhetoric, and, although in this there is a weird supernatural flavour, that may have marked the original used by the compiler of this form ' the human interest seems to be exceptionally weak. The second or Literary form is as different from the other as it is possible for two compositions on the same theme to be. The first few words strike the human note in Cuchulain's message to his wife: "Tell her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour;" the poems are many, long, and of high quality; the rhetoric shows a strophic correspondence; the Greek principle of letting the messenger tell the story instead of relating the facts, in a narrative of events (the method followed in the Antiquarian version) is made full use of; the modest account given by Cuchulain of his own deeds contrasts well with the prose account of the same deeds; and the final relation of the voluntary action of the fairy lady who gives up her lover to her rival, and her motives, is a piece of literary work centuries in advance of any other literature of modern Europe. Some modern accounts of this romance have combined the two forms, and have omitted the irrelevant incidents in the Antiquarian version; there are literary advantages in this course, for the disconnected character of the Antiquarian opening, which must stand first, as it alone gives the beginning of the story, affords little indication of the high quality of the better work of the Literary form that follows; but, in order to heighten the contrast, the two forms are given just as they occur in the manuscripts, the only omissions being the account of the election of Lugaid, and the exhortation of Cuchulain to the new king. Thurneysen, in his Sagen aus dem Alten Irland, places the second description of Fairyland by Laeg with the Antiquarian form, and this may be justified not only by the allusion to Ethne, who does not appear elsewhere in the Literary form, but from the fact that there is a touch of rough humour in this poem, which appears in the Antiquarian form, but not elsewhere in the Literary one, where the manuscripts place this poem. But on the other hand the poetry of this second description, and its vividness, come much closer to the Literary form, and it has been left in the place that the manuscript gives to it. The whole has been translated direct from the Irish in Irische Texte, vol. i., with occasional reference to the facsimile of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri; the words marked as doubtful by Windisch in his glossary, which are rather numerous, being indicated by marks of interrogation in the notes, and, where Windisch goes not indicate a probable meaning, a special note is made on the word, unless it has been given in dictionaries subsequent to that of Windisch. Thurneysen's translation has sometimes been made use of, when there is no other guide; but he omits some passages, and Windisch has been followed in the rendering given in his glossary in cases where there would seem to be a difference, as Thurneysen often translates freely. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN Transcribed from the Lost Yellow Book of Slane By Maelmuiri mac Ceileachair into the Leabhar na h-Uidhri in the Eleventh Century Every year the men of Ulster were accustomed to hold festival together; and the time when they held it was for three days before Samhain, the Summer-End, and for three days after that day, and upon Samhain itself. And the time that is spoken of is that when the men of Ulster were in the Plain of Murthemne, and there they used to keep that festival every year; nor was there an thing in the world that they would do at that time except sports, and marketings, and splendours, and pomps, and feasting and eating; and it is from that custom of theirs that the Festival of the Samhain has descended, that is now held throughout the whole of Ireland. Now once upon a time the men of Ulster held festival upon the Murthemne Plain, and the reason that this festival was held was that every man of them should then give account of the combats he had made and of his valour every Summer-End. It was their custom to hold that festival in order to give account of these combats, and the manner in which they gave that account was this: Each man used to cut off the tip of the tongue of a foe whom he had killed, and he bore it with him in a pouch. Moreover, in order to make more great the numbers of their contests, some used to bring with them the tips of the tongues of beasts, and each man publicly declared the fights he had fought, one man of them after the other. And they did this also--they laid their swords over their thighs when they declared the strifes, and their own swords used to turn against them when the strife that they declared was false; nor was this to be wondered at, for at that time it was customary for demon beings to scream from the weapons of men, so that for this cause their weapons might be the more able to guard them. To that festival then came all the men of Ulster except two alone, and these two were Fergus the son of Rog, and Conall the Victorious. "Let the festival be held!" cried the men of Ulster. "Nay," said Cuchulain, "it shall not be held until Conall and Fergus come," and this he said because Fergus was the foster-father of Cuchulain, and Conall was his comrade. Then said Sencha: "Let us for the present engage in games of chess; and let the Druids sing, and let the jugglers play their feats;" and it was done as he had said. Now while they were thus employed a flock of birds came down and hovered over the lake; never was seen in Ireland more beautiful birds than these. And a longing that these birds should be given to them seized upon the women who were there; and each of them began to boast of the prowess of her husband at bird-catching. "How I wish," said Ethne Aitencaithrech, Conor's wife, "that I could have two of those birds, one of them upon each of my two shoulders." "It is what we all long for," said the women; and "If any should have this boon, I should be the first one to have it," said Ethne Inguba, the wife of Cuchulain. "What are we to do now?" said the women. "'Tis easy to answer you," said Leborcham, the daughter of Oa and Adarc; "I will go now with a message from you, and will seek for Cuchulain." She then went to Cuchulain, and "The women of Ulster would be well pleased," she said, "if yonder birds were given to them by thy hand." And Cuchulain made for his sword to unsheathe it against her: "Cannot the lasses of Ulster find any other but us," he said, "to give them their bird-hunt to-day?" "'Tis not seemly for thee to rage thus against them," said Leborcham, "for it is on thy account that the women of Ulster have assumed one of their three blemishes, even the blemish of blindness." For there were three blemishes that the women of Ulster assumed, that of crookedness of gait, and that of a stammering in their speech, and that of blindness. Each of the women who loved Conall the Victorious had assumed a crookedness of gait; each woman who loved Cuscraid Mend, the Stammerer of Macha, Conor's son, stammered in her speech; each woman in like manner who loved Cuchulain had assumed a blindness of her eyes, in order to resemble Cuchulain; for he, when his mind was angry within him, was accustomed to draw in the one of his eyes so far that a crane could not reach it in his head, and would thrust out the other so that it was great as a cauldron in which a calf is cooked. "Yoke for us the chariot, O Laeg!" said Cuchulain. And Laeg yoked the chariot at that, and Cuchulain went into the chariot, and he cast his sword at the birds with a cast like the cast of a boomerang, so that they with their claws and wings flapped against the water. And they seized upon all the birds, and they gave them and distributed them among the women; nor was there any one of the women, except Ethne alone, who had not a pair of those birds. Then Cuchulain returned to his wife; and "Thou art enraged," said he to her. "I am in no way enraged," answered Ethne, "for I deem it as being by me that the distribution was made. And thou hast done what was fitting," she said, "for there is not one of these woman but loves thee; none in whom thou hast no share; but for myself none hath any share in me except thou alone." "Be not angry," said Cuchulain, "if in the future any birds come to the Plain of Murthemne or to the Boyne, the two birds that are the most beautiful among those that come shall be thine." A little while after this they saw two birds flying over the lake, linked together by a chain of red gold. They sang a gentle song, and a sleep fell upon all the men who were there; and Cuchulain rose up to pursue the birds. "If thou wilt hearken to me," said Laeg, and so also said Ethne, "thou shalt not go against them; behind those birds is some especial power. Other birds may be taken by thee at some future day." "Is it possible that such claim as this should be made upon me?" said Cuchulain. "Place a stone in my sling, O Laeg!" Laeg thereon took a stone, and he placed it in the sling, and Cuchulain launched the stone at the birds, but the cast missed. "Alas!" said he. He took another stone, and he launched this also at the birds, but the stone flew past them. "Wretched that I am," he cried, "since the very first day that I assumed arms, I have never missed a cast until this day!" And he cast his spear at them, and the spear went through the shield of the wing of one of the birds, and the birds flew away, and went beneath the lake. After this Cuchulain departed, and he rested his back against a stone pillar, and his soul was angry within him, and a sleep fell upon him. Then saw he two women come to him; the one of them had a green mantle upon her, and upon the other was a purple mantle folded in five folds. And the woman in the green mantle approached him, and she laughed a laugh at him, and she gave him a stroke with a horsewhip. And then the other approached him, and she also laughed at him, and she struck him in the like manner; and for a long time were they thus, each of them in turn coming to him and striking him until he was all but dead; and then they departed from him. Now the men of Ulster perceived the state in which Cuchulain was in; and they cried out that he should be awakened; but "Nay," said Fergus, "ye shall not move him, for he seeth a vision;" and a little after that Cuchulain came from his sleep. "What hath happened to thee?" said the men of Ulster; but he had no power to bid greeting to them. "Let me be carried," he said, "to the sick-bed that is in Tete Brecc; neither to Dun Imrith, nor yet to Dun Delga." "Wilt thou not be carried to Dun Delga to seek for Emer?" said Laeg. "Nay," said he, "my word is for Tete Brecc;" and thereon they bore him from that place, and he was in Tete Brecc until the end of one year, and during all that time he had speech with no one. Now upon a certain day before the next Summer-End, at the end of a year, when the men of Ulster were in the house where Cuchulain was, Fergus being at the side-wall, and Conall Cernach at his head, and Lugaid Red-Stripes at his pillow, and Ethne Inguba at his feet; when they were there in this manner, a man came to them, and he seated himself near the entrance of the chamber in which Cuchulain lay. "What hath brought thee here?" said Conall the Victorious. "No hard question to answer," said the man. "If the man who lies yonder were in health, he would be a good protection to all of Ulster; in the weakness and the sickness in which he now is, so much the more great is the protection that they have from him. I have no fear of any of you," he said, "for it is to give to this man a greeting that I come." "Welcome to thee, then, and fear nothing," said the men of Ulster; and the man rose to his feet, and he sang them these staves: Ah! Cuchulain, who art under sickness still, Not long thou its cure shouldst need; Soon would Aed Abra's daughters, to heal thine ill, To thee, at thy bidding, speed. Liban, she at swift Labra's right hand who sits, Stood up on Cruach's[FN#25] Plain, and cried: "'Tis the wish of Fand's heart, she the tale permits, To sleep at Cuchulain's side. [FN#25] Pronounced something like Croogh. "'If Cuchulain would come to me,' Fand thus told, 'How goodly that day would shine! Then on high would our silver be heaped, and gold, Our revellers pour the wine. "'And if now in my land, as my friend, had been Cuchulain, of Sualtam[FN#26] son, The things that in visions he late hath seen In peace would he safe have won. "'In the Plains of Murthemne, to south that spread, Shall Liban my word fulfil: She shall seek him on Samhain, he naught need dread, By her shall be cured his ill.'" [FN#26] Pronounced Sooltam. "Who art thou, then, thyself?" said the men of Ulster. "I am Angus, the son of Aed Abra," he answered; and the man then left them, nor did any of them know whence it was he had come, nor whither he went. Then Cuchulain sat up, and he spoke to them. "Fortunate indeed is this!" said the men of Ulster; "tell us what it is that hath happened to thee." "Upon Samhain night last year," he said, "I indeed saw a vision;" and he told them of all he had seen. "What should now be done, Father Conor?" said Cuchulain. "This hast thou to do," answered Conor, "rise, and go until thou comest to the pillar where thou wert before." Then Cuchulain went forth until he came to the pillar, and then saw he the woman in the green mantle come to him. "This is good, O Cuchulain!" said she. "'Tis no good thing in my thought," said Cuchulain. "Wherefore camest thou to me last year?" he said. "It was indeed to do no injury to thee that we came," said the woman, "but to seek for thy friendship. I have come to greet thee," she said, "from Fand, the daughter of Aed Abra; her husband, Manannan the Son of the Sea, hath released her, and she hath thereon set her love on thee. My own name is Liban, and I have brought to thee a message from my spouse, Labraid the Swift, the Sword-Wielder, that he will give thee the woman in exchange for one day's service to him in battle against Senach the Unearthly, and against Eochaid Juil,[FN#27] and against Yeogan the Stream." "I am in no fit state," he said, "to contend with men to-day." "That will last but a little while," she said; "thou shalt be whole, and all that thou hast lost of thy strength shall be increased to thee. Labraid shall bestow on thee that boon, for he is the best of all warriors that are in the world." [FN#27] Pronounced, nearly, Yeo-hay Yool. "Where is it that Labraid dwelleth?" asked Cuchulain. "In Mag Mell,[FN#28] the Plain of Delight," said Liban; "and now I desire to go to another land," said she. [FN#28] Pronounced Maw Mel. "Let Laeg go with thee," said Cuchulain, "that he may learn of the land from which thou hast come." "Let him come, then," said Liban. They departed after that, and they went forward until they came to a place where Fand was. And Liban turned to seek for Laeg, and she set him upon her shoulder. "Thou wouldest never go hence, O Laeg!" said Liban, "wert thou not under a woman's protection." "'Tis not a thing that I have most been accustomed to up to this time," said Laeg, "to be under a woman's guard." "Shame, and everlasting shame," said Liban, "that Cuchulain is not where thou art." "It were well for me," answered Laeg, "if it were indeed he who is here." They passed on then, and went forward until they came opposite to the shore of an island, and there they saw a skiff of bronze lying upon the lake before them. They entered into the skiff, and they crossed over to the island, and came to the palace door, and there they saw the man, and he came towards them. And thus spoke Liban to the man whom they saw there: Say where He, the Hand-on-Sword, Labra swift, abideth? He who, of the triumphs lord, In strong chariot rideth. When victorious troops are led, Labra hath the leading; He it is, when spears are red, Sets the points a-bleeding. And the man replied to her, and spoke thus: Labra, who of speed is son, Comes, and comes not slowly; Crowded hosts together run, Bent on warfare wholly. Soon upon the Forest Plain Shall be set the killing; For the hour when men are slain Fidga's[FN#29] Fields are filling![FN#30] [FN#29] Pronounced, nearly, Feega. [FN#30] Irish metre approximately imitated in these stanzas. They entered then into the palace, and they saw there thrice fifty couches within the palace, and three times fifty women upon the couches, and the women all bade Laeg welcome, and it was in these words that they addressed him: Hail! for the guide, Laeg! of thy quest: Laeg we beside Hail, as our guest! "What wilt thou do now?" said Liban; "wilt thou go on without a delay, and hold speech with Fand?" "I will go," he answered, "if I may know the place where she is." "That is no hard matter to tell thee," she answered; "she is in her chamber apart." They went therein, and they greeted Fand, and she welcomed Laeg in the same fashion as the others had done. Fand is the daughter of Aed Abra; Aed means fire, and he is the fire of the eye: that is, of the eye's pupil: Fand moreover is the name of the tear that runs from the eye; it was on account of the clearness of her beauty that she was so named, for there is nothing else in the world except a tear to which her beauty could be likened. Now, while they were thus in that place, they heard the rattle of Labraid's chariot as he approached the island. "The spirit of Labraid is gloomy to-day," said Liban, "I will go and greet him." And she went out, and she bade welcome to Labraid, and she spoke as follows: Hail! the man who holdeth sword, the swift in fight! Heir of little armies, armed with javelins light; Spears he drives in splinters; bucklers bursts in twain; Limbs of men are wounded; nobles by him slain. He for error searcheth, streweth gifts not small, Hosts of men destroyeth; fairer he than all! Heroes whom he findeth feel his fierce attack; Labra! swiftest Sword-Hand! welcome to us back! Labraid made no reply to her, and the lady spoke again thus: Welcome! swift Labra, Hand to sword set! All win thy bounty, Praise thou shalt get; Warfare thou seekest, Wounds seam thy side; Wisely thou speakest, Law canst decide; Kindly thou rulest, Wars fightest well; Wrong-doers schoolest, Hosts shalt repel. Labraid still made no answer, and she sang another lay thus: Labra! all hail! Sword-wielder, swift: War can he wage, Warriors can sift; Valiant is he, Fighters excels; More than in sea Pride in him swells; Down in the dust Strength doth he beat; They who him trust Rise to their feet Weak ones he'll raise, Humble the strong; Labra! thy praise Peals loud and long! "Thou speakest not rightly, O lady," said Labraid; and he then spoke to her thus: O my wife! naught of boasting or pride is in me; No renown would I claim, and no falsehood shall be: Lamentation alone stirs my mind, for hard spears Rise in numbers against me: dread contest appears: The right arms of their heroes red broadswords shall swing; Many hosts Eochaid Juil holds to heart as their king: Let no pride then be ours; no high words let there be; Pride and arrogance far should be, lady, from me! "Let now thy mind be appeased," said the lady Liban to him. "Laeg, the charioteer of Cuchulain, is here; and Cuchulain hath sent word to thee that he will come to join thy hosts." Then Labraid bade welcome to Laeg, and he said to him: "Welcome, O Laeg! for the sake of the lady with whom thou comest, and for the sake of him from whom thou hast come. Do thou now go to thine own land, O Laeg!" said Labraid, "and Liban shall accompany thee." Then Laeg returned to Emain, and he gave news of what he had seen to Cuchulain, and to all others beside; and Cuchulain rose up, and he passed his hand over his face, and he greeted Laeg brightly, and his mind was strengthened within him for the news that the lad had brought him. [At this point occurs the break in the story indicated in the preface, and the description of the Bull-Feast at which Lugaid Red-Stripes is elected king over all Ireland; also the exhortation that Cuchulain, supposed to be lying on his sick-bed, gives to Lugaid as to the duties of a king. After this insertion, which has no real connection with the story, the story itself proceeds, but from another point, for the thread is taken up at the place where Cuchulain has indeed awaked from his trance, but is still on his sick-bed; the message of Angus appears to have been given, but Cuchulain does not seem to have met Liban for the second time, nor to have sent Laeg to inquire. Ethne has disappeared as an actor from the scene; her place is taken by Emer, Cuchulain's real wife; and the whole style of the romance so alters for the better that, even if it were not for the want of agreement of the two versions, we could see that we have here two tales founded upon the same legend but by two different hands, the end of the first and the beginning of the second alike missing, and the gap filled in by the story of the election of Lugaid. Now as to Cuchulain it has to be related thus: He called upon Laeg to come to him; and "Do thou go, O Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "to the place where Emer is; and say to her that women of the fairies have come upon me, and that they have destroyed my strength; and say also to her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour, and bid her to come and seek me;" and the young man Laeg then spoke these words in order to hearten the mind of Cuchulain: It fits not heroes lying On sick-bed in a sickly sleep to dream: Witches before thee flying Of Trogach's fiery Plain the dwellers seem: They have beat down thy strength, Made thee captive at length, And in womanish folly away have they driven thee far. Arise! no more be sickly! Shake off the weakness by those fairies sent: For from thee parteth quickly Thy strength that for the chariot-chiefs was meant: Thou crouchest, like a youth! Art thou subdued, in truth? Have they shaken thy prowess and deeds that were meet for the war Yet Labra's power hath sent his message plain: Rise, thou that crouchest: and be great again. And Laeg, after that heartening, departed; and he went on until he came to the place where Emer was; and he told her of the state of Cuchulain: "Ill hath it been what thou hast done, O youth!" she said; "for although thou art known as one who dost wander in the lands where the fairies dwell; yet no virtue of healing hast thou found there and brought for the cure of thy lord. Shame upon the men of Ulster!" she said, "for they have not sought to do a great deed, and to heal him. Yet, had Conor thus been fettered; had it been Fergus who had lost his sleep, had it been Conall the Victorious to whom wounds had been dealt, Cuchulain would have saved them." And she then sang a song, and in this fashion she sang it: Laeg! who oft the fairy hill[FN#31] Searchest, slack I find thee still; Lovely Dechtire's son shouldst thou By thy zeal have healed ere now. Ulster, though for bounties famed, Foster-sire and friends are shamed: None hath deemed Cuchulain worth One full journey through the earth. Yet, if sleep on Fergus fell, Such that magic arts dispel, Dechtire's son had restless rode Till a Druid raised that load. Aye, had Conall come from wars, Weak with wounds and recent scars; All the world our Hound would scour Till he found a healing power. Were it Laegaire[FN#32] war had pressed, Erin's meads would know no rest, Till, made whole from wounds, he won Mach's grandchild, Conna's son. Had thus crafty Celthar slept, Long, like him, by sickness kept; Through the elf-mounds, night and day, Would our Hound, to heal him, stray. Furbaid, girt by heroes strong, Were it he had lain thus long; Ah! our Hound would rescue bear Though through solid earth he fare. [FN#31] The metre of these verses is that of the Irish. [FN#32] Pronounced Leary. All the elves of Troom[FN#33] seem dead; All their mighty deeds have fled; For their Hound, who hounds surpassed, Elves have bound in slumber fast. Ah! on me thy sickness swerves, Hound of Smith who Conor serves! Sore my heart, my flesh must be: May thy cure be wrought by me. Ah! 'tis blood my heart that stains, Sick for him who rode the plains: Though his land be decked for feast, He to seek its plain hath ceased. He in Emain still delays; 'Tis those Shapes the bar that raise: Weak my voice is, dead its tone, He in evil form is shown. Month-long, year-long watch I keep; Seasons pass, I know not sleep: Men's sweet speech strikes not mine ear; Naught, Riangabra's[FN#34] son, I hear. [FN#33] Spelt Truim. [FN#34] Pronounced Reen-gabra. And, after that she had sung that song, Emer went forward to Emain that she might seek for Cuchulain; and she seated herself in the chamber where Cuchulain was, and thus she addressed him: "Shame upon thee!" she said, "to lie thus prostrate for a woman's love! well may this long sickbed of thine cause thee to ail!" And it was in this fashion that she addressed him, and she chanted this lay: Stand up, O thou hero of Ulster! Wake from sleep! rise up, joyful and sound! Look on Conor the king! on my beauty, Will that loose not those slumbers profound? See the Ulstermen's clear shining shoulders! Hear their trumpets that call to the fight! See their war-cars that sweep through the valleys, As in hero-chess, leaping each knight. See their chiefs, and the strength that adorns them, Their tall maidens, so stately with grace; The swift kings, springing on to the battle, The great queens of the Ulstermen's race! The clear winter but now is beginning; Lo! the wonder of cold that hangs there! 'Tis a sight that should warn thee; how chilly! Of what length I yet of colour how bare! This long slumber is ill; it decays thee: 'Tis like "milk for the full" the saw saith Hard is war with fatigue; deadly weakness Is a Prince who stands second to Death. Wake! 'tis joy for the sodden, this slumber; Throw it off with a great glowing heat: Sweet-voiced friends for thee wait in great number: Ulster's champion! stand up on thy feet! And Cuchulain at her word stood up; and he passed his hand over his face, and he cast all his heaviness and his weariness away from him, and then he arose, and went on his way before him until he came to the enclosure that he sought; and in that enclosure Liban appeared to him. And Liban spoke to him, and she strove to lead him into the fairy hill; but "What place is that in which Labraid dwelleth?" said Cuchulain. It is easy for me to tell thee!" she said: Labra's home's a pure lake, whither Troops of women come and go; Easy paths shall lead thee thither, Where thou shalt swift Labra know. Hundreds his skilled arm repelleth; Wise be they his deeds who speak: Look where rosy beauty dwelleth; Like to that think Labra's cheek. Head of wolf, for gore that thirsteth, Near his thin red falchion shakes; Shields that cloak the chiefs he bursteth, Arms of foolish foes he breaks. Trust of friend he aye requiteth, Scarred his skin, like bloodshot eye; First of fairy men he fighteth; Thousands, by him smitten, die. Chiefs at Echaid[FN#35] Juil's name tremble; Yet his land-strange tale-he sought, He whose locks gold threads resemble, With whose breath wine-scents are brought. More than all strife-seekers noted, Fiercely to far lands he rides; Steeds have trampled, skiffs have floated Near the isle where he abides. Labra, swift Sword-Wielder, gaineth Fame for actions over sea; Sleep for all his watch sustaineth! Sure no coward hound is he. The chains on the necks of the coursers he rides, And their bridles are ruddy with gold: He hath columns of crystal and silver besides, The roof of his house to uphold. [FN#35] Pronounced, apparently, Ech-ay, the ch like the sound in "loch." "I will not go thither at a woman's call," said Cuchulain. "Let Laeg then go," said the lady, "and let him bring to thee tidings of all that is there." "Let him depart, then," said Cuchulain; and Laeg rose up and departed with Liban, and they came to the Plain of Speech, and to the Tree of Triumphs, and over the festal plain of Emain, and over the festal plain of Fidga, and in that place was Aed Abra, and with him his daughters. Then Fand bade welcome to Laeg, and "How is it," said she, "that Cuchulain hath not come with thee?" "It pleased him not," said Laeg, "to come at a woman's call; moreover, he desired to know whether it was indeed from thee that had come the message, and to have full knowledge of everything." "It was indeed from me that the message was sent," she said; "and let now Cuchulain come swiftly to seek us, for it is for to-day that the strife is set." Then Laeg went back to the place where he had left Cuchulain, and Liban with him; and "How appeareth this quest to thee, O Laeg?" said Cuchulain. And Laeg answering said, "In a happy hour shalt thou go," said he, "for the battle is set for to-day;" and it was in this manner that he spake, and he recited thus: I went gaily through regions, Though strange, seen before: By his cairn found I Labra, A cairn for a score. There sat yellow-haired Labra, His spears round him rolled; His long bright locks well gathered Round apple of gold. On my five-folded purple His glance at length fell, And he said, "Come and enter Where Failbe doth dwell." In one house dwells white Failbe, With Labra, his friend; And retainers thrice fifty Each monarch attend. On the right, couches fifty, Where fifty men rest; On the left, fifty couches By men's weight oppressed. For each couch copper frontings, Posts golden, and white; And a rich flashing jewel As torch, gives them light. Near that house, to the westward, Where sunlight sinks down, Stand grey steeds, with manes dappled And steeds purple-brown. On its east side are standing Three bright purple trees Whence the birds' songs, oft ringing The king's children please. From a tree in the fore-court Sweet harmony streams; It stands silver, yet sunlit With gold's glitter gleams. Sixty trees' swaying summits Now meet, now swing wide; Rindless food for thrice hundred Each drops at its side. Near a well by that palace Gay cloaks spread out lie, Each with splendid gold fastening Well hooked through its eye. They who dwell there, find flowing A vat of glad ale: 'Tis ordained that for ever That vat shall not fail. From the hall steps a lady Well gifted, and fair: None is like her in Erin; Like gold is her hair. And so sweet, and so wondrous Her words from her fall, That with love and with longing She breaks hearts of all. "Who art thou?" said that lady, "For strange thou art here; But if Him of Murthemne Thou servest, draw near." Slowly, slowly I neared her; I feared for my fame: And she said, "Comes he hither, Of Dechtire who came?" Ah! long since, for thy healing, Thou there shouldst have gone, And have viewed that great palace Before me that shone. Though I ruled all of Erin And yellow Breg's hill, I'd give all, no small trial, To know that land still. "The quest then is a good one?" said Cuchulain. "It is goodly indeed," said Laeg, "and it is right that thou shouldest go to attain it, and all things in that land are good." And thus further also spoke Laeg, as he told of the loveliness of the fairy dwelling: I saw a land of noble form and splendid, Where dwells naught evil; none can speak a lie: There stands the king, by all his hosts attended, Brown Labra, swift to sword his hand can fly. We crossed the Plain of Speech, our steps arrested Near to that Tree, whose branches triumphs bear; At length upon the hill-crowned plain we rested, And saw the Double-Headed Serpent's lair. Then Liban said, as we that mount sat under: "Would I could see--'twould be a marvel strange-- Yet, if I saw it, dear would be that wonder, if to Cuchulain's form thy form could change." Great is the beauty of Aed Abra's daughters, Unfettered men before them conquered fall; Fand's beauty stuns, like sound of rushing waters, Before her splendour kings and queens seem small. Though I confess, as from the wise ones hearing, That Adam's race was once unstained by sin; - Yet did I swear, when Fand was there appearing, None in past ages could such beauty win. I saw the champions stand with arms for slaying, Right splendid was the garb those heroes bore; Gay coloured garments, meet for their arraying, 'Twas not the vesture of rude churls they wore. Women of music at the feast were sitting, A brilliant maiden bevy near them stood; And forms of noble youths were upwards flitting Through the recesses of the mountain wood. I saw the folk of song; their strains rang sweetly, As for the lady in that house they played; Had I not I fled away from thence, and fleetly, Hurt by that music, I had weak been made. I know the hill where Ethne took her station, And Ethne Inguba's a lovely maid; But none can drive from sense a warlike nation Save she alone, in beauty then displayed. And Cuchulain, when he had heard that report, went on with Liban to that land, and he took his chariot with him. And they came to the Island of Labraid, and there Labraid and all the women that were there bade them welcome; and Fand gave an especial welcome to Cuchulain. "What is there now set for us to do?" said Cuchulain. "No hard matter to answer," said Labraid; "we must go forth and make a circuit about the army." They went out then, and they came to the army, and they let their eyes wander over it; and the host seemed to them to be innumerable. "Do thou arise, and go hence for the present," said Cuchulain to Labraid; and Labraid departed, and Cuchulain remained confronting the army. And there were two ravens there, who spake, and revealed Druid secrets, but the armies who heard them laughed. "It must surely be the madman from Ireland who is there," said the army; "it is he whom the ravens would make known to us;" and the armies chased them away so that they found no resting-place in that land. Now at early morn Eochaid Juil went out in order to bathe his hands in the spring, and Cuchulain saw his shoulder through the hood of his tunic, and he hurled his spear at him, and he pierced him. And he by himself slew thirty-and-three of them, and then Senach the Unearthly assailed him, and a great fight was fought between them, and Cuchulain slew him; and after that Labraid approached, and he brake before him those armies. Then Labraid entreated Cuchulain to stay his hand from the slaying; and "I fear now," said Laeg, "that the man will turn his wrath upon us; for he hath not found a war to suffice him. Go now," said Laeg, "and let there be brought three vats of cold water to cool his heat. The first vat into which he goeth shall boil over; after he hath gone into the second vat, none shall be able to bear the heat of it: after he hath gone into the third vat, its water shall have but a moderate heat." And when the women saw Cuchulain's return, Fand sang thus: Fidga's[FN#36] plain, where the feast assembles, Shakes this eve, as his car he guides; All the land at the trampling trembles; Young and beardless, in state he rides. Blood-red canopies o'er him swinging Chant, but not as the fairies cry; Deeper bass from the car is singing, Deeply droning, its wheels reply. Steeds are bounding beneath the traces, None to match them my thought can find; Wait a while! I would note their graces: On they sweep, like the spring's swift wind. High in air, in his breath suspended, Float a fifty of golden balls; Kings may grace in their sports have blended, None his equal my mind recalls. [FN#36] Pronounced, nearly, Fee-ga. Dimples four on each cheek are glowing, One seems green, one is tinged with blue, One dyed red, as if blood were flowing, One is purple, of lightest hue. Sevenfold light from his eyeballs flashes, None may speak him as blind, in scorn; Proud his glances, and dark eyelashes Black as beetle, his eyes adorn. Well his excellence fame confesses, All through Erin his praise is sung; Three the hues of his high-piled tresses; Beardless yet, and a stripling young. Red his blade, it hath late been blooded; Shines above it its silver hilt; Golden bosses his shield have studded, Round its rim the white bronze is spilt. O'er the slain in each slaughter striding, War he seeketh, at risk would snatch: Heroes keen in your ranks are riding, None of these is Cuchulain's match. From Murthemne he comes, we greet him, Young Cuchulain, the champion strong; We, compelled from afar to meet him, Daughters all of Aed Abra, throng. Every tree, as a lordly token, Stands all stained with the red blood rain War that demons might wage is woken, Wails peal high as he raves again. Liban moreover bade a welcome to Cuchulain, and she chanted as follows: Hail to Cuchulain! Lord, who canst aid; Murthemne ruling, Mind undismayed; Hero-like, glorious, Heart great and still Battle-victorious, Firm rock of skill; Redly he rageth, Foemen would face; Battle he wageth Meet for his race! Brilliant his splendour, like maidens' eyes, Praises we render: praise shall arise! "Tell us now of the deeds thou hast done, O Cuchulain! cried Liban, and Cuchulain in this manner replied to her: From my hand flew a dart, as I made my cast, Through the host of Stream-Yeogan the javelin passed; Not at all did I know, though great fame was won, Who my victim had been, or what deed was done. Whether greater or less was his might than mine I have found not at all, nor can right divine; In a mist was he hid whom my spear would slay, Yet I know that he went not with life away. A great host on me closed, and on every side Rose around me in hordes the red steeds they ride; From Manannan, the Son of the Sea, came foes, From Stream-Yeogan to call them a roar arose. And I went to the battle with all at length, When my weakness had passed, and I gat full strength; And alone with three thousands the fight I fought, Till death to the foes whom I faced was brought. I heard Echaid Juil's groan, as he neared his end, The sound came to mine ears as from lips of friend; Yet, if truth must be told, 'twas no valiant deed, That cast that I threw, if 'twas thrown indeed. Now, after all these things had passed, Cuchulain slept with the lady, and he abode for a month in her company, and at the end of the month he came to bid her farewell. "Tell me," she said, "to what place I may go for our tryst, and I will be there;" and they made tryst at the strand that is known as the Strand of the Yew-Tree's Head. Now word was brought to Emer of that tryst, and knives were whetted by Emer to slay the lady; and she came to the place of the tryst, and fifty women were with her. And there she found, Cuchulain and Laeg, and they were engaged in the chess-play, so that they perceived not the women's approach. But Fand marked it, and she cried out to Laeg: "Look now, O Laeg!" she said, "and mark that sight that I see." "What sight is that of which thou speakest?" said Laeg, and he looked and saw it, and thus it was that the lady, even Fand, addressed him: Laeg! look behind thee! Close to thine ear Wise, well-ranked women Press on us near; Bright on each bosom Shines the gold clasp; Knives, with green edges Whetted, they grasp: As for the slaughter chariot chiefs race, Comes Forgall's daughter; changed is her face. "Have no fear," said Cuchulain, "no foe shalt thou meet; Enter thou my strong car, with its sunny bright seat: I will set thee before me, will guard thee from harm Against women, from Ulster's four quarters that swarm: Though the daughter of Forgall the war with thee vows, Though her dear foster-sisters against thee she rouse, No deed of destruction bold Emer will dare, Though she rageth against thee, for I will be there." Moreover to Emer he said: I avoid thee, O lady, as heroes Avoid to meet friends in a strife; The hard spear thy hand shakes cannot injure, Nor the blade of thy thin gleaming knife; For the wrath pent within thee that rageth Is but weak, nor can cause mine affright: It were hard if the war my might wageth Must be quenched by a weak woman's might! "Speak! and tell me, Cuchulain," cried Emer, "Why this shame on my head thou wouldst lay? Before women of Ulster dishonoured I stand, And all women who dwell in the wide Irish land, And all folk who love honour beside: Though I came on thee, secretly creeping, Though oppressed by thy might I remain, And though great is thy pride in the battle, If thou leavest me, naught is thy gain: Why, dear youth, such attempt dost thou make? "Speak thou, Emer, and say," said Cuchulain, "Should I not with this lady delay? For this lady is fair, pare and bright, and well skilled, A fit mate for a monarch, in beauty fulfilled, And the billows of ocean can ride: She is lovely in countenance, lofty in race, And with handicraft skilled can fine needlework trace, Hath a mind that with firmness can guide: And in steeds hath she wealth, and much cattle Doth she own; there is naught under sky A dear wife for a spouse should be keeping But that gift with this lady have I: Though the vow that I made thee I break, Thou shalt ne'er find champion Rich, like me, in scars; Ne'er such worth, such brilliance, None who wins my wars." "In good sooth," answered Emer, "the lady to whom thou dost cling is in no way better than am I myself! Yet fair seems all that's red; seems white what's new alone; and bright what's set o'erhead; and sour are things well known! Men worship what they lack; and what they have seems weak; in truth thou hast all the wisdom of the time! O youth!" she said, "once we dwelled in honour together, and we would so dwell again, if only I could find favour in thy sight!" and her grief weighed heavily upon her. "By my word," said Cuchulain, "thou dost find favour, and thou shalt find it so long as I am in life." "Desert me, then!" cried Fand. "Nay," said Emer, "it is more fitting that I should be the deserted one." "Not so, indeed," said Fand. "It is I who must go, and danger rusheth upon me from afar." And an eagerness for lamentation seized upon Fand, and her soul was great within her, for it was shame to her to be deserted and straightway to return to her home; moreover the mighty love that she bare to Cuchulain was tumultuous in her, and in this fashion she lamented, and lamenting sang this song: Mighty need compels me, I must go my way; Fame for others waiteth, Would I here could stay! Sweeter were it resting Guarded by thy power, Than to find the marvels In Aed Abra's bower. Emer! noble lady! Take thy man to thee: Though my arms resign him, Longing lives in me. Oft in shelters hidden Men to seek me came; None could win my trysting, I myself was flame. Ah! no maid her longing On a man should set Till a love full equal To her own she get. Fifty women hither, Emer! thou hast brought Thou wouldst Fand make captive, Hast on murder thought. Till the day I need them Waits, my home within; Thrice thy host! fair virgins, These my war shall win. Now upon this it was discerned by Manannan that Fand the daughter of Aed Abra was engaged in unequal warfare with the women of Ulster, and that she was like to be left by Cuchulain. And thereon Manannan came from the east to seek for the lady, and he was perceived by her, nor was there any other conscious of his presence saving Fand alone. And, when she saw Manannan, the lady was seized by great bitterness of mind and by grief, and being thus, she made this song: Lo! the Son of the Sea-Folk from plains draws near Whence Yeogan, the Stream, is poured; 'Tis Manannan, of old he to me was dear, And above the fair world we soared. Yet to-day, although excellent sounds his cry, No love fills my noble heart, For the pathways of love may be bent awry, Its knowledge in vain depart. When I dwelt in the bower of the Yeogan Stream, At the Son of the Ocean's side, Of a life there unending was then our dream, Naught seemed could our love divide. When the comely Manannan to wed me came, To me, as a spouse, full meet; Not in shame was I sold, in no chessmen's game The price of a foe's defeat. When the comely Manannan my lord was made, When I was his equal spouse, This armlet of gold that I bear he paid As price for my marriage vows. Through the heather came bride-maids, in garments brave Of all colours, two score and ten; And beside all the maidens my bounty gave To my husband a fifty men. Four times fifty our host; for no frenzied strife In our palace was pent that throng, Where a hundred strong men led a gladsome life, One hundred fair dames and strong. Manannan draws near: over ocean he speeds, From all notice of fools is he free; As a horseman he comes, for no vessel he needs Who rides the maned waves of the sea. He hath passed near us now, though his visage to view Is to all, save to fairies, forbid; Every troop of mankind his keen sight searcheth through, Though small, and in secret though hid. But for me, this resolve in my spirit shall dwell, Since weak, being woman's, my mind; Since from him whom so dearly I loved, and so well, Only danger and insult I find. I will go! in mine honour unsullied depart, Fair Cuchulain! I bid thee good-bye; I have gained not the wish that was dear to my heart, High justice compels me to fly. It is flight, this alone that befitteth my state, Though to some shall this parting be hard: O thou son of Riangabra! the insult was great: Not by Laeg shall my going be barred. I depart to my spouse; ne'er to strife with a foe Shall Manannan his consort expose; And, that none may complain that in secret I go, Behold him! his form I disclose! Then that lady rose behind Manannan as he passed, and Manannan greeted her: "O lady!" he said, "which wilt thou do? wilt thou depart with me, or abide here until Cuchulain comes to thee?" "By my troth," answered Fand, "either of the two of ye were a fitting spouse to adhere to; and neither of you two is better than the other; yet, Manannan, it is with thee that I go, nor will I wait for Cuchulain, for he hath betrayed me; and there is another matter, moreover, that weigheth with me, O thou noble prince!" said she, "and that is that thou hast no consort who is of worth equal to thine, but such a one hath Cuchulain already." And Cuchulain saw the lady as she went from him to Manannan, and he cried out to Laeg: "What meaneth this that I see?" "'Tis no hard matter to answer thee," said Laeg. "Fand goeth away with Manannan the Son of the Sea, since she hath not been pleasing in thy sight!" Then Cuchulain bounded three times high into the air, and he made three great leaps towards the south, and thus he came to Tara Luachra,[FN#37] and there he abode for a long time, having no meat and no drink, dwelling upon the mountains, and sleeping upon the high-road that runneth through the midst of Luachra. Then Emer went on to Emain, and there she sought out king Conor, and she told Conor of Cuchulain's state, and Conor sent out his learned men and the people of skill, and the Druids of Ulster, that they might seek for Cuchulain, and might bind him fast, and bring him with them to Emain. And Cuchulain strove to slay the people of skill, but they chanted wizard and fairy songs against him, and they bound fast his feet and his hands until he came a little to his senses. Then he begged for a drink at their hands, and the Druids gave him a drink of forgetfulness, so that afterwards he had no more remembrance of Fand nor of anything else that he had then done; and they also gave a drink of forgetfulness to Emer that she might forget her jealousy, for her state was in no way better than the state of Cuchulain. And Manannan shook his cloak between Cuchulain and Fand, so that they might never meet together again throughout eternity. [FN#37] Pronounced Looch-ra: Tara Luachra is on the borders of Limerick and Kerry. THE EXILE OF THE SONS' OF USNACH INTRODUCTION The version given in the following pages of the well-known tale of Deirdre has been translated from the Irish text of the Book of Leinster version as printed by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. i. Readings from the two parallel texts of the Book of Lecan, and Egerton, 1782, have been used where the Leinster text is deficient or doubtful, but the older MS. has in the main been followed, the chief alterations being indicated in the notes. The only English translation hitherto given of this version is the unreliable one in Atlantis, vol. iii. There is a German translation in Thurneysen's Sagen aus dem alten Irland which may be consulted for literal renderings of most of the verse portions, which, however, are sometimes nearer the original than Thurneysen's renderings. It was at first intended to place beside this version the much better known version of the tale given by the Glenn Masain manuscript and its variants; but, as this version is otherwise available in English,[FN#38] it has been thought better to omit most of it: a verse translation of Deirdre's final lament in this version has, however, been added for the purpose of comparing it with the corresponding lament in the Leinster text. These two poems are nearly of the same length, but have no other point in common; the lament in the Leinster version strikes the more personal note, and it has been suggested that it shows internal evidence that it must have been written by a woman. The idea of Deirdre as a seer, which is so prominent in the Glenn Masain version of the tale, does not appear in the older Leinster text; the supernatural Druidic mist, which even in the Glenn Masain version only appears in the late manuscript which continues the story after the fifteenth-century manuscript breaks off, does not appear in the Book of Leinster; and the later version introduces several literary artifices that do not appear in the earlier one. That portion of the Glenn Masain version immediately following after Deirdre's lament is given as an instance of one of these, the common artifice of increase of horror at a catastrophe by the introduction of irrelevant matter, the tragedy of Deirdre's death being immediately followed by a cheerful account of the relationships of the chief heroes of the Heroic Period; a still better example of this practice in the old Irish literature is the almost comic relief that is introduced at the most tragic part of the tale of the murder of the son of Ronan. [FN#38] See Irische Texte, vol. ii., and the Celtic Review, vol. i. 1904-1905. THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH BOOK OF LEINSTER VERSION In the house of Feidlimid,[FN#39] the son of Dall, even he who was the narrator of stories to Conor the king, the men of Ulster sat at their ale; and before the men, in order to attend upon them, stood the wife of Feidlimid, and she was great with child. Round about the board went drinking-horns, and portions of food; and the revellers shouted in their drunken mirth. And when the men desired to lay themselves down to sleep, the woman also went to her couch; and, as she passed through the midst of the house, the child cried out in her womb, so that its shriek was heard throughout the whole house, and throughout the outer court that lay about it. And upon that shriek, all the men sprang up; and, head closely packed by head, they thronged together in the house, whereupon Sencha, the son of Ailill, rebuked them: "Let none of you stir!" cried he, "and let the woman be brought before us, that we may learn what is the meaning of that cry." Then they brought the woman before them, and thus spoke to her Feidlimid, her spouse: What is that, of all cries far the fiercest, In thy womb raging loudly and long? Through all ears with that clamour thou piercest; With that scream, from Bides swollen and strong: Of great woe, for that cry, is foreboding my heart; That is torn through with terror, and sore with the smart. [FN#39] Pronounced Feylimid. Then the woman turned her, and she approached Cathbad[FN#40] the Druid, for he was a man of knowledge, and thus she spoke to him: [FN#40] Pronounced Cah-ba. Give thou ear to me, Cathbad, thou fair one of face, Thou great crown of our honour, and royal in race; Let the man so exalted still higher be set, Let the Druid draw knowledge, that Druids can get. For I want words of wisdom, and none can I fetch; Nor to Felim a torch of sure knowledge can stretch: As no wit of a woman can wot what she bears, I know naught of that cry from within me that tears. And then said Cathbad: 'Tis a maid who screamed wildly so lately, Fair and curling shall locks round her flow, And her eyes be blue-centred and stately; And her cheeks, like the foxglove, shall glow. For the tint of her skin, we commend her, In its whiteness, like snow newly shed; And her teeth are all faultless in splendour And her lips, like to coral, are red: A fair woman is she, for whom heroes, that fight In their chariots for Ulster, to death shall be dight. 'Tis a woman that shriek who hath given, Golden-haired, with long tresses, and tall; For whose love many chiefs shall have striven, And great kings for her favours shall call. To the west she shall hasten, beguiling A great host, that from Ulster shall steal: Red as coral, her lips shall be smiling, As her teeth, white as pearls, they reveal: Aye, that woman is fair, and great queens shall be fain Of her form, that is faultless, unflawed by a stain. Then Cathbad laid his hand upon the body of the woman; and the little child moved beneath his hand: "Aye, indeed," he said, "it is a woman child who is here: Deirdre shall be her name, and evil woe shall be upon her." Now some days after that came the girl child into the world; and then thus sang Cathbad: O Deirdre! of ruin great cause thou art; Though famous, and fair, and pale: Ere that Felim's hid daughter from life shall part, All Ulster her deeds shall wail. Aye, mischief shall come, in the after-time, Thou fair shining maid, for thee; Hear ye this: Usna's sons, the three chiefs sublime, To banishment forced shall be. While thou art in life, shall a fierce wild deed In Emain, though late, be done: Later yet, it shall mourn it refused to heed The guard of Rog's powerful son. O lady of worth! It is to thee we owe That Fergus to exile flies; That a son of king Conor we hail in woe, When Fiachna[FN#41] is hurt, and dies. O lady of worth! It is all thine the guilt! Gerrc, Illadan's son, is slain; And when Eogan mac Doorha's great life is spilt, Not less shall be found our pain. Grim deed shalt thou do, and in wrath shalt rave Against glorious Ulster's king: In that spot shall men dig thee thy tiny grave; Of Deirdre they long shall sing. [FN#41] Pronounced Feena. "Let that maiden be slain!" cried out the young men of Ulster; but "Not so!" said Conor; "she shall in the morning be brought to me, and shall be reared according to my will, and she shall be my wife, and in my companionship shall she dwell." The men of Ulster were not so hardy as to turn him from his purpose, and thus it was done. The maiden was reared in a house that belonged to Conor, and she grew up to be the fairest maid in all Ireland. She was brought up at a distance from the king's court; so that none of the men of Ulster might see her till the time came when she was to share the royal couch: none of mankind was permitted to enter the house where she was reared, save only her foster-father, and her foster-mother; and in addition to these Levorcham, to whom naught could any refuse, for she was a witch. Now once it chanced upon a certain day in the time of winter that the foster-father of Deirdre had employed himself in skinning a calf upon the snow, in order to prepare a roast for her, and the blood of the calf lay upon the snow, and she saw a black raven who came down to drink it. And "Levorcham," said Deirdre, "that man only will I love, who hath the three colours that I see here, his hair as black as the raven, his cheeks red like the blood, and his body as white as the snow." "Dignity and good fortune to thee!" said Levorcham; "that man is not far away. Yonder is he in the burg which is nigh; and the name of him is Naisi, the son of Usnach." "I shall never be in good health again," said Deirdre, "until the time come when I may see him." It befell that Naisi was upon a certain day alone upon the rampart of the burg of Emain, and he sent his warrior-cry with music abroad: well did the musical cry ring out that was raised by the sons of Usnach. Each cow and every beast that heard them, gave of milk two-thirds more than its wont; and each man by whom that cry was heard deemed it to be fully joyous, and a dear pleasure to him. Goodly moreover was the play that these men made with their weapons; if the whole province of Ulster had been assembled together against them in one place, and they three only had been able to set their backs against one another, the men of Ulster would not have borne away victory from those three: so well were they skilled in parry and defence. And they were swift of foot when they hunted the game, and with them it was the custom to chase the quarry to its death. Now when this Naisi found himself alone on the plain, Deirdre also soon escaped outside her house to him, and she ran past him, and at first he know not who she might be. "Fair is the young heifer that springs past me!" he cried. "Well may the young heifers be great," she said, "in a place where none may find a bull." "Thou hast, as thy bull," said he, "the bull of the whole province of Ulster, even Conor the king of Ulster." "I would choose between you two," she said, "and I would take for myself a younger bull, even such as thou art." "Not so indeed," said Naisi, "for I fear the prophecy of Cathbad." "Sayest thou this, as meaning to refuse me?" said she. "Yea indeed," he said; and she sprang upon him, and she seized him by his two ears. "Two ears of shame and of mockery shalt thou have," she cried, "if thou take me not with thee." "Release me, O my wife!" said he. "That will I." Then Naisi raised his musical warrior-cry, and the men of Ulster heard it, and each of them one after another sprang up: and the sons of Usnach hurried out in order to hold back their brother. "What is it," they said, "that thou dost? let it not be by any fault of thine that war is stirred up between us and the men of Ulster." Then he told them all that had been done; and "There shall evil come on thee from this," said they; "moreover thou shalt lie under the reproach of shame so long as thou dost live; and we will go with her into another land, for there is no king in all Ireland who will refuse us welcome if we come to him." Then they took counsel together, and that same night they departed, three times fifty warriors, and the same number of women, and dogs, and servants, and Deirdre went with them. And for a long time they wandered about Ireland, in homage to this man or that; and often Conor sought to slay them, either by ambuscade or by treachery; from round about Assaroe, near to Ballyshannon in the west, they journeyed, and they turned them back to Benn Etar, in the north-east, which men to-day call the Mountain of Howth. Nevertheless the men of Ulster drave them from the land, and they came to the land of Alba, and in its wildernesses they dwelled. And when the chase of the wild beasts of the mountains failed them, they made foray upon the cattle of the men of Alba, and took them for themselves; and the men of Alba gathered themselves together with intent to destroy them. Then they took shelter with the king of Alba, and the king took them into his following, and they served him in war. And they made for themselves houses of their own in the meadows by the king's burg: it was on account of Deirdre that these houses were made, for they feared that men might see her, and that on her account they might be slain. Now one day the high-steward of the king went out in the early morning, and he made a cast about Naisi's house, and saw those two sleeping therein, and he hurried back to the king, and awaked him: "We have," said he, "up to this day found no wife for thee of like dignity to thyself. Naisi the son of Usnach hath a wife of worth sufficient for the emperor of the western world! Let Naisi be slain, and let his wife share thy couch." "Not so!" said the king, "but do thou prepare thyself to go each day to her house, and woo her for me secretly." Thus was it done; but Deirdre, whatsoever the steward told her, was accustomed straightway to recount it each even to her spouse; and since nothing was obtained from her, the sons of Usnach were sent into dangers, and into wars, and into strifes that thereby they might be overcome. Nevertheless they showed themselves to be stout in every strife, so that no advantage did the king gain from them by such attempts as these. The men of Alba were gathered together to destroy the sons of Usnach, and this also was told to Deirdre. And she told her news to Naisi: "Depart hence!" said she, "for if ye depart not this night, upon the morrow ye shall he slain!" And they marched away that night, and they betook themselves to an island of the sea. Now the news of what had passed was brought to the men of Ulster. "'Tis pity, O Conor!" said they, "that the sons of Usnach should die in the land of foes, for the sake of an evil woman. It is better that they should come under thy protection,[FN#42] and that the (fated) slaying should be done here, and that they should come into their own land, rather than that they should fall at the hands of foes." "Let them come to us then," said Conor, "and let men go as securities to them." The news was brought to them. [FN#42] Literally, "It is better their protection, and their slaying, and coming for them to their own land, &c." If this reading is right (and three MSS. agree), the extended words of the text seem to give the intention: it is, however, possible that the reading should be, "It is better their protection than their slaying" (oldaas for ocus), which would make sense at once. The idea of the text seems to be that the sons of Usnach were, owing to Cathbad's prophecy, thought of as fated men; and it was only a question where they should be put to death. "This is welcome news for us," they said; "we will indeed come, and let Fergus come as our surety, and Dubhtach, and Cormac the son of Conor." These then went to them, and they moved them to pass over the sea. But at the contrivance of Conor, Fergus was pressed to join in an ale-feast, while the sons of Usnach were pledged to eat no food in Erin, until they had eaten the food of Conor. So Fergus tarried behind with Dubhtach and Cormac; and the sons of Usnach went on, accompanied by Fiacha, Fergus' son; until they came to the meadows around Emain. Now at that time Eogan the son of Durthacht had come to Emain to make his peace with Conor, for they had for a long time been at enmity; and to him, and to the warmen of Conor, the charge was given that they should slay the sons of Usnach, in order that they should not come before the king. The sons of Usnach stood upon the level part of. the meadows, and the women sat upon the ramparts of Emain. And Eogan came with his warriors across the meadow, and the son of Fergus took his place by Naisi's side. And Eogan greeted them with a mighty thrust of his spear, and the spear brake Naisi's back in sunder, and passed through it. The son of Fergus made a spring, and he threw both arms around Naisi, and he brought him beneath himself to shelter him, while he threw himself down above him; and it was thus that Naisi was slain, through the body of the son of Fergus. Then there began a murder throughout the meadow, so that none escaped who did not fall by the points of the spears, or the edge of the sword, and Deirdre was brought to Conor to be in his power, and her arms were bound behind her back. Now the sureties who had remained behind, heard what had been done, even Fergus and Dubhtach, and Cormac. And thereon they hastened forward, and they forthwith performed great deeds. Dubhtach slew, with the one thrust of his spear, Mane a son of Conor, and Fiachna the son of Feidelm, Conor's daughter; and Fergus struck down Traigthren, the son of Traiglethan, and his brother. And Conor was wrath at this, and he came to the fight with them; so that upon that day three hundred of the men of Ulster fell and Dubhtach slew the women of Ulster; and, ere the day dawned, Fergus set Emain on fire. Then they went away into exile, and betook them to the land of Connaught to find shelter with Ailill and Maev, for they knew that that royal pair would give them good entertainment. To the men of Ulster the exiles showed no love: three thousand stout men went with them; and for sixteen years never did they allow cries of lamentation and of fear among the Ulstermen to cease: each night their vengeful forays caused men to quake, and to wail. Deirdre lived on for a year in the household of Conor; and during all that time she smiled no smile of laughter; she satisfied not herself with food or with sleep, and she raised not her head from her knee. And if any one brought before her people of mirth, she used to speak thus: Though eager troops, and fair to see,[FN#43] May home return, though these ye wait: When Usna's sons came home to me, They came with more heroic state. With hazel mead, my Naisi stood: And near our fire his bath I'd pour; On Aindle's stately back the wood; On Ardan's ox, or goodly boar. Though sweet that goodly mead ye think That warlike Conor drinks in hall, I oft have known a sweeter drink, Where leaps in foam the waterfall: Our board was spread beneath the tree, And Naisi raised the cooking flame: More sweet than honey-sauced to me Was meat, prepared from Naisi's game. [FN#43] A literal rendering of this poem will be found in the notes, p. 187. Though well your horns may music blow, Though sweet each month your pipes may sound, I fearless say, that well I know A sweeter strain I oft have found. Though horns and pipes be sounding clear, Though Conor's mind in these rejoice, More magic strain, more sweet, more dear Was Usna's Children's noble voice. Like sound of wave, rolled Naisi's bass; We'd hear him long, so sweet he sang: And Ardan's voice took middle place; And clearly Aindle's tenor rang. Now Naisi lies within his tomb: A sorry guard his friends supplied; His kindred poured his cup of doom, That poisoned cup, by which he died. Ah! Berthan dear! thy lands are fair; Thy men are proud, though hills be stern: Alas! to-day I rise not there To wait for Usna's sons' return. That firm, just mind, so loved, alas! The dear shy youth, with touch of scorn, I loved with him through woods to pass, And girding in the early morn. When bent on foes, they boded ill, Those dear grey eyes, that maids adored; When, spent with toil, his troops lay still, Through Irish woods his tenor soared. For this it is, no more I sleep; No more my nails with pink I stain: No joy can break the watch I keep; For Usna's sons come not again. For half the night no sleep I find; No couch can me to rest beguile: 'Mid crowds of thoughts still strays my mind; I find no time to eat or smile. In eastern Emain's proud array No time to joy is left for me; For gorgeous house, and garments gay, Nor peace, nor joy, nor rest can be. And when Conor sought to soothe her; thus Deirdre would answer him: Ah Conor! what of thee! I naught can do! Lament and sorrow on my life have passed: The ill you fashioned lives my whole life through; A little time your love for me would last. The man to me most fair beneath the sky, The man I loved, in death away you tore: The crime you did was great; for, till I die, That face I loved I never shall see more. That he is gone is all my sorrow still; Before me looms the shape of Usna's son; Though o'er his body white is yon dark hill, There's much I'd lavish, if but him I won. I see his cheeks, with meadow's blush they glow; Black as a beetle, runs his eyebrows' line; His lips are red; and, white as noble snow I see his teeth, like pearls they seem to shine. Well have I known the splendid garb he bears, Oft among Alba's warriors seen of old: A crimson mantle, such as courtier wears, And edged with border wrought of ruddy gold. Of silk his tunic; great its costly price; For full one hundred pearls thereon are sewn; Stitched with findruine,[FN#44] bright with strange device, Full fifty ounces weighed those threads alone. Gold-hilted in his hand I see his sword; Two spears he holds, with spear-heads grim and green; Around his shield the yellow gold is poured, And in its midst a silver boss is seen. Fair Fergus ruin on us all hath brought! We crossed the ocean, and to him gave heed: His honour by a cup of ale was bought; From him hath passed the fame of each high deed. If Ulster on this plain were gathered here Before king Conor; and those troops he'd give, I'd lose them all, nor think the bargain dear, If I with Naisi, Usna's son, could live. Break not, O king, my heart to-day in me; For soon, though young, I come my grave unto: My grief is stronger than the strength of sea; Thou, Conor, knowest well my word is true. "Whom dost thou hate the most," said Conor, "of these whom thou now seest?" "Thee thyself," she answered, "and with thee Eogan the son of Durthacht." [FN#44] Pronounced find-roony; usually translated "white bronze." "Then," said Conor, "thou shalt dwell with Eogan for a year;" and he gave Deirdre over into Eogan's hand. Now upon the morrow they went away over the festal plain of Macha, and Deirdre sat behind Eogan in the chariot; and the two who were with her were the two men whom she would never willingly have seen together upon the earth, and as she looked upon them, "Ha, Deirdre," said Conor, "it is the same glance that a ewe gives when between two rams that thou sharest now between me and Eogan!" Now there was a great rock of stone in front of them, and Deirdre struck her head upon that stone, and she shattered her head, and so she died. This then is the tale of the exile of the sons of Usnach, and of the Exile of Fergus, and of the death of Deirdre. THE LAMENT OF DEIRDRE OVER THE SONS OF USNACH ACCORDING TO THE GLENN MASAIN VERSION ALSO THE CONCLUSION OF THE TALE FROM THE SAME VERSION I grieved not, Usna's sons beside; But long, without them, lags the day: Their royal sire no guest denied; Three lions from Cave Hill were they. Three dragons bred in Mona's fort Are dead: to them from life I go; Three chiefs who graced the Red Branch Court, Three rocks, who broke the rush of foe. O loved by many a British maid! O swift as hawks round Gullion's peak! True sons of king, who warriors swayed, To whom bent chiefs in homage meek. No vassal look those champions wore; Full grief is mine that such should die! Those sons, whom Cathbad's daughter bore; Those props, who Cualgne's[FN#45] war held high. [FN#45] Pronounced Kell-ny. Three bears of might, to war they came; From Oona's walls, like lions, burst; Three hero-chiefs, who loved their fame; Three sons, on Ulster's bosom nursed. Twas Aife[FN#46] reared them; 'neath her yoke A kingdom bowed, and tribute brought; They propped the war, when armies broke, Those foster-sons, whom Scathach[FN#47] taught. The Three, who once from Bohvan's skill All feats have learned that heroes know; King Usna's glorious sons! 'tis ill That these afar from me should go. That I should live, with Naisi dead, Let none such shame believe of me; When Ardan's life, when Ainnle's fled, But short my life I knew would be. Great Ulster's king my hand had won; I left him, Naisi's love to find; Till Naisi's funeral rites be done, I wait a little while behind. This widowed life no more I'll bear; The Three rejoiced, when toil they faced; Where'er 'twas found, the war they'd dare, And proffered fight with joy embraced. A curse on Cathbad's wizard spell! 'Twas Naisi's death! and I the cause! None came to aid that king, who well To all the world might grant his laws. [FN#46] Pronounced Eefa. [FN#47] Pronounced Ska-ha. O man, who diggest low the grave, And from my sight my love would hide, Make wide the tomb; its room I crave, I come to seek my hero's side. Great load of hardship I'd endure with joy, If yet those heroes my companions were; No lack of house or fire could then annoy, No gloom I'd know with them, nor aught of care. Ah! many a time each shield and guardian spear To make my couch have piled those noble Three: O labouring man, their grave who diggest here, Their hardened swords above well set should be. The hounds of all the Three their masters lack, Their hawks no quarry leave, nor hear their call; The three are dead, who battle's line held back Who learned their skill in Conall Cernach's hall! Their hounds I view; from out my heart that sight Hath struck a groan; behind their leashes trail, 'Twas mine to hold them once, and keep them tight;, Now slack they lie, and cause me thus to wail. Oft in the desert I and they have strayed, Yet never lonely was that desert known For all the Three a grave to-day is made, And here I sit, and feel indeed alone. I gazed on Naisi's grave, and now am blind, For naught remains to see; the worst is spent; My soul must leave me soon, no help I find, And they are gone, the folk of my lament. 'Twas guile that crushed them: they would save my life And died therefor; themselves three billows strong: Ere Usna's children fell in cruel strife, Would I had died, and earth had held me long! To Red-Branch Hall we made our mournful way; Deceitful Fergus led; our lives he stole; A soft sweet speech indeed he'd learned to say, For me, for them was ruin near that goal. All Ulster's pleasures now are nothing worth I shun them all, each chief, each ancient friend; Alone I sit, as left behind on earth, And soon my lonely life in death shall end. I am Deirdre, the joyless, For short time alive, Though to end life be evil, 'Tis worse to survive. And, after she had made this lament, Deirdre seated herself in the tomb, and she gave three kisses to Naisi before that he was laid in his grave; and with heaviness and grief Cuchulain went on to Dun Delga. And Cathbad the Druid laid a curse upon Emain Macha to take vengeance for that great evil, and he said that, since that treachery had been done, neither king Conor nor any other of his race should hold that burg. And as for Fergus, the son of Rossa the Red, he came to Emain Macha on the morrow after the sons of Usnach had been slain. And, when he found that they had been slain, and that his pledge had been dishonoured, he himself, and Cormac the Partner of Exile, king Conor's own son, also Dubhtach, the Beetle of Ulster, and the armies they had with them, gave battle to the household of Conor; and they slew Maine the son of Conor, and three hundred of Conor's people besides. And Emain Macha was destroyed, and burned by them, and Conor's women were slain, and they collected their adherents on every side; the number of their host was three thousand warriors. And they went away to the land of Connaught, even to Ailill the Great, who was the king of Connaught at that time, and to Maev of Croghan, and with them they found a welcome and support. Moreover Fergus and Cormac the Partner of Exile and their warriors, after that they had come to the land of Connaught, never let pass one single night wherein reavers went not forth from them to harry and burn the land of Ulster, so that the district which men to-day call the land of Cualgne was subdued by them; and from that in the after-time came between the two kingdoms much of trouble and theft; and in this fashion they spent seven years, or, as some say, ten years; nor was there any truce between them, no, not for one single hour. And while those deeds were doing, Deirdre abode by Conor in his household for a whole year after the sons of Usnach had been slain. And, though it might have seemed but a small thing for her to raise her head, or to let laughter flow over her lips, yet she never did these things during all that time. And when Conor saw that neither sport nor kindness could hold her; and that neither jesting nor pleasing honour could raise her spirits, he sent word to Eogan the son of Durthacht, the lord of Fernmay;[FN#48] as some tell the story, it was this Eogan who had slain Naisi in Emain Macha. And after that Eogan had come to the place where Conor was, Conor gave command to Deirdre that, since he himself had failed to turn her heart from her grief, she must depart to Eogan, and spend another space of time with him. And with that she was placed behind Eogan in his chariot, and Conor went also in the chariot in order to deliver Deirdre into Eogan's hand. And as they went on their way, she cast a fierce glance at Eogan in front of her, and another at Conor behind her; for there was nothing in all the world that she hated more than those two men. And when Conor saw this, as he looked at her and at Eogan, he said: "Ah Deirdre! it is the glance of a ewe when set between two rams that thou castest on me and on Eogan!" And when Deirdre heard that, she sprang up, and she made a leap out of the chariot, and she struck her head against the stony rocks that were in front of her, and she shattered her head so that the brains leapt out, and thus came to Deirdre her death. [FN#48] The Irish is Fernmag; written Fearnmhuidh in the late manuscript of this part of the tale. This is the Tree of their race, and an account of the kinships of some of the Champions of the Red Branch, which is given here before we proceed to speak of the Deeds of Cuchulain: 'Twas Cathbad first won Magach's love, and arms around her threw; From Maelchro's loins, the Battle Chief, his princely source he drew; Two, more in love she knew, of these the wrath was long and dread, Fierce Rossa, named the Ruddy-Faced, and Carbre, thatched with red. To all the three were children born, and all with beauty graced, To Cathbad, and to Carbre Red, and Rossa Ruddy-faced; A gracious three indeed were they to whom she gave her love, Fair Magach, brown the lashes were that slept her eyes above. Three sons to Rossa Ruddy-faced as children Magach bore; To Carbre sons again she gave, the count of these was four; And three white shoots of grace were hers, on these no shame shall fall; To Cathbad children three she bare, and these were daughters all. To Cathbad, who in wizard lore and all its arts had might, Three daughters lovely Magach bore, each clothed in beauty white; All maids who then for grace were famed in grace those maids surpassed, And Finuchoem,[FN#49] Ailbhe twain he named, and Deithchim named the last. [FN#49] Pronounced Finn-hoom, Ail-vy, and Die-himm. To Finnchoem, wizard Cathbad's child, was born a glorious son, And well she nursed him, Conall wild, who every field hath won; And Ailbhe glorious children bare in whom no fear had place, These Ardan, Ainnle, Naisi were, who came of Usnach's race. A son to Deithchim fair was born, a bright-cheeked mother she; She bore but one: Cuchulain of Dun Delga's hold was he: Of those whom Cathbad's daughters reared the names full well ye know, And none of these a wound hath feared, or therefore shunned a foe. The sons of Usnach, who like shields their friends protected well, By might of hosts on battle-field to death were borne, and fell; And each was white of skin, and each his friends in love would hold, Now naught remains for song to teach, the Third of Griefs is told. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD INTRODUCTION This version of the "Combat at the Ford," the best-known episode of the Irish romance or romantic epic, the "War of Cualnge," will hardly be, by Irish scholars, considered to want a reference. It is given in the Book of Leinster, which cannot have been written later than 1150 A.D., and differs in many respects from the version in the fourteenth-century Book of Lecan, which is, for the purposes of this text, at least equal in authority to the Leabbar na h-Uidhri, which must have been written before 1100 A.D. Mr. Alfred Nutt has kindly contributed a note on the comparison of the two versions, which has been placed as a special note at the end of the translation of the "Combat." To this note may be added the remark that the whole of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "War of Cualnge" seems, to be subject to the same criticisms that have to be passed on the "Sickbed" and the "Courtship of Etain" in the same volume, viz. that it is a compilation from two or three different versions of the same story, and is not a connected and consistent romance, which the version in the Book of Leinster appears to be. As an illustration of this, the appearance of Conall Cernach as on the side of Connaught in the early part of the L.U. version may be mentioned; he is never so represented in other versions of the "War." In the description of the array of Ulster at the end of L.U., he is noted as being expected to be with the Ulster army but as absent (following in this the Book of Leinster, but not a later manuscript which agrees with the Book of Leinster in the main); then at the end of the L.U. version Conall again appears in the Connaught army and saves Conor from Fergus, taking the place of Cormac in the Book of Leinster version. Miss Faraday, in her version of the "War" as given in L.U., notes the change of style at page 82 of her book. Several difficulties similar to that of the position of Conall could be mentioned; and on the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the "War," one of which is represented by the Book of Leinster version. This version shows no signs of patchwork, at any rate in the story of the "Combat at the Ford;" which has, ever since it was reintroduced to the world by O'Curry, been renowned for the chivalry of its action. It forms one of the books of Aubrey de Vere's "Foray of Queen Meave," and is there well reproduced, although with several additions; perhaps sufficient attention has not. been paid to the lofty position of the character, as distinguished from the prowess, that this version gives to Cuchulain. The first verse, put in Cuchulain's mouth, strikes a new note, contrasting alike with the muddle-headed bargaining of Ferdia and Maev, and the somewhat fussy anxiety of Fergus. The contrast between the way in which Cuchulain receives Fergus's report of the valour of Ferdia, and that in which Ferdia receives the praises of Cuchulain from his charioteer, is well worked out; Cuchulain, conscious of his own strength, accepts all Fergus's praises of his opponent and adds to them; Ferdia cannot bear to hear of Cuchulain's valour, and charges his servant with taking a bribe from his enemy in order to frighten him. Ferdia boasts loudly of what he will do, Cuchulain apologises for his own confidence in the issue of the combat, and gently banters Fergus, who is a bit of a boaster himself, on the care he had taken to choose the time for the war when king Conor was away, with a modest implication that he himself was a poor substitute for the king. Cuchulain's first two stanzas in the opening dialogue between himself and Ferdia show a spirit quite as truculent as that of his opponent; the reason of this being, as indicated in the first of these stanzas and more explicitly stated in the preceding prose, that his anxiety for his country is outweighing his feeling for his friend; but in the third stanza he resumes the attitude of conscious strength that marks all his answers to Fergus; and this, added to a feeling of pity for his friend's inevitable fate, is maintained up to the end of the tale. In the fourth stanza, which is an answer to a most insulting speech from Ferdia, he makes the first of those appeals to his former friend to abandon his purpose that come from him throughout the first three days of the fight; even in the fatal battle of the fourth day, he will not at first put forward all his strength, and only uses the irresistible Gae-Bulg when driven to it by his foe. The number of Cuchulain's laments after the battle--there are five of these (one in prose), besides his answers to Laeg--has been adversely criticised; and it is just possible that one or more of these come from some other version, and have been incorporated by a later hand than that of the author; but the only one that seems to me not to develop the interest is the "brooch of gold," which it may be noticed is very like the only lament which is preserved in the Book of Lecan text of the L.U. version. Cuchulain's allusion to Aife's only son in the first verse lament is especially noticeable (see note, p. 196). Ferdia's character, although everywhere inferior to that of his victor, is also a heroic one; he is represented at the commencement of the episode as undertaking the fight for fear of disgrace if he refused; and this does appear to be represented throughout as the true reason; his early boasts and taunts are obviously intended to conquer a secret uneasiness, and the motif of a passion for Finnabar with which Cuchulain charges him hardly appears outside Cuchulain's speeches, and has not the importance given to it in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version. The motif of resentment against Cuchulain for a fancied insult, invented by Maev, which is given in the L.U. version as the determining cause, does not appear in the Leinster version at all; and that of race enmity of the Firbolg against the Celt, given to him by Aubrey de Vere, is quite a modern idea and is in none of the old versions. His dialogue with Maev suggests that, as stated in the text, he was then slightly intoxicated; his savage language to his servant gives the idea of a man who feels himself in the wrong and makes himself out to be worse than he is by attributing to himself the worst motives, the hope of pay; but as the battle proceeds he shows himself equal to Cuchulain in generosity, and in the dialogue at the beginning of the third day's fight his higher character comes out, for while his old boastfulness appears in one passage of it, and is immediately repressed, the language of both heroes in this dialogue is noticeable for a true spirit of chivalry. The mutual compliments, "thy kingly might," "fair graceful Hound" "gently ruling Hound" recall the French "Beausire"; it may be also noted that these compliments are paid even when Ferdia is protesting against Cuchulain's reproaches; similar language is used elsewhere, as "much thine arms excel" (page 122), and "Cuchulain for beautiful feats renowned" (page 134). It may be considered that these passages are an indication that the episode is late, but it should be noticed that the very latest date that can possibly be assigned to it, the eleventh century, precedes that of all other known romances of chivalry by at least a hundred years. To this later attitude of Ferdia, and to that maintained by Cuchulain throughout the whole episode, nothing in French or Welsh romance of approximately so early a date can be compared. Is it not possible that the chivalric tone of the later Welsh romances, like the "Lady of the Fountain," which is generally supposed to have come from France, really came from an Irish model? and that this tone, together with the Arthurian Saga, passed to the Continent? A great contrast to both the two heroes is afforded by the introduction of Laeg with his cries of exultation, which come between the dying groans of Ferdia and the fine prose lament of Cuchulain, increasing the effect of both. Laeg seems quite unable to see his master's point of view, and he serves as a foil for Ferdia, just as the latter's inferiority increases the character of Cuchulain. The consistency of the whole, and the way in which our sympathy is awakened for Ferdia contrast with the somewhat disconnected character of the L.U. version, which as it stands gives a poor idea of the defeated champion; although, as Mr. Nutt suggests, the lost part may have improved this idea, and the version has beauties of its own. For the convenience of those readers who may be unacquainted with the story of the war, the following short introduction is given:-- At a time given by the oldest Irish annalists as A.D. 29, the War of Cualnge was undertaken by Maev, queen of Connaught, against the kingdom or province of Ulster. Gathering together men from all the other four provinces of Ireland, Maev marched against Ulster, the leaders of her army being herself, her husband Ailill, and Fergus the son of Rog, an exile from Ulster, and formerly, according to one account, king of that province. Not only had Maev great superiority in force, but the time she Ed chosen for the war was when Conor, king of Ulster, and with him nearly all his principal warriors, were on their sick-bed in accordance with a curse that had fallen on them in return for a cruel deed that he and his people had done. One hero however, Cuchulain, the greatest of the Ulster heroes, was unaffected by this curse; and he, with only a few followers, but with supernatural aid from demi-gods of whose race he came, had caused much loss to the queen and her army, so that Maev finally made this compact: she was each day to provide a champion to oppose Cuchulain, and was to be permitted to advance so long as that combat lasted; if her champion was killed, she was to halt her army until the next morning. Before the Combat at the Ford between Cuchulain and Ferdia, Cuchulain had killed many of Maev's champions in duel, and the epic romance of the "War of Cualnge" gives the full story of these combats and of the end of the war. The episode given in the following pages commences at the camp of Queen Maev, where her chiefs are discussing who is to be their champion against Cuchulain on the following day. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD AN EPISODE OF THE CATTLE SPOIL OF CUALNGE IN THE BOOK OF LEINSTER VERSION At that time debate was held among the men of Ireland who should be the man to go early in the morning of the following day to make combat and fight with Cuchulain. And all agreed that Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dire, was the man who should go; even the great and valiant champion of the men of Irross Donnand, for the manner in which he fought and did battle was like to the manner of Cuchulain. They had got their skill in arms, and valour, and bravery from the same teachers, from Scathach, from Uathach, and from Aife[FN#50]; nor had either of them advantage over the other except that Cuchulain alone could perform the feat of the Gae-bulg. Yet Ferdia was fenced by a horny skin-protecting armour, and this should guard him when he faced a hero in battle and combat at the Ford. So to Ferdia were sent messengers and heralds; but Ferdia denied the heralds, and he refused to depart with them, for well he knew why it was he was called; even to fight against his own friend, his comrade and fellow-pupil Cuchulain; and for that cause he came not with the heralds who were sent. [FN#50] Pronounced Scaha, Ooha, and Eefa: Scaha and Ooha end with a slight guttural like the ch in the Scotch lock, difficult to express in English. And then did Maev send to Ferdia Druids, and satirists and revilers, in order that against him should be made three crushing reproaches, and three satires; that the stains of shame, and of blemish, and of disgrace should be raised on his face; so that even if he died not at once, death should be his within the space of nine days if he went with them not. And for the sake of his honour, Ferdia came at their call; for to him it was better to fall before the shafts of valour, of bravery, and of daring than by the stings of satire, of abuse, and of reproach. And he, when he arrived, was received with all worship and service, and was served with pleasant, sweet intoxicating liquor, so that his brain reeled, and he became gently merry. And these were the great rewards that were promised to him if he consented to make that combat and fight: a chariot of the value of four times seven cumals, and the equipment of twelve men with garments of all colours, and the length and breadth of his own territory on the choice part of the plains of Maw Ay; free of tribute, without purchase, free from the incidents of attendance at courts and of military service, that therein his son, and his grandson, and all his descendants might dwell in safety to the end of life and time; also Finnabar the daughter of Maev as his wedded wife, and the golden brooch which was in the cloak of Queen Maev in addition to all this. And thus ran the speech of Maev, and she spake these words, and thus did Ferdia reply: Maev Of rings great treasure sending,[FN#51] Wide plains and woodlands bending I grant: till time hath ending I free thy tribe and kin. O thou who oft o'ercamest! 'Tis thine what gift thou namest! Why hold'st thou back, nor claimest A boon that all would win? [FN#51] The metre of this dialogue and rhyme-system are taken from the Irish but one syllable has been added to each line. The exact Irish metre is that given on page 129. Ferdia A bond must hold thee tightly, No force I lend thee lightly; Dread strife 'twill be; for rightly He bears that name of "Hound." For sharp spear-combat breaketh That morn; hard toil it waketh The war Cuchulain maketh Shall fearless war be found. Maev Our chiefs, with oaths the gravest, Shall give the pledge thou cravest; For thee, of all men bravest, Brave bridled steeds shall stand. From tax my word hath freed thee, To hostings none shall lead thee, As bosom friend I need thee, As first in all the land. Ferdia Mere words are naught availing If oaths to bind be failing; That wondrous Ford-Fight hailing, All time its tale shall greet: Though sun, moon, sea for ever And earth from me I sever; Though death I win--yet never, Unpledged, that war I'll meet. Maev These kings and chiefs behind me Their oaths shall pledge to bind me: With boundless wealth thou'lt find me, With wealth too great to pay. 'Tis thou who oaths delayest; 'Tis done whate'er thou sayest; For well I know thou slayest The foe who comes to slay. Ferdia Ere thou to slaughter lure me, Six champions' oaths procure me; Till these rewards assure me I meet, for thee, no foe: If six thou grant as gages, I'll face the war he wages, And where Cuchulain rages, A lesser chief, I go. Maev In chariots Donnal raceth, Fierce strife wild Neeman faceth, Their halls the bards' song graceth, Yet these in troth I bind. Firm pledge Morand is making, None Carpri Min knew breaking His troth: thine oath he's taking; Two sons to pledge I find. Ferdia Much poison, Maev, inflameth Thy heart; no smile thee tameth But well the land thee nameth Proud queen of Croghan's hold; Thy power no man can measure; 'Tis I will do thy pleasure; Now send thy silken treasure, Thy silver gifts, and gold. Maev This brooch, as champion's token, I give of troth unbroken; All words my lips have spoken Performed shall Sunday see. Thou glorious chief, who darest This fight, I give thee rarest Of gifts on earth, and fairest, Yea greater meed shall be. For Findabar my daughter; All Elgga's chiefs have sought her; When thou that Hound shalt slaughter, I give in love to thee. And then did Maev bind Ferdia in an easy task; that on the next day he was to come to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel against Cuchulain; whichever of the two he should think the easier. And Ferdia on his side bound her by a condition that seemed to him easy for her to fulfil: even that she should lay it upon those same six champions to see to it that all those things she had promised to him should be fulfilled, in case Cuchulain should meet death at Ferdia's hand. Thereupon Fergus caused men to harness for him his horses, and his chariot was yoked, and he went to that place where Cuchulain was that he might tell him what had passed, and Cuchulain bade him welcome. I am rejoiced at your coming, O my good friend Fergus," said Cuchulain. And I gladly accept thy welcome, O my pupil," said Fergus. But I have now come hither in order to tell thee who that man is who comes to combat and fight with thee early on the morning of the day which is at hand." "We shall give all heed to thy words," said Cuchulain. "'Tis thine own friend," said Fergus, "thy companion, and thy fellow pupil; thine equal in feats and in deeds and in valour: even Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare, the great and valiant champion of the men of Irross Donnan." "Truly," said Cuchulain, "I make mine oath to thee that I am sorry that my friend should come to such a duel." "Therefore," said Fergus, "it behoves thee to be wary and prepared, for unlike to all those men who have come to combat and fight with thee upon the Tain be Cuailgne is Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare." "I have stood here," said Cuchulain, "detaining and delaying the men of the four great provinces of Ireland since the first Monday in Samhain (November) till the beginning of the spring, and not one foot have I gone back before any one man during all that time, nor shall I, as I trust, yield before him." And in this manner did Fergus continue to put him on his guard, and these were the words that he spoke, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Fergus Rise, Cuchulain! foes are near,[FN#52] All their covenant is clear; Daman's ruddy son in rage Comes the war with thee to wage. [FN#52] The metre is that of the Irish; a literal rendering of the whole dialogue is given in the notes, p. 191. Cuchulain Here I stand, whose valiant toil Erin's bands held back from spoil; Never a foot of ground they won, Never a foe they found me shun. Fergus Fierce is he in rage; his trust In his blade's deep searching thrust: Plates of horn protect his side, Pierced by none his strength who tried. Cuchulain Fergus, much thine arms excel; Cease, this tale no longer tell Land is none, nor battle-field Where to his my strength must yield. Fergus He is fierce, with scores can fight, Spear nor sword can on him bite; From that strength, a hundred's match, Hard 'twill be the prize to snatch. Cuchulain Yea! Ferdia's power I know; How from foughten field we go; How was fought our piercing war, Bards shall tell to ages far. Fergus Loss of much I'd little mourn Could I hear how, eastward borne, Great Cuchulain's bloody blade Proud Ferdia's spoils displayed. Cuchulain Though in boasts I count me weak, Hear me now as braggart speak: Daman's son, of Darry's race, Soon shall I, his victor, face. Fergus Brought by me, hosts eastward came, Ulster sought to hurt my fame; Here have come, to ease my grief, Many a champion, many a chief. Cuchulain Sickness Conor's might withheld, Else his sight thy host had quelled; Less the shouts of joy had been, Raised by Maev, Maw Scayl's high queen. Fergus Greater deeds than done by me O Cuchulain! thine shall be: Daman's son thy battle nears; Hear thy friend! keep hard thy spears. Then Fergus returned to where the army was encamped: Ferdia, also went from Maev and came to his own tent; and there he found his followers, and he told them how he had been bound to Maev as in an easy task, that he was on the morrow to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel with Cuchulain, whichever of the two he might think the easier. Also he told them how she had been bound by a condition that was easy for her to grant: that she should lay it on these same six champions to see that her promises to him of rewards should be fulfilled in case Cuchulain met his death at Ferdia's hand. There was no cheerfulness, or happiness, or even melancholy pleasure among the inmates of Ferdia's camp that night: they were all cheerless, and sorrowful, and low in spirit; for they knew that whenever those two champions, those two slayers of hundreds met, one of the two must fall in that place, or that both of them should fall: and if one only was to fall they were sure that that one would be their own master; for it was not easy for any man to combat and fight with Cuchulain on the Tain bo Cuailnge. Now the first part of that night Ferdia slept very heavily, and when the middle of the night had come his sleep had left him, and the dizziness of his brain has passed away, and care for the combat and the fight pressed heavily upon him. Then he called for his charioteer to harness his horses, and to yoke his chariot; and the charioteer began to rebuke him, if haply he might turn him from his purpose. "It would be better for thee to stay!" said the charioteer. "Be thou silent, O my servant!" said Ferdia, and he then spoke the words that follow, and thus did his servant reply to him:-- Ferdia 'Tis a challenge provoking To war, and I go Where the ravens' hoarse croaking Shall rise for my foe: With Cuchulain still seeking The strife at yon ford; Till his strong body, reeking, Be pierced by my sword! Servant Nay, thy threats show no meekness; Yet here thou should'st stay; For on thee shall come weakness, Woe waits on thy way: For by Ulster's Rock broken This battle may be, And it long shall be spoken How ill 'twas to thee. Ferdia An ill word art thou saying; It fits not our race That a champion, delaying From fight, should thee grace. Then thy speech, my friend, fetter, No foe will we fear; But, since valour is better, His challenge we near. Then Ferdia's horses were harnessed for him, and his chariot was yoked, and he came forward to the ford of battle; but when he had come there he found that the full light of the day had not yet dawned, and "O my servant!" said Ferdia, "spread out for me the cushions and skins that are upon my chariot, that I may rest upon them till I take the deep repose of refreshing sleep, for during the latter part of this night have I taken no rest, on account of the care that I had for this combat and fight." And the servant unharnessed his horses, and he placed together the cushions and the skins that were upon the chariot, so that Ferdia might rest upon them, and he sank into the deep repose of refreshing sleep. Now in this place I will tell of the acts of Cuchulain. He rose not at all from his couch until the full light of the day; and this he did in order that the men of Ireland should not be able to say that it was from fear or from dread that he rose, if it had been early that he had arisen. And when the full daylight had come, he commanded his charioteer to harness for him his horses, and to yoke his chariot: "O my servant!" said Cuchulain, "harness for us our horses, and put the yoke to our chariot, for early rises the champion who cometh to meet us this day: even Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare." "The horses are harnessed," said the charioteer, "and the chariot is yoked; step thou into it, for it will bring no shame on thy valour." Then did Cuchulain, the fighter of battles, the skilful in feats, the winner of victory, that red-sworded hero, the son of Sualtam, leap into his chariot. All around him screamed the Bocanachs, and the Bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air; for it was the custom of the people of the wizard race of Danu to raise their cries about him in every battle, on every stricken field, in every duel, and in every fight to which he went, that thereby in such fight the hatred, and the fear, and the avoidance, and the terror that men felt for him should be increased. In no short time the charioteer of Ferdia heard the roar of Cuchulain's approach; the clamour, and the hissing, and the tramp; and the thunder, and the clatter, and the buzz: for he heard the shields that were used as missiles clank together as they touched; and he heard the spears hiss, and the swords clash, and the helmet tinkle, and the armour ring; and the arms sawed one against the other, and the javelins swung, and the ropes strained, and the wheels of the chariot clattered, and the chariot creaked, and the hoofs of the horses trampled on the ground as that warrior and champion came forward in triumph to the ford, and approached him. Then that servant of Ferdia arose, and he placed his hand upon his lord: "Arise now, O Ferdia!" said the servant, "for here they come towards thee, even to the Ford;" and this was the speech of the driver of the chariot of Ferdia as he stood before him: Lo! a chariot yoked with silver, creaking loud, draws nigh;[FN#53] O'er the chariot-wheels a man his perfect form rears high: The warlike car Rolls on from far Braeg Ross, from Braina's bounds; Past that burg they ride whose wooded side the roadway rounds; For its triumphs high in triumph cry its song resounds. [FN#53] For a literal translation of the above poem and another rendering, see the notes. Urged by hero-Hound, and yoked by charioteer's hand true, Flies the war-car southward ever; nobler hawk ne'er flew Than he who speeds His rushing steeds, That chief of stubborn might; Soon the blood to flow from slaughtered foe shall meet his sight; Sure for us 'tis ill, for soon with skill he gives us fight. Woe to him who here on hillock stands, that Hound to wait; Emain Macha's perfect Hound is he, foretold by fate: Last year I cried That him I spied Who guards his land from foe: That battle-Hound, on whom are found all hues to glow: 'Twas then from far I heard that car: its sound I know. "O my servant!" said Ferdia, "wherefore is it: that thou hast continued in thy praise of this man ever since the time that I left my tent? surely it must be a reward that thou seekest at his hand, so greatly dost thou extol him; yet Ailill and Maev have foretold that it is by me he shall fall. Certain it is that for sake of the fee I shall gain he shall be slain quickly; and 'tis full time that the relief that we wait for should come." Thus then it was that in that place he spoke these words, and thus did his servant reply: Ferdia 'Tis time that I grant my assistance! Be still: let thy praise of him sink: Peer not, like a seer, at the distance; Wilt fail me on battle-field's brink? Though Cualgne's proud champion, displaying His gambols and pride thou dost see; Full soon shalt thou witness his slaying For price to be paid down to me. Servant If he who this glory is showing Be champion of Cualgne indeed; 'Tis not in retreat he is going; To meet us he cometh with speed: He comes, nor 'tis slowly he blunders, Like wind his swift journey he makes; As stream, from the cliff-top that thunders; As bolt, from the storm-cloud that breaks. Ferdia 'Tis pay at his hand thou hast taken, So loudly resoundeth thy praise; Else why, since our tent was forsaken, Hast sung with such frequence thy lays? Men, like thou, who, when foes are appearing, Would to chant the foe's praises begin, Will attack not, when battle is nearing, But the name of base cowards shall win. Now the charioteer of Ferdia was not long in that place before he saw a marvellous sight; for before his eyes came the beautiful five-pointed, four-peaked chariot, skilfully driven with swiftness and power. A canopy of green overspread it; thin and well-seasoned was the body of it; lofty and long were the spears that adorned it; well was it fashioned for war. Under the yokes of that chariot sped forward with great bounds two great-eared, savage, and prancing steeds; bellies had they like whales, broad were their chests, and quick-panting their hearts; their flanks were high, and their hoofs wide; their pasterns fine, their loins broad, and their spirits untamable. The horse under one of the yokes was grey, with a long mane and with broad hind quarters; swiftly he galloped, and his leaps were great; the horse beneath the other yoke was black, his mane was in tufts, his back was broad, and eager was his pace. As a hawk, on a day when the wind bloweth hard, darts up from the furrow; as the gusts of the wind in spring sweep forward over a smooth plain upon a day in March; swift as a going stag at the beginning of the chase, after he hath been roused by the cry of the hounds; such was the pace of the two steeds that bore forward Cuchulain and his chariot, touching upon the soil as rapidly as if the stones that they trod on were hot with the fire, so that the whole earth trembled and shook at the violence of their going. And Cuchulain reached the ford, and Ferdia awaited him on the south side of it, and Cuchulain halted his horses upon the north. Then did Ferdia bid welcome to Cuchulain: "O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, I rejoice to see thine approach." "Thy welcome would have been received by me upon an earlier day," said Cuchulain, "but this day I cannot receive it as one from a friend. And Ferdia," said he, "it were more suitable that it was I who bade welcome to thee rather than that thou shouldest welcome me; for out in flight before thee are my women, and my children; my youths, and my steeds, and my mares; my flocks, and my herds, and my cattle." "Ah, Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, "how hast thou been persuaded to come to this fight and this battle at all? For when we were with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife, thou wert mine attendant; thine was the office to whet my spears, and to make ready my couch." "'Tis true indeed," said Cuchulain, "but it was then as thy younger in years and in standing that it was my custom to perform this office for thee; and that is not my quality to-day; for now there is not in all the world any champion with whom I would refuse to fight." And then each of them reproached the other bitterly with breach of friendship, and there Ferdia spoke the words which here follow, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Ferdia Hound! why hither faring,[FN#54] Strife with strong ones daring? As if home were flaring, Woe shall come on thee! Blood from out thee draining Shall thy steeds be staining; Thou, thy home if gaining, Wounded sore shalt be. [FN#54] The metre is that of the Irish. Cuchulain Hot with indignation, Take I battle-station, Face yon warrior nation, Round their warlike king: They shall see me meet thee, Count the strifes that greet thee, Watch, as down I beat thee, Drowning, suffering. Ferdia Here is one to shame thee; How 'twas I o'ercame thee, They who champion name thee Long the tale shall tell. Ulster, near thee lying, Soon shall see thee dying; All shall say, with sighing, Theirs the chief who fell. Cuchulain Thine shall be the choosing; Say, what warfare using Hosts shall see thee losing At the Ford this fight? Swords dost choose, hard-clashing Cars, in conflict crashing? Spears, thy life-blood splashing? 'Tis thy death in sight. Ferdia Ere the twilight gleameth, Red thy life-blood streameth: Small thy stature seemeth, Like a cliff thy foe. Ulster's hosts who prated, And thy pride inflated; Through them feel thy hated Spectre sadly go. Cuchulain Down a chasm appalling Thou to death art falling; One thy foe: yet galling Weapons press thee sore. Proud thou wert but lately, Strife shall change thee greatly, Thee as champion stately Earth shall know no more. Ferdia Cease this endless vaunting, Speech for ever flaunting, Thou a chief! a taunting, Giggling child thou art. None would pay, or fee thee, I as coward see thee; Strength hast none to free thee, Caged bird! quaking heart! Cuchulain Ah! in bygone story We, as peers in glory, Sports and combats gory Shared when Scaha taught: Thou, of all who nearest To my soul appearest! Clansman! kinsman dearest! Woe thy fate hath brought! Ferdia Naught this strife avails thee, Glory fades, and fails thee; Cock-crow loudly hails thee, High on stake thy head! Cualgne's[FN#55] Hound, Cuchulain! Faults thy soul bear rule in: Thee to bitter schooling Frantic grief hath led. [FN#55] Pronounced Kell-ny. "O my friend Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "it was not right for thee to have come to the combat and the fight with me, at the instigation and the meddling of Ailill and Maev: none of those who came before thee have gained for themselves victory or success, and they all fell at my hand; neither shalt thou win victory or success from this battle, by me shalt thou fall." And it was in this manner that he was speaking, and he recited these words, and Ferdia hearkened to him: Come not near, thou powerful man![FN#56] O Ferdia mac Daman: Worst of woe on thee is hurled, Though thy fate shall grieve the world. [FN#56] The metre is that of the Irish. Come not near, nor right forget In my hand thy fate is set: Those recall, whom late I fought, Hath their fall no wisdom taught? Thou for gifts wert passed in sale, Purple sash, firm coat of mail; Never maid, O Daman's son! In this war of thine is won. Findabar, Maev's lovely child, With her form thy sense beguiled: Brightly though her beauty glows, She no love on thee bestows. Wouldst thou win the prize they bring, Findabar, the child of king? Many ere now that maid could cheat Here, like thee, their wounds to meet. Thou hast sworn, and plighted. troth, Ne'er to fight me: keep thine oath: Friendship's tie thee firm should hold, Come not nigh me, champion bold. Fifty chiefs, who sought that maid, Fought me, fell, in earth are laid; Well I know that tempting bait, All have found, and earned their fate. Ferbay fell, though bold his boast, Him obeyed a valiant host; Quickly here his rage I stilled; Cast my spear but once, and killed. Cruel fate Srub Darry slew, Tales of hundred dames he knew; Great his fame in days of yore; Silver none, 'twas gold he wore. Though that maid, whom Erin's best Hope to gain, my heart would charm; South and north, and east and west I would keep thee safe from harm. "And, O my friend Ferdia!" said Cuchulain "this is the cause why it was not thy part to come here to the combat and the fight with me. It is because that when with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife we abode, it was the custom with us that together we should go to every battle, and to every field of battle; to every fight and to every skirmish; to every forest and to all wildernesses; to all things dark and difficult." These were the words of his speech, and it was in that place that he recited these staves: Tuned our hearts were beating, We, where chiefs were meeting, Brotherly went: when slumbering One was our couch: we sought Fierce fights, and fought. Oft in woods that are far away Joined we stood in our skilful play; Scathach our feats had taught. And Ferdia replied to him thus: O Cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned, Though together we learned our skill; Though thou tellest of friendship that once we found, From me shall come first thine ill; Ah, recall not the time of our friendship's day: It shall profit thee nothing, O Hound, I say. "For too long now have we thus waited," said Ferdia; "tell me now O Cuchulain! to what weapons shall we resort?" "Thou hast the choice of the weapons till the night," said Cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the Ford." "Hast thou any remembrance," said Ferdia, "of the weapons for casting, that we were accustomed to practise the use of when we were with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife?" "I do indeed remember them," said Cuchulain." "If thou rememberest them, let us resort to them now," said Ferdia. Then they resorted to their weapons used for the casting. They took up two shields for defence, with devices emblazoned upon them, and their eight shields with sharp edges such that they could hurl, and their eight javelins, and their eight ivory-hilted dirks, and their eight little darts for the fight. To and fro from one to the other, like bees upon a sunny day, flew the weapons, and there was no cast that they threw that did not hit. Each of them then continued to shoot at the other with their weapons for casting, from the dawn of the morning to the full middle of the day, until all of their weapons had been blunted against the faces and the bosses of their shields; and although their casting was most excellent, yet so good was the defence that neither of them wounded the other nor drew the other's blood during all that time. "Cease now from these feats, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, "for it is not by means of these that the struggle between us shall come." "Let us cease indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time for ceasing hath arrived." And they ceased from their casting, and they threw the weapons they had used for it into the hands of their charioteers. "To what weapons shall we next resort, O Cuchulain?" said Ferdia. "Thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," said Cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the Ford." "Then," said Ferdia, "let us turn to our straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with tough cords of flax upon them." "Let us do so indeed," said Cuchulain. Then they took two stout shields of defence, and they turned to their straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with the tough cords of flax upon them, and each of them continued to hurl his spears at the other from the middle of midday until the ninth hour of the evening: and though the defence was most excellent that each of them made, yet so good was the casting of the spears that each of them wounded the other at that time, and drew red blood from him. "Let us desist from this now, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia. "Let us desist indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time has come." They ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands; and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. And such folk as can heal and cure came to heal and to cure them, and they applied soothing and salving herbs and plants to their bruises, and their cuts, and their gashes, and to all their many wounds. And of every soothing and salving herb and plant that was brought for the bruises, the cuts, and the gashes, and all the wounds of Cuchulain, he used to send an equal portion westward across the ford to Ferdia, so that in case Ferdia fell at his hand the men of Ireland should not be able to say that it was owing to superiority in leech-craft that he had done it. And of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of Ireland brought to Ferdia, he would send a fair half northward across the ford to Cuchulain; for the men who provided food for Ferdia were more in number than they who provided food for Cuchulain. All the army of the men of Ireland helped to provide Ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against Cuchulain; yet to Cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the Breg. And it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. Thus they remained that night, but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the Ford of Combat. "What weapons shall we turn to to-day, O Ferdia?" said Cuchulain. "Thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," answered Ferdia, "because it is I who had my choice of them in the day that is past." "Let us then," said Cuchulain, "resort to our great, broad-bladed, heavy spears this day, for nearer shall we be to our battle by the thrusting of our spears this day than we were by the throwing weapons of yesterday: let our horses be harnessed for us, and our chariots yoked, that upon this day from our chariots and our horses we may fight." "Let us turn to these indeed," said Ferdia. They then took to them two exceedingly stout, broad shields, and they resorted to their great, broad-bladed, heavy spears that day. And each of them continued to thrust at, and to pierce through, and to redden, and to tear the body of the other from the dawn of the morning until the ninth hour of the evening; and if it were the custom for birds in their flight to pass through the bodies of men, they could have passed through the bodies of those warriors that day, carrying with them pieces of their flesh from their wounds into the clouds and to the sky around them. So when the ninth hour of the evening was come, the horses were weary, and the charioteers were weak; and they themselves, champions and heroes of valour as they were, had themselves become weary; and "Let us cease now from this, O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "for our horses are weary, and our charioteers are weak; and now that these are weary, why should not we be weary too?" and then it was that he sang this stave: Not like Fomorians, men of the sea, Stubborn, unending our struggle should be; Now that the clamour of combat must cease, Quarrels forget, and between us be peace. Let us cease now indeed," said Ferdia, "if the time for it hath come." They ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands, and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. And such folk as can heal and cure came to examine into their wounds and to tend them that night, for they could do nothing more for them, so severe and so deadly were the stabs and the thrusts, and the gashes of the many wounds that they had, than to apply to them spells and incantations and charms, in order to staunch their blood, and their bleeding mortal wounds. And for every spell and incantation and charm that was applied to the stabs and the wounds of Cuchulain, he sent a full half westward across the ford to Ferdia; and of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of Ireland brought to Ferdia, he sent a half across the ford to Cuchulain, in the north. For the men who brought food to Ferdia were more in number than they who brought food to Cuchulain, for all the army of the men of Ireland helped to provide Ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against Cuchulain; yet to Cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the Breg. And it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. Thus they rested that night: but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the Ford of Combat; and Cuchulain saw that an evil look and a lowering cloud was on the face of Ferdia that day. "Ill dost thou appear to me to-day, O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain. "Thy hair hath been darkened to-day, and thine eye hath been dimmed, and the form and the features and the visage that thou art wont to have are gone from thee." "'Tis from no fear or from terror of thee that I am what I am to-day," said Ferdia, "for there is not in Ireland to-day a champion that I am not able to subdue." And Cuchulain complained and lamented, and he spoke the words that follow, and thus did Ferdia reply: Cuchulain Is't indeed Ferdia's face?[FN#57] Sure his meed is dire disgrace; He, to war by woman led, Comes his comrade's blood to shed. [FN#57] The metre is that of the Irish. Ferdia Thou who warrior art indeed, Champion tried! who wounds dost breed, I am forced the sod to see Where my final grave shall be. Cuchulain Maev her daughter, Findabar, Who all maids excelleth far, Gave thee, not at love's behest, She thy kingly might would test. Ferdia Gently ruling Hound, I know That was tested long ago; None so great is known to fame, None, till now, to match it came. Cuchulain All that's chanced from thee hath sprung, Darry's grandchild, Daman's son; Woman's hest hath brought thee here Swords to test with comrade dear. Ferdia Comrade! had I fled, nor found Fight with thee, fair graceful Hound, Maev my word could broken call; Croghan hold my fame but small. Cuchulain None put meat his lips between, None to king or stainless queen Yet was born, whose praise I'd gain, None whose scorn would win thy pain. Ferdia Thou who deep in wars dost wade, 'Twas not thou, 'twas Maev betrayed: Back with conquest shalt thou ride, Fault hast none thy fame to hide. Cuchulain Clots of blood my faithful heart Choke; my soul is like to part: 'Tis with little force my arm Strikes, to do Ferdia harm! "Greatly although thou makest complaint against me to-day," said Ferdia, "tell me to what arms shall we resort?" Thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said Cuchulain, "because it was I who had the choice in the day that is past." "Then," said Ferdia, "let us this day take to our heavy hard-smiting swords; for sooner shall we attain to the end of our strife by the edge of the sword this day than we did by the thrusts of our spears in the day that is gone." "Let us do so indeed," said Cuchulain. That day they took upon them two long and exceedingly great shields, and they resorted to their heavy and hard-striking swords. And each of them began to hew, and to cut, and to slaughter, and to destroy till larger than the head of a month-old child were the masses and the gobbets of flesh which each of them cut from the shoulders and the thighs and the shoulder-blades of his foe. After this fashion did each of them hew at each other from the dawn of the day until the ninth hour of the even, and then Ferdia said, "Let us desist from this now, O Cuchulain!" "Let us cease indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time has come." They ceased from their strife, and they threw from them their arms into the hands of their charioteers. Pleasant and cheerful and joyous was the meeting of the two: mournfully, and sorrowfully, and unhappily did they part from each other that night. Their horses were not in the same paddock, their charioteers were not at the same fire, and there they stayed for that night. It was early in the morning when Ferdia arose, and he advanced alone towards the Ford of Combat. Well did he know that the battle and the conflict would be decided that day; that upon that day and in that place one of the two would fall or that both would fall. And then, before Cuchulain could come, Ferdia put on the armour that he was to use for that battle in the conflict and fight. And this was the battle armour that he used for that conflict and fight; he put a kilt of striped silk, bordered with spangles of gold, next to his white skin, and over that he put his well-sewn apron of brown leather to protect the lower part of his body. Upon his belly he put a great stone as large as a millstone, and over that great stone as large as a millstone he put his firm deep apron of purified iron, on account of the fear and the dread that he had of the Gae-Bulg that day. And his crested helmet that he used for battle and conflict and fight he put upon his head: there were upon it four jewels of carbuncle, each one of them fit to adorn it: also it was studded with enamels, with crystals, with carbuncles, and with blazing rubies that had come from the East. Into his right hand he took his death-dealing sharp-pointed strong spear; upon his left side he hung his curved sword of battle with its golden hilt and its pommels of red gold: upon the slope of his back he took his great and magnificent shield with great bosses upon it: fifty was the number of the bosses, and upon each of them could be supported a full-grown hog: moreover in the centre of the shield was a great boss of red gold. Upon that day Ferdia displayed many noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats of arms on high; feats which he had never learned from any other, either from his nurse or his tutor, or from Scathach, or from Uathach, or from Aife, but which he himself invented that day for his battle with Cuchulain. And Cuchulain approached the ford, and he saw the many, rapidly changing, wonderful feats that Ferdia displayed on high; and "O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "I mark those noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats which Ferdia displays, and I know that all of those feats will in turn be tried upon me; and for this reason if it be I who begin to go backwards this day, let it be thy part to rouse me by reproaches, and by evil speech, so that my rage and my wrath may be kindled, and increase. And if it be I that shall prevail, then do thou give to me praise and approval; and speak good words tome, that my courage may be the greater." "This indeed will I do, O Cuchulain!" said Laeg. Then did Cuchulain put on his battle armour that he used for the combat and fight. And that day he displayed noble, many-changing, wonderful, and many feats that he had learned from none: neither from Scathach, from Uathach, or from Aife. And Ferdia marked those feats, and he know that each in turn would be tried upon him. "O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "tell me to what arms we shall resort? "Thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said Ferdia. "Then," said Cuchulain, "let us try the Feat of the Ford."[FN#58] "Let us do so indeed," said Ferdia; but although he thus spoke, it was with sorrow that he consented, for he knew that Cuchulain had ever destroyed every hero and champion who had contended with him at the Feat of the Ford. [FN#58] i.e. in which all weapons were allowed. Mighty were the deeds that were done upon that day at the ford by those two heroes, the champions of the west of Europe; by those two hands which in the north-west of the world were those that best bestowed bounty, and pay, and reward; those twin loved pillars of valour of the Gael; those two keys of the bravery of the Gaels, brought to fight from afar, owing to the urging and the intermeddling of Ailill and Maev. From the dawn till the middle of the day, each began to shoot at the other with his massive weapons; and when midday had come, the wrath of the two men became more furious, and each drew nearer to the other. And then upon a time Cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, and he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, to strike at his head from above, over the rim of his shield. And then it was that Ferdia gave the shield a blow of his left elbow, and he cast Cuchulain from him like a bird, till he came down again, upon the shore of the ford. And again Cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, till he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. And Ferdia, gave the shield a stroke of his left knee, and he cast Cuchulain from him like a little child, till he came down on the shore of the ford. Laeg saw what had been done. "Ah!" said Laeg, "the warrior who is against thee, casts thee away as a loose woman casts her child; he flings thee as high as the river flings its foam; he grinds thee even as a mill would grind fresh malt; pierces thee as the axe would pierce the oak that it fells; binds thee as the woodbine binds the tree; darts upon thee even as the hawk darts upon little birds, so that never until time and life shall end, shalt thou have a call, or right, or claim for prowess or for valour: thou little fairy phantom!" said Laeg. Up sprang Cuchulain, swift as the wind; quick as the swallow; fiery as the dragon; powerful as the lion; and he bounded into the air for the third time into the troubled clouds of it, until he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia, the son of Daman, striving to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. And the warrior shook his shield, and he threw Cuchulain from him, into the middle of the ford, just as if he had never been cast off at all. And then for the first time the countenance of Cuchulain was changed, and he rose in his full might, as if the air had entered into him, till he towered as a terrible and wonderful giant, with the hero-light playing about his head; rising as a wild man of the sea; that great and valiant champion, till he overtopped Ferdia. And now so closely were they locked in the fight, that their heads met above them, and their feet below them; and in their middles met their arms over the rims and the bosses of their shields. So closely were they locked in the fight, that they turned and bent, and shivered their spears from the points to the hafts; and cleft and loosened their shields from the centres to the rims. So closely were they locked, that the Bocanachs, and the Bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air screamed from the rims of their shields, and from the hilts of their swords, and from the hafts of their spears. And so closely did they fight, that they cast the river from its bed and its course, so that there might have been a couch fit for a king and a queen to he in, there in the midst of the ford, for there was no drop of water left in it, except such as fell therein from off those two heroes and champions, as they trampled and hewed at each other in the midst of the ford. And so fierce was their fight, that the horses of the Gaels, in fear and in terror, rushed away wildly and madly, bursting their chains, and their yokes, and their tethers, and their traces; and the women, and the common folk, and the followers of the camp, fled south-westwards out of the camp. All this time they fought with the edges of their swords. And then it was that Ferdia found Cuchulain for a moment off his guard, and he struck him with the straight edge of his sword, so that it sank into his body, till the blood streamed to his girdle, and the soil of the ford was crimson with the blood that fell from the body of that warrior so valiant in fight. And Cuchulain's endurance was at an end, for Ferdia continually struck at him, not attempting to guard, and his downright blows, and quick thrusts, and crushing strokes fell constantly upon him, till Cuchulain demanded of Laeg the son of Riangabra to deliver to him the Gae-Bulg. Now the manner of using the Gae-Bulg was this: it was set with its end pointing down a stream, and was cast from beneath the toes of the foot: it made the wound of one spear on entering a person's body; but it had thirty barbs to open behind, and it could not be drawn out from a man's body until he was cut open. And when Ferdia heard mention of the Gae-Bulg, he made a stroke of his shield downwards to guard the lower part of his body. And Cuchulain thrust his unerring thorny spear off the centre of his palm over the rim of the shield, and through his breast covered by horny defensive plates of armour, so that its further half was visible behind him after piercing the heart in his chest. Ferdia gave an upward stroke of his shield to guard the upper part of his body, though too late came that help, when the danger was past. And the servant set the Gae-Bulg down the stream, and Cuchulain caught it between the toes of his foot, and he threw it with an unerring cast against Ferdia, and it broke through the firm deep apron of wrought iron, and it burst the great stone that was as large as a millstone into three parts, and it passed through the protection of his body into him, so that every crevice and cavity in him was filled with its barbs. "'Tis enough now," said Ferdia. "I have my death of that; and I have but breath enough to say that thou hast done an ill deed against me. It was not right that thy hand should be that by which I should fall." And thus did he cry, as he gasped out these words: Hound, of feats so fair![FN#59] Death from thee is ill: Thou the blame must bear, Thou my blood dost spill. Help no wretch hath found Down this chasm of woe: Sick mine accents sound, As a ghost, I go. Torn my ribs, and burst, Gore my heart hath filled: This of fights is worst, Hound! thou hast me killed. [FN#59] The metre is that of the Irish. And after those words, Cuchulain ran towards him, and with his arms and armour about him, carried him northwards across the ford, in order that the slain man might be on the north side of the ford, and not upon the western side together with the men of Erin. Then Cuchulain laid Ferdia down, and there it was that a trance and a faint and a weakness came upon Cuchulain when he saw the body of Ferdia, Laeg saw his weakness, and the men of Ireland all arose to come upon him. "Rise up now, O Cuchulain!" said Laeg, "for the men of Erin are coming towards us, and no single combat will they give to us, since Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, has fallen by thy hand." "How shall I be the better for arising, O my servant!" said he, "now that he who lieth here hath fallen by me?" And it was in this manner that his servant spoke to him, and he recited these words, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Laeg Now arise, Battle-Hound of Emania! It is joy and not grief should be sought; For the leader of armies, Ferdia, Thou hast slain, and hard battle hast fought. Cuchulain What availeth me triumph or boasting? For, frantic with grief for my deed, I am driven to mourn for that body That my sword made so sorely to bleed. Laeg 'Tis not thou shouldst lament for his dying, Rejoicing should spring to thy tongue; For in malice, sharp javelins, flying For thy wounding and bleeding he flung. Cuchulain I would mourn, if my leg he had severed, Had he hewn through this arm that remains, That he mounts not his steeds; and for ever In life, immortality gains. Laeg To the dames of Red Branch thou art giving More pleasure that thus he should fall: They will mourn for him dead, for thee living, Nor shall count of thy victims be small. Great Queen Maev thou hast chased, and hast fought her Since the day when first Cualgne was left; She shall mourn for her folk, and their slaughter, By thy hand of her champions bereft. Neither sleep nor repose hast thou taken, But thy herd, her great plunder, hast chased, Though by all but a remnant forsaken, Oft at dawn to the fight thou didst haste. Now it was in that place that Cuchulain commenced his lament and his moan for Ferdia, and thus it was that he spoke: "O my friend Ferdia! unhappy was it for thee that thou didst make no inquiry from any of the heroes who knew of the valorous deeds I had done before thou camest to meet me in that battle that was too hard for thee! Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not inquire from Laeg, the son of Riangabra[FN#60] about what was due from thee to a comrade. Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not ask for the honest and sincere counsel of Fergus. Unhappy it was for thee that thou hast not sought counsel from the comely, the fresh-coloured, the cheery, the victorious Conall about what was due from thee to a comrade. Well do these men know, that never, till life and time come to an end, shall be born in the land of Connaught one who shall do deeds equal to those which have been done by thee. And if thou hadst made inquiry from these men concerning the habitations, the gatherings, the promises, and the broken faith of the fair-haired ladies of Connaught; hadst thou asked them concerning spear-play and sword-play; concerning skill in backgammon and chess; concerning feats with horses, and chariots of war; they would have said that never had been found the arm of a champion who could wound a hero's flesh like the arm of Ferdia; he whose colour matched the tints of the clouds: none who like thee could excite the croak of the bloody-mouthed vulture, as she calls her friends to the feast of the many-coloured flocks; none who shall fight for Croghan or be the equal of thee to the end of life and time, O thou ruddy-cheeked son of Daman!" said Cuchulain. And then Cuchulain stood over Ferdia. "Ah! Ferdia," said Cuchulain, "great was the treachery and desertion that the men of Ireland had wrought upon thee, when they brought thee to combat and fight with me. For it was no light matter to combat and fight with me on the occasion of the Tain bo Cuailnge." And thus it was that he spoke, and he then recited these words: [FN#60] Pronounced Reen-gabra. 'Twas guile to woe that brought thee; 'Tis I that moan thy fate; For aye thy doom hath caught thee, And here, alone, I wait. To Scathach, glorious mother, Our words, when boys, we passed; No harm for each from other Should come while time should last. Alas! I loved thee dearly, Thy speech; thy ruddy face; Thy gray-blue eyes, so clearly That shone; thy faultless grace. In wrath for strife advances No chief; none shield can rear To piercing storm of lances Of Daman's son the peer. Since he whom Aife[FN#61] bore me By me was slain in fight, No champion stood before me Who matched Ferdia's might. He came to fight, thus trusting Might Findabar be won; Such hopes have madmen, thrusting With spears at sand or sun. [FN#61] Pronounced Eefa. See note on this line. Still Cuchulain continued to gaze upon Ferdia. And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "strip for me the body of Ferdia, and take from him his armour and his garments, that I may see the brooch for the sake of which he undertook this combat and fight." Then Laeg arose, and he stripped Ferdia; he took his armour and his garments from him, and Cuchulain saw the brooch, and he began to lament and to mourn for him, and he spake these words: Ah! that brooch of gold![FN#62] Bards Ferdia knew: Valiantly on foes With hard blows he flew. Curling golden hair, Fair as gems it shone; Leaflike sash, on side Tied, till life had gone. [FN#62] The metre and the rhyme-system is that of the Irish. See notes, p. 196. Comrade, dear esteemed! Bright thy glances beamed: Chess play thine, worth gold: Gold from shield rim gleamed. None of friend had deemed Could such tale be told! Cruel end it seemed: Ah! that brooch of gold! "And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "open the body of Ferdia, and take the Gae-Bulg out of him, for I cannot afford to be without my weapon." Laeg came, and he opened Ferdia's body, and he drew the Gae-Bulg out of him, and Cuchulain saw his weapon all bloody and red by the side of Ferdia, and then he spake these words: Ferdia, I mourn for thy dying, Thou art pale, although purple with gore: Unwashed is my weapon still lying, And the blood-streams from out of thee pour. Our friends in the East who have seen us, When with Uathach and Scathach[FN#63] we dwelled, Can bear witness, no quarrel between us Or with words or with weapons was held. Scathach came; and to conflict inciting Were her accents that smote on mine ear; "Go ye all, where a swift battle fighting, German wields his green terrible spear! To Ferdia, I flew with the story, To the son of fair Baitan I sped, And to Lugaid, whose gifts win him glory, "Come ye all to fight German," I said. [FN#63] Pronounced Ooha and Scaha. Where the land by Loch Formay lies hollowed Had we come, fit for fight was the place; And beside us four hundred men followed; From the Athisech Isles was their race. As beside me Ferdia contended Against German, at door of his dun; I slew Rind, who from Niul[FN#64] was descended, I slew Rood, of Finnool was he son. [FN#64] Pronounced Nyool. 'Twas Ferdia slew Bla by the water, Son of Cathbad red-sworded was he: And from Lugaid Mugarne gat slaughter, The grim lord of the Torrian sea. Four times fifty men, stubborn in battle, By my hand in that gateway were slain; To Ferdia, of grim mountain cattle Fell a bull, and a bull from the plain. Then his hold to the plunderers giving, Over ocean waves spangled with foam, Did we German the wily, still living, To the broad-shielded Scathach bring home. There an oath our great mistress devising, Both our valours with friendship she bound; That no anger betwixt us uprising Should 'mid Erin's fair nations be found. Much of woe with that Tuesday was dawning, When Ferdia's great might met its end; Though red blood-drink I served him that morning: Yet I loved, though I slew him, my friend. If afar thou hadst perished when striving With the bravest of heroes of Greece, 'Tis not I would thy loss be surviving; With thy death should the life of me cease. Ah! that deed which we wrought won us sorrow, Who, as pupils, by Scathach were trained: Thou wilt drive not thy chariot to-morrow; I am weak, with red blood from me drained. Ah! that deed which we wrought won us anguish, Who, as pupils, by Scathach were taught: Rough with gore, and all wounded, I languish; Thou to death altogether art brought. Ah! that deed that we wrought there was cruel For us pupils, from Scathach who learned: I am strong; thou art slain in the duel, In that conflict, with anger we burned. "Come now, Cuchulain," said Laeg, "and let us quit this ford, for too long have we been here." "Now indeed will we depart, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "but every other combat and fight that I have made hath been only a game and a light matter to me compared with this combat and fight with Ferdia." Thus it was that he spoke; and in this fashion he recited: Wars were gay, and but light was fray[FN#65] Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Like had we both been taught, Both one kind mistress swayed; Like the rewards we sought, Like was the praise she paid. [FN#65] Metre and rhyme-system of the Irish imitated, but not exactly reproduced. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Like were our fights, oft fought, Like were our haunts in play; Scathach to each of us brought A shield one day. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Pillar of gold, loved well, Low at the Ford's side laid; He, when on troops he fell, Valour unmatched displayed. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Lionlike, on he sped; High, in his wrath, he blazed; Rose, as a wave of dread; Ruin his onset raised. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Never, till hour of doom, Ferdia's form shall fade; High as a cliff it loomed, Now is but left his shade. Three great armies went this Raid,[FN#66] All the price of death have paid; Choicest cattle, men, and steeds Lie in heaps, to tell my deeds. [FN#66] The metre is that of the Irish. Widely spread their battle-line, Less than half their host was mine; Though to war stout Croghan came, All I slew, for me a game! None the battle neared like thee, None of all whom Banba nursed Passed thy fame; on land, on sea, Thou, of sons of kings, art first! SPECIAL NOTE ON THE "COMBAT AT THE FORD" The episode translated in the foregoing pages is not only one of the famous examples on which Irish literature can fairly rest its claim to universal recognition, but it also affords an excellent instance of the problems involved when it comes to be studied critically. These problems, upon the solution of which must to some extent depend our estimate of the place of Irish in the general development of European literature) axe briefly dealt with in Mr. Leahy's Preface, as well as in his special Introduction (supra, pp. 114, 115), but may perhaps be thought worthy of somewhat more detailed examination. The existence of two markedly different versions of the "Tain bo Cuailnge," one, obviously older, represented by the eleventh-century MS. Leabhar na h-Uidhri (L.U.), and the fourteenth-century MS. Yellow Book of Lecan (Y.B.L.); the other, obviously younger, by the twelfth-century Book of Leinster (L.L.), was pointed out by Professor Heinrich Zimmer twenty-seven years ago in his study of the L.U. heroic saga texts (Keltische Studien V.: Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung, vol. xxviii.). The conclusion that he drew from the fact, as also from the peculiarities disclosed by his analysis of the L.U. texts, is substantially that stated by Mr. Leahy: "On the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the 'War,' one of which is represented by the Book of Leinster version." He furthermore emphasised a particular aspect of this compiler's activity to which Mr. Leahy also draws repeated attention; he (the compiler) was a man interested in the historical and antiquarian rather than in the literary side of the texts he harmonised and arranged: hence his preference for versions that retain archaic and emphasise mythical elements; hence his frequent interpolation of scraps of historical and antiquarian learning; hence his indifference to consistency in the conduct of the story, and to its artistic finish. Professor Zimmer urged that the "compiler" was no other than Flann, Abbot of Monasterboice, who died in 1047, and was regarded as the most famous representative of Irish learning in his day. There has come down to us under his name a considerable mass of chronological and historical writing, partly in prose, partly in verse, and it seems certain that he was one of the chief artisans in framing that pragmatic redaction of Irish myth, heroic legend, and historical tradition most fully represented by the two great compilations of the seventeenth century: the Annals of the Four Masters, emphasising its antiquarian, historical side; Keating's History, emphasising its romantic, legendary side. Whilst Professor Zimmer's conclusion as to the personality of the L.U. compiler has been challenged, his main thesis has remained unshaken. On the whole, it can be asserted positively that the common source of L.U. and Y.B.L. goes back to the early eleventh century; on the whole, that this common source itself utilised texts similar to those contained in the Book of Leinster. Moreover, the progress of linguistic analysis during the past quarter-century has strengthened the contention that some of the elements used by Flann (or another) in compiling his eleventh-century harmony are as old, in point of language, as any existing remains of Irish outside the Ogham inscriptions; in other words, being as old as the earliest glosses, they may date back to the eighth or even seventh century. In particular the L.U.-Y.B.L. version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge" contains a large proportion of such elements and may, in the main, be treated as an eighth-century text. It must, however, be pointed out, and for this reason I have italicised the qualifying "on the whole," "in the main," that this conclusion does not enable us to declare dogmatically (1) that all portions of the L.U.-Y.B.L. version must go back to the eighth century; (2) that all portions of the Book of Leinster version must precede the compilation of the common source of L.U. and Y.B.L. For as regards (1), not only must the definitely ascertained activity of the eleventh-century compiler be taken into account, but also the possible activity of later scribes. If we possessed the complete text of the L.U.-Y.B.L. redaction in both MSS., we could at least be sure concerning the possible variations introduced during the two centuries that elapsed between the writing of the Yellow Book (early fourteenth century) and that of L.U. (late eleventh century). But most unfortunately both MSS. are imperfect, the Yellow Book at the opening, L.U. at the close of our tale. Thus of the special episode under consideration, the "Combat at the Ford," the older redaction is only extant in the fourteenth-century MS., and it is always open to impugners of its archaic character to say that it has been introduced there from the rival Leinster version. Again, as regards (2), whilst it is practically certain that the great mass of the Leinster version was in existence before the time of the source whence both L.U. and Y.B.L. are derived, and must therefore date back to the early eleventh century, it is by no means certain that this version was not considerably altered and enlarged before it came to be written down in the Book of Leinster some time before 1154. The older version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge" has been translated by Miss Winifred Faraday (Grimm Library, No. xvi. 1904). In her Introduction (p. xvii.) Miss Faraday argues against the assumption "that L.L. preserves an old version of the episode," and questions "whether the whole Fer Diad[FN#67] episode may not be late." The truth of this one contention would by no means involve that of the other; and again, both might be true without invalidating any of the conclusions drawn by Mr. Leahy (supra, p. 115). If the episode as we have it first took shape in the tenth century, it would be late as compared with much of the rest of the "Tain," and yet it would be the earliest example in post-classic European literature of the sentiments and emotions to which it gives such fine and sympathetic expression. In comparing the two versions, the following fact is at once noticeable. The Y.B.L. text occupies pp. 100-112 of Miss Faraday's translation, in round figures, 320 lines of 8 words to the line, or some 2600 words; the Leinster version, omitting the verse, fills some 500 lines of 14 words, or 7000 words. Up to a certain point, however, the actual meeting of the two champions, there is no difference between the versions in length; the prose of both runs to about 2200 words. But the whole of the actual fight (supra, pp. 129-153 in the Leinster version) is compressed into a page and a half in the older redaction, some 800 words as against over 4000. Obviously this cannot represent the original state of things; it would be psychologically impossible for any story-teller to carry on his narrative up to a given stage with the dramatic vigour, point, and artistically chosen detail displayed in the first portion of the Y.B.L. version of the combat, and then to treat the culmination of the tale in such a huddled, hasty, scamped manner. The most likely explanation is that the original from which the Y.B.L. scribe was copying was imperfect, and that the lacuna was supplied from memory, and from a very faulty memory. No conclusion can thus, I think, be drawn from the fact that the details of the actual combat are so bald and meagre in the only extant text of the older redaction. [FN#67] This is the spelling in Y. B. L. In L.L. the name appears as one word, "Ferdiad"; usually scanned as a dissyllable--though occasionally as a trisyllable. The spelling Ferdia is the conventional one sanctioned by the usage of Ferguson, Aubrey de Vere, and others; the scansion of the word as a trisyllable is on the same authority. If the two versions be compared where they are really comparable, i.e. in that portion which both narrate at approximately the same length, the older redaction will be found fuller of incident, the characters drawn with a bolder, more realistic touch, the presentment more vigorous and dramatic. Ferdiad is unwilling to go against Cuchulain not, apparently, solely for prudential reasons, and he has to be goaded and taunted into action by Medb, who displays to the full her wonted magnificently resourceful unscrupulousness, regardless of any and every consideration, so long as she can achieve her purpose. The action of Fergus is far more fully dwelt upon, and the scones between him and his charioteer, as also between him and Cuchulain, are given with far greater spirit. The hero is indignant that Fergus should think it necessary to warn him against a single opponent, and says roundly that it is lucky no one else came on such an errand. The tone of the older redaction is as a whole rough, animated, individualistic as compared with the smoother, more generalised, less accentuated presentment of the Leinster version. But to conclude from this fact that the older redaction of the actual combat, if we had it in its original fulness instead of in a bald and fragmentary summary, would not have dwelt upon the details of the fighting, would not have insisted upon the courteous and chivalrous bearing of the two champions, would not have emphasised the inherent pathos of the situation, seems to me altogether unwarranted. On the contrary the older redaction, by touches of strong, vivid, archaic beauty lacking in the Leinster version leads up to and prepares for just such a situation as the latter describes so finely. One of these touches must be quoted. Cuchulain's charioteer asks him what he will do the night before the struggle, and then continues, "It is thus Fer Diad will come to seek you, with new beauty of plaiting and haircutting and washing and bathing.... It would please me if you went to the place where you will got the same adorning for yourself, to the place where is Emer of the Beautiful Hair.... So Cuchulain went thither that night, and spent the night with his own wife." There is indeed the old Irish hero faring forth to battle as a lover to the love tryst! How natural, how inevitable with warriors of such absurd and magnificent susceptibility, such boyish love of swagger, how natural, I say, the free and generous emotion combined with an overmastering sense of personal honour, and a determination to win at all costs, which are so prominent in the Leinster version of the fight.[FN#68] [FN#68] The trait must not be put down as a piece of story-teller's fancy. In another text of the Ulster cycle, Cath ruis na Rig, Conchobor's warriors adorn and beautify themselves in this way before the battle. The Aryan Celt behaved as did the Aryan Hellene. All readers of Herodotus will recall how the comrades of Leonidas prepared for battle by engaging in games and combing out their hair, and how Demaretus, the counsellor of Xerxes, explained to the king "that it is a custom with these men that when they shall prepare to imperil their lives; that is the time when they adorn their heads" (Herodotus vii. 209.) The contention that the older redaction, if we had it complete, would resemble the younger one in its insistence upon the chivalrous bearing of the two opponents, may also be urged on historical grounds. The sentiment which gives reality and power to the situation is based upon the strength of the tie of blood-brotherhood; so strong is this that it almost balances the most potent element in the ideal of old Irish heroism--the sense of personal honour and pre-eminence in all that befits a warrior. The tie itself and the sentiment based upon it certainly belong to pre-Christian times, and must have been losing rather than gaining in strength during the historic period, say from the fourth century onwards. The episode of Cuchulain's combat with Ferdiad must have existed in the older redaction of the "Tain" for the simple reason that a tenth and eleventh century story-teller would have found nothing in the feelings, customs, or literary conventions of his own day to suggest to him such a situation and such a manner of working it out. But--and this consideration may afford a ground of conciliation with Miss Faraday and the scholars who hold by the lateness of the episode--the intrinsic beauty and pathos of the situation, the fact of its constituting an artistic climax, would naturally tempt the more gifted of the story-telling class. There would be a tendency to elaborate, to adorn in the newest fashion, hence to modernise, and it is not only conceivable but most probable that the original form should be farther departed from than in the case of much else in the epic. ALFRED NUTT. GENERAL NOTES THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN The translation of both versions of this romance has been revised by Professor Strachan, and the linguistic notes are due to him, unless otherwise stated. The rendering given in the text is noted as "doubtful," in cases where Professor Strachan does not assent. PAGE 7 @@both line 17? Line 17. "By a means that he devised," do airec memman, lit. "by a device of mind." Compare airecc memman aith (Meyer, Hib. Minora, p. 28). Line 17. "So that she became well-nourished, &c.," lit. "till there came to her fatness and form;" sult probably means "fatness," and feth "form." PAGE 8 Line 25. "Curvetting and prancing," tuagmar, foran. These are guesses by O'Curry: curvetting may be right, but there is little authority for rendering foran as "prancing "; this word is doubtful. "With a broad forehead," forlethan, lit. "broad above," O'Curry renders "broad-rumped." Line 34. "Upon the shore of the bay," forsin purt. Windisch's rendering of port is "bank, harbour"; but it is doubtful whether the word means more than "place." PAGE 9 The literal rendering adopted for the poem runs thus: Etain is here thus at the elf-mound of the Fair-Haired Women west of Alba among little children to her on the shore of the Bay of Cichmaine. It is she who cured the eye of the king from the Well of Loch da lig, it is she who was drunk in a draught by the wife of Etar in a heavy draught. Through war for her the king will chase the birds from Tethba, and will drown his two horses in the lake da Airbrech. There shall be abundant and many wars through the war for thee on Echaid of Meath, destruction shall be on the elf-mounds, and war upon many thousands. It is she who was hurt in the land (?), it is she who strove to win the king, it is she as compared to whom men men speak of fair women, it is she, our Etain afterwards. Line 2. "West of Alba" is literally "behind Alba," iar n-Albai: iar is, however, also used in the sense of "west of." Line 14 is given by Windisch "through the war over Meath rich in horses"; this is impossible. The translation of line 17 is not quite certain; the literal translation of the MS. seems to be "it is she who was hurt and the land." Da Airbrech in line 12 may mean "of two chariots." PAGE 10 Literal translation of the quatrain: Ignorant was Fuamnach, the wife of Mider, Sigmall and Bri with its trees in Bri Leth: it was a full trial were burned by means of Manannan. PAGE 11 Line 5. "Labraid the Tracker." This is a very doubtful rendering, the text gives Labradae Luircc. Line 25. "That he desired full knowledge of." There seems to be something with the Irish here; the word is co fessta which could only be third singular subj. pass. "that it might be known," which does not make grammar. It should be co fessed or co festais, "that he (or they) might know." PAGE 12 Line 9. "His officers who had the care of the roads." A very doubtful rendering; the Irish is tarraluing sligeth. Line 29. "A bright purple mantle waved round her," lit. "a bright purple curling (?) mantle," but the sense of caslechta as "curling" is not certain. Line 30. "Another mantle." The word for mantle here is folai, in the former line it was brat. PAGE 13 Line 3. "As white as the snow." ba gilighuir mechto: not "whiter than the snow," as Windisch's Dict. gives it. Line 17. "All that's graceful, &c.," cach cruth co hEtain, coem cach co hEtain. Compare conid chucum bagthir cach n-delb. (L.U., 124b, 17, "Courtship of Emer "), and Ir. Text., iii. p. 356, 1. 4, from which it may be seen that the meaning is that Etain is the test to which all beauty must be compared. PAGE 14 Line 19. "So long as they were," not "so long as he was." The Irish is cein ropas, and ropas is the impersonal preterite passive. Line 29. "The choking misery, &c.," lit. "he let come to him the slaodan of a heavy sickness:" slaodan is the cough of consumption. PAGE 15 Line 2. Lit. "worse and worse," messa a cach. Line 18. "His burial mound," a fert fodbuigh. Compare Zimmer, Kuhn's Zeitschrift, xxx. 9, for fotbuig. Literal rendering of the dialogue: B. What hath happened to thee, O young man? long is thy bed of sickness, prostrate is thy full and splendid pace, however fair the weather may be. A. There is cause for my sighs; the music of my harp contents me not; neither does any milk please me, it is this that brings me into a pitiful state. E. Tell me what ails thee, O man, for I am a maiden who is wise; tell me of anything which may be of benefit to thee that thy healing may be wrought by me. A. To speak of it is not possible for me (lit. "finds not room in me"), O maiden, lovely is thy form, there is fire of some one behind her eyes (?) nor are the secrets of women good. B. Though the secrets of women are bad, yet, if it is love, the remembrance remains for long; from the time when the matter is taken into hand this thing is not deserving of its (?) recognition. A. A blessing on thee, O white maiden, I am not worthy of this speech to me; neither am I grateful to my own mind, my body is in opposition to me. Wretched indeed is this, O wife of the King, Eochaid Fedlech in very truth, my body and my head are sick, it is reported in Ireland. E. If there is among the troops of white women any one who is vexing thee, she shall come here, if it is pleasing to thee, there shall be made by my help her courtship. In verse 3, line 2, inniss dam gach dal, dal means no more than thing it is not an accusative from dal, a meeting. Verse 4, line 3. Meaning doubtful. Verse 7, line 2. The confusion between Eochaid Airemm, the king in this story, and his brother Eochaid Fedlech is obvious. It may, as Windisch thinks, be an indication that the poem is not part of the romance as originally composed, but other explanations are possible. Line 4. "It is reported." Not quite certain; Irish is issed berair. PAGE 17 Line 11. "And great gain, &c." Text defective, and meaning uncertain. Line 13. Rhetoric; the literal translation seems to be as follows, but some words are uncertain: It is love that was longer enduring (?) than a year my love, it is like being under the skin, it is the kingdom of strength over destruction. It is the dividing into quarters of the earth, it is summit (7) of heaven, it is breaking of the neck, it is a battle against a spectre. It is drowning with cold (or ? water), it is a race up heaven, it is a weapon under the ocean, it is affection for an echo; (so is) my affection and my love and my desire of the one on whom I have set (my love). PAGE 18 Line 2. The translation given is Windisch's, "it is sorrow under the skin is Strachan's rendering. Line 5. Translation uncertain. Irish is dichend nime. Line 8. Is combath fri huacht (I read husce). Literal rendering of the poem: Arise, O glorious Ailill, great bravery is more proper to thee than anything; since thou shalt find here what was wished by thee, thy healing shall be done by me. If it should please thee in thy wise mind, place hand about my neck; a beginning of courtship, beautiful its colour, woman and man kissing each other. But, if this is not enough for thee, O good man, O son of a king, O royal prince, I will give for thy healing, O glorious crime, from my knee to my navel. A hundred cows, a hundred ounces of gold, a hundred bridled horses were collecting, a hundred garments of each variegated colour, these were brought as a price for me. A hundred of each other beast came hither, the drove was great; these to me quickly, till the sum was complete, gave Eochaid at the one time. Line 14. Of poem. "Were collecting," ratinol. This is the rendering in Windisch's Dictionary, but is a doubtful one. Line 18. Imerge means "drove," not "journey," as in Windisch. Line 27 of text. "Wrought a great healing, &c." Irish, ro lessaig, "healed him" (Windisch); "waited upon him" (Strachan). PAGE 19 Line 17. "For fear of danger." Baegal, "danger," has sometimes the sense of "chance," "risk." Line 23. "That is what I would demand of thee." Translation not quite certain Irish, cid rotiarfaiged. PAGE 20 Line 2. "That both of us do indeed deem, &c." lit. "it is so indeed well to us both." Line 22. For the incident compare Bodleian Dinnshenchas (Nutt, p. 27): the introduction of Crochen is a human touch which seems to be characteristic of the author of this version. The Dinnshenchas account seems to be taken from the romance, but it gives the name of Sinech as Mider's entertainer at Mag Cruachan. Line 25. "The Fairy Mound of Croghan." Irish, co sith sínighe Cruachan; for sínighe read Maighe, "to the sid of Mag C." PAGE 21 Line 2. Until the same day upon the year, &c.," on lo cu cele, "from that day to its fellow," i.e. "till the same day next year." Line 10. "Three wands of yew." This looks like an early case of a divining-rod. Line 21. "Hath smitten thee," rotirmass for ro-t-ormaiss, "hath hit thee." Line 29. "They ruined," "docuas ar," an idiomatic phrase; "they overcame," an idiomatic phrase. Compare Annals of Ulster under years 1175, 1315, 1516. PAGE 22 Line 2. "Messbuachalla." This makes Etain the great-grandmother of Conary, the usual account makes her the grandmother, so that there is here an extra generation inserted. Yet in the opening she and Eochaid Airem are contemporary with kings who survived Conary! Line 4. "The fairy host, &c." The order of the words in the original is misleading and difficult sithchaire and Mider are the subjects to ro choillsiut and to doronsat. PAGE 23 Line 12. That there should be adjusted)" fri commus, lit. "for valuation," but commus has also the sense of "adjusting." PAGE 24 Line 4. "Since he for a long time, &c.," fodaig dognith abairt dia sirsellad. See Meyer's Contributions, s.v. abairt. Line 23. "To gaze at her." Up to this point the L.U. version (exclusive of the Prologue) bears the character of an abstract, afterwards the style improves. PAGE 25 Line 2. "But it shall not be in the abode, &c." Windisch seems to have mimed the point here, he considers these lines to be an interpolation. PAGE 26 Line 5. Following Windisch's suggestion, this poem has been placed here instead of the later place where it occurs in the text. This famous poem has been often translated; but as there appear to be points in it that have been missed, a complete literal rendering is appended: O fair-haired woman, will you come with me into a marvellous land wherein is music (?); the top of the head there is hair of primrose, the body up to the head is colour of snow. In that country is no "mine" and no "thine"; white are teeth there, black are eyebrows, the colour of the eyes is the number of our hosts, each cheek there the hue of the foxglove. The purple of the plain is (on) each neck, the colour of the eyes is (colour of) eggs of blackbird; though pleasant to the sight are the plains of Fal (Ireland), they are a wilderness (7) for a man who has known the Great Plain. Though intoxicating to ye the ale of the island of Fal, the ale of the Great Country is more intoxicating a wonder of a land is the land I speak of, a young man there goes not before an old man. Stream smooth and sweet flow through the land, there is choice of mead and wine; men handsome (?) without blemish, conception without sin, without crime. We see all on every side, and yet no one seeth us, the cloud of the sin of Adam it is that encompasses us from the reckoning. O woman, if thou wilt come to my strong people, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, unsalted pork, new milk and mead for drink shalt thou have with me there, O fair-haired woman. Line 2. Hi fil rind. The meaning of rind (?) music) is uncertain. Line 3. Is barr sobarche folt and. This line is often translated as "hair is wreathed with primrose": the image would be better, but it is not the Irish. Barr is "top of head," and folt is "hair." Line 4. Is and nad bi mui na tai. Muisse is in old Irish the possessive of the first sing when followed by a noun it becomes mo, when not so followed it is mui; tai is also found for do. O'Curry gave this line as "there is no sorrow nor care." Lines 7 and 10. Is li sula lin ar sluag and is li sula ugai luin are so similar that is li sula must mean the same in both, and cannot mean "splendour of eyes" in the first case unless it does so in the second. The idea in the first case seems to be that the hosts are reflected in the eyes; it is so rendered in the verse translation. A blackbird's egg has a blue ground, but is so thickly powdered with brown spots of all shapes that it looks brown at a distance. At first I was inclined to take the idea to be "hazel" eyes, but comparing line 7, it seems more likely that the idea is that all sorts of shapes appear in the pupil. Line 12. The translation of annam as a "wilderness" is very doubtful, it more probably is "seldom"; and the line should be "seldom will it be so after knowledge of, &c." Line 16. This has always been rendered "no youth there grows to old age." But the Irish is ni thecht oac and re siun, and re siun can only mean "before an old (man)." The sense possibly is, that as men do not become feeble with advancing years, the younger man has not the same advantage over his elders in the eyes of women that he has in this world. Line 17. Teith millsi, "smooth and honey-sweet" (Meyer, MacCongl., p. 196). Line 24. Compare a story of some magical pigs that could not be counted accurately (Revue Celtique, vol. xiii. p. 449). Line 31. Muc ur, "unsalted pork"; see Glossary to Laws, p. 770; also MacConglinne (Kuno Meyer), p, 99. PAGE 27 Line 23. "He ascended." Fosrocaib for sosta: fosrocaib is an unknown compound (=fo-sro-od-gaib). Perhaps frisocaib for sosta, "mounted on the heights." Line 29. Co brainni a da imdae, "to the edges of his two shoulders"; see braine, in Meyer's Contributions. PAGE 28. Line 19. "Casting their light on every side," cacha air di = cacha airidi, "in every direction." Line 25. "If thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake," mad tu beras mo thocell. For tocell see Zimmer, Kuhn's Zeitsch., xxx. 80. Line 29. "Eager" (?), femendae. See Bruiden da Derga (Stokes), 50, 51. Line 30. "Easily stopped," so-ataidi suggested for sostaidi in the text: cf. Bruiden da Derga. The conjecture has not Strachan's authority. PAGE 29 Line 19. Literal translation of rhetoric: "Put it in hand, place it close in hand, noble are oxen for hours after sunset, heavy is the request, it is unknown to whom the gain, to whom the loss from the causeway." Line 28. "Over the chariot-pole of life" seems to be a literal rendering of for fertas in betha. Strachan renders "on the face of the world," which is of course the meaning of the simile. Line 30. "High was he girt," ard chustal. The meaning of custal is not known; it was used of some arrangement of the dress. See Ir. Text., iii. 226; also L.U. 79a, 35, L.L. 97a, 40; 98a, 51; 253a, 30. Line 31. "Eochaid arose," Atrigestar Eochaid. Strachan thinks it much more likely that this is "Eochaid feared him," the verb coming from atagur. It is, however, just possible that the word might be a deponent form from atregaim, "I arise." Eochaid does not elsewhere show any fear of Mider, the meaning given agrees better with the tone of the story, and is grammatically possible. PAGE 30 Line 1. "All things that seemed good, &c.," lit. "I have been accustomed to get what seemed good to thee," adethaind ni bad maith. Line 3. "Anger for anger," bara fri bure. Compare the word bura in Meyer's Contributions. Line 25. "In order that Eochaid should stand in his debt," lit. "that there might be cause of reproach for him to Eochaid." Line 32. "Forest that is over Breg." MS. fid dar bre, with mark of abbreviation. This is read to be dar Breg. Professor Rhys (Arthurian Legend, p. 28) renders "to cover Darbrech with trees." Line 33. "As it is written in the book of Drom Snechta. "This is a conjecture by Mrs. Hutton as a restoration of the words in L.U., which is torn just here: the words appear to be amal atbert lebor drums. PAGE 31 Line 1. This rhetoric is very obscure; much of it cannot be translated. The text seems to be as follows, according to Strachan: Cuisthe illand tochre illand airderg damrad trom inchoibden clunithar fír ferdi buidni balc-thruim crandchuir forderg saire fedar sechuib slimprib snithib scítha lama indrosc cloina fo bíth oen mna. Duib in dígail duib in trom daim tairthim flatho fer ban fomnis fomnis in fer mbranie cerpiae fomnis diad dergae fer arfeid soluig fria iss esslind fer bron for-tí ertechta in de lamnado luachair for di Thethbi dílecud (? diclochud) Midi in dracht coich les coich amles ? thocur ? dar c? moin. Apparent rendering: "Place on the land, place close on the land, very red oxen, heavy troop which hears, truly manlike ? troops, strong heavy placing of trees, very red . . . is led past them with twisted wattles, weary hands, the eye slants aside (squints) because of one woman. To you the vengeance, to you the heavy ? oxen ? splendour of sovereignty over white men, . . . man sorrow on thee . . . of childbirth, rushes over Tethba, clearing of stones from Meath . . . where the benefit where the evil, causeway over . . . moor." It seems that the oxen were transformed people of Mider's race; this appears from fír-ferdi, which is taken to mean "really men"; and duib in digail duib in trom-daim, which is taken to mean "to you the vengeance, to you heavy oxen." Professor Strachan disagrees with this, as daim, to be "oxen," should not have the accent, he makes trom-daim "heavy companies." He also renders clunithar fír ferdi buindi, as "which hears truth, manly troops." The rest of the translation he agrees to, most of it is his own. The passage from fomnis fomnis to lamnado seems untranslatable. PAGE 32 Line 1. Lit. "no evil wedding feast (banais, text banas) for thee? MAC DATHO'S BOAR PAGE 37 Line 3. The Rawlinson version gives, instead of "who was the guardian of all Leinster," the variant "who would run round Leinster in a day." This semi-supernatural power of the hound is the only supernatural touch in either version of the tale. Line 6. The verse "Mesroda son of Datho" is from the Rawlinson MS. The literal version of it is in Anecdota Oxoniensia, Mediaeval Series, part viii. p. 57. (This reference will in future be given as A.O., p. 57.) Line 20. The list of the hostelries or guest-houses of Ireland includes the scene of the famous Togail Da Derga, in the sack of which Conaire, king of Ireland, was killed. Forgall the Wily was the father of Emer, Cuchulain's wife. The tale of the plunder of da Choca is in the MS. classed as H. 3, 18 in the Trinity College, Dublin, Library. PAGE 38 The literal version of the dialogue between Mac Datho and his wife is given in A.O., p. 58, following the Leinster text (there are only two lines of it given in the Rawlinson MS.); but I note a few divergencies in the literal version from which the verse translation was made. Verse 3, line 1. Asbert Crimthann Nia Nair, "Crimthann Nia Nair has said" (A.O.). Nia is "sister's son," and has been so rendered. Nia is a champion, and this is the meaning given in the Coir Anmann; but nia has no accent in either the Leinster or Harleian manuscripts of the text. The Coir Anmann (Ir. Tex., iii. 333) says that Nar was a witch. Verse 4, lines 1, 2. Cid fri mnai atbertha-su Mani thesbad ní aire, "Why wouldest thou talk to a woman if something were not amiss?" (A.O.). "Why dost thou speak against a woman unless something fails on that account" seems as good a translation, and fits the sense better. Verse 7, line 2. Leis falmag dar sin tuaith, "By him Ireland (shall be roused) over the people." The omitted verb is apparently "to be," as above. Line 4 of the same verse is left untranslated in A.O., it is ata neblai luim luaith. It seems to mean "There is nothing on the plain for bareness (luim) of ashes," more literally, "There is a no-plain for, &c." Verse 9, lines 2, 3. Isi ním dení cutal. Ailbe do roid dia. "It does not make sorrow for me; as for Ailbe, "God sent him" seems to be the sense; but the meaning of cutal is obscure. PAGE 41 Line 8. "Forty oxen as side-dishes," lit. "forty oxen crosswise to it" (dia tarsnu). The Rawlinson MS. gives "sixty oxen to drag it" (dia tarraing). Line 33. "The son of Dedad." Clan Dedad was the Munster hero clan, having their fortress in Tara Luachra; they correspond to the more famous Clan Rury of Ulster, whose stronghold was Emain Macha. Curoi of Munster seems to have been a rival hero to Cuchulain. PAGE 42 Line 20. "Pierced through with a spear." The different ways in which Ket claims to have conquered his rivals or their relations may be noted; the variety of them recalls the detailed descriptions of wounds and methods of killing so common in Homer. There are seven victories claimed, and in no two is the wound the same, a point that distinguishes several of the old Irish romances from the less elaborate folk-tales of other nations. Arthur's knights in Malory "strike down" each other, very occasionally they "pierce through the breast" or "strike off a head," but there is seldom if ever more detail. In the Volsunga Saga men "fall," or are "slain," in a few cases of the more important deaths they are "pierced," or "cut in half," but except in the later Niebelungenlied version where Siegfried is pierced through the cross embroidered on his back, a touch which is essential to the plot, none of the Homeric detail as to the wounds appears. The same remark applies to the saga of Dietrich and indeed to most others; the only cases that I have noticed which resemble the Irish in detail are in the Icelandic Sagas (the Laxdale Saga and others), and even there the feature is not at all so prominent as here, in the "Tain be Cuailnge," and several other Irish romances, though it is by no means common to all of them. It may be noted that the Irish version of the "Tale of Troy" shows this feature, and although it is possible that the peculiarity is due to the great clearness and sharpness of detail that characterises much of the early Irish work, it may be that this is a case of an introduction into Irish descriptions of Homeric methods. It may be also noted that six of Ket's seven rivals are named among the eighteen Ulster chiefs in the great gathering of Ulster on the Hill of Slane before the final battle of the Tain, Angus being the only one named here who is not in the Hill of Slane list. Two others in the Hill of Slane list, Fergus mac Lets and Feidlimid, are mentioned elsewhere in this tale. Several of these are prominent in other tales: Laegaire (Leary) is a third with Cuchulain and Conall in the Feast of Bricriu, and again in the "Courtship of Emer;" Cuscrid makes a third with the same two principal champions in the early part of the "Sick-bed;" Eogan mac Durthacht is the slayer of the sow of Usnach in the old version of that tale; and Celtchar mac Uitechar is the Master of the Magic Spear in the "Bruiden da Derga," and has minor romances personal to himself. PAGE 45 The literal translation of the rhetoric seems to be: Ket. "Welcome, Conall! heart of stone: wild glowing fire: sparkle of ice: wrathfully boiling blood in hero breast: the scarred winner of victory: thou, son of Finnchoem, canst measure thyself with me!" Conall. "Welcome, Ket! first-born of Mata! a dwelling place for heroes thy heart of ice: end of danger (7); chariot chief of the fight: stormy ocean: fair raging bull: Ket, Magach's son! That will be proved if we are in combat: that will be proved if we are separated: the goader of oxen (?) shall tell of it: the handcraftsman (?) shall testify of it: heroes shall stride to wild lion-strife: man overturns man to-night in this house." PAGE 46 The literal translation of the quatrain is in A.O., p. 63. The quatrain does not occur in the Leinster version. PAGE 47 Line 4. "A great oak-tree." After the plucking up of the oak-tree by Fergus, the Rawlinson MS. adds: "Others say that it was Curoi mac Dari who took the oak to them, and it was then that he came to them, for there was no man of Munster there (before) except Lugaid the son of Curoi and Cetin Pauci. When Curoi had come to them, he carried off all alone one half of the Boar from all the northern half of Ireland." This exploit attributed to Curoi is an example of the survival of the Munster account of the Heroic Age, part of which may be preserved in the tales of Finn mac Cumhail. PAGE 48 The Rawlinson manuscript adds, after mentioning the rewards given to Ferloga But he did not get the serenade (cepoca), though he got the horses." Literal translation of the final poem: O lads of Connaught, I will not fill your heaviness with a lying tale; a lad, small your portion, divided the Boar of Mac Datho. Three fifties of fifty men are gone with troops of heroes; combat of pride for that Ailbe, small the fault in the matter of the dog. Victorious Conor came (?), Ailill of the hosts, and Ket; Bodb over the slaughters after the fight, Cuchulain conceded no right. Congal Aidni there from the east, Fiamain the man of harmony from the sea, (he who) suffered in journeys after that Eogan the son of dark Durthacht. three sons of Nera (famous) for numbers of battle-fields, three sons of Usnach, fierce shields: Senlaech the charioteer, he was not foolish, (came) from high Conalad Cruachan; Dubhtach of Emain, high his dignity; Berba Baither of the gentle word; Illan glorious for the multitude of his deeds; fierce Munremur of Loch Sail; Conall Cernach, hard his valour; Marcan . . . Celtchar the Ulsterman, man over man; Lugaid of Munster, son of three dogs. Fergus waits great Ailbe, shakes for them the . . . oak, took hero's cloak over very strong shield; red sorrow over red shield. By Cethern the son of Finntan they were smitten, single his number at the ford (i.& he was alone); the men of Connaught's host he released not for the time of six hours. Feidlimid with multitude of troops, Loegaire the Triumphant eastwards, was half of complaint about the dog with Aed son of Morna not great. Great nobles, mighty (?) deeds, hard heroes, fair companions in a house, great champions, destruction of clans, great hostages, great sepulchres. @@line x2? In this poem may be noted the reference to Cuchulain in line x2 in close connection with that to Bodb the Goddess of War, as indicating the original divine nature of Cuchulain as a war-god also the epithet of Lugaid, "son of three dogs." Two of the dogs are elsewhere stated to be Cu-roi and Cu-chulain, the third seems uncertain. Line 26, describing Marcan, seems untranslatable; the Irish is Marcan sinna set rod son. The epithet of the oak in line 32 is also obscure, the Irish is dairbre n-dall. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN PAGE 57 Line 2. "Samhain." Samhain was held on November 1st, and on its eve, "Hallow-e'en". The exhibition of tips of tongues, on the principle of Indian scalps, has nothing at all to do with the story, and is not mentioned in the usual descriptions of the romance. It is a piece of antiquarian information, possibly correct, and should serve to remind us that the original form of these legends was probably of a barbaric kind, before they were taken in hand by the literary men who gave to the best forms of the romances the character they now have. Line 23. For the demons screaming from the weapons of warriors compare the Book of Leinster version of the "Combat at the Ford": pages 126, 143 in this volume. PAGE 58 Line 4. The delay of Conall and Fergus leads to nothing, it is perhaps an introduction from some third form of the story. Line 19. Leborcham is, in the story of Deirdre, Deirdre's nurse and confidant. Line 26. "Their three blemishes." This disfigurement of the women of Ulster in honour of their chosen heroes seems to point to a worship of these heroes as gods in the original legend. It may, however, be a sort of rough humour intentionally introduced by the author of the form of the story that we call the Antiquarian form; there are other instances of such humour in this form of the story. PAGE 59 Line 2. "Like the cast of a boomerang." This is an attempt to translate the word taithbeim, return-stroke, used elsewhere (L.U., 63a., 4) for Cuchulain's method of capturing birds. Line 8. "I deem it as being by me that the distribution was made." The words "I deem it" are inserted, they are not in the text. It appears that what Ethne meant was that the distribution by Cuchulain was regarded by her as done by her through her husband. PAGE 60 Line 9. "Dun Imrith nor yet to Dun Delga." Dun Imrith is the castle in which Cuchulain was when he met the War-Goddess in the "Apparition of the Morrigan," otherwise called the "Tain bo Regamna." Dun Delga or Dundalk is the residence usually associated with Cuchulain. The mention of Emer here is noticeable; the usual statement about the romance is that Ethne is represented as Cuchulain's mistress, and Emer as his wife; the mention here of Emer in the Antiquarian form may support this; but this form seems to be drawn from so many sources, that it is quite possible that Ethne was the name of Cuchulain's wife in the mind of the author of the form which in the main is followed. There is no opposition between Emer and Ethne elsewhere hinted at. Line 15. The appearance of Lugaid Red-Stripes gives a reason for his subsequent introduction in the link between the two forms of the story. Line 18. "Near the entrance of the chamber in which Cuchulain lay." It does not yet seem certain whether imda was a room or a couch, and it would seem to have both meanings in the Antiquarian form of this story. The expression forsind airiniuch na imdai which occurs here might be rendered "at the head of the bed"; but if we compare i n-airniuch ind rigthige which occurs twice in "Bricriu's Feast," and plainly means "at the entrance of the palace," it seems possible that airinech is here used in the same sense, in which case imda would mean "room," as Whitley Stokes takes it in the "Bruiden da Derga." On the other hand, the word imda translated on page 63, line 11, certainly means "couches." Line 27. "Ah Cuchulain, &c." Reference may be made for most of the verses in this romance to Thurneysen's translation of the greater part of it in Sagen aus dem alten Irland but, as some of his renderings are not as close as the verse translations in the text, they require to be supplemented. The poem on pp. 60, 61 is translated by Thurneysen, pp. 84 and 85; but the first two lines should run:-- Ah Cuchulain, under thy sickness not long would have been the remaining. And lines 7 and 8 should be: Dear would be the day if truly Cuchulain would come to my land. The epithet "fair" given to Aed Abra's daughters in line 4 by Thurneysen is not in the Irish, the rest of his translation is very close. Line 32. "Plain of Cruach." Cromm Cruach is the name of the idol traditionally destroyed by St. Patrick in the "Lives." Cromm Cruach is also described In the Book of Leinster (L.L. 213b) as an idol to whom human sacrifices were offered. The name of this plain is probably connected with this god. PAGE 61 Line 30. "Hath released her," Irish ros leci. These words are usually taken to mean that Manannan had deserted Fand, and that she had then turned to Cuchulain, but to "desert" is not the only meaning of lecim. In the second form of the story, Fand seems to have left Manannan, and though of course the two forms are so different that it is not surprising to find a contradiction between the two, there does not seem to be any need to find one here; and the expression may simply mean that Manannan left Fand at liberty to pursue her own course, which divine husbands often did in other mythologies. Manannan is, of course, the Sea God, the Celtic Poseidon. PAGE 62 Line 3. Eogan Inbir (Yeogan the Stream) occurs in the Book of Leinster version of the Book of Invasions as one of the opponents of the Tuatha De Danaan, the Folk of the Gods (L.L. 9b, 45, and elsewhere). Line 15. "Said Liban." The text gives "said Fand." This seems to be a scribal slip: there is a similar error corrected on page 79, line 21, where the word "Fand" is written "Emer" in the text. Line 16. "A woman's protection." The "perilous passage," passed only by a woman's help, occurs elsewhere both in Irish and in other early literatures. See Maelduin, para. 17; Ivain (Chretien de Troyes), vv. 907 sqq.; and Mabinogion, "Lady of the Fountain" (Nutt's edition, p. 177). Line 28. "Labra." Labraid's usual title, as given to him by Liban in both forms of the romance and once by Laeg in the second description of Fairyland, is Labraid Luath lamar-claideb, the title being as closely connected with him as {Greek boh`n a?gaðo`s Mene'laos}with Menelaus in Homer. It is usually translated as "Labraid quick-hand-on-sword," but the Luath need not be joined to lam, it is not in any of the places in the facsimile closely joined to it, and others than Liban give to Labraid the title of Luath or "swift," without the addition. The literal translation of the short pieces of rhetoric on pages 62, 63 are, "Where is Labraid the swift hand-on-sword, who is the head of troops of victory? (who) triumphs from the strong frame of his chariot, who reddens red spear-points." "Labraid the son of swiftness is there, he is not slow, abundant shall be the assembly of war, slaughter is set when the plain of Fidga shall be full." "Welcome to thee, O Laeg! for the sake of her with whom thou hast come; and since thou hast come, welcome to thee for thyself!" The metre of the first two pieces is spirited and unusual. The second one runs: Ata Labraid luithe cland, ni ba mall bid immda tinol catha, cuirther ar, día ba Ian Mag Fidgae. PAGE 63 Line 24. "Fand." The derivations of the names of Fand and of Aed Abra are quite in keeping with the character of the Antiquarian form, and would be out of place in the other form of the romance. It may perhaps be mentioned that the proper meaning of Abra is "an eyelash," but the rendering "Aed Abra of the Fiery Eyebrows," which has been employed in accounts of this romance, would convey a meaning that does not seem to have been in the mind of the authors of either of the two forms. For the literal translations of the three invocations to Labraid, on pp. 63, 66, Thurneysen (p. 87) may be referred to; but there would be a few alterations. In the first, line 2 should be "heir of a little host, equipped with light spears," if Windisch's Dictionary is to be followed; line 5 would seem to begin "he seeketh out trespasses" (oirgniu); and line 7 should begin, "attacker of heroes," not "an attacking troop," which hardly makes sense. In the second invocation the first line should alter Labraid's title to "Labraid the swift hand-on-sword-of-battle;" line 3 should end with "wounded his side." In line 6 and again in the third line of the third invocation, Thurneysen translates gus as "wrath": Windisch gives the word to mean "strength." Line 4 of the third invocation is rendered "he pierceth through men" by Thurneysen; the Irish is criathraid ocu. Criathraim is given by O'Reilly as meaning "to sift": "he sifteth warriors" seems a satisfactory meaning, if O'Reilly is to be relied on. PAGE 65 Labraid's answer to the three invocations seems to run thus, but the translation is doubtful, many words are marked unknown by Windisch: "I have no pride or arrogance, O lady, nor renown, it is not error, for lamentation is stirred our judgment" (reading na ardarc nid mell, chai mescthair with the second MS.), "we shall come to a fight of very many and very hard spears, of plying of red swords in right fists, for many peoples to the one heart of Echaid Juil (?), (let be) no anbi of thine nor pride, there is no pride or arrogance in me, O lady." I can make nothing of Anbi. PAGE 66 Thurneysen does not translate the rhetoric; the translation seems to run thus: Great unprofitableness for a hero to lie in the sleep of a sick-bed; for unearthly women show themselves, women of the people of the fiery plain of Trogach, and they have subdued thee, and they have imprisoned thee, and they have chased thee away (?) amid great womanish folly. Rouse thyself from the contest of distress (Gloss, "the sickness sent by the fairy women") for all is gone of thy vigour among heroes who ride in chariots, and thou sittest (?) in the place of the young and thou art conquered (? condit chellti if connected with tochell), and thou art disturbed (?) in thy mighty deeds, for that which Labraid's power has indicated rise up, O man who sittest (?) that thou mayest be great. "Chased thee away" in line 7, for condot ellat, perhaps connected with do-ellaim (?). PAGE 67 Thurneysen's translation (p. 91) of Emer's lament may be referred to, but he misses some strong points. Among these are: Line 5. "Woe to Ulster where hospitality abounds." Line 12. "Till he found a Druid to lift the weight." Line 25. "Were it Furbaide of the heroes." Line 27. "The hound would search through the solid earth." Line 29. "The hosts of the Sid of Train are dead." Line 30. "For the hound of the Smith of Conor." Line 34. "Sick for the horseman of the plains." Note the familiarity with the land of the fairies which Laeg is asserted to have in the first verse of the poem: this familiarity appears more than once in the Literary form of the story. Laeg speaks of the land of Labraid as "known to him" in his- first description of that land, again in the same description Laeg is recognised by Labraid by his five-folded purple mantle, which seems to have been a characteristic fairy gift. Also, Laeg seems at the end of the tale to be the only one to recognise Manannan. There is no indication of any familiarity of Laeg with the fairy country in the Antiquarian form. The different Ulster heroes alluded to are mostly well-known; all except Furbaide are in "Mae Datho's Boar." Furbaide was a son of Conor; be is one of the eighteen leaders who assemble on the Hill of Slane in the "Tain bo Cuailgne." The Smith of Conor is of course Culann, from whom Cuchulain got his name. PAGES 68, 69 A translation of Emer's "Awakening of Cuchulain" may be found in Thurneysen, p. 92 but there are one or two points that seem to be noted as differing from the rendering there given. Lines 3 and 4 seem to mean: "Look on the king of Macha, on my beauty / does not that release thee from deep sleep?" Thurneysen gives "Look on the king of Macha, my heart! thy sleep pleases him not." Mo crath can hardly mean "my heart." Line 6 is in the Irish deca a churnu co comraim! "see their horns for the contest!" Instead of comraim Thurneysen seems to prefer the reading of the second MS., co cormaim, and translates "their horns full of beer." Churnu may mean trumpets as well as drinking-horns, and Emer would hardly call on Cuchulain to throw off a drunken sleep (line 21) and then take to beer! The following translation of lines 17 to 20 seems preferable to Thurneysen's: "Heavy sleep is decay, and no good thing; it is fatigue against a heavy war; it is 'milk for the satiated,' the sleep that is on thee; death-weakness is the tanist of death." The last line is tanaisi d'ec ecomnart. The tanist was the prince who stood next to the king; the image seems too good a one to be lost; Thurneysen translates "weakness is sister to death." Line 14 seems to mean "see each wonder wrought by the cold"; Emer calls Cuchulain's attention to the icicles which she thinks he is in danger of resembling. PAGE 69 For the literal translation of Liban's invitation see Thurneysen, p. 93. Line 14 should run: "Colour of eyes his skin in the fight;" the allusion is, apparently, to a bloodshot eye. PAGE 71 Line 4. The Plain of Speech (Mag Luada) and the Tree of Triumphs (Bile Buada) are apparently part of the Irish mythology; they appear again in Laeg's second description of Fairyland, which is an additional reason for keeping this poem where it is in the second version, and not following Thurneysen in transferring it to the first. Mag Luada is sometimes translated as "moving plain," apparently deriving the word from luath, "swift." Laeg's two descriptions of the Fairyland are (if we except the voyage of Bran) the two most definite descriptions of that country in Irish literature. There is very little extravagance in these descriptions; the marvellously fruitful trees, the ever-flowing vat of mead, and the silver-branched tree may be noted. Perhaps the trees of "purple glass" may be added, but for these, see note on line 30. The verse translation has been made to follow the original as closely as possible; for a literal translation Thurneysen's versions (pp. 94 and 88) may be referred to, but some alterations may be made. The first description seems to begin thus: I went with noble sportiveness to a land wonderful, yet well-known; until I came to a cairn for twenty of troops where I found Labraid the Long-haired. There I found him on that hill sitting among a thousand weapons, yellow hair on him with beautiful colour, an apple of gold for the confining of it. And it ends thus: Alas I that he went not long ago, and each cure (should come) at his searching, that he might see how it is the great palace that I saw. Though all Erin were mine and the kingship of yellow Bregia, I would resign it; no slight trial; for knowledge of the place to which I came. The following points should also be noted: Line 30 of this first description is tri bile do chorcor glain. This undoubtedly means "three trees of purple glass"; but do chorcor glan would mean "of bright purple"; and this last rendering, which is quite a common expression (see Etain, p. 12), has been adopted in the verse translation. The order of the words in the expression in the text is unusual, and the adoption of them would give an air of artificiality to the description which is otherwise quite absent from it. Lines 37 and 38 run thus: There are there thrice twenty trees, their tops meet, and meet not. Lines 43, 44, rendering: "Each with splendid gold fastening well hooked through its eye," are literally "and a brooch of gold with its splendour in the 'ear' of each cloak." The ears of a cloak, usually described as made of the peculiar white bronze, occur elsewhere in the tales, and there are different speculations as to their use and meaning. The most probable explanation is that they were bronze rings shaped like ears, and sewn into the cloak; a brooch to fasten the cloak being passed through the rings. This explanation has been suggested by Professor Ridgeway, and seems to fit admirably the passages in which these "ears" occur. Compare Fraech, line 33, in the second volume; also the "Courtship of Ferb" (Nutt), p. 6. There are also a few corrections necessary to Thurneysen's translation of the second description. Lines 13 to 20 should run thus: A beautiful band of women;--victory without fetters;-- are the daughters of Aed Abra; the beauty of Fand is a rushing sound with splendour, exceeding the beauty of a queen or king. (The last line is more literally, "not excepting a queen or, &c.") I will say, since it hath been heard by me, that the seed of Adam was sinless; but the beauty of Fand up to my time hath not found its equal. For the allusion to Adams sin, compare Etain, p. 26. Allusions like these show that the tales were composed in Christian times. There seems no reason to suppose them to be insertions, especially in cases like this one, where they come in quite naturally. Line 21 is literally "with their arms for slaying"; not "who warred on each other with weapons" as in Thurneysen. PAGE 76 For the cooling of Cuchulain's battle-frenzy with water compare the similar treatment in the account of his first foray (L.U., 63a; Miss Faraday's translation, p. 34). For a literal translation of Faud's triumph song over Cuchulain's return see Thurneysen's translation on page 97 Of the work already referred to. Thurneysen's translation is very close; perhaps the last verse should run: "Long rain of red blood at the side of the trees, a token of this proud and masterful, high with wailing is the sorrow for his fiend-like frenzy." The description of Cuchulain's appearance in verses 5 and 6 seems to point to a conception of him as the sun-god. Compare the "sunlike" seat of his chariot on page 79. PAGE 78 The literal translation of Liban's rhetoric in welcome to Cuchulain seems to be, "Hail to Cuchulain! King who brings help, great prince of Murthemne! great his mind; pomp of heroes; battle-triumphing; heart of a hero; strong rock of skill; blood-redness of wrath; ready for true foes of the hero who has the valour of Ulster (?); bright his splendour; splendour of the eyes of maidens; Hail to Cuchulain!" Torc in the second line is glossed in the MS. by "that is, a king." Cuchulain's account of his own battle is omitted by Thurneysen, possibly because the account that he gives differs from that in the text, as is pointed out by Windisch, Ir. Text., vol. i. p. 201). But it is quite in keeping with the hero's character that he should try to lessen his own glory; and the omission of this account destroys one of the features of the tale. The literal rendering is: I threw a cast with my light spear into the host of Eogan the Stream; not at all do I know, though renowned the price, the victory that I have done, or the deed. Whether he was better or inferior to my strength hitherto I chanced not on for my decision, a throw, ignorance of the man in the mist, certainly he came not away a living man. A white army, very red for multitudes of horses, they followed after me on every side (?), people of Manannan Mac Lir, Eogan the Stream called them. I set out in each manner when my full strength had come to me; one man to their thirty, hundreds, until I brought them to death. I heard the groan of Echaid Juil, lips speak in friendship, if it is really true, certainly it was not a fight (?), that cast, if it was thrown. The idea of a battle with the waves of the sea underlies the third verse of this description. PAGE 79 Five pieces of rhetoric follow, all of which are translated by Thurneysen. A few alterations may be made, but all of them would be small ones. The verse translations given are, it is believed, a little closer to the text than Thurneysen's. The metres of the first three pieces are discussed by Professor Rhys in Y Cymmrodor for 1905 (pages 166, 167). Professor Rhys reduces the second of these to a hexameter followed by three pentameters, then a hexameter followed by a pentameter. The other two reduce to hexameters mixed with curtailed hexameters and pentameters. The last two pieces of the five, not mentioned by Professor Rhys, show a strophic correspondence, which has been brought out in the verse translation; note especially their openings, and the last line of Emer's speech, cia no triallta, as balancing the last line but four of Cuchulain's speech, cia no comgellta. The last of these five pieces shows the greatest differences between the verse and literal translations. A literal translation of this would run: "Wherefore now, O Emer!" said Cuchulain, "should I not be permitted to delay with this lady? for first this lady here is bright, pure, and clear, a worthy mate for a king; of many forms of beauty is the lady, she can pass over waves of mighty seas, is of a goodly shape and countenance and of a noble race, with embroidery and skill, and with handiwork, with understanding, and sense, and firmness; with plenty of horses and many cattle, so that there is nothing under heaven, no wish for a dear spouse that she doth not. And though it hath been promised (?), Emer," he said, "thou never shalt find a hero so beautiful, so scarred with wounds, so battle-triumphing, (so worthy) as I myself am worthy." PAGE 81 Line 11. "Fair seems all that's red, &c.," is literally "fair is each red, white is each new, beautiful each lofty, sour is each known, revered is each thing absent, failure is each thing accustomed." For a translation of the poem in which Fand resigns Cuchulain reference may be made to Thurneysen (p. 101). A more accurate translation of the first verse seems to run thus: I am she who will go on a journey which is best for me on account of strong compulsion; though there is to another abundance of her fame, (and) it were dearer to me to remain. Line 16 of poem, translated by Thurneysen "I was true and held my word," is in the original daig is misi rop iran. Iran is a doubtful word, if we take it as a form of aur-an, aur being the intensitive prefix, a better translation may be, "I myself was greatly glowing." PAGE 82 Line 26. "The lady was seized by great bitterness of mind," Irish ro gab etere moir. The translation of etere is doubtful. PAGE 83 For the final poem, in which Fand returns to Manannan, reference may as before be made to Thurneysen's translation; but a few changes may be noted: Line 1 should be, "See the son of the hero people of the Sea." Line 5 seems to be, "Although" (lit. "if") "it is to-day that his cry is excellent." Line 7 is a difficult one. Thurneysen gives, "That indeed is the course of love," apparently reading rot, a road, in place of ret; but he leaves eraise untranslated; the Irish is is eraise in ret in t-serc. Might not eraise be "turning back," connected with eraim, and the line run: "It is turning back of the road of love"? Lines 13 to 16 are omitted by Thurneysen. They seem to mean: When the comely Manannan took me, he was to me a fitting spouse; nor did he at all gain me before that time, an additional stake (?) at a game at the chess. The last line, cluchi erail (lit. "excess") ar fidchill, is a difficult allusion. Perhaps the allusion is to the capture of Etain by Mider as prize at chess from her husband. Fand may be claiming superiority over a rival fairy beauty. Lines 17 and 18 repeat lines 13 and 14. Lines 46 and 47 are translated by Thurneysen, "Too hard have I been offended; Laeg, son of Riangabra, farewell," but there is no "farewell" in the Irish. The lines seem to be: "Indeed the offence was great, O Laeg, O thou son of Riangabra," and the words are an answer to Laeg, who may be supposed to try to stop her flight. PAGE 85 Line 24. "That she might forget her jealousy," lit. "a drink of forgetfulness of her jealousy," deoga dermait a heta. The translation seems to be an accepted one, and certainly gives sense, but it is doubtful whether or not eta can be regarded as a genitive of et, "jealousy "; the genitive elsewhere is eoit. There is a conclusion to this romance which is plainly added by the compiler: it is reproduced here, to show the difference between its style and the style of the original author: "This then was a token given to Cuchulain that he should be destroyed by the People of the Mound, for the power of the demons was great before the advent of the Faith; so great was that power that the demons warred against men in bodily form, and they showed delights and secret things to them; and that those demons were co-eternal was believed by them. So that from the signs that they showed, men called them the Ignorant Folk of the Mounds, the People of the Sid." THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH PAGE 91 The four pieces of rhetoric, at the beginning of this text are translated by Thurneysen, Sagen aus dem alten Irland, pp. 11 and 12. In the first, third, and fourth of those, the only difference of any importance between the text adopted and Thurneysen's versions is the third line of the third piece, which perhaps should run: "With stately eyes with blue pupils," segdaib suilib sellglassaib, taking the text of the Yellow Book of Lecan. The second piece appears to run as follows: Let Cathbad hear, the fair one, with face that all love, the prince, the royal diadem, let he who is extolled be increased by druid arts of the Druid: because I have no words of wisdom to oppose (?) to Feidlimid, the light of knowledge; for the nature of woman knows not what is under her body, (or) what in the hollow of my womb cries out. These rhetorics are remarkable for the great number of the alliterations in the original. PAGE 93 Thurneysen omits a verse of Cathbad's poem. A translation of the whole seems to run thus: Deirdre, great cause of destruction, though thou art fair of face, famous, pale, Ulster shall sorrow in thy time, thou hidden (?) daughter of Feidlimid. Windisch's Dict. gives "modest daughter" in the last line; the original is ingen fial. But the word might be more closely connected with fial, "a veil." "Modest" is not exactly the epithet that one would naturally apply to the Deirdre of the Leinster version, and the epithet of "veiled" or "hidden" would suit her much better, the reference being to her long concealment by Conor. There shall be mischief yet afterwards on thy account, O brightly shining woman, hear thou this! at that time shall be the exile of the three lofty sons of Usnach. It is in thy time that a violent deed shall be done thereupon in Emain, yet afterwards shall it repent the violation of the safeguard of the mighty son of Rog. Do foesam is read in the last verse, combining the Leinster and the Egerton texts. It is through thee, O woman with excellence, (is) the exile of Fergus from the Ulstermen, and a deed from which weeping will come, the wound of Fiachna, the son of Conor. Fiachna. is grandson to Conor in the Book of Leinster account of the battle. Fiacha is Conor's son in the Glenn Masain version. It is thy fault, O woman with excellence, the wound of Gerrc son of Illadan, and a deed of no smaller importance, the slaying of Eogan mac Durthacht. There is no account of the slaying of Eogan in the Book of Leinster version; and Eogan appears on the Hill of Slane in the Ulster army in the War of Cualgne. The sequel to the Glenn Masain version, however, describes Eogan's death at the hand of Fergus (Celtic Review, Jan. 1905, p. 227). Thou shalt do a deed that is wild and hateful for wrath against the king of noble Ulster; thy little grave shall be in that place, thy tale shall be renowned, O Deirdre. PAGE 95 Line 13. "Release me, O my wife!" eirgg uaim a ben. It is suggested that the vocative ben is "wife," not "woman." It occurs in seven other places besides this in Windisch's Dictionary, and in six of these it means wife (Emer is addressed as wife of Cuchulain in a deig-ben, in "Sick-bed," 44). In the remaining case ("Fled Bricrend," 31) the word is abbreviated, and stands b in the text, which might be for be, "O lady," though we should have then expected the accent. I suggest that Naisi, by giving to Deirdre the name of "wife," accepts her offer, for no other sign of acceptance is indicated, and the subsequent action shows that she is regarded as his wife afterwards. Line 30. "Near to Ballyshannon," and "which men to-day call the Mountain of Howth," are inserted as the modern names of the places. The words correspond to nothing in the Irish. PAGE 97 Line 13. "Fiacha." Fiacha, the son of Fergus, corresponds to Illan in the better known version. There is no one in this version who corresponds to the traitor son, Buinne. PAGE 98 The "Lament of Deirdre," one of the finest of the older Irish poems, has been rendered by Thurneysen and by others, among which should be specially mentioned Miss Hull, in the Cuchullin Saga, pp. 50-51. O'Curry's and O'Flanagan's versions seem to be very far from correct, and it will be more convenient to give that literal translation which seems nearest to the original, instead of indicating divergencies. The literal translation adopted runs as follows: Though fair to you seems the keen band of heroes who march into Emain that they lately left (lit "after departing"), more stately was the return to their home of the three heroic sons of Usnach. Naisi, with mead of delicious hazel-nuts (came), to be bathed by me at the fire, Ardan, with an ox or boar of excellence, Aindle, a faggot on his stately back. Though sweet be the excellent mead to you which is drunk by the son of Ness, the rich in strife, there has been known to me, ere now, leaping over a bank, frequent sustenance which was sweeter. Line 3 of the above stanza seems to be baithium riam reim for bra, taking reim from the Egerton text. The allusion is to a cascade. When the noble Naisi spread out a cooking-hearth on hero-board of tree, sweeter than any food dressed under honey[FN#69] was what was captured by the son of Usnach. [FN#69] For "food dressed under honey" compare Fraech, line 544, in the second volume. Though melodious to you each month (are the) pipers and horn-blowers, it is my open statement to you to-day I have heard melody sweeter far than these. For Conor, the king, is melody pipers and blowers of horns, more melodious to me, renowned, enchanting the voice given out by the sons of Usnach. Like the sound of the wave the voice of Naisi, it was a melodious sound, one to hearken to for ever, Ardan was a good barytone, the tenor of Aindle rang through the dwelling-place. Naisi is laid in his tomb, sad was the protection that he got; the nation by which he was reared poured out the cup of poison by which he died. Dear is Berthan, beautiful its lands, stately the men, though hilly the land, it is sorrowful that to-day I rise not to await the sons of Usnach. Dear the mind, firm, upright, dear the youth, lofty, modest, after going with him through the dark wood dear the girding (?) at early morning. Dear his gray eye, which women loved, it was evil-looking against enemies, after circuit of the wood (was) a noble assembly, dear the tenor through the dark wood. I sleep not therefor, and I stain not my nails with red, joy comes not to my wakefulness, for the sons of Usnach return not. The last line is the Egerton reading. I sleep not for half the night on my bed, my mind wanders amidst clouds of thoughts, I eat not, nor smile. There is no leisure or joy for me in the assemblies of eastern Emain; there is no peace, nor pleasure, nor repose in beholding fine houses or splendid ornaments. What, O Conor, of thee? for me only sorrow under lamentation hast thou prepared, such will be my life so long as it remains to me, thy love for me will not last. The man who under heaven was fairest to me, the man who was so dear thou hast torn from me; great was the crime; so that I shall not see him until I die. His absence is the cause of grief to me, the shape of the son of Usnach shows itself to me, a dark hill is above his white body which was desired before many things by me. His ruddy cheeks, more beautiful than meadows (?), red lips, eyebrows of the colour of the chafer, his teeth shining like pearls, like noble colour of snow. Well have I known his splendid garb among the warrior men of Alba; mantle of crimson, meet for an assembly, with a border of red gold. His tunic of satin of costly price, on it a hundred pearls could be counted, goodly the number (lit. "a smooth number" ? a round number), for its embroidery had been used, it was bright, fifty ounces of findruine (i.e. white bronze). A gold-hilted sword in his hand, two green spears with terrible points (?), a shield with border of yellow gold, and a boss of silver upon it. Fair Fergus brought injury upon us when inducing us to cross the sea; he has sold his honour for ale, the glory of his high deeds is departed. If there were upon this plain the warriors of Ulster in the presence of Conor, all of them would I give up without a struggle for the companionship of Naisi, the son of Usnach. Break not to-day my heart (O Conor!), soon shall I reach my early grave, stronger than the sea is my grief, dost thou not know it, O Conor? PAGE 103 For the literal translations of the poems in the Glenn Masain version see Whitley Stokes in Irische Texte, ii. 2, 172 sqq. Stanzas 13 to 16 are not in LVI. (the manuscript which is the second authority used by Stokes for this version, and is the chief authority for this part of the version). They are in the manuscript that Stokes calls II. (the version used by O'Flanagan), which, like LVI., agrees pretty closely with the Glenn Masain text so far as the latter manuscript extends. Stanza 22 is also from O'Flanagan's manuscript. This verse is not translated by Stokes, but it seems worth inserting. The literal translation of it is: I am Deirdre without joy, it is for me the end of my life; since to remain behind them is the worst thing, not long life to myself. PAGE 107 Line 21. Two passages, one describing Fergus' sons born in Connaught, the other summing up his deeds, are omitted, as it is not intended to reproduce this version in full. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD The well-known translation by O'Curry of this part of the Book of Leinster version of the "Tain bo Cuailgne" is given in the third volume of his "Manners and Customs," pp. 414-463. There are, as has often been pointed out, many inaccuracies in the translation, and the present version does not claim to correct all or even the greater part of them; for the complete version of the Great Tain by Windisch which has so long eagerly been expected should give us a trustworthy text, and the present translation is in the main founded on O'Curry; to whose version reference may be made for literal translations for such parts of the verse passages as are not noted below. A few more obvious corrections have been made; most of those in the prose will appear by comparing the rendering with O'Curry's; some of the corrections in the literal versions adopted for the poems are briefly indicated. Two poems have been literally translated in full: in these the renderings which have no authority other than O'Curry's are followed by a query, in order to give an indication of the extent to which the translation as given may for the present be regarded as uncertain. For all the more valuable of the corrections made to O'Curry's translation I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. E. J. Quiggin, Fellow of Caius College, Cambridge. PAGE 118 Line 7 Of the first stanza. O'Curry gives this as "Thou hast come out of every strife," which seems to be an impossible rendering; "Take whatever is thy will" seems to be nearer the sense of the passage, and has been adopted. Lines 5 to 8 of the fourth stanza are very uncertain; and the translation given, which is in part based upon O'Curry, is very doubtful; a more trustworthy one has not, however, been arrived at. Line 4 of the fifth stanza in O'Curry's rendering means "Here is what thou wilt not earn," i.e. "We can pay more than a full reward for thy services." Lines 5 and 6 of the sixth stanza should be, "If my request be granted me I will advance, though I am not his match." Line 2 Of the eighth stanza, "Not thine a pleasant smile for a consort." Brachail in the next line is "guardian." Line 10 of the last stanza. Elgga is one of the names of Ireland. PAGE 121 Line 1. Maeth n-araig, "in an easy task," the force of which O'Curry seems to miss, translating it "as he thought." There are several changes to make in O'Curry's rendering of the dialogue between Fergus and Cuchulain. It should run thus: F. O Cuchulain, manifest is the bargain, I see that rising is timely for thee; here comes to thee in anger Ferdiad, son of Daman, of the ruddy face. C. I am here, it is no light task valiantly delaying the men of Erin; I have not yielded a foot in retreat to shun the combat of any one man. F. Fierce is the man in his excited (?) rage because of his blood-red sword: a horny skin is about Ferdiad of the troops, against it prevails not battle or combat. C. Be silent, urge not thy story, O Fergus of the powerful weapons! on any field, on any ground, there is no unequal fight for me. F. Fierce is the man, a war for twenties, it is not easy to vanquish him, the strength of a hundred in his body, valiant his deed (?), spears pierce him not, swords cut him not. C. Should we happen to meet at a ford (i.e. a field of battle), I and Ferdiad of well-known valour, the separation shall not be without history, fierce shall be our edge-combat. F. Better would it be to me than reward, O Cuchulain of the blood-stained sword, that it was thou who carried eastward the spoils (coscur, not corcur) of the proud Ferdiad. C. I give thee my word with boasting, though I am not good at bragging, that it is I who shall gain the victory over the son of Daman, the son of Dare. F. It is I who gathered the forces eastwards in revenge for my dishonour by the men of Ulster; with me they have come from their lands, their champions and their battle warriors. C. If Conor had not been in his sickness hard would have been his nearness to thee; Medb of Magh in Scail had not made an expedition of so loud boastings. F. A greater deed awaits thy hand, battle with Ferdiad son of Daman, hardened bloody weapons, friendly is my speech, do thou have with thee, O Cuchulain! PAGE 124 Line 7 of O'Curry's rendering of the first stanza should run: "So that he may take the point of a weapon through him." Stanza 2 of the poem should run thus: It would be better for thee to stay, thy threats will not be gentle, there will be some one who shall have sickness on that account, distressful will be thy departure to encounter the Rock of Ulster; and ill may this venture turn out; long will be the remembrance of it, woe shall be to him who goeth that journey. Line 4 of the next stanza, "I will not keep back to please you." PAGE 126 The literal rendering of the poem seems to be: I hear the creaking of a chariot with a beautiful silver yoke, the figure of a man with perfection (rises) from the wheels of the stout chariot; over Breg Row, over Braine they come (?), over the highway beside the lower part of the Burg of the Trees; it (the chariot?) is triumphant for its victories. It is a heroic (?) hound who drives it, it is a trusty charioteer who yokes it, it is a noble hawk who scourges his horses to the south: he is a stubborn hero, he is certain (to cause) heavy slaughter, it is well-known that not with indexterity (?) is the bringing of the battle to us. Woe for him who shall be upon the hillock waiting for the hound who is fitly framed (lit. in harmony"); I myself declared last year that there would come, though it be from somewhere, a hound the Hound of Emain Macha, the Hound with a form on which are hues of all colours, the Hound of a territory, the Hound of battle; I hear, we have heard. As a second rendering of the above in a metre a little closer to the original than that given in the text, the following may be suggested: Shrieks from war-car wake my hearing, Silver yokes are nigh appearing; High his perfect form is rearing, He those wheels who guides! Braina, Braeg Ross past it boundeth, Triumph song for conquests soundeth, Lo! the roadway's course it roundeth, Skirting wooded sides. Hero Hound the scourge hard plieth, Trusty servant yoke-strap tieth, Swift as noble hawk, he flieth, Southward urging steeds! Hardy chief is he, and story Soon must speak his conquests gory, Great for skilful war his glory; We shall know his deeds! Thou on hill, the fierce Hound scorning, Waitest; woe for thee is dawning; Fitly framed he comes, my warning Spoke him thus last year: "Emain's Hound towards us raceth, Guards his land, the fight he faceth, Every hue his body graceth:" Whom I heard, I hear. PAGE 127 In O'Curry's rendering of the dialogue between Ferdia and his servant, line 3 should be, "That it be not a deed of prophecy," not "a deferred deed"; and line 6, With his proud sport." Last stanza of the poem: It seems thou art not without rewards, so greatly hast thou praised him; why else hast thou extolled him ever since I left my house? they who now extol the man when he is in their sight come not to attack him, but are cowardly churls. PAGE 128 Line 34. "As a hawk darts up from the furrow." O'Curry gives "from the top of a cliff." The word in the Irish is claiss. PAGE 129 The metre of this poem, which is also the metre of all the preceeding poems except the second in this romance, but does not occur elsewhere in the collection, may be illustrated by quoting the original of the fifth verse, which runs as follows: Re funiud, re n-aidchi Madit eicen airrthe, Comrac dait re bairche, Ni ba ban in gleo: Ulaid acot gairmsiu, Ra n-gabartar aillsiu, Bud olc doib in taidbsiu Rachthair thairsiu is treo. Literal translation of the first two stanzas: What has brought thee here, O Hound, to fight with a strong champion? crimson-red shall flow thy blood over the breaths of thy steeds; woe is thy journey: it shall be a kindling of fuel against a house, need shalt thou have of healing if thou reach thy home (alive). I have come before warriors who gather round a mighty host-possessing prince, before battalions, before hundreds, to put thee under the water, in anger with thee, and to slay thee in a combat of hundreds of paths of battle, so that thine shall the injury as thou protectest thy head. Line 2 of the fifth stanza, "Good is thy need of height." Line 8 of the seventh stanza, "Without valour, without strength." PAGE 133 Line 3. Literally: "Whatever be the excellence of her beauty." A similar literal translation for page 138, line 10, of the dialogue; the same line occurs in verse 3 on page 148, but is not rendered in the verse translation. PAGE 134 Line 18. "O Cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned." O'Curry gives this as prose, but it is clearly verse in the original. PAGE 138 Lines 5, 6 of dialogue. "O Cuchulain! who art a breeder of wounds" (lit. "pregnant with wounds"); "O true warrior! O true" (?accent probably omitted) "champion!" Lines 7, 8. "There is need for some one" (i.e. himself) "to go to the sod where his final resting-place shall be." The Irish of line 7 is is eicen do neoch a thecht, which O'Curry translates "a man is constrained to come," and he is followed by Douglas Hyde, who renders the two lines: Fate constrains each one to stir, Moving towards his sepulchre. But do neoch cannot possibly mean "every man," it means "some man;" usually the person in question is obvious. Compare page 125 of this romance, line 3, which is literally: "There will be some one who shall have sickness on that account," biaid nech diamba galar, meaning, as here, Ferdia. The line is an explanation of Ferdia's appearance, and is not a moral reflection. Line 29. "O Cuchulain! with floods of deeds of valour," or "brimming over with deeds, &c." PAGE 141 Line 9. "Four jewels of carbuncle." This is the reading of H. 2, 17; T.C.D; which O'Curry quotes as an alternative to "forty" of the Book of Leinster. "Each one of them fit to adorn it" is by O'Curry translated "in each compartment." The Irish is a cach aen chumtach: apparently "for each one adornment." PAGE 144 Line 8 of poem. "Alas for the departing of my ghost." PAGE 146 Lines 1, 2. "Though he had struck off the half of my leg that is sound, though he had smitten off half my arm." PAGE 148 Line 5. "Since he whom Aife bore me," literally "Never until now have I met, since I slew Aife's only son, thy like in deeds of battle, never have I found it, O Ferdia." This is O'Curry's rendering; if it is correct, and it seems to be so substantially, the passage raises a difficulty. Aife's only son is, according to other records, Conlaoch, son of Cuchulain and Aife, killed by his father, who did not at the time know who Conlaoch was. This battle is usually represented as having taken place at the end of Cuchulain's life; but here it is represented as preceding the War of Cualgne, in which Cuchulain himself is represented to be a youth. The allusion certainly indicates an early date for the fight with Conlaoch, and if we are to lay stress on the age of Cuchulain at the time of the War, as recorded in the Book of Leinster, of whose version this incident is a part, the "Son of Aife" would not have been a son of Cuchulain at all in the mind of the writer of this verse. It is possible that there was an early legend of a fight with the son of Aife which was developed afterwards by making him the son of Cuchulain; the oldest version of this incident, that in the Yellow Book of Lecan, reconciles the difficulty by making Conlaoch only seven years old when he took up arms; this could hardly have been the original version. Line 23 of poem is literally: "It is like thrusting a spear into sand or against the sun." The metre of the poem "Ah that brooch of gold," and of that on page 144, commencing "Hound, of feats so fair," are unique in this collection, and so far as I know do not occur elsewhere. Both have been reproduced in the original metre, and the rather complicated rhyme-system has also been followed in that on page 148. The first verse of the Irish of this is Dursan, a eo oir a Fhirdiad na n-dam a belc bemnig buain ba buadach do lamh. The last syllable of the third line has no rhyme beyond the echo in the second syllable of the next line; oir, "gold," has no rhyme till the word is repeated in the third line of the third verse, rhymed in the second line of the fourth, and finally repeated at the end. The second verse has two final words echoed, brass and maeth; it runs thus Do barr bude brass ba cass, ba cain set; do chriss duillech maeth immut taeb gu t-ec. The rhymes in the last two verses are exactly those of the reproduction, they are cain sair, main, laim, chain, the other three end rhymes being oir, choir, and oir. Line 3 of this poem is "O hero of strong-striking blows." Line 4. "Triumphant was thine arm." PAGE 149 Lines 11 and 12 of the poem. "Go ye all to the swift battle that shall come to you from German the green-terrible" (? of the terrible green spear). PAGE 150 Line 12. The Torrian Sea is the Mediterranean. PAGE 151 Line 15. Literally: "Thou in death, I alive and nimble." Line 23. "Wars were gay, &c." Cluchi cach, gaine cach, "Each was a game, each was little," taking gaine as gainne, the known derivative of gand, "scanty." O'Curry gives the meaning as "sport," and has been followed by subsequent translators, but there does not seem any confirmation of this rendering. PAGE 153 Line 10. Banba is one of the names of Ireland. END OF VOL. I. VOL. II @@{Redactors Note: In the original book the 'Literal Translation' is printed on facing pages to the poetic translation. In this etext the literal translation portions have been collated after the poetic translation, for the sake of readability. Hence the page numbers are not sequential--JBH} PREFACE TO VOL. II It seems to have been customary in ancient Ireland to precede by shorter stories the recital of the Great Tain, the central story of the Irish Heroic Age. A list of fourteen of these "lesser Tains," three of which are lost, is given in Miss Hull's "Cuchullin Saga"; those preserved are the Tain bo Aingen, Dartada, Flidais, Fraich, Munad, Regamon, Regamna, Ros, Ruanadh, Sailin, and Ere. Of these, five only have been edited, viz. the Tain bo Dartada, Flidais, Fraich, Regamon, and Regamna; all these five are given in this volume. The last four tales are all short, and perhaps are more truly "preludes" (remscela) than the Tain bo Fraich, which has indeed enough of interest in itself to make it an independent tale, and is as long as the four put together. All the five tales have been rendered into verse, with a prose literal translation opposite to the verse rendering, for reasons already given in the preface to the first volume. A short introduction, describing the manuscript authority, is prefixed to each; they all seem to go back in date to the best literary period, but appear to have been at any rate put into their present form later than the Great Tain, in order to lead up to it. A possible exception to this may be found at the end of the Tain bo Flidais, which seems to give a different account of the end of the war of Cualgne, and to claim that Cuchulain was defeated, and that Connaught gained his land for its allies. It may be mentioned that the last four tales are expressly stated in the text to be "remscela" to the Great Tain. INTRODUCTION IN VERSE When to an Irish court of old Came men, who flocked from near and far To hear the ancient tale that told Cuchulain's deeds in Cualgne's War; Oft, ere that famous tale began, Before their chiefest bard they hail, Amid the throng some lesser man Arose, to tell a lighter tale; He'd fell how Maev and Ailill planned Their mighty hosts might best be fed, When they towards the Cualgne land All Irelands swarming armies led; How Maev the youthful princes sent To harry warlike Regamon, How they, who trembling, from her went, His daughters and his cattle won; How Ailill's guile gained Darla's cows, How vengeful fairies marked that deed; How Fergus won his royal spouse Whose kine all Ireland's hosts could feed; How, in a form grotesque and weird, Cuchulain found a Power Divine; Or how in shapes of beasts appeared The Magic Men, who kept the Swine; Or how the rowan's guardian snake Was roused by order of the king; Or how, from out the water, Fraech To Finnabar restored her ring. And though, in greater tales, they chose Speech mired with song, men's hearts to sway, Such themes as these they told in prose, Like speakers at the "Feis" to-day. To men who spake the Irish tongue That form of Prose was pleasing well, While other lands in ballads sung Such tales as these have loved to tell: So we, who now in English dress These Irish tales would fain And seek their spirit to express, Have set them down in ballad verse; And, though to Celts the form be strange, Seek not too much the change to blame; 'Tis but the form alone we change; The sense, the spirit rest the same. CONTENTS THE PRELUDES TO THE RAID OF CUALGNE TAIN BO FRAICH - Page 1 THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE - Page 69 THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON - Page 83 THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS - Page 101 THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN - Page 127 APPENDIX IRISH TEXT AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OF PART OF THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN - Page 143 TAIN BO FRAICH INTRODUCTION The Tain bo Fraich, the Driving of the Cattle of Fraech, has apparently only one version; the different manuscripts which contain it differing in very small points; most of which seem to be due to scribal errors. Practically the tale consists of two quite separate parts. The first, the longer portion, gives the adventures of Fraech at the court of Ailill and Maev of Connaught, his courtship of their daughter, Finnabar, and closes with a promised betrothal. The second part is an account of an expedition undertaken by Fraech to the Alps "in the north of the land of the Long Beards," to recover stolen cattle, as well as his wife," who is stated by O'Beirne Crowe, on the authority of the "Courtship of Trebland" in the Book of Fermoy, to have been Trebland, a semi-deity, like Fraech himself. Except that Fraech is the chief actor in both parts, and that there is one short reference at the end of the second part to the fact that Fraech did, as he had promised in the first part, join Ailill and Maev upon the War of Cualnge, there is no connection between the two stories. But the difference between the two parts is not only in the subject-matter; the difference in the style is even yet more apparent. The first part has, I think, the most complicated plot of any Irish romance, it abounds in brilliant descriptions, and, although the original is in prose, it is, in feeling, highly poetic. The second part resembles in its simplicity and rapid action the other "fore tales" or preludes to the War of Cualnge contained in this volume, and is of a style represented in English by the narrative ballad. In spite of the various characters of the two parts, the story seems to have been regarded as one in all the manuscripts which contain it; and the question how these two romances came to be regarded as one story becomes interesting. The natural hypothesis would be that the last part was the original version, which was in its earlier part re-written by a man of genius, possibly drawing his plot from some brief statement that Finnabar was promised to Fraech in return for the help that he and his recovered cattle could give in the Great War; but a difficulty, which prevents us from regarding the second part as an original legend, at once comes in. The second part of the story happens to contain so many references to nations outside Ireland that its date can be pretty well fixed. Fraech and his companions go, over the sea from Ulster, i.e. to Scotland; then through "north Saxon-land" to the sea of Icht (i.e. the sea of Wight or the English Channel); then to the Alps in the north of the land of the Long-Beards, or Lombards. The Long-Beards do not appear in Italy until the end of the sixth century; the suggestion of North Saxon-Land reaching down to the sea of Wight suggests that there was then a South Saxon-Land, familiar to an Irish writer, dating this part of the story as before the end of the eighth century, when both Saxons and Long-Beards were overcome by Charlemagne. The second part of the story is, then, no original legend, but belongs to the seventh or eighth century, or the classical period; and it looks as if there were two writers, one of whom, like the author of the Egerton version of Etain, embellished the love-story part of the original legend, leaving the end alone, while another author wrote an account of the legendary journey of the demi-god Fraech in search for his stolen cattle, adding the geographical and historical knowledge of his time. The whole was then put together, like the two parts of the Etain story; the difference between the two stories in the matter of the wife does not seem to have troubled the compilers. The oldest manuscript authority for the Tain bo Fraich is the Book of Leinster, written before 1150. There are at least two other manuscript authorities, one; in Egerton, 1782 (published by Professor Kuno Meyer in the Zeitschrift für Celt. Philologie, 1902); the other is in MS. XL., Advocates' Library, Edinburgh (published in the Revue Celtique, Vol. XXIV.). Professor Meyer has kindly allowed me to copy his comparison of these manuscripts and his revision of O'Beirne Crowe's translation of the Book of Leinster text. The text of the literal translation given here follows, however, in the main O'Beirne Crowe's translation, which is in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy for 1870; a few insertions are made from the other MSS.; when so made the insertion is indicated by a note. For those who may be interested in the subsequent history of Fraech, it may be mentioned that he was one of the first of the Connaught champions to be slain by Cuchulain in the war of Cualnge; see Miss Faraday's translation (Grimm Library, page 35). PERSONS IN THE STORY MORTALS Ailill, King of Connaught. Medb (or Maev), Queen of Connaught. Findbar (or Finnabar), their daughter. Froech (or Fraech), (pronounced Fraych); son of a Connaught man and a fairy mother. Conall Cernach (Conall the Victorious), champion of Ulster. Two Irish women, in captivity in the Alps, north of Lombardy. Lothar (or Lothur), a follower of Fraech. Bicne, a follower of Conall. IMMORTALS Befind, Fraech's fairy mother. Boand (pronounced like "owned"), sister to Befind; Queen of the Fairies. Three fairy harpers. TAIN BO FRAICH THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF FRAECH Now the news of the love of that maid to Fraech, at his home where he dwelt, was brought, And he called his folk, and with all he spoke, and for speech with the maid he sought: And they counselled him thus: "Let a message from thee be sent to thy fairy kin To entreat their aid when we seek that maid; a boon we may chance to win: For the wondrous robes of the fairy land, and for gifts from the fairies plead; And sure thy mother's sister's hand will give to thee all thy need." To Mag Breg,[FN#1] where his mother's sister dwelt, to Boand he away hath gone, And she gave to him mantles of dark black-blue, like a beetle's back they shone: Four dark-grey rings in each cloak she gave were sewn, and a brooch shone, bright With the good red gold in each mantle's fold; she gave tunics pale and white, And the tunics were bordered with golden loops, that forms as of beasts displayed; And a fifty she added of well-rimmed shields, that of silver white were made. [FN#1] Pronounced Maw Brayg. Then away they rode, in each hero's hand was a torch for a kingly hall, For studs of bronze, and of well-burned gold, shone bright on the spears of all; On carbuncle sockets the spears were set, their points with jewels blazed; And they lit the night, as with fair sunlight, as men on their glory gazed. By each of the fifty heroes' side was a sword with a hilt of gold; And a soft-grey mare was for each to ride, with a golden curb controlled; At each horse's throat was a silver plate, and in front of that plate was swung, With a tinkling sound to the horse's tread, a bell with a golden tongue. on each steed was a housing of purple hide, with threads of silver laced, And with spiral stitch of the silver threads the heads of beasts were traced, And each housing was buckled with silver and gold: of findruine[FN#2] was made the whip For each rider to hold, with a crook of gold where it came to the horse man's grip. [FN#2] Pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. By their sides, seven chase-hounds were springing At leashes of silver they strained, And each couple a gold apple, swinging On the fetter that linked them, sustained: And their feet with bronze sheaths had been guarded, As if greaves for defence they had worn, Every hue man hath seen, or hath fancied, By those chase-hounds in brilliance was borne. Seven trumpeters strode on the road before, with colour their cloaks were bright, And their coats, that shone with the gauds they wore, flashed back as they met the light; On trumpets of silver and gold they blew, and sweet was the trumpets' sound, And their hair, soft and yellow, like fairy threads, shone golden their shoulders round. Three jesters marched in the van, their-crowns were of silver, by gilt concealed, And emblems they. carried of quaint device, engraved on each jester's shield; They had staves which with crests were adorned, and ribs down their edges in red bronze ran; Three harp-players moved by the jesters' sides, and each was a kingly man. All these were the gifts that the fairy gave, and gaily they made their start, And to Croghan's[FN#3] hold, in that guise so brave, away did the host depart. [FN#3] Pronounced Crow-han. On the fort stands a watchman to view them, And thus news down to Croghan he calls: "From yon plain comes, in fulness of numbers, A great army to Croghan's high walls; And, since Ailill the throne first ascended, Since the day we hailed Maev as our Queen, Never army so fair nor so splendid Yet hath come, nor its like shall be seen." "'Tis strange," said he," as dipped in wine, So swims, so reels my head, As o'er me steals the breath divine Of perfume from them shed." "A fair youth," said he, "forth with them goeth, And the grace of such frolicsome play, And such lightness in leap as he showeth Have I seen not on earth till to-day: For his spear a full shot's length he flingeth, Yet the spear never reacheth to ground, For his silver-chained hounds follow after, In their jaws is the spear ever found!" The Connaught hosts without the fort To see that glory rushed: Sixteen within, of baser sort, Who gazed, to death were crushed. To the fort came the youths, from their steeds they leapt, for the steeds and the stabling cared, And they loosed the hounds that in leash they kept, for the hunt were the hounds prepared; Seven deer, seven foxes and hares, they chased to the dun on Croghan's plain, Seven boars they drave, on the lawn in haste the game by the youths was slain: With a bound they dashed into Bree, whose flood by the lawns of Croghan flows; Seven otters they caught in its stream, and brought to a hill where the gateway rose. 'Twas there that Fraech and the princes sat at the castle-gate to rest, And the steward of Croghan with Fraech would speak, for such was the king's behest: Of his birth it was asked, and the men he led all truth to the herald spake: "It is Idath's son who is here," they said, and they gave him the name of Fraech. To Ailill and Maev went the steward back of the stranger's name to tell; "Give him welcome," said they: "Of a noble race is that youth, and I know it well; Let him enter the court of our house," said the king, the gateway they opened wide; And the fourth of the palace they gave to Fraech, that there might his youths abide. Fair was the palace that there they found, Seven great chambers were ranged it round; Right to the walls of the house they spread, Facing the hall, where the fire glowed red: Red yew planks, that had felt the plane, Dappled the walls with their tangled grain: Rails of bronze at the side-walls stood, Plates of bronze had made firm the wood, Seven brass bolts to the roof-tree good Firmly the vaulting tied. All that house had of pine been made, Planks, as shingles, above were laid; Sixteen windows the light let pass, Each in a frame of the shining brass: High through the roof was the sky seen bright; Girder of brass made that opening tight, Under the gap it was stretched, and light Fell on its gleaming side. All those chambers in splendour excelling, The midmost of all in the ring, Rose a room, set apart as the dwelling Of Queen Maev, and of Ailill the king. Four brass columns the awning supported For their couch, there was bronze on the wall; And two rails, formed of silver, and gilded, In that chamber encircled it all: In the front, to mid-rafters attaining, Rose in silver a wand from the floor; And with rooms was that palace engirdled, For they stretched from the door to the door. 'Twas there they went to take repose, On high their arms were hung; And down they sank, and welcome rose, Acclaimed by every tongue. By the queen and the king they were welcome made, the strangers they turned to greet; And their courtesy graciously Fraech repaid: "'Twas thus we had hoped to meet." "Not for boasting to-day are ye come!" said Maev; the men for the chess she set: And a lord of the court in the chess-man sport by Fraech in a match was met. 'Twas a marvellous board of findruine fair was prepared, when they played that game, Four handles, and edges of gold it had, nor needed they candles' flame; For the jewels that blazed at the chess-board's side, a light, as from lamps, would yield; And of silver and gold were the soldiers made, who engaged on that mimic field. "Get ye food for the chiefs!" said the king; said Maev, "Not yet, 'tis my will to stay, To sit with the strangers, and here with Fraech in a match at the chess to play!" "Let thy game be played!" said Ailill then, "for it pleaseth me none the less:" And Queen Maev and Fraech at the chess-board sate, and they played at the game of chess. Now his men, as they played, the wild beasts late caught were cooking, they thought to feed; And said Ailill to Fraech, "Shall thy harpmen play?" "Let them play," said Fraech, "indeed:" Now those harpers were wondrous men, by their sides they had sacks of the otter's skin, And about their bodies the sacks were tied, and they carried their harps within, With stitches of silver and golden thread each case for a harp was sewed; And, beneath the embroidery gleaming red, the shimmer of rubies showed! The skin of a roe about them in the middle, it was as white as snow; black-grey eyes in their centre. Cloaks of linen as white as the tunic of a swan around these ties.[FN#4] Harps of gold and silver and bronze, with figures of serpents and birds, and hounds of gold and silver: as they moved those strings those figures used to run about the men all round. [FN#4] This is the Egerton version, which is clearly right here. The Book of Leinster gives: "These figures accordingly used to run," &c., leaving out all the first part of the sentence, which is required to make the meaning plain. They play for them then so that twelve of the people[FN#5] of Ailill and Medb die with weeping and sadness. [FN#5] The Book of Leinster omits "of Ailill and Medb." Gentle and melodious were the triad, and they were the Chants of Uaithne[FN#6] (Child-birth). The illustrious triad are three brothers, namely Gol-traiges (Sorrow-strain), and Gen-traiges (Joy-strain), and Suan-traiges (Sleep-strain). Boand from the fairies is the mother of the triad: [FN#6] Pronounced something like Yew-ny. At every one of the harpers' waists was girded the hide of a roe, And black-grey spots in its midst were placed, but the hide was as white as snow; And round each of the three of them waved a cloak, as white as the wild swan's wings: Gold, silver, and bronze were the harps they woke; and still, as they touched the strings, The serpents, the birds, and the hounds on the harps took life at the harps' sweet sound, And those figures of gold round the harpmen rose, and floated in music round. Then they played, sweet and sad was the playing, Twelve of Ailill's men died, as they heard; It was Boand[FN#7] who foretold them that slaying, And right well was accomplished her word. [FN#7] Pronounced with sound of "owned." 'Tis the three Chants of Child-Birth Give names to those Three; Of the Harp of the Dagda[FN#8] The children they be. [FN#8] The Dagda seems to have been the chief god of the old Celtic mythology. To those harpers a fairy Is mother, of yore To that Harp, men call Child-Birth, Queen Boand the three bore. They are three noble brothers, And well are they known; They are kindly and gentle, And tuneful of tone. One is Joy-Song, one Sorrow's, One, "Song that gives Sleep," And the Harp's strains, their father's, Remembered they keep. For when Boand was at bearing, Came Sorrow the first, From the Harp, its strings tearing With cry, Sorrow burst. Then there came to her pleasure For birth of a boy; And a sweet smiling measure The Harp played, 'twas Joy. And she swooned in her anguish, For hard the third birth: From the Harp, her pains soothing, Sleep's strain came on earth. Then from Boand passed her slumber, And, "Uaithne,"[FN#9] she cried, Thy three sons, thou sharp Child-Birth, I take to my side. [FN#9] Pronounced something like Yew-ny. Cows and women by Ailill And Maev shall be slain; For on these cometh Sorrow, And Joy, and Sleep's strain: Yea, and men, who these harpers, Thy children, shall hear, By their art to death stricken, Shall perish in fear." Then the strains died away in the palace, The last notes seemed to sink, and to cease: "It was stately," said Fergus, "that music." And on all came a silence, and peace. Said Fraech, "The food divide ye! Come, bring ye here the meat!" And down to earth sank Lothar, On floor he set his feet; He crouched, on haunches sitting, The joints with sword he split; On bones it fell unerring, No dainty part he hit! Though long with sword he hewed, and long Was meat by men supplied, His hand struck true; for never wrong Would Lothar meat divide. Three days at the chess had they played; three nights, as they sat at the game, had gone: And they knew not the night for the sparkling light from the jewels of Fraech that shone; But to Maev turned Fraech, and he joyously cried, "I have conquered thee well at the chess! Yet I claim not the stake at the chess-board's side, lest thy palace's wealth be less." "For no lengthier day have I sat in such play," said Maev, "since I here first came." "And well may the day have seemed long," said Fraech, "for three days and three nights was the game!" Then up started Maev, and in shame she blushed that the chiefs she had failed to feed; To her husband, King Ailill, in wrath she rushed: "We have both done a goodly deed! For none from our stores hath a banquet brought for the youths who are strangers here!" And said Ailill, "In truth for the play was thy thought, and to thee was the chess more dear." "We knew not that darkness had come," said Maev, "'tis not chess thou should'st thus condemn; Though the day had gone, yet the daylight shone from the heart of each sparkling gem; Though the game we played, all could meal have made, had men brought of the night advice, But the hours sped away, and the night and the day have approached and have fled from us thrice!" "Give command," said the king, "that those wailing chants, till we give them their food, be stilled." And food to the hands of each they gave, and all with the meat were filled; And all things merrily went, for long the men with a feast were fed, For, as feasting they sat, thrice rose the day, thrice night above earth was spread. They brought Fraech, when that banquet was ended, To the House of Debate, which was near, And they asked of his errand: "In friendship, For a visit," said Fraech, "am I here!" "And 'twas joy that we felt, when receiving This your host," said the king, "ye have brought Much of pleasure to all, and with grieving, When ye go, shall your presence be sought!" "Then," said Fraech, "for a week we abide here." For two weeks in that dun they abode: And the Connaught men pressed round to view them, As each eve home from hunting they rode. Yet Fraech was sad, with Findabar A word he sought in vain; Though he in truth from home so far Had come that word to gain. Fraech, as night was ending, Sprang from out his bed; Sought the brook, intending There to lave his head. There King Ailill's daughter Stood, and there her maid: They that hour from water Sought the cleansing aid. "Stay," he cried, and speaking Caught the maiden's hand; "Thee alone as seeking, I have reached this land: Here am I who sought thee, Stay, and hear me woo!" "Ah! thy speech hath brought me Joy," she said, "most true; Yet, thy side if nearing, What for thee can I?" "Maid!" he cried, "art fearing Hence with me to fly?" "Flight I hold disloyal," Answered she in scorn; "I from mother royal, I to king was born; What should stay our wedding? None so mean or poor Thou hast seemed, nor dreading Kin of mine; be sure: I will go! 'tis spoken, Thou beloved shalt be! Take this ring as token, Lent by Maev to me! 'Twas my mother who bid me to save it, For the ring she in secret would hide; 'Tis as pledge of our love that I gave it, As its pledge it with thee should abide. Till that ring we can freely be showing I will tell them I put it astray!" And, the love of each other thus knowing, Fraech and Finnabar went on their way. "I have fear," said the king, "that with Fraech yon maid to his home as his wife would fly; Yet her hand he may win, if he rides on the Raid with his kine when the time draws nigh." Then Fraech to the Hall of Debate returned, and he cried: "Through Some secret chink Hath a whisper passed?" and the king replied, "Thou would'st fit in that space, I think!" "Will ye give me your daughter?" said Fraech: said the king, "In sight of our hosts she goes; If, as gift to suffice for her marriage price, thy hand what I ask bestows." "I will give thee what price thou dost name," said Fraech, "and now let its sum be told!"' "Then a sixty steeds do I claim," said the king, "dark-grey, and with bits of gold; And twelve milch-cows, from their udders shall come the milk in a copious stream, And by each of the cows a white calf shall run; bright red on its ears shall gleam; And thou, with thy harpers and men, shalt ride by my side on the Cualgne[FN#10] Raid, And when all thy kine driven here shall stand, shall the price of her hand be paid!" [FN#10] Pronounced Kell-ny. Now I swear by the edge of my sword," said Fraech, "I swear by my arms and shield, I would give no such pledge, even Maev to take, were it her thou wert fain to yield!" And he went from the House of Debate, but Maev with Ailill bent low in plot: All around us our foes," said the king, "shall close, if Finnabar stays here not; Many kings of Erin, who seek that maid, shall hear of her borne away, And in wrath they will rush on our land; 'twere best that Fraech we devise to slay; Ere that ruin he bring, let us make our spring, and the ill yet unwrought arrest." "It were pity such deed should be done," said Maev, "and to slay in our house our guest! 'Twill bring shame on us ever." "No shame to our house," said King Ailill, "that death shall breed!" (And he spake the words twice)--"but now hear my advice, how I plan we should do this deed." All the plot had been planned; to their house at last King Ailill and Maev through the doorway passed; And the voice of the king uprose: "'Tis now that the hounds should their prey pursue, Come away to the hunt who the hounds would view; For noon shall that hunting close." So forth went they all, on the chase intent, And they followed till strength of the hounds was spent, And the hunters were warm; and to bathe they went Where the river of Croghan flows. And, "'Tis told me," said Ailill, "that Fraech hath won A great fame for the feats he in floods hath done: Wilt thou enter these streams by our side that run? We are longing to see thee swim!" And said Fraech: "Is it good then indeed thy stream? And said Ailill: "Of danger no need to dream, For many a youth from the Connaught Court In its current hath bathed, and hath swum it in sport, Nor of any who tried have we heard report That ill hath been found by him!" Then Fraech from his body his garments stripped, And he sprang down the bank, and he swiftly slipped In the stream: and the king's glance fell On a belt, left by Fraech on the bank; the king Bent low; in the purse saw his daughter's ring, And the shape of the ring could tell. "Come hither, O Maev," Ailill softly cried; And Queen Maev came up close to her husband's side "Dost thou know of that ring?" in the purse she spied The ring, and she knew it well. Then Ailill the ring from the purse withdrew, And away from the bank the fair gem he threw; And the ring, flashing bright, through the air far flew, To be lost in the flood's swift swell. And Fraech saw the gem as it brightly flashed, And a salmon rose high, at the light it dashed, And, as back in the stream with the ring he splashed, At the fish went Fraech with a spring: By its jole was the salmon secured, and thrown To a nook in the bank, that by few was known; And unnoticed he threw it, to none was it shown As it fell to the earth, with the ring. And now Fraech from the stream would be going: But, "Come not," said the king, "to us yet: Bring a branch from yon rowan-tree, showing Its fair berries, with water-drops wet." Then Fraech, swimming away through the water, Brake a branch from the dread rowan-tree, And a sigh came from Ailill's fair daughter; "Ah! how lovely he seemeth," said she. Fair she found him, swimming Through that pool so black Brightly gleamed the berries, Bound athwart his back. White and smooth his body, Bright his glorious hair; Eyes of perfect greyness, Face of men most fair: Soft his skin, no blemish, Fault, nor spot it flawed; Small his chin, and steady, Brave his brow, and broad. Straight he seemed, and stainless; Twixt his throat and chin Straying scarlet berries Touched with red his skin. Oft, that sight recalling, Findabar would cry: "Ne'er was half such beauty, Naught its third came nigh!" To the bank he swam, and to Ailill was thrown, with its berries, the tree's torn limb: "Ah! how heavy and fair have those clusters grown; bring us more," and he turned to swim; The mid-current was reached, but the dragon was roused that was guard to that rowan-tree; And it rose from the river, on Fraech it rushed: "Throw a sword from the bank!" cried he. And no man on the bank gave the sword: they were kept by their fear of the queen and the king; But her clothes from her Finnabar stripped, and she leapt in the river his sword to bring. And the king from above hurled his five-barbed spear; the full length of a shot it sped: At his daughter it flew, and its edge shore through two tresses that crowned her head: And Fraech in his hand caught the spear as it fell, and backward its point he turned. And again to the land was the spear launched well: 'twas a feat from the champions learned. Though the beast bit his side as that spear was cast, yet fiercely the dart was flung, Through the purple robe of the king it passed, through the tunic that next him clung! Then up sprang the youths of the court, their lord in danger they well might deem, But the strong hand of Fraech had closed firm on the sword, and Finnabar rose from the stream. Now with sword in his hand, at the monster's head hewed Fraech, on its side it sank, And he came from the river with blade stained red, and the monster he dragged to the bank. Twas then Bree's Dub-lind in the Connaught land the Dark Water of Fraech was named, From that fight was it called, but the queen and the king went back to their dun, ashamed! "It is noble, this deed we have done!" said Maev: "'Tis pitiful," Ailill cried: "For the hurt of the man I repent, but to her, our daughter, shall woe betide! On the morrow her lips shall be pale, and none shall be found to aver that her guilt, When the sword for his succour to Fraech she gave, was the cause why her life was spilt! Now see that a bath of fresh bacon broth be prepared that shall heal this prince, And bid them with adze and with axe the flesh of a heifer full small to mince: Let the meat be all thrown in the bath, and there for healing let Fraech be laid!" And all that he ordered was done with care; the queen his command obeyed. Then arose from Fraech's trumpets complaining, As his men travelled back to the dun; Their soft notes lamentation sustaining, And a many their deaths from them won; And he well knew its meaning; And, "Lift me, my folk," He cried, "surely that keening From Boand's women broke: My mother, the Fairy, is nigh." Then they raised him, and bore him Where wild rose the sound; To his kin they restored him; His women pressed round: And he passed from their sight out of Croghan; For that night from earth was he freed, And he dwelt with his kin, the Sid-Dwellers In the caverns of Croghan's deep Sid.[FN#11] [FN#11] Pronounced Sheed; Sid is the fairy mound. All at nine, next morrow, Gazed, for back he came, Round their darling pressing Many a fairy dame: Brave he seemed, for healing All his wounds had got; None could find a blemish, None a sear or spot. Fifty fairies round him, Like in age and grace; Like each form and bearing; Like each lovely face. All in fairy garments, All alike were dressed; None was found unequal; None surpassed the rest. And the men who stood round, as they neared them, Were struck with a marvellous awe; They were moved at the sight, and they feared them, And hardly their breath they could draw. At the Liss all the fairies departed, But on Fraech, as they vanished, they cried: And the sound floated in of their wailing, And it thrilled through the men, and they sighed. Then first that mournful measure, "The Ban-Shee[FN#12] Wail," was heard; All hearts with grief and pleasure That air, when harped, hath stirred. [FN#12] Spelt "Ban Side," the fairy women. To the dun came Fraech, and the hosts arose, and welcome by all was shown: For it seemed as if then was his birth among men, from a world to the earth unknown! Up rose for him Maev and King Ailill, their fault they confessed, and for grace they prayed, And a penance they did, and for all that assault they were pardoned, and peace was made. And now free from all dread, they the banquet spread, the banqueting straight began: But a thought came to Fraech, and from out of his folk he called to his side a man. "Now hie thee," he said, "to the river bank, a salmon thou there shalt find; For nigh to the spot where in stream I sank, it was hurled, and 'twas left behind; To Finnabar take it, and bid her from me that the salmon with skill she broil: In the midst of the fish is the ring: and none but herself at the task must toil; And to-night, as I think, for her ring they call ": then he turned to the feast again, And the wine was drunk, and the revellers sunk, for the fumes of it seized their brain, And music and much of delights they had; but the king had his plans laid deep, "Bring ye all of my jewels," he cried-on the board they were poured in a dazzling heap. "They are wonderful, wonderful!" cried they all: "Call Finnabar!" said the king; And his daughter obeyed, and her fifty maids stood round in a lovely ring. My daughter," said Ailill, "a ring last year I gave thee, is't here with thee yet? Bring it hither to show to the chiefs, and anon in thy hand shall the gem be set." "That jewel is lost," said the maid, "nor aught of the fate of the ring I know!" Then find it," said Ailill, "the ring must be brought, or thy soul from thy limbs must go!" "Now, nay!" said they all, "it were cruel That such fate for such fault should be found: Thou hast many a fair-flashing jewel In these heaps that lie scattered around!" And said Fraech: "Of my jewels here glowing Take thy fill, if the maid be but freed; 'Tis to her that my life I am owing, For she brought me the sword in my need." "There is none of thy gems that can aid her," Said Ailill, "nor aught thou canst give; There is one thing alone that shall save her; If the ring be restored, she shall live! Said Finnabar; "Thy treasure To yield no power is mine: Do thou thy cruel pleasure, For strength, I know, is thine." "By the god whom our Connaught land haileth, I swear," answered Ailill the king, "That the life on thy lips glowing faileth, If thou place in my hand not the ring!" And that hard," he laughed softly, "the winning Of that jewel shall be, know I well; They who died since the world had beginning Shall come back to the spot where they fell Ere that ring she can find, and can bear it To my hand from the spot where 'twas tossed, And as knowing this well, have I dared her To restore what for aye hath been lost!" "No ring for treasure thus despised," She said, "exchanged should be; Yet since the king its worth hath prized, I'll find the gem for thee!" Not thus shalt thou fly," said the king, "to thy maid let the quest of the ring be bid!" And his daughter obeyed, and to one whom she sent she told where the ring was hid: "But," Finnabar cried, "by my country's god I swear that from out this hour, Will I leave this land, and my father's hand shall no more on my life have power, And no feasting shall tempt me to stay, no draughts of wine my resolve shall shake!" "No reproach would I bring, if as spouse," said the king, "thou a groom from my stalls would'st take! But that ring must be found ere thou goest! "Then back came her maid, and a dish she bore: And there lay a salmon well broiled, as sauce with honey 'twas garnished o'er: By the daughter of Ailill herself with skill had the honey-sweet sauce been made. And high on the breast of the fish, the ring of gold that they sought was laid. King Ailill and Maev at the ring gazed hard; Fraech looked, in his purse he felt: Now it seemeth," he said, "'twas to prove my host that I left on the bank my belt, And Ailill now I challenge All truth, as king to tell; What deed his cunning fashioned, And what that ring befell." "There is naught to be hidden," said Ailill; "It was mine, in thy purse though it lay And my daughter I knew as its giver: So to river I hurled it away. Now Fraech in turn I challenge By life and honour's claim: Say how from yon dark water That ring to draw ye came." "There is naught to be hidden," he answered, "The first day that I came, on the earth, Near the court round thy house, was that jewel; And I saw all its beauty and worth: In my purse then I hid it; thy daughter, Who had lost it, with care for it sought; And the day that I went to that water Was the news of her search to me brought: And I asked what reward she would give me, If the gem in her hand should be placed; And she answered that I, if I found it, For a year by her love should be graced. But not then could the ring be delivered: For afar in my chamber it lay: Till she gave me the sword in the river, We met not again on that day. 'Twas then I saw thee open My purse, and take the ring: I watched, and towards the water That gem I saw thee fling: I saw the salmon leaping, The ring it caught, and sank: I came behind, and seized it; And brought the fish to bank. Then I wrapped it up close in my mantle; And 'twas hid from inquisitive eyes; And in Finnabar's hand have I placed it: And now there on the platter it lies!" Now all who this or that would know To ask, and praise began: Said Finnabar, "I'll never throw My thoughts on other man!" Now hear her word," her parents cried, "And plight to her thy troth, And when for Cualgne's[FN#13] kine we ride Do thou redeem thine oath. [FN#13] Pronounced Kell-ny. And when with kine from out the east Ye reach our western land; That night shall be thy marriage feast; And thine our daughter's hand." "Now that oath will I take," answered back to them Fraech, "and the task ye have asked will do!" So he tarried that night till the morning's light; and they feasted the whole night through; And then homewards bound, with his comrades round, rode Fraech when the night was spent, And to Ailill and Maev an adieu he gave, and away to their land they went. TAIN BO FRAICH Part I LITERAL TRANSLATION FRAECH, son of Idath of the men of Connaught, a son he to Befind from the Side: a sister she to Boand. He is the hero who is the most beautiful that was of the men of Eriu and of Alba, but he was not long-lived. His mother gave him twelve cows out of the Sid (the fairy mound), they are white-eared. He had a good housekeeping till the end of eight years without the taking of a wife. Fifty sons of kings, this was the number of his household, co-aged, co-similar to him all between form and instruction. Findabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, loves him for the great stories about him. It is declared to him at his house. Eriu and Alba were full of his renown and the stories about him. To Fraech[FN#14] was Idath[FN#15] father, A Connaught man was he: And well we know his mother Who dwells among the Shee;[FN#16] Befind they call her, sister To Boand,[FN#17] the Fairy Queen; And Alba ne'er, nor Erin, Such grace as Fraech's hath seen. Yet wondrous though that hero's grace, His fairy lineage high, For years but few his lovely face Was seen by human eye. [FN#14] Pronounced Fraych. [FN#15] Pronounced Eeda. [FN#16] The Fairies. [FN#17] Pronounced with the sound of "owned." Fraech had twelve of white-eared fairy-cattle, 'Twas his mother those cattle who gave: For eight years in his home he dwelt wifeless, And the state of his household was brave; Fifty princes, whose age, and whose rearing, And whose forms were as his, with him played; And his glory filled Alba and Erin Till it came to the ears of a maid: For Maev and Ailill's[FN#18] lovely child, Fair Findabar, 'twas said, By tales of Fraech to love beguiled, With Fraech in love would wed. [FN#18] Pronounced Al-ill. After this going to a dialogue with the maiden occurred to him; he discussed that matter with his people. "Let there be a message then sent to thy mother's sister, so that a portion of wondrous robing and of gifts from the Side (fairy folk) be given thee from her." He goes accordingly to the sister, that is to Boand, till he was in Mag Breg, and he carried away fifty dark-blue cloaks, and each of them was like the back of a black chafer,[FN#19] and four black-grey, rings on each cloak, and a brooch of red gold on each cloak, and pale white tunics with loop-animals of gold around them. And fifty silver shields with edges, and a candle of a king's-house in the hand of them (the men), and fifty studs of findruine[FN#20] on each of them (the lances), fifty knobs of thoroughly burned gold on each of them; points (i.e. butt-ends) of carbuncle under them beneath, and their point of precious stones. They used to light the night as if they were the sun's rays. [FN#19] The Book of Leinster gives "fifty blue cloaks, each like findruine of art." [FN#20] Pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. And there were fifty gold-hilted swords with them, and a soft-grey mare under the seat of each man, and bits of gold to them; a plate of silver with a little bell of gold around the neck of each horse. Fifty caparisons[FN#21] of purple with threads of silver out of them, with buckles of gold and silver and with head-animals (i.e. spiral ornaments). Fifty whips of findruine, with a golden hook on the end of each of them. And seven chase-hounds in chains of silver, and an apple of gold between each of them. Greaves of bronze about them, by no means was there any colour which was not on the hounds. [FN#21] The word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. It is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. See Irische Texts, iii. Seven trumpeters with them with golden and silver trumpets with many coloured garments, with golden fairy-yellow heads of hair, with shining tunics. There were three jesters before them with silver diadems under gilding. Shields with engraved emblems (or marks of distinction) with each of them; with crested staves, with ribs of bronze (copper-bronze) along their sides. Three harp-players with a king's appearance about each of them opposite to these.[FN#22] They depart for Cruachan with that appearance on them. [FN#22] The word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. It is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. See Irische Texts, iii. 2. p. 531. The watchman sees them from the dun when they had come into the plain of Cruachan. "A multitude I see," he says, "(come) towards the dun in their numbers. Since Ailill and Maev assumed sovereignty there came not to them before, and there shall not come to them, a multitude, which is more beautiful, or which is more splendid. It is the same with me that it were in a vat of wine my head should be, with the breeze that goes over them. "The manipulation and play that the young hero who is in it makes--I have not before seen its likeness. He shoots his pole a shot's discharge from him; before it reaches to earth the seven chase-hounds with their seven silver chains catch it." At this the hosts come from the dun of Cruachan to view them. The people in the dun smother one another, so that sixteen men die while viewing them. They alight in front of the dun. They tent their steeds, and they loose the chase-hounds. They (the hounds) chase the seven deer to Rath-Cruachan, and seven foxes, and seven hares, and seven wild boars, until the youths kill them in the lawn of the dun. After that the chase-hounds dart a leap into Brei; they catch seven otters. They brought them to the elevation in front of the chief rath. They (Fraech and his suite) sit down there. A message comes from the king for a parley with them. It is asked whence they came, they name themselves according to their true names, "Fraech, son of Idath this," say they. The steward tells it to the king and queen. "Welcome to them," say Ailill and Maev; "It is a noble youth who is there," says Ailill, "let him come into the Liss (outer court)." The fourth of the house is allotted to them. This was the array of the house, a seven fold order in it; seven apartments from fire to side-wall in the house all round. A rail (or front) of bronze to each apartment; a partitioning of red yew under variegated planing all. Three plates of bronze in the skirting of each apartment. Seven plates of brass from the ceiling (?) to the roof-tree in the house. Of pine the house was made; it is a covering of shingle it had externally. There were sixteen windows in the house, and a frame of brass, to each of them; a tie of brass across the roof-light. Four beams of brass on the apartment of Ailill and Medb, adorned all with bronze, and it in the exact centre of the house. Two rails of silver around it under gilding. In the front a wand of silver that reached the middle rafters of the house. The house was encircled all round from the door to the other.[FN#23] [FN#23] It should be noted that it is not certain whether the word "imdai," translated apartments, really means "apartments" or "benches." The weight of opinion seems at present to take it as above. They hang up their arms in that house, and they sit, and welcome is made to them. "Welcome to you," say Ailill and Medb. "It is that we have come for," says Fraech. "It shall not be a journey for boasting[FN#24] this," says Medb, and Ailill and Medb arrange the chess-board after that. Fraech then takes to the playing of chess with a man of their (?) people. [FN#24] This is the rendering in the Yellow Book of Lecan, considered by Meyer to be the true reading. The Book of Leinster text gives "aig-baig," a word of doubtful meaning. The Eg. MS. has also a doubtful word. It was a beauty of a chess-board. A board of findruine in it with four ears[FN#25] and edges of gold. A candle of precious stones at illuminating for them. Gold and silver the figures that were upon the table. "Prepare ye food for the warriors," said Ailill. "Not it is my desire," said Medb, but to go to the chess yonder against Fraech." "Get to it, I am pleased," said Ailill, and they play the chess then, and Fraech. [FN#25] The "ears" were apparently handles shaped like ears. The same word is used for the rings in the cloaks, line 33 above. His people were meanwhile at cooking the wild animals. "Let thy harpers play for us," says Ailill to Fraech. "Let them play indeed!" says Fraech. A harp-bag[FN#26] of the skins of otters about them with their adornment of ruby (or coral), beneath their adornment of gold and silver. [FN#26] Meyer translates this: "the concave part of the harp." It is from the music which Uaithne, the Dagda's harp, played that the three are named. The time the woman was at the bearing of children it had a cry of sorrow with the soreness of the pangs at first: it was smile and joy it played in the middle for the pleasure of bringing forth the two sons: it was a sleep of soothingness played the last son, on account of the heaviness of the birth, so that it is from him that the third of the music has been named. Boand awoke afterwards out of the sleep. "I accept," she says, "thy three sons O Uaithne of full ardour, since there is Suan-traide and Gen-traide, and Gol-traide on cows and women who shall fall by Medb and Ailill, men who shall perish by the hearing of art from them." They cease from playing after that in the palace: "It is stately it has come," says Fergus. "Divide ye to us," says Fraech to his people, "the food, bring ye it into the house." Lothur went on the floor of the house: he divides to them the food. On his haunches he used to divide each joint with his sword, and he used not to touch the food part: since he commenced dividing, he never hacked the meat beneath his hand. They were three days and three nights at the playing of the chess on account of the abundance of the precious stones in the household of Fraech. After that Fraech addressed Medb. "It is well I have played against thee (i.e. have beaten thee)," he says, "I take not away thy stake from the chess-board that there be not a decay of hospitality for thee in it." "Since I have been in this dun this is the day which I deem longest in it ever," says Medb. "This is reasonable," says Fraech, "they are three days and three nights in it." At this Medb starts up. It was a shame with her that the warriors were without food. She goes to Ailill: she tells it to him. "A great deed we have done," said she, "the stranger men who have come to us to be without food." "Dearer to thee is playing of the chess," says Ailill. "It hinders not the distribution to his suite throughout the house. They have been three days and three nights in it but that we perceived not the night with the white light of the precious stones in the house." "Tell them," says Ailill, "to cease from the lamenting until distribution is made to them." Distribution is then made to them, and things were pleasing to them, and they stayed three days and three nights in it after that over the feasting. It is after that Fraech was called into the house of conversation, and it is asked of him what brought him. "A visit with you," said he, "is pleasing to me." "Your company is indeed not displeasing with the household," said Ailill, "your addition is better than your diminution." "We shall stay here then," says Fraech, "another week." They stay after that till the end of a fortnight in the dun, and they have a hunt every single day towards the dun. The men of Connaught used to come to view them. It was a trouble with Fraech not to have a conversation with the daughter: for that was the profit that had brought him. A certain day he starts up at the end of night for washing to the stream. It is the time she had gone and her maid for washing. He takes her hand. "Stay for my conversing," he says; "it is thou I have come for." "I am delighted truly," says the daughter; "if I were to come, I could do nothing for thee." "Query, wouldst thou elope with me?" he says. "I will not elope," says she, "for I am the daughter of a king and a queen. There is nothing of thy poverty that you should not get me (i.e. thy poverty is not so great that thou art not able to get me) from my family; and it shall be my choice accordingly to go to thee, it is thou whom I have loved. And take thou with thee this ring," says the daughter, "and it shall be between us for a token. My mother gave it to me to put by, and I shall say that I put it astray." Each of them accordingly goes apart after that. "I fear," says Ailill, "the eloping of yon daughter with Fraech, though she would be given to him on solemn pledge that he would come towards us with his cattle for aid at the Spoil." Fraech goes to them to the house of conversation. "Is it a secret (cocur, translated "a whisper" by Crowe) ye have?" says Fraech. "Thou wouldest fit in it," says Ailill. "Will ye give me your daughter?" says Fraech. "The hosts will clearly see she shall be given," says Ailill, "if thou wouldest give a dowry as shall be named." "Thou shalt have it," says Fraech. "Sixty black-grey steeds to me, with their bits of gold to them, and twelve milch cows, so that there be milked liquor of milk from each of them, and an ear-red, white calf with each of them; and thou to come with me with all thy force and with thy musicians for bringing of the cows from Cualgne; and my daughter to be given thee provided thou dost come" (or as soon as[FN#27] thou shalt come). "I swear by my shield, and by my sword, and by my accoutrement, I would not give that in dowry even of Medb." He went from them out of the house then. Ailill and Medb hold a conversation. "It shall drive at us several of the kings of Erin around us if he should carry off the daughter. What is good is, let us dash after him, and let us slay him forthwith, before he may inflict destruction upon us." "It is a pity this," says Medb, "and it is a decay of hospitality for us." "It shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, it shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, the way I shall prepare it." [FN#27] This is Thurneysen's rendering ("Sagen aus dem alten Irland," p. 121). Ailill and Medb go into the palace. "Let us go away," says Ailill, that we may see the chase-hounds at hunting till the middle of the day, and until they are tired." They all go off afterwards to the river to bathe themselves. "It is declared to me," says Ailill, "that thou art good in water. Come into this flood, that we may see thy swimming." "What is the quality of this flood?" he says. "We know not anything dangerous in it," says Ailill, "and bathing in it is frequent." He strips his clothes off him then, and he goes into it, and he leaves his girdle above. Ailill then opens his purse behind him, and the ring was in it. Ailill recognises it then. "Come here, O Medb," says Ailill. Medb goes then. "Dost thou recognise that?" says Ailill. "I do recognise," she says. Ailill flings it into the river down. Fraech perceived that matter. He sees something, the salmon leaped to meet it, and caught it in his mouth. He (Fraech) gives a bound to it, and he catches its jole, and he goes to land, and he brings it to a lonely[FN#28] spot on the brink of the river. He proceeds to come out of the water then. "Do not come," says Ailill, "until thou shalt bring me a branch of the rowan-tree yonder, which is on the brink of the river: beautiful I deem its berries." He then goes away, and breaks a branch off the trees and brings it on his back over the water. The remark of Find-abair was: "Is it not beautiful he looks?" Exceedingly beautiful she thought it to see Fraech over a black pool: the body of great whiteness, and the hair of great loveliness, the face of great beauty, the eye of great greyness; and he a soft youth without fault, without blemish, with a below-narrow, above-broad face; and he straight, blemishless; the branch with the red berries between the throat and the white face. It is what Find-abair used to say, that by no means had she seen anything that could come up to him half or third for beauty. [FN#28]"Hidden spot" (Windisch After that he throws the branches to them out of the water. "The berries are stately and beautiful, bring us an addition of them." He goes off again until he was in the middle of the water. The serpent catches him out of the water. "Let a sword come to me from you," he says; and there was not on the land a man who would dare to give it to him through fear of Ailill and Medb. After that Find-abair strips off her clothes, and gives a leap into the water with the sword. Her father lets fly a five-pronged spear at her from above, a shot's throw, so that it passes through her two tresses, and that Fraech caught the spear in his hand. He shoots the spear into the land up, and the monster in his side. He lets it fly with a charge of the methods of playing of championship, so that it goes through the purple robe and through the tunic (? shirt) that was about Ailill. At this the youths who were about Ailill rise to him. Find-abair goes out of the water and leaves the sword in Fraech's hand, and he cuts the head off the monster, so that it was on its side, and he brought the monster with him to land. It is from it is Dub-lind Fraech in Brei, in the lands of the men of Connaught. Ailill and Medb go to their dun afterwards. "A great deed is what we have done," says Medb. "We repent," says Ailill, "of what we have done to the man; the daughter however," he says, "her lips shall perish [common metaphor for death] to-morrow at once, and it shall not be the guilt of bringing of the sword that shall be for her. Let a bath be made by you for this man, namely, broth of fresh bacon and the flesh of a heifer to be minced in it under adze and axe, and he to be brought into the bath." All that thing was done as he said. His trumpeters then before him to the dun. They play then until thirty of the special friends of Ailill die at the long-drawn (or plaintive) music. He goes then into the dun, and he goes into the bath. The female company rise around him at the vat for rubbing, and for washing his head. He was brought out of it then, and a bed was made. They heard something, the lament-cry on Cruachan. There were seen the three times fifty women with crimson tunics, with green head-dresses, with brooches of silver on their wrists. A messenger is sent to them to learn what they had bewailed. "Fraech, son of Idath," says the woman, "boy-pet of the king of the Side of Erin." At this Fraech heard their lament-cry. Thirty men whom King Ailill loved dearly By that music were smitten to die; And his men carried Fraech, and they laid him In that bath, for his healing to lie. Around the vat stood ladies, They bathed his limbs and head; From out the bath they raised him, And soft they made his bed. Then they heard a strange music; The wild Croghan "keen"; And of women thrice fifty On Croghan were seen. They had tunics of purple, With green were they crowned; On their wrists glistened silver, Where brooches were bound. And there neared them a herald To learn why they wailed; "'Tis for Fraech," was their answer, "By sickness assailed; 'Tis for Fraech, son of Idath,[FN#29] Boy-darling is he Of our lord, who in Erin Is king of the Shee!"[FN#30] And Fraech heard the wail in their cry; [FN#29] Pronounced Eeda. [FN#30] The Fairies. "Lift me out of it," he says to his people; "this is the cry of my mother and of the women of Boand." He is lifted out at this, and he is brought to them. The women come around him, and bring him from them to the Sid of Cruachan (i.e. the deep caverns, used for burial at Cruachan). They saw something, at the ninth hour on the morrow he comes, and fifty women around him, and he quite whole, without stain and without blemish; of equal age (the women), of equal form, of equal beauty, of equal fairness, of equal symmetry, of equal stature, with the dress of women of the fairies about them so that there was no means of knowing of one beyond the other of them. Little but men were suffocated around them. They separate in front of the Liss.[FN#31] They give forth their lament on going from him, so that they troubled[FN#32] the men who were in the Liss excessively. It is from it is the Lament-cry of the Women of the Fairies with the musicians of Erin. [FN#31] The Liss is the outer court of the palace. [FN#32] "Oo corastar tar cend," "so that they upset, or put beside themselves." Meyer takes literally, "so that they fell on their backs" (?) He then goes into the dun. All the hosts rise before him, and bid welcome to him, as if it were from another world he were coming. Ailill and Medb arise, and do penance to him for the attack they had made at him, and they make peace. Feasting commenced with them then at once. Fraech calls a servant of his suite: "Go off," he says, "to the spot at which I went into the water. A salmon I left there--bring it to Find-abair, and let herself take charge over it; and let the salmon be well broiled by her, and the ring is in the centre of the salmon. I expect it will be asked of her to-night." Inebriety seizes them, and music and amusement delight them. Ailill then said: "Bring ye all my gems to me." They were brought to him then, so that the were before him. "Wonderful, wonderful," says every one. "Call ye Find-abair to me," he says. Find-abair goes to him, and fifty maidens around her. "O daughter," says Ailill, "the ring I gave to thee last year, does it remain with thee? Bring it to me that the warriors may see it. Thou shalt have it afterwards." "I do not know," she says, "what has been done about it." "Ascertain then," says Ailill, "it must be sought, or thy soul must depart from thy body." "It is by no means worth," say the warriors, "there is much of value there, without that." "There is naught of my jewels that will not go for the maid," says Fraech, "because she brought me the sword for pledge of my soul." "There is not with thee anything of gems that should aid her unless she returns the ring from her," says Ailill. "I have by no means the power to give it," says the daughter, "what thou mayest like do it in regard to me." "I swear to the god to whom my people swear, thy lips shall be pale (literally, shall perish) unless thou returnest it from thee," says Ailill. "It is why it is asked of thee, because it is impossible; for I know that until the people who have died from the beginning of the world. Come, it comes not out of the spot in which it was flung." "It shall not come for a treasure which is not appreciated,"[FN#33] says the daughter, "the ring that is asked for here, I go that I may bring it to thee, since it is keenly it is asked." "Thou shalt not go," says Ailill; "but let one go from thee to bring it." [FN#33] This is Windisch's rendering (Irische Texte, I. p. 677: s.v. main). The daughter sends her maid to bring it. "I swear to the god to whom my territories swear, if it shall be found, I shall by no means be under thy power any longer though I should be at great drinking continually." (?)[FN#34] "I shall by no means prevent you from doing that, namely even if it were to the groom thou shouldst go if the ring is found," says Ailill. The maid then brought the dish into the palace, and the broiled salmon on it, and it dressed under honey which was well made by the daughter; and the ring of gold was on the salmon from above. [FN#34] "dian dumroib for sar-ol mogreis." Meyer gives "if there is any one to protect me." The above is Crowe's rendering. Ailill and Medb view it. After that Fraech looks at it, and looks at his purse. "It seems to me it was for proof that I left my girdle," says Fraech. "On the truth of the sovereignty," says Fraech, "say what thou did'st about the ring." "This shall not be concealed from thee," says Ailill; "mine is the ring which was in thy purse, and I knew it is Find-abair gave it to thee. It is therefore I flung it into the Dark Pool. On the truth of thine honour and of thy soul, O Fraech, declare thou what way the bringing of it out happened." "It shall not be concealed on thee," says Fraech. "The first day I found the ring in front of the outer court, and I knew it was a lovely gem. It is for that reason I put it up industriously in my purse. I heard, the day I went to the water, the maiden who had lost it a-looking for it. I said to her: 'What reward shall I have at thy hands for the finding of it?' She said to me that she would give a year's love to me. "It happened I did not leave it about me; I had left it in the house behind me. We met not until we met at the giving of the sword into my hand in the river. After that I saw the time thou open'st the purse and flungest the ring into the water: I saw the salmon which leaped for it, so that it took it into its mouth. I then caught the salmon, took it up in the cloak, put it into the hand of the daughter. It is that salmon accordingly which is on the dish." The criticising and the wondering at these stories begin in the house hold. "I shall not throw my mind on another youth in Erin after thee," says Find-abair. "Bind thyself for that," say Ailill and Medb, "and come thou to us with thy cows to the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge; and when thou shalt come with thy cows from the East back, ye shall wed here that night at once and Find-abair." "I shall do that thing," says Fraech. They are in it then until the morning. Fraech sets about him self with his suite. He then bids farewell to Ailill and Medb. They depart to their own territories then. TAIN BO FRAICH PART II Unto Fraech it hath chanced, as he roved from his lands That his cattle were stolen by wandering bands: And there met him his mother, and cried, "On thy way Thou hast tarried, and hard for thy slackness shalt pay! In the Alps of the south, the wild mountains amid, Have thy children, thy wife, and thy cattle been hid: And a three of thy kine have the Picts carried forth, And in Alba they pasture, but far to the north!" "Now, alack!" answered Fraech, "what is best to be done?" "Rest at home," said his mother, "nor seek them my son; For to thee neither cattle, nor children, nor wife Can avail, if in seeking thou losest thy life; And though cattle be lacking, the task shall be mine To replace what is lost, and to grant thee the kine." "Nay, not so," answered Fraech, "by my soul I am sworn, That when cattle from Cualgne by force shall be torn To King Ailill and Maev on my faith as their guest I must ride with those cattle for war to the west!" "Now but vainly," she said, "is this toil on thee cast; Thou shalt lose what thou seekest", and from him she passed. Three times nine of his men for that foray were chosen, and marched by his side, And a hawk flew before, and for hunting, was a hound with a hunting-leash tied; To Ben Barchi they went, for the border of Ulster their faces were set: And there, of its marches the warder, the conquering Conall they met. Fraech hailed him, the conquering Conall, and told him the tale of his spoil; "'Tis ill luck that awaits thee," said Conall, "thy quest shall be followed with toil! "'Twill be long ere the goal thou art reaching, though thy heart in the seeking may be." "Conall Cernach,[FN#35] hear thou my beseeching said Fraech, "let thine aid be to me; I had hoped for this meeting with Conall, that his aid in the quest might be lent." "I will go with thee truly," said Conall: with Fraech and his comrades he went. [FN#35] Pronounced Cayr-nach. Three times nine, Fraech and Conall before them, Over ocean from Ireland have passed; Through the Land of North Saxony bore them, And the South Sea they sighted at last. And again on the sea billows speeding, They went south, over Ichtian foam; And marched on: southward still was their leading: To the land where the Long-Beards have home: But when Lombardy's bounds they were nearing They made stand; for above and around Were the high peaks of Alpa appearing, And the goal that they sought had been found. On the Alps was a woman seen straying, and herding the flocks of the sheep, "Let our warriors behind be delaying," said Conall, "and south let us keep: 'Twere well we should speak with yon woman, perchance she hath wisdom to teach!" And with Conall went Fraech at that counsel; they neared her, and held with her speech. "Whence have come you?" she said: "Out of Ireland are we," Answered Conall: "Ill luck shall for Irishmen be In this country," she cried, "yet thy help I would win; From thy land was my mother; thou art to me kin!" "Of this land we know naught, nor where next we should turn," Answered Conall.; "its nature from thee we would learn." "'Tis a grim land and hateful," the woman replied, "And the warriors are restless who forth from it ride; For full often of captives, of women and herd Of fair kine by them taken is brought to me word." "Canst thou say what latest spoil," said Fraech, "they won?" "Ay," she said, "they harried Fraech, of Idath[FN#36] son He in Erin dwelleth, near the western sea; Kine from him they carried, wife, and children three Here his wife abideth, there where dwells the king, Turn, and see his cattle, yonder pasturing." [FN#36] Pronounced Eeda. Out spoke Conall Cernach;[FN#37] "Aid us thou" he cried: "Strength I lack," she answered, "I can only guide." "Here is Fraech," said Conall, "yon his stolen cows": "Fraech!" she asked him, "tell me, canst thou trust thy spouse?" "Why," said Fraech, "though trusty, doubtless, when she went; Now, since here she bideth, truth may well be spent." "See ye now yon woman?" said she, "with your herd, Tell to her your errand, let her hear your word; Trust in her, as Irish-sprung ye well may place; More if ye would ask me, Ulster reared her race." [FN#37] Pronounced Cayr-nach. To that woman they went, nor their names from her hid; And they greeted her; welcome in kindness she bid: "What hath moved you," she said, "from your country to go?" "On this journey," said Conall, "our guide hath been woe: All the cattle that feed in these pastures are ours, And from us went the lady that's kept in yon towers." "'Tis ill-luck," said the woman, "that waits on your way, All the men of this hold doth that lady obey; Ye shall find, amid dangers, your danger most great In the serpent who guardeth the Liss at the gate." "For that lady," said Fraech, "she is none of my She is fickle, no trust from me yet did she win: But on thee we rely, thou art trusty, we know; Never yet to an Ulsterman Ulster was foe." "Is it men out of Ulster," she said, "I have met?" "And is Conall," said Fraech, "thus unknown to you yet? Of all heroes from Ulster the battle who faced Conall Cernach is foremost." His neck she embraced, And she cried, with her arms around Conall: "Of old Of the conquering Conall our prophets have told; And 'tis ruin and doom to this hold that you bring; For that Conall shall sack it, all prophecies sing." "Hear my rede," she told him: "When at fall of day Come the kine for milking, I abroad will stay; I the castle portal every eve should close: Ye shall find it opened, free for tread of foes: I will say the weakling calves awhile I keep; 'Tis for milk, I'll tell them: come then while they sleep; Come, their castle enter, all its wealth to spoil; Only rests that serpent, he our plans may foil: Him it rests to vanquish, he will try you most; Surely from that serpent swarms a serpent host!" "Trust us well," answered Conall, "that raid will we do! And the castle they sought, and the snake at them flew: For it darted on Conall, and twined round his waist; Yet the whole of that castle they plundered in haste, And the woman was freed, and her sons with her three And away from her prison she went with them free: And of all of the jewels amassed in that dun The most costly and beauteous the conquerors won. Then the serpent from Conall was loosed, from his belt It crept safely, no harm from that serpent he felt: And they travelled back north to the Pictish domains, And a three of their cattle they found on the plains; And, where Olla Mae Briuin[FN#38] his hold had of yore, By Dunolly their cattle they drove to the shore. [FN#38] Pronounced "Brewin." It chanced at Ard Uan Echach,[FN#39] where foam is hurled on high, That doom on Bicne falling, his death he came to die: 'Twas while the cows were driven that Bicne's life was lost: By trampling hooves of cattle crushed down to death, or tossed; To him was Loegaire[FN#40] father, and Conall Cernach chief And Inver-Bicne's title still marks his comrades' grief. [FN#39] Pronounced "Ard Oon Ay-ha," [FN#40] Pronounced "Leary." Across the Stream of Bicne the cows of Fraech have passed, And near they came to Benchor, and there their horns they cast: 'Tis thence the strand of Bangor for aye is named, 'tis said: The Strand of Horns men call it; those horns his cattle shed. To his home travelled Fraech, with his children, and And his cattle, and there with them lived out his life, Till the summons of Ailill and Maev he obeyed; And when Cualgne was harried, he rode on the Raid. TAIN BO FRAICH PART II LITERAL TRANSLATION It happened that his cows had been in the meanwhile stolen. His mother came to him. "Not active (or "lucky") of journey hast thou gone; it shall cause much of trouble to thee," she says. "Thy cows have been stolen, and thy three sons, and thy wife, so that they are in the mountain of Elpa. Three cows of them are in Alba of the North with the Cruthnechi (the Picts)." "Query, what shall I do?" he says to his mother. "Thou shalt do a non-going for seeking them; thou wouldest not give thy life for them," she says. "Thou shalt have cows at my hands besides them." "Not so this," he says: "I have pledged my hospitality and my soul to go to Ailill and to Medb with my cows to the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge." "What thou seekest shall not be obtained," says his mother. At this she goes off from him then. He then sets out with three nines, and a wood-cuckoo (hawk), and a hound of tie with them, until he goes to the territory of the Ulstermen, so that he meets with Conall Cernach (Conall the Victorious) at Benna Bairchi (a mountain on the Ulster border). He tells his quest to him. "What awaits thee," says the latter, "shall not be lucky for thee. Much of trouble awaits thee," he says, "though in it the mind should be." "It will come to me," says Fraech to Connall, "that thou wouldest help me any time we should meet." (?) "I shall go truly," says Conall Cernach. They set of the three (i.e. the three nines) over sea, over Saxony of the North, over the Sea of Icht (the sea between England and France), to the north of the Long-bards (the dwellers of Lombardy), until they reached the mountains of Elpa. They saw a herd-girl at tending of the sheep before them. "Let us go south," says Conall, "O Fraech, that we may address the woman yonder, and let our youths stay here." They went then to a conversation. She said, "Whence are ye?" "Of the men of Erin," says Conall. "It shall not be lucky for the men of Erin truly, the coming to this country. From the men of Erin too is my mother. Aid thou me on account of relationship." "Tell us something about our movements. What is the quality of the land we have to come to?" "A grim hateful land with troublesome warriors, who go on every side for carrying off cows and women as captives," she says. "What is the latest thing they have carried off?" says Fraech. "The cows of Fraech, son of Idath, from the west of Erin, and his wife, and his three sons. Here is his wife here in the house of the king, here are his cows in the country in front of you." "Let thy aid come to us," says Conall. Little is my power, save guidance only." "This is Fraech," says Conall, and they are his cows that have been carried off." "Is the woman constant in your estimation?" she says. "Though constant in our estimation when she went, perchance she is not constant after coming." "The woman who frequents the cows, go ye to her; tell ye of your errand; of the men of Ireland her race; of the men of Ulster exactly." They come to her; they receive her, and they name themselves to her, and she bids welcome to them. "What hath led you forth?" she says. "Trouble hath led us forth," says Conall; "ours are the cows and the woman that is in the Liss." "It shall not be lucky for you truly," she says, "the going up to the multitude of the woman; more troublesome to you than everything," she says, "is the serpent which is at guarding of the Liss." "She is not my country-name(?)," says Fraech, "she is not constant in my estimation; thou art constant in my estimation; we know thou wilt not lead us astray, since it is from the men of Ulster thou art." "Whence are ye from the men of Ulster?" she says. "This is Conall Cernach here, the bravest hero with the men of Ulster," says Fraech. She flings two hands around the throat of Conall Cernach. "The destruction has come in this expedition," she says, "since he has come to us; for it is to him the destruction of this dun has been prophesied. I shall go out to my house,"[FN#41] she says, "I shall not be at the milking of the cows. I shall leave the Liss opened; it is I who close it every night.[FN#42] I shall say it is for drink the calves were sucking. Come thou into the dun, when they are sleeping; only trouble. some to you is the serpent which is at the dun; several tribes are let loose from it." [FN#41] "To my house" is in the Egerton MS. only. [FN#42] "Every night" is in the Egerton MS. only. "We will go truly," says Conall. They attack the Liss; the serpent darts leap into the girdle of Conall Cernach, and they plunder the dun at once. They save off then the woman and the three sons, and they carry away whatever was the best of the gems of the dun, and Conall lets the serpent out of his girdle, and neither of them did harm to the other. And they came to the territory of the people of the Picts, until they saw three cows of their cows in it. They drove off to the Fort of Ollach mac Briuin (now Dunolly near Oban) with them, until they were at Ard Uan Echach (high-foaming Echach). It is there the gillie of Conall met his death at the driving of the cows, that is Bicne son of Loegaire; it is from this is (the name of) Inver Bicne (the Bicne estuary) at Benchor. They brought their cows over it thither. It is there they flung their horns from them, so that it is thence is (the name of) Tracht Benchoir (the Strand of Horn casting, perhaps the modern Bangor?). Fraech goes away then to his territory after, and his wife, and his sons, and his cows with him, until he goes with Ailill and Medb for the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE INTRODUCTION This tale is given by Windisch (Irische Texte, II. pp. 185-205), from two versions; one, whose translation he gives in full, except for one doubtful passage, is from the manuscript in the British Museum, known as Egerton, 1782 (dated 1414); the other is from the Yellow Book of Lecan (fourteenth century), in the library of Trinity College, Dublin. The version in the Yellow Book is sometimes hard to read, which seems to be the reason why Windisch prefers to translate the younger authority, but though in some places the Egerton version is the fuller, the Yellow Book version (Y.B.L.) often adds passages, some of which Windisch has given in notes; some he has left untranslated. In the following prose version as much of Y.B.L. as adds anything to the Egerton text has been translated, with marks of interrogation where the attempted rendering is not certain: variants from the text adopted are placed below the prose version as footnotes. The insertions from Y.B.L. are indicated by brackets; but no note is taken of cases where the Egerton version is fuller than Y.B.L. The opening of the story (the first five lines in the verse rendering) is in the eleventh century Book of the Dun Cow: the fragment agrees closely with the two later texts, differing in fact from Y.B.L. in one word only. All three texts are given in the original by Windisch. The story is simple and straightforward, but is a good example of fairy vengeance, the description of the appearance of the troop recalls similar descriptions in the Tain bo Fraich, and in the Courtship of Ferb. The tale is further noticeable from its connection with the province of Munster: most of the heroic tales are connected with the other three provinces only. Orlam, the hero of the end of the tale, was one of Cuchulain's earliest victims in the Tain bo Cualgne. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE FROM THE EGERTON MS. 1782 (EARLY FIFTEENTH-CENTURY), AND THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (FOURTEENTH-CENTURY) EOCHO BEC,[FN#43] the son of Corpre, reigning in the land of Clew,[FN#44] Dwelt in Coolny's[FN#45] fort; and fostered sons of princes not a few: Forty kine who grazed his pastures gave him milk to rear his wards; Royal blood his charges boasted, sprung from Munster's noblest lords. Maev and Ailill sought to meet him: heralds calling him they sent: "Seven days hence I come" said Eocho; and the heralds from him went. Now, as Eocho lay in slumber, in the night a vision came; By a youthful squire attended, rose to view a fairy dame: "Welcome be my greeting to you!" said the king: "Canst thou discern Who we are?" the fairy answered, "how didst thou our fashion learn?" "Surely," said the king, "aforetime near to me hath been thy place!" "Very near thee have we hovered, yet thou hast not seen my face." "Where do ye abide?" said Eocho. "Yonder dwell we, with the Shee:[FN#46] "In the Fairy Mound of Coolny!" "Wherefore come ye hereto me?" "We have come," she said, "a counsel as a gift to thee to bring!" "Speak! and tell me of the counsel ye have brought me," said the king. "Noble gifts," she said, "we offer that renown for thee shall gain When in foreign lands thou ridest; worship in thine own domain; For a troop shall circle round thee, riding close beside thy hand: Stately it shall be, with goodly horses from a foreign land!" "Tell me of that troop," said Eocho, "in what numbers should we ride? " Fifty horsemen is the number that befits thee," she replied: [FN#43] Pronounced Yeo-ho Bayc. [FN#44] Cliu, a district in Munster. [FN#45] Spelt Cuillne, in Y.B.L. it is Cuille. [FN#46] The Fairies, spelt Sidh. "Fifty horses, black in colour; gold and silver reins and bits; Fifty sets of gay equipment, such as fairies well befits; These at early dawn to-morrow shall my care for thee provide: Let thy foster-children with thee on the road thou makest ride! Rightly do we come to help thee, who so valiantly in fray Guardest for us soil and country!" And the fairy passed away. Eocho's folk at dawn have risen; fifty steeds they all behold: Black the horses seemed; the bridles, stiff with silver and with gold, Firmly to the gate were fastened; fifty silver breeches there Heaped together shone, encrusted all with gold the brooches were: There were fifty knightly vestments, bordered fair with golden thread: Fifty horses, white, and glowing on their ears with deepest red, Nigh them stood; of reddish purple were the sweeping tails and manes; Silver were the bits; their pasterns chained in front with brazen chains: And, of fair findruine[FN#47] fashioned, was for every horse a whip, Furnished with a golden handle, wherewithal the goad to grip. [FN#47] Pronounced "findroony." Then King Eocho rose, and ready made him; in that fair array Forth they rode, nor did they tarry till they came to Croghan[FN#48] Ay. Scarcely could the men of Connaught bear to see that sight, amazed At the dignity and splendour of the host on which they gazed; For that troop was great; in serried ranks the fifty riders rode, Splendid with the state recounted; pride on all their faces glowed. "Name the man who comes!" said Ailill; "Easy answer!" all replied, Eocho Bee, in Clew who ruleth, hither to thy court would ride": Court and royal house were opened; in with welcome came they all; Three long days and nights they lingered, feasting in King Ailill's hall. Then to Ailill, king of Connaught, Eocho spake: "From out my land {50} Wherefore hast thou called me hither?" "Gifts are needed from thy hand," Ailill said; "a heavy burden is that task upon me laid, To maintain the men of Ireland when for Cualgne's kine we raid." [FN#48] Pronounced Crow-han. Eocho spoke: "What gift requirest thou from me?" "For milking-kine," Ailill said, "I ask"; and Eocho, "Few of these indeed are mine! Forty sons of Munster's princes have I in my halls to rear; These, my foster-sons, beside me m my troop have journeyed here; Fifty herdsmen guard the cattle, forty cows my wards to feed, Seven times twenty graze beside them, to supply my people's need." "If, for every man who follows thee as liege, and owns a farm, Thou a cow wilt yield," said Ailill, "then from foes with power to harm I will guard thee in the battle!" "Keep then faithfully thy vows," Eocho said, "this day as tribute shall to Croghan come the cows." Thrice the sun hath set and risen while they feasting there abide, Maev and Ailill's bounty tasting, homeward then they quickly ride: But the sons of Glaschu met them, who from western Donnan came; Donnan, from the seas that bound it, Irross Donnan hath for name; Seven times twenty men attacked them, and to battle they were brought, At the isle of O'Canàda, fiercely either party fought; With his foster children round him, Eocho Bec in fight was killed, All the forty princes perished, with that news the land was filled; All through Ireland lamentation rose for every youthful chief; Four times twenty Munster princes, weeping for them, died of grief. Now a vision came to Ailill, as in sleep he lay awhile, or a youth and dame approached him, fairer none in Erin's Isle: "Who are ye?" said Ailill; "Conquest," said the fairy, "and Defeat "Though Defeat I shun," said Ailill, "Conquest joyfully I meet." "Conquest thou shalt have!" she answered: "Of the future I would ask, Canst thou read my fate?" said Ailill: "Light indeed for me the task," Said the dame: "the kine of Dartaid, Eocho's daughter, may be won: Forty cows she owns; to gain them send to her thy princely son, Orlam, whom that maiden loveth: let thy son to start prepare, Forty youths from Connaught with him, each of them a prince's heir: Choose thou warriors stout and stately; I will give them garments bright, Even those that decked the princes who so lately fell in fight: Bridles, brooches, all I give thee; ere the morning sun be high Thou shalt count that fairy treasure: to our country now we fly." Swiftly to the son of Tassa sped they thence, to Corp the Gray: On the northern bank of Naymon was his hold, and there he lay; And before the men of Munster, as their champion did he stand: He hath wrought-so runs the proverb-evil, longer than his hand. As to Corp appeared the vision: "Say," he cried, "what names ye boast!" "Ruin, one is called," they answered; "one, The Gathering of the Host!" An assembled host I welcome," answered them the gray Corp Lee; "Ruin I abhor": "And ruin," they replied, "is far from thee; Thou shalt bring on sons of nobles, and of kings a ruin great": "Fairy," said Corp Lee, the Gray one, "tell me of that future fate." "Easy is the task," she answered, "youths of every royal race That in Connaught's land hath dwelling, come to-morrow to this place; Munster's kine they hope to harry, for the Munster princes fell Yesterday with Connaught fighting; and the hour I plainly ten: At the ninth hour of the morning shall they come: the band is small: Have thou valiant men to meet them, and upon the raiders fall! Munster's honour hath been tarnished! clear it by a glorious deed! Thou shalt purge the shame if only in the foray thou succeed." "What should be my force?" he asked her: "Take of heroes seven score For that fight," she said, "and with them seven times twenty warriors more: Far from thee we now are flying; but shall meet thee with thy power When to-morrow's sun is shining; at the ninth, the fated hour." At the dawn, the time appointed, all those steeds and garments gay Were in Connaught, and they found them at the gate of Croghan Ay; All was there the fay had promised, all the gifts of which we told: All the splendour that had lately decked the princes they behold. Doubtful were the men of Connaught; some desired the risk to face; Some to go refused: said Ailill, "It should bring us to disgrace If we spurned such offered bounty": Orlam his reproaches felt; Sprang to horse; and towards the country rode, where Eocho's daughter dwelt: And where flows the Shannon river, near that water's southern shore, Found her home; for as they halted, moated Clew[FN#49] rose high before. [FN#49] Spelt Cliu. Dartaid met them ere they halted, joyful there the prince to see: All the kine are not assembled, of their count is lacking three!" "Tarry not for search," said Orlam, "yet provision must we take On our steeds, for hostile Munster rings us round. Wilt home forsake, Maiden? wilt thou ride beside us?" "I will go indeed," she said. Then, with all thy gathered cattle, come with us; with me to wed! So they marched, and in the centre of their troop the kine were set, And the maiden rode beside them: but Corp Lee, the Gray, they met; Seven times twenty heroes with him; and to battle they must go, And the Connaught nobles perished, fighting bravely with the foe: All the sons of Connaught's princes, all the warriors with them died: Orlam's self escaped the slaughter, he and eight who rode beside: Yet he drave the cows to Croghan; ay, and fifty heifers too! But, when first the foe made onset, they the maid in battle slew. Near a lake, did Eocho's[FN#50] daughter, Dartaid, in the battle fall, From that lake, and her who perished, hath been named that region all: Emly Darta is that country; Tain bo Dartae is the tale: And, as prelude, 'tis recited, till the Cualgne[FN#51] Raid they hail. [FN#50] Pronounced Yeo-ho. [FN#51] Pronounced Kell-ny. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE LITERAL TRANSLATION The Passages that occur only in the Yellow Book (Y.B.L.) are indicated by being placed in square brackets. EOCHO BEC, the son of Corpre, king of Cliu, dwelt in the Dun of Cuillne,[FN#52] and with him were forty fosterlings, all sons of the kings of Munster; he had also forty milch-cows for their sustenance. By Ailill and Medb messengers were sent, asking him to come to a conference. "[In a week,"][FN#53] said Eocho, "I will go to that conference;" and the messengers departed from him. [FN#52] The eleventh century MS., the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, which gives the first four lines of this tale as a fragment, adds here as a note: "this is in the land of the O'Cuanach": apparently the O'Briens of Cuanach. [FN#53] At Samhuin day (Egerton). One night Eocho lay there in his sleep, when he saw something approach him; a woman, and a young man in her attendance. "Ye are welcome!" said Eocho. ["Knowest thou us?"] said she, "Where hast thou learned to know us?" "It seems to me as if I had been near to you." "I think that we have been very near to one another, though we have not seen each other face to face!" "In what place do ye dwell?" said Eocho. "Yonder in Sid Cuillne (the fairy mound of Cuillne)," said she. "And, wherefore have ye come?" "In order to give thee counsel," said she. For what purpose is the counsel," said he, "that thou givest me?" "Something," she said, "that will bring thee honour and renown on thy journey at home and abroad. A stately troop shall be round thee, and goodly foreign horses shall be under thee."[FN#54] "With how many shall I go?" said Eocho. "Fifty horsemen is the number that is suitable for thee," she answered. [FN#54] Y.B.L. adds a passage that Windisch does not translate: it seems to run thus: "Unknown to thee is the half of what thou hast met: it seems to us that foreign may be thy splendour"(?) "To-morrow in the morning fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver, shall come to thee from me; and with them fifty sets of equipment of the equipment of the Side; and all of thy foster-children shall go with thee; well it becomes us to help thee, because thou art valiant in the defence of our country and our soil." Then the woman left him. Early in the morning they arise, there they see something: the fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver tied fast to the gate of the castle, also fifty breeches of silver with embellishment of gold; and fifty youths' garments with their edges of spun gold, and fifty white horses with red ears and long tails, purple-red were all their tails and their manes, with silver bits (?)[FN#55] and foot-chains of brass upon each horse; there were also fifty whips of white bronze (findruine), with end pieces of gold that thereby they might be taken into hands.[FN#56] [FN#55] co m-belgib (?) Windisch translates "bridles," the same as cona srianaib above. [FN#56] Y.B.L. adds, "Through wizardry was all that thing: it was recited (?) how great a thing had appeared, and he told his dream to his people." Then King Eocho arises, and prepares himself (for the journey): they depart with this equipment to Cruachan Ai:[FN#57] and the people were well-nigh overcome with their consequence and appearance: their troop was great, goodly, splendid, compact: [fifty heroes, all with that appearance that has just been related. "How is that man named?" said Ailill. "Not hard, Eocho Bec, the king of Cliu." They entered the Liss (outer court), and the royal house; welcome was given to them, he remained there three days and three nights at the feasting.] [FN#57] Egerton here gives "Ailill and Medb made them welcome;" it omits the long passage in square brackets. "Wherefore have I have been invited to come?" said Eocho to Ailill: "To learn if I can obtain a gift from thee," said Ailill; "for a heavy need weighs upon me, even the sustenance of the men of Ireland for the bringing of the cattle from Cualgne." "What manner of gift is it that thou desirest?" said Eocho. "Nothing less than a gift of milking-kine," said Ailill. "There is no superfluity of these in my land," said Eocho; "I have forty fosterlings, sons of the kings of Munster, to bring them up (to manhood); they are here in my company, there are forty cows to supply the needs of these, to supply my own needs are seven times twenty milch-cows [there are fifty men for this cause watching over them]. "Let me have from thee," said Ailill, "one cow from each farmer who is under thy lordship as my share; moreover I will yield thee assistance if at any time thou art oppressed by superior might." "Thus let it be as thou sayest," said Eocho; "moreover, they shall come to thee this very day." For three days and three nights they were hospitably entertained by Ailill and Medb, and then they departed homewards, till they met the sons of Glaschu, who came from Irross Donnan (the peninsula of Donnan, now Mayo); the number of those who met them was seven times twenty men, and they set themselves to attack each other, and to strive with each other in combat, and [at the island of O'Conchada (Inse Ua Conchada)] they fought together. In that place fell the forty sons of kings round Eocho Bec, and that news was spread abroad over all the land of Ireland, so that four times twenty kings' sons, of the youths of Munster, died, sorrowing for the deaths of these princes. On another night, as Ailill lay in his sleep, upon his bed, he saw some thing, a young man and a woman, the fairest that could be found in Ireland. "Who are ye?" said Ailill. "Victory and Defeat are our names," she said. "Victory indeed is welcome to me, but not so Defeat," said Ailill. "Victory shall be thine in each form!" said she. ["What is the next thing after this that awaits us?" said Ailill. "Not hard to tell thee," said she] "let men march out from thy palace in the morning, that thou mayest win for thyself the cattle of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho. Forty is the number of her milch-cows, it is thine own son, Orlam mac Ailill, whom she loves. Let Orlam prepare for his journey with a stately troop of valiant men, also forty sons of those kings who dwell in the land of Connaught; and by me shall be given to them the same equipment that the other youths had who fell in yon fight, bridles and garments and brooches; [early in the morning shall count of the treasure be made, and now we go to our own land," said she]. Then they depart from him, and forthwith they go to [Corp[FN#58] Liath (the Gray),] who was the son of Tassach. His castle was on the bank of the river Nemain, upon the northern side, he was a champion of renown for the guarding of the men of Munster; longer than his hand is the evil he hath wrought. To this man also they appeared, and "What are your names?" said he: "Tecmall and Coscrad (Gathering of Hosts, and Destruction)," said they. "Gathering of Hosts is indeed good," said Corp Liath, "an evil thing is destruction": "There will be no destruction for thee, and thou shalt destroy the sons of kings and nobles": "And what," said Corp Liath, "is the next thing to be done?" [FN#58] The Egerton MS. gives the name, Corb Cliach. "That is easy to say," they said;[FN#59] "each son of a king and a queen, and each heir of a king that is in Connaught, is now coming upon you to bear off cows from your country, for that the sons of your kings and queens have fallen by the hand of the men of Connaught. To-morrow morning, at the ninth hour they will come, and small is their troop; so if valiant warriors go thither to meet them, the honour of Munster shall be preserved; if indeed thine adventure shall meet with success." [FN#59] Y.B.L. gives the passage thus: "Assemble with you the sons of kings, and heirs of kings, that you may destroy the sons of kings and heirs of kings." "Who are they?" said Corp Liath. "A noble youth it is from Connaught: he comes to yon to drive your cows before him, after that your young men were yesterday destroyed by him, at the ninth hour of the morning they will come to take away the cows of Darta, the daughter of Eocho." "With what number should I go?" he said. "Seven times twenty heroes thou shouldest take with thee," she replied, ["and seven times twenty warriors besides"]: "And now" said the woman, "we depart to meet thee to-morrow at the ninth hour." At the time (appointed), when morning had come, the men of Connaught saw the horses and the raiment of which we have spoken, at the gate of the fort of Croghan, [even as she (the fairy) had foretold, and as we have told, so that at that gate was all she had promised, and all that had been seen on the sons of kings aforetime], and there was a doubt among the people whether they should go on that quest or not. "It is shame," said Ailill, "to refuse a thing that is good"; and upon that Orlam departed [till[FN#60] he came to the house of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho, in Cliu Classach (Cliu the Moated), on the Shannon upon the south (bank). [FN#60] Egerton Version has only "towards Chu till he came to the home of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho: the maiden rejoiced," &c. From this point to the end the version in the Yellow Book is much fuller. [There they halted], and the maiden rejoiced at their coming: "Three of the kine are missing." "We cannot wait for these; let the men take provision on their horses, [for rightly should we be afraid in the midst of Munster. Wilt thou depart with me, O maiden?" said he. "I will indeed go with thee," said she]. "Come then thou," said he, "and with thee all of thy cows." [Then the young men go away with the cows in the midst, and the maiden was with them; but Corp Liath, the son of Tassach, met them with seven times twenty warriors to oppose their march. A battle was fought], and in that place fell the sons of the kings of Connaught, together with the warriors who had gone with them, all except Orlam and eight others,[FN#61] who carried away with them the kine, even the forty milch-cows, and fifty heifers, [so that they came into the land of Connaught]; but the maiden fell at the beginning of the fight. [FN#61] Y.B.L. inserts Dartaid's death at this point: "and Dartaid fell at the beginning of the fight, together with the stately sons of Connaught." Hence is that place called Imlech Dartaid, (the Lake Shore of Darta), in the land of Cliu, [where Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho, the son of Corpre, fell: and for this reason this story is called the Tain bo Dartae, it is one of the preludes to the Tain bo Cualnge]. THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON INTRODUCTION The two versions of this tale, given by Windisch in the Irische Texte, II. pp. 224-238, are from the same manuscripts as the two versions of the Raid of the Cattle of Dartaid; namely the Yellow Book of Lecan, and the Egerton MS. 1782. In the case of this tale, the Yellow Book version is more legible, and, being not only the older, but a little more full than the other version, Windisch has translated this text alone: the prose version, as given here, follows this manuscript, nearly as given by Windisch, with only one addition from the Egerton MS.; the omissions in the Egerton MS. are not mentioned, but one or two changes in words adopted from this MS. are mentioned in the foot-notes to the prose rendering. The whole tone of the tale is very unlike the tragic character of those romances, which have been sometimes supposed to represent the general character of old Irish literature: there is not even a hint of the super-natural; the story contains no slaughter; the youthful raiders seem to be regarded as quite irresponsible persons, and the whole is an excellent example of an old Celtic: romance with what is to-day called a "good ending." THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON FROM THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (A MANUSCRIPT OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY) When Ailill and Maev in the Connaught land abode, and the lordship held, A chief who many a field possessed in the land of Connaught dwelled: A great, and a fair, and a goodly herd of kine had the chieftain won: And his fame in the fight was in all men's word; his name was Regamon. Now seven daughters had Regamon; they dwelt at home with their sire: Yet the seven sons of King Ailill and Maev their beauty with love could fire: All those seven sons were as Mani[FN#62] known; the first was as Morgor hailed, For his love was great: it was Mingar's fate that in filial love he failed: The face was seen of the mother-queen on the third; and his father's face Did the fourth son show: they the fifth who know cannot speak all his strength and grace: The sixth son spoke, from his lips the words like drops of honey fell: And last came one who all gifts possessed that the tongue of a man can tell; For his father's face that Mani had, in him was his mother seen; And in him abode every grace bestowed on the king of the land or the queen. [FN#62] Pronounced Mah-nee. Of the daughters of Regamon now we speak: two names those maidens bore: For as Dunnan three ever known shall be; Dunlaith[FN#63] was the name for four: And in Breffny's land is the Ford Dunlaith, and the fame of the four recalls; The three ye know where the Dunnan's flow in western Connaught falls. With Fergus, Ailill and Maev were met: as at council all conferred; "It were well for our folk," thus Ailill spoke, "if the lord of that cattle-herd, That strays in the fields of Regamon, would tribute to us pay: And to gain that end, let us heralds send, to his burg who may make their way, And bear to our court that tribute back; for greatly we soon shall need Such kine when we in the time of war our hosts shall have to feed; And all who share in our counsels know that a burden will soon be mine, When the men must be fed of Ireland, led on the Raid for the Cuailgne[FN#64] Kine!" Thus Ailill spoke; and Queen Maev replied, "The men to perform that task Right well I know; for our sons will go, if we for their aid but ask! The seven daughters of Regamon do the Mani in love now seek: If those maidens' hands they can gain by the deed, they will heed the words we speak." To his side King Ailill has called his sons, his mind to the youth he shows. "Best son," says Maev, "and grateful he, from filial love who goes!" And Morgor said, "For the love that we owe, we go at our sire's behest:" "Yet a greater reward," thus Mingar spake, "must be ours, if we go on this quest! For naught have we of hero-craft; and small shall be found our might; And of valiant breed are the men," said he, "with whom we shall have to fight. [FN#63] Pronounced Dun-lay. [FN#64] Pronounced Kell-ny. As men from the shelter of roof who go, and must rest in the open field, So thy sons shall stand, if they come to a land where a foe might be found concealed! We have dwelt till now in our father's halls, too tenderly cared for far: Nor hath any yet thought, that to us should be taught the arts that belong to war!" Queen Maev and Ailill their sons have sped, away on the quest they went, With seven score men for the fight, whom the queen for help of her sons had sent: To the south of the Connaught realm they reached, the burg that they sought was plain For to Ninnus land they had come, and were nigh to the Corcomroe domain. "From our band," said Mani Morgor, "some must go, of that burg to learn How entrance we may attain to win, and back with the news return We must test the strength of the maidens' love!" On Mingar the task was set, And with two beside him, he searched the land, till three of the maids they met: By springs of water they found the maids, drew swords, and against them leapt! "O grant our lives!" was the maiden's cry, "and your lives shall be safely kept!" "For your lives," he said, "will ye grant a boon, set forth in three words of speech?" "At our hands," said she, "shall granted be, whatever thy tongue shall teach; Yet ask not cattle; those kine have we no power to bestow, I fear": "Why, 'tis for the sake of the kine," he said, "that all of us now are here!" "Who art thou then?" from her faltering broke: "Mani Mingar am I," he replied; I am son to King Ailill and Maev: And to me thou art welcome," the maiden cried; "But why have ye come to this land?" said she: For kine and for brides," he said, Have we come to seek: And 'tis right," said she, such demands in a speech to wed: Yet the boon that you ask will our folk refuse, and hard will your task be found; For a valiant breed shall you meet, I fear, in the men who guard this ground!" "Give your aid," he said, "then as friends: But time," said she, "we must have for thought; For a plan must be made, e'er thy word be obeyed, and the kine to thy hands be brought: Have ye journeyed here with a force of men? how great is the strength of your band?" "Seven score are there here for the fight," he said, "the warriors are near at hand!" "Wait here," said she; "to my sisters four I go of the news to tell: "And with thee we side!" all the maidens cried, "and we trust we shall aid thee well," Away from the princes the maidens sped, they came to their sisters four, And thus they spoke: "From the Connaught land come men, who are here at your door; The sons of Ailill and Maev have come; your own true loves are they!" "And why have they come to this land?" they said; "For kine and for brides, they say, Have they come to seek:" "And with zeal their wish would we joyfully now fulfil If but powers to aid were but ours," they said, "which would match with our right good will: But I fear the youths in this burg who dwell, the plans that we make may foil; or far from the land may chase that band, and drive them away from their spoil!" "Will ye follow us now, with the prince to speak?" They willingly gave consent, And together away to the water-springs the seven maidens went. They greeted Mani; "Now come!" said he, "and bring with you out your herds: And a goodly meed shall reward your deed, if you but obey my words; For our honour with sheltering arms is nigh, and shall all of you safely keep, Ye seven daughters of Regamon!" The cattle, the swine, and sheep Together the maidens drove; none saw them fly, nor to stay them sought, Till safe to the place where the Mani stood, the herd by the maids was brought. The maidens greeted the sons of Maev, and each by her lover stood; And then Morgor spoke: "Into twain this herd of kine to divide were good, At the Briuin[FN#65] Ford should the hosts unite; too strait hath the path been made For so vast a herd": and to Morgor's word they gave heed, and his speech obeyed. Now it chanced that Regamon, the king, was far from his home that day, For he to the Corco Baiscinn land had gone, for a while to stay; [FN#65] Pronounced Brewin. With the Firbolg[FN#66] clans, in debate, he sat; and a cry as the raiders rode, Was behind him raised: to the king came men, who the news of that plunder showed: Then the king arose, and behind his foes he rode, and o'ertook their flight, And on Mani Morgor his host pressed hard, and they conquered his men in the fight. "To unite our band," thus Morgor cried, "fly hence, and our comrades find! Call the warriors back from the cattle here, and leave the maids behind; Bid the maidens drive to our home the herd as far as the Croghan Fort, And to Ailill and Maev of our perilous plight let the maidens bear report." The maidens went to the Croghan Fort, to Maev with their news they pressed: "Thy sons, O Maev, at the Briuin Ford are pent, and are sore distressed, And they pray thee to aid them with speed": and Maev her host for the war prepared, With Ailill the warriors of Connaught came; and Fergus beside them fared, And the exiles came, who the Ulster name still bore, and towards that Ford All that host made speed, that their friends in need might escape from the vengeful sword. [FN#66] Pronounced Feer-bol. Now Ailill's sons, in the pass of that Ford, had hurdles strongly set: And Regamon failed through the ford to win, ere Ailill's troops were met: Of white-thorn and of black-thorn boughs were the hurdles roughly framed, And thence the name of the ford first came, that the Hurdle Ford is named; For, where the O'Feara[FN#67] Aidne folk now dwell, can ye plainly see In the land of Beara[FN#68] the Less, that Ford, yet called Ath[FN#69] Clee Maaree, In the north doth it stand; and the Connaught land divideth from Corcomroe; And thither, with Regamon's troops to fight, did Ailill's army go. [FN#67] Pronounced O'Fayra Ain-ye. [FN#68] Pronounced Bayra. [FN#69] Spelt Ath Cliath Medraidi. Ath is pronounced like Ah. Then a truce they made; to the youths, that Raid who designed, they gave back their lives; And the maidens fair all pardoned were, who had fled with the youths, as wives, Who had gone with the herd, by the maids conferred on the men who the kine had gained: But the kine, restored to their rightful lord, in Regamon's hands remained; The maiden band in the Connaught land remained with the sons of Maev; And a score of cows to each maiden's spouse the maidens' father gave: As his daughters' dower, did their father's power his right in the cows resign, That the men might be fed of Ireland, led on the Raid for the Cualgne[FN#70] Kine. This tale, as the Tain bo Regamon, is known in the Irish tongue; And this lay they make, when the harp they wake, ere the Cualgne Raid be sung. [FN#70] Pronounced Kell-ny. THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON LITERAL TRANSLATION In the time of Ailill and Medb, a glorious warrior and holder of land dwelt in the land of Connaught, and his name was Regamon. He had many herds of cattle, all of them fair and well-shaped: he had also seven daughters with him. Now the seven sons of Ailill and Medb loved these (daughters): namely the seven Maine, these were Maine Morgor (Maine with great filial love), Maine Mingar (Maine with less filial love), Maine Aithremail (Maine like his father), Maine Mathremail (Maine like his mother), Maine Milbel (Maine with the mouth of honey),[FN#71] Maine Moepert (Maine too great to be described), Maine Condageb-uile (Maine who combined all qualities): now this one had the form both of father and mother, and had all the glory that belonged to both parents. [FN#71] The name of Maine Annai, making an eighth son, is given in Y.B.L., but not in the Egerton MS. The seven daughters of Regamon were the three Dunann, and the four Dunlaith;[FN#72] from the names of these is the estuary of Dunann in western Connaught, and the Ford of Dunlaith in Breffny. [FN#72] So Egerton, which Windisch follows here; the reading of Y.B.L. is Dunmed for the daughters, and Dumed for the corresponding ford. Now at a certain time, Ailill and Medb and Fergus held counsel together. "Some one from us," said Ailill, "should go to Regamon, that a present of cattle may be brought to us from him; to meet the need that there is on us for feeding the men of Ireland, when the kine are raided from Cualgne." "I know," said Medb, "who would be good to go thither, if we ask it of them; even the Maine; on account of their love for the daughters." His sons were called to Ailill, and he spoke with them. "Grateful is he, and a better journey does he go," said Maev, "who goes for the sake of his filial love." "Truly it shall be that it is owing to filial love that we go," said Mani Morgor. "But the reward should (also) for this be the better," said Mani Mingar; "it stands ill with our heroism, ill with our strength. It is like going from a house into the fields, (going) into the domains or the land of foes. Too tenderly have we been brought up; none hath let us learn of wars; moreover the warriors are valiant towards whom we go!" They took leave of Ailill and Medb, and betook themselves to the quest. They set out, seven times twenty heroes was the number, till they were in the south of Connaught, in the neighbourhood of the domain of Corcomroe[FN#73] in the land of Ninnus, near to the burg. "Some of you," said Mani Morgor, "should go to find out how to enter into the burg; and to test the love of maidens." Mani Mingar, with two others, went until he came upon three of the maidens at the water-springs, and at once he and his comrades drew their swords against them. "Give life for life!" said the maiden. "Grant to me then my three full words!" said Mani Mingar. "Whatever thy tongue sets forth shall be done," said the maiden, "only let it not be cows,[FN#74] for these have we no power to give thee." "For these indeed," said Mani, "is all that now we do."[FN#75] [FN#73] Properly "Coremodruad," the descendants of Modh Ruadh, third son of Fergus by Maev; now Corcomroe in County Clare. [FN#74]"Only let it not be cows" is in the Egerton MS. alone. [FN#75] "That we do" is Egerton MS. (cich indingnem), Y.B.L. has "cechi m-bem." "Who art thou?" said she: "Mani Mingar, son of Ailill and Medb," said he: "Welcome then," she said, "but what hath brought with you here?" "To take with us cattle and maidens," he said: "'Tis right," she said, "to take these together; (but) I fear that what has been demanded will not be granted, the men are valiant to whom you have come." "Let your entreaties be our aid!" he said. "We would desire," she said, "that it should be after that counsel hath been taken that we obey you." "What is your number?" said she: "Seven times twenty heroes," he said, "are with us." "Remain here," she said, "that we may speak with the other maidens": "We shall assist you," said the maidens, "as well as we can." They went from them, and came to the other maidens, and they said to them: "Young heroes from the lands of Connaught are come to you, your own true loves, the seven sons of Ailill and Medb." "Wherefore are they come?" "To take back with them cattle and wives." "That would we gladly have, if only we could; (but) I fear that the warriors will hinder them or drive them away," said she. "Go ye out, that ye may speak with the man." "We will speak with him," they said. The seven maidens went to the well, and they greeted Mani. "Come ye away," he said, "and bring your cattle with you. That will be a good deed. We shall assist you with our honour and our protection, O ye daughters of Regamon," said he.[FN#76] The maidens drove together their cows and their swine, and their sheep, so that none observed them; and they secretly passed on till they came to the camp of their comrades. The maidens greeted the sons of Ailill and Medb, and they remained there standing together. "The herd must be divided in two parts," said Mani Merger, "also the host must divide, for it is too great to travel by the one way; and we shall meet again at Ath Briuin (the Ford of Briuin)." So it was done. [FN#76] Windisch conjectures this instead of "said the warriors," which is in the text of Y.B.L. King Regamon was not there on that day. He was in the domain of Corco Baiscinn,[FN#77] to hold a conference with the Firbolgs. His people raised a cry behind him, message was brought to Regamon, and he went in pursuit with his army. The whole of the pursuing host overtook Mani Morgor, and brought defeat upon him. [FN#77] In the south-west of Clare. "We all," said Mani, "must go to one place, and some of you shall be sent to the cattle to summon the young men hither, and the maidens shall drive the cattle over the ford to Cruachan, and shall give Ailill and Medb tidings of the plight in which we are here." The maidens went to Cruachan, and told all the tale. "Thy sons are at Ath Briuin in distress, and have said that help should be brought to them." The men of Connaught with Ailill, and Medb, and Fergus, and the banished men of Ulster went to Ath Briuin to help their people. The sons of Ailill had for the moment made hurdles of white-thorn and black-thorn in the gut[FN#78] of the ford, as defence against Regamon and his people, so that they were unable to pass through the ford ere Ailill and his army came; so thence cometh the name Ath Cliath Medraidi[FN#79] (the Hurdle Ford of Medraide), in the country of Little Bethra in the northern part of the O'Fiachrach Aidne between Connaught and Corcomroe. There they met together with all their hosts. [FN#78] Literally "mouth." [FN#79] Ath Cliath oc Medraige, now Maaree, in Ballycourty parish, Co. Galway (Stokes, Bodleian Dinnshenchus, 26). It may be mentioned that in the Dinnshenchus, the cattle are said to have been taken "from Dartaid, the daughter of Regamon in Munster," thus confusing the Raids of Regamon and Dartaid, which may account for O'Curry's incorrect statement in the preface to Leabhar na h-Uidhri, p. xv. A treaty was then made between them on account of the fair young men who had carried off the cattle, and on account of the fair maidens who had gone with them, by whose means the herd escaped. Restitution of the herd was awarded to Regamon, and the maidens abode with the sons of Ailill and Medb; and seven times twenty milch-cows were given up, as a dowry for the maidens, and for the maintenance of the men of Ireland on the occasion of the assembly for the Tain bo Cualnge; so that this tale is called the Tain bo Regamon, and it is a prelude to the tale of the Tain bo Cualnge. Finit, amen. THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS INTRODUCTION The Tain bo Flidais, the Driving of the Cows of Flidais, does not, like the other three Preludes to the Tain bo Cualnge, occur in the Yellow Book of Lecan; but its manuscript age is far the oldest of the four, as it occurs in both the two oldest collections of Old Irish romance, the Leabbar na h-Uidhri (abbreviated to L.U.), and the Book of Leinster (abbreviated to L.L.), besides the fifteenth century Egerton MS., that contains the other three preludes. The text of all three, together with a translation of the L.U. text, is given by Windisch in Irische Texte, II. pp. 206-223; the first part of the story is missing in L.U. and is supplied from the Book of Leinster (L.L.) version. The prose translation given here follows Windisch's translation pretty closely, with insertions occasionally from L.L. The Egerton version agrees closely with L.L., and adds little to it beyond variations in spelling, which have occasionally been taken in the case of proper names. The Leabhar na h-Uidhri version is not only the oldest, but has the most details of the three; a few passages have, however, been supplied from the other manuscripts which agree with L.U. in the main. The whole tale is much more like an old Border riding ballad than are the other three Preludes; it resembles the tone of Regamon, but differs from it in having a good deal of slaughter to relate, though it can hardly be called tragic, like Deirdre and Ferb, the killing being taken as a matter of course. There is nothing at all supernatural about the story as contained in the old manuscripts, but a quite different' version of the story given in the Glenn Masain Manuscript, a fifteenth century manuscript now in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, gives another complexion to the tale. The translation of this manuscript is at present being made in the Celtic Review by Professor Mackinnon; the version it gives of the story is much longer and fuller than that in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, and its accompanying manuscripts. The translation as printed in the Celtic Review is not as yet (July 1905) completed, but, through Professor Mackinnon's kindness, an abstract of the general features of the end of the story may be given here. The Glenn Masain version makes Bricriu, who is a subordinate character in the older version, one of the principal actors, and explains many of the allusions which are difficult to understand in the shorter version; but it is not possible to regard the older version as an abridgment of that preserved in the Glenn Masain MS., for the end of the story in this manuscript is absolutely different from that in the older ones, and the romance appears to be unique in Irish in that it has versions which give two quite different endings, like the two versions of Kipling's The Light that Failed. The Glenn Masain version commences with a feast held at Cruachan, when Fergus and his exiles had joined their forces with Connaught as a result of the murder of the Sons of Usnach, as told in the earlier part of the manuscript. At this feast Bricriu. engages in conversation with Fergus, reproaching him for his broken promises to the Ulstermen who had joined him, and for his dalliance with Queen Maev. Bricriu, who in other romances is a mere buffoon, here appears as a distinguished poet, and a chief ollave; his satire remains bitter, but by no means scurrilous, and the verses put into his mouth, although far beneath the standard of the verses given to Deirdre in the earlier part of the manuscript, show a certain amount of dignity and poetic power. As an example, the following satire on Fergus's inability to keep his promises may be cited:-- Fergus, hear thy friend lamenting! Blunted is thy lofty mind; Thou, for hire, to Maev consenting, Hast thy valour's pride resigned. Ere another year's arriving, Should thy comrades, thou didst vow, Three-score chariots fair be driving, Shields and weapons have enow! When thy ladies, bent on pleasure, Crowd towards the banquet-hall, Thou of gold a goodly measure Promised hast to grant to all! Ill to-night thy friends are faring, Naught hath Fergus to bestow; He a poor man's look is wearing, Never yet was greater woe! After the dialogue with Fergus, Bricriu, with the poets that attend him, undertakes a journey to Ailill the Fair, to obtain from him the bounty that Fergus had promised but was unable to grant. He makes a fairly heavy demand upon Ailill's bounty, but is received hospitably, and gets all he had asked for, as well as honour for his poetic talents. He then asks about Ailill's wife Flidais, and is told about her marvellous cow, which was able to supply milk to more than three hundred men at one night's milking. Flidais returns from a journey, is welcomed by Bricriu, who produces a poem in honour of her and her cow, and is suitably recompensed. A long conversation is then recorded between Flidais and Bricriu in which Bricriu extols the great deeds of Fergus, supplying thereby a commentary on the short statement at the beginning of the older version, that Flidais' love to Fergus was on account of the great deeds which had been told her that he had done. Flidais declares to Bricriu her love for Fergus, and Bricriu, after a vain attempt to dissuade the queen from her purpose, consents to bring a message to Fergus that Flidais and her cow will come to him if he comes to her husband's castle to seek her. He then returns to Connaught laden with gifts. The story now proceeds somewhat upon the lines of the older version. Bricriu approaches Fergus on his return, and induces him to go in the guise of an ambassador to Ailill the Fair, with the secret intention of carrying off Flidais. Fergus receives the sanction of Maev and her husband for his errand, and departs, but not as in the older version with a few followers; all the Ulster exiles are with him. Dubhtach, by killing a servant of Maev, embroils Fergus with the queen of Connaught; and the expedition reaches Ailill the Fair's castle. Fergus sends Bricriu, who has most unwillingly accompanied him, to ask for hospitality; he is hospitably received by Ailill, and when under the influence of wine reveals to Ailill the plot. Ailill does not, as in the older version, refuse to receive Fergus, but seats him beside himself at a feast, and after reproaching him with his purpose challenges him to a duel in the morning. The result of the duel, and of the subsequent attack on the castle by Fergus' friends, is much as stated in the older version, but the two stories end quite differently. The L.U. version makes Flidais assist in the War of Cualgne by feeding the army of Ailill each seventh day with the produce of her cows; she dies after the war as wife of Fergus; the Glenn Masain version, in the "Pursuit of the Cattle of Flidais," makes the Gamanrad clan, the hero-clan of the West of Ireland, pursue Maev and Fergus, and rescue Flidais and her cow; Flidais then returns to the west with Muiretach Menn, the son of her murdered husband, Ailill the Fair. The comparison of these two versions, from the literary point of view, is most interesting. The stress laid on the supernatural cow is peculiar to the version in the later manuscript, the only analogy in the eleventh century version is the semi-supernatural feeding of the army of Ireland, but in this it is a herd (buar), not a single animal, that is credited with the feat, and there is really nothing supernatural about the matter; it is only the other version that enables us to see the true bearing of the incident. The version in the Glenn Masain Manuscript looks much more ancient in idea than that in the older texts, and is plainly capable of a mythic interpretation. It is not of course suggested that the Glenn Masain version is ancient as it stands: there are indeed enough obvious allusions in the text to comparatively late works to negative such a supposition, independently of linguistic evidence, but it does look as if the author of the eleventh century text had a super natural tale to work upon, some of whose incidents are preserved in the Glenn Masain version, and that he succeeded in making out of the traditional account a story that practically contains no supernatural element at all, so that it requires a knowledge of the other version to discover the slight trace of the supernatural that he did keep, viz. the feeding of the army of Ireland by the herd (not the cow) of Flidais. It is possible that the common origin of the two versions is preserved for us in another place, the Coir Annam, which, though it as it stands is a Middle Irish work, probably keeps ancient tradition better than the more finished romances. In this we find, following Stokes' translation, given in Irische Texte, III. P. 295, the following entries:-- "Adammair Flidaise Foltchain, that is Flidais the Queen, one of the tribe of the god-folk (the Tuatha de Danaan), she was wife of Adammair, the son of Fer Cuirp, and from her cometh the name Buar Flidaise, the Cattle of Flidais. "Nia Segamain, that is seg (deer) are a main (his treasure), for in his time cows and does were milked in the same way every day, so that he had great wealth in these things beyond that of all other kings. The Flidais spoken of above was the mother of Nia Segamain, Adammair's son, for two kinds of cattle, cows and does, were milked in the days of Nia Segamain, and by his mother was that fairy power given to him." It seems, then, not impossible that the original legend was much as stated in the Coir Annam, viz. that Flidais was a supernatural being, milking wild deer like cows, and that she was taken into the Ulster Cycle and made part of the tale of Fergus. This adoption was done by an author who made a text which may be regarded as the common original of the two versions; in his tale the supernatural character of Flidais was retained. The author of the L.U. version cut out the supernatural part, and perhaps the original embassy of Bricriu; it may, however, be noted that the opening of the older version comes from the L.L. text, which is throughout shorter than that in L.U., and the lost opening of L.U. may have been fuller. The author of the Glenn Masain version kept nearer to the old story, adding, however, more modern touches. Where the new character of Bricriu comes from is a moot point; I incline to the belief that the idea of Bricriu as a mere buffoon is a later development. But in neither version is the story, as we have it, a pre-Christian one. The original pre-Christian idea of Flidais was, as in the Coir Annam, that of a being outside the Ulster Cycle altogether. THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS FROM THE LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI (ELEVENTH-CENTURY MS.), THE BEGINNING AND A FEW ADDITIONS FROM THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (TWELFTH CENTURY) A land in West Roscommon, as Kerry known of old, Was ruled by Ailill Fair-haired; of him a tale is told: How Flidais,[FN#80] Ailill's[FN#81] consort, each week, and near its end, To Ro's great son, to Fergus, her herald still would send; 'Twas Fergus' love she sought for; the deeds by Fergus done, In glorious tales recited, had Flidais' fancy won. [FN#80] Pronounced Flid-das. [FN#81] Pronounced Al-ill. When Fergus fled from Ulster, and Connaught's land he sought, To Ailill, king of Connaught, this tale of love he brought: "Now give me rede," said Fergus, "how best we here should act, That Connaught's fame and honour by none may stand attacked; Say, how can I approach them, and strip thy kingdom bare, And yet the fame of Ailill, that country's monarch, spare?" "'Tis hard indeed to teach thee," cried Ailill, sore perplexed; "Let Maev come nigh with counsel what course to follow next!" "Send thou to Ailill Fair-haired to ask for aid!" said Maev, "He well may meet a herald, who comes his help to crave Let Fergus go to crave it: no harm can there be seen; And better gifts from Ailill shall Fergus win, I ween!" So forth to Ailill Fair-haired went Fergus, son of Ro; And thirty, Dubhtach[FN#82] leading, he chose with him to go; And yet another Fergus his aid to Fergus brought; Mac Oonlama[FN#83] men called him; his sire one-handed fought. [FN#82] Pronounced Doov-ta. [FN#83] Spelt Mac Oenlama, son of the one-handed one. Beside the Ford of Fenna, in Kerry's north they came, They neared the hold, and from it rang welcome's loud acclaim: "What quest," said Ailill Fair-haired, "hath brought these warriors here?" "Of Ailill, son of Magach, we stand," they said, "in fear; A feud we hold against him; with thee would fain abide!" "For each of these," said Ailill, "who Fergus march beside, If they were foes to Connaught, for long they here might stay, And ne'er till peace was granted, I'd drive these men away: For Fergus, naught I grant him a tale of him men tell That Fergus 'tis whom Flidais, my wife, doth love too well!" "It is kine that I ask for," said Fergus, "and hard is the task on me set: For the men who have marched here beside me, the means to win life I must get." "I will give no such present," said Ailill," thou comest not here as my guest: Men will say, 'twas from fear that I gave it, lest my wife from my arms thou should'st wrest: Yet an ox of my herds, and some bacon, if thou wilt, shall my hand to thee give; That the men who have marched here beside thee on that meat may be stayed, and may live!" "I eat no bread thus thrown me!" fierce Fergus straight replied: "I asked a gift of honour; that gift thine hand denied." "Avoid my house," said Ailill in wrath, "now get thee hence! "We go indeed," said Fergus; "no siege we now commence: Yet here," he cried, "for duel beside yon ford I wait, If thou canst find a champion to meet me at thy gate." Then up and answered Ailill: "'Tis mine this strife must be And none shall hurt mine honour, or take this task from me: None hold me back from battle!"--the ford for fight he sought: "Now Dubhtach, say," said Fergus, "to whom this war is brought! Or thou or I must meet him." And Dubhtach said, "I go; For I am younger, Fergus, and bolder far with foe." To the ford for the battle with Ailill he hies, And he thrust at him fiercely, and pierced through his thighs; But a javelin by Ailill at Dubhtach was cast, And right through his body the shaft of it passed: And a shield over Dubhtach, laid low in the dust, Spread Fergus; and Ailill his spear at him thrust; And through Fergus' shield had the spear made its way, When Fergus Mae Oonlama joined in the fray, And his shield he uplifted, his namesake to guard; But at Fergus Mac Oonlama Ailill thrust hard, And he brake through the fence of Mac Oonlama's shield; And he leaped in his pain; as they lay on the field, On his comrades he fell: Flidais forth to them flew, And her cloak on the warriors to shield them she threw. Then against all the comrades of Fergus turned Ailill the Fair-haired to fight, And he chased them away from his castle, and slew as they scattered in flight; A twenty he reached, and he slew them: they fell, on that field to remain; And but seven there were of that thirty who fled, and their safety could gain: They came to the palace of Croghan, they entered the gates of that hold, And to Maev and to Ailill of Connaught the tale of the slaughter they told. Then roused himself King Ailill, of Connaught's land the king, With Maev to march to battle, their aid to friends to bring: And forth from Connaught's kingdom went many a lord of worth, Beside them marched the exiles who gat from Ulster birth: So forward went that army, and reached to Kerry's land, And near the Ford of Fenna they came, and there made stand. While this was done, the wounded three Within the hold lay still, And Flidais cared for all, for she To heal their wounds had skill. To Ailill Fair-Haired's castle the Connaught host was led, And toward the foeman's ramparts the Connaught herald sped; He called on Ailill Fair-haired to come without the gate, And there to meet King Ailill, and with him hold debate. "I come to no such meeting," the angry chief replied; "Yon man is far too haughty: too grossly swells his pride!" Yet 'twas peaceful meeting, So the old men say, Ailill willed; whose greeting Heralds bore that day. Fergus, ere he perished, First he sought to aid He that thought who cherished Friendship's claims obeyed: Then his foe he vainly Hoped in truce to bind: Peace, 'tis said, was plainly Dear to Connaught's mind! The wounded men, on litters laid, Without the walls they bore To friendly hands, with skill to aid, And fainting health restore. At the castle of Ailill the Fair-Haired the Connaught-men rushed in attack, And to win it they failed: from his ramparts in defeat were his foes driven back: For long in that contest they struggled, yet naught in the fight they prevailed - For a week were the walls of the castle of Ailill the Fair-Haired assailed, Seven score of the nobles of Connaught, and all of them warriors of might, For the castle of Ailill contended, and fell as they strove in the fight. "'Tis sure that with omen of evil this castle was sought by our folk!" Thus Bricroo,[FN#84] the Poisonous Scoffer, in mockery, jeering them, spoke: "The taunt," answered Ailill Mae Mata, "is true, and with grief I confess That the fame of the heroes of Ulster hereafter is like to be less, For a three of the Ulstermen's champions in stress of the fight have been quelled; And the vengeance we wait for from Ulster hath long been by Ulster withheld; As a pillar of warfare each hero, 'twas claimed, could a battle sustain; Yet by none of the three in this battle hath a foeman been conquered, or slain! In the future for all of these champions shall scorn and much mocking befall: One man hath come forth from yon castle; alone he hath wounded them all-- Such disgrace for such heroes of valour no times that are past ever saw, For three lords of the battle lie conquered by mannikins, fashioned of straw!" [FN#84] Spelt Bricriu. The usual epithet of Bricriu, "Bricriu of the Poison Tongue," is indicated in the verse rendering. "Ah! woe is me," said Bricroo, "how long, thus stretched on ground, The length of Father Fergus hath here by all been found! But one he sought to conquer; a single fight essayed, And here he met his victor, and low on land is laid." Then rose the men of Ulster a hardy war to wage, And forward rushed, though naked, in strong and stubborn rage: Against the castle gateway in wrathful might they dashed, And down the shattered portal within the castle crashed. Then close by Ulster's champions was Connaught's battle formed; And Connaught's troops with Ulster by might the castle stormed; But fitly framed for battle were men whom there they met, Wild war, where none showed pity between the hosts was set: And well they struck; each hero commenced with mighty blows To crush and slay, destruction was heaped by foe on foes. Of the wounding at length and the slaughter all weary the champions had grown, And the men who the castle of Ailill had held were at length over thrown: Of those who were found in that castle, and its walls had defended so well, Seven hundred by warriors of Ulster were smitten to death, and they fell: And there in his castle fell Ailill the Fair-haired, and fighting he died, And a thirty of sons stood about him, and all met their death by his side. The chief of those who perished, by Ailill's side who stood Within his hold, were Noodoo;[FN#85] and Awley[FN#86] named the Good; And Feeho[FN#87] called the Broad-backed; and Corpre Cromm the Bent; An Ailill, he from Breffny to help of Ailill went; A three whose name was Angus-fierce was each warrior's face; Three Eochaid, sea-girt Donnan[FN#88] had cradled erst their race; And there fell seven Breslen, from plains of Ay[FN#89] who came; And fifty fell beside them who all had Donnell's name. [FN#85] Spelt Nuado. [FN#86] Spelt Amalgaid. [FN#87] Spelt Fiacho. [FN#88] Irross Donnan, the promontory of Donnan (now Mayo). [FN#89] Mag Ai, a plain in Roscommon. For to Ailill the Fair-Haired for warfare had marched all the Gamanra[FN#90] clan, And his friends from the sea-girded Donnan had sent to his aid every man; All these had with Ailill been leaguered, their help to him freely they brought, And that aid from them Ailill. took gladly, he knew that his hold would be sought; He knew that the exiles of Ulster his captives from prison would save, And would come, their surrender demanding; that Ailill mac Mata and Maev Would bring all Connaught's troops to the rescue: for Fergus that aid they would lend, And Fergus the succour of Connaught could claim, and with right, as a friend. [FN#90] Spelt Gamanrad. Hero clans in Erin three of old were found; One in Irross Donnan, oceans Donnan bound, Thence came Clan Gamanra; Deda's warlike clan Nursed in Tara Loochra[FN#91] many a fighting man. Deda sprang from Munster; far in Ulster's north Oft from Emain Macha Rury's[FN#92] clan went forth: Vainly all with Rury strove to fight, the twain Rury's clan hath vanquished; Rury all hath slain! [FN#91] Temair Luachra, an ancient palace near Abbeyfeale, on the borders of the counties of Limerick and Kerry. "Tara," as is well known, is a corruption of Temair, but is now established. [FN#92] Spelt Rudraige. Then rose up the warriors of Ulster, the hold they had conquered to sack; And the folk of Queen Maev and King Ailill followed close on the Ulstermen's track: And they took with them captives; for Flidais away from her castle they tore; And the women who dwelt in the castle away to captivity bore: And all things therein that were precious they seized on as booty; the gold And the silver they seized, and the treasures amassed by the men of that hold: The horns, and the goblets for drinking, the vats for the ale, and the keys, The gay robes with all hues that were glowing lay there for the raiders to seize: And much cattle they took; in that castle were one hundred of milk giving kine; And beside them a seven score oxen; three thousand of sheep and of swine. Then Flidais went with Fergus, his wedded wife to be; For thus had Maev and Ailill pronounced their high decree: They bade that when from Cualgne to drive the kine they went, From those who then were wedded should aid for war be sent. And thus it fell thereafter: when Ireland went that Raid, By milk from cows of Flidais, the lives of all were stayed; Each seventh day she sent it; and thus fulfilled her vows, And thus the tale is ended, men tell of Flidais' Cows. Then, all that Raid accomplished, with Fergus Flidais dwell And he of Ulster's kingdom a part in lordship held: He ruled in Mag I Murthemne[FN#92], yea, more than that, he won The land where once was ruler Cuchulain, Sualtam's son: And by the shore of Bali thereafter Flidais died, And naught of good for Fergus did Flidais' death betide: For worse was all his household; if Fergus aught desired, From Flidais' wealth and bounty came all his soul required. In the days that followed, when his wife was dead, Fergus went to Connaught; there his blood was shed: There with Maev and Ailill he a while would stay; Men had made a story, he would learn the lay! There he went to cheer him, hearing converse fair: Kine beside were promised; home he these would bear: So he went to Croghan, 'twas a deadly quest, There he found his slaughter, death within the west: Slain by jealous Ailill, Fergus low was laid: Flidais' tale is ended: now comes Cualgne's Raid! [FN#92] Pronounced Maw Moortemmy THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS LITERAL TRANSLATION Flidais was the wife of Ailill Finn (the Fair-haired) in the district of Kerry.[FN#93] She loved Fergus the son of Rog on account of the glorious tales about him; and always there went messengers from her to him at the end of each week. [FN#93] Kerry is the district now called Castlereagh, in the west of the present county of Roscommon. So, when he came to Connaught, he brought this matter before[FN#94] Ailill: "What[FN#95] shall I do next in this matter?" said Fergus: "it is hard for me to lay bare your land, without there being loss to thee of honour and renown therewith." "Yes, what shall we do next in the matter?" said Ailill; "we will consider this in counsel with Maev." "Let one of us go to Ailill Finn," (said Maev), "that he may help us, and as this involves a meeting of some one with him, there is no reason why it should not be thyself who goest to him: the gift will be all the better for that!" [FN#94] i.e. Ailill of Connaught. [FN#95] This sentence to the end is taken from the Egerton version, which seems the clearer; the Book of Leinster gives: "What shall I do next, that there be no loss of honour or renown to thee in the matter?" Then Fergus set out thereon, in number thirty men; the two Ferguses (i.e. Fergus mac Rog, and Fergus mac Oen-lama) and Dubhtach; till they were at the Ford of Fenna in the north of the land of Kerry. They go to the burg, and welcome is brought to them.[FN#96] "What brings you here?" said Ailill Finn. "We had the intention of staying with you on a visit, for we have a quarrel with Ailill the son of Magach." [FN#96] The Book of the Dun Cow (Leabhar na h-Uidhri) version begins at this point. "If it were one of thy people who had the quarrel, he should stay with me until he had made his peace. But thou shalt not stay," said Ailill Finn, "it has been told me that my wife loves thee!" "We must have a gift of cows then," said Fergus, "for a great need lies on us, even the sustenance of the troop who have gone with me into exile." "Thou shalt carry off no such present from me," he said, "because thou art not remaining with me on a visit. Men will say that it is to keep my wife that I gave thee what thou hast required. I[FN#97] will give to your company one ox and some bacon to help them, if such is your pleasure." "I will eat not thy bread although offered (lit. however)," said Fergus, "because I can get no present of honour from thee!" [FN#97] L.L. and Egerton make the end of this speech part of the story: "There was given to them one ox with bacon, with as much as they wished of beer, as a feast for them." "Out of my house with you all, then!" said Ailill. "That shall be," said Fergus; "we shall not begin to lay siege to thee and they betake themselves outside. "Let a man come at once to fight me beside a ford at the gate of this castle!" said Fergus. "That[FN#98] will not for the sake of my honour be refused," said Ailill; "I will not hand it (the strife) over to another: I will go myself," said he. He went to a ford against him. "Which of us," said Fergus, "O Dubhtach, shall encounter this man?" "I will go," said Dubhtach; "I am younger and keener than thou art!" Dubhtach went against Ailill. Dubhtach thrust a spear through Ailill so that it went through his two thighs. He (Ailill) hurled a javelin at Dubhtach, so that he drove the spear right through him, (so that it came out) on the other side. [FN#98] The end of the speech is from L.L.: the L.U. text gives the whole speech thus: "For my honour's sake, I could not draw back in this matter." Fergus threw his shield over Dubhtach. The former (Ailill) thrust his spear at the shield of Fergus so that he even drove the shaft right through it. Fergus mac Oen-laimi comes by. Fergus mac Oen-laimi holds a shield in front of him (the other Fergus). Ailill struck his spear upon this so that it was forced right through it. He leaped so that he lay there on the top of his companions. Flidais comes by from the castle, and throws her cloak over the three. Fergus' people took to flight; Ailill pursues them. There remain (slain) by him twenty men of them. Seven of them escape to Cruachan Ai, and tell there the whole story to Ailill and Medb. Then Ailill and Medb arise, and the nobles of Connaught and the exiles from Ulster: they march into the district of Kerry Ai with their troops as far as: the Ford of Fenna. Meanwhile the wounded men were being cared for by Flidais in the castle, and their healing was undertaken by her. Then the troops come to the castle. Ailill Finn is summoned to Ailill mac Mata to come to a conference with him outside the castle. "I will not go," he said; "the pride and arrogance of that man there is great." It was,[FN#99] however, for a peaceful meeting that Ailill mac Mata had come to Ailill the Fair-haired, both that he might save Fergus, as it was right he should, and that he might afterwards make peace with him (Ailill Fair haired), according to the will of the lords of Connaught. [FN#99] This passage is sometimes considered to be an interpolation by a scribe or narrator whose sympathies were with Connaught. The passage does not occur in the Book of Leinster, nor in the Egerton MS. Then the wounded men were brought out of the castle, on hand-barrows, that they might be cared for by their own people. Then the men attack him (Ailill Finn): while they are storming the castle, and they could get no hold on him, a full week long went it thus with them. Seven times twenty heroes from among the nobles of Connaught fell during the time that they (endeavoured) to storm the castle of Ailill the Fair-haired. "It was with no good omen that with which you went to this castle," said Bricriu. "True indeed is the word that is spoken," said Ailill mac Mata. "The expedition is bad for the honour of the Ulstermen, in that their three heroes fall, and they take not vengeance for them. Each one (of the three) was a pillar of war, yet not a single man has fallen at the hands of one of the three! Truly these heroes are great to be under such wisps of straw as axe the men of this castle! Most worthy is it of scorn that one man has wounded you three!" "O woe is me," said Bricriu, "long is the length upon the ground of my Papa Fergus, since one man in single combat laid him low!" Then the champions of Ulster arise, naked as they were, and make a strong and obstinate attack in their rage and in the might of their violence, so that they forced in the outer gateway till it was in the midst of the castle, and the men of Connaught go beside them. They storm the castle with great might against the valiant warriors who were there. A wild pitiless battle is fought between them, and each man begins to strike out against the other, and to destroy him. Then, after they had wearied of wounding and overcoming one another, the people of the castle were overthrown, and the Ulstermen slay seven hundred warriors there in the castle with Ailill the Fair-Haired and thirty of his sons; and Amalgaid the Good;[FN#100] and Nuado; and Fiacho Muinmethan (Fiacho the Broad-backed); and Corpre Cromm (the Bent or Crooked); and Ailill from Brefne; and the three Oengus Bodbgnai (the Faces of Danger); and the three Eochaid of Irross (i.e. Irross Donnan); and the seven Breslene from Ai; and the fifty Domnall. [FN#100] "The Good" is in the Book of Leinster and the Egerton text, not in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri: the two later texts omit Nuado. For the assembly of the Gamanrad were with Ailill, and each of the men of Domnan who had bidden himself to come to him to aid him: they were in the same place assembled in his castle; for he knew that the exiles from Ulster and Ailill and Medb with their army would come to him to demand the surrender of Fergus, for Fergus was under their protection. This was the third race of heroes in Ireland, namely the Clan Gamanrad of Irross Donnan (the peninsula of Donnan), and (the other two were) the Clan Dedad in Temair Lochra, and the Clan Rudraige in Emain Macha. But both the other clans were destroyed by the Clan Rudraige. But the men of Ulster arise, and with them the people of Medb and of Ailill; and they laid waste the castle, and take Flidais out of the castle with them, and carry off the women of the castle into captivity; and they take with them all the costly things and the treasures that were there, gold and silver, and horns, and drinking cups, and keys, and vats; and they take what there was of garments of every colour, and they take what there was of kine, even a hundred milch-cows, and a hundred and forty oxen, and thirty hundred of little cattle. And after these things had been done, Flidais went to Fergus mac Rog according to the decree of Ailill and Medb, that they might thence have sustenance (lit. that their sustenance might be) on the occasion of the Raid of the Cows of Cualgne. As[FN#101] a result of this, Flidais was accustomed each seventh day from the produce of her cows to support the men of Ireland, in order that during the Raid she might provide them with the means of life. This then was the Herd of Flidais. [FN#101] L.L. and Egerton give "For him used every seventh day," &c. In consequence[FN#102] of all this Flidais went with Fergus to his home, and he received the lordship of a part of Ulster, even Mag Murthemni (the plain of Murthemne), together with that which had been in the hands of Cuchulain, the son of Sualtam. So Flidais died after some time at Trag Bàli (the shore of Bali), and the state of Fergus' household was none the better for that. For she used to supply all Fergus' needs whatsoever they might be (lit. she used to provide for Fergus every outfit that he desired for himself). Fergus died after some time in the land of Connaught, after the death of his wife, after he had gone there to obtain knowledge of a story. For, in order to cheer himself, and to fetch home a grant of cows from Ailill and Medb, he had gone westwards to Cruachan, so that it was in consequence of this journey that he found his death in the west, through the jealousy of Ailill. [FN#102] L.L. and Egerton give "thereafter," adopted in verse translation. This, then, is the story of the Tain bo Flidais; it[FN#103] is among the preludes of the Tain bo Cualnge. [FN#103] This sentence does not occur in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri. It is given as in the Egerton version: the Book of Leinster gives "it is among the preludes of the Tain." THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN (TAIN BO REGAMNA) INTRODUCTION This tale is given by the same two manuscripts that give the Tain bo Dartada and the Tain bo Regamon; namely the Yellow Book of Lecan, and Egerton 1782. The text of both is given by Windisch, Irische Texte, II. pp. 239-254; he gives a translation of the version in the Yellow Book, with a few insertions from the Egerton MS., where the version in Y.B.L. is apparently corrupt: Miss Hull gives an English translation of Windisch's rendering, in the Cuchullin Saga, pages 103 to 107. The prose version given here is a little closer to the Irish than Miss Hull's, and differs very little from that of Windisch. The song sung by the Morrigan to Cuchulain is given in the Irish of both versions by Windisch; he gives no rendering, as it is difficult and corrupt: I can make nothing of it, except that it is a jeering account of the War of Cualgne. The title Tain bo Regamna is not connected with anything in the tale, as given; Windisch conjectures "Tain bo Morrigna," the Driving of the Cow of the Great Queen (Morrigan); as the woman is called at the end of the Egerton version. The Morrigan, one of the three goddesses of war, was the chief of them: they were Morrigan, Badb, and Macha. She is also the wife of the Dagda, the chief god of the pagan Irish. The Yellow Book version calls her Badb in this tale, but the account in the Tain bo Cualnge (Leabhar na h-Uidhri facsimile, pp. 74 and 77), where the prophecies are fulfilled, agrees with the Egerton version in calling the woman of this tale the Morrigan or the Great Queen. THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN (ALSO CALLED "TAIN BO REGAMNA") FROM THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (FOURTEENTH CENTURY) AT Dun Imrid lay Cuchulain,[FN#104] and slept, when a cry rang out; And in fear he heard from the north-land come ringing that terrible shout: He fell, as he woke from his slumber, with the thud of a weight, to the ground, From his couch on that side of the castle that the rising sun first found. He left his arms in the castle, as the lawns round its walls he sought, But his wife, who followed behind him, apparel and arms to him brought: Then he saw his harnessed chariot, and Laeg,[FN#105] his charioteer, From Ferta Laig who drave it: from the north the car drew near: "What bringeth thee here?" said Cuchulain: said Laeg, "By a cry I was stirred, That across the plain came sounding." "And whence was the cry thou hast heard?" "From the north-west quarter it travelled, it crossed the great Cayll[FN#106] Cooen road!" "Follow on, on that track," said Cuchulain, "till we know what that clamour may bode!" [FN#104] Pronounced Cu-hoolin. [FN#105] Pronounced Layg. [FN#106] Spelt Caill Cuan. At the ford of the Double Wonder, at Ah[FN#107] Fayrta, the car made stand For a chariot rattled toward them, from the clay-soiled Coolgarry[FN#108] land And before them came that chariot; and strange was the sight they saw: For a one-legged chestnut charger was harnessed the car to draw; And right through the horse's body the pole of the car had passed, To a halter across his forehead was the pole with a wedge made fast: A red woman sat in the chariot, bright red were her eyebrows twain A crimson cloak was round her: the folds of it touched the plain: Two poles were behind her chariot: between them her mantle flowed; And close by the side of that woman a mighty giant strode; On his back was a staff of hazel, two-forked, and the garb he wore Was red, and a cow he goaded, that shambled on before. [FN#107] Spelt Ath Ferta, or more fully Ath da Ferta, the ford of the two marvels. [FN#108] Spelt Culgaire. To that woman and man cried Cuchulain, "Ye who drive that cow do wrong, For against her will do ye drive her!" "Not to thee doth that cow belong," Said the woman; "no byre of thy comrades or thy friends hath that cow yet barred." "The kine of the land of Ulster," said Cuchulain, "are mine to guard!" "Dost thou sit on the seat of judgment?" said the dame, "and a sage decree On this cow would'st thou give, Cuchulain?--too great is that task for thee!" Said the hero, "Why speaketh this woman? hath the man with her never a word?" "'Twas not him you addressed," was her answer, "when first your reproaches we heard." "Nay, to him did I speak," said Cuchulain, "though 'tis thou to reply who would'st claim!" 'Ooer-gay-skyeo-loo-ehar-skyeo[FN#109] is the name that he bears," said the dame. [FN#109] Spelt Uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo "'Tis a marvellous name!" said Cuchulain, "if from thee all my answer must come, Let it be as thou wishest; thy comrade, this man, as it seemeth, is dumb. Tell me now of thine own name, O woman." "Faebor-bayg-byeo-ill,"[FN#110] said the man. "Coom-diewr-folt-skayv-garry-skyeo-ooa is her name, if pronounce it you can!" Then Cuchulain sprang at the chariot: "Would ye make me a fool with your jest?" He cried, as he leapt at the woman; his feet on her shoulders he pressed, And he set on her head his spear-point: "Now cease from thy sharp weapon-play!" Cried the woman. Cuchulain made answer: Thy name to me truth fully say!" "Then remove thyself from me!" she answered: I am skilled in satirical spells; The man is called Darry I mac Feena[FN#111]: in the country of Cualgne[FN#112] he dwells; I of late made a marvellous poem; and as fee for the poem this cow Do I drive to my home." "Let its verses," said Cuchulain," be sung to me now!" "Then away from me stand!" said the woman: "though above me thou shakest thy spear, It will naught avail thee to move me." Then he left her, but lingered near, Between the poles of her chariot: the woman her song then sang; And the song was a song of insult. Again at the car he sprang, But nothing he found before him: as soon as the car he had neared, The woman, the horse, and the chariot, the cow, and the man disappeared. [FN#110] Spelt Faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-seenb-gairit-sceo-uath. [FN#111] Spelt Daire mac Fiachna: he is the owner of the Dun of Cualgne in the Great Tain. [FN#112] Pronounced Kell-ny. At a bird on a bough, as they vanished, a glance by Cuchulain was cast, And he knew to that bird's black body the shape of the woman had passed: As a woman of danger I know you," he cried, "and as powerful in spell!" From to-day and for ever," she chanted, "this tale in yon clay-land shall dwell!" And her word was accomplished; that region to-day is the Grella Dolloo,[FN#113] The Clay-land of Evil: its name from the deeds of that woman it drew. [FN#113] Spelt Grellach Dolluid. "Had I known it was you," said Cuchulain, "not thus had you passed from my sight!" And she sang, "For thy deed it is fated that evil shall soon be thy plight!" Thou canst. do naught against me," he answered. "Yea, evil in sooth can I send; Of thy Bringer of Death I am guardian, shall guard it till cometh thine end: From the Under-world Country of Croghan this cow have I driven, to breed By the Dun Bull of Darry[FN#114] Mae Feena, the Bull that in Cualgne doth feed. So long as her calf be a yearling, for that time thy life shall endure; But, that then shall the Raid have beginning, the dread Raid of Cualgne, be sure." [FN#114] Spelt Daire mac Fiachna. "Nay, clearer my fame shall be ringing," the hero replied," for the Raid: All bards, who my deeds shall be singing, must tell of the stand that I made, Each warrior in fight shall be stricken, who dares with my valour to strive: Thou shalt see me, though battle-fields thicken, from the Tain Bo returning alive!" "How canst thou that strife be surviving?" the woman replied to his song, "For, when thou with a hero art striving, as fearful as thou, and as strong, Who like thee in his wars is victorious, who all of thy feats can perform, As brave, and as great, and as glorious, as tireless as thou in a storm, Then, in shape of an eel round thee coiling, thy feet at the Ford I will bind, And thou, in such contest when toiling, a battle unequal shalt find." "By my god now I swear, by the token that Ulstermen swear by," he cried; "On a green stone by me shall be broken that eel, to the Ford if it glide: From woe it shall ne'er be escaping, till it loose me, and pass on its way!" And she said: "As a wolf myself shaping, I will spring on thee, eager to slay, I will tear thee; the flesh shall be rended from thy chest by the wolf's savage bite, Till a strip be torn from thee, extended from the arm on thy left to thy right! With blows that my spear-shaft shall deal thee," he said, "I will force thee to fly Till thou quit me; my skill shall not heal thee, though bursts from thy head either eye!" I will come then," she cried, "as a heifer, white-skinned, but with ears that are red, At what time thou in fight shalt endeavour the blood of a hero to shed, Whose skill is full match for thy cunning; by the ford in a lake I will be, And a hundred white cows shall come running, with red ears, in like fashion to me: As the hooves of the cows on thee trample, thou shalt test 'truth of men in the fight': And the proof thou shalt have shall be ample, for from thee thy head they shall smite!" Said Cuchulain: "Aside from thee springing, a stone for a cast will I take, And that stone at thee furiously slinging, thy right or thy left leg will break: Till thou quit me, no help will I grant thee." Morreegan,[FN#115] the great Battle Queen, With her cow to Rath Croghan departed, and no more by Cuchulain was seen. For she went to her Under-World Country: Cuchulain returned to his place. The tale of the Great Raid of Cualgne this lay, as a prelude, may grace. [FN#115] Spelt Morrigan. THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN LITERAL TRANSLATION When Cuchulain lay in his sleep at Dun Imrid, there he heard a cry from the north; it came straight towards him; the cry was dire, and most terrifying to him. And he awaked in the midst of his sleep, so that he fell, with the fall of a heavy load, out of his couch,[FN#116] to the ground on the eastern side of his house. He went out thereupon without his weapons, so that he was on the lawns before his house, but his wife brought out, as she followed behind him, his arms and his clothing. Then he saw Laeg in his harnessed chariot, coming from Ferta Laig, from the north; and "What brings thee here?" said Cuchulain. "A cry," said Laeg, "that I heard sounding over the plains. "On what side was it?" said Cuchulain. "From the north-west it seemed," said Laeg, "that is, across the great road of Caill Cuan."[FN#117] "Let us follow after to know of it (lit. after it, to it for us)," said Cuchulain. [FN#116] Or "out of his room." The word is imda, sometimes rendered "bed," as here by Windisch sometimes also "room," as in the Bruidne da Derga by Whitley Stokes. [FN#117] Lough Cuan was the old name for Strangford Lough. They went out thereupon till they came to Ath da Ferta. When they were there, straightway they heard the rattle of a chariot from the quarter of the loamy district of Culgaire. Then they saw the chariot come before them, and one chestnut (lit. red) horse in it. The horse was one footed, and the pole of the chariot passed through the body of the horse, till a wedge went through it, to make it fast on its forehead. A red[FN#118] woman was in the chariot, and a red mantle about her, she had two red eye-brows, and the mantle fell between the two ferta[FN#119] of her chariot behind till it struck upon the ground behind her. A great man was beside her chariot, a red[FN#120] cloak was upon him, and a forked staff of hazel at his back, he drove a cow in front of him. [FN#118] The above is the Egerton text: the text of Y.B.L. gives "A red woman there, with her two eyebrows red, and her cloak and her raiment: the cloak fell," &c. [FN#119] It is not known certainly what the ferta were: Windisch translates "wheels," but does not give this meaning in his Dictionary: the ferta were behind the car, and could be removed to sound the depth of a ford. It is suggested that they were poles, projecting behind to balance the chariot; and perhaps could be adjusted so as to project less or farther. [FN#120] This is the Egerton text; the Y.B.L. text gives "a tunic forptha on him the meaning of forptha is unknown. "That cow is not joyful at being driven by you!" said Cuchulain. "The cow does not belong to you," said the woman, "she is not the cow of any friend or acquaintance of yours." "The cows of Ulster," said Cuchulain, "are my proper (care)." "Dost thou give a decision about the cow?" said the woman; "the task is too great to which thy hand is set, O Cuchulain." "Why is it the woman who answers me?" said Cuchulain, "why was it not the man?" "It was not the man whom you addressed," said the woman. "Ay," said Cuchulain, "(I did address him), though thyself hath answered for him:" "h-Uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo[FN#121] is his name," said she. [FN#121] Cold-wind-and-much-rushes. "Alas! his name is a wondrous one," said Cuchulain. "Let it be thyself who answers,[FN#122] since the man answers not. What is thine own name?" said Cuchulain. "The woman to whom thou speakest," said the man, "is Faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-scenbgairit-sceo-uath."[FN#123] "Do ye make a fool of me?" cried Cuchulain, and on that Cuchulain sprang into her chariot: he set his two feet on her two shoulders thereupon, and his spear on the top of her head. "Play not sharp weapons on me!" "Name thyself then by thy true name!" said Cuchulain. "Depart then from me!" said she: "I am a female satirist in truth," she said, "and he is Daire mac Fiachna from Cualnge: I have brought the cow as fee for a master-poem." "Let me hear the poem then," said Cuchulain. "Only remove thyself from me," said the woman; "it is none[FN#124] the better for thee that thou shakest it over my head." Thereon he left her until he was between the two poles (ferta) of her chariot, and she sang to him[FN#125] . . . . . . Cuchulain threw a spring at her chariot, and he saw not the horse, nor the woman, nor the chariot, nor the man, nor the cow. [FN#122] Y.B.L. corrupt; Egerton version adopted here. [FN#123] Little-mouthed-edge-equally-small-hair-short-splinter-much-clamour. [FN#124] Not is it better for thee that" is in Egerton alone. [FN#125] See the introduction for the omission of the poem. Then he saw that she had become a black bird upon a branch near to him. "A dangerous[FN#126] (or magical) woman thou art," said Cuchulain: "Henceforward," said the woman, "this clay-land shall be called dolluid (of evil,)" and it has been the Grellach Dolluid ever since. "If only I had known it was you," said Cuchulain, "not thus should we have separated." "What thou hast done," said she, "shall be evil to thee from it." "Thou hast no power against me," said Cuchulain. "I have power indeed," said the woman; "it is at the guarding of thy death that I am; and I shall be," said she. "I brought this cow out of the fairy-mound of Cruachan, that she might breed by the Black Bull[FN#127] of Cualnge, that is the Bull of Daire Mae Fiachna. It is up to that time that thou art in life, so long as the calf which is in this cow's body is a yearling; and it is this that shall lead to the Tain bo Cualnge." "I shall myself be all the more glorious for that Tain," said Cuchulain: "I shall slay their warriors: I shall break their great hosts: I shall be survivor of the Tain." [FN#126] Windisch is doubtful about the meaning of this word. He gives it as "dangerous" in his translation; it may also mean "magical," though he thinks not. In a note he says that the meaning "dangerous" is not certain. [FN#127] In Egerton "the Dun of Cualnge." "In what way canst thou do this?" said the woman, "for when thou art in combat against a man of equal strength (to thee), equally rich in victories, thine equal in feats, equally fierce, equally untiring, equally noble, equally brave, equally great with thee, I will be an eel, and I will draw a noose about thy feet in the ford, so that it will be a great unequal war for thee." "I swear to the god that the Ulstermen swear by," said Cuchulain, "I will break thee against a green stone of the ford; and thou shalt have no healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "I will in truth be a grey wolf against thee," said she, "and I will strip a stripe[FN#128] from thee, from thy right (hand) till it extends to thy left." [FN#128] This word is left doubtful in Windisch's translation. The word is breth in Y.B.L. and breit in Egerton. Breit may be a strip of woollen material, or a strip of land; so the meaning of a strip of flesh seems possible. "I will beat thee from me," said he, "with the spear, till thy left or thy right eye bursts from thy head, and thou shalt never have healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "I shall in truth," she said, "be for thee as a white heifer with red ears, and I will go into a lake near to the ford in which thou art in combat against a man who is thine equal in feats, and one hundred white, red-eared cows shall be behind me and 'truth of men' shall on that day be tested; and they shall take thy head from thee." "I will cast at thee with a cast of my sling," said Cuchulain, "so as to break either thy left or thy right leg from under thee; and thou shalt have no help from me if thou leavest me not." They[FN#129] separated, and Cuchulain went back again to Dun Imrid, and the Morrigan with her cow to the fairy mound of Cruachan; so that this tale is a prelude to the Tain bo Cualnge. [FN#129] All this sentence up to "so that this tale" is from the Egerton version. The Yellow Book of Lecan gives "The Badb thereon went from him, and Cuchulain went to his own house, so that," &c. TEXT OF LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI GIVING THE CONCLUSION OF THE "COURTSHIP OF ETAIN" INTRODUCTION The following pages give, with an interlinear word for word[FN#130] translation, the text of Leabhar na h-Uidhri, page 130 b. line 19 to the end of page 132 a. of the facsimile. The text corresponds to the end of the tale of the Court ship of Etain in vol. i., from page 27, line 21, to the end of the story; it also contains the poem which is in that volume placed on page 26, but occurs in the manuscript at the place where the first line of it is quoted on page 30 of vol. i. [FN#130] The Irish idiom of putting the adjective after the noun is not always followed in the translation. It is hoped that the text may be found to be convenient by scholars: special care has been taken to make it accurate, and it has not, with the exception of the poem just referred to, been published before except in the facsimile; the remainder of the text of the L.U. version of the Courtship of Etain, together with the poem, has been given by Windisch in the first volume of the Irische Texte. The immediate object of the publication of this text, with its interlinear translation, is however somewhat different; it was desired to give any who may have become interested in the subject, from the romances contained in the two volumes of this collection, some idea of their exact form in the original, and of the Irish constructions and metres, as no Irish scholarship is needed to follow the text, when supplemented by the interlinear translation. The translation may be relied on, except for a few words indicated by a mark of interrogation. The passage is especially well suited to give an idea of the style of Irish composition, as it contains all the three forms used in the romances, rhetoric, regular verse, and prose: the prose also is varied in character, for it includes narrative, rapid dialogue, an antiquarian insertion, and two descriptive passages. The piece of antiquarian information and the resume of the old legend immediately preceding the second rhetoric can be seen to be of a different character to the flowing form of the narrative proper; the inserted passage being full of explanatory words, conid, issairi, is aice, &c., and containing no imagery. The two descriptions, though short, are good examples of two styles of description which occur in some other romances; neither of these styles is universal, nor are they the only styles; the favour shown to one or the other in a romance may be regarded as a characteristic of its author. The first style, exemplified by the description of Mider's appearance, consists of a succession of images presented in short sentences, sometimes, as in this case, with no verb, sometimes with the verb batar or a similar verb repeated in each sentence, but in all cases giving a brilliant word-picture, absolutely clear and definite, of what it is intended to convey. The second style, exemplified here by the description of the horses that Mider offers to Eochaid, consists of a series of epithets or of substantives, and is often imitated in modern Irish. These passages are usually difficult to translate, as many words appear to be coined for the purpose of the descriptions; but, in the best writings, the epithets are by no means arbitrary; they are placed so as to contrast sharply with each other, and in many cases suggest brilliant metaphors; the style being in this respect more like Latin than English. Absolutely literal translations quite fail to bring out the effect of such passages; for not only is the string of adjectives a distinctively Irish feature, but both in English and in Greek such metaphors are generally expressed more definitely and by short sentences. There is also a third style of description which does not appear in the prose of any of the romances in this collection, but appears often in other romances, as in the Bruidne da Derga, Bricriu's Feast, and the Great Tain; it resembles the first style, but the sentences are longer, yet it does not give clear descriptions, only leaving a vague impression. This style is often used for descriptions of the supernatural; it may be regarded as actual reproductions of the oldest pre-Christian work, but it is also possible that it is the result of legends, dimly known to the authors of the tales, and represented by them in the half-understood way in which they were apprehended by them: the Druidic forms may have been much more clear. Such passages are those which describe Cuchulain's distortions; the only passage of the character in this collection is in the verse of the Sick-bed, vol. i. page 77. Five of the romances in the present collection have no descriptive passages in the prose; the Combat at the Ford and the Tain bo Fraich show examples of both the first and the second form, but more often the first; the Tain bo Regamna, though a very short piece, also shows one example of each; for the description of the goblins met by Cuchulain is quite clear, and cannot be regarded as belonging to the third form. There is also one case of the second form in the Tain bo Dartada, and two other cases of the first in the Court ship of Etain-one in the Egerton, one in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version. The best example of the first style is in the Egerton version of Etain (vol. i. page 12); the best example of the second is the description of Cuchulain's horses (vol. i. page 128); a still better example of contrasts in such a description is in the Courtship of Ferb (Nutt, page 23). The piece of regular verse contained in the extract should give a fair idea of the style of this form of composition. Description is common in the verse, and it is in this case a prominent feature. It may be noted that lines 8, 16, 23, 26 will not scan unless the present diphthongs are divided, also that the poem has fewer internal rhymes than is usual in this regular verse. The two passages in rhetoric, for so I take them to be, are good examples of the style. An attempt has been made to divide them into lines, but this division is open to criticism, especially as some lines in one of the two passages cannot be translated, and the translation of some other lines is doubtful: the division suggested does, however, appear to me to give a rough metre and occasional rhymes. It is possible that, if attention is called to those lines which are at present untranslatable, something may be done for them. The verse translations given in vol. i. pages 27 and 29, give the meaning that I take the Irish to bear where I can get any meaning at all. As to the text, the usual abbreviation for n has in general not been italicized, nor has that for fri; all other abbreviations, including acht, final n in the symbol for con, and that for or in the recognized symbol for for, have been italicized. In the rhetorics, owing to their difficulty, the abbreviation for n has been italicized throughout; the symbol for ocus is not italicised. A few conjectures have been inserted, the text being given as a foot-note; a conjectured letter supposed to be missing has been inserted in brackets, and a restoration by Professor Strachan of a few letters where the MS. is torn are similarly placed in brackets. The rest of the text is carefully copied from the facsimile, including the glosses, which are inserted above the words in the same places that they occupy in the manuscript. TEXT WITH INTERLINEAR TRANSLATION Fecht n-aile asraracht Eochaid Airem ri Temrach la n-alaind Another time arose Eochaid Airem. king of Tara on a beautiful day i n-amsir samrata frisocaib[FN#131] for sosta na Temrach do imcaisiu maigi Breg, in time of summer, mounted on heights of Tara for viewing of plain of Breg, [FN#131] A conjecture: MS. fosrocaib= fo-s-ro-od-gaib, an unknown compound. boi fo a li ocus fo bluth cach datha. Am-imracacha inti was good its colour, and good blossom of every hue. When looked about the aforesaid Eochaid imbi, co acca inn oclaech n-ingnad for sin sossad[FN#132] inna Eoebaid around him, he saw the young warrior unknown on the height beside [FN#132] A conjecture: MS. tossad. chomairi. Fuan corcair imbi, ocus mong or-budi fair co brainni him. Tunic purple about him, and hair gold-yellow on him to edges a da imdae. Rosc cainlech glas ina chind. Sleg coicrind ina laim. of his two shoulders. Eye lustrous gray in his head. Spear five-pointed in his hand. Sciath taulgel ina laim con gemaib oir forri. Sochtais Eochaid, ar ni Shield white-bossed in his hand with gems of gold on it. Was silent Eochaid, for not fitir a bith isin Temraig inn aidehi riam, ocus ni orslaiethe ind lis he knew of his being in the Tara the night before, and not was opened the Liss in trath sin. Tolluid ar inchaib Eochoda iarsain asbert Eochaid iarom, at that hour. He came under protection of Eochaid thereon; said Eochaid then, fochen dond laech nad athgenmar. Is ed doroehtmar or in welcome to the hero whom we know not. It is for that we have come, said the t-oclaech. Ni tathgenmar or Eochaid. Atotgensa chetus ol in (young) warrior. We know thee not, said Eochaid. I know thee indeed, said the t-oclaech. Cia th'ainm seo? ol Eochaid. Ni airdairc son, ol se, warrior. What (is) thy own name? said Eochaid. Not illustrious that, said he, Mider Breg Leith. Cid dotroacht ol Eochaid. Do imbert fidcille Mider of Bri Leith. What brought thee? said Eochaid. To play at chess frit-su ol se. Am maith se em, ol Eochaid for fithchill. A fromad with thee, said he. I am good myself truly, said Eochaid, at chess-play. Its essaying dun ol Mider. Ata ol Eochaid, ind rigan ina cotlud, is le in tech to us! said Mider. Is, said Eochaid, the queen in her sleep, it is hers the house ata ind fithchell. Ata sund chenae, ol Mider, fidchell nad where is the chessboard. There is here yet, said Mider, a chessboard which is not messo. Ba fir on, clar n-argit ocus fir oir, ocus fursunnud cacha worse. Was true that, a board of silver and men of gold, and shining in every hairidi for sin clar di liic logmair, ocus fer-bolg di figi rond credumae. direction on that board of costly stones, and a men-bag of woven chains of brass. Ecraid Mider in fidchill iarsin. Imbir ol Mider. Ni immer acht Set out Mider the chessboard thereupon. Play! said Mider. Not will I play, except di giull ol Eochaid. Cid gell bias and? ol Mider. Cumma lim ol for a stake, said Eochaid. What stake shall be here? said Mider. Equal to me, said Eochaid. Rot-bia lim-sa ol Mider mad tu beras mo thochell, Eochaid. Thou shalt have from me, said Mider, if thou carry off my stake, L. gabur n-dub-glas ite cend-brecca, croderga, biruich, 50 horses of dark-gray, and they with dappled heads, blood-red, with ears pricked high, bruin-lethain, bolg(s)roin, coss choela, comrassa, faeborda,[FN#133] femendae,[FN#133] chests broad, nostrils distended, feet thin, strong, keen, ? vehement, aurarda, aignecha, so-(a)staidi,[FN#133] so very high, spirited, easily stopped, [FN#133] See Bruidne da Derga (Stokes), 50, 51, faeborda, lit. with an edge on them; femendae? = Lat. vehemens; soaistidi is the form adopted by Stokes in his edition of the Bruidne; Egerton MS. gives soastaide. There is a gap here, a complete column being torn from the manuscript. The lost part obviously describes the issue of the chess game or games, and the penalties demanded by Bochaid: what these penalties were is plain from the succeeding story. The work of Mider and his folk in paying these penalties must also have been described: the next column (Leabhar na h- Uidhri, 131 b. of the facsimile) opens thus: iarsin doberar uir ocus grian ocus clocha for sin monai. Fri etna thereupon is, placed earth and gravel and stones on the bog. Over foreheads dam dano-batar fedmand la firu h-Erind cosind n-aidchi sin, co of oxen then were yokes among men of Ireland till that very night, when n-aicces la lucht in t-side for a formnaib. Dognith it was seen (tbLat they were) among people of the Mounds on their shoulders. It was done samlaid la Eochaid, conid de ata do som. Echaid Airem, ar so by Eochaid, so that hence is to himself (the name of) Echaid Airem, for is aice toisech tucad cuing for muinelaib dam do ferand h-Erind. Is it is by him first was put yoke on necks of oxen for land of Ireland. This ed dino and food ro boi im belaib in t-sluaig oc denam in tocuir: is then there word which was on lips of the host at making of the causeway: Rhetoric-- Cuire illaim, Put into hand tochra illaim, place (it) into hand aurdairc damrad trathaib iar fuin noble (are) oxen for hours after sunset for trom ailges very heavy request ni fes cuich les it is not known to whom (is) gain cuich amles de thochur dar moin Lamraige. to whom harm from the causeway over moor of Lamrach. Ni biad isin bith tochur bad ferr mani bethe oca There would not be in the world a causeway which is better, if not (men) had been at n-descin Forracbad de bochtae and iartain. Iarsin dolluid the seeing them. Was left on that account a breach there thenceforth. Thereupon came in rechtaire co Echaid ocus adfet scela in mor fedma, atconnaire the steward to Echaid, and made known tales of the great serving band, that he saw fiadai, ocus asbert nad rabi for fertas in betha cumachta before him, and said that there was not on the chariot pole of life a power dodrosce de. Am batar for a m-briathraib co n-accatar Mider that excelled it. When they were at their talking they saw Mider (come) chucu. Ard chustal ocus droch gne fair. Atrigestar Eochaid, to them. High ? girt (he was), and evil face (was) on him.? Rose ?[FN#134] Eochaid, [FN#134] This is a possible rendering, taking the word as a deponent form of atregaim. It would be more natural to take the word as from adagur; being equivalent to ad-d-raigestar, and to mean "feared him," but this does not agree with Eoebaid's general attitude. ocus ferais faelti fri. Is ed dorochtmar ol Mider. Is toreda ocus is and gave welcome to him. It is for that we have come, said Mider. It is cruel and is di-cheill no tai frim, mor decrai ocus mor aingcessa do thabairt form senseless thou art to me, great hardship and great suffering thy bestowing on me adethaind ni bad maith lat chena acht is bairnech mo menma frit. I used to get what seemed good to thee still but is angry my mind against thee. Ni bara fri bure dait-siu on do-gignestar do menma for Eochaid. Not anger against anger: to thyself the thing that shall choose thy mind, said Eochaid. Gebthar dano, ol Mider. Inn imberam fidchill? for Mider. Cid gell It shall be done then, said Mider. Shall we play at chess? said Mider. What stake bias and? for Eochaid. Gell adcobra cechtar da lina for shall be there? said Eochaid. The stake that wishes each of the two parties, said Mider. Berar tochell n-Echdach alla sin. Rucais mo Mider. Is carried off stake of Echaid in that very place. Thou hast carried off my thocell, for Eebaid. Mad ail dam no-beraind o chianaib, stake, said Echaid. If wish to me (had been) I could have carried it off long since, for Mider. Cacht cid adcobrai form-sa? for Echaid. Di laim im said Mider. Question what wishest thou from myself? said Echaid. Two arms about etain, ocus poc di ol Mider. Sochtais Echaid la, sodain, ocus asbert, Etain, and a kiss from her, said Mider. Was silent Echaid thereon, and said, tis dia mis on diu, doberthar dait ani sin. In thou shalt come in a month from to-day, (and) shall be given to thee that very thing. The bliadain ria tuidecht do Mider co Echaid do imbert na fidehille boi oc year before the coming of Mider to Echaid for playing of the chess was he at tochmarc etaine, ocus nis n-etad leis. Is ed ainm dobered Mider wooing of Etain, and nothing was found by him. This is the name used to give Mider di: befind conide asbert: to her: fair-haired lady, so that thence he said: a be find in raga lim O fair-haired lady, wilt thou come with me i tir n-ingnad hi fil rind into a land marvellous, that is music? Is barr sobarche folt and (thus) is the top of the head, of primrose the hair there, is dath snechta corp co ind: is colour of snow the body to the head: Is and nad bi mui na tai, It is there not will be 'mine' or 'thine,' gela det and, dubai brai, white teeth there, black eyebrows, Is li sula lin ar sluag,[FN#135] is colour of eyes number of our hosts, [FN#135] A conjecture by Windisch. Text gives sluaig the genitive singular, which does not rhyme. [FN#136]no is brece is dath sion and cech gruad: or is many-coloured is hue of foxglove there each cheek: [FN#136] The three glosses are interesting. It may be noted that the last two certainly follow the word (above the line in which it occurs) that they seem to gloss: it is therefore probable that the first does so too; the two lines of a couplet are on the same line in the manuscript. It {footnote p. 156} seems then possible that the gloss "it is many-coloured" refers, not to the foxglove, but to the preceding line, "the colour of eyes is number of our hosts," and that the writer of this gloss gave the same meaning to the rather hard description of the colour of the eyes as is given in the verse translation (vol. i. p. 26), i.e. that the eyes had changing lights and shapes. We must hope, for the credit of his taste, that he did not think of the cheeks as many-coloured or freckled, but his gloss of lossa does not seem happy. The meaning "growth" is taken from O'Reilly's Dictionary. no lossa Is corcair maige cach muin,[FN#137] or growth? is purple of a plain each neck, [FN#137] A conjecture (Str.), main, treasure, is in the text: this does not rhyme, nor give good sense; note, however, that muin has no accent-the text gives one. no is dath is li sula ugai luin: or is hue is colour of eyes (that of) eggs of a blackbird: cid cain deicsiu maigi Fail though pleasant (is) seeing plains of Fal (isle of Destiny) annam iar gnais maige mair. a wilderness[FN#138] after knowledge of the Great Plain. [FN#138] This meaning for annam is doubtful; the sense of "seldom" is established for the word; the line possibly means "it will seldom be so after," &c. Cid mesc lib coirm inse Fail, Though intoxicating to you (is) ale of the island Fal, is mescu coirm tire mair, is more intoxicating the ale of the country great, amra tire tir asbiur, a wonder of a land the land I mention, ni theit oac and re siun. not goes a young man there before an old man. Srotha teith millsi tar tir, Streams warm (and) sweet through the land, rogu de mid ocus fin, choice of mead and wine, doini delgnaidi, cen on, men ? handsome, without blemish, combart cen pecead, cen col. conception without sin without crime. Atchiam cach for each leth, We see all on every side, ocus ni-conn acci nech; and yet not sees us anyone temel imorbais adaim the cloud of the sin of Adam do-don-archeil[FN#139] ar araim encompasses us from reckoning [FN#139] From tairchellaim. A ben dia ris mo thuaith tind, O woman, if thou wilt come to my people strong, is barr oir bias fort chind, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, inue ur, laith, lemnacht la lind pork unsalted, ale, new milk for drink rot bia lim and, a be find, a be find. shall be to thee with me there, O woman fair-haired. [a gap, 9 letters lost] i atumchotaise om aithech tige rag-sa, [a gap, thou obtainest me from my master of the house I will go, [9 letters lost] fetai, ni rag. Is iarsin dolluid Mider (L.U. 130 a.) co canst, not will I go. It is thereon came Mider to Echaid, ocus damair a thochell fochetoir co m-beth fôlo acai Echaid, and yields his stake immediately that may be (cause) of reproach for him do Echaid, is airi roic na comada mora, ocus issairi is to Echaid, it is therefore he paid the great stakes, and on that account it is (that) fo anfis con atig a gell. Conid iarsin giull adrubrad in tan tra under ignorance that he asked his wager. So that after that wager it was said when now ro boi Mider cona muinter oc ic comad na aidehi, i. in tochor, ocus was Mider and his folk at paying the stake of the night, that is, the causeway, and di-chlochad Midi, ocus luachair Tetbai, ocus fid dar Breg: isse[FN#140] seo clearing stones off Meath, and rushes of Tethba and forest over Breg: it is he this [FN#140] Grammar not clear: perhaps the Irish is corrupt (Str.). an no foclad boi oca muinter amal atbert lebor drom snechta: what used to say was with his folk as says Book of Drom-snechta: Rhetoric-- Cuirthe illand: Put on the field: tochre illand: Put close on the field airderg dararad: very red oxen: trom in choibden: heavy the troop clunithar fir ferdi. Which hears ?really-manly buidni balc-thruim crand-chuir troops for strong heavy setting of trees forderg saire fedar of very red ?oaks[FN#141] are led [FN#141] Reading daire for saire. sechuib slimprib snithib past them on twisted wattles: scitha lama: weary are hands, ind rosc cloina: the eye ?slants aside? fobith oen mna because of one woman Duib in digail: To you the revenge, duib in trom-daim:[FN#142] to you the heavy ?oxen [FN#142] A conjecture. MS. gives trom-daim. tairthim flatho fer ban: splendour of sovereignty over white men: fomnis, fomnis, in fer m-braine cerpae fomnis diad dergæ ? ? ? fer arfeid solaig ? fri aiss esslind ? fer bron for-ti ? sorrow shall, come on the man? i. more ertechta inde ? lamnado luachair rushes for di Thethbi over?two Tethbas di-chlochad[FN#143] Midi clearing stones from Meath [FN#143] A conjecture. MS. gives dilecad (Str.) indracht ? coich les, coich amles to whom the benefit, to whom the harm thocur dar clochach? moin.[FN#144] causeway over stony moor. [FN#144] The last line in the Ms. is t d c m. Dalis Mider dia mis Fochiallastar (i. rotinoil). Echaid formna Mider appointed a meeting for the end of a month. Echaid assembled (i.e. collected)troops. laech la-erend com batar hi Temrach, ocus an ro po dech do fiannaib of heroes of Ireland so that they were in Tara, and what was best of champions h-Erind, cach cuaird imm araile im Temrach immedon ocus a nechtair, of Ireland, each ring about another, around Tara im the middle, and outside it ocus is-tig. Ocus in ri ocus in rigan immedon in taigi, ocus ind lis and within. And the king and the queen in the middle of the house, and its Liss iatai fo glassaib, ar ro fetatar do t-icfad fer in mar cumacht. Etain shut under locks, for they knew that would comie of insen the great might. Etain boi ocon dail ind aidehi sin forsna flathi, ar ba sain dana disi dal. was dispensing that night to the princes, for it was meet then for her pouring (of the wine) Am batar iarom fora. m-briathraib, co accatar Mider chucu for When they were thereon at their talking they saw Mider (come) to them on lar ind rigthige. Ba cain som dogres ba caini dana inn aidehi sin. the floor of the royal palace. He was fair always, was fairer then on that night. Tosbert im mod na slûag ateonnairc. Sochsit uli iarom ocus He brought to amazement the hosts that he saw.[FN#145] Were silent all thereon, and [FN#145] Reading atcondairc (Str.). ferais in ri faelti fris. Is ed dorochtmar ol Mider. An ro gella the king gave welcome to him. It is this we have come for, said Mider. What was promised dam-sa or se, tucthar dam. Is fiach ma gelltar, an ro gellad to myself, said he, let it be given to me. It is a debt if a promise is given, tucus dait-siu. Ni imrordusa for Echaid, ani sin co se. I have given to thee. Not have I thought on, said Echaid, that very thing up to now. Atrugell etain fein dam-sa, ol Mider, ticht uait-siu. Thou hast promised Etain herself to me, said Mider, message (lit. a coming) from you. Imdergthar im Etain la, sodain. Na imdergthar imut for Mider, ni There was a blush on Etain thereupon. Let there be no blush on thee, said Mider, not droch banas duit-siu. Atu-sa, ol si, bliadain oc do chuingid com evil marriage-feast to thee. I am myself, said he, a year at seeking thee with mainib ocus setaib at aildem in ere, ocus ni tucus-sa treasures and jewels that are the most beautiful in Ireland and not I took thee comad chomarlecud do Echaid. Ni -la-deoas damsa ce till there should be permission of Echaid. Not by good-will to me any dotchotaind. Atrubart-sa frit-su ol si, conom rire Echaid, getting thee. I myself said to thyself, said she, until Echaid gives me up nit rius. Atometha lat ar mo chuit fein, dia nom rire Echaid. not will I come to thee. Take me with thee for my own part, if me Echaid will give up. Nit ririub immorro, for Echaid, acht tabrad a di laim Not thee will I give up however, said Echaid, but (I give) a placing of his two hands imut for lar in tige, amal ro gabais. Dogentar for Mider. about thee on floor of the house, as thou art. It shall be done! said Mider. i. mider Atetha a gaisced ina laim cli, ocus gabais in mnai fo a leth-oxail dess, that is, Mider He took his weapons in his hand left, and took the woman under his shoulder right, ocus focois-le for forles in tige. Conerget in-t-sluaig imon rig and carried her off over skylight of the house. Pose up the hosts, about the king iar melacht forro, co n-accatar in da ela timchell na Temra. Is ed after a disgrace on them, they saw the two swans around Tara. It is this, ro gabsat do sid ar Femun. Ocus luid Echaid co fomno they took (the road) to elfmound about about Femun. And went Echaid with a troop fer n-Erend imbi do sith ar Femun i. sid ban-find. of men of Ireland about him to elf mound about Femun i.e. elfmound of the fair-haired women. B (a si com)[FN#146] arli fer n-Erend, fochlaid each sid [a gap, 12 letters lost] That was the counsel of the men of Ireland, he dug up each elf-mound. [FN#146] The letters in parentheses are a conjecture by Strachan, to fill up a gap in the manuscript. tised a ben. do uadib, Foce [a gap of 13 letters, rest of the version lost.] should come his wife to him from them. 
55989	----	CELTIC FOLKLORE WELSH AND MANX BY JOHN RHYS, M.A., D.Litt. HON. LL.D. OF THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH PROFESSOR OF CELTIC PRINCIPAL OF JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD VOLUME II OXFORD AT THE CLARENDON PRESS MDCCCCI CHAPTER VII TRIUMPHS OF THE WATER-WORLD Une des légendes les plus répandues en Bretagne est celle d'une prétendue ville d'Is, qui, à une époque inconnue, aurait été engloutie par la mer. On montre, à divers endroits de la côte, l'emplacement de cette cité fabuleuse, et les pécheurs vous en font d'étranges récits. Les jours de tempête, assurent-ils, on voit, dans les creux des vagues, le sommet des flèches de ses églises; les jours de calme, on entend monter de l'abîme le son de ses cloches, modulant l'hymne du jour.--Renan. More than once in the last chapter was the subject of submersions and cataclysms brought before the reader, and it may be convenient to enumerate here the most remarkable cases, and to add one or two to their number, as well as to dwell at somewhat greater length on some instances which may be said to have found their way into Welsh literature. He has already been told of the outburst of the Glasfryn Lake (p. 367) and Ffynnon Gywer (p. 376), of Llyn Llech Owen (p. 379) and the Crymlyn (p. 191), also of the drowning of Cantre'r Gwaelod (p. 383); not to mention that one of my informants had something to say (p. 219) of the submergence of Caer Arianrhod, a rock now visible only at low water between Celynnog Fawr and Dinas Dinlle, on the coast of Arfon. But, to put it briefly, it is an ancient belief in the Principality that its lakes generally have swallowed up habitations of men, as in the case of Llyn Syfadon (p. 73) and the Pool of Corwrion (p. 57). To these I now proceed to add other instances, to wit those of Bala Lake, Kenfig Pool, Llynclys, and Helig ab Glannog's territory including Traeth Lafan. Perhaps it is best to begin with historical events, namely those implied in the encroachment of the sea and the sand on the coast of Glamorganshire, from the Mumbles, in Gower, to the mouth of the Ogmore, below Bridgend. It is believed that formerly the shores of Swansea Bay were from three to five miles further out than the present strand, and the oyster dredgers point to that part of the bay which they call the Green Grounds, while trawlers, hovering over these sunken meadows of the Grove Island, declare that they can sometimes see the foundations of the ancient homesteads overwhelmed by a terrific storm which raged some three centuries ago. The old people sometimes talk of an extensive forest called Coed Arian, 'Silver Wood,' stretching from the foreshore of the Mumbles to Kenfig Burrows, and there is a tradition of a long-lost bridle path used by many generations of Mansels, Mowbrays, and Talbots, from Penrice Castle to Margam Abbey. All this is said to be corroborated by the fishing up every now and then in Swansea Bay of stags' antlers, elks' horns, those of the wild ox, and wild boars' tusks, together with the remains of other ancient tenants of the submerged forest. Various references in the registers of Swansea and Aberavon mark successive stages in the advance of the desolation from the latter part of the fifteenth century down. Among others a great sandstorm is mentioned, which overwhelmed the borough of Cynffig or Kenfig, and encroached on the coast generally: the series of catastrophes seems to have culminated in an inundation caused by a terrible tidal wave in the early part of the year 1607 [1]. To return to Kenfig, what remains of that old town is near the sea, and it is on all sides surrounded by hillocks of finely powdered sand and flanked by ridges of the same fringing the coast. The ruins of several old buildings half buried in the sand peep out of the ground, and in the immediate neighbourhood is Kenfig Pool, which is said to have a circumference of nearly two miles. When the pool formed itself I have not been able to discover: from such accounts as have come in my way I should gather that it is older than the growing spread of the sand, but the island now to be seen in it is artificial and of modern make [2]. The story relating to the lake is given as follows in the volume of the Iolo Manuscripts, p. 194, and the original, from which I translate, is crisp, compressed, and, as I fancy, in Iolo's own words:-- 'A plebeian was in love with Earl Clare's daughter: she would not have him as he was not wealthy. He took to the highway, and watched the agent of the lord of the dominion coming towards the castle from collecting his lord's money. He killed him, took the money, and produced the coin, and the lady married him. A splendid banquet was held: the best men of the country were invited, and they made as merry as possible. On the second night the marriage was consummated, and when happiest one heard a voice: all ear one listened and caught the words, "Vengeance comes, vengeance comes, vengeance comes," three times. One asked, "When?" "In the ninth generation (âch)," said the voice. "No reason for us to fear," said the married pair; "we shall be under the mould long before." They lived on, however, and a goresgynnyd, that is to say, a descendant of the sixth direct generation, was born to them, also to the murdered man a goresgynnyd, who, seeing that the time fixed was come, visited Kenfig. This was a discreet youth of gentle manners, and he looked at the city and its splendour, and noted that nobody owned a furrow or a chamber there except the offspring of the murderer: he and his wife were still living. At cockcrow he heard a cry, "Vengeance is come, is come, is come." It is asked, "On whom?" and answered, "On him who murdered my father of the ninth âch." He rises in terror: he goes towards the city; but there is nothing to see save a large lake with three chimney tops above the surface emitting smoke that formed a stinking.... [3] On the face of the waters the gloves of the murdered man float to the young man's feet: he picks them up, and sees on them the murdered man's name and arms; and he hears at dawn of day the sound of praise to God rendered by myriads joining in heavenly music. And so the story ends.' On this coast is another piece of water in point, namely Crymlyn, or 'Crumlin Pool,' now locally called the Bog. It appears also to have been sometimes called Pwll Cynan, after the name of a son of Rhys ab Tewdwr, who, in his flight after his father's defeat on Hirwaen Wrgan, was drowned in its waters [4]. It lies on Lord Jersey's estate, at a distance of about one mile east of the mouth of the Tawe, and about a quarter of a mile from high-water mark, from which it is separated by a strip of ground known in the neighbourhood as Crymlyn Burrows. The name Crymlyn means Crooked Lake, which, I am told, describes the shape of this piece of water. When the bog becomes a pool it encloses an island consisting of a little rocky hillock showing no trace of piles, or walling, or any other handiwork of man [5]. The story about this pool also is that it covers a town buried beneath its waters. Mr. Wirt Sikes' reference to it has already been mentioned, and I have it on the evidence of a native of the immediate neighbourhood, that he has often heard his father and grandfather talk about the submerged town. Add to this that Cadrawd, to whom I have had already (pp. 23, 376) to acknowledge my indebtedness, speaks in the columns of the South Wales Daily News for February 15, 1899, of Crymlyn as follows:-- 'It was said by the old people that on the site of this bog once stood the old town of Swansea, and that in clear and calm weather the chimneys and even the church steeple could be seen at the bottom of the lake, and in the loneliness of the night the bells were often heard ringing in the lake. It was also said that should any person happen to stand with his face towards the lake when the wind is blowing across the lake, and if any of the spray of that water should touch his clothes, it would be only with the greatest difficulty he could save himself from being attracted or sucked into the water. The lake was at one time much larger than at present. The efforts made to drain it have drawn a good deal of the water from it, but only to convert it into a bog, which no one can venture to cross except in exceptionally dry seasons or hard frost.' On this I wish to remark in passing, that, while common sense would lead one to suppose that the wind blowing across the water would help the man facing it to get away whenever he chose, the reasoning here is of another order, one characteristic in fact of the ways and means of sympathetic magic. For specimens in point the reader may be conveniently referred to page 360, where he may compare the words quoted from Mr. Hartland, especially as to the use there mentioned of stones or pellets thrown from one's hands. In the case of Crymlyn, the wind blowing off the face of the water into the onlooker's face and carrying with it some of the water in the form of spray which wets his clothes, howsoever little, was evidently regarded as establishing a link of connexion between him and the body of the water--or shall I say rather, between him and the divinity of the water?--and that this link was believed to be so strong that it required the man's utmost effort to break it and escape being drawn in and drowned like Cynan. The statement, supremely silly as it reads, is no modern invention; for one finds that Nennius--or somebody else--reasoned in precisely the same way, except that for a single onlooker he substitutes a whole army of men and horses, and that he points the antithesis by distinctly stating, that if they kept their backs turned to the fascinating flood they would be out of danger. The conditions which he had in view were, doubtless, that the men should face the water and have their clothing more or less wetted by the spray from it. The passage (§ 69) to which I refer is in the Mirabilia, and Geoffrey of Monmouth is found to repeat it in a somewhat better style of Latin (ix. 7): the following is the Nennian version:-- Aliud miraculum est, id est Oper Linn Liguan. Ostium fluminis illius fluit in Sabrina et quando Sabrina inundatur ad sissam, et mare inundatur similiter in ostio supra dicti fluminis et in stagno ostii recipitur in modum voraginis et mare non vadit sursum et est litus juxta flumen et quamdiu Sabrina inundatur ad sissam, istud litus non tegitur et quando recedit mare et Sabrina, tunc Stagnum Liuan eructat omne quod devoravit de mari et litus istud tegitur et instar montis in una unda eructat et rumpit. Et si fuerit exercitus totius regionis, in qua est, et direxerit faciem contra undam, et exercitum trahit unda per vim humore repletis vestibus et equi similiter trahuntur. Si autem exercitus terga versus fuerit contra eam, non nocet ei unda. 'There is another wonder, to wit Aber Llyn Lliwan. The water from the mouth of that river flows into the Severn, and when the Severn is in flood up to its banks, and when the sea is also in flood at the mouth of the above-named river and is sucked in like a whirlpool into the pool of the Aber, the sea does not go on rising: it leaves a margin of beach by the side of the river, and all the time the Severn is in flood up to its bank, that beach is not covered. And when the sea and the Severn ebb, then Llyn Lliwan brings up all it had swallowed from the sea, and that beach is covered while Llyn Lliwan discharges its contents in one mountain-like wave and vomits forth. Now if the army of the whole district in which this wonder is, were to be present with the men facing the wave, the force of it would, once their clothes are drenched by the spray, draw them in, and their horses would likewise be drawn. But if the men should have their backs turned towards the water, the wave would not harm them [6].' One story about the formation of Bala Lake, or Llyn Tegid [7] as it is called in Welsh, has been given at p. 376: here is another which I translate from a version in Hugh Humphreys' Llyfr Gwybodaeth Gyffredinol (Carnarvon), second series, vol. i, no. 2, p. 1. I may premise that the contributor, whose name is not given, betrays a sort of literary ambition which has led him to relate the story in a confused fashion; and among other things he uses the word edifeirwch, 'repentance,' throughout, instead of dial, 'vengeance.' With that correction it runs somewhat as follows:--Tradition relates that Bala Lake is but the watery tomb of the palaces of iniquity; and that some old boatmen can on quiet moonlight nights in harvest see towers in ruins at the bottom of its waters, and also hear at times a feeble voice saying, Dial a daw, dial a daw, 'Vengeance will come'; and another voice inquiring, Pa bryd y daw, 'When will it come?' Then the first voice answers, Yn y dryded genhedlaeth, 'In the third generation.' Those voices were but a recollection over oblivion, for in one of those palaces lived in days of yore an oppressive and cruel prince, corresponding to the well-known description of one of whom it is said, 'Whom he would he slew; and whom he would he kept alive.' The oppression and cruelty practised by him on the poor farmers were notorious far and near. This prince, while enjoying the morning breezes of summer in his garden, used frequently to hear a voice saying, 'Vengeance will come.' But he always laughed the threat away with reckless contempt. One night a poor harper from the neighbouring hills was ordered to come to the prince's palace. On his way the harper was told that there was great rejoicing at the palace at the birth of the first child of the prince's son. When he had reached the palace the harper was astonished at the number of the guests, including among them noble lords, princes, and princesses: never before had he seen such splendour at any feast. When he had begun playing the gentlemen and ladies dancing presented a superb appearance. So the mirth and wine abounded, nor did he love playing for them any more than they loved dancing to the music of his harp. But about midnight, when there was an interval in the dancing, and the old harper had been left alone in a corner, he suddenly heard a voice singing in a sort of a whisper in his ear, 'Vengeance, vengeance!' He turned at once, and saw a little bird hovering above him and beckoning him, as it were, to follow him. He followed the bird as fast as he could, but after getting outside the palace he began to hesitate. But the bird continued to invite him on, and to sing in a plaintive and mournful voice the word 'Vengeance, vengeance!' The old harper was afraid of refusing to follow, and so they went on over bogs and through thickets, whilst the bird was all the time hovering in front of him and leading him along the easiest and safest paths. But if he stopped for a moment the same mournful note of 'Vengeance, vengeance!' would be sung to him in a more and more plaintive and heartbreaking fashion. They had by this time reached the top of the hill, a considerable distance from the palace. As the old harper felt rather fatigued and weary, he ventured once more to stop and rest, but he heard the bird's warning voice no more. He listened, but he heard nothing save the murmuring of the little burn hard by. He now began to think how foolish he had been to allow himself to be led away from the feast at the palace: he turned back in order to be there in time for the next dance. As he wandered on the hill he lost his way, and found himself forced to await the break of day. In the morning, as he turned his eyes in the direction of the palace, he could see no trace of it: the whole tract below was one calm, large lake, with his harp floating on the face of the waters. Next comes the story of Llynclys Pool in the neighbourhood of Oswestry. That piece of water is said to be of extraordinary depth, and its name means the 'swallowed court.' The village of Llynclys is called after it, and the legend concerning the pool is preserved in verses printed among the compositions of the local poet, John F. M. Dovaston, who published his works in 1825. The first stanza runs thus:-- Clerk Willin he sat at king Alaric's board, And a cunning clerk was he; For he'd lived in the land of Oxenford With the sons of Grammarie. How much exactly of the poem comes from Dovaston's own muse, and how much comes from the legend, I cannot tell. Take for instance the king's name, this I should say is not derived from the story; but as to the name of the clerk, that possibly is, for the poet bases it on Croes-Willin, the Welsh form of which has been given me as Croes-Wylan, that is Wylan's Cross, the name of the base of what is supposed to have been an old cross, a little way out of Oswestry on the north side; and I have been told that there is a farm in the same neighbourhood called Tre' Wylan, 'Wylan's Stead.' To return to the legend, Alaric's queen was endowed with youth and beauty, but the king was not happy; and when he had lived with her nine years he told Clerk Willin how he first met her when he was hunting 'fair Blodwell's rocks among.' He married her on the condition that she should be allowed to leave him one night in every seven, and this she did without his once knowing whither she went on the night of her absence. Clerk Willin promised to restore peace to the king if he would resign the queen to him, and a tithe annually of his cattle and of the wine in his cellar to him and the monks of the White Minster. The king consented, and the wily clerk hurried away with his book late at night to the rocks by the Giant's Grave, where there was an ogo' or cave which was supposed to lead down to Faery. While the queen was inside the cave, he began his spells and made it irrevocable that she should be his, and that his fare should be what fed on the king's meadow and what flowed in his cellar. When the clerk's potent spells forced the queen to meet him to consummate his bargain with the king, what should he behold but a grim ogress, who told him that their spells had clashed. She explained to him how she had been the king's wife for thirty years, and how the king began to be tired of her wrinkles and old age. Then, on condition of returning to the Ogo to be an ogress one night in seven, she was given youth and beauty again, with which she attracted the king anew. In fact, she had promised him happiness Till within his hall the flag-reeds tall And the long green rushes grow. The ogress continued in words which made the clerk see how completely he had been caught in his own net: Then take thy bride to thy cloistered bed, As by oath and spell decreed, And nought be thy fare but the pike and the dare, And the water in which they feed. The clerk had succeeded in restoring peace at the king's banqueting board, but it was the peace of the dead; For down went the king, and his palace and all, And the waters now o'er it flow, And already in his hall do the flag-reeds tall And the long green rushes grow. But the visitor will, Dovaston says, find Willin's peace relieved by the stories which the villagers have to tell of that wily clerk, of Croes-Willin, and of 'the cave called the Grim Ogo'; not to mention that when the lake is clear, they will show you the towers of the palace below, the Llynclys, which the Brython of ages gone by believed to be there. We now come to a different story about this pool, namely, one which has been preserved in Latin by the historian Humfrey Lhuyd, or Humphrey Llwyd, to the following effect:-- 'After the description of Gwynedh, let vs now come to Powys, the seconde kyngedome of VVales, which in the time of German Altisiodorensis [St. Germanus of Auxerre], which preached sometime there, agaynst Pelagius Heresie: was of power, as is gathered out of his life. The kynge wherof, as is there read, bycause he refused to heare that good man: by the secret and terrible iudgement of God, with his Palace, and all his householde: was swallowed vp into the bowels of the Earth, in that place, whereas, not farre from Oswastry, is now a standyng water, of an vnknowne depth, called Lhunclys, that is to say: the deuouryng of the Palace. And there are many Churches founde in the same Province, dedicated to the name of German [8].' I have not succeeded in finding the story in any of the lives of St. Germanus, but Nennius, § 32, mentions a certain Benli, whom he describes as rex iniquus atque tyrannus valde, who, after refusing to admit St. Germanus and his following into his city, was destroyed with all his courtiers, not by water, however, but by fire from heaven. But the name Benli, in modern Welsh spelling Benlli [9], points to the Moel Famau range of mountains, one of which is known as Moel Fenlli, between Ruthin and Mold, rather than to any place near Oswestry. In any case there is no reason to suppose that this story with its Christian and ethical motive is anything like so old as the substratum of Dovaston's verses. The only version known to me in the Welsh language of the Llynclys legend is to be found printed in the Brython for 1863, p. 338, and it may be summarized as follows:--The Llynclys family were notorious for their riotous living, and at their feasts a voice used to be heard proclaiming, 'Vengeance is coming, coming,' but nobody took it much to heart. However, one day a reckless maid asked the voice, 'When?' The prompt reply was to the effect that it was in the sixth generation: the voice was heard no more. So one night, when the sixth heir in descent from the time of the warning last heard was giving a great drinking feast, and music had been vigorously contributing to the entertainment of host and guest, the harper went outside for a breath of air; but when he turned to come back, lo and behold! the whole court had disappeared. Its place was occupied by a quiet piece of water, on whose waves he saw his harp floating, nothing more. Here must, lastly, be added one more legend of submergence, namely, that supposed to have taken place some time or other on the north coast of Carnarvonshire. In the Brython for 1863, pp. 393-4, we have what purports to be a quotation from Owen Jones' Aberconwy a'i Chyffiniau, 'Conway and its Environs,' a work which I have not been able to find. Here one reads of a tract of country supposed to have once extended from the Gogarth [10], 'the Great Orme,' to Bangor, and from Llanfair Fechan to Ynys Seiriol, 'Priestholme or Puffin Island,' and of its belonging to a wicked prince named Helig ab Glannawc or Glannog [11], from whom it was called Tyno Helig, 'Helig's Hollow.' Tradition, the writer says, fixes the spot where the court stood about halfway between Penmaen Mawr and Pen y Gogarth, 'the Great Orme's Head,' over against Trwyn yr Wylfa; and the story relates that here a calamity had been foretold four generations before it came, namely as the vengeance of Heaven on Helig ab Glannog for his nefarious impiety. As that ancient prince rode through his fertile heritage one day at the approach of night, he heard the voice of an invisible follower warning him that 'Vengeance is coming, coming.' The wicked old prince once asked excitedly, 'When?' The answer was, 'In the time of thy grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and their children.' Peradventure Helig calmed himself with the thought, that, if such a thing came, it would not happen in his lifetime. But on the occasion of a great feast held at the court, and when the family down to the fifth generation were present taking part in the festivities, one of the servants noticed, when visiting the mead cellar to draw more drink, that water was forcing its way in. He had only time to warn the harper of the danger he was in, when all the others, in the midst of their intoxication, were overwhelmed by the flood. These inundation legends have many points of similarity among themselves: thus in those of Llynclys, Syfadon, Llyn Tegid, and Tyno Helig, though they have a ring of austerity about them, the harper is a favoured man, who always escapes when the banqueters are all involved in the catastrophe. The story, moreover, usually treats the submerged habitations as having sunk intact, so that the ancient spires and church towers may still at times be seen: nay the chimes of their bells may be heard by those who have ears for such music. In some cases there may have been, underlying the legend, a trace of fact such as has been indicated to me by Mr. Owen M. Edwards, of Lincoln College, in regard to Bala Lake. When the surface of that water, he says, is covered with broken ice, and a south-westerly wind is blowing, the mass of fragments is driven towards the north-eastern end near the town of Bala; and he has observed that the friction produces a somewhat metallic noise which a quick imagination may convert into something like a distant ringing of bells. Perhaps the most remarkable instance remains to be mentioned: I refer to Cantre'r Gwaelod, as the submerged country of Gwydno Garanhir is termed, see p. 382 above. To one portion of his fabled realm the nearest actual centres of population are Aberdovey and Borth on either side of the estuary of the Dovey. As bursar of Jesus College I had business in 1892 in the Golden Valley of Herefordshire, and I stayed a day or two at Dorstone enjoying the hospitality of the rectory, and learning interesting facts from the rector, Mr. Prosser Powell, and from Mrs. Powell in particular, as to the folklore of the parish, which is still in several respects very Welsh. Mrs. Powell, however, did not confine herself to Dorstone or the Dore Valley, for she told me as follows:--'I was at Aberdovey in 1852, and I distinctly remember that my childish imagination was much excited by the legend of the city beneath the sea, and the bells which I was told might be heard at night. I used to lie awake trying, but in vain, to catch the echoes of the chime. I was only seven years old, and cannot remember who told me the story, though I have never forgotten it.' Mrs. Powell added that she has since heard it said, that at a certain stage of the tide at the mouth of the Dovey, the way in which the waves move the pebbles makes them produce a sort of jingling noise which has been fancied to be the echo of distant bells ringing. These clues appeared too good to be dropped at once, and the result of further inquiries led Mrs. Powell afterwards to refer me to The Monthly Packet for the year 1859, where I found an article headed 'Aberdovey Legends,' and signed M. B., the initials, Mrs. Powell thought, of Miss Bramston of Winchester. The writer gives a sketch of the story of the country overflowed by the neighbouring portion of Cardigan Bay, mentioning, p. 645, that once on a time there were great cities on the banks of the Dovey and the Disynni. 'Cities with marble wharfs,' she says, 'busy factories, and churches whose towers resounded with beautiful peals and chimes of bells.' She goes on to say that 'Mausna is the name of the city on the Dovey; its eastern suburb was at the sand-bank now called Borth, its western stretched far out into the sea.' What the name Mausna may be I have no idea, unless it is the result of some confusion with that of the great turbary behind Borth, namely Mochno, or Cors Fochno, 'Bog of Mochno.' The name Borth stands for Y Borth, 'the Harbour,' which, more adequately described, was once Porth Wydno, 'Gwydno's Harbour.' The writer, however, goes on with the story of the wicked prince, who left open the sluices of the sea-wall protecting his country and its capital: we read on as follows:--'But though the sea will not give back that fair city to light and air, it is keeping it as a trust but for a time, and even now sometimes, though very rarely, eyes gazing down through the green waters can see not only the fluted glistering sand dotted here and there with shells and tufts of waving sea-weed, but the wide streets and costly buildings of that now silent city. Yet not always silent, for now and then will come chimes and peals of bells, sometimes near, sometimes distant, sounding low and sweet like a call to prayer, or as rejoicing for a victory. Even by day these tones arise, but more often they are heard in the long twilight evenings, or by night. English ears have sometimes heard these sounds even before they knew the tale, and fancied that they must come from some church among the hills, or on the other side of the water, but no such church is there to give the call; the sound and its connexion is so pleasant, that one does not care to break the spell by seeking for the origin of the legend, as in the idler tales with which that neighbourhood abounds.' The dream about 'the wide streets and costly buildings of that now silent city' seems to have its counterpart on the western coast of Erin--somewhere, let us say, off the cliffs of Moher [12], in County Clare--witness Gerald Griffin's lines, to which a passing allusion has already been made, p. 205:-- A story I heard on the cliffs of the West, That oft, through the breakers dividing, A city is seen on the ocean's wild breast, In turreted majesty riding. But brief is the glimpse of that phantom so bright: Soon close the white waters to screen it. The allusion to the submarine chimes would make it unpardonable to pass by unnoticed the well-known Welsh air called Clychau Aberdyfi, 'The Bells of Aberdovey,' which I have always suspected of taking its name from fairy bells [13]. This popular tune is of unknown origin, and the words to which it is usually sung make the bells say un, dau, tri, pedwar, pump, chwech, 'one, two, three, four, five, six'; and I have heard a charming Welsh vocalist putting on saith, 'seven,' in her rendering of the song. This is not to be wondered at, as her instincts must have rebelled against such a commonplace number as six in a song redolent of old-world sentiment. But our fairy bells ought to have stopped at five: this would seem to have been forgotten when the melody and the present words were wedded together. At any rate our stories seem to suggest that fairy counting did not go beyond the fingering of one hand. The only Welsh fairy represented counting is made to do it all by fives: she counts un, dau, tri, pedwar, pump; un, dau, tri, pedwar, pump, as hard as her tongue can go. For on the number of times she can repeat the five numerals at a single breath depends the number of the live stock of each kind, which are to form her dowry: see p. 8 above, and as to music in fairy tales, see pp. 202, 206, 292. Now that a number of our inundation stories have been passed in review in this and the previous chapter, some room may be given to the question of their original form. They separate themselves, as it will have been seen, into at least two groups: (1) those in which the cause of the catastrophe is ethical, the punishment of the wicked and dissolute; and (2) those in which no very distinct suggestion of the kind is made. It is needless to say that everything points to the comparative lateness of the fully developed ethical motive; and we are not forced to rest content with this theoretical distinction, for in more than one of the instances we have the two kinds of story. In the case of Llyn Tegid, the less known and presumably the older story connects the formation of the lake with the neglect to keep the stone door of the well shut, while the more popular story makes the catastrophe a punishment for wicked and riotous living: compare pp. 377, 408, above. So with the older story of Cantre'r Gwaelod, on which we found the later one of the tipsy Seithennin as it were grafted, p. 395. The keeping of the well shut in the former case, as also in that of Ffynnon Gywer, was a precaution, but the neglect of it was not the cause of the ensuing misfortune. Even if we had stories like the Irish ones, which make the sacred well burst forth in pursuit of the intruder who has gazed into its depths, it would by no means be of a piece with the punishment of riotous and lawless living. Our comparison should rather be with the story of the Curse of Pantannas, where a man incurred the wrath of the fairies by ploughing up ground which they wished to retain as a green sward; but the threatened vengeance for that act of culture did not come to pass for a century, till the time of one, in fact, who is not charged with having done anything to deserve it. The ethics of that legend are, it is clear, not easy to discover, and in our inundation stories one may trace stages of development from a similarly low level. The case may be represented thus: a divinity is offended by a man, and for some reason or other the former wreaks his vengeance, not on the offender, but on his descendants. This minimum granted, it is easy to see, that in time the popular conscience would fail to rest satisfied with the cruel idea of a jealous divinity visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children. One may accordingly distinguish the following stages:-- 1. The legend lays it down as a fact that the father was very wicked. 2. It makes his descendants also wicked like him. 3. It represents the same punishment overtaking father and sons, ancestor and descendants. 4. The simplest way to secure this kind of equal justice was, no doubt, to let the offending ancestors live on to see their descendants of the generation for whose time the vengeance had been fixed, and to let them be swept away with them in one and the same cataclysm, as in the Welsh versions of the Syfadon and Kenfig legends, possibly also in those of Llyn Tegid and Tyno Helig, which are not explicit on this point. Let us for a moment examine the indications of the time to which the vengeance is put off. In the case of the landed families of ancient Wales, every member of them had his position and liabilities settled by his pedigree, which had to be exactly recorded down to the eighth generation or eighth lifetime in Gwyned, and to the seventh in Gwent and Dyfed. Those generations were reckoned the limits of recognized family relationship according to the Welsh Laws, and to keep any practical reckoning of the kind, extending always back some two centuries, must have employed a class of professional men [14]. In any case the ninth generation, called in Welsh y nawfed âch, which is a term in use all over the Principality at the present day, is treated as lying outside all recognized kinship. Thus if AB wishes to say that he is no relation to CD, he will say that he is not related o fewn y nawfed âch, 'within the ninth degree,' or hyd y nawfed âch, 'up to the ninth degree,' it being understood that in the ninth degree and beyond it no relationship is reckoned. Folklore stories, however, seem to suggest another interpretation of the word âch, and fewer generations in the direct line as indicated in the following table. For the sake of simplicity the founder of the family is here assumed to have at least two sons, A and B, and each succeeding generation to consist of one son only; and lastly the women are omitted altogether:-- Tâd I (Father) 1 Brother A : II : B Mâb (Son) 2 : : 2 i Cousin Aa : III : Ba Wyr (Grandson) 3 : : 3 ii Cousin Ab : IV : Bb Gorwyr (Great-Grandson) 4 : : 4 iii Cousin Ac : V : Bc Esgynnyd (G.G.Grandson) 5 : : 5 iv Cousin Ad : VI : Bd Goresgynnyd (G.G.G.Grandson). In reckoning the relationships between the collateral members of the family, one counts not generations or begettings, not removes or degrees, but ancestry or the number of ancestors, so that the father or founder of the family only counts once. Thus his descendants Ad and Bd in the sixth generation or lifetime, are fourth cousins separated from one another by nine ancestors: that is, they are related in the ninth âch. In other words, Ad has five ancestors and Bd has also five, but as they have one ancestor in common, the father of the family, they are not separated by 5 + 5 ancestors, but by 5 + 5 - 1, that is by 9. Similarly, one being always subtracted, the third cousins Ac and Bc are related in the seventh âch, and the second cousin in the fifth âch: so with the others in odd numbers downwards, and also with the relatives reckoned upwards to the seventh or eighth generation, which would mean collaterals separated by eleven or thirteen ancestors respectively. This reckoning, which is purely conjectural, is based chiefly on the Kenfig story, which foretold the vengeance to come in the ninth âch and otherwise in the time of the goresgynnyd, that is to say in the sixth lifetime. This works out all right if only by the ninth âch we understand the generation or lifetime when the collaterals are separated by nine ancestors, for that is no other than the sixth from the founder of the family. The Welsh version of the Llynclys legend fixes on the same generation, as it says yn oes wyrion, gorwyrion, esgynnyd a goresgynnyd, 'in the lifetime of grandsons, great-grandsons, ascensors, and their children,' for these last's time is the sixth generation. In the case of the Syfadon legend the time of the vengeance is the ninth cenhedlaeth or generation, which must be regarded as probably a careless way of indicating the generation when the collaterals are separated by nine ancestors, that is to say the sixth from the father of the family. It can hardly have the other meaning, as the sinning ancestors are represented as then still living. The case of the Tyno Helig legend is different, as we have the time announced to the offending ancestor described as amser dy wyrion, dy orwyrion, a dy esgynydion, 'the time of thy grandsons, thy great-grandsons, and thy ascensors,' which would be only the fifth generation with collaterals separated only by seven ancestors, and not nine. But the probability is that goresgynydion has been here accidentally omitted, and that the generation indicated originally was the same as in the others. This, however, will not explain the Bala legend, which fixes the time for the third generation, namely, immediately after the birth of the offending prince's first grandson. If, however, as I am inclined to suppose, the sixth generation with collaterals severed by nine ancestors was the normal term in these stories, it is easy to understand that the story-teller might wish to substitute a generation nearer to the original offender, especially if he was himself to be regarded as surviving to share in the threatened punishment: his living to see the birth of his first grandson postulated no extraordinary longevity. The question why fairy vengeance is so often represented deferred for a long time can no longer be put off. Here three or four answers suggest themselves:-- 1. The story of the Curse of Pantannas relates how the offender was not the person punished, but one of his descendants a hundred or more years after his time, while the offender is represented escaping the fairies' vengeance because he entreated them very hard to let him go unpunished. All this seems to me but a sort of protest against the inexorable character of the little people, a protest, moreover, which was probably invented comparatively late. 2. The next answer is the very antithesis of the Pantannas one; for it is, that the fairies delay in order to involve all the more men and women in the vengeance wreaked by them: I confess that I see no reason to entertain so sinister an idea. 3. A better answer, perhaps, is that the fairies were not always in a position to harm him who offended them. This may well have been the belief as regards any one who had at his command the dreaded potency of magic. Take for instance the Irish story of a king of Erin called Eochaid Airem, who, with the aid of his magician or druid Dalán, defied the fairies, and dug into the heart of their underground station, until, in fact, he got possession of his queen, who had been carried thither by a fairy chief named Mider. Eochaid, assisted by his druid and the powerful Ogams which the latter wrote on rods of yew, was too formidable for the fairies, and their wrath was not executed till the time of Eochaid's unoffending grandson, Conaire Mór, who fell a victim to it, as related in the epic story of Bruden Dáderga, so called from the palace where Conaire was slain [15]. 4. Lastly, it may be said that the fairies being supposed deathless, there would be no reason why they should hurry; and even in case the delay meant a century or two, that makes no perceptible approach to the extravagant scale of time common enough in our fairy tales, when, for instance, they make a man who has whiled ages away in fairyland, deem it only so many minutes [16]. Whatever the causes may have been which gave our stories their form in regard of the delay in the fairy revenge, it is clear that Welsh folklore could not allow this delay to extend beyond the sixth generation with its cousinship of nine ancestries, if, as I gather, it counted kinship no further. Had one projected it on the seventh or the eighth generation, both of which are contemplated in the Laws, it would not be folklore. It would more likely be the lore of the landed gentry and of the powerful families whose pedigrees and ramifications of kinship were minutely known to the professional men on whom it was incumbent to keep themselves, and those on whom they depended, well informed in such matters. It remains for me to consider the non-ethical motive of the other stories, such as those which ascribe negligence and the consequent inundation to the woman who has the charge of the door or lid of the threatening well. Her negligence is not the cause of the catastrophe, but it leaves the way open for it. What then can have been regarded the cause? One may gather something to the point from the Irish story where the divinity of the well is offended because a woman has gazed into its depths, and here probably, as already suggested (p. 392), we come across an ancient tabu directed against women, which may have applied only to certain wells of peculiarly sacred character. It serves, however, to suggest that the divinities of the water-world were not disinclined to seize every opportunity of extending their domain on the earth's surface; and I am persuaded that this was once a universal creed of some race or other in possession of these islands. Besides the Irish legends already mentioned (pp. 382, 384) of the formation of Lough Neagh, Lough Ree, and others, witness the legendary annals of early Ireland, which, by the side of battles, the clearing of forests, and the construction of causeways, mention the bursting forth of lakes and rivers; that is to say, the formation or the coming into existence, or else the serious expansion, of certain of the actual waters of the country. For the present purpose the details given by The Four Masters are sufficient, and I have hurriedly counted their instances as follows:-- Anno Mundi 2532, number of the lakes formed, 2. ,, ,, 2533, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 1. ,, ,, 2535, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 2. ,, ,, 2545, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 1. ,, ,, 2546, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 1. ,, ,, 2859, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 2. ,, ,, 2860, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 2. ,, ,, 3503, ,, ,, ,, rivers ,, 21. ,, ,, 3506, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 9. ,, ,, 3510, ,, ,, ,, rivers ,, 5. ,, ,, 3520, ,, ,, ,, rivers ,, 9. ,, ,, 3581, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 9. ,, ,, 3656, ,, ,, ,, rivers ,, 3. ,, ,, 3751, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 1. ,, ,, 3751, ,, ,, ,, rivers ,, 3. ,, ,, 3790, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 4. ,, ,, 4169, ,, ,, ,, rivers ,, 5. ,, ,, 4694, ,, ,, ,, lakes ,, 1. This makes an aggregate of thirty-five lakes and forty-six rivers, that is to say a total of eighty-one eruptions. But I ought, perhaps, to explain that under the head of lakes I have included not only separate pieces of water, but also six inlets of the sea, such as Strangford Lough and the like. Still more to the point is it to mention that of the lakes two are said to have burst forth at the digging of graves. Thus, A.M. 2535, The Four Masters have the following: 'Laighlinne, son of Parthalon, died in this year. When his grave was dug, Loch Laighlinne sprang forth in Ui Mac Uais, and from him it is named [17].' O'Donovan, the editor and translator of The Four Masters, supposes it to be somewhere to the south-west of Tara, in Meath. Similarly, A.M. 4694, they say of a certain Melghe Molbthach, 'When his grave was digging, Loch Melghe burst forth over the land in Cairbre, so that it was named from him.' This is said to be now called Lough Melvin, on the confines of the counties of Donegal, Leitrim, and Fermanagh. These two instances are mentioned by The Four Masters; and here is one given by Stokes in the Rennes Dindsenchas: see the Revue Celtique, xv. 428-9. It has to do with Loch Garman, as Wexford Harbour was called in Irish, and it runs thus: 'Loch Garman, whence is it? Easy to say. Garman Glas, son of Dega, was buried there, and when his grave was dug then the lake burst throughout the land. Whence Loch Garman.' It matters not here that there are alternative accounts of the name. The meaning of all this seems to be that cutting the green sward or disturbing the earth beneath was believed in certain cases to give offence to some underground divinity or other connected with the world of waters. That divinity avenged the annoyance or offence given him by causing water to burst forth and form a lake forthwith. The nearness of such divinities to the surface seems not a little remarkable, and it is shown not only in the folklore which has been preserved for us by The Four Masters, but also by the usual kind of story about a neglected well door. These remarks suggest the question whether it was not one of the notions which determined surface burials, that is, burials in which no cutting of the ground took place, the cists or chambers and the bodies placed in them being covered over by the heaping on of earth or stones brought from a more or less convenient distance. It might perhaps be said that all this only implied individuals of a character to desecrate the ground and call forth the displeasure of the divinities concerned; and for that suggestion folklore parallels, it is true, could be adduced. But it is hardly adequate: the facts seem to indicate a more general objection on the part of the powers in point; and they remind one rather of the clause said to be inserted in mining leases in China with the object, if one may trust the newspapers, of preventing shafts from being sunk below a certain depth, for fear of offending the susceptibilities of the demons or dragons ruling underground. It is interesting to note the fact, that Celtic folklore connects the underground divinities intimately with water; for one may briefly say that they have access wherever water can take them. With this qualification the belief may be said to have lingered lately in Wales, for instance, in connexion with Llyn Barfog, near Aberdovey. 'It is believed to be very perilous,' Mr. Pughe says, p. 142 above, 'to let the waters out of the lake'; and not long before he wrote, in 1853, an aged inhabitant of the district informed him 'that she recollected this being done during a period of long drought, in order to procure motive power for Llyn Pair Mill, and that long-continued heavy rains followed.' Then we have the story related to Mr. Reynolds as to Llyn y Fan Fach, how there emerged from the water a huge hairy fellow of hideous aspect, who stormed at the disturbers of his peace, and uttered the threat that unless they left him alone in his own place he would drown a whole town. Thus the power of the water spirit is represented as equal to producing excessive wet weather and destructive floods. He is in all probability not to be dissociated from the afanc in the Conwy story which has already been given (pp. 130-3). Now the local belief is that the reason why the afanc had to be dragged out of the river was that he caused floods in the river and made it impossible for people to cross on their way to market at Llanrwst. Some such a local legend has been generalized into a sort of universal flood story in the late Triad, iii. 97, as follows:--'Three masterpieces of the Isle of Prydain: the Ship of Nefyd Naf Neifion, that carried in her male and female of every kind when the Lake of Llïon burst; and Hu the Mighty's Ychen Bannog dragging the afanc of the lake to land, so that the lake burst no more; and the Stones of Gwydon Ganhebon, on which one read all the arts and sciences of the world.' A story similar to the Conwy one, but no longer to be got so complete, as far as I know, seems to have been current in various parts of the Principality, especially around Llyn Syfadon and on the banks of the Anglesey pool called Llyn yr Wyth Eidion, 'the Pool of the Eight Oxen,' for so many is Hu represented here as requiring in dealing with the Anglesey afanc. According to Mr. Pughe of Aberdovey, the same feat was performed at Llyn Barfog, not, however, by Hu and his oxen, but by Arthur and his horse. To be more exact the task may be here considered as done by Arthur superseding Hu: see p. 142 above. That, however, is of no consequence here, and I return to the afanc: the Fan Fach legend told to Mr. Reynolds makes the lake ruler huge and hairy, hideous and rough-spoken, but he expresses himself in human speech, in fact in two lines of doggerel: see p. 19 above. On the other hand, the Llyn Cwm Llwch story, which puts the same doggerel, p. 21, into the mouth of the threatening figure in red who sits in a chair on the face of that lake, suggests nothing abnormal about his personal appearance. Then as to the Conwy afanc, he is very heavy, it is true, but he also speaks the language of the country. He is lured, be it noticed, out of his home in the lake by the attractions of a young woman, who lets him rest his head in her lap and fall asleep. When he wakes to find himself in chains he takes a cruel revenge on her. But with infinite toil and labour he is dragged beyond the Conwy watershed into one of the highest tarns on Snowdon; for there is here no question of killing him, but only of removing him where he cannot harm the people of the Conwy Valley. It is true that the story of Peredur represents that knight cutting an afanc's head off, but so much the worse for the compiler of that romance, as we have doubtless in the afanc some kind of a deathless being. However, the description which the Peredur story gives [18] of him is interesting: he lives in a cave at the door of which is a stone pillar: he sees everybody that comes without anybody seeing him; and from behind the pillar he kills all comers with a poisoned spear. Hitherto we have the afanc described mostly from a hostile point of view: let us change our position, which some of the stories already given enable us to do. Take for instance the first of the whole series, where it describes, p. 7, the Fan Fach youth's despair when the lake damsel, whose love he had gained, suddenly dived to fetch her father and her sister. There emerged, it says, out of the lake two most beautiful ladies, accompanied by a hoary-headed man of noble mien and extraordinary stature, but having otherwise all the force and strength of youth. This hoary-headed man of noble mien owned herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, a number of which were allowed to come out of the lake to form his daughter's dowry, as the narrative goes on to show. In the story of Llyn Du'r Ardu, p. 32, he has a consort who appears with him to join in giving the parental sanction to the marriage which their daughter was about to make with the Snowdon shepherd. In neither of these stories has this extraordinary figure any name given him, and it appears prima facie probable that the term afanc is rather one of abuse in harmony with the unlovely description of him supplied by the other stories. But neither in them does the term yr afanc suit the monster meant, for there can be no doubt that in the word afanc we have the etymological equivalent of the Irish word abacc, 'a dwarf'; and till further light is shed on these words one may assume that at one time afanc also meant a dwarf or pigmy in Welsh. In modern Welsh it has been regarded as meaning a beaver, but as that was too small an animal to suit the popular stories, the word has been also gravely treated as meaning a crocodile [19]: this is in the teeth of the unanimous treatment of him as anthropomorphic in the legends in point. If one is to abide by the meaning dwarf or pigmy, one is bound to regard afanc as one of the terms originally applied to the fairies in their more unlovely aspects: compare the use of crimbil, p. 263. Here may also be mentioned pegor, 'a dwarf or pigmy,' which occurs in the Book of Taliessin, poem vii. (p. 135):-- Gog6n py pegor I know what (sort of) pigmy yssyd ydan vor. There is beneath the sea. Gogwn eu heissor I know their kind, pa6b yny oscord. Each in his troop. Also the following lines in the twelfth-century manuscript of the Black Book of Carmarthen: see Evans' autotype facsimile, fo. 9b:-- Ar gnyuer pegor And every dwarf y ssit y dan mor. There is beneath the sea, Ar gnyuer edeinauc And every winged thing aoruc kyuoethauc. The Mighty One hath made, Ac vei. vei. paup. And were there to each tri trychant tauaud Thrice three hundred tongues-- Nyellynt ve traethaud. They could not relate kyuoetheu [y] trindaud The powers of the Trinity. I should rather suppose, then, that the pigmies in the water-world were believed to consist of many grades or classes, and to be innumerable like the Luchorpáin of Irish legend, which were likewise regarded as diminutive. With the Luchorpáin were also associated [20] Fomori or Fomoraig (modern Irish spelling Fomhoraigh), and Goborchinn, 'Horse-heads.' The etymology of the word Fomori has been indicated at p. 286 above, but Irish legendary history has long associated it with muir, 'sea,' genitive mara, Welsh mor, and it has gone so far as to see in them, as there suggested, not submarine but transmarine enemies and invaders of Ireland. So the singular fomor, now written fomhor, is treated in O'Reilly's Irish Dictionary as meaning 'a pirate, a sea robber, a giant,' while in Highland Gaelic, where it is written fomhair or famhair, it is regularly used as the word for giant. The Manx Gaelic corresponding to Irish fomor and its derivative fomorach, is foawr, 'a giant,' and foawragh, 'gigantic,' but also 'a pirate.' I remember hearing, however, years ago, a mention made of the Fomhoraigh, which, without conveying any definite allusion to their stature, associated them with subterranean places:--An undergraduate from the neighbourhood of Killorglin, in Kerry, happened to relate in my hearing, how, when he was exploring some underground ráths near his home, he was warned by his father's workmen to beware of the Fomhoraigh. But on the borders of the counties of Mayo and Sligo I have found the word used as in the Scottish Highlands, namely, in the sense of giants, while Dr. Douglas Hyde and others inform me that the Giant's Causeway is called in Irish Clochán na bh-Fomhorach. The Goborchinns or Horse-heads have also an interest, not only in connexion with the Fomori, as when we read of a king of the latter called Eocha Eachcheann [21], or Eochy Horse-head, but also as a link between the Welsh afanc and the Highland water-horse, of whom Campbell has a good deal to say in his Popular Tales of the West Highlands. See more especially iv. 337, where he remarks among other things, that 'the water-horse assumes many shapes; he often appears as a man,' he adds, 'and sometimes as a large bird.' A page or two earlier he gives a story which illustrates the statement, at the same time that it vividly reminds one of that part of the Conwy legend which (p. 130) represents the afanc resting his head on the lap of the damsel forming one of the dramatis personæ. Here follows Campbell's own story, omitting all about a marvellous bull, however, that was in the end to checkmate the water-horse:-- 'A long time after these things a servant girl went with the farmer's herd of cattle to graze them at the side of a loch, and she sat herself down near the bank. There, in a little while, what should she see walking towards her but a man, who asked her to fasg his hair [Welsh lleua]. She said she was willing enough to do him that service, and so he laid his head on her knee, and she began to array his locks, as Neapolitan damsels also do by their swains. But soon she got a great fright, for growing amongst the man's hair, she found a great quantity of liobhagach an locha, a certain slimy green weed [22] that abounds in such lochs, fresh, salt, and brackish. The girl knew that if she screamed there was an end of her, so she kept her terror to herself, and worked away till the man fell asleep as he was with his head on her knee. Then she untied her apron strings, and slid the apron quietly on to the ground with its burden upon it, and then she took her feet home as fast as it was in her heart [23]. Now when she was getting near the houses, she gave a glance behind her, and there she saw her caraid (friend) coming after her in the likeness of a horse.' The equine form belongs also more or less constantly to the kelpie of the Lowlands of Scotland and of the Isle of Man, where we have him in the glashtyn, whose amorous propensities are represented as more repulsive than what appears in Welsh or Irish legend: see p. 289 above, and the Lioar Manninagh for 1897, p. 139. Perhaps in Man and the Highlands the horsy nature of this being has been reinforced by the influence of the Norse Nykr, a Northern Proteus or old Nick, who takes many forms, but with a decided preference for that of 'a gray water-horse': see Vigfusson's Icelandic-English Dictionary. But the idea of associating the equine form with the water divinity is by no means confined to the Irish and the Northern nations: witness the Greek legend of the horse being of Poseidon's own creation, and the beast whose form he sometimes assumed. It is in this sort of a notion of a water-horse one is probably to look for the key to the riddle of such conceptions as that of March ab Meirchion, the king with horse's ears, and the corresponding Irish figure of Labraid Lorc [24]. In both of these the brute peculiarities are reduced almost to a minimum: both are human in form save their ears alone. The name Labraid Lorc is distinct enough from the Welsh March, but under this latter name one detects traces of him with the horse's ears in Wales, Cornwall, and Brittany [25]. We have also probably the same name in the Morc of Irish legend: at any rate Morc, Marc, or Margg, seems to be the same name as the Welsh March, which is no other word than march, 'a steed or charger.' Now the Irish Morc is not stated to have had horse's ears, but he and another called Conaing are represented in the legendary history of early Erin as the naval leaders of the Fomori, a sort of position which would seem to fit the Brythonic March also were he to be treated in earnest as an historical character. But short of that another treatment may be suspected of having been actually dealt out to him, namely, that of resolving the water-horse into a horse and his master. Of this we seem to have two instances in the course of the story of the formation of Lough Neagh in the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 39-41:-- There was once a good king named Maired reigning over Munster, and he had two sons, Eochaid and Rib. He married a wife named Ebliu (genitive Eblinde), who fell in love with her stepson, Eochaid. The two brothers make up their minds to leave their father and to take Ebliu with them, together with all that was theirs, including in all a thousand men. They proceed northwards, but their druids persuade them that they cannot settle down in the same district, so Rib goes westwards to a plain known as Tír Cluchi Midir acus Maic Óic, 'the Play-ground of Mider and the Mac Óc,' so called after the two great fairy chiefs of Ireland. Mider visits Rib's camp and kills their horses, then he gives them a big horse of his own ready harnessed with a pack-saddle. They had to put all their baggage on the big horse's back and go away, but after a while the nag lay down and a well of water formed there, which eventually burst forth, drowning them all: this is Loch Ri, 'Rib's Loch, or Lough Ree,' on the Shannon. Eochaid, the other brother, went with his party to the banks of the Boyne near the Brug, where the fairy chief Mac Óc or Mac ind Óc had his residence: he destroyed Eochaid's horses the first night, and the next day he threatened to destroy the men themselves unless they went away. Thereupon Eochaid said that they could not travel without horses, so the Mac Óc gave them a big horse, on whose back they placed all they had. The Mac Óc warned them not to unload the nag on the way, and not to let him halt lest he should be their death. However, when they had reached the middle of Ulster, they thoughtlessly took all their property off the horse's back, and nobody bethought him of turning the animal's head back in the direction from which they had come: so he also made a well [26]. Over that well Eochaid had a house built, and a lid put on the well, which he set a woman to guard. In the sequel she neglected it, and the well burst forth and formed Lough Neagh, as already mentioned, p. 382 above. What became of the big horses in these stories one is not told, but most likely they were originally represented as vanishing in a spring of water where each of them stood. Compare the account of Undine at her unfaithful husband's funeral. In the procession she mysteriously appeared as a snow-white figure deeply veiled, but when one rose from kneeling at the grave, where she had knelt nought was to be seen save a little silver spring of limpid water bubbling out of the turf and trickling on to surround the new grave:--Da man sich aber wieder erhob, war die weisse Fremde verschwunden; an der Stelle, wo sie geknieet hatte, quoll ein silberhelles Brünnlein aus dem Rasen; das rieselte und rieselte fort, bis es den Grabhügel des Ritters fast ganz umzogen hatte; dann rann es fürder und ergoss sich in einen Weiher, der zur Seite des Gottesackers lag. The late and grotesque story of the Gilla Decair may be mentioned next: he was one of the Fomorach, and had a wonderful kind of horse on whose back most of Finn's chief warriors were induced to mount. Then the Gilla Decair and his horse hurried towards Corkaguiny, in Kerry, and took to the sea, for he and his horse travelled equally well on sea and land. Thus Finn's men, unable to dismount, were carried prisoners to an island not named, on which Dermot in quest of them afterwards landed, and from which, after great perils, he made his way to Tír fo Thuinn, 'Terra sub Unda,' and brought his friends back to Erin [27]. Now the number of Finn's men taken away by force by the Gilla Decair was fifteen, fourteen on the back of his horse and one clutching to the animal's tail, and the Welsh Triads, i. 93 = ii. 11, seem to re-echo some similar story, but they give the number of persons not as fifteen but just one half, and describe the horse as Du (y) Moroed, 'the Black of (the) Seas,' steed of Elidyr Mwynfawr, that carried seven human beings and a half from Pen Llech Elidyr in the North to Pen Llech Elidyr in Môn, 'Anglesey.' It is explained that Du carried seven on his back, and that one who swam with his hands on that horse's crupper was reckoned the half man in this case. Du Moroed is in the story of Kulhwch and Olwen called Du March Moro, 'Black the Steed of Moro,' the horse ridden in the hunt of Twrch Trwyth by Gwyn ab Nud, king of the other world; and he appears as a knight with his name unmistakably rendered into Brun de Morois in the romance of Durmart le Galois, who carries away Arthur's queen on his horse to his castle in Morois [28]. Lastly, here also might be mentioned the incident in the story of Peredur or Perceval, which relates how to that knight, when he was in the middle of a forest much distressed for the want of a horse, a lady brought a fine steed as black as a blackberry. He mounted and he found his beast marvellously swift, but on his making straight for a vast river the knight made the sign of the cross, whereupon he was left on the ground, and his horse plunged into the water, which his touch seemed to set ablaze. The horse is interpreted to have been the devil [29], and this is a fair specimen of the way in which Celtic paganism is treated by the Grail writers when they feel in the humour to assume an edifying attitude. If one is right in setting Môn, 'Anglesey,' over against the anonymous isle to which the Gilla Decair hurries Finn's men away, Anglesey would have to be treated as having once been considered one of the Islands of the Dead and the home of Other-world inhabitants. We have a trace of this in a couplet in a poem by the medieval poet, Dafyd ab Gwilym, who makes Blodeuwed the Owl give a bit of her history as follows:-- Merch i arglwyd, ail Meirchion, Wyf i, myn Dewi! o Fon [30]. Daughter to a lord, son of Meirchion, Am I, by St. David! from Mona. This, it will be seen, connects March ab Meirchion, as it were 'Steed son of Steeding,' with the Isle of Anglesey. Add to this that the Irish for Anglesey or Mona was Móin Conaing, 'Conaing's Swamp,' so called apparently after Conaing associated with Morc, a name which is practically March in Welsh. Both were leaders of the Fomori in Irish tales: see my Arthurian Legend, p. 356. On the great place given to islands in Celtic legend and myth it is needless here to expatiate: witness Brittia, to which Procopius describes the souls of the departed being shipped from the shores of the Continent, the Isle of Avallon in the Romances, that of Gwales in the Mabinogion, Ynys Enlli or Bardsey, in which Merlin and his retinue enter the Glass House [31], and the island of which we read in the pages of Plutarch, that it contains Cronus held in the bonds of perennial sleep [32]. Let us return to the more anthropomorphic figure of the afanc, and take as his more favoured representative the virile personage described emerging from the Fan Fach Lake to give his sanction to the marriage of his daughter with the Mydfai shepherd. It is probable that a divinity of the same order belonged to every other lake of any considerable dimensions in the country. But it will be remembered that in the case of the story of Llyn Du'r Ardu two parents appeared with the lake maiden--her father and her mother--and we may suppose that they were divinities of the water-world. The same thing also may be inferred from the late Triad, iii. 13, which speaks of the bursting of the lake of Llïon, causing all the lands to be inundated so that all the human race was drowned except Dwyfan and Dwyfach, who escaped in a mastless ship: it was from them that the island of Prydain was repeopled. A similar Triad, iii. 97, but evidently of a different origin, has already been mentioned as speaking of the Ship of Nefyd Naf Neifion, that carried in it a male and female of every kind when the lake of Llïon burst. This later Triad evidently supplies what had been forgotten in the previous one, namely, a pair of each kind of animal life, and not of mankind alone. But from the names Dwyfan and Dwyfach I infer that the writer of Triad iii. 13 has developed his universal deluge on the basis of the scriptural account of it, for those names belonged in all probability to wells and rivers: in other terms, they were the names of water divinities. At any rate there seems to be some evidence that two springs, whose waters flow into Bala Lake, were at one time called Dwyfan and Dwyfach, these names being borne both by the springs themselves and the rivers flowing from them. The Dwyfan and the Dwyfach were regarded as uniting in the lake, while the water on its issuing from the lake is called Dyfrdwy. Now Dyfrdwy stands for an older Dyfr-dwyf, which in Old Welsh was Dubr duiu, 'the water of the divinity.' One of the names of that divinity was Donwy, standing for an early form Danuvios or Danuvia, according as it was masculine or feminine. In either case it was practically the same name as that of the Danube or Danuvios, derived from a word which is represented in Irish by the adjective dána, 'audax, fortis, intrepidus.' The Dee has in Welsh poetry still another name, Aerfen, which seems to mean a martial goddess or the spirit of the battlefield, which is corroborated and explained by Giraldus [33], who represents the river as the accredited arbiter of the fortunes of the wars in its country between the Welsh and the English. The name Dyfrdonwy occurs in a poem by Llywarch Brydyd y Moch, a poet who flourished towards the end of the twelfth century, as follows [34]:-- Nid kywiw [35] a llwfyr dwfyr dyfyrdonwy Kereist oth uebyd gwryd garwy. With a coward Dyfrdonwy water ill agrees: From thy boyhood hast thou loved Garwy's valour. The prince praised was Llywelyn ab Iorwerth, whom the poet seems to identify here with the Dee, and it looks as if the water of the Dee formed some sort of a test which no coward could face: compare the case of the discreet cauldron that would not boil meat for a coward [36]. The dwy, dwyf, duiu, of the river's Welsh name represent an early form deva or deiva, whence the Romans called their station on its banks Deva, possibly as a shortening of ad Devam; but that Deva should have simply and directly meant the river is rendered probable by the fact that Ptolemy elsewhere gives it as the name of the northern Dee, which enters the sea near Aberdeen. From the same stem were formed the names Dwyf-an and Dwyf-ach, which are treated in the Triads as masculine and feminine respectively. In its course the Welsh Dee receives a river Ceirw not far above Corwen, and that river flows through farms called Ar-dwyfan and Hendre' Ar-dwyfan, and adjoining Ardwyfan is another farm called Foty Ardwyfan, 'Shielings of Ardwyfan,' while Hendre' Ardwyfan means the old stead or winter abode of Ardwyfan. Ardwyfan itself would seem to mean 'On Dwyfan,' and Hendre' Ardwyfan, which may be supposed the original homestead, stands near a burn which flows into the Ceirw. That burn I should suppose to have been the Dwyfan, and perhaps the name extended to the Ceirw itself; but Dwyfan is not now known as the name of any stream in the neighbourhood. Elsewhere we have two rivers called Dwyfor or Dwyfawr and Dwyfach, which unite a little below the village of Llan Ystumdwy; and from there to the sea, the stream is called Dwyfor, the mouth of which is between Criccieth and Afon Wen, in Carnarvonshire. Ystumdwy, commonly corrupted into Stindwy, seems to mean Ystum-dwy, 'the bend of the Dwy'; so that here also we have Dwyfach and Dwy, as in the case of the Dee. Possibly Dwyfor was previously called simply Dwy or even Dwyfan; but it is now explained as Dwy-fawr, 'great Dwy,' which was most likely suggested by Dwyfach, as this latter explains itself to the country people as Dwy-fach, 'little Dwy.' However, it is but right to say that in Llywelyn ab Gruffyd's grant of lands to the monks of Aber Conwy they seem to be called Dwyuech and Dwyuaur [37]. All these waters have in common the reputation of being liable to sudden and dangerous floods, especially the Dwyfor, which drains Cwm Strallyn and its lake lying behind the great rocky barrier on the left as one goes from Tremadoc towards Aber Glaslyn Bridge. Still more so is this the case with the Dee and Bala Lake, which is wont to rise at times from seven to nine feet above its ordinary level. The inundation which then invades the valley from Bala down presents a sight more magnificent than comfortable to contemplate. In fact nothing could have been more natural than for the story elaborated by the writer of certain of the late Triads to have connected the most remarkable inundations with the largest piece of water in the Principality, and one liable to such sudden changes of level: in other words, that one should treat Llyn Llïon as merely one of the names of Bala Lake, now called in Welsh Llyn Tegid, and formerly sometimes Llyn Aerfen. While touching at p. 286 on Gwaen Llifon with its Llyn Pencraig as one of those claiming to be the Llyn Llïon of the Triads, it was hinted that Llïon was but a thinner form of Llifon. Here one might mention perhaps another Llifon, for which, however, no case could be made. I allude to the name of the residence of the Wynns descended from Gilmin Troeddu, namely, Glyn Llifon, which means the river Llifon's Glen; but one could not feel surprised if the neighbouring Llyfni, draining the lakes of Nantlle, should prove to have once been also known as a Llifon, with the Nantlle waters conforming by being called Llyn Llifon. But however that may be, one may say as to the flood caused by the bursting of any such lake, that the notion of the universality of the catastrophe was probably contributed by the author of Triad iii. 13, from a non-Welsh source. He may have, however, not invented the vessel in which he places Dwyfan and Dwyfach: at all events, one version of the story of the Fan Fach represents the Lake Lady arriving in a boat. As to the writer of the other Triad, iii. 97, he says nothing about Dwyfan and his wife, but borrows Nefyd Naf Neifion's ship to save all that were to be saved; and here one may probably venture to identify Nefyd with Nemed [38], genitive Nemid, a name borne in Irish legend by a rover who is represented as one of the early colonizers of Erin. As to the rest, the name Neifion by itself is used in Welsh for Neptune and the sea, as in the following couplet of D. ab Gwilym's poem lv:-- Nofiad a wnaeth hen Neifion It is old Neptune that has swam O Droia fawr draw i Fôn. From great Troy afar to Mona. In the same way Môr Neifion, 'Sea of Neifion,' seems to have signified the ocean, the high seas. To return to the Triad about Dwyfan and Dwyfach, not only does it make them from being water divinities into a man and woman, but there is no certainty even that both were not feminine. In modern Welsh all rivers are treated as feminine, and even Dyfrdwyf has usually to submit, though the modern bard Tegid, analysing the word into Dwfr Dwyf, 'Water of the Divinity or Divine Water,' where dwfr, 'water,' could only be masculine, addressed Llyn Tegid thus, p. 78: Drwyot, er dydiau'r Drywon, Y rhwyf y Dyfrdwyf ei don. Through thee, from the days of the Druids, The Dwfr Dwyf impels his wave. This question, however, of the gender of river names, or rather the sex which personification ascribed them, is a most difficult one. If we glance at Ptolemy's Geography written in the second century, we find in his account of the British Isles that he names more than fifty of our river mouths and estuaries, and that he divides their names almost equally into masculine and feminine. The modern Welsh usage has, it is seen, departed far from this, but not so far the folklore: the afanc is a male, and we have a figure of the same sex appearing as the father of the lake maiden in the Fan Fach story, and in that of Llyn Du'r Ardu; the same, too, was the sex of the chief dweller of Llyn Cwm Llwch; the same remark is applicable also to the greatest divinity of these islands--the greatest, at any rate, so far as the scanty traces of his cult enable one to become acquainted with him. As his name comes down into legend it belongs here, as well as to the deities of antiquity, just as much, in a sense, as the Dee. I refer to Nudons or Nodons, the remains [39] of whose sanctuary were many years ago brought to light on a pleasant hill in Lydney Park, on the western banks of the Severn. In the mosaic floor of the god's temple there is a coloured inscription showing the expense of that part of the work to have been defrayed by the contributions (ex stipibus) of the faithful, and that it was carried out by two men, of whom one appears to have been an officer in command of a naval force guarding the coasts of the Severn Sea. In the midst of the mosaic inscription is a round opening in the floor of nine inches in diameter and surrounded by a broad band of red enclosed in two of blue. This has given rise to various speculations, and among others that it was intended for libations. The mosaics and the lettering of the inscriptions seem to point to the third century as the time when the sanctuary of Nudons was built under Roman auspices, though the place was doubtless sacred to the god long before. In any case it fell in exactly with the policy of the more astute of Roman statesmen to encourage such a native cult as we find traces of in Lydney Park. One of the inscriptions began with D. M. Nodonti, 'to the great god Nudons,' and a little bronze crescent intended for the diadem of the god or of one of his priests gives a representation of him as a crowned, beardless personage driving a chariot with four horses; and on either side of him is a naked figure supposed to represent the winds, and beyond them on each of the two sides is a triton with the fore feet of a horse. The god holds the reins in his left hand, and his right uplifted grasps what may be a sceptre or possibly a whip, while the whole equipment of the god recalls in some measure the Chariot of the Sun. Another piece of the bronze ornament shows another triton with an anchor in one of his hands, and opposite him a fisherman in the act of hooking a fine salmon. Other things, such as oars and shell trumpets, together with mosaic representations of marine animals in the floor of the temple, compel us to assimilate Nudons more closely with Neptune than any other god of classical mythology. The name of the god, as given in the inscriptions, varies between Nudons and Nodens, the cases actually occurring being the dative Nodonti, Nodenti, and Nudente, and the genitive Nodentis, so I should regard o or u as optional in the first syllable, and o as preferable, perhaps, to e in the second, for there is no room for reasonably doubting that we have here to do with the same name as Irish Nuadu, genitive Nuadat, conspicuous in the legendary history of Ireland. Now the Nuadu who naturally occurs to one first, was Nuadu Argetlám or Nuadu of the Silver Hand, from argat, 'silver, argentum,' and lám, 'hand.' Irish literature explains how he came to have a hand made of silver, and we can identify with him on Welsh ground a Llud Llawereint; for put back as it were into earlier Brythonic, this would be Ludo(ns) Lam'-argentios: that is to say, a reversal takes place in the order of the elements forming the epithet out of ereint (for older ergeint), 'silvern, argenteus,' and llaw, for earlier lama, 'hand.' Then comes the alliterative instinct into play, forcing Nudo(ns) Lamargentio(s) to become Ludo(ns) Lamargentio(s), whence the later form, Llud Llawereint, derives regularly [40]. Thus we have in Welsh the name Llûd, fashioned into that form under the influence of the epithet, whereas elsewhere it is Nûd, which occurs as a man's name in the pedigrees, while an intermediate form was probably Nudos or Nudo, of which a genitive NVDI occurs in a post-Roman inscription found near Yarrow Kirk in Selkirkshire. It is worthy of note that the modification of Nudo into Ludo must have taken place comparatively early--not improbably while the language was still Goidelic--as we seem to have a survival of the name in that of Lydney itself. It is very possible that we have Ludo, Llud, also in Porthlud; which Geoffrey of Monmouth gives, iii. 20, as the Welsh for Ludesgata or Ludgate, in London, which gate, according to him, was called after an ancient king of Britain named Lud. He seems to have been using an ancient tradition, and there would be nothing improbable in the conjecture that Geoffrey's Lud was our Llud, and that the great water divinity of that name had another sanctuary on the hill by the Thames, somewhere near the present site of St. Paul's Cathedral, and occupying a post as it were prophetic of Britain's rule of the water-ways in later times. Perhaps as one seems to find traces of Nudons from the estuary of the Thames to that of the Severn and thence to Ireland, one may conclude that the god was one of the divinities worshipped by the Goidels. With regard to the Brythonic Celts, there is nothing to suggest that he belonged also to them except in the sense of his having been probably adopted by them from the Goidels. It might be further suggested that the Goidels themselves had in the first instance adopted him from the pre-Celtic natives, but in that case a goddess would have been rather more probable [41]. In fact in the case of the Severn we seem to have a trace of such a goddess in the Sabrina, Old Welsh Habren, now Hafren, so called after a princess whom Geoffrey, ii. 5, represents drowned in the river: she may have been the pre-Celtic goddess of the Severn, and the name corresponding to Welsh Hafren occurs in Ireland in the form of Sabrann, an old name of the river Lee that flows through Cork. Similarly one now reads sometimes of Father Thames after the fashion of classic phraseology, and in the Celtic period Nudons may have been closely identified with that river, but the ancient name Tamesa or Tamesis [42] was decidedly feminine, and it was, most likely, that of the river divinity from times when the pre-Celtic natives held exclusive possession of these islands. On the whole it appears safer to regard Nudons as belonging to a race that had developed on a larger scale the idea of a patriarchal or kingly ruler holding sway over a comparatively wide area. So Nudons may here be treated as ruled out of the discussion as to the origin of the fairies, to which a few paragraphs are now to be devoted. Speaking of the rank and file of the fairies in rather a promiscuous fashion, one may say that we have found manifold proof of their close connexion with the water-world. Not only have we found them supposed to haunt places bordering on rivers, to live beneath the lakes, or to inhabit certain green isles capable of playing hide-and-seek with the ancient mariner, and perhaps not so very ancient either; but other considerations have been suggested as also pointing unmistakably to the same conclusion. Take for instance the indirect evidence afforded by the method of proceeding to recover an infant stolen by the fairies. One account runs thus: The mother who had lost her baby was to go with a wizard and carry with her to a river the child left her in exchange. The wizard would say, Crap ar y wrach, 'Grip the hag,' and the woman would reply, Rhy hwyr, gyfraglach, 'Too late, you urchin [43].' Before she uttered those words she had dropped the urchin into the river, and she would then return to her house. By that time the kidnapped child would be found to have come back home [44]. The words here used have not been quite forgotten in Carnarvonshire, but no distinct meaning seems to be attached to them now; at any rate I have failed to find anybody who could explain them. I should however guess that the wizard addressed his words to the fairy urchin with the intention, presumably, that the fairies in the river should at the same time hear and note what was about to be done. Another, and a somewhat more intelligible version, is given in the Gwyliedyd for 1837, p. 185, by a contributor who publishes it from a manuscript which Lewis Morris began to write in 1724 and finished apparently in 1729. He was a native of Anglesey, and it is probably to that county the story belongs, which he gives to illustrate one of the phonological aspects of certain kinds of Welsh. That account differs from the one just cited in that it introduces no wizard, but postulates two fairy urchins between whom the dialogue occurs, which is not unusual in our changeling stories: see p. 62. After this explanation I translate Morris' words thus:-- 'But to return to the question of the words approaching to the nature of the thing intended, there is an old story current among us concerning a woman whose children had been exchanged by the Tylwyth Teg. Whether it is truth or falsehood does not much matter, yet it shows what the men of that age thought concerning the sound of words, and how they fancied that the language of those sprites was of a ghastly and lumpy kind. The story is as follows:--The woman whose two children had been exchanged, chanced to overhear the two fairy heirs, whom she got instead of them, reasoning with one another beyond what became their age and persons. So she picked up the two sham children, one under each arm, in order to go and throw them from a bridge into a river, that they might be drowned as she fancied. But hardly had the one in his fall reached the bottom when he cried out to his comrade in the following words:-- Grippiach greppiach Grippiach Greppiach, Dal d'afel yn y wrach, Keep thy hold on the hag. Hi aeth yn rhowyr 'faglach-- It got too late, thou urchin-- Mi eis i ir mwthlach [45].' I fell into the.... In spite of the obscurity of these words, it is quite clear that it was thought the most natural thing in the world to return the fairies to the river, and no sooner were they dropped there than the right infants were found to have been sent home. The same thing may be learned also from the story of the Curse of Pantannas, pp. 187-8 above; for when the time of the fairies' revenge is approaching, the merry party gathered together at Pantannas are frightened by a piercing voice rising from a black and cauldron-like pool in the river; and after a while they hear it a second time rising above the noise of the river as it cascades over the shoulder of a neighbouring rock. Shortly afterwards an ugly, diminutive woman appears on the table near the window, and had it not been for the rudeness of one of those present she would have disclosed the future to them, but, as it was, she said very little in a vague way and went away offended; but as long as she was there the voice from the river was silent. Here we have the Welsh counterpart of the ben síde, pronounced banshee in Anglo-Irish, and meaning a fairy woman who is supposed to appear to certain Irish families before deaths or other misfortunes about to befall them. It is doubtless to some such fairy persons the voices belong, which threaten vengeance on the heir of Pantannas and on the wicked prince and his descendants previous to the cataclysm which brings a lake into the place of a doomed city: witness such cases as those of Llynclys, Syfadon, and Kenfig. The last mentioned deserves some further scrutiny; and I take this opportunity of referring the reader back to pp. 403-4, in order to direct his attention to the fact that the voice so closely identifies itself with the wronged family that it speaks in the first person, as it cries, 'Vengeance is come on him who murdered my father of the ninth generation!' Now it is worthy of remark that the same personifying is also characteristic of the Cyhiraeth [46]. This spectral female used to be oftener heard than seen; but her blood-freezing shriek was as a rule to be heard when she came to a cross-road or to water, in which she splashed with her hands. At the same time she would make the most doleful noise and exclaim, in case the frightened hearer happened to be a wife, Fy ngwr, fy ngwr! 'my husband, my husband!' If it was the man the exclamation would be, Fy ngwraig, fy ngwraig! 'my wife, my wife!' Or in either case it might be, Fy mhlentyn, fy mhlentyn, fy mhlentyn bach! 'my child, my child, my little child!' These cries meant the approaching death of the hearer's husband, wife, or child, as the case might be; but if the scream was inarticulate it was reckoned probable that the hearer himself was the person foremourned. Sometimes she was supposed to come, like the Irish banshee, in a dark mist to the window of a person who has been long ailing, and to flap her wings against the glass, while repeating aloud his or her name, which was believed to mean that the patient must die [47]. The picture usually given of the Cyhiraeth is of the most repellent kind: tangled hair, long black teeth, wretched, skinny, shrivelled arms of unwonted length out of all proportion to the body. Nevertheless it is, in my opinion, but another aspect of the banshee-like female who intervenes in the story of the Curse of Pantannas. One might perhaps treat both as survivals of a belief in a sort of personification of, or divinity identified with, a family or tribe, but for the fact that such language is emptied of most of its meaning by the abstractions which it would connect with a primitive state of society. So it is preferable, as coming probably near the truth, to say that what we have here is a trace of an ancestress. Such an idea of an ancestress as against that of an ancestor is abundantly countenanced by dim figures like that of the Dôn of the Mabinogion, and of her counterpart, after whom the Tribes of the goddess Donu or Danu [48] are known as Tuatha Dé Danann in Irish literature. But the one who most provokes comparison is the Old Woman of Beare, already mentioned, pp. 393-4: she figures largely in Irish folklore as a hag surviving to see her descendants reckoned by tribes and peoples. It may be only an accident that a poetically wrought legend pictures her not so much interested in the fortunes of her progeny as engaged in bewailing the unattractive appearance of her thin arms and shrivelled hands, together with the general wreck of the beauty which had been hers some time or other centuries before. However, the evidence of folklore is not of a kind to warrant our building any heavy superstructure of theory on the supposition, that the foundations are firmly held together by a powerful sense of consistency or homogeneity. So I should hesitate to do anything so rash as to pronounce the fairies to be all of one and the same origin: they may well be of several. For instance, there may be those that have grown out of traditions about an aboriginal pre-Celtic race, and some may be the representatives of the ghosts of departed men and women, regarded as one's ancestors; but there can hardly be any doubt that others, and those possibly not the least interesting, have originated in the demons and divinities--not all of ancestral origin--with which the weird fancy of our remote forefathers peopled lakes and streams, bays and creeks and estuaries. Perhaps it is not too much to hope that the reader is convinced that in the course of this chapter some interesting specimens have, so to say, been caught in their native element, or else in the enjoyment of an amphibious life of mirth and frolic, largely spent hard by sequestered lakes, near placid rivers or babbling brooks. CHAPTER VIII WELSH CAVE LEGENDS Ekei mentoi mian einai nêson, en hê ton Kronon katheirchthai phrouroumenon hypo tou Briareô katheudonta; desmon gar autô ton hypnon memêchanêsthai, pollous de peri auton einai daimonas opadous kai therapontas.--Plutarch. In previous chapters sundry allusions have been made to treasure caves besides that of Marchlyn Mawr, which has been given at length on pp. 234-7 above. Here follow some more, illustrative of this kind of folklore prevalent in Wales: they are difficult to classify, but most of them mention treasure with or without sleeping warriors guarding it. The others are so miscellaneous as to baffle any attempt to characterize them generally and briefly. Take for instance a cave in the part of Rhiwarth rock nearest to Cwm Llanhafan, in the neighbourhood of Llangynog in Montgomeryshire. Into that, according to Cyndelw in the Brython for 1860, p. 57, some men penetrated as far as the pound of candles lasted, with which they had provided themselves; but it appears to be tenanted by a hag who is always busily washing clothes in a brass pan. Or take the following, from J. H. Roberts' essay, as given in Welsh in Edwards' Cymru for 1897, p. 190: it reminds one of an ordinary fairy tale, but it is not quite like any other which I happen to know:--In the western end of the Arennig Fawr there is a cave: in fact there are several caves there, and some of them are very large too; but there is one to which the finger of tradition points as an ancient abode of the Tylwyth Teg. About two generations ago, the shepherds of that country used to be enchanted by one of them called Mary, who was remarkable for her beauty. Many an effort was made to catch her or to meet her face to face, but without success, as she was too quick on her feet. She used to show herself day after day, and she might be seen, with her little harp, climbing the bare slopes of the mountain. In misty weather when the days were longest in summer, the music she made used to be wafted by the breeze to the ears of the love-sick shepherds. Many a time had the boys of the Filltir Gerrig heard sweet singing when passing the cave in the full light of day, but they were subject to some spell, so that they never ventured to enter. But the shepherd of Boch y Rhaiadr had a better view of the fairies one Allhallows night (ryw noson Calangaeaf) when returning home from a merry-making at Amnod. On the sward in front of the cave what should he see but scores of the Tylwyth Teg singing and dancing! He never saw another assembly in his life so fair, and great was the trouble he had to resist being drawn into their circles. Let us now come to the treasure caves, and begin with Ogof Arthur, 'Arthur's Cave,' in the southern side of Mynyd y Cnwc [49] in the parish of Llangwyfan, on the south-western coast of Anglesey. The foot of Mynyd y Cnwc is washed by the sea, and the mouth of the cave is closed by its waters at high tide, but the cave, which is spacious, has a vent-hole in the side of the mountain [50]. So it is at any rate reported in the Brython for 1859, p. 138, by a writer who explored the place, though not to the end of the mile which it is said to measure in length. He mentions a local tradition, that it contains various treasures, and that it temporarily afforded Arthur shelter in the course of his wars with the Gwydelod or Goidels. But he describes also a cromlech on the top of Mynyd y Cnwc, around which there was a circle of stones, while within the latter there lies buried, it is believed, an iron chest full of ancient gold. Various attempts are said to have been made by the more greedy of the neighbouring inhabitants to dig it up, but they have always been frightened away by portents. Here then the guardians of the treasure are creatures of a supernatural kind, as in many other instances, and especially that of Dinas Emrys to be mentioned presently. Next comes the first of a group of cave legends involving treasure entrusted to the keeping of armed warriors. It is taken from Elijah Waring's Recollections and Anecdotes of Edward Williams, Iolo Morgannwg (London, 1850), pp. 95-8, where it is headed 'A popular Tale in Glamorgan, by Iolo Morgannwg'; a version of it in Welsh will be found in the Brython for 1858, p. 162, but Waring's version is in several respects better, and I give it in his words:--'A Welshman walking over London Bridge, with a neat hazel staff in his hand, was accosted by an Englishman, who asked him whence he came. "I am from my own country," answered the Welshman, in a churlish tone. "Do not take it amiss, my friend," said the Englishman; "if you will only answer my questions, and take my advice, it will be of greater benefit to you than you imagine. That stick in your hand grew on a spot under which are hid vast treasures of gold and silver; and if you remember the place, and can conduct me to it, I will put you in possession of those treasures." 'The Welshman soon understood that the stranger was what he called a cunning man, or conjurer, and for some time hesitated, not willing to go with him among devils, from whom this magician must have derived his knowledge; but he was at length persuaded to accompany him into Wales; and going to Craig-y-Dinas [Rock of the Fortress], the Welshman pointed out the spot whence he had cut the stick. It was from the stock or root of a large old hazel: this they dug up, and under it found a broad flat stone. This was found to close up the entrance into a very large cavern, down into which they both went. In the middle of the passage hung a bell, and the conjurer earnestly cautioned the Welshman not to touch it. They reached the lower part of the cave, which was very wide, and there saw many thousands of warriors lying down fast asleep in a large circle, their heads outwards, every one clad in bright armour, with their swords, shields, and other weapons lying by them, ready to be laid hold on in an instant, whenever the bell should ring and awake them. All the arms were so highly polished and bright, that they illumined the cavern, as with the light of ten thousand flames of fire. They saw amongst the warriors one greatly distinguished from the rest by his arms, shield, battle-axe, and a crown of gold set with the most precious stones, lying by his side. 'In the midst of this circle of warriors they saw two very large heaps, one of gold, the other of silver. The magician told the Welshman that he might take as much as he could carry away of either the one or the other, but that he was not to take from both the heaps. The Welshman loaded himself with gold: the conjurer took none, saying that he did not want it, that gold was of no use but to those who wanted knowledge, and that his contempt of gold had enabled him to acquire that superior knowledge and wisdom which he possessed. In their way out he cautioned the Welshman again not to touch the bell, but if unfortunately he should do so, it might be of the most fatal consequence to him, as one or more of the warriors would awake, lift up his head, and ask if it was day. "Should this happen," said the cunning man, "you must, without hesitation, answer No, sleep thou on; on hearing which he will again lay down his head and sleep." In their way up, however, the Welshman, overloaded with gold, was not able to pass the bell without touching it--it rang--one of the warriors raised up his head, and asked, "Is it day?" "No," answered the Welshman promptly, "it is not, sleep thou on;" so they got out of the cave, laid down the stone over its entrance, and replaced the hazel tree. The cunning man, before he parted from his companion, advised him to be economical in the use of his treasure; observing that he had, with prudence, enough for life: but that if by unforeseen accidents he should be again reduced to poverty, he might repair to the cave for more; repeating the caution, not to touch the bell if possible, but if he should, to give the proper answer, that it was not day, as promptly as possible. He also told him that the distinguished person they had seen was Arthur, and the others his warriors; and they lay there asleep with their arms ready at hand, for the dawn of that day when the Black Eagle and the Golden Eagle should go to war, the loud clamour of which would make the earth tremble so much, that the bell would ring loudly, and the warriors awake, take up their arms, and destroy all the enemies of the Cymry, who afterwards should repossess the Island of Britain, re-establish their own king and government at Caerlleon, and be governed with justice, and blessed with peace so long as the world endures. 'The time came when the Welshman's treasure was all spent: he went to the cave, and as before overloaded himself. In his way out he touched the bell: it rang: a warrior lifted up his head, asking if it was day, but the Welshman, who had covetously overloaded himself, being quite out of breath with labouring under his burden, and withal struck with terror, was not able to give the necessary answer; whereupon some of the warriors got up, took the gold away from him, and beat him dreadfully. They afterwards threw him out, and drew the stone after them over the mouth of the cave. The Welshman never recovered the effects of that beating, but remained almost a cripple as long as he lived, and very poor. He often returned with some of his friends to Craig-y-Dinas; but they could never afterwards find the spot, though they dug over, seemingly, every inch of the hill.' This story of Iolo's closes with a moral, which I omit in order to make room for what he says in a note to the effect, that there are two hills in Glamorganshire called Craig-y-Dinas--nowadays the more usual pronunciation in South Wales is Craig y Dinas--one in the parish of Llantrissant and the other in Ystrad Dyfodwg. There was also a hill so called, Iolo says, in the Vale of Towy, not far from Carmarthen. He adds that in Glamorgan the tale is related of the Carmarthenshire hill, while in Carmarthenshire the hill is said to be in Glamorgan. According to Iolo's son, Taliesin Williams [51] or Taliesin ab Iolo, the Craig y Dinas with which the Cave of Arthur (or Owen Lawgoch) is associated is the one on the borders of Glamorgan and Brecknockshire. That is also the opinion of my friend Mr. Reynolds, who describes this craig and dinas as a very bold rocky eminence at the top of the Neath Valley, near Pont Ned Fechan. He adds that in this tale as related to his mother 'in her very young days' by a very old woman, known as Mari Shencin y Clochyd 'Jenkin the Sexton's Mary,' the place of Arthur was taken by Owen Lawgoch, 'Owen of the Red Hand,' of whom more anon. The next Arthurian story is not strictly in point, for it makes no allusion to treasure; but as it is otherwise so similar to Iolo's tale I cannot well avoid introducing it here. It is included in the composite story of Bwca 'r Trwyn, 'the Bogie of the Nose,' written out for me in Gwentian Welsh by Mr. Craigfryn Hughes. The cave portion relates how a Monmouthshire farmer, whose house was grievously troubled by the bogie, set out one morning to call on a wizard who lived near Caerleon, and how he on his way came up with a very strange and odd man who wore a three-cornered hat. They fell into conversation, and the strange man asked the farmer if he should like to see something of a wonder. He answered he would. 'Come with me then,' said the wearer of the cocked hat, 'and you shall see what nobody else alive to-day has seen.' When they had reached the middle of a wood this spiritual guide sprang from horseback and kicked a big stone near the road. It instantly moved aside to disclose the mouth of a large cave; and now said he to the farmer, 'Dismount and bring your horse in here: tie him up alongside of mine, and follow me so that you may see something which the eyes of man have not beheld for centuries.' The farmer, having done as he was ordered, followed his guide for a long distance: they came at length to the top of a flight of stairs, where two huge bells were hanging. 'Now mind,' said the warning voice of the strange guide, 'not to touch either of those bells.' At the bottom of the stairs there was a vast chamber with hundreds of men lying at full length on the floor, each with his head reposing on the stock of his gun. 'Have you any notion who these men are?' 'No,' replied the farmer, 'I have not, nor have I any idea what they want in such a place as this.' 'Well,' said the guide, 'these are Arthur's thousand soldiers reposing and sleeping till the Kymry have need of them. Now let us get out as fast as our feet can carry us.' When they reached the top of the stairs, the farmer somehow struck his elbow against one of the bells so that it rang, and in the twinkling of an eye all the sleeping host rose to their feet shouting together, 'Are the Kymry in straits?' 'Not yet: sleep you on,' replied the wearer of the cocked hat, whereupon they all dropped down on their guns to resume their slumbers at once. 'These are the valiant men,' he went on to say, 'who are to turn the scale in favour of the Kymry when the time comes for them to cast the Saxon yoke off their necks and to recover possession of their country.' When the two had returned to their horses at the mouth of the cave, his guide said to the farmer, 'Now go in peace, and let me warn you on the pain of death not to utter a syllable about what you have seen for the space of a year and a day: if you do, woe awaits you.' After he had moved the stone back to its place the farmer lost sight of him. When the year had lapsed the farmer happened to pass again that way, but, though he made a long and careful search, he failed completely to find the stone at the mouth of the cave. To return to Iolo's yarn, one may say that there are traces of his story as at one time current in Merionethshire, but with the variation that the Welshman met the wizard not on London Bridge but at a fair at Bala, and that the cave was somewhere in Merioneth: the hero was Arthur, and the cave was known as Ogof Arthur. Whether any such cave is still known I cannot tell; but a third and interestingly told version is given in the Brython for 1858, p. 179, by the late Gwynionyd, who gives the story as the popular belief in his native parish of Troed yr Aur, halfway between Newcastle Emlyn and Aber Porth, in South Cardiganshire. In this last version the hero is not Arthur, but the later man as follows:--Not the least of the wonders of imagination wont to exercise the minds of the old people was the story of Owen Lawgoch. One sometimes hears sung in our fairs the words:-- Yr Owain hwn yw Harri 'r Nawfed Syd yn trigo 'ngwlad estronied, &c. This Owen is Henry the Ninth, Who tarries in a foreign land, &c. But this Owen Lawgoch, the national deliverer of our ancient race of Brythons, did not, according to the Troed yr Aur people, tarry in a foreign land, but somewhere in Wales, not far from Offa's Dyke. They used to say that one Dafyd Meirig of Bettws Bledrws, having quarrelled with his father, left for Lloegr [52], 'England.' When he had got a considerable distance from home, he struck a bargain with a cattle dealer to drive a herd of his beasts to London. Somewhere at the corner of a vast moor Dafyd cut a very remarkable hazel stick; for a good staff is as essential to the vocation of a good drover as teeth are to a dog. So while his comrades had had their sticks broken before reaching London, Dafyd's remained as it was, and whilst they were conversing together on London Bridge a stranger accosted Dafyd, wishing to know where he had obtained that wonderful stick. He replied that it was in Wales he had had it, and on the stranger's assuring him that there were wondrous things beneath the tree on which it had grown, they both set out for Wales. When they reached the spot and dug a little they found that there was a great hollow place beneath. As night was spreading out her sable mantle, and as they were getting deeper, what should they find but stairs easy to step and great lamps illumining the vast chamber! They descended slowly, with mixed emotions of dread and invincible desire to see the place. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves near a large table, at one end of which they beheld sitting a tall man of about seven foot. He occupied an old-fashioned chair and rested his head on his left hand, while the other hand, all red, lay on the table and grasped a great sword. He was withal enjoying a wondrously serene sleep; and at his feet on the floor lay a big dog. After casting a glance at them, the wizard said to Dafyd: 'This is Owen Lawgoch, who is to sleep on till a special time, when he will wake and reign over the Brythons. That weapon in his hand is one of the swords of the ancient kings of Prydain. No battle was ever lost in which that sword was used.' Then they moved slowly on, gazing at the wonders of that subterranean chamber; and they beheld everywhere the arms of ages long past, and on the table thousands of gold pieces bearing the images of the different kings of Prydain. They got to understand that it was permitted them to take a handful of each, but not to put any in their purses. They both visited the cave several times, but at last Dafyd put in his purse a little of the gold bearing the image of one of the bravest of Owen's ancestors. But after coming out again they were never able any more to find Owen's subterranean palace. Those are, says Gwynionyd, the ideas cherished by the old people of Troed yr Aur in Keredigion, and the editor adds a note that the same sort of story is current among the peasantry of Cumberland, and perhaps of other parts of Britain. This remark will at once recall to the reader's mind the well-known verses [53] of the Scottish poet, Leyden, as to Arthur asleep in a cave in the Eildon Hills in the neighbourhood of Melrose Abbey. But he will naturally ask why London Bridge is introduced into this and Iolo's story, and in answer I have to say, firstly, that London Bridge formerly loomed very large in the popular imagination as one of the chief wonders of London, itself the most wonderful city in the world. Such at any rate was the notion cherished as to London and London Bridge by the country people of Wales, even within my own memory. Secondly, the fashion of selecting London Bridge as the opening scene of a treasure legend had been set, perhaps, by a widely spread English story to the following effect:--A certain pedlar of Swaffham in Norfolk had a dream, that if he went and stood on London Bridge he would have very joyful news; as the dream was doubled and trebled he decided to go. So he stood on the bridge two or three days, when at last a shopkeeper, observing that he loitered there so long, neither offering anything for sale nor asking for alms, inquired of him as to his business. The pedlar told him his errand, and was heartily laughed at by the shopkeeper, who said that he had dreamt that night that he was at a place called Swaffham in Norfolk, and that if he only dug under a great oak tree in an orchard behind a pedlar's house there, he would find a vast treasure; but the place was utterly unknown to him, and he was not such a fool as to follow a silly dream. No, he was wiser than that; so he advised the pedlar to go home to mind his business. The pedlar very quietly took in the words as to the dream, and hastened home to Swaffham, where he found the treasure in his own orchard. The rest of the story need not be related here, as it is quite different from the Welsh ones, which the reader has just had brought under his notice [54]. To return to Owen Lawgoch, for we have by no means done with him: on the farm of Cil yr Ychen there stands a remarkable limestone hill called y Dinas, 'the Fortress,' hardly a mile to the north of the village of Llandybïe, in Carmarthenshire. This dinas and the lime-kilns that are gradually consuming it are to be seen on the right from the railway as you go from Llandeilo to Llandybïe. It is a steep high rock which forms a very good natural fortification, and in the level area on the top is the mouth of a very long cavern, known as Ogo'r Dinas, 'the Dinas Cave.' The entrance into it is small and low, but it gradually widens out, becoming in one place lofty and roomy with several smaller branch caves leading out of it; and it is believed that some of them connect Ogo'r Dinas with smaller caves at Pant y Llyn, 'the Lake Hollow,' where, as the name indicates, there is a small lake a little higher up: both Ogo'r Dinas and Pant y Llyn are within a mile of the village of Llandybïe [55]. Now I am informed, in a letter written in 1893 by one native, that the local legend about Ogo'r Dinas is that Owen Lawgoch and his men are lying asleep in it, while another native, Mr. Fisher, writing in the same year, but on the authority of somewhat later hearsay, expresses himself as follows:--'I remember hearing two traditions respecting Ogo'r Dinas: (1) that King Arthur and his warriors lie sleeping in it with their right hands clasping the hilts of their drawn swords ready to encounter anyone who may venture to disturb their repose--is there not a dinas somewhere in Carnarvonshire with a similar legend? (2) That Owen Lawgoch lived in it some time or other: that is all that I remember having heard about him in connection with this ogof.' Mr. Fisher proceeds, moreover, to state that it is said of an ogof at Pant y Llyn, that Owen Lawgoch and his men on a certain occasion took refuge in it, where they were shut up and starved to death. He adds that, however this may be, it is a fact that in the year 1813 ten or more human skeletons of unusual stature were discovered in an ogof there [56]. To this I may append a reference to the Geninen for 1896, p. 84, where Mr. Lleufer Thomas, who is also a native of the district, alludes to the local belief that Owen Lawgoch and his men are asleep, as already mentioned, in the cave of Pant y Llyn, and that they are to go on sleeping there till a trumpet blast and the clash of arms on Rhiw Goch rouse them to sally forth to combat the Saxons and to conquer, as set forth by Howells: see p. 381 above. It is needless to say that there is no reason, as will be seen presently, to suppose Owen Lawgoch to have ever been near any of the caves to which allusion has here been made; but that does not appreciably detract from the fascination of the legend which has gathered round his personality; and in passing I may be allowed to express my surprise that in such stories as these the earlier Owen has not been eclipsed by Owen Glyndwr: there must be some historical reason why that has not taken place. Can it be that a habit of caution made Welshmen speak of Owen Lawgoch when the other Owen was really meant? The passage I have cited from Mr. Fisher's letter raises the question of a dinas in Carnarvonshire, which that of his native parish recalled to his mind; and this is to be considered next. Doubtless he meant Dinas Emrys formerly called Din Emreis [57], 'the Fortress of Ambrosius,' situated near Bedgelert, and known in the neighbourhood simply as y Dinas, 'the Fort.' It is celebrated in the Vortigern legend as the place where the dragons had been hidden, that frustrated the building of that king's castle; and the spot is described in Lewis' Topographical Dictionary of Wales, in the article on Bethgelart (Bed-Celert), as an isolated rocky eminence with an extensive top area, which is defended by walls of loose stones, and accessible only on one side. He adds that the entrance appears to have been guarded by two towers, and that within the enclosed area are the foundations of circular buildings of loose stones forming walls of about five feet in thickness. Concerning that Dinas we read in the Brython for 1861, p. 329, a legend to the following effect:--Now after the departure of Vortigern, Myrdin, or Merlin as he is called in English, remained himself in the Dinas for a long time, until, in fact, he went away with Emrys Ben-aur, 'Ambrosius the Gold-headed'--evidently Aurelius Ambrosius is meant. When he was about to set out with the latter, he put all his treasure and wealth into a crochan aur, 'a gold cauldron,' and hid it in a cave in the Dinas, and on the mouth of the cave he rolled a huge stone, which he covered up with earth and sods, so that it was impossible for any one to find it. He intended this wealth to be the property of some special person in a future generation, and it is said that the heir to it is to be a youth with yellow hair and blue eyes. When that one comes near to the Dinas a bell will ring to invite him to the cave, which will open of itself as soon as his foot touches it. Now the fact that some such legend was once currently believed about Bedgelert and Nanhwynain is proved by the curious stories as to various attempts made to find the treasure, and the thunderstorms and portents which used to vanquish the local greed for gold. For several instances in point see the Brython, pp. 329-30; and for others, showing how hidden treasure is carefully reserved for the right sort of heir, see p. 148 above. To prove how widely this idea prevailed in Carnarvonshire, I may add a short story which Mrs. Williams-Ellis of Glasfryn got from the engineer who told her of the sacred eel of Llangybi (p. 366):--There was on Pentyrch, the hill above Llangybi, he said, a large stone so heavy and fixed so fast in the ground that no horses, no men could move it: it had often been tried. One day, however, a little girl happened to be playing by the stone, and at the touch of her little hand the stone moved. A hoard of coins was found under it, and that at a time when the little girl's parents happened to be in dire need of it. Search had long been made by undeserving men for treasure supposed to be hidden at that spot; but it was always unsuccessful until the right person touched the stone to move. The failure of the wrong person to secure the treasure, even when discovered, is illustrated by a story given by Mr. Derfel Hughes in his Antiquities of Llandegai and Llanllechid, pp. 35-6, to the effect that a servant man, somewhere up among the mountains near Ogwen Lake, chanced to come across the mouth of a cave with abundance of vessels of brass (pres) of every shape and description within it. He went at once and seized one of them, but, alas! it was too heavy for him to stir it. So he resolved to go away and return early on the morrow with a friend to help him; but before going he closed the mouth of the cave with stones and sods so as to leave it safe. While thus engaged he remembered having heard how others had like him found caves and failed to refind them. He could procure nothing readily that would satisfy him as a mark, so it occurred to him to dot his path with the chippings of his stick, which he whittled all the way as he went back until he came to a familiar track: the chips were to guide him back to the cave. So when the morning came he and his friend set out, but when they reached the point where the chips should begin, not one was to be seen: the Tylwyth Teg had picked up every one of them. So that discovery of articles of brass--more probably bronze--was in vain. But, says the writer, it is not fated to be always in vain, for there is a tradition in the valley that it is a Gwydel, 'Goidel, Irishman,' who is to have these treasures, and that it will happen in this wise:--A Gwydel will come to the neighbourhood to be a shepherd, and one day when he goes up the mountain to see to the sheep, just when it pleases the fates a black sheep with a speckled head will run before him and make straight for the cave: the sheep will go in, with the Gwydel in pursuit trying to catch him. When the Gwydel enters he sees the treasures, looks at them with surprise, and takes possession of them; and thus, in some generation to come, the Gwydyl will have their own restored to them. That is the tradition which Derfel Hughes found in the vale of the Ogwen, and he draws from it the inference which it seems to warrant, in words to the following effect:--Perhaps this shows us that the Gwydyl had some time or other something to do with these parts, and that we are not to regard as stories without foundations all that is said of that nation; and the sayings of old people to this day show that there is always some spite between our nation and the Gwydyl. Thus, for instance, he goes on to say, if a man proves changeable, he is said to have become a Gwydel (Y mae wedi troi'n Wydel), or if one is very shameless and cheeky he is called a Gwydel and told to hold his tongue (Taw yr hen Wydel); and a number of such locutions used by our people proves, he thinks, the former prevalence of much contention between the two sister-nations. Expressions of the kind mentioned by Mr. Hughes are well known in all parts of the Principality, and it is difficult to account for them except on the supposition that Goidels and Brythons lived for a long time face to face, so to say, with one another over large areas in the west of our island. The next story to be mentioned belongs to the same Snowdonian neighbourhood, and brings us back to Arthur and his Men. For a writer who has already been quoted from the Brython for 1861, p. 331, makes Arthur and his following set out from Dinas Emrys and cross Hafod y Borth mountain for a place above the upper reach of Cwmllan, called Tregalan, where they found their antagonists. From Tregalan the latter were pushed up the bwlch or pass, towards Cwm Dyli; but when the vanguard of the army with Arthur leading had reached the top of the pass, the enemy discharged a shower of arrows at them. There Arthur fell, and his body was buried in the pass so that no enemy might march that way so long as Arthur's dust rested there. That, he says, is the story, and there to this day remains in the pass, he asserts, the heap of stones called Carned Arthur, 'Arthur's Cairn': the pass is called Bwlch y Saethau, 'the Pass of the Arrows.' Then Ogof Llanciau Eryri is the subject of the following story given at p. 371 of the same volume:--After Arthur's death on Bwlch y Saethau, his men ascended to the ridge of the Lliwed and descended thence into a vast cave called Ogof Llanciau Eryri, 'the young Men of Snowdonia's Cave,' which is in the precipitous cliff on the left-hand side near the top of Llyn Llydaw. This is in Cwm Dyli, and there in that cave those warriors are said to be still, sleeping in their armour and awaiting the second coming of Arthur to restore the crown of Britain to the Kymry. For the saying is:-- Llancia' 'Ryri a'u gwyn gyll a'i hennill hi. Snowdonia's youths with their white hazels will win it. As the local shepherds were one day long ago collecting their sheep on the Lliwed, one sheep fell down to a shelf in this precipice, and when the Cwm Dyli shepherd made his way to the spot he perceived that the ledge of rock on which he stood led to the hidden cave of Llanciau Eryri. There was light within: he looked in and beheld a host of warriors without number all asleep, resting on their arms and ready equipped for battle. Seeing that they were all asleep, he felt a strong desire to explore the whole place; but as he was squeezing in he struck his head against the bell hanging in the entrance. It rang so that every corner of the immense cave rang again, and all the warriors woke uttering a terrible shout, which so frightened the shepherd that he never more enjoyed a day's health; nor has anybody since dared as much as to approach the mouth of the cave. Thus far the Brython, and I have only to remark that this legend is somewhat remarkable for the fact of its representing the Youths of Eryri sleeping away in their cave without Arthur among them. In fact, that hero is described as buried not very far off beneath a carned or cairn on Bwlch y Saethau. As to the exact situation of that cairn, I may say that my attention was drawn some time ago to the following lines by Mr. William Owen, better known as Glaslyn, a living bard bred and born in the district:-- Gerllaw Carned Arthur ar ysgwyd y Wydfa Y gorwed gwedillion y cawr enwog Ricca. Near Arthur's Cairn on the shoulder of Snowdon Lie the remains of the famous giant Ricca. These words recall an older couplet in a poem by Rhys Goch Eryri, who is said to have died in the year 1420. He was a native of the parish of Bedgelert, and his words in point run thus:-- Ar y drum oer dramawr, On the ridge cold and vast, Yno gorwed Ricca Gawr. There the Giant Ricca lies. From this it is clear that Rhys Goch meant that the cairn on the top of Snowdon covered the remains of the giant whose name has been variously written Ricca, Ritta, and Rhita. So I was impelled to ascertain from Glaslyn whether I had correctly understood his lines, and he has been good enough to help me out of some of my difficulties, as I do not know Snowdon by heart, especially the Nanhwynain and Bedgelert side of the mountain:--The cairn on the summit of Snowdon was the Giant's before it was demolished and made into a sort of tower which existed before the hotel was made. Glaslyn has not heard it called after Ricca's name, but he states that old people used to call it Carned y Cawr, 'the Giant's Cairn.' In 1850 Carned Arthur, 'Arthur's Cairn,' was to be seen on the top of Bwlch y Saethau, but he does not know whether it is still so, as he has not been up there since the building of the hotel. Bwlch y Saethau is a lofty shoulder of Snowdon extending in the direction of Nanhwynain, and the distance from the top of Snowdon to it is not great; it would take you half an hour or perhaps a little more to walk from the one carned to the other. It is possible to trace Arthur's march from Dinas Emrys up the slopes of Hafod y Borth, over the shoulder of the Aran and Braich yr Oen to Tregalan--or Cwm Tregalan, as it is now called--but from Tregalan he would have to climb in a north-easterly direction in order to reach Bwlch y Saethau, where he is related to have fallen and to have been interred beneath a cairn. This may be regarded as an ordinary or commonplace account of his death. But the scene suggests a far more romantic picture; for down below was Llyn Llydaw with its sequestered isle, connected then by means only of a primitive canoe with a shore occupied by men engaged in working the ore of Eryri. Nay with the eyes of Malory we seem to watch Bedivere making, with Excalibur in his hands, his three reluctant journeys to the lake ere he yielded it to the arm emerging from the deep. We fancy we behold how 'euyn fast by the banke houed a lytyl barge wyth many fayr ladyes in hit,' which was to carry the wounded Arthur away to the accompaniment of mourning and loud lamentation; but the legend of the Marchlyn bids us modify Malory's language as to the barge containing many ladies all wearing black hoods, and take our last look at the warrior departing rather in a coracle with three wondrously fair women attending to his wounds [58]. Some further notes on Snowdon, together with a curious account of the Cave of Llanciau Eryri, have been kindly placed at my disposal by Mr. Ellis Pierce (Elis [59] o'r Nant) of Dolwydelan:--In the uppermost part of the hollow called Cwmllan is Tregalan, and in the middle of Cwm Tregalan is a green hill, or rather an eminence which hardly forms a hill, but what is commonly called a boncyn [60] in Carnarvonshire, and between that green boncyn and the Clogwyn Du, 'Black Precipice,' is a bog, the depth of which no one has ever succeeded in ascertaining, and a town--inferred perhaps from tre in Tregalan--is fabled to have been swallowed up there. Another of my informants speaks of several hillocks or boncyns as forming one side of this little cwm; but he has heard from geologists, that these green mounds represent moraines deposited there in the glacial period. From the bottom of the Clogwyn Du it is about a mile to Bwlch y Saethau. Then as to the cave of Llanciau Eryri, which nobody can now find, the slope down to it begins from the top of the Lliwed, but ordinarily speaking one could not descend to where it is supposed to have been without the help of ropes, which seems incompatible with the story of the Cwm Dyli shepherd following a sheep until he was at the mouth of the cave; not to mention the difficulty which the descent would have offered to Arthur's men when they entered it. Then Elis o'r Nant's story represents it shutting after them, and only opening to the shepherd in consequence of his having trodden on a particular sod or spot. He then slid down unintentionally and touched the bell that was hanging there, so that it rang and instantly woke the sleeping warriors. No sooner had that happened than those men of Arthur's took up their guns--never mind the anachronism--and the shepherd made his way out more dead than alive; and the frightened fellow never recovered from the shock to the day of his death. When these warriors take up their guns they fire away, we are told, without mercy from where each man stands: they are not to advance a single step till Arthur comes to call them back to the world. To swell the irrelevancies under which this chapter labours already, and to avoid severing cognate questions too rudely, I wish to add that Elis o'r Nant makes the name of the giant buried on the top of Snowdon into Rhitta or Rhita instead of Ricca. That is also the form of the name with which Mrs. Rhys was familiar throughout her childhood on the Llanberis side of the mountain. She often heard of Rhita [61] Gawr having been buried on the top of Snowdon, and of other warriors on other parts of Snowdon such as Moel Gynghorion and the Gist on that moel. But Elis o'r Nant goes further, and adds that from Rhita the mountain was called Wydfa Rhita, more correctly Gwydfa Rita, 'Rhita's Gwydfa.' Fearing this might be merely an inference, I have tried to cross-examine him so far as that is possible by letter. He replies that his father was bred and born in the little glen called Ewybrnant [62], between Bettws y Coed and Pen Machno, and that his grandfather also lived there, where he appears to have owned land not far from the home of the celebrated Bishop Morgan. Now Elis' father often talked, he says, in his hearing of 'Gwydfa Rhita.' Wishing to have some more definite evidence, I wrote again, and he informs me that his father was very fond of talking about his father, Elis o'r Nant's grandfather, who appears to have been a character and a great supporter of Sir Robert Williams, especially in a keenly contested political election in 1796, when the latter was opposed by the then head of the Penrhyn family. Sometimes the old man from Ewybrnant would set out in his clocs, 'clogs or wooden shoes,' to visit Sir Robert Williams, who lived at Plas y Nant, near Bedgelert. On starting he would say to his family, Mi a'i hyibio troed Gwydfa Rhita ag mi do'n ol rwbrud cin nos, or sometimes foru. That is, 'I'll go round the foot of Rhita's Gwydfa and come back some time before night': sometimes he would say 'to-morrow.' Elis also states that his father used to relate how Rhita's Gwydfa was built, namely by the simple process of each of his soldiers taking a stone to place on Rhita's tomb. However the story as to Rhita Gawr being buried on the top of Snowdon came into existence, there can be no doubt that it was current in comparatively recent times, and that the Welsh name of y Wydfa, derived from it, refers to the mountain as distinguished from the district in which it is situated. In Welsh this latter is Eryri, the habitat, as it were, of the eryr, 'eagle,' a bird formerly at home there as many local names go to prove, such as Carreg yr Eryr [63], 'the Stone of the Eagle,' mentioned in the boundaries of the lands on Snowdon granted to the Abbey of Aberconwy in Llewelyn's charter, where also Snowdon mountain is called Wedua vawr, 'the Great Gwydfa.' Now, as already suggested, the word gwydfa takes us back to Rhita's Carned or Cairn, as it signified a monument, a tomb or barrow: Dr. Davies gives it in his Welsh-Latin Dictionary as Locus Sepulturæ, Mausoleum. This meaning of the word may be illustrated by a reference in passing to the mention in Brut y Tywysogion of the burial of Madog ab Maredyd. For under the year 1159 we are told that he was interred at Meifod, as it was there his tomb or the vault of his family, the one intended also for him (y 6ydua [64]), happened to be. Against the evidence just given, that tradition places Rhita's grave on the top of Snowdon, a passing mention by Derfel Hughes (p. 52) is of no avail, though to the effect that it is on the top of the neighbouring mountain called Carned Lywelyn, 'Llewelyn's Cairn,' that Rhita's Cairn was raised. He deserves more attention, however, when he places Carned Drystan, 'Tristan or Tristram's Cairn,' on a spur of that mountain, to wit, towards the east above Ffynnon y Llyffaint [65]. For it is worthy of note that the name of Drystan, associated with Arthur in the later romances, should figure with that of Arthur in the topography of the same Snowdon district. Before leaving Snowdon I may mention a cave near a small stream not far from Llyn Gwynain, about a mile and a half above Dinas Emrys. In the Llwyd letter (printed in the Cambrian Journal for 1859, pp. 142, 209), on which I have already drawn, it is called Ogo'r Gwr Blew, 'the Hairy Man's Cave'; and the story relates how the Gwr Blew who lived in it was fatally wounded by a woman who happened to be at home, alone, in one of the nearest farm houses when the Gwr Blew came to plunder it. Its sole interest here is that a later version [66] identifies the Hairy Man with Owen Lawgoch, after modifying the former's designation y Gwr Blew, which literally meant 'the Hair Man,' into y Gwr Blewog, 'the Hairy Man.' This doubtful instance of the presence of Owen Lawgoch in the folklore of North Wales seems to stand alone. Some of these cave stories, it will have been seen, reveal to us a hero who is expected to return to interfere again in the affairs of this world, and it is needless to say that Wales is by no means alone in the enjoyment of imaginary prospects of this kind. The same sort of poetic expectation has not been unknown, for instance, in Ireland. In the summer of 1894, I spent some sunny days in the neighbourhood of the Boyne, and one morning I resolved to see the chief burial mounds dotting the banks of that interesting river; but before leaving the hotel at Drogheda, my attention was attracted by a book of railway advertisement of the kind which forcibly impels one to ask two questions: why will not the railway companies leave those people alone who do not want to travel, and why will they make it so tedious for those who do? But on turning the leaves of that booklet over I was inclined to a suaver mood, as I came on a paragraph devoted to an ancient stronghold called the Grianan of Aileach, or Greenan-Ely, in the highlands of Donegal. Here I read that a thousand armed men sit resting there on their swords, and bound by magic sleep till they are to be called forth to take their part in the struggle for the restoration of Erin's freedom. At intervals they awake, it is said, and looking up from their trance they ask in tones which solemnly resound through the many chambers of the Grianan: 'Is the time come?' A loud voice, that of the spiritual caretaker, is heard to reply: 'The time is not yet.' They resume their former posture and sink into their sleep again. That is the substance of the words I read, and they called to my mind the legend of such heroes of the past as Barbarossa, with his sleep interrupted only by his change of posture once in seven years; of Dom Sebastian, for centuries expected from Moslem lands to restore the glories of Portugal; of the Cid Rodrigo, expected back to do likewise with the kingdom of Castile; and last, but not least, of the O'Donoghue who sleeps beneath the Lakes of Killarney, ready to emerge to right the wrongs of Erin. With my head full of these and the like dreams of folklore, I was taken over the scene of the Battle of the Boyne; and the car-driver, having vainly tried to interest me in it, gave me up in despair as an uncultured savage who felt no interest in the history of Ireland. However he somewhat changed his mind when, on reaching the first ancient burial mound, he saw me disappear underground, fearless of the Fomhoraigh; and he began to wonder whether I should ever return to pay him his fare. This in fact was the sheet anchor of all my hopes; for I thought that in case I remained fast in a narrow passage, or lost my way in the chambers of the prehistoric dead, the jarvey must fetch me out again. So by the time I had visited three of these ancient places, Dowth, Knowth, and New Grange, I had risen considerably in his opinion; and he bethought him of stories older than the Battle of the Boyne. So he told me on the way back several bits of something less drearily historical. Among other things, he pointed in the direction of a place called Ardee in the county of Louth, where, he said, there is Garry Geerlaug's enchanted fort full of warriors in magic sleep, with Garry Geerlaug himself in their midst. Once on a time a herdsman is said to have strayed into their hall, he said, and to have found the sleepers each with his sword and his spear ready to hand. But as the intruder could not keep his hands off the metal wealth of the place, the owners of the spears began to rouse themselves, and the intruder had to flee for his life. But there that armed host is awaiting the eventful call to arms, when they are to sally forth to restore prosperity and glory to Ireland. That was his story, and I became all attention as soon as I heard of Ardee, which is in Irish Áth Fhir-dheadh, or the Ford of Fer-deadh, so called from Fer-deadh, who fought a protracted duel with Cúchulainn in that ford, where at the end, according to a well-known Irish story, he fell by Cúchulainn's hand. I was still more exercised by the name of Garry Geerlaug, as I recognized in Garry an Anglo-Irish pronunciation of the Norse name Godhfreydhr, later Godhroedh, sometimes rendered Godfrey and sometimes Godred, while in Man and in Scotland it has become Gorry, which may be heard also in Ireland. I thought, further, that I recognized the latter part of Garry Geerlaug's designation as the Norse female name Geirlaug. There was no complete lack of Garries in that part of Ireland in the tenth and eleventh centuries; but I have not yet found any historian to identify for me the warrior named or nicknamed Garry Geerlaug, who is to return blinking to this world of ours when his nap is over. Leaving Ireland, I was told the other day of a place called Tom na Hurich, near Inverness, where Finn and his following are resting, each on his left elbow, enjoying a broken sleep while waiting for the note to be sounded, which is to call them forth. What they are then to do I have not been told: it may be that they will proceed at once to solve the Crofter Question, for there will doubtless be one. It appears, to come back to Wales, that King Cadwaladr, who waged an unsuccessful war with the Angles of Northumbria in the seventh century, was long after his death expected to return to restore the Brythons to power. At any rate so one is led in some sort of a hazy fashion to believe in reading several of the poems in the manuscript known as the Book of Taliessin. One finds, however, no trace of Cadwaladr in our cave legends: the heroes of them are Arthur and Owen Lawgoch. Now concerning Arthur one need at this point hardly speak, except to say that the Welsh belief in the eventual return of Arthur was at one time a powerful motive affecting the behaviour of the people of Wales, as was felt, for instance, by English statesmen in the reign of Henry II. But by our time the expected return of Arthur--rexque futurus--has dissipated itself into a commonplace of folklore fitted only to point an allegory, as when Elvet Lewis, one of the sweetest of living Welsh poets, sings in a poem entitled Arthur gyda ni, 'Arthur with us':-- Mae Arthur Fawr yn cysgu, Great Arthur still is sleeping, A'i dewrion syd o'i deutu, His warriors all around him, A'u gafael ar y cled: With grip upon the steel: Pan daw yn dyd yn Nghymru, When dawns the day on Cambry, Daw Arthur Fawr i fynu Great Arthur forth will sally Yn fyw--yn fyw o'i fed! Alive to work her weal! Not so with regard to the hopes associated with the name of Owen Lawgoch; for we have it on Gwynionyd's testimony, p. 464, that our old baledwyr or ballad men used to sing about him at Welsh fairs: it is not in the least improbable that they still do so here and there, unless the horrors of the ghastly murder last reported in the newspapers have been found to pay better. At any rate Mr. Fisher (p. 379) has known old people in his native district in the Llychwr Valley who could repeat stanzas or couplets from the ballads in question. He traces these scraps to a booklet entitled Merlin's Prophecy [67], together with a brief history of his life, taken from the Book of Prognostication. This little book bears no date, but appears to have been published in the early part of the nineteenth century. It is partly in prose, dealing briefly with the history of Merlin the Wild or Silvaticus, and the rest consists of two poems. The first of these poems is entitled Dechreu Darogan Myrdin, 'the Beginning of Merlin's Prognostication,' and is made up of forty-nine verses, several of which speak of Owen as king conquering all his foes and driving out the Saxons: then in the forty-seventh stanza comes the couplet which says, that this Owen is Henry the Ninth, who is tarrying in a foreign land. The other poem is of a more general character, and is entitled the Second Song of Merlin's Prognostication, and consists of twenty-six stanzas of four lines each like the previous one; but the third stanza describes Arthur's bell at Caerlleon, 'Caerleon,' ringing with great vigour to herald the coming of Owen; and the seventh stanza begins with the following couplet:-- Ceir gweled Owen Law-goch yn d'od i Frydain Fawr, Ceir gweled newyn ceiniog yn nhref Gaerlleon-gawr. Owen Lawgoch one shall to Britain coming see, And dearth of pennies find at Chester on the Dee. It closes with the date in verse at the end, to wit, 1668, which takes us back to very troublous times: 1668 was the year of the Triple Alliance of England, Sweden, and Holland against Louis XIV; and it was not long after the Plague had raged, and London had had its Great Fire. So it is a matter of no great surprise if some people in Wales had a notion that the power of England was fast nearing its end, and that the baledwyr thought it opportune to refurbish and adapt some of Merlin's prophecies as likely to be acceptable to the peasantry of South Wales. At all events we have no reason to suppose that the two poems which have here been described from Mr. Fisher's data represented either the gentry of Wales, whose ordinary speech was probably for the most part English, or the bardic fraternity, who would have looked with contempt at the language and style of the Prognostication. For, apart from careless printing, this kind of literature can lay no claim to merit in point of diction or of metre. Such productions represent probably the baledwyr and the simple country people, such as still listen in rapt attention to them doing at Welsh fairs and markets what they are pleased to regard as singing. All this fits in well enough with the folklore of the caves, such as the foregoing stories represent it. Here I may add that I am informed by Mr. Craigfryn Hughes of a tradition that Arthur and his men are biding their time near Caerleon on the Usk, to wit, in a cave resembling generally those described in the foregoing legends. He also mentions a tradition as to Owen Glyndwr--so he calls him, though it is unmistakably the Owen of the baledwyr who have been referred to by Mr. Fisher--that he and his men are similarly slumbering in a cave in Craig Gwrtheyrn, in Carmarthenshire. That is a spot in the neighbourhood of Llandyssil, consisting of an elevated field terminating on one side in a sharp declivity, with the foot of the rock laved by the stream of the Teifi. Craig Gwrtheyrn means Vortigern's Rock, and it is one of the sites with which legend associates the name of that disreputable old king. I am not aware that it shows any traces of ancient works, but it looks at a distance an ideal site for an old fortification. An earlier prophecy about Owen Lawgoch than any of these occurs, as kindly pointed out to me by Mr. Gwenogvryn Evans, in the Peniarth MS. 94 (= Hengwrt MS. 412, p. 23), and points back possibly to the last quarter of the fourteenth century. See also one quoted by him, from the Mostyn MS. 133, in his Report on MSS. in the Welsh Language, i. 106. Probably many more such prophecies might be discovered if anybody undertook to make a systematic search for them. But who was Owen Lawgoch, if there ever was such a man? Such a man there was undoubtedly; for we read in one of the documents printed in the miscellaneous volume commonly known as the Record of Carnarvon, that at a court held at Conway in the forty-fourth year of Edward III a certain Gruffyd Says was adjudged to forfeit all the lands which he held in Anglesey to the Prince of Wales--who was at that time no other than Edward the Black Prince--for the reason that the said Gruffyd had been an adherent of Owen: adherens fuisset Owino Lawegogh (or Lawgogh) inimico et proditori predicti domini Principis et de consilio predicti Owyni ad mouendam guerram in Wallia contra predictum dominum Principem [68]. How long previously it had been attempted to begin a war on behalf of this Owen Lawgoch one cannot say, but it so happens that at this time there was a captain called Yeuwains, Yewains, or Yvain de Gales or Galles, 'Owen of Wales,' fighting on the French side against the English in Edward's Continental wars. Froissart in his Chronicles has a great deal to say of him, for he distinguished himself greatly on various critical occasions. From the historian's narrative one finds that Owen had escaped when a boy to the court of Philip VI of France, who received him with great favour and had him educated with his own nephews. Froissart's account of him is, that the king of England, Edward III, had slain his father and given his lordship and principality to his own son as Prince of Wales; and Froissart gives Owen's father's name as Aymon, which should mean Edmond, unless the name intended may have been rather Einion. However that may have been, Owen was engaged in the Battle of Poitiers in 1356, and when peace was made he went to serve in Lombardy; but when war between England and France broke out again in 1369, he returned to France. He sometimes fought on sea and sometimes on land, but he was always entrusted by the French king, who was now Charles V, with important commands [69]. Thus in 1372 he was placed at the head of a flotilla with 3,000 men, and ordered to operate against the English: he made a descent on the Isle of Guernsey [70], and while there besieging the castle of Cornet, he was charged by the king of France to sail to Spain to invite the king of Castile to send his fleet again to help in the attack on La Rochelle. Whilst staying at Santander the earl of Pembroke was brought thither, having been taken prisoner in the course of the destruction of the English fleet before La Rochelle. Owen, on seeing the earl of Pembroke, asks him with bitterness if he is come there to do him homage for his land, of which he had taken possession in Wales. He threatens to avenge himself on him as soon as he can, and also on the earl of Hereford and Edward Spencer, for it was by the fathers of these three men, he said, his own father had been betrayed to death. Edward III died in 1377, and the Black Prince had died shortly before. Owen survived them both, and was actively engaged in the siege of Mortagne sur Mer in Poitou, when he was assassinated by one Lamb, who had insinuated himself into his service and confidence, partly by pretending to bring him news about his native land and telling him that all Wales was longing to have him back to be the lord of his country--et lui fist acroire que toute li terre de Gales le desiroient mout à ravoir à seigneur. So Owen fell in the year 1378, and was buried at the church of Saint-Léger [71] while Lamb returned to the English to receive his stipulated pay. When this happened Owen's namesake, Owen Glyndwr, was nearly thirty years of age. The latter was eventually to assert with varying fortune on several fields of battle in this country the claims of his elder kinsman, who, by virtue of his memory in France, would seem to have rendered it easy for the later Owen to enter into friendly relations with the French court of his day [72]. Now as to Yvain de Galles, the Rev. Thomas Price (Carnhuanawc) in his Hanes Cymru, 'History of Wales,' devotes a couple of pages, 735-7, to Froissart's account of him, and he points out that Angharad Llwyd, in her edition of Sir John Wynne's History of the Gwydir Family [73], had found Owen Lawgoch to have been Owen ab Thomas ab Rhodri, brother to Llewelyn, the last native prince of Wales. One of the names, however, among other things, forms a difficulty: why did Froissart call Yvain's father Aymon? So it is clear that a more searching study of Welsh pedigrees and other documents, including those at the Record Office [74], has to be made before Owen can be satisfactorily placed in point of succession. For that he was in the right line to succeed the native princes of Wales is suggested both by the eagerness with which all Wales was represented as looking to his return to be the lord of the country, and by the opening words of Froissart in describing what he had been robbed of by Edward III, as being both lordship and principality--la signourie et princeté. Be that as it may, there is, it seems to me, little doubt that Yvain de Galles was no other than the Owen Lawgoch, whose adherent Gruffyd Says was deprived of his land and property in the latter part of Edward's reign. In the next place, there is hardly room for doubt that the Owen Lawgoch here referred to was the same man whom the baledwyr in their jumble of prophecies intended to be Henry the Ninth, that is to say the Welsh successor to the last Tudor king, Henry VIII, and that he was at the same time the hero of the cave legends of divers parts of the Principality, especially South Wales, as already indicated. Now without being able to say why Owen and his analogues should become the heroes of cave legends contemplating a second advent, it is easy to point to circumstances which facilitated their doing so. It is useless to try to discuss the question of Arthur's disappearance; but take Garry Geerlaug, for instance, a roving Norseman, as we may suppose from his name, who may have suddenly disappeared with his followers, never more to be heard of in the east of Ireland. In the absence of certain news of his death, it was all the easier to imagine that he was dozing quietly away in an enchanted fortress. Then as to King Cadwaladr, who was also, perhaps, to have returned to this world, so little is known concerning his end that historians have no certainty to this day when or where he died. So much the readier therefore would the story gain currency that he was somewhere biding his time to come back to retrieve his lost fortunes. Lastly, there is Owen Lawgoch, the magic of whose name has only been dissipated in our own day: he died in France in the course of a protracted war with the kings of England. It is not likely, then, that the peasantry of Wales could have heard anything definite about his fate. So here also the circumstances were favourable to the cave legend and the dream that he was, whether at home or abroad, only biding his time. Moreover, in all these cases the hope-inspiring delusion gained currency among a discontented people, probably, who felt the sore need of a deliverer to save them from oppression or other grievous hardships of their destiny. The question can no longer be prevented from presenting itself as to the origin of this idea of a second advent of a hero of the past; but in that form it is too large for discussion here, and it would involve a review, for instance, of one of the cardinal beliefs of the Latter-day Saints as to the coming of Christ to reign on earth, and other doctrines supposed to be derived from the New Testament. On the other hand, there is no logical necessity why the expected deliverer should have been in the world before: witness the Jews, who are looking forward not to the return but to the birth and first coming of their Messiah. So the question here may be confined more or less strictly to its cave-legend form; and though I cannot answer it, some advance in the direction whence the answer should come may perhaps be made. In the first place, one will have noticed that Arthur and Owen Lawgoch come more or less in one another's way; and the presumption is that Owen Lawgoch has been to a certain extent ousting Arthur, who may be regarded as having the prior claim, not to mention that in the case of the Gwr Blew cave, p. 481, Owen is made by an apparently recent version of the story to evict from his lair a commonplace robber of no special interest. In other words, the Owen Lawgoch legend is, so to say, detected spreading itself [75]. That is very possibly just what had happened at a remoter period in the case of the Arthur legend itself. In other words, Arthur has taken the place of some ancient divinity, such as that dimly brought within our ken by Plutarch in the words placed at the head of this chapter. He reproduces the report of a certain Demetrius, sent by the emperor of Rome to reconnoitre and inspect the coasts of Britain. It was to the effect that around Britain lay many uninhabited islands, some of which are named after deities and some after heroes; and of the islands inhabited, he visited the one nearest to the uninhabited ones. Of this the dwellers were few, but the people of Britain treated them as sacrosanct and inviolable in their persons. Among other things, they related to him how terrible storms, diseases, and portents happened on the occasion of any one of the mighty leaving this life. He adds:--'Moreover there is, they said, an island in which Cronus is imprisoned, with Briareus keeping guard over him as he sleeps; for, as they put it, sleep is the bond forged for Cronus. They add that around him are many divinities, his henchmen and attendants [76].' What divinity, Celtic or pre-Celtic, this may have been who recalled Cronus or Saturn to the mind of the Roman officer, it is impossible to say. It is to be noticed that he sleeps and that his henchmen are with him, but no allusion is made to treasure. No more is there, however, in Mr. Fisher's version of the story of Ogo'r Dinas, which, according to him, says that Arthur and his warriors there lie sleeping with their right hands clasping the hilts of their drawn swords, ready to encounter any one who may venture to disturb their repose. On the other hand, legends about cave treasure are probably very ancient, and in some at least of our stories the safe keeping of such treasure must be regarded as the original object of the presence of the armed host. The permission supposed to be allowed an intruder to take away a reasonable quantity of the cave gold, I should look at in the light of a sort of protest on the part of the story-teller against the niggardliness of the cave powers. I cannot help suspecting in the same way that the presence of a host of armed warriors to guard some piles of gold and silver for unnumbered ages must have struck the fancy of the story-tellers as disproportionate, and that this began long ago to cause a modification in the form of the legends. That is to say, the treasure sank into a mere accessory of the presence of the armed men, who are not guarding any such thing so much as waiting for the destined hour when they are to sally forth to make lost causes win. Originally the armed warriors were in some instances presumably the henchmen of a sleeping divinity, as in the story told to Demetrius; but perhaps oftener they were the guardians of treasure, just as much as the invisible agencies are, which bring on thunder and lightning and portents when any one begins to dig at Dinas Emrys or other spots where ancient treasure lies hidden. There is, it must be admitted, no objection to regarding the attendants of a divinity as at the same time the guardians of his treasure. In none, however, of these cave stories probably may we suppose the principal figure to have originally been that of the hero expected to return among men: he, when found in them, is presumably to be regarded as a comparatively late interloper. But it is, as already hinted, not to be understood that the notion of a returning hero is itself a late one. Quite the contrary; and the question then to be answered is, Where was that kind of hero supposed to pass his time till his return? There is only one answer to which Welsh folklore points, and that is, In fairyland. This is also the teaching of the ancient legend about Arthur, who goes away to the Isle of Avallon to be healed of his wounds by the fairy maiden Morgen; and, according to an anonymous poet [77], it is in her charms that one should look for the reason why Arthur tarries so long:-- Immodice læsus Arthurus tendit ad aulam Regis Avallonis, ubi virgo regia, vulnus Illius tractans, sanati membra reservat Ipsa sibi: vivuntque simul, si credere fas est. Avallon's court see suffering Arthur reach: His wounds are healed, a royal maid the leech; His pains assuaged, he now with her must dwell, If we hold true what ancient legends tell. Here may be cited by way of comparison Walter Mapes' statement as to the Trinio, concerning whom he was quoted in the first chapter, p. 72 above. He says, that as Trinio was never seen after the losing battle, in which he and his friends had engaged with a neighbouring chieftain, it was believed in the district around Llyn Syfadon, that Trinio's fairy mother had rescued him from the enemy and taken him away with her to her home in the lake. In the case of Arthur it is, as we have seen, a fairy also or a lake lady that intervenes; and there cannot be much room for doubt, that the story representing him going to fairyland to be healed is far older than any which pictures him sleeping in a cave with his warriors and his gold all around him. As for the gold, however, it is abundantly represented as nowhere more common than in the home of the fairies: so this metal treated as a test cannot greatly help us in essaying the distinction here suggested. With regard to Owen Lawgoch, however, one is not forced to suppose that he was ever believed to have sojourned in Faery: the legendary precedent of Arthur as a cave sleeper would probably suffice to open the door for him to enter the recesses of Craig y Dinas, as soon as the country folk began to grow weary of waiting for his return. In other words, most of our cave legends have combined together two sets of popular belief originally distinct, the one referring to a hero gone to the world of the fairies and expected some day to return, and the other to a hero or god enjoying an enchanted sleep with his retinue all around him. In some of our legends, however, such as that of Llanciau Eryri, the process of combining the two sets of story has been left to this day incomplete. CHAPTER IX PLACE-NAME STORIES The Dindsenchas is a collection of stories (senchasa), in Middle-Irish prose and verse, about the names of noteworthy places (dind) in Ireland--plains, mountains, ridges, cairns, lakes, rivers, fords, estuaries, islands, and so forth.... But its value to students of Irish folklore, romance (sometimes called history), and topography has long been recognized by competent authorities, such as Petrie, O'Donovan, and Mr. Alfred Nutt. Whitley Stokes. In the previous chapters some folklore has been produced in which we have swine figuring: see more especially that concerned with the Hwch Du Gwta, pp. 224-6 above. Now I wish to bring before the reader certain other groups of swine legends not vouched for by oral tradition so much as found in manuscripts more or less ancient. The first three to be mentioned occur in one of the Triads [78]. I give the substance of it in the three best known versions, premising that the Triad is entitled that of the Three Stout Swineherds of the Isle of Prydain:-- i. 30a:--Drystan [79] son of Tallwch who guarded the swine of March son of Meirchion while the swineherd went to bid Essyllt come to meet him: at the same time Arthur sought to have one sow by fraud or force, and failed. ii. 56b:--Drystan son of Tallwch with the swine of March ab Meirchion while the swineherd went on a message to Essyllt. Arthur and March and Cai and Bedwyr came all four to him, but obtained from Drystan not even as much as a single porker, whether by force, by fraud, or by theft. iii. 101c:--The third was Trystan son of Tallwch, who guarded the swine of March son of Meirchion while the swineherd had gone on a message to Essyllt to bid her appoint a meeting with Trystan. Now Arthur and Marchell and Cai and Bedwyr undertook to go and make an attempt on him, but they proved unable to get possession of as much as one porker either as a gift or as a purchase, whether by fraud, by force, or by theft. In this story the well-known love of Drystan and Essyllt is taken for granted; but the whole setting is so peculiar and so unlike that of the story of Tristan and Iselt or Iseut in the romances, that there is no reason to suppose it in any way derived from the latter. The next portion of the Triad runs thus:-- 1 30b:--And Pryderi son of Pwyll of Annwvyn who guarded the swine of Pendaran of Dyfed in the Glen of the Cuch in Emlyn. ii. 56a:--Pryderi son of Pwyll Head of Annwn with the swine of Pendaran of Dyfed his foster father. The swine were the seven brought away by Pwyll Head of Annwn and given by him to Pendaran of Dyfed his foster father; and the Glen of the Cuch was the place where they were kept. The reason why Pryderi is called a mighty swineherd is that no one could prevail over him either by fraud or by force [80]. iii. 101a:--The first was Pryderi son of Pwyll of Pendaran in Dyfed [81], who guarded his father's swine while he was in Annwn, and it was in the Glen of the Cuch that he guarded them. The history of the pigs is given, so to say, in the Mabinogion. Pwyll had been able to strike up a friendship and even an alliance with Arawn king of Annwvyn [82] or Annwn, which now means Hades or the other world; and they kept up their friendship partly by exchanging presents of horses, greyhounds, falcons, and any other things calculated to give gratification to the receiver of them. Among other gifts which Pryderi appears to have received from the king of Annwn were hobeu or moch, 'pigs, swine,' which had never before been heard of in the island of Prydain. The news about this new race of animals, and that they formed sweeter food than oxen, was not long before it reached Gwyned; and we shall presently see that there was another story which flatly contradicts this part of the Triad, namely to the effect that Gwydion, nephew of Math king of Gwyned and a great magician, came to Pryderi's court at Rhudlan, near Dolau Bach or Highmead on the Teifi in what is now the county of Cardigan, and obtained some of the swine by deceiving the king. But, to pass by that for the present, I may say that Dyfed seems to have been famous for rearing swine; and at the present day one affects to believe in the neighbouring districts that the chief industry in Dyfed, more especially in South Cardiganshire, consists in the rearing of parsons, carpenters, and pigs. Perhaps it is also worth mentioning that the people of the southern portion of Dyfed are nicknamed by the men of Glamorgan to this day Moch Sir Benfro, 'the Pigs of Pembrokeshire.' But why so much importance attached to pigs? I cannot well give a better answer than the reader can himself supply if he will only consider what rôle the pig plays in the domestic economy of modern Ireland. But, to judge from old Irish literature, it was even more so in ancient times, as pigs' meat was so highly appreciated, that under some one or other of its various names it usually takes its place at the head of all flesh meats in Irish stories. This seems the case, for instance, in the medieval story called the Vision of MacConglinne [83]; and, to go further back, to the Feast of Bricriu for instance, one finds it decidedly the case with the Champion's Portion [84] at that stormy banquet. Then one may mention the story of the fatal feast on Mac-Dáthó's great swine [85], where that beast would have apparently sufficed for the braves both of Connaught and Ulster had Conall Cernach carved fair, and not given more than their share to his own Ultonian friends in order to insult the Connaught men by leaving them nothing but the fore-legs. It is right, however, to point out that most of the stories go to show, that the gourmands of ancient Erin laid great stress on the pig being properly fed, chiefly on milk and the best kind of meal. It cannot have been very different in ancient Wales; for we read in the story of Peredur that, when he sets out from his mother's home full of his mother's counsel, he comes by-and-by to a pavilion, in front of which he sees food, some of which he proceeds to take according to his mother's advice, though the gorgeously dressed lady sitting near it has not the politeness to anticipate his wish. It consisted, we are told, of two bottles of wine, two loaves of white bread, and collops of a milk-fed pig's flesh [86]. The home of the fairies was imagined to be a land of luxury and happiness with which nothing could compare in this world. In this certain Welsh and Irish stories agree; and in one of the latter, where the king of the fairies is trying to persuade the queen of Ireland to elope with him, we find that among the many inducements offered her are fresh pig, sweet milk, and ale [87]. Conversely, as the fairies were considered to be always living and to be a very old-fashioned and ancient people, it was but natural to suppose that they had the animals which man found useful, such as horses, cattle, and sheep, except that they were held to be of superior breeds, as they are represented, for instance, in our lake legends. Similarly, it is natural enough that other stories should ascribe to them also the possession of herds of swine; and all this prior to man's having any. The next step in the reasoning would be that man had obtained his from the fairies. It is some tradition of this kind that possibly suggested the line taken by the Pwyll story in the matter of the derivation of the pig from Annwn: see the last chapter. The next story in the Triad is, if possible, wilder still: it runs as follows:-- i. 30c:--Coll son of Collfrewi [88] who guarded Henwen [89], Dallweir Dallben's sow, which went burrowing as far as the Headland of Awstin in Kernyw and then took to the sea. It was at Aber Torogi in Gwent Is-coed that she came to land, with Coll keeping his grip on her bristles whatever way she went by sea or by land. Now in Maes Gwenith, 'Wheat Field,' in Gwent she dropped a grain of wheat and a bee, and thenceforth that has been the best place for wheat. Then she went as far as Llonwen in Penfro and there dropped a grain of barley and a bee, and thenceforth Llonwen has been the best place for barley. Then she proceeded to Rhiw Gyferthwch in Eryri and dropped a wolf-cub and an eagle-chick. These Coll gave away, the eagle to the Goidel Brynach from the North, and the wolf to Menwaed of Arllechwed, and they came to be known as Menwaed's Wolf and Brynach's Eagle. Then the sow went as far as the Maen Du at Llanfair in Arfon, and there she dropped a kitten, and that kitten Coll cast into the Menai: that came later to be known as Cath Paluc, 'Palug's Cat.' ii. 56c:--The third was Coll son of Kallureuy with the swine of Dallwyr Dallben in Dallwyr's Glen in Kernyw. Now one of the swine was with young and Henwen was her name; and it was foretold that the Isle of Prydain would be the worse for her litter; and Arthur collected the host of Prydain and went about to destroy it. Then one sow went burrowing, and at the Headland of Hawstin in Kernyw she took to the sea with the swineherd following her. And in Maes Gwenith in Gwent she dropped a grain of wheat and a bee, and ever since Maes Gwenith is the best place for wheat and bees. And at Llonyon in Penfro she dropped a grain of barley and another of wheat: therefore the barley of Llonyon has passed into a proverb. And on Rhiw Gyferthwch in Arfon she dropped a wolf-cub and an eagle-chick. The wolf was given to Mergaed and the eagle to Breat a prince from the North, and they were the worse for having them. And at Llanfair in Arfon, to wit below the Maen Du, she dropped a kitten, and from the Maen Du the swineherd cast it into the sea, but the sons of Paluc reared it to their detriment. It grew to be Cath Paluc, 'Palug's Cat,' and proved one of the three chief molestations of Mona reared in the island: the second was Daronwy and the third was Edwin king of England. iii. 101b:--The second was Coll son of Collfrewi who guarded Dallwaran Dallben's sow, that came burrowing as far as the Headland of Penwedic in Kernyw and then took to the sea; and she came to land at Aber Tarogi in Gwent Is-coed with Coll keeping his hold of her bristles whithersoever she went on sea or land. At Maes Gwenith in Gwent she dropped three grains of wheat and three bees, and ever since Gwent has the best wheat and bees. From Gwent she proceeded to Dyfed and dropped a grain of barley and a porker, and ever since Dyfed has the best barley and pigs: it was in Llonnio Llonnwen these were dropped. Afterwards she proceeded to Arfon (sic) and in Lleyn she dropped the grain of rye, and ever since Lleyn and Eifionyd have the best rye. And on the side of Rhiw Gyferthwch she dropped a wolf-cub and an eagle-chick. Coll gave the eagle to Brynach the Goidel of Dinas Affaraon, and the wolf to Menwaed lord of Arllechwed, and one often hears of Brynach's Wolf and Menwaed's Eagle [the writer was careless: he has made the owners exchange pests]. Then she went as far as the Maen Du in Arfon, where she dropped a kitten and Coll cast it into the Menai. That was the Cath Balwg (sic), 'Palug's Cat': it proved a molestation to the Isle of Mona subsequently. Such are the versions we have of this story, and a few notes on the names seem necessary before proceeding further. Coll is called Coll son of Collurewy in i. 30, and Coll son of Kallureuy in ii. 56: all that is known of him comes from other Triads, i. 32-3, ii. 20, and iii. 90. The first two tell us that he was one of the Three chief Enchanters of the Isle of Prydain, and that he was taught his magic by Rhudlwm the Giant; while ii. 20 calls the latter a dwarf and adds that Coll was nephew to him. The matter is differently put in iii. 90, to the effect that Rhudlwm the Giant learnt his magic from Eid[il]ig the Dwarf and from Coll son of Collfrewi. Nothing is known of Dallwyr's Glen in Kernyw, or of the person after whom it was named. Kernyw is the Welsh for Cornwall, but if Penryn Awstin or Hawstin is to be identified with Aust Cliff on the Severn Sea in Gloucestershire, the story would seem to indicate a time when Cornwall extended north-eastwards as far as that point. The later Triad, iii. 101, avoids Penryn Awstin and substitutes Penwedic, which recalls some such a name as Pengwaed [90] or Penwith in Cornwall: elsewhere Penwedic [91] is only given as the name of the most northern hundred of Keredigion. Gwent Is-coed means Gwent below the Wood or Forest, and Aber Torogi or Tarogi--omitted, probably by accident, in ii. 56--is now Caldicot Pill, where the small river Tarogi, now called Troggy, discharges itself not very far from Portskewet. Maes Gwenith in the same neighbourhood is still known by that name. The correct spelling of the name of the place in Penfro was probably Llonyon, but it is variously given as Llonwen, Llonyon, and Llonion, not to mention the Llonnio Llonnwen of the later form of the Triad: should this last prove to be based on any authority one might suggest Llonyon Henwen, so called after the sow, as the original. The modern Welsh spelling of Llonyon would be Llonion, and it is identified by Mr. Egerton Phillimore with Lanion near Pembroke [92]. Rhiw Gyferthwch is guessed to have been one of the slopes of Snowdon on the Bedgelert side; but I have failed to discover anybody who has ever heard the name used in that neighbourhood. Arllechwed was, roughly speaking, that part of Carnarvonshire which drains into the sea between Conway and Bangor. Brynach and Menwaed or Mengwaed [93] seem to be the names underlying the misreadings in ii. 56; but it is quite possible that Brynach, probably for an Irish Bronach, has here superseded an earlier Urnach or Eurnach also a Goidel, to whom I shall have to return in another chapter. Dinas Affaraon [94] is the place called Dinas Ffaraon Dande in the story of Llud and Llevelys, where we are told that after Llud had had the two dragons buried there, which had been dug up at the centre of his realm, to wit at Oxford, Ffaraon, after whom the place was called, died of grief. Later it came to be called Dinas Emrys from Myrdin Emrys, 'Merlinus Ambrosius,' who induced Vortigern to go away from there in quest of another place to build his castle [95]. So the reader will see that the mention of this Dinas brings us back to a weird spot with which he has been familiarized in the previous chapter: see pp. 469, 495 above. Llanfair in Arfon is Llanfair Is-gaer near Port Dinorwic on the Menai Straits, and the Maen Du should be a black rock or black stone on the southern side of those straits. Daronwy and Cath Paluc are both personages on whom light is still wanted. Lastly, by Edwin king of England is to be understood Edwin king of the Angles of Deira and Bernicia, whom Welsh tradition represents as having found refuge for a time in Anglesey. Now this story as a whole looks like a sort of device for stringing together explanations of the origin of certain place-names and of certain local characteristics. Leaving entirely out of the reckoning the whole of Mid-Wales, that is to say, the more Brythonic portion of the country, it is remarkable as giving to South Wales credit for certain resources, but to North Wales for pests alone and scourges, except that the writer of the late version bethought himself of Lleyn and Eifionyd as having good land for growing rye; but he was very hazy as to the geography of North Wales--both he and the redactors of the other Triads equally belonged doubtless to South Wales. Among the place-names, Maes Gwenith, 'the Wheat Field,' is clear; but hardly less so is the case of Aber Torogi, 'Mouth of the Troggy,' where torogi is 'the pregnancy of animals,' from torrog, 'being with young.' So with Rhiw Gyferthwch, 'the Hillside or Ascent of Cyferthwch,' where cyferthwch means 'pantings, pangs, labour.' The name Maen Du, 'Black Rock,' is left to explain itself; and I am not sure that the original story was not so put as also to explain Llonion, to wit, as a sort of plural of llawn, 'full,' in reference, let us say, to the full ears of the barley grown there. But the reference to the place-names seems to have partly escaped the later tellers of the story or to have failed to impress them as worth emphasizing. They appear to have thought more of explaining the origin of Menwaed's Wolf and Brynach's Eagle. Whether this means in the former case that the district of Arllechwed was more infested by wolves than any other part of Wales, or that Menwaed, lord of Arllechwed, had a wolf as his symbol, it is impossible to say. In another Triad, however, i. 23 = ii. 57, he is reckoned one of the Three Battle-knights who were favourites at Arthur's court, the others being Caradog Freichfras and Llyr Llüydog or Llud Llurugog, while in iii. 29 Menwaed's place is taken by a son of his called Mael Hir. Similarly with regard to Brynach's Eagle one has nothing to say, except that common parlance some time or other would seem to have associated the eagle in some way with Brynach the Goidel. The former prevalence of the eagle in the Snowdon district seems to be the explanation of its Welsh name of Eryri--as already suggested, p. 479 above--and the association of the bird with the Goidelic chieftain who had his stronghold under the shadow of Snowdon seems to follow naturally enough. But the details are conspicuous by their scarcity in Welsh literature, though Brynach's Eagle is probably to be identified with the Aquila Fabulosa of Eryri, of which Giraldus makes a curious mention [96]. Perhaps the final disuse of Goidelic speech in the district is to be, to some extent, regarded as accounting for our dearth of data. A change of language involved in all probability the shipwreck of many a familiar mode of thought; and many a homely expression must have been lost in the transition before an equivalent acceptable to the Goidel was discovered by him in his adopted idiom. This question of linguistic change will be found further illustrated by the story to which I wish now to pass, namely that of the hunting of Twrch Trwyth. It is one of those incorporated in the larger tale known as that of Kulhwch and Olwen, the hero and heroine concerned: see the Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 135-41, and Guest's translation, iii. 306-16. Twrch Trwyth is pictured as a formidable boar at the head of his offspring, consisting of seven swine, and the Twrch himself is represented as carrying between his ears a comb, a razor, and a pair of shears. The plot of the Kulhwch renders it necessary that these precious articles should be procured; so Kulhwch prevails on his cousin Arthur to undertake the hunt. Arthur began by sending one of his men, to wit, Menw [97] son of Teirgwaed, to see whether the three precious things mentioned were really where they were said to be, namely, between Twrch Trwyth's ears. Menw was a great magician who usually formed one of any party of Arthur's men about to visit a pagan country; for it was his business to subject the inhabitants to magic and enchantment, so that they should not see Arthur's men, while the latter saw them. Menw found Twrch Trwyth and his offspring at a place in Ireland called Esgeir Oervel [98], and in order to approach them he alighted in the form of a bird near where they were. He tried to snatch one of the three precious articles from Twrch Trwyth, but he only succeeded in securing one of his bristles, whereupon the Twrch stood up and shook himself so vigorously that a drop of venom from his bristles fell on Menw, who never enjoyed a day's health afterwards as long as he lived. Menw now returned and assured Arthur that the treasures were really about the Twrch's head as it was reported. Arthur then crossed to Ireland with a host and did not stop until he found Twrch Trwyth and his swine at Esgeir Oervel. The hunt began and was continued for several days, but it did not prevent the Twrch from laying waste a fifth part of Ireland, that is in Medieval Irish cóiced, a province of the island. Arthur's men, however, succeeded in killing one of the Twrch's offspring, and they asked Arthur the history [99] of that swine. Arthur replied that it had been a king before being transformed by God into a swine on account of his sins. Here I should remark by the way, that the narrator of the story forgets the death of this young boar, and continues to reckon the Twrch's herd as seven. Arthur's next move was to send one of his men, Gwrhyr, interpreter of tongues [100], to parley with the boars. Gwrhyr, in the form of a bird, alighted above where Twrch Trwyth and his swine lay, and addressed them as follows: 'For the sake of Him who fashioned you in this shape, if you can speak, I ask one of you to come to converse with Arthur.' Answer was made by one of the boars, called Grugyn Gwrych Ereint, that is, Grugyn Silver-bristle; for like feathers of silver, we are told, were his bristles wherever he went, and whether in woods or on plains, one saw the gleam of his bristles. The following, then, was Grugyn's answer: 'By Him who fashioned us in this shape, we shall not do so, and we shall not converse with Arthur. Enough evil has God done to us when He fashioned us in this shape, without your coming to fight with us.' Gwrhyr replied: 'I tell you that Arthur will fight for the comb, the razor, and the shears that are between the ears of Twrch Trwyth.' 'Until his life has first been taken,' said Grugyn, 'those trinkets shall not be taken, and to-morrow morning we set out hence for Arthur's own country, and all the harm we can, shall we do there.' The boars accordingly set out for Wales, while Arthur with his host, his horses, and his hounds, on board his ship Prydwen, kept within sight of them. Twrch Trwyth came to land at Porth Clais, a small creek south of St. David's, but Arthur went that night to Mynyw, which seems to have been Menevia or St. David's. The next day Arthur was told that the boars had gone past, and he overtook them killing the herds of Kynnwas Cwrvagyl, after they had destroyed all they could find in Deugledyf, whether man or beast. Then the Twrch went as far as Presseleu, a name which survives in that of Preselly or Precelly, as in Preselly Top and Preselly Mountains in North Pembrokeshire. Arthur and his men began the hunt again, while his warriors were ranged on both sides of the Nyfer or the river Nevern. The Twrch then left the Glen of the Nevern and made his way to Cwm Kerwyn, the name of which survives in that of Moel Cwm Kerwyn, one of the Preselly heights. In the course of the hunt in that district the Twrch killed Arthur's four champions and many of the people of the country. He was next overtaken in a district called Peuliniauc [101] or Peuliniog, which appears to have occupied a central area between the mountains, Llandewi Velfrey, Henllan Amgoed, and Laugharne: it probably covered portions of the parish of Whitland and of that of Llandysilio, the church of which is a little to the north of the railway station of Clyn Derwen on the Great Western line. Leaving Peuliniog for the Laugharne Burrows, he crossed, as it seems, from Ginst Point to Aber Towy or Towy Mouth [102], which at low water are separated mostly by tracts of sand interrupted only by one or two channels of no very considerable width; for Aber Towy would seem to have been a little south-east of St. Ishmael's, on the eastern bank of the Towy. Thence the Twrch makes his way to Glynn Ystu, more correctly perhaps Clyn Ystun, now written Clyn Ystyn [103], the name of a farm between Carmarthen and the junction of the Amman with the Llychwr, more exactly about six miles from that junction and about eight and a half from Carmarthen as the crow flies. The hunt is resumed in the Valley of the Llychwr or Loughor [104], where Grugyn and another young boar, called Llwydawc Gouynnyat [105], committed terrible ravages among the huntsmen. This brought Arthur and his host to the rescue, and Twrch Trwyth, on his part, came to help his boars; but as a tremendous attack was now made on him he moved away, leaving the Llychwr, and making eastwards for Mynyd Amanw, or 'the Mountain of Amman,' for Amanw is plentifully preserved in that neighbourhood in the shortened form of Aman or Amman [106]. On Mynyd Amanw one of his boars was killed, but he is not distinguished by any proper name: he is simply called a banw, 'a young boar.' The Twrch was again hard pressed, and lost another called Twrch Llawin. Then a third of the swine is killed, called Gwys, whereupon Twrch Trwyth went to Dyffryn Amanw, or the Vale of Amman, where he lost a banw and a benwic, a 'boar' and a 'sow.' All this evidently takes place in the same district, and Mynyd Amanw was, if not Bryn Amman, probably one of the mountains to the south or south-east of the river Amman, so that Dyffryn Amanw may have been what is still called Dyffryn Amman, or the Valley of the Amman from Bryn Amman to where the river Amman falls into the Llychwr. From the Amman the Twrch and the two remaining boars of his herd made their way to Llwch Ewin, 'the lake or pool of Ewin,' which is now represented by a bog mere above a farm house called Llwch in the parish of Bettws, which covers the southern slope of the Amman Valley. I have found this bog called in a map Llwch is Awel, 'Pool below Breeze,' whatever that may mean. We find them next at Llwch Tawi, the position of which is indicated by that of Ynys Pen Llwch, 'Pool's End Isle,' some distance lower down the Tawe than Pont ar Dawe. At this point the boars separate, and Grugyn goes away to Din Tywi, 'Towy Fort,' an unidentified position somewhere on the Towy, possibly Grongar Hill near Llandeilo, and thence to a place in Keredigion where he was killed, namely, Garth Grugyn. I have not yet been able to identify the spot, though it must have once had a castle, as we read of a castle called Garthgrugyn being strengthened by Maelgwn Vychan in the year 1242: the Bruts locate it in Keredigion [107], but this part of the story is obscured by careless copying on the part of the scribe [108] of the Red Book. After Grugyn's death we read of Llwydawc having made his way to Ystrad Yw, and, after inflicting slaughter on several of his assailants, he is himself killed there. Now Ystrad Yw, which our mapsters would have us call Ystrad Wy, as if it had been on the Wye [109], is supposed to have covered till Henry VIII's time the same area approximately as the hundred of Crickhowel has since, namely, the parishes of (1) Crickhowel, (2) Llanbedr Ystrad Yw with Patrishow, (3) Llanfihangel Cwm Du with Tretower and Penmyarth, (4) Llangattock with Llangenny, (5) Llanelly with Brynmawr, and (6) Llangynidr. Of these Llanbedr perpetuates the name of Ystrad Yw, although it is situated near the junction of the Greater and Lesser Grwynë and not in the Strath of the Yw, which Ystrad Yw means. So one can only treat Lanbedr Ystrad Yw as meaning that particular Llanbedr or St. Peter's Church which belongs to the district comprehensively called Ystrad Yw. Now if one glances at the Red Book list of cantreds and cymwds, dating in the latter part of the fourteenth century, one will find Ystrad Yw and Cruc Howel existing as separate cymwds. So we have to look for the former in the direction of the parish of Cwm Du; and on going back to the Taxatio of Pope Nicholas IV dating about 1291, we find that practically we have to identify with Cwm Du a name Stratden', p. 273a, which one is probably to treat as Strat d'Eue [110] or some similar Norman spelling; for most of the other parishes of the district are mentioned by the names which they still bear. That is not all; for from Cwm Du a tributary of the Usk called the Rhiangoll comes down and receives at Tretower the waters of a smaller stream called the Yw. The land on both sides of that Yw burn forms the ystrad or strath of which we are in quest. The chief source of this water is called Llygad Yw, and gives its name to a house of some pretensions bearing an inscription showing that it was built in its present form about the middle of the seventeenth century by a member of the Gunter family well known in the history of the county. Near the house stands a yew tree on the boundary line of the garden, and close to its trunk, but at a lower level, is a spring of bubbling water: this is Llygad Yw, 'the Eye of the Yw.' For Llygad Yw is a succinct expression for the source of the Yw burn [111], and the stream retains the name Yw to its fall into the Rhiangoll; but besides the spring of Llygad Yw it has several other similar sources in the fields near the house. There is nothing, however, in this brook to account for the name of Ystrad Yw having been extended to an important district; but if one traces its short course one will at once guess the explanation. For a few fields below Llygad Yw is the hamlet of the Gaer or fortress, consisting of four farm houses called the Upper, Middle, and Lower Gaer, and Pen y Gaer: through this hamlet of the Gaer flows the Yw. These, and more especially Pen y Gaer, are supposed to have been the site of a Roman camp of considerable importance, and close by it the Yw is supposed to have been crossed by the Roman road proceeding towards Brecon [112]. The camp in the Strath of the Yw was the head quarters of the ruling power in the district, and hence the application of the name of Ystrad Yw to a wider area. But for our story one has to regard the name as confined to the land about the Yw burn, or at most to a somewhat larger portion of the parish of Cwm Du, to which the Yw and Tretower belong. The position of the Gaer in Ystrad Yw at the foot of the Bwlch or the gap in the difficult mountain spur stretching down towards the Usk is more likely to have been selected by the Romans than by any of the Celtic inhabitants, whose works are to be found on several of the neighbouring hills, such as Myarth [113] between the Yw and the Usk. We next find Twrch Trwyth, now the sole survivor, making his way towards the Severn: so Arthur summons Cornwall and Devon to meet him at Aber Hafren or Severn mouth. Then a furious conflict with the Twrch takes place in the very waters of that river, between Llyn Lliwan (p. 407) and Aber Gwy or the mouth of the Wye. After much trouble, Arthur's men succeed in getting possession of two out of the three treasures of the boar, but he escapes with the third, namely, the comb, across the Severn [114]. Then as soon as he gets ashore he makes his way to Cornwall, where the comb is at length snatched from him. Chased thence, he goes straight into the sea, with the hounds Anet and Aethlem after him, and nothing has ever been heard of any of the three from that day to this. That is the story of Twrch Trwyth, and Dr. Stokes calls my attention to a somewhat similar hunt briefly described in the Rennes Dindsenchas in the Revue Celtique, xv. 474-5. Then as to the precious articles carried by the Twrch about his head and ears, the comb, the razor, and the shears, two out of the three--the comb and the razor--belong to the regular stock of a certain group of tales which recount how the hero elopes with the daughter of a giant who loses his life in the pursuit [115]. In order to make sure of escaping from the infuriated giant, the daughter abstracts from her father's keeping a comb, a razor, and another article. When she and her lover fleeing on their horse are hard pressed, the latter throws behind him the comb, which at once becomes a rough impenetrable forest to detain the giant for a while. When he is again on the point of overtaking them, the lover throws behind him the razor, which becomes a steep and sharp mountain ridge through which the pursuing giant has to waste time tunnelling his way. The third article is usually such as, when thrown in the giant's way, becomes a lake in which he is drowned while attempting to swim across. In the Kulhwch story, however, as we have it, the allusion to these objects is torn away from what might be expected as its context. The giant is Yspadaden Penkawr, whose death is effected in another way; but before the giant is finally disposed of he requires to be shaved and to have his hair dressed. His hair, moreover, is so rough that the dressing cannot be done without the comb and shears in the possession of Twrch Trwyth, whence the hunt; and for the shaving one would have expected the Twrch's razor to have been requisite; but not so, as the shaving had to be done by means of another article, namely, the tusk of Yskithyrwynn Pennbeid, 'White-tusk chief of Boars,' for the obtaining of which one is treated briefly to another boar hunt. The Kulhwch story is in this respect very mixed and disjointed, owing, it would seem, to the determination of the narrator to multiply the number of things difficult to procure, each involving a separate feat to be described. Let us now consider the hunt somewhat more in detail, with special reference to the names mentioned; and let us begin with that of Twrch Trwyth: the word twrch means the male of a beast of the swine kind, and twrch coed, 'a wood pig,' is a wild boar, while twrch daear, 'an earth pig,' is the word in North Wales for a mole. In the next place we can practically equate Twrch Trwyth with a name at the head of one of the articles in Cormac's Irish Glossary. There the exact form is Orc tréith, and the following is the first part of the article itself as given in O'Donovan's translation edited by Stokes:--'Orc Tréith, i. e. nomen for a king's son, triath enim rex vocatur, unde dixit poeta Oínach n-uirc tréith "fair of a king's son," i. e. food and precious raiment, down and quilts, ale and flesh-meat, chessmen and chessboards, horses and chariots, greyhounds and playthings besides.' In this extract the word orc occurs in the genitive as uirc, and it means a 'pig' or 'boar'; in fact it is, with the usual Celtic loss of the consonant p, the exact Goidelic equivalent of the Latin porcus, genitive porci. From another article in Cormac's Glossary, we learn that Tréith is the genitive of Triath, which has been explained to mean a king. Thus, Orc Tréith means Triath's Orc, Triath's Boar, or the King's Boar; so we take Twrch Trwyth in the same way to mean 'Trwyth's Boar.' But we have here a discrepancy, which the reader will have noticed, for twrch is not the same word as Irish orc, the nearest form to be expected in Welsh being Wrch, not Twrch; but such a word as Wrch does not, so far as I know, exist. Now did the Welsh render orc by a different word unrelated to the Goidelic one which they heard? I think not; for it is remarkable that Irish has besides orc a word torc, meaning a 'boar,' and torc is exactly the Welsh twrch. So there seems to be no objection to our supposing that what Cormac calls Orc Tréith was known in the Goidelic of Wales as Torc Tréith, which had the alliteration to recommend it to popular favour. In that case one could say that the Goidelic name Torc Tréith appears in Welsh with a minimum of change as Twrch Trwyth, and also with the stamp of popular favour more especially in the retention of the Goidelic th, just as in the name of an ancient camp or fortification on the Withy Bush Estate in Pembrokeshire: it is called the Rath, or the Rath Ring. Here rath is identical with the Irish word ráth, 'a fortification or earthworks,' and we seem to have it also in Cil Râth Fawr, the name of a farm in the neighbourhood of Narberth. Now the Goidelic word tréith appears to have come into Welsh as treth-i, the long vowel of which must in Welsh have become oi or ui by about the end of the sixth century; and if the th had been treated on etymological principles its proper equivalent in the Welsh of that time would have been d or t. The retention of the th is a proof, therefore, of oral transmission; that is to say, the Goidelic word passed bodily into Brythonic, to submit afterwards to the phonological rules of that language. A little scrutiny of the tale will, I think, convince the reader that one of the objects of the original story-teller was to account for certain place-names. Thus Grugyn was meant to account for the name of Garth Grugyn, where Grugyn was killed; Gwys, to account similarly for that of Gwys, a tributary of the Twrch, which gives its name to a station on the line of railway between Ystalyfera and Bryn Amman; and Twrch Llawin to account for the name of the river Twrch, which receives the Gwys, and falls into the Tawe some distance below Ystrad Gynlais, between the counties of Brecknock and Glamorgan. Besides Grugyn and Twrch Llawin, there was a third brother to whom the story gives a special name, to wit, Llwydawc Gouynnyat, and this was, I take it, meant also to account for a place-name, which, however, is not given: it should have been somewhere in Ystrad Yw, in the county of Brecknock. Still greater interest attaches to the swine that have not been favoured with names of their own, those referred to simply as banw, 'a young boar,' and benwic, 'a young sow.' Now banw has its equivalent in Irish in the word banbh, which O'Reilly explains as meaning a 'sucking pig,' and that is the meaning also of the Manx bannoo; but formerly the word may have had a somewhat wider meaning. The Welsh appellative is introduced twice into the story of Twrch Trwyth; once to account, as I take it, for the name Mynyd Amanw, 'Amman Mountain,' and once for Dyffryn Amanw, 'Amman Valley.' In both instances Amanw was meant, as I think, to be accounted for by the banw killed at each of the places in question. But how, you will ask, does the word banw account for Amanw, or throw any light on it at all? Very simply, if you will just suppose the name to have been Goidelic; for then you have only to provide it with the definite article and it makes in banbh, 'the pig or the boar,' and that could not in Welsh yield anything but ymmanw or ammanw [116], which with the accent shifted backwards, became Ammanw and Amman or Aman. Having premised these explanations let us, before we proceed further, see to what our evidence exactly amounts. Here, then, we have a mention of seven swine, but as two of them, a banw and a benwic, are killed at one and the same place, our figure is practically reduced to six [117]. The question then is, in how many of these six cases the story of the hunt accounts for the names of the places of the deaths respectively, that is to say, accounts for them in the ordinary way with which one is familiar in other Welsh stories. They may be enumerated as follows:-- 1. A banw is killed at Mynyd Amanw. 2. A twrch is killed in the same neighbourhood, where there is a river Twrch. 3. A swine called Gwys is killed in the same neighbourhood still, where there is a river called Gwys, falling into the Twrch. 4. A banw and a benwic are killed in Dyffryn Amanw. 5. Grugyn is killed at a place called Garth Grugyn. 6. A swine called Llwydawc is killed at a spot, not named, in Ystrad Yw or not far off [118]. Thus in five cases out of the six, the story accounts for the place-name, and the question now is, can that be a mere accident? Just think what the probabilities of the case would be if you put them into numbers: South Wales, from St. David's to the Vale of the Usk, would supply hundreds of place-names as deserving of mention, to say the least, as those in this story; is it likely then that out of a given six among them no less than five should be accounted for or alluded to by any mere accident in the course of a story of the brevity of that of Twrch Trwyth. To my thinking such an accident is inconceivable, and I am forced, therefore, to suppose that the narrative was originally so designed as to account for them. I said 'originally so designed,' for the scribe of the Red Book, or let us say the last redactor of the story as it stands in the Red Book, shows no signs of having noticed any such design. Had he detected the play on the names of the places introduced, he would probably have been more inclined to develop that feature of the story than to efface it. What I mean may best be illustrated by another swine story, namely, that which has already been referred to as occurring in the Mabinogi of Math. There we find Pryderi, king of Dyfed, holding his court at Rhudlan on the Teifi, but though he had become the proud possessor of a new race of animals, given him as a present by his friend Arawn, king of Annwn, he had made a solemn promise to his people, that he should give none of them away until they had doubled their number in Dyfed: these animals were the hobeu or pigs to which reference was made at p. 69 above. Now Gwydion, having heard of them, visited Pryderi's court, and by magic and enchantment deceived the king. Successful in his quest, he sets out for Gwyned with his hobeu, and this is how his journey is described in the Mabinogi: 'And that evening they journeyed as far as the upper end of Keredigion, to a place which is still called, for that reason, Mochdref, "Swine-town or Pigs' stead." On the morrow they went their way, and came across the Elenyd mountains, and that night they spent between Kerry and Arwystli, in the stead which is also called for that reason Mochdref. Thence they proceeded, and came the same evening as far as a commot in Powys, which is for that reason called Mochnant [119], "Swine-burn." Thence they journeyed to the cantred of Rhôs, and spent that night within the town which is still called Mochdref [120].' 'Ah, my men,' said Gwydion, 'let us make for the fastness of Gwyned with these beasts: the country is being raised in pursuit of us.' So this is what they did: they made for the highest town of Arllechwed, and there built a creu or sty for the pigs, and for that reason the town was called Creu-Wyrion, that is, perhaps, 'Wyrion's Sty.' In this, it is needless to state, we have the Corwrion of chap. i: see pp. 47, 50-70 above--the name is variously pronounced also Cyrwrion and C'rwrion. That is how a portion of the Math story is made to account for a series of place-names, and had the editor of the Kulhwch understood the play on the names of places in question in the story of Twrch Trwyth, it might be expected that he would have given it prominence, as already suggested. Then comes the question, how it came to pass that he did not understand it? The first thing to suggest itself as an answer is, that he may have been a stranger to the geography of the country concerned. That, however, is a very inadequate explanation; for his being a stranger, though it might account for his making blunders as to the localities, would not be likely to deter him from venturing into geography which he had not mastered. What was it, then, that hid from him a portion of the original in this instance? In part, at least, it must have been a difficulty of language. Let us take an illustration: Gwys has already been mentioned more than once as a name applied to one of Twrch Trwyth's offspring, and the words used are very brief, to the following effect:--'And then another of his swine was killed: Gwys was its name.' As a matter of fact, the scribe was labouring under a mistake, for he ought to have said rather, 'And then another of his swine was killed: it was a sow'; since gwys was a word meaning a sow, and not the name of any individual hog. The word has, doubtless, long been obsolete in Welsh; but it was known to the poet of the 'Little Pig's Lullaby' in the Black Book of Carmarthen, where one of the stanzas begins, fo. 29a, with the line: Oian aparchellan. aparchell. guin guis. The late Dr. Pughe translated it thus: Listen, little porkling! thou forward little white pig. I fear I should be obliged to render it less elegantly: Lullaby, little porker, white sow porker. For the last four words Stokes suggests 'O pigling of a white sow'; but perhaps the most natural rendering of the words would be 'O white porker of a sow!'--which does not recommend itself greatly on the score of sense, I must admit. The word occurs, also, in Breton as gwiz or gwéz, 'truie, femelle du porc,' and as gwys or guis in Old Cornish, while in Irish it was feis. Nevertheless, the editor of the Twrch Trwyth story did not know it; but it would be in no way surprising that a Welshman, who knew his language fairly well, should be baffled by such a word in case it was not in use in his own district in his own time. This, however, barely touches the fringe of the question. The range of the hunt, as already given, was mostly within the boundaries, so to say, of the portion of South Wales where we find Goidelic inscriptions in the Ogam character of the fifth or sixth century; and I am persuaded that the Goidelic language must have lived down to the sixth or seventh century in the south and in the north of Wales [121], a tract of Mid-Wales being then, probably, the only district which can be assumed to have been completely Brythonic in point of speech. In this very story, probably, such a name as Garth Grugyn is but slightly modified from a Goidelic Gort Grucaind, 'the enclosure of Grucand [122] or Grugan': compare Cúchulaind or Cúchulainn made in Welsh into Cocholyn. But the capital instance in the story of Twrch Trwyth as has already been indicated is that of Amanw, which I detect also as Ammann (probably to be read Ammanu), in the Book of Llan Dâv (or Liber Landavensis), p. 199: it is there borne by a lay witness to a grant of land called Tir Dimuner, which would appear to have been in what is now Monmouthshire. Interpreted as standing for in Banbh, 'the Boar,' it would make a man's name of the same class as Ibleid, found elsewhere in the same manuscript (pp. 178, 184), meaning evidently i Bleid, now y Blaid, 'the Wolf.' But observe that the latter was Welsh and the former Goidelic, which makes all the difference for our story. The Goidel relating the story would say that a boar, banbh, was killed on the mountain or hill of in Banbh or of 'the Boar'; and his Goidelic hearer could not fail to associate the place-name with the appellative. But a Brython could hardly understand what the words in Banbh meant, and certainly not after he had transformed them into Ammanw, with the nb assimilated into mm, and the accent shifted to the first syllable. It is needless to say that my remarks have no meaning unless Goidelic was the original language of the tale. In the summary I have given of the hunt, I omitted a number of proper names of the men who fell at the different spots where the Twrch is represented brought to bay. I wish now to return to them with the question, why were their names inserted in the story at all? It may be suspected that they also, or at any rate some of them, were intended to explain place-names; but I must confess to having had little success in identifying traces of them in the ordnance maps. Others, however, may fare better, who have a better acquaintance with the districts in point, and in that hope I append them in their order in the story:-- 1. Arthur sends to the hunt on the banks of the Nevern, in Pembrokeshire, his men, Eli and Trachmyr, Gwarthegyd son of Caw, and Bedwyr; also Tri meib Cledyv Divwlch, 'three Sons of the Gapless Sword.' The dogs are also mentioned: Drudwyn, Greid son of Eri's whelp, led by Arthur himself; Glythmyr Ledewig's two dogs, led by Gwarthegyd son of Caw; and Arthur's dog Cavall, led by Bedwyr. 2. Twrch Trwyth makes for Cwm Kerwyn in the Preselly Mountains, and turns to bay, killing the following men, who are called Arthur's four rhyswyr [123] or champions--Gwarthegyd son of Caw, Tarawg of Allt Clwyd, Rheidwn son of Eli Atver, and Iscovan Hael. 3. He turns to bay a second time in Cwm Kerwyn, and kills Gwydre son of Arthur, Garselid Wydel, Glew son of Yscawt, and Iscawyn son of Bannon or Panon. 4. Next day he is overtaken in the same neighbourhood, and he kills Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr's three men, Huandaw, Gogigwr, and Penn Pingon, many of the men of the country also, and Gwlydyn Saer, one of Arthur's chief architects. 5. Arthur overtakes the Twrch next in Peuliniauc (p. 512 above); and the Twrch there kills Madawc son of Teithion, Gwyn son of Tringad son of Neued, and Eiriawn Penlloran. 6. Twrch Trwyth next turns to bay at Aber Towy, 'Towy Mouth,' and kills Cynlas son of Cynan, and Gwilenhin, king of France. 7. The next occasion of his killing any men whose names are given, is when he reaches Llwch Ewin (p. 515), near which he killed Echel Vordwyd-twll, Arwyli eil Gwydawg Gwyr, and many men and dogs besides. 8. Grugyn, one of the Twrch's offspring, goes to Garth Grugyn in Keredigion with Eli and Trachmyr pursuing him; but what happened to them we are not told in consequence of the omission mentioned above (p. 515) as occurring in the manuscript. 9. Llwydawc at bay in an uncertain locality kills Rudvyw Rys [124] and many others. 10. Llwydawc goes to Ystrad Yw, where he is met by the Men of Llydaw, and he kills Hirpeissawc, king of Llydaw, also Llygatrud Emys and Gwrbothu Hên, maternal uncles to Arthur. By way of notes on these items, I would begin with the last by asking, what is one to make of these Men of Llydaw? First of all, one notices that their names are singular: thus Hirpeissawc, 'Long-coated or Long-robed,' is a curious name for their king, as it sounds more like an epithet than a name itself. Then Llygatrud (also Llysgatrud, which I cannot understand, except as a scribal error) Emys is also unusual: one would have rather expected Emys Lygatrud, 'Emys the Red-eyed.' As it stands it looks as if it meant the 'Red-eyed One of Emys.' Moreover Emys reminds one of the name of Emyr Llydaw, the ancestor in Welsh hagiology of a number of Welsh saints. It looks as if the redactor of the Red Book had mistaken an r for an s in copying from a pre-Norman original. That he had to work on such a manuscript is proved by the remaining instance, Gwrbothu Hên, 'G. the Ancient,' in which we have undoubtedly a pre-Norman spelling of Gwrfodw: the same redactor having failed to recognize the name, left it without being converted into the spelling of his own school. In the Book of Llan Dâv it will be found variously written Gurbodu, Guoruodu, and Guruodu. Then the epithet hên, 'old or ancient,' reminds one of such instances as Math Hên and Gofynion Hên, to be noticed a little later in this chapter. Let us now direct the reader's attention for a moment to the word Llydaw, in order to see whether that may not suggest something. The etymology of it is contested, so one has to infer its meaning, as well as one can, from the way in which it is found used. Now it is the ordinary Welsh word for Brittany or Little Britain, and in Irish it becomes Letha, which is found applied not only to Armorica but also to Latium. Conversely one could not be surprised if a Goidel, writing Latin, rendered his own Letha or the Welsh Llydaw by Latium, even when no part of Italy was meant. Now it so happens that Llydaw occurs in Wales itself, to wit in the name of Llyn Llydaw, a Snowdonian lake already mentioned, p. 475. It is thus described by Pennant, ii. 339:--'We found, on arriving at the top, an hollow a mile in length, filled with Llyn Llydaw, a fine lake, winding beneath the rocks, and vastly indented by rocky projections, here and there jutting into it. In it was one little island, the haunt of black-backed gulls, which breed here, and, alarmed by such unexpected visitants, broke the silence of this sequestered place by their deep screams.' But since Pennant's time mining operations [125] have been carried on close to the margin of this lake; and in the course of them the level of the water is said to have been lowered to the extent of sixteen feet, when, in the year 1856, an ancient canoe was discovered there. According to the late Mr. E. L. Barnwell, who has described it in the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1874, pp. 150-1, it was in the possession of Dr. Griffith Griffith of Tal y Treudyn, near Harlech, who exhibited it at the Cambrian Archæological Association's meeting at Machynlleth in 1866 [126]. 'It measures,' Mr. Barnwell says, 'nine feet nine inches--a not uncommon length in the Scotch early canoes,--and has been hollowed out of one piece of wood, as is universally the case with these early boats.' He goes on to surmise that 'this canoe may have been used to reach the island, for the sake of birds or eggs; or what is not impossible, the island may have been the residence of some one who had reasons for preferring so isolated an abode. It may, in fact, have been a kind of small natural crannog, and, in one sense, a veritable lake-dwelling, access to and from which was easy by means of such a canoe.' Stokes conjectures Llydaw to have meant coast-land, and Thurneysen connects it with the Sanskrit prthivi and Old Saxon folda [127], 'earth': and, so far as I can see, one is at liberty to assume a meaning that would satisfy Llydaw, 'Armorica,' and the Llydaw of Llyn Llydaw, 'the Lake of Llydaw,' namely that it signified land which one had to reach by boat, so that it was in fact applicable to a lake settlement of any kind, in other words, that Llydaw on Snowdon was the name of the lake-dwelling. So I cannot help suggesting, with great deference, that the place whence came the Men of Llydaw in the story of the hunting of Twrch Trwyth was the settlement in Syfadon lake (p. 73), and that the name of that stronghold, whether it was a crannog or a stockaded islet, was also Llydaw. For the power of that settlement over the surrounding country to have extended a few miles around would be but natural to suppose--the distance between the Yw and Llyn Syfadon is, I am told, under three miles. Should this guess prove well founded, we should have to scan with renewed care the allusions in our stories to Llydaw, and not assume that they always refer us to Brittany. That the name Llydaw did on occasion refer to the region of Llyn Syfadon admits of indirect proof as follows:--The church of Llangorse on its banks is dedicated to a Saint Paulinus, after whom also is called Capel Peulin, in the upper course of the Towy, adjacent to the Cardiganshire parish of Llandewi Brefi. Moreover, tradition makes Paulinus attend a synod in 519 at Llandewi Brefi, where St. David distinguished himself by his preaching against Pelagianism. Paulinus was then an old man, and St. David had been one of his pupils at the Ty Gwyn, 'Whitland,' on the Taf, where Paulinus had established a religious house [128]; and some five miles up a tributary brook of the Taf is the church of Llandysilio, where an ancient inscription mentions a Paulinus. These two places, Whitland and Llandysilio, were probably in the cymwd of Peuliniog, which is called after a Paulinus, and through which we have just followed the hunt of Twrch Trwyth (p. 512). Now the inscription to which I have referred reads [129], with ligatures:-- CLVTORIGI FILI PAVLINI MARINILATIO This probably means '(the Monument) of Clutorix, son of Paulinus from Latium in the Marsh'; unless one ought rather to treat Marini as an epithet to Paulini. In either case Latio has probably to be construed 'of or from Latium': compare a Roman inscription found at Bath (Hübner's No. 48), which begins with C. Murrius. | C. F. Arniensis | Foro. Iuli. Modestus [130], and makes in English, according to Mr. Haverfield, 'Gaius Murrius Modestus, son of Gaius, of the tribe Arniensis, of the town Forum Iulii.' The easiest way to explain the last line as a whole is probably to treat it as a compound with the qualifying word deriving its meaning, not from mare, 'the sea,' but from the Late Latin mara, 'a marsh or bog.' Thus Marini-Latium would mean 'Marshy Latium,' to distinguish it from Latium in Italy, and from Letha or Llydaw in the sense of Brittany, which was analogously termed in Medieval Irish Armuirc Letha [131], that is the Armorica of Letha. This is borne out by the name of the church of Paulinus, which is in Welsh Llan y Gors, anglicized Llangorse, 'the Church of the Marsh or Bog,' and that is exactly the meaning of the name given it in the Taxatio of Pope Nicholas, which is that of Ecclesia de Mara. In other terms, we have in the qualified Latium of the inscription the Latium or Letha which came to be called in Welsh Llydaw. It is, in my opinion, from that settlement as their head quarters, that the Men of Llydaw sallied forth to take part in the hunt in Ystrad Yw, where the boar Llwydog was killed. The idea that the story of Twrch Trwyth was more or less topographical is not a new one. Lady Charlotte Guest, in her Mabinogion, ii. 363-5, traces the hunt through several places called after Arthur, such as Buarth Arthur, 'Arthur's Cattle-pen,' and Bwrd Arthur, 'Arthur's Table,' besides others more miscellaneously named, such as Twyn y Moch, 'the Swine's Hill,' near the source of the Amman, and Llwyn y Moch, 'the Swine's Grove,' near the foot of the same eminence. But one of the most remarkable statements in her note is the following:--'Another singular coincidence may be traced between the name of a brook in this neighbourhood, called Echel, and the Echel Fordwyttwll who is recorded in the tale as having been slain at this period of the chase.' I have been unable to discover any clue to a brook called Echel, but one called Egel occurs in the right place; so I take it that Lady Charlotte Guest's informants tacitly identified the name with that of Echel. Substantially they were probably correct, as the Egel, called Ecel in the dialect of the district, flows into the upper Clydach, which in its turn falls into the Tawe near Pont ar Dawe. As the next pool mentioned is Llwch Tawe, I presume it was some water or other which drained into the Tawe in this same neighbourhood. The relative positions of Llwch Ewin, the Egel, and Llwch Tawe as indicated above offer no apparent difficulty. The Goidelic name underlying that of Echel was probably some such a one as Eccel or Ecell; and Ecell occurs, for instance, in the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 80b, as the name of a noble or prince. In rendering this name into Welsh as Echel, due regard was had for the etymological equivalence of Goidelic cc or c to Welsh ch, but the unbroken oral tradition of a people changing its language by degrees from Goidelic to Welsh was subject to no such influence, especially in the matter of local names; so the one here in question passed into Welsh as Eccel, liable only to be modified into Egel. In any case, one may assume that the death of the hero Echel was introduced to account for the name of the brook Egel. Indications of something similar in the linguistic sense occur in the part of the narrative relating the death of Grugyn, at Garth Grugyn. This boar is pursued by two huntsmen called Eli and Trachmyr, the name of the former of whom reminds one of Garth Eli, in the parish of Llandewi Brefi. Possibly the original story located at Garth Eli the death of Eli, or some other incident in which Grugyn was concerned; but the difficulty here is that the exact position of Garth Grugyn is still uncertain. Lastly, our information as to the hunting of Twrch Trwyth is not exclusively derived from the Kulhwch, for besides an extremely obscure poem about the Twrch in the Book of Aneurin, a manuscript of the thirteenth century, we have one item given in the Mirabilia associated with the Historia Brittonum of Nennius, § 73, and this carries us back to the eighth century. It reads as follows:-- Est aliud mirabile in regione quæ dicitur Buelt. Est ibi cumulus lapidum, et unus lapis superpositus super congestum, cum vestigio canis in eo. Quando venatus est porcum Troit, impressit Cabal, qui erat canis Arthuri militis, vestigium in lapide, et Arthur postea congregavit congestum lapidum sub lapide in quo erat vestigium canis sui, et vocatur Carn Cabal. Et veniunt homines et tollunt lapidem in manibus suis per spacium diei et noctis, et in crastino die invenitur super congestum suum. 'Another wonder there is in the district called Buallt: there is there a heap of stones, and one stone is placed on the top of the pile with the footmark of a dog in it. Cafall, the dog of the warrior Arthur, when chasing the pig Trwyd printed the mark of his foot on it, and Arthur afterwards collected a heap of stones underneath the stone in which was the footmark of his dog, and it is called Cafall's Cairn. And men come and take the stone away in their hands for the space of a day and a night, and on the following day the stone is found on the top of its heap [132].' Lady Charlotte Guest, in a note to the Kulhwch story in her Mabinogion, ii. 360, appears to have been astonished to find that Carn Cavall, as she writes it, was no fabulous mound but an actual 'mountain in the district of Builth, to the south of Rhayader Gwy, and within sight of that town.' She went so far as to persuade one of her friends to visit the summit, and he begins his account of it to her with the words: 'Carn Cavall, or as it is generally pronounced Corn Cavall, is a lofty and rugged mountain.' On one of the cairns on the mountain he discovered what may have been the very stone to which the Mirabilia story refers; but the sketch with which he accompanied his communication cannot be said to be convincing, and he must have been drawing on his imagination when he spoke of this somewhat high hill as a lofty mountain. Moreover his account of its name only goes just far enough to be misleading: the name as pronounced in the neighbourhood of Rhayader is Corn Gafallt by Welsh-speaking people, and Corn Gavalt by monoglot Englishmen. So it is probable that at one time the pronunciation was Carn Gavall [133]. But to return to the incident recorded by Nennius, one has to remark that it does not occur in the Kulhwch; nor, seeing the position of the hill, can it have been visited by Arthur or his dog in the course of the Twrch Trwyth hunt as described by the redactor of the story in its present form. This suggests the reflection not only that the Twrch story is very old, but that it was put together by selecting certain incidents out of an indefinite number, which, taken all together, would probably have formed a network covering the whole of South Wales as far north as the boundary of the portion of Mid-Wales occupied by the Brythons before the Roman occupation. In other words, the Goidels of this country had stories current among them to explain the names of the places with which they were familiar; and it is known that was the case with the Goidels of Ireland. Witness the place-name legends known in Medieval Irish as Dindsenchas, with which the old literature of Ireland abounds. On what principle the narrator of the Kulhwch made his selection from the repertoire I cannot say; but one cannot help seeing that he takes little interest in the details, and that he shows still less insight into the etymological motif of the incidents which he mentions. However, this should be laid mainly to the charge, perhaps, of the early medieval redactor. Among the reasons which have been suggested for the latter overlooking and effacing the play on the place-names, I have hinted that he did not always understand them, as they sometimes involved a language which may not have been his. This raises the question of translation: if the story was originally in Goidelic, what was the process by which it passed into Brythonic? Two answers suggest themselves, and the first comes to this: if the story was in writing, we may suppose a literary man to have sat down to translate it word for word from Goidelic to Brythonic, or else to adapt it in a looser fashion. In either case, one should suppose him a master of both languages, and capable of doing justice to the play on the place-names. But it is readily conceivable that the fact of his understanding both languages might lead him to miscalculate what was exactly necessary to enable a monoglot Brython to grasp his meaning clearly. Moreover, if the translator had ideas of his own as to style, he might object on principle to anything like an explanation of words being interpolated in the narrative. In short, one could see several loopholes through which a little confusion might force itself in, and prevent the monoglot reader or hearer of the translation from correctly grasping the story at all points as it was in the original. The other view, and the more natural one, as I think, is that we should postulate the interference of no special translator, but suppose the story, or rather a congeries of stories, to have been current among the natives of a certain part of South Wales, say the Loughor Valley, at a time when their language was still Goidelic, and that, as they gradually gave up Goidelic and adopted Brythonic, they retained their stories and translated the narrative, while they did not always translate the place-names occurring in that narrative. Thus, for instance, would arise the discrepancy between banw and Amanw, the latter of which to be Welsh should have been rendered y Banw, 'the Boar.' If this is approximately what took place, it is easy to conceive the possibility of many points of nicety being completely effaced in the course of such a rough process of transformation. In one or two small matters it happens that we can contrast the community as translator with the literary individual at work: I allude to the word Trwyth. That vocable was not translated, not metaphoned, if I may so term it, at all at the time: it passed, when it was still Treth-i, from Goidelic into Brythonic, and continued in use without a break; for the changes whereby Treth-i has become Trwyth have been such as other words have undergone in the course of ages, as already stated. On the other hand, the literary man who knew something of the two languages seems to have reasoned, that where a Goidelic th occurred between vowels, the correct etymological equivalent in Brythonic was t, subject to be mutated to d. So when he took the name over he metaphoned Treth-i into Tret-i, whence we have the Porcus Troit of Nennius, and Twrch Trwyd [134] in Welsh poetry: these Troit and Trwyd were the literary forms as contrasted with the popular Trwyth. Now, if my surmises as to Echel and Egel are near the truth, their history must be similar; that is to say, Echel would be the literary form and Ecel, Egel the popular one respectively of the Goidelic Ecell. A third parallel offers itself in the case of the personal name Arwyli, borne by one of Echel's companions: the Arwyl of that name has its etymological equivalent in the Arwystl- of Arwystli, the name of a district comprising the eastern slopes of Plinlimmon, and represented now by the Deanery of Arwystli. So Arwystli challenges comparison with the Irish Airgialla or Airgéill, anglicized Oriel, which denotes, roughly speaking, the modern counties of Armagh, Louth, and Monaghan. For here we have the same prefix ar placed in front of one and the same vocable, which in Welsh is gwystl, 'a hostage,' and in Irish giall, of the same meaning and origin. The reader will at once think of the same word in German as geisel, 'a hostage,' Old High German gisal. But the divergence of sound between Arwystl-i and Arwyl-i arises out of the difference of treatment of sl in Welsh and Irish. In the Brythonic district of Mid-Wales we have Arwystli with sl treated in the Brythonic way, while in Arwyli we have the combination treated in the Goidelic way, the result being left standing when the speakers of Goidelic in South Wales learnt Brythonic [135]. Careful observation may be expected to add to the number of these instructive instances. It is, however, not to be supposed that all double forms of the names in these stories are to be explained in exactly the same way. Thus, for instance, corresponding to Lug, genitive Loga, we have the two forms Lleu and Llew, of which the former alone matches the Irish. But it is to be observed that Lleu remains in some verses [136] in the story of Math, whereas in the prose he appears to be called Llew. It is not improbable that the editing which introduced Llew dates comparatively late, and that it was done by a man who was not familiar with the Venedotian place-names of which Lleu formed part, namely, Dinlleu and Nantlleu, now Dinlle and Nantlle. Similarly the two brothers, Gofannon and Amaethon, as they are called in the Mabinogi of Math and in the Kulhwch story, are found also called Gofynyon and Amathaon. The former agrees with the Irish form Goibniu, genitive Goibnenn, whereas Gofannon does not. As to Amaethon or Amathaon the Irish counterpart has, unfortunately, not been identified. Gofannon and Amaethon have the appearance of being etymologically transparent in Welsh, and they have probably been remodelled by the hand of a literary redactor. There were also two forms of the name of Manawydan in Welsh; for by the side of that there was another, namely, Manawydan, liable to be shortened to Manawyd: both occur in old Welsh poetry [137]. But manawyd or mynawyd is the Welsh word for an awl, which is significant here, as the Mabinogi called after Manawydan makes him become a shoemaker on two occasions, whence the Triads style him one of the Three golden Shoemakers of the Isle of Prydain: see the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 308. What has happened in the way of linguistic change in one of our stories, the Kulhwch, may have happened in others, say in the four branches of the Mabinogi, namely, Pwyll, prince of Dyved; Branwen, daughter of Llyr; Math, son of Mathonwy; and Manawydan, son of Llyr. Some time ago I endeavoured to show that the principal characters in the Mabinogi of Math, namely, the sons and daughters of Dôn, are to be identified as a group with the Tuatha Dé Danann, 'Tribes of the Goddess Danu or Donu,' of Irish legend. I called attention to the identity of our Welsh Dôn with the Irish Donu, genitive Donann, Gofynion or Gofannon with Goibniu, genitive Goibnenn, and of Lleu or Llew with Lug. Since then Professor Zimmer has gone further, and suggested that the Mabinogion are of Irish origin; but that I cannot quite admit. They are of Goidelic origin, but they do not come from the Irish or the Goidels of Ireland: they come rather, as I think, from this country's Goidels, who never migrated to the sister island, but remained here eventually to adopt Brythonic speech. There is no objection, however, so far as this argument is concerned, to their being regarded as this country's Goidels descended either from native Goidels or from early Goidelic invaders from Ireland, or else partly from the one origin and partly from the other. This last is perhaps the safest view to accept as a working hypothesis. Now Professor Zimmer fixes on that of Mathonwy, among other names, as probably the Welsh adaptation of some such an Irish name as the genitive Mathgamnai [138], now anglicized Mahony. This I am also prepared to accept in the sense that the Welsh form is a loan from a Goidelic one current some time or other in this country, and represented in Irish by Mathgamnai. The preservation of Goidelic th in Mathonwy stamps it as ranking with Trwyth, Egel, and Arwyli, as contrasted with a form etymologically more correct, of which we seem to have an echo in the Breton names Madganoe and Madgone [139]. Another name which I am inclined to regard as brought in from Goidelic is that of Gilvaethwy, son of Dôn: it would seem to involve some such a word as the Irish gilla, 'a youth, an attendant or servant,' and some form of the Goidelic name Maughteus or Mochta, so that the name Gilla-mochtai meant the attendant of Mochta. This last vocable appears in Irish as the name of several saints, but previously it was probably that of some pagan god of the Goidels, and its meaning was most likely the same as that of the Irish participial mochta, which Stokes explains as 'magnified, glorified': see his Calendar of Oengus, p. ccxiv, and compare the name Mael-mochta. Adamnan, in his Vita S. Columbæ, writes the name Maucteus in the following passage, pref. ii. p. 6:-- Nam quidam proselytus Brito, homo sanctus, sancti Patricii episcopi discipulus, Maucteus nomine, ita de nostro prophetizavit Patrono, sicuti nobis ab antiquis traditum expertis compertum habetur. This saint, who is said to have prophesied of St. Columba and died in the year 534, is described in his Life (Aug. 19) as ortus ex Britannia [140], which, coupled with Adamnan's Brito, probably refers him to Wales; but it is remarkable that nevertheless he bore the very un-Brythonic name of Mochta or Mauchta [141]. To return to the Mabinogion: I have long been inclined to identify Llwyd, son of Kilcoed, with the Irish Liath, son of Celtchar, of Cualu in the present county of Wicklow. Liath, whose name means 'grey,' is described as the comeliest youth of noble rank among the fairies of Erin; and the only time the Welsh Llwyd, whose name also means 'grey,' appears in the Mabinogion he is ascribed, not the comeliest figure, it is true, or the greatest personal beauty, but the most imposing disguise of a bishop attended by his suite: he was a great magician. The name of his father, Kil-coet, seems to me merely an inexact popular rendering of Celtchar, the name of Liath's father: at any rate one fails here to detect the touch of the skilled translator or literary redactor. [142] But the Mabinogi of Manawydan, in which Llwyd figures, is also the one in which Pryderi king of Dyfed's wife is called Kicua or Cigfa, a name which has no claim to be regarded as Brythonic. It occurs early, however, in the legendary history of Ireland: the Four Masters, under the year A.M. 2520, mention a Ciocbha as wife of a son of Parthalon; and the name seems to be related to that of a man called Cioccal, A.M. 2530. Lastly, Manawydan, from whom the Mabinogi takes its name, is called mab Llyr, 'son of Llyr,' in Welsh, and Manannán mac Lir in Irish. Similarly with his brother Brân, and his sister Branwen, except that she has not been identified in Irish story. But in Irish literature the genitive Lir, as in mac Lir, 'son of Ler,' is so common, and the nominative so rare, that Lir came to be treated in late Irish as the nominative too; but a genitive of the form Lir suggests a nominative-accusative Ler, and as a matter of fact it occurs, for instance, in the couplet:-- Fer co n-ilur gnim dar ler Labraid Luath Lam ar Claideb [143]. A man of many feats beyond sea, Labraid swift of Hand on Sword is he. So it seems probable that the Welsh Llyr [144] is no other word than the Goidelic genitive Lir, retained in use with its pronunciation modified according to the habits of the Welsh language; and in that case [145] it forms comprehensive evidence, that the stories about the Llyr family in Welsh legend were Goidelic before they put on a Brythonic garb. As to the Mabinogion generally, one may say that they are devoted to the fortunes chiefly of three powerful houses or groups, the children of Dôn, the children of Llyr, and Pwyll's family. This last is brought into contact with the Llyr group, which takes practically the position of superiority. Pwyll's family belonged chiefly to Dyfed; but the power and influence of the sons of Llyr had a far wider range: we find them in Anglesey, at Harlech, in Gwales or the Isle of Grasholm off Pembrokeshire, at Aber Henvelen somewhere south of the Severn Sea, and in Ireland. But the expedition to Ireland under Brân, usually called Bendigeituran, 'Brân [146] the Blessed,' proved so disastrous that the Llyr group, as a whole, disappears, making way for the children of Dôn. These last came into collision with Pwyll's son, Pryderi, in whose country Manawydan, son of Llyr, had ended his days. Pryderi, in consequence of Gwydion's deceit (pp. 69, 501, 525), makes war on Math and the children of Dôn: he falls in it, and his army gives hostages to Math. Thus after the disappearance of the sons of Llyr, the children of Dôn are found in power in their stead in North Wales [147], and that state of things corresponds closely enough to the relation between the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Lir family in Irish legend. There Lir and his family are reckoned in the number of the Tuatha Dé Danann, but within that community Lir was so powerful that it was considered but natural that he should resent a rival candidate being elected king in preference to him. So the Tuatha Dé took pains to conciliate Lir, as did also their king, who gave his daughter to Lir to wife, and when she died he gave him another of his daughters [148]; and with the treatment of her stepchildren by that deceased wife's sister begins one of the three Sorrowful Tales of Erin, known to English readers as the Fate of the Children of Lir. But the reader should observe the relative position: the Tuatha Dé remain in power, while the children of Lir belong to the past, which is also the sequence in the Mabinogion. Possibly this is not to be considered as having any significance, but it is to be borne in mind that the Lir-Llyr group is strikingly elemental in its patronymic Lir, Llyr. The nominative, as already stated, was ler, 'sea,' and so Cormac renders mac Lir by filius maris. How far we may venture to consider the sea to have been personified in this context, and how early, it is impossible to say. In any case it is deserving of notice that one group of Goidels to this day do not say mac Lir, 'son of Lir,' filium maris, but always 'son of the lir': I allude to the Gaels of the Isle of Man, in whose language Manannán mac Lir is always Mannanan mac y Lir, or as they spell it, Lear; that is to say 'Mannanan, son of the ler.' Manxmen have been used to consider Manannan their eponymous hero, and first king of their island: they call him more familiarly Mannanan beg mac y Lear, 'Little Mannanan, son of the ler'. This we may, though no Manxman of the present day attaches any meaning to the word lir or lear, interpreted as 'Little Mannanan, son of the Sea.' The wanderings at large of the children of Lir before being eclipsed by the Danann-Dôn group, remind one of the story of the labours of Hercules, where it relates that hero's adventures on his return from robbing Geryon of his cattle. Pomponius Mela, ii. 5 (p. 50), makes Hercules on that journey fight in the neighbourhood of Aries with two sons of Poseidon or Neptune, whom he calls (in the accusative) Albiona and Bergyon. To us, with our more adequate knowledge of geography, the locality and the men cannot appear the most congruous, but there can hardly be any mistake as to the two personal names being echoes of those of Albion and Iverion, Britain and Ireland. The whole cycle of the Mabinogion must have appeared strange to the story-teller and the poet of medieval Wales, and far removed from the world in which they lived. We have possibly a trace of this feeling in the epithet hên, 'old, ancient,' given to Math in a poem in the Red Book of Hergest, where we meet with the line [149]:-- Gan uath hen gan gouannon. With Math the ancient, with Gofannon. Similarly in the confused list of heroes which the story-teller of the Kulhwch (Mabinogion, p. 108) was able to put together, we seem to have Gofannon, Math's relative, referred to under the designation of Gouynyon Hen, 'Gofynion the Ancient.' To these might be added others, such as Gwrbothu Hên, mentioned above, p. 531, and from another source Lleu Hen [150], 'Llew the Ancient.' So strange, probably, and so obscure did some of the contents of the stories themselves seem to the story-tellers, that they may be now and then suspected of having effaced some of the features which it would have interested us to find preserved. This state of things brings back to my mind words of Matthew Arnold's, to which I had the pleasure of listening more years ago than I care to remember. He was lecturing at Oxford on Celtic literature, and observing 'how evidently the mediæval story-teller is pillaging an antiquity of which he does not fully possess the secret; he is like a peasant,' Matthew Arnold went on to say, 'building his hut on the site of Halicarnassus or Ephesus; he builds, but what he builds is full of materials of which he knows not the history, or knows by a glimmering tradition merely--stones "not of this building," but of an older architecture, greater, cunninger, more majestical. In the mediæval stories of no Latin or Teutonic people does this strike one as in those of the Welsh.' This becomes intelligible only on the theory of the stories having been in Goidelic before they put on a Welsh dress. When saying that the Mabinogion and some of the stories contained in the Kulhwch, such as the Hunting of Twrch Trwyth, were Goidelic before they became Brythonic, I wish to be understood to use the word Goidelic in a qualified sense. For till the Brythons came, the Goidels were, I take it, the ruling race in most of the southern half of Britain, with the natives as their subjects, except in so far as that statement has to be limited by the fact, that we do not know how far they and the natives had been amalgamating together. In any case, the hostile advent of another race, the Brythons, would probably tend to hasten the process of amalgamation. That being so, the stories which I have loosely called Goidelic may have been largely aboriginal in point of origin, and by that I mean native, pre-Celtic and non-Aryan. It comes to this, then: we cannot say for certain whose creation Brân, for instance, should be considered to have been--that of Goidels or of non-Aryan natives. He sat, as the Mabinogi of Branwen describes him, on the rock of Harlech, a figure too colossal for any house to contain or any ship to carry. This would seem to challenge comparison with Cernunnos, the squatting god of ancient Gaul, around whom the other gods appear as mere striplings, as proved by the monumental representations in point. In these [151] he sometimes appears antlered like a stag; sometimes he is provided either with three normal heads or with one head furnished with three faces; and sometimes he is reduced to a head provided with no body, which reminds one of Brân, who, when he had been rid of his body in consequence of a poisoned wound inflicted on him in his foot in the slaughter of the Meal-bag Pavilion, was reduced to the Urdawl Ben, 'Venerable or Dignified Head,' mentioned in the Mabinogi of Branwen [152]. The Mabinogi goes on to relate how Brân's companions began to enjoy, subject to certain conditions, his 'Venerable Head's' society, which involved banquets of a fabulous duration and of a nature not readily to be surpassed by those around the Holy Grail. In fact here we have beyond all doubt one of the heathen originals of which the Grail is a Christian version. But the multiplicity of faces or heads of the Gaulish divinity find their analogues in a direction hitherto unnoticed as far as I know, namely, among the Letto-Slavic peoples of the Baltic sea-board. Thus the image of Svatovit in the island of Rügen is said to have had four faces [153]; and the life of Otto of Bamberg relates [154] how that high-handed evangelist proceeded to convert the ancient Prussians to Christianity. Among other things we are told how he found at Stettin an idol called Triglaus, a word referring to the three heads for which the god was remarkable. The saint took possession of the image and hewed away the body, reserving for himself the three heads, which are represented adhering together, forming one piece. This he sent as a trophy to Rome, and in Rome it may be still. Were it perchance to be found, it might be expected to show a close resemblance to the tricephal of the Gaulish altar found at Beaune in Burgundy. Before closing this chapter a word may be permitted as to the Goidelic element in the history of Wales: it will come again before the reader in a later chapter, but what has already been advanced or implied concerning it may here be recapitulated as follows:-- It has been suggested that the hereditary dislike of the Brython for the Goidel argues their having formerly lived in close proximity to one another: see p. 473 above. The tradition that the cave treasures of the Snowdon district belong by right to the Goidels, means that they were formerly supposed to have hidden them away when hard pressed by the Brythons: see pp. 471-2 above. The sundry instances of a pair of names for a single person or place, one Goidelic (Brythonicized) still in use, and the other Brythonic (suggested by the Goidelic one), literary mostly and obsolete, go to prove that the Goidels were not expelled, but allowed to remain to adopt Brythonic speech. Evidence of the indebtedness of story-tellers in Wales to their brethren of the same profession in Ireland is comparatively scarce; and almost in every instance of recent research establishing a connexion between topics or incidents in the Arthurian romances and the native literature of Ireland, the direct contact may be assumed to have been with the folklore and legend of the Goidelic inhabitants of Wales, whether before or after their change of language. Probably the folklore and mythology of the Goidels of Wales and of Ireland were in the mass much the same, though in some instances they reach us in different stages of development: thus in such a case as that of Dôn and Danu (genitive Danann) the Welsh allusions in point refer to Dôn at a conspicuously earlier stage of her rôle than that represented by the Irish literature touching the Tuatha Dé Danann [155]. The common point of view from which our ancestors liked to look at the scenery around them is well illustrated by the fondness of the Goidel, in Wales and Ireland alike, for incidents to explain his place-names. He required the topography--indeed he requires it still, and hence the activity of the local etymologist--to connote story or history: he must have something that will impart the cold light of physical nature, river and lake, moor and mountain, a warmer tint, a dash of the pathetic element, a touch of the human, borrowed from the light and shade of the world of imagination and fancy in which he lives and dreams. CHAPTER X DIFFICULTIES OF THE FOLKLORIST For priests, with prayers and other godly gear, Have made the merry goblins disappear; And, where they played their merry pranks before, Have sprinkled holy water on the floor.--Dryden. The attitude of the Kymry towards folklore and popular superstitions varies according to their training and religious views; and I distinguish two classes of them in this respect. First of all, there are those who appear to regret the ebb of the tide of ancient beliefs. They maintain that people must have been far more interesting when they believed in the fairies; and they rave against Sunday schools and all other schools for having undermined the ancient superstitions of the peasantry: it all comes, they say, of over-educating the working classes. Of course one may occasionally wish servant maids still believed that they might get presents from the fairies for being neat and tidy; and that, in the contrary case of their being sluts, they would be pinched black and blue during their sleep by the little people: there may have been some utility in beliefs of that kind. But, if one takes an impartial view of the surroundings in which this kind of mental condition was possible, no sane man could say that the superstitious beliefs of our ancestors conduced on the whole to their happiness. Fancy a state of mind in which this sort of thing is possible:--A member of the family is absent, let us say, from home in the evening an hour later than usual, and the whole household is thrown into a panic because they imagine that he has strayed on fairy ground, and has been spirited away to the land of fairy twilight, whence he may never return; or at any rate only to visit his home years, or maybe ages, afterwards, and then only to fall into a heap of dust just as he has found out that nobody expects or even knows him. Or take another instance:--A man sets out in the morning on an important journey, but he happens to sneeze, or he sees an ill-omened bird, or some other dreaded creature, crossing his path: he expects nothing that day but misfortune, and the feeling of alarm possibly makes him turn back home, allowing the object of his journey to be sacrificed. That was not a satisfactory state of things or a happy one, and the unhappiness might be wholly produced by causes over which the patient had absolutely no control, so long at any rate as the birds of the air have wings, and so long as sneezing does not belong to the category of voluntary actions. Then I might point to the terrors of magic; but I take it to be unnecessary to dwell on such things, as most people have heard about them or read of them in books. On the whole it is but charitable to suppose that those who regret the passing away of the ages of belief and credulity have not seriously attempted to analyse the notions which they are pleased to cherish. Now, as to the other class of people, namely, those who object to folklore in every shape and form, they may be roughly distinguished into different groups, such as those to whom folklore is an abomination, because they hold that it is opposed to the Bible, and those who regard it as too trivial to demand the attention of any serious person. I have no occasion for many words with the former, since nearly everything that is harmful in popular superstition has ceased in Wales to be a living force influencing one's conduct; or if this be not already the case, it is fast becoming so. Those therefore who condemn superstitions have really no reason to set their faces against the student of folklore: it would be just as if historians were to be boycotted because they have, in writing history--frequently, the more the pity--to deal with dark intrigues, cruel murders, and sanguinary wars. Besides, those who study folklore do not thereby help to strengthen the hold of superstition on the people. I have noticed that any local peculiarity of fashion, the moment it becomes known to attract the attention of strangers, is, one may say, doomed: a Celt, like anybody else, does not like to be photographed in a light which may perchance show him at a disadvantage. It is much the same, I think, with him as the subject of the studies of the folklorist: hence the latter has to proceed with his work very quietly and very warily. If, then, I pretended to be a folklorist, which I can hardly claim to be, I should say that I had absolutely no quarrel with him who condemns superstition on principle. On the other hand, I should not consider it fair of him to regard me as opposed to the progress of the race in happiness and civilization, just because I am curious to understand its history. With regard to him, however, who looks at the collecting and the studying of folklore as trivial work and a waste of time, I should gather that he regards it so on account, first perhaps, of his forgetting the reality their superstitions were to those who believed in them; and secondly, on account of his ignorance of their meaning. As a reality to those who believed in them, the superstitions of our ancestors form an integral part of their history. However, I need not follow that topic further by trying to show how 'the proper study of mankind is man,' and how it is a mark of an uncultured people not to know or care to know about the history of the race. So the ancient Roman historian, Tacitus, evidently thought; for, when complaining how little was known as to the original peopling of Britain, he adds the suggestive words ut inter barbaros, 'as usual among barbarians.' Conversely, I take it for granted that no liberally educated man or woman of the present day requires to be instructed as to the value of the study of history in all its aspects, or to be told that folklore cannot be justly called trivial, seeing that it has to do with the history of the race--in a wider sense, I may say with the history of the human mind and the record of its development. As history has been mentioned, it may be here pointed out that one of the greatest of the folklorist's difficulties is that of drawing the line between story and history. Nor is that the worst of it; for the question as between fact and fiction, hard as it is in itself, is apt to be further complicated by questions of ethnology. This may be illustrated by reference to a group of legends which project a vanishing distinction between the two kindred races of Brythons and Goidels in Wales; and into the story of some of them Arthur is introduced playing a principal rôle. They seem to point to a time when the Goidels had as yet wholly lost neither their own language nor their own institutions in North Wales: for the legends belong chiefly to Gwyned, and cluster especially around Snowdon, where the characteristics of the Goidel as the earlier Celt may well have lingered latest, thanks to the comparatively inaccessible nature of the country. One of these legends has already been summarized as representing Arthur marching up the side of Snowdon towards Bwlch y Saethau, where he falls and is buried under a cairn named from him Carned Arthur: see p. 473. We are not told who his enemies were; but with this question has usually been associated the late Triad, iii. 20, which alludes to Arthur meeting in Nanhwynain with Medrawd or Medrod (Modred) and Idawc Corn Prydain, and to his being betrayed, for the benefit and security of the Saxons in the island. An earlier reference to the same story occurs in the Dream of Rhonabwy in the Red Book of Hergest [156], in which Idawc describes himself as Idawc son of Mynio, and as nicknamed Idawc Cord Prydain--which means 'Idawc the Churn-staff of Prydain'--in reference presumably to his activity in creating dissension. He confesses to having falsified the friendly messages of Arthur to Medrod, and to succeeding thereby in bringing on the fatal battle of Camlan, from which Idawc himself escaped to do penance for seven years on the Llech Las, 'Grey Stone [157],' in Prydain or Pictland. Another story brings Arthur and the giant Rhita into collision, the latter of whom has already been mentioned as having, according to local tradition, his grave on the top of Snowdon: see pp. 474-9. The story is a very wild one. Two kings who were brothers, Nyniaw or Nynio and Peibiaw or Peibio, quarrelled thus: one moonlight night, as they were together in the open air, Nynio said to Peibio, 'See, what a fine extensive field I possess.' 'Where is it?' asked Peibio. 'There it is,' said Nynio, 'the whole firmament.' 'See,' said Peibio, 'what innumerable herds of cattle and sheep I have grazing in thy field.' 'Where are they?' asked Nynio. 'There they are,' said Peibio, 'the whole host of stars that thou seest, each of golden brightness, with the moon shepherding them.' 'They shall not graze in my field,' said Nynio. 'But they shall,' said Peibio; and the two kings got so enraged with one another, that they began a war in which their warriors and subjects were nearly exterminated. Then comes Rhita Gawr, king of Wales, and attacks them on the dangerous ground of their being mad. He conquered them and shaved off their beards [158]; but when the other kings of Prydain, twenty-eight in number, heard of it, they collected all their armies together to avenge themselves on Rhita for the disgrace to which he had subjected the other two. But after a great struggle Rhita conquers again, and has the beards of the other kings shaved. Then the kings of neighbouring kingdoms in all directions combined to make war on Rhita to avenge the disgrace to their order; but they were also vanquished forthwith, and treated in the same ignominious fashion as the thirty kings of Prydain. With the beards he had a mantle made to cover him from head to foot, and that was a good deal, we are told, since he was as big as two ordinary men. Then Rhita turned his attention to the establishment of just and equitable laws as between king and king and one realm with another [159]. But the sequel to the shaving is related by Geoffrey of Monmouth, x. 3, where Arthur is made to tell how the giant, after destroying the other kings and using their beards in the way mentioned, asked him for his beard to fix above the other beards, as he stood above them in rank, or else to come and fight a duel with him. Arthur, as might be expected, chose the latter course, with the result that he slew Rhita, there called Ritho, at a place said to be in Aravio Monte, by which the Welsh translator understood the chief mountain of Eryri [160] or Snowdon. So it is but natural that his grave should also be there, as already mentioned. I may here add that it is the name Snowdon itself, probably, that underlies the Senaudon or Sinadoun of such Arthurian romances as the English version of Libeaus Desconus, though the place meant has been variously supposed to be situated elsewhere than in the Snowdon district: witness Sinodun Hill in Berkshire [161]. The story of Rhita is told also by Malory, who calls that giant Ryons and Ryence; and there the incident seems to end with Ryons being led to Arthur's court by knights who had overcome him. Ryons' challenge, as given by Malory [162], runs thus:-- 'This meane whyle came a messager from kynge Ryons of Northwalys. And kynge he was of all Ireland and of many Iles. And this was his message gretynge wel kynge Arthur in this manere wyse sayenge . that kynge Ryons had discomfyte and ouercome xj kynges . and eueryche of hem did hym homage . and that was this . they gaf hym their berdys clene flayne of . as moche as ther was . wherfor the messager came for kyng Arthurs berd. For kyng Ryons had purfyled a mantel with kynges berdes . and there lacked one place of the mantel . wherfor he sente for his berd or els he wold entre in to his landes . and brenne and slee . & neuer leue tyl he haue the hede and the berd.' Rhita is not said, it is true, to have been a Gwydel, 'Goidel'; but he is represented ruling over Ireland, and his name, which is not Welsh, recalls at first sight those of such men as Boya the Pict or Scot figuring in the life of St. David, and such as Llia Gvitel, 'Llia the Goidel,' mentioned in the Stanzas of the Graves in the Black Book of Carmarthen as buried in the seclusion of Ardudwy [163]. Malory's Ryons is derived from the French Romances, where, as for example in the Merlin, according to the Huth MS., it occurs as Rion-s in the nominative, and Rion in régime. The latter, owing to the old French habit of eliding d or th, derives regularly enough from such a form as the accusative Rithon-em [164], which is the one occurring in Geoffrey's text; and we should probably be right in concluding therefrom that the correct old Welsh form of the name was Rithon. But the Goidelic form was at the same time probably Ritta, with a genitive Rittann, for an earlier Ritton. Lastly, that the local legend should perpetuate the Goidelic Ritta slightly modified, has its parallel in the case of Trwyd and Trwyth, and of Echel and Egel or Ecel, pp. 541-2 and 536-7. The next story [165] points to a spot between y Dinas or Dinas Emrys and Llyn y Dinas as containing the grave of Owen y Mhacsen, that is to say, 'Owen son of Maxen.' Owen had been fighting with a giant--whose name local tradition takes for granted--with balls of steel; and there are depressions (panylau [166]) still to be seen in the ground where each of the combatants took his stand. Some, however, will have it that it was with bows and arrows they fought, and that the hollows are the places they dug to defend themselves. The result was that both died at the close of the conflict; and Owen, being asked where he wished to be buried, ordered an arrow to be shot into the air and his grave to be made where it fell. The story is similarly given in the Iolo MSS., pp. 81-2, where the combatants are called Owen Findu ab Macsen Wledig, 'Owen of the Dark Face, son of Prince Maxen,' and Eurnach Hen, 'E. the Ancient,' one of the Gwydyl or 'Goidels' of North Wales, and otherwise called Urnach Wydel. He is there represented as father (1) of the Serrigi defeated by Catwallawn or Cadwallon Law-hir, 'C. the Long-handed,' at Cerrig y Gwydyl, 'the Stones of the Goidels,' near Malldraeth [167], in Anglesey, where the great and final rout of the Goidels is represented as having taken place [168]; (2) of Daronwy, an infant spared and brought up in Anglesey to its detriment, as related in the other story, p. 504; and (3) of Solor, who commands one of the three cruising fleets of the Isle of Prydain [169]. The stronghold of Eurnach or Urnach is said to have been Dinas Ffaraon, which was afterwards called Din Emreis and Dinas Emrys. The whole story about the Goidels in North Wales, however, as given in the Iolo MSS., pp. 78-80, is a hopeless jumble, though it is probably based on old traditions. In fact, one detects Eurnach or Urnach as Wrnach or Gwrnach in the story of Kulhwch and Olwen [170] in the Red Book, where we are told that Kei or Cai, and others of Arthur's men, got into the giant's castle and cut off his head in order to secure his sword, which was one of the things required for the hunting of Twrch Trwyth. In an obscure passage, also in a poem in the Black Book, we read of Cai fighting in the hall of this giant, who is then called Awarnach [171]. Some such a feat appears to have been commemorated in the place-name Gwryd Cai, 'Cai's Feat of Arms,' which occurs in Llewelyn's grant of certain lands on the Bedgelert and Pen Gwryd side of Snowdon in 1198 to the monks of Aberconwy, or rather in an inspeximus of the same: see Dugdale's Monasticon, v. 673a, where it stands printed gwryt, kei. Nor is it unreasonable to guess that Pen Gwryd is only a shortening of Pen Gwryd Cai, 'Cai's Feat Knoll or Terminus'; but compare p. 217 above. Before leaving Cai I may point out that tradition seems to ascribe to him as his residence the place called Caer Gai, 'Cai's Fort,' between Bala and Llanuwchllyn. If one may treat Cai as a historical man, one may perhaps suppose him, or some member of his family, commemorated by the vocable Burgocavi on an old stone found at Caer Gai, and said to read: Ic iacit Salvianus Burgocavi filius Cupitiani [172]--'Here lies Salvianus Burgocavis, son of Cupitianus.' The reader may also be referred back to such non-Brythonic and little known figures as Daronwy, Cathbalug, and Brynach, together perhaps with Mengwaed, the wolf-lord of Arllechwed, pp. 504-5. It is worth while calling attention likewise to Goidelic indications afforded by the topography of Eryri, to wit such cases as Bwlch Mwrchan or Mwlchan, 'Mwrchan's Pass,' sometimes made into Bwlch Mwyalchen or even Bwlch y Fwyalchen, 'the Ousel's Gap,' near Llyn Gwynain; the remarkable remains called Muriau'r Dre, 'the Town Walls'--otherwise known as Tre'r Gwydelod [173], 'the Goidels' town'--on the land of Gwastad Annas at the top of Nanhwynain; and Bwlch y Gwydel, still higher towards Pen Gwryd, may have meant the 'Goidel's Pass.' Probably a study of the topography on the spot would result in the identification of more names similarly significant; but I will call attention to only one of them, namely Bedgelert or, as it is locally pronounced, Bethgelart, though the older spellings of the name appear to be Beth Kellarth and Beth Kelert. Those who are acquainted with the story, as told there, of the man who rashly killed his hound might think that Bedgelert, 'Gelert or Kelert's Grave,' refers to the hound; but there is a complete lack of evidence to show this widely known story to have been associated with the neighbourhood by antiquity [174]; and the compiler of the notes and pedigrees known as Boned y Saint was probably right in treating Kelert as the name of an ancient saint: see the Myvyr. Arch., ii. 36. In any case, Kelert or Gelert with its rt cannot be a genuine Welsh name: the older spellings seem to indicate two pronunciations--a Goidelic one, Kelert, and a Welsh one, Kelarth or Kellarth, which has not survived. The documents, however, in which the name occurs require to be carefully examined for the readings which they supply. Lastly, from the Goidels of Arfon must not be too violently severed those of Mona, among whom we have found, pp. 504-5, the mysterious Cathbalug, whose name, still half unexplained, reminds one of such Irish ones as Cathbuadach, 'battle-victorious or conquering in war'; and to the same stratum belongs Daronwy, p. 504, which survives as the name of a farm in the parish of Llanfachreth. The Record of Carnarvon, p. 59, speaks both of a Molendinum de Darronwy et Cornewe, 'Mill of Daronwy [175] and Cornwy,' and of Villæ de Dorronwy et Kuwghdornok, 'Vills of Daronwy and of the Cnwch Dernog,' which has been mentioned as now pronounced Clwch Dernog, p. 457: it is situated in the adjoining parish of Llandeusant. The name is given in the same Record as Dernok, and is doubtless to be identified with the Ternóc not very uncommon in Irish hagiology. With these names the Record further associates a holding called Wele Conus, and Conus survives in Weun Gonnws, the name of a field on the farm of Bron Heulog, adjoining Clwch Dernog. That is not all, for Connws turns out to be the Welsh pronunciation of the Goidelic name Cunagussus, of which we have the Latinized genitive on the Bodfedan menhir, some distance north-east of the railway station of Ty Croes. It reads: CVNOGVSI HIC IACIT, 'Here lies (the body) of Cunagussus,' and involves a name which has regularly become in Irish Conghus, while the native Welsh equivalent would be Cynwst [176]. These names, and one [177] or two more which might be added to them, suggest a very Goidelic population as occupying, in the fifth or sixth century, the part of the island west of a line from Amlwch to Malldraeth. Lastly, the chronological indications of the crushing of the power of the Goidels, and the incipient merging of that people with the Brythons into a single nation of Kymry or 'Compatriots,' are worthy of a passing remark. We seem to find the process echoed in the Triads when they mention as a favourite at Arthur's Court the lord of Arllechwed, named Menwaed, who has been guessed, p. 507 above, to have been a Goidel. Then Serrigi and Daronwy are signalized as contemporaries of Cadwallon Law-hir, who inflicted on the former, according to the later legend, the great defeat of Cerrig y Gwydyl [178]. The name, however, of the leader of the Goidels arrayed against Cadwallon may be regarded as unknown, and Serrigi as a later name, probably of Norse origin, introduced from an account of a tenth century struggle with invaders from the Scandinavian kingdom of Dublin [179]. In this conqueror we have probably all that can be historical of the Caswallon of the Mabinogion of Branwen and Manawydan, that is, the Caswallon who ousts the Goidelic family of Llyr from power in this country, and makes Pryderi of Dyfed pay homage to him as supreme king of the island. His name has there undergone assimilation to that of Cassivellaunos, and he is furthermore represented as son of Beli, king of Prydain in the days of its independence, before the advent of the legions of Rome. But as a historical man we are to regard Caswallon probably as Cadwallon Law-hir, grandson of Cuneda and father of Maelgwn of Gwyned. Now Cuneda and his sons, according to Nennius (§ 62), expelled the Goidels with terrible slaughter; and one may say, with the Triads, which practically contradict Nennius' statement as to the Goidels being expelled, that Cuneda's grandson continued the struggle with them. In any case there were Goidels still there, for the Book of Taliessin seems to give evidence [180] of a persistent hostility, on the part of the Goidelic bards of Gwyned, to Maelgwn and the more Brythonic institutions which he may be regarded as representing. This brings the Goidelic element down to the sixth century [181]. Maelgwn's death took place, according to the oldest manuscript of the Annales Cambriæ, in the year 547, or ten years after the Battle of Camlan--in which, as it says, Arthur and Medrod fell. Now some of this is history and some is not: where is the line to be drawn? In any case, the attempt to answer that question could not be justly met with contempt or treated as trivial. The other cause, to which I suggested that contempt for folklore was probably to be traced, together with the difficulties springing therefrom to beset the folklorist's paths, is one's ignorance of the meaning of many of the superstitions of our ancestors. I do not wish this to be regarded as a charge of wilful ignorance; for one has frankly to confess that many old superstitions and superstitious practices are exceedingly hard to understand. So much so, that those who have most carefully studied them cannot always agree with one another in their interpretation. At first sight, some of the superstitions seem so silly and absurd, that one cannot wonder that those who have not gone deeply into the study of the human mind should think them trivial, foolish, or absurd. It is, however, not improbable that they are the results of early attempts to think out the mysteries of nature; and our difficulty is that the thinking was so infantile, comparatively speaking, that one finds it hard to put one's self back into the mental condition of early man. But it should be clearly understood that our difficulty in ascertaining the meaning of such superstitions is no proof whatsoever that they had no meaning. The chief initial difficulty, however, meeting any one who would collect folklore in Wales arises from the fact that various influences have conspired to laugh it out of court, so to say, so that those who are acquainted with superstitions and ancient fads become ashamed to own it: they have the fear of ridicule weighing on their minds, and that is a weight not easily removed. I can recall several instances: among others I may mention a lady who up to middle age believed implicitly in the existence of fairies, and was most anxious that her children should not wander away from home at any time when there happened to be a mist, lest the fairies should carry them away to their home beneath a neighbouring lake. In her later years, however, it was quite useless for a stranger to question her on these things: fairy lore had been so laughed out of countenance in the meantime, that at last she would not own, even to the members of her own family, that she remembered anything about the fairies. Another instance in point is supplied by the story of Castellmarch, and by my failure for a whole fortnight to elicit from the old blacksmith of Aber Soch the legend of March ab Meirchion with horse's ears. Of course I can readily understand the old man's shyness in repeating the story of March. Science, however, knows no such shyness, as it is her business to pry into everything and to discover, if possible, the why and wherefore of all things. In this context let me for a moment revert to the story of March, silly as it looks:--March was lord of Castellmarch in Lleyn, and he had horse's ears; so lest the secret should be known, every one who shaved him was killed forthwith; and in the spot where the bodies were buried there grew reeds, which a bard cut in order to provide himself with a pipe. The pipe when made would give no music but words meaning March has horse's ears! There are other forms of the story, but all substantially the same as that preserved for us by Llwyd (pp. 233-4), except that one of them resembles more closely the Irish version about to be summarized. It occurs in a manuscript in the Peniarth collection, and runs thus:--March had horse's ears, a fact known to nobody but his barber, who durst not make it known for fear of losing his head. But the barber fell ill, so that he had to call in a physician, who said that the patient was being killed by a secret; and he ordered him to tell it to the ground. The barber having done so became well again, and fine reeds grew on the spot. One day, as the time of a great feast was drawing nigh, certain of the pipers of Maelgwn Gwyned coming that way saw the reeds, some of which they cut and used for their pipes. By-and-by they had to perform before King March, when they could elicit from their pipes no strain but 'Horse's ears for March ab Meirchion' (klvstiav march i varch ab Meirchion). Hence arose the saying--'That is gone on horns and pipes' (vaeth hynny ar gyrn a ffibav), which was as much as to say that the secret is become more than public [182]. The story, it is almost needless to say, can be traced also in Cornwall and in Brittany [183]; and not only among the Brythonic peoples of those countries, but among the Goidels of Ireland likewise. The Irish story runs thus [184]:--Once on a time there was a king over Ireland whose name was Labraid Lorc, and this is the manner of man he was--he had two horse's ears on him. And every one who shaved the king used to be slain forthwith. Now the time of shaving him drew nigh one day, when the son of a widow in the neighbourhood was enjoined to do it. The widow went and besought the king that her son should not be slain, and he promised her that he would be spared if he would only keep his secret. So it came to pass; but the secret so disagreed with the widow's son that he fell ill, and nobody could divine the cause until a druid came by. He at once discovered that the youth was ill of an uncommunicated secret, and ordered him to go to the meeting of four roads. 'Let him,' said he, 'turn sunwise, and the first tree he meets on the right side let him tell the secret to it, and he will be well.' This you might think was quite safe, as it was a tree and not his mother, his sister, or his sweetheart; but you would be quite mistaken in thinking so. The tree to which the secret was told was a willow; and a famous Irish harper of that day, finding he wanted a new harp, came and cut the makings of a harp from that very tree; but when the harp was got ready and the harper proceeded to play on it, not a note could he elicit but 'Labraid Lorc has horse's ears!' As to the barber's complaint, that was by no means unnatural: it has often been noticed how a secret disagrees with some natures, and how uneasy and restless it makes them until they can out with it. The same thing also, in an aggravated form, occurs now and then to a public man who has prepared a speech in the dark recesses of his heart, but has to leave the meeting where he intended to have it out, without finding his opportunity. Our neighbours on the other side of the Channel have a technical term for that sort of sufferer: they say of him that he is malade d'un discours rentré, or ill of a speech which has gone into the patient's constitution, like the measles or the small-pox when it fails to come out. But to come back to the domain of folklore, I need only mention the love-lorn knights in Malory's Morte Darthur, who details their griefs in doleful strains to solitary fountains in the forests: it seems to have relieved them greatly, and it sometimes reached other ears than those of the wells. Now with regard to him of the equine ears, some one might thoughtlessly suggest, that, if it ever became a question of improving this kind of story, one should make the ears into those of an ass. As a matter of fact there was a Greek story of this kind, and in that story the man with the abnormal head was called Midas, and his ears were said to be those of an ass. The reader will find him figuring in most collections of Greek stories; so I need not pursue the matter further, except to remark that the exact kind of brute ears was possibly a question which different nations decided differently. At any rate Stokes mentions a Serbian version in which the ears were those of a goat. What will, however, occur to everybody to ask, is--What was the origin of such a story? what did it mean, if it had a meaning? Various attempts have been made to interpret this kind of story, but nobody, so far as I know, has found a sure key to its meaning. The best guess I can make has been suggested in a previous chapter, from which it will be seen that the horse fits the Welsh context, so to say, best, the goat less well, and the ass probably least of all: see pp. 433-9 above. Supposing, then, the interpretation of the story established for certain, the question of its origin would still remain. Did it originate among the Celts and the Greeks and other nations who relate it? or has it simply originated among one of those peoples and spread itself to the others? or else have they all inherited it from a common source? If we take the supposition that it originated independently among a variety of people in the distant past, then comes an interesting question as to the conditions under which it arose, and the psychological state of the human race in the distant past. On the other supposition one is forced to ask: Did the Celts get the story from the Greeks, or the Greeks from the Celts, or neither from either, but from a common source? Also when and how did the variations arise? In any case, one cannot help seeing that a story like the one I have instanced raises a variety of profoundly difficult and interesting questions. Hard as the folklorist may find it to extract tales and legends from the people of Wales at the present day, there is one thing which he finds far more irritating than the taciturnity of the peasant, and that is the hopeless fashion in which some of those who have written about Welsh folklore have deigned to record the stories which were known to them. Take as an instance the following, which occurs in Howells' Cambrian Superstitions, pp. 103-4:-- 'In Cardiganshire there is a lake, beneath which it is reported that a town lies buried; and in an arid summer, when the water is low, a wall, on which people may walk, extending across the lake is seen, and supposed to appertain to the inundated city or town; on one side is a gigantic rock, which appears to have been split, as there is a very extensive opening in it, which nearly divides it in twain, and which tradition relates was thus occasioned:--Once upon a time there was a person of the name of Pannog, who had two oxen, so large that their like was never known in any part of the world, and of whom it might be said, They ne'er will look upon their like again. It chanced one day that one of them (and it appears that they were not endued with a quantum of sense proportionate to their bulk) was grazing near a precipice opposite the rock, and whether it was his desire to commit suicide, or to cool his body by laving in the lake below, one knows not, but certain it is that down he plunged, and was never seen more: his partner searching for him a short time after, and not perceiving any signs of his approach, bellowed almost as loud as the Father of the Gods, who when he spake "Earth to his centre shook"; however, the sound of his bleating [sic] split the opposite rock, which from the circumstance is called Uchain Pannog (Pannog's Oxen). These oxen were said to be two persons, called in Wales, Nyniaf and Phebiaf, whom God turned into beasts for their sins. Here it is clear that Mr. Howells found a portion, if not the whole, of his story in Welsh, taken partly from the Kulhwch story, and apparently in the old spelling; for his own acquaintance with the language did not enable him to translate Nynnya6 a pheiba6 into 'Nynio and Peibio.' The slenderness of his knowledge of Welsh is otherwise proved throughout his book, especially by the way in which he spells Welsh words: in fact one need not go beyond this very story with its Uchain Pannog. But when he had ascertained that the lake was in Cardiganshire he might have gone a little further and have told his readers which lake it was. It is not one of the lakes which I happen to know in the north of the county--Llyn Llygad y Rheidol on Plinlimmon, or the lake on Moel y Llyn to the north of Cwm Ceulan, or either of the Iwan Lakes which drain into the Merin (or Meri), a tributary of the Mynach, which flows under Pont ar Fynach, called in English the Devil's Bridge. From inquiry I cannot find either that it is any one of the pools in the east of the county, such as those of the Teifi, or Llyn Ferwyn, not far from the gorge known as Cwm Berwyn, mentioned in Edward Richards' well known lines, p. 43:-- Mae'n bwrw' 'Nghwm Berwyn a'r cysgod yn estyn, Gwna heno fy mwthyn yn derfyn dy daith. It rains in Cwm Berwyn, the shadows are growing, To-night make my cabin the end of thy journey. There is, it is true, a pool at a place called Maes y Llyn in the neighbourhood of Tregaron, as to which there is a tradition that a village once occupied the place of its waters: otherwise it shows no similarity to the lake of Howells' story. Then there is a group of lakes in which the river Aeron takes its rise: they are called Llyn Eidwen, Llyn Fanod, and Llyn Farch. As to Llyn Eidwen, I had it years ago that at one time there was a story current concerning 'wild cattle,' which used to come out of its waters and rush back into them when disturbed. In the middle of this piece of water, which has a rock on one side of it, is a small island with a modern building on it; and one would like to know whether it shows any traces of early occupation. Then as to Llyn Farch, there is a story going that there came out of it once on a time a wonderful animal, which was shot by a neighbouring farmer. Lastly, at Llyn Fanod there are boundary walls which go right out into the lake; and my informant thinks the same is the case with Llyn Eidwen [185]. One of these walls is probably what in Howells' youthful hands developed itself into a causeway. The other part of his story, referring to the lowing of the Bannog Oxen, comes from a well known doggerel which runs thus:-- Llan Dewi Frefi fraith [186], Lle brefod yr ych naw gwaith, Nes hollti craig y Foelallt. Llandewi of Brefi the spotted, Where bellowed the ox nine times, Till the Foelallt rock split in two. Brefi is the name of the river from which this Llandewi takes its distinctive name; and it is pronounced there much the same as brefu, 'the act of lowing, bellowing, or bleating.' Now the Brefi runs down through the Foelallt Farm, which lies between two very big rocks popularly fancied to have been once united, and treated by Howells, somewhat inconsistently, as the permanent forms taken by the two oxen. The story which Howells seems to have jumbled up with that of one or more lake legends, is to be found given in Samuel Rush Meyrick's County of Cardigan: see pp. 265-6, where one reads of a wild tradition that when the church was building there were two oxen to draw the stone required; and one of the two died in the effort to drag the load, while the other bellowed nine times and thereby split the hill, which before presented itself as an obstacle. The single ox was then able to bring the load unassisted to the site of the church. It is to this story that the doggerel already given refers; and, curiously enough, most of the district between Llandewi and Ystrad Fflur, or Strata Florida, is more or less associated with the Ychen Bannog. Thus a ridge running east and west at a distance of some three miles from Tregaron, and separating Upper and Lower Caron from one another, bears the name of Cwys yr Ychen Bannog, or the Furrow of the Ychen Bannog. It somewhat resembles in appearance an ancient dyke, but it is said to be nothing but 'a long bank of glacial till [187].' Moreover there used to be preserved within the church of Llandewi a remarkable fragment of a horn commonly called Madcorn yr Ych Bannog, 'the mabcorn or core of the Bannog Ox's Horn.' It is now in the possession of Mr. Parry of Llidiardau, near Aberystwyth; and it has been pronounced by Prof. Boyd Dawkins to have belonged to 'the great urus (Bos Primigenius), that Charlemagne hunted in the forests of Aachen, and the monks of St. Galle ate on their feast days.' He adds that the condition of the horn proves it to have been derived from a peat bog or alluvium [188]. On the whole, it seems to me probable that the wild legends about the Ychen Bannog [189] in Cardiganshire have underlying them a substratum of tradition going back to a time when the urus was not as yet extinct in Wales. How far the urus was once treated in this country as an emblem of divinity, it is impossible to say; but from ancient Gaul we have such a name as Urogeno-nertus [190], meaning a man of the strength of an Urogen, that is, of the offspring of a urus; not to mention the Gaulish Tarvos Trigaranus, or the bull with three cranes on his back. With this divine animal M. d'Arbois de Jubainville would identify the Donnos underlying such Gallo-Roman names as Donnotaurus, and that of the wonderful bull called Donn in the principal epic story of Ireland [191], where we seem to trace the same element in the river-name given by Ptolemy as Mo-donnos, one of the streams of Wicklow, or else the Slaney. This would be the earliest instance known of the prefixing of the pronoun mo, 'my,' in its reverential application, which was confined in later ages to the names of Goidelic saints. To return, however, to the folklorist's difficulties, the first thing to be done is to get as ample a supply of folklore materials as possible; and here I come to a point at which some of the readers of these pages could probably help; for we want all our folklore and superstitions duly recorded and rescued from the yawning gulf of oblivion, into which they are rapidly and irretrievably dropping year by year, as the oldest inhabitant passes away. Some years ago I attempted to collect the stories still remembered in Wales about fairies and lake dwellers; and I seem to have thrown some amount of enthusiasm into that pursuit. At any rate, one editor of a Welsh newspaper congratulated me on being a thorough believer in the fairies. Unfortunately, I was not nearly so successful in recommending myself as a believer to the old people who could have related to me the kind of stories I wanted. Nevertheless, the best plan I found was to begin by relating a story about the fairies myself: if that method did not result in eliciting anything from the listener, then it was time to move on to try the experiment on another subject. Among the things which I then found was the fact, that most of the well known lakes and tarns of Wales were once believed to have had inhabitants of a fairy kind, who owned cattle that sometimes came ashore and mixed with the ordinary breeds, while an occasional lake lady became the wife of a shepherd or farmer in the neighbourhood. There must, however, be many more of these legends lurking in out of the way parts of Wales in connexion with the more remote mountain tarns; and it would be well if they were collected systematically. One of the most complete and best known of these lake stories is that of Llyn y Fan Fach in the Beacons of Carmarthenshire, called in Welsh Bannau Sir Gaer. The story is so much more circumstantial than all the others, that it has been placed at the beginning of this volume. Next to it may be ranked that of the Ystrad Dyfodwg pool, now known as Llyn y Forwyn, the details of which have only recently been unearthed for me by a friend: see pp. 27-30 above. Well, in the Fan Fach legend the lake lady marries a young farmer from Mydfai, on the Carmarthenshire side of the range; and she is to remain his wife so long as he lives without striking her three times without cause. When that happens, she leaves him and calls away with her all her live stock, down to the little black calf in the process of being flayed; for he suddenly dons his hide and hurries away after the rest of the stock into the lake. The three blows without cause seem to belong to a category of very ancient determinants which have been recently discussed, with his usual acumen and command of instances from other lands, by Mr. Hartland, in the chapters on the Swan Maidens in his Science of Fairy Tales. But our South Welsh story allows the three blows only a minimum of force; and in North Wales the determinant is of a different kind, though probably equally ancient: for there the husband must not strike or touch the fairy wife with anything made of iron, a condition which probably points back to the Stone Age. For archæologists are agreed, that before metal, whether iron or bronze, was used in the manufacturing of tools, stone was the universal material for all cutting tools and weapons. But as savages are profoundly conservative in their habits, it is argued that on ceremonial and religious occasions knives of stone continued to be the only ones admissible long after bronze ones had been in common use for ordinary purposes. Take for example the text of Exodus iv. 25, where Zipporah is mentioned circumcising her son with a flint. From instances of the kind one may comprehend the sort of way in which iron came to be regarded as an abomination and a horror to the fairies. The question will be found discussed by Mr. Hartland at length in his book mentioned above: see more especially pp. 305-9. Such, to my mind, are some of the questions to which the fairies give rise: I now wish to add another turning on the reluctance of the fairies to disclose their names. There is one story in particular which would serve to illustrate this admirably; but it is one which, I am sorry to say, I have never been able to discover complete or coherent in Wales. The substance of it should be, roughly speaking, as follows:--A woman finds herself in great distress and is delivered out of it by a fairy, who claims as reward the woman's baby. On a certain day the baby will inevitably be taken by the fairy unless the fairy's true name is discovered by the mother. The fairy is foiled by being in the meantime accidentally overheard exulting, that the mother does not know that his or her name is Rumpelstiltzchen, or whatever it may be in the version which happens to be in question. The best known version is the German one, where the fairy is called Rumpelstiltzchen; and it will be found in the ordinary editions of Grimm's Märchen. The most complete English version is the East Anglian one published by Mr. Edward Clodd, in his recent volume entitled Tom Tit Tot, pp. 8-16; and previously in an article full of research headed 'The Philosophy of Rumpelstiltskin,' in Folk-Lore for 1889, pp. 138-43. It is first to be noted that in this version the fairy's name is Tom Tit Tot, and that the German and the East Anglian stories run parallel. They agree in making the fairy a male, in which they differ from our Welsh Silly Frit and Silly go Dwt: in what other respect the story of our Silly differed from that of Rumpelstiltzchen and Tom Tit Tot it is, in the present incomplete state of the Welsh one, impossible to say. Here it may be found useful to recall the fragments of the Welsh story: (1) A fairy woman used to come out of Corwrion Pool to spin on fine summer days, and whilst spinning she sang or hummed to herself sìli ffrit, sìli ffrit--it does not rise even to a doggerel couplet: see p. 64 above. (2) A farmer's wife in Lleyn used to have visits from a fairy woman who came to borrow things from her; and one day when the goodwife had lent her a troell bach, or wheel for spinning flax, she asked the fairy to give her name, which she declined to do. She was, however, overheard to sing to the whir of the wheel as follows (p. 229):-- Bychan a wyda' hi Little did she know Mai Sìli go Dwt That Silly go Dwt Yw f'enw i. Is my name. This throws some light on Silly Frit, and we know where we are; but the story is inconsequent, and far from representing the original. We cannot, however, reconstruct it quite on the lines of Grimm's or Clodd's version. But I happened to mention my difficulty one day to Dr. J. A. H. Murray, when he assured me of the existence of a Scottish version in which the fairy is a female. He learnt it when he was a child, he said, at Denholm, in Roxburghshire; and he was afterwards charmed to read it in Robert Chambers' Popular Rhymes of Scotland (Edinburgh, 1858), pp. 221-5, whence Mr. Clodd has given an abstract of it in his 'Philosophy of Rumpelstiltskin.' Among those popular rhymes the reader will find it as related at length by Nurse Jenny in her inimitable fashion; but the Scotch is so broad, that I think it advisable, at the risk of some havoc to the local colouring, to southronize it somewhat as follows:-- 'I see that you are fond of talks about fairies, children; and a story about a fairy and the goodwife of Kittlerumpit has just come into my mind; but I can't very well tell you now whereabouts Kittlerumpit lies. I think it is somewhere in the Debatable Ground; anyway I shall not pretend to know more than I do, like everybody nowadays. I wish they would remember the ballad we used to sing long ago:-- Mony ane sings the gerss, the gerss, And mony ane sings the corn; And mony ane clatters o' bold Robin Hood, Ne'er kent where he was born. But howsoever about Kittlerumpit: the goodman was a rambling sort of body; and he went to a fair one day, and not only never came home again, but nevermore was heard of. Some said he 'listed, and others that the tiresome pressgang snatched him up, though he was furnished with a wife and a child to boot. Alas! that wretched pressgang! They went about the country like roaring lions, seeking whom they might devour. Well do I remember how my eldest brother Sandy was all but smothered in the meal-chest, hiding from those rascals. After they were gone, we pulled him out from among the meal, puffing and crying, and as white as any corpse. My mother had to pick the meal out of his mouth with the shank of a horn spoon. 'Ah well, when the goodman of Kittlerumpit was gone, the goodwife was left with small means. Little resources had she, and a baby boy at her breast. All said they were sorry for her; but nobody helped her--which is a common case, sirs. Howsoever the goodwife had a sow, and that was her only consolation; for the sow was soon to farrow, and she hoped for a good litter. 'But we all know hope is fallacious. One day the woman goes to the sty to fill the sow's trough; and what does she find but the sow lying on her back, grunting and groaning, and ready to give up the ghost. 'I trow this was a new pang to the goodwife's heart; so she sat down on the knocking-stone [192], with her bairn on her knee, and cried sorer than ever she did for the loss of her own goodman. 'Now I premise that the cottage of Kittlerumpit was built on a brae, with a large fir-wood behind it, of which you may hear more ere we go far on. So the goodwife, when she was wiping her eyes, chances to look down the brae; and what does she see but an old woman, almost like a lady, coming slowly up the road. She was dressed in green, all but a short white apron and a black velvet hood, and a steeple-crowned beaver hat on her head. She had a long walking-staff, as long as herself, in her hand--the sort of staff that old men and old women helped themselves with long ago; I see no such staffs now, sirs. 'Ah well, when the goodwife saw the green gentlewoman near her, she rose and made a curtsy; and "Madam," quoth she, weeping, "I am one of the most misfortunate women alive." '"I don't wish to hear pipers' news and fiddlers' tales, goodwife," quoth the green woman. "I know you have lost your goodman--we had worse losses at the Sheriff Muir [193]; and I know that your sow is unco sick. Now what will you give me if I cure her?" '"Anything your ladyship's madam likes," quoth the witless goodwife, never guessing whom she had to deal with. '"Let us wet thumbs on that bargain," quoth the green woman; so thumbs were wetted, I warrant you; and into the sty madam marches. 'She looks at the sow with a long stare, and then began to mutter to herself what the goodwife couldn't well understand; but she said it sounded like-- Pitter patter, Holy Water. 'Then she took out of her pocket a wee bottle, with something like oil in it; and she rubs the sow with it above the snout, behind the ears, and on the tip of the tail. "Get up, beast," quoth the green woman. No sooner said than done--up jumps the sow with a grunt, and away to her trough for her breakfast. 'The goodwife of Kittlerumpit was a joyful goodwife now, and would have kissed the very hem of the green woman's gowntail; but she wouldn't let her. "I am not so fond of ceremonies," quoth she; "but now that I have righted your sick beast, let us end our settled bargain. You will not find me an unreasonable, greedy body--I like ever to do a good turn for a small reward: all I ask, and will have, is that baby boy in your bosom." 'The goodwife of Kittlerumpit, who now knew her customer, gave a shrill cry like a stuck swine. The green woman was a fairy, no doubt; so she prays, and cries, and begs, and scolds; but all wouldn't do. "You may spare your din," quoth the fairy, "screaming as if I was as deaf as a door-nail; but this I'll let you know--I cannot, by the law we live under, take your bairn till the third day; and not then, if you can tell me my right name." So madam goes away round the pig-sty end; and the goodwife falls down in a swoon behind the knocking-stone. 'Ah well, the goodwife of Kittlerumpit could not sleep any that night for crying, and all the next day the same, cuddling her bairn till she nearly squeezed its breath out; but the second day she thinks of taking a walk in the wood I told you of; and so with the bairn in her arms, she sets out, and goes far in among the trees, where was an old quarry-hole, grown over with grass, and a bonny spring well in the middle of it. Before she came very near, she hears the whirring of a flax wheel, and a voice singing a song; so the woman creeps quietly among the bushes, and peeps over the brow of the quarry; and what does she see but the green fairy tearing away at her wheel, and singing like any precentor:-- Little kens our guid dame at hame, That Whuppity Stoorie is my name. '"Ha, ha!" thinks the woman, "I've got the mason's word at last; the devil give them joy that told it!" So she went home far lighter than she came out, as you may well guess--laughing like a madcap with the thought of cheating the old green fairy. 'Ah well, you must know that this goodwife was a jocose woman, and ever merry when her heart was not very sorely overladen. So she thinks to have some sport with the fairy; and at the appointed time she puts the bairn behind the knocking-stone, and sits on the stone herself. Then she pulls her cap over her left ear and twists her mouth on the other side, as if she were weeping; and an ugly face she made, you may be sure. She hadn't long to wait, for up the brae climbs the green fairy, neither lame nor lazy; and long ere she got near the knocking-stone she screams out--"Goodwife of Kittlerumpit, you know well what I come for--stand and deliver!" 'The woman pretends to cry harder than before, and wrings her hands, and falls on her knees, with "Och, sweet madam mistress, spare my only bairn, and take the wretched sow!" '"The devil take the sow, for my part," quoth the fairy; "I come not here for swine's flesh. Don't be contramawcious, huzzy, but give me the child instantly!" '"Ochone, dear lady mine," quoth the crying goodwife; "forgo my poor bairn, and take me myself!" '"The devil is in the daft jade," quoth the fairy, looking like the far end of a fiddle; "I'll bet she is clean demented. Who in all the earthly world, with half an eye in his head, would ever meddle with the likes of thee?" 'I trow this set up the woman of Kittlerumpit's bristle: for though she had two blear eyes and a long red nose besides, she thought herself as bonny as the best of them. So she springs off her knees, sets the top of her cap straight, and with her two hands folded before her, she makes a curtsy down to the ground, and, "In troth, fair madam," quoth she, "I might have had the wit to know that the likes of me is not fit to tie the worst shoe-strings of the high and mighty princess, Whuppity Stoorie." 'If a flash of gunpowder had come out of the ground it couldn't have made the fairy leap higher than she did; then down she came again plump on her shoe-heels; and whirling round, she ran down the brae, screeching for rage, like an owl chased by the witches. 'The goodwife of Kittlerumpit laughed till she was like to split; then she takes up her bairn, and goes into her house, singing to it all the way:-- A goo and a gitty, my bonny wee tyke, Ye'se noo ha'e your four-oories; Sin' we've gien Nick a bane to pyke, Wi' his wheels and his Whuppity Stoories.' That is practically Chambers' version of this Scottish story; and as to the name of the fairy Whuppity Stoorie, the first syllable should be the equivalent of English whip, while stoor is a Scotch word for dust in motion: so the editor asks in a note whether the name may not have originated in the notion 'that fairies were always present in the whirls of dust occasioned by the wind on roads and in streets [194].' But he adds that another version of the story calls the green woman Fittletetot, which ends with the same element as the name Tom Tit Tot and Silly go Dwt. Perhaps, however, the Welsh versions of the story approached nearest to one from Mochdrum in Wigtownshire, published in the British Association's Papers of the Liverpool Meeting, 1896, p. 613. This story was contributed by the Rev. Walter Gregor, and the name of the fairy in it is Marget Totts: in this we have a wife, who is in great distress, because her husband used to give her so much flax to spin by such and such a day, that the work was beyond human power. A fairy comes to the rescue and takes the flax away, promising to bring it back spun by the day fixed, provided the woman can tell the fairy's name. The woman's distress thereupon becomes as great as before, but the fairy was overheard saying as she span, 'Little does the guidwife ken it, my name is Marget Totts.' So the woman got her flax returned spun by the day; and the fairy, Marget Totts, went up the chimney in a blaze of fire as the result of rage and disappointment. Here one cannot help seeing that the original, of which this is a clumsy version, must have been somewhat as follows Little does the guidwife wot That my name is Marget Tot. To come back to Wales, we have there the names Silly Frit and Silly go Dwt, which are those of females. The former name is purely English--Silly Frit, which has been already guessed (p. 66) to mean a silly sprite, or silly apparition, with the idea of its being a fright of a creature to behold: compare the application elsewhere to a fairy changeling of the terms crimbil (p. 263) and cyrfaglach or cryfaglach (p. 450), which is explained as implying a haggard urchin that has been half starved and stunted in its growth. Leaving out of the reckoning this connotation, one might compare the term with the Scottish habit of calling the fairies silly wights, 'the Happy Wights.' See J. Jamieson's Scottish Dictionary, where s. v. seily, seely, 'happy,' he purports to quote the following lines from 'the Legend of the Bishop of St. Androis' in a collection of Scottish Poems of the Sixteenth Century (Edinburgh, 1801), pp. 320-1:-- For oght the kirk culd him forbid, He sped him sone, and gat the thrid; Ane Carling of the Quene of Phareis, That ewill win gair to elphyne careis, Through all Braid Albane scho hes bene, On horsbak on Hallow ewin; And ay in seiking certayne nyghtis, As scho sayis, with sur [read our] sillie wychtis. Similarly, he gives the fairies the name of Seely Court, and cites as illustrating it the following lines from R. Jamieson's Popular Ballads, (i. 236, and) ii. 189:-- But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en, When the Seely Court was ridin' by, The queen lighted down on a gowan bank, Nae far frae the tree where I wont to lye. Into Welsh, however, the designation Silly Frit must have come, not from Scotland, but from the Marches; and the history of Sìli go Dwt must be much the same. For, though construed as Welsh, the name would mean the Silly who is go Dwt [195], 'somewhat tidy or natty'; but the dwt (mutated from twt) was suggested doubtless by the tot of such fairy names as Tom Tit Tot. That brings me to another group, where the syllable is trot or trut, and this we have in the Welsh doggerel, mentioned at p. 229, as follows:-- Bychan a wyda' hi Little did she know Mai Trwtyn-Tratyn That Trwtyn Tratyn Yw f'enw i. Is my name. But this name Trwtyn-Tratyn sounds masculine, and not that of a she-fairy such as Silly Frit. The feminine would have been Trwtan-Tratan in the Carnarvonshire pronunciation, and in fact trwtan is to be heard there; but more frequently a kind of derivative trwdlan, meaning an ungainly sort of woman, a drudge, a short-legged or deformed maid of all work. Some Teutonic varieties of this group of stories will be found mentioned briefly in Mr. Clodd's article on the 'Philosophy of Rumpelstiltskin [196].' Thus from the Debatable Ground on the borders of England and Scotland there comes a story in which the fairy woman's name was Habetrot; and he alludes to an Icelandic version in which the name is Gillitrut; but for us still more interest attaches to the name in the following rhyme [197]:-- Little does my lady wot That my name is Trit-a-Trot. This has been supposed to belong to a story coming from Ireland; but whether that may prove true or not, it is hardly to be doubted that our Trwtyn Tratyn is practically to be identified with Trit-a-Trot, who is also a he-fairy. That is not all; for since the foregoing notes were penned, a tale has reached me from Mr. Craigfryn Hughes about a fairy who began by conducting himself like the brownies mentioned at pp. 287, 324-5 above. The passages here in point come from the story of which a part was given at pp. 462-4; and they are to the following effect:--Long ago there was in service at a Monmouthshire farm a young woman who was merry and strong. Who she was or whence she came nobody knew; but many believed that she belonged to the old breed of Bendith y Mamau. Some time after she had come to the farm, the rumour spread that the house was sorely troubled by a spirit. But the girl and the elf understood one another well, and they became the best of friends. So the elf proved very useful to the maid, for he did everything for her--washing, ironing, spinning and twisting wool; in fact they say that he was remarkably handy at the spinning-wheel. Moreover, he expected only a bowlful of sweet milk and wheat bread, or some flummery, for his work. So she took care to place the bowl with his food at the bottom of the stairs every night as she went to bed. It ought to have been mentioned that she was never allowed to catch a sight of him; for he always did his work in the dark. Nor did anybody know when he ate his food: she used to leave the bowl there at night, and it would be empty by the time when she got up in the morning, the bwca having cleared it. But one night, by way of cursedness, what did she do but fill the bowl with some of the stale urine which they used in dyeing wool and other things about the house. But heavens! it would have been better for her not to have done it; for when she got up next morning what should he do but suddenly spring from some corner and seize her by the neck! He began to beat her and kick her from one end of the house to the other, while he shouted at the top of his voice at every kick:-- Y faidan din dwmp-- Yn rhoi bara haid a thrwnc I'r bwca! The idea that the thick-buttocked lass Should give barley bread and p-- To the bogie! Meanwhile she screamed for help, but none came for some time; when, however, he heard the servant men getting up, he took to his heels as hard as he could; and nothing was heard of him for some time. But at the end of two years he was found to be at another farm in the neighbourhood, called Hafod yr Ynys, where he at once became great friends with the servant girl: for she fed him like a young chicken, by giving him a little bread and milk all the time. So he worked willingly and well for her in return for his favourite food. More especially, he used to spin and wind the yarn for her; but she wished him in time to show his face, or to tell her his name: he would by no means do either. One evening, however, when all the men were out, and when he was spinning hard at the wheel, she deceived him by telling him that she was also going out. He believed her; and when he heard the door shutting, he began to sing as he plied the wheel:-- Hi warda'n iawn pe gwypa hi, Taw Gwarwyn-a-throt yw'm enw i. How she would laugh, did she know That Gwarwyn-a-throt is my name! 'Ha! ha!' said the maid at the bottom of the stairs; 'I know thy name now.' 'What is it, then?' he asked. She replied, 'Gwarwyn-a-throt'; and as soon as she uttered the words he left the wheel where it was, and off he went. He was next heard of at a farmhouse not far off, where there happened to be a servant man named Moses, with whom he became great friends at once. He did all his work for Moses with great ease. He once, however, gave him a good beating for doubting his word; but the two remained together afterwards for some years on the best possible terms: the end of it was that Moses became a soldier. He went away to fight against Richard Crookback, and fell on the field of Bosworth. The bogie, after losing his friend, began to be troublesome and difficult to live with. He would harass the oxen when they ploughed, and draw them after him everywhere, plough and all; nor could any one prevent them. Then, when the sun set in the evening he would play his pranks again, and do all sorts of mischief about the house, upstairs, and in the cowhouses. So the farmer was advised to visit a wise man (dyn cynnil), and to see if he could devise some means of getting rid of the bogie. He called on the wise man, who happened to be living near Caerleon on the Usk; and the wise man, having waited till the moon should be full, came to the farmer's house. In due time the wise man, by force of manoeuvring, secured the bogie by the very long nose which formed the principal ornament of his face, and earned for him the name of Bwca'r Trwyn, 'the Bogie of the Nose.' Whilst secured by the nose, the bogie had something read to him out of the wise man's big book; and he was condemned by the wise man to be transported to the banks of the Red Sea for fourteen generations, and to be conveyed thither by 'the upper wind' (yr uwchwynt). No sooner had this been pronounced by the cunning man than there came a whirlwind which made the whole house shake. Then came a still mightier wind, and as it began to blow the owner of the big book drew the awl out of the bogie's nose; and it is supposed that the bogie was carried away by that wind, for he never troubled the place any more. Another version of the story seems to have been current, which represented the bogie as in no wise to blame [198]: but I attach some importance to the foregoing tale as forming a link of connexion between the Rumpelstiltzchen group of fairies, always trying to get hold of children; the brownie kind, ever willing to serve in return for their simple keep; and the troublesome bogie, that used to haunt Welsh farm houses and delight in breaking crockery and frightening the inmates out of their wits. In fact, the brownie and the bogie reduce themselves here into different humours of the same uncanny being. Their appearance may be said to have differed also: the bogie had a very long nose, while the brownie of Blednoch had only 'a hole where a nose should have been.' But one of the most remarkable points about the brownie species is that the Lincolnshire specimen was a small creature, 'a weeny bit of a fellow'--which suggests a possible community of origin with the banshee of the Irish, and also of the Welsh: witness the wee little woman in the story of the Curse of Pantannas (pp. 188-9), who seems to come up out of the river. All alike may perhaps be said to suggest various aspects of the dead ancestor or ancestress; but Bwca'r Trwyn is not to be severed from the fairy woman in the Pennant Valley, who undertakes some of the duties, not of a dairymaid, as in other cases mentioned, but those of a nurse. Her conduct on being offered a gown is exactly that of the brownie similarly placed: see p. 109 above. But she and Bwca'r Trwyn are unmistakably fairies who take to domestic service, and work for a time willingly and well in return for their food, which, as in the case of other fairies, appears to have been mostly milk. After this digression I wish only to point out that the Welsh bogie's name, Gwarwyn-a-throt, treated as Welsh, could only mean white-necked and (or with) a trot; for a throt could only mean 'and (or with) a trot.' So it is clear that a throt is simply the equivalent of a-Trot, borrowed from such an English combination as Trit-a-Trot, and that it is idle to translate Gwarwyn-a-throt. Now trot and twt are not native Welsh words; and the same remark applies to Trwtyn Tratyn, and of course to Sìli ffrit and Sìli go Dwt. Hence it is natural to infer that either these names have in the Welsh stories merely superseded older ones of Welsh origin, or else that there was no question of name in the Welsh stories till they had come under English influence. The former conjecture seems the more probable of the two, unless one should rather suppose the whole story borrowed from English sources. But it is of no consequence here as regards the reluctance of fairies to disclose their names; for we have other instances to which the reader may turn, on pp. 45, 87-8, 97 above. One of them, in particular, is in point here: see pp. 54, 61. It attaches itself to the Pool of Corwrion in the neighbourhood of Bangor; and it relates how a man married a fairy on the express condition that he was neither to know her name nor to touch her with iron, on pain of her instantly leaving him. Of course in the lapse of years the conditions are accidentally violated by the luckless husband, and the wife flies instantly away into the waters of the pool: her name turned out to be Belene. Thus far of the unwillingness of the fairies to tell their names: I must now come to the question, why that was so. Here the anthropologist or the student of comparative folklore comes to our aid; for it is an important part of his business to compare the superstitions of one people with those of another; and in the case of superstitions which have lost their meaning among us, for instance, he searches for a parallel among other nations, where that parallel forms part of living institutions. In this way he hopes to discover the key to his difficulties. In the present case he finds savages who habitually look at the name as part and parcel of the person [199]. These savages further believe that any part of the person, such as a hair off one's head or the parings of one's nails, if they chanced to be found by an enemy, would give that enemy magical power over their lives, and enable him to injure them. Hence the savage tendency to conceal one's name. I have here, as the reader will perceive, crowded together several important steps in the savage logic; so I must try to illustrate them, somewhat more in detail, by reference to some of the survivals of them after the savage has long been civilized. To return to Wales, and to illustrate the belief that possession of a part of one's person, or of anything closely identified with one's person, gives the possessor of it power over that person, I need only recall the Welsh notion, that if one wished to sell one's self to the devil one had merely to give him a hair of one's head or the tiniest drop of one's blood, then one would be for ever his for a temporary consideration. Again, if you only had your hair cut, it must be carefully gathered and hidden away: by no means must it be burnt, as that might prove prejudicial to your health. Similarly, you should never throw feathers into the fire; for that was once held, as I infer, to bring about death among one's poultry: and an old relative of mine, Modryb Mari, 'Aunt Mary,' set her face against my taste for toasted cheese. She used to tell me that if I toasted my cheese, my sheep would waste away and die: strictly speaking, I fancy this originally meant only the sheep from whose milk the cheese had been made. But I was not well versed enough in the doctrines of sympathetic magic to reply, that it did not apply to our cheese, which was not made from sheep's milk. So her warning used to frighten me and check my fondness for toasted cheese, a fondness which I had doubtless quite innocently inherited, as anybody will see who will glance at one of the Hundred Mery Talys, printed by John Rastell in the sixteenth century, as follows:--'I fynde wrytten amonge olde gestes, howe God mayde Saynt Peter porter of heuen, and that God of hys goodnes, sone after his passyon, suffered many men to come to the kyngdome of Heuen with small deseruynge; at whyche tyme there was in heuen a great companye of Welchemen, whyche with their crakynge and babelynge troubled all the other. Wherfore God sayde to Saynte Peter that he was wery of them, and that he wolde fayne haue them out of heuen. To whome Saynte Peter sayd: Good Lorde, I warrente you, that shall be done. Wherfore Saynt Peter wente out of heuen gates and cryed wyth a loud voyce Cause bobe [200], that is as moche to saye as rosted chese, whiche thynge the Welchemen herynge, ranne out of Heuen a great pace. And when Saynt Peter sawe them all out, he sodenly wente into Heuen, and locked the dore, and so sparred all the Welchemen out. By this ye may se, that it is no wysdome for a man to loue or to set his mynde to moche upon any delycate or worldely pleasure, wherby he shall lose the celestyall and eternall ioye.' To leave the Mery Talys and come back to the instances mentioned, all of them may be said to illustrate the way in which a part, or an adjunct, answered for the whole of a person or thing. In fact, having due regard to magic as an exact science, an exceedingly exact science, one may say that according to the wisdom of our ancestors the leading axiom of that science practically amounted to this: the part is quite equal to the whole. Now the name, as a part of the man, was once probably identified with the breath of life or with the soul, as we shall see later; and the latter must have been regarded as a kind of matter; for I well remember that when a person was dying in a house, it was the custom about Ponterwyd, in North Cardiganshire, to open the windows. And a farmer near Ystrad Meurig, more towards the south of the county, told me some years ago that he remembered his mother dying when he was a boy: a neighbour's wife who had been acting as nurse tried to open the window of the room, and as it would not open she deliberately smashed a pane of it. This was doubtless originally meant to facilitate the escape of the soul; and the same idea has been attested for Gloucestershire, Devon, and other parts of the country [201]. This way of looking at the soul reminds one of Professor Tylor's words when he wrote in his work on Primitive Culture, i. 440: 'and he who says that his spirit goes forth to meet a friend, can still realize in the phrase a meaning deeper than metaphor.' Then if the soul was material, you may ask what its shape was; and even this I have a story which will answer: it comes from the same Modryb Mari who set her face against caws pobi, and cherished a good many superstitions. Therein she differed greatly from her sister, my mother, who had a far more logical mind and a clearer conception of things. Well, my aunt's story was to the following effect:--A party of reapers on a farm not far from Ponterwyd--I have forgotten the name--sat down in the field to their midday meal. Afterwards they rested awhile, when one of their number fell fast asleep. The others got up and began reaping again, glancing every now and then at the sleeping man, who had his mouth wide open and breathed very loudly. Presently they saw a little black man, or something like a monkey, coming out of his mouth and starting on a walk round the field: they watched this little fellow walking on and on till he came to a spot near a stream. There he stopped and turned back: then he disappeared into the open mouth of the sleeper, who at once woke up. He told his comrades that he had just been dreaming of his walking round the field as far as the very spot where they had seen the little black fellow stop. I am sorry to say that Modryb Mari had wholly forgotten this story when, years afterwards, I asked her to repeat it to me; but the other day I found a Welshman who still remembers it. I happened to complain, at a meeting of kindred spirits, how I had neglected making careful notes of bits of folklore which I had heard years ago from informants whom I had since been unable to cross-examine: I instanced the story of the sleeping reaper, when my friend Professor Sayce at once said that he had heard it. He spent part of his childhood near Llanover in Monmouthshire; and in those days he spoke Welsh, which he learned from his nurse. He added that he well remembered the late Lady Llanover rebuking his father for having his child, a Welsh boy, dressed like a little Highlander; and he remembered also hearing the story here in question told him by his nurse. So far as he could recall it, the version was the same as my aunt's, except that he does not recollect hearing anything about the stream of water. Several points in the story call for notice: among others, one naturally asks at the outset why the other reapers did not wake the sleeping man. The answer is that the Welsh seem to have agreed with other peoples, such as the Irish [202], in thinking it dangerous to wake a man when dreaming, that is, when his soul might be wandering outside his body; for it might result in the soul failing to find the way back into the body which it had temporarily left. To illustrate this from Wales I produce the following story, which has been written out for me by Mr. J. G. Evans. The scene of it was a field on the farm of Cadabowen, near Llan y Bydair, in the Vale of the Teifi:--'The chief point of the madfall incident, which happened in the early sixties, was this. During one mid-morning hoe hogi, that is to say, the usual rest for sharpening the reaping-hooks, I was playing among the thirty or forty reapers sitting together: my movements were probably a disturbing element to the reapers, as well as a source of danger to my own limbs. In order, therefore, to quiet me, as seems probable, one of the men directed my attention to our old farm labourer, who was asleep on his back close to the uncut corn, a little apart from the others. I was told that his soul (ened) had gone out of his mouth in the form of a black lizard (madfall du), and was at that moment wandering among the standing corn. If I woke the sleeper, the soul would be unable to return; and old Thomas would die, or go crazy; or something serious would happen. I will not trust my memory to fill in details, especially as this incident once formed the basis of what proved an exciting story told to my children in their childhood. A generation hence they may be able to give an astonishing instance of "genuine" Welsh folklore. In the meanwhile, I can bear testimony to that "black lizard" being about the most living impression in my "memory." I see it, even now, wriggling at the edge of the uncut corn. But as to its return, and the waking of the sleeper, my memory is a blank. Such are the tricks of "memory"; and we should be charitable when, with bated breath, the educated no less than the uneducated tell us about the uncanny things they have "seen with their own eyes." They believe what they say, because they trust their memory: I do not. I feel practically certain I never saw a lizard in my life, in that particular field in which the reapers were.' Mr. Evans' story differs, as it has been seen, from my aunt's version in giving the soul the shape of a lizard; but the little black fellow in the one and the black lizard in the other agree not only in representing the soul as material, but also as forming a complete organism within a larger one. In a word, both pictures must be regarded as the outcome of attempts to depict the sleeper's inner man. If names and souls could be regarded as material substances, so could diseases; and I wish to say a word or two now on that subject, which a short story of my wife's will serve to introduce. She is a native of the Llanberis side of Snowdon; and she remembers going one morning, when a small child, across to the neighbourhood of Rhyd-du with a servant girl called Cadi, whose parents lived there. Now Cadi was a very good servant, but she had little regard for the more civilized manners of the Llanberis folk; and when she returned with the child in the evening from her mother's cottage, she admitted that the little girl was amazed at the language of Cadi's brothers and sisters; for she confessed that, as she said, they swore like colliers, whereas the little girl had never before heard any swearing worth speaking of. Well, among other things which the little girl saw there was one of Cadi's sisters having a bad leg dressed: when the rag which had been on the wound was removed, the mother made one of her other children take it out and fix it on the thorn growing near the door. The little girl being inquisitive asked why that was done, and she was told that it was in order that the wound might heal all the faster. She was not very satisfied with the answer, but she afterwards noticed the same sort of thing done in her own neighbourhood. Now the original idea was doubtless that the disease, or at any rate a part of it--and in such matters it will be remembered that a part is quite equal to the whole--was attached to the rag; so that putting the rag out, with a part of the disease attached to it, to rot on the bush, would bring with it the disappearance of the whole disease. Another and a wider aspect of this practice was the subject of notice in the chapter on the Folklore of the Wells, pp. 359-60, where Mr. Hartland's hypothesis was mentioned. This was to the effect that if any clothing, or anything else which had been identified with your person, were to be placed in contact with a sacred tree, sacred well, or sacred edifice, it would be involved in the effluence of the divinity that imparts its sacred character to the tree, well, or temple; and that your person, identified with the clothing or other article, would also be involved or soaked in the same divine effluence, and made to benefit thereby. We have since had this kind of reasoning illustrated, pp. 405-7 above, by the modern legend of Crymlyn, and the old one of Llyn Lliwan; but the difficulty which it involves is a very considerable one: it is the difficulty of taking seriously the infantile order of reasoning which underlies so much of the philosophy of folklore. I cannot readily forget one of the first occasions of my coming, so to say, into living contact with it. It was at Tuam in Connaught, whither I had gone to learn modern Irish from the late Canon Ulick J. Bourke. There one day in 1871 he presented me with a copy of The Bull 'Ineffabilis' in Four Languages (Dublin, 1868), containing the Irish version which he had himself contributed. On the blue cover was a gilt picture of the Virgin, inscribed Sine Labe Concepta. No sooner had I brought it to my lodgings than the woman who looked after the house caught sight of it. She was at once struck with awe and admiration; so I tried to explain to her the nature of the contents of the volume. 'So the Father has given you that holy book!' she exclaimed; 'and you are now a holy man!' I was astonished at the simple and easy way in which she believed holiness could be transferred from one person or thing to another; and it has always helped me to realize the fact that folklorists have no occasion to invent their people, or to exaggerate the childish features of their minds. They are still with us as real men and real women, and at one time the whole world belonged to them; not to mention that those who may, by a straining of courtesy, be called their leaders of thought, hope speedily to reannex the daring few who are trying to tear asunder the bonds forged for mankind in the obscurity of a distant past. I shall never forget the impression made on my mind by a sermon I heard preached some years later in the cathedral of St. Stephen in Vienna. That magnificent edifice in a great centre of German culture was crowded with listeners, who seemed thoroughly to enjoy what they heard, though the chief idea which they were asked to entertain could not possibly be said to rise above the level of the philosophy of the Stone Age. CHAPTER XI FOLKLORE PHILOSOPHY To look for consistency in barbaric philosophy is to disqualify ourselves for understanding it, and the theories of it which aim at symmetry are their own condemnation. Yet that philosophy, within its own irregular confines, works not illogically.--Edward Clodd. It will be remembered that in the last chapter a story was given, p. 602, which represented the soul as a little fellow somewhat resembling a monkey; and it will probably have struck the reader how near this approaches the idea prevalent in medieval theology and Christian art, which pictured the soul as a pigmy or diminutive human being. I revert to this in order to point out that the Christian fancy may possibly have given rise to the form of the soul as represented in the Welsh story which I heard in Cardiganshire and Professor Sayce in Monmouthshire; but this could hardly be regarded as touching the other Cardiganshire story, in which the soul is likened to a madfall or lizard. Moreover I would point out that a belief incompatible with both kinds of story is suggested by one of the uses of the Welsh word for soul, namely, enaid. I heard my father, a native of the neighbourhood of Eglwys Fach, near the estuary of the Dyfi, use the word of some portion of the inside of a goose, but I have forgotten what part it was exactly. Professor Anwyl of Aberystwyth, however, has sent me the following communication on the subject:--'I am quite familiar with the expression yr enaid, "the soul," as applied to the soft flesh sticking to the ribs inside a goose. The flesh in question has somewhat the same appearance and structure as the liver. I have no recollection of ever hearing the term yr enaid used in the case of any bird other than a goose; but this may be a mere accident, inasmuch as no one ever uses the term now except to mention it as an interesting curiosity.' This application of the word enaid recalls the use of the English word 'soul' in the same way, and points to a very crude idea of the soul as material and only forming an internal portion of the body: it is on the low level of the notion of an English pagan of the seventeenth century who thought his soul was 'a great bone in his body [203].' It is, however, not quite so foolish, perhaps, as it looks at first sight; and it reminds one of the Mohammedan belief that the os coccygis is the first formed in the human body, and that it will remain uncorrupted till the last day as a seed from which the whole is to be renewed in the resurrection [204]. On either savage theory, that the soul is a material organism inside a bulkier organism, or the still lower one that it is an internal portion of the larger organism itself, the idea of death would be naturally much the same, namely, that it was what occurred when the body and the soul became permanently severed. I call attention to this because we have traces in Welsh literature of a very different notion of death, which must now be briefly explained. The Mabinogi of Math ab Mathonwy relates how Math and Gwydion made out of various flowers a most beautiful woman whom they named Blodeuwed [205], that is to say anthôdês, or flowerlike, and gave to wife to Llew Llawgyffes; how she, as it were to prove what consummate artists they had been, behaved forthwith like a woman of the ordinary origin, in that she fell in love with another man named Gronw Pebyr of Penllyn; and how she plotted with Gronw as to the easiest way to put her husband to death. Pretending to be greatly concerned about the welfare of Llew and very anxious to take measures against his death (angheu), she succeeded in finding from him in what manner one could kill (llad) him. His reply was, 'Unless God kill me ... it is not easy to kill me'; and he went on to describe the strange attitude in which he might be killed, namely, in a certain position when dressing after a bath: then, he said, if one cast a spear at him it would effect his death (angheu), but that spear must have been a whole year in the making, during the hour only when the sacrifice was proceeding on Sunday. Blodeuwed thanked heaven, she said, to find that all this was easy to avoid. But still her curiosity was not satisfied; so one day she induced Llew to go into the bath and show exactly what he meant. Of course she had Gronw with his enchanted spear in readiness, and at the proper moment, when Llew was dressing after the bath, the paramour cast his spear at him. He hit him in the side, so that the head of the spear remained in Llew, whilst the shaft fell off: Llew flew away in the form of an eagle, uttering an unearthly cry. He was no more seen until Gwydion, searching for him far and wide in Powys and Gwyned, came to Arfon, where one day he followed the lead of a mysterious sow, until the beast stopped under an oak at Nantlle. There Gwydion found the sow devouring rotten flesh and maggots, which fell from an eagle whenever the bird shook himself at the top of the tree. He suspected this was Llew, and on singing three englyns to him the eagle came lower and lower, till at last he descended on Gwydion's lap. Then Gwydion struck him with his wand, so that he assumed his own shape of Llew Llawgyffes, and nobody ever saw a more wretched looking man, we are told: he was nothing but skin and bones. But the best medical aid that could be found in Gwyned was procured, and before the end of the year he was quite well again. Here it will be noticed, that though the fatal wounding of Llew, at any rate visibly, means his being changed into the form of an eagle, it is treated as his death. When the Mabinogion were edited in their present form in a later atmosphere, this sort of phraseology was not natural to the editor, and he shows it when he comes to relate how Gwydion punished Blodeuwed, as follows:--Gwydion, having overtaken her in her flight, is made to say, 'I shall not kill thee (Ny ladaf i di): I shall do what is worse for thee, and that is to let thee go in the form of a bird.' He let her go in fact in the form of an owl. According to the analogy of the other part of the story this meant his having killed her: it was her death, and the words 'I shall not kill thee' are presumably not to be regarded as belonging to the original story. To come back to the eagle, later Welsh literature, re-echoing probably an ancient notion, speaks of a nephew of Arthur, called Eliwlod, appearing to Arthur as an eagle seated likewise among the branches of an oak. He claims acquaintance and kinship with Arthur, but he has to explain to him that he has died: they have a dialogue [206] in the course of which the eagle gives Arthur some serious Christian advice. But we have in this sort of idea doubtless the kind of origin to which one might expect to trace the prophesying eagle, such as Geoffrey mentions more than once: see his Historia, ii. 9 and xii. 18 [207]. Add to these instances of transformation the belief prevalent in Cornwall almost to our own day, that Arthur himself, instead of dying, was merely changed by magic into a raven, a form in which he still goes about; so that a Cornishman will not wittingly fire at a raven [208]. This sort of transformation is not to be severed from instances supplied by Irish literature, such as the story of Tuan mac Cairill, related in the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 15a-16b. Tuan relates to St. Finnen of Magbile, in the sixth century, the early history of Ireland from the time of Partholan down, which he was enabled to do because he had lived through it all, passing from one form to another without losing his memory. First of all he was a man, and when old age had come upon him he was transformed into a stag of the forest. For a while he was youthful and vigorous; but again old age overtook him, and he next became a wild boar. When old age and decrepitude overcame him next he was renewed in the form of a powerful bird, called in the original seig. The next renewal was in the form of a salmon: here the manuscript fails us. The form of a salmon was also the one taken by the woman Liban when she was overwhelmed by the flood, which became the body of water known as Lough Neagh: her handmaid at the same time became an otter (fo. 40b). There was an ancient belief that the soul leaves the body like a bird flying out of the mouth of the man or woman dying, and this maybe said to approach the favourite Celtic notion illustrated by the transformations here instanced, to which may be added the case of the Children of Lir, pp. 93, 549, changed by the stroke of their wicked stepmother's wand into swans, on Lough Erne. The story has, in the course of ages, modified itself into a belief that the swans haunting that beautiful water at all seasons of the year, are the souls of holy women who fell victims to the repeated visitations of the pagan Norsemen, when Ireland was at their cruel mercy [209]. The Christian form which the Irish peasant has given the legend does not touch its relevancy here. Perhaps one might venture to generalize, that in these islands great men and women were believed to continue their existence in the form of eagles, hawks or ravens, swans or owls. But what became of the souls of the obscurer majority of the people? For an answer to this perhaps we can only fall back on the Psyche butterfly, which may here be illustrated by the fact that Cornish tradition applies the term 'pisky' both to the fairies and to moths, believed in Cornwall by many to be departed souls [210]. So in Ireland: a certain reverend gentleman named Joseph Ferguson, writing in 1810 a statistical account of the parish of Ballymoyer, in the county of Armagh, states that one day a girl chasing a butterfly was chid by her companions, who said to her: 'That may be the soul of your grandmother [211].' This idea, to survive, has modified itself into a belief less objectionably pagan, that a butterfly hovering near a corpse is a sign of its everlasting happiness. The shape-shifting is sometimes complicated by taking place on the lines of rebirth: as cases in point may be mentioned Lug, reborn as Cúchulainn [212], and the repeated births of Étáin. This was rendered possible in the case of Cúchulainn, for instance, by Lug taking the form of an insect which was unwittingly swallowed by Dechtere, who thereby became Cúchulainn's mother; and so in the case of Étáin [213] and her last recorded mother, the queen of Etar king of Eochraidhe. On Welsh ground we have a combination of transformations and rebirth in the history of Gwion Bach in the story of Taliessin. Gwion was in the service of the witch Ceridwen; but having learned too much of her arts, he became the object of her lasting hatred; and the incident is translated as follows in Lady Charlotte Guest's Mabinogion, iii. 358-9:--'And she went forth after him, running. And he saw her, and changed himself into a hare and fled. But she changed herself into a greyhound and turned him. And he ran towards a river, and became a fish. And she in the form of an otter-bitch chased him under the water, until he was fain to turn himself into a bird of the air. Then she, as a hawk, followed him and gave him no rest in the sky. And just as she was about to swoop upon him, and he was in fear of death, he espied a heap of winnowed wheat on the floor of a barn, and he dropped amongst the wheat, and turned himself into one of the grains. Then she transformed herself into a high-crested black hen, and went to the wheat and scratched it with her feet, and found him out and swallowed him. And, as the story says, she bore him nine months, and when she was delivered of him, she could not find it in her heart to kill him, by reason of his beauty. So she wrapped him in a leathern bag, and cast him into the sea to the mercy of God on the twenty-ninth day of April. And at that time the weir of Gwydno was on the strand between Dyvi and Aberystwyth, near to his own castle, and the value of an hundred pounds was taken in that weir every May eve.' The story goes on to relate how Gwydno's son, Elphin, found in the weir the leathern bag containing the baby, who grew up to be the bard Taliessin. But the fourteenth century manuscript called after the name of Taliessin teems with such transformations as the above, except that they are by no means confined to the range of the animal and vegetable kingdoms. I heard an amusing suggestion of metempsychosis the other day: it is related of a learned German, who was sitting at table, let us say, in an Oxford hotel, with most of his dinner in front of him. Being, however, a man of immediate foresight, and anxious to accustom himself to fine English, he was not to be restrained by scruples as to any possible discrepancy between words like bekommen and become. So to the astonishment of everybody he gravely called out to the waiter, 'Hereafter I vish to become a Velsh rabbit.' This would have done admirably for the author of certain poems in the Book of Taliessin, where the bard's changes are dwelt upon. From them it appears that the transformation might be into anything that the mind of man could in any way individualize. Thus Taliessin claims to have been, some time or other, not only a stag or a salmon, but also an axe, a sword, and even a book in a priest's hand, or a word in writing. On the whole, however, his history as a grain of corn has most interest here, as it differs from that which has just been given: the passage [214] is sadly obscure, but I understand it to say that the grain was duly sown on a hill, that it was reaped and finally brought on the hearth, where the ears of corn were emptied of their grains by the ancient method of dexterously applying a flame to them [215]. But while the light was being applied the grain which was Taliessin, falling from the operator's hand, was quickly received and swallowed by a hostile hen, in whose interior it remained nine nights; but though this seemingly makes Taliessin's mother a bird, he speaks of himself, without mentioning any intervening transformation, as a gwas or young man. Such an origin was perhaps never meant to be other than incomprehensible. Lastly as to rebirth, I may say that it has often struck me that the Welsh habit, especially common in Carnarvonshire and Anglesey, of one child in a family being named, partially or wholly, after a grandparent, is to be regarded as a trace of the survival from early times of a belief in such atavism as has been suggested above [216]. The belief in transformations or transmigrations, such as have been mentioned, must have lent itself to various developments, and two at least of them are deserving of some notice here. First may be mentioned one which connects itself intimately with the druid or magician: he is master of his own transformations, as in the case of Ceridwen and Gwion, for he had acquired his magic by tasting of the contents of Ceridwen's Cauldron of Sciences, and he retained his memory continuously through his shape-shiftings, as is best illustrated, perhaps, by the case of Tuan mac Cairill. The next step was for him to realize his changes, not as matters of the past but as present and possible; in fact, to lay claim to being anybody or anything he likes at any moment. Of this we have a remarkable instance in the case of Amairgen, seer and judge of the Milesians or Sons of Míl, in the story of their conquest of Ireland, as told in the Book of Leinster, fo. 12b. As he first sets his right foot on the land of Erin he sings a lay in which he says, that he is a boar, a bull, and a salmon, together with other things also, such as the sea-breeze, the rolling wave, the roar of the billows, and a lake on the plain. Nor does he forget to pretend to wisdom and science beyond other men, and to hint that he is the divinity that gives them knowledge and sense. The similarity between this passage and others in the Book of Taliessin has attracted the attention of scholars: see M. d'Arbois de Jubainville's Cycle mythologique irlandais, pp. 242 et seq. On the whole, Taliessin revels most in the side of the picture devoted to his knowledge and science: he has passed through so many scenes and changes that he has been an eye-witness to all kinds of events in Celtic story. Thus he was with Brân on his expedition to Ireland, and saw when Mordwyt Tyllion was slain in the great slaughter of the Meal-bag Pavilion. This, however, was not all; he represents himself as also a sywedyd [217], 'vates or prophet, astrologer and astronomer,' a sage who boasts his knowledge of the physical world and propounds questions which he challenges his rivals to answer concerning earth and sea, day and night, sun and moon. He is not only Taliessin, but also Gwion, and hence one infers his magical powers to have been derived. If he regards anybody as his equal or superior, that seems to have been Talhaiarn, to whom he ascribes the greatest science. Talhaiarn is usually thought of only as a great bard by Welsh writers, but it is his science and wisdom that Taliessin admires [218], whereby one is to understand, doubtless, that Talhaiarn, like Taliessin, was a great magician. To this day Welsh bards and bardism have not been quite dissociated from magic, in so far as the witch Ceridwen is regarded as their patroness. The boasts of Amairgen are characterized by M. d'Arbois de Jubainville as a sort of pantheism, and he detects traces of the same doctrine, among other places, in the teaching of the Irishman, known as Scotus Erigena, at the court of Charles the Bald in the ninth century: see the Cycle mythologique, p. 248. In any case, one is prepared by such utterances as those of Amairgen to understand the charge recorded in the Senchus Mór, i. 23, as made against the Irish druids or magicians of his time by a certain Connla Cainbhrethach, one of the remarkable judges of Erin, conjectured by O'Curry--on what grounds I do not know--to have lived in the first century of our era. The statement there made is to the following effect:--'After her came Connla Cainbhrethach, chief doctor of Connaught; he excelled the men of Erin in wisdom, for he was filled with the grace of the Holy Ghost; he used to contend with the druids, who said that it was they that made heaven and earth, and the sea, &c., and the sun and moon, &c.' This view of the pretensions of the druids is corroborated by the fact that magic, especially the power of shape-shifting at will, was regarded as power par excellence [219], and by the old formula of wishing one well, which ran thus: Bendacht dee ocus andee fort, 'the blessing of gods and not-gods upon thee!' The term 'gods' in this context is explained to have meant persons of power [220], and the term 'not-gods' farmers or those connected with the land, probably all those whose lives were directly dependent on farming and the cultivation of the soil, as distinguished from professional men such as druids and smiths. This may be further illustrated by a passage from the account of the second battle of Moytura, published by Stokes with a translation, in the Revue Celtique, xii. 52-130. See more especially pp. 74-6, where we find Lug offering his services to the king, Nuada of the Silver Hand. Among other qualifications which Lug possessed, he named that of being a sorcerer, to which the porter at once replied: 'We need thee not; we have sorcerers already. Many are our wizards and our folk of might'--that is, those of our people who possess power--ar lucht cumachtai. Wizards (druith) and lucht cumachtai came, it is observed, alike under the more general designation of sorcerers (corrguinigh). One seems to come upon traces of the same classification of a community into professionals and non-professionals, for that is what it comes to, in an obscure Welsh term, Teulu Oeth ac Anoeth, which may be conjectured to have meant 'the Household of Oeth and Anoeth' in the sense of Power and Not-power [221]. However that may be, the professional class of men who were treated as persons of power and gods seem to have attained to their position by virtue of the magic of which they claimed to be masters, and especially of their supposed faculty of shape-shifting at will. In other words, the druidic pantheism [222] which Erigena was able to dress in the garb of a fairly respectable philosophy proves to have been, in point of genesis, but a few removes from a primitive kind of savage folklore. None of these stories of shape-shifting, and of being born again, make any allusion to a soul. To revert, for instance, to Llew Llawgyffes, it is evident that the eagle cannot be regarded as his soul. The decayed state of the eagle's body seems to imply that it was somehow the same body as that of Llew at the time when he was wounded by Gronw's poisoned spear: the festering of the eagle's flesh looks as if considered a continuation of the wound. It is above all things, however, to be noted that none of the stories in point, whether Irish or Welsh, contain any suggestion of the hero's life coming to an end, or in any way perishing; Llew lives on to be transformed, under the stroke of Gwydion's wand, from being an eagle to be a man again; and Tuan mac Cairill persists in various forms till he meets St. Finnen in the sixth century. Then in the case of Étáin, we are told in the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 129a, that her first-mentioned birth and the next one were separated by more than a thousand years. So practically we may say that these stories implied that men and women were imperishable, that they had no end necessarily to their existence. This sort of notion may be detected in Llew's words when he says, 'Unless God kill me ... it is not easy to kill me.' The reference to the Almighty may probably be regarded as a comparatively late interpolation due to Christian teaching. A similar instance seems to occur in a poem in the Black Book of Carmarthen, fos. 47b-8b, where Arthur loudly sings the praises of his friend Cai. The couplet in point runs thus:-- Ny bei duv ae digonhei. Oet diheit aghev kei. Unless it were God that wrought it, Hard to effect were the death of Cai. I am not sure, however, of the meaning; for, among other things, diheit, which I am inclined to interpret as 'hard to reach' or 'not easy to effect,' has been rendered otherwise by others [223]. In any case, the other instance seems to imply that at one time the heroes of Llew's world were not necessarily expected to die at all; and when they happened to do so, it was probably regarded, as among savages at the present day, as a result brought about by magic. Any reader who may feel astonished at such a crudeness of belief, will find something to contrast and compare in the familiar doctrine, that but for the fall of Adam and Eve we should have never heard of death, whether of man or of beast. But if he proceeds to ask questions about the economy of our world in case nobody died, he must be satisfied to be told that to ask any such question is here not only useless but also irrelevant. Now, suppose that in a society permeated by the crude kind of notions of which one finds traces in the Mabinogion and other old Welsh literature, a man arose who had a turn for philosophizing and trying to think things out: how would he reason? It seems probable that he would argue, that underneath all the change there must be some substratum which is permanent. If Tuan, he would say, changed from one form to another and remembered all that he had gone through, there must have been something which lasted, otherwise Tuan would have come to an end early in the story, and the later individual would not be Tuan at all. Probably one thing which, according to our folklore philosopher's way of thinking, lasted through the transformations, was the material of Tuan's body, just as one is induced to suppose that Llew's body, and that of the eagle into which he was transformed, were considered to be one and the same body labouring under the mortifying influence of the wound inflicted on Llew by Gronw's enchanted spear. Further, we have already found reasons to regard the existence of the soul as forming a part of the creed of some at any rate of the early inhabitants of this country, though we have no means of gathering what precise attributes our philosopher might ascribe to it besides the single one, perhaps, of continuing to exist. In that case he might otherwise describe Tuan's shape-shifting as the entrance of Tuan's soul into a series of different bodies. Now the philosopher here sketched agrees pretty closely with the little that is known of the Gaulish druid, such as he is described by ancient authors [224]. The latter seem to have been agreed in regarding him as believing in the immortality of the soul, and several of them appear to have thought his views similar to those of Pythagoras and his school. So we may perhaps venture to suppose that the druids, like Pythagoras, believed in the transmigration of souls, including that from the human to an animal form and the reverse. If, in the absence of an explicit statement, one may ascribe this latter form of that belief to the druids, the identity of their creed becomes almost complete with that of our conjectured folklore philosopher. At one time I was inclined to fancy that the druids of Gaul had received no unimportant part of their teaching from Greek philosophy by way of Massilia, but I am now more disposed to believe their doctrines to have been gradually developed, in the way above suggested, from the unfailing resources of that folklore which revelled in scenes of shape-shifting and rebirth. Possibly the doctrines of Pythagoras may have themselves had a like origin and a somewhat parallel development, or let us say rather that the Orphic notions had, which preceded Pythagoreanism. But as to Gaul generally, it is not to be assumed that the Gaulish druids and all the other Gauls held the same opinion on these questions: we have some evidence that they did not. Thus the Gauls in the neighbourhood of Massilia [225], who would accept a creditor's promise to pay up in the next world, can hardly have contemplated the possibility of any such creditor being then a bird or a moth. Should it be objected that the transformations, instanced above as Brythonic and Goidelic, were assumed only in the case of magicians and other professional or privileged persons, and that we are not told what was held to happen in the case of the rank and file of humanity, it is enough to answer that neither do we know what the druids of Gaul held to be the fate of the common people of their communities. No lever can be applied in that direction to disturb the lines of the parallel. In previous chapters, pp. 45, 54, 61, 88, 97, 229, instances from Welsh sources have been given of the fairies concealing their names. But Wales is not the only Celtic land where we find traces of this treatment of one's name: it is to be detected also on Irish ground. Thus, when a herald from an enemy's camp comes to parley with Cúchulainn and his charioteer, the latter, being first approached, describes himself as the 'man of the man down there,' meaning Cúchulainn, to whom he pointed; and when the herald comes to Cúchulainn himself, he asks him whose man he is: Cúchulainn describes himself as the 'man of Conchobar mac Nessa.' The herald then inquires if he has no more definite designation, and Cúchulainn replies that what he has given will suffice [226]: neither of the men gives his name. Thus Celts of both groups, Brythons and Goidels, are at one in yielding evidence to the same sort of cryptic treatment of personal names, at some stage or other in their past history. The student of man tells us, as already pointed out, that the reason for the reluctance to disclose one's name was of the same nature as that which makes savages, and some men belonging to nations above the savage state feel anxious that an enemy should not get possession of anything identified with their persons, such as a lock of one's hair, a drop of one's blood, or anything closely connected with one's person, lest it should give the enemy power over one's person as a whole, especially if such enemy is suspected of possessing any skill in handling the terrors of magic. In other words, the anthropologist would say that the name was regarded as identified with the person; and, having said this, he has mostly felt satisfied that he has definitively disposed of the matter. Therein, however, he is possibly wrong; for when he says that the name was probably treated as a part of the man, that only leads one to ask the question, What part of the man? At any rate, I can see nothing very unreasonable in such a question, though I am quite willing to word it differently, and to ask: Is there any evidence to show with what part of a man his name was associated? As regards the Aryan nations, we seem to have a clue to an answer in the interesting group of Aryan words in point, from which I select the following:--Irish ainm, 'a name,' plural anmann; Old Welsh anu, now enw, also 'a name'; Old Bulgarian imen (for *ienmen, *anman); Old Prussian emnes, emmens, accusative emnan; and Armenian anwan (for a stem *anman)--all meaning a name. To these some scholars [227] would add, and it may be rightly, the English word name itself, the Latin nomen, the Sanskrit naman, and the Greek ynoma; but, as some others find a difficulty in thus grouping these words, I abstain from laying any stress on them. In fact, I have every reason to be satisfied with the wide extent of the Aryan world covered by the other instances enumerated as Celtic, Prussian, Bulgarian, and Armenian. Now, such is the similarity between Welsh enw, 'name,' and enaid, 'soul,' that I cannot help referring the two words to one and the same origin, especially when I see the same or rather greater similarity illustrated by the Irish words, ainm, 'name,' and anim, 'soul.' This similarity between the Irish words so pervades the declension of them, that a beginner frequently falls into the error of confounding them in medieval texts. Take, for instance, the genitive singular, anma, which may mean either animæ or nominis; the nominative plural, anmand, which may be either animæ or nomina; and the gen. anmand, either animarum or nominum, as the dative anmannaib may likewise be either animabus or nominibus. In fact, one is at first sight almost tempted to suppose that the partial differentiation of the Irish forms was only brought about under the influence of Latin, with its distinct forms of anima and nomen. That would be pressing the point too far; but the direct teaching of the Celtic vocables is that they are all to be referred to the same origin in the Aryan word for 'breath or breathing,' which is represented by such words as Latin anima, Welsh anadl, 'breath,' and a Gothic anan, 'blow or breathe,' whence the compound preterite uz-on, twice used by Ulfilas in the fifteenth chapter of St. Mark's Gospel to render exepneuse, 'gave up the ghost.' Now the lessons which the words here grouped together contain for the student of man is, that the Celts, and certain other widely separated Aryans, unless we should rather say the whole of the Aryan family, were once in the habit of closely associating both the soul and one's name with the breath of life. The evidence is satisfactory so far as it goes; but let us go a little more into detail, and see as exactly as we can to what it commits us. Commencing at the beginning, we may set out with the axiom that breathing is a physical action, and that in the temperate zone one's breath is not unfrequently visible. Then one may say that the men who made the words--Welsh, enaid (for an earlier anatio-s), 'soul'; Irish, anim (from an earlier stem, animon); Latin, anima, also animus, 'feeling, mind, soul'; and Greek, anemos, 'air, wind'--must have in some way likened the soul to one's breath, which perhaps first suggested the idea. At all events they showed not only that they did not contemplate the soul as a bone, or any solid portion of a man's frame, or even as a manikin residing inside it: in fact they had made a great advance in the direction of the abstract notion of a spirit, in which some of them may have been helped by another association of ideas, namely, that indicated by speaking of the dead as shades or shadows, umbræ, skiai. Similarly, the words in point for 'name' seem to prove that some of the ancient Aryans must have, in some way, associated one's name with the breath of life. On the other hand, we find nothing to show that the name and the soul were directly compared or associated with one another, while the association of the name with the breath represents, probably, a process as much earlier as it is cruder, than likening the soul to the breath and naming it accordingly. This is countenanced to some extent by the general physiognomy, so to say, of words like enaid, anima, as contrasted with enw, ainm, nomen, name. Speaking relatively, the former might be of almost any date in point of comparative lateness, while the latter could not, belonging as they do to a small declension which was not wont to receive accessions to its numbers. In what way, then, or in what respect did early folklore identify the name with the breath? Before one could expect to answer this question in anything like a convincing fashion, one would have to examine the collector of the folklore of savages, or rather to induce him to cross-examine them on the point. For instance, among the Singhalese [228], when in the ceremony of name-giving the father utters the baby's name in a low whisper in the baby's ear, is that called breathing the name? and is the name so whispered called a breath or a breathing? In the case of the savages who name their children at their birth, is the reason ever advanced that a name must be given to the child in order to make it breathe, or, at least, in order to facilitate its breathing? Some such a notion of reinforcing the child's vitality and safety would harmonize well enough with the fact that, as Mr. Clodd [229] puts it, 'Barbaric, Pagan, and Christian folklore is full of examples of the importance of naming and other birth-ceremonies, in the belief that the child's life is at the mercy of evil spirits watching the chance of casting spells upon it, of demons covetous to possess it, and of fairies eager to steal it and leave a "changeling" in its place.' Provisionally, one must perhaps rest content to suppose the association of the name to have taken place with the breath regarded as an accompaniment of life. Looked at in that sense, the name becomes associated with one's life, and, speaking roughly, with one's person; and it is interesting to notice that one seems to detect traces in Welsh literature of some confusion of the kind. Thus, when the hero of the story of Kulhwch and Olwen was christened he was named Kulhwch, which is expressed in Welsh as 'forcing or driving Kulhwch on him' (gyrru kulh6ch arna6 [230]); Kulh6ch, be it noticed, not the name Kulhwch. Similarly when Brân, on the eve of his expedition to Ireland, left seven princes, or knights as they are also called, to take charge of his dominions, we have an instance of the kind. The stead or town was named after the seven knights, and it is a place which is now known as Bryn y Saith Marchog, 'the Hill of the Seven Knights,' near Gwydelwern, in Merionethshire. But the wording of the Mabinogi of Branwen is o acha6s hynny y dodet seith marcha6c ar y dref [231], meaning 'for that reason the stead was called Seven Knights,' literally 'for that reason one put Seven Knights on the stead.' In Guest's Mabinogion, iii. 116, this will be found rendered wrongly, though not wholly without excuse--'for this reason were the seven knights placed in the town.' It is probable that the redactor of the stories from which the two foregoing instances come--and more might be cited--was not so much courting ambiguities as adhering to an old form of expression which neglected from the first to distinguish, in any formal way, between names and the persons or things which they would, in modern phraseology, be said to represent [232]. An instance has been already mentioned of a man's name being put or set on him, or rather forced on him: at any rate, his name is on him both in Welsh and Irish, and the latter language also speaks of it as cleaving or adhering to him. Neither language contemplates the name, however closely identified with him, as having become an inseparable part of him, or else as something he has secured for himself. In the neo-Celtic tongues, both Welsh and Irish, all things which a man owns, and all things for which he takes credit, are with him or by him; but all things which he cannot help having, whether creditable or discreditable, if they are regarded as coming from without are on him, not with him. Thus, if he is wealthy there is money with him; but if he is in debt and owes money, the money is on him. Similarly, if he rejoices there is joy with him; whereas if he is ashamed or afraid, shame or fear is on him. This is a far-reaching distinction, of capital importance in Celtic phraseology, and judged by this criterion the name is something from without the man, something which he cannot take credit to himself for having acquired by his own direct willing or doing. This is to be borne in mind when one speaks of the name as identified or closely bound up with one's life and personality. But this qualified identification of the name with the man is also what one may infer from savage folklore; for many, perhaps most, of the nations who name their children at their birth, have those names changed when the children grow up. That is done when a boy has to be initiated into the mysteries of his tribe or of a guild, or it may be when he has achieved some distinction in war. In most instances, it involves a serious ceremony and the intervention of the wise man, whether the medicine-man of a savage system, or the priest of a higher religion [233]. In the ancient Wales of the Mabinogion, and in pagan Ireland, the name-giving was done, subject to certain conditions, at the will and on the initiative of the druid, who was at the same time tutor and teacher of the youth to be renamed [234]. Here I may be allowed to direct attention to the two following facts: the druid, recalling as he does the magician of the Egypt of the Pentateuch and the shaman of the Mongolian world of our own time, represented a profession probably not of Celtic origin. In the next place, his method of selecting names from incidents was palpably incompatible with what is known to have been the Aryan system of nomenclature, by means of compounds, as evinced by the annals of most nations of the Aryan family of speech: such compounds, I mean, as Welsh Pen-wyn, 'white-headed,' Gaulish Penno-ouindos, or Greek Hipparchos, Archippos, and the like. Briefly, one may say that the association of the name with the breath of life was probably Aryan, but without, perhaps, being unfamiliar to the aborigines of the British Isles before their conquest by the Celts. On the other hand, in the druid and his method of naming we seem to touch the non-Aryan substratum, and to detect something which was not Celtic, not Aryan [235]. Perhaps the reader will not regard it as wholly irrelevant if here I change the subject for a while from one's name to other words and locutions in so far as they may be regarded as illustrative of the mental surroundings in which the last paragraph leaves the name. I allude especially to the exaggerated influence associated with a form of words, more particularly among the Irish Celts. O'Curry gives a tragic instance: the poet Néde mac Adnai, in order to obtain possession of the throne of Connaught, asked an impossible request of the king, who was his own father's brother and named Caier. When the king declared his inability to accede to his demand the poet made the refusal his excuse for composing on the king what was called in Irish an áir or áer, written later aor, 'satire,' which ran approximately thus:-- Evil, death, short life to Caier! May spears of battle wound Caier! Caier quenched, Caier forced, Caier underground! Under ramparts, under stones with Caier! O'Curry goes on to relate how Caier, washing his face at the fountain next morning, discovered that it had three blisters on it, which the satire had raised, to wit, disgrace, blemish, and defect, in colours of crimson, green, and white. So Caier fleeing, that his plight might not be seen of his friends, came to Dun Cearmna (now the Old Head of Kinsale, in county Cork), the residence of Caichear, chief of that district. There Caier was well received as a stranger of unknown quality, while Néde assumed the sovereignty of Connaught. In time, Néde came to know of Caier being there, and rode there in Caier's chariot. But as Néde approached Caier escaped through his host's house and hid himself in the cleft of a rock, whither Néde followed Caier's greyhound; and when Caier saw Néde, the former dropped dead of shame [236]. This abstract of the story as told by O'Curry, will serve to show how the words of the satirist were dreaded by high and low among the ancient Irish, and how their demands had to be at once obeyed. It is a commonplace of Irish literature that the satirist's words unfailingly raised blisters on the face of him at whom they were aimed. A portion at least of the potency of the poet's words seems to have been regarded as due to their being given a certain metrical form. That, however, does not show how the poet had acquired his influence, and one cannot shut one's eyes to the fact that the means he might adopt to make his influence felt and his wishes instantly attended to, implied that the race with which he had to deal was a highly sensitive one: I may perhaps apply to it the adjective thin-skinned, in the literal sense of that word. For the blisters on the face are only an exaggeration of a natural phenomenon. On this point my attention has been called by a friend to the following passages in a review of a work on the pathology of the emotions [237]:-- 'To both the hurtful and curative effects of the emotions M. Féré devotes much attention, and on these points makes some interesting remarks. That the emotions act on the body, more by their effects on the circulation than by anything else, is no new thesis, but M. Féré is developing some new branches of it. That the heart may be stopped for a few seconds, and that there may be localised flush and pallor of the skin, owing to almost any strong emotion, whether it be joy, anger, fear, or pain, is a matter of common observation; and that there may be many changes of nutrition due to vaso-motor disturbance is a point easy to establish. The skin is particularly easily affected; passion and pain may produce a sweat that is truly hemorrhagic (Parrot); and the scientific world is obliged to admit that in the stigmata of Louise Lateau the blood vessels were really broken, and not broken by anything else than an emotional state as cause. In a shipwreck Follain tells us that the pilot was covered in an hour with pustules from his fear; and the doctor sees many dermato-neuroses, such as nettle-rash, herpes, pemphigus, vitiligo, &c, from the choc moral.' I can illustrate this from my own observation: when I was an undergraduate there was with me at college a Welsh undergraduate, who, when teased or annoyed by his friends, was well known to be subject to a sort of rash or minute pustules on his face: it would come on in the course of an hour or so. There is a well-known Welsh line on this subject of the face which is to the point:-- Ni chel grud gystud càlon. The cheek hides not the heart's affliction. So a man who was insulted, or whose honour was assailed, might be said to be thereby put to the blush or to be otherwise injured in his face; and the Irish word enech, 'face,' is found commonly used as a synonym for one's honour or good name. The same appears to have been the case with the Welsh equivalent, wyneb, 'face,' and dyn di-wyneb, literally 'a faceless man,' appears to be now used in Carnarvonshire and Glamorgan in the sense of one who is without a sense of honour, an unprincipled fellow. So when Welsh law dealt with insults and attacks on one's honour the payment to be made to the injured person was called gwynebwerth, 'the price of one's face,' or gwynebwarth, 'the payment for disgracing one's face.' Irish law arranged for similar damages, and called them by analogous names, such as enech-gris, 'a fine for injuring or raising a blush on the face,' and enech-lóg or enech-lann, 'honour price'; compare also enech-ruice, 'a face-reddening or blushing caused by some act or scandal which brought shame on a family.' Possibly one has to do with traces of somewhat the same type of 'face,' though it has faded away to the verge of vanishing, when one speaks in English of keeping another in countenance. It has been suggested that if a magician got a man's name he could injure him by means of his arts: now the converse seems to have been the case with the Irish áer or satire, for to be effective it had, as in the instance of Caier, to mention the victim's name; and a curious instance occurs in the Book of Leinster, fo. 117, where the poet Atherne failed to curse a person whose name he could not manipulate according to the rules of his satire. This man Atherne is described as inhospitable, stingy, and greedy to the last degree. So it is related how he sallied forth one day, taking with him a cooked pig and a pot of mead, to a place where he intended to gorge himself without being observed. But no sooner had he settled down to his meal than he saw a man approaching, who remarked to him on his operating on the food all alone, and unceremoniously picked up the porker and the pot of mead. As he was coolly walking away with them, Atherne cried out after him, 'What is thy name?' The stranger replied that it was nothing very grand, and gave it as follows:-- Sethor . ethor . othor . sele . dele . dreng gerce Mec gerlusce . ger ger . dír dír issed moainmse. Sethor-Ethor-Othor-Sele-Dele-Dreng gerce Son of Gerlusce ger-ger-dír-dír, that is my name. The story goes on to say that Atherne neither saw his meal any more nor succeeded in making a satire on the name of the stranger, who accordingly got away unscathed. It was surmised, we are told, that he was an angel come from God to teach the poet better manners. This comic story brings us back to the importance of the name, as it implies that the cursing poet, had he been able to seize it and duly work it into his satire, could not have failed to bring about the intruder's discomfiture. The magician and folklore philosopher, far from asking with Juliet, 'What's in a name?' would have rather put it the other way, 'What's not in a name?' At any rate the ancients believed that there was a great deal in a name, and traces of the importance which they gave it are to be found in modern speech: witness the article on name or its equivalent in a big dictionary of any language possessed of a great literature. It has been seen that it is from the point of view of magic that the full importance of one's name was most keenly realized by our ancient Celts; that is, of magic more especially in that stage of its history when it claimed as its own a certain degree of skill in the art of verse-making. Perhaps, indeed, it would be more accurate to suppose that verse-making appertained from the outset to magic, and that it was magicians, medicine-men, or seers, who, for their own use, first invented the aids of rhythm and metre. The subject, however, of magic and its accessories is far too vast to be treated here: it has been touched upon here and there in some of the previous chapters, and I may add that wizardry and magic form the machinery, so to say, of the stories called in Welsh the 'Four Branches of the Mabinogi' namely those of Pwyll, Branwen, Manawydan, and Math. Now these four, together with the adventure of Llûd and Llevelys, and, in a somewhat qualified sense, the story of Kulhwch and Olwen, represent in a Brythonicized form the otherwise lost legends of the Welsh Goidels; and, like those of the Irish Goidels, they are remarkable for their wizardry. Nor is that all, for in the former the kings are mostly the greatest magicians of their time: or shall I rather put it the other way, and say that in them the greatest magicians function as kings? Witness Math son of Mathonwy king of Gwyned, and his sister's son, Gwydion ab Dôn, to whom as his successor he duly taught his magic; then come the arch-enchanter Arawn, king of Annwn, and Caswallon ab Beli, represented as winning his kingdom by the sheer force of magic. To these might be added other members of the kingly families whose story shows them playing the rôle of magicians, such as Rhiannon, who by her magic arts foiled her powerful suitor, Gwawl ab Clûd, and secured as her consort the man of her choice, Pwyll prince of Dyfed. Here also, perhaps, one might mention Manawydan ab Llyr, who, as Manannán mac Lir, figures in the stories of the Goidels of Erin and Man as a consummate wizard and first king of the Manx people: see p. 314 above. In the Mabinogi, however, no act of magic is ascribed to Manawydan, though he is represented successfully checkmating the most formidable wizard arrayed against him and his friends, to wit, Llwyd ab Kilcoed. Not only does one get the impression that the ruling class in these stories of the Welsh Goidels had their magic handed down from generation to generation according to a fixed rule of maternal succession (pp. 326, 503, 505), but it supplies the complete answer to and full explanation of questions as to the meaning of the terms already mentioned, Tuatha Dé ocus Andé, and Lucht Cumachtai, together with its antithesis. Within the magic-wielding class exercising dominion over the shepherds and tillers of the soil of the country, it is but natural to suppose that the first king was the first magician or greatest medicine-man, as in the case of Manannán in the Isle of Man. This must of course be understood to apply to the early history of the Goidelic race, or, perhaps more correctly speaking, to one of the races which had contributed to its composition: to the aborigines, let us say, by whatsoever name or names you may choose to call them, whether Picts or Ivernians. It is significant, among other things, that our traditions should connect the potency of ancient wizardry with descent in the female line of succession, and, in any case, one cannot be wrong in assuming magic to have begun very low down in the scale of social progress, probably lower than religion, with which it is essentially in antagonism. As the crude and infantile pack of notions, collectively termed sympathetic magic--beginning with the belief that any effect may be produced by imitating the action of the cause of it, or even doing anything that would recall it [238]--grew into the panoply of the magician, he came to regard himself, and to be regarded by others, as able for his own benefit and that of his friends to coerce all possible opponents, whether men or demons, heroes or gods. This left no room for the attitude of prayer and worship: religion in that sense could only come later. CHAPTER XII RACE IN FOLKLORE AND MYTH The method of philological mythology is thus discredited by the disputes of its adherents. The system may be called orthodox, but it is an orthodoxy which alters with every new scholar who enters the sacred enclosure.--Andrew Lang. It has been well said, that while it is not science to know the contents of myths, it is science to know why the human race has produced them. It is not my intention to trace minutely the history of that science, but I may hazard the remark, that she could not be said to have reached years of discretion till she began to compare one thing with another; and even when mythology had become comparative mythology, her horizon remained till within recent years comparatively narrow. In other words, the comparisons were wont to be very circumscribed: you might, one was told, compare the myths of Greeks and Teutons and Hindus, because those nations were considered to be of the same stock; but even within that range comparisons were scarcely contemplated, except in the case of myths enshrined in the most classical literatures of those nations. This kind of mythology was eclectic rather than comparative, and it was apt to regard myths as a mere disease of language. By-and-by, however, the student showed a preference for a larger field and a wider range; and in so doing he was, whether consciously or unconsciously, beginning to keep step with a larger movement extending to the march of all the kindred sciences, and especially that of language. At one time the student of language was satisfied with mummified speech, wrapped up, as it were, in the musty coils of the records of the past: in fact, he often became a mere researcher of the dead letter of language, instead of a careful observer of the breath of life animating her frame. So long as that remained the case, glottology deserved the whole irony of Voltaire's well-known account of etymology as being in fact, 'une science où les voyelles ne font rien, et les consonnes fort peu de chose.' In the course, however, of recent years a great change has come over the scene: not only have the laws of the Aryan consonants gained greatly in precision, but those of the Aryan vowels have at last been discovered to a considerable extent. The result for me and others who learnt that the Aryan peasant of idyllic habits harped eternally on the three notes of a, i, u, is that we have to unlearn this and a great deal more: in fact, the vowels prove to be far more troublesome than the consonants. But difficult as these lessons are, the glottologist must learn them, unless he is content to remain with the stragglers who happen to be unable to move on. Now the change to which I allude, in connexion with the study of language, has been inseparably accompanied with the paying of increased attention to actual speech, with a more careful scrutiny of dialects, even obscure dialects such as the literary man is wont to regard with scorn. Similarly the student of mythology now seeks the wherewithal of his comparisons from the mouth of the traveller and the missionary, wherever they may roam; not from the Rig-Veda or the Iliad alone, but from the rude stories of the peasant, and the wild fancies of the savage from Tierra del Fuego to Greenland's icy mountains. The parallel may be drawn still closer. Just as the glottologist, fearing lest the written letter may have slurred over or hidden away important peculiarities of ancient speech, resorts for a corrective to the actuality of modern Aryan, so the mythologist, apt to suspect the testimony of the highly respectable bards of the Rig-Veda, may on occasion give ear to the fresh evidence of a savage, however inconsequent it may sound. The movements to which I allude in glottology and mythology began so recently that their history has not yet been written. Suffice it to say that in glottology, or the science of language, the names most intimately connected with the new departure are those of Ascoli, J. Schmidt, and Fick, those of Leskien, Brugmann, Osthoff, and De Saussure; while of the names of the teachers of the anthropological method of studying myths, several are by this time household words in this country. But, so far as I know, the first to give a systematic exposition of the subject was Professor Tylor, in his work on Primitive Culture, published first in 1871. Such has been the intimate connexion between mythology and glottology that I may be pardoned for going back again to the latter. It is applicable in its method to all languages, but, as a matter of fact, it came into being in the domain of Aryan philology, so that it has been all along principally the science of comparing the Aryan languages with one another. It began with Sir William Jones' discovery of the kinship of Sanskrit with Greek and Latin, and for a long time it took the lead of the more closely related sciences: this proved partly beneficial and partly the reverse. In the case of ethnology, for instance, the influence of glottology has probably done more harm than good, since it has opened up a wide field for confounding race with language. In the case of mythology the same influence has been partly helpful, and it has partly fallen short of being such. Where names could be analysed with certainty, and where they could be equated, leaving little room for doubt, as in the case of that of the Greek Zeus, the Norse Týr, and the Sanskrit Dyaus, the science of language rendered a veritable help to mythology; but where the students of language, all pointing in different directions, claimed each to hold in his hand the one safety-lamp, beyond the range of which the mythologist durst not take a single step except at the imminent risk of breaking his neck, the help may be pronounced, to say the least of it, as somewhat doubtful. The anthropological method of studying myths put an end to the unequal relation between the students of the two sciences, and it is now pretty well agreed that the proper relationship between them is that of mutual aid. This will doubtless prove the solution of the whole matter, but it would be premature to say that the period of strained relations is quite over, since the mythologist has so recently made good his escape from the embarrassing attentions of the students of language, that he has not yet quite got out of his ears the bewildering notes of the chorus of discordant cries of 'Dawn,' 'Sun,' and 'Storm-cloud.' Now that I have touched on the friendly relations which ought to exist between the science of language and the science of myth, I may perhaps be allowed to notice a point or two where it is possible or desirable for the one to render service to the other. The student of language naturally wants the help of the student of myth, ritual, and religion on matters which most immediately concern his own department of study; and I may perhaps be excused for taking my stand on Celtic ground, and calling attention to some of my own difficulties. Here is one of them: when one would say in English 'It rains' or 'It freezes,' I should have to say in my own language, Y mae hi'n bwrw glaw and Y mae hi'n rhewi, which literally means 'She is casting rain' and 'She is freezing.' Nor is this sort of locution confined to weather topics, for when you would say 'He is badly off' or 'He is hard up,' a Welshman might say, Y mae hi'n drwg arno or Y mae hi'n galed arno, that is literally, 'She is evil on him' or 'She is hard on him.' And the same feminine pronoun fixes itself in other locutions in the language. Now I wish to invoke the student of myth, ritual, and religion to help in the identification of this ubiquitous 'she' of the Welsh. Whenever it is mentioned to Englishmen, it merely calls to their minds the Highland 'she' of English and Scotch caricature, as for instance when Sir Walter Scott makes Donald appeal in the following strain to Lord Menteith's man, Anderson, who had learnt manners in France: 'What the deil, man, can she no drink after her ain master without washing the cup and spilling the ale, and be tamned to her!' The Highlander denies the charge which our caricature tries to fasten on him; but even granting that it was once to some extent justified, it is easy to explain it by a reference to Gaelic, where the pronouns se and sibh, for 'he' and 'you' respectively, approach in pronunciation the sound of the English pronoun 'she.' This may have led to confusion in the mouths of Highlanders who had but very imperfectly mastered English. In any case, it is far too superficial to be quoted as a parallel to the hi, 'she,' in question in Welsh. A cautious Celtist, if such there be, might warn us, before proceeding further with the search, to make sure that the whole phenomenon is not a mere accident of Welsh phonetics, and that it is not a case of two pronouns, one meaning 'she' and the other 'it,' being confounded as the result merely of phonetic decay. The answer to that is, that the language knows nothing of any neuter pronoun which could assume the form of the hi which occupies us; and further, that in locutions where the legitimate representative of the neuter might be expected, the pronoun used is a different one, ef, e, meaning both 'he' and 'it,' as in ï-e for ï-ef, 'it is he, she, it or they,' nag-e, 'not he, she, it or they,' ef a allai or fe allai, 'perhaps, peradventure, peut-être, il est possible.' The French sentence suggests the analogous question, what was the original force of denotation of the 'il' in such sentences as 'il fait beau,' 'il pleut,' and 'il neige'? In such cases it now denotes nobody in particular, but has it always been one of his names? French historical grammar may be able, unaided, to dispose of the attenuated fortunes of M. Il, but we have to look for help to the student of myth and allied subjects to enable us to identify the great 'she' persistently eluding our search in the syntax of the Welsh language. Only two feminine names suggest themselves to me as in any way appropriate: one is tynghed, 'fate or fortune,' and the other is Dôn, mother of some of the most nebulous personages in Celtic literature. There is, however, no evidence to show that either of them is really the 'she' of whom we are in quest; but I have something to say about both as illustrating the other side of the theme, how the study of language may help mythology. This I have so far only illustrated by a reference to the equation of Zeus with Dyaus and their congeners. Within the range of Celtic legend the case is similar with Dôn, who figures on Welsh ground, as I have hinted, as mother of certain heroes of the oldest chapters of the Mabinogion. For it is from her that Gwydion, the bard and arch-magician, and Gofannon the smith his brother, are called sons of Dôn; and so in the case of Arianrhod, daughter of Dôn, mother of Llew, and owner of the sea-laved castle of Caer Arianrhod, not far distant from the prehistoric mound of Dinas Dinlle, near the western mouth of the Menai Straits, as already mentioned in another chapter, p. 208 above. In Irish legend, we detect Dôn under the Irish form of her name, Danu or Donu, genitive Danann or Donann, and she is almost singular there in always being styled a divinity. From her the great mythical personages of Irish legend are called Tuatha Dé Danann, or 'the Goddess Danu's Tribes,' and sometimes Fir Déa, or 'the Men of the Divinity.' The last stage in the Welsh history of Dôn consists of her translation to the skies, where the constellation of Cassiopeia is supposed to constitute Llys Dôn or Dôn's Court, as the Corona Borealis is identified with Caer Arianrhod or 'the Castle of Dôn's Daughter'; but, as was perhaps fitting, the dimensions of both are reduced to comparative littleness by Caer Gwydion, 'the Magician Gwydion's Battlements,' spread over the radiant expanse of the whole Milky Way [239]. Now the identification of this ancient goddess Danu or Dôn as that in whom the oldest legends of the Irish Goidels and the Welsh Goidels converge, has been the work not so much of mythology as of the science of language; for it was the latter that showed how to call back a little colouring into the vanishing lineaments of this faded ancestral divinity [240]. For my next illustration, namely tynghed, 'fate,' I would cite a passage from the opening of one of the most Celtic of Welsh stories, that of Kulhwch and Olwen. Kulhwch's father, after being for some time a widower, marries again, and conceals from his second wife the fact that he has a son. She finds it out and lets her husband know it; so he sends for his son Kulhwch, and the following is the account of the son's interview with his stepmother, as given in Lady Charlotte Guest's translation, ii. 252:--'His stepmother said unto him, "It were well for thee to have a wife, and I have a daughter who is sought of every man of renown in the world." "I am not of an age to wed," answered the youth. Then said she unto him, "I declare to thee, that it is thy destiny not to be suited with a wife until thou obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspadaden Penkawr." And the youth blushed, and the love of the maiden diffused itself through all his frame, although he had never seen her. And his father inquired of him, "What has come over thee, my son, and what aileth thee?" "My stepmother has declared to me, that I shall never have a wife until I obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspadaden Penkawr." "That will be easy for thee," answered his father. "Arthur is thy cousin. Go, therefore, unto Arthur to cut thy hair, and ask this of him as a boon."' The physical theory of love for an unknown lady at the first mention of her name, and the allusion to the Celtic tonsure, will have doubtless caught the reader's attention, but I only wish to speak of the words which the translator has rendered, 'I declare to thee, that it is thy destiny not to be suited with a wife until thou obtain Olwen.' More closely rendered, the original might be translated thus: 'I swear thee a destiny that thy side touch not a wife till thou obtain Olwen.' The word in the Welsh for destiny is tynghet (for an earlier tuncet), and the corresponding Irish word is attested as tocad. Both these words have a tendency, like 'fate,' to be used mostly in peiorem partem. Formerly, however, they might be freely used in an auspicious sense likewise, as for instance in the woman's name Tunccetace, on an early inscribed stone in Pembrokeshire. If her name had been rendered into Latin she would have probably been called Fortunata, as a namesake of good fortune. I render the Welsh mi a tynghaf dynghet itt [241] into English, 'I swear thee a destiny'; but, more literally still, one might possibly render it 'I swear thee a swearing,' that is, 'I swear thee an oath,' meaning 'I swear for thee an oath which will bind thee.' The stepmother, it is true, is not represented going through the form of words, for what she said appears to have been a regular formula, just like that of putting a person in Medieval Irish story under gessa or bonds of magic; but an oath or form of imprecation was once doubtless a dark reality behind this formula. In the southern part of my native county of Cardigan, the phrase in question has been in use within the last thirty years, and the practice which it denotes is still so well known as to be the subject of local stories. A friend of mine, who is not yet fifty, vividly remembers listening to an uncle of his relating how narrowly he once escaped having the oath forced on him. He was in the hilly portion of the parish of Llanwenog, coming home across country in the dead of a midsummer's night, when leaping over a fence he unexpectedly came down close to a man actively engaged in sheep-stealing. The uncle instantly took to his heels, while the thief pursued him with a knife. If the thief had caught him, it is understood that he would have held his knife at his throat and forced on him an oath of secrecy. I have not been able to ascertain the wording of the oath, but all I can learn goes to show that it was dreaded only less than death itself. In fact, there are stories current of men who failed to recover from the effects of the oath, but lingered and died in a comparatively short time. Since I got the foregoing story I have made inquiries of others in South Cardiganshire, and especially of a medical friend of mine, who speaks chiefly as to his native parish of Llangynllo. I found that the idea is perfectly familiar to him and my other informants; but, strange to say, from nobody could I gather that the illness is considered to result necessarily from the violent administration of the tynghed to the victim, or from the latter's disregarding the secrecy of it by disclosing to his friends the name of the criminal. In fact, I cannot discover that any such secrecy is emphasized so long as the criminal is not publicly brought before a court of justice. Rather is it that the tynghed effects blindly the ruin of the sworn man's health, regardless of his conduct. At any rate, that is the interpretation which I am forced to put on what I have been told. The phrase tyngu tynghed [242], intelligible still in Wales, recalls another instance of the importance of the spoken word, to wit, the Latin fatum. Nay, it seems to suggest that the latter might have perhaps originally been part of some such a formula as alicui fatum fari, 'to say one a saying,' in the pregnant sense of applying to him words of power. This is all the more to the point, as it is well known how closely Latin and Celtic are related to one another, and how every advance in the study of those languages goes to add emphasis to their kinship. From the kinship of the languages one may expect, to a certain extent, a similarity of rites and customs, and one has not to go further for this than the very story which I have cited. When Kulhwch's father first married, he is said to have sought a gwreic kynmwyt ac ef [243], which means 'a wife of the same food with him.' Thus the wedded wife was she, probably, who ate with her husband, and we are reminded of the food ceremony which constituted the aristocratic marriage in ancient Rome: it was called confarreatio, and in the course of it an offering of cake, called farreum libum, used to be made to Jupiter. A great French student of antiquity, M. Fustel de Coulanges, describes the ceremony thus [244]:--'Les deux époux, comme en Grèce, font un sacrifice, versent la libation, prononcent quelques prières, et mangent ensemble un gâteau de fleur de farine (panis farreus).' Lastly, my attention has been directed to the place given to bread in the stories of Llyn y Fan Fach and Llyn Elfarch. For on turning back to pp. 3-6, 17-8, 28, the reader will find too much made of the bread to allow us to suppose that it had no meaning in the courtship. The young farmer having fallen in love at first sight with the lake maiden, it looks as if he wished, by inducing her to share the bread he was eating, to go forthwith through a form of marriage by a kind of confarreation that committed her to a contract to be his wife without any tedious delay. To return to the Latin fatum, I would point out that the Romans had a plurality of fata; but how far they were suggested by the Greek moirai is not quite clear: nor is it known that the ancient Welsh had more than one tynghed. In the case, however, of old Norse literature, we come across the Fate there as one bearing a name which is perhaps cognate with the Welsh tynghed. I allude to a female figure, called Þokk, who appears in the touching myth of Balder's death. When Balder had fallen at the hands of Loki and Hödr, his mother Frigg asked who would like to earn her good will by going as her messenger to treat with Hell for the release of Balder. Hermódr the Swift, another of the sons of Woden, undertook to set out on that journey on his father's charger Sleipnir. For nine dreary nights he pursued his perilous course without interruption, through glens dark and deep, till he came to the river called Yell, when he was questioned as to his errand by the maid in charge of the Yell bridge. On and on he rode afterwards till he came to the fence of Hell's abode, which his horse cleared at full speed. Hermódr entered the hall, and there found his brother Balder seated in the place of honour. He abode with him that night, and in the morning he asked Hell to let Balder ride home with him to the Anses. He urged Hell to consider the grief which everybody and everything felt for Balder. She replied that she would put that to the test by letting Balder go if everything animate and inanimate would weep for him; but he would be detained if anybody or anything declined to do so. Hermódr made his way back alone to the Anses, and announced to Frigg the answer which Hell had given to her request. Messengers were sent forth without delay to bid all the world beweep Woden's son out of the power of Hell. This was done accordingly by all, by men and animals, by earth and stones, by trees and all metals, 'as you have doubtless seen these things weep,' says the writer of the Prose Edda, 'when they pass from frost to warmth.' When the messengers, however, were on their way home, after discharging their duty, they chanced on a cave where dwelt a giantess called Þokk, whom they ordered to join in the weeping for Balder; but she only answered:-- Þokk will weep dry tears At Balder's bale-fire. What is the son of man, quick or dead, to me! Let Hell keep what she holds [245]. In this ogress Þokk, deaf to the appeals of the tenderer feelings, we seem to have the counterpart of our Celtic tocad and tynghed; and the latter's name as a part of the formula in the Welsh story, while giving us the key of the myth, shows how the early Aryan knew of nothing more binding than the magic force of an oath. On the one hand, this conception of destiny carries with it the marks of its humble origin, and one readily agrees with Cicero's words, De Divinatione, ii. 7, when he says, anile sane et plenum superstitionis fati nomen ipsum. On the other hand, it rises to the grim dignity of a name for the dark, inexorable power which the whole universe is conceived to obey, a power before which the great and resplendent Zeus of the Aryan race is a mere puppet. Perhaps I have dwelt only too long on the policy of 'give and take' which ought to obtain between mythology and glottology. Unfortunately, one can add without fear of contradiction, that, even when that policy is carried out to the utmost, both sciences will still have difficulties more than enough. In the case of mythology these difficulties spring chiefly from two distinct sources, from the blending of history with myth, and from the mixing of one race with another. Let us now consider the latter: the difficulties from this source are many and great, but every fresh acquisition of knowledge tending to make our ideas of ethnology more accurate, gives us a better leverage for placing the myths of mixed peoples in their proper places as regards the races composing those peoples. Still, we have far fewer propositions to lay down than questions to ask: thus to go no further afield than the well-known stories attaching to the name of Heracles, how many of them are Aryan, how many Semitic, and how many Aryan and Semitic at one and the same time? That is the sort of question which besets the student of Celtic mythology at every step; for the Celtic nations of the present day are the mixed descendants of Aryan invaders and the native populations which those Aryan invaders found in possession. So the question thrusts itself on the student, to which of these races a particular myth, rite, or custom is to be regarded as originally belonging. Take, for instance, Brân's colossal figure, to which attention has already been called, pp. 552-3 above. Brân was too large to enter a house or go on board a ship: is he to be regarded as the outcome of Celtic imagination, or of that of a people that preceded the Celts in Celtic lands? The comparison with the Gaulish Tricephal would seem to point in the direction of the southern seaboard of the Baltic (p. 553): what then? The same kind of question arises in reference to the Irish hero Cúchulainn: take, for instance, the stock description of Cúchulainn in a rage. Thus when angered he underwent strange distortions: the calves of his legs came round to where his shins should have been; his mouth enlarged itself so that it showed his liver and lungs swinging in his throat; one of his eyes became as small as a needle's, or else it sank back into his head further than a crane could have reached, while the other protruded itself to a corresponding length; every hair on his body became as sharp as a thorn, and held on its point a drop of blood or a spark of fire. It would be dangerous then to stop him from fighting, and even when he had fought enough, he required for his cooling to be plunged into three baths of cold water; the first into which he went would instantly boil over, the second would be too hot for anybody else to bear, and the third only would be of congenial warmth. I do not ask whether that strange picture betrays a touch of the solar brush, but I should be very glad to know whether it can be regarded as an Aryan creation or not. It is much the same with matters other than mythological: take, for instance, the bedlamite custom of the couvade [246], which is presented to us in Irish literature in the singular form of a cess, 'suffering or indisposition,' simultaneously attacking the braves of ancient Ulster. We are briefly informed in the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 60a, that the women and boys of Ulster were free from it. So was any Ultonian, we are told, who happened to be outside the boundaries of his country, and so were Cúchulainn and his father, even when in Ulster. Any one who was rash enough to attack an Ultonian warrior during this his period of helplessness could not, it is further stated, expect to live afterwards either prosperously or long. The question for us, however, is this: was the couvade introduced by the Aryan invaders of Ireland, or are we rather to trace it to an earlier race? I should be, I must confess, inclined to the latter view, especially as the couvade was known among the Iberians of old, and among the ancient Corsicans [247]. It may, of course, have been both Aryan and Iberian, but it will all the same serve as a specimen of the sort of question which one has to try to answer. Another instance, the race origin of which one would like to ascertain, offers itself in the curious belief, that, when a child is born, it is one of the ancestors of the family come back to live again. Traces of this occur in Irish literature, namely, in one of the stories about Cúchulainn. There we read to the following effect:--The Ultonians took counsel on account of Cúchulainn, because their wives and girls loved him greatly; for Cúchulainn had no consort at that time. This was their counsel, namely, that they should seek for Cúchulainn a consort pleasing to him to woo. For it was evident to them that a man who has the consort of his companionship with him would be so much the less likely to attempt the ruin of their girls and to receive the affection of their wives. Then, moreover, they were anxious and afraid lest the death of Cúchulainn should take place early, so they were desirous for that reason to give him a wife in order that he might leave an heir; for they knew that it was from himself that his rebirth (athgein) would be. That is what one reads in the eleventh-century copy of the ancient manuscript of the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 121b; and this atavistic belief, which was touched upon in connexion with the transformations discussed in the last chapter, I need scarcely say, is well known elsewhere to the anthropologist, as one will find on consulting the opening pages of Dr. Tylor's second volume on Primitive Culture. He there mentions the idea as familiar to American Indians, to various African peoples, to the Maoris and the aborigines of Australia, to Cheremiss Tartars and Lapps. Among such nations the words of Don Diègue to his victorious son, the Cid, could hardly fail to be construed in a sort of literal sense when he exclaims:-- ............ ton illustre audace Fait bien revivre en toi les héros de ma race. Let us return to Cúchulainn, and note the statement, that he and his father, Sualdaim, were exempt from the couvade, which marks them out as not of the same race as the Ultonians, that is to say, as the Fír Ulaid, or 'True Ultonians'--presumably ancient inhabitants of Ulster. Furthermore, we have an indication whence his family had come, for Cúchulainn's first name was Setanta Beg, 'the Little Setantian,' which points to the coast of what is now Lancashire, as already indicated at p. 385 above. Another thing which marks Cúchulainn as of a different racial origin from the other Ultonians is the belief of the latter, that his rebirth must be from himself. The meaning of this remarkable statement is that there were two social systems face to face in Ulster at the time represented by the Cúchulainn story, and that one of them recognized fatherhood, while the other did not. Thus for Cúchulainn's rebirth to be from himself, he must be the father of a child from whom should descend a man who would be a rebirth or avatar of Cúchulainn. The other system implied was one which reckoned descent by birth alone [248]; and the Cúchulainn story gives one the impression that it contemplated this system as the predominant one, while the Cúchulainn family, with its reckoning of fatherhood, comes in as an exception. At all events, that is how I now understand a passage, the full significance of which had till recently escaped me. Allusion has already been made to the story of Cúchulainn being himself a rebirth, namely, of Lug, and the story deserves still further consideration in its bearing on the question of race, to which the reader's attention has been called. It is needless, however, to say that there are extant fragments of more stories than one as to Cúchulainn's origin. Sometimes, as in the Book of Leinster, fo. 119a, he is called gein Loga, or Lug's offspring, and in the epic tale of the Táin Bó Cuailnge, Lug as his father comes from the Síd or Faery to take Cúchulainn's place in the field, when the latter was worn out with sleeplessness and toil. Lug sings over him éli Loga, or 'Lug's enchantment,' and Cúchulainn gets the requisite rest and sleep [249]: this we read in the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 78a. In another version of the story, Cúchulainn is an incarnation of Lug: the narrative relates how a foster-son was accepted by Dechtere, sister to Conchobar MacNessa, king of Ulster. But her foster-son died young, to the great grief of Dechtere; and her lamentations for him on the day of his funeral having made her thirsty, she inadvertently swallowed with her drink a diminutive creature which sprang into her mouth. That night she had a dream, in which a man informed her that she was pregnant, that it was he who was in her womb, that he had been her foster-son, and that he was Lug; also that when his birth should take place, the name was to be Setanta. After an incident which I can only regard as a clumsy attempt to combine the more primitive legend with the story which makes him son of Sualdaim, she gives birth to the boy, and he is duly called Setanta [250]: that was Cúchulainn's first name. Now compare this with what Dr. Tylor mentions in the case of the Lapps, namely, that 'the future mother was told in a dream what name to give her child, this message being usually given her by the very spirit of the deceased ancestor, who was about to be incarnate in her [251].' If the mother got no such intimation in a dream, the relatives of the child had to have recourse to magic and the aid of the wise man, to discover the name to be given to the child. Here let it suffice to say, that the similarity is so close between the Irish and the Lapp idea, and so unlike anything known to have been Aryan, that it is well worth bearing in mind. The belief in rebirth generally seems to fit as a part of the larger belief in the transmigration of souls which is associated with the teachings of the ancient druids, a class of shamans or medicine-men who were probably, as already hinted, not of Celtic or Aryan origin; and probably the beliefs here in question were those of some non-Aryan people of these islands, rather than of any Aryans who settled in them. This view need hardly be regarded as incompatible with the fact, that Lug's name, genitive Loga, would seem to have meant light, and that Lug was a sun-god, very possibly a Celtic sun-god: or more correctly speaking, that there was a series of Lugs, so to say, or sun-gods, called in ancient Spain, Switzerland, and on the banks of the Rhine, Lugoves [252]. For one is sorely tempted to treat this much as a rescue from the wreckage of the solar myth theory, as against those who, having regard mainly to Lug's professional skill and craft as described in Irish story, make of him a kind of Hermes or Mercury. In other words, we have either to regard a Celtic Lug as having become the centre of certain non-Celtic legends, or else to suppose neither Lug nor his name to be of Aryan origin at all. It is hard to say which is the sounder view to take. The next question which I wish to suggest is as to the ethnology of the fairies; but before coming to that, one has to ask how the fairies have been evolved. The idea of fairies, such as Welshmen have been familiar with from their childhood, clearly involves elements of two distinct origins. Some of those elements come undoubtedly from the workshop of the imagination, as, for example, the stock notion that their food and drink are brought to the fairies by the mere force of wishing, and without the ministration of servants; or the notion, especially prevalent in Arfon, that the fairies dwell in a country beneath the lakes of Snowdon; not to mention the more general connexion of a certain class of fairies with the world of waters, as indicated in chapter vii. Add to this that the dead ancestor has also probably contributed to our bundle of notions about them; but that contains also an element of fact or something which may at any rate be conceived as historical. Under this head I should place the following articles of faith concerning them: the sallowness of their skins and the smallness of their stature, their dwelling underground, their dislike of iron, and the comparative poverty of their homes in the matter of useful articles of furniture, their deep-rooted objection to the green sward being broken up by the plough, the success of the fairy wife in attending to the domestic animals and to the dairy, the limited range generally of the fairies' ability to count; and lastly, one may perhaps mention their using a language of their own (p. 279), which would imply a time when the little people understood no other, and explain why they should be represented doing their marketing without uttering a syllable to anybody (p. 161). The attribution of these and similar characteristics to the fairies can scarcely be all mere feats of fancy and imagination: rather do they seem to be the result of our ancestors projecting on an imaginary world a primitive civilization through which tradition represented their own race as having passed, or, more probably, a civilization in which they saw, or thought they saw, another race actually living. Let us recur for examples also to the two lake legends which have just been mentioned (p. 650): in both of them a distinction is drawn between the lake fairy's notion of bread and that of the men and women of the country. To the fairy the latter's bread appeared crimped or overbaked: possibly the backward civilization, to which she was supposed to belong, was content to support itself on some kind of unleavened bread, if not rather on a fare which included nothing deserving to be called bread at all. Witness Giraldus Cambrensis' story of Eliodorus, in which bread is conspicuous by its absence, the nearest approach to it being something of the consistency of porridge: see p. 270 above. Then take another order of ideas: the young man in both lake legends lives with his mother (pp. 3, 27): there is no father to advise or protect him: he is in this respect on a level with Undine, who is the protegee of her tiresome uncle, Kühleborn. Seemingly, he belongs to a primitive society where matriarchal ideas rule, and where paternity is not reckoned [253]. This we are at liberty at all events to suppose to have been the original, before the narrator had painted the mother a widow, and given the picture other touches of his later brush. To speak, however, of paternity as merely not reckoned is by no means to go far enough; so here we have to return to take another look at the imaginary aspect of the fairies, to which a cursory allusion has just been made. The reader will possibly recall the sturdy smith of Ystrad Meurig, who would not reduce the notions which he had formed of the fairies when he was a child to conformity with those of a later generation around him. In any case, he will remember the smith's statement that the fairies were all women: see p. 245. The idea was already familiar to me as a Welshman, though I cannot recollect how I got it. But the smith's words brought to my mind at once the story of Condla Rúad or the Red, one of the fairy tales first recorded in Irish literature (p. 291). There the damsel who takes Condla away in her boat of glass to the realm of the Everliving sings the praises of that delectable country, and uses, among others, the following words, which occur in the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 120:-- Ni fil cenel and nammá acht mná ocus ingena [254]. There is no race there but women and maidens alone. Now what people could have come by the idea of a race of women only? Surely no people who considered that they themselves had fathers: it must have been some community so low in the scale of civilization as never to have had any notion whatsoever of paternity: it is their ignorance that would alone render possible the notion of a race all women. That this was a matter of belief in the past of many nations, is proved by the occurrence of widely known legends about virgin mothers [255]; not to mention that it has been lately established, that there are savages who to this day occupy the low place here indicated in the scale of civilization. Witness the evidence of Spencer and Gillen in their recently published work on The Native Tribes of Central Australia, and also what Frazer, author of The Golden Bough, says of a passage in point, in the former, as follows:-- 'Thus, in the opinion of these savages, every conception is what we are wont to call an immaculate conception, being brought about by the entrance into the mother of a spirit apart from any contact with the other sex. Students of folklore have long been familiar with notions of this sort occurring in the stories of the birth of miraculous personages, but this is the first case on record of a tribe who believe in immaculate conception as the sole cause of the birth of every human being who comes into the world. A people so ignorant of the most elementary of natural processes may well rank at the very bottom of the savage scale [256].' Nevertheless, it is to some population in that low position, in the remote prehistory of this country, that one is to trace the belief that the fairies were all women. It is to be regarded as a position distinctly lower than that of the Ultonians in the time of Cúchulainn; for the couvade seems to me to argue a notion of paternity--perhaps, in their case, as clear a notion of paternity as was possible for a community which was not quite out of the promiscuous stage of society. The neo-Celtic nations of these islands consist, speaking roughly, of a mixture of the invading Celts with the earlier inhabitants whom the Celts found in possession. These two or more groups of peoples may have been in very different stages of civilization when they first came in contact with one another. They agreed doubtless in many things, and perhaps, among others, in cherishing an inherited reluctance to disclose their names, but the Celts as Aryans were never without the decimal system of counting. Like the French, the Celtic nations of the present day show a tendency, more or less marked, to go further and count by scores instead of by tens. But the Welsh are alone among them in having, in certain instances, gone back from counting by tens to counting by fives, which they do when they count between 10 and 20: for 16, 17, 18, and 19 are in Welsh 1 on 15, 2 on 15, 3 on 15, and 4 on 15 respectively; and similarly with 13 and 14 [257]. We have seen how the lake fairy reckoned by fives (pp. 8, 418) all the live stock she was to have as her dowry; and one otherwise notices that the fairies deal invariably in the simplest of numbers. Thus if you wish, for example, to find a person who has been led away by them, ten to one you have to go 'this day next year' to the spot where he disappeared. Except in the case of the alluring light of the full moon, it is out of the question to reckon months or weeks, though it is needless to say that to reckon the year correctly would have been in point of fact far more difficult; but nothing sounds simpler than 'this day next year.' In that simple arithmetic of the fairies, then, we seem to have a trace of a non-Aryan race, that is to say, probably of some early inhabitants of these islands. Unfortunately, the language of those inhabitants has died out, so that we cannot appeal to its numerals directly; and the next best course to adopt is to take as a sort of substitute for their language that of possible kinsmen of a pre-Celtic race in this country. Now the students of ethnology, especially those devoted to the investigation of skulls and skins, tell us that we have among us, notably in Wales and Ireland, living representatives of a dark-haired, long-skulled race of the same description as one of the types which occur, as they allege, among the Basque populations of the Pyrenees. We turn accordingly to Basque, and what do we find? Why, that the first five numerals in that language are bat, bi, iru, lau, bost, all of which appear to be native; but when we come to the sixth numeral we have sei, which looks like an Aryan word borrowed from Latin, Gaulish, or some related tongue. The case is much the same with 'seven,' for that is in Basque zazpi, which is also probably an Aryan loan-word. Basque has native words, zortzi and bederatzi, for eight and nine, but they are longer than the first five, and appear to be of a later formation affecting, in common with sei and zazpi, the termination i. I submit, therefore, that here we have evidence of the former existence of a people in the West of Europe who at one time only counted as far as five. Some of the early peoples of the British Isles may have been on the same level, so that our notions about the fairies have probably been derived, to a greater or less extent, from ideas formed by the Celts concerning those non-Celtic, non-Aryan natives of whose country they took possession. As regards my appeal to the authority of craniology, I have to confess that it is made with a certain amount of reservation, since the case is far less simple than it looks at first sight. Thus, in August, 1891, the Cambrian Archæological Association, including among them Professor Sayce, visited the south-west of Ireland. During our pleasant excursions in Kerry, the question of race was one of our constant topics; and Professor Sayce was reminded by what he saw in Ireland of his visit to North Africa, especially the hilly regions of the country inhabited by the Berbers. Among other things, he used to say that if a number of Berbers from the mountains were to be brought to an Irish village and clad as Irishmen, he felt positive that he should not be able to tell them from the Irishmen themselves, such as we saw on our rambles in Kerry. This struck me as all the more remarkable, since his reference was to fairly tall, blue-eyed men whose hair could not be called black. On the other hand, owing perhaps to ignorance and careless ways of looking at things around me, I am a little sceptical as to the swarthy long-skulls: they did not seem to meet us at every turn in Ireland; and as for Wales, which I know as well as most people do, I cannot in my ignorance of craniology say with any confidence that I have ever noticed vast numbers of that type. I should like, however, to see the heads of some of the singers whom I have noticed at our Eistedfodau at Cardiff, Aberdare, and Swansea, placed under the hands of an experienced skull-man. For I have long suspected that we cannot regard as of Aryan origin the vocal talent so general in Wales, and so conspicuous in our choirs of working people as to astonish all the great musicians who have visited our national festival. Beyond all doubt, race has not a little to do with the artistic feelings: a short-skull may be as unmusical, for example, as I am; but has anybody in this country ever known a narrow long-skull to be the reverse of unmusical? or has any one ever considered how few clergymen of the tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed type have been converted to the ritualistic and æsthetic movement in the Church of England? As it seems to me that the bulk of the Welsh people would have to be described as short-skulls, it would be very gratifying to see those who are wont to refer freely to the dark-complexioned long-skulls of Wales catch a respectable number of specimens. I trust there are plenty to be found; and of course I do not care how they are taken, whether it be by an instantaneous process of photography or in the meshes of some anthropometric sportsman, like Dr. Beddoe. Let them be secured anyhow, so that one may rest assured that the type is still numerically safe, and be able to judge with one's own eyes how heads long and swarthy look on the shoulders of living Welshmen. We might then be in a position also to compare with them the prevalent description of fairy changelings; for when the fairies steal nice, blond babies, they usually place in their stead their own aged-looking brats with short legs, sallow skins, and squeaky voices. Unfortunately for me, all the adult changelings of whom I happen to have heard any account had died some years before I began to turn my attention to the population of Faery, with the exception, perhaps, of one whose name I obtained under the seal of secrecy. It was that of the wife of a farmer living near Nefyn, in West Carnarvonshire. It was whispered that she was a changeling, so I am inclined to regard her as no other than one of the representatives of the same aboriginal stock to which one might conjecture some of her neighbours also to belong; she ought to be an extreme specimen of the type. It is to be hoped that the photographer and his anthropometric brother have found her out in time and in good humour; but it is now many years since I heard of her. To return again to the fairies, some of them are described as more comely and good-looking than the rest (pp. 83, 250), but the fairy women are always pictured as fascinating, though their offspring as changelings are as uniformly presented in the light of repulsive urchins; but whole groups of the fairy population are sometimes described as being as ugly of face as they were thievish in disposition--those, for instance, of Llanfabon, in Glamorganshire (p. 262). There is one district, however, which is an exception to the tenor of fairy physiognomy: it is that of the Pennant neighbourhood, in Carnarvonshire, together with the hills and valleys, roughly speaking, from Cwm Strallyn to Llwytmor and from Drws y Coed to Dolbenmaen. The fairies of that tract are said to have been taller than the others, and characterized by light or even flaxen hair, together with eyes of clear blue: see pp. 89, 93-7, 105-8. Nor is that all, for we are told that they would not let a person of dark complexion come near them (p. 96). The other fairies, when kidnapping, it is true, preferred the blond infants of other people to their own swarthy brats, which, perhaps, means that it was a policy of their people to recruit itself with men of the superior physique of the more powerful population around them. The supposed fairy ancestress of the people of the Pennant Valley bears, in the stories in point, such names as Penelope, Bella, Pelisha, and Sibi, while her descendants are still taunted with their descent--a quarrel which, within living memory, used to be fought out with fists at the fairs at Penmorfa and elsewhere. This seems to indicate a comparatively late settlement [258] in the district of a family or group of families from without, and an origin, therefore, somewhat similar to that of the Simychiaid and Cowperiaid (p. 67) of a more eastern portion of the same county, rather than anything deserving to be considered with the rest of the annals of Faery. Passing by this oasis, then, such snap-shot photographs as I have been able to take, so to speak, of fairyland cleared of the glamour resting on its landscape, seem to disclose to the eye a swarthy population of short stumpy men occupying the most inaccessible districts of our country. They appear to have cared more for soap than clothing [259], and they lived on milk taken once a day, when they could get it. They probably fished and hunted, and kept domestic animals, including, perhaps, the pig; but they depended largely on what they could steal at night or in misty weather. Their thieving, however, was not resented, as their visits were believed to bring luck and prosperity (p. 251). Their communities formed as it were islands, owing to the country round about them having been wrested from them by later comers of a more warlike disposition and provided with better weapons. But the existence of the scattered groups of the fairies was in no danger of coming to a violent end: they were safe in consequence of the superstitious beliefs of their stronger neighbours, who probably regarded them as formidable magicians, powerful, among other things, to cause or to cure disease as they pleased. Such, without venturing to refresh my memory by perusing what has been written about dwarf races in other parts of the world, are the impressions made on my mind in the course of analysing and sifting the folklore materials crowded into this volume. That applies, of course, in so far only as regards the fairies in their character of a real people as distinguished from them as creatures of the imagination. But, as I have no wish to earn the displeasure of my literary friends, let me hasten to say that I acknowledge the latter, the creatures of the imagination, to be the true fairies, the admiration of one's childhood and the despair of one's later years: the other folk--the aborigines whom I have been trying to depict--form only a sort of substratum, a kind of background to the fairy picture, which I should be the last man to wish to mar. It is needless to say that we have no trace of any fairies approaching the minute dimensions of Shakespeare's Queen Mab; for, after all, our fairies are mostly represented as not extravagantly unlike other people in personal appearance--not so unlike, in fact, that other folk might not be mistaken for them now and then as late as the latter part of the fifteenth century. Witness the following passage from Sir John Wynne's History of the Gwydir Family, p. 74:-- 'Haveing purchased this lease, he removed his dwelling to the castle of Dolwydelan, which at that time was in part thereof habitable, where one Howell ap Jevan ap Rys Gethin, in the beginning of Edward the Fourth his raigne, captaine of the countrey and an outlaw, had dwelt. Against this man David ap Jenkin rose, and contended with him for the sovreignety of the countrey; and being superiour to him, in the end he drew a draught for him, and took him in his bed at Penanmen with his concubine, performing by craft, what he could not by force, and brought him to Conway Castle. Thus, after many bickerings betweene Howell and David ap Jenkin, he being too weake, was faigne to flie the countrey, and to goe to Ireland, where he was a yeare or thereabouts. In the end he returned in the summer time, haveing himselfe, and all his followers clad in greene, who, being come into the countrey, he dispersed here and there among his friends, lurking by day, and walkeing in the night for feare of his adversaries; and such of the countrey as happened to have a sight of him and his followers, said they were the fairies, and soe ran away.' But what has doubtless helped, above all other things, to perpetuate the belief in the existence of fairies may be said to be the popular association with them of the circles in the grass, commonly known in English as fairy rings. This phenomenon must have answered for ages the purpose for our ancestors, practically speaking, of ocular demonstration, as it still does no doubt in many a rustic neighbourhood. The most common name for the fairies in Welsh is y Tylwyth Teg, 'the Fair or Beautiful Family'; but in South Cardiganshire we have found them called Plant Rhys Dwfn, 'the Children of Rhys the Deep' (pp. 151, 158), while in Gwent and Morgannwg they are more usually known as Bendith y Mamau, 'the Blessing of the Mothers' (p. 174). Our fourteenth century poet, D. ab Gwilym, uses the first-mentioned term, Tylwyth Teg, in poem xxxix, and our prose literature has a word corr, cor in the sense of a dwarf, and corres for a she dwarf. The old Cornish had also cor, which in Breton is written korr [260], with a feminine korrez, and among the other derivatives one finds korrik, 'a dwarf, a fairy, a wee little sorcerer,' and korrigez or korrigan, 'a she dwarf, a fairy woman, a diminutive sorceress.' The use of these words in Breton recalls the case of the cor, called Rhudlwm or else Eidilig, teaching his magic to Coll, son of Collfrewi: see pp. 326, 503, 505. Then we have uncanny dwarfs in the romances, such, for example, as the rude cor in the service of Edern ab Nud, as described in French in Chrétien's romance of Erec et Enide and in Welsh in that of Gereint vab Erbin, also the cor and corres who figure in the story of Peredur. The latter had belonged to that hero's father and mother till the break-up of the family, when the dwarfs went to Arthur's Court, where they lived a whole year without speaking to anybody. When, however, Peredur made his rustic appearance there, they hailed him loudly as the chief of warriors and the flower of knighthood, which brought on them the wrath of Cai, on whom they were eventually avenged by Peredur. In the case [261] of both Edern and Peredur we find the dwarfs loyally interested in the fortunes of their masters and their masters' friends. With them also the shape-shifting Menw, though not found placed in the same unfavourable light, is probably to be ranged, as one may gather from his name and his rôle of wizard scout for Arthur's men (p. 510). In the like attachment on the part of the fairies, which was at times liable to develop into devotedness of an embarrassing nature (p. 250), we seem to have one of the germs of the idea of a household fairy or banshee, as illustrated by the case of the ugly wee woman in the Pantannas legend (p. 188); and it seems natural to regard the interested voices in the Kenfig legend, and other stories of the same kind (p. 452), as instances of amalgamating the idea of a fairy with that of an ancestral person. At all events, we have obtained something to put by the side of the instances already noticed of the fairy girl who gives, against her will at first, her services in the dairy of her captor (pp. 45, 87); of the other fairy who acts as a nurse for a family in the Pennant Valley, till she is asked to dress better (p. 109); and of Bwca'r Trwyn who works willingly and well, both at the house and in the field, till he has tricks played on him (pp. 593-6). To make this brief survey complete, one has to mention the fairies who used to help Eilian with her spinning (pp. 211-3), and not to omit those who were found to come to the rescue of a woman in despair and to assist her on the condition of getting her baby. The motive here is probably not to be confounded with that of the fairies who stealthily exchanged babies: the explanation seems in this case to be that the fairies, or some of the fairies, were once regarded as cannibals, which is countenanced by such a story as that of Canrig Bwt, 'Canrig the Stumpy.' At Llanberis the latter is said to have lived beneath the huge stone called y Gromlech, 'the Dolmen,' opposite Cwmglas and near the high-road to the Pass. When the man destined to dispatch her came, she was just finishing her dinner off a baby's flesh. There are traces of a similar story in another district, for a writer who published in the year 1802 uses the following words:--'There was lately near Cerrig y Drudion, in Merionethshire, a subterraneous room composed of large stones, which was called Carchar Cynric Rwth, i. e. "The Prison of Cynric Rwth," which has been taken notice of by travellers.' Cynric Rwth may be rendered 'Cynric the Greedy or Broad-mouthed.' A somewhat similar ogress is located by another story on the high ground at Bwlch y Rhiw Felen, on the way from Llangollen to Llandegla, and she is represented by the local tradition as contemporary with Arthur [262]. I am inclined to think the Cwmglas cromlech natural rather than artificial; but I am, however, struck by the fact that the fairies are not unfrequently located on or near ancient sites, such as seem to be Corwrion (pp. 57, 526), the margin of Llyn Irdyn (pp. 148, 563), Bryn y Pibion (pp. 212-4), Dinllaen (p. 227), Carn Bodüan (p. 227), on which there are, I am told, walls and hut foundations similar to those which I have recently seen on Carn Fadrun in the same district, Moedin camp (p. 245), and, perhaps, Ynys Geinon Rock and the immediate vicinity of Craig y Nos, neither of which, however, have I ever visited (p. 254). Local acquaintance with each fairy centre would very possibly enable one to produce a list that would be suggestive. In passing one may point out that the uncanny dwarf of Celtic story would seem to have served, in one way or another, as a model for other dwarfs in the French romances and the literatures of other nations that came under the influence of those romances, such as that of the English. But the subject is too large to be dealt with here; so I return to the word cor, in order to recall to the reader's mind the allusion made, at p. 196, to a certain people called Coranneit or Coranyeit, pronounced in later Welsh Corániaid, 'Corannians.' They come in the Adventure of Llûd and Llevelys, and there they have ascribed to them one of the characteristics of consummate magicians, namely, the power of hearing any word that comes in contact with the wind; so it was, we are told, impossible to harm them. Llûd, however, was advised to circumvent them in the following manner:--he was to bruise certain insects in water and sprinkle the water on the Corannians and his own people indiscriminately, after calling them together under the pretence of making peace between them; for the sprinkling would do no harm to his own subjects, while it would kill the others. This unholy water proved effective, and the Corannians all perished. Now the magic power ascribed to them, and the method of disposing of them, combine to lend them a fabulous aspect, while their name, inseparable as it seems from cor, 'a dwarf,' warrants us in treating them as fairies, and in regarding their strange characteristics as induced on a real people. If we take this view, that Coraniaid was the name of a real people, we are at liberty to regard it as possible, that their name suggested to the Celts the word cor for a dwarf, rather than that cor has suggested the name of the Corannians. In either case, I may mention that Welsh writers have sometimes thought--and they are probably right--that we have a closely related word in the name of Ptolemy's Coritani or Coritavi. He represents the people so called as dwelling, roughly speaking, between the Trent and Norfolk, and possessed of the two towns of Lindum, 'Lincoln,' and Ratæ (p. 547), supposed to have been Leicester. There we should have accordingly to suppose the old race to have survived so long and in such numbers, that the Celtic lords of southern Britain called the people of that area by a name meaning dwarfs. There also they may be conjectured to have had quiet from invaders from the Continent, because of the inaccessible nature of the fens, and the lack of inviting harbours on the coast from the country of the Iceni up to the neighbourhood of the Humber. How far their territory extended inland from the fens and the sea one cannot say, but it possibly took in one-half of what is now Northamptonshire, with the place called Pytchley, from an older Pihtes Léa, meaning the Meadow of the Pict, or else of a man named Pict. In any case it included Croyland in the fens between Peterborough and the Wash. It was there, towards the end of the seventh century, that St. Guthlac built his cell on the side of an ancient mound or tumulus, and it was there he was assailed by demons who spoke Bryttisc or Brythonic, a language which the saint knew, as he had been an exile among Brythons. For this he had probably not to travel far; and it is remarkable that his father's cognomen or surname was Penwall, which we may regard as approximately the Brythonic for 'Wall's End.' That is to say, he was 'So-and-so of the Wall's End,' and had got to be known by the latter designation instead of his own nomen, which is not recorded, for the reason, possibly, that it was so Brythonic as not to admit of being readily reduced into an Anglian or Latin form. It is not quite certain that he belonged to the royal race of Mercia, whose genealogy, however, boasts such un-English names as Pybba, Penda, and Peada; but the life [263] states, with no little emphasis, that he was a man whose pedigree included the most noble names of illustrious kings from the ancient stock of Icel: that is, he was one of the Iclingas or Icklings [264]. Here one is tempted to perpetrate a little glottologic alchemy by changing l into n, and to suppose Iclingas the form taken in English by the name of the ancient people of the Iceni. In any case, nothing could be more reasonable to suppose than that some representatives of the royal race of Prasutagus and Boudicca, escaping the sword of the Roman, found refuge among the Coritanians at the time of the final defeat of their own people: it is even possible that they were already the ruling family there. At all events several indications converge to show that communities speaking Brythonic were not far off, to wit, the p names in the Mercian genealogy, Guthlac's father's surname, Guthlac's exile among Brythons, and the attack on him at Croyland by Brythonic speaking foes. Portions of the Coritanian territory were eminently fitted by nature to serve as a refuge for a broken people with a belated language: witness as late as the eleventh century the stand made in the Isle of Ely by Hereward against the Norman conqueror and his mail-clad knights [265]. Among the speakers of Goidelic in Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland the fairies take their designation chiefly from a word síd or síth (genitive síde or sída), which one may possibly consider as of a common origin with the Latin word sedes, and as originally meaning a seat or settlement, but it sooner or later came to signify simply an abode of the fairies, whence they were called in Medieval Irish aes síde, 'fairy folk,' fer síde, 'a fairy man,' and ben síde, 'a fairy woman or banshee.' By the side of síd, an adjective síde, 'of or belonging to the síd,' appears to have been formed, so that they are found also called simply síde, as in Fiacc's Hymn, where we are told that before the advent of St. Patrick the pagan tribes of Erin used to worship síde or fairies [266]. Borrowed from this, or suggested by it [267], we have in Welsh Caer Sidi, 'the Fortress of the Fairies,' which is mentioned twice in the Book of Taliessin [268]. It first occurs at the end of poem xiv, where we have the following lines, which recall Irish descriptions of Tír na nÓg or the Land of the Young:-- Ys kyweir vyg kadeir ygkaer sidi. Nys pla6d heint a heneint a uo yndi. Ys gwyr mana6yt a phryderi. Teir oryan y am tan agan recdi. Ac am y banneu ffrydyeu g6eilgi. Ar ffynnha6n ffr6ythla6n yssyd oduchti. Ys whegach nor g6in g6yn yllyn yndi. Perfect is my seat in the fort of Sidi, Nor pest nor age plagues him who dwells therein: Manawydan and Pryderi know it. Three organs play before it about a fire. Around its corners Ocean's currents flow, And above it is the fertile fountain, And sweeter than white wine is the drink therein. The wine is elsewhere mentioned, but the arrangement of the organs around a fire requires explanation, which I cannot give. The fortress is on an island, and in poem xxx of the Book of Taliessin we read of Arthur and his men sailing thither in his ship Prydwen: the poem is usually called the 'Spoils of Annwn,' and the lines in point run thus:-- Bu kyweir karchar g6eir ygkaer sidi. Tr6y ebostol p6yll aphryderi. Neb kyn noc ef nyt aeth idi. Yr gad6yn tromlas kywirwas ae ketwi. Arac preideu ann6fyn tost yt geni. Ac yt ura6t paraha6t ynbard wedi. Tri lloneit prytwen yd aetham ni idi. Nam seith ny dyrreith o gaer sidi. Perfect was the prison of Gwair in Caer Sidi, Thanks to Pwyll and Pryderi's emissary. Before him no one entered into it, To the heavy, dark chain held by a faithful youth; And before the spoils of Annwn sorely he sang, And thenceforth remains he till doom a bard. Three freights of Prydwen went we thither, But only seven returned from Caer Sidi. The incidents in these lines are mostly unintelligible to me, but the incarceration of Gweir or Gwair, together with other imprisonments, including that of Arthur in Caer Oeth and Anoeth (p. 619), are mentioned also in the Triads: see i. 50, ii. 7, 49, iii. 61. It is not improbable that the legend about Gwair located his prison on Lundy, as the Welsh name of that island appears to have been Ynys Wair, 'Gwair's Isle.' Pwyll and Pryderi did not belong to Annwn, nor did Pryderi's friend Manawydan; but the Mabinogi of Pwyll relates how for a whole year Pwyll exchanged crown and kingdom with Arawn king of Annwn, from whom he obtained the first breed of domestic pigs for his own people (pp. 69, 525). In the lowlands of Scotland, together with the Orkneys and Shetlands, the Picts have to a certain extent taken the place of our fairies, and they are colloquially called Pechts. Now judging from the remains there ascribed to the Pechts, their habitations were either wholly underground or else so covered over with stones and earth and grass as to look like natural hillocks and to avoid attracting the attention of strangers. This was helped by making the entrance very low and as inconspicuous as possible. But one of the most remarkable things about these síds is that the cells within them are frequently so small as to prove beyond doubt, that those who inhabited them were of a remarkably short stature, though it is demonstrated by the weight of the stones used, that the builders were not at all lacking in bodily strength [269]. Here we have, accordingly, a small people like our own fairies. In Ireland one of the most famous kings of the fairies was called Mider of Brí Léith, where he resided in a síd or mound in the neighbourhood of Ardagh, in the county of Longford; and thither Irish legend represents him carrying away Étain, queen of Eochaid Airem, king of Ireland during a part of Conchobar MacNessa's time. Now Eochaid was for a whole year unable to find where she was, but his druid, Dalán, wrote Ogams and at last found it out. Eochaid then marched to Brí Léith, and began to demolish Mider's síd, whereupon Mider was eventually so frightened that he sent forth the queen to her husband, who then went his way, leaving the mound folk to digest their wrath. For it is characteristic of them that they did not fight, but chose to bide their time for revenge. In this instance it did not arrive till long after Eochaid's day [270]. I may add that Étain was herself one of the síde or fairies; and one of Mider's reasons for taking her away was, that she had been his wife in a previous stage of existence. Now it is true that the fairy Mider is described as resembling the other heroes of Irish story, in having golden yellow hair and bright blue eyes [271], but he differs completely from them in being no warrior but a great wizard; and though he is not said to have been of small stature, the dwarfs were not far off. For in describing the poet Atherne, who was notorious for his stinginess (p. 635), the story-teller emphasizes his words by representing him taking from Mider three of his dwarfs and stationing them around his own house, in order that their truculent looks and rude words might drive away anybody who came to seek hospitality or to present an unwelcome request [272], a rôle which recalls that of Edern ab Nud's dwarf already mentioned (p. 672). Here the Irish word used is corr, which is probably to be identified with the Brythonic cor, 'a dwarf,' though the better known meaning of corr in Irish is 'crane or heron.' From the former also is hardly to be severed the Irish corrguinigh, 'sorcerers,' and corrguinacht [273], or the process of cursing to which the corrguinigh resorted, as, for instance, when Néde called forth the fatal blisters on Caier's face (p. 632). The rôle would seem exactly to suit the little people, who were consummate magicians. Let me for a moment leave the little people, in order to call attention to another side of this question of race. It has recently been shown [274] by Professor J. Morris Jones, of the University College of North Wales, that the non-Aryan traits of the syntax of our insular Celtic point unmistakably to that of old Egyptian and Berber, together with kindred idioms belonging to the southern shore of the Mediterranean Sea. He has thereby reduced to articulate speech, so to say, the physiognomical convictions of Professor Sayce (p. 665), to which the reader's attention has been called. To the linguistic argument he appends a statement cited from a French authority and bearing on the question of descent by birth, to the effect, that when among the Berbers the king dies or is deposed, as happens often enough, it is not his son that is called to succeed, but the son of his sister, as in the case of the historical Picts of Scotland down to the twelfth century or thereabouts. Here I would add, that my attention has been called by Professor Sayce to old Egyptian monuments representing the Libyan chiefs with their bodies tattooed, a habit which seems not to be yet extinct among the Touaregs and Kabyles [275]. Lastly, Mr. Nicholson has recently directed attention to the fact that some princes of ancient Gaul are represented with their faces tattooed on certain coins found in the west of France so far south as the region once occupied by the ancient Pictones. We have a compendious commentary on this in the occurrence of a word Chortonicum in a High German manuscript written before the year 814: I allude to the Wessobrunn Codex at Munich, in which, among a number of geographical names connected with Gaul and other countries, that vocable is so placed as to allow of our referring it to Poitou or to all Gaul as the country once of the ancient Pictones. The great German philologist Pott, who called attention to it, brought it at once into relation with Cruithne, plural Cruithni, 'the Picts of Britain and Ireland,' a word which has been explained at p. 281 above [276]. Now at last I come to the question, what pre-Celtic race or races make themselves evident in the mass of things touched on in this and the foregoing chapters? The answer must, I think, recognize at least two. First comes the race of the mound folk, consisting of the short swarthy people variously caricatured in our fairy tales. They formed isolated fractions of a widely spread race possessed of no political significance whatsoever; but, with the inconsistency ever clinging to everything connected with the fairies, the weird and uncanny folk emerging from its underground lairs seems to have exercised on other races a sort of permanent spell of mysteriousness amounting to adoration. In fact, Irish literature tells us that the síde were worshipped (p. 678). Owing to his faculty of exaggeration, combined with his inability to comprehend the little people, the Celt was enabled to bequeath to the great literatures of Western Europe a motley train of dwarfs and brownies, a whole world of wizardry and magic. The real race of the little people forms the lowest stratum which we can reach, to wit, at a level no higher, seemingly, than that of the present-day natives of Central Australia. Thus some of the birth stories of Cúchulainn and Étáin seem to have passed through their hands, and they bear a striking resemblance to certain notions of the Lapps (pp. 657-8). In fact, the nature of the habitations of our little people, together with other points which might be mentioned, would seem at first sight to betoken affinity with the Lapps; but I am warned by experts [277] that there are serious craniological difficulties in the way of any racial comparison with the Lapps, and that one must look rather to the dwarf populations once widely spread over our hemisphere, and still to be found here and there in Europe, as, for example, in Sicily. To come nearer our British Isles, the presence of such dwarfs has been established with regard to Switzerland in neolithic times [278]. The other race may be called Picts, which is probably the earliest of the names given it by the Celts; and their affinities appear to be Libyan, possibly Iberian. It was a warlike stock, and stood higher altogether than the mound inhabitants; for it had a notion of paternity, though, on account of its promiscuity, it had to reckon descent by birth (pp. 654-6). To it probably belonged all the great family groups figuring in the Mabinogion and the corresponding class of literature in Irish: this would include the Danann-Dôn group and the Lir-Llyr group, together with the families represented by Pwyll and Rhiannon, who were inseparable from the Llyr group in Welsh, just as the Lir group was inseparable from the Tuatha Dé Danann in Irish legend (pp. 548-9). The Picts made slaves and drudges of the mound-haunting race, but how far any amalgamation may have taken place between them it is impossible to say. Even without any amalgamation, however, the little people, if employed as nurses to their Pictish lords' children, could not help leaving their impress in time on the language of the ruling nationality. But it may be that the treatment of the Picts, by Scottish legend, as a kind of fairies really points to amalgamation, though it is not impossible that archæology may be able to classify the remains of the dwellings ascribed to the Pechts, that is, to assign a certain class to the warlike Picts of history and another to the dwarf race of the síds. A certain measure of amalgamation may also be the meaning of the Irish tradition, that when the Milesian Irish came and conquered, the defeated Tuatha Dé Danann gave up their life above ground and retired inside the hills like the fairies. This account of them may be as worthless as the story of the extermination of the Picts of Scotland: both peoples doubtless lived on to amalgamate in time with the conquering race; but it may mean that some of them retreated before the Celts, and concealed themselves after the manner of the little people--in underground dwellings in the less accessible parts of the country. In any case, it may well be that they got their magic and druidism from the dwellers of the síds. In the next place, it has been pointed out (pp. 550-1) how the adjective hên, 'old, ancient,' is applied in Welsh to several of the chief men of the Dôn group, and by this one may probably understand that they were old not merely to those who told the stories about them in Welsh, but to those who put those stories together in Goidelic ages earlier. The geography of the Mabinogion gives the prehistoric remains of Penmaen Mawr and Tre'r Ceiri to the Dôn group; but by its name, Tre'r Ceiri should be the 'Town of the Keiri,' a word probably referring to the Picts (pp. 279-83): this, so far as it goes, makes the sons of Dôn belong by race to the Picts. Lastly, it is the widely spread race of the Picts, conquered by the Celts of the Celtican or Goidelic branch and amalgamating with their conquerors in the course of time, that has left its non-Aryan impress on the syntax of the Celtic languages of the British Isles. These, it is needless to say, are conjectures which I cannot establish; but possibly somebody else may. For the present, however, they cannot fail to suggest a moral, habitually ignored with a light heart by most people--including the writer of these words--that men in his plight, men engaged in studies which, owing to a rapid accumulation of fresh facts or the blossoming of new theories, are in a shifting condition, should abstain from producing books or anything longer than a magazine article now and then. Even such minor productions should be understood to be liable to be cast into a great bonfire lit once a year, say on Halloween. This should help to clear the air of mistaken hypotheses, whether of folklore and myth or of history and language, and also serve to mark Nos Calangaeaf as the commencement of the ancient Celtic year. The business of selecting the papers to be saved from the burning might be delegated to an academy constituted, roughly speaking, on the lines of Plato's aristocracy of intellect. Such academy, once in the enjoyment of its existence, would also find plenty of work in addition to the inquisitional business which I have suggested: it should, for example, be invested with summary jurisdiction over fond parents who venture to show any unreasonable anxiety to save their mental progeny from the annual bonfire. The best of that class of writers should be ordered by the academy to sing songs or indite original verse. As for the rest, some of them might be told off to gesticulate to the gallery, and some to administer the consolations of platitude to stragglers tired of the march of science. There is a mass of other useful work which would naturally devolve on an academy of the kind here suggested. I should be happy, if space permitted, to go through the particulars one by one, but let a single instance suffice: the academy might relieve us of the painful necessity of having seriously to consider any further the proposal that professors found professing after sixty should be shot. This will serve to indicate the kind of work which might advantageously be entrusted to the august body which is here but roughly projected. There are some branches of learning in the happy position of having no occasion for such a body academical. Thus, if a man will have it that the earth is flat, as flat in fact as some people do their utmost to make it, 'he will most likely,' as the late Mr. Freeman in the Saturday Review once put it, 'make few converts, and will be forgotten after at most a passing laugh from scientific men.' If a man insists that the sum of two and two is five, he will probably find his way to a lunatic asylum, as the economy of society is, in a manner, self-acting. So with regard to him who carries his craze into the more material departments of such a science as chemistry: he may be expected to blow out his own eyes, for the almighty molecule executes its own vengeance. 'But,' to quote again from Mr. Freeman, if that man's 'craze had been historical or philological'--and above all if it had to do with the science of man or of myth--'he might have put forth notions quite as absurd as the notion that the earth is flat, and many people would not have been in the least able to see that they were absurd. If any scholar had tried to confute him we should have heard of "controversies" and "differences of opinion."' In fact, the worst that happens to the false prophet who shines in any such a science is, that he has usually only too many enthusiastic followers. The machinery is, so to say, not automatic, and hence it is that we want the help of an academy. But even supposing such an academy established, no one need feel alarmed lest opportunities enough could no longer be found for cultivating the example of those of the early Christians who had the rare grace to suffer fools gladly. Personally, however, I should be against doing anything in a hurry; and, considering how little his fellows dare expect from the man who is just waiting to be final and perfect before he commit himself to type, the establishment of an academy invested with the summary powers which have been briefly sketched might, perhaps, after all, conveniently wait a while: my own feeling is that almost any time, say in the latter half of the twentieth century, would do better than this year or the next. In the meantime one must be content to entrust the fortunes of our studies to the combined forces of science and common sense. Judging by what they have achieved in recent years, there is no reason to be uneasy with regard to the time to come, for it is as true to-day as when it was first written, that the best of the prophets of the Future is the Past. ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS P. 81. I learn that the plural of bodach glas was in Welsh bodachod gleision, a term which Elis o'r Nant remembers his mother applying to a kind of fairies dressed in blue and fond of leading people astray. She used to relate how a haymaking party once passed a summer's night at the cowhouse (beudy) of Bryn Bygelyd (also Bryn Mygelyd), and how they saw in the dead of night a host of these dwarfs (corynnod) in blue dancing and capering about the place. The beudy in question is not very far from Dolwydelan, on the way to Capel Curig. A different picture of the bodach is given in Jenkins' Bed Gelert, p. 82; and lastly one may contrast the Highland Bodach Glas mentioned at p. 520 above, not to mention still another kind, namely the one in Scott's Waverley. P. 130. To Sarn yr Afanc add Llyn yr Afanc, near Llandinam (Beauties of Wales, N. Wales, p. 841), and Bed yr Afanc, 'the Afanc's Grave,' the name of some sort of a tumulus, I am told, on a knoll near the Pembrokeshire stream of the Nevern. Mr. J. Thomas, of Bancau Bryn Berian close by, has communicated to me certain echoes of a story how an afanc was caught in a pool near the bridge of Bryn Berian, and how it was taken up to be interred in what is now regarded as its grave. A complete list of the afanc place-names in the Principality might possibly prove instructive. As to the word afanc, what seems to have happened is this: (1) from meaning simply a dwarf it came to be associated with such water dwarfs as those mentioned at p. 432; (2) the meaning being forgotten, the word was applied to any water monster; and (3) where afanc occurs in place-names the Hu story has been introduced to explain it, whether it fitted or not. This I should fancy to be the case with the Bryn Berian barrow, and it would be satisfactory to know whether it contains the remains of an ordinary dwarf. Peredur's lake afanc may have been a dwarf; but whether that was so or not, it is remarkable that the weapon which the afanc handled was a llechwaew or flake-spear, that is, a missile tipped with stone. P. 131. With the rôle of the girl in the afanc story compare that of Tegau, wife of Caradog Freichfras, on whom a serpent fastens and can only be allured away to seize on one of Tegau's breasts, of which she loses the nipple when the beast is cut off. The defect being replaced with gold, she is ever after known as Tegau Eur-fron, or 'Tegau of the golden Breast.' That is a version inferred of a story which is discussed by M. Gaston Paris in an article, on Caradoc et le Serpent, elicited by a paper published (in the November number of Modern Language Notes for 1898) by Miss C. A. Harper, of Bryn Mawr College, U.S.: see the Romania, xxviii. 214-31. One of Miss Harper's parallels, mentioned by M. Paris at p. 220, comes from Campbell: it is concerning a prince who receives from his stepmother a magic shirt which converts itself into a serpent coiled round his neck, and of which he is rid by the help of a woman acting in much the same way as Tegau. We have an echo of this in the pedigrees in the Jesus College MS. 20: see the Cymmrodor, viii. 88, where one reads of G6ga6n keneu menrud a vu neidyr vl6ydyn am y von6gyl, 'Gwgon the whelp of Menrud (?) who was a year with a snake round his neck'--his pedigree is also given. In M. Paris' suggested reconstruction of the story (p. 228) from the different versions, he represents the maiden who is to induce the serpent to leave the man on whom it has fastened, as standing in a vessel filled with milk, while the man stands in a vessel filled with vinegar. The heroine exposes herself to the reptile, which relinquishes his present victim to seize on one of the woman's breasts. Now the appropriateness of the milk is explained by the belief that snakes are inordinately fond of milk, and that belief has, I presume, a foundation in fact: at any rate I am reminded of its introduction into the plot of more than one English story, such as Stanley Weyman's book From the Memoirs of a Minister of France (London, 1895), p. 445, and A. Conan Doyle's Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (London, 1893), pp. 199-209. In Wales, however, it is to a woman's milk that one's interest attaches: I submit two references which will explain what I mean. The first of them is to Owen's Welsh Folk-Lore, p. 349, where he says that 'traditions of flying snakes were once common in all parts of Wales,' and adds as follows:--'The traditional origin of these imaginary creatures was that they were snakes, which by having drunk the milk of a woman, and by having eaten of bread consecrated for the Holy Communion, became transformed into winged serpents or dragons.' The other is to the Brython for 1861, p. 190, where one reads in Welsh to the following effect:--'If a snake chances to have an opportunity to drink of a woman's milk it is certain to become a gwiber. When a woman happens to be far from her child, and her breasts are full and beginning to give her pain, she sometimes milks them on the ground in order to ease them. To this the peasantry in parts of Cardiganshire have a strong objection, lest a snake should come there and drink the milk, and so become a gwiber.' The word gwiber is used in the Welsh Bible for a viper, but the editor of the Brython explains, that in our folklore it means a huge kind of snake or dragon that has grown wings and has its body cased in hard scales: for a noted instance in point he refers the reader to the first number of the Brython, p. 3. It is believed still all over Wales that snakes may, under favourable circumstances, develop wings: in fact, an Anglesey man strongly wished, to my knowledge, to offer to the recent Welsh Land Commission, as evidence of the wild and neglected state of a certain farm, that the gorse had grown so high and the snakes so thriven in it that he had actually seen one of the latter flying right across a wide road which separated two such gorse forests as he described: surprised and hurt to find that this was not accepted, he inferred that the Commissioners knew next to nothing about their business. Pp. 148, 170. With 'the spell of security' by catching hold of grass may perhaps be compared a habit which boys in Cardiganshire have of suddenly picking up a blade of grass when they want a truce or stoppage in a sort of game of tig or touchwood. The grass gives the one who avails himself of it immunity for a time from attack or pursuit, so as to allow him to begin the game again just where it was left off. P. 228. Bodermud would probably be more correctly written Bodermyd, and analysed possibly into Bod-Dermyd, involving the name which appears in Irish as Diarmait and Dermot. P. 230. Since this was printed I have been assured by Mr. Thomas Prichard of Llwydiarth Esgob, in Anglesey, that the dolur byr is more commonly called clwy' byr, and that it is the disease known in English as 'black quarter.' Pp. 259, 268. I am assured on the part of several literary natives of Glamorgan that they do not know dâr for daear, 'ground, earth.' Such negative evidence, though proving the literary form daear to prevail now, is not to be opposed to the positive statement, sent by Mr. Hughes (p. 173) to me, as to the persistence in his neighbourhood of dâr and clâr (for claear, 'lukewarm'), to which one may add, as unlikely to be challenged by anybody, the case of harn for haearn, 'iron.' The intermediate forms have to be represented as daer, claer, and haern, which explain exactly the gaem of the Book of St. Chad, for which modern literary Welsh has gaeaf, 'winter': see the preface to the Book of Llan Dâv, p. xlv. P. 290. It ought to have been pointed out that the fairies, whose food and drink it is death to share, represent the dead. P. 291. For Conla read Connla or Condla: the later form is Colla. The Condla in question is called Condla Rúad in the story, but the heading to it has Ectra Condla Chaim, 'the Adventure of C. the Dear One.' P. 294. I am now inclined to think that butch was produced out of the northern pronunciation of witch by regarding its w as a mutation consonant and replacing it, as in some other instances, by b as the radical. P. 308. With the Manx use of rowan on May-day compare a passage to the following effect concerning Wales--I translate it from the faulty Welsh in which it is quoted by one of the competitors for the folklore prize at the Liverpool Eistedfod, 1900: he gave no indication of its provenance:--Another bad papistic habit which prevails among some Welsh people is that of placing some of the wood of the rowan tree (coed cerdin or criafol) in their corn lands (llafyrieu) and their fields on May-eve (Nos Glamau) with the idea that such a custom brings a blessing on their fields, a proceeding which would better become atheists and pagans than Christians. P. 325. In the comparison with the brownie the fairy nurse in the Pennant Valley has been overlooked: see p. 109. P. 331, line 1. For I. 42-3 read ii. 42-3. Pp. 377, 395. With the story of Ffynnon Gywer and the other fairy wells, also with the wells which have been more especially called sacred in this volume, compare the following paragraph from Martin's Description of the Western Islands of Scotland (London, 1703), pp. 229-30: it is concerning Gigay, now more commonly written Gigha, the name of an island near the west coast of Kintyre:--'There is a well in the north end of this isle called Toubir-more, i. e. a great well, because of its effects, for which it is famous among the islanders; who together with the inhabitants use it as a Catholicon for diseases. It's covered with stone and clay, because the natives fancy that the stream that flows from it might overflow the isle; and it is always opened by a Diroch, i. e. an inmate, else they think it would not exert its vertues. They ascribe one very extraordinary effect to it, and 'tis this; that when any foreign boats are wind-bound here (which often happens) the master of the boat ordinarily gives the native that lets the water run a piece of money, and they say that immediately afterwards the wind changes in favour of those that are thus detain'd by contrary winds. Every stranger that goes to drink of the water of this well, is accustomed to leave on its stone cover a piece of money, a needle, pin, or one of the prettiest variegated stones they can find.' Last September I visited Gigha and saw a well there which is supposed to be the one to which Martin refers. It is very insignificant and known now by a name pronounced Tobar a veac, possibly for an older Mo-Bheac: in Scotch Gaelic Bëac, written Beathag, is equated with the name Sophia. The only tradition now current about the well is that emptying it used to prove the means of raising a wind or even of producing great storms, and this appears to have been told Pennant: see his Tour in Scotland and Voyage to the Hebrides, MDCCLXXII (Chester, 1774), p. 226:--'Visit the few wonders of the isle: the first is a little well of a most miraculous quality, for in old times, if ever the chieftain lay here wind-bound, he had nothing more to do than cause the well to be cleared, and instantly a favorable gale arose. But miracles are now ceased.' P. 378. A similar rhyme is current in the neighbourhood of Dolgelley, as Miss Lucy Griffith informs me, as follows:-- Dolgelle dol a gollir, Daear a'i llwnc, dw'r 'n 'i lle. Dolgelley, a dale to be lost; Earth will swallow it, and water take its place. P. 394. With regard to wells killing women visiting them, I may mention a story, told me the other day by Professor Mahaffy after a friend whose name he gave, concerning the inhabitants of one of the small islands on the coast of Mayo--I understood him to say off the Mullet. It was this: all the men and boys, having gone fishing, were prevented by rough weather from returning as soon as they intended, and the women left alone suffered greatly from want of water, as not one of them would venture to go to the well. By-and-by, however, one of them gave birth to a boy, whereupon another of them carried the baby to the well, and ventured to draw water. P. 418. As to Clychau Aberdyfi I am now convinced that the chwech and saith are entirely due to the published versions, the editors of which seem to have agreed that they will have as much as possible for their money, so to say. I find that Mrs. Rhys learnt in her childhood to end the words with pump, and that she cannot now be brought to sing the melody in any other way: I have similar testimony from a musical lady from the neighbourhood of Wrexham; and, doubtless, more evidence of the same sort could be got. P. 443. For Llywelyn ab Gruffyd read Llywelyn ab Iorwerth. Pp. 450-1. Some additional light on the doggerel dialogue will be found thrown by the following story, which I find cited in Welsh by one of the Liverpool Eistedfod competitors:--There is in the parish of Yspytty Ifan, in Carnarvonshire, a farm called Trwyn Swch, where eighty years ago lived a man and his wife, who were both young, and had twins born to them. Now the mother went one day to milk, leaving the twins alone in the cradle--the husband was not at home--and who should enter the house but one of the Tylwyth Teg! He took the twins away and left two of his own breed in the cradle in their stead. Thereupon the mother returned home and saw what had come to pass; she then in her excitement snatched the Tylwyth Teg twins and took them to the bridge that crosses the huge gorge of the river Conwy not very far from the house, and she cast them into the whirlpool below. By this time the Tylwyth Teg had come on the spot, some trying to save the children, and some making for the woman. 'Seize the old hag!' (Crap ar yr hen wrach!) said one of the chiefs of the Tylwyth Teg. 'Too late!' cried the woman on the edge of the bank; and many of them ran after her to the house. As they ran three or four of them lost their pipes in the field. They are pipes ingeniously made of the blue stone (carreg las) of the gully. They measure three or four inches long, and from time to time several of them have been found near the cave of Trwyn Swch.--This is the first indication which I have discovered, that the fairies are addicted to smoking. P. 506. A Rhiw Gyferthwch (printed Rywgyverthwch) occurs in the Record of Carnarvon, p. 200; but it seems to have been in Merionethshire, and far enough from Arfon. P. 521. In the article already cited from the Romania, M. Paris finds Twrch Trwyth in the boar Tortain of a French romance: see xxviii. 217, where he mentions a legend concerning the strange pedigree of that beast. The subject requires to be further studied. P. 535. A less probable explanation of Latio would be to suppose orti understood. This has been suggested to me by Mr. Nicholson's treatment of the Llanaelhaiarn inscription as Ali ortus Elmetiaco hic iacet, where I should regard Ali as standing for an earlier nominative Alec-s, and intended as the Celtic equivalent for Cephas or Peter: Ali would be the word which is in Med. Irish ail, genitive ailech, 'a rock or stone.' P. 545. We have the Maethwy of Gilvaethwy possibly still further reduced to Aethwy in Porth Aethwy, 'the Village of Menai Bridge,' in spite of its occurring in the Record of Carnarvon, p. 77, as Porthaytho. P. 548. To the reference to the Cymmrodor, ix. 170, as to Beli being called son of Anna, add the Welsh Elucidarium, p. 127, with its belim vab anna, and The Cambro-British Saints, p. 82, where we have Anna ... genuit Beli. P. 560. Two answers to the query as to the Llech Las are now to be found in the Scottish Antiquary, xv. 41-3. P. 566. Caer Gai is called also Caer Gynyr, after Cai's father Cynyr, to wit in a poem by William Lleyn, who died in 1587. This I owe to Professor J. Morris Jones, who has copied it from a collection of that poet's works in the possession of Myrdin Fard, fo. 119. P. 569. Here it would, perhaps, not be irrelevant to mention Caer Dwrgynt, given s. v. Dwr in Morris' Celtic Remains, as a name of Caergybi, or Holyhead. His authority is given in parenthesis thus: (Th. Williams, Catal.). I should be disposed to think the name based on some such an earlier form as Kair D6bgint, 'the Fortress of the Danes,' who were called in old Welsh Dub-gint (Annales Cambriæ, A. D. 866, in the Cymmrodor, ix. 165), that is to say 'Gentes Nigræ or Black Pagans,' and more simply Gint or Gynt, 'Gentes or Heathens.' Pp. 579-80. The word banna6c, whence the later bannog, seems to be the origin of the name bonoec given to the famous horn in the Lai du Corn, from which M. Paris in his Romania article, xxviii. 229, cites Cest cor qui bonoec a non, 'this horn which is called bonoec.' The Welsh name would have to be Corn (yr) ych banna6c, 'the horn of (the) bannog ox,' with or without the article. P. 580, note 1. One of the Liverpool Eistedfod competitors cites W. O. Pughe to the following effect in Welsh:--Llyn dau Ychain, 'the Lake of Two Oxen,' is on Hiraethog Mountain; and near it is the footmark of one of them in a stone or rock (carreg), where he rested when seeking his partner, as the local legend has it. Another cites a still wilder story, to the effect that there was once a wonderful cow called Y Fuwch Fraith, 'the Parti-coloured Cow.' 'To that cow there came a witch to get milk, just after the cow had supplied the whole neighbourhood. So the witch could not get any milk, and to avenge her disappointment she made the cow mad. The result was that the cow ran wild over the mountains, inflicting immense harm on the country; but at last she was killed by Hu near Hiraethog, in the county of Denbigh.' P. 592. With trwtan, Trwtyn-Tratyn, and Trit-a-trot should doubtless be compared the English use of trot as applied contemptuously to a woman, as when Grumio, in Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew, Act i, sc. 2, speaks of 'an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head': the word was similarly used by Thomas Heywood and others. P. 649. With regard to note 1, I find that Professor Zimmer is of opinion--in fact he is quite positive--that tyngu and tynghed are in no way related: see the Göttingische gelehrte Anzeigen for 1900 (No. 5), pp. 371-2. P. 673. I am tempted to rank with the man-eating fairies the Atecotti, who are known to have been cannibals, and whose name seems to mean the ancient race. Should this prove tenable, one would have to admit that the little people, or at any rate peoples with an admixture of the blood of that race, could be trained to fight. Further, one would probably have to class with them also such non-cannibal tribes as those of the Fir Bolg and the Galiúin of Irish story. Information about both will be found in my Hibbert Lectures, in reading which, however, the mythological speculations should be brushed aside. Lastly, I anticipate that most of the peoples figuring in the oldest class of Irish story will prove to have belonged either (1) to the dwarf race, or (2) to the Picts; and that careful reading will multiply the means of distinguishing between them. Looking comprehensively at the question of the early races of the British Isles, the reader should weigh again the concluding words of Professor Haddon's theory, quoted on p. 684 above. NOTES [1] For most of my information on this subject I have to thank Mr. David Davies, editor of the South Wales Daily Post, published at Swansea. [2] I am indebted for this information to Mr. J. Herbert James of Vaynor, who visited Kenfig lately and has called my attention to an article headed 'The Borough of Kenfig,' in the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1898: see more especially the maps at pp. 138-42. [3] Here the Welsh has a word edafwr, the exact meaning of which escapes me, and I gather from the remarks of local etymologers that no such word is now in use in Glamorgan. [4] See the Book of Aberpergwm, printed as Brut y Tywysogion, in the Myvyrian Archaiology, ii. 524; also Morgan's Antiquarian Survey of East Gower, p. 66, where the incident is given from 'Brut y Tywysogion, A. D. 1088.' It is, however, not in what usually passes by the name of Brut y Tywysogion, but comes, as the author kindly informs me, from a volume entitled 'Brut y Tywysogion, the Gwentian Chronicle of Caradoc of Llancarvan, with a translation by the late Aneurin Owen, and printed for the Cambrian Archæological Association, 1863': see pp. 70-1. [5] For this also I have to thank Mr. Herbert James, who recently inspected the spot with Mr. Glascodine of Swansea. [6] I do not know whether anybody has identified the spot which the writer had in view, or whether the coast of the Severn still offers any feature which corresponds in any way to the description. [7] Supposed to be so called after a certain Tegid Foel, or 'Tegid the Bald,' of Penllyn: the name Tegid is the phonetic spelling of what might be expected in writing as Tegyd--it is the Latin Tacitus borrowed, and comes with other Latin names in Pedigree I. of the Cuneda dynasty; see the Cymmrodor, xi. 170. In point of spelling one may compare Idris for what might be expected written Idrys, of the same pronunciation, for an earlier Iudrys or Iudris. [8] The translation was made by Thomas Twyne, and published in 1573 under the title of The Breuiary of Britayne, where the passage here given occurs, on fol. 69b. The original was entitled Commentarioli Britannicæ Descriptionis Fragmentum, published at Cologne in 1572. The original of our passage, fol. 57a, has Guynedhia and Llunclis. The stem llwnc of llyncaf, 'I swallow,' answers, according to Welsh idiom, to the use of what would be in English or Latin a participle. Similarly, when a compound is not used, the verbal noun (in the genitive) is used: thus 'a feigned illness,' in Welsh 'a made illness,' is saldra gwneyd, literally 'an indisposition or illness of making.' So 'the deuouryng of the Palace' is incorrect, and based on Llwyd's vorago Palatij instead of Palatium voratum. [9] For other occurrences of the name, see the Black Book, fol. 35a, 52a, and Morris' Celtic Remains, where, s. v. Benlli, the Welsh name of Bardsey, to wit, Ynys Enlli, is treated by somebody, doubtless rightly, as a shortening of Ynys Fenlli. [10] The meaning of this name is not certain, but it seems to equate with the Irish Fochard, anglicized Faughard, in County Louth: see O'Donovan's Four Masters, A. D. 1595; also the Book of the Dun Cow, where it is Focherd, genitive Focherda, dative Focheird, fo. 70b, 73b, 75a, 75b, 76a, 77a. [11] This is sometimes given as Glannach, which looks like the Goidelic form of the name: witness Giraldus' Enislannach in his Itin. Kambriæ, ii. 7 (p. 131). [12] See Choice Notes, p. 92, and Gerald Griffin's Poetical and Dramatic Works, p. 106. [13] Failing to see this, various writers have tried to claim the honour of owning the bells for Aberteifi, 'Cardigan,' or for Abertawe, 'Swansea'; but no arguments worthy of consideration have been urged on behalf of either place: see Cyfaill yr Aelwyd for 1892, p. 184. [14] For some of the data as to the reckoning of the pedigrees and branching of a family, see the first volume of Aneurin Owen's Ancient Laws--Gwyned, III. i. 12-5 (pp. 222-7); Dyfed, II. i. 17-29 (pp. 408-11); Gwent, II. viii. 1-7 (pp. 700-3); also The Welsh People, pp. 230-1. [15] See the Book of the Dun Cow, fol. 99a & seq. [16] For instances, the reader may turn back to pp. 154 or 191, but there are plenty more in the foregoing chapters; and he may also consult Howells' Cambrian Superstitions, pp. 123-8, 141-2, 146. In one case, p. 123, he gives an instance of the contrary kind of imagination: the shepherd who joined a fairy party on Frenni Fach was convinced, when his senses and his memory returned, that, 'although he thought he had been absent so many years, he had been only so many minutes.' The story has the ordinary setting; but can it be of popular origin? The Frenni Fach is a part of the mountain known as the Frenni Fawr, in the north-east of Pembrokeshire; the names mean respectively the Little Breni, and the Great Breni. The obsolete word breni meant, in Old Welsh, the prow of a ship; local habit tends, however, to the solecism of Brenin Fawr, with brenin, 'king,' qualified by an adjective mutated feminine; but people at a distance who call it Frenni Fawr, pronounce the former vocable with nn. Lastly, Y Vrevi Va6r occurs in Maxen's Dream in the Red Book (Oxford Mab. p. 89); but in the White Book (in the Peniarth collection), col. 187, the proper name is written Freni: for this information I have to thank Mr. Gwenogvryn Evans. [17] It is right to say that another account is given in the Rennes Dindsenchas, published by Stokes in the Revue Celtique, xvi. 164, namely, that Laiglinne with fifty warriors 'came to the well of Dera son of Scera. A wave burst over them and drowned Laiglinne with his fifty warriors, and thereof a lake was made. Hence we say Loch Laiglinni, Laiglinne's Lake.' [18] The Oxford Mabinogion, p. 224, and Guest's, i. 343. [19] See Afanc in the Geiriadur of Silvan Evans, who cites instances in point. [20] See the Revue Celtique, i. 257, and my Hibbert Lectures, pp. 92-3. [21] The Four Masters, A.M. 3520. [22] In another version Campbell had found it to be sand and nothing else. [23] As to this incident of a girl and a supernatural, Campbell says that he had heard it in the Isle of Man also, and elsewhere. [24] See the Revue Celtique, ii. 197. He was also called Labraid Longsech, and Labraid Longsech Lorc. The explanation of Labraid Lorc is possibly that it was originally Labraid Morc, and that the fondness for alliteration brought it into line as Labraid Lorc: compare Llûd Llaweraint in Welsh for Nûd Llaweraint. This is not disproved by the fact that Labraid Lorc's grandfather is said to have been called Loegaire Lorc: Loegaire Lorc and Labraid Lorc are rather to be regarded perhaps as duplicates of the same original. [25] See my Arthurian Legend, p. 70; also Hibbert Lectures, p. 590. [26] The original has in these passages respectively siblais a fual corbo thipra, 'minxit urinam suam so that it was a spring'; ar na siblad a fúal ar na bad fochond báis doib, 'ne mingat urinam suam lest it should be the cause of death to them'; and silis, 'minxit,' fo. 39b. For a translation of the whole story see Dr. O'Grady's Silva Gadelica, pp. 265-9; also Joyce's Old Celtic Romances, pp. 97-105. [27] See the story in Dr. O'Grady's Silva Gadelica, pp. 292-311. [28] See Stengel's edition of li Romans de Durmart le Galois (Tübingen, 1873), lines 4185-340, and my Arthurian Legend, pp. 68-9. [29] See Williams' Scint Greal, pp. 60-1, 474-5; Nutt's Holy Grail, p. 44; and my Arthurian Legend, pp. 69-70. [30] Bardoniaeth D. ab Gwilym, poem 183. A similar descent of Blodeuwed's appears implied in the following englyn--one of two--by Anthony Powel, who died in 1618: it is given by Taliesin ab Iolo in his essay on the Neath Valley, entitled Traethawd ar Gywreined, Hynafiaeth, a hen Bendefigion Glynn Ned (Aberdare, 1886), p. 15:-- Crug ael, carn gadarn a godwyd yn fryn, Yn hen fraenwaith bochlwyd; Main a'i llud man y lladwyd, Merch hoewen loer Meirchion lwyd. It refers, with six other englynion by other authors, to a remarkable rock called Craig y Dinas, with which Taliesin associated a cave where Arthur or Owen Lawgoch and his men are supposed, according to him, to enjoy a secular sleep, and it implies that Blodeuwed, whose end in the Mabinogi of Mâth was to be converted into an owl, was, according to another account, overwhelmed by Craig y Dinas. It may be Englished somewhat as follows: Heaped on a brow, a mighty cairn built like a hill, Like ancient work rough with age, grey-cheeked; Stones that confine her where she was slain, Grey Meirchion's daughter quick and bright as the moon. [31] This comes from the late series of Triads, iii. 10, where Merlin's nine companions are called naw beird cylfeird: cylfeird should be the plural of cylfard, which must be the same word as the Irish culbard, name of one of the bardic grades in Ireland. [32] For some more remarks on this subject generally, see my Arthurian Legend, chapter xv, on the 'Isles of the Dead.' [33] See his Itinerarium Kambriæ, ii. 11 (p. 139); also my Celtic Britain, p. 68, and Arthurian Legend, p. 364. [34] From the Myvyrian Archaiology of Wales, i. 302. [35] I regard nid kywiw as a corruption of ni chywiw from cyf-yw, an instance of the verb corresponding to cymod (= cym-bod), 'peace, conciliation.' The preterite has, in the Oxford Bruts, A.D. 1217 (p. 358), been printed kynni for what one may read kymu: the words would then be y kymu reinald y bre6ys ar brenhin, 'that Reginald de Breos was reconciled with the king, or settled matters with him.' [36] See the Book of Taliessin, poem xxx, in Skene's Four Ancient Books, ii. 181; also Guest's Mabinogion, ii. 354, and the Brython for 1860, p. 372b, where more than one article of similar capacity of distinguishing brave men from cowards is mentioned. [37] See Dugdale's Monasticon, v. 672, where they are printed Dwynech and Dwynaur respectively. [38] See my Hibbert Lectures, pp. 649-50. [39] A full account of them will be found in a volume devoted to them, and entitled Roman Antiquities at Lydney Park, Gloucestershire, being a posthumous work of the Rev. W. Hiley Bathurst, with Notes by C. W. King, London, 1879. See also an article entitled 'Das Heiligtum des Nodon,' by Dr. Hübner in the Jahrbücher des Vereins von Alterthumsfreunden im Rheinlande, lxvii. pp. 29-46, where several things in Mr. King's book are criticized. [40] See my Hibbert Lectures, pp. 122, 125. [41] On this subject, see The Welsh People, especially pp. 54-61. [42] Why our dictionary makers have taken into their heads to treat it as Tamesis I know not. The Welsh is Tafwys with a diphthong regularly representing an earlier long e or ei in the second syllable. There is, as far as I know, no reason to suppose Tafwys an invention, rather than a genuine vocable of the same origin as the name of the Glamorganshire river Taff, in Welsh Taf, which is also the name of the river emptying itself at Laugharne, in Carmarthenshire. Tafwys, however, does not appear to occur in any old Welsh document; but no such weakness attaches to the testimony of the French Tamise, which could hardly come from Tamesis: compare also the place-name Tamise near the Scheldt in East Flanders; this, however, may be of a wholly different origin. [43] A more difficult version has been sent me by Dewi Glan Ffrydlas, of Bethesda: Caffed y wrach, 'Let him seize the hag'; Methu'r cryfaglach, 'You have failed, urchin.' But he has not been able to get any explanation of the words at the Penrhyn Quarries. Cryfaglach is also the form in Mur y Cryfaglach, 'the Urchin's Wall,' in Jenkins' Bed Gelert, p. 249. He informs me that this is the name of an old ruin on an elevated spot some twenty or thirty yards from a swift brook, and not far in a south-south-easterly direction from Sir Edward Watkin's chalet. [44] For this I am indebted to Mr. Wm. Davies (p. 147 above), who tells me that he copied the original from Chwedlau a Thradodiadau Gwyned, 'Gwyned Tales and Traditions,' published in a periodical, which I have not been able to consult, called Y Gordofigion, for the year 1873. [45] The meaning of the word mwthlach is doubtful, as it is now current in Gwyned only in the sense of a soft, doughy, or puffy person who is all of a heap, so to say. Pughe gives mwythlan and mwythlen with similar significations. But mwthlach would seem to have had some such a meaning in the doggerel as that of rough ground or a place covered with a scrubby, tangled growth. It is possibly the same word as the Irish mothlach, 'rough, bushy, ragged, shaggy'; see the Vision of Laisrén, edited by Professor K. Meyer, in the Otia Merseiana, pp. 114, 117. [46] The account here given of the Cyhiraeth is taken partly from Choice Notes, pp. 31-2, and partly from Howells, pp. 31-4, 56-7, who appears to have got uncertain in his narrative as to the sex of the Cyhiraeth; but there is no reason whatsoever for regarding it as either male or female--the latter alone is warranted, as he might have gathered from her being called y Gyhiraeth, 'the Cyhiraeth,' never y Cyhiraeth as far as I know. In North Cardiganshire the spectre intended is known only by another name, that of Gwrach y Rhibyn, but y Gyhiraeth or yr hen Gyhiraeth is a common term of abuse applied to a lanky, cadaverous person, both there and in Gwyned; in books, however, it is found sometimes meaning a phantom funeral. The word cyhiraeth would seem to have originally meant a skeleton with cyhyrau, 'sinews,' but no flesh. However, cyhyrau, singular cyhyr, would be more correctly written with an i; for the words are pronounced--even in Gwyned--cyhir, cyhirau. The spelling cyhyraeth corresponds to no pronunciation I have ever heard of the word; but there is a third spelling, cyheuraeth, which corresponds to an actual cyhoereth or cyhoyreth, the colloquial pronunciation to be heard in parts of South Wales: I cannot account for this variant. Gwrach y Rhibyn means the Hag of the Rhibyn, and rhibyn usually means a row, streak, a line--ma' nhw'n mynd yn un rhibyn, 'they are going in a line.' But what exactly Gwrach y Rhibyn should connote I am unable to say. I may mention, however, on the authority of Mr. Gwenogvryn Evans, that in Mid-Cardiganshire the term Gwrach y Rhibyn means a long roll or bustle of fern tied with ropes of straw and placed along the middle of the top of a hayrick. This is to form a ridge over which and on which the thatch is worked and supported: gwrach unqualified is, I am told, used in this sense in Glamorganshire. Something about the Gwrach sprite will be found in the Brython for 1860, p. 23a, while a different account is given in Jenkins' Bed Gelert, pp. 80-1. [47] This statement I give from Choice Notes, p. 32; but I must confess that I am sceptical as to the 'wings of a leathery and bat-like substance,' or of any other substance whatsoever. [48] For more about her and similar ancestral personages, see The Welsh People, pp. 54-61. [49] This seems to be the Goidelic word borrowed, which in Mod. Irish is written cnocc or cnoc, 'a hill': the native Welsh form is cnwch, as in Cnwch Coch in Cardiganshire, Cnwch Dernog (corrupted into Clwch Dernog) in Anglesey, printed Kuwgh Dernok in the Record of Carnarvon, p. 59, where it is associated with other interesting names to be noticed later. [50] All said by natives of Anglesey about rivers and mountains in their island must be taken relatively, for though the country has a very uneven surface it has no real mountain: they are apt to call a brook a river and a hillock a mountain, though the majestic heights of Arfon are within sight. [51] See pp. 13-16 of his essay on the Neath Valley, referred to in a note at p. 439 above, where Craig y Dinas is also mentioned. [52] This is an interesting word of obscure origin, to which I should like our ingenious etymologists to direct their attention. [53] See the Poetical Works of John Leyden (Edinburgh, 1875), p. 36 (Scenes of Infancy, part ii); also my Arthurian Legend, p. 18. [54] I am indebted for the English story to an article entitled 'The Two Pedlar Legends of Lambeth and Swaffham,' contributed by Mr. Gomme to the pages of the Antiquary, x. 202-5, in which he gives local details and makes valuable comparisons. I have to thank Mr. Gomme also for a cutting from the weekly issue of the Leeds Mercury for Jan. 3, 1885, devoted to 'Local Notes and Queries' (No. cccxii), where practically the same story is given at greater length as located at Upsall Castle in Yorkshire. [55] I have never been to the spot, and I owe these particulars partly to Mr. J. P. Owen, of 72 Comeragh Road, Kensington, and partly to the Rev. John Fisher, already quoted at p. 379. This is the parish where some would locate the story of the sin-eater, which others stoutly deny, as certain periodical outbursts of polemics in the pages of the Academy and elsewhere have shown. Mr. Owen, writing to me in 1893, states, that, when he last visited the dinas some thirty years previously, he found the mouth of the cave stopped up in order to prevent cattle and sheep straying into it. [56] Mr. Fisher refers me to an account of the discovery published in the Cambrian newspaper for Aug. 14, 1813, a complete file of which exists, as he informs me, in the library of the Royal Institution of South Wales at Swansea. Further, at the Cambrians' meeting in 1892 that account was discussed and corrected by Mr. Stepney-Gulston: see the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1893, pp. 163-7. He also 'pointed out that on the opposite side of the gap in the ridge the noted cave of Owain Law Goch was to be found. Near the Pant-y-llyn bone caves is a place called Craig Derwydon, and close by is the scene of the exploits of Owain Law Goch, a character who appears to have absorbed some of the features of Arthurian romance. A cave in the locality bears Owain's name.' [57] As in Llewelyn's charter to the Monks of Aberconwy, where we have, according to Dugdale's Monasticon, v. 673a, a Scubordynemreis, that is Scubor Dyn Emreis, 'Din-Emreis Barn,' supposed to be Hafod y Borth, near Bedgelert: see Jenkins' Bed Gelert, p. 198. In the Myvyrian, i. 195a, it has been printed Din Emrais. [58] See Somer's Malory's Morte Darthur, xxi. v (= vol. i. p. 849), and as to the Marchlyn story see p. 236 above. Lastly some details concerning Llyn Llydaw will be found in the next chapter. [59] The oldest spellings known of this name occur in manuscript A of the Annales Cambriæ and in the Book of Llan Dâv as Elized and Elised, doubtless pronounced Elissed until it became, by dropping the final dental, Elisse. This in time lost its identity by assimilation with the English name Ellis. Thus, for example, in Wynne's edition of Powell's Caradog of Llancarfan's History of Wales (London, 1774), pp. 22, 24, Elised is reduced to Elis. In the matter of dropping the d compare our Dewi, 'St. David,' for Dewid, for an instance of which see Duffus Hardy's Descriptive Catalogue, i. 119. The form Eliseg with a final g has no foundation in fact. Can the English name Ellis be itself derived from Elised? [60] Boncyn is derived from bonc of nearly the same meaning, and bonc is merely the English word bank borrowed: in South Wales it is pronounced banc and used in North Cardiganshire in the sense of hill or mountain. [61] The name occurs twice in the story of Kulhwch and Olwen: see the Mabinogion, p. 107, where the editors have read Ricca both times in 'Gormant, son of Ricca.' This is, however, more than balanced by Rita in the Book of Llan Dâv, namely in Tref Rita, 'Rita's town or stead,' which occurs five times as the name of a place in the diocese of Llandaff; see pp. 32, 43, 90, 272. The uncertainty is confined to the spelling, and it has arisen from the difficulty of deciding in medieval manuscripts between t and c: there is no reason to suppose the name was ever pronounced Ricca. [62] This can hardly be the real name of the place, as it is pronounced Gwybrnant (and even Gwybrant), which reminds me of the Gwybr fynyd on which Gwyn ab Nûd wanders about with his hounds: see Evans' facsimile of the Black Book of Carmarthen, p. 50a, where the words are, dy gruidir ar wibir winit. [63] Dugdale has printed this (v. 673a) Carrecerereryr with one er too much, and the other name forms part of the phrase ad capud Weddua-Vaur, 'to the top of the Great Gwydfa'; but I learn from Mr. Edward Owen, of Gray's Inn, that the reading of the manuscript is Wedua vawr and Carrecereryr. [64] The MSS. except B have y 6ylva, which is clearly not the right word, as it could only mean 'his place of watching.' [65] See Derfel Hughes' Llandegai and Llanllechid, p. 53. As to Drystan it is the Pictish name Drostan, but a kindred form occurs in Cornwall on a stone near Fowey, where years ago I guessed the ancient genitive Drustagni; and after examining it recently I am able to confirm my original guess. The name of Drystan recalls that of Essyllt, which offers some difficulty. It first occurs in Welsh in the Nennian Genealogies in the Harleian MS. 3859: see Pedigree I in the Cymmrodor, ix. 169, where we read that Mermin (Merfyn) was son of Etthil daughter of Cinnan (Cynan), who succeeded his father Rhodri Molwynog in the sovereignty of Gwyned in 754. The spelling Etthil is to be regarded like that of the Welsh names in Nennius, for some instances of which see § 73 (quoted in the next chapter) and the Old Welsh words calaur, nouel, patel, so spelt in the Juvencus Codex: see Skene, ii. 2: in all these l does duty for ll. So Etthil is to be treated as pronounced Ethill or Ethyll; but Jesus College MS. 20 gives a more ancient pronunciation (at least as regards the consonants) when it calls Cynan's daughter Ethellt: see the Cymmrodor, viii. 87. Powell, in his History of Wales by Caradog of Llancarfan, as edited by Wynne, writes the name Esylht; and the Medieval Welsh spelling has usually been Essyllt or Esyllt, which agrees in its sibilant with the French Iselt or Iseut; but who made the Breton-looking change from Eth to Es or Is in this name remains a somewhat doubtful point. Professor Zimmer, in the Zeitschrift für französische Sprache und Litteratur, xiii. 73-5, points out that the name is an Anglo-Saxon Ethylda borrowed, which he treats as a 'Kurzform für Ethelhild': see also the Revue Celtique, xii. 397, xiii. 495. The adoption of this name in Wales may be regarded as proof of intermarriage or alliance between an English family and the royal house of Gwyned as early as the eighth century. [66] See the Brython for 1861, pp. 331-2, also Cymru Fu, p. 468, where Glasynys was also inclined to regard the Hairy Fellow as being Owen. [67] I have never seen a copy, but Mr. Fisher gives me the title as follows: Prophwydoliaeth Myrdin Wyllt yn nghyda ber Hanes o'i Fywyd, wedi eu tynu allan o Lyfr y Daroganau ... Caerfyrdin ... Pris dwy Geiniog. It has no date, but Mr. Fisher once had a copy with the date 1847. Recently he has come across another versified prophecy written in the same style as the printed ones, and referring to an Owain who may have been Owen Lawgoch. The personage meant is compared to the most brilliant of pearls, Owain glain golyaf. The prophecy is to be found at the Swansea Public Library, and occurs in a seventeenth century manuscript manual of Roman Catholic Devotion, Latin and Welsh. It gives 1440 as the year of the deliverance of the Brytaniaid. It forms the first of two poems (fo. 37), the second of which is ascribed to Taliessin. Such is Mr. Fisher's account of it, and the lines which he has copied for me cling to the same theme of the ultimate triumph of the Kymry. Quite recently I have received further information as to these prophecies from Mr. J. H. Davies, of Lincoln's Inn (p. 354), who will, it is to be hoped, soon publish the results of his intimate study of their history in South Wales. [68] Record of Carnarvon, p. 133, to which attention was called by me in the Report of the Welsh Land Commission, p. 648: see now The Welsh People, pp. 343-4, 593-4. [69] Nor was Owen the only Welshman in the king of France's service: there was Owen's chaplain, who on one occasion distinguished himself greatly in battle. He is called in Froissart's text David House, but the editor has found from other documents that the name was Honvel Flinc, which is doubtless Howel, whatever the second vocable may have been: see Froissart, viii, pp. xxxviii, 69. [70] As to the original destination of the flotilla, see Kervyn de Lettenhove's edition of Froissart (Brussels, 1870-7), viii. 435-7, where the editor has brought together several notes, from which it appears that Owen tried unsuccessfully to recruit an army in Spain, but that he readily got together in France a considerable force. For Charles V, on May 8, 1372, ordered the formation of an army, to be placed under Owen's command for the reconquest of his ancestors' lands in Wales, and two days later Owen issued a declaration as to his Welsh claims and his obligations to the French king; but the flotilla stopped short with Guernsey. It is not improbable, however, that the fear in England of a descent on Wales by Owen began at least as early as 1369. In his declaration Owen calls himself Evain de Gales, which approaches the Welsh spelling Ewein, more frequently Ywein, modern Ywain, except that all these forms tended to be supplanted by Owain or Owen. This last is, strictly speaking, the colloquial form, just as Howel is the colloquial form of Hywel, and bowyd of bywyd, 'life.' [71] For the account of Owen's life see the Chroniques de J. Froissart publiées pour la Société de l'Histoire de France, edited with abstracts and notes by Siméon Luce, more especially vols. viii. pp. 44-9, 64, 66-71, 84, 122, 190, and ix. pp. 74-9, where a summary is given of his life and a complete account of his death. In Lord Berners' translation, published in Henry VIII's time, Owen is called Yuan of Wales, as if anybody could even glance at the romances without finding that Owen ab Urien, for instance, became in French Ywains or Ivains le fils Urien in the nominative, and Ywain or Ivain in régime. Thomas Johnes of Hafod, whose translation was published in 1803-6, betrays still greater ignorance by giving him the modern name Evan; but he had the excuse of being himself a Welshman. [72] For copies of some of the documents in point see Rymer's Foedera, viii. 356, 365, 382. [73] I have not been able to find a copy of this work, and for drawing my attention to the passage in Hanes Cymru I have again to thank Mr. Fisher. The pedigree in question will be found printed in Table I in Askew Roberts' edition of Sir John Wynne's History of the Gwydir Family (Oswestry, 1878); and a note, apparently copied from Miss Llwyd, states that it was in a Hengwrt MS. she found the identification of Owen Lawgoch. The editor surmises that to refer to p. 865 of Hengwrt MS. 351, which he represents as being a copy of Hengwrt MS. 96 in the handwriting of Robert Vaughan the Antiquary. [74] This has already been undertaken: on Feb. 7, 1900, a summary of this chapter was read to a meeting of the Hon. Society of Cymmrodorion, and six weeks later Mr. Edward Owen, of Gray's Inn, read an elaborate paper in which he essayed to fix more exactly Yvain de Galles' place in the history of Wales. It would be impossible here to do justice to his reasoning, based as it was on a careful study of the records in point. Let it suffice for the present, however, that the paper will in due course appear in the Society's Transactions. Mr. J. H. Davies also informs me that he is bringing together items of evidence, which tend, as he thinks, to show that Miss Llwyd's information was practically correct. Before, however, the question can be considered satisfactorily answered, some explanation will have to be offered of Froissart's statement, that Yvain's father's name was Aymon. [75] We seem also to have an instance in point in Carmarthenshire, where legend represents Owen and his men sleeping in Ogof Myrdin, the name of which means Merlin's Cave, and seems to concede priority of tenancy to the great magician: see the extinct periodical Golud yr Oes (for 1863), i. 253, which I find to have been probably drawing on Eliezer Williams' English Works (London, 1840), p. 156. [76] For the Greek text of the entire passage see the Didot edition of Plutarch, vol. iii. p. 511 (De Defectu Oraculorum, xviii); also my Arthurian Legend, pp. 367-8. It is curious to note that storms have, in a way, been associated in England with the death of her great men as recently as that of the celebrated Duke of Wellington: see Choice Notes, p. 270. [77] See my Arthurian Legend, p. 335. I am indebted to Professor Morfill for rendering the hexameters into English verse. [78] They are produced here in their order as printed at the beginning of the second volume of the Myvyrian Archaiology of Wales, and the series or versions are indicated as i, ii, iii. Version ii will be found printed in the third volume of the Cymmrodor, pp. 52-61, also in the Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 297-308, from the Red Book of Hergest of the fourteenth century. The letter (a, b, c) added is intended to indicate the order of the three parts of the Triad, for it is not the same in all the series. Let me here remark in a general way that the former fondness of the Welsh for Triads was not peculiar to them. The Irish also must have been at one time addicted to this grouping. Witness the Triad of Cleverest Countings, in the Book of the Dun Cow, fol. 58a, and the Triad of the Blemishes of the Women of Ulster, ib. 43b. [79] As to the names Drystan (also Trystan) and Essyllt, see the footnote on p. 480 above. [80] This was meant to explain the unusual term g6rdueichyat, also written g6rdueichat, g6rueichyat, and gwrddfeichiad. This last comes in the modern spelling of iii. 101, where this clause is not put in the middle of the Triad but at the end. [81] The editor of this version seems to have supposed Pendaran to have been a place in Dyfed! But his ignorance leaves us no evidence that he had a different story before him. [82] This word is found written in Mod. Welsh Annwfn, but it has been mostly superseded by the curtailed form Annwn, which appears twice in the Mabinogi of Math. These words have been studied by M. Gaidoz in Meyer and Stern's Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, i. 29-34, where he equates Annwfn with the Breton anauon, which is a plural used collectively for the souls of the departed, the other world. His view, however, of these interesting words has since been mentioned in the same Zeitschrift, iii. 184-5, and opposed in the Annales de Bretagne, xi. 488. [83] Edited by Professor Kuno Meyer (London, 1892): see for instance pp. 76-8. [84] See Windisch's Irische Texte, p. 256, and now the Irish Text Society's Fled Bricrend, edited with a translation by George Henderson, pp. 8, 9. [85] Windisch, ibid. pp. 99-105. [86] See the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 196, and Guest's trans., i. 302, where the Welsh words a gol6ython o gic meluoch are rendered 'and collops of the flesh of the wild boar,' which can hardly be correct; for the mel in mel-uoch, or mel-foch in the modern spelling, is the equivalent of the Irish melg, 'milk.' So the word must refer either to a pig that had been fed on cows' milk or else a sucking pig. The former is the more probable meaning, but one is not helped to decide by the fact, that the word is still sometimes used in books by writers who imagine that they have here the word mel, 'honey,' and that the compound means pigs whose flesh is as sweet as honey: see Dr. Pughe's Dictionary, where melfoch is rendered 'honey swine,' whatever that may mean. [87] Windisch's Irische Texte, p. 133, where laith lemnacht = Welsh llaeth llefrith, 'sweet milk.' [88] Collfrewi was probably, like Gwenfrewi, a woman's name: this is a point of some importance when taken in connexion with what was said at p. 326 above as to Gwydion and Coll's magic. [89] This reminds one of Geoffrey of Monmouth's Henvinus, whom he makes into dux Cornubiæ and father of Cunedagius or Cuneda: see ii. 12, 15. Probably Geoffrey's connecting such names as those of Cuneda and Dyfnwal Moelmud (ii. 17) with Cornwall is due to the fact, that the name of the Dumnonia of the North had been forgotten long before that of the Dumnonia to be identified with Devon and Cornwall. [90] See the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 104, and the Oxford Bruts, p. 292. [91] See the Oxford Bruts, pp. 299, 317, 345-6, 348, 384. I learn from Prof. Anwyl that Castell Penwedig is still remembered at Llanfihangel Genau'r Glyn as the old name of Castell Gwallter in that parish. [92] See his note in Owen's Pembrokeshire, p. 237, where he also notices Aber Tarogi, and the editor's notes to p. 55. [93] Mergaed for Mengwaed hardly requires any explanation; and as to Breat or rather Vreat, as it occurs in mutation, we have only to suppose the original carelessly written Vreac for Vreach, and we have the usual error of neglecting the stroke indicating the n, and the very common one of confounding c with t. This first-mentioned name should possibly be analysed into Mengw-aed or Menw-aed for an Irish Menb-aed, with the menb, 'little,' noticed at p. 510 below; in that case one might compare such compounds of Aed as Beo-aed and Lug-aed in the Martyrology of Gorman. Should this prove well founded the Mod. Welsh transcription of Menwaed should be Menwaed. I have had the use of other versions of the Triads from MSS. in the Peniarth collection; but they contribute nothing of any great importance as regards the proper names in the passages here in question. [94] See the Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 41, 98, and Guest's trans., iii. 313. [95] See Geoffrey's Historia Regum Britanniæ, vi. 19, viii. 1, 2; also Giraldus, Itinerarium Kambriæ, ii. 8 (p. 133). [96] Itinerarium Kambriæ, ii. 9 (p. 136). [97] Menw's name is to be equated with the Irish word menb, 'little, small,' and connected with the Welsh derivative di-fenw-i, 'belittling or reviling': it will be seen that he takes the form of a bird, and his designation Menw fab Teirgwaed might perhaps be rendered 'Little, son of Three-Cries.' [98] Identified by Professor Kuno Meyer in the Transactions of the Cymmrodorion Society, 1895-6, p. 73, with a place in Leinster called Sescenn Uairbeóil, 'the Marsh of Uairbhél,' where Uairbhél may possibly be a man's name, but more likely that of a pass or gap described as Cold-mouth: compare the Slack or Sloc in the Isle of Man, called in Manx 'the big Mouth of the Wind.' The Irish name comes near in part to the Welsh Esgeir Oervel or Oerfel, which means 'the mountain Spur of cold Weather.' [99] The word used in the text is ystyr, which now means 'meaning or signification'; but it is there used in the sense of 'history,' or of the Latin 'historia,' from which it is probably borrowed. [100] In the original his designation is Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoed, and the man so called is in the Kulhwch credited with the mastery of all languages, including those of certain birds and quadrupeds. Gwalstawt, found written also gwalstot, is the Anglo-Saxon word wealhstód, 'an interpreter,' borrowed. The name Gwrhyr is possibly identical with that of Ferghoir, borne by the Stentor of Fionn mac Cumhaill's following. Ferghoir's every shout is said to have been audible over three cantreds. Naturally one who was to parley with a savage host had good reason to cultivate a far-reaching voice, if he wished to be certain of returning to his friends. For more about it see the footnote at p. 489 of my Hibbert Lectures. [101] The original has Pelumyawc, p. 138, and the name occurs in the (Red Book) Bruts, p. 355, as Pelunyawc, and p. 411, as Pelunea(wc) between the commots of Amgoed and Velfrey. The identification here suggested comes from Mr. Phillimore, who has seen that Peuliniawc must be a derivative from the name Paulinus, that is of the Paulinus, probably, who is mentioned in an ancient inscription at Llandysilio. There are other churches called after Tysilio, so this one used to be distinguished as Llandysilio yn Nyfed, that is, Llandysilio-in-Dyfed; but the pronunciation was much the same as if it had been written Llandysilio yn Yfed, meaning 'Llandysilio a-drinking,' 'whereof arose a merrye jest,' as George Owen tells us in his Pembrokeshire, p. 9. It is now sometimes called Llandysilio'r Gynffon, or 'Llandysilio of the Tail,' from the situation of a part of the parish on a strip, as it were a tail, of Carmarthenshire land running into Pembrokeshire. [102] This Aber Towy appears to have been a town with a harbour in 1042, for we read in Brut y Tywysogion of a cruel engagement fought there between Gruffyd ab Llewelyn and Howel ab Edwin, who, with Irish auxiliaries, tried to effect a landing. Not long ago a storm, carrying away the accumulation of sand, laid bare a good deal of the site. It is to be hoped that excavations will be made soon on the spot. [103] See the Transactions of the Cymmrodorion, 1894-5, pp. 146-7. There are a good many clyns about South Wales, but our etymologists are careful to have them in most cases written glyn, 'a glen.' Our story, however, shows that the word came under the influence of glyn long ago, for it should be, when accented, clûn, corresponding to Irish cluain, 'a meadow.' We have it as clun in Clun Kein in the Black Book, p. 34b, where I guess it to mean the place now called Cilcain, 'Kilken' in Flintshire, which is accented on the first syllabic; and we have had it in y Clun Hir, 'the Long Meadow,' mentioned above at p. 22. [104] Cas Llychwr, 'Loughor Castle,' is supposed to involve in its Llychwr, Llwchwr, or Loughor, the name of the place in the Antoninus Itinerary, 484, 1, to wit Leucarum; but the guttural spirant ch between vowels in Llychwr argues a phonetic process which was Goidelic rather than Brythonic. [105] Llwydawc Gouynnyat would seem to mean Llwydawc the Asker or Demander, and the epithet occurs also in the Kulhwch in the name Gallcoyt Gouynynat (Mabinogion, 106), to be read doubtless G. Gouynnyat, 'G. who asks or demands': possibly one should rather compare with Go-uynnyat the word tra-mynyat, 'a wild boar': see Williams' Seint Greal, pp. 374, 381. However, the epithets in the Twrch Trwyth story do not count so far as concerns the place-names derived. [106] Other instances of the like shortening occur in words like cefnder, 'a cousin,' for cefnderw, and ardel, 'to own,' for ardelw. As to Amman, it enters, also, into a group of Glamorganshire place-names: witness Aber Amman and Cwm Amman, near Aberdare. [107] It should perhaps be looked for near Brechfa, where there is a Hafod Grugyn, and, as I am told, a Garth also which is, however, not further defined. For it appears that both Brechfa and Cayo, though now in Carmarthenshire, once belonged to Keredigion: see Owen's Pembrokeshire, p. 216. But perhaps another spot should be considered: J. D. Rhys, the grammarian (p. 22 above), gives in the Peniarth MS. 118 a list of caers or castles called after giants, and among them is that of Grugyn in the parish, he says, of 'Llan Hilar.' I have, however, not been able to hear of any trace of the name there, though I should guess the spot to have been Pen y Castell, called in English Castle Hill, the residence of Mr. Loxdale in the parish of Llanilar, near Aberystwyth. [108] I have re-examined the passage, and I have no doubt that the editors were wrong in printing Gregyn: the manuscript has Grugyn, which comes in the last line of column 841. Now besides that the line is in part somewhat faint, the scribe has evidently omitted something from the original story, and I guess that the lacuna occurs in the first line of the next column after the words y llas, 'was killed,' which seem to end the story of Grugyn. [109] Those who have discovered an independent Welsh appellative wy meaning water are not to be reasoned with. The Welsh wy only means an egg, while the meaning of Gwy as the name of the Wye has still to be discovered. [110] This name also occurs in a passage quoted in Jones' Brecknock, ii. 501, from a Carte MS. which he treats as relating to the year 1234: the MS. is said to be at the Bodleian, though I have not succeeded in tracing it. But Jones gives Villa de Ystraddewi, and speaks of a chapel of St. John's of Stradtewi, which must have been St. John's Church, at Tretower, one of the ecclesiastical districts of Cwm Du: see also p. 497. The name is probably to be treated as Strad or Strat d'Ewe. [111] A river may in Welsh be briefly called after anybody or anything. Thus in North Cardiganshire there is a stream called Einon, that is to say 'Einion's river,' and the flat land on both sides of it is called Ystrad Einon, which looks as if one might translate it Einion's Strath, but it means the Strath of Einion's river, or of the stream called Einon, as one will at once see from the upper course of the water being called Blaen Einon, which can only mean the upper course of the Einon river. So here yw is in English 'yew,' but Ystrad Yw and Llygad Yw have to be rendered the Strath of the Yew burn and the Eye of the Yew burn respectively. It is moreover felt by the Welsh-speaking people of the district that yw is the plural of ywen, 'a single yew,' and as there is only one yew at the source somebody had the brilliant idea of making the name right by calling it Ywen, and this has got into the maps as Ewyn, as though it were the Welsh word for foam. Who began it I cannot say, but Theophilus Jones has it in his History of the County of Brecknock, published in 1809. Nevertheless the name is still Yw, not Ywen or Ewyn, in the Welsh of the district, though Lewis gives it as Ywen in his article on Llanvihangel-Cwm-Du. [112] For exact information as to the Gaer, the Yw, and Llygad Yw, I am indebted chiefly to the courtesy of Lord Glanusk, the owner of that historic strath, and to the Rector of Llansantffread, who made a special visit to Llygad Yw for me; also to Mr. Francis Evans, of the Farmers' Arms at the Bwlch, who would be glad to change the name Llygad Yw into Llygad dan yr Ywen, 'the Source beneath the Yew-tree,' partly on account of the position 'of the spring emanating under the but of the yew tree,' and partly because there is only a single yew there. Theophilus Jones complained a century ago that the Gaer in Ystrad Yw had not attracted the attention it deserved; and I have been greatly disappointed to find that the Cambrian Archæological Association has had nothing to say of it. At any rate, I have tried the Index of its proceedings and found only a single mention of it. The whole district is said to teem with antiquities, Celtic, Roman, and Norman. [113] Theophilus Jones, in his Brecknockshire, ii. 502, describes Miarth or Myarth as a 'very extensive' camp, and proceeds as follows:--'Another British camp of less extent is seen on a knoll on Pentir hill, westward of the Rhiangoll and the parish church of Cwmdu, above a wood called Coed y Gaer, and nearly opposite to the peak or summit called Cloch y Pibwr, or the piper's call.' This would probably be more accurately rendered the Piper's Rock or Stone, with cloch treated as the Goidelic word for a stone rather than the Brythonic word for a bell: how many more clochs in our place-names are Goidelic? [114] The Twrch would seem to have crossed somewhere opposite the mouth of the Wye, let us say not very far from Aust; but he escapes to Cornwall without anything happening to him, so we are left without any indication whether the story originally regarded Kernyw as including the Penrhyn Awstin of the Coll story given at p. 503. [115] For this suggestion I am indebted to the Rev. Dr. Gaster in the Cymmrodorion's Transactions for 1894-5, p. 34, and also for references in point to M. Cosquin's Contes Populaires de la Lorraine, i. 134, 141, 152. Compare also such Gaelic stories as that of the Bodach Glas, translated by Mrs. Mackellar, in the Celtic Magazine, xii. 12-6, 57-64. [116] In some native Welsh words we have an option between a prefix ym and am, an option arising out of the fact that originally it was neither ym nor am, but m, for an earlier mbi, of the same origin as Latin ambi and Greek amphi, 'around, about.' The article, its meaning in the combination in banbh being forgotten, would fall under the influence of the analogy of the prefix, now am or ym, so far as the pronunciation was concerned. [117] Possibly the benwic was thrown in to correct the reckoning when the redactor discovered, as he thought, that he had one too many to account for: it has been pointed out that he had forgotten that one had been killed in Ireland. [118] It is just possible, however, that in an older version it was named, and that the place was no other than the rock just above Ystrad Yw, called Craig Lwyd or, as it is said to be pronounced, Craig Llwyd. If so, Llwyd would seem to have been substituted for the dissyllable Llwydog: compare the same person called Llwyt and Llwydeu in the Mabinogion, pp. 57, 110, 136. [119] The name is well known in that of Llanrhaiadr yn Mochnant, 'Llanrhaiadr in Mochnant,' in the north of Montgomeryshire. [120] Between Colwyn Bay and Llandudno Junction, on the Chester and Holyhead line of railway. [121] I have discussed some of the traces of the Goidels in Wales in the Arch. Camb. for 1895, pp. 18-39, 264-302; 1899, pp. 160-7. [122] In fact the genitive Grúcind occurs in the Book of Leinster, fo. 359a. [123] The sort of question one would like to ask in that district is, whether there is a spot there called Bed y Rhyswyr, Carn y Rhyswyr, or the like. The word rhyswr is found applied to Arthur himself in the Life of Gruffyd ab Cynan, as the equivalent probably of the Latin Arthur Miles (p. 538 below): see the Myvyrian Archaiology, ii. 590. Similarly the soldiers or champions of Christ are called rys6yr crist in the Welsh Life of St. David: see the Elucidarium and other Tracts (in the Anecdota Oxoniensia), p. 118. [124] Rudvyw Rys would be in Modern Welsh Rhudfyw Rys, and probably means Rhudfyw the Champion or Fighter, as Rhys is likely to have been synonymous with rhyswr. The corresponding Irish name was Russ or Ross, genitive Rossa, and it appears to come from the same origin as Irish ross, 'a headland, a forest,' Welsh rhos, 'moorland, uncultivated ground.' The original meaning was presumably 'exposed or open and untilled land'; and Stokes supposes the word to stand for an early (p)ro-sto- with sto of the same origin as Latin sto, 'I stand,' and as the English word stand itself. In that case Ros, genitive Rossa, Welsh Rhys, would mean one who stands out to fight, a prostatês, so to say. But not only are these words of a different declension implying a nominative Ro-stus, but the Welsh one must have been once accented Ro-stús on the ending which is now lost, otherwise there is no accounting for the change of the remaining vowel into y. Other instances postulating an early Welsh accentuation of the same kind are very probably llyg, 'a fieldmouse,' Irish luch, 'a mouse'; pryd, 'form,' Irish cruth; pryf, 'a worm,' Irish cruim; so also with ych, 'an ox,' and nyth, 'a nest,' Irish nett, genitive nitt, derived by Stokes from nizdo-, which, however, must have been oxytone, like the corresponding Sanskrit nidhá. There is one very interesting compound of rhys, namely the saint's name Rhwydrys, as it were Redo-rostus to be compared with Gaulish Eporedo-rix, which is found in Irish analysed into rí Eochraidhi, designating the fairy king who was father to Étáin: see Windisch's Irische Texte, p. 119. Bledrws, Bledrus, as contrasted with Bledrys, Bledris, postulate Goidelic accentuation, while one has to treat Bledruis as a compromise between Bledrws and Bledris, unless it be due to misreading a Bledruif (Book of Llan Dâv, pp. 185, 221-2, and Arch. Camb. for 1875, p. 370). The Goidelic accent at an early date moved to first syllables, hence cruth (with its vowel influenced by the u of a stem qurt) under the stress accent, became, when unstressed, cridh (from a simplified stem crt) as in Noicride (also Nóicrothach, Windisch, ibid., pp. 259, 261, 266) and Luicridh (Four Masters, A.D. 748), Luccraid, genitive Luccraide (Book of Leinster, 359f), Luguqurit- in Ogam. [125] These operations cannot have been the first of the kind in the district, as a writer in the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1862, pp. 159-60, in extracting a note from the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries (series II, vol. i. p. 10) relative to the discovery of the canoe, adds a statement based on the same volume, p. 161, to the effect that 'within half a mile of Llyn Llydaw there are the remains of a British town, not marked in the ordnance map, comprising the foundations of numerous circular dwellings. In some of them quantities of the refuse of copper smeltings were found. This town should be visited and examined with care by some of the members of our Association.' This was written not far short of forty years ago; but I am not aware that the Association has done anything positive as yet in this matter. [126] According to Jenkins' Bed Gelert, p. 300, the canoe was subsequently sold for a substantial price, and nobody seems to know what has eventually become of it. It is to be hoped this is not correct. [127] See Holder's Alt-celtischer Sprachschatz, s. v. Litavia. [128] For these notes I am indebted to Williams' Dictionary of Eminent Welshmen, and to Rees' Welsh Saints, pp. 187, 191; for our Paulinus is not yet recognized in the Dictionary of Christian Biography. His day was Nov. 22. [129] There are two other inscriptions in South Wales which contain the name Paulinus, one on a stone found in the neighbourhood of Port Talbot in Glamorgan, reading Hic iacit Cantusus Pater Paulinus, which seems to imply that Paulinus set up the stone to the memory of a son of his named Cantusus. The other, found on the site of the extinct church of Llanwrthwl, near Dolau Cothi in Carmarthenshire, is a remarkable one in a kind of hexameter to the following effect:-- Servatur fidæi patrieque semper amator Hic Paulinus iacit cultor pientisimus æqui. Whether we have one or two or three Paulini in these inscriptions I cannot say. Welsh writers, however, have made the name sometimes into Pawl Hên, 'Paul the Aged,' but, so far as I can see, without rhyme or reason. [130] Since I chanced on this inscription my friend Professor Lindsay of St. Andrews has called my attention to Plautus' Asinaria, 499 (II. iv. 92), where one reads, Periphanes Rhodo mercator dives, 'Periphanes a wealthy merchant of Rhodes'; he finds also Æsculapius Epidauro (Arnobius, 278. 18), and elsewhere Nepos Philippis and Priscus Vienna. [131] See Stokes' Patrick, pp. 16, 412. [132] This will give the reader some idea of the pre-Norman orthography of Welsh, with l for the sound of ll and b for that of v. [133] The softening of Cafall to Gafall could not take place after the masculine corn, 'a horn'; but it was just right after the feminine carn, 'a cairn.' So here corn is doubtless a colloquial corruption; and so is probably the t at the end, for as llt has frequently been reduced to ll, as in cyfaill, 'a friend,' from the older cyfaillt, in Medieval Irish comalta, 'a foster brother or sister,' the language has sometimes reversed the process, as when one hears hollt for holl, 'all,' or reads fferyllt, 'alchemist, chemist,' for fferyll from Vergilius. The Nennian orthography does not much trouble itself to distinguish between l and ll, and even when Carn Cabal was written the pronunciation was probably Carn Gavall, the mutation being ignored in the spelling, which frequently happens in the case even of Welsh people who never fail to mutate their consonants in speaking. Lastly, though it was a dog that was called Cafall, it is remarkable that the word has exactly the form taken by caballus in Welsh: for cafall, as meaning some sort of a horse, see Silvan Evans' Geiriadur. [134] An instance or two of Trwyd will be found in a note by Silvan Evans in Skene's Four Ancient Books of Wales, ii. 393. [135] For more about these names and kindred ones, see a note of mine in the Arch. Cambrensis, 1898, pp. 61-3. [136] See my Hibbert Lectures, pp. 398-401. [137] See the Black Book of Carmarthen in Evans' facsimile, p. 47b; Thomas Stephens' Gododin, p. 146; Dent's Malory, preface, p. xxvi; and Skene's Four Ancient Books of Wales, ii. 51, 63, 155. [138] See the Göttingische gelehrte Anzeigen for 1890, p. 512. [139] See De Courson's Cartulaire de l'abbaye de Redon, pp. 163, 186. [140] See Reeves' note to the passage just cited in his edition of Adamnan's Vita, pp. 6, 7. [141] Here possibly one might mention likewise Gilmin Troetu or Troeddu, 'Gilmin of the Black Foot,' the legendary ancestor (p. 444) of the Wynns of Glyn Llifon, in Carnarvonshire. So the name might be a shortening of some such a combination as Gilla-min, 'the attendant of Min or Men,' a name we have also in Mocu-Min, 'Min's Kin,' a family or sept so called more than once by Adamnan. Perhaps one would also be right in regarding as of similar origin the name of Gilberd or Gilbert, son of Cadgyffro, who is mentioned in the Kulhwch, and in the Black Book, fo. 14b: at any rate I am not convinced that the name is to be identified with the Gillebert of the Normans, unless that was itself derived from Celtic. But there is a discrepancy between Gilmin, Gilbert, with unmutated m and b, and Gilvaethwy with its mutation consonant v. In all three, however, Gil, had it been Welsh, would probably have appeared as Gill, as indicated by the name Gilla in the Kulhwch (Oxford Mabinogion, p. 110), in which we seem to have the later form of the old name Gildas. Compare such Irish instances as Fiachna and Cera, which seem to imply stems originally ending in -asa-s (masculine) and -asa (feminine); and see the Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, 1899, P. 402. [142] An article in the Rennes Dindsenchas is devoted to Liath: see the Rev. Celtique, xvi. 78-9. As to Celtchar, genitive Celtchair, the name would seem to have meant 'him who is fond of concealment.' The Mabinogi form of the Welsh name is Llwyt uab kil coet, which literally meant 'Ll. son of (him of) the Retreat of the Wood.' But in the Twrch Trwyth story, under a slightly different form of designation, we appear to have the same person as Llwydeu mab kelcoet and Llwydeu mab kel coet, which would seem to mean 'Ll. son of (him of) the Hidden Wood.' It looks as if the bilingual story-teller of the language transition had not been able to give up the cel of Celtchar at the same time that he rendered celt by coet, 'wood or trees,' as if identifying it with cailt: witness the Medieval Irish caill, 'a wood or forest,' dative plural cailtib, derivative adjective caillteamhuil, 'silvester'; and see Windisch's Irische Texte, p. 410, s. v. caill. [143] Windisch's Irische Texte, p. 217, and the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 47b. [144] There has been a good deal of confusion as to the name Llyr: thus for instance, the Welsh translations of Geoffrey of Monmouth make the Leir of his Latin into Llyr, and the personage intended is represented as the father of three daughters named Gonerilla, Regan, and Cordeilla or Cordelia. But Cordelia is probably the Creurdilad of the Black Book, p. 49b, and the Creidylat of the Kulhwch story (the Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 113, 134), and her father was Llûd Llawereint (= Irish Nuada Airgetlám) and not Llyr. Then as to the Leir of Geoffrey's Latin, that name looks as if given its form on the strength of the legr- of Legraceaster, the Anglo-Saxon name of the town now called Leicester, of which William of Malmesbury (Gesta Pontificum, § 176) says, Legrecestra est civitas antiqua in Mediterraneis Anglis, a Legra fluvio præterfluente sic vocata. Mr. Stevenson regards Legra as an old name of the Soar, and as surviving in that of the village of Leire, spelled Legre in Domesday. It seems to point back to a Legere or Ligere, which recalls Liger, 'the Loire.' [145] I say in that case, as this is not quite conclusive; for Welsh has an appellative llyr, 'mare, æquor,' which may be a generalizing of Llyr; or else it may represent an early lerio-s from lero-s (see p. 549 below), and our Llyr may possibly be this and not the Irish genitive Lir retained as Llyr. That, however, seems to me improbable on the whole. [146] Here it is relevant to direct the reader's attention to Nutt's Legend of the Holy Grail, p. 28, where, in giving an abstract of the Petit saint Graal, he speaks of the Brân of that romance, in French Bron, nominative Brons, as having the keeping of the Grail and dwelling 'in these isles of Ireland.' [147] The Dôn and Llyr groups are not brought into conflict or even placed in contact with one another; and the reason seems to be that the story-teller wanted to introduce the sons of Beli as supreme in Britain after the death of Brân. Beli and his sons are also represented in Maxen's Dream as ruling over Britain when the Roman conqueror arrives. What is to be made of Beli may be learnt from The Welsh People, pp. 41-3. [148] These things one learns about Lir from the story mentioned in the text as the 'Fate of the Children of Lir,' as to which it is right, however, to say that no ancient manuscript version is known: see M. d'Arbois dc Jubainville's Essai d'un Catalogue de la Litérature épique de l'Irlande, p. 8. [149] See Skene's Four Ancient Books of Wales, ii. 303, also 108-9, where the fragment of the poem as given in the Book of Taliessin is printed. The line here quoted has been rendered in vol. i. 286, 'With Matheu and Govannon,' which places the old pagan Gofannon in rather unexpected company. A few lines later in the poem mention is made of a Kaer Gofannon: where was that? Skene, in a note on it (ii. 452), says that 'In an old list of the churches of Linlithgow, printed by Theiner, appears Vicaria de Gumanyn. The place meant is probably Dalmeny, on the Firth of Forth, formerly called Dumanyn.' This is interesting only as showing that Gumanyn is probably to be construed Dumanyn, and that Dalmeny represents an ancient Dún Manann in a neighbourhood where one already has Clach Manann, 'the stone of Manau,' and Sliabh Manann, 'Mountain of Manau' now respectively Clackmannan and Slamannan, in what Nennius calls Manau Guotodin. [150] This occurred unrecognized and, therefore, unaltered by the scribe of the Nennian Pedigree no. xvi in the Cymmrodor, ix. 176, as he found it written in an old spelling, Louhen. map. Guid gen. map. Caratauc. map. Cinbelin, where Caradog is made father of Gwydion; for in Guid-gen we seem to have the compound name which suggested Gwydion. This agrees with the fact that the Mabinogi of Math treats Gwydion as the father of Llew Llawgyffes; but the pedigree itself seems to have been strangely put together. [151] See Bertrand's Religion des Gaulois, pp. 314-9, 343-5, and especially the plates. [152] The Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 40-3; Guest's Mabinogion, iii. 124-8. [153] See Louis Leger's Cyrille et Méthode (Paris, 1868), p. 22. [154] See Pertz, Monumenta Germaniæ Historia Scriptorum, xii. 794. The whole passage is worth quoting; it runs thus: Erat autem simulacrum triceps, quod in uno corpore tria capita habens Triglaus vocabatur; quod solum accipiens, ipsa capitella sibi cohærentia, corpore comminuto, secum inde quasi pro tropheo asportavit, et postea Romam pro argumento conversionis illorum transmisit. [155] See The Welsh People, pp. 56-7. [156] The Oxford Mabinogion, p. 147; Guest's Mabinogion, ii. 398. [157] This may have meant the 'Blue Slate or Flagstone'; but there is no telling so long as the place is not identified. It may have been in the Pictish district of Galloway, or else somewhere beyond the Forth. Query whether it was the same place as Llech Gelydon in Prydyn, mentioned in Boned y Saint: see the Myvyrian Archaiology, ii. 49. [158] The story of Kulhwch and Olwen has a different legend which represents Nynio and Peibio changed by the Almighty into two oxen called Ychen Banna6c: see the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 121, also my Arthurian Legend, p. 304, and the remarks which are to follow in this chapter with respect to those oxen. [159] For the story in Welsh see the Iolo MSS., pp. 193-4, where a footnote tells the reader that it was copied from the book of 'Iaco ab Dewi.' From his father's manuscript, Taliesin Williams printed an abstract in English in his notes to his poem entitled the Doom of Colyn Dolphyn (London, 1837), pp. 119-20, from which it will be found translated into German in the notes to San-Marte's Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniæ, pp. 402-3. [160] Oxford Bruts, p. 213: compare p. 146, together with Geoffrey's Latin, vii. 3, x. 3. [161] See Kölbing's Altenglische Bibliothek, the fifth volume of which consists of Libeaus Desconus, edited by Max Kaluza (Leipsic, 1890), lines 163, 591, and Introduction, p. cxxxxiv. For calling my attention to this, I have to thank my friend, Mr. Henry Bradley. [162] Malory's Morte Darthur, i. 27: see also i. 17-8, 28; ii. 6, 8-9. [163] See Evans' Autotype Facsimile, fo. 33a: could the spot so called (in the Welsh text argel Ardudwy) be somewhere in the neighbourhood of Llyn Irdyn (p. 148), a district said to be rich in the remains of a prehistoric antiquity? J. Evans, author of the North Wales volume of the Beauties of England and Wales, says, after hurriedly enumerating such antiquities, p. 909: 'Perhaps in no part of Britain is there still remaining such an assemblage of relicks belonging to druidical rites and customs as are found in this place, and the adjacent parts.' [164] As to Rion, see Gaston Paris and Ulrich's Merlin (Paris, 1886), i. 202, 239-46. Other instances will readily occur to the reader, such as the Domesday Roelend or Roelent for Rothelan, in Modern Welsh Rhudlan; but for more instances of this elision by French and Anglo-Norman scribes of vowel-flanked d and th, see Notes and Queries for Oct. 28, 1899, pp. 351-2, and Nov. 18, p. 415; also Vising's Étude sur le Dialecte anglo-normand du xije Siècle (Upsala, 1882), p. 88; and F. Hildebrand's article on Domesday, in the Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, 1884, p. 360. According to Suchier in Gröber's Grundriss der rom. Philologie, i. 581, this process of elision became complete in the twelfth century: see also Schwan's Grammatik des Altfranzösischen (Leipsic, 1888), p. 65. For most of these references, I have to thank my friend and neighbour, Mr. Stevenson of Exeter College. [165] It comes from the same Llwyd MS. which has already been cited at pp. 233-4: see the Cambrian Journal for 1859, pp. 209-10. [166] I notice in the maps a spot called Panylau, which is nearer to Llyn Gwynain than to Llyn y Dinas. [167] See Morris' Celtic Remains, s. v. Serigi, and the Iolo MSS., p. 81. [168] The Iolo MSS., p. 81, have Syrigi Wydel son of Mwrchan son of Eurnach Hen. [169] See Triads, ii. 12, and the Mabinogion, p. 301: in Triads, i. 72, iii. 86, instead of Solor we have Doler and Dolor. [170] See the Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 125-8. [171] Evans' Autotype Facsimile, fo. 48a; see also my preface to Dent's Malory, p. xxvii; likewise p. 457 above. [172] See my Lectures on Welsh Philology, pp. 377-9; and, as to the Caer Gai tradition, the Arch. Camb. for 1850, p. 204, and Morris' Celtic Remains, p. 63. I may add as to Llanuwchllyn, that the oldest inhabitants pronounce that name Llanuwllyn. [173] I cannot discover that it has ever been investigated by the Cambrian Archæological Association or any other antiquaries. Compare the case of the neighbouring site with the traces of the copper smeltings mentioned in the note on p. 532 above. To my knowledge the Cambrians have twice failed to make their way nearer to the ruins than Llanberis, or at most Llanberis Pass, significantly called in Welsh Pen Gorffwysfa for the older name Gorffwysfa Beris, 'Peris' Resting-place': thus we loyally follow the example of resting set by the saint, and leave alone the archæology of the district. [174] The subject has been discussed at length by Mr. Jacobs, in a note to the legend, in his Celtic Fairy Tales, pp. 259-64; and quite recently by Mr. D. E. Jenkins in his Bed Gelert (Portmadoc, 1899), pp. 56-74. [175] Professor J. Morris Jones, to whom I am indebted for the particulars connected with these names, informs me that the local pronunciation is Drónwy; but Mrs. Rhys remembers that, years ago, at Amlwch, it was always sounded Darónwy. The Professor also tells me that Dernog is never made into Dyrnog: the Kuwgh of the Record is doubtless to be corrected into Knwgh, and probably also Dornok into Dernok, which is the reading in the margin. Cornewe is doubtless the district name which we have still in Llanfair y'Nghornwy, 'St. Mary's in Cornwy': the mill is supposed to be that of Bodronyn. [176] The Book of Llan Dáv has an old form Cinust for an earlier Cingust or Congust. The early Brythonic nominative must have been Cunogústu-s and the early Goidelic Cúnagusu-s, and from the difference of accentuation come the o of Conghus, Connws, and the y of the Welsh Cynwst: compare Irish Fergus and Welsh Gurgúst, later Gurúst (one syllable), whence Grwst, finally the accented rwst of Llanrwst, the name of a small town on the river Conwy. Moreover the accentuation Cúnogusi is the reason why it was not written Cunogussi: compare Bárrivendi and Véndubari in one and the same inscription from Carmarthenshire. [177] Such as that of a holding called Wele Dauid ap Gwelsantfrait, the latter part of which is perversely written or wrongly read so for Gwas Sant Freit, a rendering into Welsh of the very Goidelic name, Mael-Brigte, 'Servant of St. Bridget.' This Wele, with Wele Conus and Wele More, is contained in the Extent marginally headed Darronwy cum Hameletta de Kuwghdernok. [178] This comes in Triad i. 49 = ii. 40; as to which it is to be noted that the name is Catwallawn in i and ii, but Caswallawn in iii. 27, as in the Oxford Mabinogion. [179] Serrigi, Serigi, or Syrigi looks like a Latin genitive torn out of its context, but derived in the last resort from the Norse name Sigtrygg-r, which the Four Masters give as Sitriucc or Sitriug: see their entries from 891 to 1091. The Scandinavians of Dublin and its neighbourhood were addicted to descents on the shores of North Wales; and we have possibly a trace of occupation by them in Gauell Seirith, 'Seirith's holding,' in the Record of Carnarvon, p. 63, where the place in question is represented as being in the manor of Cemmaes, in Anglesey. The name Seirith was probably that written by the Four Masters as Sichfraith Sichraidh (also Serridh, A. D. 971), that is to say the Norse Sigræd-r before it lost the f retained in its German equivalent Siegfried. We seem to detect Seirith later as Seri in place-names in Anglesey--as for example in the name of the farms called Seri Fawr and Seri Bach between Llandrygarn and Llannerch y Med, also in a Pen Seri, 'Seri's Knoll or Hill,' at Bryn Du, near Ty Croes station, and in another Pen Seri on Holyhead Island, between Holyhead and Llain Goch, on the way to the South Stack. Lastly Dugdale, v. 672b mentions a Claud Seri, 'Seri's Dyke or Ditch,' as being somewhere in the neighbourhood of Llanwnda, in Carnarvonshire--not very far perhaps from the Gwyrfai and the spot where the Iolo MSS. (pp. 81-2) represent Serrigi repulsed by Caswallon and driven back to Anglesey, previous to his being crushed at Cerrig y Gwydyl. The reader must, however, be warned that the modern Seri is sometimes pronounced Sieri or Sheri, which suggests the possibility of some of the instances involving rather a form of the English word sheriff. [180] See my Hibbert Lectures, pp. 546-8. [181] The case with regard to the extreme south of the Principality is somewhat similar; for inscriptions in Glamorgan seem to bring the last echoes there of Goidelic speech down to the seventh century: see the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1899, pp. 160-6. [182] See Evans' Report on MSS. in the Welsh Language, p. 837, where the Welsh is quoted from p. 131 of the Peniarth MS. 134. [183] See my Arthurian Legend, p. 70. [184] See the Revue Celtique, ii. 197-9, where Dr. Stokes has published the original with a translation and notes; also p. 435 above. [185] The gentlemen to whom I am chiefly indebted for the information embodied in the foregoing notes are the following four: the Rev. John Jones of Ystad Meurig, Professor Robert Williams of St. David's College, the Vicar of Llandewi Brefi, Mr. J. H. Davies of Cwrt Mawr and Lincoln's Inn (p. 354); and as to the 'wild cattle' story of Llyn Eidwen, Mr. J. E. Rogers of Aber Meurig is my authority. [186] So I had it many years ago from an old woman from Llangeitho, and so Mr. J. G. Evans remembers his mother repeating it; but now it is made into Llan Dewi Brefi braith, with the mutations disregarded. [187] See the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1868, p. 88. [188] See ib. p. 87. I have ascertained on the best authority the identity of the present owner of the horn, though I have not succeeded in eliciting from him any reply to my inquiries. I conclude that there is something wrong with the postal service in my native county. [189] Several passages bearing on the word bannog have been brought together in Silvan Evans' Geiriadur. He gives the meaning as 'high, lofty, prominent, conspicuous.' The word is derived from ban, 'a summit or peak,' plural bannau, so common in the names of hills and mountains in South Wales--as in y Fan in Carmarthenshire, Bannwchdeni (p. 22) in Breconshire, Pen y Bannau near Pont Rhyd Fendigaid in Cardiganshire, Bannau Brycheiniog and Bannau Sir Gaer, the mountains called in English the Beacons of Breconshire and Carmarthenshire respectively. In North Wales we have it possibly in the compound Tryfan, which the mapsters will have us call Tryfaen; and the corresponding word in Scotch Gaelic appears in such names as Ben Nevis and the like, while in Irish the word benn meant a horn or peak. I am, nevertheless, not at all sure that Ychen Bannog meant horned oxen or even tall and conspicuous oxen; for there is a Welsh word man, meaning a spot or mark (Latin menda), and the adjective was mannawc, mannog, 'spotted, marked, particoloured.' Now in the soft mutation all four words--ban, bannog, and man, mannog--would begin with f = v, which might help to confusion between them. This may be illustrated in a way from Williams' Seint Greal (pp. 88-92), where Gwalchmai has a dream in which he sees 150 bulls with spots or patches of colour on them, except three only which were 'without any spot in the world' (neb ryw vann or byt), or as it is also put 'without spot' (heb vann). This word vann, applied to the colour of the bulls, comes from the radical form mann; and the adjective was mannawc or mannog, which would mean spotted, particoloured, or having patches of colour. Now the oxen of Welsh legends are also sometimes called Ychen Mannog (pp. 131-2), and it is possible, that, whichever way the term is written, it should be interpreted to mean spotted, marked, or particoloured oxen. I take it also that Llan Dewi Frefi fraith was meant as synonymous with Llan Dewi Frefi fannog, which did not fit the rhyme. Lastly, the Dyfed use of the saying Fel dau ych bannog, 'Like two Bannog oxen,' in the sense of 'equal and inseparable companions' (as instanced in the Geiriadur), sounds like the antithesis of the passage in the Kulhwch (Mabinogion, p. 121). For there we have words to the following effect: 'Though thou shouldst get that, there is something which thou wilt not get, namely the two oxen of Bannog, the one on the other side of the Bannog mountain and the other on this side, and to bring them together to draw the same plough. They are, to wit, Nynio and Peibio, whom God fashioned into oxen for their sins.' Here the difficulty contemplated was not to separate the two, but to bring them together to work under the same yoke. This is more in harmony with the story of the mad quarrel between the two brother kings bearing those names as mentioned above. [190] See the Revue Celtique, iii. 310, after Gruter, 570, 6. [191] An important paper on the Tarvos Trigaranus, from the pen of M. Salomon Reinach, will be found in the Revue Celtique, xviii. 253-66; and M. d'A. de Jubainville's remarkable equations are to be read in the same periodical, xix. 245-50: see also xx. 374-5. [192] This, we are told, was a stone with a hollow in it for pounding corn, so as to separate the husks from the grain; and such a stone stood formerly somewhere near the door of every farm house in Scotland. [193] The editor here explains in a note that 'this was a common saying formerly, when people were heard to regret trifles.' [194] I have heard of this belief in Wales late in the sixties; but the presence was assumed to be that of a witch, not of a fairy. [195] The word twt, 'tidy,' is another vocable which has found its way into Wales from the western counties of England; and though its meaning is more universally that of 'tidy or natty,' the term gwas twt, which in North Cardiganshire means a youth who is ready to run on all kinds of errands, would seem to bring us to its earlier meaning of the French tout--as if gwas twt might be rendered a 'garçon à tout'--which survives as tote in the counties of Gloucester and Hereford, as I am informed by Professor Wright. Possibly, however, one may prefer to connect twt with the nautical English word taut; but we want more light. In any case one may venture to say that colloquial Welsh swarms with words whose origin is to be sought outside the Principality. [196] See Folk-Lore for 1889, pp. 144-52. [197] Ibid. for 1891, p. 246, where one will find this rhyme the subject of a note--rendered useless by a false reference--by Köhler; see also the same volume, p. 132, where Mr. Kirby gives more lines of the rhyme. [198] See Choice Notes from 'Notes and Queries,' p. 35. [199] A number of instructive instances will be found mentioned, and discussed in his wonted and lucid fashion, by Mr. Clodd in his Tom Tit Tot, pp. 80-105. [200] The Welsh spelling is caws pob, 'baked (or roasted) cheese,' so called in parts of South Wales, such as Carmarthenshire, whereas in North Wales it is caws pobi. It is best known to Englishmen as 'Welsh rabbit,' which superior persons 'ruling the roast' in our kitchens choose to make into rarebit: how they would deal with 'Scotch woodcock' and 'Oxford hare,' I do not know. I should have mentioned that copies of the Hundred Mery Talys are exceedingly scarce, and that the above, which is the seventy-sixth in the collection, has here been copied from the Cymmrodor, iii. 115-6, where we have the following sapient note:--'Cause bobe, it will be observed, is St. Peter's rendering of the phrase Caws wedi ei bobi. The chief of the Apostles apparently had only a rather imperfect knowledge of Welsh, which is not to be wondered at, as we know that even his Hebrew was far from giving satisfaction to the priests of the capital.' From these words one can only say that St. Peter would seem to have known Welsh far better than the author of that note, and that he had acquired it from natives of South Wales, perhaps from the neighbourhood of Kidwelly. I have to thank my friend Mr. James Cotton for a version of the cheese story in the Bodleian Library, namely in Malone MS. 19 (p. 144), where a certain master at Winchester School has put it into elegiacs which make St. Peter cry out with the desired effect: Tostus io Walli, tostus modo caseus. [201] See Choice Notes from 'Notes and Queries,' pp. 117-8. [202] For instance, when Cúchulainn had fallen asleep under the effect of fairy music, Fergus warned his friends that he was not to be disturbed, as he seemed to be dreaming and seeing a vision: see Windisch's Irische Texte, p. 208; also the Revue Celtique, v. 231. For parallels to the two stories in this paragraph, see Tylor's first chapter on Animism in his Primitive Culture, and especially the legend of King Gunthram, i. 442. [203] See Mr. Gomme's presidential address to the Folk-Lore Society, printed in Folk-Lore for 1892, pp. 6-7. [204] See Sale's preliminary discourse to his translation of the Koran, § iv. [205] Perhaps we may regard this as the more Goidelic account of Blodeuwed's origin: at any rate, traces of a different one have been noticed in a note at p. 439 above. [206] One version of it is given in the Myvyrian Archaiology, i. 176-8; and two other versions are to be found in the Cymmrodor, viii. 177-89, where it is suggested that the author was Iolo Goch, who flourished in the fourteenth century. See also my Arthurian Legend, pp. 57-8. [207] See also the notes on these passages, given in San-Marte's edition of Geoffrey, pp. 219, 463-5, and his Beiträge zur bretonischen und celtisch germanischen Heldensage (Quedlinburg and Leipsic, 1847), p. 81. [208] See Choice Notes, pp. 69-70. [209] See Wood-Martin's Pagan Ireland (London, 1895), p. 140. [210] See Choice Notes, p. 61, where it is also stated that the country people in Yorkshire used to give the name of souls to certain night-flying white moths. See also the Athenæum, No. 1041, Oct. 9, 1847. [211] For this also I am indebted to Wood-Martin's book, p. 140. [212] See the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 198, and Windisch's Irische Texte, pp. 136-45. An abstract of the story will be found in the Hibbert Lectures on Celtic Heathendom, p. 502. [213] See the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 129a-133a; Windisch's Irische Texte, pp. 117-33, more especially pp. 127-31; also my Arthurian Legend, pp. 29-33. [214] See the Book of Taliessin, poem vii, in Skene's Four Ancient Books of Wales, ii. 136-7; also poem viii, p. 137 et seq. [215] Some account of this process will be found in Elton's Origins of English History (London, 1882), p. 33, where he has drawn on Martin's Description of the Western Islands of Scotland, published in 1703: see pp. 204-5. [216] For one or two instances of the nomenclature in question, see pp. 76-7 above. [217] Sywedyd is probably a word of Goidelic origin: compare Irish súi, 'a sage,' genitive súad, and derivative súithe, 'wisdom.' Stokes suggests the derivation su-vet, in which case súi = su-vi, for su-viss = su-vet-s, and sú-ithe = suvetia, while the Welsh sywedyd is formally su-vetios or su-vetiios. Welsh has also syw, from súi, like dryw, 'a druid,' from Goidelic drúi. Syw, it is true, now only means elegant, tidy; but Dr. Davies of Mallwyd believed its original signification to have been 'sapiens, doctus, peritus.' The root vet is most probably to be identified with the wet of Med. Welsh gwet-id, 'a saying,' dy-wawt, 'dixit,' whence it appears that the bases were vet and vat, with the latter of which Irish fáith, 'a poet or prophet,' Latin vates, agrees, as also the Welsh gwawd, 'poetry, sarcasm,' and in Mod. Welsh, 'any kind of derision.' In the Book of Taliessin syw has, besides the plurals sywyon and sywydon (Skene, ii. 142, 152), possibly an older plural, sywet (p. 155) = su-vet-es, while for súithe = su-vetia we seem to have sywyd or sewyd (pp. 142, 152, 193); but all the passages in point are more or less obscure, I must confess. [218] See the Book of Taliessin, in Skene's Four Ancient Books of Wales, ii. 130-1, 134, 142, 151-2, 155. [219] As, for instance, in the account given of Uath mac Imomain in Fled Bricrenn: see the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 110b, and Windisch's Irische Texte, p. 293. [220] The Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 77a, and the Book of Leinster, fo. 75b: compare also the story of Tuan mac Cairill in the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 16b, where the Tuatha Dé Danann are represented as Tuatha Dee ocus Ande, 'the tribes of gods and not-gods,' to whom one of the manuscripts adds a people of legendary Ireland called the Galiúin. See the story as recently edited by Professor Kuno Meyer in Nutt's Voyage of Bran, ii. 291-300, where, however, the sense of § 12 with its allusion to the fall of Lucifer is missed in the translation. It should read, I think, somewhat as follows:--'Of these are the Tuatha Dee and Ande, whose origin is unknown to the learned, except that they think it probable, judging from the intelligence of the Tuatha and their superiority in knowledge, that they belong to the exiles who came from heaven.' [221] See Evans' Black Book of Carmarthen, fo. 33b; also the Mabinogion, pp. 104, 306. The Irish lucht cumachtai would be in Welsh literally rendered llwyth cyfoeth, 'the cyfoeth tribe or host,' as it were. For cyfoeth, in Med. Welsh, meant power or dominion, whence cyfoethog, 'powerful,' and holl-gyfoethog, 'almighty'; but in Mod. Welsh cyfoeth and cyfoethog have been degraded to mean 'riches' and 'rich' respectively. Now if we dropped the prefix cum from the Irish cumachtai, and its equivalent cyf from the Welsh cyfoeth, we should have lucht cumachtai reduced to an approximate analogy to llwyth Oeth, 'the Oeth tribe,' for which we have the attested equivalent Teulu Oeth, 'the Oeth household or family.' Oeth, however, seems to have meant powerful rather than power, and this seems to have been its force in Gwalchmai's poetry of the twelfth century, where I find it twice: see the Myvyrian Arch., i. 196b, 203a. In the former passage we have oeth dybydaf o dybwyf ryd, 'I shall be powerful if I be free,' and in the latter oeth ym uthrwyd, 'mightily was I astonished or dismayed.' An-oeth was the negative of oeth, and meant weak, feeble, frivolous: so we find its plural, anoetheu, applied in the story of Kulhwch to the strange quests on which Kulhwch had to engage himself and his friends, before he could hope to obtain Olwen to be his wife. This has its parallel in the use of the adjective gwan, 'weak,' in the following instance among them:--Arthur and his men were ready to set out in search of Mabon son of Modron, who was said to have been kidnapped, when only three nights old, from between his mother Modron and the wall; and though this had happened a fabulously long time before Arthur was born, nothing had ever been since heard of Mabon's fate. Now Arthur's men said that they would set out in search of him, but they considered that Arthur should not accompany them on feeble quests of the kind: their words were (p. 128), ny elli di uynet ath lu y geissa6 peth mor uan ar rei hynn, 'thou canst not go with thy army to seek a thing so weak as these are.' Here we have uan as the synonym of an-oeth; but Oeth ac Anoeth probably became a phrase which was seldom analysed or understood; so we have besides Teulu Oeth ac Anoeth, a Caer Oeth ac Anoeth, or fortress of O. and A., and a Carchar Caer Oeth ac Anoeth, or the Prison of Caer O. and A., which is more shortly designated also Carchar Oeth ac Anoeth, or the Prison of O. and A. A late account of the building of that strange prison and fortress by Manawydan is given in the Iolo MSS., pp. 185-6, 263, and it is needless to point out that Manawydan, son of Llyr, was no other than the Manannán mac Lir of Irish literature, the greatest wizard among the Tuatha Dé or Tuatha Dé Danann; for the practical equivalence of those names is proved by the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 16b. For further details about Oeth and Anoeth, Silvan Evans' Geiriadur may be consulted, s. v. Anoeth, where instances are cited of the application of those terms to tilled land and wild or uncultivated land. Here the words seem to have the secondary meanings of profitable and unprofitable lands, respectively: compare a somewhat analogous use of grym, 'strength, force,' in a passage relating to the mutilated horses of Matholwch--hyt nad oed rym a ellit ar meirch, 'so that no use was possible in the case of the horses,' meaning that they were of no use whatever, or that they had been done for: see the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 29, and Lady Charlotte Guest's, iii. 107, where the translation 'and rendered them useless' is barely strong enough. [222] It is right, however, to state that M. d'A. de Jubainville's account of the views of Erigena is challenged by Mr. Nutt, ii. 105. [223] For instance, by Silvan Evans in his Geiriadur, where, s. v. dihaed, he suggests 'unmerited' or 'undeserved' as conveying the sense meant. [224] The reader will find them quoted under the word Druida in Holder's Alt-celtischer Sprachschatz: see also M. Alexandre Bertrand's Religion des Gaulois, especially the chapter entitled Les Druides, pp. 252-76, and Nutt's Voyage of Bran, ii. 107-12. [225] See Valerius Maximus, ii. 6. 10. [226] See the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 68a. [227] Notably Johannes Schmidt in Kuhn's Zeitschrift, xxiii. 267, where he gives the following gradations of the stem in question:--1. anman; 2. anaman; 3. naman; 4. naman. [228] See Clodd's Tom Tit Tot, p. 97. [229] Tom Tit Tot, p. 89. [230] The Oxford Mabinogion, p. 100. [231] The Oxford Mabinogion, p. 35. [232] As to Irish, I would not lay much stress on the question 'What is your name?' being put, in a fourteenth or fifteenth century version of the French story of Fierabras, as ca hainm tú?--literally, 'what name art thou?' see the Revue Celtique, xix. 28. It may be mentioned here that the Irish writers of glossaries had a remarkable way of appearing to identify words and things. Thus, for instance, Cormac has Cruimther .i. Gædelg indi as presbyter, which O'Donovan (edited by Stokes) has translated, p. 30, as 'Cruimther, i. e. the Gaelic of presbyter': literally it would be rather 'of the thing which is presbyter.' Similarly, Cormac's explanation of the Irish aiminn, now aoibhinn, 'delightful,' runs thus in Latin, Aimind ab eo quod est amoenum, 'from the word amoenus,' literally, 'from that which is amoenus.' But this construction is a favourite one of Latin grammarians, and instances will be found in Professor Lindsay's Latin Language (Oxford, 1894), pp. 26, 28, 42, 53. On calling his attention to it, he kindly informed me that it can be traced as far back as Varro, from whose Lingua Latina, vi. 4, he cites Meridies ab eo quod medius dies. So in this matter, Irish writers have merely imitated their Latin models; and one detects a trace of the same imitation in some of the Old Welsh glosses, for instance in the Juvencus Codex, where we have XPS explained as irhinn issid crist, 'that which is Christ,' evidently meaning, 'the word Christos or Christus.' So with regia, rendered by gulat, 'a state or country,' in celsi thronus est cui regia caeli; which is glossed issit padiu itau gulat, 'that is the word gulat for him' = 'he means his country': see Kuhn's Beiträge, iv. 396, 411. [233] Some instances in point, accompanied with comments on certain eminently instructive practices and theories of the Church, will be found in Clodd's Tom Tit Tot, pp. 100-5. [234] For some instances of name-giving by the druid, the reader may consult The Welsh People, pp. 66-70; and druidic baptism will be found alluded to in Stokes' edition of Coir Anmann, and in Stokes and Windisch's Irische Texte, iii. 392, 423. See also the Revue Celtique, xix. 90. [235] See The Welsh People, more especially pp. 71-4, where it has been attempted to discuss this question more at length. [236] See Stokes' Cormac's Glossary, translated by O'Donovan, p. 87, and O'Curry's Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, ii. 218-9. [237] See Mind for 1893, p. 390: the review is by Mr. A. T. Myers, and the title of the book noticed is La Pathologie des Émotions, Études physiologiques et cliniques, par Charles Féré, médecin de Bicêtre (Paris, 1892). [238] See Frazer's Golden Bough, i. 9, where a few most instructive instances are given. [239] See Guest's Mabinogion, iii. 255, where, however, Dôn is wrongly treated as a male. [240] One has, however, to admit that the same agency may also mar the picture. Since the above was written I have read in Stokes' Festschrift, pp. 7-19, a very interesting article by L. Chr. Stern, in which he discusses some of the difficulties attaching to the term Tuatha Dé Danann. Among other things he suggests that there was a certain amount of confusion between Danann and dána, genitive of dán, 'art or profession'--the word meant also 'lot or destiny,' being probably of the same origin as the Latin donum, in Welsh dawn, which means a gift, and especially 'the gift of the gab.' But it would invert the natural sequence to suppose any such a formula as Tuatha Dé Dána to have preceded Tuatha Dé Danann; for why should anybody substitute an obscure vocable Danann for dána of well-known meaning? Dr. Stern has some doubts as to the Welsh Dôn being a female; but it would have been more satisfactory if he had proved his surmise, or at any rate shown that Dôn has nothing to do with Danann or Donann. I am satisfied with such a passage in the Mabinogi of Math as that where Gwydion, addressing Math, describes Arianrhod, daughter of Dôn, in the words, dy nith uerch dy ch6aer, 'thy niece daughter of thy sister': see the Mabinogion, p. 68, and, for similar references to other children of Dôn, consult pp. 59 and 65. Arianrhod is in the older Triads, i. 40, ii. 15, called daughter of Beli, whom one can only have regarded as her father. So for the present I continue to accept Stokes' rendering of Tuatha Dé Danann as 'the Folks of the Goddess Danu.' [241] See the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 102; Guest's trans., ii. 252. The combination occurs also in the Book of Aneurin: see Stephens' Gododin (London, 1888), p. 322. [242] It will be noticed that there is a discrepancy between the gutturals of these two words: tyngu, 'to swear' (O. Ir. tongu, 'I swear'), has ng--the Kulhwch spelling, tynghaf, should probably be tyngaf--while tynghed and its Irish equivalent imply an nc. I do not know how to explain this, though I cannot doubt the fact of the words being treated as cognate. A somewhat similar difference, however, occurs in Welsh dwyn, 'to bear, carry, steal,' and dwg, 'carries, bears': see the Revue Celtique, vi. 18-9. [243] See the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 100, and Guest's trans., ii. 249, where it is rendered 'a wife as a helpmate,' which is more commonplace than suggestive. [244] La Cité antique (Paris, 1864), p. 50; see also Joachim Marquardt's Privatleben der Römer (Leipsic, 1886), pp. 49-51, and among the references there given may be mentioned Dionysius of Halicarnassus, ii. 25. [245] See Vigfusson and Powell's Corpus Poeticum Boreale, i. 126, 181-3, 197; the Prose Edda in Edda Snorronis Sturlæi (Copenhagen, 1848), i. 90-2, 102, 104, 172-86; and Simrock's Edda (Stuttgart, 1855), pp. 292-3, 295-6, 299, 316-20. [246] Two versions of a story to account for the Ultonian couvade have been published with a translation into German, by Prof. Windisch, in the Berichte der k. sächs. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften (phil.-hist. Classe) for 1884, pp. 338 et seq. Sundry references to the couvade will also be found in my Hibbert Lectures, where certain mythological suggestions made with reference to it require to be reconsidered. But when touching on this point it occurred to me that the wholesale couvade of the Ultonian braves, at one and the same time of the year, implied that the birth of Ultonian children, or at any rate those of them that were to be reared, took place (in some period or other of the history of their race) at a particular season of the year, namely, about the beginning of the winter, that is when food would be most abundant. I have since been confirmed in this view by perusing Westermarck's work on the History of Human Marriage, and by reading especially his second chapter entitled 'A Human Pairing Season in Primitive Times.' For there I find a considerable body of instances in point, together with a summary treatment of the whole question. But in the case of promiscuity, such as originally prevailed doubtless at the Ultonian Court, the question what men were to go into couvade could only be settled by the confinement of them all, wherein we have an alternative if not an additional reason for a simultaneous couvade. [247] See Strabo, iii. 165, and Diodorus, v. 14. [248] For some more detailed remarks on the reckoning of descent by birth, see The Welsh People, pp. 36 et seq. [249] In Welsh eli means 'ointment,' probably so called from spells pronounced over it when used as a remedy. In the Twrch Trwyth story (Oxford Mabinogion, p. 138) one of Arthur's men bears the curious designation of Reid6n uab Eli Atuer, which might be Englished 'R. son of the Restoring Ointment,' unless one should rather say 'of the Restoring Enchantment.' [250] See the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 128b, and Windisch's Irische Texte, pp. 138-9. The rebirth of Lug as Cúchulainn has been touched upon in my Hibbert Lectures, p. 431; but since then the whole question of rebirth has been discussed at length in Nutt and Meyer's volumes entitled The Voyage of Bran (London, 1895). [251] Tylor's Primitive Culture, ii. 4, where he gives a reference to Gustav Klemm's Culturgeschichte, iii. 77, and Klemm's authority proves to be Jessen, whose notes are given in a 'tractatus' bound with Knud Leem De Lapponibus Finmarchiæ (Copenhagen, 1767): Jessen's words in point read as follows, p. 33:--Et baptismum quidem, quem ipsi Laugo, i. e. lavacrum appellabant, quod attinet, observandum occurrit, foeminam Lapponicam, jam partui vicinam, atque in eo statu Sarakkæ impensius commendatam, de nomine, nascituro infanti imponendo, per insomnia plerumque a Jabmekio quodam admonitam fuisse et simul de Jabmekio illo, qui, ut ipsi quidem loqui amarunt, in hoc puero resuscitandus foret, edoctam. Hujusmodi per insomnia factas admonitiones niëgost nuncuparunt Lappones. Si gravida mulier a Jabmekio hac ratione edocta non fuerit, recens nati infantis vel parenti vel cognatis incubuit, per to Myran, in tympano, securi vel balteo susceptum, vel etiam Noaaidum consulendo, explorare, quo potissimum nomine infans appellandus esset. In the body of Leem's work, p. 497, one reads, that if the child sickens or cries after baptism, this is taken to prove that the right ancestor has not been found; but as he must be discovered and his name imposed on the child, resort is had to a fresh baptism to correct the effects of the previous one. [252] See Holder's Alt-celtischer Sprachschatz, s. v. Lugus; also the index to my Hibbert Lectures, s. v. Lleu, Lug, Lugoves. [253] For more on this subject see the chapter on the Pictish question in The Welsh People, pp. 36-74. [254] It is right to say that the story represents the fairies as living under the rule of a rí, a title usually rendered by 'king'; but rí (genitive rig) was probably at one time applicable to either sex, just as we find Gaulish names like Biturix and Visurix borne by women. The wonder, however, is that such a line as that just quoted has not been edited out of the verses long ago, just as one misses any equivalent for it in Joyce's English expansion of the story in his Old Celtic Romances, pp. 106-11. Compare, however, the Land of the Women in the Voyage of Maildun (Joyce, pp. 152-6), and in Meyer and Nutt's Voyage of Bran, i. 30-3. [255] This conclusion has been given in a note at the foot of p. 37 of The Welsh People; but for a variety of instances to illustrate it see Hartland's chapters on Supernatural Birth in his Legend of Perseus. [256] See Frazer's article on 'The Origin of Totemism' in the Fortnightly Review for April, 1899, p. 649. The passage to which it refers will be found at p. 265 of Spencer and Gillen's volume, where one reads as follows:--'Added to this we have amongst the Arunta, Luritcha, and Ilpirra tribes, and probably also amongst others such as the Warramunga, the idea firmly held that the child is not the direct result of intercourse, that it may come without this, which merely, as it were, prepares the mother for the reception and birth also of an already-formed spirit child who inhabits one of the local totem centres. Time after time we have questioned them on this point, and always received the reply that the child was not the direct result of intercourse.' It is curious to note how readily the Australian notion here presented would develop into that of the Lapps, as given at p. 658 from Jessen's notes. [257] This feature of Welsh has escaped M. de Charencey, in his instructive letter on 'Numération basque et celtique,' in No. 48 of the Bulletin de la Soc. de Linguistique de Paris, pp. cxv-cxix. In passing, I may be allowed to mention a numerical curiosity which occurs in Old Irish: it has probably an important historical significance. I refer to the word for 'seven men' occurring sometimes as morfeser, which means, as it were, a magnus seviratus or 'big sixer.' [258] The non-Welsh names of the fairy ancestress ought possibly to lead one to discover the origin of that settlement; and a careful study perhaps of the language of the Belsiaid or Bellisians, if their Welsh has any dialectic peculiarities, might throw further light on their past. [259] Our stories frequently delight in giving the fairy women fine dresses and long trains; but I would rely more on the Ystrad Meurig smith's account (p. 245), and the case of the Pennant fairy who tears to shreds the gown offered her (p. 109). [260] The difference between Mod. Welsh cor and Breton korr is one of spelling, for the reformed orthography of Welsh words only doubles the r where it is dwelt on in the accented syllable of a longer word: in other terms, when that syllable closes with the consonant and the next syllable begins with it. Thus cor has, as its derivatives, cór-rach, 'a dwarf,' plural co-ráchod, cór-ryn, 'a male dwarf,' plural co-rýnnod. Some of these enter into place-names, such as Cwm Corryn near Llanaelhaearn (p. 217) and Cwm Corryn draining into the Vale of Neath; so possibly with Corwen for Cor-waen, in the sense of 'the Fairies' Meadow.' Cor and corryn are also used for the spider, as in gwe'r cor or gwe'r corryn, 'a spider's web,' the spider being so called on account of its spinning, an occupation in which the fairies are represented likewise frequently engaged; not to mention that gossamer (gwawn) is also sometimes regarded as a product of the fairy loom (p. 103). The derivation of cor is not satisfactorily cleared up: it has been conjectured to be related to a Med. Irish word cert, 'small, little,' and Latin curtus, 'shortened or mutilated.' To me this means that the origin of the word still remains to be discovered. [261] For Edern's dwarf see Foerster's Erec, lines 146-274 and passim, the Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 248-61, and Guest's trans., ii. 73-92; and for Peredur's the latter books, pp. 197-9 and i. 304-7 respectively. [262] The story of Canrig (or Cantrig) Bwt is current at Llanberis, but I do not recollect seeing it in print: I had it years ago from my father-in-law. The statement as to Carchar Cynric Rwth comes from William Williams' Observations on the Snowdon Mountains (London, 1802). The Bwlch y Rhiw Felen legend was read by me to the British Archæological Association at its meeting at Llangollen, and it was printed in its Journal for December, 1878. It is right to say that the Llangollen story calls the woman a giantess, but I attach no importance to that, as the picture is blurred and treated in part allegorically. Lastly, the use of the word carchar, 'prison,' in the term Carchar Cynric Rwth recalls Carchar Oeth ac Anoeth, or 'the Prison of Oeth and Anoeth,' p. 619 above: the word would appear to have been selected because in both cases the structure was underground. [263] See the Acta Sanctorum, April 11, where one finds published the Latin life written by Felix not long after Guthlac's death. See also an Anglo-Saxon version, which has been edited with a translation by Ch. W. Goodwin (London, 1848). [264] In connexion with them Mr. Bullock Hall reminds me of Icklingham, in West Suffolk; and there seem to be several Ickletons, and an Ickleford, most or all of them, I am told, on the Icknield Way. The name Icel, whose genitive Icles is the form in the original life, has probably been inferred from the longer word Iclingas, and inserted in due course in the Mercian pedigree, where it occupies the sixth place in descent from Woden. [265] Since the above was written, Dr. Ripley's important work on the Races of Europe (London, 1900) has reached me, but too late to study. I notice, however, that he speaks of an island of ancient population to the north of London and extending over most of the counties of Hertford, Buckingham, Bedford, Rutland, and Northampton, as far as those of Cambridge and Lincoln. A considerable portion of this area must have been within the boundaries of Coritanian territory, and it is now characterized, according to him, by nigrescence, short stature, and rarity of suicide, such as remind him of Wales and Cornwall: see his maps and pp. 322, 328, 521. [266] See Fiacc's Hymn in Stokes' Goidelica, p. 127, l. 41. [267] The Welsh passages unfortunately fail to show whether it was pronounced sidi or sidi: should it prove the latter, I should regard it as the Irish word borrowed. [268] Skene's Four Ancient Books of Wales, ii. 153-5, 181-2. [269] For more about Picts and Pechts see some most instructive papers recently published by Mr. David MacRitchie, such as 'Memories of the Picts' in the Scottish Antiquary, last January, 'Underground Dwellings' in Scottish Notes and Queries, last March, and 'Fairy Mounds' in the Antiquary, last February and March. [270] See p. 424 above, where, however, the object of the Ogams written on four twigs of yew has been misconceived. I think now that they formed simply so many letters of inquiry addressed by Dalán to other druids in different parts of Ireland. We seem to have here a ray of light on the early history of Ogam writing. [271] See the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 130b. [272] See the Book of Leinster, fo. 117a. [273] Corrguinigh occurs in the story of 'The Second Battle of Moytura,' where Stokes has rendered it 'sorcerers' in the Revue Celtique, xii. 77; and corrguinacht heads an article in O'Davoren's Glossary, published in Stokes' Three Irish Glossaries, p. 63, where it is defined as beth for leth cois 7 for leth laimh 7 for leth suil ag denam na glaime dicinn, 'to be on one foot and with one hand and one eye doing the glám dicenn.' The glám dicenn was seemingly the special elaboration of the art of making pied de nez, which we have tragically illustrated in the case of Caier. [274] In Appendix B to The Welsh People, pp. 617-41. [275] See Rosellini's Monumenti dell' Egitto (Pisa, 1832), vol. i. plates clvi, clx, and Maspero's Histoire Ancienne (Paris, 1897), ii. 430. [276] One may now consult Nicholson's paper on 'The Language of the Continental Picts': see Meyer and Stern's Zeitschrift, iii. 326-8, 331-2, and note especially his reference to Herodian, iii. 14, § 8. For Chortonicum see Die althochdeutschen Glossen (edited by Steinmeyer and Sievers), iii. 610; also my paper on 'The Celts and the other Aryans of the P and Q Groups' read before the Philological Society, February 20, 1891, p. 11. [277] I am chiefly indebted to my friend Professor A. C. Haddon for references to information as to the dwarf races of prehistoric times. I find also that he, among others, has anticipated me in my theory as to the origins of the fairies: witness the following extract from the syllabus of a lecture delivered by him at Cardiff in 1894 on Fairy Tales:--'What are the fairies?--Legendary origin of the fairies. It is evident from fairy literature that there is a mixture of the possible and the impossible, of fact and fancy. Part of fairydom refers to (1) spirits that never were embodied: other fairies are (2) spirits of environment, nature or local spirits, and household or domestic spirits; (3) spirits of the organic world, spirits of plants, and spirits of animals; (4) spirits of men or ghosts; and (5) witches and wizards, or men possessed with other spirits. All these and possibly other elements enter into the fanciful aspect of fairyland, but there is a large residuum of real occurrences; these point to a clash of races, and we may regard many of these fairy sagas as stories told by men of the Iron Age of events which happened to men of the Bronze Age in their conflicts with men of the Neolithic Age, and possibly these, too, handed on traditions of the Palæolithic Age.' [278] See the Berlin Zeitschrift für Ethnologie for 1894, vol. xxvi. pp. 189-254, which are devoted to an elaborate paper by Dr. Jul. Kollmann, entitled 'Das Schweitzersbild bei Schaffhausen und Pygmäen in Europa.' It closes with a long list of books and articles to be consulted on the subject. 
55025	----	CELTIC FOLKLORE WELSH AND MANX BY JOHN RHYS, M.A., D.Litt. HON. LL.D. OF THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH PROFESSOR OF CELTIC PRINCIPAL OF JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD VOLUME I OXFORD AT THE CLARENDON PRESS MDCCCCI TO ALL THOSE WHO HAVE IN ANY WAY CONTRIBUTED TO THE PRODUCTION OF THIS WORK IT IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED IN TOKEN OF HIS GRATITUDE BY THE AUTHOR Our modern idioms, with all their straining after the abstract, are but primitive man's mental tools adapted to the requirements of civilized life, and they often retain traces of the form and shape which the neolithic worker's chipping and polishing gave them. PREFACE Towards the close of the seventies I began to collect Welsh folklore. I did so partly because others had set the example elsewhere, and partly in order to see whether Wales could boast of any story-tellers of the kind that delight the readers of Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Highlands. I soon found what I was not wholly unprepared for, that as a rule I could not get a single story of any length from the mouths of any of my fellow countrymen, but a considerable number of bits of stories. In some instances these were so scrappy that it took me years to discover how to fit them into their proper context; but, speaking generally, I may say, that, as the materials, such as they were, accumulated, my initial difficulties disappeared. I was, however, always a little afraid of refreshing my memory with the legends of other lands lest I should read into those of my own, ideas possibly foreign to them. While one is busy collecting, it is safest probably not to be too much engaged in comparison: when the work of collecting is done that of comparing may begin. But after all I have not attempted to proceed very far in that direction, only just far enough to find elucidation here and there for the meaning of items of folklore brought under my notice. To have gone further would have involved me in excursions hopelessly beyond the limits of my undertaking, for comparative folklore has lately assumed such dimensions, that it seems best to leave it to those who make it their special study. It is a cause of genuine regret to me that I did not commence my inquiries earlier, when I had more opportunities of pursuing them, especially when I was a village schoolmaster in Anglesey and could have done the folklore of that island thoroughly; but my education, such as it was, had been of a nature to discourage all interest in anything that savoured of heathen lore and superstition. Nor is that all, for the schoolmasters of my early days took very little trouble to teach their pupils to keep their eyes open or take notice of what they heard around them; so I grew up without having acquired the habit of observing anything, except the Sabbath. It is to be hoped that the younger generation of schoolmasters trained under more auspicious circumstances, when the baleful influence of Robert Lowe has given way to a more enlightened system of public instruction, will do better, and succeed in fostering in their pupils habits of observation. At all events there is plenty of work still left to be done by careful observers and skilful inquirers, as will be seen from the geographical list showing approximately the provenance of the more important contributions to the Kymric folklore in this collection: the counties will be found to figure very unequally. Thus the anglicizing districts have helped me very little, while the more Welsh county of Carnarvon easily takes the lead; but I am inclined to regard the anomalous features of that list as in a great measure due to accident. In other words, some neighbourhoods have been luckier than others in having produced or attracted men who paid attention to local folklore; and if other counties were to be worked equally with Carnarvonshire, some of them would probably be found not much less rich in their yield. The anglicizing counties in particular are apt to be disregarded both from the Welsh and the English points of view, in folklore just as in some other things; and in this connexion I cannot help mentioning the premature death of the Rev. Elias Owen as a loss which Welsh folklorists will not soon cease to regret. My information has been obtained partly viva voce, partly by letter. In the case of the stories written down for me in Welsh, I may mention that in some instances the language is far from good; but it has not been thought expedient to alter it in any way, beyond introducing some consistency into the spelling. In the case of the longest specimen of the written stories, Mr. J. C. Hughes' Curse of Pantannas, it is worthy of notice in passing, that the rendering of it into English was followed by a version in blank verse by Sir Lewis Morris, who published it in his Songs of Britain. With regard to the work generally, my original intention was to publish the materials, obtained in the way described, with such stories already in print as might be deemed necessary by way of setting for them; and to let any theories or deductions in which I might be disposed to indulge follow later. In this way the first six chapters and portions of some of the others appeared from time to time in the publications of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion and in those of the Folk-Lore Society. This would have allowed me to divide the present work into the two well marked sections of materials and deductions. But, when the earlier part came to be edited, I found that I had a good deal of fresh material at my disposal, so that the chapters in question had in some instances to be considerably lengthened and in some others modified in other ways. Then as to the deductive half of the work, it may be mentioned that certain portions of the folklore, though ever apt to repeat themselves, were found when closely scrutinized to show serious lacunæ, which had to be filled in the course of the reasoning suggested by the materials in hand. Thus the idea of the whole consisting of two distinctly defined sections had to be given up or else allowed to wait till I should find time to recast it. But I could no more look forward to any such time than to the eventual possibility of escaping minor inconsistencies by quietly stepping through the looking-glass and beginning my work with the index instead of resting content to make it in the old-fashioned way at the end. There was, however, a third course, which is only mentioned to be rejected, and that was to abstain from all further publication; but what reader of books has ever known any of his authors to adopt that! To crown these indiscretions I have to confess that even when most of what I may call the raw material had been brought together, I had no clear idea what I was going to do with it; but I had a hazy notion, that, as in the case of an inveterate talker whose stream of words is only made the more boisterous by obstruction, once I sat down to write I should find reasons and arguments flowing in. It may seem as though I had been secretly conjuring with Vergil's words viresque adquirit eundo. Nothing so deliberate: the world in which I live swarms with busybodies dying to organize everybody and everything, and my instinctive opposition to all that order of tyranny makes me inclined to cherish a somewhat wild sort of free will. Still the cursory reader would be wrong to take for granted that there is no method in my madness: should he take the trouble to look for it, he would find that it has a certain unity of purpose, which has been worked out in the later chapters; but to spare him that trouble I venture to become my own expositor and to append the following summary:-- The materials crowded into the earlier chapters mark out the stories connected with the fairies, whether of the lakes or of the dry land, as the richest lode to be exploited in the mine of Celtic folklore. That work is attempted in the later chapters; and the analysis of what may briefly be described as the fairy lore given in the earlier ones carries with it the means of forcing the conviction, that the complex group of ideas identified with the little people is of more origins than one; in other words, that it is drawn partly from history and fact, and partly from the world of imagination and myth. The latter element proves on examination to be inseparably connected with certain ancient beliefs in divinities and demons associated, for instance, with lakes, rivers, and floods. Accordingly, this aspect of fairy lore has been dealt with in chapters vi and vii: the former is devoted largely to the materials themselves, while the latter brings the argument to a conclusion as to the intimate connexion of the fairies with the water-world. Then comes the turn of the other kind of origin to be discussed, namely, that which postulates the historical existence of the fairies as a real race on which have been lavishly superinduced various impossible attributes. This opens up a considerable vista into the early ethnology of these islands, and it involves a variety of questions bearing on the fortunes here of other races. In the series which suggests itself the fairies come first as the oldest and lowest people: then comes that which I venture to call Pictish, possessed of a higher civilization and of warlike instincts. Next come the earlier Celts of the Goidelic branch, the traces, linguistic and other, of whose presence in Wales have demanded repeated notice; and last of all come the other Celts, the linguistic ancestors of the Welsh and all the other speakers of Brythonic. The development of these theses, as far as folklore supplies materials, occupies practically the remaining five chapters. Among the subsidiary questions raised may be instanced those of magic and the origin of druidism; not to mention a neglected aspect of the Arthurian legend, the intimate association of the Arthur of Welsh folklore and tradition with Snowdon, and Arthur's attitude towards the Goidelic population in his time. Lastly, I have the pleasant duty of thanking all those who have helped me, whether by word of mouth or by letter, whether by reference to already printed materials or by assistance in any other way: the names of many of them will be found recorded in their proper places. As a rule my inquiries met with prompt replies, and I am not aware that any difficulties were purposely thrown in my way. Nevertheless I have had difficulties in abundance to encounter, such as the natural shyness of some of those whom I wished to examine on the subject of their recollections, and above all the unavoidable difficulty of cross-questioning those whose information reached me by post. For the precise value of any evidence bearing on Celtic folklore is almost impossible to ascertain, unless it can be made the subject of cross-examination. This arises from the fact that we Celts have a knack of thinking ourselves in complete accord with what we fancy to be in the inquirer's mind, so that we are quite capable of misleading him in perfect good faith. A most apposite instance, deserving of being placed on record, came under my notice many years ago. In the summer of 1868 I spent several months in Paris, where I met the historian Henri Martin more than once. On being introduced to him he reminded me that he had visited South Wales not long before, and that he had been delighted to find the peasantry there still believing in the transmigration of souls. I expressed my surprise, and remarked that he must be joking. Nothing of the kind, he assured me, as he had questioned them himself: the fact admitted of no doubt. I expressed further surprise, but as I perceived that he was proud of the result of his friendly encounters with my countrymen I never ventured to return to the subject, though I always wondered what in the world it could mean. A few years ago, however, I happened to converse with one of the most charming and accomplished of Welsh ladies, when she chanced to mention Henri Martin's advent: it turned out that he had visited Dr. Charles Williams, then the Principal of Jesus College, and that Dr. Williams introduced him to his friends in South Wales. So M. Martin arrived among the hospitable friends of the lady talking to me, who had in fact to act as his interpreter: I never understood that he could talk much English or any Welsh. Now I have no doubt that M. Martin, with his fixed ideas about the druids and their teaching, propounded palpably leading questions for the Welsh people whom he wished to examine. His fascinating interpreter put them into terse Welsh, and the whole thing was done. I could almost venture to write out the dialogue, which gave back to the great Frenchman his own exact notions from the lips of simple peasants in that subtle non-Aryan syntax, which no Welsh barrister has ever been able to explain to the satisfaction of a bewildered English judge trying to administer justice among a people whom he cannot wholly comprehend. This will serve to illustrate one of the difficulties with which the collector of folklore in Wales has to cope. I have done my best to reduce the possible extent of the error to which it might give rise; and it is only fair to say that those whom I plagued with my questionings bore the tedium of it with patience, and that to them my thanks are due in a special degree. Neither they, however, nor I, could reasonably complain, if we found other folklorists examining other witnesses on points which had already occupied us; for in such matters one may say with confidence, that in the multitude of counsellors there is safety. JOHN RHYS. Jesus College, Oxford, Christmas, 1900. CONTENTS PAGE GEOGRAPHICAL LIST OF AUTHORITIES xxv LIST OF BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES xxxi CHAPTER I Undine's Kymric Sisters 1 I. The legend of Llyn y Fan Fach 2 II. The legend of Llyn y Forwyn 23 III. Some Snowdon lake legends 30 IV. The heir of Ystrad 38 V. Llandegai and Llanllechid 50 VI. Mapes' story of Llyn Syfadon 70 CHAPTER II The Fairies' Revenge 75 I. Bedgelert and its environs 75 II. The Pennant Valley 107 III. Glasynys' yarns 109 IV. An apple story 125 V. The Conwy afanc 130 VI. The Berwyn and Aran Fawdwy 135 VII. The hinterland of Aberdovey 141 VIII. Some more Merioneth stories 146 IX. The Children of Rhys Dwfn 151 X. Southey and the Green Isles of the Sea 169 XI. The curse of Pantannas 173 XII. More fairy displeasure 192 CHAPTER III Fairy Ways and Words 197 I. The folklore of Nant Conwy 197 II. Scenes of the Mabinogi of Math 207 III. Celynnog Fawr and Llanaelhaearn 214 IV. The blind man's folklore 219 V. The old saddler's recollections 222 VI. Traces of Tom Tit Tot 226 VII. March and his horse's ears 231 VIII. The story of the Marchlyn Mawr 234 IX. The fairy ring of Cae Lleidr Dyfrydog 238 X. A Cambrian kelpie 242 XI. Sundry traits of fairy character 244 XII. Ynys Geinon and its fairy treasures 251 XIII. The aged infant 257 XIV. Fairy speech 269 CHAPTER IV Manx Folklore 284 The fenodyree or Manx brownie 286 The sleih beggey or little people 289 The butches or witches and the hare 293 Charmers and their methods 296 Comparisons from the Channel Islands 301 Magic and ancient modes of thought 302 The efficacy of fire to detect the witch 304 Burnt sacrifices 305 Laa Boaldyn or May-day 308 Laa Lhunys or the beginning of harvest 312 Laa Houney or Hollantide beginning the year 315 Sundry prognostications and the time for them 317 CHAPTER V The Fenodyree and his Friends 323 Lincolnshire parallels 323 The brownie of Blednoch and Bwca'r Trwyn 325 Prognostication parallels from Lincolnshire and Herefordshire 327 The traffic in wind and the Gallizenæ 330 Wells with rags and pins 332 St. Catherine's hen plucked at Colby 335 The qualtagh or the first-foot and the question of race 336 Sundry instances of things unlucky 342 Manx reserve and the belief in the Enemy of Souls 346 The witch of Endor's influence and the respectability of the charmer's vocation 349 Public penance enforced pretty recently 350 CHAPTER VI The Folklore of the Wells 354 Rag wells in Wales 354 The question of distinguishing between offerings and vehicles of disease 358 Mr. Hartland's decision 359 The author's view revised and illustrated 360 T. E. Morris' account of the pin well of Llanfaglan 362 Other wishing and divining wells 364 The sacred fish of Llanberis and Llangybi 366 Ffynnon Grassi producing the Glasfryn lake 367 The Morgan of that lake and his name 372 Ffynnon Gywer producing Bala Lake 376 Bala and other towns doomed to submersion 377 The legend of Llyn Llech Owen 379 The parallels of Lough Neagh and Lough Ree 381 Seithennin's realm overwhelmed by the sea 382 Seithennin's name and its congeners 385 Prof. Dawkins on the Lost Lands of Wales 388 Certain Irish wells not visited with impunity 389 The Lough Sheelin legend compared with that of Seithennin 393 The priesthood of the wells of St. Elian and St. Teilo 395 CHAPTER VII Triumphs of the Water-world 401 The sea encroaching on the coast of Glamorgan 402 The Kenfig tale of crime and vengeance 403 The Crymlyn story and its touch of fascination 404 Nennius' description of Oper Linn Liguan compared 406 The vengeance legend of Bala Lake 408 Legends about the Llynclys Pool 410 The fate of Tyno Helig 414 The belief in cities submerged intact 415 The phantom city and the bells of Aberdovey 418 The ethics of the foregoing legends discussed 419 The limits of the delay of punishment 420 Why the fairies delay their vengeance 423 Non-ethical legends of the eruption of water 425 Cutting the green sward a probable violation of ancient tabu avenged by water divinities 427 The lake afanc's rôle in this connexion 428 The pigmies of the water-world 432 The Conwy afanc and the Highland water-horse 433 The equine features of March and Labraid Lore 435 Mider and the Mac Óc's well horses 436 The Gilla Decair's horse and Du March Moro 437 March ab Meirchion associated with Mona 439 The Welsh deluge Triads 440 Names of the Dee and other rivers in North Wales 441 The Lydney god Nudons, Nuada, and Llud 445 The fairies associated in various ways with water 449 The cyhiraeth and the Welsh banshee 452 Ancestress rather than ancestor 454 CHAPTER VIII Welsh Cave Legends 456 The question of classification 456 The fairy cave of the Arennig Fawr 456 The cave of Mynyd y Cnwc 457 Waring's version of Iolo's legend of Craig y Dinas 458 Craigfryn Hughes' Monmouthshire tale 462 The story of the cave occupied by Owen Lawgoch 464 How London Bridge came to figure in that story 466 Owen Lawgoch in Ogo'r Dinas 467 Dinas Emrys with the treasure hidden by Merlin 469 Snowdonian treasure reserved for the Goidel 470 Arthur's death on the side of Snowdon 473 The graves of Arthur and Rhita 474 Elis o'r Nant's story of Llanciau Eryri's cave 476 The top of Snowdon named after Rhita 477 Drystan's cairn 480 The hairy man's cave 481 Returning heroes for comparison with Arthur and Owen Lawgoch 481 The baledwyr's Owen to return as Henry the Ninth 484 Owen a historical man = Froissart's Yvain de Gales 487 Froissart's account of him and the questions it raises 488 Owen ousting Arthur as a cave-dweller 493 Arthur previously supplanting a divinity of the class of the sleeping Cronus of Demetrius 493 Arthur's original sojourn located in Faery 495 CHAPTER IX Place-name Stories 498 The Triad of the Swineherds of the Isle of Prydain 499 The former importance of swine's flesh as food 501 The Triad clause about Coll's straying sow 503 Coll's wanderings arranged to explain place-names 508 The Kulhwch account of Arthur's hunt of Twrch Trwyth in Ireland 509 A parley with the boars 511 The hunt resumed in Pembrokeshire 512 The boars reaching the Loughor Valley 514 Their separation 515 One killed by the Men of Llydaw in Ystrad Yw 516 Ystrad Yw defined and its name explained 516 Twrch Trwyth escaping to Cornwall after an encounter in the estuary of the Severn 519 The comb, razor, and shears of Twrch Trwyth 519 The name Twrch Trwyth 521 Some of the names evidence of Goidelic speech 523 The story about Gwydion and his swine compared 525 Place-name explanations blurred or effaced 526 Enumeration of Arthur's losses in the hunt 529 The Men of Llydaw's identity and their Syfadon home 531 Further traces of Goidelic names 536 A Twrch Trwyth incident mentioned by Nennius 537 The place-name Carn Cabal discussed 538 Duplicate names with the Goidelic form preferred in Wales 541 The same phenomenon in the Mabinogion 543 The relation between the families of Llyr, Dôn, and Pwyll 548 The elemental associations of Llyr and Lir 549 Matthew Arnold's idea of Medieval Welsh story 551 Brân, the Tricephal, and the Letto-Slavic Triglaus 552 Summary remarks as to the Goidels in Wales 553 CHAPTER X Difficulties of the Folklorist 556 The terrors of superstition and magic 557 The folklorist's activity no fostering of superstition 558 Folklore a portion of history 558 The difficulty of separating story and history 559 Arthur and the Snowdon Goidels as an illustration 559 Rhita Gawr and the mad kings Nynio and Peibio 560 Malory's version and the name Rhita, Ritho, Ryons 562 Snowdon stories about Owen Ymhacsen and Cai 564 Goidelic topography in Gwyned 566 The Goidels becoming Compatriots or Kymry 569 The obscurity of certain superstitions a difficulty 571 Difficulties arising from their apparent absurdity illustrated by the March and Labraid stories 571 Difficulties from careless record illustrated by Howells' Ychen Bannog 575 Possible survival of traditions about the urus 579 A brief review of the lake legends and the iron tabu 581 The scrappiness of the Welsh Tom Tit Tot stories 583 The story of the widow of Kittlerumpit compared 585 Items to explain the names Sìli Ffrit and Sìli go Dwt 590 Bwca'r Trwyn both brownie and bogie in one 593 That bwca a fairy in service, like the Pennant nurse 597 The question of fairies concealing their names 597 Magic identifying the name with the person 598 Modryb Mari regarding cheese-baking as disastrous to the flock 599 Her story about the reaper's little black soul 601 Gwenogvryn Evans' lizard version 603 Diseases regarded as also material entities 604 The difficulty of realizing primitive modes of thought 605 CHAPTER XI Folklore Philosophy 607 The soul as a pigmy or a lizard, and the word enaid 607 A different notion in the Mabinogi of Math 608 The belief in the persistence of the body through changes 610 Shape-shifting and rebirth in Gwion's transformations 612 Tuan mac Cairill, Amairgen, and Taliessin 615 D'Arbois de Jubainville's view of Erigena's teaching 617 The druid master of his own transformations 620 Death not a matter of course so much as of magic 620 This incipient philosophy as Gaulish druidism 622 The Gauls not all of one and the same beliefs 623 The name and the man 624 Enw, 'name,' and the idea of breathing 625 The exact nature of the association still obscure 627 The Celts not distinguishing between names and things 628 A Celt's name on him, not by him or with him 629 The druid's method of name-giving non-Aryan 631 Magic requiring metrical formulæ 632 The professional man's curse producing blisters 632 A natural phenomenon arguing a thin-skinned race 633 Cursing of no avail without the victim's name 635 Magic and kingship linked in the female line 636 CHAPTER XII Race in Folklore and Myth 639 Glottology and comparative mythology 640 The question of the feminine in Welsh syntax 642 The Irish goddess Danu and the Welsh Dôn 644 Tynghed or destiny in the Kulhwch story 646 Traces of a Welsh confarreatio in the same context 649 Þokk in the Balder story compared with tynghed 650 Questions of mythology all the harder owing to race mixture 652 Whether the picture of Cúchulainn in a rage be Aryan or not 653 Cúchulainn exempt from the Ultonian couvade 654 Cúchulainn racially a Celt in a society reckoning descent by birth 656 Cúchulainn as a rebirth of Lug paralleled in Lapland 657 Doubtful origin of certain legends about Lug 658 The historical element in fairy stories and lake legends 659 The notion of the fairies being all women 661 An illustration from Central Australia 662 Fairy counting by fives evidence of a non-Celtic race 663 The Basque numerals as an illustration 665 Prof. Sayce on Irishmen and Berbers 665 Dark-complexioned people and fairy changelings 666 The blond fairies of the Pennant district exceptional 668 A summary of fairy life from previous chapters 668 Sir John Wynne's instance of men taken for fairies 670 Some of the Brythonic names for fairies 671 Dwarfs attached to the fortunes of their masters 672 The question of fairy cannibalism 673 The fairy Corannians and the historical Coritani 674 St. Guthlac at Croyland in the Fens 676 The Irish sid, side, and the Welsh Caer Sidi 677 The mound dwellings of Pechts and Irish fairies 679 Prof. J. Morris Jones explaining the non-Aryan syntax of neo-Celtic by means of Egyptian and Berber 681 The Picts probably the race that introduced it 682 The first pre-Celtic people here 683 Probably of the same race as the neolithic dwarfs of the Continent 683 The other pre-Celtic race, the Picts and the people of the Mabinogion 684 A word or two by way of epilogue 686 Additions and Corrections 689 Index 695 We are too hasty when we set down our ancestors in the gross for fools, for the monstrous inconsistencies (as they seem to us) involved in their creed of witchcraft. In the relations of this visible world we find them to have been as rational, and shrewd to detect an historic anomaly, as ourselves. But when once the invisible world was supposed to be opened, and the lawless agency of bad spirits assumed, what measures of probability, of decency, of fitness, or proportion--of that which distinguishes the likely from the palpable absurd--could they have to guide them in the rejection or admission of any particular testimony? That maidens pined away, wasting inwardly as their waxen images consumed before a fire--that corn was lodged, and cattle lamed--that whirlwinds uptore in diabolic revelry the oaks of the forest--or that spits and kettles only danced a fearful-innocent vagary about some rustic's kitchen when no wind was stirring--were all equally probable where no law of agency was understood.... There is no law to judge of the lawless, or canon by which a dream may be criticised. Charles Lamb's Essays of Elia. A GEOGRAPHICAL LIST OF AUTHORITIES AND SOURCES OF THE MORE IMPORTANT CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE WELSH FOLKLORE ANGLESEY. Aberffraw: E. S. Roberts (after Hugh Francis), 240, 241. Llandyfrydog: E. S. Roberts (after Robert Roberts), 239, 240. Llyn yr Wyth Eidion: (no particulars), 429. Mynyd y Cnwc: A writer in the Brython for 1859, 457, 458. Mynyd Mechell: Morris Evans (from his grandmother), 203, 204. Towyn Trewern: John Roberts, 36-8. ? : Lewis Morris, in the Gwyliedyd, 450-2. BRECKNOCKSHIRE. Cwm Tawe: Rd. L. Davies, 256, 257. ,, : Rd. L. Davies (after J. Davies), 251-6. Llangorse: Giraldus, in his Itinerarium Kambriæ, 72. ? : Walter Mapes, in his book De Nugis, 70-2. ? : The Brython for 1863, 73, 74. Llyn Cwm Llwch neighbourhood: Ivor James, 21, 430, 445. ? : Ed. Davies, in his Mythology and Rites, 20, 21. CARDIGANSHIRE. Atpar: John Rhys (from Joseph Powell), 648, 649. Bronnant: D. Ll. Davies, 248, 249. Cadabowen: J. Gwenogvryn Evans, 603, 604. Llanwenog: J. Gwenogvryn Evans, 648. Llyn Eidwen: J. E. Rogers of Abermeurig, 578. Moedin: Howells, in his Cambrian Superstitions, 245. ,, : D. Silvan Evans, in his Ystên Sioned, 271-3. Ponterwyd: John Rhys, 294, 338, 378, 391, 392. ,, : Mary Lewis (Modryb Mari), 601, 602. Swyd Ffynnon: D. Ll. Davies, 246, 247, 250. Tregaron and neighbourhood: John Rhys (from John Jones and others), 577-9. Troed yr Aur } : Benjamin Williams (Gwynionyd), 166-8. and } : Gwynionyd, in the Brython for 1858 and 1860, Verwig? } 151-5, 158-60, 163, 164, 464-6. Ystrad Meurig: Isaac Davies, 245. ,, ,, : A farmer, 601. ? : A writer in the Brython for 1861, 690. CARMARTHENSHIRE. Cenarth: B. Davies, in the Brython, 1858, 161, 162. Llandeilo: D. Lleufer Thomas, in Y Geninen for 1896, 469. ,, : Mr. Stepney-Gulston, in the Arch. Camb. for 1893, 468. Llandybie: John Fisher, 379, 380. ,, : Howells, in his Cambrian Superstitions, 381. ,, : John Fisher and J. P. Owen, 468. Mydfai: Wm. Rees of Tonn, in the Physicians of Mydvai, 2-15. ,, : The Bishop of St. Asaph, 15, 16. ,, : John Rhys, 16. ? : Joseph Joseph of Brecon, 16. ? : Wirt Sikes, in his British Goblins, 17, 18. Mynyd y Banwen: Llywarch Reynolds, 18, 19, 428-30. ? : I. Craigfryn Hughes, 487. CARNARVONSHIRE. Aber Soch: Margaret Edwards, 231. ,, : A blacksmith in the neighbourhood, 232. ? : Edward Llwyd: see the Brython for 1860, 233, 234. ? : MS. 134 in the Peniarth Collection, 572, 573. Aberdaron: Mrs. Williams and another, 228. ? : Evan Williams of Rhos Hirwaen, 230. Bedgelert: Wm. Jones, 49, 80, 81, 94-7, 99, 100-5. ,, : ,, in the Brython for 1861-2, 86-9, 98-9. ,, : The Brython for 1861, 470, 473, 474. Bethesda: David Evan Davies (Dewi Glan Ffrydlas), 60-4, 66. Bettws y Coed: Edward Llwyd: see the Cambrian Journal for 1859, 130-3. Criccieth neighbourhood: Edward Llewelyn, 219-21. ? : Edward Llwyd: see the Camb. Journal for 1859, 201, 202. Dinorwig: E. Lloyd Jones, 234-7. Dolbenmaen: W. Evans Jones, 107-9. Dolwydelan: see Bedgelert. ,, : see Gwybrnant. Drws y Coed: S. R. Williams (from M. Williams and another), 38-40. ? : ,, 89, 90. Edern: John Williams (Alaw Lleyn), 275-9. Four Crosses: Lewis Jones, 222-5. Glasfryn Uchaf: John Jones (Myrdin Fard), 367, 368. ,, ,, : Mr. and Mrs. Williams-Ellis, 368-72. Glynllifon: Wm. Thomas Solomon, 208-14. Gwybrnant: Ellis Pierce (Elis o'r Nant), 476-9. Llanaelhaearn: R. Hughes of Uwchlaw'r Ffynnon, 214, 215, 217-9. Llanberis: Mrs. Rhys and her relatives, 31-6, 604. ,, : M. and O. Rhys, 229. ,, : A correspondent in the Liverpool Mercury, 366, 367. ? : Howell Thomas (from G. B. Gattie), 125-30. ? : Pennant, in his Tours in Wales, 125. Llandegai: H. Derfel Hughes, 52-60, 68. ,, : ,, ,, in his Antiquities, 471, 472. ,, : E. Owen, in the Powysland Club's Collections, 237, 238. Llandwrog: Hugh Evans and others, 207. Llanfaglan: T. E. Morris (from Mrs. Roberts), 362, 363. Llangybi: John Jones (Myrdin Fard), 366. ,, : Mrs. Williams-Ellis, 366, 471. Llaniestin: Evan Williams, 228, 229, 584. Llanllechid: Owen Davies (Eos Llechid), 41-6, 50-2. Nefyn: Lowri Hughes and another woman, 226, 227. ,, : John Williams (Alaw Lleyn), 228. ,, : A writer in the Brython for 1860, 164. Penmachno: Gethin Jones, 204-6. Rhyd Du: Mrs. Rhys, 604. Trefriw: Morris Hughes and J. D. Maclaren, 198-201. ,, : Pierce Williams, 30. Tremadoc: Jane Williams, 221, 222. ,, : R. I. Jones (from his mother and Ellis Owen), 105-7. ,, : Ellis Owen (cited by Wm. Jones), 95. Waen Fawr: Owen Davies, 41. ? : Glasynys, in Cymru Fu, 91-3, 110-23. ? : ,, in the Brython for 1863, 40, 41. ? : A London Eistedfod (1887) competitor, 361, 362. ? : John Jones (Myrdin Fard), 361, 362, 364-8. ? : Owen Jones (quoted in the Brython for 1861), 414, 415. Yspytty Ifan?: A Liverpool Eistedfod (1900) competitor, 692. DENBIGHSHIRE. Bryneglwys: E. S. Roberts (from Mrs. Davies), 241, 242. Eglwyseg: E. S. Roberts (after Thomas Morris), 238. Ffynnon Eilian: Mrs. Silvan Evans, 357. ,, ,, : Isaac Foulkes, in his Enwogion Cymru, 396. ,, ,, : Lewis, in his Topographical Dictionary, 395, 396. ,, ,, : P. Roberts, in his Camb. Popular Antiquities, 396. ,, ,, : A writer in Y Nofeld, 396. Llangollen: Hywel (Wm. Davies), 148. Pentre Voelas: Elias Owen, in his Welsh Folk-Lore, 222. FLINTSHIRE. Nil. GLAMORGANSHIRE. Bridgend: J. H. Davies, D. Brynmor-Jones, J. Rhys, 354, 355. Crymlyn: Cadrawd, in the South Wales Daily News, 405, 406. ? : Wirt Sikes, in his British Goblins, 191, 192, 405. Kenfig: Iolo Morganwg, in the Iolo MSS., 403, 404. ? : David Davies, 402. Llanfabon: I. Craigfryn Hughes, 257-268. Llanwynno: Glanffrwd, in his Plwyf Llanwyno, 26. Merthyr Tydfil: Llywarch Reynolds (from his mother), 269. Quakers' Yard: I. Craigfryn Hughes, 173-91. Rhonda Fechan: Llewellyn Williams, 24, 25. ,, ,, : J. Probert Evans, 25, 27. ,, ,, : Ll. Reynolds (from D. Evans and others), 27-9. Rhonda Valley: D. J. Jones, 356. ? : Dafyd Morganwg, in his Hanes Morganwg, 356. ? : Waring, in his Recollections of Edward Williams, 458-61. MERIONETHSHIRE. Aberdovey: J. Pughe, in the Arch. Camb. for 1853, 142-6, 428. ,, : Mrs. Prosser Powell, 416. ? : M. B., in the Monthly Packet for 1859, 416, 417. Ardudwy: Hywel (Wm. Davies), 147, 148. Bala: David Jones of Trefriw: see Cyfaill yr Aelwyd, 376, 377. ,, : Wm. Davies and Owen M. Edwards, 378. ? : Humphreys' Llyfr Gwybodaeth Gyffredinol, 408-10. ? : J. H. Roberts, in Edwards' Cymru for 1897, 148-51. Dolgelley: Lucy Griffith (from a Dolgelley man), 243, 244. Llandrillo: E. S. Roberts (from A. Evans and Mrs. Edwards), 138-41. Llanegryn: Mr. Williams and Mr. Rowlands, 243. ,, : A Llanegryn man (after Wm. Pritchard), 242. ,, : Another Llanegryn man, 242, 243. Llanuwchllyn: Owen M. Edwards, 147. ? : J. H. Roberts, in Edwards' Cymru for 1897, 215-7, 457. ? : Glasynys, in the Brython for 1862, 137. ? : ,, in the Taliesin for 1859-60, 215, 216, 456, 457. MONMOUTHSHIRE. Aberystruth: Edm. Jones, in his Parish of Aberystruth, 195, 196. Llandeilo Cressenny: Elizabeth Williams, 192, 193. Llanover: Wm. Williams and other gardeners there, 193, 194. ,, : Mrs. Gardner of Ty Uchaf Llanover, 194, 195. ,, : Professor Sayce, 602. Risca?: I. Craigfryn Hughes (from hearsay in the district between Llanfabon and Caerleon), 462-4, 487, 593-6. MONTGOMERYSHIRE. Llanidloes: Elias Owen, in his Welsh Folk-Lore, 275. PEMBROKESHIRE. Fishguard: E. Perkins of Penysgwarne, 172, 173. ,, : Ferrar Fenton, in the Pembroke County Guardian, 160. Llandeilo Llwydarth: The Melchior family, 398. ,, ,, : Benjamin Gibby, 399, 400. Nevern: J. Thomas of Bancau Bryn Berian, 689. Trevine: 'Ancient Mariner,' in the Pembroke County Guardian, 171. ? : Ferrar Fenton, in the Pembroke County Guardian, 171. ? : Ab Nadol, in the Brython for 1861, 165. ? : Southey, in his Madoc, 170. RADNORSHIRE. Nil. TO ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN The author would be glad to hear of unrecorded Welsh stories, or bits of Welsh stories not comprised in this volume. He would also be grateful for the names of more localities in which the stories here given, or variants of them, are still remembered. It will be his endeavour to place on record all such further information, except stories about spooks and ghosts of the ordinary type. LIST OF BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES Ab Gwilym: Bardoniaeth Dafyd ab Gwilym, edited by Cyndelw (Liverpool, 1873), 206, 233, 439, 444, 671. Adamnan: The Life of St. Columba, written by Adamnan, edited by William Reeves (Dublin, 1857), 545. Agrippa: H. Cornelius Agrippa De Occulta Philosophia (Paris, 1567), 213. Aneurin: The Book of Aneurin (see Skene), 226, 281, 543. Antiquary, the, a magazine devoted to the study of the past, published by Elliot Stock (London, 1880-), 467. ,, : the Scottish: see Stevenson. Archæologia Cambrensis, the Journal of the Cambrian Archæological Association (London, 1846-), 73, 141-6, 233, 366, 403, 468, 528, 532, 533, 542, 566, 570, 579. Athenæum, the, a journal of English and foreign literature, science, fine arts, music, and the drama (London, 1828-), 335, 612. Atkinson: The Book of Ballymote, a collection of pieces (prose and verse) in the Irish language, compiled about the beginning of the fifteenth century, published by the Royal Irish Academy, with introduction, analysis of contents, and index by Robert Atkinson (Dublin, 1887), 375. ,, : The Book of Leinster, sometimes called the Book of Glendalough, a collection of pieces (prose and verse) in the Irish language, compiled, in part, about the middle of the twelfth century, published by the Royal Irish Academy, with introduction, analysis of contents, and index by Robert Atkinson (Dublin, 1880), 381, 390, 392, 528, 531, 616, 618, 635, 657. Aubrey: Miscellanies collected by John Aubrey (London, 1696) [the last chapter is on second-sighted persons in Scotland], 273. Bastian: Zeitschrift für Ethnologie, edited by A. Bastian and others (Berlin, 1869-), 684. Bathurst: Roman Antiquities at Lydney Park: see 445, 446. Behrens: Zeitschrift für französische Sprache und Litteratur, edited by D. Behrens (Oppeln and Leipsic, 1879-), 480. Bell: Early Ballads, edited by Robert Bell (London, 1877), 317. Bertrand: La Religion des Gaulois, les Druides et le Druidisme, by Alexandre Bertrand (Paris, 1897), 552, 622, 623. Bible: The Holy Bible, revised version (Oxford, 1885), 583. ,, : The Manx Bible, printed for the British and Foreign Bible Society (London, 1819), 288, 297, 348. Boschet: La Vie du Père Maunoir, by Boschet (Paris, 1697), 386. Bourke: The Bull 'Ineffabilis' in four Languages, translated and edited by the Rev. Ulick J. Bourke (Dublin, 1868), 606. Boyd Dawkins: Professor Boyd Dawkins' Address on the Place of a University in the History of Wales (Bangor, 1900), 388, 389. Bray: The Borders of the Tamar and the Tavy, their Natural History, Manners, Customs, Superstitions, &c., in a series of letters to the late Robert Southey, by Mrs. Bray (new ed., London, 1879), 213. Braz: La Légende de la Mort en Basse-Bretagne, Croyances, Traditions et Usages des Bretons Armoricains, by A. le Braz (Paris, 1892), 273. British Archæological Association, the Journal of the: see 674. British Association for the Advancement of Science, Report of the (John Murray, London, 1833-), 103, 310, 346, 590. Brynmor-Jones: The Welsh People, by John Rhys and David Brynmor-Jones (London, 1900), 421, 448, 454, 488, 548, 554, 613, 656, 661. Brython, Y: see Silvan Evans. Cambrian: The Cambrian Biography: see Owen. ,, : The Cambrian Journal, published under the auspices of the Cambrian Institute [the first volume appeared in 1854 in London, and eventually the publication was continued at Tenby by R. Mason, who went on with it till the year 1864], 81, 130, 201, 202, 480, 564. ,, : The Cambrian newspaper, published at Swansea, 468. ,, : The Cambrian Popular Antiquities: see Roberts. ,, : The Cambrian Quarterly Magazine (London, 1829-33), 202. ,, : The Cambrian Register, printed for E. and T. Williams (London, 1796-1818), 217. Campbell: Popular Tales of the West Highlands, with a translation, by J. F. Campbell (Edinburgh, 1860-2), 433, 434, 690. Caradoc: The Gwentian Chronicle of Caradoc of Llancarvan, 404. ,, : The History of Wales written originally in British by Caradoc of Lhancarvan, Englished by Dr. Powell and augmented by W. Wynne (London, 1774), 476, 480. Carmarthen: The Black Book of Carmarthen (see Skene), 543. Carnarvon: Registrum vulgariter nuncupatum 'The Record of Carnarvon,' è Codice msto Descriptum (London, 1838), 70, 201, 488, 567-9, 693. Carrington: Report of the Royal Commission on Land in Wales and Monmouthshire, Chairman, the Earl of Carrington (London, 1896), 488. Chambers: Popular Rhymes of Scotland, by Robert Chambers (Edinburgh, 1841, 1858), 585. Charencey, H. de, in the Bulletin de la Société de Linguistique de Paris, 664. Chaucer: The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, edited from numerous manuscripts by the Rev. Prof. Skeat (Oxford, 1894), 75. Chrétien: Erec und Enide von Christian von Troyes, published by Wendelin Foerster (Halle, 1890), 375, 672. Cicero: OEuvres Complètes de Cicéron (the Didot ed., Paris, 1875), 652. Clark: Limbus Patrum Morganiæ et Glamorganiæ, being the genealogies of the older families of the lordships of Morgan and Glamorgan, by George T. Clark (London, 1886), 26. Clodd: Tom Tit Tot, an essay on savage philosophy in folklore, by Edward Clodd (London, 1898), 584, 598, 607, 627, 628, 630. Cochrane: The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, Robert Cochrane, Secretary (Hodges, Figgis & Co., Dublin), 546. Cockayne: Leechdoms, Wortcunning and Starcraft of early England, by the Rev. Oswald Cockayne (Rolls Series, London, 1864-6), 293. Cormac: Cormac's Glossary, translated and annotated by John O'Donovan, edited with notes and indices by Whitley Stokes (Calcutta, 1868), 51, 310, 521, 629, 632. Corneille: Le Cid, by P. Corneille, edited by J. Bué (London, 1889), 655. Cosquin: Contes populaires de Lorraine, by Emmanuel Cosquin (Paris, 1886), 520. Cothi: The Poetical Works of Lewis Glyn Cothi, a Welsh bard who flourished in the reigns of Henry VI, Edward IV, Richard III, and Henry VII, edited for the Cymmrodorion Society by the Rev. John Jones 'Tegid,' and the Rev. Walter Davies 'Gwallter Mechain' (Oxford, 1837), 74, 134, 135, 201. Coulanges: La Cité antique, by N. D. Fustel de Coulanges (Paris, 1864), 649, 650. Courson: Cartulaire de l'Abbaye de Redon en Bretagne, published by M. Aurélien de Courson (Paris, 1863), 544. Craigfryn: Y Ferch o Gefn Ydfa, by Isaac Craigfryn Hughes (Cardiff, 1881), 173. Cregeen: A Dictionary of the Manks Language, by Archibald Cregeen (Douglas, 1835), 288. Cumming: The Isle of Man, its History, Physical, Ecclesiastical, Civil, and Legendary, by Joseph George Cumming (London, 1848), 314. Curry: The Battle of Magh Leana, together with The Courtship of Momera, with translation and notes, by Eugene Curry [later O'Curry] (Dublin, 1855), 393: see also O'Curry. Cyndelw: Cymru Fu, a selection of Welsh histories, traditions, and tales, published by Hughes & Son (Wrexham, 1862) [this was originally issued in parts, and it has never borne the editor's name; but it is understood to have been the late poet and antiquary, the Rev. Robert Ellis 'Cyndelw'], 66, 91, 109, 123, 155, 156, 481. Dalyell: The Darker Superstitions of Scotland illustrated from History and Practice, by John Graham Dalyell (Edinburgh, 1834), 273. Davies: The Mythology and Rites of the British Druids, by Edward Davies (London, 1809), 20. Davies: Antiquæ Linguæ Britannicæ et Linguæ Latinæ Dictionarium Duplex, by Dr. John Davies (London, 1632), 13. Derfel Hughes: Hynafiaethau Llandegai a Llanllechid (Antiquities of Llandegai and Llanllechid), by Hugh Derfel Hughes (Bethesda, 1866), 52, 480. Dionysius: Dionysii Halicarnassensis Antiquitatum Romanorum quæ supersunt (the Didot edition, Paris, 1886), 650. Domesday: Facsimile of Domesday Book, the Cheshire volume, including a part of Flintshire and Leicestershire (Southampton, 1861-5), 563. Dovaston: [John F. M. Dovaston's poetical works appear to have been published in 1825, but I have not seen the book], 410-3. Doyle: Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by A. Conan Doyle (London, 1893), 690. Drayton: The Battaile of Agincourt, by Michaell Drayton (London, 1627), 164. Dugdale: Monasticon Anglicanum, a history of the abbeys and other monasteries in England and Wales, by Sir William Dugdale (vol. v, London, 1825), 443, 469, 479. Edwards: Cymru, a monthly magazine edited by Owen M. Edwards (Welsh National Press, Carnarvon), 148. Elfed: Cyfaill yr Aelwyd a'r Frythones, edited by Elfed (the Rev. H. Elvet Lewis) and Cadrawd (Mr. T. C. Evans), and published by Williams & Son, Llanelly, 23, 376, 418. Elton: Origins of English History, by Charles Elton (London, 1882), 615. Elworthy: The Evil Eye, an Account of this ancient and widespread Superstition, by Frederick Thomas Elworthy (London, 1895), 346. Evans: The Beauties of England and Wales [published in London in 1801-15, and comprising two volumes (xvii and xviii) devoted to Wales, the former of which (by the Rev. J. Evans; published in London in 1812) treats of North Wales], 563. Folk-Lore: Transactions of the Folk-Lore Society (published by David Nutt, 270 Strand, London), 273, 338, 341, 344, 346, 356, 358-60, 584, 585, 593, 608. Foulkes: Geirlyfr Bywgraffiadol o Enwogion Cymru, published and printed by Isaac Foulkes (Liverpool, 1870), 396. Fouqué: Undine, eine Erzählung von Friedrich Baron de la Motte Fouqué (11th ed., Berlin, 1859), 1, 2, 27, 437, 661. Frazer: The Golden Bough, a study in comparative religion, by Dr. J. G. Frazer (London, 1890), 638, 662. ,, : The Origin of Totemism (in the Fortnightly Review for April, 1899), 662, 663. Froissart: OEuvres de Froissart, Chroniques, edited by Kervyn de Lettenhove (Brussels, 1870-7), 489. ,, : Chroniques de J. Froissart, published for the 'Société de l'Histoire de France,' by Siméon Luce (Paris, 1869-), 489-91. ,, : Lord Berners' translation (in black letter), published in London in 1525, and Thomas Johnes', in 1805-6, 490. Gaidoz: Revue Celtique, 'fondée par M. Henri Gaidoz,' 1870-85 [since then it has been edited by H. d'Arbois de Jubainville, and it is now published by Bouillon in Paris (67 Rue de Richelieu)], 60, 374, 375, 387, 389, 390, 427, 432, 435, 480, 519, 546, 573, 580, 581, 603, 618, 619, 629, 631, 649. Geoffrey: Gottfried's von Monmouth Historia Regum Britanniæ und Brut Tysylio, published by San-Marte (Halle, 1854), 4, 280, 281, 374, 406, 448, 503, 507, 547, 562, 611. Gilbert: Leabhar na h-Uidhri, a collection of pieces in prose and verse in the Irish language, compiled and transcribed about A.D. 1100 by Moelmuiri mac Ceileachar, published by the Royal Irish Academy, and printed from a lithograph of the original by O'Longan & O'Looney (preface signed by J. T. Gilbert, Dublin, 1870), 381, 387, 414, 424, 435, 498, 537, 547, 611, 613, 618, 620, 624, 654, 657, 661. Gillen: The Native Tribes of Central Australia, by Baldwin Spencer and F. J. Gillen (London, 1899), 662, 663. Giraldus: Giraldi Cambrensis Itinerarium Kambriæ et Descriptio Kambriæ, edited by James F. Dimock (Rolls Series, London, 1868), 72, 90, 269-71, 303, 389, 414, 441, 507, 509, 660. Glanffrwd: Plwyf Llanwyno: yr hen Amser, yr hen Bobl, a'r hen Droion, by Glanffrwd [the Rev. W. Glanffrwd Thomas] (Pontyprid, 1888), 26. Gottingen: Göttingische gelehrte Anzeigen, unter der Aufsicht der königl. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften (Gottingen, 1890), 544. Gregor: Notes on the Folk-lore of the North-east of Scotland, by the Rev. Walter Gregor, published for the Folk-Lore Society (London, 1881), 103. Griffin: The Poetical and Dramatic Works of Gerald Griffin (Dublin, 1857), 205, 418. Gröber: Grundriss der romanischen Philologie, unter Mitwirkung von 25 Fachgenossen, edited by Gustav Gröber (Strassburg, 1886), 563. ,, : Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, edited by Gustav Gröber (Halle, 1877-), 563. Gruter: Iani Gruteri Corpus Inscriptionum (part ii of vol. i, Amsterdam, 1707), 580. Guest: The Mabinogion, from the Llyfr Coch o Hergest and other ancient Welsh manuscripts, with an English translation and notes by Lady Charlotte Guest (London, 1849), 69, 123, 196, 386, 442, 502, 507, 509, 538, 553, 560, 613, 620, 629, 645-7, 649, 672. Gwenogvryn: Facsimile of the Black Book of Carmarthen, reproduced by the autotype mechanical process, with a palæographical note by J. Gwenogvryn Evans (Oxford, 1888), 216, 217, 383, 384, 413, 432, 478, 513, 527, 543, 545, 563, 565, 619, 621. ,, : Report on Manuscripts in the Welsh Language, published by the Historical MSS. Commission (vol. i, London, 1898-9), 280, 330, 487, 573. ,, : The Text of the Bruts from the Red Book of Hergest, edited by John Rhys and J. Gwenogvryn Evans (Oxford, 1890), 163, 201, 442, 506, 512, 562. ,, : The Text of the 'Mabinogion' and other Welsh Tales from the Red Book of Hergest, edited by John Rhys and J. Gwenogvryn Evans (Oxford, 1887), 69, 142, 196, 207, 208, 217, 218, 225, 226, 233, 264, 280, 287, 315, 386, 388, 425, 430, 439, 440, 442, 498, 500, 502, 506, 507, 509-16, 519-27, 529-34, 536, 537, 543, 546-8, 550, 551, 553, 560, 561, 565, 580, 608-10, 613, 619, 620, 622, 628-30, 636, 637, 644, 645, 647, 649, 657, 672. ,, : The Text of the Book of Llan Dâv, reproduced from the Gwysaney manuscript by J. G. Evans, with the co-operation of John Rhys (Oxford, 1893) [this is also known as the Liber Landavensis], 163, 398, 476, 478, 528, 531, 568, 691. Hancock: Senchus Mór, vol. i, prefaced by W. Neilson Hancock (Dublin, 1865), 617. Hardy: Descriptive Catalogue of Materials relating to the History of Great Britain and Ireland, by Thos. Duffus Hardy (vol. i, London, 1862), 476. Hartland: The Legend of Perseus, a study of tradition in story, custom, and belief, by Edwin Sidney Hartland (London, 1894-6), 662. Hartland: The Science of Fairy Tales, an inquiry into fairy mythology, by Edwin Sidney Hartland (London, 1891), 18, 268, 583. Henderson: Fled Bricrend, edited with translation, introduction, and notes, by George Henderson (London, 1899), 501. Henderson: Notes on the Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties of England and the Borders, by Wm. Henderson (London, 1879), 340, 346. Herbord: Herbordi Vita Ottonis Ep. Bambergensis, in vol. xiv of Pertz' Monumenta Germaniæ Historica Scriptorum [= Script. vol. xii], edited by G. H. Pertz (Hanover, 1826-85), 553. Hergest: The Red Book of Hergest: see Guest, Gwenogvryn, Skene. Heywood: The Dramatic Works of Thomas Heywood (London, 1874), 694. Higden: Polychronicon Ranulphi Higden Monachi Cestrensis, together with the English translations of John Trevisa and an unknown writer of the fifteenth century, edited by Ch. Babington (Rolls Series, London, 1865-86), 330, 331. Holder: Alt-celtischer Sprachschatz, by Alfred Holder (Leipsic, 1896-), 533, 622, 659. Howells: Cambrian Superstitions, comprising ghosts, omens, witchcraft, and traditions, by W. Howells (Tipton, 1831), 74, 155, 160, 173, 204, 245, 268, 331, 424, 453, 469, 576-9. Hübner: Das Heiligtum des Nodon: see 446. ,, : Inscriptiones Britanniæ Latinæ, edited by Æmilius Hübner and published by the Berlin Academy (Berlin, 1873), 535. Humphreys: Golud yr Oes, a Welsh magazine published by H. Humphreys (vol. i, Carnarvon, 1863), 493. ,, : Llyfr Gwybodaeth Gyffredinol, a collection of Humphreys' penny series (Carnarvon, no date), 408. Iolo: Iolo Manuscripts, a selection of ancient Welsh manuscripts in prose and verse from the collection made by Edward Williams (Iolo Morganwg), with English translations and notes by his son, Taliesin Williams Ab Iolo, and published for the Welsh MSS. Society (Llandovery, 1848), 564, 565, 569, 619. Iolo Goch: Gweithiau Iolo Goch gyda Nodiadau hanesydol a beirniadol, by Charles Ashton, published for the Cymmrodorion Society (Oswestry, 1896), 281, 367. Jacobs: Celtic Fairy Tales, selected and edited by Joseph Jacobs (London, 1892), 567. Jamieson: An Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language, by John Jamieson (new ed., Paisley, 1881-2), 591. Jamieson: Popular Ballads and Songs, by Robert Jamieson (Edinburgh, 1806), 592. Jenkins: Bed Gelert, its Facts, Fairies, and Folk-Lore, by D. E. Jenkins (Portmadoc, 1899), 450, 453, 469, 533, 567. Johnstone: Antiquitates Celto-Normannicæ, containing the Chronicle of Man and the Isles, abridged by Camden, edited by James Johnstone (Copenhagen, 1786), 334. Jones: see p. 195 for Edmund Jones' Account of the Parish of Aberystruth (Trevecka, 1779), 195, 196. ,, : see p. 195 as to his Spirits in the County of Monmouth (Newport, 1813), 195, 217, 350. Jones: The Elucidarium and other tracts in Welsh from Llyvyr Agkyr Llandewivrevi, A.D. 1346 (Jesus College MS. 119), edited by J. Morris Jones and John Rhys (Oxford, 1894), 529, 693. Jones: The Myvyrian Archaiology of Wales, collected out of ancient manuscripts, by Owen Jones 'Myvyr,' Edward Williams, and William Owen (London, 1801; reprinted in one volume by Thomas Gee, Denbigh, 1870), 441, 469, 529, 560, 610, 619. Jones: A History of the County of Brecknock, by the Rev. Theophilus Jones (Brecknock, 1805, 1809), 516-8. Joyce: Old Celtic Romances, translated from the Gaelic by P. W. Joyce (London, 1879), 94, 376, 381, 437, 662. Jubainville: Le Cycle mythologique irlandais et la Mythologie celtique, by H. d'Arbois de Jubainville (Paris, 1884), 616, 617, 620. ,, : Essai d'un Catalogue de la Littérature épique de l'Irlande, by H. d'Arbois de Jubainville (Paris, 1883), 549, 616, 617, 620. Kaluza: Libeaus Desconus, edited by Max Kaluza (Leipsic, 1890), 562. Keating: Forus Feasa air Éirinn, Keating's History of Ireland, book i, part i, edited, with a literal translation, by P. W. Joyce (Dublin, 1880), 375. Kelly: Fockleyr Manninagh as Baarlagh, a Manx-English Dictionary by John Kelly, edited by William Gill, and printed for the Manx Society (Douglas, 1866), 316, 349. Kermode: Yn Lioar Manninagh, the Journal of the Isle of Man Natural History and Antiquarian Society, edited by P. M. C. Kermode (Douglas, 1889-), 284, 289, 311, 334, 434. Kuhn: Beiträge zur vergleichenden Sprachforschung auf dem Gebiete der arischen, celtischen und slawischen Sprachen, edited by Kuhn and others (Berlin, 1858-76), 629. ,, : Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung auf dem Gebiete der indogermanischen Sprachen, edited by Kuhn and others (Berlin, 1854-), 625. Lampeter: The Magazine of St. David's College, Lampeter, 156. Leem: Canuti Leemii de Lapponibus Finmarchiæ Commentatio (Copenhagen, 1767), 658, 663. Leger: Cyrille et Méthode, Étude historique sur la Conversion des Slaves au Christianisme, by Louis Leger (Paris, 1868), 553. Lewis: A Topographical Dictionary of Wales, by Samuel Lewis (3rd ed., London, 1844), 395, 397, 470. Leyden: The Poetical Works of John Leyden (Edinburgh, 1875), 466. Lhuyd: Commentarioli Britannicæ Descriptionis Fragmentum, by Humfrey Lhuyd (Cologne, 1572), 412. Lindsay: The Latin Language, an historical account of Latin sounds, stems, and flexions, by Wallace Martin Lindsay (Oxford, 1894), 629. Loth: Les Mots latins dans les langues brittoniques, by J. Loth (Paris, 1892), 383. Llais y Wlad, a newspaper published at Bangor, N. Wales, 234. Mabinogion: see Guest and Gwenogvryn. Macbain: The Celtic Magazine, edited by Alexander Macbain (Inverness, 1866-), 520. Malmesbury: De Gestis Pontificum Anglorum Libri Quinque, edited by N. E. S. A. Hamilton (Rolls Series, London, 1870), 547. Malory: Le Morte Darthur, by Syr Thomas Malory, the original Caxton edition reprinted and edited with an introduction and glossary by H. Oskar Sommer (Nutt, London, 1889), 476, 562. ,, : Sir Thomas Malory's Morte Darthur, with a preface by John Rhys, published by J. M. Dent & Co. (London, 1893), 543, 565. Mapes: Gualteri Mapes de Nugis Curialium Distinctiones Quinque, edited by Thomas Wright and printed for the Camden Society, 1850 [at the last moment a glance at the original Bodley MS. 851 forced me to deviate somewhat from Wright's reading owing to its inaccuracy], 70-2, 496. Marquardt: Das Privatleben der Römer, by J. Marquardt (Leipsic, 1886), 650. Martin: A Description of the Western Islands of Scotland, by M. Martin (London, 1703), 615, 691, 692. Maspero: see 682. Maximus: Valerii Maximi factorum dictorumque memorabilium Libri novem ad Tiberium Cæsarem Augustum (the Didot ed., Paris, 1871), 623. Mela: Pomponii Melæ de Chorographia Libri Tres, ed. Gustavus Parthey (Berlin, 1867), 331, 550. Meyer: Festschrift Whitley Stokes, dedicated by Kuno Meyer and others (Leipsic, 1900), 645. ,, : The Vision of MacConglinne, edited with a translation by Kuno Meyer (London, 1892), 393, 501. Meyer: Zeitschrift für celtische Philologie, edited by Kuno Meyer and L. C. Stern (Halle, 1897-), 500. Meyer: Romania, Recueil trimestriel consacré à l'Étude des Langues et des Littératures romanes, edited by Paul Meyer and Gaston Paris (vol. xxviii. Paris, 1899), 690, 693, 694. Meyrick: The History and Antiquities of the County of Cardigan, by Samuel Rush Meyrick (London, 1808), 579. Milton: English Poems, by John Milton, 288. Mind, a quarterly review of psychology and philosophy, edited by G. F. Stout (London, 1876-), 633. Mommsen: Heortologie, antiquarische Untersuchungen über die städtischen Feste der Athener, by August Mommsen (Leipsic, 1864), 310. Monthly Packet, the, now edited by C. R. Coleridge and Arthur Innes (London, 1851-), 416, 417. Moore: The Folk-Lore of the Isle of Man, by A. W. Moore (London, 1891), 284. ,, : The Surnames and Place-names of the Isle of Man, by A. W. Moore (London, 1890), 311, 332, 334. Morgan: An Antiquarian Survey of East Gower, Glamorganshire, by W. Ll. Morgan (London, 1899), 404. Morganwg: Hanes Morganwg, by Dafyd Morganwg [D. W. Jones, F.G.S.] (Aberdare, 1874) [an octavo volume issued to subscribers, and so scarce now that I had to borrow a copy], 356. Morris: Celtic Remains, by Lewis Morris, edited by Silvan Evans and printed for the Cambrian Archæological Association (London, 1878), 148, 413, 564, 566, 694. Myrdin: Prophwydoliaeth Myrdin Wyllt: see 485. Nennius: Nennius und Gildas, edited by San-Marte (Berlin, 1844), 281, 406, 407, 537-9, 570. New English Dictionary, edited by Dr. James H. Murray and Henry Bradley (London and Oxford, 1884-), 317. Nicholson: Golspie, contributions to its folklore, collected and edited by Edward W. B. Nicholson (London, 1897), 317. Nicholson: The Poetical Works of Wm. Nicholson (3rd ed., Castle Douglas, 1878), 325. Notes and Queries (Bream's Buildings, Chancery Lane, E.C.), 563. ,, : Choice Notes from 'Notes and Queries,' consisting of folklore (London, 1859), 140, 213, 217, 325, 418, 453, 454, 494, 596, 601, 611, 612. Nutt: The Voyage of Bran son of Febal to the Land of the Living, by Kuno Meyer and Alfred Nutt (London, 1895, 1897), 618, 620, 622, 657, 662. ,, : Studies on the Legend of the Holy Grail, by Alfred Nutt (London, 1888), 287, 438, 548. O'Curry: On the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, a series of lectures delivered by the late Eugene O'Curry (London, 1873), 375, 392, 617, 632: see also Curry. O'Donovan: Annals of the Kingdom of Ireland by the Four Masters, from the earliest period to the year 1616, edited by John O'Donovan (2nd ed., Dublin, 1856), 414, 426-8, 433, 546, 569. O'Grady: Silva Gadelica, a collection of tales in Irish, with extracts illustrating persons and places, edited from manuscripts and translated by Dr. S. H. O'Grady (London, 1892), 381, 437. O'Reilly: An Irish-English Dictionary, by Edward O'Reilly, with a supplement by John O'Donovan (Dublin, 1864), 142. Oliver: Monumenta de Insula Manniæ, being vol. iv of the publications of the Manx Society, by J. R. Oliver (Douglas, 1860), 314, 334. Owen: Ancient Laws and Institutes of Wales, edited by Aneurin Owen for the Public Records Commission (London, 1841), 421. Owen: Welsh Folk-Lore, a collection of the folk-tales and legends of North Wales, being the prize essay of the National Eistedfod in 1887, by the Rev. Elias Owen (Oswestry and Wrexham, 1896), 222, 275, 690. Owen: The Poetical Works of the Rev. Goronwy Owen, with his life and correspondence, edited by the Rev. Robert Jones (London, 1876), 84. Owen: The Description of Pembrokeshire, by George Owen of Henllys, edited with notes and an appendix by Henry Owen (London, 1892), 506, 513, 515. Owen: The Cambrian Biography, or Historical Notices of celebrated men among the Ancient Britons, by William Owen (London, 1803), 169, 170. Paris: Merlin, Roman en Prose du XIIIe Siècle, edited by Gaston Paris and Jacob Ulrich (Paris, 1886), 563. Parthey: Itinerarium Antonini Augusti et Hierosolymitanum ex Libris manu scriptis, edited by G. Parthey and M. Pinder (Berlin, 1848), 514. Pembroke County Guardian, the, a newspaper owned and edited by H. W. Williams and published at Solva, 160, 171, 172. Pennant: A Tour in Scotland, by Thomas Pennant (Warrington, 1774), 310. ,, : A Tour in Scotland and a Voyage to the Hebrides, MDCCLXXII, by Thomas Pennant (Chester, 1774), 692. ,, : Tours in Wales, by Thomas Pennant, edited by J. Rhys (Carnarvon, 1883), 125, 130, 532. Phillimore: Annales Cambriæ and Old-Welsh Genealogies from Harleian MS. 3859, edited by Egerton Phillimore, in vol. ix of the Cymmrodor, 408, 476, 480, 551, 570. Phillips: The Book of Common Prayer in Manx Gaelic, being translations made by Bishop Phillips in 1610 and by the Manx clergy in 1765; edited by A. W. Moore, assisted by John Rhys, and printed for the Manx Society (Douglas, 1893, 1894), 320. Plautus: T. Macci Plauti Asinaria, from the text of Goetz and Schoell, by J. H. Gray (Cambridge, 1894), 535. Plutarch: De Defectu Oraculorum (the Didot ed., Paris, 1870), 331, 456, 493, 494. Powysland: Collections, historical and archæological, relating to Montgomeryshire and its Borders, issued by the Powysland Club (London, 1868-), 237. Preller: Griechische Mythologie, von L. Preller, vierte Auflage von Carl Robert (Berlin, 1887), 310. Price: Hanes Cymru a Chenedl y Cymry o'r Cynoesoed hyd at farwolaeth Llewelyn ap Gruffyd, by the Rev. Thomas Price 'Carnhuanawc' (Crickhowel, 1842), 490. Ptolemy: Claudii Ptolemæi Geographia: e Codicibus recognovit Carolus Müllerus (vol. i, Paris, 1883), 385, 387, 388, 445, 581. Pughe: The Physicians of Mydvai (Medygon Mydfai), translated by John Pughe of Aberdovey, and edited by the Rev. John Williams Ab Ithel (Llandovery, 1861) [this volume has an introduction consisting of the Legend of Llyn y Fan Fach, contributed by Mr. William Rees of Tonn, who collected it, in the year 1841, from various sources named], 2, 12. Pughe: A Dictionary of the Welsh Language explained in English, by Dr. Wm. Owen Pughe (2nd ed., Denbigh, 1832), 383, 502. Rastell: A. C. Mery Talys, printed by John Rastell, reprinted in Hazlitt's Shakespeare Jest-books (London, 1844), 599. Rees: An Essay on the Welsh Saints or the primitive Christians usually considered to have been the founders of Churches in Wales, by the Rev. Rice Rees (London and Llandovery, 1836), 163, 217, 396, 534. Rees: Lives of the Cambro-British Saints, by the Rev. W. J. Rees, published for the Welsh MSS. Society (Llandovery, 1853), 693. Rennes: Annales de Bretagne publiées par la Faculté des Lettres de Rennes (Rennes, 1886-), 500. Revue Archéologique (new series, vol. xxiii, Paris, 1800-), 386. Rhys: Celtic Britain, by John Rhys (2nd ed., London, 1884), 72. ,, : Lectures on Welsh Philology, by John Rhys (2nd ed., London, 1879), 566. ,, : Hibbert Lectures, 1886, on the origin and growth of religion as illustrated by Celtic heathendom, by John Rhys (London, 1888), 310, 321, 328, 331, 373, 387, 432, 435, 444, 447, 511, 542, 570, 613, 654, 657, 694. Rhys: Studies in the Arthurian Legend, by John Rhys (Oxford, 1891), 217, 287, 331, 375, 382, 387, 435, 438-41, 466, 494, 496, 561, 573, 610, 613. Rhys: Cambrobrytannicæ Cymraecæve Linguæ Institutiones et Rudimenta ... conscripta à Joanne Dauide Rhæso, Monensi Lanuaethlæo Cambrobrytanno, Medico Senensi (London, 1592), 22, 225. Richard: The Poetical Works of the Rev. Edward Richard (London, 1811), 577. Richards: A Welsh and English Dictionary, by Thomas Richards (Trefriw, 1815) 378. Roberts: The Cambrian Popular Antiquities, by Peter Roberts, (London, 1815), 396. Rosellini: see 682. Rymer: Foedera, Conventiones, Literæ et cujuscunque Generis Acta publica inter Reges Angliæ et alios quosvis Imperatores, Reges, Pontifices, Principes, vel Communitates, edited by Thomas Rymer (vol. viii, London, 1709), 490. Sale: The Koran, translated into English with explanatory notes and a preliminary discourse, by George Sale (London, 1877), 608. Sampson: Otia Merseiana, the publication of the Arts Faculty of University College, Liverpool, edited by John Sampson (London), 393, 451. San-Marte: Beiträge zur bretonischen und celtisch-germanischen Heldensage, by San-Marte (Quedlinburg, 1847), 611. Schwan: Grammatik des Altfranzösischen, by Eduard Schwan (Leipsic, 1888), 563. Scotland: Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland (Edinburgh), 244. Scott: the Works of Sir Walter Scott, 320, 643, 689. Sébillot: Traditions et Superstitions de la Haute-Bretagne, by Paul Sébillot (Paris, 1882), 273. Shakespeare: The Plays and Poems of Shakespeare, 197, 636, 694. Sikes: British Goblins, Welsh Folk-lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends and Traditions, by Wirt Sikes (London, 1880), 17, 18, 99, 155, 160, 173, 191, 192. Silvan Evans: Dictionary of the Welsh Language (Geiriadur Cymraeg), by D. Silvan Evans (Carmarthen, 1888-), 387, 431, 539, 580, 620, 621. ,, ,, : Y Brython, a periodical in Welsh for Welsh antiquities and folklore, edited by the Rev. D. S. Evans, and published by Robert Isaac Jones at Tremadoc (in quarto for 1858 and 1859, in octavo for 1860-2), 40, 73, 86, 98, 134, 137, 141, 151-5, 158-60, 202, 321, 413, 442, 456, 464, 470, 481, 690. ,, ,, : Ystên Sioned, by D. Silvan Evans (Aberystwyth, 1882), 271-3. Simrock: Die Edda, die ältere und jüngere, nebst den mythischen Erzählungen der Skalda, translated and explained by Karl Simrock (Stuttgart, 1855), 652. Sinclair: The Statistical Account of Scotland, drawn up from the communications of the ministers of the different parishes, by Sir John Sinclair (Edinburgh, 1794), 310. Skene: Chronicles of the Picts, Chronicles of the Scots, and other Memorials of Scottish History, edited by Wm. F. Skene (Edinburgh, 1867), 374. Skene: The Four Ancient Books of Wales, by Wm. F. Skene (Edinburgh, 1868) [vol. ii contains, besides notes and illustrations, the text of the Black Book of Carmarthen, 3-61; the Book of Aneurin, 62-107; the Book of Taliessin, 108-217; and some of the poetry in the Red Book of Hergest, 218-308. These four texts are to be found translated in vol. i], 226, 233, 269, 281, 387, 442, 541, 543, 550, 614-7. South Wales Daily News (Duncan, Cardiff), 376. Southey: Madoc, a poem by Robert Southey (London, 1815), 169-71. Speed: The Theatre of the Empire of Great Britaine, by John Speed [not Speede] (London, 1611), 208. Steinmeyer: Die althochdeutschen Glossen, collected and elaborated by Elias Steinmeyer and Eduard Sievers (Berlin, 1879-98), 683. Stengel: Li Romans de Durmart le Galois, altfranzösisches Rittergedicht, published for the first time by Edmund Stengel (Tübingen, 1873), 438. Stephens: The Gododin of Aneurin Gwawdryd, with an English translation and copious notes, by Thomas Stephens; edited by Professor Powel, and printed for the Cymmrodorion Society (London, 1888), 310, 543, 647. Stevenson: The Scottish Antiquary or Northern Notes and Queries, edited by J. H. Stevenson (Edinburgh, 1886-), 693. Stokes: Cormac's Glossary: see Cormac. ,, : Goidelica, Old and Early-Middle-Irish Glosses, Prose and Verse, edited by Whitley Stokes (2nd ed., London, 1872), 295, 374. ,, : Irische Texte mit Uebersetzungen und Wörterbuch, edited by Whitley Stokes and E. Windisch (3rd series, Leipsic, 1891), 631. ,, : The Tripartite Life of Patrick, edited, with translations and indexes, by Whitley Stokes (Rolls Series, London, 1887), 535. ,, : Urkeltischer Sprachschatz von Whitley Stokes, übersetzt, überarbeitet und herausgegeben von Adalbert Bezzenberger, forming the second part of the fourth edition of Fick's Vergleichendes Wörterbuch der indogermanischen Sprachen (Gottingen, 1894), 671. Strabo: Strabonis Geographica recognovit Augustus Meineke (Leipsic, 1852-3), 654. Sturlæus: Edda Snorronis Sturlæi (Copenhagen, 1848), 652. Tacitus: Cornelii Taciti de Origine et Situ Germanorum Liber, edited by Alfred Holder (Freiburg i. B., and Tübingen, 1882), 271. Taliesin, a Welsh periodical published at Ruthin in 1859-60, 135-7, 269. Taliessin: The Book of Taliessin (see Skene), 550, 614-7. Tegid: Gwaith Bardonol y diwedar barch. John Jones 'Tegid' [also called Joan Tegid], edited by the Rev. Henry Roberts (Llandovery, 1859), 445. Triads: [The so-called Historical Triads, referred to in this volume, are to be found in the Myvyrian Archaiology (London, 1801), series i and ii in vol. ii, 1-22, and (the later) series iii in the same vol., 57-80. In the single-volume edition of the Myvyrian (Denbigh, 1870), they occupy continuously pp. 388-414. Series ii comes from the Red Book of Hergest, and will be found also in the volume of the Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 297-309], 170, 281, 326, 382, 429-31, 433, 440, 441, 443-5, 498, 500, 501, 503-9, 565, 569. Tylor: Primitive Culture, Researches into the Development of Mythology, Philosophy, Religion, Language, Art, and Custom, by Edward Tylor (2nd ed., London, 1873), 290, 329, 601, 603, 641, 658. Twyne: Thomas Twyne's Breuiary of Britayne, a translation of Humfrey Lhuyd's Fragmentum (London, 1573), 412. Ulfilas: Ulfilas, Text, Grammar, and Dictionary, elaborated and edited by F. L. Stamm (Paderborn, 1869), 626. Vigfusson: An Icelandic Dictionary, enlarged and completed by Gudbrand Vigfusson (Oxford, 1874), 288, 652. Vising: see 563. Waldron: A Description of the Isle of Man, by George Waldron, being vol. xi of the Manx Society's publications (Douglas, 1865), 290. Waring: Recollections and Anecdotes of Edward Williams, by Elijah Waring (London, 1850), 458. Westermarck: The History of Human Marriage, by Edward Westermarck (London, 1894), 654. Weyman: From the Memoirs of a Minister of France, by Stanley Weyman (London, 1895), 690. Williams: The English Works of Eliezer Williams, with a memoir of his life by his son, St. George Armstrong Williams (London, 1840), 493. Williams: Brut y Tywysogion, or the Chronicle of the Princes, edited by John Williams Ab Ithel (Rolls Series, London, 1860), 79, 513. Williams: A Biographical Dictionary of Eminent Welshmen, by the Rev. Robert Williams (Llandovery, 1852), 534. ,, : Y Seint Greal, edited with a translation and glossary by the Rev. Robert Williams (London, 1876), 438, 514, 580. Williams: The Doom of Colyn Dolphyn, by Taliesin Williams (London, 1837), 561. ,, : Traethawd ar Gywreined Glynn Ned, by Taliesin Williams: see 439. Williams: Observations on the Snowdon Mountains, by William Williams of Llandegai (London, 1802), 48, 673, 674. Windisch: Irische Texte mit Wörterbuch, by Ernst Windisch (Leipsic, 1880), 501, 657. ,, : Kurzgefasste irische Grammatik (Leipsic, 1879), 291, 501, 502, 531, 546, 547, 603, 613, 618, 691. ,, : Über die irische Sage Noinden Ulad, in the Berichte der k. sächs. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften (phil.-historische Classe, Dec. 1884), 654. Woodall: Bye-gones, a periodical reissue of notes, queries, and replies on subjects relating to Wales and the Borders, published in the columns of The Border Counties Advertizer, by Messrs. Woodall, Minshall & Co. of the Caxton Press, Oswestry, 169, 378. Wood-Martin: Pagan Ireland, by W. G. Wood-Martin (London, 1895), 612. Worth: A History of Devonshire, with Sketches of its leading Worthies, by R. N. Worth (London, 1895), 307. Wright: The English Dialect Dictionary, edited by Professor Joseph Wright (London and Oxford, 1898-), 66. Wynne: The History of the Gwydir Family, published by Angharad Llwyd in the year 1827, and by Askew Roberts at Oswestry in 1878, 490, 491, 670. Y Cymmrodor, the magazine embodying the transactions of the Cymmrodorion Society of London (Secretary, E. Vincent Evans, 64 Chancery Lane, W.C.), 374, 384, 480, 510, 513, 520, 600, 610, 690, 693, 694. Y Drych, a newspaper published at Utica in the United States of North America, 234. Y Gordofigion, an extinct Welsh periodical: see p. 450. Y Gwyliedyd, a magazine of useful knowledge intended for the benefit of monoglot Welshmen (Bala, 1823-37), 450. Y Nofelyd, a Welsh periodical published by Mr. Aubrey, of Llannerch y Med, 396. Young: Burghead, by H. W. Young (Inverness, 1899), 345. CELTIC FOLKLORE WELSH AND MANX Gallias utique possedit, et quidem ad nostram memoriam. Namque Tiberii Cæsaris principatus sustulit Druidas eorum, et hoc genus vatum medicorumque. Sed quid ego hæc commemorem in arte Oceanum quoque transgressa, et ad naturæ inane pervecta? Britannia hodieque eam attonite celebrat tantis cerimoniis, ut dedisse Persis videri possit. Adeo ista toto mundo consensere, quamquam discordi et sibi ignoto. Nec satis æstimari potest, quantum Romanis debeatur, qui sustulere monstra, in quibus hominem occidere religiosissimum erat, mandi vero etiam saluberrimum. Pliny, Historia Naturalis, XXX. 4. Pline fait remarquer que ces pratiques antipathiques au génie grec sont d'origine médique. Nous les rencontrons en Europe à l'état de survivances. L'universalité de ces superstitions prouve en effet qu'elles émanent d'une source unique qui n'est pas européenne. Il est difficile de les considérer comme un produit de l'esprit aryen; il faut remonter plus haut pour en trouver l'origine. Si, en Gaule, en Grande-Bretagne, en Irlande, tant de superstitions relevant de la magie existaient encore au temps de Pline enracinées dans les esprits à tel point que le grand naturaliste pouvait dire, à propos de la Bretagne, qu'il semblait que ce fût elle qui avait donné la magie à la Perse, c'est qu'en Gaule, en Grande-Bretagne, et en Irlande le fond de la population était composé d'éléments étrangers à la race aryenne, comme les faits archéologiques le démontrent, ainsi que le reconnait notre éminent confrère et ami, M. d'Arbois de Jubainville lui-même. Alexandre Bertrand, La Religion des Gaulois, pp. 55, 56. Une croyance universellement admise dans le monde lettré, en France et hors de France, fait des Français les fils des Gaulois qui ont pris Rome en 390 avant Jésus-Christ, et que César a vaincus au milieu du premier siècle avant notre ère. On croit que nous sommes des Gaulois, survivant à toutes les révolutions qui depuis tant de siècles ont bouleversé le monde. C'est une idée préconçue que, suivant moi, la science doit rejeter. Seuls à peu près, les archéologues ont vu la vérité.... Les pierres levées, les cercles de pierre, les petites cabanes construites en gros blocs de pierre pour servir de dernier asile aux défunts, étaient, croyait-on, des monuments celtiques.... On donnait à ces rustiques témoignages d'une civilisation primitive des noms bretons, ou néo-celtiques de France; on croyait naïvement, en reproduisant des mots de cette langue moderne, parler comme auraient fait, s'ils avaient pu revenir à la vie, ceux qui ont remué ces lourdes pierres, ceux qui les ont fixées debout sur le sol ou même élevées sur d'autres.... Mais ceux qui ont dressé les pierres levées, les cercles de pierres; ceux qui ont construit les cabanes funéraires ne parlaient pas celtique et le breton diffère du celtique comme le français du latin. H. d'Arbois de Jubainville, Les premiers Habitants de l'Europe, II. xi-xiii. CHAPTER I UNDINE'S KYMRIC SISTERS Undine, liebes Bildchen du, Seit ich zuerst aus alten Kunden Dein seltsam Leuchten aufgefunden, Wie sangst du oft mein Herz in Ruh! De la Motte Fouqué. The chief object of this and several of the following chapters is to place on record all the matter I can find on the subject of Welsh lake legends: what I may have to say of them is merely by the way and sporadic, and I should feel well paid for my trouble if these contributions should stimulate others to communicate to the public bits of similar legends, which, possibly, still linger unrecorded among the mountains of Wales. For it should be clearly understood that all such things bear on the history of the Welsh, as the history of no people can be said to have been written so long as its superstitions and beliefs in past times have not been studied; and those who may think that the legends here recorded are childish and frivolous, may rest assured that they bear on questions which could not themselves be called either childish or frivolous. So, however silly a legend may be thought, let him who knows such a legend communicate it to somebody who will place it on record; he will then probably find that it has more meaning and interest than he had anticipated. I. I find it best to begin by reproducing a story which has already been placed on record: this appears desirable on account of its being the most complete of its kind, and the one with which shorter ones can most readily be compared. I allude to the legend of the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach in Carmarthenshire, which I take the liberty of copying from Mr. Rees of Tonn's version in the introduction to The Physicians of Mydvai [1], published by the Welsh Manuscript Society, at Llandovery, in 1861. There he says that he wrote it down from the oral recitations, which I suppose were in Welsh, of John Evans, tiler, of Mydfai, David Williams, Morfa, near Mydfai, who was about ninety years old at the time, and Elizabeth Morgan, of Henllys Lodge, near Llandovery, who was a native of the same village of Mydfai; to this it may be added that he acknowledges obligations also to Joseph Joseph, Esq., F.S.A., Brecon, for collecting particulars from the old inhabitants of the parish of Llandeusant. The legend, as given by Mr. Rees in English, runs as follows, and strongly reminds one in certain parts of the Story of Undine as given in the German of De la Motte Fouqué, with which it should be compared:-- 'When the eventful struggle made by the Princes of South Wales to preserve the independence of their country was drawing to its close in the twelfth century, there lived at Blaensawde [2] near Llandeusant, Carmarthenshire, a widowed woman, the relict of a farmer who had fallen in those disastrous troubles. 'The widow had an only son to bring up, but Providence smiled upon her, and despite her forlorn condition, her live stock had so increased in course of time, that she could not well depasture them upon her farm, so she sent a portion of her cattle to graze on the adjoining Black Mountain, and their most favourite place was near the small lake called Llyn y Fan Fach, on the north-western side of the Carmarthenshire Fans. 'The son grew up to manhood, and was generally sent by his mother to look after the cattle on the mountain. One day, in his peregrinations along the margin of the lake, to his great astonishment, he beheld, sitting on the unruffled surface of the water, a lady; one of the most beautiful creatures that mortal eyes ever beheld, her hair flowed gracefully in ringlets over her shoulders, the tresses of which she arranged with a comb, whilst the glassy surface of her watery couch served for the purpose of a mirror, reflecting back her own image. Suddenly she beheld the young man standing on the brink of the lake, with his eyes riveted on her, and unconsciously offering to herself the provision of barley bread and cheese with which he had been provided when he left his home. 'Bewildered by a feeling of love and admiration for the object before him, he continued to hold out his hand towards the lady, who imperceptibly glided near to him, but gently refused the offer of his provisions. He attempted to touch her, but she eluded his grasp, saying-- Cras dy fara; Hard baked is thy bread! Nid hawd fy nala. 'Tis not easy to catch me [3]; and immediately dived under the water and disappeared, leaving the love-stricken youth to return home, a prey to disappointment and regret that he had been unable to make further acquaintance with one, in comparison with whom the whole of the fair maidens of Llandeusant and Mydfai [4] whom he had ever seen were as nothing. On his return home the young man communicated to his mother the extraordinary vision he had beheld. She advised him to take some unbaked dough or "toes" the next time in his pocket, as there must have been some spell connected with the hard-baked bread, or "Bara cras," which prevented his catching the lady. 'Next morning, before the sun had gilded with its rays the peaks of the Fans, the young man was at the lake, not for the purpose of looking after his mother's cattle, but seeking for the same enchanting vision he had witnessed the day before; but all in vain did he anxiously strain his eyeballs and glance over the surface of the lake, as only the ripples occasioned by a stiff breeze met his view, and a cloud hung heavily on the summit of the Fan, which imparted an additional gloom to his already distracted mind. 'Hours passed on, the wind was hushed, and the clouds which had enveloped the mountain had vanished into thin air before the powerful beams of the sun, when the youth was startled by seeing some of his mother's cattle on the precipitous side of the acclivity, nearly on the opposite side of the lake. His duty impelled him to attempt to rescue them from their perilous position, for which purpose he was hastening away, when, to his inexpressible delight, the object of his search again appeared to him as before, and seemed much more beautiful than when he first beheld her. His hand was again held out to her, full of unbaked bread, which he offered with an urgent proffer of his heart also, and vows of eternal attachment. All of which were refused by her, saying-- Llaith dy fara! Unbaked is thy bread! Ti ni fynna'. I will not have thee [5]. But the smiles that played upon her features as the lady vanished beneath the waters raised within the young man a hope that forbade him to despair by her refusal of him, and the recollection of which cheered him on his way home. His aged parent was made acquainted with his ill-success, and she suggested that his bread should next time be but slightly baked, as most likely to please the mysterious being of whom he had become enamoured. 'Impelled by an irresistible feeling, the youth left his mother's house early next morning, and with rapid steps he passed over the mountain. He was soon near the margin of the lake, and with all the impatience of an ardent lover did he wait with a feverish anxiety for the reappearance of the mysterious lady. 'The sheep and goats browsed on the precipitous sides of the Fan; the cattle strayed amongst the rocks and large stones, some of which were occasionally loosened from their beds and suddenly rolled down into the lake; rain and sunshine alike came and passed away; but all were unheeded by the youth, so wrapped up was he in looking for the appearance of the lady. 'The freshness of the early morning had disappeared before the sultry rays of the noon-day sun, which in its turn was fast verging towards the west as the evening was dying away and making room for the shades of night, and hope had wellnigh abated of beholding once more the Lady of the Lake. The young man cast a sad and last farewell look over the waters, and, to his astonishment, beheld several cows walking along its surface. The sight of these animals caused hope to revive that they would be followed by another object far more pleasing; nor was he disappointed, for the maiden reappeared, and to his enraptured sight, even lovelier than ever. She approached the land, and he rushed to meet her in the water. A smile encouraged him to seize her hand; neither did she refuse the moderately baked bread he offered her; and after some persuasion she consented to become his bride, on condition that they should only live together until she received from him three blows without a cause, Tri ergyd diachos. Three causeless blows. And if he ever should happen to strike her three such blows she would leave him for ever. To such conditions he readily consented, and would have consented to any other stipulation, had it been proposed, as he was only intent on then securing such a lovely creature for his wife. 'Thus the Lady of the Lake engaged to become the young man's wife, and having loosed her hand for a moment she darted away and dived into the lake. His chagrin and grief were such that he determined to cast himself headlong into the deepest water, so as to end his life in the element that had contained in its unfathomed depths the only one for whom he cared to live on earth. As he was on the point of committing this rash act, there emerged out of the lake two most beautiful ladies, accompanied by a hoary-headed man of noble mien and extraordinary stature, but having otherwise all the force and strength of youth. This man addressed the almost bewildered youth in accents calculated to soothe his troubled mind, saying that as he proposed to marry one of his daughters, he consented to the union, provided the young man could distinguish which of the two ladies before him was the object of his affections. This was no easy task, as the maidens were such perfect counterparts of each other that it seemed quite impossible for him to choose his bride, and if perchance he fixed upon the wrong one all would be for ever lost. 'Whilst the young man narrowly scanned the two ladies, he could not perceive the least difference betwixt the two, and was almost giving up the task in despair, when one of them thrust her foot a slight degree forward. The motion, simple as it was, did not escape the observation of the youth, and he discovered a trifling variation in the mode with which their sandals were tied. This at once put an end to the dilemma, for he, who had on previous occasions been so taken up with the general appearance of the Lady of the Lake, had also noticed the beauty of her feet and ankles, and on now recognizing the peculiarity of her shoe-tie he boldly took hold of her hand. '"Thou hast chosen rightly," said her father; "be to her a kind and faithful husband, and I will give her, as a dowry, as many sheep, cattle, goats, and horses as she can count of each without heaving or drawing in her breath. But remember, that if you prove unkind to her at any time, and strike her three times without a cause, she shall return to me, and shall bring all her stock back with her." 'Such was the verbal marriage settlement, to which the young man gladly assented, and his bride was desired to count the number of sheep she was to have. She immediately adopted the mode of counting by fives, thus:--One, two, three, four, five--One, two, three, four, five; as many times as possible in rapid succession, till her breath was exhausted. The same process of reckoning had to determine the number of goats, cattle, and horses respectively; and in an instant the full number of each came out of the lake when called upon by the father. 'The young couple were then married, by what ceremony was not stated, and afterwards went to reside at a farm called Esgair Llaethdy, somewhat more than a mile from the village of Mydfai, where they lived in prosperity and happiness for several years, and became the parents of three sons, who were beautiful children. 'Once upon a time there was a christening to take place in the neighbourhood, to which the parents were specially invited. When the day arrived the wife appeared very reluctant to attend the christening, alleging that the distance was too great for her to walk. Her husband told her to fetch one of the horses which were grazing in an adjoining field. "I will," said she, "if you will bring me my gloves which I left in our house." He went to the house and returned with the gloves, and finding that she had not gone for the horse jocularly slapped her shoulder with one of them, saying, "go! go!" (dos, dos), when she reminded him of the understanding upon which she consented to marry him:--That he was not to strike her without a cause; and warned him to be more cautious for the future. 'On another occasion, when they were together at a wedding, in the midst of the mirth and hilarity of the assembled guests, who had gathered together from all the surrounding country, she burst into tears and sobbed most piteously. Her husband touched her on her shoulder and inquired the cause of her weeping: she said, "Now people are entering into trouble, and your troubles are likely to commence, as you have the second time stricken me without a cause." 'Years passed on, and their children had grown up, and were particularly clever young men. In the midst of so many worldly blessings at home the husband almost forgot that there remained only one causeless blow to be given to destroy the whole of his prosperity. Still he was watchful lest any trivial occurrence should take place which his wife must regard as a breach of their marriage contract. She told him, as her affection for him was unabated, to be careful that he would not, through some inadvertence, give the last and only blow, which, by an unalterable destiny, over which she had no control, would separate them for ever. 'It, however, so happened that one day they were together at a funeral, where, in the midst of the mourning and grief at the house of the deceased, she appeared in the highest and gayest spirits, and indulged in immoderate fits of laughter, which so shocked her husband that he touched her, saying, "Hush! hush! don't laugh." She said that she laughed "because people when they die go out of trouble," and, rising up, she went out of the house, saying, "The last blow has been struck, our marriage contract is broken, and at an end! Farewell!" Then she started off towards Esgair Llaethdy, where she called her cattle and other stock together, each by name. The cattle she called thus:-- Mu wlfrech, Moelfrech, Brindled cow, white speckled, Mu olfrech, Gwynfrech, Spotted cow, bold freckled, Pedair cae tonn-frech, The four field sward mottled, Yr hen wynebwen, The old white-faced, A'r las Geigen, And the grey Geingen, Gyda'r Tarw Gwyn With the white Bull, O lys y Brenin; From the court of the King; A'r llo du bach, And the little black calf Syd ar y bach, Tho' suspended on the hook, Dere dithau, yn iach adre! Come thou also, quite well home! They all immediately obeyed the summons of their mistress. The "little black calf," although it had been slaughtered, became alive again, and walked off with the rest of the stock at the command of the lady. This happened in the spring of the year, and there were four oxen ploughing in one of the fields; to these she cried:-- Pedwar eidion glas The four grey oxen, Syd ar y maes, That are on the field, Denwch chwithan Come you also Yn iach adre! Quite well home! Away the whole of the live stock went with the Lady across Mydfai Mountain, towards the lake from whence they came, a distance of above six miles, where they disappeared beneath its waters, leaving no trace behind except a well-marked furrow, which was made by the plough the oxen drew after them into the lake, and which remains to this day as a testimony to the truth of this story. 'What became of the affrighted ploughman--whether he was left on the field when the oxen set off, or whether he followed them to the lake, has not been handed down to tradition; neither has the fate of the disconsolate and half-ruined husband been kept in remembrance. But of the sons it is stated that they often wandered about the lake and its vicinity, hoping that their mother might be permitted to visit the face of the earth once more, as they had been apprised of her mysterious origin, her first appearance to their father, and the untoward circumstances which so unhappily deprived them of her maternal care. 'In one of their rambles, at a place near Dôl Howel, at the Mountain Gate, still called "Llidiad y Medygon," The Physicians' Gate, the mother appeared suddenly, and accosted her eldest son, whose name was Rhiwallon, and told him that his mission on earth was to be a benefactor to mankind by relieving them from pain and misery, through healing all manner of their diseases; for which purpose she furnished him with a bag full of medical prescriptions and instructions for the preservation of health. That by strict attention thereto he and his family would become for many generations the most skilful physicians in the country. Then, promising to meet him when her counsel was most needed, she vanished. But on several occasions she met her sons near the banks of the lake, and once she even accompanied them on their return home as far as a place still called "Pant-y-Medygon," The dingle of the Physicians, where she pointed out to them the various plants and herbs which grew in the dingle, and revealed to them their medicinal qualities or virtues; and the knowledge she imparted to them, together with their unrivalled skill, soon caused them to attain such celebrity that none ever possessed before them. And in order that their knowledge should not be lost, they wisely committed the same to writing, for the benefit of mankind throughout all ages.' To the legend Mr. Rees added the following notes, which we reproduce also at full length:-- 'And so ends the story of the Physicians of Mydfai, which has been handed down from one generation to another, thus:-- Yr hên wr llwyd o'r cornel, The grey old man in the corner Gan ci dad a glywod chwedel [6], Of his father heard a story, A chan ci dad fe glywod yntau Which from his father he had heard, Ac ar ei ôl mi gofiais innau. And after them I have remembered. As stated in the introduction of the present work [i.e. the Physicians of Mydvai], Rhiwallon and his sons became Physicians to Rhys Gryg, Lord of Llandovery and Dynefor Castles, "who gave them rank, lands, and privileges at Mydfai for their maintenance in the practice of their art and science, and the healing and benefit of those who should seek their help," thus affording to those who could not afford to pay, the best medical advice and treatment gratuitously. Such a truly royal foundation could not fail to produce corresponding effects. So the fame of the Physicians of Mydfai was soon established over the whole country, and continued for centuries among their descendants. 'The celebrated Welsh Bard, Dafyd ap Gwilym, who flourished in the following century, and was buried at the Abbey of Tal-y-llychau [7], in Carmarthenshire, about the year 1368, says in one of his poems, as quoted in Dr. Davies' dictionary-- Medyg ni wnai mod y gwnaeth A Physician he would not make Mydfai, o chai dyn medfaeth. As Mydfai made, if he had a mead fostered man. Of the above lands bestowed upon the Medygon, there are two farms in Mydfai parish still called "Llwyn Ifan Fedyg," the Grove of Evan the Physician; and "Llwyn Meredyd Fedyg," the Grove of Meredith the Physician. Esgair Llaethdy, mentioned in the foregoing legend, was formerly in the possession of the above descendants, and so was Ty newyd, near Mydfai, which was purchased by Mr. Holford, of Cilgwyn, from the Rev. Charles Lloyd, vicar of Llandefalle, Breconshire, who married a daughter of one of the Medygon, and had the living of Llandefalle from a Mr. Vaughan, who presented him to the same out of gratitude, because Mr. Lloyd's wife's father had cured him of a disease in the eye. As Mr. Lloyd succeeded to the above living in 1748, and died in 1800, it is probable that the skilful oculist was John Jones, who is mentioned in the following inscription on a tombstone at present fixed against the west end of Mydfai Church:-- HERE Lieth the body of Mr. DAVID JONES, of Mothvey, Surgeon, who was an honest, charitable, and skilful man. He died September 14th, Anno Dom 1719, aged 61. JOHN JONES, Surgeon, Eldest son of the said David Jones, departed this life the 25th of November, 1739, in the 44th year of his Age, and also lyes interred hereunder. These appear to have been the last of the Physicians who practised at Mydfai. The above John Jones resided for some time at Llandovery, and was a very eminent surgeon. One of his descendants, named John Lewis, lived at Cwmbran, Mydfai, at which place his great-grandson, Mr. John Jones, now resides. 'Dr. Morgan Owen, Bishop of Llandaff, who died at Glasallt, parish of Mydfai, in 1645, was a descendant of the Medygon, and an inheritor of much of their landed property in that parish, the bulk of which he bequeathed to his nephew, Morgan Owen, who died in 1667, and was succeeded by his son Henry Owen; and at the decease of the last of whose descendants, Robert Lewis, Esq., the estates became, through the will of one of the family, the property of the late D. A. S. Davies, Esq., M.P. for Carmarthenshire. 'Bishop Owen bequeathed to another nephew, Morgan ap Rees, son of Rees ap John, a descendant of the Medygon, the farm of Rhyblid, and some other property. Morgan ap Rees' son, Samuel Rice, resided at Loughor, in Gower, Glamorganshire, and had a son, Morgan Rice, who was a merchant in London, and became Lord of the Manor of Tooting Graveney, and High Sheriff in the year 1772, and Deputy Lieutenant of the county of Surrey, 1776. He resided at Hill House, which he built. At his death the whole of his property passed to his only child, John Rice, Esq., whose eldest son, the Rev. John Morgan Rice, inherited the greater portion of his estates. The head of the family is now the Rev. Horatio Morgan Rice, rector of South Hill with Callington, Cornwall, and J.P. for the county, who inherited, with other property, a small estate at Loughor. The above Morgan Rice had landed property in Llanmadock and Llangenith, as well as Loughor, in Gower, but whether he had any connexion with Howel the Physician (ap Rhys ap Llywelyn ap Philip the Physician, and lineal descendant from Einion ap Rhiwallon), who resided at Cilgwryd in Gower, is not known. 'Amongst other families who claim descent from the Physicians were the Bowens of Cwmydw, Mydfai; and Jones of Dollgarreg and Penrhock, in the same parish; the latter of whom are represented by Charles Bishop, of Dollgarreg, Esq., Clerk of the Peace for Carmarthenshire, and Thomas Bishop, of Brecon, Esq. 'Rees Williams of Mydfai is recorded as one of the Medygon. His great-grandson was the late Rice Williams, M.D., of Aberystwyth, who died May 16, 1842, aged 85, and appears to have been the last, although not the least eminent, of the Physicians descended from the mysterious Lady of Llyn y Fan [8].' This brings the legend of the Lady of the Fan Lake into connexion with a widely-spread family. There is another connexion between it and modern times, as will be seen from the following statement kindly made to me by the Rev. A. G. Edwards, Warden of the Welsh College at Llandovery, since then appointed Bishop of St. Asaph: 'An old woman from Mydfai, who is now, that is to say in January 1881, about eighty years of age, tells me that she remembers "thousands and thousands of people visiting the Lake of the Little Fan on the first Sunday or Monday in August, and when she was young she often heard old men declare that at that time a commotion took place in the lake, and that its waters boiled, which was taken to herald the approach of the Lake Lady and her Oxen."' The custom of going up to the lake on the first Sunday in August was a very well known one in years gone by, as I have learned from a good many people, and it is corroborated by Mr. Joseph Joseph of Brecon, who kindly writes as follows, in reply to some queries of mine: 'On the first Sunday in the month of August, Llyn y Fan Fach is supposed to be boiling (berwi). I have seen scores of people going up to see it (not boiling though) on that day. I do not remember that any of them expected to see the Lady of the Lake.' As to the boiling of the lake I have nothing to say, and I am not sure that there is anything in the following statement made as an explanation of the yearly visit to the lake by an old fisherwoman from Llandovery: 'The best time for eels is in August, when the north-east wind blows on the lake, and makes huge waves in it. The eels can then be seen floating on the waves.' Last summer I went myself to the village of Mydfai, to see if I could pick up any variants of the legend, but I was hardly successful; for though several of the farmers I questioned could repeat bits of the legend, including the Lake Lady's call to her cattle as she went away, I got nothing new, except that one of them said that the youth, when he first saw the Lake Lady at a distance, thought she was a goose--he did not even rise to the conception of a swan--but that by degrees he approached her, and discovered that she was a lady in white, and that in due time they were married, and so on. My friend, the Warden of Llandovery College, seems, however, to have found a bit of a version which may have been still more unlike the one recorded by Mr. Rees of Tonn: it was from an old man at Mydfai last year, from whom he was, nevertheless, only able to extract the statement 'that the Lake Lady got somehow entangled in a farmer's "gambo," and that ever after his farm was very fertile.' A 'gambo,' I ought to explain, is a kind of a cart without sides, used in South Wales: both the name and the thing seem to have come from England, though I cannot find such a word as gambo or gambeau in the ordinary dictionaries. Among other legends about lake fairies, there are, in the third chapter of Mr. Sikes' British Goblins, two versions of this story: the first of them differs but slightly from Mr. Rees', in that the farmer used to go near the lake to see some lambs he had bought at a fair, and that whenever he did so three beautiful damsels appeared to him from the lake. They always eluded his attempts to catch them: they ran away into the lake, saying, Cras dy fara, &c. But one day a piece of moist bread came floating ashore, which he ate, and the next day he had a chat with the Lake Maidens. He proposed marriage to one of them, to which she consented, provided he could distinguish her from her sisters the day after. The story then, so far as I can make out from the brief version which Mr. Sikes gives of it, went on like that of Mr. Rees. The former gives another version, with much more interesting variations, which omit all reference, however, to the Physicians of Mydfai, and relate how a young farmer had heard of the Lake Maiden rowing up and down the lake in a golden boat with a golden scull. He went to the lake on New Year's Eve, saw her, was fascinated by her, and left in despair at her vanishing out of sight, although he cried out to her to stay and be his wife. She faintly replied, and went her way, after he had gazed at her long yellow hair and pale melancholy face. He continued to visit the lake, and grew thin and negligent of his person, owing to his longing. But a wise man, who lived on the mountain, advised him to tempt her with gifts of bread and cheese, which he undertook to do on Midsummer Eve, when he dropped into the lake a large cheese and a loaf of bread. This he did repeatedly, until at last his hopes were fulfilled on New Year's Eve. This time he had gone to the lake clad in his best suit, and at midnight dropped seven white loaves and his biggest and finest cheese into the lake. The Lake Lady by-and-by came in her skiff to where he was, and gracefully stepped ashore. The scene need not be further described: Mr. Sikes gives a picture of it, and the story then proceeds as in the other version. It is a pity that Mr. Rees did not preserve the Welsh versions out of which he pieced together the English one; but as to Mr. Sikes, I cannot discover whence his has been derived, for he seems not to have been too anxious to leave anybody the means of testing his work, as one will find on verifying his references, when he gives any. See also the allusions to him in Hartland's Science of Fairy Tales, pp. 64, 123, 137, 165, 278. Since writing the foregoing notes the following communication has reached me from a friend of my undergraduate days at Jesus College, Oxford, Mr. Llywarch Reynolds of Merthyr Tydfil. Only the first part of it concerns the legend of Llyn y Fan Fach; but as the rest is equally racy I make no apology for publishing it in full without any editing, except the insertion of the meaning of two or three of the Welsh words occurring in it:-- 'Tell Rhys that I have just heard a sequel to the Medygon Mydfai story, got from a rustic on Mynyd y Banwen, between Glynnêd and Glyntawë, on a ramble recently with David Lewis the barrister and Sidney Hartland the folklorist. It was to the effect that after the disappearance of the forwn, "the damsel," into the lake, the disconsolate husband and his friends set to work to drain the lake in order to get at her, if possible. They made a great cutting into the bank, when suddenly a huge hairy monster of hideous aspect emerged from the water and stormed at them for disturbing him, and wound up with this threat:-- Os na cha'i lonyd yn ym lle, If I get no quiet in my place, Fi foda dre' 'Byrhondu! I shall drown the town of Brecon! It was evidently the last braich, "arm," of a Triban Morgannwg, but this was all my informant knew of it. From the allusion to Tre' Byrhondu, it struck me that there was here probably a tale of Llyn Safadon, which had migrated to Llyn y Fan; because of course there would have to be a considerable change in the "levels" before Llyn y Fan and the Sawde could put Brecon in any great jeopardy [9]. 'We also got another tale about a cwmshurwr, "conjurer," who once lived in Ystradgyrlais (as the rustic pronounced it). The wizard was a dyn llaw-harn, "a man with an iron hand"; and it being reported that there was a great treasure hidden in Mynyd y Drum, the wizard said he would secure it, if he could but get some plucky fellow to spend a night with him there. John Gethin was a plucky fellow (dyn "ysprydol"), and he agreed to join the dyn llaw-harn in his diablerie. The wizard traced two rings on the sward touching each other "like a number 8"; he went into one, and Gethin into the other, the wizard strictly charging him on no account to step out of the ring. The llaw-harn then proceeded to trafod 'i lyfrau, or "busy himself with his books"; and there soon appeared a monstrous bull, bellowing dreadfully; but the plucky Gethin held his ground, and the bull vanished. Next came a terrible object, a "fly-wheel of fire," which made straight for poor Gethin and made him swerve out of the ring. Thereupon the wheel assumed the form of the diawl, "devil," who began to haul Gethin away. The llaw-harn seized hold of him and tried to get him back. The devil was getting the upper hand, when the llaw-harn begged the devil to let him keep Gethin while the piece of candle he had with him lasted. The devil consented, and let go his hold of Gethin, whereupon the cwmshurwr immediately blew out the candle, and the devil was discomfited. Gethin preserved the piece of candle very carefully, stowing it away in a cool place; but still it wasted away although it was never lighted. Gethin got such a fright that he took to his bed, and as the candle wasted away he did the same, and they both came to an end simultaneously. Gethin vanished--and it was not his body that was put into the coffin, but a lump of clay which was put in to save appearances! It is said that the wizard's books are in an oaken chest at Waungyrlais farm house to this day. 'We got these tales on a ramble to see "Maen y Gwediau," on the mountain near Coelbren Junction Station on the Neath and Brecon Railway (marked on the Ordnance Map), but we had to turn back owing to the fearful heat.' Before dismissing Mr. Reynolds' letter I may mention a story in point which relates to a lake on the Brecon side of the mountains. It is given at length by the Rev. Edward Davies in his Mythology and Rites of the British Druids (London, 1809), pp. 155-7. According to this legend a door in the rock was to be found open once a year--on May-day, as it is supposed--and from that door one could make one's way to the garden of the fairies, which was an island in the middle of the lake. This paradise of exquisite bliss was invisible, however, to those who stood outside the lake: they could only see an indistinct mass in the centre of the water. Once on a time a visitor tried to carry away some of the flowers given him by the fairies, but he was thereby acting against their law, and not only was he punished with the loss of his senses, but the door has never since been left open. It is also related that once an adventurous person attempted to drain the water away 'in order to discover its contents, when a terrific form arose from the midst of the lake, commanding him to desist, or otherwise he would drown the country.' This form is clearly of the same species as that which, according to Mr. Reynolds' story, threatened to drown the town of Brecon. Subsequent inquiries have elicited more information, and I am more especially indebted to my friend Mr. Ivor James, who, as registrar of the University of Wales, has of late years been living at Brecon. He writes to the following effect:--'The lake you want is Llyn Cwm Llwch, and the legend is very well known locally, but there are variants. Once on a time men and boys dug a gully through the dam in order to let the water out. A man in a red coat, sitting in an armchair, appeared on the surface of the water and threatened them in the terms which you quote from Mr. Reynolds. The red coat would seem to suggest that this form of the legend dates possibly from a time since our soldiers were first clothed in red. In another case, however, the spectre was that of an old woman; and I am told that a somewhat similar story is told in connexion with a well in the castle wall in the parish of Llandew, to the north of this town--Giraldus Cambrensis' parish. A friend of mine is employing his spare time at present in an inquiry into the origin of the lakes of this district, and he tells me that Llyn Cwm Llwch is of glacial origin, its dam being composed, as he thinks, of glacial débris through which the water always percolates into the valley below. But storm water flows over the dam, and in the course of ages has cut for itself a gully, now about ten feet deep at the deepest point, through the embankment. The story was possibly invented to explain that fact. There is no cave to be seen in the rock, and probably there never was one, as the formation is the Old Red Sandstone; and the island was perhaps equally imaginary.' That is the substance of Mr. James' letter, in which he, moreover, refers to J. D. Rhys' account of the lake in his Welsh introduction to his Grammar, published in London in 1592, under the title Cambrobrytannicæ Cymraecæve Linguæ Institutiones et Rudimenta. There the grammarian, in giving some account of himself, mentions his frequent sojourns at the hospitable residence of a nobleman, named M. Morgan Merêdydh, near y Bugeildy ynn Nyphryn Tabhîda o bhywn Swydh Bhaesybhed, that is, 'near the Beguildy in the Valley of the Teme within the county of Radnor.' Then he continues to the following effect:--'But the latter part of this book was thought out under the bushes and green foliage in a bit of a place of my own called y Clun Hîr, at the top of Cwm y Llwch, below the spurs of the mountain of Bannwchdeni, which some call Bann Arthur and others Moel Arthur. Below that moel and in its lap there is a lake of pretty large size, unknown depth, and wondrous nature. For as the stories go, no bird has ever been seen to repair to it or towards it, or to swim on it: it is wholly avoided, and some say that no animals or beasts of any kind are wont to drink of its waters. The peasantry of that country, and especially the shepherds who are wont to frequent these moels and bans, relate many other wonders concerning it and the exceeding strange things beheld at times in connexion with this loch. This lake or loch is called Llyn Cwm y Llwch [10].' II. Before dismissing the story of Llyn y Fan Fach I wish to append a similar one from the parish of Ystrad Dyfodwg in Glamorganshire. The following is a translation of a version given in Welsh in Cyfaill yr Aelwyd a'r Frythones, edited by Elfed and Cadrawd, and published by Messrs. Williams and Son, Llanelly. The version in question is by Cadrawd, and it is to the following effect--see the volume for 1892, p. 59:-- 'Llyn y Forwyn, "the Damsel's Pool," is in the parish of Ystrad Tyfodwg: the inhabitants call it also Llyn Nelferch. It lies about halfway between the farm house of Rhonda Fechan, "Little Rhonda," and the Vale of Safrwch. The ancient tradition concerning it is somewhat as follows:-- 'Once on a time a farmer lived at the Rhonda Fechan: he was unmarried, and as he was walking by the lake early one morning in spring he beheld a young woman of beautiful appearance walking on the other side of it. He approached her and spoke to her: she gave him to understand that her home was in the lake, and that she owned a number of milch cows, that lived with her at the bottom of the water. The farmer fancied her so much that he fell in love with her over head and ears: he asked her on the spot for her hand and heart; and he invited her to come and spend her life with him as his wife at the Rhonda Fechan. She declined at first, but as he was importunate she consented at last on the following conditions, namely, that she would bring her cattle with her out of the lake, and live with him until he and she had three disputes with one another: then, she said, she and the cattle would return into the lake. He agreed to the conditions, and the marriage took place. They lived very happily and comfortably for long years; but the end was that they fell out with one another, and, when they happened to have quarrelled for the third time, she was heard early in the morning driving the cattle towards the lake with these words:-- Prw dre', prw dre', prw'r gwartheg i dre'; Prw Milfach a Malfach, pedair Llualfach, Alfach ac Ali, pedair Ladi, Wynebwen drwynog, tro i'r waun lidiog, Trech llyn y waun odyn, tair Pencethin, Tair caseg du draw yn yr eithin [11]. And into the lake they went out of sight, and there they live to this day. And some believed that they had heard the voice and cry of Nelferch in the whisper of the breeze on the top of the mountain hard by--many a time after that--as an old story (wedal) will have it.' From this it will be seen that the fairy wife's name was supposed to have been Nelferch, and that the piece of water is called after her. But I find that great uncertainty prevails as to the old name of the lake, as I learn from a communication in 1894 from Mr. Llewellyn Williams, living at Porth, only some five miles from the spot, that one of his informants assured him that the name in use among former generations was Llyn Alfach. Mr. Williams made inquiries at the Rhonda Fechan about the lake legend. He was told that the water had long since been known as Llyn y Forwyn, from a morwyn, or damsel, with a number of cattle having been drowned in it. The story of the man who mentioned the name as Llyn Alfach was similar: the maid belonged to the farm of Penrhys, he said, and the young man to the Rhonda Fechan, and it was in consequence of their third dispute, he added, that she left him and went back to her previous service, and afterwards, while taking the cattle to the water, she sank accidentally or purposely into the lake, so that she was never found any more. Here it will be seen how modern rationalism has been modifying the story into something quite uninteresting but without wholly getting rid of the original features, such as the three disputes between the husband and wife. Lastly, it is worth mentioning that this water appears to form part of a bit of very remarkable scenery, and that its waves strike on one side against a steep rock believed to contain caves, supposed to have been formerly inhabited by men and women. At present the place, I learn, is in the possession of Messrs. Davis and Sons, owners of the Ferndale collieries, who keep a pleasure boat on the lake. I have appealed to them on the question of the name Nelferch or Alfach, in the hope that their books would help to decide as to the old form of it. Replying on their behalf, Mr. J. Probert Evans informs me that the company only got possession of the lake and the adjacent land in 1862, and that 'Llyn y Vorwyn' is the name of the former in the oldest plan which they have. Inquiries have also been made in the neighbourhood by my friend, Mr. Reynolds, who found the old tenants of the Rhonda Fechan Farm gone, and the neighbouring farm house of Dyffryn Safrwch supplanted by colliers' cottages. But he calls my attention to the fact, that perhaps the old name was neither Nelferch nor Alfach, as Elfarch, which would fit equally well, was once the name of a petty chieftain of the adjoining Hundred of Senghenyd, for which he refers me to Clark's Glamorgan Genealogies, p. 511. But I have to thank him more especially for a longer version of the fairy wife's call to her cattle, as given in Glanffrwd's Plwyf Llanwyno, 'the Parish of Llanwynno' (Pontyprid, 1888), p. 117, as follows:-- Prw me, prw me, Prw 'ngwartheg i dre'; Prw Melen a Ioco, Tegwen a Rhudo, Rhud-frech a Moel-frech, Pedair Lliain-frech; Lliain-frech ag Eli, A phedair Wen-ladi, Ladi a Chornwen, A phedair Wynebwen; Nepwen a Rhwynog, Tali Lieiniog; Brech yn y Glyn Dal yn dyn; Tair lygeityn, Tair gyffredm, Tair Caseg du, draw yn yr eithin, Deuwch i gyd i lys y Brenin; Bwla, bwla, Saif yn flaena', Saf yn ol y wraig o'r Ty-fry, Fyth nis godri ngwartheg i! The last lines--slightly mended--may be rendered: Bull, bull! Stand thou foremost. Back! thou wife of the House up Hill: Never shalt thou milk my cows. This seems to suggest that the quarrel was about another woman, and that by the time when the fairy came to call her live stock into the lake she had been replaced by another woman who came from the Ty-fry, or the House up Hill [12]. In that case this version comes closer than any other to the story of Undine supplanted by Bertalda as her knight's favourite. Mr. Probert Evans having kindly given me the address of an aged farmer who formerly lived in the valley, my friend, Mr. Llywarch Reynolds, was good enough to visit him. Mr. Reynolds shall report the result in his own words, dated January 9, 1899, as follows:-- 'I was at Pentyrch this morning, and went to see Mr. David Evans, formerly of Cefn Colston. 'The old man is a very fine specimen of the better class of Welsh farmer; is in his eighty-third year; hale and hearty, intelligent, and in full possession of his faculties. He was born and bred in the Rhonda Fechan Valley, and lived there until some forty years ago. He had often heard the lake story from an old aunt of his who lived at the Maerdy Farm (a short distance north of the lake), and who died a good many years ago, at a very advanced age. He calls the lake "Llyn Elferch," and the story, as known to him, has several points in common with the Llyn y Fan legend, which, however, he did not appear to know. He could not give me many details, but the following is the substance of the story as he knows it:--The young farmer, who lived with his mother at the neighbouring farm, one day saw the lady on the bank of the lake, combing her hair, which reached down to her feet. He fell in love at first sight, and tried to approach her; but she evaded him, and crying out, Dali di dim o fi, crâs dy fara! (Thou wilt not catch me, thou of the crimped bread), she sank into the water. He saw her on several subsequent occasions, and gave chase, but always with the same result, until at length he got his mother to make him some bread which was not baked (or not baked so hard); and this he offered to the lady. She then agreed to become his wife, subject to the condition that if he offended her, or disagreed with her three times (ar yr ammod, os byssa fa yn 'i chroesi hi dair gwaith) she would leave him and return into the lake with all her belongings. '1. The first disagreement (croes) was at the funeral of a neighbour, a man in years, at which the lady gave way to excessive weeping and lamentation. The husband expressed surprise and annoyance at this excessive grief for the death of a person not related to them, and asked the reason for it; and she replied that she grieved for the defunct on account of the eternal misery that was in store for him in the other world. '2. The second "croes" was at the death of an infant child of the lady herself, at which she laughed immoderately; and in reply to the husband's remonstrance, she said she did so for joy at her child's escape from this wicked world and its passage into a world of bliss. '3. The third "croes" Mr. Evans was unable to call to mind, but equally with the other two it showed that the lady was possessed of preternatural knowledge; and it resulted in her leaving her husband and returning into the lake, taking the cattle, &c., with her. The accepted explanation of the name of the lake was Llyn El-ferch [13] (= Hela 'r ferch), "because of the young man chasing the damsel" (hela 'r ferch). 'The following is the cattle-call, as given to me by Mr. Evans' aged housekeeper, who migrated with the family from Rhonda Fechan to Pentyrch: Prw i, prw e [14], Prw 'ngwartheg sha [= tua] thre'; Mil a môl a melyn gwtta; Milfach a malfach; Petar [= pedair] llearfach; Llearfach ag aeli; Petar a lafi; Lafi a chornwan [= -wèn]; [...] 'nepwan [= -wèn], 'Nepwan drwynog; Drotwan [= droedwen] litiog; Tair Bryncethin; Tair gyffretin; Tair casag du Draw yn yr ithin [= eithin], Dewch i gyd i lys y brenin. 'Mr. Evans told me that Dyffryn Safrwch was considered to be a corruption of Dyffryn Safn yr Hwch, "Valley of the Sow's Mouth"; so that the explanation was not due to a minister with whom I foregathered on my tramp near the lake the other day, and from whom I heard it first.' The similarity between Mr. Evans' version of this legend and that of Llyn y Fan Fach, tends to add emphasis to certain points which I had been inclined to treat as merely accidental. In the Fan Fach legend the young man's mother is a widow, and here he is represented living with his mother. Here also something depends on the young man's bread, but it is abruptly introduced, suggesting that a part of the story has been forgotten. Both stories, however, give one the impression that the bread of the fairies was regarded as always imperfectly baked. In both stories the young man's mother comes to his help with her advice. Mr. Evans' version ascribes supernatural knowledge to the fairy, though his version fails to support it; and her moralizings read considerably later than those which the Fan legend ascribes to the fairy wife. Some of these points may be brought under the reader's notice later, when he has been familiarized with more facts illustrative of the belief in fairies. III. On returning from South Wales to Carnarvonshire in the summer of 1881, I tried to discover similar legends connected with the lakes of North Wales, beginning with Geirionyd, the waters of which form a stream emptying itself into the Conwy, near Trefriw, a little below Llanrwst. I only succeeded, however, in finding an old man of the name of Pierce Williams, about seventy years of age, who was very anxious to talk about 'Bony's' wars, but not about lake ladies. I was obliged, in trying to make him understand what I wanted, to use the word morforwyn, that is to say in English, 'mermaid'; he then told me, that in his younger days he had heard people say that somebody had seen such beings in the Trefriw river. But as my questions were leading ones, his evidence is not worth much; however, I feel pretty sure that one who knew the neighbourhood of Geirionyd better would be able to find some fragments of interesting legends still existing in that wild district. I was more successful at Llanberis, though what I found, at first, was not much; but it was genuine, and to the point. This is the substance of it:--An old woman, called Siân [15] Dafyd, lived at Helfa Fawr, in the dingle called Cwm Brwynog, along the left side of which you ascend as you go to the top of Snowdon, from the village of lower Llanberis, or Coed y Dol, as it is there called. She was a curious old person, who made nice distinctions between the virtues of the respective waters of the district: thus, no other would do for her to cure her of the defaid gwylltion [16], or cancerous warts, which she fancied that she had in her mouth, than that of the spring of Tai Bach, near the lake called Llyn Ffynnon y Gwas, though she seldom found it out, when she was deceived by a servant who cherished a convenient opinion of his own, that a drop from a nearer spring would do just as well. Old Siân has been dead over thirty-five years, but I have it, on the testimony of two highly trustworthy brothers, who are of her family, and now between sixty and seventy years of age, that she used to relate to them how a shepherd, once on a time, saw a fairy maiden (un o'r Tylwyth Teg) on the surface of the tarn called Llyn Du'r Ardu, and how, from bantering and joking, their acquaintance ripened into courtship, when the father and mother of the lake maiden appeared to give the union their sanction, and to arrange the marriage settlement. This was to the effect that the husband was never to strike his wife with iron, and that she was to bring her great wealth with her, consisting of stock of all kinds for his mountain farm. All duly took place, and they lived happily together until one day, when trying to catch a pony, the husband threw a bridle to his wife, and the iron in that struck her. It was then all over with him, as the wife hurried away with her property into the lake, so that nothing more was seen or heard of her. Here I may as well explain that the Llanberis side of the steep, near the top of Snowdon, is called Clogwyn du'r Ardu, or the Black Cliff of the Ardu, at the bottom of which lies the tarn alluded to as the Black Lake of the Ardu, and near it stands a huge boulder, called Maen du'r Ardu, all of which names are curious, as involving the word du, black. Ardu itself has much the same meaning, and refers to the whole precipitous side of the summit with its dark shadows, and there is a similar Ardu near Nanmor on the Merionethshire side of Bedgelert. One of the brothers, I ought to have said, doubts that the lake here mentioned was the one in old Siân's tale; but he has forgotten which it was of the many in the neighbourhood. Both, however, remembered another short story about fairies, which they had heard another old woman relate, namely, Mari Domos Siôn, who died some thirty years ago: it was merely to the effect that a shepherd had once lost his way in the mist on the mountain on the land of Caeau Gwynion, towards Cwellyn [17] Lake, and got into a ring where the Tylwyth Teg were dancing: it was only after a very hard struggle that he was able, at length, to get away from them. To this I may add the testimony of a lady, for whose veracity I can vouch, to the effect that, when she was a child in Cwm Brwynog, from thirty to forty years ago, she and her brothers and sisters used to be frequently warned by their mother not to go far away from the house when there happened to be thick mist on the ground, lest they should come across the Tylwyth Teg dancing, and be carried away to their abode beneath the lake. They were always, she says, supposed to live in the lakes; and the one here alluded to was Llyn Dwythwch, which is one of those famous for its torgochiaid or chars. The mother is still living; but she seems to have long since, like others, lost her belief in the fairies. After writing the above, I heard that a brother to the foregoing brothers, namely, Mr. Thomas Davies, of Mur Mawr, Llanberis, remembered a similar tale. Mr. Davies is now sixty-four, and the persons from whom he heard the tale were the same Siân Dafyd of Helfa Fawr, and Mari Domos Siôn of Tyn [18] Gadlas, Llanberis: the two women were about seventy years of age when he as a child heard it from them. At my request, a friend of mine, Mr. Hugh D. Jones, of Tyn Gadlas, also a member of this family, which is one of the oldest perhaps in the place, has taken down from Mr. Davies' mouth all he could remember, word for word, as follows:-- Yn perthyn i ffarm Bron y Fedw yr oed dyn ifanc wedi cael ei fagu, nis gwydent faint cyn eu hamser hwy. Arferai pan yn hogyn fynd i'r mynyd yn Cwm Drywenyd a Mynyd y Fedw ar ochr orllewinol y Wydfa i fugeilio, a bydai yn taro ar hogan yn y mynyd; ac wrth fynychu gweld eu gilyd aethant yn ffrindiau mawr. Arferent gyfarfod eu gilyd mewn lle neillduol yn Cwm Drywenyd, lle'r oed yr hogan a'r teulu yn byw, lle y bydai pob danteithion, chwareuydiaethau a chanu dihafal; ond ni fydai'r hogyn yn gwneyd i fyny a neb ohonynt ond yr hogan. Diwed y ffrindiaeth fu carwriaeth, a phan soniod yr hogyn am idi briodi, ni wnai ond ar un amod, sef y bywiai hi hefo fo hyd nes y tarawai ef hi a haiarn. Priodwyd hwy, a buont byw gyda'u gilyd am nifer o flynydoed, a bu idynt blant; ac ar dyd marchnad yn Gaernarfon yr oed y gwr a'r wraig yn medwl mynd i'r farchnad ar gefn merlod, fel pob ffarmwr yr amser hwnnw. Awd i'r mynyd i dal merlyn bob un. Ar waelod Mynyd y Fedw mae llyn o ryw dri-ugain neu gan llath o hyd ac ugain neu deg llath ar hugain o led, ac y mae ar un ochr ido le têg, fford y bydai'r ceffylau yn rhedeg. Daliod y gwr ferlyn a rhoes ef i'r wraig i'w dal heb ffrwyn, tra bydai ef yn dal merlyn arall. Ar ol rhoi ffrwyn yn mhen ei ferlyn ei hun, taflod un arall i'r wraig i roi yn mhen ei merlyn hithau, ac wrth ei thaflu tarawod bit y ffrwyn hi yn ei llaw. Gollyngod y wraig y merlyn, ac aeth ar ei phen i'r llyn, a dyna diwed y briodas. 'To the farm of Bron y Fedw there belonged a son, who grew up to be a young man, the women knew not how long before their time. He was in the habit of going up the mountain to Cwm Drywenyd [19] and Mynyd y Fedw, on the west side of Snowdon, to do the shepherding, and there he was wont to come across a lass on the mountain, so that as the result of frequently meeting one another, he and she became great friends. They usually met at a particular spot in Cwm Drywenyd, where the girl and her family lived, and where there were all kinds of nice things to eat, of amusements, and of incomparable music; but he did not make up to anybody there except the girl. The friendship ended in courtship; but when the boy mentioned that she should be married to him, she would only do so on one condition, namely, that she would live with him until he should strike her with iron. They were wedded, and they lived together for a number of years, and had children. Once on a time it happened to be market day at Carnarvon, whither the husband and wife thought of riding on ponies, like all the farmers of that time. So they went to the mountain to catch a pony each. At the bottom of Mynyd y Fedw there is a pool some sixty or one hundred yards long by twenty or thirty broad, and on one side of it there is a level space along which the horses used to run. The husband caught a pony, and gave it to the wife to hold fast without a bridle, while he should catch another. When he had bridled his own pony, he threw another bridle to his wife for her to secure hers; but as he threw it, the bit of the bridle struck her on one of her hands. The wife let go the pony, and went headlong into the pool, and that was the end of their wedded life.' The following is a later tale, which Mr. Thomas Davies heard from his mother, who died in 1832: she would be ninety years of age had she been still living:-- Pan oed hi'n hogan yn yr Hafod, Llanberis, yr oed hogan at ei hoed hi'n cael ei magu yn Cwmglas, Llanberis, ac arferai dweyd, pan yn hogan a thra y bu byw, y bydai yn cael arian gan y Tylwyth Teg yn Cwm Cwmglas. Yr oed yn dweyd y bydai ar foreuau niwliog, tywyll, yn mynd i le penodol yn Cwm Cwmglas gyda dsygiad o lefrith o'r fuches a thywel glan, ac yn ei rodi ar garreg; ac yn mynd yno drachefn, ac yn cael y llestr yn wag, gyda darn deuswllt neu hanner coron ac weithiau fwy wrth ei ochr. 'When she was a girl, living at Yr Hafod, Llanberis, there was a girl of her age being brought up at Cwmglas in the same parish. The latter was in the habit of saying, when she was a girl and so long as she lived, that she used to have money from the Tylwyth Teg, in the Cwmglas Hollow. Her account was, that on dark, misty mornings she used to go to a particular spot in that Hollow with a jugful of sweet milk from the milking place, and a clean towel, and then place them on a stone. She would return, and find the jug empty, with a piece of money placed by its side: that is, two shillings or half a crown, or at times even more.' A daughter of that woman lives now at a farm, Mr. Davies observes, called Plas Pennant, in the parish of Llanfihangel yn Mhennant, in Carnarvonshire; and he adds, that it was a tale of a kind that was common enough when he was a boy; but many laughed at it, though the old people believed it to be a fact. To this I may as well append another tale, which was brought to the memory of an old man who happened to be present when Mr. Jones and Mr. Davies were busy with the foregoing. His name is John Roberts, and his age is seventy-five: his present home is at Capel Sïon, in the neighbouring parish of Llandeiniolen:-- Yr oed ef pan yn hogyn yn gweini yn Towyn Trewern, yn agos i Gaergybi, gyda hen wr o'r enw Owen Owens, oed yr adeg honno at ei oed ef yn bresennol. Yr oedynt unwaith mewn hen adeilad ar y ffarm; a dywedod yr hen wr ei fod ef wedi cael llawer o arian yn y lle hwnnw pan yn hogyn, a buasai wedi cael ychwaneg oni bai ei dad. Yr oed wedi cudio yr arian yn y ty, ond daeth ei fam o hyd idynt, a dywedod yr hanes wrth ei dad. Ofnai ei fod yn fachgen drwg, mai eu lladrata yr oed. Dywedai ei dad y gwnai ido dweyd yn mha le yr oed yn eu cael, neu y tynnai ei groen tros ei ben; ac aeth allan a thorod wialen bwrpasol at orchwyl o'r fath. Yr oed y bachgen yn gwrando ar yr ymdidan rhwng ei dad a'i fam, ac yr oed yn benderfynol o gadw'r peth yn dirgelwch fel yr oed wedi ei rybudio gan y Tylwyth Teg. Aeth i'r ty, a dechreuod y tad ei holi, ac yntau yn gwrthod ateb; ymbiliai a'i dad, a dywedai eu bod yn berffaith onest ido ef, ac y cai ef ychwaneg os cadwai'r peth yn dirgelwch; ond os dywedai, nad oed dim ychwaneg i'w gael. Mod bynnag ni wrandawai y tad ar ei esgusion na'i resymau, a'r wialen a orfu; dywedod y bachgen mai gan y Tylwyth Teg yr oed yn eu cael, a hynny ar yr amod nad oed i dweyd wrth neb. Mawr oed edifeirwch yr hen bobl am lad yr wyd oed yn dodwy. Aeth y bachgen i'r hen adeilad lawer gwaith ar ol hyn, ond ni chafod byth ychwaneg o arian yno. 'When a lad, he was a servant at Towyn Trewern, near Holyhead, to an old man about his own age at present. They were one day in an old building on the farm, and the old man told him that he had had much money in that place when he was a lad, and that he would have had more had it not been for his father. He had hidden the money at home, where his mother found it and told his father of the affair: she feared he was a bad boy, and that it was by theft he got it. His father said that he would make him say where he got it, or else that he would strip him of the skin of his back, at the same time that he went out and cut a rod fit for effecting a purpose of the kind. The boy heard all this talk between his father and his mother, and felt determined to keep the matter a secret, as he had been warned by the Tylwyth Teg. He went into the house, and his father began to question him, while he refused to answer. He supplicatingly protested that the money was honestly got, and that he should get more if he kept it a secret, but that, if he did not, there would be no more to be got. However, the father would give no ear to his excuses or his reasons, and the rod prevailed; so that the boy said that it was from the Tylwyth Teg he used to get it, and that on condition of his not telling anybody. Greatly did the old folks regret having killed the goose that laid the eggs. The boy went many a time afterwards to the old building, but he never found any more money there.' IV. Through the Rev. Daniel Lewis, incumbent of Bettws Garmon, I was directed to Mr. Samuel Rhys Williams, of the Post Office of that place, who has kindly given me the result of his inquiries when writing on the subject of the antiquities of the neighbourhood for a competition at a literary meeting held there a few years ago. He tells me that he got the following short tale from a native of Drws y Coed, whose name is Margaret Williams. She has been living at Bettws Garmon for many years, and is now over eighty. He does not know whether the story is in print or not, but he is certain that Margaret Williams never saw it, even if it be. He further thinks he has heard it from another person, to wit a man over seventy-seven years of age, who has always lived at Drws y Coed, in the parish of Bedgelert:-- Y mae hanes am fab i amaethwr a breswyliai yn yr Ystrad [20], Betws Garmon [21], pan yn dychwelyd adref o daith yn hwyr un noswaith, darfod ido weled cwmni o'r Tylwyth Teg ynghanol eu hafiaeth a'u glodest. Syfrdanwyd y llanc yn y fan gan degwch anghymarol un o'r rhianod hyn, fel y beidiod neidio i ganol y cylch, a chymeryd ei eilun gydag ef. Wedi idi fod yn trigo gydag ef yn ei gartref am ysbaid, cafod gandi adaw bod yn wraig ido ar amodau neillduol. Un o'r amodau hyn ydoed, na bydai ido gyffwrd yndi ag un math o haiarn. Bu yn wraig ido, a ganwyd idynt dau o blant. Un diwrnod yr oed y gwr yn y maes yn ceisio dal y ceffyl; wrth ei weled yn ffaelu, aeth y wraig ato i'w gynorthwyo, a phan oed y march yn carlamu heibio gollyngod yntau y ffrwyn o'i law, er mwyn ceisio ei atal heibio; a phwy a darawod ond ei wraig, yr hon a diflannod yn y fan allan o'i olwg? 'The story goes, that the son of a farmer, who lived at the Ystrad in Bettws Garmon, when returning home from a journey, late in the evening, beheld a company of fairies in the middle of their mirth and jollity. The youth was at once bewildered by the incomparable beauty of one of these ladies, so that he ventured to leap into the circle and take his idol away with him. After she had tarried awhile with him at his home, he prevailed on her, on special conditions, to become his wife. One of these conditions was that he should not touch her with iron of any description. She became his wife, and two children were born to them. One day the husband was in the field trying to catch the horse; seeing him unsuccessful, the wife went to him to help him, and, when the horse was galloping past him, he let go the bridle at him in order to prevent him from passing; but whom should he strike but his wife, who vanished out of his sight on the spot.' Just as I was engaged in collecting these stories in 1881, a correspondent sent me a copy of the Ystrad tale as published by the late bard and antiquary, the Rev. Owen Wyn Jones, better known in Wales by his bardic name of Glasynys [22], in the Brython [23] for 1863, p. 193. I will not attempt to translate Glasynys' poetic prose with all its compound adjectives, but it comes to this in a few words. One fine sunny morning, as the young heir of Ystrad was busied with his sheep on the side of Moel Eilio, he met a very pretty girl, and when he got home he told the folks there of it. A few days afterwards he met her again, and this happened several times, when he mentioned it to his father, who advised him to seize her when he next met her. The next time he met her he proceeded to do so, but before he could take her away, a little fat old man came to them and begged him to give her back to him, to which the youth would not listen. The little man uttered terrible threats, but the heir of Ystrad would not yield, so an agreement was made between them, that the latter was to have the girl to wife until he touched her skin with iron, and great was the joy both of the son and his parents in consequence. They lived together for many years; but once on a time, on the evening of the Bettws Fair, the wife's horse became restive, and somehow, as the husband was attending to the horse, the stirrup touched the skin of her bare leg, and that very night she was taken away from him. She had three or four children, and more than one of their descendants, as Glasynys maintains, were known to him at the time he wrote in 1863. Glasynys regards this as the same tale which is given by Williams of Llandegai, to whom we shall refer later; and he says that he heard it scores of times when he was a lad. Lastly, I happened to mention these legends last summer among others to the Rev. Owen Davies, curate of Llanberis, a man who is well versed in Welsh literature, and thoroughly in sympathy with everything Welsh. Mr. Davies told me that he knew a tale of the sort from his youth, as current in the parishes of Llanllechid and Llandegai, near Bangor. Not long afterwards he visited his mother at his native place, in Llanllechid, in order to have his memory of it refreshed; and he also went to the Waen Fawr, on the other side of Carnarvon, where he had the same legend told him with the different localities specified. The following is the Waen Fawr version, of which I give the Welsh as I have had it from Mr. Davies, and as it was related, according to him, some forty years ago in the valley of Nant y Bettws, near Carnarvon:-- Ar brydnawngwaith hyfryd yn Hefin, aeth llanc ieuanc gwrol-dewr ac anturiaethus, sef etifed a pherchennog yr Ystrad, i lan afon Gwyrfai, heb fod yn nepell o'i chychwyniad o lyn Cawellyn, ac a ymgudiod yno mewn dyryslwyn, sef ger y fan y bydai poblach y cotiau cochion--y Tylwyth Teg--yn arfer dawnsio. Yr ydoed yn noswaith hyfryd loergannog, heb un cwmwl i gau llygaid y Lloer, ac anian yn distaw dawedog, odigerth murmuriad lledf y Wyrfai, a swn yr awel ysgafndroed yn rhodio brigau deiliog y coed. Ni bu yn ei ymgudfa ond dros ychydig amser, cyn cael difyrru o hono ei olygon a dawns y teulu dedwyd. Wrth syllu ar gywreinrwyd y dawns, y chwim droadau cyflym, yr ymgyniweiriad ysgafn-droediog, tarawod ei lygaid ar las lodes ieuanc, dlysaf, hardaf, lunieidiaf a welod er ei febyd. Yr oed ei chwim droadau a lledneisrwyd ei hagwedion wedi tanio ei serch tu ag ati i'r fath radau, fel ag yr oed yn barod i unrhyw anturiaeth er mwyn ei hennill yn gydymaith ido ei hun. O'i ymgudfa dywyll, yr oed yn gwylio pob ysgogiad er mwyn ei gyfleustra ei hun. Mewn mynud, yn disymwth digon, rhwng pryder ac ofn, llamneidiod fel llew gwrol i ganol cylch y Tylwyth Teg, ac ymafaelod a dwylaw cariad yn y fun luniaid a daniod ei serch, a hynny, pan oed y Tylwyth dedwyd yn nghanol nwyfiant eu dawns. Cofleidiod hi yn dyner garedig yn ei fynwes wresog, ac aeth a hi i'w gartref--i'r Ystrad. Ond diflannod ei chyd-dawnsydion fel anadl Gorphennaf, er ei chroch dolefau am gael ei rhydhau, a'i hymegnion diflino i dianc o afael yr hwn a'i hoffod. Mewn anwylder mawr, ymdygod y llanc yn dyner odiaethol tu ag at y fun deg, ac yr oed yn orawydus i'w chadw yn ei olwg ac yn ei fediant. Llwydod drwy ei dynerwch tu ag ati i gael gandi adaw dyfod yn forwyn ido yn yr Ystrad. A morwyn ragorol oed hi. Godrai deirgwaith y swm arferol o laeth odiar bob buwch, ac yr oed yr ymenyn heb bwys arno. Ond er ei holl daerni, nis gallai mewn un mod gael gandi dyweud ei henw wrtho. Gwnaeth lawer cais, ond yn gwbl ofer. Yn damweiniol ryw dro, wrth yrru Brithen a'r Benwen i'r borfa, a hi yn noswaith loergan, efe a aeth i'r man lle yr arferai y Tylwyth Teg fyned drwy eu campau yng ngoleuni'r Lloer wen. Y tro hwn eto, efe a ymgudiod mewn dyryslwyn, a chlywod y Tylwyth Teg yn dywedyd y naill wrth y llall--'Pan oedym ni yn y lle hwn y tro diwedaf, dygwyd ein chwaer Penelope odiarnom gan un o'r marwolion.' Ar hynny, dychwelod y llencyn adref, a'i fynwes yn llawn o falchder cariad, o herwyd ido gael gwybod enw ei hoff forwyn, yr hon a synnod yn aruthr, pan glywod ei meistr ieuanc yn ei galw wrth ei henw. Ac am ei bod yn odiaethol dlos, a lluniaid, yn fywiog-weithgar, a medrus ar bob gwaith, a bod popeth yn llwydo dan ei llaw, cynygiod ei hun idi yn wr--y celai fod yn feistres yr Ystrad, yn lle bod yn forwyn. Ond ni chydsyniai hi a'i gais ar un cyfrif; ond bod braid yn bendrist oherwyd ido wybod ei henw. Fod bynnag, gwedi maith amser, a thrwy ei daerineb diflino, cydsyniod, ond yn amodol. Adawod dyfod yn wraig ido, ar yr amod canlynol, sef, 'Pa bryd bynnag y tarawai ef hi â haiarn, yr elai ymaith odi wrtho, ac na dychwelai byth ato mwy.' Sicrhawyd yr amod o'i du yntau gyda pharodrwyd cariad. Buont yn cyd-fyw a'u gilyd yn hapus a chysurus lawer o flynydoed, a ganwyd idynt fab a merch, y rhai oedynt dlysaf a llunieidiaf yn yr holl froyd. Ac yn rhinwed ei medrusrwyd a'i deheurwyd fel gwraig gall, rinwedol, aethant yn gyfoethog iawn--yn gyfoethocach na neb yn yr holl wlad. Heblaw ei etifediaeth ei hun--Yr Ystrad, yr oed yn ffarmio holl ogled-barth Nant y Betws, ac odi yno i ben yr Wydfa, ynghyd a holl Gwm Brwynog, yn mhlwyf Llanberis. Ond, ryw diwrnod, yn anffortunus digon aeth y dau i'r dol i dal y ceffyl, a chan fod y ceffylyn braid yn wyllt ac an-nof, yn rhedeg odi arnynt, taflod y gwr y ffrwyn mewn gwylltineb yn ei erbyn, er ei atal, ac ar bwy y disgynnod y ffrwyn, ond ar Penelope, y wraig! Diflannod Penelope yn y fan, ac ni welod byth mo honi. Ond ryw noswaith, a'r gwynt yn chwythu yn oer o'r gogled, daeth Penelope at ffenestr ei ystafell wely, a dywedod wrtho am gymmeryd gofal o'r plant yn y geiriau hyn: Rhag bod anwyd ar fy mab, Yn rhod rhowch arno gób ei dad; Rhag bod anwyd ar liw'r can, Rhodwch arni bais ei mham. Ac yna ciliod, ac ni chlywyd na siw na miw byth yn ei chylch. For the sake of an occasional reader who does not know Welsh, I add a summary of it in English. One fine evening in the month of June a brave, adventurous youth, the heir of Ystrad, went to the banks of the Gwyrfai, not far from where it leaves Cwellyn Lake, and hid himself in the bushes near the spot where the folks of the Red Coats--the fairies--were wont to dance. The moon shone forth brightly without a cloud to intercept her light; all was quiet save where the Gwyrfai gently murmured on her bed, and it was not long before the young man had the satisfaction of seeing the fair family dancing in full swing. As he gazed on the subtle course of the dance, his eyes rested on a damsel, the most shapely and beautiful he had seen from his boyhood. Her agile movements and the charm of her looks inflamed him with love for her, to such a degree that he felt ready for any encounter in order to secure her to be his own. From his hiding place he watched every move for his opportunity; at last, with feelings of anxiety and dread, he leaped suddenly into the middle of the circle of the fairies. There, while their enjoyment of the dance was at its height, he seized her in his arms and carried her away to his home at Ystrad. But, as she screamed for help to free her from the grasp of him who had fallen in love with her, the dancing party disappeared like one's breath in July. He treated her with the utmost kindness, and was ever anxious to keep her within his sight and in his possession. By dint of tenderness he succeeded so far as to get her to consent to be his servant at Ystrad. And such a servant she turned out to be! Why, she was wont to milk the cows thrice a day, and to have the usual quantity of milk each time, so that the butter was so plentiful that nobody thought of weighing it. As to her name, in spite of all his endeavours to ascertain it, she would never tell it him. Accidentally, however, one moonlight night, when driving two of his cows to the spot where they should graze, he came to the place where the fairies were wont to enjoy their games in the light of the moon. This time also he hid himself in a thicket, when he overheard one fairy saying to another, 'When we were last here our sister Penelope was stolen from us by a man.' As soon as he heard this off he went home, full of joy because he had discovered the name of the maid that was so dear to him. She, on the other hand, was greatly astonished to hear him call her by her own name. As she was so charmingly pretty, so industrious, so skilled in every work, and so attended by luck in everything she put her hand to, he offered to make her his wife instead of being his servant. At first she would in no wise consent, but she rather gave way to grief at his having found her name out. However, his importunity at length brought her to consent, but on the condition that he should not strike her with iron; if that should happen, she would quit him never to return. The agreement was made on his side with the readiness of love, and after this they lived in happiness and comfort together for many years, and there were born to them a son and a daughter, who were the handsomest children in the whole country. Owing, also, to the skill and good qualities of the woman, as a shrewd and virtuous wife, they became very rich--richer, indeed, than anybody else in the country around; for, besides the husband's own inheritance of Ystrad, he held all the northern part of Nant y Bettws, and all from there to the top of Snowdon, together with Cwm Brwynog in the parish of Llanberis. But one day, as bad luck would have it, they went out together to catch a horse in the field, and, as the animal was somewhat wild and untamed, they had no easy work before them. In his rashness the man threw a bridle at him as he was rushing past him, but alas! on whom should the bridle fall but on the wife! No sooner had this happened than she disappeared, and nothing more was ever seen of her. But one cold night, when there was a chilling wind blowing from the north, she came near the window of his bedroom, and told him in these words to take care of the children:-- Lest my son should find it cold, Place on him his father's coat: Lest the fair one find it cold, Place on her my petticoat. Then she withdrew, and nothing more was heard of her. In reply to some queries of mine, Mr. O. Davies tells me that Penelope was pronounced in three syllables, Pénelôp--so he heard it from his grandfather: he goes on to say that the offspring of the Lake Lady is supposed to be represented by a family called Pellings, which was once a highly respected name in those parts, and that there was a Lady Bulkeley who was of this descent, not to mention that several people of a lower rank, both in Anglesey and Arfon, claimed to be of the same origin. I am not very clear as to how the name got into this tale, nor have I been able to learn anything about the Pellings; but, as the word appears to have been regarded as a corrupt derivative from Penelope, that is, perhaps, all the connexion, so that it may be that it has really nothing whatever to do with the legend. This is a point, however, which the antiquaries of North Wales ought to be able to clear up satisfactorily. In reply to queries of mine, Mr. O. Davies gave me the following particulars:--'I am now (June, 1881) over fifty-two years of age, and I can assure you that I have heard the legend forty years ago. I do not remember my father, as he died when I was young, but my grandfather was remarkable for his delight in tales and legends, and it was his favourite pastime during the winter nights, after getting his short black pipe ready, to relate stories about struggles with robbers, about bogies, and above all about the Tylwyth Teg; for they were his chief delight. He has been dead twenty-six years, and he had almost reached eighty years of age. His father before him, who was born about the year 1740, was also famous for his stories, and my grandfather often mentioned him as his authority in the course of his narration of the tales. Both he and the rest of the family used to look at Corwrion, to be mentioned presently, as a sacred spot. When I was a lad and happened to be reluctant to leave off playing at dusk, my mother or grandfather had only to say that 'the Pellings were coming,' in order to induce me to come into the house at once: indeed, this announcement had the same effect on persons of a much riper age than mine then was.' Further, Mr. Davies kindly called my attention to a volume, entitled Observations on the Snowdon Mountains, by Mr. William Williams, of Llandegai, published in London in 1802. In that work this tale is given somewhat less fully than by Mr. Davies' informant, but the author makes the following remarks with regard to it, pp. 37, 40:--'A race of people inhabiting the districts about the foot of Snowdon, were formerly distinguished and known by the nickname of Pellings, which is not yet extinct. There are several persons and even families who are reputed to be descended from these people.... These children [Penelope's] and their descendants, they say, were called Pellings, a word corrupted from their mother's name, Penelope. The late Thomas Rowlands, Esq., of Caerau, in Anglesey, the father of the late Lady Bulkeley, was a descendant of this lady, if it be true that the name Pellings came from her; and there are still living several opulent and respectable people who are known to have sprung from the Pellings. The best blood in my own veins is this fairy's.' Lastly, it will be noticed that these last versions do not distinctly suggest that the Lake Lady ran into the lake, that is into Cwellyn, but rather that she disappeared in the same way as the dancing party by simply becoming invisible like one's breath in July. The fairies are called in Welsh, Y Tylwyth Teg, or the Fair Family; but the people of Arfon have been so familiarized with the particular one I have called the Lake Lady, that, according to one of my informants, they have invented the term Y Dylwythes Deg, or even Y Dylwythen Deg, to denote her; but it is unknown to the others, so that the extent of its use is not very considerable. This is, perhaps, the place to give another tale, according to which the man goes to the Lake Maiden's country, instead of her settling with him at his home. I owe it to the kindness of Mr. William Jones, of Regent Place, Llangollen, a native of Bedgelert. He heard it from an old man before he left Bedgelert, but when he sent a friend to inquire some time afterwards, the old man was gone. According to Mr. Jones, the details of the tale are, for that reason, imperfect, as some of the incidents have faded from his memory; but such as he can still remember the tale, it is here given in his own words:-- Ryw noson lawn lloer ac un o feibion Llwyn On yn Nant y Betws yn myned i garu i Glogwyn y Gwin, efe a welod y Tylwyth yn ymlodestu a dawnsio ei hochr hi ar weirglod wrth lan Llyn Cawellyn. Efe a nesaod tuag atynt; ac o dipyn i beth fe'i llithiwyd gan bereiddra swynol eu canu a hoender a bywiogrwyd eu chwareu, nes myned o hono tu fewn i'r cylch; ac yn fuan fe daeth rhyw hud drosto, fel y collod adnabydiaeth o bobman; a chafod ei hun mewn gwlad hardaf a welod erioed, lle'r oed pawb yn treulio eu hamser mewn afiaeth a gorfoled. Yr oed wedi bod yno am saith mlyned, ac eto nid oed dim ond megis breudwyd nos; ond daeth adgof i'w fedwl am ei neges, a hiraeth yndo am weled ei anwylyd. Felly efe a ofynod ganiatad i dychwelyd adref, yr hyn a rodwyd ynghyd a llu o gymdeithion i'w arwain tua'i wlad; ac yn disymwth cafod ei hun fel yn deffro o freudwyd ar y dol, lle gwelod y Tylwyth Teg yn chwareu. Trod ei wyneb tuag adref; ond wedi myned yno yr oed popeth wedi newid, ei rieni wedi meirw, ei frodyr yn ffaelu ei adnabod, a'i gariad wedi priodi un arall.--Ar ol y fath gyfnewidiadau efe a dorod ei galon, ac a fu farw mewn llai nag wythnos ar ol ei dychweliad. 'One bright moonlight night, as one of the sons of the farmer who lived at Llwyn On in Nant y Bettws was going to pay his addresses to a girl at Clogwyn y Gwin, he beheld the Tylwyth Teg enjoying themselves in full swing on a meadow close to Cwellyn Lake. He approached them, and little by little he was led on by the enchanting sweetness of their music and the liveliness of their playing until he had got within their circle. Soon some kind of spell passed over him, so that he lost his knowledge of the place, and found himself in a country, the most beautiful he had ever seen, where everybody spent his time in mirth and rejoicing. He had been there seven years, and yet it seemed to him but a night's dream; but a faint recollection came to his mind of the business on which he had left home, and he felt a longing to see his beloved one. So he went and asked for permission to return home, which was granted him, together with a host of attendants to lead him to his country; and, suddenly, he found himself, as if waking from a dream, on the bank where he had seen the fair family amusing themselves. He turned towards home, but there he found everything changed: his parents were dead, his brothers could not recognize him, and his sweetheart was married to another man. In consequence of such changes he died broken-hearted in less than a week after coming back.' V. The Rev. O. Davies regarded the Llanllechid legend as so very like the one he got about Cwellyn Lake and the Waen Fawr, that he has not written the former out at length, but merely pointed out the following differences: (1) Instead of Cwellyn, the lake in the former is the pool of Corwrion, in the parish of Llandegai, near Bangor. (2) What the Lake Lady was struck with was not a bridle, but an iron fetter: the word used is llyfether, which probably means a long fetter connecting a fore-foot and a hind-foot of a horse together. In Arfon, the word is applied also to a cord tying the two fore-feet together, but in Cardiganshire this would be called a hual, the other word, there pronounced llowethir, being confined to the long fetter. In books, the word is written llywethair, llefethair and llyffethair or llyffethar, which is possibly the pronunciation in parts of North Wales, especially Arfon. This is an interesting word, as it is no other than the English term 'long fetter,' borrowed into Welsh; as, in fact, it was also into Irish early enough to call for an article on it in Cormac's Irish Glossary, where langfiter is described as an English word for a fetter between the fore and the hind legs: in Anglo-Manx it is become lanketer. (3) The field in which they were trying to catch the horse is, in the Llanllechid version, specified as that called Maes Madog, at the foot of the Llefn. (4) When the fairy wife ran away, it was headlong into the pool of Corwrion, calling after her all her milch cows, and they followed her with the utmost readiness. Before going on to mention bits of information I have received from others about the Llanllechid legend, I think it best here to finish with the items given me by Mr. O. Davies, whom I cannot too cordially thank for his readiness to answer my questions. Among other things, he expresses himself to the following effect:-- 'It is to this day a tradition--and I have heard it a hundred times--that the dairy of Corwrion excelled all other dairies in those parts, that the milk was better and more plentiful, and that the cheese and butter were better there than in all the country round, the reason assigned being that the cattle on the farm of Corwrion had mixed with the breed belonging to the fairy, who had run away after being struck with the iron fetter. However that may be, I remember perfectly well the high terms of praise in which the cows of Corwrion used to be spoken of as being remarkable for their milk and the profit they yielded; and, when I was a boy, I used to hear people talk of Tarw Penwyn Corwrion, or "the White-headed Bull of Corwrion," as derived from the breed of cattle which had formed the fairy maiden's dowry.' My next informant is Mr. Hugh Derfel Hughes, of Pendinas, Llandegai [24], who has been kind enough to give me the version, of which I here give the substance in English, premising that Mr. Hughes says that he has lived about thirty-four years within a mile of the pool and farm house called Corwrion, and that he has refreshed his memory of the legend by questioning separately no less than three old people, who had been bred and born at or near that spot. He is a native of Merioneth, but has lived at Llandegai for the last thirty-seven years, his age now being sixty-six. I may add that Mr. Hughes is a local antiquary of great industry and zeal; and that he published a book on the antiquities of the district, under the title of Hynafiaethau Llandegai a Llanllechid, that is 'the Antiquities of Llandegai and Llanllechid' (Bethesda, 1866); but it is out of print, and I have had some trouble to procure a copy:-- 'In old times, when the fairies showed themselves much oftener to men than they do now, they made their home in the bottomless pool of Corwrion, in Upper Arllechwed, in that wild portion of Gwyned called Arfon. On fine mornings in the month of June these diminutive and nimble folk might be seen in a regular line vigorously engaged in mowing hay, with their cattle in herds busily grazing in the fields near Corwrion. This was a sight which often met the eyes of the people on the sides of the hills around, even on Sundays; but when they hurried down to them they found the fields empty, with the sham workmen and their cows gone, all gone. At other times they might be heard hammering away like miners, shovelling rubbish aside, or emptying their carts of stones. At times they took to singing all the night long, greatly to the delight of the people about, who dearly loved to hear them; and, besides singing so charmingly, they sometimes formed into companies for dancing, and their movements were marvellously graceful and attractive. But it was not safe to go too near the lake late at night, for once a brave girl, who was troubled with toothache, got up at midnight and went to the brink of the water in search of the root of a plant that grows there full of the power to kill all pain in the teeth. But, as she was plucking up a bit of it, there burst on her ear, from the depths of the lake, such a shriek as drove her back into the house breathless with fear and trembling; but whether this was not the doing of a stray fairy, who had been frightened out of her wits at being suddenly overtaken by a damsel in her nightdress, or the ordinary fairy way of curing the toothache, tradition does not tell. For sometimes, at any rate, the fairies busied themselves in doing good to the men and women who were their neighbours, as when they tried to teach them to keep all promises and covenants to which they pledged themselves. A certain man and his wife, to whom they wished to teach this good habit, have never been forgotten. The husband had been behaving as he ought, until one day, as he held the plough, with the wife guiding his team, he broke his covenant towards her by treating her harshly and unkindly. No sooner had he done so, than he was snatched through the air and plunged in the lake. When the wife went to the brink of the water to ask for him back, the reply she had was, that he was there, and that there he should be. 'The fairies when engaged in dancing allowed themselves to be gazed at, a sight which was wont greatly to attract the young men of the neighbourhood, and once on a time the son and heir of the owner of Corwrion fell deeply in love with one of the graceful maidens who danced in the fairy ring, for she was wondrously beautiful and pretty beyond compare. His passion for her ere long resulted in courtship, and soon in their being married, which took place on the express understanding, that firstly the husband was not to know her name, though he might give her any name he chose; and, secondly, that he might now and then beat her with a rod, if she chanced to misbehave towards him; but he was not to strike her with iron on pain of her leaving him at once. This covenant was kept for some years, so that they lived happily together and had four children, of whom the two youngest were a boy and a girl. But one day as they went to one of the fields of Bryn Twrw in the direction of Pennard Gron, to catch a pony, the fairy wife, being so much nimbler than her husband, ran before him and had her hand in the pony's mane in no time. She called out to her husband to throw her a halter, but instead of that he threw towards her a bridle with an iron bit, which, as bad luck would have it, struck her. The wife at once flew through the air, and plunged headlong into Corwrion Pool. The husband returned sighing and weeping towards Bryn Twrw, "Noise Hill," and when he had reached it, the twrw, "noise," there was greater than had ever been heard before, namely that of weeping after "Belenë"; and it was then, after he had struck her with iron, that he first learnt what his wife's name was. Belenë never came back to her husband, but the feelings of a mother once brought her to the window of his bedroom, where she gave him the following order:-- Os byd anwyd ar fy mab, If my son should feel it cold, Rho'wch am dano gob ei dad; Let him wear his father's coat; Os anwydog a fyd can [25], If the fair one feel the cold, Rho'wch am dani bais ei mam. Let her wear my petticoat. 'As years and years rolled on a grandson of Belenë's fell in love with a beautiful damsel who lived at a neighbouring farm house called Tai Teulwriaid, and against the will of his father and mother they married, but they had nothing to stock their land with. So one morning what was their astonishment, when they got up, to see grazing quietly in the field six black cows and a white-headed bull, which had come up out of the lake as stock for them from old grannie Belenë? They served them well with milk and butter for many a long year, but on the day the last of the family died, the six black cows and the white-headed bull disappeared into the lake, never more to be seen.' Mr. Hughes referred to no less than three other versions, as follows:--(1) According to one account, the husband was ploughing, with the wife leading the team, when by chance he came across her and the accident happened. The wife then flew away like a wood-hen (iar goed) into the lake. (2) Another says that they were in a stable trying to bridle one of the horses, when the misfortune took place through inadvertence. (3) A third specifies the field in front of the house at Corwrion as the place where the final accident took place, when they were busied with the cows and horses. To these I would add the following traditions, which Mr. Hughes further gives. Sometimes the inhabitants, who seem to have been on the whole on good terms with the fairies, used to heat water and leave it in a vessel on the hearth overnight for the fairies to wash their children in it. This they considered such a kindness that they always left behind them on the hearth a handful of their money. Some pieces are said to have been sometimes found in the fields near Corwrion, and that they consisted of coins which were smaller than our halfpennies, but bigger than farthings, and had a harp on one side. But the tradition is not very definite on these points. Here also I may as well refer to a similar tale which I got last year at Llanberis from a man who is a native of the Llanllechid side of the mountain, though he now lives at Llanberis. He is about fifty-five years of age, and remembers hearing in his youth a tale connected with a house called Hafoty'r Famaeth, in a very lonely situation on Llanllechid Mountain, and now represented only by some old ruined walls. It was to the effect that one night, when the man who lived there was away from home, his wife, who had a youngish baby, washed him on the hearth, left the water there, and went to bed with her little one: she woke up in the night to find that the Tylwyth Teg were in possession of the hearth, and busily engaged in washing their children. That is all I got of this tale of a well-known type. To return to Mr. Hughes' communications, I would select from them some remarks on the topography of the teeming home of the fairies. He estimated the lake or pool of Corwrion to be about 120 yards long, and adds that it is nearly round; but he thinks it was formerly considerably larger, as a cutting was made some eighty or a hundred years ago to lead water from it to Penrhyn Castle; but even then its size would not approach that ascribed to it by popular belief, according to which it was no less than three miles long. In fact it was believed that there was once a town of Corwrion which was swallowed up by the lake, a sort of idea which one meets with in many parts of Wales, and some of the natives are said to be able to discern the houses under the water. This must have been near the end which is not bottomless, the latter being indicated by a spot which is said never to freeze even in hard winters. Old men remember it the resort of herons, cormorants, and the water-hen (hobi wen). Near the banks there grew, besides the water-lily, various kinds of rushes and sedges, which were formerly much used for making mats and other useful articles. It was also once famous for eels of a large size, but it is not supposed to have contained fish until Lord Penrhyn placed some there in recent years. It teemed, however, with leeches of three different kinds so recently that an old man still living describes to Mr. Hughes his simple way of catching them when he was a boy, namely, by walking bare-legged in the water: in a few minutes he landed with nine or ten leeches sticking to his legs, some of which fetched a shilling each from the medical men of those days. Corwrion is now a farm house occupied by Mr. William Griffiths, a grandson of the late bard Gutyn Peris. When Mr. Hughes called to make inquiries about the legend, he found there the foundations of several old buildings, and several pieces of old querns about the place. He thinks that there belonged to Corwrion in former times, a mill and a fuller's house, which he seems to infer from the names of two neighbouring houses called 'Y Felin Hen,' the Old Mill, and 'Pandy Tre Garth,' the Fulling Mill of Tregarth, respectively. He also alludes to a gefail or smithy there, in which one Rhys ab Robert used to work, not to mention that a great quantity of ashes, such as come from a smithy, are found at the end of the lake furthest from the farm house. The spot on which Corwrion stands is part of the ground between the Ogwen and another stream which bears the name of 'Afon Cegin Arthur,' or the River of Arthur's Kitchen, and most of the houses and fields about have names which have suggested various notions to the people there: such are the farms called 'Coed Howel,' whence the belief in the neighbourhood that Howel Da, King of Wales, lived here. About him Mr. Hughes has a great deal to say: among other things, that he had boats on Corwrion lake, and that he was wont to present the citizens of Bangor yearly with 300 fat geese reared on the waters of the same. I am referred by another man to a lecture delivered in the neighbourhood on these and similar things by the late bard and antiquary the Rev. Robert Ellis (Cyndelw), but I have never come across a copy. A field near Corwrion is called 'Cae Stabal,' or the Field of the Stable, which contains the remains of a row of stables, as it is supposed, and of a number of mangers where Howel's horses were once fed. In a neighbouring wood, called 'Parc y Gelli' or 'Hopiar y Gelli,' my informant goes on to say, there are to be seen the foundations of seventeen or eighteen old hut-circles, and near them some think they see the site of an old church. About a mile to the south-east of Corwrion is Pendinas, which Mr. Hughes describes as an old triangular Welsh fortress, on the bank of the Ogwen; and within two stone's-throws or so of Corwrion on the south side of it, and a little to the west of Bryn Twrw mentioned in the legend, is situated Penard Gron, a caer or fort, which he describes as being, before it was razed in his time, forty-two yards long by thirty-two wide, and defended by a sort of rampart of earth and stone several yards wide at the base. It used to be the resort of the country people for dancing, cock-fighting [26], and other amusements on Sundays. Near it was a cairn, which, when it was dug into, was found to cover a kistvaen, a pot, and a quern: a variety of tales attaching to it are told concerning ghosts, caves, and hidden treasures. Altogether Mr. Hughes is strongly of opinion that Corwrion and its immediate surroundings represent a spot which at one time had great importance; and I see no reason wholly to doubt the correctness of that conclusion, but it would be interesting to know whether Penrhyn used, as Mr. Hughes suggests, to be called Penrhyn Corwrion; there ought, perhaps, to be no great difficulty in ascertaining this, as some of the Penrhyn estate appears to have been the subject of litigation in times gone by. Before leaving Mr. Hughes' notes, I must here give his too brief account of another thing connected with Corwrion, though, perhaps, not with the legends here in question. I allude to what he calls the Lantern Ghost (Ysbryd y Lantar):--'There used to be formerly,' he says, 'and there is still at Corwrion, a good-sized sour apple-tree, which during the winter half of the year used to be lit up by fire. It began slowly and grew greater until the whole seemed to be in a blaze. He was told by an old woman that she formerly knew old people who declared they had seen it. In the same way the trees in Hopiar y Gelli appeared, according to them, to be also lit up with fire.' This reminds me of Mr. Fitzgerald's account of the Irish Bile-Tineadh in the Revue Celtique, iv. 194. After communicating to me the notes of which the foregoing are abstracts, Mr. Hughes kindly got me a version of the legend from Mr. David Thomas, of Pont y Wern, in the same neighbourhood, but as it contains nothing which I have not already given from Mr. Hughes' own, I pass it by. Mr. Thomas, however, has heard that the number of the houses making up the town of Corwrion some six or seven centuries ago was about seventy-five; but they were exactly seventy-three according to my next informant, Mr. David Evan Davies, of Treflys, Bethesda, better known by his bardic name of Dewi Glan Ffrydlas. Both these gentlemen have also heard the tradition that there was a church at Corwrion, where there used to be every Sunday a single service, after which the people went to a spot not far off to amuse themselves, and at night to watch the fairies dancing, or to mix with them while they danced in a ring around a glow-worm. According to Dewi Glan Ffrydlas, the spot was the Pen y Bonc, already mentioned, which means, among other things, that they chose a rising ground. This is referred to in a modern rhyme, which runs thus:-- A'r Tylwyth Teg yn dawnsio'n sionc O gylch magïen Pen y Bonc. With the fairies nimbly dancing round The glow-worm on the Rising Ground. Dewi Glan Ffrydlas has kindly gone to the trouble of giving me a brief, but complete, version of the legend as he has heard it. It will be noticed that the discovering of the fairy's name is an idle incident in this version: it is brought in too late, and no use is made of it when introduced. This is the substance of his story in English:--'At one of the dances at Pen y Bonc, the heir of Corwrion's eyes fell on one of the damsels of the fair family, and he was filled with love for her. Courtship and marriage in due time ensued, but he had to agree to two conditions, namely, that he was neither to know her name nor to strike her with iron. By-and-by they had children, and when the husband happened to go, during his wife's confinement, to a merry-making at Pen y Bonc, the fairies talked together concerning his wife, and in expressing their feelings of sympathy for her, they inadvertently betrayed the mystery of her name by mentioning it within his hearing. Years rolled on, when the husband and wife went out together one day to catch a colt of theirs that had not been broken in, their object being to go to Conway Fair. Now, as she was swifter of foot than her husband, she got hold of the colt by the mane, and called out to him to throw her a halter, but instead of throwing her the one she asked for, he threw another with iron in it, which struck her. Off she went into the lake. A grandson of this fairy many years afterwards married one of the girls of Corwrion. They had a large piece of land, but no means of stocking it, so that they felt rather distressed in their minds. But lo and behold! one day a white-headed bull came out of the lake, bringing with him six black cows to their land. There never were the like of those cows for milk, and great was the prosperity of their owners, as well as the envy it kindled in their neighbours' breasts. But when they both grew old and died, the bull and the cows went back into the lake.' Now I add the other sayings about the Tylwyth Teg, which Dewi Glan Ffrydlas has kindly collected for me, beginning with a blurred story about changelings:-- 'Once on a time, in the fourteenth century, the wife of a man at Corwrion had twins, and she complained one day to a witch, who lived close by, at Tydyn y Barcud, that the children were not getting on, but that they were always crying day and night. "Are you sure that they are your children?" asked the witch, adding that it did not seem to her that they were like hers. "I have my doubts also," said the mother. "I wonder if somebody has exchanged children with you," said the witch. "I do not know," said the mother. "But why do you not seek to know?" asked the other. "But how am I to go about it?" said the mother. The witch replied, "Go and do something rather strange before their eyes and watch what they will say to one another." "Well, I do not know what I should do," said the mother. "Well," said the other, "take an egg-shell, and proceed to brew beer in it in a chamber aside, and come here to tell me what the children will say about it." She went home and did as the witch had directed her, when the two children lifted their heads out of the cradle to find what she was doing--to watch and to listen. Then one observed to the other, "I remember seeing an oak having an acorn," to which the other replied, "And I remember seeing a hen having an egg"; and one of the two added, "But I do not remember before seeing anybody brew beer in the shell of a hen's egg." The mother then went to the witch and told her what the twins had said one to the other; and she directed her to go to a small wooden bridge, not far off, with one of the strange children under each arm, and there to drop them from the bridge into the river beneath. The mother went back home again and did as she had been directed. When she reached home this time, she found to her astonishment that her own children had been brought back.' Next comes a story about a midwife who lived at Corwrion. 'One of the fairies called to ask her to come and attend on his wife. Off she went with him, and she was astonished to be taken into a splendid palace. There she continued to go night and morning to dress the baby for some time, until one day the husband asked her to rub her eyes with a certain ointment he offered her. She did so, and found herself sitting on a tuft of rushes, and not in a palace. There was no baby: all had disappeared. Some time afterwards she happened to go to the town, and whom should she there see busily buying various wares, but the fairy on whose wife she had been attending. She addressed him with the question, "How are you to-day?" Instead of answering her, he asked, "How do you see me?" "With my eyes," was the prompt reply. "Which eye?" he asked. "This one," said the woman, pointing to it; and instantly he disappeared, never more to be seen by her.' This tale, as will be seen on comparison later, is incomplete, and probably incorrect. Here is another from Mr. D. E. Davies:--'One day Guto, the farmer of Corwrion, complained to his wife that he lacked men to mow his hay, when she replied, "Why fret about it? look yonder! There you have a field full of them at it, and stripped to their shirt-sleeves (yn llewys eu crysau)." When he went to the spot the sham workmen of the fairy family had disappeared. This same Guto--or somebody else--happened another time to be ploughing, when he heard some person he could not see, calling out to him, "I have got the bins (that is the vice) of my plough broken." "Bring it to me," said the driver of Guto's team, "that I may mend it." When they finished the furrow, they found the broken vice, with a barrel of beer placed near it. One of the men sat down and mended the vice. Then they made another furrow, and when they returned to the spot they found there a two-eared dish filled to the brim with bara a chwrw, or "bread and beer." The word vice, I may observe, is an English term, which is applied in Carnarvonshire to a certain part of the plough: it is otherwise called bins, but neither does this seem to be a Welsh word, nor have I heard either used in South Wales. At times one of the fairies was in the habit, as I was told by more than one of my informants, of coming out of Llyn Corwrion with her spinning-wheel (troell bach) on fine summer days and betaking herself to spinning. While at that work she might be heard constantly singing or humming, in a sort of round tune, the words sìli ffrit. So that sìli ffrit Leisa Bèla may now be heard from the mouths of the children in that neighbourhood. But I have not been successful in finding out what Liza Bella's 'silly frit' exactly means, though I am, on the whole, convinced that the words are other than of Welsh origin. The last of them, ffrit, is usually applied in Cardiganshire to anything worthless or insignificant, and the derivative, ffrityn, means one who has no go or perseverance in him: the feminine is ffriten. In Carnarvonshire my wife has heard ffrityn and ffritan applied to a small man and a small woman respectively. Mr. Hughes says that in Merioneth and parts of Powys sìli ffrit is a term applied to a small woman or a female dwarf who happens to be proud, vain, and fond of the attentions of the other sex (benyw fach neu goraches falch a hunanol a fydai hoff o garu); but he thinks he has heard it made use of with regard to the gipsies, and possibly also to the Tylwyth Teg. The Rev. O. Davies thinks the words sìli ffrit Leisa Bèla to be very modern, and that they refer to a young woman who lived at a place in the neighbourhood, called Bryn Bèla or Brymbèla, 'Bella's Hill,' the point being that this Bella was ahead, in her time, of all the girls in those parts in matters of taste and fashion. This however does not seem to go far enough back, and it is possible still that in Bèla, that is, in English spelling, Bella, we have merely a shortening of some such a name as Isabella or Arabella, which were once much more popular in the Principality than they are now: in fact, I do not feel sure that Leisa Bèla is not bodily a corruption of Isabella. As to sìli ffrit, one might at first have been inclined to render it by small fry, especially in the sense of the French 'de la friture' as applied to young men and boys, and to connect it with the Welsh sil and silod, which mean small fish; but the pronunciation of silli or sìli being nearly that of the English word silly, it appears, on the whole, to belong to the host of English words to be found in colloquial Welsh, though they seldom find their way into books. Students of English ought to be able to tell us whether frit had the meaning here suggested in any part of England, and how lately; also, whether there was such a phrase as 'silly frit' in use. After penning this, I received the following interesting communication from Mr. William Jones, of Llangollen:--The term sìli ffrit was formerly in use at Bedgelert, and what was thereby meant was a child of the Tylwyth Teg. It is still used for any creature that is smaller than ordinary. 'Pooh, a silly frit like that!' (Pw, rhyw sìli ffrit fel yna!). 'Mrs. So-and-So has a fine child.' 'Ha, do you call a silly frit like that a fine child?' (Mae gan hon a hon blentyn braf. Ho, a ydych chwi'n galw rhyw sìli ffrit fel hwnna'n braf?) To return to Leisa Bèla and Belenë, it may be that the same person was meant by both these names, but I am in no hurry to identify them, as none of my correspondents knows the latter of them except Mr. Hughes, who gives it on the authority of the bard Gutyn Peris, and nothing further so far as I can understand, whereas Bèla will come before us in another story, as it is the same name, I presume, which Glasynys has spelled Bella in Cymru Fu. So I wrote in 1881: since then I have ascertained from Professor Joseph Wright, who is busily engaged on his great English Dialect Dictionary, that frit [27] is the same word, in the dialects of Cheshire, Shropshire, and Pembrokeshire, as fright in literary English; and that the corresponding verb to frighten is in them fritten, while a frittenin (= the book English frightening) means a ghost or apparition. So sìli ffrit is simply the English silly frit, and means probably a silly sprite or silly ghost, and sìli ffrit Leisa Bèla would mean the silly ghost of a woman called Liza Bella. But the silly frit found spinning near Corwrion Pool will come under notice again, for that fairy belongs to the Rumpelstiltzchen group of tales, and the fragment of a story about her will be seen to have treated Silly Frit as her proper name, which she had not intended to reach the ears of the person of whom she was trying to get the better. These tales are brought into connexion with the present day in more ways than one, for besides the various accounts of the bwganod or bogies of Corwrion frightening people when out late at night, Mr. D. E. Davies knows a man, who is still living, and who well remembers the time when the sound of working used to be heard in the pool, and the voices of children crying somewhere in its depths, but that when people rushed there to see what the matter was, all was found profoundly quiet and still. Moreover, there is a family or two, now numerously represented in the parishes of Llandegai and Llanllechid, who used to be taunted with being the offspring of fairy ancestors. One of these families was nicknamed 'Simychiaid' or 'Smychiaid'; and my informant, who is not yet quite forty, says that he heard his mother repeat scores of times that the old people used to say, that the Smychiaid, who were very numerous in the neighbourhood, were descended from fairies, and that they came from Llyn Corwrion. At all this the Smychiaid were wont to grow mightily angry. Another tradition, he says, about them was that they were a wandering family that arrived in the district from the direction of Conway, and that the father's name was a Simwch, or rather that was his nickname, based on the proper name Simwnt, which appears to have once been the prevalent name in Llandegai. The historical order of these words would in that case have been Simwnt, Simwch, Simychiaid, Smychiaid. Now Simwnt seems to be merely the Welsh form given to some such English name as Simond, just as Edmund or Edmond becomes in North Wales Emwnt. The objection to the nickname seems to lie in the fact, which one of my correspondents points out to me, that Simwch is understood to mean a monkey, a point on which I should like to have further information. Pughe gives simach, it is true, as having the meaning of the Latin simia. A branch of the same family is said to be called 'y Cowperiaid' or the Coopers, from an ancestor who was either by name or by trade a cooper. Mr. Hughes' account of the Smychiaid was, that they are the descendants of one Simonds, who came to be a bailiff at Bodysgallan, near Deganwy, and moved from there to Coetmor in the neighbourhood of Corwrion. Simonds was obnoxious to the bards, he goes on to say, and they described the Smychiaid as having arrived in the parish at the bottom of a cawell, 'a creel or basket carried on the back,' when chance would have it that the cawell cord snapped just in that neighbourhood, at a place called Pont y Llan. That accident is described, according to Mr. Hughes, in the following doggerel, the origin of which I do not know-- E dorai 'r arwest, ede wan, Brwnt y lle, ar Bont y Llan. The cord would snap, feeble yarn, At that nasty spot, Pont y Llan. Curiously enough, the same cawell story used to be said of a widely spread family in North Cardiganshire, whose surname was pronounced Massn and written Mason or Mazon: as my mother was of this family, I have often heard it. The cawell, if I remember rightly, was said, in this instance, to have come from Scotland, to which were traced three men who settled in North Cardiganshire. One had no descendants, but the other two, Mason and Peel--I think his name was Peel, but I am only sure that it was not Welsh--had so many, that the Masons, at any rate, are exceedingly numerous there; but a great many of them, owing to some extent, probably, to the cawell story, have been silly enough to change their name into that of Jones, some of them in my time. The three men came there probably for refuge in the course of troubles in Scotland, as a Frazer and a Francis did to Anglesey. At any rate, I have never heard it suggested that they were of aquatic origin, but, taking the cawell into consideration, and the popular account of the Smychiaid, I should be inclined to think that the cawell originally referred to some such a supposed descent. I only hope that somebody will help us with another and a longer cawell tale, which will make up for the brevity of these allusions. We may, however, assume, I think, that there was a tendency at one time in Gwyned, if not in other parts of the Principality, to believe, or pretend to believe, that the descendants of an Englishman or Scotsman, who settled among the old inhabitants, were of fairy origin, and that their history was somehow uncanny, which was all, of course, duly resented. This helps, to some extent, to explain how names of doubtful origin have got into these tales, such as Smychiaid, Cowperiaid, Pellings, Penelope, Leisa Bèla or Isabella, and the like. This association of the lake legends with intruders from without is what has, perhaps, in a great measure served to rescue such legends from utter oblivion. As to a church at Corwrion, the tradition does not seem to be an old one, and it appears founded on one of the popular etymologies of the word Corwrion, which treats the first syllable as cor in the sense of a choir; but the word has other meanings, including among them that of an ox-stall or enclosure for cattle. Taking this as coming near the true explanation, it at once suggests itself, that Creuwyryon in the Mabinogi of Math ab Mathonwy is the same place, for creu or crau also meant an enclosure for animals, including swine. In Irish the word is cró, an enclosure, a hut or hovel. The passage in the Mabinogi [28] relates to Gwydion returning with the swine he had got by dint of magic and deceit from Pryderi, prince of Dyfed, and runs thus in Lady Charlotte Guest's translation: 'So they journeyed on to the highest town of Arllechwed, and there they made a sty (creu) for the swine, and therefore was the name of Creuwyryon given to that town.' As to wyryon or wyrion, which we find made into wrion in Corwrion according to the modern habit, it would seem to be no other word than the usual plural of wyr, a grandson, formerly also any descendant in the direct line. If so, the name of an ancestor must have originally followed, just as one of the places called Bettws was once Betws Wyrion Idon, 'the Bettws of Idon's Descendants'; but it is possible that wyrion in Creu- or Cor-wyrion was itself a man's name, though I have never met with it. It is right to add that the name appears in the Record of Carnarvon (pp. 12, 25, 26) as Creweryon, which carries us back to the first half of the fourteenth century. There it occurs as the name of a township containing eight gavels, and the particulars about it might, in the hand of one familiar with the tenures of that time, perhaps give us valuable information as to what may have been its status at a still earlier date. VI. Here, for the sake of comparison with the Northwalian stories in which the fairy wife runs away from her husband in consequence of his having unintentionally touched or hit her with the iron in the bridle, the fetter, or the stirrup, as on pp. 35, 40, 46, 50, 54, 61. I wish to cite the oldest recorded version, namely from Walter Mapes' curious miscellany of anecdotes and legends entitled De Nugis Curialium Distinctiones Quinque. Mapes flourished in the latter part of the twelfth century, and in Distinctio ii. 11 of Thomas Wright's edition, published in the year 1850, one reads the following story, which serves the purpose there of giving the origin of a certain Trinio, of whom Mapes had more to say:-- Aliud non miraculum sed portentum nobis Walenses referunt. Wastinum Wastiniauc secus stagnum Brekeinauc [read Brecheinauc], quod in circuitu duo miliaria tenet, mansisse aiunt et vidisse per tres claras a luna noctes choreas fæminarum in campo avenæ suæ, et secutum eum eas fuisse donec in aqua stagni submergerentur, unam tamen quarta vice retinuisse. Narrabat etiam ille raptor illius quod eas noctibus singulis post submersionem earum murmurantes audisset sub aqua et dicentes, 'Si hoc fecisset, unam de nobis cepisset,' et se ab ipsis edoctum quomodo hanc adepta [read -us] sit, quæ et consensit et nupsit ei, et prima verba sua hæc ad virum suum, 'Libens tibi serviam, et tota obedientiæ devotione usque in diem illum prosilire volens ad clamores ultra Lenem [read Leueni] me freno tuo percusseris.' Est autem Leueni aqua vicina stagno. Quod et factum est; post plurimæ prolis susceptionem ab eo freno percussa est, et in reditu suo inventam eam fugientem cum prole, insecutus est, et vix unum ex filiis suis arripuit, nomine Triunem Uagelauc. 'The Welsh relate to us another thing, not so much a miracle as a portent, as follows. They say that Gwestin of Gwestiniog dwelt beside Brecknock Mere, which has a circumference of two miles, and that on three moonlight nights he saw in his field of oats women dancing, and that he followed them until they sank in the water of the mere; but the fourth time they say that he seized hold of one of them. Her captor further used to relate that on each of these nights he had heard the women, after plunging into the mere, murmuring beneath the water and saying, "If he had done so and so, he would have caught one of us," and that he had been instructed by their own words, as to the manner in which he caught her. She both yielded and became his wife, and her first words to her husband were these: "Willingly will I serve thee, and with whole-hearted obedience, until that day when, desirous of sallying forth in the direction of the cries beyond the Llyfni, thou shalt strike me with thy bridle"--the Llyfni is a burn near the mere. And this came to pass: after presenting him with a numerous offspring she was struck by him with the bridle, and on his returning home, he found her running away with her offspring, and he pursued her, but it was with difficulty that he got hold even of one of his sons, and he was named Trinio (?) Faglog.' The story, as it proceeds, mentions Trinio engaged in battle with the men of a prince who seems to have been no other than Brychan of Brycheiniog, supposed to have died about the middle of the fifth century. The battle was disastrous to Trinio and his friends, and Trinio was never seen afterwards; so Walter Mapes reports the fact that people believed him to have been rescued by his mother, and that he was with her living still in the lake. Giraldus calls it lacus ille de Brecheniauc magnus et famosus, quem et Clamosum dicunt, 'that great and famous lake of Brecknock which they also call Clamosus,' suggested by the Welsh Llyn Llefni, so called from the river Llefni, misinterpreted as if derived from llef 'a cry.' With this lake he connects the legend, that at the bidding of the rightful Prince of Wales, the birds frequenting it would at once warble and sing. This he asserts to have been proved in the case of Gruffud, son of Rhys, though the Normans were at the time masters of his person and of his territory [29]. After dwelling on the varying colours of the lake he adds the following statement:--Ad hæc etiam totus ædificiis consertus, culturis egregiis, hortis ornatus et pomeriis, ab accolis quandoque conspicitur, 'Now and then also it is seen by the neighbouring inhabitants to be covered with buildings, and adorned with excellent farming, gardens, and orchards.' It is remarkable as one of the few lakes in Wales where the remains of a crannog have been discovered, and while Mapes gives it as only two miles round, it is now said to be about five; so it has sometimes [30] been regarded as a stockaded island rather than as an instance of pile dwellings. In the Brython for 1863, pp. 114-15, is to be found what purports to be a copy of a version of the Legend of Llyn Syfadon, as contained in a manuscript of Hugh Thomas' in the British Museum. It is to the effect that the people of the neighbourhood have a story that all the land now covered by the lake belonged to a princess, who had an admirer to whom she would not be married unless he procured plenty of gold: she did not care how. So he one day murdered and robbed a man who had money, and the princess then accepted the murderer's suit, but she felt uneasy on account of the reports as to the murdered man's ghost haunting the place where his body had been buried. So she made her admirer go at night to interview the ghost and lay it. Whilst he waited near the grave he heard a voice inquiring whether the innocent man was not to be avenged, and another replying that it would not be avenged till the ninth generation. The princess and her lover felt safe enough and were married: they multiplied and became numerous, while their town grew to be as it were another Sodom; and the original pair lived on so astonishingly long that they saw their descendants of the ninth generation. They exulted in their prosperity, and one day held a great feast to celebrate it; and when their descendants were banqueting with them, and the gaiety and mirth were at their zenith, ancestors and descendants were one and all drowned in a mighty cataclysm which produced the present lake. Lastly may be briefly mentioned the belief still lingering in the neighbourhood, to the effect that there is a town beneath the waters of the lake, and that in rough weather the bells from the church tower of that town may be heard ringing, while in calm weather the spire of the church may be distinctly seen. My informant, writing in 1892, added the remark: 'This story seems hardly creditable to us, but many of the old people believe it.' I ought to have mentioned that the fifteenth-century poet Lewis Glyn Cothi connects with Syfadon [31] Lake an afanc legend; but this will be easier to understand in the light of the more complete one from the banks of the river Conwy. So the reader will find Glyn Cothi's words given in the next chapter. CHAPTER II THE FAIRIES' REVENGE In th'olde dayes of the king Arthour, Of which that Britons speken greet honour, Al was this land fulfild of fayerye. The elf-queen, with hir joly companye, Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede; This was the olde opinion, as I rede. I speke of manye hundred yeres ago. Chaucer. I. The best living authority I have found on the folklore of Bedgelert, Drws y Coed, and the surrounding district, is Mr. William Jones, of Llangollen. He has written a good deal on the subject in the Brython, and in essays intended for competition at various literary meetings in Wales. I had the loan from him of one such essay, and I have referred to the Brython; and I have also had from Mr. Jones a number of letters, most of which contain some additional information. In harmony, moreover, with my usual practice, I have asked Mr. Jones to give me a little of his own history. This he has been kind enough to do; and, as I have so far followed no particular order in these jottings, I shall now give the reader the substance of his letters in English, as I am anxious that no item should be lost or left inaccessible to English students of folklore. What is unintelligible to me may not be so to those who have made a serious study of the subject. Mr. Jones' words are in substance to the following effect:-- 'I was bred and born in the parish of Bedgelert, one of the most rustic neighbourhoods and least subject to change in the whole country. Some of the old Welsh customs remained within my memory, in spite of the adverse influence of the Calvinistic Reformation, as it is termed, and I have myself witnessed several Knitting Nights and Nuptial Feasts (Neithiorau), which, be it noticed, are not to be confounded with weddings, as they were feasts which followed the weddings, at the interval of a week. At these gatherings song and story formed an element of prime importance in the entertainment at a time when the Reformation alluded to had already blown the blast of extinction on the Merry Nights (Noswyliau Llawen) and Saints' Fêtes [32] (Gwyliau Mabsant) before the days of my youth, though many of my aged acquaintances remembered them well, and retained a vivid recollection of scores of the amusing tales which used to be related for the best at the last mentioned long-night meetings. I have heard not a few of them reproduced by men of that generation. As an example of the old-fashioned habits of the people of Bedgelert in my early days, I may mention the way in which wives and children used to be named. The custom was that the wife never took her husband's family name, but retained the one she had as a spinster. Thus my grandmother on my mother's side was called Ellen Hughes, daughter to Hugh Williams, of Gwastad Annas. The name of her husband, my grandfather, was William Prichard [= W. ab Rhisiart, or Richard's son], son to Richard William, of the Efail Newyd. The name of their eldest son, my uncle (brother to my mother), was Hugh Hughes, and the second son's name was Richard William. The mother had the privilege of naming her first-born after her own family in case it was a boy; but if it happened to be a girl, she took her name from the father's family, for which reason my mother's maiden name was Catharine Williams. This remained her name to the day of her death: and the old people at Bedgelert persisted in calling me, so long as I was at home, William Prichard, after my grandfather, as I was my mother's eldest child. 'Most of the tales I have collected,' says Mr. Jones, 'relate to the parishes of Bedgelert and Dolwydelen. My kindred have lived for generations in those two parishes, and they are very numerous: in fact, it used to be said that the people of Dolwydelen and Bedgelert were all cousins. They were mostly small farmers, and jealous of all strangers, so that they married almost without exception from the one parish into the other. This intermixture helped to carry the tales of the one parish to the other, and to perpetuate them on the hearths of their homes from generation to generation, until they were swept away by another influence in this century. Many of my ancestors seem to have been very fond of stories, poetry, and singing, and I have been told that some of them were very skilled in these things. So also, in the case of my parents, the memory of the past had a great charm for them on both sides; and when the relatives from Dolwydelen and Bedgelert met in either parish, there used to be no end to the recounting of pedigrees and the repeating of tales for the best. By listening to them, I had been filled with desire to become an adept in pedigrees and legends. My parents used to let me go every evening to the house of my grandfather, William ab Rhisiart, the clerk, to listen to tales, and to hear edifying books read. My grandfather was a reader "without his rival," and "he used to beat the parson hollow." Many people used to meet at Pen y Bont in the evenings to converse together, and the stories of some of them were now and then exceedingly eloquent. Of course, I listened with eager ears and open mouth, in order, if I heard anything new, to be able to repeat it to my mother. She, unwilling to let herself be beaten, would probably relate another like it, which she had heard from her mother, her grandmother, or her old aunt of Gwastad Annas, who was a fairly good verse-wright of the homely kind. Then my father, if he did not happen to be busy with his music-book, would also give us a tale which he had heard from his grandmother or grandfather, the old John Jones, of Tyn Llan Dolwydelen, or somebody else would do so. That is one source from which I got my knowledge of folklore; but this ceased when we moved from Bedgelert to Carnarvon in the year 1841. My grandfather died in 1844, aged seventy-eight. 'Besides those,' Mr. Jones goes on to say, 'who used to come to my grandfather's house and to his workshop to relate stories, the blacksmith's shop used to be, especially on a rainy day, a capital place for a story, and many a time did I lurk there instead of going to school, in order to hear old William Dafyd, the sawyer, who, peace be to his ashes! drank many a hornful from the Big Quart without ever breaking down, and old Ifan Owen, the fisherman, tearing away for the best at their yarns, sometimes a tissue of lies and sometimes truth. The former was funny, and a great wag, up to all kinds of tricks. He made everybody laugh, whereas the latter would preserve the gravity of a saint, however lying might be the tale which he related. Ifan Owen's best stories were about the Water Spirit, or, as he called it, Llamhigyn y Dwr, "the Water Leaper." He had not himself seen the Llamhigyn, but his father had seen it "hundreds of times." Many an evening it had prevented him from catching a single fish in Llyn Gwynan, and, when the fisherman got on this theme, his eloquence was apt to become highly polysyllabic in its adjectives. Once in particular, when he had been angling for hours towards the close of the day, without catching anything, he found that something took the fly clean off the hook each time he cast it. After moving from one spot to another on the lake, he fished opposite the Benlan Wen, when something gave his line a frightful pull, "and, by the gallows, I gave another pull," the fisherman used to say, "with all the force of my arm: out it came, and up it went off the hook, whilst I turned round to see, as it dashed so against the cliff of Benlan that it blazed like a lightning." He used to add, "If that was not the Llamhigyn, it must have been the very devil himself." That cliff must be two hundred yards at least from the shore. As to his father, he had seen the Water Spirit many times, and he had also been fishing in the Llyn Glâs or Ffynnon Lâs, once upon a time, when he hooked a wonderful and fearful monster: it was not like a fish, but rather resembled a toad, except that it had a tail and wings instead of legs. He pulled it easily enough towards the shore, but, as its head was coming out of the water, it gave a terrible shriek that was enough to split the fisherman's bones to the marrow, and, had there not been a friend standing by, he would have fallen headlong into the lake, and been possibly dragged like a sheep into the depth; for there is a tradition that if a sheep got into the Llyn Glâs, it could not be got out again, as something would at once drag it to the bottom. This used to be the belief of the shepherds of Cwm Dyli, within my memory, and they acted on it in never letting their dogs go after the sheep in the neighbourhood of this lake. These two funny fellows, William Dafyd and Ifan Owen, died long ago, without leaving any of their descendants blessed with as much as the faintest gossamer thread of the story-teller's mantle. The former, if he had been still living, would now be no less than 129 years of age, and the latter about 120.' Mr. Jones proceeds to say that he had stories from sources besides those mentioned, namely, from Lowri Robart, wife of Rhisiart Edwart, the 'Old Guide'; from his old aunt of Gwastad Annas; from William Wmffra, husband to his grandmother's sister; from his grandmother, who was a native of Dolwydelen, but had been brought up at Pwllgwernog, in Nanmor; from her sister; and from Gruffud Prisiart, of Nanmor, afterwards of Glan Colwyn, who gave him the legend of Owen Lawgoch of which I shall have something to say later, and the story of the bogie of Pen Pwll Coch, which I do not know. 'But the chief story-teller of his time at Bedgelert,' Mr. Jones goes on to say, 'was Twm Ifan Siams (pronounced Siams or Shams), brother, I believe, to Dafyd Siôn Siams, of the Penrhyn, who was a bard and pedigree man. Twm lived at Nanmor, but I know not what his vocation was; his relatives, however, were small farmers, carpenters, and masons. It is not improbable that he was also an artisan, as he was conversant with numbers, magnitude, and letters, and left behind him a volume forming a pedigree book known at Nanmor as the Barcud Mawr, or "Great Kite," as Gruffud Prisiart told me. The latter had been reading it many a time in order to know the origin of somebody or other. All I can remember of this character is that he was very old--over 90--and that he went from house to house in his old age to relate tales and recount pedigrees: great was the welcome he had from everybody everywhere. I remember, also, that he was small of stature, nimble, witty, exceedingly amusing, and always ready with his say on every subject. He was in the habit of calling on my grandfather in his rambles, and very cordial was the reception which my parents always gave him on account of his tales and his knowledge of pedigrees. The story of the afanc, as given in my collection, is from his mouth. You will observe how little difference there is between his version [33] and that known to Edward Llwyd in the year 1695. I had related this story to a friend of mine at Portmadoc, who was grandson or great-grandson to Dafyd Siôn Siams, of Penrhyn, in 1858, when he called my attention to the same story in the Cambrian Journal from the correspondence of Edward Llwyd. I was surprised at the similarity between the two versions, and I went to Bedgelert to Gruffud Rhisiart, who was related to Twm Siôn Siams. I read the story to him, and I found that he had heard it related by his uncle just as it was by me, and as given in the Cambrian Journal. Twm Ifan Siams had funny stories about the tricks of Gwrach y Rhibyn, the Bodach [34] Glas, and the Bwbach Llwyd, which he localized in Nanmor and Llanfrothen; he had, also, a very eloquent tale about the courtship between a sailor from Moel y Gest, near Portmadoc, and a mermaid, of which I retain a fairly good recollection. I believe Twm died in the year 1835-6, aged about ninety-five.' So far, I have merely translated Mr. Jones' account of himself and his authorities as given me in the letter I have already referred to, dated in June of last year, 1881. I would now add the substance of his general remarks about the fairies, as he had heard them described, and as he expressed himself in his essay for the competition on folklore at the Carnarvon Eistedfod of 1880:--The traditions, he says, respecting the Tylwyth Teg vary according to the situation of the districts with which they are connected, and many more such traditions continue to be remembered among the inhabitants of the mountains than by those of the more level country. In some places the Tylwyth Teg are described as a small folk of a thieving nature, living in summer among the fern bushes in the mountains, and in winter in the heather and gorse. These were wont to frequent the fairs and to steal money from the farmers' pockets, where they placed in its stead their own fairy money, which looked like the coin of the realm, but when it was paid for anything bought it would vanish in the pockets of the seller. In other districts the fairies were described as a little bigger and stronger folk; but these latter were also of a thieving disposition. They would lurk around people's houses, looking for an opportunity to steal butter and cheese from the dairies, and they skulked about the cow-yards, in order to milk the cows and the goats, which they did so thoroughly that many a morning there was not a drop of milk to be had. The principal mischief, however, which those used to do, was to carry away unbaptized infants, and place in their stead their own wretched and peevish offspring. They were said to live in hidden caves in the mountains, and he had heard one old man asserting his firm belief that it was beneath Moel Eilio, also called Moel Eilian, a mountain lying between Llanberis and Cwellyn, the Tylwyth Teg of Nant y Bettws lived, whom he had seen many a time when he was a lad; and, if any one came across the mouth of their cave, he thought that he would find there a wonderful amount of wealth, 'for they were thieves without their like.' There is still another species of Tylwyth Teg, very unlike the foregoing ones in their nature and habits. Not only was this last kind far more beautiful and comely than the others, but they were honest and good towards mortals. Their whole nature was replete with joy and fun, nor were they ever beheld hardly, except engaged in some merry-making or other. They might be seen on bright moonlight nights at it, singing and carolling playfully on the fair meadows and the green slopes, at other times dancing lightly on the tops of the rushes in the valleys. They were also wont to be seen hunting in full force on the backs of their grey horses; for this kind were rich, and kept horses and servants. Though it used to be said that they were spiritual and immortal beings, still they ate and drank like human beings: they married and had children. They were also remarkable for their cleanliness, and they were wont to reward neat maid-servants and hospitable wives. So housewives used to exhort their maids to clean their houses thoroughly every night before going to bed, saying that if the Tylwyth Teg happened to enter, they would be sure to leave money for them somewhere; but they were to tell no one in case they found any, lest the Tylwyth should be offended and come no more. The mistresses also used to order a tinful of water to be placed at the foot of the stairs, a clean cloth on the table, with bread and its accompaniments (bara ac enllyn) placed on it, so that, if the Tylwyth came in to eat, the maids should have their recompense on the hob as well as unstinted praise for keeping the house clean, or, as Mr. Jones has it in a couplet from Goronwy Owen's Cywyd y Cynghorfynt-- Cael eu rhent ar y pentan, A llwyr glod o bai llawr glân. Finding the fairies' pay on the hob, With full credit for a clean floor. Thus, whether the fairies came or not to pay a visit to them during their sleep, the house would be clean by the morning, and the table ready set for breakfast. It appears that the places most frequently resorted to by this species were rushy combes surrounded by smooth hills with round tops, also the banks of rivers and the borders of lakes; but they were seldom seen at any time near rocks or cliffs. So more tales about them are found in districts of the former description than anywhere else, and among them may be mentioned Penmachno, Dolwydelan, the sides of Moel Siabod, Llandegái Mountain, and from there to Llanberis, to Nantlle Lakes, to Moel Tryfan [35] and Nant y Bettws, the upper portion of the parish of Bedgelert from Drws y Coed to the Pennant, and the district beginning from there and including the level part of Eifion, on towards Celynnog Fawr. I have very little doubt that there are many traditions about them in the neighbourhood of the Eifl and in Lleyn; I know but little, however, about these last. This kind of fairies was said to live underground, and the way to their country lay under hollow banks that overhung the deepest parts of the lakes, or the deepest pools in the rivers, so that mortals could not follow them further than the water, should they try to go after them. They used to come out in broad daylight, two or three together, and now and then a shepherd, so the saying went, used to talk and chat with them. Sometimes, moreover, he fell over head and ears in love with their damsels, but they did not readily allow a mortal to touch them. The time they were to be seen in their greatest glee was at night when the moon was full, when they celebrated a merry night (noswaith lawen). At midnight to the minute, they might be seen rising out of the ground in every combe and valley; then, joining hands, they would form into circles, and begin to sing and dance with might and main until the cock crew, when they would vanish. Many used to go to look at them on those nights, but it was dangerous to go too near them, lest they should lure the spectator into their circle; for if that happened, they would throw a charm over him, which would make him invisible to his companions, and he would be detained by the fairies as long as he lived. At times some people went too near to them, and got snatched in; and at other times a love-inspired youth, fascinated by the charms of one of their damsels, rushed in foolhardily to try to seize one of them, and became instantly surrounded and concealed from sight. If he could be got out before the cock crew he would be no worse; but once the fairies disappeared without his having been released, he would never more be seen in the land of the living. The way to get the captured man out was to take a long stick of mountain ash (pren criafol), which two or more strong men had to hold with one of its ends in the middle of the circle, so that when the man came round in his turn in the dance he might take hold of it, for he is there bodily though not visible, so that he cannot go past without coming across the stick. Then the others pull him out, for the fairies, no more than any other spirit, dare touch the mountain ash. We now proceed to give some of Mr. Jones' legends. The first is one which he published in the fourth volume of the Brython, p. 70, whence the following free translation is made of it:-- 'In the north-west corner of the parish of Bedgelert there is a place which used to be called by the old inhabitants the Land of the Fairies, and it reaches from Cwm Hafod Ruffyd along the slope of the mountain of Drws y Coed as far as Llyn y Dywarchen. The old people of former times used to find much pleasure and amusement in this district in listening every moonlight night to the charming music of the fair family, and in looking at their dancing and their mirthful sports. Once on a time, a long while ago, there lived at upper Drws y Coed a youth, who was joyous and active, brave and determined of heart. This young man amused himself every night by looking on and listening to them. One night they had come to a field near the house, near the shore of Llyn y Dywarchen, to pass a merry night. He went, as usual, to look at them, when his glances at once fell on one of the ladies, who possessed such beauty as he had never seen in a human being. Her appearance was like that of alabaster; her voice was as agreeable as the nightingale's, and as unruffled as the zephyr in a flower-garden at the noon of a long summer's day; and her gait was pretty and aristocratic; her feet moved in the dance as lightly on the grass as the rays of the sun had a few hours before on the lake hard by. He fell in love with her over head and ears, and in the strength of that passion--for what is stronger than love!--he rushed, when the bustle was at its height, into the midst of the fair crowd, and snatched the graceful damsel in his arms, and ran instantly with her to the house. When the fair family saw the violence used by a mortal, they broke up the dance and ran after her towards the house; but, when they arrived, the door had been bolted with iron, wherefore they could not get near her or touch her in any way; and the damsel had been placed securely in a chamber. The youth, having her now under his roof, as is the saying, endeavoured, with all his talent, to win her affection and to induce her to wed. But at first she would on no account hear of it; on seeing his persistence, however, and on finding that he would not let her go to return to her people, she consented to be his servant if he could find out her name; but she would not be married to him. As he thought that was not impossible, he half agreed to the condition; but, after bothering his head with all the names known in that neighbourhood, he found himself no nearer his point, though he was not willing to give up the search hurriedly. One night, as he was going home from Carnarvon market, he saw a number of the fair folks in a turbary not far from his path. They seemed to him to be engaged in an important deliberation, and it struck him that they were planning how to recover their abducted sister. He thought, moreover, that if he could secretly get within hearing, he might possibly find her name out. On looking carefully around, he saw that a ditch ran through the turbary and passed near the spot where they stood. So he made his way round to the ditch, and crept, on all fours, along it until he was within hearing of the family. After listening a little, he found that their deliberation was as to the fate of the lady he had carried away, and he heard one of them crying, piteously, "O Penelop, O Penelop, my sister, why didst thou run away with a mortal!" "Penelop," said the young man to himself, "that must be the name of my beloved: that is enough." At once he began to creep back quietly, and he returned home safely without having been seen by the fairies. When he got into the house, he called out to the girl, saying, "Penelop, my beloved one, come here!" and she came forward and asked, in astonishment, "O mortal, who has betrayed my name to thee?" Then, lifting up her tiny folded hands, she exclaimed, "Alas, my fate, my fate!" But she grew contented with her fate, and took to her work in earnest. Everything in the house and on the farm prospered under her charge. There was no better or cleanlier housewife in the neighbourhood around, or one that was more provident than she. The young man, however, was not satisfied that she should be a servant to him, and, after he had long and persistently sought it, she consented to be married, on the one condition, that, if ever he should touch her with iron, she would be free to leave him and return to her family. He agreed to that condition, since he believed that such a thing would never happen at his hands. So they were married, and lived several years happily and comfortably together. Two children were born to them, a boy and a girl, the picture of their mother and the idols of their father. But one morning, when the husband wanted to go to the fair at Carnarvon, he went out to catch a filly that was grazing in the field by the house; but for the life of him he could not catch her, and he called to his wife to come to assist him. She came without delay, and they managed to drive the filly to a secure corner, as they thought; but, as the man approached to catch her, she rushed past him. In his excitement, he threw the bridle after her; but, who should be running in the direction of it, but his wife! The iron bit struck her on the cheek, and she vanished out of sight on the spot. Her husband never saw her any more; but one cold frosty night, a long time after this event, he was awakened from his sleep by somebody rubbing the glass of his window, and, after he had given a response, he recognized the gentle and tender voice of his wife saying to him:-- Lest my son should find it cold, Place on him his father's coat; Lest the fair one find it cold, Place on her my petticoat. It is said that the descendants of this family still continue in these neighbourhoods, and that they are easy to be recognized by their light and fair complexion. A similar story is related of the son of the farmer of Braich y Dinas, in Llanfihangel y Pennant, and it used to be said that most of the inhabitants of that neighbourhood were formerly of a light complexion. I have often heard old people saying, that it was only necessary, within their memory, to point out in the fair at Penmorfa any one as being of the breed of the Tylwyth, to cause plenty of fighting that day at least.' The reader may compare with this tale the following, for which I have to thank Mr. Samuel Rhys Williams, whose words I give, followed by a translation:-- Yr oed gwr ieuanc o gymydogaeth Drws y Coed yn dychwelyd adref o Bedgelert ar noswaith loergan lleuad; pan ar gyfer Llyn y Gader gwelai nifer o'r bonedigesau a elwir y Tylwyth Teg yn myned trwy eu chwareuon nosawl. Swynwyd y llanc yn y fan gan brydferthwch y rhianod hyn, ac yn neillduol un o honynt. Collod y llywodraeth arno ei hunan i'r fath radau fel y penderfynod neidio i'r cylch a dwyn yn ysbail ido yr hon oed wedi myned a'i galon mor llwyr. Cyflawnod ei fwriad a dygod y fonediges gydag ef adref. Bu yn wraig ido, a ganwyd plant idynt. Yn damweiniol, tra yn cyflawni rhyw orchwyl, digwydod ido ei tharo a haiarn ac ar amrantiad diflannod ei anwylyd o'i olwg ac nis gwelod hi mwyach, ond darfod idi dyfod at ffenestr ei ystafell wely un noswaith ar ol hyn a'i annog i fod yn dirion wrth y plant a'i bod hi yn aros gerllaw y ty yn Llyny Dywarchen. Y mae y tradodiad hefyd yn ein hysbysu darfod i'r gwr hwn symud i fyw o Drws y Coed i Ystrad Betws Garmon. 'A young man, from the neighbourhood of Drws y Coed, was returning home one bright moonlight night, from Bedgelert; when he came opposite the lake called Llyn y Gader, he saw a number of the ladies known as the Tylwyth Teg going through their nightly frolics. The youth was charmed at once by the beauty of these ladies, and especially by one of them. He so far lost his control over himself, that he resolved to leap into the circle and carry away as his spoil the one who had so completely robbed him of his heart. He accomplished his intention, and carried the lady home with him. She became his wife, and children were born to them. Accidentally, while at some work or other, it happened to him to strike her with iron, and, in the twinkling of an eye, his beloved one disappeared from his sight. He saw her no more, except that she came to his bedroom window one night afterwards, and told him to be tender to the children, and that she was staying, near the house, in the lake called Llyn y Dywarchen. The tradition also informs us that this man moved from Drws y Coed to live at Ystrad near Bettws Garmon.' The name Llyn y Dywarchen, I may add, means the Lake of the Sod or Turf: it is the one with the floating island, described thus by Giraldus, ii. 9 (p. 135):--Alter enim insulam habet erraticam, vi ventorum impellentium ad oppositas plerumque lacus partes errabundam. Hic armenta pascentia nonnunquam pastores ad longinquas subito partes translata mirantur. 'For one of the two lakes holds a wandering island, which strays mostly with the force of the winds impelling it to the opposite parts of the lake. Sometimes cattle grazing on it are, to the surprise of the shepherds, suddenly carried across to the more distant parts.' Sheep are known to get on the floating islet, and it is still believed to float them away from the shore. Mr. S. Rhys Williams, it will be noticed, has given the substance of the legend rather than the story itself. I now proceed to translate the same tale as given in Welsh in Cymru Fu (pp. 474-7 of the edition published by Messrs. Hughes and Son, Wrexham), in a very different dress--it is from Glasynys' pen, and, as might be expected, decked out with all the literary adornments in which he delighted. The language he used was his own, but there is no reason to think that he invented any of the incidents:--'The farmer of Drws y Coed's son was one misty day engaged as a shepherd on the side of the mountain, a little below Cwm Marchnad, and, as he crossed a rushy flat, he saw a wonderfully handsome little woman standing under a clump of rushes. Her yellow and curly hair hung down in ringed locks, and her eyes were as blue as the clear sky, while her forehead was as white as the wavy face of a snowdrift that has nestled on the side of Snowdon only a single night. Her two plump cheeks were each like a red rose, and her pretty-lipped mouth might make an angel eager to kiss her. The youth approached her, filled with love for her, and, with delicacy and affection, asked her if he might converse with her. She smiled kindly, and reaching out her hand, said to him, "Idol of my hopes, thou hast come at last!" They began to associate secretly, and to meet one another daily here and there on the moors around the banks of Llyn y Gader; at last, their love had waxed so strong that the young man could not be at peace either day or night, as he was always thinking of Bella or humming to himself a verse of poetry about her charms. The yellow-haired youth was now and then lost for a long while, and nobody could divine his history. His acquaintances believed that he had been fascinated: at last the secret was found out. There were about Llyn y Dywarchen shady and concealing copses: it was there he was wont to go, and the she-elf would always be there awaiting him, and it was therefore that the place where they used to meet got to be called Llwyn y Forwyn, the Maiden's Grove. After fondly loving for a long time, it was resolved to wed; but it was needful to get the leave of the damsel's father. One moonlight night it was agreed to meet in the wood, and the appointment was duly kept by the young man, but there was no sign of the subterranean folks coming, until the moon disappeared behind the Garn. Then the two arrived, and the old man at once proceeded to say to the suitor: "Thou shalt have my daughter on the condition that thou do not strike her with iron. If thou ever touch her with iron, she will no longer be thine, but shall return to her own." The man consented readily, and great was his joy. They were betrothed, and seldom was a handsomer pair seen at the altar. It was rumoured that a vast sum of money as dowry had arrived with the pretty lady at Drws y Coed on the evening of her nuptials. Soon after, the mountain shepherd of Cwm Marchnad passed for a very rich and influential man. In the course of time they had children, and no happier people ever lived together than their parents. Everything went on regularly and prosperously for a number of years: they became exceedingly wealthy, but the sweet is not to be had without the bitter. One day they both went out on horseback, and they happened to go near Llyn y Gader, when the wife's horse got into a bog and sank to his belly. After the husband had got Bella off his back, he succeeded with much trouble in getting the horse out, and then he let him go. Then he lifted her on the back of his own, but, unfortunately, in trying quickly to place her foot in the stirrup, the iron part of the same slipped, and struck her--or, rather, it touched her at the knee-joint. Before they had made good half their way home, several of the diminutive Tylwyth began to appear to them, and the sound of sweet singing was heard on the side of the hill. Before the husband reached Drws y Coed his wife had left him, and it is supposed that she fled to Llwyn y Forwyn, and thence to the world below to Faery. She left her dear little ones to the care of her beloved, and no more came near them. Some say, however, that she sometimes contrived to see her beloved one in the following manner. As the law of her country did not permit her to frequent the earth with an earthly being, she and her mother invented a way of avoiding the one thing and of securing the other. A great piece of sod was set to float on the surface of the lake, and on that she used to be for long hours, freely conversing in tenderness with her consort on shore; by means of that plan they managed to live together until he breathed his last. Their descendants owned Drws y Coed for many generations, and they intermarried and mixed with the people of the district. Moreover, many a fierce fight took place in later times at the Gwyl-fabsant at Dolbenmaen or at Penmorfa, because the men of Eifionyd had a habit of annoying the people of Pennant by calling them Bellisians.' In a note, Glasynys remarks that this tale is located in many districts without much variation, except in the names of the places; this, however, could not apply to the latter part, which suits Llyn y Dywarchen alone. With this account of the fairy wife frequenting a lake island to converse with her husband on shore, compare the Irish story of the Children of Lir, who, though transformed into swans, were allowed to retain their power of reasoning and speaking, so that they used to converse from the surface of the water with their friends on the dry land: see Joyce's Old Celtic Romances, pp. x, 1-36. Now I return to another tale which was sent me by Mr. William Jones: unless I am mistaken it has not hitherto been published; so I give the Welsh together with a free translation of it:-- Yr oed ystori am fab Braich y Dinas a adrodai y diwedar hybarch Elis Owen o Gefn y Meusyd yn lled debyg i chwedl mab yr Ystrad gan Glasynys, sef ido hudo un o ferched y Tylwyth Teg i lawr o Foel Hebog, a'i chipio i mewn i'r ty drwy orthrech; ac wedi hynny efe a'i perswadiod i ymbriodi ag ef ar yr un telerau ag y gwnaeth mab yr Ystrad. Ond clywais hen fonediges o'r enw Mrs. Roberts, un o ferched yr Isallt, oed lawer hyn na Mr. Owen, yn ei hadrod yn wahanol. Yr oed yr hen wreigan hon yn credu yn nilysrwyd y chwedl, oblegid yr oed hi 'yn cofio rhai o'r teulu, waeth be' deudo neb.' Dirwynnai ei hedau yn debyg i hyn:--Yn yr amser gynt--ond o ran hynny pan oed hi yn ferch ifanc--yr oed llawer iawn o Dylwyth Teg yn trigo mewn rhyw ogofau yn y Foel o Gwm Ystradllyn hyd i flaen y Pennant. Yr oed y Tylwyth hwn yn llawer iawn hardach na dim a welid mewn un rhan arall o'r wlad. Yr oedynt o ran maint yn fwy o lawer na'r rhai cyffredin, yn lan eu pryd tu hwnt i bawb, eu gwallt yn oleu fel llin, eu llygaid yn loyw leision. Yr oedynt yn ymdangos mewn rhyw le neu gilyd yn chwareu, canu ac ymdifyru bob nos deg a goleu; a bydai swn eu canu yn denu y llanciau a'r merched ifainc i fyned i'w gweled; ac os bydent yn digwyd bod o bryd goleu hwy a ymgomient a hwynt, ond ni adawent i un person o liw tywyll dod yn agos atynt, eithr cilient ymaith o fford y cyfryw un. Yrwan yr oed mab Braich y Dinas yn llanc hard, heini, bywiog ac o bryd glan, goleu a serchiadol. Yr oed hwn yn hoff iawn o edrych ar y Tylwyth, a bydai yn cael ymgom a rhai o honynt yn aml, ond yn bennaf ag un o'r merched oed yn rhagori arnynt oll mewn glendid a synwyr; ac o fynych gyfarfod syrthiod y dau mewn cariad a'u gilyd, eithr ni fynai hi ymbriodi ag ef, ond adawod fyned i'w wasanaeth, a chydunod i'w gyfarfod yn Mhant--nid wyf yn cofio yr enw i gyd--drannoeth, oblegid nid oed wiw idi geisio myned gydag ef yn ngwyd y lleill. Felly drannoeth aeth i fynu i'r Foel, a chyfarfydod y rhian ef yn ol ei hadewid, ag aeth gydag ef adref, ac ymgymerod a'r swyd o laethwraig, a buan y dechreuod popeth lwydo o dan ei llaw: yr oed yr ymenyn a'r caws yn cynhydu beunyd. Hir a thaer y bu'r llanc yn ceisio gandi briodi. A hi a adawod, os medrai ef gael allan ei henw. Ni wydai Mrs. Roberts drwy ba ystryw y llwydod i gael hwnnw, ond hynny a fu, a daeth ef i'r ty un noswaith a galwod ar 'Sibi,' a phan glywod hi ei henw, hi a aeth i lewygfa; ond pan daeth ati ei hun, hi a ymfodlonod i briodi ar yr amod nad oed ef i gyffwrd a hi a haiarn ac nad oed bollt haiarn i fod ar y drws na chlo ychwaith, a hynny a fu: priodwyd hwynt, a buont fyw yn gysurus am lawer o flynydoed, a ganwyd idynt amryw blant. Y diwed a fu fel hyn: yr oed ef wedi myned un diwrnod i dori baich o frwyn at doi, a tharawod y cryman yn y baich i fyned adref; fel yr oed yn nesu at y gadlas, rhedod Sibi i'w gyfarfod, a thaflod ynteu y baich brwyn yn direidus tu ag ati, a rhag ido dyfod ar ei thraws ceisiod ei atal a'i llaw, yr hon a gyffyrdod a'r cryman; a hi a diflannod o'r golwg yn y fan yn nghysgod y baich brwyn: ni welwyd ac ni chlywyd dim odiwrthi mwyach. 'There was a story respecting the son of the farmer of Braich y Dinas, which used to be told by the late respected Mr. Ellis Owen, of Cefn y Meusyd, somewhat in the same way as that about the Ystrad youth, as told by Glasynys; that is to say, the young man enticed one of the damsels of the fair family to come down from Moel Hebog, and then he carried her by force into the house, and afterwards persuaded her to become his wife on the same conditions as the heir of Ystrad did. But I have heard an old lady called Mrs. Roberts, who had been brought up at Isallt, and who was older than Mr. Owen, relating it differently. This old woman believed in the truth of the story, as "she remembered some of the family, whatever anybody may say." She used to spin her yarn somewhat as follows:--In old times--but, for the matter of that, when she was a young woman--there were a great many of the fair family living in certain caves in the Foel from Cwm Strállyn [36] down to the upper part of Pennant. This Tylwyth was much handsomer than any seen in any other part of the country. In point of stature they were much bigger than the ordinary ones, fair of complexion beyond everybody, with hair that was as light as flax, and eyes that were of a clear blue colour. They showed themselves in one spot or another, engaged in playing, singing, and jollity every light night. The sound of their singing used to draw the lads and the young women to look at them; and, should they be of clear complexion, the fairies would chat with them; but they would let no person of a dark hue come near them: they moved away from such a one. Now the young man of Braich y Dinas was a handsome, vigorous, and lively stripling of fair, clear, and attractive complexion. He was very fond of looking at the fair family, and had a chat with some of them often, but chiefly with one of the damsels, who surpassed all the rest in beauty and good sense. The result of frequently meeting was that they fell in love with one another, but she would not marry him. She promised, however, to go to service to him, and agreed to meet him at Pant y--I have forgotten the rest of the name--the day after, as it would not do for her to go with him while the others happened to be looking on. So he went up the next day to the Foel, and the damsel met him according to her promise, and went with him home, where she took to the duties of a dairymaid. Soon everything began to prosper under her hand; the butter and the cheese were daily growing in quantity. Long and importunately did the youth try to get her to marry him. She promised to do so provided he could find out her name. Mrs. Roberts did not know by what manoeuvre he succeeded in discovering it, but it was done, and he came into the house one night and called to "Sibi," and when she heard her name she fainted away. When, however, she recovered her consciousness, she consented to marry on the condition that he was not to touch her with iron, and that there was not to be a bolt of iron on the door, or a lock either. It was agreed, and they were married; they lived together comfortably many years, and had children born to them. The end came thus: he had gone one day to cut a bundle of rushes for thatching, and planted the reaping-hook in the bundle to go home. As he drew towards the haggard, Sibi ran out to meet him, and he wantonly threw the bundle of rushes towards her, when she, to prevent its hitting her, tried to stop it with her hand, which touched the reaping-hook. She vanished on the spot out of sight behind the bundle of rushes, and nothing more was seen or heard of her.' Mr. Ellis Owen, alluded to above, was a highly respected gentleman, well known in North Wales for his literary and antiquarian tastes. He was born in 1789 at Cefn y Meusyd near Tremadoc, where he continued to live till the day of his death, which was January 27, 1868. His literary remains, preceded by a short biography, were published in 1877 by Mr. Robert Isaac Jones of Tremadoc; but it contains no fairy tales so far as I have been able to find. A tale which partially reminds one of that given by Dewi Glan Ffrydlas respecting the Corwrion midwife, referred to at p. 63 above, was published by Mr. W. Jones in the fourth volume of the Brython, p. 251: freely rendered into English, it runs thus:-- 'Once on a time, when a midwife from Nanhwynan had newly got to the Hafodyd Brithion to pursue her calling, a gentleman came to the door on a fine grey steed and bade her come with him at once. Such was the authority with which he spoke, that the poor midwife durst not refuse to go, however much it was her duty to stay where she was. So she mounted behind him, and off they went, like the flight of a swallow, through Cwmllan, over the Bwlch, down Nant yr Aran, and over the Gader to Cwm Hafod Ruffyd, before the poor woman had time even to say Oh! When they reached there, she saw before her a magnificent mansion, splendidly lit up with such lamps as she had never seen before. They entered the court, and a crowd of servants in expensive liveries came to meet them, and she was at once led through the great hall into a bed-chamber, the like of which she had never seen. There the mistress of the house, to whom she had been fetched, was awaiting her. The midwife got through her duties successfully, and stayed there until the lady had completely recovered, nor had she spent any part of her life so merrily, for there nought but festivity went on day and night: dancing, singing, and endless rejoicing reigned there. But merry as it was, she found that she must go, and the nobleman gave her a large purse, with the order not to open it until she had got into her own house. Then he bade one of his servants escort her the same way that she had come. When she reached home she opened the purse, and, to her great joy, it was full of money: she lived happily on those earnings to the end of her life.' With this ending of the story one should contrast Dewi Glan Ffrydlas' tale to which I have already alluded; and I may here refer to Mr. Sikes' British Goblins, pp. 86-8, for a tale differing from both Dewi's and Jones', in that the fairies are there made to appear as devils to the nurse, who had accidentally used a certain ointment which she was not to place near her own eyes. Instead of being rewarded for her services she was only too glad to be deposited anyhow near her home. 'But,' as the story goes on to relate, 'very many years afterwards, being at a fair, she saw a man stealing something from a stall, and, with one corner of her eye, beheld her old master pushing the man's elbow. Unthinkingly she said, "How are you, master? how are the children?" He said, "How did you see me?" She answered, "With the corner of my left eye." From that moment she was blind of her left eye, and lived many years with only her right.' Such is the end of this tale given by Mr. Sikes. 'But the fair family did not,' Mr. William Jones goes on to say, 'always give mortals the means of good living: sometimes they made no little fun of them. Once on a time the Drws y Coed man was going home from Bedgelert Fair, rather merry than sad, along the old road over the Gader, when he saw, on coming near the top of the Gader, a fine, handsome house near the road, in which there was a rare merrymaking. He knew perfectly well that there was no such a building anywhere on his way, and it made him think that he had lost his way and gone astray; so he resolved to turn into the house to ask for lodgings, which were given him. At once, when he entered, he took it to be a nuptial feast (neithior) by reason of the jollity, the singing, and the dancing. The house was full of young men, young women, and children, all merry, and exerting themselves to the utmost. The company began to disappear one by one, and he asked if he might go to bed, whereupon he was led to a splendid chamber, where there was a bed of the softest down with snow-white clothes on it. He stripped at once, went into it, and slept quietly enough till the morning. The first thing to come to his mind when he lay half asleep, half awake, was the jollity of the night before, and the fact of his sleeping in a splendid chamber in the strange house. He opened his eyes to survey his bedroom, but it was too wide: he was sleeping on the bare swamp, with a clump of rushes as his pillow, and the blue sky as his coverlet.' Mr. Jones mentions that, within his memory, there were still people in his neighbourhood who believed that the fairies stole unbaptized children and placed their own in their stead: he gives the following story about the farmer's wife of Dyffryn Mymbyr, near Capel Curig, and her infant:-- Yr oed y wraig hon wedi rhodi genedigaeth i blentyn iach a heinif yn nechreu y cynheuaf ryw haf blin a thymhestlog: ac o herwyd fod y tydyn getyn o fford odiwrth lan na chapel, a'r hin mor hynod o lawiog, esgeuluswyd bedydio y plentyn yn yr amser arferol, sef cyn ei fod yn wyth niwrnod oed. Ryw diwrnod teg yn nghanol y cynheuaf blin aeth y wraig allan i'r maes gyda'r rhelyw o'r teulu i geisio achub y cynheuaf, a gadawod y baban yn cysgu yn ei gryd o dan ofal ei nain, yr hon oed hen a methiantus, ac yn analluog i fyned lawer o gwmpas. Syrthiod yr hen wreigan i gysgu, a thra yr oed hi felly, daeth y Tylwyth i fewn, a chymerasant y baban o'r cryd, a dodasant un arall yn ei le. Yn mhen ennyd dechreuod hwn erain a chwyno nes deffro y nain, ac aeth at y cryd, lle y gwelod gleiriach hen eidil crebachlyd yn ymstwyrian yn flin. 'O'r wchw!' ebai hi, 'y mae yr hen Dylwyth wedi bod yma;' ac yn dioed chwythod yn y corn i alw y fam, yr hon a daeth yno yn diatreg; a phan glywod y crio yn y cryd, rhedod ato, a chodod y bychan i fynu heb sylwi arno, a hi a'i cofleidiod, a'i suod ac a'i swcrod at ei bronnau, ond nid oed dim yn tycio, parhau i nadu yn didor yr oed nes bron a hollti ei chalon; ac ni wydai pa beth i wneud i'w distewi. O'r diwed hi a edrychod arno, a gwelod nad oed yn debyg i'w mhebyn hi, ac aeth yn loes i'w chalon: edrychod arno drachefn, ond po fwyaf yr edrychai arno, hyllaf yn y byd oed hi yn ei weled; anfonod am ei gwr o'r cae, a gyrrod ef i ymholi am wr cyfarwyd yn rhywle er mwyn cael ei gynghor; ac ar ol hir holi dywedod rhywun wrtho fod person Trawsfynyd yn gyfarwyd yn nghyfrinion yr ysprydion; ac efe a aeth ato, ac archod hwnnw ido gymeryd rhaw a'i gorchudio a halen, a thori llun croes yn yr halen; yna ei chymeryd i'r ystafell lle yr oed mab y Tylwyth, ac ar ol agor y ffenestr, ei rhodi ar y tan hyd nes y llosgai yr halen; a hwy a wnaethant felly, a phan aeth yr halen yn eiriasboeth fe aeth yr erthyl croes ymaith yn anweledig idynt hwy, ac ar drothwy y drws hwy a gawsant y baban arall yn iach a dianaf. 'This woman had given birth to a healthy and vigorous child at the beginning of the harvest, one wretched and inclement summer. As the homestead was a considerable distance from church or chapel, and the weather so very rainy, it was neglected to baptize the child at the usual [37] time, that is to say, before it was eight days old. One fine day, in the middle of this wretched harvest, the mother went to the field with the rest of the family to try to save the harvest, and left her baby sleeping in its cradle in its grandmother's charge, who was so aged and decrepit as to be unable to go much about. The old woman fell asleep, and, while she was in that state, the Tylwyth Teg came in and took away the baby, placing another in its stead. Very shortly the latter began to whine and groan, so that the grandmother awoke: she went to the cradle, where she saw a slender, wizened old man moving restlessly and peevishly about. "Alas! alas!" said she, "the old Tylwyth have been here"; and she at once blew in the horn to call the mother home, who came without delay. As she heard the crying in the cradle, she ran towards it, and lifted the little one without looking at him; she hugged him, put him to her breast, and sang lullaby to him, but nothing was of any avail, as he continued, without stopping, to scream enough to break her heart; and she knew not what to do to calm him. At last she looked at him: she saw that he was not like her dear little boy, and her heart was pierced with agony. She looked at him again, and the more she examined him the uglier he seemed to her. She sent for her husband home from the field, and told him to search for a skilled man somewhere or other; and, after a long search, he was told by somebody that the parson of Trawsfynyd was skilled in the secrets of the spirits; so he went to him. The latter bade him take a shovel and cover it with salt, and make the figure of the cross in the salt; then to take it to the chamber where the fairy child was, and, after taking care to open the window, to place the shovel on the fire until the salt was burnt. This was done, and when the salt had got white hot, the peevish abortion went away, seen of no one, and they found the other baby whole and unscathed at the doorstep.' Fire was also made use of in Scotland in order to detect a changeling and force him to quit: see the British Association's Report, 1896, p. 650, where Mr. Gomme refers to Mr. Gregor's Folk-lore of the North-east of Scotland, pp. 8-9. In answer to a question of mine with regard to gossamer, which is called in North Wales edafed gwawn, 'gwawn yarn,' Mr. Jones told me in a letter, dated April, 1881, that it used to be called Rhaffau'r Tylwyth Teg, that is to say, the Ropes of the Fair Family, which were associated with the diminutive, mischievous, and wanton kind of fairies who dwelt in marshy and rushy places, or among the fern and the heather. It used to be said that, if a man should lie down and fall asleep in any such a spot, the fairies would come and bind him with their ropes so that he could not move, and that they would then cover him with a sheet made of their ropes, which would make him invisible. This was illustrated by him by the following tale he had heard from his mother:-- Clywais fy mam yn adrod chwedl am fab y Ffrid, yr hwn wrth dychwelyd adref o ffair Bedgelert yn rhywle odeutu Pen Cae'r Gors a welod beth afrifed o'r Tylwyth Bach yn neidio a phrancio ar bennau y grug. Efe a eistedod i lawr i edrych arnynt, a daeth hun drosto; ymollyngod i lawr a chysgod yn drwm. A phan oed felly, ymosodod yr holl lu arno a rhwymasant ef mor dyn fel na allasai symud; yna hwy a'i cudiasant ef a'r tuded gwawn fel na allai neb ei weled os digwydai ido lefain am help. Yr oed ei deulu yn ei disgwyl adref yn gynnar y nos honno, ac wrth ei weled yn oedi yn hwyr, aethant yn anesmwyth am dano ac aethpwyd i'w gyfarfod, eithr ni welent dim odiwrtho, ac aed gan belled a'r pentref, lle en hyspyswyd ei fod wedi myned tuag adref yn gynnar gyda gwr Hafod Ruffyd. Felly aed tua'r Hafod i edrych a oed yno; ond dywedod gwr yr Hafod eu bod wedi ymwahanu ar Bont Glan y Gors, pawb tua'i fan ei hun. Yna chwiliwyd yn fanwl bob ochr i'r fford odiyno i'r Ffrid heb weled dim odiwrtho. Buwyd yn chwilio yr holl ardal drwy y dyd drannoeth ond yn ofer. Fod bynnag odeutu yr un amser nos drannoeth daeth y Tylwyth ac a'i rhydhasant, ac yn fuan efe a deffrôd wedi cysgu o hono drwy y nos a'r dyd blaenorol. Ar ol ido deffro ni wydai amcan daear yn mha le yr oed, a chrwydro y bu hyd ochrau y Gader a'r Gors Fawr hyd nes y canod y ceiliog, pryd yr adnabu yn mha le yr oed, sef o fewn llai na chwarter milltir i'w gartref. 'I have heard my mother relating a tale about the son of the farmer of the Ffrid, who, while on his way home from Bedgelert Fair, saw, somewhere near Pen Cae'r Gors, an endless number of the diminutive family leaping and capering on the heather tops. He sat him down to look at them, and sleep came over him; he let himself down on the ground, and slept heavily. When he was so, the whole host attacked him, and they bound him so tightly that he could not have stirred; then they covered him with the gossamer sheet, so that nobody could see him in case he called for help. His people expected him home early that evening, and, as they found him delaying till late, they got uneasy about him. They went to meet him, but no trace of him was seen, and they went as far as the village, where they were informed that he had started home in good time with the farmer of Hafod Ruffyd. So they went to the Hafod to see if he was there; but the farmer told them that they had parted on Glan y Gors Bridge to go to their respective homes. A minute search was then made on both sides of the road from there to the Ffrid, but without finding any trace of him. They kept searching the whole neighbourhood during the whole of the next day, but in vain. However, about the same time the following night the Tylwyth came and liberated him, and he shortly woke up, after sleeping through the previous night and day. When he woke he had no idea where on earth he was; so he wandered about on the slopes of the Gader and near the Gors Fawr until the cock crew, when he found where he was, namely, less than a quarter of a mile from his home.' The late Mr. Owen, of Cefn Meusyd, has already been alluded to. I have not been able to get at much of the folklore with which he was familiar, but, in reply to some questions of mine, Mr. Robert Isaac Jones of Tremadoc, his biographer, and the publisher of the Brython, so long as it existed, has kindly ransacked his memory. He writes to me in Welsh to the following effect:-- 'I will tell you what I heard from Mr. Owen and my mother when I was a lad, about fifty-seven years ago. The former used to say that the people of Pennant in Eifionyd had a nickname, to wit, that of Belsiaid y Pennant, "the Bellisians of the Pennant"; that, when he was a boy, if anybody called out Belsiaid y Pennant at the Penmorfa Fair, every man jack of them would come out, and fighting always ensued. The antiquary used to explain it thus. Some two or three hundred years ago, Sir Robert of the Nant, one of Sir Richard Bulkeley's ancestors, had a son and heir who was extravagant and wild. He married a gipsy, and they had children born to them; but, as the family regarded this marriage as a disgrace to their ancient stem, it is said that the father, the next time the vagabonds came round, gave a large sum of money to the father of the girl for taking her away with him. This having been done, the rumour was spread abroad that it was one of the fairies the youth had married, and that she had gone with him to catch a pony, when he threw the bridle at the beast to prevent it passing, and the iron of the bridle touched the wife; then that she at once disappeared, as the fairies always do so when touched with iron. However, the two children were put out to nurse, and the one of them, who was a girl, was brought up at Plas y Pennant, and her name was Pelisha [38]; her descendants remain to this day in the Nant, and are called Bellis, who are believed there, to this day, to be derived from the Tylwyth Teg. Nothing offends them more than to be reminded of this.' Mr. R. I. Jones goes on to relate another tale as follows:-- Dywedir fod lle a elwir yr Hafod Rugog mewn cwm anial yn y mynyd lle y bydai y Tylwyth Teg yn arferol a mynychu; ac y bydent yn trwblio'r hen wraig am fenthyg rhywbeth neu gilyd. Dywedod hithau, 'Cewch os caniatewch dau beth cyntaf--i'r peth cyntaf y cyffyrdaf ag ef wrth y drws dorri, a'r peth cyntaf y rhof fy llaw arno yn y ty estyn hanner llath.' Yr oed carreg afael, fel ei gelwir, yn y mur wrth y drws ar ei fford, ac yr oed gandi defnyd syrcyn gwlanen yn rhy fyr o hanner llath. Ond yn anffodus wrth dod a'i chawellad mawn i'r ty bu agos idi a syrthio: rhoes ei llaw ar ben ei chlun i ymarbed a thorod honno, a chan faint y boen cyffyrdod yny ty a'i thrwyn yr hwn a estynnod hanner llath. 'It is said that there was a place called Hafod Rugog in a wild hollow among the mountains, where the fair family were in the habit of resorting, and that they used to trouble the old woman of Hafod for the loan of one thing and another. So she said, one day, "You shall have the loan if you will grant me two first things--that the first thing I touch at the door break, and that the first thing I put my hand on in the house be lengthened half a yard." There was a grip stone (carreg afael), as it is called, in the wall near the door, which was in her way, and she had in the house a piece of flannel for a jerkin which was half a yard too short. But, unfortunately, as she came, with her kreel full of turf on her back, to the house, she nearly fell down: she put her hand, in order to save herself, to her knee-joint, which then broke; and, owing to the pain, when she had got into the house, she touched her nose with her hand, when her nose grew half a yard longer.' Mr. Jones went on to notice how the old folks used to believe that the fairies were wont to appear in the marshes near Cwellyn Lake, not far from Rhyd-Du, to sing and dance, and that it was considered dangerous to approach them on those occasions lest one should be fascinated. As to the above-mentioned flannel and stone a folklorist asks me, why the old woman did not definitely mention them and say exactly what she wanted. The question is worth asking: I cannot answer it, but I mention it in the hope that somebody else will. II. Early in the year 1899 [39] I had a small group of stories communicated to me by the Rev. W. Evans Jones, rector of Dolbenmaen, who tells me that the neighbourhood of the Garn abounds in fairy tales. The scene of one of these is located near the source of Afon fach Blaen y Cae, a tributary of the Dwyfach. 'There a shepherd while looking after his flock came across a ring of rushes which he accidentally kicked, as the little people were coming out to dance. They detained him, and he married one of their number. He was told that he would live happily with them as long as he would not touch any instrument of iron. For years nothing happened to mar the peace and happiness of the family. One day, however, he unknowingly touched iron, with the consequence that both the wife and the children disappeared.' This differs remarkably from stories such as have been already mentioned at pp. 32, 35; but until it is countenanced by stories from other sources, I can only treat it as a blurred version of a story of the more usual type, such as the next one which Mr. Evans Jones has sent me as follows:-- 'A son of the farmer of Blaen Pennant married a fairy and they lived together happily for years, until one day he took a bridle to catch a horse, which proved to be rather an obstreperous animal, and in trying to prevent the horse passing, he threw the bridle at him, which, however, missed the animal and hit the wife so that the bit touched her, and she at once disappeared. The tradition goes, that their descendants are to this day living in the Pennant Valley; and if there is any unpleasantness between them and their neighbours they are taunted with being of the Tylwyth Teg family.' These are, I presume, the people nicknamed Belsiaid, to which reference has already been made. The next story is about an old woman from Garn Dolbenmaen who was crossing y Graig Goch, 'the Red Rock,' 'when suddenly she came across a fairy sitting down with a very large number of gold coins by her. The old woman ventured to remark how wealthy she was: the fairy replied, Wele dacw, "Lo there!" and immediately disappeared.' This looks as if it ought to be a part of a longer story which Mr. Evans Jones has not heard. The last bit of folklore which he has communicated is equally short, but of a rarer description: 'A fairy was in the habit of attending a certain family in the Pennant Valley every evening to put the children to bed; and as the fairy was poorly clad, the mistress of the house gave her a gown, which was found in the morning torn into shreds.' The displeasure of the fairy at being offered the gown is paralleled by that of the fenodyree or the Manx brownie, described in chapter iv. As for the kind of service here ascribed to the Pennant fairy, I know nothing exactly parallel. III. The next four stories are to be found in Cymru Fu at pp. 175-9, whence I have taken the liberty of translating them into English. They were contributed by Glasynys, whose name has already occurred so often in connexion with these Welsh legends, that the reader ought to know more about him; but I have been disappointed in my attempt to get a short account of his life to insert here. All I can say is, that I made his acquaintance in 1865 in Anglesey: at that time he had a curacy near Holyhead, and he was in the prime of life. He impressed me as an enthusiast for Welsh antiquities: he was born and bred, I believe, in the neighbourhood of Snowdon, and his death took place about ten years ago. It would be a convenience to the student of Welsh folklore to have a brief biography of Glasynys, but as yet nothing of the kind seems to have been written. (1) 'When the people of the Gors Goch one evening had just gone to bed, they heard a great row and disturbance around the house. One could not comprehend at all what it was that made a noise at that time of night. Both the husband and the wife had waked up, quite unable to make out what it might be. The children also woke, but no one could utter a word: their tongues had all stuck to the roof of their mouths. The husband, however, at last managed to move, and to ask, "Who is there? What do you want?" Then he was answered from without by a small silvery voice, "It is room we want to dress our children." The door was opened: a dozen small beings came in, and began to search for an earthen pitcher with water; there they remained for some hours, washing and titivating themselves. As the day was breaking, they went away, leaving behind them a fine present for the kindness they had received. Often afterwards did the Gors Goch folks have the company of this family. But once there happened to be there a fine plump and pretty baby in his cradle. The fair family came, and, as the baby had not been baptized, they took the liberty of changing him for one of their own. They left behind in his stead an abominable creature that would do nothing but cry and scream every day of the week. The mother was nearly breaking her heart on account of the misfortune, and greatly afraid of telling anybody about it. But everybody got to see that there was something wrong at the Gors Goch, which was proved before long by the mother dying of longing for her child. The other children died broken-hearted after their mother, and the husband was left alone with the little elf without any one to comfort them. But shortly after, one began to resort again to the hearth of the Gors Goch to dress children, and the gift, which had formerly been silver money, became henceforth pure gold. In the course of a few years the elf became the heir of a large farm in North Wales, and that is why the old people used to say, "Shoe the elf with gold and he will grow" (Fe daw gwidon yn fawr ond ei bedoli ag aur). That is the legend of the Gors Goch.' (2) 'Once when William Ellis, of the Gilwern, was fishing on the bank of Cwm Silin Lake on a dark misty day, he had seen no living Christian from the time when he left Nantlle. But as he was in a happy mood, throwing his line, he beheld over against him in a clump of rushes a large crowd of people, or things in the shape of people about a foot in stature: they were engaged in leaping and dancing. He looked on for hours, and he never heard, as he said, such music in his life before. But William went too near them, when they threw a kind of dust into his eyes, and, while he was wiping it away, the little family took the opportunity of betaking themselves somewhere out of his sight, so that he neither saw nor heard anything more of them.' (3) 'There is a similar story respecting a place called Llyn y Ffynhonnau. There was no end of jollity there, of dancing, harping, and fiddling, with the servant man of Gelli Ffrydau and his two dogs in the midst of the crowd, leaping and capering as nimbly as anybody else. At it they were for three days and three nights, without stopping; and had it not been for a skilled man, who lived not far off, and came to know how things were going on, the poor fellow would, without doubt, have danced himself to death. But he was rescued that time.' (4) The fourth story is one, of which he says, that he heard it from his mother; but he has elaborated it in his usual fashion, and the proper names are undoubtedly his own:--'Once on a time, a shepherd boy had gone up the mountain. That day, like many a day before and after, was exceedingly misty. Now, though he was well acquainted with the place, he lost his way, and walked backwards and forwards for many a long hour. At last he got into a low rushy spot, where he saw before him many circular rings. He at once recalled the place, and began to fear the worst. He had heard, many hundreds of times, of the bitter experiences, in those rings, of many a shepherd who had happened to chance on the dancing place or the circles of the fair family. He hastened away as fast as ever he could, lest he should be ruined like the rest; but, though he exerted himself to the point of perspiring and losing his breath, there he was, and there he continued to be, a long time. At last he was met by an old fat little man, with merry blue eyes, who asked him what he was doing. He answered that he was trying to find his way home. "Oh," said he, "come after me, and do not utter a word until I bid thee." This he did, following him on and on until they came to an oval stone; and the old fat little man lifted it, after tapping the middle of it three times with his walking-stick. There was there a narrow path with stairs visible here and there; and a sort of whitish light, inclining to grey and blue, was to be seen radiating from the stones. "Follow me fearlessly," said the fat man; "no harm will be done thee." So on the poor youth went, as reluctantly as a dog to be hanged. But presently a fine, wooded, fertile country spread itself out before them, with well arranged mansions dotting it all over, while every kind of apparent magnificence met the eye and seemed to smile in the landscape; the bright waters of the rivers meandered in twisted streams, and the hills were covered with the luxuriant verdure of their grassy growth, and the mountains with a glossy fleece of smooth pasture. By the time they had reached the stout gentleman's mansion, the young man's senses had been bewildered by the sweet cadence of the music which the birds poured forth from the groves: then there was gold dazzling his eyes, and silver flashing on his sight. He saw there all kinds of musical instruments and all sorts of things for playing; but he could discern no inhabitant in the whole place; and, when he sat down to eat, the dishes on the table came to their places of themselves, and disappeared when one had done with them. This puzzled him beyond measure; moreover, he heard people talking together around him, but for the life of him he could see no one but his old friend. At length the fat man said to him: "Thou canst now talk as much as it may please thee;" but, when he attempted to move his tongue, it would no more stir than if it had been a lump of ice, which greatly frightened him. At this point, a fine old lady, with health and benevolence beaming in her face, came to them and slightly smiled at the shepherd: the mother was followed by her three daughters, who were remarkably beautiful. They gazed with somewhat playful looks at him, and at length began to talk to him; but his tongue would not wag. Then one of the girls came to him, and, playing with his yellow and curly locks, gave him a smart kiss on his ruddy lips. This loosened the string that bound his tongue, and he began to talk freely and eloquently. There he was, under the charm of that kiss, in the bliss of happiness; and there he remained a year and a day without knowing that he had passed more than a day among them; for he had got into a country where there was no reckoning of time. But by-and-by he began to feel somewhat of a longing to visit his old home, and asked the stout man if he might go. "Stay a little yet," said he, "and thou shalt go for awhile." That passed: he stayed on, but Olwen, for that was the name of the damsel that had kissed him, was very unwilling that he should depart. She looked sad every time he talked of going away; nor was he himself without feeling a sort of a cold thrill passing through him at the thought of leaving her. On condition, however, of returning, he obtained leave to go, provided with plenty of gold and silver, of trinkets and gems. When he reached home, nobody knew who he was: it had been the belief that he had been killed by another shepherd, who found it necessary to betake himself hastily far away to America, lest he should be hanged without delay. But here is Einion Lâs at home, and everybody wonders especially to see that the shepherd had got to look like a wealthy man: his manners, his dress, his language, and the treasure he had with him, all conspired to give him the air of a gentleman. He went back one Thursday night, the first of the moon of that month, as suddenly as he had left the first time, and nobody knew whither. There was great joy in the country below when Einion returned thither, and nobody was more rejoiced at it than Olwen his beloved. The two were right impatient to get married; but it was necessary to do that quietly, for the family below hated nothing more than fuss and noise; so, in a sort of a half-secret fashion, they were wedded. Einion was very desirous to go once more among his own people, accompanied, to be sure, by his wife. After he had been long entreating the old man for leave, they set out on two white ponies, that were, in fact, more like snow than anything else in point of colour. So he arrived with his consort in his old home, and it was the opinion of all that Einion's wife was the handsomest person they had anywhere seen. Whilst at home, a son was born to them, to whom they gave the name of Taliessin. Einion was now in the enjoyment of high repute, and his wife received due respect. Their wealth was immense, and soon they acquired a large estate; but it was not long till people began to inquire after the pedigree of Einion's wife: the country was of opinion that it was not the right thing to be without a pedigree. Einion was questioned about it, but without giving any satisfactory answer, and one came to the conclusion that she was one of the fair family (Tylwyth Teg). "Certainly," replied Einion, "there can be no doubt that she comes from a very fair family; for she has two sisters who are as fair as she, and, if you saw them together, you would admit that name to be a most fitting one." This, then, is the reason why the remarkable family in the Land of Enchantment and Glamour (Hud a Lledrith) is called the fair family.' The two next tales of Glasynys' appear in Cymru Fu, at pp. 478-9; the first of them is to be compared with one already related (pp. 99, 100), while the other is unlike anything that I can now recall:-- (5) 'Cwmllan was the principal resort of the fair family, and the shepherds of Hafod Llan used to see them daily in the ages of faith gone by. Once, on a misty afternoon, one of them had been searching for sheep towards Nant y Bettws. When he had crossed Bwlch Cwmllan, and was hastening laboriously down, he saw an endless number of little folks singing and dancing in a lively and light-footed fashion, while the handsomest girls he had ever seen anywhere were at it preparing a banquet. He went to them and had a share of their dainties, and it seemed to him that he had never in his life tasted anything approaching their dishes. When the twilight came, they spread their tents, and the man never before saw such beauty and ingenuity. They gave him a soft bed of yielding down, with sheets of the finest linen, and he went to rest as proud as if he had been a prince. But, alas! next morning, after all the jollity and sham splendour, the poor man, when he opened his eyes, found that his bed was but a bush of bulrushes, and his pillow a clump of moss. Nevertheless, he found silver money in his shoes, and afterwards he continued for a long time to find, every week, a piece of coined money between two stones near the spot where he had slept. One day, however, he told a friend of his the secret respecting the money, and he never found any more.' (6) 'Another of these shepherds was one day urging his dog at the sheep in Cwmllan, when he heard a kind of low noise in the cleft of a rock. He turned to look, when he found there some kind of a creature weeping plenteously. He approached, and drew out a wee lass; very shortly afterwards two middle-aged men came to him to thank him for his kindness, and, when about to part, one of them gave him a walking-stick, as a souvenir of his good deed. The year after this, every sheep in his possession had two ewe-lambs; and so his sheep continued to breed for some years. But he had stayed one evening in the village until it was rather late, and there hardly ever was a more tempestuous night than that: the wind howled, and the clouds shed their contents in sheets of rain, while the darkness was such that next to nothing could be seen. As he was crossing the river that comes down from Cwmllan, where its flood was sweeping all before it in a terrible current, he somehow let go the walking-stick from his hand; and when one went next morning up the Cwm, it was found that nearly all the sheep had been swept away by the flood, and that the farmer's wealth had gone almost as it came--with the walking-stick.' The shorter versions given by Glasynys are probably more nearly given as he heard them, than the longer ones, which may be suspected of having been a good deal spun out by him; but there is probably very little in any of them of his own invention, though the question whence he got his materials in each instance may be difficult to answer. In one this is quite clear, though he does not state it, namely the story of the sojourn of Elfod the Shepherd in Fairyland, as given in Cymru Fu, p. 477: it is no other than a second or third-hand reproduction of that recorded by Giraldus concerning a certain Eliodorus, a twelfth-century cleric in the diocese of St. David's [40]. But the longest tale published by Glasynys is the one about a mermaid: see Cymru Fu, pp. 434-44. Where he got this from I have not been able to find out, but it has probably been pieced together from various sources. I feel sure that some of the materials at least were Welsh, besides the characters known to Welsh mythology as Nefyd Naf Neifion, Gwyn ab Nud, Gwydion ab Dôn, Dylan, and Ceridwen, who have been recklessly introduced into it. He locates it, apparently, somewhere on the coast of Carnarvonshire, the chief scene being called Ogof Deio or David's Cave, which so far as I know is not an actual name, but one suggested by 'David Jones' locker' as sailors' slang for the sea. In hopes that somebody will communicate to me any bits of this tale that happen to be still current on the Welsh coast, I give an abstract of it here:-- 'Once upon a time, a poor fisherman made the acquaintance of a mermaid in a cave on the sea-coast; at first she screeched wildly, but, when she got a little calmer, she told him to go off out of the way of her brother, and to return betimes the day after. In getting away, he was tossed into the sea, and tossed out on the land with a rope, which had got wound about his waist; and on pulling at this he got ashore a coffer full of treasure, which he spent the night in carrying home. He was somewhat late in revisiting the cave the next day, and saw no mermaid come there to meet him according to her promise. But the following night he was roused out of his sleep by a visit from her at his home, when she told him to come in time next day. On his way thither, he learnt from some fishermen that they had been labouring in vain during the night, as a great big mermaid had opened their nets in order to pick the best fish, while she let the rest escape. When he reached the cave he found the mermaid there combing her hair: she surprised him by telling him that she had come to live among the inhabitants of the land, though she was, according to her own account, a king's daughter. She was no longer stark naked, but dressed like a lady: in one hand she held a diadem of pure gold, and in the other a cap of wonderful workmanship, the former of which she placed on her head, while she handed the latter to Ifan Morgan, with the order that he should keep it. Then she related to him how she had noticed him when he was a ruddy boy, out fishing in his father's white boat, and heard him sing a song which made her love him, and how she had tried to repeat this song at her father's court, where everybody wanted to get it. Many a time, she said, she had been anxiously listening if she might hear it again, but all in vain. So she had obtained permission from her family to come with her treasures and see if he would not teach it her; but she soon saw that she would not succeed without appearing in the form in which she now was. After saying that her name was Nefyn, daughter of Nefyd Naf Neifion, and niece to Gwyn son of Nud, and Gwydion son of Dôn, she calmed his feelings on the subject of the humble cottage in which he lived. Presently he asked her to be his wife, and she consented on the condition that he should always keep the cap she had given him out of her sight and teach her the song. They were married and lived happily together, and had children born them five times, a son and a daughter each time; they frequently went to the cave, and no one knew what treasures they had there; but once on a time they went out in a boat pleasuring, as was their wont, with six or seven of the children accompanying them, and when they were far from the land a great storm arose; besides the usual accompaniments of a storm at sea, most unearthly screeches and noises were heard, which frightened the children and made their mother look uncomfortable; but presently she bent her head over the side of the boat, and whispered something they did not catch: to their surprise the sea was instantly calm. They got home comfortably, but the elder children were puzzled greatly by their mother's influence over the sea, and it was not long after this till they so teased some ill-natured old women, that the latter told them all about the uncanny origin of their mother. The eldest boy was vexed at this, and remembered how his mother had spoken to somebody near the boat at sea, and that he was never allowed to go with his parents to Ogof Deio. He recalled, also, his mother's account of the strange countries she had seen. Once there came also to Ifan Morgan's home, which was now a mansion, a visitor whom the children were not even allowed to see; and one night, when the young moon had sunk behind the western horizon, Ifan and his wife went quietly out of the house, telling a servant that they would not return for three weeks or a month: this was overheard by the eldest son. So he followed them very quietly until he saw them on the strand, where he beheld his mother casting a sort of leather mantle round herself and his father, and both of them threw themselves into the hollow of a billow that came to fetch them. The son went home, broke his heart, and died in nine days at finding out that his mother was a mermaid; and, on seeing her brother dead, his twin sister went and threw herself into the sea; but, instead of being drowned, she was taken up on his steed by a fine looking knight, who then galloped away over the waves as if they had been dry and level land. The servants were in doubt what to do, now that Nefyd Morgan was dead and Eilonwy had thrown herself into the sea; but Tegid, the second son, who feared nothing, said that Nefyd's body should be taken to the strand, as somebody was likely to come to fetch it for burial among his mother's family. At midnight a knight arrived, who said the funeral was to be at three that morning, and told them that their brother would come back to them, as Gwydion ab Dôn was going to give him a heart that no weight could break, that Eilonwy was soon to be wedded to one of the finest and bravest of the knights of Gwerdonau Llion, and that their parents were with Gwyn ab Nud in the Gwaelodion. The body was accordingly taken to the beach, and, as soon as the wave touched it, out of his coffin leaped Nefyd like a porpoise. He was seen then to walk away arm in arm with Gwydion ab Dôn to a ship that was in waiting, and most enchanting music was heard by those on shore; but soon the ship sailed away, hardly touching the tops of the billows. After a year and a day had elapsed Ifan Morgan, the father, came home, looking much better and more gentlemanly than he had ever done before; he had never spoken of Nefyn, his wife, until Tegid one day asked him what about his mother; she had gone, he said, in search of Eilonwy, who had run away from her husband in Gwerdonau Llion, with Glanfryd ab Gloywfraint. She would be back soon, he thought, and describe to them all the wonders they had seen. Ifan Morgan went to bed that night, and was found dead in it in the morning; it was thought that his death had been caused by a Black Knight, who had been seen haunting the place at midnight for some time, and always disappearing, when pursued, into a well that bubbled forth in a dark recess near at hand. The day of Ifan Morgan's funeral, Nefyn, his wife, returned, and bewailed him with many tears; she was never more seen on the dry land. Tegid had now the charge of the family, and he conducted himself in all things as behoved a man and a gentleman of high principles and great generosity. He was very wealthy, but often grieved by the thought of his father's murder. One day, when he and two of his brothers were out in a boat fishing in the neighbouring bay, they were driven by the wind to the most wonderful spot they had ever seen. The sea there was as smooth as glass, and as bright as the clearest light, while beneath it, and not far from them, they saw a most splendid country with fertile fields and dales covered with pastures, with flowery hedges, groves clad in their green foliage, and forests gently waving their leafy luxuriance, with rivers lazily contemplating their own tortuous courses, and with mansions here and there of the most beautiful and ingenious description; and presently they saw that the inhabitants amused themselves with all kinds of merriment and frolicking, and that here and there they had music and engaged themselves in the most energetic dancing; in fact, the rippling waves seemed to have absorbed their fill of the music, so that the faint echo of it, as gently given forth by the waves, never ceased to charm their ears until they reached the shore. That night the three brothers had the same dream, namely that the Black Knight who had throttled their father was in hiding in a cave on the coast: so they made for the cave in the morning, but the Black Knight fled from them and galloped off on the waves as if he had been riding for amusement over a meadow. That day their sisters, on returning home from school, had to cross a piece of sea, when a tempest arose and sunk the vessel, drowning all on board, and the brothers ascribed this to the Black Knight. About this time there was great consternation among the fishermen on account of a sea-serpent that twined itself about the rocks near the caves, and nothing would do but that Tegid and his brothers should go forth to kill it; but when one day they came near the spot frequented by it, they heard a deep voice saying to them, "Do not kill your sister," so they wondered greatly and suddenly went home. But that night Tegid returned there alone, and called his sister by her name, and after waiting a long while she crept towards him in the shape of a sea-serpent, and said that she must remain some time in that form on account of her having run away with one who was not her husband; she went on to say that she had seen their sisters walking with their mother, and their father would soon be in the cave. But all of a sudden there came the Black Knight, who unsheathed a sword that looked like a flame of fire, and began to cut the sea-serpent into a thousand bits, which united, however, as fast as he cut it, and became as whole as before. The end was that the monster twisted itself in a coil round his throat and bit him terribly in his breast. At this point a White Knight comes and runs him through with his spear, so that he fell instantly, while the White Knight went off hurriedly with the sea-serpent in a coil round his neck. Tegid ran away for his life, but not before a monster more terrible than anything he had ever seen had begun to attack him. It haunted him in all kinds of ways: sometimes it would be like a sea, but Tegid was able to swim: sometimes it would be a mountain of ice, but Tegid was able to climb it: and sometimes it was like a furnace of intense fire, but the heat had no effect on him. But it appeared mostly as a combination of the beast of prey and the venomous reptile. Suddenly, however, a young man appeared, taking hold of Tegid's arm and encouraging him, when the monster fled away screeching, and a host of knights in splendid array and on proudly prancing horses came to him: among them he found his brothers, and he went with them to his mother's country. He was especially welcome there, and he found all happy and present save his father only, whom he thought of fetching from the world above, having in fact got leave to do so from his grandfather. His mother and his brothers went with him to search for his father's body, and with him came Gwydion ab Dôn and Gwyn ab Nud, but he would not be wakened. So Tegid, who loved his father greatly, asked leave to remain on his father's grave, where he remains to this day. His mother is wont to come there to soothe him, and his brothers send him gifts, while he sends his gifts to Nefyd Naf Neifion, his grandfather; it is also said that his twin-sister, Ceridwen, has long since come to live near him, to make the glad gladder and the pretty prettier, and to maintain her dignity and honour in peace and tranquillity.' The latter part of this tale, the mention of Ceridwen, invoked by the bards as the genius presiding over their profession, and of Tegid remaining on his father's grave, is evidently a reference to Llyn Tegid, or Bala Lake, and to the legend of Taliessin in the so-called Hanes or history of Taliessin, published at the end of the third volume of Lady Charlotte Guest's Mabinogion. So the story has undoubtedly been pieced together, but not all invented, as is proved by the reference to the curious cap which the husband was to keep out of the sight of his mermaid wife. In Irish legends this cap has particular importance attached to it, of which Glasynys cannot have been aware, for he knew of no use to make of it. The teaching of the song to the wife is not mentioned after the marriage; and the introduction of it at all is remarkable: at any rate I have never noticed anything parallel to it in other tales. The incident of the tempest, when the mermaid spoke to somebody by the side of the boat, reminds one of Undine during the trip on the Danube. It is, perhaps, useless to go into details till one has ascertained how much of the story has been based on genuine Welsh folklore. But, while I am on this point, I venture to append here an Irish tale, which will serve to explain the meaning of the mermaid's cap, as necessary to her comfort in the water world. I am indebted for it to the kindness of Dr. Norman Moore, of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, who tells me, in a letter dated March 7, 1882, that he and the Miss Raynells of Killynon heard it from an old woman named Mrs. Dolan, who lived on the property of the late Mr. Cooke of Cookesborough, in Westmeath. The following was her tale:--'There was a man named Mahon had a farm on the edge of Loch Owel. He noticed that his corn was trampled, and he sat up all night to watch it. He saw horses, colts and fillies rather, come up out of the lake and trample it. He chased them, and they fled into the lake. The next night he saw them again, and among them a beautiful girl with a cap of salmon skin on her head, and it shone in the moonlight; and he caught her and embraced her, and carried her off to his house and married her, and she was a very good housewife, as all those lake people are, and kept his house beautifully; and one day in the harvest, when the men were in the fields, she went into the house, and there she looked on the hurdle for some lard to make colcannon [41] for the men, and she saw her old cap of fish skin, and she put it on her head and ran straight down into the lake and was never seen any more, and Mahon he was terribly grieved, and he died soon after of a decline. She had had three children, and I often saw them in the Mullingar market. They were farmers, too, on Loch Owel.' IV. Let me now return to the fresh-water fairies of Snowdon and give a reference to Pennant's Tours in Wales: in the edition published at Carnarvon in 1883 we are told, ii. 326, how Mr. Pennant learned 'that, in fairy days, those diminutive gentry kept their revels' on the margins of the Snowdon lake, called Llyn Coch. There is no legend now extant, so far as I can ascertain, about the Llyn Coch fairies. So I proceed to append a legend differing considerably from all the foregoing: I owe it to the kindness of my friend Mr. Howell Thomas, of the Local Government Board. It was written out by Mr. G. B. Gattie, and I take the liberty of prefixing to it his letter to Mr. Thomas, dated Walham Grove, London, S.W., April 27, 1882. The letter runs as follows:-- 'I had quite forgotten the enclosed, which I had jotted down during my recent illness, and ought to have sent you long ago. Of course, the wording is very rough, as no care has been taken on that point. It is interesting, as being another version of a very pretty old legend which my mother used to repeat. She was descended from a very old north Welsh family; indeed, I believe my esteemed grandfather went so far as to trace his descent from the great patriot, Owen Glendower himself! My mother delighted not only in the ancient folklore legends and fairy tales of the Principality, with which she was perfectly familiar, but especially in the lovely national melodies, all of which she knew by heart; and, being highly accomplished, would never tire of playing or singing them. You will see the legend is, in the main, much as related by Professor Rhys, though differing somewhat in the singular terms of the marriage contract. The scene of the legend, as related by my late mother, was, of course, a lake, the Welsh name of which I have, unfortunately, forgotten, but it was somewhere, I think, near Llanberis, and the hero a stalwart young farmer.' The legend itself reads as follows:-- 'One hot day, the farmer, riding by the lake, took his horse into the water to drink, and, whilst looking straight down over his horse's ears into the smooth surface, he became aware of a most lovely face, just beneath the tide, looking up archly at him. Quite bewildered, he earnestly beckoned, and by degrees the head and shoulders which belonged to the face emerged from the water. Overcome with emotion, and nearly maddened by the blaze of beauty so suddenly put before him, he leaped from his horse and rushed wildly into the lake to try to clasp the lovely vision to his heart. As this was a clear case of "love at first sight," the poor young man was not, of course, answerable for his actions. But the vision had vanished beneath the waves, to instantly reappear, however, a yard or two off, with the most provoking of smiles, and holding out her beautiful white hands towards her admirer, but slipping off into deep water the moment he approached. 'For many days the young farmer frequented the lake, but without again seeing the beautiful Naiad, until one day he sat down by the margin hoping that she would appear, and yet dreading her appearance, for this latter to him simply meant loss of all peace. Yet he rushed on his fate, like the love-sick shepherd in the old Italian romance, who watched the sleeping beauty, yet dreaded her awakening:--Io perderò la pace, quando si sveglierà! 'The young man had brought the remains of his frugal dinner with him, and was quietly munching, by way of dessert, an apple of rare and delicious quality, from a tree which grew upon a neighbouring estate. Suddenly the lady appeared in all her rare beauty almost close to him, and begged him to "throw" her one of his apples. This was altogether too much, and he replied by holding out the tempting morsel, exhibiting its beautiful red and green sides, saying that, if she really wanted it, she must fetch it herself. Upon this she came up quite close, and, as she took the apple from his left hand, he dexterously seized tight hold of her with his right, and held her fast. She, however, nothing daunted, bawled lustily, at the top of her voice, for help, and made such an outrageous noise, that at length a most respectable looking old gentleman appeared suddenly out of the midst of the lake. He had a superb white beard, and was simply and classically attired merely in a single wreath of beautiful water-lilies wound round his loins, which was possibly his summer costume, the weather being hot. He politely requested to know what was the matter, and what the young farmer wanted with his daughter. The case was thereupon explained, but not without the usual amount of nervous trepidation which usually happens to love-sick swains when called into the awful presence of "Papa" to "explain their intentions!" 'After a long parley the lady, at length, agreed to become the young man's wife on two conditions, which he was to solemnly promise to keep. These conditions were that he was never to strike her with steel or clay (earth), conditions to which the young man very readily assented. As these were primitive days, when people were happy and honest, there were no lawyers to encumber the Holy Estate with lengthy settlements, and to fill their own pockets with heavy fees; matters were therefore soon settled, and the lady married to the young farmer on the spot by the very respectable old lake deity, her papa. 'The story goes on to say that the union was followed by two sons and two daughters. The eldest son became a great physician, and all his descendants after him were celebrated for their great proficiency in the noble healing art. The second son was a mighty craftsman in all works appertaining to the manufacture and use of iron and metals. Indeed it has been hinted that, his little corracle of bull's hide having become old and unsafe, he conceived the brilliant idea of making one of thin iron. This he actually accomplished, and, to the intense amazement of the wondering populace, he constantly used it for fishing, or other purposes, on the lake, where he paddled about in perfect security. This important fact ought to be more generally known, as it gives him a fair claim to the introduction of iron ship-building, pace the shades of Beaufort and Brunel. 'Of the two daughters, one is said to have invented the small ten-stringed harp, and the other the spinning-wheel. Thus were introduced the arts of medicine, manufactures, music, and woollen work. 'As the old ballad says, applying the quotation to the father and mother:-- They lived for more than forty year Right long and happilie! 'One day it happened that the wife expressed a great wish for some of those same delicious apples of which she was so fond, and of which their neighbour often sent them a supply. Off went the farmer, like a good husband that he was, and brought back, not only some apples, but a beautiful young sapling, seven or eight feet high, bearing the same apple, as a present from their friend. This they at once proceeded to set, he digging and she holding; but the hole not being quite deep enough he again set to work, with increased energy, with his spade, and stooping very low threw out the last shovelful over his shoulder--alas! without looking--full into the breast of his wife. She dropped the sapling and solemnly warned him that one of the two conditions of their marriage contract had been broken. Accident was pleaded, but in vain; there was the unfortunate fact--he had struck her with clay! Looking upon the sapling as the cause of this great trouble he determined to return it forthwith to his kind neighbour. Taking a bridle in his hand he proceeded to the field to catch his horse, his wife kindly helping him. They both ran up, one on each side, and, as the unruly steed showed no signs of stopping, the husband attempted to throw the bridle over his head. Not having visited Mexico in his travels, and thereby learned the use of the lasso, he missed his horse's head and--misfortune of misfortunes--struck his wife in the face with the iron bit, thus breaking the second condition. He had struck her with steel. She no sooner received the blow than--like Esau--she "cried with a great and exceeding bitter cry," and bidding her husband a last farewell, fled down the hill with lightning speed, dashed into the lake, and disappeared beneath the smooth and glassy waters! Thus, it may be said that, if an apple--indirectly--occasioned the beginning of her married life, so an apple brought about its sad termination.' Such is Mr. Gattie's tale, and to him probably is to be traced its literary trimming; but even when it is stripped of that accessory, it leaves us with difficulties of somewhat the same order as those attaching to some of the stories which have passed through the hands of Glasynys. However, the substance of it seems to be genuine, and to prove that there has been a Northwalian tradition which traced the medical art to a lake lady like the Egeria of the Physicians of Mydfai. V. Allusion has already been made to the afanc story, and it is convenient to give it before proceeding any further. The Cambrian Journal for 1859, pp. 142-6, gives it in a letter of Edward Llwyd's dated 1693, and contributed to that periodical by the late Canon Robert Williams, of Rhyd y Croesau, who copied it from the original letter in his possession [42], and here follows a translation into English of the part of it which concerns Llyn yr Afanc [43], a pool on the river Conwy, above Bettws y Coed and opposite Capel Garmon:-- 'I suppose it very probable that you have heard speak of Llyn yr Afanc, "the Afanc's Pool," and that I therefore need not trouble to inform you where it stands. I think, also, that you know, if one may trust what the country people say, that it was a girl that enticed the afanc to come out of his abode, namely the pool, so as to be bound with iron chains, whilst he slumbered with his head on her knees, and with the grip of one hand on her breast. When he woke from his nap and perceived what had been done to him, he got up suddenly and hurried to his old refuge, taking with him in his claw the breast of his sweetheart. It was then seen that it was well the chain was long enough to be fastened to oxen that pulled him out of the pool. Thereupon a considerable dispute arose among some of the people, each asserting that he had taken a great weight on himself and pulled far harder than anybody else. "No," said another, "it was I," &c. And whilst they were wrangling in this way, the report goes that the afanc answered them, and silenced their discontent by saying-- Oni bae y dai ag a dyn Ni dactha'r afanc byth o'r llyn. Had it not been for the oxen pulling, The afanc had never left the pool. 'You must understand that some take the afanc to be a corporeal demon; but I am sufficiently satisfied that there is an animal of the same name, which is called in English a bever, seeing that the term ceillie'r afanc signifies bever stones. I know not what kind of oxen those in question were, but it is related that they were twins; nor do I know why they were called Ychain Mannog or Ychain Bannog. But peradventure they were called Ychain Bannog in reference to their having had many a fattening, or fattening on fattening (having been for many a year fattened). Yet the word bannog is not a good, suitable word to signify fattened, as bannog is nought else than what has been made exceeding thick by beating [or fulling], as one says of a thick blanket made of coarse yarn (y gwrthban tew-bannog), the thick bannog [44] blanket. Whilst I was dawdling behind talking about this, the oxen had proceeded very far, and I did not find their footmarks as they came through portions of the parish of Dolyd-Elan (Luedog) until I reached a pass called ever since Bwlch Rhiw'r Ychen, "the Pass of the Slope of the Oxen," between the upper parts of Dolydelan and the upper part of Nanhwynen. In coming over this pass one of the oxen dropped one of its eyes on an open spot, which for that reason is called Gwaun Lygad Ych, "the Moor of the Ox's Eye." The place where the eye fell has become a pool, which is by this time known as Pwll Llygad Ych, "the Pool of the Ox's Eye," which is at no time dry, though no water rises in it or flows into it except when rain falls; nor is there any flowing out of it during dry weather. It is always of the same depth; that is, it reaches about one's knee-joint, according to those who have paid attention to that for a considerable number of years. There is a harp melody, which not all musicians know: it is known as the Ychain Mannog air, and it has a piteous effect on the ear, being as plaintive as were the groanings of these Ychain under the weight of the afanc, especially when one of the pair lost an eye. They pulled him up to Llyn Cwm Ffynnon Las, "the Lake of the Dingle of the Green Well," to which he was consigned, for the reason, peradventure, that some believed that there were in that lake uncanny things already in store. In fact, it was but fitting that he should be permitted to go to his kind. But whether there were uncanny things in it before or not, many think that there is nothing good in it now, as you will understand from what follows. There is much talk of Llyn Cwm Ffynnon Las besides the fact that it is always free from ice, except in one corner where the peat water of clear pools comes into it, and that it has also a variety of dismal hues. The cause of this is, as I suppose, to be sought in the various hues of the rocks surrounding it; and the fact that a whirlwind makes its water mixed, which is enough to give any lake a disagreeable colour. Nothing swims on it without danger, and I am not sure that it would be very safe for a bird to fly across it or not. Throw a rag into its water and it will go to the bottom, and I have with my own ears heard a man saying that he saw a goat taking to this lake in order to avoid being caught, and that as soon as the animal went into the water, it turned round and round, as if it had been a top, until it was drowned.... Some mention that, as some great man was hunting in the Snowdon district (Eryri), a stag, to avoid the hounds when they were pressing on him, and as is the habit of stags to defend themselves, made his escape into this lake: the hunters had hardly time to turn round before they saw the stag's antlers (mwnglws) coming to the surface, but nothing more have they ever seen.... A young woman has been seen to come out of this lake to wash clothes, and when she had done she folded the clothes, and taking them under her arm went back into the lake. One man, whose brother is still alive and well, beheld in a canoe, on this same lake still, an angler with a red cap on his head; but the man died within a few days, having not been in his right mind during that time. Most people regard this as the real truth, and, as for myself, I cannot refuse to believe that such a vision might not cause a man to become so bewildered as to force on a disease ending with his death....' The name Llyn Cwm Ffynnon Las would have led one to suppose that the pool meant is the one given in the ordnance maps as Llyn y Cwm Ffynnon, and situated in the mountains between Pen y Gwryd and the upper valley of Llanberis; but from the writer on the parish of Bedgelert in the Brython for 1861, pp. 371-2, it appears that this is not so, and that the tarn meant was in the upper reach of Cwm Dyli, and was known as Llyn y Ffynnon Las, 'Lake of the Green Well,' about which he has a good deal to say in the same strain as that of Llwyd in the letter already cited. Among other things he remarks that it is a very deep tarn, and that its bottom has been ascertained to be lower than the surface of Llyn Llydaw, which lies 300 feet lower. And as to the afanc, he remarks that the inhabitants of Nant Conwy and the lower portions of the parish of Dolwydelan, having frequent troubles and losses inflicted on them by a huge monster in the river Conwy, near Bettws y Coed, tried to kill it but in vain, as no harpoon, no arrow or spear made any impression whatsoever on the brute's hide; so it was resolved to drag it away as in the Llwyd story. I learn from Mr. Pierce (Elis o'r Nant), of Dolwydelan, that the lake is variously known as Llyn (Cwm) Ffynnon Las, and Llyn Glas or Glaslyn: this last is the form which I find in the maps. It is to be noticed that the Nant Conwy people, by dragging the afanc there, got him beyond their own watershed, so that he could no more cause floods in the Conwy. Here, as promised at p. 74, I append Lewis Glyn Cothi's words as to the afanc in Llyn Syfadon. The bard is dilating in the poem, where they occur, on his affection for his friend Llywelyn ab Gwilym ab Thomas Vaughan, of Bryn Hafod in the Vale of Towy, and averring that it would be as hard to induce him to quit his friend's hospitable home, as it was to get the afanc away from the Lake of Syfadon, as follows:-- Yr avanc er ei ovyn Wyv yn llech ar vin y llyn; O dòn Llyn Syfadon vo Ni thynwyd ban aeth yno: Ni'm tyn mèn nag ychain gwaith, Odiyma hedyw ymaith. [45] The afanc am I, who, sought for, bides In hiding on the edge of the lake; Out of the waters of Syfadon Mere Was he not drawn, once he got there. So with me: nor wain nor oxen wont to toil Me to-day will draw from here forth. From this passage it would seem that the Syfadon story contemplated the afanc being taken away from the lake in a cart or waggon drawn by oxen; but whether driven by Hu, or by whom, one is not told. However, the story must have represented the undertaking as a failure, and the afanc as remaining in his lake: had it been otherwise it would be hard to see the point of the comparison. VI. The parish of Llanfachreth and its traditions have been the subject of some contributions to the first volume of the Taliesin published at Ruthin in 1859-60, pp. 132-7, by a writer who calls himself Cofiadur. It was Glasynys, I believe, for the style seems to be his: he pretends to copy from an old manuscript of Hugh Bifan's--both the manuscript and its owner were fictions of Glasynys' as I am told. These jottings contain two or three items about the fairies which seem to be genuine:-- 'The bottom of Llyn Cynnwch, on the Nannau estate, is level with the hearth-stone of the house of Dôl y Clochyd. Its depth was found out owing to the sweetheart of one of Siwsi's girls having lost his way to her from Nannau, where he was a servant. The poor man had fallen into the lake, and gone down and down, when he found it becoming clearer the lower he got, until at last he alighted on a level spot where everybody and everything looked much as he had observed on the dry land. When he had reached the bottom of the lake, a short fat old gentleman came to him and asked his business, when he told him how it happened that he had come. He met with great welcome, and he stayed there a month without knowing that he had been there three days, and when he was going to leave, he was led out to his beloved by the inhabitants of the lake bottom. He asserted that the whole way was level except in one place, where they descended about a fathom into the ground; but, he added, it was necessary to ascend about as much to reach the hearth-stone of Dôl y Clochyd. The most wonderful thing, however, was that the stone lifted itself as he came up from the subterranean road towards it. It was thus the sweetheart arrived there one evening, when the girl was by the fire weeping for him. Siwsi had been out some days before, and she knew all about it though she said nothing to anybody. This, then, was the way in which the depth of Llyn Cynnwch came to be known.' Then he has a few sentences about an old house called Ceimarch:--'Ceimarch was an old mansion of considerable repute, and in old times it was considered next to Nannau in point of importance in the whole district. There was a deep ditch round it, which was always kept full of water, with the view of keeping off vagabonds and thieves, as well as other lawless folks, that they might not take the inmates by surprise. But, in distant ages, this place was very noted for the frequent visits paid it by the fair family. They used to come to the ditch to wash themselves, and to cross the water in boats made of the bark of the rowan-tree [46], or else birch, and they came into the house to pay their rent for trampling the ground around the place. They always placed a piece of money under a pitcher, and the result was that the family living there became remarkably rich. But somehow, after the lapse of many years, the owner of the place offended them, by showing disrespect for their diminutive family: soon the world began to go against him, and it was not long before he got low in life. Everything turned against him, and in times past everybody believed that he incurred all this because he had earned the displeasure of the fair family.' In the Brython for the year 1862, p. 456, in the course of an essay on the history of the Lordship of Mawdwy in Merioneth, considered the best in a competition at an Eistedfod held at Dinas Mawdwy, August 2, 1855, Glasynys gives the following bit about the fairies of that neighbourhood:--'The side of Aran Fawdwy is a great place for the fair family: they are ever at it playing their games on the hillsides about this spot. It is said that they are numberless likewise about Bwlch y Groes. Once a boy crossed over near the approach of night, one summer eve, from the Gadfa to Mawdwy, and on his return he saw near Aber Rhiwlech a swarm of the little family dancing away full pelt. The boy began to run, with two of the maidens in pursuit of him, entreating him to stay; but Robin, for that was his name, kept running, and the two elves failed altogether to catch him, otherwise he would have been taken a prisoner of love. There are plenty of their dancing-rings to be seen on the hillsides between Aber Rhiwlech and Bwlch y Groes.' Here I would introduce two other Merionethshire tales, which I have received from Mr. E. S. Roberts, master of the Llandysilio School, near Llangollen. He has learnt them from one Abel Evans, who lives at present in the parish of Llandysilio: he is a native of the parish of Llandrillo on the slopes of the Berwyn, and of a glen in the same, known as Cwm Pennant, so called from its being drained by the Pennant on its way to join the Dee. Now Cwm Pennant was the resort of fairies, or of a certain family of them, and the occurrence, related in the following tale, must have taken place no less than seventy years ago: it was well known to the late Mrs. Ellen Edwards of Llandrillo:-- Ryw diwrnod aeth dau gyfaill i hela dwfrgwn ar hyd lannau afon Pennant, a thra yn cyfeirio eu camrau tuagat yr afon gwelsant ryw greadur bychan lliwgoch yn rhedeg yn gyflym iawn ar draws un o'r dolyd yn nghyfeiriad yr afon. Ymaeth a nhw ar ei ol. Gwelsant ei fod wedi myned oditan wraid coeden yn ochr yr afon i ymgudio. Yr oed y dau dyn yn medwl mae dwfrgi ydoed, ond ar yr un pryd yn methu a deall paham yr ymdanghosai i'w llygaid yn lliwgoch. Yr oedynt yn dymuno ei dal yn fyw, ac ymaith yr aeth un o honynt i ffarmdy gerllaw i ofyn am sach, yr hon a gafwyd, er mwyn rhoi y creadur yndi. Yr oed yno dau dwll o tan wraid y pren, a thra daliai un y sach yn agored ar un twll yr oed y llall yn hwthio ffon i'r twll arall, ac yn y man aeth y creadur i'r sach. Yr oed y dau dyn yn medwl eu bod wedi dal dwfrgi, yr hyn a ystyrient yn orchest nid bychan. Cychwynasant gartref yn llawen ond cyn eu myned hyd lled cae, llefarod lletywr y sach mewn ton drist gan dywedyd--'Y mae fy mam yn galw am danaf, O, mae fy mam yn galw am danaf,' yr hyn a rodod fraw mawr i'r dau heliwr, ac yn y man taflasant y sach i lawr, a mawr oed eu rhyfedod a'u dychryn pan welsant dyn bach mewn gwisg goch yn rhedeg o'r sach tuagat yr afon. Fe a diflannod o'i golwg yn mysg y drysni ar fin yr afon. Yr oed y dau wedi eu brawychu yn dirfawr ac yn teimlo mae doethach oed myned gartref yn hytrach nag ymyrraeth yn mhellach a'r Tylwyth Teg. 'One day, two friends went to hunt otters on the banks of the Pennant, and when they were directing their steps towards the river, they beheld some small creature of a red colour running fast across the meadows in the direction of the river. Off they ran after it, and saw that it went beneath the roots of a tree on the brink of the river to hide itself. The two men thought it was an otter, but, at the same time, they could not understand why it seemed to them to be of a red colour. They wished to take it alive, and off one of them went to a farm house that was not far away to ask for a sack, which he got, to put the creature into it. Now there were two holes under the roots of the tree, and while one held the sack with its mouth open over one of them, the other pushed his stick into the other hole, and presently the creature went into the sack. The two men thought they had caught an otter, which they looked upon as no small feat. They set out for home, but before they had proceeded the width of one field, the inmate of the sack spoke to them in a sad voice, and said, "My mother is calling for me; oh, my mother is calling for me!" This gave the two hunters a great fright, so that they at once threw down the sack; and great was their surprise to see a little man in a red dress running out of the sack towards the river. He disappeared from their sight in the bushes by the river. The two men were greatly terrified, and felt that it was more prudent to go home than meddle any further with the fair family.' So far as I know, this story stands alone in Welsh folklore; but it has an exact parallel in Lancashire [47]. The other story, which I now reproduce, was obtained by Mr. Roberts from the same Abel Evans. He learnt it from Mrs. Ellen Edwards, and it refers to a point in her lifetime, which Abel Evans fixes at ninety years ago. Mr. Roberts has not succeeded in recovering the name of the cottager of whom it speaks; but he lived on the side of the Berwyn, above Cwm Pennant, where till lately a cottage used to stand, near which the fairies had one of their resorts:-- Yr oed perchen y bwthyn wedi amaethu rhyw ran fychan o'r mynyd ger llaw y ty er mwyn plannu pytatws yndo. Felly y gwnaeth. Mewn coeden yn agos i'r fan canfydod nyth bran. Fe fedyliod mae doeth fuasai ido dryllio y nyth cyn amlhau o'r brain. Fe a esgynnod y goeden ac a drylliod y nyth, ac wedi disgyn i lawr canfydod gylch glas (fairy ring) odiamgylch y pren, ac ar y cylch fe welod hanner coron er ei fawr lawenyd. Wrth fyned heibio yr un fan y boreu canlynol fe gafod hanner coron yn yr un man ag y cafod y dyd o'r blaen. Hynna fu am amryw dydiau. Un diwrnod dywedod wrth gyfaill am ei hap da a dangosod y fan a'r lle y cawsai yr hanner coron bob boreu. Wel y boreu canlynol nid oed yno na hanner coron na dim arall ido, oherwyd yr oed wedi torri rheolau y Tylwythion trwy wneud eu haelioni yn hysbys. Y mae y Tylwythion o'r farn na dylai y llaw aswy wybod yr hyn a wna y llaw dehau. 'The occupier of the cottage had tilled a small portion of the mountain side near his home in order to plant potatoes, which he did. He observed that there was a rook's nest on a tree which was not far from this spot, and it struck him that it would be prudent to break the nest before the rooks multiplied. So he climbed the tree and broke the nest, and, after coming down, he noticed a green circle (a fairy ring) round the tree, and on this circle he espied, to his great joy, half a crown. As he went by the same spot the following morning, he found another half a crown in the same place as before. So it happened for several days; but one day he told a friend of his good luck, and showed him the spot where he found half a crown every morning. Now the next morning there was for him neither half a crown nor anything else, because he had broken the rule of the fair folks by making their liberality known, they being of opinion that the left hand should not know what the right hand does.' So runs this short tale, which the old lady, Mrs. Edwards, and the people of the neighbourhood explained as an instance of the gratitude of the fairies to a man who had rendered them a service, which in this case was supposed to have consisted in ridding them of the rooks, that disturbed their merry-makings in the green ring beneath the branches of the tree. VII. It would be unpardonable to pass away from Merioneth without alluding to the stray cow of Llyn Barfog. The story appears in Welsh in the Brython for 1860, pp. 183-4, but the contributor, who closely imitates Glasynys' style, says that he got his materials from a paper by the late Mr. Pughe of Aberdovey, by which he seems to have meant an article contributed by the latter to the Archæologia Cambrensis, and published in the volume for 1853, pp. 201-5. Mr. Pughe dwells in that article a good deal on the scenery of the corner of Merioneth in the rear of Aberdovey; but the chief thing in his paper is the legend connected with Llyn Barfog, which he renders into English as the Bearded Lake [48]. It is described as a mountain lake in a secluded spot in the upland country behind Aberdovey; but I shall let Mr. Pughe speak for himself:-- 'The lovers of Cambrian lore are aware that the Triads in their record of the deluge affirm that it was occasioned by a mystic Afanc y Llyn, crocodile [49] of the lake, breaking the banks of Llyn Llion, the lake of waters; and the recurrence of that catastrophe was prevented only by Hu Gadarn, the bold man of power, dragging away the afanc by aid of his Ychain Banawg, or large horned oxen. Many a lakelet in our land has put forward its claim to the location of Llyn Llion; amongst the rest, this lake. Be that as it may, King Arthur and his war-horse have the credit amongst the mountaineers here of ridding them of the monster, in place of Hu the Mighty, in proof of which is shown an impression on a neighbouring rock bearing a resemblance to those made by the shoe or hoof of a horse, as having been left there by his charger when our British Hercules was engaged in this redoubtable act of prowess, and this impression has been given the name of Carn March Arthur, the hoof of Arthur's horse, which it retains to this day. It is believed to be very perilous to let the waters out of the lake, and recently an aged inhabitant of the district informed the writer that she recollected this being done during a period of long drought, in order to procure motive power for Llyn Pair Mill, and that long-continued heavy rains followed. No wonder our bold but superstitious progenitors, awe-struck by the solitude of the spot--the dark sepial tint of its waters, unrelieved by the flitting apparition of a single fish, and seldom visited by the tenants of the air--should have established it as a canon in their creed of terror that the lake formed one of the many communications between this outward world of ours and the inner or lower one of Annwn--the unknown world [50]--the dominion of Gwyn ap Nud, the mythic king of the fabled realm, peopled by those children of mystery, Plant Annwn; and the belief is still current amongst the inhabitants of our mountains in the occasional visitations of the Gwraged Annwn, or dames of Elfin land, to this upper world of ours. A shrewd old hill farmer (Thomas Abergraes by name), well skilled in the folk-lore of the district, informed me that, in years gone by, though when, exactly, he was too young to remember, those dames were wont to make their appearance, arrayed in green, in the neighbourhood of Llyn Barfog, chiefly at eventide, accompanied by their kine and hounds, and that on quiet summer nights in particular, these ban-hounds were often to be heard in full cry pursuing their prey--the souls of doomed men dying without baptism and penance--along the upland township of Cefnrhosucha. Many a farmer had a sight of their comely milk-white kine; many a swain had his soul turned to romance and poesy by a sudden vision of themselves in the guise of damsels arrayed in green, and radiant in beauty and grace; and many a sportsman had his path crossed by their white hounds of supernatural fleetness and comeliness, the Cwn Annwn; but never had any one been favoured with more than a passing view of either, till an old farmer residing at Dyssyrnant, in the adjoining valley of Dyffryn Gwyn, became at last the lucky captor of one of their milk-white kine. The acquaintance which the Gwartheg y Llyn, the kine of the lake, had formed with the farmer's cattle, like the loves of the angels for the daughters of men, became the means of capture; and the farmer was thereby enabled to add the mystic cow to his own herd, an event in all cases believed to be most conducive to the worldly prosperity of him who should make so fortunate an acquisition. Never was there such a cow, never such calves, never such milk and butter, or cheese, and the fame of the Fuwch Gyfeiliorn, the stray cow, was soon spread abroad through that central part of Wales known as the district of Rhwng y dwy Afon, from the banks of the Mawdach to those of the Dofwy [51]--from Aberdiswnwy [52] to Abercorris. The farmer, from a small beginning, rapidly became, like Job, a man of substance, possessed of thriving herds of cattle--a very patriarch among the mountains. But, alas! wanting Job's restraining grace, his wealth made him proud, his pride made him forget his obligation to the Elfin cow, and fearing she might soon become too old to be profitable, he fattened her for the butcher, and then even she did not fail to distinguish herself, for a more monstrously fat beast was never seen. At last the day of slaughter came--an eventful day in the annals of a mountain farm--the killing of a fat cow, and such a monster of obesity! No wonder all the neighbours were gathered together to see the sight. The old farmer looked upon the preparations in self-pleased importance--the butcher felt he was about no common feat of his craft, and, baring his arms, he struck the blow--not now fatal, for before even a hair had been injured, his arm was paralysed--the knife dropped from his hand, and the whole company was electrified by a piercing cry that awakened echo in a dozen hills, and made the welkin ring again; and lo and behold! the whole assemblage saw a female figure clad in green, with uplifted arms, standing on one of the craigs overhanging Llyn Barfog, and heard her calling with a voice loud as thunder:-- Dere di velen Einion, Cyrn Cyveiliorn--braith y Llyn, A'r voel Dodin, Codwch, dewch adre. Come yellow Anvil, stray horns, Speckled one of the lake, And of the hornless Dodin, Arise, come home [53]. And no sooner were these words of power uttered than the original lake cow and all her progeny, to the third and fourth generations, were in full flight towards the heights of Llyn Barfog, as if pursued by the evil one. Self-interest quickly roused the farmer, who followed in pursuit, till breathless and panting he gained an eminence overlooking the lake, but with no better success than to behold the green attired dame leisurely descending mid-lake, accompanied by the fugitive cows and their calves formed in a circle around her, they tossing their tails, she waving her hands in scorn as much as to say, "You may catch us, my friend, if you can," as they disappeared beneath the dark waters of the lake, leaving only the yellow water-lily to mark the spot where they vanished, and to perpetuate the memory of this strange event. Meanwhile the farmer looked with rueful countenance upon the spot where the Elfin herd disappeared, and had ample leisure to deplore the effects of his greediness, as with them also departed the prosperity which had hitherto attended him, and he became impoverished to a degree below his original circumstances; and, in his altered circumstances, few felt pity for one who in the noontide flow of prosperity had shown himself so far forgetful of favours received, as to purpose slaying his benefactor.' Mr. Pughe did a very good thing in saving this legend from oblivion, but it would be very interesting to know how much of it is still current among the inhabitants of the retired district around Llyn Barfog, and how the story would look when stripped of the florid language in which Mr. Pughe thought proper to clothe it. Lastly, let me add a reference to the Iolo Manuscripts, pp. 85, 475, where a short story is given concerning a certain Milkwhite Sweet-milk Cow (y Fuwch Laethwen Lefrith) whose milk was so abundant and possessed of such virtues as almost to rival the Holy Grail. Like the Holy Grail also this cow wandered everywhere spreading plenty, until she chanced to come to the Vale of Towy, where the foolish inhabitants wished to kill and eat her: the result was that she vanished in their hands and has never since been heard of. VIII. Here I wish to add some further stories connected with Merionethshire which have come under my notice lately. I give them chiefly on the authority of Mr. Owen M. Edwards of Lincoln College, who is a native of Llanuwchllyn, and still spends a considerable part of his time there; and partly on that of Hywel's essay on the folklore of the county, which was awarded the prize at the National Eistedfod of 1898 [54]. A story current at Llanuwchllyn, concerning a midwife who attends on a fairy mother, resembles the others of the same group: for one of them see p. 63 above. In the former, however, one misses the ointment, and finds instead of it that the midwife was not to touch her eyes with the water with which she washed the fairy baby. But as might be expected one of her eyes happened to itch, and she touched it with her fingers straight from the water. It appears that thenceforth she was able to see the fairies with that eye; at any rate she is represented some time afterwards recognizing the father of the fairy baby at a fair at Bala, and inquiring of him kindly about his family. The fairy asked with which eye she saw him, and when he had ascertained this, he at once blinded it, so that she never could see with it afterwards. Hywel also has it that the Tylwyth Teg formerly used to frequent the markets at Bala, and that they used to swell the noise in the market-place without anybody being able to see them: this was a sign that prices were going to rise. The shepherds of Ardudwy are familiar, according to Hywel, with a variant of the story in which a man married a fairy on condition that he did not touch her with iron. They lived on the Moelfre and dwelt happily together for years, until one fine summer day, when the husband was engaged in shearing his sheep, he put the gwelle, 'shears,' in his wife's hand: she then instantly disappeared. The earlier portions of this story are unknown to me, but they are not hard to guess. Concerning Llyn Irdyn, between the western slopes of the Llawllech, Hywel has a story the like of which I am not acquainted with: walking near that lake you shun the shore and keep to the grass in order to avoid the fairies, for if you take hold of the grass no fairy can touch you, or dare under any circumstances injure a blade of grass. Lastly, Hywel speaks of several caves containing treasure, as for instance a telyn aur, or golden harp, hidden away in a cave beneath Castell Carn Dochan in the parish of Llanuwchllyn. Lewis Morris, in his Celtic Remains, p. 100, calls it Castell Corndochen, and describes it as seated on the top of a steep rock at the bottom of a deep valley: it appears to have consisted of a wall surrounding three turrets, and the mortar seems composed of cockle-shells: see also the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1850, p. 204. Hywel speaks also of a cave beneath Castell Dinas Brân, near Llangollen, as containing much treasure, which will only be disclosed to a boy followed by a white dog with llygaid arian, 'silver eyes,' explained to mean light eyes: every such dog is said to see the wind. So runs this story, but it requires more exegesis than I can supply. One may compare it at a distance with Myrdin's arrangement that the treasure buried by him at Dinas Emrys should only be found by a youth with yellow hair and blue eyes, and with the belief that the cave treasures of the Snowdon district belong to the Gwydyl or Goidels, and that Goidels will eventually find them: see chapter viii. The next three stories are from Mr. Owen Edwards' Cymru for 1897, pp. 188-9, where he has published them from a collection made for a literary competition or local Eistedfod by his friend J. H. Roberts, who died in early manhood. The first is a blurred version of the story of the Lake Lady and her dowry of cattle, but enough of the story remains to show that, had we got it in its original form, it would be found to differ somewhat on several points from all the other versions extant. I summarize the Welsh as follows:--In ages gone by, as the shepherd of Hafod y Garreg was looking after his sheep on the shores of the Arennig Lake, he came across a young calf, plump, sleek, and strong, in the rushes. He could not guess whence the beast could have come, as no cattle were allowed to approach the lake at that time of the year. He took it home, however, and it was reared until it was a bull, remarkable for his fine appearance. In time his offspring were the only cattle on the farm, and never before had there been such beasts at Hafod y Garreg. They were the wonder and admiration of the whole country. But one summer afternoon in June, the shepherd saw a little fat old man playing on a pipe, and then he heard him call the cows by their names-- Mulican, Molican, Malen, Mair, Dowch adre'r awrhon ar fy ngair. Mulican, Molican, Malen and Mair, Come now home at my word. He then beheld the whole herd running to the little man and going into the lake. Nothing more was heard of them, and it was everybody's opinion that they were the Tylwyth Teg's cattle. The next is a quasi fairy tale, the outcome of which recalls the adventure of the farmer of Drws y Coed on his return from Bedgelert Fair, p. 99 above. It is told of a young harpist who was making his way across country from his home at Yspyty Ifan to the neighbourhood of Bala, that while crossing the mountain he happened in the mist to lose his road and fall into the Gors Fawr, 'the big bog.' There he wallowed for hours, quite unable to extricate himself in spite of all his efforts. But when he was going to give up in despair, he beheld close to him, reaching him her hand, a little woman who was wondrous fair beyond all his conception of beauty, and with her help he got out of the Gors. The damsel gave him a jolly sweet kiss that flashed electricity through his whole nature: he was at once over head and ears in love. She led him to the hut of her father and mother: there he had every welcome, and he spent the night singing and dancing with Olwen, for that was her name. Now, though the harpist was a mere stripling, he thought of wedding at once--he was never before in such a heaven of delight. But next morning he was waked, not by a kiss from Olwen, but by the Plas Drain shepherd's dog licking his lips: he found himself sleeping against the wall of a sheepfold (corlan), with his harp in a clump of rushes at his feet, without any trace to be found of the family with whom he had spent such a happy night. The next story recalls Glasynys' Einion Las, as given at pp. 111-5 above: its peculiarity is the part played by the well introduced. The scene was a turbary near the river called Afon Mynach, so named from Cwm Tir Mynach, behind the hills immediately north of Bala:--Ages ago, as a number of people were cutting turf in a place which was then moorland, and which is now enclosed ground forming part of a farm called Nant Hir, one of them happened to wash his face in a well belonging to the fairies. At dinner-time in the middle of the day they sat down in a circle, while the youth who had washed his face went to fetch the food, but suddenly both he and the box of food were lost. They knew not what to do, they suspected that it was the doing of the fairies; but the wise man (gwr hyspys) came to the neighbourhood and told them, that, if they would only go to the spot on the night of full moon in June, they would behold him dancing with the fairies. They did as they were told, and found the moor covered with thousands of little agile creatures who sang and danced with all their might, and they saw the missing man among them. They rushed at him, and with a great deal of trouble they got him out. But oftentimes was Einion missed again, until at the time of full moon in another June he returned home with a wondrously fair wife, whose history or pedigree no one knew. Everybody believed her to be one of the Tylwyth Teg. IX. There is a kind of fairy tale of which I think I have hitherto not given the reader a specimen: a good instance is given in the third volume of the Brython, at p. 459, by a contributor who calls himself Idnerth ab Gwgan, who, I learn from the Rev. Chancellor Silvan Evans, the editor, was no other than the Rev. Benjamin Williams, best known to Welsh antiquaries by his bardic name of Gwynionyd. The preface to the tale is also interesting, so I am tempted to render the whole into English, as follows:-- 'The fair family were wonderful creatures in the imaginary world: they encamped, they walked, and they capered a great deal in former ages in our country, according to what we learn from some of our old people. It may be supposed that they were very little folks like the children of Rhys Dwfn; for the old people used to imagine that they were wont to visit their hearths in great numbers in ages gone by. The girls at the farm houses used to make the hearths clean after supper, and to place a cauldron full of water near the fire; and so they thought that the fair family came there to play at night, bringing sweethearts for the young women, and leaving pieces of money on the hob for them in the morning. Sometimes they might be seen as splendid hosts exercising themselves on our hills. They were very fond of the mountains of Dyfed; travellers between Lampeter and Cardigan used to see them on the hill of Llanwenog, but by the time they had reached there the fairies would be far away on the hills of Llandyssul, and when one had reached the place where one expected to see the family together in tidy array, they would be seen very busily engaged on the tops of Crug y Balog; when one went there they would be on Blaen Pant ar Fi, moving on and on to Bryn Bwa, and, finally, to some place or other in the lower part of Dyfed. Like the soldiers of our earthly world, they were possessed of terribly fascinating music; and in the autumnal season they had their rings, still named from them, in which they sang and danced. The young man of Llech y Derwyd [55] was his father's only son, as well as heir to the farm; so he was very dear to his father and his mother, indeed he was the light of their eyes. Now, the head servant and the son were bosom friends: they were like brothers together, or rather twin brothers. As the son and the servant were such friends, the farmer's wife used to get exactly the same kind of clothes prepared for the servant as for her son. The two fell in love with two handsome young women of very good reputation in the neighbourhood. The two couples were soon joined in honest wedlock, and great was the merry-making on the occasion. The servant had a suitable place to live in on the farm of Llech y Derwyd; but about half a year after the son's marriage, he and his friend went out for sport, when the servant withdrew to a wild and retired corner to look for game. He returned presently for his friend, but when he got there he could not see him anywhere: he kept looking around for some time for him, shouting and whistling, but there was no sign of his friend. By-and-by, he went home to Llech y Derwyd expecting to see him, but no one knew anything about him. Great was the sorrow of his family through the night; and next day the anxiety was still greater. They went to see the place where his friend had seen him last: it was hard to tell whether his mother or his wife wept the more bitterly; but the father was a little better, though he also looked as if he were half mad with grief. The spot was examined, and, to their surprise, they saw a fairy ring close by, and the servant recollected that he had heard the sound of very fascinating music somewhere or other about the time in question. It was at once agreed that the man had been unfortunate enough to have got into the ring of the Tylwyth, and to have been carried away by them, nobody knew whither. Weeks and months passed away, and a son was born to the heir of Llech y Derwyd, but the young father was not there to see his child, which the old people thought very hard. However, the little one grew up the very picture of his father, and great was his influence over his grandfather and grandmother; in fact he was everything to them. He grew up to be a man, and he married a good-looking girl in that neighbourhood; but her family did not enjoy the reputation of being kind-hearted people. The old folks died, and their daughter-in-law also. One windy afternoon in the month of October, the family of Llech y Derwyd beheld a tall thin old man, with his beard and hair white as snow, coming towards the house, and they thought he was a Jew. The servant maids stared at him, and their mistress laughed at the "old Jew," at the same time that she lifted the children up one after another to see him. He came to the door and entered boldly enough, asking about his parents. The mistress answered him in an unusually surly and contemptuous tone, wondering why the "drunken old Jew had come there," because it was thought he had been drinking, and that he would otherwise not have spoken so. The old man cast wondering and anxious looks around on everything in the house, feeling as he did greatly surprised; but it was the little children about the floor that drew his attention most: his looks were full of disappointment and sorrow. He related the whole of his account, saying that he had been out the day before and that he was now returning. The mistress of the house told him that she had heard a tale about her husband's father, that he had been lost years before her birth while out sporting, whilst her father maintained that it was not true, but that he had been killed. She became angry, and quite lost her temper at seeing "the old Jew" not going away. The old man was roused, saying that he was the owner of the house, and that he must have his rights. He then went out to see his possessions, and presently went to the house of the servant, where, to his surprise, things had greatly changed; after conversing with an aged man, who sat by the fire, the one began to scrutinize the other more and more. The aged man by the fire told him what had been the fate of his old friend, the heir of Llech y Derwyd. They talked deliberately of the events of their youth, but it all seemed like a dream; in short, the old man in the corner concluded that his visitor was his old friend, the heir of Llech y Derwyd, returning from the land of the Tylwyth Teg after spending half a hundred years there. The other old man, with the snow-white beard, believed in his history, and much did they talk together and question one another for many hours. The old man by the fire said that the master of Llech y Derwyd was away from home that day, and he induced his aged visitor to eat some food, but, to the horror of all, the eater fell down dead on the spot [56]. There is no record that an inquest was held over him, but the tale relates that the cause of it was, that he ate food after having been so long in the world of the fair family. His old friend insisted on seeing him buried by the side of his ancestors; but the rudeness of the mistress of Llech y Derwyd to her father-in-law brought a curse on the family that clung to it to distant generations, and until the place had been sold nine times.' A tale like this is to be found related of Idwal of Nantclwyd, in Cymru Fu, p. 85. I said 'a tale like this,' but, on reconsidering the matter, I should think it is the very same tale passed through the hands of Glasynys or some one of his imitators. Another of this kind will be found in the Brython, ii. 170, and several similar ones also in Wirt Sikes' book, pp. 65-90, either given at length, or merely referred to. There is one kind of variant which deserves special notice, as making the music to which the sojourner in Faery listens for scores of years to be that of a bird singing on a tree. A story of the sort is located by Howells, in his Cambrian Superstitions, pp. 127-8, at Pant Shon Shencin, near Pencader, in Cardiganshire. This latter kind of story leads easily up to another development, namely, to substituting for the bird's warble the song and felicity of heaven, and for the simple shepherd a pious monk. In this form it is located at a place called Llwyn y Nef, or 'Heaven's Grove,' near Celynnog Fawr, in Carnarvonshire. It is given by Glasynys in Cymru Fu, pp. 183-4, where it was copied from the Brython, iii. 111, in which he had previously published it. Several versions of it in rhyme came down from the eighteenth century, and Silvan Evans has brought together twenty-six stanzas in point in St. David's College Magazine for 1881, pp. 191-200, where he has put into a few paragraphs all that is known about the song of the Hen Wr o'r Coed, or the Old Man of the Wood, in his usually clear and lucid style. A tale from the other end of the tract of country once occupied by a sprinkling, perhaps, of Celts among a population of Picts, makes the man, and not the fairies, supply the music. I owe it to the kindness of the Rev. Andrew Clark, Fellow of Lincoln College, Oxford, who heard it from the late sexton of the parish of Dollar, in the county of Clackmannan. The sexton died some twelve years ago, aged seventy: he had learnt the tale from his father. The following are Mr. Clark's words:-- 'Glendevon is a parish and village in the Ochils in County Perth, about five miles from Dollar as you come up Glen Queich and down by Gloomhill. Glen Queich is a narrowish glen between two grassy hills--at the top of the glen is a round hill of no great height, but very neat shape, the grass of which is always short and trim, and the ferns on the shoulder of a very marked green. This, as you come up the glen, seems entirely to block the way. It is called the "Maiden Castle." Only when you come quite close do you see the path winding round the foot of it. A little further on is a fine spring bordered with flat stones, in the middle of a neat, turfy spot, called the "Maiden's Well." This road, till the new toll-road was made on the other side of the hills, was the thoroughfare between Dollar and Glendevon.' The following is the legend, as told by the 'Bethrel':--'A piper, carrying his pipes, was coming from Glendevon to Dollar in the grey of the evening. He crossed the Garchel (a little stream running into the Queich burn), and looked at the "Maiden Castle," and saw only the grey hillside and heard only the wind soughing through the bent. He had got beyond it when he heard a burst of lively music: he turned round, and instead of the dark knoll saw a great castle, with lights blazing from the windows, and heard the noise of dancing issuing from the open door. He went back incautiously, and a procession issuing forth at that moment, he was caught and taken into a great hall ablaze with lights, and people dancing on the floor. He had to pipe to them for a day or two, but he got anxious, because he knew his people would be wondering why he did not come back in the morning as he had promised. The fairies seemed to sympathize with his anxiety, and promised to let him go if he played a favourite tune of his, which they seemed fond of, to their satisfaction. He played his very best, the dance went fast and furious, and at its close he was greeted with loud applause. On his release he found himself alone, in the grey of the evening, beside the dark hillock, and no sound was heard save the purr of the burn and the soughing of the wind through the bent. Instead of completing his journey to Dollar, he walked hastily back to Glendevon to relieve his folk's anxiety. He entered his father's house and found no kent face there. On his protesting that he had gone only a day or two before, and waxing loud in his bewildered talk, a grey old man was roused from a doze behind the fire; and told how he had heard when a boy from his father that a piper had gone away to Dollar on a quiet evening, and had never been heard or seen since, nor any trace of him found. He had been in the "castle" for a hundred years.' The term Plant Rhys Dwfn has already been brought before the reader: it means 'the Children of Rhys Dwfn,' and Rhys Dwfn means literally Rhys the Deep, but the adjective in Welsh connotes depth of character in the sense of shrewdness or cunning. Nay, even the English deep is often borrowed for use in the same sense, as when one colloquially says un dîp iawn yw e, 'he is a very calculating or cunning fellow.' The following account of Rhys and his progeny is given by Gwynionyd in the first volume of the Brython, p. 130, which deserves being cited at length:--'There is a tale current in Dyfed, that there is, or rather that there has been, a country between Cemmes, the northern Hundred of Pembrokeshire, and Aberdaron in Lleyn. The chief patriarch of the inhabitants was Rhys Dwfn, and his descendants used to be called after him the Children of Rhys Dwfn. They were, it is said, a handsome race enough, but remarkably small in size. It is stated that certain herbs of a strange nature grew in their land, so that they were able to keep their country from being seen by even the most sharp sighted of invaders. There is no account that these remarkable herbs grew in any other part of the world excepting on a small spot, about a square yard in area, in a certain part of Cemmes. If it chanced that a man stood alone on it, he beheld the whole of the territory of Plant Rhys Dwfn; but the moment he moved he would lose sight of it altogether, and it would have been utterly vain for him to look for his footprints. In another story, as will be seen presently, the requisite platform was a turf from St. David's churchyard. The Rhysians had not much land--they lived in towns. So they were wont in former times to come to market to Cardigan, and to raise the prices of things terribly. They were seen of no one coming or going, but only seen there in the market. When prices happened to be high, and the corn all sold, however much there might have been there in the morning, the poor used to say to one another on the way home, "Oh! they were there to-day," meaning Plant Rhys Dwfn. So they were dear friends in the estimation of Siôn Phil Hywel, the farmer; but not so high in the opinion of Dafyd, the labourer. It is said, however, that they were very honest and resolute men. A certain Gruffyd ab Einon was wont to sell them more corn than anybody else, and so he was a great friend of theirs. He was honoured by them beyond all his contemporaries by being led on a visit to their home. As they were great traders like the Phoenicians of old, they had treasures from all countries under the sun. Gruffyd, after feasting his eyes to satiety on their wonders, was led back by them loaded with presents. But before taking leave of them, he asked them how they succeeded in keeping themselves safe from invaders, as one of their number might become unfaithful, and go beyond the virtue of the herbs that formed their safety. "Oh!" replied the little old man of shrewd looks, "just as Ireland has been blessed with a soil on which venomous reptiles cannot live, so with our land: no traitor can live here. Look at the sand on the sea-shore: perfect unity prevails there, and so among us. Rhys, the father of our race, bade us, even to the most distant descendant, honour our parents and ancestors; love our own wives without looking at those of our neighbours; and do our best for our children and grandchildren. And he said that if we did so, no one of us would ever prove unfaithful to another, or become what you call a traitor. The latter is a wholly imaginary character among us; strange pictures are drawn of him with his feet like those of an ass, with a nest of snakes in his bosom, with a head like the devil's, with hands somewhat like a man's, while one of them holds a large knife, and the family lies dead around the figure. Good-bye!" When Gruffyd looked about him he lost sight of the country of Plant Rhys, and found himself near his home. He became very wealthy after this, and continued to be a great friend of Plant Rhys as long as he lived. After Gruffyd's death they came to market again, but such was the greed of the farmers, like Gruffyd before them, for riches, and so unreasonable were the prices they asked for their corn, that the Rhysians took offence and came no more to Cardigan to market. The old people used to think that they now went to Fishguard market, as very strange people were wont to be seen there.' On the other hand, some Fishguard people were lately of opinion that it was at Haverfordwest the fairies did their marketing: I refer to a letter of Mr. Ferrar Fenton's, in the Pembroke County Guardian of October 31, 1896, in which he mentions a conversation he had with a Fishguard woman as to the existence of fairies: 'There are fairies,' she asserted, 'for they came to Ha'rfordwest market to buy things, so there must be.' With this should be compared pp. 9-10 of Wirt Sikes' British Goblins, where mention is made of sailors on the coast of Pembrokeshire and Carmarthenshire, 'who still talk of the green meadows of enchantment lying in the Irish Channel to the west of Pembrokeshire,' and of men who had landed on them, or seen them suddenly vanishing. The author then proceeds to abstract from Howells' Cambrian Superstitions, p. 119, the following paragraph:--'The fairies inhabiting these islands are said to have regularly attended the markets at Milford Haven and Laugharne. They made their purchases without speaking, laid down their money and departed, always leaving the exact sum required, which they seemed to know without asking the price of anything. Sometimes they were invisible; but they were often seen by sharp-eyed persons. There was always one special butcher at Milford Haven upon whom the fairies bestowed their patronage instead of distributing their favours indiscriminately. The Milford Haven folk could see the green Fairy Islands distinctly, lying out a short distance from land; and the general belief was that they were densely peopled with fairies. It was also said that the latter went to and fro between the islands and the shore, through a subterranean gallery under the bottom of the sea.' Another tale given in the Brython, ii. 20, by a writer who gives his name as B. Davies [57], will serve to show, short though it be, that the term Plant Rhys Dwfn was not confined to those honestly dealing fairies, but was used in a sense wholly synonymous with that of Tylwyth Teg, as understood in other parts of Wales. The story runs as follows, and should be compared with the Dyffryn Mymbyr one given above, pp. 100-3:--'One calm hot day, when the sun of heaven was brilliantly shining, and the hay in the dales was being busily made by lads and lasses, and by grown-up people of both sexes, a woman in the neighbourhood of Emlyn placed her one-year-old infant in the gader, or chair, as the cradle is called in these parts, and out she went to the field for a while, intending to return, when her neighbour, an old woman overtaken by the decrepitude of eighty summers, should call to her that her darling was crying. It was not long before she heard the old woman calling to her; she ran hurriedly, and as soon as she set foot on the kitchen floor she took her little one in her arms as usual, saying to him, "O my little one! thy mother's delight art thou! I would not take the world for thee, &c." But to her surprise he had a very old look about him, and the more the tender-hearted mother gazed at his face, the stranger it seemed to her, so that at last she placed him in the cradle and told her trouble and sorrow to her relatives and acquaintances. And after this one and the other had given his opinion, it was agreed at last that it was one of Rhys Dwfn's children that was in the cradle, and not her dearly loved baby. In this distress there was nothing to do but to fetch a sorcerer, as fast as the fastest horse could gallop. He said, when he saw the child, that he had seen his like before, and that it would be a hard job to get rid of him, though not such a very hard job this time. The shovel was made red hot in the fire by one of the Cefnarth [58] boys, and held before the child's face; and in an instant the short little old man took to his heels, and neither he nor his like was seen afterwards from Aber Cuch to Aber Bargoed at any rate. The mother, it is said, found her darling unscathed the next moment. I remember also hearing that the strange child was as old as the grandfather of the one that had been lost.' As I see no reason to make any profound distinction between lake maidens and sea maidens, I now give Gwynionyd's account of the mermaid who was found by a fisherman from Llandydoch or St. Dogmael's [59], near Cardigan: see the Brython, i. 82:-- 'One fine afternoon in September, in the beginning of the last century, a fisherman, whose name was Pergrin [60], went to a recess in the rock near Pen Cemmes, where he found a sea maiden doing her hair, and he took the water lady prisoner to his boat.... We know not what language is used by sea maidens ... but this one, this time at any rate, talked, it is said, very good Welsh; for when she was in despair in Pergrin's custody, weeping copiously, and with her tresses all dishevelled, she called out: 'Pergrin, if thou wilt let me go, I will give thee three shouts in the time of thy greatest need.' So, in wonder and fear, he let her go to walk the streets of the deep, and visit her sweethearts there. Days and weeks passed without Pergrin seeing her after this; but one hot afternoon, when the sea was pretty calm, and the fishermen had no thought of danger, behold his old acquaintance showing her head and locks, and shouting out in a loud voice: 'Pergrin! Pergrin! Pergrin! take up thy nets, take up thy nets, take up thy nets!' Pergrin and his companion instantly obeyed the message, and drew their nets in with great haste. In they went, past the bar, and by the time they had reached the Pwll Cam the most terrible storm had overspread the sea, while he and his companion were safe on land. Twice nine others had gone out with them, but they were all drowned without having the chance of obeying the warning of the water lady.' Perhaps it is not quite irrelevant to mention here the armorial bearings which Drayton ascribes to the neighbouring county of Cardigan in the following couplet in his Battaile of Agincourt (London, 1631), p. 23:-- As Cardigan the next to them that went, Came with a Mermayd sitting on a Rock. A writer in the Brython, iv. 194, states that the people of Nefyn in Lleyn claim the story of the fisher and the mermaid as belonging to them, which proves that a similar legend has been current there: add to this the fact mentioned in the Brython, iii. 133, that a red mermaid with yellow hair, on a white field, figures in the coat of arms of the family resident at Glasfryn in the parish of Llangybi, in Eifionyd or the southern portion of Carnarvonshire; and we have already suggested that Glasynys' story (pp. 117-25) was made up, to a certain extent, of materials found on the coasts of Carnarvonshire. A small batch of stories about South Wales mermaids is given by a writer who calls himself Ab Nadol [61], in the Brython, iv. 310, as follows:-- 'A few rockmen are said to have been working, about eighty years ago, in a quarry near Porth y Rhaw, when the day was calm and clear, with nature, as it were, feasting, the flowers shedding sweet scent around, and the hot sunshine beaming into the jagged rocks. Though an occasional wave rose to strike the romantic cliffs, the sea was like a placid lake, with its light coverlet of blue attractive enough to entice one of the ladies of Rhys Dwfn forth from the town seen by Daniel Huws off Trefin as he was journeying between Fishguard and St. David's in the year 1858, to make her way to the top of a stone and to sit on it to disentangle her flowing silvery hair. Whilst she was cleaning herself, the rockmen went down, and when they got near her they perceived that, from her waist upwards, she was like the lasses of Wales, but that, from her waist downwards, she had the body of a fish. And, when they began to talk to her, they found she spoke Welsh, though she only uttered the following few words to them: "Reaping in Pembrokeshire and weeding in Carmarthenshire." Off she then went to walk in the depth of the sea towards her home. Another tale is repeated about a mermaid, said to have been caught by men below the land of Llanwnda, near the spot, if not on the spot, where the French made their landing afterwards, and three miles to the west of Fishguard. It then goes on to say that they carried her to their home, and kept her in a secure place for some time; before long, she begged to be allowed to return to the brine land, and gave the people of the house three bits of advice; but I only remember one of them,' he writes, 'and this is it: "Skim the surface of the pottage before adding sweet milk to it: it will be whiter and sweeter, and less of it will do." I was told that this family follow the three advices to this day.' A somewhat similar advice to that about the pottage is said to have been given by a mermaid, under similar circumstances, to a Manxman. After putting the foregoing bits together, I was favoured by Mr. Benjamin Williams with notes on the tales and on the persons from whom he heard them: they form the contents of two or three letters, mostly answers to queries of mine, and the following is the substance of them:--Mr. Williams is a native of the valley of Troed yr Aur [62], in the Cardiganshire parish of that name. He spent a part of his youth at Verwig, in the angle between the northern bank of the Teifi and Cardigan Bay. He heard of Rhys Dwfn's Children first from a distant relative of his father's, a Catherine Thomas, who came to visit her daughter, who lived not far from his father's house: that would now be from forty-eight to fifty years ago. He was very young at the time, and of Rhys Dwfn's progeny he formed a wonderful idea, which was partly due also to the talk of one James Davies or Siàms Mocyn, who was very well up in folklore, and was one of his father's next-door neighbours. He was an old man, and nephew to the musician, David Jenkin Morgan. The only spot near Mr. Williams' home, that used to be frequented by the fairies, was Cefn y Ceirw, 'the Stag's Ridge,' a large farm, so called from having been kept as a park for their deer by the Lewises of Aber Nant Bychan. He adds that the late Mr. Philipps, of Aberglasney, was very fond of talking of things in his native neighbourhood, and of mentioning the fairies at Cefn y Ceirw. It was after moving to Verwig that Mr. Williams began to put the tales he heard on paper: then he came in contact with three brothers, whose names were John, Owen, and Thomas Evans. They were well-to-do and respectable bachelors, living together on the large farm of Hafod Ruffyd. Thomas was a man of very strong common sense, and worth consulting on any subject: he was a good arithmetician, and a constant reader of the Baptist periodical, Seren Gomer, from its first appearance. He thoroughly understood the bardic metres, and had a fair knowledge of music. He was well versed in Scripture, and filled the office of deacon at the Baptist Chapel. His death took place in the year 1864. Now, the eldest of the three brothers, the one named John, or Siôn, was then about seventy-five years of age, and he thoroughly believed in the tales about the fairies, as will be seen from the following short dialogue:-- Siôn: Williams bach, ma'n rhaid i bod nhw'i gâl: yr w i'n cofio yn amser Bone fod marchnad Aberteifi yn llawn o lafir yn y bore--digon yno am fis--ond cin pen hanner awr yr ôd y cwbwl wedi darfod. Nid ôd possib i gweld nhwi: mâ gida nhwi faint a fynnon nhwi o arian. Williams: Siwt na fyse dynion yn i gweld nhwi ynte, Siôn? Siôn: O mâ gida nhwi dynion fel ninne yn pryni drostyn nhwi; ag y mâ nhwi fel yr hen siówmin yna yn gelli gneid pob tric. John: 'My dear Williams, it must be that they exist: I remember Cardigan market, in the time of Bonaparte, full of corn in the morning--enough for a month--but in less than half an hour it was all gone. It was impossible to see them: they have as much money as they like.' Williams: 'How is it, then, that men did not see them, John?' John: 'Oh, they have men like us to do the buying for them; and they can, like those old showmen, do every kind of trick.' At this kind of display of simplicity on the part of his brother, Thomas used to smile and say: 'My brother John believes such things as those;' for he had no belief in them himself. Still it is from his mouth that Mr. Williams published the tales in the Brython, which have been reproduced here, that of 'Pergrin and the Mermaid,' and all about the 'Heir of Llech y Derwyd,' not to mention the ethical element in the account of Rhys Dwfn's country and its people, the product probably of his mind. Thomas Evans, or as he was really called, Tommos Ifan, was given rather to grappling with the question of the origin of such beliefs; so one day he called Mr. Williams out, and led him to a spot about four hundred yards from Bol y Fron, where the latter then lived: he pointed to the setting sun, and asked Mr. Williams what he thought of the glorious sunset before them. 'It is all produced,' he then observed, 'by the reflection of the sun's rays on the mist: one might think,' he went on to say, 'that there was there a paradise of a country full of fields, forests, and everything that is desirable.' And before they had moved away the grand scene had disappeared, when Thomas suggested that the idea of the existence of the country of Rhys Dwfn's Children arose from the contemplation of that phenomenon. One may say that Thomas Evans was probably far ahead of the Welsh historians who try to extract history from the story of Cantre'r Gwaelod, 'the Bottom Hundred,' beneath the waves of Cardigan Bay; but what was seen was probably an instance of the mirage to be mentioned presently. Lastly, besides Mr. Williams' contributions to the Brython, and a small volume of poetry, entitled Briallen glan Ceri, some tales of his were published by Llallawg in Bygones some years ago, and he had the prize at the Cardigan Eistedfod of 1866 for the best collection in Welsh of the folklore of Dyfed: his recollection was that it contained in all thirty-six tales of all kinds; but since the manuscript, as the property of the Committee of that Eistedfod, was sold, he could not now consult it: in fact he is not certain as to who the owner of it may now be, though he has an idea that it is either the Rev. Rees Williams, vicar of Whitchurch, near Solva, Pembrokeshire, or R. D. Jenkins, Esq., of Cilbronnau, Cardiganshire. Whoever the owner may be, he would probably be only too glad to have it published, and I mention this merely to call attention to it. The Eistedfod is to be commended for encouraging local research, and sometimes even for burying the results in obscurity, but not always. X. Before leaving Dyfed I wish to revert to the extract from Mr. Sikes, p. 161 above. He had been helped partly by the article on Gavran, in the Cambrian Biography, by William Owen, better known since as William Owen Pughe and Dr. Pughe, and partly by a note of Southey's on the following words in his Madoc (London, 1815), i. III:-- Where are the sons of Gavran? where his tribe, The faithful? following their beloved Chief, They the Green Islands of the Ocean sought; Nor human tongue hath told, nor human ear, Since from the silver shores they went their way, Hath heard their fortunes. The Gavran story, I may premise, is based on one of the Welsh Triads--i. 34, ii. 41, iii. 80--and Southey cites the article in the Cambrian Biography; but he goes on to give the following statements without indicating on what sources he was drawing--the reader has, however, been made acquainted already with the virtue of a blade of grass, by the brief mention of Llyn Irdyn above, p. 148:-- 'Of these Islands, or Green Spots of the Floods, there are some singular superstitions. They are the abode of the Tylwyth Teg, or the fair family, the souls of the virtuous Druids, who, not having been Christians, cannot enter the Christian heaven, but enjoy this heaven of their own. They however discover a love of mischief, neither becoming happy spirits, nor consistent with their original character; for they love to visit the earth, and, seizing a man, inquire whether he will travel above wind, mid wind, or below wind; above wind is a giddy and terrible passage, below wind is through bush and brake, the middle is a safe course. But the spell of security is, to catch hold of the grass, for these Beings have not power to destroy a blade of grass. In their better moods they come over and carry the Welsh in their boats. He who visits these Islands imagines on his return that he has been absent only a few hours, when, in truth, whole centuries have passed away. If you take a turf from St. David's churchyard, and stand upon it on the sea shore, you behold these Islands. A man once, who thus obtained sight of them, immediately put to sea to find them; but they disappeared, and his search was in vain. He returned, looked at them again from the enchanted turf, again set sail, and failed again. The third time he took the turf into his vessel, and stood upon it till he reached them.' A correspondent signing himself 'the Antient Mariner,' and writing, in the Pembroke County Guardian, from Newport, Pembrokeshire, Oct. 26, 1896, cites Southey's notes, and adds to them the statement, that some fifty years ago there was a tradition amongst the inhabitants of Trevine (Trefin) in his county, that these Islands could be seen from Llan Non, or Eglwys Non, in that neighbourhood. To return to Madoc, Southey adds to the note already quoted a reference to the inhabitants of Arran More, on the coast of Galway, to the effect that they think that they can on a clear day see Hy-Breasail, the Enchanted Island supposed to be the Paradise of the Pagan Irish: compare the Phantom City seen in the same sea from the coast of Clare. Then he asks a question suggestive of the explanation, that all this is due to 'that very extraordinary phenomenon, known in Sicily by the name of Morgaine le Fay's works.' In connexion with this question of mirage I venture to quote again from the Pembroke County Guardian. Mr. Ferrar Fenton, already mentioned, writes in the issue of Nov. 1, 1896, giving a report which he had received one summer morning from Captain John Evans, since deceased. It is to the effect 'that once when trending up the Channel, and passing Grasholm Island, in what he had always known as deep water, he was surprised to see to windward of him a large tract of land covered with a beautiful green meadow. It was not, however, above water, but just a few feet below, say two or three, so that the grass waved and swam about as the ripple flowed over it, in a most delightful way to the eye, so that as watched it made one feel quite drowsy. You know, he continued, I have heard old people say there is a floating island off there, that sometimes rises to the surface, or nearly, and then sinks down again fathoms deep, so that no one sees it for years, and when nobody expects it comes up again for a while. How it may be, I do not know, but that is what they say.' Lastly, Mr. E. Perkins, of Penysgwarne, near Fishguard, wrote on Nov. 2, 1896, as follows, of a changing view to be had from the top of the Garn, which means the Garn Fawr, one of the most interesting prehistoric sites in the county, and one I have had the pleasure of visiting more than once in the company of Henry Owen and Edward Laws, the historians of Pembrokeshire:-- 'May not the fairy islands referred to by Professor Rhys have originated from mirages? During the glorious weather we enjoyed last summer, I went up one particularly fine evening to the top of the Garn behind Penysgwarne to view the sunset. It would have been worth a thousand miles' travel to go to see such a scene as I saw that evening. It was about half an hour before sunset--the bay was calm and smooth as the finest mirror. The rays of the sun made A golden path across the sea, and a picture indescribable. As the sun neared the horizon the rays broadened until the sheen resembled a gigantic golden plate prepared to hold the brighter sun. No sooner had the sun set than I saw a striking mirage. To the right I saw a stretch of country similar to a landscape in this country. A farmhouse and out-buildings were seen, I will not say quite as distinct as I can see the upper part of St. David's parish from this Garn, but much more detailed. We could see fences, roads, and gateways leading to the farmyard, but in the haze it looked more like a panoramic view than a veritable landscape. Similar mirages may possibly have caused our old tadau to think these were the abode of the fairies.' To return to Mr. Sikes, the rest of his account of the Pembrokeshire fairies and their green islands, of their Milford butcher, and of the subterranean gallery leading into their home, comes, as already indicated, for the most part from Howells. But it does not appear on what authority Southey himself made departed druids of the fairies. One would be glad to be reassured on this last point, as such a hypothesis would fit in well enough with what we are told of the sacrosanct character of the inhabitants of the isles on the coast of Britain in ancient times. Take, for instance, the brief account given by Plutarch of one of the isles explored by a certain Demetrius in the service of the Emperor of Rome: see chapter viii. XI. Mr. Craigfryn Hughes, the author of a Welsh novelette [63] with its scene laid in Glamorgan, having induced me to take a copy, I read it and found it full of local colouring. Then I ventured to sound the author on the question of fairy tales, and the reader will be able to judge how hearty the response has been. Before reproducing the tale which Mr. Hughes has sent me, I will briefly put into English his account of himself and his authorities. Mr. Hughes lives at the Quakers' Yard in the neighbourhood of Pontyprid, in Glamorganshire. His father was not a believer [64] in tales about fairies or the like, and he learned all he knows of the traditions about them in his father's absence, from his grandmother and other old people. The old lady's name was Rachel Hughes. She was born at Pandy Pont y Cymmer, near Pontypool, or Pont ap Hywel as Mr. Hughes analyses the name, in the year 1773, and she had a vivid recollection of Edmund Jones of the Tranch, of whom more anon, coming from time to time to preach to the Independents there. She came, however, to live in the parish of Llanfabon, near the Quakers' Yard, when she was only twelve years of age; and there she continued to live to the day of her death, which took place in 1864, so that she was about ninety-one years of age at the time. Mr. Hughes adds that he remembers many of the old inhabitants besides his grandmother, who were perfectly familiar with the story he has put on record; but only two of them were alive when he wrote to me in 1881, and these were both over ninety years old, with their minds overtaken by the childishness of age; but it was only a short time since the death of another, who was, as he says, a walking library of tales about corpse candles, ghosts, and Bendith y Mamau [65], or 'The Mothers' Blessing,' as the fairies are usually called in Glamorgan. Mr. Hughes' father tried to prevent his children being taught any tales about ghosts, corpse candles, or fairies; but the grandmother found opportunities of telling them plenty, and Mr. Hughes vividly describes the effect on his mind when he was a boy, how frightened he used to feel, how he pulled the clothes over his head in bed, and how he half suffocated himself thereby under the effects of the fear with which the tales used to fill him. Then, as to the locality, he makes the following remarks:--'There are few people who have not heard something or other about the old graveyard of the Quakers, which was made by Lydia Phil, a lady who lived at a neighbouring farm house, called Cefn y Fforest. This old graveyard lies in the eastern corner of the parish of Merthyr Tydfil, on land called Pantannas, as to the meaning of which there is much controversy. Some will have it that it is properly Pant yr Aros, or the Hollow of the Staying, because travellers were sometimes stopped there overnight by the swelling of the neighbouring river; others treat it as Pant yr Hanes, the Hollow of the Legend, in allusion to the following story. But before the graveyard was made, the spot was called Rhyd y Grug, or the Ford of the Heather, which grows thereabouts in abundance. In front of the old graveyard towards the south the rivers Taff and Bargoed, which some would make into Byrgoed or Short-Wood, meet with each other, and thence rush in one over terrible cliffs of rock, in the recesses of which lie huge cerwyni or cauldron-like pools, called respectively the Gerwyn Fach, the Gerwyn Fawr, and the Gerwyn Ganol, where many a drowning has taken place. As one walks up over Tarren y Crynwyr, "the Quakers' Rift," until Pantannas is reached, and proceeds northwards for about a mile and a half, one arrives at a farm house called Pen Craig Daf [66], "the Top of the Taff Rock." The path between the two houses leads through fertile fields, in which may be seen, if one has eyes to observe, small rings which are greener than the rest of the ground. They are, in fact, green even as compared with the greenness around them--these are the rings in which Bendith y Mamau used to meet to sing and dance all night. If a man happened to get inside one of these circles when the fairies were there, he could not be got out in a hurry, as they would charm him and lead him into some of their caves, where they would keep him for ages, unawares to him, listening to their music. The rings vary greatly in size, but in point of form they are all round or oval. I have heard my grandmother,' says Mr. Hughes, 'reciting and singing several of the songs which the fairies sang in these rings. One of them began thus:-- Canu, canu, drwy y nos, Dawnsio, dawnsio, ar Waen y Rhos Y' ngoleuni'r lleuad dlos: Hapus ydym ni! Pawb ohonom syd yn llon Heb un gofid dan ei fron: Canu, dawnsio, ar y ton [67]-- Dedwyd ydym ni! Singing, singing, through the night, Dancing, dancing with our might, Where the moon the moor doth light, Happy ever we! One and all of merry mien, Without sorrow are we seen, Singing, dancing on the green, Gladsome ever we! Here follows, in Mr. Hughes' own Welsh, a remarkable story of revenge exacted by the fairies:-- Yn un o'r canrifoed a aethant heibio, preswyliai amaethwr yn nhydyn Pantannas, a'r amser hwnnw yr oed bendith y mamau yn ymwelwyr aml ag amryw gaeau perthynol ido ef, a theimlai yntau gryn gasineb yn ei fynwes at yr 'atras fwstrog, leisiog, a chynllwynig,' fel y galwai hwynt, a mynych yr hiraethai am allu dyfod o hyd i ryw lwybr er cael eu gwared odiyno. O'r diwed hysbyswyd ef gan hen reibwraig, fod y fford i gael eu gwared yn digon hawd, ac ond ido ef rodi godro un hwyr a boreu idi hi, yr hysbysai y fford ido gyrraed yr hyn a fawr dymunai. Bodlonod i'w thelerau a derbyniod yntau y cyfarwydyd, yr hyn ydoed fel y canlyn:--Ei fod i aredig yr holl gaeau i ba rai yr oed eu hoff ymgyrchfan, ac ond idynt hwy unwaith golli y ton glas, y digient, ac na deuent byth mwy i'w boeni drwy eu hymweliadau a'r lle. Dilynod yr amaethwr ei chyfarwydyd i'r llythyren, a choronwyd ei waith a llwydiant. Nid oed yr un o honynt i'w weled odeutu y caeau yn awr; ac yn lle sain eu caniadau soniarus, a glywid bob amser yn dyrchu o Waen y Rhos, nid oed dim ond y distawrwyd trylwyraf yn teyrnasu o gylch eu hen a'u hoff ymgyrchfan. Hauod yr amaethwr wenith, &c., yn y caeau, ac yr oed y gwanwyn gwyrdlas wedi gwthio y gauaf odiar ei sed, ac ymdangosai y maesyd yn arderchog yn eu llifrai gwyrdleision a gwanwynol. Ond un prydnawn, ar ol i'r haul ymgilio i yst felloed y gorllewin, tra yr oed amaethwr Pantannas yn dychwelyd tua ei gartref cyfarfydwyd ag ef gan fod bychan ar ffurf dyn, yn gwisgo hugan goch; a phan daeth gyferbyn ag ef dadweiniod ei gled bychan, gan gyfeirio ei flaen at yr amaethwr, a dywedyd, Dial a daw, Y mae gerllaw. Ceisiod yr amaethwr chwerthin, ond yr oed rhywbeth yn edrychiad sarrug a llym y gwr bychan ag a barod ido deimlo yn hynod o annymunol. Ychydig o nosweithiau yn diwedarach, pan oed y teulu ar ymneillduo i'w gorphwysleoed, dychrynwyd hwy yn fawr iawn gan drwst, fel pe bydai y ty yn syrthio i lawr bendramwnwgl, ac yn union ar ol i'r twrf beidio, clywent y geiriau bygythiol a ganlyn--a dim yn rhagor--yn cael eu parablu yn uchel, Daw dial. Pan oed yr yd wedi cael ei fedi ac yn barod i gael ei gywain i'r ysgubor, yn sydyn ryw noswaith llosgwyd ef fel nad oed yr un dywysen na gwelltyn i'w gael yn un man o'r caeau, ac nis gallasai neb fod wedi gosod yr yd ar dan ond Bendith y Mamau. Fel ag y mae yn naturiol i ni fedwl teimlod yr amaethwr yn fawr oherwyd y tro, ac edifarhaod yn ei galon darfod ido erioed wrando a gwneuthur yn ol cyfarwydyd yr hen reibwraig, ac felly dwyn arno digofaint a chasineb Bendith y Mamau. Drannoeth i'r noswaith y llosgwyd yr yd fel yr oed yn arolygu y difrod achoswyd gan y tan, wele'r gwr bychan ag ydoed wedi ei gyfarfod ychydig o diwrnodau yn flaenorol yn ei gyfarfod eilwaith a chyda threm herfeidiol pwyntiod ei gledyf ato gan dywedyd, Nid yw ond dechreu. Trod gwyneb yr amaethwr cyn wynned a'r marmor, a safod gan alw y gwr bychan yn ol, ond bu y còr yn hynod o wydn ac anewyllysgar i droi ato, ond ar ol hir erfyn arno trod yn ei ol gan ofyn yn sarrug beth yr oed yr amaethwr yn ei geisio, yr hwn a hysbysod ido ei fod yn berffaith fodlon i adael y caeau lle yr oed eu hoff ymgyrchfan i dyfu yn don eilwaith, a rhodi caniatad idynt i dyfod idynt pryd y dewisent, ond yn unig idynt beidio dial eu llid yn mhellach arno ef. 'Na,' oed yr atebiad penderfynol, 'y mae gair y brenin wedi ei roi y byd ido ymdial arnat hyd eithaf ei allu ac nid oes dim un gallu ar wyneb y greadigaeth a bair ido gael ei dynnu yn ol.' Dechreuod yr amaethwr wylo ar hyn, ond yn mhen ychydig hysbysod y gwr bychan y bydai ido ef siarad a'i bennaeth ar y mater, ac y cawsai efe wybod y canlyniad ond ido dyfod i'w gyfarfod ef yn y fan honno amser machludiad haul drennyd. Adawod yr amaethwr dyfod i'w gyfarfod, a phan daeth yr amser apwyntiedig o amgylch ido i gyfarfod a'r bychan cafod ef yno yn ei aros, ac hysbysod ido fod y pennaeth wedi ystyried ei gais yn difrifol, ond gan fod ei air bob amser yn anghyfnewidiol y buasai y dialed bygythiedig yn rhwym o gymeryd lle ar y teulu, ond ar gyfrif ei edifeirwch ef na chawsai digwyd yn ei amser ef nac eido ei blant. Llonydod hynny gryn lawer ar fedwl terfysglyd yr amaethwr, a dechreuod Bendith y Mamau dalu eu hymweliadau a'r lle eilwaith a mynych y clywid sain eu cerdoriaeth felusber yn codi o'r caeau amgylchynol yn ystod y nos. Pasiod canrif heibio heb i'r dialed bygythiedig gael ei gyflawni, ac er fod teulu Pantannas yn cael eu hadgofio yn awr ac eilwaith, y buasai yn sicr o digwyd hwyr neu hwyrach, eto wrth hir glywed y waed, Daw dial, ymgynefinasant a hi nes eu bod yn barod i gredu na fuasai dim yn dyfod o'r bygythiad byth. Yr oed etifed Pantannas yn caru a merch i dirfediannyd cymydogaethol a breswyliai mewn tydyn o'r enw Pen Craig Daf. Yr oed priodas y par dedwyd i gymeryd lle yn mhen ychydig wythnosau ac ymdangosai rhieni y cwpl ieuanc yn hynod o fodlon i'r ymuniad teuluol ag oed ar gymeryd lle. Yr oed yn amser y Nadolig--a thalod y darpar wraig ieuanc ymweliad a theulu ei darpar wr, ac yr oed yno wled o wyd rostiedig yn baratoedig gogyfer a'r achlysur. Eistedai y cwmni odeutu y tan i adrod rhyw chwedlau difyrrus er mwyn pasio yr amser, pryd y cawsant eu dychrynu yn fawr gan lais treidgar yn dyrchafu megis o wely yr afon yn gwaedi Daeth amser ymdïal. Aethant oll allan i wrando a glywent y lleferyd eilwaith, ond nid oed dim i'w glywed ond brochus drwst y dwfr wrth raiadru dros glogwyni aruthrol y cerwyni. Ond ni chawsant aros i wrando yn hir iawn cyn idynt glywed yr un lleferyd eilwaith yn dyrchafu i fyny yn uwch na swn y dwfr pan yn bwrlymu dros ysgwydau y graig, ac yn gwaedi, Daeth yr amser. Nis gallent dyfalu beth yr oed yn ei arwydo, a chymaint ydoed eu braw a'u syndod fel nad allent lefaru yr un gair a'u gilyd. Yn mhen ennyd dychwelasant i'r ty a chyn idynt eisted credent yn dios fod yr adeilad yn cael ei ysgwyd id ei sylfeini gan ryw dwrf y tu allan. Pan yr oed yr oll wedi cael eu parlysio gan fraw, wele fenyw fechan yn gwneuthur ei hymdangosiad ar y bwrd o'u blaen, yr hwn oed yn sefyll yn agos i'r ffenestr. 'Beth yr wyt yn ei geisio yma, y peth bychan hagr?' holai un o'r gwydfodolion. 'Nid oes gennyf unrhyw neges a thi, y gwr hir dafod,' oed atebiad y fenyw fechan. 'Ond yr wyf wedi cael fy anfon yma i adrod rhyw bethau ag syd ar digwyd i'r teulu hwn, a theulu arall o'r gymydogaeth ag a dichon fod o dydordeb idynt, ond gan i mi derbyn y fath sarhad odiar law y gwr du ag syd yn eisted yn y cornel, ni fyd i mi godi y llen ag oed yn cudio y dyfodol allan o'u golwg.' 'Atolwg os oes yn dy fediant ryw wybodaeth parth dyfodol rhai o honom ag a fydai yn dydorol i ni gael ei glywed, dwg hi allan,' ebai un arall o'r gwydfodolion. 'Na wnaf, ond yn unig hysbysu, fod calon gwyryf fel llong ar y traeth yn methu cyrraed y porthlad oherwyd digalondid y pilot.' A chyda ei bod yn llefaru y gair diwedaf diflannod o'u gwyd, na wydai neb i ba le na pha fod! Drwy ystod ci hymweliad hi, peidiod y waed a godasai o'r afon, ond yn fuan ar ol idi diflannu, dechreuod eilwaith a chyhoedi Daeth amser dial, ac ni pheidiod am hir amser. Yr oed y cynulliad wedi cael eu mediannu a gormod o fraw i fedru llefaru yr un gair, ac yr oed llen o brudder yn daenedig dros wyneb pob un o honynt. Daeth amser idynt i ymwahanu, ac aeth Rhyderch y mab i hebrwng Gwerfyl ei gariadferch tua Phen Craig Daf, o ba siwrnai ni dychwelod byth. Cyn ymadael a'i fun dywedir idynt dyngu bythol ffydlondeb i'w gilyd, pe heb weled y naill y llall byth ond hynny, ac nad oed dim a allai beri idynt anghofio eu gilyd. Mae yn debygol i'r llanc Rhyderch pan yn dychwelyd gartref gael ei hun odifewn i un o gylchoed Bendith y Mamau, ac yna idynt ei hud-denu i mewn i un o'u hogofau yn Nharren y Cigfrain, ac yno y bu. Y mae yn llawn bryd i ni droi ein gwynebau yn ol tua Phantannas a Phen Craig Daf. Yr oed rhieni y bachgen anffodus yn mron gwallgofi. Nid oed gandynt yr un drychfedwl i ba le i fyned i chwilio am dano, ac er chwilio yn mhob man a phob lle methwyd yn glir a dyfod o hyd ido, na chael gair o'i hanes. Ychydig i fyny yn y cwm mewn ogof dandaearol trigfannai hen feudwy oedrannus, yr hwn hefyd a ystyrrid yn dewin, o'r enw Gweiryd. Aethant yn mhen ychydig wythnosau i ofyn ido ef, a fedrai rodi idynt ryw wybodaeth parthed i'w mab colledig--ond i ychydig bwrpas. Ni wnaeth yr hyn a adrodod hwnnw wrthynt ond dyfnhau y clwyf a rhoi golwg fwy anobeithiol fyth ar yr amgylchiad. Ar ol idynt ei hysbysu ynghylch ymdangosiad y fenyw fechan ynghyd a'r llais wylofus a glywsent yn dyrchafu o'r afon y nos yr aeth ar goll, hysbysod efe idynt mai y farn fygythiedig ar y teulu gan Fendith y Mamau oed wedi godiwedid y llanc, ac nad oed o un diben idynt fedwl cael ei weled byth mwyach! Ond feallai y gwnelai ei ymdangosiad yn mhen oesau, ond dim yn eu hamser hwy. Pasiai yr amser heibio, a chwydod yr wythnosau i fisoed, a'r misoed i flynydoed, a chasglwyd tad a mam Rhyderch at eu tadau. Yr oed y lle o hyd yn parhau yr un, ond y preswylwyr yn newid yn barhaus, ac yr oed yr adgofion am ei golledigaeth yn darfod yn gyflym, ond er hynny yr oed un yn disgwyl ei dychweliad yn ol yn barhaus, ac yn gobeithio megis yn erbyn gobaith am gael ei weled eilwaith. Bob boreu gyda bod dorau y wawr yn ymagor dros gaerog fynydoed y dwyrain gwelid hi bob tywyd yn rhedeg i ben bryn bychan, a chyda llygaid yn orlawn o dagrau hiraethlon syllai i bob cyfeiriad i edrych a ganfydai ryw argoel fod ei hanwylyd yn dychwelyd; ond i dim pwrpas. Canol dyd gwelid hi eilwaith yn yr un man, a phan ymgollai yr haul fel pelen eiriasgoch o dân dros y terfyngylch, yr oed hi yno. Edrychai nes yn agos bod yn dall, ac wylai ei henaid allan o dyd i dyd ar ol anwyldyn ei chalon. O'r diwed aeth y rhai syd yn edrych drwy y ffenestri i omed eu gwasanaeth idi, ac yr oed y pren almon yn coroni ei phen a'i flagur gwyryfol, ond parhai hi i edrych, ond nid oed neb yn dod. Yn llawn o dydiau ac yn aedfed i'r bed rhodwyd terfyn ar ei holl obeithion a'i disgwyliadau gan angeu, a chludwyd ei gwedillion marwol i fynwent hen Gapel y Fan. Pasiai blynydoed heibio fel mwg, ac oesau fel cysgodion y boreu, ac nid oed neb yn fyw ag oed yn cofio Rhyderch, ond adrodid ei golliad disymwyth yn aml. Dylasem fynegu na welwyd yr un o Fendith y Mamau odeutu y gymydogaeth wedi ei golliad, a pheidiod sain eu cerdoriaeth o'r nos honno allan. Yr oed Rhyderch wedi cael ei hud-denu i fyned gyda Bendith y Mamau--ac aethant ag ef i ffwrd i'w hogof. Ar ol ido aros yno dros ychydig o diwrnodau fel y tybiai, gofynnod am ganiatad i dychwelyd, yr hyn a rwyd ganiatawyd ido gan y brenin. Daeth allan o'r ogof, ac yr oed yn ganol dyd braf, a'r haul yn llewyrchu odiar fynwes ffurfafen digwmwl. Cerdod yn mlaen o Darren y Cigfrain hyd nes ido dyfod i olwg Capel y Fan, ond gymaint oed ei syndod pan y gwelod nad oed yr un capel yno! Pa le yr oed wedi bod, a pha faint o amser? Gyda theimladau cymysgedig cyfeiriod ei gamrau tua Phen Craig Daf, cartref-le ei anwylyd, ond nid oed hi yno, ac nid oed yn adwaen yr un dyn ag oed yno chwaith. Ni fedrai gael gair o hanes ei gariad a chymerod y rhai a breswylient yno mai gwallgofdyn ydoed. Prysurod eilwaith tua Phantannas, ac yr oed ei syndod yn fwy fyth yno! Nid oed yn adwaen yr un o honynt, ac ni wydent hwythau dim am dano yntau. O'r diwed daeth gwr y ty i fewn, ac yr oed hwnnw yn cofio clywed ei dad cu yn adrod am lanc ag oed wedi myned yn disymwyth i goll er ys peth cannoed o flynydoed yn ol, ond na wydai neb i ba le. Rywfod neu gilyd tarawod gwr y ty ei ffon yn erbyn Rhyderch, pa un a diflannod mewn cawod o lwch, ac ni chlywyd air o son beth daeth o hono mwyach. 'In one of the centuries gone by, there lived a husbandman on the farm of Pantannas; and at that time the fairies used to pay frequent visits to several of the fields which belonged to him. He cherished in his bosom a considerable hatred for the "noisy, boisterous, and pernicious tribe," as he called them, and often did he long to be able to discover some way to rid the place of them. At last he was told by an old witch that the way to get rid of them was easy enough, and that she would tell him how to attain what he so greatly wished, if he gave her one evening's milking [68] on his farm, and one morning's. He agreed to her conditions, and from her he received advice, which was to the effect that he was to plough all the fields where they had their favourite resorts, and that, if they found the green sward gone, they would take offence, and never return to trouble him with their visits to the spot. 'The husbandman followed the advice to the letter, and his work was crowned with success. Not a single one of them was now to be seen about the fields, and, instead of the sound of their sweet music, which used to be always heard rising from the Coarse Meadow Land, the most complete silence now reigned over their favourite resort. 'He sowed his land with wheat and other grain; the verdant spring had now thrust winter off its throne, and the fields appeared splendid in their vernal and green livery. 'But one evening, when the sun had retired to the chambers of the west, and when the farmer of Pantannas was returning home, he was met by a diminutive being in the shape of a man, with a red coat on. When he had come right up to him, he unsheathed his little sword, and, directing the point towards the farmer, he said:-- Vengeance cometh, Fast it approacheth. 'The farmer tried to laugh, but there was something in the surly and stern looks of the little fellow which made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. 'A few nights afterwards, as the family were retiring to rest, they were very greatly frightened by a noise, as though the house was falling to pieces; and, immediately after the noise, they heard a voice uttering loudly the threatening words--and nothing more:-- Vengeance cometh. 'When, however, the corn was reaped and ready to be carried to the barn, it was, all of a sudden, burnt up one night, so that neither an ear nor a straw of it could be found anywhere in the fields; and now nobody could have set the corn on fire but the fairies. 'As one may naturally suppose, the farmer felt very much on account of this event, and he regretted in his heart having done according to the witch's direction, and having thereby brought upon him the anger and hatred of the fairies. 'The day after the night of the burning of the corn, as he was surveying the destruction caused by the fire, behold the little fellow, who had met him a few days before, met him again, and, with a challenging glance, he pointed his sword towards him, saying:-- It but beginneth. The farmer's face turned as white as marble, and he stood calling the little fellow to come back; but the dwarf proved very unyielding and reluctant to turn to him; but, after long entreaty, he turned back, asking the farmer, in a surly tone, what he wanted, when he was told by the latter that he was quite willing to allow the fields, in which their favourite resorts had been, to grow again into a green sward, and to let them frequent them as often as they wished, provided they would no further wreak their anger on him. '"No," was the determined reply, "the word of the king has been given, that he will avenge himself on thee to the utmost of his power; and there is no power on the face of creation that will cause it to be withdrawn." 'The farmer began to weep at this, and, after a while, the little fellow said that he would speak to his lord on the matter, and that he would let him know the result, if he would come there to meet him at the hour of sunset on the third day after. 'The farmer promised to meet him; and, when the time appointed for meeting the little man came, he found him awaiting him, and he was told by him that his lord had seriously considered his request, but that, as the king's word was ever immutable, the threatened vengeance was to take effect on the family. On account, however, of his repentance, it would not be allowed to happen in his time or that of his children. 'That calmed the disturbed mind of the farmer a good deal. The fairies began again to pay frequent visits to the place, and their melodious singing was again heard at night in the fields around. 'A century passed by without seeing the threatened vengeance carried into effect; and, though the Pantannas family were reminded now and again that it was certain sooner or later to come, nevertheless, by long hearing the voice that said-- Vengeance cometh, they became so accustomed to it, that they were ready to believe that nothing would ever come of the threat. 'The heir of Pantannas was paying his addresses to the daughter of a neighbouring landowner who lived at the farm house called Pen Craig Daf, and the wedding of the happy pair was to take place in a few weeks, and the parents on both sides appeared exceedingly content with the union that was about to take place between the two families. 'It was Christmas time, and the intended wife paid a visit to the family of her would-be husband. There they had a feast of roast goose prepared for the occasion. 'The company sat round the fire to relate amusing tales to pass the time, when they were greatly frightened by a piercing voice, rising, as it were, from the bed of the river [69], and shrieking:-- The time for revenge is come. 'They all went out to listen if they could hear the voice a second time, but nothing was to be heard save the angry noise of the water as it cascaded over the dread cliffs of the kerwyni; they had not long, however, to wait till they heard again the same voice rising above the noise of the waters, as they boiled over the shoulders of the rock, and crying:-- The time is come. 'They could not guess what it meant, and so great was their fright and astonishment, that no one could utter a word to another. Shortly they returned to the house, when they believed that beyond doubt the building was being shaken to its foundations by some noise outside. When all were thus paralysed by fear, behold a little woman made her appearance on the table, which stood near the window. '"What dost thou, ugly little thing, want here?" asked one of those present. '"I have nothing to do with thee, O man of the meddling tongue," said the little woman, "but I have been sent here to recount some things that are about to happen to this family and another family in the neighbourhood, things that might be of interest to them; but, as I have received such an insult from the black fellow that sits in the corner, the veil that hides them from their sight shall not be lifted by me." '"Pray," said another of those present, "if thou hast in thy possession any knowledge with regard to the future of any one of us that would interest us to hear, bring it forth." '"No, I will but merely tell you that a certain maiden's heart is like a ship on the coast, unable to reach the harbour because the pilot has lost heart." 'As soon as she had cried out the last word, she vanished, no one knew whither or how. 'During her visit, the cry rising from the river had stopped, but soon afterwards it began again to proclaim:-- The time of vengeance is come; nor did it cease for a long while. The company had been possessed by too much terror for one to be able to address another, and a sheet of gloom had, as it were, been spread over the face of each. The time for parting came, and Rhyderch the heir went to escort Gwerfyl, his lady-love, home towards Pen Craig Daf, a journey from which he never returned. 'Before bidding one another "Good-bye," they are said to have sworn to each other eternal fidelity, even though they should never see one another from that moment forth, and that nothing should make the one forget the other. 'It is thought probable that the young man Rhyderch, on his way back towards home, got into one of the rings of the fairies, that they allured him into one of their caves in the Ravens' Rift, and that there he remained. 'It is high time for us now to turn back towards Pantannas and Pen Craig Daf. The parents of the unlucky youth were almost beside themselves: they had no idea where to go to look for him, and, though they searched every spot in the place, they failed completely to find him or any clue to his history. 'A little higher up the country, there dwelt, in a cave underground, an aged hermit called Gweiryd, who was regarded also as a sorcerer. They went a few weeks afterwards to ask him whether he could give them any information about their lost son; but it was of little avail. What that man told them did but deepen the wound and give the event a still more hopeless aspect. When they had told him of the appearance of the little woman, and the doleful cry heard rising from the river on the night when their son was lost, he informed them that it was the judgement threatened to the family by the fairies that had overtaken the youth, and that it was useless for them to think of ever seeing him again: possibly he might make his appearance after generations had gone by, but not in their lifetime. 'Time rolled on, weeks grew into months, and months into years, until Rhyderch's father and mother were gathered to their ancestors. The place continued the same, but the inhabitants constantly changed, so that the memory of Rhyderch's disappearance was fast dying away. Nevertheless there was one who expected his return all the while, and hoped, as it were against hope, to see him once more. Every morn, as the gates of the dawn opened beyond the castellated heights of the east, she might be seen, in all weathers, hastening to the top of a small hill, and, with eyes full of the tears of longing, gazing in every direction to see if she could behold any sign of her beloved's return; but in vain. At noon, she might be seen on the same spot again; she was also there at the hour when the sun was wont to hide himself, like a red-hot ball of fire, below the horizon. She gazed until she was nearly blind, and she wept forth her soul from day to day for the darling of her heart. At last they that looked out at the windows began to refuse their service, and the almond tree commenced to crown her head with its virgin bloom. She continued to gaze, but he came not. Full of days, and ripe for the grave, death put an end to all her hopes and all her expectations. Her mortal remains were buried in the graveyard of the old Chapel of the Fan [70]. 'Years passed away like smoke, and generations like the shadows of the morning, and there was no longer anybody alive who remembered Rhyderch, but the tale of his sudden missing was frequently in people's mouths. And we ought to have said that after the event no one of the fairies was seen about the neighbourhood, and the sound of their music ceased from that night. 'Rhyderch had been allured by them, and they took him away into their cave. When he had stayed there only a few days, as he thought, he asked for permission to return, which was readily granted him by the king. He issued from the cave when it was a fine noon, with the sun beaming from the bosom of a cloudless firmament. He walked on from the Ravens' Rift until he came near the site of the Fan Chapel; but what was his astonishment to find no chapel there! Where, he wondered, had he been, and how long away? So with mixed feelings he directed his steps towards Pen Craig Daf, the home of his beloved one, but she was not there nor any one whom he knew either. He could get no word of the history of his sweetheart, and those who dwelt in the place took him for a madman. 'He hastened then to Pantannas, where his astonishment was still greater. He knew nobody there, and nobody knew anything about him. At last the man of the house came in, and he remembered hearing his grandfather relating how a youth had suddenly disappeared, nobody knew whither, some hundreds of years previously. Somehow or other the man of the house chanced to knock his walking-stick against Rhyderch, when the latter vanished in a shower of dust. Nothing more was ever heard of him.' Before leaving Glamorgan, I may add that Mr. Sikes associates fairy ladies with Crymlyn Lake, between Briton Ferry and Swansea; but, as frequently happens with him, he does not deign to tell us whence he got the legend. 'It is also believed,' he says at p. 35, 'that a large town lies swallowed up there, and that the Gwraged Annwn have turned the submerged walls to use as the superstructure of their fairy palaces. Some claim to have seen the towers of beautiful castles lifting their battlements beneath the surface of the dark waters, and fairy bells are at times heard ringing from those towers.' So much by the way: we shall return to Crymlyn in chapter vii. XII. The other day, as I was going to Gwent, I chanced to be in the Golden Valley in Herefordshire, where the names in the churchyards seem largely to imply a Welsh population, though the Welsh language has not been heard there for ages. Among others I noticed Joneses and Williamses in abundance at Abbey Dore, Evanses and Bevans, Morgans, Prossers and Prices, not to mention Sayces--that is to say, Welshmen of English extraction or education--a name which may also be met with in Little England in Pembrokeshire, and probably on other English-Welsh borders. Happening to have to wait for a train at the Abbey Dore station, I got into conversation with the tenants of a cottage hard by, and introduced the subject of the fairies. The old man knew nothing about them, but his wife, Elizabeth Williams, had been a servant girl at a place called Pen Pôch, which she pronounced with the Welsh guttural ch: she said that it is near Llandeilo Cressenny in Monmouthshire. It was about forty years ago when she served at Pen Pôch, and her mistress' name was Evans, who was then about fifty years of age. Now Mrs. Evans was in the habit of impressing on her servant girls' minds, that, unless they made the house tidy before going to bed, and put everything in its place overnight, the little people--the fairies, she thinks she called them--would leave them no rest in bed at night, but would come and 'pinch them like.' If they put everything in its place, and left the house 'tidy like,' it would be all right, and 'nobody would do anything to them like.' That is all I could get from her without prompting her, which I did at length by suggesting to her that the fairies might leave the tidy servants presents, a shilling 'on the hearth or the hob like.' Yes, she thought there was something of that sort, and her way of answering me suggested that this was not the first time she had heard of the shilling. She had never been lucky enough to have had one herself, nor did she know of anybody else that 'had got it like.' During a brief but very pleasant sojourn at Llanover in May, 1883, I made some inquiries about the fairies, and obtained the following account from William Williams, who now, in his seventieth year, works in Lady Llanover's garden:--'I know of a family living a little way from here at ----, or as they would now call it in English ----, whose ancestors, four generations ago, used to be kind to Bendith y Mamau, and always welcomed their visits by leaving at night a basinful of bread and milk for them near the fire. It always used to be eaten up before the family got up in the morning. But one night a naughty servant man gave them instead of milk a bowlful of urine [71]. They, on finding it out, threw it about the house and went away disgusted. But the servant watched in the house the following night. They found him out, and told him that he had made fools of them, and that in punishment for his crime there would always be a fool, i.e. an idiot, in his family. As a matter of fact, there was one among his children afterwards, and there is one in the family now. They have always been in a bad way ever since, and they never prosper. The name of the man who originally offended the fairies was ----; and the name of the present fool among his descendants is ----.' For evident reasons it is not desirable to publish the names. Williams spoke also of a sister to his mother, who acted as servant to his parents. There were, he said, ten stepping stones between his father's house and the well, and on every one of these stones his aunt used to find a penny every morning, until she made it known to others, when, of course, the pennies ceased coming. He did not know why the fairies gave money to her, unless it was because she was a most tidy servant. Another Llanover gardener remembered that the fairies used to change children, and that a certain woman called Nani Fach in that neighbourhood was one of their offspring; and he had been told that there were fairy rings in certain fields not far away in Llanover parish. A third gardener, who is sixty-eight years of age, and is likewise in Lady Llanover's employ, had heard it said that servant girls about his home were wont to sweep the floor clean at night, and to throw crumbs of bread about on it before going to bed. Lastly, Mrs. Gardner of Ty Uchaf Llanover, who is ninety years of age, remembers having a field close to Capel Newyd near Blaen Afon, in Llanover Uchaf, pointed out to her as containing fairy rings; and she recollects hearing, when she was a child, that a man had got into one of them. He remained away from home, as they always did, she said, a whole year and a day; but she has forgotten how he was recovered. Then she went on to say that her father had often got up in the night to see that his horses were not taken out and ridden about the fields by Bendith y Mamau; for they were wont to ride people's horses late at night round the four corners of the fields, and thereby they often broke the horses' wind. This, she gave me to understand, was believed in the parish of Llanover and that part of the country generally. So here we have an instance probably of confounding fairies with witches. I have not the means at my command of going at length into the folklore of Gwent, so I will merely mention where the reader may find a good deal about it. I have already introduced the name of the credulous old Christian, Edmund Jones of the Tranch: he published at Trefecca in the year 1779 a small volume entitled, A Geographical, Historical, and Religious Account of the Parish of Aberystruth in the County of Monmouth, to which are added Memoirs of several Persons of Note who lived in the said Parish. In 1813, by which time he seems to have left this world for another, where he expected to understand all about the fairies and their mysterious life, a small volume of his was published at Newport, bearing the title, A Relation of Apparitions of Spirits in the County of Monmouth and the Principality of Wales, with other notable Relations from England, together with Observations about them, and Instructions from them, designed to confute and to prevent the Infidelity of denying the Being and Apparition of Spirits, which tends to Irreligion and Atheism. By the late Rev. Edmund Jones, of the Tranch. Naturally those volumes have been laid under contribution by Mr. Sikes, though the tales about apparitions in them are frequently of a ghastly nature, and sometimes loathsome: on the whole, they remind me more than anything else I have ever read of certain Breton tales which breathe fire and brimstone: all such begin to be now out of fashion in Protestant countries. I shall at present only quote a passage of quite a different nature from the earlier volume, p. 72--it is an interesting one, and it runs thus:--'It was the general opinion in times past, when these things were very frequent, that the fairies knew whatever was spoken in the air without the houses, not so much what was spoken in the houses. I suppose they chiefly knew what was spoken in the air at night. It was also said that they rather appeared to an uneven number of persons, to one, three, five, &c.; and oftener to men than to women. Thomas William Edmund, of Havodavel, an honest pious man, who often saw them, declared that they appeared with one bigger than the rest going before them in the company.' With the notion that the fairies heard everything uttered out of doors may be compared the faculty attributed to the great magician king, Math ab Mathonwy, of hearing any whisper whatsoever that met the wind: see the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 60, and Guest's Mabinogion, iii. 219; see also respectively pp. 94, 96, and pp. 308, 310, as to the same faculty belonging to the fairy people of the Corannians, and the strange precautions taken against them by the brothers Llûd and Llevelys. CHAPTER III FAIRY WAYS AND WORDS Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy! Shakespeare. In the previous chapters, the fairy lore of the Principality was hastily skimmed without any method; and I fear that, now I have to reproduce some of the things which I gleaned somewhat later, there will be, if possible, still less method. The general reader, in case he chances on these pages, will doubtless feel that, as soon as he has read a few of the tales, the rest seem to be familiar to him, and exceedingly tiresome. It may be, however, presumed that all men anxious to arrive at an idea as to the origin among us of the belief in fairies, will agree that we should have as large and exhaustive a collection as possible of facts on which to work. If we can supply the data without stint, the student of anthropology may be trusted in time to discover their value for his inductions, and their place in the history of the human race. I. In the course of the summer of 1882 [72] I was a good deal in Wales, especially Carnarvonshire, and I made notes of a great many scraps of legends about the fairies, and other bits of folklore. I will now string some of them together as I found them. I began at Trefriw [73], in Nant Conwy, where I came across an old man, born and bred there, called Morris Hughes. He appears to be about seventy years of age: he formerly worked as a slater, but now he lives at Llanrwst, and tries to earn a livelihood by angling. He told me that fairies came a long while ago to Cowlyd Farm, near Cowlyd Lake, with a baby to dress, and asked to be admitted into the house, saying that they would pay well for it. Their request was granted, and they used to leave money behind them. One day the servant girl accidentally found they had also left some stuff they were in the habit of using in washing their children. She examined it, and, one of her eyes happening to itch, she rubbed it with the finger that had touched the stuff; so when she went to Llanrwst Fair she saw the same fairy folks there stealing cakes from a standing, and asked them why they did that. They inquired with what eye she saw them: she put her hand to the eye, and one of the fairies quickly rubbed it, so that she never saw any more of them. They were also very fond of bringing their children to be dressed in the houses between Trefriw and Llanrwst; and on the flat land bordering on the Conwy they used to dance, frolic, and sing every moonlight night. Evan Thomas of Sgubor Gerrig used to have money from them. He has been dead, Morris Hughes said, over sixty years: he had on his land a sort of cowhouse where the fairies had shelter, and hence the pay. Morris, when a boy, used to be warned by his parents to take care lest he should be stolen by the fairies. He knew Thomas Williams of Bryn Syllty, or, as he was commonly called, Twm Bryn Syllty, who was a changeling. He was a sharp, small man, afraid of nothing. He met his death some years ago by drowning near Eglwys Fach, when he was about sixty-three years of age. There are relatives of his about Llanrwst still: that is, relatives of his mother, if indeed she was his mother (os oed hi'n fam ido fo, ynté). Lastly, Morris had a tale about a mermaid cast ashore by a storm near Conway. She entreated the fishermen who found her to help her back into her native element; and on their refusing to comply she prayed them to place her tail at least in the water. A very crude rhyme describes her dying of exposure to the cold, thus:-- Y forforwyn ar y traeth, Crio gwaedu'n arw wnaeth, Ofn y deuai drycin drannoeth: Yr hin yn oer a rhewi wnaeth. The stranded mermaid on the beach Did sorely cry and sorely screech, Afraid to bide the morrow's breeze: The cold it came, and she did freeze. But before expiring, the mermaid cursed the people of Conway to be always poor, and Conway has ever since, so goes the tale, laboured under the curse; so that when a stranger happens to bring a sovereign there, the Conway folk, if silver is required, have to send across the water to Llansanffraid for change. My next informant was John Duncan Maclaren, who was born in 1812, and lives at Trefriw. His father was a Scotsman, but Maclaren is in all other respects a Welshman. He also knew the Sgubor Gerrig people, and that Evan Thomas and Lowri his wife had exceeding great trouble to prevent their son Roger from being carried away by the fairies. For the fairy maids were always trying to allure him away, and he was constantly finding fairy money. The fairy dance, and the playing and singing that accompanied it, used to take place in a field in front of his father's house; but Lowri would never let her son go out after the sun had gone to his battlements (ar ol i'r haul fyn'd i lawr i gaera). The most dangerous nights were those when the moon shone brightly, and pretty wreaths of mist adorned the meadows by the river. Maclaren had heard of a man, whom he called Siôn Catrin of Tyn Twll, finding a penny every day at the pistyll or water-spout near the house, when he went there to fetch water. The flat land between Trefriw and Llanrwst had on it a great many fairy rings, and some of them are, according to Maclaren, still to be seen. There the fairies used to dance, and when a young man got into one of the rings the fairy damsels took him away; but he could be got out unharmed at the end of a year and a day, when he would be found dancing with them in the same ring: he must then be dexterously touched by some one of his friends with a piece of iron and dragged out at once. This is the way in which a young man whom my notes connect with a place called Bryn Glas was recovered. He had gone out with a friend, who lost him, and he wandered into a fairy ring. He had new shoes on at the time, and his friends brought him out at the end of the interval of a year and a day; but he could not be made to understand that he had been away more than five minutes, until he was asked to look at his new shoes, which were by that time in pieces. Maclaren had also something to say concerning the history and habitat of the fairies. Those of Nant Conwy dress in green; and his mother, who died about sixty-two years ago, aged forty-seven, had told him that they lived seven years on the earth, seven years in the air, and seven years underground. He also had a mermaid tale, like that of Pergrin from Dyfed, p. 163. A fisherman from Llandrillo yn Rhos, between Colwyn and Llandudno, had caught a mermaid in his net. She asked to be set free, promising that she would, in case he complied, do him a kindness. He consented, and one fine day, a long while afterwards, she suddenly peeped out of the water near him, and shouted: Siôn Ifan, cwyd dy rwyda' a thyn tua'r lan, 'John Evans, take up thy nets and make for the shore.' He obeyed, and almost immediately there was a terrible storm, in which many fishermen lost their lives. The river Conwy is the chief haunt of the mysterious afanc, already mentioned, p. 130, and Maclaren stated that its name used to be employed within his memory to frighten girls and children: so much was it still dreaded. Perhaps I ought to have stated that Maclaren is very fond of music, and that he told me of a gentleman at Conway who had taken down in writing a supposed fairy tune. I have made inquiries of the latter's son, Mr. Hennessy Hughes of Conway; but his father's papers seem to have been lost, so that he cannot find the tune in question, though he has heard of it. Whilst on this question of music let me quote from the Llwyd letter in the Cambrian Journal for 1859, pp. 145-6, on which I have already drawn, pp. 130-3, above. The passage in point is to the following effect:-- 'I will leave these tales aside whilst I go as far as the Ogo Du, "the Black Cave," which is in the immediate vicinity of Crigcieth [74], and into which the musicians entered so far that they lost their way back. One of them was heard to play on his pipe, and another on his horn, about two miles from where they went in; and the place where the piper was heard is called Braich y Bib, and where the man with the horn was heard is called Braich y Cornor. I do not believe that even a single man doubts but that this is all true, and I know not how the airs called Ffarwel Dic y Pibyd, "Dick the Piper's Farewell," and Ffarwel Dwm Bach, "Little Tom's Farewell," had those names, unless it was from the musicians above mentioned. Nor do I know that Ned Puw may not have been the third, and that the air called Ffarwel Ned Puw, "Ned Pugh's Farewell," may not have been the last he played before going into the cave. I cannot warrant this to be true, as I have only heard it said by one man, and he merely held it as a supposition, which had been suggested by this air of Ffarwel Dic y Pibyd.' A story, however, mentioned by Cyndelw in the Brython for 1860, p. 57, makes Ned Pugh enter the cave of Tal y Clegyr, which the writer in his article identifies with Ness Cliff, near Shrewsbury. In that cave, which was regarded as a wonderful one, he says the musician disappeared, while the air he was playing, Ffarwel Ned Puw, "Ned Pugh's Farewell," was retained in memory of him. Some account of the departure of Ned Pugh and of the interminable cave into which he entered, will be found given in a rambling fashion in the Cambrian Quarterly Magazine (London, 1829), vol. i, pp. 40-5, where the minstrel's Welsh name is given as Iolo ap Huw. There we are told that he was last seen in the twilight of a misty Halloween, and the notes of the tune he was last heard to play are duly given. One of the surmises as to Iolo's ultimate fate is also recorded, namely, that in the other world he has exchanged his fiddle for a bugle, and become huntsman-in-chief to Gwyn ab Nûd, so that every Halloween he may be found cheering Cwn Annwn, 'the Hounds of the Other World,' over Cader Idris [75]. The same summer I fell in with Mr. Morris Evans, of Cerrig Mân, near Amlwch. He is a mining agent on the Gwydir Estate in the Vale of Conwy, but he is a native of the neighbourhood of Parys Mountain, in Anglesey, where he acquired his knowledge of mining. He had heard fairy tales from his grandmother, Grace Jones, of Llwyn Ysgaw near Mynyd Mechell, between Amlwch and Holyhead. She died, nearly ninety years of age, over twenty years ago. She used to relate how she and others of her own age were wont in their youth to go out on bright moonlight nights to a spot near Llyn y Bwch. They seldom had to wait there long before they would hear exquisite music and behold a grand palace standing on the ground. The diminutive folks of fairyland would then come forth to dance and frolic. The next morning the palace would be found gone, but the grandmother used to pick up fairy money on the spot, and this went on regularly so long as she did not tell others of her luck. My informant, who is himself a man somewhat over fifty-two, tells me that at a place not far from Llyn y Bwch there were plenty of fairy rings to be seen in the grass; and it is in them the fairies were supposed to dance [76]. From Llanrwst I went up to see the bard and antiquary, Mr. Gethin Jones. His house was prettily situated on the hillside on the left of the road as you approach the village of Penmachno. I was sorry to find that his memory had been considerably impaired by a paralytic stroke from which he had suffered not long before. However, from his room he pointed out to me a spot on the other side of the Machno, called Y Werdon, which means 'The Green Land,' or more literally, 'The Greenery,' so to say. It was well known for its green, grassy fairy rings, formerly frequented by the Tylwyth Teg; and he said he could distinguish some of the rings even then from where he stood. The Werdon is on the Bennar, and the Bennar is the high ground between Penmachno and Dolwydelan. The spot in question is on the part nearest to the Conwy Falls. This name, Y Werdon, is liable to be confounded with Iwerdon, 'Ireland,' which is commonly treated as if it began with the definite article, so that it is made into Y Werdon and Werdon. The fairy Werdon, in the radical form Gwerdon, not only recalls to my mind the Green Isles called Gwerdonau Llïon, but also the saying, common in North Wales, that a person in great anxiety 'sees Y Werdon.' Thus, for instance, a man who fails to return to his family at the hour expected, and believes his people to be in great anxiety about him, expresses himself by saying that they will have 'seen the Werdon on my account' (mi fydan' wedi gwel'd y Werdon am dana'i). Is that Ireland, or is it the land of the fairies, the other world, in fact? If the latter, it might simply mean they will have died of anxiety; but I confess I have not so far been able to decide. I am not aware that the term occurs in any other form of expression than the one I have given; if it had, and if the Werdon were spoken of in some other way, that might possibly clear up the difficulty. If it refers to Ireland, it must imply that sighting Ireland is equivalent to going astray at sea, meaning in this sort of instance, getting out of one's senses; but the Welsh are not very much given to nautical expressions. It reminds me somewhat of Gerald Griffin's allusion to the Phantom City, and the penalty paid by those who catch a glimpse of its turrets as the dividing waves expose them for a moment to view on the western coast of Ireland:-- Soon close the white waters to screen it, And the bodement, they say, of the wonderful sight, Is death to the eyes that have seen it. The Fairy Glen above Bettws y Coed is called in Welsh Ffos 'Nodyn, 'the Sink of the Abyss'; but Mr. Gethin Jones told me that it was also called Glyn y Tylwyth Teg, which is very probable, as some such a designation is required to account for the English name, 'the Fairy Glen.' People on the Capel Garmon side used to see the Tylwyth playing there, and descending into the Ffos or Glen gently and lightly without occasioning themselves the least harm. The Fairy Glen was, doubtless, supposed to contain an entrance to the world below. This reminds one of the name of the pretty hollow running inland from the railway station at Bangor. Why should it be called Nant Uffern, or 'The Hollow of Hell'? Can it be that there was a supposed entrance to the fairy world somewhere there? In any case, I am quite certain that Welsh place-names involve allusions to the fairies much oftener than has been hitherto supposed; and I should be inclined to cite, as a further example, Moel Eilio [77] or Moel Eilian, from the personal name Eilian, to be mentioned presently. Moel Eilian is a mountain under which the fairies were supposed to have great stores of treasure. But to return to Mr. Gethin Jones, I had almost forgotten that I have another instance of his in point. He showed me a passage in a paper which he wrote in Welsh some time ago on the antiquities of Yspyty Ifan. He says that where the Serw joins the Conwy there is a cave, to which tradition asserts that a harpist was once allured by the Tylwyth Teg. He was, of course, not seen afterwards, but the echo of the music made by him and them on their harps is still to be heard a little lower down, under the field called to this day Gweirglod y Telynorion, 'The Harpers' Meadow': compare the extract from Edward Llwyd's correspondence at p. 202 above. Mr. Gethin Jones also spoke to me of the lake called Llyn Pencraig, which was drained in hopes of finding lead underneath it, an expectation not altogether doomed to disappointment, and he informed me that its old name was Llyn Llifon; so the moor around it was called Gwaen Llifon. It appears to have been a large lake, but only in wet weather, and to have no deep bed. The names connected with the spot are now Nant Gwaen Llifon and the Gwaith (or Mine) of Gwaen Llifon: they are, I understand, within the township of Trefriw. The name Llyn Llifon is of great interest when taken in connexion with the Triadic account of the cataclysm called the Bursting of Llyn Llifon. Mr. Gethin Jones, however, believed himself that Llyn Llïon was no other than Bala Lake, through which the Dee makes her way. II. One day in August of the same year, I arrived at Dinas Station, and walked down to Llandwrog in order to see Dinas Dinlle, and to ascertain what traditions still existed there respecting Caer Arianrhod, Llew Llawgyffes, Dylan Eilton, and other names that figure in the Mabinogi of Math ab Mathonwy. I called first on the schoolmaster, and he kindly took me to the clerk, Hugh Evans, a native of the neighbourhood of Llangefni, in Anglesey. He had often heard people talk of some women having once on a time come from Tregar Anthreg to Cae'r 'Loda', a place near the shore, to fetch food or water, and that when they looked back they beheld the town overflowed by the sea: the walls can still be seen at low water. Gwennan was the name of one of the women, and she was buried at the place now called Bed Gwennan, or Gwennan's Grave. He had also heard the fairy tales of Waen Fawr and Nant y Bettws, narrated by the antiquary, Owen Williams of the former place. For instance, he had related to him the tale of the man who slept on a clump of rushes, and thought he was all the while in a magnificent mansion; see p. 100, above. Now I should explain that Tregar Anthreg is to be seen at low water from Dinas Dinlle as a rock not far from the shore. The Caranthreg which it implies is one of the modern forms to which Caer Arianrhod has been reduced; and to this has been prefixed a synonym of caer, namely, tref, reduced to tre', just as Carmarthen is frequently called Tre' Gaerfyrdin. Cae'r 'Loda' is explained as Cae'r Aelodau', 'The Field of the Limbs'; but I am sorry to say that I forgot to note the story explanatory of the name. It is given, I think, to a farm, and so is Bed Gwennan likewise the name of a farm house. The tenant of the latter, William Roberts, was at home when I visited the spot. He told me the same story, but with a variation: three sisters had come from Tregan Anrheg to fetch provisions, when their city was overflowed. Gwen fled to the spot now called Bed Gwennan, Elan to Tydyn Elan, or Elan's Holding, and Maelan to Rhos Maelan, or Maelan's Moor; all three are names of places in the immediate neighbourhood. From Dinas Dinlle I was directed across Lord Newborough's grounds at Glynllifon to Pen y Groes Station; but on my way I had an opportunity of questioning several of the men employed at Glynllifon. One of these was called William Thomas Solomon, an intelligent middle-aged man, who works in the garden there. He said that the three women who escaped from the submerged city were sisters, and that he had learned in his infancy to call them Gwennan bi Dôn, Elan bi Dôn, and Maelan bi Dôn. Lastly, the name of the city, according to him, was Tregan Anthrod. I had the following forms of the name that day:--Tregar Anrheg, Tregar Anthreg, Tregan Anrheg, Tregan Anthreg, and Tregan Anthrod. All these are attempts to reproduce what might be written Tre'-Gaer-Arianrhod. The modification of nrh into nthr is very common in North Wales, and Tregar Anrheg seems to have been fashioned on the supposition that the name had something to do with anrheg, 'a gift.' Tregan Anthrod is undoubtedly the Caer Arianrhod, or 'fortress of Arianrhod,' in the Mabinogi, and it is duly marked as such in a map of Speede's at the spot where it should be. Now the Arianrhod of the Mabinogi of Math could hardly be called a lady of rude virtue, and it is the idea in the neighbourhood that the place was inundated on account of the wickedness of the inhabitants. So it would appear that Gwennan, Elan, and Maelan, Arianrhod's sisters, were the just ones allowed to escape. Arianrhod was probably drowned as the principal sinner in possession; but I did not find, as I expected, that the crime which called for such an expiation was in this instance that of playing cards on Sunday. In fact, this part of the legend does not seem to have been duly elaborated as yet. I must now come back to Solomon's bi Dôn, which puzzles me not a little. Arianrhod was daughter of Dôn, and so several other characters in the same Mabinogi were children of Dôn. But what is bi Dôn? I have noticed that all the Welsh antiquaries who take Don out of books invariably call that personage Dòn or Donn with a short o, which is wrong, and this has saved me from being deceived once or twice: so I take it that bi Dôn is, as Solomon asserted, a local expression of which he did not know the meaning. I can only add, in default of a better explanation, that bi Dôn recalled to my mind what I had shortly before heard on my trip from Aberdaron to Bardsey Island. My wife and I, together with two friends, engaged, after much eloquent haggling, a boat at the former place, but one of the men who were to row us insinuated a boy of his, aged four, into the boat, an addition which did not exactly add to the pleasures of that somewhat perilous trip amidst incomprehensible currents. But the Aberdaron boatmen always called that child bi Donn, which I took to have been a sort of imitation of an infantile pronunciation of 'baby John,' for his name was John, which Welsh infants as a rule first pronounce Donn: I can well remember the time when I did. This, applied to Gwennan bi Dôn, would imply that Solomon heard it as a piece of nursery lore when he was a child, and that it meant simply--Gwennan, baby or child of Dôn. Lastly, the only trace of Dylan I could find was in the name of a small promontory, called variously by the Glynllifon men Pwynt Maen Tylen, which was Solomon's pronunciation, and Pwynt Maen Dulan. It is also known, as I was given to understand, as Pwynt y Wig: I believe I have seen it given in maps as Maen Dylan Point. Solomon told me the following fairy tale, and he was afterwards kind enough to have it written out for me. I give it in his own words, as it is peculiar in some respects:-- Mi'r oed gwr a gwraig yn byw yn y Garth Dorwen [78] ryw gyfnod maith yn ol, ag aethant i Gaer'narfon i gyflogi morwyn ar dyd ffair G'langaeaf, ag yr oed yn arferiad gan feibion a merched y pryd hynny i'r rhai oed yn sefyll allan am lefyd aros yn top y maes presennol wrth boncan las oed yn y fan y lle saif y Post-office presennol; aeth yr hen wr a'r hen wraig at y fan yma a gwelent eneth lan a gwallt melyn yn sefyll 'chydig o'r neilldu i bawb arall; aeth yr hen wraig ati a gofynnod i'r eneth oed arni eisiau lle. Atebod fod, ag felly cyflogwyd yr eneth yn dioed a daeth i'w lle i'r amser penodedig. Mi fydai yn arferiad yr adeg hynny o nydu ar ol swper yn hirnos y gauaf, ag fe fydai y forwyn yn myn'd i'r weirglod i nydu wrth oleu y lloer; ag fe fydai tylwyth teg yn dwad ati hi i'r weirglod i ganu a dawnsio. A ryw bryd yn y gwanwyn pan esdynnod y dyd diangod Eilian gyd a'r tylwythion teg i ffwrd, ag ni welwyd 'mo'ni mwyach. Mae y cae y gwelwyd hi diwethaf yn cael ei alw hyd y dyd hedyw yn Gae Eilian a'r weirglod yn Weirglod y Forwyn. Mi'r oed hen wraig y Garth Dorwen yn arfer rhoi gwraged yn eu gwlâu, a bydai pawb yn cyrchu am dani o bob cyfeiriad; a rhyw bryd dyma wr bonedig ar ei geffyl at y drws ar noswaith loergan lleuad, a hithau yn glawio 'chydig ag yn niwl braid, i 'nol yr hen wreigan at ei wraig; ag felly aeth yn sgil y gwr dïarth ar gefn y march i Ros y Cowrt. Ar ganol y Rhos pryd hynny 'r oed poncan lled uchel yn debyg i hen amdiffynfa a llawer o gerrig mawrion ar ei phen a charned fawr o gerrig yn yr ochor ogledol idi, ag mae hi i'w gwel'd hyd y dyd hedyw dan yr enw Bryn y Pibion. Pan gyrhaedasan' y lle aethan' i ogo' fawr ag aethan' i 'stafell lle'r oed y wraig yn ei gwely, a'r lle crandia' a welod yr hen wraig yrioed. Ag fe roth y wraig yn ei gwely ag aeth at y tan i drin y babi; ag ar ol idi orphen dyna y gwr yn dod a photel i'r hen wraig i hiro llygaid y babi ag erfyn arni beidio a'i gyffwr' a'i llygaid ei hun. Ond ryw fod ar ol rhoi y botel heibio fe daeth cosfa ar lygaid yr hen wraig a rhwbiod ei llygaid â'r un bys ag oed wedi bod yn rhwbio llygaid y baban a gwelod hefo 'r llygad hwnnw y wraig yn gorfed ar docyn o frwyn a rhedyn crinion mewn ogo' fawr o gerrig mawr o bob tu idi a 'chydig bach o dan mewn rhiw gornel, a gwelod mai Eilian oed hi, ei hen forwyn, ag hefo'r llygad arall yn gwel'd y lle crandia' a welod yrioed. Ag yn mhen ychydig ar ol hynny aeth i'r farchnad i Gaer'narfon a gwelod y gwr a gofynnod ido--'Pa sud mae Eilian?' 'O y mae hi yn bur da,' medai wrth yr hen wraig: 'a pha lygad yr ydych yn fy ngwel'd?' 'Hefo hwn,' medai hithau. Cymerod babwyren ag a'i tynod allan ar unwaith. 'An old man and his wife lived at the Garth Dorwen in some period a long while ago. They went to Carnarvon to hire a servant maid at the Allhallows' [79] fair; and it was the custom then for young men and women who stood out for places to station themselves at the top of the present Maes, by a little green eminence which was where the present Post-office stands. The old man and his wife went to that spot, and saw there a lass with yellow hair, standing a little apart from all the others; the old woman went to her and asked her if she wanted a place. She replied that she did, and so she hired herself at once and came to her place at the time fixed. In those times it was customary during the long winter nights that spinning should be done after supper. Now the maid servant would go to the meadow to spin by the light of the moon, and the Tylwyth Teg used to come to her to sing and dance. But some time in the spring, when the days had grown longer, Eilian escaped with the Tylwyth Teg, so that she was seen no more. The field where she was last seen is to this day called Eilian's Field, and the meadow is known as the Maid's Meadow. The old woman of Garth Dorwen was in the habit of putting women to bed, and she was in great request far and wide. Some time after Eilian's escape there came a gentleman on horseback to the door one night when the moon was full, while there was a slight rain and just a little mist, to fetch the old woman to his wife. So she rode off behind the stranger on his horse, and came to Rhos y Cowrt. Now there was at that time, in the centre of the rhos, somewhat of a rising ground that looked like an old fortification, with many big stones on the top, and a large cairn of stones on the northern side: it is to be seen there to this day, and it goes by the name of Bryn y Pibion, but I have never visited the spot. When they reached the spot, they entered a large cave, and they went into a room where the wife lay in her bed; it was the finest place the old woman had seen in her life. When she had successfully brought the wife to bed, she went near the fire to dress the baby; and when she had done, the husband came to the old woman with a bottle of ointment [80] that she might anoint the baby's eyes; but he entreated her not to touch her own eyes with it. Somehow after putting the bottle by, one of the old woman's eyes happened to itch, and she rubbed it with the same finger that she had used to rub the baby's eyes. Then she saw with that eye how the wife lay on a bundle of rushes and withered ferns in a large cave, with big stones all round her, and with a little fire in one corner; and she saw also that the lady was only Eilian, her former servant girl, whilst, with the other eye, she beheld the finest place she had ever seen. Not long afterwards the old midwife went to Carnarvon to market, when she saw the husband, and said to him, "How is Eilian?" "She is pretty well," said he to the old woman, "but with what eye do you see me?" "With this one," was the reply; and he took a bulrush and put her eye out at once.' That is exactly the tale, my informant tells me, as he heard it from his mother, who heard it from an old woman who lived at Garth Dorwen when his mother was a girl, about eighty-four years ago, as he guessed it to have been; but in his written version he has omitted one thing which he told me at Glynllifon, namely, that, when the servant girl went out to the fairies to spin, an enormous amount of spinning used to be done. I mention this as it reminds me of the tales of other nations, where the girl who cannot spin straw into gold is assisted by a fairy, on certain conditions which are afterwards found very inconvenient. It may be guessed that in the case of Eilian the conditions involved her becoming a fairy's wife, and that she kept to them. Lastly, I should like the archæologists of Carnarvonshire to direct their attention to Bryn y Pibion; for they might be expected to come across the remains there of a barrow or of a fort. III. The same summer I happened to meet the Rev. Robert Hughes, of Uwchlaw'r Ffynnon, near Llanaelhaearn, a village on which Tre'r Ceiri, or the Town of the Keiri, looks down in its primitive grimness from the top of one of the three heights of the Eifl, or Rivals as English people call them. The district is remarkable for the longevity of its inhabitants, and Mr. Hughes counted fifteen farmers in his immediate neighbourhood whose average age was eighty-three; and four years previously the average age of eighteen of them was no less than eighty-five. He himself was, when I met him, seventy-one years of age, and he considered that he represented the traditions of more than a century and a half, as he was a boy of twelve when one of his grandfathers died at the age of ninety-two: the age reached by one of his grandmothers was all but equal, while his father died only a few years ago, after nearly reaching his ninety-fifth birthday. Story-telling was kept alive in the parish of Llanaelhaearn by the institution known there as the pilnos, or peeling night, when the neighbours met in one another's houses to spend the long winter evenings dressing hemp and carding wool, though I guess that a pilnos was originally the night when people met to peel rushes for rushlights. When they left these merry meetings they were ready, as Mr. Hughes says, to see anything. In fact, he gives an instance of some people coming from a pilnos across the mountain from Nant Gwrtheyrn to Llithfaen, and finding the fairies singing and dancing with all their might: they were drawn in among them and found themselves left alone in the morning on the heather. Indeed, Mr. Hughes has seen the fairies himself: it was on the Pwllheli road, as he was returning in the grey of the morning from the house of his fiancée when he was twenty-seven. The fairies he saw came along riding on wee horses: his recollection is that he now and then mastered his eyes and found the road quite clear, but the next moment the vision would return, and he thought he saw the diminutive cavalcade as plainly as possible. Similarly, a man of the name of Solomon Evans, when, thirty years ago, making his way home late at night through Glynllifon Park, found himself followed by quite a crowd of little creatures, which he described as being of the size of guinea pigs and covered with red and white spots. He was an ignorant man, who knew no better than to believe to the day of his death, some eight or nine years ago, that they were demons. This is probably a blurred version of a story concerning Cwn Annwn, 'Hell hounds,' such as the following, published by Mr. O. M. Edwards in his Cymru for 1897, p. 190, from Mr. J. H. Roberts' essay mentioned above at p. 148:--'Ages ago as a man who had been engaged on business, not the most creditable in the world, was returning in the depth of night across Cefn Creini, and thinking in a downcast frame of mind over what he had been doing, he heard in the distance a low and fear-inspiring bark; then another bark, and another, and then half a dozen and more. Ere long he became aware that he was being pursued by dogs, and that they were Cwn Annwn. He beheld them coming: he tried to flee, but he felt quite powerless and could not escape. Nearer and nearer they came, and he saw the shepherd with them: his face was black and he had horns on his head. They had come round him and stood in a semicircle ready to rush upon him, when he had a remarkable deliverance: he remembered that he had in his pocket a small cross, which he showed them. They fled in the greatest terror in all directions, and this accounts for the proverb, Mwy na'r cythraul at y groes (Any more than the devil to the cross).' That is Mr. Roberts' story; but several allusions have already been made to Cwn Annwn. It would be right probably to identify them in the first instance with the pack with which Arawn, king of Annwn, is found hunting by Pwyll, king of Dyfed, when the latter happens to meet him in Glyn Cuch in his own realm. Then in a poem in the Black Book of Carmarthen we find Gwyn ab Nûd with a pack led by Dormarth, a hound with a red snout which he kept close to the ground when engaged in the chase; similarly in the story of Iolo ab Huw the dogs are treated as belonging to Gwyn. But on the whole the later idea has more usually been, that the devil is the huntsman, that his dogs give chase in the air, that their quarry consists of the souls of the departed, and that their bark forebodes a death, since they watch for the souls of men about to die. This, however, might be objected to as pagan; so I have heard the finishing touch given to it in the neighbourhood of Ystrad Meurig, by one who, like Mr. Pughe, explained that it is the souls only of notoriously wicked men and well-known evil livers. With this limitation the pack [81] seems in no immediate danger of being regarded as poaching. To return to Llanaelhaearn, it is right to say that good spirits too, who attend on good Calvinists, are there believed in. Morris Hughes, of Cwm Corryn, was the first Calvinistic Methodist at Llanaelhaearn; he was great-grandfather to Robert Hughes' wife; and he used to be followed by two pretty little yellow birds. He would call to them, 'Wryd, Wryd!' and they would come and feed out of his hand, and when he was dying they came and flapped their wings against his window. This was testified to by John Thomas, of Moelfre Bach, who was present at the time. Thomas died some twenty-five years ago, at the age of eighty-seven. I have heard this story from other people, but I do not know what to make of it, though I may add that the little birds are believed to have been angels. In Mr. Rees' Welsh Saints, pp. 305-6, Gwryd is given as the name of a friar who lived about the end of the twelfth century, and has been commemorated on November 1; and the author adds a note referring to the Cambrian Register for 1800, vol. iii. p. 221, where it is said that Gwryd relieved the bard Einion ab Gwalchmai of some oppression, probably mental, which had afflicted him for seven years. Is one to suppose that Gwryd sent two angels in the form of little birds to protect the first Llanaelhaearn Methodist? The call 'Wryd, Wryd,' would seem to indicate that the name was not originally Gwryd, but Wryd, to be identified possibly with the Pictish name Uoret in an inscription at St. Vigean's, near Arbroath, and to be distinguished from the Welsh word gwryd, 'valour,' and from the Welsh name Gwriad, representing what in its Gaulish form was Viriatus. We possibly have the name Wryd in Hafod Wryd, a place in the Machno Valley above Bettws y Coed; otherwise one would have expected Hafod y Gwryd, making colloquially, Hafod Gwryd. Mr. Hughes told me a variety of things about Nant Gwrtheyrn, one of the spots where the Vortigern story is localized. The Nant is a sort of a cul de sac hollow opening to the sea at the foot of the Eifl. There is a rock there called Y Farches, and the angle of the sea next to the old castle, which seems to be merely a mound, is called Y Llynclyn, or 'The Whirlpool'; and this is perhaps an important item in the localizing of Vortigern's city there. I was informed by Mr. Hughes that the grave of Olfyn is in this Nant, with a razed church close by: both are otherwise quite unknown to me. Coming away from this weird spot to the neighbourhood of Celynnog, one finds that the Pennard of the Mabinogi of Math is now called Pennarth, and has on it a well-known cromlech. Of course, I did not leave Mr. Hughes without asking him about Caer Arianrhod, and I found that he called it Tre' Gaer Anrheg: he described it as a stony patch in the sea, and it can, he says, be reached on foot when the ebb is at its lowest in spring and autumn. The story he had heard about it when he was a boy at school with David Thomas, better known by his bardic name of Dafyd Du Eryri, was the following:-- 'Tregaer Anrheg was inhabited by a family of robbers, and among other things they killed and robbed a man at Glyn Iwrch, near the further wall of Glynnllifon Park: this completed the measure of their lawlessness. There was one woman, however, living with them at Tregaer Anrheg, who was not related to them, and as she went out one evening with her pitcher to fetch water, she heard a voice crying out, Dos i ben y bryn i wel'd rhyfedod, that is, Go up the hill to see a wonder. She obeyed, and as soon as she got to the top of the hill, whereby was meant Dinas Dinlle, she beheld Tregaer Anrheg sinking in the sea.' As I have wandered away from the fairies I may add the following curious bit of legend which Mr. Hughes gave me:--'When St. Beuno lived at Celynnog, he used to go regularly to preach at Llandwyn on the opposite side of the water, which he always crossed on foot. But one Sunday he accidentally dropped his book of sermons into the water, and when he had failed to recover it a gylfin-hir, or curlew, came by, picked it up, and placed it on a stone out of the reach of the tide. The saint prayed for the protection and favour of the Creator for the gylfin-hir: it was granted, and so nobody ever knows where that bird makes its nest.' IV. One day in August of the same summer I went to have another look at the old inscribed stone at Gesail Gyfarch [82], near Tremadoc, and, instead of returning the same way, I walked across to Criccieth Station; but on my way I was directed to call at a farm house called Llwyn y Mafon Uchaf, where I was to see Mr. Edward Llewelyn, a bachelor then seventy-six years of age. He is a native of the neighbourhood, and has always lived in it; moreover, he has now been for some time blind. He had heard a good many fairy tales. Among others he mentioned John Roberts, a slater from the Garn, that is Carn Dolbenmaen, as having one day, when there was a little mist and a drizzling rain, heard a crowd of fairies talking together in great confusion, near a sheepfold on Llwytmor Mountain; but he was too much afraid to look at them. He also told me of a man at Ystum Cegid, a farm not far off, having married a fairy wife on condition that he was not to touch her with any kind of iron on pain of her leaving him for ever. Then came the usual accident in catching a horse in order to go to a fair at Carnarvon, and the immediate disappearance of the wife. At this point Mr. Llewelyn's sister interposed to the effect that the wife did once return and address her husband in the rhyme, Os byd anwyd ar fy mab, &c.: see pp. 44, 55 above. Then Mr. Llewelyn enumerated several people who are of this family, among others a girl, who is, according to him, exactly like the fairies. This made me ask what the fairies are like, and he answered that they are small unprepossessing creatures, with yellow skin and black hair. Some of the men, however, whom he traced to a fairy origin are by no means of this description. The term there for men of fairy descent is Belsiaid, and they live mostly in the neighbouring parish of Pennant, where it would never do for me to go and collect fairy tales, as I am told; and Mr. Llewelyn remembers the fighting that used to take place at the fairs at Penmorfa if the term Belsiaid once began to be heard. Mr. Llewelyn was also acquainted with the tale of the midwife that went to a fairy family, and how the thieving husband had deprived her of the use of one eye. He also spoke of the fairies changing children, and how one of these changelings, supposed to be a baby, expressed himself to the effect that he had seen the acorn before the oak, and the egg before the chick, but never anybody who brewed ale in an egg-shell: see p. 62 above. As to modes of getting rid of the changelings, a friend of Mr. Llewelyn's mentioned the story that one was once dropped into the Glaslyn river, near Bedgelert. The sort of children the fairies liked were those that were unlike their own; that is, bairns whose hair was white, or inclined to yellow, and whose skin was fair. He had a great deal to say of a certain Elis Bach of Nant Gwrtheyrn, who used to be considered a changeling. With the exception of this changing of children the fairies seemed to have been on fairly good terms with the inhabitants, and to have been in the habit of borrowing from farm houses a padell and gradell for baking. The gradell is a sort of round flat iron, on which the dough is put, and the padell is the patella or pan put over it: they are still commonly used for baking in North Wales. Well, the fairies used to borrow these two articles, and by way of payment to leave money on the hob at night. All over Lleyn the Tylwyth are represented as borrowing padell a gradell. They seem to have never been very strong in household furniture, especially articles made of iron. Mr. Llewelyn had heard that the reason why people do not see fairies nowadays is that they have been exorcised (wedi eu hoffrymu) for hundreds of years to come. About the same time I was advised to try the memory of Miss Jane Williams, who lives at the Graig, Tremadoc: she was then, as I was told, seventy-five, very quick-witted, but by no means communicative to idlers. The most important information she had for me was to the effect that the Tylwyth Teg had been exorcised away (wedi 'ffrymu) and would not be back in our day. When she was about twelve she served at the Gelli between Tremadoc and Pont Aberglaslyn. Her master's name was Siôn Ifan, and his wife was a native of the neighbourhood of Carnarvon; she had many tales to tell them about the Tylwyth, how they changed children, how they allured men to the fairy rings, and how their dupes returned after a time in a wretched state, with hardly any flesh on their bones. She heard her relate the tale of a man who married a fairy, and how she left him; but before going away from her husband and children she asked the latter by name which they would like to have, a dirty cow-yard (buches fudur) or a clean cow-yard (buches lân). Some gave the right answer, a dirty cow-yard, but some said a clean cow-yard: the lot of the latter was poverty, for they were to have no stock of cattle. The same question is asked in a story recorded by the late Rev. Elias Owen, in his Welsh Folk-lore, p. 82 [83]: his instance belongs to the neighbourhood of Pentrevoelas, in Denbighshire. V. When I was staying at Pwllheli the same summer, I went out to the neighbouring village of Four Crosses, and found a native of the place, who had heard a great many curious things from his mother. His name was Lewis Jones: he was at the time over eighty, and he had formerly been a saddler. Among other things, his mother often told him that her grandmother had frequently been with the fairies, when the latter was a child. She lived at Plâs Du, and once she happened to be up near Carn Bentyrch when she saw them. She found them resembling little children, and playing in a brook that she had to cross. She was so delighted with them, and stayed so long with them, that a search was made for her, when she was found in the company of the fairies. Another time, they met her as she was going on an errand across a large bog on a misty day, when there was a sort of a drizzle, which one might call either dew or rain, as it was not decidedly either, but something between the two, such as the Welsh would call gwlithlaw, 'dew-rain.' She loitered in their company until a search was made for her again. Lewis Jones related to me the story of the midwife--he pronounced it in Welsh 'midwaith'--who attended on a fairy. As in the other versions, she lost the sight of one eye in consequence of her discovering the gentleman fairy thieving; but the fair at which this happened was held in this instance at Nefyn. He related also how a farmer at Pennant had wedded a fairy called Bella. This tale proceeded like the other versions, and did not even omit the fighting at Penmorfa: see pp. 89, 93, 220. He had likewise the tale about the two youths who had gone out to fetch some cattle, and came, while returning about dusk, across a party of fairies dancing. The one was drawn into the circle, and the other was suspected at length of having murdered him, until, at the suggestion of a wizard, he went to the same place at the end of a year and a day: then he found him dancing, and managed to get him out. He had been reduced to a mere skeleton, but he inquired at once if the cattle he was driving were far ahead. Jones had heard of a child changed by the fairies when its mother had placed it in some hay while she worked at the harvest. She discovered he was not her own by brewing in an egg-shell, as usual. Then she refused to take any notice of him, and she soon found her own baby returned; but the latter looked much the worse for its sojourn in the land of the Tylwyth Teg. My informant described to me Elis Bach of Nant Gwrtheyrn, already mentioned, p. 221, who died somewhat more than forty years ago. His father was a farmer there, and his children, both boys and girls, were like ordinary folks, excepting Elis, who was deformed, his legs being so short that his body seemed only a few inches from the ground when he walked. His voice was also small and squeaky. However, he was very sharp, and could find his way among the rocks pretty well when he went in quest of his father's sheep and goats, of which there used to be plenty there formerly. Everybody believed Elis to have been a changeling, and one saying of his is still remembered in that part of the country. When strangers visited Nant Gwrtheyrn, a thing which did not frequently happen, and when his parents asked them to their table, and pressed them to eat, he would squeak out drily, Buta 'nynna buta'r cwbwl, that is to say, 'Eating that means eating all we have.' He told me further that the servant girls used formerly to take care to bring a supply of water indoors at the approach of night, that the fairies might find plenty in which to bathe their children, for fear that they might use the milk instead, if water was wanting. Moreover, when they had been baking, they took care to leave the fairies both padell and gradell, that they might do their baking in the night. The latter used to pay for this kindness by leaving behind them a cake of fairy bread and sometimes money on the hob. I have, however, not been able to learn anything about the quality or taste of this fairy food. He had also a great deal to say about the making of bonfires about the beginning of winter. A bonfire was always kindled on the farm called Cromlech on the eve of the Winter Calends or Nos Galan Gaeaf, as it is termed in Welsh; and the like were to be seen in abundance towards Llithfaen, Carnguwch, and Llanaelhaearn, as well as on the Merioneth side of the bay. Besides fuel, each person present used to throw into the fire a small stone, with a mark whereby he should know it again. If he succeeded in finding the stone on the morrow, the year would be a lucky one for him, but the contrary if he failed to recover it. Those who assisted at the making of the bonfire watched until the flames were out, and then somebody would raise the usual cry, when each ran away for his life, lest he should be found last. This cry, which is a sort of equivalent, well known over Carnarvonshire, of the English saying, 'The devil take the hindmost,' was in the Welsh of that county-- Yr hwch du gwta [84] A gipio'r ola'; that is to say, 'May the black sow without a tail seize the hindmost.' The cutty black sow is often alluded to nowadays to frighten children in Arfon, and it is clearly the same creature that is described in some parts of North Wales as follows:-- Hwch du gwta A cutty black sow Ar bob camfa On every stile, Yn nydu a chardio Spinning and carding Bob nos G'langaea'. Every Allhallows' Eve. In Cardiganshire this is reduced to the words:-- Nos Galan Gaea', On Allhallows' Eve Bwbach ar bob camfa. A bogie on every stile. Welsh people speak of only three Calends--Calan-mai, or the first of May; Calan-gaeaf, the Calends of Winter, or Allhallows; and Y Calan, or The Calends par excellence, that is to say, the first day of January, which last is probably not Celtic but Roman. The other two most certainly are, and it is one of their peculiarities that all uncanny spirits and bogies are at liberty the night preceding each of them. The Hwch du gwta is at large on Allhallows' Eve, and the Scottish Gaels have the name 'Samhanach' for any Allhallows' demon, formed from the word Samhain, Allhallows. The eve of the first of May may be supposed to have been the same, as may be gathered from the story of Rhiannon's baby and of Teyrnon's colt, both of which were stolen by undescribed demons that night--I allude to the Mabinogi of Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed. VI. At Nefyn, in Lleyn [85], I had some stories about the Tylwyth Teg from Lowri Hughes, the widow of John Hughes, who lives in a cottage at Pen Isa'r Dref, and is over seventy-four years of age. An aunt of hers, who knew a great many tales, had died about six years before my visit, at the advanced age of ninety-six. She used to relate to Lowri how the Tylwyth were in the habit of visiting Singrug, a house now in ruins on the land of Pen Isa'r Dref, and how they had a habit of borrowing a padell and gradell for baking: they paid for the loan of them by giving their owners a loaf. Her grandmother, who died not long ago at a very advanced age, remembered a time when she was milking in a corner of the land of Carn Bodüan, and how a little dog came to her and received a blow from her that sent it rolling away. Presently, she added, the dog reappeared with a lame man playing on a fiddle; but she gave them no milk. If she had done so, there was no knowing, she said, how much money she might have got. But, as it was, such singing and dancing were indulged in by the Tylwyth around the lame fiddler that she ran away as fast as her feet could carry her. Lowri's husband had also seen the Tylwyth at the break of day, near Madrun Mill, where they seem to have been holding a sort of conversazione; but presently one of them observed that he had heard the voice of the hen's husband, and off they went instantly then. The fairies were in the habit also of dancing and singing on the headland across which lie the old earthworks called Dinllaen. When they had played and enjoyed themselves enough, they used to lift a certain bit of sod and descend to their own land. My informant had also heard the midwife story, and she was aware that the fairies changed people's children; in fact, she mentioned to me a farm house not far off where there was a daughter of this origin then, not to mention that she knew all about Elis Bach. Another woman whom I met near Porth Dinllaen said, that the Dinllaen fairies were only seen when the weather was a little misty. At Nefyn, Mr. John Williams (Alaw Lleyn) got from his mother the tale of the midwife. It stated that the latter lost the sight of her right eye at Nefyn Fair, owing to the fairy she there recognized, pricking her eye with a green rush. During my visit to Aberdaron, my wife and I went to the top of Mynyd Anelog, and on the way up we passed a cottage, where a very illiterate woman told us that the Tylwyth Teg formerly frequented the mountain when there was mist on it; that they changed people's children if they were left alone on the ground; and that the way to get the right child back was to leave the fairy urchin without being touched or fed. She also said that, after baking, people left the gradell for the fairies to do their baking: they would then leave a cake behind them as pay. As for the fairies just now, they have been exorcised (wedi'ffrymu) for some length of time. Mrs. Williams, of Pwll Defaid, told me that the rock opposite, called Clip y Gylfinir, on Bodwydog mountain, a part of Mynyd y Rhiw, was the resort of the Tylwyth Teg, and that they revelled there when it was covered with mist; she added that a neighbouring farm, called Bodermud Isa', was well known at one time as a place where the fairies came to do their baking. But the most remarkable tale I had in the neighbourhood of Aberdaron was from Evan Williams, a smith who lives at Yr Ard Las, on Rhos Hirwaen. If I remember rightly, he is a native of Llaniestin, and what he told me relates to a farmer's wife who lived at the Nant, in that parish. Now this old lady was frequently visited by a fairy who used to borrow padell a gradell from her. These she used to get, and she returned them with a loaf borne on her head in acknowledgement. But one day she came to ask for the loan of her troell bach, or wheel for spinning flax. When handing her this, the farmer's wife wished to know her name, as she came so often, but she refused to tell her. However, she was watched at her spinning, and overheard singing to the whir of the wheel:-- Bychan a wyda' hi Little did she know Mai Sìli go Dwt That Silly go Dwt Yw f'enw i. Is my name. This explains to some extent the sìli ffrit sung by a Corwrion fairy when she came out of the lake to spin: see p. 64 above. At first I had in vain tried to make out the meaning of that bit of legend; but since then I have also found the Llaniestin rhyme a little varied at Llanberis: it was picked up there, I do not exactly know how, by my little girls this summer. The words as they have them run thus:-- Bychan a wyda' hi Mai Trwtyn-Tratyn Yw f'enw i. Here, instead of Sìli go Dwt or Sìli ffrit, the name is Trwtyn-Tratyn, and these doggerels at once remind one of the tale of Rumpelstiltzchen; but it is clear that we have as yet only the merest fragments of the whole, though I have been thus far unable to get any more. So one cannot quite say how far it resembled the tale of Rumpelstiltzchen: there is certainly one difference, which is at once patent, namely, that while the German Rumpelstiltzchen was a male fairy, our Welsh Sìli ffrit or Sìli go Dwt is of the other sex. Probably, in the Llaniestin tale, the borrowing for baking had nothing to do with the spinning, for all fairies in Lleyn borrow a padell and a gradell, while they do not usually appear to spin. Then may we suppose that the spinning was in this instance done for the farmer's wife on conditions which she was able to evade by discovering the fairy helper's name? At any rate one expects a story representing the farmer's wife laid under obligation by the fairy, and not the reverse. I shall have an opportunity of returning to this kind of tale in chapter x. The smith told me another short tale, about a farmer who lived not long ago at Deunant, close to Aberdaron. The latter used, as is the wont of country people, to go out a few steps in front of his house every night to ---- before going to bed; but once on a time, while he was standing there, a stranger stood by him and spoke to him, saying that he had no idea how he and his family were annoyed by him. The farmer asked how that could be, to which the stranger replied that his house was just below where they stood, and if he would only stand on his foot he would see that what he said was true. The farmer complying, put his foot on the other's foot, and then he could clearly see that all the slops from his house went down the chimney of the other's house, which stood far below in a street he had never seen before. The fairy then advised him to have his door in the other side of his house, and that if he did so his cattle would never suffer from the clwy' byr [86]. The result was that the farmer obeyed, and had his door walled up and another made in the other side of the house: ever after he was a most prosperous man, and nobody was so successful as he in rearing stock in all that part of the country. To place the whole thing beyond the possibility of doubt, Evan Williams assured me that he had often seen the farmer's house with the front door in the back. I mention this strange story in order to compare it, in the matter of standing on the fairy's foot, with that of standing with one's foot just inside a fairy ring. Compare also standing on a particular sod in Dyfed in order to behold the delectable realm of Rhys Dwfn's Children: see p. 158 above. VII. Soon afterwards I went to the neighbourhood of Aber Soch and Llanengan, where I was lucky enough to find Professor Owen of St. David's College, Lampeter, since appointed Bishop of St. David's, on a visit to his native place. He took me round to those of the inhabitants who were thought most likely to have tales to tell; but I found nothing about the fairies except the usual story of their borrowing padell a gradell, and of their changing children. However, one version I heard of the process of recovering the stolen child differs from all others known to me: it was given us by Margaret Edwards, of Pentre Bach, whose age was then eighty-seven. It was to the effect that the mother, who had been given a fairy infant, was to place it on the floor, and that all those present in the house should throw a piece of iron at it. This she thought was done with the view of convincing the Tylwyth Teg of the intention to kill the changeling, and in order to induce them to bring the right child back. The plan was, we are told, always successful, and it illustrates, to my thinking, the supposed efficacy of iron against the fairies. On the way to Aber Soch I passed by an old-fashioned house which has all the appearance of having once been a place of considerable importance; and on being told that its name is Castellmarch, I began thinking of March ab Meirchion mentioned in the Triads. He, I had long been convinced, ought to be the Welsh reflex of Labhraidh Lorc, or the Irish king with horse's ears; and the corresponding Greek character of Midas with ass's ears is so well known that I need not dwell on it. So I undertook to question various people in the neighbourhood about the meaning of the name of Castellmarch. Most of them analysed it into Castell y March, the 'Castle of the Steed,' and explained that the knight of the shire or some other respectable obscurity kept his horses there. This treatment of the word is not very decidedly countenanced by the pronunciation, which makes the name into one word strongly accented on the middle syllable. It was further related to me how Castellmarch was once upon a time inhabited by a very wicked and cruel man, one of whose servants, after being very unkindly treated by him, ran away and went on board a man-of-war. Some time afterwards the man-of-war happened to be in Cardigan Bay, and the runaway servant persuaded the captain of the vessel to come and anchor in the Tudwal Roads. Furthermore he induced him to shell his old master's mansion; and the story is regarded as proved by the old bullets now and then found at Castellmarch. It has since been suggested to me that the bullets are evidence of an attack on the place during the Civil War, which is not improbable. But having got so far as to find that there was a wicked, cruel man associated with Castellmarch, I thought I should at once hear the item of tradition which I was fishing for; but not so: it was not to be wormed out in a hurry. However, after tiring a very old blacksmith, whose memory was far gone, with my questions, and after he had in his turn tired me with answers of the kind I have already described, I ventured to put it to him at last whether he had never heard some very silly tale about the lord of Castellmarch, to the effect that he was not quite like other men. He at once admitted that he had heard it said that he had horse's ears, but that he would never have thought of repeating such nonsense to me. This is not a bad instance of the difficulty which one has in eliciting this sort of tradition from the people. It is true that, as far as regards Castellmarch, nothing, as it happens, would have been lost if I had failed at Aber Soch, for I got the same information later at Sarn Fyllteyrn; not to mention that after coming back to my books, and once more turning over the leaves of the Brython, I was delighted to find the tale there. It occurs at p. 431 of the volume for 1860. It is given with several other interesting bits of antiquity, and at the end the editor has put 'Edward Llwyd, 1693'; so I suppose the whole comes from letters emanating from the great Lhwyd, for so, or rather Lhuyd, he preferred to write his name. It is to the following effect:-- One of Arthur's warriors, whose name was March (or Parch) Amheirchion [87], was lord of Castellmarch in Lleyn. This man had horse's ears (resembling Midas), and lest anybody should know it, he used to kill every man he sought to shave his beard, for fear lest he should not be able to keep the secret; and on the spot where he was wont to bury the bodies there grew reeds, one of which somebody cut to make a pipe. The pipe would give no other sound than 'March Amheirchion has horse's ears.' When the warrior heard this, he would probably have killed the innocent man on that account, if he had not himself failed to make the pipe produce any other sound. But after hearing where the reed had grown, he made no further effort to conceal either the murders or his ears. This story of Edward Llwyd's clearly goes back to a time when some kind of a pipe was the favourite musical instrument in North Wales, and not the harp. VIII. Some time ago I was favoured with a short but interesting tale by Mr. Evan Lloyd Jones, of Dinorwig, near Llanberis. Mr. Lloyd Jones, I may here mention, published not long ago, in Llais y Wlad (Bangor, North Wales), and in the Drych (Utica, United States of North America), a series of articles entitled Llen y Werin yn Sir Gaernarfon, or the Folklore of Carnarvonshire. I happened to see it at a friend's house, and I found at once that the writer was passionately fond of antiquities, and in the habit of making use of the frequent opportunities he has in the Dinorwig quarries for gathering information as to what used to be believed by the people of Arfon and Anglesey. The tale about to be given relates to a lake called Marchlyn Mawr, or the Great Horse-lake, for there are two lakes called Marchlyn: they lie near one another, between the Fronllwyd, in the parish of Llandegai, and the Elidyr, in the parishes of Llandeiniolen and Llanberis. Mr. Lloyd Jones shall tell his tale in his own words:-- Amgylchynir y Marchlyn Mawr gan greigiau erchyll yr olwg arnynt; a dywed tradodiad darfod i un o feibion y Rhiwen [88] unwaith tra yn cynorthwyo dafad oed wedi syrthio i'r creigiau i dod odiyno, darganfod ogof anferth: aeth i fewn idi a gwelod ei bod yn llawn o drysorau ac arfau gwerthfawr; ond gan ei bod yn dechreu tywyllu, a dringo i fynu yn orchwyl anhawd hyd yn nod yn ngoleu'r dyd, aeth adref y noswaith honno, a boreu drannoeth ar lasiad y dyd cychwynnod eilwaith i'r ogof, ac heb lawer o drafferth daeth o hyd idi: aeth i fewn, a dechreuod edrych o'i amgylch ar y trysorau oed yno:--Ar ganol yr ogof yr oed bwrd enfawr o aur pur, ac ar y bwrd goron o aur a pherlau: deallod yn y fan mai coron a thrysorau Arthur oedynt--nesaod at y bwrd, a phan oed yn estyn ei law i gymeryd gafael yn y goron dychrynwyd ef gan drwst erchyll, trwst megys mil o daranau yn ymrwygo uwch ei ben ac aeth yr holl le can dywylled a'r afagdu. Ceisiod ymbalfalu odiyno gynted ag y gallai; pan lwydod i gyrraed i ganol y creigiau taflod ei olwg ar y llyn, yr hwn oed wedi ei gynhyrfu drwydo a'i donnau brigwynion yn cael eu lluchio trwy daned ysgythrog y creigiau hyd y man yr oed efe yn sefyll arno; ond tra yr oed yn parhau i syllu ar ganol y llyn gwelai gwrwgl a thair o'r benywod prydferthaf y disgynod llygad unrhyw dyn arnynt erioed yndo yn cael ei rwyfo yn brysur tuag at enau yr ogof. Ond och! yr oed golwg ofnadwy yr hwn oed yn rhwyfo yn digon i beri iasau o fraw trwy y dyn cryfaf. Gallod y llanc rywfod dianc adref ond ni fu iechyd yn ei gyfansodiad ar ol hynny, a bydai hyd yn nod crybwyll enw y Marchlyn yn ei glywedigaeth yn digon i'w yrru yn wallgof. 'The Marchlyn Mawr is surrounded by rocks terrible to look at, and tradition relates how one of the sons of the farmer of Rhiwen, once on a time, when helping a sheep that had fallen among the rocks to get away, discovered a tremendous cave there; he entered, and saw that it was full of treasures and arms of great value; but, as it was beginning to grow dark, and as clambering back was a difficult matter even in the light of day, he went home that evening, and next morning with the grey dawn he set out again for the cave, when he found it without much trouble. He entered, and began to look about him at the treasures that were there. In the centre of the cave stood a huge table of pure gold, and on the table lay a crown of gold and pearls. He understood at once that they were the crown and treasures of Arthur. He approached the table, and as he stretched forth his hand to take hold of the crown he was frightened by an awful noise, the noise, as it were, of a thousand thunders bursting over his head, and the whole place became as dark as Tartarus. He tried to grope and feel his way out as fast as he could. When he had succeeded in reaching to the middle of the rocks, he cast his eye on the lake, which had been stirred all through, while its white-crested waves dashed through the jagged teeth of the rocks up to the spot on which he stood. But as he continued looking at the middle of the lake he beheld a coracle containing three women, the fairest that the eye of man ever fell on. They were being quickly rowed to the mouth of the cave; but the dread aspect of him who rowed was enough to send thrills of horror through the strongest of men. The youth was able somehow to escape home, but no health remained in his constitution after that, and even the mere mention of the Marchlyn in his hearing used to be enough to make him insane.' Mr. Lloyd Jones appends to the tale a note to the following effect:--There is a small eminence on the shore of the Marchlyn Mawr, in the parish of Llandegai, called Bryn Cwrwgl, or the 'Hill of the Coracle'; and Ogof y Marchlyn, or the 'Marchlyn Cave,' is a name familiar enough to everybody in these neighbourhoods. There were some--unless he ought to say that there still are some--who believed that there was abundance of treasure in the cave. Several young men from the quarries, both of the Cae and of Dinorwig, have been in the midst of the Marchlyn rocks, searching for the cave, and they succeeded in making their way into a cave. They came away, however, without the treasures. One old man, Robert Edwards (Iorwerth Sardis), used to tell him that he and several others had brought ropes from the quarry to go into the cave, but that they found no treasure. So far, I have given the substance of Mr. Jones' words, to which I would add the following statement, which I have from a native of Dinorwig:--About seventy years ago, when the gentry were robbing the poor of these districts of their houses and of the lands which the latter had enclosed out of the commons, an old woman called Siân William of the Garned was obliged to flee from her house with her baby--the latter was known later in life as the Rev. Robert Ellis, of Ysgoldy--in her arms. It was in one of the Marchlyn caves that she found refuge for a day and night. Another kind of tale connected with the Marchlyn Mawr is recorded in the Powys-land Club's Collections, Hist. and Arch., vol. xv. p. 137, by the Rev. Elias Owen, to the effect that 'a man who was fishing in the lake found himself enveloped in the clouds that had descended from the hills to the water. A sudden gust of wind cleared a road through the mist that hung over the lake, and revealed to his sight a man busily engaged in thatching a stack. The man, or rather the fairy, stood on a ladder. The stack and ladder rested on the surface of the lake.' IX. Mr. E. S. Roberts, of Llandysilio School, near Llangollen (p. 138), has sent me more bits of legends about the fairies. He heard the following from Mr. Thomas Parry, of Tan y Coed Farm, who had heard it from his father, the late Evan Parry, and the latter from Thomas Morris, of Eglwyseg, who related it to him more than once:--Thomas Morris happened to be returning home from Llangollen very late on one Saturday night in the middle of the summer, and by the time he reached near home the day had dawned, when he saw a number of the Tylwyth Teg with a dog walking about hither and thither on the declivity of the Eglwyseg Rocks, which hung threateningly overhead. When he had looked at them for some minutes, he directed his steps towards them; but as they saw him approaching they hid themselves, as he thought, behind a large stone. On reaching the spot, he found under the stone a hole by which they had made their way into their subterranean home. So ends the tale as related to Mr. Roberts. It is remarkable as representing the fairies looking rather like poachers; but there are not wanting others which speak of their possessing horses and greyhounds, as all gentlemen were supposed to. One of Mr. Roberts' tales is in point: he had it from Mr. Hugh Francis [89], of Holyhead House, Ruthin, and the latter heard it from Robert Roberts, of Amlwch, who has now been dead about thirty years:--About 105 years ago there lived in the parish of Llandyfrydog, near Llannerch y Med, in Anglesey, a man named Ifan Gruffyd, whose cow happened to disappear one day. Ifan Gruffyd was greatly distressed, and he and his daughter walked up and down the whole neighbourhood in search of her. As they were coming back in the evening from their unsuccessful quest, they crossed the field called after the Dyfrydog thief, Cae Lleidr Dyfrydog, where they saw a great number of little men on ponies quickly galloping in a ring. They both drew nigh to look on; but Ifan Gruffyd's daughter, in her eagerness to behold the little knights more closely, got unawares within the circle in which their ponies galloped, and did not return to her father. The latter now forgot all about the loss of the cow, and spent some hours in searching for his daughter; but at last he had to go home without her, in the deepest sadness. A few days afterwards he went to Mynadwyn to consult John Roberts, who was a magician of no mean reputation. That 'wise man' told Ifan Gruffyd to be no longer sad, since he could get his daughter back at the very hour of the night of the anniversary of the time when he lost her. He would, in fact, then see her riding round in the company of the Tylwyth Teg whom he had seen on that memorable night. The father was to go there accompanied by four stalwart men, who were to aid him in the rescue of his daughter. He was to tie a strong rope round his waist, and by means of this his friends were to pull him out of the circle when he entered to seize his daughter. He went to the spot, and in due time he beheld his daughter riding round in great state. In he rushed and snatched her, and, thanks to his friends, he got her out of the fairy ring before the little men had time to think of it. The first thing Ifan's daughter asked him was, if he had found the cow, for she had not the slightest reckoning of the time she had spent with the fairies. Whilst I am about it, I may as well go through Mr. Roberts' contributions. The next is also a tale related to him by Mr. Hugh Francis, and, like the last, it comes from Anglesey. Mr. Francis' great-grandfather was called Robert Francis, and he had a mill at Aberffraw about 100 years ago; and the substance of the following tale was often repeated in the hearing of Mr. Roberts' informant by his father and his grandfather:--In winter Robert Francis used to remain very late at work drying corn in his kiln. As it was needful to keep a steady fire going, he used to go backwards and forwards from the house, looking after it not unfrequently until it was two o'clock in the morning. Once on a time he happened to leave a cauldron full of water on the floor of the kiln, and great was his astonishment on returning to find two little people washing themselves in the water. He abstained from entering to disturb them, and went back to the house to tell his wife of it. 'Oh,' said she, 'they are fairies.' He presently went back to the kiln and found that they were gone. He fancied they were man and wife. However, they had left the place very clean, and to crown all, he found a sum of money left by them to pay him, as he supposed, for the water and the use of the kiln. The ensuing night many more fairies came to the kiln, for the visitors of the previous night had brought their children with them; and the miller found them busy bathing them and looking very comfortable in the warm room where they were. The pay that night was also more considerable than the night before, as the visitors were more numerous. After this the miller never failed to leave a vessel full of water in the kiln every night, and the fairies availed themselves of it for years, until, in fact, they took offence at the miller telling the neighbours of the presents of money which had been left him in the kiln. Thenceforth no fairies were known to frequent the kiln belonging to the Aberffraw mill. The last tale communicated to me by Mr. Roberts is the following, which he elicited from Margaret Davies, his housekeeper, by reading to her some of the fairy legends published in the Cymmrodor a short while ago--probably the Corwrion series, one of which bears great resemblance to hers. Mrs. Davies, who is sixty-one years of age, says that when her parents, Edward and Ann Williams, lived at Rhoslydan, near Bryneglwys, in Yale, some seventy-five years ago, the servant man happened one day in the spring to be ploughing in a field near the house. As he was turning his team back at one end of the field, he heard some one calling out from the other end, Y mae eisieu hoelen yn y pìl, or 'The peel wants a nail'; for pìl is the English peel, a name given to a sort of shovel provided with a long handle for placing loaves in an oven, and for getting them out again. When at length the ploughman had reached the end of the field whence he guessed the call to have proceeded, he there saw a small peel, together with a hammer and a nail, under the hedge. He saw that the peel required a nail to keep it together, and as everything necessary for mending it were there ready to hand, he did as it had been suggested. Then he followed at the plough-tail until he came round again to the same place, and there he this time saw a cake placed for him on the spot where he had previously found the peel and the other things, which had now disappeared. When the servant related this to his master, he told him at once that it was one of the Tylwyth Teg of that locality that had called out to him. With this should be compared the story of the man who mended a fairy's plough vice: see p. 64 above. X. Early this year I had occasion to visit the well-known Hengwrt Library at Peniarth, and during my stay there Mr. Wynne very kindly took me to see such of the Llanegryn people as were most likely to have somewhat to say about the fairies. Many of the inhabitants had heard of them, but they had no long tales about them. One man, however, told me of a William Pritchard, of Pentre Bach, near Llwyngwryl, who died at sixty, over eighty years ago, and of a Rhys Williams, the clerk of Llangelynin, how they were going home late at night from a cock-fight at Llanegryn, and how they came across the fairies singing and dancing on a plot of ground known as Gwastad Meirionyd, 'the Plain of Merioneth,' on the way from Llwyngwryl to Llanegryn. It consists, I am told by Mr. Robert Roberts of Llanegryn, of no more than some twenty square yards, outside which one has a good view of Cardigan Bay and the heights of Merioneth and Carnarvonshire, while from the Gwastad itself neither sea nor mountain is visible. On this spot, then, the belated cockfighters were surrounded by the fairies. They swore at the fairies and took to their heels, but they were pursued as far as Clawd Du. Also I was told that Elen Egryn, the authoress, some sixty years ago, of some poetry called Telyn Egryn, had also seen fairies in her youth, when she used to go up the hills to look after her father's sheep. This happened near a little brook, from which she could see the sea when the sun was in the act of sinking in it; then many fairies would come out dancing and singing, and also crossing and re-crossing the little brook. It was on the side of Rhiwfelen, and she thought the little folks came out of the brook somewhere. She had been scolded for talking about the fairies, but she firmly believed in them to the end of her life. This was told me by Mr. W. Williams, the tailor, who is about sixty years of age; and also by Mr. Rowlands, the ex-bailiff of Peniarth, who is about seventy-five. I was moreover much interested to discover at Llanegryn a scrap of kelpie story, which runs as follows, concerning Llyn Gwernen, situated close to the old road between Dolgelley and Llanegryn:-- As a man from the village of Llanegryn was returning in the dusk of the evening across the mountain from Dolgelley, he heard, when hard by Llyn Gwernen, a voice crying out from the water:-- Daeth yr awr ond ni daeth y dyn! The hour is come but the man is not! As the villager went on his way a little distance, what should meet him but a man of insane appearance, and with nothing on but his shirt. As he saw the man making full pelt for the waters of the lake, he rushed at him to prevent him from proceeding any further. But as to the sequel there is some doubt: one version makes the villager conduct the man back about a mile from the lake to a farm house called Dyffrydan, which was on the former's way home. Others seem to think that the man in his shirt rushed irresistibly into the lake, and this I have no doubt comes nearer the end of the story in its original form. Lately I have heard a part of a similar story about Llyn Cynnwch, which has already been mentioned, p. 135, above. My informant is Miss Lucy Griffith, of Glynmalden, near Dolgelley, a lady deeply interested in Welsh folklore and Welsh antiquities generally. She obtained her information from a Dolgelley ostler, formerly engaged at the Ship Hotel, to the effect that on Gwyl Galan, 'the eve of New Year's Day,' a person is seen walking backwards and forwards on the strand of Cynnwch Lake, crying out:-- Mae'r awr wedi dyfod a'r dyn heb dyfod! The hour is come while the man is not! The ostler stated also that lights are to be seen on Cader Idris on the eve of New Year's Day, whatever that statement may mean. The two lake stories seem to suggest that the Lake Spirit was entitled to a victim once a year, whether the sacrifice was regarded as the result of accident or design. By way of comparison, one may mention the notion, not yet extinct, that certain rivers in various parts of the kingdom regularly claim so many victims: for some instances at random see an article by Mr. J. M. Mackinlay, on Traces of River Worship in Scottish Folklore, a paper published in the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 1895-6, pp. 69-76. Take for example the following rhyme:-- Blood-thirsty Dee Each year needs three; But bonny Don She needs none. Or this:-- Tweed said to Till 'What gars ye rin sae still?' Till said to Tweed 'Though ye rin wi' speed An' I rin slaw, Yet whar ye droon ae man I droon twa.' XI. In the neighbourhood of Ystrad Meurig, between the Teifi and the Ystwyth basins, almost everybody can relate tales about the fairies, but not much that is out of the ordinary run of such stories elsewhere. Among others, Isaac Davies, the smith living at Ystrad Meurig, had heard a great deal about fairies, and he said that there were rings belonging to them in certain fields at Tan y Graig and at Llanafan. Where the rings were, there the fairies danced until the ground became red and bare of grass. The fairies were, according to him, all women, and they dressed like foreigners, in short cotton dresses reaching only to the knee-joint. This description is somewhat peculiar, as the idea prevalent in the country around is, that the fairy ladies had very long trains, and that they were very elegantly dressed; so that it is a common saying there, that girls who dress in a better or more showy fashion than ordinary look like Tylwyth Teg, and the smith confessed he had often heard that said. Similarly Howells, pp. 113, 121-2, finds the dresses of the fairies dancing on the Freni, in the north-east of Pembrokeshire, represented as indescribably elegant and varying in colour; and those who, in the month of May, used to frequent the prehistoric encampment of Moedin [90] or Moydin--from which a whole cantred takes its name in Central Cardiganshire--as fond of appearing in green; while blue petticoats are said, he says, to have prevailed in the fairy dances in North Wales [91]. Another showed me a spot on the other side of the Teifi, where the Tylwyth Teg had a favourite spot for dancing; and at the neighbouring village of Swyd Ffynnon, another meadow was pointed out as their resort on the farm of Dôl Bydyë. According to one account I had there, the fairies dressed themselves in very long clothes, and when they danced they took hold of one another's enormous trains. Besides the usual tales concerning men enticed into the ring and retained in Faery for a year and a day, and concerning the fairies' dread of pren cerdingen or mountain ash, I had the midwife tale in two or three forms, differing more or less from the versions current in North Wales. For the most complete of them I am indebted to one of the young men studying at the Grammar School, Mr. D. Lledrodian Davies. It used to be related by an old woman who died some thirty years ago at the advanced age of about 100. She was Pàli, mother of old Rachel Evans, who died seven or eight years ago, when she was about eighty. The latter was a curious character, who sometimes sang maswed, or rhymes of doubtful propriety, and used to take the children of the village to see fairy rings. She also used to see the Tylwyth, and had many tales to tell of them. But her mother, Pàli, had actually been called to attend at the confinement of one of them. The beginning of the tale is not very explicit; but, anyhow, Pàli one evening found herself face to face with the fairy lady she was to attend upon. She appeared to be the wife of one of the princes of the country. She was held in great esteem, and lived in a very grand palace. Everything there had been arranged in the most beautiful and charming fashion. The wife was in her bed with nothing about her but white, and she fared sumptuously. In due time, when the baby had been born, the midwife had all the care connected with dressing it and serving its mother. Pàli could see or hear nobody in the whole place but the mother and the baby. She had no idea who attended on them, or who prepared all the things they required, for it was all done noiselessly and secretly. The mother was a charming person, of an excellent temper and easy to manage. Morning and evening, as she finished washing the baby, Pàli had a certain ointment given her to rub the baby with. She was charged not to touch it but with her hand, and especially not to put any near her eyes. This was carried out for some time, but one day, as she was dressing the baby, her eyes happened to itch, and she rubbed them with her hand. Then at once she saw a great many wonders she had not before perceived; and the whole place assumed a new aspect to her. She said nothing, and in the course of the day she saw a great deal more. Among other things, she observed small men and small women going in and out, following a variety of occupations. But their movements were as light as the morning breeze. To move about was no trouble to them, and they brought things into the room with the greatest quickness. They prepared dainty food for the confined lady with the utmost order and skill, and the air of kindness and affection with which they served her was truly remarkable. In the evening, as she was dressing the baby, the midwife said to the lady, 'You have had a great many visitors to-day.' To this she replied, 'How do you know that? Have you been putting the ointment to your eyes?' Thereupon she jumped out of bed, and blew into her eyes, saying, 'Now you will see no more.' She never afterwards could see the fairies, however much she tried, nor was the ointment entrusted to her after that day. According, however, to another version which I heard, she was told, on being found out, not to apply the ointment to her eyes any more. She promised she would not; but the narrator thought she broke that promise, as she continued to see the fairies as long as she lived. Mr. D. Ll. Davies has also a version like the North Wales ones. He obtained it from a woman of seventy-eight at Bronnant, near Aberystwyth, who had heard it from one of her ancestors. According to her, the midwife went to the fair called Ffair Rhos, which was held between Ystrad Meurig and Pont Rhyd Fendigaid [92]. There she saw a great many of the Tylwyth very busily engaged, and among others the lady she had been attending upon. That being so, she walked up to her and saluted her. The fairy lady angrily asked how she saw her, and spat in her face, which had the result of putting an end for ever to her power of seeing her or anybody of her race. The same aged woman at Bronnant has communicated to Mr. D. Ll. Davies another tale which differs from all those of the same kind that I happen to know of. On a certain day in spring the farmer living at ---- (Mr. Davies does not remember the name of the farm) lost his calves; and the servant man and the servant girl went out to look for them, but as they were both crossing a marshy flat, the man suddenly missed the girl. He looked for her, and as he could not see her he concluded that she was playing a trick on him. However, after much shouting and searching about the place, he began to think that she must have found her way home, so he turned back and asked if the girl had come in, when he found to his surprise that nobody had seen her come back. The news of her being lost caused great excitement in the country around, since many suspected that he had for some reason put an end to her life: some accounted for it in this way, and some in another. But as nothing could be found out about her, the servant man was taken into custody on the charge of having murdered her. He protested with all his heart, and no evidence could be produced that he had killed the girl. Now, as some had an idea that she had gone to the fairies, it was resolved to send to 'the wise man' (Y dyn hysbys). This was done, and he found out that the missing girl was with the fairies: the trial was delayed, and he gave the servant man directions of the usual kind as to how to get her out. She was watched at the end of the period of twelve months and a day coming round in the dance in the fairy ring at the place where she was lost, and she was successfully drawn out of the ring; but the servant man had to be there in the same clothes as he had on when she left him. As soon as she was released and saw the servant she asked about the calves. On the way home she told her master, the servant man, and the others, that she would stay with them until her master should strike her with iron, but they went their way home in great joy at having found her. One day, however, when her master was about to start from home, and whilst he was getting the horse and cart ready, he asked the girl to assist him, which she did willingly; but as he was bridling the horse, the bit touched the girl and she disappeared instantly, and was never seen from that day forth. I cannot explain this story, unless we regard it as made up of pieces of two different stories which had originally nothing to do with one another; consistency, however, is not to be expected in such matters. Mr. D. Ll. Davies has kindly given me two more tales like the first part of the one I have last summarized, also one in which the missing person, a little boy sent by his mother to fetch some barm for her, comes home of himself after being away a year or more playing with the Tylwyth Teg, whom he found to be very nice, pleasant people; they had been exceedingly kind to him, and they even allowed him to take the bottle with the barm home at the last. This was somewhere between Swyd Ffynnon and Carmarthen. Mr. D. Ll. Davies finds, what I have not found anywhere else, that it was a common idea among the old people in Cardiganshire, that once you came across one of the fairies you could not easily be rid of him; since the fairies were little beings of a very devoted nature. Once a man had become friendly with one of them, the latter would be present with him almost everywhere he went, until it became a burden to him. However, popular belief did not adopt this item of faith without another to neutralize it if necessary: so if one was determined to get rid of the fairy companion, one had in the last resort only to throw a piece of rusty iron at him to be quit of him for ever. Nothing was a greater insult to the fairies. But though they were not difficult to make friends of, they never forgave those who offended them: forgiveness was not an element in their nature. The general account my informant gives of the outward appearance of the fairies as he finds them in the popular belief, is that they were a small handsome race, and that their women dressed gorgeously in white, while the men were content with garments of a dark grey colour, usually including knee-breeches. As might be expected, the descriptions differ very much in different neighbourhoods, and even in different tales from the same neighbourhood: this will surprise no one. It was in the night they came out, generally near water, to sing and dance, and also to steal whatever took their fancy; for thieving was always natural to them; but no one ever complained of it, as it was supposed to bring good luck. XII. Mr. Richard L. Davies, teacher of the Board School at Ystalyfera, in the Tawë Valley, has been kind enough to write out for me a budget of ideas about the Cwm Tawë Fairies, as retailed to him by a native who took great delight in the traditions of his neighbourhood, John Davies (Shôn o'r Bont), who was a storekeeper at Ystalyfera. He died an old man about three years ago. I give his stories as transmitted to me by Mr. Davies, but the reader will find them a little hazy now and then, as when the fairies are made into ordinary conjurer's devils:-- Rhywbeth rhyfed yw yr hen Gastell yna (gan olygu Craig Ynys Geinon): yr wyf yn cofio yr amser pan y bydai yn dychryn gan bobl fyned yn agos ato--yn enwedig y nos: yr oed yn dra pheryglus rhag i dyn gael ei gymeryd at Bendith eu Mamau. Fe dywedir fod wmred o'r rheiny yna, er na wn i pa le y maent yn cadw. 'R oed yr hen bobl yn arferol o dweyd fod pwll yn rhywle bron canol y Castell, tua llathen o led, ac yn bump neu chwech llath o dyfnder, a charreg tua thair tynnell o bwysau ar ei wyneb e', a bod fford dan y daear gandynt o'r pwll hynny bob cam i ogof Tan yr Ogof, bron blaen y Cwm (yn agos i balas Adelina Patti, sef Castell Craig y Nos), mai yno y maent yn treulio eu hamser yn y dyd, ac yn dyfod lawr yma i chwareu eu pranciau yn y nos. Mae gandynt, mede nhw, ysgol aur, o un neu dwy ar hugain o ffyn; ar hyd honno y maent yn tramwy i fyny ac i lawr. Mae gandynt air bach, a dim ond i'r blaenaf ar yr ysgol dywedyd y gair hynny, mae y garreg yn codi o honi ei hunan; a gair arall, ond i'r olaf wrth fyned i lawr ei dywedyd, mae yn cauad ar eu hol. Dywedir i was un o'r ffermyd cyfagos wrth chwilio am wningod yn y graig, dygwyd dyweyd y gair pan ar bwys y garreg, idi agor, ac ido yntau fyned i lawr yr ysgol, ond am na wydai y gair i gauad ar ei ol, fe adnabu y Tylwyth wrth y draught yn diffod y canwyllau fod rhywbeth o le, daethant am ei draws, cymerasant ef atynt, a bu gyda hwynt yn byw ac yn bod am saith mlyned; ymhen y saith mlyned fe diangod a llon'd ei het o guineas gando. Yr oed efe erbyn hyn wedi dysgu y dau air, ac yn gwybod llawer am eu cwtches nhw. Fe dywedod hwn y cwbl wrth ffarmwr o'r gymdogaeth, fe aeth hwnnw drachefn i lawr, ac yr oed rhai yn dyweyd ido dyfod a thri llon'd cawnen halen o guineas, hanner guineas, a darnau saith-a-chwech, odiyno yr un diwrnod. Ond fe aeth yn rhy drachwantus, ac fel llawer un trachwantus o'i flaen, bu ei bechod yn angeu ido. Canys fe aeth i lawr y bedwared waith yngwyll y nos, ond fe daeth y Tylwyth am ei ben, ac ni welwyd byth o hono. Dywedir fod ei bedwar cwarter e' yn hongian mewn ystafell o dan y Castell, ond pwy fu yno i'w gwel'd nhw, wn i dim. Mae yn wir ei wala i'r ffarmwr crybwylledig fyned ar goll, ac na chlybuwyd byth am dano, ac mor wir a hynny i'w dylwyth dyfod yn abl iawn, bron ar unwaith yr amser hynny. A chi wydoch gystal a finnau, eu bod nhw yn dywedyd fod ffyrd tandaearol gandynt i ogofau Ystrad Fellte, yn agos i Benderyn. A dyna y Garn Goch ar y Drum (Onllwyn yn awr) maent yn dweyd fod canoed o dynelli o aur yn stôr gandynt yno; a chi glywsoch am y stori am un o'r Gethings yn myned yno i glodio yn y Garn, ac ido gael ei drawsffurfio gan y Tylwyth i olwyn o dân, ac ido fethu cael llonyd gandynt, hyd nes ido eu danfon i wneyd rhaff o sand! Fe fu gynt hen fenyw yn byw mewn ty bychan gerllaw i Ynys Geinon, ac yr oed hi yn gallu rheibo, mede nhw, ac yr oed sôn ei bod yn treulio saith diwrnod, saith awr, a saith mynyd gyda y Tylwyth Teg bob blwydyn yn Ogof y Castell. Yr oed y gred yn lled gyffredinol ei bod hi yn cael hyn a hyn o aur am bob plentyn a allai hi ladrata idynt hwy, a dodi un o'i hen grithod hwy yn ei le: 'doed hwnnw byth yn cynydu. Y fford y bydai hi yn gwneyd oed myned i'r ty dan yr esgus o ofyn cardod, a hen glogyn llwyd-du mawr ar ei chefn, ac o dan hwn, un o blant Bendith y Mamau; a bob amser os bydai plentyn bach gwraig y ty yn y cawell, hi gymerai y swyd o siglo y cawell, a dim ond i'r fam droi ei chefn am fynyd neu dwy, hi daflai y lledrith i'r cawell, ai ymaith a'r plentyn yn gyntaf byth y gallai hi. Fe fu plentyn gan dyn o'r gym'dogaeth yn lingran am flynydau heb gynydu dim, a barn pawb oed mai wedi cael ei newid gan yr hen wraig yr oed; fe aeth tad y plentyn i fygwth y gwr hysbys arni: fe daeth yr hen wraig yno am saith niwrnod i esgus bado y bachgen bach mewn dwfr oer, a'r seithfed bore cyn ei bod yn oleu, hi a gas genad i fyned ag ef dan rhyw bistyll, mede hi, ond medai'r cym'dogion, myned ag ef i newid a wnaeth. Ond, beth bynag, fe wellod y plentyn fel cyw yr wyd o hynny i maes. Ond gorfu i fam e' wneyd cystal a llw wrth yr hen wraig, y gwnai ei dwco mewn dwfr oer bob bore dros gwarter blwydyn, ac yn mhen y chwarter hynny 'doed dim brafach plentyn yn y Cwm. 'That is a wonderful thing, that old castle there, he would say, pointing to the Ynys Geinon Rock. I remember a time when people would be terrified to go near it, especially at night. There was considerable danger that one might be taken to Bendith eu Mamau. It is said that there are a great many of them there, though I know not where they abide. The old folks used to say that there was a pit somewhere about the middle of the Castle, about a yard wide and some five or six yards deep, with a stone about three tons in weight over the mouth of it, and that they had a passage underground from that pit all the way to the cave of Tan yr Ogof, near the top of the Cwm, that is, near Adelina Patti's residence at Craig y Nos Castle: there, it was said, they spent their time during the day, while they came down here to play their tricks at night. They have, they say, a gold ladder of one or two and twenty rungs, and it is along that they pass up and down. They have a little word; and it suffices if the foremost on the ladder merely utters that word, for the stone to rise of itself; while there is another word, which it suffices the hindmost in going down to utter so that the stone shuts behind him. It is said that a servant from one of the neighbouring farms, when looking for rabbits in the rock, happened to say the word as he stood near the stone, that it opened for him, and that he went down the ladder; but that because he was ignorant of the word to make it shut behind him, the fairies discovered by the draught putting out their candles that there was something wrong. So they found him out and took him with them. He remained living with them for seven years, but at the end of the seven years he escaped with his hat full of guineas. He had by this time learnt the two words, and got to know a good deal about the hiding places of their treasures. He told everything to a farmer in the neighbourhood, so the latter likewise went down, and some used to say that he brought thence thrice the fill of a salt-chest of guineas, half-guineas, and seven-and-sixpenny pieces in one day. But he got too greedy, and like many a greedy one before him his crime proved his death; for he went down the fourth time in the dusk of the evening, when the fairies came upon him, and he was never seen any more. It is said that his four quarters hang in a room under the Castle; but who has been there to see them I know not. It is true enough that the above-mentioned farmer got lost, and that nothing was heard respecting him; and it is equally true that his family became very well to do almost at once at that time. You know as well as I do that they say, that the fairies have underground passages to the caves of Ystradfellte, near Penderyn. There is the Garn Goch also on the Drum (now called Onllwyn); they say there are hundreds of tons of gold accumulated by them there, and you have heard the story about one of the Gethings going thither to dig in the Garn, and how he [sic] was transformed by the fairies into a wheel of fire, and that he could get no quiet from them until he sent them to manufacture a rope of sand!'--A more intelligible version of this story has been given at pp. 19-20 above. 'There was formerly an old woman living in a small house near Ynys Geinon; and she had the power of bewitching, people used to say: there was a rumour that she spent seven days, seven hours, and seven minutes with the fairies every year in the cave at the Castle. It was a pretty general belief that she got such and such a quantity of gold for every child she could steal for them, and that she put one of those old urchins of theirs in its place: the latter never grew at all. The way she used to do it was to enter people's houses with the excuse of asking for alms, having a large dark-grey old cloak on her back, and the cloak concealed one of the children of Bendith eu Mamau. Whenever she found the little child of the good woman of the house in its cradle, she would take upon herself to rock the cradle, so that if the mother only turned her back for a minute or two, she would throw the sham child into the cradle and hurry away as fast as she could with the baby. A man in the neighbourhood had a child lingering for years without growing at all, and it was the opinion of all that it had been changed by the old woman. The father at length threatened to call in the aid of "the wise man," when the old woman came there for seven days, pretending that it was in order to bathe the little boy in cold water; and on the seventh day she got permission to take him, before it was light, under a certain spout of water: so she said, but the neighbours said it was to change him. However that was, the boy from that time forth got on as fast as a gosling. But the mother had all but to take an oath to the old woman, that she would duck him in cold water every morning for three months, and by the end of that time there was no finer infant in the Cwm.' Mr. Davies has given me some account also of the annual pilgrimage to the Fan mountains to see the Lake Lady: these are his words on the subject--they recall pp. 15-16 above:-- 'It has been the yearly custom (for generations, as far as I can find) for young as well as many people further advanced in years to make a general excursion in carts, gambos, and all kinds of vehicles, to Llyn y Fan, in order to see the water nymph (who appeared on one day only, viz. the first Sunday in August). This nymph was said to have the lower part of her body resembling that of a dolphin, while the upper part was that of a beautiful lady: this anomalous form appeared on the first Sunday in August (if the lake should be without a ripple) and combed her tresses on the reflecting surface of the lake. The yearly peregrination to the abode of the Fan deity is still kept up in this valley--Cwmtawë; but not to the extent that it used to formerly.' XIII. Mr. Craigfryn Hughes has sent me another tale about the fairies: it has to do with the parish of Llanfabon, near the eastern border of Glamorganshire. Many traditions cluster round the church of Llanfabon, beginning with its supposed building by Saint Mabon, but which of the Mabons of Welsh legend he was, is not very certain. Not very far is a place called Pant y Dawns, or the Dance Hollow, in allusion to the visits paid to the spot by Bendith y Mamau, as the fairies are there called. In the same neighbourhood stand also the ruins of Castell y Nos, or the Castle of the Night [93], which tradition represents as uninhabitable because it had been built of stones from Llanfabon Church, and on account of the ghosts that used to haunt it. However, one small portion of it was usually tenanted formerly by a 'wise man' or by a witch. In fact, the whole country round Llanfabon Church teemed with fairies, ghosts, and all kinds of uncanny creatures:-- Mewn amaethdy ag syd yn aros yn y plwyf a elwir y Berth Gron, trigiannai gwedw ieuanc a'i phlentyn bychan. Yr oed wedi colli ei gwr, a'i hunig gysur yn ei hamdifadrwyd a'i hunigrwyd oed Gruff, ei mab. Yr oed ef yr amser hwn odeutu tair blwyd oed, ac yn blentyn braf ar ei oedran. Yr oed y plwyf, ar y pryd, yn orlawn o 'Fendith y Mamau'; ac, ar amser llawn lloer, bydent yn cadw dynion yn effro a'u cerdoriaeth hyd doriad gwawr. Rhai hynod ar gyfrif eu hagrwch oed 'Bendith' Llanfabon, ac yr un mor hynod ar gyfrif eu castiau. Lladrata plant o'r cawellau yn absenoldeb eu mamau, a denu dynion trwy eu swyno a cherdoriaeth i ryw gors afiach a diffaith, a ymdangosai yn gryn difyrrwch idynt. Nid rhyfed fod y mamau beunyd ar eu gwyliadwriaeth rhag ofn colli eu plant. Yr oed y wedw o dan sylw yn hynod ofalus am ei mab, gymaint nes tynnu rhai o'r cymydogion i dywedyd wrthi ei bod yn rhy orofalus, ac y bydai i ryw anlwc ordiwes ei mab. Ond ni thalai unrhyw sylw i'w dywediadau. Ymdangosai fod ei holl hyfrydwch a'i chysur ynghyd a'i gobeithion yn cydgyfarfod yn ei mab. Mod bynnag, un diwrnod, clywod ryw lais cwynfannus yn codi o gymydogaeth y beudy; a rhag bod rhywbeth wedi digwyd i un o'r gwartheg rhedod yn orwyllt tuag yno, gan adael y drws heb ei gau, a'i mab bychan yn y ty. Ond pwy a fedr desgrifio ei gofid ar ei gwaith yn dyfod i'r ty wrth weled eisiau ei mab? Chwiliod bob man am dano, ond yn aflwydiannus. Odeutu machlud haul, wele lencyn bychan yn gwneuthur ei ymdangosiad o'i blaen, ac yn dywedyd, yn groyw, 'Mam!' Edrychod y fam yn fanwl arno, a dywedod o'r diwed, 'Nid fy mhlentyn i wyt ti!' 'Ië, yn sicr,' atebai y bychan. Nid ymdangosai y fam yn fodlon, na'i bod yn credu mai ei phlentyn hi ydoed. Yr oed rhywbeth yn sisial yn barhaus wrthi mai nid ei mab hi ydoed. Ond beth bynnag, bu gyda hi am flwydyn gyfan, ac nid ymdangosai ei fod yn cynydu dim, tra yr oed Gruff, ei mab hi, yn blentyn cynydfawr iawn. Yr oed gwr bychan yn myned yn fwy hagr bob dyd hefyd. O'r diwed penderfynod fyned at y 'dyn hysbys,' er cael rhyw wybodaeth a goleuni ar y mater. Yr oed yn digwyd bod ar y pryd yn trigfannu yn Nghastell y Nos, wr ag oed yn hynod ar gyfrif ei ymwybydiaeth drwyadl o 'gyfrinion y fall.' Ar ol idi osod ei hachos ger ei fron, ac yntau ei holi, sylwod, 'Crimbil ydyw, ac y mae dy blentyn di gyd a'r hen Fendith yn rhywle; ond i ti dilyn fy nghyfarwydiadau i yn ffydlon a manwl, fe adferir dy blentyn i ti yn fuan. Yn awr, odeutu canol dyd y foru, tor wy yn y canol, a thafl un hanner ymaith odiwrthyt, a chadw y llall yn dy law, a dechreu gymysg ei gynwysiad yn ol a blaen. Cofia fod y gwr bychan gerllaw yn gwneuthur sylw o'r hyn ag a fydi yn ei wneuthur. Ond cofia di a pheidio galw ei sylw--rhaid ennill ei sylw at y weithred heb ei alw: ac odid fawr na ofynna i ti beth fydi yn ei wneuthur. A dywed wrtho mai cymysg pastai'r fedel yr wyt. A rho wybod i mi beth fyd ei ateb.' Dychwelod y wraig, a thrannoeth dilynod gyfarwydyd y 'dyn cynnil' i'r llythyren. Yr oed y gwr bychan yn sefyll yn ei hymyl, ac yn sylwi arni yn fanwl. Ym mhen ychydig, gofynnod, 'Mam, beth 'i ch'i 'neuthur?' 'Cymysg pastai'r fedel, machgen i.' 'O felly. Mi glywais gan fy nhad, fe glywod hwnnw gan ei dad, a hwnnw gan ei dad yntau, fod mesen cyn derwen, a derwen mewn dâr [94]; ond ni chlywais i na gweled neb yn un man yn cymysg pastai'r fedel mewn masgal wy iar.' Sylwod y wraig ei fod yn edrych yn hynod o sarug arni pan yn siarad, ac yr oed hynny yn ychwanegu at ei hagrwch, nes ei wneuthur yn wrthun i'r pen. Y prydnawn hwnnw aeth y wraig at y 'dyn cynnil' er ei hysbysu o'r hyn a lefarwyd gan y còr. 'O,' ebai hwnnw, 'un o'r hen frid ydyw!' 'Yn awr, byd y llawn lloer nesaf ym mhen pedwar diwrnod; mae yn rhaid i ti fyned i ben y pedair heol syd yn cydgyfarfod wrth ben Rhyd y Gloch; am deudeg o'r gloch y nos y byd y lleuad yn llawn. Cofia gudio dy hun mewn man ag y cei lawn olwg ar bennau y croesffyrd, ac os gweli rywbeth a bair i ti gynhyrfu, cofia fod yn llonyd, ac ymatal rhag rhodi ffrwyn i'th deimladau, neu fe distrywir y cynllun, ac ni chei dy fab yn ol byth.' Nis gwydai y fam anffodus beth oed i'w deall wrth ystori ryfed y 'dyn cynnil.' Yr oed mewn cymaint o dywyllwch ag erioed. O'r diwed daeth yr amser i ben; ac ar yr awr apwyntiedig yr oed yn ymgudio yn ofalus tu cefn i lwyn mawr yn ymyl, o ba le y caffai olwg ar bob peth o gylch. Bu am hir amser yno yn gwylio heb dim i'w glywed na'i weled--dim ond distawrwyd dwfn a phrudglwyfus yr hanner nos yn teyrnasu. O'r diwed clywai sain cerdoriaeth yn dynesu ati o hirbell. Nês, nês yr oed y sain felusber yn dyfod o hyd; a gwrandawai hithai gyda dydordeb arni. Cyn hir yr oed yn ei hymyl, a deallod mai gorymdaith o 'Fendith y Mamau' oedynt yn myned i rywle. Yr oedynt yn gannoed mewn rhif. Tua chanol yr orymdaith canfydod olygfa ag a drywanod ei chalon, ac a berod i'w gwaed sefyll yn ei rhedwelïau. Yn cerded rhwng pedwar o'r 'Bendith' yr oed ei phlentyn bychan anwyl ei hun. Bu bron a llwyr anghofio ei hun, a llamu tuag ato er ei gipio ymaith odiarnynt trwy drais os gallai. Ond pan ar neidio allan o'i hymgudfan i'r diben hwnnw medyliod am gynghor y 'dyn cynnil,' sef y bydai i unrhyw gynhyrfiad o'i heido distrywio y cwbl, ac na bydai idi gael ei phlentyn yn ol byth. Ar ol i'r orymdaith dirwyn i'r pen, ac i sain eu cerdoriaeth distewi yn y pellder, daeth allan o'i hymgudfan, gan gyfeirio ei chamrau tua 'i chartref. Os oed yn hiraethol o'r blaen ar ol ei mab, yr oed yn llawer mwy erbyn hyn; a'i hadgasrwyd at y còr bychan oed yn hawlio ei fod yn fab idi wedi cynydu yn fawr iawn, waith yr oed yn sicr yn awr yn ei medwl mai un o'r hen frid ydoed. Nis gwydai pa fod i'w odef am fynud yn hwy yn yr un ty a hi, chwaithach godef ido alw 'mam' arni hi. Ond beth bynnag, cafod digon o ras ataliol i ymdwyn yn wedaid at y gwr bychan hagr oed gyda hi yn y ty. Drannoeth aeth ar ei hunion at y 'dyn cynnil' i adrod yr hyn yr oed wedi bod yn llygad dyst o hono y noson gynt, ac i ofyn am gyfarwydyd pellach. Yr oedd y 'gwr cynnil' yn ei disgwyl, ac ar ei gwaith yn dyfod i'r ty adnabydod wrthi ei bod wedi gweled rhywbeth oed wedi ei chyffroi. Adrodod wrtho yr hyn ag oed wedi ei ganfod ar ben y croesffyrd; ac wedi ido glywed hynny, agorod lyfr mawr ag oed gando, ac wedi hir syllu arno hysbysod hi 'fod yn angenrheidiol idi cyn cael ei phlentyn yn ol gael iâr du heb un plufyn gwyn nac o un lliw arall arni, a'i llad; ac ar ol ei lladd, ei gosod o flaen tan coed, pluf a chwbl, er ei phobi. Mor gynted ag y buasai yn ei gosod o flaen y tan, idi gau pob twll a mynedfa yn yr adeilad ond un, a pheidio a dal sylw manwl ar ol y 'crimbil,' hyd nes bydai y iâr yn digon, a'r pluf i syrthio ymaith oddiarni bob un, ac yna i edrych ym mha le yr oed ef. Er mor rhyfed oed cyfarwydyd y 'gwr,' penderfynod ei gynnyg; a thrannoeth aeth i chwilio ym mhlith y ieir oed yno am un o'r desgrifiad angenrheidiol; ond er ei siomedigaeth method a chael yr un. Aeth o'r naill ffermdy i'r llall i chwilio, ond ymdangosai ffawd fel yn gwgu arni--waith method a chael yr un. Pan ym mron digaloni gan ei haflwydiant daeth ar draws un mewn amaethdy yng nghwr y plwyf a phrynod hi yn dioedi. Ar ol dychwelyd adref gosodod y tan mewn trefn, a lladod yr iâr, gan ei gosod o flaen y tan disglaer a losgai ar yr alch. Pan yn edrych arni yn pobi, anghofiod y 'crimbil' yn hollol, ac yr oed wedi syrthio i rywfath o brudlewyg, pryd y synnwyd hi gan sain cerdoriaeth y tu allan i'r ty, yn debyg i'r hyn a glywod ychydig nosweithiau cyn hynny ar ben y croesffyrd. Yr oed y pluf erbyn hyn wedi syrthio ymaith odiar y iâr, ac erbyn edrych yr oed y 'crimbil' wedi diflannu. Edrychai y fam yn wyllt o'i deutu, ac er ei llawenyd clywai lais ei mab colledig yn galw arni y tu allan. Rhedod i'w gyfarfod, gan ei gofleidio yn wresog; a phan ofynod ym mha le yr oed wedi bod cyhyd, nid oed gando gyfrif yn y byd i'w rodi ond mai yn gwrando ar ganu hyfryd yr oed wedi bod. Yr oed yn deneu a threuliedig iawn ei wed pan adferwyd ef. Dyna ystori 'Y Plentyn Colledig.' 'At a farm house still remaining in the parish of Llanfabon, which is called the Berth Gron, there lived once upon a time a young widow and her infant child. After losing her husband her only comfort in her bereavement and solitary state was young Griff, her son. He was about three years old and a fine child for his age. The parish was then crammed full of Bendith y Mamau, and when the moon was bright and full they were wont to keep people awake with their music till the break of day. The fairies of Llanfabon were remarkable on account of their ugliness, and they were equally remarkable on account of the tricks they played. Stealing children from their cradles during the absence of their mothers, and luring men by means of their music into some pestilential and desolate bog, were things that seemed to afford them considerable amusement. It was no wonder then that mothers used to be daily on the watch lest they should lose their children. The widow alluded to was remarkably careful about her son, so much so, that it made some of the neighbours say that she was too anxious about him and that some misfortune would overtake her child. But she paid no attention to their words, as all her joy, her comfort, and her hopes appeared to meet together in her child. However, one day she heard a moaning voice ascending from near the cow-house, and lest anything had happened to the cattle, she ran there in a fright, leaving the door of the house open and her little son in the cradle. Who can describe her grief on her coming in and seeing that her son was missing? She searched everywhere for him, but it was in vain. About sunset, behold a little lad made his appearance before her and said to her quite distinctly, "Mother." She looked minutely at him, and said at last, "Thou art not my child." "I am truly," said the little one. But the mother did not seem satisfied about it, nor did she believe it was her child. Something whispered to her constantly, as it were, that it was not her son. However, he remained with her a whole year, but he did not seem to grow at all, whereas Griff, her son, was a very growing child. Besides, the little fellow was getting uglier every day. At last she resolved to go to the "wise man," in order to have information and light on the matter. There happened then to be living at Castell y Nos, "Castle of the Night," a man who was remarkable for his thorough acquaintance with the secrets of the evil one. When she had laid her business before him and he had examined her, he addressed the following remark to her: "It is a crimbil [95], and thy own child is with those old Bendith somewhere or other: if thou wilt follow my directions faithfully and minutely thy child will be restored to thee soon. Now, about noon to-morrow cut an egg through the middle; throw the one half away from thee, but keep the other in thy hand, and proceed to mix it backwards and forwards. See that the little fellow be present paying attention to what thou art doing, but take care not to call his attention to it--his attention must be drawn to it without calling to him--and very probably he will ask what thou wouldst be doing. Thou art to say that it is mixing a pasty for the reapers that thou art. Let me know what he will then say." The woman returned, and on the next day she followed the cunning man's [96] advice to the letter: the little fellow stood by her and watched her minutely; presently he asked, "Mother, what are you doing?" "Mixing a pasty for the reapers, my boy." "Oh, that is it. I heard from my father--he had heard it from his father and that one from his father--that an acorn was before the oak, and that the oak was in the earth; but I have neither heard nor seen anybody mixing the pasty for the reapers in an egg-shell." The woman observed that he looked very cross as he spoke, and that it so added to his ugliness that it made him highly repulsive. 'That afternoon the woman went to the cunning man in order to inform him of what the dwarf had said. "Oh," said he, "he is of that old breed; now the next full moon will be in four days--thou must go where the four roads meet above Rhyd y Gloch [97], at twelve o'clock the night the moon is full. Take care to hide thyself at a spot where thou canst see the ends of the cross-roads; and shouldst thou see anything that would excite thee take care to be still and to restrain thyself from giving way to thy feelings, otherwise the scheme will be frustrated and thou wilt never have thy son back." The unfortunate mother knew not what to make of the strange story of the cunning man; she was in the dark as much as ever. At last the time came, and by the appointed hour she had concealed herself carefully behind a large bush close by, whence she could see everything around. She remained there a long time watching; but nothing was to be seen or heard, while the profound and melancholy silence of midnight dominated over all. At last she began to hear the sound of music approaching from afar; nearer and nearer the sweet sound continued to come, and she listened to it with rapt attention. Ere long it was close at hand, and she perceived that it was a procession of Bendith y Mamau going somewhere or other. They were hundreds in point of number, and about the middle of the procession she beheld a sight that pierced her heart and made the blood stop in her veins--walking between four of the Bendith she saw her own dear little child. She nearly forgot herself altogether, and was on the point of springing into the midst of them violently to snatch him from them if she could; but when she was on the point of leaping out of her hiding place for that purpose, she thought of the warning of the cunning man, that any disturbance on her part would frustrate all, so that she would never get her child back. When the procession had wound itself past, and the sound of the music had died away in the distance, she issued from her concealment and directed her steps homewards. Full of longing as she was for her son before, she was much more so now; and her disgust at the little dwarf who claimed to be her son had very considerably grown, for she was now certain in her mind that he was one of the old breed. She knew not how to endure him for a moment longer under the same roof with her, much less his addressing her as "mother." However, she had enough restraining grace to behave becomingly towards the ugly little fellow that was with her in the house. On the morrow she went without delay to the "wise man" to relate what she had witnessed the previous night, and to seek further advice. The cunning man expected her, and as she entered he perceived by her looks that she had seen something that had disturbed her. She told him what she had beheld at the cross-roads, and when he had heard it he opened a big book which he had; then, after he had long pored over it, he told her, that before she could get her child back, it was necessary for her to find a black hen without a single white feather, or one of any other colour than black: this she was to place to bake before a wood [98] fire with its feathers and all intact. Moreover, as soon as she placed it before the fire, she was to close every hole and passage in the walls except one, and not to look very intently after the crimbil until the hen was done enough and the feathers had fallen off it every one: then she might look where he was. 'Strange as the advice of the wise man sounded, she resolved to try it; so she went the next day to search among the hens for one of the requisite description; but to her disappointment she failed to find one. She then walked from one farm house to another in her search; but fortune appeared to scowl at her, as she seemed to fail in her object. When, however, she was nearly disheartened, she came across the kind of hen she wanted at a farm at the end of the parish. She bought it, and after returning home she arranged the fire and killed the hen, which she placed in front of the bright fire burning on the hearth. Whilst watching the hen baking she altogether forgot the crimbil; and she fell into a sort of swoon, when she was astonished by the sound of music outside the house, similar to the music she had heard a few nights before at the cross-roads. The feathers had by this time fallen off the hen, and when she came to look for the crimbil he had disappeared. The mother cast wild looks about the house, and to her joy she heard the voice of her lost son calling to her from outside. She ran to meet him, and embraced him fervently. But when she asked him where he had been so long, he had no account in the world to give but that he had been listening to pleasant music. He was very thin and worn in appearance when he was restored. Such is the story of the Lost Child.' Let me remark as to the urchin's exclamation concerning the cooking done in the egg-shell, that Mr. Hughes, as the result of further inquiry, has given me what he considers a more correct version; but it is no less inconsequent, as will be seen:-- Mi glywais gan fy nhad ac yntau gan ei dad, a hwnnw gan ei dad yntau, Fod mesen cyn derwen a'i phlannu mwn dár: Ni chlywais yn unman am gymysg y bastai yn masgal wy iâr. I heard from my father and he from his father, and that one from his father, That the acorn exists before the oak and the planting of it in the ground: Never anywhere have I heard of mixing the pasty in the shell of a hen's egg. In Dewi Glan Ffrydlas' story from the Ogwen Valley, in Carnarvonshire, p. 62 above, it is not the cooking of a pasty but the brewing of beer in an egg-shell. However what is most remarkable is that the egg-shell is similarly used in stories from other lands. Mr. Hartland cites one from Mecklenburg and another from Scandinavia. He also mentions stories in which the imp measures his own age by the number of forests which he has seen growing successively on the same soil, the formula being of the following kind: 'I have seen the Forest of Ardennes burnt seven times,' 'Seven times have I seen the wood fall in Lessö Forest,' or 'I am so old, I was already in the world before the Kamschtschen Wood (in Lithuania) was planted, wherein great trees grew, and that is now laid waste again [99].' From these and the like instances it is clear that the Welsh versions here in question are partially blurred, as the fairy child's words should have been to the effect that he was old enough to remember the oak when it was yet but an acorn; and an instance of this explicit kind is given by Howells--it comes from Llandrygarn in Anglesey--see p. 139, where his words run thus: 'I can remember yon oak an acorn, but I never saw in my life people brewing in an egg-shell before.' I may add that I have been recently fortunate enough to obtain from Mr. Llywarch Reynolds another kind of estimate of the fairy urchin's age. He writes that his mother remembers a very old Merthyr woman who used to tell the story of the egg-shell cookery, but in words differing from all the other versions known to him, thus:-- Wy'n hén y dyd hedy, Ag yn byw cyn 'y ngeni: Eriôd ni welas i ferwi Bwyd i'r fedal mwn cwcwll [100] wy iâr. I call myself old this day, And living before my birth: Never have I seen food boiled For the reapers in an egg-shell. As to the urchin's statement that he was old and had lived before, it is part of a creed of which we may have something to say in a later chapter. At this point let it suffice to call attention to the same idea in the Book of Taliessin, poem ix:-- Hynaf uyd dyn pan anher A ieu ieu pop amser. A man is wont to be oldest when born, And younger and younger all the time. XIV. Before closing this chapter, I wish to touch on the question of the language of the fairies, though fairy tales hardly ever raise it, as they usually assume the fairies to speak the same language as the mortals around them. There is, however, one well-known exception, namely, the story of Eliodorus, already mentioned, p. 117, as recorded by Giraldus Cambrensis, who relates how Eliodorus, preferring at the age of twelve to play the truant to undergoing a frequent beating by his teacher, fasted two days in hiding in the hollow of a river bank, and how he was then accosted by two little men who induced him to follow them to a land of sports and other delights. There he remained long enough to be able, years later, to give his diocesan, the second Menevian bishop named David [101], a comprehensive account of the people and realm of Faery. After Eliodorus had for some time visited and revisited that land of twilight, his mother desired him to bring her some of the gold of the fairies. So one day he tried to bring away the gold ball with which the fairy king's son used to play; but he was not only unsuccessful, but subjected to indignities also, and prevented from evermore finding his way back to fairyland. So he had to go again to school and to the studies which he so detested; but in the course of time he learned enough to become a priest; and when, stricken in years, he used to be entreated by Bishop David to relate this part of his early history, he never could be got to unfold his tale without shedding tears. Among other things which he said of the fairies' mode of living, he stated that they ate neither flesh nor fish, but lived for the most part on various kinds of milk food cooked after the fashion of stirabout, flavoured as it were with saffron [102]. But one of the most curious portions of Eliodorus' yarn was that relating to the language of the fairies; for he pretended to have learnt it and to have found it to resemble his own Britannica Lingua, 'Brythoneg, or Welsh.' In the words instanced Giraldus perceived a similarity to Greek [103], which he accounted for by means of the fabulous origin of the Welsh from the Trojans and the supposed sojourn made in Greece by those erring Trojans on their way to Britain. Giraldus displays quite a pretty interest in comparative philology, and talks glibly of the Lingua Britannica; but one never feels certain that he knew very much more about it than the author of the Germania, the first to refer to it under that name. Tacitus, however, had the excuse that he lived at a distance and some eleven centuries before the advent of Gerald the Welshman. Giraldus' words prove, on close examination, to be of no help to us on the question of language; but on the other hand I have but recently begun looking out for stories bearing on it. It is my impression that such are not plentiful; but I proceed to subjoin an abstract of a phantom funeral tale in point from Ystên Sioned (Aberystwyth, 1882), pp. 8-16. Ystên Sioned, I ought to explain, consists of a number of stories collected and edited in Welsh by the Rev. Chancellor Silvan Evans, though he has not attached his name to it:--The harvest of 1816 was one of the wettest ever known in Wales, and a man and his wife who lived on a small farm in one of the largest parishes in the Hundred of Moedin (see p. 245 above) in the Demetian part of Cardiganshire went out in the evening of a day which had been comparatively dry to make some reaped corn into sheaves, as it had long been down. It was a beautiful night, with the harvest moon shining brightly, and the field in which they worked had the parish road passing along one of its sides, without a hedge or a ditch to separate it from the corn. When they had been busily at work binding sheaves for half an hour or more, they happened to hear the hum of voices, as if of a crowd of people coming along the road leading into the field. They stopped a moment, and looking in the direction whence the sounds came, they saw in the light of the moon a number of people coming into sight and advancing in their direction. They bent then again to their work without thinking much about what they had seen and heard; for they fancied it was some belated people making for the village, which was about a mile off. But the hum and confused sounds went on increasing, and when the two binders looked up again, they beheld a large crowd of people almost opposite and not far from them. As they continued looking on they beheld quite clearly a coffin on a bier carried on the shoulders of men, who were relieved by others in turns, as usual in funeral processions in the country. 'Here is a funeral,' said the binders to one another, forgetting for the moment that it was not usual for funerals to be seen at night. They continued looking on till the crowd was right opposite them, and some of them did not keep to the road, but walked over the corn alongside of the bulk of the procession. The two binders heard the talk and whispering, the noise and hum as if of so many real men and women passing by, but they did not understand a word that was said: not a syllable could they comprehend, not a face could they recognize. They kept looking at the procession till it went out of sight on the way leading towards the parish church. They saw no more of them, and now they began to feel uneasy and went home leaving the corn alone as it was; but further on the funeral was met by a tailor at a point in the road where it was narrow and bounded by a fence (clawd) on either side. The procession filled the road from hedge to hedge, and the tailor tried to force his way through it, but such was the pressure of the throng that he was obliged to get out of their way by crossing the hedge. He also failed to understand a word of the talk which he heard. In about three weeks after this sham funeral [104], there came a real one down that way from the upper end of the parish. Such, in brief, is the story so charmingly told by Silvan Evans, which he got from the mouths of the farmer and his wife, whom he considered highly honest and truthful persons, as well as comparatively free from superstition. The last time they talked to him about the incident they were very advanced in years, and both died within a few weeks of one another early in the year 1852. Their remains, he adds, lie in the churchyard towards which they had seen the toeli slowly making its way. For toeli is the phonetic spelling in Ystên Sioned of the word which is teulu in North Cardiganshire and in North Wales, for Old Welsh toulu. The word now means 'family,' though literally it should mean 'house-army' or 'house-troops,' and it is practically a synonym for tylwyth, 'family or household,' literally 'house-tribe.' Now the toeli or toulu is such an important institution in Demetian Cardiganshire and some parts of Dyfed proper, that the word has been confined to the phantom, and for the word family in its ordinary significations one has there to have recourse to the non-dialect form teulu [105]. In North Cardiganshire and North Wales the toeli is called simply a cladedigaeth, 'burial,' or anglad, 'funeral'; in the latter also cynhebrwng is a funeral. I may add that when I was a child in the neighbourhood of Ponterwyd, on the upper course of the Rheidol, hardly a year used to pass without somebody or other meeting a phantom funeral. Sometimes one got entangled in the procession, and ran the risk of being carried off one's feet by the throng. There is, however, one serious difference between our phantom funerals and the Demetian toeli, namely, that we recognize our neighbours' ghosts as making up the processions, and we have no trouble in understanding their talk. At this point a question of some difficulty presents itself as to the toeli, namely, what family does it mean?--is it the family and friends of the departed on his way to the grave, or does it mean the family in the sense of Tylwyth Teg, 'Fair Family,' as applied to the fairies? I am inclined to the latter view, but I prefer thinking that the distinction itself does not penetrate very deeply, seeing that a certain species of the Tylwyth Teg, or fairies, may, in point of origin, be regarded as deceased friends and ancestors of the tylwyth, in the ordinary sense of the word. In fact all this kind of rehearsal of events seems to have been once looked at as friendly to the men and women whom it concerned. This will be seen, for instance, in the Demetian account of the canwyll gorff, or corpse candle, as granted through the intercession of St. David to the people of his special care, as a means of warning each to get ready in time for his death; that is to say, to prevent death finding him unprepared. It is hard to guess why it was assumed that the canwyll gorff was unknown in other parts of Wales. One or two instances in point occur in Owen's Welsh Folklore, pp. 298-301; and I have myself heard of them being seen in Anglesey, while they were quite well known to members of Mrs. Rhys' mother's family, who lived in the parish of Waen Fawr, in the neighbourhood of Carnarvon. Nor does it appear that phantom funerals were at all confined to South Wales. Proof to the contrary is supplied to some extent in Owen's Folklore, p. 301; but there is no doubt that in recent times the belief in them, as well as in the canwyll gorff, has been more general and more vivid in South Wales than in North Wales, especially Gwyned. I have not been fortunate enough to come across anything systematic or comprehensive on the origin and meaning of ghostly rehearsals like the Welsh phantom funeral or coffin making. But the subject is an interesting one which deserves the attention of our leading folklore philosophers, as does also the cognate one of second sight, by which it is widely overlapped. Quite recently--at the end of 1899 in fact--I received three brief stories, for which I am indebted to the further kindness of Alaw Lleyn (p. 228), who lives at Bynhadlog near Edern in Lleyn, and two out of the three touch on the question of language. But as the three belong to one and the same district, I give the substance of all in English as follows:-- (1) There were at a small harbour belonging to Nefyn some houses in which several families formerly lived; the houses are there still, but nobody lives in them now. There was one family there to which a little girl belonged: they used to lose her for hours every day; so her mother was very angry with her for being so much away. 'I must know,' said she, 'where you go for your play.' The girl answered that it was to Pin y Wig, 'The Wig Point,' which meant a place to the west of the Nefyn headland: it was there, she said, she played with many children. 'Whose children?' asked the mother. 'I don't know,' she replied; 'they are very nice children, much nicer than I am.' 'I must know whose children they are,' was the reply; and one day the mother went with her little girl to see the children: it was a distance of about a quarter of a mile to Pin y Wig, and after climbing the slope and walking a little along the top they came in sight of the Pin. It is from this Pin that the people of Pen yr Allt got water, and it is from there they get it still. Now after coming near the Pin the little girl raised her hands with joy at the sight of the children. 'O mother,' said she, 'their father is with them to-day: he is not with them always, it is only sometimes that he is.' The mother asked the child where she saw them. 'There they are, mother, running down to the Pin, with their father sitting down.' 'I see nobody, my child,' was the reply, and great fear came upon the mother: she took hold of the child's hand in terror, and it came to her mind at once that they were the Tylwyth Teg. Never afterwards was the little girl allowed to go to Pin y Wig: the mother had heard that the Tylwyth Teg exchanged people's children. Such is the first story, and it is only remarkable, perhaps, for its allusion to the father of the fairy children. (2) There used to be at Edern an old woman who occupied a small farm called Glan y Gors: the same family lives there still. One day this old woman had gone to a fair at Criccieth, whence she returned through Pwllheli. As she was getting above Gors Geirch, which was then a turbary and a pretty considerable bog, a noise reached her ears: she stopped and heard the sound of much talking. By-and-by she beheld a great crowd of men and women coming to meet her. She became afraid and stepped across the fence to let them go by. There she remained a while listening to their chatter, and when she thought that they had gone far enough she returned to the road and began to resume her way home. But before she had gone many steps she heard the same sort of noise again, and saw again the same sort of crowd coming; so she recrossed the fence in great fear, saying to herself, 'Here I shall be all night!' She remained there till they also had gone, and she wondered what they could be, and whether they were people who had been to visit Plas Madrun--afterwards, on inquiry, she found that no such people had been there that day. Now the old woman was near enough to the passers-by to hear them talking (clebran) and chattering (bregliach), but not a word could she understand of what they uttered: it was not Welsh and she did not think that it was English--it is, however, not supposed that she knew English. She related further that the last crowd shouted all together to the other crowd in advance of them Wi, and that the latter replied Wi Wei or something like that. This account Alaw Lleyn has got, he says, from a great-granddaughter of the old woman, and she heard it all from her father, Bard Llechog, who always had faith in the fairies, and believed that they will come again to be seen of men and women. For he thought that they had their periods, a belief which I have come across elsewhere, and more especially in Carnarvonshire [106]. Now what are we to make of such a story? I recollect reading somewhere of a phantom wedding in Scotland, but in Wales we seem to have nothing more closely resembling this than a phantom funeral. Nevertheless what the old woman of Glan y Gors thought she saw looks by no means unlike a Welsh wedding marching on foot, especially when, as I have seen done, one party tried--seemingly in good earnest--to escape the other and to take the bride away from it. Moreover, that the figures making up the two crowds in her story are to be regarded as fairies is rendered probable by the next story, which describes the phantoms therein expressly as little men and little women. (3) The small farm of Perth y Celyn in Edern used to be held by an old man named Griffith Griffiths. In his best days he stood six foot, and he has left behind him a double reputation for bodily strength and great piety. My informant can well remember him walking to chapel with the aid of his two sticks. The story goes that one day, when he was in his prime, he set out from Perth y Celyn at two in the morning to walk to Carnarvon to pay his rent: there was no talk in those days of a carriage for anybody. After passing through Nefyn and Pistyll, he came in due time to Bwlch Trwyn Swncwl [107]: he writes this name also Bwlch Drws Wncwl, with the suggestion that it ought to be Bwlch Drws Encil, and that the place must have been of importance in the wars of the ancient Kymry. The high-road, he goes on to say, runs through the Bwlch, and as Griffith was entering this gap what should he hear but a great deal of talking. He stopped and listened, when to his surprise he saw coming towards him, devoid of all fear, a crowd of little men and little women. They talked aloud, but he could not understand a single word they said: he thought that it was neither Welsh nor English. They passed by him on the road, but he moved aside to the ditch lest they should knock against him; but no feeling of fear came upon him. The old man believed them to have been the Tylwyth Teg. In the story of the Moedin funeral the language of the toeli was not intelligible to the farmer and his wife, or to the tailor, and here in two stories from Lleyn we have it clearly stated that it was neither Welsh nor, probably, English. Since the fairies are always represented as old-fashioned in their ways, it is quite possible that they were once regarded as talking a more ancient language of the country. Which was it? An early version of these legends might perhaps have supplied the answer, and told us that it was Gwydelig or Goidelic, if not an earlier idiom, to wit that of the Aborigines before they learnt Goidelic from the Celts of the first wave of Aryan invasion, whether it was in the region of the Eifl or in the Demetian half of Keredigion. As to the former it is worthy of note that when Griffith had reached Bwlch Trwyn Swncwl he was in the outskirts of the Eifl Mountains, on one of whose heights, not very far off, is the extensive prehistoric fortress of Tre'r Ceiri, or the Town of the Keiri, a vocable which may be provisionally rendered by 'giants.' In any case it dissociates that stronghold from the Brythonic people of Wales. We shall find, however, that a Goidel, or Pict, buried in a cairn on Snowdon, is known as Rhita Gawr, 'Rhita the Giant'; and it is possible that in the Keiri of Tre'r Ceiri we have no other race than that of mixed Goidels and Picts whom the encroaching Brythons found in possession of the west of our island. Nay, one may say that this is rendered probable by the use made of the word ceiri in medieval Welsh: thus in some poetry composed by a certain Dafyd Offeiriad, and copied by Thomas Williams of Trefriw, we have a line alluding to Britain in the words:-- Coron ynys y Ceûri [108]. The Crown of the Giants' Island. Here Ynys y Ceûri inevitably recalls the fact that Britain is called Ynys y Kedyrn, or Island of the Mighty, in the Mabinogion, and also, in effect, in the story of Kulhwch and Olwen. But such stories as these, which enabled Geoffrey to say, i. 16, when he introduced his banal brood of Trojans, that up to that time Britain had only been inhabited by a few giants, are the legends, as will be pointed out later, of the Brythonicized Goidels of Wales. So one may infer that their ancestors had given this country the name of the Island of the Mighty, unless it should prove more accurate to suppose them to have somehow derived the term from the Aborigines. This last surmise is countenanced by the fact that in the Kulhwch story, the British Isles as a group are called Islands of the Mighty. The words are Teir ynys y kedyrn ae their rac ynys; that is, the Three Islands of the Mighty and their Three outpost Islands. That is not all, for in the same story the designation is varied thus: Teir ynys prydein ae their rac ynys [109], or Prydain's Three Islands and Prydain's Three outpost Islands; and the substantial antiquity of the designation 'the Islands of Prydain,' is proved by its virtual identity with that used by ancient Greek authors like Ptolemy, who calls both Britain and Ireland a nêsos Pretanikê, where Pretanic and Prydain are closely related words. Now our Prydain had in medieval Welsh the two forms Prydein and Prydyn. But some time or other there set in a tendency to desynonymize them, so as to make Ynys Prydein, 'the Picts' Island,' mean Great Britain, and Prydyn mean the Pictland of the North. But just as Cymry meant the plural Welshmen and the singular Wales, so Prydyn meant Picts [110] and the country of the Picts. Now the plural Prydyn has its etymological Goidelic equivalent in the vocable Cruithni, which is well known to have meant the Picts or the descendants of the Picti of Roman historians. Further, this last name cannot be severed from that of the Pictones [111] in Gaul, and it is usually supposed to have referred to their habit of tattooing themselves. At all events this agrees with the apparent meaning of the names Prydyn and Cruithni, from pryd and cruth, the words in Welsh and Irish respectively for form or shape, the designation being supposed to refer to the forms or pictures of various animals punctured on the skins of the Picts. So much as to the practical identity of the terms Prydyn, Cruithni, and the Greeks' Pretanic; but how could Cedyrn and Prydein correspond in the terms Ynys y Kedyrn and Ynys Prydein? This one is enabled to understand by means of ceûri or ceiri as a middle term. Now cadarn means strong or valiant, and makes the plural cedyrn; but there is another Welsh word cadr [112] which has also the meaning of valiant or powerful, and may have yielded some such a medieval form as ceidyr in the plural. Now this cadr is proved by its cognates [113] not to have always had the meaning of valiant or strong: its original signification was more nearly 'fine, beautiful, or beautified.' Thus what seems to have happened is, that cadarn, 'strong, powerful, mighty,' influenced the meaning of cadr, 'beautiful,' and eventually usurped its place in the name of the island, which from being Ynys y Ceidyr became Ynys y Cedyrn. But the former meant the 'Island of the fine or beautiful men,' which was closely enough the meaning also of the words Prydain, Cruithni, and Picts, as names of a people who delighted to beautify their persons by tattooing their skins and making themselves distingué in that savage fashion. That is not all, for on examination it turns out that the word ceiri, which has been treated up to this point as meaning giants, is but a double, so to say, of the word cadr in the plural, both as to etymology and original meaning of beautiful. It is a word in constant use in Carnarvonshire, where it is ironically applied to pretentious men fond of showing themselves off, especially in the matter of clothes. 'D ydi nhw 'n geiri! 'Aren't they swells!' Dyna i ch'i gawr! 'There's a fine fellow for you!' and so also with the feminine cawres. Of course the cawr of standard Welsh is familiar enough in the sense of giant to Carnarvonshire people, so the meaning can be best ascertained in the case of the plural ceiri, which they hardly ever meet with in print; and, so far as I have been able to ascertain, by ceiri they mean--in an ironical sense it is true--fine fellows, with reference not to great stature or strength but to their get-up. Thus one arrives at the true interpretation of the name Tre'r Ceiri as the Town of the Prydyn or Cruithni; that is to say, the Town of the Picts or the Aborigines, who showed themselves off decorated with pictures. So far also from Ynys y Ceiri being an echo of Ynys y Cedyrn, it turns out to be really the more original of the two. Such names, when they are closely examined, are apt to prove old beyond all hastily formed expectation. CHAPTER IV MANX FOLKLORE Be it remembrid that one Manaman Mack Clere, a paynim, was the first inhabitour of the ysle of Man, who by his Necromancy kept the same, that when he was assaylid or invaded he wold rayse such mystes by land and sea that no man might well fynde owte the ysland, and he would make one of his men seeme to be in nombre a hundred.--The Landsdowne MSS. The following paper exhausts no part of the subject: it simply embodies the substance of my notes of conversations which I have had with Manx men and Manx women, whose names, together with such other particulars as I could get, are in my possession. I have mostly avoided reading up the subject in printed books; but those who wish to see it exhaustively treated may be directed to Mr. Arthur W. Moore's book on The Folklore of the Isle of Man, to which may now be added Mr. C. Roeder's Contributions to the Folklore of the Isle of Man in the Lioar Manninagh for 1897, pp. 129-91. For the student of folklore the Isle of Man is very fairly stocked with inhabitants of the imaginary order. She has her fairies and her giants, her mermen and brownies, her kelpies and water-bulls. The water-bull or tarroo ushtey, as he is called in Manx, is a creature about which I have not been able to learn much, but he is described as a sort of bull disporting himself about the pools and swamps. For instance, I was told at the village of Andreas, in the flat country forming the northern end of the island, and known as the Ayre, that there used to be a tarroo ushtey between Andreas and the sea to the west: it was before the ground had been drained as it is now. And an octogenarian captain at Peel related to me how he had once when a boy heard a tarroo ushtey: the bellowings of the brute made the ground tremble, but otherwise the captain was unable to give me any very intelligible description. This bull is by no means of the same breed as the bull that comes out of the lakes of Wales to mix with the farmers' cattle, for there the result used to be great fertility among the stock, and an overflow of milk and dairy produce, but in the Isle of Man the tarroo ushtey only begets monsters and strangely formed beasts. The kelpie, or, rather, what I take to be a kelpie, was called by my informants a glashtyn; and Kelly, in his Manx Dictionary, describes the object meant as 'a goblin, an imaginary animal which rises out of the water.' One or two of my informants confused the glashtyn with the Manx brownie. On the other hand, one of them was very definite in his belief that it had nothing human about it, but was a sort of grey colt, frequenting the banks of lakes at night, and never seen except at night. Mermen and mermaids disport themselves on the coasts of Man, but I have to confess that I have made no careful inquiry into what is related about them; and my information about the giants of the island is equally scanty. To confess the truth, I do not recollect hearing of more than one giant, but that was a giant: I have seen the marks of his huge hands impressed on the top of two massive monoliths. They stand in a field at Balla Keeill Pherick, on the way down from the Sloc to Colby. I was told there were originally five of these stones standing in a circle, all of them marked in the same way by the same giant as he hurled them down there from where he stood, miles away on the top of the mountain called Cronk yn Irree Laa. Here I may mention that the Manx word for a giant is foawr, in which a vowel-flanked m has been spirited away, as shown by the modern Irish spelling, fomhor. This, in the plural in old Irish, appears as the name of the Fomori, so well known in Irish legend, which, however, does not always represent them as giants, but rather as monsters. I have been in the habit of explaining the word as meaning submarini; but no more are they invariably connected with the sea. So another etymology recommends itself, namely, one which comes from Dr. Whitley Stokes, and makes the mor in fomori to be of the same origin as the mare in the English nightmare, French cauchemar, German mahr, 'an elf,' and cognate words. I may mention that with the Fomori of mythic origin have doubtless been confounded and identified certain invaders of Ireland, especially the Dumnonians from the country between Galloway and the mouth of the Clyde, some of whom may be inferred to have coasted the north of Ireland and landed in the west, for example in Erris, the north-west of Mayo, called after them Irrus (or Erris) Domnann. The Manx brownie is called the fenodyree, and he is described as a hairy and apparently clumsy fellow, who would, for instance, thrash a whole barnful of corn in a single night for the people to whom he felt well disposed; and once on a time he undertook to bring down for the farmer his wethers from Snaefell. When the fenodyree had safely put them in an outhouse, he said that he had some trouble with the little ram, as it had run three times round Snaefell that morning. The farmer did not quite understand him, but on going to look at the sheep, he found, to his infinite surprise, that the little ram was no other than a hare, which, poor creature, was dying of fright and fatigue. I need scarcely point out the similarity between this and the story of Peredur, who, as a boy, drove home two hinds with his mother's goats from the forest: he owned to having had some trouble with the goats that had so long run wild as to have lost their horns, a circumstance which had greatly impressed him [114]. To return to the fenodyree, I am not sure that there were more than one in Man--I have never heard him spoken of in the plural; but two localities at least are assigned to him, namely, a farm called Ballachrink, in Colby, in the south, and a farm called Lanjaghan, in the parish of Conchan, near Douglas. Much the same stories, however, appear to be current about him in the two places, and one of the most curious of them is that which relates how he left. The farmer so valued the services of the fenodyree, that one day he took it into his head to provide clothing for him. The fenodyree examined each article carefully, and expressed his idea of it, and specified the kind of disease it was calculated to produce. In a word, he found that the clothes would make head and foot sick, and he departed in disgust, saying to the farmer, 'Though this place is thine, the great glen of Rushen is not.' Glen Rushen is one of the most retired glens in the island, and it drains down through Glen Meay to the coast, some miles to the south of Peel. It is to Glen Rushen, then, that the fenodyree is supposed to be gone; but on visiting that valley in 1890 [115] in quest of Manx-speaking peasants, I could find nobody there who knew anything of him. I suspect that the spread of the English language even there has forced him to leave the island altogether. Lastly, with regard to the term fenodyree, I may mention that it is the word used in the Manx Bible of 1819 for satyr in Isaiah xxxiv. 14 [116], where we read in the English Bible as follows: 'The wild beasts of the desert shall also meet with the wild beasts of the island, and the satyr shall cry to his fellow.' In the Vulgate the latter clause reads: et pilosus clamabit alter ad alterum. The term fenodyree has been explained by Cregeen in his Manx Dictionary to mean one who has hair for stockings or hose. That answers to the description of the hairy satyr, and seems fairly well to satisfy the phonetics of the case, the words from which he derives the compound being fynney [117], 'hair,' and oashyr, 'a stocking'; but as oashyr seems to come from the old Norse hosur, the plural of hosa, 'hose or stocking,' the term fenodyree cannot date before the coming of the Norsemen; and I am inclined to think the idea more Teutonic than Celtic. At any rate I need not point out to the English reader the counterparts of this hairy satyr in the hobgoblin 'Lob lie by the Fire,' and Milton's 'Lubber Fiend,' whom he describes as one that Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Lastly, I may mention that Mr. Roeder has a great deal to say about the fenodyree under the name of glashtyn; for it is difficult to draw any hard and fast line between the glashtyn and the fenodyree, or even the water-bull, so much alike do they seem to have been regarded. Mr. Roeder's items of folklore concerning the glashtyns (see the Lioar Manninagh, iii. 139) show that there were male and female glashtyns, and that the former were believed to have been too fond of the women at Ballachrink, until one evening some of the men, dressed as women, arranged to receive some youthful glashtyns. Whether the fenodyree is of Norse origin or not, the glashtyn is decidedly Celtic, as will be further shown in chapter vii. Here it will suffice to mention one or two related words which are recorded in Highland Gaelic, namely, glaistig, 'a she-goblin which assumes the form of a goat,' and glaisrig, 'a female fairy or a goblin, half human, half beast.' The fairies claim our attention next, and as the only other fairies tolerably well known to me are those of Wales, I can only compare or contrast the Manx fairies with the Welsh ones. They are called in Manx, sleih beggey, or little people, and ferrishyn, from the English word fairies, as it would seem. Like the Welsh fairies, they kidnap babies; and I have heard it related how a woman in Dalby had a struggle with the fairies over her baby, which they were trying to drag out of the bed from her. Like Welsh fairies, also, they take possession of the hearth after the farmer and his family are gone to bed. A man in Dalby used to find them making a big fire in his kitchen: he would hear the crackling and burning of the fire when nobody else could have been there except the fairies and their friends. I said 'friends,' for they sometimes take a man with them, and allow him to eat with them at the expense of others. Thus, some men from the northern-most parish, Kirk Bride, went once on a time to Port Erin, in the south, to buy a supply of fish for the winter, and with them went a Kirk Michael man who had the reputation of being a persona grata to the fairies. Now one of the Port Erin men asked a man from the north who the Michael man might be: he was curious to know his name, as he had seen him once before, and on that occasion the Michael man was with the fairies at his house--the Port Erin man's house--helping himself to bread and cheese in company with the rest. As the fairies were regaling themselves in this instance on ordinary bread and cheese at a living Manxman's expense, the story may perhaps be regarded as not inconsistent with one mentioned by Cumming [118] to the following effect:--A man attracted one night as he was crossing the mountains, by fairy music, entered a fairy hall where a banquet was going on. He noticed among them several faces which he seemed to know, but no act of mutual recognition took place till he had some drink offered him, when one of those whom he seemed to know warned him not to taste of the drink if he had any wish to make his way home again. If he partook of it he would become like one of them. So he found an opportunity for spilling it on the ground and securing the cup; whereupon the hall and all its inmates instantaneously vanished. On this I may remark that it appears to have been a widely spread belief, that no one who had partaken of the food for spirits would be allowed to return to his former life, and some instances will be found mentioned by Professor Tylor in his Primitive Culture, ii. 50-2. Like the Welsh fairies, the Manx ones take men away with them and detain them for years. Thus a Kirk Andreas man was absent from his people for four years, which he spent with the fairies. He could not tell how he returned, but it seemed as if, having been unconscious, he woke up at last in this world. The other world, however, in which he was for the four years was not far away, as he could see what his brothers and the rest of the family were doing every day, although they could not see him. To prove this, he mentioned to them how they were occupied on such and such a day, and, among other things, how they took their corn on a particular day to Ramsey. He reminded them also of their having heard a sudden sharp crack as they were passing by a thorn bush he named, and how they were so startled that one of them would have run back home. He asked them if they remembered that, and they said they did, only too well. He then explained to them the meaning of the noise, namely, that one of the fairies with whom he had been galloping the whole time was about to let fly an arrow at his brothers, but that as he was going to do this, he (the missing brother) raised a plate and intercepted the arrow: that was the sharp noise they had heard. Such was the account he had to give of his sojourn in Faery. This representation of the world of the fairies, as contained within the ordinary world of mortals, is very remarkable; but it is not a new idea, as we seem to detect it in the Irish story of the abduction of Conla Rúad [119]: the fairy who comes to fetch him tells him that the folk of Tethra, whom she represents, behold him every day as he takes part in the assemblies of his country and sits among his friends. The commoner way of putting it is simply to represent the fairies as invisible to mortals at will; and one kind of Welsh story relates how the mortal midwife accidentally touches her eyes, while dressing a fairy baby, with an ointment which makes the fairy world visible to her: see pp. 63, 213, above. Like Welsh fairies, the Manx ones had, as the reader will have seen, horses to ride; they had also dogs, just as the Welsh ones had. This I learn from another story, to the effect that a fisherman, taking a fresh fish home, was pursued by a pack of fairy dogs, so that it was only with great trouble he reached his own door. Then he picked up a stone and threw it at the dogs, which at once disappeared; but he did not escape, as he was shot by the fairies, and so hurt that he lay ill for fully six months from that day. He would have been left alone by the fairies, I was told, if he had only taken care to put a pinch of salt in the fish's mouth before setting out, for the Manx fairies cannot stand salt or baptism. So children that have been baptized are, as in Wales, less liable to be kidnapped by these elves than those that have not. I scarcely need add that a twig of cuirn [120] or rowan is also as effective against fairies in Man as it is in Wales. Manx fairies seem to have been musical, like their kinsmen elsewhere; for I have heard of an Orrisdale man crossing the neighbouring mountains at night and hearing fairy music, which took his fancy so much that he listened, and tried to remember it. He had, however, to return, it is said, three times to the place before he could carry it away complete in his mind, which he succeeded in doing at last just as the day was breaking and the musicians disappearing. This air, I am told, is now known by the name of the Bollan Bane, or White Wort. As to certain Welsh airs similarly supposed to have been derived from the fairies, see pages 201-2 above. So far I have pointed out next to nothing but similarities between Manx fairies and Welsh ones, and I find very little indicative of a difference. First, with regard to salt, I am unable to say anything in this direction, as I do not happen to know how Welsh fairies regard salt: it is not improbable that they eschew salt as well as baptism, especially as the Church of Rome has long associated salt with baptism. There is, however, one point, at least, of difference between the fairies of Man and of Wales: the latter are, so far as I can call to mind, never supposed to discharge arrows at men or women, or to handle a bow [121] at all, whereas Manx fairies are always ready to shoot. May we, therefore, provisionally regard this trait of the Manx fairies as derived from a Teutonic source? At any rate English and Scotch elves were supposed to shoot, and I am indebted to the kindness of my colleague, Professor Napier, for calling my attention to the Leechdoms of Early England [122] for cases in point. Now that most of the imaginary inhabitants of Man and its coasts have been rapidly passed in review before the reader, I may say something of others whom I regard as semi-imaginary--real human beings to whom impossible attributes are ascribed: I mean chiefly the witches, or, as they are sometimes called in Manx English, butches [123]. That term I take to be a variant of the English word witch, produced under the influence of the verb bewitch, which was reduced in Manx English to a form butch, especially if one bear in mind the Cumbrian and Scottish pronunciation of these words, as wutch and bewutch. Now witches shift their form, and I have heard of one old witch changing herself into a pigeon; but that I am bound to regard as exceptional, the regular form into which Manx witches pass at their pleasure being that of the hare, and such a swift and thick skinned hare that no greyhound, except a black one without a single white hair, can catch it, and no shot, except a silver coin, penetrate its body. Both these peculiarities are also well known in Wales. I notice a difference, however, between Wales and Man with regard to the hare witches: in Wales only the women can become hares, and this property runs, so far as I know, in certain families. I have known many such, and my own nurse belonged to one of them, so that my mother was reckoned to be rather reckless in entrusting me to y Gota, or 'the Cutty One,' as she might run away at any moment, leaving her charge to take care of itself. But I have never heard of any man or boy of any such family turning himself into a hare, whereas in the Isle of Man the hare witches may belong, if I may say so, to either sex. I am not sure, however, that a man who turns himself into a hare would be called a wizard or witch; and I recollect hearing in the neighbourhood of Ramsey of a man nicknamed the gaaue mwaagh, that is to say, 'the hare smith,' the reason being that this particular smith now and then assumed the form of a hare. I am not quite sure that gaaue mwaagh is the name of a class, though I rather infer that it is. If so, it must be regarded as a survival of the magic skill associated with smiths in ancient Ireland, as evidenced, for instance, in St. Patrick's Hymn in the eleventh or twelfth century manuscript at Trinity College, Dublin, known as the Liber Hymnorum, in which we have a prayer-- Fri brichta ban ocus goband ocus druad. Against the spells of women, of smiths and magicians [124]. The persons who had the power of turning themselves into hares were believed to be abroad and very active, together with the whole demon world, on the eve of May-day of the Old Style. And a middle-aged man from the parish of Andreas related to me how he came three or four times across a woman reputed to be a witch, carrying on her evil practices at the junction of cross-roads, or the meeting of three boundaries. This happened once very early on Old May morning, and afterwards he met her several times as he was returning home from visiting his sweetheart. He warned the witch that if he found her again he would kick her: that is what he tells me. Well, after a while he did surprise her again at work at four cross-roads, somewhere near Lezayre. She had a circle, he said, as large as that made by horses in threshing, swept clean around her. He kicked her and took away her besom, which he hid till the middle of the day. Then he made the farm boys fetch some dry gorse, and he put the witch's besom on the top of it. Thereupon fire was set to the gorse, and, wonderful to relate, the besom, as it burned, crackled and made reports like guns going off. In fact, the noise could be heard at Andreas Church--that is to say, miles away. The besom had on it 'seventeen sorts of knots,' he stated, and the woman herself ought to have been burned: in fact, he added that she did not long survive her besom. The man who related this to me is hale and strong, living now in the parish of Michael, and not in that of Andreas, where he was born. There is a tradition at St. John's, which is overlooked by the mountain called Slieau Whallian, that witches used at one time to be punished by being set to roll down the steep side of the mountain in spiked barrels; but, short of putting them to death, there were various ways of rendering the machinations of witches innocuous, or of undoing the mischief done by them; for the charmers supply various means of meeting them triumphantly, and in case an animal is the victim, the burning of it always proves an effective means of bringing the offender to book: I shall have occasion to return to this under another heading. There is a belief that if you can draw blood, however little, from a witch, or one who has the evil eye, he loses his power of harming you; and I have been told that formerly this belief was sometimes acted upon. Thus, on leaving church, for instance, the man who fancied himself in danger from another would sidle up to him or walk by his side, and inflict on him a slight scratch, or some other trivial wound, which elicited blood; but this must have been a course always attended with more or less danger. The persons able to undo the witches' work, and remove the malignant influence of the evil eye, are known in Manx English as charmers, and something must now be said of them. They have various ways of proceeding to their work. A lady of about thirty-five, living at Peel, related to me how, when she was a child suffering from a swelling in the neck, she had it charmed away by an old woman. This charmer brought with her no less than nine pieces of iron, consisting of bits of old pokers, old nails, and other odds and ends of the same metal, making in all nine pieces. After invoking the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, she began to rub the girl's neck with the old irons; nor was she satisfied with that, for she rubbed the doors, the walls, and the furniture likewise, with the metal. The result, I was assured, was highly satisfactory, as she has never been troubled with a swelling in the throat since that day. Sometimes a passage from the Bible is made use of in charming, as, for instance, in the case of bleeding. One of the verses then pronounced is Ezekiel xvi. 6, which runs thus:--'And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live.' This was told me by a Laxey man, who is over seventy years of age. The methods of charming away warts are various. A woman from the neighbourhood of St. John's explained to me how a charmer told her to get rid of the warts on her hands. She was to take a string and make a knot on it for every wart she had, and then tie the string round her hand, or fingers--I forget which; and I think my informant, on her part, forgot to tell me a vital part of the formula, namely, that the string was to be destroyed. But however that may be, she assured me that the warts disappeared, and have never returned since. A lady at Andreas has a still simpler method of getting rid of warts. She rubs a snail on the warts, and then places the snail on one of the points of a blackthorn, and, in fact, leaves the snail to die, transfixed by the thorn; and as the snail dies the warts disappear. She has done this in the case of her niece with complete success, so far as the wart was concerned; but she had forgotten to notice whether the snail had also succumbed. The lady who in this case applied the remedy cannot be in any sense called a charmer, however much one may insist on calling what she did a charm. In fact, the term charmer tends to be associated with a particular class of charm involving the use of herbs. Thus there used to be at one time a famous charmer living near Kirk Michael, to whom the fishermen were in the habit of resorting, and my informant told me that he had been deputed more than once by his fellow fishermen to go to him in consequence of their lack of success in the fishing. The charmer gave him a packet of herbs, cut small, with directions that they should be boiled, and the water mixed with some spirits--rum, I think--and partly drunk in the boat by the captain and the crew, and partly sprinkled over the boat and everything in it. The charmer clearly defined his position in the matter to my informant. 'I cannot,' he said, 'put the fish in your nets for you; but if there is any mischief in the way of your luck, I can remove that for you.' The fishermen themselves had, however, more exaggerated notions of the charmer's functions, for once on a time my informant spent on drink for his boon companions the money which he was to give the charmer, and then he collected herbs himself--it did not much matter what herbs--and took them to his captain, who, with the crew, went through the proper ritual, and made a most successful haul that night. In fact, the only source of discontent was the charmer's not having distributed the fish over two nights, instead of endangering their nets by an excessive haul all in one night. They regarded him as able to do almost anything he liked in the matter. A lady at Andreas gave me an account of a celebrated charmer who lived between there and the coast. He worked on her husband's farm, but used to be frequently called away to be consulted. He usually cut up wormwood for the people who came to him, and if there was none to be had, he did not scruple to rob the garden of any small sprouts it contained of cabbage or the like. He would chop them small, and give directions about boiling them and drinking the water. He usually charged any one leaving him to speak to nobody on the way, lest he break the charm, and this mysteriousness was evidently an important element in his profession. But he was, nevertheless, a thriftless fellow, and when he went to Peel, and sent the crier round to announce his arrival, and received a good deal of money from the fishermen, he seldom so conducted himself as to bring much of his earnings home. He died miserably some seven or eight years ago at Ramsey, and left a widow in great poverty. As to the present day, the daughter of a charmer now dead is married to a man living in a village on the southern side of the island, and she appears to have inherited her father's reputation for charming, as the fishermen from all parts are said to flock to her for luck. Incidentally, I have heard in the south more than once of her being consulted in cases of sudden and dangerous illness, even after the best medical advice has been obtained: in fact, she seems to have a considerable practice. In answer to my question, how the charmer who died at Ramsey used to give the sailors luck in the fishing, my informant at Andreas could not say, except that he gave them herbs as already described, and she thought also that he sold them wisps to place under their pillows. I gather that the charms were chiefly directed to the removal of supposed impediments to success in the fishing, rather than to any act of a more positive nature. So far as I have been able to ascertain, charming is hereditary, and they say that it descends from father to daughter, and then from daughter to son, and so on--a remarkable kind of descent, on which I should be glad to learn the opinion of anthropologists. One of the best Manx scholars in the island related to me how some fishermen once insisted on his doing the charmer for them because of his being of such and such a family, and how he made fools of them. It is my impression that the charming families are comparatively few in number, and this looks as if they descended from the family physicians or druids of one or two chieftains in ancient times. It is very likely a question which could be cleared up by a local man familiar with the island and all that tradition has to say on the subject of Manx pedigrees. In the case of animals ailing, the herbs were also resorted to; and, if the beasts happened to be milch cows, the herbs had to be boiled in some of their milk. This was supposed to produce wonderful results, described as follows by a man living at a place on the way from Castletown up South Barrule:--A farmer in his parish had a cow that milked blood, as he described it, and this in consequence of a witch's ill-will. He went to the charmer, who gave him some herbs, which he was to boil in the ailing cow's milk, and the charmer charged him, whatever he did, not to quit the concoction while it was on the fire, in spite of any noises he might hear. The farmer went home and proceeded that night to boil the herbs as directed, but he suddenly heard a violent tapping at the door, a terrible lowing of the cattle in the cow-house, and stones coming down the 'chumley': the end of it was that he suddenly fled and sprang into bed to take shelter behind his wife. He went to the charmer again, and related to him what had happened: he was told that he must have more courage the next time, unless he wished his cow to die. He promised to do his best, and this time he stood his ground in spite of the noises and the creaking of the windows--until, in fact, a back window burst into pieces and bodily let a witch in, who craved his pardon, and promised nevermore to molest him or his. This all happened at the farm in question in the time of the present farmer's grandfather. The boiling of the charmer's herbs in milk always produces a great commotion and lowing among the cattle, and it invariably cures the ailing ones: this is firmly believed by respectable farmers whom I could name, in the north of the island in particular, and I am alluding to men whom one might consider fairly educated members of their class. In the last mentioned instance not only is the requisite cure effected, but the witch who caused the mischief is brought on the spot. I have recently heard of a parallel to this in a belief which appears to be still prevalent in the Channel Islands, more especially Guernsey. The following incidents have been communicated to me by an ardent folklorist, who has friends in the islands:-- An old woman in Torteval became ill, and her two sons were told that if they tried one of the charms of divination, such as boiling certain weeds in a pot, the first person to come to the house would prove to be the one who had cast a spell over their mother. Accordingly they made their bouillederie, and who should come to the door but a poor, unoffending Breton onion seller, and as he was going away he was waylaid by the two sons, who beat him within an inch of his life. They were prosecuted and sentenced to terms of imprisonment; but the charming did not come out in the evidence, though it was generally known to have been the reason for the assault. This account was given my informant in 1898, and the incident appears to have happened not very long before. Another is related thus:--A certain family suffered from a plague of lice, which they regarded as the consequence of a spell. They accordingly made their boiling of herbs and looked for the first comer. He turned out to be a neighbour of theirs who wished to buy some turnip seeds. The family abused him roundly. He went away, but he was watched and caught by two of the sons of the house, who beat him cruelly. They, on being prosecuted, had to pay him £5 damages. This took place in the summer of 1898, in the narrator's own parish, in Guernsey. I have also another case of recent date, to the effect that a young woman, whose churning was so unsuccessful that the butter would not come, boiled herbs in the prescribed way. She awaited the first comer, and, being engaged, her intended husband was not unnaturally the first to arrive. She abused him so unsparingly that he broke off the engagement. These instances go far enough to raise the question why the boiling of herbs should be supposed to bring the culprit immediately on the spot, but they hardly go any further, namely, to help us to answer it. Magic takes us back to a very primitive and loose manner of thinking; so the marvellously easy way in which it identifies any tie of association, however flimsy, with the insoluble bond of relationship which educated men and women regard as connecting cause and effect, renders even simpler means than I have described quite equal to the undoing of the evils resulting from the activity of the evil eye. Thus, let us suppose that a person endowed with the evil eye has just passed by the farmer's herd of cattle, and a calf has suddenly been seized with a serious illness, the farmer hurries after the man of the evil eye to get the dust from under his feet. If he objects, the farmer may, as has sometimes been actually done, throw him down by force, take off his shoes, and scrape off the dust adhering to their soles, and carry it back to throw over the calf. Even that is not always necessary, as it appears to be quite enough if he takes up dust where he of the evil eye has just trod the ground. There are innumerable cases on folk-record of both means proving entirely efficacious, and they remind one of a story related in the Itinerarium Kambriæ, i. 11, by Giraldus, as to the archbishop when he was preaching in the neighbourhood of Haverfordwest. A certain woman had lost her sight, but had so much faith in that holy man that she sent her son to try and procure the least bit of the fringe of his clothing. The youth, unable to make his way through the crowd that surrounded the preacher, waited till it dispersed, and then took home to his mother the sod on which he had stood and on which his feet had left their mark. That earth was applied by her to her face and eyes, with the result that she at once recovered her sight. A similar question of psychology presents itself in a practice intended as a preservative against the evil eye rather than as a cure. I allude to what I have heard about two maiden ladies living in a Manx village which I know very well: they are natives of a neighbouring parish, and I am assured that whenever a stranger enters their house they proceed, as soon as he goes away, to strew a little dust or sand over the spot where he stood. That is understood to prevent any malignant influence resulting from his visit. This tacit identifying of a man with his footprints may be detected in a more precarious and pleasing form in a quaint conceit familiar to me in the lyrics of rustic life in Wales, when, for example, a coy maiden leaves her lovesick swain hotly avowing his perfect readiness to cusanu ol ei thraed, that is, to do on his knees all the stages of her path across the meadow, kissing the ground wherever it has been honoured with the tread of her dainty foot. Let me take another case, in which the cord of association is not so inconceivably slender, namely, when two or more persons standing in a close relation to one another are mistakenly treated a little too much as if mutually independent, the objection is heard that it matters not whether it is A or B, that it is, in fact, all the same, as they belong to the same concern. In Welsh this is sometimes expressed by saying, Yr un yw Huw'r Glyn a'i glocs, that is, 'Hugh of the Glen and his clogs are all one.' Then, when you speak in English of a man 'standing in another's shoes,' I am by no means certain, that you are not employing an expression which meant something more to those who first used it than it does to us. Our modern idioms, with all their straining after the abstract, are but primitive man's mental tools adapted to the requirements of civilized life, and they often retain traces of the form and shape which the neolithic worker's chipping and polishing gave them. It is difficult to arrange these scraps under any clearly classified headings, and now that I have led the reader into the midst of matters magical, perhaps I may just as well go on to the mention of a few more: I alluded to the boiling of the herbs according to the charmer's orders, with the result, among other things, of bringing the witch to the spot. This is, however, not the only instance of the importance and strange efficacy of fire. For when a beast dies on a farm, of course it dies, according to the old-fashioned view of things as I understand it, from the influence of the evil eye or the interposition of a witch. So if you want to know to whom you are indebted for the loss of the beast, you have simply to burn its carcase in the open air and watch who comes first to the spot or who first passes by: that is the criminal to be charged with the death of the animal, and he cannot help coming there--such is the effect of the fire. A Michael woman, who is now about thirty, related to me how she watched while the carcase of a bewitched colt was burning, how she saw the witch coming, and how she remembers her shrivelled face, with nose and chin in close proximity. According to another native of Michael, a well informed middle-aged man, the animal in question was oftenest a calf, and it was wont to be burnt whole, skin and all. The object, according to him, is invariably to bring the bewitcher on the spot, and he always comes; but I am not clear what happens to him when he appears. My informant added, however, that it was believed that, unless the bewitcher got possession of the heart of the burning beast, he lost all his power of bewitching. He related, also, how his father and three other men were once out fishing on the west coast of the island, when one of the three suddenly expressed his wish to land. As they were fishing successfully some two or three miles from the shore, they would not hear of it. He, however, insisted that they must put him ashore at once, which made his comrades highly indignant; but they soon had to give way, as they found that he was determined to leap overboard unless they complied. When he got on shore they watched him hurrying away towards where a beast was burning in the corner of a field. Manx stories merge this burning in a very perplexing fashion with what may be termed a sacrifice for luck. The following scraps of information will make it clear what I mean:--A respectable farmer from Andreas told me that he was driving with his wife to the neighbouring parish of Jurby some years ago, and that on the way they beheld the carcase of a cow or an ox burning in a field, with a woman engaged in stirring the fire. On reaching the village to which they were going, they found that the burning beast belonged to a farmer whom they knew. They were further told it was no wonder that the said farmer had one of his cattle burnt, as several of them had recently died. Whether this was a case of sacrifice or not I cannot say. But let me give another instance: a man whom I have already mentioned, saw at a farm nearer the centre of the island a live calf being burnt. The owner bears an English name, but his family has long been settled in Man. The farmer's explanation to my informant was that the calf was burnt to secure luck for the rest of the herd, some of which were threatening to die. My informant thought there was absolutely nothing the matter with them, except that they had too little food. Be that as it may, the one calf was sacrificed as a burnt offering to secure luck for the rest of the cattle. Let me here also quote Mr. Moore's note in his Manx Surnames, p. 184, on the place-name Cabbal yn Oural Losht, or the 'Chapel of the Burnt Sacrifice.' 'This name,' he says, 'records a circumstance which took place in the nineteenth century, but which, it is to be hoped, was never customary in the Isle of Man. A farmer, who had lost a number of his sheep and cattle by murrain, burned a calf as a propitiatory offering to the Deity on this spot, where a chapel was afterwards built. Hence the name.' Particulars, I may say, of time, place, and person, could be easily added to Mr. Moore's statement, excepting, perhaps, as to the deity in question: on that point I have never been informed, but Mr. Moore was probably right in the use of the capital d, as the sacrificer was, according to all accounts, a devout Christian. I have to thank Sir Frederick Pollock for calling my attention to a parallel this side of the sea: he refers me to Worth's History of Devonshire (London, 1886), p. 339, where one reads the following singular passage:--'Living animals have been burnt alive in sacrifice within memory to avert the loss of other stock. The burial of three puppies "brandise-wise" in a field is supposed to rid it of weeds.' The second statement is very curious, and the first seems to mean that preventive sacrifices have been performed in Devonshire within the memory of men living in the author's time. One more Manx instance: an octogenarian woman, born in the parish of Bride, and now living at Kirk Andreas, saw, when she was a 'lump of a girl' of ten or fifteen years of age, a live sheep being burnt in a field in the parish of Andreas, on May-day, whereby she meant the first of May reckoned according to the Old Style. She asserts [125] very decidedly that it was son oural, 'for a sacrifice,' as she put it, and 'for an object to the public': those were her words when she expressed herself in English. Further, she made the statement that it was a custom to burn a sheep on Old May-day for a sacrifice. I was fully alive to the interest of this evidence, and cross-examined her so far as her age allows of it, and I find that she adheres to her statement with all firmness, but I distinguish two or three points in her evidence: 1. I have no doubt that she saw, as she was passing by a certain field on the borders of Andreas parish, a live sheep being burnt on Old May-day. 2. But her statement that it was son oural, or as a sacrifice, was probably only an inference drawn by her, possibly years afterwards, on hearing things of the kind discussed. 3. Lastly, I am convinced that she did hear the May-day sacrifice discussed, both in Manx and in English: her words, 'for an object to the public,' are her imperfect recollection of a phrase used in her hearing by somebody more ambitious of employing English abstract terms than she is; and the formal nature of her statement in Manx, that it was customary on May-day to burn as a sacrifice one head of sheep (Laa Boaldyn va cliaghtey dy lostey son oural un baagh keyrragh), produces the same impression on my mind, that she is only repeating somebody else's words. I mention this more especially as I have failed to find anybody else in Andreas or Bride, or indeed in the whole island, who will now confess to having ever heard of the sheep sacrifice on Old May-day. The time assigned to the sheep sacrifice, namely May-day, leads me to make some remarks on the importance of that day among the Celts. The day meant is, as I have already said, Old May-day, in Manx Shenn Laa Boaldyn, the belltaine of Cormac's Glossary, Scotch Gaelic bealtuinn. This was a day when systematic efforts were made to protect man and beast against elves and witches; for it was then that people carried crosses of rowan in their hats and placed May flowers over the tops of their doors and elsewhere as preservatives against all malignant influences. With the same object in view crosses of rowan were likewise fastened to the tails of the cattle, small crosses which had to be made without the help of a knife: I exhibited a tiny specimen at one of the meetings of the Folk-Lore Society. Early on May morning one went out to gather the dew as a thing of great virtue, as in other countries. At Kirk Michael one woman, who had been out on this errand years ago, told me that she washed her face with the dew in order to secure luck, a good complexion, and safety against witches. The break of this day is also the signal for setting the ling or the gorse on fire, which is done in order to burn out the witches wont to take the form of the hare; and guns, I am told, were freely used to shoot any game met with on that morning. With the proper charge some of the witches were now and then hit and wounded, whereupon they resumed the human form and remained cripples for the rest of their lives. Fire, however, appears to have been the chief agency relied on to clear away the witches and other malignant beings; and I have heard of this use of fire having been carried so far that a practice was sometimes observed--as, for example, in Lezayre--of burning gorse, however little, in the hedge of each field on a farm in order to drive away the witches and secure luck. The man who told me this, on being asked whether he had ever heard of cattle being driven through fire or between two fires on May-day, replied that it was not known to him as a Manx custom, but that it was an Irish one. A cattle-dealer whom he named used on May-day to drive his cattle through fire so as to singe them a little, as he believed that would preserve them from harm. He was an Irishman, who came to the island for many years, and whose children are settled in the island now. On my asking him if he knew whence the dealer came, he answered, 'From the mountains over there,' pointing to the Mourne Mountains looming faintly in the mists on the western horizon. The Irish custom known to my Manx informant is interesting both as throwing light on the Manx custom, and as being the continuation of a very ancient rite mentioned by Cormac. That writer, or somebody in his name, says that belltaine, May-day, was so called from the 'lucky fire,' or the 'two fires,' which the druids of Erin used to make on that day with great incantations; and cattle, he adds, used to be brought to those fires, or to be driven between them, as a safeguard against the diseases of the year. Cormac [126] says nothing, it will be noticed, as to one of the cattle or the sheep being sacrificed for the sake of prosperity to the rest. However, Scottish [127] May-day customs point to a sacrifice having been once usual, and that possibly of human beings, and not of sheep as in the Isle of Man. I have elsewhere [128] tried to equate these Celtic May-day practices with the Thargelia [129] of the Athenians of antiquity. The Thargelia were characterized by peculiar rites, and among other things then done, two adult persons were led about, as it were scapegoats, and at the end they were sacrificed and burnt, so that their ashes might be dispersed. Here we seem to be on the track of a very ancient Aryan practice, although the Celtic season does not quite coincide with the Greek one. Several items of importance for comparison here will be found passed under careful review in a most suggestive paper by Mr. Lawrence Gomme, 'On the Method of determining the Value of Folklore as Ethnological Data,' in the Fourth Report of the Ethnographical Survey Committee [130]. It is probably in some ancient May-day custom that we are to look for the key to a remarkable place-name occurring several times in the island: I allude to that of Cronk yn Irree Laa, which probably means the Hill of the Rise of Day. This is the name of one of the mountains in the south of the island, but it is also borne by one of the knolls near the eastern end of the range of low hills ending abruptly on the coast between Ramsey and Bride parish, and quite a small knoll bears the name, near the church of Jurby [131]. I have heard of a fourth instance, which, as I learn from Mr. Philip Kermode, editor of the Lioar Manninagh, is on Clay Head, near Laxey. It has been attempted to explain it as meaning the Hill of the Watch by Day, in reference to the old institution of Watch and Ward on conspicuous places in the island; but that explanation is inadmissible as doing violence to the phonetics of the words in question [132]. I am rather inclined to think that the name everywhere refers to an eminence to which the surrounding inhabitants resorted for a religious purpose on a particular day in the year. I should suggest that it was to do homage to the rising sun on May morning, but this conjecture is offered only to await a better explanation. The next great day in the pagan calendar of the Celts is called in Manx Laa Lhunys, in Irish Lugnassad, the assembly or fair, which was associated with the name of the god Lug. This should correspond to Lammas, but, reckoned as it is according to the Old Style, it falls on the twelfth of August, which used to be a great day for business fairs in the Isle of Man as in Wales. But for holiday making the twelfth only suited when it happened to be a Sunday: when that was not the case, the first Sunday after the twelfth was fixed upon. It is known, accordingly, as the first Sunday of Harvest, and it used to be celebrated by crowds of people visiting the tops of the mountains. The kind of interference to which I have alluded with regard to an ancient holiday, is one of the regular results of the transition from Roman Catholicism to a Protestant system with only one fixed holiday, namely, Sunday. The same shifting has partly happened in Wales, where Lammas is Gwyl Awst, or the festival of Augustus, since the birthday of Augustus, auspiciously for him and the celebrity of his day, fell in with the great day of the god Lug in the Celtic world. Now the day for going up the Fan Fach mountain in Carmarthenshire was Lammas, but under a Protestant Church it became the first Sunday in August; and even modified in that way it could not long survive under a vigorous sabbatarian régime either in Wales or Man. As to the latter in particular, I have heard it related by persons who were present, how the crowds on the top of South Barrule on the first Sunday of Harvest were denounced as pagans by a preacher called William Gick, some seventy years ago; and how another man called Paric Beg, or Little Patrick, preaching to the crowds on Snaefell in milder terms, used to wind up the service with a collection, which appears to have proved a speedier method of reducing the dimensions of these meetings on the mountain tops. Be that as it may, they seem to have dwindled since then to comparative insignificance. If you ask the reason for this custom now, for it is not yet quite extinct, you are told, first, that it is merely to gather ling berries; but now and then a quasi-religious reason is given, namely, that it is the day on which Jephthah's daughter went forth to bewail her virginity 'upon the mountains': somehow some Manx people make believe that they are doing likewise. That is not all, for people who have never themselves thought of going up the mountains on the first Sunday of harvest or any other, will be found devoutly reading at home about Jephthah's daughter on that day. I was told this first in the south by a clergyman's wife, who, finding a woman in the parish reading the chapter in question on that day, asked the reason for her fixing on that particular portion of the Bible. She then had the Manx view of the matter fully explained to her, and she has since found more information about it, and so have I. It is needless for me to say that I do not quite understand how Jephthah's daughter came to be introduced: perhaps it is vain to look for any deeper reason than that the mention, of the mountains may have served as a sort of catch-word, and that as the Manx people began to cease from visiting the tops of the mountains annually, it struck the women as the next best thing for them to read at home of one who did 'go up and down upon the mountains': they are great readers of the Bible generally. In any case we have here a very curious instance of a practice, originally pagan, modifying itself profoundly to secure a new lease of life. Between May-day and November eve, there was a day of considerable importance in the island; but the fixing on it was probably due to influence other than Celtic: I mean Midsummer Eve, or St. John's. However, some practices connected with it would seem to have been of Celtic origin, such as 'the bearing of rushes to certain places called Warrefield and Mame on Midsummer Even.' Warrefield was made in Manx into Barrule, but Mame, 'the jugum, or ridge,' has not been identified. The Barrule here in question was South Barrule, and it is to the top of that mountain the green rushes were carried, according to Manx tradition, as the only rent or tax which the inhabitants paid, namely, to Manannán mac Lir (called in Welsh Manawydan ab Llyr), whom the same tradition treats as father and founder, as king and chief wizard of the Isle of Man, the same Manannán who is quaintly referred to in the illiterate passage at the head of this chapter [133]. As already stated, the payment of the annual rent of rushes is associated with Midsummer Eve; but it did not prevent the top of South Barrule from being visited likewise later in the year. Perhaps it may also be worth while mentioning, with regard to most of the mountains climbed on the first Sunday of Harvest, that they seem to have near the summit of each a well of some celebrity, which appears to be the goal of the visitors' peregrinations. This is the case with South Barrule, the spring near the top of which cannot, it is said, be found when sought a second time; also with Snaefell and with Maughold Head, which boasts one of the most famous springs in the island. When I visited it last summer in company with Mr. Kermode, we found it to contain a considerable number of pins, some of which were bent, and many buttons. Some of the pins were not of a kind usually carried by men, and most of the buttons decidedly belonged to the dress of the other sex. Several people who had resorted many years ago to St. Maughold's Well, told me that the water is good for sore eyes, and that after using it on the spot, or filling a bottle with it to take home, one was wont to drop a pin or bead or button into the well. But it had its full virtue only when visited the first Sunday of Harvest, and that only during the hour when the books were open at church, which, shifted back to Roman Catholic times, means doubtless the hour when the priest was engaged in saying Mass. Compare the passage in the Mabinogi of Math, where it is said that the spear required for the slaying of Llew Llawgyffes had to be a whole year in the making: the work was to be pursued only so long as one was engaged at the sacrifice on Sunday (ar yr aberth duw sul): see the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 76. To return to Man, the restriction, as might be expected, is not peculiar to St. Maughold's Well: I have heard of it in connexion with other wells, such as Chibbyr Lansh in Lezayre parish, and with a well on Slieau Maggyl, in which some Kirk Michael people have a great belief. But even sea water was believed to have considerable virtues if you washed in it while the books were open at church, as I was told by a woman who had many years ago repeatedly taken her own sister to divers wells and to the sea during the service on Sunday, in order to have her eyes cured of a chronic weakness. The remaining great day in the Celtic year is called Sauin or Laa Houney: in Irish, Samhain, genitive Samhna. The Manx call it in English Hollantide, a word derived from the English All hallowen tide, 'the Season of All Saints [134].' This day is also reckoned in Man according to the Old Style, so that it is our twelfth of November. That is the day when the tenure of land terminates, and when servant men go to their places. In other words, it is the beginning of a new year; and Kelly, in his Manx-English Dictionary, has, under the word blein, 'year,' the following note:--'Vallancey says the Celts began their year with January; yet in the Isle of Man the first of November is called New Year's day by the Mummers, who, on the eve, begin their petition in these words: To-night is New Year's night, Hog-unnaa [135], &c.' It is a pity that Kelly, whilst he was on this subject, did not give the rhyme in Manx, and all the more so, as the mummers of the present day, if he is right, must have changed their words into Noght oie Houney, that is to say, To-night is Sauin Night or Halloween. So I had despaired of finding anybody who could corroborate Kelly in his statement, when I happened last summer to find a man at Kirk Michael who was quite familiar with this way of treating the year. I asked him if he could explain Kelly's absurd statement--I put my question designedly in that form. He said he could, but that there was nothing absurd in it. He then told me how he had heard some old people talk of it: he is himself now about sixty-seven. He had been a farm servant from the age of sixteen till he was twenty-six to the same man, near Regaby, in the parish of Andreas, and he remembers his master and a near neighbour of his discussing the term New Year's Day as applied to the first of November, and explaining to the younger men that it had always been so in old times. In fact, it seemed to him natural enough, as all tenure of land ends at that time, and as all servant men begin their service then. I cross-examined him, without succeeding in any way in shaking his evidence. I should have been glad a few years ago to have come across this piece of information, or even Kelly's note, when I was discussing the Celtic year and trying to prove [136] that it began at the beginning of winter, with May-day as the beginning of its second half. One of the characteristics of the beginning of the Celtic year with the commencement of winter was the belief that indications can be obtained on the eve of that day regarding the events of the year; but with the calendar year gaining ground it would be natural to expect that the Calends of January would have some of the associations of the Calends of Winter transferred to them, and vice versa. In fact, this can, as it were, be watched now going on in the Isle of Man. First, I may mention that the Manx mummers used to go about singing, in Manx, a sort of Hogmanay song [137], reminding one of that usual in Yorkshire and other parts of Great Britain, and now known to be of Romance origin [138]. The time for it in this country was New Year's Eve, according to the ordinary calendar, but in the Isle of Man it has always been Hollantide Eve, according to the Old Style, and this is the night when boys now go about continuing the custom of the old mummers. There is no hesitation in this case between Hollantide Eve and New Year's Eve. But with the prognostications for the year it is different, and the following practices have been usual. I may, however, premise that as a rule I have abstained from inquiring too closely whether they still go on, but here and there I have had the information volunteered that they do. 1. I may mention first a salt prognostication, which was described to me by a farmer in the north, whose wife practises it once a year regularly. She carefully fills a thimble with salt in the evening and upsets it in a neat little heap on a plate: she does that for every member of the family, and every guest, too, if there happen to be any. The plate is then left undisturbed till the morning, when she examines the heaps of salt to see if any of them have fallen; for whoever is found represented by a fallen heap will die during the year. She does not herself, I am assured, believe in it, but she likes to continue a custom which she has learned from her mother. 2. Next may be mentioned the ashes being carefully swept to the open hearth, and nicely flattened down by the women just before going to bed. In the morning they look for footmarks on the hearth, and if they find such footmarks directed towards the door, it means, in the course of the year, a death in the family, and if the reverse, they expect an addition to it by marriage [139]. 3. Then there is an elaborate process of eavesdropping recommended to young women curious to know their future husbands' names: a girl would go with her mouth full of water and her hands full of salt to the door of the nearest neighbour's house, or rather to that of the nearest neighbour but one--I have been carefully corrected more than once on that point. There she would listen, and the first name she caught would prove to be that of her future husband. Once a girl did so, as I was told by a blind fisherman in the south, and heard two brothers quarrelling inside the house at whose door she was listening. Presently the young men's mother exclaimed that the devil would not let Tom leave John alone. At the mention of that triad the girl burst into the house, laughing and spilling the mouthful of water most incontinently. The end of it was that before the year was out she married Tom, the second person mentioned: the first either did not count or proved an unassailable bachelor. 4. There is also a ritual for enabling a girl to obtain other information respecting her future husband: vessels placed about the room have various things put into them, such as clean water, earth, meal, a piece of a net, or any other article thought appropriate. The candidate for matrimony, with her eyes bandaged, feels her way about the house until she puts her hand in one of the aforesaid vessels. If what she lays her hand on is the clean water, her husband will be a handsome man [140]; if it is the earth, he will be a farmer; if the meal, a miller; if the net, a fisherman; and so on into as many of the walks of life as may be thought worthy of consideration. 5. Lastly, recourse may be had to a ritual of the same nature as that observed by the druid of ancient Erin, when, burdened with a heavy meal of the flesh of a red pig, he laid him down for the night in order to await a prophetic dream as to the manner of man the nobles of Erin assembled at Tara were to elect to be their king. The incident is given in the story of Cúchulainn's Sick-bed; and the reader, doubtless, knows the passage about Brian and the taghairm in the fourth Canto of Scott's Lady of the Lake. But the Manx girl has only to eat a salt herring, bones and all, without drinking or uttering a word, and to retire backwards to bed. When she sleeps and dreams, she will behold her future husband approaching to give her drink. Probably none of the practices which I have enumerated, or similar ones mentioned to me, are in any sense peculiar to the Isle of Man; but what interests me in them is the divided opinion as to the proper night for them in the year. I am sorry to say that I have very little information as to the blindman's-buff ritual (No. 4); what information I have, to wit, the evidence of two persons in the south, fixes it on Hollantide Eve. But as to the others (Nos. 1, 2, 3, 5), they are observed by some on that night, and by others on New Year's Eve, sometimes according to the Old Style [141] and sometimes the New. Further, those who are wont to practise the salt heap ritual, for instance, on Hollantide Eve, would be very indignant to hear that anybody should think New Year's Eve the proper night, and vice versa. So by bringing women bred and born in different parishes to compare notes on this point, I have witnessed arguing hardly less earnest than that which characterized the ancient controversy between British and Italian ecclesiastics as to the proper time for keeping Easter. I have not been able to map the island according to the practices prevalent at Hollantide and the beginning of January, but local folklorists could probably do it without much difficulty. My impression, however, is that January is gradually acquiring the upper hand. In Wales this must have been decidedly helped by the influence of Roman rule and Roman ideas; but even there the adjuncts of the Winter Calends have never been wholly transferred to the Calends of January. Witness, for instance, the women who used to congregate in the parish church to discover who of the parishioners would die during the year [142]. That custom, in the neighbourhoods reported to have practised it, continued to attach itself to the last, so far as I know, to the beginning of November. In the Isle of Man the fact of the ancient Celtic year having so firmly held its own, seems to point to the probability that the year of the Pagan Norsemen pretty nearly coincided with that of the Celts [143]. For there are reasons to think, as I have endeavoured elsewhere to show, that the Norse Yule was originally at the end of summer or the commencement of winter, in other words, the days afterwards known as the Feast of the Winter Nights. This was the favourite date in Iceland for listening to soothsayers prophesying with regard to the winter then beginning. The late Dr. Vigfusson had much to say on this subject, and how the local sibyl, resuming her elevated seat at the opening of each successive winter, gave the author of the Volospá his plan of that remarkable poem, which has been described by the same authority as the highest spiritual effort of the heathen muse of the North. CHAPTER V THE FENODYREE AND HIS FRIENDS Emoi de hai sai megalai eutychiai ouk areskousi, to theion epistamenô hôs esti phthoneron..--Herodotus. The last chapter is hardly such as to call for a recapitulation of its principal contents, and I venture to submit instead of any such repetition an abstract of some very pertinent notes on it by Miss M. G. W. Peacock, who compares with the folklore of the Isle of Man the old beliefs which survive in Lincolnshire among the descendants of Norse ancestors [144]. She was attracted by the striking affinity which she noticed between them, and she is doubtless right in regarding that affinity as due in no small degree to the Scandinavian element present in the population alike of Man and the East of England. She is, however, not lavish of theory, but gives us interesting items of information from an intimate acquaintance with the folklore of the district of which she undertakes to speak, somewhat in the following order:-- 1. Whether the water-bull still inhabits the streams of Lincolnshire she regards as doubtful, but the deep pools formed, she says, by the action of the down-flowing water at the bends of the country becks are still known as bull-holes. 2. As to the glashtyn, or water-horse, she remarks that the tatter-foal, tatter-colt, or shag-foal, as he is variously called, is still to be heard of, although his visits take place less often than before the fens and carrs were drained and the open fields and commons enclosed. She describes the tatter-foal as a goblin of the shape and appearance of a small horse or yearling foal in his rough, unkempt coat. He beguiles lonely travellers with his numberless tricks, one of which is to lure them to a stream, swamp, or water-hole. When he has succeeded he vanishes with a long outburst of mockery, half neigh, half human laughter. 3. The fenodyree, one is told, has in Lincolnshire a cousin, but he is diminutive; and, like the Yorkshire Hob or Robin Round-Cap, and the Danish Niss, he is used to befriend the house in which he dwells. The story of his driving the farmer's sheep home is the same practically as in the Isle of Man, even to the point of bringing in with them the little grey sheep, as he called the fine hare that had given him more trouble than all the rest of the flock: see pp. 286-7 above. 4. The story of this manikin's clothing differs considerably from that of the fenodyree. The farmer gives him in gratitude for his services a linen shirt every New Year's Eve; and this went on for years, until at last the farmer thought a hemp shirt was good enough to give him. When the clock struck twelve at midnight the manikin raised an angry wail, saying:-- Harden, harden, harden hemp! I will neither grind nor stamp! Had you given me linen gear, I would have served you many a year! He was no more seen or heard: he vanished for ever. The Cornish counterpart of this brownie reasons in the opposite way; for when, in gratitude for his help in threshing, a new suit of clothes is given him, he hurries away, crying [145]:-- Pisky new coat, and pisky new hood, Pisky now will do no more good. Here, also, one should compare William Nicholson's account of the brownie of Blednoch [146], in Galloway, who wore next to no clothing:-- Roun' his hairy form there was naething seen, But a philabeg o' the rushes green. So he was driven away for ever by a newly married wife wishing him to wear an old pair of her husband's breeches:-- But a new-made wife, fu' o' rippish freaks, Fond o' a' things feat for the first five weeks, Laid a mouldy pair o' her ain man's breeks By the brose o' Aiken-drum. Let the learned decide, when they convene, What spell was him and the breeks between: For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen, And sair missed was Aiken-drum! The only account which I have been able to find of a Welsh counterpart will be found in Bwca'r Trwyn, in chapter x: he differs in some important respects from the fenodyree and the brownie. 5. A twig of the rowan tree, or wicken, as it is called, was effective against all evil things, including witches. It is useful in many ways to guard the welfare of the household, and to preserve both the live stock and the crops, while placed on the churn it prevents any malign influence from retarding the coming of the butter. I may remark that Celts and Teutons seem to have been generally pretty well agreed as to the virtues of the rowan tree. Bits of iron also are lucky against witches. 6. Fairies are rare, but witches and wizards abound, and some of them have been supposed to change themselves into dogs to worry sheep and cattle, or into toads to poison the swine's troughs. But they do not seem to change themselves into hares, as in Man and other Celtic lands. 7. Witchcraft, says Miss Peacock, is often hereditary, passing most frequently from mother to daughter; but when a witch has no daughter her power may appear in a son, and then revert to the female line. This appears far more natural than the Manx belief in its passing from father to daughter and from daughter to son. But another kind of succession is mentioned in the Welsh Triads, i. 32, ii. 20, iii. 90, which speak of Math ab Mathonwy teaching his magic to Gwydion, who as his sister's son was to succeed him in his kingdom; and of a certain Rhudlwm Dwarf teaching his magic to Coll, son of Collfrewi, his nephew. Both instances seem to point to a state of society which did not reckon paternity but only birth. 8. Only three years previous to Miss Peacock's writing an old man died, she says, who had seen blood drawn from a witch because she had, as was supposed, laid a spell on a team of horses: as soon as she was struck so as to bleed the horses and their load were free to go on their way again. Possibly no equally late instance could be specified in the Isle of Man: see p. 296 above. 9. Traces of animal sacrifice may still be found in Lincolnshire, for the heart of a small beast, or of a bird, is necessary, Miss Peacock says, for the efficient performance of several counter-charms, especially in torturing a witch by the reversal of her spells, and warding off evil from houses or other buildings. Apparently Miss Peacock has not heard of so considerable a victim as a sheep or a calf being sacrificed, as in the Isle of Man, but the objects of the sacrifices may be said to be the same. 10. Several pin and rag wells are said to exist in Lincolnshire, their waters being supposed to possess healing virtues, especially as regards eye ailments. 11. Love-spells and prognostications are mentioned, some of them as belonging to Allhallows, as they do partly in the Isle of Man: she mentions the making of dumb cake, and the eating of the salt herring, followed by dreams of the future husband bringing the thirsting lass drink in a jug, the quality of which indicates the bearer's position in life. But other Lincolnshire practices of the kind seem to oscillate between Allhallows and St. Mark's Eve, while gravitating decidedly towards the latter date. Here it is preferable to give Miss Peacock's own words:--'Professor Rhys' mention of the footmark in the ashes reminds me of a love-spell current in the Wapentake of Manley in North Lincolnshire. Properly speaking, it should be put in practice on St. Mark's E'en, that eerie spring-tide festival when those who are skilled may watch the church porch and learn who will die in the ensuing twelvemonth; but there is little doubt that the charm is also used at Hallow E'en, and at other suitable seasons of the year. The spell consists in riddling ashes on the hearthstone, or beans on the floor of the barn, with proper ceremonies and at the proper time, with the result that the girl who works her incantation correctly finds the footprint of the man she is to marry clearly marked on the sifted mass the following morning. It is to be supposed that the spirit of the lover is responsible for the mark, as, according to another folk-belief, any girl who watches her supper on St. Mark's E'en will see the spirit of the man she will wed come into the room at midnight to partake of the food provided. The room must be one with the door and windows in different walls, and both must be open. The spirit comes in by the door (and goes out by the window?). Each girl who undertakes to keep watch must have a separate supper and a separate candle, and all talking is to end before the clock goes twelve, for there must not be any speaking before the spirits. From these superstitions, and from the generally received idea that the spirits of all the parishioners are to be observed entering the church on St. Mark's E'en, it may be inferred that the Manx footprint is made by the wraith of the person doomed to death.' Compare pp. 318-9 above. What Miss Peacock alludes to as watching the church porch was formerly well known in Wales [147], and may be illustrated from a district so far east as the Golden Valley, in Herefordshire, by the following story told me in 1892 by Mrs. Powell of Dorstone, on the strength of what she had learnt from her mother-in-law, the late Mrs. Powell, who was a native of that parish:-- 'On Allhallows Eve at midnight, those who are bold enough to look through the church windows will see the building lighted with an unearthly light, and the pulpit occupied by his Satanic majesty clothed in a monk's habit. Dreadful anathemas are the burden of his preaching, and the names of those who in the coming year are to render up their souls may be heard by those who have courage to listen. A notorious evil liver, Jack of France, once by chance passed the church at this awful moment: looking in he saw the lights and heard the voice, and his own name in the horrid list; and, according to some versions of the story, he went home to die of fright. Others say that he repented and died in good repute, and so cheated the evil one of his prey.' I have no list of places in Wales and its marches which have this sort of superstition associated with them, but it is my impression that they are mostly referred to Allhallows, as at Dorstone, and that where that is not the case they have been shifted to the beginning of the year as at present reckoned; for in Celtic lands, at least, they seem to have belonged to what was reckoned the beginning of the year. The old Celtic year undoubtedly began at Allhallows, and the day next in importance after the Calends of Winter (in Welsh Calangáeaf) was, among the Celts, the beginning of the summer half of the year, or the Calends of May (in Welsh Calánmai), which St. Mark's Eve approaches too nearly for us to regard it as accidental. With this modified agreement between the Lincolnshire date and the Celtic one contrast the irreconcilable English date of St. John's Eve; and see Tylor's Primitive Culture, i. 440, where one reads as follows of 'the well-known superstition,' 'that fasting watchers on St. John's Eve may see the apparitions of those doomed to die during the year come with the clergyman to the church door and knock; these apparitions are spirits who come forth from their bodies, for the minister has been noticed to be much troubled in his sleep while his phantom was thus engaged, and when one of a party of watchers fell into a sound sleep and could not be roused, the others saw his apparition knock at the church door.' With an unerring instinct for the intelligent colligation of facts, Miss Peacock finds the nearest approach to the yearly review of the moritures, if I may briefly so call them, in the wraith's footprint in the ashes. Perhaps a more systematic examination of Manx folklore may result in the discovery of a more exact parallel. For want of knowing where else to put it, I may mention here in reference to the dead, a passage which has been copied for me by my friend Mr. Gwenogvryn Evans, from Manuscript 163 in the Peniarth Collection. I understand it to be of the earlier part of the sixteenth century, and p. 10 has the following passage:-- Yn yr ynys honn [Manaw] y kair gweled liw dyd bobyl a vvessynt veirw / Rrai gwedi tori penav / eraill gwedi torri i haelode / Ac os dieithred a dissyfynt i gweled hwynt / Sengi ar draed gwyr or tir ac velly hwynt a gaent weled yr hyn a welssynt hwyntav. 'In this island [Man] one beholds in the light of day people who have died, some with their heads cut off and others with their limbs cut off. And if strangers desire to see them, they have to stand on the feet of the natives of the land, and in that way they would see what the latter had seen.' A similar instance of the virtue of standing on the feet of another person has been mentioned in reference to the farmer of Deunant, at p. 230 above; the foot, however, on which he had to stand in order to get a glimpse of the fairy world, was a fairy's own foot. Lastly, the passage in the Peniarth Manuscript has something more to say of the Isle of Man, as follows:-- Mawr oed arfer o swynion a chyvaredion gynt yn yr ynys honn / Kanys gwraged a vydynt yno yn gwnevthvr gwynt i longwyr gwedir gav mewn tri chwlm o edav aphan vai eissie gwynt arnynt dattod kwlm or edav anaynt. 'Great was the practice formerly of spells and sorceries in this island; for there used to be there women making wind for sailors, which wind they confined within three knots made on a thread. And when they had need of wind they would undo a knot of the thread.' This was written in the sixteenth century, and based probably on Higden's Polychronicon, book I, chap. xliv. (= I. 42-3), but the same practice of wind making goes on to this day, one of the principal practitioners being the woman to whom reference was made at p. 299. She is said to tie the breezes in so many knots which she makes on the purchasing sailor's pocket-handkerchief. This reminds one of the sibyl of Warinsey, or the Island of Guernsey, who is represented by an ancient Norse poet as 'fashioning false prophecies.' See Vigfusson and Powell's Corpus Poeticum Boreale, i. 136; also Mela's first-century account of the virgins of the island of Sena, which runs to the following effect:--'Sena, in the Britannic Sea, opposite the coast of the Osismi, is famous for its oracle of a Gaulish god, whose priestesses, living in the holiness of perpetual virginity, are said to be nine in number. They call them Gallizenæ, and they believe them to be endowed with extraordinary gifts to rouse the sea and the wind by their incantations, to turn themselves into whatsoever animal form they may choose, to cure diseases which among others are incurable, to know what is to come and to foretell it. They are, however, devoted to the service of voyagers only who have set out on no other errand than to consult them [148].' It is probable that the sacrosanct [149] inhabitants of the small islands on the coasts of Gaul and Britain had wellnigh a monopoly of the traffic in wind [150]. In the last chapter I made allusion to several wells of greater or less celebrity in the Isle of Man; but I find that I have a few remarks to add. Mr. Arthur Moore, in his book on Manx Surnames and Place-Names, p. 200, mentions a Chibber Unjin, which means the Well of the Ash-tree, and he states that there grew near it 'formerly a sacred ash-tree, where votive offerings were hung.' The ash-tree calls to his mind Scandinavian legends respecting the ash, but in any case one may suppose the ash was not the usual tree to expect by a well in the Isle of Man, otherwise this one would scarcely have been distinguished as the Ash-tree Well. The tree to expect by a sacred well is doubtless some kind of thorn, as in the case of Chibber Undin in the parish of Malew. The name means Foundation Well, so called in reference probably to the foundations of an ancient cell, or keeill as it is called in Manx, which lie close by, and are found to measure twenty-one feet long by twelve feet broad. The following is Mr. Moore's account of the well in his book already cited, p. 181:--'The water of this well is supposed to have curative properties. The patients who came to it, took a mouthful of water, retaining it in their mouths till they had twice walked round the well. They then took a piece of cloth from a garment which they had worn, wetted it with the water from the well, and hung it on the hawthorn tree which grew there. When the cloth had rotted away, the cure was supposed to be effected.' I visited the spot a few years ago in the company of the Rev. E. B. Savage of St. Thomas' Parsonage, Douglas, and we found the well nearly dried up in consequence of the drainage of the field around it; but the remains of the old cell were there, and the thorn bush had strips of cloth or calico tied to its branches. We cut off one, which is now in the Pitt-Rivers Museum at Oxford. The account Mr. Savage had of the ritual observed at the well differed a little from that given by Mr. Moore, especially in the fact that it made the patient who had been walking round the well with water from the well in his mouth, empty that water finally into a rag from his clothing: the rag was then tied to a branch of the thorn. It does not appear that the kind of tree mattered much; nay, a tree is not, it seems to me, essential. At any rate, St. Maughold's Well has no tree growing near it now; but it is right to say, that when Mr. Kermode and I visited it, we could find no rags left near the spot, nor indeed could we expect to find any, as there was nothing to which they might be tied on that windy headland. The absence of the tree does not, however, prove that the same sort of ritual was not formerly observed at St. Maughold's Well as at Chibber Undin; and here I must mention another well which I have visited in the island more than once. It is on the side of Bradda Hill, a little above the village of Bradda, and in the direction of Fleshwick: I was attracted to it by the fact that it had, as I had been told by Mr. Savage, formerly an old cell or keeill near it, and the name of the saint to which it belonged may probably be gathered from the name of the well, which, in the Manx of the south of the island, is Chibbyrt Valtane, pronounced approximately Chuvurt Voltáne or Oldáne. The personal name would be written in modern Manx in its radical form as Boltane, and if it occurred in the genitive in Ogam inscriptions I should expect to find it written Boltagni or Baltagni [151]. It is, however, unknown to me, though to be placed possibly by the side of the name of the saint after whom the parish of Santon is called in the south-east of the island. This is pronounced in Manx approximately [152] Santane or Sandane, and would have yielded an early inscriptional nominative SANCTANVS, which, in fact, occurs on an old stone near Llandudno on the Welsh coast: see some notes of mine in point in the Archæologia Cambrensis, 1897, pp. 140-2. To return to the well, it would seem to have been associated with an old cell, but it has no tree growing by. Mr. Savage and I were told, nevertheless, that a boy who had searched the well a short time previously had got some coins out of it, quite recent ones, consisting of halfpennies or pennies, so far as I remember. On my observing to one of the neighbours that I saw no rags there, I was assured that there had been some; and, on my further saying that I saw no tree there to which they could be tied, I was told that they used to be attached to the brambles, which grew there in great abundance. Thus it appears that, in the Isle of Man at any rate, a tree to bear the rags was not an essential adjunct of a holy well. Before leaving these well superstitions the reader may wish to know how they were understood in Ireland not long ago: so I venture to quote a passage from a letter by the late Mr. W. C. Borlase on Rag Offerings and Primitive Pilgrimages in Ireland, as follows:-- 'Among the MSS. of the late Mr. Windele, of Cork, ... I find a passage which cannot fail to interest students of folk-lore. It relates to the custom of affixing shreds of rag to the hawthorn tree, which almost invariably stands by the brink of the typical Irish "holy well," and it gives us the meaning of the custom as understood, some half-century since, by the inhabitants of certain localities in the province of Munster. The idea is, says the writer, that the putting up these rags is a putting away of the evils impending or incurred by sin, an act accompanied by the following ritual words: Air impide an Tiarna mo chuid teinis do fhagaint air an ait so; i. e. By the intercession of the Lord I leave my portion of illness on this place. These words, he adds, should be uttered by whoever performs the round, and they are, no doubt, of extreme antiquity. Mr. Windele doubtless took down the words as he heard them locally pronounced, though, to be correct, for Tiarna should be read Tigerna; for teinis, tinneas; and for fhagaint, fhagaim [153].' From the less known saints Boltane and Santane I wish to pass to the mention of a more famous one, namely, St. Catherine, and this because of a fair called after her, and held on the sixth day of December at the village of Colby in the south of the island. When I heard of this fair in 1888, it was in temporary abeyance on account of a lawsuit respecting the plot of ground on which the fair is wont to be held; but I was told that it usually begins with a procession, in which a live hen is carried about: this is called St. Catherine's hen. The next day the hen is carried about dead and plucked, and a rhyme pronounced at a certain point in the proceedings contemplates the burial of the hen, but whether that ever takes place I know not. It runs thus:-- Kiark Catrina marroo: Gows yn kione as goyms ny cassyn, As ver mayd ee fo'n thalloo. Catherine's hen is dead: The head take thou and I the feet, We shall put her under the ground. A man who is found to be not wholly sober after the fair is locally said to have plucked a feather from the hen (T'eh er goaill fedjag ass y chiark); so it would seem that there must be such a scramble to get at the hen, and to take part in the plucking, that it requires a certain amount of drink to allay the thirst of the over zealous devotees of St. Catherine. But why should this ceremony be associated with St. Catherine? and what were the origin and meaning of it? These are questions on which I should be glad to have light shed. Manx has a word quaail (Irish comhdháil), meaning a 'meeting,' and from it we have a derivative quaaltagh or qualtagh, meaning, according to Kelly's Dictionary, 'the first person or creature one meets going from home,' whereby the author can have only meant the first met by one who is going from home. Kelly goes on to add that 'this person is of great consequence to the superstitious, particularly to women the first time they go out after lying-in.' Cregeen, in his Dictionary, defines the qualtagh as 'the first person met on New Year's Day, or on going on some new work, &c.' Before proceeding to give the substance of my notes on the qualtagh of the present day I may as well finish with Cregeen, for he adds the following information:--'A company of young lads or men generally went in old times on what they termed the qualtagh, at Christmas or New Year's Day, to the houses of their more wealthy neighbours; some one of the company repeating in an audible voice the following rhyme:-- Ollick ghennal erriu as bleïn feer vie, Seihll as slaynt da'n slane lught thie; Bea as gennallys en bio ry-cheilley, Shee as graih eddyr mrane as deiney; Cooid as cowryn, stock as stoyr, Palchey phuddase, as skaddan dy-liooar, Arran as caashey, eeym as roayrt; Baase, myr lugh, ayns uhllin ny soalt; Cadley sauchey tra vees shiu ny lhie, As feeackle y jargan, nagh bee dy mie.' It may be loosely translated as follows:-- A merry Christmas, a happy new year, Long life and health to all the household here. Food and mirth to you dwelling together, Peace and love to all, men and women; Wealth and distinction, stock and store, Potatoes enough, and herrings galore; Bread and cheese, butter and gravy; Die like a mouse in a barn or haggard; In safety sleep while you lie to rest, And by the flea's tooth be not distressed. At present New Year's Day is the time when the qualtagh is of general interest, and in this case he is, outside the members of one's own household, practically the first person one sees on the morning of that day, whether that person meets one out of doors or comes to one's house. The following is what I have learnt by inquiry as to the qualtagh: all are agreed that he must not be a woman or girl, and that he must not be spaagagh or splay footed, while a woman from the parish of Marown told me that he must not have red hair. The prevalent belief, however, is that he should be a dark haired man or boy, and it is of no consequence how rough his appearance may be, provided he be black haired. However, I was told by one man in Rushen that the qualtagh or 'first-foot' need not be a black haired person: he must be a man or boy. But this less restricted view is not the one held in the central and northern parts of the island, so far as I could ascertain. An English lady living in the neighbourhood of Castletown told me that her son, whom I know to be, like his mother, a blond, not being aware what consequences might be associated with his visit, called at a house in Castletown on the morning of New Year's Day, and he chanced to be the qualtagh. The mistress of the house was horrified, and expressed to the English lady her anticipation of misfortunes; and as it happened that one of the children of the house died in the course of the year, the English lady has been reminded of it since. Naturally the association of these events are not pleasant to her; but, so far as I can remember, they date only some eight or nine years ago [154]. By way of bringing Wales into comparison with Man, I may mention that, when I was a very small boy, I used to be sent very early on New Year's morning to call on an old uncle of mine, because, as I was told, I should be certain to receive a calennig or a calends' gift from him, but on no account would my sister be allowed to go, as he would only see a boy on such an occasion as that. I do not recollect anything being said as to the colour of one's hair or the shape of one's foot; but that sort of negative evidence is of very little value, as the qualtagh was fast passing out of consideration. The preference here given to a boy over a girl looks like one of the widely spread superstitions which rule against the fair sex; but, as to the colour of the hair, I should be predisposed to think that it possibly rests on racial antipathy, long ago forgotten; for it might perhaps be regarded as going back to a time when the dark haired race reckoned the Aryan of fair complexion as his natural enemy, the very sight of whom brought with it thoughts calculated to make him unhappy and despondent. If this idea proved to be approximately correct, one might suggest that the racial distinction in question referred to the struggles between the inhabitants of Man and their Scandinavian conquerors; but to my thinking it is just as likely that it goes much further back. Lastly, what is one to say with regard to the spaagagh or splay footed person, now more usually defined as flat footed or having no instep? I have heard it said in the south of the island that it is unlucky to meet a spaagagh in the morning at any time of the year, and not on New Year's Day alone; but this does not help us in the attempt to find the genesis of this belief. If it were said that it was unlucky to meet a deformed person, it would look somewhat more natural; but why fix on the flat footed especially? For my part I have not been trained to distinguish flat footed people, so I do not recollect noticing any in the Isle of Man; but, granting there may be a small proportion of such people in the island, does it not seem strange that they should have their importance so magnified as this superstition would seem to imply? I must confess that I cannot understand it, unless we have here also some supposed racial characteristic, let us say greatly exaggerated. To explain myself I should put it that the non-Aryan aborigines were a small people of great agility and nimbleness, and that their Aryan conquerors moved more slowly and deliberately, whence the former, of springier movements, might come to nickname the latter the flat footed. It is even conceivable that there was some amount of foundation for it in fact. If I might speak from my own experience, I might mention a difficulty I have often had with shoes of English make, namely, that I have always found them, unless made to measure, apt to have their instep too low for me. It has never occurred to me to buy ready-made shoes in France or Germany, but I know a lady as Welsh as I am, who has often bought shoes in France, and her experience is, that it is much easier for her to get shoes there to fit her than in England, and for the very reason which I have already suggested, namely, that the instep in English shoes is lower than in French ones. Again, I may mention that one day last term [155], having to address a meeting of Welsh undergraduates on folklore, I ventured to introduce this question. They agreed with me that English shoes did not, as a rule, fit Welsh feet, and this because they are made too low in the instep: I ought to have said that they all agreed except one undergraduate, who held his peace. He is a tall man, powerful in the football field, but of no dark complexion, and I have never dared to look in the direction of his feet since, lest he should catch me carrying my comparisons to cruel extremes. Perhaps the flatness of the feet of the one race is not emphasized so much as the height of the instep in those of the other. At any rate I find this way of looking at the question somewhat countenanced by a journalist who refers his readers to Wm. Henderson's notes on the Folklore of the Northern Counties, p. 74. The passage relates more particularly to Northumberland, and runs as follows:--'In some districts, however, special weight is attached to the "first-foot" being that of a person with a high-arched instep, a foot that "water runs under." A flat-footed person would bring great ill-luck for the coming year.' These instances do not warrant the induction that Celts are higher in the instep than Teutons, and that they have inherited that characteristic from the non-Aryan element in their ancestry. Perhaps the explanation is, at least in part, that the dwellers in hilly regions tend to be more springy and to have higher insteps than the inhabitants of flatter lands. The statement of Dr. Karl Blind on this point does not help one to a decision when he speaks as follows in Folk-Lore for 1892, p. 89:--'As to the instep, I can speak from personal experience. Almost every German finds that an English shoemaker makes his boots not high enough in the instep. The northern Germans (I am from the south) have perhaps slightly flatter feet than the southern Germans.' The first part of the comparison is somewhat of a surprise to me, but not so the other part, that the southern Germans inhabiting a hillier country, and belonging to a different race, may well be higher in the instep than the more northern speakers of the German language. But on the whole the more one examines the qualtagh, the less clearly one sees how he can be the representative of a particular race. More data possibly would enable one to arrive at greater probability. There is one other question which I should like to ask before leaving the qualtagh, namely, as to the relation of the custom of New Year's gifts to the belief in the qualtagh. I have heard it related in the Isle of Man that women have been known to keep indoors on New Year's Day until the qualtagh comes, which sometimes means their being prisoners for the greater part of the day, in order to avoid the risk of first meeting one who is not of the right sex and complexion. On the other hand, when the qualtagh is of the right description, considerable fuss is made of him; to say the least, he has to accept food and drink, possibly more permanent gifts. Thus a tall, black haired native of Kirk Michael described to me how he chanced on New Year's Day, years ago, to turn into a lonely cottage in order to light his pipe, and how he found he was the qualtagh: he had to sit down to have food, and when he went away it was with a present and the blessings of the family. Now New Year's Day is the time for gifts in Wales, as shown by the name for them, calennig, which is derived from calan, the Welsh form of the Latin calendæ, New Year's Day being in Welsh Y Calan, 'the Calends.' The same is the day for gifts in Scotland and in Ireland, except in so far as Christmas boxes have been making inroads from England: I need not add that the Jour de l'An is the day for gifts also in France. My question then is this: Is there any essential connexion of origin between the institution of New Year's Day gifts and the belief in the first-foot? Now that it has been indicated what sort of a qualtagh it is unlucky to have, I may as well proceed to mention the other things which I have heard treated as unlucky in the island. Some of them scarcely require to be noticed, as there is nothing specially Manx about them, such as the belief that it is unlucky to have the first glimpse of the new moon through glass. That is a superstition which is, I believe, widely spread, and, among other countries, it is quite familiar in Wales, where it is also unlucky to see the moon for the first time through a hedge or over a house. What this means I cannot guess, unless it be that it was once considered one's duty to watch the first appearance of the new moon from the highest point in the landscape of the district in which one dwelt. Such a point would in that case become the chief centre of a moon worship now lost in oblivion. It is believed in Man, as it used to be in Wales and Ireland, that it is unlucky to disturb antiquities, especially old burial places and old churches. This superstition is unfortunately passing away in all three countries, but you still hear of it, especially in the Isle of Man, mostly after mischief has been done. Thus a good Manx scholar told me how a relative of his in the Ronnag, a small valley near South Barrule, had carted away the earth from an old burial ground on his farm and used it as manure for his fields, and how his beasts died afterwards. The narrator said he did not know whether there was any truth in it, but everybody believed that it was the reason why the cattle died; and so did the farmer himself at last: so he desisted from completing his disturbance of the old site. It is possibly for a similar reason that a house in ruins is seldom pulled down, or the materials used for other buildings. Where that has been done misfortunes have ensued; at any rate, I have heard it said so more than once. I ought to have stated that the non-disturbance of antiquities in the island is quite consistent with their being now and then shamefully neglected as elsewhere. This is now met by an excellent statute recently enacted by the House of Keys for the preservation of the public monuments of the island. Of the other and more purely Manx superstitions I may mention one which obtains among the Peel fishermen of the present day: no boat is willing to be third in the order of sailing out from Peel harbour to the fisheries. So it sometimes happens that after two boats have departed, the others remain watching each other for days, each hoping that somebody else may be reckless enough to break through the invisible barrier of 'bad luck.' I have often asked for an explanation of this superstition, but the only intelligible answer I have had was that it has been observed that the third boat has done badly several years in succession; but I am unable to ascertain how far that represents the fact. Another of the unlucky things is to have a white stone in the boat, even in the ballast, and for that I never could get any explanation at all; but there is no doubt as to the fact of this superstition, and I may illustrate it from the case of a clergyman's son on the west side, who took it into his head to go out with some fishermen several days in succession. They chanced to be unsuccessful each time, and they gave their Jonah the nickname of Clagh Vane, or 'White Stone.' Now what can be the origin of this tabu? It seems to me that if the Manx had once a habit of adorning the graves of the departed with white stones, that circumstance would be a reasonable explanation of the superstition in question. Further, it is quite possible they did, and here Manx archæologists could probably help as to the matter of fact. In the absence, however, of information to the point from Man, I take the liberty of citing some relating to Scotland. It comes from Mr. Gomme's presidential address to the Folk-Lore Society: see Folk-Lore for 1893, pp. 13-4:-- 'Near Inverary, it is the custom among the fisher-folk, and has been so within the memory of the oldest, to place little white stones or pebbles on the graves of their friends. No reason is now given for the practice, beyond that most potent and delightful of all reasons in the minds of folk-lore students, namely, that it has always been done. Now there is nothing between this modern practice sanctioned by traditional observance and the practice of the stone-age people in the same neighbourhood and in others, as made known to us by their grave-relics. Thus, in a cairn at Achnacrie opened by Dr. Angus Smith, on entering the innermost chamber "the first thing that struck the eye was a row of quartz pebbles larger than a walnut; these were arranged on the ledge of the lower granite block of the east side." Near Crinan, at Duncraigaig and at Rudie, the same characteristic was observed, and Canon Greenwell, who examined the cairns, says the pebbles "must have been placed there with some intention, and probably possessed a symbolic meaning."' See also Burghead, by Mr. H. W. Young (Inverness, 1899), p. 10, where we read that at Burghead the 'smooth white pebbles, sometimes five or seven of them, but never more,' have been usually arranged as crosses on the graves which he has found under the fallen ramparts. Can this be a Christian superstition with the white stones of the Apocalypse as its foundation? Here I may mention a fact which I do not know where else to put, namely, that a fisherman on his way in the morning to the fishing, and chancing to pass by the cottage of another fisherman who is not on friendly terms with him, will pluck a straw from the thatch of the latter's dwelling. Thereby he is supposed to rob him of his luck in the fishing for that day. One would expect to learn that the straw from the thatch served as the subject of an incantation directed against the owner of the thatch. I have never heard anything suggested to that effect; but I conclude that the plucking of the straw is only a partial survival of what was once a complete ritual for bewitching one's neighbour, unless getting possession of the straw was supposed to carry with it possession of everything belonging to the other man, including his luck in fishing for that day. Owing to my ignorance as to the superstitions of other fishermen than those of the Isle of Man, I will not attempt to classify the remaining instances to be mentioned, such as the unluckiness of mentioning a horse or a mouse on board a fishing-boat: I seem, however, to have heard of similar tabus among Scottish fishermen; and, according to Dr. Blind, Shetland fishermen will not mention a church or a clergyman when out at sea, but use quite other names for both when on board a ship (Folk-Lore for 1892, p. 89). Novices in the Manx fisheries have to learn not to point to anything with one finger: they have to point with the whole hand or not at all. This looks as if it belonged to a code of rules as to the use of the hand, such as prevail among the Neapolitans and other peoples whose chief article of faith is the belief in malign influences: see Mr. Elworthy's volume on The Evil Eye. Whether the Manx are alone in thinking it unlucky to lend salt from one boat to another when they are engaged in the fishing, I know not: such lending would probably be inconvenient, but why it should be unlucky, as they believe it to be, does not appear. The first of May is a day on which it is unlucky to lend anything, and especially to give anyone fire [156]. This looks as if it pointed back to some druidic custom of lighting all fires at that time from a sacred hearth, but, so far as is known, this only took place at the beginning of the other half-year, namely, Sauin or Allhallows, which is sometimes rendered into Manx as Laa 'll mooar ny Saintsh, 'the Day of the great Feast of the Saints.' Lastly, I may mention that it is unlucky to say that you are very well: at any rate, I infer that it is regarded so, as you will never get a Manxman to say that he is feer vie, 'very well.' He usually admits that he is 'middling'; and if by any chance he risks a stronger adjective, he hastens to qualify it by adding 'now,' or 'just now,' with an emphasis indicative of his anxiety not to say too much. His habits of speech point back to a time when the Manx mind was dominated by the fear of awaking malignant influences in the spirit world around him. This has had the effect of giving the Manx peasant's character a tinge of reserve and suspicion, which makes it difficult to gain his confidence: his acquaintance has, therefore, to be cultivated for some time before you can say that you know the workings of his heart. The pagan belief in a Nemesis has doubtless passed away, but not without materially affecting the Manx idea of a personal devil. Ever since the first allusion made in my hearing by Manxmen to the devil, I have been more and more deeply impressed that for them the devil is a much more formidable being than Englishmen or Welshmen picture him. He is a graver and, if I may say so, a more respectable being, allowing no liberties to be taken with his name, so you had better not call him a devil, the evil one, or like names, for his proper designation is Noid ny Hanmey, 'the Enemy of the Soul,' and in ordinary Anglo-Manx conversation he is commonly called 'the Enemy of Souls.' I well remember getting one day into a conversation with an old soldier in the south of the island. He was, as I soon discovered, labouring under a sort of theological monomania, and his chief question was concerning the Welsh word for 'the Enemy of Souls.' I felt at once that I had to be careful, and that the reputation of my countrymen depended on how I answered. As I had no name anything like the one he used for the devil, I explained to him that the Welsh, though not a great nation, were great students of theology, and that they had by no means neglected the great branch of it known as satanology. In fact that study, as I went on to say, had left its impress on the Welsh language: on Sunday the ministers of all denominations, the deacons and elders, and all self-respecting congregations spoke of the devil trisyllabically as diafol, while on the other days of the week everybody called him more briefly and forcibly diawl, except bards concocting an awdl for an Eistedfod, where the devil must always be called diafl, and excepting also sailors, farm servants, post-boys and colliers, together with country gentlemen learning Welsh to address their wouldn't-be constituents--for all these the regulation form was jawl, with an English j. Thus one could, I pointed out to him, fix the social standing of a Welshman by the way he named 'the Enemy of Souls,' as well as appreciate the superiority of Welsh over Greek, seeing that Welsh, when it borrowed diabolos from Greek, quadrupled it, while Greek remained sterile. He was so profoundly impressed that I never was able to bring his attention back to the small fry, spiritually speaking, of the Isle of Man, to wit, the fairies and the fenodyree, or even the witches and the charmers, except that he had some reserve of faith in witches, since the witch of Endor was in the Bible and had ascribed to her a 'terr'ble' great power of raising spirits: that, he thought, must be true. I pointed out to him that a fenodyree (see p. 288) was also mentioned in his Bible: this display of ready knowledge on my part made a deep impression on his mind. The Manx are, as a rule, a sober people, and highly religious; as regards their tenets, they are mostly members of the Church of England or Wesleyan Methodists, or else both, which is by no means unusual. Religious phrases are not rare in their ordinary conversation; in fact, they struck me as being of more frequent occurrence than in Wales, even the Wales of my boyhood; and here and there this fondness for religious phraseology has left its traces on the native vocabulary. Take, for example, the word for 'anybody, a person, or human being,' which Cregeen writes py'agh or p'agh: he rightly regards it as the colloquial pronunciation of peccagh, 'a sinner.' So, when one knocks at a Manx door and calls out, Vel p'agh sthie? he literally asks, 'Is there any sinner indoors?' The question has, however, been explained to me, with unconscious irony, as properly meaning, 'Is there any Christian indoors?' and care is now taken in reading to pronounce the middle consonants of the word peccagh, 'sinner,' so as to distinguish it from the word for a Christian 'anybody': but the identity of origin is unmistakable. Lastly, the fact that a curse is a species of prayer, to wit, a prayer for evil to follow, is well exemplified in Manx by the same words, gwee [157], plural gwecaghyn, meaning both kinds of prayer. Thus I found myself stumbling several times, in reading through the Psalms in Manx, from not bearing in mind the sinister meaning of these words; for example in Psalm xiv. 6, where we have Ta 'n beeal oc lane dy ghweeaghyn as dy herriuid, which I mechanically construed to mean 'Their mouth is full of praying and bitterness,' instead of 'cursing and bitterness'; and so in other cases, such as Ps. x. 7, and cix. 27. It occurred to me on various occasions to make inquiries as to the attitude of religious Manxmen towards witchcraft and the charmer's vocation. Nobody, so far as I know, accuses them of favouring witchcraft in any way whatsoever; but as to the reality of witches and witchcraft they are not likely to have any doubts so long as they dwell on the Biblical account of the witch of Endor, as I have already mentioned in the case of the old Crimean soldier. Then as to charmers I have heard it distinctly stated that the most religious men are they who have most confidence in charmers and their charms; and a lay preacher whom I know has been mentioned to me as now and then doing a little charming in cases of danger or pressing need. On the whole, I think the charge against religious people of consulting charmers is somewhat exaggerated; but I believe that recourse to the charmer is more usual and more openly had than, for example, in Wales, where those who consult a dyn hyspys or 'wise man' have to do it secretly, and at the risk of being expelled by their co-religionists from the Seiet or 'Society.' There is somewhat in the atmosphere of Man to remind one rather of the Wales of a past generation--Wales as it was at the time when the Rev. Edmund Jones could write a Relation of Apparitions of Spirits in the County of Monmouth and the Principality of Wales, as a book 'designed to confute and to prevent the infidelity of denying the being and apparition of spirits, which tends to irreligion and atheism': see pp. 174, 195 above. The Manx peasantry are perhaps the most independent and prosperous in the British Isles; but their position geographically and politically has been favourable to the continuance of ideas not quite up to the level of the latest papers on Darwinism and Evolution read at our Church Congresses in this country. This may be thought to be here wide of the mark; but, after giving, in the previous chapter, specimens of rather ancient superstitions as recently known in the island, it is but right that one should form an idea of the surroundings in which they have lingered into modern times. Perhaps nothing will better serve to bring this home to the reader's mind than the fact, for which there is proof, that old people still living remember men and women clad in white sheets doing penance publicly in the churches of Man. The following is the evidence which I was able to find, and I may state that I first heard in 1888 of the public penance from Mr. Joughin, who was an aged man and a native of Kirk Bride. He related how a girl named Mary Dick gave an impertinent answer to the clergyman when he was catechizing her class, and how she had to do penance for it at church. She took her revenge on the parson by singing, while attending in a white sheet, louder than everybody else in the congregation. This, unless I am mistaken, Mr. Joughin gave me to understand he had heard from his father. I mentioned the story to a clergyman, who was decidedly of opinion that no one alive now could remember anything about public penance. Not long after, however, I got into conversation with a shoemaker at Kirk Michael, named Dan Kelly, who was nearly completing his eighty-first year. He was a native of Ballaugh, and stated that he remembered many successive occupants of the episcopal see. A long time ago the official called the sumner had, out of spite he said, appointed him to serve as one of the four of the chapter jury. It was, he thought, when he was about twenty-five. During his term of office he saw four persons, of whom two were married men and two unmarried women, doing penance in the parish church of Ballaugh for having illegitimate children. They stood in the alley of the church, and the sumner had to throw white sheets over them; on the fourth Sunday of their penance they stood inside the chancel rails, but not to take the communion. The parson, whose name was Stowell or Stowall, made them thoroughly ashamed of themselves on the fourth Sunday, as one of the men afterwards admitted. Kelly mentioned the names of the women and of one of the men, and he indicated to me some of their descendants as well known in the neighbourhood. I cross-examined him all the more severely, as I had heard the other view of the remoteness of the date. But nothing could shake Kelly, who added that soon after the date of the above mentioned cases the civil functionary, known as the vicar-general, put an end to the chapter jury and to public penance: according to his reckoning the penance he spoke of must have taken place about 1832. Another old man, named Kewley, living now near Kirk Michael, but formerly in the parish of Lezayre, had a similar story. He thinks that he was born in the sixth year of the century, and when he was between eighteen and twenty he saw a man doing public penance, in Lezayre Church, I presume, but I have no decided note on that point. However that may be, he remembered that the penitent, when he had done his penance, had the audacity to throw the white sheet over the sumner, who, the penitent remarked, might now wear it himself, as he had had enough of it. Kewley would bring the date only down to about 1825. Lastly, I was in the island again in 1891, and spent the first part of the month of April at Peel, where I had conversations with a retired captain who was then about seventy-eight. He is a native of the parish of Dalby, but he was only 'a lump of a boy' when the last couple of immorals were forced to do penance in white sheets at church. He gave me the guilty man's name, and the name of his home in the parish, and both the captain and his daughter assured me that the man had only been dead six or seven years; that is, the penitent seems to have lived till about the year 1884. I may here mention that the parish of Dalby is the subject of many tales, which go to show that its people were more old-fashioned in their ways than those of the rest of the island. It appears to have been the last, also, to be reached by a cart road; and I was amused by a native's description of the men at Methodist meetings in Dalby pulling the tappag, or forelock, at the name of Jesus, while the women ducked a curtsy in a dangerously abrupt fashion. He and his wife appeared to be quite used to it: the husband was an octogenarian named Quirc, who was born on the coast near the low-lying peninsula called the Niarbyl, that is to say 'the Tail.' To return to the public penance, it seems to us in this country to belong, so to say, to ancient history, and it transports us to a state of things which we find it hard to realize. The lapse of years has brought about profounder changes in our greater Isle of Britain than in the smaller Isle of Man, while we ourselves, helpless to escape the pervading influence of those profounder changes, become living instances of the comprehensive truth of the German poet's words, Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis. CHAPTER VI THE FOLKLORE OF THE WELLS ... Iuvat integros accedere fontes.--Lucretius. It is only recently [158] that I heard for the first time of Welsh instances of the habit of tying rags and bits of clothing to the branches of a tree growing near a holy well. Since then I have obtained several items of information in point: the first is a communication received in June, 1892, from Mr. J. H. Davies, of Lincoln College, Oxford--since then of Lincoln's Inn--relating to a Glamorganshire holy well, situated near the pathway leading from Coychurch to Bridgend. It is the custom there, he states, for people suffering from any malady to dip a rag in the water, and to bathe the affected part of the body, the rag being then placed on a tree close to the well. When Mr. Davies passed that way, some three years previously, there were, he adds, hundreds of such shreds on the tree, some of which distinctly presented the appearance of having been very recently placed there. The well is called Ffynnon Cae Moch, 'Swine-field Well,' which can hardly have been its old name; and a later communication from Mr. Davies summarizes a conversation which he had about the well, on December 16, 1892, with Mr. J. T. Howell, of Pencoed, near Bridgend. His notes run thus:--'Ffynnon Cae Moch, between Coychurch and Bridgend, is one mile from Coychurch, one and a quarter from Bridgend, near Tremains. It is within twelve or fifteen yards of the high-road, just where the pathway begins. People suffering from rheumatism go there. They bathe the part affected with water, and afterwards tie a piece of rag to the tree which overhangs the well. The rag is not put in the water at all, but is only put on the tree for luck. It is a stunted, but very old tree, and is simply covered with rags.' A little less than a year later, I had an opportunity of visiting this well in the company of Mr. Brynmor-Jones; and I find in my notes that it is not situated so near the road as Mr. Howell would seem to have stated to Mr. Davies. We found the well, which is a powerful spring, surrounded by a circular wall. It is overshadowed by a dying thorn tree, and a little further back stands another thorn which is not so decayed: it was on this latter thorn we found the rags. I took off a twig with two rags, while Mr. Brynmor-Jones counted over a dozen other rags on the tree; and we noticed that some of them had only recently been suspended there: among them were portions undoubtedly of a woman's clothing. At one of the hotels at Bridgend, I found an illiterate servant who was acquainted with the well, and I cross-examined him on the subject of it. He stated that a man with a wound, which he explained to mean a cut, would go and stand in the well within the wall, and there he would untie the rag that had been used to tie up the wound and would wash the wound with it: then he would tie up the wound with a fresh rag and hang the old one on the tree. The more respectable people whom I questioned talked more vaguely, and only of tying a rag to the tree, except one who mentioned a pin being thrown into the well or a rag being tied to the tree. My next informant is Mr. D. J. Jones, a native of the Rhonda Valley, in the same county of Glamorgan. He was an undergraduate of Jesus College, Oxford, when I consulted him in 1892. His information was to the effect that he knows of three interesting wells in the county. The first is situated within two miles of his home, and is known as Ffynnon Pen Rhys, or the Well of Pen Rhys. The custom there is that the person who wishes his health to be benefited should wash in the water of the well, and throw a pin into it afterwards. He next mentions a well at Llancarvan, some five or six miles from Cowbridge, where the custom prevails of tying rags to the branches of a tree growing close at hand. Lastly, he calls my attention to a passage in Hanes Morganwg, 'The History of Glamorgan,' written by Mr. D. W. Jones, known in Welsh literature as Dafyd Morganwg. In that work, p. 29, the author speaks of Ffynnon Marcros, 'the Well of Marcros,' to the following effect:--'It is the custom for those who are healed in it to tie a shred of linen or cotton to the branches of a tree that stands close by; and there the shreds are, almost as numerous as the leaves.' Marcros is, I may say, near Nash Point, and looks on the map as if it were about eight miles distant from Bridgend. Let me here make it clear that so far we have had to do with four different wells [159], three of which are severally distinguished by the presence of a tree adorned with rags by those who seek health in those waters; but they are all three, as the reader will have doubtless noticed, in the same district, namely, the part of Glamorganshire near the main line of the Great Western Railway. There is no reason, however, to think that the custom of tying rags to a well tree was peculiar to that part of the Principality. One day, in looking through some old notes of mine, I came across an entry bearing the date of August 7, 1887, when I was spending a few days with my friend, Chancellor Silvan Evans, at Llanwrin Rectory, near Machynlleth. Mrs. Evans was then alive and well, and took a keen interest in Welsh antiquities and folklore. Among other things, she related to me how she had, some twenty years before, visited a well in the parish of Llandrillo yn Rhos, namely Ffynnon Eilian, or Elian's Well, between Abergele and Llandudno, when her attention was directed to some bushes near the well, which had once been covered with bits of rags left by those who frequented the well. This was told Mrs. Evans by an old woman of seventy, who, on being questioned by Mrs. Evans concerning the history of the well, informed her that the rags used to be tied to the bushes by means of wool. She was explicit on the point, that wool had to be used for the purpose, and that even woollen yarn would not do: it had to be wool in its natural state. The old woman remembered this to have been the rule ever since she was a child. Mrs. Evans noticed corks, with pins stuck in them, floating in the well, and her informant remembered many more in years gone by; for Elian's Well was once in great repute as a ffynnon reibio, or a well to which people resorted for the kindly purpose of bewitching those whom they hated. I infer, however, from what Mrs. Evans was told of the rags, that Elian's Well was visited, not only by the malicious, but also by the sick and suffering. My note is not clear on the point whether there were any rags on the bushes by the well when Mrs. Evans visited the spot, or whether she was only told of them by the caretaker. Even in the latter case it seems evident that this habit of tying rags to trees or bushes near sacred wells has only ceased in that part of Denbighshire within this century. It is very possible that it continued in North Wales more recently than this instance would lead one to suppose; indeed, I should not be in the least surprised to learn that it is still practised in out of the way places in Gwyned, just as it is in Glamorgan: we want more information. I cannot say for certain whether it was customary in any of the cases to which I have called attention to tie rags to the well tree as well as to throw pins or other small objects into the well; but I cannot help adhering to the view, that the distinction was probably an ancient one between two orders of things. In other words, I am inclined to believe that the rag was regarded as the vehicle of the disease of which the ailing visitor to the well wished to be rid, and that the bead, button, or coin deposited by him in the well, or in a receptacle near the well, formed alone the offering. In opposition to this view Mr. Gomme has expressed himself as follows in Folk-Lore, 1892, p. 89:--'There is some evidence against that, from the fact that in the case of some wells, especially in Scotland at one time, the whole garment was put down as an offering. Gradually these offerings of clothes became less and less till they came down to rags. Also in other parts, the geographical distribution of rag-offerings coincides with the existence of monoliths and dolmens.' As to the monoliths and dolmens, I am too little conversant with the facts to risk any opinion as to the value of the coincidence; but as to the suggestion that the rag originally meant the whole garment, that will suit my hypothesis admirably. In other words, the whole garment was, as I take it, the vehicle of the disease: the whole was accursed, and not merely a part. But Mr. Gomme had previously touched on the question in his presidential address (Folk-Lore for 1892, p. 13); and I must at once admit that he succeeded then in proving that a certain amount of confusion occurs between things which I should regard as belonging originally to distinct categories: witness the inimitable Irish instance which he quotes:--'To St. Columbkill--I offer up this button, a bit o' the waistband o' my own breeches, an' a taste o' my wife's petticoat, in remimbrance of us havin' made this holy station; an' may they rise up in glory to prove it for us in the last day.' Here not only the button is treated as an offering, but also the bits of clothing; but the confusion of ideas I should explain as being, at least in part, one of the natural results of substituting a portion of a garment for the entire garment; for thereby a button or a pin becomes a part of the dress, and capable of being interpreted in two senses. After all, however, the ordinary practices have not, as I look at them, resulted in effacing the distinction altogether: the rag is not left in the well; nor is the bead, button, or pin attached to a branch of the tree. So, in the main, it seemed to me easier to explain the facts, taken altogether, on the supposition that originally the rag was regarded as the vehicle of the disease, and the bead, button, or coin as the offering. My object in calling attention to this point was to have it discussed, and I am happy to say that I have not been disappointed; for, since my remarks were published [160], a paper entitled Pin-wells and Rag-bushes was read before the British Association by Mr. Hartland, in 1893, and published in Folk-Lore for the same year, pp. 451-70. In that paper the whole question is gone into with searching logic, and Mr. Hartland finds the required explanation in one of the dogmas of magic. For 'if an article of my clothing,' he says, 'in a witch's hands may cause me to suffer, the same article in contact with a beneficent power may relieve my pain, restore me to health, or promote my general prosperity. A pin that has pricked my wart ... has by its contact, by the wound it has inflicted, acquired a peculiar bond with the wart; the rag that has rubbed the wart has by that friction acquired a similar bond; so that whatever is done to the pin or the rag, whatever influences the pin or the rag may undergo, the same influences are by that very act brought to bear, upon the wart. If, instead of using a rag, or making a pilgrimage to a sacred well, I rub my warts with raw meat and then bury the meat, the wart will decay and disappear with the decay and dissolution of the meat.... In like manner my shirt or stocking, or a rag to represent it, placed upon a sacred bush, or thrust into a sacred well--my name written upon the walls of a temple--a stone or a pellet from my hand cast upon a sacred image or a sacred cairn--is thenceforth in continual contact with divinity; and the effluence of divinity, reaching and involving it, will reach and involve me.' Mr. Hartland concludes from a large number of instances, that as a rule 'where the pin or button is dropped into the well, the patient does not trouble about the rag, and vice versa.' This wider argument as to the effluence of the divinity of a particular spot of special holiness seems to me conclusive. It applies also, needless to say, to a large category of cases besides those in question between Mr. Gomme and the present writer. So now I would revise my position thus:--I continue to regard the rag much as before, but treat the article thrown into the well as the more special means of establishing a beneficial relation with the well divinity: whether it could also be viewed as an offering would depend on the value attached to it. Some of the following notes may serve as illustrations, especially those relating to the wool and the pin:--Ffynnon Gwynwy, or the Well of Gwynwy, near Llangelynin, on the river Conwy, appears to be partly in point; for it formerly used to be well stocked with crooked pins, which nobody would touch lest he might get from them the warts supposed to attach to them, whence it would appear that a pin might be regarded as the vehicle of the disease. There was a well of some repute at Cae Garw, in the parish of Pistyll, near the foot of Carnguwch, in Lleyn, or West Carnarvonshire. The water possessed virtues to cure one of rheumatism and warts; but, in order to be rid of the latter, it was requisite to throw a pin into the well for each individual wart. For these two items of information, and several more to be mentioned presently, I have to thank Mr. John Jones, better known in Wales by his bardic name of Myrdin Fard, and as an enthusiastic collector of Welsh antiquities, whether in the form of manuscript or of unwritten folklore. On the second day of the year 1893 I paid him a visit at Chwilog, on the Carnarvon and Avon Wen Railway, and asked him many questions: these he not only answered with the utmost willingness, but he also showed me the unpublished materials which he had collected. I come next to a competition on the folklore of North Wales at the London Eistedfod in 1887, in which, as one of the adjudicators, I observed that several of the competitors mentioned the prevalent belief, that every well with healing properties must have its outlet towards the south (i'r dê). According to one of them, if you wished to get rid of warts, you should, on your way to the well, look for wool which the sheep had lost. When you had found enough wool you should prick each wart with a pin, and then rub the wart well with the wool. The next thing was to bend the pin and throw it into the well. Then you should place the wool on the first whitethorn you could find, and as the wind scattered the wool, the warts would disappear. There was a well of the kind, the writer went on to say, near his home; and he, with three or four other boys, went from school one day to the well to charm their warts away. For he had twenty-three on one of his hands; so that he always tried to hide it, as it was the belief that if one counted the warts they would double their number. He forgets what became of the other boys' warts, but his own disappeared soon afterwards; and his grandfather used to maintain that it was owing to the virtue of the well. Such were the words of this writer, whose name is unknown to me; but I guess him to have been a native of Carnarvonshire, or else of one of the neighbouring districts of Denbighshire or Merionethshire. To return to Myrdin Fard, he mentioned Ffynnon Cefn Lleithfan, or the Well of the Lleithfan Ridge, on the eastern slope of Mynyd y Rhiw, in the parish of Bryncroes, in the west of Lleyn. In the case of this well it is necessary, when going to it and coming from it, to be careful not to utter a word to anybody, or to turn to look back. What one has to do at the well is to bathe the warts with a rag or clout which has grease on it. When that is done, the clout with the grease has to be carefully concealed beneath the stone at the mouth of the well. This brings to my mind the fact that I noticed more than once, years ago, rags underneath stones in the water flowing from wells in Wales, and sometimes thrust into holes in the walls of wells, but I had no notion how they came there. On the subject of pin-wells I had in 1893, from Mr. T. E. Morris, of Portmadoc, barrister-at-law, some account of Ffynnon Faglan, or Baglan's Well, in the parish of Llanfaglan, near Carnarvon. The well is situated in an open field to the right of the road leading towards the church, and close to it. The church and churchyard form an enclosure in the middle of the same field, and the former has in its wall the old stone reading FILI LOVERNII ANATEMORI. My friend derived information from Mrs. Roberts, of Cefn y Coed, near Carnarvon, as follows:--'The old people who would be likely to know anything about Ffynnon Faglan have all died. The two oldest inhabitants, who have always lived in this parish of Llanfaglan, remember the well being used for healing purposes. One told me his mother used to take him to it, when he was a child, for sore eyes, bathe them with the water, and then drop in a pin. The other man, when he was young, bathed in it for rheumatism; and until quite lately people used to fetch away the water for medicinal purposes. The latter, who lives near the well, at Tan y Graig, said that he remembered it being cleaned out about fifty years ago, when two basinfuls of pins were taken out, but no coin of any kind. The pins were all bent, and I conclude the intention was to exorcise the evil spirit supposed to afflict the person who dropped them in, or, as the Welsh say, dadwitsio. No doubt some ominous words were also used. The well is at present nearly dry, the field where it lies having been drained some years ago, and the water in consequence withdrawn from it. It was much used for the cure of warts. The wart was washed, then pricked with a pin, which, after being bent, was thrown into the well. There is a very large and well-known well of the kind at C'lynnog, Ffynnon Beuno, "St. Beuno's Well," which was considered to have miraculous healing powers; and even yet, I believe, some people have faith in it. Ffynnon Faglan is, in its construction, an imitation, on a smaller scale, of St. Beuno's Well at C'lynnog.' In the cliffs at the west end of Lleyn is a wishing-well called Ffynnon Fair, or St. Mary's Well, to the left of the site of Eglwys Fair, and facing Ynys Enlli, or Bardsey. Here, to obtain your wish, you have to descend the steps to the well and walk up again to the top with your mouth full of the water; and then you have to go round the ruins of the church once or more times with the water still in your mouth. Viewing the position of the well from the sea, I should be disposed to think that the realization of one's wish at that price could not be regarded as altogether cheap. Myrdin Fard also told me that there used to be a well near Criccieth Church. It was known as Ffynnon y Saint, or the Saints' Well, and it was the custom to throw keys or pins into it on the morning of Easter Sunday, in order to propitiate St. Catherine, who was the patron of the well. I should be glad to know what this exactly meant. Lastly, a few of the wells in that part of Gwyned may be grouped together and described as oracular. One of these, the big well in the parish of Llanbedrog in Lleyn, as I learn from Myrdin Fard, required the devotee to kneel by it and avow his faith in it. When this had been duly done, he might proceed in this wise: to ascertain, for instance, the name of the thief who had stolen from him, he had to throw a bit of bread into the well and name the person whom he suspected. At the name of the thief the bread would sink; so the inquirer went on naming all the persons he could think of until the bit of bread sank, when the thief was identified. How far is one to suppose that we have here traces of the influences of the water ordeal common in the Middle Ages? Another well of the same kind was Ffynnon Saethon, in Llanfihangel Bachellaeth parish, also in Lleyn. Here it was customary, as he had it in writing, for lovers to throw pins (pinnau) into the well; but these pins appear to have been the points of the blackthorn. At any rate, they cannot well have been of any kind of metal, as we are told that, if they sank in the water, one concluded that one's lover was not sincere in his or her love. Next may be mentioned a well, bearing the remarkable name of Ffynnon Gwyned, or the Well of Gwyned, which is situated near Mynyd Mawr, in the parish of Abererch: it used to be consulted in the following manner:--When it was desired to discover whether an ailing person would recover, a garment of his would be thrown into the well, and according to the side on which it sank it was known whether he would live or die. Ffynnon Gybi, or St. Cybi's Well, in the parish of Llangybi, was the scene of a somewhat similar practice; for there, girls who wished to know their lovers' intentions would spread their pocket-handkerchiefs on the water of the well, and, if the water pushed the handkerchiefs to the south--in Welsh i'r dê--they knew that everything was right--in Welsh o dê--and that their lovers were honest and honourable in their intentions; but, if the water shifted the handkerchiefs northwards, they concluded the contrary. A reference to this is made by a modern Welsh poet, as follows:-- Ambell dyn, gwaeldyn, a gyrch I bant gorís Moel Bentyrch, Mewn gobaith mai hen Gybi Glodfawr syd yn llwydaw'r lli. Some folks, worthless [161] folks, visit A hollow below Moel Bentyrch, In hopes that ancient Kybi Of noble fame blesses the flood. The spot is not far from where Myrdin Fard lives; and he mentioned, that adjoining the well is a building which was probably intended for the person in charge of the well: it has been tenanted within his memory. Not only for this but also for several of the foregoing items of information am I indebted to Myrdin; and now I come to Mrs. Williams-Ellis, of Glasfryn Uchaf, who tells me that one day not long ago, she met at Llangybi a native who had not visited the place since his boyhood: he had been away as an engineer in South Wales nearly all his life, but had returned to see an aged relative. So the reminiscences of the place filled his mind, and, among other things, he said that he remembered very well what concern there was one day in the village at a mischievous person having taken a very large eel out of the well. Many of the old people, he said, felt that much of the virtue of the well was probably taken away with the eel. To see it coiling about their limbs when they went into the water was a good sign: so he gave one to understand. As a sort of parallel I may mention that I have seen the fish living in Ffynnon Beris, not far from the parish church of Llanberis. It is jealously guarded by the inhabitants, and when it was once or twice taken out by a mischievous stranger he was forced to put it back again. However, I never could get the history of this sacred fish, but I found that it was regarded as very old [162]. I may add that it appears the well called Ffynnon Fair, 'Mary's Well,' at Llandwyn, in Anglesey, used formerly to have inhabiting it a sacred fish, whose movements indicated the fortunes of the love-sick men and maidens who visited there the shrine of St. Dwynwen [163]. Possibly inquiry would result in showing that such sacred fish have been far more common once in the Principality than they are now. The next class of wells to claim our attention consists of what I may call fairy wells, of which few are mentioned in connexion with Wales; but the legends about them are of absorbing interest. One of them is in Myrdin Fard's neighbourhood, and I questioned him a good deal on the subject: it is called Ffynnon Grassi, or Grace's Well, and it occupies, according to him, a few square feet--he has measured it himself--of the south-east corner of the lake of Glasfryn Uchaf, in the parish of Llangybi. It appears that it was walled in, and that the stone forming its eastern side has several holes in it, which were intended to let water enter the well and not issue from it. It had a door or cover on its surface; and it was necessary to keep the door always shut, except when water was being drawn. Through somebody's negligence, however, it was once on a time left open: the consequence was that the water of the well flowed out and formed the Glasfryn Lake, which is so considerable as to be navigable for small boats. Grassi is supposed in the locality to have been the name of the owner of the well, or at any rate of a lady who had something to do with it. Grassi, or Grace, however, can only be a name which a modern version of the legend has introduced. It probably stands for an older name given to the person in charge of the well; to the one, in fact, who neglected to shut the door; but though the name must be comparatively modern, the story, as a whole, does not appear to be at all modern, but very decidedly the contrary. So I wrote in 1893; but years after my conversation with Myrdin Fard, my attention was called to the fact that the Glasfryn family, of which the Rev. J. C. Williams-Ellis is the head, have in their coat of arms a mermaid, who is represented in the usual way, holding a comb in her right hand and a mirror in her left. I had from the first expected to find some kind of Undine or Liban story associated with the well and the lake, though I had abstained from trying the risky effects of leading questions; but when I heard of the heraldic mermaid I wrote to Mr. Williams-Ellis to ask whether he knew her history. His words, though not encouraging as regards the mermaid, soon convinced me that I had not been wholly wrong in supposing that more folklore attached to the well and lake than I had been able to discover. Since then Mrs. Williams-Ellis has taken the trouble of collecting on the spot all the items of tradition which she could find: she communicated them to me in the month of March, 1899, and the following is an abstract of them, preceded by a brief description of the ground:-- The well itself is at the foot of a very green field-bank at the head of the lake, but not on the same level with it, as the lake has had its waters lowered half a century or more ago by the outlet having been cut deeper. Adjoining the field containing the well is a larger field, which also slopes down to the lake and extends in another direction to the grounds belonging to the house. This larger field is called Cae'r Ladi, 'the Lady's Field,' and it is remarkable for having in its centre an ancient standing stone, which, as seen from the windows of the house, presents the appearance of a female figure hurrying along, with the wind slightly swelling out her veil and the skirt of her dress. Mr. Williams-Ellis remembers how when he was a boy the stone was partially white-washed, and how an old bonnet adorned the top of this would-be statue, and he thinks that an old shawl used to be thrown over the shoulders. Now as to Grassi, she is mostly regarded as a ghostly person somehow connected with the lake and the house of Glasfryn. One story is to the effect, that on a certain evening she forgot to close the well, and that when the gushing waters had formed the lake, poor Grassi, overcome with remorse, wandered up and down the high ground of Cae'r Ladi, moaning and weeping. There, in fact, she is still at times to be heard lamenting her fate, especially at two o'clock in the early morning. Some people say that she is also to be seen about the lake, which is now the haunt of some half a dozen swans. But on the whole her visits appear to have been most frequent and troublesome at the house itself. Several persons still living are mentioned, who believe that they have seen her there, and two of them, Mrs. Jones of Talafon, and old Sydney Griffith of Tydyn Bach, agree in the main in their description of what they saw, namely, a tall lady with well marked features and large bright eyes: she was dressed in white silk and a white velvet bonnet. The woman, Sydney Griffith, thought that she had seen the lady walking several times about the house and in Cae'r Ladi. This comes, in both instances, from a young lady born and bred in the immediate neighbourhood, and studying now at the University College of North Wales; but Mrs. Williams-Ellis has had similar accounts from other sources, and she mentions tenants of Glasfryn who found it difficult to keep servants there, because they felt that the place was haunted. In fact one of the tenants himself felt so unsafe that he used to take his gun and his dog with him to his bedroom at night; not to mention that when the Williams-Ellises lived themselves, as they do still, in the house, their visitors have been known to declare that they heard the strange plaintive cry out of doors at two o'clock in the morning. Traces also of a very different story are reported by Mrs. Williams-Ellis, to the effect that when the water broke forth to form the lake, the fairies seized Grassi and changed her into a swan, and that she continued in that form to live on the lake sixscore years, and that when at length she died, she loudly lamented her lot: that cry is still to be heard at night. This story is in process apparently of being rationalized; at any rate the young lady student, to whom I have referred, remembers perfectly that her grandfather used to explain to her and the other children at home that Grassi was changed into a swan as a punishment for haunting Glasfryn, but that nevertheless the old lady still visited the place, especially when there happened to be strangers in the house. At the end of September last Mrs. Rhys and I had the pleasure of spending a few days at Glasfryn, in the hope of hearing the plaintive wail, and of seeing the lady in white silk revisiting her familiar haunts. But alas! our sleep was never once disturbed, nor was our peace once troubled by suspicions of anything uncanny. This, however, is negative, and characterized by the usual weakness of all such evidence. It is now time to turn to another order of facts: in the first place may be mentioned that the young lady student's grandmother used to call the well Ffynnon Grâs Siôn Gruffud, as she had always heard that Grâs was the daughter of a certain Siôn Gruffyd, 'John Griffith,' who lived near the well; and Mrs. Williams-Ellis finds that Grâs was buried, at a very advanced age, on December 14, 1743, at the parish church of Llangybi, where the register describes her as Grace Jones, alias Grace Jones Griffith. She had lived till the end at Glasfryn, but from documents in the possession of the Glasfryn family it is known that in 1728 Hugh Lloyd of Trallwyn purchased the house and estate of Glasfryn from a son of Grace's, named John ab Cadwaladr, and that Hugh Lloyd of Trallwyn's son, the Rev. William Lloyd, sold them to Archdeacon Ellis, from whom they have descended to the Rev. J. C. Williams-Ellis. In the light of these facts there is no reason to connect the old lady's name very closely with the well or the lake. She was once the dominant figure at Glasfryn, that is all; and when she died she was as usual supposed to haunt the house and its immediate surroundings; and if we might venture to suppose that Glasfryn was sold by her son against her will, though subject to conditions which enabled her to remain in possession of the place to the day of her death, we should have a further explanation, perhaps, of her supposed moaning and lamentation. In the background, however, of the story, one detects the possibility of another female figure, for it may be that the standing stone in Cae'r Ladi represents a woman buried there centuries before Grace ruled at Glasfryn, and that traditions about the earlier lady have survived to be inextricably mixed with those concerning the later one. Lastly, those traditions may have also associated the subject of them with the well and the lake; but I wish to attach no importance to this conjecture, as we have in reserve a third figure of larger possibilities than either Grace or the stone woman. It needs no better introduction than Mrs. Williams-Ellis' own words: 'Our younger boys have a crew of three little Welsh boys who live near the lake, to join them in their boat sailing about the pool and in camping on the island, &c. They asked me once who Morgan was, whom the little boys were always saying they were to be careful against. An old man living at Tal Llyn, "Lake's End," a farm close by, says that as a boy he was always told that "naughty boys would be carried off by Morgan into the lake." Others tell me that Morgan is always held to be ready to take off troublesome children, and somehow Morgan is thought of as a bad one.' Now as Morgan carries children off into the pool, he would seem to issue from the pool, and to have his home in it. Further, he plays the same part as the fairies against whom a Snowdonian mother used to warn her children: they were on no account to wander away from the house when there was a mist, lest the fairies should carry them to their home beneath Llyn Dwythwch. In other words, Morgan may be said to act in the same way as the mermaid, who takes a sailor down to her submarine home; and it explains to my mind a discussion which I once heard of the name Morgan by a party of men and women making hay one fine summer's day in the neighbourhood of Ponterwyd, in North Cardiganshire. I was a child, but I remember vividly how they teased one of their number whose 'style' was Morgan. They hinted at dreadful things associated with the name; but it was all so vague that I could not gather that his great unknown namesake was a thief, a murderer, or any kind of ordinary criminal. The impression left on my mind was rather the notion of something weird, uncanny, or non-human; and the fact that the Welsh version of the Book of Common Prayer calls the Pelagians Morganiaid, 'Morgans,' does not offer an adequate explanation. But I now see clearly that it is to be sought in the indistinct echo of such folklore as that which makes Morgan a terror to children in the neighbourhood of the Glasfryn Lake. The name, however, presents points of difficulty which require some notice: the Welsh translators of Article IX in the Prayer Book were probably wrong in making Pelagians into Morganiaid, as the Welsh for Pelagius seems to have been rather Morien [164], which in its oldest recorded form was Morgen, and meant sea-born, or offspring of the sea. In a still earlier form it must have been Morigenos, with a feminine Morigena, but when the endings came to be dropped both vocables would become Morgen, later Morien. I do not remember coming across a feminine Morgen in Welsh, but the presumption is that it did exist. For, among other things, I may mention that we have it in Irish as Muirgen, one of the names of the lake lady Liban, who, when the waters of the neglected well rushed forth to form Lough Neagh, lived beneath that lake until she desired to be changed into a salmon. The same conclusion may be drawn from the name Morgain or Morgan, given in the French romances to one or more water ladies; for those names are easiest to explain as the Brythonic Morgen borrowed from a Welsh or Breton source, unless one found it possible to trace it direct to the Goidels of Wales. No sooner, however, had the confusion taken place between Morgen and the name which is so common in Wales as exclusively a man's name, than the aquatic figure must also become male. That is why the Glasfryn Morgan is now a male, and not a female like the other characters whose rôle he plays. But while the name was in Welsh successively Morgen and Morien, the man's name was Morcant, Morgant, or Morgan [165], so that, phonologically speaking, no confusion could be regarded as possible between the two series. Here, therefore, one detects the influence, doubtless, of the French romances which spoke of a lake lady Morgain, Morgan, or Morgue. The character varied: Morgain le Fay was a designing and wicked person; but Morgan was also the name of a well disposed lady of the same fairy kind, who took Arthur away to be healed at her home in the Isle of Avallon. We seem to be on the track of the same confusing influence of the name, when it occurs in the story of Geraint and Enid; for there the chief physician of Arthur's court is called Morgan Tut or Morgant Tut, and the word tut has been shown by M. Loth to have meant the same sort of non-human being whom an eleventh-century Life of St. Maudez mentions as quidam dæmon quem Britones Tuthe appellant. Thus the name Morgan Tut is meant as the Welsh equivalent of the French Morgain le Fay or Morgan la Fée [166]; but so long as the compiler of the story of Geraint and Enid employed in his Welsh the form Morgan, he had practically no choice but to treat the person called Morgan as a man, whether that was or was not the sex in the original texts on which he was drawing. Of course he could have avoided the difficulty in case he was aware of it, if he had found some available formula in use like Mary-Morgant, said to be a common name for a fairy on the island of Ouessant, off the coast of Brittany. Summarizing the foregoing notes, we seem to be right in drawing the following conclusions:--(1) The well was left in the charge of a woman who forgot to shut it, and when she saw the water bursting forth, she bewailed her negligence, as in the case of her counterpart in the legend of Cantre'r Gwaelod. (2) The original name of the Glasfryn 'Morgan' was Morgen, later Morien. (3) The person changed into a swan on the occasion of the Glasfryn well erupting was not Grassi, but most probably Morgen. And (4) the character was originally feminine, like that of the mermaid or the fairies, whose rôle the Glasfryn Morgan plays; and more especially may one compare the Irish Muirgen, the Morgen more usually called Líban. For it is to be noticed that when the neglected well burst forth she, Muirgen or Líban, was not drowned like the others involved in the calamity, but lived in her chamber at the bottom of the lake formed by the overflowing well, until she was changed into a salmon. In that form she lived on some three centuries, until in fact she was caught in the net of a fisherman, and obtained the boon of a Christian burial. However, the change into a swan is also known on Irish ground: take for instance the story of the Children of Lir, who were converted into swans by their stepmother, and lived in that form on Loch Dairbhreach, in Westmeath, for three hundred years, and twice as long on the open sea, until their destiny closed with the advent of St. Patrick and the first ringing of a Christian bell in Erin [167]. The next legend was kindly communicated to me by Mr. Wm. Davies already mentioned at p. 147 above: he found it in Cyfaill yr Aelwyd [168], "The Friend of the Hearth," where it is stated that it belonged to David Jones' Storehouse of Curiosities, a collection which does not seem to have ever assumed the form of a printed book. David Jones, of Trefriw, in the Conwy Valley, was a publisher and poet who wrote between 1750 and 1780. This is his story: 'In 1735 I had a conversation with a man concerning Tegid Lake. He had heard from old people that near the middle of it there was a well opposite Llangower, and the well was called Ffynnon Gywer, "Cower's Well," and at that time the town was round about the well. It was obligatory to place a lid on the well every night. (It seems that in those days somebody was aware that unless this was done it would prove the destruction of the town.) But one night it was forgotten, and by the morning, behold the town had subsided and the lake became three miles long and one mile wide. They say, moreover, that on clear days some people see the chimneys of the houses. It is since then that the town was built at the lower end of the lake. It is called Y Bala [169], and the man told me that he had talked with an old Bala man who had, when he was a youth, had two days' mowing of hay [170] between the road and the lake; but by this time the lake had spread over that land and the road also, which necessitated the purchase of land further away for the road; and some say that the town will yet sink as far as the place called Llanfor--others call it Llanfawd, "Drown-church," or Llanfawr, "Great-church," in Penllyn.... Further, when the weather is stormy water appears oozing through every floor within Bala, and at other times anybody can get water enough for the use of his house, provided he dig a little into the floor of it.' In reference to the idea that the town is to sink, together with the neighbouring village of Llanfor, the writer quotes in a note the couplet known still to everybody in the neighbourhood as follows:-- Y Bala aeth, a'r Bala aiff, A Llanfor aiff yn Llyn. Bala old the lake has had, and Bala new The lake will have, and Llanfor too. This probably implies that old Bala is beneath the lake, and that the present Bala is to meet the like fate at some time to come. This kind of prophecy is not very uncommon: thus there has been one current as to the Montgomeryshire town of Pool, called, in Welsh, Trallwng or Trallwm, and in English, Welshpool, to distinguish it from the English town of Pool. As to Welshpool, a very deep water called Llyn Du, lying between the town and the Castell Coch or Powys Castle, and right in the domain of the castle, is suddenly to spread itself, and one fine market day to engulf the whole place [171]. Further, when I was a boy in North Cardiganshire, the following couplet was quite familiar to me, and supposed to have been one of Merlin's prophecies:-- Caer Fyrdin, cei oer fore; Daear a'th lwnc, dw'r i'th le. Carmarthen, a cold morn awaits thee; Earth gapes, and water in thy place will be. In regard to the earlier half of the line, concerning Bala gone, the story of Ffynnon Gywer might be said to explain it, but there is another which is later and far better known. It is of the same kind as the stories related in Welsh concerning Llynclys and Syfadon; but I reserve it with these and others of the same sort for chapter vii. For the next legend belonging here I have to thank the Rev. J. Fisher, a native of the parish of Llandybïe, who, in spite of his name, is a genuine Welshman, and--what is more--a Welsh scholar. The following are his words:--'Llyn Llech Owen (the last word is locally sounded w-en, like oo-en in English, as is also the personal name Owen) is on Mynyd Mawr, in the ecclesiastical parish of Gors Lâs, and the civil parish of Llanarthney, Carmarthenshire. It is a small lake, forming the source of the Gwendraeth Fawr. I have heard the tradition about its origin told by several persons, and by all, until quite recently, pretty much in the same form. In 1884 I took it down from my grandfather, Rees Thomas (b. 1809, d. 1892), of Cil Coll Llandebïe--a very intelligent man, with a good fund of old-world Welsh lore--who had lived all his life in the neighbouring parishes of Llandeilo Fawr and Llandybïe. 'The following is the version of the story (translated) as I had it from him:--There was once a man of the name of Owen living on Mynyd Mawr, and he had a well, "ffynnon." Over this well he kept a large flag ("fflagen neu lech fawr": "fflagen" is the word in common use now in these parts for a large flat stone), which he was always careful to replace over its mouth after he had satisfied himself or his beast with water. It happened, however, that one day he went on horseback to the well to water his horse, and forgot to put the flag back in its place. He rode off leisurely in the direction of his home; but, after he had gone some distance, he casually looked back, and, to his great astonishment, he saw that the well had burst out and was overflowing the whole place. He suddenly bethought him that he should ride back and encompass the overflow of the water as fast as he could; and it was the horse's track in galloping round the water that put a stop to its further overflow. It is fully believed that, had he not galloped round the flood in the way he did, the well would have been sure to inundate the whole district and drown all. Hence the lake was called the Lake of Owen's Flag, "Llyn Llech Owen." 'I have always felt interested in this story, as it resembled that about the formation of Lough Neagh, &c.; and, happening to meet the Rev. D. Harwood Hughes, B.A., the vicar of Gors Lâs (St. Lleian's), last August (1892), I asked him to tell me the legend as he had heard it in his parish. He said that he had been told it, but in a form different from mine, where the "Owen" was said to have been Owen Glyndwr. This is the substance of the legend as he had heard it:--Owen Glyndwr, when once passing through these parts, arrived here of an evening. He came across a well, and, having watered his horse, placed a stone over it in order to find it again next morning. He then went to lodge for the night at Dyllgoed Farm, close by. In the morning, before proceeding on his journey, he took his horse to the well to give him water, but found to his surprise that the well had become a lake.' Mr. Fisher goes on to mention the later history of the lake: how, some eighty years ago, its banks were the resort on Sunday afternoons of the young people of the neighbourhood, and how a Baptist preacher put an end to their amusements and various kinds of games by preaching at them. However, the lake-side appears to be still a favourite spot for picnics and Sunday-school gatherings. Mr. Fisher was quite right in appending to his own version that of his friend; but, from the point of view of folklore, I must confess that I can make nothing of the latter: it differs from the older one as much as chalk does from cheese. It would be naturally gratifying to the pride of local topography to be able to connect with the pool the name of Owen Glyndwr; but it is worthy of note that this highly respectable attempt to rationalize the legend wholly fails, as it does not explain why there is now a lake where there was once but a well. In other words, the euhemerized story is itself evidence corroborative of Mr. Fisher's older version, which is furthermore kept in countenance by Howells' account, p. 104, where we are told who the Owen in question was, namely, Owen Lawgoch, a personage dear, as we shall see later, to the Welsh legend of the district. He and his men had their abode in a cave on the northern side of Mynyd Mawr, and while there Owen used, we are informed, to water his steed at a fine spring covered with a large stone, which it required the strength of a giant to lift. But one day he forgot to replace it, and when he next sought the well he found the lake. He returned to his cave and told his men what had happened. Thereupon both he and they fell into a sleep, which is to last till it is broken by the sound of a trumpet and the clang of arms on Rhiw Goch: then they are to sally forth to conquer. Now the story as told by Howells and Fisher provokes comparison, as the latter suggests, with the Irish legend of the formation of Lough Ree and of Lough Neagh in the story of the Death of Eochaid McMaireda [172]. In both of these legends also there is a horse, a kind of water-horse, who forms the well which eventually overflows and becomes Lough Ree, and so with the still larger body of water known as Lough Neagh. In the latter case the fairy well was placed in the charge of a woman; but she one day left the cover of the well open, and the catastrophe took place--the water issued forth and overflowed the country. One of Eochaid's daughters, named Líban, however, was not drowned, but only changed into a salmon as already mentioned at p. 376 above. In my Arthurian Legend, p. 361, I have attempted to show that the name Líban may have its Welsh equivalent in that of Llïon, occurring in the name of Llyn Llïon, or Llïon's Lake, the bursting of which is described in the latest series of Triads, iii. 13, 97, as causing a sort of deluge. I am not certain as to the nature of the relationship between those names, but it seems evident that the stories have a common substratum, though it is to be noticed that no well, fairy or otherwise, figures in the Llyn Llïon legend, which makes the presence of the monster called the afanc the cause of the waters bursting forth. So Hu the Mighty, with his team of famous oxen, is made to drag the afanc out of the lake. There is, however, another Welsh legend concerning a great overflow in which a well does figure: I allude to that of Cantre'r Gwaelod, or the Bottom Hundred, a fine spacious country supposed to be submerged in Cardigan Bay. Modern euhemerism treats it as defended by embankments and sluices, which, we are told, were in the charge of the prince of the country, named Seithennin, who, being one day in his cups, forgot to shut the sluices, and thus brought about the inundation, which was the end of his fertile realm. This, however, is not the old legend: that speaks of a well, and lays the blame on a woman--a pretty sure sign of antiquity, as the reader may judge from other old stories which will readily occur to him. The Welsh legend to which I allude is embodied in a short poem in the Black Book of Carmarthen [173]: it consists of eight triplets, to which is added a triplet from the Englynion of the Graves. The following is the original with a tentative translation:-- Seithenhin sawde allan. ac edrychuirde varanres mor. maes guitnev rytoes. Boed emendiceid y morvin aehellygaut guydi cvin. finaun wenestir [174] mor terruin. Boed emendiceid y vachteith. ae . golligaut guydi gueith. finaun wenestir mor diffeith. Diaspad mererid y ar vann caer. hid ar duu y dodir. gnaud guydi traha trangc hir. Diaspad mererid . y ar van kaer hetiv. hid ar duu y dadoluch. gnaud guydi traha attreguch. Diaspad mererid am gorchuit heno. ac nimhaut gorlluit. gnaud guydi traha tramguit. Diaspad mererid y ar gwinev kadir kedaul duv ae gorev. gnaud guydi gormot eissev. Diaspad mererid . am kymhell heno y urth uyistauell. gnaud guydi traha trangc pell. Bet seithenhin synhuir vann rug kaer kenedir a glan. mor maurhidic a kinran. Seithennin, stand thou forth And see the vanguard of the main: Gwydno's plain has it covered. Accursed be the maiden Who let it loose after supping, Well cup-bearer of the mighty main. Accursed be the damsel Who let it loose after battle, Well minister of the high sea. Mererid's cry from a city's height, Even to God is it directed: After pride comes a long pause. Mererid's cry from a city's height to-day, Even to God her expiation: After pride comes reflection. Mererid's cry o'ercomes me to-night, Nor can I readily prosper: After pride comes a fall. Mererid's cry over strong wines, Bounteous God has wrought it: After excess comes privation. Mererid's cry drives me to-night From my chamber away: After insolence comes long death. Weak-witted Seithennin's grave is it Between Kenedyr's Fort and the shore, With majestic Mor's and Kynran's. The names in these lines present great difficulties: first comes that of Mererid, which is no other word than Margarita, 'a pearl,' borrowed; but what does it here mean? Margarita, besides meaning a pearl, was used in Welsh, e.g. under the form Marereda [175], as the proper name written in English Margaret. That is probably how it is to be taken here, namely, as the name given to the negligent guardian of the fairy well. It cannot very well be, however, the name belonging to the original form of the legend; and we have the somewhat parallel case of Ffynnon Grassi, or Grace's Well; but what old Celtic name that of Mererid has replaced in the story, I cannot say. In the next place, nobody has been able to identify Caer Kenedyr, and I have nothing to say as to Mor Maurhidic, except that a person of that name is mentioned in another of the Englynion of the Graves. It runs thus in the Black Book, fol. 33a:-- Bet mor maurhidic diessic unben. post kinhen kinteic. mab peredur penwetic. The grave of Mor the Grand, ... prince, Pillar of the ... conflict, Son of Peredur of Penwedig. The last name in the final triplet of the poem which I have attempted to translate is Kinran, which is otherwise unknown as a Welsh name; but I am inclined to identify it with that of one of the three who escaped the catastrophe in the Irish legend. The name there is Curnán, which was borne by the idiot of the family, who, like many later idiots, was at the same time a prophet. For he is represented as always prophesying that the waters were going to burst forth, and as advising his friends to prepare boats. So he may be set, after a fashion, over against our Seithenhin synhuir vann, 'S. of the feeble mind.' But one might perhaps ask why I do not point out an equivalent in Irish for the Welsh Seithennin, as his name is now pronounced. The fact is that no such equivalent occurs in the Irish story in question, nor exactly, so far as I know, in any other. That is what I wrote when penning these notes; but it has occurred to me since then, that there is an Irish name, an important Irish name, which looks as if related to Seithenhin, and that is Setanta Beg, 'the little Setantian,' the first name of the Irish hero Cúchulainn. The nt, I may point out, makes one suspect that Setanta is a name of Brythonic origin in Irish; and I have been in the habit of associating it with that of the people of the Setantii [176], placed by Ptolemy on the coast of what is now Lancashire. Whether any legend has ever been current about a country submerged on the coast of Lancashire I cannot say, but the soundings would make such a legend quite comprehensible. I remember, however, reading somewhere as to the Plain of Muirthemhne, of which Cúchulainn, our Setanta Beg, had special charge, that it was so called because it had once been submarine and become since the converse, so to say, of Seithennin's country. The latter is beneath Cardigan Bay, while the other fringed the opposite side of the sea, consisting as it did of the level portion of County Louth. On the whole, I am not altogether indisposed to believe that we have here traces of an ancient legend of a wider scope than is represented by the Black Book triplets, which I have essayed to translate. I think that I am right in recognizing that legend in the Mabinogi of Branwen, daughter of Llyr. There we read that, when Brân and his men crossed from Wales to Ireland, the intervening sea consisted merely of two navigable rivers, called Lli and Archan. The story-teller adds words to the effect, that it is only since then the sea has multiplied its realms [177] between Ireland and Ynys y Kedyrn, or the Isle of the Keiri, a name which has already been discussed: see pp. 279-83. These are not all the questions which such stories suggest; for Seithennin is represented in later Welsh literature as the son of one Seithyn, associated with Dyfed; and the name Seithyn leads off to the coast of Brittany. For I learn from a paper by the late M. le Men, in the Revue Archéologique for 1872 (xxiii. 52), that the Île de Sein is called in Breton Enez-Sun, in which Sun is a dialectic shortening of Sizun, which is also met with as Seidhun. That being so, one would seem to be right in regarding Sizun as nearly related to our Seithyn. That is not all--the tradition reminds one of the Welsh legend: M. le Men refers to the Vie du P. Maunoir by Boschet (Paris, 1697) p. 126, and adds that, in his own time, the road ending on the Pointe du Raz opposite the Île de Sein passed 'pour être l'ancien chemin qui conduisait à la ville d'Is (Kaer-a-Is, la ville de la partie basse).' It is my own experience, that nobody can go about much in Brittany without hearing over and over again about the submerged city of Is. There is no doubt that we have in these names distant echoes of an inundation story, once widely current in both Britains and perhaps also in Ireland. With regard to Wales we have an indication to that effect in the fact, that Gwydno, to whom the inundated region is treated as having belonged, is associated not only with Cardigan Bay, but also with the coast of North Wales, especially the part of it situated between Bangor and Llandudno [178]. Adjoining it is supposed to lie submerged a once fertile district called Tyno Helig, a legend about which will come under notice later. This brings the inundation story nearer to the coast where Ptolemy in the second century located the Harbour of the Setantii, about the mouth of the river Ribble, and in their name we seem to have some sort of a historical basis for that of the drunken Seithennin [179]. I cannot close these remarks better than by appending what Professor Boyd Dawkins has recently said with regard to the sea between Britain and Ireland:-- 'It may be interesting to remark further that during the time of the Iberian dominion in Wales, the geography of the seaboard was different to what it is now. A forest, containing the remains of their domestic oxen that had run wild, and of the indigenous wild animals such as the bear and the red deer, united Anglesey with the mainland, and occupied the shallows of Cardigan Bay, known in legend as "the lost lands of Wales." It extended southwards from the present sea margin across the estuary of the Severn, to Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall. It passed northwards across the Irish Sea off the coast of Cheshire and Lancashire, and occupied Morecambe Bay with a dense growth of oak, Scotch fir, alder, birch, and hazel. It ranged seawards beyond the ten-fathom line, and is to be found on most shores beneath the sand-banks and mud-banks, as for example at Rhyl and Cardiff. In Cardigan Bay it excited the wonder of Giraldus de Barri [180].' To return to fairy wells, I have to confess that I cannot decide what may be precisely the meaning of the notion of a well with a woman set carefully to see that the door or cover of the well is kept shut. It will occur, however, to everybody to compare the well which Undine wished to have kept shut, on account of its affording a ready access from her subterranean country to the residence of her refractory knight in his castle above ground. And in the case of the Glasfryn Lake, the walling and cover that were to keep the spring from overflowing were, according to the story, not water-tight, seeing that there were holes made in one of the stones. This suggests the idea that the cover was to prevent the passage of some such full-grown fairies as those with which legend seems to have once peopled all the pools and tarns of Wales. But, in the next place, is the maiden in charge of the well to be regarded as priestess of the well? The idea of a priesthood in connexion with wells in Wales is not wholly unknown. I wish, however, before discussing these instances, to call attention to one or two Irish ones which point in another direction. Foremost may be mentioned the source of the river Boyne, which is now called Trinity Well, situated in the Barony of Carbury, in County Kildare. The following is the Rennes Dindsenchas concerning it, as translated by Dr. Stokes, in the Revue Celtique, xv. 315-6:--'Bóand, wife of Nechtán son of Labraid, went to the secret well which was in the green of Síd Nechtáin. Whoever went to it would not come from it without his two eyes bursting, unless it were Nechtán himself and his three cup-bearers, whose names were Flesc and Lám and Luam. Once upon a time Bóand went through pride to test the well's power, and declared that it had no secret force which could shatter her form, and thrice she walked withershins round the well. (Whereupon) three waves from the well break over her and deprive her of a thigh [? wounded her thigh] and one of her hands and one of her eyes. Then she, fleeing her shame, turns seaward, with the water behind her as far as Boyne-mouth, (where she was drowned).' This is to explain why the river is called Bóand, 'Boyne.' A version to the same effect in the Book of Leinster, fol. 191a, makes the general statement that no one who gazed right into the well could avoid the instant ruin of his two eyes or otherwise escape with impunity. A similar story is related to show how the Shannon, in Irish Sinann, Sinand, or Sinend, is called after a woman of that name. It occurs in the same Rennes manuscript, and the following is Stokes' translation in the Revue Celtique, xv. 457:--'Sinend, daughter of Lodan Lucharglan son of Ler out of Tir Tairngire (Land of Promise, Fairyland), went to Connla's Well, which is under sea, to behold it. That is a well at which are the hazels and inspirations (?) of wisdom, that is, the hazels of the science of poetry, and in the same hour their fruit and their blossom and their foliage break forth, and these fall on the well in the same shower, which raises on the water a royal surge of purple. Then the salmon chew the fruit, and the juice of the nuts is apparent on their purple bellies. And seven streams of wisdom spring forth and turn there again. Now Sinend went to seek the inspiration, for she wanted nothing save only wisdom. She went with the stream till she reached Linn Mna Feile, "the Pool of the Modest Woman," that is Bri Ele--and she went ahead on her journey; but the well left its place, and she followed it [181] to the banks of the river Tarr-cáin, "Fair-back." After this it overwhelmed her, so that her back (tarr) went upwards, and when she had come to the land on this side (of the Shannon) she tasted death. Whence Sinann and Linn Mna Feile and Tarr-cain.' In these stories the reader will have noticed that the foremost punishment on any intruder who looked into the forbidden well was the instant ruin of his two eyes. One naturally asks why the eyes are made the special objects of the punishment, and I am inclined to think the meaning to have originally been that the well or spring was regarded as the eye of the divinity of the water. Should this prove well founded it looks natural that the eyes, which transgressed by gazing into the eye of the divinity, should be the first objects of that divinity's vengeance. This is suggested to me by the fact that the regular Welsh word for the source of a river is llygad, Old Welsh licat, 'eye,' as for instance in the case of Licat Amir mentioned by Nennius, § 73; of Llygad Llychwr, 'the source of the Loughor river' in the hills behind Carreg Cennen Castle; and of the weird lake in which the Rheidol [182] rises near the top of Plinlimmon: it is called Llyn Llygad y Rheidol, 'the Lake of the Rheidol's Eye.' By the way, the Rheidol is not wholly without its folklore, for I used to be told in my childhood, that she and the Wye and the Severn sallied forth simultaneously from Plinlimmon one fine morning to run a race to the sea. The result was, one was told, that the Rheidol won great honour by reaching the sea three weeks before her bigger sisters. Somebody has alluded to the legend in the following lines:-- Tair afon gynt a rifwyd Ar dwyfron Pumlumon lwyd, Hafren a Gwy'n hyfryd ei gwed, A'r Rheidol fawr ei hanrhyded. Three rivers of yore were seen On grey Plinlimmon's breast, Severn, and Wye of pleasant mien, And Rheidol rich in great renown. To return to the Irish legends, I may mention that Eugene O'Curry has a good deal to say of the mysterious nuts and 'the salmon of knowledge,' the partaking of which was synonymous with the acquisition of knowledge and wisdom: see his Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, ii. 142-4. He gives it as his opinion that Connla's Well was situated somewhere in Lower Ormond; but the locality of this Helicon, with the seven streams of wisdom circulating out of it and back again into it, is more intelligible when regarded as a matter of fairy geography. A portion of the note appended to the foregoing legend by Stokes is in point here: he traces the earliest mention of the nine hazels of wisdom, growing at the heads of the chief rivers of Ireland, to the Dialogue of the Two Sages in the Book of Leinster, fol. 186b, whence he cites the poet Néde mac Adnai saying whence he had come, as follows:--a caillib .i. a nói collaib na Segsa ... a caillib didiu assa mbenaiter clessa na súad tanacsa, 'from hazels, to wit, from the nine hazels of the Segais ... from hazels out of which are obtained the feats of the sages, I have come.' The relevancy of this passage will be seen when I add, that Segais was one of the names of the mound in which the Boyne rises; so it may be safely inferred that Bóand's transgression was of the same nature as that of Sinand, to wit, that of intruding on sacred ground in quest of wisdom and inspiration which was not permitted their sex: certain sources of knowledge, certain quellen, were reserved for men alone. Before I have done with the Irish instances I must append one in the form it was told me in the summer of 1894: I was in Meath and went to see the remarkable chambered cairns on the hill known as Sliabh na Caillighe, 'the Hag's Mountain,' near Oldcastle and Lough Crew. I had as my guide a young shepherd whom I picked up on the way. He knew all about the hag after whom the hill was called except her name: she was, he said, a giantess, and so she brought there, in three apronfuls, the stones forming the three principal cairns. As to the cairn on the hill point known as Belrath, that is called the Chair Cairn from a big stone placed there by the hag to serve as her seat when she wished to have a quiet look on the country round. But usually she was to be seen riding on a wonderful pony she had: that creature was so nimble and strong that it used to take the hag at a leap from one hill-top to another. However, the end of it all was that the hag rode so hard that the pony fell down, and that both horse and rider were killed. The hag appears to have been Cailleach Bhéara, or Caillech Bérre, 'the Old Woman of Beare,' that is, Bearhaven, in County Cork [183]. Now the view from the Hag's Mountain is very extensive, and I asked the shepherd to point out some places in the distance. Among other things we could see Lough Ramor, which he called the Virginia Water, and more to the west he identified Lough Sheelin, about which he had the following legend to tell:--A long, long time ago there was no lake there, but only a well with a flagstone kept over it, and everybody would put the flag back after taking water out of the well. But one day a woman who fetched water from it forgot to replace the stone, and the water burst forth in pursuit of the luckless woman, who fled as hard as she could before the angry flood. She continued until she had run about seven miles--the estimated length of the lake at the present day. Now at this point a man, who was busily mowing hay in the field through which she was running, saw what was happening and mowed the woman down with his scythe, whereupon the water advanced no further. Such was the shepherd's yarn, which partly agrees with the Boyne and Shannon stories in that the woman was pursued by the water, which only stopped where she died. On the other hand, it resembles the Llyn Llech Owen legend and that of Lough Neagh in placing to the woman's charge only the neglect to cover the well. It looks as if we had in these stories a confusion of two different institutions, one being a well of wisdom which no woman durst visit without fatal vengeance overtaking her, and the other a fairy well which was attended to by a woman who was to keep it covered, and who may, perhaps, be regarded as priestess of the spring. If we try to interpret the Cantre'r Gwaelod story from these two points of view we have to note the following matters:--Though it is not said that the moruin, or damsel, had a lid or cover on the well, the word golligaut or helligaut, 'did let run,' implies some such an idea as that of a lid or door; for opening the sluices, in the sense of the later version, seems to me out of the question. In two of the Englynion she is cursed for the action implied, and if she was the well minister or well servant, as I take finaun wenestir to mean, we might perhaps regard her as the priestess of that spring. On the other hand, the prevailing note in the other Englynion is the traha, 'presumption, arrogance, insolence, pride,' which forms the burden of four out of five of them. This would seem to point to an attitude on the part of the damsel resembling that of Bóand or Sinand when prying into the secrets of wells which were tabu to them. The seventh Englyn alludes to wines, and its burden is gormod, 'too much, excess, extravagance,' whereby the poet seems to lend countenance to some such a later story as that of Seithennin's intemperance. Lastly, the question of priest or priestess of a sacred well has been alluded to once or twice, and it may be perhaps illustrated on Welsh ground by the history of Ffynnon Eilian, or St. Elian's Well, which has been mentioned in another context, p. 357 above. Of that well we read as follows, s. v. Llandrillo, in the third edition of Lewis' Topographical Dictionary of Wales:--'Fynnon Elian, ... even in the present age, is frequently visited by the superstitious, for the purpose of invoking curses upon the heads of those who have grievously offended them, and also of supplicating prosperity to themselves; but the numbers are evidently decreasing. The ceremony is performed by the applicant standing upon a certain spot near the well, whilst the owner of it reads a few passages of the sacred Scriptures, and then, taking a small quantity of water, gives it to the former to drink, and throws the residue over his head, which is repeated three times, the party continuing to mutter imprecations in whatever terms his vengeance may dictate.' Rice Rees, in his Essay on the Welsh Saints (London, 1836), p. 267, speaks of St. Elian as follows: 'Miraculous cures were lately supposed to be performed at his shrine at Llanelian, Anglesey; and near to the church of Llanelian, Denbighshire, is a well called Ffynnon Elian, which is thought by the peasantry of the neighbourhood to be endued with miraculous powers even at present.' Foulkes, s. v. Elian, in his Enwogion Cymru, published in Liverpool in 1870, expresses the opinion that the visits of the superstitious to the well had ceased for some time. The last person supposed to have had charge of the well was a certain John Evans, but some of the most amusing stories of the shrewdness of the caretaker refer to a woman who had charge of the well before Evans' time. A series of articles on Ffynnon Eilian appeared in 1861 in a Welsh periodical called Y Nofelyd, printed by Mr. Aubrey at Llanerch y Med, in Anglesey. The articles in question were afterwards published, I am told, as a shilling book, which I have not seen, and they dealt with the superstition, with the history of John Evans, and with his confessions and conversion. I have searched in vain for any account in Welsh of the ritual followed at the well. When Mrs. Silvan Evans visited the place, the person in charge of the well was a woman, and Peter Roberts, in his Cambrian Popular Antiquities, published in London in 1815, alludes to her or a predecessor of hers in the following terms, p. 246:--'Near the Well resided some worthless and infamous wretch, who officiated as priestess.' He furthermore gives one to understand that she kept a book in which she registered the name of each evil wisher for a trifling sum of money. When this had been done, a pin was dropped into the well in the name of the victim. This proceeding looks adequate from the magical point of view, though less complicated than the ritual indicated by Lewis. This latter writer calls the person who took charge of the well the owner; and I have always understood that, whether owner or not, he or she used to receive gifts, not only for placing in the well the names of men who were to be cursed, but also from those men for taking their names out again, so as to relieve them from the malediction. In fact, the trade in curses seems to have been a very thriving one: its influence was powerful and widespread. Here there is, I think, very little doubt that the owner or guardian of the well was, so to say, the representative of an ancient priesthood of the well. That priesthood dated its origin probably many centuries before a Christian church was built near the well, and coming down to later times we have unfortunately no sufficient data to show how the right to such priesthood was acquired, whether by inheritance or otherwise; but we know that a woman might have charge of St. Elian's Well. Let me cite another instance, which I unexpectedly discovered some years ago in the course of a ramble in quest of early inscriptions. Among other places which I visited was Llandeilo Llwydarth, near Maen Clochog, in the northern part of Pembrokeshire. This is one of the many churches bearing the name of St. Teilo in South Wales: the building is in ruins, but the churchyard is still used, and contains two of the most ancient post-Roman inscriptions in the Principality. If you ask now for 'Llandeilo' in this district, you will be understood to be inquiring after the farm house of that name, close to the old church; and I learnt from the landlady that her family had been there for many generations, though they have not very long been the proprietors of the land. She also told me of St. Teilo's Well, a little above the house: she added that it was considered to have the property of curing the whooping-cough. I asked if there was any rite or ceremony necessary to be performed in order to derive benefit from the water. Certainly, I was told: the water must be lifted out of the well and given to the patient to drink by some member of the family. To be more accurate, I ought to say that this must be done by somebody born in the house. Her eldest son, however, had told me previously, when I was busy with the inscriptions, that the water must be given to the patient by the heir, not by anybody else. Then came my question how the water was lifted, or out of what the patient had to drink, to which I was answered that it was out of the skull. 'What skull?' said I. 'St. Teilo's skull,' was the answer. 'Where do you get the saint's skull?' I asked. 'Here it is,' was the answer, and I was given it to handle and examine. I know next to nothing about skulls; but it struck me that it was the upper portion of a thick, strong skull, and it called to my mind the story of the three churches which contended for the saint's corpse. That story will be found in the Book of Llan Dâv, pp. 116-7, and according to it the contest became so keen that it had to be settled by prayer and fasting. So, in the morning, lo and behold! there were three corpses of St. Teilo--not simply one--and so like were they in features and stature that nobody could tell which were the corpses made to order and which the old one. I should have guessed that the skull which I saw belonged to the former description, as not having been much thinned by the owner's use of it; but this I am forbidden to do by the fact that, according to the legend, this particular Llandeilo was not one of the three contending churches which bore away in triumph a dead Teilo each. The reader, perhaps, would like to take another view, namely, that the story has been edited in such a way as to reduce a larger number of Teilos to three, in order to gratify the Welsh weakness for triads. Since my visit to the neighbourhood I have been favoured with an account of the well as it is now current there. My informant is Mr. Benjamin Gibby of Llangolman Mill, who writes mentioning, among other things, that the people around call the well Ffynnon yr Ychen, or the Oxen's Well, and that the family owning and occupying the farm house of Llandeilo have been there for centuries. Their name, which is Melchior (pronounced Melshor), is by no means a common one in the Principality, so far as I know; but, whatever may be its history in Wales, the bearers of it are excellent Kymry. Mr. Gibby informs me that the current story solves the difficulty as to the saint's skull as follows:--The saint had a favourite maid servant from the Pembrokeshire Llandeilo: she was a beautiful woman, and had the privilege of attending on the saint when he was on his death-bed. As his end was approaching he gave his maid a strict and solemn command that in a year's time from the day of his burial at Llandeilo Fawr, in Carmarthenshire, she was to take his skull to the other Llandeilo, and to leave it there to be a blessing to coming generations of men, who, when ailing, would have their health restored by drinking water out of it. So the belief prevailed that to drink out of the skull some of the water of Teilo's Well ensured health, especially against the whooping-cough. The faith of some of those who used to visit the well was so great in its efficacy, that they were wont to leave it, he says, with their constitutions wonderfully improved; and he mentions a story related to him by an old neighbour, Stifyn Ifan, who has been dead for some years, to the effect that a carriage, drawn by four horses, came once, more than half a century ago, to Llandeilo. It was full of invalids coming from Pen Clawd, in Gower, Glamorganshire, to try the water of the well. They returned, however, no better than they came; for though they had drunk of the well, they had neglected to do so out of the skull. This was afterwards pointed out to them by somebody, and they resolved to make the long journey to the well again. This time they did the right thing, we are told, and departed in excellent health. Such are the contents of Mr. Gibby's Welsh letter; and I would now only point out that we have here an instance of a well which was probably sacred before the time of St. Teilo: in fact, one would possibly be right in supposing that the sanctity of the well and its immediate surroundings was one of the causes why the site was chosen by a Christian missionary. But consider for a moment what has happened: the well paganism has annexed the saint, and established a belief ascribing to him the skull used in the well ritual. The landlady and her family, it is true, neither believe in the efficacy of the well, nor take gifts from those who visit the well; but they continue, out of kindness, as they put it, to hand the skull full of water to any one who perseveres in believing in it. In other words, the faith in the well continues in a measure intact, while the walls of the church have long fallen into utter decay. Such is the great persistence of some primitive beliefs; and in this particular instance we have a succession which seems to point unmistakably to an ancient priesthood of a sacred spring. NOTES [1] As to the spelling of Welsh names, it may be pointed out for the benefit of English readers that Welsh f has the sound of English v, while the sound of English f is written ff (and ph) in Welsh, and however strange it may seem to them that the written f should be sounded v, it is borrowed from an old English alphabet which did so likewise more or less systematically. Th in such English words as thin and breath is written th, but the soft sound as in this and breathe is usually printed in Welsh dd and written in modern Welsh manuscript sometimes like a small Greek delta: this will be found represented by d in the Welsh extracts edited by me in this volume.--J. R. [2] 'Blaensawde, or the upper end of the river Sawde, is situate about three-quarters of a mile south-east from the village of Llandeusant. It gives its name to one of the hamlets of that parish. The Sawde has its source in Llyn y Fan Fach, which is nearly two miles distant from Blaensawde House.' [3] The rendering might be more correctly given thus: 'O thou of the crimped bread, it is not easy to catch me.'--J. R. [4] 'Mydfai parish was, in former times, celebrated for its fair maidens, but whether they were descendants of the Lady of the Lake or otherwise cannot be determined. An old pennill records the fact of their beauty thus:-- Mae eira gwyn Ar ben y bryn, A'r glasgoed yn y Ferdre, Mae bedw mân Ynghoed Cwm-brân, A merched glân yn Mydfe. Which may be translated, There is white snow On the mountain's brow, And greenwood at the Verdre, Young birch so good In Cwm-brân wood, And lovely girls in Mydfe.' [5] Similarly this should be rendered: 'O thou of the moist bread, I will not have thee.'--J. R. [6] In the best Demetian Welsh this word would be hwedel, and in the Gwentian of Glamorgan it is gwedel, mutated wedel, as may be heard in the neighbourhood of Bridgend.--J. R. [7] This is not generally accepted, as some Welsh antiquarians find reasons to believe that Dafyd ap Gwilym was buried at Strata Florida.--J. R. [8] This is not quite correct, as I believe that Dr. C. Rice Williams, who lives at Aberystwyth, is one of the Medygon. That means the year 1881, when this chapter was written, excepting the portions concerning which the reader is apprised of a later date.--J. R. [9] Later it will be seen that the triban in the above form was meant for neither of the two lakes, though it would seem to have adapted itself to several. In the case of the Fan Fach Lake the town meant must have been Carmarthen, and the couplet probably ran thus: Os na cha'i lonyd yn ym lle, Fi foda dre' Garfyrdin. [10] Llwch is the Goidelic word loch borrowed, and Llyn Cwm y Llwch literally means the Lake of the Loch Dingle. [11] I make no attempt to translate these lines, but I find that Mr. Llewellyn Williams has found a still more obscure version of them, as follows:-- Prw med, prw med, prw'r gwartheg i dre', Prw milfach a malfach, pedair llualfach, Llualfach ac Acli, pedair lafi, Lafi a chromwen, pedair nepwen, Nepwen drwynog, brech yn llyn a gwaun dodyn, Tair bryncethin, tair cyffredin, Tair caseg du, draw yn yr eithin; Dewch i gyd i lys y brenin. [12] The Ty-fry is a house said to be some 200 years old, and situated about two miles from Rhonda Fechan: more exactly it is about one-fourth of a mile from the station of Ystrad Rhonda, and stands at the foot of Mynyd yr Eglwys on the Treorky side. It is now surrounded by the cottages of colliers, one of whom occupies it. For this information I have to thank Mr. Probert Evans. [13] It is to be borne in mind that the sound of h is uncertain in Glamorgan pronunciation, whether the language used is Welsh or English. The pronunciation indicated, however, by Mr. Evans comes near enough to the authentic form written Elfarch. [14] In the Snowdon district of Gwyned the call is drwi, drwi, drw-i bach, while in North Cardiganshire it is trwi, trwi, trw-e fach, also pronounced sometimes with a surd r, produced by making the breath cause both lips to vibrate--tR'wi, tR'wi, which can hardly be distinguished from pR'wi, pR'wi. For the more forcibly the lips are vibrated the more difficult it becomes to start by closing them to pronounce p: so the tendency with R' is to make the preceding consonant into some kind of a t. [15] This is the Welsh form of the borrowed name Jane, and its pronunciation in North Cardiganshire is Siân, with si pronounced approximately like the ti of such French words as nation and the like; but of late years I find the si made into English sh under the influence, probably, to some extent of the English taught at school. This happens in North Wales, even in districts where there are still plenty of people who cannot approach the English words fish and shilling nearer than fiss and silling. Siôn and Siân represent an old importation of English John and Jane, but they are now considered old-fashioned and superseded by John and Jane, which I learned to pronounce Dsiòn and Dsiên, except that Siôn survives as a family name, written Shone, in the neighbourhood of Wrexham. [16] This term dafad (or dafaden), 'a sheep,' also used for 'a wart,' and dafad (or dafaden) wyllt, literally 'a wild sheep,' for cancer or epithelioma, raises a question which I am quite unable to answer: why should a wart have been likened to a sheep? [17] The name is probably a shortening of Cawellyn, and that perhaps of Cawell-lyn, 'Creel or Basket Lake.' Its old name is said to have been Llyn Tardenni. [18] Tyn is a shortening of tydyn, which is not quite forgotten in the case of Tyn Gadlas or Tyn Siarlas (for Tydyn Siarlys), 'Charles' Tenement,' in the immediate neighbourhood. Similarly the Anglesey Farm of Tyn yr Onnen used at one time to be Tydyn yr Onnen in the books of Jesus College, Oxford, to which it belongs. [19] That is the pronunciation which I have learnt at Llanberis, but there is another, which I have also heard, namely Derwenyd. [20] Ystrad is the Welsh corresponding to Scotch strath, and it is nearly related to the English word strand. It means the flat land near a river. [21] Betws (or Bettws) Garmon seems to mean Germanus's Bede-hus or House of Prayer, but Garmon can hardly have come down in Welsh from the time of the famous saint in the fifth century, as it would then have probably yielded Gerfon and not Garmon: it looks as if it had come through the Goidelic of this country. [22] One of the rare merits of our Welsh bards is their habit of assuming permanent noms de plume, by means of which they prevent a number of excellent native names from falling into utter oblivion in the general chaos of Anglo-Hebrew ones, such as Jones, Davies, and Williams, which cover the Principality. Welsh place-names have similarly been threatened by Hebrew names of chapels, such as Bethesda, Rehoboth, and Jerusalem, but in this direction the Jewish mania has only here and there effected permanent mischief. [23] The Brython was a valuable Welsh periodical published by Mr. Robert Isaac Jones, at Tremadoc, in the years 1858-1863, and edited by the Rev. Chancellor Silvan Evans, who was then the curate of Llangïan in Lleyn: in fact he was curate for fourteen years! His excellent work in editing the Brython earned for him his diocesan's displeasure, but it is easier to imagine than to describe how hard it was for him to resign the honorarium of £24 derived from the Brython when his stipend as a clergyman was only £92, at the same time that he had dependent on him a wife and six children. However much some people affect to laugh at the revival of the national spirit in Wales, we have, I think, got so far as to make it, for some time to come, impossible for a Welsh clergyman to be snubbed on account of his literary tastes or his delight in the archæology of his country. [24] This parish is called after a saint named Tegái or Tygái, like Tyfaelog and Tysilio, and though the accent rests on the final syllable nothing could prevent the grammarian Huw Tegai and his friends from making it into Tégai in Huw's name. [25] For can they now usually put Ann, and Mr. Hughes remembers hearing it so many years ago. [26] I remember seeing a similar mound at Llanfyrnach, in Pembrokeshire; and the last use made of the hollow on the top of this also is supposed to have been for cock-fights. [27] My attention has also been called to freit, frete, freet, fret, 'news, inquiry, augury,' corresponding to Anglo-Saxon freht, 'divination.' But the disparity of meaning seems to stand in the way of our ffrit being referred to this origin. [28] The Oxford Mabinogion, p. 63; Guest, iii. 223. [29] See the Itinerarium Kambriæ, i. 2 (pp. 33-5), and Celtic Britain, p. 64. [30] As for example in the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1870, pp. 192-8; see also 1872, pp. 146-8. [31] Howells has also an account of Llyn Savadhan, as he writes it: see his Cambrian Superstitions, pp. 100-2, where he quaintly says that the story of the wickedness of the ancient lord of Syfadon is assigned as the reason why 'the superstitious little river Lewenny will not mix its water with that of the lake.' Lewenny is a reckless improvement of Mapes' Leueni (printed Lenem); and Giraldus' Clamosum implies an old spelling Llefni, pronounced the same as the later spelling Llyfni, which is now made into Llynfi or Llynvi: the river so called flows through the lake and into the Wye at Glasbury. As to Safadan or Syfadon, it is probably of Goidelic origin, and to be identified with such an Irish name as the feminine Samthann: see Dec. 19 in the Martyrologies. To keep within our data, we are at liberty to suppose that this was the name of the wicked princess in the story, and that she was the ancestress of a clan once powerful on and around the lake, which lies within a Goidelic area indicated by its Ogam inscriptions. [32] These were held, so far as I can gather from the descriptions usually given of them, exactly as I have seen a kermess or kirchmesse celebrated at Heidelberg, or rather the village over the Neckar opposite that town. It was in 1869, but I forget what saint it was with whose name the kermess was supposed to be connected: the chief features of it were dancing and beer drinking. It was by no means unusual for a Welsh Gwyl Fabsant to bring together to a rural neighbourhood far more people than could readily be accommodated; and in Carnarvonshire a hurriedly improvised bed is to this day called gwely g'l'absant, as it were 'a bed (for the time) of a saint's festival.' Rightly or wrongly the belief lingers that these merry gatherings were characterized by no little immorality, which made the better class of people set their faces against them. [33] Since the editing of this volume was begun I have heard that it is intended to publish the Welsh collection which Mr. Jones has made: so I shall only give a translation of the Edward Llwyd version of the afanc story: see section v. of this chapter. [34] This word is not in Welsh dictionaries, but it is Scotch and Manx Gaelic, and is possibly a remnant of the Goidelic once spoken in Gwyned. [35] Our charlatans never leave off trying to make this into Tryfaen so as to extract maen, 'stone,' from it. They do not trouble themselves to find out whether it ever was Tryfaen or not: in fact they rather like altering everything as much as they can. [36] Ystrádllyn, with the accent on the penult, is commonly pronounced Strállyn, and means 'the strand of the lake,' and the hollow is named after it Cwm Strállyn, and the lake in it Llyn Cwm Strállyn, which literally means 'the Lake of the Combe of the Strand of the Lake'--all seemingly for the luxury of forgetting the original name of the lake, which I have never been able to ascertain. [37] So Mr. Jones puts it: I have never heard of any other part of the Principality where the children are usually baptized before they are eight days old. [38] I cannot account for this spelling, but the ll in Bellis is English ll, not the Welsh ll, which represents a sound very different from that of l. [39] Where not stated otherwise, as in this instance, the reader is to regard this chapter as written in the latter part of the year 1881. [40] See Giraldus' Itinerarium Kambriæ, i. 8 (pp. 75-8); some discussion of the whole story will be found in chapter iii of this volume. [41] Dr. Moore explains this to be cabbages and potatoes, pounded and mixed with butter or lard. [42] It would be interesting to know what has become of this letter and others of Llwyd's once in the possession of the canon, for it is not to be supposed that the latter ever took the trouble to make an accurate copy of them any more than he did of any other MSS. [43] There is also a Sarn yr Afanc, 'the Afanc's Stepping Stones,' on the Ogwen river in Nant Ffrancon: see Pennant's Tours in Wales, iii. 101. [44] The oxen should accordingly have been called Ychain Pannog; but the explanation is not to be taken seriously. These oxen will come under the reader's notice again, to wit in chapter x. [45] The lines are copied exactly as given at p. 189 (I. vi. 25-30) of The Poetical Works of Lewis Glyn Cothi, edited for the Cymmrodorion by Gwallter Mechain and Tegid, and printed at Oxford in the year 1837. [46] This, I should say, must be a mistake, as it contradicts all the folklore which makes the rowan an object of dread to the fairies. [47] See Choice Notes from 'Notes and Queries' (London, 1859), p. 147. [48] It is more likely that it is a shortening of Llyn y Barfog, meaning the Lake of the Bearded One, Lacus Barbati as it were, the Bearded One being somebody like the hairy monster of another lake mentioned at p. 18 above, or him of the white beard pictured at p. 127. [49] So far from afanc meaning a crocodile, an afanc is represented in the story of Peredur as a creature that would cast at every comer a poisoned spear from behind a pillar standing at the mouth of the cave inhabited by it; see the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 224. The corresponding Irish word is abhac, which according to O'Reilly means 'a dwarf, pigmy, manikin; a sprite.' [50] I should not like to vouch for the accuracy of Mr. Pughe's rendering of this and the other Welsh names which he has introduced: that involves difficult questions. [51] The writer meant the river known as Dyfi or Dovey; but he would seem to have had a water etymology on the brain. [52] This involves the name of the river called Disynni, and Diswnwy embodies a popular etymology which is not worth discussing. [53] It would, I think, be a little nearer the mark as follows:-- Come thou, Einion's Yellow One, Stray-horns, the Particoloured Lake Cow, And the Hornless Dodin: Arise, come home. But one would like to know whether Dodin ought not rather to be written Dodyn, to rhyme with Llyn. [54] Hywel's real name is William Davies, Tal y Bont, Cardiganshire. As adjudicator I became acquainted with several stories which Mr. Davies has since given me permission to use, and I have to thank him for clues to several others. [55] Or Llech y Deri, as Mr. Williams tells me in a letter, where he adds that he does not know the place, but that he took it to be in the Hundred of Cemmes, in North-west Pembrokeshire. I take Llech y Derwyd to be fictitious; but I have not succeeded in finding any place called by the other name either. [56] Perhaps the more usual thing is for the man returning from Faery to fall into dust on the spot: see later in this chapter the Curse of Pantannas, which ends with an instance in point, and compare Howells, pp. 142, 146. [57] B. Davies, that is, Benjamin Davies, who gives this tale, was, as I learn from Gwynionyd, a native of Cenarth. He was a schoolmaster for about twelve years, and died in October, 1859, at Merthyr, near Carmarthen: he describes him as a good and intelligent man. [58] This is ordinarily written Cenarth, the name of a parish on the Teifi, where the three counties of Cardigan, Pembroke, and Carmarthen meet. [59] The name Llan Dydoch occurs in the Bruts, A.D. 987 and 1089, and is the one still in use in Welsh; but the English St. Dogmael's shows that it is derived from that of Dogfael's name when the mutation consonant f or v was still written m. In Welsh the name of the saint has been worn down to Dogwel, as in St. Dogwell's near Fishguard, and Llandogwel in Llanrhudlad parish in Anglesey: see Reece's Welsh Saints, p. 211. It points back to an early Brythonic form Doco-maglos, with doco of the same origin as Latin dux, ducis, 'a leader,' and maglo-s = Irish mal, 'a lord or prince.' Dogfael's name assumes in Llan Dydoch a Goidelic form, for Dog-fael would have to become in Irish Doch-mhal, which, cut down to Doch with the honorific prefix to, has yielded Ty-doch; but I am not clear why it is not Ty-doch. Another instance of a Goidelic form of a name having the local preference in Wales to this day offers itself in Cyfelach and Llan Gyfelach in Glamorganshire. The Welsh was formerly Cimeliauc (Reece, p. 274). Here may also be mentioned St. Cyngar, otherwise called Docwinnus (Reece, p. 183), but the name occurs in the Liber Landavensis in the genitive both as Docunn-i and Docguinni, the former of which seems easily explained as Goidelic for an early form of Cyngar, namely Cuno-caros, from which would be formed To-chun or Do-chun. This is what seems to underlie the Latin Docunnus, while Docguinni is possibly a Goidelic modification of the written Docunni, unless some such a name as Doco-vindo-s has been confounded with Docunnus. In one instance the Book of Llan Dâv has instead of Abbas Docunni or Docguinni, the shorter designation, Abbas Dochou (p. 145), which one must not unhesitatingly treat as Dochon, seeing that Dochou would be in later book Welsh Dochau, and in the dialect of the district Docha; and that this occurs in the name of the church of Llandough near Cardiff, and Llandough near Cowbridge. The connexion of a certain saint Dochdwy with these churches does not appear at all satisfactorily established, but more light is required to help one to understand these and similar church names. [60] This name which may have come from Little England below Wales, was once not uncommon in South Cardiganshire, as Mr. Williams informs me, but it is now mostly changed as a surname into Davies and Jones! Compare the similar fortunes of the name Mason mentioned above, p. 68. [61] I have not succeeded in discovering who the writer was, who used this name. [62] This name as it is now written should mean 'the Gold's Foot,' but in the Demetian dialect aur is pronounced oer, and I learn from the rector, the Rev. Rhys Jones Lloyd, that the name has sometimes been written Tref Deyrn, which I regard as some etymologist's futile attempt to explain it. More importance is to be attached to the name on the communion cup, dating 1828, and reading, as Mr. Lloyd kindly informs me, Poculum Eclyseye de Tre-droyre. Beneath Droyre some personal name possibly lies concealed. [63] Y Ferch o Gefn Ydfa ('The Maid of Cefn Ydfa'), by Isaac Craigfryn Hughes, published by Messrs. Daniel Owen, Howell & Co., Cardiff, 1881. [64] In a letter dated February 9, 1899, he states, however, that as regards folklore the death of his father at the age of seventy-six, in the year 1889, had been a great loss to him; for he adds that he was perfectly familiar with the traditions of the neighbourhood and had associated with older men. Among the latter he had been used to talk with an old man whose father remembered Cromwell passing on his way to destroy the Iron Works of Pant y Gwaith, where the Cavaliers had had a cannon cast, which was afterwards used in the engagement at St. Fagan's. [65] This term is sometimes represented as being Bendith eu Mamau, 'their Mother's Blessing,' as if each fairy were such a delightful offspring as to constitute himself or herself a blessing to his or her mother; but I have not found satisfactory evidence to the currency of Bendith eu Mamau, or, as it would be pronounced in Glamorgan, Béndith i Máma. On the whole, therefore, perhaps one may regard the name as pointing back to the Celtic goddesses known in Gaul in Roman times as the Mothers. [66] On Pen Craig Daf Mr. Hughes gives the following note:--It was the residence of Dafyd Morgan or 'Counsellor Morgan,' who, he says, was executed on Kennington Common for taking the side of the Pretender. He had retreated to Pen y Graig, where his abode was, in order to conceal himself; but he was discovered and carried away at night. Here follows a verse from an old ballad about him:-- Dafyd Morgan ffel a ffol, Taffy Morgan, sly and daft, Fe aeth yn ol ei hyder: He did his bent go after: Fe neidod naid at rebel haid He leaped a leap to a rebel swarm, Pan drod o blaid Pretender. To arm for a Pretender. [67] A tòn is any green field that is used for grazing and not meant to be mown, land which has, as it were, its skin of grassy turf unbroken for years by the plough. [68] On this Mr. Hughes has a note to the effect that the whole of one milking used to be given in Glamorgan to workmen for assistance at the harvest or other work, and that it was not unfrequently enough for the making of two cheeses. [69] Since this was first printed I have learnt from Mr. Hughes that the first cry issued from the Black Cauldron in the Taff (o'r Gerwyn Du ar Daf), which I take to be a pool in that river. [70] The Fan is the highest mountain in the parish of Merthyr Tydfil, Mr. Hughes tells me: he adds that there was on its side once a chapel with a burial ground. Its history seems to be lost, but human bones have, as he states, been frequently found there. [71] The above, I am sorry to say, is not the only instance of this nasty trick associating itself with Gwent, as will be seen from the story of Bwca'r Trwyn in chapter x. [72] This chapter, except where a later date is suggested, may be regarded as written in the summer of 1883. [73] Trefriw means the town of the slope or hillside, and stands for Tref y Riw, not tref y Rhiw, which would have yielded Treffriw, for there is a tendency in Gwyned to make the mutation after the definite article conform to the general rule, and to say y law, 'the hand,' and y raw, 'the spade,' instead of what would be in books y llaw and y rhaw from yr llaw and yr rhaw. [74] Why the writer spells the name Criccieth in this way I cannot tell, except that he was more or less under the influence of the more intelligible spelling Crugcaith, as where Lewis Glyn Cothi. I. xxiv, sang Rhys ab Sion â'r hysbys iaith, Gwr yw acw o Grugcaith. This spelling postulates the interpretation Crug-Caith, earlier Crug y Ceith, 'the mound or barrow of the captives,' in reference to some forgotten interment; but when the accent receded to the first syllable the second was slurred almost out of recognition, so that Crug-ceith, or Cruc-ceith, became Crúceth, whence Crúcieth and Cricieth. The Bruts have Crugyeith the only time it occurs, and the Record of Carnarvon (several times) Krukyth. [75] Out of excessive fondness for our Arthur English people translate this name into Arthur's Seat instead of Idris' Seat; but Idris was also somebody: he was a giant with a liking for the study of the stars. But let that be: I wish to say a word concerning his name: Idris may be explained as meaning 'War-champion,' or the like; and, phonologically speaking, it comes from Iud-rys, which was made successively into Id-rys, Idris. The syllable iud meant battle or fight, and it undergoes a variety of forms in Welsh names. Thus before n, r, l, and w, it becomes id, as in Idnerth, Idloes, and Idwal, while Iud-hael yields Ithel, whence Ab Ithel, anglicized Bethel. At the end, however, it is yd or ud, as in Gruffud or Gruffyd, from Old Welsh Grippiud, and Maredud or Meredyd for an older Marget-iud. By itself it is possibly the word which the poets write ud, and understand to mean lord; but if these forms are related, it must have originally meant rather a fighter, soldier, or champion. [76] There is a special similarity between this and an Anglesey story given by Howells, p. 138: it consists in the sequence of seeing the fairies dance and finding money left by them. Why was the money left? [77] It was so called by the poet D. ab Gwilym, cxcii. 12, when he sang: I odi ac i luchio To bring snow and drifting flakes Odiar lechwed Moel Eilio. From off Moel Eilio's slope. [78] This is commonly pronounced 'Y Gath Dorwen,' but the people of the neighbourhood wish to explain away a farm name which could, strangely enough, only mean 'the white-bellied cat'; but y Garth Dorwen, 'the white-bellied garth or hill,' is not a very likely name either. [79] The hiring time in Wales is the beginning of winter and of summer; or, as one would say in Welsh, at the Calends of Winter and the Calends of May respectively. In North Cardiganshire the great hiring fair was held at the former date when I was a boy, and so, as I learn from my wife, it was in Carnarvonshire. [80] In a Cornish story mentioned in Choice Notes, p. 77, we have, instead of ointment, simply soap. See also Mrs. Bray's Banks of the Tamar, pp. 174-7, where she alludes to H. Cornelius Agrippa's statement how such ointment used to be made--the reference must, I think, be to his book De Occulta Philosophia Libri III (Paris, 1567), i. 45 (pp. 81-2). [81] See the Mabinogion, pp. 1-2; Evans' Facsimile of the Black Book of Carmarthen, fol. 49b-50a; Rhys' Arthurian Legend, pp. 155-8; Edmund Jones' Spirits in the County of Monmouth, pp. 39, 71, 82; and in this volume, pp. 143, 203, above. I may mention that the Cornish also have had their Cwn Annwn, though the name is a different one, to wit in the phrase, 'the Devil and his Dandy-dogs': see Choice Notes, pp. 78-80. [82] As it stands now this would be unmutated Césel Gýfarch, 'Cyfarch's Nook,' but there never was such a name. There was, however, Elgýfarch or Aelgýfarch and Rhygýfarch, and in such a combination as Césel Elgýfarch there would be every temptation to drop one unaccented el. [83] Owing to some oversight he has 'a clean or a dirty cow' instead of cow-yard or cow-house, as I understand it. [84] Cwta makes cota in the feminine in North Cardiganshire; the word is nevertheless only the English cutty borrowed. Du, 'black,' has corresponding to it in Irish, dubh. So the Welsh word seems to have passed through the stages dyv, dyw, before yw was contracted into û, which was formerly pronounced like French û, as proved by the grammar already mentioned (p. 22) of J. D. Rhys, published in London in 1592; see p. 33, to which my attention has been called by Prof. J. Morris Jones. In Old or pre-Norman Welsh m did duty for m and v, so one detects dyv as dim in a woman's name Penardim, 'she of the very black head'; there was also a Penarwen, 'she of the very blonde head.' The look of Penardim having baffled the redactor of the Branwen, he left the spelling unchanged: see the (Oxford) Mabinogion, p. 26. The same sort of change which produced du has produced cnu, 'a fleece,' as compared with cneifio, 'to fleece'; lluarth, 'a kitchen garden,' as compared with its Irish equivalent lubhghort. Compare also Rhiwabon, locally pronounced Rhuabon, and Rhiwallon, occurring sometimes as Rhuallon. But the most notable rôle of this phonetic process is exemplified by the verbal nouns ending in u, such as caru, 'to love,' credu, 'to believe,' tyngu, 'to swear,' in which the u corresponds to an m termination in Old Irish, as in sechem, 'to follow,' cretem, 'belief,' sessam or sessom, 'to stand.' [85] In medieval Welsh poetry this name was still a dissyllable; but now it is pronounced Llyn, in conformity with the habit of the Gwyndodeg, which makes into porfyd what is written porfeyd, 'pastures,' and pronounced porféid in North Cardiganshire. So in the Lleyn name Sarn Fyllteyrn the second vocable represents Maelteyrn, in the Record of Carnarvon (p. 38) Mayltern: it is now sounded Mylltyrn with the second y short and accented. Lleyn is a plural of the people (genitive Llaën in Porth Dinllaën), used as a singular of their country, like Cymru = Cymry, and Prydyn. The singular is llain, 'a spear,' in the Book of Aneurin: see Skene, ii. 64, 88, 92. [86] It is also called dolur byr, or the 'short disease'; I believe I have been told that it is the disease known to 'the vet.' as anthrax. [87] Here the writer seems to have been puzzled by the mh of Amheirchion, and to have argued back to a radical form Parch; but he was on the wrong tack--Amheirchion comes from Ap-Meirchion, where the p helped to make the m a surd, which, with the syllabic accent on the succeeding vowel, became fixed as mh, while the p disappeared by assimilation. We have, later on, a similar instance in Owen y Mhaxen for Owen Amhacsen = O. ap Macsen. Another instance will be found at the opening of the Mabinogi of Branwen, to wit, in the word prynhawngweith, 'once on an afternoon,' from prynhawn, 'afternoon,' for which our dictionaries substitute prydnawn, with the accent on the ultima, though D. ab Gwilym used pyrnhawn, as in poem xl. 30. But the ordinary pronunciation continues to be prynháwn or pyrnháwn, sometimes reduced in Gwyned to pnawn. Let me add an instance which has reached me since writing the above: In the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1899, pp. 325-6, we have the pedigree of the Ameridiths from the Visitation of Devonshire in 1620: in the course of it one finds that Iuan ap Merydeth has a son Thomas Amerideth, who, knowing probably no Welsh, took to writing his patronymic more nearly as it was pronounced. The line is brought down to Ames Amerideth, who was created baronet in 1639. Amerideth of course = Ap Meredyd, and the present member of the family who writes to the Archæologia Cambrensis spells his patronymic more correctly, Ameridith; but if it had survived in Wales it might have been Amheredyd. For an older instance than any of these see the Book of Taliessin, poem xlix (= Skene, ii. 204), where one reads of Beli Amhanogan, 'B. ab Mynogan.' [88] This is pronounced Rhiwan, though probably made up of Rhiw-wen, for it is the tendency of the Gwyndodeg to convert e and ai of the unaccented ultima into a, and so with e in Glamorgan; see such instances as Cornwan and casag, p. 29 above. It is possibly a tendency inherited from Goidelic, as Irish is found to proceed in the same way. [89] I may mention that some of the Francises of Anglesey are supposed to be descendants of Frazers, who changed their name on finding refuge in the island in the time of the troubles which brought there the ancestor of the Frazer who, from time to time, claims to be the rightful head of the Lovat family. [90] According to old Welsh orthography this would be written Moudin, and in the book Welsh of the present day it would have to become Meudin. Restored, however, to the level of Gallo-Roman names, it would be Mogodunum or Magodunum. The place is known as Castell Moedin, and includes within it the end of a hill about halfway between Llannarth and Lampeter. [91] For other mentions of the colours of fairy dress see pp. 44, 139 above, where red prevails, and contrast the Lake Lady of Llyn Barfog clad in green, p. 145. [92] This name means the Bridge of the Blessed Ford, but how the ford came to be so called I know not. The word bendigaid, 'blessed,' comes from the Latin verb benedico, 'I bless,' and should, but for the objection to nd in book Welsh, be bendigaid, which, in fact, it is approximately in the northern part of the county, where it is colloquially sounded Pont Rhyd Fyndiged, Fydiged, or even Fdiged, also Pont Rhyd mdiged, which represents the result of the unmutated form Bdiged coming directly after the d of rhyd. Somewhat the same is the case with the name of the herb Dail y Fendigaid, literally 'the Leaves of the Blessed' (in the feminine singular without any further indication of the noun to be supplied). This name means, I find, 'hypericum androsæmum, tutsan,' and in North Cardiganshire we call it Dail y Fyndiged or Fdiged, but in Carnarvonshire the adjective is made to qualify dail, so that it sounds Dail Bydigad or Bdigad, 'Blessed Leaves.' [93] I am far from certain what y nos, 'the night,' may mean in such names as this and Craig y Nos, 'the Rock of the Night' (p. 254 above), to which perhaps might be added such an instance as Blaen Nos, 'the Point of (the?) Night,' in the neighbourhood of Llandovery, in Carmarthenshire. Can the allusion be merely to thickly overshadowed spots where the darkness of night might be said to lurk in defiance of the light of day? I have never visited the places in point, and leading questions addressed to local authorities are too apt to elicit misleading answers: the poetic faculty is dangerously rampant in the Principality. [94] Dâr is a Glamorgan pronunciation, metri gratiâ of what is written daear, 'earth': compare d'ar-fochyn in Glamorgan for a badger, literally 'an earth pig.' The dwarf's answer was probably in some sort of verse, with dâr and iâr to rhyme. [95] Applied in Glamorgan to a child that looks poorly and does not grow. [96] In Cardiganshire a conjurer is called dyn hysbys, where hysbys (or, in older orthography, hyspys) means 'informed': it is the man who is informed on matters which are dark to others; but the word is also used of facts--Y mae 'r peth yn hysbys, 'the thing is known or manifest.' The word is divisible into hy-spys, which would be in Irish, had it existed in the language, so-scese for an early su-squestia-s, the related Irish words being ad-chiu, 'I see,' pass. preterite ad-chess, 'was seen,' and the like, in which ci and ces have been equated by Zimmer with the Sanskrit verb caksh, 'to see,' from a root quas. The adjective cynnil applied to the dyn hyspys in Glamorgan means now, as a rule, 'economical' or 'thrifty,' but in this instance it would seem to have signified 'shrewd,' 'cunning,' or 'clever,' though it would probably come nearer the original meaning of the word to render it by 'smart,' for it is in Irish conduail, which is found applied to ingenious work, such as the ornamentation on the hilt of a sword. Another term for a wizard or conjurer is gwr cyfarwyd, with which the reader is already familiar. Here cyfarwyd forms a link with the kyvarwyd of the Mabinogion, where it usually means a professional man, especially one skilled in story and history; and what constituted his knowledge was called kyvarwydyt, which included, among other things, acquaintance with boundaries and pedigrees, but it meant most frequently perhaps story; see the (Oxford) Mabinogion, pp. 5, 61, 72, 93. All these terms should, strictly speaking, have gwr--gwr hyspys, gwr cynnil, and gwr cyfarwyd--but for the fact that modern Welsh tends to restrict gwr to signify 'a husband' or 'a married man,' while dyn, which only signifies a mortal, is made to mean man, and provided with a feminine dynes, 'woman,' unknown to good Welsh literature. Thus the spoken language is in this matter nearly on a level with English and French, which have quite lost the word for vir and anêr. [97] Rhyd y Gloch means 'the Ford of the Bell,' in allusion, as the story goes, to a silver bell that used in former ages to be at Llanwonno Church. The people of Llanfabon took a liking to it, and one night a band of them stole it; but as they were carrying it across the Taff the moon happened to make her appearance suddenly, and they, in their fright, taking it to be sunrise, dropped the bell in the bed of the river, so that nothing has ever been heard of it since. But for ages afterwards, and even at the present day indeed, nothing could rouse the natives of Llanfabon to greater fury than to hear the moon spoken of as haul Llanfabon, 'the sun of Llanfabon.' [98] It was peat fires that were usual in those days even in Glamorgan. [99] See Hartland's Science of Fairy Tales, pp. 112-6. [100] In no other version has Mr. Reynolds heard cwcwll wy iâr, but either plisgyn or cibyn wy iâr, to which I may add masgal from Mr. Craigfryn Hughes' versions. The word cwcwll usually means a cowl, but perhaps it is best here to treat cwcwll as a distinct word derived somehow from conchylium or the French coquille, 'a shell.' [101] The whole passage will be found in the Itinerarium Kambriæ, i. 8 (pp. 75-8), and Giraldus fixes the story a little before his time somewhere in the district around Swansea and Neath. With this agrees closely enough the fact that a second David, Dafyd ab Geralld or David Fitzgerald, appears to have been consecrated Bishop of St. David's in 1147, and to have died in 1176. [102] The words in the original are: Nec carne vescebantur, nec pisce; lacteis plerumque cibariis utentes, et in pultis modum quasi croco confectis. [103] Perhaps it is this also that suggested the name Eliodorus, as it were Hêliodôros; for the original name was probably the medieval Welsh one of Elidyr = Irish Ailithir, ailither, 'a pilgrim': compare the Pembrokeshire name Pergrin and the like. It is curious that Elidyr did not occur to Glasynys and prevent him from substituting Elfod, which is quite another name, and more correctly written Elfod for the earlier El-fodw, found not only as Elbodu but also Elbodug-o, Elbodg, Elbot and Elfod: see p. 117 above. [104] For one or two more instances from Wales see Howells, pp. 54-7. Brittany also is a great country for death portents: see A. Le Braz, Légende de la Mort en Basse-Bretagne (Paris, 1893), also Sébillot's Traditions et Superstitions de la Haute-Bretagne (Paris, 1882), i. pp. 270-1. For Scotland see The Ghost Lights of the West Highlands by Dr. R. C. Maclagan in Folk-Lore for 1897, pp. 203-256, and for the cognate subject of second sight see Dalyell's Darker Superstitions of Scotland, pp. 466-88. [105] Another word for the toeli is given by Silvan Evans as used in certain parts of South Wales, namely, tolaeth or dolath, as to which he mentions the opinion that it is a corruption of tylwyth, a view corroborated by Howells using, p. 31, the plural tyloethod; but it could not be easily explained except as a corruption through the medium of English. Elias Owen, p. 303, uses the word in reference to the hammering and rapping noise attending the joinering of a phantom coffin for a man about to die, a sort of rehearsal well known throughout the Principality to every one who has ears spiritually tuned. Unfortunately I have not yet succeeded in locating the use of the word tolaeth, except that I have been assured by a Carmarthen man that it is current in Welsh there as toleth, and by a native of Pumsant that it is in use from Abergwili up to Llanbumsant. [106] See, for instance, pp. 200, 221, 228. [107] Mrs. Williams-Ellis of Glasfryn writes to me that the place is now called Bwlch Trwyn Swncwl, that it is a gap on the highest part of the road crossing from Llanaelhaearn to Pistyll, and that it is quite a little mountain pass between bleak heather-covered hillsides, in fact a very lonely spot in the outskirts of the Eifl, and with Carnguwch blocking the horizon in the direction of Cardigan Bay. [108] For this I am indebted to Mr. Gwenogvryn Evans' Report on MSS. in the Welsh Language, i. 585 k. The words were written by Williams about the beginning of the seventeenth century, and his û does not mean w. He was, however, probably thinking of cawr, cewri, and such instances as tawaf, 'taceo,' and tau, 'tacet.' At all events there is no trace of u in the local pronunciation of the name Tre'r Ceiri. I have heard it also as Tre' Ceiri without the definite article; but had this been ancient one would expect it softened into Tre' Geiri. [109] See the Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 110, 113, and 27-9, 36-41, 44, also 309, where a Triad explains that the outposts were Anglesey, Man, and Lundy. But the other Triads, i. 3 = iii. 67, make them Orkney, Man, and Wight, for which we have the older authority of Nennius. § 8. The designation Tair Ynys Brydain, 'The Three Isles of Prydain,' was known to the fourteenth-century poet, Iolo Goch: see his works edited by Ashton, p. 669. [110] For Prydyn in the plural see Skene's Four Ancient Books of Wales, ii. 209, also 92, where Pryden is the form used. In modern Welsh the two senses of Cymry are distinguished in writing as Cymry and Cymru, but the difference is merely one of spelling and not very ancient. [111] So Geoffrey (i. 12-15) brings his Trojans on their way to Britain into Aquitania, where they fight with the Pictavienses, whose king he calls Goffarius Pictus. [112] Cadarn and cadr postulate respectively some such early forms as catrno-s and cadro-s, which according to analogy should become cadarn and cadr. Welsh, however, is not fond of dr; so here begins a bifurcation: (1) retaining the d unchanged cadro-s yields cadr, or (2) dr is made into dr, and other changes set in resulting in the ceir of ceiri, as in Welsh aneirif, 'numberless,' from eirif, 'number,' of the same origin as Irish áram from *ad-rim = *ad-rima, and Welsh eiliw, 'species, colour,' for ad-liw, in both of which i follows d combinations; but that is not essential, as shown by cader, cadair, for Old Welsh cateir, 'a chair,' from Latin cat[h]edra. The word that serves as our singular, namely cawr, is far harder to explain; but on the whole I am inclined to regard it as of a different origin, to wit, the Goidelic word caur, 'a giant or hero,' borrowed. The plural cewri or cawri is formed from the singular cawr, which means a giant, though, associated in the plural with ceiri, it has sometimes to follow suit with that vocable in connoting dress. [113] The most important of these are the old Breton kazr, now kaer, 'beautiful or pretty,' and old Cornish caer of the same meaning; elsewhere we have, as in Greek, the Doric kekadmai and kekadmenos, to be found used in reference to excelling or distinguishing one's self; also kosmos, 'good order, ornament,' while in Sanskrit there is the theme çad, 'to excel or surpass.' The old meaning of 'beautiful,' 'decorated,' or 'loudly dressed,' is not yet lost in the case of ceiri. [114] For the text see the Oxford Mabinogion, pp. 193-4, and for comparisons of the incident see Nutt's Holy Grail, p. 154 et seq.; and Rhys' Arthurian Legend, pp. 75-6. A more exact parallel, however, is to be mentioned in the next chapter. [115] This chapter was written mostly in 1891. [116] The spelling there used is phynnodderee, to the perversity of which Cregeen calls attention in his Dictionary. In any case the pronunciation is always approximately fun-ó-dur-i or fun-ód-ri, with the accent on the second syllable. [117] I am inclined to think that the first part of the word fenodyree is not fynney, the Manx word for 'hair,' but the Scandinavian word which survives in the Swedish fjun, 'down.' Thus fjun-hosur (for the fjun-hosa suggested by analogy) would explain the word fenodyree, except its final ee, which is obscure. Compare also the magic breeks called finn-brækr, as to which see Vigfusson's Icelandic Dict. s. v. finnar. [118] Cumming's Isle of Man (London, 1848), p. 30, where he refers his readers to Waldron's Description of the Isle of Man: see pp. 28, 105. [119] See Windisch's Irische Grammatik, p. 120. [120] The Manx word for the rowan tree, incorrectly called a mountain ash, is cuirn, which is in Mod. Irish caorthann, genitive caorthainn, Scotch Gaelic caorunn; but in Welsh books it is cerdin, singular cerdinen, and in the spoken language mostly cerdin, cerding, singular cerdinen, cerdingen. This variation seems to indicate that these words have possibly been borrowed by the Welsh from a Goidelic source; but the berry is known in Wales by the native name of criafol, from which the wood is frequently called, especially in North Wales, coed criafol, singular coeden griafol or pren criafol. The sacredness of the rowan is the key to the proper names Mac-Cáirthinn and Der-Cháirthinn, with which the student of Irish hagiology is familiar. They mean the Son and the Daughter of the Rowan respectively, and the former occurs as Maqui Cairatini on an Ogam inscribed stone recently discovered in Meath, not very far from the Boyne. [121] I am sorry to say that it never occurred to me to ask whether the shooting was done with such modern things as guns. But Mr. Arthur Moore assures me that it is always understood to be bows and arrows, not guns. [122] Edited by Oswald Cockayne for the Master of the Rolls (London, 1864-6): see more especially vol. ii. pp. 156-7, 290-1, 401; vol. iii. pp. 54-5. [123] Mr. Moore is not familiar with this term, but I heard it at Surby, in the south; and I find buidseach and buidseachd given as Highland Gaelic words for a witch and witchcraft respectively. [124] See Stokes' Goidelica, p. 151. [125] This chapter was written in 1891, except the portions of it which refer to later dates indicated. [126] See the Stokes-O'Donovan edition of Cormac (Calcutta, 1868), pp. 19, 23. [127] Sir John Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, xi. 620; Pennant's Tour in Scotland in 1769 (3rd edition, Warrington, 1774), i. 97, 186, 291; Thomas Stephens' Gododin, pp. 124-6; and Dr. Murray in the New English Dictionary, s. v. Beltane. [128] In my Hibbert Lectures on Celtic Heathendom, pp. 517-21. [129] As to the Thargelia and Delia, see Preller's Griechische Mythologie, i. 260-2, and A. Mommsen's Heortologie, pp. 414-25. [130] See section H of the Report of the Liverpool Meeting of the British Association in 1896, pp. 626-56. [131] It is my impression that it is crowned with a small tumulus, and that it forms the highest ground in Jurby, which was once an island by itself. The one between Ramsey and Bride is also probably the highest point of the range. But these are questions which I should like to see further examined, say by Mr. Arthur Moore or Mr. Kermode. [132] Cronk yn Irree Laa, despite the gender, is the name as pronounced by all Manxmen who have not been misled by antiquarians. To convey the other meaning, referring to the day watch, the name would have to be Cronk ny Harrey Laa; in fact, a part of the Howe in the south of the island is called Cronk ny Harrey, 'the Hill of the Watch.' Mr. Moore tells me that the Jurby cronk was one of the eminences for 'Watch and Ward'; but he is now of opinion that the high mountain of Cronk yn Irree Laa in the south was not. As to the duty of the inhabitants to keep 'Watch and Ward' over the island, see the passage concerning it extracted from the Manx Statutes (vol. i. p. 65) by Mr. Moore in his Manx Surnames, pp. 183-3; also my preface to the same work, pp. v-viii. [133] Quoted from Oliver's Monumenta de Insula Manniæ, vol. i. (Manx Society, vol. iv) p. 84: see also Cumming's Isle of Man, p. 258. [134] See the New English Dictionary, s. v. 'Allhallows.' [135] This comes near the pronunciation usual in Roxburghshire and the south of Scotland generally, which is, as Dr. Murray informs me, Hunganay without the m occurring in the other forms to be mentioned presently. But so far as I have been able to find, the Manx pronunciation is now Hob dy naa, which I have heard in the north, while Hob ju naa is the prevalent form in the south. [136] See my Hibbert Lectures, pp. 514-5; and as to hiring fairs in Wales see pp. 210-2 above. [137] See Robert Bell's Early Ballads (London, 1877), pp. 406-7, where the following is given as sung at Richmond in Yorkshire:-- To-night it is the New-Year's night, to-morrow is the day, And we are come for our right, and for our ray, As we used to do in old King Henry's day. Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh. If you go to the bacon-flick, cut me a good bit; Cut, cut and low, beware of your maw; Cut, cut and round, beware of your thumb, That me and my merry men may have some. Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh. If you go to the black-ark bring me X mark; Ten mark, ten pound, throw it down upon the ground, That me and my merry men may have some. Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh. [138] The subject is worked out in Nicholson's Golspie, pp. 100-8, also in the New English Dictionary, where mention is made of a derivation involving calendæ, which reminds me of the Welsh call for a New-Year's Gift--Calennig! or C'lennig! in Arfon 'Y Ngh'lennig i! 'My Calends gift if you please!' [139] On being asked, after reading this paper to the Folk-Lore Society, who was supposed to make the footmarks in the ashes, I had to confess that I had been careless enough never to have asked the question. I have referred it to Mr. Moore, who informs me that nobody, as I expected, will venture on any explanation by whom the footmarks are made. [140] This seems to imply the application of the same adjective, some time or other, to clean water and a handsome man, just as we speak in North Cardiganshire of dwr glân, 'clean water,' and bachgen glân, 'a handsome boy.' [141] In Phillips' Book of Common Prayer this is called Lá nolick y biggy, 'Little Nativity Day,' and Lá ghian blieny, 'The Day of the Year's End,' meaning, of course, the former end of the year, not the latter: see pp. 55, 62, 66. [142] See my Hibbert Lectures, pp. 514-5, and the Brython, ii. 20, 120: an instance in point occurs in the next chapter. [143] This has been touched upon in my Hibbert Lectures, p. 676; but to the reasons there briefly mentioned should be added a reference to the position allotted to intercalary months in the Norse calendar, namely, at the end of the summer half, that is, as I think, at the end of the ancient Norse year. [144] My paper was read before the Folk-Lore Society in April or May, 1891, and Miss Peacock's notes appeared in the journal of the Society in the following December: see pp. 509-13. [145] See Choice Notes, p. 76. [146] See the third edition of Wm. Nicholson's Poetical Works (Castle-Douglas, 1878), pp. 78, 81. [147] See p. 321 above and the references there given; also Howells' Cambrian Superstitions, p. 58. [148] Pomponius Mela De Chorographia, edited by Parthey, iii, chap. 6 (p. 72); see also my Hibbert Lectures, pp. 195-6, where, however, the identification of the name Sena with that of Sein should be cancelled. Sein seems to be derived from the Breton Seidhun, otherwise modified into Sizun and Sun: see chap. vi below. [149] See my Hibbert Lectures, pp. 195-7; also my Arthurian Legend, pp. 367-8, where a passage in point is cited at length from Plutarch De Defectu Oraculorum, xviii. (= the Didot edition of Plutarch's works, iii. 511); the substance of it will be found given likewise in chap. viii below. [150] For an allusion to the traffic in winds in Wales see Howells, p. 86, where he speaks as follows:--'In Pembrokeshire there was a person commonly known as the cunning man of Pentregethen, who sold winds to the sailors, after the manner of the Lapland witches, and who was reverenced in the neighbourhood in which he dwelt, much more than the divines.' [151] This may turn out to be all wrong; for I learn from the Rev. John Quine, vicar of Malew, in Man, that there is a farm called Balthane or Bolthane south of Ballasalla, and that in the computus (of 1540) of the Abbey Tenants it is called Biulthan. This last, if originally a man's name, would seem to point back to some such a compound as Beo-Ultán. In his Manx Names, p. 138, Mr. Moore suggests the possibility of explaining the name as bwoailtyn, 'folds or pens'; but the accentuation places that out of the question. See also the Lioar Manninagh, iii. 167, where Mr. C. Roeder, referring to the same computus passage, gives the name as Builthan in the boundary inter Cross Jvar Builthan. This would be read by Mr. Quine as inter Cross Ivar et Biulthan, 'between Cross-Ivar and Bolthane.' For the text of the boundary see Johnstone's edition of the Chronicon Manniæ (Copenhagen, 1786), p. 48, and Oliver's Monumenta de Insula Manniæ, vol. i. p. 207; see also Mr. Quine's paper on the Boundary of Abbey Lands in the Lioar Manninagh, iii. 422-3. [152] I say 'approximately,' as, more strictly speaking, the ordinary pronunciation is Sndaen, almost as one syllable, and from this arises a variant, which is sometimes written Stondane, while the latest English development, regardless of the accentuation of the Anglo-Manx form, which is Santon, pronounced Sántn, makes the parish into a St. Ann's! For the evidence that it was the parish of a St. Sanctán see Moore's Names, p. 209. [153] The Athenæum for April 1, 1893, p. 415. I may here remark that Mr. Borlase's note on do fhagaint is, it seems to me, unnecessary: let do fhagaint stand, and translate, not 'I leave' but 'to leave.' The letter should be consulted for curious matter concerning Croagh Patrick, its pagan stations, cup-markings, &c. [154] Since this paper was read to the Folk-Lore Society a good deal of information of one kind or another has appeared in its journal concerning the first-foot: see more especially Folk-Lore for 1892, pp. 253-64, and for 1893, pp. 309-21. [155] This was written at the beginning of the year 1892. [156] With this compare what Mr. Gomme has to say of a New Year's Day custom observed in Lanarkshire: see p. 633 of the Ethnographic Report referred to at p. 103 above, and compare Henderson, p. 74. [157] Old-fashioned grammarians and dictionary makers are always delighted to handle Mrs. Partington's broom: so Kelly thinks he has done a fine thing by printing guee, 'prayer,' and gwee, 'cursing.' [158] This was written at the end of 1892, and read to a joint meeting of the Cymmrodorion and Folk-Lore Societies on January 11, 1893. [159] Some account of them was given by me in Folk-Lore for 1892, p. 380; but somehow or other my contribution was printed unrevised, with results more peculiar than edifying. [160] In Folk-Lore for 1893, pp. 58-9. [161] In the neighbourhood I find that the word gwaeldyn in this verse is sometimes explained to mean not a worthless but an ailing person, on the strength of the fact that the adjective gwael is colloquially used both for vile and for ailing. [162] Since writing the above remarks the following paragraph, purporting to be copied from the Liverpool Mercury for November 18, 1896, appeared in the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1899, p. 334:--'Two new fishes have just been put in the "Sacred Well," Ffynnon y Sant, at Tyn y Ffynnon, in the village of Nant Peris, Llanberis. Invalids in large numbers came, during the last century and the first half of the present century, to this well to drink of its "miraculous waters"; and the oak box, where the contributions of those who visited the spot were kept, is still in its place at the side of the well. There have always been two "sacred fishes" in this well; and there is a tradition in the village to the effect that if one of the Tyn y Ffynnon fishes came out of its hiding-place when an invalid took some of the water for drinking or for bathing purposes, cure was certain; but if the fishes remained in their den, the water would do those who took it no good. Two fishes only are to be put in the well at a time, and they generally live in its waters for about half a century. If one dies before the other, it would be of no use to put in a new fish, for the old fish would not associate with it, and it would die. The experiment has been tried. The last of the two fishes put in the well about fifty years ago died last August. It had been blind for some time previous to its death. When taken out of the water it measured seventeen inches, and was buried in the garden adjoining the well. It is stated in a document of the year 1776 that the parish clerk was to receive the money put in the box of the well by visitors. This money, together with the amount of 6s. 4d., was his annual stipend.' Tyn y Ffynnon means 'the Tenement of the Well,' tyn being a shortened form of tydyn, 'a tenement,'as mentioned at p. 33 above; but the mapsters make it into ty'n = ty yn, 'a house in,' so that the present instance, Ty'n y Ffynnon, could only mean 'the House in the Well,' which, needless to say, it is not. But one would like to know whether the house and land were once held rent-free on condition that the tenant took care of the sacred fish. [163] See Ashton's Iolo Goch, p. 234, and Lewis' Top. Dict. [164] See my Hibbert Lectures, p. 229, and the Iolo MSS., pp. 42-3, 420-1. [165] A curious note bearing on this name occurs in the Jesus College MS. 20 (Cymmrodor, viii. p. 86) in reference to the name Morgannwg, 'Glamorgan':--O enw Morgant vchot y gelwir Morgannwc. Ereill a dyweit. Mae o en&wwelsh; Mochteyrn Predein. 'It is from the name of the above Morgan that Morgannwg is called. Others say that it is from the name of the mochdeyrn of Pictland.' The mochteyrn must have been a Pictish king or mórmáer called Morgan. The name occurs in the charters from the Book of Deer in Stokes' Goidelica. pp. 109, 111, as Morcunt, Morcunn, and Morgunn undeclined, also with Morgainn for genitive; and so in Skene's Chronicles of the Picts and Scots, pp. 77, 317, where it is printed Morgaind; see also Stokes' Tigernach, in the Revue Celtique, xvii. 198. Compare Geoffrey's story, ii. 15, which introduces a northern Marganus to account for the name Margan, now Margam, in Morgannwg. [166] M. Loth's remarks in point will be found in the Revue Celtique, xiii. 496-7, where he compares with tut the Breton teuz, 'lutin, génie malfaisant ou bienfaisant'; and for the successive guesses on the subject of the name Morgan tut one should also consult Zimmer's remarks in Foerster's Introduction to his Erec, pp. xxvii-xxxi, and my Arthurian Legend, p. 391, to which I should add a reference to the Book of Ballymote, fo. 360a, where we have o na bantuathaib, which O'Curry has rendered 'on the part of their Witches' in his Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, iii. 526-7. Compare dá bhantuathaigh, 'two female sorcerers,' in Joyce's Keating's History of Ireland, pp. 122-3. [167] For all about the Children of Lir, and about Liban and Lough Neagh, see Joyce's Old Celtic Romances, pp. 4-36, 97-105. [168] On my appealing to Cadrawd, one of the later editors, he has found me the exact reference, to wit, volume ix of the Cyfaill (published in 1889), p. 50; and he has since contributed a translation of the story to the columns of the South Wales Daily News for February 15, 1899, where he has also given an account of Crymlyn, which is to be mentioned later. [169] Judging from the three best-known instances, y bala meant the outlet of a lake: I allude to this Bala at the outlet of Llyn Tegid; Pont y Bala, 'the Bridge of the bala,' across the water flowing from the Upper into the Lower Lake at Llanberis; and Bala Deulyn, 'the bala of two lakes,' at Nantlle. Two places called Bryn y Bala are mentioned s. v. Bala in Morris' Celtic Remains, one near Aberystwyth, at a spot which I have never seen, and the other near the lower end of the Lower Lake of Llanberis, as to which it has been suggested to me that it is an error for Bryn y Bela. It is needless to say that bala has nothing to do with the Anglo-Irish bally, of such names as Ballymurphy or Ballynahunt: this vocable is in English bailey, and in South Wales beili, 'a farm yard or enclosure,' all three probably from the late Latin balium or ballium, 'locus palis munitus et circumseptus.' Our etymologists never stop short with bally: they go as far as Balaklava and, probably, Ballarat, to claim cognates for our Bala. [170] Cadrawd here gives the Welsh as '2 bladur ... 2 dyd o wair,' and observes that the lacuna consists of an illegible word of three letters. If that word was either sef, 'that is,' or neu, 'or,' the sense would be as given above. In North Cardiganshire we speak of a day's mowing as gwaith gwr, 'a man's work for a day,' and sometimes of a gwaith gwr bach, 'a man's work for a short day.' [171] See By-Gones for May 24, 1899. The full name of Welshpool in Welsh is Trallwng Llywelyn, so called after a Llywelyn descended from Cuneda, and supposed to have established a religious house there; for there are other Trallwngs, and at first sight it would seem as if Trallwng had something to do with a lake or piece of water. But there is a Trallwng, for instance, near Brecon, where there is no lake to give it the name; and my attention has been called to Thos. Richards' Welsh-English Dictionary, where a trallwng is said to be 'such a soft place on the road (or elsewhere) as travellers may be apt to sink into, a dirty pool.' So the word seems to be partly of the same derivation as go-llwng, 'to let go, to give way.' The form of the word in use now is Trallwm, not Trallwng or Trallwn. [172] See the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 39a-41b and Joyce's Old Celtic Romances, pp. 97-105; but the story may now be consulted in O'Grady's Silva Gadelica, i. 233-7, translated in ii. 265-9. On turning over the leaves of this great collection of Irish lore, I chanced, i. 174, ii. 196, on an allusion to a well which, when uncovered, was about to drown the whole locality but for a miracle performed by St. Patrick to arrest the flow of its waters. A similar story of a well bursting and forming Lough Reagh, in County Galway, will be found told in verse in the Book of Leinster; fo. 202b: see also fo. 170a, and the editor's notes, pp. 45, 53. [173] See Evans' autotype edition of the Black Book of Carmarthen, fos. 53b, 54a, also 32a: the punctuation is that of the MS. In the seventh triplet kedaul is written keadaul, which seems to mean kadaul corrected into kedaul; but the a is not deleted, so other readings are possible. [174] In the Iolo MSS., p. 89, finaun wenestir is made into Ffynon-Wenestr and said to be one of the ornamental epithets of the sea; but I am convinced that it should be rather treated as ffynnon fenestr with wenestir or fenestr mutated from menestr, which meant a servant, attendant, cup-bearer: for one or two instances see Pughe's Dictionary. The word is probably, as suggested by M. Loth in his Mots Latins, p. 186. the old French menestre, 'cup-bearer,' borrowed. Compare the mention of Nechtán's men having access to the secret well in Sid Nechtáin, p. 390 below, and note that they were his three menestres or cup-bearers. [175] See the Cymmrodor, viii. 88 (No. xxix), where a Marereda is mentioned as a daughter of Madog son of Meredyd brother to Rhys Gryg. [176] There is another reading which would make them into Segantii, and render it irrelevant--to say the least of it--to mention them here. [177] See the Mabinogion, p. 35: the passage has been mistranslated in Lady Charlotte Guest's Mabinogion, iii. 117. [178] See my Arthurian Legend, pp. 263-4. [179] I do not profess to see my way through the difficulties which the probable etymological connexion between the names Setantii, Setanta, Seithyn, and Seithennin implies. But parts of the following string of guesses may be found to hold good:--Seithyn is probably more correct than Seithin, as it rhymes with cristin = Cristyn (in Cristynogaeth: see Silvan Evans' Geiriadur, s. v., and Skene's Four Ancient Books, ii. 210); and it might be assumed to be from the same stem as Seizun; but, supposing it to represent an earlier Seithynt, it would equate phonologically with Setanta, better Setinte, of which the genitive Setinti actually occurs, as a river name, in the Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 125b: see my Hibbert Lectures, p. 455, and see also the Revue Celtique, xi. 457. It would mean some such an early form Setntio-s, and Seithenhin, another derivative from the same stem, Setntino-s. But the retention of n before t in Setinte proves it not to be unconnected with Seithyn, but borrowed from some Brythonic dialect when the latter was pronounced Seithntio-s. If this be anywhere nearly right one has to assume that the manuscripts of Ptolemy giving the genitive plural as Setantiôn or Segantiôn should have read Sektantiôn, unless one should rather conjecture Segtantiôn with cht represented by gt as in Ogams in Pembrokeshire: witness Ogtene and Maqui Quegte. This conjecture as to the original reading would suggest that the name was derived from the seventh numeral sechtn, just as that of the Galloway people of the Novantæ seems to be from the ninth numeral. Ptolemy's next entry to the Harbour of the Setantii is the estuary of the Belisama, supposed to be the Mersey; and next comes the estuary of the Seteia or Segeia, supposed to be the Dee. Now the country of the Setantii, when they had a country, may have reached from their harbour near the mouth of the Ribble to the Seteia or the Dee without the name Seteia or Segeia having anything to do with their own, except that it may have influenced the latter in the manuscripts of Ptolemy's text. Then we possibly have a representative of Seteia or Segeia in the Saidi or Seidi, sometimes appended to Seithyn's name. In that case Seithyn Saidi, in the late Triad iii. 37, would mean Seithyn of Seteia, or the Dee. A Mab Saidi occurs in the Kulhwch story (Mabinogion, p. 106), also Cas, son of Saidi (ib. 110); and in Rhonabwy's Dream Kadyrieith, son of Saidi (ib. 160); but the latter vocable is Seidi in Triad ii. 26 (ib. 303). It is to be borne in mind that Ptolemy does not represent the Setantii as a people in his time: he only mentions a harbour called after the Setantii. So it looks as if they then belonged to the past--that in fact they were, as I should put it, a Goidelic people who had been conquered and partly expelled by Brythonic tribes, to wit, by the Brigantes, and also by the Cornavii in case the Setantii had once extended southwards to the Dee. This naturally leads one to think that some of them escaped to places on the coast, such as Dyfed, and that some made for the opposite coast of Ireland, and that, by the time when the Cúchulainn stories came to be edited as we have them, the people in question were known to the redactors of those stories only by the Brythonic form of their name, which underlies that of Setanta Beg, or the Little Setantian. Those of them who found a home on the coast of Cardigan Bay may have brought with them a version of the inundation story with Seithennin, son of Seithyn, as the principal figure in it. So in due time he had to be attached to some royal family, and in the Iolo MSS., pp. 141-2, he is made to descend from a certain Plaws Hen, king of Dyfed, while the saints named as his descendants seem to have belonged chiefly to Gwyned and Powys. [180] See the Professor's Address on the Place of a University in the History of Wales, delivered at Bangor at the opening ceremony of the Session of 1899-1900 (Bangor, 1900), p. 6. The reference to Giraldus is to his Itin. Kambriæ, i. 13 (p. 100), and the Expugnatio Hibernica, i. 36 (p. 284). [181] Instead of 'she followed it' one would have expected 'it followed her'; but the style is very loose and rough. [182] As a 'Cardy' I have here two grievances, one against my Northwalian fellow countrymen, that they insist on writing Rheidiol out of sheer weakness for the semivowel i; and the other against the compilers of school books on geography, who give the lake away to the Wye or the Severn. I am told that this does not matter, as our geographers are notoriously accurate about Natal and other distant lands; so I ought to rest satisfied. [183] Professor Meyer has given a number of extracts concerning her in his notes to his edition of The Vision of Mac Conglinne (London, 1892), pp. 131-4, 208-10, and recently he has published The Song of the Old Woman of Beare in the Otia Merseiana (London, 1899), pp. 119-28, from the Trinity College codex, H. 3, 18, where we are told, among other things, that her name was Digdi, and that she belonged to Corcaguiny. The name Béara, or Bérre, would seem to suggest identification with that of Bera, daughter of Eibhear, king of Spain, and wife of Eoghan Taidhleach, in the late story of The Courtship of Moméra, edited by O'Curry in his Battle of Magh Leana (Dublin, 1855); but the other name Digdi would seem to stand in the way. However none of the literature in point has yet been discovered in any really old manuscript, and it may be that the place-name Berre, in Caillech Bérri, has usurped the place of the personal name Béra, whose antiquity in some such a form as Béra or Méra is proved by its honorific form Mo-mera: see O'Curry's volume, p. 166, and his Introduction, p. xx. 
14672	----	Proofreading Team THE RELIGION OF THE ANCIENT CELTS BY J.A. MACCULLOCH HON. D.D.(ST. ANDREWS); HON. CANON OF CUMBRAE CATHEDRAL AUTHOR OF "COMPARATIVE THEOLOGY" "RELIGION: ITS ORIGIN AND FORMS" "THE MISTY ISLE OF SKYE" "THE CHILDHOOD OF FICTION: A STUDY OF FOLK-TALES AND PRIMITIVE THOUGHT" Edinburgh: T. & T. CLARK, 38 George Street 1911 Printed by MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED, FOR T. & T. CLARK, EDINBURGH. LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT, AND CO. LIMITED. NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. TO ANDREW LANG PREFACE The scientific study of ancient Celtic religion is a thing of recent growth. As a result of the paucity of materials for such a study, earlier writers indulged in the wildest speculative flights and connected the religion with the distant East, or saw in it the remains of a monotheistic faith or a series of esoteric doctrines veiled under polytheistic cults. With the works of MM. Gaidoz, Bertrand, and D'Arbois de Jubainville in France, as well as by the publication of Irish texts by such scholars as Drs. Windisch and Stokes, a new era may be said to have dawned, and a flood of light was poured upon the scanty remains of Celtic religion. In this country the place of honour among students of that religion belongs to Sir John Rh[^y]s, whose Hibbert Lectures _On the Origin and Growth of Religion as illustrated by Celtic Heathendom_ (1886) was an epoch-making work. Every student of the subject since that time feels the immense debt which he owes to the indefatigable researches and the brilliant suggestions of Sir John Rh[^y]s, and I would be ungrateful if I did not record my indebtedness to him. In his Hibbert Lectures, and in his later masterly work on _The Arthurian Legend_, however, he took the standpoint of the "mythological" school, and tended to see in the old stories myths of the sun and dawn and the darkness, and in the divinities sun-gods and dawn-goddesses and a host of dark personages of supernatural character. The present writer, studying the subject rather from an anthropological point of view and in the light of modern folk survivals, has found himself in disagreement with Sir John Rh[^y]s on more than one occasion. But he is convinced that Sir John would be the last person to resent this, and that, in spite of his mythological interpretations, his Hibbert Lectures must remain as a source of inspiration to all Celtic students. More recently the studies of M. Salomon Reinach and of M. Dottin, and the valuable little book on _Celtic Religion_, by Professor Anwyl, have broken fresh ground.[1] In this book I have made use of all the available sources, and have endeavoured to study the subject from the comparative point of view and in the light of the anthropological method. I have also interpreted the earlier cults by means of recent folk-survivals over the Celtic area wherever it has seemed legitimate to do so. The results are summarised in the introductory chapter of the work, and students of religion, and especially of Celtic religion, must judge how far they form a true interpretation of the earlier faith of our Celtic forefathers, much of which resembles primitive religion and folk-belief everywhere. Unfortunately no Celt left an account of his own religion, and we are left to our own interpretations, more or less valid, of the existing materials, and to the light shed on them by the comparative study of religions. As this book was written during a long residence in the Isle of Skye, where the old language of the people still survives, and where the _genius loci_ speaks everywhere of things remote and strange, it may have been easier to attempt to realise the ancient religion there than in a busier or more prosaic place. Yet at every point I have felt how much would have been gained could an old Celt or Druid have revisited his former haunts, and permitted me to question him on a hundred matters which must remain obscure. But this, alas, might not be! I have to thank Miss Turner and Miss Annie Gilchrist for valuable help rendered in the work of research, and the London Library for obtaining for me several works not already in its possession. Its stores are an invaluable aid to all students working at a distance from libraries. J.A. MACCULLOCH. THE RECTORY, BRIDGE OF ALLAN, _October_ 1911. FOOTNOTES: [1] See also my article "Celts" in Hastings' _Encyclopædia of Religion and Ethics_, vol. iii. [TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Throughout this book, some characters are used which are not part of the Latin-1 character set used in this e-book. The string "[^y]" is used to represent a lower-case "Y" with a circumflex mark on top of it, "[=a]" is used to represent a lower-case "A" with a line on top of it, and "[oe]" is used to represent the "oe"-ligature. Numbers in braces such as "{3}" are used to represent the superscription of numbers, which was used in the book to give edition numbers to books.] CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. INTRODUCTORY 1 II. THE CELTIC PEOPLE 8 III. THE GODS OF GAUL AND THE CONTINENTAL CELTS 22 IV. THE IRISH MYTHOLOGICAL CYCLE 49 V. THE TUATHA DÉ DANANN 63 VI. THE GODS OF THE BRYTHONS 95 VII. THE CÚCHULAINN CYCLE 127 VIII. THE FIONN SAGA 142 IX. GODS AND MEN 158 X. THE CULT OF THE DEAD 165 XI. PRIMITIVE NATURE WORSHIP 171 XII. RIVER AND WELL WORSHIP 181 XIII. TREE AND PLANT WORSHIP 198 XIV. ANIMAL WORSHIP 208 XV. COSMOGONY 227 XVI. SACRIFICE, PRAYER, AND DIVINATION 233 XVII. TABU 252 XVIII. FESTIVALS 256 XIX. ACCESSORIES OF CULT 279 XX. THE DRUIDS 293 XXI. MAGIC 319 XXII. THE STATE OF THE DEAD 333 XXIII. REBIRTH AND TRANSMIGRATION 348 XXIV. ELYSIUM 362 LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES THROUGHOUT THIS WORK (_This list is not a Bibliography._) BRAND: Rev. J. Brand, _Observations on the Popular Antiquities of Great Britain._ 3 vols. 1870. BLANCHET: A. Blanchet, _Traité des monnaies gauloises._ 2 vols. Paris, 1905. BERTRAND: A. Bertrand, _Religion des gaulois._ Paris, 1897. CAMPBELL, _WHT_: J.F. Campbell, _Popular Tales of the West Highlands._ 4 vols. Edinburgh, 1890. CAMPBELL _LF_: J.F. Campbell, _Leabhar na Feinne._ London, 1872. CAMPBELL, _Superstitions_: J.G. Campbell, _Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland._ 1900. CAMPBELL, _Witchcraft_: J.G. Campbell, _Witchcraft and Second Sight in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland._ 1902. CORMAC: _Cormac's Glossary._ Tr. by J. O'Donovan. Ed. by W. Stokes. Calcutta, 1868. COURCELLE--SENEUIL.: J.L. Courcelle-Seneuil, _Les dieux gaulois d'après les monuments figurés._ Paris, 1910. _CIL_: _Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum._ Berlin, 1863 f. _CM_: _Celtic Magazine._ Inverness, 1875 f. CURTIN, _HTI_: J. Curtin, _Hero Tales of Ireland._ 1894. CURTIN, _Tales_: J. Curtin, _Tales of the Fairies and Ghost World._ 1895. DALZELL: Sir J.G. Dalzell, _Darker Superstitions of Scotland._ 1835. D'ARBOIS: H. D'Arbois de Jubainville, _Cours de litterature celtique._ 12 vols. Paris, 1883-1902. D'ARBOIS _Les Celtes_: H. D'Arbois de Jubainville, _Les Celtes._ Paris, 1904. D'ARBOIS _Les Druides_: H. D'Arbois de Jubainville, _Les Druides et les dieux celtiques à formes d'animaux._ Paris, 1906. D'ARBOIS _PH_: H. D'Arbois de Jubainville, _Les premiers habitants de l'Europe._ 2 vols. Paris, 1889-1894. DOM MARTIN: Dom Martin, _Le religion des gaulois._ 2 vols. Paris, 1727. DOTTIN: G. Dottin, _Manuel pour servir a l'étude de l'antiquité celtique._ Paris, 1906. ELTON: C.I. Elton, _Origins of English History._ London, 1890. FRAZER, _GB_{2}: J.G. Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2}. 3 vols. 1900. GUEST: Lady Guest, _The Mabinogion._ 3 vols. Llandovery, 1849. HAZLITT: W.C. Hazlitt, _Faiths and Folk-lore: A Dictionary of National Beliefs, Superstitions, and Popular Customs._ 2 vols. 1905. HOLDER: A. Holder, _Altceltischer Sprachschatz._ 3 vols. Leipzig, 1891 f. HULL: Miss E. Hull, _The Cuchullin Saga._ London, 1898. _IT_: See Windisch-Stokes. _JAI_: _Journal of the Anthropological Institute._ London, 1871 f. JOYCE, _OCR_: P.W. Joyce, _Old Celtic Romances_{2}. London, 1894. JOYCE, _PN_: P.W. Joyce, _History of Irish Names of Places_{4}. 2 vols. London, 1901. JOYCE, _SH_: P.W. Joyce, _Social History of Ancient Ireland._ 2 vols. London, 1903. JULLIAN: C. Jullian, _Recherches sur la religion gauloise._ Bordeaux, 1903. KEATING: Keating, _History of Ireland._ Tr. O'Mahony. London, 1866. KENNEDY: P. Kennedy, _Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts._ 1866. LARMINIE: W. Larminie, _West Irish Folk-Tales and Romances._ 1893. LEAHY: Leahy, _Heroic Romances of Ireland._ 2 vols. London, 1905. LE BRAZ: A. Le Braz, _La Legende de la Mort chez les Bretons armoricains._ 2 vols. Paris, 1902. _LL_: _Leabhar Laignech_ (Book of Leinster), facsimile reprint. London, 1880. LOTH: Loth, _Le Mabinogion._ 2 vols. Paris, 1889. _LU_: _Leabhar na h-Uidhre_ (Book of the Dun Cow), facsimile reprint. London, 1870. MACBAIN: A. MacBain, _Etymological Dictionary of the Gaelic Language._ Inverness, 1896. MACDOUGALL: Macdougall, _Folk and Hero Tales._ London, 1891. MACKINLAY: J.M. Mackinlay, _Folk-lore of Scottish Lochs and Springs._ Glasgow, 1893. MARTIN: M. Martin, _Description of the Western Islands of Scotland_{2}. London, 1716. MAURY: A. Maury, _Croyances et legendes du Moyen Age._ Paris, 1896. MONNIER: D. Monnier, _Traditions populaires comparées._ Paris, 1854. MOORE: A.W. Moore, _Folk-lore of the Isle of Man._ 1891. NUTT-MEYER: A. Nutt and K. Meyer, _The Voyage of Bran._ 2 vols. London, 1895-1897. O'CURRY _MC_: E. O'Curry, _Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish._ 4 vols. London, 1873. O'CURRY _MS. Mat_: E. O'Curry, _MS. Materials of Ancient Irish History._ Dublin, 1861. O'GRADY: S.H. O'Grady, _Silva Gadelica._ 2 vols. 1892. REES: Rev. W.J. Rees, _Lives of Cambro-British Saints._ Llandovery, 1853. REINACH, BF: S. Reinach, _Bronzes Figurés de la Gaule romaine._ Paris, 1900. REINACH, BF _Catal. Sommaire_: S. Reinach, _Catalogue Commaire du Musée des Antinquitée Nationales_{4}. Paris. REINACH, BF CMR: S. Reinach, _Cultes, Mythes, et Religions._ 2 vols. Paris, 1905. RC: _Revue Celtique._ Paris, 1870 f. RENEL: C. Renel, _Religions de la Gaule._ Paris 1906. RH[^Y]S, _AL_: Sir John Rh[^y]s, _The Arthurian Legend._ Oxford, 1891. RH[^Y]S, _CB_{4}: Sir John Rh[^y]s, _Celtic Britain_{4}. London, 1908. RH[^Y]S, _CFL_: Sir John Rh[^y]s, _Celtic Folk-Lore._ 2 vols. Oxford, 1901. RH[^Y]S, _HL_: Sir John Rh[^y]s, _Hibbert Lectures on Celtic Heathendom._ London, 1888. SÉBILLOT: P. Sebillot, _La Folk-lore de la France._ 4 vols. Paris, 1904 f. SKENE: W.F. Skene, _Four Ancient Books of Wales._ 2 vols. Edinburgh, 1868. STOKES, _TIG_: Whitley Stokes, _Three Irish Glossaries._ London, 1862. STOKES, _Trip. Life_: Whitley Stokes, _The Tripartite Life of Patrick._ London 1887. STOKES, _US_: Whitley Stokes, _Urkeltischer Sprachschatz._ Göttingen, 1894 (in Fick's _Vergleichende Wörterbuch_{4}). TAYLOR: I. Taylor, _Origin of the Aryans._ London, n.d. _TSC_: _Transactions of Society of Cymmrodor._ _TOS_: _Transactions of the Ossianic Society._ Dublin 1854-1861. _Trip. Life_: See Stokes. WILDE: Lady Wilde, _Ancient Legends and Superstitions of Ireland._ 2 vols. 1887. WINDISCH, _Táin_: E. Windisch, _Die altirische Heldensage Táin Bó Cúalgne._ Leipzig, 1905. WINDISCH-STOKES, _IT_: E. Windisch and W. Stokes, _Irische Texte._ Leipzig, 1880 f. WOOD-MARTIN: Wood-Martin, _Elder Faiths of Ireland._ 2 vols. London, 1903. _ZCP_: _Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie._ Halle, 1897 f. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY. To summon a dead religion from its forgotten grave and to make it tell its story, would require an enchanter's wand. Other old faiths, of Egypt, Babylon, Greece, Rome, are known to us. But in their case liturgies, myths, theogonies, theologies, and the accessories of cult, remain to yield their report of the outward form of human belief and aspiration. How scanty, on the other hand, are the records of Celtic religion! The bygone faith of a people who have inspired the world with noble dreams must be constructed painfully, and often in fear and trembling, out of fragmentary and, in many cases, transformed remains. We have the surface observations of classical observers, dedications in the Romano-Celtic area to gods mostly assimilated to the gods of the conquerors, figured monuments mainly of the same period, coins, symbols, place and personal names. For the Irish Celts there is a mass of written material found mainly in eleventh and twelfth century MSS. Much of this, in spite of alteration and excision, is based on divine and heroic myths, and it also contains occasional notices of ritual. From Wales come documents like the _Mabinogion_, and strange poems the personages of which are ancient gods transformed, but which tell nothing of rite or cult.[2] Valuable hints are furnished by early ecclesiastical documents, but more important is existing folk-custom, which preserves so much of the old cult, though it has lost its meaning to those who now use it. Folk-tales may also be inquired of, if we discriminate between what in them is Celtic and what is universal. Lastly, Celtic burial-mounds and other remains yield their testimony to ancient belief and custom. From these sources we try to rebuild Celtic paganism and to guess at its inner spirit, though we are working in the twilight on a heap of fragments. No Celt has left us a record of his faith and practice, and the unwritten poems of the Druids died with them. Yet from these fragments we see the Celt as the seeker after God, linking himself by strong ties to the unseen, and eager to conquer the unknown by religious rite or magic art. For the things of the spirit have never appealed in vain to the Celtic soul, and long ago classical observers were struck with the religiosity of the Celts. They neither forgot nor transgressed the law of the gods, and they thought that no good befell men apart from their will.[3] The submission of the Celts to the Druids shows how they welcomed authority in matters of religion, and all Celtic regions have been characterised by religious devotion, easily passing over to superstition, and by loyalty to ideals and lost causes. The Celts were born dreamers, as their exquisite Elysium belief will show, and much that is spiritual and romantic in more than one European literature is due to them. The analogy of religious evolution in other faiths helps us in reconstructing that of the Celts. Though no historic Celtic group was racially pure, the profound influence of the Celtic temperament soon "Celticised" the religious contributions of the non-Celtic element which may already have had many Celtic parallels. Because a given Celtic rite or belief seems to be "un-Aryan," it need not necessarily be borrowed. The Celts had a savage past, and, conservative as they were, they kept much of it alive. Our business, therefore, lies with Celtic religion as a whole. These primitive elements were there before the Celts migrated from the old "Aryan" home; yet since they appear in Celtic religion to the end, we speak of them as Celtic. The earliest aspect of that religion, before the Celts became a separate people, was a cult of nature spirits, or of the life manifested in nature. But men and women probably had separate cults, and, of the two, perhaps that of the latter is more important. As hunters, men worshipped the animals they slew, apologising to them for the slaughter. This apologetic attitude, found with all primitive hunters, is of the nature of a cult. Other animals, too sacred to be slain, would be preserved and worshipped, the cult giving rise to domestication and pastoral life, with totemism as a probable factor. Earth, producing vegetation, was the fruitful mother; but since the origin of agriculture is mainly due to women, the Earth cult would be practised by them, as well as, later, that of vegetation and corn spirits, all regarded as female. As men began to interest themselves in agriculture, they would join in the female cults, probably with the result of changing the sex of the spirits worshipped. An Earth-god would take the place of the Earth-mother, or stand as her consort or son. Vegetation and corn spirits would often become male, though many spirits, even when they were exalted into divinities, remained female. With the growth of religion the vaguer spirits tended to become gods and goddesses, and worshipful animals to become anthropomorphic divinities, with the animals as their symbols, attendants, or victims. And as the cult of vegetation spirits centred in the ritual of planting and sowing, so the cult of the divinities of growth centred in great seasonal and agricultural festivals, in which the key to the growth of Celtic religion is to be found. But the migrating Celts, conquering new lands, evolved divinities of war; and here the old female influence is still at work, since many of these are female. In spite of possessing so many local war-gods, the Celts were not merely men of war. Even the _equites_ engaged in war only when occasion arose, and agriculture as well as pastoral industry was constantly practised, both in Gaul and Britain, before the conquest.[4] In Ireland, the belief in the dependence of fruitfulness upon the king, shows to what extent agriculture flourished there.[5] Music, poetry, crafts, and trade gave rise to culture divinities, perhaps evolved from gods of growth, since later myths attributed to them both the origin of arts and crafts, and the introduction of domestic animals among men. Possibly some culture gods had been worshipful animals, now worshipped as gods, who had given these animals to man. Culture-goddesses still held their place among culture-gods, and were regarded as their mothers. The prominence of these divinities shows that the Celts were more than a race of warriors. The pantheon was thus a large one, but on the whole the divinities of growth were more generally important. The older nature spirits and divine animals were never quite forgotten, especially by the folk, who also preserved the old rituals of vegetation spirits, while the gods of growth were worshipped at the great festivals. Yet in essence the lower and the higher cults were one and the same, and, save where Roman influence destroyed Celtic religion, the older primitive strands are everywhere apparent. The temperament of the Celt kept him close to nature, and he never quite dropped the primitive elements of his religion. Moreover, the early influence of female cults of female spirits and goddesses remained to the end as another predominant factor. Most of the Celtic divinities were local in character, each tribe possessing its own group, each god having functions similar to those of other groups. Some, however, had or gained a more universal character, absorbing divinities with similar functions. Still this local character must be borne in mind. The numerous divinities of Gaul, with differing names--but, judging by their assimilation to the same Roman divinity, similar functions, are best understood as gods of local groups. This is probably true also of Britain and Ireland. But those gods worshipped far and wide over the Celtic area may be gods of the undivided Celts, or gods of some dominant Celtic group extending their influence on all sides, or, in some cases, popular gods whose cult passed beyond the tribal bounds. If it seem precarious to see such close similarity in the local gods of a people extending right across Europe, appeal can be made to the influence of the Celtic temperament, producing everywhere the same results, and to the homogeneity of Celtic civilisation, save in local areas, e.g. the South of Gaul. Moreover, the comparison of the various testimonies of onlookers points to a general similarity, while the permanence of the primitive elements in Celtic religion must have tended to keep it everywhere the same. Though in Gaul we have only inscriptions and in Ireland only distorted myths, yet those testimonies, as well as the evidence of folk-survivals in both regions, point to the similarity of religious phenomena. The Druids, as a more or less organised priesthood, would assist in preserving the general likeness. Thus the primitive nature-spirits gave place to greater or lesser gods, each with his separate department and functions. Though growing civilisation tended to separate them from the soil, they never quite lost touch with it. In return for man's worship and sacrifices, they gave life and increase, victory, strength, and skill. But these sacrifices, had been and still often were rites in which the representative of a god was slain. Some divinities were worshipped over a wide area, most were gods of local groups, and there were spirits of every place, hill, wood, and stream. Magic rites mingled with the cult, but both were guided by an organised priesthood. And as the Celts believed in unseen gods, so they believed in an unseen region whither they passed after death. Our knowledge of the higher side of Celtic religion is practically a blank, since no description of the inner spiritual life has come down to us. How far the Celts cultivated religion in our sense of the term, or had glimpses of Monotheism, or were troubled by a deep sense of sin, is unknown. But a people whose spiritual influence has later been so great, must have had glimpses of these things. Some of them must have known the thirst of the soul for God, or sought a higher ethical standard than that of their time. The enthusiastic reception of Christianity, the devotion of the early Celtic saints, and the character of the old Celtic church, all suggest this. The relation of the Celtic church to paganism was mainly intolerant, though not wholly so. It often adopted the less harmful customs of the past, merging pagan festivals in its own, founding churches on the sites of the old cult, dedicating sacred wells to a saint. A saint would visit the tomb of a pagan to hear an old epic rehearsed, or would call up pagan heroes from hell and give them a place in paradise. Other saints recall dead heroes from the Land of the Blessed, and learn the nature of that wonderland and the heroic deeds "Of the old days, which seem to be Much older than any history That is written in any book." Reading such narratives, we gain a lesson in the fine spirit of Christian tolerance and Christian sympathy. FOOTNOTES: [2] Some writers saw in the bardic poetry a Druidic-esoteric system and traces of a cult practised secretly by the bards--the "Neo-Druidic heresy"; see Davies, _Myth. of the Brit. Druids_, 1809; Herbert, _The Neo-Druidic Heresy_, 1838. Several French writers saw in "Druidism" a monotheistic faith, veiled under polytheism. [3] Livy, v. 46; Cæsar, vi. 16; Dion. Hal. vii. 70; Arrian, _Cyneg_. xxxv. 1. [4] Cæsar, vi. 15, cf. v. 12, "having waged war, remained there and cultivated the lands." [5] Cf. Pliny, _HN_ xvii. 7, xviii. 18 on the wheeled ploughs and agricultural methods of Gauls and Britons. Cf. also Strabo, iv. 1. 2, iv. 5. 5; Girald. Camb. _Top. Hib._ i. 4, _Descr. Camb._ i. 8; Joyce, _SH_ ii. 264. CHAPTER II. THE CELTIC PEOPLE. Scrutiny reveals the fact that Celtic-speaking peoples are of differing types--short and dark as well as tall and fairer Highlanders or Welshmen, short, broad-headed Bretons, various types of Irishmen. Men with Norse names and Norse aspect "have the Gaelic." But all alike have the same character and temperament, a striking witness to the influence which the character as well as the language of the Celts, whoever they were, made on all with whom they mingled. Ethnologically there may not be a Celtic race, but something was handed down from the days of comparative Celtic purity which welded different social elements into a common type, found often where no Celtic tongue is now spoken. It emerges where we least expect it, and the stolid Anglo-Saxon may suddenly awaken to something in himself due to a forgotten Celtic strain in his ancestry. Two main theories of Celtic origins now hold the field: (1) The Celts are identified with the progenitors of the short, brachycephalic "Alpine race" of Central Europe, existing there in Neolithic times, after their migrations from Africa and Asia. The type is found among the Slavs, in parts of Germany and Scandinavia, and in modern France in the region of Cæsar's "Celtæ," among the Auvergnats, the Bretons, and in Lozère and Jura. Representatives of the type have been found in Belgian and French Neolithic graves.[6] Professor Sergi calls this the "Eurasiatic race," and, contrary to general opinion, identifies it with the Aryans, a savage people, inferior to the dolichocephalic Mediterranean race, whose language they Aryanised.[7] Professor Keane thinks that they were themselves an Aryanised folk before reaching Europe, who in turn gave their acquired Celtic and Slavic speech to the preceding masses. Later came the Belgæ, Aryans, who acquired the Celtic speech of the people they conquered.[8] Broca assumed that the dark, brachycephalic people whom he identified with Cæsar's "Celtæ," differed from the Belgæ, were conquered by them, and acquired the language of their conquerors, hence wrongly called Celtic by philologists. The Belgæ were tall and fair, and overran Gaul, except Aquitaine, mixing generally with the Celtæ, who in Cæsar's time had thus an infusion of Belgic blood.[9] But before this conquest, the Celtæ had already mingled with the aboriginal dolichocephalic folk of Gaul, Iberians, or Mediterraneans of Professor Sergi. The latter had apparently remained comparatively pure from admixture in Aquitaine, and are probably the Aquitani of Cæsar.[10] But were the short, brachycephalic folk Celts? Cæsar says the people who call themselves "Celtæ" were called Gauls by the Romans, and Gauls, according to classical writers, were tall and fair.[11] Hence the Celtæ were not a short, dark race, and Cæsar himself says that Gauls (including Celtæ) looked with contempt on the short Romans.[12] Strabo also says that Celtæ and Belgæ had the same Gaulish appearance, i.e. tall and fair. Cæsar's statement that Aquitani, Galli, and Belgæ differ in language, institutions, and laws is vague and unsupported by evidence, and may mean as to language no more than a difference in dialects. This is also suggested by Strabo's words, Celtæ and Belgæ "differ a little" in language.[13] No classical writer describes the Celts as short and dark, but the reverse. Short, dark people would have been called Iberians, without respect to skulls. Classical observers were not craniologists. The short, brachycephalic type is now prominent in France, because it has always been so, eliminating the tall, fair Celtic type. Conquering Celts, fewer in number than the broad and narrow-headed aborigines, intermarried or made less lasting alliances with them. In course of time the type of the more numerous race was bound to prevail. Even in Cæsar's day the latter probably outnumbered the tall and fair Celts, who had, however, Celticised them. But classical writers, who knew the true Celt as tall and fair, saw that type only, just as every one, on first visiting France or Germany, sees his generalised type of Frenchman or German everywhere. Later, he modifies his opinion, but this the classical observers did not do. Cæsar's campaigns must have drained Gaul of many tall and fair Celts. This, with the tendency of dark types to out-number fair types in South and Central Europe, may help to explain the growing prominence of the dark type, though the tall, fair type is far from uncommon.[14] (2) The second theory, already anticipated, sees in Gauls and Belgæ a tall, fair Celtic folk, speaking a Celtic language, and belonging to the race which stretched from Ireland to Asia Minor, from North Germany to the Po, and were masters of Teutonic tribes till they were driven by them from the region between Elbe and Rhine.[15] Some Belgic tribes claimed a Germanic ancestry,[16] but "German" was a word seldom used with precision, and in this case may not mean Teutonic. The fair hair of this people has made many suppose that they were akin to the Teutons. But fairness is relative, and the dark Romans may have called brown hair fair, while they occasionally distinguished between the "fair" Gauls and fairer Germans. Their institutions and their religions (_pace_ Professor Rh[^y]s) differed, and though they were so long in contact the names of their gods and priests are unlike.[17] Their languages, again, though of "Aryan" stock, differ more from each other than does Celtic from Italic, pointing to a long period of Italo-Celtic unity, before Italiotes and Celts separated, and Celts came in contact with Teutons.[18] The typical German differs in mental and moral qualities from the typical Celt. Contrast an east country Scot, descendant of Teutonic stock, with a West Highlander, and the difference leaps to the eyes. Celts and Germans of history differ, then, in relative fairness, character, religion, and language. The tall, blonde Teutonic type of the Row graves is dolichocephalic. Was the Celtic type (assuming that Broca's "Celts" were not true Celts) dolicho or brachy? Broca thinks the Belgæ or "Kymri" were dolichocephalic, but all must agree with him that the skulls are too few to generalise from. Celtic iron-age skulls in Britain are dolichocephalic, perhaps a recrudescence of the aboriginal type. Broca's "Kymric" skulls are mesocephalic; this he attributes to crossing with the short round-heads. The evidence is too scanty for generalisation, while the Walloons, perhaps descendants of the Belgæ, have a high index, and some Gauls of classical art are broad-headed.[19] Skulls of the British round barrows (early Celtic Bronze Age) are mainly broad, the best specimens showing affinity to Neolithic brachycephalic skulls from Grenelle (though their owners were 5 inches shorter), Selaigneaux, and Borreby.[20] Dr. Beddoe thinks that the narrow-skulled Belgæ on the whole reinforced the meso- or brachycephalic round barrow folk in Britain. Dr. Thurnam identifies the latter with the Belgæ (Broca's Kymri), and thinks that Gaulish skulls were round, with beetling brows.[21] Professors Ripley and Sergi, disregarding their difference in stature and higher cephalic index, identify them with the short Alpine race (Broca's Celts). This is negatived by Mr. Keane.[22] Might not both, however, have originally sprung from a common stock and reached Europe at different times?[23] But do a few hundred skulls justify these far-reaching conclusions regarding races enduring for thousands of years? At some very remote period there may have been a Celtic type, as at some further period there may have been an Aryan type. But the Celts, as we know them, must have mingled with the aborigines of Europe and become a mixed race, though preserving and endowing others with their racial and mental characteristics. Some Gauls or Belgæ were dolichocephalic, to judge by their skulls, others were brachycephalic, while their fairness was a relative term. Classical observers probably generalised from the higher classes, of a purer type; they tell us nothing of the people. But the higher classes may have had varying skulls, as well as stature and colour of hair,[24] and Irish texts tell of a tall, fair, blue-eyed stock, and a short, dark, dark-eyed stock, in Ireland. Even in those distant ages we must consider the people on whom the Celts impressed their characteristics, as well as the Celts themselves. What happened on the Eurasian steppe, the hypothetical cradle of the "Aryans," whence the Celts came "stepping westwards," seems clear to some, but in truth is a book sealed with seven seals. The men whose Aryan speech was to dominate far and wide may already have possessed different types of skull, and that age was far from "the very beginning." Thus the Celts before setting out on their _Wanderjahre_ may already have been a mixed race, even if their leaders were of purer stock. But they had the bond of common speech, institutions, and religion, and they formed a common Celtic type in Central and Western Europe. Intermarriage with the already mixed Neolithic folk of Central Europe produced further removal from the unmixed Celtic racial type; but though both reacted on each other as far as language, custom, and belief were concerned, on the whole the Celtic elements predominated in these respects. The Celtic migration into Gaul produced further racial mingling with descendants of the old palæolithic stock, dolichocephalic Iberians and Ligurians, and brachycephalic swarthy folk (Broca's Celts). Thus even the first Celtic arrivals in Britain, the Goidels, were a people of mixed race, though probably relatively purer than the late coming Brythons, the latest of whom had probably mingled with the Teutons. Hence among Celtic-speaking folk or their descendants--short, dark, broad-beaded Bretons, tall, fair or rufous Highlanders, tall chestnut-haired Welshmen or Irishmen, Highlanders of Norse descent, short, dark, narrow-headed Highlanders, Irishmen, and Welshmen--there is a common Celtic _facies_, the result of old Celtic characteristics powerful enough so to impress themselves on such varied peoples in spite of what they gave to the Celtic incomers. These peoples became Celtic, and Celtic in speech and character they have remained, even where ancestral physical types are reasserting themselves. The folk of a Celtic type, whether pre-Celtic, Celtic, or Norse, have all spoken a Celtic language and exhibit the same old Celtic characteristics--vanity, loquacity, excitability, fickleness, imagination, love of the romantic, fidelity, attachment to family ties, sentimental love of their country, religiosity passing over easily to superstition, and a comparatively high degree of sexual morality. Some of these traits were already noted by classical observers. Celtic speech had early lost the initial _p_ of old Indo-European speech, except in words beginning with _pt_ and, perhaps, _ps_. Celtic _pare_ (Lat. _præ_) became _are_, met with in _Aremorici_, "the dwellers by the sea," _Arecluta_, "by the Clyde," the region watered by the Clyde. Irish _athair_, Manx _ayr_, and Irish _iasg_, represent respectively Latin _pater_ and _piscis_. _P_ occurring between vowels was also lost, e.g. Irish _caora_, "sheep," is from _kaperax_; _for_, "upon" (Lat. _super_), from _uper_. This change took place before the Goidelic Celts broke away and invaded Britain in the tenth century B.C., but while Celts and Teutons were still in contact, since Teutons borrowed words with initial _p_, e.g. Gothic _fairguni_, "mountain," from Celtic _percunion_, later _Ercunio_, the Hercynian forest. The loss must have occurred before 1000 B.C. But after the separation of the Goidelic group a further change took place. Goidels preserved the sound represented by _qu_, or more simply by _c_ or _ch_, but this was changed into _p_ by the remaining continental Celts, who carried with them into Gaul, Spain, Italy, and Britain (the Brythons) words in which _q_ became _p_. The British _Epidii_ is from Gaulish _epos_, "horse," which is in Old Irish _ech_ (Lat. _equus_). The Parisii take their name from _Qarisii_, the Pictones or Pictavi of Poictiers from _Pictos_ (which in the plural _Pidi_ gives us "Picts"), derived from _quicto_. This change took place after the Goidelic invasion of Britain in the tenth century B.C. On the other hand, some continental Celts may later have regained the power of pronouncing _q_. In Gaul the _q_ of _Sequana_ (Seine) was not changed to _p_, and a tribe dwelling on its banks was called the Sequani. This assumes that Sequana was a pre-Celtic word, possibly Ligurian.[25] Professor Rh[^y]s thinks, however, that Goidelic tribes, identified by him with Cæsar's Celtæ, existed in Gaul and Spain before the coming of the Galli, and had preserved _q_ in their speech. To them we owe Sequana, as well as certain names with _q_ in Spain.[26] This at least is certain, that Goidelic Celts of the _q_ group occupied Gaul and Spain before reaching Britain and Ireland. Irish tradition and archæological data confirm this.[27] But whether their descendants were represented by Cæsar's "Celtæ" must be uncertain. Celtæ and Galli, according to Cæsar, were one and the same,[28] and must have had the same general form of speech. The dialects of Goidelic speech--Irish, Manx, Gaelic, and that of the continental Goidels--preserved the _q_ sound; those of Gallo-Brythonic speech--Gaulish, Breton, Welsh, Cornish--changed _q_ into _p_. The speech of the Picts, perhaps connected with the Pictones of Gaul, also had this _p_ sound. Who, then, were the Picts? According to Professor Rh[^y]s they were pre-Aryans,[29] but they must have been under the influence of Brythonic Celts. Dr. Skene regarded them as Goidels speaking a Goidelic dialect with Brythonic forms.[30] Mr. Nicholson thinks they were Goidels who had preserved the Indo-European _p_.[31] But might they not be descendants of a Brythonic group, arriving early in Britain and driven northwards by newcomers? Professor Windisch and Dr. Stokes regard them as Celts, allied to the Brythons rather than to the Goidels, the phonetics of their speech resembling those of Welsh rather than Irish.[32] The theory of an early Goidelic occupation of Britain has been contested by Professor Meyer,[33] who holds that the first Goidels reached Britain from Ireland in the second century, while Dr. MacBain[34] was of the opinion that England, apart from Wales and Cornwall, knew no Goidels, the place-names being Brythonic. But unless all Goidels reached Ireland from Gaul or Spain, as some did, Britain was more easily reached than Ireland by migrating Goidels from the Continent. Prominent Goidelic place-names would become Brythonic, but insignificant places would retain their Goidelic form, and to these we must look for decisive evidence.[35] A Goidelic occupation by the ninth century B.C. is suggested by the name "Cassiterides" (a word of the _q_ group) applied to Britain. If the Goidels occupied Britain first, they may have called their land _Qretanis_ or _Qritanis_, which Pictish invaders would change to _Pretanis_, found in Welsh "Ynys Pridain," Pridain's Isle, or Isle of the Picts, "pointing to the original underlying the Greek [Greek: Pretanikai Nêsoi] or Pictish Isles,"[36] though the change may be due to continental _p_ Celts trading with _q_ Celts in Britain. With the Pictish occupation would agree the fact that Irish Goidels called the Picts who came to Ireland _Cruithne=Qritani=Pre-tani_. In Ireland they almost certainly adopted Goidelic speech. Whether or not all the Pictish invaders of Britain were called "Pictavi," this word or Picti, perhaps from _quicto_ (Irish _cicht_, "engraver"),[37] became a general name for this people. _Q_ had been changed into _p_ on the Continent; hence "Pictavi" or "Pictones," "the tattooed men," those who "engraved" figures on their bodies, as the Picts certainly did. Dispossessed and driven north by incoming Brythons and Belgæ, they later became the virulent enemies of Rome. In 306 Eumenius describes all the northern tribes as "Caledonii and other Picts," while some of the tribes mentioned by Ptolemy have Brythonic names or names with Gaulish cognates. Place-names in the Pictish area, personal names in the Pictish chronicle, and Pictish names like "Peanfahel,"[38] have Brythonic affinities. If the Picts spoke a Brythonic dialect, S. Columba's need of an interpreter when preaching to them would be explained.[39] Later the Picts were conquered by Irish Goidels, the Scotti. The Picts, however, must already have mingled with aboriginal peoples and with Goidels, if these were already in Britain, and they may have adopted their supposed non-Aryan customs from the aborigines. On the other hand, the matriarchate seems at one time to have been Celtic, and it may have been no more than a conservative survival in the Pictish royal house, as it was elsewhere.[40] Britons, as well as Caledonii, had wives in common.[41] As to tattooing, it was practised by the Scotti ("the scarred and painted men"?), and the Britons dyed themselves with woad, while what seem to be tattoo marks appear on faces on Gaulish coins.[42] Tattooing, painting, and scarifying the body are varieties of one general custom, and little stress can be laid on Pictish tattooing as indicating a racial difference. Its purpose may have been ornamental, or possibly to impart an aspect of fierceness, or the figures may have been totem marks, as they are elsewhere. Finally, the description of the Caledonii, a Pictish people, possessing flaming hair and mighty limbs, shows that they differed from the short, dark pre-Celtic folk.[43] The Pictish problem must remain obscure, a welcome puzzle to antiquaries, philologists, and ethnologists. Our knowledge of Pictish religion is too scanty for the interpretation of Celtic religion to be affected by it. But we know that the Picts offered sacrifice before war--a Celtic custom, and had Druids, as also had the Celts. The earliest Celtic "kingdom" was in the region between the upper waters of the Rhine, the Elbe, and the Danube, where probably in Neolithic times the formation of their Celtic speech as a distinctive language began. Here they first became known to the Greeks, probably as a semi-mythical people, the Hyperboreans--the folk dwelling beyond the Ripoean mountains whence Boreas blew--with whom Hecatæus in the fourth century identifies them. But they were now known as Celts, and their territory as Celtica, while "Galatas" was used as a synonym of "Celtæ," in the third century B.C.[44] The name generally applied by the Romans to the Celts was "Galli" a term finally confined by them to the people of Gaul.[45] Successive bands of Celts went forth from this comparatively restricted territory, until the Celtic "empire" for some centuries before 300 B.C. included the British Isles, parts of the Iberian peninsula, Gaul, North Italy, Belgium, Holland, great part of Germany, and Austria. When the German tribes revolted, Celtic bands appeared in Asia Minor, and remained there as the Galatian Celts. Archæological discoveries with a Celtic _facies_ have been made in most of these lands but even more striking is the witness of place-names. Celtic _dunon_, a fort or castle (the Gaelic _dun_), is found in compound names from Ireland to Southern Russia. _Magos_, "a field," is met with in Britain, France, Switzerland, Prussia, Italy, and Austria. River and mountain names familiar in Britain occur on the Continent. The Pennine range of Cumberland has the same name as the Appenines. Rivers named for their inherent divinity, _devos_, are found in Britain and on the Continent--Dee, Deva, etc. Besides this linguistic, had the Celts also a political unity over their great "empire," under one head? Such a unity certainly did not prevail from Ireland to the Balkan peninsula, but it prevailed over a large part of the Celtic area. Livy, following Timagenes, who perhaps cited a lost Celtic epos, speaks of king Ambicatus ruling over the Celts from Spain to Germany, and sending his sister's sons, Bellovesus and Segovesus, with many followers, to found new colonies in Italy and the Hercynian forest.[46] Mythical as this may be, it suggests the hegemony of one tribe or one chief over other tribes and chiefs, for Livy says that the sovereign power rested with the Bituriges who appointed the king of Celticum, viz. Ambicatus. Some such unity is necessary to explain Celtic power in the ancient world, and it was made possible by unity of race or at least of the congeries of Celticised peoples, by religious solidarity, and probably by regular gatherings of all the kings or chiefs. If the Druids were a Celtic priesthood at this time, or already formed a corporation as they did later in Gaul, they must have endeavoured to form and preserve such a unity. And if it was never so compact as Livy's words suggest, it must have been regarded as an ideal by the Celts or by their poets, Ambicatus serving as a central figure round which the ideas of empire crystallised. The hegemony existed in Gaul, where the Arverni and their king claimed power over the other tribes, and where the Romans tried to weaken the Celtic unity by opposing to them the Aedni.[47] In Belgium the hegemony was in the hands of the Suessiones, to whose king Belgic tribes in Britain submitted.[48] In Ireland the "high king" was supreme over other smaller kings, and in Galatia the unity of the tribes was preserved by a council with regular assemblies.[49] The diffusion of the Ambicatus legend would help to preserve unity by recalling the mythic greatness of the past. The Boii and Insubri appealed to transalpine Gauls for aid by reminding them of the deeds of their ancestors.[50] Nor would the Druids omit to infuse into their pupils' minds the sentiment of national greatness. For this and for other reasons, the Romans, to whom "the sovereignty of all Gaul" was an obnoxious watch-word, endeavoured to suppress them.[51] But the Celts were too widely scattered ever to form a compact empire.[52] The Roman empire extended itself gradually in the consciousness of its power; the cohesion of the Celts in an empire or under one king was made impossible by their migrations and diffusion. Their unity, such as it was, was broken by the revolt of the Teutonic tribes, and their subjugation was completed by Rome. The dreams of wide empire remained dreams. For the Celts, in spite of their vigour, have been a race of dreamers, their conquests in later times, those of the spirit rather than of the mailed fist. Their superiority has consisted in imparting to others their characteristics; organised unity and a vast empire could never be theirs. FOOTNOTES: [6] Ripley, _Races of Europe_; Wilser, _L'Anthropologie_, xiv. 494; Collignon, _ibid._ 1-20; Broca, _Rev. d'Anthrop._ ii. 589 ff. [7] Sergi, _The Mediterranean Race_, 241 ff., 263 ff. [8] Keane, _Man, Past and Present_, 511 ff., 521, 528. [9] Broca, _Mem. d'Anthrop._ i. 370 ff. Hovelacque thinks, with Keane, that the Gauls learned Celtic from the dark round-heads. But Galatian and British Celts, who had never been in contact with the latter, spoke Celtic. See Holmes, _Cæsar's Conquest of Gaul_, 311-312. [10] Cæsar, i. 1; Collignon, _Mem. Soc. d'Anthrop. de Paris_, 3{me} ser. i. 67. [11] Cæsar, i. 1. [12] Cæsar, ii. 30. [13] Cæsar, i. 1; Strabo, iv. 1. 1. [14] Cf. Holmes, 295; Beddoe, _Scottish Review_, xix. 416. [15] D'Arbois, _Les Celtes_, 175. [16] Cæsar, ii. 4; Strabo, vii. 1. 2. Germans are taller and fairer than Gauls; Tacitus, _Agric._ ii. Cf. Beddoe, _JAI_ xx. 354-355. [17] D'Arbois, _PH_ ii. 374. Welsh Gwydion and Teutonic Wuotan may have the same root, see p. 105. Celtic Taranis has been compared to Donar, but there is no connection, and Taranis was not certainly a thunder-god. Much of the folk-religion was alike, but this applies to folk-religion everywhere. [18] D'Arbois, ii. 251. [19] Beddoe, _L'Anthropologie_, v. 516. Tall, fair, and highly brachycephalic types are still found in France, _ibid._ i. 213; Bortrand-Reinach, _Les Celtes_, 39. [20] Beddoe, 516; _L'Anthrop._, v. 63; Taylor, 81; Greenwell, _British Barrows_, 680. [21] _Fort. Rev._ xvi. 328; _Mem. of London Anthr. Soc._, 1865. [22] Ripley, 309; Sergi, 243; Keane, 529; Taylor, 112. [23] Taylor, 122, 295. [24] The Walloons are both dark and fair. [25] D'Arbois, _PH_ ii. 132. [26] Rh[^y]s, _Proc. Phil. Soc._ 1891; "Celtæ and Galli," _Proc. Brit. Acad._ ii. D'Arbois points out that we do not know that these words are Celtic (_RC_ xii, 478). [27] See pp. 51, 376. [28] Cæsar, i. 1. [29] _CB_{4} 160. [30] Skene, i. ch. 8; see p. 135. [31] _ZCP_ iii. 308; _Keltic Researches_. [32] Windisch, "Kelt. Sprachen," Ersch-Gruber's _Encylopädie_; Stokes, _Linguistic Value of the Irish Annals_. [33] _THSC_ 1895-1896, 55 f. [34] _CM_ xii. 434. [35] In the Isle of Skye, where, looking at names of prominent places alone, Norse derivatives are to Gaelic as 3 to 2, they are as 1 to 5 when names of insignificant places, untouched by Norse influence, are included. [36] Rh[^y]s, _CB_{4} 241. [37] D'Arbois, _Les Celtes_, 22. [38] Bede, _Eccl. Hist._ i. 12. [39] Adamnan, _Vita S. Col._ [40] See p. 222. [41] Dio Cass. lxxvi. 12; Cæsar, v. 14. See p. 223. [42] Isidore, _Etymol._ ix. 2, 103; Rh[^y]s, _CB_ 242-243; Cæsar, v. 14; Nicholson, _ZCP_ in. 332. [43] Tacitus, _Agric._ ii. [44] If _Celtæ_ is from _qelo_, "to raise," it may mean "the lofty," just as many savages call themselves "the men," _par excellence_. Rh[^y]s derives it from _qel_, "to slay," and gives it the sense of "warriors." See Holder, _s.v._; Stokes, _US_ 83. _Galatæ_ is from _gala_ (Irish _gal_), "bravery." Hence perhaps "warriors." [45] "Galli" may be connected with "Galatæ," but D'Arbois denies this. For all these titles see his _PH_ ii. 396 ff. [46] Livy, v. 31 f.; D'Arbois, _PH_ ii. 304, 391. [47] Strabo, iv. 10. 3; Cæsar, i. 31, vii. 4; _Frag. Hist. Græc._ i. 437. [48] Cæsar, ii. 4. [49] Strabo, xii. 5. 1. [50] Polybius, ii. 22. [51] Cæsar, i. 2, 1-3. [52] On the subject of Celtic unity see Jullian, "Du patriotisme gaulois," _RC_ xxiii. 373. CHAPTER III. THE GODS OF GAUL AND THE CONTINENTAL CELTS. The passage in which Cæsar sums up the Gaulish pantheon runs: "They worship chiefly the god Mercury; of him there are many symbols, and they regard him as the inventor of all the arts, as the guide of travellers, and as possessing great influence over bargains and commerce. After him they worship Apollo and Mars, Juppiter and Minerva. About these they hold much the same beliefs as other nations. Apollo heals diseases, Minerva teaches the elements of industry and the arts, Juppiter rules over the heavens, Mars directs war.... All the Gauls assert that they are descended from Dispater, their progenitor."[53] As will be seen in this chapter, the Gauls had many other gods than these, while the Roman gods, by whose names Cæsar calls the Celtic divinities, probably only approximately corresponded to them in functions. As the Greeks called by the names of their own gods those of Egypt, Persia, and Babylonia, so the Romans identified Greek, Teutonic, and Celtic gods with theirs. The identification was seldom complete, and often extended only to one particular function or attribute. But, as in Gaul, it was often part of a state policy, and there the fusion of cults was intended to break the power of the Druids. The Gauls seem to have adopted Roman civilisation easily, and to have acquiesced in the process of assimilation of their divinities to those of their conquerors. Hence we have thousands of inscriptions in which a god is called by the name of the Roman deity to whom he was assimilated and by his own Celtic name--Jupiter Taranis, Apollo Grannus, etc. Or sometimes to the name of the Roman god is added a descriptive Celtic epithet or a word derived from a Celtic place-name. Again, since Augustus reinstated the cult of the Lares, with himself as chief Lar, the epithet Augustus was given to all gods to whom the character of the Lares could be ascribed, e.g. Belenos Augustus. Cults of local gods became cults of the genius of the place, coupled with the genius of the emperor. In some cases, however, the native name stands alone. The process was aided by art. Celtic gods are represented after Greco-Roman or Greco-Egyptian models. Sometimes these carry a native divine symbol, or, in a few cases, the type is purely native, e.g. that of Cernunnos. Thus the native paganism was largely transformed before Christianity appeared in Gaul. Many Roman gods were worshipped as such, not only by the Romans in Gaul, but by the Gauls, and we find there also traces of the Oriental cults affected by the Romans.[54] There were probably in Gaul many local gods, tribal or otherwise, of roads and commerce, of the arts, of healing, etc., who, bearing different names, might easily be identified with each other or with Roman gods. Cæsar's Mercury, Mars, Minerva, etc., probably include many local Minervas, Mars, and Mercuries. There may, however, have been a few great gods common to all Gaul, universally worshipped, besides the numerous local gods, some of whom may have been adopted from the aborigines. An examination of the divine names in Holder's _Altceltischer Sprachschatz_ will show how numerous the local gods of the continental Celts must have been. Professor Anwyl reckons that 270 gods are mentioned once on inscriptions, 24 twice, 11 thrice, 10 four times, 3 five times, 2 seven times, 4 fifteen times, 1 nineteen times (Grannos), and 1 thirty-nine times (Belenos).[55] The god or gods identified with Mercury were very popular in Gaul, as Cæsar's words and the witness of place-names derived from the Roman name of the god show. These had probably supplanted earlier names derived from those of the corresponding native gods. Many temples of the god existed, especially in the region of the Allobrogi, and bronze statuettes of him have been found in abundance. Pliny also describes a colossal statue designed for the Arverni who had a great temple of the god on the Puy de Dôme.[56] Mercury was not necessarily the chief god, and at times, e.g. in war, the native war-gods would be prominent. The native names of the gods assimilated to Mercury are many in number; in some cases they are epithets, derived from the names of places where a local "Mercury" was worshipped, in others they are derived from some function of the gods.[57] One of these titles is Artaios, perhaps cognate with Irish _art_, "god," or connected with _artos_, "bear." Professor Rh[^y]s, however, finds its cognate in Welsh _âr_, "ploughed land," as if one of the god's functions connected him with agriculture.[58] This is supported by another inscription to Mercurius Cultor at Wurtemberg. Local gods of agriculture must thus have been assimilated to Mercury. A god Moccus, "swine," was also identified with Mercury, and the swine was a frequent representative of the corn-spirit or of vegetation divinities in Europe. The flesh of the animal was often mixed with the seed corn or buried in the fields to promote fertility. The swine had been a sacred animal among the Celts, but had apparently become an anthropomorphic god of fertility, Moccus, assimilated to Mercury, perhaps because the Greek Hermes caused fertility in flocks and herds. Such a god was one of a class whose importance was great among the Celts as an agricultural people. Commerce, much developed among the settled Gauls, gave rise to a god or gods who guarded roads over which merchants travelled, and boundaries where their transactions took place. Hence we have an inscription from Yorkshire, "To the god who invented roads and paths," while another local god of roads, equated with Mercury, was Cimiacinus.[59] Another god, Ogmíos, a native god of speech, who draws men by chains fastened to the tip of his tongue, is identified in Lucian with Heracles, and is identical with the Goidelic Ogma.[60] Eloquence and speech are important matters among primitive peoples, and this god has more likeness to Mercury as a culture-god than to Heracles, Greek writers speaking of eloquence as binding men with the chains of Hermes. Several local gods, of agriculture, commerce, and culture, were thus identified with Mercury, and the Celtic Mercury was sometimes worshipped on hilltops, one of the epithets of the god, Dumias, being connected with the Celtic word for hill or mound. Irish gods were also associated with mounds. Many local gods were identified with Apollo both in his capacity of god of healing and also that of god of light.[61] The two functions are not incompatible, and this is suggested by the name Grannos, god of thermal springs both in Britain and on the Continent. The name is connected with a root which gives words meaning "burning," "shining," etc., and from which comes also Irish _grian_, "sun." The god is still remembered in a chant sung round bonfires in Auvergne. A sheaf of corn is set on fire, and called "Granno mio," while the people sing, "Granno, my friend; Granno, my father; Granno, my mother."[62] Another god of thermal springs was Borvo, Bormo, or Bormanus, whose name is derived from _borvo_, whence Welsh _berw_, "boiling," and is evidently connected with the bubbling of the springs.[63] Votive tablets inscribed Grannos or Borvo show that the offerers desired healing for themselves or others. The name Belenos found over a wide area, but mainly in Aquileia, comes from _belo-s_, bright, and probably means "the shining one." It is thus the name of a Celtic sun-god, equated with Apollo in that character. If he is the Belinus referred to by Geoffrey of Monmouth,[64] his cult must have extended into Britain from the Continent, and he is often mentioned by classical writers, while much later Ausonius speaks of his priest in Gaul.[65] Many place and personal names point to the popularity of his cult, and inscriptions show that he, too, was a god of health and of healing-springs. The plant _Belinuntia_ was called after him and venerated for its healing powers.[66] The sun-god's functions of light and fertility easily passed over into those of health-giving, as our study of Celtic festivals will show. A god with the name Maponos, connected with words denoting "youthfulness," is found in England and Gaul, equated with Apollo, who himself is called _Bonus Puer_ in a Dacian inscription. Another god Mogons or Mogounos, whose name is derived from _Mago_, "to increase," and suggests the idea of youthful strength, may be a form of the sun-god, though some evidence points to his having been a sky-god.[67] The Celtic Apollo is referred to by classical writers. Diodorus speaks of his circular temple in an island of the Hyperboreans, adorned with votive offerings. The kings of the city where the temple stood, and its overseers, were called "Boreads," and every nineteenth year the god appeared dancing in the sky at the spring equinox.[68] The identifications of the temple with Stonehenge and of the Boreads with the Bards are quite hypothetical. Apollonius says that the Celts regarded the waters of Eridanus as due to the tears of Apollo--probably a native myth attributing the creation of springs and rivers to the tears of a god, equated by the Greeks with Apollo.[69] The Celtic sun-god, as has been seen, was a god of healing springs. Some sixty names or titles of Celtic war-gods are known, generally equated with Mars.[70] These were probably local tribal divinities regarded as leading their worshippers to battle. Some of the names show that these gods were thought of as mighty warriors, e.g. Caturix, "battle-king," Belatu-Cadros--a common name in Britain--perhaps meaning "comely in slaughter,"[71] and Albiorix, "world-king."[72] Another name, Rigisamus, from _rix_ and _samus_, "like to," gives the idea of "king-like."[73] Toutatis, Totatis, and Tutatis are found in inscriptions from Seckau, York, and Old Carlisle, and may be identified with Lucan's Teutates, who with Taranis and Esus mentioned by him, is regarded as one of three pan-Celtic gods.[74] Had this been the case we should have expected to find many more inscriptions to them. The scholiast on Lucan identifies Teutates now with Mars, now with Mercury. His name is connected with _teuta_, "tribe," and he is thus a tribal war-god, regarded as the embodiment of the tribe in its warlike capacity. Neton, a war-god of the Accetani, has a name connected with Irish _nia_, "warrior," and may be equated with the Irish war-god Nét. Another god, Camulos, known from British and continental inscriptions, and figured on British coins with warlike emblems, has perhaps some connection with Cumal, father of Fionn, though it is uncertain whether Cumal was an Irish divinity.[75] Another god equated with Mars is the Gaulish Braciaca, god of malt. According to classical writers, the Celts were drunken race, and besides importing quantities of wine, they made their own native drinks, e.g. [Greek: chourmi], the Irish _cuirm_, and _braccat_, both made from malt (_braich_).[76] These words, with the Gaulish _brace_, "spelt,"[77] are connected with the name of this god, who was a divine personification of the substance from which the drink was made which produced, according to primitive ideas, the divine frenzy of intoxication. It is not clear why Mars should have been equated with this god. Cæsar says that the Celtic Juppiter governed heaven. A god who carries a wheel, probably a sun-god, and another, a god of thunder, called Taranis, seem to have been equated with Juppiter. The sun-god with the wheel was not equated with Apollo, who seems to have represented Celtic sun-gods only in so far as they were also gods of healing. In some cases the god with the wheel carries also a thunderbolt, and on some altars, dedicated to Juppiter, both a wheel and a thunderbolt are figured. Many races have symbolised the sun as a circle or wheel, and an old Roman god, Summanus, probably a sun-god, later assimilated to Juppiter, had as his emblem a wheel. The Celts had the same symbolism, and used the wheel symbol as an amulet,[78] while at the midsummer festivals blazing wheels, symbolising the sun, were rolled down a slope. Possibly the god carries a thunderbolt because the Celts, like other races, believed that lightning was a spark from the sun. Three divinities have claims to be the god whom Cæsar calls Dispater--a god with a hammer, a crouching god called Cernunnos, and a god called Esus or Silvanus. Possibly the native Dispater was differently envisaged in different districts, so that these would be local forms of one god. 1. The god Taranis mentioned by Lucan is probably the Taranoos and Taranucnos of inscriptions, sometimes equated with Juppiter.[79] These names are connected with Celtic words for "thunder"; hence Taranis is a thunder-god. The scholiasts on Lucan identify him now with Juppiter, now with Dispater. This latter identification is supported by many who regard the god with the hammer as at once Taranis and Dispater, though it cannot be proved that the god with the hammer is Taranis. On one inscription the hammer-god is called Sucellos; hence we may regard Taranis as a distinct deity, a thunder-god, equated with Juppiter, and possibly represented by the Taran of the Welsh tale of _Kulhwych_.[80] Primitive men, whose only weapon and tool was a stone axe or hammer, must have regarded it as a symbol of force, then of supernatural force, hence of divinity. It is represented on remains of the Stone Age, and the axe was a divine symbol to the Mycenæans, a hieroglyph of Neter to the Egyptians, and a worshipful object to Polynesians and Chaldeans. The cult of axe or hammer may have been widespread, and to the Celts, as to many other peoples, it was a divine symbol. Thus it does not necessarily denote a thunderbolt, but rather power and might, and possibly, as the tool which shaped things, creative might. The Celts made _ex voto_ hammers of lead, or used axe-heads as amulets, or figured them on altars and coins, and they also placed the hammer in the hand of a god.[81] The god with the hammer is a gracious bearded figure, clad in Gaulish dress, and he carries also a cup. His plastic type is derived from that of the Alexandrian Serapis, ruler of the underworld, and that of Hades-Pluto.[82] His emblems, especially that of the hammer, are also those of the Pluto of the Etruscans, with whom the Celts had been in contact.[83] He is thus a Celtic Dispater, an underworld god, possibly at one time an Earth-god and certainly a god of fertility, and ancestor of the Celtic folk. In some cases, like Serapis, he carries a _modius_ on his head, and this, like the cup, is an emblem of chthonian gods, and a symbol of the fertility of the soil. The god being benevolent, his hammer, like the tool with which man forms so many things, could only be a symbol of creative force.[84] As an ancestor of the Celts, the god is naturally represented in Celtic dress. In one bas-relief he is called Sucellos, and has a consort, Nantosvelta.[85] Various meanings have been assigned to "Sucellos," but it probably denotes the god's power of striking with the hammer. M. D'Arbois hence regards him as a god of blight and death, like Balor.[86] But though this Celtic Dispater was a god of the dead who lived on in the underworld, he was not necessarily a destructive god. The underworld god was the god from whom or from whose kingdom men came forth, and he was also a god of fertility. To this we shall return. 2. A bearded god, probably squatting, with horns from each of which hangs a torque, is represented on an altar found at Paris.[87] He is called Cernunnos, perhaps "the horned," from _cerna_, "horn," and a whole group of nameless gods, with similar or additional attributes, have affinities with him. (a) A bronze statuette from Autun represents a similar figure, probably horned, who presents a torque to two ram's-headed serpents. Fixed above his ears are two small heads.[88] On a monument from Vandoeuvres is a squatting horned god, pressing a sack. Two genii stand beside him on a serpent, while one of them holds a torque.[89] (b) Another squatting horned figure with a torque occurs on an altar from Reims. He presses a bag, from which grain escapes, and on it an ox and stag are feeding. A rat is represented on the pediment above, and on either side stand Apollo and Mercury.[90] On the altar of Saintes is a squatting but headless god with torque and purse. Beside him is a goddess with a cornucopia, and a smaller divinity with a cornucopia and an apple. A similar squatting figure, supported by male and female deities, is represented on the other side of the altar.[91] On the altar of Beaune are three figures, one horned with a cornucopia, another three-headed, holding a basket.[92] Three figures, one female and two male, are found on the Dennevy altar. One god is three-faced, the other has a cornucopia, which he offers to a serpent.[93] (c) Another image represents a three-faced god, holding a serpent with a ram's head.[94] (d) Above a seated god and goddess on an altar from Malmaison is a block carved to represent three faces. To be compared with these are seven steles from Reims, each with a triple face but only one pair of eyes. Above some of these is a ram's head. On an eighth stele the heads are separated.[95] Cernunnos may thus have been regarded as a three-headed, horned, squatting god, with a torque and ram's-headed serpent. But a horned god is sometimes a member of a triad, perhaps representing myths in which Cernunnos was associated with other gods. The three-headed god may be the same as the horned god, though on the Beaune altar they are distinct. The various representations are linked together, but it is not certain that all are varying types of one god. Horns, torque, horned snake, or even the triple head may have been symbols pertaining to more than one god, though generally associated with Cernunnos. The squatting attitude of the god has been differently explained, and its affinities regarded now as Buddhist, now as Greco-Egyptian.[96] But if the god is a Dispater, and the ancestral god of the Celts, it is natural, as M. Mowat points out, to represent him in the typical attitude of the Gauls when sitting, since they did not use seats.[97] While the horns were probably symbols of power and worn also by chiefs on their helmets,[98] they may also show that the god was an anthropomorphic form of an earlier animal god, like the wolf-skin of other gods. Hence also horned animals would be regarded as symbols of the god, and this may account for their presence on the Reims monument. Animals are sometimes represented beside the divinities who were their anthropomorphic forms.[99] Similarly the ram's-headed serpent points to animal worship. But its presence with three-headed and horned gods is enigmatic, though, as will be seen later, it may have been connected with a cult of the dead, while the serpent was a chthonian animal.[100] These gods were gods of fertility and of the underworld of the dead. While the bag or purse (interchangeable with the cornucopia) was a symbol of Mercury, it was also a symbol of Pluto, and this may point to the fact that the gods who bear it had the same character as Pluto. The significance of the torque is also doubtful, but the Gauls offered torques to the gods, and they may have been regarded as vehicles of the warrior's strength which passed from him to the god to whom the victor presented it. Though many attempts have been made to prove the non-Celtic origin of the three-headed divinities or of their images,[101] there is no reason why the conception should not be Celtic, based on some myth now lost to us. The Celts had a cult of human heads, and fixed them up on their houses in order to obtain the protection of the ghost. Bodies or heads of dead warriors had a protective influence on their land or tribe, and myth told how the head of the god Bran saved his country from invasion. In other myths human heads speak after being cut off.[102] It might thus easily have been believed that the representation of a god's head had a still more powerful protective influence, especially when it was triplicated, thus looking in all directions, like Janus. The significance of the triad on these monuments is uncertain but since the supporting divinities are now male, now female, now male and female, it probably represents myths of which the horned or three-headed god was the central figure. Perhaps we shall not be far wrong in regarding such gods, on the whole, as Cernunnos, a god of abundance to judge by his emblems, and by the cornucopia held by his companions, probably divinities of fertility. In certain cases figures of squatting and horned goddesses with cornucopia occur.[103] These may be consorts of Cernunnos, and perhaps preceded him in origin. We may also go further and see in this god of abundance and fertility at once an Earth and an Under-earth god, since earth and under-earth are much the same to primitive thought, and fertility springs from below the earth's surface. Thus Cernunnos would be another form of the Celtic Dispater. Generally speaking, the images of Cernunnos are not found where those of the god with the hammer (Dispater) are most numerous. These two types may thus be different local forms of Dispater. The squatting attitude of Cernunnos is natural in the image of the ancestor of a people who squatted. As to the symbols of plenty, we know that Pluto was confounded with Plutus, the god of riches, because corn and minerals came out of the earth, and were thus the gifts of an Earth or Under-earth god. Celtic myth may have had the same confusion. On a Paris altar and on certain steles a god attacks a serpent with a club. The serpent is a chthonian animal, and the god, called Smertullos, may be a Dispater.[104] Gods who are anthropomorphic forms of earlier animal divinities, sometimes have the animals as symbols or attendants, or are regarded as hostile to them. In some cases Dispater may have outgrown the serpent symbolism, the serpent being regarded locally as his foe; this assumes that the god with the club is the same as the god with the hammer. But in the case of Cernunnos the animal remained as his symbol. Dispater was a god of growth and fertility, and besides being lord of the underworld of the dead, not necessarily a dark region or the abode of "dark" gods as is so often assumed by writers on Celtic religion, he was ancestor of the living. This may merely have meant that, as in other mythologies, men came to the surface of the earth from an underground region, like all things whose roots struck deep down into the earth. The lord of the underworld would then easily be regarded as their ancestor.[105] 3. The hammer and the cup are also the symbols of a god called Silvanus, identified by M. Mowat with Esus,[106] a god represented cutting down a tree with an axe. Axe and hammer, however, are not necessarily identical, and the symbols are those of Dispater, as has been seen. A purely superficial connection between the Roman Silvanus and the Celtic Dispater may have been found by Gallo-Roman artists in the fact that both wear a wolf-skin, while there may once have been a Celtic wolf totem-god of the dead.[107] The Roman god was also associated with the wolf. This might be regarded as one out of many examples of a mere superficial assimilation of Roman and Celtic divinities, but in this case they still kept certain symbols of the native Dispater--the cup and hammer. Of course, since the latter was also a god of fertility, there was here another link with Silvanus, a god of woods and vegetation. The cult of the god was widespread--in Spain, S. Gaul, the Rhine provinces, Cisalpine Gaul, Central Europe and Britain. But one inscription gives the name Selvanos, and it is not impossible that there was a native god Selvanus. If so, his name may have been derived from _selva_, "possession," Irish _sealbh_, "possession," "cattle," and he may have been a chthonian god of riches, which in primitive communities consisted of cattle.[108] Domestic animals, in Celtic mythology, were believed to have come from the god's land. Selvanus would thus be easily identified with Silvanus, a god of flocks. Thus the Celtic Dispater had various names and forms in different regions, and could be assimilated to different foreign gods. Since Earth and Under-earth are so nearly connected, this divinity may once have been an Earth-god, and as such perhaps took the place of an earlier Earth-mother, who now became his consort or his mother. On a monument from Salzbach, Dispater is accompanied by a goddess called Aeracura, holding a basket of fruit, and on another monument from Ober-Seebach, the companion of Dispater holds a cornucopia. In the latter instance Dispater holds a hammer and cup, and the goddess may be Aeracura. Aeracura is also associated with Dispater in several inscriptions.[109] It is not yet certain that she is a Celtic goddess, but her presence with this evidently Celtic god is almost sufficient proof of the fact. She may thus represent the old Earth-goddess, whose place the native Dispater gradually usurped. Lucan mentions a god Esus, who is represented on a Paris altar as a woodman cutting down a tree, the branches of which are carried round to the next side of the altar, on which is represented a bull with three cranes--Tarvos Trigaranos. The same figure, unnamed, occurs on another altar at Trèves, but in this case the bull's head appears in the branches, and on them sit the birds. M. Reinach applies one formula to the subjects of these altars--"The divine Woodman hews the Tree of the Bull with Three Cranes."[110] The whole represents some myth unknown to us, but M. D'Arbois finds in it some allusion to events in the Cúchulainn saga. To this we shall return.[111] Bull and tree are perhaps both divine, and if the animal, like the images of the divine bull, is three-horned, then the three cranes (_garanus_, "crane") may be a rebus for three-horned (_trikeras_), or more probably three-headed (_trikarenos_).[112] In this case woodman, tree, and bull might all be representatives of a god of vegetation. In early ritual, human, animal, or arboreal representatives of the god were periodically destroyed to ensure fertility, but when the god became separated from these representatives, the destruction or slaying was regarded as a sacrifice to the god, and myths arose telling how he had once slain the animal. In this case, tree and bull, really identical, would be mythically regarded as destroyed by the god whom they had once represented. If Esus was a god of vegetation, once represented by a tree, this would explain why, as the scholiast on Lucan relates, human sacrifices to Esus were suspended from a tree. Esus was worshipped at Paris and at Trèves; a coin with the name Æsus was found in England; and personal names like Esugenos, "son of Esus," and Esunertus, "he who has the strength of Esus," occur in England, France, and Switzerland.[113] Thus the cult of this god may have been comparatively widespread. But there is no evidence that he was a Celtic Jehovah or a member, with Teutates and Taranis, of a pan-Celtic triad, or that this triad, introduced by Gauls, was not accepted by the Druids.[114] Had such a great triad existed, some instance of the occurrence of the three names on one inscription would certainly have been found. Lucan does not refer to the gods as a triad, nor as gods of all the Celts, or even of one tribe. He lays stress merely on the fact that they were worshipped with human sacrifice, and they were apparently more or less well-known local gods.[115] The insular Celts believed that some of their gods lived on or in hills. We do not know whether such a belief was entertained by the Gauls, though some of their deities were worshipped on hills, like the Puy de Dôme. There is also evidence of mountain worship among them. One inscription runs, "To the Mountains"; a god of the Pennine Alps, Poeninus, was equated with Juppiter; and the god of the Vosges mountains was called Vosegus, perhaps still surviving in the giant supposed to haunt them.[116] Certain grouped gods, _Dii Casses_, were worshipped by Celts on the right bank of the Rhine, but nothing is known regarding their functions, unless they were road gods. The name means "beautiful" or "pleasant," and _Cassi_ appears in personal and tribal names, and also in _Cassiterides_, an early name of Britain, perhaps signifying that the new lands were "more beautiful" than those the Celts had left. When tin was discovered in Britain, the Mediterranean traders called it [Greek: chassiteros], after the name of the place where it was found, as _cupreus_, "copper," was so called from Cyprus.[117] Many local tutelar divinities were also worshipped. When a new settlement was founded, it was placed under the protection of a tribal god, or the name of some divinised river on whose banks the village was placed, passed to the village itself, and the divinity became its protector. Thus Dea Bibracte, Nemausus, and Vasio were tutelar divinities of Bibracte, Nimes, and Vaison. Other places were called after Belenos, or a group of divinities, usually the _Matres_ with a local epithet, watched over a certain district.[118] The founding of a town was celebrated in an annual festival, with sacrifices and libations to the protecting deity, a practice combated by S. Eloi in the eighth century. But the custom of associating a divinity with a town or region was a great help to patriotism. Those who fought for their homes felt that they were fighting for their gods, who also fought on their side. Several inscriptions, "To the genius of the place," occur in Britain, and there are a few traces of tutelar gods in Irish texts, but generally local saints had taken their place. The Celtic cult of goddesses took two forms, that of individual and that of grouped goddesses, the latter much more numerous than the grouped gods. Individual goddesses were worshipped as consorts of gods, or as separate personalities, and in the latter case the cult was sometimes far extended. Still more popular was the cult of grouped goddesses. Of these the _Matres_, like some individual goddesses, were probably early Earth-mothers, and since the primitive fertility-cults included all that might then be summed up as "civilisation," such goddesses had already many functions, and might the more readily become divinities of special crafts or even of war. Many individual goddesses are known only by their names, and were of a purely local character.[119] Some local goddesses with different names but similar functions are equated with the same Roman goddess; others were never so equated. The Celtic Minerva, or the goddesses equated with her, "taught the elements of industry and the arts,"[120] and is thus the equivalent of the Irish Brigit. Her functions are in keeping with the position of woman as the first civiliser--discovering agriculture, spinning, the art of pottery, etc. During this period goddesses were chiefly worshipped, and though the Celts had long outgrown this primitive stage, such culture-goddesses still retained their importance. A goddess equated with Minerva in Southern France and Britain is Belisama, perhaps from _qval_, "to burn" or "shine."[121] Hence she may have been associated with a cult of fire, like Brigit and like another goddess Sul, equated with Minerva at Bath and in Hesse, and in whose temple perpetual fires burned.[122] She was also a goddess of hot springs. Belisama gave her name to the Mersey,[123] and many goddesses in Celtic myth are associated with rivers. Some war-goddesses are associated with Mars--Nemetona (in Britain and Germany), perhaps the same as the Irish Nemon, and Cathubodua, identical with the Irish war-goddess Badb-catha, "battle-crow," who tore the bodies of the slain.[124] Another goddess Andrasta, "invincible," perhaps the same as the Andarta of the Voconces, was worshipped by the people of Boudicca with human sacrifices, like the native Bellona of the Scordisci.[125] A goddess of the chase was identified with Artemis in Galatia, where she had a priestess Camma, and also in the west. At the feast of the Galatian goddess dogs were crowned with flowers, her worshippers feasted and a sacrifice was made to her, feast and sacrifice being provided out of money laid aside for every animal taken in the chase.[126] Other goddesses were equated with Diana, and one of her statues was destroyed in Christian times at Trèves.[127] These goddesses may have been thought of as rushing through the forest with an attendant train, since in later times Diana, with whom they were completely assimilated, became, like Holda, the leader of the "furious host" and also of witches' revels.[128] The Life of Cæsarius of Arles speaks of a "demon" called Diana by the rustics. A bronze statuette represents the goddess riding a wild boar,[129] her symbol and, like herself, a creature of the forest, but at an earlier time itself a divinity of whom the goddess became the anthropomorphic form. Goddesses, the earlier spirits of the waters, protected rivers and springs, or were associated with gods of healing wells. Dirona or Sirona is associated with Grannos mainly in Eastern Gaul and the Rhine provinces, and is sometimes represented carrying grapes and grain.[130] Thus this goddess may once have been connected with fertility, perhaps an Earth-mother, and if her name means "the long-lived,"[131] this would be an appropriate title for an Earth-goddess. Another goddess, Stanna, mentioned in an inscription at Perigueux, is perhaps "the standing or abiding one," and thus may also have been Earth-goddess.[132] Grannos was also associated with the local goddesses Vesunna and Aventia, who gave their names to Vesona and Avanche. His statue also stood in the temple of the goddess of the Seine, Sequana.[133] With Bormo were associated Bormana in Southern Gaul, and Damona in Eastern Gaul--perhaps an animal goddess, since the root of her name occurs in Irish _dam_, "ox," and Welsh _dafad_, "sheep." Dea Brixia was the consort of Luxovius, god of the waters of Luxeuil. Names of other goddesses of the waters are found on _ex votos_ and plaques which were placed in or near them. The Roman Nymphæ, sometimes associated with Bormo, were the equivalents of the Celtic water-goddesses, who survived in the water-fairies of later folk-belief. Some river-goddesses gave their names to many rivers in the Celtic area--the numerous Avons being named from Abnoba, goddess of the sources of the Danube, and the many Dees and Dives from Divona. Clota was goddess of the Clyde, Sabrina had her throne "beneath the translucent wave" of the Severn, Icauna was goddess of the Yonne, Sequana of the Seine, and Sinnan of the Shannon. In some cases forests were ruled by goddesses--that of the Ardennes by Dea Arduinna, and the Black Forest, perhaps because of the many waters in it, by Dea Abnoba.[134] While some goddesses are known only by being associated with a god, e.g. Kosmerta with Mercury in Eastern Gaul, others have remained separate, like Epona, perhaps a river-goddess merged with an animal divinity, and known from inscriptions as a horse-goddess.[135] But the most striking instance is found in the grouped goddesses. Of these the _Deoe Matres_, whose name has taken a Latin form and whose cult extended to the Teutons, are mentioned in many inscriptions all over the Celtic area, save in East and North-West Gaul.[136] In art they are usually represented as three in number, holding fruit, flowers, a cornucopia, or an infant. They were thus goddesses of fertility, and probably derived from a cult of a great Mother-goddess, the Earth personified. She may have survived as a goddess Berecynthia; worshipped at Autun, where her image was borne through the fields to promote fertility, or as the goddesses equated with Demeter and Kore, worshipped by women on an island near Britain.[137] Such cults of a Mother-goddess lie behind many religions, but gradually her place was taken by an Earth-god, the Celtic Dispater or Dagda, whose consort the goddess became. She may therefore be the goddess with the cornucopia on monuments of the horned god, or Aeracura, consort of Dispater, or a goddess on a monument at Epinal holding a basket of fruit and a cornucopia, and accompanied by a ram's-headed serpent.[138] These symbols show that this goddess was akin to the _Matres_. But she sometimes preserved her individuality, as in the case of Berecynthia and the _Matres_, though it is not quite clear why she should have been thus triply multiplied. A similar phenomenon is found in the close connection of Demeter and Persephone, while the Celts regarded three as a sacred number. The primitive division of the year into three seasons--spring, summer, and winter--may have had its effect in triplicating a goddess of fertility with which the course of the seasons was connected.[139] In other mythologies groups of three goddesses are found, the Hathors in Egypt, the Moirai, Gorgons, and Graiæ of Greece, the Roman Fates, and the Norse Nornæ, and it is noticeable that the _Matres_ were sometimes equated with the Parcæ and Fates.[140] In the _Matres_, primarily goddesses of fertility and plenty, we have one of the most popular and also primitive aspects of Celtic religion. They originated in an age when women cultivated the ground, and the Earth was a goddess whose cult was performed by priestesses. But in course of time new functions were bestowed on the _Matres_. Possibly river-goddesses and others are merely mothers whose functions have become specialised. The _Matres_ are found as guardians of individuals, families, houses, of towns, a province, or a whole nation, as their epithets in inscriptions show. The _Matres Domesticæ_ are household goddesses; the _Matres Treveræ_, or _Gallaicæ_, or _Vediantæ_, are the mothers of Trèves, of the Gallaecæ, of the Vediantii; the _Matres Nemetiales_ are guardians of groves. Besides presiding over the fields as _Matres Campestræ_ they brought prosperity to towns and people.[141] They guarded women, especially in childbirth, as _ex votos_ prove, and in this aspect they are akin to the _Junones_ worshipped also in Gaul and Britain. The name thus became generic for most goddesses, but all alike were the lineal descendants of the primitive Earth-mother.[142] Popular superstition has preserved the memory of these goddesses in the three _bonnes dames_, _dames blanches_, and White Women, met by wayfarers in forests, or in the three fairies or wise women of folk-tales, who appear at the birth of children. But sometimes they have become hateful hags. The _Matres_ and other goddesses probably survived in the beneficent fairies of rocks and streams, in the fairy Abonde who brought riches to houses, or Esterelle of Provence who made women fruitful, or Aril who watched over meadows, or in beings like Melusine, Viviane, and others.[143] In Gallo-Roman Britain the cult of the _Matres_ is found, but how far it was indigenous there is uncertain. A Welsh name for fairies, _Y Mamau_, "the Mothers," and the phrase, "the blessing of the Mothers" used of a fairy benediction, may be a reminiscence of such goddesses.[144] The presence of similar goddesses in Ireland will be considered later.[145] Images of the _Matres_ bearing a child have sometimes been taken for those of the Virgin, when found accidentally, and as they are of wood blackened with age, they are known as _Vierges Noires_, and occupy an honoured place in Christian sanctuaries. Many churches of Nôtre Dame have been built on sites where an image of the Virgin is said to have been miraculously found--the image probably being that of a pagan Mother. Similarly, an altar to the _Matres_ at Vaison is now dedicated to the Virgin as the "good Mother."[146] In inscriptions from Eastern and Cisalpine Gaul, and from the Rhine and Danube region, the _Matronæ_ are mentioned, and this name is probably indicative of goddesses like the _Matres_.[147] It is akin to that of many rivers, e.g. the Marne or Meyrone, and shows that the Mothers were associated with rivers. The Mother river fertilised a large district, and exhibited the characteristic of the whole group of goddesses. Akin also to the _Matres_ are the _Suleviæ_, guardian goddesses called _Matres_ in a few inscriptions; the _Comedovæ_, whose name perhaps denotes guardianship or power; the _Dominæ_, who watched over the home, perhaps the _Dames_ of mediæval folk-lore; and the _Virgines_, perhaps an appellative of the _Matres_, and significant when we find that virgin priestesses existed in Gaul and Ireland.[148] The _Proxumæ_ were worshipped in Southern Gaul, and the _Quadriviæ_, goddesses of cross-roads, at Cherbourg.[149] Some Roman gods are found on inscriptions without being equated with native deities. They may have been accepted by the Gauls as new gods, or they had perhaps completely ousted similar native gods. Others, not mentioned by Cæsar, are equated with native deities, Juno with Clivana, Saturn with Arvalus, and to a native Vulcan the Celts vowed spoils of war.[150] Again, many native gods are not equated with Roman deities on inscriptions. Apart from the divinities of Pyrenæan inscriptions, who may not be Celtic, the names of over 400 native deities, whether equated with Roman gods or not, are known. Some of these names are mere epithets, and most of the gods are of a local character, known here by one name, there by another. Only in a very few cases can it be asserted that a god was worshipped over the whole Celtic area by one name, though some gods in Gaul, Britain, and Ireland with different names have certainly similar functions.[151] The pantheon of the continental Celts was a varied one. Traces of the primitive agricultural rites, and of the priority of goddesses to gods, are found, and the vaguer aspects of primitive nature worship are seen behind the cult of divinities of sky, sun, thunder, forests, rivers, or in deities of animal origin. We come next to evidence of a higher stage, in divinities of culture, healing, the chase, war, and the underworld. We see divinities of Celtic groups--gods of individuals, the family, the tribe. Sometimes war-gods assumed great prominence, in time of war, or among the aristocracy, but with the development of commerce, gods associated with trade and the arts of peace came to the front.[152] At the same time the popular cults of agricultural districts must have remained as of old. With the adoption of Roman civilisation, enlightened Celts separated themselves from the lower aspects of their religion, but this would have occurred with growing civilisation had no Roman ever entered Gaul. In rural districts the more savage aspects of the cult would still have remained, but that these were entirely due to an aboriginal population is erroneous. The Celts must have brought such cults with them or adopted cults similar to their own wherever they came. The persistence of these cults is seen in the fact that though Christianity modified them, it could not root them out, and in out-of-the-way corners, survivals of the old ritual may still be found, for everywhere the old religion of the soil dies hard. FOOTNOTES: [53] Cæsar, _de Bell. Gall._ vi. 17, 18. [54] Bloch (Lavisse), _Hist, de France_, i. 2, 419; Reinaoh, _BF_ 13, 23. [55] _Trans. Gaelic Soc. of Inverness_, xxvi. p. 411 f. [56] Vallentin, _Les Dieux de la cité des Allobroges_, 15; Pliny, _HN_ xxxiv. 7. [57] These names are Alaunius, Arcecius, Artaius, Arvernorix, Arvernus, Adsmerius, Canetonensis, Clavariatis, Cissonius, Cimbrianus, Dumiatis, Magniacus, Moecus, Toeirenus, Vassocaletus, Vellaunus, Visuoius, Biausius, Cimiacinus, Naissatis. See Holder, _s.v._ [58] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 6. [59] Hübner, vii. 271; _CIL_ iii. 5773. [60] Lucian, _Heracles_, 1 f. Some Gaulish coins figure a head to which are bound smaller heads. In one case the cords issue from the mouth (Blanchet, i. 308, 316-317). These may represent Lucian's Ogmíos, but other interpretations have been put upon them. See Robert, _RC_ vii. 388; Jullian, 84. [61] The epithets and names are Anextiomarus, Belenos, Bormo, Borvo, or Bormanus, Cobledulitavus, Cosmis (?), Grannos, Livicus, Maponos, Mogo or Mogounos, Sianus, Toutiorix, Viudonnus, Virotutis. See Holder, _s.v._ [62] Pommerol, _Ball. de Soc. d'ant. de Paris_, ii. fasc. 4. [63] See Holder, _s.v._ Many place-names are derived from _Borvo, e.g._ Bourbon l'Archambaut, which gave its name to the Bourbon dynasty, thus connected with an old Celtic god. [64] See p. 102, _infra_. [65] Jul. Cap. _Maxim._ 22; Herodian, viii. 3; Tert. _Apol._ xxiv. 70; Auson. _Prof._ xi. 24. [66] Stokes derives _belinuntia_ from _beljo_-, a tree or leaf, Irish _bile_, _US_ 174. [67] Holder, _s.v._; Stokes, _US_ 197; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 23; see p. 180, _infra_. [68] Diod. Sic. ii. 47. [69] Apoll. Rhod. iv. 609. [70] Albiorix, Alator, Arixo, Beladonnis, Barrex, Belatucadros, Bolvinnus, Braciaca, Britovis, Buxenus, Cabetius, Camulus, Cariocecius, Caturix, Cemenelus, Cicollius, Carrus, Cocosus, Cociduis, Condatis, Cnabetius, Corotiacus, Dinomogetimarus, Divanno, Dunatis, Glarinus, Halamardus, Harmogius, Ieusdriuus, Lacavus, Latabius, Leucetius, Leucimalacus, Lenus, Mullo, Medocius, Mogetius, Nabelcus, Neton, Ocelos, Ollondios, Rudianus, Rigisamus, Randosatis, Riga, Segomo, Sinatis, Smertatius, Toutates, Tritullus, Vesucius, Vincius, Vitucadros, Vorocius. See Holder, _s.v._ [71] D'Arbois, ii. 215; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 37. [72] So Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 42. [73] Hübner, 61. [74] Holder, _s.v._; Lucan, i. 444 f. The opinions of writers who take this view are collected by Reinach, _RC_ xviii. 137. [75] Holder, _s.v._ The Gaulish name Camulogenus, "born of Cumel," represents the same idea as in Fionn's surname, MacCumall. [76] Athen. iv. 36; Dioscorides, ii. 110; Joyce, _SH_ ii. 116, 120; _IT_ i. 437, 697. [77] Pliny, _HN_ xviii. 7. [78] Gaidoz, _Le Dieu Gaulois de Soleil_; Reinach, _CS_ 98, _BF_ 35; Blanchet, i. 27. [79] Lucan, _Phar._ i. 444. Another form, Tanaros, may be simply the German Donar. [80] Loth, i. 270. [81] Gaidoz, _RC_ vi. 457; Reinach, _OS_ 65, 138; Blanchet, i. 160. The hammer is also associated with another Celtic Dispater, equated with Sylvanus, who was certainly not a thunder-god. [82] Reinach, _BF_ 137 f.; Courcelle-Seneuil, 115 f. [83] Barthelemy, _RC_ i. l f. [84] See Flouest, _Rev. Arch._ v. 17. [85] Reinach, _RC_ xvii. 45. [86] D'Arbois, ii. 126. He explains Nantosvelta as meaning "She who is brilliant in war." The goddess, however, has none of the attributes of a war-goddess. M. D'Arbois also saw in a bas-relief of the hammer-god, a female figure, and a child, the Gaulish equivalents of Balor, Ethne, and Lug (_RC_ xv. 236). M. Reinach regards Sucellos, Nantosvelta, and a bird which is figured with them, as the same trio, because pseudo-Plutarch (_de Fluv._ vi. 4) says that _lougos_ means "crow" in Celtic. This is more than doubtful. In any case Ethne has no warlike traits in Irish story, and as Lug and Balor were deadly enemies, it remains to be explained why they appear tranquilly side by side. See _RC_ xxvi. 129. Perhaps Nantosvelta, like other Celtic goddesses, was a river nymph. _Nanto_ Gaulish is "valley," and _nant_ in old Breton is "gorge" or "brook." Her name might mean "shining river." See Stokes, _US_ 193, 324. [87] _RC_ xviii. 254. Cernunnos may be the Juppiter Cernenos of an inscription from Pesth, Holder, _s.v._ [88] Reinach, _BF_ 186, fig. 177. [89] _Rev. Arch._ xix. 322, pl. 9. [90] Bertrand, _Rev. Arch._ xv. 339, xvi. pl. 12. [91] Ibid. xv. pl. 9, 10. [92] Ibid. xvi. 9. [93] Ibid. pl. 12 _bis_. [94] Bertrand, _Rev. Arch._ xvi. 8. [95] Ibid. xvi. 10 f. [96] Ibid. xv., xvi.; Reinach, _BF_ 17, 191. [97] _Bull. Epig._ i. 116; Strabo, iv. 3; Diod. Sic. v. 28. [98] Diod. Sic. v. 30; Reinach, _BF_ 193. [99] See p. 212, _infra_. [100] See p. 166, _infra_. [101] See, e.g., Mowat, _Bull. Epig._ i. 29; de Witte, _Rev. Arch._ ii. 387, xvi. 7; Bertrand, _ibid._ xvi. 3. [102] See pp. 102, 242, _infra_; Joyce, _SH_ ii. 554; Curtin, 182; _RC_ xxii. 123, xxiv. 18. [103] Dom Martin, ii. 185; Reinach, _BF_ 192, 199. [104] See, however, p. 136, _infra_; and for another interpretation of this god as equivalent of the Irish Lug slaying Balor, see D'Arbois, ii. 287. [105] See p. 229, _infra_. [106] Reinach, _BF_ 162, 184; Mowat, _Bull. Epig._ i. 62, _Rev. Epig._ 1887, 319, 1891, 84. [107] Reinach, _BF_ 141, 153, 175, 176, 181; see p. 218, _infra_. Flouest, _Rev. Arch._ 1885, i. 21, thinks that the identification was with an earlier chthonian Silvanus. Cf. Jullian, 17, note 3, who observes that the Gallo-Roman assimilations were made "sur le doinaine archaisant des faits populaires et rustiques de l'Italie." For the inscriptions, see Holder, _s.v._ [108] Stokes, _US_ 302; MacBain, 274; _RC_ xxvi. 282. [109] Gaidoz, _Rev. Arch._ ii. 1898; Mowat, _Bull. Epig._ i. 119; Courcelle-Seneuil, 80 f.; Pauly-Wissowa, _Real. Lex._ i. 667; Daremberg-Saglio, _Dict._ ii., _s.v._ "Dispater." [110] Lucan, i. 444; _RC_ xviii. 254, 258. [111] See p. 127, _infra_. [112] For a supposed connection between this bas-relief and the myth of Geryon, see Reinach, _BF_ 120; _RC_ xviii. 258 f. [113] _Coins of the Ancient Britons_, 386; Holder, i. 1475, 1478. [114] For these theories see Dom Martin, ii. 2; Bertrand, 335 f. [115] Cf. Reinach, _RC_ xviii. 149. [116] Orelli, 2107, 2072; Monnier, 532; Tacitus, xxi. 38. [117] Holder, i. 824; Reinach, _Rev. Arch._ xx. 262; D'Arbois, _Les Celtes_, 20. Other grouped gods are the Bacucei, Castoeci, Icotii, Ifles, Lugoves, Nervini, and Silvani. See Holder, _s.v._ [118] For all these see Holder, _s.v._ [119] Professor Anwyl gives the following statistics: There are 35 goddesses mentioned once, 2 twice, 3 thrice, 1 four times, 2 six times, 2 eleven times, 1 fourteen times (Sirona), 1 twenty-one times (Rosmerta), 1 twenty-six times (Epona) (_Trans. Gael. Soc. Inverness_, xxvi. 413). [120] Cæsar, vi. 17. [121] D'Arbois, _Les Celtes_, 54; _Rev. Arch._ i. 201. See Holder, _s.v._ [122] Solinus, xxii. 10; Holder, _s.v._ [123] Ptolemy, ii. 2. [124] See p. 71, _infra_. [125] Dio Cass. lxii. 7; Amm. Mare, xxvii. 4. 4. [126] Plutarch, _de Vir. Mul._ 20; Arrian, _Cyneg._ xxxiv. 1. [127] S. Greg. _Hist._ viii. 15. [128] Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ 283, 933; Reinach, _RC_ xvi. 261. [129] Reinach, _BF_ 50. [130] Holder, i. 1286; Robert, _RC_ iv. 133. [131] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 27. [132] Anwyl, _Celt. Rev._ 1906, 43. [133] Holder, _s.v._; Bulliot, _RC_ ii. 22. [134] Holder, i. 10, 89. [135] Holder, _s.v._; see p. 213, _infra_. [136] Holder, ii. 463. They are very numerous in South-East Gaul, where also three-headed gods are found. [137] See pp. 274-5, _infra_. [138] Courcelle-Seneuil, 80-81. [139] See my article "Calendar" in Hastings' _Encyclop. of Religion and Ethics_, iii. 80. [140] _CIL_ v. 4208, 5771, vii. 927; Holder, ii. 89. [141] For all these titles see Holder, _s.v._ [142] There is a large literature devoted to the _Matres_. See De Wal, _Die Mæder Gottinem_; Vallentin, _Le Culte des Matræ_; Daremberg-Saglio, _Dict. s.v. Matres_; Ihm, _Jahrbuch. des Vereins von Alterth. in Rheinlande_, No. 83; Roscher, _Lexicon_, ii. 2464 f. [143] See Maury, _Fées du Moyen Age_; Sébillot, i. 262; Monnier, 439 f.; Wright, _Celt, Roman, and Saxon_, 286 f.; Vallentin, _RC_ iv. 29. The _Matres_ may already have had a sinister aspect in Roman times, as they appear to be intended by an inscription _Lamiis Tribus_ on an altar at Newcastle. Hübner, 507. [144] Anwyl, _Celt. Rev._ 1906, 28. Cf. _Y Foel Famau_, "the hill of the Mothers," in the Clwydian range. [145] See p. 73, _infra_. [146] Vallentin, _op. cit._ iv. 29; Maury, _Croyances du Moyen Age_, 382. [147] Holder, _s.v._ [148] See pp. 69, 317, _infra_. [149] For all these see Holder, _s.v._; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 103; _RC_ iv. 34. [150] Florus, ii. 4. [151] See the table of identifications, p. 125, _infra_. [152] We need not assume with Jullian, 18, that there was one supreme god, now a war-god, now a god of peace. Any prominent god may have become a war-god on occasion. CHAPTER IV. THE IRISH MYTHOLOGICAL CYCLE. Three divine and heroic cycles of myths are known in Ireland, one telling of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the others of Cúchulainn and of the Fians. They are distinct in character and contents, but the gods of the first cycle often help the heroes of the other groups, as the gods of Greece and India assisted the heroes of the epics. We shall see that some of the personages of these cycles may have been known in Gaul; they are remembered in Wales, but, in the Highlands, where stories of Cúchulainn and Fionn are still told, the Tuatha Dé Danann are less known now than in 1567, when Bishop Carsewell lamented the love of the Highlanders for "idle, turbulent, lying, worldly stories concerning the Tuatha Dédanans."[153] As the new Achæan religion in Greece and the Vedic sacred books of India regarded the aboriginal gods and heroes as demons and goblins, so did Christianity in Ireland sometimes speak of the older gods there. On the other hand, it was mainly Christian scribes who changed the old mythology into history, and made the gods and heroes kings. Doubtless myths already existed, telling of the descent of rulers and people from divinities, just as the Gauls spoke of their descent from Dispater, or as the Incas of Peru, the Mikados of Japan, and the kings of Uganda considered themselves offspring of the gods. This is a universal practice, and made it the more easy for Christian chroniclers to transmute myth into history. In Ireland, as elsewhere, myth doubtless told of monstrous races inhabiting the land in earlier days, of the strife of the aborigines and incomers, and of their gods, though the aboriginal gods may in some cases have been identified with Celtic gods, or worshipped in their own persons. Many mythical elements may therefore be looked for in the euhemerised chronicles of ancient Ireland. But the chroniclers themselves were but the continuers of a process which must have been at work as soon as the influence of Christianity began to be felt.[154] Their passion, however, was to show the descent of the Irish and the older peoples from the old Biblical personages, a process dear to the modern Anglo-Israelite, some of whose arguments are based on the wild romancing of the chroniclers. Various stories were told of the first peopling of Ireland. Banba, with two other daughters of Cain, arrived with fifty women and three men, only to die of the plague. Three fishermen next discovered Ireland, and "of the island of Banba of Fair Women with hardihood they took possession." Having gone to fetch their wives, they perished in the deluge at Tuath Inba.[155] A more popular account was that of the coming of Cessair, Noah's granddaughter, with her father, husband, a third man, Ladru, "the first dead man of Erin," and fifty damsels. Her coming was the result of the advice of a _laimh-dhia_, or "hand-god," but their ship was wrecked, and all save her husband, Finntain, who survived for centuries, perished in the flood.[156] Cessair's ship was less serviceable than her grandparent's! Followed the race of Partholan, "no wiser one than the other," who increased on the land until plague swept them away, with the exception of Tuan mac Caraill, who after many transformations, told the story of Ireland to S. Finnen centuries after.[157] The survival of Finntain and Tuan, doubles of each other, was an invention of the chroniclers, to explain the survival of the history of colonists who had all perished. Keating, on the other hand, rejecting the sole survivor theory as contradictory to Scripture, suggests that "aerial demons," followers of the invaders, revealed all to the chroniclers, unless indeed they found it engraved with "an iron pen and lead in the rocks."[158] Two hundred years before Partholan's coming, the Fomorians had arrived,[159] and they and their chief Cichol Gricenchos fought Partholan at Mag Itha, where they were defeated. Cichol was footless, and some of his host had but one arm and one leg.[160] They were demons, according to the chroniclers, and descendants of the luckless Ham. Nennius makes Partholan and his men the first Scots who came from Spain to Ireland. The next arrivals were the people of Nemed who returned to Spain, whence they came (Nennius), or died to a man (Tuan). They also were descendants of the inevitable Noah, and their sojourn in Ireland was much disturbed by the Fomorians who had recovered from their defeat, and finally overpowered the Nemedians after the death of Nemed.[161] From Tory Island the Fomorians ruled Ireland, and forced the Nemedians to pay them annually on the eve of Samhain (Nov. 1st) two-thirds of their corn and milk and of the children born during the year. If the Fomorians are gods of darkness, or, preferably, aboriginal deities, the tribute must be explained as a dim memory of sacrifice offered at the beginning of winter when the powers of darkness and blight are in the ascendant. The Fomorians had a tower of glass in Tory Island. This was one day seen by the Milesians, to whom appeared on its battlements what seemed to be men. A year after they attacked the tower and were overwhelmed in the sea.[162] From the survivors of a previously wrecked vessel of their fleet are descended the Irish. Another version makes the Nemedians the assailants. Thirty of them survived their defeat, some of them going to Scotland or Man (the Britons), some to Greece (to return as the Firbolgs), some to the north, where they learned magic and returned as the Tuatha Dé Danann.[163] The Firbolgs, "men of bags," resenting their ignominious treatment by the Greeks, escaped to Ireland. They included the Firbolgs proper, the Fir-Domnann, and the Galioin.[164] The Fomorians are called their gods, and this, with the contemptuous epithets bestowed on them, may point to the fact that the Firbolgs were the pre-Celtic folk of Ireland and the Fomorians their divinities, hostile to the gods of the Celts or regarded as dark deities. The Firbolgs are vassals of Ailill and Medb, and with the Fir Domnann and Galioin are hostile to Cúchulainn and his men,[165] just as Fomorians were to the Tuatha Dé Danann. The strifes of races and of their gods are inextricably confused. The Tuatha Dé Danann arrived from heaven--an idea in keeping with their character as beneficent gods, but later legend told how they came from the north. They reached Ireland on Beltane, shrouded in a magic mist, and finally, after one or, in other accounts, two battles, defeated the Firbolgs and Fomorians at Magtured. The older story of one battle may be regarded as a euhemerised account of the seeming conflict of nature powers.[166] The first battle is described in a fifteenth to sixteenth century MS.,[167] and is referred to in a fifteenth century account of the second battle, full of archaic reminiscences, and composed from various earlier documents.[168] The Firbolgs, defeated in the first battle, join the Fomorians, after great losses. Meanwhile Nuada, leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann, lost his hand, and as no king with a blemish could sit on the throne, the crown was given to Bres, son of the Fomorian Elatha and his sister Eri, a woman of the Tuatha Dé Danann. One day Eri espied a silver boat speeding to her across the sea. From it stepped forth a magnificent hero, and without delay the pair, like the lovers in Theocritus, "rejoiced in their wedlock." The hero, Elatha, foretold the birth of Eri's son, so beautiful that he would be a standard by which to try all beautiful things. He gave her his ring, but she was to part with it only to one whose finger it should fit. This was her child Bres, and by this token he was later, as an exile, recognised by his father, and obtained his help against the Tuatha Dé Danann. Like other wonderful children, Bres grew twice as quickly as any other child until he was seven.[169] Though Elatha and Eri are brother and sister, she is among the Tuatha Dé Danann.[170] There is the usual inconsistency of myth here and in other accounts of Fomorian and Tuatha Dé Danann unions. The latter had just landed, but already had united in marriage with the Fomorians. This inconsistency escaped the chroniclers, but it points to the fact that both were divine not human, and that, though in conflict, they united in marriage as members of hostile tribes often do. The second battle took place twenty-seven years after the first, on Samhain. It was fought like the first on the plain of Mag-tured, though later accounts made one battle take place at Mag-tured in Mayo, the other at Mag-tured in Sligo.[171] Inconsistently, the conquering Tuatha Dé Danann in the interval, while Bres is their king, must pay tribute imposed by the Fomorians. Obviously in older accounts this tribute must have been imposed before the first battle and have been its cause. But why should gods, like the Tuatha Dé Danann, ever have been in subjection? This remains to be seen, but the answer probably lies in parallel myths of the subjection or death of divinities like Ishtar, Adonis, Persephone, and Osiris. Bres having exacted a tribute of the milk of all hornless dun cows, the cows of Ireland were passed through fire and smeared with ashes--a myth based perhaps on the Beltane fire ritual.[172] The avaricious Bres was satirised, and "nought but decay was on him from that hour,"[173] and when Nuada, having recovered, claimed the throne, he went to collect an army of the Fomorians, who assembled against the Tuatha Dé Danann. In the battle Indech wounded Ogma, and Balor slew Nuada, but was mortally wounded by Lug. Thereupon the Fomorians fled to their own region. The Tuatha Dé Danann remained masters of Ireland until the coming of the Milesians, so named from an eponymous Mile, son of Bile. Ith, having been sent to reconnoitre, was slain, and the Milesians now invaded Ireland in force. In spite of a mist raised by the Druids, they landed, and, having met the three princes who slew Ith, demanded instant battle or surrender of the land. The princes agreed to abide by the decision of the Milesian poet Amairgen, who bade his friends re-embark and retire for the distance of nine waves. If they could then effect a landing, Ireland was theirs. A magic storm was raised, which wrecked many of their ships, but Amairgen recited verses, fragments, perhaps, of some old ritual, and overcame the dangers. After their defeat the survivors of the Tuatha Dé Danann retired into the hills to become a fairy folk, and the Milesians (the Goidels or Scots) became ancestors of the Irish. Throughout the long story of the conquests of Ireland there are many reduplications, the same incidents being often ascribed to different personages.[174] Different versions of similar occurrences, based on older myths and traditions, may already have been in existence, and ritual practices, dimly remembered, required explanation. In the hands of the chroniclers, writing history with a purpose and combining their information with little regard to consistency, all this was reduced to a more or less connected narrative. At the hands of the prosaic chroniclers divinity passed from the gods, though traces of it still linger. "Ye are gods, and, behold, ye shall die, and the waves be upon you at last. In the darkness of time, in the deeps of the years, in the changes of things, Ye shall sleep as a slain man sleeps, and the world shall forget you for kings." From the annalistic point of view the Fomorians are sea demons or pirates, their name being derived from _muir_, "sea," while they are descended along with other monstrous beings from them. Professor Rh[^y]s, while connecting the name with Welsh _foawr_, "giant" (Gaelic _famhair_), derives the name from _fo_, "under," and _muir_, and regards them as submarine beings.[175] Dr. MacBain connected them with the fierce powers of the western sea personified, like the _Muireartach_, a kind of sea hag, of a Fionn ballad.[176] But this association of the Fomorians with the ocean may be the result of a late folk-etymology, which wrongly derived their name from _muir_. The Celtic experience of the Lochlanners or Norsemen, with whom the Fomorians are associated,[177] would aid the conception of them as sea-pirates of a more or less demoniacal character. Dr. Stokes connects the second syllable _mor_ with _mare_ in "nightmare," from _moro_, and regards them as subterranean as well as submarine.[178] But the more probable derivation is that of Zimmer and D'Arbois, from _fo_ and _morio_ (_mor_, "great"),[179] which would thus agree with the tradition which regarded them as giants. They were probably beneficent gods of the aborigines, whom the Celtic conquerors regarded as generally evil, perhaps equating them with the dark powers already known to them. They were still remembered as gods, and are called "champions of the _síd_," like the Tuatha Dé Danann.[180] Thus King Bres sought to save his life by promising that the kine of Ireland would always be in milk, then that the men of Ireland would reap every quarter, and finally by revealing the lucky days for ploughing, sowing, and reaping.[181] Only an autochthonous god could know this, and the story is suggestive of the true nature of the Fomorians. The hostile character attributed to them is seen from the fact that they destroyed corn, milk, and fruit. But in Ireland, as elsewhere, this destructive power was deprecated by begging them not to destroy "corn nor milk in Erin beyond their fair tribute."[182] Tribute was also paid to them on Samhain, the time when the powers of blight feared by men are in the ascendant. Again, the kingdom of Balor, their chief, is still described as the kingdom of cold.[183] But when we remember that a similar "tribute" was paid to Cromm Cruaich, a god of fertility, and that after the conquest of the Tuatha Dé Danann they also were regarded as hostile to agriculture,[184] we realise that the Fomorians must have been aboriginal gods of fertility whom the conquering Celts regarded as hostile to them and their gods. Similarly, in folk-belief the beneficent corn-spirit has sometimes a sinister and destructive aspect.[185] Thus the stories of "tribute" would be distorted reminiscences of the ritual of gods of the soil, differing little in character from that of the similar Celtic divinities. What makes it certain that the Fomorians were aboriginal gods is that they are found in Ireland before the coming of the early colonist Partholan. They were the gods of the pre-Celtic folk--Firbolgs, Fir Domnann, and Galioin[186]--all of them in Ireland before the Tuatha Dé Danaan arrived, and all of them regarded as slaves, spoken of with the utmost contempt. Another possibility, however, ought to be considered. As the Celtic gods were local in character, and as groups of tribes would frequently be hostile to other groups, the Fomorians may have been local gods of a group at enmity with another group, worshipping the Tuatha Dé Danaan. The strife of Fomorians and Tuatha Dé Danann suggests the dualism of all nature religions. Demons or giants or monsters strive with gods in Hindu, Greek, and Teutonic mythology, and in Persia the primitive dualism of beneficent and hurtful powers of nature became an ethical dualism--the eternal opposition of good and evil. The sun is vanquished by cloud and storm, but shines forth again in vigour. Vegetation dies, but undergoes a yearly renewal. So in myth the immortal gods are wounded and slain in strife. But we must not push too far the analogy of the apparent strife of the elements and the wars of the gods. The one suggested the other, especially where the gods were elemental powers. But myth-making man easily developed the suggestion; gods were like men and "could never get eneuch o' fechtin'." The Celts knew of divine combats before their arrival in Ireland, and their own hostile powers were easily assimilated to the hostile gods of the aborigines. The principal Fomorians are described as kings. Elatha was son of Nét, described by Cormac as "a battle god of the heathen Gael," i.e. he is one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and has as wives two war-goddesses, Badb and Nemaind.[187] Thus he resembles the Fomorian Tethra whose wife is a _badb_ or "battle-crow," preying on the slain.[188] Elatha's name, connected with words meaning "knowledge," suggests that he was an aboriginal culture-god.[189] In the genealogies, Fomorians and Tuatha Dé Danann are inextricably mingled. Bres's temporary position as king of the Tuatha Déa may reflect some myth of the occasional supremacy of the powers of blight. Want and niggardliness characterise his reign, and after his defeat a better state of things prevails. Bres's consort was Brigit, and their son Ruadan, sent to spy on the Tuatha Dé Danann, was slain. His mother's wailing for him was the first mourning wail ever heard in Erin.[190] Another god, Indech, was son of Déa Domnu, a Fomorian goddess of the deep, i.e. of the underworld and probably also of fertility, who may hold a position among the Fomorians similar to that of Danu among the Tuatha Dé Danann. Indech was slain by Ogma, who himself died of wounds received from his adversary. Balor had a consort Cethlenn, whose venom killed Dagda. His one eye had become evil by contact with the poisonous fumes of a concoction which his father's Druids were preparing. The eyelid required four men to raise it, when his evil eye destroyed all on whom its glance fell. In this way Balor would have slain Lug at Mag-tured, but the god at once struck the eye with a sling-stone and slew him.[191] Balor, like the Greek Medusa, is perhaps a personification of the evil eye, so much feared by the Celts. Healthful influences and magical charms avert it; hence Lug, a beneficent god, destroys Balor's maleficence. Tethra, with Balor and Elatha, ruled over Erin at the coming of the Tuatha Dé Danann. From a phrase used in the story of Connla's visit to Elysium, "Thou art a hero of the men of Tethra," M. D'Arbois assumes that Tethra was ruler of Elysium, which he makes one with the land of the dead. The passage, however, bears a different interpretation, and though a Fomorian, Tethra, a god of war, might be regarded as lord of all warriors.[192] Elysium was not the land of the dead, and when M. D'Arbois equates Tethra with Kronos, who after his defeat became ruler of a land of dead heroes, the analogy, like other analogies with Greek mythology, is misleading. He also equates Bres, as temporary king of the Tuatha Dé Danann, with Kronos, king of heaven in the age of gold. Kronos, again, slain by Zeus, is parallel to Balor slain by his grandson Lug. Tethra, Bres, and Balor are thus separate fragments of one god equivalent to Kronos.[193] Yet their personalities are quite distinct. Each race works out its mythology for itself, and, while parallels are inevitable, we should not allow these to override the actual myths as they have come down to us. Professor Rh[^y]s makes Bile, ancestor of the Milesians who came from Spain, a Goidelic counterpart of the Gaulish Dispater, lord of the dead, from whom the Gauls claimed descent. But Bile, neither a Fomorian nor of the Tuatha Dé Danann, is an imaginary and shadowy creation. Bile is next equated with a Brythonic Beli, assumed to be consort of Dôn, whose family are equivalent to the Tuatha Dé Danann.[194] Beli was a mythic king whose reign was a kind of golden age, and if he was father of Dôn's children, which is doubtful, Bile would then be father of the Tuatha Dé Danann. But he is ancestor of the Milesians, their opponents according to the annalists. Beli is also equated with Elatha, and since Dôn, reputed consort of Beli, was grandmother of Llew, equated with Irish Lug, grandson of Balor, Balor is equivalent to Beli, whose name is regarded by Professor Rh[^y]s as related etymologically to Balor's.[195] Bile, Balor, and Elatha are thus Goidelic equivalents of the shadowy Beli. But they also are quite distinct personalities, nor are they ever hinted at as ancestral gods of the Celts, or gods of a gloomy underworld. In Celtic belief the underworld was probably a fertile region and a place of light, nor were its gods harmful and evil, as Balor was. On the whole, the Fomorians came to be regarded as the powers of nature in its hostile aspect. They personified blight, winter, darkness, and death, before which men trembled, yet were not wholly cast down, since the immortal gods of growth and light, rulers of the bright other-world, were on their side and fought against their enemies. Year by year the gods suffered deadly harm, but returned as conquerors to renew the struggle once more. Myth spoke of this as having happened once for all, but it went on continuously.[196] Gods were immortal and only seemed to die. The strife was represented in ritual, since men believe that they can aid the gods by magic, rite, or prayer. Why, then, do hostile Fomorians and Tuatha Dé Danann intermarry? This happens in all mythologies, and it probably reflects, in the divine sphere, what takes place among men. Hostile peoples carry off each the other's women, or they have periods of friendliness and consequent intermarriage. Man makes his gods in his own image, and the problem is best explained by facts like these, exaggerated no doubt by the Irish annalists. The Tuatha Dé Danann, in spite of their euhemerisation, are more than human. In the north where they learned magic, they dwelt in four cities, from each of which they brought a magical treasure--the stone of Fal, which "roared under every king," Lug's unconquerable spear, Nuada's irresistible sword, the Dagda's inexhaustible cauldron. But they are more than wizards or Druids. They are re-born as mortals; they have a divine world of their own, they interfere in and influence human affairs. The euhemerists did not go far enough, and more than once their divinity is practically acknowledged. When the Fian Caoilte and a woman of the Tuatha Dé Danann appear before S. Patrick, he asks, "Why is she youthful and beautiful, while you are old and wrinkled?" And Caoilte replies, "She is of the Tuatha Dé Danann, who are unfading and whose duration is perennial. I am of the sons of Milesius, that are perishable and fade away."[197] After their conversion, the Celts, sons of Milesius, thought that the gods still existed in the hollow hills, their former dwellings and sanctuaries, or in far-off islands, still caring for their former worshippers. This tradition had its place with that which made them a race of men conquered by the Milesians--the victory of Christianity over paganism and its gods having been transmuted into a strife of races by the euhemerists. The new faith, not the people, conquered the old gods. The Tuatha Dé Danann became the _Daoine-sidhe_, a fairy folk, still occasionally called by their old name, just as individual fairy kings or queens bear the names of the ancient gods. The euhemerists gave the Fomorians a monstrous and demoniac character, which they did not always give to the Tuatha Dé Danann; in this continuing the old tradition that Fomorians were hostile and the Tuatha Dé Danann beneficent and mild. The mythological cycle is not a complete "body of divinity"; its apparent completeness results from the chronological order of the annalists. Fragments of other myths are found in the _Dindsenchas_; others exist as romantic tales, and we have no reason to believe that all the old myths have been preserved. But enough remains to show the true nature of the Tuatha Dé Danann--their supernatural character, their powers, their divine and unfailing food and drink, their mysterious and beautiful abode. In their contents, their personages, in the actions that are described in them, the materials of the "mythological cycle," show how widely it differs from the Cúchulainn and Fionn cycles.[198] "The white radiance of eternity" suffuses it; the heroic cycles, magical and romantic as they are, belong far more to earth and time. FOOTNOTES: [153] For some Highland references to the gods in saga and _Märchen_, see _Book of the Dean of Lismore_, 10; Campbell, _WHT_ ii. 77. The sea-god Lir is probably the Liur of Ossianic ballads (Campbell, _LF_ 100, 125), and his son Manannan is perhaps "the Son of the Sea" in a Gaelic song (Carmichael, _CG_ ii. 122). Manannan and his daughters are also known (Campbell, _witchcraft_, 83). [154] The euhemerising process is first seen in tenth century poems by Eochaid hua Flainn, but was largely the work of Flainn Manistrech, _ob._ 1056. It is found fully fledged in the _Book of Invasions_. [155] Keating, 105-106. [156] Keating, 107; _LL_ 4_b_. Cf. _RC_ xvi. 155. [157] _LL_ 5. [158] Keating, 111. Giraldus Cambrensis, _Hist. Irel._ c. 2, makes Roanus survive and tell the tale of Partholan to S. Patrick. He is the Caoilte mac Ronan of other tales, a survivor of the Fians, who held many racy dialogues with the Saint. Keating abuses Giraldus for equating Roanus with Finntain in his "lying history," and for calling him Roanus instead of Ronanus, a mistake in which he, "the guide bull of the herd," is followed by others. [159] Keating, 164. [160] _LL_ 5_a_. [161] Keating, 121; _LL_ 6_a_; _RC_ xvi. 161. [162] Nennius, _Hist. Brit._ 13. [163] _LL_ 6, 8_b_. [164] _LL_ 6_b_, 127_a_; _IT_ iii. 381; _RC_ xvi. 81. [165] _LL_ 9_b_, 11_a_. [166] See Cormac, _s.v._ "Nescoit," _LU_ 51. [167] _Harl. MSS._ 2, 17, pp. 90-99. Cf. fragment from _Book of Invasions_ in _LL_ 8. [168] _Harl. MS._ 5280, translated in _RC_ xii. 59 f. [169] _RC_ xii. 60; D'Arbois, v. 405 f. [170] For Celtic brother-sister unions see p. 224. [171] O'Donovan, _Annals_, i. 16. [172] _RC_ xv. 439. [173] _RC_ xii. 71. [174] Professor Rh[^y]s thinks the Partholan story is the aboriginal, the median the Celtic version of the same event. Partholan, with initial _p_ cannot be Goidelic (_Scottish Review_, 1890, "Myth. Treatment of Celtic Ethnology"). [175] _HL_ 591. [176] _CM_ ix. 130; Campbell _LF_ 68. [177] _RC_ xii. 75. [178] _US_ 211. [179] D'Arbois, ii. 52; _RC_ xii. 476. [180] _RC_ xii. 73. [181] _RC_ xii. 105. [182] _RC_ xxii. 195. [183] Larmime, "Kian, son of Kontje." [184] See p. 78; _LL_ 245_b_. [185] Mannhardt, _Mythol. Forsch._ 310 f. [186] "Fir Domnann," "men of Domna," a goddess (Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 597), or a god (D'Arbois, ii. 130). "Domna" is connected with Irish-words meaning "deep" (Windisch, _IT_ i. 498; Stokes, _US_ 153). Domna, or Domnu, may therefore have been a goddess of the deep, not the sea so much as the underworld, and so perhaps an Earth-mother from whom the Fir Domnann traced their descent. [187] Cormac, _s.v._ "Neith"; D'Arbois, v. 400; _RC_ xii. 61. [188] _LU_ 50. Tethra is glossed _badb_ (_IT_ i. 820). [189] _IT_ i. 521; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 274 f. [190] _RC_ xii. 95. [191] _RC_ xii. 101. [192] See p. 374. [193] D'Arbois, ii. 198, 375. [194] _HL_ 90-91. [195] _HL_ 274, 319, 643. For Beli, see p. 112, _infra_. [196] Whatever the signification of the battle of Mag-tured may be, the place which it was localised is crowded with Neolithic megaliths, dolmens, etc. To later fancy these were the graves of warriors slain in a great battle fought there, and that battle became the fight between Fomorians and Tuatha Dé Dananns. Mag-tured may have been the scene of a battle between their respective worshippers. [197] O'Grady, ii. 203. [198] It should be observed that, as in the Vedas, the Odyssey, the Japanese _Ko-ji-ki_, as well as in barbaric and savage mythologies, _Märchen_ formulæ abound in the Irish mythological cycle. CHAPTER V. THE TUATHA DÉ DANANN The meaning formerly given to _Tuatha Dé Danann_ was "the men of science who were gods," _danann_ being here connected with _dán_, "knowledge." But the true meaning is "the tribes _or_ folk of the goddess Danu,"[199] which agrees with the cognates _Tuatha_ or _Fir Dea_, "tribes _or_ men of the goddess." The name was given to the group, though Danu had only three sons, Brian, Iuchar, and Iucharbar. Hence the group is also called _fir tri ndea_, "men of the three gods."[200] The equivalents in Welsh story of Danu and her folk are Dôn and her children. We have seen that though they are described as kings and warriors by the annalists, traces of their divinity appear. In the Cúchulainn cycle they are supernatural beings and sometimes demons, helping or harming men, and in the Fionn cycle all these characteristics are ascribed to them. But the theory which prevailed most is that which connected them with the hills or mounds, the last resting-places of the mighty dead. Some of these bore their names, while other beings were also associated with the mounds (_síd_)--Fomorians and Milesian chiefs, heroes of the sagas, or those who had actually been buried in them.[201] Legend told how, after the defeat of the gods, the mounds were divided among them, the method of division varying in different versions. In an early version the Tuatha Dé Danann are immortal and the Dagda divides the _síd_.[202] But in a poem of Flann Manistrech (_ob._ 1056) they are mortals and die.[203] Now follows a regular chronology giving the dates of their reigns and their deaths, as in the poem of Gilla Coemain (eleventh century).[204] Hence another legend told how, Dagda being dead, Bodb Dearg divided the _síd_, yet even here Manannan is said to have conferred immortality upon the Tuatha Dé Danann.[205] The old pagan myths had shown that gods might die, while in ritual their representatives were slain, and this may have been the starting-point of the euhemerising process. But the divinity of the Tuatha Dé Danann is still recalled. Eochaid O'Flynn (tenth century), doubtful whether they are men or demons, concludes, "though I have treated of these deities in order, yet have I not adored them."[206] Even in later times they were still thought of as gods in exile, a view which appears in the romantic tales and sagas existing side by side with the notices of the annalists. They were also regarded as fairy kings and queens, and yet fairies of a different order from those of ordinary tradition. They are "fairies or sprites with corporeal forms, endowed with immortality," and yet also _dei terreni_ or _síde_ worshipped by the folk before the coming of S. Patrick. Even the saint and several bishops were called by the fair pagan daughters of King Loegaire, _fir síde_, "men of the _síd_," that is, gods.[207] The _síd_ were named after the names of the Tuatha Dé Danann who reigned in them, but the tradition being localised in different places, several mounds were sometimes connected with one god. The _síd_ were marvellous underground palaces, full of strange things, and thither favoured mortals might go for a time or for ever. In this they correspond exactly to the oversea Elysium, the divine land. But why were the Tuatha Dé Danann associated with the mounds? If fairies or an analogous race of beings were already in pagan times connected with hills or mounds, gods now regarded as fairies would be connected with them. Dr. Joyce and O'Curry think that an older race of aboriginal gods or _síd-folk_ preceded the Tuatha Déa in the mounds.[208] These may have been the Fomorians, the "champions of the _síd_," while in _Mesca Ulad_ the Tuatha Déa go to the underground dwellings and speak with the _síde_ already there. We do not know that the fairy creed as such existed in pagan times, but if the _síde_ and the Tuatha Dé Danann were once distinct, they were gradually assimilated. Thus the Dagda is called "king of the _síde_"; Aed Abrat and his daughters, Fand and Liban, and Labraid, Liban's husband, are called _síde_, and Manannan is Fand's consort.[209] Labraid's island, like the _síd_ of Mider and the land to which women of the _síde_ invite Connla, differs but little from the usual divine Elysium, while Mider, one of the _síde_, is associated with the Tuatha Dé Danann.[210] The _síde_ are once said to be female, and are frequently supernatural women who run away or marry mortals.[211] Thus they may be a reminiscence of old Earth goddesses. But they are not exclusively female, since there are kings of the _síde_, and as the name _Fir síde_, "men of the _síde_," shows, while S. Patrick and his friends were taken for _síd_-folk. The formation of the legend was also aided by the old cult of the gods on heights, some of them sepulchral mounds, and now occasionally sites of Christian churches.[212] The Irish god Cenn Cruaich and his Welsh equivalent Penn Cruc, whose name survives in _Pennocrucium_, have names meaning "chief _or_ head of the mound."[213] Other mounds or hills had also a sacred character. Hence gods worshipped at mounds, dwelling or revealing themselves there, still lingered in the haunted spots; they became fairies, or were associated with the dead buried in the mounds, as fairies also have been, or were themselves thought to have died and been buried there. The haunting of the mounds by the old gods is seen in a prayer of S. Columba's, who begs God to dispel "this host (i.e. the old gods) around the cairns that reigneth."[214] An early MS also tells how the Milesians allotted the underground part of Erin to the Tuatha Déa who now retired within the hills; in other words, they were gods of the hills worshipped by the Milesians on hills.[215] But, as we shall see, the gods dwelt elsewhere than in hills.[216] Tumuli may already in pagan times have been pointed out as tombs of gods who died in myth or ritual, like the tombs of Zeus in Crete and of Osiris in Egypt. Again, fairies, in some aspects, are ghosts of the dead, and haunt tumuli; hence, when gods became fairies they would do the same. And once they were thought of as dead kings, any notable tumuli would be pointed out as theirs, since it is a law in folk-belief to associate tumuli or other structures not with the dead or with their builders, but with supernatural or mythical or even historical personages. If _síde_ ever meant "ghosts," it would be easy to call the dead gods by this name, and to connect them with the places of the dead.[217] Many strands went to the weaving of the later conception of the gods, but there still hung around them an air of mystery, and the belief that they were a race of men was never consistent with itself. Danu gave her name to the whole group of gods, and is called their mother, like the Egyptian Neith or the Semitic Ishtar.[218] In the annalists she is daughter of Dagda, and has three sons. She may be akin to the goddess Anu, whom Cormac describes as "_mater deorum hibernensium_. It was well she nursed the gods." From her name he derives _ana_, "plenty," and two hills in Kerry are called "the Paps of Anu."[219] Thus as a goddess of plenty Danu or Anu may have been an early Earth-mother, and what may be a dim memory of Anu in Leicestershire confirms this view. A cave on the Dane Hills is called "Black Annis' Bower," and she is said to have been a savage woman who devoured human victims.[220] Earth-goddesses usually have human victims, and Anu would be no exception. In the cult of Earth divinities Earth and under-Earth are practically identical, while Earth-goddesses like Demeter and Persephone were associated with the underworld, the dead being Demeter's folk. The fruits of the earth with their roots below the surface are then gifts of the earth- or under-earth goddess. This may have been the case with Danu, for in Celtic belief the gifts of civilisation came from the underworld or from the gods. Professor Rh[^y]s finds the name Anu in the dat. _Anoniredi_, "chariot of Anu," in an inscription from Vaucluse, and the identification is perhaps established by the fact that goddesses of fertility were drawn through the fields in a vehicle.[221] Cormac also mentions Buanann as mother and nurse of heroes, perhaps a goddess worshipped by heroes.[222] Danu is also identified with Brigit, goddess of knowledge (_dán_), perhaps through a folk-etymology. She was worshipped by poets, and had two sisters of the same name connected with leechcraft and smithwork.[223] They are duplicates or local forms of Brigit, a goddess of culture and of poetry, so much loved by the Celts. She is thus the equivalent of the Gaulish goddess equated with Minerva by Cæsar, and found on inscriptions as Minerva Belisama and Brigindo. She is the Dea Brigantia of British inscriptions.[224] One of the seats of her worship was the land of the Brigantes, of whom she was the eponymous goddess, and her name (cf. Ir. _brig_, "power" or "craft"; Welsh _bri_, "honour," "renown") suggests her high functions. But her popularity is seen in the continuation of her personality and cult in those of S. Brigit, at whose shrine in Kildare a sacred fire, which must not be breathed on, or approached by a male, was watched daily by nineteen nuns in turn, and on the twentieth day by the saint herself.[225] Similar sacred fires were kept up in other monasteries,[226] and they point to the old cult of a goddess of fire, the nuns being successors of a virgin priesthood like the vestals, priestesses of Vesta. As has been seen, the goddesses Belisama and Sul, probably goddesses of fire, resembled Brigit in this.[227] But Brigit, like Vesta, was at once a goddess of fire and of fertility, as her connection with Candlemas and certain ritual survivals also suggest. In the Hebrides on S. Bride's day (Candlemas-eve) women dressed a sheaf of oats in female clothes and set it with a club in a basket called "Briid's bed." Then they called, "Briid is come, Briid is welcome." Or a bed was made of corn and hay with candles burning beside it, and Bride was invited to come as her bed was ready. If the mark of the club was seen in the ashes, this was an omen of a good harvest and a prosperous year.[228] It is also noteworthy that if cattle cropped the grass near S. Brigit's shrine, next day it was as luxuriant as ever. Brigit, or goddesses with similar functions, was regarded by the Celts as an early teacher of civilisation, inspirer of the artistic, poetic, and mechanical faculties, as well as a goddess of fire and fertility. As such she far excelled her sons, gods of knowledge. She must have originated in the period when the Celts worshipped goddesses rather than gods, and when knowledge--leechcraft, agriculture, inspiration--were women's rather than men's. She had a female priesthood, and men were perhaps excluded from her cult, as the tabued shrine at Kildare suggests. Perhaps her fire was fed from sacred oak wood, for many shrines of S. Brigit were built under oaks, doubtless displacing pagan shrines of the goddess.[229] As a goddess, Brigit is more prominent than Danu, also a goddess of fertility, even though Danu is mother of the gods. Other goddesses remembered in tradition are Cleena and Vera, celebrated in fairy and witch lore, the former perhaps akin to a river-goddess Clota, the Clutoida (a fountain-nymph) of the continental Celts; the latter, under her alternative name Dirra, perhaps a form of a goddess of Gaul, Dirona.[230] Aine, one of the great fairy-queens of Ireland, has her seat at Knockainy in Limerick, where rites connected with her former cult are still performed for fertility on Midsummer eve. If they were neglected she and her troops performed them, according to local legend.[231] She is thus an old goddess of fertility, whose cult, even at a festival in which gods were latterly more prominent, is still remembered. She is also associated with the waters as a water-nymph captured for a time as a fairy-bride by the Earl of Desmond.[232] But older legends connect her with the _síd_. She was daughter of Eogabal, king of the _síd_ of Knockainy, the grass on which was annually destroyed at Samhain by his people, because it had been taken from them, its rightful owners. Oilill Olomm and Ferchus resolved to watch the _síd_ on Samhain-eve. They saw Eogabal and Aine emerge from it. Ferchus killed Eogabal, and Oilill tried to outrage Aine, who bit the flesh from his ear. Hence his name of "Bare Ear."[233] In this legend we see how earlier gods of fertility come to be regarded as hostile to growth. Another story tells of the love of Aillén, Eogabal's son, for Manannan's wife and that of Aine for Manannan. Aine offered her favours to the god if he would give his wife to her brother, and "the complicated bit of romance," as S. Patrick calls it, was thus arranged.[234] Although the Irish gods are warriors, and there are special war-gods, yet war-goddesses are more prominent, usually as a group of three--Morrigan, Neman, and Macha. A fourth, Badb, sometimes takes the place of one of these, or is identical with Morrigan, or her name, like that of Morrigan, may be generic.[235] _Badb_ means "a scald-crow," under which form the war-goddesses appeared, probably because these birds were seen near the slain. She is also called Badbcatha, "battle-Badb," and is thus the equivalent of _-athubodua,_ or, more probably, _Cathubodua_, mentioned in an inscription from Haute-Savoie, while this, as well as personal names like _Boduogenos_, shows that a goddess Bodua was known to the Gauls.[236] The _badb_ or battle-crow is associated with the Fomorian Tethra, but Badb herself is consort of a war-god Nét, one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, who may be the equivalent of Neton, mentioned in Spanish inscriptions and equated with Mars. Elsewhere Neman is Nét's consort, and she may be the Nemetona of inscriptions, e.g. at Bath, the consort of Mars. Cormac calls Nét and Neman "a venomous couple," which we may well believe them to have been.[237] To Macha were devoted the heads of slain enemies, "Macha's mast," but she, according to the annalists, was slain at Mag-tured, though she reappears in the Cúchulainn saga as the Macha whose ill-treatment led to the "debility" of the Ulstermen.[238] The name Morrigan may mean "great queen," though Dr. Stokes, connecting _mor_ with the same syllable in "Fomorian," explains it as "nightmare-queen."[239] She works great harm to the Fomorians at Mag-tured, and afterwards proclaims the victory to the hills, rivers, and fairy-hosts, uttering also a prophecy of the evils to come at the end of time.[240] She reappears prominently in the Cúchulainn saga, hostile to the hero because he rejects her love, yet aiding the hosts of Ulster and the Brown Bull, and in the end trying to prevent the hero's death.[241] The prominent position of these goddesses must be connected with the fact that women went out to war--a custom said to have been stopped by Adamnan at his mother's request, and that many prominent heroines of the heroic cycles are warriors, like the British Boudicca, whose name may be connected with _boudi_, "victory." Specific titles were given to such classes of female warriors--_bangaisgedaig_, _banfeinnidi_, etc.[242] But it is possible that these goddesses were at first connected with fertility, their functions changing with the growing warlike tendencies of the Celts. Their number recalls that of the threefold _Matres_, and possibly the change in their character is hinted in the Romano-British inscription at Benwell to the _Lamiis Tribus_, since Morrigan's name is glossed _lamia_.[243] She is also identified with Anu, and is mistress of Dagda, an Earth-god, and with Badb and others expels the Fomorians when they destroyed the agricultural produce of Ireland.[244] Probably the scald-crow was at once the symbol and the incarnation of the war-goddesses, who resemble the Norse Valkyries, appearing sometimes as crows, and the Greek Keres, bird-like beings which drank the blood of the slain. It is also interesting to note that Badb, who has the character of a prophetess of evil, is often identified with the "Washer at the Ford," whose presence indicates death to him whose armour or garments she seems to cleanse.[245] The _Matres_, goddesses of fertility, do not appear by name in Ireland, but the triplication of such goddesses as Morrigan and Brigit, the threefold name of Dagda's wife, or the fact that Arm, Danu, and Buanan are called "mothers," while Buanan's name is sometimes rendered "good mother," may suggest that such grouped goddesses were not unknown. Later legend knows of white women who assist in spinning, or three hags with power over nature, or, as in the _Battle of Ventry_, of three supernatural women who fall in love with Conncrithir, aid him in fight, and heal his wounds. In this document and elsewhere is mentioned the "_síd_ of the White Women."[246] Goddesses of fertility are usually goddesses of love, and the prominence given to females among the _síde_, the fact that they are often called _Be find_, "White Women," like fairies who represent the _Matres_ elsewhere, and that they freely offer their love to mortals, may connect them with this group of goddesses. Again, when the Milesians arrived in Ireland, three kings of the Tuatha Déa had wives called Eriu, Banba, and Fotla, who begged that Ireland should be called after them. This was granted, but only Eriu (Erin) remained in general use.[247] The story is an ætiological myth explaining the names of Ireland, but the three wives may be a group like the _Matres_, guardians of the land which took its name from them. Brian, Iuchar, and Iucharba, who give a title to the whole group, are called _tri dee Donand_, "the three gods (sons of) Danu," or, again, "gods of _dán_" (knowledge), perhaps as the result of a folk-etymology, associating _dân_ with their mother's name Danu.[248] Various attributes are personified as their descendants, Wisdom being son of all three.[249] Though some of these attributes may have been actual gods, especially Ecne or Wisdom, yet it is more probable that the personification is the result of the subtleties of bardic science, of which similar examples occur.[250] On the other hand, the fact that Ecne is the son of three brothers, may recall some early practice of polyandry of which instances are met with in the sagas.[251] M. D'Arbois has suggested that Iuchar and Iucharba are mere duplicates of Brian, who usually takes the leading place, and he identifies them with three kings of the Tuatha Déa reigning at the time of the Milesian invasion-- MacCuill, MacCecht, and MacGrainne, so called, according to Keating, because the hazel (_coll_), the plough (_cecht_), and the sun (_grian_) were "gods of worship" to them. Both groups are grandsons of Dagda, and M. D'Arbois regards this second group as also triplicates of one god, because their wives Fotla, Banba, and Eriu all bear names of Ireland itself, are personifications of the land, and thus may be "reduced to unity."[252] While this reasoning is ingenious, it should be remembered that we must not lay too much stress upon Irish divine genealogies, while each group of three may have been similar local gods associated at a later time as brothers. Their separate personality is suggested by the fact that the Tuatha Dé Danann are called after them "the Men of the Three Gods," and their supremacy appears in the incident of Dagda, Lug, and Ogma consulting them before the fight at Mag-tured--a natural proceeding if they were gods of knowledge or destiny.[253] The brothers are said to have slain the god Cian, and to have been themselves slain by Lug, and on this seems to have been based the story of _The Children of Tuirenn_, in which they perish through their exertions in obtaining the _eric_ demanded by Lug.[254] Here they are sons of Tuirenn, but more usually their mother Danu or Brigit is mentioned. Another son of Brigit's was Ogma, master of poetry and inventor of _ogham_ writing, the word being derived from his name.[255] It is more probable that Ogma's name is a derivative from some word signifying "speech" or "writing," and that the connection with "ogham" may be a mere folk-etymology. Ogma appears as the champion of the gods,[256] a position given him perhaps from the primitive custom of rousing the warriors' emotions by eloquent speeches before a battle. Similarly the Babylonian Marduk, "seer of the gods," was also their champion in fight. Ogma fought and died at Mag-tured; but in other accounts he survives, captures Tethra's sword, goes on the quest for Dagda's harp, and is given a _síd_ after the Milesian victory. Ogma's counterpart in Gaul is Ogmíos, a Herakles and a god of eloquence, thus bearing the dual character of Ogma, while Ogma's epithet _grianainech_, "of the smiling countenance," recalls Lucian's account of the "smiling face" of Ogmíos.[257] Ogma's high position is the result of the admiration of bardic eloquence among the Celts, whose loquacity was proverbial, and to him its origin was doubtless ascribed, as well as that of poetry. The genealogists explain his relationship to the other divinities in different ways, but these confusions may result from the fact that gods had more than one name, of which the annalists made separate personalities. Most usually Ogma is called Brigit's son. Her functions were like his own, but in spite of the increasing supremacy of gods over goddesses, he never really eclipsed her. Among other culture gods were those associated with the arts and crafts--the development of Celtic art in metal-work necessitating the existence of gods of this art. Such a god is Goibniu, eponymous god of smiths (Old Ir. _goba_, "smith"), and the divine craftsman at the battle of Mag-tured, making spears which never failed to kill.[258] Smiths have everywhere been regarded as uncanny--a tradition surviving from the first introduction of metal among those hitherto accustomed to stone weapons and tools. S. Patrick prayed against the "spells of women, smiths, and Druids," and it is thus not surprising to find that Goibniu had a reputation for magic, even among Christians. A spell for making butter, in an eighth century MS. preserved at S. Gall, appeals to his "science."[259] Curiously enough, Goibniu is also connected with the culinary art in myth, and, like Hephaistos, prepares the feast of the gods, while his ale preserves their immortality.[260] The elation produced by heady liquors caused them to be regarded as draughts of immortality, like Soma, Haoma, or nectar. Goibniu survives in tradition as the _Gobhan Saer_, to whom the building of round towers is ascribed. Another god of crafts was Creidne the brazier (Ir. _cerd_, "artificer"; cf. Scots _caird_, "tinker"), who assisted in making a silver hand for Nuada, and supplied with magical rapidity parts of the weapons used at Mag-tured.[261] According to the annalists, he was drowned while bringing golden ore from Spain.[262] Luchtine, god of carpenters, provided spear-handles for the battle, and with marvellous skill flung them into the sockets of the spear-heads.[263] Diancecht, whose name may mean "swift in power," was god of medicine, and, with Creidne's help, fashioned a silver hand for Nuada.[264] His son Miach replaced this by a magic restoration of the real hand, and in jealousy his father slew him--a version of the _Märchen_ formula of the jealous master. Three hundred and sixty-five herbs grew from his grave, and were arranged according to their properties by his sister Airmed, but Diancecht again confused them, "so that no one knows their proper cures."[265] At the second battle of Mag-tured, Diancecht presided over a healing-well containing magic herbs. These and the power of spells caused the mortally wounded who were placed in it to recover. Hence it was called "the spring of health."[266] Diancecht, associated with a healing-well, may be cognate with Grannos. He is also referred to in the S. Gall MS., where his healing powers are extolled. An early chief of the gods is Dagda, who, in the story of the battle of Mag-tured, is said to be so called because he promised to do more than all the other gods together. Hence they said, "It is thou art the _good hand_" (_dag-dae_). The _Cóir Anmann_ explains _Dagda_ as "fire of god" (_daig_ and _déa_). The true derivation is from _dagos_, "good," and _deivos_, "god," though Dr. Stokes considers _Dagda_ as connected with _dagh_, whence _daghda_, "cunning."[267] Dagda is also called Cera, a word perhaps derived from _kar_ and connected with Lat. _cerus_, "creator" and other names of his are _Ruad-rofhessa_, "lord of great knowledge," and _Eochaid Ollathair_, "great father," "for a great father to the Tuatha Dé Danann was he."[268] He is also called "a beautiful god," and "the principal god of the pagans."[269] After the battle he divides the _brugs_ or _síd_ among the gods, but his son Oengus, having been omitted, by a stratagem succeeded in ousting his father from his _síd_, over which he now himself reigned[270]--possibly the survival of an old myth telling of a superseding of Dagda's cult by that of Oengus, a common enough occurrence in all religions. In another version, Dagda being dead, Bodb Dearg divides the _síd_, and Manannan makes the Tuatha Déa invisible and immortal. He also helps Oengus to drive out his foster-father Elemar from his _brug_, where Oengus now lives as a god.[271] The underground _brugs_ are the gods' land, in all respects resembling the oversea Elysium, and at once burial-places of the euhemerised gods and local forms of the divine land. Professor Rh[^y]s regards Dagda as an atmospheric god; Dr. MacBain sees in him a sky-god. More probably he is an early Earth-god and a god of agriculture. He has power over corn and milk, and agrees to prevent the other gods from destroying these after their defeat by the Milesians--former beneficent gods being regarded as hurtful, a not uncommon result of the triumph of a new faith.[272] Dagda is called "the god of the earth" "because of the greatness of his power."[273] Mythical objects associated with him suggest plenty and fertility--his cauldron which satisfied all comers, his unfailing swine, one always living, the other ready for cooking, a vessel of ale, and three trees always laden with fruit. These were in his _síd_, where none ever tasted death;[274] hence his _síd_ was a local Elysium, not a gloomy land of death, but the underworld in its primitive aspect as the place of gods of fertility. In some myths he appears with a huge club or fork, and M. D'Arbois suggests that he may thus be an equivalent of the Gaulish god with the mallet.[275] This is probable, since the Gaulish god may have been a form of Dispater, an Earth or under-Earth god of fertility. If Dagda was a god of fertility, he may have been an equivalent of a god whose image was called _Cenn_ or _Cromm Cruaich_, "Head _or_ Crooked One of the Mound," or "Bloody Head _or_ Crescent."[276] Vallancey, citing a text now lost, says that _Crom-eocha_ was a name of Dagda, and that a motto at the sacrificial place at Tara read, "Let the altar ever blaze to Dagda."[277] These statements may support this identification. The cult of Cromm is preserved in some verses: "He was their god, The withered Cromm with many mists... To him without glory They would kill their piteous wretched offspring, With much wailing and peril, To pour their blood around Cromm Cruaich. Milk and corn They would ask from him speedily In return for a third of their healthy issue, Great was the horror and fear of him. To him noble Gaels would prostrate themselves."[278] Elsewhere we learn that this sacrifice in return for the gifts of corn and milk from the god took place at Samhain, and that on one occasion the violent prostrations of the worshippers caused three-fourths of them to die. Again, "they beat their palms, they pounded their bodies ... they shed falling showers of tears."[279] These are reminiscences of orgiastic rites in which pain and pleasure melt into one. The god must have been a god of fertility; the blood of the victims was poured on the image, the flesh, as in analogous savage rites and folk-survivals, may have been buried in the fields to promote fertility. If so, the victims' flesh was instinct with the power of the divinity, and, though their number is obviously exaggerated, several victims may have taken the place of an earlier slain representative of the god. A mythic _Crom Dubh_, "Black Crom," whose festival occurs on the first Sunday in August, may be another form of Cromm Cruaich. In one story the name is transferred to S. Patrick's servant, who is asked by the fairies when they will go to Paradise. "Not till the day of judgment," is the answer, and for this they cease to help men in the processes of agriculture. But in a variant Manannan bids Crom ask this question, and the same result follows.[280] These tales thus enshrine the idea that Crom and the fairies were ancient gods of growth who ceased to help men when they deserted them for the Christian faith. If the sacrifice was offered at the August festival, or, as the texts suggest, at Samhain, after harvest, it must have been on account of the next year's crop, and the flesh may have been mingled with the seed corn. Dagda may thus have been a god of growth and fertility. His wife or mistress was the river-goddess, Boand (the Boyne),[281] and the children ascribed to him were Oengus, Bodb Dearg, Danu, Brigit, and perhaps Ogma. The euhemerists made him die of Cethlenn's venom, long after the battle of Mag-tured in which he encountered her.[282] Irish mythology is remarkably free from obscene and grotesque myths, but some of these cluster round Dagda. We hear of the Gargantuan meal provided for him in sport by the Fomorians, and of which he ate so much that "not easy was it for him to move and unseemly was his apparel," as well as his conduct with a Fomorian beauty. Another amour of his was with Morrigan, the place where it occurred being still known as "The Couple's Bed."[283] In another tale Dagda acts as cook to Conaire the great.[284] The beautiful and fascinating Oengus is sometimes called _Mac Ind Oc_, "Son of the Young Ones," i.e. Dagda and Boand, or _In Mac Oc_, "The Young Son." This name, like the myth of his disinheriting his father, may point to his cult superseding that of Dagda. If so, he may then have been affiliated to the older god, as was frequently done in parallel cases, e.g. in Babylon. Oengus may thus have been the high god of some tribe who assumed supremacy, ousting the high god of another tribe, unless we suppose that Dagda was a pre-Celtic god with functions similar to those of Oengus, and that the Celts adopted his cult but gave that of Oengus a higher place. In one myth the supremacy of Oengus is seen. After the first battle of Mag-tured, Dagda is forced to become the slave of Bres, and is much annoyed by a lampooner who extorts the best pieces of his rations. Following the advice of Oengus, he not only causes the lampooner's death, but triumphs over the Fomorians.[285] On insufficient grounds, mainly because he was patron of Diarmaid, beloved of women, and because his kisses became birds which whispered love thoughts to youths and maidens, Oengus has been called the Eros of the Gaels. More probably he was primarily a supreme god of growth, who occasionally suffered eclipse during the time of death in nature, like Tammuz and Adonis, and this may explain his absence from Mag-tured. The beautiful story of his vision of a maiden with whom he fell violently in love contains too many _Märchen_ formulæ to be of any mythological or religious value. His mother Boand caused search to be made for her, but without avail. At last she was discovered to be the daughter of a semi-divine lord of a _síd_, but only through the help of mortals was the secret of how she could be taken wrung from him. She was a swan-maiden, and on a certain day only would Oengus obtain her. Ultimately she became his wife. The story is interesting because it shows how the gods occasionally required mortal aid.[286] Equally influenced by _Märchen_ formulæ is the story of Oengus and Etain. Etain and Fuamnach were wives of Mider, but Fuamnach was jealous of Etain, and transformed her into an insect. In this shape Oengus found her, and placed her in a glass _grianan_ or bower filled with flowers, the perfume of which sustained her. He carried the _grianan_ with him wherever he went, but Fuamnach raised a magic wind which blew Etain away to the roof of Etair, a noble of Ulster. She fell through a smoke-hole into a golden cup of wine, and was swallowed by Etair's wife, of whom she was reborn.[287] Professor Rh[^y]s resolves all this into a sun and dawn myth. Oengus is the sun, Etain the dawn, the _grianan_ the expanse of the sky.[288] But the dawn does not grow stronger with the sun's influence, as Etain did under that of Oengus. At the sun's appearance the dawn begins "to faint in the light of the sun she loves, To faint in his light and to die." The whole story is built up on the well-known _Mãrchen_ formulæ of the "True Bride" and the "Two Brothers," but accommodated to well-known mythic personages, and the _grianan_ is the Celtic equivalent of various objects in stories of the "Cinderella" type, in which the heroine conceals herself, the object being bought by the hero and kept in his room.[289] Thus the tale reveals nothing of Etain's divine functions, but it illustrates the method of the "mythological" school in discovering sun-heroes and dawn-maidens in any incident, mythical or not. Oengus appears in the Fionn cycle as the fosterer and protector of Diarmaid.[290] With Mider, Bodb, and Morrigan, he expels the Fomorians when they destroy the corn, fruit, and milk of the Tuatha Dé Danann.[291] This may point to his functions as a god of fertility. Although Mider appears mainly as a king of the _síde_ and ruler of the _brug_ of Bri Léith, he is also connected with the Tuatha Déa.[292] Learning that Etain had been reborn and was now married to King Eochaid, he recovered her from him, but lost her again when Eochaid attacked his _brug_. He was ultimately avenged in the series of tragic events which led to the death of Eochaid's descendant Conaire. Though his _síd_ is located in Ireland, it has so much resemblance to Elysium that Mider must be regarded as one of its lords. Hence he appears as ruler of the Isle of Falga, i.e. the Isle of Man regarded as Elysium. Thence his daughter Bláthnat, his magical cows and cauldron, were stolen by Cúchulainn and Curoi, and his three cranes from Bri Léith by Aitherne[293]--perhaps distorted versions of the myths which told how various animals and gifts came from the god's land. Mider may be the Irish equivalent of a local Gaulish god, Medros, depicted on bas-reliefs with a cow or bull.[294] The victory of the Tuatha Déa at the first battle of Mag-tured, in June, their victory followed, however, by the deaths of many of them at the second battle in November, may point to old myths dramatising the phenomena of nature, and connected with the ritual of summer and winter festivals. The powers of light and growth are in the ascendant in summer; they seem to die in winter. Christian euhemerists made use of these myths, but regarded the gods as warriors who were slain, not as those who die and revive again. At the second battle, Nuada loses his life; at the first, though his forces are victorious, his hand was cut off by the Fomorian Sreng, for even when victorious the gods must suffer. A silver hand was made for him by Diancecht, and hence he was called Nuada _Argetlám_, "of the silver hand." Professor Rh[^y]s regards him as a Celtic Zeus, partly because he is king of the Tuatha Dé Danann, partly because he, like Zeus or Tyr, who lost tendons or a hand through the wiles of evil gods, is also maimed.[295] Similarly in the _Rig-Veda_ the Açvins substitute a leg of iron for the leg of Vispala, cut off in battle, and the sun is called "golden-handed" because Savitri cut off his hand and the priests replaced it by one of gold. The myth of Nuada's hand may have arisen from primitive attempts at replacing lopped-off limbs, as well as from the fact that no Irish king must have any bodily defect, or possibly because an image of Nuada may have lacked a hand or possessed one of silver. Images were often maimed or given artificial limbs, and myths then arose to explain the custom.[296] Nuada appears to be a god of life and growth, but he is not a sun-god. His Welsh equivalent is Llûd Llawereint, or "silver-handed," who delivers his people from various scourges. His daughter Creidylad is to be wedded to Gwythur, but is kidnapped by Gwyn. Arthur decides that they must fight for her yearly on 1st May until the day of judgment, when the victor would gain her hand.[297] Professor Rh[^y]s regards Creidylad as a Persephone, wedded alternately to light and dark divinities.[298] But the story may rather be explanatory of such ritual acts as are found in folk-survivals in the form of fights between summer and winter, in which a Queen of May figures, and intended to assist the conflict of the gods of growth with those of blight.[299] Creidylad is daughter of a probable god of growth, nor is it impossible that the story of the battle of Mag-tured is based on mythic explanations of such ritual combats. The Brythons worshipped Nuada as Nodons in Romano-British times. The remains of his temple exist near the mouth of the Severn, and the god may have been equated with Mars, though certain symbols seem to connect him with the waters as a kind of Neptune.[300] An Irish mythic poet Nuada Necht may be the Nechtan who owned a magic well whence issued the Boyne, and was perhaps a water-god. If such a water-god was associated with Nuada, he and Nodons might be a Celtic Neptune.[301] But the relationship and functions of these various personages are obscure, nor is it certain that Nodons was equated with Neptune or that Nuada was a water-god. His name may be cognate with words meaning "growth," "possession," "harvest," and this supports the view taken here of his functions.[302] The Welsh Nudd Hael, or "the Generous," who possessed a herd of 21,000 milch kine, may be a memory of this god, and it is possible that, as a god of growth, Nuada had human incarnations called by his name.[303] Ler, whose name means "sea," and who was a god of the sea, is father of Manannan as well as of the personages of the beautiful story called _The Children of Lir_, from which we learn practically all that is known of him. He resented not being made ruler of the Tuatha Déa, but was later reconciled when the daughter of Bodb Dearg was given to him as his wife. On her death, he married her sister, who transformed her step-children into swans.[304] Ler is the equivalent of the Brythonic Llyr, later immortalised by Shakespeare as King Lear. The greatness of Manannan mac Lir, "son of the sea," is proved by the fact that he appears in many of the heroic tales, and is still remembered in tradition and folk-tale. He is a sea-god who has become more prominent than the older god of the sea, and though not a supreme god, he must have had a far-spreading cult. With Bodb Dearg he was elected king of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He made the gods invisible and immortal, gave them magical food, and assisted Oengus in driving out Elemar from his _síd_. Later tradition spoke of four Manannans, probably local forms of the god, as is suggested by the fact that the true name of one of them is said to be Orbsen, son of Allot. Another, the son of Ler, is described as a renowned trader who dwelt in the Isle of Man, the best of pilots, weather-wise, and able to transform himself as he pleased. The _Cóir Anmann_ adds that the Britons and the men of Erin deemed him god of the sea.[305] That position is plainly seen in many tales, e.g. in the magnificent passage of _The Voyage of Bran_, where he suddenly sweeps into sight, riding in a chariot across the waves from the Land of Promise; or in the tale of _Cúchulainn's Sickness_, where his wife Fand sees him, "the horseman of the crested sea," coming across the waves. In the _Agallamh na Senorach_ he appears as a cavalier breasting the waves. "For the space of nine waves he would be submerged in the sea, but would rise on the crest of the tenth without wetting chest or breast."[306] In one archaic tale he is identified with a great sea wave which swept away Tuag, while the waves are sometimes called "the son of Lir's horses"--a name still current in Ireland, or, again, "the locks of Manannan's wife."[307] His position as god of the sea may have given rise to the belief that he was ruler of the oversea Elysium, and, later, of the other-world as a magical domain coterminous with this earth. He is still remembered in the Isle of Man, which may owe its name to him, and which, like many another island, was regarded by the Goidels as the island Elysium under its name of Isle of Falga. He is also the Manawyddan of Welsh story. Manannan appears in the Cúchulainn and Fionn cycles, usually as a ruler of the Other-world. His wife Fand was Cúchulainn's mistress, Diarmaid was his pupil in fairyland, and Cormac was his guest there. Even in Christian times surviving pagan beliefs caused legend to be busy with his name. King Fiachna was fighting the Scots and in great danger, when a stranger appeared to his wife and announced that he would save her husband's life if she would consent to abandon herself to him. She reluctantly agreed, and the child of the _amour_ was the seventh-century King Mongan, of whom the annalist says, "every one knows that his real father was Manannan."[308] Mongan was also believed to be a rebirth of Fionn. Manannan is still remembered in folk-tradition, and in the Isle of Man, where his grave is to be seen, some of his ritual survived until lately, bundles of rushes being placed for him on midsummer eve on two hills.[309] Barintus, who steers Arthur to the fortunate isles, and S. Barri, who crossed the sea on horseback, may have been legendary forms of a local sea-god akin to Manannan, or of Manannan himself.[310] His steed was Enbarr, "water foam _or_ hair," and Manannan was "the horseman of the manéd sea." "Barintus," perhaps connected with _barr find_, "white-topped," would thus be a surname of the god who rode on Enbarr, the foaming wave, or who was himself the wave, while his mythic sea-riding was transferred to the legend of S. Barri, if such a person ever existed. Various magical possessions were ascribed to Manannan--his armour and sword, the one making the wearer invulnerable, the other terrifying all who beheld it; his horse and canoe; his swine, which came to life again when killed; his magic cloak; his cup which broke when a lie was spoken; his tablecloth, which, when waved, produced food. Many of these are found everywhere in _Märchen_, and there is nothing peculiarly Celtic in them. We need not, therefore, with the mythologists, see in his armour the vapoury clouds or in his sword lightning or the sun's rays. But their magical nature as well as the fact that so much wizardry is attributed to Manannan, points to a copious mythology clustering round the god, now for ever lost. The parentage of Lug is differently stated, but that account which makes him son of Cian and of Ethne, daughter of Balor, is best attested.[311] Folk-tradition still recalls the relation of Lug and Balor. Balor, a robber living in Tory Island, had a daughter whose son was to kill her father. He therefore shut her up in an inaccessible place, but in revenge for Balor's stealing MacIneely's cow, the latter gained access to her, with the result that Ethne bore three sons, whom Balor cast into the sea. One of them, Lug, was recovered by MacIneely and fostered by his brother Gavida. Balor now slew MacIneely, but was himself slain by Lug, who pierced his single eye with a red-hot iron.[312] In another version, Kian takes MacIneely's place and is aided by Manannan, in accordance with older legends.[313] But Lug's birth-story has been influenced in these tales by the _Märchen_ formula of the girl hidden away because it has been foretold that she will have a son who will slay her father. Lug is associated with Manannan, from whose land he comes to assist the Tuatha Déa against the Fomorians. His appearance was that of the sun, and by this brilliant warrior's prowess the hosts were utterly defeated.[314] This version, found in _The Children of Tuirenn_, differs from the account in the story of Mag-tured. Here Lug arrives at the gates of Tara and offers his services as a craftsman. Each offer is refused, until he proclaims himself "the man of each and every art," or _samildánach_, "possessing many arts." Nuada resigns his throne to him for thirteen days, and Lug passes in review the various craftsmen (i.e. the gods), and though they try to prevent such a marvellous person risking himself in fight, he escapes, heads the warriors, and sings his war-song. Balor, the evil-eyed, he slays with a sling-stone, and his death decided the day against the Fomorians. In this account Lug _samildánach_ is a patron of the divine patrons of crafts; in other words, he is superior to a whole group of gods. He was also inventor of draughts, ball-play, and horsemanship. But, as M. D'Arbois shows, _samildánach_ is the equivalent of "inventor of all arts," applied by Cæsar to the Gallo-Roman Mercury, who is thus an equivalent of Lug.[315] This is attested on other grounds. As Lug's name appears in Irish Louth (_Lug-magh_) and in British Lugu-vallum, near Hadrian's Wall, so in Gaul the names Lugudunum (Lyons), Lugudiacus, and Lugselva ("devoted to Lugus") show that a god Lugus was worshipped there. A Gaulish feast of Lugus in August--the month of Lug's festival in Ireland--was perhaps superseded by one in honour of Augustus. No dedication to Lugus has yet been found, but images of and inscriptions to Mercury abound at Lugudunum Convenarum.[316] As there were three Brigits, so there may have been several forms of Lugus, and two dedications to the _Lugoves_ have been found in Spain and Switzerland, one of them inscribed by the shoemakers of Uxama.[317] Thus the Lugoves may have been multiplied forms of Lugus or _Lugovos_, "a hero," the meaning given to "Lug" by O'Davoren.[318] Shoe-making was not one of the arts professed by Lug, but Professor Rh[^y]s recalls the fact that the Welsh Lleu, whom he equates with Lug, disguised himself as a shoemaker.[319] Lugus, besides being a mighty hero, was a great Celtic culture-god, superior to all other culture divinities. The euhemerists assigned a definite date to Lug's death, but side by side with this the memory of his divinity prevailed, and he appears as the father and helper of Cúchulainn, who was possibly a rebirth of the god.[320] His high position appears in the fact that the Gaulish assembly at Lugudunum was held in his honour, like the festival of Lugnasad in Ireland. Craftsmen brought their wares to sell at this festival of the god of crafts, while it may also have been a harvest festival.[321] Whether it was a strictly solar feast is doubtful, though Professor Rh[^y]s and others insist that Lug is a sun-god. The name of the Welsh Lleu, "light," is equated with Lug, and the same meaning assigned to the latter.[322] This equation has been contested and is doubtful, Lugus probably meaning "hero."[323] Still the sun-like traits ascribed to Lug before Mag-tured suggest that he was a sun-god, and solar gods elsewhere, e.g. the Polynesian Maui, are culture-gods as well. But it should be remembered that Lug is not associated with the true solar festivals of Beltane and Midsummer. While our knowledge of the Tuatha Dé Danann is based upon a series of mythic tales and other records, that of the gods of the continental Celts, apart from a few notices in classical authors and elsewhere, comes from inscriptions. But as far as can be judged, though the names of the two groups seldom coincide, their functions must have been much alike, and their origins certainly the same. The Tuatha Dé Danann were nature divinities of growth, light, agriculture--their symbols and possessions suggesting fertility, e.g. the cauldron. They were divinities of culture and crafts, and of war. There must have been many other gods in Ireland than those described here, while some of those may not have been worshipped all over Ireland. Generally speaking, there were many local gods in Gaul with similar functions but different names, and this may have been true of Ireland. Perhaps the different names given to Dagda, Manannan, and others were simply names of similar local gods, one of whom became prominent, and attracted to himself the names of the others. So, too, the identity of Danu and Brigit might be explained, or the fact that there were three Brigits. We read also in the texts of the god of Connaught, or of Ulster, and these were apparently regional divinities, or of "the god of Druidism"--perhaps a god worshipped specially by Druids.[324] The remote origin of some of these divinities may be sought in the primitive cult of the Earth personified as a fertile being, and in that of vegetation and corn-spirits, and the vague spirits of nature in all its aspects. Some of these still continued to be worshipped when the greater gods had been evolved. Though animal worship was not lacking in Ireland, divinities who are anthropomorphic forms of earlier animal-gods are less in evidence than on the Continent. The divinities of culture, crafts, and war, and of departments of nature, must have slowly assumed the definite personality assigned them in Irish religion. But, doubtless, they already possessed that before the Goidels reached Ireland. Strictly speaking, the underground domain assigned later to the Tuatha Dé Danann belongs only to such of them as were associated with fertility. But in course of time most of the group, as underground dwellers, were connected with growth and increase. These could be blighted by their enemies, or they themselves could withhold them when their worshippers offended them.[325] Irish mythology points to the early pre-eminence of goddesses. As agriculture and many of the arts were first in the hands of women, goddesses of fertility and culture preceded gods, and still held their place when gods were evolved. Even war-goddesses are prominent in Ireland. Celtic gods and heroes are often called after their mothers, not their fathers, and women loom largely in the tales of Irish colonisation, while in many legends they play a most important part. Goddesses give their name to divine groups, and, even where gods are prominent, their actions are free, their personalities still clearly defined. The supremacy of the divine women of Irish tradition is once more seen in the fact that they themselves woo and win heroes; while their capacity for love, their passion, their eternal youthfulness and beauty are suggestive of their early character as goddesses of ever-springing fertility.[326] This supremacy of goddesses is explained by Professor Rh[^y]s as non-Celtic, as borrowed by the Celts from the aborigines.[327] But it is too deeply impressed on the fabric of Celtic tradition to be other than native, and we have no reason to suppose that the Celts had not passed through a stage in which such a state of things was normal. Their innate conservatism caused them to preserve it more than other races who had long outgrown such a state of things. FOOTNOTES: [199] _HL_ 89; Stokes, _RC_ xii. 129. D'Arbois, ii. 125, explains it as "Folk of the god whose mother is called Danu." [200] _RC_ xii. 77. The usual Irish word for "god" is _dia_; other names are _Fiadu_, _Art_, _Dess_. [201] See Joyce, _SII_. i. 252, 262; _PN_ i. 183. [202] _LL_ 245_b_. [203] _LL_ 11. [204] _LL_ 127. The mounds were the sepulchres of the euhemerised gods. [205] _Book of Fermoy_, fifteenth century. [206] _LL_ 11_b_. [207] _IT_ i. 14, 774; Stokes, _TL_ i. 99, 314, 319. _Síd_ is a fairy hill, the hill itself or the dwelling within it. Hence those who dwell in it are _Aes_ or _Fir síde_, "men of the mound," or _síde_, fairy folk. The primitive form is probably _sêdos_, from _sêd_, "abode" or "seat"; cf. Greek [Greek: edos] "a temple." Thurneysen suggests a connection with a word equivalent to Lat. _sidus_, "constellation," or "dwelling of the gods." [208] Joyce, _SH_ i. 252; O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 505. [209] "Vision of Oengus," _RC_ iii. 344; _IT_ i. 197 f. [210] Windisch, _Ir. Gram._ 118; O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 71; see p. 363, _infra_. [211] Windisch, _Ir. Gram._ 118, § 6; _IT_ iii. 407; _RC_ xvi. 139. [212] Shore, _JAI_ xx. 9. [213] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 203 f. _Pennocrucium_ occurs in the _Itinerary_ of Antoninus. [214] Keating, 434. [215] Joyce, _SH_ i. 252. [216] See p. 228. In Scandinavia the dead were called elves, and lived feasting in their barrows or in hills. These became the seat of ancestral cults. The word "elf" also means any divine spirit, later a fairy. "Elf" and _síde_ may thus, like the "elf-howe" and the _síd_ or mound, have a parallel history. See Vigfusson-Powell, _Corpus Poet. Boreale_, i. 413 f. [217] Tuan MacCairill (_LU_ 166) calls the Tuatha Déa, "dée ocus andée," and gives the meaning as "poets and husbandmen." This phrase, with the same meaning, is used in "Cóir Anmann" (_IT_ iii. 355), but there we find that it occurred in a pagan formula of blessing--"The blessing of gods and not-gods be on thee." But the writer goes on to say--"These were their gods, the magicians, and their non-gods, the husbandmen." This may refer to the position of priest-kings and magicians as gods. Rh[^y]s compares Sanskrit _deva_ and _adeva_ (_HL_ 581). Cf. the phrase in a Welsh poem (Skene, i. 313), "Teulu Oeth et Anoeth," translated by Rh[^y]s as "Household of Power and Not-Power" (_CFL_ ii. 620), but the meaning is obscure. See Loth, i. 197. [218] _LL_ 10_b_. [219] Cormac, 4. Stokes (_US_ 12) derives Anu from _(p)an_, "to nourish"; cf. Lat. _panis_. [220] _Leicester County Folk-lore_, 4. The _Cóir Anmann_ says that Anu was worshipped as a goddess of plenty (_IT_ iii. 289). [221] Rh[^y]s, _Trans. 3rd Inter. Cong. Hist. of Rel._ ii. 213. See Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ 251 ff., and p. 275, _infra_. [222] Rh[^y]s, _ibid._ ii. 213. He finds her name in the place-name _Bononia_ and its derivatives. [223] Cormac, 23. [224] Cæsar, vi. 17; Holder, _s.v._; Stokes, _TIG_ 33. [225] Girald. Cambr. _Top. Hib._ ii. 34 f. Vengeance followed upon rash intrusion. For the breath tabu see Frazer, _Early Hist. of the Kingship_, 224. [226] Joyce, _SH_ i. 335. [227] P. 41, _supra_. [228] Martin, 119; Campbell, _Witchcraft_, 248. [229] Frazer, _op. cit._ 225. [230] Joyce, _PN_ i. 195; O'Grady, ii. 198; Wood-Martin, i. 366; see p. 42, _supra_. [231] Fitzgerald, _RC_ iv. 190. Aine has no connection with Anu, nor is she a moon-goddess, as is sometimes supposed. [232] _RC_ iv. 189. [233] Keating, 318; _IT_ iii. 305; _RC_ xiii. 435. [234] O'Grady, ii. 197. [235] _RC_ xii. 109, xxii. 295; Cormac, 87; Stokes, _TIG_ xxxiii. [236] Holder, i. 341; _CIL_ vii. 1292; Cæsar, ii. 23. [237] _LL_ 11_b_; Cormac, s.v. _Neit_; _RC_ iv. 36; _Arch. Rev._ i. 231; Holder, ii. 714, 738. [238] Stokes, _TIG, LL_ 11_a_. [239] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 43; Stokes, _RC_ xii. 128. [240] _RC_ xii. 91, 110. [241] See p. 131. [242] Petrie, _Tara_, 147; Stokes, _US_ 175; Meyer, _Cath Finntrága_, Oxford, 1885, 76 f.; _RC_ xvi. 56, 163, xxi. 396. [243] _CIL_ vii. 507; Stokes, _US_ 211. [244] _RC_ i. 41, xii. 84. [245] _RC_ xxi. 157, 315; Miss Hull, 247. A _baobh_ (a common Gaelic name for "witch") appears to Oscar and prophesies his death in a Fionn ballad (Campbell, _The Fians_, 33). In Brittany the "night-washers," once water-fairies, are now regarded as _revenants_ (Le Braz, i. 52). [246] Joyce, _SH_ i. 261; Miss Hull, 186; Meyer, _Cath Finntraga_, 6, 13; _IT_ i. 131, 871. [247] _LL_ 10_a_. [248] _LL_ 10_a_, 30_b_, 187_c_. [249] _RC_ xxvi. 13; _LL_ 187_c_. [250] Cf. the personification of the three strains of Dagda's harp (Leahy, ii. 205). [251] See p. 223, _infra_. [252] D'Arbois, ii. 372. [253] _RC_ xii. 77, 83. [254] _LL_ 11; _Atlantis_, London, 1858-70, iv. 159. [255] O'Donovan, _Grammar_, Dublin, 1845, xlvii. [256] _RC_ xii. 77. [257] Lucian, _Herakles_. [258] _RC_ xii. 89. The name is found in Gaulish Gobannicnos, and in Welsh Abergavenny. [259] _IT_ i. 56; Zimmer, _Glossæ Hibernicæ_, 1881, 270. [260] _Atlantis_, 1860, iii. 389. [261] _RC_ xii. 89. [262] _LL_ ll_a_. [263] _RC_ xii. 93. [264] Connac, 56, and _Cóir Anmann_ (_IT_ iii. 357) divide the name as _día-na-cecht_ and explain it as "god of the powers." [265] _RC_ xii. 67. For similar stories of plants springing from graves, see my _Childhood of Fiction_, 115. [266] _RC_ xii, 89, 95. [267] _RC_ vi. 369; Cormac, 23. [268] Cormac, 47, 144; _IT_ iii. 355, 357. [269] _IT_ iii. 355; D'Arbois, i. 202. [270] _LL_ 246_a_. [271] _Irish MSS. Series_, i. 46; D'Arbois, ii. 276. In a MS. edited by Dr. Stirn, Oengus was Dagda's son by Elemar's wife, the amour taking place in her husband's absence. This incident is a parallel to the birth-stories of Mongan and Arthur, and has also the Fatherless Child theme, since Oengus goes in tears to Mider because he has been taunted with having no father or mother. In the same MS. it is the Dagda who instructs Oengus how to obtain Elemar's _síd_. See _RC_ xxvii. 332, xxviii. 330. [272] _LL_ 245_b_. [273] _IT_ iii. 355. [274] O'Donovan, _Battle of Mag-Rath_, Dublin, 1842, 50; _LL_ 246_a_. [275] D'Arbois, v. 427, 448. [276] The former is Rh[^y]s's interpretation (_HL_ 201) connecting _Cruaich_ with _crúach_, "a heap"; the latter is that of D'Arbois (ii. 106), deriving _Cruaich_ from _cru_, "blood." The idea of the image being bent or crooked may have been due to the fact that it long stood ready to topple over, as a result of S. Patrick's miracle. See p. 286, _infra_. [277] Vallancey, in _Coll. de Rebus Hib._ 1786, iv. 495. [278] _LL_ 213_b_. D'Arbois thinks Cromm was a Fomorian, the equivalent of Taranis (ii. 62). But he is worshipped by Gaels. _Crin_, "withered," probably refers to the idol's position after S. Patrick's miracle, no longer upright but bent like an old man. Dr. Hyde, _Lit. Hist. of Ireland_, 87, with exaggerated patriotism, thinks the sacrificial details are copied by a Christian scribe from the Old Testament, and are no part of the old ritual. [279] _RC_ xvi. 35, 163. [280] Fitzgerald, _RL_ iv. 175. [281] _RC_ xxvi. 19. [282] _Annals of the Four Masters_, A.M. 3450. [283] _RC_ xii. 83, 85; Hyde, _op. cit._ 288. [284] _LU_ 94. [285] _RC_ xii. 65. Elsewhere three supreme "ignorances" are ascribed to Oengus (_RL_ xxvi. 31). [286] _RC_ iii. 342. [287] _LL_ 11_c_; _LU_ 129; _IT_ i. 130. Cf. the glass house, placed between sky and moon, to which Tristan conducts the queen. Bedier, _Tristan et Iseut_, 252. In a fragmentary version of the story Oengus is Etain's wooer, but Mider is preferred by her father, and marries her. In the latter half of the story, Oengus does not appear (see p. 363, _infra_). Mr. Nutt (_RC_ xxvii. 339) suggests that Oengus, not Mider, was the real hero of the story, but that its Christian redactors gave Mider his place in the second part. The fragments are edited by Stirn (_ZCP_ vol. v.). [288] _HL_ 146. [289] See my _Childhood of Fiction_, 114, 153. The tale has some unique features, as it alone among Western _Märchen_ and saga variants of the "True Bride" describes the malicious woman as the wife of Mider. In other words, the story implies polygamy, rarely found in European folk-tales. [290] O'Grady, _TOS_ iii. [291] _RC_ i. 41. [292] O'Curry, _MC_ i. 71. [293] _LL_ 117_a_. See p. 381, _infra_. [294] Cumont, _RC_ xxvi. 47; D'Arbois, _RC_ xxvii. 127, notes the difficulty of explaining the change of _e_ to _i_ in the names. [295] _HL_ 121. [296] See Crooke, _Folk-Lore_, viii. 341. Cf. Herod, ii. 131. [297] Loth, i. 269. [298] _HL_ 563. [299] Train, _Isle of Man_, Douglas, 1845, ii. 118; Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ ii. ch. 24; Frazer, _GB_{2} ii. 99 f. [300] Bathurst, _Roman Antiquities at Lydney Park_, 1879; Holder, _s.v._ "Nodons." [301] See Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 122; Cook, _Folk-Lore_, xvii. 30. [302] Stokes, _US_ 194-195; Rh[^y]s, _HL_, 128, _IT_ i. 712. [303] Loth, ii. 235, 296. See p. 160, _infra_. [304] Joyce, _OCR_. [305] For these four Manannans see Cormac 114, _RC_ xxiv. 270, _IT_ iii. 357. [306] O'Grady, ii. [307] _Bodley Dindsenchas_, No. 10, _RC_ xii. 105; Joyce, _SH_ i. 259; _Otia Merseiana_, ii. "Song of the Sea." [308] _LU_ 133. [309] Moore, 6. [310] Geoffrey, _Vita Merlini_, 37; Rees, 435. Other saintly legends are derived from myths, e.g. that of S. Barri in his boat meeting S. Scuithne walking on the sea. Scuithne maintains he is walking on a field, and plucks a flower to prove it, while Barri confutes him by pulling a salmon out of the sea. This resembles an episode in the meeting of Bran and Manannan (Stokes, _Félire_, xxxix.; Nutt-Meyer, i. 39). Saints are often said to assist men just as the gods did. Columcille and Brigit appeared over the hosts of Erin assisting and encouraging them _(RC_ xxiv. 40). [311] _RC_ xii. 59. [312] _Folk-Lore Journal_, v. 66; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 314. [313] Larminie, "Kian, son of Kontje." [314] Joyce, _OCR_ 37. [315] D'Arbois, vi. 116, _Les Celtes_, 39, _RC_ xii. 75, 101, 127, xvi. 77. Is the defaced inscription at Geitershof, _Deo M ... Sam ..._ (Holder, ii. 1335), a dedication to Mercury Samildánach? An echo of Lug's story is found in the Life of S. Herve, who found a devil in his monastery in the form of a man who said he was a good carpenter, mason, locksmith, etc., but who could not make the sign of the cross. Albert le Grand, _Saints de la Bretagne_, 49, _RC_ vii. 231. [316] Holder, _s.v._; D'Arbois, _Les Celtes_, 44, _RC_ vii. 400. [317] Holder, _s.v._ "Lugus." [318] Stokes, _TIG_ 103. Gaidoz contests the identification of the Lugoves and of Lug with Mercury, and to him the Lugoves are grouped divinities like the _Matres_ (_RC_ vi. 489). [319] _HL_ 425. [320] See p. 349, _infra_. [321] See p. 272, _infra_. [322] _HL_ 409. [323] See Loth, _RC_ x. 490. [324] Leahy, i. 138, ii. 50, 52, _LU_ 124_b_. [325] _LL_ 215_a_; see p. 78, _supra_. [326] See, further, p. 385, _infra_. [327] _The Welsh People_, 61. Professor Rh[^y]s admits that the theory of borrowing "cannot easily be proved." CHAPTER VI. THE GODS OF THE BRYTHONS Our knowledge of the gods of the Brythons, i.e. as far as Wales is concerned, is derived, apart from inscriptions, from the _Mabinogion_, which, though found in a fourteenth century MS., was composed much earlier, and contains elements from a remote past. Besides this, the _Triads_, probably of twelfth-century origin, the _Taliesin_, and other poems, though obscure and artificial, the work of many a "confused bard drivelling" (to cite the words of one of them), preserve echoes of the old mythology.[328] Some of the gods may lurk behind the personages of Geoffrey of Monmouth's _Historia Britonum_ and of the Arthurian cycle, though here great caution is required. The divinities have become heroes and heroines, kings and princesses, and if some of the episodes are based on ancient myths, they are treated in a romantic spirit. Other episodes are mere _Märchen_ formulæ. Like the wreckage of some rich galleon, the _débris_ of the old mythology has been used to construct a new fabric, and the old divinities have even less of the god-like traits of the personages of the Irish texts. Some of the personages bear similar names to the Irish divinities, and in some cases there is a certain similarity of incidents to those of the Irish tales.[329] Are, then, the gods dimly revealed in Welsh literature as much Goidelic as Brythonic? Analysing the incidents of the _Mabinogion_, Professor Anwyl has shown that they have an entirely local character, and are mainly associated with the districts of Dyfed and Gwent, of Anglesey, and of Gwynedd, of which Pryderi, Branwen, and Gwydion are respectively the heroic characters.[330] These are the districts where a strong Goidelic element prevailed, whether these Goidels were the original inhabitants of Britain, driven there by Brythons,[331] or tribes who had settled there from Ireland,[332] or perhaps a mixture of both. In any case they had been conquered by Brythons and had become Brythonic in speech from the fifth century onwards. On account of this Goidelic element, it has been claimed that the personages of the _Mabinogion_ are purely Goidelic. But examination proves that only a few are directly parallel in name with Irish divinities, and while here there are fundamental likenesses, the _incidents_ with Irish parallels may be due to mere superficial borrowings, to that interchange of _Märchen_ and mythical _données_ which has everywhere occurred. Many incidents have no Irish parallels, and most of the characters are entirely different in name from Irish divinities. Hence any theory which would account for the likenesses, must also account for the differences, and must explain why, if the _Mabinogion_ is due to Irish Goidels, there should have been few or no borrowings in Welsh literature from the popular Cúchulainn and Ossianic sagas,[333] and why, at a time when Brythonic elements were uppermost, such care should have been taken to preserve Goidelic myths. If the tales emanated from native Welsh Goidels, the explanation might be that they, the kindred of the Irish Goidels, must have had a certain community with them in divine names and myths, while others of their gods, more local in character, would differ in name. Or if they are Brythonic, the likenesses might be accounted for by an early community in myth and cult among the common ancestors of Brythons and Goidels.[334] But as the date of the composition of the _Mabinogion_ is comparatively late, at a time when Brythons had overrun these Goidelic districts, more probably the tales contain a mingling of Goidelic (Irish or Welsh) and Brythonic divinities, though some of these may be survivals of the common Celtic heritage.[335] Celtic divinities were mainly of a local, tribal character. Hence some would be local Goidelic divinities, others, classed with these, local Brythonic divinities. This would explain the absence of divinities and heroes of other local Brythonic groups, e.g. Arthur, from the _Mabinogion_. But with the growing importance of these, they attracted to their legend the folk of the _Mabinogion_ and other tales. These are associated with Arthur in _Kulhwych_, and the Dôn group mingles with that of Taliesin in the _Taliesin_ poems.[336] Hence Welsh literature, as far as concerns the old religion, may be regarded as including both local Goidelic and Brythonic divinities, of whom the more purely Brythonic are Arthur, Gwynn, Taliesin, etc.[337] They are regarded as kings and queens, or as fairies, or they have magical powers. They are mortal and die, and the place of their burial is pointed out, or existing tumuli are associated with them, All this is parallel to the history of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and shows how the same process of degradation had been at work in Wales as in Ireland. The story of the Llyr group is told in the _Mabinogion_ of Branwen and of Manawyddan. They are associated with the Pwyll group, and apparently opposed to that of Dôn. Branwen is married to Matholwych, king of Ireland, but is ill-treated by him on account of the insults of the mischievous Evnissyen, in spite of the fact that Bran had atoned for the insult by many gifts, including that of a cauldron of regeneration. Now he crosses with an army to Ireland, where Evnissyen throws Branwen's child, to whom the kingdom is given, on the fire. A fight ensues; the dead Irish warriors are resuscitated in the cauldron, but Evnissyen, at the cost of his life, destroys it. Bran is slain, and by his directions his head is cut off and carried first to Harlech, then to Gwales, where it will entertain its bearers for eighty years. At the end of that time it is to be taken to London and buried. Branwen, departing with the bearers, dies of a broken heart at Anglesey, and meanwhile Caswallyn, son of Beli, seizes the kingdom.[338] Two of the bearers of the head are Manawyddan and Pryderi, whose fortunes we follow in the _Mabinogi_ of the former. Pryderi gives his mother Rhiannon to Manawyddan as his wife, along with some land which by magic art is made barren. After following different crafts, they are led by a boar to a strange castle, where Rhiannon and Pryderi disappear along with the building. Manawyddan, with Pryderi's wife Kieva, set out as shoemakers, but are forced to abandon this craft on account of the envy of the craftsmen. Finally, we learn how Manawyddan overcame the enchanter Llwyt, who, because of an insult offered by Pryderi's father to his friend Gwawl, had made Rhiannon and Pryderi disappear. They are now restored, and Llwyt seeks no further revenge. The story of Branwen is similar to a tale of which there are variants in Teutonic and Scandinavian sagas, but the resemblance is closer to the latter.[339] Possibly a similar story with their respective divinities or heroes for its characters existed among Celts, Teutons, and Norsemen, but more likely it was borrowed from Norsemen who occupied both sides of the Irish Sea in the ninth and tenth century, and then naturalised by furnishing it with Celtic characters. But into this framework many native elements were set, and we may therefore scrutinise the story for Celtic mythical elements utilised by its redactor, who probably did not strip its Celtic personages of their earlier divine attributes. In the two _Mabinogi_ these personages are Llyr, his sons Bran and Manawyddan, his daughter Branwen, their half-brothers Nissyen and Evnissyen, sons of Llyr's wife Penardim, daughter of Beli, by a previous marriage with Eurosswyd. Llyr is the equivalent of the Irish Ler, the sea-god, but two other Llyrs, probably duplicates of himself, are known to Welsh story--Llyr Marini, and the Llyr, father of Cordelia, of the chroniclers.[340] He is constantly confused with Lludd Llawereint, e.g. both are described as one of three notable prisoners of Britain, and both are called fathers of Cordelia or Creiddylad.[341] Perhaps the two were once identical, for Manannan is sometimes called son of Alloid (= Lludd), in Irish texts, as well as son of Ler.[342] But the confusion may be accidental, nor is it certain that Nodons or Lludd was a sea-god. Llyr's prison was that of Eurosswyd,[343] whose wife he may have abducted and hence suffered imprisonment. In the _Black Book of Caermarthen_ Bran is called son of Y Werydd or "Ocean," according to M. Loth's interpretation of the name, which would thus point to Llyr's position as a sea-god. But this is contested by Professor Rh[^y]s who makes Ywerit wife of Llyr, the name being in his view a form of the Welsh word for Ireland. In Geoffrey and the chroniclers Llyr becomes a king of Britain whose history and that of his daughters was immortalised by Shakespeare. Geoffrey also refers to Llyr's burial in a vault built in honour of Janus.[344] On this Professor Rh[^y]s builds a theory that Llyr was a form of the Celtic Dis with two faces and ruler of a world of darkness.[345] But there is no evidence that the Celtic Dispater was lord of a gloomy underworld, and it is best to regard Llyr as a sea-divinity. Manawyddan is not god-like in these tales in the sense in which the majestic Manannan of Irish story is, though elsewhere we learn that "deep was his counsel."[346] Though not a magician, he baffles one of the great wizards of Welsh story, and he is also a master craftsman, who instructs Pryderi in the arts of shoe-making, shield-making, and saddlery. In this he is akin to Manannan, the teacher of Diarmaid. Incidents of his career are reflected in the _Triads_, and his union with Rhiannon may point to an old myth in which they were from the first a divine pair, parents of Pryderi. This would give point to his deliverance of Pryderi and Rhiannon from the hostile magician.[347] Rhiannon resembles the Irish Elysium goddesses, and Manawyddan, like Manannan, is lord of Elysium in a _Taliesin_ poem.[348] He is a craftsman and follows agriculture, perhaps a reminiscence of the old belief that fertility and culture come from the god's land. Manawyddan, like other divinities, was drawn into the Arthurian cycle, and is one of those who capture the famous boar, the _Twrch Trwyth_.[349] Bran, or Bendigeit Vran ("Bran the Blessed"), probably an old pagan title which appropriately enough denotes one who figured later in Christian hagiology, is so huge that no house or ship can hold him. Hence he wades over to Ireland, and as he draws near is thought to be a mountain. This may be an archaic method of expressing his divinity--a gigantic non-natural man like some of the Tuatha Déa and Ossianic heroes. But Bran also appears as the _Urdawl Ben_, or "Noble Head," which makes time pass to its bearers like a dream, and when buried protects the land from invasion. Both as a giant squatting on a rock and as a head, Bran is equated by Professor Rh[^y]s with Cernunnos, the squatting god, represented also as a head, and also with the Welsh Urien whose attribute was a raven, the supposed meaning of Bran's name.[350] He further equates him with Uthr Ben, "Wonderful Head," the superior bard, harper and piper of a _Taliesin_ poem.[351] Urien, Bran, and Uthr are three forms of a god worshipped by bards, and a "dark" divinity, whose wading over to Ireland signifies crossing to Hades, of which he, like Yama, who first crossed the rapid waters to the land of death, is the ruler.[352] But Bran is not a "dark" god in the sense implied here. Cernunnos is god of a happy underworld, and there is nothing dark or evil in him or in Bran and his congeners. Professor Rh[^y]s's "dark" divinities are sometimes, in his view, "light" gods, but they cannot be both. The Celtic lords of the dead had no "dark" character, and as gods of fertility they were, so to speak, in league with the sun-god, the slayer of Bran, according to Professor Rh[^y]s's ingenious theory. And although to distracted Irish secretaries Ireland may be Hades, its introduction into this _Mabinogi_ merely points to the interpretation of a mythico-historic connection between Wales and Ireland. Thus if Bran is Cernunnos, this is because he is a lord of the underworld of fertility, the counterpart of which is the distant Elysium, to which Bran seems rather to belong. Thus, in presence of his head, time passes as a dream in feasting and joy. This is a true Elysian note, and the tabued door of the story is also suggestive of the tabus of Elysium, which when broken rob men of happiness.[353] As to the power of the head in protecting the land, this points to actual custom and belief regarding the relics of the dead and the power of divine images or sculptured heads.[354] The god Bran has become a king and law-giver in the _Mabinogion_ and the _Triads_,[355] while Geoffrey of Monmouth describes how Belinus and Brennus, in the Welsh version Beli and Bran, dispute the crown of Britain, are reconciled, and finally conquer Gaul and Rome.[356] The mythic Bran is confused with Brennus, leader of the Gauls against Rome in 390 B.C., and Belinus may be the god Belenos, as well as Beli, father of Lludd and Caswallawn. But Bran also figures as a Christian missionary. He is described as hostage at Rome for his son Caradawc, returning thence as preacher of Christianity to the Cymry--a legend arising out of a misunderstanding of his epithet "Blessed" and a confusing of his son with the historic Caractacus.[357] Hence Bran's family is spoken of as one of the three saintly families of Prydein, and he is ancestor of many saints.[358] Branwen, "White Bosom," daughter of a sea-god, may be a sea-goddess, "Venus of the northern sea,"[359] unless with Mr. Nutt we connect her with the cauldron described in her legend,[360] symbol of an orgiastic cult, and regard her as a goddess of fertility. But the connection is not clear in the story, though in some earlier myth the cauldron may have been her property. As Brangwaine, she reappears in romance, giving a love-potion to Tristram--perhaps a reminiscence of her former functions as a goddess of love, or earlier of fertility. In the _Mabinogion_ she is buried in Anglesey at Ynys Bronwen, where a cairn with bones discovered in 1813 was held to be the grave and remains of Branwen.[361] The children of Dôn, the equivalent of Danu, and probably like her, a goddess of fertility, are Gwydion, Gilvæthwy, Amæthon, Govannon, and Arianrhod, with her sons, Dylan and Llew.[362] These correspond, therefore, in part to the Tuatha Déa, though the only members of the group who bear names similar to the Irish gods are Govannon (= Goibniu) and possibly Llew (= Lug). Gwydion as a culture-god corresponds to Ogma. In the _Triads_ Beli is called father of Arianrhod,[363] and assuming that this Arianrhod is identical with the daughter of Dôn, Professor Rh[^y]s regards Beli as husband of Dôn. But the identification is far from certain, and the theory built upon it that Beli is one with the Irish Bile, and that both are lords of a dark underworld, has already been found precarious.[364] In later belief Dôn was associated with the stars, the constellation Cassiopeia being called her court. She is described as "wise" in a _Taliesin_ poem.[365] This group of divinities is met with mainly in the _Mabinogi_ of Math, which turns upon Gilvæthwy's illicit love of Math's "foot-holder" Goewin. To assist him in his _amour_, Gwydion, by a magical trick, procures for Math from the court of Pryderi certain swine sent him by Arawn, king of Annwfn. In the battle which follows when the trick is discovered, Gwydion slays Pryderi by enchantment. Math now discovers that Gilvæthwy has seduced Goewin, and transforms him and Gwydion successively into deer, swine, and wolves. Restored to human form, Gwydion proposes that Arianrhod should be Math's foot-holder, but Math by a magic test discovers that she is not a virgin. She bears two sons, Dylan, fostered by Math, and another whom Gwydion nurtures and for whom he afterwards by a trick obtains a name from Arianrhod, who had sworn never to name him. The name is Llew Llaw Gyffes, "Lion of the Sure Hand." By magic, Math and Gwydion form a wife for Llew out of flowers. She is called Blodeuwedd, and later, at the instigation of a lover, Gronw, she discovers how Llew can be killed. Gronw attacks and wounds him, and he flies off as an eagle. Gwydion seeks for Llew, discovers him, and retransforms him to human shape. Then he changes Blodeuwedd into an owl, and slays Gronw.[366] Several independent tales have gone to the formation of this _Mabinogi_, but we are concerned here merely with the light it may throw on the divine characters who figure in it. Math or Math Hen, "the Ancient,"[367] is probably an old divinity of Gwyned, of which he is called lord. He is a king and a magician, pre-eminent in wizardry, which he teaches to Gwydion, and in a _Triad_ he is called one of the great men of magic and metamorphosis of Britain.[368] More important are his traits of goodness to the suffering, and justice with no trace of vengeance to the wrong-doer. Whether these are derived from his character as a god or from the Celtic kingly ideal, it is impossible to say, though the former is by no means unlikely. Possibly his supreme magical powers make him the equivalent of the Irish "god of Druidism," but this is uncertain, since all gods were more or less dowered with these. Gwydion's magical powers are abundantly illustrated in the tale. At Pryderi's court he changes fungus into horses and dogs, and afterwards slays Pryderi by power of enchantments; he produces a fleet by magic before Arianrhod's castle; with Math's help he forms Blodeuwedd out of flowers; he gives Llew his natural shape when he finds him as a wasted eagle on a tree, his flesh and the worms breeding in it dropping from him; he transforms the faithless Blodeuwedd into an owl. Some of these and other deeds are referred to in the _Taliesin_ poems, while Taliesin describes himself as enchanted by Gwydion.[369] In the _Triads_ he is one of the three great astrologers of Prydein, and this emphasis laid on his powers of divination is significant when it is considered that his name may be derived from a root _vet_, giving words meaning "saying" or "poetry," while cognate words are Irish _fáith_, "a prophet" or "poet," German _wuth_, "rage," and the name of Odinn.[370] The name is suggestive of the ecstasy of inspiration producing prophetic and poetic utterance. In the _Mabinogion_ he is a mighty bard, and in a poem, he, under the name of Gweir, is imprisoned in the Other-world, and there becomes a bard, thus receiving inspiration from the gods' land.[371] He is the ideal _fáith_--diviner, prophet, and poet, and thus the god of those professing these arts. Strabo describes how the Celtic _vates_ (_fáith_) was also a philosopher, and this character is given in a poem to Seon (probably = Gwydion), whose artists are poets and magicians.[372] But he is also a culture-god, bringing swine to men from the gods' land. For though Pryderi is described as a mortal who has himself received the swine from Annwfn (Elysium), there is no doubt that he himself was a lord of Annwfn, and it was probably on account of Gwydion's theft from Annwfn that he, as Gweir, was imprisoned there "through the messenger of Pwyll and Pryderi."[373] A raid is here made directly on the god's land for the benefit of men, and it is unsuccessful, but in the _Mabinogi_ a different version of the raid is told. Perhaps Gwydion also brought kine from Annwfn, since he is called one of the three herds of Britain,[374] while he himself may once have been an animal god, then an anthropomorphic deity associated with animals. Thus in the _Mabinogi_, when Gwydion flees with the swine, he rests each night at a place one of the syllables of which is _Moch_, "swine"--an ætiological myth explaining why places which were once sites of the cult of a swine-god, afterwards worshipped as Gwydion, were so called. Gwydion has also a tricky, fraudulent character in the _Mabinogi_, and although "in his life there was counsel," yet he had a "vicious muse."[375] It is also implied that he is lover of his sister Arianrhod and father of Dylan and Llew--the mythic reflections of a time when such unions, perhaps only in royal houses, were permissible. Instances occur in Irish tales, and Arthur was also his sister's lover.[376] In later belief Gwydion was associated with the stars; and the Milky Way was called Caer Gwydion. Across it he had chased the faithless Blodeuwedd.[377] Professor Rh[^y]s equates him with Odinn, and regards both as representing an older Celto-Teutonic hero, though many of the alleged similarities in their respective mythologies are not too obvious.[378] Amæthon the good is described in _Kulhwych_ as the only husbandman who could till or dress a certain piece of land, though Kulhwych will not be able to force him or to make him follow him.[379] This, together with the name Amæthon, from Cymric _amæth_, "labourer" or "ploughman," throws some light on his functions.[380] He was a god associated with agriculture, either as one who made waste places fruitful, or possibly as an anthropomorphic corn divinity. But elsewhere his taking a roebuck and a whelp, and in a _Triad_, a lapwing from Arawn, king of Annwfn, led to the battle of Godeu, in which he fought Arawn, aided by Gwydion, who vanquished one of Arawn's warriors, Bran, by discovering his name.[381] Amæthon, who brings useful animals from the gods' land, plays the same part as Gwydion, bringer of the swine. The dog and deer are frequent representatives of the corn-spirit, of which Amæthon may have been an anthropomorphic form, or they, with the lapwing, may have been earlier worshipful animals, associated with Amæthon as his symbols, while later myth told how he had procured them from Annwfn. The divine functions of Llew Llaw Gyffes are hardly apparent in the _Mabinogi_. The incident of Blodeuwedd's unfaithfulness is simply that of the _Märchen_ formula of the treacherous wife who discovers the secret of her husband's life, and thus puts him at her lover's mercy.[382] But since Llew is not slain, but changes to eagle form, this unusual ending may mean that he was once a bird divinity, the eagle later becoming his symbol. Some myth must have told of his death, or he was afterwards regarded as a mortal who died, for a poem mentions his tomb, and adds, "he was a man who never gave justice to any one." Dr. Skene suggests that truth, not justice, is here meant, and finds in this a reference to Llew's disguises.[383] Professor Rh[^y]s, for reasons not held convincing by M. Loth, holds that _Llew_, "lion," was a misapprehension for his true name _Lleu_, interpreted by him "light."[384] This meaning he also gives to _Lug_, equating Lug and Llew, and regarding both as sun-gods. He also equates _Llaw Gyffes_, "steady _or_ strong hand," with Lug's epithet _Lám fada_, "long hand," suggesting that _gyffes_ may have meant "long," although it was Llew's steadiness of hand in shooting which earned him the title.[385] Again, Llew's rapid growth need not make him the sun, for this was a privilege of many heroes who had no connection with the sun. Llew's unfortunate matrimonial affairs are also regarded as a sun myth. Blodeuwedd is a dawn goddess dividing her love between the sun-god and the prince of darkness. Llew as the sun is overcome by the latter, but is restored by the culture-hero Gwydion, who slays the dark rival. The transformation of Blodeuwedd into an owl means that the Dawn has become the Dusk.[386] As we have seen, all this is a _Märchen_ formula with no mythical significance. Evidence of the precariousness of such an interpretation is furnished from the similar interpretation of the story of Curoi's wife, Blathnat, whose lover Cúchulainn slew Curoi.[387] Here a supposed sun-god is the treacherous villain who kills a dark divinity, husband of a dawn goddess. If Llew is a sun-god, the equivalent of Lug, it is curious that he is never connected with the August festival in Wales which corresponds to Lugnasad in Ireland. There may be some support to the theory which makes him a sun-god in a _Triad_ where he is one of the three _ruddroawc_ who cause a year's sterility wherever they set their feet, though in this Arthur excels them, for he causes seven years' sterility![388] Does this point to the scorching of vegetation by the summer sun? The mythologists have not made use of this incident. On the whole the evidence for Llew as a sun-god is not convincing. The strongest reason for identifying him with Lug rests on the fact that both have uncles who are smiths and have similar names--Govannon and Gavida (Goibniu). Like Amæthon, Govannon, the artificer or smith (_gôf_, "smith"), is mentioned in _Kulhwych_ as one whose help must be gained to wait at the end of the furrows to cleanse the iron of the plough.[389] Here he is brought into connection with the plough, but the myth to which the words refer is lost. A _Taliesin_ poem associates him with Math--"I have been with artificers, with the old Math and with Govannon," and refers to his _Caer_ or castle.[390] Arianrhod, "silver wheel," has a twofold character. She pretends to be a virgin, and disclaims all knowledge of her son Llew, yet she is mistress of Gwydion. In the _Triads_ she appears as one of the three blessed (or white) ladies of Britain.[391] Perhaps these two aspects of her character may point to a divergence between religion and mythology, the cult of a virgin goddess of whom myth told discreditable things. More likely she was an old Earth-goddess, at once a virgin and a fruitful mother, like Artemis, the virgin goddess, yet neither chaste nor fair, or like a Babylonian goddess addressed as at once "mother, wife, and maid." Arianrhod, "beauty famed beyond summer's dawn," is mentioned in a _Taliesin_ poem, and she was later associated with the constellation Corona Borealis.[392] Possibly her real name was forgotten, and that of Arianrhod derived from a place-name, "Caer Arianrhod," associated with her. The interpretation which makes her a dawn goddess, mother of light, Lleu, and darkness, Dylan, is far from obvious.[393] Dylan, after his baptism, rushed into the sea, the nature of which became his. No wave ever broke under him; he swam like a fish; and hence was called Dylan Eil Ton or "son of the wave." Govannon, his uncle, slew him, an incident interpreted as the defeat of darkness, which "hies away to lurk in the sea." Dylan, however, has no dark traits and is described as a blonde. The waves lament his death, and, as they dash against the shore, seek to avenge it. His grave is "where the wave makes a sullen sound," but popular belief identifies him with the waves, and their noise as they press into the Conway is his dying groan. Not only is he _Eil Ton_, "son of the wave," but also _Eil Mor_, "son of the sea."[394] He is thus a local sea-god, and like Manannan identified with the waves, and yet separate from them, since they mourn his death. The _Mabinogi_ gives us the _débris_ of myths explaining how an anthropomorphic sea-god was connected with the goddess Arianrhod and slain by a god Govannon. Another _Mabinogion_ group is that of Pwyll, prince of Dyved, his wife Rhiannon, and their son Pryderi.[395] Pwyll agrees with Arawn, king of Annwfn (Elysium), to reign over his kingdom for a year. At the end of that time he slays Arawn's rival Havgan. Arawn sends him gifts, and Pwyll is now known as Pen or Head of Annwfn, a title showing that he was once a god, belonging to the gods' land, later identified with the Christian Hades. Pwyll now agrees with Rhiannon,[396] who appears mysteriously on a magic hillock, and whom he captures, to rid her of an unwelcome suitor Gwawl. He imprisons him in a magical bag, and Rhiannon weds Pwyll. The story thus resolves itself into the formula of the Fairy Bride, but it paves the way for the vengeance taken on Pryderi and Rhiannon by Gwawl's friend Llwyt. Rhiannon has a son who is stolen as soon as born. She is accused of slaying him and is degraded, but Teyrnon recovers the child from its super-human robber and calls him Gwri. As he grows up, Teyrnon notices his resemblance to Pwyll, and takes him to his court. Rhiannon is reinstated, and because she cries that her anguish (_pryderi_) is gone, the boy is now called Pryderi. Here, again, we have _Märchen_ incidents, which also appear in the Fionn saga.[397] Though there is little that is mythological here, it is evident that Pwyll is a god and Rhiannon a goddess, whose early importance, like that of other Celtic goddesses, appears from her name, a corruption of Rigantona, "great queen." Elsewhere we hear of her magic birds whose song charmed Bran's companions for seven years, and of her marriage to Manawyddan--an old myth in which Manawyddan may have been Pryderi's father, while possibly in some other myth Pryderi may have been child of Rigantona and Teyrnon (=Tigernonos, "king").[398] We may postulate an old Rhiannon saga, fragments of which are to be found in the _Mabinogi_, and there may have been more than one goddess called Rigantona, later fused into one. But in the tales she is merely a queen of old romance. Pryderi, as has been seen, was despoiled of his swine by Gwydion. They were the gift of Arawn, but in the _Triads_ they seem to have been brought from Annwfn by Pwyll, while Pryderi acted as swineherd.[399] Both Pwyll and Pryderi are thus connected with those myths which told of the bringing of domestic animals from the gods' land. But since they are certainly gods, associated with the gods' land, this is perhaps the result of misunderstanding. A poem speaks of the magic cauldron of Pen Annwfn, i.e. Pwyll, and this points to a myth explaining his connection with Annwfn in a different way from the account in the _Mabinogi_. The poem also tells how Gweir was imprisoned in Caer Sidi (=Annwfn) "through the messenger of Pwyll and Pryderi."[400] They are thus lords of Annwfn, whose swine Gweir (Gwydion) tries to steal. Elsewhere Caer Sidi is associated with Manawyddan and Pryderi, perhaps a reference to their connection as father and son.[401] Thus Pryderi and Pwyll belong to the bright Elysium, and may once have been gods of fertility associated with the under-earth region, which was by no means a world of darkness. Whatever be the meaning of the death of Pryderi at the hands of Gwydion, it is connected with later references to his grave.[402] A fourth group is that of Beli and his sons, referred to in the _Mabinogi_ of Branwen, where one of them, Caswallawn, usurps the throne, and thus makes Manawyddan, like MacGregor, landless. In the _Dream of Maxen_, the sons of Beli are Lludd, Caswallawn, Nynnyaw, and Llevelys.[403] Geoffrey calls Beli Heli, and speaks of an earlier king Belinus, at enmity with his brother Brennius.[404] But probably Beli or Heli and Belinus are one and the same, and both represent the earlier god Belenos. Caswellawn becomes Cassivellaunus, opponent of Cæsar, but in the _Mabinogi_ he is hostile to the race of Llyr, and this may be connected with whatever underlies Geoffrey's account of the hostility of Belinus and Brennius (=Bran, son of Llyr), perhaps, like the enmity of the race of D[^o]n to Pryderi, a reminiscence of the strife of rival tribes or of Goidel and Brython.[405] As has been seen, the evidence for regarding Beli as D[^o]n's consort or the equivalent of Bile is slender. Nor, if he is Belenos, the equivalent of Apollo, is he in any sense a "dark" god. He is regarded as a victorious champion, preserver of his "honey isle" and of the stability of his kingdom, in a _Taliesin_ poem and in the _Triads_.[406] The personality of Casswallawn is lost in that of the historic Cassivellaunus, but in a reference to him in the _Triads_ where, with Caradawc and Gweirydd, he bears the title "war king," we may see a glimpse of his divine character, that of a god of war, invisibly leading on armies to battle, and as such embodied in great chiefs who bore his name.[407] Nynnyaw appears in Geoffrey's pages as Nennius, who dies of wounds inflicted by Cæsar, to the great grief of Cassivellaunus.[408] The theory that Lludd Llaw Ereint or _Lodens Lamargentios_ represents _Nodens_ (Nuada) _L[=a]margentios_, the change being the result of alliteration, has been contested,[409] while if the Welsh Lludd and Nudd were identical it is strange that they should have become distinct personalities, Gwyn, son of Nudd, being the lover of Creiddylad, daughter of Lludd,[410] unless in some earlier myth their love was that of brother and sister. Lludd is also confused or is identical with Llyr, just as the Irish Ler is with Alloid. He is probably the son of Beli who, in the tale of _Lludd and Llevelys_, by the advice of Llevelys rids his country of three plagues.[411] These are, first, the Coranians who hear every whisper, and whom he destroys by throwing over them water in which certain insects given him by Levelys have been bruised. The second is a shriek on May-eve which makes land and water barren, and is caused by a dragon which attacks the dragon of the land. These Lludd captures and imprisons at Dinas Emreis, where they afterwards cause trouble to Vortigern at the building of his castle. The third is that of the disappearance of a year's supply of food by a magician, who lulls every one to sleep and who is captured by Lludd. Though the Coranians appear in the _Triads_ as a hostile tribe,[412] they may have been a supernatural folk, since their name is perhaps derived from _còr_, "dwarf," and they are now regarded as mischievous fairies.[413] They may thus be analogous to the Fomorians, and their story, like that of the dragon and the magician who produce blight and loss of food, may be based on older myth or ritual embodying the belief in powers hostile to fertility, though it is not clear why those powers should be most active on May-day. But this may be a misunderstanding, and the dragons are overcome on May-eve. The references in the tale to Lludd's generosity and liberality in giving food may reflect his function as a god of growth, but, like other euhemerised gods, he is also called a mighty warrior, and is said to have rebuilt the walls of Caer Ludd (London), his name still surviving in "Ludgate Hill," where he was buried.[414] This legend doubtless points to some ancient cult of Lludd at this spot. Nudd already discussed under his title Nodons, is less prominent than his son Gwyn, whose fight with Gwthur we have explained as a mythic explanation of ritual combats for the increase of fertility. He also appears as a hunter and as a great warrior,[415] "the hope of armies," and thus he may be a god of fertility who became a god of war and the chase. But legend associated him with Annwfn, and regarded him, like the Tuatha Déa, as a king of fairyland.[416] In the legend of S. Collen, the saint tells two men, whom he overhears speaking of Gwyn and the fairies, that these are demons. "Thou shalt receive a reproof from Gwyn," said one of them, and soon after Collen was summoned to meet the king of Annwfn on Glastonbury Tor. He climbed the hill with a flask of holy water, and saw on its top a splendid castle, with crowds of beautiful and youthful folk, while the air resounded with music. He was brought to Gwyn, who politely offered him food, but "I will not eat of the leaves of the tree," cried the saint; and when he was asked to admire the dresses of the crowd, all he would say was that the red signified burning, the blue coldness. Then he threw the holy water over them, and nothing was left but the bare hillside.[417] Though Gwyn's court on Glastonbury is a local Celtic Elysium, which was actually located there, the story marks the hostility of the Church to the cult of Gwyn, perhaps practised on hilltops, and this is further seen in the belief that he hunts souls of the wicked and is connected with Annwfn in its later sense of hell. But a mediant view is found in _Kulhwych_, where it is said of him that he restrains the demons of hell lest they should destroy the people of this world. In the _Triads_ he is, like other gods, a great magician and astrologer.[418] Another group, unknown to the _Mabinogion_, save that Taliesin is one of the bearers of Bran's head, is found in the _Book of Taliesin_ and in the late story of Taliesin. These, like the _Arthur_ cycle, often refer to personages of the _Mabinogion_; hence we gather that local groups of gods, originally distinct, were later mingled in story, the references in the poems reflecting this mingling. Late as is the _Hanes Taliesin_ or story of Taliesin, and expressed as much of it is in a _Märchen_ formula, it is based on old myths about Cerridwen and Taliesin of which its compiler made use, following an old tradition already stereotyped in one of the poems in the _Märchen_ formula of the Transformation Combat.[419] But the mythical fragments are also mingled with traditions regarding the sixth century poet Taliesin. The older saga was perhaps developed in a district south of the Dyfi estuary.[420] In Lake Tegid dwell Tegid Voel, Cerridwen, and their children--the fair maiden Creirwy, Morvran, and the ugly Avagddu. To give Avagddu knowledge, his mother prepares a cauldron of inspiration from which three drops of inspiration will be produced. These fall on the finger of Gwion, whom she set to stir it. He put the finger in his mouth, and thus acquired the inspiration. He fled, and Cerridwen pursued, the rest of the story being accommodated to the Transformation Combat formula. Finally, Cerridwen as a hen swallows Gwion as a grain of wheat, and bears him as a child, whom she throws into the sea. Elphin, who rescues him, calls him Taliesin, and brings him up as a bard.[421] The water-world of Tegid is a submarine Elysium with the customary cauldron of inspiration, regeneration, and fertility, like the cauldron associated with a water-world in the _Mabinogion_. "Shall not my chair be defended from the cauldron of Cerridwen," runs a line in a Taliesin poem, while another speaks of her chair, which was probably in Elysium like that of Taliesin himself in Caer Sidi.[422] Further references to her connection with poetry show that she may have been worshipped by bards, her cauldron being the source of their inspiration.[423] Her anger at Gwion may point to some form of the Celtic myth of the theft of the elements of culture from the gods' land. But the cauldron was first of all associated with a fertility cult,[424] and Cerridwen must therefore once have been a goddess of fertility, who, like Brigit, was later worshipped by bards. She may also have been a corn-goddess, since she is called a goddess of grain, and tradition associates the pig--a common embodiment of the corn-spirit--with her.[425] If the tradition is correct, this would be an instance, like that of Demeter and the pig, of an animal embodiment of the corn-spirit being connected with a later anthropomorphic corn-goddess. Taliesin was probably an old god of poetic inspiration confused with the sixth century poet of the same name, perhaps because this boastful poet identified himself or was identified by other bards with the gods. He speaks of his "splendid chair, inspiration of fluent and urgent song" in Caer Sidi or Elysium, and, speaking in the god's name or identifying himself with him, describes his presence with Llew, Bran, Gwydion, and others, as well as his creation and his enchantment before he became immortal.[426] He was present with Arthur when a cauldron was stolen from Aunwfn, and basing his verses on the mythic transformations and rebirths of the gods, recounts in highly inflated language his own numerous forms and rebirths.[427] His claims resemble those of the _Shaman_ who has the entree of the spirit-world and can transform himself at will. Taliesin's rebirth is connected with his acquiring of inspiration. These incidents appear separately in the story of Fionn, who acquired his inspiration by an accident, and was also said to have been reborn as Mongan. They are myths common to various branches of the Celtic people, and applied in different combinations to outstanding gods or heroes.[428] The _Taliesin_ poems show that there may have been two gods or two mythic aspects of one god, later combined together. He is the son of the goddess and dwells in the divine land, but he is also a culture-hero stealing from the divine land. Perhaps the myths reflect the encroachment of the cult of a god on that of a goddess, his worshippers regarding him as her son, her worshippers reflecting their hostility to the new god in a myth of her enmity to him. Finally, the legend of the rescue of Taliesin the poet from the waves became a myth of the divine outcast child rescued by Elphin, and proving himself a bard when normal infants are merely babbling. The occasional and obscure references to the other members of this group throw little light on their functions, save that Morvran, "sea-crow," is described in _Kulhwych_ as so ugly and terrible that no one would strike him at the battle of Camlan. He may have been a war-god, like the scald-crow goddesses of Ireland, and he is also spoken of in the _Triads_ as an "obstructor of slaughter" or "support of battle."[429] Ingenuity and speculation have busied themselves with trying to prove that the personages of the Arthurian cycle are the old gods of the Brythons, and the incidents of the romances fragments of the old mythology. While some of these personages--those already present in genuinely old Welsh tales and poems or in Geoffrey's _History_--are reminiscent of the old gods, the romantic presentment of them in the cycle itself is so largely imaginative, that nothing certain can be gained from it for the understanding of the old mythology, much less the old religion. Incidents which are the common stock of real life as well as of romance are interpreted mythologically, and it is never quite obvious why the slaying of one hero by another should signify the conquest of a dark divinity by a solar hero, or why the capture of a heroine by one knight when she is beloved of another, should make her a dawn-goddess sharing her favours, now with the sun-god, now with a "dark" divinity. Or, even granting the truth of this method, what light does it throw on Celtic religion? We may postulate a local Arthur saga fusing an old Brythonic god with the historic sixth century Arthur. From this or from Geoffrey's handling of it sprang the great romantic cycle. In the ninth century Nennius Arthur is the historic war-chief, possibly Count of Britain, but in the reference to his hunting the _Porcus Troit_ (the _Twrch Trwyth_) the mythic Arthur momentarily appears.[430] Geoffrey's Arthur differs from the later Arthur of romance, and he may have partially rationalised the saga, which was either of recent formation or else local and obscure, since there is no reference to Arthur in the _Mabinogion_--a fact which shows that "in the legends of Gwynedd and Dyfedd he had no place whatever,"[431] and also that Arthur the god or mythic hero was also purely local. In Geoffrey Arthur is the fruit of Igerna's _amour_ with Uther, to whom Merlin has given her husband's shape. Arthur conquers many hosts as well as giants, and his court is the resort of all valorous persons. But he is at last wounded by his wife's seducer, and carried to the Isle of Avallon to be cured of his wounds, and nothing more is ever heard of him.[432] Some of these incidents occur also in the stories of Fionn and Mongan, and those of the mysterious begetting of a wonder child and his final disappearance into fairyland are local forms of a tale common to all branches of the Celts.[433] This was fitted to the history of the local god or hero Arthur, giving rise to the local saga, to which was afterwards added events from the life of the historic Arthur. This complex saga must then have acquired a wider fame long before the romantic cycle took its place, as is suggested by the purely Welsh tales of _Kulhwych_ and the _Dream of Rhonabwy_, in the former of which the personages (gods) of the _Mabinogion_ figure in Arthur's train, though he is far from being the Arthur of the romances. Sporadic references to Arthur occur also in Welsh literature, and to the earlier saga belongs the Arthur who spoils Elysium of its cauldron in a _Taliesin_ poem.[434] In the _Triads_ there is a mingling of the historic, the saga, and the later romance Arthur, but probably as a result of the growing popularity of the saga Arthur he is added to many Triads as a more remarkable person than the three whom they describe.[435] Arthurian place-names over the Brythonic area are more probably the result of the popularity of the saga than that of the later romantic cycle, a parallel instance being found in the extent of Ossianic place-names over the Goidelic area as a result of the spread of the Fionn saga. The character of the romance Arthur--the flower of knighthood and a great warrior--and the blending of the historic war-leader Arthur with the mythic Arthur, suggest that the latter was the ideal hero of certain Brythonic groups, as Fionn and Cúchulainn of certain Goidelic groups. He may have been the object of a cult as these heroes perhaps were, or he may have been a god more and more idealised as a hero. If the earlier form of his name was Artor, "a ploughman," but perhaps with a wider significance, and having an equivalent in Artaius, a Gaulish god equated with Mercury,[436] he may have been a god of agriculture who became a war-god. But he was also regarded as a culture-hero, stealing a cauldron and also swine from the gods' land, the last incident euhemerised into the tale of an unsuccessful theft from March, son of Meirchion,[437] while, like other culture-heroes, he is a bard. To his story was easily fitted that of the wonder-child, who, having finally disappeared into Elysium (later located at Glastonbury), would reappear one day, like Fionn, as the Saviour of his people. The local Arthur finally attained a fame far exceeding that of any Brythonic god or hero. Merlin, or Myrddin, appears in the romances as a great magician who is finally overcome by the Lady of the Lake, and is in Geoffrey son of a mysterious invisible personage who visits a woman, and, finally taking human shape, begets Merlin. As a son who never had a father he is chosen as the foundation sacrifice for Vortigern's tower by his magicians, but he confutes them and shows why the tower can never be built, namely, because of the dragons in the pool beneath it. Then follow his prophecies regarding the dragons and the future of the country, and the story of his removal of the Giant's Dance, or Stonehenge, from Ireland to its present site--an ætiological myth explaining the origin of the great stone circle. His description of how the giants used the water with which they washed the stones for the cure of sickness or wounds, probably points to some ritual for healing in connection with these megaliths. Finally, we hear of his transformation of the lovelorn Uther and of his confidant Ulfin, as well as of himself.[438] Here he appears as little more than an ideal magician, possibly an old god, like the Irish "god of Druidism," to whose legend had been attached a story of supernatural conception. Professor Rh[^y]s regards him as a Celtic Zeus or as the sun, because late legends tell of his disappearance in a glass house into the sea. The glass house is the expanse of light travelling with the sun (Merlin), while the Lady of the Lake who comes daily to solace Merlin in his enchanted prison is a dawn-goddess. Stonehenge was probably a temple of this Celtic Zeus "whose late legendary self we have in Merlin."[439] Such late romantic episodes and an ætiological myth can hardly be regarded as affording safe basis for these views, and their mythological interpretation is more than doubtful. The sun is never prisoner of the dawn as Merlin is of Viviane. Merlin and his glass house disappear for ever, but the sun reappears every morning. Even the most poetic mythology must conform in some degree to actual phenomena, but this cannot be said of the systems of mythological interpretation. If Merlin belongs to the pagan period at all, he was probably an ideal magician or god of magicians, prominent, perhaps, in the Arthur saga as in the later romances, and credited with a mysterious origin and an equally mysterious ending, the latter described in many different ways. The boastful Kei of the romances appears already in _Kulhwych_, while in Geoffrey he is Arthur's seneschal.[440] Nobler traits are his in later Welsh poetry; he is a mighty warrior, fighting even against a hundred, though his powers as a toper are also great. Here, too, his death is lamented.[441] He may thus have been a god of war, and his battle-fury may be poetically described in a curious passage referring to him in _Kulhwych_: "His breath lasted nine days and nine nights under water. He could remain without sleep for the same period. No physician could heal a wound inflicted by his sword. When he pleased he could make himself as tall as the tallest tree in the wood. And when it rained hardest, whatever he carried remained dry above and below his hand to the distance of a handbreadth, so great was his natural heat. When it was coldest he was as glowing fuel to his companions."[442] This almost exactly resembles Cúchulainn's aspect in his battle-fury. In a curious poem Gwenhyvar (Guinevere) extols his prowess as a warrior above that of Arthur, and in _Kulhwych_ and elsewhere there is enmity between the two.[443] This may point to Kei's having been a god of tribes hostile to those of whom Arthur was hero. Mabon, one of Arthur's heroes in _Kulhwych_ and the _Dream of Rhonabwy_, whose name, from _mab_ (_map_), means "a youth," may be one with the god Maponos equated with Apollo in Britain and Gaul, perhaps as a god of healing springs.[444] His mother's name, Modron, is a local form of _Matrona_, a river-goddess and probably one of the mother-goddesses as her name implies. In the _Triads_ Mabon is one of the three eminent prisoners of Prydein. To obtain his help in hunting the magic boar his prison must be found, and this is done by animals, in accordance with a _Märchen_ formula, while the words spoken by them show the immense duration of his imprisonment--perhaps a hint of his immortality.[445] But he was also said to have died and been buried at Nantlle,[446] which, like Gloucester, the place of his prison, may have been a site of his widely extended cult.[447] * * * * * Taken as a whole the various gods and heroes of the Brythons, so far as they are known to us, just as they resemble the Irish divinities in having been later regarded as mortals, magicians, and fairies, so they resemble them in their functions, dimly as these are perceived. They are associated with Elysium, they are lords of fertility and growth, of the sea, of the arts of culture and of war. The prominent position of certain goddesses may point to what has already been discovered of them in Gaul and Ireland--their pre-eminence and independence. But, like the divinities of Gaul and Ireland, those of Wales were mainly local in character, and only in a few cases attained a wider popularity and cult. Certain British gods mentioned on inscriptions may be identified with some of those just considered--Nodons with Nudd or Lludd, Belenos with Belinus or Beli, Maponos with Mabon, Taranos (in continental inscriptions only), with a Taran mentioned in _Kulhwych_.[448] Others are referred to in classical writings--Andrasta, a goddess of victory, to whom Boudicca prayed;[449] Sul, a goddess of hot springs, equated with Minerva at Bath.[450] Inscriptions also mention Epona, the horse-goddess; Brigantia, perhaps a form of Brigit; Belisama (the Mersey in Ptolemy),[451] a goddess in Gaulish inscriptions. Others refer to the group goddesses, the _Matres_. Some gods are equated with Mars--Camulos, known also on the Continent and perhaps the same as Cumal, father of Fionn; Belatucadros, "comely in slaughter"; Cocidius, Corotiacus, Barrex, and Totatis (perhaps Lucan's Teutates). Others are equated with Apollo in his character as a god of healing--Anextiomarus, Grannos (at Musselburgh and in many continental inscriptions), Arvalus, Mogons, etc. Most of these and many others found on isolated inscriptions were probably local in character, though some, occurring also on the Continent, had attained a wider popularity.[452] But some of the inscriptions referring to the latter may be due to Gaulish soldiers quartered in Britain. COMPARATIVE TABLE OF DIVINITIES WITH SIMILAR NAMES IN IRELAND, BRITAIN, AND GAUL. _Italics denote names found in Inscriptions._ IRELAND. BRITAIN. GAUL. _Anextiomarus_ _Anextiomarus_ Anu Anna (?) _Anoniredi_, "chariot of Anu" Badb _Bodua_ Beli, Belinus _Belenos_ Belisama _Belisama_ Brigit _Brigantia_ _Brigindu_ Bron Bran Brennus (?) Buanann _Buanu_ Cumal _Camulos_ _Camulos_ Danu Dôn _Epona_ _Epona_ Goibniu Govannon _Grannos_ _Grannos_ Ler Llyr Lug Llew or Lleu (?) Lugus, _Lugores_ Mabon, _Maponos_ _Maponos_ Manannan Manawyddan _Matres_ _Matres_ Mider _Medros_ (?) Modron _Matrona_ (?) Nemon _Nemetona_ Nét _Neton_ Nuada _Nodons_, Nudd Hael, Llûdd (?) Ogma Ogmíos _Silvanus_ _Silvanus_ Taran _Taranis_ _Totatis, Tutatis_ Teutates FOOTNOTES: [328] The text of the _Mabinogion_ has been edited by Rh[^y]s and Evans, 1887, and it has been translated into English by Lady Guest, and more critically, into French, by Loth. Many of the _Triads_ will be found in Loth's second volume. For the poetry see Skene, _Four Ancient Books of Wales_. [329] These incidents are found mainly in the story of Branwen, e.g. those of the cauldron, a frequent accessory in Irish tales; the regeneration of the warriors, also found in the story of Mag-tured, though no cauldron is used; the red-hot house, occurring also in _Mesca Ulad_; the description of Bran paralleled by that of MacCecht. [330] Anwyl, _ZCP_ i. 277, ii. 124, iii. 122. [331] Bp. of S. Davids, _Vestiges of the Gael in Gwynned_, 1851; Rh[^y]s, _TSC_ 1894-1895, 21. [332] Skene, i. 45; Meyer, _TSC_ 1895-1896, 55. [333] Cf. John, _The Mabinogion_, 1901, 19. Curoi appears as Kubert, and Conchobar as Knychur in _Kulhwych_ (Loth, i. 202). A poem of _Taliesin_ has for subject the death of Corroi, son of Dayry (Curoi mac Daire), Skene, i. 254. [334] Loth, _RC_ x. 356; John, _op. cit._ 19; Nutt, _Arch. Rev._ i. 331. [335] The giant Ysppadden in _Kulhwych_ resembles Balor, but has no evil eye. [336] Anwyl, _ZCP_ ii. 127-128, "The merging of the two legends [of Dôn and Taliesin] may have arisen through the fusion of Penllyn with Ardudwy and Arvon." [337] Professor Rh[^y]s thinks that the Llyr family may be pre-Celtic, _TSC_ 1894-1895, 29 f.; _CFL_ 552. [338] Loth, i. 97 f.; Lady Guest, iii. 143 f. [339] See Nutt, _Folk-lore Record_, v. 1 f. [340] Loth, i. 298, ii. 243-244; Geoffrey, _Hist. Brit._ ii. 11. [341] Loth, i. 224, 265, ii. 215, 244; Geoff. ii. 11. [342] Skene, i. 81; Rh[^y]s, _Academy_, Jan. 7, 1882. [343] _Triads_, Loth, ii. 293; Nutt, _Folk-lore Record_, v. 9. [344] _Hist. Brit._ ii. 11-14. [345] _AL_ 131. [346] Skene, i. 262. [347] See Nutt-Meyer, ii. 17. [348] Skene, i. 276. [349] Loth, i. 208, 280; see also i. 197, ii. 245, 294. [350] See Skene i. 355. The raven is rather the bird of prey come to devour Urien than his "attribute." [351] Skene, i. 298. [352] For these theories see Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 90_f_.; _AL_ ch. 11; _CFL_ 552. [353] See Ch. XXIV. [354] See p. 242. [355] Loth, i. 65, ii. 285. [356] _Hist. Brit._ iii. 1_f_. Geoffrey says that Billingsgate was called after Belinus, and that his ashes were preserved in the gate, a tradition recalling some connection of the god with the gate. [357] An early Caradawc saga may have become mingled with the story of Caractacus. [358] Rees, 77. [359] So Elton, 291. [360] _Folk-lore Record_, v. 29. [361] Lady Guest, iii. 134. [362] Dôn is sometimes held to be male, but she is distinctly called sister of Math (Loth, i. 134), and as the equivalent of Danu she must be female. [363] Loth, ii. 209. [364] See p. 60, _supra_, and Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 90_f_. [365] Lady Guest, iii. 255; Skene, i. 297, 350. [366] For this _Mabinogi_ see Loth, i. 117f.; Guest, iii. 189f. [367] Skene, i. 286. [368] Loth, ii. 229, 257; and for other references to Math, Skene, i. 281, 269, 299. [369] Skene, i. 296, 281. [370] Loth, ii. 297; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 276. [371] Skene, i. 264. [372] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 270. Skene, i. 430, 537, gives a different meaning to _seon_. [373] Skene, i. 264. [374] Loth, ii. 296. [375] Skene, i. 299, 531. [376] See p. 224, _infra_. [377] Guest, iii. 255; Morris, _Celtic Remains_, 231. [378] _HL_ 283 _f_. See also Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ i. 131. [379] Loth, i. 240. [380] Stokes, _US_ 34. [381] _Myvyrian Archæol._ i. 168; Skene, i. 275, 278 f.; Loth, ii. 259. [382] See my _Childhood of Fiction_, 127. Llew's vulnerability does not depend on the discovery of his separable soul, as is usual. The earliest form of this _Märchen_ is the Egyptian story of the Two Brothers, and that of Samson and Delilah is another old form of it. [383] Skene, i. 314, ii. 342. [384] _HL_ 408; _RC_ x. 490. [385] _HL_ 237, 319, 398, 408. [386] _HL_ 384. [387] _HL_ 474, 424. [388] Loth, ii. 231. [389] Loth, i. 240. [390] Skene, i, 286-287. [391] Loth, ii. 263. [392] Skene, ii. 159; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 157; Guest, iii. 255. [393] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 161, 566. [394] Skene, i. 282, 288, 310, 543, ii. 145; Loth, i. 135; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 387. [395] Loth, i. 27 f.; Guest, iii. 7 f. [396] Rhiannon is daughter of Heveidd Hen or "the Ancient," probably an old divinity. [397] In the _Mabinogi_ and in Fionn tales a mysterious hand snatches away newly-born children. Cf. _ZCP_ i. 153. [398] Anwyl, _ZCP_ i. 288. [399] Loth, ii. 247. [400] Skene, i. 264. [401] Ibid. i. 276. [402] Ibid. i. 310. [403] Loth, i. 166. [404] _Hist. Brit._ ii. 11, iii. 1, 20, iv. 3. [405] Cf. Anwyl, _ZCP_ i. 287. [406] Skene, i. 431; Loth, ii. 278. Some phrases seem to connect Beli with the sea--the waves are his cattle, the brine his liquor. [407] Loth, ii. 209, 249, 260, 283. [408] Geoffrey, _Brit. Hist._ iv. 3. 4. [409] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 125 f.; Loth, i. 265; MacBain, _CM_ ix. 66. [410] See Loth, i. 269; and Skene, i. 293. [411] Loth, i. 173 f. [412] Loth, ii. 256, 274. [413] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 606. Cf. the Breton fairies, the _Korr_ and _Korrigan_. [414] Geoffrey, iii. 20. [415] Loth, i. 253-254; Skene, i. 293. [416] Guest, iii. 323. [417] Ibid. 325. [418] Loth, i. 253, ii. 297. [419] See p. 353, _infra_.; Skene, i. 532. [420] Anwyl, _ZCP_ i. 293. [421] Guest, iii. 356 f. [422] Skene, i. 275, 296. [423] Ibid. i. 498, 500. [424] See p. 382, _infra_. [425] _Mon. Hist. Brit._ i. 698, ii.; Thomas, _Revue de l'hist. des Religions_, xxxviii. 339. [426] Skene, i. 263, 274-276, 278, 281-282, 286-287. His "chair" bestows immortal youth and freedom from sickness. [427] Skene, i. 264, 376 f., 309, 532. See p. 356, _infra_. [428] See pp. 350-1, _infra_. Fionn and Taliesin are examples of the _Märchen_ formula of a hero expelled and brought back to honour, Nutt-Meyer, ii. 88. [429] Loth, i. 209, ii. 238; Skene, ii. 459. [430] Nennius, ch. 50, 79. [431] Anwyl, _ZCP_ i. 293. [432] Geoffrey, viii. 9-xi. 3. [433] Nutt-Meyer, ii. 22 f. [434] See p. 381, _infra_. [435] Loth, ii. 232, 245. [436] Rh[^y]s, _AL_, 39 f. Others derive the name from _arto-s_, "bear." MacBain, 357. [437] Loth. ii. 247; Skene, ii. 459. [438] Geoffrey, vi. 17-19, vii. viii. 1, 10-12, 19. In a poem (Skene, i. 478), Myrddin is called "the man who speaks from the grave"--a conception familiar to the Celts, who thought of the dead as living on in the grave. See p. 340, _infra_. [439] Rh[^y]s, _HL_, 154 f., 158-159, 194. [440] Geoffrey, ix. 12, etc. [441] Skene, ii. 51. [442] Loth. i. 225; cf. p. 131, _infra_. From this description Elton supposes Kei to have been a god of fire. [443] _Myv. Arch._ i. 175; Loth, i. 269. Rh[^y]s, _AL_ 59, thinks Merlin may have been Guinevere's ravisher. [444] Holder, i. 414. [445] Loth i. 250, 260 f., 280, ii. 215, 244. [446] Skene, i. 363, ii. 406; _Myv. Arch._ i. 78. [447] Hu Gadarn is mentioned in the _Triads_ as a leader of the Cymry from the east and their teacher in ploughing. He divided them into clans, and invented music and song. The monster _avanc_ was drawn by him from the lake which had burst and caused the flood (see p. 231, _infra_). Perhaps Hu is an old culture-god of some tribes, but the _Triads_ referring to him are of late date (Loth, ii. 271, 289, 290-291, 298-299). For the ridiculous Neo-Druidic speculations based on Hu, see Davies, _Celtic Researches_ and _Mythology and Rites of the Druids_. Gurgiunt, son of Belinus, in Geoffrey, iii. 11, may be the French legendary Gargantua, perhaps an old god. See the works of Sébillot and Gaidoz on _Gargantua_. [448] Loth, i. 270. [449] Dio Cassius, lxii. 6. [450] Solinus, xxii. 10. See p. 2, _supra_. [451] Ptol. ii. 3. 2. [452] For all these see Holder, _s.v._ CHAPTER VII. THE CÚCHULAINN CYCLE. The events of the Cúchulainn cycle are supposed to date from the beginning of the Christian era--King Conchobar's death synchronising with the crucifixion. But though some personages who are mentioned in the Annals figure in the tales, on the whole they deal with persons who never existed. They belong to a world of romance and myth, and embody the ideals of Celtic paganism, modified by Christian influences and those of classical tales and romantic sagas of other regions, mainly Scandinavian. The present form of the tales as they exist in the _Book of the Dun Cow_ and the _Book of Leinster_ must have been given them in the seventh or eighth century, but they embody materials of a far older date. At an early time the saga may have had a more or less definite form, but new tales were being constantly added to it, and some of the longer tales are composed of incidents which once had no connection with each other. Cúchulainn is the central figure of the cycle, and its central episode is that of the _Táin bó Cuailgne_, or "Cattle Spoil of Cooley." Other personages are Conchobar and Dechtire, Ailill and Medb, Fergus, Conall Cernach, Cúroi, Deirdre, and the sons of Usnach. Some of these are of divine descent, some are perhaps euhemerised divinities; Conchobar is called _día talmaide_, "a terrestrial god," and Dechtire a goddess. The cycle opens with the birth of Conchobar, son of Cathbad and of Nessa, daughter of one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, though in an older rescension of the tale he is Nessa's son by the god Lug. During Conchobar's reign over Ulster Cúchulainn was born. He was son of Dechtire, either by Sualtaim, or by her brother Conchobar, or by the god Lug, of whom he may also be a reincarnation.[453] Like other heroes of saga, he possesses great strength and skill at a tender age, and, setting out for Conchobar's court, overpowers the king's "boy corps," and then becomes their chief. His next adventure is the slaying of the watch-dog of Culann the smith, and his appeasing the anger of its owner by offering to act as his watch-dog. Cathbad now announced that his name would henceforth be Cú Chulainn, "Culann's hound."[454] At the mature age of seven he obtained Conchobar's spears, sword, shield, and chariot, and with these he overcame three mighty champions, returning in the distortion of his "battle-fury" to Emania. To prevent mischief from his rage, the women went forth naked to meet him. He modestly covered his eyes, for it was one of his _geasa_ not to look on a woman's breast. Thus taken unawares, he was plunged into three successive vats of cold water until his natural appearance was restored to him, although the water boiled and hissed from his heat.[455] As Cúchulainn grew up, his strength, skill, wisdom, and beauty were unsurpassed. All women fell in love with him, and to forestall a series of _bonnes fortunes_, the men of Ulster sought a wife for him. But the hero's heart was set on Emer, daughter of Forgall, whom he wooed in a strange language which none but she could understand. At last she consented to be his wife if he would slay a number of warriors. Forgall was opposed to the match, and with a view to Cúchulainn's destruction suggested that he should go to Donall in Alba to increase his skill, and to Scathach if he would excel all other warriors. He agreed, provided that Forgall would give him whatever he asked for on his return. Arrived in Alba, he refused the love of Donall's daughter, Dornolla, who swore to be avenged. Thence he went to Scathach, overcoming all the dangers of the way, leaping in safety the gulf surrounding her island, after essaying in vain to cross a narrow, swinging bridge. From Scathach he learned supreme skill in arms, and overcame her Amazonian rival Aife. He begat a son by Aife, and instructed her to call him Conla, to give him his father's ring, to send him to seek Cúchulainn, and to forbid him to reveal his name. In the sequel, Cúchulainn, unaware that Conla was his son, slew him in single combat, too late discovering his identity from the ring which he wore. This is the well-known saga formula of Sohrab and Rustum, of Theseus and Hippolytus. On his return from Scathach's isle Cúchulainn destroyed Forgall's _rath_ with many of its inmates, including Forgall, and carried off Emer. To the ten years which followed, during which he was the great champion of Ulster, belong many tales in which he figures prominently. One of these is _The Debility of the Ultonians_. This was caused by Macha, who, during her pregnancy, was forced to run a race with Conchobar's horses. She outran them, but gave birth immediately to twins, and, in her pangs, cursed the men of Ulster, with a curse that, in time of oppression, they would be overcome with the weakness of childbirth. From this Cúchulainn was exempt, for he was not of Ulster, but a son of Lug.[456] Various attempts have been made to explain this "debility." It may be a myth explaining a Celtic use of the "couvade," though no example of a simultaneous tribal couvade is known, unless we have here an instance of Westermarck's "human pairing season in primitive times," with its consequent simultaneous birth-period for women and couvade for men.[457] Others, with less likelihood, explain it as a period of tabu, with cessation from work and warfare, at a funeral or festival.[458] In any case Macha's curse is a myth explanatory of the origin of some existing custom, the duration of which is much exaggerated by the narrator. To this period belong also the tale of Cúchulainn's visit to Elysium, and others to be referred to later. Another story describes his attack upon Morrigan because she would neither yield up the cows which she was driving away nor tell her true name--an instance of the well-known name tabu. Morrigan took the form of a bird, and was then recognised by Cúchulainn, who poured scorn upon her, while she promised to oppose him during the fight of the _Táin_ in the forms of an eel, a wolf, and a cow, all of which he vowed to destroy.[459] Like many others in the saga, this story is introductory to the main episode of the _Táin_. To this we now turn. Medb had been wife of Conchobar, but, leaving him, had married in succession two chiefs called Ailill, the second of whom had a bull, Findbennach, the White-horned, which she resolved to match by one in every way its equal. Having been refused the Brown Bull of Cuailgne, she summoned all her forces to invade Ulster. The moment was inauspicious for Ulster, for all its men were suffering from their "debility." Cúchulainn, therefore, went out to encounter the host, and forced Medb to agree that a succession of her warriors should engage him in single combat. Among these was his old friend Ferdia, and nothing is so touching as his reluctance to fight him or so pathetic as his grief when Ferdia falls. The reluctance is primarily due to the tie of blood-brotherhood existing between them. Finally, the Ulstermen rose in force and defeated Medb, but not before she had already captured the bull and sent it into her own land. There it was fought by the Findbennach and slew it, rushing back to Ulster with the mangled body on its horns. But in its frenzy a rock seemed to be another bull, which it charged; its brains were dashed out, and it fell dead. The Morrigan had warned the bull of the approach of Medb's army, and she had also appeared in the form of a beautiful woman to Cúchulainn offering him her love, only to be repulsed. Hence she turned against him, and described how she would oppose him as an eel, a wolf, and a red heifer--an incident which is probably a variant of that already described.[460] In each of these shapes she was conquered and wounded by the hero, and knowing that none whom he hurt could be healed save by himself, she appeared to him as an old crone milking a cow. At each draught of the milk which he received from her he blessed her with "the blessing of gods and not-gods," and so her wounds were healed.[461] For this, at a later time, she tried to ward off his death, but unsuccessfully. During the progress of the _Táin_, one of Cúchulainn's "fairy kinsmen," namely, Lug, who announced himself as his father, appeared to aid him, while others of the Tuatha Déa threw "herbs of healing" into the streams in which his wounds were washed.[462] During the _Táin_, Cúchulainn slaughtered the wizard Calatin and his daughters. But Calatin's wife bore three posthumous sons and three daughters, and through their means the hero was at last slain. Everything was done to keep him back from the host which now advanced against Ulster, but finally one of Calatin's daughters took the form of Niamh and bade him go forth. As he passed to the fight, Calatin's daughters persuaded him to eat the flesh of a dog--a fatal deed, for it was one of his _geasa_ never to eat dog's flesh. So it was that in the fight he was slain by Lugaid,[463] and his soul appeared to the thrice fifty queens who had loved him, chanting a mystic song of the coming of Christ and the day of doom--an interesting example of a phantasm coincidental with death.[464] This and other Christian touches show that the Christian redactors of the saga felt tenderly towards the old pagan hero. This is even more marked in the story in which he appears to King Loegaire and S. Patrick, begging the former to believe in God and the saint, and praying Patrick to "bring me with thy faithful ones unto the land of the living."[465] A similar Christianising appears in the story of Conchobar's death, the result of his mad frenzy on hearing from his Druid that an earthquake is the result of the shameful crucifixion of Christ.[466] In the saga, Cúchulainn appears as the ideal Celtic warrior, but, like other ideal warriors, he is a "magnified, non-natural man," many of his deeds being merely exaggerations of those common among barbaric folk. Even his "distortion" or battle frenzy is but a magnifying of the wild frenzy of all wild fighters. To the person of this ideal warrior, some of whose traits may have been derived from traditional stories of actual heroes, _Märchen_ and saga episodes attached themselves. Of every ideal hero, Celtic, Greek, Babylonian, or Polynesian, certain things are told--his phenomenal strength as a child; his victory over enormous forces; his visits to the Other-world; his amours with a goddess; his divine descent. These belong to the common stock of folk-tale episodes, and accumulate round every great name. Hence, save in the colouring given to them or the use made of them by any race, they do not afford a key to the mythic character of the hero. Such deeds are ascribed to Cúchulainn, as they doubtless were to the ideal heroes of the "undivided Aryans," but though parallels may be found between him and the Greek Heracles, they might just as easily be found in non-Aryan regions, e.g. in Polynesia. Thus the parallels between Cúchulainn and Heracles throw little light on the personality of the former, though here and there in such parallels we observe a peculiarly Celtic touch. Thus, while the Greek hero rescues Hesione from a dragon, it is from three Fomorians that Cúchulainn rescues Devorgilla, namely, from beings to whom actual human sacrifice was paid. Thus a _Märchen_ formula of world-wide existence has been moulded by Celtic religious belief and ritual practice.[467] It was inevitable that the "mythological school" should regard Cúchulainn as a solar hero. Thus "he reaches his full development at an unusually early age," as the sun does,[468] but also as do many other heroes of saga and _Märchen_ who are not solar. The three colours of Cúchulainn's hair, dark near the skin, red in the middle, golden near the top, are claimed to be a description of the sun's rays, or of the three parts into which the Celts divided the day.[469] Elsewhere his tresses are yellow, like Prince Charlie's in fact and in song, yet he was not a solar hero. Again, the seven pupils of his eyes perhaps "referred to the days of the week."[470] Blindness befell all women who loved him, a reference to the difficulty of gazing at the sun.[471] This is prosaic! The blindness was a compliment paid to Cúchulainn the blind, by women who made themselves blind while talking to him, just as Conall Cernach's mistresses squinted as he did.[472] Cúchulainn's blindness arose from his habit of sinking one eye into his head and protruding the other--a well-known solar trait! His "distortion," during which, besides this "blindness," blood shot upwards from his head and formed a magic mist, and his anger caused showers of sparks to mount above him, points to dawn or sunset,[473] though the setting sun would rather suggest a hero sinking calmly to rest than a mad giant setting out to slaughter friend and foe. The "distortion," as already pointed out, is the exaggerated description of the mad warrior rage, just as the fear which produced death to those who saw him brandish his weapons, was also produced by Maori warrior methods.[474] Lug, who may be a sun-god, has no such "distortion." The cooling of the hero in three vats, the waters of which boil over, and his emergence from them pinky red in colour, symbolise the sun sinking into the waters and reappearing at dawn.[475] Might it not describe in an exaggerated way the refreshing bath taken by frenzied warriors, the water being supposed to grow warm from the heat of their bodies?[476] One of the hero's _geasa_ was not to see Manannan's horses, the waves; which, being interpreted, means that the sun is near its death as it approaches the sea. Yet Lug, a sun-god, rides the steed Enbarr, a personification of the waves, while Cúchulainn himself often crossed the sea, and also lived with the sea-god's wife, Fand, without coming to grief. Again, the magic horses which he drives, black and grey in colour, are "symbols of day and night,"[477] though it is not obvious why a grey horse should symbolise day, which is not always grey even in the isles of the west. Unlike a solar hero, too, Cúchulainn is most active in winter, and rests for a brief space from slaughtering at midday--the time of the sun's greatest activity both in summer and winter. Another theory is that every visit of the hero to a strange land signifies a descent to Hades, suggested by the sun sinking in the west. Scathach's island may be Hades, but it is more probably Elysium with some traits borrowed from the Christian idea of hell. But Emer's land, also visited by Cúchulainn, suggests neither Hades nor Elysium. Emer calls herself _ingen rig richis garta_, translated by Professor Rh[^y]s as "daughter of the coal-faced king," i.e. she is daughter of darkness. Hence she is a dawn-maiden and becomes the sun-hero's wife.[478] There is nothing in the story to corroborate this theory, apart from the fact that it is not clear, even to the hypothetical primitive mind, why dawn and sun should be a divine pair. Emer's words probably mean that she is "daughter of a king" and "a flame of hospitality" (_richis garta_.)[479] Cúchulainn, in visiting her, went from west to east, contrary to the apparent course of the sun. The extravagance of the solar theory is further seen in the hypothesis that because Cúchulainn has other wives, the sun-god made love to as many dawn-maidens as there are days in the year,[480] like the king in Louys' romance with his 366 wives, one for each day of the year, leap-year included. Further examples of the solar theory need not be cited. It is enough to see in Cúchulainn the ideal warrior, whose traits are bombastic and obscure exaggerations of actual custom and warfare, or are borrowed from folk-tale _motifs_ not exclusively Celtic. Possibly he may have been a war-god, since he is associated with Badb[481] and also with Morrigan. But he has also some traits of a culture hero. He claims superiority in wisdom, in law, in politics, in the art of the _Filid_, and in Druidism, while he brings various things from the world of the gods[482]. In any case the Celts paid divine honours to heroes, living or dead,[483] and Cúchulainn, god or ideal hero, may have been the subject of a cult. This lends point to the theory of M. D'Arbois that Cúchulainn and Conall Cernach are the equivalents of Castor and Pollux, the Dioscuri, said by Diodorus to be worshipped among the Celts near the Ocean.[484] Cúchulainn, like Pollux, was son of a god, and was nursed, according to some accounts, by Findchoém, mother of Conall,[485] just as Leda was mother of Castor as well as of Pollux. But, on the other hand, Cúchulainn, unlike Pollux, was mortal. M. D'Arbois then identifies the two pairs of heroes with certain figures on an altar at Cluny. These are Castor and Pollux; Cernunnos and Smertullos. He equates Castor with Cernunnos, and Pollux with Smertullos. Smertullos is Cúchulainn, and the name is explained from an incident in the _Táin_, in which the hero, reproached for his youth, puts on a false beard before attacking Morrigan in her form as an eel. This is expressed by _smérthain_, "to attach", and is thus connected with and gave rise to the name Smertullos. On the altar Smertullos is attacking an eel or serpent. Hence Pollux is Smertullos-Cúchulainn.[486] Again, the name Cernunnos signifies "the horned one," from _cernu_, "horn," a word found in Conall's epithet Cernach. But this was not given him because he was horned, but because of the angular shape of his head, the angle (_cern_) being the result of a blow.[487] The epithet may mean "victorious."[488] On the whole, the theory is more ingenious than convincing, and we have no proof that the figures of Castor and Pollux on the altar were duplicates of the Celtic pair. Cernunnos was an underworld god, and Conall has no trace of such a character. M. D'Arbois also traces the saga in Gaul in the fact that on the menhir of Kervadel Mercury is figured with a child, Mercury, in his opinion, being Lug, and the child Cúchulainn.[489] On another altar are depicted (1) a woodman, Esus, cutting down a tree, and (2) a bull on which are perched three birds--Tarvos Trigaranos. The two subjects, as M. Reinach points out, are combined on another altar at Trèves, on which a woodman is cutting down a tree in which are perched three birds, while a bull's head appears in the branches.[490] These represent, according to M. D'Arbois, incidents of the _Táin_--the cutting down of trees by Cúchulainn and placing them in the way of his enemies, and the warning of the bull by Morrigan in the bird form which she shared with her sisters Badb and Macha.[491] Why, then, is Cúchulainn called Esus? "Esus" comes from a root which gives words meaning "rapid motion," "anger," "strength"--all shown by the hero.[492] The altars were found in the land of the Belgic Treveri, and some Belgic tribes may have passed into Britain and Ireland carrying the Esus-Cúchulainn legend there in the second century B.C., e.g. the Setantii, dwelling by the Mersey, and bearing a name similar to that of the hero in his childhood--Setanta (_Setantios_) as well as the Menapii and Brigantes, located in Ireland by Ptolemy.[493] In other words, the divine Esus, with his surname Smertullos, was called in Ireland Setanta, after the Setantii, and at a later date, Cúchulainn. The princely name Donnotaurus resembles _Dond tarb_, the "Brown Bull" of the saga, and also suggests its presence in Gaul, while the name [Greek: dêiotaros], perhaps the equivalent of _De[^u]io-taruos_, "Divine Bull," is found in Galatia.[494] Thus the main elements of the saga may have been known to the continental Celts before it was localised in Ireland,[495] and, it may be added, if it was brought there by Gallo-British tribes, this might account for the greater popularity of the native, possibly pre-Celtic, Fionn saga among the folk, as well as for the finer literary quality of the Cúchulainn saga. But the identification of Esus with Cúchulainn rests on slight grounds; the names Esus and Smertullos are not found in Ireland, and the Gaulish Esus, worshipped with human sacrifice, has little affinity with the hero, unless his deeds of slaughter are reminiscent of such rites. It is possible, however, that the episode of the _Táin_ came from a myth explaining ritual acts. This myth may have been the subject of the bas-reliefs, carried to Ireland, and there worked into the saga. The folk-versions of the saga, though resembling the literary versions, are less elaborate and generally wilder, and perhaps represent its primitive form.[496] The greatest differences are found in versions of the _Táin_ and of Cúchulainn's death, which, separate in the saga, are parts of one folk-tale, the death occurring during the fighting over the bull. The bull is his property, and Medb sends Garbh mac Stairn to take it from him. He pretends to be a child, goes to bed, and tricks Garbh, who goes off to get the bull. Cúchulainn arrives before him and personates the herdsman. Each seizes a horn, and the bull is torn in two.[497] Does this represent the primitive form of the _Táin_, and, further, were the bull and Cúchulainn once one and the same--a bull, the incarnation of a god or vegetation spirit, being later made anthropomorphic--a hero-god whose property or symbol was a bull? Instances of this process are not unknown among the Celts.[498] In India, Indra was a bull and a divine youth, in Greece there was the bull-Dionysos, and among the Celts the name of the divine bull was borne by kings.[499] In the saga Morrigan is friendly to the bull, but fights for Medb; but she is now friendly, now hostile to Cúchulainn, finally, however, trying to avert his doom. If he had once been the bull, her friendliness would not be quite forgotten, once he became human and separate from the bull. When she first met Cúchulainn she had a cow on whom the Brown Bull was to beget a calf, and she told the hero that "So long as the calf which is in this cow's body is a yearling, it is up to that time that thou art in life; and it is this that will lead to the _Táin_."[500] This suggests that the hero was to die in the battle, but it shows that the Brown Bull's calf is bound up his life. The Bull was a reincarnation of a divine swineherd, and if, as in the case of Cúchulainn, "his rebirth could only be of himself,"[501] the calf was simply a duplicate of the bull, and, as it was bound up with the hero's life, bull and hero may well have been one. The life or soul was in the calf, and, as in all such cases, the owner of the soul and that in which it is hidden are practically identical. Cúchulainn's "distortion" might then be explained as representing the bull's fury in fight, and the folk-tales would be popular forms of an old myth explaining ritual in which a bull, the incarnation of a tree or vegetation spirit, was slain, and the sacred tree cut down and consumed, as in Celtic agricultural ritual. This would be the myth represented on the bas-reliefs, and in the ritual the bull would be slain, rent, and eaten by his worshippers. Why, then, should Cúchulainn rend the bull? In the later stages of such rites the animal was slain, not so much as a divine incarnation as a sacrifice to the god once incarnated in him. And when a god was thus separated from his animal form, myths often arose telling how he himself had slain the animal.[502] In the case of Cúchulainn and the bull, the god represented by the bull became separate from it, became anthropomorphic, and in that form was associated with or actually was the hero Cúchulainn. Bull sacrifices were common among the Celts with whom the bull had been a divine animal.[503] Possibly a further echo of this myth and ritual is to be found in the folk-belief that S. Martin was cut up and eaten in the form of an ox--the god incarnate in the animal being associated with a saint.[504] Thus the literary versions of the _Táin_, departing from the hypothetical primitive versions, kept the bull as the central figure, but introduced a rival bull, and described its death differently, while both bulls are said to be reincarnations of divine swine-herds.[505] The idea of a fight for a bull is borrowed from actual custom, and thus the old form of the story was further distorted. The Cúchulainn saga is more coherent than the Fionn saga, because it possesses one central incident. The "canon" of the saga was closed at an early date, while that of Fionn has practically never been closed, mainly because it has been more a saga of the folk than that of Cúchulainn. In some respects the two may have been rivals, for if the Cúchulainn saga was introduced by conquerors from Britain or Gaul, it would not be looked on with favour by the folk. Or if it is the saga of Ulster as opposed to that of Leinster, rivalry would again ensue. The Fionn saga lives more in the hearts of the people, though it sometimes borrows from the other. This borrowing, however, is less than some critics, e.g. Zimmer, maintain. Many of the likenesses are the result of the fact that wherever a hero exists a common stock of incidents becomes his. Hence there is much similarity in all sagas wherever found. FOOTNOTES: [453] _IT_ i. 134; Nutt-Meyer, ii. 38 f.; Windisch, _Táin_, 342; L. Duvau, "La Legende de la Conception de Cúchulainn," _RC_ ix. 1 f. [454] Windisch, _Táin_, 118 f. For a similar reason Finnchad was called Cú Cerca, "the hound of Cerc" (_IT_ iii. 377). [455] For the boyish exploits, see Windisch, _Táin_, 106 f. [456] _RC_ vii. 225; Windisch, _Táin_, 20. Macha is a granddaughter of Ler, but elsewhere she is called Mider's daughter (_RC_ xvi. 46). [457] Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ ii. 654; Westermarck, _Hist. of Human Marriage_, ch. 2. [458] Miss Hull, _Folk-Lore_, xii. 60, citing instances from Jevons, _Hist. of Religion_, 65. [459] Windisch, _IT_ ii. 239. [460] Windisch, 184, 312, 330; cf. _IT_ iii. 355; Miss Hull, 164 f.; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 468. [461] _LL_ 119_a_; _RC_ iii. 175. [462] Windisch, 342. [463] _RC_ iii. 175 f. [464] Ibid. 185. [465] Crowe, _Jour. Kilkenny Arch. Soc._ 1870-1871, 371 f. [466] _LL_ 79_a_; O'Curry, _MS. Mat_, 640. [467] _LL_ 125_a_. See my _Childhood of fiction_, ch. 14. [468] Miss Hull, lxxvi. [469] "Da Derga's Hostel," _RC_ xxii. 283; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 438. [470] _LL_ 68_a_; Rh[^y]s, 437; Ingcel the one-eyed has also many pupils (_RC_ xxii. 58). [471] Miss Hull, lxiii. [472] _RC_ viii. 49. [473] _LL_ 77_b_; Miss Hull, lxii. [474] Other Celtic heroes undergo this distortion, which resembles the Scandinavian warrior rage followed by languor, as in the case of Cúchulainn. [475] Miss Hull, p. lxvi. [476] Irish saints, standing neck deep in freezing water, made it hot. [477] _IT_ i. 268; D'Arbois, v. 103; Miss Hull, lxvi. [478] _HL_ 448. [479] See Meyer, _RC xi_. 435; Windisch, _IT_ i. 589, 740. Though _richis_ means "charcoal," it is also glossed "flame," hence it could only be glowing charcoal, without any idea of darkness. [480] _HL_ 458. [481] _IT_ i. 107. [482] _Arch. Rev._ i. 1 f.; _IT_ i. 213; see p. 381, _infra_. [483] See p. 164, _infra_. [484] Diod. Siculus, iv. 56. [485] _IT_ iii. 393. [486] _Les Celtes_, 58 f. Formerly M. D'Arbois identified Smertullos with Lug, ii. 217; Holder, i. 46, 262. For the incident of the beard, see Windisch, _Táin_, 308. [487] _IT_ iii. 395. [488] _IT_ i. 420. [489] _RC_ xxvii. 319 f. [490] _RC_ xviii. 256. [491] _Les Celtes_, 63; _RC_ xix. 246. [492] D'Arbois, _RC_ xx. 89. [493] D'Arbois, _RC_ xxvii. 321; _Les Celtes_, 65. [494] _Les Celtes_, 49; Cæsar, vi. 14. [495] In contradiction to this, M. D'Arbois elsewhere thinks that Druids from Britain may have taught the Cúchulainn legend in Gaul (_RC_ xxvii. 319). [496] See versions in _Book of the Dean of Lismore_; _CM_ xiii.; Campbell, _The Fians_, 6 f. [497] _CM_ xiii. 327, 514. The same story is told of Fionn, _ibid._ 512. See also ballad versions in Campbell, _LF_ 3 f. [498] See p. 212, _infra_. [499] A Galatian king was called Brogitaros, probably a form of _Brogitaruos_, "bull of the province," a title borne by Conchobar, _tarb in chóicid_ (_IT_ i. 72). This with the epithets applied to heroes in the _Triads_, "bull-phantom," "prince bull of combat" (Loth, ii. 232, 243), may be an appellative denoting great strength. [500] _IT_ ii. 241 f.; D'Arbois, _Les Druides_, 168. [501] Miss Hull, 58. [502] See p. 212, _infra_. [503] See p. 208, _infra_. [504] Fitzgerald, _RC_ vi. 254. [505] See p. 243, _infra_. CHAPTER VIII. THE FIONN SAGA. The most prominent characters in the Fionn saga, after the death of Fionn's father Cumal, are Fionn, his son Oisin, his grandson Oscar, his nephew Diarmaid with his _ball-seire_, or "beauty-spot," which no woman could resist; Fergus famed for wisdom and eloquence; Caoilte mac Ronan, the swift; Conan, the comic character of the saga; Goll mac Morna, the slayer of Cumal, but later the devoted friend of Fionn, besides a host of less important personages. Their doings, like those of the heroes of saga and epos everywhere, are mainly hunting, fighting, and love-making. They embody much of the Celtic character--vivacity, valour, kindness, tenderness, as well as boastfulness and fiery temper. Though dating from pagan times, the saga throws little light upon pagan beliefs, but reveals much concerning the manners of the period. Here, as always in early Celtdom, woman is more than a mere chattel, and occupies a comparatively high place. The various parts of the saga, like those of the Finnish _Kalevala_, always existed separately, never as one complete epos, though always bearing a certain relation to each other. Lonnrot, in Finland, was able, by adding a few connecting links of his own, to give unity to the _Kalevala_, and had MacPherson been content to do this for the Fionn saga, instead of inventing, transforming, and serving up the whole in the manner of the sentimental eighteenth century, what a boon would he have conferred on Celtic literature. The various parts of the saga belong to different centuries and come from different authors, all, however, imbued with the spirit of the Fionn tradition. A date cannot be given to the beginnings of the saga, and additions have been made to it even down to the eighteenth century, Michael Comyn's poem of Oisin in Tir na n-Og being as genuine a part of it as any of the earlier pieces. Its contents are in part written, but much more oral. Much of it is in prose, and there is a large poetic literature of the ballad kind, as well as _Märchen_ of the universal stock made purely Celtic, with Fionn and the rest of the heroic band as protagonists. The saga embodies Celtic ideals and hopes; it was the literature of the Celtic folk on which was spent all the riches of the Celtic imagination; a world of dream and fancy into which they could enter at all times and disport themselves. Yet, in spite of its immense variety, the saga preserves a certain unity, and it is provided with a definite framework, recounting the origin of the heroes, the great events in which they were concerned, their deaths or final appearances, and the breaking up of the Fionn band. The historic view of the Fians is taken by the annalists, by Keating, O'Curry, Dr. Joyce, and Dr. Douglas Hyde.[506] According to this view, they were a species of militia maintained by the Irish kings for the support of the throne and the defence of the country. From Samhain to Beltane they were quartered on the people, and from Beltane to Samhain they lived by hunting. How far the people welcomed this billeting, we are not told. Their method of cooking the game which they hunted was one well known to all primitive peoples. Holes were dug in the ground; in them red-hot stones were placed, and on the stones was laid venison wrapped in sedge. All was then covered over, and in due time the meat was done to a turn. Meanwhile the heroes engaged in an elaborate toilette before sitting down to eat. Their beds were composed of alternate layers of brushwood, moss, and rushes. The Fians were divided into _Catha_ of three thousand men, each with its commander, and officers to each hundred, each fifty, and each nine, a system not unlike that of the ancient Peruvians. Each candidate for admission to the band had to undergo the most trying ordeals, rivalling in severity those of the American Indians, and not improbably genuine though exaggerated reminiscences of actual tests of endurance and agility. Once admitted he had to observe certain _geasa_ or "tabus," e.g. not to choose his wife for her dowry like other Celts, but solely for her good manners, not to offer violence to a woman, not to flee when attacked before less than nine warriors, and the like. All this may represent some genuine tradition with respect to a warrior band, with many exaggerations in details and numbers. Some of its outstanding heroes may have had names derived from or corresponding to those of the heroes of an existing saga. But as time went on they became as unhistorical as their ideal prototypes; round their names crystallised floating myths and tales; things which had been told of the saga heroes were told of them; their names were given to the personages of existing folk-tales. This might explain the great divergence between the "historical" and the romantic aspects of the saga as it now exists. Yet we cannot fail to see that what is claimed as historical is full of exaggeration, and, in spite of the pleading of Dr. Hyde and other patriots, little historic fact can be found in it. Even if this exists, it is the least important part of the saga. What is important is that part--nine-tenths of the whole--which "is not true because it cannot be true." It belongs to the region of the supernatural and the unreal. But personages, nine-tenths of whose actions belong to this region, must bear the same character themselves, and for that reason are all the more interesting, especially when we remember that the Celts firmly believed in them and in their exploits. A Fionn myth arose as all myths do, increasing as time went on, and the historical nucleus, if it ever existed, was swamped and lost. Throughout the saga the Fians are more than mere mortals, even in those very parts which are claimed as historical. They are giants; their story "bristles with the supernatural"; they are the ideal figures of Celtic legend throwing their gigantic shadows upon the dim and misty background of the past. We must therefore be content to assume that whether personages called Fionn, Oisin, Diarmaid, or Conan, ever existed, what we know of them now is purely mythical. Bearing in mind that they are the cherished heroes of popular fancy in Ireland and the Scottish Highlands, we have now to inquire whether they were Celtic in origin. We have seen that the Celts were a conquering people in Ireland, bringing with them their own religion and mythology, their own sagas and tales reflected now in the mythological and Cúchulainn cycles, which found a local habitation in Ireland. Cúchulainn was the hero of a saga which flourished more among the aristocratic and lettered classes than among the folk, and there are few popular tales about him. But it is among the folk that the Fionn saga has always been popular, and for every peasant who could tell a story of Cúchulainn a thousand could tell one of Fionn. Conquerors often adopt beliefs, traditions, and customs of the aboriginal folk, after hostilities have ceased, and if the pre-Celtic people had a popular hero and a saga concerning him, it is possible that in time it was accepted by the Celts or by the lower classes among them. But in the process it must have been completely Celticised, like the aborigines themselves; to its heroes were given Celtic names, or they may have been associated with existing Celtic personages like Cumal, and the whole saga was in time adapted to the conceptions and legendary history of the Celts. Thus we might account for the fact that it has so largely remained without admixture with the mythological and Cúchulainn cycles, though its heroes are brought into relation with the older gods. Thus also we might account for its popularity as compared with the Cúchulainn saga among the peasantry in whose veins must flow so much of the aboriginal blood both in Ireland and the Highlands. In other words, it was the saga of a non-Celtic people occupying both Ireland and Scotland. If Celts from Western Europe occupied the west of Scotland at an early date, they may have been so few in number that their own saga or sagas died out. Or if the Celtic occupation of the West Highlands originated first from Ireland, the Irish may have been unable to impose their Cúchulainn saga there, or if they themselves had already adopted the Fionn saga and found it again in the Highlands, they would but be the more attached to what was already localised there. This would cut the ground from the theory that the Fionn saga was brought to Scotland from Ireland, and it would account for its popularity in the Highlands, as well as for the fact that many Fionn stories are attached to Highland as well as to Irish localities, while many place-names in both countries have a Fian origin. Finally, the theory would explain the existence of so many _Märchen_ about Fionn and his men, so few about Cúchulainn. Returning to the theory of the historic aspect of the Fians, it should be noted that, while, when seen through the eyes of the annalists, the saga belongs to a definite historical period, when viewed by itself it belongs to a mythic age, and though the Fians are regarded as champions of Ireland, their foes are usually of a supernatural kind, and they themselves move in a magic atmosphere. They are also brought into connection with the unhistoric Tuatha Dé Danann; they fight with them or for them; they have amours with or wed their women; and some of the gods even become members of the Fian band. Diarmaid was the darling of the gods Oengus and Manannan, and in his direst straits was assisted by the former. In all this we are in the wonderland of myth, not the _terra firma_ of history. There is a certain resemblance between the Cúchulainn and Fionn sagas, but no more than that which obtains between all sagas everywhere. Both contain similar incidents, but these are the stock episodes of universal saga belief, fitted to the personages of individual sagas. Hence we need not suppose with Professor Windisch that the mythic incidents of the Fionn saga are derived from the Cúchulainn cycle. The personages against whom Fionn and his men fight show the mythic nature of the saga. As champions of Leinster they fight the men of Ulster and Connaught, but they also war against oversea invaders--the Lochlanners. While Lochlann may mean any land beyond the sea, like the Welsh _Llychlyn_ it probably meant "the fabulous land beneath the lakes or the waves of the sea," or simply the abode of hostile, supernatural beings. Lochlanners would thus be counterparts of the Fomorians, and the conflicts of the Fians with them would reflect old myths. But with the Norse invasions, the Norsemen became the true Lochlanners, against whom Fionn and his men fight as Charlemagne fought Muhammadans--a sheer impossibility. Professor Zimmer, however, supposes that the Fionn saga took shape during the Norse occupation from the ninth century onwards. Fionn is half Norse, half Irish, and equivalent to Caittil Find, who commanded the apostate Irish in the ninth century, while Oisin and Oscar are the Norse Asvin and Asgeirr. But it is difficult to understand why one who was half a Norseman should become the chosen hero of the Celts in the very age in which Norsemen were their bitter enemies, and why Fionn, if of Norse origin, fights against Lochlanners, i.e. Norsemen. It may also be inquired why the borrowing should have affected the saga only, not the myths of the gods. No other Celtic scholar has given the slightest support to this brilliant but audacious theory. On the other hand, if the saga has Norse affinities, and if it is, in origin, pre-Celtic, these may be sought in an earlier connection of Ireland with Scandinavia in the early Bronze Age. Ireland had a flourishing civilisation then, and exported beautiful gold ornaments to Scandinavia, where they are still found in Bronze Age deposits.[507] This flourishing civilisation was overwhelmed by the invasion of the Celtic barbarians. But if the Scandinavians borrowed gold and artistic decorations from Ireland, and if the Fionn saga or part of it was already in existence, why should they not have borrowed some of its incidents, or why, on the other hand, should not some episodes have found their way from the north to Ireland? We should also consider, however, that similar incidents may have been evolved in both countries on similar lines and quite independently. The various contents of the saga can only be alluded to in the briefest manner. Fionn's birth-story belongs to the well-known "Expulsion and Return" formula, applied to so many heroes of saga and folk-tale, but highly elaborated in his case at the hands of the annalists. Thus his father Cumal, uncle of Conn the Hundred Fighter, 122-157 A.D., wished to wed Muirne, daughter of Conn's chief druid, Tadg. Tadg refused, knowing that through this marriage he would lose his ancestral seat. Cumal seized Muirne and married her, and the king, on Tadg's appeal, sent an army against him. Cumal was slain; Muirne fled to his sister, and gave birth to Demni, afterwards known as Fionn. Perhaps in accordance with old matriarchal usage, Fionn's descent through his mother is emphasised, while he is related to the ancient gods, Tadg being son of Nuada. This at once points to the mythical aspect of the saga. Cumal may be identical with the god Camulos. In a short time, Fionn, now a marauder and an outlaw, appeared at Conn's Court, and that same night slew one of the Tuatha Déa, who came yearly and destroyed the palace. For this he received his rightful heritage--the leadership of the Fians, formerly commanded by Cumal.[508] Another incident of Fionn's youth tells how he obtained his "thumb of knowledge." The eating of certain "salmon of knowledge" was believed to give inspiration, an idea perhaps derived from earlier totemistic beliefs. The bard Finnéces, having caught one of the coveted salmon, set his pupil Fionn to cook it, forbidding him to taste it. But as he was turning the fish Fionn burnt his thumb and thrust it into his mouth, thus receiving the gift of inspiration. Hereafter he had only to suck his thumb in order to obtain secret information.[509] In another story the inspiration is already in his thumb, as Samson's strength was in his hair, but the power is also partly in his tooth, under which, after ritual preparation, he has to place his thumb and chew it.[510] Fionn had many wives and sweethearts, one of them, Saar, being mother of Oisin. Saar was turned into a fawn by a Druid, and fled from Fionn's house. Long after he found a beast-child in the forest and recognised him as his son. He nourished him until his beast nature disappeared, and called him Oisin, "little fawn." Round this birth legend many stories sprang up--a sure sign of its popularity.[511] Oisin's fame as a poet far excelled that of Fionn, and he became the ideal bard of the Gaels. By far the most passionate and tragic story of the saga is that of Diarmaid and Grainne, to whom Fionn was betrothed. Grainne put _geasa_ upon Diarmaid to elope with her, and these he could not break. They fled, and for many days were pursued by Fionn, who at last overtook them, but was forced by the Fians to pardon the beloved hero. Meanwhile Fionn waited for his revenge. Knowing that it was one of Diarmaid's _geasa_ never to hunt a wild boar, he invited him to the chase of the boar of Gulban. Diarmaid slew it, and Fionn then bade him measure its length with his foot. A bristle pierced his heel, and he fell down in agony, beseeching Fionn to bring him water in his hand, for if he did this he would heal him. In spite of repeated appeals, Fionn, after bringing the water, let it drip from his hands. Diarmaid's brave soul passed away, and on Fionn's character this dire blot was fixed for ever.[512] Other tales relate how several of the Fians were spirited away to the Land beyond the Seas, how they were rescued, how Diarmaid went to Land under Waves, and how Fionn and his men were entrapped in a Fairy Palace. Of greater importance are those which tell the end of the Fian band. This, according to the annalists, was the result of their exactions and demands. Fionn was told by his wife, a wise woman, never to drink out of a horn, but coming one day thirsty to a well, he forgot this tabu, and so brought the end near. He encountered the sons of Uirgrenn, whom he had slain, and in the fight with them he fell.[513] Soon after were fought several battles, culminating in that of Gabhra in which all but a few Fians perished. Among the survivors were Oisin and Caoilte, who lingered on until the coming of S. Patrick. Caoilte remained on earth, but Oisin, whose mother was of the _síd_ folk, went to fairyland for a time, ultimately returning and joining S. Patrick's company.[514] But a different version is given in the eighteenth century poem of Michael Comyn, undoubtedly based on popular tales. Oisin met the Queen of Tir na n-Og and went with her to fairyland, where time passed as a dream until one day he stood on a stone against which she had warned him. He saw his native land and was filled with home-sickness. The queen tried to dissuade him, but in vain. Then she gave him a horse, warning him not to set foot on Irish soil. He came to Ireland; and found it all changed. Some puny people were trying in vain to raise a great stone, and begged the huge stranger to help them. He sprang from his horse and flung the stone from its resting-place. But when he turned, his horse was gone, and he had become a decrepit old man. Soon after he met S. Patrick and related the tale to him. Of most of the tales preserved in twelfth to fifteenth century MSS. it may be said that in essence they come down to us from a remote antiquity, like stars pulsing their clear light out of the hidden depths of space. Many of them exist as folk-tales, often wild and weird in form, while some folk-tales have no literary parallels. Some are _Märchen_ with members of the Fian band as heroes, and of these there are many European parallels. But it is not unlikely that, as in the case of the Cúchulainn cycle, the folk versions may be truer to the original forms of the saga than the rounded and polished literary versions. Whatever the Fians were in origin--gods, mythic heroes, or actual personages--it is probable that a short _Heldensage_ was formed in early times. This slowly expanded, new tales were added, and existing _Märchen_ formulæ were freely made use of by making their heroes the heroes of the saga. Then came the time when many of the tales were written down, while later they were adapted to a scheme of Irish history, the heroes becoming warriors of a definite historic period, or perhaps connected with such warriors. But these heroes belonged to a timeless world, whose margins are "the shore of old romance," and it was as if they, who were not for an age but for all time, scorned to become the puppets of the page of history. The earliest evidence of the attitude of the ecclesiastical world to these heroes is found in the _Agallamh na Senorach_, or "Colloquy of the Ancients."[515] This may have been composed in the thirteenth century, and its author knew scores of Fionn legends. Making use of the tradition that Caoilte and Oisin had met S. Patrick, he makes Caoilte relate many of the tales, usually in connection with some place-name of Fian origin. The saint and his followers are amazed at the huge stature of the Fians, but Patrick asperges them with holy water, and hosts of demons flee from them. At each tale which Caoilte tells, the saint says, "Success and benediction, Caoilte. All this is to us a recreation of spirit and of mind, were it only not a destruction of devotion and a dereliction of prayer." But presently his guardian angel appears, and bids him not only listen to the tales but cause them to be written down. He and his attendant clerics now lend a willing ear to the recital and encourage the narrator with their applause. Finally, baptism is administered to Caoilte and his men, and by Patrick's intercessions Caoilte's relations and Fionn himself are brought out of hell. In this work the representatives of paganism are shown to be on terms of friendliness with the representatives of Christianity. But in Highland ballads collected in the sixteenth century by the Dean of Lismore, as well as in Irish ballads found in MSS. dating from the seventeenth century onwards, the saint is a sour and intolerant cleric, and the Fians are equally intolerant and blasphemous pagans. There is no attempt at compromise; the saint rejoices that the Fian band are in hell, and Oisin throws contempt on the God of the shaven priests. But sometimes this contempt is mingled with humour and pathos. Were the heroes of Oisin's band now alive, scant work would be made of the monks' bells, books, and psalm-singing. It is true that the saint gives the weary old man hospitality, but Oisin's eyes are blinded with tears as he thinks of the departed glories of the Fians, and his ears are tormented "by jangling bells, droning psalms, and howling clerics." These ballads probably represent one main aspect of the attitude of the Church to Celtic paganism. How, then, did the more generous _Colloquy_ come into being? We must note first that some of the ballads have a milder tone. Oisin is urged to accept the faith, and he prays for salvation. Probably these represent the beginning of a reaction in favour of the old heroes, dating from a time when the faith was well established. There was no danger of a pagan revival, and, provided the Fians were Christianised, it might be legitimate to represent them as heroic and noble. The _Colloquy_ would represent the high-water mark of this reaction among the lettered classes, for among the folk, to judge by popular tales, the Fians had never been regarded in other than a favourable light. The _Colloquy_ re-established the dignity of the Fian band in the eyes of official Christianity. They are baptized or released from hell, and in their own nature they are virtuous and follow lofty ideals. "Who or what was it that maintained you in life?" asks Patrick. And Caoilte gives the noble reply, "Truth that was in our hearts, and strength in our arms, and fulfilment in our tongues." Patrick says of Fionn: "He was a king, a seer, a poet, a lord with a manifold and great train; our magician, our knowledgeable one, our soothsayer; all whatsoever he said was sweet with him. Excessive, perchance, as ye deem my testimony of Fionn, although ye hold that which I say to be overstrained, nevertheless, and by the King that is above me, he was three times better still." Not only so, but Caoilte maintains that Fionn and his men were aware of the existence of the true God. They possessed the _anima naturaliter Christiana_. The growing appreciation of a wider outlook on life, and possibly acquaintance with the romances of chivalry, made the composition of the _Colloquy_ possible, but, again, it may represent a more generous conception of paganism existing from the time of the first encounter of Christianity with it in Ireland. The strife of creeds in Ireland, the old order changing, giving place to new, had evidently impressed itself on the minds of Celtic poets and romancers. It suggested itself to them as providing an excellent "situation"; hence we constantly hear of the meeting of gods, demigods, or heroes with the saints of the new era. Frequently they bow before the Cross, they are baptized and receive the Christian verity, as in the _Colloquy_ and in some documents of the Cúchulainn cycle. Probably no other European folk-literature so takes advantage of just this situation, this meeting of creeds, one old and ready to vanish away, the other with all the buoyant freshness of youth. Was MacPherson's a genuine Celtic epic unearthed by him and by no one else? No mortal eye save his has ever seen the original, but no one who knows anything of the contents of the saga can deny that much of his work is based on materials collected by him. He knew some of the tales and ballads current among the folk, possibly also some of the Irish MS. versions. He saw that there was a certain unity among them, and he saw that it was possible to make it more evident still. He fitted the floating incidents into an epic framework, adding, inventing, altering, and moulding the whole into an English style of his own. Later he seems to have translated the whole into Gaelic. He gave his version to the world, and found himself famous, but he gave it as the genuine translation of a genuine Celtic epic. Here was his craft; here he was the "charlatan of genius." His genius lay in producing an epic which people were willing to read, and in making them believe it to be not his work but that of the Celtic heroic age. Any one can write an epic, but few can write one which thousands will read, which men like Chateaubriand, Goethe, Napoleon, Byron, and Coleridge will admire and love, and which will, as it were, crystallise the aspirations of an age weary with classical formalism. MacPherson introduced his readers to a new world of heroic deeds, romantic adventure, deathless love, exquisite sentiments sentimentally expressed. He changed the rough warriors and beautiful but somewhat unabashed heroines of the saga into sentimental personages, who suited the taste of an age poised between the bewigged and powdered formalism of the eighteenth century, and the outburst of new ideals which was to follow. His _Ossian_ is a cross between Pope's _Homer_ and Byron's _Childe Harold_. His heroes and heroines are not on their native heath, and are uncertain whether to mince and strut with Pope or to follow nature with Rousseau's noble savages and Saint Pierre's Paul and Virginia. The time has gone when it was heresy to cast doubt upon the genuineness of MacPherson's epic, but if any one is still doubtful, let him read it and then turn to the existing versions, ballads, and tales. He will find himself in a totally different atmosphere, and will recognise in the latter the true epic note--the warrior's rage and the warrior's generosity, dire cruelty yet infinite tenderness, wild lust yet also true love, a world of magic supernaturalism, but an exact copy of things as they were in that far-off age. The barbarism of the time is in these old tales--deeds which make one shiver, customs regarding the relations of the sexes now found only among savages, social and domestic arrangements which are somewhat lurid and disgusting. And yet, withal, the note of bravery, of passion, of authentic life is there; we are held in the grip of genuine manhood and womanhood. MacPherson gives a picture of the Ossianic age as he conceived it, an age of Celtic history that "never was on sea or land." Even his ghosts are un-Celtic, misty and unsubstantial phantasms, unlike the embodied _revenants_ of the saga which are in agreement with the Celtic belief that the soul assumed a body in the other world. MacPherson makes Fionn invariably successful, but in the saga tales he is often defeated. He mingles the Cúchulainn and Ossianic cycles, but these, save in a few casual instances, are quite distinct in the old literature. Yet had not his poem been so great as it is, though so un-Celtic, it could not have influenced all European literature. But those who care for genuine Celtic literature, the product of a people who loved nature, romance, doughty deeds, the beauty of the world, the music of the sea and the birds, the mountains, valour in men, beauty in women, will find all these in the saga, whether in its literary or its popular forms. And through it all sounds the undertone of Celtic pathos and melancholy, the distant echo "Of old unhappy, far-off things And battles long ago." FOOTNOTES: [506] See Joyce, _OCR_ 447. [507] Montelius, _Les Temps Préhistoriques_, 57, 151; Reinach, _RC_ xxi. 8. [508] The popular versions of this early part of the saga differ much in detail, but follow the main outlines in much the same way. See Curtin, _HTI_ 204; Campbell, _LF_ 33 f.; _WHT_ iii. 348. [509] In a widespread group of tales supernatural knowledge is obtained by eating part of some animal, usually a certain snake. In many of these tales the food is eaten by another person than he who obtained it, as in the case of Fionn. Cf. the Welsh story of Gwion, p. 116, and the Scandinavian of Sigurd, and other parallels in Miss Cox, _Cinderella_, 496; Frazer, _Arch. Rev._ i. 172 f. The story is thus a folk-tale formula applied to Fionn, doubtless because it harmonised with Celtic or pre-Celtic totemistic ideas. But it is based on ancient ideas regarding the supernatural knowledge possessed by reptiles or fish, and among American Indians, Maoris, Solomon Islanders, and others there are figured representations of a man holding such an animal, its tongue being attached to his tongue. He is a _shaman_, and American Indians believe that his inspiration comes from the tongue of a mysterious river otter, caught by him. See Dall, _Bureau of Ethnol._ 3rd report; and Miss Buckland, _Jour. Anth. Inst._ xxii. 29. [510] _TOS_ iv.; O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 396; Joyce, _OCR_ 194, 339. [511] For ballad versions see Campbell, _LF_ 198. [512] Numerous ballad versions are given in Campbell _LF_ 152 f. The tale is localised in various parts of Ireland and the Highlands, many dolmens in Ireland being known as Diarmaid and Grainne's beds. [513] For an account differing from this annalistic version, see _ZCP_ i. 465. [514] O'Grady, ii. 102. This, on the whole, agrees with the Highland ballad version, _LF_ 198. [515] _IT_ iv.; O'Grady, _Silva Gad._ text and translation. CHAPTER IX. GODS AND MEN. Though man usually makes his gods in his own image, they are unlike as well as like him. Intermediate between them and man are ideal heroes whose parentage is partly divine, and who may themselves have been gods. One mark of the Celtic gods is their great stature. No house could contain Bran, and certain divine people of Elysium who appeared to Fionn had rings "as thick as a three-ox goad."[516] Even the Fians are giants, and the skull of one of them could contain several men. The gods have also the attribute of invisibility, and are only seen by those to whom they wish to disclose themselves, or they have the power of concealing themselves in a magic mist. When they appear to mortals it is usually in mortal guise, sometimes in the form of a particular person, but they can also transform themselves into animal shapes, often that of birds. The animal names of certain divinities show that they had once been animals pure and simple, but when they became anthropomorphic, myths would arise telling how they had appeared to men in these animal shapes. This, in part, accounts for these transformation myths. The gods are also immortal, though in myth we hear of their deaths. The Tuatha Dé Danann are "unfading," their "duration is perennial."[517] This immortality is sometimes an inherent quality; sometimes it is the result of eating immortal food--Manannan's swine, Goibniu's feast of age and his immortal ale, or the apples of Elysium. The stories telling of the deaths of the gods in the annalists may be based on old myths in which they were said to die, these myths being connected with ritual acts in which the human representatives of gods were slain. Such rites were an inherent part of Celtic religion. Elsewhere the ritual of gods like Osiris or Adonis, based on their functions as gods of vegetation, was connected with elaborate myths telling of their death and revival. Something akin to this may have occurred among the Celts. The divinities often united with mortals. Goddesses sought the love of heroes who were then sometimes numbered among the gods, and gods had amours with the daughters of men.[518] Frequently the heroes of the sagas are children of a god or goddess and a mortal,[519] and this divine parentage was firmly believed in by the Celts, since personal names formed of a divine name and _-genos_ or _-gnatos_, "born of," "son of," are found in inscriptions over the whole Celtic area, or in Celtic documents--Boduogenos, Camulognata, etc. Those who first bore these names were believed to be of divine descent on one side. Spirits of nature or the elements of nature personified might also be parents of mortals, as a name like Morgen, from _Morigenos_, "Son of the Sea," and many others suggest. For this and for other reasons the gods frequently interfere in human affairs, assisting their children or their favourites. Or, again, they seek the aid of mortals or of the heroes of the sagas in their conflicts or in time of distress, as when Morrigan besought healing from Cúchulainn. As in the case of early Greek and Roman kings, Celtic kings who bore divine names were probably believed to be representatives or incarnations of gods. Perhaps this explains why a chief of the Boii called himself a god and was revered after his death, and why the Gauls so readily accepted the divinity of Augustus. Irish kings bear divine names, and of these Nuada occurs frequently, one king, Irél Fáith, being identified with Nuada Airgetlam, while in one text _nuadat_ is glossed _in ríg_, "of the king," as if _Nuada_ had come to be a title meaning "king." Welsh kings bear the name Nudd (Nodons), and both the actual and the mythic leader Brennus took their name from the god Bran. King Conchobar is called _día talmaide_, "a terrestrial god." If kings were thought to be god-men like the Pharaohs, this might account for the frequency of tales about divine fatherhood or reincarnation, while it would also explain the numerous _geasa_ which Irish kings must observe, unlike ordinary mortals. Prosperity was connected with their observance, though this prosperity was later thought to depend on the king's goodness. The nature of the prosperity--mild seasons, abundant crops, fruit, fish, and cattle--shows that the king was associated with fertility, like the gods of growth.[520] Hence they had probably been once regarded as incarnations of such gods. Wherever divine kings are found, fertility is bound up with them and with the due observance of their tabus. To prevent misfortune to the land, they are slain before they grow old and weak, and their vigour passes on to their successors. Their death benefits their people.[521] But frequently the king might reign as long as he could hold his own against all comers, or, again, a slave or criminal was for a time treated as a mock king, and slain as the divine king's substitute. Scattered hints in Irish literature and in folk survivals show that some such course as this had been pursued by the Celts with regard to their divine kings, as it was also elsewhere.[522] It is not impossible that some at least of the Druids stood in a similar relation to the gods. Kings and priests were probably at first not differentiated. In Galatia twelve "tetrarchs" met annually with three hundred assistants at Drunemeton as the great national council.[523] This council at a consecrated place (_nemeton_), its likeness to the annual Druidic gathering in Gaul, and the possibility that _Dru_- has some connection with the name "Druid," point to a religious as well as political aspect of this council. The "tetrarchs" may have been a kind of priest-kings; they had the kingly prerogative of acting as judges as had the Druids of Gaul. The wife of one of them was a priestess,[524] the office being hereditary in her family, and it may have been necessary that her husband should also be a priest. One tetrarch, Deiotarus, "divine bull," was skilled in augury, and the priest-kingship of Pessinus was conferred on certain Celts in the second century B.C., as if the double office were already a Celtic institution.[525] Mythic Celtic kings consulted the gods without any priestly intervention, and Queen Boudicca had priestly functions.[526] Without giving these hints undue emphasis, we may suppose that the differentiation of the two offices would not be simultaneous over the Celtic area. But when it did take effect priests would probably lay claim to the prerogatives of the priest-king as incarnate god. Kings were not likely to give these up, and where they retained them priests would be content with seeing that the tabus and ritual and the slaying of the mock king were duly observed. Irish kings were perhaps still regarded as gods, though certain Druids may have been divine priests, since they called themselves creators of the universe, and both continental and Irish Druids claimed superiority to kings. Further, the name [Greek: semnotheoi], applied along with the name "Druids" to Celtic priests, though its meaning is obscure, points to divine pretensions on their part.[527] The incarnate god was probably representative of a god or spirit of earth, growth, or vegetation, represented also by a tree. A symbolic branch of such a tree was borne by kings, and perhaps by Druids, who used oak branches in their rites.[528] King and tree would be connected, the king's life being bound up with that of the tree, and perhaps at one time both perished together. But as kings were represented by a substitute, so the sacred tree, regarded as too sacred to be cut down, may also have had its _succedaneum_. The Irish _bile_ or sacred tree, connected with the kings, must not be touched by any impious hand, and it was sacrilege to cut it down.[529] Probably before cutting down the tree a branch or something growing upon it, e.g. mistletoe, had to be cut, or the king's symbolic branch secured before he could be slain. This may explain Pliny's account of the mistletoe rite. The mistletoe or branch was the soul of the tree, and also contained the life of the divine representative. It must be plucked before the tree could be cut down or the victim slain. Hypothetical as this may be, Pliny's account is incomplete, or he is relating something of which all the details were not known to him. The rite must have had some other purpose than that of the magico-medical use of the mistletoe which he describes, and though he says nothing of cutting down the tree or slaying a human victim, it is not unlikely that, as human sacrifice had been prohibited in his time, the oxen which were slain during the rite took the place of the latter. Later romantic tales suggest that, before slaying some personage, the mythico-romantic survivor of a divine priest or king, a branch carried by him had to be captured by his assailant, or plucked from the tree which he defended.[530] These may point to an old belief in tree and king as divine representatives, and to a ritual like that associated with the Priest of Nemi. The divine tree became the mystic tree of Elysium, with gold and silver branches and marvellous fruits. Armed with such a branch, the gift of one of its people, mortals might penetrate unhindered to the divine land. Perhaps they may be regarded as romantic forms of the old divine kings with the branch of the divine tree. If in early times the spirit of vegetation was feminine, her representative would be a woman, probably slain at recurring festivals by the female worshippers. This would explain the slaying of one of their number at a festival by Namnite women. But when male spirits or gods superseded goddesses, the divine priest-king would take the place of the female representative. On the other hand, just as the goddess became the consort of the god, a female representative would continue as the divine bride in the ritual of the sacred marriage, the May Queen of later folk-custom. Sporadically, too, conservatism would retain female cults with female divine incarnations, as is seen by the presence of the May Queen alone in certain folk-survivals, and by many Celtic rituals from which men were excluded.[531] FOOTNOTES: [516] O'Grady, ii. 228. [517] Ibid. ii. 203. Cf. Cæsar, vi. 14, "the immortal gods" of Gaul. [518] Cf. Ch. XXIV.; O'Grady, ii. 110, 172; Nutt-Meyer, i. 42. [519] Leahy, ii. 6. [520] _IT_ iii. 203; _Trip. Life_, 507; _Annals of the Four Masters_, A.D. 14; _RC_ xxii. 28, 168. Chiefs as well as kings probably influenced fertility. A curious survival of this is found in the belief that herrings abounded in Dunvegan Loch when MacLeod arrived at his castle there, and in the desire of the people in Skye during the potato famine that his fairy banner should be waved. [521] An echo of this may underlie the words attributed to King Ailill, "If I am slain, it will be the redemption of many" (O'Grady, ii. 416). [522] See Frazer, _Kingship_; Cook, _Folk-Lore_, 1906, "The European Sky-God." Mr. Cook gives ample evidence for the existence of Celtic incarnate gods. With his main conclusions I agree, though some of his inferences seem far-fetched. The divine king was, in his view, a sky-god; he was more likely to have been the representative of a god or spirit of growth or vegetation. [523] Strabo, xii. 5. 2. [524] Plutarch, _de Virt. Mul._ 20. [525] Cicero, _de Div._ i. 15, ii. 36; Strabo, xii. 5. 3; Stachelin, _Gesch. der Kleinasiat. Galater._ [526] Livy, v. 34; Dio Cass. lxii. 6. [527] _Ancient Laws of Ireland_, i. 22; Diog. Laert. i. proem 1; see p. 301, _infra_. [528] Pliny, xvi. 95. [529] P. 201, _infra_. [530] Cf. the tales of Gawain and the Green Knight with his holly bough, and of Gawain's attempting to pluck the bough of a tree guarded by Gramoplanz (Weston, _Legend of Sir Gawain_, 22, 86). Cf. also the tale of Diarmaid's attacking the defender of a tree to obtain its fruit, and the subsequent slaughter of each man who attacks the hero hidden in its branches (_TOS_ vol. iii.). Cf. Cook, _Folk-Lore_, xvii. 441. [531] See Chap. XVIII. CHAPTER X. THE CULT OF THE DEAD. The custom of burying grave-goods with the dead, or slaying wife or slaves on the tomb, does not necessarily point to a cult of the dead, yet when such practices survive over a long period they assume the form of a cult. These customs flourished among the Celts, and, taken in connection with the reverence for the sepulchres of the dead, they point to a worship of ancestral spirits as well as of great departed heroes. Heads of the slain were offered to the "strong shades"--the ghosts of tribal heroes whose praises were sung by bards.[532] When such heads were placed on houses, they may have been devoted to the family ghosts. The honour in which mythic or real heroes were held may point to an actual cult, the hero being worshipped when dead, while he still continued his guardianship of the tribe. We know also that the tomb of King Cottius in the Alps was a sacred place, that Irish kings were often inaugurated on ancestral burial cairns, and that Irish gods were associated with barrows of the dead.[533] The cult of the dead culminated at the family hearth, around which the dead were even buried, as among the Aeduii; this latter custom may have been general.[534] In any case the belief in the presence of ancestral ghosts around the hearth was widespread, as existing superstitions show. In Brittany the dead seek warmth at the hearth by night, and a feast is spread for them on All Souls' eve, or crumbs are left for them after a family gathering.[535] But generally the family ghost has become a brownie, lutin, or pooka, haunting the hearth and doing the household work.[536] Fairy corresponds in all respects to old ancestral ghost, and the one has succeeded to the place of the other, while the fairy is even said to be the ghost of a dead person.[537] Certain archæological remains have also a connection with this ancient cult. Among Celtic remains in Gaul are found andirons of clay, ornamented with a ram's head. M. Dechelette sees in this "the symbol of sacrifice offered to the souls of ancestors on the altar of the hearth."[538] The ram was already associated as a sacrificial animal with the cult of fire on the hearth, and by an easy transition it was connected with the cult of the dead there. It is found as an emblem on ancient tombs, and the domestic Lar was purified by the immolation of a ram.[539] Figurines of a ram have been found in Gaulish tombs, and it is associated with the god of the underworld.[540] The ram of the andirons was thus a permanent representative of the victim offered in the cult of the dead. A mutilated inscription on one of them may stand for _Laribus augustis_, and certain markings on others may represent the garlands twined round the victim.[541] Serpents with rams' heads occur on the monuments of the underworld god. The serpent was a chthonian god or the emblem of such a god, and it may have been thought appropriate to give it the head of an animal associated with the cult of the dead. The dead were also fed at the grave or in the house. Thus cups were placed in the recess of a well in the churchyard of Kilranelagh by those interring a child under five, and the ghost of the child was supposed to supply the other spirits with water from these cups.[542] In Ireland, after a death, food is placed out for the spirits, or, at a burial, nuts are placed in the coffin.[543] In some parts of France, milk is poured out on the grave, and both in Brittany and in Scotland the dead are supposed to partake of the funeral feast.[544] These are survivals from pagan times and correspond to the rites in use among those who still worship ancestors. In Celtic districts a cairn or a cross is placed over the spot where a violent or accidental death has occurred, the purpose being to appease the ghost, and a stone is often added to the cairn by all passers-by.[545] Festivals were held in Ireland on the anniversaries of the death of kings or chiefs, and these were also utilised for purposes of trade, pleasure, or politics. They sometimes occurred on the great festivals, e.g. Lugnasad and Samhain, and were occasionally held at the great burial-places.[546] Thus the gathering at Taillti on Lugnasad was said to have been founded by Lug in memory of his foster-mother, Tailtiu, and the Leinstermen met at Carman on the same day to commemorate King Garman, or in a variant account, a woman called Carman. She and her sons had tried to blight the corn of the Tuatha Dé Danann, but the sons were driven off and she died of grief, begging that a fair should always be held in her name, and promising abundance of milk, fruit, and fish for its observance.[547] These may be ætiological myths explaining the origin of these festivals on the analogy of funeral festivals, but more likely, since Lugnasad was a harvest festival, they are connected with the custom of slaying a representative of the corn-spirit. The festival would become a commemoration of all such victims, but when the custom itself had ceased it would be associated with one particular personage, the corn-goddess regarded as a mortal. This would be the case where the victim was a woman, but where a male was slain, the analogy of the slaying of the divine king or his _succedaneum_ would lead to the festivals being regarded as commemorative of a king, e.g. Garman. This agrees with the statement that observance of the festival produced plenty; non-observance, dearth. The victims were slain to obtain plenty, and the festival would also commemorate those who had died for this good cause, while it would also appease their ghosts should these be angry at their violent deaths. Certain of the dead were thus commemorated at Lugnasad, a festival of fertility. Both the corn-spirit or divinity slain in the reaping of the corn, and the human victims, were appeased by its observance.[548] The legend of Carman makes her hostile to the corn--a curious way of regarding a corn-goddess. But we have already seen that gods of fertility were sometimes thought of as causing blight, and in folk-belief the corn-spirit is occasionally believed to be dangerous. Such inversions occur wherever revolutions in religion take place. The great commemoration of the dead was held on Samhain eve, a festival intended to aid the dying powers of vegetation, whose life, however, was still manifested in evergreen shrubs, in the mistletoe, in the sheaf of corn from last harvest--the abode of the corn-spirit.[549] Probably, also, human representatives of the vegetation or corn-spirit were slain, and this may have suggested the belief in the presence of their ghosts at this festival. Or the festival being held at the time of the death of vegetation, the dead would naturally be commemorated then. Or, as in Scandinavia, they may have been held to have an influence on fertility, as an extension of the belief that certain slain persons represented spirits of fertility, or because trees and plants growing on the barrows of the dead were thought to be tenanted by their spirits.[550] In Scandinavia, the dead were associated with female spirits or _fylgjur_, identified with the _disir_, a kind of earth-goddesses, living in hollow hills.[551] The nearest Celtic analogy to these is the _Matres_, goddesses of fertility. Bede says that Christmas eve was called _Modranicht_, "Mothers' Night,"[552] and as many of the rites of Samhain were transferred to Yule, the former date of _Modranicht_ may have been Samhain, just as the Scandinavian _Disablot_, held in November, was a festival of the _disir_ and of the dead.[553] It has been seen that the Celtic Earth-god was lord of the dead, and that he probably took the place of an Earth-goddess or goddesses, to whom the _Matres_ certainly correspond. Hence the connection of the dead with female Earth-spirits would be explained. Mother Earth had received the dead before her place was taken by the Celtic Dispater. Hence the time of Earth's decay was the season when the dead, her children, would be commemorated. Whatever be the reason, Celts, Teutons, and others have commemorated the dead at the beginning of winter, which was the beginning of a new year, while a similar festival of the dead at New Year is held in many other lands. Both in Ireland and in Brittany, on November eve food is laid out for the dead who come to visit the houses and to warm themselves at the fire in the stillness of the night, and in Brittany a huge log burns on the hearth. We have here returned to the cult of the dead at the hearth.[554] Possibly the Yule log was once a log burned on the hearth--the place of the family ghosts--at Samhain, when new fire was kindled in each house. On it libations were poured, which would then have been meant for the dead. The Yule log and the log of the Breton peasants would thus be the domestic aspect of the fire ritual, which had its public aspect in the Samhain bonfires. All this has been in part affected by the Christian feast of All Souls. Dr. Frazer thinks that the feast of All Saints (November 1st) was intended to take the place of the pagan cult of the dead. As it failed to do this, All Souls, a festival of all the dead, was added on November 2nd.[555] To some extent, but not entirely, it has neutralised the pagan rites, for the old ideas connected with Samhain still survive here and there. It is also to be noted that in some cases the friendly aspect of the dead has been lost sight of, and, like the _síd_-folk, they are popularly connected with evil powers which are in the ascendant on Samhain eve. FOOTNOTES: [532] Silius Italicus, v. 652; Lucan, i. 447. Cf. p. 241, _infra_. [533] Ammian. Marcell. xv. 10. 7; Joyce, _SH_ i. 45. [534] Bulliot, _Fouilles du Mont Beuvray_, Autun, 1899, i. 76, 396. [535] Le Braz, ii. 67; Sauvé, _Folk-lore des Hautes Vosges_, 295; Bérenger-Féraud, _Superstitions et Survivances_, i. 11. [536] Hearn, _Aryan Household_, 43 f.; Bérenger-Féraud, i. 33; _Rev. des Trad._ i. 142; Carmichael, ii. 329; Cosquin, _Trad. Pop. de la Lorraine_, i. 82. [537] Kennedy, 126. The mischievous brownie who overturns furniture and smashes crockery is an exact reproduction of the Poltergeist. [538] Dechelette, _Rev. Arch._ xxxiii, (1898), 63, 245, 252. [539] Cicero, _De Leg._ ii. 22. [540] Dechelette, 256; Reinach, _BF_ 189. [541] Dechelette, 257-258. In another instance the ram is marked with crosses like those engraved on images of the underworld god with the hammer. [542] Kennedy, 187. [543] Lady Wilde, 118; Curtin, _Tales_, 54. [544] Le Braz, i. 229; Gregor, 21; Cambry, _Voyage dans le Finistère_, i. 229. [545] Le Braz, ii. 47; _Folk-Lore_, iv. 357; MacCulloch, _Misty Isle of Skye_, 254; Sébillot, i. 235-236. [546] Names of places associated with the great festivals are also those of the chief pagan cemeteries, Tara, Carman, Taillti, etc. (O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 523). [547] _Rennes Dindsenchas_, _RC_ xv. 313-314. [548] Cf. Frazer, _Adonis_, 134. [549] Cf. Chambers, _Mediæval Stage_, i. 250, 253. [550] See Vigfusson-Powell, _Corpus Poet. Boreale_, i. 405, 419. Perhaps for a similar reason a cult of the dead may have occurred at the Midsummer festival. [551] Miss Faraday, _Folk-Lore_, xvii. 398 f. [552] Bede, _de Temp. Rat._ c. xv. [553] Vigfusson-Powell, i. 419. [554] Curtin, _Tales_, 157; Haddon, _Folk-Lore_, iv. 359; Le Braz, ii. 115 _et passim._ [555] Frazer, _Adonis_, 253 f. CHAPTER XI. PRIMITIVE NATURE WORSHIP. In early thought everything was a person, in the loose meaning then possessed by personality, and many such "persons" were worshipped-- earth, sun, moon, sea, wind, etc. This led later to more complete personification, and the sun or earth divinity or spirit was more or less separated from the sun or earth themselves. Some Celtic divinities were thus evolved, but there still continued a veneration of the objects of nature in themselves, as well as a cult of nature spirits or secondary divinities who peopled every part of nature. "Nor will I call out upon the mountains, fountains, or hills, or upon the rivers, which are now subservient to the use of man, but once were an abomination and destruction to them, and to which the blind people paid divine honours," cries Gildas.[556] This was the true cult of the folk, the "blind people," even when the greater gods were organised, and it has survived with modifications in out-of-the-way places, in spite of the coming of Christianity. S. Kentigern rebuked the Cambrians for worshipping the elements, which God made for man's use.[557] The question of the daughters of Loegaire also throws much light on Celtic nature worship. "Has your god sons or daughters?... Have many fostered his sons? Are his daughters dear and beautiful to men? Is he in heaven or on earth, in the sea, in the rivers, in the mountains, in the valleys?"[558] The words suggest a belief in divine beings filling heaven, earth, sea, air, hills, glens, lochs, and rivers, and following human customs. A naïve faith, full of beauty and poetry, even if it had its dark and grim aspects! These powers or personalities had been invoked from time immemorial, but the invocations were soon stereotyped into definite formulas. Such a formula is put into the mouth of Amairgen, the poet of the Milesians, when they were about to invade Erin, and it may have been a magical invocation of the powers of nature at the beginning of an undertaking or in times of danger: "I invoke the land of Ireland! Shining, shining sea! Fertile, fertile mountain! Wooded vale! Abundant river, abundant in waters! Fish abounding lake! Fish abounding sea! Fertile earth! Irruption of fish! Fish there! Bird under wave! Great fish! Crab hole! Irruption of fish! Fish abounding sea!"[559] A similar formula was spoken after the destruction of Da Derga's Hostel by MacCecht on his finding water. He bathed in it and sang-- "Cold fountain! Surface of strand ... Sea of lake, water of Gara, stream of river; High spring well; cold fountain!"[560] The goddess Morrigan, after the defeat of the Fomorians, invokes the powers of nature and proclaims the victory to "the royal mountains of Ireland, to its chief waters, and its river mouths."[561] It was also customary to take oaths by the elements--heaven, earth, sun, fire, moon, sea, land, day, night, etc., and these punished the breaker of the oath.[562] Even the gods exacted such an oath of each other. Bres swore by sun, moon, sea, and land, to fulfil the engagement imposed on him by Lug.[563] The formulæ survived into Christian times, and the faithful were forbidden to call the sun and moon gods or to swear by them, while in Breton folk-custom at the present day oaths by sun, moon, or earth, followed by punishment of the oath-breaker by the moon, are still in use.[564] These oaths had originated in a time when the elements themselves were thought to be divine, and similar adjurations were used by Greeks and Scandinavians. While the greater objects of nature were worshipped for themselves alone, the Celts also peopled the earth with spirits, benevolent or malevolent, of rocks, hills, dales, forests, lakes, and streams,[565] and while greater divinities of growth had been evolved, they still believed in lesser spirits of vegetation, of the corn, and of fertility, connected, however, with these gods. Some of these still survive as fairies seen in meadows, woodlands, or streams, or as demoniac beings haunting lonely places. And even now, in French folk-belief, sun, moon, winds, etc., are regarded as actual personages. Sun and moon are husband and wife; the winds have wives; they are addressed by personal names and reverenced.[566] Some spirits may already have had a demoniac aspect in pagan times. The Tuatha Déa conjured up _meisi_, "spectral bodies that rise from the ground," against the Milesians, and at their service were malignant sprites--_urtrochta_, and "forms, spectres, and great queens" called _guidemain_ (false demons). The Druids also sent forth mischievous spirits called _siabra_. In the _Táin_ there are references to _bocânachs_, _banânaichs_, and _geniti-glinni_, "goblins, eldritch beings, and glen-folk."[567] These are twice called Tuatha Dé Danann, and this suggests that they were nature-spirits akin to the greater gods.[568] The _geniti-glinni_ would be spirits haunting glen and valley. They are friendly to Cúchulainn in the _Táin_, but in the _Feast of Bricriu_ he and other heroes fight and destroy them.[569] In modern Irish belief they are demons of the air, perhaps fallen angels.[570] Much of this is probably pre-Celtic as well as Celtic, but it held its ground because it was dear to the Celts themselves. They upheld the aboriginal cults resembling those which, in the lands whence they came, had been native and local with themselves. Such cults are as old as the world, and when Christianity expelled the worship of the greater gods, younger in growth, the ancient nature worship, dowered with immortal youth, "bowed low before the blast In patient deep disdain," to rise again in vigour. Preachers, councils, and laws inveighed against it. The old rites continued to be practised, or survived under a Christian dress and colouring. They are found in Breton villages, in Highland glens, in Welsh and Cornish valleys, in Irish townships, and only the spread of school-board education, with its materialism and uninviting common sense, is forcing them at last to yield. The denunciations of these cults throw some light upon them. Offerings at trees, stones, fountains, and cross-roads, the lighting of fires or candles there, and vows or incantations addressed to them, are forbidden, as is also the worship of trees, groves, stones, rivers, and wells. The sun and moon are not to be called lords. Wizardry, and divination, and the leapings and dancings, songs and choruses of the pagans, i.e. their orgiastic cults, are not to be practised. Tempest-raisers are not to ply their diabolical craft.[571] These denunciations, of course, were not without their effect, and legend told how the spirits of nature were heard bewailing the power of the Christian saints, their mournful cries echoing in wooded hollows, secluded valleys, and shores of lake and river.[572] Their power, though limited, was not annihilated, but the secrecy in which the old cults often continued to be practised gave them a darker colour. They were identified with the works of the devil, and the spirits of paganism with dark and grisly demons.[573] This culminated in the mediæval witch persecutions, for witchcraft was in part the old paganism in a new guise. Yet even that did not annihilate superstition, which still lives and flourishes among the folk, though the actual worship of nature-spirits has now disappeared. * * * * * Perhaps the most important object in nature to the early Celts as to most primitive folk was the moon. The phases of the moon were apparent before men observed the solstices and equinoxes, and they formed an easy method of measuring time. The Celtic year was at first lunar--Pliny speaks of the Celtic method of counting the beginning of months and years by the moon--and night was supposed to precede day.[574] The festivals of growth began, not at sunrise, but on the previous evening with the rising of the moon, and the name _La Lunade_ is still given to the Midsummer festival in parts of France.[575] At Vallon de la Suille a wood on the slope where the festival is held is called _Bois de la Lune_; and in Ireland, where the festival begins on the previous evening, in the district where an ascent of Cnoc Aine is made, the position of the moon must be observed. A similar combination of sun and moon cults is found in an inscription at Lausanne--_To the genius of the sun and moon._[576] Possibly sun festivals took the place of those of the moon. Traces of the connection of the moon with agriculture occur in different regions, the connection being established through the primitive law of sympathetic magic. The moon waxes and wanes, therefore it must affect all processes of growth or decay. Dr. Frazer has cited many instances of this belief, and has shown that the moon had a priority to the sun in worship, e.g. in Egypt and Babylon.[577] Sowing is done with a waxing moon, so that, through sympathy, there may be a large increase. But harvesting, cutting timber, etc., should be done with a waning moon, because moisture being caused by a waxing moon, it was necessary to avoid cutting such things as would spoil by moisture at that time. Similar beliefs are found among the Celts. Mistletoe and other magical plants were culled with a waxing moon, probably because their power would thus be greater. Dr. Johnson noted the fact that the Highlanders sowed their seed with a waxing moon, in the expectation of a better harvest. For similar occult reasons, it is thought in Brittany that conception during a waxing moon produces a male child, during a waning moon a female, while _accouchements_ at the latter time are dangerous. Sheep and cows should be killed at the new moon, else their flesh will shrink, but peats should be cut in the last quarter, otherwise they will remain moist and give out "a power of smoke."[578] These ideas take us back to a time when it was held that the moon was not merely the measurer of time, but had powerful effects on the processes of growth and decay. Artemis and Diana, moon-goddesses, had power over all growing things, and as some Celtic goddesses were equated with Diana, they may have been connected with the moon, more especially as Gallo-Roman images of Diana have the head adorned with a crescent moon. In some cases festivals of the moon remained intact, as among the Celtiberians and other peoples to the north of them, who at the time of full moon celebrated the festival of a nameless god, dancing all night before the doors of their houses.[579] The nameless god may have been the moon, worshipped at the time of her intensest light. Moonlight dances round a great stone, with singing, on the first day of the year, occurred in the Highlands in the eighteenth century.[580] Other survivals of cult are seen in the practices of bowing or baring the head at new moon, or addressing it with words of adoration or supplication. In Ireland, Camden found the custom at new moon of saying the Lord's Prayer with the addition of the words, "Leave us whole and sound as Thou hast found us." Similar customs exist in Brittany, where girls pray to the moon to grant them dreams of their future husbands.[581] Like other races, the Celts thought that eclipses were caused by a monster attacking the moon, while it could be driven off with cries and shouts. In 218 B.C. the Celtic allies of Attalus were frightened by an eclipse, and much later Christian legislation forbade the people to assemble at an eclipse and shout, _Vince, Luna!_[582] Such a practice was observed in Ireland in the seventeenth century. At an earlier time, Irish poets addressed sun and moon as divinities, and they were represented on altars even in Christian times.[583] While the Celts believed in sea-gods--Manannan, Morgen, Dylan--the sea itself was still personified and regarded as divine. It was thought to be a hostile being, and high tides were met by Celtic warriors, who advanced against them with sword and spear, often perishing in the rushing waters rather than retreat. The ancients regarded this as bravado. M. Jullian sees in it a sacrifice by voluntary suicide; M. D'Arbois, a tranquil waiting for death and the introduction to another life.[584] But the passages give the sense of an actual attack on the waves--living things which men might terrify, and perhaps with this was combined the belief that no one could die during a rising tide. Similarly French fishermen threaten to cut a fog in two with a knife, while the legend of S. Lunaire tells how he threw a knife at a fog, thus causing its disappearance.[585] Fighting the waves is also referred to in Irish texts. Thus Tuirbe Trágmar would "hurl a cast of his axe in the face of the flood-tide, so that he forbade the sea, which then would not come over the axe." Cúchulainn, in one of his fits of anger, fought the waves for seven days, and Fionn fought and conquered the Muireartach, a personification of the wild western sea.[586] On the French coast fishermen throw harpoons at certain harmful waves called the Three Witch Waves, thus drawing their blood and causing them to subside.[587] In some cases human victims may have been offered to the rising waters, since certain tales speak of a child set floating on the waves, and this, repeated every seven years, kept them in their place.[588] The sea had also its beneficent aspects. The shore was "a place of revelation of science," and the sea sympathised with human griefs. At the Battle of Ventry "the sea chattered, telling the losses, and the waves raised a heavy, woeful great moan in wailing them."[589] In other cases in Ireland, by a spell put on the waves, or by the intuitive knowledge of the listener, it was revealed that they were wailing for a death or describing some distant event.[590] In the beautiful song sung by the wife of Cael, "the wave wails against the shore for his death," and in Welsh myth the waves bewailed the death of Dylan, "son of the wave," and were eager to avenge it. The noise of the waves rushing into the vale of Conwy were his dying groans.[591] In Ireland the roaring of the sea was thought to be prophetic of a king's death or the coming of important news; and there, too, certain great waves were celebrated in story--Clidna's, Tuaithe's, and Rudhraidhe's.[592] Nine waves, or the ninth wave, partly because of the sacred nature of the number nine, partly because of the beneficent character of the waves, had a great importance. They formed a barrier against invasion, danger, or pestilence, or they had a healing effect.[593] The wind was also regarded as a living being whose power was to be dreaded. It punished King Loegaire for breaking his oath. But it was also personified as a god Vintius, equated with Pollux and worshipped by Celtic sailors, or with Mars, the war-god who, in his destructive aspect, was perhaps regarded as the nearest analogue to a god of stormy winds.[594] Druids and Celtic priestesses claimed the power of controlling the winds, as did wizards and witches in later days. This they did, according to Christian writers, by the aid of demons, perhaps the old divinities of the air. Bishop Agobard describes how the _tempestarii_ raised tempests which destroyed the fruits of the earth, and drew "aerial ships" from Magonia, whither the ships carried these fruits.[595] Magonia may be the upper air ruled over by a sky god Magounos or Mogounos, equated with Apollo.[596] The winds may have been his servants, ruled also by earthly magicians. Like Yahweh, as conceived by Hebrew poets, he "bringeth the winds out of his treasures," and "maketh lightnings with rain." FOOTNOTES: [556] Gildas ii. 4. [557] Jocelyn, _Vila Kentig._ c. xxxii. [558] _Trip. Life_, 315. [559] _LL_ 12_b_. The translation is from D'Arbois, ii. 250 f; cf. O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 190. [560] _RC_ xxii. 400. [561] _RC_ xii. 109. [562] Petrie, _Tara_, 34; _RC_ vi. 168; _LU_ 118. [563] Joyce, _OCR_ 50. [564] D'Achery, _Spicelegium_, v. 216; Sébillot, i. 16 f., 56, 211. [565] Gregory of Tours, _Hist._ ii. 10, speaks of the current belief in the divinity of waters, birds, and beasts. [566] Sébillot, i. 9, 35, 75, 247, etc. [567] Joyce, _SH_ ii. 273; Cormac, 87; Stokes, _TIG_ xxxiii., _RC_ xv. 307. [568] Miss Hull, 170, 187, 193; _IT_ i. 214; Leahy, i. 126. [569] _IT_ i. 287. [570] Henderson, _Irish Texts_, ii. 210. [571] _Capit. Karoli Magni_, i. 62; _Leges Luitprand._ ii. 38; Canon 23, 2nd Coun. of Arles, Hefele, _Councils_, iii. 471; D'Achery, v. 215. Some of these attacks were made against Teutonic superstitions, but similar superstitions existed among the Celts. [572] See Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ ii. 498. [573] A more tolerant note is heard, e.g., in an Irish text which says that the spirits which appeared of old were divine ministrants not demoniacal, while angels helped the ancients because they followed natural truth. "Cormac's Sword," _IT_ iii. 220-221. Cf. p. 152, _supra_. [574] Cæsar, vi. 18; Pliny xxii. 14. Pliny speaks of culling mistletoe on the sixth day of the moon, which is to them the beginning of months and years (_sexta luna, quae principia_, etc.). This seems to make the sixth, not the first, day of the moon that from which the calculation was made. But the meaning is that mistletoe was culled on the sixth day of the moon, and that the moon was that by which months and years were measured. _Luna_, not _sexta luna_, is in apposition with _quae_. Traces of the method of counting by nights or by the moon survive locally in France, and the usage is frequent in Irish and Welsh literature. See my article "Calendar" (Celtic) in Hastings' _Encyclop. of Religion and Ethics_, iii. 78 f. [575] Delocke, "La Procession dite La Lunade," _RC_ ix. 425. [576] Monnier, 174, 222; Fitzgerald, _RC_ iv. 189. [577] Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2}, ii. 154 f. [578] Pliny, xvi. 45; Johnson, _Journey_, 183; Ramsay, _Scotland in the Eighteenth Century_, ii. 449; Sébillot, i. 41 f.; MacCulloch, _Misty Isle of Skye_, 236. In Brittany it is thought that girls may conceive by the moon's power (_RC_ iii. 452). [579] Strabo, iii. 4. 16. [580] Brand, _s.v._ "New Year's Day." [581] Chambers, _Popular Rhymes_, 35; Sébillot, i. 46, 57 f. [582] Polybius, v. 78; _Vita S. Eligii_, ii. 15. [583] Osborne, _Advice to his Son_ (1656), 79; _RC_ xx. 419, 428. [584] Aristotle, _Nic. Eth._ iii. 77; _Eud. Eth._ iii. 1. 25; Stobæus, vii. 40; Ælian, xii. 22; Jullian, 54; D'Arbois, vi. 218. [585] Sébillot, i. 119. The custom of throwing something at a "fairy eddy," i.e. a dust storm, is well known on Celtic ground and elsewhere. [586] _Folk-Lore,_ iv. 488; Curtin, _HTI_ 324; Campbell, _The Fians_, 158. Fian warriors attacked the sea when told it was laughing at them. [587] _Mélusine_, ii. 200. [588] Sébillot, ii. 170. [589] Meyer, _Cath. Finntraga_, 40. [590] _RC_ xvi. 9; _LB_ 32_b_, 55. [591] Meyer, _op. cit._ 55; Skene, i. 282, 288, 543; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 387. [592] Meyer, 51; Joyce, _PN_ i. 195, ii. 257; _RC_ xv. 438. [593] See p. 55, _supra_; _IT_ i. 838, iii. 207; _RC_ ii. 201, ix. 118. [594] Holder, _s.v._ "Vintius." [595] Agobard, i. 146. [596] See Stokes, _RC_ vi. 267. CHAPTER XII. RIVER AND WELL WORSHIP. Among the Celts the testimony of contemporary witnesses, inscriptions, votive offerings, and survivals, shows the importance of the cult of waters and of water divinities. Mr. Gomme argues that Celtic water-worship was derived from the pre-Celtic aborigines,[597] but if so, the Celts must have had a peculiar aptitude for it, since they were so enthusiastic in its observance. What probably happened was that the Celts, already worshippers of the waters, freely adopted local cults of water wherever they came. Some rivers or river-goddesses in Celtic regions seem to posses pre-Celtic names.[598] Treasures were flung into a sacred lake near Toulouse to cause a pestilence to cease. Caepion, who afterwards fished up this treasure, fell soon after in battle--a punishment for cupidity, and _aurum Tolosanum_ now became an expression for goods dishonestly acquired.[599] A yearly festival, lasting three days, took place at Lake Gévaudan. Garments, food, and wax were thrown into the waters, and animals were sacrificed. On the fourth day, it is said, there never failed to spring up a tempest of rain, thunder, and lightning--a strange reward for this worship of the lake.[600] S. Columba routed the spirits of a Scottish fountain which was worshipped as a god, and the well now became sacred, perhaps to the saint himself, who washed in it and blessed it so that it cured diseases.[601] On inscriptions a river name is prefixed by some divine epithet--_dea_, _augusta_, and the worshipper records his gratitude for benefits received from the divinity or the river itself. Bormanus, Bormo or Borvo, Danuvius (the Danube), and Luxovius are found on inscriptions as names of river or fountain gods, but goddesses are more numerous--Acionna, Aventia, Bormana, Brixia, Carpundia, Clutoida, Divona, Sirona, Ura--well-nymphs; and Icauna (the Yonne), Matrona, and Sequana (the Seine)--river-goddesses.[602] No inscription to the goddess of a lake has yet been found. Some personal names like Dubrogenos (son of the Dubron), Enigenus (son of the Aenus), and the belief of Virdumarus that one of his ancestors was the Rhine,[603] point to the idea that river-divinities might have amours with mortals and beget progeny called by their names. In Ireland, Conchobar was so named from the river whence his mother Nessa drew water, perhaps because he was a child of the river-god.[604] The name of the water-divinity was sometimes given to the place of his or her cult, or to the towns which sprang up on the banks of rivers--the divinity thus becoming a tutelary god. Many towns (e.g. Divonne or Dyonne, etc.) have names derived from a common Celtic river name Deuona, "divine." This name in various forms is found all over the Celtic area,[605] and there is little doubt that the Celts, in their onward progress, named river after river by the name of the same divinity, believing that each new river was a part of his or her kingdom. The name was probably first an appellative, then a personal name, the divine river becoming a divinity. Deus Nemausus occurs on votive tablets at Nimes, the name Nemausus being that of the clear and abundant spring there whence flowed the river of the same name. A similar name occurs in other regions--Nemesa, a tributary of the Moselle; Nemh, the source of the Tara and the former name of the Blackwater; and Nimis, a Spanish river mentioned by Appian. Another group includes the Matrona (Marne), the Moder, the Madder, the Maronne and Maronna, and others, probably derived from a word signifying "mother."[606] The mother-river was that which watered a whole region, just as in the Hindu sacred books the waters are mothers, sources of fertility. The Celtic mother-rivers were probably goddesses, akin to the _Matres_, givers of plenty and fertility. In Gaul, Sirona, a river-goddess, is represented like the _Matres_. She was associated with Grannos, perhaps as his mother, and Professor Rh[^y]s equates the pair with the Welsh Modron and Mabon; Modron is probably connected with Matrona.[607] In any case the Celts regarded rivers as bestowers of life, health, and plenty, and offered them rich gifts and sacrifices.[608] Gods like Grannos, Borvo, and others, equated with Apollo, presided over healing springs, and they are usually associated with goddesses, as their husbands or sons. But as the goddesses are more numerous, and as most Celtic river names are feminine, female divinities of rivers and springs doubtless had the earlier and foremost place, especially as their cult was connected with fertility. The gods, fewer in number, were all equated with Apollo, but the goddesses were not merged by the Romans into the personality of one goddess, since they themselves had their groups of river-goddesses, Nymphs and Naiads. Before the Roman conquest the cult of water-divinities, friends of mankind, must have formed a large part of the popular religion of Gaul, and their names may be counted by hundreds. Thermal springs had also their genii, and they were appropriated by the Romans, so that the local gods now shared their healing powers with Apollo, Æsculapius, and the Nymphs. Thus every spring, every woodland brook, every river in glen or valley, the roaring cataract, and the lake were haunted by divine beings, mainly thought of as beautiful females with whom the _Matres_ were undoubtedly associated. There they revealed themselves to their worshippers, and when paganism had passed away, they remained as _fées_ or fairies haunting spring, or well, or river.[609] Scores of fairy wells still exist, and by them mediæval knights had many a fabled amour with those beautiful beings still seen by the "ignorant" but romantic peasant. Sanctuaries were erected at these springs by grateful worshippers, and at some of them festivals were held, or they were the resort of pilgrims. As sources of fertility they had a place in the ritual of the great festivals, and sacred wells were visited on Midsummer day, when also the river-gods claimed their human victims. Some of the goddesses were represented by statues or busts in Gallo-Roman times, if not earlier, and other images of them which have been found were of the nature of _ex votos_, presented by worshippers in gratitude for the goddess's healing gifts. Money, ingots of gold or silver, and models of limbs or other parts of the body which had been or were desired to be healed, were also presented. Gregory of Tours says of the Gauls that they "represent in wood or bronze the members in which they suffer, and whose healing they desire, and place them in a temple."[610] Contact of the model with the divinity brought healing to the actual limbs on the principle of sympathetic magic. Many such models have been discovered. Thus in the shrine of Dea Sequana was found a vase with over a hundred; another contained over eight hundred. Inscriptions were engraved on plaques which were fastened to the walls of temples, or placed in springs.[611] Leaden tablets with inscriptions were placed in springs by those who desired healing or when the waters were low, and on some the actual waters are hardly discriminated from the divinities. The latter are asked to heal or flow or swell--words which apply more to the waters than to them, while the tablets, with their frank animism, also show that, in some cases, there were many elemental spirits of a well, only some of whom were rising to the rank of a goddess. They are called collectively _Niskas_--the Nixies of later tradition, but some have personal names--Lerano, Dibona, Dea--showing that they were tending to become separate divine personalities. The Peisgi are also appealed to, perhaps the later Piskies, unless the word is a corrupt form of a Celtic _peiskos_, or the Latin _piscus_, "fish."[612] This is unlikely, as fish could not exist in a warm sulphurous spring, though the Celts believed in the sacred fish of wells or streams. The fairies now associated with wells or with a water-world beneath them, are usually nameless, and only in a few cases have a definite name. They, like the older spirits of the wells, have generally a beneficent character.[613] Thus in the fountains of Logres dwelt damsels who fed the wayfarer with meat and bread, until grievous wrong was done them, when they disappeared and the land became waste.[614] Occasionally, however, they have a more malevolent character.[615] The spirit of the waters was often embodied in an animal, usually a fish. Even now in Brittany the fairy dweller in a spring has the form of an eel, while in the seventeenth century Highland wells contained fish so sacred that no one dared to catch them.[616] In Wales S. Cybi's well contained a huge eel in whose virtues the villagers believed, and terror prevailed when any one dared to take it from the water. Two sacred fish still exist in a holy well at Nant Peris, and are replaced by others when they die, the dead fish being buried.[617] This latter act, solemnly performed, is a true sign of the divine or sacred character of the animal. Many wells with sacred fish exist in Ireland, and the fish have usually some supernatural quality--they never alter in size, they become invisible, or they take the form of beautiful women.[618] Any one destroying such fish was regarded as a sacrilegious person, and sometimes a hostile tribe killed and ate the sacred fish of a district invaded by them, just as Egyptians of one nome insulted those of another by killing their sacred animals.[619] In old Irish beliefs the salmon was the fish of knowledge. Thus whoever ate the salmon of Connla's well was dowered with the wisdom which had come to them through eating nuts from the hazels of knowledge around the well. In this case the sacred fish was eaten, but probably by certain persons only--those who had the right to do so. Sinend, who went to seek inspiration from the well, probably by eating one of its salmon, was overwhelmed by its waters. The legend of the salmon is perhaps based on old ritual practices of the occasional eating of a divine animal. In other cases, legends of a miraculous supply of fish from sacred wells are perhaps later Christian traditions of former pagan beliefs or customs concerning magical methods of increasing a sacred or totem animal species, like those used in Central Australia and New Guinea.[620] The frog is sometimes the sacred animal, and this recalls the _Märchen_ of the Frog Bridegroom living in a well, who insisted on marrying the girl who drew its waters. Though this tale is not peculiar to the Celts, it is not improbable that the divine animal guardian of a well may have become the hero of a folk-tale, especially as such wells were sometimes tabu to women.[621] A fly was the guardian spirit of S. Michael's well in Banffshire. Auguries regarding health were drawn from its movements, and it was believed that the fly, when it grew old, transmigrated into another.[622] Such beliefs were not peculiarly Celtic. They are found in all European folk-lore, and they are still alive among savages--the animal being itself divine or the personification of a divinity. A huge sacred eel was worshipped by the Fijians; in North America and elsewhere there were serpent guardians of the waters; and the Semites worshipped the fish of sacred wells as incarnations or symbols of a god. Later Celtic folk-belief associated monstrous and malevolent beings with rivers and lakes. These may be the older divinities to whom a demoniac form has been given, but even in pagan times such monstrous beings may have been believed in, or they may be survivals of the more primitive monstrous guardians of the waters. The last were dragons or serpents, conventional forms of the reptiles which once dwelt in watery places, attacking all who came near. This old idea certainly survived in Irish and Highland belief, for the Fians conquered huge dragons or serpents in lochs, or saints chained them to the bottom of the waters. Hence the common place-name of Loch na piast, "Loch of the Monster." In other tales they emerge and devour the impious or feast on the dead.[623] The _Dracs_ of French superstition--river monsters who assume human form and drag down victims to the depths, where they devour them--resemble these. The _Each Uisge_, or "Water-horse," a horse with staring eyes, webbed feet, and a slimy coat, is still dreaded. He assumes different forms and lures the unwary to destruction, or he makes love in human shape to women, some of whom discover his true nature by seeing a piece of water-weed in his hair, and only escape with difficulty. Such a water-horse was forced to drag the chariot of S. Fechin of Fore, and under his influence became "gentler than any other horse."[624] Many Highland lochs are still haunted by this dreaded being, and he is also known in Ireland and France, where, however, he has more of a tricky and less of a demoniac nature.[625] His horse form is perhaps connected with the similar form ascribed to Celtic water-divinities. Manannan's horses were the waves, and he was invariably associated with a horse. Epona, the horse-goddess, was perhaps originally goddess of a spring, and, like the _Matres_, she is sometimes connected with the waters.[626] Horses were also sacrificed to river-divinities.[627] But the beneficent water-divinities in their horse form have undergone a curious distortion, perhaps as the result of later Christian influences. The name of one branch of the Fomorians, the Goborchinn, means the "Horse-headed," and one of their kings was Eochaid Echchenn, or "Horse-head."[628] Whether these have any connection with the water-horse is uncertain. The foaming waters may have suggested another animal personification, since the name of the Boyne in Ptolemy, [Greek: bououinda], is derived from a primitive _bóu-s_, "ox," and _vindo-s_, "white," in Irish _bó find_, "white cow."[629] But it is not certain that this or the Celtic cult of the bull was connected with the belief in the _Tarbh Uisge_, or "Water-bull," which had no ears and could assume other shapes. It dwells in lochs and is generally friendly to man, occasionally emerging to mate with ordinary cows. In the Isle of Man the _Tarroo Ushtey_, however, begets monsters.[630] These Celtic water-monsters have a curious resemblance to the Australian _Bunyip_. The _Uruisg_, often confused with the brownie, haunts lonely places and waterfalls, and, according to his mood, helps or harms the wayfarer. His appearance is that of a man with shaggy hair and beard.[631] In Wales the _afanc_ is a water-monster, though the word first meant "dwarf," then "water-dwarf," of whom many kinds existed. They correspond to the Irish water-dwarfs, the _Luchorpáin_, descended with the Fomorians and Goborchinn from Ham.[632] In other cases the old water beings have a more pleasing form, like the syrens and other fairy beings who haunt French rivers, or the mermaids of Irish estuaries.[633] In Celtic France and Britain lake fairies are connected with a water-world like that of Elysium tales, the region of earlier divinities.[634] They unite with mortals, who, as in the Swan-maiden tales, lose their fairy brides through breaking a tabu. In many Welsh tales the bride is obtained by throwing bread and cheese on the waters, when she appears with an old man who has all the strength of youth. He presents his daughter and a number of fairy animals to the mortal. When she disappears into the waters after the breaking of the tabu, the lake is sometimes drained in order to recover her; the father then appears and threatens to submerge the whole district. Father and daughters are earlier lake divinities, and in the bread and cheese we may see a relic of the offerings to these.[635] Human sacrifice to water-divinities is suggested by the belief that water-monsters devour human beings, and by the tradition that a river claims its toll of victims every year. In popular rhymes the annual character of the sacrifice is hinted at, and Welsh legend tells of a voice heard once a year from rivers or lakes, crying, "The hour is come, but the man is not."[636] Here there is the trace of an abandoned custom of sacrifice and of the traditional idea of the anger of the divinity at being neglected. Such spirits or gods, like the water-monsters, would be ever on the watch to capture those who trespassed on their domain. In some cases the victim is supposed to be claimed on Midsummer eve, the time of the sacrifice in the pagan period.[637] The spirits of wells had also a harmful aspect to those, at least, who showed irreverence in approaching them. This is seen in legends about the danger of looking rashly into a well or neglecting to cover it, or in the belief that one must not look back after visiting the well. Spirits of wells were also besought to do harm to enemies. Legends telling of the danger of removing or altering a well, or of the well moving elsewhere because a woman washed her hands in it, point to old tabus concerning wells. Boand, wife of Nechtain, went to the fairy well which he and his cup-bearers alone might visit, and when she showed her contempt for it, the waters rose and destroyed her. They now flow as the river Boyne. Sinend met with a similar fate for intruding on Connla's well, in this case the pursuing waters became the Shannon.[638] These are variants of a story which might be used to explain the origin of any river, but the legends suggest that certain wells were tabu to women because certain branches of knowledge, taught by the well, must be reserved for men.[639] The legends said in effect, "See what came of women obtruding beyond their proper sphere." Savage "mysteries" are usually tabu to women, who also exclude men from their sacred rites. On the other hand, as all tribal lore was once in the hands of the wise woman, such tabus and legends may have arisen when men began to claim such lore. In other legends women are connected with wells, as the guardians who must keep them locked up save when water was drawn. When the woman neglected to replace the cover, the waters burst forth, overwhelming her, and formed a loch.[640] The woman is the priestess of the well who, neglecting part of its ritual, is punished. Even in recent times we find sacred wells in charge of a woman who instructs the visitors in the due ritual to be performed.[641] If such legends and survivals thus point to former Celtic priestesses of wells, these are paralleled by the Norse Horgabrudar, guardians of wells, now elves living in the waters.[642] That such legends are based on the ritual of well-worship is suggested by Boand's walking three times _widdershins_ round the well, instead of the customary _deiseil_. The due ritual must be observed, and the stories are a warning against its neglect. In spite of twenty centuries of Christianity and the anathemas of saints and councils, the old pagan practices at healing wells have survived--a striking instance of human conservatism. S. Patrick found the pagans of his day worshipping a well called _Slán_, "health-giving," and offering sacrifices to it,[643] and the Irish peasant to-day has no doubt that there is something divine about his holy wells. The Celts brought the belief in the divinity of springs and wells with them, but would naturally adopt local cults wherever they found them. Afterwards the Church placed the old pagan wells under the protection of saints, but part of the ritual often remained unchanged. Hence many wells have been venerated for ages by different races and through changes in religion and polity. Thus at the thermal springs of Vicarello offerings have been found which show that their cult has continued from the Stone Age, through the Bronze Age, to the days of Roman civilisation, and so into modern times; nor is this a solitary instance.[644] But it serves to show that all races, high and low, preserve the great outlines of primitive nature religion unchanged. In all probability the ritual of the healing wells has also remained in great part unaltered, and wherever it is found it follows the same general type. The patient perambulated the well three times _deiseil_ or sun-wise, taking care not to utter a word. Then he knelt at the well and prayed to the divinity for his healing. In modern times the saint, but occasionally the well itself, is prayed to.[645] Then he drank of the waters, bathed in them, or laved his limbs or sores, probably attended by the priestess of the well. Having paid her dues, he made an offering to the divinity of the well, and affixed the bandage or part of his clothing to the well or a tree near by, that through it he might be in continuous _rapport_ with the healing influences. Ritual formulæ probably accompanied these acts, but otherwise no word was spoken, and the patient must not look back on leaving the well. Special times, Beltane, Midsummer, or August 1st, were favourable for such visits,[646] and where a patient was too ill to present himself at the well, another might perform the ritual for him.[647] The rag or clothing hung on the tree seems to connect the spirit of the tree with that of the well, and tree and well are often found together. But sometimes it is thrown into the well, just as the Gaulish villagers of S. Gregory's day threw offerings of cloth and wool into a sacred lake.[648] The rag is even now regarded in the light of an offering, and such offerings, varying from valuable articles of clothing to mere rags, are still hung on sacred trees by the folk. It thus probably has always had a sacrificial aspect in the ritual of the well, but as magic and religion constantly blend, it had also its magical aspect. The rag, once in contact with the patient, transferred his disease to the tree, or, being still subtly connected with him, through it the healing properties passed over to him. The offering thrown into the well--a pin, coin, etc., may also have this double aspect. The sore is often pricked or rubbed with the pin as if to transfer the disease to the well, and if picked up by another person, the disease may pass to him. This is also true of the coin.[649] But other examples show the sacrificial nature of the pin or other trifle, which is probably symbolic or a survival of a more costly offering. In some cases it is thought that those who do not leave it at the well from which they have drunk will die of thirst, and where a coin is offered it is often supposed to disappear, being taken by the spirit of the well.[650] The coin has clearly the nature of an offering, and sometimes it must be of gold or silver, while the antiquity of the custom on Celtic ground is seen by the classical descriptions of the coins glittering in the pool of Clitumnus and of the "gold of Toulouse" hid in sacred tanks.[651] It is also an old and widespread belief that all water belongs to some divine or monstrous guardian, who will not part with any of it without a _quid pro quo_. In many cases the two rites of rag and pin are not both used, and this may show that originally they had the same purpose--magical or sacrificial, or perhaps both. Other sacrifices were also made--an animal, food, or an _ex voto_, the last occurring even in late survivals as at S. Thenew's Well, Glasgow, where even in the eighteenth century tin cut to represent the diseased member was placed on the tree, or at S. Winifred's Well in Wales, where crutches were left. Certain waters had the power of ejecting the demon of madness. Besides drinking, the patient was thrown into the waters, the shock being intended to drive the demon away, as elsewhere demons are exorcised by flagellation or beating. The divinity of the waters aided the process, and an offering was usually made to him. In other cases the sacred waters were supposed to ward off disease from the district or from those who drank of them. Or, again, they had the power of conferring fertility. Women made pilgrimages to wells, drank or bathed in the waters, implored the spirit or saint to grant them offspring, and made a due offering.[652] Spirit or saint, by a transfer of his power, produced fruitfulness, but the idea was in harmony with the recognised power of water to purify, strengthen, and heal. Women, for a similar reason, drank or washed in the waters or wore some articles dipped in them, in order to have an easy delivery or abundance of milk.[653] The waters also gave oracles, their method of flowing, the amount of water in the well, the appearance or non-appearance of bubbles at the surface when an offering was thrown in, the sinking or floating of various articles, all indicating whether a cure was likely to occur, whether fortune or misfortune awaited the inquirer, or, in the case of girls, whether their lovers would be faithful. The movements of the animal guardian of the well were also ominous to the visitor.[654] Rivers or river divinities were also appealed to. In cases of suspected fidelity the Celts dwelling by the Rhine placed the newly-born child in a shield on the waters. If it floated the mother was innocent; if it sank it was allowed to drown, and she was put to death.[655] Girls whose purity was suspected were similarly tested, and S. Gregory of Tours tells how a woman accused of adultery was proved by being thrown into the Saône.[656] The mediæval witch ordeal by water is connected with this custom, which is, however, widespread.[657] The malevolent aspect of the spirit of the well is seen in the "cursing wells" of which it was thought that when some article inscribed with an enemy's name was thrown into them with the accompaniment of a curse, the spirit of the well would cause his death. In some cases the curse was inscribed on a leaden tablet thrown into the waters, just as, in other cases, a prayer for the offerer's benefit was engraved on it. Or, again, objects over which a charm had been said were placed in a well that the victim who drew water might be injured. An excellent instance of a cursing-well is that of Fynnon Elian in Denbigh, which must once have had a guardian priestess, for in 1815 an old woman who had charge of it presided at the ceremony. She wrote the name of the victim in a book, receiving a gift at the same time. A pin was dropped into the well in the name of the victim, and through it and through knowledge of his name, the spirit of the well acted upon him to his hurt.[658] Obviously rites like these, in which magic and religion mingle, are not purely Celtic, but it is of interest to note their existence in Celtic lands and among Celtic folk. FOOTNOTES: [597] _Ethnol. in Folklore_, 104 f. [598] D'Arbois, _PH_ ii. 132, 169; Dottin, 240. [599] Justin, xxxii. 3; Strabo, iv. 1. 13. [600] S. Gregory, _In Glor. Conf._ ch. 2. Perhaps the feast and offerings were intended to cause rain in time of drought. See p. 321, _infra_. [601] Adamman, _Vita Colum._ ii. 10. [602] See Holder, _s.v._ [603] D'Arbois, _RC_ x. 168, xiv. 377; _CIL_ xii. 33; Propertius, iv. 10. 41. [604] See p. 349, _infra_. [605] Cf. Ptolemy's [Greek: Dêouana] and [Greek: Dêouna] (ii. 3. 19, 11. 29); the Scots and English Dee; the Divy in Wales; Dêve, Dive, and Divette in France; Devon in England; Deva in Spain (Ptolemy's [Greek: Dêoua], ii. 6. 8). The Shannon is surnamed even in the seventh century "the goddess" (_Trip. Life_, 313). [606] Holder, _s.v._; D'Arbois, _PH_ ii. 119, thinks _Matrona_ is Ligurian. But it seems to have strong Celtic affinities. [607] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 27-29, _RC_ iv. 137. [608] On the whole subject see Pictet, "Quelques noms celtiques de rivières," _RC_ ii. 1 f. Orosius, v. 15. 6, describes the sacrifices of gold, silver, and horses, made to the Rhône. [609] Maury, 18. By extension of this belief any divinity might appear by the haunted spring. S. Patrick and his synod of bishops at an Irish well were supposed to be _síd_ or gods (p. 64, _supra_.) By a fairy well Jeanne d'Arc had her first vision. [610] Greg. Tours, _Vita Patr._ c. 6. [611] See Reinach, _Catal. Sommaire_, 23, 115; Baudot, _Rapport sur les fouilles faits aux sources de la Seine_, ii. 120; _RC_ ii. 26. [612] For these tablets see Nicolson, _Keltic Studies_, 131 f.; Jullian, _RC_ 1898. [613] Sébillot, ii. 195. [614] Prologue to Chrestien's _Conte du Graal_. [615] Sébillot, ii. 202 f. [616] Ibid. 196-197; Martin, 140-141; Dalyell, 411. [617] Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 366; _Folk-Lore_, viii. 281. If the fish appeared when an invalid drank of the well, this was a good omen. For the custom of burying sacred animals, see Herod, ii. 74; Ælian, xiii. 26. [618] Gomme, _Ethnol. in Folklore_, 92. [619] _Trip. Life_, 113; Tigernach, _Annals_, A.D. 1061. [620] Mackinley, 184. [621] Burne, _Shropshire Folk-Lore_, 416; Campbell, _WHT_ ii. 145. [622] _Old Stat. Account_, xii. 465. [623] S. Patrick, when he cleared Ireland of serpents, dealt in this way with the worst specimens. S. Columba quelled a monster which terrified the dwellers by the Ness. Joyce, _PN_ i. 197; Adamnan, _Vita Columb._ ii. 28; Kennedy, 12, 82, 246; _RC_ iv. 172, 186. [624] _RC_ xii. 347. [625] For the water-horse, see Campbell, _WHT_ iv. 307; Macdongall, 294; Campbell, _Superstitions_, 203; and for the Manx _Glashtyn_, a kind of water-horse, see Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 285. For French cognates, see Bérenger-Féraud, _Superstitions et Survivances_, i. 349 f. [626] Reinach, _CMR_ i. 63. [627] Orosius, v. 15. 6. [628] _LU_ 2_a_. Of Eochaid is told a variant of the Midas story--the discovery of his horse's ears. This is also told of Labraid Lore (_RC_ ii. 98; Kennedy, 256) and of King Marc'h in Brittany and in Wales (Le Braz, ii. 96; Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ 233). Other variants are found in non-Celtic regions, so the story has no mythological significance on Celtic ground. [629] Ptol. ii. 2. 7. [630] Campbell, _WHT_ iv. 300 f.; Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 284; Waldron, _Isle of Man_, 147. [631] Macdougall, 296; Campbell, _Superstitions_, 195. For the Uruisg as Brownie, see _WHT_ ii. 9; Graham, _Scenery of Perthshire_, 19. [632] Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ ii. 431, 469, _HL_, 592; _Book of Taliesin_, vii. 135. [633] Sébillot, ii. 340; _LL_ 165; _IT_ i. 699. [634] Sébillot, ii. 409. [635] See Pughe, _The Physicians of Myddfai_, 1861 (these were descendants of a water-fairy); Rh[^y]s, _Y Cymmrodor_, iv. 164; Hartland, _Arch. Rev._ i. 202. Such water-gods with lovely daughters are known in most mythologies--the Greek Nereus and the Nereids, the Slavonic Water-king, and the Japanese god Ocean-Possessor (Ralston, _Songs of the Russian People_, 148; Chamberlain, _Ko-ji-ki_, 120). Manannan had nine daughters (Wood-Martin, i. 135). [636] Sébillot, ii. 338, 344; Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 243; Henderson, _Folk-Lore of the N. Counties_, 262. Cf. the rhymes, "L'Arguenon veut chaque année son poisson," the "fish" being a human victim, and "Blood-thirsty Dee Each year needs three, But bonny Don, She needs none." [637] Sébillot, ii. 339. [638] _Rendes Dindsenchas_, _RC_ xv. 315, 457. Other instances of punishment following misuse of a well are given in Sébillot, ii. 192; Rees, 520, 523. An Irish lake no longer healed after a hunter swam his mangy hounds through it (Joyce, _PN_ ii. 90). A similar legend occurs with the Votiaks, one of whose sacred lakes was removed to its present position because a woman washed dirty clothes in it (_L'Anthropologie_, xv. 107). [639] Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 392. [640] Girald. Cambr. _Itin. Hib._ ii. 9; Joyce, _OCR_ 97; Kennedy, 281; O'Grady, i. 233; Skene, ii. 59; Campbell, _WHT_ ii. 147. The waters often submerge a town, now seen below the waves--the town of Is in Armorica (Le Braz, i. p. xxxix), or the towers under Lough Neagh. In some Welsh instances a man is the culprit (Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 379). In the case of Lough Neagh the keeper of the well was Liban, who lived on in the waters as a mermaid. Later she was caught and received the baptismal name of Muirghenn, "sea-birth." Here the myth of a water-goddess, said to have been baptized, is attached to the legend of the careless guardian of a spring, with whom she is identified (O'Grady, ii. 184, 265). [641] Roberts, _Cambrian Pop. Antiq._ 246; Hunt, _Popular Romances_, 291; _New Stat. Account_, x. 313. [642] Thorpe, _Northern Myth._ ii. 78. [643] Joyce, _PN_ ii. 84. _Slán_ occurs in many names of wells. Well-worship is denounced in the canons of the Fourth Council of Arles. [644] Cartailhac, _L'Age de Pierre_, 74; Bulliot et Thiollier, _Mission de S. Martin_, 60. [645] Sébillot, ii. 284. [646] Dalyell, 79-80; Sébillot, ii. 282, 374; see p. 266, _infra_. [647] I have compiled this account of the ritual from notices of the modern usages in various works. See, e.g., Moore, _Folk-Lore_, v. 212; Mackinley, _passim_; Hope, _Holy Wells_; Rh[^y]s, _CFL_; Sébillot, 175 f.; Dixon, _Gairloch_, 150 f. [648] Brand, ii. 68; Greg. _In Glor. Conf._ c. 2. [649] Sébillot, ii. 293, 296; _Folk-Lore_, iv. 55. [650] Mackinley, 194; Sébillot, ii. 296. [651] _Folk-Lore_, iii. 67; _Athenæum_, 1893, 415; Pliny, _Ep._ viii. 8; Strabo, iv. 287; Diod. Sic. v. 9. [652] Walker, _Proc. Soc. Ant. Scot._ vol. v.; Sébillot, ii. 232. In some early Irish instances a worm swallowed with the waters by a woman causes pregnancy. See p. 352, _infra_. [653] Sébillot, ii. 235-236. [654] See Le Braz, i. 61; _Folk-Lore_, v. 214; Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 364; Dalyell, 506-507; Scott, _Minstrelsy_, Introd. xliii; Martin, 7; Sébillot, ii. 242 f.; _RC_ ii. 486. [655] Jullian, _Ep. to Maximin_, 16. The practice may have been connected with that noted by Aristotle, of plunging the newly-born into a river, to strengthen it, as he says (_Pol._ vii. 15. 2), but more probably as a baptismal or purificatory rite. See p. 309, _infra_. [656] Lefevre, _Les Gaulois_, 109; Michelet, _Origines du droit français_, 268. [657] See examples of its use in Post, _Grundriss der Ethnol. Jurisprudenz_, ii. 459 f. [658] Roberts, _Cambrian Popular Antiquities_, 246. CHAPTER XIII. TREE AND PLANT WORSHIP. The Celts had their own cult of trees, but they adopted local cults--Ligurian, Iberian, and others. The _Fagus Deus_ (the divine beech), the _Sex arbor_ or _Sex arbores_ of Pyrenean inscriptions, and an anonymous god represented by a conifer on an altar at Toulouse, probably point to local Ligurian tree cults continued by the Celts into Roman times.[659] Forests were also personified or ruled by a single goddess, like _Dea Arduinna_ of the Ardennes and _Dea Abnoba_ of the Black Forest.[660] But more primitive ideas prevailed, like that which assigned a whole class of tree-divinities to a forest, e.g. the _Fatæ Dervones_, spirits of the oak-woods of Northern Italy.[661] Groups of trees like _Sex arbores_ were venerated, perhaps for their height, isolation, or some other peculiarity. The Celts made their sacred places in dark groves, the trees being hung with offerings or with the heads of victims. Human sacrifices were hung or impaled on trees, e.g. by the warriors of Boudicca.[662] These, like the offerings still placed by the folk on sacred trees, were attached to them because the trees were the abode of spirits or divinities who in many cases had power over vegetation. Pliny said of the Celts: "They esteem nothing more sacred than the mistletoe and the tree on which it grows. But apart from this they choose oak-woods for their sacred groves, and perform no sacred rite without using oak branches."[663] Maximus of Tyre also speaks of the Celtic (? German) image of Zeus as a lofty oak, and an old Irish glossary gives _daur_, "oak," as an early Irish name for "god," and glosses it by _dia_, "god."[664] The sacred need-fire may have been obtained by friction from oak-wood, and it is because of the old sacredness of the oak that a piece of its wood is still used as a talisman in Brittany.[665] Other Aryan folk besides the Celts regarded the oak as the symbol of a high god, of the sun or the sky,[666] but probably this was not its earliest significance. Oak forests were once more extensive over Europe than they are now, and the old tradition that men once lived on acorns has been shown to be well-founded by the witness of archæological finds, e.g. in Northern Italy.[667] A people living in an oak region and subsisting in part on acorns might easily take the oak as a representative of the spirit of vegetation or growth. It was long-lived, its foliage was a protection, it supplied food, its wood was used as fuel, and it was thus clearly the friend of man. For these reasons, and because it was the most abiding and living thing men knew, it became the embodiment of the spirits of life and growth. Folk-lore survivals show that the spirit of vegetation in the shape of his representative was annually slain while yet in full vigour, that his life might benefit all things and be passed on undiminished to his successor.[668] Hence the oak or a human being representing the spirit of vegetation, or both together, were burned in the Midsummer fires. How, then, did the oak come to symbolise a god equated with Zeus. Though the equation may be worthless, it is possible that the connection lay in the fact that Zeus and Juppiter had agricultural functions, or that, when the equation was made, the earlier spirit of vegetation had become a divinity with functions resembling those of Zeus. The fires were kindled to recruit the sun's life; they were fed with oak-wood, and in them an oak or a human victim representing the spirit embodied in the oak was burned. Hence it may have been thought that the sun was strengthened by the fire residing in the sacred oak; it was thus "the original storehouse or reservoir of the fire which was from time to time drawn out to feed the sun."[669] The oak thus became the symbol of a bright god also connected with growth. But, to judge by folk survivals, the older conception still remained potent, and tree or human victim affected for good all vegetable growth as well as man's life, while at the same time the fire strengthened the sun. Dr. Evans argues that "the original holy object within the central triliths of Stonehenge was a sacred tree," an oak, image of the Celtic Zeus. The tree and the stones, once associated with ancestor worship, had become symbols of "a more celestial Spirit or Spirits than those of departed human beings."[670] But Stonehenge has now been proved to have been in existence before the arrival of the Celts, hence such a cult must have been pre-Celtic, though it may quite well have been adopted by the Celts. Whether this hypothetical cult was practised by a tribe, a group of tribes, or by the whole people, must remain obscure, and, indeed, it may well be questioned whether Stonehenge was ever more than the scene of some ancestral rites. Other trees--the yew, the cypress, the alder, and the ash, were venerated, to judge by what Lucan relates of the sacred grove at Marseilles. The Irish Druids attributed special virtues to the hazel, rowan, and yew, the wood of which was used in magical ceremonies described in Irish texts.[671] Fires of rowan were lit by the Druids of rival armies, and incantations said over them in order to discomfit the opposing host,[672] and the wood of all these trees is still believed to be efficacious against fairies and witches. The Irish _bile_ was a sacred tree, of great age, growing over a holy well or fort. Five of them are described in the _Dindsenchas_, and one was an oak, which not only yielded acorns, but nuts and apples.[673] The mythic trees of Elysium had the same varied fruitage, and the reason in both cases is perhaps the fact that when the cultivated apple took the place of acorns and nuts as a food staple, words signifying "nut" or "acorn" were transferred to the apple. A myth of trees on which all these fruits grew might then easily arise. Another Irish _bile_ was a yew described in a poem as "a firm strong god," while such phrases in this poem as "word-pure man," "judgment of origin," "spell of knowledge," may have some reference to the custom of writing divinations in ogham on rods of yew. The other _bile_ were ash-trees, and from one of them the _Fir Bile_, "men of the tree," were named--perhaps a totem-clan.[674] The lives of kings and chiefs appear to have been connected with these trees, probably as representatives of the spirit of vegetation embodied in the tree, and under their shadow they were inaugurated. But as a substitute for the king was slain, so doubtless these pre-eminent sacred trees were too sacred, too much charged with supernatural force, to be cut down and burned, and the yearly ritual would be performed with another tree. But in time of feud one tribe gloried in destroying the _bile_ of another; and even in the tenth century, when the _bile maighe Adair_ was destroyed by Maelocohlen the act was regarded with horror. "But, O reader, this deed did not pass unpunished."[675] Of another _bile_, that of Borrisokane, it was said that any house in which a fragment of it was burned would itself be destroyed by fire.[676] Tribal and personal names point to belief in descent from tree gods or spirits and perhaps to totemism. The Eburones were the yew-tree tribe (_eburos_); the Bituriges perhaps had the mistletoe for their symbol, and their surname Vivisci implies that they were called "Mistletoe men."[677] If _bile_ (tree) is connected with the name Bile, that of the ancestor of the Milesians, this may point to some myth of descent from a sacred tree, as in the case of the _Fir Bile_, or "men of the tree."[678] Other names like Guidgen (_Viduo-genos_, "son of the tree"), Dergen (_Dervo-genos_, "son of the oak"), Guerngen (_Verno-genos_, "son of the alder"), imply filiation to a tree. Though these names became conventional, they express what had once been a living belief. Names borrowed directly from trees are also found---Eburos or Ebur, "yew," Derua or Deruacus, "oak," etc. The veneration of trees growing beside burial mounds or megalithic monuments was probably a pre-Celtic cult continued by the Celts. The tree embodied the ghost of the person buried under it, but such a ghost could then hardly be differentiated from a tree spirit or divinity. Even now in Celtic districts extreme veneration exists for trees growing in cemeteries and in other places. It is dangerous to cut them down or to pluck a leaf or branch from them, while in Breton churchyards the yew is thought to spread a root to the mouth of each corpse.[679] The story of the grave of Cyperissa, daughter of a Celtic king in the Danube region, from which first sprang the "mournful cypress,"[680] is connected with universal legends of trees growing from the graves of lovers until their branches intertwine. These embody the belief that the spirit of the dead is in the tree, which was thus in all likelihood the object of a cult. Instances of these legends occur in Celtic story. Yew-stakes driven through the bodies of Naisi and Deirdre to keep them apart, became yew-trees the tops of which embraced over Armagh Cathedral. A yew sprang from the grave of Bailé Mac Buain, and an apple-tree from that of his lover Aillinn, and the top of each had the form of their heads.[681] The identification of tree and ghost is here complete. The elder, rowan, and thorn are still planted round houses to keep off witches, or sprigs of rowan are placed over doorways--a survival from the time when they were believed to be tenanted by a beneficent spirit hostile to evil influences. In Ireland and the Isle of Man the thorn is thought to be the resort of fairies, and they, like the woodland fairies or "wood men" are probably representatives of the older tree spirits and gods of groves and forests.[682] Tree-worship was rooted in the oldest nature worship, and the Church had the utmost difficulty in suppressing it. Councils fulminated against the cult of trees, against offerings to them or the placing of lights before them and before wells or stones, and against the belief that certain trees were too sacred to be cut down or burned. Heavy fines were levied against those who practised these rites, yet still they continued.[683] Amator, Bishop of Auxerre, tried to stop the worship of a large pear-tree standing in the centre of the town and on which the semi-Christian inhabitants hung animals' heads with much ribaldry. At last S. Germanus destroyed it, but at the risk of his life. S. Martin of Tours was allowed to destroy a temple, but the people would not permit him to attack a much venerated pine-tree which stood beside it--an excellent example of the way in which the more official paganism fell before Christianity, while the older religion of the soil, from which it sprang, could not be entirely eradicated.[684] The Church often effected a compromise. Images of the gods affixed to trees were replaced by those of the Virgin, but with curious results. Legends arose telling how the faithful had been led to such trees and there discovered the image of the Madonna miraculously placed among the branches.[685] These are analogous to the legends of the discovery of images of the Virgin in the earth, such images being really those of the _Matres_. Representations of sacred trees are occasionally met with on coins, altars, and _ex votos_.[686] If the interpretation be correct which sees a representation of part of the Cúchulainn legend on the Paris and Trèves altars, the trees figured there would not necessarily be sacred. But otherwise they may depict sacred trees. We now turn to Pliny's account of the mistletoe rite. The Druids held nothing more sacred than this plant and the tree on which it grew, probably an oak. Of it groves were formed, while branches of the oak were used in all religious rites. Everything growing on the oak had been sent from heaven, and the presence of the mistletoe showed that God had selected the tree for especial favour. Rare as it was, when found the mistletoe was the object of a careful ritual. On the sixth day of the moon it was culled. Preparations for a sacrifice and feast were made beneath the tree, and two white bulls whose horns had never been bound were brought there. A Druid, clad in white, ascended the tree and cut the mistletoe with a golden sickle. As it fell it was caught in a white cloth; the bulls were then sacrificed, and prayer was made that God would make His gift prosperous to those on whom He had bestowed it. The mistletoe was called "the universal healer," and a potion made from it caused barren animals to be fruitful. It was also a remedy against all poisons.[687] We can hardly believe that such an elaborate ritual merely led up to the medico-magical use of the mistletoe. Possibly, of course, the rite was an attenuated survival of something which had once been more important, but it is more likely that Pliny gives only a few picturesque details and passes by the _rationale_ of the ritual. He does not tell us who the "God" of whom he speaks was, perhaps the sun-god or the god of vegetation. As to the "gift," it was probably in his mind the mistletoe, but it may quite well have meant the gift of growth in field and fold. The tree was perhaps cut down and burned; the oxen may have been incarnations of a god of vegetation, as the tree also may have been. We need not here repeat the meaning which has been given to the ritual,[688] but it may be added that if this meaning is correct, the rite probably took place at the time of the Midsummer festival, a festival of growth and fertility. Mistletoe is still gathered on Midsummer eve and used as an antidote to poisons or for the cure of wounds. Its Druidic name is still preserved in Celtic speech in words signifying "all-healer," while it is also called _sùgh an daraich_, "sap of the oak," and _Druidh lus_, "Druid's weed."[689] Pliny describes other Celtic herbs of grace. _Selago_ was culled without use of iron after a sacrifice of bread and wine--probably to the spirit of the plant. The person gathering it wore a white robe, and went with unshod feet after washing them. According to the Druids, _Selago_ preserved one from accident, and its smoke when burned healed maladies of the eye.[690] _Samolus_ was placed in drinking troughs as a remedy against disease in cattle. It was culled by a person fasting, with the left hand; it must be wholly uprooted, and the gatherer must not look behind him.[691] _Vervain_ was gathered at sunrise after a sacrifice to the earth as an expiation--perhaps because its surface was about to be disturbed. When it was rubbed on the body all wishes were gratified; it dispelled fevers and other maladies; it was an antidote against serpents; and it conciliated hearts. A branch of the dried herb used to asperge a banquet-hall made the guests more convivial[692] The ritual used in gathering these plants--silence, various tabus, ritual purity, sacrifice--is found wherever plants are culled whose virtue lies in this that they are possessed by a spirit. Other plants are still used as charms by modern Celtic peasants, and, in some cases, the ritual of gathering them resembles that described by Pliny.[693] In Irish sagas plants have magical powers. "Fairy herbs" placed in a bath restored beauty to women bathing therein.[694] During the _Táin_ Cúchulainn's wounds were healed with "balsams and healing herbs of fairy potency," and Diancecht used similar herbs to restore the dead at the battle of Mag-tured.[695] FOOTNOTES: [659] Sacaze, _Inscr. des Pyren._ 255; Hirschfeld, _Sitzungsberichte_ (Berlin, 1896), 448. [660] _CIL_ vi. 46; _CIR_ 1654, 1683. [661] D'Arbois, _Les Celtes_, 52. [662] Lucan, _Phar._ Usener's ed., 32; Orosius, v. 16. 6; Dio Cass. lxii. 6. [663] Pliny, xvi. 44. The Scholiast on Lucan says that the Druids divined with acorns (Usener, 33). [664] Max. Tyr. _Diss._ viii. 8; Stokes, _RC_ i. 259. [665] Le Braz, ii. 18. [666] Mr. Chadwick (_Jour. Anth. Inst._ xxx. 26) connects this high god with thunder, and regards the Celtic Zeus (Taranis, in his opinion) as a thunder-god. The oak was associated with this god because his worshippers dwelt under oaks. [667] Helbig, _Die Italiker in der Poebene_, 16 f. [668] Mannhardt, _Baumkultus_; Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2} iii. 198. [669] Frazer, _loc. cit._ [670] Evans, _Arch. Rev._ i. 327 f. [671] Joyce, _SH_ i. 236. [672] O'Curry, _MC_ i. 213. [673] _LL_ 199_b_; _Rennes Dindsenchas_, _RC_ xv. 420. [674] _RC_ xv. 455, xvi. 279; Hennessey, _Chron. Scot._ 76. [675] Keating, 556; Joyce, _PN_ i. 499. [676] Wood-Martin, ii. 159. [677] D'Arbois, _Les Celtes_, 51; Jullian, 41. [678] Cook, _Folk-Lore_, xvii. 60. [679] See Sébillot, i. 293; Le Braz, i. 259; _Folk-Lore Journal_, v. 218; _Folk-Lore Record_, 1882. [680] Val. Probus, _Comm. in Georgica_, ii. 84. [681] Miss Hull, 53; O'Ourry, _MS. Mat._ 465. Writing tablets, made from each of the trees when they were cut down, sprang together and could not be separated. [682] _Stat. Account_, iii. 27; Moore, 151; Sébillot, i. 262, 270. [683] Dom Martin, i. 124; _Vita S. Eligii_, ii. 16. [684] _Acta Sanct._ (Bolland.), July 31; Sulp. Sever. _Vita S. Mart._ 457. [685] Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ 76; Maury, 13, 299. The story of beautiful women found in trees may be connected with the custom of placing images in trees, or with the belief that a goddess might be seen emerging from the tree in which she dwelt. [686] De la Tour, _Atlas des Monnaies Gaul_, 260, 286; Reinach, _Catal. Sommaire_, 29. [687] Pliny, _HN_ xvi. 44. [688] See p. 162, _supra_. [689] See Cameron, _Gaelic Names of Plants_, 45. In Gregoire de Rostren, _Dict. françois-celt._ 1732, mistletoe is translated by _dour-dero_, "oak-water," and is said to be good for several evils. [690] Pliny, xxiv. 11. [691] Ibid. [692] Ibid. xxv. 9. [693] See Carmichael, _Carmina Gadelica_; De Nore, _Coutumes ... des Provinces de France_, 150 f.; Sauvé, _RC_ vi. 67, _CM_ ix. 331. [694] O'Grady, ii. 126. [695] Miss Hull, 172; see p. 77, _supra_. CHAPTER XIV. ANIMAL WORSHIP. Animal worship pure and simple had declined among the Celts of historic times, and animals were now regarded mainly as symbols or attributes of divinities. The older cult had been connected with the pastoral stage in which the animals were divine, or with the agricultural stage in which they represented the corn-spirit, and perhaps with totemism. We shall study here (1) traces of the older animal cults; (2) the transformation of animal gods into symbols; and (3) traces of totemism. 1. The presence of a bull with three cranes (_Tarvos Trigaranos_) on the Paris altar, along with the gods Esus, Juppiter, and Vulcan, suggests that it was a divine animal, or the subject of a divine myth. As has been seen, this bull may be the bull of the _Táin bó Cuailgne_. Both it and its opponent were reincarnations of the swine-herds of two gods. In the Irish sagas reincarnation is only attributed to gods or heroes, and this may point to the divinity of the bulls. We have seen that this and another altar may depict some myth in which the bull was the incarnation of a tree or vegetation spirit. The divine nature of the bull is attested by its presence on Gaulish coins as a religious symbol, and by images of the animal with three horns--an obvious symbol of divinity.[696] On such an image in bronze the Cimbri, Celticised Germans, swore. The images are pre-Roman, since they are found at Hallstadt and La Tène. Personal names like Donnotaurus (the equivalent of the _Donn Taruos_ of the _Táin_) or Deiotaros ("divine bull"), show that men were called after the divine animal.[697] Similarly many place-names in which the word _taruos_ occurs, in Northern Italy, the Pyrenees, Scotland, Ireland, and elsewhere, suggest that the places bearing these names were sites of a bull cult or that some myth, like that elaborated in the _Táin_, had been there localised.[698] But, as possibly in the case of Cúchulainn and the bull, the animal tended to become the symbol of a god, a tendency perhaps aided by the spread of Mithraism with its symbolic bull. A god Medros leaning on a bull is represented at Haguenau, possibly a form of Mider or of Meduris, a surname of Toutatis, unless Medros is simply Mithras.[699] Echoes of the cult of the bull or cow are heard in Irish tales of these animals brought from the _síd_, or of magic bulls or of cows which produced enormous supplies of milk, or in saintly legends of oxen leading a saint to the site of his future church.[700] These legends are also told of the swine,[701] and they perhaps arose when a Christian church took the place of the site of a local animal cult, legend fusing the old and the new cult by making the once divine animal point out the site of the church. A late relic of a bull cult may be found in the carnival procession of the _Boeuf Gras_ at Paris. A cult of a swine-god Moccus has been referred to. The boar was a divine symbol on standards, coins, and altars, and many bronze images of the animal have been found. These were temple treasures, and in one case the boar is three-horned.[702] But it was becoming the symbol of a goddess, as is seen by the altars on which it accompanies a goddess, perhaps of fertility, and by a bronze image of a goddess seated on a boar. The altars occur in Britain, of which the animal may be the emblem--the "Caledonian monster" of Claudian's poem.[703] The Galatian Celts abstained from eating the swine, and there has always been a prejudice against its flesh in the Highlands. This has a totemic appearance.[704] But the swine is esteemed in Ireland, and in the texts monstrous swine are the staple article of famous feasts.[705] These may have been legendary forms of old swine-gods, the feasts recalling sacrificial feasts on their flesh. Magic swine were also the immortal food of the gods. But the boar was tabu to certain persons, e.g. Diarmaid, though whether this is the attenuated memory of a clan totem restriction is uncertain. In Welsh story the swine comes from Elysium--a myth explaining the origin of its domestication, while domestication certainly implies an earlier cult of the animal. When animals come to be domesticated, the old cult restrictions, e.g. against eating them, usually pass away. For this reason, perhaps, the Gauls, who worshipped an anthropomorphic swine-god, trafficked in the animal and may have eaten it.[706] Welsh story also tells of the magic boar, the _Twrch Trwyth_, hunted by Arthur, possibly a folk-tale reminiscence of a boar divinity.[707] Place-names also point to a cult of the swine, and a recollection of its divinity may underlie the numerous Irish tales of magical swine.[708] The magic swine which issued from the cave of Cruachan and destroyed the young crops are suggestive of the theriomorphic corn-spirit in its occasional destructive aspect.[709] Bones of the swine, sometimes cremated, have been found in Celtic graves in Britain and at Hallstadt, and in one case the animal was buried alone in a tumulus at Hallstadt, just as sacred animals were buried in Egypt, Greece, and elsewhere.[710] When the animal was buried with the dead, it may have been as a sacrifice to the ghost or to the god of the underworld. The divinity of the serpent is proved by the occurrence of a horned serpent with twelve Roman gods on a Gallo-Roman altar.[711] In other cases a horned or ram's-headed serpent appears as the attribute of a god, and we have seen that the ram's-headed serpent may be a fusion of the serpent as a chthonian animal with the ram, sacrificed to the dead. In Greece Dionysus had the form both of a bull and a horned serpent, the horn being perhaps derived from the bull symbol. M. Reinach claims that the primitive elements of the Orphic myth of the Thracian Dionysos-Zagreus--divine serpents producing an egg whence came the horned snake Zagreus, occur in dislocated form in Gaul. There enlacing serpents were believed to produce a magic egg, and there a horned serpent was worshipped, but was not connected with the egg. But they may once have been connected, and if so, there may be a common foundation both for the Greek and the Celtic conceptions in a Celtic element in Thrace.[712] The resemblances, however, may be mere coincidences, and horned serpents are known in other mythologies--the horn being perhaps a symbol of divinity. The horned serpent sometimes accompanies a god who has horns, possibly Cernunnos, the underworld god, in accordance with the chthonian character of the serpent.[713] In the Cùchulainn cycle Loeg on his visit to the Other-world saw two-headed serpents--perhaps a further hint of this aspect of the animal.[714] In all these instances of animal cults examples of the tendency to make the divine animal anthropomorphic have been seen. We have now to consider some instances of the complete anthropomorphic process. 2. An old bear cult gave place to the cult of a bear goddess and probably of a god. At Berne--an old Celtic place-name meaning "bear"--was found a bronze group of a goddess holding a patera with fruit, and a bear approaching her as if to be fed. The inscription runs, _Deae Artioni Licinia Sabinilla_.[715] A local bear-cult had once existed at Berne, and is still recalled in the presence of the famous bears there, but the divine bear had given place to a goddess whose name and symbol were ursine. From an old Celtic _Artos_, fem. _Arta_, "bear," were derived various divine names. Of these _Dea Artio(n)_ means "bear goddess," and _Artaios_, equated with Mercury, is perhaps a bear god.[716] Another bear goddess, Andarta, was honoured at Die (Drôme), the word perhaps meaning "strong bear"--_And_- being an augmentive.[717] Numerous place-names derived from _Artos_ perhaps witness to a widespread cult of the bear, and the word also occurs in Welsh, and Irish personal names--Arthmael, Arthbiu, and possibly Arthur, and the numerous Arts of Irish texts. Descent from the divine bear is also signified in names like Welsh _Arthgen_, Irish _Artigan_, from _Artigenos_, "son of the bear." Another Celtic name for "bear" was the Gaulish _matu_, Irish _math_, found in _Matugenos_, "son of the bear," and in MacMahon, which is a corrupt form of _Mac-math-ghamhain_, "son of the bear's son," or "of the bear."[718] Similarly a cult of the stag seems to have given place to that of a god with stag's horns, represented on many bas-reliefs, and probably connected with the underworld.[719] The stag, as a grain-eater, may have been regarded as the embodiment of the corn-spirit, and then associated with the under-earth region whence the corn sprang, by one of those inversions of thought so common in the stage of transition from animal gods to gods with animal symbols. The elk may have been worshipped in Ireland, and a three antlered stag is the subject of a story in the Fionn saga.[720] Its third antler, like the third horn of bull or boar, may be a sign of divinity. The horse had also been worshipped, but a goddess Epona (Gaul. _epo-s_, "horse"), protectress of horses and asses, took its place, and had a far-spread cult. She rides a horse or mare with its foal, or is seated among horses, or feeds horses. A representation of a mare suckling a foal--a design analogous to those in which Epona feeds foals--shows that her primitive equine nature had not been forgotten.[721] The Gauls were horse-rearers, and Epona was the goddess of the craft; but, as in other cases, a cult of the horse must have preceded its domestication, and its flesh may not have been eaten, or, if so, only sacramentally.[722] Finally, the divine horse became the anthropomorphic horse-goddess. Her images were placed in stables, and several inscriptions and statuettes have been found in such buildings or in cavalry barracks.[723] The remains of the cult have been found in the Danube and Rhine valleys, in Eastern Gaul, and in Northern Italy, all Celtic regions, but it was carried everywhere by Roman cavalry recruited from the Celtic tribes.[724] Epona is associated with, and often has, the symbols of the _Matres_, and one inscription reads _Eponabus_, as if there were a group of goddesses called Epona.[725] A goddess who promoted the fertility of mares would easily be associated with goddesses of fertility. Epona may also have been confused with a river-goddess conceived of as a spirited steed. Water-spirits took that shape, and the _Matres_ were also river-goddesses. A statuette of a horse, with a dedication to a god Rudiobus, otherwise unknown, may have been carried processionally, while a mule has a dedication to Segomo, equated elsewhere with Mars. A mule god Mullo, also equated with Mars, is mentioned on several inscriptions.[726] The connection with Mars may have been found in the fact that the October horse was sacrificed to him for fertility, while the horse was probably associated with fertility among the Celts. The horse was sacrificed both by Celts and Teutons at the Midsummer festival, undoubtedly as a divine animal. Traces of the Celtic custom survive in local legends, and may be interpreted in the fuller light of the Teutonic accounts. In Ireland a man wearing a horse's head rushed through the fire, and was supposed to represent all cattle; in other words, he was a surrogate for them. The legend of Each Labra, a horse which lived in a mound and issued from it every Midsummer eve to give oracles for the coming year, is probably connected with the Midsummer sacrifice of the horse.[727] Among the Teutons the horse was a divine sacrificial animal, and was also sacred to Freyr, the god of fertility, while in Teutonic survivals a horse's head was placed in the Midsummer fire.[728] The horse was sporadically the representative of the corn-spirit, and at Rome the October horse was sacrificed in that capacity and for fertility.[729] Among the Celts, the horse sacrificed at Midsummer may have represented the vegetation-spirit and benefited all domestic animals--the old rite surviving in an attenuated form, as described above. Perhaps the goddess Damona was an animal divinity, if her name is derived from _damatos_, "sheep," cognate to Welsh _dafad_, "sheep," and Gaelic _damh_, "ox." Other divine animals, as has been seen, were associated with the waters, and the use of beasts and birds in divination doubtless points to their divine character. A cult of bird-gods may lurk behind the divine name Bran, "raven," and the reference to the magic birds of Rhiannon in the _Triads_. 3. Animal worship is connected with totemism, and certain things point to its existence among the Celts, or to the existence of conditions out of which totemism was elsewhere developed. These are descent from animals, animal tabus, the sacramental eating of an animal, and exogamy. (1) _Descent from animals._--Celtic names implying descent from animals or plants are of two classes, clan and personal names. If the latter are totemistic, they must be derived from the former, since totemism is an affair of the clan, while the so-called "personal totem," exemplified by the American Indian _manitou_, is the guardian but never the ancestor of a man. Some clan names have already been referred to. Others are the Bibroci of south-east Britain, probably a beaver clan (_bebros_), and the Eburones, a yew-tree clan (_eburos_).[730] Irish clans bore animal names: some groups were called "calves," others "griffins," others "red deer," and a plant name is seen in _Fir Bile_, "men of the tree."[731] Such clan totemism perhaps underlies the stories of the "descendants of the wolf" at Ossory, who became wolves for a time as the result of a saintly curse. Other instances of lycanthropy were associated with certain families.[732] The belief in lycanthropy might easily attach itself to existing wolf-clans, the transformation being then explained as the result of a curse. The stories of Cormac mac Art, suckled by a she-wolf, of Lughaid mac Con, "son of a wolf-dog," suckled by that animal, and of Oisin, whose mother was a fawn, and who would not eat venison, are perhaps totemistic, while to totemism or to a cult of animals may be ascribed what early travellers in Ireland say of the people taking wolves as god-fathers and praying to them to do them no ill.[733] In Wales bands of warriors at the battle of Cattraeth are described in Oneurin's _Gododin_ as dogs, wolves, bears, and ravens, while Owein's band of ravens which fought against Arthur, may have been a raven clan, later misunderstood as actual ravens.[734] Certain groups of Dalriad Scots bore animal names--Cinel Gabran, "Little goat clan," and Cinel Loarn, "Fox clan." Possibly the custom of denoting Highland clans by animal or plant badges may be connected with a belief in descent from plants or animals. On many coins an animal is represented on horseback, perhaps leading a clan, as birds led the Celts to the Danube area, and these may depict myths telling how the clan totem animal led the clan to its present territory.[735] Such myths may survive in legends relating how an animal led a saint to the site of his church.[736] Celtic warriors wore helmets with horns, and Irish story speaks of men with cat, dog, or goat heads.[737] These may have been men wearing a head-gear formed of the skin or head of the clan totem, hence remembered at a later time as monstrous beings, while the horned helmets would be related to the same custom. Solinus describes the Britons as wearing animal skins before going into battle.[738] Were these skins of totem animals under whose protection they thus placed themselves? The "forms of beasts, birds, and fishes" which the Cruithne or Picts tattooed on their bodies may have been totem marks, while the painting of their bodies with woad among the southern Britons may have been of the same character, though Cæsar's words hardly denote this. Certain marks on faces figured on Gaulish coins seem to be tattoo marks.[739] It is not impossible that an early wolf-totem may have been associated, because of the animal's nocturnal wanderings in forests, with the underworld whence, according to Celtic belief, men sprang and whither they returned, and whence all vegetation came forth. The Gallo-Roman Silvanus, probably an underworld god, wears a wolf-skin, and may thus be a wolf-god. There were various types of underworld gods, and this wolf-type--perhaps a local wolf-totem ancestor assimilated to a local "Dispater"--may have been the god of a clan who imposed its mythic wolf origin on other clans. Some Celtic bronzes show a wolf swallowing a man who offers no resistance, probably because he is dead. The wolf is much bigger than the man, and hence may be a god.[740] These bronzes would thus represent a belief setting forth the return of men to their totem ancestor after death, or to the underworld god connected with the totem ancestor, by saying that he devoured the dead, like certain Polynesian divinities and the Greek Eurynomos. In many individual names the first part is the name of an animal or plant, the second is usually _genos_, "born from," or "son of," e.g. Artigenos, Matugenos, "son of the bear" (_artos_, _matu_-); Urogenos, occurring as Urogenertos, "he who has the strength of the son of the urus"; Brannogenos, "son of the raven"; Cunogenos, "son of the dog."[741] These names may be derived from clan totem names, but they date back to a time when animals, trees, and men were on a common footing, and the possibility of human descent from a tree or an animal was believed in. Professor Rh[^y]s has argued from the frequency of personal names in Ireland, like Cúrói, "Hound of Rói," Cú Corb, "Corb's Hound," Mac Con, "Hound's Son," and Maelchon, "Hound's Slave," that there existed a dog totem or god, not of the Celts, but of a pre-Celtic race.[742] This assumes that totemism was non-Celtic, an assumption based on preconceived notions of what Celtic institutions ought to have been. The names, it should be observed, are personal, not clan names. (2) _Animal tabus._--Besides the dislike of swine's flesh already noted among certain Celtic groups, the killing and eating of the hare, hen, and goose were forbidden among the Britons. Cæsar says they bred these animals for amusement, but this reason assigned by him is drawn from his knowledge of the breeding of rare animals by rich Romans as a pastime, since he had no knowledge of the breeding of sacred animals which were not eaten--a common totemic or animal cult custom.[743] The hare was used for divination by Boudicca,[744] doubtless as a sacred animal, and it has been found that a sacred character still attaches to these animals in Wales. A cock or hen was ceremonially killed and eaten on Shrove Tuesday, either as a former totemic animal, or, less likely, as a representative of the corn-spirit. The hare is not killed in certain districts, but occasionally it is ceremonially hunted and slain annually, while at yearly fairs the goose is sold exclusively and eaten.[745] Elsewhere, e.g. in Devon, a ram or lamb is ceremonially slain and eaten, the eating being believed to confer luck.[746] The ill-luck supposed to follow the killing of certain animals may also be reminiscent of totemic tabus. Fish were not eaten by the Pictish Meatæ and Caledonii, and a dislike of eating certain fresh-water fish was observed among certain eighteenth century Highlanders.[747] It has been already seen that certain fish living in sacred wells were tabu, and were believed to give oracles. Heron's flesh was disliked in Ireland, and it was considered unlucky to kill a swan in the Hebrides.[748] Fatal results following upon the killing or eating of an animal with which the eater was connected by name or descent are found in the Irish sagas. Conaire was son of a woman and a bird which could take human shape, and it was forbidden to him to hunt birds. On one occasion he did so, and for this as well as the breaking of other tabus, he lost his life.[749] It was tabu to Cúchulainn, "the hound of Culann," to eat dog's flesh, and, having been persuaded to do this, his strength went from him, and he perished. Diarmaid, having been forbidden to hunt a boar with which his life was connected, was induced by Fionn to break this tabu, and in consequence he lost his life by one of the boar's bristles entering his foot, or (in a variant) by the boar's killing him. Another instance is found in a tale of certain men transformed to badgers. They were slain by Cormac, and brought to his father Tadg to eat. Tadg unaccountably loathed them, because they were transformed men and his cousins.[750] In this tale, which may contain the _débris_ of totemic usage, the loathing arises from the fact that the badgers are men--a common form of myths explanatory of misunderstood totemic customs, but the old idea of the relation between a man and his totem is not lost sight of. The other tales may also be reminiscent of a clan totem tabu, later centred in a mythic hero. Perhaps the belief in lucky or unlucky animals, or in omens drawn from their appearance, may be based on old totem beliefs or in beliefs in the divinity of the animals. (3) _Sacramental eating of an animal._--The custom of "hunting the wren," found over the whole Celtic area, is connected with animal worship and may be totemistic in origin. In spite of its small size, the wren was known as the king of birds, and in the Isle of Man it was hunted and killed on Christmas or S. Stephen's day. The bird was carried in procession from door to door, to the accompaniment of a chant, and was then solemnly buried, dirges being sung. In some cases a feather was left at each house and carefully treasured, and there are traces of a custom of boiling and eating the bird.[751] In Ireland, the hunt and procession were followed by a feast, the materials of which were collected from house to house, and a similar usage obtained in France, where the youth who killed the bird was called "king."[752] In most of these districts it was considered unlucky or dangerous to kill the bird at any other time, yet it might be ceremonially killed once a year, the dead animal conferred luck, and was solemnly eaten or buried with signs of mourning. Similar customs with animals which are actually worshipped are found elsewhere,[753] and they lend support to the idea that the Celts regarded the wren as a divine animal, or perhaps a totem animal, that it was necessary to slay it ritually, and to carry it round the houses of the community to obtain its divine influence, to eat it sacramentally or to bury it. Probably like customs were followed in the case of other animals,[754] and these may have given rise to such stories as that of the eating of MacDatho's wonderful boar, as well as to myths which regarded certain animals, e.g. the swine, as the immortal food of the gods. Other examples of ritual survivals of such sacramental eating have already been noted, and it is not improbable that the eating of a sacred pastoral animal occurred at Samhain. (4) _Exogamy._--Exogamy and the counting of descent through the mother are closely connected with totemism, and some traces of both are found among the Celts. Among the Picts, who were, perhaps, a Celtic group of the Brythonic stock, these customs survived in the royal house. The kingship passed to a brother of the king by the same mother, or to a sister's son, while the king's father was never king and was frequently a "foreigner." Similar rules of succession prevailed in early Aryan royal houses--Greek and Roman,--and may, as Dr. Stokes thought, have existed at Tara in Ireland, while in a Fian tale of Oisin he marries the daughter of the king of Tír na n-Og, and succeeds him as king partly for that reason, and partly because he had beaten him in the annual race for the kingship.[755] Such an athletic contest for the kingship was known in early Greece, and this tale may support the theory of the Celtic priest-kingship, the holder of the office retaining it as long as he was not defeated or slain. Traces of succession through a sister's son are found in the _Mabinogion_, and Livy describes how the mythic Celtic king Ambicatus sent not his own but his sister's sons to found new kingdoms.[756] Irish and Welsh divine and heroic groups are named after the mother, not the father--the children of Danu and of Dôn, and the men of Domnu. Anu is mother of the gods, Buanann of heroes. The eponymous ancestor of the Scots is a woman, Scota, and the earliest colonisers of Ireland are women, not men. In the sagas gods and heroes have frequently a matronymic, and the father's name is omitted--Lug mac Ethnend, Conchobar mac Nessa, Indech, son of De Domnann, Corpre, son of Etain, and others. Perhaps parallel to this is the custom of calling men after their wives--e.g. the son of Fergus is Fer Tlachtga, Tlachtga's husband.[757] In the sagas, females (goddesses and heroines) have a high place accorded to them, and frequently choose their own lovers or husbands--customs suggestive of the matriarchate. Thus what was once a general practice was later confined to the royal house or told of divine or heroic personages. Possibly certain cases of incest may really be exaggerated accounts of misunderstood unions once permissible by totemic law. Cæsar speaks of British polyandry, brothers, sons, and fathers sharing a wife in common.[758] Strabo speaks of Irish unions with mothers and sisters, perhaps referring not to actual practice but to reports of saga tales of incest.[759] Dio Cassius speaks of community of wives among the Caledonians and Meatæ, and Jerome says much the same of the Scoti and Atecotti.[760] These notices, with the exception of Cæsar's, are vague, yet they refer to marriage customs different from those known to their reporters. In Irish sagas incest legends circle round the descendants of Etain--fathers unite with daughters, a son with his mother, a woman has a son by her three brothers (just as Ecne was son of Brian, Iuchar, and Iucharba), and is also mother of Crimthan by that son.[761] Brother and sister unions occur both in Irish and Welsh story.[762] In these cases incest with a mother cannot be explained by totemic usage, but the cases may be distorted reminiscences of what might occur under totemism, namely, a son taking the wives of his father other than his own mother, when those were of a different totem from his own. Under totemism, brothers and sisters by different mothers having different totems, might possibly unite, and such unions are found in many mythologies. Later, when totemism passed away, the unions, regarded with horror, would be supposed to take place between children by the same mother. According to totem law, a father might unite with his daughter, since she was of her mother's totem, but in practice this was frowned upon. Polygamy also may co-exist with totemism, and of course involves the counting of descent through the mother as a rule. If, as is suggested by the "debility" of the Ultonians, and by other evidence, the couvade was a Celtic institution, this would also point to the existence of the matriarchate with the Celts. To explain all this as pre-Aryan, or to say that the classical notices refer to non-Aryan tribes and that the evidence in the Irish sagas only shows that the Celts had been influenced by the customs of aboriginal tribes among whom they lived,[763] is to neglect the fact that the customs are closely bound up with Celtic life, while it leaves unexplained the influence of such customs upon a people whose own customs, according to this theory, were so totally different. The evidence, taken as a whole, points to the existence of totemism among the early Celts, or, at all events, of the elements which elsewhere compose it. * * * * * Celtic animal worship dates back to the primitive hunting and pastoral period, when men worshipped the animals which they hunted or reared. They may have apologised to the animal hunted and slain--a form of worship, or, where animals were not hunted or were reared and worshipped, one of them may have been slain annually and eaten to obtain its divine power. Care was taken to preserve certain sacred animals which were not hunted, and this led to domestication, the abstinence of earlier generations leading to an increased food supply at a later time, when domesticated animals were freely slain. But the earlier sacramental slaying of such animals survived in the religious aspect of their slaughter at the beginning of winter.[764] The cult of animals was also connected with totemic usage, though at a later stage this cult was replaced by that of anthropomorphic divinities, with the older divine animals as their symbols, sacrificial victims, and the like. This evolution now led to the removal of restrictions upon slaying and eating the animals. On the other hand, the more primitive animal cults may have remained here and there. Animal cults were, perhaps, largely confined to men. With the rise of agriculture mainly as an art in the hands of women, and the consequent cult of the Earth-mother, of fertility and corn-spirits probably regarded as female, the sacramental eating of the divine animal may have led to the slaying and eating of a human or animal victim supposed to embody such a spirit. Later the two cults were bound to coalesce, and the divine animal and the animal embodiment of the vegetation spirit would not be differentiated. On the other hand, when men began to take part in women's fertility cults, the fact that such spirits were female or were perhaps coming to be regarded as goddesses, may have led men to envisage certain of the anthropomorphic animal divinities as goddesses, since some of these, e.g. Epona and Damona, are female. But with the increasing participation of men in agriculture, the spirits or goddesses of fertility would tend to become male, or the consorts or mothers of gods of fertility, though the earlier aspect was never lost sight of, witness the Corn-Mother. The evolution of divine priest-kings would cause them to take the place of the earlier priestesses of these cults, one of whom may have been the divine victim. Yet in local survivals certain cults were still confined to women, and still had their priestesses.[765] FOOTNOTES: [696] Reinach, _BF_ 66, 244. The bull and three cranes may be a rebus on the name of the bull, _Tarvos Trikarenos_, "the three-headed," or perhaps _Trikeras_, "three-horned." [697] Plutarch, _Marius_, 23; Cæsar, vii. 65; D'Arbois, _Les Celtes_, 49. [698] Holder, _s.v._ _Tarba_, _Tarouanna_, _Tarvisium_, etc.; D'Arbois, _Les Druides_, 155; S. Greg. _In Glor. Conf._ 48. [699] _CIL_ xiii. 6017; _RC_ xxv. 47; Holder, ii. 528. [700] Leahy, ii. 105 f.; Curtin, _MFI_ 264, 318; Joyce, _PN_ i. 174; Rees, 453. Cf. Ailred, _Life of S. Ninian_, c. 8. [701] Jocelyn, _Vita S. Kentig._ c. 24; Rees, 293, 323. [702] Tacitus, _Germ._ xlv.; Blanchet, i. 162, 165; Reinach, _BF_ 255 f., _CMR_ i. 168; Bertrand, _Arch. Celt._ 419. [703] Pennant, _Tour in Scotland_, 268; Reinach, _RC_ xxii. 158, _CMR_ i. 67. [704] Pausan, vii. 17, 18; Johnson, _Journey_, 136. [705] Joyce, _SH_ ii. 127; _IT_ i. 99, 256 (Bricriu's feast and the tale of Macdatho's swine). [706] Strabo, iv. 4. 3, says these swine attacked strangers. Varro, _de Re Rustica_, ii. 4, admires their vast size. Cf. Polyb. ii. 4. [707] The hunt is first mentioned in Nennius, c. 79, and then appears as a full-blown folk-tale in _Kulhwych_, Loth, i. 185 f. Here the boar is a transformed prince. [708] I have already suggested, p. 106, _supra_, that the places where Gwydion halted with the swine of Elysium were sites of a swine-cult. [709] _RC_ xiii. 451. Cf. also _TOS_ vi. "The Enchanted Pigs of Oengus," and Campbell, _LF_ 53. [710] _L'Anthropologie_, vi. 584; Greenwell, _British Barrows_, 274, 283, 454; _Arch. Rev._ ii. 120. [711] _Rev. Arch._ 1897, 313. [712] Reinach, "Zagreus le serpent cornu," _Rev. Arch_. xxxv. 210. [713] Reinach, _BF_ 185; Bertrand, 316. [714] "Cúchulainn's Sick-bed," D'Arbois, v. 202. [715] See Reinach, _CMR_ i. 57. [716] _CIL_ xiii. 5160, xii. 2199. Rh[^y]s, however, derives Artaios from _ar_, "ploughed land," and equates the god with Mercurius Cultor. [717] _CIL_ xii. 1556-1558; D'Arbois, _RC_ x. 165. [718] For all these place and personal names, see Holder and D'Arbois, _op. cit. Les Celtes_, 47 f., _Les Druides_, 157 f. [719] See p. 32, _supra_; Reinach, _CMR_ i. 72, _Rev. Arch._ ii. 123. [720] O'Grady, ii. 123. [721] Epona is fully discussed by Reinach in his _Epona_, 1895, and in articles (illustrated) in _Rev. Arch._ vols. 26, 33, 35, 40, etc. See also ii. [1898], 190. [722] Reinach suggests that this may explain why Vercingetorix, in view of siege by the Romans, sent away his horses. They were too sacred to be eaten. Cæsar, vii. 71; Reinach, _RC_ xxvii. 1 f. [723] Juvenal, viii. 154; Apul. _Metam._ iii. 27; Min. Felix, _Octav._ xxvii. 7. [724] For the inscriptions, see Holder, _s.v._ "Epona." [725] _CIL_ iii. 7904. [726] _CIL_ xiii. 3071; Reinach, _BF_ 253, _CMR_ i. 64, _Répert. de la Stat._ ii. 745; Holder, ii. 651-652. [727] Granger, _Worship of the Romans_, 113; Kennedy, 135. [728] Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ 49, 619, 657, 661-664. [729] Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2}, ii. 281, 315. [730] Cæsar, v. 21, 27. Possibly the Dea Bibracte of the Aeduans was a beaver goddess. [731] O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 207; Elton, 298. [732] Girald. Cambr. _Top. Hib._ ii. 19, _RC_ ii. 202; _Folk-Lore_, v. 310; _IT_ iii. 376. [733] O'Grady, ii. 286, 538; Campbell, _The Fians_, 78; Thiers, _Traité des Superstitions_, ii. 86. [734] Lady Guest, ii. 409 f. [735] Blanchet, i. 166, 295, 326, 390. [736] See p. 209, _supra_. [737] Diod. Sic. v. 30; _IT_ iii. 385; _RC_ xxvi. 139; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 593. [738] _Man. Hist. Brit._ p. x. [739] Herodian, iii. 14, 8; Duald MacFirbis in Irish _Nennius_, p. vii; Cæsar, v. 10; _ZCP_ iii. 331. [740] See Reinach, "Les Carnassiers androphages dans l'art gallo-romain," _CMR_ i. 279. [741] See Holder, _s.v._ [742] Rh[^y]s, _CB_{4} 267. [743] Cæsar, v. 12. [744] Dio Cassius, lxii. 2. [745] See a valuable paper by N.W. Thomas, "Survivance du Culte des Animaux dans le Pays de Galles," in _Rev. de l'Hist. des Religions_, xxxviii. 295 f., and a similar paper by Gomme, _Arch. Rev._ 1889, 217 f. Both writers seem to regard these cults as pre-Celtic. [746] Gomme, _Ethnol. in Folklore_, 30, _Village Community_, 113. [747] Dio Cass. lxxii. 21; Logan, _Scottish Gael_, ii. 12. [748] Joyce, _SH_ ii. 529; Martin, 71. [749] _RC_ xxii. 20, 24, 390-1. [750] _IT_ iii. 385. [751] Waldron, _Isle of Man_, 49; Train, _Account of the Isle of Man_, ii. 124. [752] Vallancey, _Coll. de Reb. Hib._ iv. No. 13; Clément, _Fétes_, 466. For English customs, see Henderson, _Folklore of the Northern Counties_, 125. [753] Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2}, ii. 380, 441, 446. [754] For other Welsh instances of the danger of killing certain birds, see Thomas, _op. cit._ xxxviii. 306. [755] Frazer, _Kingship_, 261; Stokes, _RC_ xvi. 418; Larminie, _Myths and Folk-tales_, 327. [756] See Rh[^y]s, _Welsh People_, 44; Livy, v. 34. [757] Cf. _IT_ iii. 407, 409. [758] Cæsar, v. 14. [759] Strabo, iv. 5. 4. [760] Dio Cass. lxxvi. 12; Jerome, _Adv. Jovin._ ii. 7. Giraldus has much to say of incest in Wales, probably actual breaches of moral law among a barbarous people (_Descr. Wales_, ii. 6). [761] _RC_ xii. 235, 238, xv. 291, xvi. 149; _LL_ 23_a_, 124_b_. In various Irish texts a child is said to have three fathers--probably a reminiscence of polyandry. See p. 74, _supra_, and _RC_ xxiii. 333. [762] _IT_ i. 136; Loth, i. 134 f.; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 308. [763] Zimmer, "Matriarchy among the Picts," in Henderson, _Leabhar nan Gleann_. [764] See p. 259, _infra_. [765] See p. 274, _infra_. CHAPTER XV. COSMOGONY. Whether the early Celts regarded Heaven and Earth as husband and wife is uncertain. Such a conception is world-wide, and myth frequently explains in different ways the reason of the separation of the two. Among the Polynesians the children of heaven and earth--the winds, forests, and seas personified--angry at being crushed between their parents in darkness, rose up and separated them. This is in effect the Greek myth of Uranus, or Heaven, and Gæa, or Earth, divorced by their son Kronos, just as in Hindu myth Dyaus, or Sky, and Prithivi, or Earth, were separated by Indra. Uranus in Greece gave place to Zeus, and, in India, Dyaus became subordinate to Indra. Thus the primitive Heaven personified recedes, and his place is taken by a more individualised god. But generally Mother Earth remains a constant quantity. Earth was nearer man and was more unchanging than the inconstant sky, while as the producer of the fruits of the earth, she was regarded as the source of all things, and frequently remained as an important divinity when a crowd of other divinities became prominent. This is especially true of agricultural peoples, who propitiate Earth with sacrifice, worship her with orgiastic rites, or assist her processes by magic. With advancing civilisation such a goddess is still remembered as the friend of man, and, as in the Eleusinia, is represented sorrowing and rejoicing like man himself. Or where a higher religion ousts the older one, the ritual is still retained among the folk, though its meaning may be forgotten. The Celts may thus have possessed the Heaven and Earth myth, but all trace of it has perished. There are, however, remnants of myths showing how the sky is supported by trees, a mountain, or by pillars. A high mountain near the sources of the Rhone was called "the column of the sun," and was so lofty as to hide the sun from the people of the south.[766] It may have been regarded as supporting the sky, while the sun moved round it. In an old Irish hymn and its gloss, Brigit and Patrick are compared to the two pillars of the world, probably alluding to some old myth of sky or earth resting on pillars.[767] Traces of this also exist in folk-belief, as in the accounts of islands resting on four pillars, or as in the legend of the church of Kernitou which rests on four pillars on a congealed sea and which will be submerged when the sea liquefies--a combination of the cosmogonic myth with that of a great inundation.[768] In some mythologies a bridge or ladder connects heaven and earth. There may be a survival of some such myth in an Irish poem which speaks of the _drochet bethad_, or "bridge of life," or in the _drochaid na flaitheanas_, or "bridge of heaven," of Hebridean folk-lore.[769] Those gods who were connected with the sky may have been held to dwell there or on the mountain supporting it. Others, like the Celtic Dispater, dwelt underground. Some were connected with mounds and hills, or were supposed to have taken up their abode in them. Others, again, dwelt in a distant region, the Celtic Elysium, which, once the Celts reached the sea, became a far-off island. Those divinities worshipped in groves were believed to dwell there and to manifest themselves at midday or midnight, while such objects of nature as rivers, wells, and trees were held to be the abode of gods or spirits. Thus it is doubtful whether the Celts ever thought of their gods as dwelling in one Olympus. The Tuatha Dé Danann are said to have come from heaven, but this may be the mere assertion of some scribe who knew not what to make of this group of beings. In Celtic belief men were not so much created by gods as descended from them. "All the Gauls assert that they are descended from Dispater, and this, they say, has been handed down to them by the Druids."[770] Dispater was a Celtic underworld god of fertility, and the statement probably presupposes a myth, like that found among many primitive peoples, telling how men once lived underground and thence came to the surface of the earth. But it also points to their descent from the god of the underworld. Thither the dead returned to him who was ancestor of the living as well as lord of the dead.[771] On the other hand, if the earth had originally been thought of as a female, she as Earth-mother would be ancestress of men. But her place in the myth would easily be taken by the Earth or Under-earth god, perhaps regarded as her son or her consort. In other cases, clans, families, or individuals often traced their descent to gods or divine animals or plants. Classical writers occasionally speak of the origin of branches of the Celtic race from eponymous founders, perhaps from their knowledge of existing Celtic myths.[772] Ammianus Marcellinus also reports a Druidic tradition to the effect that some Gauls were indigenous, some had come from distant islands, and others from beyond the Rhine.[773] But this is not so much a myth of origins, as an explanation of the presence of different peoples in Gaul--the aborigines, the Celtæ, and the Belgic Gauls. M. D'Arbois assumes that "distant islands" means the Celtic Elysium, which he regards as the land of the dead,[774] but the phrase is probably no more than a distorted reminiscence of the far-off lands whence early groups of Celts had reached Gaul. Of the creation of the world no complete myth has survived, though from a gloss to the _Senchus Mór_ we learn that the Druids, like the Br[=a]hmans, boasted that they had made sun, moon, earth, and sea--a boast in keeping with their supposed powers over the elements.[775] Certain folk-beliefs, regarding the origin of different parts of nature, bear a close resemblance to primitive cosmogonic myths, and they may be taken as _disjecta membra_ of similar myths held by the Celts and perhaps taught by the Druids. Thus sea, rivers, or springs arose from the micturition of a giant, fairy, or saint, or from their sweat or blood. Islands are rocks cast by giants, and mountains are the material thrown up by them as they were working on the earth. Wells sprang up from the blood of a martyr or from the touch of a saint's or a fairy's staff.[776] The sea originated from a magic cask given by God to a woman. The spigot, when opened, could not be closed again, and the cask never ceased running until the waters covered the earth--a tale with savage parallels.[777] In all these cases, giant, saint, or fairy has doubtless taken the place of a god, since the stories have a very primitive _facies_. The giant is frequently Gargantua, probably himself once a divinity. Other references in Irish texts point to the common cosmogonic myth of the earth having gradually assumed its present form. Thus many new lakes and plains are said to have been formed in Ireland during the time of Partholan and Nemed, the plains being apparently built up out of existing materials.[778] In some cases the formation of a lake was the result of digging the grave of some personage after whom the lake was then named.[779] Here we come upon the familiar idea of the danger of encroaching on the domain of a deity, e.g. that of the Earth-god, by digging the earth, with the consequent punishment by a flood. The same conception is found in Celtic stories of a lake or river formed from the overflowing of a sacred well through human carelessness or curiosity, which led to the anger of the divinity of the well.[780] Or, again, a town or castle is submerged on account of the wickedness of its inhabitants, the waters being produced by the curse of God or a saint (replacing a pagan god) and forming a lake.[781] These may be regarded as forms of a Celtic deluge-myth, which in one case, that of the Welsh story of the ship of Nevyd, which saved Dwyvan and Dwyfach and a pair of all kinds of animals when Lake Llion overflowed, has apparently borrowed from the Biblical story.[782] In other cases lakes are formed from the tears of a god, e.g. Manannan, whose tears at the death of his son formed three lochs in Erin.[783] Apollonius reports that the waters of Eridanus originated from the tears of Apollo when driven from heaven by his father.[784] This story, which he says is Celtic, has been clothed by him in a Greek form, and the god in question may have been Belenos, equated with Apollo. Sometimes the formation of streams was ascribed to great hail-storms--an evident mythic rendering of the damage done by actual spates, while the Irish myths of "illimitable sea-bursts," of which three particular instances are often mentioned, were doubtless the result of the experience of tidal waves. Although no complete account of the end of all things, like that of the Scandinavian Ragnarok, has survived, scattered hints tell of its former existence. Strabo says that the Druids taught that "fire and water must one day prevail"--an evident belief in some final cataclysm.[785] This is also hinted at in the words of certain Gauls to Alexander, telling him that what they feared most of all was the fall of the heavens upon their heads.[786] In other words, they feared what would be the signal of the end of all things. On Irish ground the words of Conchobar may refer to this. He announced that he would rescue the captives and spoil taken by Medb, unless the heavens fell, and the earth burst open, and the sea engulphed all things.[787] Such a myth mingled with Christian beliefs may underlie the prophecy of Badb after Mag-tured regarding the evils to come and the end of the world, and that of Fercertne in the _Colloquy of the Two Sages_.[788] Both have a curious resemblance to the Sybil's prophecy of doom in the Voluspa. If the gods themselves were involved in such a catastrophe, it would not be surprising, since in some aspects their immortality depended on their eating and drinking immortal food and drink.[789] FOOTNOTES: [766] Avienus, _Ora Maritima_, 644 f. [767] _IT_ i. 25; Gaidoz, _ZCP_ i. 27. [768] _Annales de Bretagne_, x. 414. [769] _IT_ i. 50, cf. 184; _Folk-Lore_, vi. 170. [770] Cæsar, vi. 18. [771] See p. 341, _infra_. [772] Diod. Sic. v. 24; Appian, _Illyrica_, 2. [773] Amm. Marcel, xv. 9. [774] D'Arbois, ii. 262, xii. 220. [775] _Antient Laws of Ireland_, i. 23. In one MS. Adam is said to have been created thus--his body of earth, his blood of the sea, his face of the sun, his breath of the wind, etc. This is also found in a Frisian tale (Vigfusson-Powell, _Corpus Poet. Bor._ i. 479), and both stories present an inversion of well-known myths about the creation of the universe from the members of a giant. [776] Sébillot, i. 213 f., ii. 6, 7, 72, 97, 176, 327-328. Cf. _RC_ xv. 482, xvi. 152. [777] Sébillot, ii. 6. [778] _LL_ 56; Keating, 117, 123. [779] _RC_ xv. 429, xvi. 277. [780] See p. 191, _supra_. [781] Sébillot, ii. 41 f., 391, 397; see p. 372, _infra_. [782] _Triads_ in Loth, ii. 280, 299; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 583, 663. [783] _RC_ xvi. 50, 146. [784] Apoll. iv. 609 f. [785] Strabo, iv. 4. 4. [786] Arrian, _Anab._ i. 4. 7; Strabo, vii. 3. 8. Cf. Jullian, 85. [787] _LL_ 94; Miss Hull, 205. [788] _RC_ xii. 111, xxvi. 33. [789] A possible survival of a world-serpent myth may be found in "Da Derga's Hostel" (_RC_ xxii. 54), where we hear of Leviathan that surrounds the globe and strikes with his tail to overwhelm the world. But this may be a reflection of Norse myths of the Midgard serpent, sometimes equated with Leviathan. CHAPTER XVI. SACRIFICE, PRAYER, AND DIVINATION. The Semites are often considered the worst offenders in the matter of human sacrifice, but in this, according to classical evidence, they were closely rivalled by the Celts of Gaul. They offered human victims on the principle of a life for a life, or to propitiate the gods, or in order to divine the future from the entrails of the victim. We shall examine the Celtic custom of human sacrifice from these points of view first. Cæsar says that those afflicted with disease or engaged in battle or danger offer human victims or vow to do so, because unless man's life be given for man's life, the divinity of the gods cannot be appeased.[790] The theory appears to have been that the gods sent disease or ills when they desired a human life, but that any life would do; hence one in danger might escape by offering another in his stead. In some cases the victims may have been offered to disease demons or diseases personified, such as Celtic imagination still believes in,[791] rather than to gods, or, again, they may have been offered to native gods of healing. Coming danger could also be averted on the same principle, and though the victims were usually slaves, in times of great peril wives and children were sacrificed.[792] After a defeat, which showed that the gods were still implacable, the wounded and feeble were slain, or a great leader would offer himself.[793] Or in such a case the Celts would turn their weapons against themselves, making of suicide a kind of sacrifice, hoping to bring victory to the survivors.[794] The idea of the victim being offered on the principle of a life for a life is illustrated by a custom at Marseilles in time of pestilence. One of the poorer classes offered himself to be kept at the public expense for some time. He was then led in procession, clad in sacred boughs, and solemnly cursed, and prayer was made that on him might fall the evils of the community. Then he was cast headlong down. Here the victim stood for the lives of the city and was a kind of scape-victim, like those at the Thargelia.[795] Human victims were also offered by way of thanksgiving after victory, and vows were often made before a battle, promising these as well as part of the spoil. For this reason the Celts would never ransom their captives, but offered them in sacrifice, animals captured being immolated along with them.[796] The method of sacrifice was slaughter by sword or spear, hanging, impaling, dismembering, and drowning. Some gods were propitiated by one particular mode of sacrifice--Taranis by burning, Teutates by suffocation, Esus (perhaps a tree-god) by hanging on a tree. Drowning meant devoting the victim to water-divinities.[797] Other propitiatory sacrifices took place at intervals, and had a general or tribal character, the victims being criminals or slaves or even members of the tribe. The sacrificial pile had the rude outline of a human form, the limbs of osier, enclosing human as well as some animal victims, who perished by fire. Diodorus says that the victims were malefactors who had been kept in prison for five years, and that some of them were impaled.[798] This need not mean that the holocausts were quinquennial, for they may have been offered yearly, at Midsummer, to judge by the ritual of modern survivals.[799] The victims perished in that element by which the sun-god chiefly manifested himself, and by the sacrifice his powers were augmented, and thus growth and fertility were promoted. These holocausts were probably extensions of an earlier slaying of a victim representing the spirit of vegetation, though their value in aiding fertility would be still in evidence. This is suggested by Strabo's words that the greater the number of murders the greater would be the fertility of the land, probably meaning that there would then be more criminals as sacrificial victims.[800] Varro also speaks of human sacrifice to a god equated with Saturn, offered because of all seeds the human race is the best, i.e. human victims are most productive of fertility.[801] Thus, looked at in one way, the later rite was a propitiatory sacrifice, in another it was an act of magico-religious ritual springing from the old rite of the divine victim. But from both points of view the intention was the same--the promotion of fertility in field and fold. Divination with the bodies of human victims is attested by Tacitus, who says that "the Druids consult the gods in the palpitating entrails of men," and by Strabo, who describes the striking down of the victim by the sword and the predicting of the future from his convulsive movements.[802] To this we shall return. Human sacrifice in Gaul was put down by the Romans, who were amazed at its extent, Suetonius summing up the whole religion in a phrase--_druidarum religionem diræ immanitatis_.[803] By the year 40 A.D. it had ceased, though victims were offered symbolically, the Druids pretending to strike them and drawing a little blood from them.[804] Only the pressure of a higher civilisation forced the so-called philosophic Druids to abandon their revolting customs. Among the Celts of Britain human sacrifice still prevailed in 77 A.D.[805] Dio Cassius describes the refinements of cruelty practised on female victims (prisoners of war) in honour of the goddess Andrasta--their breasts cut off and placed over their mouths, and a stake driven through their bodies, which were then hung in the sacred grove.[806] Tacitus speaks of the altars in Mona (Anglesey) laved with human blood. As to the Irish Celts, patriotic writers have refused to believe them guilty of such practices,[807] but there is no _a priori_ reason which need set them apart from other races on the same level of civilisation in this custom. The Irish texts no doubt exaggerate the number of the victims, but they certainly attest the existence of the practice. From the _Dindsenchas_, which describes many archaic usages, we learn that "the firstlings of every issue and the chief scions of every clan" were offered to Cromm Cruaich--a sacrifice of the first-born,--and that at one festival the prostrations of the worshippers were so violent that three-fourths of them perished, not improbably an exaggerated memory of orgiastic rites.[808] Dr. Joyce thinks that these notices are as incredible as the mythic tales in the _Dindsenchas_. Yet the tales were doubtless quite credible to the pagan Irish, and the ritual notices are certainly founded on fact. Dr. Joyce admits the existence of foundation sacrifices in Ireland, and it is difficult to understand why human victims may not have been offered on other occasions also. The purpose of the sacrifice, namely, fertility, is indicated in the poetical version of the cult of Cromm-- "Milk and corn They would ask from him speedily, In return for one-third of their healthy issue."[809] The Nemedian sacrifice to the Fomorians is said to have been two-thirds of their children and of the year's supply of corn and milk[810]--an obvious misunderstanding, the victims really being offered to obtain corn and milk. The numbers are exaggerated,[811] but there can be no doubt as to the nature of the sacrifice--the offering of an agricultural folk to the divinities who helped or retarded growth. Possibly part of the flesh of the victims, at one time identified with the god, was buried in the fields or mixed with the seed-corn, in order to promote fertility. The blood was sprinkled on the image of the god. Such practices were as obnoxious to Christian missionaries as they had been to the Roman Government, and we learn that S. Patrick preached against "the slaying of yoke oxen and milch cows and the burning of the first-born progeny" at the Fair of Taillte.[812] As has been seen, the Irish version of the Perseus and Andromeda story, in which the victim is offered not to a dragon, but to the Fomorians, may have received this form from actual ritual in which human victims were sacrificed to the Fomorians.[813] In a Japanese version of the same story the maiden is offered to the sea-gods. Another tale suggests the offering of human victims to remove blight. In this case the land suffers from blight because the adulteress Becuma, married to the king of Erin, has pretended to be a virgin. The Druids announced that the remedy was to slay the son of an undefiled couple and sprinkle the doorposts and the land with his blood. Such a youth was found, but at his mother's request a two-bellied cow, in which two birds were found, was offered in his stead.[814] In another instance in the _Dindsenchas_, hostages, including the son of a captive prince, are offered to remove plagues--an equivalent to the custom of the Gauls.[815] Human sacrifices were also offered when the foundation of a new building was laid. Such sacrifices are universal, and are offered to propitiate the Earth spirits or to provide a ghostly guardian for the building. A Celtic legend attaches such a sacrifice to the founding of the monastery at Iona. S. Oran agrees to adopt S. Columba's advice "to go under the clay of this island to hallow it," and as a reward he goes straight to heaven.[816] The legend is a semi-Christian form of the memory of an old pagan custom, and it is attached to Oran probably because he was the first to be buried in the island. In another version, nothing is said of the sacrifice. The two saints are disputing about the other world, and Oran agrees to go for three days into the grave to settle the point at issue. At the end of that time the grave is opened, and the triumphant Oran announces that heaven and hell are not such as they are alleged to be. Shocked at his latitudinarian sentiments, Columba ordered earth to be piled over him, lest he cause a scandal to the faith, and Oran was accordingly buried alive.[817] In a Welsh instance, Vortigern's castle cannot be built, for the stones disappear as soon as they are laid. Wise men, probably Druids, order the sacrifice of a child born without a father, and the sprinkling of the site with his blood.[818] "Groaning hostages" were placed under a fort in Ireland, and the foundation of the palace of Emain Macha was also laid with a human victim.[819] Many similar legends are connected with buildings all over the Celtic area, and prove the popularity of the pagan custom. The sacrifice of human victims on the funeral pile will be discussed in a later chapter. Of all these varieties of human sacrifice, those offered for fertility, probably at Beltane or Midsummer, were the most important. Their propitiatory nature is of later origin, and their real intention was to strengthen the divinity by whom the processes of growth were directed. Still earlier, one victim represented the divinity, slain that his life might be revived in vigour. The earth was sprinkled with his blood and fed with his flesh in order to fertilise it, and possibly the worshippers partook sacramentally of the flesh. Propitiatory holocausts of human victims had taken the place of the slain representative of a god, but their value in promoting fertility was not forgotten. The sacramental aspect of the rite is perhaps to be found in Pliny's words regarding "the slaying of a human being as a most religious act and eating the flesh as a wholesome remedy" among the Britons.[820] This may merely refer to "medicinal cannibalism," such as still survives in Italy, but the passage rather suggests sacramental cannibalism, the eating of part of a divine victim, such as existed in Mexico and elsewhere. Other acts of cannibalism are referred to by classical writers. Diodorus says the Irish ate their enemies, and Pausanias describes the eating the flesh and drinking the blood of children among the Galatian Celts. Drinking out of a skull the blood of slain (sacrificial) enemies is mentioned by Ammianus and Livy, and Solinus describes the Irish custom of bathing the face in the blood of the slain and drinking it.[821] In some of these cases the intention may simply have been to obtain the dead enemy's strength, but where a sacrificial victim was concerned, the intention probably went further than this. The blood of dead relatives was also drunk in order to obtain their virtues, or to be brought into closer _rapport_ with them.[822] This is analogous to the custom of blood brotherhood, which also existed among the Celts and continued as a survival in the Western Isles until a late date.[823] One group of Celtic human sacrifices was thus connected with primitive agricultural ritual, but the warlike energies of the Celts extended the practice. Victims were easily obtained, and offered to the gods of war. Yet even these sacrifices preserved some trace of the older rite, in which the victim represented a divinity or spirit. Head-hunting, described in classical writings and in Irish texts, had also a sacrificial aspect. The heads of enemies were hung at the saddle-bow or fixed on spears, as the conquerors returned home with songs of victory.[824] This gruesome picture often recurs in the texts. Thus, after the death of Cúchulainn, Conall Cernach returned to Emer with the heads of his slayers strung on a withy. He placed each on a stake and told Emer the name of the owner. A Celtic _oppidum_ or a king's palace must have been as gruesome as a Dayak or Solomon Island village. Everywhere were stakes crowned with heads, and the walls of houses were adorned with them. Poseidonius tells how he sickened at such a sight, but gradually became more accustomed to it.[825] A room in the palace was sometimes a store for such heads, or they were preserved in cedar-wood oil or in coffers. They were proudly shown to strangers as a record of conquest, but they could not be sold for their weight in gold.[826] After a battle a pile of heads was made and the number of the slain was counted, and at annual festivals warriors produced the tongues of enemies as a record of their prowess.[827] These customs had a religious aspect. In cutting off a head the Celt saluted the gods, and the head was offered to them or to ancestral spirits, and sometimes kept in grove or temple.[828] The name given to the heads of the slain in Ireland, the "mast of Macha," shows that they were dedicated to her, just as skulls found under an altar had been devoted to the Celtic Mars.[829] Probably, as among Dayaks, American Indians, and others, possession of a head was a guarantee that the ghost of its owner would be subservient to its Celtic possessor, either in this world or in the next, since they are sometimes found buried in graves along with the dead.[830] Or, suspended in temples, they became an actual and symbolical offering of the life of their owners, if, as is probable, the life or soul was thought to be in the head. Hence, too, the custom of drinking from the skull of the slain had the intention of transferring his powers directly to the drinker.[831] Milk drunk from the skull of Conall Cernach restored to enfeebled warriors their pristine strength,[832] and a folk-survival in the Highlands--that of drinking from the skull of a suicide (here taking the place of the slain enemy) in order to restore health--shows the same idea at work. All these practices had thus one end, that of the transference of spirit force--to the gods, to the victor who suspended the head from his house, and to all who drank from the skull. Represented in bas-relief on houses or carved on dagger-handles, the head may still have been thought to possess talismanic properties, giving power to house or weapon. Possibly this cult of human heads may have given rise to the idea of a divine head like those figured on Gaulish images, or described, e.g., in the story of Bran. His head preserved the land from invasion, until Arthur disinterred it,[833] the story being based on the belief that heads or bodies of great warriors still had a powerful influence.[834] The representation of the head of a god, like his whole image, would be thought to possess the same preservative power. A possible survival of the sacrifice of the aged may be found in a Breton custom of applying a heavy club to the head of old persons to lighten their death agonies, the clubs having been formerly used to kill them. They are kept in chapels, and are regarded with awe.[835] Animal victims were also frequently offered. The Galatian Celts made a yearly sacrifice to their Artemis of a sheep, goat, or calf, purchased with money laid by for each animal caught in the chase. Their dogs were feasted and crowned with flowers.[836] Further details of this ritual are unfortunately lacking. Animals captured in war were sacrificed to the war-gods by the Gauls, or to a river-god, as when the horses of the defeated host were thrown into the Rhine by the Gaulish conquerors of Mallius.[837] We have seen that the white oxen sacrificed at the mistletoe ritual may once have been representatives of the vegetation-spirit, which also animated the oak and the mistletoe. Among the insular Celts animal sacrifices are scarcely mentioned in the texts, probably through suppression by later scribes, but the lives of Irish saints contain a few notices of the custom, e.g. that of S. Patrick, which describes the gathering of princes, chiefs, and Druids at Tara to sacrifice victims to idols.[838] In Ireland the peasantry still kill a sheep or heifer for S. Martin on his festival, and ill-luck is thought to follow the non-observance of the rite.[839] Similar sacrifices on saints' days in Scotland and Wales occurred in Christian times.[840] An excellent instance is that of the sacrifice of bulls at Gairloch for the cure of lunatics on S. Maelrubha's day (August 25th). Libations of milk were also poured out on the hills, ruined chapels were perambulated, wells and stones worshipped, and divination practised. These rites, occurring in the seventeenth century, were condemned by the Presbytery of Dingwall, but with little effect, and some of them still survive.[841] In all these cases the saint has succeeded to the ritual of an earlier god. Mr. Cook surmises that S. Maelrubha was the successor of a divine king connected with an oak and sacred well, the god or spirit of which was incarnate in him. These divine kings may at one time have been slain, or a bull, similarly incarnating the god or spirit, may have been killed as a surrogate. This slaying was at a later time regarded as a sacrifice and connected with the cure of madness.[842] The rite would thus be on a parallel with the slaying of the oxen at the mistletoe gathering, as already interpreted. Eilean Maree (Maelrubha), where the tree and well still exist, was once known as Eilean mo righ ("the island of my king"), or Eilean a Mhor Righ ("of the great king"), the king having been worshipped as a god. This piece of corroborative evidence was given by the oldest inhabitant to Sir Arthur Mitchell.[843] The people also spoke of the god Mourie. Other survivals of animal sacrifice are found in cases of cattle-plague, as in Morayshire sixty years ago, in Wales, Devon, and the Isle of Man. The victim was burned and its ashes sprinkled on the herd, or it was thrown into the sea or over a precipice.[844] Perhaps it was both a propitiatory sacrifice and a scape-animal, carrying away the disease, though the rite may be connected with the former slaying of a divine animal whose death benefited all the cattle of the district. In the Hebrides the spirits of earth and air were propitiated every quarter by throwing outside the door a cock, hen, duck, or cat, which was supposed to be seized by them. If the rite was neglected, misfortune was sure to follow. The animal carried away evils from the house, and was also a propitiatory sacrifice. The blood of victims was sprinkled on altars, images, and trees, or, as among the Boii, it was placed in a skull adorned with gold.[845] Other libations are known mainly from folk-survivals. Thus Breton fishermen salute reefs and jutting promontories, say prayers, and pour a glass of wine or throw a biscuit or an old garment into the sea.[846] In the Hebrides a curious rite was performed on Maundy Thursday. After midnight a man walked into the sea, and poured ale or gruel on the waters, at the same time singing: "O God of the sea, Put weed in the drawing wave, To enrich the ground, To shower on us food." Those on shore took up the strain in chorus.[847] Thus the rite was described by one who took part in it a century ago, but Martin, writing in the seventeenth century, gives other details. The cup of ale was offered with the words, "Shony, I give you this cup of ale, hoping that you will be so kind as to send plenty of seaweed for enriching our ground for the ensuing year." All then went in silence to the church and remained there for a time, after which they indulged in an orgy out-of-doors. This orgiastic rite may once have included the intercourse of the sexes--a powerful charm for fertility. "Shony" was some old sea-god, and another divinity of the sea, Brianniul, was sometimes invoked for the same purpose.[848] Until recently milk was poured on "Gruagach stones" in the Hebrides, as an offering to the Gruagach, a brownie who watched over herds, and who had taken the place of a god.[849] PRAYER. Prayer accompanied most rites, and probably consisted of traditional formulæ, on the exact recital of which depended their value. The Druids invoked a god during the mistletoe rite, and at a Galatian sacrifice, offered to bring birds to destroy grasshoppers, prayer was made to the birds themselves.[850] In Mona, at the Roman invasion, the Druids raised their arms and uttered prayers for deliverance, at the same time cursing the invaders, and Boudicca invoked the protection of the goddess Andrasta in a similar manner.[851] Chants were sung by the "priestesses" of Sena to raise storms, and they were also sung by warriors both before and after a battle, to the accompaniment of a measured dance and the clashing of arms.[852] These warrior chants were composed by bards, and probably included invocations of the war-gods and the recital of famous deeds. They may also have been of the nature of spells ensuring the help of the gods, like the war-cries uttered by a whole army to the sound of trumpets.[853] These consisted of the name of a god, of a tribe or clan, or of some well-known phrase. As the recital of a divine name is often supposed to force the god to help, these cries had thus a magical aspect, while they also struck terror into the foe.[854] Warriors also advanced dancing to the fray, and they are depicted on coins dancing on horseback or before a sword, which was worshipped by the Celts.[855] The Celtiberian festival at the full moon consisted entirely of dancing. The dance is a primitive method of expressing religious emotion, and where it imitates certain actions, it is intended by magical influence to crown the actions themselves with success. It is thus a kind of acted prayer with magical results. DIVINATION. A special class of diviners existed among the Celts, but the Druids practised divination, as did also the unofficial layman. Classical writers speak of the Celts as of all nations the most devoted to, and the most experienced in, the science of divination. Divination with a human victim is described by Diodorus. Libations were poured over him, and he was then slain, auguries being drawn from the method of his fall, the movements of his limbs, and the flowing of his blood. Divination with the entrails was used in Galatia, Gaul, and Britain.[856] Beasts and birds also provided omens. The course taken by a hare let loose gave an omen of success to the Britons, and in Ireland divination was used with a sacrificial animal.[857] Among birds the crow was pre-eminent, and two crows are represented speaking into the ears of a man on a bas-relief at Compiègne. The Celts believed that the crow had shown where towns should be founded, or had furnished a remedy against poison, and it was also an arbiter of disputes.[858] Artemidorus describes how, at a certain place, there were two crows. Persons having a dispute set out two heaps of sweetmeats, one for each disputant. The birds swooped down upon them, eating one and dispersing the other. He whose heap had been scattered won the case.[859] Birds were believed to have guided the migrating Celts, and their flight furnished auguries, because, as Deiotaurus gravely said, birds never lie. Divination by the voices of birds was used by the Irish Druids.[860] Omens were drawn from the direction of the smoke and flames of sacred fires and from the condition of the clouds.[861] Wands of yew were carried by Druids--"the wand of Druidism" of many folk-tales--and were used perhaps as divining-rods. Ogams were also engraved on rods of yews, and from these Druids divined hidden things. By this means the Druid Dalan discovered where Etain had been hidden by the god Mider. The method used may have been that of drawing one of the rods by lot and then divining from the marks upon it. A similar method was used to discover the route to be taken by invaders, the result being supposed to depend on divine interposition.[862] The knowledge of astronomy ascribed by Cæsar to the Druids was probably of a simple kind, and much mixed with astrology, and though it furnished the data for computing a simple calendar, its use was largely magical.[863] Irish diviners forecast the time to build a house by the stars, and the date at which S. Columba's education should begin, was similarly discovered.[864] The _Imbas Forosnai_, "illumination between the hands," was used by the _Filé_ to discover hidden things. He chewed a piece of raw flesh and placed it as an offering to the images of the gods whom he desired to help him. If enlightenment did not come by the next day, he pronounced incantations on his palms, which he then placed on his cheeks before falling asleep. The revelation followed in a dream, or sometimes after awaking.[865] Perhaps the animal whose flesh was eaten was a sacred one. Another method was that of the _Teinm Laegha_. The _Filé_ made a verse and repeated it over some person or thing regarding which he sought information, or he placed his staff on the person's body and so obtained what he sought. The rite was also preceded by sacrifice; hence S. Patrick prohibited both it and the _Imbas Forosnai_.[866] Another incantation, the _Cétnad_, was sung through the fist to discover the track of stolen cattle or of the thief. If this did not bring enlightenment, the _Filé_ went to sleep and obtained the knowledge through a dream.[867] Another _Cétnad_ for obtaining information regarding length of life was addressed to the seven daughters of the sea. Perhaps the incantation was repeated mechanically until the seer fell into a kind of trance. Divination by dreams was also used by the continental Celts.[868] Other methods resemble "trance-utterance." "A great obnubilation was conjured up for the bard so that he slept a heavy sleep, and things magic-begotten were shewn to him to enunciate," apparently in his sleep. This was called "illumination by rhymes," and a similar method was used in Wales. When consulted, the seer roared violently until he was beside himself, and out of his ravings the desired information was gathered. When aroused from this ecstatic condition, he had no remembrance of what he had uttered. Giraldus reports this, and thinks, with the modern spiritualist, that the utterance was caused by spirits.[869] The resemblance to modern trance-utterance and to similar methods used by savages is remarkable, and psychological science sees in it the promptings of the subliminal self in sleep. The _taghairm_ of the Highlanders was a survival from pagan times. The seer was usually bound in a cow's hide--the animal, it may be conjectured, having been sacrificed in earlier times. He was left in a desolate place, and while he slept spirits were supposed to inspire his dreams.[870] Clothing in the skin of a sacrificial animal, by which the person thus clothed is brought into contact with it and hence with the divinity to which it is offered, or with the divine animal itself where the victim is so regarded, is a widespread custom. Hence, in this Celtic usage, contact with divinity through the hide would be expected to produce enlightenment. For a like reason the Irish sacrificed a sheep for the recovery of the sick, and clothed the patient in its skin.[871] Binding the limbs of the seer is also a widespread custom, perhaps to restrain his convulsions or to concentrate the psychic force. Both among the continental and Irish Celts those who sought hidden knowledge slept on graves, hoping to be inspired by the spirits of the dead.[872] Legend told how, the full version of the _Táin_ having been lost, Murgan the _Filé_ sang an incantation over the grave of Fergus mac Roig. A cloud hid him for three days, and during that time the dead man appeared and recited the saga to him. In Ireland and the Highlands, divination by looking into the shoulder-blade of a sheep was used to discover future events or things happening at a distance, a survival from pagan times.[873] The scholiast on Lucan describes the Druidic method of chewing acorns and then prophesying, just as, in Ireland, eating nuts from the sacred hazels round Connla's well gave inspiration.[874] The "priestesses" of Sena and the "Druidesses" of the third century had the gift of prophecy, and it was also ascribed freely to the _Filid_, the Druids, and to Christian saints. Druids are said to have prophesied the coming of S. Patrick, and similar prophecies are put in the mouths of Fionn and others, just as Montezuma's priests foretold the coming of the Spaniards.[875] The word used for such prophecies--_baile_, means "ecstasy," and it suggests that the prophet worked himself into a frenzy and then fell into a trance, in which he uttered his forecast. Prophecies were also made at the birth of a child, describing its future career.[876] Careful attention was given to the utterances of Druidic prophets, e.g. Medb's warriors postponed their expedition for fifteen days, because the Druids told them they would not succeed if they set out sooner.[877] Mythical personages or divinities are said in the Irish texts to have stood on one leg, with one arm extended, and one eye closed, when uttering prophecies or incantations, and this was doubtless an attitude used by the seer.[878] A similar method is known elsewhere, and it may have been intended to produce greater force. From this attitude may have originated myths of beings with one arm, one leg, and one eye, like some Fomorians or the _Fachan_ whose weird picture Campbell of Islay drew from verbal descriptions.[879] Early Celtic saints occasionally describe lapses into heathenism in Ireland, not characterised by "idolatry," but by wizardry, dealing in charms, and _fidlanna_, perhaps a kind of divination with pieces of wood.[880] But it is much more likely that these had never really been abandoned. They belong to the primitive element of religion and magic which people cling to long after they have given up "idolatry." FOOTNOTES: [790] Cæsar, vi. 16. [791] Rh[^y]s, _CB_{4} 68. [792] Justin, xxvi. 2; Pomp. Mela, iii. 2. [793] Diod. Sic. xxii. 9. [794] See Jullian, 53. [795] Servius on _Æneid_, iii. 57. [796] Cæsar, vi. 16; Livy, xxxviii. 47; Diod. Sic. v. 32, xxxi. 13; Athenæus, iv. 51; Dio Cass., lxii. 7. [797] Diod. Sic, xxxiv. 13; Strabo, iv. 4; Orosius, v. 16; Schol. on Lucan, Usener's ed. 32. [798] Cæsar, vi. 16; Strabo, iv. 4; Diod. Sic. v. 32; Livy, xxxviii. 47. [799] Mannhardt, _Baumkultus_, 529 f. [800] Strabo, _ibid._ 4. 4. [801] S. Aug. _de Civ. Dei_, vii. 19. [802] Tac. _Ann._ xiv. 30; Strabo, iv. 4. 4. [803] Suet. _Claud._ 25. [804] Pomp. Mela, iii. 2. 18. [805] Pliny, _HN_ xxx. 4. 13. [806] Dio. Cass. lxii. 6. [807] O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 222; Joyce, _SH_ i. ch. 9. [808] _RC_ xvi. 35. [809] _LL_ 213_b_. [810] See p. 52, _supra_. [811] See, however, accounts of reckless child sacrifices in Ellis, _Polynesian Researches_, i. 252, and Westermarck, _Moral Ideas_, i. 397. [812] O'Curry, _MC_ Intro, dcxli. [813] _LU_ 126_a_. A folk-version is given by Larminie, _West Irish Folk-Tales_, 139. [814] _Book of Fermoy_, 89_a_. [815] O'Curry, _MC_ Intro. dcxl, ii. 222. [816] Adamnan, _Vita S. Col._ Reeve's ed. 288. [817] Carmichael, _Carmina Gadelica_, ii. 317. [818] Nennius, _Hist. Brit._ 40. [819] Stokes, _TIG_ xli.; O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 9. [820] Pliny, _HN_ xxx. 1. The feeding of Ethni, daughter of Crimthann, on human flesh that she might sooner attain maturity may be an instance of "medicinal cannibalism" (_IT_ iii. 363). The eating of parents among the Irish, described by Strabo (iv. 5), was an example of "honorific cannibalism." See my article "Cannibalism" in Hastings' _Encycl. of Rel. and Ethics_, iii, 194. [821] Diod. Sic. vi. 12; Paus. x. 22. 3; Amm. Marc. xxvii. 4; Livy, xxiii. 24; Solin. xxii. 3. [822] This custom continued in Ireland until Spenser's time. [823] Leahy, i. 158; Giraldus, _Top. Hib._ iii. 22; Martin, 109. [824] Sil. Ital. iv. 213; Diod. Sic. xiv. 115; Livy, x. 26; Strabo, iv. 4. 5; Miss Hull, 92. [825] Diod. Sic. v. 29; Strabo, iv. 4. 5. [826] D'Arbois, v. 11; Diod. Sic. v. 29; Strabo, _loc. cit._ [827] _Annals of the Four Masters_, 864; _IT_ i. 205. [828] Sil. Ital. iv. 215, v. 652; Lucan, _Phar._ i. 447; Livy, xxiii. 24. [829] See p. 71, _supra_; _CIL_ xii. 1077. A dim memory of head-taking survived in the seventeenth century in Eigg, where headless skeletons were found, of which the islanders said that an enemy had cut off their heads (Martin, 277). [830] Belloguet, _Ethnol. Gaul._ iii. 100. [831] Sil. Ital. xiii. 482; Livy, xxiii. 24; Florus, i. 39. [832] _ZCP_ i. 106. [833] Loth, i. 90 f., ii. 218-219. Sometimes the weapons of a great warrior had the same effect. The bows of Gwerthevyr were hidden in different parts of Prydein and preserved the land from Saxon invasion, until Gwrtheyrn, for love of a woman, dug them up (Loth, ii. 218-219). [834] See p. 338, _infra_. In Ireland, the brain of an enemy was taken from the head, mixed with lime, and made into a ball. This was allowed to harden, and was then placed in the tribal armoury as a trophy. [835] _L'Anthropologie_, xii. 206, 711. Cf. the English tradition of the "Holy Mawle," said to have been used for the same purpose. Thorns, _Anecdotes and Traditions_, 84. [836] Arrian, _Cyneg._ xxxiii. [837] Cæsar, vi. 17; Orosius, v. 16. 6. [838] D'Arbois, i. 155. [839] Curtin, _Tales of the Fairies_, 72; _Folk-Lore_, vii. 178-179. [840] Mitchell, _Past in the Present_, 275. [841] Mitchell, _op. cit._ 271 f. [842] Cook, _Folk-Lore_, xvii. 332. [843] Mitchell, _loc. cit._ 147. The corruption of "Maelrubha" to "Maree" may have been aided by confusing the name with _mo_ or _mhor righ_. [844] Mitchell, _loc. cit._; Moore, 92, 145; Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 305; Worth, _Hist. of Devonshire_, 339; Dalyell, _passim_. [845] Livy, xxiii. 24. [846] Sébillot, ii. 166-167; _L'Anthrop._ xv. 729. [847] Carmichael, _Carm. Gad._ i. 163. [848] Martin, 28. A scribe called "Sonid," which might be the equivalent of "Shony," is mentioned in the Stowe missal (_Folk-Lore_, 1895). [849] Campbell, _Superstitions_, 184 f; _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Trad._ ii. 455. [850] Aelian, xvii. 19. [851] Tacitus, _Ann._ xiv. 30; Dio Cass. lxii. 6. [852] Appian, _Celtica_, 8; Livy, xxi. 28, xxxviii. 17, x. 26. [853] Livy, v. 38, vii. 23; Polybius, ii. 29. Cf. Watteville, _Le cri de guerre chez les differents peuples_, Paris, 1889. [854] Livy, v. 38. [855] Appian, vi. 53; Muret et Chabouillet, _Catalogue des monnaies gauloises_, 6033 f., 6941 f. [856] Diod. v. 31; Justin, xxvi. 2, 4; Cicero, _de Div._ ii. 36, 76; Tac. _Ann._ xiv. 30; Strabo, iii. 3. 6. [857] Dio Cass. lxii. 6. [858] Reinach, _Catal. Sommaire_, 31; Pseudo-Plutarch, _de Fluviis_, vi. 4; _Mirab. Auscult._ 86. [859] Strabo, iv. 4. 6. [860] Justin, xxiv, 4; Cicero, _de Div._ i. 15. 26. (Cf. the two magic crows which announced the coming of Cúchulainn to the other world (D'Arbois, v. 203); Irish _Nennius_, 145; O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 224; cf. for a Welsh instance, Skene, i. 433.) [861] Joyce, _SH_ i. 229; O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 224, _MS Mat._ 284. [862] _IT_ i. 129; Livy, v. 34; Loth, _RC_ xvi. 314. The Irish for consulting a lot is _crann-chur_, "the act of casting wood." [863] Cæsar, vi. 14. [864] O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 46, 224; Stokes, _Three Irish Homilies_, 103. [865] Cormac, 94. Fionn's divination by chewing his thumb is called _Imbas Forosnai_ (_RC_ xxv. 347). [866] _Antient Laws of Ireland_, i. 45. [867] Hyde, _Lit. Hist. of Ireland_, 241. [868] Justin, xliii. 5. [869] O'Grady, ii. 362; Giraldus, _Descr. Camb._ i. 11. [870] Pennant, _Tour in Scotland_, i. 311; Martin, 111. [871] Richardson, _Folly of Pilgrimages_, 70. [872] Tertullian, _de Anima_, 57; _Coll. de Reb. Hib._ iii. 334. [873] Campbell, _Superstitions_, 263; Curtin, _Tales_, 84. [874] Lucan, ed. Usener, 33. [875] See examples in O'Curry, _MS Mat._ 383 f. [876] Miss Hull, 19, 20, 23. [877] _LU_ 55. [878] _RC_ xii. 98, xxi. 156, xxii. 61. [879] _RC_ xv. 432; _Annals of the Four Masters_, A.M. 2530; Campbell, _WHT_ iv. 298. [880] See "Adamnan's Second Vision." _RC_ xii. 441. CHAPTER XVII. TABU. The Irish _geis_, pl. _geasa_, which may be rendered by Tabu, had two senses. It meant something which must not be done for fear of disastrous consequences, and also an obligation to do something commanded by another. As a tabu the _geis_ had a large place in Irish life, and was probably known to other branches of the Celts.[881] It followed the general course of tabu wherever found. Sometimes it was imposed before birth, or it was hereditary, or connected with totemism. Legends, however, often arose giving a different explanation to _geasa_, long after the customs in which they originated had been forgotten. It was one of Diarmaid's _geasa_ not to hunt the boar of Ben Gulban, and this was probably totemic in origin. But legend told how his father killed a child, the corpse being changed into a boar by the child's father, who said its span of life would be the same as Diarmaid's, and that he would be slain by it. Oengus put _geasa_ on Diarmaid not to hunt it, but at Fionn's desire he broke these, and was killed.[882] Other _geasa_--those of Cúchulainn not to eat dog's flesh, and of Conaire never to chase birds--also point to totemism. In some cases _geasa_ were based on ideas of right and wrong, honour or dishonour, or were intended to cause avoidance of unlucky days. Others are unintelligible to us. The largest number of _geasa_ concerned kings and chiefs, and are described, along with their corresponding privileges, in the _Book of Rights_. Some of the _geasa_ of the king of Connaught were not to go to an assembly of women at Leaghair, not to sit in autumn on the sepulchral mound of the wife of Maine, not to go in a grey-speckled garment on a grey-speckled horse to the heath of Cruachan, and the like.[883] The meaning of these is obscure, but other examples are more obvious and show that all alike corresponded to the tabus applying to kings in primitive societies, who are often magicians, priests, or even divine representatives. On them the welfare of the tribe and the making of rain or sunshine, and the processes of growth depend. They must therefore be careful of their actions, and hence they are hedged about with tabus which, however unmeaning, have a direct connection with their powers. Out of such conceptions the Irish kingly _geasa_ arose. Their observance made the earth fruitful, produced abundance and prosperity, and kept both the king and his land from misfortune. In later times these were supposed to be dependent on the "goodness" or the reverse of the king, but this was a departure from the older idea, which is clearly stated in the _Book of Rights_.[884] The kings were divinities on whom depended fruitfulness and plenty, and who must therefore submit to obey their _geasa_. Some of their prerogatives seem also to be connected with this state of things. Thus they might eat of certain foods or go to certain places on particular days.[885] In primitive societies kings and priests often prohibit ordinary mortals from eating things which they desire for themselves by making them _tabu_, and in other cases the fruits of the earth can only be eaten after king or priest has partaken of them ceremonially. This may have been the case in Ireland. The privilege relating to places may have meant that these were sacred and only to be entered by the king at certain times and in his sacred capacity. As a reflection from this state of things, the heroes of the sagas, Cúchulainn and Fionn, had numerous _geasa_ applicable to themselves, some of them religious, some magical, others based on primitive ideas of honour, others perhaps the invention of the narrators.[886] _Geasa_, whether in the sense of tabus or of obligations, could be imposed by any one, and must be obeyed, for disobedience produced disastrous effects. Probably the obligation was framed as an incantation or spell, and the power of the spell being fully believed in, obedience would follow as a matter of course.[887] Examples of such _geasa_ are numerous in Irish literature. Cúchulainn's father-in-law put _geasa_ on him that he should know no rest until he found out the cause of the exile of the sons of Doel. And Grainne put _geasa_ on Diarmaid that he should elope with her, and this he did, though the act was repugnant to him. Among savages the punishment which is supposed to follow tabu-breaking is often produced through auto-suggestion when a tabu has been unconsciously infringed and this has afterwards been discovered. Fear produces the result which is feared. The result is believed, however, to be the working of divine vengeance. In the case of Irish _geasa_, destruction and death usually followed their infringement, as in the case of Diarmaid and Cúchulainn. But the best instance is found in the tale of _The Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel_, in which the _síd_-folk avenge themselves for Eochaid's action by causing the destruction of his descendant Conaire, who is forced to break his _geasa_. These are first minutely detailed; then it is shown how, almost in spite of himself, Conaire was led on to break them, and how, in the sequel, his tragic death occurred.[888] Viewed in this light as the working of divine vengeance to a remote descendant of the offender by forcing him to break his tabus, the story is one of the most terrible in the whole range of Irish literature. FOOTNOTES: [881] The religious interdictions mentioned by Cæsar (vi. 13) may be regarded as tabus, while the spoils of war placed in a consecrated place (vi. 18), and certain animals among the Britons (v. 12), were clearly under tabu. [882] Joyce, _OCR_ 332 f. [883] _Book of Rights_, ed. O'Donovan, 5. [884] _Book of Rights_, 7. [885] Ibid. 3 f. [886] _LL_ 107; O'Grady, ii. 175. [887] In Highland tales _geasa_ is translated "spells." [888] _RC_ xxii. 27 f. The story of _Da Choca's Hostel_ has for its subject the destruction of Cormac through breaking his _geasa_ (_RC_ xxi. 149 f.). CHAPTER XVIII. FESTIVALS. The Celtic year was not at first regulated by the solstices and equinoxes, but by some method connected with agriculture or with the seasons. Later, the year was a lunar one, and there is some evidence of attempts at synchronising solar and lunar time. But time was mainly measured by the moon, while in all calculations night preceded day.[889] Thus _oidhche Samhain_ was the night preceding Samhain (November 1st), not the following night. The usage survives in our "sennight" and "fortnight." In early times the year had two, possibly three divisions, marking periods in pastoral or agricultural life, but it was afterwards divided into four periods, while the year began with the winter division, opening at Samhain. A twofold, subdivided into a fourfold division is found in Irish texts,[890] and may be tabulated as follows:-- 1st quarter, _Geimredh_, beginning with the _A_. Geimredh festival of _Samhain_, November 1st. (winter half) 2nd quarter, _Earrach_, beginning February 1st (sometimes called _Oimelc_). 3rd quarter, _Samradh_, beginning with the _B_. Samhradh festival of _Beltane_, May 1st (called also (summer half) _Cét-soman_ or _Cét-samain_, 1st day of _Samono-s_; cf. Welsh _Cyntefyn_). 4th quarter, _Foghamhar_, beginning with the festival of _Lugnasadh_, August 1st (sometimes called _Brontroghain_). These divisions began with festivals, and clear traces of three of them occur over the whole Celtic area, but the fourth has now been merged in S. Brigit's day. Beltane and Samhain marked the beginning of the two great divisions, and were perhaps at first movable festivals, according as the signs of summer or winter appeared earlier or later. With the adoption of the Roman calendar some of the festivals were displaced, e.g. in Gaul, where the Calends of January took the place of Samhain, the ritual being also transferred. None of the four festivals is connected with the times of equinox and solstice. This points to the fact that originally the Celtic year was independent of these. But Midsummer day was also observed not only by the Celts, but by most European folk, the ritual resembling that of Beltane. It has been held, and an old tradition in Ireland gives some support to the theory, that under Christian influences the old pagan feast of Beltane was merged in that of S. John Baptist on Midsummer day.[891] But, though there are Christian elements in the Midsummer ritual, denoting a desire to bring it under Church influence, the pagan elements in folk-custom are strongly marked, and the festival is deeply rooted in an earlier paganism all over Europe. Without much acquaintance with astronomy, men must have noted the period of the sun's longest course from early times, and it would probably be observed ritually. The festivals of Beltane and Midsummer may have arisen independently, and entered into competition with each other. Or Beltane may have been an early pastoral festival marking the beginning of summer when the herds went out to pasture, and Midsummer a more purely agricultural festival. And since their ritual aspect and purpose as seen in folk-custom are similar, they may eventually have borrowed each from the other. Or they may be later separate fixed dates of an earlier movable summer festival. For our purpose we may here consider them as twin halves of such a festival. Where Midsummer was already observed, the influence of the Roman calendar would confirm that observance. The festivals of the Christian year also affected the older observances. Some of the ritual was transferred to saints' days within the range of the pagan festival days, thus the Samhain ritual is found observed on S. Martin's day. In other cases, holy days took the place of the old festivals--All Saints' and All Souls' that of Samhain, S. Brigit's day that of February 1st, S. John Baptist's day that of Midsummer, Lammas that of Lugnasad, and some attempt was made to hallow, if not to oust, the older ritual. The Celtic festivals being primarily connected with agricultural and pastoral life, we find in their ritual survivals traces not only of a religious but of a magical view of things, of acts designed to assist the powers of life and growth. The proof of this will be found in a detailed examination of the surviving customs connected with them. SAMHAIN. Samhain,[892] beginning the Celtic year, was an important social and religious occasion. The powers of blight were beginning their ascendancy, yet the future triumph of the powers of growth was not forgotten. Probably Samhain had gathered up into itself other feasts occurring earlier or later. Thus it bears traces of being a harvest festival, the ritual of the earlier harvest feast being transferred to the winter feast, as the Celts found themselves in lands where harvest is not gathered before late autumn. The harvest rites may, however, have been associated with threshing rather than ingathering. Samhain also contains in its ritual some of the old pastoral cults, while as a New Year feast its ritual is in great part that of all festivals of beginnings. New fire was brought into each house at Samhain from the sacred bonfire,[893] itself probably kindled from the need-fire by the friction of pieces of wood. This preserved its purity, the purity necessary to a festival of beginnings.[894] The putting away of the old fires was probably connected with various rites for the expulsion of evils, which usually occur among many peoples at the New Year festival. By that process of dislocation which scattered the Samhain ritual over a wider period and gave some of it to Christmas, the kindling of the Yule log may have been originally connected with this festival. Divination and forecasting the fate of the inquirer for the coming year also took place. Sometimes these were connected with the bonfire, stones placed in it showing by their appearance the fortune or misfortune awaiting their owners.[895] Others, like those described by Burns in his "Hallowe'en," were unconnected with the bonfire and were of an erotic nature.[896] The slaughter of animals for winter consumption which took place at Samhain, or, as now, at Martinmas, though connected with economic reasons, had a distinctly religious aspect, as it had among the Teutons. In recent times in Ireland one of the animals was offered to S. Martin, who may have taken the place of a god, and ill-luck followed the non-observance of the custom.[897] The slaughter was followed by general feasting. This later slaughter may be traced back to the pastoral stage, in which the animals were regarded as divine, and one was slain annually and eaten sacramentally. Or, if the slaughter was more general, the animals would be propitiated. But when the animals ceased to be worshipped, the slaughter would certainly be more general, though still preserving traces of its original character. The pastoral sacrament may also have been connected with the slaying and eating of an animal representing the corn-spirit at harvest time. In one legend S. Martin is associated with the animal slain at Martinmas, and is said to have been cut up and eaten in the form of an ox,[898] as if a former divine animal had become an anthropomorphic divinity, the latter being merged in the personality of a Christian saint. Other rites, connected with the Calends of January as a result of dislocation, point also in this direction. In Gaul and Germany riotous processions took place with men dressed in the heads and skins of animals.[899] This rite is said by Tille to have been introduced from Italy, but it is more likely to have been a native custom.[900] As the people ate the flesh of the slain animals sacramentally, so they clothed themselves in the skins to promote further contact with their divinity. Perambulating the township sunwise dressed in the skin of a cow took place until recently in the Hebrides at New Year, in order to keep off misfortune, a piece of the hide being burned and the smoke inhaled by each person and animal in the township.[901] Similar customs have been found in other Celtic districts, and these animal disguises can hardly be separated from the sacramental slaughter at Samhain.[902] Evils having been or being about to be cast off in the New Year ritual, a few more added to the number can make little difference. Hence among primitive peoples New Year is often characterised by orgiastic rites. These took place at the Calends in Gaul, and were denounced by councils and preachers.[903] In Ireland the merriment at Samhain is often mentioned in the texts,[904] and similar orgiastic rites lurk behind the Hallowe'en customs in Scotland and in the licence still permitted to youths in the quietest townships of the West Highlands at Samhain eve. Samhain, as has been seen, was also a festival of the dead, whose ghosts were fed at this time.[905] As the powers of growth were in danger and in eclipse in winter, men thought it necessary to assist them. As a magical aid the Samhain bonfire was chief, and it is still lit in the Highlands. Brands were carried round, and from it the new fire was lit in each house. In North Wales people jumped through the fire, and when it was extinct, rushed away to escape the "black sow" who would take the hindmost.[906] The bonfire represented the sun, and was intended to strengthen it. But representing the sun, it had all the sun's force, hence those who jumped through it were strengthened and purified. The Welsh reference to the hindmost and to the black sow may point to a former human sacrifice, perhaps of any one who stumbled in jumping through the fire. Keating speaks of a Druidic sacrifice in the bonfire, whether of man or beast is not specified.[907] Probably the victim, like the scapegoat, was laden with the accumulated evils of the year, as in similar New Year customs elsewhere. Later belief regarded the sacrifice, if sacrifice there was, as offered to the powers of evil--the black sow, unless this animal is a reminiscence of the corn-spirit in its harmful aspect. Earlier powers, whether of growth or of blight, came to be associated with Samhain as demoniac beings--the "malignant bird flocks" which blighted crops and killed animals, the _samhanach_ which steals children, and Mongfind the banshee, to whom "women and the rabble" make petitions on Samhain eve.[908] Witches, evil-intentioned fairies, and the dead were particularly active then. Though the sacrificial victim had come to be regarded as an offering to the powers of blight, he may once have represented a divinity of growth or, in earlier times, the corn-spirit. Such a victim was slain at harvest, and harvest is often late in northern Celtic regions, while the slaying was sometimes connected not with the harvest field, but with the later threshing. This would bring it near the Samhain festival. The slaying of the corn-spirit was derived from the earlier slaying of a tree or vegetation-spirit embodied in a tree and also in a human or animal victim. The corn-spirit was embodied in the last sheaf cut as well as in an animal or human being.[909] This human victim may have been regarded as a king, since in late popular custom a mock king is chosen at winter festivals.[910] In other cases the effigy of a saint is hung up and carried round the different houses, part of the dress being left at each. The saint has probably succeeded to the traditional ritual of the divine victim.[911] The primitive period in which the corn-spirit was regarded as female, with a woman as her human representative, is also recalled in folk-custom. The last sheaf is called the Maiden or the Mother, while, as in Northamptonshire, girls choose a queen on S. Catharine's day, November 26th, and in some Christmas pageants "Yule's wife," as well as Yule, is present, corresponding to the May queen of the summer festival.[912] Men also masqueraded as women at the Calends. The dates of these survivals may be explained by that dislocation of the Samhain festival already pointed out. This view of the Samhain human sacrifices is supported by the Irish offerings to the Fomorians--gods of growth, later regarded as gods of blight, and to Cromm Cruaich, in both cases at Samhain.[913] With the evolution of religious thought, the slain victim came to be regarded as an offering to evil powers. This aspect of Samhain, as a festival to promote and assist festivity, is further seen in the belief in the increased activity of fairies at that time. In Ireland, fairies are connected with the Tuatha Dé Danann, the divinities of growth, and in many folk-tales they are associated with agricultural processes. The use of evergreens at Christmas is perhaps also connected with the carrying of them round the fields in older times, as an evidence that the life of nature was not extinct.[914] Samhain may thus be regarded as, in origin, an old pastoral and agricultural festival, which in time came to be looked upon as affording assistance to the powers of growth in their conflict with the powers of blight. Perhaps some myth describing this combat may lurk behind the story of the battle of Mag-tured fought on Samhain between the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fomorians. While the powers of blight are triumphant in winter, the Tuatha Déa are represented as the victors, though they suffer loss and death. Perhaps this enshrines the belief in the continual triumph of life and growth over blight and decay, or it may arise from the fact that Samhain was both a time of rejoicing for the ingathered harvest, and of wailing for the coming supremacy of winter and the reign of the powers of blight. BELTANE. In Cormac's _Glossary_ and other texts, "Beltane" is derived from _bel-tene_, "a goodly fire," or from _bel-dine_, because newly-born (_dine_) cattle were offered to Bel, an idol-god.[915] The latter is followed by those who believe in a Celtic Belus, connected with Baal. No such god is known, however, and the god Belenos is in no way connected with the Semitic divinity. M. D'Arbois assumes an unknown god of death, Beltene (from _beltu_, "to die"), whose festival Beltane was.[916] But Beltane was a festival of life, of the sun shining in his strength. Dr. Stokes gives a more acceptable explanation of the word. Its primitive form was _belo-te_[_p_]_niâ_, from _belo-s_, "clear," "shining," the root of the names Belenos and Belisama, and _te_[_p_]_nos_, "fire." Thus the word would mean something like "bright fire," perhaps the sun or the bonfire, or both.[917] The folk-survivals of the Beltane and Midsummer festivals show that both were intended to promote fertility. One of the chief ritual acts at Beltane was the kindling of bonfires, often on hills. The house-fires in the district were often extinguished, the bonfire being lit by friction from a rotating wheel--the German "need-fire."[918] The fire kept off disease and evil, hence cattle were driven through it, or, according to Cormac, between two fires lit by Druids, in order to keep them in health during the year.[919] Sometimes the fire was lit beneath a sacred tree, or a pole covered with greenery was surrounded by the fuel, or a tree was burned in the fire.[920] These trees survive in the Maypole of later custom, and they represented the vegetation-spirit, to whom also the worshippers assimilated themselves by dressing in leaves. They danced sunwise round the fire or ran through the fields with blazing branches or wisps of straw, imitating the course of the sun, and thus benefiting the fields.[921] For the same reason the tree itself was probably borne through the fields. Houses were decked with boughs and thus protected by the spirit of vegetation.[922] An animal representing the spirit of vegetation may have been slain. In late survivals of Beltane at Dublin, a horse's skull and bones were thrown into the fire,[923] the attenuated form of an earlier sacrifice or slaying of a divine victim, by whom strength was transferred to all the animals which passed through the fire. In some cases a human victim may have been slain. This is suggested by customs surviving in Perthshire in the eighteenth century, when a cake was broken up and distributed, and the person who received a certain blackened portion was called the "Beltane carline" or "devoted." A pretence was made of throwing him into the fire, or he had to leap three times through it, and during the festival he was spoken of as "dead."[924] Martin says that malefactors were burned in the fire,[925] and though he cites no authority, this agrees with the Celtic use of criminals as victims. Perhaps the victim was at one time a human representative of the vegetation-spirit. Beltane cakes or bannocks, perhaps made of the grain of the sacred last sheaf from the previous harvest, and therefore sacramental in character, were also used in different ways in folk-survivals. They were rolled down a slope--a magical imitative act, symbolising and aiding the course of the sun. The cake had also a divinatory character. If it broke on reaching the foot of the slope this indicated the approaching death of its owner. In another custom in Perthshire, part of a cake was thrown over the shoulder with the words, "This I give to thee, preserve thou my horses; this to thee, preserve thou my sheep; this to thee, O fox, preserve thou my lambs; this to thee, O hooded crow; this to thee, O eagle." Here there is an appeal to beneficial and noxious powers, whether this was the original intention of the rite.[926] But if the cakes were made of the last sheaf, they were probably at one time eaten sacramentally, their sacrificial use emerging later. The bonfire was a sun-charm, representing and assisting the sun. Rain-charms were also used at Beltane. Sacred wells were visited and the ceremony performed with their waters, these perhaps being sprinkled over the tree or the fields to promote a copious rainfall for the benefit of vegetation. The use of such rites at Beltane and at other festivals may have given rise to the belief that wells were especially efficacious then for purposes of healing. The custom of rolling in the grass to benefit by May dew was probably connected with magical rites in which moisture played an important part.[927] The idea that the powers of growth had successfully combated those of blight may have been ritually represented. This is suggested by the mimic combats of Summer and Winter at this time, to which reference has already been made. Again, the May king and queen represent earlier personages who were regarded as embodying the spirits of vegetation and fertility at this festival, and whose marriage or union magically assisted growth and fertility, as in numerous examples of this ritual marriage elsewhere.[928] It may be assumed that a considerable amount of sexual licence also took place with the same magical purpose. Sacred marriage and festival orgy were an appeal to the forces of nature to complete their beneficial work, as well as a magical aid to them in that work. Analogy leads to the supposition that the king of the May was originally a priest-king, the incarnation of the spirit of vegetation. He or his surrogate was slain, while his bodily force was unabated, in order that it might be passed on undiminished to his successor. But the persistent place given to the May queen rather than to the king suggests the earlier prominence of women and of female spirits of fertility or of a great Mother-goddess in such rites. It is also significant that in the Perthshire ritual the man chosen was still called the _Beltane carlane_ or _cailleach_ ("old woman"). And if, as Professor Pearson maintains, witch orgies are survivals of old sex-festivals, then the popular belief in the activity of witches on Beltane eve, also shows that the festival had once been mainly one in which women took part. Such orgies often took place on hills which had been the sites of a cult in former times.[929] MIDSUMMER. The ritual of the Midsummer festival did not materially differ from that of Beltane, and as folk-survivals show, it was practised not only by the Celts, but by many other European peoples. It was, in fact, a primitive nature festival such as would readily be observed by all under similar psychic conditions and in like surroundings. A bonfire was again the central rite of this festival, the communal nature of which is seen in the fact that all must contribute materials to it. In local survivals, mayor and priest, representing the earlier local chief and priest, were present, while a service in church preceded the procession to the scene of the bonfire. Dancing sunwise round the fire to the accompaniment of songs which probably took the place of hymns or tunes in honour of the Sun-god, commonly occurred, and by imitating the sun's action, may have been intended to make it more powerful. The livelier the dance the better would be the harvest.[930] As the fire represented the sun, it possessed the purifying and invigorating powers of the sun; hence leaping through the fire preserved from disease, brought prosperity, or removed barrenness. Hence also cattle were driven through the fire. But if any one stumbled as he leaped, ill-luck was supposed to follow him. He was devoted to the _fadets_ or spirits,[931] and perhaps, like the "devoted" Beltane victim, he may formerly have been sacrificed. Animal sacrifices are certainly found in many survivals, the victims being often placed in osier baskets and thrown into the fire. In other districts great human effigies of osier were carried in procession and burned.[932] The connection of such sacrifices with the periodical slaying of a representative of the vegetation-spirit has been maintained by Mannhardt and Dr. Frazer.[933] As has been seen, periodic sacrifices for the fertility of the land are mentioned by Cæsar, Strabo, and Diodorus, human victims and animals being enclosed in an osier image and burned.[934] These images survive in the osier effigies just referred to, while they may also be connected with the custom of decking the human representatives of the spirit of vegetation in greenery. The holocausts may be regarded as extensions of the earlier custom of slaying one victim, the incarnation of a vegetation-spirit. This slaying was gradually regarded as sacrificial, but as the beneficial effect of the sacrifice on growth was still believed in, it would naturally be thought that still better effects would be produced if many victims were offered. The victims were burned in a fire representing the sun, and vegetation was thus doubly benefited, by the victims and by the sun-god. The oldest conception of the vegetation-spirit was that of a tree-spirit which had power over rain, sunshine, and every species of fruitfulness. For this reason a tree had a prominent place both in the Beltane and Midsummer feasts. It was carried in procession, imparting its benefits to each house or field. Branches of it were attached to each house for the same purpose. It was then burned, or it was set up to procure benefits to vegetation during the year and burned at the next Midsummer festival.[935] The sacred tree was probably an oak, and, as has been seen, the mistletoe rite probably took place on Midsummer eve, as a preliminary to cutting down the sacred tree and in order to secure the life or soul of the tree, which must first be secured before the tree could be cut down. The life of the tree was in the mistletoe, still alive in winter when the tree itself seemed to be dead. Such beliefs as this concerning the detachable soul or life survive in _Märchen_, and are still alive among savages.[936] Folk-survivals show that a human or an animal representative of the vegetation-spirit, brought into connection with the tree, was also slain or burned along with the tree.[937] Thus the cutting of the mistletoe would be regarded as a preliminary to the slaying of the human victim, who, like the tree, was the representative of the spirit of vegetation. The bonfire representing the sun, and the victims, like the tree, representing the spirit of vegetation, it is obvious why the fire had healing and fertilising powers, and why its ashes and the ashes or the flesh of the victims possessed the same powers. Brands from the fire were carried through the fields or villages, as the tree had been, or placed on the fields or in houses, where they were carefully preserved for a year. All this aided growth and prosperity, just as the smoke of the fire, drifting over the fields, produced fertility. Ashes from the fire, and probably the calcined bones or even the flesh of the victims, were scattered on the fields or preserved and mixed with the seed corn. Again, part of the flesh may have been eaten sacramentally, since, as has been seen, Pliny refers to the belief of the Celts in the eating of human flesh as most wholesome. In the Stone Age, as with many savages, a circle typified the sun, and as soon as the wheel was invented its rolling motion at once suggested that of the sun. In the _Edda_ the sun is "the beautiful, the shining wheel," and similar expressions occur in the _Vedas_. Among the Celts the wheel of the sun was a favourite piece of symbolism, and this is seen in various customs at the Midsummer festival. A burning wheel was rolled down a slope or trundled through the fields, or burning brands were whirled round so as to give the impression of a fiery wheel. The intention was primarily to imitate the course of the sun through the heavens, and so, on the principle of imitative magic, to strengthen it. But also, as the wheel was rolled through the fields, so it was hoped that the direct beneficial action of the sun upon them would follow. Similar rites might be performed not only at Midsummer, but at other times, to procure blessing or to ward off evil, e.g. carrying fire round houses or fields or cattle or round a child _deiseil_ or sunwise,[938] and, by a further extension of thought, the blazing wheel, or the remains of the burning brands thrown to the winds, had also the effect of carrying off accumulated evils.[939] Beltane and Midsummer thus appear as twin halves of a spring or early summer festival, the intention of which was to promote fertility and health. This was done by slaying the spirit of vegetation in his representative--tree, animal, or man. His death quickened the energies of earth and man. The fire also magically assisted the course of the sun. Survival of the ancient rites are or were recently found in all Celtic regions, and have been constantly combated by the Church. But though they were continued, their true meaning was forgotten, and they were mainly performed for luck or out of sheer conservatism. Sometimes a Christian aspect was given to them, e.g. by connecting the fires with S. John, or by associating the rites with the service of the Church, or by the clergy being present at them. But their true nature was still evident as acts of pagan worship and magic which no veneer of Christianity could ever quite conceal.[940] LUGNASAD. The 1st of August, coming midway between Beltane and Samhain, was an important festival among the Celts. In Christian times the day became Lammas, but its name still survives in Irish as Lugnasad, in Gaelic as Lunasdal or Lunasduinn, and in Manx as Laa Luanys, and it is still observed as a fair or feast in many districts. Formerly assemblies at convenient centres were held on this day, not only for religious purposes, but for commerce and pleasure, both of these being of course saturated with religion. "All Ireland" met at Taillti, just as "all Gaul" met at Lugudunum, "Lug's town," or Lyons, in honour of Augustus, though the feast there had formerly been in honour of the god Lugus.[941] The festival was here Romanised, as it was also in Britain, where its name appears as _Goel-aoust_, _Gul-austus_, and _Gwyl Awst_, now the "August feast," but formerly the "feast of Augustus," the name having replaced one corresponding to Lugnasad.[942] Cormac explains the name Lugnasad as a festival of Lugh mac Ethlenn, celebrated by him in the beginning of autumn, and the _Rennes Dindsenchas_ accounts for its origin by saying that Lug's foster-mother, Tailtiu, having died on the Calends of August, he directed an assembly for lamentation to be held annually on that day at her tomb.[943] Lug is thus the founder of his own festival, for that it was his, and not Tailtiu's, is clear from the fact that his name is attached to it. As Lammas was a Christian harvest thanksgiving, so also was Lugnasad a pagan harvest feast, part of the ritual of which passed over to Samhain. The people made glad before the sun-god--Lug perhaps having that character--who had assisted them in the growth of the things on which their lives depended. Marriages were also arranged at this feast, probably because men had now more leisure and more means for entering upon matrimony. Possibly promiscuous love-making also occurred as a result of the festival gladness, agricultural districts being still notoriously immoral. Some evidence points to the connection of the feast with Lug's marriage, though this has been allegorised into his wedding the "sovereignty of Erin." Perhaps we have here a hint of the rite of the sacred marriage, for the purpose of magically fertilising the fields against next year's sowing. Due observance of the feast produced abundance of corn, fruit, milk, and fish. Probably the ritual observed included the preservation of the last sheaf as representing the corn-spirit, giving some of it to the cattle to strengthen them, and mingling it with next year's corn to impart to it the power of the corn-spirit. It may also have included the slaying of an animal or human incarnation of the corn-spirit, whose flesh and blood quickened the soil and so produced abundance next year, or, when partaken of by the worshippers, brought blessings to them. To neglect such rites, abundant instances of which exist in folk-custom, would be held to result in scarcity. This would also explain, as already suggested, why the festival was associated with the death of Tailtiu or of Carman. The euhemerised queen-goddess Tailtiu and the woman Carman had once been corn-goddesses, evolved from more primitive corn-spirits, and slain at the feast in their female representatives. The story of their death and burial at the festival was a dim memory of this ancient rite, and since the festival was also connected with the sun-god Lug, it was easy to bring him into relationship with the earlier goddess. Elsewhere the festival, in its memorial aspect, was associated with a king, probably because male victims had come to be representatives of a corn-god who had taken the place of the goddess. * * * * * Some of the ritual of these festivals is illustrated by scattered notices in classical writers, and on the whole they support our theory that the festivals originated in a female cult of spirits or goddesses of fertility. Strabo speaks of sacrifices offered to Demeter and Kore, according to the ritual followed at Samothrace, in an island near Britain, i.e. to native goddesses equated with them. He also describes the ritual of the Namnite women on an island in the Loire. They are called Bacchantes because they conciliated Bacchus with mysteries and sacrifices; in other words, they observed an orgiastic cult of a god equated with Bacchus. No man must set foot on the island, but the women left it once a year for intercourse with the other sex. Once a year the temple of the god was unroofed, and roofed again before sunset. If any woman dropped her load of materials (and it was said this always happened), she was torn in pieces and her limbs carried round the temple.[944] Dionysius Periegetes says the women were crowned with ivy, and celebrated their mysteries by night in honour of Earth and Proserpine with great clamour.[945] Pliny also makes a reference to British rites in which nude women and girls took part, their bodies stained with woad.[946] At a later time, S. Gregory of Tours speaks of the image of a goddess Berecynthia drawn on a litter through the streets, fields, and vineyards of Augustodunum on the days of her festival, or when the fields were threatened with scarcity. The people danced and sang before it. The image was covered with a white veil.[947] Berecynthia has been conjectured by Professor Anwyl to be the goddess Brigindu, worshipped at Valnay.[948] These rites were all directed towards divinities of fertility. But in harvest customs in Celtic Scotland and elsewhere two sheaves of corn were called respectively the Old Woman and the Maiden, the corn-spirit of the past year and that of the year to come, and corresponding to Demeter and Kore in early Greek agricultural ritual. As in Greece, so among the Celts, the primitive corn-spirits had probably become more individualised goddesses with an elaborate cult, observed on an island or at other sacred spots. The cult probably varied here and there, and that of a god of fertility may have taken the place of the cult of goddesses. A god was worshipped by the Namnite women, according to Strabo, goddesses according to Dionysius. The mangled victim was probably regarded as representative of a divinity, and perhaps part of the flesh was mixed with the seed-corn, like the grain of the Maiden sheaf, or buried in the earth. This rite is common among savages, and its presence in old European ritual is attested by survivals. That these rites were tabu to men probably points to the fact that they were examples of an older general custom, in which all such rites were in the hands of women who cultivated the earth, and who were the natural priestesses of goddesses of growth and fertility, of vegetation and the growing corn. Another example is found in the legend and procession of Godiva at Coventry--the survival of a pagan cult from which men were excluded.[949] Pliny speaks of the nudity of the women engaged in the cult. Nudity is an essential part of all primitive agricultural rites, and painting the body is also a widespread ritual act. Dressing with leaves or green stuff, as among the Namnite women, and often with the intention of personating the spirit of vegetation, is also customary. By unveiling the body, and especially the sexual organs, women more effectually represented the goddess of fertility, and more effectually as her representatives, or through their own powers, magically conveyed fertility to the fields. Nakedness thus became a powerful magico-religious symbol, and it is found as part of the ritual for producing rain.[950] There is thus abundant evidence of the cult of fertility, vegetation, and corn-spirits, who tended to become divinities, male or female. Here and there, through conservatism, the cult remained in the hands of women, but more generally it had become a ritual in which both men and women took part--that of the great agricultural festivals. Where a divinity had taken the place of the vaguer spirits, her image, like that of Berecynthia, was used in the ritual, but the image was probably the successor of the tree which embodied the vegetation-spirit, and was carried through the fields to fertilise them. Similar processions of images, often accompanied by a ritual washing of the image in order to invigorate the divinity, or, as in the similar May-day custom, to produce rain, are found in the Teutonic cult of Nerthus, the Phrygian of Cybele, the Hindu of Bhavani, and the Roman ritual of the Bona Dea. The image of Berecynthia was thus probably washed also. Washing the images of saints, usually to produce rain, has sometimes taken the place of the washing of a divine image, and similarly the relics of a saint are carried through a field, as was the tree or image. The community at Iona perambulated a newly sown field with S. Columba's relics in time of drought, and shook his tunic three times in the air, and were rewarded by a plentiful rain, and later, by a bounteous harvest.[951] Many of these local cults were pre-Celtic, but we need not therefore suppose that the Celts, or the Aryans as a whole, had no such cults.[952] The Aryans everywhere adopted local cults, but this they would not have done if, as is supposed, they had themselves outgrown them. The cults were local, but the Celts had similar local cults, and easily accepted those of the people they conquered. We cannot explain the persistence of such primitive cults as lie behind the great Celtic festivals, both in classical times and over the whole area of Europe among the peasantry, by referring them solely to a pre-Aryan folk. They were as much Aryan as pre-Aryan. They belong to those unchanging strata of religion which have so largely supplied the soil in which its later and more spiritual growths have flourished. And among these they still emerge, unchanged and unchanging, like the gaunt outcrops of some ancient rock formation amid rich vegetation and fragrant flowers. FOOTNOTES: [889] Pliny, xvi. 45; Cæsar, vi. 18. See my article "Calendar (Celtic)" in Hastings' _Encyclopædia of Rel. and Ethics_, iii. 78 f., for a full discussion of the problems involved. [890] O'Donovan, _Book of Rights_, Intro. lii f. [891] O'Donovan, li.; Bertrand, 105; Keating, 300. [892] Samhain may mean "summer-end," from _sam_, "summer," and _fuin_, "sunset" or "end," but Dr. Stokes (_US_ 293) makes _samani_- mean "assembly," i.e. the gathering of the people to keep the feast. [893] Keating, 125, 300. [894] See MacBain, _CM_ ix. 328. [895] Brand, i. 390; Ramsay, _Scotland and Scotsmen in the Eighteenth Century_, ii. 437; _Stat. Account_, xi. 621. [896] Hazlitt, 297-298, 340; Campbell, _Witchcraft_, 285 f. [897] Curtin, 72. [898] Fitzgerald, _RC_ vi. 254. [899] See Chambers, _Mediæval Stage_, App. N, for the evidence from canons and councils regarding these. [900] Tille, _Yule and Christmas_, 96. [901] Chambers, _Popular Rhymes_, 166. [902] Hutchinson, _View of Northumberland_, ii. 45; Thomas, _Rev. de l'Hist. des Rel._ xxxviii. 335 f. [903] _Patrol. Lot._ xxxix. 2001. [904] _IT_ i. 205; _RC_ v. 331; Leahy, i. 57. [905] See p. 169, _supra_. [906] The writer has himself seen such bonfires in the Highlands. See also Hazlitt, 298; Pennant, _Tour_, ii. 47; Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 515, _CFL_ i. 225-226. In Egyptian mythology, Typhon assailed Horus in the form of a black swine. [907] Keating, 300. [908] Joyce, _SH_ ii. 556; _RC_ x. 214, 225, xxiv. 172; O'Grady, ii. 374; _CM_ ix. 209. [909] See Mannhardt, _Mythol. Forschung._ 333 f.; Frazer, _Adonis_, _passim_; Thomas, _Rev. de l'Hist. des Rel._ xxxviii. 325 f. [910] Hazlitt, 35; Chambers, _Mediæval Stage_, i. 261. [911] Chambers, _Book of Days_, ii. 492; Hazlitt, 131. [912] Hazlitt, 97; Davies, _Extracts from Munic. Records of York_, 270. [913] See p. 237, _supra_; _LL_ 16, 213. [914] Chambers, _Med. Stage_, i. 250 f. [915] Cormac, _s.v._ "Belltaine," "Bel"; _Arch. Rev._ i. 232. [916] D'Arbois, ii. 136. [917] Stokes, _US_ 125, 164. See his earlier derivation, dividing the word into _belt_, connected with Lithuan. _baltas_, "white," and _aine_, the termination in _sechtmaine_, "week" (_TIG_ xxxv.). [918] Need-fire (Gael. _Teinne-eiginn_, "necessity fire") was used to kindle fire in time of cattle plague. See Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ 608 f.; Martin, 113; Jamieson's _Dictionary_, _s.v._ "neidfyre." [919] Cormac, _s.v._; Martin, 105, says that the Druids extinguished all fires until their dues were paid. This may have been a tradition in the Hebrides. [920] Joyce, _PN_ i. 216; Hone, _Everyday Book_, i. 849, ii. 595. [921] Pennant, _Tour in Scotland_, i. 291. [922] Hazlitt, 339, 397. [923] Hone, _Everyday Book_, ii. 595. See p. 215, _supra_. [924] Sinclair, _Stat. Account_, xi. 620. [925] Martin, 105. [926] For these usages see Ramsay, _Scotland and Scotsmen in the Eighteenth Century_, ii. 439 f.; Sinclair, _Stat. Account_, v. 84, xi. 620, xv. 517. For the sacramental and sacrificial use of similar loaves, see Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2}, i. 94, ii. 78; Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ iii. 1239 f. [927] _New Stat. Account_, Wigtownshire, 208; Hazlitt, 38, 323, 340. [928] See Miss Owen, _Folk-lore of the Musquakie Indians_, 50; Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2}, ii. 205. [929] For notices of Beltane survivals see Keating, 300; Campbell, _Journey from Edinburgh_, i. 143; Ramsay, _Scotland and Scotsmen_, ii. 439 f.; _Old Stat. Account_, v. 84, xi. 620, xv. 517; Gregor, _Folk-lore of N.E. of Scotland_, 167. The paganism of the survivals is seen in the fact that Beltane fires were frequently prohibited by Scottish ecclesiastical councils. [930] Meyrac, _Traditions ... des Ardennes_, 68. [931] Bertrand, 119. [932] Ibid. 407; Gaidoz, 21; Mannhardt, _Baumkultus_, 514, 523; Brand, i. 8, 323. [933] Mannhardt, _op. cit._ 525 f.; Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2}, iii. 319. [934] P. 234, _supra_. [935] Frazer, _op. cit._ i. 74; Brand, i. 222, 237, 246, 318; Hone, _Everyday Book_, ii. 595; Mannhardt, _op. cit._ 177; Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ 621, 777 f. [936] See my _Childhood of Fiction_, ch. v. [937] Frazer, i. 82, ii. 247 f., 275; Mannhardt, 315 f. [938] Martin, 117. The custom of walking _deiseil_ round an object still survives, and, as an imitation of the sun's course, it is supposed to bring good luck or ward off evil. For the same reason the right hand turn was of good augury. Medb's charioteer, as she departed for the war, made her chariot turn to the right to repel evil omens (_LU_ 55). Curiously enough, Pliny (xxviii. 2) says that the Gauls preferred the left-hand turn in their religious rites, though Athenæus refers to the right-hand turn among them. _Deiseil_ is from _dekso-s_, "right," and _svel_, "to turn." [939] Hone, i. 846; Hazlitt, ii. 346. [940] This account of the Midsummer ritual is based on notices found in Hone, _Everyday Book_; Hazlitt, ii. 347 f.; Gaidoz, _Le Dieu Soleil_; Bertrand; Deloche, _RC_ ix. 435; _Folk-Lore_, xii. 315; Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2}, iii. 266 f.; Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ ii. 617 f.; Monnier, 186 f. [941] _RC_ xvi. 51; Guiraud, _Les Assemblées provinciales dans l'Empire Romain_. [942] D'Arbois, i. 215, _Les Celtes_, 44; Loth, _Annales de Bretagne_, xiii. No. 2. [943] _RC_ xvi. 51. [944] Strabo, iv. 4. 6. [945] Dion. Per. v. 570. [946] Pliny, xxii. 1. [947] Greg, _de Glor. Conf._ 477; Sulp. Sev. _Vita S. Martini_, 9; Pass. S. Symphor. Migne, _Pat. Graec._ v. 1463, 1466. The cult of Cybele had been introduced into Gaul, and the ritual here described resembles it, but we are evidently dealing here with the cult of a native goddess. See, however, Frazer, _Adonis_, 176. [948] Anwyl, _Celtic Religion_, 41. [949] See Hartland, _Science of Fairy-Tales_, 84 f. [950] Professor Rh[^y]s suggests that nudity, being a frequent symbol of submission to a conqueror, acquired a similar significance in religious rites (_AL_ 180). But the magical aspect of nudity came first in time. [951] Adamnan, _Vita S. Col._ ii. 45. [952] See Gomme, _Ethnology in Folk-lore_, 30 f., _Village Community_, 114. CHAPTER XIX. ACCESSORIES OF CULT. TEMPLES. In primitive religion the place of worship is seldom a temple made with hands, but rather an enclosed space in which the symbol or image of the god stands. The sacredness of the god makes the place of his cult sacred. Often an open space in the forest is the scene of the regular cult. There the priests perform the sacred rites; none may enter it but themselves; and the trembling worshipper approaches it with awe lest the god should slay him if he came too near. The earliest temples of the Gauls were sacred groves, one of which, near Massilia, is described by Lucan. No bird built in it, no animal lurked near, the leaves constantly shivered when no breeze stirred them. Altars stood in its midst, and the images of the gods were misshapen trunks of trees. Every tree was stained with sacrificial blood. The poet then describes marvels heard or seen in the grove--the earth groaning, dead yews reviving, trees surrounded with flame yet not consumed, and huge serpents twining round the oaks. The people feared to approach the grove, and even the priest would not walk there at midday or midnight lest he should then meet its divine guardian.[953] Dio speaks of human sacrifices offered to Andrasta in a British grove, and in 61 A.D. the woods of Mona, devoted to strange rites, were cut down by Roman soldiers.[954] The sacred _Dru-nemeton_ of the Galatian Celts may have been a grove.[955] Place-names also point to the widespread existence of such groves, since the word _nemeton_, "grove," occurs in many of them, showing that the places so called had been sites of a cult. In Ireland, _fid-nemed_ stood for "sacred grove."[956] The ancient groves were still the objects of veneration in Christian times, though fines were levied against those who still clung to the old ways.[957] Sacred groves were still used in Gallo-Roman times, and the Druids may have had a preference for them, a preference which may underlie the words of the scholiast on Lucan, that "the Druids worship the gods without temples in woods." But probably more elaborate temples, great tribal sanctuaries, existed side by side with these local groves, especially in Cisalpine Gaul, where the Boii had a temple in which were stored the spoils of war, while the Insubri had a similar temple.[958] These were certainly buildings. The "consecrated place" in Transalpine Gaul, which Cæsar mentions, and where at fixed periods judgments were given, might be either a grove or a temple. Cæsar uses the same phrase for sacred places where the spoils of war were heaped; these may have been groves, but Diodorus speaks of treasure collected in "temples and sacred places" ([Greek: en tois hierois chai temenesin]), and Plutarch speaks of the "temple" where the Arverni hung Cæsar's sword.[959] The "temple" of the Namnite women, unroofed and re-roofed in a day, must have been a building. There is no evidence that the insular Celts had temples. In Gallo-Roman times, elaborate temples, perhaps occupying sites of earlier groves or temples, sprang up over the Romano-Celtic area. They were built on Roman models, many of them were of great size, and they were dedicated to Roman or Gallo-Roman divinities.[960] Smaller shrines were built by grateful worshippers at sacred springs to their presiding divinity, as many inscriptions show. In the temples stood images of the gods, and here were stored sacred vessels, sometimes made of the skulls of enemies, spoils of war dedicated to the gods, money collected for sacred purposes, and war standards, especially those which bore divine symbols. The old idea that stone circles were Druidic temples, that human sacrifices were offered on the "altar-stone," and libations of blood poured into the cup-markings, must be given up, along with much of the astronomical lore associated with the circles. Stonehenge dates from the close of the Neolithic Age, and most of the smaller circles belong to the early Bronze Age, and are probably pre-Celtic. In any case they were primarily places of sepulture. As such they would be the scene of ancestor worship, but yet not temples in the strict sense of the word. The larger circles, burial-places of great chiefs or kings, would become central places for the recurring rites of ghost-worship, possibly also rallying places of the tribe on stated occasions. But whether this ghost-worship was ever transmuted into the cult of a god at the circles is uncertain and, indeed, unlikely. The Celts would naturally regard these places as sacred, since the ghosts of the dead, even those of a vanquished people, are always dangerous, and they also took over the myths and legends[961] associated with them, such, e.g., as regarded the stones themselves, or trees growing within the circles, as embodiments of the dead, while they may also have used them as occasional places of secondary interment. Whether they were ever led to copy such circles themselves is uncertain, since their own methods of interment seem to have been different. We have seen that the gods may in some cases have been worshipped at tumuli, and that Lugnasad was, at some centres, connected with commemorative cults at burial-places (mounds, not circles). But the reasons for this are obscure, nor is there any hint that other Celtic festivals were held near burial mounds. Probably such commemorative rites at places of sepulture during Lugnasad were only part of a wider series occurring elsewhere, and we cannot assume from such vague notices that stone circles were Druidic temples where worship of an Oriental nature was carried on. Professor Rh[^y]s is disposed to accept the old idea that Stonehenge was the temple of Apollo in the island of the Hyperboreans, mentioned by Diodorus, where the sun-god was worshipped.[962] But though that temple was circular, it had walls adorned with votive offerings. Nor does the temple unroofed yearly by the Namnite women imply a stone circle, for there is not the slightest particle of evidence that the circles were ever roofed in any way.[963] Stone circles with mystic trees growing in them, one of them with a well by which entrance was gained to Tír fa Tonn, are mentioned in Irish tales. They were connected with magic rites, but are not spoken of as temples.[964] ALTARS. Lucan describes realistically the awful sacrifices of the Gauls on cruel altars not a whit milder than those of Diana, and he speaks of "altars piled with offerings" in the sacred grove at Marseilles.[965] Cicero says that human victims were sacrificed on altars, and Tacitus describes the altars of Mona smeared with human blood.[966] "Druids' altars" are mentioned in the Irish "Expedition of Dathi," and Cormac speaks of _indelba_, or altars adorned with emblems.[967] Probably many of these altars were mere heaps of stone like the Norse _horg_, or a great block of stone. Some sacrifices, however, were too extensive to be offered on an altar, but in such cases the blood would be sprinkled upon it. Under Roman influence, Celtic altars took the form of those of the conquerors, with inscriptions containing names of native or Roman gods and bas-reliefs depicting some of these. The old idea that dolmens were Celtic altars is now abandoned. They were places of sepulture of the Neolithic or early Bronze Age, and were originally covered with a mound of earth. During the era of Celtic paganism they were therefore hidden from sight, and it is only in later times that the earth has been removed and the massive stones, arranged so as to form a species of chamber, have been laid bare. IMAGES. The Gauls, according to Cæsar, possessed _plurima simulacra_ of the native Mercury, but he does not refer to images of other gods. We need not infer from this that the Celts had a prejudice against images, for among the Irish Celts images are often mentioned, and in Gaul under Roman rule many images existed. The existence of images among the Celts as among other peoples, may owe something to the cult of trees and of stones set up over the dead. The stone, associated with the dead man's spirit, became an image of himself, perhaps rudely fashioned in his likeness. A rough-hewn tree trunk became an image of the spirit or god of trees. On the other hand, some anthropomorphic images, like the palæolithic or Mycenæan figurines, may have been fashioned without the intermediary of tree-trunk or stone pillar. Maximus of Tyre says that the Celtic image of Zeus was a lofty oak, perhaps a rough-hewn trunk rather than a growing tree, and such roughly carved tree-trunks, images of gods, are referred to by Lucan in his description of the Massilian grove.[968] Pillar stones set up over the graves of the dead are often mentioned in Irish texts. These would certainly be associated with the dead; indeed, existing legends show that they were believed to be tenanted by the ghosts and to have the power of motion. This suggests that they had been regarded as images of the dead. Other stones honoured in Ireland were the _cloch labrais_, an oracular stone; the _lia fail_, or coronation stone, which shouted when a king of the Milesian race seated himself upon it; and the _lia adrada_, or stone of adoration, apparently a boundary stone.[969] The _plurima simulacra_ of the Gaulish Mercury may have been boundary stones like those dedicated to Mercury or Hermes among the Romans and Greeks. Did Cæsar conclude, or was it actually the case, that the Gauls dedicated such stones to a god of boundaries who might be equated with Mercury? Many such standing stones still exist in France, and their number must have been greater in Cæsar's time. Seeing them the objects of superstitious observances, he may have concluded that they were _simulacra_ of a god. Other Romans besides himself had been struck by the resemblance of these stones to their Hermai, and perhaps the Gauls, if they did not already regard them as symbols of a god, acquiesced in the resemblance. Thus, on the menhir of Kervadel are sculptured four figures, one being that of Mercury, dating from Gallo-Roman times. Beneath another, near Peronne, a bronze statuette of Mercury was discovered.[970] This would seem to show that the Gauls had a cult of pillar stones associated with a god of boundaries. Cæsar probably uses the word _simulacrum_ in the sense of "symbol" rather than "image," though he may have meant native images not fully carved in human shape, like the Irish _cérmand_, _cerstach_, ornamented with gold and silver, the "chief idol" of north Ireland, or like the similarly ornamented "images" of Cromm Cruaich and his satellites.[971] The adoration of sacred stones continued into Christian times and was much opposed by the Church.[972] S. Samson of Dol (sixth century) found men dancing round a _simulacrum abominabile_, which seems to have been a kind of standing stone, and having besought them to desist, he carved a cross upon it.[973] Several _menhirion_ in France are now similarly ornamented.[974] The number of existing Gallo-Roman images shows that the Celts had not adopted a custom which was foreign to them, and they must have already possessed rude native images. The disappearance of these would be explained if they were made of perishable material. Wooden images of the _Matres_ have been occasionally found, and these may be pre-Roman. Some of the images of the three-headed and crouching gods show no sign of Roman influences in their modelling, and they may have been copied from earlier images of wood. We also find divine figures on pre-Roman coins.[975] Certain passages in classical writings point to the existence of native images. A statue of a goddess existed in a temple at Marseilles, according to Justin, and the Galatian Celts had images of the native Juppiter and Artemis, while the conquering Celts who entered Rome bowed to the seated senators as to statues of the gods.[976] The Gauls placed rich ornaments on the images of the gods, and presumably these were native "idols." "Idols" are frequently mentioned in Irish texts, and there is no doubt that these mean images.[977] Cormac mac Art refused to worship "idols," and was punished by the Druids.[978] The idols of Cromm Cruaich and his satellites, referred to in the _Dindsenchas_, were carved to represent the human form; the chief one was of gold, the others of stone. These were miraculously overthrown by S. Patrick; but in the account of the miracle the chief idol was of stone adorned with gold and silver, the others, numbering twelve, were ornamented with bronze.[979] They stood in Mag Slecht, and similar sacred places with groups of images evidently existed elsewhere, e.g. at Rath Archaill, "where the Druid's altars and images are."[980] The lady Cessair, before coming to Ireland, is said to have taken advice of her _laimh-dhia_, or "hand gods," perhaps small images used for divination.[981] For the British Celts the evidence is slender, but idolatry in the sense of "image-worship" is frequently mentioned in the lives of early saints.[982] Gildas also speaks of images "mouldering away within and without the deserted temples, with stiff and deformed features."[983] This pathetic picture of the forsaken shrines of forgotten gods may refer to Romano-Celtic images, but the "stiff and deformed features" suggest rather native art, the art of a people unskilful at reproducing the human form, however artistic they may have been in other directions. If the native Celts of Ireland had images, there is no reason to suppose, especially considering the evidence just adduced, that the Gauls, or at least the Druids, were antagonistic to images. This last is M. Reinach's theory, part of a wider hypothesis that the Druids were pre-Celtic, but became the priests of the Celts, who till then had no priests. The Druids prohibited image-worship, and this prohibition existed in Gaul, _ex hypothesi_, from the end of palæolithic times. Pythagoras and his school were opposed to image-worship, and the classical writers claimed a connection between the Pythagoreans and the Druids. M. Reinach thinks there must have been some analogy between them, and that was hostility to anthropomorphism. But the analogy is distinctly stated to have lain in the doctrine of immortality or metempsychosis. Had the Druids been opposed to image-worship, classical observers could not have failed to notice the fact. M. Reinach then argues that the Druids caused the erection of the megalithic monuments in Gaul, symbols not images. They are thus Druidic, though not Celtic. The monuments argue a powerful priesthood; the Druids were a powerful priesthood; therefore the Druids caused the monuments to be built. This is not a powerful argument![984] As has been seen, some purely Celtic images existed in Gaul. The Gauls, who used nothing but wood for their houses, probably knew little of the art of carving stone. They would therefore make most of their images of wood--a perishable material. The insular Celts had images, and if, as Cæsar maintained, the Druids came from Britain to Gaul, this points at least to a similarity of cult in the two regions. Youthful Gauls who aspired to Druidic knowledge went to Britain to obtain it. Would the Druids of Gaul have permitted this, had they been iconoclasts? No single text shows that the Druids had any antipathy to images, while the Gauls certainly had images of worshipful animals. Further, even if the Druids were priests of a pre-Celtic folk, they must have permitted the making of images, since many "menhir-statues" exist on French soil, at Aveyron, Tarn, and elsewhere.[985] The Celts were in constant contact with image-worshipping peoples, and could hardly have failed to be influenced by them, even if such a priestly prohibition existed, just as Israel succumbed to images in spite of divine commands. That they would have been thus influenced is seen from the number of images of all kinds dating from the period after the Roman conquest. Incidental proofs of the fondness of the Celts for images are found in ecclesiastical writings and in late survivals. The procession of the image of Berecynthia has already been described, and such processions were common in Gaul, and imply a regular folk-custom. S. Martin of Tours stopped a funeral procession believing it to be such a pagan rite.[986] Councils and edicts prohibited these processions in Gaul, but a more effectual way was to Christianise them. The Rogation tide processions with crucifix and Madonna, and the carrying of S. John's image at the Midsummer festivals, were a direct continuation of the older practices. Images were often broken by Christian saints in Gaul, as they had been over-turned by S. Patrick in Ireland. "Stiff and deformed" many of them must have been, if one may judge from the _Groah-goard_ or "Venus of Quinipily," for centuries the object of superstitious rites in Brittany.[987] With it may be compared the fetich-stone or image of which an old woman in the island of Inniskea, the guardian of a sacred well, had charge. It was kept wrapped up to hide it from profane eyes, but at certain periods it was brought out for adoration.[988] The images and bas-reliefs of the Gallo-Roman period fall mainly into two classes. In the first class are those representing native divinities, like Esus, Tarvos Trigaranos, Smertullos, Cernunnos, the horned and crouching gods, the god with the hammer, and the god with the wheel. Busts and statues of some water-goddesses exist, but more numerous are the representations of Epona. One of these is provided with a box pedestal in which offerings might be placed. The _Matres_ are frequently figured, usually as three seated figures with baskets of fruit or flowers, or with one or more infants, like the Madonna. Images of triple-headed gods, supposed to be Cernunnos, have been found, but are difficult to place in any category.[989] To the images of the second class is usually attached the Roman name of a god, but generally the native Celtic name is added, but the images themselves are of the traditional Roman type. Among statues and statuettes of bronze, that of Mercury occurs most often. This may point to the fact that Cæsar's _simulacra_ of the native Mercury were images, and that the old preference for representing this god continued in Roman times. Small figures of divinities in white clay have been found in large numbers, and may have been _ex votos_ or images of household _lararia_.[990] SYMBOLS. Images of the gods in Gaul can be classified by means of their symbols--the mallet and cup (a symbol of plenty) borne by the god with the hammer, the wheel of the sun-god, the cornucopia and torque carried by Cernunnos. Other symbols occur on images, altars, monuments, and coins. These are the swastika and triskele, probably symbols of the sun;[991] single or concentric circles, sometimes with rays;[992] crosses; and a curious S figure. The triskele and the circles are sometimes found on faces figured on coins. They may therefore have been tattoo markings of a symbolic character. The circle and cross are often incised on bronze images of Dispater. Much speculation has been aroused by the S figure, which occurs on coins, while nine models of this symbol hang from a ring carried by the god with the wheel, but the most probable is that which sees in it a thunderbolt.[993] But lacking any old text interpreting these various symbols, all explanations of them must be conjectural. Some of them are not purely Celtic, but are of world-wide occurrence. CULT OF WEAPONS. Here some reference may be made to the Celtic cult of weapons. As has been seen, a hammer is the symbol of one god, and it is not unlikely that a cult of the hammer had preceded that of the god to whom the hammer was given as a symbol. Esus is also represented with an axe. We need not repeat what has already been said regarding the primitive and universal cult of hammer or axe,[994] but it is interesting to notice, in connection with other evidence for a Celtic cult of weapons, that there is every reason to believe that the phrase _sub ascia dedicare_, which occurs in inscriptions on tombs from Gallia Lugdunensis, usually with the figure of an axe incised on the stone, points to the cult of the axe, or of a god whose symbol the axe was.[995] In Irish texts the power of speech is attributed to weapons, but, according to the Christian scribe, this was because demons spoke from them, for the people worshipped arms in those days.[996] Thus it may have been believed that spirits tenanted weapons, or that weapons had souls. Evidence of the cult itself is found in the fact that on Gaulish coins a sword is figured, stuck in the ground, or driving a chariot, or with a warrior dancing before it, or held in the hand of a dancing warrior.[997] The latter are ritual acts, and resemble that described by Spenser as performed by Irish warriors in his day, who said prayers or incantations before a sword stuck in the earth.[998] Swords were also addressed in songs composed by Irish bards, and traditional remains of such songs are found in Brittany.[999] They represent the chants of the ancient cult. Oaths were taken by weapons, and the weapons were believed to turn against those who lied.[1000] The magical power of weapons, especially of those over which incantations had been said, is frequently referred to in traditional tales and Irish texts.[1001] A reminiscence of the cult or of the magical power of weapons may be found in the wonderful "glaives of light" of Celtic folk-tales, and the similar mystical weapon of the Arthurian romances. FOOTNOTES: [953] Lucan, _Pharsalia_, iii. 399 f. [954] Dio Cass. lxii. 7; Tac. _Ann._ xiv. 30. [955] Strabo, xii. 51. _Drunemeton_ may mean "great temple" (D'Arbois, _Les Celtes_, 203). [956] _Antient Laws of Ireland_, i. 164. [957] Holder, ii. 712. Cf. "Indiculus" in Grimm, _Teut. Myth._ 1739, "de sacris silvarum, quas nimidas (= nemeta) vocant." [958] Livy, xxiii. 24; Polyb. ii. 32. [959] Cæsar, vi. 13, 17; Diod. Sic. v. 27; Plutarch, _Cæsar_, 26. [960] See examples in Dom Martin, i. 134 f.; cf. Greg. Tours, _Hist. Franc._ i. 30. [961] See Reinach, "Les monuments de pierre brute dans le langage et les croyances populaires," _Rev. Arch._ 1893, i. 339; Evans, "The Roll-Right Stones," _Folk-Lore_, vi. 20 f. [962] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 194; Diod. Sic. ii. 47. [963] Rh[^y]s, 197. [964] Joyce, _OCR_ 246; Kennedy, 271. [965] Lucan, i. 443, iii. 399f. [966] Cicero, _pro Fonteio_, x. 21; Tac. _Ann._ xiv. 30. Cf. Pomp. Mela, iii. 2. 18. [967] O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 284; Cormac, 94. Cf. _IT_ iii. 211, for the practice of circumambulating altars. [968] Max. Tyr. _Dissert._ viii. 8; Lucan, iii. 412f. [969] _Antient Laws of Ireland_, iv. 142. [970] _Rev. Arch._ i. pl. iii-v.; Reinach, _RC_ xi. 224, xiii. 190. [971] Stokes, _Martyr. of Oengus_, 186-187. [972] See the Twenty-third Canon of Council of Arles, the Twenty-third of the Council of Tours, 567, and ch. 65 of the _Capitularia_, 789. [973] Mabillon, _Acta_, i. 177. [974] Reinach, _Rev. Arch._ 1893, xxi. 335. [975] Blanchet, i. 152-153, 386. [976] Justin, xliii. 5; Strabo, xii. 5. 2; Plutarch, _de Virt. Mul._ xx.; Livy, v. 41. [977] Cormac, 94. [978] Keating, 356. See also Stokes, _Martyr. of Oengus_, 186; _RC_ xii. 427, § 15; Joyce, _SH_ 274 f. [979] _LL_ 213_b_; _Trip. Life_, i. 90, 93. [980] O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 284. [981] Keating, 49. [982] Jocelyn, _Vita S. Kentig._ 27, 32, 34; Ailred, _Vita S. Ninian._ 6. [983] Gildas, § 4. [984] For the whole argument see Reinach, _RC_ xiii. 189 f. Bertrand, _Rev. Arch._ xv. 345, supports a similar theory, and, according to both writers, Gallo-Roman art was the result of the weakening of Druidic power by the Romans. [985] L'Abbé Hermet, Assoc. pour l'avancement des Sciences, _Compte Rendu_, 1900, ii. 747; _L'Anthropologie_, v. 147. [986] _Corp. Scrip. Eccl. Lat._ i. 122. [987] Monnier, 362. The image bears part of an inscription ... LIT... and it has been thought that this read ILITHYIA originally. The name is in keeping with the rites still in use before the image. This would make it date from Roman times. If so, it is a poor specimen of the art of the period. But it may be an old native image to which later the name of the Roman goddess was given. [988] Roden, _Progress of the Reformation in Ireland_, 51. The image was still existing in 1851. [989] For figures of most of these, see _Rev. Arch._ vols. xvi., xviii., xix., xxxvi.; _RC_ xvii. 45, xviii. 254, xx. 309, xxii. 159, xxiv. 221; Bertrand, _passim_; Courcelle-Seneuil, _Les Dieux Gaulois d'apres les Monuments Figures_, Paris, 1910. [990] See Courcelle-Seneuil, _op. cit._; Reinach, _BF passim_, _Catalogue Sommaire du Musée des Ant. nat._{4} 115-116. [991] Reinach, _Catal._ 29, 87; _Rev. Arch._ xvi. 17; Blanchet, i. 169, 316; Huchet, _L'art gaulois_, ii. 8. [992] Blanchet, i. 158; Reinach, _BF_ 143, 150, 152. [993] Blanchet, i. 17; Flouest, _Deux Stèles_ (Append.), Paris, 1885; Reinach, _BF_ 33. [994] P. 30, _supra_. [995] Hirschfeld in _CIL_ xiii. 256. [996] _RC_ xii. 107; Joyce, _SH_ i. 131. [997] Blanchet, i. 160 f.; Muret de la Tour, _Catalogue_, 6922, 6941, etc. [998] _View of the State of Ireland_, 57. [999] _RC_ xx. 7; Martin, _Études de la Myth. Celt._ 164. [1000] _IT_ i. 206; _RC_ ix. 144. [1001] _CM_ xiii. 168 f.; Miss Hull, 44, 221, 223. CHAPTER XX. THE DRUIDS. Pliny thought that the name "Druid" was a Greek appellation derived from the Druidic cult of the oak ([Greek: _drus_]).[1002] The word, however, is purely Celtic, and its meaning probably implies that, like the sorcerer and medicine-man everywhere, the Druid was regarded as "the knowing one." It is composed of two parts--_dru_-, regarded by M. D'Arbois as an intensive, and _vids_, from _vid_, "to know," or "see."[1003] Hence the Druid was "the very knowing or wise one." It is possible, however, that _dru_- is connected with the root which gives the word "oak" in Celtic speech--Gaulish _deruo_, Irish _dair_, Welsh _derw_--and that the oak, occupying a place in the cult, was thus brought into relation with the name of the priesthood. The Gaulish form of the name was probably _druis_, the Old Irish was _drai_. The modern forms in Irish and Scots Gaelic, _drui_ and _draoi_ mean "sorcerer." M. D'Arbois and others, accepting Cæsar's dictum that "the system (of Druidism) is thought to have been devised in Britain, and brought thence into Gaul," maintain that the Druids were priests of the Goidels in Britain, who imposed themselves upon the Gaulish conquerors of the Goidels, and that Druidism then passed over into Gaul about 200 B.C.[1004] But it is hardly likely that, even if the Druids were accepted as priests by conquering Gauls in Britain, they should have affected the Gauls of Gaul who were outside the reflex influence of the conquered Goidels, and should have there obtained that power which they possessed. Goidels and Gauls were allied by race and language and religion, and it would be strange if they did not both possess a similar priesthood. Moreover, the Goidels had been a continental people, and Druidism was presumably flourishing among them then. Why did it not influence kindred Celtic tribes without Druids, _ex hypothesi_, at that time? Further, if we accept Professor Meyer's theory that no Goidel set foot in Britain until the second century A.D., the Gauls could not have received the Druidic priesthood from the Goidels. Cæsar merely says, "it is thought (_existimatur_) that Druidism came to Gaul from Britain."[1005] It was a pious opinion, perhaps his own, or one based on the fact that those who wished to perfect themselves in Druidic art went to Britain. This may have been because Britain had been less open to foreign influences than Gaul, and its Druids, unaffected by these, were thought to be more powerful than those of Gaul. Pliny, on the other hand, seems to think that Druidism passed over into Britain from Gaul.[1006] Other writers--Sir John Rh[^y]s, Sir G.L. Gomme, and M. Reinach--support on different grounds the theory that the Druids were a pre-Celtic priesthood, accepted by the Celtic conquerors. Sir John Rh[^y]s thinks that the Druidism of the aborigines of Gaul and Britain made terms with the Celtic conquerors. It was accepted by the Goidels, but not by the Brythons. Hence in Britain there were Brythons without Druids, aborigines under the sway of Druidism, and Goidels who combined Aryan polytheism with Druidism. Druidism was also the religion of the aborigines from the Baltic to Gibraltar, and was accepted by the Gauls.[1007] But if so, it is difficult to see why the Brythons, akin to them, did not accept it. Our knowledge of Brythonic religion is too scanty for us to prove that the Druids had or had not sway over them, but the presumption is that they had. Nor is there any historical evidence to show that the Druids were originally a non-Celtic priesthood. Everywhere they appear as the supreme and dominant priesthood of the Celts, and the priests of a conquered people could hardly have obtained such power over the conquerors. The relation of the Celts to the Druids is quite different from that of conquerors, who occasionally resort to the medicine-men of the conquered folk because they have stronger magic or greater influence with the autochthonous gods. The Celts did not resort to the Druids occasionally; _ex hypothesi_ they accepted them completely, were dominated by them in every department of life, while their own priests, if they had any, accepted this order of things without a murmur. All this is incredible. The picture drawn by Cæsar, Strabo, and others of the Druids and their position among the Celts as judges, choosers of tribal chiefs and kings, teachers, as well as ministers of religion, suggests rather that they were a native Celtic priesthood, long established among the people. Sir G.L. Gomme supports the theory that the Druids were a pre-Celtic priesthood, because, in his opinion, much of their belief in magic as well as their use of human sacrifice and the redemption of one life by another, is opposed to "Aryan sentiment." Equally opposed to this are their functions of settling controversies, judging, settling the succession to property, and arranging boundaries. These views are supported by a comparison of the position of the Druids relatively to the Celts with that of non-Aryan persons in India who render occasional priestly services to Hindu village communities.[1008] Whether this comparison of occasional Hindu custom with Celtic usage two thousand years ago is just, may be questioned. As already seen, it was no mere occasional service which the Druids rendered to the Celts, and it is this which makes it difficult to credit this theory. Had the Celtic house-father been priest and judge in his own clan, would he so readily have surrendered his rights to a foreign and conquered priesthood? On the other hand, kings and chiefs among the Celts probably retained some priestly functions, derived from the time when the offices of the priest-king had not been differentiated. Cæsar's evidence certainly does not support the idea that "it is only among the rudest of the so-called Celtic tribes that we find this superimposing of an apparently official priesthood." According to him, the power of the Druids was universal in Gaul, and had their position really corresponded to that of the pariah priests of India, occasional priests of Hindu villages, the determined hostility of the Roman power to them because they wielded such an enormous influence over Celtic thought and life, is inexplainable. If, further, Aryan sentiment was so opposed to Druidic customs, why did Aryan Celts so readily accept the Druids? In this case the receiver is as bad as the thief. Sir G.L. Gomme clings to the belief that the Aryans were people of a comparatively high civilisation, who had discarded, if they ever possessed, a savage "past." But old beliefs and customs still survive through growing civilisation, and if the views of Professor Sergi and others are correct, the Aryans were even less civilised than the peoples whom they conquered.[1009] Shape-shifting, magic, human sacrifice, priestly domination, were as much Aryan as non-Aryan, and if the Celts had a comparatively pure religion, why did they so soon allow it to be defiled by the puerile superstitions of the Druids? M. Reinach, as we have seen, thinks that the Celts had no images, because these were prohibited by their priests. This prohibition was pre-Celtic in Gaul, since there are no Neolithic images, though there are great megalithic structures, suggesting the existence of a great religious aristocracy. This aristocracy imposed itself on the Celts.[1010] We have seen that there is no reason for believing that the Celts had no images, hence this argument is valueless. M. Reinach then argues that the Celts accepted Druidism _en bloc_, as the Romans accepted Oriental cults and the Greeks the native Pelasgic cults. But neither Romans nor Greeks abandoned their own faith. Were the Celts a people without priests and without religion? We know that they must have accepted many local cults, but that they adopted the whole aboriginal faith and its priests _en bloc_ is not credible. M. Reinach also holds that when the Celts appear in history Druidism was in its decline; the Celt, or at least the military caste among the Celts, was reasserting itself. But the Druids do not appear as a declining body in the pages of Cæsar, and their power was still supreme, to judge by the hostility of the Roman Government to them. If the military caste rebelled against them, this does not prove that they were a foreign body. Such a strife is seen wherever priest and soldier form separate castes, each desiring to rule, as in Egypt. Other writers argue that we do not find Druids existing in the Danube region, in Cisalpine territory, nor in Transalpine Gaul, "outside the limits of the region occupied by the Celtæ."[1011] This could only have weight if any of the classical writers had composed a formal treatise on the Druids, showing exactly the regions where they existed. They merely describe Druidism as a general Celtic institution, or as they knew it in Gaul or Britain, and few of them have any personal knowledge of it. There is no reason to believe that Druids did not exist wherever there were Celts. The Druids and Semnotheoi of the Celts and Galatæ referred to _c._ 200 B.C. were apparently priests of other Celts than those of Gaul, and Celtic groups of Cisalpine Gaul had priests, though these are not formally styled Druids.[1012] The argument _ex silentio_ is here of little value, since the references to the Druids are so brief, and it tells equally against their non-Celtic origin, since we do not hear of Druids in Aquitania, a non-Celtic region.[1013] The theory of the non-Celtic origin of the Druids assumes that the Celts had no priests, or that these were effaced by the Druids. The Celts had priests called _gutuatri_ attached to certain temples, their name perhaps meaning "the speakers," those who spoke to the gods.[1014] The functions of the Druids were much more general, according to this theory, hence M. D'Arbois supposes that, before their intrusion, the Celts had no other priests than the _gutuatri_.[1015] But the probability is that they were a Druidic class, ministers of local sanctuaries, and related to the Druids as the Levites were to the priests of Israel, since the Druids were a composite priesthood with a variety of functions. If the priests and servants of Belenos, described by Ausonius and called by him _oedituus Beleni_, were _gutuatri_, then the latter must have been connected with the Druids, since he says they were of Druidic stock.[1016] Lucan's "priest of the grove" may have been a _gutuatros_, and the priests (_sacerdotes_) and other ministers (_antistites_) of the Boii may have been Druids properly so called and _gutuatri_.[1017] Another class of temple servants may have existed. Names beginning with the name of a god and ending in _gnatos_, "accustomed to," "beloved of," occur in inscriptions, and may denote persons consecrated from their youth to the service of a grove or temple. On the other hand, the names may mean no more than that those bearing them were devoted to the cult of one particular god. Our supposition that the _gutuatri_ were a class of Druids is supported by classical evidence, which tends to show that the Druids were a great inclusive priesthood with different classes possessing different functions--priestly, prophetic, magical, medical, legal, and poetical. Cæsar attributes these to the Druids as a whole, but in other writers they are in part at least in the hands of different classes. Diodorus refers to the Celtic philosophers and theologians (Druids), diviners, and bards, as do also Strabo and Timagenes, Strabo giving the Greek form of the native name for the diviners, [Greek: ouateis], the Celtic form being probably _vátis_ (Irish, _fáith_).[1018] These may have been also poets, since _vátis_ means both singer and poet; but in all three writers the bards are a fairly distinct class, who sing the deeds of famous men (so Timagenes). Druid and diviner were also closely connected, since the Druids studied nature and moral philosophy, and the diviners were also students of nature, according to Strabo and Timagenes. No sacrifice was complete without a Druid, say Diodorus and Strabo, but both speak of the diviners as concerned with sacrifice. Druids also prophesied as well as diviners, according to Cicero and Tacitus.[1019] Finally, Lucan mentions only Druids and bards.[1020] Diviners were thus probably a Druidic sub-class, standing midway between the Druids proper and the bards, and partaking of some of the functions of both. Pliny speaks of "Druids and this race of prophets and doctors,"[1021] and this suggests that some were priests, some diviners, while some practised an empiric medical science. On the whole this agrees with what is met with in Ireland, where the Druids, though appearing in the texts mainly as magicians, were also priests and teachers. Side by side with them were the _Filid_, "learned poets,"[1022] composing according to strict rules of art, and higher than the third class, the Bards. The _Filid_, who may also have been known as _Fáthi_, "prophets,"[1023] were also diviners according to strict rules of augury, while some of these auguries implied a sacrifice. The Druids were also diviners and prophets. When the Druids were overthrown at the coming of Christianity, the _Filid_ remained as a learned class, probably because they had abandoned all pagan practices, while the Bards were reduced to a comparatively low status. M. D'Arbois supposes that there was rivalry between the Druids and the _Filid_, who made common cause with the Christian missionaries, but this is not supported by evidence. The three classes in Gaul--Druids, _Vates_, and Bards--thus correspond to the three classes in Ireland--Druids, _Fáthi_ or _Filid_, and Bards.[1024] We may thus conclude that the Druids were a purely Celtic priesthood, belonging both to the Goidelic and Gaulish branches of the Celts. The idea that they were not Celtic is sometimes connected with the supposition that Druidism was something superadded to Celtic religion from without, or that Celtic polytheism was not part of the creed of the Druids, but sanctioned by them, while they had a definite theological system with only a few gods.[1025] These are the ideas of writers who see in the Druids an occult and esoteric priesthood. The Druids had grown up _pari passu_ with the growth of the native religion and magic. Where they had become more civilised, as in the south of Gaul, they may have given up many magical practices, but as a class they were addicted to magic, and must have taken part in local cults as well as in those of the greater gods. That they were a philosophic priesthood advocating a pure religion among polytheists is a baseless theory. Druidism was not a formal system outside Celtic religion. It covered the whole ground of Celtic religion; in other words, it was that religion itself. The Druids are first referred to by pseudo-Aristotle and Sotion in the second century B.C., the reference being preserved by Diogenes Laertius: "There are among the Celtæ and Galatæ those called Druids and Semnotheoi."[1026] The two words may be synonymous, or they may describe two classes of priests, or, again, the Druids may have been Celtic, and the Semnotheoi Galatic (? Galatian) priests. Cæsar's account comes next in time. Later writers gives the Druids a lofty place and speak vaguely of the Druidic philosophy and science. Cæsar also refers to their science, but both he and Strabo speak of their human sacrifices. Suetonius describes their religion as cruel and savage, and Mela, who speaks of their learning, regards their human sacrifices as savagery.[1027] Pliny says nothing of the Druids as philosophers, but hints at their priestly functions, and connects them with magico-medical rites.[1028] These divergent opinions are difficult to account for. But as the Romans gained closer acquaintance with the Druids, they found less philosophy and more superstition among them. For their cruel rites and hostility to Rome, they sought to suppress them, but this they never would have done had the Druids been esoteric philosophers. It has been thought that Pliny's phrase, "Druids and that race of prophets and doctors," signifies that, through Roman persecution, the Druids were reduced to a kind of medicine-men.[1029] But the phrase rather describes the varied functions of the Druids, as has been seen, nor does it refer to the state to which the repressive edict reduced them, but to that in which it found them. Pliny's information was also limited. The vague idea that the Druids were philosophers was repeated parrot-like by writer after writer, who regarded barbaric races as Rousseau and his school looked upon the "noble savage." Roman writers, sceptical of a future life, were fascinated by the idea of a barbaric priesthood teaching the doctrine of immortality in the wilds of Gaul. For this teaching the poet Lucan sang their praises. The Druids probably first impressed Greek and Latin observers by their magic, their organisation, and the fact that, like many barbaric priesthoods, but unlike those of Greece and Rome, they taught certain doctrines. Their knowledge was divinely conveyed to them; "they speak the language of the gods;"[1030] hence it was easy to read anything into this teaching. Thus the Druidic legend rapidly grew. On the other hand, modern writers have perhaps exaggerated the force of the classical evidence. When we read of Druidic associations we need not regard these as higher than the organised priesthoods of barbarians. Their doctrine of metempsychosis, if it was really taught, involved no ethical content as in Pythagoreanism. Their astronomy was probably astrological[1031]; their knowledge of nature a series of cosmogonic myths and speculations. If a true Druidic philosophy and science had existed, it is strange that it is always mentioned vaguely and that it exerted no influence upon the thought of the time. Classical sentiment also found a connection between the Druidic and Pythagorean systems, the Druids being regarded as conforming to the doctrines and rules of the Greek philosopher.[1032] It is not improbable that some Pythagorean doctrines may have reached Gaul, but when we examine the point at which the two systems were supposed to meet, namely, the doctrine of metempsychosis and immortality, upon which the whole idea of this relationship was founded, there is no real resemblance. There are Celtic myths regarding the rebirth of gods and heroes, but the eschatological teaching was apparently this, that the soul was clothed with a body in the other-world. There was no doctrine of a series of rebirths on this earth as a punishment for sin. The Druidic teaching of a bodily immortality was mistakenly assumed to be the same as the Pythagorean doctrine of the soul reincarnated in body after body. Other points of resemblance were then discovered. The organisation of the Druids was assumed by Ammianus to be a kind of corporate life--_sodaliciis adstricti consortiis_--while the Druidic mind was always searching into lofty things,[1033] but those who wrote most fully of the Druids knew nothing of this. The Druids, like the priests of all religions, doubtless sought after such knowledge as was open to them, but this does not imply that they possessed a recondite philosophy or a secret theology. They were governed by the ideas current among all barbaric communities, and they were at once priests, magicians, doctors, and teachers. They would not allow their sacred hymns to be written down, but taught them in secret,[1034] as is usual wherever the success of hymn or prayer depends upon the right use of the words and the secrecy observed in imparting them to others. Their ritual, as far as is known to us, differs but little from that of other barbarian folk, and it included human sacrifice and divination with the victim's body. They excluded the guilty from a share in the cult--the usual punishment meted out to the tabu-breaker in all primitive societies. The idea that the Druids taught a secret doctrine--monotheism, pantheism, or the like--is unsupported by evidence. Doubtless they communicated secrets to the initiated, as is done in barbaric mysteries everywhere, but these secrets consist of magic and mythic formulæ, the exhibition of _Sacra_, and some teaching about the gods or about moral duties. These are kept secret, not because they are abstract doctrines, but because they would lose their value and because the gods would be angry if they were made too common. If the Druids taught religious and moral matters secretly, these were probably no more than an extension of the threefold maxim inculcated by them according to Diogenes Laertius: "To worship the gods, to do no evil, and to exercise courage."[1035] To this would be added cosmogonic myths and speculations, and magic and religious formulæ. This will become more evident as we examine the position and power of the Druids. In Gaul, and to some extent in Ireland, the Druids formed a priestly corporation--a fact which helped classical observers to suppose that they lived together like the Pythagorean communities. While the words of Ammianus--_sodaliciis adstricti consortiis_--may imply no more than some kind of priestly organisation, M. Bertrand founds on them a theory that the Druids were a kind of monks living a community life, and that Irish monasticism was a transformation of this system.[1036] This is purely imaginative. Irish Druids had wives and children, and the Druid Diviciacus was a family man, while Cæsar says not a word of community life among the Druids. The hostility of Christianity to the Druids would have prevented any copying of their system, and Irish monasticism was modelled on that of the Continent. Druidic organisation probably denoted no more than that the Druids were bound by certain ties, that they were graded in different ranks or according to their functions, and that they practised a series of common cults. In Gaul one chief Druid had authority over the others, the position being an elective one.[1037] The insular Druids may have been similarly organised, since we hear of a chief Druid, _primus magus_, while the _Filid_ had an _Ard-file_, or chief, elected to his office.[1038] The priesthood was not a caste, but was open to those who showed aptitude for it. There was a long novitiate, extending even to twenty years, just as, in Ireland, the novitiate of the _File_ lasted from seven to twelve years.[1039] The Druids of Gaul assembled annually in a central spot, and there settled disputes, because they were regarded as the most just of men.[1040] Individual Druids also decided disputes or sat as judges in cases of murder. How far it was obligatory to bring causes before them is unknown, but those who did not submit to a decision were interdicted from the sacrifices, and all shunned them. In other words, they were tabued. A magico-religious sanction thus enforced the judgments of the Druids. In Galatia the twelve tetrarchs had a council of three hundred men, and met in a place called Drunemeton to try cases of murder.[1041] Whether it is philologically permissible to connect _Dru_- with the corresponding syllable in "Druid" or not, the likeness to the Gaulish assembly at a "consecrated place," perhaps a grove (_nemeton_), is obvious. We do not know that Irish Druids were judges, but the _Filid_ exercised judgments, and this may be a relic of their connection with the Druids.[1042] Diodorus describes the Druids exhorting combatants to peace, and taming them like wild beasts by enchantment.[1043] This suggests interference to prevent the devastating power of the blood-feud or of tribal wars. They also appear to have exercised authority in the election of rulers. Convictolitanis was elected to the magistracy by the priests in Gaul, "according to the custom of the State."[1044] In Ireland, after partaking of the flesh of a white bull, probably a sacrificial animal, a man lay down to sleep, while four Druids chanted over him "to render his witness truthful." He then saw in a vision the person who should be elected king, and what he was doing at the moment.[1045] Possibly the Druids used hypnotic suggestion; the medium was apparently clairvoyant. Dio Chrysostom alleges that kings were ministers of the Druids, and could do nothing without them.[1046] This agrees on the whole with the witness of Irish texts. Druids always accompany the king, and have great influence over him. According to a passage in the _Táin_, "the men of Ulster must not speak before the king, the king must not speak before his Druid," and even Conchobar was silent until the Druid Cathbad had spoken.[1047] This power, resembling that of many other priesthoods, must have helped to balance that of the warrior class, and it is the more credible when we recall the fact that the Druids claimed to have made the universe.[1048] The priest-kingship may have been an old Celtic institution, and this would explain why, once the offices were separated, priests had or claimed so much political power. That political power must have been enhanced by their position as teachers, and it is safe to say that submission to their powers was inculcated by them. Both in Gaul and in Ireland they taught others than those who intended to become Druids.[1049] As has been seen, their teachings were not written down, but transmitted orally. They taught immortality, believing that thus men would be roused to valour, buttressing patriotism with dogma. They also imparted "many things regarding the stars and their motions, the extent of the universe and the earth, the nature of things, and the power and might of the immortal gods." Strabo also speaks of their teaching in moral science.[1050] As has been seen, it is easy to exaggerate all this. Their astronomy was probably of a humble kind and mingled with astrology; their natural philosophy a mass of cosmogonic myths and speculations; their theology was rather mythology; their moral philosophy a series of maxims such as are found in all barbaric communities. Their medical lore, to judge from what Pliny says, was largely magical. Some Druids, e.g. in the south of Gaul, may have had access to classical learning, and Cæsar speaks of the use of Greek characters among them. This could hardly have been general, and in any case must have superseded the use of a native script, to which the use of ogams in Ireland, and perhaps also in Gaul, was supplementary. The Irish Druids may have had written books, for King Loegaire desired that S. Patrick's books and those of the Druids should be submitted to the ordeal by water as a test of their owners' claims.[1051] In religious affairs the Druids were supreme, since they alone "knew the gods and divinities of heaven."[1052] They superintended and arranged all rites and attended to "public and private sacrifices," and "no sacrifice was complete without the intervention of a Druid."[1053] The dark and cruel rites of the Druids struck the Romans with horror, and they form a curious contrast to their alleged "philosophy." They used divination and had regular formulæ of incantation as well as ritual acts by which they looked into the future.[1054] Before all matters of importance, especially before warlike expeditions, their advice was sought because they could scan the future. Name-giving and a species of baptism were performed by the Druids or on their initiative. Many examples of this occur in Irish texts, thus of Conall Cernach it is said, "Druids came to baptize the child into heathenism, and they sang the heathen baptism (_baithis geintlídhe_) over the little child", and of Ailill that he was "baptized in Druidic streams".[1055] In Welsh story we read that Gwri was "baptized with the baptism which was usual at that time".[1056] Similar illustrations are common at name-giving among many races,[1057] and it is probable that the custom in the Hebrides of the midwife dropping three drops of water on the child _in Nomine_ and giving it a temporary name, is a survival of this practice. The regular baptism takes place later, but this preliminary rite keeps off fairies and ensures burial in consecrated ground, just as the pagan rite was protective and admitted to the tribal privileges.[1058] In the burial rites, which in Ireland consisted of a lament, sacrifices, and raising a stone inscribed with ogams over the grave, Druids took part. The Druid Dergdamsa pronounced a discourse over the Ossianic hero Mag-neid, buried him with his arms, and chanted a rune. The ogam inscription would also be of Druidic composition, and as no sacrifice was complete without the intervention of Druids, they must also have assisted at the lavish sacrifices which occurred at Celtic funerals. Pliny's words, "the Druids and that race of prophets and doctors", suggest that the medical art may have been in the hands of a special class of Druids though all may have had a smattering of it. It was mainly concerned with the use of herbs, and was mixed up with magical rites, which may have been regarded as of more importance than the actual medicines used.[1059] In Ireland Druids also practised the healing art. Thus when Cúchulainn was ill, Emer said, "If it had been Fergus, Cúchulainn would have taken no rest till he had found a Druid able to discover the cause of that illness."[1060] But other persons, not referred to as Druids, are mentioned as healers, one of them a woman, perhaps a reminiscence of the time when the art was practised by women.[1061] These healers may, however, have been attached to the Druidic corporation in much the same way as were the bards. Still more important were the magical powers of the Druids--giving or withholding sunshine or rain, causing storms, making women and cattle fruitful, using spells, rhyming to death, exercising shape-shifting and invisibility, and producing a magic sleep, possibly hypnotic. They were also in request as poisoners.[1062] Since the Gauls went to Britain to perfect themselves in Druidic science, it is possible that the insular Druids were more devoted to magic than those of Gaul, but since the latter are said to have "tamed the people as wild beasts are tamed", it is obvious that this refers to their powers as magicians rather than to any recondite philosophy possessed by them. Yet they were clear-sighted enough to use every means by which they might gain political power, and some of them may have been open to the influence of classical learning even before the Roman invasion. In the next chapter the magic of the Druids will be described in detail. The Druids, both in Gaul (at the mistletoe rite) and in Ireland, were dressed in white, but Strabo speaks of their scarlet and gold embroidered robes, their golden necklets and bracelets.[1063] Again, the chief Druid of the king of Erin wore a coloured cloak and had earrings of gold, and in another instance a Druid wears a bull's hide and a white-speckled bird headpiece with fluttering wings.[1064] There was also some special tonsure used by the Druids,[1065] which may have denoted servitude to the gods, as it was customary for a warrior to vow his hair to a divinity if victory was granted him. Similarly the Druid's hair would be presented to the gods, and the tonsure would mark their minister. Some writers have tried to draw a distinction between the Druids of Gaul and of Ireland, especially in the matter of their priestly functions.[1066] But, while a few passages in Irish texts do suggest that the Irish Druids were priests taking part in sacrifices, etc., nearly all passages relating to cult or ritual seem to have been deliberately suppressed. Hence the Druids appear rather as magicians--a natural result, since, once the people became Christian, the priestly character of the Druids would tend to be lost sight of. Like the Druids of Gaul, they were teachers and took part in political affairs, and this shows that they were more than mere magicians. In Irish texts the word "Druid" is somewhat loosely used and is applied to kings and poets, perhaps because they had been pupils of the Druids. But it is impossible to doubt that the Druids in Ireland fulfilled functions of a public priesthood. They appear in connection with all the colonies which came to Erin, the annalists regarding the priests or medicine-men of different races as Druids, through lack of historic perspective. But one fact shows that they were priests of the Celtic religion in Ireland. The euhemerised Tuatha Dé Danann are masters of Druidic lore. Thus both the gods and the priests who served them were confused by later writers. The opposition of Christian missionaries to the Druids shows that they were priests; if they were not, it remains to be discovered what body of men did exercise priestly functions in pagan Ireland. In Ireland their judicial functions may have been less important than in Gaul, and they may not have been so strictly organised; but here we are in the region of conjecture. They were exempt from military service in Gaul, and many joined their ranks on this account, but in Ireland they were "bonny fechters," just as in Gaul they occasionally fought like mediæval bishops.[1067] In both countries they were present on the field of battle to perform the necessary religious or magical rites. Since the Druids were an organised priesthood, with powers of teaching and of magic implicitly believed in by the folk, possessing the key of the other-world, and dominating the whole field of religion, it is easy to see how much veneration must have been paid them. Connoting this with the influence of the Roman Church in Celtic regions and the power of the Protestant minister in the Highlands and in Wales, some have thought that there is an innate tendency in the Celt to be priest-ridden. If this be true, we can only say, "the people wish to have it so, and the priests--pagan, papist, or protestant--bear rule through their means!" Thus a close examination of the position and functions of the Druids explains away two popular misconceptions. They were not possessed of any recondite and esoteric wisdom. And the culling of mistletoe instead of being the most important, was but a subordinate part of their functions. In Gaul the Roman power broke the sway of the Druids, aided perhaps by the spread of Christianity, but it was Christianity alone which routed them in Ireland and in Britain outside the Roman pale. The Druidic organisation, their power in politics and in the administration of justice, their patriotism, and also their use of human sacrifice and magic, were all obnoxious to the Roman Government, which opposed them mainly on political grounds. Magic and human sacrifice were suppressed because they were contrary to Roman manners. The first attack was in the reign of Augustus, who prohibited Roman citizens from taking part in the religion of the Druids.[1068] Tiberius next interdicted the Druids, but this was probably aimed at their human sacrifices, for the Druids were not suppressed, since they existed still in the reign of Claudius, who is said to have abolished _Druidarum religionem dirae immanitatis_.[1069] The earlier legislation was ineffective; that of Claudius was more thorough, but it, too, was probably aimed mainly at human sacrifice and magic, since Aurelius Victor limits it to the "notorious superstitions" of the Druids.[1070] It did not abolish the native religion, as is proved by the numerous inscriptions to Celtic gods, and by the fact that, as Mela informs us, human victims were still offered symbolically,[1071] while the Druids were still active some years later. A parallel is found in the British abolition of S[=a]ti in India, while permitting the native religion to flourish. Probably more effective was the policy begun by Augustus. Magistrates were inaugurated and acted as judges, thus ousting the Druids, and native deities and native ritual were assimilated to those of Rome. Celtic religion was Romanised, and if the Druids retained priestly functions, it could only be by their becoming Romanised also. Perhaps the new State religion in Gaul simply ignored them. The annual assembly of deputies at Lugudunum round the altar of Rome and Augustus had a religious character, and was intended to rival and to supersede the annual gathering of the Druids.[1072] The deputies elected a flamen of the province who had surveillance of the cult, and there were also flamens for each city. Thus the power of the Druids in politics, law, and religion was quietly undermined, while Rome also struck a blow at their position as teachers by establishing schools throughout Gaul.[1073] M. D'Arbois maintains that, as a result of persecution, the Druids retired to the depths of the forests, and continued to teach there in secret those who despised the new learning of Rome, basing his opinion on passages of Lucan and Mela, both writing a little after the promulgation of the laws.[1074]. But neither Lucan nor Mela refer to an existing state of things, and do not intend their readers to suppose that the Druids fled to woods and caverns. Lucan speaks of them _dwelling_ in woods, i.e. their sacred groves, and resuming their rites after Cæsar's conquest not after the later edicts, and he does not speak of the Druids teaching there.[1075] Mela seems to be echoing Cæsar's account of the twenty years' novitiate, but adds to it that the teaching was given in secret, confusing it, however, with that given to others than candidates for the priesthood. Thus he says: "Docent multa nobilissimos gentis clam et diu vicenis annis aut in specu aut in abditis saltibus,"[1076] but there is not the slightest evidence that this secrecy was the result of the edicts. Moreover, the attenuated sacrificial rites which he describes were evidently practised quite openly. Probably some Druids continued their teaching in their secret and sacred haunts, but it is unlikely that noble Gauls would resort to them when Greco-Roman culture was now open to them in the schools, where they are found receiving instruction in 21 A.D.[1077] Most of the Druids probably succumbed to the new order of things. Some continued the old rites in a modified manner as long as they could obtain worshippers. Others, more fanatical, would suffer from the law when they could not evade its grasp. Some of these revolted against Rome after Nero's death, and it was perhaps to this class that those Druids belonged who prophesied the world-empire of the Celts in 70 A.D.[1078] The fact that Druids existed at this date shows that the proscription had not been complete. But the complete Romanising of Gaul took away their occupation, though even in the fourth century men still boasted of their Druidic descent.[1079] The insular Druids opposed the legions in Southern Britain, and in Mona in 62 A.D. they made a last stand with the warriors against the Romans, gesticulating and praying to the gods. But with the establishment of Roman power in Britain their fate must have resembled that of the Druids of Gaul. A recrudescence of Druidism is found, however, in the presence of _magi_ (Druids) with Vortigern after the Roman withdrawal.[1080] Outside the Roman pale the Druids were still rampant and practised their rites as before, according to Pliny.[1081] Much later, in the sixth century, they opposed Christian missionaries in Scotland, just as in Ireland they opposed S. Patrick and his monks, who combated "the hard-hearted Druids." Finally, Christianity was victorious and the powers of the Druids passed in large measure to the Christian clergy or remained to some extent with the _Filid_.[1082] In popular belief the clerics had prevailed less by the persuasive power of the gospel, than by successfully rivalling the magic of the Druids. Classical writers speak of _Dryades_ or "Druidesses" in the third century. One of them predicted his approaching death to Alexander Severus, another promised the empire to Diocletian, others were consulted by Aurelian.[1083] Thus they were divineresses, rather than priestesses, and their name may be the result of misconception, unless they assumed it when Druids no longer existed as a class. In Ireland there were divineresses--_ban-filid_ or _ban-fáthi_, probably a distinct class with prophetic powers. Kings are warned against "pythonesses" as well as Druids, and Dr. Joyce thinks these were Druidesses.[1084] S. Patrick also armed himself against "the spells of women" and of Druids.[1085] Women in Ireland had a knowledge of futurity, according to Solinus, and the women who took part with the Druids like furies at Mona, may have been divineresses.[1086] In Ireland it is possible that such women were called "Druidesses," since the word _ban-drui_ is met with, the women so called being also styled _ban-fili_, while the fact that they belonged to the class of the _Filid_ brings them into connection with the Druids.[1087] But _ban-drui_ may have been applied to women with priestly functions, such as certainly existed in Ireland--e.g. the virgin guardians of sacred fires, to whose functions Christian nuns succeeded.[1088] We know also that the British queen Boudicca exercised priestly functions, and such priestesses, apart from the _Dryades_, existed among the continental Celts. Inscriptions at Arles speak of an _antistita deae_, and at Le Prugnon of a _flaminica sacerdos_ of the goddess Thucolis.[1089] These were servants of a goddess like the priestess of the Celtic Artemis in Galatia, in whose family the priesthood was hereditary.[1090] The virgins called Gallizenæ, who practised divination and magic in the isle of Sena, were priestesses of a Gaulish god, and some of the women who were "possessed by Dionysus" and practised an orgiastic cult on an island in the Loire, were probably of the same kind.[1091] They were priestesses of some magico-religious cult practised by women, like the guardians of the sacred fire in Ireland, which was tabu to men. M. Reinach regards the accounts of these island priestesses as fictions based on the story of Circe's isle, but even if they are garbled, they seem to be based on actual observation and are paralleled from other regions.[1092] The existence of such priestesses and divineresses over the Celtic area is to be explained by our hypothesis that many Celtic divinities were at first female and served by women, who were possessed of the tribal lore. Later, men assumed their functions, and hence arose the great priesthoods, but conservatism sporadically retained such female cults and priestesses, some goddesses being still served by women--the Galatian Artemis, or the goddesses of Gaul, with their female servants. Time also brought its revenges, for when paganism passed away, much of its folk-ritual and magic remained, practised by wise women or witches, who for generations had as much power over ignorant minds as the Christian priesthood. The fact that Cæsar and Tacitus speak of Germanic but not of Celtic priestesses, can hardly, in face of these scattered notices, be taken as a proof that women had no priestly _rôle_ in Celtic religion. If they had not, that religion would be unique in the world's history. FOOTNOTES: [1002] Pliny, _HN_ xvi. 249. [1003] D'Arbois, _Les Druides_, 85, following Thurneysen. [1004] D'Arbois, _op. cit._ 12 f.; Deloche, _Revue des Deux Mondes_, xxxiv. 466; Desjardins, _Geog. de la Gaule Romaine_, ii. 518. [1005] Cæsar, vi. 13. [1006] Pliny, _HN_ xxx. 1. [1007] Rh[^y]s, _CB_{4} 69 f. [1008] Gomme, _Ethnol. in Folk-lore_, 58, _Village Community_, 104. [1009] Sergi, _The Mediterranean Race_, 295. [1010] Reinach, "L'Art plastique en Gaule et le Druidisme," _RC_ xiii. 189. [1011] Holmes, _Cæsar's Conquest of Gaul_, 15; Dottin, 270. [1012] Diog. Laert. i. 1; Livy xxiii. 24. [1013] Desjardins, _op. cit._ ii. 519; but cf. Holmes, 535. [1014] _Gutuatros_ is perhaps from _gutu_-, "voice" (Holder, i. 2046; but see Loth, _RC_ xxviii. 120). The existence of the _gutuatri_ is known from a few inscriptions (see Holder), and from Hirtius, _de Bell. Gall._ viii. 38, who mentions a _gutuatros_ put to death by Cæsar. [1015] D'Arbois, _Les Druides_, 2 f., _Les Celtes_, 32. [1016] Ausonius, _Professor._ v. 7, xi. 24. [1017] Lucan, iii. 424; Livy, xxiii. 24. [1018] Diod. Sic. v. 31; Strabo, iv. 4. 4; Timagenes _apud_ Amm. Marc. xv. 9. [1019] Cicero, _de Div._ i. 41. 90; Tac. _Hist._ iv. 54. [1020] _Phars._ i. 449 f. [1021] _HN_ xxx. i. [1022] _Filid_, sing. _File_, is from _velo_, "I see" (Stokes, _US_ 277). [1023] _Fáthi_ is cognate with _Vates_. [1024] In Wales there had been Druids as there were Bards, but all trace of the second class is lost. Long after the Druids had passed away, the fiction of the _derwydd-vardd_ or Druid-bard was created, and the later bards were held to be depositories of a supposititious Druidic theosophy, while they practised the old rites in secret. The late word _derwydd_ was probably invented from _derw_, "oak," by some one who knew Pliny's derivation. See D'Arbois, _Les Druides_, 81. [1025] For these views see Dottin, 295; Holmes, 17; Bertrand, 192-193, 268-269. [1026] Diog. Laert. i. proem. 1. For other references see Cæsar, vi. 13, 14; Strabo, iv. 4. 4; Amm. Marc. xv. 9; Diod. Sic, v. 28; Lucan, i. 460; Mela, iii. 2. [1027] Suet. _Claud._ 25; Mela, iii. 2. [1028] Pliny, xxx. 1. [1029] D'Arbois, _Les Druides_, 77. [1030] Diod. Sic. v. 31. 4. [1031] See Cicero, _de Div._ i. 41. [1032] Diod. Sic. v. 28; Amm. Marc. xv. 9; Hippolytus, _Refut. Hær._ i. 22. [1033] Amm. Marc. xv. 9. [1034] Cæsar, vi. 14. [1035] Diog. Laert. 6. Celtic enthusiasts see in this triple maxim something akin to the Welsh triads, which they claim to be Druidic! [1036] Bertrand, 280. [1037] Cæsar, vi. 13. [1038] _Trip. Life_, ii. 325, i. 52, ii. 402; _IT_ i. 373; _RC_ xxvi. 33. The title _rig-file_, "king poet," sometimes occurs. [1039] Cæsar, vi. 14. [1040] Cæsar, vi. 13; Strabo, iv. 4. 4. [1041] Strabo, xii. 5. 2. [1042] Their judicial powers were taken from them because their speech had become obscure. Perhaps they gave their judgments in archaic language. [1043] Diod. Sic. v. 31. 5. [1044] Cæsar, vii. 33. [1045] _IT_ i. 213; D'Arbois, v. 186. [1046] Dio, _Orat._ xlix. [1047] _LL_ 93. [1048] _Ancient Laws of Ireland_, i. 22. [1049] Cæsar, vi. 13, 14; Windisch, _Táin_, line 1070 f.; _IT_ i. 325; _Arch. Rev._ i. 74; _Trip. Life_, 99; cf. O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 201. [1050] Cæsar, vi. 14; Strabo, iv. 4. 4. [1051] _Trip. Life_, 284. [1052] Lucan, i. 451. [1053] Diod. v. 31. 4; cf. Cæsar, vi. 13, 16; Strabo, iv. 4. 5. [1054] See p. 248, _supra_. [1055] _RC_ xiv. 29; Miss Hull, 4, 23, 141; _IT_ iii. 392, 423; Stokes, _Félire_, Intro. 23. [1056] Loth, i. 56. [1057] See my art. "Baptism (Ethnic)" in Hastings' _Encyclopædia of Religion and Ethics_, ii. 367 f. [1058] Carmichael, _Carm. Gadel._ i. 115. [1059] See p. 206, _supra_. [1060] _IT_ i. 215. [1061] O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 221, 641. [1062] _RC_ xvi. 34. [1063] Pliny, _HN_ xvi. 45; _Trip. Life_, ii. 325; Strabo, iv. 275. [1064] _RC_ xxii. 285; O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 215. [1065] Reeves' ed. of Adamnan's _Life of S. Col._ 237; Todd, _S. Patrick_, 455; Joyce, _SH_ i. 234. For the relation of the Druidic tonsure to the peculiar tonsure of the Celtic Church, see Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 213, _CB_{4} 72; Gougaud, _Les Chrétientés Celtiques_, 198. [1066] See Hyde, _Lit. Hist. of Ireland_, 88; Joyce, _SH_ i. 239. [1067] Cæsar, vi. 14, ii. 10. [1068] Suetonius, _Claud._ 25. [1069] Pliny _HN_ xxx. 1; Suet. _Claud._ 25. [1070] _de Cæsaribus_, 4, "famosæ superstitiones"; cf. p. 328, _infra_. [1071] Mela, iii. 2. [1072] Mommsen, _Rom. Gesch._ v. 94. [1073] Bloch (Lavisse), _Hist. de France_, i. 2, 176 f., 391 f.; Duruy, "Comment périt l'institution Druidique," _Rev. Arch._ xv. 347; de Coulanges, "Comment le Druidisme a disparu," _RC_ iv. 44. [1074] _Les Druides_, 73. [1075] _Phars._ i. 453, "Ye Druids, after arms were laid aside, sought once again your barbarous ceremonials.... In remote forests do ye inhabit the deep glades." [1076] Mela, iii. 2. [1077] Tacit. iii. 43. [1078] Ibid. iv. 54. [1079] Ausonius, _Prof._ v. 12, xi. 17. [1080] Nennius, 40. In the Irish version they are called "Druids." See p. 238, _supra_. [1081] Pliny, xxx. 1. [1082] Adamnan, _Vita S. Col._, i. 37. ii. 35, etc.; Reeves' _Adamnan_, 247 f.; Stokes, _Three Homilies_, 24 f.; _Antient Laws of Ireland_, i. 15; _RC_ xvii. 142 f.; _IT_ i. 23. [1083] Lampridius, _Alex. Sev._ 60; Vopiscus, _Numerienus_, 14, _Aurelianus_, 44. [1084] Windisch, _Táin_, 31, 221; cf. Meyer, _Contributions to Irish Lexicog._ 176 Joyce, _SH_ i. 238. [1085] _IT_ i. 56. [1086] Solinus, 35; Tac. _Ann._ xiv. 30. [1087] _RC_ xv. 326, xvi. 34, 277; Windisch, _Táin_, 331. In _LL_ 75_b_ we hear of "three Druids and three Druidesses." [1088] See p. 69, _supra_; Keating, 331. [1089] Jullian, 100; Holder, _s.v._ "Thucolis." [1090] Plutarch, _Vir. mul._ 20. [1091] Mela, iii. 6; Strabo, iv. 4. 6. [1092] Reinach, _RC_ xviii. 1 f. The fact that the rites were called Dionysiac is no reason for denying the fact that some orgiastic rites were practised. Classical writers usually reported all barbaric rites in terms of their own religion. M. D'Arbois (vi. 325) points out that Circe was not a virgin, and had not eight companions. CHAPTER XXI. MAGIC. The Celts, like all other races, were devoted to magical practices, many of which could be used by any one, though, on the whole, they were in the hands of the Druids, who in many aspects were little higher than the shamans of barbaric tribes. But similar magical rites were also attributed to the gods, and it is probably for this reason that the Tuatha Dé Danann and many of the divinities who appear in the _Mabinogion_ are described as magicians. Kings are also spoken of as wizards, perhaps a reminiscence of the powers of the priest king. But since many of the primitive cults had been in the hands of women, and as these cults implied a large use of magic, they may have been the earliest wielders of magic, though, with increasing civilisation, men took their place as magicians. Still side by side with the magic-wielding Druids, there were classes of women who also dealt in magic, as we have seen. Their powers were feared, even by S. Patrick, who classes the "spells of women" along with those of Druids, and, in a mythic tale, by the father of Connla, who, when the youth was fascinated by a goddess, feared that he would be taken by the "spells of women" (_brichta ban_).[1093] In other tales women perform all such magical actions as are elsewhere ascribed to Druids.[1094] And after the Druids had passed away precisely similar actions--power over the weather, the use of incantations and amulets, shape-shifting and invisibility, etc.--were, and still are in remote Celtic regions, ascribed to witches. Much of the Druidic art, however, was also supposed to be possessed by saints and clerics, both in the past and in recent times. But women remained as magicians when the Druids had disappeared, partly because of female conservatism, partly because, even in pagan times, they had worked more or less secretly. At last the Church proscribed them and persecuted them. Each clan, tribe, or kingdom had its Druids, who, in time of war, assisted their hosts by magic art. This is reflected back upon the groups of the mythological cycle, each of which has its Druids who play no small part in the battles fought. Though Pliny recognises the priestly functions of the Druids, he associates them largely with magic, and applies the name _magus_ to them.[1095] In Irish ecclesiastical literature, _drui_ is used as the translation of _magus_, e.g. in the case of the Egyptian magicians, while _magi_ is used in Latin lives of saints as the equivalent of the vernacular _druides_.[1096] In the sagas and in popular tales _Druidecht_, "Druidism," stands for "magic," and _slat an draoichta_, "rod of Druidism," is a magic wand.[1097] The Tuatha Dé Danann were said to have learned "Druidism" from the four great master Druids of the region whence they had come to Ireland, and even now, in popular tales, they are often called "Druids" or "Danann Druids."[1098] Thus in Ireland at least there is clear evidence of the great magical power claimed by Druids. That power was exercised to a great extent over the elements, some of which Druids claimed to have created. Thus the Druid Cathbad covered the plain over which Deirdre was escaping with "a great-waved sea."[1099] Druids also produced blinding snow-storms, or changed day into night--feats ascribed to them even in the Lives of Saints.[1100] Or they discharge "shower-clouds of fire" on the opposing hosts, as in the case of the Druid Mag Ruith, who made a magic fire, and flying upwards towards it, turned it upon the enemy, whose Druid in vain tried to divert it.[1101] When the Druids of Cormac dried up all the waters in the land, another Druid shot an arrow, and where it fell there issued a torrent of water.[1102] The Druid Mathgen boasted of being able to throw mountains on the enemy, and frequently Druids made trees or stones appear as armed men, dismaying the opposing host in this way. They could also fill the air with the clash of battle, or with the dread cries of eldritch things.[1103] Similar powers are ascribed to other persons. The daughters of Calatin raised themselves aloft on an enchanted wind, and discovered Cúchulainn when he was hidden away by Cathbad. Later they produced a magic mist to discomfit the hero.[1104] Such mists occur frequently in the sagas, and in one of them the Tuatha Dé Danann arrived in Ireland. The priestesses of Sena could rouse sea and wind by their enchantments, and, later, Celtic witches have claimed the same power. In folk-survivals the practice of rain-making is connected with sacred springs, and even now in rural France processions to shrines, usually connected with a holy well, are common in time of drought. Thus people and priest go to the fountain of Baranton in procession, singing hymns, and there pray for rain. The priest then dips his foot in the water, or throws some of it on the rocks.[1105] In other cases the image of a saint is carried to a well and asperged, as divine images formerly were, or the waters are beaten or thrown into the air.[1106] Another custom was that a virgin should clean out a sacred well, and formerly she had to be nude.[1107] Nudity also forms part of an old ritual used in Gaul. In time of drought the girls of the village followed the youngest virgin in a state of nudity to seek the herb _belinuntia_. This she uprooted, and was then led to a river and there asperged by the others. In this case the asperging imitated the falling rain, and was meant to produce it automatically. While some of these rites suggest the use of magic by the folk themselves, in others the presence of the Christian priest points to the fact that, formerly, a Druid was necessary as the rain producer. In some cases the priest has inherited through long ages the rain-making or tempest-quelling powers of the pagan priesthood, and is often besought to exercise them.[1108] Causing invisibility by means of a spell called _feth fiada_, which made a person unseen or hid him in a magic mist, was also used by the Druids as well as by Christian saints. S. Patrick's hymn, called _Fâed Fiada_, was sung by him when his enemies lay in wait, and caused a glamour in them. The incantation itself, _fith-fath_, is still remembered in Highland glens.[1109] In the case of S. Patrick he and his followers appeared as deer, and this power of shape-shifting was wielded both by Druids and women. The Druid Fer Fidail carried off a maiden by taking the form of a woman, and another Druid deceived Cúchulainn by taking the form of the fair Niamh.[1110] Other Druids are said to have been able to take any shape that pleased them.[1111] These powers were reflected back upon the gods and mythical personages like Taliesin or Amairgen, who appear in many forms. The priestesses of Sena could assume the form of animals, and an Irish Circe in the _Rennes Dindsenchas_ called Dalb the Rough changed three men and their wives into swine by her spells.[1112] This power of transforming others is often described in the sagas. The children of Lir were changed to swans by their cruel stepmother; Saar, the mother of Oisin, became a fawn through the power of the Druid Fear Doirche when she rejected his love; and similarly Tuirrenn, mother of Oisin's hounds, was transformed into a stag-hound by the fairy mistress of her husband Iollann.[1113] In other instances in the sagas, women appear as birds.[1114] These transformation tales may be connected with totemism, for when this institution is decaying the current belief in shape-shifting is often made use of to explain descent from animals or the tabu against eating certain animals. In some of these Irish shape-shifting tales we find this tabu referred to. Thus, when the children of Lir were turned into swans, it was proclaimed that no one should kill a swan. The reason of an existing tabu seemed to be sufficiently explained when it was told that certain human beings had become swans. It is not impossible that the Druids made use of hypnotic suggestion to persuade others that they had assumed another form, as Red Indian shamans have been known to do, or even hallucinated others into the belief that their own form had been changed. By a "drink of oblivion" Druids and other persons could make one forget even the most dearly beloved. Thus Cúchulainn was made to forget Fand, and his wife Emer to forget her jealousy.[1115] This is a reminiscence of potent drinks brewed from herbs which caused hallucinations, e.g. that of the change of shape. In other cases they were of a narcotic nature and caused a deep sleep, an instance being the draught given by Grainne to Fionn and his men.[1116] Again, the "Druidic sleep" is suggestive of hypnotism, practised in distant ages and also by present-day savages. When Bodb suspected his daughter of lying he cast her into a "Druidic sleep," in which she revealed her wickedness.[1117] In other cases spells are cast upon persons so that they are hallucinated, or are rendered motionless, or, "by the sleight of hand of soothsayers," maidens lose their chastity without knowing it.[1118] These point to knowledge of hypnotic methods of suggestion. Or, again, a spectral army is opposed to an enemy's force to whom it is an hallucinatory appearance--perhaps an exaggeration of natural hypnotic powers.[1119] Druids also made a "hedge," the _airbe druad_, round an army, perhaps circumambulating it and saying spells so that the attacking force might not break through. If any one could leap this "hedge," the spell was broken, but he lost his life. This was done at the battle of Cul Dremne, at which S. Columba was present and aided the heroic leaper with his prayers.[1120] A primitive piece of sympathetic magic used still by savages is recorded in the _Rennes Dindsenchas_. In this story one man says spells over his spear and hurls it into his opponent's shadow, so that he falls dead.[1121] Equally primitive is the Druidic "sending" a wisp of straw over which the Druid sang spells and flung it into his victim's face, so that he became mad. A similar method is used by the Eskimo _angekok_. All madness was generally ascribed to such a "sending." Several of these instances have shown the use of spells, and the Druid was believed to possess powerful incantations to discomfit an enemy or to produce other magical results. A special posture was adopted--standing on one leg, with one arm outstretched and one eye closed, perhaps to concentrate the force of the spell,[1122] but the power lay mainly in the spoken words, as we have seen in discussing Celtic formulæ of prayer. Such spells were also used by the _Filid_, or poets, since most primitive poetry has a magical aspect. Part of the training of the bard consisted in learning traditional incantations, which, used with due ritual, produced the magic result.[1123] Some of these incantations have already come before our notice, and probably some of the verses which Cæsar says the Druids would not commit to writing were of the nature of spells.[1124] The virtue of the spell lay in the spoken formula, usually introducing the name of a god or spirit, later a saint, in order to procure his intervention, through the power inherent in the name. Other charms recount an effect already produced, and this, through mimetic magic, is supposed to cause its repetition. The earliest written documents bearing upon the paganism of the insular Celts contain an appeal to "the science of Goibniu" to preserve butter, and another, for magical healing, runs, "I admire the healing which Diancecht left in his family, in order to bring health to those he succoured." These are found in an eighth or ninth century MS., and, with their appeal to pagan gods, were evidently used in Christian times.[1125] Most Druidic magic was accompanied by a spell-- transformation, invisibility, power over the elements, and the discovery of hidden persons or things. In other cases spells were used in medicine or for healing wounds. Thus the Tuatha Dé Danann told the Fomorians that they need not oppose them, because their Druids would restore the slain to life, and when Cúchulainn was wounded we hear less of medicines than of incantations used to stanch his blood.[1126] In other cases the Druid could remove barrenness by spells. The survival of the belief in spells among modern Celtic peoples is a convincing proof of their use in pagan times, and throws light upon their nature. In Brittany they are handed down in certain families, and are carefully guarded from the knowledge of others. The names of saints instead of the old gods are found in them, but in some cases diseases are addressed as personal beings. In the Highlands similar charms are found, and are often handed down from male to female, and from female to male. They are also in common use in Ireland. Besides healing diseases, such charms are supposed to cause fertility or bring good luck, or even to transfer the property of others to the reciter, or, in the case of darker magic, to cause death or disease.[1127] In Ireland, sorcerers could "rime either a man or beast to death," and this recalls the power of satire in the mouth of _File_ or Druid. It raised blotches on the face of the victim, or even caused his death.[1128] Among primitive races powerful internal emotion affects the body in curious ways, and in this traditional power of the satire or "rime" we have probably an exaggerated reference to actual fact. In other cases the "curse of satire" affected nature, causing seas and rivers to sink back.[1129] The satires made by the bards of Gaul, referred to by Diodorus, may have been believed to possess similar powers.[1130] Contrariwise, the _Filid_, on uttering an unjust judgment, found their faces covered with blotches.[1131] A magical sleep is often caused by music in the sagas, e.g. by the harp of Dagda, or by the branch carried by visitants from Elysium.[1132] Many "fairy" lullabies for producing sleep are even now extant in Ireland and the Highlands.[1133] As music forms a part of all primitive religion, its soothing powers would easily be magnified. In orgiastic rites it caused varying emotions until the singer and dancer fell into a deep slumber, and the tales of those who joined in a fairy dance and fell asleep, awaking to find that many years had passed, are mythic extensions of the power of music in such orgiastic cults. The music of the _Filid_ had similar powers to that of Dagda's harp, producing laughter, tears, and a delicious slumber,[1134] and Celtic folk-tales abound in similar instances of the magic charm of music. We now turn to the use of amulets among the Celts. Some of these were symbolic and intended to bring the wearer under the protection of the god whom they symbolised. As has been seen, a Celtic god had as his symbol a wheel, probably representing the sun, and numerous small wheel discs made of different materials have been found in Gaul and Britain.[1135] These were evidently worn as amulets, while in other cases they were offered to river divinities, since many are met with in river beds or fords. Their use as protective amulets is shown by a stele representing a person wearing a necklace to which is attached one of these wheels. In Irish texts a Druid is called Mag Ruith, explained as _magus rotarum_, because he made his Druidical observations by wheels.[1136] This may point to the use of such amulets in Ireland. A curious amulet, connected with the Druids, became famous in Roman times and is described by Pliny. This was the "serpents' egg," formed from the foam produced by serpents twining themselves together. The serpents threw the "egg" into the air, and he who sought it had to catch it in his cloak before it fell, and flee to a running stream, beyond which the serpents, like the witches pursuing Tam o' Shanter, could not follow him. This "egg" was believed to cause its owner to obtain access to kings or to gain lawsuits, and a Roman citizen was put to death in the reign of Claudius for bringing such an amulet into court. Pliny had seen this "egg." It was about the size of an apple, with a cartilaginous skin covered with discs.[1137] Probably it was a fossil echinus, such as has been found in Gaulish tombs.[1138] Such "eggs" were doubtless connected with the cult of the serpent, or some old myth of an egg produced by serpents may have been made use of to account for their formation. This is the more likely, as rings or beads of glass found in tumuli in Wales, Cornwall, and the Highlands are called "serpents' glass" (_glain naidr_), and are believed to be formed in the same way as the "egg." These, as well as old spindle-whorls called "adder stones" in the Highlands, are held to have magical virtues, e.g. against the bite of a serpent, and are highly prized by their owners.[1139] Pliny speaks also of the Celtic belief in the magical virtues of coral, either worn as an amulet or taken in powder as a medicine, while it has been proved that the Celts during a limited period of their history placed it on weapons and utensils, doubtless as an amulet.[1140] Other amulets--white marble balls, quartz pebbles, models of the tooth of the boar, or pieces of amber, have been found buried with the dead.[1141] Little figures of the boar, the horse, and the bull, with a ring for suspending them to a necklet, were worn as amulets or images of these divine animals, and phallic amulets were also worn, perhaps as a protection against the evil eye.[1142] A cult of stones was probably connected with the belief in the magical power of certain stones, like the _Lia Fail_, which shrieked aloud when Conn knocked against it. His Druids explained that the number of the shrieks equalled the number of his descendants who should be kings of Erin.[1143] This is an ætiological myth accounting for the use of this fetich-stone at coronations. Other stones, probably the object of a cult or possessing magical virtues, were used at the installation of chiefs, who stood on them and vowed to follow in the steps of their predecessors, a pair of feet being carved on the stone to represent those of the first chief.[1144] Other stones had more musical virtues--the "conspicuous stone" of Elysium from which arose a hundred strains, and the melodious stone of Loch Láig. Such beliefs existed into Christian times. S. Columba's stone altar floated on the waves, and on it a leper had crossed in the wake of the saint's coracle to Erin. But the same stone was that on which, long before, the hero Fionn had slipped.[1145] Connected with the cult of stones are magical observances at fixed rocks or boulders, regarded probably as the abode of a spirit. These observances are in origin pre-Celtic, but were practised by the Celts. Girls slide down a stone to obtain a lover, pregnant women to obtain an easy delivery, or contact with such stones causes barren women to have children or gives vitality to the feeble. A small offering is usually left on the stone.[1146] Similar rites are practised at megalithic monuments, and here again the custom is obviously pre-Celtic in origin. In this case the spirits of the dead must have been expected to assist the purposes of the rites, or even to incarnate themselves in the children born as a result of barren women resorting to these stones.[1147] Sometimes when the purpose of the stones has been forgotten and some other legendary origin attributed to them, the custom adapts itself to the legend. In Ireland many dolmens are known, not as places of sepulture, but as "Diarmaid and Grainne's beds"--the places where these eloping lovers slept. Hence they have powers of fruitfulness and are visited by women who desire children. The rite is thus one of sympathetic magic. Holed dolmens or naturally pierced blocks are used for the magical cure of sickness both in Brittany and Cornwall, the patient being passed through the hole.[1148] Similar rites are used with trees, a slit being often made in the trunk of a sapling, and a sickly child passed through it. The slit is then closed and bound, and if it joins together at the end of a certain time, this is a proof that the child will recover.[1149] In these rites the spirit in stone or tree was supposed to assist the process of healing, or the disease was transferred to them, or, again, there was the idea of a new birth with consequent renewed life, the act imitating the process of birth. These rites are not confined to Celtic regions, but belong to that universal use of magic in which the Celts freely participated. Since Christian writers firmly believed in the magical powers of the Druids, aided however by the devil, they taught that Christian saints had miraculously overcome them with their own weapons. S. Patrick dispelled snow-storms and darkness raised by Druids, or destroyed Druids who had brought down fire from heaven. Similar deeds are attributed to S. Columba and others.[1150] The moral victory of the Cross was later regarded also as a magical victory. Hence also lives of Celtic saints are full of miracles which are simply a reproduction of Druidic magic--controlling the elements, healing, carrying live coals without hurt, causing confusion by their curses, producing invisibility or shape-shifting, making the ice-cold waters of a river hot by standing in them at their devotions, or walking unscathed through the fiercest storms.[1151] They were soon regarded as more expert magicians than the Druids themselves. They may have laid claim to magical powers, or perhaps they used a natural shrewdness in such a way as to suggest magic. But all their power they ascribed to Christ. "Christ is my Druid"--the true miracle-worker, said S. Columba. Yet they were imbued with the superstitions of their own age. Thus S. Columba sent a white stone to King Brude at Inverness for the cure of his Druid Broichan, who drank the water poured over it, and was healed.[1152] Soon similar virtues were ascribed to the relics of the saints themselves, and at a later time, when most Scotsmen ceased to believe in the saints, they thought that the ministers of the kirk had powers like those of pagan Druid and Catholic saint. Ministers were levitated, or shone with a celestial light, or had clairvoyant gifts, or, with dire results, cursed the ungodly or the benighted prelatist. They prophesied, used trance-utterance, and exercised gifts of healing. Angels ministered to them, as when Samuel Rutherford, having fallen into a well when a child, was pulled out by an angel.[1153] The substratum of primitive belief survives all changes of creed, and the folk impartially attributed magical powers to pagan Druid, Celtic saints, old crones and witches, and Presbyterian ministers. FOOTNOTES: [1093] _IT_ i. 56; D'Arbois, v. 387. [1094] See, e.g., "The Death of Muirchertach," _RC_ xxiii. 394. [1095] _HN_ xxx. 4, 13. [1096] Zimmer, _Gloss. Hibern._ 183; Reeves, _Adamnan_, 260. [1097] Kennedy, 175; cf. _IT_ i. 220. [1098] See _RC_ xii. 52 f.; D'Arbois, v. 403-404; O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 505; Kennedy, 75, 196, 258. [1099] D'Arbois, v. 277. [1100] Stokes, _Three Middle Irish Homilies_, 24; _IT_ iii. 325. [1101] _RC_ xii. 83; Miss Hull, 215; D'Arbois, v. 424; O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 215. [1102] Keating, 341; O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 271. [1103] _RC_ xii. 81. [1104] Miss Hull, 240 f. [1105] Maury, 14. [1106] Sébillot, ii. 226 f., i. 101, ii. 225; Bérenger-Féraud, _Superstitions et Survivances_, iii. 169 f.; _Stat. Account_, viii. 52. [1107] _Rev. des Trad._ 1893, 613; Sébillot, ii. 224. [1108] Bérenger-Féraud, iii. 218 f.; Sébillot, i. 100, 109; _RC_ ii. 484; Frazer, _Golden Bough_{2}, i. 67. [1109] D'Arbois, v. 387; _IT_ i. 52; Dixon, _Gairloch_, 165; Carmichael, _Carm. Gad._ ii. 25. [1110] _RC_ xvi. 152; Miss Hull, 243. [1111] D'Arbois, v. 133; _IT_ ii. 373. [1112] Mela, iii. 6; _RC_ xv. 471. [1113] Joyce, _OCR_ 1 f.; Kennedy, 235. [1114] Bird-women pursued by Cúchulainn; D'Arbois, v. 178; for other instances see O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 426; Miss Hull, 82. [1115] D'Arbois, v. 215. [1116] Joyce, _OCR_ 279. [1117] Ibid. 86. [1118] _RC_ xxiii. 394; Jocelyn, _Vita S. Kent._ c. 1. [1119] _RC_ xv. 446. [1120] O'Conor, _Rer. Hib. Scrip._ ii. 142; Stokes, _Lives of Saints_, xxviii. [1121] _RC_ xv. 444. [1122] See p. 251, _supra_. [1123] O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 240. [1124] See pp. 248, 304, _supra_; Cæsar, _vi_. 14. [1125] Zimmer, _Gloss. Hiber._ 271. Other Irish incantations, appealing to the saints, are found in the _Codex Regularum_ at Klosternenburg (_RC_ ii. 112). [1126] Leahy, i. 137; Kennedy, 301. [1127] Sauvé, _RC_ vi. 67 f.; Carmichael, _Carm. Gadel._, _passim_; _CM_ xii. 38; Joyce, _SH_ i. 629 f.; Camden, _Britannia_, iv. 488; Scot, _Discovery of Witchcraft_, iii. 15. [1128] For examples see O'Curry, _MS. Met._ 248; D'Arbois, ii. 190; _RC_ xii. 71, xxiv. 279; Stokes, _TIG_ xxxvi. f. [1129] Windisch, _Táin_, line 3467. [1130] Diod. Sic. v. 31. [1131] D'Arbois, i. 271. [1132] _RC_ xii. 109; Nutt-Meyer, i. 2; D'Arbois, v. 445. [1133] Petrie, _Ancient Music of Ireland_, i. 73; _The Gael_, i. 235 (fairy lullaby of MacLeod of MacLeod). [1134] O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 255. [1135] _Archæologia_, xxxix. 509; _Proc. Soc. Ant._ iii. 92; Gaidoz, _Le Dieu Gaul. du Soleil_, 60 f. [1136] _IT_ iii. 409; but see Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 215. [1137] Pliny, _HN_ xxix. 3. 54. [1138] _Rev. Arch._ i. 227, xxxiii. 283. [1139] Hoare, _Modern Wiltshire_, 56; Camden, _Britannia_, 815; Hazlitt, 194; Campbell, _Witchcraft_, 84. In the Highlands spindle-whorls are thought to have been perforated by the adder, which then passes through the hole to rid itself of its old skin. [1140] Pliny, xxxii. 2. 24; Reinach, _RC_ xx. 13 f. [1141] _Rev. Arch._ i. 227; Greenwell, _British Barrows_, 165; Elton, 66; Renel, 95f., 194f. [1142] Reinach, _BF_ 286, 289, 362. [1143] O'Curry, _MS Mat._ 387. See a paper by Hartland, "The Voice of the Stone of Destiny," _Folk-lore Journal_, xiv. 1903. [1144] Petrie, _Trans. Royal Irish Acad._ xviii. pt. 2. [1145] O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 393 f. [1146] Sébillot, i. 334 f. [1147] Trollope, _Brittany_, ii. 229; Bérenger-Féraud, _Superstitions et Survivances_, i. 529 f.; Borlase, _Dolmens of Ireland_, iii. 580, 689, 841 f. [1148] _Rev. des Trad._ 1894, 494; Bérenger-Féraud, i. 529, ii. 367; Elworthy, _Evil Eye_, 70. [1149] Bérenger-Féraud, i. 523; Elworthy, 69, 106; Reinach, _L'Anthropologie_, iv. 33. [1150] Kennedy, 324; Adamnan, _Vita S. Col._ ii. 35. [1151] Life of S. Fechin of Fore, _RC_ xii. 333; Life of S. Kieran, O'Grady, ii. 13; Amra Cholumbchille, _RC_ xx. 41; Life of S. Moling, _RC_ xxvii. 293; and other lives _passim_. See also Plummer, _Vitæ Sanctorum Hiberniæ_. [1152] Adamnan, ii. 34. This pebble was long preserved, but mysteriously disappeared when the person who sought it was doomed to die. [1153] Wodrow, _Analecta_, _passim_; Walker, _Six Saints of the Covenant_, ed. by Dr. Hay Fleming. CHAPTER XXII. THE STATE OF THE DEAD. Among all the problems with which man has busied himself, none so appeals to his hopes and fears as that of the future life. Is there a farther shore, and if so, shall we reach it? Few races, if any, have doubted the existence of a future state, but their conceptions of it have differed greatly. But of all the races of antiquity, outside Egypt, the Celts seem to have cherished the most ardent belief in the world beyond the grave, and to have been preoccupied with its joys. Their belief, so far as we know it, was extremely vivid, and its chief characteristic was life in the body after death, in another region.[1154] This, coupled with the fact that it was taught as a doctrine by the Druids, made it the admiration of classical onlookers. But besides this belief there was another, derived from the ideas of a distant past, that the dead lived on in the grave--the two conceptions being connected. And there may also have been a certain degree of belief in transmigration. Although the Celts believed that the soul could exist apart from the body, there seems to be no evidence that they believed in a future existence of the soul as a shade. This belief is certainly found in some late Welsh poems, where the ghosts are described as wandering in the Caledonian forest, but these can hardly be made use of as evidence for the old pagan doctrine. The evidence for the latter may be gathered from classical observers, from archæology and from Irish texts. Cæsar writes: "The Druids in particular wish to impress this on them that souls do not perish, but pass from one to another (_ab aliis ... ad alios_) after death, and by this chiefly they think to incite men to valour, the fear of death being overlooked." Later he adds, that at funerals all things which had been dear to the dead man, even living creatures, were thrown on the funeral pyre, and shortly before his time slaves and beloved clients were also consumed.[1155] Diodorus says: "Among them the doctrine of Pythagoras prevailed that the souls of men were immortal, and after completing their term of existence they live again, the soul passing into another body. Hence at the burial of the dead some threw letters addressed to dead relatives on the funeral pile, believing that the dead would read them in the next world."[1156] Valerius Maximus writes: "They would fain make us believe that the souls of men are immortal. I would be tempted to call these breeches-wearing folk fools, if their doctrine were not the same as that of the mantle-clad Pythagoras." He also speaks of money lent which would be repaid in the next world, because men's souls are immortal.[1157] These passages are generally taken to mean that the Celts believed simply in transmigration of the Pythagorean type. Possibly all these writers cite one common original, but Cæsar makes no reference to Pythagoras. A comparison with the Pythagorean doctrine shows that the Celtic belief differed materially from it. According to the former, men's souls entered new bodies, even those of animals, in this world, and as an expiation. There is nothing of this in the Celtic doctrine. The new body is not a prison-house of the soul in which it must expiate its former sins, and the soul receives it not in this world but in another. The real point of connection was the insistence of both upon immortality, the Druids teaching that it was bodily immortality. Their doctrine no more taught transmigration than does the Christian doctrine of the resurrection. Roman writers, aware that Pythagoras taught immortality _via_ a series of transmigrations, and that the Druids taught a doctrine of bodily immortality, may have thought that the receiving of a new body meant transmigration. Themselves sceptical of a future life or believing in a traditional gloomy Hades, they were bound to be struck with the vigour of the Celtic doctrine and its effects upon conduct. The only thing like it of which they knew was the Pythagorean doctrine. Looked at in this light, Cæsar's words need not convey the idea of transmigration, and it is possible that he mistranslated some Greek original. Had these writers meant that the Druids taught transmigration, they could hardly have added the passages regarding debts being paid in the other world, or letters conveyed there by the dead, or human sacrifices to benefit the dead there. These also preclude the idea of a mere immortality of the soul. The dead Celt continued to be the person he had been, and it may have been that not a new body, but the old body glorified, was tenanted by his soul beyond the grave. This bodily immortality in a region where life went on as on this earth, but under happier conditions, would then be like the Vedic teaching that the soul, after the burning of the body, went to the heaven of Yama, and there received its body complete and glorified. The two conceptions, Hindu and Celtic, may have sprung from early "Aryan" belief. This Celtic doctrine appears more clearly from what Lucan says of the Druidic teaching. "From you we learn that the bourne of man's existence is not the silent halls of Erebus, in another world (or region, _in orbe alio_) the spirit animates the members. Death, if your lore be true, is but the centre of a long life." For this reason, he adds, the Celtic warrior had no fear of death.[1158] Thus Lucan conceived the Druidic doctrine to be one of bodily immortality in another region. That region was not a gloomy state; rather it resembled the Egyptian Aalu with its rich and varied existence. Classical writers, of course, may have known of what appears to have been a sporadic Celtic idea, derived from old beliefs, that the soul might take the form of an animal, but this was not the Druidic teaching. Again, if the Gauls, like the Irish, had myths telling of the rebirth of gods or semi-divine beings, these may have been misinterpreted by those writers and regarded as eschatological. But such myths do not concern mortals. Other writers, Timagenes, Strabo, and Mela,[1159] speak only of the immortality of the soul, but their testimony is probably not at variance with that of Lucan, since Mela appears to copy Cæsar, and speaks of accounts and debts being passed on to the next world. This theory of a bodily immortality is supported by the Irish sagas, in which ghosts, in our sense of the word, do not exist. The dead who return are not spectres, but are fully clothed upon with a body. Thus, when Cúchulainn returns at the command of S. Patrick, he is described exactly as if he were still in the flesh. "His hair was thick and black ... in his head his eye gleamed swift and grey.... Blacker than the side of a cooking spit each of his two brows, redder than ruby his lips." His clothes and weapons are fully described, while his chariot and horses are equally corporeal.[1160] Similar descriptions of the dead who return are not infrequent, e.g. that of Caoilte in the story of Mongan, whom every one believes to be a living warrior, and that of Fergus mac Roich, who reappeared in a beautiful form, adorned with brown hair and clad in his former splendour, and recited the lost story of the _Táin_.[1161] Thus the Irish Celts believed that in another world the spirit animated the members. This bodily existence is also suggested in Celtic versions of the "Dead Debtor" folk-tale cycle. Generally an animal in whose shape a dead man helps his benefactor is found in other European versions, but in the Celtic stories not an animal but the dead man himself appears as a living person in corporeal form.[1162] Equally substantial and corporeal, eating, drinking, lovemaking, and fighting are the divine folk of the _síd_ or of Elysium, or the gods as they are represented in the texts. To the Celts, gods, _síde_, and the dead, all alike had a bodily form, which, however, might become invisible, and in other ways differed from the earthly body. The archæological evidence of burial customs among the Celts also bears witness to this belief. Over the whole Celtic area a rich profusion of grave-goods has been found, consisting of weapons, armour, chariots, utensils, ornaments, and coins.[1163] Some of the interments undoubtedly point to sacrifice of wife, children, or slaves at the grave. Male and female skeletons are often in close proximity, in one case the arm of the male encircling the neck of the female. In other cases the remains of children are found with these. Or while the lower interment is richly provided with grave-goods, above it lie irregularly several skeletons, without grave-goods, and often with head separated from the body, pointing to decapitation, while in one case the arms had been tied behind the back.[1164] All this suggests, taken in connection with classical evidence regarding burial customs, that the future life was life in the body, and that it was a _replica_ of this life, with the same affections, needs, and energies. Certain passages in Irish texts also describe burials, and tell how the dead were interred with ornaments and weapons, while it was a common custom to bury the dead warrior in his armour, fully armed, and facing the region whence enemies might be expected. Thus he was a perpetual menace to them and prevented their attack.[1165] Possibly this belief may account for the elevated position of many tumuli. Animals were also sacrificed. Hostages were buried alive with Fiachra, according to one text, and the wives of heroes sometimes express their desire to be buried along with their dead husbands.[1166] The idea that the body as well as the soul was immortal was probably linked on to a very primitive belief regarding the dead, and one shared by many peoples, that they lived on in the grave. This conception was never forgotten, even in regions where the theory of a distant land of the dead was evolved, or where the body was consumed by fire before burial. It appears from such practices as binding the dead with cords, or laying heavy stones or a mound of earth on the grave, probably to prevent their egress, or feeding the dead with sacrificial food at the grave, or from the belief that the dead come forth not as spirits, but in the body from the grave. This primitive conception, of which the belief in a subterranean world of the dead is an extension, long survived among various races, e.g. the Scandinavians, who believed in the barrow as the abiding place of the dead, while they also had their conception of Hel and Valhalla, or among the Slavs, side by side with Christian conceptions.[1167] It also survived among the Celts, though another belief in the _orbis alius_ had arisen. This can be shown from modern and ancient folk-belief and custom. In numerous Celtic folk-tales the dead rise in the body, not as ghosts, from the grave, which is sometimes described as a house in which they live. They perform their ordinary occupations in house or field; they eat with the living, or avenge themselves upon them; if scourged, blood is drawn from their bodies; and, in one curious Breton tale, a dead husband visits his wife in bed and she then has a child by him, because, as he said, "sa compte d'enfants" was not yet complete.[1168] In other stories a corpse becomes animated and speaks or acts in presence of the living, or from the tomb itself when it is disturbed.[1169] The earliest literary example of such a tale is the tenth century "Adventures of Nera," based on older sources. In this Nera goes to tie a withy to the foot of a man who has been hung. The corpse begs a drink, and then forces Nera to carry him to a house, where he kills two sleepers.[1170] All such stories, showing as they do that a corpse is really living, must in essence be of great antiquity. Another common belief, found over the Celtic area, is that the dead rise from the grave, not as ghosts, when they will, and that they appear _en masse_ on the night of All Saints, and join the living.[1171] As a result of such beliefs, various customs are found in use, apparently to permit of the corpse having freedom of movement, contrary to the older custom of preventing its egress from the grave. In the west of Ireland the feet of the corpse are left free, and the nails are drawn from the coffin at the grave. In the Hebrides the threads of the shroud are cut or the bindings of feet, hands, and face are raised when the body is placed in the coffin, and in Brittany the arms and feet are left free when the corpse is dressed.[1172] The reason is said to be that the spirit may have less trouble in getting to the spirit world, but it is obvious that a more material view preceded and still underlies this later gloss. Many stories are told illustrating these customs, and the earlier belief, Christianised, appears in the tale of a woman who haunted her friends because they had made her grave-clothes so short that the fires of Purgatory burnt her knees.[1173] Earlier customs recorded among the Celts also point to the existence of this primitive belief influencing actual custom. Nicander says that the Celts went by night to the tombs of great men to obtain oracles, so much did they believe that they were still living there.[1174] In Ireland, oracles were also sought by sleeping on funeral cairns, and it was to the grave of Fergus that two bards resorted in order to obtain from him the lost story of the _Táin_. We have also seen how, in Ireland, armed heroes exerted a sinister influence upon enemies from their graves, which may thus have been regarded as their homes--a belief also underlying the Welsh story of Bran's head. Where was the world of the dead situated? M. Reinach has shown, by a careful comparison of the different uses of the word _orbis_, that Lucan's words do not necessarily mean "another world," but "another region," i.e. of this world.[1175] If the Celts cherished so firmly the belief that the dead lived on in the grave, a belief in an underworld of the dead was bound in course of time to have been evolved as part of their creed. To it all graves and tumuli would give access. Classical observers apparently held that the Celtic future state was like their own in being an underworld region, since they speak of the dead Celts as _inferi_, or as going _ad Manes_, and Plutarch makes Camma speak of descending to her dead husband.[1176] What differentiated it from their own gloomy underworld was its exuberant life and immortality. This aspect of a subterranean land presented no difficulty to the Celt, who had many tales of an underworld or under-water region more beautiful and blissful than anything on earth. Such a subterranean world must have been that of the Celtic Dispater, a god of fertility and growth, the roots of things being nourished from his kingdom. From him men had descended,[1177] probably a myth of their coming forth from his subterranean kingdom, and to him they returned after death to a blissful life. Several writers, notably M. D'Arbois, assume that the _orbis alius_ of the dead was the Celtic island Elysium. But that Elysium _never_ appears in the tales as a land of the dead. It is a land of gods and deathless folk who are not those who have passed from this world by death. Mortals may reach it by favour, but only while still in life. It might be argued that Elysium was regarded in pagan times as the land of the dead, but after Christian eschatological views prevailed, it became a kind of fairyland. But the existing tales give no hint of this, and, after being carefully examined, they show that Elysium had always been a place distinct from that of the departed, though there may have arisen a tendency to confuse the two. If there was a genuine Celtic belief in an island of the dead, it could have been no more than a local one, else Cæsar would not have spoken as he does of the Celtic Dispater. Such a local belief now exists on the Breton coast, but it is mainly concerned with the souls of the drowned.[1178] A similar local belief may explain the story told by Procopius, who says that Brittia (Britain), an island lying off the mouth of the Rhine, is divided from north to south by a wall beyond which is a noxious region. This is a distorted reminiscence of the Roman wall, which would appear to run in this direction if Ptolemy's map, in which Scotland lies at right angles to England, had been consulted. Thither fishermen from the opposite coast are compelled to ferry over at dead of night the shades of the dead, unseen to them, but marshalled by a mysterious leader.[1179] Procopius may have mingled some local belief with the current tradition that Ulysses' island of the shades lay in the north, or in the west.[1180] In any case his story makes of the gloomy land of the shades a very different region from the blissful Elysium of the Celts and from their joyous _orbis alius_, nor is it certain that he is referring to a Celtic people. Traces of the idea of an underworld of the dead exist in Breton folk-belief. The dead must travel across a subterranean ocean, and though there is scarcely any tradition regarding what happens on landing, M. Sébillot thinks that formerly "there existed in the subterranean world a sort of centralisation of the different states of the dead." If so, this must have been founded on pagan belief. The interior of the earth is also believed to be the abode of fabulous beings, of giants, and of fantastic animals, and there is also a subterranean fairy world. In all this we may see a survival of the older belief, modified by Christian teaching, since the Bretons suppose that purgatory and hell are beneath the earth and accessible from its surface.[1181] Some British folk-lore brought to Greece by Demetrius and reported by Plutarch might seem to suggest that certain persons--the mighty dead--were privileged to pass to the island Elysium. Some islands near Britain were called after gods and heroes, and the inhabitants of one of these were regarded as sacrosanct by the Britons, like the priestesses of Sena. They were visited by Demetrius, who was told that the storms which arose during his visit were caused by the passing away of some of the "mighty" or of the "great souls." It may have been meant that such mighty ones passed to the more distant islands, but this is certainly not stated. In another island, Kronos was imprisoned, watched over by Briareus, and guarded by demons.[1182] Plutarch refers to these islands in another work, repeating the story of Kronos, and saying that his island is mild and fragrant, that people live there waiting on the god who sometimes appears to them and prevents their departing. Meanwhile they are happy and know no care, spending their time in sacrificing and hymn-singing or in studying legends and philosophy. Plutarch has obviously mingled Celtic Elysium beliefs with the classical conception of the Druids.[1183] In Elysium there is no care, and favoured mortals who pass there are generally prevented from returning to earth. The reference to Kronos may also be based partly on myths of Celtic gods of Elysium, partly on tales of heroes who departed to mysterious islands or to the hollow hills where they lie asleep, but whence they will one day return to benefit their people. So Arthur passed to Avalon, but in other tales he and his warriors are asleep beneath Craig-y-Ddinas, just as Fionn and his men rest within this or that hill in the Highlands. Similar legends are told of other Celtic heroes, and they witness to the belief that great men who had died would return in the hour of their people's need. In time they were thought not to have died at all, but to be merely sleeping and waiting for their hour.[1184] The belief is based on the idea that the dead are alive in grave or barrow, or in a spacious land below the earth, or that dead warriors can menace their foes from the tomb. Thus neither in old sagas, nor in _Märchen_, nor in popular tradition, is the island Elysium a world of the dead. For the most part the pagan eschatology has been merged in that of Christianity, while the Elysium belief has remained intact and still survives in a whole series of beautiful tales. The world of the dead was in all respects a _replica_ of this world, but it was happier. In existing Breton and Irish belief--a survival of the older conception of the bodily state of the dead--they resume their tools, crafts, and occupations, and they preserve their old feelings. Hence, when they appear on earth, it is in bodily form and in their customary dress. Like the pagan Gauls, the Breton remembers unpaid debts, and cannot rest till they are paid, and in Brittany, Ireland, and the Highlands the food and clothes given to the poor after a death, feed and clothe the dead in the other world.[1185] If the world of the dead was subterranean,--a theory supported by current folk-belief,[1186]--the Earth-goddess or the Earth-god, who had been first the earth itself, then a being living below its surface and causing fertility, could not have become the divinity of the dead until the multitude of single graves or barrows, in each of which the dead lived, had become a wide subterranean region of the dead. This divinity was the source of life and growth; hence he or she was regarded as the progenitor of mankind, who had come forth from the underworld and would return there at death. It is not impossible that the Breton conception of Ankou, death personified, is a reminiscence of the Celtic Dispater. He watches over all things beyond the grave, and carries off the dead to his kingdom. But if so he has been altered for the worse by mediæval ideas of "Death the skeleton".[1187] He is a grisly god of death, whereas the Celtic Dis was a beneficent god of the dead who enjoyed a happy immortality. They were not cold phantasms, but alive and endowed with corporeal form and able to enjoy the things of a better existence, and clad in the beautiful raiment and gaudy ornaments which were loved so much on earth. Hence Celtic warriors did not fear death, and suicide was extremely common, while Spanish Celts sang hymns in praise of death, and others celebrated the birth of men with mourning, but their deaths with joy.[1188] Lucan's words are thus the truest expression of Celtic eschatology--"In another region the spirit animates the members; death, if your lore be true, is but the passage to enduring life." There is no decisive evidence pointing to any theory of moral retribution beyond the grave among the pagan Celts. Perhaps, since the hope of immortality made warriors face death without a tremor, it may have been held, as many other races have believed, that cowards would miss the bliss of the future state. Again, in some of the Irish Christian visions of the other-world and in existing folk-belief, certain characteristics of hell may not be derived from Christian eschatology, e.g. the sufferings of the dead from cold.[1189] This might point to an old belief in a cold region whither some of the dead were banished. In the _Adventures of S. Columba's Clerics_, hell is reached by a bridge over a glen of fire,[1190] and a narrow bridge leading to the other world is a common feature in most mythologies. But here it may be borrowed from Scandinavian sources, or from such Christian writings as the _Dialogues_ of S. Gregory the Great.[1191] It might be contended that the Christian doctrine of hell has absorbed an earlier pagan theory of retribution, but of this there is now no trace in the sagas or in classical references to the Celtic belief in the future life. Nor is there any reference to a day of judgment, for the passage in which Loegaire speaks of the dead buried with their weapons till "the day of Erdathe," though glossed "the day of judgment of the Lord," does not refer to such a judgment.[1192] If an ethical blindness be attributed to the Celts for their apparent lack of any theory of retribution, it should be remembered that we must not judge a people's ethics wholly by their views of future punishment. Scandinavians, Greeks, and Semites up to a certain stage were as unethical as the Celts in this respect, and the Christian hell, as conceived by many theologians, is far from suggesting an ethical Deity. FOOTNOTES: [1154] Skene, i. 370. [1155] Cæsar, vi. 14, 19. [1156] Diod. Sic. v, 28. [1157] Val. Max. vi. 6. 10. [1158] _Phars._ i. 455 f. [1159] Amm. Marc. xv. 9; Strabo, iv. 4; Mela, iii. 2. [1160] Miss Hull, 275. [1161] Nutt-Meyer, i. 49; Miss Hull, 293. [1162] Larminie, 155; Hyde, _Beside the Fire_, 21, 153; _CM_ xiii. 21; Campbell, _WHT_, ii. 21; Le Braz{2}, i. p. xii. [1163] Von Sacken, _Das Grabfeld von Hallstatt_; Greenwell, _British Barrows_; _RC_ x. 234; _Antiquary_, xxxvii. 125; Blanchet, ii. 528 f.; Anderson, _Scotland in Pagan Times_. [1164] _L'Anthropologie_, vi. 586; Greenwell, _op. cit._ 119. [1165] Nutt-Meyer, i. 52; O'Donovan, _Annals_, i. 145, 180; _RC_ xv. 28. In one case the enemy disinter the body of the king of Connaught, and rebury it face downwards, and then obtain a victory. This nearly coincides with the dire results following the disinterment of Bran's head (O'Donovan, i. 145; cf. p. 242, _supra_). [1166] _LU_ 130_a_; _RC_ xxiv. 185; O'Curry, _MC_ i. p. cccxxx; Campbell, _WHT_ iii. 62; Leahy, i. 105. [1167] Vigfusson-Powell, _Corpus Poet. Boreale_, i. 167, 417-418, 420; and see my _Childhood of Fiction_, 103 f. [1168] Larminie, 31; Le Braz{2}, ii. 146, 159, 161, 184, 257 (the _rôle_ of the dead husband is usually taken by a _lutin_ or _follet_, Luzel, _Veillées Bretons_, 79); _Rev. des Trad. Pop._ ii. 267; _Ann. de Bretagne_, viii. 514. [1169] Le Braz{2}, i. 313. Cf. also an incident in the _Voyage of Maelduin_. [1170] _RC_ x. 214f. Cf. Kennedy, 162; Le Braz{2}, i. 217, for variants. [1171] Curtin, _Tales_, 156; see p. 170, _supra_. [1172] Curtin, _Tales_, 156; Campbell, _Superstitions_, 241; _Folk-Lore_, xiii. 60; Le Braz{2}, i. 213. [1173] _Folk-Lore_, ii. 26; Yeats, _Celtic Twilight_, 166. [1174] Tertullian, _de Anima_, 21. [1175] Reinach, _RC_ xxii. 447. [1176] Val. Max. vi. 6; Mela, iii. 2. 19; Plut. _Virt. mul_ 20. [1177] See p. 229, _supra_. [1178] Le Braz{2}, i. p. xxxix. This is only one out of many local beliefs (cf. Sébillot, ii. 149). [1179] Procop. _De Bello Goth._ vi. 20. [1180] Claudian, _In Rufin._ i. 123. [1181] Sébillot, i. 418 f. [1182] _de Defectu Orac._ 18. An occasional name for Britain in the _Mabinogion_ is "the island of the Mighty" (Loth, i. 69, _et passim_). To the storm incident and the passing of the mighty, there is a curious parallel in Fijian belief. A clap of thunder was explained as "the noise of a spirit, we being near the place in which spirits plunge to enter the other world, and a chief in the neighbourhood having just died" (Williams, _Fiji_, i. 204). [1183] _de Facie Lun[oe]_, 26. [1184] See Hartland, _Science of Fairy Tales_, 209; Macdougall, _Folk and Hero Tales_, 73, 263; Le Braz{2}, i. p. xxx. Mortals sometimes penetrated to the presence of these heroes, who awoke. If the visitor had the courage to tell them that the hour had not yet come, they fell asleep again, and he escaped. In Brittany, rocky clefts are believed to be the entrance to the world of the dead, like the cave of Lough Dearg. Similar stories were probably told of these in pagan times, though they are now adapted to Christian beliefs in purgatory or hell. [1185] Le Braz{2}, i. p. xl, ii. 4; Curtin, 10; MacPhail, _Folk-Lore_, vi. 170. [1186] See p. 338, _supra_, and Logan, _Scottish Gael_, ii. 374; _Folk-Lore,_ viii. 208, 253. [1187] Le Braz{2}, i. 96, 127, 136f., and Intro, xlv. [1188] Philostratus, _Apoll. of Tyana_, v. 4; Val. Max. ii. 6. 12. [1189] Le Braz{1}, ii. 91; Curtin, _Tales_, 146. The punishment of suffering from ice and snow appears in the _Apocalypse of Paul_ and in later Christian accounts of hell. [1190] _RC_ xxvi. 153. [1191] Bk. iv. ch. 36. [1192] _Erdathe_, according to D'Arbois, means (1) "the day in which the dead will resume his colour," from _dath_, "colour"; (2) "the agreeable day," from _data_, "agreeable" (D'Arbois, i. 185; cf. _Les Druides_, 135). CHAPTER XXIII. REBIRTH AND TRANSMIGRATION. In Irish sagas, rebirth is asserted only of divinities or heroes, and, probably because this belief was obnoxious to Christian scribes, while some MSS. tell of it in the case of certain heroic personages, in others these same heroes are said to have been born naturally. There is no textual evidence that it was attributed to ordinary mortals, and it is possible that, if classical observers did not misunderstand the Celtic doctrine of the future life, their references to rebirth may be based on mythical tales regarding gods or heroes. We shall study these tales as they are found in Irish texts. In the mythological cycle, as has been seen, Etain, in insect form, fell into a cup of wine. She was swallowed by Etar, and in due time was reborn as a child, who was eventually married by Eochaid Airem, but recognized and carried off by her divine spouse Mider. Etain, however, had quite forgotten her former existence as a goddess.[1193] In one version of Cúchulainn's birth story Dechtire and her women fly away as birds, but are discovered at last by her brother Conchobar in a strange house, where Dechtire gives birth to a child, of whom the god Lug is apparently the father. In another version the birds are not Dechtire and her women, for she accompanies Conchobar as his charioteer. They arrive at the house, the mistress of which gives birth to a child, which Dechtire brings up. It dies, and on her return from the burial Dechtire swallows a small animal when drinking. Lug appears to her by night, and tells her that he was the child, and that now she was with child by him (i.e. he was the animal swallowed by her). When he was born he would be called Setanta, who was later named Cúchulainn. Cúchulainn, in this version, is thus a rebirth of Lug, as well as his father.[1194] In the _Tale of the Two Swineherds_, Friuch and Rucht are herds of the gods Ochall and Bodb. They quarrel, and their fighting in various animal shapes is fully described. Finally they become two worms, which are swallowed by two cows; these then give birth to the Whitehorn and to the Black Bull of Cuailgne, the animals which were the cause of the _Táin._ The swineherds were probably themselves gods in the older versions of this tale.[1195] Other stories relate the rebirth of heroes. Conchobar is variously said to be son of Nessa by her husband Cathbad, or by her lover Fachtna. But in the latter version an incident is found which points to a third account. Nessa brings Cathbad a draught from a river, but in it are two worms which he forces her to swallow. She gives birth to a son, in each of whose hands is a worm, and he is called Conchobar, after the name of the river into which he fell soon after his birth. The incident closes with the words, "It was from these worms that she became pregnant, say some."[1196] Possibly the divinity of the river had taken the form of the worms and was reborn as Conchobar. We may compare the story of the birth of Conall Cernach. His mother was childless, until a Druid sang spells over a well in which she bathed, and drank of its waters. With the draught she swallowed a worm, "and the worm was in the hand of the boy as he lay in his mother's womb; and he pierced the hand and consumed it."[1197] The personality of Fionn is also connected with the rebirth idea. In one story, Mongan, a seventh-century king, had a dispute with his poet regarding the death of the hero Fothad. The Fian Caoilte returns from the dead to prove Mongan right, and he says, "We were with thee, with Fionn." Mongan bids him be silent, because he did not wish his identity with Fionn to be made known. "Mongan, however, was Fionn, though he would not let it be told."[1198] In another story Mongan is son of Manannan, who had prophesied of this event. Manannan appeared to the wife of Fiachna when he was fighting the Saxons, and told her that unless she yielded herself to him her husband would be slain. On hearing this she agreed, and next day the god appeared fighting with Fiachna's forces and routed the slain. "So that this Mongan is a son of Manannan mac Lir, though he is called Mongan son of Fiachna."[1199] In a third version Manannan makes the bargain with Fiachna, and in his form sleeps with the woman. Simultaneously with Mongan's birth, Fiachna's attendant had a son who became Mongan's servant, and a warrior's wife bears a daughter who became his wife. Manannan took Mongan to the Land of Promise and kept him there until he was sixteen.[1200] Many magical powers and the faculty of shape-shifting are attributed to Mongan, and in some stories he is brought into connection with the _síd_.[1201] Probably a myth told how he went to Elysium instead of dying, for he comes from "the Land of Living Heart" to speak with S. Columba, who took him to see heaven. But he would not satisfy the saints' curiosity regarding Elysium, and suddenly vanished, probably returning there.[1202] This twofold account of Mongan's birth is curious. Perhaps the idea that he was a rebirth of Fionn may have been suggested by the fact that his father was called Fiachna Finn, while it is probable that some old myth of a son of Manannan's called Mongan was attached to the personality of the historic Mongan. About the era of Mongan, King Diarmaid had two wives, one of whom was barren. S. Finnen gave her holy water to drink, and she brought forth a lamb; then, after a second draught, a trout, and finally, after a third, Aed Slane, who became high king of Ireland in 594. This is a Christianised version of the story of Conall Cernach's birth.[1203] In Welsh mythology the story of Taliesin affords an example of rebirth. After the transformation combat of the goddess Cerridwen and Gwion, resembling that of the swine-herds, Gwion becomes a grain of wheat, which Cerridwen in the form of a hen swallows, with the result that he is reborn of her as Taliesin.[1204] Most of these stories no longer exist in their primitive form, and various ideas are found in them--conception by magical means, divine descent through the _amour_ of a divinity and a mortal, and rebirth. As to the first, the help of magician or priest is often invoked in savage society and even in European folk-custom in case of barrenness. Prayers, charms, potions, or food are the means used to induce conception, but perhaps at one time these were thought to cause it of themselves. In many tales the swallowing of a seed, fruit, insect, etc., results in the birth of a hero or heroine, and it is probable that these stories embody actual belief in such a possibility. If the stories of Conall Cernach and Aed Slane are not attenuated instances of rebirth, say, of the divinity of a well, they are examples of this belief. The gift of fruitfulness is bestowed by Druid and saint, but in the story of Conall it is rather the swallowing of the worm than the Druid's incantation that causes conception, and is the real _motif_ of the tale. Where the rebirth of a divinity occurs as the result of the swallowing of a small animal, it is evident that the god has first taken this form. The Celt, believing in conception by swallowing some object, and in shape-shifting, combined his information, and so produced a third idea, that a god could take the form of a small animal, which, when swallowed, became his rebirth.[1205] If, as the visits of barren women to dolmens and megalithic monuments suggest, the Celts believed in the possibility of the spirit of a dead man entering a woman and being born of her or at least aiding conception,--a belief held by other races,[1206]--this may have given rise to myths regarding the rebirth of gods by human mothers. At all events this latter Celtic belief is paralleled by the American Indian myths, e.g. of the Thlinkeet god Yehl who transformed himself now into a pebble, now into a blade of grass, and, being thus swallowed by women, was reborn. In the stories of Etain and of Lud, reborn as Setanta, this idea of divine transformation and rebirth occurs. A similar idea may underlie the tale of Fionn and Mongan. As to the tales of Gwion and the Swineherds, the latter the servants of gods, and perhaps themselves regarded once as divinities, who in their rebirth as bulls are certainly divine animals, they present some features which require further consideration. The previous transformations in both cases belong to the Transformation Combat formula of many _Märchen_, and obviously were not part of the original form of the myths. In all such _Märchen_ the antagonists are males, hence the rebirth incident could not form part of them. In the Welsh tale of Gwion and in the corresponding Taliesin poem, the ingenious fusion of the _Märchen_ formula with an existing myth of rebirth must have taken place at an early date.[1207] This is also true of _The Two Swineherds_, but in this case, since the myth told how two gods took the form of worms and were reborn of cows, the formula had to be altered. Both remain alive at the end of the combat, contrary to the usual formula, because both were males and both were reborn. The fusion is skilful, because the reborn personages preserve a remembrance of their former transformations,[1208] just as Mongan knows of his former existence as Fionn. In other cases there is no such remembrance. Etain had forgotten her former existence, and Cúchulainn does not appear to know that he is a rebirth of Lug. The relation of Lug to Cúchulainn deserves further inquiry. While the god is reborn he is also existing as Lug, just as having been swallowed as a worm by Dechtire, he appears in his divine form and tells her he will be born of her. In the _Táin_ he appears fighting for Cúchulainn, whom he there calls his son. There are thus two aspects of the hero's relationship to Lug; in one he is a rebirth of the god, in the other he is his son, as indeed he seems to represent himself in _The Wooing of Emer_, and as he is called by Laborcham just before his death.[1209] In one of the birth-stories he is clearly Lug's son by Dechtire. But both versions may simply be different aspects of one belief, namely, that a god could be reborn as a mortal and yet continue his divine existence, because all birth is a kind of rebirth. The men of Ulster sought a wife for Cúchulainn, "knowing that his rebirth would be of himself," i.e. his son would be himself even while he continued to exist as his father. Examples of such a belief occur elsewhere, e.g. in the _Laws_ of Manu, where the husband is said to be reborn of his wife, and in ancient Egypt, where the gods were called "self-begotten," because each was father to the son who was his true image or himself. Likeness implied identity, in primitive belief. Thus the belief in mortal descent from the gods among the Celts may have involved the theory of a divine avatar. The god became father of a mortal by a woman, and part of himself passed over to the child, who was thus the god himself. Conchobar was also a rebirth of a god, but he was named from the river whence his mother had drawn water containing the worms which she swallowed. This may point to a lost version in which he was the son of a river-god by Nessa. This was quite in accordance with Celtic belief, as is shown by such names as Dubrogenos, from _dubron_, "water," and _genos_, "born of"; Divogenos, Divogena, "son or daughter of a god," possibly a river-god, since _deivos_ is a frequent river name; and Rhenogenus, "son of the Rhine."[1210] The persons who first bore these names were believed to have been begotten by divinities. Mongan's descent from Manannan, god of the sea, is made perfectly clear, and the Welsh name Morgen = _Morigenos_, "son of the sea," probably points to a similar tale now lost. Other Celtic names are frequently pregnant with meaning, and tell of a once-existing rich mythology of divine _amours_ with mortals. They show descent from deities--Camulogenus (son of Camulos), Esugenos (son of Esus), Boduogenus (son of Bodva); or from tree-spirits--Dergen (son of the oak), Vernogenus (son of the alder); or from divine animals--Arthgen (son of the bear), Urogenus (son of the urus).[1211] What was once an epithet describing divine filiation became later a personal name. So in Greece names like Apollogenes, Diogenes, and Hermogenes, had once been epithets of heroes born of Apollo, Zeus, and Hermes. Thus it was a vital Celtic belief that divinities might unite with mortals and beget children. Heroes enticed away to Elysium enjoyed the love of its goddesses--Cúchulainn that of Fand; Connla, Bran, and Oisin that of unnamed divinities. So, too, the goddess Morrigan offered herself to Cúchulainn. The Christian Celts of the fifth century retained this belief, though in a somewhat altered form. S. Augustine and others describe the shaggy demons called _dusii_ by the Gauls, who sought the couches of women in order to gratify their desires.[1212] The _dusii_ are akin to the _incubi_ and _fauni_, and do not appear to represent the higher gods reduced to the form of demons by Christianity, but rather a species of lesser divinities, once the object of popular devotion. These beliefs are also connected with the Celtic notions of transformation and transmigration--the one signifying the assuming of another shape for a time, the other the passing over of the soul or the personality into another body, perhaps one actually existing, but more usually by actual rebirth. As has been seen, this power of transformation was claimed by the Druids and by other persons, or attributed to them, and they were not likely to minimise their powers, and would probably boast of them on all occasions. Such boasts are put into the mouths of the Irish Amairgen and the Welsh Taliesin. As the Milesians were approaching Ireland, Amairgen sang verses which were perhaps part of a ritual chant: "I am the wind which blows over the sea, I am the wave of the ocean, I am the bull of seven battles, I am the eagle on the rock... I am a boar for courage, I am a salmon in the water, etc."[1213] Professor Rh[^y]s points out that some of these verses need not mean actual transformation, but mere likeness, through "a primitive formation of predicate without the aid of a particle corresponding to such a word as 'like.'"[1214] Enough, however, remains to show the claim of the magician. Taliesin, in many poems, makes similar claims, and says, "I have been in a multitude of shapes before I assumed a consistent form"--that of a sword, a tear, a star, an eagle, etc. Then he was created, without father or mother.[1215] Similar pretensions are common to the medicine-man everywhere. But from another point of view they may be mere poetic extravagances such as are common in Celtic poetry.[1216] Thus Cúchulainn says: "I was a hound strong for combat ... their little champion ... the casket of every secret for the maidens," or, in another place, "I am the bark buffeted from wave to wave ... the ship after the losing of its rudder ... the little apple on the top of the tree that little thought of its falling."[1217] These are metaphoric descriptions of a comparatively simple kind. The full-blown bombast appears in the _Colloquy of the Two Sages_, where Nede and Fercertne exhaust language in describing themselves to each other.[1218] Other Welsh bards besides Taliesin make similar boasts to his, and Dr. Skene thinks that their claims "may have been mere bombast."[1219] Still some current belief in shape-shifting, or even in rebirth, underlies some of these boastings and gives point to them. Amairgen's "I am" this or that, suggests the inherent power of transformation; Taliesin's "I have been," the actual transformations. Such assertions do not involve "the powerful pantheistic doctrine which is at once the glory and error of Irish philosophy," as M. D'Arbois claims,[1220] else are savage medicine-men, boastful of their shape-shifting powers, philosophic pantheists. The poems are merely highly developed forms of primitive beliefs in shape-shifting, such as are found among all savages and barbaric folk, but expressed in the boastful language in which the Celt delighted. How were the successive shape-shiftings effected? To answer this we shall first look at the story of Tuan Mac Caraill, who survived from the days of Partholan to those of S. Finnen. He was a decrepit man at the coming of Nemed, and one night, having lain down to sleep, he awoke as a stag, and lived in this form to old age. In the same way he became a boar, a hawk, and a salmon, which was caught and eaten by Cairell's wife, of whom he was born as Tuan, with a perfect recollection of his different forms.[1221] This story, the invention of a ninth or tenth century Christian scribe to account for the current knowledge of the many invasions of Ireland,[1222] must have been based on pagan myths of a similar kind, involving successive transformations and a final rebirth. Such a myth may have been told of Taliesin, recounting his transformations and his final rebirth, the former being replaced at a later time by the episode of the Transformation Combat, involving no great lapse of time. Such a series of successive shapes--of every beast, a dragon, a wolf, a stag, a salmon, a seal, a swan--were ascribed to Mongan and foretold by Manannan, and Mongan refers to some of them in his colloquy with S. Columba--"when I was a deer ... a salmon ... a seal ... a roving wolf ... a man."[1223] Perhaps the complete story was that of a fabulous hero in human form, who assumed different shapes, and was finally reborn. But the transformation of an old man, or an old animal, into new youthful and vigorous forms might be regarded as a kind of transmigration--an extension of the transformation idea, but involving no metempsychosis, no passing of the soul into another body by rebirth. Actual transmigration or rebirth occurs only at the end of the series, and, as in the case of Etain, Lug, etc., the pre-existent person is born of a woman after being swallowed by her. Possibly the transformation belief has reacted on the other, and obscured a belief in actual metempsychosis as a result of the soul of an ancestor passing into a woman and being reborn as her next child. Add to this that the soul is often thought of as a tiny animal, and we see how a _point d'appui_ for the more materialistic belief was afforded. The insect or worms of the rebirth stories may have been once forms of the soul. It is easy also to see how, a theory of conception by swallowing various objects being already in existence, it might be thought possible that eating a salmon--a transformed man--would cause his rebirth from the eater. The Celts may have had no consistent belief on this subject, the general idea of the future life being of a different kind. Or perhaps the various beliefs in transformation, transmigration, rebirth, and conception by unusual means, are too inextricably mingled to be separated. The nucleus of the tales seems to be the possibility of rebirth, and the belief that the soul was still clad in a bodily form after death and was itself a material thing. But otherwise some of them are not distinctively Celtic, and have been influenced by old _Märchen_ formulæ of successive changes adopted by or forced upon some person, who is finally reborn. This formulæ is already old in the fourteenth century B.C. Egyptian story of the _Two Brothers_. Such Celtic stories as these may have been known to classical authors, and have influenced their statements regarding eschatology. Yet it can hardly be said that the tales themselves bear witness to a general transmigration doctrine current among the Celts, since the stories concern divine or heroic personages. Still the belief may have had a certain currency among them, based on primitive theories of soul life. Evidence that it existed side by side with the more general doctrines of the future life may be found in old or existing folk-belief. In some cases the dead have an animal form, as in the _Voyage of Maelduin_, where birds on an island are said to be souls, or in the legend of S. Maelsuthain, whose pupils appear to him after death as birds.[1224] The bird form of the soul after death is still a current belief in the Hebrides. Butterflies in Ireland, and moths in Cornwall, and in France bats or butterflies, are believed to be souls of the dead.[1225] King Arthur is thought by Cornishmen to have died and to have been changed into the form of a raven, and in mediæval Wales souls of the wicked appear as ravens, in Brittany as black dogs, petrels, or hares, or serve their term of penitence as cows or bulls, or remain as crows till the day of judgment.[1226] Unbaptized infants become birds; drowned sailors appear as beasts or birds; and the souls of girls deceived by lovers haunt them as hares.[1227] These show that the idea of transmigration may not have been foreign to the Celtic mind, and it may have arisen from the idea that men assumed their totem animal's shape at death. Some tales of shape-shifting are probably due to totemism, and it is to be noted that in Kerry peasants will not eat hares because they contain the souls of their grandmothers.[1228] On the other hand, some of these survivals may mean no more than that the soul itself has already an animal form, in which it would naturally be seen after death. In Celtic folk-belief the soul is seen leaving the body in sleep as a bee, butterfly, gnat, mouse, or mannikin.[1229] Such a belief is found among most savage races, and might easily be mistaken for transmigration, or also assist the formation of the idea of transmigration. Though the folk-survivals show that transmigration was not necessarily alleged of all the dead, it may have been a sufficiently vital belief to colour the mythology, as we see from the existing tales, adulterated though these may have been. The general belief has its roots in primitive ideas regarding life and its propagation--ideas which some hold to be un-Celtic and un-Aryan. But Aryans were "primitive" at some period of their history, and it would be curious if, while still in a barbarous condition, they had forgotten their old beliefs. In any case, if they adopted similar beliefs from non-Aryan people, this points to no great superiority on their part. Such beliefs originated the idea of rebirth and transmigration.[1230] Nevertheless this was not a characteristically Celtic eschatological belief; that we find in the theory that the dead lived on in the body or assumed a body in another region, probably underground. FOOTNOTES: [1193] For textual details see Zimmer, _Zeit. für Vergl. Sprach._ xxviii. 585 f. The tale is obviously archaic. For a translation see Leahy, i. 8 f. [1194] _IT_ i. 134 f.; D'Arbois, v. 22. There is a suggestion in one of the versions of another story, in which Setanta is child of Conchobar and his sister Dechtire. [1195] _IT_ iii. 245; _RC_ xv. 465; Nutt-Meyer, ii. 69. [1196] Stowe MS. 992, _RC_ vi. 174; _IT_ ii. 210; D'Arbois, v. 3f. [1197] _IT_ iii. 393. Cf. the story of the wife of Cormac, who was barren till her mother gave her pottage. Then she had a daughter (_RC_ xxii. 18). [1198] Nutt-Meyer, i. 45 f., text and translation. [1199] Ibid. 42 f. [1200] Ibid. 58. The simultaneous birth formula occurs in many _Märchen_, though that of the future wife is not common. [1201] Nutt-Meyer, i. 52, 57, 85, 87. [1202] _ZCP_ ii. 316 f. Here Mongan comes directly from Elysium, as does Oisin before meeting S. Patrick. [1203] _IT_ iii. 345; O'Grady, ii. 88. Cf. Rees, 331. [1204] Guest, iii. 356 f.; see p. 116, _supra_. [1205] In some of the tales the small animal still exists independently after the birth, but this is probably not their primitive form. [1206] See my _Religion: Its Origin and Forms_, 76-77. [1207] Skene, i. 532. After relating various shapes in which he has been, the poet adds that he has been a grain which a hen received, and that he rested in her womb as a child. The reference in this early poem from a fourteenth century MS. shows that the fusion of the _Märchen_ formula with a myth of rebirth was already well known. See also Guest, iii. 362, for verses in which the transformations during the combat are exaggerated. [1208] Skene, i. 276, 532. [1209] Miss Hull, 67; D'Arbois, v. 331. [1210] For various forms of _geno_-, see Holder, i. 2002; Stokes, _US_ 110. [1211] For all these names see Holder, _s.v._ [1212] S. Aug. _de Civ. Dei_, xv. 23; Isidore, _Orat._ viii. 2. 103. _Dusios_ may be connected with Lithuanian _dvaese_, "spirit," and perhaps with [Greek: Thehos] (Holder, _s.v._). D'Arbois sees in the _dusii_ water-spirits, and compares river-names like Dhuys, Duseva, Dusius (vi. 182; _RC_ xix. 251). The word may be connected with Irish _duis_, glossed "noble" (Stokes, _TIG_ 76). The Bretons still believe in fairies called _duz_, and our word _dizzy_ may be connected with _dusios_, and would then have once signified the madness following on the _amour_, like Greek [Greek: nympholeptos], or "the inconvenience of their succubi," described by Kirk in his _Secret Commonwealth of the Elves_. [1213] _LL_ 12_b_; _TOS_ v. 234. [1214] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 549. [1215] Skene, i. 276, 309, etc. [1216] Sigerson, _Bards of the Gael_, 379. [1217] Miss Hull, 288; Hyde, _Lit. Hist. of Ireland_, 300. [1218] _RC_ xxvi. 21. [1219] Skene, ii. 506. [1220] D'Arbois, ii. 246, where he also derives Erigena's pantheism from Celtic beliefs, such as he supposes to be exemplified by these poems. [1221] _LU_ 15_a_; D'Arbois, ii. 47 f.; Nutt-Meyer, ii. 294 f. [1222] Another method of accounting for this knowledge was to imagine a long-lived personage like Fintan who survived for 5000 years. D'Arbois, ii. ch. 4. Here there was no transformation or rebirth. [1223] Nutt-Meyer, i. 24; _ZCP_ ii. 316. [1224] O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 78. [1225] Wood-Martin, _Pagan Ireland_, 140; _Choice Notes_, 61; Monnier, 143; Maury, 272. [1226] _Choice Notes_, 69; Rees, 92; Le Braz{2}, ii. 82, 86, 307; _Rev. des Trad. Pop._ xii. 394. [1227] Le Braz{2}, ii. 80; _Folk-lore Jour._ v. 189. [1228] _Folk-Lore_, iv. 352. [1229] Carmichael, _Carm. Gadel._ ii. 334; Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ 602; Le Braz{2}, i. 179, 191, 200. [1230] Mr. Nutt, _Voyage of Bran_, derived the origin of the rebirth conception from orgiastic cults. CHAPTER XXIV. ELYSIUM. The Celtic conception of Elysium, the product at once of religion, mythology, and romantic imagination, is found in a series of Irish and Welsh tales. We do not know that a similar conception existed among the continental Celts, but, considering the likeness of their beliefs in other matters to those of the insular Celts, there is a strong probability that it did. There are four typical presentations of the Elysium conception. In Ireland, while the gods were believed to have retired within the hills or _síd_, it is not unlikely that some of them had always been supposed to live in these or in a subterranean world, and it is therefore possible that what may be called the subterranean or _síd_ type of Elysium is old. But other types also appear--that of a western island Elysium, of a world below the waters, and of a world co-extensive with this and entered by a mist. The names of the Irish Elysium are sometimes of a general character--Mag Mór, "the Great Plain"; Mag Mell, "the Pleasant Plain"; Tír n'Aill, "the Other-world"; Tir na m-Beo, "the Land of the Living"; Tír na n-Og, "the Land of Youth"; and Tír Tairngiri, "the Land of Promise"--possibly of Christian origin. Local names are Tír fa Tonn, "Land under Waves"; I-Bresail and the Land of Falga, names of the island Elysium. The last denotes the Isle of Man as Elysium, and it may have been so regarded by Goidels in Britain at an early time.[1231] To this period may belong the tales of Cúchulainn's raid on Falga, carried at a later time to Ireland. Tír Tairngiri is also identified with the Isle of Man.[1232] A brief résumé of the principal Elysium tales is necessary as a preliminary to a discussion of the problems which they involve, though it can give but little idea of the beauty and romanticism of the tales themselves. These, if not actually composed in pagan times, are based upon story-germs current before the coming of Christianity to Ireland. 1. _The síd Elysium._--In the story of Etain, when Mider discovered her in her rebirth, he described the land whither he would carry her, its music and its fair people, its warm streams, its choice mead and wine. There is eternal youth, and love is blameless. It is within Mider's _síd_, and Etain accompanies him there. In the sequel King Eochaid's Druid discovers the _síd_, which is captured by the king, who then regains Etain.[1233] Other tales refer to the _síd_ in similar terms, and describe its treasures, its food and drink better than those of earth. It is in most respects similar to the island Elysium, save that it is localised on earth. 2. _The island Elysium._--The story of the voyage of Bran is found fragmentarily in the eleventh century _LU_, and complete in the fourteenth and sixteenth century MSS. It tells how Bran heard mysterious music when asleep. On waking he found a silver branch with blossoms, and next day there appeared a mysterious woman singing the glory of the land overseas, its music, its wonderful tree, its freedom from pain and death. It is one of thrice fifty islands to the west of Erin, and there she dwells with thousands of "motley women." Before she disappears the branch leaps into her hand. Bran set sail with his comrades and met Manannan crossing the sea in his chariot. The god told him that the sea was a flowery plain, Mag Mell, and that all around, unseen to Bran, were people playing and drinking "without sin." He bade him sail on to the Land of Women. Then the voyagers went on and reached the Isle of Joy, where one of their number remained behind. At last they came to the Land of Women, and we hear of their welcome, the dreamlike lapse of time, the food and drink which had for each the taste he desired. Finally the tale recounts their home-sickness, the warning they received not to set foot on Erin, how one of their number leaped ashore and turned to ashes, how Bran from his boat told of his wanderings and then disappeared for ever.[1234] Another story tells how Connla was visited by a goddess from Mag Mell. Her people dwell in a _síd_ and are called "men of the _síd_." She invites him to go to the immortal land, and departs, leaving him an apple, which supports him for a month without growing less. Then she reappears and tells Connla that "the Ever-Living Ones" desire him to join them. She bids him come with her to the Land of Joy where there are only women. He steps into her crystal boat and vanishes from his father and the Druid who has vainly tried to exercise his spells against her.[1235] In this tale there is a confusion between the _síd_ and the island Elysium. The eighteenth century poem of Oisin in Tír na n-Og is probably based on old legends, and describes how Niam, daughter of the king of Tír na n-Og, placed _geasa_ on Oisin to accompany her to that land of immortal youth and beauty. He mounted on her steed, which plunged forwards across the sea, and brought them to the land where Oisin spent three hundred years before returning to Ireland, and there suffering, as has been seen, from the breaking of the tabu not to set foot on the soil of Erin.[1236] In _Serglige Conculaind_, "Cúchulainn's Sickness," the goddess Fand, deserted by Manannan, offers herself to the hero if he will help her sister's husband Labraid against his enemies in Mag Mell. Labraid lives in an island frequented by troops of women, and possessing an inexhaustible vat of mead and trees with magic fruit. It is reached with marvellous speed in a boat of bronze. After a preliminary visit by his charioteer Laeg, Cúchulainn goes thither, vanquishes Labraid's foes, and remains a month with Fand. He returns to Ireland, and now we hear of the struggle for him between his wife Emer and Fand. But Manannan suddenly appears, reawakens Fand's love, and she departs with him. The god shakes his cloak between her and Cúchulainn to prevent their ever meeting again.[1237] In this story Labraid, Fand, and Liban, Fand's sister, though dwellers on an island Elysium, are called _síd_-folk. The two regions are partially confused, but not wholly, since Manannan is described as coming from his own land (Elysium) to woo Fand. Apparently Labraid of the Swift Hand on the Sword (who, though called "chief of the _síde_", is certainly a war-god) is at enmity with Manannan's hosts, and it is these with whom Cúchulainn has to fight.[1238] In an Ossianic tale several of the Fians were carried off to the Land of Promise. After many adventures, Fionn, Diarmaid, and others discover them, and threaten to destroy the land if they are not restored. Its king, Avarta, agrees to the restoration, and with fifteen of his men carries the Fians to Erin on one horse. Having reached there, he bids them look at a certain field, and while they are doing so, he and his men disappear.[1239] 3. _Land under Waves._--Fiachna, of the men of the _síd_, appeared to the men of Connaught, and begged their help against Goll, who had abducted his wife. Loegaire and his men dive with Fiachna into Loch Naneane, and reach a wonderful land, with marvellous music and where the rain is ale. They and the _síd_-folk attack the fort of Mag Mell and defeat Goll. Each then obtains a woman of the _síde_, but at the end of a year they become homesick. They are warned not to descend from horseback in Erin. Arrived among their own people, they describe the marvels of Tír fa Tonn, and then return there, and are no more seen.[1240] Here, again, the _síd_ Elysium and Land under Waves are confused, and the divine tribes are at war, as in the story of Cúchulainn. In a section of the Ossianic tale just cited, Fionn and his men arrive on an island, where Diarmaid reaches a beautiful country at the bottom of a well. This is Tír fa Tonn, and Diarmaid fights its king who has usurped his nephew's inheritance, and thus recovers it for him.[1241] 4. _Co-extensive with this world._--An early example of this type is found in the _Adventures of Cormac_. A divine visitant appeared to Cormac and gave him in exchange for his wife, son, and daughter, his branch of golden apples, which when shaken produced sweetest music, dispelling sorrow. After a year Cormac set out to seek his family, and as he journeyed encountered a mist in which he discovered a strange house. Its master and mistress--Manannan and his consort--offered him shelter. The god brought in a pig, every quarter of which was cooked in the telling of a true tale, the pig afterwards coming to life again. Cormac, in his tale, described how he had lost his family, whereupon Manannan made him sleep, and brought his wife and children in. Later he produced a cup which broke when a lie was told, but became whole again when a true word was spoken. The god said Cormac's wife had now a new husband, and the cup broke, but was restored when the goddess declared this to be a lie. Next morning all had disappeared, and Cormac and his family found themselves in his own palace, with cup and branch by their side.[1242] Similarly, in _The Champion's Ecstasy_, a mysterious horseman appears out of a mist to Conn and leads him to a palace, where he reveals himself as the god Lug, and where there is a woman called "the Sovereignty of Erin." Beside the palace is a golden tree.[1243] In the story of Bran, Mag Mell is said to be all around the hero, though he knows it not--an analogous conception to what is found in these tales, and another instance is that of the mysterious house entered by Conchobar and Dechtire.[1244] Mag Mell may thus have been regarded as a mysterious district of Erin. This magic mist enclosing a marvellous dwelling occurs in many other tales, and it was in a mist that the Tuatha Déa came to Ireland. A certain correspondence to these Irish beliefs is found in Brythonic story, but here the Elysium conception has been influenced by Christian ideas. Elysium is called _Annwfn_, meaning "an abyss," "the state of the dead," "hell," and it is also conceived of as _is elfydd_, "beneath the earth."[1245] But in the tales it bears no likeness to these meanings of the word, save in so far as it has been confused by their Christian redactors with hell. It is a region on the earth's surface or an over-or under-sea world, in which some of the characteristics of the Irish Elysium are found--a cauldron, a well of drink sweeter than wine, and animals greatly desired by mortals, while it is of great beauty and its people are not subject to death or disease. Hence the name _Annwfn_ has probably taken the place of some earlier pagan title of Elysium. In the tale of Pwyll, the earliest reference to _Annwfn_ occurs. It is ruled by Arawn, at war with Hafgan. Arawn obtains the help of Pwyll by exchanging kingdoms with him for a year, and Pwyll defeats Hafgan. It is a beautiful land, where merriment and feasting go on continuously, and its queen is of great loveliness. It has no subterranean character, and is conceived apparently as contiguous to Pwyll's kingdom.[1246] In other tales it is the land whence Gwydion and others obtain various animals.[1247] The later folk-conception of the demoniac dogs of Annwfn may be based on an old myth of dogs with which its king hunted. These are referred to in the story of Pwyll.[1248] _Annwfn_ is also the name of a land under waves or over sea, called also _Caer Sidi_, "the revolving castle," about which "are ocean's streams." It is "known to Manawyddan and Pryderi," just as the Irish Elysium was ruled by Manannan.[1249] Another "Caer of Defence" is beneath the waves.[1250] Perhaps the two ideas were interchangeable. The people of this land are free from death and disease, and in it is "an abundant well, sweeter than white wine the drink in it." There also is a cauldron belonging to the lord of Annwfn, which was stolen by Arthur and his men. Such a cauldron is the property of people belonging to a water world in the _Mabinogion_.[1251] The description of the isle of Avallon (later identified with Glastonbury), whither Arthur was carried, completes the likeness to the Irish Elysium. No tempest, excess of heat or cold, nor noxious animal afflicts it; it is blessed with eternal spring and with fruit and flowers growing without labour; it is the land of eternal youth, unvisited by death or disease. It has a _regia virgo_ lovelier than her lovely attendants; she cured Arthur of his wounds, hence she is the Morgen of other tales, and she and her maidens may be identified with the divine women of the Irish isle of women. Morgen is called a _dea phantastica_, and she may be compared with Liban, who cured Cúchulainn of his sickness.[1252] The identification of Avallon with Glastonbury is probably post-pagan, and the names applied to Glastonbury--Avallon, _Insula Pomonum_, _Insula vitrea_--may be primitive names of Elysium. William of Malmesbury derives _Insula Pomonum_ in its application to Glastonbury from a native name _Insula Avallonioe_, which he connects with the Brythonic _avalla_, "apples," because Glastenig found an apple tree there.[1253] The name may thus have been connected with marvellous apple trees, like those of the Irish Elysium. But he also suggests that it may be derived from the name of Avalloc, living there with his daughters. Avalloc is evidently the "Rex Avallon" (Avallach) to whose palace Arthur was carried and healed by the _regia virgo_.[1254] He may therefore have been a mythic lord of Elysium, and his daughters would correspond to the maidens of the isle. William also derives "Glastonbury" from the name of an eponymous founder Glastenig, or from its native name _Ynesuuitron_, "Glass Island." This name reappears in Chretien's _Eric_ in the form "l'isle de verre." Giraldus explains the name from the glassy waters around Glastonbury, but it may be an early name of Elysium.[1255] Glass must have appealed to the imagination of Celt, Teuton, and Slav, for we hear of Merlin's glass house, a glass fort discovered by Arthur, a glass tower attacked by the Milesians, Etain's glass _grianan_, and a boat of glass which conveyed Connla to Elysium. In Teutonic and Slavonic myth and _Märchen_, glass mountains, on which dwell mysterious personages, frequently occur. The origin of the Celtic Elysium belief may be found in universal myths of a golden age long ago in some distant Elysian region, where men had lived with the gods. Into that region brave mortals might still penetrate, though it was lost to mankind as a whole. In some mythologies this Elysium is the land whither men go after death. Possibly the Celtic myth of man's early intercourse with the gods in a lost region took two forms. In one it was a joyful subterranean region whither the Celt hoped to go after death. In the other it was not recoverable, nor was it the land of the dead, but favoured mortals might reach it in life. The Celtic Elysium belief, as known through the tales just cited, is always of this second kind. We surmise, however, that the land of the dead was a joyous underworld ruled over by a god of fertility and of the dead, and from that region men had originally come forth. The later association of gods with the _síd_ was a continuation of this belief, but now the _síd_ are certainly not a land of the dead, but Elysium pure and simple. There must therefore have been at an early period a tendency to distinguish between the happy region of the dead, and the distant Elysium, if the two were ever really connected. The subject is obscure, but it is not impossible that another origin of the Elysium idea may be found in the phenomenon of the setting sun: it suggested to the continental Celts that far off there was a divine land where the sun-god rested. When the Celts reached the coast this divine western land would necessarily be located in a far-off island, seen perhaps on the horizon. Hence it would also be regarded as connected with the sea-god, Manannan, or by whatsoever name he was called. The distant Elysium, whether on land or across the sea, was conceived in identical terms, and hence also whenever the hollow hills or _síd_ were regarded as an abode of the gods, they also were described just as Elysium was. The idea of a world under the waters is common to many mythologies, and, generally speaking, it originated in the animistic belief that every part of nature has its indwelling spirits. Hence the spirits or gods of the waters were thought of as dwelling below the waters. Tales of supernatural beings appearing out of the waters, the custom of throwing offerings therein, the belief that human beings were carried below the surface or could live in the region beneath the waves, are all connected with this animistic idea. Among the Celts this water-world assumed many aspects of Elysium, and it has names in common with it, e.g. it is called Mag Mell. Hence in many popular tales it is hardly differentiated from the island Elysium; oversea and under-waves are often synonymous. Hence, too, the belief that such water-worlds as I-Bresail, or Welsh fairy-lands, or sunken cities off the Breton coast, rise periodically to the surface, and would remain there permanently, like an island Elysium, if some mortal would fulfil certain conditions.[1256] The Celtic belief in Tír fa Tonn is closely connected with the current belief in submerged towns or lands, found in greatest detail on the Breton coast. Here there are many such legends, but most prominent are those which tell how the town of Is was submerged because of the wickedness of its people, or of Dahut, its king's daughter, who sometimes still seeks the love of mortals. It is occasionally seen below the waves or even on their surface.[1257] Elsewhere in Celtic regions similar legends are found, and the submersion is the result of a curse, of the breaking of a tabu, or of neglect to cover a sacred well.[1258] Probably the tradition of actual cataclysms or inroads of the sea, such as the Celts encountered on the coasts of Holland, may account for some of these legends, which then mingled with myths of the divine water-world. The idea that Elysium is co-extensive with this world and hidden in a mist is perhaps connected with the belief in the magical powers of the gods. As the Druids could raise a mist at will, so too might the gods, who then created a temporary Elysium in it. From such a mist, usually on a hill, supernatural beings often emerged to meet mortals, and in _Märchen_ fairyland is sometimes found within a mist.[1259] It was already believed that part of the gods' land was not far off; it was invisibly on or within the hills on whose slopes men saw the mist swirling mysteriously. Hence the mist may simply have concealed the _síd_ of the gods. But there may also have been a belief that this world was actually interpenetrated by the divine world, for this is believed of fairyland in Welsh and Irish folk-lore. Men may unwittingly interfere with it, or have it suddenly revealed to them, or be carried into it and made invisible.[1260] In most of the tales Elysium is a land without grief or death, where there is immortal youth and peace, and every kind of delight. But in some, while the sensuous delights are still the same, the inhabitants are at war, invite the aid of mortals to overcome their foes, and are even slain in fight. Still in both groups Elysium is a land of gods and supernatural folk whither mortals are invited by favour. It is never the world of the dead; its people are not mortals who have died and gone thither. The two conceptions of Elysium as a land of peace and deathlessness, and as a land where war and death may occur, may both be primitive. The latter may have been formed by reflecting back on the divine world the actions of the world of mortals, and it would also be on a parallel with the conception of the world of the dead where warriors perhaps still fought, since they were buried with their weapons. There were also myths of gods warring with each other. But men may also have felt that the gods were not as themselves, that their land must be one of peace and deathlessness. Hence the idea of the peaceful Elysium, which perhaps found most favour with the people. Mr. Nutt thought that the idea of a warlike Elysium may have resulted from Scandinavian influence acting on existing tales of a peaceful Elysium,[1261] but we know that old myths of divine wars already existed. Perhaps this conception arose among the Celts as a warlike people, appealing to their warrior instincts, while the peaceful Elysium may have been the product of the Celts as an agricultural folk, for we have seen that the Celt was now a fighter, now a farmer. In its peaceful aspect Elysium is "a familiar, cultivated land," where the fruits of the earth are produced without labour, and where there are no storms or excess of heat or cold--the fancies which would appeal to a toiling, agricultural people. There food is produced magically, yet naturally, and in agricultural ritual men sought to increase their food supply magically. In the tales this process is, so to speak, heightened.[1262] Some writers have maintained that Elysium is simply the land of the dead, although nothing in the existing tales justifies this interpretation. M. D'Arbois argues for this view, resting his theory mainly on a passage in the story of Connla, interpreted by him in a way which does not give its real meaning.[1263] The words are spoken by the goddess to Connla, and their sense is--"The Ever-Living Ones invite thee. Thou art a champion to Tethra's people. They see thee every day in the assemblies of thy fatherland, among thy familiar loved ones."[1264] M. D'Arbois assumes that Tethra, a Fomorian, is lord of Elysium, and that after his defeat by the Tuatha Déa, he, like Kronos, took refuge there, and now reigns as lord of the dead. By translating _ar-dot-chiat_ ("they see thee," 3rd plur., pres. ind.) as "on t'y verra," he maintains that Connla, by going to Elysium, will be seen among the gatherings of his dead kinsfolk. But the words, "Thou art a champion to Tethra's people," cannot be made to mean that Tethra is a god of the dead. It means simply that Connla is a mighty warrior, one of those whom Tethra, a war-god, would have approved. The phrase, "Tethra's mighty men," used elsewhere,[1265] is a conventional one for warriors. The rest of the goddess's words imply that the Immortals from afar, or perhaps "Tethra's mighty men," i.e. warriors in this world, see Connla in the assemblies of his fatherland in Erin, among his familiar friends. Dread death awaits _them_, she has just said, but the Immortals desire Connla to escape that by coming to Elysium. Her words do not imply that he will meet his dead ancestors there, nor is she in any sense a goddess of death. If the dead went to Elysium, there would be little need for inviting a living person to go there. Had Connla's dead ancestors or Tethra's people (warriors) been in Elysium, this would contradict the picture drawn by the goddess of the land whither she desires him to go--a land of women, not of men. Moreover, the rulers of Elysium are always members of the Tuatha Dé Danann or the _síd_-folk, never a Fomorian like Tethra.[1266] M. D'Arbois also assumes that "Spain" in Nennius' account of the Irish invasions and in Irish texts means the land of the dead, and that it was introduced in place of some such title as Mag Mór or Mag Mell by "the euhemerising process of the Irish Christians." But in other documents penned by Irish Christians these and other pagan titles of Elysium remain unchanged. Nor is there the slightest proof that the words used by Tuan MacCaraill about the invaders of Ireland, "They all died," were rendered in an original text, now lost according to M. D'Arbois, "They set sail for Mag Mór or Mag Mell," a formula in which Nennius saw indications of a return to Spain.[1267] Spain, in this hypothetical text, was the Land of the Dead or Elysium, whence the invaders came. This "lost original" exists in M. D'Arbois imagination, and there is not the slightest evidence for these alterations. Once, indeed, Tailtiu is called daughter of Magh Mór, King of Spain, but here a person, not a place, is spoken of.[1268] Sir John Rh[^y]s accepts the identification of Spain with Elysium as the land of the dead, and finds in every reference to Spain a reference to the Other-world, which he regards as a region ruled by "dark divinities." But neither the lords of Elysium nor the Celtic Dispater were dark or gloomy deities, and the land of the dead was certainly not a land of darkness any more than Elysium. The numerous references to Spain probably point to old traditions regarding a connection between Spain and Ireland in early times, both commercial and social, and it is not impossible that Goidelic invaders did reach Ireland from Spain.[1269] Early maps and geographers make Ireland and Spain contiguous; hence in an Irish tale Ireland is visible from Spain, and this geographical error would strengthen existing traditions.[1270] "Spain" was used vaguely, but it does not appear to have meant Elysium or the Land of the Dead. If it did, it is strange that the Tuatha Dé Danann are never brought into connection with it. One of the most marked characteristics of the Celtic Elysium is its deathlessness. It is "the land of the living" or of "the Ever-Living Ones," and of eternal youth. Most primitive races believe that death is an accident befalling men who are naturally immortal; hence freedom from such an accident naturally characterises the people of the divine land. But, as in other mythologies, that immortality is more or less dependent on the eating or drinking of some food or drink of immortality. Manannan had immortal swine, which, killed one day, came alive next day, and with their flesh he made the Tuatha Dé Danann immortal. Immortality was also conferred by the drinking of Goibniu's ale, which, either by itself or with the flesh of swine, formed his immortal feast. The food of Elysium was inexhaustible, and whoever ate it found it to possess that taste which he preferred. The fruit of certain trees in Elysium was also believed to confer immortality and other qualities. Laeg saw one hundred and fifty trees growing in Mag Mell; their nuts fed three hundred people. The apple given by the goddess to Connla was inexhaustible, and he was still eating it with her when Teigue, son of Cian, visited Elysium. "When once they had partaken of it, nor age nor dimness could affect them."[1271] Apples, crimson nuts, and rowan berries are specifically said to be the food of the gods in the tale of _Diarmaid and Grainne_. Through carelessness one of the berries was dropped on earth, and from it grew a tree, the berries of which had the effect of wine or mead, and three of them eaten by a man of a hundred years made him youthful. It was guarded by a giant.[1272] A similar tree growing on earth--a rowan guarded by a dragon, is found in the tale of Fraoch, who was bidden to bring a branch of it to Ailill. Its berries had the virtue of nine meals; they healed the wounded, and added a year to a man's life.[1273] At the wells which were the source of Irish rivers were supposed to grow hazel-trees with crimson nuts, which fell into the water and were eaten by salmon.[1274] If these were caught and eaten, the eater obtained wisdom and knowledge. These wells were in Erin, but in some instances the well with its hazels and salmon is in the Other-world,[1275] and it is obvious that the crimson nuts are the same as the food of the gods in _Diarmaid and Grainne_. Why should immortality be dependent on the eating of certain foods? Most of man's irrational ideas have some reason in them, and probably man's knowledge that without food life would come to an end, joined to his idea of deathlessness, led him to believe that there was a certain food which produced immortality just as ordinary food supported life. On it gods and deathless beings were fed. Similarly, as water cleansed and invigorated, it was thought that some special kind of water had these powers in a marvellous degree. Hence arose the tales of the Fountain of Youth and the belief in healing wells. From the knowledge of the nourishing power of food, sprang the idea that some food conferred the qualities inherent in it, e.g. the flesh of divine animals eaten sacramentally, and that gods obtained their immortality from eating or drinking. This idea is widespread. The Babylonian gods had food and water of Life; Egyptian myth spoke of the bread and beer of eternity which nourished the gods; the Hindus and Iranians knew of the divine _soma_ or _haoma_; and in Scandinavian myth the gods renewed their youth by tasting Iduna's golden apples. In Celtic Elysium tales, the fruit of a tree is most usually the food of immortality. The fruit never diminishes and always satisfies, and it is the food of the gods. When eaten by mortals it confers immortality upon them; in other words, it makes them of like nature to the gods, and this is doubtless derived from the widespread idea that the eating of food given by a stranger makes a man of one kin with him. Hence to eat the food of gods, fairies, or of the dead, binds the mortal to them and he cannot leave their land. This might be illustrated from a wide range of myth and folk-belief. When Connla ate the apple he at once desired to go to Elysium, and he could not leave it once he was there; he had become akin to its people. In the stories of Bran and Oisin, they are not said to have eaten such fruit, but the primitive form of the tales may have contained this incident, and this would explain why they could not set foot on earth unscathed, and why Bran and his followers, or, in the tale of Fiachna, Loegaire and his men who had drunk the ale of Elysium, returned thither. In other tales, it is true, those who eat food in Elysium can return to earth--Cormac and Cúchulainn; but had we the primitive form of these tales we should probably find that they had refrained from eating. The incident of the fruit given by an immortal to a mortal may have borrowed something from the wide folk-custom of the presentation of an apple as a gage of love or as a part of the marriage rite.[1276] Its acceptance denotes willingness to enter upon betrothal or marriage. But as in the Roman rite of _confarreatio_ with its savage parallels, the underlying idea is probably that which has just been considered, namely, that the giving and acceptance of food produces the bond of kinship. As various nuts and fruits were prized in Ireland as food, and were perhaps used in some cases to produce an intoxicant,[1277] it is evident that the trees of Elysium were, primarily, a magnified form of earthly trees. But all such trees were doubtless objects of a cult before their produce was generally eaten; they were first sacred or totem-trees, and their food eaten only occasionally and sacramentally. If so, this would explain why they grew in Elysium and their fruit was the food of the gods. For whatever man eats or drinks is generally supposed to have been first eaten and drunk by the gods, like the _soma_. But, growing in Elysium, these trees, like the trees of most myths of Elysium, are far more marvellous than any known on earth. They have branches of silver and golden apples; they have magical supplies of fruit, they produce wonderful music which sometimes causes sleep or oblivion; and birds perch in their branches and warble melody "such that the sick would sleep to it." It should be noted also that, as Miss Hull points out, in some tales the branch of a divine tree becomes a talisman leading the mortal to Elysium; in this resembling the golden bough plucked by Æneas before visiting the underworld.[1278] This, however, is not the fundamental characteristic of the tree, in Irish story. Possibly, as Mr. A.B. Cook maintains, the branch giving entrance to Elysium is derived from the branch borne by early Celtic kings of the wood, while the tree is an imaginative form of those which incarnated a vegetation spirit.[1279] Be this as it may, it is rather the fruit eaten by the mortal which binds him to the Immortal Land. The inhabitants of Elysium are not only immortal, but also invisible at will. They make themselves visible to one person only out of many present with him. Connla alone sees the goddess, invisible to his father and the Druid. Mananuan is visible to Bran, but there are many near the hero whom he does not see; and when the same god comes to Fand, he is invisible to Cúchulainn and those with him. So Mider says to Etain, "We behold, and are not beheld."[1280] Occasionally, too, the people of Elysium have the power of shape-shifting--Fand and Liban appear to Cúchulainn as birds. The hazel of knowledge connects wisdom with the gods' world, and in Celtic belief generally civilisation and culture were supposed to have come from the gods. The things of their land were coveted by men, and often stolen thence by them. In Welsh and Irish tales, often with reference to the Other-world, a magical cauldron has a prominent place. Dagda possessed such a cauldron and it was inexhaustible, and a vat of inexhaustible mead is described in the story of _Cúchulain's Sickness_. Whatever was put into such cauldrons satisfied all, no matter how numerous they might be.[1281] Cúchulainn obtained one from the daughter of the king of Scath, and also carried off the king's three cows.[1282] In an analogous story, he stole from Cúroi, by the connivance of his wife Bláthnat, her father Mider's cauldron, three cows, and the woman herself. But in another version Cúchulainn and Cúroi go to Mider's stronghold in the Isle of Falga (Elysium), and steal cauldron, cows, and Bláthnat. These were taken from Cúchulainn by Cúroi; hence his revenge as in the previous tale.[1283] Thus the theft was from Elysium. In the Welsh poem "The Spoils of Annwfn," Arthur stole a cauldron from Annwfn. Its rim was encrusted with pearls, voices issued from it, it was kept boiling by the breath of nine maidens, and it would not boil a coward's food.[1284] As has been seen from the story of Gwion, he was set to watch a cauldron which must boil until it yielded "three drops of the grace of inspiration." It belonged to Tegid Voel and Cerridwen, divine rulers of a Land under the Waters.[1285] In the _Mabinogi_ of Branwen, her brother Bran received a cauldron from two beings, a man and a huge woman, who came from a lake. This cauldron was given by him to the king of Erin, and it had the property of restoring to life the slain who were placed in it.[1286] The three properties of the cauldron--inexhaustibility, inspiration, and regeneration--may be summed up in one word, fertility; and it is significant that the god with whom such a cauldron was associated, Dagda, was a god of fertility. But we have just seen it associated, directly or indirectly, with goddesses--Cerridwen, Branwen, the woman from the lake--and perhaps this may point to an earlier cult of goddesses of fertility, later transferred to gods. In this light the cauldron's power of restoring to life is significant, since in early belief life is associated with what is feminine. Woman as the fruitful mother suggested that the Earth, which produced and nourished, was also female. Hence arose the cult of the Earth-mother who was often also a goddess of love as well as of fertility. Cerridwen, in all probability, was a goddess of fertility, and Branwen a goddess of love.[1287] The cult of fertility was usually associated with orgiastic and indiscriminate love-making, and it is not impossible that the cauldron, like the Hindu _yoni_, was a symbol of fertility.[1288] Again, the slaughter and cooking of animals was usually regarded as a sacred act in primitive life. The animals were cooked in enormous cauldrons, which were found as an invariable part of the furniture of every Celtic house.[1289] The quantities of meat which they contained may have suggested inexhaustibility to people to whom the cauldron was already a symbol of fertility. Thus the symbolic cauldron of a fertility cult was merged with the cauldron used in the religious slaughter and cooking of animal food. The cauldron was also used in ritual. The Cimri slaughtered human victims over a cauldron and filled it with their blood; victims sacrificed to Teutates were suffocated in a vat (_semicupium_); and in Ireland "a cauldron of truth" was used in the ordeal of boiling water.[1290] Like the food of men which was regarded as the food of the gods, the cauldron of this world became the marvellous cauldron of the Other-world, and as it then became necessary to explain the origin of such cauldrons on earth, myths arose, telling how they had been stolen from the divine land by adventurous heroes, Cúchulainn, Arthur, etc. In other instances, the cauldron is replaced by a magic vessel or cup stolen from supernatural beings by heroes of the Fionn saga or of _Märchen_.[1291] Here, too, it may be noted that the Graal of Arthurian romance has affinities with the Celtic cauldron. In the _Conte du Graal_ of pseudo-Chrétien, a cup comes in of itself and serves all present with food. This is a simple conception of the Graal, but in other poems its magical and sacrosanct character is heightened. It supplies the food which the eater prefers, it gives immortal youth and immunity from wounds. In these respects it presents an unmistakable likeness to the cauldron of Celtic myth. But, again, it was the vessel in which Christ had instituted the Blessed Sacrament; it contained His Blood; and it had been given by our Lord to Joseph of Arimathea. Thus in the Graal there was a fusion of the magic cauldron of Celtic paganism and the Sacred Chalice of Christianity, with the product made mystic and glorious in a most wonderful manner. The story of the Graal became immensely popular, and, deepening in ethical, mystical, and romantic import as time went on, was taken up by one poet after another, who "used it as a type of the loftiest goal of man's effort."[1292] In other ways myth told how the gifts of civilisation came from the gods' world. When man came to domesticate animals, it was believed in course of time that the knowledge of domestication or, more usually, the animals themselves had come from the gods, only, in this case, the animals were of a magical, supernatural kind. Such a belief underlies the stories in which Cúchulainn steals cows from their divine owners. In other instances, heroes who obtain a wife from the _síd_-folk, obtain also cattle from the _síd_.[1293] As has been seen the swine given to Pryderi by Arawn, king of Annwfn, and hitherto unknown to man, are stolen from him by Gwydion, Pryderi being son of Pwyll, a temporary king of Annwfn, and in all probability both were lords of Elysium. The theft, in the original form of the myth, must thus have been from Elysium, though we have a hint in "The Spoils of Annwfn" that Gwydion (Gweir) was unsuccessful and was imprisoned in Annwfn, to which imprisonment the later blending of Annwfn with hell gave a doleful aspect.[1294] In a late Welsh MS., a white roebuck and a puppy (or, in the _Triads_, a bitch, a roebuck, and a lapwing) were stolen by Amæthon from Annwfn, and the story presents archaic features.[1295] In some of these tales the animals are transferred to earth by a divine or semi-divine being, in whom we may see an early Celtic culture-hero. The tales are attenuated forms of older myths which showed how all domestic animals were at first the property of the gods, and an echo of these is still heard in _Märchen_ describing the theft of cattle from fairyland. In the most primitive form of the tales the theft was doubtless from the underworld of gods of fertility, the place whither the dead went. But with the rise of myths telling of a distant Elysium, it was inevitable that some tales should connect the animals and the theft with that far-off land. So far as the Irish and Welsh tales are concerned, the thefts seem mainly to be from Elysium.[1296] Love-making has a large place in the Elysium tales. Goddesses seek the love of mortals, and the mortal desires to visit Elysium because of their enticements. But the love-making of Elysium is "without sin, without crime," and this phrase may perhaps suggest the existence of ritual sex-unions at stated times for magical influence upon the fertility of the earth, these unions not being regarded as immoral, even when they trespassed on customary tribal law. In some of the stories Elysium is composed of many islands, one of which is the "island of women."[1297] These women and their queen give their favours to Bran and his men or to Maelduin and his company. Similar "islands of women" occur in _Märchen_, still current among Celtic peoples, and actual islands were or still are called by that name--Eigg and Groagez off the Breton coast.[1298] Similar islands of women are known to Chinese, Japanese, and Ainu folk-lore, to Greek mythology (Circe's and Calypso's islands), and to ancient Egyptian conceptions of the future life.[1299] They were also known elsewhere,[1300] and we may therefore assume that in describing such an island as part of Elysium, the Celts were using something common to universal folk-belief. But it may also owe something to actual custom, to the memory of a time when women performed their rites in seclusion, a seclusion perhaps recalled in the references to the mysterious nature of the island, its inaccessibility, and its disappearance once the mortal leaves it. To these rites men may have been admitted by favour, but perhaps to their detriment, because of their temporary partner's extreme erotic madness. This is the case in the Chinese tales of the island of women, and this, rather than home-sickness, may explain the desire of Bran, Oisin, etc., to leave Elysium. Celtic women performed orgiastic rites on islands, as has been seen.[1301] All this may have originated the belief in an island of beautiful divine women as part of Elysium, while it also heightened its sensuous aspect. Borrowed from the delight which the Celt took in music is the recurring reference to the marvellous music which swelled in Elysium. There, as the goddess says to Bran, "there is nothing rough or harsh, but sweet music striking on the ear." It sounded from birds on every tree, from the branches of trees, from marvellous stones, and from the harps of divine musicians. And this is recalled in the ravishing music which the belated traveller hears as he passes fairy-haunted spots--"what pipes and timbrels, what wild ecstasy!" The romantic beauty of Elysium is described in these Celtic tales in a way unequalled in all other sagas or _Märchen_, and it is insisted on by those who come to lure mortals there. The beauty of its landscapes--hills, white cliffs, valleys, sea and shore, lakes and rivers,--of its trees, its inhabitants, and its birds,--the charm of its summer haze, is obviously the product of the imagination of a people keenly alive to natural beauty. The opening lines sung by the goddess to Bran strike a note which sounds through all Celtic literature: "There is a distant isle, around which sea-horses glisten, ... A beauty of a wondrous land, whose aspects are lovely, Whose view is a fair country, incomparable in its haze. It is a day of lasting weather, that showers silver on the land; A pure white cliff on the range of the sea, Which from the sun receives its heat." So Oisin describes it: "I saw a country all green and full of flowers, with beautiful smooth plains, blue hills, and lakes and waterfalls." All this and more than this is the reflection of nature as it is found in Celtic regions, and as it was seen by the eye of Celtic dreamers, and interpreted to a poetic race by them. In Irish accounts of the _síd_, Dagda has the supremacy, wrested later from him by Oengus, but generally each owner of a _síd_ is its lord. In Welsh tradition Arawn is lord of Annwfn, but his claims are contested by a rival, and other lords of Elysium are known. Manannan, a god of the sea, appears to be lord of the Irish island Elysium which is called "the land of Manannan," perhaps because it was easy to associate an oversea world "around which sea-horses glisten" with a god whose mythic steeds were the waves. But as it lay towards the sunset, and as some of its aspects may have been suggested by the glories of the setting sun, the sun-god Lug was also associated with it, though he hardly takes the place of Manannan. Most of the aspects of Elysium appear unchanged in later folk-belief, but it has now become fairyland--a place within hills, mounds, or _síd_, of marvellous beauty, with magic properties, and where time lapses as in a dream. A wonderful oversea land is also found in _Märchen_ and tradition, and Tír na n-Og is still a living reality to the Celt. There is the fountain of youth, healing balsams, life-giving fruits, beautiful women or fairy folk. It is the true land of heart's desire. In the eleventh century MSS. from which our knowledge of Elysium is mainly drawn, but which imply a remote antiquity for the materials and ideas of the tales, the _síd_-world is still the world of divine beings, though these are beginning to assume the traits of fairies. Probably among the people themselves the change had already begun to be made, and the land of the gods was simply fairyland. In Wales the same change had taken place, as is seen by Giraldus' account of Elidurus enticed to a subterranean fairyland by two small people.[1302] Some of the Elysium tales have been influenced by Christian conceptions, and in a certain group, the _Imrama_ or "Voyages," Elysium finally becomes the Christian paradise or heaven. But the Elysium conception also reacted on Christian ideas of paradise. In the _Voyage of Maelduin_, which bears some resemblance to the story of Bran, the Christian influence is still indefinite, but it is more marked in the _Voyage of Snedgus and MacRiagla_. One island has become a kind of intermediate state, where dwell Enoch and Elijah, and many others waiting for the day of judgment. Another island resembles the Christian heaven. But in the _Voyage of Brandan_ the pagan elements have practically disappeared; there is an island of hell and an island of paradise.[1303] The island conception is the last relic of paganism, but now the voyage is undertaken for the purpose of revenge or penance or pilgrimage. Another series of tales of visionary journeys to hell or heaven are purely Christian, yet the joys of heaven have a sensuous aspect which recalls those of the pagan Elysium. In one of these, _The Tidings of Doomsday_,[1304] there are two hells, and besides heaven there is a place for the _boni non valde_, resembling the island of Enoch and Elijah in the _Voyage of Snedgus_. The connection of Elysium with the Christian paradise is seen in the title _Tir Tairngiri_, "The Land of Promise," which is applied to the heavenly kingdom or the land flowing with milk and honey in early glosses, e.g. on Heb. iv. 4, vi. 15, where Canaan and the _regnum c[oe]lorum_ are called _Tír Tairngiri_, and in a gloss to 1 Cor. x. 4, where the heavenly land is called Tír Tairngiri Innambéo, "The Land of Promise of the Living Ones," thus likening it to the "Land of the Living" in the story of Connla. Sensuous as many of the aspects of Elysium are, they have yet a spiritual aspect which must not be overlooked. The emphasis placed on its beauty, its music, its rest and peace, its oblivion, is spiritual rather than sensual, while the dwelling of favoured mortals there with divine beings is suggestive of that union with the divine which is the essence of all religion. Though men are lured to seek it, they do not leave it, or they go back to it after a brief absence, and Laeg says that he would prefer Elysium to the kingship of all Ireland, and his words are echoed by others. And the lure of the goddess often emphasises the freedom from turmoil, grief, and the rude alarms of earthly life. This "sweet and blessed country" is described with all the passion of a poetical race who dreamed of perfect happiness, and saw in the joy of nature's beauty, the love of women, and the thought of unbroken peace and harmony, no small part of man's truest life. Favoured mortals had reached Elysium, and the hope that he, too, might be so favoured buoyed up the Celt as he dreamed over this state, which was so much more blissful even than the future state of the dead. Many races have imagined a happy Other-world, but no other race has so filled it with magic beauty, or so persistently recurred to it as the Celts. They stood on the cliffs which faced the west, and as the pageant of sunset passed before them, or as at midday the light shimmered on the far horizon and on shadowy islands, they gazed with wistful eyes as if to catch a glimpse of Elysium beyond the fountains of the deep and the halls of the setting sun. In all this we see the Celtic version of a primitive and instinctive human belief. Man refuses to think that the misery and disappointment and strife and pain of life must always be his. He hopes and believes that there is reserved for him, somewhere and at some time, eternal happiness and eternal love. FOOTNOTES: [1231] Nutt-Meyer, i. 213. [1232] Joyce, _OCR_ 431. [1233] D'Arbois, ii. 311; _IT_ i. 113 f.; O'Curry, _MC_ iii. 190. [1234] Nutt-Meyer, i. 1 f., text and translation. [1235] _LU_ 120_a_; Windisch, _Irische Gramm._ 120 f.; D'Arbois, v. 384 f.; _Gaelic Journal_, ii. 307. [1236] _TOS_ iv. 234. See also Joyce, _OCR_ 385; Kennedy, 240. [1237] _LU_ 43 f.; _IT_ i. 205 f.; O'Curry, _Atlantis_, ii., iii.; D'Arbois, v. 170; Leahy, i. 60 f. [1238] "From Manannan came foes." [1239] Joyce, _OCR_ 223 f. [1240] O'Grady, ii. 290. In this story the sea is identified with Fiachna's wife. [1241] Joyce, _OCR_ 253 f. [1242] _IT_ iii. 211 f.; D'Arbois, ii. 185. [1243] O'Curry, _MS. Mat._ 388. [1244] A similar idea occurs in many Fian tales. [1245] Evans, _Welsh Dict. s.v._ "Annwfn"; Anwyl, 60; Gaidoz, _ZCP_ i. 29 f. [1246] Loth, i. 27 f.; see p. 111, _supra_. [1247] Pp. 106, 112, _supra_. [1248] Guest, iii. 75; Loth, i. 29 f. [1249] Skene, i. 264, 276. Cf. the _Ille tournoiont_ of the Graal romances and the revolving houses of _Märchen_. A revolving rampart occurs in "Maelduin" (_RC_ x. 81). [1250] Skene, i. 285. [1251] Pp. 103, 116, _supra_. [1252] Chretien, _Eric_, 1933 f.; Geoffrey, _Vita Merlini_, 41; San Marte, _Geoffrey_, 425. Another Irish Liban is called Muirgen, which is the same as Morgen. See Girald. Cambr. _Spec. Eccl._ Rolls Series, iv. 48. [1253] William of Malmesbury, _de Ant. Glaston. Eccl._ [1254] San Marte, 425. [1255] _Op. cit._ iv. 49. [1256] Joyce, _OCR_ 434; Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 170; Hardiman, _Irish Minst._ i. 367; Sébillot, ii. 56 f.; Girald. Cambr. ii. 12. The underworld is sometimes reached through a well (cf. p. 282, _supra_; _TI_ iii. 209). [1257] _Le Braz_{2}, i. p. xxxix, ii. 37 f.; Albert le Grand, _Vies de Saints de Bretagne_, 63. [1258] A whole class of such Irish legends is called _Tomhadna_, "Inundations." A typical instance is that of the town below Lough Neagh, already referred to by Giraldus Cambrensis, _Top. Hib._ ii. 9; cf. a Welsh instance in _Itin. Cambr._ i. 2. See Rh[^y]s, _CFL, passim_; Kennedy, 282; _Rev. des Trad. Pop._ ix. 79. [1259] _Scott. Celt. Rev._ i. 70; Campbell, _WHT_ Nos. 38, 52; Loth, i. 38. [1260] Curtin, _Tales_, 158; Rh[^y]s, _CFL_ i. 230. [1261] Nutt-Meyer, i. 159. [1262] In the Vedas, Elysium has also a strong agricultural aspect, probably for the same reasons. [1263] D'Arbois, ii. 119, 192, 385, vi. 197, 219; _RC_ xxvi. 173; _Les Druides_, 121. [1264] For the text see Windisch, _Ir. Gram._ 120: "Totchurethar bii bithbi at gérait do dáinib Tethrach. ar-dot-chiat each dia i n-dálaib tathardai eter dugnathu inmaini." Dr. Stokes and Sir John Rh[^y]s have both privately confirmed the interpretation given above. [1265] "Dialogue of the Sages," _RC_ xxvi. 33 f. [1266] Tethra was husband of the war-goddess Badb, and in one text his name is glossed _badb_ (Cormac, _s.v._ "Tethra"). The name is also glossed _muir_, "sea," by O'Cleary, and the sea is called "the plain of Tethra" (_Arch. Rev._ i. 152). These obscure notices do not necessarily denote that he was ruler of an oversea Elysium. [1267] Nennius, _Hist. Brit._ § 13; D'Arbois, ii. 86, 134, 231. [1268] _LL_ 8_b_; Keating, 126. [1269] Both art _motifs_ and early burial customs in the two countries are similar. See Reinach, _RC_ xxi. 88; _L'Anthropologie_, 1889, 397; Siret, _Les Premiere Ages du Metal dans le Sud. Est. de l'Espagne._ [1270] Orosius, i. 2. 71; _LL_ 11_b_. [1271] D'Arbois, v. 384; O'Grady, ii. 385. [1272] _TOS_ iii. 119; Joyce, _OCR_ 314. For a folk-tale version see _Folk-lore_, vii. 321. [1273] Leahy, i. 36; Campbell, _LF_ 29; _CM_ xiii. 285; _Dean of Lismore's Book_, 54. [1274] O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 143; Cormac, 35. [1275] See p. 187, _supra_; _IT_ iii. 213. [1276] See Gaidoz, "La Requisition de l'Amour et la Symbolisme de la Pomme," _Ann. de l'École Pratique des Hautes Études_, 1902; Fraser, _Pausanias_, iii. 67. [1277] Rh[^y]s, _HL_ 359. [1278] "The Silver Bough in Irish Legend," _Folk-Lore_, xii. 431. [1279] Cook, _Folk-Lore_, xvii. 158. [1280] _IT_ i. 133. [1281] O'Donovan, _Battle of Mag Rath_, 50; D'Arbois, v. 67; _IT_ i. 96. Dagda's cauldron came from Murias, probably an oversea world. [1282] Miss Hull, 244. Scath is here the Other-world, conceived, however, as a dismal abode. [1283] O'Curry, _MC_ ii. 97, iii. 79; Keating, 284 f.; _RC_ xv. 449. [1284] Skene, i. 264; cf. _RC_ xxii. 14. [1285] P. 116, _supra_. [1286] Guest, iii. 321 f. [1287] See pp. 103, 117, _supra_. [1288] For the use of a vessel in ritual as a symbol of deity, see Crooke, _Folk-Lore_, viii. 351 f. [1289] Diod. Sic. v. 28; Athen. iv. 34; Joyce, _SH_ ii. 124; _Antient Laws of Ireland_, iv. 327. The cauldrons of Irish houses are said in the texts to be inexhaustible (cf. _RC_ xxiii. 397). [1290] Strabo, vii. 2. 1; Lucan, Usener's ed., p. 32; _IT_ iii. 210; _Antient Laws of Ireland_, i. 195 f. [1291] Curtin, _HTI_ 249, 262. [1292] See Villemarqué, _Contes Pop. des anciens Bretons_, Paris, 1842; Rh[^y]s, _AL_; and especially Nutt, _Legend of the Holy Grail_, 1888. [1293] "Adventures of Nera," _RC_ x. 226; _RC_ xvi. 62, 64. [1294] P. 106, _supra_. [1295] P. 107, _supra_. [1296] For parallel myths see _Rig-Veda_, i. 53. 2; Campbell, _Travels in South Africa_, i. 306; Johnston, _Uganda Protectorate_, ii. 704; Ling Roth, _Natives of Sarawak_, i. 307; and cf. the myth of Prometheus. [1297] This is found in the stories of Bran, Maelduin, Connla, in Fian tales (O'Grady, ii. 228, 238), in the "Children of Tuirenn," and in Gaelic _Märchen_. [1298] Martin, 277; Sébillot, ii. 76. [1299] Burton, _Thousand Nights and a Night_, x. 239; Chamberlain, _Aino Folk-Tales_, 38; _L'Anthropologie_, v. 507; Maspero, _Hist. anc. des peuples de l'Orient_, i. 183. The lust of the women of these islands is fatal to their lovers. [1300] An island near New Guinea is called "the land of women." On it men are allowed to land temporarily, but only the female offspring of the women are allowed to survive (_L' Anthrop._ v. 507). The Indians of Florida had a tradition of an island in a lake inhabited by the fairest women (Chateaubriand, _Autob._ 1824, ii. 24), and Fijian mythology knows of an Elysian island of goddesses, near the land of the gods, to which a few favoured mortals are admitted (Williams, _Fiji_, i. 114). [1301] P. 274, _supra_. Islands may have been regarded as sacred because of such cults, as the folk-lore reported by Plutarch suggests (p. 343, _supra_). Celtic saints retained the veneration for islands, and loved to dwell on them, and the idea survives in folk-belief. Cf. the veneration of Lewismen for the Flannan islands. [1302] Gir. Camb. _Itin. Camb._ i. 8. [1303] Translations of some of these _Voyages_ by Stokes are given in _RC_, vols. ix. x. and xiv. See also Zimmer, "Brendan's Meerfahrt," _Zeits. für Deut. Alt._ xxxiii.; cf. Nutt-Meyer, ch. 4, 8. [1304] _RC_ iv. 243. INDEX Abnoba, 43. Adamnan, 72. Aed Abrat, 65. Aed Slane, 351. Aeracura, 37, 44. Afanc, 190. Agricultural rites, 3, 4, 57, 80, 107, 140, 227, 237. See Festivals. Aife, 129. Aillén, 70. Aine, 70 f. Aitherne, 84. Albiorix, 28. All Saints' Day, 170. All Souls' Day, 170. Allat, 87, 100. Alpine race, 8, 12. Altars, 282 f. Amæthon, 107, 384. Amairgen, 55, 172. Ambicatus, 19, 222. Amours with mortals, divine, 128, 159, 348, 350, 355. Amulets, 30, 327 f., 323. Ancestor worship, 165, 200. Andarta, 41. Andrasta, 41, 125. Anextiomarus, 125. Animal gods, anthropomorphic, 34, 92, 106, 139 f., 158, 210, 212, 226. Animal worship, 3, 92, 140, 186, 208 f., 260. Animals, burial of, 186, 211, 221. Animals, descent from, 213, 216 f. Animals, domestic, from the gods' land, 37, 384. Animals, dressing as, 217, 260. Animals, sacramental eating of, 221 f. Animals, slaughter of, 382. Animals, tabooed, 219. Animism, 173, 185. Ankou, 345. Annwfn, 106, 111, 115, 117, 367 f., 381. Anu, 67 f., 72, 73, 223. Anwyl, Prof., 41 note, 96. Apollo, 25, 27, 125, 180, 183, 231. Arawn, 111, 368, 384, 387. Archæology, 2. Arduinna, 43. Arianrhod, 104, 105, 106, 109 f. Artemis, 42, 110, 177, 242. Artaios, 24, 121. Arthur, 88, 97, 109, 117, 119 f., 211, 242, 344, 369, 381. Arthurian cycle, 119, 383. Artor, 121. Arvalus, 125. Astrology, 248. Augustus, 23, 90. Auto-suggestion, 254. Avagddu, 116. Avallon, 120, 369. Bacchus, 274. Badb, 58, 71, 72, 136, 137, 232. Badbcatha, 41, 71. Balor, 31, 35 note, 54, 57, 89, 90. Banba, 50, 73, 74. _Banfeinnidi_, 72. _Bangaisgedaig_, 72. Baptism, 196 note, 308 f. Bards, 117, 299, 325. Barintus, 88. Barrex, 125. Barri, S., 88. Bear, cult of, 212. Beddoe, Dr., 12. Belatucadros, 28, 125. Belenos, 26, 102, 113, 124, 231, 264, 298. Belgæ, 9 f. Beli, 60, 98, 103, 112 f., 124. _Belinuntia_, 26, 322. Belinus, 26, 102, 113, 124. Belisama, 41, 68-69, 125. Bellovesus, 19. Beltane, 92, 194, 239, 259, 264. Bericynthia, 44, 275. Bertrand, M., 305. _Bile_, 162, 201. Bile, 54, 60, 103. Bird gods, 108, 205, 247. Birth, 196, 345. Black Annis' Bower, 67. Blathnat, 84, 109, 381. Blodeuwedd, 104, 105 f., 108. Blood, 240, 244. Blood, Brotherhood, 131, 240. Boand, 81, 191. Boar, cult of, 42. Bodb, 83. Bodb Dearg, 64, 78, 86. Bormana, 43. Borvo, 43, 183. Boudicca, 72, 125, 161, 219. Boughs, 265, 270. Boundary stones, 284. Braciaca, 28. Bran, 34, 98, 100 f., 107, 111, 117, 160, 242, 363, 379 f. Branwen, 98, 103 f., 381 f., 385. Braziers, god of, 76. Brennius, 102, 112 f. Brennus, 160. Bres, 53, 54, 58-59. Brian, 73 f. Bride, S., 69. Bridge, 346. Bridge of Life, 228. Brigantia, 68, 125. Brigindo, 68, 275. Brigit, 41, 58, 68 f., 90, 92. Brigit, St., 68 f., 88 note, 257. Broca, 9. Bronze Age, 148. Brother-sister unions, 106, 113. Brown Bull, 130. Brownie, 166, 189, 245. _Brug_. See _Síd_. Brythons, 13. Brythons, gods of, 85, 95 f., 124. Buanann, 68, 73, 223. Bull, cult of, 38, 140, 189, 208, 243. Burial rites, 309, 337 f. Caer Sidi, 112, 117, 368. Cæsar, 22, 29, 219, 223, 233, 283, 294, 334. Cakes, 266. Calatin, 131 f. Calendar, 175 f., 252. Camulos, 28, 125, 149. Candlemas, 69. Cannibalism, 239, 271. Caoilte, 61, 142, 152, 336. Caractacus, 103. Carman, 167. Carpenters, god of, 76. Cassiterides, 39. Cassivellaunus, 113. Castor and Pollux, 136. Caswallawn, 98, 102, 112-113. Cathbad, 127. Cathubodua, 41, 71. Caturix, 28. Cauldron, 84, 92, 112, 116, 120, 368, 381. Celtæ, 8, 9, 15. Celtiberians, 176, 246. Celtic and Teutonic religion, 11. Celtic empire, 18 f. Celtic origins, 8 f. Celtic people, types of, 8. Celtic religion, evolution of, 3 f. Celtic religion, higher aspects of, 6. Celtic religion, homogeneity of, 5. Celtic religion, Roman influence on, 5. Celts, gods of, 158. Celts, religiosity of, 2. Celts, temperament of, 3, 14. Cenn Cruaich, 66, 79 note. Cera, 77. Cernunnos, 29 f., 32, 101, 136, 212, 282. Cerridwen, 116 f., 351, 358 f. Cessair, 50. Cethlenn, 59, 81. Cetnad, 249. Charms, 172, 356. Church and paganism, 6, 7, 48, 80, 115, 132, 152 f., 174 f., 203 f., 238, 249, 258, 272, 280, 285, 288-289, 315, 321, 331, 389. Cian, 75, 89. Clairvoyance, 307. Cleena, 70. Clota, 43, 70. Clutoida, 70. Cocidius, 125. Cock, 219. Columba, S., 17, 66, 88 note, 181, 238, 315, 324, 331-332, 358. Combats, ritual, 263, 267. Comedovæ, 47. Comyn, M., 143, 151. Conaire, 84, 220, 252, 255. Conall Cernach, 134, 136, 230, 240. Conan, 142. Conception, magical, 351. Conchobar, 127, 132, 160, 182, 232, 254, 349. Conn, 367. Conncrithir, 73. Connla, 59, 65, 364, 374, 377, 379, 380. Conservatism in belief, 193. Coral, 329. Coranians, 114. Cordelia, 99. Cormac, 67, 68, 88, 366. Corn-spirit, 92, 107, 117, 168, 173, 213, 260, 262, 273 f., 275. Corotacus, 125. Cosmogony, 227 f. Couvade, 130, 224. Crafts, gods of, 93. Cranes, 38. Craniology, 8 f. Creation, 230. Creiddylad, 85, 99, 113. Creidne, 76, 77. Creirwy, 116. Crom Dubh, 80. Crom Eocha, 79. Cromm Cruaich, 57, 79, 236, 286. Cross, 290. Cross-roads, 174. Cruithne, 17. Cúchulainn, 72, 109, 121, 123, 159, 174, 179, 220, 240, 252, 254, 336, 349, 355, 357, 365, 369, 381. Cúchulainn saga, 38, 63, 71, 87, 97, 127 f., 145, 204, 207. Culann, 128. Culture goddesses, 4, 68 f. Culture gods and heroes, 4, 58, 92-93, 106, 121, 124 note, 136. Cumal, 125, 142, 145 f., 148 f. Cúroi, 109, 381. Cursing wells, 137. Dagda, 44, 61, 64, 65, 72, 74-75, 77 f., 327, 387. Damona, 43, 215. Dance, ritual, 246, 268, 286. Danu, 63, 67 f., 92, 103, 223. _Daoine-sidhe_, 62. D'Arbois, M., 31, 38, 56, 59, 74, 79, 90, 136, 178, 264, 293, 314, 341, 357, 374. Day of Judgment, 347. Dead, condition and cult of, 68, 165 f., 282, 330, 333 f., 340, 344 f., 378. Dead Debtor, 337. Dead, land of, and Elysium, 340 f. Dead living in grave, 338-339. Debility of Ultonians, 71, 129 f., 224. Dechelette, M., 166. Dechtire, 127 f., 348, 354. _Deiseil_, 193, 237, 271. Dei Terreni, 64. Demeter, 44, 68, 117, 274. Demons, 173 f., 188. Devorgilla, 133. Diana, 42, 177. Diancecht, 77, 84, 207, 325. Diarmaid, 82, 83, 88, 100, 142, 147, 150, 210, 220, 252, 254, 351, 365-366. _Dii Casses,_ 39. Diodorus Siculus, 334. Dionysus, 211. Dioscuri, 136. Dirona, 42, 70. Dirra, 70. Disablot, 169. Disir, 169. Dispater, 29 f., 44, 60, 100, 169, 218, 229, 341, 345, 376. Distortion, 128, 132, 134. Divination, 235, 247 f., 259, 266, 304. Divine descent, 351, 354. Divine kings, 253. Divineresses, 316. Diviners, 299. Divining rod, 248. Dolmens, 283, 330, 352. Domestication, 210, 214, 225. _Dominæ_, 47. Domnu, 57 note, 59, 223. Dôn, 60, 63, 103, 223. Donnotaurus, 138, 209. Dragon, 114, 121, 188. Drink of oblivion, 324. Druidesses, 250, 316. Druidic Hedge, 324. Druidic sending, 325. Druids, 6, 22, 61, 76, 150, 161 f., 173, 180, 201, 205 f., 235 f., 238, 246 f., 250, 265, 280-281, 287 f., 293 f., 312. Druids and Filid, 305 f. Druids and magic, 310, 319, 325 f. Druids and medicine, 309. Druids and monasticism, 305. Druids and Pythagoras, 303. Druids and Rome, 312 f. Druids, classical references to, 301 f. Druids, dress of, 310 f. Druids, origin of, 292 f. Druids, poems of, 2. Druids, power of, 312. Druids, teaching of, 307 f., 314, 333. Druids, varieties of, 298 f. Drunemeton, 161, 280, 306. Dualism, 57 f., 60 f. Dumias, 25. Dusii, 355. Dwelling of gods. See Gods, abode of. Dylan, 104, 110, 178. _Each uisge_, 188. Earth and Under-earth, 35, 37, 68. Earth cults, 3. Earth divinities, 31, 35, 37, 40, 42, 44 f., 57 note, 65, 67 f., 72, 78, 92, 110, 162, 169, 227, 229 f., 345. Eclipses, 178. Ecne, 74, 223. Ecstasy, 251. Egg, serpent's, 211. Elatha, 53, 58, 60. Elcmar, 78, 87. Elements, cult of, 171 f. Elphin, 118. Elves, 66 note. Elysium, 59, 78 f., 84, 87, 102, 106, 115, 116, 120, 163, 201, 229 f., 350, 362 f. Elysium, and Paradise, 388 f. Elysium, characteristics of, 373 ff. Elysium, lords of, 387. Elysium, names of, 362. Elysium, origin of, 370 f. Elysium, varieties of, 363 f. Emer, 128, 129, 135. Enbarr, 88, 135. Eochaid, 83. Eochaid Ollathair, 78. Eochaid O'Flynn, 64. Eogabail, 70. Epona, 43, 125, 189, 213 f. Eri, 53. Eridanus, 27. Eriu, 73-74. Esus, 29, 38, 137, 208, 234, 289. Etain, 82 f., 223, 348, 363, 380. Etair, 82. Ethics, 304, 307. Ethne, 31 note, 89. Euhemerisation, 49 f., 84, 91, 95, 98, 127. Eurosswyd, 100. Evans, Dr., 200. Evil eye, 59. Evnissyen, 98. Exogamy, 222. _Ex votos_, 195. Fachan, 251. Fairies, 43, 45 f., 62, 64 f., 70, 73, 80, 98, 114, 115, 166, 173, 178 note, 183, 185 f., 190, 201, 203, 262, 263, 378. Fairyland, 372, 385, 388. _Fáith_, 106, 300, 309. Falga, 84, 87, 381. Fand, 65, 87, 88, 135, 365, 380. Ferdia, 131. Fergus, 142, 336. Fertility cults, 3, 56, 70, 73, 78, 83, 92, 93, 112, 114-115, 276, 330, 352, 382 f. Festivals, 4, 181, 256 f. Festivals of dead, 167. Fetich, 289. Fiachna, 88, 350, 366, 379. Fians, 143, 365. _Filid_, 248 f., 300, 305 f., 325. _Findbennach_, 130. Finnen, S., 351. Finntain, 50. Fionn, 28, 118, 120-121, 125, 142 f., 179, 220, 254, 344, 350, 365-366. Fionn saga, 83, 97, 111, 120, 142 f. _Fir Dea_, 63. _Fir Domnann_, 52 f., 157. _Fir Síde_, 64, 65. Firbolgs, 52, 57. Fires, 199 f., 259, 261 f., 265, 268, 270. Fires, sacred, 69. Fish, sacred, 186, 220. Flann Manistrech, 64. Flood, 228, 231. Fomorians, 51, 52 f., 55-56, 65, 72, 83, 89, 90, 114, 133, 189, 237, 251. Food of immortality, 377 f. Food as bond of relationship, 379. Forest divinities, 43, 108. Fotla, 73-74. Foundation sacrifices, 238. Fountains, 171, 174, 181. Fountains of youth, 378, 388. Fraoch, 377. Friuch, 349. Frazer, Dr. J.G., 170, 176, 269. Fuamnach, 22. Funeral sacrifices, 165, 234, 337. Future life, 333 f. Galatæ, 18. Galli, 19. Gallizenæ, 317. See Priestesses. Galioin, 52, 57. Garbh mac Stairn, 139. Gargantua, 124 note, 230. Garman, 167. Gauls, 9, 20. Gavida, 89, 109. _Geasa_, 128, 132, 134, 144, 150 f., 160, 252 f. See Tabu. Geoffrey of Monmouth, 102, 112, 119. Ghosts, 66, 67, 166, 169, 262, 281, 284, 330, 336. Ghosts in trees, 202 f. Gildas, 171. Gilla Coemain, 64. Gilvæthwy, 104. Glass, 370. Glastonbury, 115, 121, 369. Goborchin, 189. God of Connaught, 92. God of Druidism, 92, 105, 122. God of Ulster, 92. Goddesses and mortals, 355. Goddesses, pre-eminence of, 93, 124, 183. Godiva, 276. Gods, abode of, 228 f., 362, 372. Gods, children of, 159. Gods, fertility and civilisation from land of, 100, 106-107, 112, 121, 380 f., 383. Gods uniting with mortals, 159. Goibniu, 76, 103, 325. Goidels, 16, 17, 96. Goll mac Morna, 142. Gomme, Sir G.L., 181, 295. Goose, 219. Govannon, 109 f. Graal, 383. Grainne, 150, 254. Grannos, 26, 42 f., 77, 125, 183. Gregory of Tours, 194, 196, 275. Groves, 174, 198, 279 f. Growth, divinities of, 5, 44, 80, 82, 92, 182. Gruagach, 245. Guinevere, 123. Gurgiunt, 124. Gutuatri, 298 f. Gwawl, 99, 111. Gweir, 106. Gwion, 117, 351, 381. Gwydion, 104, 105 f., 117, 368, 385. Gwyn, 55, 113, 115. Gwythur, 55. Hades, 135. Hafgan, 111, 368. Hallowe'en, 259, 281. Hallstatt, 208, 211. Hallucinations, 323-324. Hammer as divine symbol, 30, 291. Hammer, God with, 30 f., 35, 36 f., 79. Haoma, 76. Hare, 219. Harvest, 259, 273. Head-hunting, 240. Heads, cult of, 34, 71, 102, 240 f. Healing plants, 131, 206 f. Healing ritual, 122, 193 f. Healing springs, 123, 186. Hearth as altar, 165 f. Heaven and earth, 227. Hen, 219. Hephaistos, 76. Heracles, 25, 75, 133. Heroes in hills, 344. Hills, 66. Holder, A., 23. Horned helmets, 217. Horns, gods with, 32 f. Horse, 213 f. Hu Gadarm, 124 note. Hyde, Dr., 143-144. Hyperboreans, 18, 27. Hypnotism, 307, 310, 323-324. Iberians, 13. Icauna, 43. Iconoclasm, 287. Igerna, 120. Images, 79, 85, 204, 277, 283 f. _Imbas Forosnai_, 248. Immortality, 158, 333, 376. Incantations, 80, 248 f., 254, 297, 325. Incest, 223 f. Indech, 54, 58. Inspiration, 116, 118. Invisibility, 322, 380. Is, 372. Iuchar, Iucharbar, 63, 73 f. Janus, 34, 100. Joyce, Dr., 65, 143, 236. Juno, 47. Junones, 45. Jullian, 178. Juppiter, 29. Kalevala, 142. Keane, 9. Keating, 51, 143. Kei, 122 f. Keres, 72. Kieva, 99. King and fertility, 4, 253. Kings, divine, 160 f., 243. Kings, election of, 306. Kore, 44, 274-275. Kronos, 59. La Tène, 208. Labraid, 65, 365, 369, 380. Lakes, 181, 194. Lammas, 273. Land under waves, 371. Lear, 86. Ler, Lir, 49 note, 86, 320. Lia Fail, 329. Liban, 65, 365. Libations, 244 f., 247. Ligurians, 13. Llew, 91, 104, 106. Lludd Llawereint, 85, 99, 102, 113 f., 124. Llyr, 98 f. Lochlanners, 56, 147. Lodens, 113. Loegaire, 64, 137, 379. Lonnrot, 142. Loth, M., 108. Love, 385. Lucan, 38, 125, 279, 282, 335 f., 345. Luchtine, 76. Lucian, 75, 125. Lug, 31 note, 35 note, 59, 60, 61, 74, 75, 89 f., 103, 108 f., 128, 131, 134, 137, 167, 272, 348, 353 f. Lugaid, 132. Lugnasad, 91, 109, 167 f., 272 f. Lugoves, 91. Lugus, 90, 272. Lycanthropy, 216. Mabinogion, 2, 95 f. Mabon, 123, 183. MacBain, Dr., 16, 56, 78. MacCuill, MacCecht, and MacGrainne, 74. Macha, 71, 129, 137, 241. MacIneely, 89. MacPherson, 142, 155 f. Madonna, 289. Maelduin, 385. Maelrubha, S. 243. Magic, 6, 105, 194, 292, 319. Magic, agricultural, 260, 265-266, 271, 273, 276 note. Magico-medical rites, 330 f., 332. Magonia, 180. Magtured, 53 f., 84. Man, origin of, 36, 228. Manannan, 49 note, 64-65, 70, 80, 86 f., 92, 100, 134, 147, 178, 189, 231, 350 f., 358, 364 f., 380, 387. Manawyddan, 87, 98 f., 100 f., 111, 368. Mannhardt, 269. Maponos, 27, 123. _Märchen_ formulæ, 77, 82, 83, 89, 95, 107-108, 111, 116, 124, 132, 133, 143, 148, 152, 187, 337, 353, 384. Marriage, sacred, 163, 267, 273. Mars, 27 f., 85, 180, 214. Martin, S., 140, 243, 260. Martinmas, 259. f. Math, 104 f. Matholwych, 98. Matres, 40, 44 f., 72-73, 125, 169, 183, 214, 285, 289. Matriarchate, 17, 223. Matronæ, 46, 123, 183. May-day, 114. May-queen, 163, 267. Medb, 130 f. Medicine, 309 f. Mediterranean race, 9. Medros, 84, 209. Megaliths, 202, 297, 330, 352. See Stonehenge. Men, cults of, 3. Mercury, 24 f., 34, 137, 284 f. Merlin, 120, 121 f. Mermaids, 190. Metempsychosis, 303, 348 f. Meyer, Prof., 16, 294. Miach, 27. Mider, 82 f., 209, 363, 380-381. Midsummer, 70, 92, 176, 184, 191, 194, 200, 215, 235, 239, 257, 268 f. Mile, 54. Milesians, 55, 60, 78. Minerva, 41, 68, 125. Miracles, 331, 351. Mistletoe, 162, 176, 199, 205, 243 f., 270. Mithraism, 209. Moccus, 24, 210. Modranicht, 169. Modron, 123, 183. Mogons, 27, 125, 180. Mongan, 88, 120, 350 f., 358. Moon, 175 f., 246. Morgen, 159, 178, 369. Morrigan, 71, 81, 83, 130-131, 136-137, 159, 172. Morvran, 116, 118. Mounds, 63, 66. Mountain gods, 39. Mountains, 171 f. Mowat, M., 33, 36. Muireartach, 56, 179. Muirne, 148. Mule, 214. Mullo, 214. Music, 329, 386. Mythological school, 83, 89, 108, 119, 122, 133 f. Name, 246. Name-giving, 308 f. Nantosvelta, 31. Nature divinities and spirits, 48, 93, 171 f. Needfire, 199. Nemaind, 58. Neman, 71. Nemedians, 51 f. _Nemeton_, 161. Nemetona, 41, 71. Nennius, 119. Neo-Druidic heresy, 2 note. Neptune, 85. Nera, 339. Nessa, 128, 349. Nét, 28, 58, 71. Neton, 28. New Year, 170, 259, 261. Night, 256. Niskas, 185. Nodons, 85, 114, 124, 160. Norse influence, 99, 127. Nuada, 53 f., 61, 77, 84, 90, 160. Nuada Necht, 85 f. Nudd, 113, 115 f., 124, 160. Nudd Hael, 86. Nudity, 275-276, 322. Nutt, Mr., 103, 373. Nymphs, 43. Nynnyaw, 113. Oak, 199. Oaths, 172 f., 292. O'Curry, 65, 143. O'Davoren, 91. Oengus, 78, 81, 86, 146, 387. Oghams, 75. Ogma, 54, 74-75. Ogmíos, 25, 75. Oilill Olom, 70. Oisin, 142, 150-151, 152 f., 222, 364, 379, 387. Omens, 247 f. Oracles, 179, 196. Oran, 238. _Orbis alius_, 340. Orbsen, 87. Ordeals, 196 f., 383. Orgiastic rites, 80, 261, 265, 386. Osiris, 66. Paradise, 388 f. Partholan, 51. Pastoral stage, 3, 225, 260. Patrick, S., 61. 64, 66, 70, 76, 79-80, 132, 151, 152 f., 171, 193, 237, 242, 249, 251, 286, 315 f., 319. Peanfahel, 17. Peisgi, 185. Penn Cruc, 66. Pennocrucium, 66. Perambulation, 277. Persephone, 68, 85. Picts, 16 f., 217, 220, 222. Pillar of sky, 228. Place-names, 16 note, 17, 19, 120, 146, 209, 211. Plants, 176, 205 f. Pliny, 162, 175, 198, 205 f., 328. Plutarch, 343. Pluto, 34 f. Plutus, 35. Poeninus, 39. Poetry, divinities of, 68, 75. Pollux, 180. Polyandry, 74, 223 f. Polygamy, 17, 224. Prayer, 245 f. Pre-Celtic cults, 48, 81, 93, 174, 181, 200, 202, 219, 224, 277, 294 f., 361. Priesthood. See Druids. Priestesses, 69, 180, 192 f., 226, 246, 250, 316, 321. Priest-kings, 161, 226, 267, 296, 307. Procopius, 342. Prophecy, 250 f, 300 f. Pryderi, 98 f., 110 f., 112, 368, 385. Pwyll, 110 f., 112, 368, 385. Pythagoras, 303, 334. _Quadriviæ_, 47. Ragnarok, 232. Rain-making, 266, 321 f. Rebirth, 88, 117, 128, 348 f. Reinach, M., 31 note, 38, 137, 211, 287, 297, 317, 340. Relics, 332. Retribution, 346. Rhiannon, 98 f., 110 f. Rh[^y]s, Sir J., 15, 16, 24, 55, 60, 68, 78, 82 f., 91, 93, 100, 101 f., 103, 106, 108, 122, 135, 183, 219, 282, 294, 356, 376. Rigantona, 111. Rigisama, 28. River divinities, 43, 46, 123, 182, 243, 354. Rivers, cult of, 172, 180 f. Rivers, names of, 182. Roman and Celtic gods, 22 f., 289 f. Romans and Druids, 312 f. Ruadan, 58. Ruad-rofhessa, 77. Rucht, 349. Rudiobus, 214. Saar, 150. Sacramental rites, 222, 260, 266, 271. Sacrifice of aged, 242. Sacrifice of animals, 140, 181, 189, 205, 242 f., 260, 265. Sacrifice, foundation, 121, 238 f. Sacrifice, human, 57, 79, 165, 190, 198, 233 f., 261, 265, 269, 304, 308, 313, 337. Sacrifice to dead, 165 f., 234, 337. Sacrificial offerings, 6, 174, 181, 185, 190, 194, 198, 233 f., 299, 308. Sacrificial survivals, 244 f. Saints, 115, 209, 217, 251, 285 f., 288, 331 f., 386 note. Saints and wells, 193. Saints' days and pagan festivals, 258. Salmon of knowledge, 149, 187, 377. Samhain, 56, 70, 80, 167-168, 170, 222, 256 f., 258 f. Satire, 326. Saturn, 47. Scandinavia and Ireland, 148. Scathach, 129, 135. _Scotti_, 17. Sea, 110, 178. Sébillot, 342. Segomo, 214. Segovesus, 19. Selvanus, 37. Semnotheoi, 298, 301. Sequana, 43. Sergi, Prof., 9, 296. Serpent, 35, 166, 188, 211. Serpent with ram's head, 34, 44, 166, 211. Serpent's egg, 328. Serpent's glass, 328. Setanta, 349. Shape-shifting, 104, 105, 117, 130, 131, 150, 221, 322 f., 350, 356 f. _Síd_, 63, 64 note, 65, 78. Silvanus, 29, 36, 218. Sinend, 187, 191. Sinnan, 43. Sirona, 42. Skene, Dr., 16, 108. Slain gods and human victims, 159, 168 f., 199, 226, 235, 239, 262, 269, 272. Sleep, magic, 327. Smertullos, 35, 136, 289. Smiths, god of, 76. Smiths, magic of, 76. Solar hero, 133. Soma, 76. Soul as animal, 360. Soul, separable, 140, 162, 270. Spain, 375. Spells, 246, 254, 325 f. Squatting gods, 32 f. Sreng, 84. Stag, 213. Stanna, 42. Stokes, Dr., 16, 56, 71, 77, 222, 264. Stone circles, 281. Stonehenge, 27, 121, 200, 281-282. Stones, cult of, 174, 284, 329. Sualtaim, 128. Submerged towns, 231, 372. Sucellos, 30 f. Suicide, 234, 345. Sul, 41, 69, 125. Suleviæ, 46. Sun, 178, 268. Sun myths, 83. Swan-maidens, 82. Swastika, 290. Swine, 25, 106, 117, 209 f. Swineherds, The Two, 349. Symbols, 290. Tabu, 69, 102, 128, 132, 144, 186, 191 f., 210, 219, 252 f., 276, 304, 306, 323, 372. See _Geasa_. Tadg, 221. _Taghairm_, 249. Tailtiu, 167, 273, 376. _Táin bó Cuailgne_, 127, 130 f. Taliesin, 95, 97, 116, 323, 335, 356, 358. Taran, 124. Taranis, 29, 30, 234. Taranos, 124. _Tarbh Uisge_, 189. _Tarvos Trigaranos_, 38, 137, 208, 289. Tattooing, 17, 217. Tegid Voel, 116. _Teinm Laegha_, 249. _Tempestarii_, 175, 180. Temples, 85, 279 f. Tethra, 58-59, 71, 75, 374. Teutates, 28, 125, 234. Teyrnon, 111. Three-headed gods, 32 f. Thumb of knowledge, 149. Thurnam, Dr., 12. _Tír na n-Og_, 151, 362, 364. Tombs as sacred places, 165. Tonsure, 311. Torque, 34. Totatis, 125. Totemism, 149, 187, 201 f., 216, 323, 360, 379. Toutatis, 28. Transformation. See Shape-shifting. Transformation Combat, 353. Transmigration, 334 f., 348 f., 356, 359 f. Tree cults, 162, 169, 174, 194, 198 f., 208, 265, 269, 331, 379. Tree descent from, 202. Trees of Elysium, 380. Trees of Immortality, 377 f. Triads, 34 f., 39, 95 f., 109, 113-114, 115, 118, 120, 123, 124 note. Triple goddesses, 44 f. Tristram, 103. Tuan MacCairill, 57, 357, 375. Tuatha Dé Danann, 49 f., 60, 61, 63 f., 66, 92 f., 146, 158, 168, 173. Tutelar divinities, 40, 45, 73. Tuag, 87. _Twrch Trwyth_, 108, 119, 211. Tyr, 84. Underworld, 60, 102, 112, 341. Urien, 101. _Urwisg_, 189. Uthyr, 101, 120, 122. Valkyries, 72. Vegetation cults, 3, 215. Vegetation gods and spirits, 38, 92, 139, 159, 162 f., 199, 208, 215, 243, 265, 269. Venus of Quinipily, 289. Vera, 70. Vesta, 69. _Vierges noires_, 46. Vintius, 180. _Virgines_, 47. Viviane, 122. Vortigern, 121, 238, 315. Vosegus, 39. Votive offerings, 185. Vulcan, 47. War chants, 246. War goddesses, 71, 93. War gods, 4, 27 f., 48, 71, 92, 115, 118, 123, 136. Warrior, ideal, 132, 136. Warrior, power of dead, 338. Washer at the Ford, 73. Water bull, 189. Water fairies, 70, 73 note, 190. Water, guardians of, 195. Water horse, 188. Water world, 192 note, 371. Waves, fighting the, 178. Waves, nine, 179. Weapons, 291. Wells, 77, 180 f., 184, 191, 193 f., 321, 372. Wells, origin of, 230. Wheel, god with, 29. Wheel symbol, 29, 271, 327. White women, 73. Wind, 180. Windisch, Prof., 16. Wisdom, 74. Wisdom from eating animal, 149 note. Wolf god, 36, 216, 218. Witch, 201, 203, 262, 268, 318, 321. Women and magic, 319 f. Women as first civilisers, 41, 45, 192, 317. Women as warriors, 72. Women, cults of, 3, 5, 41, 69, 163 f., 225 f., 274 f., 317. Women, islands of, 385 f. World catastrophe, 228, 232. World, origin of, 230. Wren, 221. Yama, 101. Year, division of, 256. Yule log, 170, 259. Zeus, 66, 84, 199 f. Zimmer, 56, 141, 147. 
42205	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive.) The Folk-Lore Society, FOR COLLECTING AND PRINTING RELICS OF POPULAR ANTIQUITIES, &c. ESTABLISHED IN THE YEAR MDCCCLXXVIII. [Illustration: Alter et Idem.] PUBLICATIONS OF THE FOLK-LORE SOCIETY. 1888. XXIII. List of Officers of the Society. 1887-1888. PRESIDENT. THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF STRAFFORD. VICE-PRESIDENTS. ANDREW LANG, M.A. W. R. S. RALSTON, M.A. EDWARD B. TYLOR, LL.D., F.R.S. DIRECTOR. G. L. GOMME, F.S.A., 1, Beverley Villas, Barnes Common, S.W. COUNCIL. THE HON. J. ABERCROMBY. A. MACHADO Y ALVAREZ. THE EARL BEAUCHAMP, F.S.A. EDWARD BRABROOK, F.S.A. DR. G. B. BRINTON. JAMES BRITTEN, F.L.S. LOYS BRUEYRE. MISS C. S. BURNE. EDWARD CLODD. PROFESSOR D. COMPARETTI. G. LAURENCE GOMME, F.S.A. A. GRANGER HUTT, F.S.A. SIR JOHN LUBBOCK, BT., F.R.S. REV. DR. RICHARD MORRIS. ALFRED NUTT. EDWARD PEACOCK, F.S.A. Z. D. PEDROSO. PROFESSOR A. H. SAYCE, M.A. CAPTAIN R. C. TEMPLE. HENRY B. WHEATLEY, F.S.A. AUDITORS. G. L. APPERSON. JOHN TOLHURST, F.S.A. LOCAL SECRETARIES. IRELAND: G. H. KINAHAN, R.I.A. SOUTH SCOTLAND: WILLIAM GEORGE BLACK, ESQ. NORTH SCOTLAND: Rev. WALTER GREGOR. INDIA: CAPTAIN R. C. TEMPLE. CHINA: J. STEWART LOCKHART. HONORARY SECRETARIES. A. GRANGER HUTT, F.S.A., 8, Oxford Road, Kilburn, N.W. J. J. FOSTER, 36, Alma Square, St. John's Wood, N.W. STUDIES ON THE LEGEND OF THE HOLY GRAIL. _Works by the same Author._ =The Aryan Expulsion and Return Formula among the Celts.=--_Folk-Lore Record_, Vol. IV. 10_s._ 6_d._ "Interessante étude de mythographie comparée."--_Revue Celtique._ =Mabinogion Studies, I. The Mabinogi of Branwen, daughter of Llyr.=--_Folk-Lore Record_, Vol. V. 10_s._ 6_d._ "Eingehendes und sehr beachtenswerthes Studium."--Prof. ERNST WINDISCH, in _Ersch und Gruber_. "These careful and searching studies deserve to be honourably mentioned."--Mons. HENRI GAIDOZ, in the _Academy_. STUDIES ON THE LEGEND OF THE HOLY GRAIL _WITH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE HYPOTHESIS_ OF ITS CELTIC ORIGIN. BY ALFRED NUTT. "Welchem Volke das Märchen (von Parzival's Jugendgeschichte) angehörte, welches die schriftliche oder mündliche Ueberlieferung mit der Gralsage in Verbindung brachte, ist schwer zu bestimmen, doch würde dasjenige Volk den meisten Anspruch darauf haben, bei welchem sich dies Märchen ausserhalb jenes Zusammenhangs nachweisen liesse."--K. SIMROCK. "The Celtic hero who in the twelfth century became Perceval le Chercheur du basin ... in the end became possessed of that sacred basin le Saint Graal, and the holy lance which, though Christian in the story, are the same as the talismans which appear so often in Gaelic tales ... the glittering weapon which destroys, and the sacred medicinal cup which cures."--J. F. CAMPBELL. "In all the Fenian stories mention is made of Fionn's healing cup ... it is the same as the Holy Grail of course."--J. F. CAMPBELL. London: DAVID NUTT, 270-71, STRAND. 1888. HARRISON AND SONS, PRINTERS IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY, ST. MARTIN'S LANE, LONDON. DEDICATION. To the Memory OF J. F. CAMPBELL, FROM WHOM I FIRST LEARNT TO LOVE CELTIC TRADITION. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Description of the leading forms of the Romance: Conte del Graal--Joseph d'Arimathie--Didot-Perceval--Queste del Saint Graal--Grand Saint Graal--Parzival--Perceval le Gallois-- Mabinogi of Peredur--Sir Perceval--Diu Crône--Information respecting date and authorship of these works in the MSS. page 1 CHAPTER II. Summaries--Conte du Graal: Pseudo-Chrestien, Chrestien, Gautier de Doulens, Manessier, Gerbert--Wolfram--Heinrich von dem Türlin--Didot-Perceval--Mabinogi of Peredur--Thornton MS. Sir Perceval--Queste del Saint Graal--Grand Saint Graal-- Robert de Borron's poem, Joseph of Arimathea page 8 CHAPTER III. The legend formed of two portions: Early History of Grail, Quest--Two forms of each portion distinguished--Grouping of the various versions--Alternative hypotheses of development-- Their bearing upon the alleged Celtic origin of the Grail-- Closer examination of the various accounts of the Grail: The first use made of it and its first possessor; its solace of Joseph; its properties and the effect produced by it; its name; its arrival in England; the Grail-keeper and his relationship to the Promised Knight--Three different stages in the development of the Queste--The work and the qualification of the Promised Knight--Conclusions: Priority over Early History of Quest--Chronological arrangement of the versions page 65 CHAPTER IV. SKETCH OF THE LITERATURE CONNECTED WITH THE GRAIL CYCLE. Villemarqué--Halliwell--San Marte (A. Schulz)--Simrock-- Rochat--Furnivall's reprint of the Grand St. Graal and of Borron--J. F. Campbell--Furnivall's Queste--Paulin Paris-- Potvin's Conte du Graal--Bergmann--Skeat's Joseph of Arimathea--Hucher: Grail Celtic, date of Borron--Zarncke, Zur Geschichte der Gralsage; Grail belongs to Christian legend--Birch-Hirschfeld develops Zarncke's views: Grand St. Graal younger than Queste, both presuppose Chrestien and an earlier Queste, the Didot-Perceval, which forms integral part of Borron's trilogy; Mabinogi later than Chrestien; various members of the cycle dated--Martin combats Birch-Hirschfeld: Borron later than Chrestien, whose poem represents oldest stage of the romance, which has its roots in Celtic tradition--Hertz--Criticism of Birch-Hirschfeld page 97 CHAPTER V. Relationship of the Didot-Perceval to the Conte du Graal--The former not the source of the latter--Relationship of the Conte du Graal and the Mabinogi--Instances in which the Mabinogi has copied Chrestien--Examples of its independence-- The incident of the blood drops in the snow--Differences between the two works--The machinery of the Mabinogi and the traces of it in the Conte du Graal--The stag hunt--The Mabinogi and Manessier--The sources of the Conte du Graal and the relation of the various parts to a common original--Sir Perceval--Steinbach's theory--Objections to it--The counsels in the Conte du Graal--Wolfram and the Mabinogi--Absence of the Grail from the apparently oldest Celtic form page 127 CHAPTER VI. The Lay of the Great Fool--Summary of the Prose Opening--The Aryan Expulsion and Return Formula--Comparison with the Mabinogi, Sir Perceval, and the Conte du Graal--Comparison with various Gaelic märchen, the Knight of the Red Shield, the Rider of Grianaig--Originality of the Highland tale-- Comparison with the Fionn legend--Summary of the Lay of the Great Fool--Comparison with the stag hunt incident in the Conte du Graal and the Mabinogi--The folk-tale of the twin brethren--The fight against the witch who brings the dead to life in Gerbert and the similar incident in the folk-tale of the Knight of the Red Shield--Comparison with the original form of the Mabinogi--Originality of Gerbert page 152 CHAPTER VII. The various forms of the visit to the Grail Castle in the romances--Conte du Graal: Chrestien; Gautier-Manessier; Gautier-Gerbert--Didot-Perceval--Mabinogi--Conte du Graal; Gawain's visit to the Grail Castle--Heinrich von dem Türlin--Conte du Graal: Perceval's visit to the Castle of Maidens--Inconsistency of these varying accounts; their testimony to stories of different nature and origin being embodied in the romances--Two main types: feud quest and unspelling quest--Reasons for the confusion of the two types--Evidence of the confusion in older Celtic literature-- The Grail in Celtic literature: the gear of the Tuatha de Danann; the cauldron in the Ultonian cycle; the Mabinogi of Branwen; vessel of balsam and glaive of light in the contemporary folk-tale--The sword in Celtic literature: Tethra; Fionn; Manus--Parallels to the Bespelled Castle; the Brug of Oengus, the Brug of Lug, the Brug of Manannan Mac Lir, Bran's visit to the Island of Women, Cormac Mac Art, and the Fairy Branch; Diarmaid and the Daughter of King Under the Waves--Unspelling stories: The Three Soldiers; the waiting of Arthur; Arthur in Etna; the Kyffhäuser Legend, objections to Martin's views concerning it--Gawain's visit to the Magic Castle and Celtic parallels; The Son of Bad Counsel; Fionn in Giant Land; Fionn in the House of Cuana; Fionn and the Yellow Face--The Vanishing of the Bespelled Castle--Comparison with the Sleeping Beauty cycle--The "Haunted Castle" form and its influence on Heinrich's version--The Loathly Grail Messenger page 170 CHAPTER VIII. The Fisher King in the Conte du Graal, in the Queste, and in Borron and the Grand St. Graal--The accounts of latter complete each other--The Fish is the Salmon of Wisdom-- Parallel with the Fionn Saga--The nature of the Unspelling Quest--The Mabinogi of Taliesin and its mythological affinities--Brons, Bran, Cernunnos--Perceval's silence: Conte du Graal explanation late; explanation from the Fionn Saga-- Comparison of incident with _geasa_; nature of latter; references to it in Celtic folk-tales and in old Irish literature, Book of Rights, Diarmaid, Cuchulainn--_Geasa_ and _taboo_ page 207 CHAPTER IX. Summing up of the elements of the older portion of the cycle--Parallelism with Celtic tradition--The Christian element in the cycle: the two forms of the Early History; Brons form older--Brons and Bran--The Bran conversion legend--The Joseph conversion legend, Joseph in apocryphal literature, the Evangelium Nicodemi--The Bran legend the starting point of the Christian transformation of the legend--Substitution of Joseph for Bran--Objection to this hypothesis--Hypothetical sketch of the growth of the legend page 215 CHAPTER X. The Moral and Spiritual import of the Grail-Legend universally recognised--Popularity of the Arthurian Romance-- Reasons for that Popularity--Affinities of the Mediæval Romances with early Celtic Literature; Importance of the Individual Hero; Knighthood; the _rôle_ of Woman; the Celtic Fairy and the Mediæval Lady; the Supernatural--M. Renan's views--The Quest in English Literature, Malory--The earliest form of the Legend, Chrestien, his continuators--The Queste and its Ideal--The Sex-Relations in the Middle Ages-- Criticism of Mr. Furnivall's estimate of the moral import of the Queste--The Merits of the Queste--The Chastity Ideal in the later versions--Modern English Treatments: Tennyson, Hawker--Possible Source of the Chastity Ideal in Popular Tradition--The Perceval Quest in Wolfram; his Moral Conception; the Question; Parzival and Conduiramur--The Parzival Quest and Faust--Wagner's Parsifal--The Christian element in the Legend--Ethical Ideas in the folk-tale originals of the Grail Romances: the Great Fool; the Sleeping Beauty--Conclusion page 228 APPENDIX A.: The Relationship of Wolfram to Chrestien page 261 APPENDIX B.: The Grand St. Graal Prologue and the Brandan Legend page 264 INDEX I. The Dramatis Personæ of the Legend page 266 INDEX II. page 275 INTRODUCTION. The present work is, as its title states, a collection of "Studies." It does not profess to give an exhaustive or orderly account of the Grail romance cycle; it deals with particular aspects of the legend, and makes no pretence of exhausting even these. It may be urged that as this is the case the basis of the work is too broad for the superstructure, and that there was no need to give full summaries of the leading forms of the legend, or to discuss at such length their relation one to another, when it was only intended to follow up one of the many problems which this romance cycle presents. Had there existed any work in English which did in any measure what the writer has here attempted to do, he would only too gladly have given more space and more time to the elaboration of the special subject of these studies. But the only work of the kind is in German, _Birch-Hirschfeld's Die Gralsage_. Many interested in the Arthurian romances do not know German; and some who profess an interest in them, and who do know German, are not, to judge by their writings, acquainted with Birch-Hirschfeld's work. It seemed worth while, therefore, to present the facts about the cycle with greater fulness than would have been necessary had those facts been generally accessible. The writer felt, too, that whatever judgment might be passed upon his own speculations, his statements of fact might give his book some value in the eyes of students. He also wished to give all who felt an interest in the line of investigation he opened up the opportunity of pursuing it further, or the means of checking his assertions and conjectures. The writer has taken his texts as he found them. He has studied the subject matter of the romances, not the words in which they have been handed down. Those who seek for philological disquisitions are, therefore, warned that they will find nothing to interest them; and those scholars who are well acquainted with the printed texts, but who are on the search for fresh MS. evidence, must not look here for such. On the other hand, as the printed texts are for the most of such rarity and price as to be practically inaccessible to anyone not within reach of a large library, the writer trusts that his abstract of them will be welcome to many. He has striven to take note of all works of real value bearing upon the subject. He endeavoured, though unsuccessfully, to obtain a copy of M. Gaston Paris' account of the Arthurian romances which, though it has been for some months in print, is not yet published. The writer has done his best to separate the certain from the conjectural. Like M. Renan, in a similar case, he begs the reader to supply the "perhaps" and the "possibly's" that may sometimes have dropt out. The whole subject is fraught with difficulty, and there are special reasons why all results must for some time to come be looked upon as conjectural. These are glanced at here and there in the course of these studies, but it may be well to put them together in this place. Firstly, whatever opinions be held as to which are the older forms of the legend, it is certain that in no one case do we possess a primary form. All the versions that have come down to us presuppose, even where they do not actually testify to, a model. Two of the forms which there is substantial agreement in reckoning among the oldest, the poems of Chrestien de Troyes and Robert de Borron, were never finished by the authors; sequels exist to both, of a later date and obviously affected by other forms of the legend. A reconstruction of the original story is under these circumstances a task of great uncertainty. So much for the difficulty inherent in the nature of the evidence, a difficulty which it is to be feared will always beset the student of this literature, as no new texts are likely to be found. Secondly, this evidence, such as it is, is not accessible in a form of which the most can be made. The most important member of the group, the Conte du Graal, only exists in one text, and that from a late and poor MS. It is certain that a critical edition, based upon a survey of the entire MS. evidence, will throw great light upon all the questions here treated of. The Mabinogi of Peredur has not yet been critically edited, nor have the MSS. of the other romances yielded up all that can be learnt from them. Thirdly, whatever opinion be held respecting the connection of the North French romances and Celtic tradition, connection of some kind must be admitted. Now the study of Celtic tradition is only beginning to be placed upon a firm basis, and the stores of Celtic myth and legend are only beginning to be thrown open to the non-Celtic scholar. Were there in existence a Celtic parallel to Grimm's great work on German Mythology, the views for which the writer contends would have been, in all likelihood, admitted ere now, and there would have been no necessity for this work at all. Whilst some of the reasons which render the study of the Grail legends so fascinating, because so problematic, will probably always remain in force, others will vanish before the increase of knowledge. When the diplomatic evidence is accessible in a trustworthy form; when the romances have received all the light that can be shed upon them from Celtic history, philology, and mythology, the future student will have a comparatively easy task. One of the writer's chief objects has been to excite an interest in these romances among those who are able to examine the Celtic elements in them far more efficiently than he could do. Welsh philologists can do much to explain the _Onomasticon Arthurianum_; Cymric history generally may elucidate the subject matter. But as a whole Welsh literature is late, meagre, and has kept little that is archaic. The study of Irish promises far better results. Of all the races of modern Europe the Irish have the most considerable and the most archaic mass of pre-Christian traditions. By the side of their heroic traditional literature that of Cymry or Teuton (High and Low), or Slav is recent, scanty, and unoriginal. A few words must be said in defence of the free use made of conjecture in the course of these studies. This is well nigh unavoidable from the way in which the texts we have to deal with have come down to us. What M. Renan has said about the Hebrew historical scriptures is excellently exemplified in the Grail romances. There was no fixed text, no definite or rounded sequence of incidents, of which scribes respected the integrity. On the contrary, each successive transcriber was only anxious to add some fresh adventure to the interminable tale, and those MSS. were most thought of which contained the greatest number of lines. The earlier MSS. have, therefore, almost entirely disappeared, and we are dealing with works which we know to have been composed in the twelfth century, but of which we have only thirteenth or fourteenth century transcripts. Inconsistencies in the conduct of the story are the inevitable consequence in most cases, but sometimes the latest arranger had an eye for unity of effect, and attained this by the simple process of altering the old account so as to make it fit with the new. In dealing with the text of an _individual_ author, whether ancient or modern, it would be in the last degree uncritical to explain difficulties by such hypotheses as the loss of an earlier draft, or the foisting into the work of later and incongruous incidents and conceptions. Not so in the case of the romances; this method of explanation is natural and legitimate, but none the less is it largely conjectural. The writer may be blamed for not having presented his subject in a more engaging and more lucid form. He would plead in excuse the circumstances under which his work has been carried on. When the only hours of study are those which remain after the claims, neither few nor light, of business and other duties have been met, it is hard to give an appearance of unity to a number of minute detail studies, and to weld them together into one harmonious whole. The fact that the work has been written, and printed, at considerable intervals of time may, it is hoped, be accepted as some excuse for inconsistency in the terminology. The writer has many acknowledgments to make. First and chief to Dr. Birch-Hirschfeld, but for whose labours, covering well nigh the whole field of the Grail cycle, he would not have been able to take in hand his work at all; then to Dr. Furnivall, to whose enthusiasm and spirit the publication of some of the most important texts are due. In these two cases the writer acknowledges his gratitude with the more readiness that he has felt compelled to come to an opposite conclusion from that arrived at by Dr. Birch-Hirschfeld respecting the genesis and growth of the legend, and because he has had to differ from Dr. Furnivall's estimate of the moral value of the Galahad romances. To M. Hucher, to Mons. Ch. Potvin, the editor, single-handed, of the Conte du Graal, to M. d'Arbois de Jubainville, to Professor Ernst Martin, to the veteran San-Marte, to Herr Otto Küpp, and to Herr Paul Steinbach, these studies owe much. Professor Rhys' Hibbert Lectures came into the writer's hands as he was preparing the latter portion of the book for the press; they were of great service to him, and he was especially gratified to find opinions at which he had arrived confirmed on altogether independent grounds by Professor Rhys' high authority. The writer is also indebted to him, to Mr. H. L. D. Ward, of the British Museum, and to his friend Mr. Egerton Phillimore for help given while the sheets were passing through the press. Lastly, the writer desires to pay an especial tribute of gratitude and respect to that admirable scholar, J. F. Campbell. Of all the masters in folk-lore, Jacob Grimm not excepted, none had a keener eye or surer, more instinctively right judgment. Although the writer admits, nay, insists upon the conjectural character of his results, he believes he is on the right track, and that if the Grail romances be worked out from any other point of view than the one here taken, the same goal will be reached. It should be said that some of the conclusions, which he can claim as his own by right of first mention, were stated by him in a paper he read before the Folk-Lore Society in 1880 (afterwards reprinted, Celtic Magazine, 1887, August-October); and in a paper he read before the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion, in 1884. These studies have been a delight and a solace to the writer; had it been otherwise, he would still feel himself amply repaid for his work by the thought that he had made a contribution, however slight, to the criticism of the Legend of the Holy Grail. ERRATA. [The reader is kindly begged to mark in these corrections before using the book.] Page 22, line 12, _for_ Corbièrc _read_ Corbière. " 25, line 37, _insert_ Passion _before_ Week. " 30, 7 lines from bottom, _for_ Avallon _read_ Avalon. " 85, line 24, _for_ Percival _read_ Perceval. " 86, line 12, _for_ Percival _read_ Perceval. " 90, 5 lines from bottom, _for_ Pelleur _read_ Pelleans. " 102, line 22, _for_ seems _read_ seem. " 120, line 3, _for_ 1180 _read_ 1189. " 124, line 29, _for_ Bron _read_ Brons. " 156, line 11, _insert_ comma _after_ specially. " 159, line 11, _for_ Henessey _read_ Hennessy. " 163, note, _i.e._, _for_ Graal _read_ Gaal. " 183, line 23, _insert_ comma _after_ more. " 188, line 5, _for_ euphemerised _read_ euhemerised. " 188, line 5, _for_ invasion _read_ invasions. " 188, line 17, _for_ mystic _read_ mythic. " 189, line 1, _for_ LXXVII _read_ LXXXII. " 197, note, _for_ Carl the Great _read_ Karl the Great. " 200, line 12, _insert_ comma _after_ plight; _dele_ comma _after_ love. " 201, 1 line from bottom, _insert_ late _before_ mediæval. " 204, note, _for_ Percival _read_ Perceval. " 217, line 23, _for_ mystic _read_ mythic. STUDIES ON THE LEGEND OF THE HOLY GRAIL. CHAPTER I. Description of the leading forms of the Romance: Conte del Graal--Joseph d'Arimathie--Didot-Perceval--Queste del Saint Graal--Grand Saint Graal--Parzival--Perceval le Gallois--Mabinogi of Peredur--Sir Perceval--Diu Crône--Information respecting date and authorship of these works in the MSS. The following are the forms in which the Legend of the Holy Grail has come down to us:-- A.--=Le Conte del Graal=, a poem of over 60,000 verses, the major part of which (45,379 verses) was printed for the first time by Potvin: Le Conte del Graal, six volumes, 8vo. (vols. ii.-vi. containing our poem), Mons, 1866-71, from a MS. preserved in the Mons Library.[1] The portion of the poem which is not printed in full is summarised by Potvin in the sixth volume of his edition. The poem, so far as at present known, is the work of four men: A I. Chrestien de Troyes, who carried the work down to verse 10,601. A II. Gautier de Doulens, who continued it to verse 34,934. A III. Manessier, who finished it in 45,379 verses. A IV. Gerbert, to whom are due over 15,000 verses, mostly found interpolated between Gautier de Doulens and Manessier. A MS. preserved in the Library of Montpellier[2] differs in important respects from the Mons one as far as Gautier de Doulens and Manessier are concerned. It intercalates 228 verses between verses 20,294 and 20,296 of the Mons MS., and gives a different redaction of verses 34,996-35,128 in agreement with the aforesaid intercalation. It likewise mentions two visits of Gawain to the Grail Castle. The intercalation in Gautier may be called A II_a_, and the variant in Manessier A III_a_. B.--=Joseph d'Arimathie, Merlin=, exists in two forms: (1) a fragmentary metrical version entitled in the sole existing MS. (Bibliothèque Nationale, No. 20,047. Fonds St. Germain, No. 1,987) Li R(o)manz de l'est (o)ire dou Graal, and consisting of 4,018 verses, 3,514 for the Joseph, the remainder, for about one-fifth of the Merlin. First printed by Francisque Michel: Le Roman du St. Graal. Bordeaux, 1841. Secondly by Furnivall: Seynt Graal or the Sank Ryal. Printed for the Roxburghe Club, two volumes, 4to., London, 1861-63, where it is found in an appendix at the end of vol i. (2) A prose version of which several MSS. exist, all of which are fully described by E. Hucher: Le Saint-Graal, ou le Joseph d'Arimathie, three volumes, 12mo., Le Mans, 1875-78, vol. i., pp. 1-28. The chief are: the Cangé MS. (_circa_ 1250) of which Hucher prints the Joseph, vol. i., pp. 209-276, and the Didot MS., written in 1301, of which Hucher prints the Joseph, vol. i., pp. 277-333. Hucher likewise gives, vol. i., pp. 335-365, variants from the Huth MS. (_circa_ 1280). These different versions may be numbered as follows:-- B I. The metrical version, which I shall always quote as Metr. Jos., from Furnivall's edition. B II. The prose versions: B II_a_, Cangé Jos.; B II_b_, Didot Jos.; B II_c_, Huth Jos., all quoted from Hucher, vol. i. C.--=Perceval=, prose romance found in the already-mentioned Didot MS. at the end of the Merlin, printed by Hucher, vol. i., pp. 415-505, from which it will be quoted as Didot-Perceval. D.--=Queste del Saint Graal=, prose romance commonly found in the MSS. in combination with Lancelot and the Mort Artur. Edited by Furnivall: La Queste del St. Graal. Printed for the Roxburghe Club, 4to., London, 1864. The introduction contains a full account of the existing MSS. A different redaction from that of any of the known French MSS. is preserved in a Welsh translation, printed, with a modern English version by the editor, from a fifteenth century Hengwrt MS., by the Rev. Robert Williams: Y Seint Graal, London, 8vo., 1876. I shall quote-- D I. Queste, from Furnivall's edition. D II. Welsh Quest, from Williams' edition. E.--The so-called =Grand Saint Graal=, prose romance found in the MSS., both preceding the Merlin and the Queste, and preceding the Queste and the Mort Artur. Printed by Furnivall from Cambridge and Brit. Mus. MSS., together with a metrical English adaptation by Henry Lonelich, of about the time of Henry the VIth, in the already-mentioned Seynt Graal; and by Hucher, vols. ii. and iii., from a Le Mans MS.; will be quoted as Grand St. Graal, from Furnivall's edition. F.--=Parzival=, by Wolfram von Eschenbach, German metrical romance, critically edited from the MSS. by Karl Lachmann, Wolfram von Eschenbach, Vierte Ausgabe, 8vo., Berlin, 1879, from which it will be quoted as Wolfram. G.--=Perceval le Gallois=, prose romance, first printed by Potvin, vol. i. of his Conte del Graal, from a Mons MS., with variants from a fragmentary Berne MS. (as to both of which see pp. 353, etc.). A Welsh translation, with modern English version by the editor, made from a MS. closely allied to the Berne fragments, and representing a superior text to that printed by Potvin, in Williams' already-mentioned Y Seint Graal. Besides these works there exist two versions of the Perceval legend in which the Holy Grail, as such, does not appear. These are:-- H.--=The Mabinogi of Peredur, the son of Evrawc=, Welsh prose romance found in the Red Book of Hergest, a MS. of the end of the fourteenth century, and in MSS. a hundred years older. I shall quote it as Peredur, from Lady Guest's English translation of the Mabinogion, 8vo., London, 1877. I.--=Sir Perceval of Galles=, English metrical romance, printed for the first time from the Thornton MS., of _circa_ 1440, by Halliwell: The Thornton Romances, printed for the Camden Society, small 4to., London, 1884; from which I shall quote it as Sir Perceval. Finally there exists an independent German version of certain adventures, the hero of which in the Conte du Graal, in Wolfram, and in the Mabinogi, is Gawain. This is-- K.--=Heinrich von dem Türlin.= Diu Crône. Edited by G. H. F. Scholl. Bibliothek des Litterarischen Vereins, vol. xxvii., Stuttgart, 1852. The positive information which the different MSS. of the above mentioned works afford respecting their authors, date of composition, sources, etc., is as follows:--In the prologue to his poem, Chrestien (Potvin i., pp. 307-308) dedicates his work to "Li quens Felippes de Flandres," who as he states (verse 67), "li bailla le livre," which served him as model, and whom he praises at great length as surpassing Alexander. We know that Count Philip of Flanders took the cross in 1188, set out for the Holy Land in 1190, and died on the 1st of June, 1191, before Akkon.[3] As Chrestien says not a word about the crusading intentions of Philip, it may be inferred that he wrote his prologue before 1188, and began the poem in 1189 at the latest. Gautier de Doulens (probably of that ilk, in Picardy, some miles from Amiens)[4] has only left his name, verse 33,755, Gautiers de Dons qui l'estore, etc. Manessier the next continuator has been more explicit; he describes himself as completing the work at the command of ... Jehanne la Comtesse Qu'est de Flandre dame et mestresse. (Potvin, vi., p. 157.) This Joan, daughter of Baldwin the VIth, ruled Flanders _alone_ during the imprisonment of her husband after the battle of Bouvines (1214-1227), and Manessier's words can only apply to her during this period, so that his continuation must have been written between 1214-1227.[5] The third continuator, Gerbers, only mentions his name (Potvin, vi., p. 212). The author of version B, names himself, B I, verse 3,461, Messires Roberz de Beron; verses 3,488-94 state that no mortal man had told the story, until he had it from Mon seigneur Gautier en peis Qui de Mont Belyal estoit. Verse 3,155 gives the name somewhat differently, Meistres Robers dist de Bouron. The prose versions follow the poem with additions, thus Cangé Jos. (p. 275); Messires Roberz de Borron lou restrait à mon seigneur Gautier, lou preu conte de Mobéliart. Walter of Montbeliard, brother to Count Richard of Montbeliard, went to the Holy Land in 1199, became Constable of Jerusalem, Regent of Cyprus, and died in 1212. The date of his birth is uncertain, but as his elder brother died in 1237, Walter could hardly have been born before 1150. His father, Amadeus, died in 1183, in which year he received the countship of Montfaucon. It may only have been after he thus became independent that Robert entered his service. In any case Robert could not have spoken of him as "mon seigneur," before 1170. That year may, therefore, be taken as a _terminus a quo_, and the year 1212 as a _terminus ad quem_ for dating these versions. The Grand St. Graal is likewise ascribed in the MSS. to Robert de Borron, and it is further stated that he translated from Latin into French--Et ensi le temoigne me sires robiers de borron qui a translatee de latin en franchois cheste estoire (ii. p. 78). The Queste ascribed in the MSS. to Walter Mapes, is said to have been compiled by him for the love of his lord, King Henry--maistre Gautiers Map les extrait pour l'amor del roy Henri son seignor, qui fist l'estore translater du latin en francois[6]--Walter Mapes, born before 1143 (he presided at the assizes of Gloucester in 1173), died in 1210. If we may believe the MSS., the Queste would probably fall within the last twenty-five years of the twelfth century. The author of Perceval le Gallois describes himself (Potvin, i., 348) as writing the book for the "Seignor de Neele," whose Christian name, "Johan," is given four lines lower down, at the command of the "Seingnor de Cambresis," _i.e._, the Bishop of Cambray. This John of Nesle is probably the one who in the year 1225 sold the lordship of Bruges to Countess Joan of Flanders.[7] Wolfram von Eschenbach, of that ilk, in North Bavaria, born in the last thirty years of the twelfth century, died about 1220. He knew Chrestien's poem well, and repeatedly refers to it, but with great contempt, as being the wrong version of the story, whereas he holds the true version from Kyot, the singer, a "Provenzal," who found the tale of Parzival written in heathen tongue at Dôlet (Toledo), by Flegetanis, a heathen who first taught concerning the Grail, put it into French, and after searching the chronicles of Britain, France, and Ireland in vain, at length found information in the chronicles of Anjou (pp. 202 and 219). Nothing is stated in the works themselves respecting the authors of the Mabinogi and the Thornton Sir Perceval. Heinrich von dem Türlin frequently quotes Chrestien as his authority, _e.g._, verses 16,941, 23,046, 23,982. If these various statements are to be accepted, it follows that in the course of fifty years (1170-1220) a great body of romance came into existence, partly in France, Chrestien, his continuators, and Robert de Borron; partly in England, Walter Mapes; and partly in Germany, Wolfram von Eschenbach, and Heinrich von dem Türlin. Of this body of romance only a portion has come down to us, the work of Kyot and the Latin originals of the Queste and the Grand St. Graal having disappeared. Furthermore, it is only possible to date with any accuracy three or four of the works, viz., Chrestien, Manessier, Wolfram (whose poem falls certainly within the first ten years of the thirteenth century), though it may also be taken as certain that R. de Borron wrote after 1170, and the anonymous author of Perceval le Gallois before 1225. Of the dated works Chrestien's is the oldest, 1188-90, and it postulates the existence of previous versions. The object of the present investigation being to determine, as far as possible, the age and relationship to one another of the different versions which have come down to us, to exhibit the oldest form of the story as we have it, and to connect it with Celtic traditional belief and literature, it will be well, before proceeding to further discuss the various points left doubtful by the evidence gathered from the MSS., to give clear and detailed summaries of the most important versions. CHAPTER II. Summaries--Conte du Graal: Pseudo-Chrestien, Chrestien, Gautier de Doulens, Manessier, Gerbert--Wolfram--Heinrich von dem Türlin--Didot-Perceval--Mabinogi of Peredur--Thornton MS. Sir Perceval--Queste del Saint Graal--Grand Saint Graal--Robert de Borron's poem, Joseph of Arimathea. =The Conte du Graal.=--PSEUDO-CHRESTIEN.[8]--The story tells of the "Graal," whose mysteries, if Master Blihis lie not, none may reveal; it falls into seven parts, and shows how the rich land of Logres was destroyed. (1) In the wells and springs of that land harboured damsels who fed the wayfarer with meat and pasties and bread. But King Amangons did wrong to one and carried off her golden cup, so that never more came damsels out of the springs to comfort the wanderer. And the men of King Amangons followed his evil example. Thereafter the springs dried up, and the grass withered, and the land became waste, and no more might be found the court of the Rich Fisher, which had filled the land with plenty and splendour. (2) The Knights of the Table Round, learning the ill done to the damsels, set forth to protect them; they found them not, but fair damsels wandering in the woods, each with her knight; with the latter they strove, and when they overcame them sent them to Arthur. Thus came Blihos Bliheris to Arthur's court conquered by Gauvain; he knew goodly tales and he told how the wandering damsels were sprung from those ravished by King Amangons. So long would they wander till God gave them to find the court, whence joy and splendour would come to the land. (3) Arthur's knights resolved to seek the court of the Rich Fisher--much knew he of black art, more than an hundred times changed he his semblance, that no man seeing him again recognised him. Gauvain found it, and had great joy therefrom; but before him a young knight, small of age, but none bolder of courage--Percevaus li Galois was he--he asked whereto the Grail served, but nought of the lance why it dripped blood, nor of the sword one half of which was away whilst the other lay in the bier. But he asked surely concerning the rich cross of silver. Now in the room three times there arose such great sorrow that no man who heard it, so bold he might be but feared. Afterwards the room filled and the king came in, full richly dressed, so that he might hardly be known of them that had seen him the day before, fishing. And when all were sat down the Grail came in, and without serjeant nor seneschal served all present, and 'twas wonder what food it gave them. And then came the great marvel which has not its like. But Perceval will tell of this, so I must say no more; it is a great shame to tell beforehand what is in a good tale. When the good knight shall come who found the court three times you shall hear me tell of Grail and lance, and of him who lay in the bier, of the sword, of the grief and swooning of all beholders. (4) Now the court was found seven times, and each time shall have a fresh tale:-- The seventh (the most pleasing) tells of the lance wherewith Longis pierced the side of the King of holy Majesty; The sixth of warlike feats; The fifth of the anger and loss of Huden; The fourth of heaven, for he was no coward, the knight Mors del Calan, who first came to Glamorgan; The third of the hawk whereof Castrars had such fear--Pecorins, the son of Amangons, bore all his days the wound on his forehead; The second has not yet been told; it tells of the great sorrows Lancelot of the Lake had there where he lost his virtue; And the last is the adventure of the shield, never a better one was there. (5) After this adventure the land was repeopled; court and grail were found; the streams ran again; the meadows were green, the forests thick and leafy; so that all folk marvelled. But there came back a folk, the same that came out of the springs (save they were not cooks), a caitiff set, and built for their damsels the rich Maidens' Castel, and the Bridge Perillous, and Castel Orguellous, and warred against the Table Round. In the castle were 376, each sire of 20 knights. And not till after four years did Arthur overcome them and was there peace. _(Here beginneth the Story of the Grail.)_ (6) There were in the land of Wales twelve knights, of whom Bliocadrans alone survived, so eager were they in seeking tournament and combats. After living for two years with his wife, childless, Bliocadrans set forth to a tournament given by the King of Wales and Cornwall against them of the Waste Fountain. At first successful, he is at length slain. A few days after his departure his wife has borne a son. When at length she learns her husband's death, she takes counsel with her chamberlain, and pretending a pilgrimage to St. Brandan, in Scotland, withdraws to the Waste Forest far removed from all men. Here she brings up her son, and though she allows him to hunt in the forest, warns him against men covered with iron--they are devils. He promises to follow her counsel, and thenceforth he goes into the forest alone. =The Conte du Graal.=--(_a_) CHRESTIEN.--(1) When as trees and meadows deck themselves with green, and birds sing, the son of the widow lady goes out into the wood. He meets five knights, and, as their weapons shine in the sun, takes them for angels, after having first thought them to be the devils his mother had warned him against. He prays to them as his mother has taught him. One of the knights asks if he has seen five knights and three maidens who had passed that way, but he can but reply with questions concerning the arms and trappings of the knights. He learns of Arthur the King who makes knights, and when he returns to his mother tells her he has beheld a more beautiful thing than God and His angels, knights namely, and he too will become one. In vain his mother tells him of his father's and his two elder brothers' fates, slain in battle. Nothing will serve, so the mother makes him a dress of coarse linen and leather, and before he leaves counsels him as follows: If dame or damsel seek his aid he is to give it, he is to do naught displeasing to them, but to kiss the maiden who is willing, and to take ring and girdle of her if he can; to go for long with no fellow-traveller whose name he knows not, to speak with and consort with worthy men, to pray to our Lord when he comes to church or convent. She then tells him of Jesus Christ, the Holy Prophet. He departs clad and armed in Welsh fashion, and his mother swoons as though dead. (2) Perceval comes to a tent in the wood, and, taking it for a convent, goes in and finds sleeping on a bed a damsel, whom the neighing of his horse wakes. In pursuance of his mother's counsel he kisses her more than twenty times, takes her ring from her, and eats and drinks of her provisions. Thereafter he rides forth, and her lover returning and hearing what has taken place, swears to avenge himself upon the intruder, and until such time the damsel, whose tale he disbelieves, is to follow him barefoot and not to change her raiment. (3) Perceval learns the way to Carduel from a charcoal-burner; arrived there, he sees a knight coming forth from the castle and bearing a golden cup in his hand, clad in red armour, who complains of Arthur as having robbed him of his land. Perceval rides into the castle hall and finds the court at meat. Arthur, lost in thought, pays no attention to the first two salutations of Perceval, who then turns his horse to depart, and in so doing knocks off the King's hat. Arthur then tells him how the Red Knight has carried off his cup, spilling its contents over the Queen. Perceval cares not a rap for all this, but asks to be made knight, whereat all laugh. Perceval insists, and claims the Red Knight's armour. Kex bids him fetch them, whereat the King is displeased. Perceval greets a damsel, who laughs and foretells he shall be the best knight in the world. For this saying Kex strikes her, and kicks into the fire a fool who had been wont to repeat that the damsel would not laugh till she beheld the best of knights. (4) Perceval tarries no longer, but follows the Red Knight, and bids him give up his arms and armour. They fight, and Perceval slays his adversary with a cast of his dart. Yonès, who has followed him, finds him put to it to remove the knight's armour--he will burn him out of it if need be--and shows him how to disarm the dead man and to arm himself. Perceval then mounts the knight's steed and rides off, leaving the cup to Yonés to be given to the King, with this message: he, Perceval, would come back to avenge the damsel of the blow Kex struck her. (5) Perceval comes to a castle, in front of which he finds an old knight, to whom he relates what has befallen him, and of whom he asks counsel as his mother bade him. The knight, Gonemans of Gelbort, takes him into his castle, teaches him the use of arms, and all knightly practices. In especial he is to avoid over-readiness in speaking and in asking questions, and to give over his habit of always quoting his mother's counsels. He then dubs him knight, and sends him forth to return to his mother. (6) After a day's journey Perceval comes to a town defended by a castle, and, being allowed entrance therein, finds all waste and deserted, even the very convents. The lady of the castle, a damsel of surpassing beauty, welcomes him and bids him to table. Mindful of Gonemans' counsels he remains silent, and she must speak to him first. She turns out to be Gonemans' niece. At night the young stranger is shown to his chamber, but the damsel cannot sleep for thought. Weeping she comes to Perceval's bedside, and in reply to his wondering questions tells him how the forces of King Clamadex encompass the castle, and how that on the morrow she must yield, but rather than be Clamadex's she will slay herself. He promises to help her, and bids her to him in the bed, which she does, and they pass the night in each other's arms, mouth to mouth. On the morrow he begs for her love in return for his promised aid, which she half refuses, the more to urge him on. He fights with and overcomes Aguigrenons, Clamadex's marshal, and sends him to Arthur's court. Clamadex hearing of this tries afresh to starve out the castle, but a storm luckily throws a passing ship ashore, and thereby reprovisions the besieged ones. Clamadex then challenges Perceval, is overcome, and sent to Arthur's court, where he arrives shortly after his marshal. They relate wonders concerning the Red Knight, and the King is more than ever displeased with Kex for having offended such a valiant warrior. After remaining for a while with Blanchefleur, Perceval takes leave of her, as he longs to see his mother again. (7) He comes to a river, upon which is a boat, and therein two men fishing. One of them, in reply to his questions, directs him for a night's shelter to his own castle hard by. Perceval starts for it, and at first unable to find it reproaches the fisher. Suddenly he perceives the castle before him, enters therein, is disarmed, clad in a scarlet mantle, and led into a great hall. Therein is a couch upon which lies an old man; near him is a fire, around which some four hundred men are sitting. Perceval tells his host he had come from Biau-Repaire. A squire enters, bearing a sword, and on it is written that it will never break save in one peril, and that known only to the maker of it. 'Tis a present from the host's niece to be bestowed where it will be well employed. The host gives it to Perceval, "to whom it was adjudged and destined." Hereupon enters another squire, bearing in his hand a lance, from the head of which a drop of blood runs down on the squire's hand. Perceval would have asked concerning this wonder, but he minds him of Gonemans' counsel not to speak or inquire too much. Two more squires enter, holding each a ten-branched candlestick, and with them a damsel, a "graal" in her hands. The graal shines so that it puts out the light of the candles as the sun does that of the stars. Thereafter follows a damsel holding a (silver) plate. All defile past between the fire and the couch, but Perceval does not venture to ask wherefore the graal is used. Supper follows, and the graal is again brought, and Perceval, knowing not its use, had fain asked, but always refrains when he thinks of Gonemans, and finally puts off his questions till the morrow. After supper the guest is led to his chamber, and on the morrow, awakening, finds the castle deserted. No one answers his calls. Issuing forth he finds his horse saddled and the drawbridge down. Thinking to find the castle dwellers in the forest he rides forth, but the drawbridge closes so suddenly behind him that had not the horse leapt quickly forward it had gone hard with steed and rider. In vain Perceval calls: none answer. (8) He pricks on and comes to an oak, beneath which sits a maid holding a dead knight in her arms and lamenting over him. She asks him where he has passed the night, and on learning it tells him the fisher who had directed him to the castle and his host were one and the same; wounded by a spear thrust through both thighs his only solace is in fishing, whence he is called the Fisher King. She asks, had Perceval seen the bleeding lance, the graal, and the silver dish? had he asked their meaning? No; then what is his name? He does not know it, but she guesses it: Perceval le Gallois; but it should be Perceval the Caitiff, for had he asked concerning what he saw, the good king would have been made whole again, and great good have sprung therefrom. He has also a heavy sin on his conscience in that his mother died of grief when he left her. She herself is his cousin. Perceval asks concerning the dead knight, and learning it is her lover offers to revenge her upon his slayer. In return she tells him about the sword, how it will fly in pieces if he have not care of it, and how it may be made whole again by dipping it in a lake, near which dwells its maker, the smith Trebucet. (9) Perceval leaves his cousin and meets, riding on a wretched horse, a scantily and shabbily clad woman of miserable appearance, lamenting her hard fate and unjust treatment. She is the lady of the tent whose ring Perceval had carried off. She bids him fly her husband, the Orgellous de la Lande. The latter appears, challenges Perceval, but is overcome by him, convinced of his wife's innocence, compelled to take her into favour again, and both must go to Arthur's court, relate the whole story, and renew Perceval's promise to the damsel whom Kex had struck, to avenge her. Arthur, when he hears of the deeds of the young hero, sets forth with his whole court to seek him. (10) Snow has fallen, and a flock of wild geese, blinded by the snow, has had one of its number wounded by a falcon. Three blood drops have fallen on the snow, and Perceval beholding them falls into deep thought on the red and white in his love's face. Arthur and his knights come up with him. Saigremors sees him first, bids him come, and, when he answers no word, tilts against him, but is overthrown. Kex then trys his luck, but is unhorsed so rudely that arm and leg are broken. Gauvain declares that love must be mastering the strange knight's thoughts, approaches him courteously, tells his own name and learns Perceval's, and brings the latter to Arthur, by whom he is received with all honour. Perceval then learns it is Kex he has overthrown, thus fulfilling his promise to the damsel whom Kex had smitten, and whose knight he offers himself to be. (11) Perceval returns on the morrow with the court to Carlion, and the next day at noon there comes riding on a yellow mule a damsel more hideous than could be pictured outside hell. She curses Perceval for having omitted to ask concerning the lance and graal; had he done so the King would have been healed of his wound and ruled his land in peace; now maidens will be put to shame, orphans and widows made, and many knights slain. Turning to the King she tells of the adventures to be achieved at the Castel Orgellous, where dwell five hundred and seventy knights, each with his lady love. He, though, who would win the highest renown must to Montesclaire to free the damsel held captive there. She then departs. Gauvain will forth to the imprisoned damsel, Giflès to the Castel Orgellous, and Perceval swears to rest no two nights in the same place till he have learnt concerning graal and lance. (12) A knight, Guigambresil, enters and accuses Gauvain of having slain his lord. The latter sets forth at once to the King of Cavalon to clear himself of this accusation. (13) On his way he meets the host of Melians, who is preparing to take part in a tournament to approve himself worthy the love of the daughter of Tiebaut of Tingaguel, who had hitherto refused his suit. Gauvain rides on to Tingaguel to help its lord. On arriving at the castle the eldest daughter jeers at him, whilst the youngest takes his part, declaring him a better knight than Melians, whereat her sister is very indignant. On the first day of the tournament Melians shows himself the best knight, but the younger sister still declares her faith in Gauvain, and has her ears boxed in consequence. She appeals to Gauvain to be her knight and avenge the injury done her. He consents, overcomes Melians, whose horse he sends to his little lady, and all other knights; then, after telling his name, rides forth. (14) He meets two knights, the younger of whom offers him hospitality, and sends him to his sister, bidding her welcome him. She receives him kindly, and when, struck with her beauty, he asks her favours, grants them at once. They are interrupted by a steward, who reproaches her with giving her love to her father's murderer, and calls upon the castle folk to attack Gauvain. The latter defends himself until the return of Guigambresil, who reproaches the lord of the castle for letting Gauvain be attacked, as he had expressed his readiness to do single combat. Gauvain is then allowed to go, and is excused the combat if within a year he can bring back the bleeding lance. He sets off in search of it. (15) The tale returns to Perceval, who has wandered about for five years without thinking of God, yet performing many feats. He meets three knights accompanied by ladies, all clad in penitents' dress. 'Twas a Good Friday, and the eldest knight rebukes Perceval for riding fully armed on such a day. He must confess him to a holy hermit who lives hard by. Perceval goes thither, accuses himself of having forgotten God through his great grief at not learning the use of the graal. The hermit reveals himself as his uncle, tells Perceval that he is in sin as having caused his mother's death, and for that reason he could not ask concerning lance and graal; but for her prayers he had not lived till now. Perceval remains two days with his uncle, receives absolution, and rides forth. (16) The story turns to Gauvain, who, after Escalavon, finds beneath an oak a damsel lamenting over a wounded knight; the latter advises Gauvain to push on, which he does, and comes upon a damsel who receives him discourteously, and when at her bidding he has fetched her horse from a garden hard by, mocks at him and rides off. He follows, and culls on the way herbs with which he heals the wounded knight. A squire rides up very hideous of aspect, mounted on a wretched hack. Gauvain chastises him for discourteous answers; meanwhile the wounded knight makes off with Gauvain's steed, making himself known as Griogoras, whom Gauvain had once punished for ill-doing, Gauvain has to follow the damsel upon the squire's hack, comes to a river, on the other side of which is a castle, overcomes a knight who attacks him, during which the damsel vanishes, is ferried across the stream, giving the vanquished knight to the ferryman as toll; (17) comes on the morrow to the Magic Castle, wherein damsels are held fast, awaiting a knight full of all knightly virtues to restore their lands to the ladies, marry the damsels, and put an end to the enchantments of the palace. Upon entering, Gauvain sees a magnificent bed, seats himself therein, is assailed by magic art, overcomes a lion, and is then acclaimed lord of the castle. He would then leave the castle, but the ferryman says he may not, whereat Gauvain is moved to anger. On the morrow, looking forth, Gauvain beholds the (18) damsel who led him to the ford, accompanied by a knight. He hastens forth, overcomes the knight, seeks again the damsel's love, but is sent by her to the Ford Perillous. Here he meets Guiromelant, who loves Gauvain's sister, Clarissant, a dweller in the Magic Castle. A combat is arranged to take place after seven days. Upon his return to the damsel, named Orgellouse de Logres, he is now well received by her. She hates Guiromelant for having slain her lover, and has long sought a good knight to avenge her. Guiromelant on his side hates Gauvain for having, as he says, treacherously killed his father. Gauvain and Orgellouse return to the Magic Castle. One of the queens who dwells there is mother to Arthur; the second one, his daughter, mother to Gauvain. The latter gives his sister Clarissant a ring Guiromelant had begged him, unknowing who he was, to bring to her. He then sends a knight to Arthur to bid him and his whole train come witness the fight 'twixt him and Guiromelant. The messenger finds Arthur plunged in grief at Gauvain's absence.... * * * * * Here Chrestien's share breaks off abruptly in the middle of a sentence, and the poem is taken up by (_b_) GAUTIER DE DOULENS.[9]--(1) Arthur and his court accept Gauvain's invitation and make for the Castle of Wonders, the Queen whereof has meantime made herself known to Gauvain as Ygène, Arthur's mother. The duel between Gauvain and Guiromelant is hindered, and the latter weds Gauvain's sister. (Montp. MS. here inserts a first visit of Gawain to Grail Castle, which is substantially the same as the one it repeats afterwards in the same place as the Mons MS.) Adventures of Arthur and Gauvain against Brun de Branlant follow, of Gauvain with a maiden in a tent and her brother Brandalis, of Carduel of Nantes, whose wife is beloved of the magician Garahiet, and of their son Carados, and the magic horn (verses 11,000-15,800). (2) (A fresh series of adventures begins) Arthur sets forth to seek Giflet, son of Dos; Gauvain meets again with Brandalis, whose sister has meanwhile borne him a son; Castel Orgellous, where Giflet is imprisoned, is captured; Gauvain's son by Brandalis' sister is lost. (3) An unknown knight comes to Arthur's court; Keie, who demands his name, is unhorsed; Gauvain brings the unknown to the court, but the latter is slain by a javelin cast by invisible hands. Gauvain equips himself in the unknown's armour and starts forth to learn the latter's name. After praying in a chapel, in which he beholds a light on the altar quenched by a black hand, he rides through Brittany and Normandy, and comes to a castle where, owing to his armour, he is at first hailed as lord. In one of the rooms stands a bier, whereon lies a knight, cross and broken sword upon his body, his left hand bleeding. A crowned knight enters and goes to battle with Gauvain; canons and clerks come and perform the Vigil of the Dead; whilst at table Gauvain sees the rich Grail serving out bread and wine to the knights. Gauvain remains alone after the meal; he sees a lance which bleeds into a silver cup. The crowned knight again enters, bearing in his hand a broken sword which had belonged to the unknown knight, over whom he mourns. He hands the sword to Gauvain and asks him to put the pieces together. Gauvain cannot, whereupon the knight declares him unfit to fulfil the quest (_li besoin_) on which he came. Later he may try again. Gauvain asks concerning lance, sword, and bier. The lance, he is told, is the one wherewith the Son of God was pierced in the side, 'twill bleed till Doomsday. The tale of the broken sword which brought so much woe upon the kingdom of Logres will also be told, but here Gauvain falls fast asleep.[10] On the morrow he wakes, and finds himself on the sea strand. He rides off, and behold the country has burst into green leaf, and the reason thereof is his having asked concerning the lance. The countryfolk both bless and curse him for having so far delivered them and for not having completed the deliverance by asking concerning the Grail. (4) He meets a young knight who turns out to be his son. (5) (Adventures in which Carahiès, Gauvain's brother, is chief actor.) (6) The story returns to Perceval, who, after leaving the hermit, rides for three days and comes to a castle, over the door of which hangs a horn. Perceval blows therein, overcomes the knight who answers the challenge, and sends him to Arthur's court. (7) On his way to the Castle of Mont Orgellous, to the pillar of which only an accomplished knight might tie his horse, he comes to the stream on whose banks he had previously met the Fisher King. Seeking for a bridge he meets a damsel on a mule, who, under pretence of showing a way across the river, tries to drown him. He then comes to a castle, which entering he finds untenanted. In the hall stands a chessboard. Perceval plays, is beaten, seizes the board and makes as if to throw it in the moat. Hereupon a damsel rises from the water to stay his hand, and coming into the room reproaches him. Overcome by her beauty he asks her favours. She will grant them if he bring the head of the stag which roams in the castle park. Thereto she lends him her hound, bidding him be sure he return it. The hunt follows; Perceval overtakes the stag, slays it, and cutting off its head prepares to bring it back, when a maid of ill-chance (_pucelle de malaire_) takes and carries it off. Perceval claiming it is reproached by her for having slain her stag, but told he may win again the hound if he go to a mound whereon a knight is painted and say, "Vassal, what doest thou here?" The combat with the Knight of the Tomb follows, during which hound and stag's head are carried off by another knight, whom Perceval can only follow when he has overcome the Knight of the Tomb and driven him back therein. Now this knight, hight the Black Knight, had dwelt there summer and winter five years, striving with all-comers for the sake of his love. Perceval, following up the Robber Knight, meets the damsel who had carried off the hound, but she only mocks him for answer to his questions. (8) After an adventure with a discourteous knight, Perceval meets at length a brother of the Red Knight whom he had formerly slain, who tells him he had seen the daughter of the Fisher King, and she had told him of a knight who had carried off a hound and stag's head belonging to a good knight who had been at her court, and had omitted to ask concerning the grail, for which reason she had taken his hound and refused him help to follow the Robber Knight. (9) Perceval is directed by the Red Knight's brother to the Fisher King's castle, but misses his way, and after an adventure at a castle, where he slays a lion, overcomes Abrioris and sends him to Arthur; finds a damsel mourning over a knight slain by a giant, whom he kills, achieves the feat of the Ford Amorous, meets and fights with Gauvain's son until they learn who each other is, and at length comes to Belrepaire. (10) At first unrecognised by Blanchefleur he makes himself known, stays with her three days, and then rides off, in spite of her entreaties. (11) He meets Rosette (the loathly damsel) and Le Biaus Mauvais, laughs at the former, is challenged by the latter, whom he overcomes and sends to Arthur. (12) He comes to his mother's house, enters without making himself known, learns from his sister that his mother died at his departure ten years before, tells her who he is, and both set forth to their uncle, the hermit. On the way Perceval slays a knight who offers violence to his sister. They come to their uncle, sleep there, and on the morrow Perceval reveals himself, confesses, is reproved for having slain the knight the day before. Perceval, after mentioning his desire to learn more concerning lance, Grail, and sword, and receiving good advice from the hermit, leaves with his sister, with whom he stays three days and then quits her, despite her piteous entreaties. (12_a_) Perceval comes to the Castle of Maidens, where he falls untimely asleep, and on the morrow finds himself in the forest, far from any castle. (13) Perceval finds the damsel who had carried off the hound, fights with her knight, Garalas, overcomes him, learns that the Knight of the Tomb is his brother, who had lived for ten years with a fay in a magic invisible castle, and had met no one to overcome him until Perceval came. Perceval sends both knight and damsel to Arthur. (14) Perceval meets with a white mule led by a damsel; he joins her, although she entreats him not to do so. Suddenly struck by a great light in the forest, he turns to ask his companion what it might mean, but finds her gone. A violent storm comes on. The morrow he meets the damsel with the mule, who had felt no storm. She tells him about the great light: it came from the "Gréaus," which was given by the King of kings as He hung on the Cross; the devil may not lead astray any man on the same day he sees it, therefore the king has it carried about. Perceval asks further, but is told only a holy man may speak of these mysteries. Perceval relates his adventure with the lady of the chessboard, and the damsel gives him the white mule, which will lead to her castle, together with a ring giving the possessor power over the mule. He is to give both back when he meets her. (16) The mule brings Perceval across a river, over a glass bridge, on the other side of which he meets with Brios, who persuades him to join in a tournament held by Arthur at the Castel Orguellous, as he must win the prize of knighthood before coming to the castle of the Fisher King. Perceval leaves stag's head and hound at Brios' castle, carries off the prize at the tournament, remaining unknown. (17) Proceeding thence he frees a knight imprisoned beneath a tombstone, who, in return, shuts him up in the tomb, but, being unable to make the mule go forward, is obliged to release him, and returns to his prison, telling Perceval he knows him for the best knight in the world. (18) Perceval meets the damsel of the mule, to whom he returns ring and mule, and who asks him if he has been at the Fisher King's court; on his saying, No, she hurries off. Perceval prays God to direct him to the Castle of the Chessboard. A voice tells him to follow the hound; he does so, reaches the castle, is greeted by the maiden, to whom he gives stag's head and hound, and who in return tells him concerning the chessboard which _Morghe la fée_ had had made at London, on the Thames, and grants him her favours as she had promised. On the morrow Perceval rides forth, accompanied awhile by the damsel, who will show him his onward way. (19) They come to a river, on which is a boat tied to an oak tree. Perceval is to enter it, cross the river, and on the other side he will find a road leading to the Fisher King. On his way Perceval releases a knight whom he finds hanging by his feet from a tree; 'tis Bagommedes whom Keie had treated thus, and who returns to Arthur's court, challenges Keie, and is only hindered by Arthur from slaying him. All Arthur's knights then start forth for the Mont Dolorous and in search of Perceval. The adventures of Gauvain alone are related in detail until the tale returns to Perceval. (20) After freeing Bagommedes, Perceval, wandering in the woods, comes to a tree, in whose branches sits a child, who can tell nothing of the Fisher King, but tells Perceval he will come on the morrow to the Mont Dolorous. This he does, and binds his horse to the pillar. A damsel on a white mule tells him of Arthur's birth, and how Merlin had made castle and pillar to prove who should be the best of knights. She was Merlin's daughter. (21) Perceval rides on, and towards evening sees afar off a tree upon which burn many lights; as he draws near he finds only a chapel, upon the altar of which lies a dead knight. A great and sudden light is followed by the appearance of a black hand, which puts out the candle on the altar. On the morrow he meets first a huntsman, who tells him he is near the castle, then a damsel, who explains the child in the tree, the chapel, and the black hand as having connection with the Holy Grail and the lance. (22) Perceval comes at last to the castle of the Fisher King, whom he finds on a couch as heretofore. He tells him his adventures, and asks concerning the child on the tree, the tree full of lights, and the chapel with the dead knight. Meanwhile a damsel enters a hall bearing the Grail, another follows with the bleeding lance, then comes a squire with a sword broken in two. Again Perceval puts his questions, and will not eat until they are answered. First, he is told of the child which would not speak to him on account of his many sins, and which climbed ever upwards to show man's thoughts should be raised to the Creator. Before learning aught further Perceval is to try and weld the broken sword together; none but a true knight lover of God, and of God's spouse, Holy Church, may accomplish it. Perceval succeeds, save that a little crack still remains. The Fisher King embraces him and hails him as lord of his house. Here the section which goes under the name of Gautier ends. [A portion of Gautier's section of the Conte du Graal is found in the Berne MS., partly edited, partly summarised, by Rochat in his work, _Ein unbekannter Percheval li Gallois_ (_vide_ _infra_ p. 101). This version offers some remarkable peculiarities. It has a short introduction of thirteen lines; then follows line 21,930 of Gautier in Potvin's text (Mons MS.). An incident follows, omitted in the Mons MS., but found in Montpellier and in Paris, 794: Perceval meets a huntsman who upbraids him for having been at the Fisher King's court, and failed to ask about Grail and bleeding lance. Then follow Incidents 6, 7 (8 is absent so far as one can judge from Rochat's summary), 9 to 13 (in which Perceval does not apparently send Garalas and his love to Arthur), and 14 to end, the following finish being then tacked on: The Fisher King is father to Alain le Gros, husband to Enigeus, sister to that Joseph who, when Christ's body was taken down from the Cross, had it from Pilate as a reward for his services. Joseph had the vessel prepared to catch in it the blood from the body; it was the same Jesus had made the Sacrament in on the Thursday before. The Fisher King dies on the third day and Perceval reigns in his stead.][11] The Conte du Graal is continued by-- (_c_) MANESSIER.--(1) Perceval, full of joy, sits down to table; after the meal, lance, Grail, and a goodly silver dish pass before the royal table away into the next room. Perceval, sighing, asks concerning these objects and the maidens bearing them. (2) The King tells as follows: the lance is that wherewith Longis pierced God's side that day he hung on the Cross (Montpellier MS.: When Longis withdrew the spear the blood ran down to feet, so that Joseph of Barimacie turned black from sorrow, and he collected the blood in the holy vessel). On Perceval's asking further, the Grail is the vessel wherein the holy precious blood of our Lord was received. Then Perceval asks how it came thither; (3) Joseph brought it when he departed from the prison whence he was freed by Vespasian. He baptized forty of his friends, and wandered forth with them till they came to Sarras, where, as the tale tells, they found the King in the Temple of the Sun. Joseph helped the King against his enemies by means of a red cross which he fixed on the King's shield. Evelac, such was the King's name, won the battle thereby, was baptized, and renamed Noodrans. It went so likewise with his brother-in-law, Salafrès, renamed Natiien. Joseph departed thence, ever bearing the Grail with him, till at length he came hither, converted the land, and I, of his seed, am keeping manor and Grail, the which shall never dwell elsewhere, God willing. (Montpellier MS. merely says, how Joseph was put into a dark prison, and kept there forty years, but the Lord sent him the sweetness of the Grail twice or thrice a day. Tiberius and Vespasian deliver him and bring him to Rome, whence he carries away the lance.) (4) To Perceval's questions concerning the damsels: the Grail-bearer is of royal blood, and pure maid, or God might not let her hold it, she is my child; the dish-bearer is also of high lineage, daughter to King Goon Desert. (5) The King would then go to sleep, but Perceval would know about the broken sword: In Quiquagrant dwelt Goon Desert, the King's brother. Besieged by Espinogre he made a sally and slew him. Espinogre's nephew swore revenge; donning the armour of a knight of Goon Desert, he slew him, but the sword broke when the traitrous blow was struck. Goon Desert's body was brought to his brother's castle, whither came, too, his daughter with the broken sword, foretelling that a knight should come, rejoin the pieces, and avenge the foul blow. The Fisher King taking up the fragments incautiously was pierced through the thigh, and the wound might not be healed until his brother's death was avenged. The murderer's name is Partiniaus, Lord of the Red Tower. Perceval vows to avenge this wrong, but first, despite the King's strong hints that it is bed-time, must learn (6) about the candles on the trees, how they are fay trees, and the lights deceiving ones, but they might not deceive Perceval, he being destined to achieve the wonders of the earth, and he has put an end to this illusion; (7) how the black hand haunted a chapel wherein Pinogres had slain his mother, and over four thousand knights had been slain by it. (8) Perceval starting on the morrow in search of Partinal meets with Saigremors, and with him delivers a damsel from ten robber knights. Perceval, wounded, stays a month at the damsel's castle, and (9) the story tells for some fifteen hundred verses (36,100-37,400) of Saigremors; how he pursues the robber knights, comes to the Castle of Maidens, delivers the dame thereof from a knight, Calides, who wars upon her, and afterwards delivers another maiden, to whom two knights were offering violence; (10) then, for over two thousand verses of Gauvain; how he prepares to set forth again in search of the Fisher King; how a maiden comes to him whose brother had been slain in his service, reproaches Gauvain for his conduct at the Fisher King's castle, and carries him off; how he saves a maid going to be burnt; how after other adventures he slays King Margon, returns to Arthur's court, fights with Kex to avenge the brother of the damsel, etc. (11) Meanwhile Perceval, leaving the damsel who has tended him right well, rides forth into a wood, where he is overtaken by a great storm of thunder and hail, after which he comes to the chapel where lies the body of the knight slain by the black hand. Perceval strives with the devil to whom this belongs, overcomes, and with the help of a hermit who tells him the tale of all the knights who had fallen there, buries the body. He then confesses to the hermit, who warns him not to think of acquiring fame, but rather to save his soul. (12) Perceval, riding forth on the morrow, is met by the devil, who throws him from his horse; he finds another, mounts it, but coming to a stream luckily crosses himself, when it disappears; it was the devil. (13) A damsel passes by with a bark, wherein Perceval mounts; she minds him of Blanchefleur, and desire masters him, but again he crosses himself in time, and ship and damsel vanish. (14) A hermit comes who instructs him concerning all these things, brings him where he finds a fresh steed, and to a fair castle. Perceval overcomes a knight who would bar his passing, delivers the lady love of Dodinel from a felon knight; is appealed to for help by a damsel of Blanchefleur's, oppressed by Arides of Cavalon. (15) Setting off to the succour of his lady love, his horse falls lame, he comes to a smith who tells him his name is Tribuet, the forger of the broken sword. Tribuet makes the sword whole, and bids Perceval guard it well, never had king or conqueror a better one. (16) Perceval reaches Bel Repaire, overcomes Arides, whom he sends to Arthur's court, bidding him announce his own arrival for Whitsuntide. He then quits Blanchefleur, and (17) meets with the Coward Knight, who will not fight even when he sees two damsels carried off by ten knights. Perceval attacks the ravishers, the Coward Knight is drawn into the struggle, and quits himself valiantly. The rescued damsels bring the knights to their castle, where Perceval, sore wounded, remains for two months. (18) Meanwhile Saigremors has announced Perceval's arrival at Camelot. Whitsuntide passing, all the knights set forth in search of him, and, amongst others, Boort; he meets his brother Lyonel led, bound and naked, by six knights, who scourge him, and at the same moment he hears the plaint of a maid to whom a knight is doing violence. Her he succours, then hurries after his brother, whom, meanwhile, Gauvain has rescued. Lyonel bitterly reproaches his brother for abandoning him, and falls upon him, sword in hand; Boort offers no defence, and would be slain but for a passing knight, Calogrinant, who pays for his interference with his life. Finally, heavenly intervention appeases Lyonel. Calogrinant is buried by a hermit. (19) Perceval, healed, leaves the castle together with the Coward Knight, is present with him at a tournament, at which he distinguishes himself above all others, leaves his companion, to whom he gives the name Le Hardis, and (20) meets Hector, who challenges him. The two fight, and well-nigh kill each other. To them, lying on the field of combat, appears an angel with the Grail, and makes them whole. (21) Perceval rides on to Partinal's castle, before which stands a fir tree whereon hangs a shield. Perceval throws this down, whereupon Partinal appears and a desperate combat ensues, ended by the overthrow of Partinal, and, as he will submit to no conditions, his death. Perceval cuts off his head and makes for the Grail Castle, but only after a summer's seeking, lights upon it chancewise. (22) As he nears the castle, the warders come to the King, telling him a knight is coming with a head hanging at his saddle-bow; hereupon the King leaps to his feet and is straightway made whole. Partinal's head is stuck on a pike on the highest tower of the castle. After supper, at which the same mystic procession of talismans takes place as heretofore, the King learns Perceval's name, and thereby finds that he is his own sister's son. He would hand him his crown, but Perceval has vowed not to take it, his uncle living. (23) He returns to Arthur's court, overcoming on the way seven knights, and tells his adventures, which Arthur has written down and kept in a box at Salisbury. The Grail damsel appears and tells Perceval his uncle is dead. Perceval goes to Corbière accompanied by all the court, who assist at his crowning and remain with him a month, during which time the Grail feeds all with the costliest foods. He marries his cousins, the two Grail-bearers, to two valiant kings, and reigns in peace for seven years. (24) After which time he follows a hermit into the wilderness, accompanied by Grail, lance, and holy dish. He serves the Lord for ten years, and, when he dies, Grail, lance, and dish were doubtless carried up to heaven, for since that day no man saw them. (_d_) GERBERT.--(According to Birch Hirschfeld interpolated between Gautier and Manessier, and joining on therefore to the last incident in Gautier.)[12] (1) Perceval's sin in having indirectly caused the death of his mother disables him from making whole the broken sword, and he must set forth again in search of the Grail. In the night he dreams a danger threatens his sister, and on the morrow he wakes up in open field, the Grail Castle having vanished. (2) He comes to a fair castle in the midst of a meadow, and, finding the door shut, knocks at it with his sword till the latter breaks. An old man appears, and tells him the broken sword will cost him seven years more wanderings until he come again to the Grail Castle. All he can do for Perceval is to give him a letter which heals the wounded and makes the wearer invincible. (3) Perceval riding thence through country that the day before was waste and folkless, finds it now well cultivated and peopled; all press round him and bless him for the change wrought by his asking concerning the Grail. (4) He comes to a castle wherein is a forge guarded by two serpents, and on it was a sword forged for a year, and it might not be broken, save in a certain danger, or mended save at the same forge. Perceval, after resisting the devil in the shape of a fair maid, attacks and overcomes the two serpents, and has his sword mended by the blacksmith, who tells him how he broke it at the gate of Paradise. (5) After making whole by his letter two knights of the Round Table who had lost their wits in Castle Dolorous, Perceval comes to Carlion, to Arthur's court, and accomplishes the adventure of the Perillous Seat which a fairy had sent to Arthur. Only the destined Grail-finder might sit in it. Six knights who had previously essayed the feat had been swallowed up by the earth; they reappear when Perceval is successful. (6) Perceval is called away from the court by a forsaken damsel, whose false lover he compels to marry her; then, after overcoming fresh temptation in damsel-shape, he comes to his sister's castle, overcomes her adversary, who turns out to be Mordret, and reaches the Castle of Maidens, where he is healed of his wounds by the lady of the castle, his cousin. She tells him of his mother, Philosofine, and how the Grail was taken from the ken of man owing to the sinfulness of the world. Perceval leaves his sister in this castle where dames are chaste and damsels maids. (7) Returning to court, whither Mordret had preceded him in sorry plight, Perceval is mocked at by Kex, whom he overcomes, and afterwards meets Gauvain and Tristan. (8) Leaving the court, he meets with four knights carrying their father, mortally wounded, accompanies them to their castle, recognises in the wounded knight, Gornumant, who had knighted him, swears to avenge him, tells all that has befallen himself, and learns that the cause of his successive failures is his forsaking his betrothed, Blanchefleur, whom he knows to be Gornumant's niece. He is told that if he listen heedfully to mass and marry the damsel all will be well, and he will learn the secrets of lance and Grail. But first Perceval overcomes a hideous hag, who by night brings to life Gornumant's enemies slain during the day. She has a potion, whereof Christ made use in the sepulchre, and with it she quickens the dead. She recognizes Perceval and acknowledges him as her conqueror, yet while she lives he shall know nought of the Grail; she works by order of the King of the Waste City, who hates all Christian folk. Perceval tries the virtue of the potion on the most valiant of his enemies, with whom he engages in a fresh and desperate struggle, heals Gornumant with it, and sets off to marry Blanchefleur, as he is wishful to live cleanly and fly deadly sin. (9) She is overjoyed at his arrival; preparations are made for the marriage; the night before, she comes to his bedside in smock and mantle, and they pass the night side by side, but with the sheet between them. The wedding follows, and then, fearful of losing the heavenly joy for sake of carnal longing, they resolve to resist the devil and live virgin-wise, for virginity surpasseth aught else, even as the topaz does crystal. Perceval, in a dream, is assured that of his seed shall be the Swan Knight and the deliverer of the Holy Sepulchre. Meanwhile he is still to search after lance and Grail. (10) On the morrow he quits Blanchefleur, "maid she laid her to bed, maid she arose;" frees a maiden pursued by a brutal knight; (11) comes to a castle where the wayfarer must first fight against four knights and then against the lord of the castle; does away with this custom; (12) comes to cross roads, whereof one is safe and easy, the other adventurous and full of danger; meets a knight all on fire; sees two hermits, one kneeling at a cross, the other scourging it; then a wonderful beast, a doe followed by fawns, which assail and devour her; (13) is presented at a hermit's with a shield none but the Grail-winner may wear, after which the table heretofore meanly spread is covered with rich fare, and learns the meaning of the mystic scenes he has witnessed. (14) He is summoned by a damsel, who tells him of the Dragon King, lord of a heathen folk dwelling in mid-sea, possessor of a shield whereon is painted a dragon that belches forth flame. Perceval sets forth to attack him, resists the devil who dwells in the dragon head, thanks to his miraculous shield whereon the cross is painted, and forces him to flee; continues the fight against the Dragon Knight without his shield, and slays him, but not till he has repented him of his sins. (15) Meanwhile a thief has made off with the shield, in pursuing whom Perceval comes to an abbey, where he learns the story of Joseph of Arimathea. Some forty years after the Crucifixion lived a heathen king, Evelac, in Sarras, wherefrom the Saracens have their name, sore pressed by Tholomes, King of Syria. But Joseph of Barimaschie, who had been five years in Pilate's service, comes to him, and with him his brother-in-law, Seraphe; he promised the King victory if he would let himself be baptized. The King consented, and received the name of Mordrach. Joseph then came to this land, and with him sixty folk and two fair ladies, whereof the one, Philosophine, bore a plate, the other an ever-bleeding lance, whilst Joseph had a vessel, never saw man a fairer one. But King Crudel flung Joseph and his companions into prison, where they dwelt forty days, but it harmed them not, as through the Holy Grail they were filled with great plenty and had every wish fulfilled. Now, Mordrains, learning this, brought together a great host, invaded King Crudel's lands, attacked and slew him. Mordrains, disarming, was found to be covered with wounds, none of which he had felt. On the morrow Joseph put up a table, altar-wise, and thereon laid the Grail, which Mordrains seeing, pressed near to. But an angel with a fiery sword kept him back, and a voice assured him he had laid such a burden on his shoulders as he might not pass away, nor would his wounds be healed until should come the true knight, loved of Christ, sinless, and in his arms he, Mordrains, should die. And till then the Host should be his only food. Since then three hundred years have passed, and the monks have heard that the knight is in the land who shall ask concerning lance and Grail, and thereby heal the king. (16) Perceval leaves on the morrow and comes to a castle wherein is a coffin, brought thereto in a boat drawn by a swan; none save the best knight in the world may open it. All have tried, even Gauvain, and failed. Perceval succeeds, and finds in the coffin the body of a knight, former lord of the castle, and a letter setting forth that he who should open the coffin was his murderer. Perceval, attacked in consequence by the dead man's sons, defends himself by making a buttress of the youngest son's body. Afterwards he overcomes the folk of the castle, and delivers Gauvain, held prisoner therein. (17) Perceval, after confessing his sins to a hermit, has an adventure with the devil, who comes out of a tomb, but whom he forces back therein. (18) He then succours a maiden whom her jealous lover has thrown into a fountain; (19) punishes a damsel who tempts him in traitrous-wise; (20) meets with and is sore pressed by a giant, whom he overcomes; (21) has a fresh and victorious encounter with Kex, and, finally, (22) arrives at crossways, is directed by the cross to the Fisher King's court, reaches it, asks straightway for the Grail, is questioned by the King and relates his allegorical adventures. At table the Grail appears, followed by lance and sword. Perceval pieces together the sword, and the King, full of joy, embraces him. =Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzival.=--Gahmuret, Parzival's father, goes to the East, takes service with Baruc, wins the love of the heathen queen Belakane, but after remaining with her a short time forsakes her, promising to return if she become Christian. She bears a son, and names him Feirefiz. Gahmuret by his prowess at a tournament wins the love of Herzeloyde, whom he marries on condition he may go a tourneying every month. Hearing his old lord Baruc is in danger, he hastens to his aid, and is slain. Herzeloyde on receipt of the news resolves to withdraw to the wilderness, and bring up her son in ignorance of knighthood. [From this point up to and including the adventure with Orgeuilleuse, where Chrestien's share of the Conte du Graal breaks off, Wolfram agrees very closely with Chrestien. It has been much debated in Germany whether he really had any other model but Chrestien, and whether his alleged model Kyot be not a feigned source to justify his departure from the story as found in the Conte du Graal. A brief outline of the arguments for and against this view will be found in Appendix A. The chief points of difference in the portion common to the two poets are: the more important position in the narrative assigned to Perceval's cousin, whom Wolfram names Sigune, who is fed from the Grail by the Grail messenger, the loathly damsel, and about whose loves with Schianatulander Wolfram has left fragments of another poem, Titurel. Parzival meets her immediately after his adventure with the lady of the tent. Parzival's love is named Condwiramur. On the first night of their marriage he leaves her maid (as in Gerbert's version). But the most important peculiarity of Wolfram's poem is his account of the Grail itself, a stone which yields all manner of food and drink, the power of which is sustained by a dove, which every week lays a Host upon it, given, after the fall of the rebel angels, in charge to Titurel and his dynasty, by them preserved in the Grail castle, Montsalvatch, guarded by a sacred order of knighthood whom it chooses itself. The knights are vowed to virginity, the king alone being allowed marriage. The cause of the maimed king's (Amfortas) hurt is his having taken up arms in the cause of worldly and unlawful love. When Parzival leaves the Grail castle after the first visit, he is mocked at by the inmates for having omitted the question. More stress is laid on the broken sword, connected with which is a magic spell Parzival must master before he can become lord of the Grail castle. The "loathly damsel," Kundrie, is also a much more important person with Wolfram than with Chrestien, and she is brought into contact with Parzival's cousin, Sigune. Parzival's love for his wife is dwelt upon at length, and he is urged by the hermit rather to rejoin her than to seek the Grail.] After the adventure with Orgueilleuse, Wolfram continues as follows:--The lord of the magic castle, wherein are kept prisoners Arthur's mother and the other queens, is Clinschor, nephew of Virgilius of Naples, who took to magic after his unmanning at the hands of King Ibert, whose wife, Iblis, he loved. Gawain overcomes the magician, and, both unknowing, fights with Parzival. The latter, after many lesser adventures, meets his half-brother Feirefiz, and sustains with him the hardest of all his fights. At length recognition is brought about, the two embrace, and repair to Arthur's court. Cundrie nears once more, tells Parzival he has been chosen Grail king, that his wife and twin sons, Loherangrin and Kardeiz, have been summoned to the Grail castle, and that the question will now free Amfortas and his land. With Cundrie and Feirefiz, Parzival rides to the Grail castle, meets his wife, together they all behold the talismans, save Feirefiz, to whom as a heathen the sight of the Grail is denied. But he is baptised, weds Repanse de Schoie, the Grail damsel, the two return to India, and from them is born Prester John. Parzival rules over his Grail kingdom. Of his son Loherangrin it is told how he is led to the aid of the Duchess of Brabant by a swan, how he marries her on condition she inquire not as to his origin, and how, on her breaking the command, the swan carries him away from her. =Heinrich von dem Türlin.=--_The Gawain Episodes of Diu Crône._--The parallelism of Heinrich's poem with those of Wolfram and Chrestien begins about verse 17,500 with an adventure of Gawain's corresponding to Inc. 13 in Chrestien (Tournament for the hand of Tiebaut of Tingaguel's daughter, episode of the two sisters, combat with Melians de Lis). In Heinrich the father is named Leigamar, the eldest daughter Fursensephin, (Fleur sans epine ?), the youngest Quebelepluz, where Heinrich has taken a French phrase setting forth the greater fairness of the damsel for a proper name. Inc. 14 in Chrestien then follows with these differences: the name of the castle is Karamphi; Gawain and the facile damsel are surprised by the latter's brother, and it is her father who, to avenge the wrong done his house, makes Gawain swear that within a year he will either seek out the Grail or return as prisoner to Karamphi. Chrestien's Inc. 15 is of course missing, the story going straight on to Inc. 16, meeting with the wounded knight (here Lohenis) and his lady love Emblie, who by treachery deprive Gawain of his steed; then the arrival at the Castle of Wonders, and the night passed in the enchanted bed, where the hero is overwhelmed with crossbolts shot at him by invisible foes. The plucking of the flower from the enchanted garden at the bidding of a damsel (Orgueilleuse in Chrestien and Wolfram, here Mancipicelle), and the meeting with and challenge by Giremelanz follow. Arthur's court comes to the Castle of Wonders to witness the combat. Gawain and Giremelanz are reconciled, the latter marries Gawain's sister, and Gawain himself sets off to search for the Grail. [Adventures then follow which correspond to nothing in Chrestien or Wolfram, in which Gawain wins talismans destined to aid him in his search.] Gawain sets forth on his quest accompanied by Kay, Lancelot, and Calocreant. They part at crossways. Gawain comes to the sister of the magician (anonymous in Chrestien, Klinschor in Wolfram, here Gansguoter) of the Castle of Wonders. She bids him take heed, if he wish to see the Grail, he be not overcome by sleep, and for this that he drink not overmuch; as soon as he saw it and its accompanying damsels, he was to ask about it. If he neglected this, all his past and any future toil would be useless. On his way to the Grail castle, the hero meets with all sorts of dangers, and obstacles, and wonders; amongst others, passing the night in a castle where he is tended by invisible hands. After month-long wanderings he meets with Lancelot and Calocreant, and learns that Kay, in a vain attempt to penetrate to the Grail, has been flung into prison. The three comrades then come to the Grail castle. They are led into a hall which passes in splendour aught earthly eye ever saw. The floor is strewn with roses, on a bed lies an old man in gold-embroidered garments, and watches two youths playing at chess. Towards night the hall fills with knights and dames, a youth enters bearing a sword which he lays before the old man. Gawain is pressed to drink; but refuses, not so his two companions, who straightway fall asleep. Then enter two damsels bearing lights, followed by two knights with a spear, and two more damsels with a "toblier" (? tailleor, plate) of gold and jewels. After them comes the fairest woman ever God created, and with her a maiden weeping. The spear is laid on the table, by it the "toblier" wherein are three drops of blood. In the box borne by the fair lady is a piece of bread, one third part of which she breaks off and gives to the old man. Gawain recognising in her Gansguoter's sister, stays no longer, but asks what these wonders mean. Straightway knights and dames all with mighty shout leap from table, and great joy arises. The old man says what he has seen is the Grail; none saw it before save Parzival, and he asked not. By his question Gawain has delivered from long waiting and suffering both those which are dead and those which live. The old man himself and his companions are really dead, though they seem it not, but the lady and her damsels are living; for their unstained womanhood God has granted them to have the Grail, and therewith yearly to feed the old man. All Gawain's adventures latterly have come from the Grail. Now he has ended all, he is to take as prize of his knighthood the sword which will help him in every danger. After him no man shall see the Grail; further concerning it he must not ask, nor may know more. At daybreak the old man's tale ends, and he with his whole court vanish, leaving only the lady with her five damsels. [After releasing Kay, and undergoing other adventures, Gawain returns to Arthur's court.] =The Petit Saint Graal or Didot-Perceval.=[13]--_Prologue._--After the choosing of Arthur to be King, Merlin comes to the court, and tells how Arthur is Uther-Pendragon's son, brought up by Antor as his son. All rejoice at this, especially Gauvain, son of Lot. After dinner the barons bring Merlin to Arthur, and tell him how he was the prophet of Uther-Pendragon, and had made the Round Table. Arthur promises to honour Merlin. The latter calls him apart with Gauvain and Key, and tells him how, in the time of Uther-Pendragon, the Round Table was made after the pattern of one Joseph constructed when he separated the good from the evil. Two Kings of Britain before had been Kings of France, and conquered Rome; Queen Sibyl and Solomon had prophesied Arthur should be third, and he, Merlin, was the third to assure him of it. But this could only be if Arthur established the Round Table as Merlin directed. Now the Grail had been given Joseph by our Lord himself, and at His command Joseph led a great folk into the desert. And when evil befell them Joseph, at our Lord's command, made a table; whereat one place was left empty in remembrance of Judas. But Moyses, a false disciple, sat therein, but sank into the abyss, whereout he shall not come until the time of Antichrist. Our Lord made the first table; Joseph, the second; he, Merlin, the third. The Grail was given into the keeping of the rich Fisher King; but he was old, full of sickness, and should not win health till a knight came, having sat at the Round Table, true man of God and of Holy Church, and the best knight in the world for feats of arms. He must ask the rich fisher of what use is the Grail; then the King would be cured of his infirmity, the enchantments of Britain would cease, and the prophecy be fulfilled. Should Arthur do this, great good would come of it; he, Merlin, must go, as he could not often show himself to the people. Whereupon he departs to Ortoberland, to Blaise, his master, who writes down these things, and by his writings we know them. The son of Alein le Gros is a child named Percevaux, and as Alein is dying he hears the voice of the Holy Ghost saying, Know thou art near thy end, and wilt soon come into the fellowship of Jesus Christ. Brons, thy father, dwells in these isles of Ireland, and with him is the Grail. And he may not die until thy son finds him, to whom he shall commend the grace of the vessel, and teach the secret words Joseph taught him, then shall he be cured of his infirmities. And I command thy son that he go to the court of Arthur, where he shall be taught how he may find the house of his grandfather. Alein dies, and Percevaux mounts his horse and comes to Arthur's court, and asks arms from him, and stays there and is much loved. (1) Arthur proposes holding a tournament at Easter, the greatest the world had seen, to honour the Round Table. Perceval at first takes no part in the tournament; but afterwards, for love of Aleine, niece of Gauvain, who incites him thereto, and sends him a suit of red armour, he enters the lists unknown, and overbears all opponents, so that all say he should fill the empty place at the Round Table. Perceval claims the empty place from the King, and when refused threatens to return to his land and never visit the court again. Arthur yields, and Perceval seats himself. Then the rocks and the earth groan dolorously, and a voice reproaches Arthur with having disobeyed Merlin's command. Were it not the goodness of Alein le Gros Perceval had died the death of Moys. Now should Arthur know the vessel our Lord gave Joseph was in the keeping of the rich fisher, and he was ill and infirm, and until the best knight in the world should come might not die. And when that knight should come to the rich fisher and ask concerning the vessel, then should he be cured, but die within three days after giving the vessel to that knight, and teaching him the secret words handed down by Joseph. Thus the enchantments of Britain should cease. (2) Perceval swears not to lie one night where he had lain the night before till he find the rich fisher. Gauvain, Sagremors, Beduers, Hurgains, and Erec swear the same. The knights set forth amid general lamentation. They part at a chapel, and the story follows Perceval. (3) He comes, after two days, upon a damsel weeping over a knight, Hurganet, one of the Round Table, who had gone forth on the Grail Quest. He had delivered her from a giant, and ridden with her into a tent where they found knights and ladies, who warned them not to await the owner, the "Orgoillos Delandes," who would kill him. And whilst speaking a dwarf entered, scourge in hand, who threw down the tent. The Lord of the Tent then appeared, clad in red armour, and slew Hurganet. Perceval determines to avenge his death; rides to the tent with the damsel; is warned of its inmates; is surprised by the dwarf, who smites the damsel with his scourge, whereupon Perceval fells him to the ground. The Knight of the Tent appears; after a desperate struggle Perceval overcomes him and sends him with the damsel to Arthur's court. She had fain stayed with him, but he thought of other things. (4) Perceval comes to the finest castle in the world, enters, and finds no inhabitant. Only a chessboard he finds. He begins to move the pieces, and they play against him, and he is checkmated three times running. Full of anger he prepares to throw the chessmen into the castle moat--suddenly a damsel shows herself and reproaches him. He will abstain if she comes to him. She consents, and after her squires and maidens have disarmed Perceval he joins her. Overcome by her beauty he requests her love. She will grant it him if he capture the white stag of the wood. She lends him her hound, and recommends him to take the utmost care of it. Perceval chases the stag, captures it, and, having cut off its head, starts back. But meanwhile an old woman has carried off the hound. She will only give it up if Perceval will go to a grave whereunder is a knight painted, and say: "Felon, he that put you there." Perceval complies; whereupon appears a knight on a black horse armed in black. They strive, and Perceval overcomes him. But meantime a second knight has carried off both the stag's head and the hound from the old woman. Perceval's adversary flees to the tomb, which closes upon him, and Perceval follows the second knight after a vain attempt to get help from the old woman. (5) Him he found not; but after feats longer than I can tell, comes to his father's house, where he was born. He only finds his sister and a niece. The former tells him concerning her brother, who went to Arthur's court; whereupon their mother died of grief. Perceval reveals himself, and is amazed at what she relates concerning the Grail and its guardian, and asks if he may come to behold it. She answers, Yes; whereupon he vows not to rest till he have found it. She attempts to dissuade him, but he remains firm. She then urges him to go to their uncle, who is a hermit, to whom he may confess the sin of his mother's death, and who will advise him concerning the Quest. (6) Both proceed thither. He rejoices to see them, and asks if Perceval has been to the house of his father, guardian of the vessel named Grail, and, on hearing that he has not, tells him how at the table which Joseph and himself had made, the voice of the Holy Ghost had come to them, telling them to go westward, and ordering the rich fisher, his father, to come to that land where the sun goes down (_avaloit_), telling him he should not die till the son of Alein had become the best knight in the world. Perceval had been chosen to do his Lord's service; he is to slay no knight nor to lie with any woman, that being luxurious sin. His sins have prevented his reaching Brons. He is to be careful to keep himself from sin and felony, being of a race our Lord so loved that He committed His blood to their keeping. Much else he says, and on the morrow Perceval and his sister ride forth. (7) They meet a knight who challenges them. Perceval, thinking of the damsel who had given him the hound, at first pays no attention, but then overcomes and slays him. Perceval is much grieved at having so soon broken his uncle's injunction. On the morrow he leaves his sister, promising to return so soon as he may. (8) He meets a knight, accompanied by a damsel the most wonderfully ugly nature ever made, whereat he signs himself and laughs. The knight, indignant, challenges him, but is overcome and sent with the damsel to Arthur's court. Kay makes mock of them; but Arthur reproves him and receives them courteously. They remain at the court, and know that she was the most beautiful woman in the world! (9) Perceval comes to a ford and is challenged by its guardian, whom he overcomes. His name is Urban of the Black Thorn; his lady had set him to guard the ford. Her castle vanishes with a great noise, and she comes to her lover's aid with her maidens in shape of birds. Perceval slays one who becomes a woman, and is carried off by the others to Avallon. (10) Perceval comes to a tree at the crossing of four roads, among its branches he sees two naked children of seven years old. They speak to him concerning the Grail, and direct him to take the road to the right. They vanish, and a voice tells him to heed their counsel. (11) Perceval comes to a river whereon are three men in a boat, and the master of the boat bids him go down the stream till he should come to his house. Perceval rides a whole day without finding it, and curses the fisher. At last he comes to a castle with lowered drawbridge, enters, and is robed in scarlet by two squires. Meanwhile four attendants have carried the Fisher King, father of Alein, and grandfather of Perceval, into the hall. The King wished to do Perceval what honour he might. They eat, and whilst at table a squire comes out of a chamber, and brings in both hands a lance, whence flows a drop of blood. Him follows a damsel bearing two silver plates and clothes; then a squire with a vessel in which was our Lord's blood. All bow as he passes, and Perceval had fain asked, but he fears to displease the King, minding him of the worthy man to whom he had confessed, and who forbade his speaking too much and enquiring overmuch--for a man of idle words is displeasing to our Lord. All night Perceval thinks of the lance and of the Grail, and in the morning, on waking, finds neither man nor woman. He sets forth to seek some one, but in vain, and is greatly distressed. (12) He finds a damsel weeping bitterly, who, seeing him, cries out: "Percevaux le Gallois, be accursed, unhappier art thou than ever, having been in the house of the rich Fisher King, and not having asked concerning the Grail. Thy Lord hates thee; and 'tis wonder the earth do not open beneath thee." Had he not seen Grail and lance pass? Had he asked what one did with them, the King, cured of his infirmity, would have returned to his youth; our Lord's prophecy to Joseph been fulfilled, and the enchantments of Britain undone. But Perceval is neither wise, valiant, nor true man enough to have charge of the blood. But he shall come again and ask concerning the Grail, and his grandfather shall be cured. (13) The damsel departs, and Perceval, unable to find his grandfather's house, rides on and comes to a tree under which a damsel is sitting, and in whose branches the stag's head, which had been carried off from him, is hanging. Perceval takes it, and when his hound following a stag comes up, takes possession of it likewise. But the knight who had taken them appears. Perceval fights with and overcomes him; learns that he is the brother of the Knight of the Tomb, who lives therein with his love, sister of the damsel for whose sake Perceval had hunted the stag. To her Perceval now returns, gives her hound and stag's head, and then departs refusing the offer of her love, even to stop one night with her. (14) Perceval wanders for seven years achieving many feats, and sending more than one hundred knights prisoners to Arthur; but, not being able to find his grandfather's house, he falls into such melancholy as to lose his memory, so that he minds him no more of God, and never enters Church. One Good Friday, fully armed, he meets a knight and ladies in penitents' dress, who reproach him for going armed on a day that our Lord was crucified. Perceval repents; returns to his uncle, the hermit; learns that his sister is dead, and does penitence. The songmen, in their pleasing rhymes, say nothing of this; but we tell you of it as we find it in the tale Merlin made Blaise write down. (15) Perceval rides forth and meets seven squires of Melianz de Liz, who is going to a tournament at the White Castle, the damsel of which is to be the victor's prize. All the knights of the Round Table will be there, having returned that Whitsuntide from the Quest of the Grail without achieving aught. Perceval leaves the squires and come to a castle where he puts up. His host urges him to take part in the tournament. The morrow they ride forth and look on; Melianz wears the scarf of the lady of the castle; he and Gauvain prove themselves the best knights, the onlooking ladies know not to whom to award the prize. The next day, Perceval, having resolved upon taking part, accepts the scarf of his host's daughter, overcomes all adversaries, and sends steeds to the lady in return for her scarf. Being asked by his host if he will not woo the damsel of the White Castle, Perceval answers he may not take wife. Then appears an old man who reproaches Perceval for going to a tournament, and with forgetting his vow to sleep no two nights in the same house till the Quest be accomplished. He is Merlin, come from Hortoblande, to say that owing to the prayers of Perceval's uncle, our Lord wills that the latter may have his blood to keep. He is to go to his grandfather. Perceval asks when he shall get there. "Before a year," is the answer. "'Tis a long time." "Not so," says Merlin, who leaves him, and tells all to Blaise, from whose writing we know of it. (16) That same night Perceval comes to his grandfather's house, is received by the Fisher King, and as they sit at table the Grail appears, and the relics with it, and when Perceval sees it he asks to what use is the vessel put? Forthwith the King is cured, and his being changed. Perceval must say first who he is before learning such holy things. Upon learning it is his grandson before him, the King leads him to the Grail, and tells him with this lance Longis pierced the side of Jesus Christ, whom he knew in the flesh. In this vessel is the blood, Joseph caught as it ran to the ground. It is called Grail because it is agreeable to worthy men; none may sin in its presence. Then Brons, kneeling, prays, and the voice of the Holy Ghost tells him the prophecy will be fulfilled; and he is to teach Perceval the secret words our Lord on the cross told Joseph, and Joseph told him. He does, but I cannot and may not say what these words were. Then angels carry him off; and Perceval remains, and the enchantments of Britain and of the whole world cease. And that same day Arthur and his knights sitting at the Round Table are aware of a great noise, and the seat is made whole again which had broken under Perceval. Merlin appears to Blaise, tells him his work is ended, and takes him to Perceval, who was right glad of his company. _Epilogue._--Merlin comes to Arthur's court and relates all that had taken place. The knights, finding the Quest of the Grail is over, and mindful of Merlin's former words, urge Arthur to invade the continent. He does so, overcomes Frollo, King of France; refuses tribute to the Emperor of Rome, overcomes him, but is recalled to England on learning Mordret's treachery. The latter is slain; but Arthur, wounded mortally, is carried to Avallon to be healed of Morguen, his sister. Lastly, Merlin tells Perceval how he will withdraw from the world, and be no more seen of men. And the tale says no more of Merlin and the Grail. =The Mabinogi of Peredur ab Evrawc.=--Evrawc, Earl of the North, has seven sons, six of whom, like himself, fall in tournaments and combats. His wife carries off her youngest son, Peredur, to the desert, and forbids horses or arms being shown to him. He grows up strong and active, and can outrun his mother's goats and hinds. (1) One day he sees three knights passing--Gwalchmai, the son of Gwyar, and Geneir Gwystyl, and Owain, the son of Urien. His mother declares them to be angels; whereupon he determines to join them. He questions Owain concerning his accoutrements and the use of his weapons. His mother swoons away at the thought of his leaving her; but he picks out a horse and saddles it. Before leaving, his mother counsels him to repeat his paternoster wherever he sees a church; to take food and drink if none offer them; to aid when any outcry is, especially a woman's; if he sees a fair jewel to take it and give it to another; to pay his court to fair women whether they will or no. (2) After two days and nights Peredur comes to a tent, where he finds a damsel. Half of the food and drink she has he takes, half leaves to her; asks her for her ring at leaving, which she gives him. Her lord returning, is jealous, and sets forth to avenge his supposed wrong. (3) Peredur journeys on to Arthur's court. A knight has been there before him, and grievously insulted Gwenhwyvar by dashing a goblet of wine in her face, and carrying the goblet out, and has dared any to avenge the insult; but all hang their heads. Peredur enters the hall and demands knighthood. On Kai's protesting he is too meanly equipped, a dwarf, who, with his female companion has been a year at Arthur's court without speaking, salutes him as the flower of knighthood. Kai strikes him for this, and kicks the female dwarf, who repeats the salutation. Kai bids Peredur seek the knight and win back the goblet, then shall he have knighthood. Peredur does so, and slays the knight. Owain, who has followed, shows him how to undo the armour and to clad himself in it, and bids him back to Arthur. But Peredur refuses, he will not come back to the court till he have avenged the injury done by Kai to the dwarf and dwarfess. (4) Peredur overcomes sixteen knights and sends them to Arthur with the same message. (5) Peredur comes to a castle by a lake, and sees a venerable man sitting by the lake and his attendant fishing, and the old man is lame. And Peredur enters the castle, and is practised in the use of weapons, and learns courtesy and noble bearing; and the old man is his uncle--his mother's brother. He is to leave his mother's habits and discourse, and if he sees aught to wonder at, not to ask the meaning of it. (6) Peredur leaves his uncle and comes to a castle where dwells a second uncle of his--brother likewise of his mother. His strength is tested by his having to cut through an iron staple with a sword. Twice he does it and the broken pieces re-unite, but the third time neither would unite as before. He has arrived at two-thirds of his strength, and when he attains his full power none will be able to contend with him. Whilst talking, two youths enter the hall bearing a mighty spear with three streams of blood flowing from the point to the ground. All wail and lament; but as Peredur is not vouchsafed the meaning of what he sees he forbears to ask concerning it. Then enter two maidens with a salver in which a man's head swims in blood. The outcry redoubles. Peredur retires to sleep. (7) On the morrow, with his uncle's permission, he rides forth, finds a beautiful woman lamenting over the corpse of a knight. She reveals herself as his foster-sister; calls him accursed for causing his mother's death by leaving her; and tells him it is her husband she mourns for, slain by the Knight of the Glade. Peredur meets the latter, overcomes him, and makes him take his foster-sister in marriage. (8) Peredur comes to a castle where are eighteen youths and five maidens, and he had never seen one of so fair an aspect as the chief of the maidens. A flask of wine and six loaves are brought by two nuns, and that must suffice for all. The youths press the maiden to offer herself to Peredur as his wife or lady love. She refuses; but consents when they threaten leaving her to her enemies. She comes weeping to Peredur and relates how she is besieged by an earl who seeks her hand. She implores his aid, and offers to place herself in his hands. Peredur bids her go sleep, he will assist her, The next day he overthrows the master of the household of the earl. To save his life the latter must deliver up one-third of the besieged maiden's lands. The second day it fares the same with the earl's steward; the third with the earl himself. Peredur thus wins back all his hostess' lands, and tarries with her three weeks; but for her love he would not have stayed so long. (9) Peredur next meets the Lady of the Tent, ill-entreated of her husband concerning him. Him he overcomes, compels to acknowledge her innocence, and sends both to Arthur. (10) Peredur comes to the castle of a tall and stately lady, who bids him escape from the sorceresses of Gloucester, who will attack the castle that night; but he resolves to remain, and defends one of the watch when overtaken by a sorceress. The latter hails him by his name. She foreknows she is to suffer harm from him. If he will go with her he shall learn chivalry and the use of arms. Peredur consents on her promising to refrain from injuring the countess, and stays with her three weeks. (11) Peredur comes to a hermit's cell. In the morning it has snowed. A hawk has killed a fowl in front of the cell, but is scared away by Peredur's horse; a raven has alighted on the bird. Peredur likens the blackness of the raven and the whiteness of the snow and the redness of the blood to the hair and the skin and the two red spots on the cheeks of the lady he loves best. Whilst thus lost in thought, Arthur and his household come up with him, but fail to recognise him. A youth accosts him, but receives no answer; whereupon he thrusts at Peredur but is struck to the ground. Twenty-four youths essay the same, and are repulsed in like manner. Kai then comes and speaks angrily, but Peredur breaks his arms for him. Gwalchmai then approaches him courteously, learns his name, and brings him to Arthur, who does him honour. Thus all return to Caerlleon. (12) Peredur solicits the love of Angharad Law Eurawc, and when she denies him, vows to speak to no Christian till she loves him. (13) Peredur comes to the castle of a huge grey man, a heathen, after slaying a lion, his porter. The grey man's daughter warns him of her father, and at his request brings his horse and arms to his lodging. Peredur overcomes the vassals, and slays the sons of the grey man, and sends the whole household to Arthur to be baptized. (14) Peredur slays a serpent lying upon a gold ring, and wins the ring. For a long time he speaks to no Christian, and loses colour and aspect through longing for Arthur and his lady love. He returns to Arthur's court, but none know him, and he suffers Kai to thrust him through the thigh without his saying a word. He overcomes many knights, and at length Angharad Law Eurawc confesses her love for him. He remains at Arthur's court. (15) Peredur comes to the castle of a huge, black, one-eyed man. The latter's daughter warns him against her father. But Peredur stays, overcomes the latter, and learns how he lost his eye. On the Mound of Mourning is a cairn, in the cairn a serpent with a stone in its tail, the virtue whereof is to give as much gold to the possessor as he may desire. In fighting the serpent he had lost his eye. He directs Peredur to the serpent, and is slain by him. Peredur refuses the love of the maidens of the castle, and rides forth. (16) He comes to the palace of the son of the King of the Tortures. Every day the Addanc of the Lake slays them. Whilst at discourse a charger enters the hall with a corpse in the saddle. They anoint the corpse with warm water and balsam, and it comes to life. The same happens with two other youths. The morrow they ride forth anew against the Addanc, refusing Peredur, who would go with them; but he follows and finds seated on a mound the fairest lady, who, if he will pledge her his love, will give him a stone by which he may see the Addanc and be unseen of it. He promises, and she gives him the stone, telling him to seek her in India. Peredur passes through a valley wherein is a flock of white sheep, and one of black, and when they cross the river flowing through the valley they change colour. He learns of their shepherd the way to the Addanc's cave, slays it, meets his three companions of the night before, who tell him it was predicted that he should slay the monster, offers them its head, refuses their sister whom they proffer him in marriage; accepts the services of a youth, Etlym Gleddyv Coch, who wishes to become his attendant, and rides forth. (17) He comes to the court of the Countess of Achievements, overthrows her three hundred knights; but learning she loves Etlym resigns her to him. (18) Peredur, accompanied by Etlym, comes to the Mound of Mourning, slays two out of the three hundred knights he finds guarding the serpent, slays the latter, repays the remaining hundred knights all they have spent, gives Etlym the stone and sends him back to his love. (19) Peredur comes to a valley wherein are many coloured tents, lodges with a miller, from whom he borrows food and lodging, and learns that a tournament is forward. He overcomes all the knights present, and sends their horses and arms to the miller as repayment. The Empress of the Tournament sends for him, he repels her messengers thrice, the fourth time he yields. She reveals herself as the lady who had helped him against the Addanc, and she entertains him for fourteen years. (20) Arthur is at Caerlleon-upon-Usk, with him his knights, and among them Peredur. There enters, riding upon a yellow mule, a maiden of hideous aspect. She greets all save Peredur, to whom she reproaches his silence at the court of the Lame King; had he asked the meaning of the streaming spear and of the other wonders the King would have regained health and the dominions peace--all his misfortunes are due to Peredur. She then tells of a castle where are five hundred and seventy knights, each with the lady he loves best--there may fame be acquired; and of a castle on a lofty mountain where a maiden is detained prisoner, whoso should deliver her should attain the summit of the fame of the world. Gwalchmai sets forth to release the imprisoned maiden, Peredur to enquire the meaning of the bleeding lance. Before they leave a knight enters and defies Gwalchmai to single combat, for that he had slain his lord by treachery. (21) Gwalchmai meets a knight who directs him to his own castle, where he is welcomed by his sister. The steward of the castle accuses him to the knight of being the slayer of his, the knight's, father. Gwalchmai demands a year to acknowledge or deny the accusation. (22) Peredur, who, seeking tidings of the black maiden, but finding none, has wandered over the whole island, meets a priest who chides him for being in armour on Good Friday. Peredur dismounts, asks the priest's blessing, and learns of a castle where he may gain tidings of the Castle of Wonders. (23) Peredur proceeds thither, and meets the King of the castle, who commends him to his daughter, by whom he is well received. A little yellow page accuses him to the King of winning his daughter's love, and advises that he should be thrown into prison. But the damsel befriends him, and assists him to take part in a tournament, where, for three days, he overthrows all opponents. The King at last recognises him, and offers him his daughter; but he refuses and sets forth for the Castle of Wonders. (24) On arriving there he finds the door open, and in the hall a chessboard and chessmen playing by themselves. He favours one side which loses, whereupon he casts the chessboard in the lake. The black maiden comes in and reproaches him--he may find the chessboard again at the Castle of Ysbidinongyl, where a black man lays waste the dominions of the Empress. Him Peredur overcomes, but spares his life; this the black maiden chides him for, and he slays him; but the black maiden still refuses him access to the Empress unless he can slay a stag, swift as the swiftest bird, with one sharp horn in his forehead. She gives him a little dog belonging to the Empress which will rouse the stag. With its aid he slays the latter, but a lady, riding by, carries off the dog, and chides him for slaying the stag. He can only win her friendship by going to a cromlech which is in a grove, and challenging to fight three times a man who dwells there. Peredur complies, and fights with a black man clad in rusty armour; but when he dismounts his adversary disappears. (25) Peredur, riding on, comes to a castle where sits a lame grey-headed man, and Gwalchmai by him. A youth enters the hall and beseeches Peredur's friendship--he had been the black maiden who came to Arthur's court, and who had chid Peredur concerning the chessboard; he was the youth who came with the bloody head in the salver, and the head was that of Peredur's cousin slain by the sorceresses of Gloucester, who also lamed Peredur's uncle, and he, the speaker, was Peredur's cousin. Peredur seeks aid of Arthur, and they start against the sorceresses. One of the latter slays three of Arthur's men; whereupon Peredur smites her, and she flees, exclaiming this was Peredur, who had learnt chivalry of them, their destined slayer. She and all her companions are slain. Thus is it related concerning the Castle of Wonders. =The Thornton MS. Sir Perceval.=--(1) PERCYVELLE is son of Percyvelle and Acheflour, Arthur's sister. His father is slain in a tournament by the Red Knight whom he had previously overcome in a former tournament. His mother takes to the woods, brings up her son without instruction till he is fifteen years, when she teaches him to pray to God. (2) He then meets with three knights of Arthur's court--Ewayne, Gawayne, and Kay. He takes them for gods. Learning that they are knights, he determines to go to Arthur's court and become a knight himself, catches a wild horse, and, returning to his mother, announces his attention. She counsels him to be always of measure, to salute knights when he meets them, and at his departure gives him a ring for token. (3) He sets forth, and finding on his way a house makes himself free of it, eats, drinks, and finding a lady sleeping on a bed takes from her her ring, leaving his mother's in its place. (4) Coming to Arthur's hall he rides into it and up to the King so that his mare kisses Arthur's forehead. He demands knighthood at Arthur's hands, threatening to slay him if refused. Arthur sees the likeness to his father, laments over the latter's untimely fate, and recalls that books say the son should avenge the father's bane. Percyvelle bids him let be his jangling and dub him knight. Whilst sitting down to table the Red Knight comes in, carries off Arthur's cup (five years long had he done so) none daring to hinder him. At the King's lament Percyvelle engages to slay the Red Knight, and bring the cup back if knighthood be granted him. The King promises, Percyvelle follows the ravisher, who scorns him, but is slain by a dart flung at him. He captures the knight's steed, and not being able otherwise to remove his armour, and recalling his mother's injunction "out of the iron burn the tree" kindles a fire to burn the body. Gawayne, who has followed him, shows him how to unlace the armour; when that is removed Percyvelle casts the body into the fire to roast. He refuses to return to Arthur, looking upon himself as great a lord as the King, but sends the cup back through Gawayne and rides on. (5) He meets an old witch, mother to the Red Knight, who addresses him as her son; her he spears and casts into the fire. (6) He meets ten knights, who flee, taking him for the Red Knight, but on his raising his vizor the oldest knight, reassured, relates how the Red Knight bore him and his sons enmity, and how, fifteen years before, he had slain his brother. Learning that Percyvelle had burnt his enemy, he invites him to his castle. (7) Whilst at meat a messenger comes in from the Maiden-land begging help from the Lady Lufamour against a "Sowdane," who would have her to wife. Percyvelle starts forth with three of the old knight's sons, whom, however, he sends back each after a mile. Meanwhile, the King at Carebedd, mourning for Percyvelle, receives Lufamour's messages, gains from him tidings of Percyvelle, and sets forth with his court to follow him. Percyvelle, coming to the Sowdane's camp, is set upon by the guard, but slays them all, and then lays him down to rest under the castle wall. In the morning Lufamour's men make her aware of the slaughter wrought upon her enemies. She perceives Percyvelle and sends her chamberlain, Hatlayne, to bid him to her chamber. Whilst at table together tidings are brought that the enemy have nearly taken the town. Percyvelle sallies forth alone and soon leaves not one alive. He is then ware of four knights--Arthur, Ewayne, Gawayne, Kay. He pricks against them and Gawayne receives his onslaught. They recognise each other, and all proceed to Lufamour's castle. The next day the Sowdane challenges all comers; Percyvelle, dubbed knight by Arthur, slays him, and thereafter weds Lufamour. (8) After a year he thinks on his mother's loneliness, and sets forth to seek her. Hearing a damsel lamenting in the wood, he finds her bound to a tree, for that a year before, while sleeping, a stranger had robbed her of a ring leaving his own in its stead. Now her ring was of a stone of such virtue that neither death nor hurt could come to the wearer. He releases her, overcomes the Black Knight who had bound her, reconciles them and claims his own ring for the ring he had taken. But the Black Knight has given it to the lord of the land--a giant. (9) Percyvelle slays the giant, and claims the ring of the porter. The latter tells him how his master, loving a fair lady, had offered her that same ring, but she, exclaiming that he had killed her son, rushed into the forest and was since then bereft of her senses. Percyvelle puts on a goat's skin, and after nine days search finds her. A magic drink of the giant's throws her into a three days' sleep, after which, restored to her right mind, she goes home with her son. He afterwards goes to the Holy Land, and is there slain. =The Queste del Saint Graal.=--[_Furnivall's text (F.) has been taken as the basis of the present summary. Words and passages not found in the Welsh translation (W) are italicised; words or passages found in the Welsh translation instead of those in Furnivall are in parentheses. The variants from Birch-Hirschfeld's Summary (B. H.) are given in the notes._] (1) On Whitsun Eve the companions of the Round Table being assembled at Camelot, a _damsel_ (youth) comes in great haste, asks for Lancelot and bids him _from King Pelles_ (for the sake of whatever he loved most) accompany her to the forest. Notwithstanding Guinevere's opposition he does so, and comes to a nunnery where he finds his two cousins, Boort and Lionel. Three nuns then bring Galahad, a child the like of whom might scarce be found in the world; one asks Lancelot to knight him, he consents, and on the morrow Lancelot and his companions return to Camelot; his cousins think the child must be Lancelot's son, but Lancelot answers no word. (2) At the Round Table the seat of each knight is marked, but on the Seat Perillous it is written that _four hundred and fifty-four_ (four hundred and fifty) years have passed since the Lord's Passion, and that on this Whitsun Day the seat shall find its master. Lancelot covers these words, and, whilst at Kay's reminding, the court awaits an adventure before sitting down to meat, a youth tells them of a stone floating on the water. It is a block of red marble, in which sticks a sword, and upon it written that none may draw the sword save the best knight in the world. Lancelot declares that the wonders of the Holy Grail are about to begin, and refuses to essay the adventure; Gawain, Perceval, and others try, but fail; they then sit down to table served by twelve kings; an old man enters, leading a knight in vermeil armour, whom he proclaims the desired knight, of the seed of David and kin of Joseph of Arimathea, who shall achieve the adventures of the Holy Grail. He draws near the Seat Perillous, on which is now written, "This is Galahad's seat," sits himself therein, dismisses the old man, _and bids him greet_, "_My uncle, King Pelles, and my grandfather, the rich fisher_."[14] (3) Great honour is done to the new knight, whom Lancelot recognises as his son, and Bors and Lionel as the youth begot by Lancelot upon the daughter _of the Fisher King_ (King Pelles). The Queen is told that the knight is come, and her ladies say he _shall end the wonders of Great Britain, and through him the Maimed King shall be healed_. Galahad is then urged by Arthur to essay the adventure of the sword, consents, easily draws out the sword, and asks for a shield. (4) A damsel appears, weeps for Lancelot as having lost his place as the best knight in the world, and tells the King from Nasciens, the hermit, that on that day he would send the Holy Grail to feed the companions of the Round Table. A tournament is ordered, in which Galahad is held the best, as he overthrows all save Lancelot and Perceval. After vespers the court sits down to table, a clap of thunder is heard, followed by the brightest of sunbeams, so that all are as if lighted by the Holy Ghost. None know whence the light comes, and none has power to say a word. The Holy Grail enters, covered with white samite, but none may see who carries it; the hall is filled with sweet odours, and as the Grail passes along the tables each seat is filled with such meat as each one longs for. Then it departs, none may say how, and those can now speak who before could say no word. (5) All return thanks to God for the grace vouchsafed them, and Gawain tells them that heretofore no man had been served with whatever he might desire save _at the Maimed King's_ (at the court of King Peleur). But they could not behold the Grail openly, and Gawain declares he will go on quest of it for a year and a day. The knights of the Round Table make a like vow. Arthur is much distressed, as he knows many will die on the quest. The Queen and her ladies weep likewise, and propose to join their knights, but an old priest tells them from Nasciens, the hermit, that no knight entering on the quest of the Holy Grail is to have with him his lady or damsel--the quest is no earthly one. On the morrow, at King Bandamagus' suggestion, all the questers, Galahad first, swear to maintain the quest for a year and a day and longer if need be. After the Queen has taken leave of Lancelot, and Arthur has vainly tried to force a shield on Galahad, the questers set off together and pass the first night at Vagan's Castle. On the morrow they ride forth and separate. (6) After five days Galahad comes to an abbey where he finds King Bandamagus and Ywain "li aoutres." The abbey contains a shield which no knight save the destined one may take and go unslain or unhurt. King Bandamagus would take it, but is overthrown by a White Knight; Galahad then takes it, and his right to do so is admitted by the White Knight, who tells him as follows concerning it:--Forty-three years after our Lord's Passion, Joseph of Arimathea, who took our Lord's body down from the Cross,[15] came to the city Sarras, where dwelt King Evelac, then a Saracen, who was at war with his neighbour, Tholomes. Josephes, Joseph's son, warned Evelac against going forth to battle unprepared, and, in answer to the King's questions what he should do, told him of the new law and Gospel truth and the Saviour's death, and fixed on his shield a cross of sandal. He was to uncover this on the fourth day's fighting, and to call on the Lord. When he did so he beheld a bleeding, crucified figure. He won the battle, and on his telling the story his brother-in-law, Nasciens, received baptism. The shield then restored to a man his lost hand. Evelac was baptized, and guarded the shield in lordly fashion. Josephes came with his father to Great Britain, where King Crudel threw them with many other Christians into prison. Mordrains[16] and Nasciens then invaded Great Britain, released Josephes and remained with him in the land. When Josephes was on his deathbed, and Evelac asked him for a remembrance, then he bade King Mordrains bring his shield, and with the blood streaming from his nose marked on it a cross; this would always remain red, and no knight should with impunity unhang the shield till Galahad should come, last of Nasciens' line. Where Nasciens lay buried, there the shield was to be kept. (7) Galahad draws near a tomb in the abbey graveyard, whence issues a voice telling him not to approach and drive it out. But he does so, and a smoke in man's form comes out; on opening the tomb a dead knight's body is found lying therein, this is cast out. These things are a symbol: the hard tombstone signifies the _hard-heartedness of the world_ (the hardship which Jesus Christ had in this world);[17] the dead body those dead in sin, and as in Christ's time when they slew Him and were harried out of their land by Vespasian as a punishment; the smoke was a devil who fled from Galahad because he was a virgin. (8) On the morrow Galahad rides forth accompanied by Melians, a youth who had begged to be allowed to serve him, and whom he had knighted. They separate at a cross road, Melians takes the left hand road in spite of warning, comes to a tent where hangs a golden crown, seizes it, meets a strange knight who overthrows and had slain him but for Galahad coming to the rescue and overcoming first one, then a second assailant. Melians is taken to an abbey to be tended, and learns that the two knights who almost overpowered him were his pride in taking the left hand path, his covetousness in carrying off the crown of gold. (9) Galahad enters a hermitage to pray there, and hears a voice bidding him proceed to the Castle of Maidens and rid it of its bad customs. He encounters on the way seven knights whom he must overcome, such was the custom of the castle. He forces them to flight, and an old priest brings him the keys of the castle. He finds therein numberless maidens, and learns that the former lord of the castle had been, with his son, slain by the seven knights, who had striven beforehand to carry off his daughter. She foretold that as they had gained the castle for a maiden's sake, they would lose it through a maiden, and be overcome by a single knight, whereupon they determined to make prisoner every maiden passing that way. Galahad delivers the captives, and puts a daughter of the former duke in possession of the castle. He learns then that the seven brothers have been slain by Gawain, Gheriot, and Ywain. (10) The story now returns to Gawain. He passes by the abbey where Galahad found the shield, then that where Melians lay ill, is reproached by a friar with being too sinful to be with Galahad, meets Gheheries, his brother, meets Ywain on the morrow, meets the seven brothers who attack them and are slain; then Gawain comes alone to a hermitage, confesses for the first time since fourteen years, is admonished by the hermit, learns that the Castle of Maidens signifies hell, the captives the good souls wrongfully therein confined before Christ's coming, the seven knights the seven sins. Gawain is pressed, but vainly, to make penitence. (11) The story returns to Galahad. After wandering for awhile without adventures he meets Lancelot and Perceval. They do not recognise him, not knowing his _arms_ (shield),[18] and attack him. He overcomes them, but learning from the words of a recluse, who sees the combat, that she really knows him, and, fearing recognition, he hurries off.[19] (12) Perceval stays with the recluse, and Lancelot starts in pursuit of the Unknown Knight. He comes in the night to a stone cross near which stands (an old)[20] chapel. He dismounts and enters, but an iron rail hinders his progress; through it he sees an altar whereon _burn seven candles_ (a silver candlestick, a wax taper).[21] He leaves the chapel, unsaddles his horse, and lies down to sleep by the cross. Then comes a sick knight on a bier drawn by two horses, dolourously lamenting. He looks at Lancelot, but says no word, thinking him asleep, nor does Lancelot say aught, but remains half asleep. And the sick knight laments, "_When may I have solace from the holy vessel for the pain I suffer for such a small fault_ (was ever so much pain as is upon me who have done no evil at all)?"[22] But Lancelot says no word, nor when the candlestick comes towards the cross and the Holy Grail approaches the sick knight, who prays he may be made whole to join likewise the quest. Then crawling to the table whereon the vessel stands, and _touching his eyes with_ (kissing) it, feels relief and slumbers. The Grail disappears and Lancelot still says never a word, for which aftertimes much mischance was his. The sick knight arises well, a squire appears and _arms_ him (with Lancelot's sword and helm),[23] and brings him Lancelot's steed, and the knight swears never to rest till he knows why the Holy Grail appears in so many places of the Kingdom of Logres, and by whom it was brought to England. So he departs, and _his squire carries off Lancelot's armour_. Lancelot awakes wondering whether what he has seen be dream or truth. And he hears a voice saying--harder than stone, bitterer than wood, more despised than the fig tree--he must away, not pollute the spot where is the Holy Grail. He wanders forth weeping, comes to a hermit, confesses his great sin, his love for Guinevere, is admonished to tear it from his heart, when there may still be hope for him. Lancelot promises, and has the adventure at the chapel explained to him, and stays with the hermit for penance and instruction. (13) The story now returns to Perceval. The recluse orders he be well taken care of, she loves him well, he is her nephew. She dissuades him from fighting Galahad as he wishes, does he wish to die and be killed as his brothers _for their outrages_ (in their combats and tournaments)? He and Galahad and Bors will achieve the Quest. She is his aunt, formerly Queen of the Waste Land. _He asks about his mother whom he fears he has badly treated, and learns she died when he went to Arthur's court._[24] He asks further concerning the knight with the red arms, and is told as follows:--Since Christ's coming were three chief tables; first, the table at which Christ often ate with his Apostles; second, the table of the Holy Grail, established in semblance and remembrance of the first, by which so many miracles were wrought in this land in the time of Joseph of Arimathea, in the beginning when Christianity was brought to this country. He came with four thousand poor companions. One day, wandering in a forest, they had nothing to eat, but an old woman brought _twelve_ (ten) loaves, these they bought and they were wroth with one another when they came to divide them. Joseph angry, took the twelve loaves, made the people sit, and by virtue of the Holy Grail multiplied the loaves to their need. At that table was a seat where Josephes, son of Joseph, might sit, but none other, for, as the history tells, the place was blessed by our Lord himself. Now two brothers, relatives of Josephes, envied him his leadership, saying they were of as good seed as he, and one sat in Josephes' seat, and was straightway swallowed up by the earth, whence the seat was called the Dreaded Seat. Last came the Round Table, made by Merlin's counsel, to show the roundness of the world and of the firmament. And Merlin foretold that by companions of this table should the truth of the Grail be known, and that three should achieve it, two virgins and one chaste, and the one should surpass his father as man surpasses wolf, and he should be master, and for him Merlin made a great and wonderful seat, wherein none might sit unharmed save he, and it was known as the Seat Perillous. And as at Whitsuntide the Holy Spirit came to the Apostles in guise of fire, so at Whitsuntide Galahad came clad in red armour. And on the day he came the questing for the Grail began, which might not cease till the truth concerning it _and the lance_ was known. To find Galahad, Perceval must first try Castle _Gher_ (Goth) where dwells a cousin of Galahad, _and then Castle Corbenic where dwells the Maimed King_. (14) His aunt then tells how after that her husband fell in war against King Laban she withdrew into that wild place. And her son went to serve King Pelles, their relative, and since two years she only knows of him that he is following tournaments throughout Great Britain. (15) On the morrow Perceval comes to a monastery, and seeing mass being performed would enter but cannot, and sees a sick bed with a man or woman lying on it, whom, as he rises when the body of our Lord is raised, he sees to be an old man crowned, with his body full of wounds and crying out, "Father, forget me not." He seems as if he were over _four hundred_ (one hundred and four) years old. Perceval asks concerning these wonders, and is told as follows:--When Joseph of Arimathea came to this land, the Saracen, King Crudel, hearing of the Grail by which he lived, threw him and his son Josephes and some hundred others into prison for forty days, and forbade food to be given them. But they had the holy vessel with them. When Mordrains and his brother-in-law, Seraphe, heard these things, they assembled their host, landed in Britain, overcame Crudel, and freed Joseph. On the morrow Evelac, as he was called before he became Christian, desired to see the Holy Grail plainly, and though warned to desist pressed forward to do so, and was struck blind and helpless. He accepted his punishment submissively, but only prayed to Christ that he might survive till _the good knight should come, the best[25] of his seed_ (the knight who is to achieve the adventures of the Holy Grail). A voice answered his prayer should be granted, and then he should receive the light of his eyes and his wounds should be made whole. This happened _four hundred_ (one hundred and four) years before, and it was that King Evelac whom Perceval had seen, and during that while he had fed on nought else save the Lord's body. (16) Perceval riding forth on the morrow is attacked by twenty knights, sore pressed, and only rescued by the Red Knight's help, who then disappears. (17) Perceval, having lost his horse, asks one vainly from a passing squire, from whom it is shortly afterwards carried off by another knight, whom Perceval, mounted on the squire's cob, attacks but is overthrown. (18) At night a woman appears and offers him a horse if he will do her will--she is, in truth, the enemy. He agrees, she mounts him, he comes to a river, and, before essaying to ford it, makes the sign of the cross, whereupon the horse rushes howling into the water. (19) Perceval, rescued from this peril, finds himself on a wild island mountain, full of savage beasts; he helps a lion against a snake and wins its service. He is ill at ease on his island, but he trusts God, and is not like those men of Wales where sons pull their fathers out of bed and kill them to save the disgrace of their dying in bed. (20) That night, sleeping by the lion's side, Perceval dreams of two women visiting him, one mounted on a lion, the second on a serpent; this one reproaches him for killing the serpent. On the morrow an old man comes ship-borne, comforts Perceval with good counsel, and interprets his dream: the dame on the lion was Christ's new law, she on the serpent the old law. (21) A damsel then appears, warns Perceval against the old man, prepares for him a rich banquet with good wine, not British, as in Great Britain they only drink cervoise and other home-made drinks, and excites his passion. He is on the point of yielding, but seeing the cross-handled pommel of his sword crosses himself, and the damsel disappears in flames. Perceval pierces his thigh with his sword in his contrition. The old man reappears, exhorts, explains the various features of his temptation, and finally takes him away with him in his ship. (22) The story now returns to Lancelot. After three exhortations from the hermit he sets forth, and first meets a servant, who assails him bitterly as an unfaithful traitorous knight, in that having openly seen the Holy Grail doing its wonders before him, he yet moved not from his seat. (23) He comes to a hermit's hut and finds the hermit lamenting over the dead body of his companion, who, at his nephew, Agaran's, request, had left the hermitage to aid him against his enemies, and had been treacherously slain by the latter. These things are told by a devil, which had entered into the dead hermit's body. Lancelot is admonished at great length, receives stripes, puts on the dead hermit's hair shirt, and finally leaves with the advice that he should confess every week. (24) He meets a damsel who encourages him, but tells him he will find no lodging for the night. _He dismounts at the foot of a cross at the cross-ways, and has a vision of a man surrounded with stars, crowned and accompanied by seven Kings and two knights, who pray to be taken to heaven; a man descending from heaven orders one of the knights away, whilst to the other he gives the shape of a winged lion, so that he flies up to heaven and is admitted._[26] (25) Lancelot meets the knight who had carried off his arms, and who attacks, but is overthrown by him. (26) _He comes to a hermitage, confesses, tells his vision, and learns that it has a great meaning in respect of his lineage, which must be expounded at much length: forty-two years after the Passion of Christ, Joseph of Arimathea left Jerusalem, came to Sarras, helped Evelac, who received baptism at the hands of Josephes, together with his brother-in-law, Seraphe (who took the name Nasciens), and who became a pillar of the holy faith, so that the great secrets of the Holy Grail were opened to him, which none but Joseph had beheld before, and no knight after save in dream. Now Evelac dreamed that out of his nephew, son of Nasciens, came forth a great lake, whence issued nine streams, eight of the same size, and the last greater than all the rest put together; our Lord came and washed in the lake which King Mordrains thus saw flowing from Celidoine's belly. This Celidoine was the man surrounded by stars in Lancelot's vision, and this because he knew the course of the stars and the manner of the planets, and he was first King of Scotland, and the nine streams were his nine descendants, of whom seven Kings and two knights:--first, Warpus; second, Chrestiens;[27] third, Alain li Gros; fourth, Helyas; fifth, Jonaans, who went to Wales and there took to wife King Moroneus' daughter; sixth, Lancelot, who had the King of Ireland's daughter to wife; seventh, Bans. These were the seven Kings who appeared to Lancelot. The eighth stream was Lancelot himself, the elder of the knights of the vision. The ninth stream was Galahad, begot by Lancelot upon the Fisher King's daughter, lion-like in power, deepest of all the streams._[28] (27) Lancelot comes to a castle with a meadow before it, whereon a throng of black armoured knights is tourneying against knights in white armour. Lancelot goes to the help of the former,[29] but is captured, and on being released rides off lamenting. At night, as he sleeps, a man comes from heaven and reproaches him with his ill faith. A hermitess expounds the allegorical meaning of the adventure. The white knights are those of Eliezer, son of King Pelles, the black those of Argastes, son of King Helain; this symbolised the Quest, which was a tournament between the heavenly knights and the earthly ones, and in that Quest none might enter who was black with sin; and Lancelot though sinful, having entered thereon had joined the black knights, and his capture by the others was his overthrow by Galahad, and his lamentation his return to sin, and it was our Lord who reproached him in his vision; let him not depart from truth. (28) Lancelot comes to Lake Marchoise, is attacked by a knight in black armour, who kills his horse and rides off; he lays down on the shore and awaits trustfully God's help. (29) The story returns to Gawain. After journeying many days adventureless, he meets Hector de Mares. Neither has heard aught of Lancelot, Galahad, or Bohors. Travelling together they come to a deserted chapel, where, passing the night, Gawain dreams he sees in a meadow one hundred and fifty bulls all spotted, save three, one being dingy, the two others being pure white. Of the one hundred and forty-seven who set off to find better pasture many die and some return, of the three one returns, but two remain between whom strife arises and they separate. Hector dreams that he and Lancelot, being companions, are attacked by a man who knocks Lancelot off his horse and sits him on an ass, after which Lancelot, coming to a fair fountain, would drink of it, but it vanishes; he, Hector, keeping his horse comes to a castle, the lord of which refuses him admission for that he is too high mounted. Whilst telling one another their dreams, a hand with a taper appears and vanishes, and a voice tells them that, poor of belief as they are, they cannot attain the Holy Grail. On their way to find a hermit who may explain these wonders, Gawain is attacked by and kills a knight, Ywains the Adulterer, son of King Urien. They then come to the hermit, Nasciens, who explains the bulls as the companions of the Round Table, the spotted ones those stained by sin, the three unspotted ones are the achievers, two white, virgins--Galahad and Perceval--one dingy, having once sinned carnally, Bors. The last part of the dream may not be explained, as evil might come of it. In Hector's dream the two horses are Pride and Ostentation. Lancelot's being seated on an ass signifies the putting off of pride, the fountain is the Holy Grail. Both knights are too full of sin to continue in the quest of the Grail. They ride forth and meet with no adventure worth notice. (30) The story returns to Bors. After first coming to a hermit, who exhorts him to abandon the Quest if he do not feel himself free from sin, to whom he confesses, from whom he receives absolution, and to whom he vows to eat nought save bread and water till the Quest be achieved, he comes to a castle whose mistress is sore oppressed by her sister, against whose champion, Priadam the Black, she has vainly sought a defender. Bors promises to come to help. He passes the night at the castle and will not sleep in the rich bed she offers him, though in the morning he tumbles it as if he had lain in it. He overcomes Priadam, and reinstates the lady in her lordship. (31) On the morrow he meets his brother, naked, bound on a hack, being beaten with thorns by two knights. At the same moment passes a very fair maiden being carried off by a knight, and she cries to him for help. He is in anguish, but goes to the maiden's help, wounds her would-be ravisher, and restores her to her friends. (32) He then hurries after his brother, but meets a seeming monk who makes him believe his brother is dead, and gives him an explanation of dreams he has had. He then comes to a tower and is welcomed by its inmates. A damsel offers him her love, and when he refuses threatens with twelve other damsels to throw herself from the tower. Bors is full of pity, but thinks they had better lose their souls than he his. They fall from the tower, Bors crosses himself, and the whole vanishes, being a deceit of the devil. His brother's corpse that had been shown him is also gone. (33) On the morrow he comes to an abbey, where he learns that his brother lives, and where all his dreams and adventures are allegorically explained. He then meets Lionel, his brother, who reproaches him bitterly for his conduct, and falls upon him with intent to kill. First a hermit, then a passing knight, Calogrenant, would stop him, but he slays both. Bors is at length, in spite of prayers and entreaties, compelled to draw in self defence, but a voice tells him to flee, and a fiery brand comes from heaven between them. Bors follows the command of the voice directing him towards the sea, where Perceval awaits him. He comes to a ship covered with white samite, and finds therein Perceval, who at first does not know him again, and who tells him all that he has passed through. (34) The story returns to Galahad. After countless adventures he finds himself one day opposed to Gawain and Hector de Mares in a tournament; he deals the former such a blow as knocks him out of his saddle. (35) He is brought to the ship wherein are Perceval and Bors by a damsel, who accompanies them until, fourteen days' sail from Logres, they come to a desert isle off which is another ship, on which is written[30] that those who would enter should see they were full of faith. The damsel then tells Perceval she is his sister, _daughter of King Pellehem_. They enter the ship and find a rich bed with a crown at its head, and at its foot a sword six inches out of the scabbard, its tip a stone of all the colours in the world, its handle of the bones of two beasts, the serpent Papagast, the fish Orteniaus; it is covered with a cloth whereon is written that only the first of his line would grasp the sword. Perceval and Bors both essay vainly. Galahad, on being asked, sees written on the blade that he only should draw who could strike better than others. The damsel tells the story of the sword as follows:--When the ship came to the Kingdom of Logres there was war between King Lambar, father to the Maimed King, and King Urlain, heretofore Saracen, but newly baptised. Once Urlain, discomfited, fled to the ship, and, finding therein the sword, drew it and slew King Laban[31] with it, and that was the first blow struck with the sword in the Kingdom of Logres, and there came from it such pestilence and destruction in the land of the two kingdoms that it was afterwards called the Waste Land. When Urlain re-entered the ship he fell down dead. (36) Galahad, further examining the sword, finds the scabbard of serpent's skin, but the hangings of poor stuff. On the scabbard is written that the wearer must surpass his fellows, and the hangings be changed only by a King's daughter and she a maid; on turning the sword over, the other side is found black as pitch, and bearing words that he who should praise it most should blame it most in his greatest need. Perceval's sister explains this as follows: Forty years after our Lord's Passion, Nasciens, Mordrains' brother-in-law, came to the Turning Isle, and found this ship, and therein bed and sword, this last he coveted, but had not the hardihood to draw it, though he stayed eight days food and drinkless longing for it; on the ninth day a tempest drove him to another island, where, assailed by a giant, he drew the sword, and though it snapped in two and thus fulfilled the inscription, yet he overcame the giant. He afterwards met Mordrains and told him of these wonders; Mordrains reunited the fragments, then, in obedience to a voice, they left the ship, but in going Nasciens was wounded for having dared to draw a sword of which he was not worthy, thus he who praised it most had most reason to blame it. As for the other words, _King Pelles,[32] called the Maimed King_ (a lame King who was my, _i.e._, the damsel's, uncle) once came to this ship on the shore of the sea over against Ireland, and entering it found the sword, drew but was wounded through the thighs by a lance, _and might not be healed till Galahad come_.[33] (37) They then examine the bed and find it has three spindles; that in front, snow white; that behind, blood red; that above, emerald green, and lest this be thought a lie the story turns from its straight path to explain about these spindles. After Eve, yielding to the devil's advice, had caused Adam to sin, and both knew themselves carnal and were ashamed, and were driven forth from Paradise, Eve kept the branch of the Tree of Life which she had plucked, and planted it and it grew to a tree with branches and leaves white in token that Eve was a virgin when she planted it. Sitting one day beneath the tree, God commanded them to know one another carnally, and when they were ashamed to set about such foul work sent darkness over them. Abel was thus begotten, and the Tree of Life turned green. Afterwards Cain slew Abel underneath that same tree and it turned red. At the Deluge it remained unharmed and lasted till Solomon's time. Whilst the wise King was pondering over the malice of his wife and of all women, a voice told him a woman of his line should bring men more joy than her sex had caused sorrow, and that a virgin knight should be the last of his lineage. His wife, whom he consults as to how he shall let this knight know he had foreknowledge of his coming, advised the building of the ship, and the taking of David's sword to be fitted with a new hilt of precious stones, and a new pommel and scabbard, and placed in the ship together with Solomon's crown on a rich bed; she furthermore had three spindles made from the Tree of Life and from trees grown from it. And when all was ready Solomon saw in dreams angels coming from heaven and putting the different inscriptions on the sword and ship. (38) The story speaks now of other things. New hangings had not been put on the sword, this was to be done by a damsel. Perceval's sister supplies hangings made of her own hair, and names the sword "The Sword of Strange Hangings," and the scabbard "Memory of Blood," and Galahad girds on the sword. (39) On the morrow they set sail and come to Castle Carchelois, in the March of Scotland, the inmates whereof attack them but are all slain. Galahad is sorry for those he has killed, but a priest tells him they are heathens, and he has done the best work in the world, as the three knights who held the castle had ravished their own sister and wounded their father, Count Ernous, to death. Before the latter dies he urges Galahad _to go to the assistance of the Maimed King_ (to undertake other adventures).[34] (40) On the morrow they meet a white stag led by four lions; these come to a hermitage, hear mass, the stag becomes a man and sits on the altar, the lions a man, an eagle, a lion, and an ox, all winged. (41) On the morrow Perceval takes Galahad's sword, which he will wear from henceforth. They come to a castle, the inmates of which demand that Perceval's sister should pay the custom of the castle, which is to give a dishful of blood from her right arm. The three companions protect Perceval's sister against overwhelming odds till nightfall, when, learning that the blood is asked to heal the Lady of the Castle suffering from leprosy, Perceval's sister sacrifices herself. Before dying she gives directions that her body is to be put in a ship and buried in the Palace Spiritual in Sarras. Bors then leaves his two companions to succour a wounded knight pursued by a knight and a dwarf;[35] and Perceval and Galahad, after seeing the castle they had thus left destroyed by fire from heaven in vengeance of the blood of the good maidens which had there been shed, likewise separate. (42) The story returns to Lancelot. He is at the Water of Marcoise, surrounded by the forest and high rocks, but he does not lose faith in God; in obedience to a voice he goes on board a passing ship and finds therein Perceval's sister, whose story he learns from the letter at her head. After a month's journeying a knight joins them who proves to be Galahad, and they pass together half a year achieving marvellous adventures. After Easter, at the new time when the birds sing their sweet and varied songs, they come to land, and a knight in white arms bids Galahad leave his father, which he does. (43) After a month's further wandering on the sea, Lancelot comes to a castle guarded by two lions,[36] against whom he would at first defend himself, but is reproved for trusting his strength rather than his Creator. Entering, he comes to a room wherein are the Holy Vessel, and a priest celebrating mass; Lancelot is warned not to enter, but when he sees that the priest about to raise the body of God has a man put into his hands, he cannot refrain from pressing forward to his aid, but is struck down by a fiery wind and remains fourteen days dumb, food- and drinkless. He finds he is in Castle Corbenic, and a damsel tells him his quest is ended. King Pelles rejoices to see him, at dinner the Holy Grail fills the tables so that living man could not think of greater plenty; whilst at dinner Hector de Mares comes to the castle door, but is ashamed to enter, hearing that Lancelot is within, and rides off pursued by the reproaches and taunts of those of the castle. Lancelot returns to Arthur's court, passing on the way the tomb of Bandamagus, whom Gawain had slain. (44) The story returns to Galahad. He comes to an abbey wherein is King Mordrains, who knows his approach, and asks that he may die in his arms; Galahad takes him on his breast, Mordrains dies and all his wounds are found healed. (45) Galahad cools the boiling fountain by putting his hand in it. (46) Galahad delivers from the tomb where he had been burning three hundred and fifty-four years his relative, Symeu, who thus expiated his sin against Joseph of Arimathea. (47) Galahad rides five years before he comes to the _house of the Maimed King_ (the court of King Peleur), and during all the five years Perceval bears him company, and within that time they _achieve the great adventures of the Kingdom of Logres_ (cast out the evil adventures of the Island of Britain). (48) One day they met Bors, who in the five years had not been in bed four times. The three come to _Castle Corbenic_[37] (the court of King Peleur) _where they are greeted by King Pelles, and where Eliezer, King Pelles' son, brings the broken sword with which Joseph had been pierced through the thighs; Bors cannot rejoin the pieces, Perceval can only adjust them together, Galahad alone can make the sword whole, and it is then given to Bors_. (50) At vesper-time a hot wind strikes the palace, and a voice orders all unfit to sit at Christ's table to depart, as the true knights were to be fed with Heaven's food. All leave save _King Pelles, Eliezer, his son, and his niece, the most religious maid on the earth_ (a young maiden); to them enter nine knights[38] and salute Galahad: three are from _Gaul_ (Wales), three from Ireland, three from Denmark. _Then four damsels bring in on a wooden bed a man, crowned, in evil plight, who greets Galahad as his long-expected deliverer._ A voice orders out of the room him who has not been a companion of the Quest, and straightway _King Pelles and Eliezer and_ the damsel depart. From heaven comes a man clad like a Bishop and borne in a chair by four[39] angels, who place him before the table upon which stands the Holy Grail. Upon his forehead is written that he was _Joseph_ (son of Joseph of Arimathea) first Bishop of Christendom, whereat they wonder, as they know that man lived three hundred years before. He kneels before the altar and opens the door of the _ark_ (chamber), and four angels[39] issue, _two bearing burning lights, the third a cloth of red samite, the fourth a lance bleeding so hard that the drops run into a box he holds in his other hand_ (two with torches, the third with the lance, the fourth holding the box into which the blood drops); the candles are placed on the table, the cloth is placed on the holy vessel so that the blood fell into it. Joseph then celebrates the Sacrament, and on his raising the wafer, as it were a child descends from heaven and strikes itself into the wafer, so that it takes man's form. Joseph then kisses Galahad and bids him be fed by the Saviour's own hand, and vanishes. But there comes out of the holy vessel, a man with hands bleeding and feet and body, and says He will reveal His secrets, and give the high food so long desired and toiled for. He gives the Sacrament to Galahad and his companions, and explains that the Grail is the dish of the Last Supper, and Galahad shall see it more fully in the City of Sarras, whither it is going, Britain being unworthy of it, and whither he is to follow it with Perceval and Bors; _but as he must not leave the land without healing the Maimed King he is to take some of the blood of the lance and therewith anoint his legs_.[40] Galahad asks why all may not come with him; but Christ says they are twelve who have eaten as the Apostles were twelve, and they must separate as the Apostles separated. _Galahad then heals the Maimed King, who goes into an abbey of white monks._ (51) The three companions, after sending messages to Arthur's court _through Estrois de Gariles and Claudius, son of King Claudas_,[41] coming to Solomon's ship, herein they find the Holy Grail, set sail; on landing bury Perceval's sister, heal a cripple to help them carry the Grail-table, are cast in prison by King _Escorant_ for a year, are fed by the Holy Grail; at _Escorant's_ death Galahad is made King, fashions a tree of gold and precious stones over the Grail and prays before it every morning as do his companions. (52) On the anniversary of Galahad's crowning the three see before the holy vessel a man clad like a Bishop, who begins mass and calls Galahad to see what he has so longed to see, and at the sight Galahad trembles very greatly, and he thanks God for letting him see that which tongue may not describe nor heart think, and he begs that he may pass away from this earthly life to the heavenly one. The Bishop then gives him the body of God, and reveals himself as Josephus, son of Joseph of Arimathea. Galahad kisses Perceval and Bors, and sends greetings to Lancelot through Bors, his soul then leaves his body and angels take it away. A hand from heaven then comes to the vessel and takes it and the lance, and bears it heavenwards, so that since there was no man bold enough to say he has seen the Holy Grail (except Gwalchmai once). (52) _Galahad's body is buried. Perceval goes into a hermitage, where Bors stays with him for a year and two months; Perceval dies, and is buried by Bors in Galahad's tomb; Bors left alone in a place as strange as Babylon, sets sail for Britain, and comes to Camelot, when all are greatly joyed to see him; he tells the adventures of the Holy Grail; they are written down and kept in the Abbey of Salisbury, and from these Master Walter Map drew to make his book of the Holy Grail for the love of King Henry his lord, who had the story translated from Latin into French. The story now is silent and tells no more concerning the adventures of the Holy Grail._[42] =Grand St. Graal.=--(1) The writer salutes all who have faith in the Holy Trinity. He does not name himself for three reasons: lest his declaration that he received the story from God Himself be a stumbling block; lest his friends pay less honour to the book if they know the author; lest if he have made any blunder all the blame fall upon him. (2) In the year 717 after the Passion of Christ, as the writer lies in his hut in one of the wildest parts of White Britain, on Good Friday Eve and doubts of the Trinity, Christ appears to him and gives him a little book not larger than a man's palm, and this book will resolve all his doubts; He Himself has written it, and only he who is purified by confession and fasting may read it. On the morrow the writer opens it and finds therein four sections, headed each as follows: This is the book of thy lineage; here begins the book of the Holy Grail; here is the beginning of the terrors; here begin the marvels. As he reads lightning and thunder come and other wonders. On Good Friday, as he is celebrating the service, an angel raises him in spirit to the third heaven, and his doubts concerning the Trinity are set at rest. When his spirit returns to his body he locks up the book; but on Easter Sunday, when he would read further, finds it gone; a voice says he must suffer to have the book back again, must go to the plains of Walescog, follow a wonderful beast to Norway, and there find what he seeks. He obeys, the beast leads him first to a hermit's, then past the pine of adventures to a knight's castle, on the third day to the queen's lake and a nunnery. After exorcising a hermit possessed of the devil, he finds the book, and on his return Christ commands him to make a fair copy before Ascension Day. He sets to work at once, on the fifteenth day after Easter.[43] The book begins as follows: Few believe on Christ at His crucifixion, among whom is Joseph of Arimathea, as the Holy Scripture of the Grail testifies. He is in all things a good man. He lives in Jerusalem with his wife and a son, Josephes (not the same Josephes who so often quotes the Scripture, but not less learned than he), he it was who passed his father's kin across sea to White Britain, since called England, without rudder or sail, but in the fold of this shirt. Joseph, having much loved the Lord, longs after His death to possess somewhat having belonged to Him; goes to the house of the Last Supper, and carries off the dish wherein He had eaten. Having been a knight of Pilate's for seven years, he craves a boon of him, which is Christ's body. Pilate grants it; Joseph descends the body from the Cross, places it in a sepulchre, and, fetching the dish from his house, collects in it the blood flowing from the body,[44] and finishes laying the body in the tomb. The Jews hear of this, are angered, seize Joseph, throw him into prison in the most hideous and dirtiest dungeon ever seen, feed him at first on bread and water, but when Christ is found to have arisen, Caiaphas, Joseph's jailor, lets him starve. But Christ brings the holy dish that Joseph had sent back to his house with all the blood in it. Joseph is overjoyed. Christ comforts him, and assures him he shall live and carry His name to foreign parts. Joseph thus remains in prison. Meanwhile his wife, though often pressed to marry, refuses until she shall have had sure tidings of her husband; as for his son he will only marry Holy Church. (3) Forty years go by; after Christ's death Tiberius Cæsar reigned ten years, then Caius, one year; then Claudius, fourteen years; then Noirons, in whose reign S.S. Peter and Paul were crucified, fourteen years; then Titus, and Vespasian, his son, a leper. The freeing of Joseph befalls in the third year of Titus' reign and in this wise: Titus has vainly sought a leech to heal Vespasian. At last a strange knight from Capernaum promises his help and tells how he in his youth had been healed of the leprosy by a prophet. The Emperor on hearing this sent to Judea to seek out that prophet; his messenger comes to Felix, and orders him to have proclamation made for aught Christ has touched; hereupon an old woman, Marie la Venissienne, brings the cloth upon which the Saviour's likeness had painted itself when she wiped His face. The messenger returns to Rome with this cloth and the mere sight of it heals Vespasian, who straightway resolves to avenge Christ's death. He goes to Jerusalem, Joseph's wife appears before him, accuses the Jews of having made away with her husband; none of the Jews know where he is save Caiaphas, who reveals the secret on condition that he is to be neither burnt or slain. Vespasian himself goes down into the prison and finds it as light as though one hundred candles had burnt in it. He tells Joseph who he is, whereat the latter wondered, not thinking he had been longer than from Friday to Sunday, not once had it been dark. A voice tells Joseph not to fear, and that he will find the Holy Vessel at his home. Joseph returns to Jerusalem with Vespasian, and points out to him the abettors of Christ's death, whom Vespasian has burnt. Caiaphas is set adrift in a boat. (4) The night before Vespasian returns to Rome, Christ appears to Joseph and commands him to go forth and fill foreign lands with his seed; he must be baptised, and must go forth without money or aught but the dish; all heart can want or wish he shall have, all who accompany him must be baptised likewise. Joseph is baptised by St. Philip, then Bishop of Jerusalem, as is also Vespasian, concerning whom the story is now silent. (5) Joseph preaches to his friends and relatives and converts seventy-five of them. They leave Jerusalem and come to Bethany, where the Lord appears to Joseph, promises him aid as once to the Jews in the wilderness, commands him to make a wooden ark for the dish, which he is to open when he wants to speak to Him, but no one is to touch it save Joseph and his son Josephes; Joseph does as commanded, his troop is miraculously fed, and on the eleventh day they come to the town of Sarras, between Babilone and Salavandre, whence the Saracens have their name, and not from Sara. (6) Joseph and his seventy-five companions enter the city and go to the Temple of the Sun, to the seat of judgment, where the Saracens are assembled with their lord, Evalach the Unknown: he had been a man of prowess in his youth, but was now old; seven days before, the Egyptians had beaten his army, and the council is now devising how vengeance may be taken therefor. Joseph is greatly joyed at these events, and when the council advises peace assures the King of victory, but he must destroy his images and believe on Him who died on the Cross. Evalach asks how one who could not save himself could save another. Joseph, in answer, tells of Christ's birth, life, death, descent into hell, resurrection, ascension, and of the sending of the Holy Ghost. Evalach cannot understand either the Incarnation or the Trinity, and although Joseph explains that the Virgin conceived by the overshadowing of the Holy Ghost through her ear, and that her virginity was no more hurt than is water when a sunbeam enters it, remains stubborn and calls his learned men to his aid, but Joseph confounds these, and Evalach lodges the Christians for the night and gives them good beds. (7) Evalach dreams of a tree-stock whence spring three equal trunks and though three yet are truly one, also of a room with a secret door of marble, through which a child passes without opening it; a voice tells him this is a type of the miraculous conception of Christ. (8) Meanwhile, Joseph, unable to sleep, prays for comfort and adjures the Lord by all His mercies to help Evalach; he is told by a voice he shall be sent for to explain the King's dream. Joseph then goes to sleep with his wife, Helyab, but not as lustful folk do, for there was nothing between them till the Lord commanded the begetting of Galahad, and then, so full of love to the Saviour were they that they had no desire. From Galahad came the high race which honoured the land of White Britain, now called England. (9) The morrow morning Joseph and his company worship before the ark (now the place wherein they were had been called the Spiritual Palace by Daniel) when a soft sweet wind comes and the Holy Ghost descends and Christ speaks and urges all to love Him; He tells Josephes to draw near and take charge of His flesh and blood; Josephes opens the door of the ark and sees a man all in red, and with him five angels, each six winged, all in red, each with a bloody sword in his left, and in their rights severally, a cross, nails, lance, sponge, and scourge; Josephes sees Christ nailed to the Cross, and the blood running down from His side and feet into the dish; he would enter the ark but angels restrain him. Joseph, wondering at his son's state, kneels before the ark and sees therein an altar covered with white cloths, under which is a red samite one, covering three nails, a lance head all bloody, and the dish he had brought, and in the middle of the altar an exceeding rich vessel of gold and precious stones; seven angels issue from the ark with water and watering pot (2), gold basins and towels (2), and gold censers (3), an eighth carrying the holy dish, a ninth a head so rich and beautiful as never mortal eye saw, a tenth a sword, three more with tapers, lastly Jesus. The company of angels go over the house sprinkling it with holy water, because it had heretofore been dwelt in by devils. Christ tells Josephes he is to receive the sacrament of His flesh and blood, and be made sovran shepherd over His new sheep; bishop's vestments are brought out of the ark. Josephes is seated in a chair, which afterwards made a Saracen King's eyes fly out of his head, is consecrated, an angel keeps the holy oil wherewith all Kings of Britain were anointed till the time of Uther Pendragon, of whom none of the many that have told his history have rightly known why he was so called; the meaning of the episcopal vestments is explained to Josephes, and his duties set forth. (10) Josephes then goes into the ark and celebrates the sacrament using Christ's words only, whereat bread and wine become flesh and blood, and in place of the bread a child, which, though as bidden, he divides into three parts yet is eaten as one whole; an angel puts patina and chalice into the dish; Joseph and his company receive the sacrament in the form of a child; Christ bids Josephes celebrate the sacrament daily; tells him that he and Joseph are to go with Evalach's messengers now nigh at hand. Leucans, Josephes' cousin, is appointed guardian of the ark. (11) Joseph and his son go before the King and overcome all the heathen clerk's objections; Josephes tells Evalach he will be given over to his enemies for three days, and shall only escape by believing on Christ; the heathen idols are smashed by a devil at the compelling of Josephes' two angels. A messenger brings the news that King Tholomes has entered and is capturing the land, and he will not rest till he be crowned at Sarras. Josephes tells the King this ill-hap is to mind him of his lowly origin, he is son of a shoemaker in an old city of France, Meaux, and was one of a tribute of one hundred youths and one hundred maidens claimed by Augustus Cæsar from France, as here dwelt a prouder folk than elsewhere, and the two daughters of the Count of the Town, Sevain, were among the tribute, and Evalach was among their servants. When Felix was named Governor of Syria by Tiberius he had taken Evalach with him, and held him in high honour until one day, angry with Felix's son, Evalach slew him and had to fly, after which he entered the service of Tholome Cerastre, King of Babylon, who had given him the land he now ruled. Josephes further explains the King's dreams, and when the latter declares himself willing to believe, asks for his shield, upon which he fixes a red cross and tells him to look on it in his need and pray to God and he shall be saved. (12) Evalach marches with his army against Tholomes, is joined by his brother-in-law, Seraphe (whom he thought hated him most of any man in the world) at the Queen's entreaty; numerous combats ensue between the two armies; Seraphe performs prodigies of valour; Evalach is taken prisoner, and in his need looks on the shield, sees thereon Christ crucified, prays to God for help, a White Knight appears, overcomes Tholomes, who is taken prisoner, and Evalach's army is victorous. (13) Meanwhile Josephes, remaining in Sarras, has been counselling Queen Sarraquite, secretly a Christian, since her mother was cured of a bloody flux, and since Christ appeared to her when she was afraid of the hermit her mother had led her to for baptism because he had such a long beard; she dares not avow her faith for fear of her husband. Josephes tells her of the battle which has taken place and of the White Knight. (14) Evalach and Seraphe return; the King asks at once after the Christians, and learns that he owes his victory to the Lord to whom also Seraphe owed his strength in battle; the shield is uncovered, a man with a wounded arm is healed by it, and then the cross vanishes; Seraphe turns Christian, is baptised and receives the name Nasciens, he is straightway healed of his wounds, exhorts Evalach to believe, and tells of Tholomes' death. Evalach is baptised, and re-christened Mordrains, or Slow-of-Belief. After baptising the town and destroying all images, Josephes leaves three of his companions in charge of the Grail Ark, and goes with the rest to Orcanz, turns out of an image a devil who had slain Tholomes, and converts more of the heathen folk. (15) Meanwhile Mordrains has ordered his people to be baptised or to leave his land; many take the latter course and are met outside the town by a devil who wounds them grievously, whereupon Josephes hurries to their aid, but is met by an angel with a lance and smitten through the thigh for having left his baptising work to trouble himself about contemners of God's law, and the mark of the wound should stay with him all his life, and the iron spear head remain in the wound so that ever after he limped, and he had later to smart for it, as the tale will show in due season. Many more people are converted, Bishops are left in the land and holy relics at Sarras. (16) Josephes brings Mordrains, Sarraquite, and Nasciens to the holy shrine, and shows them the vessel wherein is Christ's blood. Nasciens thinks he has never seen aught to match it, and he gives it a name that since it has never lost. For, says he, nothing he had seen before but somewhat displeased him (li degraast), but this pleases him (li grée) entirely; he further tells how once when a young man, hunting, as he stood deep in thought a voice made itself heard, saying "Thou shall't never accomplish what thou thinkest on until the wonders of the Grail are disclosed," and he knows now this must be the Grail as every wish of his heart is accomplished. And he draws nearer and lifts the vessel's lid and looks therein, but straightway falls to trembling, feeling he can no longer see. And he knew that the blindness was to punish his curiosity, and turning to Josephes tells him that the iron shall not be drawn out of that wound inflicted by the angel at Orcanz, nor he himself recover his sight until Josephes, wounded, himself comes to draw out the iron. So they stand lost in thought, till a voice is heard, "After my vengeance my healing" and an angel appears, touches Josephes' thigh with the lance shaft, whereupon the head comes out, and from it drop great drops of blood which the angel collects in a vessel, and wherewith he anoints Josephes' wound, making it whole, and Nasciens' eyes, restoring to him his sight. And the angel tells them that the meaning of the lance is that of the beginning of the wonderful adventures which shall befall in lands whither God purposes leading them; when the true knights should be separated from the false ones, and the earthly knighthood become a heavenly one. And at the beginning of those adventures the lance would drop blood as then, but beforehand none; and then wonders would happen all over the world where the lance was, great and terrible wonders, in recognition of the Holy Grail and of the lance; and the marvels of the Grail should never be seen save by one man alone; and by the lance wherewith Josephes was struck should but one other man be struck, and he a King of Josephes' kin, and the last of the good men; he should be struck through the two thighs, and only healed when the Grail wonders were disclosed to the Good Knight, and that one should be last of Nasciens' kin. Thus, as Nasciens was the first to behold the wonders of the Grail, that one should be the last; so saith the true crucified one, adding, "Upon the first and last of My new ministers will I spend the vengeance of the adventurous lance in token of Myself having received the lance stroke whilst on the Cross." And so many days as Josephes had born the lance head in his wound so many days should the marvellous adventures last. Now these days (_years_)[45] were twenty-two. (17) Josephes explains Mordrains' vision, and makes him destroy the image of a woman he had kept in a secret chamber, known, so he thought, only to himself. (18) Josephes and his company go forth from Sarras, but the tale tells nothing of them in this place, but keeps straight on. On the following night Mordrains dreams that, sitting in Sarras at table, of a sudden a thunderbolt strikes crown from his head and the first mouthful from his lips; a great wind carries him up into a far land where he is fed by a lion and lioness, and after a while an eagle carries off Nasciens' son to a land whereof the inhabitants bow down before him, and out of this nephew's belly comes a great lake giving rise to nine streams, eight of equal breadth and depth, the ninth as wide and deep as the remainder put together, and rushing and turbulent, and at first foul and muddy, but afterwards clear and pure as a precious stone; then comes down from heaven a man in likeness of one crucified, who bathes hands and feet in the lake and eight streams, but in the ninth his whole body. (19) Mordrains tells his vision to Nasciens and confesses to former treacherous and jealous feelings he had against him; they seek counsel of the priests, but none can expound the vision, and as they sit together a great tumult is heard and the sound of a horn announcing "the beginning of dread," and they fall senseless to the ground; but Mordrains is caught up by the Holy Ghost and borne off. (20) Meanwhile Nasciens is accused by Kalafier, a Christian-hater, of having made away with Mordrains, and is cast into prison with Kalafier for gaoler. (21) Meanwhile Mordrains has been carried off by the Holy Ghost to an island lying between Babylon, Scotland, and Ireland, a high land from which the western sea can be looked over as far as Spain; it was once a pirates' lair, but Pompey drove them thence. To Mordrains comes a noble man who gives his name as Tout-entour, comforts him, and exhorts him to steadfastness in the faith; when he leaves a fair woman appears and tempts the King, who luckily does not pay heed to her, and well for him, as he learns from the noble man that she is Lucifer in disguise. He is assailed by many temptations; storm, thunder, and lightning affright him; the wonderful bird Phoenix attacks him and snatches the bread from his lips; Lucifer again visits him and shows him Nasciens' dead body, but it is only an invention; finally, all these trials withstood, the noble man comes again and expounds the dream of the nine streams: the lake is a son of Nasciens, from whom descend nine Kings, all good men and true, but the ninth surpassing all in every virtue; he is the knight to whom the wonders of the Grail shall be shown, and Christ shall bathe Himself wholly in him. (22) Meanwhile Nasciens has been kept in prison together with his son, Celidoine (Heaven-given) by Kalafier. But a miraculous hand appearing from out a cloud strikes off Nasciens' fetters, and carries him out of the dungeon; Kalafier pursues but is struck down by the hand; on his death bed he orders that Celidoine be cast from the battlements, but nine hands bear him up in mid air, whilst Kalafier, slain by fire from heaven, goes to eternal death. Sarraquite, overjoyed to hear of her brother's escape, sends out messengers to meet them. Meanwhile Nasciens' wife, Flegentyne, has set out in search of her husband accompanied by the old knight, Corsapias, and his son, Helicoras. (23) Now Nasciens has been carried fourteen days journey off to the Turning Isle (concerning which many wonders are told); all of these things are true, as Christ Himself has written the book of the Holy Grail, and He never wrote aught else save the Lord's Prayer for the disciples and the judgment upon the woman taken in adultery. And no man is bold enough to say that since the Resurrection Christ wrote aught else save this "haute escripture del S. Graal." (24) A ship comes to Nasciens' isle which he would enter but for words warning him against it unless he be full of faith. However, crossing himself he enters [and finds therein the same wonders as those described in Queste, Inc. 35, 36, 37, viz.:--the sword and the three spindles, precisely the same story about which is told as in the Queste]. (25) Nasciens deeming there must be magic in this, the ship splits in twain, and had well nigh drowned him, but he regains the isle swimming, and on the morrow an old man comes in a ship and gives him an allegorical explanation of what has befallen him. (26) Meanwhile Celidoine, carried off by the hands to the land of the heathen King Label, wins his favour by expounding a dream, converts him, but at his death is cast adrift by the heathen barons in a boat with a lion, and after three days comes to Nasciens' island. (27) The two rejoice on their meeting, and leave the island together in Solomon's ship, come after four days to another island, where Nasciens, attacked by a giant, seizes Solomon's sword but it breaks in his hand, nevertheless, with another sword he overcomes the giant. He chides Solomon's sword, but Celidoine says it is some sin of his made it break. Thereafter they see a ship approaching wherein is Mordrains. There is rejoicing between the three, and much telling of past adventures. Nasciens shows the broken sword to Mordrains, who, taking it in his hands, joins it together, whereupon a voice bids them leave the ship; Nasciens, not obeying fast enough, is wounded in the shoulder by a fiery sword in punishment of his having drawn Solomon's sword. (28) The messengers sent out by Sarraquite in search of Nasciens have, meantime, had many adventures, have come across the daughter of King Label, suffered shipwreck, and been thrown upon a desert isle formerly the home of the great physician, Ypocras (of whom a long story is told how he was tricked by a Roman lady), been tempted in divers fashions, but at last they are led to Mordrains, Nasciens, and Celidoine. (29) On the third night a priest clad in white comes walking on the sea, heals Nasciens' wound, and sends off Celidoine in another ship. The remainder come to land, Mordrains and Sarraquite are reunited; Nasciens' wife, Flegentyne, is sent for; and Label's daughter is christened by Petrone, a holy man and kinsman of Joseph. She was after Celidoine's wife, as my lord Robert of Borron testifies, who translated this history from Latin into French after the holy hermit to whom our Lord first gave it. (30) Nasciens sets forth in search of his son, his knights follow on his track, and two are struck dead for their sins. Nasciens comes again to Solomon's ship, is tempted by the devil in the shape of a fair damsel, goes on board the ship and dreams as follows:--Celidoine is in the promised land with all those who had left Sarras; he, Nasciens, shall go thence likewise and never depart thence, nor shall the ship until it take back the last of his line to Sarras, together with the Holy Grail, and that shall be after three hundred years; and thereafter Celidoine leads before him nine persons, all in guise of Kings, save the eighth who was like a dog, and the ninth turns into a lion, and at his death the whole world mourns over him. And the names of these, Nasciens' descendants, are: Celidoine, Marpus, Nasciens, Alains li Gros, Ysaies, Jonans, Lancelot, Bans, Lancelot, like unto a dog until his end, Galahad, foul at the source, but afterwards clear, in whom Christ shall bathe Himself wholly, and who shall end all the adventures. On the morrow it is explained to Nasciens that the eighth of his descendants likens a dog on account of his sins, and the ninth is foul at the beginning as engendered in fornication and not as Holy Church wills. (31) The story, after touching on Flegentyne, who retires to her own land, returns to Joseph, who, with his son, Josephes, and his companions, has been wandering about. Joseph is ordered by a voice from heaven to beget a son, whose name shall be Galaad. At length the company comes to the sea shore and laments that it has no ships; Joseph rebukes them, and says those may pass who have kept chaste, whereupon four hundred and sixty come forward to confess their lechery. Josephes is told to put forward the Grail-bearers, to take the shirt off his back, and having spread it on the water, all the pure companions shall find place on it. This happens, and all find place save Symeu and his son, who are not as they should be, and who sink and are well nigh drowned. The chosen company arrive on the morrow in Great Britain, then full of Saracens and infidels. Josephes then prays for the remainder of the company; a heavenly voice says they shall come in good time, and that this is the promised land in which they shall multiply and become the worthiest race anywhere. (32) Meantime Nasciens has been led in Solomon's ship to those of Joseph's followers who had been left behind, as the history of the Holy Grail testifies. After being warned against fresh falling into sin they are brought over to Joseph, and are fed with as much meat as they could want. But the fifth day the company, not having eaten for a day, come to the tent of a poor woman, wherein are twelve loaves about which they dispute. Josephes, referred to, breaks each loaf in three, and having placed the Holy Grail at the head of the table by its power the bread suffices for more than five hundred people. (33) Hereafter the company comes to Castle Galafort, where Celidoine is found disputing with the Saracen wise men. The Christians are well received by Ganort, and shortly afterwards he and his people are baptised, one hundred and fifty who refuse being drowned. Over their bodies a tower is built, the Tower of Marvels, and thereafter, it is prophesied, a King named Arthur should reign, and from one blow of a sword adventures should arise, lasting twelve years, until the last descendant of Nasciens should end them, and till that time no knight of Arthur's house should enter the tower without having to fight as good a man as himself; thus should it be till he who was to end the adventures appeared. So they build the tower, and it lasts until Lancelot destroys it, as the "Tale of Arthur's Death" relates. (34) Joseph's wife bears a son, who receives the name of Galahad, of the Castle of Galafort. (35) The King of Northumberland, hearing of Ganort's conversion, summons him to the court, and on his refusal attacks him, but is defeated and slain by the Christians. (36) Josephes, his father, and one hundred and fifty of the Christians, leaving Galafort, come to Norgales, and are thrown into prison by King Crudel, who says, "Let them be for forty days, and see if their vessel will feed them." Our Lord comes to comfort them, and bids them be of good cheer, He will send an avenger to slay these dogs. (37) Our Lord, in the likeness of one crucified, then appears to Mordrains, bids him set forth with wife and children and King Label's daughter and Nasciens' wife and go to Great Britain, there to avenge him on King Crudel. Mordrains hearkens, and shortly after sets forth with all his household, leaving his land in charge of Duke Ganor. On the way a devil carries off the captain of the ship, who had lusted after Queen Flegentyne. They arrive in Britain and rejoin their friends; great is the joy; Nasciens' queen is like to have died of joy, and swoons twelve times. (38) Mordrains sends word to Crudel to set the Christians free, and on his refusal marches against, overthrows, and slays him, but is grievously wounded, though he suffers no pain. Josephes and his companions are freed, and thanksgivings are made before the Grail. On the morrow, as Josephes is officiating before the holy vessel, Mordains presses near to see it, in spite of a warning voice; he loses his sight and the power of his body; he confesses his folly, but prays he may not die till the Good Knight's coming, the ninth of Nasciens' descendants. A voice promises him this, and that when the Good Knight comes he shall recover his sight and his wounds be healed; but three hear this promise beside Mordrains himself, Joseph, Josephes, and Nasciens. (39) Mordrains is brought to Galafort, where Celidoine marries King Label's daughter and begets a son, Nasciens. Mordrains then, after giving his wife and shield into Nasciens' keeping, retires to a hermitage, and builds a monastery of the White Monks, and stays there till Perceval sees him and Galahad, too, as the "Tale of the Holy Grail" tells. (40) Josephes leaves Galafort, and, coming to Camelot, converts many of the people, whereat King Agrestes, being grieved, is baptised with false intent, and after Josephes' departure persecutes the Christians, and is punished by madness and death. Josephes returning, buries the martyrs, whose blood had blackened a cross, which keeps the name of the "Black Cross," till the Good Knight, Lancelot of the Lake's son comes. (41) Josephes comes to a hill called Hill of the Giant; 'tis a Friday, and Brons is sitting next him at the Grail-table, but between the two is space for a man to sit, and Brons, Josephes' kinsman, asks him why he does not invite some one to fill it. Josephes answers, only he who is a holier man than any present can fill that place, as it typifies Christ's seat at the Last Supper, and is empty waiting His coming, or whom He shall send. Such of the company as are in mortal sin take this saying as presumption and fable, and Moys declares his willingness to sit in it if his companions will ask Josephes' leave. They do so, and though Josephes minds them how Moys might hardly come to Britain, and though he solemnly warns Moys himself, he gives his leave. Moys takes the seat, and at once seven flaming bands from heaven seize upon him and carry him off to a far place burning like a dry bush. The people repent, and, in answer to their enquiries, Josephes tells them the day shall come when they shall know where Moys is. (42) After the meal Josephes, at Brons' request, has the latter's twelve sons up before him, and asks them whether they will be wedded or not. Eleven choose wedding, but the twelfth virginity and the service of the Holy Grail. Josephes, overjoyed, having married the other eleven, appoints him guardian of the Grail at his death, and he might leave the guardianship afterwards to whom he would. (43) Josephes and his companions pass through Britain converting the heathen. Now the Grail only gives food to such as are not in sin, and once as the troop is encamped by a lake, Peter, a kinsman of Josephes', bears it through the ranks, and all are fed with the best food, save the sinners; these complain, and beg Josephes to pray for them, whereupon he bids Brons' youngest son, the same he had chosen as Grail-keeper, Alains le Gros (not that Alains, Celidoine's son, _he_ was king and wore a crown, but this one never) take the net from the Grail-table and fish with it in the pond. Alains does so and catches one fish, a big one, but say they, 'Twill not be enough; however, Alains, having shared it in three, and having prayed it might suffice, all are fed. Alains is called in consequence the Rich Fisher, and all the Grail-keepers after him bear this name, but they were more blessed than he, being crowned Kings whereas he never wore crown. (44) Joseph, leaving his companions, comes into the Forest of Broceliande, meets a Saracen who would lead him to his sick brother, but is himself slain by a lion. Joseph is thrown in prison and wounded in the thigh by the men of the sick knight's castle, but, obtaining leave to visit the sick knight, heals him, and brings back to life the Saracen slain by the lion; both brothers are baptised; a fragment of the sword remaining in the wound, Joseph draws it out, and laying it with the remainder of the sword prophecies it shall not be made whole till he come who shall achieve the adventures of the Holy Grail. (45) Joseph, returning to his companions, finds them in doubt as to how they shall cross a great water, they pray for guidance, and a white hart appears, followed by four stags, and leads them across, all save Chanaan, who crosses later in a fisherman's boat. Josephes, in answer to Alain and Pierron, explains the hart and lions as Christ and the Evangelists, and Christ would appear in that wise afterwards to Arthur, Mordred, and Lancelot. (46) The Christians come to a house where burns a great fire, out of which is heard a lamentable voice; it is that of Moys; at Josephes' prayer rain falls from heaven and quenches half the flames, but he may not be wholly delivered until the Good Knight, Galahad, come. (47) The Christians come into the land of King Escos, whence Scotland has its name. The Holy Grail refuses meat to Chanaan and to Symeu, Moys' father, whereat enraged, Symeu attacks Pierre and wounds him, and Chanaan slays his twelve brethren. Symeu is carried off by devils, whilst Chanaan's grave bursts out in flames, which may not quench till Lancelot come. (48) Meanwhile Pierre's wound having become worse, he is left behind with a priest, who leads him to the sea shore, and, at his request, places him in a boat; this carries him to the isle of the heathen king, Orcanz, whose daughter finding him on the sea shore dying, has pity on him and tends him secretly till he is healed. Her father requires a champion, Pierre offers himself, conquers, converts, and baptises Orcanz, who takes the name Lamer, and marries his daughter, and King Luces comes to the wedding and is overjoyed. From him came Gauvain, son of King Lot of Orcanie. Mordred was no true son of Lot's, but of Arthur's. Gauvain is thus of the seed of Joseph of Arimathea. (49) Josephes after fifteen years' wanderings comes back to Galafort, and finds his brother Galahad grown up; by Josephes' advice the men of Hocelice take Galahad for their king, and he became the ancestor of Ywain, son of Urien. Once whilst riding he comes to Symeu's fiery grave, which may not be quenched till Galahad, the Good Knight, comes. At Galahad's death he is buried in an abbey he founds to allay Symeu's pains, and the tombstone of his grave may not be lifted until by Lancelot. (50) Joseph dies shortly after Galahad's crowning, and Josephes, feeling death near, pays a last visit to Mordrains, who begs for a token from him. Josephes asks for the king's shield, and with blood gushing from his nose marks on it a red cross, gives it to Mordrains, and says no one shall hang it on his neck without rue till Galahad do so; the shield is placed on Nasciens' tomb. On the morrow Josephes dies; his body is carried afterwards into Scotland to still a famine, and is buried in the Abbey of Glays. (51) Before his death he has confided the Grail to Alain. The latter comes with his brethren, one of whom, Josue, is unmarried, to the Terre Foraine, converts the King and people, and marries Josue to his daughter. Here is the resting-place of the Holy Grail; a lordly castle is built for it, hight Corbenic, which is Chaldee, and signifies "holy vessel." At Josue's wedding, such is the power of the Holy Grail, that all present are as filled as if they had eaten the finest meats they could think of. And that night the King, baptized Alfasem, sleeping in the castle, beholds the holy vessel covered with crimson samite, and a man all flaming tells him no mortal may sleep where the Holy Grail rests, and wounds him through both thighs, and bids others beware of sleeping in the Palace Adventurous. And afterwards many a knight essayed the adventure, but lost his life, till Gauvain came, and he, though he kept his life, had such shame and mischance as he had not had for the Kingdom of Logres' sake. (58) Alain and Alfasem die; Josue becomes King and Grail-keeper, and after him Aminadap, Catheloys, Manaal, Lambor, all Kings and known as the Fisher, and Lambor fighting with his enemy, Bruillant, pursues him to the sea shore, and Bruillant finds there Solomon's ship and enters it, and finds the sword with which he slays Lambor, and this was the first blow struck with that sword in Great Britain, and such great woes sprang therefrom that no labourers worked, nor wheat grew, nor fruit trees bore, nor fish was found in the waters, so that the land was known as the Waste Land. But Bruillant falls dead for drawing the sword. After Lambor, Pelleans, wounded in the two thighs in a battle of Rome, whence he was always called the Maimed King, and he might not heal till Galahad the Good Knight come; and from him descends Pelles, and on his daughter does Lancelot of the Lake beget Galahad. (59) Nasciens, Flegentyne, and Sarraquite die on the self-same day. Celidoine reigns, and is followed by Marpus, he by Nasciens, Alain li Gros, Ysaies, Jonas, Lancelot, Bans, Lancelot of the Lake. Here the story ends of all the seed of Celidoine, and returns to speak of Merlin, which my lord Robert of Borron thus begins.[46] In making up the slips, the summary of Borron's poem dropped out. In order not to disturb the page form, which was fixed before the omission was noticed, it has been inserted after the Grand St. Graal with a subpagination. =Robert de Borron's Poem: Joseph of Arimathea.=--(1) Before Christ's coming all folk went to Hell, but He came born of a Virgin that He might bring them out of Hell. He took flesh what time Judæa was under Rome and Pilate governed it. Now a soldier of Pilate's loved Christ but dared not show it. Of Christ's few disciples one was bad, his chamberlain, and he betrayed Him to the Jews. (2) On Thursday Jesus gathers His disciples; Judas' question, the washing of the feet, the kiss of betrayal follow. When the Jews carry off Jesus, one of them takes the very fair vessel wherein He made His sacrament, and gave it to Pilate, who keeps it till he learns Jesus' death. (3) Joseph is angry hereat, and claims pay for his and his five knights five years' free service, and his pay is Christ's body. Pilate grants it him, and Joseph hastens to the Cross, but the guards deny him, whereon he complains to Pilate, who sends Nicodemus to see he obtain it, and also gives Joseph the vessel. (4) Joseph and Nicodemus descend the body, and wash it, which makes the blood flow afresh. Joseph puts the blood in the vessel, wraps the body in a fine cloth and entombs it. The descent into Hell and the Resurrection follow. (5) The Jews are incensed against Joseph and Nicodemus; the latter escapes, but Joseph is thrust into a horrible and dark prison. To him Christ appears with His vessel, in a great light, and instructs Joseph, telling him for his love to Him he shall have the symbol of His death and give it to keep to whom he would; He then gives Joseph the great, precious vessel wherein is His holiest blood. Joseph wonders, having hidden it in his house. Joseph is to yield the vessel to three persons only, who are to take it in the name of the Trinity. No Sacrament shall ever be celebrated but Joseph shall be remembered. But Joseph must be taught concerning the Sacrament; the bread and wine are Christ's flesh and blood, the tomb is the Altar; the grave-cloth the Corporal, the vessel wherein the blood was put shall be called Chalice, the cup-platten signifies the tombstone. All who see Joseph's vessel shall be of Christ's company, have fulfilment of their heart's wish and joy eternal. (_The author adds_: I dare not, nor could not, tell this but that I had the great book wherein the histories are written by the great clerks, therein are the great secrets written which are called the Graal.) Christ leaves Joseph, who remains in prison, no man heeding him (6) until, when Vespasian, the Emperor's son, was a leper, a pilgrim comes to Rome and tells of Christ's cures, and lays his head Vespasian could be cured could anything of Christ's be brought to Rome. The Emperor sends messengers, who hear Pilate's story of the Crucifixion and about Joseph. The Jews are called together, and one tells of Verrine, who is brought before the messengers, and she relates how she wiped Christ's face and thus got the likeness of Him. They take her to Rome, Vespasian is healed, and sets forth to revenge Christ's death. He kills many Jews, burning some. One Jew offers to find Joseph, and tells the story of his imprisonment. Vespasian is let down into the prison and finds Joseph alive, who, to his amazement, welcomes him by name, and reads him a lecture on Biblical history and Christian Faith. Vespasian is converted, and sells the Jews at the rate of thirty for a penny. (7) Joseph exhorts his kin, among them his sister, Enygeus, and brother-in-law, Hebron. They agree to believe, and to follow him. He sets off with them and they dwell for long in far-off lands. For awhile things go well, but then all the host does turns to naught; 'tis on account of carnal sin. The host complains to Hebron that they and their children die of hunger. (8) Hebron reports this to Joseph, who goes weeping and kneels before the vessel and asks why his followers suffer? A voice from the Holy Ghost answers he is not in fault, but he is to set the vessel before the people, and to mind him how He, Christ, had eaten with His disciples, and how the false disciple was detected. In the name of that table whereat Christ last ate, Joseph is to prepare another, and then to call his brother-in-law, Brons, and make him go into the water to catch a fish, and the first he catches Joseph is to put it on the table, and then to take the vessel, put it on the table, cover it with a towel, and then place Hebron's fish opposite it. The people are then to be called, who will soon see wherein they have sinned. And Joseph is to sit where Christ sat at the Last Sacrament, with Brons at his right. And Brons is to draw back one seat, to signify the seat of Judas, and the seat thus left empty is not to be filled until Enygeus have a child by Brons, her husband, and when that child is born there shall be his seat. The people is then to be bidden sit down to the grace of our Lord. Joseph does all this; part of the people sit, part do not, the sitters are filled with sweetness and the desire of their heart, the others feel nought. One of the sitters, named Petrus, asks if they feel nothing, and tells them it is because they are defiled with sin. The sinners then depart, but Joseph bids them come back day by day. Thus Joseph detects the sinners, and thus is the vessel first proved. (9) Joseph tells the sinners it severs them from the others, as it holds no company with nor has love towards any sinner. The sinners ask the name of the vessel: it is called _Graal_, as it is agreeable to all who see it. Now all this is verity, hence we call this the Story of the Grail, and it shall be henceforth known as the Grail. (10) One sinner remains, Moyses, a hypocrite (here a gap which can be filled up from the prose versions: Moyses seats himself in the empty seat, whereupon the earth opens and swallows him). (11) Joseph prays to Christ that as He came to him in prison, and promised He would come to his aid when in trouble, so now He would show him what has become of Moyses. The voice tells Joseph again about the empty seat, and how that the one at Joseph's table was not to be filled until the third man come, whom Hebron should beget and Enygeus bear, and _his_ son should fill the seat. Moyses had stayed behind only to deceive, he had his deserts, no more should be heard of him in fable or song until _he_ come who should fill the empty seat. (12) In course of time Brons and Enygeus have twelve sons and are greatly bothered with them, and ask Joseph what is to be done with them. Joseph prays before the vessel; eleven will marry, one remain single; this one is Alain. Joseph is told by the voice when he consults the vessel about this nephew, to relate all about Christ's death and about the vessel, to tell Alain that from him shall issue an heir who is to keep the vessel; Alain is to take charge of his brethren and sisters and go westwards. An angel will bring a letter for Petrus to read, telling him to go whither he lists; he will say: the vale of Avaron; thither shall he go and wait for the son of Alain, and shall not pass away until that one come, and to him shall Petrus teach the power of the vessel, and say what has become of Moyses, and then may he die. (13) All happens as foretold by the voice; the letter comes for Petrus, who declares his intention of departing for the vale of Avaron, bidding the host pray God he may never go against His will. Alain leaves with his brethren, and, as Joseph taught him, preaches the name of Jesus Christ. (14) Petrus stays one day more; it is, says an angel, the Lord sends to Joseph, that he may see and hear the things of the vessel. The angel continues: The Lord knows Brons for a worthy man, and 'twas, therefore His will he should go fishing; he is to keep the vessel after Joseph, who must instruct him properly especially concerning the holy words which God spake to Joseph in the prison, which are properly called the Secrets of the Grail; Brons is to be called the Rich Fisher from the fish he caught; all the people are to go westwards; Brons is to wait for the son of his son, and to give him the vessel, then shall the meaning of the blessed Trinity be made known; after the vessel has been given to Brons, Petrus is to go, as he may then truly say he has seen Hebron, the Rich Fisher, put in possession of the vessel; when all this is done, Joseph is to go to perfect joy and life pardurable. (15) On the morrow Joseph tells them the angel's message, save the words of Christ in the prison, which he tells to the Rich Fisher alone. The latter is then put in possession of Grail and headship; Joseph stays three days with him, then the Good Fisher goes away--in the land where he was born--and Joseph remains.[47] Master Robert de Borron should doubtless tell where Alain went, Hebron's son, and what became of him; what life Petrus led, and what became of him; what became of the long-lost Moyses; where the Rich Fisher went, and where he stayed. It were well to assemble these four things, but this no man could do save he had first heard tell the greatest history of the Grail, which is all true; and in this time I tell it to my Lord Walter, never had the great history of the Grail been told by mortal man. If God gives me strength I will assemble these four parts if I can find them in a book, meanwhile I must go on to the fifth and forget the four. (Then follows the Merlin). =Robert de Borron's Poem: Merlin.=--(In order to give all the materials for the discussion of Birch-Hirschfeld's theory of the Grail legend in the next chapter, a brief summary of the Merlin is added. A full one may be found in Birch-Hirschfeld, pp. 166, _et seq._) The devil, incensed at Christ's victory over him, in revenge begets by fraudful malice upon a virgin, a son, who is to be the wisest of mankind, and to oppose Christ's teaching. This is Merlin, who at eighteen months is able to save his mother, threatened with the doom of unchastity. Afterwards he is brought to King Vortigern, to whom he expounds the mystery of the unfinished tower. Vortigern is driven from his throne by Pendragon, with whom Merlin stands in high honour; equally so with his successor, Uter Pendragon, for whom he builds the Round Table, leaving one place empty to be filled in the time of Uter's successor. He then helps the King to satisfy his passion for Yguerne, and takes charge of Arthur, their son. When the latter grows up to be a youth he fulfils the adventure of the sword in the anvil, and is proclaimed King. "And I, Robert of Borron, writer of this book, may not speak longer of Arthur till I have told of Alain, son of Brons, and how the woes of Britain were caused; and as the book tells so must I what man Alain was, and what life he led, and of his seed and their life. And when I have spoken of these things I will tell again of Arthur." (Then follows in one solitary MS., the Didot-Perceval summarised above, p. 28. As will be seen, it does not tell what man Alain was, nor does it refer to him at all save in the most passing way). CHAPTER III. The legend formed of two portions: Early History of Grail, Quest--Two forms of each portion distinguished--Grouping of the various versions--Alternative hypotheses of development--Their bearing upon the alleged Celtic origin of the Grail--Closer examination of the various accounts of the Grail: The first use made of it and its first possessor; its solace of Joseph; its properties and the effect produced by it; its name; its arrival in England; the Grail-keeper and his relationship to the Promised Knight--Three different stages in the development of the Queste--The work and the qualification of the Promised Knight--Conclusions: Priority over Early History of Quest--Chronological arrangement of the versions. The information afforded by the summaries enables us to take a general view of the legend as a whole, and to attempt a more accurate chronological classification of its varying forms. It will have been seen that the legend is formed of two distinct portions: the one dealing with the origin and wanderings (Early History) of the Grail, the other with its Quest. The two portions are found combined in the Joseph and Didot-Perceval and in the Grand St. Graal and Queste considered each as one organic whole. Versions A, Chrestien and his continuators; C, Didot-Perceval taken by itself; D, Queste; F, Wolfram, and G, Perceval le Gallois, treat only of the Quest. Versions B, Metrical Joseph, and E, Grand St. Graal, only of the Early History. But in nearly all the versions, no matter of which portion, references are to be found to the other, and when the versions are carefully examined, it is found that of each portion there exist two entirely different forms. Taking the Early History first, versions A, B, C, D, E, and G, in so far as they deal with it at all, relate much as follows: the Grail is the vessel which our Lord used at the Last Supper, which, given by Pilate to Joseph, served the latter to receive the blood flowing from the body of the dead Christ, sustained him miraculously during his captivity, was, after his release, used by him to test the faith of his followers, and was brought to England by Joseph (A, D, E), by Brons (B, C), and was finally confided by Joseph to his brother-in-law, Brons, to be kept until the coming of the latter's grandson (versions B and C), or was left in charge of Alain, son of Brons, from whom it passed to his brother Josue, in whose line it remained until the Good Knight should come (version E). But F, Wolfram makes the Grail a vessel of "lapsit exillit" (_i.e._, lapis herilis, or lapsus ex coelis, or lapis electrix), which, after the fall of the rebel angels, was given in charge to Titurel and his dynasty, and by them preserved in the Grail Castle, Montsalvatch, guarded by a sacred order of Knighthood whom it chooses itself. So far, therefore, as the Early History is concerned all the versions, save one, are in the main of the same class, the differences between them being, apparently, ones of development and not of origin. Turning now to the Quest, two classes are likewise to be distinguished: in the first the hero is Perceval, in the second there are three heroes, Galahad, Perceval, and Bors, chief of whom is Galahad. To the first class belong versions A, Chrestien, etc., C, Didot-Perceval; F, Wolfram; and G, Perceval le Gallois; whilst D, Queste, alone of the versions which recount the Quest only, belongs to the other class. It is followed, however, by E, Grand St. Graal, in so far as the latter has any reference to the Quest. In the other Early History version, namely B, Metrical Joseph, the name of the hero who is to achieve the Quest is not mentioned, but the indications concerning him agree more closely with the march of the story in C, Didot-Perceval, than with those of D, Queste; it must therefore be ranged in the first class. The main incident in the versions of this class is the hero's visit to the castle of a sick king, his beholding there the Grail in company with other relics, his neglect on the first visit to ask the meaning of what he sees, his punishment, second visit to the Grail Castle, and attainment of his end, whether healing of the Sick King or winning of the Grail kingship. The two versions, H, Peredur, and I, Sir Perceval, which belong to the Grail cycle, though they do not mention the Grail, and although I, Sir Perceval, does not contain the above-mentioned incident, must likewise be placed in this class, as must also the Gawain episodes of Diu Crone. In the second class this main incident is missing, though several of its less important features are present in altogether different connection. The story in D, Queste, is largely made up of adventures tallying often detail for detail with those in the Early History version, E, Grand St. Graal, with which it shares similarity in the Quest form. Whilst each portion of the legend exists in two forms, the great majority of versions in both cases belong to one form. Looking for the moment upon D and E as one whole, there is in both cases only one minority-version, viz., for the Early History, F, Wolfram, for the Quest D-E, Queste, Grand St. Graal. And each of these is only in a minority as far as one portion of the legend is concerned, D-E, agreeing with the majority in the Early History, and F in the Quest. Taking the average of all the versions there results what may be called the _Joseph of Arimathea form_ as the type of the Early History; the _Perceval form_ as the type of the Quest. As a rule, it may be confidently assumed that the larger number of versions represent an older form, an assumption strengthened so far as the Early History is concerned by the fact that the minority version, F, Wolfram, can historically be proved to be one of the latest in date of all the versions, and, so far as the Quest is concerned, by the following considerations:--The minority version, D-E, has three heroes, of whom Perceval is second in importance only to the chief hero, Galahad, indeed he occupies as large a space in the narrative. This position can be due only to his being the original achiever of the Quest. It is obviously inadmissible that seven or eight versions should have conspired to pick out one only, and that one the second, of the three heroes of the Queste, and should have made him the sole hero, whilst it is easy to understand that the author of D, Queste, dissatisfied for certain reasons with the older forms of the story, yet not daring to alter it so far as to entirely burke the original hero, should have taken the course he did. Two alternative hypotheses now naturally suggest themselves. The two parts of the legend may really form one organic whole, although more frequently found asunder than combined, or the one part may be an explanatory and supplementary after-thought. If the first hypothesis be accepted, it is natural to look upon the Metrical Joseph and the Didot-Perceval as the first and last parts of a trilogy, which, as presenting the legend in its fullest and most orderly shape, has a claim to being the oldest form of the story, and the main, if not the only, source of all other versions. If, on the other hand, the second hypothesis be exact, if one part of the legend be later than the other, and has been artificially welded into one with it, that version in which this fusion is most perfect, instead of being the earliest is, with greater likelihood, one of the latest forms. How do these alternative hypotheses affect the special object of these studies--the investigation of the alleged Celtic element in the Grail romances? In this way. If the Early History be an integral part of the romance, the probabilities in favour of a purely Christian legendary origin for the Grail itself are immensely increased, and the utmost the Celtic partisan could hope to show was that a Christian legend had somehow or other been strongly influenced by Celtic popular traditions. But if the reverse be true the probabilities are at once in favour of the Christian legendary element being the intruding one, and the chief aim of the Celtic partisan will be to disengage the present versions of the Quest from the traces left upon them by the Early History, and to accumulate as many parallels as possible between the residuum and admittedly genuine Celtic tradition. It by no means follows, however, that the acceptance of the second hypothesis involves the acceptance of the Celtic origin of the Grail. The romance as we have it--Quest, Early History--may be the fusion of two elements, one of which, the Christian legendary, may claim _all_ that is connected with the mystic vessel. Were it otherwise our task would be greatly simplified. For the mere fact that what may be called the non-Grail members of the cycle, _i.e._, H, Peredur, and I, Sir Perceval, know nothing of the Early History, gives no uncertain hint as to which portion of the romance is the original, and which the accretion. Two points have then to be investigated--the relationship one to the other of Early History and Quest; and, if the Quest is found to be the older portion, whether the Grail really belongs to it, or whether its presence in the various forms of the story as we now have them may not be due to the Early History. An examination of the various passages in which the Grail is mentioned will furnish material towards settling the first point. Such an examination may profitably omit all reference to Wolfram, to the prose Perceval le Gallois, from which little is apparently to be gained respecting the oldest forms of the legend, and to Heinrich von dem Türlin's version of the Gawain episodes. It must also neglect for the nonce the two non-Grail members of the cycle (the Mabinogi and Sir Perceval) as their testimony is either of little or of the highest value according as the Quest is or is not found to be the oldest portion of the romance. With these exceptions all the versions furnish elements of comparison, though little is to be got, as far as the point under discussion is concerned, from what is apparently the latest section of the Conte du Graal, Gerbert's poem. The consideration of the second point will necessitate comparison of the various Quest forms among themselves, and the examination of numerous Celtic stories which present analogies with them. _The Grail: the first use made of it and its first Possessor._ We learn nothing from Chrestien respecting the early history of the Grail, nor is Gautier more communicative if the Mons MS. version be followed. The intercalation, A IIA, however, and Manessier give full details. According to the former: ... c'est icel Graal por voir Que nostre Sires tant ama Que de son saint sanc l'anora Au jor que il fu en croix mis. (16-19) According to the latter: C'est li vassiaus, ce saciés-vous, Ù ens li sains sans présious Nostre Segnor fu recéus Quant de la lance fu férus. (35,017-20) We learn from the former that "Josep le fist fère" (v. 22), and that he used it to collect the blood that flowed from each foot of our Lord as He hung on the Cross (verses 30-39), whilst the latter leaves it uncertain who the first possessor was, and who held the Grail to receive our Lord's blood. The information given in versions B, is as might be expected, much fuller. B I, Metr. Jos., which calls it "un veissel mout gent," tells how Christ used it, He "feisoit son sacrement" in it; how it was found by a Jew, who delivered it up to Pilate, by whom it was given to Joseph, and by him used to receive the blood which bursts forth again from Christ's wounds when the body has been taken down from the Cross.--C, Didot-Perceval: Brons, after relating how Longis pierced the Lord's body as it hung on the Cross, says of the Grail, "en cest vessel gist le sanc que Joseph recueilli qui decoroit par terre" (p. 483).--E, Grand St. Graal: Joseph himself finds the vessel out of which Christ had eaten, takes it home, and when he has received the body from Pilate, fetches the vessel and collects in it all the blood flowing from the wound he can (I, pp. 23, 24). Curiously enough, the very MS. which gives this version has an illustration of Joseph sitting under the Cross and collecting the blood as it drops from the wounds in side and feet. Three different accounts of how the Grail came into Joseph's possession and to what use he put it thus exist:-- (1) The Grail is the vessel in which Christ's blood was received as He hung upon the Cross (Pseudo-Gautier, Manessier, Didot-Perceval, and an illustration in a MS. of the Grand St. Graal); Joseph had had it made (Pseudo-Gautier). (2) The Grail is the vessel which had been used by Christ at the Last Supper. It is used as a receptacle for the blood of Christ after His body has been taken down from the Cross (Metr. Jos.). (3) Same as No. 2, with minor alterations, such as that it was Joseph who found the holy vessel himself (Grand St. Graal). _The Grail: its Solace of Joseph._ Chrestien and Gautier are again silent, but from A IIA, Pseudo-Gautier, we learn that Joseph was wont to pray before the Grail, that he was, in consequence, imprisoned in a high tower by the Jews, delivered thence by the Lord, whereupon the Jews resolve to exile him with Nicodemus, and that sister of his who had a likeness of Christ (verses 60-110). Manessier, in the Mons MS. version, passes this over, but A IIIA, has the following important passage:-- En une charte orrible et lède Fu mis Joseph sanz nul arreste; * * * * XL ans ilecques estut C'onques ne menja ne ne but; Mais Damediex li envoioit Le Saint Graal que il véoit II foiées ou III le jor; (V. pp. 153-4.) In the B versions this episode is one of capital importance. B I., Joseph is put into prison, because the Jews suspect him of having stolen away Christ's body. To him in the dungeon, "qui estoit horrible et obscure" (v. 703), appears Christ, who hands him the Grail, whereat he is surprised, as he had hidden it in a house where none knew of it (v. 860), and addresses him as follows:-- En ten povoir l'enseigne aras De ma mort et la garderas Et cil l'averunt à garder A cui tu la voudras donner. (847-50) These will be three-- Joseph, bien ce saras garder, Que tu ne le doiz commander Qu'a trois persones qui l'arunt. Ou non dou Père le penrunt Et dou Fil et dou Saint-Esprit (871-75) The offices Joseph rendered to Christ's body were symbolical of the Sacrament: the sepulchre is the altar; the sheet in which the body was wrapped the corporal; the vessel in which the blood was received shall be called chalice; and by the patina upon which it rests is signified the tombstone (v. 901-912). Finally Christ promises Joseph that:-- Tout cil qui ten veissel verrunt, En ma compeignie serunt; De cuer arunt emplissement Et joie pardurablement. (917-20) The prose versions repeat this account in the main, but with some important additions, thus: B II, Cangé MS., adds after Christ's last words, "Lors li aprant Jhésu Christ tex paroles que jà nus conter ne retraire ne porroit," etc. (I, 227); when Christ hands the vessel to Joseph, "Tu tiens lou sanc as trois personnes en une déité, qui degota des plaies de la char au fil," etc. (I, 225-26); after the description of the Grail, "lou Graal c'est à dire sor lou caalice."... In C, Didot-Perceval, the Holy Ghost, speaking to Brons, commands him to reveal to Perceval, "icelles paroles segroies qu'il (_i.e._, Christ) aprist à Joseph en la prison," which, adds the narrator, "je ne vous puis dire ne ne doi" (I, 483). E, Grand St. Graal: The Jews, angry at Joseph's having taken Christ's body down from the Cross, throw him into "la plu hideuse chartre qui onques fust veue" and when they hear of the Lord's resurrection propose to starve him; but Christ comes to him, brings him for comfort "la sainte esceuele que ostoie en sa maison a tot le sanc qu'il Auoit requelli," and comforted him much, and assured him that he should not die in prison but come out safe and sound, and his name be glorified. And Joseph "fu en la prison ... tant qu'il demoura xlii ans" (pp. 25-26).[48] Here again are three distinct accounts:-- (1) That of Pseudo-Gautier, which merely mentions Joseph's devotions to the Grail, and does not connect that devotion with any solace during his captivity. (2) That of the B versions, in which Christ Himself brings the holy vessel to the captive, and connects it with certain promises and recommendations which He makes to him; the vessel shall remain with his seed, but it is to be in charge of three persons, a symbol of the Trinity. The services rendered by Joseph to Christ's body are connected with the Mass. The late (prose) drafts of this version insist still more upon the sacramental nature of the Grail. (3) The Grand St. Graal and Pseudo-Manessier introduce a fresh element--the Grail is the material means by which Joseph is sustained (forty years according to the one, forty-two years according to the other version) without food or drink. The great importance of the incident in the B versions is most remarkable when contrasted with the comparative indifference displayed by the other versions, and notably by the Grand St. Graal, which, at the first blush, looks so like a mere amplification of B, still more remarkable the agreement between the prose versions of B, with C, Didot-Perceval, respecting Christ's words to Joseph against B I, Metr. Jos. It is difficult to decide which of the two versions is the older; B I, after Christ's words, has the following important passage:-- Ge n'ose conter ne retreire, Ne je ne le pourroie feire, Neis, se je feire le voloie, Se je le grant livre n'avoie Où les estoires sunt escrites, Par les granz clers feites et dites: Lá sunt li grant secré escrit Qu'en numme le Graal et dit. which may either have been the reason why the prose versions, followed by the Didot-Perceval, speak as they do about the secret words, or may be the versifier's excuse for giving those secret words themselves, _i.e._, the explanation of the mysteries of the Grail in its relation to the Sacrament, in which case the verse would be later than the prose forms.[49] Finally, it would seem that Pseudo-Manessier, A IIIA, and the Grand St. Graal drew their information one from the other or from a common source. _Properties and Effect of the Grail._ In Chrestien these seem to be of a purely physical nature; the Grail is borne uncovered through the hall at every meal (4,470-79), it feeds the Fisher King's father-- D'une seule oiste li sains hom Quant en ce Greal li aporte Sa vie sostient et conforte Tant sainte cose est li Graaus. (7,796-99) the most direct testimony in Chrestien to its sacred nature. In Gautier, likewise, the physical properties are insisted upon in the following passages:-- Lors vit parmi la sale aler La rice Gréail ki servoit Et mist le pain a grant esploit. (20,114-16) Moult mangièrent à grant loisir; Adonques véissiés servir Le Gréail moult honestement. (20,142-43) but in verses 28,078-81 a remarkable spiritual effect is attributed to it-- Car li diables ne deçoit Nul homme ki le jor le voie, Ne ne le met en male voie Por faire pécié creminal. In A IIA, Pseudo-Gautier, the physical side alone is insisted upon-- Et de quanqu'il lor ert mestiers Les fornissoit à tel plenté Com s'il n'eust néant cousté; (12-14) Et li Graaux par tot aloit Et pain et vin par tot portoit Et autres mès a grant planté. (171-74) Manessier makes no special reference to the properties of the Grail. In the B versions it is the spiritual power of the Grail which is dwelt upon. Christ's words to Joseph have already been quoted (_supra_, p. 71), and the use which the latter puts the Grail to, and which is specially indicated to Joseph by the Holy Ghost, is in accordance with them. The Grail is to serve him as a touchstone to distinguish the sinners of his company-- Car il n'a à nul pecheour Ne compaignie ne amour; (2,629-30) whereas to those who have not defiled themselves with sin it brings La douceur, l'accomplissement De leur cueurs tout entièrement; (2,565-67) so that according to them-- ... Cuers ne pourroit, A pourpenser ne soufiroit Le grant delit que nous avuns Ne la grant joie en quoi nous suns. (2,609-12) This testing power of the Grail is especially brought into play when the vessel is placed on the table in connection with the fish which Brons caught, and which won him the name of the Rich Fisher. C, Didot-Perceval, has only one reference, "ne il ne covient mie en sa compagnie pechier" (I, 483), agreeing with B and with Gautier's lines 28,079-80. In D, Queste, we revert to the physical gifts of the Grail. "And as soon as it entered the door of the hall the whole court was filled with perfumes ... and it proceeded to every place in the hall. And as it came before the tables it filled them with every kind of meat that a man would wish to have." When it comes in, "Every one looked at each other, and there was not one that could say a single word;" when it goes out, "Every one recovered his speech" (D II, pp. 442-43). There is no allusion to a gathering at which the Grail is used to test the state of grace of its devotees. E, Grand St. Graal, shows a curious mixture of the two ideas; the Grail feeds its worshippers, but only those who are "de sainte vie," to them it bring "toutes le boines viandes ke cuers d'omme pourroit penser," but "li pecheour n'auoient ke mangier." This version shows itself here, as in so many other passages, one of the latest in date, embodying and reconciling as it does the conceptions of the older versions--conceptions which it is difficult to derive, either from a common source or from one another. If it were not for the solitary phrase of Gautier's, lines 28,079, etc. (a passage which affords the strongest proof against the homogeneity of that part of the Conte du Graal which goes under Gautier's name), there would be an unbroken chain of testimony as to the food-giving power of the Grail on the part of the earlier A versions, supported by the Queste in opposition to the spiritual gifts insisted on by the B and E, Grand St. Graal, forms. It is in any case difficult to believe that if the writer of the Queste, with his strong tendency to mystic allegory, had had before him the highly spiritual presentment of the Grail-power found in B, he would have neglected it in favour of the materialistic description he uses. In one point this version differs from all others, the dumbness with which the Grail strikes those to whom it appears.[50] _Name of Grail._ Whilst the majority of versions afford no explanation of the name of the Grail, B and C attach a curious punning meaning to it, thus B I, Metr. Jos.: Par droit Graal l'apelera; Car nus le Graal ne verra, Ce croi-je, qu'il ne li agrée; (2,659-61) and C, Didot-Perceval, "Et por ce l'anpelon-nos Graal, qu'il agrée as prodes homes" (p. 483). E, Grand St. Graal, seems to follow these versions in Nasciens' words, "Car tout mi pense sont accompli, puis ke ie voi chou qui en toutes choses me plaist et m'agrée" (I, 212). Is such a punning explanation more consonant with the earliness or the lateness of the versions in which it is found? If the meaning of "Gréal" as cup or vessel was a perfectly well-established one, it is difficult to see why in the first treatment of the subject it should have been necessary to explain the word at all. _Arrival of the Grail in England._ Neither A I, Chrestien, nor A II, Gautier, give any indication how the Grail came to England; not until we come to A IIA, Pseudo-Gautier, do we learn anything on the subject. It is there related (v. 139-48) how Joseph and his companions take ship and sail till they come to the land promised Joseph by God--the White Isle, namely, a part of England; and how (v. 161-66) Joseph, finding that "sa vitaille li falloit," prays God to lend him that Grail in which he had collected the holy blood. The prayer is granted and the Grail appears and feeds the company. A III, Manessier, simply says that Joseph, after leaving Sarras, carried the Grail about with him, then in a singularly enigmatic passage (the Fisher King is speaking):-- Et, quant il furent départis, Il s'en ala en son païs, Et tout partout ù il aloit La loi Jhésucrist essauçoit. Puis vint en cest païs manoir, Od lui le saint Gréal, por voir. Josep qui en Dieu se fia Icest païs édéfia. (35,123-30) The B versions account is much more elaborate, and demands the most careful analysis. In B I, Metr. Jos., the first mention of the West is found in Christ's words to Joseph concerning his nephew, Alain, who is to keep the Grail, to take charge of his brothers and sisters, and Puis s'en ira vers occident Es plus loiteins lius que pourra; (3,100-01) further that Petrus is likewise to go "ès vaus d'Avaron" (3,123), it being added that-- Ces terres trestout vraiement Se treient devers occident. (3,125-26) Effectively we learn (v. 3,262, etc.) that Alain leads his brothers into strange lands. But the Grail remains behind, and in v. 3,353, etc., an angel declares it necessary that all the people should go to the West, that Brons should have the vessel, that he should go straight to the West, and that Petrus, after seeing the Grail safe in Brons' keeping, is to go likewise. Joseph follows the angel's command, and three days after he has committed the Grail to Brons' hands. Ainsi Joseph se demoura. Li boens Pescherres s'en ala (Dont furent puis meintes paroles Contées, ki ne sunt pas foles) En la terre lau il fu nez, Et Joseph si est demourez. (3,455-60) A puzzling passage, as it is difficult to be sure whether line 3,459 refers to the Fisher or to Joseph, a point of obvious importance, as in the latter case it would indicate that Joseph in this version does not go West. On turning to the prose versions, some remarkable variations are found in the corresponding passages; thus B II, Cangé MS. (I, 265) after relating how Brons finds wives for his children, adds, "Mais ancor estoit la crestientez moult tenue et moult novele en ce païs que l'an apeloit la bloe Bretaigne que Joseph avoit novellement convertie à la créance de Jhésu-Christ," words which would seem to indicate that the writer imagined Joseph and his company _already_ in England. The corresponding passage to v. 3,445-60 runs thus: Ensinc se departirent, si s'en ala li riches peschierres dont maintes paroles furent puis, en la grant Bretaigne et ensinc remest Joseph et fina en la terre et ou païs où il fu envoiez de par Jhésu-Crist (275). B III, Didot MS, accentuates the punning reference to Avalon in the angel's message to Joseph, "Come li monde ... va en avalant covient-il que toute ceste gent se retraie en occident" (p. 330). The final passage runs thus: "Eynsi se despartirent Joseph et Bron: et Joseph s'en ala en la terre et el pais où il fust nez et ampris la terre" (p. 332). Thus the testimony of these versions favours the application of v, 2,459 in Metr. Jos. to Joseph. From C, Didot-Perceval, we obtain an account similar in parts to that of the B versions, the most direct reference being in the speech of the hermit, Perceval's uncle, "Biaus niès, sachès que à la table là où Joseph fist et je meismes oïmes la voiz de saint esperit qui nos comenda venir en loingteines terres en occident, et comenda le riche péchéor mon père que il venist en cestes parties, là ou li soleil avaloit" (449-50), where the punning reference to Avalon is again prominent, and where, apparently, the passage of Joseph himself to England is not indicated. An entirely different form of the legend is found in D and E. In the former (D II, 450) it is briefly stated, "And afterwards it happened to Joseph, and Joseph his father, and a number of his family with them, to set out from the city of Sarras, and they came as far as Great Britain"; again, p. 467, Perceval's aunt relates how when Joseph of Arimathea came, and his son Joseph with him, to Great Britain, there came with them about 4,000 people, all of whom are fed by ten loaves, placed on the table, on the head of which is the Grail. E, Grand St. Graal, dwells specially upon Josephe; he is referred to in I, p. 22, as having passed "le lignage ioseph son père outre mer iusqu'en la bloie bertaigne qui ore a nom engleterre," and II, 123, etc., gives a full account of how the passage is effected; how the Grail-bearers are sent first, and supported through the water by its power; how, when Josephe takes off his shirt, and his father Joseph puts his foot upon it, it swells until it holds 250 persons. These two accounts agree better with that of A IIA, Pseudo-Gautier, than with any of the others; indeed, a passage in the latter (v. 125-29), which tells how Joseph committed the portrait of our Lord, made by Verrine, to the mercy of the sea, may have given the hint for the miraculous shirt story of the Grand St. Graal. In this version, too, as in D, Queste, we first hear of the passage to England, and then the Grail appears at the miraculous feeding of the travellers. The versions thus fall into two clearly-defined groups, Joseph being the Grail-bearer in the one, Brons in the latter. The latter class is represented by the Metrical Joseph and the Didot-Perceval alone, if we except the Berne MS. form of a portion of the Conte du Graal, which, in its finish, has obviously copied the Metrical Joseph. To the former class belong all the other versions. Nay, more, one of the prose forms of Borron's poems is interpolated, so as to countenance the Joseph-account of the bringing of the Grail to England. Moreover, Borron's account of the whole transaction is ambiguous and obscure; at first Alain is the destined hero, long passages being devoted to him, and the keeping of the mystic vessel being expressly reserved to him. Yet he leaves, quite quietly, nothing more being heard of him, and the same machinery of angelic messages is set in motion for Brons, to whom, henceforth, the chief _rôle_ is assigned. Does not this show that there were from the outset two accounts of the evangelisation of Britain, one, attributing it to Joseph, of wider popularity, and followed solely by the majority of the romances, whilst Borron, who gave greater prominence to the other account, has maladroitly tried to fuse the two into one? In any case it would be remarkable were the legend of purely Christian origin, and were the Metrical Joseph its earliest form, and source of the other forms, that its testimony on such an important point should be contradicted by nearly every other version. Do the foregoing facts throw any light upon the question whether the two sections of the romance are originally independent, and which is the earlier? It is the later forms of the Quest alone which mention Joseph. But if he be really the older of the two personages to whom, in the Early History, the evangelisation of Britain is attributed, this would of itself go a long way to proving that the two portions of the romance only came into contact at a late stage of their development, and that the Quest is the older. It is otherwise if Brons be looked upon as the original Grail-bringer; the same causes which led to his exclusion from the other versions of the Early History might have kept him out of most versions of the Quest, and his presence in one Quest version could be claimed as a proof of the homogeneity of the romance. For the present, it is sufficient to mark the fact that what may be called the Brons form of the Early History is in a minority. _The Grail-Keeper and his relationship to the Promised Knight._ In the A versions the Grail-keeper is the Fisher King, uncle to the hero of the Quest, Perceval. The relationship is first plainly put in Chrestien, where the hermit, speaking to Perceval of the Grail, says-- Cil qui l'en sert, il est mes frere Ma soeur et soie fu ta mère, Et del rice Pescéour croi Que il est fius à celui roi Qui del Graal servir se fait. (7,789-94) The origin of his name is fully explained in the passage (v. 4,685-98), which tells of his being wounded in battle by a lance-thrust through his two thighs, of his sufferings, and of his only solace being fishing from a boat. How the Grail came into his possession C does not say. Gautier has no occasion to mention these facts, but from Manessier we learn that Joseph, having converted the land, died therein; that the Fisher King is of his seed, and that if God wills the Grail will never have its dwelling elsewhere than with him (35,130-36); that he, the Fisher King, had a brother, Goon Desert, treacherously slain by Partinal, who broke his sword in the murderous act. Goon's body and the fragments of the sword being brought by his niece to the Fisher King, he wounds himself with them, "parmi les gambes en traviers," and may not be healed until a knight should come to weld the fragments together and avenge his brother's death. Pseudo-Gautier tells how Joseph, dying, prays that the Grail may remain with his descendants-- Si fist il, c'est verité fine, Qu' après sa mort n'en ot sésine Nus hom, tant fust de son lignage Se il ne fu del haut parage. Li riches Peschéor, por voir, En fu estret et tuit si oir Et des suens fu Greloguevaus Ausi en réfu Percevaus. (183-90) Manessier disagrees, it will have been noticed, with Chrestien respecting the cause of the Fisher King's wound, and neither he nor the other continuators of Chrestien make any mention of that enigmatic personage the Fisher King's father, so casually alluded to by Chrestien (v. 7,791-99). Perceval according to them is a direct descendant of Joseph, Brons being as entirely ignored here as in the transport of the Grail to England. In the B versions the Grail-keeper is Brons, and the Promised Knight is his son or grandson, for a close examination again shows that two varying accounts have been embodied in one narrative. In the passage where the Holy Ghost, speaking to Joseph, tells him of the empty place to be left at the table he is to make, the following lines occur:-- Cil lius estre empliz ne pourra Devant qu' Enygeus avera Un enfant de Bron sen mari, Que tu et ta suer amez si; Et quant li enfès sera nez, La sera ses lius assenez; (2,531-37) followed closely by the prose versions: B II, Cangé MSS., "ne icil leux ne pourra estre ampliz tant que le filz Bron et Anysgeus ne l'accomplisse" (I, 254); B III, Didot MS., "Cist leus ne porra mie estre ampliz devant ce que li fist Bron l'ampleisse" (I, 316). But afterwards a fresh account appears; in the second message of the Holy Ghost, Joseph is told: Que cist luis empliz ne sera Devant que li tierz hons venra Qui descendra de ten lignage Et istera de ten parage, Et Hebruns le doit engenrer Et Enygeus ta sueur porter; Et cil qui de sen fil istra, Cest liu méismes emplira. (2,789-96) In the corresponding passages both B II and III have the following significant addition, "et I. autre (_i.e._, place) avoc cestui qui el nom de cestui sera fondé" (I, 261), "raemplira ce leu et I. autre qui en leu decestu isera fondez" (I, 322), which effectually disposes of M. Hucher's attempt (I, 254, note) to harmonise the two accounts by the remark that in the first one "il ne s'agit pas de la Table ronde où c'est Perceval qui remplit le lieu vide." Henceforth the legend follows the second account. To Alain, son of Brons, is revealed that ... de lui doit oissir Un oir malle, qui doit venir. (3,091-92) Petrus is to wait for "le fil Alein," Brons is to wait for "le fil sen fil," and when he is come to give him the vessel and Grail (3,363-67). B II, Cangé MS., again makes a characteristic addition to the promise to Alain "et si li di que de lui doit issir un oirs masles, à cui la grace de mon veissel doit repairier" (I, 267). C, Didot-Perceval, follows the second account of B. Perceval is son to Alain li Gros, grandson to Brons, the rich Fisher King, "et cil rois péchéors est en grant enfermetez, quar il est vieil home et plains de maladies" (I, 418), and nephew to the hermit, "un des fiz Bron et frère Alein" (I, 448), though curiously enough when he tells Brons that he knows him to be father of his father, the latter addresses him as "bieaux niès" (I, 483). In any case whether B and C do or do not afford proof of a nearer relationship than that of grandson and grandfather between the Grail-keeper and the achiever of the Quest, the chronology which bridges over 400 years in two generations is equally fantastic. In D, Queste, no less than three different accounts are to be distinguished, corresponding certainly to three stages in the development of this version due to the influence of other versions of the legend. The earliest is that preserved in D II, the Welsh translation of a now lost French original. The Promised Knight is Galahad, son of Lancelot, grandson, on the mother's side, of King Pelles (ch. iv). The Grail is kept at the court of King Peleur (ch. lxvii), the name of which is apparently Corbenic (ch. lxiv). The Lame King is mentioned by Perceval's sister (ch. xlix), as a son of King Lambar, who fought with King Urlain and slew him, and in consequence of that blow the country was wasted; afterwards (ch. l.) his lameness is set down to his folly in attempting to draw the magic sword, for which, though there was not in Christendom a better man than he, he was wounded with a spear through the thigh. She also speaks of him here as her uncle. The Grail quest is not connected in any way with the healing of this Lame King. In the text printed by Furnivall, Galahad is first introduced as Lancelot's son and Pelles' grandson, but when he comes to Arthur's court he bids his returning companion, "salues moi tous chiaus del saint hostel et mon _oncle le roi pelles_ et mon _aioul le riche peschéour_." Guinevere's ladies, according to this version, prophesy that Galahad will heal the Lame King. A long account, missing in D I, is given by the hermit to Lancelot of his ancestry as follows (p. 120):--Celidoine, son of Nasciens, had nine descendants, Warpus, Crestiens, Alain li Gros, Helyas, Jonaans, Lancelot, Ban, Lancelot himself, Galahad, in whom Christ will bathe himself entirely. Perceval is son of a King Pellehem (p. 182). The Lame King is Pelles, "que l'on apièle lo roi mehaignié" (p. 188); he is at Corbenic when Lancelot comes there. When Galahad and his companions arrive at his court a sick man wearing a crown is brought in, who blesses Galahad as his deliverer. After the appearance of the Grail, Galahad heals him by touching his wound with the spear. The third account, from the version of the Queste printed with the Lancelot and the Mort Artur in 1488, at Rouen, by Gaillard le Bourgeois,[51] makes Galahad send greetings to the Fisher King and to his _grandfather, King Pelles_; it adds to Perceval's sister's account of how Pelles was wounded, the words, "he was Galahad's grandfather;"[52] it adds to the account of Lancelot's visit to the Grail Castle, the words, "this was Castle Corbenic, where the Holy Grail was kept." Before discussing these differences it is advisable to see what the Grand St. Graal says on these points. Here Alain, the Fisher King, son of Brons, is a virgin, and when Josephe commits the Grail to his care he empowers him to leave it to whom he likes (II, 360--39.) In accordance with this Alain leaves the Grail to his brother Josue, with the title of Fisher King. Josue's descendants are Aminadap, Catheloys, Manaal, Lambor (who was wounded by Bruillans with Solomon's sword, whence arose such a fierce war that the whole land was laid desert).[53] Pelleans, wounded in battle in the ankle, whence he had the name Lame King, Pelles, upon whose daughter Lancelot begets Galahad, who is thus, on the mother's side, ninth in descent from Brons, brother to Joseph. Galahad's descent is likewise given from Celidoine, son of Nasciens, as follows: Marpus, Nasciens, Alains li Gros, Ysaies, Jonans, Lancelot, Bans, Lancelot, Galahad, who in thus counting Celidoine is tenth in descent from Nasciens, Joseph's companion, (vol. ii, ch. xxxix.) So far the story is fairly consistent, although there is a difference of one generation between father's and mother's genealogy. But ch. 17, in a very important passage, introduces a different account. The angel is expounding to Josephe and Nasciens the marvels of the lance; to Josephe he says, "de cheste lance dont tu as este ferus; ne sera iamis ferus ke vns seus hom. Et chil sera rois, et descendra de ton lignaige, si serra li daerrains des boins. Chil en sera ferus parmi les cuisses ambedeus," and will not be healed till the Good Knight come, "et chil ... serra li daerrains hom del lignaige nascien. Et tout ausi com nasciens a este li premiers hom qui les meruelles du graal a veues; autresi sera chil li daerrains qui les verra.[54] Car che dist li urais crucefis. 'Au premier home du precieus lignaige, et au daerrain, ai iou deuise à demonstrer mes meruelles.' Et si dist enchore après. 'Sour le premier et sour le daerrain de mes menistres nouuiaus qui sont enoint et sacre a mon plaisir, espanderai iou la venianche de la lanche auentureuse'" (I, 216-17), _i.e._, the last of Josephe's line shall be the only man wounded by the lance, the last of Nasciens' line shall be the deliverer. But according to Galahad's genealogy, given above, it is _not_ the last of Josephe's line (represented by his cousin Josue) who is the Wounded King, for Galahad himself is as much the last in descent from Josephe as from Nasciens, and even if we take the words to apply only to the direct male descendants of Josue, there is still a discrepancy, as not Pelles, but Pelleant, his father, is the "roi mehaigniés." If the Wounded King were really the last of Josephe's line, _i.e._, Pelles, Galahad would be his grandson, as Percival is to Brons. Taking the two versions D. and E. together, some idea may be gathered from them of the way in which the legend has grown, and of the shifts to which the later harmonisers were put in their attempts to reconcile divergent accounts. In the first draft of the Queste, Galahad has nothing to do with the Lame King, the latter remains Perceval's uncle, the very relationship obtaining in Chrestien. Galahad has supplanted Perceval, but has not stepped into the place entirely. The second draft of the Queste endeavours to remedy this by clumsily introducing the Lame King and his healing, missing in the first draft, into the great Grail scene at the end, an idea foreign to the original author of the Queste, who, having broken with Perceval as chief hero, also broke with the distinctive Quest incident as far as the chief hero is concerned. But a strange blunder is committed; the second draft, anxious to make Galahad's grandfather both Fisher and Lame King, actually speaks of Pelles as Galahad's uncle, in direct contradiction to its own indication. The third draft corrects this mistake, and tries by different explanatory interpolations to confirm the relationship of Galahad to the Lame King, and the identity of his castle with the Grail Castle. The author of the Grand St. Graal now appears on the scene, appropriates the story about King Lambar, father to the Lame King, Percival's uncle, makes him an ancestor of Galahad, and gives a name to his son, Pelleant (which name creeps back into the second draft of the Queste as that of Perceval's father), and thus derives Galahad on the mother's side from Brons, although it escapes him that he thus gives the lie to the prophecy which he puts in the angel's mouth, that it is the last of Josephe's seed who is to be lamed by the lance, and that he has not given his Lambor fictitious ancestors enough to equalize the genealogies. We are thus led back to the relationship of uncle and nephew as the earliest subsisting between the Grail King and the achiever of the Quest, and we find in those versions which supplant Perceval by Galahad a story told of the former's great uncle, King Lambar, by no means unlike that told of his uncle in the A versions, and that there, as here, the cause of the woe brought upon the hero's family is one of the magic talismans which the hero is in quest of and by means of which he is to achieve his quest. We further notice that in so far as the Early History influences the Quest forms, it is the later versions in which its influence is apparent, and it is the Joseph, not the Brons form, which exercises this influence. Not until we come to the Grand St. Graal, an obvious and bold attempt to embody previous versions in one harmonious whole, does the Brons form make itself felt. _Work of the Promised Knight._ In Chrestien we can only guess at what the results of the successful achievement of the Quest would have been by the reproaches addressed to the hero upon the failure of his first visits to the Grail Castle; he would have mended all things, and-- Le bon roi ki est mehaigniés; Que tous eust regaengniés Ses membres, et tière tenist, Et si grans bien en avenist; (4,763-67) many evils will flow from his failure, and the cause of it is the sin he has committed in leaving his mother, who thereupon died of grief (4,768-71); again the Loathly Damsel reproaches him that the Rich King would have been healed of his wound, he would have kept in peace his land, which he never may again, for now Dames en perdront lor maris Tières en seront essilies, Et pucièles deconsellies; Orfenes, veves en remanront Et maint Chevalier en morront. (6,056-60) Gautier de Doulens gives a vivid description of the effect of Gawain's partially successful visit to the Grail King; the character of the landscape changes at once-- N'estoit pas plus que mienuis, Le soir devant, que Dex avoit Rendu issi com il devoit As aiges lor cors el païs; Et tout li bos, ce m'est avis, Refurent en verdor trové, Si tos com il ot demandé Por coi si sainnoit en l'anstier La lance; si devoit puplier Li règnes; mais plus ne pupla Por tant que plus ne demanda. (20,344-55) All the country folk both bless and curse Gawain. Sire, mors nous as et garis, Tu dois estre liés et maris; Car grant aise nos as doné, S'en devons tout mercier Dé; Et si te devons moult hair Pour con que nel vosis öir Le Greail, por coi il servoit, Ne de la joie ki devoit Là venir ne poroit nus dire, Si en doit avoir duel et ire. (20,357-66) In Manessier, when Perceval has finally accomplished the Quest by the slaying of Partinal, and has come for the third time to the Grail Castle (though even then he only reaches it after long wanderings and lights upon it by chance), news whereof is brought to the King;-- Li rois, à grant joie et grant feste Est maintenant salis en piés Et se senti sain et haitiés. (44,622-24) Perceval is crowned King after his uncle's death, and reigns for seven years. Thus, in the A versions, the healing of the Maimed King, and the consequent restoration to fertility and prosperity of his land, such are the tasks to be achieved by the hero of the Quest. In the B versions an entirely different series of conceptions is met with. Brons, the Fisher King, is to wait for his grandson, and to hand him the vessel which he received from Joseph. When this is done the meaning of the Trinity is to be known--[55] Lors sera la senefiance Accomplie et la demonstrance De la benoite Trinité, Qu'avons en trois parz devisée. (3,371-74) Besides this, the Promised Knight is to visit Petrus, who may not pass away till he comes, and from whom he is to learn the power of the vessel, and the fate of Moys (v. 3,127-36). Finally, when he comes he is to fill the empty seat, and to find Moys, of whom it is said-- De lui plus ne pallera-on Ne en fable ne en chançon, Devant que cil revenra Qui li liu vuit raemplira: Cil-méismes le doit trouver. (2,815-19) Here the only indication which can possibly be tortured into a hint of the waiting of a sick king for his deliverer is the reference to Petrus. It is not a little remarkable that when the latter is leaving for England, he asks for the prayers of the company that he may not fall into sin, and lose the love of God (v. 3320-35) Does this presuppose a version in which he _does_ sin, and is consequently punished by disease, from which only the Promised Knight may heal him? On turning to C, a totally distinct account of what the Quest achiever is to do presents itself. He seats himself, it is true, in the empty seat, but it goes nigh with him that he suffers the fate of Moys, from which he is only preserved by the great goodness of his father, Alain (p. 427). He does not find Moys; Petrus is not once mentioned by name, nor does Perceval visit anyone who may not die till he come, and from whom he learns the power of the vessel, saving always the Fisher King, for the references to whom see _supra_, p. 83. This Fisher King is "veil home et plains de maladies, ne il n'aura james santé devant un chevalier que yà à la Table ronde aserra, sera prodons vers Deu et vers sainte eglise et ait fait tant d'armes que il soit le plus alosez del monde. Et lors vendra à la maison au riche roi péchéor et quant il aura demandé de quoi li Graus sert, tantost sera li roi gariz de de sa'nfermeté et cherront li enchentement de Bretaigne et sera la prophétic accomplie" (p. 419). Again, p. 427 "li riches rois péchéors est chéuz en grant maladie et en grant enfermeté, ne il peust morir devant que uns de XXX chevalier, qui ci sunt asis, ait tant fait d'armes et de chevalerie qu'il soit li mieudres chevalier del monde." Again, p. 427, "Et quant il (_i.e._, the Fisher King) sera gariz, si ira, dedanz li III jorz, de vie à mort, et baillera à celui chevalier, le vesseau et li aprendra le segroites paroles qui li aprist Joseph; et lors ampliz de la grace du Sainct Esprit et cherront li enchentement de la Bretaigne et les afaires." Again, when Perceval has come for the second time to the Fisher King's, and has asked the question and learnt the secret words, he remained there "et moult fust prodons et chéirent les enchentement de la terre de Bretaigne et par tout le monde." Here, then, are the Sick King, the mysterious question, the healing, and the effect upon the land (note how the enchantments of Britain are insisted upon), as in the A versions. The only points of contact with B are that Brons is like Petrus in not being able to die till Perceval come, and that his infirmity seems to be ascribed mainly to his age, and not to a wound, which at first sight seems to agree better with the vague indications of B than with the positive statement of A. Two accounts, each fairly definite and consistent, are thus forthcoming respecting the object of the Quest, the one represented by A and C, the other by B. What light is thrown upon the matter by the remaining versions, and which of these two accounts do they support? Neither from the Queste, D, nor from the Grand St. Graal, E, can any clear conception of the Quest be gathered. Both have a great deal to say about the adventures and the wonders of the Grail, but absolutely nothing comes of the achievement so far as the Grail itself, or as Galahad and his two companions are concerned. It goes to the East, they with it, they become hermits and die. But in proportion as the main object of the Quest becomes less definite, the number of secondary objects increases. In D, Queste, Galahad is to achieve the adventure of the Seat Perillous (ch. iii, iv); he is to wear the shield left by Joseph to Mordrains (ch. x); he is to release from life Mordrains himself, struck with blindness for approaching too near the Grail (ch. xxiii); he (according to the second draft of the Queste), is to release King Pelles (his grandfather, according to draft 3), wounded through both ankles for trying to draw the sword; he is to release Simei, burning in a fiery grave for that he once sinned against Joseph of Arimathea (ch. lxvi). To this sufficiently long list the Grand St. Graal adds the resoldering of the sword broken by Joseph--"Ha espée, iamais ne sera resaudée deuant ke chil te tenra qui les hautes auentures del Saint Graal devra asoumir" (II, 264); the delivery of Moys from out the furnace where he burns, not for always "ains trouuera enchore merchi et pardon. Mais che qu'il a mesfait, espanira il en tel manière qu'il en sera en fu iusc' a tant ke li boines chiualiers uenra" (II, 277). Moys likewise speaks of Galahad as one who "achieura les auentures de la grant bertaigne" (II, 279-80). Finally, Pelleur wounded (mehaigniés de ii cuisses) "en vne bataille de rome" is to be released, "il ne peut garir de la plaie deuant ke galaad, li tres boins chiualers, le vint visiter. Mais lors sans faille gari il" (II, p. 373). The Queste knows nothing of Petrus, but in the Grand St. Graal he turns up at the end in the same casual way as Brons, and converts King Luces (II, 3356-3), _i.e._ is thus brought into connection with Geoffrey of Monmouth's form of the conversion of Britain legend. The foregoing statement confirms all that has previously been urged as to the lateness of both Queste and Grand St. Graal. The author of the former again shows himself a daring, but not over skilful, adapter of older legends, the author of the latter an unintelligent compiler, whose sole aim it is to lengthen out his story by the introduction of every incident he can lay his hands upon. But although late, they may nevertheless throw light upon the question which, of the two strongly differentiated accounts of the object of the Grail quest which have been noted, has the better claim to be looked upon as the older one. The Conte du Graal and the Didot-Perceval agree, as has been seen, against the Metrical Joseph, in making the main object of the Grail-seeker the healing of a maimed or the release from life of a supernaturally old King. This _motif_, it is not too much to say, is the pivot upon which in the Conte du Graal all turns; in the Metrical Joseph it is barely hinted at. The Queste, if looked at closely, is found to bear witness to the Conte du Graal form. As is seen from the summary (_supra_, p. 41, Inc. 12) it has the very incident upon which so much stress is laid in Chrestien's poem, the visit to the Sick King, the omitted question, the consequent misfortune. True, all this has been transferred from the original hero, Perceval, to the father of the new hero Galahad, and, true, the final object which the Queste proposes, in so far as it proposes any definite object, to its Grail-seeker is of a different character. But the fact that this object is not stated in the same way as in the Metrical Joseph, whilst that found in the Conte du Graal _is_ embodied though in a different connexion, points unmistakably to what may be called the healing _motif_ as the older one. Here, again, the Metrical Joseph is in a minority, and it is not even followed by that very version, the Didot-Perceval, which has been ascribed to the same author, and claimed as an integral portion of the same trilogy.[56] _Qualifications of the Promised Knight._ Neither Chrestien, Gautier, nor Manessier lay any stress upon special qualifications in the quest-hero for the achievement of his task. In Chrestien, as already stated, (_supra_, p. 87), it is exclusively the sin of which Perceval has been guilty in leaving his mother which prevents his achieving the Quest at his first visit to the Grail Castle (v. 4,768-71 and 7,766-74), whilst the continuator makes no attempt at any explanation of the hero's repeated failures. Not until Gerbert does a fresh _motif_ show itself in the poem, but then it is a remarkable one; if Perceval has been hitherto unable to attain the goal he has so long striven for, it is because he has been unfaithful to his first love, Blanchefleur (VI, p. 182); he must return and wed her before he is fit to learn the full secret of the Grail.[57] The other Quest versions are on this point in striking contrast to Chrestien. The words of C, Didot-Perceval, have already been noted, (_supra_, p. 89). Again the damsel, reproaching the hero after his first failure, addresses him thus:--"Mès je sai bien por quoi tu l' ás perdu, por ceque tu ni es pas si sage ne si vaillant, ne n'as pas fet tant d'armes; ne n'ies si prodons que tu doies avoir le sanc nostre (sire) en guarde" (p. 467). It is significant to note in this connection that it is only after Perceval has overcome all the best knights of the Round Table, including Gawain (the companion hero, as will be shown later, of the oldest form of the story), and thereby approved himself the best knight of the world, that Merlin appears and directs him to the Grail Castle.[58] The talk about Holy Church would seem to be an addition, and the original ideal a purely physical one. In the Queste the qualification of the hero has become the main feature of the legend, the pivot upon which everything turns. The one thing necessary is that the hero should be a virgin, and the story is one long glorification of the supreme virtue of chastity. Yet even here the warlike deeds of Galahad are dwelt upon in a way that points to a different ideal. Traces, though slight ones, may be found in C, Didot-Perceval, of the importance attached to the chastity of the hero; thus his hermit uncle admonishes him, "ne vous chaille de gésir aveuc fame, quar cest un peché luxurious et bien sachiez, que la pichié que vous avez fait, vous ont neu à trover la maison Bron," and in the adventure with the damsel of the hound, although he had (p. 440) solicited her favours, and she had promised them if he brought her the head of the white stag, yet (p. 470) when he returns to her and she offers herself to him, he pleads his quest as a reason for not even passing one night with her. In Gautier de Doulens, on the contrary, everything passes in accordance with the orthodox custom of the day--when knights were as punctual in demanding as ladies scrupulous in granting the fulfilment of such bargains. But here, again, references to chastity seem to be additions, and rather unskilful ones, whilst in the Queste they are the vital spirit of the story. What results from the foregoing is much as follows:-- The Perceval form of the Quest is certainly the older of the two, and underlies in reality the Galahad form. When cleared from the admixture of Christian mystic elements it appears as a coherent and straightforward story, in which nothing necessarily presupposes the Early History. The influence of the latter is, however, distinctly traceable. As far as Chrestien himself is concerned, nothing can be asserted with certainty as to the origin, extent, and nature of that influence; in the case of his continuators it can be definitely referred to that form of the Early History which is represented by the Queste and the Grand St. Graal (save in the solitary instance of the Berne fragment of Gautier de Doulens). The later in date the sections of the Conte du Graal, the more strongly marked is the influence of the Early History, and _pari passu_ the increasing prominence given to the Christian mystic side of the Grail. Of the Early History two forms can be distinguished. In the one, Joseph and the group of persons whom he converts in the East are made the means of bringing Christianity to Britain. The Grail is dwelt upon almost solely in its most material aspect. This form is closely connected with the Galahad Quest, and its chronology has been elaborately framed to correctly bridge over the difference in time between the Apostolic and Arthurian ages. It has also affected, as remarked above, the later versions of the Perceval Quest. The second or Brons form knows nothing of the companions of Joseph, who is only indirectly the means of the conversion of Britain, the real evangelists being kinsmen of his who bear decided Celtic names. These kinsmen are related as grandfather and father (or simply father or uncle), to a hero whose exploits are to be dealt with in a sequel. There is strong insistence upon the spiritual character of the Grail, which is obviously intended to play an important part in the promised sequel. No traces of this form are to be found in any version (saving always the above-mentioned fragment of Gautier), until we come to the Grand St. Graal, with which such portions as do not conflict with the Joseph form are embodied. The Didot-Perceval, although formally in contact with the Brons Early History, is not really the sequel announced in that work. It differs profoundly from it in the most essential feature of the story, the nature of the task laid upon the hero. Upon examination this appears to be of the same nature as that of the Conte du Graal, with a seasoning of the Christian mystic element. It was, however, _intended_ for a sequel to the Metrical Joseph, a fact which may be taken as a proof that Borron never completed his plan of a Joseph-Merlin-Grail trilogy of which we possess the first two parts. The first of the two points marked for investigation at the outset of this chapter may thus be considered settled. The Quest is originally independent of and older than the Early History. And although in no instance can the versions of the former be said to be entirely free from the influence of the latter, yet in the older forms the traces are such as to be easily separated from the primitive elements of the story. The versions which have been examined may now be arranged in the following order:-- (1) Chrestien's portion of the Conte du Graal. The oldest form of the Perceval Quest, but presupposing an Early History. (2) Gautier de Doulens followed Chrestien, in all probability, almost immediately. Even less can be gathered from him than from Chrestien respecting the earliest form of the Early History, but this is probably represented by (3) Pseudo-Gautier, which in all likelihood gives the outline of the work made use of by Queste and Grand St. Graal. Pseudo-Gautier is almost certainly some years later than Gautier, as the Berne MS. scribe found it necessary to seek for information in (4) Borron's poem, probably written towards the end of the twelfth century, but which for some reason remained unknown for a time, although it afterwards, as evidenced by the number of MSS., became popular. There is every reason to believe that Borron knew nothing of any other Early History. His work, as we have it, is abridged and arranged. Meanwhile (5) Queste had appeared. The author probably used the same Early History as Pseudo-Gautier. He knew the Conte du Graal, and wrote in opposition to it with a view to edification. He certainly knew nothing of Borron's poem, or he could not have failed, with his strong mystical tendencies, to dwell upon the spiritual and symbolic character of the Grail. (6) The Grand St. Graal, an earlier draft of the work, now known under that title. Probably an enlarged version of the hypothetical original Early History; wanting all the latter portions relating to Brons and his group, which were added to it when Borron's poem became known. This work must have appeared before 1204 (in which year it is referred to by Helinandus), and, as Chrestien wrote his poem about 1189-90, it follows that at least half-a-dozen works belonging to the Grail cycle came out in the last twelve years of the twelfth century. (7) Manessier and (8) Gerbert brought out independent endings to the Conte du Graal from 1216 to 1225. It was probably shortly after this time that Borron's poem became known, and that it was incorporated with the Grand St. Graal, which assumed the shape under which it has come down to us. (9) The Didot-Perceval is probably the latest in date of all the members of the cycle. Before proceeding to examine our second point, which is whether the Grail itself really belongs to the original form of the Quest, or has been introduced into the Quest versions from the Early History, it will be advisable to summarise the opinions and researches of previous investigators. Light will thus be thrown upon many points of interest which have not received special examination in these pages. A theory of the origin and development of the cycle, which is in many respects directly opposed to the conclusions we have reached, will also be fully set forth, and an opportunity will thus be given for testing by adverse criticism the soundness of our method of investigation, and of the results to which it has led us. CHAPTER IV. SKETCH OF THE LITERATURE CONNECTED WITH THE GRAIL CYCLE. Villemarqué--Halliwell--San Marte (A. Schulz)--Simrock--Rochat-- Furnivall's reprint of the Grand St. Graal and of Borron--J. F. Campbell--Furnivall's Queste--Paulin Paris--Potvin's Conte du Graal--Bergmann--Skeat's Joseph of Arimathea--Hucher: Grail Celtic, date of Borron--Zarncke, Zur Geschichte der Gralsage; Grail belongs to Christian legend--Birch-Hirschfeld develops Zarncke's views: Grand St. Graal younger than Queste, both presuppose Chrestien and an earlier Queste, the Didot-Perceval, which forms integral part of Borron's trilogy; Mabinogi later than Chrestien; various members of the cycle dated--Martin combats Birch-Hirschfeld: Borron later than Chrestien, whose poem represents oldest stage of the romance, which has its roots in Celtic tradition--Hertz--Criticism of Birch-Hirschfeld. Monsieur Th. de la Villemarqué's researches form a convenient starting point, both on account of the influence they exercised upon later investigation, and because he was the first to state with fulness and method the arguments for the Celtic origin of the legend. They appeared originally in the volume entitled "Contes populaires des anciens Bretons précédés d'un essai sur l'origine des épopées chevaleresques de la Table Ronde" (Paris, 1842), and comprising a French translation of the Mabinogion of Geraint and Peredur, with introductory essays and detailed explanatory notes. The translation of Peredur is preceded by a study of Chrestien's poem, in which the following conclusions are stated: The Grail is Celtic in origin, the French term being equivalent to the Welsh _per_, and having a like meaning, basin. It is the Druidic basin alluded to by Taliessin, the same which figures in the Mabinogi of Branwen, which appears in the oldest folk-tales of Brittany, and which is sought for in the twelfth century Mabinogi by Peredur, _i.e._, the Basin-Seeker. The original occult character of the Druidic basin, and of the lance, the bardic symbol of undying hatred to the Saxon, disappears in the Mabinogi, the tone and character of which are purely romantic. Composed among a people comparatively unused to the chivalrous ideal, it breathes, however, a rude and harsh spirit. But such as it is, it forms the groundwork of Chrestien's poem. Comparison between the two demonstrates the simple character of the Welsh romance, and shows how the French poet sought to transform it by an infusion of feudal courtliness and religious mysticism. In its last stage of development the story reverts to its pristine, occult, and mystic character. Much of what M. de la Villemarqué says is sound and telling; but, unfortunately, although well aware that the French poem is the work of three men and not of one, he yet treats it as an organic whole, and thus deprives the larger part of his comparison of all value. Moreover, he supports his thesis by arguments based upon a Breton poem (the story of which is similar to that of Perceval's youth), ascribed without the shadow of evidence to the end of the tenth century. In 1861 M. de la Villemarqué reprinted his work with extensive additions, under the title of "Les Romans de la Table Ronde et les Contes des Anciens Bretons." The section summarised above remained substantially unaltered, but considerable extension was given to the author's views concerning the mode of development of the romances. The points chiefly insisted upon are: the similarity of metre between the Welsh poem and the French metrical romances; the delight of the Plantagenet kings in the Welsh traditions and the favour showed them; and the early popularity of the Welsh and Breton singers. Villemarqué's last word upon the subject is that the Welsh storytellers received from the ancient bards a pagan tradition, which, changed in character and confounded with the Mystery of the Sacrament, they handed on to the romance writers of Northern France and Germany, who gave it a fresh and undying life. Villemarqué's views were worked up by Mr. Baring Gould in his essay on the Sangreal ("Curious Myths of the Middle Ages," 1867) and in this form or in their original presentment won wide acceptance as the authoritative exposition of the Celtic origin of the cycle. In England, Mr. Halliwell, when editing, in 1844, the Thornton Sir Perceval, derived it from Chrestien and his continuators, in spite of the omission of Lance and Grail, on account of the sequence of incidents being the same. The Mabinogi is alluded to as an adaptation of Chrestien. The supposition that Perceval's nick-name, "le Gallois," implies the Welsh origin of the story is rejected as absurd. In Germany the Grail-cycle formed the subject of careful investigation on the part of San Marte (A. Schulz) for some years prior to 1840. From 1836 to 1842 he brought out a modern German translation of Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzival, accompanied by an elaborate essay on the genesis of the legend, and in 1841, "Die Arthur-Sage und die Mährchen des rothen Buchs von Hergest." In the latter work a careful analysis of the Mabinogi leads to the following conclusions:--Locale and persons are purely Welsh; tone and character are older than the age of the Crusades and Knighthood; it may be looked upon with confidence as the oldest known source of the Perceval _sage_. In comparing the Mabinogi with Kiot's (_i.e._, Wolfram's) version, stress is laid upon the task imposed upon Peredur, which is held to be different in character and independent in origin from the Grail Quest in Kiot. The Thornton Sir Perceval is claimed as the representative of an early Breton _jongleur_ poem which knew nothing of the Grail story. In the former work Wolfram von Eschenbach's poem is accepted, so far as its framework is concerned, as a faithful echo of Kiot's, the Provencal origin of which is proved by its Oriental and Southern allusions. The Provencals may have obtained the Peredur _sage_ direct from Brittany, they at any rate fused it with the Grail legend. Their version is an artistic whole, whereas the North French one is a confused string of adventures. Chrestien's share in the latter is rightly distinguished from that of his continuators, and these are dated with fair accuracy. Robert de Borron is mentioned, but as a thirteenth century adapter of earlier prose versions; the Grand St. Graal is placed towards the middle of the thirteenth century. In analysing the Joseph of Arimathea form of the legend, the silence of the earlier British historians concerning Joseph's evangelisation of Britain is noted, and 1140 is given as the earliest date of this part of the legend. The captivity of Joseph arises probably from a confusion between him and Josephus. There is no real connection between the Joseph legend and that of the Grail. Wolfram's Templeisen agree closely with the Templars, one of the main charges against whom was their alleged worship of a head from which they expected riches and victuals, and to which they ascribed the power of making trees and flowers to bloom.[59] San Marte's translation of Wolfram was immediately (1842) followed by Simrock's, whose notes are mainly directed against his predecessor's views on the origin and development of the Grail legend. The existence of Kiot is contested; the _differentia_ between Wolfram and Chrestien are unknown to Provençal, but familiar to German, poetry. The Grail myth in its oldest form is connected with John the Baptist. Thus in the Mabinogi the Grail is represented by a head in a platter; the head the Templars were accused of worshipping has probably the same origin; the Genoese preserved the Sacro Catino, identified by them with the Grail, in the chapel of St. John the Baptist; Chrestien mentions with especial significance, St. John's Eve (Midsummer Eve). The head of St. John the Baptist, found, according to the legend, in the fourth century, was carried later to Constantinople, where in the eleventh century it is apparently used to keep an emperor from dying (even as of the Grail, it is told, no one could die the day he saw it). If Wolfram cuts out the references to the Baptist, _en revanche_ he brings Prester John into the story. The essential element in the Grail is the blood in the bowl, symbol of creative power as is the Baptist's head, both being referable to the summer equinox. Associated with John the Baptist is Herodias, who takes the place of an old Germanic goddess, Abundia, as John does of Odin or Baldur.[60] The essence of the myth is the reproductive power of the blood of the slain god (Odin-Hackelberend, Baldur, Adonis, Osiris). As the Grail may only be seen by those to whom God's grace is granted, so in the German folk-tale the entrance to the hollow mounds wherein lies treasure or live elves is only visible to Sunday children or pure youths. Thus, too, no man may find the grave of Hackelberg (Odin). Such caves, when entered, close upon the outgoing mortal as the Grail Castle portcullis closes upon Parzival. Many of Gauvain's adventures appear in German folk-tradition. As to Parzival's youth "it cannot be doubted that we have here a variation of the Great Fool folk-tale (Dummling's Märchen) found among all people. It is hard to say what people possessing this tale brought it into contact, either by tradition or in writing, with the Grail story, but that people would have the first claim among whom it is found in an independent form." The Mabinogi explanation of the Grail incident is unacceptable, and the Mabinogi itself is later than Chrestien, as is shown by its foolish invention of the witches of Gloucester, and by its misrendering the incident of the dwarves greeting Peredur. In the original folk-tale the ungainly hero was _laughed at_, not greeted. The Thornton Sir Perceval may possibly contain an older version of Perceval's youth than any found elsewhere. Wolfram's poem represents, however, the oldest and purest form of the Grail myth, which, originally pagan, only became fully Christianised in the hands of the later North French poets. Simrock's speculations, though marred by his standing tendency to claim over much for German tradition, are full of his usual acute and ingenious, if somewhat fanciful, learning. His ignorance of Celtic tradition unfortunately prevented his following up the hint given in the passage quoted above which I have adopted as one of the mottoes of the present work. In 1855 Rochat published ("Ueber einen bisher unbekannten Percheval li Gallois," Zurich) selections from a Berne MS. containing part of Gautier de Doulens' continuation of Chrestien (v. 21,930 to end, with thirteen introductory and fifty-six concluding original lines, _cf._ p. 19), and entered at some length into the question of the origin and development of the Grail legend. The Mabinogi, contrary to San Marte's opinion, is placed after Chrestien. Villemarqué's ballad of Morvan le Breiz is the oldest form of the Perceval _sage_, then comes the Thornton Sir Perceval, a genuine popular production derived probably from a Welsh original. In spite of what San Marte says, the Grail incident is found in the Mabinogi, and it might seem as if Chrestien had simply amplified the latter. On San Marte's theory of the (Southern) origin of the Grail myth, this, however, is impossible, and the fact that the Mabinogi contains this incident is a proof of its lateness. Up to 1861 all writers upon the Grail legend were under this disadvantage, that they had no complete text of any part of the cycle before them,[61] and were obliged to trust largely to extracts and to more or less carefully compiled summaries. In that year Mr. Furnivall, by the issue for the Roxburghe Club of the Grand St. Graal, together with a reprint of Robert de Borron's poem (first edited in 1841 by M. Franc. Michel), provided students with materials of first-rate importance. His introductory words are strongly against the Celtic origin of the story, and are backed up by a quotation from Mr. D. W. Nash, in which that "authority who really knows his subject" gives the measure of his critical acumen by the statement that the Mabinogi of Peredur can have nothing to do with the earliest form of the legend, because "in Sir T. Malory, Perceval occupies the second place to Galahad." In fact, neither the editor nor Mr. Nash seems to have tried to place the different versions, and their assertions are thus of little value, though they contributed, nevertheless, to discredit the Celtic hypothesis. San Marte, in an essay prefixed to the first volume, repeated his well-known views respecting the source of Wolfram's poems, and, incidentally, protested against the idea that the Mabinogi is but a Welshified French romance. In 1862 the accomplished editor of the "Popular Tales of the West Highlands," Mr. J. F. Campbell, published in his second volume (p. 152) some remarks on the Story of the Lay of the Great Fool, which ended thus, "I am inclined ... to consider this 'Lay' as one episode in the adventures of a Celtic hero, who, in the twelfth century became Perceval le chercheur du basin. He too, was poor, and the son of a widow, and half starved, and kept in ignorance by his mother, but, nevertheless ... in the end he became possessed of that sacred basin, le Saint Graal, and the holy lance, which, though Christian in the story, are manifestly the same as the Gaelic talismans which appear so often in Gaelic tales, and which have relations in all popular lore--the glittering weapon which destroys, and the sacred medicinal cup which cures." I have taken these words as a motto for my studies, which are, indeed, but an amplification of Mr. Campbell's statement. Had the latter received the attention it deserved, had it, for instance, fallen into the hands of a scholar to whom Simrock's words quoted on p. 101 were familiar, there would, in all probability, have been no occasion for the present work. The publication of texts was continued by Mr. Furnivall's issue, in 1864, for the Roxburghe Club, of the Quête del Saint Graal from a British Museum MS. The opening of twelve MSS. from the Bibliothèque Nationale is likewise given, and shows substantial unity between them and Mr. Furnivall's text. In 1868 Mons. Paulin Paris published, in the first volume of his "Romans de la Table Ronde," a general introduction to the Round Table cycle, and a special study upon the Metrical Joseph and the Grand St. Graal. A large share of influence is assigned to Celtic traditions through the medium of Breton _lais_. The Early History of the Grail is a British legend, and embodies the national and schismatic aspirations of the British Church. The date given in the prologue to the Grand St. Graal, and repeated by Helinandus, is accepted as the genuine date of a redaction of the legend substantially the same as that found later in the Grand St. Graal. The word "Grail" is connected with the Latin _gradale_, modern gradual, and designated the book in which the tradition was first written down. The Grand St. Graal is anterior to Chrestien's poem, and Robert de Borron's poem in the first draft preceded the Grand St. Graal, and was written between 1160 and 1170, but he subsequently revised it towards 1214, as is shown by his alluding, l. 3,490, "O mon seigneur, Gauter _en peis_" (where the underlined words are equivalent to the Latin _in pace_) to Gautier of Montbeliard in the past tense. From 1868 to 1870 M. Potvin brought out his edition of the Conte du Graal, and of the prose Perceval le Gallois from Mons MSS. In the after-words priority is claimed for the latter romance over all other members of the cycle, and three stages are distinguished in the development of the legend--Welsh national--militant Christian--knightly--the prose romance belonging to the second stage, and dating substantially from the eleventh century. The lance and basin are originally pagan British symbols, and between the lines of the Grail legend may be read a long struggle between heretic Britain and orthodox Rome. The Perceval form of the Quest is older than the Galahad one. The Joseph of Arimathea forms are the latest, and among these the Grand St. Graal the earliest. Conclusions as paradoxical as some of these appear in Dr. Bergmann's "The San Grëal, an Enquiry into the Origin and Signification of the Romance of the S. G.," Edinburgh, 1870. The idea of the Grail is due entirely to Guyot, as also its connection with the Arthurian cycle. Chrestien followed Guyot, but alters the character of the work, for which he is reproved by Wolfram, who may be looked upon as a faithful representative of the earlier poet. Chrestien's alterations are intended to render the poem more acceptable in knightly circles. On the other hand Walter Map found Guyot too secular and heretical, and wrote from a purely ecclesiastical standpoint the Latin version of the legend in which the Grail is associated with Joseph of Arimathea. This version forms the basis of Robert de Borron, author of the Grand St. Graal and of the continuators of Chrestien. Although Bergmann denies the Celtic origin of the Grail itself, he incidentally accepts the authenticity of the Mabinogi of Peredur, and admits that the whole framework of the story is Celtic. In the endeavour to prove the paradox that one of the latest, most highly developed, and most mystic of all the versions of the legend (viz., Wolfram's) really represents the common source of them all, Bergmann is compelled to make the most gratuitous assumptions, as a specimen of which may be quoted the statement that the _roi-pecheur_ is originally the _sinner_ king, and that it is by mistake that the North French _trouvères_ represent him as a _fisher_. Bergmann's views passed comparatively unnoticed. They are, indeed, alluded to with approval in Professor Skeat's edition of Joseph of Arimathea, a fourteenth century alliterative abridgement of the Grand St. Graal (E. E. Text Soc., 1871). In the editor's preface the Glastonbury traditions concerning the evangelisation of Britain by Joseph are taken as a starting point, two parts being distinguished in them, the one _legendary_, tallying with William of Malmesbury's account, and, perhaps, of considerable antiquity, the other _fabulous_, introducing the personages and incidents of the romances and undoubtedly derived from them. Some twenty years after the publication of the "Historia Britonum" Walter Map probably wrote a Latin poem, from which Robert de Borron, the Grand St. Graal, and, perhaps, the other works of the cycle were derived. "Grail" is a bowl or dish. Chrestien may have borrowed his Conte du Graal from Map; the "Quest" is probably an after-thought of the romance writers. Speculations such as these were little calculated to further the true criticism of the Grail cycle. Some few years later, in 1875, the then existing texts were supplemented by M. Hucher's work, so often quoted in these pages. In an introduction and notes displaying great research and ingenuity, the following propositions are laid down:--The Grail is Celtic in origin, and may be seen figured upon pre-Christian Gaulish coins. Robert de Borron's poem may be called the Petit St. Graal, and its author was a lord of like-named territory near Fontainebleau, who between 1147 and 1164 made large gifts to the Abbey of Barbeaux, which gifts are confirmed in 1169 by Simon, son of said Robert. About 1169 Robert came to England, met Walter Map, and was initiated by him into the knowledge of the Arthurian romance, and of the legend of the Holy Grail. Between 1170 and 1199 he entered the service of Walter of Montbeliard and wrote (in prose) the Joseph of Arimathea and the Merlin. At a later period he returned to England, and wrote, in conjunction with Map, the Grand St. Graal. This is shown by MS. 2,455 Bibl. Nat. (of the Grand St. Graal): "Or dist li contes qui est estrais de toutes les ystoires, sî come Robers de Borons le translatait de latin en romans, à l'ayde de maistre Gautier Map." But Hélie de Borron, author of the Tristan and of Guiron le Courtois, calls Robert his friend and kinsman. Hélie has been placed under Henry III, who has been assumed to be the Henry to whom he dedicates his work; if so can he be the friend of Robert, who wrote some fifty years earlier? Hélie should, however, be placed really under Henry II. Robert wrote originally in prose; the poem contains later etymological and grammatical forms, though it has occasionally preserved older ones; besides in v. 2,817 etc. (_supra_, p. 83) it refers to the deliverance of Moys by the Promised Knight, and thus implies knowledge of the Grand St. Graal; this passage is omitted by most of the prose versions, thus obviously older. Then the poem is silent as to the Christianising of Britain mentioned by one prose version (C.). We may accept Borron's statement as to his having dealt later with the histories of Moys and Petrus, and as to his drawing his information from a Latin original. Merlin is the pivot of Borron's conception. In comparing the third part of his trilogy (Joseph of Arimathea, Merlin, Perceval) with Chrestien it must be born in mind that Chrestien reproduces rather the English (Joseph--Galahad), than the French (Brons--Perceval) form of the Quest, and this, although the framework of Chrestien and Robert's Perceval is substantially the same. Chrestien's work was probably preceded by one in which the Peredur story as found in the Mabinogi was already adapted to the Christianised Grail legend. There are frequent verbal resemblances between Robert and Chrestien (_i.e._, Gautier, Hucher never distinguishing between Chrestien and his continuators) which show a common original for both. It is remarkable that Chrestien should never mention Brons, and that there should be such a difference in the stories of the Ford Perillous and the Ford Amorous. It is also remarkable that Robert, in his Perceval, should complain that the _trouvères_ had not spoken of the Good Friday incident which is to be found in Chrestien. M. Hucher failed in many cases to see the full significance of the facts he brought to light, owing to his incorrect conception of the development of the cycle as a whole, and of the relation of its component parts one to the other. He made, however, an accurate survey of the cycle possible. The merit of first essaying such a survey belongs to Zarncke in his admittedly rough sketch, "Zur Geschichte der Gralsage," published in the third volume (1876) of Paul and Braune's Beitraege.--The various forms may be grouped as follows: (1) Borron's poem, (2) Grand St. Graal, (3) Quête, (4) Chrestien, (5 and 6) Chrestien's continuators, (7) Didot MS. Perceval, (8) Prose Perceval li Gallois. Neither the Spanish-Provencal nor the Celtic origin of the legend is admissible; it has its source wholly in the apocryphal legends of Joseph of Arimathea, in which two stages may be distinguished; the first represented by the Gesta Pilati and the Narratio Josephi, which tell how Christ appeared to Joseph in prison and released him therefrom; the second by the Vindicta Salvatoris, which combines the legends of the healing of Tiberius with that of Titus or Vespasian. Joseph being thus brought into contact with Titus, the space of time between the two is accounted for by the forty years captivity, and the first hint was given of a miraculous sustaining power of the Grail. Borron's poem is still purely legendary in character; the fish caught by the rich fisher is the symbol of Christ; the incident of the waiting for the Promised Knight belongs, however, not to the original tradition but to a later style of Christian mysticism. The Grand St. Graal and the Quête extend and develop the _donnée_ of the poem, whilst in Chrestien tone, atmosphere, and framework are profoundly modified, yet there is no reason to postulate for Chrestien any other sources than Nos. 1-3, the differences being such as he was quite capable of deliberately introducing. As for No. 7 (the Didot-Perceval) it is later than Chrestien and his continuators, and has used both. Wolfram von Eschenbach had only Chrestien for his model, Kiot's poem being a feigned source. The legend of the conversion of Britain by Joseph is no genuine British tradition; William of Malmesbury's account of Glastonbury is a pamphlet written to order of the Norman Kings, and incapable of serving as a representative of Celtic tradition. The passages therein relating to Joseph are late interpolations, disagreeing with the remainder of his work and disproved by the silence of all contemporary writers. Zarncke's acute article was a praiseworthy attempt to construct a working hypothesis of the growth of the cycle. But it is full of grave misconceptions, as was, perhaps, inevitable in a hasty survey of such an immense body of literature. The versions are "placed" most incorrectly. The argumentation is frequently marred by _a priori_ reasoning, such as that Chrestien, the acknowledged leading poet of the day, could not have copied Kiot, and by untenable assertions, such as that Bran, in the Mabinogi of Branwen, the daughter of Llyr, is perhaps a distant echo of Hebron in Robert de Borron's poem. He had, however, the great merit of clearing the ground for his pupil, A. Birch-Hirschfeld, and urging him to undertake what still remains the most searching and exhaustive survey of the whole cycle: "Die Sage vom Gral," etc. As Birch-Hirschfeld's analysis is at present the only basis for sound criticism, I shall give his views fully:--The Grand St. Graal, as the fullest of the versions dealing with the Early History of the Grail, is the best starting-point for investigation. From its pronounced religious tone monkish authorship may be inferred. Its treatment of the subject is not original as is shown by (1) the repetition _ad nauseam_ of the same motive (_e.g._, that of the lance wound four times), (2) the pedigrees, (3) the allusions to adventures not dealt with in the book, and in especial to the Promised Knight. The testimony of Helinand (see _supra_, p. 52), which is of first-rate importance, does not allow of a later date for the Grand St. Graal than 1204. On turning to the Queste it is remarkable that though sometimes found in the MSS. in conjunction with the Grand St. Graal it is also found with the Lancelot, and, when the hero's parentage is considered, it seems more likely that it was written to supplement the latter than the former work. This supposition is adverse to any claim it may lay to being held the earliest treatment of the subject, as it is highly improbable that the Grail legend occupied at the outset such an important place in the Arthurian romance as is thus accorded to it. Such a claim is further negatived by the fact that the Queste has three heroes, the second of whom is obviously the original one of an older version. In estimating the relationship between the Grand St. Graal and the Queste it should be borne in mind that the latter, in so far as it deals with the Early History, mentions only Joseph, Josephe, Evelach (Mordrain) and Seraphe (Nascien), from whom descends Galahad; that it brings Joseph to England, and that it does not give any explanation of the nature of the Grail itself. It omits Brons, Alain, the explanation of the name "rich fisherman," the name of Moys, although his story is found in substantially the same shape as in the Grand St. Graal, and is silent as to the origin of the bleeding lance. If it were younger than and derived from the Grand St. Graal alone, these points, all more important for the Early History than the Mordrain episodes would surely have been dwelt upon. But then if the Grand St. Graal is the younger work, whence does it derive Brons, Alain, and Petrus, all of whom are introduced in such a casual way? There was obviously a previous Early History which knew nothing of Josephe or of Mordrain and his group, the invention of the author of the Queste, whence they passed into the Grand St. Graal, and were fused in with the older form of the legend. There is, moreover, a positive reference on the part of the Grand St. Graal to the Queste (vol. ii., p. 225). The author of the Queste introduced his new personages for the following reasons: He had already substituted Galahad for the original hero, and to enhance his importance gives him a fictitious descent from a companion of Joseph. From his model he learnt of Joseph's wanderings in the East, hence the Eastern origin of the Mordrain group. In the older form the Grail had passed into the keeping of Joseph's nephew, in the Queste the Promised Knight descends from the nephew of Mordrain; Brons, as the ancestor of the original Quest hero necessarily disappears in the Queste, and his place is in large measure taken by Josephe. The priority of the Queste over the Grand St. Graal, and the use of the former by the latter may thus be looked upon as certain. But if Mordrain is the invention of the Queste, what is the meaning of his illness, of his waiting for the Promised Knight, of the bleeding lance, and of the lame king whom it heals? These seem to have no real connection with the Grail, and are apparently derived from an older work, namely, Chrestien's Conte du Graal. Chrestien's work, which ended at v. 10,601, may be dated as having been begun not later than 1189 (_vide_ _supra_, p. 4). Its unfinished state accounts for its having so little positive information about the Grail, as Chrestien evidently meant to reserve this information for the end of the story. But this very freedom with which the subject is handled is a proof that he had before him a work whence he could extract and adapt as he saw fit; moreover we have (Prologue, v. 475, etc.) his own words to that effect. With Chrestien's account of the Grail--a bowl bejewelled, of wondrous properties, borne by a maiden, preceded by a bleeding lance, accompanied by a silver plate, guarded by a king wounded through both ankles (whose only solace is fishing, whence his surname), ministering to the king's father, sought for by Perceval, nephew to the fisher king, its fate bound up with a question which the seeker must put concerning it--may be compared that of the Queste, in which nothing is known of a question by which the Grail kingship may be obtained (although it relates the same incident of Lancelot), which knows not of one wounded king, centre of the action, but of two, both of secondary importance (though possibly Chrestien's Fisher King's father may have given the hint for Mordrain), in which the lance is of minor importance instead of being on the same level as the Grail. Is it not evident that the Queste took over these features from Chrestien, compelled thereto by the celebrity of the latter's presentment? The Queste thus presupposes the following works: a Lancelot, an Early History, a Quest other than that of Chrestien's, and finally Chrestien as the lame king and lance features show. It thus falls between 1189 (Chrestien begun) and 1204 (Grand St. Graal ended). With respect to the three continuators of Chrestien it would seem that Gautier de Doulens' account of the Grail, as found in the Montpellier MS., knowing as it does only of Joseph, and making the Fisher King and Perceval descendants of his, belongs to an older stage of development than that of Manessier and Gerbert, both of whom are familiar with the Mordrain group, and follows that of the original version upon which both the Queste and the Grand St. Graal are based. There is nothing to show that Gautier knew of the Queste, whilst from Gautier the Queste may have possibly have taken Perceval's sister and the broken sword. Gautier would thus seem to have written immediately after Chrestien, and before the Queste, _i.e._, about 1195. As for the date of the other two continuators, the fact of their having used the Queste is only one proof of the lateness of their composition (as to the date of which see _supra_, p. 4). It must be noted that whilst in their account of the Grail Chrestien's continuators are in substantial accord with the Queste versions, and yet do not contradict Chrestien himself, they add considerably to his account of the lance. This is readily explained by the fact that as Chrestien gave no information respecting the origin of either of the relics, they, the continuators, had to seek such information elsewhere; they found all they could wish respecting the Grail, but nothing as to the lance, the latter having been first introduced by Chrestien, and the Queste versions knowing nothing respecting it beyond what he told. Thus, thrown upon their own resources, they hit upon the device of identifying the lance with the spear with which Jesus was pierced as He hung on the Cross. This idea, a most natural one, may possibly have been in Chrestien's intent, and _may_ have been suggested to him by the story of the discovery of the Holy Lance in Antioch half a century before. It must, however, be admitted that the connection of the lance with the Grail legend in its earliest form is very doubtful, and that Celtic legends may possibly have furnished it to Chrestien, and indicated the use to which he intended putting it. The analysis, so far, of the romances has resulted in the presupposition of an earlier form; this earlier form, the source or basis of all the later versions of the legend, exists in the so-called Petit St. Graal of Robert de Borron. Of this work, found in two forms, a prose and a poetic one, the poetic form, _pace_ Hucher, is obviously the older, Hucher's proofs of lateness going merely to show that the sole existing MS. is a recent one, and has admitted new speech-forms;[62] moreover the prose versions derive evidently from one original. The greater simplicity of the poem as compared with the Grand St. Graal proves its anteriority in that case; Paulin Paris' hypothesis that the poem in its present state is a second draft, composed after the author had made acquaintance with the Grand St. Graal, is untenable, the poem's reference (v. 929 etc.) to the "grant livre" and to the "grant estoire dou Graal," written by "nul home qui fust mortal" (v. 3,495-6) not being to the Grand St. Graal, but having, on the contrary, probably suggested to the writer of the latter his fiction of Christ's being the real author of his work. The Grand St. Graal used the poem conjointly with the Queste, piecing out the one version by help of the other, and thereby entirely missing the sequence of ideas in the poem, which is as follows: Sin, the cause of want among the people; the separation of the pure from the impure by means of the fish (symbol of Christ) caught by Brons, which fish does not feed the people, but, in conjunction with the Grail, severs the true from the false disciples; punishment of the self-willed false disciple; reward of Brons by charge of the Grail. In the Grand St. Graal, on the contrary, the fish is no symbol, but actual food, a variation which must be laid to the account of the Queste. In a similar way the two Alains in the Grand St. Graal may be accounted for, the one as derived from the poem, the second from the Queste. As far as conception is concerned, the later work is no advance upon the earlier one. To return to Borron's work, which consists of three sections; there is no reason to doubt his authorship of the second, Merlin, or of the third, Perceval, although one MS. only of the former mentions the fact, and it is, moreover, frequently found in connection with other romances, in especial with the Lancelot; as for Perceval, the silence of the unique MS. as to Borron is no argument, as it is equally silent in the Joseph of Arimathea section. All outward circumstances go to show that Borron divided his work into three parts, Joseph, Merlin, Perceval. But, if so, the last part must correspond in a fair measure to the first one; recollect, however, that we are dealing with a poet of but little invention or power of giving unity to discordant themes, and must not expect to find a clearly traced plan carried out in every detail. Thus the author's promise in Joseph to speak later of Moses and Petrus seems not to be fulfilled, but this is due to Borron's timidity in the invention of new details. What _is_ said of Moses does not disagree with the Joseph, whereas a later writer would probably follow the Grand St. Graal account; as for Petrus he is to be recognised in the hermit Perceval's uncle. There may be some inconsistency here, but Borron _can_ be inconsistent, as is shown by his treatment of Alain, who at first vows to remain virgin, and afterwards marries. But a graver argument remains to be met; the lance occurs in Perceval--now _ex hypothesi_ the first introduction of the lance is due to Chrestien. The lance, however, only occurs in two passages, both obviously interpolated. The identity of authorship is evident when the style and phraseology of the two works are compared; in both the Grail is always _li graaux_ or else _li veissel_, not as with the later versions, _li saint graaux_; both speak of _la grace dou graal_; in both the Grail is _bailli_ to its keeper, who has it _en guarde_; the empty seat is _li liu vit_, not the _siège perilleux_. The central conception, too, is the same--the Trinity of Grail-keepers symbolising the Divine Trinity. The secret words given by Christ with the Grail to Joseph in prison, by him handed on to Brons, are confided at the end of the Perceval by Brons to the hero--and there is no trace of the Galahad form of the Quest, as would inevitably have been the case had the Perceval been posterior in date to the Queste. As the Perceval is connected with the Joseph, so it is equally with the Merlin; it is remarkable that neither Merlin nor Blaise play a prominent part in the Queste versions, but in Borron's poem Merlin is the necessary binding link between the Apostolic and Arthurian ages. Again the whole character of the Perceval speaks for its being one of the earliest works of the cycle; either it must have used Chrestien and Gautier or they it; if the former, is it credible that just those adventures which were necessary to supply the ending to the Joseph could have been picked out? But it is easy to follow the way in which Chrestien used the Perceval; having the three-part poem before him he took the third only for his canvas, left out all that in it related to the first two parts, all, moreover, that related to the origin and early history of the Grail; the story of the childhood is half indicated in the Perceval, and Chrestien may have had Breton lays with which to help himself out; all relating to the empty seat is left out as reaching back into the Early History; the visit to Gurnemanz is introduced to supply a motive for the hero's conduct at the Grail Castle; the wound of the Fisher King is again only an attempt of Chrestien's to supply a more telling motive; as for the sword Chrestien invented it; as he also did the Grail-messenger, whose portrait he copied from that of Rosette la Blonde. The order of the last episodes is altered by Chrestien sensibly for the better, as, with him, Perceval's doubt comes first, then the Good Friday reproof, then the confession to and absolution by the hermit; whereas in the Perceval the hero after doubt, reproof, and absolution rides off again a-tourneying, and requires a second reproof at Merlin's hands. It is easy to see here which is the original, which the copy. Chrestien thus took with clear insight just what he wanted in the Perceval to fit out his two heroes with adventures.[63] As for Borron's guiding conception, his resolve to have nothing to do with the Early History made him neglect it entirely; he only cared to produce a knightly poem, and we find, in consequence, that he has materialised all the spiritual elements of his model. Gautier de Doulens' method of proceeding was much simpler: he took over all those adventures that Chrestien purposely left out, and they may be found brought together (verses 22,390-27,390) with but few episodes (Perceval's visit to Blanchefleur, etc.) entirely foreign to the model amongst them.[64] The Perceval cannot be later than Gautier, as otherwise it could not stand in such close relationship to the Joseph and Merlin; it must, therefore, be the source of the Conte du Graal, and a necessary part of Borron's poem, which in its entirety is the first attempt to bring the Joseph of Arimathea legend into connection with the Arthur _sage_. The question as to the origin of the Grail would thus seem answered, the Christian legendary character of Borron's conception being evident; but there still remains the possibility that that conception is but the Christianised form of an older folk-myth. Such a one has been sought for in Celtic tradition. The part played by Merlin in the trilogy might seem to lend colour to such an hypothesis, but his connection with the legend is a purely artificial one. Nor is the theory of a Celtic origin strengthened by reference to the Mabinogi of Peredur. This knows nought of Merlin, and is nearer to Chrestien than to the Didot-Perceval, and may, indeed, be looked upon as simply a clumsy retelling of the Conte du Graal with numerous additions. A knowledge of the Didot-Perceval on Chrestien's part must be presupposed, as where could he have got the Fisher King and Grail Castle save from a poem which dealt with the Early History of the Grail, a thing the Mabinogi does not do. But, it may be said, Chrestien used the Mabinogi conjointly with Borron's poem. That the Welsh tale is, on the contrary, only a copy is apparent from the following considerations:--It mixes up Gurnemanz and the Fisher King; it puts in the mouth of Peredur's _mother_ an exclamation about the knights, "Angels they are my son," obviously misread from Perceval's exclamation to the same effect in Chrestien's poem; _Perceval's_ love-trance over the three blood drops in the snow is explained in Chrestien by the hero's passion for Blanchefleur, but is quite inexplicable in the Mabinogi; again, in the Welsh tale, the lance and basin episode is quite a secondary one, a fact easily explained if it is looked upon as a vague reminiscence of Chrestien's unfinished work; moreover the Mabinogi lays great stress upon the lance, which has already been shown to belong to a secondary stage in the development of the legend. Again the word Graal occurs frequently in old Welsh literature, and invariably in its French form, never translated by any equivalent Welsh term. As for the name Peredur, it is understandable that the Welsh storyteller should choose the name of a national hero, instead of the foreign name Perceval; the etymology Basin-Seeker is untenable. There is no real analogy between the Grail and the magic cauldron of Celtic fable, which is essentially one of renovation, whereas the Grail in the second stage only acquires miraculous feeding, and in the third stage healing powers. It is of course not impossible that such adventures in the Mabinogi, as cannot be referred directly to Chrestien, may belong to a genuine Peredur _sage_. The question then arises--was Robert de Borron a simple copyist, or is the legend in its present form due to him, _i.e._, did _he_ first join the Joseph of Arimathea and Grail legends, or had he a predecessor? Now the older Joseph legends know nothing of his wandering in company of a miraculous vessel, Zarncke having shown the lateness of the one commonly ascribed to William of Malmesbury. Nor is it likely Borron had before him a local French legend as Paulin Paris (Romania, vol. i.) had supposed; would he in that case have brought the Grail to England, and left Joseph's fate in uncertainty? The bringing the Grail to England is simply the logical consequence of his conception of the three Grail-keepers (the third of British blood), symbolising the Trinity, and of the relation of the Arthurian group to this central conception; where the third Grail-keeper and the third of the three wondrous tables were, there the Grail must also be. What then led Borron to connect the sacramental vessel with the Joseph legend? In answering this question the later miraculous properties of the Grail must be forgotten, and it must be remembered that with Borron it is only a vessel of "grace;" this is shown in the history of (Moys) the false disciple, which obviously follows in its details the account of the Last Supper, and of the detection of Judas by means of the dish into which Jesus dips a sop, bidding the betrayer take and eat. Borron's first table being an exact copy of the Last Supper one, _his_ holy vessel has the property of that used by Christ. In so far Borron was led to his conception by the story as told in the canonical books; what help did he get from the Apocrypha? His mention of the Veronica legend and certain details in his presentment of Vespasian's vengeance on the Jews (_e.g._, his selling thirty for a penny) show him to have known the Vindicta Salvatoris, in which Joseph of Arimathea appears telling of his former captivity from which Christ Himself had delivered him. Thus Borron knew of Joseph's living when Vespasian came to Jerusalem. From the Gesta Pilati he had full information respecting the imprisonment of Joseph; he combined the accounts of these two apocryphal works, substituting a simple visit of Christ to Joseph for the deliverance as told in the Gesta Pilati, and making Vespasian the deliverer, whereto he may have been urged by Suetonius' account of the freeing of _Josephus_ by Vespasian (Vesp. ch. v.). But why should Joseph become the Grail-keeper? Because the fortunes of the vessel used by the Saviour symbolise those of the Saviour's body; as _that_ was present at the Last Supper, was brought to Pilate, handed over to Joseph, was buried, and after three days arose, so with the Grail. Compare, too, Christ's words to Joseph (892, etc.) in which the symbolical connection of the laying in the grave and the mass is fully worked out. Thus Joseph who laid Christ's body in the grave is the natural guardian of the symbol which commemorates that event, thus, too, the Grail is the natural centre point of all the symbolism of mass and sacrament, and thus the Grail found its place in the Joseph legend, ultimately becoming its most important feature. Need Perceval's question detain us? May it not be explained by the fact that as Joseph had to apply twice for Christ's body, so his representative, the Grail-seeker, had to apply twice for the symbol of Christ's body, the Grail? But it is, perhaps, best to consider the question and the Fisher King's weakness as inventions of Borron's, possibly derived from Breton sources, the ease with which the hero fulfils a task explained to him beforehand favouring such a view. Borron, it must be noticed, had no great inventive power; in the Joseph he is all right so long as he has the legend to follow; in the Merlin and the Perceval he clings with equal helplessness to the Breton sagas, confining himself to weaving clumsily the adventures of the Grail into the regular Arthur legend. The question as to the authorship of the Grand St. Graal and the Queste, the latter so confidently attributed to W. Map, may now profitably be investigated. Map, who we know flourished 1143-1210 (see _supra_, p. 5), took part in all the political and social movements of his time. If we believe the testimony of the MSS. which ascribe to him the authorship of the following romances: (1) the Lancelot, in three parts; (2) the Queste; (3) the Mort Artur; (4) the Grand St. Graal, he would seem to have shown a literary activity quite incompatible with his busy life, when it is remembered how slow literary composition was in those days. Nor can it be reconciled with the words of Giraldus Cambrensis,[65] although Paulin Paris (Rom. i. 472) has attempted such a reconciliation by the theory that the words _dicere_ and _verba dare_ referred to composition in the vernacular, and that Map was opposing not his _oratorical_ to Gerald's _literary_ activity, but his _French_ to Gerald's _Latin_ works. Against this initial improbability and Gerald's positive testimony must be set, it is true, the witness of writers of the time and of the MSS. The most important is that of Hélie de Borron in his prologue to Guiron le Courtois.[66] After telling how Luces de Gast was the first to translate from the Latin book into French, and he did part of the story of Tristan, he goes on: "Apriés s'en entremist maistre Gautiers Map qui fu clers au roi Henry et devisa cil l'estoire de monseigneur Lancelot du Lac, que d'autre chose ne parla il mie gramment en son livre. Messiers Robers de Borron s'en entremist après. Je Helis de Borron, par la prière monseigneur de Borron, et pour ce que compaignon d'armes fusmes longement, en commençai mon livre du Bret." Again in the epilogue to the Bret,[67] "Je croi bien touchier sor les livres que maistres Gautiers Maup fist, qui fit lou propre livre de monsoingnour Lancelot dou Lac; et des autres granz livres que messires Robert de Berron fit, voudrai-je prendre aucune flor de la matière ... en tel meniere que li livres de monsoingnour Luces de Gant et de maistre Gautier Maapp et ciz de monsoingnour Robert de Berron qui est mes amis et mes paranz charnex s'acourderont au miens livres--et je qui sui appelex Helyes de Berron qui fui engendrez dou sanc des gentix paladins des Barres qui de tous tens ont été commendeour et soingnor d'Outres en Roménie qui ores est appelée France." Now Hélie cannot possibly belong to the reign of Henry II (+ 1189) as asserted by Hucher (p. 59), as he speaks of Map in the past tense (_fu_ clers), and Map outlived Henry, moreover the mention of Romenie proves the passage to have been written after the foundation of the Latin Empire in 1304. Hélie's testimony is thus not that of an immediate contemporary, and it only shows that shortly after Map's death the Lancelot was ascribed to him. It is, moreover, in so far tainted, that he speaks with equal assurance respecting the great Latin book which of course never existed; nor can we believe him when he says that he was the comrade of Robert de Borron, as this latter wrote before Chrestien, and must have been at least thirty years older than Hélie, who in the Guiron (written about 1220) calls himself a young man. How is it with the testimony of the MSS.? Those of the Lancelot have unfortunately lost their colophon, owing to the Queste being almost invariably added; those of the Queste show as a rule a colophon such as the one quoted by Paulin Paris from the Bibl. Nat., MS. 6,963 (MSS. Franç II., p. 361): "Maistre Gautiers Map les estrait pour son livre faire dou Saint-Graal, pour l'amor del roy Henri son seignor, qui fist l'estore translater dou latin en françois." A similar statement occurs in a MS. of the Mort Artur (Bib. Nat. 6,782.). Both are equally credible. Now as the King can only be Henry II (+ 1189) and as the Queste preceded the Mort Artur it must be put about 1185, and Chrestien's Conte du Graal about 1180, an improbably early date when it is recollected that the Conte du Graal is Chrestien's last work. The form, too, of these colophons, expressed as they are in the third person, so different from the garrulous first person complacency with which Luces de Gast and Hélie de Borron announce their authorship, excites the suspicion that we have here not the author's own statement, but that of a copyist following a traditional ascription. Whether or no Map wrote the Lancelot, it may safely be assumed that he did not write the Queste, or _a fortiori_ the Grand St. Graal. The tradition as to his authorship of these romances may have originated in Geoffrey's mention of the Gualterus archidiaconus Oxenfordensis, to whom he owed his MS. of the Historia Regum Britanniae. A similar instance of traditional ascription on the part of the copyist may be noted in the MSS. of the Grand St. Graal, the author of which is declared to be Robert de Borron. The ordinary formulæ (quoted _supra_, p. 5) should be compared with Borron's own words in the Joseph (_supra_, p. 5) and the difference in form noted. What proves these passages to be interpolations is that the author of the Grand St. Graal especially declares in his prologue that his name must remain a secret. The colophons in question are simply to be looked upon as taken over from the genuine ascription of Borron's poem, and there is no positive evidence as to the authorship of either the Queste or the Grand St. Graal; both works are probably French in origin, as is shown by the mention of Meaux in the Grand St. Graal. As for the date of Borron's poem, a _terminus ad quem_ is fixed by that of the Conte du Graal (1180); and as the poem is dedicated to Gautier of Montbeliard, who can hardly have been born before 1150, and who must have attained a certain age before he could become Robert's patron, it must fall between the years 1170 and 1190. The results of the investigation may be summed up as follows: the origin of the Grail romances must be sought for in a Christian legend based partly upon the canonical, partly upon the uncanonical, writings. This Christian legend was woven into the Breton sagas by the author of the oldest Grail romance; the theories of Provençal Spanish, or Celtic origin are equally untenable, nor is there any need to countenance the fable of a Latin original. Chronologically, the versions arrange themselves thus:-- (1) Between 1170 and 1190 (probably about 1183) Robert de Borron wrote his trilogy: Joseph of Arimathea--Merlin--Perceval. Sources: Christian legend (Acta, Pilati, Descensus Christi, Vindicta Salvatoris) and Breton sagas (Brut?). Here the Grail is simply a vessel of grace. (2) About 1189 Chrestien began his Conte du Graal, the main source of which was the third part of Borron's poem. Marvellous food properties attributed to the Grail; introduction of the bleeding lance, silver dish, and magic sword. (3) Between 1190 and 1200 Gautier de Doulens continued Chrestien's poem. Main sources, third part of (1) and first part of same for Early History--introduction of broken sword. (4) Between 1190 and 1200 (but after Gautier?) the Queste du St. Graal written as continuation to the Lancelot. Sources (1) and (2) (for lance) and perhaps (3). New personages, Mordrain, Nascien, etc., introduced into Early History. (5) Before 1204 Grand St. Graal written, mainly resting upon (4) but with use also of first part of (1). (6) Between 1214 and 1220. Manessier's continuation of the Conte du Graal. For the Early History (5) made use of. (7) Before 1225 Gerbert of Montreuil's additions to Manessier. Both (4) and (5) used. (8) About 1225 Perceval li Gallois; compiled from all the previous versions.[68] That part of Birch-Hirschfeld's theory which excited the most attention in Germany bore upon the relationship of Wolfram to Chrestien (see _infra_, Appendix A). In other respects his theory won very general acceptance. The commendatory notices were, however, of a slight character, and no new facts were adduced in support of his thesis. One opponent, however, he found who did more than rest his opposition upon the view of Wolfram's relationship to Chrestien. This was E. Martin, who ("Zeitschrift für d. Alterthumskunde," 1878, pp. 84 etc.) traversed most of Birch-Hirschfeld's conclusions. Whilst accepting the priority of Queste over Grand St. Graal he did not see the necessity of fixing 1204 as a _terminus ad quem_ for the latter work as we now have it, as Helinandus' statement might have referred to an older version; if the Grand St. Graal could not be dated neither could the Queste. As for the Didot-Perceval there was nothing to prove that it was either Borron's work or the source of Chrestien and Gautier. Birch-Hirschfeld's arguments to show the interpolation of the lance passages were unsound; it was highly improbable either that Chrestien should have used the Perceval as alleged, or that Borron, the purely religious writer of the Joseph, should have changed his style so entirely in the Perceval. Moreover, Birch-Hirschfeld made Borron dedicate a work to Gautier of Montbeliard before 1183 when the latter must have been quite a young man, nor was there any reason to discredit Hélie de Borron's testimony that he and Robert had been companions in arms, a fact incredible had the one written forty years before the other. The work of Chrestien and his continuators must be looked upon as the oldest we had of the Grail cycle. It was likely that older versions had been lost. A Latin version might well have existed, forms such as Joseph de Barimaschie (_i.e._, ab Arimathea) pointed to it. Martin followed up this attack in his "Zur Gralsage, Untersuchungen," Strasburg, 1880. A first section is devoted to showing that Wolfram must have had other sources than Chrestien, and that in consequence such portions of his presentment as differ from Chrestien's must be taken into account in reconstructing the original form of the romance. The second and third sections deal with Heinrich von dem Türlin's "Die Crone," and with the earliest form of the tradition. Gawain's second visit to the Grail Castle, as told of by Heinrich (_supra_, p. 26) has features in common with the widely-spread traditions of aged men slumbering in caves or ruined castles, unable to die until the right word is uttered which breaks their spell. This conception differs from the one found in all the other versions inasmuch as in them the wonder-working question releases, not from unnaturally prolonged life, but from sore disease. Can a parallel be found in Celtic tradition to this sufferer awaiting deliverance? Does not Arthur, wounded well nigh to death by his nephew Modred, pass a charmed life in Avalon, whither Morgan la Fay carried him for his healing, and shall he not return thence to free his folk? The original conception is mythic--the summer god banished by the winter powers, but destined to come back again. The _sage_ of Arthur's waiting, often in some subterranean castle, is widely spread, two of the earliest notices (those of Gervasius of Tilbury, in the "Otia Imperialia," p. 12 of Liebrecht's edition, and of Caesarius of Heisterbach) connect it with Etna--the tradition had followed the Norman Conquerors of Sicily thither--and from Sicily it would seem to have penetrated to Germany, being first found in German tradition as told of Frederick II. Again Gerald (A.D. 1188) in the "Itinerarium Cambriae" (Frankfort, 1603, p. 827, L. 48) tells of a mountain chain in the South-East of Wales: "quorum principalis Cadair Arthur dicitur i. Cathedra Arthuri, propter gemina promontorii cacumina in cathedrae modum se praeferentia. Et quoniam in alto cathedra et in ardua sita est, summo et maximo Britonum Regi Arthuro vulgari nuncupatione est assignata." The Eildon Hills may be noted in the same connection, "in which all the Arthurian chivalry await, in an enchanted sleep, the bugle blast of the adventurer who will call them at length to a new life" (Stuart Glennie, "Arthurian Localities," p. 60). If the Grail King is Arthur, the bleeding lance is evidently the weapon wherewith he was so sorely wounded. And the Grail? this is originally a symbol of plenty, of a joyous and bountiful life, hence of Avalon, that land of everlasting summer beyond the waves, wherein, as the Vita Merlini has it, they that visit Arthur find "planitiem omnibus deliciis plenam." Of those versions of the romance in which the Christian conception of the Grail is predominant, Robert de Borron's poem (composed about 1200) is the earliest, and in it, _maugre_ the Christianising of the story, the Celtic basis is apparent: the Grail host go a questing Avalonwards; the first keepers are Brons and Alain, purely Celtic names, the former of which may be compared with Bran; the empty seat calls to mind the _Eren stein_ in Ulrich von Zatzikhoven's Lanzelot, whereof (verse 5,178) _ist gesaget daz er den man niht vertruoc an dem was valsch oder haz_. Admitting the purely Christian origin of the Grail leads to this difficulty: the vessel in which Christ's blood was received was a bowl, not an open or flat dish like that used in commemoration of the Last Supper. Evidently the identification of the Grail with the Last Supper cup is the latest of a series of transformations. Nor can the Christian origin of the legend be held proved by the surname of Fisher given to the Grail-keeper. True, neither Chrestien nor Wolfram explains this surname, whilst in Borron's poem there is at least a fish caught. But if the fish had really the symbolic meaning ascribed to it would not a far greater stress be laid upon it? In any case this one point is insufficient to prove the priority of Borron, and it is simpler to believe that the surname of Fisher had in the original Celtic tradition a significance now lost. Birch-Hirschfeld's theory supposes, too, a development contrary to that observed elsewhere in mediæval tradition. The invariable course is from the racial-heathen to the Christian legendary stage. Is it likely that in the twelfth century, a period of such highly developed mystic fancy, an originally Christian legend should lose its mystic character and become a subject for minstrels to exercise their fancy upon? In the earlier form of the romance there is an obvious contrast between the task laid upon the Grail quester and that laid upon Gawain at Castle Marvellous. The first has suffered change by its association with Christian legend; but the second, even in those versions influenced by the legend, has retained its primitive Celtic character. The trials which Gawain has to undergo may be compared with those imposed on him who seeks to penetrate into the underworld, as pictured in the Purgatorium S. Patricii, in the Visio Tnugdali, etc. This agrees well with the presentment of Castle Marvellous, an underworld realm where dwell four queens long since vanished from Arthur's court, and which, according to Chrestien (verse 9,388), Gawain, having once found, may no longer leave. One of these queens is Arthur's mother, whom a magician had carried off, a variant it would seem of the tradition which makes Arthur's father, Uther, win Igerne from her husband by Merlin's magic aid. Many other reminiscences of Celtic tradition may be found in the romances--Orgeleuse, whom Gawain finds sitting under a tree by a spring, is just such a water fairy as may be met with throughout the whole range of Celtic folk-lore, and differs profoundly from the Germanic conception of such beings. W. Hertz, in his "Sage vom Parzival und dem Gral" (Breslau, 1882) following, in the main, Birch-Hirschfeld, lays stress upon the two elements, "_legend_" and "_sage_" out of which the romance cycle has sprung. He does not overlook many of the weak points in Birch-Hirschfeld's theory, _e.g._, whilst fully accepting the fish caught by Bron as the symbol of Christ, he notices that the incident as found in Robert de Borron, whom he accepts as the first in date of the cycle writers, is not of such importance as to justify the stress laid upon the nickname "rich fisher," by all the _ex hypothesi_ later writers. The word "rich" must, he thinks, have originally referred to the abundant power of conversion of heathen vouchsafed to the Grail-keeper, but even Robert failed to grasp the full force of the allusion. Against Birch-Hirschfeld he maintains that the connection of Joseph with the conversion of Britain in all the versions shows that the legend must have assumed definite shape first on British soil, and he looks upon the separatist and anti-papal tendencies of the British Church as supplying the original impulse to such a legend. The Grail belongs originally wholly to the "Legend;" only in the later versions and in Wolfram, owing to the latter's ignorance of its real nature, does it assume a magic and popular character. The lance, on the other hand, is partly derived from the Celtic _sage_. The boyhood of Perceval is a genuine folk-story, a great-fool tale, and had originally nothing to do with the Grail, as may plainly be seen by reference to the Thornton Sir Perceval, the most primitive form of the story remaining, the Mabinogi, and the modern Breton tale of Peronnik, deriving directly or indirectly from Chrestien. As for the question, although it presented much that seemed to refer it to folk-tradition, as for instance in Heinrich von dem Türlin's version, where Gawain's putting the question releases the lord of the castle and his retainers from the enchantment of life-in-death, yet the form of the question, "Je vos prie que vous me diez que l'en sert de cest vessel," shows its original connection with the Grail cultus, and necessitates its reference to the "Legend." Existing versions fail, however, to give any satisfactory account of the question. It is a matter of conjecture whether in the earliest form of the legend (which Hertz assumes to have been lost) it was found in the same shape as in the Didot-Perceval. Birch-Hirschfeld's theory has already been implicitly criticised in Chapter III. The considerations adduced therein, as well as Martin's criticisms and Hertz's admissions, preclude the necessity of examining it in further detail. Formally speaking, the theory rests upon the assumption that we have Borron's work substantially as he wrote it, an assumption which, as shown by the difference in _motif_ between the Metrical Joseph and the Didot-Perceval, is inaccurate. Again, the theory does not account for the silence of all the other versions respecting Brons and that special conception of the Grail found in Borron's poem. Nor does it offer any satisfactory explanation of the mysterious question which Birch-Hirschfeld can only conjecture to have been a meaningless invention, _eine harmlose Erfindung_, of Borron's. In fact, only such, portions of the cycle are exhaustively examined as admit of reference to the alleged originating idea, and a show of rigorous deduction is thus made, the emptiness of which becomes apparent when the entire legend, and not one portion only, is taken into account. Despite the learning and acuteness with which it is urged, Birch-Hirschfeld's theory must be rejected, if it were only because, as Martin points out, it postulates a development of the legend which is the very opposite of the normal one. We cannot admit that this vast body of romance sprang from a simple but lofty spiritual conception, the full significance of which, unperceived even by its author, was totally ignored, not only, were that possible, by Chrestien and his continuators, but by the theologising mystics who wrote the Grand St. Graal and the Queste--aye, and even by the latest and in some respects the most theologically minded of all the writers of the cycle, the author of the Prose Perceval le Gallois and Gerbert. We must say, with Otto Küpp (Zacher's Zeitschrift, XVII, 1, p. 68), "die jetzt versuchte christliche Motivierung ist ganz unglücklich geraten und kann in keiner Weise befriedigen." The field is thus clear for an examination of the Quest with a view to determining whether the Grail really belongs to it or not. The first step is to see what relationship exists between the oldest form of the Quest and what have been called the non-Grail members of the cycle--_i.e._, the Mabinogi of Peredur ab Evrawc and the Thornton MS. Sir Perceval. As preliminary to this inquiry, an attempt must be made to determine more closely the relationship of the Didot-Perceval to the Conte du Graal--whether it be wholly derived from the latter, or whether it may have preserved through other sources traces of a different form of the story than that found in Chrestien.[69] CHAPTER V. Relationship of the Didot-Perceval to the Conte du Graal--The former not the source of the latter--Relationship of the Conte du Graal and the Mabinogi--Instances in which the Mabinogi has copied Chrestien--Examples of its independence--The incident of the blood drops in the snow--Differences between the two works--The machinery of the Mabinogi and the traces of it in the Conte du Graal--The stag-hunt--The Mabinogi and Manessier--The sources of the Conte du Graal and the relation of the various parts to a common original--Sir Perceval--Steinbach's theory--Objections to it--The counsels in the Conte du Graal--Wolfram and the Mabinogi--Absence of the Grail from the apparently oldest Celtic form. In examining the relationship of the Didot-Perceval to the Conte du Graal, the sequence of the incidents is of importance. This is shown in the subjoined table (where the numbers given are those of the incidents as summarized, chapter II), in which the Didot-Perceval sequence is taken as the standard. --------------------------------------------------------------- DIDOT-PERCEVAL. | CHRESTIEN. | --------------------------------|-----------------------------| Inc. |Inc. | 2. Perceval sets forth in |11. Only after the reproaches| quest of the rich fisher. | of the loathly damsel | | does Perceval first set | | forth in quest of the | | Grail. | | | 3. Finds a damsel weeping over | 8. In so far as finding a | a knight. Adventure with | damsel weeping over a | dwarf and the Orgellos | dead knight, and (9) for | Delande. | overcoming the Orgellous | | de la Lande. | | | 4. Arrival at the Chessboard | ... ... ... ... | Castle. Adventure of the | | stag hunt and loss of the | | hound. | | | | 5. Meeting with sister; | ... ... ... ... | instruction concerning the | | Grail; vow to seek it. | | | | 6. Meeting with, confession |15. _After_ the Good Friday | to, and exhortation from | incident. | hermit uncle. | | | | 7. Disregard of uncle's | ... ... ... ... | exhortations (slaying a | | knight), through thinking | | of damsel of the | | Chessboard. | | | | 8. Meeting with Rosette and | ... ... ... ... | Le Beau Mauvais (the | | loathly damsel). | | | | 9. Adventure at the Ford with | ... ... ... ... | Urbains. | | | | 10. The two children in the | ... ... ... ... | tree. | | | | 11. First arrival at Grail | 7. ... ... ... ... | Castle. | | | | 12. Reproaches of the wayside | 8. In so far as in both the | damsel. | hero is reproached by a | | wayside damsel. | | | 13. Meeting with the damsel who | ... ... ... ... | had carried off the stag's | | head and hound, and second | | visit to Castle of the | | Chessboard. | | | | 14. Period (7 years) of despair |15. ... ... ... ... | ended by the Good Friday | | incident. | | | | 15. Tournament at Melianz de |13. But told of Gawain not | Lis. Merlin's reproaches. | of Perceval. | | | 16. Second arrival at Grail | ... ... ... ... | Castle Achievement of Quest.| | --------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------- GAUTIER DE DOULENS. --------------------------- Inc. ... ... ... ... 9. In so far as a damsel is foundlamenting over a knight. 7 and 8. 12. 12. 12. In so far as a knight is slain, but _before_ the meeting with the hermit. 11. 9. Ford Amorous; _entirely different adventure_. 20. _One_ child. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 13 and 18. Many adventures being intercalated. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 22. --------------------------- The different sequence in the Didot-Perceval and Chrestien may be explained, as Birch-Hirschfeld explains it, by the freedom which Chrestien allowed himself in re-casting the work; but why should Gautier, who, _ex hypothesi_, simply took up from Chrestien's model such adventures as his predecessor had omitted, have acted in precisely the same way? If the theory were correct we should expect to find the non-Chrestien incidents of the Didot-Perceval brought together in at least fairly the same order in Gautier. A glance at the table shows that this is not the case. In one incident, moreover, the Didot-Perceval is obviously right and Gautier obviously wrong, namely, in his incident 12, where the slaying of the knight before the hero's meeting the hermit takes away all point from the incident. An absolutely decisive proof that that portion of the Conte du Graal which goes under Gautier's name (though it is by no means clear that all of it is of the same age or due to one man), cannot be based upon the Didot-Perceval as we now possess it, is afforded by the adventure of the Ford Amorous or Perillous, which in the two versions is quite dissimilar. This incident stands out pre-eminent in the Didot-Perceval for its wild and fantastic character. It is a genuine Celtic _märchen_, with much of the weird charm still clinging to it that is the birthright of the Celtic folk-tale. It is inadmissible that Gautier could have substituted for this fine incident the commonplace one which he gives. If, then, it is out of the question that Gautier borrowed directly from the Didot-Perceval, how are the strong resemblances which exist in part between the two versions to be accounted for? Some of these resemblances have already been quoted (_supra_, p. 75), the remainder may be usefully brought together here.[70] First arrival at the Castle of the Chessboard-- DIDOT-PERCEVAL. GAUTIER. Li plus biaux chasteaux del monde Le bel castiel que je vos dis et vit le pont abeissié et la . . . . . porte deffermé (p. 439). Et vit si bièles les entrées Et les grans portes desfremées (22,395, etc.); The damsel exhorts him not to throw the chessman into the water-- Votre cors est esmeuz à grant Car çou serait grans vilonie (22,503). vilainie faire (p. 440). Perceval having slain the stag, sees its head carried off-- Si vint une veille sor un palestoi Une pucièle de malaire grant aléure et prist le brachet Vint cevauçant parmi la lande et s'en ala or tot (p. 442). Voit le braket, plus ne demande Par le coler d'orfrois le prist . . . . . . Si s'en aloit grant aléure (22,604, etc.). On Perceval threatening to take it away from her by force she answers-- Sire Chevalier, force n'est mie Force à faire n'est mie drois droit et force me poez bien Et force me poés vos faire (22,640). faire (p. 443). In the subsequent fight with the Knight of the Tomb, he, overcome-- Se torna vers le tonbel grant Que fuiant vait grant aléure aléure et li tombeaux s'enleva Vers l'arket et la sepouture contre moultet chevalier s'en Si est entrés plus tost qu'il pot feri enz (p. 444). (22,723, etc.). In the description of Rosette (the loathly damsel)-- Ele avoit le col et les mains plus Le col avoit plus noir que fer noires et le vier, que fer... (25,409). (p. 453). When the loathly damsel and her knight come to Arthur's court, Kay jests as follows:-- Lors pria (_i.e._, Kay) le chevalier Biaus sire, par la foi que il devoit, le roi, Dites moi, si Dex le vos mire, qui li déist où il l'avoit prise et Si plus en a en vostre terre, si en porroit une autre tele avoir, Une autèle en iroie querre si il l'aloit querre (p. 457). Si jou le quidoie trover (25,691 etc.). These similarities are too great to be accidental. It will be noticed, however, that they bear chiefly upon two adventures: that of the chessboard and stag hunt, and that of the loathly maiden. As to the latter, it is only necessary to allude to Birch-Hirschfeld's idea that Rosette is the original of the damsel who reproaches Perceval before the court with his conduct at the Grail Castle, a theory to state which is to refute it. The former adventure will be closely examined in the following section. There is no need to suppose direct borrowing on the part of one or the other versions to account for the parallel in these two incidents; a common original closely followed at times by both would meet the requirements of the case. It is difficult to admit that the author of the Didot-Perceval used Gautier's continuation and not Chrestien's original, especially when the following fact, strangely overlooked by both Birch-Hirschfeld and Hucher, is taken into account: Perceval on his first arrival at the Grail Castle keeps silence (as will be seen by a reference to the summary, _supra_, p. 31), because, "li souvenoit du prodome qui li avoit deffandu que ne fust trop pallier," etc. As a matter of fact, the "prodome" had forbidden nothing of the sort, and this casual sentence is the first allusion to the motive upon which Chrestien lays so much stress as explaining his hero's mysterious conduct at the Grail Castle. Evidently the Didot-Perceval, which, to whoever considers it impartially, is an obvious abridgment and piecing together of material from different sources, found in one of its sources an episode corresponding to that of Gonemans in Chrestien. But its author, influenced probably by the Galahad version of the Quest, substituted for the "childhood" opening of this hypothetical source the one now found in his version, and the Gonemans episode went with the remainder of that part of the story. When the hero comes to the Grail Castle, the author is puzzled; his hero knows beforehand what he has to do, sets out with the distinct purpose of doing it, and yet remains silent. To account for this silence the author uses the motive belonging to a discarded episode, but applies the words to his hermit, forgetting that he had put no such words into his mouth, and that, attributed to him, the injunction to keep silence became simply meaningless. Is the model treated in this way by the Didot-Perceval Chrestien's poem? Hardly, for this reason. After the Good Friday incident occurs the remarkable passage, quoted (_supra_, p. 31), as to the silence of the _trouvères_ respecting it. Chrestien gives the incident in full, and the author of the Perceval could have had no reason for his stricture, or could not have ventured it had he been using Chrestien's work. Two hypotheses then remain; the unknown source may have been a version akin to that used by Chrestien and Gautier, or it may have been a summary abridgment of the Conte du Graal, in which, _inter alia_, the Good Friday incident was left out. In either case the presence of the passage in the Perceval is equally hard of explanation; but the first hypothesis is favoured by the primitive character of the incident of the Ford Perillous, and several other features which will be touched upon in their place. The Didot-Perceval would thus be an attempt to provide an ending for Borron's poem by adapting to its central _donnée_ a version of the Perceval _sage_ akin to that which forms the groundwork of the Conte du Graal, its author being largely influenced by the Galahad form of the Quest as found in the _Queste_. If this view be correct, the testimony of Perceval (wherever not influenced by Borron's poem or the _Queste_) is of value in determining the original form of the story, the more so from the author's evident want of skill in piecing together his materials. It will, therefore, be used in the following section, which deals with the relationship of the Conte du Graal and the Mabinogi of Peredur ab Evrawc. _Relationship of the Conte du Graal and the Mabinogi._--As was seen in Chapter IV, opinion began with Monsieur de Villemarqué by accepting the Mabinogi as the direct source of the Conte du Graal, and has ended with Zarncke and Birch-Hirschfeld in looking upon it as a more or less direct copy. The most competent of living scholars in this matter, M. Gaston Paris, has expressed himself in favour of this opinion in his recent article on the Lancelot story (Romania, 1886).[71] Before dealing with the question as presented in this form, Simrock's view, differing as it does from that of all other investigators, deserves notice. He, too, looks upon the Mabinogi as derived from Chrestien, and yet bases his interpretation of the myth underlying the romance upon a feature, the bleeding head in the dish, found only in it. But if the Mabinogi have really preserved here the genuine form of the myth, it must represent an older version than Chrestien's, and if, on the other hand, Chrestien be its only source, the feature in question cannot belong to the earliest form of the story. Simrock's theory stands then or falls in this respect by the view taken of the relationship between the two versions, and need not be discussed until that view has been stated. To facilitate comparison, the incidents common to the two stories are tabulated as under, those of the Mabinogi being taken as the standard:-- MABINOGI. CONTE DU GRAAL. Inc. Inc. _Chrestien._ 1. Encounter with the knights. 1. 2. Adventure with the damsel of 2. the tent. 3. Avenging of the insult to 3 and 4. Guinevere; incident of the dwarves; departure from Court. 5. Arrival at house of first uncle 5. Gonemans. (found fishing); instruction in arms. 6. Arrival at house of second uncle 7. Uncle found fishing; (Grail Castle). First sight of talismans, Grail and lance. the talismans (head in basin and lance). 7. Reproaches of foster-sister whom 8. Reproached by his cousin; also he finds lamenting over a dead instructed by her about the knight. magic sword. 8. Adventure with the damsel of the 6. Blanchefleur, Gonemant's besieged castle who offers niece. herself to hero. 9. Second meeting with the lady of 9. the tent. 10. First encounter with the sorceresses of Gloucester, who are forced to desist from assailing hero's hostess. 11. Adventure of the drops of blood 10. in the snow. 20. Reproaching of Peredur before 11. the Court by the loathly damsel. 21. Gwalchmai's adventure with the 14. lady whose father he had slain. 22. Peredur's meeting the knight on 15. Hermit, hero's uncle. Good Friday, and confession to priest. _Gautier._ 24. Arrival at the Castle of Wonders Inc. 7, 8, and partly 13 and 18. (Chessboard Castle); stag hunt; loss of dog; fight with the black man of the cromlech. 25. Second arrival at the (Grail) 22. In so far as Gautier ends his castle; achievement of the Quest part of the story here with by destruction of sorceresses of the hero's second arrival at Gloucester. "Thus it is related the Grail Castle, but no concerning the Castle of similarity in the incidents. Wonders." The sequence is thus exactly the same in the Mabinogi and in Chrestien, with the single exception of the Blanchefleur incident, which, in the French poem precedes, in the Welsh tale follows, the first visit to the Grail Castle. The similarity of order is sufficient of itself to warrant the surmise of a relation such as that of copy to original. If the Mabinogi be examined closely, much will be found to strengthen this surmise. Thus, Birch-Hirschfeld has pointed out that when Peredur first sees the knights, and on asking his mother what they may be, receives the answer, "Angels, my son"; this can only be a distorted reminiscence of Perceval's own exclamation, ... Ha! sire Dex, Merchi! Ce sont angle que je voi ci! (1,349-50). as the hero's mother would be the last person to describe thus the knights whom she has done her best to guard her son from knowledge of. Again, Simrock has criticised, and with reason, the incident of Peredur's being acclaimed by the dwarf on his arrival at Arthur's court as the chief of warriors and flower of knighthood. In the corresponding incident in Chrestien, the hero is told laughingly by a damsel that he should become the best knight in the world, and she had not laughed for ten years, as a fool had been wont to declare. This is an earlier form than that of the Mabinogi, and closer to the folk-tale account. Thus, to take one instance only, in Mr. Kennedy's Giolla na Chroicean Gobhar (Fellow with the Goat-skin) [Fictions of the Irish Celts, p. 23], the hero comes to the King of Dublin, as Peredur to Arthur, clad in skins and armed with a club. "Now, the King's daughter was so melancholy that she didn't laugh for seven years, but when she saw Tom of the Goat-skin knock over all her father's best champions, then she let a great sweet laugh out of her," and of course Tom marries her, but not until he has been through all sorts of trials, aye, even to Hell itself and back. In Chrestien, the primitive form is already overlaid; we hear nothing further of the damsel moved to laughter nor of the prophetic fool; and in the Mabinogi it seems obvious that the hailing of the hero, added in Chrestien to the older laughter, has alone subsisted. Birch-Hirschfeld takes exception likewise to the way in which Peredur's two uncles are brought upon the scene, the first one, corresponding to Gonemans in Chrestien, being found fishing instead of the real Fisher King, the lord of the Castle of the Magic Talismans, whilst at the latter's, Peredur has to undergo trials of his strength belonging properly to his stay at the first uncle's. Evidently, says Birch-Hirschfeld, there has been a confusion of the two personages. Again, when Peredur leaves his second uncle on the morrow of seeing the bleeding head and spear, it is said, "he rode forth with his uncle's permission." Can these words be a reminiscence of Chrestien's? Et trueve le pont abaiscié, Con li avoit ensi laissié Por ce que rien nel detenist, De quele eure qu'il venist Que il ne passat sans arriest (4,565-69). We shall see later on that in the most primitive form of the unsuccessful visit to the Castle of the Talismans the hero finds himself on the morrow on the bare earth, the castle itself having vanished utterly. The idea of permission being given to leave is diametrically opposed to this earliest conception, and its presence in the Mabinogi seems only capable of explanation by some misunderstanding of the story-teller's model. The Blanchefleur incident shows some verbal parallels, "The maiden welcomed Peredur and put her arms around his neck." Et la damosele le prent Par le main débonnairement (3,025-26) Et voit celi ajenouillie Devant son lit qui le tenoit Par le col embraciet estroit (3,166-68). Can, too, the "two nuns," who bring in bread and wine, be due to the "Il Abéies," which Perceval sees on entering Blanchefleur's town? It may be noticed that in this scene the Welsh story-teller is not only more chaste, but shows much greater delicacy of feeling than the French poet. Peredur's conduct is that of a gentleman according to nineteenth century standards. Chrestien, however, is probably nearer the historical reality, and the conduct of his pair-- S'il l'a sor le covertoir mise * * * * Ensi giurent tote la nuit. is so singularly like that of a Welsh _bundling_ couple, that it seems admissible to refer the colouring given to this incident to Welsh sources. Another scene presenting marked similarities in the two works is that in which the hero is upbraided before the court by the loathly damsel. In the Mabinogi she enters riding upon a _yellow_ mule with _jagged thongs_: in Chrestien-- Sor une _fauve mule_ et tint En sa main destre une escorgie (5,991-2). "Blacker were her face and her two hands than the blackest iron covered with pitch." Ains ne véistes si noir fer Come ele ot les mains et le cor (5,998-99). "And she greeted Arthur and all his household except Peredur." Le roi et ses barons salue Tout ensamble comunalment Fors ke Perceval seulement (6,020-3). In the Mabinogi, Peredur is reproached for not having asked about the streaming spear; in Chrestien "la lance qui saine" is mentioned first although the Grail is added. Had Peredur asked the meaning and cause of the wonders, the "King would have been restored to health, and his dominions to peace." Li rices rois qui moult s'esmaie Fust or tos garis de sa plaie Et si tenist sa tière en pais (6,049-51). Whereas now "his knights will perish, and wives will be widowed, and maidens will be left portionless"-- Dames en perdront lor maris, Tières en seront essilies, Et pucièles desconsellies; Orfenes, veves en remanront Et maint chevalier en morront (6,056, etc.). In the "Stately Castle" where dwells the loathly damsel, are five hundred and sixty-six knights, and "the lady whom he loves best with each," in "Castle Orguellos" five hundred and seventy, and not one "qui n'ait s'amie avoeques lui." "And whoever would acquire fame in arms and encounters and conflicts, he will gain it there if he desire it." Que la ne faut nus ki i alle, Qui la ne truist joste u batalle; Qui viout faire chevalerie, Si là le quiert, n'i faura mie (6,075, etc.). "And whoso would reach the summit of fame and honour, I know where he may find it. There is a castle on a lofty mountain, and there is a maiden therein, and she is detained a prisoner there, and whoever shall set her free will attain the summit of the fame of the world." Mais ki vorroit le pris avoir De tout le mont, je quie savoir Le liu et la pièce de terre U on le porroit mius conquerre; * * * * A une damoisièle assise; Moult grant honor aroit conquise, Qui le siège en poroit oster Et la pucièle délivrer (6,080, etc.). In this last case certainly, in the other cases probably, a direct influence, to the extent at least of the passages quoted, must be admitted. But before concluding hastily that the Welsh story-teller is the copyist, some facts must be mentioned on the other side. Thus the incident of the blood drops in the snow, which Birch-Hirschfeld sets down as one of those taken over by the Mabinogi, with the remark that the Welsh story contains no trace of a passion as strong as Perceval's for Blanchefleur, has been dealt with by Professor H. Zimmer in his "Keltische Studien," vol. ii, pp. 200. He refers to the awakening of Deirdre's love to Noisi by similar means, as found in the Irish saga of the Sons of Usnech (oldest MS. authority, Book of Leinster, copied before 1164 from older MSS.) as evidence of the early importance of this _motif_ in Celtic tradition. The passage runs thus in English: "As her foster-father was busy in winter time skinning a calf out in the snow, she beheld a raven which drank up the blood in the snow; and she exclaimed, 'Such a man could I love, and him only, having the three colours, his hair like the raven, his cheeks like the blood, his body like the snow.'" Now the Mabinogi says, almost in the same words--the blackness of the raven and the whiteness of the snow, and the redness of the blood he compared to the hair and the skin and the two red spots upon the cheek of the lady that best he loved. In Chrestien there is no raven, and the whole stress is laid upon the _three_ drops of blood on the snow, which put the hero in mind of the red and white of his lady's face. As Zimmer justly points out, the version of the Mabinogi is decidedly the more primitive of the two; and that, moreover, as the incident does not figure at all in what Birch-Hirschfeld presumes to be Chrestien's source, the Didot-Perceval, the following development of this incident must, _ex hypothesi_, have taken place. In the Didot-Perceval the hero is once upon a time lost in thought. To explain this, Chrestien invents the incident of the three drops of blood in the snow; the Mabinogi, copying Chrestien, presents the incident in almost as primitive a form as the oldest known one! Here, then, the Mabinogi has preserved an older form than Chrestien, alleged to have been its source in all those parts common to both. Nor is it certain that the fact of Peredur's undergoing the sword-test in the Talisman Castle _does_ show, as Birch-Hirschfeld maintains, that the Welsh story-teller confused the two personages whom he took over from Chrestien, Gonemans and the Fisher King. The sword incident will be examined later on; suffice here to say that no explanation is given in the Conte du Graal of the broken weapon; whereas the Mabinogi does give a simple and natural one. But these two instances cannot weaken the force of the parallels adduced above. In determining, however, whether these may not be due to Chrestien's being the borrower, the differences between the two versions are of even more importance than the similarities. What are these? The French romances belonging to the Perceval type of the Grail quest give two versions of the search for the magic talismans, that of the Conte du Graal and that of the Didot-Perceval. The latter pre-supposes an early history which, as already shown, cannot be looked upon as the starting point of the legend without postulating such a development of the latter as is inadmissible on _a priori_ grounds, and as runs counter to many well-ascertained facts. The former is not consistent with itself, Manessier's finish contradicting Chrestien's opening on such an essential point as the cause of the maimed king's suffering. Still the following outline of a story, much overlaid by apparently disconnected adventures, may be gathered from it. A hero has to seek for magic talismans wherewith to heal an uncle wounded by his brother, and at the same time to avenge him on that brother. What, on the other hand, is the story as told in the Mabinogi? A hero is minded by talismans to avenge the death of a cousin (and the harming of an uncle); it is not stated that the talismans pass into his possession. It is difficult to admit that either of these forms can have served as direct model to the other. If the Mabinogi be a simple copy of the Conte du Graal, whence the altered significance of the talismans? whence also the machinery by means of which the hero is at last brought to his goal, and which is, briefly, as follows? The woe which has befallen Peredur's kindred is caused by supernatural beings, the sorceresses of Gloucester; his ultimate achievement of the task is brought about by his cousin, who, to urge him on, assumes the form (1) of the black and loathly damsel; (2) of the damsel of the chessboard, who incites him to the Ysbydinongyl adventure, reproves him for not slaying the black man at once, and then urges him into the stag hunt; (3) of the lady who carries off the hound and sends him to fight against the black man of the cromlech; "and the cousin it was who came in the hall with the bloody head in the salver and the lance dripping blood." The whole of the incidents connected with the Castle of the Chessboard, which appear at such length in both the Conte du Graal and the Didot-Perceval, but without being in any way connected with the main thread of the story, thus form in the Mabinogi an integral portion of that main thread. Would the authors of the Conte du Graal have neglected the straight-forward version of the Welsh tale had they known it, or could, on the other hand, the author of the Mabinogi have worked up the disconnected incidents of his alleged model into an organic whole? Neither hypothesis is likely. Moreover the Conte du Graal and the Didot-Perceval, if examined with care, show distinct traces of a machinery similar to that of the Welsh story. Thus in Chrestien, Perceval, on arriving at the Fisher King's, sees a squire bringing into the room a sword of such good steel that it might break in but one peril, and this the King's niece (_i.e._, Perceval's cousin) had sent her uncle to bestow it as he pleased; and the King gives it to the hero for-- ... biaus frère ceste espée Vous fu jugie et destineé (4,345-6). After Perceval's first adventure at the Grail Castle it is his "germaine cousine" (4,776) who assails him with her reproaches; she knows all about the sword (4,835-38) and tells him, how, if it be broken he may have it mended (4,847-59). So far Chrestien, who furthermore, be it noted, makes Blanchefleur Perceval's lady-love, likewise his cousin, she being niece to Gonemans (3,805-95). A cousin is thus beloved of him, a cousin procures for him the magic sword, a cousin, as in the Mabinogi, incites him to the fulfilment of the quest, and gives him advice which we cannot doubt would have been turned to account by Chrestien had he finished his poem. Turning now to Gautier, in whose section of the poem are to be found the various adventures growing out of the chessboard incident, this difference between the Mabinogi and himself may be noted. In the former, these adventures caused by Peredur's cousin serve apparently as tests of the hero's strength and courage. The loss of the chessboard is the starting-point of the task, and the cousin reappears as the black maiden. Nothing of the sort is found in Gautier. True, the damsel who reproaches Perceval is in so far supernatural, as she is a kind of water-nix, but it is love for her which induces the hero to perform the task; she it is, too, who lends him the dog, and she is not identified with the "pucelle de malaire" who carries it off (22,604, etc.). But later on Perceval meets a knight who tells him that a daughter of the Fisher King's (thus also a cousin of Perceval) had related to him how a knight had carried off a stag's head and hound to anger another good knight who had been at her father's court, and had not asked as he should concerning the Grail, for which reason she had taken his hound and had refused him help to follow the robber knight (23,163, etc.). This makes the "pucelle de malaire" to be Perceval's cousin, and she plays the same _rôle_ as in the Mabinogi. True, when later on (Incident 13) Perceval finds the damsel, nothing is said as to her being the Fisher King's daughter; on the contrary, as will be seen by the summary, a long story is told about the Knight of the Tomb, brother to her knight, Garalas, and how he lived ten years with a fay. She is here quite distinct from the lady of the chessboard to whom Perceval returns later. The version found in the Didot-Perceval agrees with the Mabinogi as against Gautier in so far that the hero is in love with the mistress of the castle, and not with the damsel who reproaches him for throwing away the chessmen. This reproaching damsel is not in any way identified with the lady who carries off the hound, who is described as "une vieille," and of whom it is afterwards told "elle estoit quand elle voloit une des plus belles damoiselles du monde. Et est cele meismes que mon frère (the brother of the Knight of the Tomb, who here, as in Gautier, is the lover of a fay) amena à la forest," _i.e._, she is the fay herself, sister to the lady of the Chessboard Castle, who hated her and wished to diminish her and her knight's pride (p. 469). Here, again, a connection can be pieced out between the various personages of the adventure; and it appears that the hero is driven to his fight against the Knight of the Tomb by a fair damsel transformed into a mysterious hag.[72] The Mabinogi thus gives one consistently worked-out conception--transformed hag = Peredur's cousin--which may be recovered partly from that one of the two discordant versions found in Gautier which makes the pucelle de malaire to be the Fisher King's daughter, hence Perceval's cousin, and connects the stag hunt with the Grail incident, partly from the Didot-Perceval, which tells how the same pucelle de malaire is but playing a part, being when she wills one of the fairest maids of the world. Now we have seen that the stag hunt is just one of those portions of the story in which are found the closest verbal similarities between Gautier de Doulens and the Didot-Perceval. It is, therefore, perplexing to find that there is not more likeness in the details of the incident. But the similarities pointed out concern chiefly the first part of the incident, and are less prominent in the latter part (the hero's encounter with the Knight of the Tomb). This, taken together with the difference in the details of the incident just pointed out, strengthens the opinion expressed above, that the Didot-Perceval and Gautier are not connected directly but through the medium of a common source, the influence of which can be seen distinctly in certain portions of either story, and that when this source fails they go widely asunder in their accounts. That such an hypothesis is not unreasonable is shown by the fact that Gautier has two contradictory forms of this very story, one of which, that which makes the hound-stealing damsel a daughter of the Fisher King, is on all fours with the Mabinogi, whilst the other is more akin to, though differing in important respects from, that of the Didot-Perceval. In this case, at least, Gautier must have had two sources, and if two why not more? It may be urged in explanation of the similarities between Gautier and the Mabinogi, that the author of the latter used Gautier in the same free way that he did Chrestien, but that getting tired towards the close of his work he abridged in a much more summary fashion than at first. If the comparison of the versions of the stag hunt found in either work be not sufficient to refute this theory, the following consideration may be advanced against it: if the Mabinogi derives entirely from the Conte du Graal, how can the different form given to the Grail episode be accounted for?--if it only knew Chrestien, where did it get the chessboard adventure from, and if it knew Gautier as well as Chrestien why did it not finish the Grail adventure upon the same lines as it began, _i.e._, partly in conformity with its alleged model? Is Manessier any nearer than Gautier to the Mabinogi in the later portion of the tale? The chief points of the story told by him may be recapitulated thus:--The Grail damsel is daughter of the Fisher King, the damsel of the salver, daughter of King Goon Desert, his brother (_i.e._, both are cousins to Perceval); Goon Desert, besieged by Espinogre, defeats him, but is treacherously slain by his nephew Partinal, the latter's sword breaking in the blow. Goon's body is brought to the Fisher King's castle, whither the broken sword is likewise brought by Goon's daughter to be kept until a knight should come, join together the pieces, and avenge Goon's death. In receiving the sword the Fisher King wounds himself through the thighs, and may not be healed until he be avenged on Partinal. Perceval asks how he may find the murderer, the blood vengeance (faide = O.H.G. Fehde) being on him. Perceval fights with Partinal, slays him, cuts off his head as token of his victory, returns to the Fisher King's castle, lighting upon it by chance, heals the Fisher King by the mere sight of the head, which is fixed on a pike on the highest battlements. At the death of his uncle Perceval succeeds him as King of the Grail Castle. Here, then, as in the Mabinogi, the story turns definitely upon a blood feud; the same act which brings about the death of one relative of the hero, also causes, indirectly, it is true, the laming of another, even as in the Mabinogi the same supernatural beings kill Peredur's cousin and lame his uncle; the cousin reappears again, bringing the magic sword by whose aid alone the hero can accomplish the vengeance, and uttering the prediction the fulfilment of which will point out the destined avenger. Finally, if the Mabinogi seems to lay special stress upon the head of the murdered man, Manessier lays special stress upon the head of the murderer. Now it is quite evident that the Mabinogi cannot have copied Manessier. It has been alleged that the Welsh story-teller, adapting Chrestien to the taste of his fellow countrymen, substituted a blood feud for the Grail Quest, but what reason would he have had for thus dealing with Manessier? He had simply to leave out the Christian legendary details, which in Manessier are, one can hardly say, adapted to the older form of the story, to find in that older form a clear and straightforward account with no admixture of mystical elements. It is impossible to explain the strong general similarity of outline with the equally marked divergences of detail (Sorceresses of Gloucester instead of Partinal, etc.,) except by saying that both, though going back to a common legendary source, are unconnected one with another. The facts thus dealt with may be recapitulated as follows:--There is marked similarity in general outline between the Mabinogi and the Conte du Graal in the adventures common to both; in that portion of the Conte du Graal due to Chrestien there occur, moreover, many and close verbal parallels, and the corresponding part of the Mabinogi is told at greater length than the remainder of the incidents common to both works. That which answers in the Mabinogi to the Grail Quest forms a clear and straightforward whole, the main features of which may be recovered from the Conte du Graal, but in varying proportions from the various sections of that work. Thus the indications of this Mabinogi talisman quest, the central intrigue, as it may be called, of the tale, are in Chrestien of the slightest nature, being confined to passing hints; in Gautier they are fuller and more precise, though pointing to a version of the central intrigue different, not only in details but in conception, from that of the Mabinogi; in Manessier alone is there agreement of conception, although the details still vary. Finally, those portions of the Mabinogi which are in closest verbal agreement with Chrestien contain statements which cannot easily be reconciled with this central intrigue. These facts seem to warrant some such deductions as these. Bearing in mind that the Mabinogi is an obvious piecing together of all sorts of incidents relating to its hero, the only connecting link being that of his personality, its author may be supposed, when compiling his work, to have stretched out his hand in all directions for material. Now a portion of the Peredur _sage_ consisted of adventures often found elsewhere in the folk-tale cycles of the Great Fool and the Avenging Kinsman--cycles which, in Celtic tradition, at least, cover almost the same ground as the one described by J. G. von Hahn under the title, "Die Arische Aussetzung und Rückkehr-Formel." In the original of the Mabinogi this portion probably comprised the childhood and forest up-bringing, the visit to Arthur with the accompanying incidents, the training by the uncle (who _may_ have been the Fisher King), the arrival at the (bespelled) castle, where the hero is to be minded of his task by the sight of certain talismans and of his cousin's head, the reproaches of the loathly damsel, her subsequent testing of the hero by the adventures of the chessboard, stag hunt, etc., the hero's final accomplishment of the task, vengeance on his kindred's enemies, and removal of the spells. There would seem to have been no such love story as that frequently found in stories of the Great Fool class, _e.g._, in the Irish one (_supra_, p. 134). This original was probably some steps removed from being a genuine popular version; the incidents were presented in a way at once over-concise and confused, and some which, as will be seen in the next chapter, the living folk-tale has preserved were left out or their significance was not recognized. What more natural than that the author of the Mabinogi in its present form, knowing Chrestien, should piece out his bare, bald narrative with shreds and patches from the Frenchman's poem? The moment Chrestien fails him, he falls back into the hurried concision of his original. His adaptation of Chrestien is done with singularly little skill, and at times he seems to have misunderstood his model. He confines his borrowing to matters of detail, not allowing, for instance, Chrestien's presentment of the Grail incident to supersede that of his Welsh original. In one point he may, following Chrestien, have made a vital change. It seems doubtful whether the Welsh source of the Mabinogi knew of a maimed king, an uncle to be healed through the hero's agency; the sole task may have been the avenging the cousin's death. True the "lame uncle" appears at the end, but this may be due to some sudden desire for consistency on the arranger's part. But whether or no he was found in the Welsh story preserved in the Mabinogi, he certainly played no such leading part as in the Conte du Graal. The two stories deal with the same cycle of adventures, but the object of the hero is not the same in both, and, consequently, the machinery employed is not quite the same. The present Mabinogi is an unskilful fusion of these two variations upon the one theme.[73] Light is also thrown by this investigation upon the question of Chrestien's relationship to his continuators. Birch-Hirschfeld's theory that the Didot-Perceval was the source of Chrestien and Gautier has already been set aside. Apart from the reasons already adduced, the fact that it does not explain from whence Manessier got his ending of the story would alone condemn it. It must now be evident that Chrestien and two of his continuators drew from one source, and this a poem of no great length probably, the main outlines of which were nearly the same as those of the Welsh proto-Mabinogi given above, with this difference, that the story turned upon the healing of the uncle and not the avenging the cousin's death. This poem, which seems also to have served, directly or indirectly, as one of the sources of the Didot-Perceval, had probably departed from popular lines in many respects, and _may_, though this would be an exceedingly difficult question to determine, have begun the incorporation of the Joseph of Arimathea legend with its consequent wresting to purposes of Christian symbolisms of the objects and incidents of the old folk-tale. Such an incorporation had almost certainly begun before Chrestien's time, and was continued by him. There can be little doubt that he dealt with his model in a free and daring spirit, altering and adding as seemed best to him. This alone explains how Manessier, slavishly following the common original, tells differently the cause of the lame king's wound. Gautier, who lacked Chrestien's creative power, though he often equals him in the grace and vivacity of his narrative, seems to have had no conception of a plan; the section of Conte du Graal which goes under his name is a mere disorderly heap of disconnected adventures brought together without care for consistency. But for this very reason he is of more value in restoring the original form of the story than Chrestien, who, striving after consistency, harmony, and artistic development of his tale, alters, adds to, or retrenches from the older version. Gautier had doubtless other sources besides the one made use of by Chrestien. This does not seem to be the case with Manessier, who, for this portion of the story, confined himself to Chrestien's original, without taking note of the differences in _motif_ introduced by his predecessor. What is foreign to it he drew from sources familiar to us, the Queste and Grand S. Graal, from which more than two-thirds of his section are derived. In working back to the earliest form of the Perceval-_sage_, Mabinogi and Conte du Graal are thus of equal value and mutually complementary. Both are second-hand sources, and their testimony is at times sadly corrupt, but it is from them chiefly that information must be sought as to the earlier stages of development of this legendary cycle. They do not by themselves give any satisfactory explanation of the more mysterious features of the full-blown legend, but they do present the facts in such a way as to put out of court the hypothesis of a solely Christian legendary origin. Before proceeding further it will be well to see if the English Sir Perceval has likewise claims to be considered one of the versions which yield trustworthy indications as to the older form of the story. This poem, described by Halliwell as simply an abridged English version of the Conte du Graal, has, as may be seen by reference to Ch. IV, been treated with more respect by other investigators, several of whom, struck by its archaic look, have pronounced it one of the earliest versions of the Perceval _sage_. It has quite lately been the object of elaborate study by Paul Steinbach in his dissertation: "Uber dem Einfluss des Crestien de Troies auf die altenglische literatur," Leipzig, 1885. The results of his researches may be stated somewhat as follows: the two works correspond incident for incident down to the death of the Red Knight, the chief differences being that Perceval is made a nephew of King Arthur, that the death of his father at the hands of the Red Knight is explained as an act of revenge on the part of the latter, that Arthur recognizes his nephew at once, and tells him concerning the Red Knight, and that the burning of the Red Knight, only hinted at in Chrestien's lines-- Ains auroie par carbonees. Trestout escarbellié le mort, etc. (2,328-9). is fully told in the English poem. After the Red Knight incident the parallelism is much less close. The English poem has incidents to itself: the slaying of the witch, the meeting with the uncle and nine cousins, the fight with the giant for the ring, the meeting with and restoring to health the mother. Of the remaining incidents, those connected with Lufamour are more or less parallel to what Chrestien relates of his hero's adventure with Blanchefleur, and that of the Black Knight, with that of the Orgellous de la Lande in Chrestien. Of the 2,288 verses of the English poem the greater part may be paralleled from Chrestien, thus:-- P. of G. Cr. 1-160 485-940 161-188 941-1,206 189-256 1,207-82 257-320 1,283-1,554 321-432 1,555-1,828 433-80 1,829-1,970 481-600 2,091-2,170 {2,055-90 601-56 {2,135-59 {2,171-2,225 657-740 2,268-2,312 741-820 2,313-2,398 1,061-1,108 4,000-4,060 1,109-1,124 5,511-553 1,381-1,540 5,600-5,891 953-1,012} 1,125-1,380} {2,900-3,960 1,541-1,760} {4,088-94 1,761-1,808 4,095-4,150 1,809-1,951 4,865-5,375 the incidents comprised v. 821-952 and 1,953-2,288, being the only one entirely unconnected with Chrestien. This general agreement between the two works shows the dependence of the one on the other. But while evidently dependent, the English poem, as is shown by the differences between it and its French original, belongs at once to a less and to a more highly developed stage of the Perceval _sage_. The differences are thus of two kinds, those testifying to the writer's adherence to older, probably Breton, popular traditions and those due to himself, and testifying to the skill with which he has worked up his materials and fitted portions of Chrestien's poem into an older framework. Of the first kind are: the statement that Perceval meets with three knights instead of five as in Chrestien, the English poem agreeing here with the Mabinogi; the mention of his riding on a _mare_ and of his being clad in goat-skins, the English poem again agreeing rather with the Mabinogi than with Chrestien, and showing likewise points of contact with the Breton ballads about Morvan lez Breiz, printed by Villemarqué in the Barzaz Breiz. The combat with the giant may likewise be paralleled from the Lez Breiz cycle in that hero's fight with the Moorish giant. These points would seem to indicate knowledge on the author's part of popular traditions concerning Perceval forming a small cycle, of which the departure from, and return to the mother were the opening and closing incidents respectively. This form of the story must have been widely spread and popular to induce the author to leave out as much as he has done of Chrestien's poem in order to bring it within the traditional framework. He accomplished his task with much skill, removing every trace of whatever did not bear directly upon the march of the story as he told it. In view of this skill differences which tend to make the story more consequent and logical may fairly be ascribed to him. Such are: the making Perceval a nephew of Arthur, the mention of a feud between the Red Knight and Perceval's father, the combat with the witch arising out of Perceval's wearing the Red Knight's armour, and the other adventures which follow eventually from the same cause, the feature that the ring taken by Perceval from the lady in the tent is a magic one, endowing its wearer with supernatural strength, the change made between this ring and his mother's which prepares the final recognition, etc. The original poem probably ended with the reunion of mother and son, the last verse, briefly mentioning the hero's death, being a later addition. To sum up, Sir Perceval may be looked upon as the work of a folk-singer who fitted into the old Breton framework a series of adventures taken partly from Chrestien, partly from the same Breton traditions which were Chrestien's main source, and with remarkable skill avoided all such incidents as would not have accorded with the limits he had imposed upon himself. Against this view of Steinbach's it might be urged that a writer as skilful as the author of Sir Perceval is assumed to be could easily have worked Chrestien's Grail episode into his traditional framework. A more plausible explanation, assuming the theory to be in the main correct, might be found in the great popularity in this country of the Galahad form of the Quest, and the consequent unwillingness on the author's part to bring in what may have seemed to him like a rival version. Steinbach has not noticed one curious bit of testimony to the poem's being an abridgment of an older work, more archaic in some respects than Chrestien. When the hero has slain the Red Knight he knows not how to rid him of his armour, but he bethinks him-- ... "My moder bad me Whenne my dart solde brokene be, Owte of the irene brenne the tree, Now es me fyre gnede" (749-52). Now the mother's counsel, given in verses xxv-vi are solely that he should be "of mesure," and be courteous to knights; nothing is said about burning the tree out of the iron, nor does any such counsel figure either in Chrestien or in the Mabinogi, which in this passage has copied, with misunderstandings, the French poet.[74] The use of Chrestien by the author of Sir Perceval seems, however, uncontestable; and, such being the case, Steinbach's views meet the difficulties of the case fairly well. It will be shown farther on, however, that several of the points in which the German critic detects a post-Chrestien development, are, on the contrary, remains of as old and popular a form of the story as we can work back to. Accepting, then, the hypothesis that Sir Perceval, like the Mabinogi, has been influenced by Chrestien, what is the apparent conclusion to be drawn from the fact that the former omits the Grail episode altogether, whilst the latter joins Chrestien's version to its own, presumably older one, so clumsily as to betray the join at once? May it not be urged that Chrestien's account is obviously at variance with the older story as he found it? may not the fact be accounted for by the introduction of a strange element into the thread of the romance? This element would, according to Birch-Hirschfeld, be the Christian holy-vessel legend, and it would thus appear that the Grail is really foreign to the Celtic tradition. Let me recapitulate briefly the reasons already urged against such a view. The early history of the Grail, that part in which the Christian element prevails, must certainly be regarded as later than the Quest, to which it could not have given rise without assuming such a development of the romance as is well nigh incredible--the Quest versions, moreover, all hang together in certain respects, and point unmistakably to Celtic traditions as their source. These traditions must then be examined further to see if they contain such traces of the mystic vessel as are wanting in the Mabinogi and the English poem, and as may have given rise to the episode as found in the French romances. As Perceval is the oldest hero of the Quest, and as the boyhood of Perceval, forming an integral part of all the oldest Quest versions presents the strongest analogies with the folk-tale of the Great Fool, it is this tale which must now be examined. CHAPTER VI. The Lay of the Great Fool--Summary of the Prose Opening--The Aryan Expulsion and Return Formula--Comparison with the Mabinogi, Sir Perceval, and the Conte du Graal--Originality of the Highland tale--Comparison with the Fionn legend--Summary of the Lay of the Great Fool--Comparison with the stag hunt incident in the Conte du Graal and the Mabinogi--The folk-tale of the twin brethren--The fight against the witch who brings the dead to life in Gerbert and the similar incident in the folk-tale of the Knight of the Red Shield--Comparison with the original form of the Mabinogi--Originality of Gerbert. One of the most popular of the poetic narratives in the old heroic quatrain measure still surviving in the Highlands is the "Lay of the Great Fool" (Laoidh an Amadain Mhoir), concerning which, according to Campbell, vol. iii., p. 150, the following saying is current:--"Each poem to the poem of the Red; each lay to the Lay of the Great Fool; each history to the history of Connal" (is to be referred as a standard). This Lay, as will be shown presently, offers some remarkable similarities with the central Grail episode of the quest romances, but before it is investigated a prose opening often found with it must be noticed. This prose opening may be summarised thus from Campbell, vol. iii., pp. 146, _et seq._ There were once two brothers, the one King over Erin, the other a mere knight. The latter had sons, the former none. Strife broke out between the two brothers, and the knight and his sons were slain. Word was sent to the wife, then pregnant, that if she bore a son it must be put to death. It was a lad she had, and she sent him into the wilderness in charge of a kitchen wench who had a love son. The two boys grew up together, the knight's son strong and wilful. One day they saw three deer coming towards them; the knight's son asked what creatures were these--creatures on which were meat and clothing 'twas answered--it were the better he would catch them, and he did so, and his foster-mother made him a dress of the deer's hide. Afterwards he slew his foster-brother for laughing at him, caught a wild horse, and came to his father's brother's palace. He had never been called other than "Great fool," and when asked his name by his cousin, playing shinty, answered, "Great Fool." His cousin mocked at him, and was forthwith slain. On going into the King's (his uncle's) presence, he answered in the same way. His uncle recognised him, and reproaching himself for his folly in not having slain the mother with the father, went with him, as did all the people. In my article on the Aryan Expulsion and Return Formula among the Celts ("Folk-Lore Record," vol. iv.), I have shown that this tale is widely distributed in the Celtic Heldensage as well as in the Celtic folk-tale. Before noticing the variants, a word of explanation may be necessary. The term, Arische Aussetzungs-und Rückkehr-Formel, was first employed by J. G. v. Hahn in his Sagwissenschaftliche Studien (Jena, 1876), to describe a tale which figured in the heroic literature of every Aryan race known to him. He examined fourteen stories, seven belonging to the Hellenic mythology, Perseus, Herakles, Oedipus, Amphion and Zethos, Pelias and Neleus, Leukastos and Parrhasius, Theseus; one to Roman mythic history, Romulus and Remus; two to the Teutonic Heldensage, Wittich-Siegfried, Wolfdietrich; two to Iranian mythic history, Cyrus, Key Chosrew; two to the Hindu mythology, Karna, Krishna. I was able to recover from Celtic literature eight well-defined variants, belonging to the Fenian and Ultonian cycles of Irish Heldensage (heroes, Fionn and Cu-Chulaind); to Irish mythic history, Labraidh Maen; to the folk-tale still living in the Highlands, Conall and the Great Fool; to the Kymric Heldensage, Peredur-Perceval, Arthur, and Taliesin. An examination of all these tales resulted in the establishing of the following standard formula, to the entirety of which it will of course be understood none of the tales answer:-- I. Hero born-- (_a_) Out of wedlock. (_b_) Posthumously. (_c_) Supernaturally. (_d_) One of twins. II. Mother, princess residing in her own country. III. Father-- (_a_) God } (_b_) Hero } from afar. IV. Tokens and warning of hero's future greatness. V. He is in consequence driven forth from home. VI. Is suckled by wild beasts. VII. Is brought up by a (childless couple), or shepherd, or widow. VIII. Is of passionate and violent disposition. IX. Seeks service in foreign lands. IXA. Attacks and slays monsters. IXB. Acquires supernatural knowledge through eating a fish, or other magic animal. X. Returns to his own country, retreats, and again returns. XI. Overcomes his enemies, frees his mother, seats himself on the throne. I must refer to my article for a full discussion of the various Celtic forms of this widely-spread tale, and for a tabular comparison with the remaining Indo-European forms analysed by J. G. von Hahn. Suffice to say here that the fullest Celtic presentment of the _motif_ is to be found in the Ossianic Heldensage, the expelled prince being no other than Fionn himself. The Celtic form most closely related to it is that of the Great Fool summarised above, the relationship of Peredur-Perceval with which is evident. In both, the father being slain, the mother withdraws or sends her son into the wilderness; in both he grows up strong, hardy, ignorant of the world. Almost the same instances of his surpassing strength and swiftness are given; in the Mabinogi by celerity and swiftness of foot he drives the goats and hinds into the goat-house; in the Highland folk-tale he catches the wild deer, and seeing a horse, and learning it is a beast upon which sport is done, stretches out after it, catches and mounts it; in Sir Perceval he sees-- ... A fulle faire stode Offe coltes and meres gude, Bot never one was tame (v. xxi.). and "smertly overrynnes" one.--The Great Fool then comes to his uncle, in whom he finds the man who has killed his father. Sir Perceval likewise comes to his uncle, and gets knowledge from him of his father's slayer; in Chrestien and the Mabinogi no relationship is stated to exist between Arthur and the hero. The manner of the coming deserves notice. In the Conte du Graal, entering the hall the hero salutes the King twice, receives no answer, and, turning round his horse in dudgeon, knocks off the King's cap. In the English poem-- At his first in comynge, His mere withowtenne faylynge, Kiste the forehevede of the Kynge, So nerehande he rade (v. xxxi.). He then demands knighthood or-- Bot (unless) the Kyng make me knyghte, I shall him here slaa (v. xxxiii.). In the Great Fool the horse incident is wanting, but the hero's address to his uncle is equally curt: "I am the great fool ... and if need were it is that I could make a fool of thee also." The incident then follows of the insult offered to Arthur by the Red Knight. Here, be it noted, the Mabinogi version is much the ruder of the three, "the knight dashed the liquor that was in the goblet upon her (Gwenhwyvar's) face, and upon her stomacher, and gave her a violent blow in the face, and said," &c.; in Chrestien the incident is not directly presented, but related at second-hand, and merely that the discourteous knight took away the goblet so suddenly that he spilt somewhat of its contents upon the queen, and that she was so filled with grief and anger that well nigh she had not escaped alive; in Sir Perceval the knight takes up the cup and carries it off. Now it is a _lieu commun_ of Celtic folk-tales that as a King is sitting at meat, an enemy comes in mounted, and offers him an insult, the avenging of which forms the staple of the tale. A good instance may be found in Campbell's lii., "The Knight of the Red Shield." As the King is with his people and his warriors and his nobles and his great gentles, one of them says, "who now in the four brown quarters of the Universe would have the heart to put an affront on the King?"--then comes the rider on a black filly, and, "before there was any more talk between them, he put over the fist and he struck the King between the mouth and the nose." It is noteworthy that this tale shows further likeness to the Mabinogi-Great Fool series, generally, in so far as it is the despised youngest who out of the three warriors that set off to avenge the insult succeeds, even as it is the despised Peredur who slays the Red Knight, and specially in what may be called the prophecy incident. With the exception of the opening incidents, this is the one by which the "formula" nature of the Perceval _sage_ is most clearly shown. In the Mabinogi it is placed immediately after the hero's first encounter with the sorceresses of Gloucester: "by destiny and foreknowledge knew I that I should suffer harm of thee," says the worsted witch. The Conte du Graal has only a trace of it in the Fisher King's words as he hands the magic sword to Perceval-- ... Biaus frère, ceste espée Vous fu jugie et destinée (4345-6), whilst in Sir Perceval a very archaic turn is given to the incident by Arthur's words concerning his unknown nephew-- The bokes say that he mone Venge his fader bane (v. xxxvi.). This comparison is instructive as showing how impossible it is that Chrestien's poem can be the only source of the Mabinogi and Sir Perceval. It cannot be maintained that the meagre hint of the French poet is the sole origin of the incident as found in the Welsh and English versions, whilst a glance at my tabulation of the various forms of the Aryan Expulsion and Return formula ("Folk-Lore Record," vol. iv.) shows that the foretelling of the hero's greatness is an important feature in eight of the Celtic and five of the non-Celtic versions, _i.e._, in more than one-third of all the stories built up on the lines of the formula. It is evident that here at least Mabinogi and Sir Perceval have preserved a trait almost effaced in the romance. In the above-mentioned Highland tale the incident is as follows: the hero finds "a treasure of a woman sitting on a hill, and a great youth with his head on her knee asleep"; he tries to wake the sleeper, even cuts off his finger, but in vain, until he learns how it was in the prophecies that none should rouse the sleeping youth save the Knight of the Red Shield, and he, coming to the island, should do it by striking a crag of stone upon his breast. This tale, as already remarked, shows affinity to the Perceval saga in two incidents, and is also, as I have pointed out ("Folk-Lore Record," vol. v., Mabinogion Studies), closely allied to a cycle of German hero and folk-tales, of which Siegfried is the hero. Now Siegfried is in German that which Fionn is in Celtic folk-lore, the hero whose story is modelled most closely upon the lines of the Expulsion and Return formula. We thus find not only, as might be expected, affinity between the German and Celtic hero-tales which embody the formula, but the derived or allied groups of folk-tales present likewise frequent and striking similarities.[75] Another Highland tale (Campbell, lviii., The Rider of Grianaig) furnishes a fresh example of this fact. Here, also, the deeds to be done of the hero were prophesied of him. But these deeds he would never accomplish, save he were incited thereto and aided therein by a raven, who in the end comes out as a be-spelled youth, and a steed, a maiden under spells, and the spells will not go off till her head be off. Even so Peredur is urged on and helped by the bewitched youth. In other respects, there is no likeness of plan and little of detail[76] to the Mabinogi, certainly no trace of direct influence of the Welsh story upon the Highland one. It may, however, be asserted that all of these tales are derived more or less directly from the French romance. This has been confidently stated of the Breton ballad cycle of Morvan le Breiz (Barzaz Breiz) and of the Breton Märchen, Peronik l'idiot (Souvestre, Foyer Breton), and I have preferred making no use of either. In the matter of the Scotch and Irish tales a stand must be made. The romance, it is said, may have filtered down into the Celtic population, through the medium of adaptations such as the Mabinogi or Sir Perceval. Granted, for argument sake, that these two works are mere adaptations, it must yet follow that the stories derived from them will be more or less on the same lines as themselves. Is this so? Can it be reasonably argued that the folk-tale of the Great Fool is a weakened copy of certain features of the Mabinogi, which itself is a weakened copy of certain features of the French poem? Is it not the fact that the folk-tale omits much that is in the Mabinogi, and on the other hand preserves details which are wanting not alone in the Welsh tale but in Chrestien. If other proof of the independent nature of these tales were needed it would be supplied by the close similarity existing between the Great Fool opening and the Fionn legend. This is extant in several forms, one of which, still told in the Highlands (Campbell's lxxxii.), tells how Cumhall's son is reared in the wilderness, how he drowns the youth of a neighbouring hamlet, how he slays his father's slayer, and wins the magic trout the taste of which gives knowledge of past and to come, how he gets back his father's sword and regains his father's lands, all as had been prophesied of him. Another descendant of the French romance it will be said. But a very similar tale is found in a fifteenth century Irish MS. (The Boyish Exploits of Finn Mac Cumhall, translated by Dr. J. O'Donovan in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society, vol. iv.); Cumhall, slain by Goll, leaves his wife big with a son, who when born is reared by two druidesses. He grows up fierce and stalwart, overcomes all his age-mates, overtakes wild deer he running, slays a boar, and catches the magic salmon of knowledge. An eighteenth century version given by Kennedy ("Legendary Fictions," p. 216) makes Cumhall offer violence to Muirrean, daughter of the druid Tadg, and his death to be chiefly due to the magic arts of the incensed father. It will hardly be contended that these stories owe their origin to adaptations of Chrestien's poem. But in any case no such contention could apply to the oldest presentment of Fionn as a formula hero, that found in the great Irish vellum, the Leabhar na h'Uidhre, written down from older materials at the beginning of the twelfth century. The tract entitled "The cause of the battle of Cnucha" has been translated by Mr. Henessey ("Revue Celtique," vol. ii., pp. 86, _et seq._). In it we find Cumhall and Tadhg, the violence done to the latter's daughter, the consequent defeat and death of Cumhall, the lonely rearing of Fionn by his mother, and the youth's avenging of his father. I must refer to my paper in the "Folk-Lore Record" for a detailed argument in favour of the L.n.H. account being an euhemerised version of the popular tradition, represented by the Boyish Exploits, and for a comparison of the Fionn _sage_ as a whole with the Greek, Iranian, Latin, and Germanic hero tales, which like it are modelled upon the lines of the Expulsion and Return formula. I have said enough, I trust, to show that the Fionn _sage_ is a variant (a far richer one) of the theme treated in the boyhood of Perceval, but that it, and _a fortiori_ the allied folk-tales are quite independent of the French poem. It then follows that this portion of Chrestien's poem must itself be looked upon as one of many treatments of a theme even more popular among the Celts than among any other Aryan race, and that its ultimate source is a Breton or Welsh folk-tale. The genuine and independent nature of the Great Fool prose opening being thus established, it is in the highest degree suggestive to find in the accompanying Lay points of contact with the Grail Legend as given in Chrestien. Three versions of this Lay have been printed in English, that edited by Mr. John O'Daly (Transactions of the Ossianic Society, vol. vi., pp. 161, _et seq._); Mr. Campbell's (West Highland Tales, vol. iii. pp. 154, _et seq._) and Mr. Kennedy's prose version (Bardic Stories of Ireland, pp. 151, _et seq._). O'Daly's, as the most complete and coherent, forms the staple of the following summary, passages found in it alone being italicised.[77] _Summary of the Lay of the Great Fool._--(1) There was a great fool who subdued the world by strength of body; (2) _He comes to the King of Lochlin to win a fair woman, learns she is guarded by seven score heroes, overthrows them, and carries her off_; (C. and K. plunging at once _in medias res_, introduce the Great Fool and his lady love out walking); (3) The two enter a valley, are meet by a "Gruagach" (champion, sorcerer), in his hand a goblet with drink; (4) The Great Fool thirsts, and though warned by his lady love drinks deep of the proffered cup; the "Gruagach" departs and the Great Fool finds himself minus his two legs; (5) The two go onward, and ("swifter was he at his two knees than six at their swiftness of foot;" C.) A deer nears them followed by a white hound, the Great Fool slays the deer and seizes the hound; (6) whose owner coming up claims but finally yields it, and offers the Great Fool food and drink during life; (7) The three fare together (the glen they had passed through had ever been full of glamour) till they come to a fair city filled with the glitter of gold, dwelt in solely by the owner of the white hound and his wife, "whiter than very snow her form, gentle her eye, and her teeth like a flower"; (8) She asks concerning her husband's guests, and, learning the Great Fool's prowess, marvels he should have let himself be deprived of his legs; (9) The host departs, leaving his house, wife, and store of gold in the Great Fool's keeping, he is to let no man in, no one out should any come in, nor is he to sleep; (10) Spite his lady love's urgings the Great Fool yields to slumber, when in comes a young champion and snatches a kiss from the host's wife, ("She was not ill pleased that he came," C.); (11) The Great Fool's love awakening him reproaches him for having slept--he arises to guard the door, in vain does the intruder offer gold, three cauldrons full and seven hundred townlands, he shall not get out; (12) _At the instigation of the host's wife_ the intruder restores the Great Fool's legs, but not then even will the hero let him go--pay for the kiss he must when the host returns; threats to deprive him of his legs are in vain, as are likewise the entreaties of the host's wife (All this is developed with great prolixity in O'Daly, but there is nothing substantial added to the account in C.); (13) Finally the intruder discloses that he himself is the host, and he was the Gruagach, whose magic cup deprived the Great Fool of his legs, and he is, "_his own gentle brother long in search of him, now that he has found him he is released from sorcery_." The two kiss (C. and K. end here). (14) The two brothers fare forth, encounter a giant with an eye larger than a moon and an iron club, wherewith he hits the Great Fool a crack that brings him to his knees, but the latter arising closes with the giant, kills him and takes his club, the two then attack four other giants, three of whom the Great Fool slays with his club, and the fourth yields to him. The brothers take possession of the giant's castle and all its wealth. There are obvious similarities between the Lay and the story found in the Mabinogi and the Conte du Graal. A stag hunt is prominent in both, and whilst engaged in it the hero falls under "illusion," in both too the incident of the seizure of the hound appears, though in a different connection. Finally in the Lay, as in the Mabinogi, the mover in the enchantment is a kinsman whose own release from spells depends upon the hero's coming successfully out of the trials to which he exposes him. But while the general idea is the same, the way in which it is worked out is so different that it is impossible to conceive of the one story having been borrowed from the other. What can safely be claimed is that the Great Fool, counterpart of Peredur-Perceval in the adventures of his youth and up-bringing, is also, to a certain extent, his counterpart in the most prominent of his later adventures, that of the stag hunt. It is thus fairly certain that all this part of the Conte du Graal is, like the _Enfances_, a working up of Celtic folk-tales. The giant fight which concludes the Lay may be compared with that in Sir Perceval and in Morvan le Breiz, and such a comparison makes it extremely likely that the incident thus preserved by independent and widely differing offshoots from the same folk-tale stem, belongs to the oldest form of the story. The analogies of the Lay with the Perceval _sage_ are not yet exhausted. In virtue of the relationship between the two chief characters, the Lay belongs to the "twin-brother cycle." This group of folk-tales, some account of which is given below,[78] is closely related on the one hand to the "dragon slayer" group of _märchen_, on the other hand to the Expulsion and Return formula tales. In many versions of the latter (the most famous being that of Romulus and Remus) the hero is one of twins, and, after sharing for a while with his brother, strife breaks out between them. In the folk-tale this strife leads to final reconciliation, or is indeed a means of unravelling the plot. In the hero-tale on the other hand the strife mostly ends with the death or defeat of the one brother. It would seem that when the folk-tale got associated with a definite hero (generally the founder and patron of a race) and became in brief a hero-tale, the necessity of exalting the race hero brought about a modification of the plot. If this is so the folk-tale group of the "two brothers" must be looked upon as older than the corresponding portion of the Expulsion and Return hero-tales, and not as a mere weakened echo of the latter. To return to the twin-brother features. The Peredur-Perceval _sage_ has a twin-sister, and is parallel herein to the Fionn _sage_ in one of its forms ("How the Een was set up"), though curiously enough not to the Great Fool folk-tale (otherwise so similar to "How the Een was set up"), which, as in the Lay, has a brother. But beyond this formal recognition of the incident in the Perceval _sage_, I am inclined to look upon the Perceval-Gawain dualism as another form of it. This dualism has been somewhat obscured by the literary form in which the _sage_ has been preserved and the tendency to exalt and idealise _one_ hero. In the present case this tendency has not developed so far as to seriously diminish the importance of Gawain; _his_ adventures are, however, left in a much more primitive and _märchenhaft_ shape, and hence, as will be shown later on, are extremely valuable in any attempt to reach the early form of the story.[79] If Simrock's words quoted on the title page were indeed conclusive--"If that race among whom the 'Great Fool' folk-tale was found independent of the Grail story had the best claim to be regarded as having wrought into one these two elements"--then my task might be considered at an end. I have shown that this race was that of the Celtic dwellers in these islands, among whom this tale is found not only in a fuller and more significant form than elsewhere, but in a form that connects it with the French Grail romance. But the conclusion that the Conte du Graal is in the main a working up of Celtic popular traditions, which had clustered round a hero, whose fortunes bore, in part, a striking resemblance to those of Fionn, the typical representative of the Expulsion and Return formula cycle among the Celts, though hardly to be gainsaid, does not seem to help much towards settling the question of the origin of the Grail itself. The story would appear to be Celtic except just the central incident upon which the whole turns. For the English Sir Perceval, which undoubtedly follows older models, breathes no word of search for any magic talisman, let alone the Grail, whilst the Mabinogi, which is also older in parts than the Conte du Graal, gives a different turn to and assigns a different _motif_ for the hero's conduct. The avenging of a kinsman's harm upon certain supernatural beings, and the consequent release from enchantment of another kinsman, supply the elements of a clear and consistent action to which parallels may easily be adduced from folk-tales, but one quite distinct from the release of a kinsman through the medium of certain talismans and certain magic formulæ. Numerous as have been the points of contact hitherto established between Celtic folk belief and the French romance, the parallel would seem to break down at its most essential point, and the contention that the Grail is a foreign element in the Celtic legend would still seem to be justified. Before, however, this can be asserted, what I have called the central episode of the romance requires more searching and detailed examination than it has had, and some accessory features, which, on the hypothesis of the Christian legendary origin of the Grail, remain impenetrable puzzles must be commented upon. And another instructive point of contact between romance and folk-tale must be previously noticed, connected as it is with stories already dealt with in this chapter. In the latest portion of the Conte du Graal, the interpolation of Gerbert, the following incident occurs:--The hero meets four knights carrying their wounded father, who turns out to be Gonemans, the same who armed him knight. He vows vengeance upon Gonemans' enemies, but his efforts are at first of no avail. As fast as in the daytime he slays them, at night they are brought back to life by "Une vieille" who is thus described:-- La poitrine ot agüe et sèche; Ele arsist ausi come une esche Si on boutast en li le fu.[80] * * * * La bouche avoit grant à merveilles Et fendue dusqu'as oreilles, Qu'ele avoit longues et tendans; Lons et lez et gausnes les dans Avoit. (Potvin vi., 183, 184.) She carries with her II. barisiax d'ivoire gent; containing a "poison," the same whereof Christ made use in the Sepulchre, and which serves here to bring the dead back to life and to rejoin heads cut off from bodies. She goes to work thus:-- A la teste maintenant prise, Si l'a desor le bu assise; then taking the balm Puis en froie celui la bouche À cui la teste avoit rajointe; Sor celui n'ot vaine ne jointe Qui lues ne fust de vie plaine. Perceval stops her when she has brought back three of her men to life; she recognises in him her conqueror: Bien vous connois et bien savoie Que de nului garde n'avoie Fors que de vous; car, par mon chief Nus n'en péust venir à chief Se vous non ... So long as she lives, Perceval shall be powerless to achieve his Quest. She wars against Gonemant by order of the King of the Waste City, who ever strives against all who uphold the Christian faith, and whose chief aim it is to hinder Perceval from attaining knowledge of the Grail. Perceval gets possession of somewhat of the wonder-working balm, brings to life the most valiant of his adversaries, slays him afresh after a hard struggle, in which he himself is wounded, heals his own hurt, and likewise Gonemant's, with the balsam. Compare now Campbell's above-cited tale, the Knight of the Red Shield. The hero, left alone upon the island by his two treacherous companions, sees coming towards him "three youths, heavily, wearily, tired." They are his foster-brothers, and from the end of a day and a year they hold battle against the Son of Darkness, Son of Dimness, and a hundred of his people, and every one they kill to-day will be alive to-morrow, and spells are upon them they may not leave this (island) for ever until they kill them. The hero starts out on the morrow alone against these enemies, and he did not leave a head on a trunk of theirs, and he overcame the Son of Darkness himself. But he is so spoilt and torn he cannot leave the battle-field, and he lays himself down amongst the dead the length of the day. "There was a great strand under him below; and what should he hear but the sea coming as a blazing brand of fire, as a destroying serpent, as a bellowing bull; he looked from him, and what saw he coming on the shore of the strand, but a great toothy carlin ... there was the tooth that was longer than a staff in her fist, and the one that was shorter than a stocking wire in her lap." She puts her finger in the mouth of the dead, and brings them alive. She does this to the hero, and he bites off the finger at the joint, and then slays her. She is the mother of the Son of Darkness, and she has a vessel of balsam wherewith the hero's foster-brothers anoint and make him whole, and her death frees them from her spells for ever.[81] This "toothy carlin" is a favourite figure in Celtic tradition. She re-appears in the ballad of the Muilearteach (probably Muir Iarteach, _i.e._, Western Sea), Campbell, iii., pp. 122, _et seq._, and is there described as "the bald russet one," "her face blue black, of the lustre of coal, her bone tufted tooth like rusted bone, one deep pool-like eye in her head, gnarled brushwood on her head like the clawed-up wood of the aspen root." In another version of the ballad, printed in the Scottish Celtic Review, No. 2, pp. 115, _et seq._, the monster is "bald red, white maned, her face dark grey, of the hue of coal, the teeth of her jaw slanting red, one flabby eye in her head, her head bristled dark and grey, like scrubwood before hoar."[82] The editor of this version, the Rev. J. G. Campbell, interprets the ballad, and correctly, no doubt, "as an inroad of the Personified Sea." There is no connection, save in the personage of the "toothy carlin," between the ballad and the folk-tale.[83] It is impossible, I think, to compare Gerbert's description of the witch with that of the Highland "Carlin" without coming to the conclusion that the French poet drew from traditional, popular Celtic sources. The wild fantasy of the whole is foreign in the extreme to the French temperament, and is essentially Celtic in tone. But the incident, as well as one particular feature of it, admits of comparison: the three foster-brothers of the Highland tale correspond to the four sons of Gonemant, who be it recollected, represents in the Conte du Graal, Peredur-Perceval's uncle in the Mabinogi; in both, the hero goes forth alone to do battle with the mysterious enemy; the Son of Darkness answers to the King of the Waste City; the dead men are brought back to life in the same way; the release of the kinsman, from spells, or from danger of death, follows upon the witch's discomfiture. And yet greater value attaches to the incident as connected with the Mabinogi form of the story; in Gerbert, as in the Mabinogi, the hero's uncle is sick to death, his chief enemy is a monstrous witch (or witches), who foreknows that she must succumb at the hero's hands.[84] Something has obviously dropped out from the Mabinogi. May it not be those very magic talismans, the winning of which is the chief element of the French romances, and may not one of the talismans have been the vessel of life-restoring balsam which figures in Gerbert and the Highland tales?[85] The study of subsidiary versions and incidents may thus throw upon the connection of the Grail with the Perceval romance a light which the main Celtic forms of the latter have not hitherto yielded. The Thornton MS. Sir Perceval differs in this incident from both Manessier and Gerbert. As in Gerbert and the Highland Tale the hero meets his uncle and cousins; there is the same fight with the mother of the enemy of his kin, the hideous carlin, but it precedes, as does also the slaying of that enemy, the meeting of uncle and nephews. There is thus no room for the healing _motif_ for which the unconscious avenging of the father's death is substituted. These differences bear witness both to the popular and shifting nature of the traditions upon which the romances are based, and to the fact that the avenging of a blood feud was the leading incident of its earliest form. CHAPTER VII. The various forms of the visit to the Grail Castle in the romances--Conte du Graal: Chrestien; Gautier-Manessier; Gautier-Gerbert--Didot-Perceval--Mabinogi--Conte du Graal: Gawain's visit to the Grail Castle--Heinrich von dem Türlin--Conte du Graal: Perceval's visit to the Castle of Maidens--Inconsistency of these varying accounts; their testimony to stories of different nature and origin being embodied in the romances--Two main types: feud quest and unspelling quest--Reasons for the confusion of the two types--Evidence of the confusion in older Celtic literature--The Grail in Celtic literature: the gear of the Tuatha de Danann; the cauldron in the Ultonian cycle; the Mabinogi of Branwen; vessel of balsam and glaive of light in the contemporary folk-tale--The sword in Celtic literature: Tethra; Fionn; Manus--Parallels to the Bespelled Castle; the Brug of Oengus, the Brug of Lug, the Brug of Manannan Mac Lir, Bran's visit to the Island of Women, Cormac Mac Art, and the Fairy Branch; Diarmaid and the Daughter of King Under the Waves--Unspelling stories: The Three Soldiers; the waiting of Arthur; Arthur in Etna; the Kyffhäuser Legend, objections to Martin's views concerning it--Gawain's visit to the Magic Castle and Celtic parallels; The Son of Bad Counsel; Fionn in Giant Land; Fionn in the House of Cuana; Fionn and the Yellow Face--The Vanishing of the Bespelled Castle--Comparison with the Sleeping Beauty cycle--The "Haunted Castle" form and its influence on Heinrich's version--The Loathly Grail Messenger. The analysis of the various versions has shown that the Conte du Graal is the oldest portion of the vast body of French romance which deals with the Grail, and that it presents the earliest form of the story. The examination of the theories put forward to explain the genesis and growth of the legend has shown how untenable is that hypothesis which makes the Christian legend the starting point of the cycle. The comparison of the Conte du Graal with Celtic legends and folk-tales has shown that the former is in the main a North French retelling of tales current then, as now, among the Celtic peoples of Britain, and probably of Brittany. One thing alone remains unexplained, the mysterious Grail itself. Nor has any light been thrown from Celtic sources upon the incident of the hero's visit to the Castle of Talismans, his silence, and the ensuing misfortune which overtakes him. Where this incident does appear in a Celtic version, the Mabinogi, it is not brought in connection with the Grail, and it bears obvious traces of interpolation. The utmost we have been able to do is to reconstruct from scattered indications in different Celtic tales a sequence of incidents similar to that of the French romance. Let us, then, return to what may be called the central incident of the Grail legend in its older and purer form. And let us recall the fact that the hypothesis which finds a Christian origin for the whole legend has no explanation to offer of this incident. Birch-Hirschfeld can merely suggest that Perceval's question upon which all hinges is "eine harmlose Erfindung Borron's," a meaningless invention of Borron's. It is, indeed, his failure to account for such an essential element of the story that forms one of the strongest arguments against his hypothesis. In the first place it must be noticed that the incident of a hero's visit to a magic castle, of his omission whilst there to do certain things, and of the loss or suffering thereby caused, occurs not once, but many times; not in one, but in many forms in the vast body of Grail romance, as is seen by the following list, which likewise comprises all the occasions on which one or other of the questers has come near to or succeeded in seeing the Grail:-- (1) CHRESTIEN: (Inc. 7). Perceval's first visit to the Grail Castle. Question omitted. (2) GAUTIER: (Inc. 22). Perceval's second visit to the Grail Castle. Question put-- _Incident breaks off in middle, and is continued in one version by_:-- (2A) MANESSIER, who sends off the hero on a fresh quest, which is finished in (3) MANESSIER: (Inc. 21). Perceval's third visit to Grail Castle. The question is not mentioned. Hero's final success. _In another version by_:-- (4) GERBERT: (Inc. 1-3). Perceval is sent forth anew upon Quest. He has half put the question and been partially successful. (5) GERBERT: (Inc. 21). Perceval's third visit to Grail Castle. Question not mentioned. Hero's success. _Besides these forms of the episode in the Conte du Graal of which Perceval is the hero, we have_:-- (6) GAUTIER: (Inc. 3). Gauvain's first visit according to one, second visit according to another version. Question half put, partial success. _And finally a somewhat similar incident of which Perceval is the hero in_:-- (7) GAUTIER: (Inc. 12). Visit to the Castle of Maidens. Untimely sleep of hero. So far the Conte du Graal. Of the versions closely connected with it we have: (8 & 9) WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH: Two visits of Perceval to Grail Castle. Question omitted at first, put in second, and crowned with success. (10 & 11) MABINOGI OF PEREDUR: (Inc. 6-25). Two visits of hero to Grail Castle. Question omitted at first. Second visit successful. No mention of question. (12 & 13) DIDOT-PERCEVAL: (Inc. 11-16). Two visits of Perceval to Grail Castle. Question omitted at first, put at second, and crowned with success. In a German romance, which presents many analogies with that portion of the Conte du Graal which goes under Gautier's name: (14) HEINRICH VON DEM TÜRLIN: Gawain's first visit to Grail Castle. Question put. Success. Allusion to previous unsuccessful visit of Perceval. Finally in the QUESTE versions we have four variants of the incident-- (15) QUESTE: (Inc. 12). Lancelot at the cross-road, omission to ask concerning the Grail. (15) QUESTE: (Inc. 15). Perceval heals Mordrains. " (Inc. 43). Lancelot comes to Grail Castle. Partial fulfilment of his Quest. " (Inc. 48). The three questers come to the Grail Castle. On looking at the list we notice that the Conte du Graal knows of three visits on the part of the principal hero to the Castle of Talismans: 1, 2, 3, or 1, 2-4, 5, and of one visit (or two) of the secondary hero; whilst Wolfram, the Mabinogi, and the Didot-Perceval know of two only. Heinrich von dem Türlin gives only one visit to _his_ chief hero, though he mentions a former one by the secondary hero. In Wolfram, and the Didot-Perceval, the incident may be compared in the Conte du Graal with 1 and 2; in the Mabinogi with 1 and 5; in Heinrich with 6. The Queste forms of the incident are obviously dependent upon those of the Conte du Graal, although they have been strongly modified. As for 7, it would seem to be a form of the incident which has been entirely unaffected by the Christian symbolism which has influenced all the others. It will be advisable to recapitulate the leading features of the incident as found in the different versions. Where the summaries in Chapter II afford detailed information about it, the recapitulation will be brief, but it will be necessary to give at least one version at much greater length than heretofore. In the Conte du Graal (1) the hero finds a King fishing, who directs him to his castle. Just as he deems the fisher has deceived him the castle bursts upon his sight. He enters, is led into a square room wherein is a bed sitting on which is an old man wrapped in sables; before him is a great fire of dry wood; 400 men might sit in the hall. The King rises to greet him; as they sit, a squire enters with a sword which had but two fellows, sent by the King's niece for the hero to whom it was destined. The hall is light as it may be. A squire enters holding a lance by the middle; all can behold the drop of blood which flows from the point upon the holder's hand. There follow him two squires with candlesticks, each with ten candles, in either hand; a damsel holding a Grail, which gives out a light as greater than that of the candles as the sun outshines the stars; and another damsel with a plate of fine gold. The procession passes from one into the other room. The hero refrains from asking who is served by the Grail. After playing at chess with the King they dine, and again the Grail passes, uncovered, at each dish. The hero would fain ask what was done with it, and is about to do so, but puts off the question. On the morrow he sees no one in the castle, the doors of the rooms he had been in the eve before are shut, no one answers; and, mounting his horse, which he finds ready saddled, he sets forth over the drawbridge, which closes of itself behind him, without learning why lance bleeds or whither the Grail is borne. (2) At the second visit the hero comes into a magnificent room, ornamented with fine gold and stars of silver, wherein on a vermeil couch the rich King is sitting. The hero is fain forthwith to ask about Grail and bleeding lance, but must sit him down by the rich King and tell of his adventures, about the chapel in which lay the dead Knight, and the black hand, the child in the tree and the tree full of candles. The King makes him eat before answering his questions. Whilst at meat a damsel, fairer than flowers in April, enters with the Holy Grail, another with the lance, a squire with the broken sword. The hero asks about these talismans. But first the King answers the questions about the earlier wonders; the talismans he will tell of after meat. The hero insists to know about the sword. The King bids him put it together--can he do so he will learn about the Knight in the Chapel, and after that about the talismans. Save for one flaw the hero succeeds, whereupon the King says he knows no one in the world better than he, embraces him, and yields him up all in his house. The squire who brought the sword returns, wraps it in a cendal, and carries it off. 2A. The King bids the hero eat. 4. The hero would hold it sin if Lance and Grail, and a fair silver he did not ask concerning the dish pass before them, the latter Grail. The King first submits him held by a damsel. The hero sighs to the sword test.[86] The and begs to learn about these existence of the flaw is three. He is told about lance, apparently held to constitute Grail, Grail-bearing damsel, failure, due to the hero's sin in dish-bearing damsel, and in quitting his mother so abruptly. answer to further questions, In the night the hero has a learns the history of the broken vision, which warns him to hasten sword, and of the chapel haunted to his sister's aid. On the morrow by the black hand. After sleeping the Grail Castle has vanished. in a splendid bed[87] he sets Mounting his horse, which stands forth on the morrow on the sword ready saddled, he rides forth. quest (the slaying of Partinal). After a vain essay to gain entrance to a magnificent castle, 3. Having accomplished which, and in which he breaks his sword, and lighted chancewise upon the Grail thereby loads upon himself seven Castle, the King, apprised by a further years of adventure, but squire and forthwith healed, meets learns how the sword may be made the hero who shows him head and whole again, he finds the land shield. At table lance and Grail which the day before was waste pass, borne by two maidens; fertile and peopled. The peasants delectable meats fill the dishes-- hail him: the townsmen come forth all are filled and satisfied who in his honour--for through him the behold the Holy Grail and the lance folk have won back lands and that bleeds. Thereafter enters a riches. A damsel tells him how: at squire holding a silver dish the Court of the Fisher King he covered with red samite; the had asked about the Grail. At her talismans pass thrice; the King castle he has his sword mended. thanks the hero for having slain (Later the hero learns that his his enemy and thereby rid him of failure to win the Grail comes great torment. Asks his name, from his not having wedded his learns that he is his nephew, and lady-love). offers him his kingdom. 5. Hero is directed by a cross to the Court of the Fisher King. The latter makes him sit by his side and tell his adventures, when he would fain learn about the Grail. The same procession then passes as in (2), save that sword instead of being broken is simply described as not resoldered. The hero says he has been twice before with the King, and reproaches him for not having answered his questions, although he had resoldered the sword to the King's great joy. The King then bids him shake the sword, which he does, and the flaw disappears. The King is overjoyed, and the hero is now worthy of knowing everything.[88] In comparing with these versions of the incident that found in the Didot-Perceval, we find that the hero at his first visit is welcomed by the squires of the castle, clad in a scarlet cloak, and placed upon a rich bed, whilst four sergeants apprise Brons of his arrival, and the latter is carried into the hall where sits the hero, who rises to greet him. Brons questions him before they sit down to meat. The mystic procession is formed by squire with lance bleeding, damsel with silver dish, squire with the vessel holding our Lord's blood. On the morrow the hero sees no one, and finds all the doors open. At his second visit there is no mention of difficulty in finding the castle. This time the King rises to greet him; they talk of many things and then sit down to meat. Grail and worthy relics pass, and the hero asks who is served by the vessel which the squire holds in his hands. Straightway the King is healed and changed; overjoyed he first asks the hero who he is, and, on learning it, tells him concerning lance and Grail, and afterwards, at the bidding of a heavenly voice, the secret words which Joseph taught him, Brons. In the Mabinogi the castle lies on the other side of a meadow. At his first visit the hero finds the gates open, and in the hall a hoary-headed man sits, around whom are pages who rise to receive the hero. Host and guest discourse and eat, seated beside one another. The sword trial follows, and the hero is declared to have arrived at two-thirds of his strength. The two youths with the dripping spear enter, amid the lamentation of the company, are followed by the two maidens with the salver wherein is a man's head, and the outcry redoubles. On the morrow the hero rides forth unmolested. At the second visit the castle is described as being in a valley through which runs a river. The grey-headed man found sitting in the hall with Gwalchmai is described as lame. So far we have recapitulated the leading features of Perceval's dealings at the Talismans Castle in the Conte du Graal and in the most closely allied versions. But Perceval, the chief hero, has, as we have already seen, an under-study in Gauvain. And the Gauvain form of the incident deserves as close examination as the Perceval form. (6) Gauvain has met a knight, stranger to him, with whom he travels to Caerleon. Whilst in his company the stranger is slain by a dart cast by whom no one knows. Before dying he bids Gauvain take his arms and his horse; he knows not why he has been slain, he never harmed anyone. Gauvain suspects and accuses Kex, upon whom he vows to prove the murder, and sets forth to learn the unknown's name. After affronting the adventure of the black hand[89] in the chapel and long wanderings, he finds himself one evening at the opening of a dark, tree-covered road at whose further end he spies a light. Tired and fasting he lets his horse go at its will, and is led to a castle where he is received with great honour as though he were expected. But when he has changed his dress the castle folk see it is not he whom they thought. In the hall is a bier whereupon lie cross and sword and a dead knight. Canons and priests raise a great lamentation over the body. A crowned knight enters and bids Gauvain sit by his side. Then the Grail goes through the room, serving out meats in plenty, and acting the part of a steward, whereat Gauvain is astounded. He next sees a lance which drips blood into a silver cup. From out the same room whence come the talismans, the King issues, a sword in his hand, the sword of the dead knight, over whom he laments--on his account the land languishes. He bids Gauvain essay to make the sword whole, but Gauvain cannot, and is told his quest may not be accomplished. After his toils and wanderings Gauvain is sleepy, but he struggles against sleep, and asks about bleeding lance and sword and bier. Whilst the King is answering him he goes to sleep. On awakening he is on the sea shore, arms and steed by his side.[90] He then meets with the peasantry, and is told of the changed condition of the land in a passage already quoted (p. 87). Had he asked about the Grail "por coi il servoit," the land had been wholly freed. Heinrich von dem Türlin's account of Gauvain's visit to the Grail Castle differs, as will be seen by the Summary, p. 27, which it is unnecessary to repeat, more from that of Gautier than from the Perceval visit of the Conte de Graal, with which it has the common feature, that the person benefitted by the transaction is the Lord of the Magic Castle. As will already have been noticed it stands alone in the conception that the inmates of the castle are under the enchantment of death-in-life from which the question frees them. There still remains to be noticed (7) the incident of Perceval's visit to the Castle of Maidens, so closely analogous in certain details to the Grail Castle visit, and yet wholly disassociated from it in the conduct of the story. Perceval, wandering, sees across a river in fair meadow land a rich castle built of marble, yellow and vermeil. Crossing a bridge he enters, and the door at once closes behind him. No one is in the hall, in the centre of which is a table, and hanging to it by a steel chain a hammer. Searching the castle he still finds no one, and no one answers to his call. At length he strikes upon the table three blows with the hammer. A maiden appears, reproaches him, and disappears. Again he waits, and again he strikes three blows. A second damsel appears, and tells him if he strike afresh the tower will fall, and he be slain in its fall. But as he threatens to go on, the damsel offers to open the door and let him forth. He declares he will stay till morning, whereupon the damsel says she will call her mistress. The hero bids her haste as he is not minded to wait long, and warns her that he still holds the hammer. Other damsels then show themselves, disarm and tend the hero, and lead him through a splendid hall into a still more splendid one, wherein a hundred fair and courteous maidens, all of like age and mien, and richly dressed, rise at his approach and hail him as lord. The hero deems himself in paradise, and "sooth 'tis to be in paradise to be with dames and maids; so sweet they are, the devil can make naught of them, and 'tis better to follow them than to hearken to sermons preached in church for money." The dame of the castle bids the hero sit him down by her. "White she is as a lily, rosier than on a May morn a fresh blown rose when the dew has washed it." She asks him his name, and on hearing how he had wandered lonely three days ere meeting with the castle, tells him he might have wandered seven ere finding where to partake of bread and meat. He is well feasted. In reply to his questions about the castle, and how is it no man may be seen in it, he learns he is in the Maidens' Castle, all the inmates of one kin and land, of gentle birth; no mason put his hand to the castle, no serf toiled at it. Four maids built it, and in this wise: Whatever knight passed, and entering, beheld the door closed, and no man meeting him--if craven he struck no blow with the hammer, and on the morrow he went forth unheeded; but if wise and courteous he struck the table, and was richly entertained. As the lady tells this tale the hero, overcome with much journeying, falls asleep and is laid to bed by the maidens. On the morrow he wakes beneath a leafy oak, and never a house in sight. It is surely superfluous to point out that the foregoing recapitulation of the various forms under which this incident has come down to us gives the last blow to the theory which makes Christian symbolism the starting point, and the Didot-Perceval the purest representative of the legend. We should have to admit not only that the later romance writers entirely misunderstood the sense of their model, but that, whilst anxiously casting about in every direction for details with which to overlay it, they neglected one of its most fertile hints--that of the secret words handed down through Joseph from Christ Himself to the successful Grail quester. What a mine of adventures would not Gautier, Gerbert, and all the other unknown versifiers, who added each his quota to the Conte, have found in those "secret words?" Nay, more, we must admit that so much in love were they with this incident they misunderstood, that they repeated it in half-a-dozen varying forms, and finally eliminated from it every trace of its original element. There are theories which ask too much and which must be set on one side, even if one has nothing equally ingenious and symmetrical to set in their place. Three things strike one in considering this incident apart from the other adventures with which it is associated; the want of consistency in those versions which, formally, are closely related, an inconsistency which we have already noted in dealing with the legend as a whole; the repetition of the same incident with almost similar details, but with a different animating conception; and the fact that some of the secondary forms testify to that same thread of story which we have already extracted from the comparison of the Mabinogi and the Conte du Graal in their entirety. Not only is the conception of the Quest different in Chrestien and Manessier or Chrestien-Gerbert, but the details are different, the centre of interest being shifted from the omitted question to the broken sword. In Manessier the _dénoûment_ is brought about without any reference to the question, in Gerbert the reference is of the most perfunctory kind. Again we find the same machinery of Grail, lance, and other talismans, which in Chrestien-Manessier serves to bring about the hero's vengeance on his uncle's murderer, in Chrestien-Gerbert the re-union of the lovers and the winning of the Grail Kingship, used in the Gawain quest with the evident object of compassing vengeance upon the slayer of the unknown knight. And, thirdly, this secondary form is in close agreement with the Mabinogi--here, as there, the sword test takes place at the Fisher King's; here, as there, it immediately precedes the passing of the talismans; here, as there, it is only partially successful; here, as there, is a tangible reminder of the object of the quest, in the dead body of the unknown knight in the one case, in the head swimming in blood in the other. And here we may note that of the two forms in which the _Queste_ reproduces this incident, the one which holds the more prominent position in the narrative, the one of which Lancelot is the hero, closely resembles that secondary form in the Conte du Graal which is connected with Gawain. The wounded knight whom Lancelot beholds at the crossways borne into the chapel upon a bier, and clamouring for the succour of the Grail, recalls forcibly the dead knight of the Gawain quest. It is, perhaps, still more significant that when the Queste does reproduce the Perceval form, it is only in its externals, and the mystic vessel, which in the older version is obviously a means of achieving the quest, has, in the later one, become the end of that quest. It seems impossible to resist the following conclusions:--The many forms of the incident found in the Grail romances are not variants of one, and that an orderly and logical original; they testify to the fact that in the body of popular tradition which forms the basis of these romances the incident of the visit to a magic castle was a common one, that it entered into the thread of stories, somewhat similar in outline and frequently centered in the same hero, but differing essentially in conception, and that the forms in the romances which are most likely to keep close to the traditional model are those secondary ones with which the innovating spirit, whether due to the genius of the individual artist, or to intruding Christian symbolism, has least concerned itself. There is apparently but one case in the Conte du Graal, that of Perceval's visit to the Castle of Maidens, which has been modified by neither of these influences. To accept these conclusions is to clear the ground. If we rid our minds of the idea that there is _a Grail legend_, a definite fixed sequence of incidents, we need not be discouraged if we fail to find a prototype for it in Celtic tradition or elsewhere. We shall be prepared to examine every incident of which the Grail is a feature upon its own merits, and satisfied if we can find analogies to this or that one. And by so doing we are more likely to discover the how and why of the development of the legends as we find them in the romances. Leaving subsidiary details out of account, we may bring all the instances in which the Grail appears under two formulas: that of the kinsman avenging a blood feud by the means of the three magic talismans, sword and lance and vessel; and that of the visit to the Bespelled Castle, the inmates of which enjoy, thanks to the magic vessel, a supernaturally prolonged life, from which they are released by the hero's question concerning that vessel. The one we may call the feud quest, the other the unspelling quest. The Proto-Mabinogi belonged, as we have already seen (_supra_, p. 139), to the first class, and accordingly we find that all relating to the question is obviously interpolated from Chrestien. Chrestien's model belonged, in all probability if not wholly, chiefly to the first class, and accordingly we find that Manessier, certainly more faithful than Chrestien to that original, lays no stress upon the question. But in Chrestien himself there is a mixture of the two formulas; the question and the food-producing qualities of the magic vessel have been incorporated in the feud formula. Once started upon this track the legend continues to mingle the formulas. The mystic procession, which probably owes its form to Chrestien, is repeated with monotonous sameness by his continuators; the machinery of the feud quest almost invariably doubles that of the visit to the Bespelled Castle, and _vice versâ_. Thus Heinrich von dem Türlin, along with the most archaic presentment of the unspelling quest, has that procession of the talismans which properly belongs to the feud quest; and, to complete his conception, we must turn to incidents at present set in the framework of the other formula. For the effect upon the land produced by the hero's action at the Castle of Talismans is obviously analagous to, though of directly contrary nature to, that produced upon the inmates of the Bespelled Castle. They are dead though they seem quick, the land is full of life though it seems waste. The question which frees the one from the spell of life-in-death, frees the other from the spell of death-in-life.[91] The Didot-Perceval has the complete conception. Perceval's question not only releases Brons, who may not die until then, but it also ends the enchantment of Britain. The identity of hero in stories originally dissimilar was one reason for the confusion between the two formulas; the nature of the Grail was another. Its attributes were in all probability not very clearly defined in the immediate models of the French romance writers; these found it enveloped in mysterious haze, which simple story-tellers, such as Gautier, did not try to clear up, and which gave free play to the mystic imaginings of those writers who used romance as a vehicle for edification. The one tangible thing about it in stories of the one class, its food producing-power, has left its trace upon every one of the romances. But we shall also find in our survey of Celtic literature that this attribute, as well as that of healing or restoring to life, is found indifferently in stories of both the classes, to the fusion of which we refer the Grail legends in their present form. Another link between the two formulas is formed by the sword. It is almost invariably found associated with the healing vessel of balsam in task stories connected with the feud quest of the Mabinogi and the Conte du Graal; it is also a frequent feature in the legend of the unsuccessful visit to the Bespelled Castle.[92] Finally, the most important reason for running into one the stories derived from these two formulas, and the one which could hardly fail to lead to the fusion, is to be found in the identity of the myth which underlies both conceptions. The castle to which the avenger must penetrate to win the talismans, and that to which the hero comes with the intent of freeing its lord, are both symbols of the otherworld. Bearing in mind this double origin of the Grail, and reviewing once more the entire cycle, we note that, whilst it is that presentment of the magic vessel due to the second formula which is most prominent in the romances, the feud quest has furnished more and more varied sequences of incident, and is the staple of the oldest literary Celtic form (the Proto-Mabinogi) and of those North French forms which are most closely akin to it. Here the magic vessel is at best one of three equally potent treasures; as a matter of fact its _rôle_ in this section of the romances is, as we have seen, inferior to that of the sword. Obviously intended to be the immediate cause of restoration to life or health of the hero's kinsman, its functions have been minimised until they have been forgotten. If this is so already in the Proto-Mabinogi and in the model of the Conte du Graal, we may expect to find that elsewhere in Celtic tradition the magic vessel is of less account than sword or lance. We should likewise misconceive the character of popular tradition if we expected to find certain attributes rigidly ascribed to the mystic vessel in this or that set of stories. The confusion we have noted in the romances may be itself derived from older traditions. Certain it is that in what maybe looked upon as the oldest account of the vessel[93] in Celtic literature (although the form in which it has reached us is comparatively modern), there is a vessel of abundance associated with three other talismans, two of them being sword and lance. The Tuatha de Danann (the race of fairies and wizards which plays a part in Irish tradition analogous to that of Gwydion ap Don, Gwynn ap Nudd, and their kin in Welsh) so runs the tradition preserved by Keating in his History of Ireland (Book I, ed. by Joyce, Dublin, 1880, p. 117), had four treasures: The Lia Fail, the stone of Fate or Virtue ("now in the throne upon which is proclaimed the King of the Saxons," _i.e._, the stone brought by Edward I., from Scone); the sword that Lug[94] Lamhfhada (Lug the Longhanded) was wont to use; the spear the same Lug used in battle; the cauldron of the Dagda, "_a company used not ever go away from it unsatisfied_." Keating followed old and good sources, and although the passage I have underlined is not to be found in all MSS. of his work (_e.g._, it is missing in that translated by Halliday), and although the verse which he quotes, and which probably goes back to the eleventh century, whilst the traditions which it embodies may be regarded as a couple of centuries older, does not mention this property of the Dagda's[95] Cauldron, it may, I think, be assumed that the tradition here noticed is genuine, and that a vessel akin to the Grail, as well as talismans akin to those that accompany the Grail, formed part of the gear of the oldest Celtic divinities.[96] This conclusion appears no rash one when we consider the further references to the cauldron in Middle Irish Literature. The Battle of Magh Rath, a semi-historical romance relating to events which took place in the seventh century, is ascribed by its editor, Dr. J. O'Donovan, to the latter half of the twelfth century. It relates (pp. 51, _et seq._) how the sons of the King of Alba sought to obtain from their father the "Caire Ainsicen" so called, because "it was the caire or cauldron which was used to return his own proper share to each, and no party ever went away from it unsatisfied, for whatever quantity was put into it there was never boiled of it but what was sufficient for the company according to their grade or rank." The mediæval story-teller then goes on to instance similar cauldrons to be met with in the older history of Ireland. These may nearly all be referred to the oldest heroic Irish cycle, the Ultonian, of which Cuchulainn is the most prominent figure. This cycle, in its origin almost if not wholly mythic, was at an early date (probably as early as the eighth century) euhemerised, and its gods and demi-gods made to do duty as historical personages living at the beginning of the Christian era. It is, indeed, not improbable that actual historical events and personages of that period may have coloured and distorted the presentment of the myth; and it is highly probable that the substance of these stories does go back to that age, as they are almost entirely free from any admixture of Christian elements, and such admixture as there is can be readily detected as the handiwork of the tenth and eleventh century monks by whom these tales were written in MSS. which have for the most part come down to us. The cauldron is found with the same properties as those set forth in the Battle of Magh Rath, in two of the most celebrated tales of this cycle, the Toghail Bruighne da Derga, and the Tale of Mac Datho's pig. Turning from Irish to Welsh literature we may note that the Grail has frequently been compared with the cauldron of Bran in the Mabinogi of Branwen, the daughter of Llyr. I have dealt with this tale fully (Folk-Lore Record, Vol. V.), and see no reason to depart from the conclusion I then arrived at; namely, that it goes back in the main to the eleventh or tenth century. Here, the revivifying power of the vessel is dwelt upon, "The property of it is that if one of thy men be slain to-day, and be cast therein, the morrow he will be as well as ever he was at his best, except that he will not regain his speech." We cannot fail to recall that in the Queste which, as far as the Grail itself is concerned, must be referred on the whole to the feud quest formula, when the sacred vessel appears the assembled company is struck dumb.[97] Later Celtic folk-literature has followed the Mabinogi rather than the older Irish legend in its account of the mystic vessel. Where it appears in the folk-tale its function is to heal or to bring back to life. We may leave out of account for the present the references in the Welsh "bardic" literature to the cauldron of Ceridwen, chief among which is that in the Mabinogi of Taliesin. I am far from thinking that this literature deserves the wholesale condemnation that has been passed upon it, but it has been too little and too uncritically studied to afford, as yet, a firm basis for investigation. We are on surer ground in dealing with the living folk-tale. Thus the tale of Fionn's Enchantment, although belonging more properly to the other formula, may be noticed here as containing a cup of balsam, the washings of which restore the maimed Fionn to complete health. Mr. Campbell, who has noted the tale, remarks that the cup of healing is common in all the Fenian stories, which is what we should naturally expect, seeing the close connection between Fionn and Peredur (Rev. Celt. I., p. 194). Other instances have already been given in Chapter VI. of the appearance of the vessel of balsam in connection with the glaive of light, and of its use in bringing back to life the hero's enemies. And here it maybe noted that almost the very mode in which it is introduced in the folk-tales may be paralleled from the romances. The Grail appears to Perceval and Hector, lying well nigh dead upon the field of battle, and makes them whole, even as the vessel of balsam revivifies the dead warriors whom Conall Gulban has just slain, and heals the latter. It is, perhaps, only a coincidence that the angel in the one, the Carlin in the other case, appear in a great flashing of light. But, as a rule, in those task-stories which otherwise present such close similarities to the feud quest of the Proto-Mabinogi and the Conte du Graal, the mystic vessel has dropped out altogether, and the sword is the chief if not the only talisman. This is the case in Campbell, I., the young King of Easaidh Ruadh, and in XLVI. Mac Iain Direach. In one instance the glaive of light is met with outside the task group, in Campbell XLI., the Widow and her Daughters, variant ii (a Bluebeard story), and here it is found associated with the vessel of balsam. In the folk-tales, then, as in one section of the Conte du Graal, the healing vessel is decidedly of less account than the avenging or destroying weapon. This, as the sword, plays such an important part in the French romances that an examination of its _rôle_ in Celtic literature will repay examination. Besides the already quoted instances in which the sword of light accompanies the vessel of balsam as one of the treasures which reward the hero's quest, but in which it does not otherwise affect the march of the story, we find others in which the sword is either that weapon which causes the woe, the subject of the story, or else is the one means of testing the hero's fitness for his quest. In either case it is parallel to the sword of the Grail romances. Apart from these special instances there are general references in the oldest Irish literature to the quasi-supernatural nature attributed to the sword. Thus the Leabhar Gabhala, or Book of Invasions, the tenth and eleventh century tract in which Irish mythology was euphemerised into an historical relation of the pre-Christian invasion of Ireland, has a passage relating to the sword of Tethra, King of the Fomori,[98] which spake, and, adds the Christian scribe, the ancient Irish adored swords.[99] This is borne out by a passage in the Seirglige Conculainn, a story belonging to the Ultonian cycle, which Mr. Whitley Stokes has translated (Rev. Celt. I., 260). The men of Ulster, when showing their trophies, had their swords upon their thighs, "for their swords used to turn against them where they made a false trophy." The Christian transcriber notes that it was reasonable for the pagan Irish to trust their swords "because demons used to speak from out them." To return to the sword of Tethra. The most famous battle of Irish mystic history is that of Mag-Tured, in which the Tuatha de Danann, the gods of light and life, overcome their enemies the Fomori. Ogma, the champion of the Tuatha de Danann, wins the sword of Tethra, and as he cleans it it tells him the many and great feats it had wrought. It is, however, in the second of the great heroic cycles of the ancient Irish, the Fenian or Ossianic, that we find the sword put to a use which strongly recalls that of the romances. Not until the hero is able to wield the weapon so that it break not in his hand, or to weld it together so that no flaw appears,[100] is he fit to set forth on the quest. In Campbell's LXXVII., "How the Een was set up," Fionn applies for his sword to Ullamh Lamhfhada[101] (Ullamh the Longhanded), who gives him the most likely sword and the best he found. The hero takes it, shakes it, casts it out of the wooden handle and discards it. Thrice is this repeated, and when the right weapon is in Fionn's hand, he quells utterly all he sees.[102] Now how had Fionn obtained this sword originally? By slaying black Arcan, his father's slayer. It may, I think, be looked upon as certain that in an earlier form of the story, the weapon in question would turn out to be the one with which the treacherous deed was done, and Fionn, a counterpart of Peredur in his bringing up, would also be his counterpart in this incident.[103] For the sword with which Partinal slew Goon Desert is treasured up for the use of Perceval, but only after a repeated essay is he held worthy of it.[104] The sword incident reappears in a tale of Campbell's, Manus (Vol. III.), which presents some very remarkable analogies with the romances. Manus is driven into various adventures by his aunt; an armourer of his grandfather offers to get him a sword; but all given to him he breaks save the armourer's old sword, and it beat him to break that. The armourer then gives him a cloth, "When thou spreadest it to seek food or drink, thou wilt get as thou usest." Subsequently, helped by a lion, he achieves many feats. He comes to the help of the White Gruagach by fetching the blood of a venemous horned creature belonging to the King over the Great World, by which alone the White Gruagach could be restored to life when the magic trout with which his life was bound up had been slain. Afterwards he accompanies him against his enemy the Red Gruagach, who is slain, and his head stuck on a stake. This Red Gruagach is apparently the father of the aunt who so persecutes Manus.[105] This examination of the sword incident shows that the Mabinogi has preserved the original form of the story, and links afresh this portion of the Conte du Graal with the other Celtic stories belonging to the Expulsion and Return formula group, with which it has so much else in common. In all the formula-stories, except those of the Conte du Graal and the Proto-Mabinogi, the hero has to avenge his father, not his uncle; and it is highly suggestive that at least one version of the Perceval cycle (the Thornton romance) follows suit. With this remark we may take leave of the feud quest. Many and interesting as have been the parallels from the older Celtic literature to the feud quest, they are far outweighed by those which that literature affords to the second formula--the visit to the Bespelled Castle--which we have noted in the romances. From the recapitulation (_supra_, pp. 173, _et. seq._) we may learn several things. The castle lies, as a rule, on the other side of a river; the visitor to it is under a definite obligation; he must either do a certain thing, as, _e.g._, in Perceval's visit to the Castle of Maidens, strike on the table three blows with the hammer, or he must put a certain question, or again he must abstain from certain acts, as that of falling asleep (Perceval and Gawain) or drinking[106] (Gawain, in Heinrich von dem Türlin). Disregard of the obligation is punished in various ways. In the case of the Castle of Maidens the craven visitor is allowed to fare forth unheeded without beholding the marvels of the castle; but, as a rule, the hero of the adventure finds himself on the morrow far away from the castle, which has vanished completely. The inmates of this castle fall into two classes--they are supernatural beings like the maidens, who have apparently no object to gain from their mortal visitor, but who love heroism for its own sake, and are as kindly disposed towards the mortal hero in the folk-lore and mythology of the Celts as gods, and especially goddesses, are in the mythic lore of all other races; or they suffer from an over-lengthened life, from which the hero alone can release them. This latter feature, seen to perfection only in Heinrich von dem Türlin, is apparent in the Didot-Perceval, and has, in the Conte du Graal, supplied the figure of the old man, father to the Fisher King, nourished by the Grail. These features sufficiently indicate that the Magic Castle is the realm of the other world. The dividing water is that across which lies Tír-na n-Og, the Irish Avalon, or that Engelland dwelt in by the shades which the inhabitants of the Belgian coast figured in the west.[107] In Celtic lore the earliest trace of this realm is found, as is the earliest trace of Grail and sword, in connection with the Tuatha de Danann, that race of dispossessed immortals which lives on in the hollow hill sides, and is ever ready to aid and cherish the Irish mythic heroes. The most famous embodiment of this conception in Irish myth is the Brug na Boine, the dwelling place of Oengus,[108] son of the Dagda, and the earliest account of it is that contained in the Book of Leinster, the second of the two great Irish vellums written down in the twelfth century. It is a land of Cockayne; in it are fruit trees ever loaded with fruit, on the board a pig ready roasted which may not be eaten up, vessels of beer which may not be emptied, and therein no man dies.[109] But Oengus is not the only one of the Tuatha de Danann who has such a fairy palace. The dwelling place of Lug is of the same kind, and in the story of the Conception of Cuchulainn,[110] which tells how the god carried off Dechtire, sister of Conchobor, and re-incarnated himself in her as the great Ulster hero, we learn that when Conchobor and his men go in search of Dechtire and her fifty maidens, they first come to a small house wherein are a man and woman; the house suddenly becomes a splendid mansion,[111] therein are the vanished maidens in the shape of birds (and all sorts of goods, and dishes of divers sorts, known and unknown; never did they have a better night, in the morning they found themselves houseless, birdless in the east of the land, and they went back to Emain Macha).[112] Although no prohibition is mentioned the similarity in parts of this story, which, it must be repeated, is older than the introduction of Christianity in Ireland, to the romances is evident. Another famous Brug of the Tuatha de Danann is that of Manannan Mac Lir. Among the visitors was Bran, the son of Febal, whose story may be found in the Leabhar na h' Uidhre, the oldest of the great Irish vellums.[113] One day as he was alone in his palace there came to him soft, sweet music, and he fell asleep. When he awoke a silver branch, covered with flowers, was at his side. A short while after, as he was in the midst of his kinsfolk, his chiefs, and his nobles, an unknown damsel appeared, and bid him to her in the land of _Sidhe_, and then vanished, and with her the branch. Bran set sail, and with him thirty men. After two days' wandering they met Manannan Mac Lir. They continued their journey until they came to an island dwelt in solely by women; their queen it was who had sent for Bran. He stayed with her a while, and then came back to Ireland. But the most famous of the visits to the Brug of Manannan is that of Cormac Mac Art, whom the Irish legendary annals place in the third century of our era, and bring into connection with Fionn. The story, though only known to us from later MSS., can be traced back to the tenth century at least, as the title of it figures in a list preserved in the Book of Leinster, and as it is apparently alluded to by the eleventh century annalist, Tighernach.[114] The following summary is from a version, with English translation by Mr. Standish Hayes O'Grady, in the third volume of the Ossianic Society's publications. Of a time that Cormac was in Liathdruim he saw a youth having in his hand a glittering fairy branch, with nine apples of red gold upon it.[115] And this was the manner of that branch, that when any one shook it, men wounded and women with child would be lulled to sleep by the sound of the very sweet fairy music which those apples uttered, and no one on earth would bear in mind any want, woe, or weariness of soul when that branch was shaken for him. Cormac exchanged for this branch his wife and son and daughter, overcoming their grief by shaking the branch. But after a year, Cormac went in search of them. And he chanced upon a land where many marvels were wrought before his eyes, and he understood them not. At length he came to a house wherein was a very tall couple, clothed in clothes of many colours, and they bade him stay. And the man of the house brought a log and a wild boar, and if a quarter of the boar was put under a quarter of the log, and a true story was told, the meat would be cooked. At Cormac's request the host told the first story, how that he had seven swine with which he could feed the world, for if the swine were slain, and their bones put in the sty, on the morrow they would be whole again; and the hostess the second, how that the milk of her seven white kine would satisfy the men of the world. Cormac knew them for Manannan and his wife, and then told his story how he had lost and was seeking for wife and children. Manannan brought in the latter, and told Cormac it was he who gave him the branch, that he might bring him to that house. Then they sat down to meat, and the table-cloth was such that no food, however delicate, might be demanded of it, but it should be had without doubt; and the drinking cup was such that if a false story was told before it, it went in four pieces, and if a true one, it came whole again, and therewith was the faith of Cormac's wife made evident. And Manannan gave branch and cloth and goblet to Cormac, and thereafter they went to slumber and sweet sleep. Where they rose upon the morrow was in the pleasant Liathdruim. The foregoing examples have been akin to the incident of the Maiden Castle. We have seen the race of immortals caring for the sons of men, signalling out and alluring to themselves the brave and wise hero. In the tales we are now about to examine the benefit conferred by the visitor upon the inmates of the Magic Castle is insisted upon. But we must first notice a tale which presents many of the incidents of the Grail romances, without actually belonging to the same story group as they. In Campbell's No. LXXXVI, the Daughter of King Under the Waves, Diarmaid, the fairest and bravest of the Fenian heroes, weds a fay who, as her description indicates, belongs to the same order of beings as the damsels who lure away Connla and Bran, the son of Febal. She comes to him in loathly guise, and the other heroes shrink from her; but Diarmaid, courteous as he is brave, gives her the shelter of tent and bed and has his reward. She builds for him such a castle as the fay mistress of the Knight of the Black Tomb (_supra_, p. 17) builds for her lover. But she warns him that after a threefold reproach as to how he found her she would have to leave him. Through the cunning of Fionn he is led to break the taboo and "it was in a mosshole he awoke on the morrow. There was no castle, or a stone left of it on another." Diarmaid sets forth to seek his wife, he finds her ailing to death, and to be cured she must have three draughts from the cup of the King of the Plain of Wonder. Helped by a little russet man, he gets the talisman, as was prophesied of him; but, advised by the little russet man, he gives the maiden to drink out of a certain well, which changes their love into aversion, and he returns to the light of day. This last feature should be noted as characteristic. The mortal lover always tires sooner than the fay mistress. Oisin cannot stay in Tír-na n-Og. Perceval gives but one night to the Lady of the Chessboard. We now come to the "unspelling" stories, and I will cite in the first place one which is the most striking testimony I know of to the influence of this formula upon Celtic mythic lore. There is a widely spread folk-tale of a hero robbed of three magic gifts and getting them back thus; by chance he eats some fruit or herb which changes him into an ass, causes his nose to grow, sets horns upon his head, or produces some equally unpleasant result. Another herb he finds heals him. Armed with specimens of either, he wins back his talismans. In Grimm it is No. 122, Der Krautesel, and in Vol. III., p. 201, variants are given. In one the hero is one of three soldiers, and he receives the gifts from a little grey man. But neither here nor in the variants given by Dr. R. Köhler (Orient und Occident, II., p. 124) is the opening the same as in Campbell's No. X.--The Three Soldiers. The three come to a house in the wilderness dwelt in by three girls who keep them company at night, but disappear during the day. In the house is a table, overnight they eat off it, and when they rise the board is covered, and it would not be known that a bit had ever come off it. At the first night's close one soldier gets a purse never empty; at the second, the next one a cloth always filled with meat; and the third, the youngest (the hero), a transporting whistle. But as they leave he must needs ask them who they are, and they burst out crying, "They were under charms till they could find three lads who would spend three nights with them without putting a question--had he refrained they were free." In one variant the time of probation lasts a year, and the talismans are: a cup that empties not, and a lamp of light, the table-cloth of meat, and a bed for rest. In another the damsels are swanmaids,[116] and the visitors are bidden "not to think nor order one of us to be with you in lying down or rising up."[117] There can, I think, be little doubt that this last variant represents the oldest form of the story, and that the swanmaid damsels belong to the otherworld, as do the daughter of King Under the Waves and the maiden who fetches Connla. There is nothing surprising in swanmaids being the object of a taboo, this is so invariably the case in myth and folk-lore that it is needless to accumulate instances; what is unique to my knowledge, I speak under correction, is the fact of these damsels being in possession of the talismans, one of which is so obviously connected with the Grail. It may be noted that the obligation laid upon the hero is the direct opposite of that in the Grail romances, in the one case a question must not be asked, in the other it must. In this respect Campbell's tale of course falls into line with all the widely spread and varying versions of the Melusine legend. The supernatural wife always forbids her husband some special act which, as is perhaps natural, he can never refrain from doing. The next form of the Bespelled Castle legend is one which has attained far greater celebrity than any other on account of its traditional association with historical personages. It pictures the inmate of the castle as a King, with his warriors around him, sunk into magic sleep, and awaiting a signal to come forth and free his folk. To many English readers this legend will be more familiar in connection with Frederick Barbarossa[118] or with Holger the Dane than with any Celtic worthy. Yet the oldest historic instance is that of Arthur.[119] I have quoted (_supra_, p. 122) Gerald's words relating to the mountain seat of Arthur. A more definite tradition, and one closely resembling the episode in the Grail romances, is the one noted by Gervasius of Tilbury[120] (c. 1211 A.D.). A groom of the Bishop of Catania, following a runaway horse even to the summit of Mount Etna, found himself in a far reaching plain, full of all things delightful. A marvellous castle rose before him, wherein lay Arthur on a royal bed, suffering from the wound inflicted upon him by Modred his nephew, and Childeric the Saxon, and this wound broke out afresh each year. The King caused the horse to be given to the groom, and made him many rich presents.[121] This tradition of Arthur in Sicily raises some very interesting questions. For one thing it is a fresh example of the tremendous and immediate popularity of the Arthurian legend. It also shows with what rapidity a tradition, however remote in its origin from a particular spot, may associate itself with that. Of more immediate interest to us is the question whether this tradition has any direct connection with the Grail romances, whether it has shaped or been shaped by them. Martin refers the Maimed King of the romances to the same myth-root as the wounded Arthur waiting in Etna or in Avalon till his wound be healed and he come forth. It seems to me more likely that in so far as the wound is concerned there is a coincidence merely between the two stories, and that the Wounded King belongs properly to the feud quest. I do not, however, deny that the fact of the Lord of the Bespelled Castle, of the otherworld, being sometimes pictured as suffering from an incurable wound, may have aided that fusion of the two strains of legend which we find in the romances. It is not my purpose to examine here in detail the innumerable versions of this widely-spread tradition[122], the more so as I have been able to trace no exact parallel to that presentment of the story found in Heinrich von dem Türlin and in the Didot-Perceval. No other version of this form of the legend, to my knowledge, pictures the Bespelled King as awaiting the deliverance of death at the hands of his visitor. Before endeavouring to find a reason for the singularity of Heinrich's account, I will first quote one variant of the common form of the legend which has not been printed before save by myself in the Folk-Lore Journal, Vol. I., p. 193.[123] King Arthur sleeps bespelled in the ruins of (Richmond) Castle. Many have tried to find him but failed. One man only, Potter Thompson by name, wandering one night among the ruins chanced upon the hall wherein sat the King and his men around a table upon which lay a horn and a sword. Terrified, he turned and fled, and as he did so a voice sounded in his ears-- "Potter Thompson, Potter Thompson, Had'st thou blown the horn, Thou had'st been the greatest man That ever was born." for then he would have freed Arthur from his magic sleep. Never again could he reach that hall. This version, besides being practically inedited has the merit of exemplifying that association of the sword with the Lord of the Bespelled Castle to which I have already alluded. The instances of the visit to the otherworld which have thus far been collected from Celtic mythic literature, and which have been used as parallels to the unspelling quest of the romances, are more closely akin to one example of this incident, Perceval's visit to the Castle of Maidens, than to that found in Heinrich and the Didot-Perceval. None, indeed, throw any light upon that death-in-life which is the special feature in these two works. All are of one kind in so far as the disposition of the inmates towards the visitor is concerned; he is received with courtesy when he is not actually allured into the castle, and the trials to which he is subjected are neither painful nor humiliating. But it will not have escaped attention that the Conte du Graal contains another form of the visit, one which I have hitherto left unnoticed, in Gawain's visit to the Magic Castle. A new conception is here introduced: the Lord of the Castle[124] is an evil being, who holds captive fair dames and damsels; they it is, and not he, whom the hero must deliver, and the act of deliverance subjects him to trial and peril (_supra_, p. 14, Chr. Inc. 17). Let us see if this form affords any explanation of the mysterious features of Heinrich's version. This incident may, it is easily conceivable, be treated in two ways; the hero may be a worthy knight and succeed, or a caitiff and fail. A story of this latter kind may throw some light upon Gawain's adventures at the Magic Castle. The story in question (The Son of Bad Counsel) is ascribed by Kennedy, Legendary Fictions, pp. 132, _et seq._, to an author of the early eighteenth century, Brian Dhu O'Reilly, and traced back to an older Ossianic legend--Conan's delusions in Ceash, of which Kennedy prints a version, pp. 232, _et seq._ The hero of the story comes to the Castle of a Gruagach, named the Giant of the Unfrequented Land, and his wife, daughter to the King of the Lonesome Land. The name of the castle is the Uncertain Castle. Very fair is their daughter, and she is proffered to the hero for his promised aid against other fairy chieftains. After playing at backgammon with the Gruagach, the hero lays himself to bed. He is assailed, as he fancies, by great dangers from which he hastens to flee, and, waking, finds himself in a ridiculous plight with his lady-love, and the other folk of the castle laughing at him. In the morning he awakes, "and his bed was the dry grass of a moat." The names of the personages in the story at once recall those of the romances--the Waste Land or Forest, the Castle Perillous, and the like--and one of the trials, the being shot at with fairy darts, is the same as that to which Gawain is exposed in the Conte du Graal. But it is interesting chiefly as being a version of a wide-spread tale of how gods or heroes penetrating to the other world are made mock of by its inmates. In Scandinavian mythology the story is well-known as Thor's visit to Utgarth Loki. It is equally well-known in the Fionn saga, and, considering the many points of contact we have hitherto found between Fionn and the Grail hero, the Fenian form claims our notice. The oldest preserved form of the story, that in the Book of Leinster, has been printed with translation by Mr. Whitley Stokes, Revue Celt., Vol. VII., pp. 289, _et seq._--Fionn comes at nightfall with Cailte and Oisin to a house he had never heard of in that glen, knowing though he was. A grey giant greets them; within are a hag with three heads on her thin neck, and a headless man with one eye protruding from his breast. Nine bodies rise out of a recess, and the hideous crew sing a strain to the guests; "not melodious was that concert." The giant slays their horses; raw meat is offered them, which they refuse; the inmates of the house attack them; they had been dead had it not been for Fionn alone. They struggle until the sun lights up the house, then a mist falls into every one's head, so that he was dead upon the spot. The champions rise up whole, and the house is hidden from them, and every one of the household is hidden.--In the later Fenian saga (later that is as far as the form in which it has come down to us is concerned) the story closely resembles Thor's visit. Kennedy (Bardic Stories, pp. 132, _et seq._) has a good version.[125]--Fionn and his comrades follow a giant, on his shoulders an iron fork with a pig screeching between the prongs, behind him a damsel scourging him. They follow them to a house wherein is an aged hoary-headed man and a beautiful maid, a rough giant cooking the hog, and an old man having twelve eyes in his head, a white-haired ram, and a hag clad in dark ash coloured garment. Two fountains are before the house: Fionn drinks of one which at first tastes sweet, but afterwards bitter to death; from the other, and though he never suffered as much as while drinking, when he puts the vessel from his lips he is as whole as ever he was. The hog is then shared; the ram left out of count revenges itself by carrying out the guest's share, and smite it with their swords as they may, they cannot hurt it. The hag then throws her mantle over the guests, and they become four withered drooping-headed old men; on the mantle being removed they resume their first shape. These wonders are explained. The giant is _sloth_, urged on by _energy_; the twelve-eyed old man is the _world_; and the ram the _guilt of man_; the wells are _truth_ and _falsehood_; the hag _old age_. The warriors sleep and in the morning find themselves on the summit of Cairn Feargaill with their hounds and their arms by them. This tale betrays its semi-literary origin at once; and, though there is no reason to doubt that the Irish Celts had a counterpart to Thor's journey to Giantland, I am inclined to look upon the version just summarised as influenced by the Norse saga. Certain it is that the popular version of Fionn's visit to Giantland is much more like the eleventh century poem, preserved in the Book of Leinster, than it is like the mediæval, "How Fionn fared in the House of Cuana." I have already alluded (_supra_, p. 186) to one feature of the tale of Fionn's enchantment, but the whole tale is of interest to us.--As Fionn and his men are sitting round the fire boasting of their prowess in comes a slender brown hare and tosses up the ashes, and out she goes. They follow her, a dozen, to the house of the Yellow Face, a giant that lived upon the flesh of men. A woman greets them, and bids them begone before the Face returns, but Fionn will not flee. In comes the Face and smells out the strangers. Six of the Fenians he strikes with a magic rod, "and they are pillars of stone to stop the sleety wind." He then cooks and devours a boar, and the bones he throws to the Fenians. They play at ball with a golden apple, and the Face puts an end to Fionn's other comrades. Hereafter he wrestles with Fionn, and the griddle is put on the fire till it is red hot, and they all get about Fionn and set him on the griddle till his legs are burnt to the hips ('twas then he said, "a man is no man alone"), and stick a flesh-stake through both his hams, so that he could neither rise nor sit, and cast him into a corner. But he manages to crawl out and sound his horn, and Diarmaid hears it and comes to his aid, and does to the Face as the Face did to Fionn, and with the cup of balsam which he wins from him makes Fionn whole.--It is not necessary to dwell on the parallel between Diarmaid healing his uncle Fionn, wounded with a stake through the two thighs, by winning the cup of balsam, and Perceval healing his uncle (mehaignié des II cuisses) by the question as to the Grail. This, alone, would be sufficient to show us what _rôle_ the Grail played in the oldest form of the feud quest before the latter was influenced by the visit to the Bespelled Castle. If we look at the stories we have just summarised, we shall easily understand the meaning of the Magic Castle vanishing at dawn. As sleep is brother to death, so are night and its realm akin to the otherworld; many phantoms haunt them and seem quick and strive with and often terribly oppress the mortal wanderer through this domain, but with the first gleam of sunlight they vanish, leaving no trace behind them, and the awakening hero find himself in his own place. The conditions of the visit to the otherworld are thus partly determined by man's nightly experience in that dreamland which he figures to himself as akin to, if not an actual portion of the land of shades. This visit, as we have seen, is conceived of in several ways. Its object is almost invariably to win precious talismans; all we have comes to us from our forefathers, and it is natural to suppose that in the world whence they came, and whither they go back, is to be found all that man seeks here, only in a form as more wonderful than earthly objects as the dwellers in the otherworld are mightier and cleverer than man. At times the talismans are held by beneficent beings, who either gladly yield them to the mortal visitor, or from whom they may be won by the exhibition of valour and magnanimity; at times by evil monsters with whom the mortal must strive. In either case the visitor arrives at nightfall and in the morning awakes to the life of this earth. The secondary or Gawain form of the myth, as found in the Conte de Graal, may help us to understand Heinrich's version. It is to free imprisoned damsels that Gauvain undergoes the trials of the Magic Castle. Now the effect of his visit in the German poem is to free the sister of Gansguoter, who, with her maidens, remains when the other inmates of the castle, released by the question, have utterly vanished.[126] But what means the death-in-life condition of the King and his men? Is it merely an expedient to account for their sudden vanishing at daylight? I rather see here the influence of another form of the unspelling myth, one that mixed with Christian elements has powerfully impressed the popular imagination, and is in many European countries the only one in which this old myth still lives on.[127] The inmates of the Magic Castle or house are in this form figured as men doomed for some evil deed to haunt that particular spot, until some mortal is bold enough to win their secret and bring them rest. One would think that under the circumstances they would be as amiable as possible to any visitor. But the older form of the story persists, and they have not terrors or trials enough for the man who is to be their deliverer. I will only quote one version, from Irish sources.[128] A youth engages to sleep in a haunted castle. If he is alive in the morning he will get ten guineas and the farmer's daughter to wife. At nightfall he goes thither, and presently three men in old-fashioned dress come down in pieces through a hole in the ceiling, put themselves together, and begin playing at football. Jack joins them, and towards daybreak he judges they wish him to speak, so he asks them how he can give them rest if rest they want. "Them is the wisest words you ever spoke," is answered to him. They had ground the poor and heaped up wealth evilly. They show him their treasure, and tell him how to make restitution. As they finish, "Jack could see the wall through their body, and when he winked to clear his sight the kitchen was as empty as a noggin turned upside down." Of course Jack does as he is told, and has the daughter to wife, and they live comfortably in the old castle.[129] We have here, it seems to me, the last echo of such a story as one of those which enter into the Grail romances. In Heinrich's version, as elsewhere in these romances, different story types can be distinguished, different conceptions are harmonised. Many, indeed, are both the early conceptions and the varying shapes in which they embodied themselves, to be traced in the complex mass of the romances. That a kinsman is bound to avenge a blood feud, and that until he does so his kin may suffer from ailment or enchantment and their land be under a curse; that the otherworld is a land of feasting and joyousness and all fair things; that it contains magic treasures which he who is bold may win; that it is peopled with beings whom he may free by his courage; that it is fashioned like dreamland--all these ideas find expression. If the foregoing exposition be accepted we have a valuable criterion for the age of the immediate originals of the romances. That famous version of the legend which pictured the dwellers in the otherworld as Kings, spell bound, awaiting the releasing word to come forth and aid their folk, to which special circumstances gave such wide popularity in the later middle ages, causing it to supplant older tales of gods dwelling in the hollow hills, this version has left no trace upon the romances. These must, therefore, be older than the full-blown Arthurian legend. One or two minor points may be briefly noticed. The ship in which is found the magic sword which wounds all bold enough to handle it save the destined Knight may be thought to have taken the place of an older island. The loathly Grail messenger shows the influence of the two formulas: as coming from the Bespelled Castle,[130] type of the otherworld, she should be radiantly fair; as the kinswoman of the destined avenger, under spells until the vengeance be accomplished, she is hideous in the last degree. But before we take leave of this incident we must examine two features upon which, as yet, no light has been thrown, the meaning of the epithet the _Fisher_ King, and the hero's silence upon his first visit to the Castle of Talismans. CHAPTER VIII. The Fisher King in the Conte du Graal, in the Queste, and in Borron and the Grand St. Graal--The accounts of latter complete each other--The Fish is the Salmon of Wisdom--Parallel with the Fionn Saga--The nature of the Unspelling Quest--The Mabinogi of Taliesin and its mythological affinities--Brons, Bran, Cernunnos--Perceval's silence: Conte du Graal explanation late; explanation from the Fionn Saga--Comparison of incident with _geasa_; nature of latter; references to it in Celtic folk-tales and in old Irish literature, Book of Rights, Diarmaid, Cuchulainn--_Geasa_ and _taboo_. The Conte du Graal, as we have seen, offers no satisfactory explanation of the Fisher King. By Chrestien he is represented on Perceval's first meeting with him as angling from a boat steered by his companion (v. 4,187); he directs Perceval to his castle. Perceval is afterwards informed that, being wounded and consequently unable to mount on horseback, fishing is his only solace, whence the name applied to him (vv. 4,681, _et seq._). This is practically all the Conte du Graal has to say about him, as the continuators, whilst repeating the epithet, add no fresh details. Indeed in none of the after-visits of Perceval is the King represented as fishing, or is there the slightest reference to, let alone insistence upon, this favourite occupation of his. It is another proof of the inadequacy of Birch-Hirschfeld's theory of the development of the legend, that it represents Chrestien, who, _ex hypothesi_, divested Borron's poem of its religious character, as retaining this feature due wholly to religious symbolism, whilst the continuators with their obvious fondness for such symbolism entirely neglected it. The Queste, which in so far as the quest portion is concerned is formally connected with the Conte du Graal, says nothing about the Fisher, nor does that section of the Grand St. Graal which presents the same Early History as the Queste. In Borron's poem, on the other hand, and in that later section of the Grand St. Graal which agrees with it, an explanation is given of the epithet. According to Borron, Brons catches a fish at Joseph's bidding; Joseph, having placed the vessel on the table and covered it with a towel, takes the fish and lays it opposite the vessel; the people are then called together, and it is possible to distinguish the sinners from the righteous (vv. 2,500-2,600). Joseph is afterwards told by an angel, that, as Brons was a good man, it was the Lord's will he should catch the fish (vv. 3,310, _et seq._), and he is to be called the Rich Fisher (v. 3,348). In the Grand St. Graal (Vol. II., pp. 248, _et seq._) not Brons but his son Alain is bidden by Joseph to fish, and this with a view to providing food for the sinners of the company whom the Holy Vessel leaves unsatisfied. Alain fishes from a boat with a net. He catches but one fish, and there are at first murmurs, but Joseph, by virtue of Alain's prayers, multiplies the fish so that it feeds the host, and thus Alain wins the name of Rich Fisher. These accounts complete each other. Chrestien dwells upon the continued act of fishing which, for aught to the contrary we learn from him or his continuators, is always fruitless. Borron and the Grand St. Graal dwell upon the one successful haul, and especially upon the miraculous properties of the one fish caught. Reading the two accounts together, we find that the Fisher King passes his life seeking for a fish which, when caught, confers upon him the power of distinguishing good from evil, or enables him to furnish an inexhaustible meal to his men. The Conte du Graal has been shown to derive more of its substance from the feud quest--the Didot-Perceval from the unspelling quest. Borron's poem, as far as its primitive Celtic elements are concerned, is probably to be ranged with the Didot-Perceval, to which many links unite it. We may, therefore, turn to Celtic stories belonging to either of these formulas for parallel features. The inexhaustible nature of the fish at once recalls the pigs of Manannan Mac Lir (_supra_, p. 194); they, too, can feed a multitude. But it is in stories formally connected with the feud quest that we find what I venture to suggest is an adequate explanation of the nature of the Fisher King and of the fish. The latter is, I think, the Salmon of Wisdom,[131] which appears so often and so prominently in Irish mythic lore; and the former is that being who passes his life in vain endeavours to catch the wonderful fish, and who, in the moment of success, is robbed of the fruit of all his long toils and watchings. I am prepared to admit that the incident as found in Borron's poem has been recast in the mould of mediæval Christian symbolism, but I think the older myth can still be clearly discerned and is wholly responsible for the incident as found in the Conte du Graal.[132] Let us first look at the Irish story. This is found in an account, to which allusion has already been made, of the Boyish Exploits of Finn Mac Cumhail.[133] It is there told how Finn seeks his namesake, Finn-eges, to learn poetry from him, as until then he durst not stay in Ireland for fear of his foes. Now Finn-eges had remained seven years by the Boyne, watching the salmon of Linn-Feic, which it had been foretold Finn (himself as he thought) should catch and know all things afterwards. Finn, who conceals his name, takes service with him and the salmon is caught. Finn is set to watch it while it roasts, but warned not to eat of it. Inadvertently he touches it with his thumb, which he burns, and carries to his mouth to cool. Immediately he becomes possessed of all knowledge, and thereafter he had only to chew his thumb to obtain wisdom. Finn-eges recognises that the prophecy has been fulfilled, and hails his pupil as Finn. It is needless to dwell upon the archaic features of this tale, which represents the hero seeking service of a powerful magician, from whom he hopes to learn the spells and charms that may guard him against his foes. Here, as in many other portions of the Ossianic saga, Fionn is strikingly like a Red Indian medicine man, or the corresponding wizard among other savage tribes. It is more to our purpose to note that this tale contains the fullest presentment of Fionn as hero of the Expulsion and Return Formula, and that a similar incident is to be found in the lives of other heroes of the formula (notably Siegfried: the Adventure with Mimir.) Now, as we have already seen that Peredur-Perceval is a formula hero, there is nothing remarkable in finding an analogous incident in his _sage_. A formal connection is thus at once made out. But we must look into the matter a little closer, as the incident found in the romances is but a faint echo, and that in part distorted by alien conceptions, of the original story. The unspelling quest in one form resolves itself ultimately into the hero's search for riches, power, or knowledge, in prosecution of which he penetrates to the otherworld. This is figured in the Grail romances both by Brons' or Alain's (who here answers to Fionn) catching the wonderful fish, and by Peredur-Perceval coming to the house of Brons, the Fisher King (who here answers to Finn-eges), winning from him the mysterious vessel of increase, and learning the secret words which put an end to the enchantments of Britain. In the Grail romances the idea of wisdom is not associated with the Grail, the vessel, at all; it is either bound up with the fish, as in the Irish tale, or is the possession of the Fisher King as the wonder-working spells are the possession of Finn-eges. But in the Welsh tradition which corresponds to that of Fionn and the salmon, it is the vessel, the cauldron, or rather the drink which it holds, which communicates the gift of wisdom and knowledge. I allude, of course, to the story of Gwion, set by Ceridwen to watch the cauldron of inspiration, inadvertently tasting its contents, becoming thereby filled with knowledge, pursued by Ceridwen, who swallows him, and in whom he re-incarnates himself as Taliesin, the Allwise Bard. Campbell had already (Vol. IV., p. 299) drawn attention to the similarity of the two stories, and equated Fionn, father of Oisin, with Gwion, father of Taliesin; and, as Professor Rhys has now (Hibbert Lectures, p. 551) given the equation his sanction, it may be accepted as philologically sound. I have hitherto refrained in the course of these studies from making any use of the Mabinogi of Taliesin, or of references to the cauldron of Ceridwen of a like nature with those contained in that tale; but it will, I think, be admitted now that the Welsh Mabinogi, however late in form, and however overlaid it may be with pseudo-archaic bardic rubbish, does go back to a primitive stratum of Celtic mythology. In connection with this myth the name Brons is of high import. This catcher of the fish, this lord of the Grail, at once suggests Bran, who is also a guardian of the magic cauldron. Professor Rhys (pp. 85-95) shows reason for looking upon Bran (as he is presented in the Mabinogi of Branwen) as the representative of an old Celtic god, Cernunnos, that Celtic Dis from whom, as Cæsar reports, the Gauls claimed descent, and who, as god of the otherworld and the shades was also god of knowledge and riches. We are thus brought back again to the fundamental conception of the Grail quest. It is to this tale that I would turn for one of the possible explanations of Perceval's silence at the Court of the Fisher King. That the romance writers did not understand this incident is evident from the explanation they give. Gonemans' moral advice to his nephew on the evil of curiosity may have its foundation in a possible feature of the original, about which I shall speak presently; or it may simply be an expedient of Chrestien's or of his immediate model. In either case its present form is obviously neither old nor genuine. The silence of Perceval may, perhaps, be referred to the same myth-root as Fionn's concealment of his name whilst in the service of Finn-eges.[134] This prohibition might extend not only to the disclosing of his name by the mortal visitor to the realm of the shades, but to the utterance of any words at all. As he might not eat or drink in the underworld, so he might not speak lest he lose the power to return to the land of the living. One tale we have seen (_supra_, p. 195) does contain this very injunction to say no word whilst in company of the dwellers in the Bespelled Castle. In this case we should have to assume that two varying redactions of the theme have been maladroitly fused into one in the romances--that, namely, which bids the visitor to the otherworld abstain from a certain act, and that which, on the contrary, bids him perform a certain act, failure of compliance with the injunction being punished in either case. The positive injunction of one form of the story is used as an explanation of the hero's failure in another. An alternative hypothesis is that whilst the hero's unreadiness of speech, the cause of his want of success at his first visit, comes wholly from the unspelling quest, the motive by which the romances seek to account for that unreadiness comes from the feud quest. The latter, as has been shown, is closely akin to many task-stories; and it is a frequent feature in such stories, especially in the Celtic ones, that the hero has to accomplish his quest in spite of all sorts of odd restrictions which are laid upon him by an enemy, generally by a step-mother or some other evil-disposed relative. In the language of Irish mythic tradition Perceval would be under _geasa_ to ask no questions, and Gonemans' advice would be the last faint echo of such an incident. The form which such prohibitions take in Celtic folk-tales is very curious. The _gess_ is generally embodied in a magical formula, the language of which is very old and frequently unintelligible to the narrators themselves. As a rule, the hero, by advice of a friendly supernatural being, lays a counterspell upon his enemy. Thus, in "How the Great Tuairsgeul was put to Death" (Scot. Celt. Rev. I., p. 70) the magician "lays it as crosses and charms that water leave not your shoe until you found out how the Great Tuairsgeul was put to death." The hero retorts by laying the same charms that the magician leave not the hillock until he return. In Campbell, No. XLVII., Mac Iain Direach, the stepmother, "sets it as crosses, and as spells, and as the decay of the year upon thee; that thou be not without a pool of water in thy shoe, and that thou be wet, cold, and soiled until, etc.;" and the hero bespells her, "that thou be standing with the one foot on the great house and the other foot on the castle: and that thy face be to the tempest whatever wind blows, until I return back." The formula in Campbell, No. LI, the Fair Gruagach is very archaic. "I lay thee under spells, and under crosses, under holy herdsmen of quiet travelling, wandering woman, the little calf, most feeble and powerless, to take thy head and thine ear and thy wearing of life from off thee if thou takest rest by night or day; where thou takest thy breakfast that thou take not thy dinner, and where thou takest thy dinner that thou take not thy supper, in whatsoever place thou be, until thou findest out in what place I may be under the four brown quarters of the globe." These instances will suffice to show the nature of the _gess_ in Celtic folk-lore, but some references to older Irish literature are necessary to show its great importance in the social and religious life of the race. O'Donovan (Book of Rights, p. xlv.) explains the word _geasa_ as "any thing or act forbidden because of the ill luck that would result from its doing;" also "a spell, a charm, a prohibition, an interdiction or hindrance." This explanation occurs in the introduction to a poem on the restrictions (_geasa_) and prerogatives (_buada_) of the Kings of Eire, found in the Book of Ballymote (late fourteenth century) and Book of Lecan (early fifteenth century). The poem is ascribed to Cuan O'Lochain (A.D. 1024), and, from the historical allusions contained in it, O'Donovan looks upon it as in substance due to that poet, and as embodying much older traditions. Some of these _geasa_ may be quoted. For the King of Eire, "that the sun should rise upon him on his bed in Magh Teamhrach;" for the King of Leinster, "to go round Tuath Laighean left hand-wise on Wednesday;" for the King of Munster, "to remain, to enjoy the feast of Loch Lein from one Monday to another;" for the King of Connaught, "to go in a speckled garment on a grey speckled steed to the heath of Luchaid;" for the King of Ulster, "to listen to the fluttering of the flocks of birds of Luin Saileach after sunset."[135] Even these instances do not exhaust the force or adequately connote the nature of this curious institution. In the Irish hero-tales _geasa_ attach themselves to the hero from his birth up, and are the means by which fate compasses the downfall of the otherwise invincible champion; thus it is a _gess_ of Diarmaid that he never hunt a swine, and when he is artfully trapped into doing it by Fionn he meets his death; it is a _gess_ of Cuchulainn's that he never refuse food offered him by women, and as he goes to his last fight he accepts the poisoned meal of the witches though he full well knows it will be fatal to him.[136] But, besides this, _geasa_ may also be an appeal to the hero's honour as well as a magic charm laid upon him, and it is sometimes difficult to see by which of the two motives the hero is moved. Thus Graine, wife of Fionn, lays _geasa_ upon Diarmaid that he carry her off from her husband, and though he is in the last degree unwilling he must comply.[137] Enough has been said to show that we have in the _geasa_ a cause quite sufficient to explain the mysterious prohibition to ask questions laid upon Perceval, if the first explanation I have offered of this prohibition be thought inadequate. CHAPTER IX. Summing up of the elements of the older portion of the cycle--Parallelism with Celtic tradition--The Christian element in the cycle: the two forms of the Early History; Brons form older--Brons and Bran--The Bran conversion legend--The Joseph conversion legend: Joseph in apocryphal literature--Glastonbury--The head in the platter and the Veronica portrait--The Bran legend the starting point of the Christian transformation of the legend--Substitution of Joseph for Bran--Objections to this hypothesis--Hypothetical sketch of the growth of the legend. I have now finished the examination of all those incidents in the Grail Quest romances which are obviously derived from some other sources than Christian legend, and which are, indeed, referred by pronounced adherents of the Christian-origin hypothesis to Celtic tradition. I have also claimed a Celtic origin for features hitherto referred to Christian legend. This examination will, I trust, convince many that nearly all the incidents connected with the Quest of the Grail are Celtic in their origin, and that thus alone can we account for the way in which they appear in the romances. The latter are, as we have seen, in the highest degree inconsistent in their account of the mystic vessel and its fortunes; the most cursory examination shows the legend to be composed of two parts, which have no real connection with each other; the older of these parts, the Quest, can easily be freed from the traces of Christian symbolism; this older part is itself no homogeneous or consistent tale, but a complex of incidents diverse in origin and character. These incidents are: the rearing of the hero in ignorance of the world and of men; his visit to the court of the King, his uncle; his slaying of his father's murderer, the trial made of him by means of the broken sword; his service with the Fisher King; his quest in search of the sword and of the vessel by means of which he is to avenge the death or wounding of his kinsman; his accomplishment of this task by the aid of a kinsman who is under spells from which he will not be loosed until the quest be ended; the adventure of the stag-hunt, in which the bespelled kinsman tests the hero's skill and courage; the hero's visit to the Castle of Talismans; the prohibition under which he labours; his failure to accomplish certain acts; the effects of his failure; his visit to the Magic Castle, the lord of which is under the enchantment of death-in-life; his visit to the Castle of Maidens; his visit to the Castle Perillous; and his deliverance of the captive damsels by means of the trials which he successfully undergoes. To one and all of these incidents Celtic parallels have been adduced; these have in each case been drawn from stories which present a general similarity of outline with the Grail romances, or share with them similar guiding conceptions, whilst at the same time they are so far disconnected with them that no hypothesis of borrowing can account for the features they have in common. The inconsistencies of the romances have been explained by the fusion into one of two originally distinct groups of stories, and this explanation is confirmed by the fact that traces of this fusion may readily be found in the parallel Celtic tales. These latter, when studied by scholars who never thought of comparing them with the Grail romances, have been found to contain mythical elements which other scholars had detected independently in the romances. Those features of the romances which have perplexed previous students, the Fisher King and the omitted question, have been explained from the same group of Celtic traditions, and in accordance with the same scheme of mythical interpretation which have been used to throw light upon the remainder of the cycle. Finally, the one Celtic version of the Grail Quest, the Mabinogi, which presents no admixture of Christian symbolism, has been shown, when cleared of certain easily distinguishable interpolations, to be genuine in character, and to present the oldest form of one of the stories which enters into the romances. I have tried not to force these parallels, nor to go one step beyond what the facts warrant. I have also tried to bear in mind that a parallel is of no real value unless it throws light upon the puzzling features in the development of the romances. I thus rest my case, not so much upon the accumulative effect of the similarities which I have pointed out between the romances and Celtic tradition, as upon the fact that this reference of the romances to certain definite cycles of Celtic myth and legend makes us understand, what otherwise we cannot do, how they came by their present shape. It now remains to be seen if this reference, can in any way explain the Christian element in the legend, which I have hitherto left almost entirely out of account. Birch-Hirschfeld's hypothesis is condemned, in my opinion, by its failure to account for the Celtic element; although I do not think an explanation of a late and intruding feature is as incumbent upon me as that of the original Celtic basis of the legend is upon him, I yet feel that an hypothesis which has nothing to say on such a vital point can hardly be considered satisfactory. It is the Christian transformation of the old Celtic myths and folk-tales which gave them their wide vogue in the Middle Ages, which endowed the theme with such fascination for the preachers and philosophers who used it as a vehicle for their teaching, and which has endeared it to all lovers of mystic symbolism. The question how and why the Celtic tales which I have tried, not unsuccessfully I trust, to disentangle from the romances were ever brought into contact with Christ and His disciples, and how the old mystic vessel of healing, increase, and knowledge became at last the sacramental cup, must, therefore, be faced. The hypotheses set forth in the preceding page might be accepted in their entirety, and the merit of this transformation still be claimed, as Birch-Hirschfeld claims it, for the North French poets, to whom we owe the present versions of the romances. On first reading Birch-Hirschfeld's book, I thought this claim one of the flaws in his argument, and, as will be seen by reference to Chapter IV., other investigators, who accept the Christian origin of the larger part of the legend, hold that it has been shaped in these islands, or in accordance with Celtic traditions now lost. I think we can go a step farther. A number of myths and tales have been used to illustrate the romances. In them may be found the personages through whom probably took place the first contact between Celtic mythic tradition and Christian legend. We must revert for one moment to the results obtained in Chapter III. by an examination of the way in which the Grail and its fortunes are mentioned in the romances. We there distinguished two forms of the distinctively Christian portion of the legend, the Early History. In both Joseph is the first possessor and user of the holy vessel, but in one its farther fortunes are likewise bound up with him or with his seed. He, or his son, it is who leads the Grail host to Britain, who converts the island, and by whom the precious vessel is handed down through a chosen line of kings in anticipation of the promised Knight's coming. In the other form, on the contrary, Joseph has nothing to do with Britain, which is converted by Brons and his son, Alain; Brons is the guardian of the holy vessel, and, in one version, the fisher of the mystic fish, whilst in another his son takes this part. There is repeated insistence upon the connection between the Grail host and Avalon. Finally Brons is the possessor of "secret words," and may not die until he has revealed them to his grandson. This account is, we saw, later in form than the Joseph one. As we have it, it was written after the greater portion of the Conte du Graal, after that redaction of the Early History made use of by the author of the Queste and of the first draft of the Grand St. Graal. Its influence only makes itself felt in the later stages of development of the legend. But none the less it clearly represents an older and purer form of the Early History than that of the Queste and of Chrestien's continuators. It has not been doctored into harmony with the full-blown Arthurian legend as the Joseph Early History has. It is still chiefly, if not wholly, a legend, the main purport of which is to recount the conversion of Britain. Such a legend is surely more likely to have been shaped by Welsh or Breton monks than by North French _trouvères_. And when we notice the Celtic names of the personages, and their connection with the Celtic paradise, Avalon, there can remain little, if any, doubt respecting the first home of the story. We may thus look upon Brons, owner of a mystic vessel, fisher of a mystic fish, as the hero of an early conversion legend. But the name Brons has at once suggested to most students of the cycle that of Bran. The latter is, as we saw in the last Chapter, the representative of an old Celtic god of the otherworld. He is the owner of the cauldron of renovation. He is also the hero in Welsh tradition of a conversion legend, and is commonly known as Bran the Blessed. Unfortunately the only explanation we have of this epithet occurs in a late triad, to which it is not safe to assign an earlier date than the fourteenth century. He is described therein as son of Llyr Llediath, "as one of the three blissful Rulers of the Island of Britain, who first brought the faith of Christ to the nation of the Cymry from Rome, where he was seven years a hostage for his son Caradawc."[138] But if late in form this triad may well embody an old tradition. It gives the significant descent of Bran from Llyr, and thereby equates him with Mannanan Mac Lir, with whom he presents otherwise so many points of contact. It is quite true that the Bran legend, as is pointed out to me by Professor Rhys, is mentioned neither in the earliest genealogies nor in Geoffrey. But it should be noted that the Grand St. Graal does bring one member of the Brons group, Petrus, into contact with King Luces, the Lucius to whom Geoffrey ascribes the conversion. Again, the epithet "blessed" is applied to Bran in the Mabinogi of Branwen, daughter of Llyr. I have placed this tale as a whole as far back as the eleventh-tenth centuries, and my arguments have met with no opposition, and have won the approval of such authorities as Professor Windisch and Monsieur Gaidoz. But the Mabinogi, as we have it, was written down in the fourteenth century; the last transcriber abridged it, and at times did not apparently understand what he was transcribing. By his time the full-blown Bran legend of the triad was in existence, and it may be contended that the epithet was due to him and did not figure in his model. On the other hand, Stephens (Lit. of the Cymry, p. 425) quotes a triad of Kynddelw, a poet of the twelfth century, referring to the three blessed families of the Isle of Britain, one of which is declared by a later tradition to be that of Bran.[139] Again, the triads of Arthur and his Warriors, printed by Mr. Skene, Four Ancient Books, Vol. II., p. 457, from MS. Hengwrt, 566, of the beginning of the fourteenth century, and probably at least fifty years older, mentions the "blessed head of Bran."[140] On the whole, in spite of the silence of older sources, I look upon the epithet and the legend which it presupposes as old, and I see in a confusion between Bran, Lord of the Cauldron, and Bran the Blessed, the first step of the transformation of the Peredur _sage_ into the Quest of the Holy Grail. In the first capacity Bran corresponds to the Lord of the Castle of Talismans. From the way in which the fish is dwelt upon in his legend, it may, indeed, be conjectured that he stood to Peredur in some such relation as Finn-eges to Fionn. As hero of a conversion legend he came into contact with Joseph. We do not know how or at what date the legend of the conversion of Britain by Joseph originated. It is found enjoying wide popularity in the latter half of the twelfth century, the very time in which the romances were assuming their present shape. Wülcker (Das Evangelium Nicodemi in der abendländischen Literatur, Paderborn, 1872) shows that the legend is not met with before William of Malmesbury; and Zarncke, as already stated (_supra_, p. 107), has argued that the passage in William is a late interpolation due to the popularity of the romances.[141] But to accept Zarncke's contention merely shifts back the difficulty. If William did not first note and give currency to the tradition, the unknown predecessor of Robert de Borron and of the authors of the Queste and Grand St. Graal did so; and the question still remains how did he come by the tradition, and what led him to associate it with Glastonbury. Birch-Hirschfeld, it is true, makes short work of this difficulty. The fact that there is no earlier legend in which Joseph figures as the Apostle of Britain is to him proof that Borron evolved the conception of the Grail out of the canonical and apocryphal writings in which Joseph appears, and then devised the passage to Britain in order to incorporate the Arthurian romances with the legend he had invented. It is needless to repeat that this theory, unacceptable on _a priori_ grounds, is still more so when tested by facts. But Joseph under other aspects than that of Apostle of Britain is worthy of notice. The main source whence the legend writers drew their knowledge of him was the Evangelium Nicodemi, the history of which has been investigated by Wülcker. The earliest allusion in western literature to this apocryphal gospel is that of Gregory of Tours (Wülcker, p. 23), but no other trace of its influence is to be met with in France until we come to the Grail romances, and to mystery-plays which relate Christ's Harrowing of Hell. In Provence, Italy, and Germany the thirteenth and twelfth centuries are the earliest to which this gospel can be traced. In England, on the contrary, it was known as far back as the latter quarter of the eighth century; Cynewulf based upon it a poem on the Harrowing of Hell, and alludes to it in the Crist; the ninth century poem, "Christ and Satan," likewise shows knowledge of it, and there is a West-Saxon translation dating from the early eleventh century. Whence this knowledge and popularity of the gospel in England several centuries before it entered prominently into the literature of any other European people? Wülcker can only point by way of answer to the early spread of Christianity in these Islands, and to the possibility of this gospel having reached England before it did France or Germany. He also insists upon the early development of Anglo-Saxon literature. Whether the fact that the apocryphal writings which told of Joseph were known here when they were unknown on the Continent be held to warrant or no the existence of a specifically British Joseph legend, they at all events prove that he was a familiar and favourite legendary figure on British soil. It would be rash to go any farther, and to argue from the inadequacy of the reasons by which Wülcker seeks to account for the early knowledge of the Evangelium Nicodemi in England, that Joseph enjoyed particular favour among the British Christians, and that it was from them the tidings of him spread among their Saxon conquerors. The legendary popularity of Joseph in these islands, though not in any special capacity of Apostle of Britain, is thus attested. Let us admit for argument's sake that the conversion legend did first take shape in the twelfth century, is it not more likely to have done so here, where the apocryphal writings about him were widely spread, than in France, where they were practically unknown? And why if Borron, or any other French poet, wanted to connect the Holy Vessel legend which he had imagined with Arthur, should he go out of his way to invent the personages of Brons and Alain? The story as found in the Queste would surely have been a far more natural one for him. And why the insistence upon Avalon? We have plain proof that Borron did not understand the word, as he explains it by a ridiculous pun (_supra_, p. 78).[142] These difficulties are met in a large measure if we look upon Bran (Brons) as the starting point of the Christian transformation of the legend. In any case we may say that a conversion legend, whether associated with Joseph or anyone else, would almost inevitably have gravitated towards Glastonbury, but there are special reasons why this should be the case with a Bran legend. Avalon is certainly the Welsh equivalent of the Irish Tír na n-Og, the land of youth, the land beyond the waves, the Celtic paradise. When or how this Cymric myth was localised at Glastonbury we know not.[143] We only know that Glastonbury was one of the first places in the island to be devoted to Christian worship. Is it too rash a conjecture that the Christian church may have taken the place of some Celtic temple or holy spot specially dedicated to the cult of the dead, and of that Lord of the Shades from which the Celts feigned their descent? The position of Glastonbury, not far from that western sea beyond which lie the happy isles of the dead, would favour such an hypothesis. Although direct proof is wanting, I believe that the localisation is old and genuine: Bran, ruler of the otherworld, of Avalon, would thus come into natural contact with Glastonbury; and if, as I assume, Joseph took his place in the conversion legend the association would extend to him. The after development of the legend would then be almost a matter of course. Bran, the ruler in Avalon, would pass on his magic gear (cauldron, spear, and sword, as in the case of the Tuatha de Dannan) to Bran the Blessed, who would in his turn transfer them to Joseph. And once the latter had entered into the legend, he would not fail to recall that last scene of the Lord's life with which he was so closely associated, not by any pseudo-gospel but by the canonical writings themselves, and thus the gear of the old Celtic gods became transformed into such objects as were most prominent in the story of the Passion and of the scene that immediately preceded it. The spear became that one wherewith Christ's side was pierced. As for the vessel, the sacramental nature is the last stage of its Christian development; its original object was merely to explain the sustenance of Joseph in prison, and to provide a miraculous refreshment for the Grail host, as is shown by the Early History portion of the Conte du Graal and by the Queste. In a dim and confused way the circumstances of the Resurrection helped to effect the change of the pagan resuscitation-cauldron into a symbol of the risen Lord. And some now lost feature of the original legend--some insistence upon the _contents_ of the vessel, some assimilation of them to blood--may have suggested the use to which the vessel was first put. This hypothesis assumes many things. It assumes a Bran conversion legend, of which the only evidence of anything like the same date as the romances is a single epithet; it assumes that the hero of this legend was originally an old Celtic divinity; it assumes a Joseph conversion legend, for which there is really no other evidence than that of the romances; it assumes the amalgamation of the two legends, and that Joseph took over in a large measure the _rôle_ and characteristics of Brons. And when it is recollected that the primary assumption, the identification of the two Brans, rests in a large measure upon the appearance of the fish in the Brons legend, that this fish is nowhere in Celtic tradition associated with Bran, that it is associated on the other hand with a being, Fionn, whom we have compared with Peredur, but that it is absent from the Peredur-saga, the hypothesis must be admitted to be of a tentative nature. I fully appreciate the force of the objections that can be urged against it; at the same time it has the merit of accounting for many puzzling features in the legend. When in the same story two personages can be distinguished whose _rôle_ is more or less of the same nature, when the one personage is subordinated in one version and has disappeared altogether from the other, it is quite legitimate to conclude that two originally independent accounts have become blended, and that one has absorbed the other. The hypothesis is on safe ground so far. It thus explains the presence of Brons in the legend, as well as his absence from some versions of it; it has something to say in explanation of the connection with Glastonbury; it explains in what way the Celtic traditions were started on their path of transformation; and it provides for that transformation taking the very course it did. There is nothing to be urged against it on _a priori_ grounds; once admit the premisses, and the rest follows easily and naturally. Its conjectural character (the main objection to it) is shared in an even higher degree by the other hypotheses, which have essayed to account for the growth and origin of the legend, and _they_ have the disadvantage of being inherently impossible. In the light of the foregoing investigations and hypotheses we may now amplify the sketch history of the whole cycle given in Chapter III. The Peredur-saga probably came into existence in much its later form at an early date in the Middle Ages. A number of older mythical tales centered in a, perhaps, historical personage. The circumstances of his life and adventures may have given them not only cohesion, but may also have coloured and distorted them; nevertheless they remained, in the main, mythical tales of the same kind as those found all over the world. One of these tales was undoubtedly a Cymric variant of the Celtic form of the Expulsion and Return formula; another dealt with the hero's journey to the Land of Shades; traces of many others are to be found in the Mabinogi. Another Celtic worthy, Gwalchmai, was early associated with Peredur, and the two stood in some such relation to each other as the twin brethren of a widely spread folk-tale group. Curiously enough, whilst comparatively few incidents in the Peredur-saga were worked up into the version which served as immediate model to the North French romances, that version contained many adventures of Gwalchmai's which have not been preserved in Welsh. We can trace three main crystallizations of the original saga-mass; one represented by the Proto-Mabinogi contained the feud quest, and, probably, some only of the other adventures found in the present Mabinogi; the second, based more on the lines of the Expulsion and Return formula, is represented by the Thornton MS. romance; in the third the feud quest was mixed up with the hero's visit to the Bespelled Castle, and those portions of the Gwalchmai-saga which told of his visit to Castle Perillous as well as to the Bespelled Castle. Whilst the Proto-Mabinogi was probably in prose, the Proto-Conte du Graal was probably in verse, a collection of short _lais_ like those of Marie de France. Meanwhile, one of the chief personages of the older mythic world which appear in the Peredur-saga, Bran, the Lord of the Land of Shades, of the Bespelled Castle, of the cauldron of healing, increase and wisdom, and of the knowledge-giving salmon, had become the Apostle of Britain, his pagan attributes thus suffering a Christian change, which was perfected when Joseph took the place of Brons, bringing with him his gospel associations and the apocryphal legends that had clustered round his name. Thus a portion of the saga was Christianised, whilst the other portion lost its old, fixed popular character, owing to the fusion of originally distinct elements, and the consequent unsettling both of the outlines and of the details of the story. Incidents and features which in the earlier folk-tale stage were sharply defined and intelligible became vague and mysterious. In this state, and bearing upon it the peculiarly weird and fantastic impress of Celtic mythic tradition, the story, or story-mass rather, lay ready to the hand of courtly poet or of clerical mystic. At first Christian symbolism was introduced in a slight and meagre way--the Brons-Joseph legend supplied the Christian meaning of the talismans, and that was all. But the Joseph legend was soon vigorously developed by the author of the work which underlies the Queste and the Grand St. Graal. He may either not have known or have deliberately discarded Brons, the old Celtic hero of the conversion, as he certainly deliberately thrust down from his place of pre-eminence Perceval, the Celtic hero of the Quest, substituting for him a new hero, Galahad, and for the adventures of the Conte du Graal, based as they were upon no guiding conceptions, fresh adventures intended to glorify physical chastity. With all his mystic fervour he failed to see the full capacities of the theme, his presentment of the Grail itself being in especial either over-material or over-spiritual. But his work exercised a profound influence, as is seen in the case of Chrestien's continuators. Robert de Borron, on the other hand, if to him the merit must be assigned, if he was not simply transcribing an older, forgotten version, was a more original thinker, if a less gifted writer. Although he was not able to entirely harmonise the conflicting accounts of which he made use, he yet succeeded in keeping close to the old lines of the legend whilst giving a consistent symbolical meaning to all its details. His work came too late, however, to exercise the influence it should have done upon the development of the legend; the writers who knew it were mere heapers together of adventures, and the very man who composed a sequel to it abandoned Robert's main conception. The history of the Legend of the Holy Grail is, thus, the history of the gradual transformation of old Celtic folk-tales into a poem charged with Christian symbolism and mysticism. This transformation, at first the inevitable outcome of its pre-Christian development, was hastened later by the perception that it was a fitting vehicle for certain moral and spiritual ideas. These have been touched upon incidentally in the course of these studies, but they and their manifestation in modern as well as in mediæval literature deserve fuller notice. CHAPTER X. Popularity of the Arthurian Romance--Reasons for that Popularity--Affinities of the Mediæval Romances with early Celtic Literature; Importance of the Individual Hero; Knighthood; the _rôle_ of Woman; the Celtic Fairy and the Mediæval Lady; the Supernatural--M. Renan's views--The Quest in English Literature, Malory--The earliest form of the Legend, Chrestien, his continuators--The Queste and its Ideal--The Sex-Relations in the Middle Ages--Criticism of Mr. Furnivall's estimate of the moral import of the Queste--The Merits of the Queste--The Chastity Ideal in the later versions--Modern English Treatments: Tennyson, Hawker--Possible Source of the Chastity Ideal in Popular Tradition--The Perceval Quest in Wolfram; his Moral Conception; the Question; Parzival and Conduiramur--The Parzival Quest and Faust--Wagner's Parsifal--The Christian element in the Legend--Ethical Ideas in the folk-tale originals of the Grail Romances: the Great Fool, the Sleeping Beauty--Conclusion. Few legends have attained such wide celebrity, or been accepted as so thoroughly symbolical of one master conception, as that of the Holy Grail. Poets and thinkers from mediæval times to our own days have used it as a type of the loftiest goal of man's effort. There must be something in the romances which first embodied this conception to account for the enduring favour it has enjoyed. Nor is it that we read into the old legend meanings and teachings undreamt of before our day. At a comparatively early stage in the legend's existence its capacities were perceived, and the works which were the outcome of that perception became the breviary and the exemplar of their age. There are reasons, both general and special, why the Celtic mythic tales grew as they did, and had such overwhelming vogue in their new shapes. In no portion of the vast Arthurian cycle is it more needful or more instructive to see what these reasons were than in that which recounts the fortunes of the Grail. The tales of Peredur and Gwalchmai, bound up with the Arthurian romance, shared its success, than which nothing in all literary history is more marvellous. It was in the year 1145 that Geoffrey of Monmouth first made the legendary history of Britain accessible to the lettered class of England and Continent. He thereby opened up to the world at large a new continent of romantic story, and exercised upon the development of literature an influence comparable in its kind to that of Columbus' achievement upon the course of geographical discovery and political effort. Twenty years had not passed before the British heroes were household names throughout Europe, and by the close of the century nearly every existing literature had assimilated and reproduced the story of Arthur and his Knights. Charlemagne and Alexander, the sagas of Teutonic tribes, the tale of Imperial Rome itself, though still affording subject matter to the wandering jongleur or monkish annalist, paled before the fame of the British King. The instinct which led the twelfth and thirteenth centuries thus to place the Arthurian story above all others was a true one. It was charged with the spirit of romance, and they were pre-eminently the ages of the romantic temper. The West had turned back towards the East, and, although the intent was hostile, the minds of the western men had been fecundated, their imagination fired by contact with the mother of all religions and all cultures. The achievements of the Crusaders became the standard of attainment to the loftiest and boldest minds of Western Christendom. For these men Alexander himself lacked courage and Roland daring. The fathers had stormed Jerusalem, and the sons' youth had been nourished on tales of Araby the Blest and Ophir the Golden of strife with the Paynim, of the sorceries and devilries of the East. Nothing seemed impossible to a generation which knew of toils and quests greater than any minstrel had sung, which had beheld in the East sights as wondrous and fearful as any the jongleur could tell of. Moreover, the age was that of Knight Errantry, and of that phase of love in which every Knight must qualify himself for the reception of his lady's favours by the performance of some feat of skill and daring. Such an age and such men demanded a special literature, and they found it in adaptations of Celtic tales. The mythic heroic literature of all races is in many respects alike. The sagas not only of Greek or Persian, of Celt or Hindu, of Slav or Teuton, but also of Algonquin or Japanese, are largely made up of the same incidents set in the same framework. But each race shapes this common material in its own way, sets upon it its own stamp. And no race has done this more unmistakably than the Celtic. Stories which go back to the first century, stories taken down from the lips of living peasants, have a kinship of tone and style, a common ring which no one who has studied this literature can fail to recognise. What stamps the whole of it is the prevailing and abiding spirit of romance. To rightly urge the Celtic character of the Arthurian romances would require the minute analysis of many hundred passages, and it would only be proving a case admitted by everyone who knows all the facts. It will be more to the point to dwell briefly upon those outward features which early (_i.e._, pre-eleventh century) Celtic heroic literature has in common with the North French romances of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, especially as we thus gain a clue to much that is problematic in the formal and moral growth of the Arthurian cycle in general and of the Grail cycle in particular. In Celtic tradition, as little as in mediæval romance, do we find a record of race-struggles such as meets us in the Nibelungenlied, in the Dietrich saga, or the Carolingian cycle.[144] In its place we have a glorification of the individual hero. The reason is not far to seek. The Celtic tribes, whether of Ireland or Britain, were surrounded by men of their own speech, of like institutions and manners. The shock of opposing nations, of rival civilisations, could not enter into their race-tradition. The story-teller had as his chief theme the prowess and skill of the individual "brave," the part he took in the conflicts which clan incessantly waged with clan, or his encounters with those powers of an older mythic world which lived on in the folk-fancy. To borrow Mr. Fitzgerald's convenient terminology, the "constants" of this tradition may be the same as in that of other Aryan races, the "resultants" are not. To give one instance: the conception of a chief surrounded by a picked band of warriors is common to all heroic tradition, but nowhere is it of such marked importance, nowhere does it so mould and shape the story as in the cycles of Conchobor and the Knights of the Red Branch, of Fionn and the Fianna, and of Arthur and his Knights. The careers of any of the early Irish heroes, the single-handed raids of Cét mac Magach or Conall Cearnach, above all the fortunes of Cuchullain, his hero's training in the Amazon-isle, his strife with Curoi mac Daire, his expeditions to fairy-land, his final holding of the ford against all the warriors of Erinn, breathe the same spirit of adventure for its own sake, manifest the same subordination of all else in the story to the one hero, that are such marked characteristics of the Arthurian romance. Again, in the bands of picked braves who surround Conchobor or Fionn, in the rules by which they are governed, the trials which precede and determine admission into them, the duties and privileges which attach to them, we have, it seems to me, a far closer analogue to the knighthood of mediæval romance than may be found either in the Peers of Carolingian saga or in the chosen warriors who throng the halls of Walhalla. In the present connection the part played by woman in Celtic tradition is perhaps of most import to us. In no respect is the difference more marked than in this between the twelfth century romances, whether French or German, and the earlier heroic literature of either nation. The absence of feminine interest in the earlier _chansons de geste_ has often been noted. The case is different with Teutonic heroic literature, in which woman's _rôle_ is always great, sometimes pre-eminently so. But a comparison of the two strains of traditions, Celtic and Teutonic, one with the other, and again with the romances, may help to account for much that is otherwise inexplicable to us in the mediæval presentment of the sex-feelings and sex-relations. The love of man, and immortal, or, if mortal, semi-divine maid is a "constant" of heroic tradition. Teuton and Celt have handled this theme, however, in a very different spirit. In the legends of the former the man plays the chief part; he woos, sometimes he forces the fairy maiden to become the mistress of his hearth. As a rule, overmastered by the prowess and beauty of the hero, she is nothing loth. But sometimes, as does Brunhild, she feels the change a degradation and resents it. It is otherwise with the fairy mistresses of the Celtic hero; they abide in their own place, and they allure or compel the mortal lover to resort to them. Connla and Bran and Oisin must all leave this earth and sail across ocean or lake before they can rejoin their lady love; even Cuchullain, mightiest of all the heroes, is constrained, struggle as he may, to go and dwell with the fairy queen Fand, who has woed him. Throughout, the immortal mistress retains her superiority; when the mortal tires and returns to earth she remains, ever wise and fair, ready to welcome and enchant a new generation of heroes. She chooses whom she will, and is no man's slave; herself she offers freely, but she abandons neither her liberty nor her divine nature. This type of womanhood, capricious, independent, severed from ordinary domestic life, is assuredly the original of the Vivians, the Orgueilleuses, the Ladies of the Fountain of the romances; it is also one which must have commended itself to the knightly devotees of mediæval romantic love. Their "_dame d'amour_" was, as a rule, another man's wife; she raised in their minds no thought of home or child. In the tone of their feelings towards her, in the character of their intercourse with her, they were closer akin to Oisin and Neave, to Cuchullain and Fand, than to Siegfried and Brunhild, or to Roland and Aude. Even where the love-story passes wholly among mortals, the woman's _rôle_ is more accentuated than in the Teutonic sagas. She is no mere lay-figure upon a fire-bound rock like Brunhild or Menglad, ready, when the destined hero appears, to fall straightway into his arms. Emer, the one maiden of Erinn whom Cuchullain condescends to woo, is eager to show herself in all things worthy of him; she tests his wit as well as his courage, she makes him accept her conditions.[145] In the great tragic tale of ancient Ireland, the Fate of the Sons of Usnech, Deirdre--born like Helen or Gudrun, to be a cause of strife among men, of sorrow and ruin to whomsoever she loves--Deirdre takes her fate into her own hands, and woos Noisi with outspoken passionate frankness. The whole story is conceived and told in a far more "romantic" strain than is the case with parallel stories from Norse tradition, the loves of Helgi and Sigrun, or those of Sigurd and Brunhild-Gudrun. And if the lament of Deirdre over her slain love lacks the grandeur and the intensity with which the Norse heroines bewail their dead lords, it has, on the other hand, an intimate, a personal touch we should hardly have looked for in an eleventh century Irish epic.[146] Another link between the Celtic sagas and the romances is their treatment of the supernatural. Heroic-traditional literature is made up of mythical elements, of scenes, incidents, and formulas which have done service in that account of man's dealings with and conceptions of the visible world which we call mythology. All such literature derives ultimately from an early, wholly animistic stage of culture. Small marvel, then, if in the hero-tales of every race there figure wonder-working talismans and bespelled weapons, if almost every great saga has, as part of its _dramatis personæ_, objects belonging to what we should now call the inanimate world. Upon these a species of life is conferred, most often by power of magic, but at times, it would seem, in virtue of the older conception which held all things to be endowed with like life. All heroic literatures do not, however, accentuate equally and similarly this magic side of their common stock. Celtic tradition is not only rich and varied beyond all others in this respect, it often thus secures its chief artistic effects. The talismans of Celtic romance, the fairy branch of Cormac, the Ga-bulg of Cuchullain, the sounding-hammer of Fionn, the treasures of the Boar Trwyth after which Prince Kilhwch sought, the glaives of light of the living folk-tale, have one and all a weird, fantastic, half-human existence, which haunts and thrills the imagination. No Celtic story-teller could have "mulled" the Nibelung-hoard as the poet of the Nibelungenlied has done. How different in this respect the twelfth century romances are from the earlier German or French sagas, how close to the Irish tales is apparent to whomsoever reads them with attention.[147] I do not for one moment imply that the romantic literature of the Middle Ages was what it was, wholly or even mainly in virtue of its Celtic affinities. That literature was the outcome of the age, and something akin to it would have sprung up had Celtic tradition remained unknown to the Continent. The conception of feudal knighthood as a favoured class, in which men of different nations met on a common footing; the conception of knightly love as something altogether disassociated from domestic life, must in any case have led to the constitution of such a society as we find portrayed in the romances. What is claimed is that the spirit of the age, akin to the Celtic, recognised in Celtic tales the food it was hungering for. It transformed them to suit its own needs and ideas, but it carried out the transformation on the whole in essential agreement with tradition. In some cases a radical change is made; such a one is presented to us in the Grail cycle. The legend thus started with the advantages of belonging to the popular literature of the time, and of association through Brons with Christian tradition. Its incidents were varied, and owing to the blending of diverse strains of story vague enough to be plastic. The formal development of the cycle has been traced in the earlier chapters of these studies; that of its ideal conceptions will be found to follow similar lines. Various ethical intentions can be distinguished, and there is not more difference between the versions in the conduct of the story than in the ideals they set forth. To some readers it may have seemed well nigh sacrilegious to trace that ... vanished Vase of Heaven That held like Christ's own Heart an Hin of Blood, to the magic vessels of pagan deities. In England the Grail-legend is hardly known save in that form which it has assumed in the Queste. This French romance was one of those which Malory embodied in his _rifacimento_ of the Arthurian cycle, and, thanks to Malory, it has become a portion of English speech and thought.[148] In our own days our greatest poet has expressed the quintessence of what is best and purest in the old romance in lines of imperishable beauty. As we follow Sir Galahad by secret shrine and lonely mountain mere until Ah, blessed vision! Blood of God, The spirit beats her mortal bars, As down dark tides the glory slides, And star-like mingles with the stars. we are under a spell that may not be resisted. And yet of the two main paths which the legend has trodden that of Galahad is the least fruitful and the least beautiful. Compared with the Perceval Quest in its highest literary embodiment the Galahad Quest is false and antiquated on the ethical side, lifeless on the æsthetic side. As it first meets us in literature the legend has barely emerged from its pure and simple narrative stage. There is a temptation to exaggerate Chrestien's skill of conception when speculating how he would have finished his work, but we know enough, probably, to correctly gauge his intentions. It has been said he meant to portray the ideal knight in Perceval. As was formerly the wont of authors he presents his hero in a good light, and he may be credited with a perception of the opportunity afforded him by his subject for placing that hero in positions wherein a knight could best distinguish himself. In so far his work may be accepted as his picture of a worthy knight. But I can discover in it no scheme of a quest after the highest good to be set forth by means of the incidents at his command. Perceval is brave as a matter of course, punctual in obeying the counsels of his mother and of his teachers, Gonemans and the hermit-uncle, unaffectedly repentant when he is convicted of having neglected his religious duties. But it cannot be said that the hermit's exhortations or the hero's repentance, confession, and absolution mark, or are intended to mark, a definite stage in a progress towards spiritual perfection. The explanation of the hero's silence as a consequence of his sin in leaving his mother, shows how little real thought has been bestowed upon the subject. This explanation, whether wholly Chrestien's, as I am tempted to think, or complacently reproduced from his model, gives the measure of his skill in constructing an allegory. Beyond insistence upon such points (the hero's docility) as were indicated to him by his model, or, as in the case of his religious opinions, were a matter of course in a work of the time, Chrestien gives Perceval no higher morality, no loftier aims than those of the day. The ideal of chastity, soon to become of such importance in the development of the legend, is nowhere set forth. Perceval, like Gawain, takes full advantage of what _bonnes fortunes_ come in his way. And if the Quest connotes no spiritual ideal, still less does it one of temporal sovereignty. Had Chrestien finished his story he would have made Perceval heal the Maimed King and win his kingdom, but that kingdom would not have been a type of the highest earthly magnificence. We have seen reason to hold that Chrestien made one great change in the story as he found it in his model; he assigns the Fisher-King's illness to a wound received in battle. This he did, I think, simply with a view to shortening the story by leaving out the whole of the Partinal episode. No mystical conception was floating in his mind. Yet, as we shall see, the shape which he gave to this incident strongly influenced some of the later versions, and gave the hint for the most philosophical _motif_ to be found in the whole cycle. The immediate continuators of Chrestien lift the legend to no higher level. I incline to think that Gautier, with less skill of narrative and far greater prolixity, yet trod closely in Chrestien's footsteps. In the love episodes he is as full of charm as the more celebrated poet. The second meeting of Perceval and Blanchefleur is told with that graceful laughing _naïveté_ of which French literature of the period has the secret. But of a plan, an animating conception even such slight traces as Chrestien had introduced into the story are lacking. Here, as in Chrestien, the mysterious talismans themselves in no way help forward the story. Chrestien certainly had the Christian signification of them in his mind, but makes no use of it. The Vessel of the Last Supper, the Spear that pierced Christ's side might be any magic spear or vessel as far as he is concerned. The original Pagan essence is retained; the name alone is changed. Thus far had the legend grown when it came into the hands of the author of the Queste. The subject matter had been partly shaped and trimmed by a master of narrative, the connection with Christian tradition had been somewhat accentuated. It was open to the author of the Queste to take the story as it stood, and to read into its incidents a deep symbolical meaning based upon the Christian character of the holy talismans. He preferred to act otherwise. He broke entirely with the traditional framework, dispossessed the original hero, and left not an incident of his model untouched. But his method of proceeding may be likened to a shuffle rather than to a transformation. The incidents reappear in other connection, but do not reveal the author's plan any more than is the case in the Conte du Graal. The Christian character of the talismans is dwelt upon with almost wearisome iteration, the sacramental act supplies the matter of many and of the finest scenes, and yet the essence of the talismans is unchanged. The Holy Grail, the Cup of the Last Supper, the Sacramental Chalice is still when it appears the magic food-producing vessel of the old Pagan sagas. What is the author's idea? Undoubtedly to show that the attainment of the highest spiritual good is not a thing of this world; only by renouncing every human desire, only by passing into a land intermediary between this earth and heaven, is the Quest achieved. In the story of the prosecution of that Quest some attempt may be traced at portraying the cardinal virtues and deadly sins by means of the adventures of the questers, and of the innumerable exhortations addressed to them. But no skill is shown in the conduct of this plan, which is carried out chiefly by the introduction of numerous allegorical scenes which are made a peg for lengthy dogmatic and moral expositions. In this respect the author compares unfavourably with Robert de Borron, who shapes his story in full accord with his conception of the Grail itself, a conception deriving directly from the symbolic Christian nature he attributed to it, and who makes even such unpromising incidents as that of the Magic Fisher subserve his guiding idea.[149] If the author's way of carrying out his conception cannot be praised, how does it stand with the conception itself? The fact that the Quest is wholly disassociated from this earth at once indicates the standpoint of the romance. The first effect of the Quest's proclamation is to break up the Table Round, that type of the noblest human society of the day, and its final achievement brings cheer or strengthening to no living man. The successful questers alone in their unhuman realm have any joy of the Grail. The spirit in which they prosecute their quest is best exemplified by Sir Bors. When he comes to the magic tower and is tempted of the maidens, who threaten to cast themselves down and be dashed to pieces unless he yield them his love, he is sorry for them, but unmoved, thinking it better "they lose their souls than he his." So little had the Christian writer apprehended the signification of Christ's most profound saying. The character of the principal hero is in consonancy with this aim, wholly remote from the life of man on earth. A shadowy perfection at the outset, he remains a shadowy perfection throughout, a bloodless and unreal creature, as fit when he first appears upon the scene as when he quits it, to accomplish a quest, purposeless, inasmuch as it only removes him from a world in which he has neither part nor share. Such human interest as there is in the story is supplied by Lancelot, who takes over many of the adventures of Perceval or Gawain in the Conte du Graal. In him we note contrition for past sin, strivings after a higher life with which we can sympathise. In fine, such moral teaching as the Queste affords is given us rather by sinful Lancelot than by sinless Galahad. But the aversion to this world takes a stronger form in the Queste, and one which is the vital conception of the work, in the insistence upon the need for physical chastity. To rightly understand the author's position we must glance at the state of manners revealed by the romances, and in especial at the sex-relations as they were conceived of by the most refined and civilised men and women of the day. The French romances are, as a rule, too entirely narrative to enable a clear realisation of what these were. Wolfram, with his keener and more sympathetic eye for individual character--Wolfram, who loves to analyse the sentiments and to depict the outward manifestations of feeling of his personages--is our best guide here. The manners and customs of the day can be found in the French romances; the feelings which underlie them must be sought for in the German poet. The marked feature of the sex-relations in the days of chivalry was the institution of _minnedienst_ (love-service). The knight bound himself to serve a particular lady, matron or maid. To approve himself brave, hardy, daring, patient, and discreet was his part of the bargain, and when fulfilled the lady must fulfil hers and pay her servant. The relation must not for one moment be looked upon as platonic; the last favours were in every case exacted, or rather were freely granted, as the lady, whether maid or wedded wife, thought it no wrong thus to reward her knight. It would have been "bad form" to deny payment when the service had been rendered, and the offender guilty of such conduct would have been scouted by her fellow-women as well as by all men. Nothing is more instructive in this connection than the delightfully told episode of Gawain and Orgueilleuse. The latter is unwedded, a great and noble lady, but she has already had several favoured lovers, as indeed she frankly tells Gawain. He proffers his service, which she hardly accepts, but heaps upon him all manner of indignity and insult, which he bears with the patient and resourceful courtesy, his characteristic in mediæval romance. Whilst the time of probation lasts, no harsh word, no impatient gesture, escapes him. But when he has accomplished the feat of the Ford Perillous he feels that he has done enough, and taking his lady-love to task he lectures her, as a grave middle-aged man might some headstrong girl, upon the duties of a well-bred woman and upon the wrong she has done knighthood in his person. To point the moral he winds up, at mid-day in the open forest, with a proposition which the repentant scornful one can only parry by the naïve remark, "Seldom she had found it warm in the embrace of a mail-clad arm." Not only was it the lady's duty to yield after a proper delay, but at times she might even make the first advances and be none the worse thought of. Blanchefleur comes to Perceval's bed with scarce an apology.[150] Orgueilleuse, overcome with admiration at the Red Knight's prowess, offers him her love. True, she has doubts as to the propriety of her conduct, but when she submits them to Gawain, the favoured lover for the time being, he unhesitatingly approves her--Perceval's fame was such that had he accepted her proffered love she could have suffered naught in honour. Customs such as these, and a state of feelings such as they imply, are so remote from us, that it is difficult to realise them, particularly in view of the many false statements respecting the nature of chivalrous love which have obtained currency. But we must bear in mind that the age was pre-eminently one of individual prowess. The warlike virtues were all in all. That a man should be brave, hardy, and skilful in the use of his weapons was the essential in a time when the single hero was almost of as much account as in the days of Achilles, Siegfried, or Cuchullain. That _minnedienst_ tended to this end, as did other institutions of the day which we find equally blamable, is its historical excuse. Even then many felt its evils and perceived its anti-social character. Some, too, there were who saw how deeply it degraded the ideal of love. A protest against this morality was indeed desirable. Such a one the Queste does supply. But it is not enough to protest in a matter so profoundly affecting mankind as the moral ideas which govern the sex-relations. Not only must the protest be made in a right spirit, and on the right lines, but a truer and loftier ideal must be set up in place of the one attacked. In how far the Queste fulfils these conditions we shall see. Meanwhile, as a sample of the feelings with which many Englishmen have regarded it, and as an attempt to explain its historical and ethical _raison d'être_, I cannot do better than quote Mr. Furnivall's enthusiastic words: "What is the lesson of it all? Is the example of Galahad and his unwavering pursuit of the highest spiritual object set before him, nothing to us? Is that of Perceval, pure and tempted, on the point of yielding, yet saved by the sight of the symbol of his Faith, to be of no avail to us? Is the tale of Bohors, who has once sinned, but by a faithful life ... at last tasting spiritual food, and returning to devote his days to God and Good--is this no lesson to us?... On another point, too, this whole Arthur story may teach us. Monkish, to some extent, the exaltation of bodily chastity above almost every other earthly virtue is; but the feeling is a true one; it is founded on a deep reverence for woman, which is the most refining and one of the noblest sentiments of man's nature, one which no man can break through without suffering harm to his spiritual life." It would be hard to find a more striking instance of how the "editorial idol" may override perception and judgment. He who draws such lofty and noble teachings from the Queste del Saint Graal, must first bring them himself. He must read modern religion, modern morality into the mediæval allegory, and on one point he must entirely falsify the mediæval conception. Whether this is desirable is a question we can have no hesitation in deciding negatively. It is better to find out what the author really meant than to interpret his symbolism in our own fashion. The author of the Queste places the object and conditions of his mystic quest wholly outside the sphere of human action or interest; in a similar spirit he insists, as an indispensable requirement in the successful quester, upon a qualification necessarily denied to the vast majority of mankind. His work is a glorification of physical chastity. "Blessed are the pure--in body--for they shall inherit the Kingdom of Heaven," is the text upon which he preaches. In such a case everything depends upon the spirit of the preacher, and good intent is not enough to win praise. His conception, says Mr. Furnivall, is founded upon a deep reverence for woman. This is, indeed, such a precious thing that had the mediæval ascetic really felt it we could have forgiven the stupidity which ignores all that constitutes the special dignity and pathos of womanhood. But he felt nothing of the kind. Woman is for him the means whereby sin came into the world, the arch stumbling-block, the tool the devil finds readiest to his hands when he would overcome man. Only in favour of the Virgin Mother, and of those who like her are vowed to mystical maidenhood, does the author pardon woman at all. One single instance will suffice to characterize the mediæval standpoint. When the Quest of the Holy Grail was first proclaimed in Arthur's Court there was great commotion, and the ladies would fain have joined therein, "car cascune dame ou damoiselle (qui) fust espousée ou amie, dist à son chiualer qu'ele yroit od lui en la queste." But a hermit comes forward to forbid this; "No dame or damsel is to accompany her knight lest he fall into deadly sin." Wife or leman, it was all one for the author of the Queste; woman could not but be an occasion for deadly sin, and the sin, though in the one case less in degree (and even this is uncertain), was the same in kind. Fully one-half of the romance is one long exemplification of the essential vileness of the sex-relation, worked out with the minute and ingenious nastiness of a Jesuit moral theologian. The author was of his time; it was natural he should think and write as he did, and it would be uncritical to blame him for his degrading view of womanhood or for his narrow and sickly view of life. But when we are bidden to seek example of him, it is well to state the facts as they are.[151] If his transformation of the story has been rudely effected without regard to its inherent possibilities, if the spirit of his ideal proves to be miserably ascetic and narrow, what then remains to the Queste, and how may we account for its popularity in its own day, and for the abiding influence which its version of the legend has exercised over posterity. Its literary qualities are at times great; certain scenes, especially such as set forth the sacramental nature of the Grail, are touched with a mystical fervour which haunts the imagination. It has given some of the most picturesque features to this most picturesque of legends. But I see in the idea of the mystic quest proclaimed to and shared in by the whole Table Round the real secret of the writer's success. This has struck the imagination of so many generations and given the Queste an undeserved fame. In truth the conception of Arthur's court, laying aside ordinary cares and joys, given wholly up to one overmastering spiritual aim, is a noble one. It is, I think, only in a slight degree the outcome of definite thought and intent but was dictated to the writer by the form into which he had recast the story. Galahad had supplanted Perceval, but the latter could not be suppressed entirely. The achievement of the quest involved the passing away out of this world of the chief heroes, hence a third less perfect one is joined to them to bring back tidings to earth of the marvels he had witnessed. Lancelot, to whom are assigned so many of Perceval's adventures, cannot be denied a share in the quest; it is the same with Gawain, whose character in the older romance fits him, moreover, excellently for the _rôle_ of "dreadful example." By this time the Arthurian legend was fully grown, and the mention of these Knights called up the names of others with whom they were invariably connected by the romance writers. Well nigh every hero of importance was thus drawn into the magic circle, and the mystic Quest assumed, almost inevitably, the shape it did. This conception, to which, if I am right, the author of the Queste was led half unconsciously, seems to us the most admirable thing in his work. It was, however, his ideal of virginity which struck the idea of his contemporaries, and which left its mark upon after versions. An age with such a gross ideal of love may have needed an equally gross ideal of purity. Physical chastity plays henceforth the leading part in the moral development of the cycle. With Robert de Borron it is the sin of the flesh which brings down upon the Grail host the wrath of Heaven, and necessitates the display of the Grail's wondrous power. Here may be noted the struggle of the new conception with the older form of the story. Alain, the virgin knight, would rather be flayed than marry, and yet he does marry in obedience to the original model. Robert is consistent in all that relates to the symbolism of the Grail, but in other respects, as we have already seen, he is easily thrown off his guard. In the Didot-Perceval, written as a sequel to Robert's poem, the same struggle between old and new continues, and the reconciling spirit goes to work in naïve and unskilful style. The incidents of the Conte du Graal are kept, although they accord but ill with the hero's ascetic spirit. In the portion of the Conte du Graal itself which goes under Manessier's name, along with adventures taken direct from Chrestien's model, and far less Christianised than in the earlier poet's work, many occur which are simply transferred from the Queste. No attempt is made at reconciling these jarring elements, and the effect of the contrast is at times almost comic. In two of the later romances of the cycle the fusion has been more complete, and the result is, in consequence, more interesting. The prose Perceval le Gallois keeps the original hero of the Quest as far as name and kinship are concerned, but it gives him the aggressive virginity and the proselytising zeal of Galahad. Gerbert's finish to the Conte du Graal is, perhaps, the strangest outcome of the double set of influences to which the later writers were exposed. Without doubt his model differed from the version used by Gautier and Manessier. It is more Celtic in tone, and is curiously akin to the hypothetical lost source of Wolfram von Eschenbach. The hero's absence from his lady-love is insisted upon, and the need of returning to her before he can find peace. The genuineness of this feature admits of little doubt. Many folk-tales tell of the severance of lover and beloved, and of their toilful wanderings until they meet again; such a tale easily lends itself to the idea that separation is caused by guilt, and that, whilst severed, one or other lover must suffer misfortune. Often, as in the case of Diarmaid and the Daughter of King Under the Waves (_supra_, p. 194), definite mention is made of the guilt, as a rule an infringed taboo. Such an incident could scarcely fail to assume the ethical shape Gerbert has given it. Thus he had only to listen to his model, to take his incidents as he found them, and he had the matter for a moral conception wholly in harmony with them. The chastity ideal has been too strong for him. His lovers do come together, but only to exemplify the virtue of continence in the repulsive story of their bridal night. After Gerbert the cycle lengthens, but does not develop. The Queste retains its supremacy, and through Malory its dominant conception entered deeply into the consciousness of the English race. How far the author of the Queste must be credited with the new ideal he brought into the legend is worth enquiry. Like so much else therein, it may have its roots in the folk and hero tales which underlie the romances. The Castle of Talismans visited by Perceval is the Land of Shades. In popular tradition the incident takes the form of entry into the hollow hill-side where the fairy king holds his court and hoards untold riches. Poverty and simplicity are the frequent qualifications of the successful quester; oftener still some mystic birthright, the being a Sunday's child for instance, or a seventh son; or again freedom from sin is required, and, perhaps, most frequently maidenhood.[152] The stress which so many peoples lay upon virginity in the holy prophetic maidens, who can transport themselves into the otherworld and bring thence the commands of the god, may be noted in the same connection. No Celtic tale I have examined with a view to throwing light upon the Grail romances insists upon this idea, but some version, now lost, may possibly have done so. Celtic tradition gave the romance writers of the Middle Ages material and form for the picture of human love; it may also have given them a hint of the opposing ideal of chastity.[153] All this time it should be noted that no real progress is made in the symbolical machinery of the legend. The Holy Grail becomes superlatively sacrosanct, but it retains its pristine pagan essence, even in the only version, the Grand St. Graal, which knew of Borron and of his mystical conception. Such, then, had been the growth of the legend in one direction. The original incidents were either transformed, mutilated, or, where they kept their first shape, underwent no ethical deepening or widening. The talismans themselves had been transferred from Celtic to Christian mythology, but their fate was still bound up with the otherworld. He who would seek them must turn his back upon this earth from which the Palace Spiritual and the City of Sarras were even more remote than Avalon or Tir-na n-Og. Was no other course open? Could not framework and incidents of the Celtic tales be retained, and yet, raised to a loftier, wider level, become a fit vehicle for philosophic thought and moral exhortation? One side of popular tradition figured the hero as wresting the talismans from the otherworld powers for the benefit of his fellow men. Could not this form of the myth be made to yield a human, practical conception of the Quest and Winning of the Holy Grail? We are luckily not reduced to conjecture in this matter. A work largely fulfilling these hypothetical requirements exists in the Parzival of Wolfram von Eschenbach. On the whole it is the most interesting individual work of modern European literature prior to the Divina Commedia, and its author has a better claim than any other mediæval poet to be called a man of genius. He must, of course, be measured by the standard of his time. It would be useless to expect from him that homogeneity of narrative, that artistic proportion of style first met with 150 years later in Italy, and which from Italy passed into all European literatures. Compared with the unknown poets who gave their present shape to the Nibelungenlied or to the Chanson de Roland he is an individual writer, but he is far from deserving this epithet even in the sense that Chaucer deserves it. His subject dominates him. Even when his philosophic mind is conceiving it under a new aspect he anxiously holds to the traditional form. Hence great inconsistencies in his treatment of the theme, hence, too, the frequent difficulty in interpreting his meaning, the frequent doubt as to how far the interpretation is correct. Here, as in the discussion respecting the _origines_ of the Grail legend, resort must often be had to conjecture, and any solution of the fascinating problems involved is necessarily and largely subjective. Wolfram's relation to his predecessors must be taken into account in estimating the value of the Parzival. The earlier portion of his work differs entirely, as we have seen, from any existing French romance; so does the finish in so far as it agrees with the opening. The greater part of the story is closely parallel to Chrestien; there are points of contact, peculiar to these two writers, with Gerbert. Little invention, properly so called, of incident can be traced in the Parzival. The part common to it and Chrestien is incomparably fuller and more interesting in the German poet, but the main outlines are the same. Wolfram has, however, been at some pains to let us know what was his conception of the legend. That much is allowed to remain at variance therewith is a clear proof of his timidity of invention. Doubt, he says, is the most potent corrupter of the soul. Whoso gives himself over to unfaith and unsteadfastness treadeth in truth the downward path. God Himself is very faithfulness. Strife against Him, doubt of Him, is the highest sin. But humility and repentance may expiate it, and he who thus repents may be chosen by God for the Grail Kingship, the summit of earthly holiness. Peace of soul and all earthly power are the chosen one's; alone, unlawful desire and the company of sinners are denied him by the Grail. How is this leading conception worked out? The framework and the march of incidents are the same as in the Conte du Graal. One capital change at once, however, lifts the story to a higher level. The Fisher King suffers from a wound received in the cause of unlawful love, in disobedience to those heavenly commands which govern the Grail community. The healing question can be put only by one worthy to take up the high office Amfortas has dishonoured, in virtue of having passed through the strife of doubt, and become reconciled to God by repentance and humble trust. If Parzival neglected to put the question on his first arrival at the Grail Castle, it was that in the conceit of youth he fancied all wisdom was his. Childish insistence upon his mother's counsels had brought down reproof upon him; he had learnt the world's wisdom from Gurnemanz, he had shown himself in defence of Conduiramur a valiant knight, worthy of power and woman's love. When brought into contact with the torturing sorrow of Amfortas, he is too full of himself, of his teacher's wisdom, to rightly use the opportunity. The profound significance of the question which at once releases the sinner, and announces the one way in which the sin may be cancelled, namely, by the coming of a worthier successor, is due, if we may credit Birch-Hirschfeld, to an accident. Wolfram only knew Chrestien. The latter never explains the real nature of the Grail, and the German poet's knowledge of French was too slight to put him on the right track. The question, "Whom serve they with the Grail?" which he found in Chrestien, was necessarily meaningless to him, and he replaced it by his, "Uncle, what is it tortures thee?" The change _may_ be the result of accident as is so much else in this marvellous legend, but it required a man of genius to turn the accident to such account. It is the insistence upon charity as the herald and token of spiritual perfection that makes the grandeur of Wolfram's poem, and raises it so immeasureably above the Queste. The same human spirit is visible in the delineation of the Grail Kingship as the type of the highest good. Wolfram's theology is distinctively antinomian--no man may win the Grail in his own strength; it choseth whom it will--and has been claimed on the one hand[154] as a reflex of orthodox Catholic belief, on the other as a herald of the Lutheran doctrine of grace.[155] Theological experts may be left to fight out this question among themselves. Apart from this, Wolfram has a practical sense of the value of human effort. With him the Quest is not to be achieved by utter isolation from this earth and its struggles. The chief function of the Grail Kingdom is to supply an abiding type of a divinely ordered Society; it also trains up leaders for those communities which lack them. It is a civilising power as well as a Palace Spiritual. In the relation of man to Heaven, Wolfram, whilst fully accepting the doctrines of his age, appeals to the modern spirit with far greater power and directness than the Queste. In the other great question of the legend, the relation of man to woman, he is likewise nearer to us, although it must be confessed that he builds better than he knows. To the love ideal of his day, based wholly upon passion and vanity and severed from all family feeling, he opposes the wedded love of Parzival and Conduiramur. The hero's recollection of the mother of his children is the one saving influence throughout the years of doubt and discouragement which follow Kundrie's reproaches. Whilst still staggering under this blow, so cruelly undeserved as it seems to him, he can wish his friend and comrade, Gawain, a woman chaste and good, whom he may love and who shall be his guardian angel. The thought of Conduiramur holds him aloof from the offered love of Orgeluse. In his last and bitterest fight, with his unknown brother, when it had nigh gone with him to his death, he recalls her and renews the combat with fresh strength. She it is for whom he wins the highest earthly crown, of which her pure, womanly heart makes her worthy. Reunion with her and with his children is Parzival's first taste of the joy that is henceforth to be his. Passages may easily be multiplied that tally ill with the ideas of the poem as here briefly set forth. But the existence of these ideas is patent to the unprejudiced reader. Despite its many shortcomings, the poem which contains them is the noblest and most human outcome of that mingled strain of Celtic fancy and Christian symbolism whose history we have traced.[156] In Wolfram, equally with the majority of the French romance writers, there is little consistency in the formal use of the mystic talismans. Be the reason what it may, Wolfram certainly never thought of associating the Grail with the Last Supper. But its religious character is, at times, as marked with him as with Robert de Borron or the author of the Queste. It is the actual vehicle of the Deity's commands; it restrains from sin; it suffers no unchaste servant; it may be seen of no heathen; the simple beholding of it preserves men from death. This last characteristic would be thought in modern times a sufficient tribute to the original nature of the old pagan cauldron of increase and rejuvenescence. But Wolfram was of his time, and followed his models faithfully. Along with the lofty spiritual attributes of his Grail, he pictures in drastic fashion its food-dispensing powers. The mystic stone, fallen from Heaven itself, renewed each Good Friday by direct action of the Spirit, becomes all at once a mere victual producing machine. We can see how little Wolfram liked this feature of his model, and how he felt the contrast between it and his own more spiritual conception. But here, as elsewhere in the poem, he allowed much to stand against which his better judgment protested. His own share in the development of the legend must be gauged by what is distinctively his, not by what he has in common with others. Judged thus, he must be said to have developed the Christian symbolic side of the legend as much as the human philosophic side. If in Robert de Borron the Grail touches its highest symbolic level through its identification with the body of the dead and risen Lord, we can trace in Wolfram the germ of that approximation of the Grail-Quester to the earthly career of the Saviour which Wagner was to develop more than 600 years later.[157] What influence Wolfram's poem, with its practical, human enthusiasm, its true and noble sexual morality, might have had on English literature is an interesting speculation. It would have appealed, one would think, to our race with its utilitarian ethical instinct, with its lofty ideal of wedded love. The true man, Parzival, should, in the fitness of things, be the English hero of the Quest, rather than the visionary ascetic Galahad. Mediæval England was dominated by France and knew nothing of Germany, and when in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries we can trace German influence on English thought and writ, taste had changed, and the Parzival was well-nigh forgotten in its own land. It remained so almost until our own days. The Quest after Perfection still haunted the German mind, but it was conceived of on altogether different lines from those of the twelfth century poet. The nation of scholars pictured the quester as a student, not as a knight. When it took shape in the dreary period of Protestant scholasticism the quest is wholly cursed. Faust's pursuit of knowledge is unlawful, a rebellion against God, which dooms him irrevocably. Not until Goethe's day is the full significance of the legend perceived, is the theme widened to embrace the totality of human striving. Thus the last glimpse we have of Faust is of one devoted to the service of man; the last words of the poem are a recognition of the divine element in the love of man and woman.[158] In Germany, as in England, the old legend has appealed afresh to poets and thinkers, and then, as was natural, they turned to Germany's greatest mediæval poet. Wagner's Parsifal would, in any case, be interesting as an expression of one of the strongest dramatic geniuses of the century. Considered purely as a work of literature, apart from the music, it has rare beauty and profound significance. The essentially dramatic bent of Wagner's mind, the stage destination of the poem, must be borne in mind when considering it. Wolfram's conception--youthful folly and inexperience chastised by reproof, followed by doubt and strife, cancelled by the faithful steadfastness of the full-grown man--is obviously unsuited for dramatic purposes. At no one point of Wolfram's poem do we find that clash of motives and of characters which the stage requires. In building up _his_ conception Wagner has utilised every hint of his predecessor with wonderful ingenuity. Klinschor, the magician, becomes with him the active opponent of the Grail King, Amfortas, from whom he has wrested the holy spear by the aid of Kundry's unholy beauty. Kundry is Wagner's great contribution to the legend. She is the Herodias whom Christ for her laughter doomed to wander till He come again. Subject to the powers of evil, she must tempt and lure to their destruction the Grail warriors. And yet she would find release and salvation could a man resist her love spell.[159] She knows this. The scene between the unwilling temptress, whose success would but doom her afresh, and the virgin Parsifal thus becomes tragic in the extreme. How does this affect Amfortas and the Grail? In this way. Parsifal is the "pure fool," knowing nought of sin or suffering. It had been foretold of him he should become "wise by fellow-suffering," and so it proves. The overmastering rush of desire unseals his eyes, clears his mind. Heart-wounded by the shaft of passion, he feels Amfortas' torture thrill through him. The pain of the physical wound is his, but far more, the agony of the sinner who has been unworthy his high trust, and who, soiled by carnal sin, must yet daily come in contact with the Grail, symbol of the highest purity and holiness. The strength which comes of the new-born knowledge enables him to resist sensual longing, and thereby to release both Kundry and Amfortas. In the latest version of the Perceval Quest, as in the Galahad Quest, the ideal of chastity is thus paramount. This result is due to Wagner's dramatic treatment of the theme. The conception that knowledge of sin and fellowship in suffering are requisite to enable man to resist temptation, and that thus alone does he acquire the needful strength to assist his fellows, however true and profound, can obviously only be worked out on the stage through the medium of one form of sin and suffering. The long psychological process of Wolfram's poem, the slow growth of the unthinking youth into the steadfast, faithful man, is replaced by a mystic, transcendental conversion. From out a world of human endeavour, human motive, we have stepped into one wholly ascetic and symbolical. The love of man for woman only appears in the guise of forbidden desire; the aims and needs of this world are not even thought of. Every incident has been remoulded in accord with Christian tradition. Wagner fully accepts the sacramental nature of the Grail, and the Grail feast is with him a faithful reproduction of the Last Supper. Holiness and purity are the essence of the Grail, which is cleared from every taint of its pagan origin. And whilst Wagner, following the French models, identifies the Grail with the most sacred object of Christian worship, he also, developing hints of Wolfram's, reshapes the career of his Grail-seeker in accord with that of Christ. Parsifal, the releaser of sin-stricken Kundry, of sin-stricken Amfortas--Parsifal, the restorer of peace and holiness to the Grail Kingdom--becomes a symbol of the Saviour. In the reasoned, artistic growth of the legend, the plastic, living element is that supplied by Christian tradition. From the moment that the Celtic lord of the underworld is identified with the evangelist of Britain we see the older complex of tales acquire consistency, life, and meaning. Even where the direct influence of the intruding element is slightest, as in the Conte du Graal, we can still perceive that it is responsible for the germs of after development. Sometimes violently and unintelligently, sometimes with a keen feeling for the possibilities of the original romance, sometimes with the boldest introduction of new matter, sometimes with slavish adherence to pre-Christian conceptions, the transformation of the Celtic tales goes on. The cauldron of increase and renovation, the glaive of light, the magic fish, the visit to the otherworld, all are gradually metamorphosed until at last the talisman of the Irish gods becomes the symbol of the risen Lord, its seeker a type of Christ in His divinest attributes. The ethical teaching of the legend becomes also purely Christian as the Middle Ages conceived Christianity. Renunciation of the world and of the flesh is its key-note. Once only in Wolfram do we find an ideal human in its essence, though dogmatic in form; the path thus opened is not trodden further, and the legend remains as a whole, on the moral side, a monument of Christian asceticism. We have seen reason to surmise that the folk-tales which underlie the romances themselves gave the hint for the most characteristic manifestation of this ascetic ideal. It is worth enquiry if these tales have developed themselves independently from the Christianised legend, and if such development shows any trace of ethical conceptions comparable with those of the legend. Can we gather from the tales as fashioned by the folk teaching similar to that of the preachers, philosophers, and artists by whom the legend has been shaped? Few enquiries can be more interesting than one which traces such a conception as the Quest after the highest good as pictured by the rudest and most primitive members of the race. Many of the tales which formed a part of the (hypothetical) Welsh original of the earliest Grail romances have been shown to come under the Aryan Expulsion and Return Formula (_supra_, Ch. VI). Among most races this formula has connected itself with the national heroes, and has given rise to hero-tales in which the historical element outweighs the ethical. Sometimes, as in the tale of Perseus, the incidents are so related as to bring out an ethical _motif_; Perseus is certainly thought of as avenging his mother's undeserved wrongs. I cannot trace anything of the kind among the Celts. All the incidents of the formula in Celtic tradition which I know of are purely historical in character. This element of the old Saga-mass thus yields nothing for the present enquiry. Others are more fruitful. Perceval is akin not only to Fionn, but also to the Great Fool. The Lay of the Great Fool was found to tally closely with adventures in the Mabinogi and in the Conte du Graal (_supra_, Ch. VI). It also sets forth a moral conception that admits of profitable comparison with that of the Grail romances. Ultimately, the Lay is, I have little doubt, one of the many forms in which a mortal's visit to the otherworld was related. Wandering into the Glen of Glamour, the hero and his love encounter a magician; the hero drinks of the proffered cup, despite his love's remonstrances, and forthwith loses his two legs. This is obviously a form of the widely-spread myth which forbids the visitant to the otherworld to partake of aught there under penalty of never returning to earth. But this mythical _motif_ has taken an ethical shape in popular fancy. According to Kennedy's version, it is the hero's excess in draining the cup to the dregs which calls for punishment. This change is of the same nature as that noted with regard to a similar incident in the Grail romances. There, the old mythic taboo of sleeping or speaking in the otherworld called at last for an explanation, and found one in Wolfram's philosophic conception. The parallel does not end here. Perceval may retrieve his fault, and so may the Great Fool; Wolfram makes his hero win salvation by steadfast faith, the folk-tale makes its hero in the face of every form of temptation a pattern of steadfast loyalty to the absent friend and to the pledged word. It may, or may not, be considered to the advantage of the folk-tale that, unlike the mediæval romance, it deals neither in mysticism nor in asceticism. The sin and atonement of the Great Fool are such as the popular mind can grasp; he is an example of human weakness and human strength. The woman he loves is no temptress, no representative of the evil principle--on the contrary, she is ever by his side to counsel and to cheer him. When it is remembered that the two off-shoots, romantic-legendary and popular, from the one traditional stem have grown up in perfect independence of each other, the kinship of moral idea is startling. The folk-lorist has often cause to wonder at the spontaneous flower-like character of the object of his study; folk-tradition seems to obey fixed laws of growth and to be no product of man's free thought and speech. The few partisans of the theory that folk-tradition is only a later and weakened echo of the higher culture of the race are invited to study the present case. A Celtic tale, after supplying an important element to the Christianised Grail legend, has gone on its way entirely unaffected by the new shape which that legend assumed, and yet it has worked out a moral conception of fundamental likeness to one set forth in the legend. It would be difficult to find a more perfect instance of the spontaneous, evolutional character of tradition contended for by what, in default of a better name, must be called the anthropological school of folk-lorists. We must quit Celtic ground to find another example of an element in the originals of the Grail romances, embodying a popular ethical idea. This instance is such an interesting one that I cannot pass it by in silence. As was shown in Chapter VII, one of the many forms of the hero's visit to the otherworld has for object the release of maidens held captive by an evil power. A formal connection was established between this section of the romance and the folk-tale of the Sleeping Beauty. As a whole, too, this tale admits of comparison with the legend. Its origin is mythic without a doubt. Whether it be regarded as a day or as a year myth, as the rescue of the dawn from night, or of the incarnate spring from the bonds of winter, it equally pictures a victory of the lord of light and heat and life over the powers of darkness, cold, and death. With admirable fidelity folk-tradition has preserved the myth, so that its true nature can be recognised without fail. It would be wrong, though, to conclude that retention of the mythic framework implied any recognition of its mythic character on the part of those who told or listened to the story. Some investigators, indeed, hold it idle to consider it otherwise than as a tale told merely for amusement. But a story, to live, must appeal to moral as well as to æsthetic emotions. In the folk-mind this story sets forth, dimly though it may be, that search for the highest human felicity which is likewise a theme of the Grail romances. What better picture of this quest could be found than the old mythic symbol of the awakening of life and increase beneath the kiss of the sun-god. The hero of the folk-tale makes his way through the briars and tangle of the forest that he may restore to the deserted castle life and plenty; so much has the tale retained of the original mythic signification. As regards the quester himself, the maiden he thus woos is his reward and the noblest prize earth has to offer him. Where the romance writers made power, or riches, or learning, or personal salvation the goal of man's effort, the folk-tale bids him seek happiness in the common human affections. Such, all too briefly sketched, has been the fate and story of these tales, first shaped in a period of culture wellnigh pre-historic, gifted by reason of their Celtic setting with a charm that commended them to the romantic spirit of the middle ages, and made them fit vehicles for the embodiment of mediæval ideas. Quickened by Christian symbolism they came to express and typify the noblest and the most mystic longings of man. The legend, as the poets and thinkers of the twelfth century fashioned it, has still a lesson and a meaning for us. It may be likened to one of the divine maidens of Irish tradition. She lives across the western sea. Ever and again heroes, filled with mysterious yearning for the truth and beauty of the infinite and undying, make sail to join her if they may. They pass away and others succeed them, but she remains ever young and fair. So long as the thirst of man for the ideal endures, her spell will not be weakened, her charm will not be lessened. But each generation works out this Quest in its own spirit. This much may be predicted with some confidence: henceforth, whosoever would do full justice to the legend must take pattern by Wolfram von Eschenbach rather than by any of his rivals; he must deal with human needs and human longings; his ideal must be the widening of human good and human joy. Above all, he must give reverent yet full expression to all the aspirations, all the energies of man and of woman. FINIS. APPENDIX A. THE RELATIONSHIP OF WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH AND CHRESTIEN. The various arguments for and against the use of any other French source than Chrestien by Wolfram have been clearly summed up by G. Bötticher, Die Wolfram Literatur seit Lachmann, Berlin, 1880. The chief representative of the negative opinion is Birch-Hirschfeld, who first gives, Chapter VIII. of his work, a useful collection of passages relating to the Grail, the Castle, and the Quest, from both authors. His chief argument is this:--The Grail in all the romances except in Wolfram is a cup or vessel, but in Wolfram a stone, a peculiarity only to be explained by Wolfram's ignorance of any source than Chrestien, and by the fact that the latter, in accordance with his usual practice of leaving objects and persons in as mysterious an atmosphere as possible, nowhere gives a clear description of the Grail. He undoubtedly would have done so if he had finished his work. Such indications as he gave led Wolfram, who did not understand the word _Graal_, to think it was a stone. It is inconceivable that Kyot, if such a personage existed, should have so far departed from all other versions as not to picture the Grail as a vessel, inconceivable, again, that his account of it should have been just as vague as Chrestien's, that he should have afforded Wolfram no hint of the real nature of the object. In Chrestien Perceval's question refers to the Grail, but Wolfram, missing the significance of the holy vessel owing to the meagreness of the information respecting it given to him by Chrestien, was compelled to transform the whole incident, and to refer it solely to the sufferings of the wounded King. Again, Chrestien meant to utilise the sword, and to bring Gawain to the Grail Castle; but his unfinished work did not carry out his intention, and in Wolfram Gawain also fails to come to the Grail Castle; the sword is passed over in silence in the latter part of the poem.--Simrock, jealous for the credit of Wolfram, claimed for him the invention of all that could not be traced to Chrestien, resting the claim chiefly upon consideration of a sentimental patriotic nature.--In opposition to these views, although the fact is not denied that Wolfram followed Chrestien closely for the parts common to both, it is urged to be incredible that he, a German poet, should invent a prologue to Chrestien's unfinished work connecting with an Angevin princely genealogical legend. It was also pointed out, with greatest fulness by Bartsch, Die Eigennamen im Parcival und Titurel, Germanist. Studien, II., 114, _et seq._, that the German poet gives a vast number of proper names which are not to be found in Chrestien, and that these are nearly all of French, and especially Southern French and Provençal origin.--Simrock endeavoured to meet this argument in the fifth edition of his translation, but with little success.--Bötticher, whilst admitting the weight of Birch-Hirschfeld's arguments, points out the difficulties which his theory involves. If Wolfram simply misunderstood Chrestien and did not differ from him personally, why should he be at the trouble of inventing an elaborately feigned source to justify a simple addition to the original story? If he only knew of the Grail from Chrestien, what gave him the idea of endowing it, as he did, with mystic properties? Martin points out in addition (Zs. f. d. A., V. 87) that Wolfram has the same connection of the Grail and Swan Knight story as Gerbert, whom, _ex hypothesi_, he could not have known, and who certainly did not know him.--In his Zur Gralsage, Martin returned to the question of proper names, and showed that a varying redaction of a large part of the romance is vouched for by the different names which Heinrich von dem Türlin applies to personages met with both in Chrestien and in Wolfram. If, then, one French version, that followed by Heinrich, who is obviously a translator, is lost, why not another? The first thorough comparison of Chrestien and Wolfram is to be found in Otto Küpp's Unmittelbaren Quellen des Parzival, (Zs. f. d. Ph. XVII., l). He argues for Kyot's existence. Some of the points he mentions in which the two poems differ, and in which Wolfram's account has a more archaic character, may be cited: The mention of Gurnemanz's sons; the food producing properties of the Grail on Parzival's first visit; the reproaches of the varlet to Parzival on his leaving the Grail Castle, "You are a goose, had you but moved your lips and asked the host! Now you have lost great praise;"[160] the statement that the broken sword is to be made whole by dipping in the Lake Lac, and the mention of a sword charm by virtue of which Parzival can become lord of the Grail Castle; the mention that no one seeing the Grail could die within eight days. In addition Küpp finds that many of the names in Wolfram are more archaic than those of Chrestien. On the other hand, Küpp has not noticed that Chrestien has preserved a more archaic feature in the prohibition laid upon Gauvain not to leave for seven days the castle after he had undergone the adventure of the bed. Küpp has not noticed that some of the special points he singles out in Wolfram are likewise to be found in Chrestien's continuators, _e.g._, the mention of the sons of Gurnemanz, by Gerbert. I believe I have the first pointed out the insistence by both Wolfram and Gerbert upon the hero's love to and duty towards his wife. The name of Parzival's uncle in Wolfram, Gurnemanz, is nearer to the form in Gerbert, Gornumant, than to that in Chrestien, Gonemant. The matter may be summed up thus: it is very improbable that Wolfram should have invented those parts of the story found in him alone; the parts common to him and Chrestien are frequently more archaic in his case; there are numerous points of contact between him and Gerbert. All this speaks for another French source than Chrestien. On the other hand, it is almost inconceivable that such a source should have presented the Grail as Wolfram presents it. I cannot affect to consider the question decidedly settled one way or the other, and have, therefore, preferred to make no use of Wolfram. I would only point out that if the contentions of the foregoing studies be admitted, they strongly favour the genuineness of the non-Chrestien section of Wolfram's poem,[161] though I admit they throw no light upon his special presentment of the Grail itself. APPENDIX B. THE PROLOGUE TO THE GRAND ST. GRAAL AND THE BRANDAN LEGEND. I believe the only parallel to this prologue to be the one furnished by that form of the Brandan legend of which Schröder has printed a German version (Sanct Brandan) at Erlangen, in 1871, from a MS. of the fourteenth century, but the first composition of which he places (p. 15) in the last quarter of the twelfth century. The text in question will be found pp. 51, _et seq._: Brandan, a servant of God, seeks out marvels in rare books, he finds that two paradises were on earth, that another world was situated under this one, so that when it is here night it is day there, and of a fish so big that forests grew on his back, also that the grace of God allowed some respite every Saturday night to the torments of Judas. Angry at all these things he burnt the book. But the voice of God spake to him, "Dear friend Brandan thou hast done wrong, and through thy wrath I see My wonders lost." The holy Christ bade him fare nine years on the ocean, until he see whether these marvels were real or a lie. Thereafter Brandan makes ready a ship to set forth on his travels. This version was very popular in Germany. Schröder prints a Low German adaptation, and a chap book one, frequently reprinted during the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. But besides this form there was another, now lost, which can be partially recovered from the allusions to it in the Wartburg Krieg, a German poem of the thirteenth and early fourteenth century, and which is as follows:--An angel brings Brandan a book from heaven: Brandan finds so many incredible things in it that he taxes book and angel with lying, and burns the book. For his unfaith he must wander till he find it. God's grace grants him this at last; an angel gives him the sign of two fires burning, which are the eyes of an ox, upon whose tongue he shall find the book. He hands it to Uranias, who brings it to _Scotland_ (_i.e._, of course Ireland) Schröder, p. 9. The closeness of the parallel cannot be denied, and it raises many interesting questions, which I can here only allude to. The Isle of Brandan has always been recognized as a Christian variant of the Celtic Tír-na n-Og, the Land of the Shades, Avalon. Schröder has some instructive remarks on this subject, p. 11. The voyage of Brandan may thus be compared with that of Bran, the son of Febal (_supra_, p. 232), both being versions of the wide-spread myth of a mortal's visit to the otherworld. It is not a little remarkable that in the Latin legend, which differs from the German form by the absence of the above-cited prologue, there is an account (missing in the German), of a "conopeus" ("cover" or "canopy,") _cf._ Ducange and Diez, _sub voce_; the old French version translates it by "Pavillon of the colour of silver but harder than marble, and a column therein of clearest crystal." And on the fourth day they find a window and therein a "calix" of the same nature as the "conopeus" and a "patena" of the colour of the column (Schröder, p. 27, and Note 41). Thus there is a formal connection between the Brandan legend and the Grail romances in the prologue common to two works of each cycle, and there is a likeness of subject-matter between the Brandan legend and the older Celtic traditions which I have assumed to be the basis of the romances. But German literature likewise supplies evidence of a connection between Brandan and Bran. Professor Karl Pearson has referred me to a passage in the Pfaffe Amis, a thirteenth century South German poem, composed by Der Stricker, the hero of which, a prototype of Eulenspiegel, goes through the world gulling and tricking his contemporaries. In a certain town he persuades the good people to entrust to him their money, by telling them that he has in his possession a very precious relic, the head of St. Brandan, which has commanded him to build a cathedral (Lambl's Edition, Leipzig, 1872, p. 32). The preservation of the head of Bran is a special feature in the Mabinogi. I have instanced parallels from Celtic tradition (Branwen, p. 14), and Professor Rhys has since (Hibb. Lect., p. 94) connected the whole with Celtic mythological beliefs. This chance reference in a German poem is the only trace to my knowledge of an earlier legend in which, it may be, Bran and Brandan, the visitor to and the lord of the otherworld, were one and the same person. It is highly desirable that every form of or allusion to the Brandan legend should be examined afresh, as, perhaps, able to throw fresh light upon the origin and growth of the Grail legend. In Pseudo-Chrestien Perceval's mother goes on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Brandan. INDEX I. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. [This Index is to the Summaries contained in Chapter II, and the references are not to page and line, but to Version and Incident. The Versions are distinguished by the following abbreviations:-- Conte du Graal =Co=, Pseudo-Chrestien =PC=, Chrestien =C=, Gautier =G=, Manessier =Ma=, Gerbert =Ge=, Wolfram =W=, Heinrich von dem Türlin =H=, Mabinogi of Peredur =M=, Thornton MS. Sir Perceval =T=, Didot-Perceval =D=, Borron's poem =B=, Queste =Q= (=Q={1} and =Q={2} refer to the different drafts of the romance distinguished p. 83) Grand St. Graal =GG=. With the less important entries, or when the entries are confined to one version, a simple number reference is given. But in the case of the more important personages, notably Perceval, Gawain, and Galahad, an attempt has been made to show the life history, by grouping together references to the same incident from different versions; in this case each incident group is separated from other groups by a long dash ----. Any speciality in the incident presented by a version is bracketed _before_ the reference initial, and, when deemed advisable, reference has been made to allied as well as to similar incidents. This detail, to save space, is, as a rule, given only once, as under Perceval, and not duplicated under other headings, the number reference alone being given in the latter cases. The fullest entry is Perceval, which practically comprises such entries as Fisher King, Grail, Sword, Lance, etc.] =ABEL= =Q=37, =GG=24. =ABRIORIS= =G=9. =ACHEFLOUR= =T=1. =ADAM= =Q=37, =GG=24. =ADDANC OF LAKE= =M=16, 19. =AGARAN= =Q=23. =AGRESTES= =GG=40. =AGUIGRENONS= =Co=, _Kingrun_ =W=, anonymous =M=, =C=6, =W=, =M=8. =ALAINS=, Celidoine's son =GG=43. =ALAINS= or =ALEIN= (=li Gros= =D=, =Q=, =GG=) =B=12----=Dprol=, 1, 6, 12, =Q=26, =GG=30, 43, 45, 51, 58, 59. =ALEINE=, Gawain's niece, =D=1. =ALFASEM= =GG=51, 58. =AMANGONS= =PC=1, 2, 4. =AMFORTAS=, see Fisher King. =AMINADAP= =GG=58. =ANGHARAD= Law Eurawc, =M=12, 14. =ANTIKONIE=, see Facile Damsel. =ARGASTES= =Q=27. =ARIDES= of Cavalon =Ma=14, 16 (a King of Cavalon mentioned =C=12 corresponds to _Vergulat_ of Askalon in =W=). =ARTHUR= =PC=2, 3, 5, =C=1, =Dprol=----arrival of Perceval at his court =C=3, =W=, =M=3, =T=4, =Dprol=----=C=6, 9, 10, =W=, =M=9, 10, 11----=M=13, 14----=C=11, =W=, =M=20----=T=7----=C=18, =W=----=G=1, =W=----=G=2, 3, 6, 9, 11, 13, 16, 19, 20, =Ma=10, 16, 23, =Ge=5, =H=, =D=1, 3, 5, 8, 14, 16, =M=25, =Q=3, 5, 13, =GG=33, 45, 48. =AUGUSTUS CÆSAR= =GG=11. =AVALON= or =AVARON= =B=12, 13, =D=9. =BAGOMMEDES= =G=19, 20. =BANDAMAGUS= =Q=5, 6, 43. =BANS= =Q=26, =GG=30, 59. =BEAU MAUVAIS=, le, =G=11, =D=8. =BEDUERS= =D=2. =BLAISE= =Dprol=, 14. =BLANCHEFLEUR= =Co=, Conduiramur =W=, anonymous =M=, _cf._ Lufamour =T=----Perceval's cousin =Co=, =W=----first meeting with Perceval =C=6, =W=, =M=8----second meeting with Perceval =G=10----third meeting =Ma=13-16----third meeting and marriage with Perceval =Ge=8-10, _cf._ =W=. =BLIHIS= =PC=1 = Blaise? =BLIHOS BLIHERIS= =PC=2. =BLIOCADRANS= (of Wales, Perceval's father), =PC=6. =BORS, BOHORS, BOORT= =Q=1, 3, 13, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, =Ma=18----=Q=35, 48-52. =BRANDALIS= =G=1, 2. =BRIOS= =G=16. =BRONS, BRON=, or =HEBRON=. =B=7, 8, 12, 14, =Dprol=, 6, 16, =GG=41, 42, _cf._ p. 19. =BRUILLANT= =GG=58 = Urlain =Q=35. =BRUN DE BRANLANT= =G=1. =CAIN= =Q=37, =GG=24. =CAIPHAS= =GG=2, 3. =CAIUS= =GG=3. =CALIDES= =Ma=9. =CALOGRENANT= =Q=33. =CALOGRINANT= =Ma=18----_Calocreant_ in =H=, one of the three Grail-seekers. =CARAHIES= =G=5. =CARCHELOIS= =Q=39. =CARDUEL= =C=3----_Carduel_ of Nantes =G=1. =CASTRARS= =PC=4. =CATHELOYS= =GG=58. =CAVALON= =C=12----=Ma=14, 16. =CELIDOINE= =GG=22, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 33, 39, 59, =Q=26. =CHANAAN= =GG=45, 47. =CHESSBOARD CASTLE= =G=7, =D=4, =M=24----=G=14----=G=18, =D=13. =CHRIST= =B=1-3, 5, 6, 8, 11, =Q=7, 10, 13, 15, 20, 26, 50, =Dprol=, 16, =Ge=15, =GG=1-4, 6, 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 16, 21, 23, 30, 37, 41, 45. =CLAMADEX= =C=6, Clamide =W=, the earl =M=8 = the Sowdane =T=7. =CLARISSE= =Co= Mons MS. or _Clarissant_ Montpellier MS., ITONJE =W=----=C=18, =G=1, =W=. =CLAUDIUS= =GG=3. =CLAUDIUS=, son of Claudas =Q={2}51. =CORBENIC= =Q=, =GG=, =CORBIÈRE= =Ma=23, =Q=13, 43, 48, =GG=51. =CORSAPIAS= =GG=22. =COWARD KNIGHT= =Ma=17, 19. =CRUDEL= =Q=6, 15, =Ge=15, =GG=36-38. =DAVID= =Q=37. =DODINEL= =Ma=14. =ELIEZER= =Q=27. =EMPTY SEAT=, see Seat Perillous. =ENYGEUS=, =ENYSGEUS=, or =ANYSGEUS= =B=7, 8, 11, 12. =EREC= =D=2. =ERNOUS= =Q=39. =ESCORANT= =Q={2}51. =ESCOS= =GG=47. =ESPINOGRE= =Ma=5. =ESTROIS DE GARILES= =Q={2}51. =ETLYM GLEDDYV COCH= =M=16-18. =EVALACH.= Evalach li mescouncus =GG=, Eualac =Q= (Anelac 26), Evelac =Ma=, =Ge=. Overcoming Tholomes =GG=6, 7, 10, 11, 12, 14, =Q=6, 15, 26, =Ma=3, =Ge=15, name changed to _Mordrains_, which see. =EVE= =Q=37, =GG=24. =FACILE DAMSEL=, Anonymous =Co=, =H=, =M=, _Antikonie_ =W=, =C=14, =W=, =H=, =M=21. =FEIREFIZ= =W=. =FELIX= =GG=3, 11. =FISHER KING.= Anonymous =Co=, Amfortas =W=, Brons =B=, =D=, Alain =GG=. Anonymous (?), =Q={1}, Pelles =Q={2}. In =M= the Fisher corresponds to Gonemans. In all the French works of the cycle the adjective rich is commonly applied to the Fisher. Splendour of court =PC=1----learned in black art =PC=3----old and sick =Dprol=, First meeting with Perceval =C=7, =W=, =D=11, _cf._ =PC=3, =M=6----=C=8, =W=, _cf._ =D=2, 12----=C=11, =W=, _cf._ =D=15, =M=21----=G=7, 8, 9, 16, 18, 19, 20----Second meeting with Perceval =G=22, =Ma=1-7 or =Ge=1-5, =D=16, _cf._ =M=25----=Ma=10----Third meeting with Perceval =Ma=22, =Ge=22, =W=----Grandfather of Galahad =Q={1}2, 26. See also Maimed King. Surname given to Brons =B=12, to Alain =GG=43. Vessel given to him =D=1----commanded to go to the West =D=6. =FLEGENTYNE= =GG=22, 29, 31, 37, 59. =GAHMURET= =W=. =GALAHAD= (GALAAD). _Father_: Lancelot =Q=, =GG=----_Mother_: daughter of King Pelles =Q={1}, =GG=, or Fisher King =Q={2}----Seat Perillous =Q=2----Sword =Q=3----Quest proclaimed =Q=5----Evelac's Shield =Q=6, =GG=50----Devil-inhabited tomb =Q=7, _cf._ =Ge=17----Melians' discomforture =Q=8----Castle of Maidens =Q=9----overcoming of Lancelot and Perceval =Q=11----destined achiever of Quest =Q=13----rescue of Perceval =Q=16----Genealogy =Q=26, =GG=21, 30, 58----likening to a spotless bull =Q=29----overcoming of Gawain =Q=34----stay on ship =Q=35, 36----sword =Q=36----Maimed King =Q={2} 36----capture of Castle Carchelois =Q=39----stag and lions =Q=40, _cf._ =GG=45----castle of the evil custom =Q=41----stay with father =Q=42----healing of Mordrains =Q=44, _cf._ =GG=39----cooling of fountain =Q=45----making white the Cross =GG=40----release of Symeu =Q=46, =GG=49----making whole sword =GG=44----release of Moys =GG=46----five years' wanderings =Q=47----arrival at King Peleur's =Q={1}, Maimed King's =Q={2}, witnessing of Grail and healing of Maimed King =Q=48-50----Sarras, crowning, death =Q=51, 52. =GALAHAD= (GALAAD) son of Joseph =GG=8, 31, 34----King of Hocelice and ancestor of Urien =GG=49----founding of abbey for Symeu =GG=49. =GANSGUOTER= =H=. =GANORT= =GG=33, 35. =GARALAS= =G=13. =GAWAIN.= Gauvain =Co=, =Q=, =GG=, Gwalchmai =M=, Gawan =W=, Gawein =H=, Gawayne or Wawayne =T=----of the seed of Joseph of Arimathea =GG=48, Arthur's nephew =Co=, =Q=----conquers Blihos Bliheris =PC=2----allusion to his finding the Grail =PC=3----one of the knights met by Perceval in wood =M=1, =T=2----helps Perceval to disarm Red Knight =T=4----meeting with Perceval after blood-drops incident =C=10, =W=, =M=11----vow to release imprisoned maiden =C=11, =M=20----reproached by Guigambresil =C=12, (Kingrimur) =W=, (anonymous) =M=20----tournament at Tiebaut's =C=13, (Lippaot) =W=, (Leigamar) =H=, _cf._ =D=15, where Perceval is hero but Gawain best knight after him----adventure with the facile damsel =C=14, (Antikonie) =W=, =H=, =M=21----injunction to seek bleeding lance =C=14, =W=, (Grail) =H=----adventure with Griogoras =C=16, (Urjan) =W=, (Lohenis) =H=----meeting with scornful damsel, Orgeuilleuse, arrival at ferryman's =C=16, =W=----Magic Castle =C=17, =W=, _cf._ =GG=51----may not leave castle =C=17----second meeting with Orgueilleuse =C=18, =W=, (Mancipicelle) =H=----Ford Perillous, Guiromelant =C=18, (Gramoflanz) =W=, (Giremelanz) =H=----marriage with Orgueilleuse =W=, (?) =C=18----arrival of Arthur to witness combat with Guiromelant =C=18 continued by =G=1, =W=, =H=----fight with Perceval =W=, _cf._ =T=7----reconciliation with Guiromelant =G=1, =W=, =H=----departure on Grail Quest and winning various talismans =H=----[first arrival at Grail Castle according to Montpellier MS. of =Co=]----Brun de Branlant, Brandalis =G=1 and 2----slaying of unknown knight and Quest to avenge him =G=3----Chapel of Black Hand =G=3----arrival at Grail Castle (first according to Mons MS. of =Co=), half successful =G=3, wholly successful =H=, _cf._ =M=25 found by Peredur at Castle of Talismans, and reference in =Q=51 Welsh version----greetings of country folk =G=3, _cf._ =Ge=3----meeting with his son =G=4----Mount Dolorous Quest =G=19----renewed Grail Quest, reproached for conduct at Fisher King's, slaying of Margon =Ma=10----rescue of Lyonel =Ma=18----rescue by Perceval =Ge=16. Joins in search for Grail with remainder of Table Round =D={2}, =Q=, betraying knowledge of Maimed King =Q=5. Meeting with Ywain, Gheheris and confession to hermit =Q=10. Meeting with Hector de Mares =Q=29. Overcoming at Galahad's hand =Q=34. =GHEHERIES= =Q=10. =GIFLÈS= =C=11, =G=2. =GONEMANS= or =GONEMANT= =Co=, Gornumant =Ge=, Gurnemanz =W=, Fisher Uncle =M=, =C=5, =W=, =M=5, uncle to Blanchefleur =C=6, =C=7, =W=, second meeting with Perceval =Ge=8-9, _cf._ =T=6. =GOON DESERT= =Ma=4. =GRAIL=, Early History of. Last Supper cup given to Joseph =B=2, 3, 4, =GG=2, =Q=50, =Ma=3----Solace of Joseph =B=5, 6, =GG=2, =D=16, =Ma=3 (Montpellier MS.)----Grail and Fish =B=8, 9 _cf._ =GG=43----Directs Joseph what to do with Alain =B=12, _cf._ =GG=42, confided to Brons =B=14,15, =Dprol= 6, (Alain) =GG=51----=D=6, 10----feeds host =GG=5, =Q=13, also =GG=32----Blinding of Nasciens =GG=16, 21, 23, 30, passage to England 31, =D=6, =Q=6, 13, 15----Crudel =GG=38, =Q=15, =Ge=15----Blinding of Mordrains =GG=38, 39, 42, only feeds the sinless 43, 44, refuses meat to Chanaan and Symeu 47, resting-place, Castle Corbenic =GG=51. Book of, revealed to hermit =GG=2. =GRAIL=, Quest of _by Perceval_: first seen at Fisher King's =PC=3, =C=7, =W=, =D=11----properties of =C=8, =W=, =D=12----=C=11, =W=----=C=15, =W=----lights up forest =G=14----=G=21----seen for second time =G=22-=Ma=1-7 or =Ge=1-3, =D=16----heals Hector and Perceval =Ma=20----taken from earth =Ge=6, _cf._ =W=----opposed by witch, =Ge=8, 9----connection with Shield =Ge=13----seen for third time =Ma=23, 24, =Ge=22; _by Gawain_: =H= and =G=3; _by Lancelot_: =Q=12, 22, 43; _by Galahad_: =Q=2, feeds Arthur's court =Q=4, quest proclaimed =Q=5, feeds host =Q=13, =GG=32, denied to Gawain and Hector =Q=29, 30, accomplished =Q=50-52. =GRAIL-MESSENGER=, see Loathly Damsel. =GRAMOFLANZ= see Guiromelant. =GRIOGORAS= =C=16 = Lohenis =H=. =GUIROMELANT= =Co=, Gramoflanz =W=, Giremelanz =H=, =C=18-=G=1, =W=, =H=. =HECTOR= (de =MARES= =Q=) =Q=29, 34, 43, =Ma=20. =HELAIN= =Q=27. =HELICORAS= =GG=22. =HELYAB= =GG=2, 8, 34. =HELYAS= =Q=26 = Ysaies =GG=30, 38. =HERZELOYDE= =W=. =HUDEN= =PC=4. =HURGAINS= or =HURGANET= =D=2, 3. =JONAANS= =Q=26, =JONANS= =GG=30, =JONAS= =GG=59. =JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA.= D'Arymathye =B=, de Arimathie =GG=, d'Abarimathie or d'Arimathie =Q=, de Barimacie =G=, and =Ma= (Montpellier MS.), Josep (without mention of town =Ma=, Mons MS.), de Barismachie =Ge=----care of Christ's body, captivity, solace, release =B=2-7, =GG=2, 3, =D=16, _cf._ =Q=6, =Ma=2----stay in Sarras =GG=4-11, =Q=6, 26, =Ge=15, =Ma=3----=B=7----Passage to England =GG=31, =Q=6----feeding by Grail =GG=32, =Q=13, _cf._ =B=8, 9----Moys =B=11, 12, =Dprol=, _cf._ =GG=41----=B=12-15----=GG=34, 36, =Q=15, =Ge=15----=GG=38, 44, 45, 48, 50--=D=1, 6, 12. =JOSEPHES=, =JOSEPHE=, =JOSEPHUS=, or =JOSAPHES=, son of Joseph of Arimathea, =GG=2, 5, 9, 10, 11 =Q=6, 13, 14, 16, 17, 31 =Q=6, 13 and 32, 36 =Q=6, 38 =Q=6 and 15, 40, 41 =Q=13 _cf._ =D=6, 42, 43, 45, 46, 49, 50 =Q=6, =Q=50, 51. =JOSUE= =GG=51, 58. =KALAFIER= =GG=20, 22. =KARDEIZ= =W=. =KAY.= Kex =Co=----=T=2----=C=3, =W=, =M=3----=C=4, =W=, =M=4----=C=6, =C=9----=C=10, =W=, =M=11----=M=14----=T=7----=G=3, 19, =Ma=10, =Ge=21, =D=8----one of the three Grail-questers =H=. =KLINSCHOR= =W.= =LABAN= =Q=35 (query variant of Lambar?). =LABEL= =GG=26. =LABEL'S DAUGHTER= =GG=28, 29, 37, 39. =LAMBAR= or =LABRAN= =Q=35, =LAMBOR= =GG=58. =LANCE= (Spear) =PC=3, 4, =C=7, 8, =M=6, =C=11, 14, 15, =G=3, 22, =Ma=1, 2, 24, =Ge=22, =H=, =D=11, 12, 16, =Q=50, 51, =GG=9, 15, 16. =LANCELOT=, Lancelot of Lake's grandfather =Q=26, =GG=30, 59. =LANCELOT.= Galahad's father =Q=, =GG=, =Q=1, 2, 4 (_cf._ =C=11), 5, 11, 12 (_cf._ =C=7 and =G=3), 22, 23, 24, 25, 26 (_cf._ =GG=58) 27, 28, 29, 42, 43, =GG=30, 33, 40, 45, 58, 59, =PC=4. =LEUCANS= =GG=10. =LIONEL Q=1, 3, attacks Bors =Q=33, =Ma=18. =LOATHLY DAMSEL.= Anonymous =Co=, Kundrie =W=, Perceval's cousin =M=, reproaches Perceval =C=11, =W=, =M=20----announces end of Quest, =Ma=23, =M=25. =LOGRES= =PC=1, =G=3, =Q=12, 35, 47. =LOHENIS= =H= = Griogoras =C=16. =LOHERANGRIN= =W=. =LONGIS= =PC=4, =Ma=2, =D=16. =LOT= =GG=48. =LUCES= =GG=48. =LUFAMOUR= =T=7, _cf._ Blanchefleur. =MAIDENS' CASTLE= =PC=5, =G=12=a=, =Ge=6----=Q=9. =MAIMED= or =LAME KING=. Same personage as Fisher King. Designated in this way _only_ =M=, almost entirely so =Q={2} (5, 13, also =Q={1} 36, 39, 47, 50), never so =B=, =D=. =GG=58 applies the designation to Pelleans. =MANAAL= =GG=58. =MANCIPICELLE=, see Orgueilleuse. =MARGON= =Ma=10. =MARIE LA VENISSIENNE= =GG=3 = Verrine, =B=6, =W=. =MARPUS= (=WARPUS= =Q=26) =GG=30, 59. =MEAUX= =GG=11. =MELIANS=, Galahad's companion =Q=8, 10. =MELIANS DE LIS= =C=13, =D=15. =MERLIN= (see p. 64D) =G=20, =Dprol=, 14, 15, =Q=13. =MORDRAINS= =GG=, Mordains =Q=, _once_ Noodrans =Ma=, _once_ Mordrach =Ge=----Baptism =GG=14, 15, =Q=6, 26, =Ma=3 =Ge=15----=GG=16, 17, vision of descendants 18, =Q=26----=GG=19, 20, stay on island 21, _cf._ =Q=19----=GG=27, =Q=36----=GG=29 Crudel, and blinding by Grail 37, 38, =Q=15, =Ge=15----retires to hermitage =GG=39, =Q=44----his shield =GG=50, =Q=6. =MORDRED= =GG=45. =MORDRET= =Ge=6, 7. =MORGHE LA FÉE= =G=18. =MORONEUS= =Q={2}26. =MORS DEL CALAN= =PC=4. =MOUNT DOLOROUS= =G=19, 20, =Ge=5. =MOYS=, =MOYSES= (=B=). Seat Perillous =B=10, 11, 12, =Dprol=, 1, =GG=41, 46. =NASCIENS= =GG=, =Q=, Natiien =Ma=----Baptism =GG=14, =Q=6, 26, =Ma=3----Blinded by Grail =GG=16----=GG=18, 19, 20, 21, 22, turning isle and Solomon's ship, 23-27, =Q=35-37----=GG=28, 29, 30, 32, 33, Crudel 37, 38, (called Seraphe) =Q=15----=GG=39----his tomb =GG=50----death =GG=59----appears as hermit in Arthur's time =Q=4, 5, 6, 29. =NASCIENS=, son of Celidoine, =GG=39. =NASCIENS=, grandson of Celidoine =GG=30, 59. =NICODEMUS= =B=3, 4, 5. =NOIRONS=, _i.e._, Nero =GG=3. =ORCANZ= =GG=48. =ORGUEILLEUSE.= Orguellouse =C=, Orgeluse =W= = Mancipicelle =H=, =C=16----=G=1, =W=, =H=. =OWAIN= =M=, =EWAYNE= =T=, =YONES= =C=4, =YWAIN= "li aoutres" =Q=6, 9, 10, 29, =GG=49----meets Perceval =M=1, =T=2----helps him =M=3, =C=4. =PARTINAL= =Ma=5, 8, 21, 22. =PECORINS= =PC=4. =PELEUR= =Q={1}5, 47, 48. =PELLEANS= =GG=58. =PELLEHEM= =Q={2}35. =PELLES= =Q={2}1-3, 14, 27, 36, 44, 48, 50, =GG=59. =PERCEVAL= =Co=, =D=, =Q=, =GG=; PARZIVAL =W=, =H=; PEREDUR =M=; PERCYVELLE =T=.--_Father_: Bliocadrans =PC=; anonymous =Co=, =Q=; Alain =D=; Gahmuret =W=; Evrawe =M=; Percyvelle =T=; Pellehem =Q={2}. _Mother_: Anonymous =Co=, =D=, =Q=, =M=; Herzeloyde =W=; Acheflour (Arthur's sister) =T=----brought up in wood =C=1, =W=, =M=, =T=1----meets knights (5) =C=1, =W=, (3) =M=1, =T=2----leaves mother =C=1, =W=, =D=, =M=1, =T=2----first meeting with lady of tent =C=2, (Ieschute) =W=, =M=2, =T=3----arrival at Arthur's Court =C=3, =W=, =D=, =M=3, =T=4----laughing prophetic damsel =C=3, =W=, dwarves =M=3----slays _red_ knight =C=4, (Ither of Gaheviez) =W=, (colour not specified) =M=3, =T=4----overcomes 16 Knights =M=4----burns witch =T=5----arrival at house of first uncle, Gonemans =C=5, Gurnemanz =W=, Anonymous =M=5, and (different adventure partly corresponding to =Ge=8) =T=6----first arrival at castle of lady love, Blanchefleur =C=5, Conduiramur =W=, Anonymous =M=8, Lufamour =T=7----first arrival at Fisher King's =C=7, =W=, =D=11, =M=6----is reproached by wayside damsel, cousin: (Anonymous) =C=8, (Sigune) =W=, =D=12, foster sister =M=7----second meeting with lady of tent =C=9, =W=, =M=9----overcoming of Sorceresses of Gloucester =M=10----blood drops in the snow =C=10, =W=, =M=11----Adventures with Angharad Law Eurawc; at the castle of the huge grey man; serpent on the gold ring; Mound of Mourning; Addanc of the Lake; Countess of Achievements =M=12-19----reproaches of the loathly damsel =C=11, (Kundrie) =W=, =M=20----Good Friday incident and confession to uncle =C=15, (Trevrezent) =W=, =D=14, =M=22----the Castle of the Horn =G=6----the Castle of the Chessboard =G=7, =D=4, =M=24----meeting with brother of Red Knight =G=8----Ford _amorous_ =G=9, _perillous_ =D=9----second meeting with Blanchefleur =G=10----meeting with Rosette and Le Beau Mauvais =G=11, =D=8----meeting with sister and visit to hermit =G=12, =D=5 and 6----the Castle of Maidens =G=12=a=----meeting with the hound-stealing damsel =G=13, =D=13, =M=24----meeting with the damsel of the white mule =G=14----tournament at Castle Orguellous =G=16 = =D=15 (Melianz de Lis) and =M=19 (?)----Deliverance of knight in tomb =G=17----second visit to the Castle of the Chessboard =G=18, =D=13----delivery of Bagommedes =G=19----arrival at Mount Dolorous =G=20----the Black Hand in the Chapel =G=21----second arrival at Grail Castle =G=22-=Ma=1-7 and =Ge=1, =D=16, (with final overcoming of Sorceresses of Gloucester) =M=25. Puts on red armour for love of Aleine, accomplishes the feat of the Seat Perillous, and sets forth on Quest =D=1 and 2. Slays the red knight, Orgoillous Delandes, =D=3. Overcomes Black Knight, slays giant and finds mother =T=9. Perceval and Saigremors =Ma=8----Second visit to Chapel of the Black Hand =Ma=11----the demon horse =Ma=12, =Q=18----Stay on the island =Q=19, and 20, and temptation by damsel 21, =Ma=13----Delivery of Dodinel's lady love =Ma=14----Tribuet =Ma=15----third meeting with Blanchefleur =Ma=16----meeting with coward knight =Ma=17----combat with Hector =Ma=20----slaying of Partinal =Ma=21----third arrival at Grail Castle =Ma=22----learns death of his uncle the Fisher King from loathly damsel =Ma=23, =W=----retires into wilderness =Q=52, =Ma=24----dies =Q=52, goes to Palestine and dies (?) =T=. Encounter, unknown to either, with Galahad =Q=11. Meeting with recluse aunt =Q=13. Assistance at the hands of the Red Knight =Q=16. Adventure of the ship =Q=33, essay to draw sword =Q=35. Receives Galahad's sword =Q=41, bears Galahad company for five years =Q=47----adjusts the sword at the Court of Pelles =Q={2}48. Breaking of sword at the Gate of Paradise =Ge=2----Blessings of the country folk for putting question =Ge=3----Mending of sword at forge of the serpent =Ge=4----Accomplishment of the feat of the Perillous Seat =Ge=5----adventures at sister's Castle, with Mordret, and at cousin's, Castle of Maidens =Ge=6----encounter with Kex, Gauvain, and Tristan =Ge=7, _cf._ =T=7----meeting with Gornumant =Ge=8 (_cf._ =T=6) and fight with the resuscitating hag----third arrival at Blanchefleur's Castle, marriage =Ge=9----deliverance of maiden, abolition of evil custom, knight on fire =Ge=10-12----obtains the promised shield =G=13----combat with the Dragon King =Ge=14----arrival at abbey and story of Mordrains =Ge=15, =Q=15----the swan-drawn coffin =Ge=16----Devil in tomb =Ge=17, _cf._ =Q=7----deliverance of maiden from fountain =Ge=18----punishment of traitress damsel =Ge=19----combat with giant =Ge=20, _cf._ =T=9----encounters Kex =Ge=21----third arrival at Grail Castle =Ge=22. =PERCEVAL'S AUNT= =Q=13, 14. =PERCEVAL'S SISTER=, daughter to Pellehem =Q={2}, =G=12, =D=5-7, =Q=35, 36, 38, 41, 42----_cf._ =M=7. =PERCEVAL'S UNCLE=, see Gonemans, Fisher King. =PETRONE= =GG=29. =PETRUS= =B=8, 12, 13, 14, =PETER= =GG=43, =PIERRON= =GG=45, 47, 48. =PHILOSOPHINE= =Ge=6, 15. =PILATE= =B=1, =GG=2, =B=3, 6. =PRIADAM THE BLACK= =Q=30. =QUIQUAGRANT= =Ma=5. =RED KNIGHT.= Slain by Perceval =C=3, 4, =T=1, 5, who takes his arms, and is mistaken for him =C=6, =T=6, transferred to Galahad when latter takes Perceval's place =Q=14, 16----=G=8, 9. =ROSETTE=, Loathly Maiden, =G=11, =D=8. =SAIGREMORS= =C=10, =Ma=8, 9, 18, =D=2. =SARRAQUITE= =GG=13, 16, 22, 28, 29, 59. =SARRAS= =GG=5, 11, 13, 15, 18, =Ma=3, =Q=26, 41, 50, =GG=30. =SEAT PERILLOUS= (empty) =B=10, =Dprol=, 1----=Q=2, =GG=41, =Ge=5, =Q=13. =SERAPHE= =GG=, =Q=, =Ge=, _once_ Salafrès =Ma=----Battle with Tholomes =GG=12, 14, =Q=6, 26, =Ma=3, =Ge=15, renamed _Nasciens_, which see. =SEVAIN OF MEAUX= =GG=11. =SOLOMON'S SHIP= =Q=35-38, =GG=24, 27, 30, 58. =SOLOMON'S SWORD= =Q=35, 38, =GG=27, _cf._ =Q=48. =SORCERESSES OF GLOUCESTER= =M=10, 25. =STAG HUNT= =G=7, 8, 16, 18, =D=4, 13, =M=24. =SWORD= =PC=3, =C=7, 8, =M=6, =G=3, 12, 22, =Ma=5, 22, =Ge=1, 2, 4, 15, 22, =H=, =Q=2, 3, 48, =GG=33, 44, 58. See also Solomon's sword. =SYMEU= =Q=46, =GG=31, 47, 49. =THOLOMES= =Q=6, =Ge=15, =GG=11, 12, 14. =THOLOME CERASTRE= =GG=11. =TIBERIUS CÆSAR= =GG=3, 11, =Ma=3. =TITUS= =GG=3. =TREBUCET= or =TRIBUET= =C=8, =W=, =Ma=15. =URBAN OF THE BLACK THORN= =D=9, =Co=. =URLAIN= or =URBAN= =Q=35 = Bruillant =GG=58. =UTHER PENDRAGON= =GG=9, _cf._ p. 64D. =VERRINE= =B=6 = Marie la Venissienne =GG=3. =VESPASIAN= =B=6, =GG=3, 4, =Ma=3, =Q=7. =WASTE CITY=, King of the, =Ge=8. =WASTE LAND= =PC=1, (forest) 6, =Q=13, 35, =GG=58. =YSAIES= =GG=30, 59 = Helyas, =Q=26. =YWAIN=, see Owain. INDEX II. [This Index comprises the whole of the work with exception of the Summaries, for which see Index I. The references are to the pages. The entries apply solely to the page number or page group-number which they immediately precede, and not to all the pages between themselves and the next entry. In the majority of cases a simple number reference is given, and the fuller entries are to those points which the author wishes specially to emphasise.] Abundia and Herodias, 100. Adonis, 101. Alain (son of Brons), 66, 77, 79, 82, 83, 84, 89, 109, 112, 123, as Fisher King, 208, 210, 218, 222, 245. Amfortas, Fisher King in Wolfram, 249, in Wagner's Parsifal, 253-55, 263. Aminadap, 84. Arbois de Jubainville, 184-85, 188, 192-93. Arthur, Arthur saga, Arthurian romance or legend, 108, 114, 116, 117, Martin's interpretation of, 122-24, 130, 134, 136, 144, 147, 148, 153, 155, 156, 188, A's waiting, 197-98, A and Potter Thompson, 198, 205, 218, 219, 221, 222, popularity of, 228-29, Celtic character of, 230, 231, 236, 243, 244, 245. Avalon (Avaron), 77, punning explanation of, 78, parallel to the Grail, 122-23 and 188, with the Magic Castle, 191, 198, 218, 222, connection with Glastonbury, 223, 248, parallel with Brandan's isle, 264. Baldur, 100. Ban, 83, 84. Baring-Gould, 98. Bartsch, 261. Battle of Magh Rath, 185, 186. Bergmann's San Grëal, 104. Bespelled Castle in Celtic tradition, 190-206. Birch-Hirschfeld, 4, 5, 6, 38, 52, 64_d_, 84, full analysis of his work, 108-121, Martin's criticism, 121-23, 124, objections to his hypothesis, 125-126, 128, 132, 133, 134, 137, 138, 145, 151, 168, 171, 174, 207, 217, 220, 250, Wolfram and Chrestien, 261-62. Blaise, 113. Blanchefleur, 92, 114, 115, 133, comparison of Chrestien and Mabinogi, 135, 140, 147, 204, 238, example of sex-relations of the time, 241. Blood-drops in the snow, 137-38. Books of Rights and Geasa, 213. Borron, Robert de, author of the Joseph d'Arimathie, bibliographical details, 2, MS. statements respecting, 4-6, 19, passage of Grail to England, 79-80, 94, 95, 96, Hucher's views, 105-6, relation to other versions according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 111-115, 116, 118-20, Martin's views, 121-124, 125, 131, 171, secret words, 186, 188, Fisher King in, 207-9, 220, 221, 222, his conception, 239, chastity ideal in, 245, 247, 251, 252. Bors, 66, exemplification of spirit of Queste, 239. Bötticher, Wolfram and Chrestien, 261. Bran (the Blessed), 108, and Cernunnos, 211, connection with conversion of Britain, 218-20, 226, connection with Brandan legend, 265. Bran the Son of Febal, 192, 194, 232, 265. Brandan legend, 264-65. Branwen (Mabinogi of), 76, 97, 108, 167, 168, cauldron, 186, 211, 219, 260. Britain, evangelisation of, 80, 91, 95, 105-106, 107, 124, 218, connection with the Brons and Joseph legends, 219-24. Brons, 66, 70, 72, 75, 77, special form of Early History, 78-79, 80, 81, two accounts respecting, 82-83, 84, 85, 86, 88, in the Didot-Perceval, 89, 91, 93, 94, 95, 106, 109, 112, 113, 123, 124, 125, 182, as Fisher King, 208-11, as Apostle of Britain, 218-26, 235. Bruillans, 84. Brunhild, 232. Bundling, 135. Caesarius of Heisterbach, 122. Campbell, J. F., 102-03, 152, 159-60, cup of healing, 187, 210. Campbell, No. 1 Young King of Easaidh Ruadh, 187; No. 10 The Three Soldiers, 195-96; No. 41 The Widow and her Daughters, 187; No. 47 Mac Iain Direach, 187, 212; No. 51 The Fair Gruagach, 213; No. 52 The Knight of the Red Shield, 156-57, the resuscitating carlin, 166-67; No. 58 The Rider of Grianaig, 157, 209; No. 76 Conall Gulban, 167, 187; No. 82 How the Een was set up, 158, 189; No. 84 Manus, 189-90; No. 86 The Daughter of King Under the Waves, 194-95, 246. Campbell, J. G., Muilearteach, 167. Catheloys, 84. Celidoine, 83, 84. Celtic tradition, origin of or elements in Grail legend, 7, how affected by placing of versions, 68-69, opinions of previous investigators, 97-107, Birch-Hirschfeld, 111-113-14-15-17-20, Martin, 121-24, Hertz, 125, Grail apparently foreign to, 151, 164-65, Carlin in, 167-69, 170-71, 181, 183-84, Vessel in, 184-88, Sword in, 188-90, 191, 195, 197, 199, 208, origin of legend, 215-18, 223-27, relation to mediæval romance, 230, individualism in, 231, woman in, 231-33, the supernatural in, 234, 235, chastity ideal, 247, 248, 251, transformation of, 255, 265. Ceridwen, 186, 210-11. Cernunnos, 211. Cét mac Magach, 231. Chanson de Roland, 248. Charlemagne, Carolingian Saga, 197, 229, 230, 231. Chastity ideal in the Queste, 243-44, in later versions, 245-46, in popular and Celtic tradition, 246-47. Chessboard Castle, 127-30, 139-41. Chrestien, bibliographical description, 1, 2, statements of MSS. respecting, 4, 5, 8, 66, 69, 70, 74, 76, 80, 81, 85, 86, 91, 92, 93, 95, views of previous investigators, 98-108, Birch-Hirschfeld, 108-121, 122, 124, 125, 126, relation to Didot-Perceval, 127-131, to Mabinogi, 132-145, nature of model, 145-46, relation to Sir Perceval, 147-51, relation to Great Fool, 155-56-58-59, 164, 168, visit to Grail Castle in, 171-74, 175, represents mainly feud quest, 180-82, 199, 207, 208, 211, 218, his ideal, 237-38, 245, 249, 250, relation to Wolfram, 261-63. Christian origin of or elements in Grail legend, Christian tradition, legend, etc.; as affected by placing of versions, 68, 80, 123, 143, 146, 165, 170-73, 179, 181, 186, 209, as affected by my hypothesis, 215-18, 220, 224, 226-27, relation to the talismans, 238-39, 251-52, influence on the legend as a whole, 255. Chronological arrangement of versions, 6, Author's, 95-96, Zarncke's, 107, Birch-Hirschfelds', 120-21. Conall Cearnach, 231. Conan's delusions, 200. Conchobor, 192, 231, 233. Conduiramur, 204, and Parzival, 249-51. Connla, 188, 194, 196, 232. Constituent elements in the romances, 215-16. Corbenic, 83, 84. Cormac's visit to the otherworld, 193-94, 234. Counsels, the, in the romances, 150. Crestiens, p. 83 = Nasciens, p. 84. Cuchulainn, 153, 185, 188, 189, conception of, 192, _gess_ of, 214, parallel of legend to mediæval romances, 231-34. Cumhall, father of Fionn, 158-59. Curoi mac Daire, 231. Cynewulf, 221. Dagda, the, and the cauldron, 184-85, 192. Deirdre, 137, and the Sons of Usnech, 233. Diarmaid, 202, _gess_ of, 214. Didot-Perceval, prose sequel to Borron's poem, numbered as C 2, 65, 66, 68, 70, 72, 73, 75, 76, 78, 79, 82, the Quest in, 89-91, 92, 93, 94, 96, Zarncke's opinion of, 107, Authorship of according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 112-15, 117, 120, 121, 125, 126, relationship to Conte du Graal, 127-30, origin of, 131, 138, 139, stag hunt in, 141-42, 145-46, 172-73, 179, 182, 191, 198-99, 208, 245. Dietrich Saga, 230. Domanig, Parzival-Studien, 250. Duvau, 192. Dwarves incident in Chrestien and Mabinogi, 134. Elton, 219. Emer, wooing of, 232-33. Encyclopædia Britannica, 126. England, arrival of Grail in 76-80, Birch-Hirschfeld 116, Joseph legend in 221-22. Enygeus (Brons' wife), 81, 82. Evangelium Nicodemi, 221-22. Espinogre, 142. Expulsion and Return Formula (Aryan), 144, 153-54, 156, 159, 163-64, 190, 210, 225, 256. Fand, 232. Faust, 253. Fenian saga or cycle, sword in, 188-90, 230. Feud-Quest in the romances and in Celtic tradition, 181-90. Finn-eges, 209-11, 220. Fionn (Finn), Fionn-saga, 153-54, 157, connection with Great Fool and boyhood of Peredur, 158-59, 163-64, Fionn's enchantment, 186-87, and sword, 189-90, 195, in the otherworld, 200-03, and salmon, 209-11, 214, 220, 224, 231, 234, 256. Fish, according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 112, Martin, 123-24, 224. See also Salmon. Fisher King, Fisher or Rich Fisher, 77, 78, as Grail-Keeper, 80-86, relation the Promised Knight, 87-89, 107, 110, 113, 115, accounted for by Birch-Hirschfeld, 117, 123, 124, 134, 138, 139, 140, 142, 143, 144, 180, 206, Author's explanation of, 207-11, 237, in Wolfram, 249. Fisher King's daughter, 140-42. Fisher King's father, 74, 81, 110, 191. Fitzgerald, 198, 231. Fomori, 188, 230. Förster on Peredur, 132. Frederick II, 122, in the Kyffhäuser, 196-97. Frederick I (Barbarossa), 196-97. Furnivall, 2, 3, 102-03, estimate of Queste criticised, 242-43. Gaelic talismans = Grail and lance, 103. Gaidoz, 219. Galahad, Galahad Quest, 66, 67, 83-86, as Promised Knight, 90-94, 102, 104, 106, 108, 109, 113, 131, 149, 226, comparison with Perceval Quest, 236, morality of, 240, 245-46, 252, 254. Gaston Paris on relation between Chrestien and Mabinogi, 132. Gautier (de Doulens), Pseudo-Gautier, numbered A II., 1-2, statements respecting in MS., 4, Berne MS. of, 19, 69-70, 72, 74-75, 76-77, 81, 87, 92-95, 101, 106, 110, 113, 114, 120-21, relation to Didot-Perceval, 128-30, to Mabinogi ,133 and 140-44, 145, 146, visit to Grail Castle in, 171-72, Gawain Quest in, 174 and 178-79, 182, 189, 199, 237, 246. Gautier (Walter) de Montbeliart and Borron, 5, 103, 105, 120, 121. Gawain (Gauvain), 2, 67, 69, visit to Grail King, 87, 92, 101, Martin's view of, 122 and 124, 125, 164, 172, special form of Quest, 176-78, 180, 189, 191, visit to Magic Castle, 199-200, in Heinrich, 203-05, 237, and Orgueilleuse, 240-41, 245, 251, 261-62. Geasa, 212-14. Geoffrey of Monmouth, 91, 119, 219, 229. Gerald (Giraldus Cambrensis), testimony respecting Map's authorship, 117-18, 122. Gerbert, numbered A IV., 1, 5, 69, love _motif_ in, 92, 95, 110, 121, 126, the witch who brings the dead to life in, 165-69, 172, 174-75, 179, 180, 199, chastity ideal in, 246, 249, relation to Wolfram, 262-63. Gervasius of Tilbury, 122, 197. Glastonbury, Skeat's view, 105, Zarncke, 107, 220, and Avalon, 223-25. Goethe, 253. Gonemans, 130-34, and Fisher King, 138, 140, and the witch, 165-68, advice to Perceval, 211-12. See also Gurnemanz. Goon Desert, 81, 142. Grail, 66, hypothetical Christian origin of, 68, first possessor of, 69-70, solace of Joseph, 70-72, connection with Sacrament, 71 and 73, and Trinity, 72, properties and effect of, 74-76, name, 76, arrival in England, 76-79, 83-84, 89-90, 94, 96, 99, 100-112, phraseology used by romances in mentioning it, 113, 114-16, symbol of Christ's body, 117, 120, symbol of Avalon, 123, 124-26, 136, 140-142, absence of from Mabinogi and Thornton Sir P., 164, apparently foreign to Celtic legend, 165, 169, various forms of visit to castle of, 170-79, double nature of, 182-83, parallel to magic vessel of Celtic tradition, 185-96, and Fionn, 202, 218, 221, mode of transformation, 224, 245, 247, in Wolfram, 250-52, in Wagner, 254-55, 261-63. Grail (Early History of), two forms, 65-66, Joseph form, 67, relation to Christian origin hypothesis, 68, 69, Brons form, 80, 86, two forms in French romances, 93-94, later than Queste, 93, 95-96, 103, according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 108-21, 151, 208, origin of, 218 and 224. Grail (Quest of), two forms, 65-67, Perceval form, 67, relation to Celtic origin hypothesis, 68, 69, 80, 83, 86, object of according to different versions, 88-90, original form of, 91, 92, Perceval form older, 93-94, 95-96, 105-06, 109-26, 131, 138, Mabinogi form of, 139-44, 151, inconsistency of accounts respecting, 180-81, two formulas fused in, 181, constituent elements in, 215-16, mode of transformation, 220, 237-39, 243, 245, 248, 251, 252. Grail legend, romance or cycle, origin of according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 120, 159, Christian element in, 217, genesis and growth of, 225-27, popularity of, 228, 230, development of ethical ideas in, 235 _et seq._, 248, future of, 259, 265. Grail-Keeper and Promised Knight, 80-81. Grail-Messenger and Rosette, 114. See also Loathly Damsel. Graine, 214. Gramoflanz, 193. Grand St. Graal, numbered E 3, authorship ascribed to Borron, 5, Helinandus' testimony, 52, 65-67, 70, 72-73, 75-76, 79, conflicting accounts respecting Promised Knight in, 84-86, 90, 91, 93, 94-96, 99, 102-112, 117, authorship of, 119-20, 121, 126, 146, 207-08, 219, 220, 247, prologue of and Brandan legend, 264-65. Great Fool, lay or tale of the, 101-02, 144, prose opening, 152-53, comparison with romances, 154-56, originality of, 158, relation to Fionn legend, 159, Lay, 159-162, 163, 164, ethical import of, 256-57. Gregory of Tours and Evangelium Nicodemi, 221. Greloguevaus, 81. Grimm, No. 122, Der Krautesel, 195, 197, 198, 204-05, 247. Gudrun, 233. Guinevere, 83. Gurnemanz, 113, 115, 249, 262-63. See also Gonemans. Guyot = Kiot, 104. Gwalchmai, 225-26, 228. See Gawain. Gwion and Fionn, 210. Hahn, J. G. von, 153-54. Halliwell, 98, 147. Haunted Castle, 204-05. Hawker, 244. Hebron, 108 = Brons, which see. Hector, 187. Heinrich von dem Türlin, numbered K, 4, citation of Chrestien, 6, 69, 91, Martin's view of, 122, 125, visit to Grail Castle in, 172-73 and 178, double origin, 182, 191, special form of Quest, 198-99 and 203, parallel with Sleeping Beauty, 203. Hélie de Borron, 105-06, testimony of, 118-19, 121. Helinandus, 52, 95, 103, 121. Helyas, 83 = Ysaics, 84. Hennessy, 159. Henry II, 118-19. Herodias, 100, 254. Hertz' views, 124-25. How the Great Tuairsgeul etc., 212. Hucher, 2, attempt to harmonise conflicting accounts in Borron, 82, statement of views, 105-06, criticised by Birch-Hirschfeld, 111 and 118, 130, and cauldron, 184. Iduna, apples of, 182. John the Baptist, 100. Jonaans, 83, 84. Joseph of Arimathea, Joseph legend, 65-67, 69, 70, and Grail, 70-73, 74, 77, and England, 78-80, 81, 82, 84, 88, 89, 90, 93, 94, 99, 100, 104-109, 112-117, 124, 146, and the Fisher, 208, 218, Apocryphal legend of, 220-24, 226. Joseph, Metrical, poem by Robert de Borron, numbered B 2, author of, 5, 65-66, 68, 70-73, 74-76, 77-80, two accounts in, 81-82, 88, 91, 93-94, 102-103, relation to Didot-Perceval according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 112-14, 125. Josephes (son of Joseph), and Veronica, 79, 84-86, 109. Josue, 66, 84, 85. Kay, 130. Keating and the treasures of the Tuatha de Danann, 184. Kennedy's Fellow with the Goat-skin, 134, Castle Knock, 159, Great Fool, 159-61, Son of Bad Counsel, 199-200, Fionn's visit to Cuana, 201, haunted castle tale, 204, 257. Kiot, 6, San Marte's view, 99-100, 107-08, 121, and Wolfram, 261-63. Klinschor, 253, 263. Knight Errantry, 229. Knighthood, prototype of in Celtic tradition, 231. Knights of the Red Branch, 231. Knowles' Said and Saiyid, 196. Koch, Kyffhäuser Sage, 197. Köhler, 195. Kundry in Wagner, 254-55, 263. See Loathly Damsel. Küpp on Pseudo-Chrestien, 8, 126, and the branch, 193, 262. Kynddelw, 219. Lambar, 83-84, 86, 183. Lame King, see Maimed King. Lance, 109, and Grail legend according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 111, 113, 121. Lancelot, 83, 84, 108, 110, 112, 118, 119, 123, 172-173, 180, 240, 245. Latin original of French romances probable, 122. Liebrecht, 197-98. Llyr Llediath, 219-20. Loathly Damsel, 87, and Rosette, 114, in Mabinogi and Chrestien, 136, hero's cousin, 139-41, double origin of in romances, 205-06, and Wagner, 254. Longis, 70. Luces de Gast, 118-19. Luces (Lucius), 91, 219. Lufamour, 147. Lug Lamhfhada, 184, 189, 192. Mabinogi of Peredur (generally Mabinogi sometimes Peredur) numbered H 3, 5, 66, 68, 69, Villemarqué on, 97-98, 89, Simrock on, 100, 101, Nash, 102, 104, Hucher, 106, lateness of according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 114-115, 125-26, relation to Conte du Graal, 131-37, dwarves incident in, 134, greater delicacy in Blanchefleur incident, 135, blood drops incident, 137-38, differences with Chrestien, 138-39, machinery of Quest in, 139-42, relation to Manessier, 142-44, origin and development of, 143-145, special indebtedness to Chrestien, 145, 146, relation to Sir Perceval, 148-49, counsels in, 150, apparent absence of Grail from, 151, comparison with Great Fool tale, 154-57, with Great Fool Lay, 161-62, 164, with Gerbert's witch incident, 168-69, 171, visit to Talismans Castle in, 172-73 and 176, 180, 181, 183, 184, 190, 216, fusion of numerous Celtic tales in, 225-26, Sex-relations in, 241, 256. Maidens' Castle, parallels to in Celtic tradition, 191-94. Maimed or Lame or Sick King, 66, 83-88, 90, 91, 109, parallel with Arthur, 122, probable absence from Proto Mabinogi, 145, belongs to Feud Quest, 198, parallel to Fionn, 202, 237. Malory, 236. Manaal, 84. Manannan mac Lir, 192-94, 208, and Bran, 219. Manessier, numbered A III, 1-2, date etc., 4-5, 69-71, 73-74, 77, 81, 88, 92, 95, 110, 121, 138, relation to the Mabinogi, 142-46, 168-69, 171, 175, disregard of question, 180-82, 199, 245-46. Manus, 189-90. Mapes or Map, 5, 104, 105, not author of Queste or Grand St. Graal according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 117-19. Martin's views, 121-26, Kyffhäuser hypothesis criticised, 197, 198, Wolfram and Gerbert, 262. Meaux, 120. Menglad, 232. Merlin, 92, 114, 124. Merlin, Borron's poem, 2, 64D, 105, 106, 112-13, 117. Meyer, Kuno, 209, 233. Minnedienst, 240-41. Modred, 122. Montsalvatch, 66. Mordrains, 90, 109-10, 120, 173. Morgan la Fay, 122. Morvan lez Breiz, 148, 158, 162. Moys or Moses, 88-90, 106, 109, 112, 116. Mythic conceptions in the romances, 205. Nasciens, 76, 83, 85, 120. Nash, 102. Nibelungenlied, 230, 234, 248. Nicodemus, 71. Noisi, 137, 233. O'Daly, 159-61, 163. Odin, 100-01. O'Donovan, 185, 209, 213. Oengus of the Brug, 191-92, and swanmaid, 196. O'Flanagan, 233. Ogma, 188. Oisin, 195, 200, and Gwion, 210, 232. O'Kearney, 201. Orgueilleuse, Celtic character of, 124 and 232, illustrates mediæval morality, 240-41, 263. Osiris, 101. Pagan essence of Grail etc. in the Christianised romances, 238. Partinal, 81, 88, 142-43. Parzival, 101, 252-53. See Perceval and Wolfram. Paulin-Paris, 5, explanation of word Grail, 103, 111, 116-17, 119. Pearson on the Veronica legend, 222, and St. Brandan, 265. Peleur, 83. Pelleans or Pellehem, 83-86, 90. Pelles, 83-86, 90. Perceval, Perceval-Quest, type hero of Quest, 66-67, 72, 78, relation to the Grail-keeper, 80-86, 88-89, 91-92, oldest hero of Quest, 93, 94, 98, 101, 102-04, according to Birch-Hirschfeld, 110-119, 125, in Didot-Perceval and Conte du Graal, 127-31, in Mabinogi and Conte du Graal, 131-45, relation to (bespelled) cousin, 139-42, relation of existing versions to earliest form, 146, in the Thornton MS. romance, 147-51, hero of Expulsion and Return Formula, 153-56, parallel with Highland folk-tales, 157-58, relation to Twin Brethren folk-tale and dualism in, 162-64, 169, versions of Quest, 171-76, visit to the Maidens' Castle, 178-79, 180, 181, significance of Didot-Perceval form, 182, 187, and sword, 189, Castle of Maidens, 191, 195, 199, parallel with Diarmaid, 202, possible hero of Haunted Castle form, 204-05, relation to Fisher, 207, his silence, 211-14, 226, superiority to Galahad Quest, 236, 237-38, 240-41, 245, 247, 254, 256, 261-62. See also Parzival and Peredur. Perceval's aunt, 79. Perceval's sister, 83-84, 163. Perceval's uncle, 78. Perceval le Gallois, numbered G 3, authorship, 6, 65-66, 69, 104, 121, 126, 246. Peredur (hero of Mabinogi = Perceval), Peredur-saga, 106, mother of, 115, 132-36, parallel to Tom of the Goat-skin, 134, the sword test, 138, hero of the stag hunt, 139-42, 143, original form of saga, 144-45, 153-54, 157, 162, 163, 164, 168-69, and Fionn, 187 and 203, 220, fish absent from, 224, genesis and growth of, 225-227, 228, Blanchefleur incident in, 241. See Perceval. Peronnik l'idiot, 125, 158. Perseus, 256. Petrus, 77, 82, 88-90, 106, 109, 112, connection with Geoffrey conversion legend, 219. Pfaffe Amis, 265. Pilate, 65, 70. Potter Thompson and Arthur, 198, 262. Potvin, 1, 2, 6, his views, 104, 174, 177. Prester John, 100. Procopius, 191. Promised or Good Knight, and Grail Keeper, 80-86, Galahad as, 85-86 work of, 86-91, qualifications of, 92-93, 107, 109. Prophecy incident in Grail romances, 156. Pseudo-Chrestien, 8, 209. Pseudo-Gautier, numbered AII_a_, 2, 15-16, 70, 72, 74, 77, 79, 81, 95. Pseudo-Manessier, numbered AIII_a_, 2, 19, 72-73. Queste del St. Graal, numbered D 2-3, varying redactions distinguished typographically, 38, 65-67, 72, 75-76, 79, three drafts of, 83-86, 90-91, glorification of virginity in, 93, 95, 103, 107, relation to Grand St. Graal, 108-09, to Conte du Graal, 110-11, 112, 113, authorship of, 117-20, 121, 126, 131, 146, visit to Grail Castle in, 172-73, 180, 183, 186, 207, 218, 220, 222, 224, 226, 236, ideal of, 238-40 and 243-44, ideal criticised, 243-44, merits of, 244-45, 246, inferiority to Wolfram, 250, 251. Question, Birch-Hirschfeld's opinion, 171, 180, belongs to Unspelling Quest, 181-82, 191, 196, 203, Wolfram's presentment, 249-50. Red Knight, 147-49, 155-56, 162, 189. Renan on Celtic poetry, 234-35. Rhys, 198, 209, 211, Bran legend, 219-20, 265. Rich Fisher or King. See Fisher King. Riseut, 141. Robert de Borron. See Borron. Rochat, 19, his views, 101-02. Roland, 229, 232. Roménie, 118. Rosette, 130, 141. See Loathly Damsel. Salmon of Wisdom, 209-10. San Marte, views, 99-100, 101-02, and Wolfram, 250-5. Sarras, 72, 77, 79. Schröder, Brandan legend, 264-65. Seat, empty or Perillous, 81-82, 88-90. Secret words, 73, 89, 179. Seraphe, 108. Sex-relations in Middle Ages, 240-42. Siegfried, 157, 162, 203, 210, 232-33. Simei, 90. Simrock, views, 100-101, 103, 132, 134, 164, 251, 261-62. Skeat, 104. Skene, 219-20. Sleep and the Magic Castle myth, 202-03. Sleeping Beauty, parallel with Heinrich's version, 203, ethical import of, 258. Solomon's sword, 84. See Sword. Sons of Usnech, 137, 233. Sorceresses of Gloucester, 101, 139, 156. Spontaneity of folk tradition, 254, 257-58. Stag Hunt in Conte du Graal and Mabinogi, 139-40, in Didot-Perceval, 141, parallel with Lay of Great Fool, 162. Steinbach on Sir Perceval, 147-50. Stephens, 219-20. Stokes, 188, 200, 233. Suetonius, 116. Sword, 113, 142, belongs more to Feud Quest, 180-82, found also in Unspelling Quest, 183, of Lug, 184, in Celtic myth, 187-90, 198-99. Taboo and Geasa, 214. Taliesin, 97, 186, and Oisin, 210-11. Templars, 100. Tennyson, 236, 244. Tethra, 188. Thor, Irish parallels to, 200-01. Thornton MS. Sir Perceval (often simply Sir Perceval), numbered I 4, 66, 68-69, 101-02, 125, 126, Steinbach's theory of, 147-50, criticised, 149, absence of Grail from, 151, connection with Great Fool tale, 154-58, 162, 164-65, witch incident, 169, 190, 225. Tír-na n-Og, 191, 195, 223, 248, 264. Titurel, 66. Titus, 107. Trinity, symbolizing of, 88. Tuatha de Danann, treasures of, 184-85, 189-92, 223, 230. Two Brothers tale, 157, 162-63. Ultonian cycle, 185. Unspelling Quest, 181, Celtic parallels to, 190-206, 208. Urban (Urlain), 83, 84, 183. Van Santen, 252. Vanishing of Bespelled Castle, 202-03. Veronica (Verrine), 79, 116, Ward's theory, 222. Vespasian, 107, 116. Vessel in Celtic myth, 184, in Ultonian cycle, 185, in Welsh myth, 186, in Celtic folk-tales, 187. See Grail. Villemarqué, views 97-98, 101, 131, 148. Virginity, 247. Wagner, 252-54. Ward, 220, 222. Wartburg Krieg and Brandan legend, 264. William of Malmesbury, 105, Zarncke's opinion of, 107, 115, Ward's opinion of, 220. Windisch, 188, 219. Witch who brings the dead to life, 165-69. Wolfram von Eschenbach, numbered F 3, sources, 6, 25-26, 65-67, 69, and Gerbert, 92, 99-102, 104, 107, 121-25, 150, 157, brother incident in, 164, 172-73, branch in, 193, magician lord, 199, account of mediæval morality, 240-41, 246, ideal of, 248-52, 254, 255, 256, pattern for future growth of legend, 261, relation to Chrestien, 261-63. Woman in Celtic tradition, 231-33. Wülcker, Evangelium Nicodemi, 220-21. Zarncke, views, 106-07, 115, 132, 220. HARRISON AND SONS, PRINTERS IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY, ST. MARTIN'S LANE, LONDON. FOOTNOTES: [1] Fully described by Potvin, VI, lxix, etc. [2] Potvin, VI, lxxv, etc. [3] Birch-Hirschfeld: Die Sage vom Gral, 8vo., Leipzig, 1877, p. 81. [4] Birch-Hirschfeld, p. 89. [5] Birch-Hirschfeld, p. 110. [6] Birch-Hirschfeld, p. 232, quoting the colophon of a Paris MS., after Paulin Paris, Cat. des MSS. français, vol. ii, pp. 361, etc. [7] Birch-Hirschfeld, p. 143. [8] This prologue is certainly not Chrestien's work; but there is no reason to doubt that it embodies a genuine tradition, and affords valuable hints for a reconstruction of the original form of the story. _Cf._ Otto Küpp in Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie, vol. xvii., No. 1. [9] Potvin's text, from the Mons MS., is taken as basis. [10] Several MSS. here intercalate the history of Joseph of Arimathea: Joseph of Barimacie had the dish made; with it he caught the blood running from the Saviour's body as it hung on the Cross, he afterwards begged the body of Pilate; for the devotion showed the Grail he was denounced to the Jews, thrown into prison, delivered thence by the Lord, exiled together with the sister of Nicodemus, who had an image of the Lord. Joseph and his companions came to the promised land, the White Isle, a part of England. There they warred against them of the land. When Joseph was short of food he prayed to the Creator to send him the Grail wherein he had gathered the holy blood, after which to them that sat at table the Grail brought bread and wine and meat in plenty. At his death, Joseph begged the Grail might remain with his seed, and thus it was that no one, of however high condition, might see it save he was of Joseph's blood. The Rich Fisher was of that kin, and so was Greloguevaus, from whom came Perceval. It is hardly necessary to point out that this must be an interpolation, as if Gauvain had really learnt all there was to be told concerning the Grail, there would have been no point in the reproaches addressed him by the countryfolk. The gist of the episode is that he falls asleep before the tale is all told. [11] The existence of this fragment shows the necessity of collating all the MSS. of the Conte du Graal and the impossibility of arriving at definite conclusions respecting the growth of the work before this is done. The writer of this version evidently knew nothing of Queste or Grand St. Graal, whilst he had knowledge of Borron's poem, a fact the more remarkable since none of the other poets engaged upon the Conte du Graal knew of Borron, so far, at least, as can be gathered from printed sources. It is hopeless in the present state of knowledge to do more than map out approximately the leading sections of the work. [12] It is by no means clear to me that Gerbert's portion of the Conte du Graal is an interpolation. I am rather inclined to look upon it as an independent finish. As will be shown later on, it has several features in common with both Mabinogi and Wolfram, features pointing to a common prototype. [13] In the solitary MS. which gives this version, it follows, as has already been stated, prose versions of Robert de Borron's undoubted poems, "Joseph of Arimathea" and "Merlin." [14] Birch-Hirschfeld, in his Summary (p. 37, l. 22) or his MS. authority, B.M., xix, E. iii., has transposed the relationships. [15] And buried it, adds B. H. in his Summary, whether on MS. authority or not I cannot say, but the Welsh translation has--"there was a period of 240 years" (an obvious mistake on the part of the translator) "after the passion of J. C. when Jos. of A. came; he who buried J. C. and drew him down from the cross." [16] Thus was Evelach called as a Christian, adds B. H. Here W. agrees with Furnivall. [17] Here Birch-Hirschfeld's Summary agrees with W. [18] B. H. agrees with W. [19] According to B. H., the recluse tells him he has fought with his friends, whereupon, ashamed, he hurries off. [20] B. H. here agrees with W. [21] B. H. has _five_ candles. [22] B. H.: "When will the Holy Vessel come to still the pain I feel? Never suffered man as I." [23] B. H. agrees with W. [24] B. H. agrees with Furnivall. [25] B. H., the _ninth_. [26] B. H., the vision is that of a crowned old man, who with two knights worships the cross. [27] B. H., Nasciens. [28] B. H. has all this passage, save that the references to the vision at the cross-ways seem omitted. [29] B. H., the latter. [30] B. H., in Chaldee. [31] B. H., Labran slays Urban. [32] The 1488 text has Urban. [33] B. H., Thus was the King wounded, and he was Galahad's grandfather. [34] It does not appear from B. H.'s Summary whether his text agrees with F. or W. [35] B. H., seven knights. [36] B. H., that was the Castle of Corbenic where the Holy Grail was kept. [37] B. H., the Castle of the Maimed King. [38] B. H., ten. Obviously a mistake on the part of his text, as the nine with the three Grail questers make up twelve, the number of Christ's disciples. [39] B. H., three. [40] B. H. agrees with F. [41] One cannot see from B. H. whether his text agrees with F. or W. [42] B. H. agrees with F. [43] It will be advisable to give here the well-known passage from the chronicle of Helinandus, which has been held by most investigators to be of first-rate importance in determining the date of the Grand St. Graal. The chronicle ends in the year 1204, and must therefore have been finished in that or the following year, and as the passage in question occurs in the earlier portion of the work it may be dated about two years earlier (Birch-Hirschfeld, p. 33). "Hoc tempore (717-719) in Britannia cuidam heremitae demonstrata fuit mirabilis quaedam visio per angelum de Joseph decurione nobili, qui corpus domini deposuit de cruce et de catino illo vel paropside, in quo dominus caenavit cum discipulis suis, de quo ab eodem heremita descripta est historia quae dicitur gradale. Gradalis autem vel gradale gallice dicitur scutella lata et aliquantulum profunda, in qua preciosae dapes divitibus solent apponi gradatim, unus morsellus post alium in diversis ordinibus. Dicitur et vulgari nomine greal, quia grata et acceptabilis est in ea comedenti, tum propter continens, quia forte argentea est vel de alia preciosa materia, tum propter contentum .i. ordinem multiplicem dapium preciosarum. Hanc historiam latine scriptam invenire non potui sed tantum gallice scripta habetur a quibusdem proceribus, nec facile, ut aiunt, tota inveniri potest." The Grand St. Graal is the only work of the cycle now existing to which Helinandus' words could refer; but it is a question whether he may not have had in view a work from which the Grand St. Graal took over its introduction. Helinandus mentions the punning origin of the word "greal" (_infra_, p. 76), which is only hinted at in the Grand St. Graal, but fully developed elsewhere, _e.g._, in the Didot-Perceval and in Borron's poem. Another point of great interest raised by this introduction will be found dealt with in Appendix B. [44] The MS. followed by Furnivall has an illustration, in which Joseph is represented as sitting under the Cross and collecting the blood from the sides and feet in the basin. [45] MS. reading. [46] I have not thought it necessary to give a summary of the prose romance Perceval le Gallois. One will be found in Birch-Hirschfeld, pp. 123-134. The version, though offering many interesting features, is too late and unoriginal to be of use in the present investigation. [47] _Cf._ p. 78 as to this passage. [48] It is forty-two years, according to D. Queste (p. 119), after the Passion that Joseph comes to Sarras. [49] It is plain that B I is abridged in the passage dealt with, from the following fact: Joseph (v. 2,448, etc.) praying to Christ for help, reminds Him of His command, that when he (Joseph) wanted help he should come "devant ce veissel precieus Où est votre sans glorieus." Now Christ's words to Joseph in the prison say nothing whatever about any such recommendation; but E, Grand St. Graal, does contain a scene between our Lord and Joseph, in which the latter is bidden, "Et quant tu vauras à moi parler si ouuerras l'arche en quel lieu que tu soies" (I, 38-39) from which the conclusion may be drawn that B I represents an abridged and garbled form of the prototype of E. [50] In the Mabinogi of Branwen, the daughter of Llyr, the warriors cast into the cauldron of renovation come forth on the morrow fighting men as good as they were before, except that they are not able to speak (Mab., p. 381). [51] The version summarised by Birch-Hirschfeld. [52] Curiously enough this very text here prints Urban as the name of the Maimed King; Urban is the antagonist of Lambar, the father of the Maimed King in the original draft of the Queste, and his mention in this place in the 1488 text seems due to a misprint. In the episode there is a direct conflict of testimony between the first and second drafts, Lambar slaving Urlain in the former, Urlain Lambar in the latter. [53] This account agrees with that of the second draft of the Queste, in which Urlain slays Lambar. [54] Only _one_ beholder of the Quest is alluded to, although in the Queste, from which the Grand St. Graal drew its account, _three_ behold the wonders of the Grail. [55] This, of course, belongs to the second of the two accounts we have found in the poem respecting the Promised Knight, the one which makes him the grandson and not the son merely of Brons. [56] The object of the Quest according to Heinrich von dem Türlin will be found dealt with in Chapter VII. [57] This is one of a remarkable series of points of contact between Gerbert and Wolfram von Eschenbach. [58] It almost looks as if the author of C were following here a version in which the hero only has to go once to the Grail Castle; nothing is said about Perceval's first unsuccessful visit, and Merlin addresses Perceval as if he were telling him for the first time about matters concerning which he must be already fully instructed. [59] It is remarkable, considering the scanty material at his disposal, how accurate Schulz' analysis is, and how correct much of his argumentation. [60] Wagner has admirably utilised this hint of Simrock's in his Parsifal, when his Kundry (the loathly damsel of Chrestien and the Mabinogi) is Herodias. _Cf._ _infra_, Ch. X. [61] Excepting, of course, the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century Paris imprints, which represented as a rule, however, the latest and most interpolated forms, and Mons. Fr. Michel's edition of Borron's poem. [62] Hucher's argument from v. 2817 (_supra_ p. 106) that the poem knew of the Grand St. Graal is, however, not met. [63] _Vide_ p. 200, for Birch-Hirschfeld's summary comparison of the two works, and _cf._ _infra_ p. 127. [64] _Cf._ _infra_ p. 128, for a criticism of this statement. [65] Opera V. 410: Unde et vir ille eloquio clarus W. Mapus, Oxoniensis archidiaconus (cujus animae propitietur Deus) solita verborum facetia et urbanitate praecipua dicere pluris et nos in hunc modum convenire solebat: "Multa, Magister Geralde, scripsistis et multum adhue scribitis, et nos multa diximus. Vos scripta dedistis et nos verba." [66] Printed in full, Hucher, I. 156, etc. [67] Printed by Hucher, I. p. 35, etc. [68] The remainder of Birch-Hirschfeld's work is devoted to proving that Chrestien was the only source of Wolfram von Eschenbach, the latter's Kiot being imagined by him to justify his departure from Chrestien's version; departures occasioned by his dissatisfaction with the French poet's treatment of the subject on its moral and spiritual side. This element in the Grail problem will be found briefly dealt with, Appendix A. [69] I have not thought it necessary, or even advisable, to notice what the "Encyclopædia Britannica" (Part XLI, pp. 34, 35) and some other English "authorities" say about the Grail legends. [70] They are brought together by Hucher, vol. i, p. 383, etc. [71] In the preface to the second volume of his edition of Chrestien's works (Halle, 1887), W. Förster distinguishes Peredur from the Lady of the Fountain and from Geraint, which he looks upon as simple copies of Chrestien's poems dealing with the same subjects. Peredur has, he thinks, some Welsh features. [72] It is perhaps only a coincidence that in Gautier the "pucelle de malaire" is named Riseut la Bloie, and that Rosette la Blonde is the name of the loathly damsel whom Perceval meets in company of the Beau Mauvais, and whom Birch-Hirschfeld supposes to have suggested to Chrestien _his_ loathly damsel, the Grail messenger. But from the three versions one gets the following:--Riseut (Gautier), loathly damsel (Didot-Perceval), Grail messenger (Chrestien), = Peredur's cousin, who in the Mabinogi is the loathly Grail messenger, and the protagonist in the stag-hunt. [73] I have not thought it necessary to discuss seriously the hypothesis that Chrestien may have used the Mabinogi as we now have it. The foregoing statement of the facts is sufficient to negative it. [74] THE COUNSELS. _Chrestien_ (v. 1,725, etc.): aid dames and damsels, for he who honoureth them not, his honour is dead; serve them likewise; displease them not in aught; one has much from kissing a maid if she will to lie with you, but if she forbid, leave it alone; if she have ring, or wristband, and for love or at your prayer give it, 'tis well you take it. Never have comradeship with one for long without seeking his name; speak ever to worthy men and go with them; ever pray in churches and monasteries (then follows a dissertation on churches and places of worship generally). _Mabinogi_ (p. 83): wherever a church, repeat there thy Paternoster; if thou see meat and drink, and none offer, take; if thou hear an outcry, especially of a woman, go towards it; if thou see a jewel, take and give to another to obtain praise thereby; pay thy court to a fair woman, _whether she will or no_, thus shalt thou render thyself a better man than before. (In the italicised passage the Mabinogi gives the direct opposite of Chrestien, whom he has evidently misunderstood.) _Sir Perceval_ (p. 16): "Luke thou be of mesure Bothe in haulle and boure, And fonde to be fre." "There thou meteste with a knyghte, Do thi hode off, I highte, and haylse hym in hy" (He interprets the counsel to be of measure by only taking half the food and drink he finds at the board of the lady of the tent. The kissing of the lady of the tent which follows is in no way connected with his mother's counsel.) _Wolfram_: "Follow not untrodden paths; bear thyself ever becomingly; deny no man thy greeting; accept the teaching of a greybeard; if ring and greeting of a fair woman are to be won strive thereafter, kiss her and embrace her dear body, for that gives luck and courage, if so she be chaste and worthy." Beside the mother's counsels Perceval is admonished by Gonemans or the personage corresponding to him. In _Chrestien_ (2,838, _et seq._) he is to deny mercy to no knight pleading for it; to take heed he be not over-talkful; to aid and counsel dames and damsels and all others needing his counsel; to go often to church; not to quote his mother's advice, rather to refer to him (Gonemans). In the _Mabinogi_ he is to leave the habits and discourse of his mother; if he see aught to cause him wonder not to ask its meaning. In _Wolfram_ he is not to have his mother always on his lips; to keep a modest bearing; to help all in need, but to give wisely, not heedlessly; and in especial not to ask too much; to deny no man asking mercy; when he has laid by his arms to let no traces thereof be seen, but to wash hands and face from stain of rust, thereby shall ladies be pleased; to hold women in love and honour; never to seek to deceive them (as he might do many), for false love is fleeting and men and women are one as are sun and daylight.--There seems to me an evident progression in the ethical character of these counsels. Originally they were doubtless purely practical and somewhat primitive of their nature. As it is, Chrestien's words sound very strange to modern ears. [75] In the notes to my two articles in the "Folk-Lore Record" will be found a number of references establishing this fact. [76] The hero renews his strength after his various combats by rubbing himself with the contents of a vessel of balsam. He has moreover to enter a house the door of which closes to of itself (like the Grail Castle Portcullis in Wolfram), and which kills him. He is brought to life by the friendly raven. The mysterious carlin also appears, "there was a turn of her nails about her elbows, and a twist of her hoary hair about her toes, and she was not joyous to look upon." She turns the hero's companions into stone, and to unspell them he must seek a bottle of living water and rub it upon them, when they will come out alive. This is like the final incident in many stories of the Two Brothers class. _Cf._ note, p. 162. [77] O'Daly's version consists of 158 quatrains; Campbell's of 63. The correspondence between them, generally very close (frequently verbal), is shown by the following table:-- O'D., 1, 2. C., 1, 2. -- C., 3. O'D., 3. C., 4. O'D., 4-15. -- O'D., 16. C., 4. O'D., 17-24. C., 5-12. O'D., 25. -- -- C., 13-15. O'D., 26-47. C., 16-36. O'D., 48-56. -- O'D., 57-61. C., 37-40. O'D., 62. -- O'D., 63-65. C., 41-43. O'D., 66. C., 45. O'D., 67. C., 44. O'D., 68, 69. C., 46, 47. O'D., 70. C., 49. O'D., 71. C., 48. -- C., 50. O'D., 72. C., 52. O'D., 73. -- O'D., 74. C., 53. O'D., 75. C., 54. O'D., 76-80. C., 55-59. O'D., 81-134. -- O'D., 135, 136. C., 60, 61. -- C., 62. O'D., 137. -- O'D., 138. C., 63. O'D., 139-158. -- [78] Of this widely spread group, Grimm's No. 60, Die zwei Brüder, may be taken as a type. The brethren eat heart and liver of the gold bird and thereby get infinite riches, are schemed against by a goldsmith, who would have kept the gold bird for himself, seek their fortunes throughout the world accompanied by helping beasts, part at crossways, leaving a life token to tell each one how the other fares; the one delivers a princess from a dragon, is cheated of the fruit of the exploit by the Red Knight, whom after a year he confounds, wins the princess, and, after a while, hunting a magic hind, falls victim to a witch. His brother, learning his fate through the life token, comes to the same town, is taken for the young king even by the princess, but keeps faith to his brother by laying a bare sword twixt them twain at night. He then delivers from the witch's spells his brother, who, learning the error caused by the likeness, and thinking advantage had been taken of it, in a fit of passion slays him, but afterwards, hearing the truth, brings him back to life again. Grimm has pointed out in his notes the likeness between this story and that of Siegfried (adventures with Mimir, Fafnir, Brunhilde, and Gunnar). In India the tale figures in Somadeva's Katha Sarit Sagara (Brockhaus' translation, ii., 142, _et seq._). The one brother is transformed into a demon through accidental sprinkling from a body burning on a bier. He is in the end released from this condition by his brother's performing certain exploits, but there is no similarity of detail. Other variants are _Zingerle_ (p. 131) where the incident occurs of the hero's winning the king's favour by making his bear dance before him; this I am inclined to look upon as a weakened recollection of the incident of a hero's making a princess _laugh_, either by playing antics himself or making an animal of his play them (_see_ _supra_, p. 134, Kennedy's Irish Tale). Grimm also quotes _Meier_ 29 and 58, but these are only variants of the dragon-killing incident. In the variant of 29, given p. 306, the hero makes the king laugh, and in both stories occurs the familiar incident of the hero coming unknown into a tournament and overcoming all enemies, as in Peredur (Inc. 9). _Wolf._, p. 369, is closer, and here the hero is counselled by a grey mannikin whom he will unspell if he succeeds. _Stier_, No. I. (not p. 67, as Grimm erroneously indicates) follows almost precisely the same course as Grimm's 60, save that there are three brothers. _Graal_, p. 195, has the magic gold bird opening, but none of the subsequent adventures tally. _Schott_, No. 11, is also cited by Grimm, but mistakenly; it belongs to the faithful-servant group. Very close variants come from Sweden (Cavallius-Oberleitner, V_a_, V_b_) and Italy (Pentamerone, I. 7 and I. 9). The Swedish tales have the miraculous conception opening, which is a prominent feature in tales belonging to the Expulsion and Return group (_e.g._, Perseus, Cu-Chulaind, and Taliesin), but present otherwise very nearly the same incidents as Grimm. The second of the Italian versions has the miraculous conception opening so characteristic of this group of folk-tales, and of the allied formula group, the attainment of riches consequent upon eating the heart of a sea dragon, the tournament incident (though without the disguise of the hero), the stag hunt, wherein the stag, an inimical wizard haunting the wood, is a cannibal and keeps the captured hero for eating. In the story of the delivery by the second brother, the separating sword incident occurs. The first version opens with what is apparently a distorted and weakened form of the hero's clearing a haunted house of its diabolical inmates (_see_ _infra_ Ch. VII., Gawain) and then follows very closely Grimm's Two Brothers, save that the alluring witch is young and fair, the whole tale being made to point the moral, "more luck than wit." Straparola, _a_ 3, is a variant of the dragon fight incident alone. It is impossible not to be struck by the fact that in this widely spread group of tales are to be found some of the most characteristic incidents of the Perceval and allied Great Fool group. The only version, however, which brings the two groups into formal contact is O'Daly's form of the Great Fool. [79] The brother feature appears likewise in Wolfram von Eschenbach, where Parzival's final and hardest struggle is against the unknown brother, as the Great Fool's is against the Gruagach. This may be added to other indications that Wolfram _did_ have some other version before him besides Chrestien's. [80] I cannot but think that these words have connection with the incident in the English Sir Perceval of the hero's throwing into the flames and thus destroying his witch enemy. [81] I must refer to my Mabinogion Studies, I. Branwen for a discussion of the relation of this tale with Branwen and with the Teutonic Heldensage. [82] Another parallel is afforded by the tale of Conall Gulban (Campbell, III., 274). Conall, stretched wounded on the field, sees "when night grew dark a great Turkish carlin, and she had a white glaive of light with which she could see seven miles behind her and seven miles before her; and she had a flask of balsam carrying it." The dead men are brought to life by having three drops of balsam put into their mouths. The hero wins both flask and glaive. [83] _Cf._ my Branwen for remarks on the mythological aspect of the ballad. It should be noted that most of the ballads traditionally current in the Highlands are of semi-literary origin, _i.e._, would seem to go back to the compositions of mediæval Irish bards, who often sprinkled over the native tradition a profusion of classical and historical names. I do not think the foreign influence went farther than the "names" of some personages, and such as it is is more at work in the ballads than in the tales. [84] This may seem to conflict with the statement made above (p. 145), that the Mabinogi probably took over the maimed uncle from Chrestien. But there were in all probability several forms of the story; that hinted at in Chrestien and found in Manessier had its probable counterpart in Celtic tradition as well as that found in Gerbert. It is hardly possible to determine what was the form found in the proto-Mabinogi, the possibility of its having been exactly the same as that of Gerbert is in no way affected by the fact that the Mabinogi, as we now have it, has in this respect been influenced by Chrestien. Meanwhile Birch-Hirschfeld's hypothesis that Gerbert's section of the Conte du Graal is an interpolation between Gautier and Manessier is laid open to grave doubt. It is far more likely that Gerbert's work was an independent and original attempt to provide an ending for Chrestien's unfinished poem, and that he had before him a different version of the original from that used by Gautier and Manessier. [85] It occurs also in Peredur (Inc. 16), where the hero comes to the Castle of the Youths, who, fighting every day against the Addanc of the Cave, are each day slain, and each day brought to life by being anointed in a vessel of warm water and with precious balsam. [86] For the second time, if Gerbert's continuation be really intended for our present text of Gautier, and if Potvin's summary of Gerbert is to be relied upon; Birch-Hirschfeld seemingly differs from him here, and makes the King at once mention the flaw. [87] It may be worth notice that v. 35,473 is the same as Chrestien, v. 4,533. [88] It is evident that, although in the MS. in which this version is found it is followed by Manessier's section, the poem was intended by Gerbert to end here. [89] Told at other times, and notably by Gautier himself (Inc. 21), of Perceval, where the feature of a dead knight lying on the altar is added. [90] According to the Montpellier MS., which here agrees substantially with Potvin's text (the Mons MS.), this is Gauvain's second visit to the Grail Castle. At his first visit he had been subjected to the sword test and had slept. The mystic procession is made up as follows:--Squire with lance; maidens with plate; two squires with candlesticks; fair maiden weeping, in her hands a "graal;" four squires with the bier, on which lies the knight and the broken sword. Gauvain would fain learn about these things, but is bidden first to make the sword whole. On his failure he is told Vous n'avez par encore tant fet D'armes, que vous doiez savoir, etc., and then goes to sleep. His awakening finds him in a marsh. [91] It may be conjectured that the magic vessel which preserves to this enchanted folk the semblance of life passes into the hero's possession when he asks about it, and that deprived of it their existence comes to an end, as would that of the Anses without the Apples of Iduna. I put this into a note, as I have no evidence in support of the theory. But read in the light of this conjecture some hitherto unnoticed legend may supply the necessary link of testimony. [92] Nearly all the objections to the view suggested in the text may be put aside as due to insufficient recognition of the extent to which the two formulas have been mingled, but there is one which seems to me of real moment. The wasting of the land which I have looked upon as belonging to the unspelling formula, is traced by the Queste to the blow struck by King Lambar against King Urlain, a story which, as we have seen, is very similar to that which forms the groundwork of one at least of the models followed by the Conte du Graal in its version of the feud quest. It does not seem likely that the Queste story is a mere echo of that found in the Conte du Graal, nor that the fusion existed so far back as in a model common to both. But the second alternative is possible. [93] I do not follow M. Hucher upon the (as it seems to me) very insecure ground of Gaulish numismatic art. The object which he finds figured in pre-Christian coins may be a cauldron--and it may not--and even if it is a cauldron it may have no such significance as he ascribes to it. [94] _Cf._ as to Lug D'Arbois de Jubainville, Cycle Mythologique Irlandais; Paris, 1884, p. 178. He was revered by all Celtic races, and has left his trace in the name of several towns, chief among them Lug-dunum = Lyons. In so far as the Celts had departmental gods, he was the god of handicraft and trade; but _cf._ as to this Rhys, Hibb. Lect., p. 427-28. [95] _Cf._ D'Arbois de Jubainville, _op. cit._, p. 269-290. The Dagda--the good god--seems to have been head of the Irish Olympus. A legend anterior to the eleventh century, and belonging probably to the oldest stratum of Celtic myth, ascribes to him power over the earth: without his aid the sons of Miledh could get neither corn nor milk. It is, therefore, no wonder to find him possessor of the magic cauldron, which may be looked upon as a symbol of fertility, and, as such, akin to similar symbols in the mythology of nearly every people. [96] _Cf._ as to the mythic character of the Tuatha de Danann, D'Arbois de Jubainville, _op. cit._, and my review of his work, Folk-Lore Journal, June, 1884. [97] I at one time thought that the prohibition to reveal the "secret words," which is such an important element in Robert de Borron's version, might be referred to the same myth-root as the instances in the text. There is little or no evidence to sustain such a hazardous hypothesis. Nevertheless it is worth while drawing attention in this place to that prohibition, for which I can offer no adequate explanation. [98] Powers of darkness and death. Tethra their king reigns in an island home. It is from thence that the maiden comes to lure away Connla of the Golden Hair, as is told in the Leabhar na-h-Uidhre, even as the Grail messenger comes to seek Perceval--"'tis a land in which is neither death nor old age--a plain of never ending pleasure," the counterpart, in fact, of that Avalon to which Arthur is carried off across the lake by the fay maiden, that Avalon which, as we see in Robert de Borron, was the earliest home of the Grail-host. [99] _Cf._ D'Arbois de Jubainville, _op. cit._ p. 188. [100] When Cuchulainn was opposing the warriors of Ireland in their invasion of Ulster one of his feats is to make smooth chariot-poles out of rough branches of trees by passing them through his clenched hand, so that however bent and knotted they were they came from his hands even, straight, and smooth. _Tain bo Cualgne_, quoted by Windisch, Rev. Celt., Vol. V. [101] This epithet recalls Lug, of whom it is the stock designation. Now Lug was _par excellence_ the craftsman's god; he, too, at the battle of Mag Tured acted as a sort of armourer-general to the Tuatha de Danann. A dim reminiscence of this may be traced in the words which the folk-tale applies to Ullamh l.f., "he was the one special man for taking their arms." [102] _Cf._ my Aryan Expulsion and Return formula, pp. 8, 13, for variants of these incidents in other stories belonging to this cycle and in the allied folk-tales. [103] This incident is only found in the living Fionn-_sage_, being absent from all the older versions, and yet, as the comparison with the allied Perceval sage shows, it is an original and essential feature. How do the advocates of the theory that the Ossianic cycle is a recent mass of legend, growing out of the lives and circumstances of historical men, account for this development along the lines of a formula with which, _ex hypothesi_, the legend has nothing to do? The Fionn-_sage_, it is said, has been doctored in imitation of the Cuchulainn-_sage_, but the assertion (which though boldly made has next to no real foundation) cannot be made in the case of the Conte du Graal. Mediæval Irish bards and unlettered Highland peasants did not conspire together to make Fionn's adventures agree with those of Perceval. [104] In the Gawain form of the feud quest found in Gautier, the knight whose death he sets forth to avenge is slain by the cast of a dart. Can this be brought into connection with the fact that Perceval slays with a cast of his dart the Red Knight, who, according to the Thornton romance, is his father's slayer. [105] This prose tale precedes an oral version of one of the commonest Fenian poems, which in its present shape obviously goes back to the days when the Irish were fighting against Norse invaders. The poem, which still lives in Ireland as well as in the Highlands, belongs to that later stage of development of the Fenian cycle, in which Fionn and his men are depicted as warring against the Norsemen. It is totally dissimilar from the prose story summarised above, and I am inclined to look upon the prose as belonging to a far earlier stage in the growth of the cycle, a stage in which the heroes were purely mythical and their exploits those of mythical heroes generally. [106] The prohibition seems to be an echo of the widely-spread one which forbids the visitor to the otherworld tasting the food of the dead, which, if he break, he is forfeit to the shades. The most famous instance of this myth is that of Persephone. [107] _Cf._ Procopius quoted by Elton, Origins of English History, p. 84. [108] Prof. Rhys, Hibbert Lectures for 1886, looks upon him as a Celtic Zeus. He dispossessed his father of the Brug by fraud, as Zeus dispossessed Kronos by force. [109] D'Arbois de Jubainville, _op. cit._, p. 275. Rhys, _op. cit._, p. 149. [110] M. Duvau, Revue Celtique, Vol. IX., No. 1, has translated the varying versions of the story. [111] Like many of the older Irish tales the present form is confused and obscure, but it is easy to arrive at the original. [112] The part in brackets is found in one version only of the story. Of the two versions each has retained certain archaic features not to be found in the other. [113] Summarised by D'Arbois de Jubainville, _op. cit._, p. 323. [114] D'Arbois de Jubainville, p. 326. [115] Otto Küpp, Z.f.D. Phil. xvii, i, 68, examining Wolfram's version sees in the branch guarded by Gramoflanz and broken by Parzival a trace of the original myth underlying the story. Gramoflanz is connected with the Magic Castle (one of the inmates of which is his sister), or with the otherworld. Küpp's conjecture derives much force from the importance given to the branch in the Irish tales as part of the gear of the otherworld. [116] This recalls the fact that Oengus of the Brug fell in love with a swanmaid. See text and translation Revue Celtique, Vol. III., pp. 341, _et. seq._ The story is alluded to in the catalogue of epic tales (dating from the tenth century) found in the Book of Leinster. [117] In a variant from Kashmir (Knowles' Folk-tales of Kashmir, London, 1888, p. 75, _et. seq._), Saiyid and Said, this tale is found embedded in a twin-brethren one. [118] Frederick (I.) Barbarossa is a mistake, as old as the seventeenth century (_cf._ Koch, Sage vom Kaiser Friedrich in Kyffhäuser, Leipzig, 1886), for Frederick II., the first German Emperor of whom the legend was told. The mistake was caused by the fact that Frederick took the place of a German red-bearded god, probably Thor, hence the later identification with the _red-bearded_ Frederick, instead of with that great opponent of the Papacy whose death away in Italy the German party refused for many years to credit. [119] Unless the passage relating to Carl the Great quoted by Grimm (D.M., III., 286) from Mon. Germ. Hist., Vol. VIII., 215, "inde fabulosum illud confictum de Carolo Magno, quasi de mortuis in id ipsum resuscitato, et alio nescio quo nihilominus redivivo," be older. [120] Liebrecht's edition of the Otia Imperialia, Hanover, 1856, p. 12, and note p. 55. [121] Martin Zur Gralsage, p. 31, arguing from the historical connection of Frederick II. with Sicily, thinks that the localisation of this Arthurian legend in that isle was the reason of its being associated with the Hohenstauffen; in other words, the famous German legend would be an indirect offshot of the Arthurian cycle. I cannot follow Martin here. I see no reason for doubting the genuineness of the traditions collected by Kuhn and Schwartz, or for disbelieving that Teutons had this myth as well as Celts. It is no part of my thesis to exalt Celtic tradition at the expense of German; almost all the parallels I have adduced between the romances and Celtic mythology and folk-lore could be matched from those of Germany. But the romances are historically associated with Celtic tradition, and the parallels found in the latter are closer and more numerous than those which could be recovered from German tradition. It is, therefore, the most simple course to refer the romances to the former instead of to the latter. [122] See Grimm, D.M., Ch. XXXII.; Fitzgerald, Rev. Celt., IV., 198; and the references in Liebrecht, _op. cit._ [123] Personally communicated by the Rev. Mr. Sorby, of Sheffield. [124] In Chrestien the part of the Magician Lord is little insisted upon. But in Wolfram he is a very important personage. It may here be noted that the effects which are to follow in Chrestien the doing away with the enchantments of this Castle, answer far more accurately to the description given by the loathly Grail-Maiden of the benefits which would have accrued had Perceval put the question at the Court of the Fisher King than to anything actually described as the effect of that question being put, either by Gautier, Manessier, or Gerbert. This castle seems, too, to be the one in which lodge the Knights, each having his lady love with him, which the loathly maiden announces to be her home. [125] Kennedy follows in the main Oss. Soc., Vol. II, pp. 118, _et. seq._, an eighteenth century version translated by Mr. O'Kearney. This particular episode is found, pp. 147, _et. seq._ I follow the Oss. Soc. version in preference to Kennedy's where they differ. [126] The story as found in Heinrich may be compared with the folk-tale of the Sleeping Beauty. She is a maiden sunk in a death-in-life sleep together with all her belongings until she be awakened by the kiss of the destined prince. May we not conjecture that in an older form of the story than any we now possess, the court of the princess vanished when the releasing kiss restored her to real life and left her alone with the prince? The comparison has this further interest, that the folk-tale is a variant of an old myth which figures prominently in the hero-tales of the Teutonic race (Lay of Skirni, Lay of Swipday and Menglad, Saga of Sigurd and Brunhild), and that in its most famous form Siegfried, answering in Teutonic myth to Fionn, is its hero. But Peredur is a Cymric Fionn, so that the parallel between the two heroes, Celtic and Teutonic, is closer than at first appears when Siegfried is compared only to his Gaelic counterpart. [127] I have not examined Gawain's visit to the Magic Castle in detail, in the first place because it only bears indirectly upon the Grail-Quest, and then because I hope before very long to study the personality of Gawain in the romances, and to throw light upon it from Celtic mythic tradition in the same way that I have tried in the foregoing pages to do in the case of Perceval. [128] Kennedy, Legendary Fictions, p. 154, _et. seq._ [129] Grimm, Vol. III., p. 9 (note to Märchen von einem der auszog das Fürchten zu lernen), gives a number of variants. It should be noted that in this story there is the same mixture of incidents of the Magic Castle and Haunted Castle forms as in the romances. Moreover, one of the trials to which the hero's courage is subjected is the bringing into the room of a coffin in which lies a dead man, just as in Gawain's visit to the Grail Castle. Again, as Grimm notes, but mistakenly refers to Perceval instead of to Gawain, the hero has to undergo the adventures of the magic bed, which, when he lays himself down in it, dashes violently about through the castle and finally turns topsy turvy. In connection with this story, and with the whole series of mythical conceptions noted in the Grail romances, Chapter XXXII. of the Deutsche Mythologie deserves careful study. Grimm compares Conduiramur's (Blanchefleur's) nightly visit to Percival's chamber to the appearance at the bedside of the delivering hero of that white maiden, who is so frequently figured as the inmate of the Haunted Castle. As niece of the Lord of the Grail Castle, Blanchefleur is also a denizen of the otherworld, but I hardly think that the episode of Perceval's delivering her from her enemies can be looked upon as a version of the removal of the spells of the Haunted Castle. In a recent number of the Revue des Traditions Populaires (III., p. 103), there is a good Breton version of the Bespelled Castle sunk under the waves. A fair princess is therein held captive; once a year the waves part and permit access, and he who is bold enough to seize the right moment wins princess and castle, which are restored to earth. [130] Whether it be the Castle of the Fisher King, _i.e._, the Castle of the Perceval Quest; or the Magic Castle, _i.e._, the Castle of the Gawain Quest. [131] For fuller information about this mysterious fish, see Rhys, Hibbert Lectures, pp. 553-54. [132] In an already quoted tale of Campbell's (LVIII., the Rider of Grianaig) allusion is made to the "black fisherman working at his tricks." Campbell remarks that a similar character appears in other tales. Can this wizard fisher be brought into contact with the Rich Fisher of Pseudo-Chrestien (_supra_, p. 8), who knew much of black art, and could change his semblance a hundred times? [133] Complete text, edited by Kuno Meyer, Revue Celt., Vol. V. Major portion of text with English translation by Dr. J. O'Donovan, Oss. Soc., Vol. IV. The tract as a whole is only known to us from a fifteenth century MS.; but the earlier portion of it appears in the L.n.H., in a strongly euhemerised form, only such incidents being admitted as could be presented historically, and these being divested of all supernatural character. See my paper, "Folk-Lore Record," Vol. IV., for a discussion of the genuine and early character of the tract. [134] A reason for this concealment may be found in the idea, so frequently met with in a certain stage of human development, that the name is an essential portion of the personality, and must not be mentioned, especially to possible enemies or to beings possessed of magical powers, lest they should make hurtful use of it. [135] _Cf._ the whole of the Book of Rights for an exemplification of the way in which the pre-Christian Irishman was hedged and bound and fettered by this amazingly complicated system of what he might and what he might not do. [136] They offer him dog's-flesh cooked on rowan spits, and, it has been conjectured that the _gess_ has a totemistic basis, Culann's Hound (Cuchulainn) being forbidden to partake of the flesh of his totem. [137] It is only within the last 100 years that our knowledge of savage and semi-savage races has furnished us with a parallel to the "geasa" in the "taboo" of the Polynesian. I am not advancing too much in the statement that this institution, although traces of it exist among all Aryan races, had not the same importance among any as among the Irish Gael. It is another proof of the primitive character of Irish social life, a character which may, perhaps, be ascribed to the assimilation by the invading Celts of the beliefs and practices of much ruder races. [138] Mr. Elton (Origins, pp. 291, 292) looks upon Bran and Caradoc as original war gods. Caradoc, he thinks, was confounded with Caractacus, Bran with Brennus, and hence the two personages were sent to Rome in imitation of the presumed historical prototypes. [139] Kynddelw's triad does not really refer to the "blessed" families at all, but to the "faithful" or "loyal" families. Stephen's mistake arose from the fact of the name Madawc occurring in two sets of triads, one relating to the "lordly" families of Britain in which the family of Llyr Llediath also figures, and one to the faithful families. In both triads the name is probably a mistake for Mabon. (Note communicated by Professor Rhys.) I let the statement in the text stand, to exhort myself and others to that fear of trusting authorities which in scholarship is the beginning of wisdom. [140] Professor Rhys tells me this passage can only mean "Blessed Bran's head." [141] Mr. Ward endorses Zarncke's contention. According to him there is no trace of any connection between Joseph and the evangelisation of Britain which can be said to be older than the romances. The statements of the "De ant. eccl. Glast." are, he thinks, no guide to the knowledge or opinions of William of Malmesbury. [142] I may here notice a theory to which my attention has only just been called. It is found cited in a work of great research, _Die Fronica_, by Professor Karl Pearson, Strassburg, 1887. The author quotes an opinion of Mr. Jenner, of the British Museum, that the head in the platter of the Mabinogi may be derived from a Veronica portrait. Professor Pearson expresses doubt, because such a procession of the Veronica portrait and the Passion Instruments as the scene in the Mabinogi would, _ex hypothesi_, imply is not known to him before the fourteenth century, whereas the Mabinogi must be attributed, at latest, to the middle of the thirteenth century. Mr. H. L. D. Ward informs me that the suggestion was his. Noting the connection of the Veronica and Grail legends, testified to by Borron, it occurred to him that the whole scene at the Wounded King's might be derived from the former legends. The Wounded King, healed by the Grail, would thus be a counterpart of the leprous Vespasian healed by the Veronica portrait, which some wandering "jongleur" turned boldly into an actual head. But it must be noted that in Borron, our authority for the connection of the two legends, there is no Wounded King at all; in the Conte du Graal the Maimed King is not healed by any special talisman, but by the death of his enemy, the visible sign of which is that enemy's head, whilst in the "procession" (which Mr. Ward thinks to have been intended as a vision), the Grail is certainly a vessel, and has no connection whatever with any head or portrait. The theory thus requires that the version which gives the oldest form of the hypothetical remodelled Veronica legend omitted the very feature which was its sole _raison d'être_. [143] Mr. Ward thinks the localisation a late one, and that practically there is no authority for it of an older date than the romances. He points out in especial that Geoffrey's Vita Merlini, which has so much to say about the "insula pomorum" in no way connects it with Glastonbury. There is considerable doubt as the etymology of Glastonbury, but there is substantial unanimity of opinion among Celtic scholars of the present day in referring it to a Celtic rather than to a Saxon source. Be this as it may, the fact remains that at sometime in the course of the twelfth century the old Christian site of Glastonbury took, as it were, the place of the Celtic paradise, and it seems far more likely that the transformation was effected in virtue of some local tradition than wholly through the medium of foreign romances. [144] The pre-Christian Irish annals, which are for the most part euhemerised mythology, contain also a certain amount of race history; thus the struggle between the powers of light and darkness typified by the antagonism between Tuatha de Danann and Fomori, is doubled by that between the fair invading Celts and the short dark aborigines. But the latter has only left the barest trace of its existence in the national sagas. Not until we come to that secondary stage of the Fenian saga, which must have been shaped in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and which represents the Fenians as warring against the harrying Northmen, does the foreign element reappear in Irish tradition. [145] The Tochmarc Emer, or the Wooing of Emer by Cuchullain, has been translated by Professor Kuno Meyer in the Archæological Review, Nos. 1-4 (London, 1888). The original text is found partly in the Leabhar na h-Uidhre, partly in later MSS. [146] The fate of the Sons of Usnech is known to us in two main redactions, one found in the Book of Leinster (compiled in the middle of the twelfth century from older MS.) printed by Windisch, Irische Texte (first series) pp. 67-82, and translated by M. Poinsignon, Revue des Traditions Populaires, III, pp. 201-207. A text printed and translated by J. O'Flanagan (Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Dublin, 1808, pp. 146-177), agrees substantially with this. The second redaction has only been found in later MSS. Mr. Whitley Stokes has given text and translation from a fifteenth century MS. (Irische Texte, II. 2, pp. 109-178), and O'Flanagan has edited a very similar version (_loc. cit._ pp. 16-135). This second version is fuller and more romantic; in it alone is to be found Deirdre's lament on leaving Scotland, one of the earliest instances in post-classic literature of personal sympathy with Nature. But the earlier version, though it bear like so much else in the oldest Irish MS. obvious traces of abridgment and euhemerism, is also full of the most delicate romantic touches. Part of Deirdre's lament over the slain Noisi may be paraphrased thus:--"Fair one, loved one, flower of beauty; beloved, upright and strong; beloved, noble and modest warrior. When we wandered through the woods of Ireland, sweet with thee was the night's sleep! Fair one, blue-eyed, beloved of thy wife, lovely to me at the trysting place came thy clear voice through the woods. I cannot sleep; half the night my spirit wanders far among throngs of men. I cannot eat or smile. Break not to-day my heart; soon enough shall I lie within my grave. Strong are the waves of the sea, but stronger is sorrow, Conchobor." [147] M. Renan's article "De la Poésie des Races Celtiques" (Revue des Deux Mondes, 1854, pp. 473-506) only came into my hands after the bulk of this chapter was printed, or I should hardly have dared to state in my own words those conclusions in which we agree. It may be useful to indicate those points in which I think this suggestive essay no longer represents the present state of knowledge. When M. Renan wrote, the nature of popular tradition had been little investigated in France--hence a tendency to attribute solely to the Celtic genius what is common to all popular tradition. Little or nothing was then known in France of early Irish history or literature--hence the wild, primitive character of Celtic civilization is ignored. The "bardic" literature of Wales was still assigned wholesale to the age of its alleged authors--hence a false estimate of the relations between the profane and ecclesiastical writings of the Welsh. Finally the three Mabinogion (The Lady of the Fountain, Geraint, Peredur), which correspond to poems of Chrestien's, are unhesitatingly accepted as their originals. The influence of Welsh fiction in determining the courtly and refined nature of mediæval romance is, in consequence, greatly exaggerated. It is much to be wished that M. Renan would give us another review of Celtic literature based on the work of the last thirty years. His lucid and sympathetic criticism would be most welcome in a department of study which has been rather too exclusively left to the specialist. [148] Malory is a wonderful example of the power of style. He is a most unintelligent compiler. He frequently chooses out of the many versions of the legend, the longest, most wearisome, and least beautiful; his own contributions to the story are beneath contempt as a rule. But his language is exactly what it ought to be, and his has remained in consequence the classic English version of the Arthur story. [149] See p. 112 for a brief summary of Borron's conception; Sin the cause of want among the people; the separation of the pure from the impure by means of the fish (symbol of Christ); punishment of the self-willed false disciple; reward of Brons by charge of the Grail; symbolising of the Trinity by the three tables and three Grail Keepers. [150] The greater delicacy of the Welsh tale has already been noted. "To make him such a offer before I am wooed by him, that, truly, can I not do," says the counterpart of Blanchefleur in the Mabinogi. "Go my sister and sleep," answers Peredur, "nor will I depart from thee until I do that which thou requirest." I cannot help looking upon the prominence which the Welsh story-teller has given to this scene as his protest against the strange and to him repulsive ways of knightly love. The older, mythic nature of Peredur's beloved, who might woo without forfeiting womanly modesty, in virtue of her goddesshood, had died away in the narrator's mind, the new ideal of courtly passion had not won acceptance from him. [151] The perplexities which beset the modern reader of the Queste are reflected in the Laureate's retelling of the legend. Nowhere else in the Idylls has he departed so widely from his model. Much of the incident is due to him, and replaces with advantage the nauseous disquisitions upon chastity which occupy so large a space in the Queste. The artist's instinct, rather than the scholar's respect for the oldest form of the story, led him to practically restore Perceval to his rightful place as hero of the quest. _His_ fortunes we can follow with an interest that passing shadow, Galahad, wholly fails to evoke. Nor, as may easily be seen, is the fundamental conception of the twelfth century romance to the Laureate's taste. Arthur is his ideal of manhood, and Arthur's energies are practical and human in aim and in execution. What the "blameless king" speaks when he first learns of the quest represents, we may guess, the author's real attitude towards the whole fantastic business. It is much to be regretted by all lovers of English poetry that Hawker's Quest of the Sangraal was never completed. The first and only chant is a magnificent fragment; with the exception of the Laureate's Sir Galahad, the finest piece of pure literature in the cycle. Hawker, alone, perhaps of moderns, could have kept the mediæval tone and spirit, and yet brought the Quest into contact with the needs and ideas of to-day. [152] _Cf._ Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, II, 811, and his references. [153] The ideas held by many peoples in a primitive stage of culture respecting virginity are worthy careful study. Some physiological basis may be found for them in the phenomena of hysteria, which must necessarily have appeared to such peoples evidences of divine or demoniac possession, and at that stage are hardly likely to have been met with save among unmarried women. In the French witch trials these phenomena are often presented by nuns, in whose case they were probably the outcome of a life at once celibate and inactive. On the other hand the persons accused of witchcraft were as a rule of the most abandoned character, and it is a, morally speaking, degraded class which has furnished Professor Charcot and his pupils with the subjects in whom they have identified all the phenomena that confront the student of witch trials. [154] Domanig, Parzival-Studien, I, II, 1878-80. [155] San-Marte, Parzival-Studien, I-III, 1861-63. [156] Some readers may be anxious to read Wolfram's work to whom twelfth-century German would offer great difficulties. A few words on the translation into modern German may, therefore, not be out of place. San-Marte's original translation (1839-41) is full of gross blunders and mistranslations, and, what is worse, of passages foisted into the text to support the translator's own interpretation of the poem as a whole. Simrock's, which followed, is extremely close, but difficult and unpleasing. San Marte's second edition, corrected from Simrock, is a great advance upon the first; but even here the translator has too often allowed his own gloss to replace Wolfram's statement. A thoroughly faithful yet pleasing rendering is a desideratum. [157] J. Van Santen, Zur Beurtheilung Wolfram von Eschenbach, Wesel, 1882, has attacked Wolfram for his acceptance of the morality of the day, and has, on that ground, denied him any ethical or philosophic merit. The pamphlet is useful for its references, but otherwise worthless. The fact that Wolfram does accept _Minnedienst_ only gives greater value to his picture of a nobler and purer ideal of love, whilst to refuse recognition of his other qualities on this account is much as who should deny Dante's claim to be regarded as a teacher and thinker because of his acceptance of the hideous mediæval hell. [158] In the Geheimnisse Goethe shows some slight trace of the Parzival legend, and the words in which the teaching of the poem are summed up: "Von der Gewalt, die alle Wesen bindet, Befreit _der_ Mensch sich der sich überwindet," may be looked upon as an eighteenth century rendering of Wolfram's conception. [159] We may here note an admirable example of the inevitable, spontaneous character of the growth of certain conceptions, especially of such as have been partly shaped by the folk-mind. There is nothing in Wolfram or in the French romances to show that the fortunes of the loathly damsel (Wagner's Kundry) are in any way bound up with the success of the Quest. But we have seen that the Celtic folk-tales represent the loathly damsel as the real protagonist of the story. She cannot be freed unless the hero do his task. Precisely the same situation as in Wagner, who was thus led back to the primitive _donnée_, although he can only have known intermediary stages in which its signification had been quite lost. [160] _Cf._ the reproaches addressed to Potter Thompson (_supra_, p. 198). That the visitor to the Bespelled Castle should be reproached, at once, for his failure to do as he ought, seems to be a feature of the earliest forms of the story. _Cf._ Campbell's Three Soldiers (_supra_, p. 196). If Wolfram had another source than Chrestien it was one which partook more of the unspelling than of the feud quest formula. Hence the presence of the feature here. [161] In Wolfram's work there is a much closer connection between the Gawain quest and the remainder of the poem than in Chrestien. Orgueilleuse, to win whose love Gawain accomplishes his feats, is a former love of Amfortas, the Grail King, who won for her a rich treasure and was wounded in her service. Klinschor, too, the lord of the Magic Castle, is brought into contact with Orgueilleuse, whom he helps against Gramoflanz. It is difficult to say whether this testifies to an earlier or later stage of growth of the legend. The winning of Orgueilleuse as the consequence of accomplishing the feat of the Ford Perillous and plucking the branch is strongly insisted upon by Wolfram and not mentioned by Chrestien, though it is possible he might have intended to wed the two had he finished his poem. In this respect, however, and taking these two works as they stand, Wolfram's account seems decidedly the earlier. In another point, too, he seems to have preserved the older form. Besides his Kundrie la Sorcière (the loathly damsel) he has a Kundrie la Belle, whom I take to be the loathly damsel released from the transforming spell. Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. Passages in bold are indicated by =bold=. Superscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}. 
16464	----	THE ANCIENT IRISH EPIC TALE TÁIN BÓ CÚALNGE "THE CUALNGE CATTLE-RAID" Now for the first time done entire into English out of the Irish of the Book of Leinster and Allied Manuscripts By JOSEPH DUNN Professor at the Catholic University Washington WITH TWO PAGES IN FACSIMILÉ OF THE MANUSCRIPTS [Illustration: "Daig concechlabat fin hErend & Alban inn ainm sin, & bat lana beóil fer n-hErend & Alban din anmun sin."] Book of Leinster, fo. 64a. "For the men of Erin and Alba shall hear that name (Cuchulain) and the mouths of the men of Erin and Alba shall be full of that name." LONDON DAVID NUTT 17 GRAPE STREET, NEW OXFORD STREET, W.C 1914 To the Memory of MY MOTHER * * * * * [Illustration: FACSIMILE, PAGE 55--_from the Book of Leinster_.] * * * * * CONTENTS Preface, xi. I The Pillow-talk, 1. II The Occasion of the Táin, 5. III The Rising-out of the Men of Connacht at Cruachan Ai, 10. IV The Foretelling, 13. V The Route of the Táin, 19. VI The March of the Host, 21. VII The Youthful Exploits of Cuchulain, 46. VIIa The Slaying of the Smith's Hound by Cuchulain, 54. VIIb The Taking of Arms by Cuchulain and The Slaying of the Three Sons of Necht Scenè, 60. VIIc A Separate Version as far as the Slaying Of Orlam, 80. VIII The Slaying of Orlam, 82. VIIIa The Slaying of the Three MacArach, 85. VIIIb The Combat of Lethan and Cuchulain, 86. VIIIc The Killing of the Squirrel and of the Tame Bird, 88. VIIId The Slaying of Lochè, 93. VIIIe The Killing of Uala, 95. VIIIf The Harrying of Cualnge, 99. IX The Proposals, 104. X The Violent Death of Etarcumul, 115. XI The Slaying of Nathcrantail, 126. XII The Finding of the Bull, 132. XIIa The Death of Forgemen, 136. XIIb The Slaying of Redg the Lampoonist, 137. XIIc The Meeting of Cuchulain and Finnabair, 139. XIId The Combat of Munremar and Curoi, 141. XIIe The Slaughter of the Boy-troop, 143. XIIf The Slaughter of the King's Bodyguard, 145. XIII The Combat of Cûr with Cuchulain, 146. XIV The Slaying of Ferbaeth, 150. XIVa The Combat of Larinè MacNois, 155. XIVb The Colloquy of the Morrigan and Cuchulain, 161. XV The Combat of Loch and Cuchulain, and The Slaying of Loch son of Mofemis, 163. XVI The Violation of the Agreement, 175. XVIa The Healing of the Morrigan, 177. XVII The Great Rout on the Plain of Murthemne, 180. XVIIa The Slaughter of the Youths of Ulster, 184. XVIIb The Scythed Chariot, 187. XVIIc The Appearance of Cuchulain, 195. XVIId Dubthach's Jealousy, 198. XVIII The Slaying of Oengus son of Oenlam, 201. XVIIIa The Misthrow at Belach Eoin, 202. XVIIIb The Disguising of Tamon, 204. XIX The Battle of Fergus and Cuchulain, 205. XIXa The Head-place of Ferchu, 209. XIXb Mann's Fight, 211. XIXc The Combat of Calatin's Children, 213. XX The Combat of Ferdiad and Cuchulain, 217. XXI Cuchulain and the Rivers, 268. XXII Cethern's Strait-fight, 269. XXIIa Cethern's Bloody Wounds, 273. XXIII The Tooth-fight of Fintan, 283. XXIIIa The Red-Shame of Menn, 285. XXIIIb The Accoutrement of the Charioteers, 287. XXIIIc The White-fight of Rochad, 288. XXIIId Iliach's Clump-fight, 292. XXIIIe The Deer-stalking of Amargin in Taltiu, 295. XXIIIf The Adventures of Curoi son of Darè, 296. XXIV The Repeated Warning of Sualtaim, 298. XXIVa The Agitation of Celtchar, 306. XXV The Array of the Host, 309. XXVI The Decision of the Battle, 345. XXVII The Battle of Garech, 348. XXVIIa The Muster of the Men of Erin, 351. XXVIII The Battle of the Bulls, 363. XXIX The Account of the Brown Bull of Cualnge, 366. Index of Place and Personal Names, 371. * * * * * [Illustration: FACSIMILE PAGE 55--_from Leabhar na h-Uidhri_.] * * * * * PREFACE The Gaelic Literature of Ireland is vast in extent and rich in quality. The inedited manuscript materials, if published, would occupy several hundred large volumes. Of this mass only a small portion has as yet been explored by scholars. Nevertheless three saga-cycles stand out from the rest, distinguished for their compass, age and literary worth, those, namely, of the gods, of the demigod Cuchulain, and of Finn son of Cumhall. The Cuchulain cycle, also called the Ulster cycle--from the home of its hero in the North of Ireland--forms the core of this great mass of epic material. It is also known as the cycle of Conchobar, the king round whom the Ulster warriors mustered, and, finally, it has been called the Red Branch Cycle from the name of the banqueting hall at Emain Macha in Ulster. Only a few of the hundred or more tales which once belonged to this cycle have survived. There are some dozen in particular, technically known as _Remscéla_ or "Foretales," because they lead up to and explain the great Táin, the Táin Bó Cúalnge, "The Cualnge Cattle-raid," the Iliad of Ireland, as it has been called, the queen of Irish epic tales, and the wildest and most fascinating saga-tale, not only of the entire Celtic world, but even of all western Europe. The mediaeval Irish scholars catalogued their native literature under several heads, probably as an aid to the memory of the professional poets or story-tellers whose stock-in-trade it was, and to one of these divisions they gave the name _Táinte_, plural of _Táin_. By this term, which is most often followed by the genitive plural _bó_, "cows," they meant "a driving," or "a reaving," or even "a drove" or "herd" of cattle. It is only by extension of meaning that this title is applied to the Táin Bó Cúalnge, the most famous representative of the class, for it is not, strictly speaking, with the driving of cattle that it deals but with that of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. But, since to carry off the bull implies the carrying off of the herd of which he was the head, and as the "Brown" is always represented as accompanied by his fifty heifers, there were sufficient grounds for putting the Brown Bull Quest in the class of Cow-spoils. The prominence accorded to this class of stories in the early literature of Ireland is not to be wondered at when the economic situation of the country and the stage of civilization of which they are the faithful mirror is borne in mind.[1] Since all wars are waged for gain, and since among the Irish, who are still very much a nation of cattle raisers, cattle was the chief article of wealth and measure of value,[2] so marauding expeditions from one district into another for cattle must have been of frequent occurrence, just as among the North American Indians tribal wars used to be waged for the acquisition of horses. That this had been a common practice among their kinsmen on the Continent also we learn from Caesar's account of the Germans (and Celts?) who, he says, practised warfare not only for a means of subsistence but also for exercising their warriors. How long-lived the custom has been amongst the Gaelic Celts, as an occupation or as a pastime, is evident not only from the plundering incursions or "creaghs"[3] as they are called in the Highlands and described by Scott in _Waverley_ and _The Fair Maid of Perth_, but also from the "cattle-drives" which have been resorted to in our own day in Ireland, though these latter had a different motive than plunder. As has been observed by Sir Henry Sumner Maine, Lord Macaulay was mistaken in ascribing this custom to "some native vice of Irish character," for, as every student of ancient Ireland may perceive, it is rather to be regarded as "a survival, an ancient and inveterate habit" of the race. One of these many Cattle-preys was the Táin Bó Cúalnge,[4] which, there can be little doubt, had behind it no mere myth but some kernel of actual fact. Its historical basis is that a Connacht chieftain and his lady went to war with Ulster about a drove of cattle. The importance of a racial struggle between the north-east province and the remaining four grand provinces of Ireland cannot be ascribed to it. There is, it is true, strong evidence to show that two chief centres, political, if not cultural and national, existed at the time of the Táin in Ireland, Cruachan Ai, near the present Rathcroghan in Connacht, and Emain Macha, the Navan Fort, two miles west of Armagh in Ulster, and it is with the friendly or hostile relations of these two that the Ultonian cycle of tales deals. Ulster, or, more precisely, the eastern portion of the Province, was the scene of all the Cattle-raids, and there is a degree of truth in the couplet,-- "Leinster for breeding, And Ulster for reaving; Munster for reading, And Connacht for thieving." But there are no indications of a racial clash or war of tribes. With the exception of the Oghamic writings inscribed on the pillar-stones by Cuchulain, which seem to require interpretation to the men of Connacht by Ulstermen, the description of the warriors mustered by the Connacht warrior queen and those gathered round King Conchobar of Ulster accord quite closely. The Táin Bó Cúalnge is the work not of any one man but of a corporation of artists known as _filid_. The author of the Táin in its present state, whoever he may have been, was a strong partisan of Ulster and never misses an opportunity of flattering the pride of her chieftains. Later a kind of reaction against the pre-eminence given to Ulster and the glorification of its hero sets in, and a group of stories arises in which the war takes a different end and Cuchulain is shown to disadvantage, finally to fall at the hands of a Munster champion. It is to this southern province that the saga-cycle which followed the Cuchulain at an interval of two hundred years belongs, namely, the Fenian saga,--the saga of Finn son of Cumhall, which still flourishes among the Gaelic speakers of Ireland and Scotland, while the Cuchulain stories have almost died out among them. The mingling of the two sagas is the work of the eighteenth-century Scots Lowlander, James Macpherson. The Táin Bó Cúalnge is one of the most precious monuments of the world's literature, both because of the poetic worth it evidences at an early stage of civilization, and for the light it throws on the life of the people among whom it originated and that of their ancestors centuries earlier. It is not less valuable and curious because it shows us the earlier stages of an epic--an epic in the making--which it does better perhaps than any other work in literature. Ireland had at hand all the materials for a great national epic, a wealth of saga-material replete with interesting episodes, picturesque and dramatic incidents and strongly defined personages, yet she never found her Homer, a gifted poet to embrace her entire literary wealth, to piece the disjointed fragments together, smooth the asperities and hand down to posterity the finished epic of the Celtic world, superior, perhaps, to the Iliad or the Odyssey. What has come down to us is "a sort of patchwork epic," as Prescott called the Ballads of the Cid, a popular epopee in all its native roughness, wild phantasy and extravagance of deed and description as it developed during successive generations. It resembles the frame of some huge ship left unfinished by the builders on the beach and covered with shells and drift from the sea of Celtic tradition. From the historical standpoint, however, and as a picture of the old barbaric Celtic culture, and as a pure expression of elemental passion, it is of more importance to have the genuine tradition as it developed amongst the people, unvarnished by poetic art and uninfluenced by the example of older and alien societies. According to the Chronicles of Ireland, as formulated in the Annals of Tigernach,[5] who died in 1088, King Conchobar of Ulster began to reign in the year 30 B.C., and he is said to have died of grief at the news that Christ had been crucified. His reign therefore lasted about sixty years. Cuchulain died in the year 39 A.D. in the twenty-seventh year of his age, as we learn from the following entry: "The death of Cuchulain, the bravest hero of the Irish, by Lugaid son of Three Hounds, king of Munster, and by Erc, king of Tara, son of Carbre Niafer, and by the three sons of Calatin of Connacht. Seven years was his age when he assumed arms, seventeen was his age when he followed the Driving of the Kine of Cualnge, but twenty-seven years was his age when he died."[6] A very different account is given in the manuscript known as H. 3. 17, Trinity College, Dublin, quoted by O'Curry in his _Manuscript Materials_, page 508. The passage concludes with the statement: "So that the year of the Táin was the fifty-ninth year of Cuchulain's age, from the night of his birth to the night of his death." The record first quoted, however, is partly corroborated by the following passage which I translate from the Book of Ballymote, facsimilé edition, page 13, col. a, lines 9-21: "In the fourteenth year of the reign of Conairè (killed in 40 B.C.) and of Conchobar, the Blessed Virgin was born. At that time Cuchulain had completed thirteen years; and in the fourth year after the birth of Mary, the expedition of the Kine of Cualnge took place ... that is, in the eighteenth year of the reign of Conairè. Cuchulain had completed his seventeenth year at that time. That is, it was in the thirty-second year of the reign of Octavius Augustus that the same expedition took place. Eight years after the Táin Bó Cúalnge, Christ was born, and Mary had completed twelve years then, and that was in the fortieth year of the reign of Octavius Augustus; and in the twenty-sixth year of the reign of Conairè and Conchobar, and in the second year after the birth of Christ, Cuchulain died. And twenty-seven years was Cuchulain's age at that time." These apparent synchronisms, of course, may only rest upon the imagination of the Christian annalists of Ireland, who hoped to exalt their ancient rulers and heroes by bringing them into relation with and even making them participate in the events of the life of the Saviour. But in placing the date of the expedition of the Táin at about the beginning of the Christian era, Irish tradition is undoubtedly correct, as appears from the character of the civilization depicted in the Ulster tales, which corresponds in a remarkable degree with what authors of antiquity have recorded of the Celts and with the character of the age which archaeologists call "la Tène," or "Late Celtic," which terminates at the beginning of the first century of our era. Oral tradition was perhaps occupied for five hundred years working over and developing the story of the Táin, and by the close of the fifth century the saga to which it belonged was substantially the one we have now. The text of the tale must have been completed by the first half of the seventh century, and, as we shall see, its oldest extant version, the Book of the Dun, dates from about the year 1100. But, whatever may be the precise dates of these events, which we are not in a position to determine more accurately, the composition of the Táin Bó Cúalnge antedates by a considerable margin the epic tales of the Anglo-Saxons, the Scandinavians, the Franks and the Germans. It is the oldest epic tale of western Europe, and it and the cycle of tales to which it belongs form "the oldest existing literature of any of the peoples to the north of the Alps."[7] The deeds it recounts belong to the heroic age of Ireland three hundred years before the introduction of Christianity into the island, and its spirit never ceased to remain markedly pagan. The mythology that permeates it is one of the most primitive manifestations of the personification of the natural forces which the Celts worshipped. Its historical background, social organization, chivalry, mood and thought and its heroic ideal are to a large extent, and with perhaps some pre-Aryan survivals, not only those of the insular Celts of two thousand years ago, but also of the important and wide-spread Celtic race with whom Caesar fought and who in an earlier period had sacked Rome and made themselves feared even in Greece and Asia Minor. The following is the Argument of the Táin Bó Cúalnge, which, for the sake of convenience, is here divided into sections: I. The Prologue One night at the palace of Cruachan in Connacht, a dispute arose between Queen Medb, the sometime wife of Conchobar, king of Ulster, and her consort Ailill, as to the amount of their respective possessions. It may be remarked in passing that in those days in Ireland, married women retained their private fortune independent of their husbands, as well as the dowry secured to them in marriage. To procure the evidence of their wealth, the royal pair sent messengers to assemble all their chattels which, on comparison, were found to be equal, excepting only that among Ailill's kine was a lordly bull called Finnbennach, "the Whitehorned," whose match was not to be found in the herds of the queen. II. The Embassage to Darè and the Occasion of the Táin As we might expect, Medb was chagrined at the discovery. Now her herald macRoth had told her that Darè macFiachna, a landowner of Cualnge, a district in the territory of her former husband, possessed an even more wonderful bull than Ailill's, called Donn Cualnge, "the Brown Bull of Cualnge." So she despatched macRoth to Darè to pray for the loan of the bull. Darè received the queen's messengers hospitably and readily granted her request, but in the course of the entertainment, one of the messengers, deep in his cups, spoke against Darè, and he, hearing this, withdrew his promise and swore that he would never hand over the Brown Bull of Cualnge. III. The Gathering of Medb's Forces The impetuous queen, enraged at the failure of her mission, immediately mustered a formidable army, composed not only of her Connachtmen but also of allies from all parts of Ireland, wherewith to undertake the invasion of Ulster. On her side were the Ulster chieftains who had gone into exile into Connacht after the treacherous slaughter of the sons of Usnech by King Conchobar of Ulster. Chief among them was Fergus, who, moreover, had a personal grievance against Conchobar. For, while Fergus was king of Ulster, he had courted the widow Ness and, in order to win her, promised to abdicate for the term of one year in favour of her son Conchobar. But when the term had elapsed, the youth refused to relinquish the throne, and Fergus in anger entered the service of Medb of Connacht. There he was loaded with favours, became the counsellor of the realm and, as appears from more than one allusion in the tale, the more than friend of the wife of King Ailill. The four leagued provinces of Ireland being gathered at Cruachan, the guidance of the host was entrusted to Fergus, because he was acquainted with the province of Ulster through which they were to march, and at the beginning of winter--a point emphasized by the exponents of the sun-theory--the mighty host, including in its ranks the king and queen and some of the greatest warriors of Ireland, with the princess Finnabair as a lure, set forth on the raid into Ulster. They crossed the Shannon near Athlone and, marching through the province of Meath, arrived at the borders of Cualnge. Fortunately for the invaders, the expedition took place while the Ulstermen lay prostrate in their _cess_, or "Pains," a mysterious state of debility or torpor which was inflicted on them periodically in consequence of an ancient curse laid upon Conchobar and the warriors of Ulster as a punishment for a wrong done to the goddess Macha. This strange malady, resembling the _couvade_ among certain savage nations, ordinarily lasted five days and four nights, but on this occasion the Ulstermen were prostrate from the beginning of November till the beginning of February. During all that time the burden of defending the province fell on the shoulders of the youthful champion Cuchulain, who had in his particular charge the plain of Murthemne, the nearest district to Cualnge, the goal of the expedition. For Cuchulain and his father Sualtaim were alone exempt from the curse and the "Pains" which had befallen the remainder of the champions of Ulster. IV. The Youthful Exploits of Cuchulain The Connacht host had not proceeded far when they came upon evidence of some mighty force that opposed them. In answer to the inquiries of Ailill and Medb, Fergus explains that it is Cuchulain who disputes their further advance, and, as evidence of the superhuman strength and prowess of the Ulster youth, then in the seventeenth year of his age, the Ulster exiles recount the mighty deeds he had performed in his boyhood, chief among which is the tale according to which, as eric for the killing of the hound of Culann the Smith, the boy-hero Setanta assumed the station and the name which ever after clung to him of Cuchulain, "the Hound of Culann." V. The Single Combats of Cuchulain Cuchulain agrees to allow the Connacht host to continue their march on condition that every day they send one of their champions to meet him in single combat. When he shall have killed his opponent, the host shall halt and pitch camp until the following morning. Medb agrees to abide by these terms. In each of the contests which ensue, the heroic youth is victorious and slays many of the most celebrated warriors on the side of Connacht. The severest of all these single combats was the one in which he had as opponent his former friend and foster-brother Ferdiad. At the end of a four days' battle, in which both adversaries exhibited astounding deeds of valour, Ferdiad fell by the hands of Cuchulain. Impatient at these delays, Medb broke the sacred laws of ancient Irish chivalry and led her army into Ulster, overrunning the province, pillaging and burning as she went, even up to the walls of Emain Macha, the residence of Conchobar, and finally took possession of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. VI. The Gathering of the Ulstermen and the Final Battle of the Táin By this time King Conchobar and his warriors have come out of their debility and summoned their forces to an eminence in Slane of Meath. The great gathering of the Ulstermen is reported to Medb by her trusty herald macRoth, and from his description of the leaders and their troops, their exiled countryman Fergus designates them to the nobles of Connacht. In the final battle Medb's army is repulsed and retreats in flight into Connacht. Thus each host has had its share of the fortunes of war: Medb has laid waste the lands of her divorced husband and carried off the Brown Bull of Cualnge, the prize of war, while on the other hand, Conchobar has won the victory in the great battle of Garech and Ilgarech. VII. The End of the two Bulls On the way back to Connacht, the Brown Bull of Cualnge emitted such terrible bellowings that they reached the ears of the Whitehorned remaining at home in his stall in Cruachan, whence he rushed at full speed to attack the other. A furious battle took place between the bulls, but the Brown was the stronger, and raising his rival on his horns he shook the Whitehorned into fragments over all Ireland. He then returned in fury to Ulster, and in his wild rage dashed his head against a rock and was killed. The Táin Bó Cúalnge has been preserved, more or less complete, in a score of manuscripts ranging in date from the beginning of the twelfth to the middle of the nineteenth century. There probably existed other manuscripts containing not only the Táin as we have it but even episodes now wanting in it. All of the extant manuscripts go back to versions which date from the seventh century or earlier. No manuscript of the Táin is wholly in the language of the time when it was copied, but, under the cloak of the contemporaneous orthography, contains forms and words so obsolete that they were not understood by the copyist, so that glossaries had to be compiled to explain them. It is by a singular good fortune that this, the greatest of all the epic tales of the Irish, has been handed down to our day in the two most ancient and, for that reason, most precious of the great Middle Irish collections of miscellaneous contents known as the _Leabhar na hUidhre_, "the Book of The Dun (Cow)," and the Book of Leinster. The former and older of these vellum manuscripts (abbreviated LU.) is kept in the Library of the Royal Irish Academy at Dublin. It must have been written about the beginning of the twelfth century, for its compiler and writer, Moelmuire macCeilechair (Kelleher), is known to have been slain at Clonmacnois in the year 1106; some of its linguistic forms, however, are as old as the eighth century glosses. Unfortunately, LU.'s account of the Táin is incomplete at the beginning and the end, but the latter portion is made good by the closely related, though independent, version contained in the manuscript known as the Yellow Book of Lecan (abbreviated YBL.). This manuscript was written about the year 1391 and it is also kept in Dublin in the Library of Trinity College. To the same group as LU. and YBL., which for the sake of convenience we may call version A, belong also the British Museum MSS., Egerton 1782, a large fragment, and Egerton 114, both dating from the fifteenth or sixteenth century. Version B comprises the closely related accounts of the Táin as contained in the Book of Leinster (abbreviated LL.) and the following MSS.: Stowe 984 (Royal Irish Academy), written in the year 1633 and giving, except for the loss of a leaf, a complete story of the Táin; H. 1. 13 (Trinity College, Dublin), written in the year 1745 and giving the Táin entire; Additional 18748 (abbreviated Add.), British Museum, copied in the year 1800 from a 1730 original; Egerton 209 and Egerton 106 (British Museum), both fragments and dating from the eighteenth century. Fragments of a modern version are also found in MS. LIX, Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. To version C belong only fragments: H. 2. 17 (Trinity College, Dublin), dating from the end of the fourteenth or the beginning of the fifteenth century; the almost identical Egerton 93 (British Museum), consisting of only ten leaves and dating from nearly a century later, and H. 2. 12 (Trinity College, Dublin), consisting of only two pages.[8] The manuscripts belonging to each of these versions, A, B, and C, have sufficient traits in common to place them in a group by themselves. The question of the relationship of these manuscripts to one another and of the character of the suppositional archetype from which they are all descended is a most intricate one and one which has given rise to considerable discussion. The question still awaits a definite answer, which may never be forthcoming, because of the disappearance not only of the first draft of the Táin, but also of that of some of its later redactions. We must not overlook the possibility, either, of an otherwise faithful copyist having inserted in the text before him a passage, or even an entire episode, of his own fabrication. This, no doubt, happened not infrequently, especially in the earlier period of the copying of Irish manuscripts, and a single insertion of this kind, or the omission, intentionally or by oversight, of a part of the original from the copy might, it will easily be seen, lead one to conclude that there once existed a form of the story which as a matter of fact never existed. The version of the Táin which I have chosen as the basis for my translation is the one found in the Book of Leinster (_Leabhar Laighneach_), a voluminous vellum manuscript sometime called the Book of Glendalough and now kept in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin, catalogue number H. 2. 18. Only a part of the original book remains. It dates from about the year 1150. This date is established by two entries in the manuscript itself: "Aed son of Crimthann (Hugh macGriffin) hath written this book and out of many books hath he compiled it" (facsimilé, at the bottom of page 313). Who this Aed was will be clear from the other entry. It appears that he had lent the manuscript while still unfinished to Finn macGorman, who was Bishop of Kildare from 1148 and died in the year 1160, and who on returning the book wrote in it the following laudatory note in Irish to Aed: "(Life) and health from Finn, the Bishop of Kildare, to Aed son of Crimthann, tutor of the chief king (i.e. of King Dermod macMurrogh, the infamous prince who half a century later invited Strongbow and the Normans to come over from Wales to Ireland) of Mug Nuadat's Half (i.e. of Leinster and Munster), and successor of Colum son of Crimthann (this Colum was abbot of Tir da ghlass the modern Terryglas on the shore of Lough Derg, in the County Tipperary--and died in the year 548), and chief historian of Leinster in respect of wisdom and intelligence, and cultivation of books, science and learning. And let the conclusion of this little tale (i.e. the story of Ailill Aulom son of Mug Nuadat, the beginning of which was contained in the book which Finn returns) be written for me accurately by thee, O cunning Aed, thou man of the sparkling intellect. May it be long before we are without thee. My desire is that thou shouldst always be with us. And let macLonan's Songbook be given to me, that I may understand the sense of the poems that are in it. _Et vale in Christo._"[9] It would seem from another note in the manuscript[10] that the Book of Leinster afterwards belonged to some admirer of King Dermod, for he wrote: "O Mary! Great was the deed that was done in Ireland this day, the kalends of August (1166)--Dermod, son of Donnoch macMurrogh, King of Leinster and of the (Dublin) Danes to be banished by the men of Ireland over the sea eastwards. Woe, woe is me, O Lord, what shall I do!"[11] My reason for founding the translation on the LL. version, in spite of the fact that its composition is posterior by half a century to that of LU., was not merely out of respect for the injunction of the scribe of the _ne varietur_ and to merit his blessing (page 369), but also because LL.'s is the oldest _complete_ version of the Táin extant. Though as a rule (and as is easily discernible from a comparison of LU. and LL.), the shorter, terser and cruder the form of a tale is, the more primitive it is, yet it is not always the oldest preserved form of a work that represents the most ancient form of the story. Indeed, it is not at all improbable that LL. contains elements which represent a tradition antedating the composition of LU. At all events, LL. has these strong points in its favour, that, of all the versions, it is the most uniform and consistent, the most artistically arranged, the one with most colour and imagination, and the one which lends itself most readily to translation, both in itself and because of the convenient Irish text provided by Professor Windisch's edition. In order to present the Táin in its completest form, however, I have adopted the novel plan of incorporating in the LL. account the translations of what are known as conflate readings. These, as a rule, I have taken from no manuscript that does not demonstrably go back to a twelfth or earlier century redaction. Some of these additions consist of but a single word: others extend over several pages. This dovetailing could not always be accomplished with perfect accuracy, but no variants have been added that do not cohere with the context or destroy the continuity of the story. Whatever slight inconsistencies there may be in the accounts of single episodes, they are outweighed, in my opinion, by the value and interest of the additions. In all cases, however, the reader can control the translation by means of the foot-notes which indicate the sources and distinguish the accretions from the basic text. The numerous passages in which Eg. 1782 agrees with LU. and YBL. have not all been marked. The asterisk shows the beginning of each fresh page in the lithographic facsimilé of LL., and the numbers following "W" in the upper left hand margin show the corresponding lines in the edition of the Irish text by Windisch. * * * * * In general, I believe it should be the aim of a translator to give a faithful rather than a literal version of his original. But, owing to the fact that so little of Celtic scholarship has filtered down even to the upper strata of the educated public and to the additional fact that the subject matter is so incongruous to English thought, the first object of the translator from the Old Irish must continue to be, for some time to come, rather exactness in rendering than elegance, even at the risk of the translation appearing laboured and puerile. This should not, however, be carried to the extent of distorting his own idiom in order to imitate the idiomatic turns and expressions of the original. In this translation, I have endeavoured to keep as close to the sense and the literary form of the original as possible, but when there is conflict between the two desiderata, I have not hesitated to give the first the preference. I have also made use of a deliberately archaic English as, in my opinion, harmonizing better with the subject. It means much to the reader of the translation of an Old Irish text to have the atmosphere of the original transferred as perfectly as may be, and this end is attained by preserving its archaisms and quaintness of phrase, its repetitions and inherent crudities and even, without suppression or attenuation, the grossness of speech of our less prudish ancestors, which is also a mark of certain primitive habits of life but which an over-fastidious translator through delicacy of feeling might wish to omit. These side-lights on the semi-barbaric setting of the Old Irish sagas are of scarcely less interest and value than the literature itself. The Táin Bó Cúalnge, like most of the Irish saga-tales as they have come down to us in their Middle Irish dress, is chiefly in prose, but interspersed with verse. The verse-structure is very intricate and is mostly in strophic form composed of verses of fixed syllabic length, rhymed and richly furnished with alliteration. There is a third form of speech which is neither prose nor verse, but partakes of the character of both, a sort of irregular, rhymeless verse, without strophic division and exceedingly rich in alliteration, internal rhyme and assonance. This kind of speech, resembling in a way the dithyrambic passages in the Old Testament, was known to the native Irish scholars as _rosc_ and it is usually marked in the manuscripts by the abbreviation _R_. It was used in short, impetuous outbursts on occasions of triumph or mourning. While, on the whole, I believe the student will feel himself safer with a prose translation of a poem than with one in verse, it has seemed to me that a uniform translation of the Táin Bó Cúalnge in prose would destroy one of its special characteristics, which is that in it both prose and verse are mingled. It was not in my power, however, to reproduce at once closely and clearly the metrical schemes and the rich musical quality of the Irish and at the same time compress within the compass of the Irish measure such an analytic language as English, which has to express by means of auxiliaries what is accomplished in Early Irish by inflection. But I hope to have accomplished the main object of distinguishing the verse from the prose without sacrifice of the thought by the simple device of turning the verse-passages into lines of the same syllabic length as those of the original--which is most often the normal seven-syllable line--but without any attempt at imitating the rhyme-system or alliteration. In order not to swell the volume of the book, the notes have been reduced to the indispensable minimum, reserving the commentary and the apparatus of illustrative material for another volume, which we hope some day to be able to issue, wherein more definitely critical questions can be discussed. There are a few Irish words which have been retained in the translation and which require a word of explanation: The Old Irish _geis_ (later, also _geas_[12]; plural _geasa_) has as much right to a place in the English vocabulary as the Polynesian word _tabu_, by which it is often translated. It is sometimes Englished "injunction," "condition," "prohibition," "bond," "ban," "charm," "magical decree," or translated by the Scots-Gaelic "spells," none of which, however, expresses the idea which the word had according to the ancient laws of Ireland. It was an adjuration by the honour of a man, and was either positive or negative. The person adjured was either compelled or made in duty bound to do a certain thing, or, more commonly, was prohibited from doing it. The Old Irish _gilla_ is often translated "vassal," "youth," "boy," "fellow," "messenger," "servant," "page," "squire" and "guide," but these words bear false connotations for the society of the time, as does the Anglicised form of the word, "gillie," which smacks of modern sport. It meant originally a youth in the third of the six ages of man. Compare the sense of the word _varlet_ or _valet_ in English, which was once "a more honourable title; for all young gentlemen, untill they come to be eighteen years of age, were termed so" (Cotgrave), and of the same word in Old French, which was "un jeune homme de condition honorable" (J. Loth, _Les Mabinogion_, I, page 40, note). A _liss_ or _rath_ is a fortified place enclosed by a circular mound or trench, or both. A _dûn_ is a fortified residence surrounded by an earthen rampart. In the case of names of places and persons, I have thought it best to adhere as closely as possible to the spellings used in the LL. manuscript itself. It is of the utmost importance to get the names of Irish places and of Irish heroes correctly determined and to discard their English corrupted spellings. There are certain barbarisms, however, such as Slane (Slemain), Boyne (Boann), and perhaps even Cooley (Cualnge), which have been stereotyped in their English dress and nothing is to be gained by reforming them. The forms _Erin_ (dative of _Eriu_, the genuine and poetic name of the island) and _Alba_ have been retained throughout instead of the hybrids "Ireland" and "Scotland." Final _e_ is occasionally marked with a grave (_e.g._ Manè, Darè) to show that it is not silent as it often is in English. I quite perceive that I have not always succeeded in reproducing the precise shade of meaning of words certain of which had become antiquated and even unintelligible to the native scholars of the later Middle Irish period themselves. This is especially true of the passages in _rosc_, which are fortunately not numerous and which were probably intentionally made as obscure and allusive as possible, the object being, perhaps, as much the music of the words as the sense. Indeed, in some cases, I have considered myself fortunate if I have succeeded in getting their mere drift. No one takes to heart more than the present writer the truth of Zimmer's remark, that "it needs no great courage to affirm that _not one_ of the living Celtic scholars, _with_ all the aids at their disposal, possesses such a ready understanding of the contents of, for example, the most important Old Irish saga-text, "The Cualnge Cattle-raid," as was required thirty or more years ago in Germany of a good Gymnasium graduate in the matter of the Homeric poems and _without_ aids of any kind."[13] However, in spite of its defects, I trust I have not incurred the censure of Don Quijote[14] by doing what he accuses bad translators of and shown the wrong side of the tapestry, thereby obscuring the beauty and exactness of the work, and I venture to hope that my translation may prove of service in leading students to take an interest in the language and literature of Ireland. WORKS ON THE TÁIN BÓ CÚALNGE (Our Bibliography has no Pretension at being Complete) The Táin has been analysed by J.T. Gilbert, in the facsimilé edition of LU., pages xvi-xviii, based on O'Curry's unpublished account written about 1853; by Eugene O'Curry in his "Lectures on the Manuscript Materials of Ancient Irish History," pages 28-40, Dublin, 1861; by John Rhys in his "Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion as illustrated by Celtic Heathendom," page 136, the Hibbert Lectures, London, 1898; by J.A. MacCulloch in "The Religion of the Ancient Celts," pages 127 and 141, London, 1911; in the Celtic Magazine, vol. xiii, pages 427-430, Inverness, 1888; by Don. Mackinnon in the Celtic Review, vol. iv, page 92, Edinburgh, 1907-8; by H. d'Arbois de Jubainville, in Bibliothèque de l'école des chartes, tome xl, pages 148-150, Paris, 1879; by Bryan O'Looney, in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, Second Series, vol. I, pages 242-248, Dublin, 1879; by H. Lichtenberger, "Le Poème et la Légende des Nibelungen," pages 432-434, Paris, 1891; by Eleanor Hull, in "A Text Book of Irish Literature," Pt. I, p. 24, Dublin and London, 1906; by Victor Tourneur, "La Formation du Táin Bó Cúalnge," in Mélanges Godefroid Kurth, II, 413-424, Liège, 1908; by E.C. Quiggin, in the Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition, page 626. The text of the Táin is found in whole or in part in the facsimilé reprints published by the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin, 1870 and following; viz.: the Book of Leinster, folios 53b-104b; the Book of the Dun Cow, folios 55a-82b, and the Yellow Book of Lecan, folios 17a.-53a; in "Die Altirische Heldensage, Táin Bó Cúalnge, herausgegeben von Ernst Windisch, Irische Texte, Extraband, Leipzig, 1905"; from LU. and YBL., by John Strachan and J.G. O'Keeffe, as a supplement to Ériu, vol. i, Dublin, 1904 and fol.; our references to LU. and YBL. are from this edition as far as it appeared; from that point, the references to YBL. are to the pages of the facsimilé edition; the LU. text of several passages also is given by John Strachan in his "Stories from the Tain," which first appeared in Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge ("The Gaelic Journal"), Dublin; reprinted, London and Dublin, 1908; Max Nettlau, "The Fer Diad Episode of the Tain Bo Cuailnge," Revue Celtique, tome x, pages 330-346, tome xi, pages 23-32, 318-343; "The Fragment of the Tain Bo Cuailnge in MS. Egerton 93," Revue Celtique, tome xiv, pages 254-266, tome xv, pages 62-78, 198-208; R. Thurneysen, "Táin Bó Cúailghni nach H. 2. 17," Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Bd. viii, S. 525-554; E. Windisch, "Táin Bó Cúailnge nach der Handschrift Egerton 1782," Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Bd. ix, S. 121-158. The text of "The Fight at the Ford," from the Murphy MS. 103 (written about 1760), is printed in Irisleabhar Muighe Nuadhad, Dublin, 1911, pp. 84-90. The Táin has been translated by Bryan O'Looney in a manuscript entitled "Tain Bo Cualnge. Translated from the original vellum manuscript known as the Book of Leinster, in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin. To which are added the ancient Prologues, Prefaces, and the Pretales or Stories, Adventures which preceded the principal Expedition or Tain, from various vellum MSS. in the Libraries of Trinity College and the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin, 1872." (A good translation, for its time. For O'Looney's works on the Táin, see the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, Second Series, Vol. i, No. 11, Polite Literature and Antiquities, Dublin, 1875; for W.J. Hennessy's, see The Academy, No. 873, Lee, "Dictionary of National Biography," xxv, 1891, pages 424-425, and V. Tourneur, "Esquisse d'une histoire des études celtiques," page 90, note 5.) The Royal Irish Academy contains another manuscript translation of the Táin (24, M, 39), by John O'Daly, 1857. It is a wretched translation. In one place, O'Daly speaks of William Rily as the translator. L. Winifred Faraday's "The Cattle-Raid of Cualnge," London, 1904, is based on LU. and YBL. Two copies of a complete translation of the LL. text dating from about 1850 is in the possession of John Quinn, Esq., of New York City. H. d'Arbois de Jubainville translated the Táin from the LL. text, but with many omissions: "Enlèvement [du Taureau Divin et] des Vaches de Cooley," Revue Celtique, tomes xxviii-xxxii, Paris, 1907 and fl. Eleanor Hull's "The Cuchullin Saga," London, 1898, contains (pages 111-227) an analysis of the Táin and a translation by Standish H. O'Grady of portions of the Add. 18748 text. "The Táin, An Irish Epic told in English Verse," by Mary A. Hutton, Dublin, 1907, and Lady Augusta Gregory's, "Cuchulain of Muirthemne," London, 1903, are paraphrases. The episode "The Boyish Feats of Cuchulinn" was translated by Eugene O'Curry, "On the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish," Vol. i, Introduction, pages 359-366, and the episode "The Fight of Ferdiad and Cuchulaind," was translated by W.K. Sullivan, ibid., Vol. ii, Lectures, Vol. i, Appendix, pages 413-463. Important studies on the Táin have come from the pen of Heinrich Zimmer: "Über den compilatorischen Charakter der irischen Sagentexte im sogenannten Lebor na hUidre," Kuhn's Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung, Bd. xxviii, 1887, pages 417-689, and especially pages 426-554; "Keltische Beiträge," Zeitschrift für deutsches Alterthum und deutsche Litteratur, Vol. xxxii, 1888, pages 196-334; "Beiträge zur Erklärung irischer Sagentexte," Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Bd. i, pages 74-101, and Bd. iii, pages 285-303. See also, William Ridgeway, "The Date of the first Shaping of the Cuchulainn Saga," Oxford, 1907; H. d'Arbois de Jubainville, "Étude sur le Táin Bó Cúalnge," Revue Celtique, tome xxviii, 1907, pages 17-40; Alfred Nutt, "Cuchulainn, the Irish Achilles," in Popular Studies in Mythology, Romance and Folklore, No. 8, London, 1900. The Celtic Magazine, Vol. xiii, pages 319-326, 351-359, Inverness, 1888, contains an English translation of a degenerated Scottish Gaelic version taken down by A.A. Carmichael, in Benbecula; the Gaelic text was printed in the Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, Vol. ii. In the same volume of the Celtic Magazine, pages 514-516, is a translation of a version of the Táin, taken down in the island of Eigg. Eleanor Hull's "Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster," London, 1911, is a retelling of the story for younger readers. The following, bearing more or less closely upon the Táin, are also to be mentioned: Harry G. Tempest, "Dun Dealgan, Cuchulain's Home Fort," Dundalk, 1910; A.M. Skelly, "Cuchulain of Muirtheimhne," Dublin, 1908; Standish O'Grady, "The Coming of Cuculain," London, 1894, "In the Gates of the North," Kilkenny, 1901, "Cuculain, A Prose Epic," London, 1882 and the same author's "History of Ireland: the Heroic Period," London, 1878-80; "The High Deeds of Finn, and other Bardic Romances of Ancient Ireland," by T.W. Rolleston, London, 1910; Stephen Gwynn, "Celtic Sagas Re-told," in his "To-day and To-morrow in Ireland," pages 38-58, Dublin, 1903; Edward Thomas, "Celtic Stories," Oxford, 1911; "Children of Kings," by W. Lorcan O'Byrne, London, 1904, and "The Boy Hero of Erin," by Charles Squire, London, 1907. Among the many poems which have taken their theme from the Táin and the deeds of Cuchulain may be mentioned: "The Foray of Queen Meave," by Aubrey de Vere, Poetic Works, London, 1882, vol. ii, pages 255-343; "The Old Age of Queen Maeve," by William Butler Yeats, Collected Works, vol. I, page 41, London, 1908; "The Defenders of the Ford," by Alice Milligan, in her "Hero Lays," page 50, Dublin, 1908; George Sigerson, "Bards of the Gael and the Gall," London, 1897; "The Tain-Quest," by Sir Samuel Ferguson, in his "Lays of the Western Gael and other Poems," Dublin, 1897; "The Red Branch Crests, A Trilogy," by Charles Leonard Moore, London, 1906; "The Laughter of Scathach," by Fiona Macleod, in "The Washer of the Ford and Barbaric Tales"; Hector Maclean, "Ultonian Hero-Ballads collected in the Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland," Glasgow, 1892; ballad versions from Scotland are found in Leabhar na Feinne, pages 1 and fol., in J.G. Campbell's "The Fians," pages 6 and fol., and in the Book of the Dean of Lismore. Finally, scenes from the Táin have been dramatized by Canon Peter O'Leary, in the Cork "Weekly Examiner," April 14, 1900 and fol., by Sir Samuel Ferguson, "The Naming of Cuchulain: A Dramatic Scene," first played in Belfast, March 9, 1910; in "The Triumph of Maeve," A Romance in dramatic form, 1906; "Cuchulain," etc., (A Cycle of Plays, by S. and J. Varian, Dublin), and in "The Boy-Deeds of Cuchulain," A Pageant in three Acts, performed in Dublin in 1909. [1] "L'histoire entière de l'Irlande est une énigme si on n'a pas sans cesse à l'esprit ce fait primordial que le climat humide de l'île est tout à fait contraire à la culture des céréales, mais en revanche éminemment favorable à l'élevage du bétail, surtout de la race bovine, car le climat est encore trop humide pour l'espèce ovine." F. Lot, in _La Grande Encyclopédie_, xx, 956. [2] As it is to this day in some parts of Ireland, and as for example a female slave was sometimes appraised at three head of cattle among the ancient Gaels. [3] In fact the Clan Mackay was known as the Clan of the creaghs, and their perpetuation was enjoined on the rising generation from the cradle; See _The Old Highlands_, vol. III., p. 338, Glasgow. [4] Pronounced approximately _Thawin' bow Hooln'ya_. [5] _Revue Celtique_, 1895, tome xvi. pp. 405-406; _Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores_, ii. 14. [6] _Mors Conchulaind fortissimi herois Scottorum la Lugaid mac trí con, i. ri Muman, agus la Ercc, i. ri Temrach, mac Coirpri Niad fir, agus la trí maccu Calattin de Chonnachtaib; vii. mbliadna a aes intan rogab gaisced. xvii. mbliadna dano a aes intan mbói indegaid Tána Bó Cúalnge. xxvii. bliadna immorro a aes intan atbath. Revue Celtique,_ tome xvi. page 407. [7] Ridgeway. [8] See H. d'Arbois de Jubainville, _Essai d'un catalogue de la littérature épique de l'Irlande_, Paris, 1883, pages 214-216, and the Supplement to the same by G. Dottin, _Revue Celtique_, t. xxxiii, pages 34-35; Donald Mackinnon, _A Descriptive Catalogue of Gaelic Manuscripts_, Edinburgh, 1912, pp. 174, 220; E. Windisch, Táin Bó Cúalnge, _Einleitung und Vorrede_, S. lx. ff. [9] Facsimilé, page 288, foot margin. [10] Facsimilé, page 275, top margin. [11] Vd. Robert Atkinson, _The Book of Leinster_, Introduction, pages 7-8; J.H. Todd, _Cogadh Gaedhel re Gallaibh, Rerum Britannicarum medii aevi scriptores_, 1867, Introduction, pages ix and ff. Eugene O'Curry, _On the Manuscript Materials of Ancient Irish History_, page 186; Ernst Windisch, _Táin Bó Cúalnge_, pages 910-911. [12] Pronounced _gesh_ or _gas_. [13] "Es gehört keine grosse Kühnheit dazu zu behaupten, dass keiner der lebenden Keltologen beispielsweise von dem wichtigsten altirischen Sagentext 'Der Rinderraub von Cualnge' ... mit allen vorhandenen Hilfsmitteln ein solches fortlaufendes Verständnis des Inhalts hat, wie von einem guten Gymnasialabiturienten hinsichtlich der homerischen Gedichte ohne jegliches Hilfsmittel vor gut 30 Jahren in Deutschland verlangt wurde."--_Die Kultur der Gegenwart_, herausgegeben von Paul Hinneberg, Berlin, 1909. Teil I, Abt. xi, I. S. 75. [14] Part II, chap, lxii (Garnier Hermanos edition, page 711). * * * * * [Page 1] Here beginneth Táin Bó Cúalnge The Cualnge Cattle-raid I THE PILLOW-TALK [W.1.] [LL.fo.53.] Once of a time, that Ailill and Medb had spread their royal bed in Cruachan, the stronghold of Connacht, such was the pillow-talk that befell betwixt them: Quoth Ailill: "True is the saying, lady, 'She is a well-off woman that is a rich man's wife.'" "Aye, that she is," answered the wife; "but wherefore opin'st thou so?" "For this," Ailill replied, "that thou art this day better off than the day that first I took thee." Then answered Medb: "As well-off was I before I ever saw thee." "It was a wealth, forsooth, we never heard nor knew of," Ailill said; "but a woman's wealth was all thou hadst, and foes from lands next thine were used to carry off the spoil and booty that they took from thee." "Not so was I," quoth Medb; "the High King of Erin himself was my sire, Eocho Fedlech ('the Enduring') son of Finn, by name, who was son of Findoman, son of Finden, son of Findguin, son of Rogen Ruad ('the Red'), son of Rigen, son of Blathacht, son of Beothacht, son of Enna Agnech, son of Oengus Turbech. Of daughters, had he six: Derbriu, Ethne and Ele, Clothru, Mugain and Medb, myself, that was the noblest and seemliest of them. 'Twas I was the goodliest of them in bounty [W.17.] and gift-giving, [1]in riches and treasures.[1] 'Twas I was best of them in battle and strife and combat. 'Twas I that had fifteen hundred royal mercenaries of the sons of aliens exiled from their own land, and as many more of the sons of freemen of the land. And there were ten men with every one of these hirelings, [2]and nine men with every hireling,[2] and eight men with every hireling, and seven men with every hireling, and six men with every hireling, and five men with every hireling, [3]and four men with every hireling,[3] and three men with every hireling, and two men with every hireling, and one hireling with every hireling. These were as a standing household-guard," continued Medb; "hence hath my father bestowed one of the five provinces of Erin upon me, even the province of Cruachan; wherefore 'Medb of Cruachan' am I called. Men came from Finn son of Ross Ruad ('the Red'), king of Leinster, to seel me [4]for a wife, and I refused him;[4] and from Carbre Niafer ('the Champion') son of Ross Ruad ('the Red'), king of Temair,[a] [5]to woo me, and I refused him;[5] and they came from Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathach ('the Mighty'), king of Ulster, [6]and I refused him in like wise.[6] They came from Eocho Bec ('the Small'), and I went not; for 'tis I that exacted a singular bride-gift, such as no woman before me had ever required of a man of the men of Erin, namely, a husband without avarice, without jealousy, without fear. For should he be mean, the man with whom I should live, we were ill-matched together, inasmuch as I am great [LL.fo.54a.] in largess and gift-giving, and it would be a disgrace for my husband if I should be better [W.34.] at spending than he, [1]and for it to be said that I was superior in wealth and treasures to him[1], while no disgrace would it be were one as great as the other[a]. Were my husband a coward, 'twere as unfit for us to be mated, for I by myself and alone break battles and fights and combats, and 'twould be a reproach for my husband should his wife be more full of life than himself, and no reproach our being equally bold. Should he be jealous, the husband with whom I should live, that too would not suit me, for there never was a time that I had not my paramour[b]. Howbeit, such a husband have I found, namely in thee thyself, Ailill son of Ross Ruad ('the Red') of Leinster. Thou wast not churlish; thou wast not jealous; thou wast not a sluggard. It was I plighted thee, and gave purchase-price to thee, which of right belongs to the bride--of clothing, namely, the raiment of twelve men, a chariot worth thrice seven bondmaids, the breadth of thy face of red gold[c], the weight of thy left forearm of silvered bronze. Whoso brings shame and sorrow and madness upon thee, no claim for compensation nor satisfaction hast thou therefor that I myself have not, [2]but it is to me the compensation belongs,"[2] said Medb, "for a man dependent upon a woman's maintenance is what thou art."[d] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Stowe and Add. [a] That is, from the supreme king of Ireland. [5-5] Stowe and Add. [6-6] Stowe and Add. [1-1] Stowe and, similarly Add. [a] A short sentence in LL., which is probably corrupt, is omitted here. [b] Literally, "A man behind (in) the shadow of another." [c] Instead of a ring, which would be given to the bride. [2-2] Add. and H. 1. 13. [d] For a detailed explanation of this entire passage see H. Zimmer, in the _Sitzungsberichte der Köninglich Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften_, 16 Februar, 1911. _philosophisch historischen Classe, Seite 217_. "Nay, not such was my state," said Ailill; "but two brothers had I; one of them over Temair, the other over Leinster; namely, Finn, over Leinster, and Carbre, over Temair. I left the kingship to them because they were [W.52.] older but not superior to me in largess and bounty. Nor heard I of province in Erin under woman's keeping but this province alone. And for this I came and assumed the kingship here as my mother's successor; for Mata of Muresc, daughter of Magach [1]of Connacht,[1] was my mother. And who could there be for me to have as my queen better than thyself, being, as thou wert, daughter of the High King of Erin?" "Yet so it is," pursued Medb, "my fortune is greater than thine." "I marvel at that," Ailill made answer, "for there is none that hath greater treasures and riches and wealth than I: yea, to my knowledge there is not." [1-1] Add. and H. 1. 13. * * * * * [Page 5] II [1]THE OCCASION OF THE TÁIN[1] [W.62.] Then were brought to them the least precious of their possessions, that they might know which of them had the more treasures, riches and wealth. Their pails and their cauldrons and their iron-wrought vessels, their jugs and their keeves and their eared pitchers were fetched to them. [1-1] Add. and Stowe. Likewise, their rings and their bracelets and their thumb-rings and their golden treasures were fetched to them, and their apparel, both purple and blue and black and green, yellow, vari-coloured and gray, dun, mottled and brindled. Their numerous flocks of sheep were led in from fields and meeds and plains. These were counted and compared, and found to be equal, of like size, of like number; however, there was an uncommonly fine ram over Medb's sheep, and he was equal in worth to a bondmaid, but a corresponding ram was over the ewes of Ailill. Their horses and steeds and studs were brought from pastures and paddocks. There was a noteworthy horse in Medb's herd and he was of the value of a bondmaid; a horse to match was found among Ailill's. Then were their numerous droves of swine driven from woods and shelving glens and wolds. These were numbered and counted and claimed. There was a noteworthy boar With Medb, and yet another with Ailill. Next they brought before them their droves of cattle [W.77.] and their herds and their roaming flocks from the brakes and wastes of the province. These were counted and numbered and claimed, and were the same for both, equal in size, equal in number, except only there was an especial bull of the bawn of Ailill, and he was a calf of one of Medb's cows, and Finnbennach ('the Whitehorned') was his name. But he, deeming it no honour to be in a woman's possession, [LL.fo.54b.] had left and gone over to the kine of the king. And it was the same to Medb as if she owned not a pennyworth, forasmuch as she had not a bull of his size amongst her cattle. Then it was that macRoth the messenger was summoned to Medb, and Medb strictly bade macRoth to learn where there might be found a bull of that likeness in any of the provinces of Erin. "Verily," said macRoth, "I know where the bull is that is best and better again, in the province of Ulster, in the hundred of Cualnge, in the house of Darè son of Fiachna; even Donn Cualnge ('the Brown Bull of Cualnge') he is called." "Go thou to him, macRoth, and ask for me of Darè the loan for a year of the Brown Bull of Cualnge, and at the year's end he shall have the meed of the loan, to wit, fifty heifers and the Donn Cualnge himself. And bear thou a further boon with thee, macRoth. Should the border-folk and those of the country grudge the loan of that rare jewel that is the Brown Bull of Cualnge, let Darè himself come with his bull, and he shall get a measure equalling his own land of the smooth Plain of Ai and a chariot of the worth of thrice seven bondmaids and he shall enjoy my own close friendship."[a] [a] Literally, "Habebit amicitiam fermoris mei." Thereupon the messengers fared forth to the house of Darè son of Fiachna. This was the number wherewith macRoth went, namely, nine couriers. Anon welcome was [W.99.] lavished on macRoth in Darè's house--fitting, welcome it was--chief messenger of all was macRoth. Darè asked of macRoth what had brought him upon the journey and why he was come. The messenger announced the cause for which he was come and related the contention between Medb and Ailill. "And it is to beg the loan of the Brown Bull of Cualnge to match the Whitehorned that I am come," said he; "and thou shalt receive the hire of his loan, even fifty heifers and the Brown of Cualnge himself. And yet more I may add: Come thyself with thy bull and thou shalt have of the land of the smooth soil of Mag Ai as much as thou ownest here, and a chariot of the worth of thrice seven bondmaids and enjoy Medb's friendship to boot." At these words Darè was well pleased, and he leaped for joy so that the seams of his flock-bed rent in twain beneath him. "By the truth of our conscience," said he; "however the Ulstermen take it, [1]whether ill or well,[1] this time this jewel shall be delivered to Ailill and to Medb, the Brown of Cualnge to wit, into the land of Connacht." Well pleased was macRoth at the words of the son of Fiachna. [1-1] Stowe and Add. Thereupon they were served, and straw and fresh rushes were spread under them. The choicest of food was brought to them and a feast was served to them and soon they were noisy and drunken. And a discourse took place between two of the messengers. "'Tis true what I say," spoke the one; "good is the man in whose house we are." "Of a truth, he is good." "Nay, is there one among all the men of Ulster better than he?" persisted the first. "In sooth, there is," answered the second messenger. "Better is Conchobar whose man he is, [2]Conchobar who holds the kingship of the province.[2] And though all the Ulstermen [W.120.] gathered around him, it were no shame for them. Yet is it passing good of Darè, that what had been a task for the four mighty provinces of Erin to bear away from the land of Ulster, even the Brown Bull of Cualnge, is surrendered so freely to us nine footmen." [2-2] Stowe and Add. Hereupon a third runner had his say: "What is this ye dispute about?" he asked. "Yon runner says, 'A good man is the man in whose house we are.'" "Yea, he is good," saith the other. "Is there among all the Ulstermen any that is better than he?" demanded the first runner further. "Aye, there is," answered the second runner; "better is Conchobar whose man he is; and though all the Ulstermen gathered around him, it were no shame for them. Yet, truly good it is of Darè, that what had been a task for four of the grand provinces of Erin to bear away out of the borders of Ulster is handed over even unto us nine footmen." "I would not grudge to see a retch of blood and gore in the mouth whereout that was said; for, were the bull not given [LL.fo.55a.] willingly, yet should he be taken by force!" At that moment it was that Darè macFiachna's chief steward came into the house and with him a man with drink and another with food, and he heard the foolish words of the runners; and anger came upon him, and he set down their food and drink for them and he neither said to them, "Eat," nor did he say, "Eat not." Straightway he went into the house where was Darè macFiachna and said: "Was it thou that hast given that notable jewel to the messengers, the Brown Bull of Cualnge?" "Yea, it was I," Darè made answer. "Verily, it was not the part of a king to give him. For it is true what they say: Unless thou hadst bestowed him of thine own free will, so wouldst thou yield him in despite of thee by the host of Ailill and Medb and by the great cunning of Fergus macRoig." "I swear by the gods whom I worship," [W.143.] [1]spoke Darè,[1] "they shall in no wise take by foul means what they cannot take by fair!" [1-1] Stowe and Add. There they abide till morning. Betimes on the morrow the runners arise and proceed to the house where is Darè. "Acquaint us, lord, how we may reach the place where the Brown Bull of Cualnge is kept." "Nay then," saith Darè; "but were it my wont to deal foully with messengers or with travelling folk or with them that go by the road, not one of you would depart alive!" "How sayest thou?" quoth macRoth. "Great cause there is," replied Darè; "ye said, unless I yielded in good sort, I should yield to the might of Ailill's host and Medb's and the great cunning of Fergus." "Even so," said macRoth, "whatever the runners drunken with thine ale and thy viands have said, 'tis not for thee to heed nor mind, nor yet to be charged on Ailill and on Medb." "For all that, macRoth, this time I will not give my bull, if ever I can help it!" Back then the messengers go till they arrive at Cruachan, the stronghold of Connacht. Medb asks their tidings, and macRoth makes known the same: that they had not brought his bull from Darè. "And the reason?" demanded Medb. MacRoth recounts to her how the dispute arose. "There is no need to polish knots over such affairs as that, macRoth; for it was known," said Medb, "if the Brown Bull of Cualnge would not be given with their will, he would be taken in their despite, and taken he shall be!" [2]To this point is recounted the Occasion of the Táin.[2] [2-2] Stowe and Add. * * * * * [Page 10] III [1]THE RISING-OUT OF THE MEN OF CONNACHT AT CRUACHAN AI[1] [W.161.] [2]A mighty host was now assembled by the men of Connacht, that is, by Ailill and Medb, and they sent word to the three other provinces, and[2] messengers were despatched from Medb to the Manè that they should gather in Cruachan, the seven Manè with their seven divisions; to wit: Manè "Motherlike," Manè "Fatherlike," and Manè "All-comprehending", [3]'twas he that possessed the form of his mother and of his father and the dignity of them both;[3] Manè "Mildly-submissive," and Manè "Greatly-submissive," Manè "Boastful" [4]and Manè "the Dumb."[4] [1-1] Add. [2-2] LU. 1-2; with these words, the LU. version begins, fo. 55a. [3-3] LU. 182. [4-4] Stowe and Add. Other messengers were despatched [5]by Ailill[5] to the sons of Maga; to wit: to Cet ('the First') son of Maga, Anluan ('the Brilliant Light') son of Maga, and Maccorb ('Chariot-child') son of Maga, and Bascell ('the Lunatic') son of Maga, and En ('the Bird') son of Maga, Dochè son of Maga; and Scandal ('Insult') son of Maga. [5-5] Eg. 1782. These came, and this was their muster, thirty hundred armed men. Other messengers were despatched from them to Cormac Conlongas ('the Exile') son of Conchobar and to Fergus macRoig, and they also came, thirty hundred their number. [W.173.] [1]Now Cormac had three companies which came to Cruachan.[1] Before all, the first company. A covering of close-shorn [2]black[2] hair upon them. Green mantles and [3]many-coloured cloaks[3] wound about them; therein, silvern brooches. Tunics of thread of gold next to their skin, [4]reaching down to their knees,[4] with interweaving of red gold. Bright-handled swords they bore, with guards of silver. [5]Long shields they bore, and there was a broad, grey spearhead on a slender shaft in the hand of each man.[5] "Is that Cormac, yonder?" all and every one asked. "Not he, indeed," Medb made answer. [1-1] LU. 7. [2-2] Add. [3-3] LU. 8. [4-4] LU. 9. [5-5] LU. 9-10. The second troop. Newly shorn hair they wore [6]and manes on the back of their heads,[6] [7]fair, comely indeed.[7] Dark-blue cloaks they all had about them. Next to their skin, gleaming-white tunics, [LL.fo.55b.] [8]with red ornamentation, reaching down to their calves.[8] Swords they had with round hilts of gold and silvern fist-guards, [9]and shining shields upon them and five-pronged spears in their hands.[9] "Is yonder man Cormac?" all the people asked. "Nay, verily, that is not he," Medb made answer. [6-6] Eg. 1782. [7-7] Add. [8-8] LU. 11-12. [9-9] LU. 12-13. [10]Then came[10] the last troop. Hair cut broad they wore; fair-yellow, deep-golden, loose-flowing back hair [11]down to their shoulders[11] upon them. Purple cloaks, fairly bedizened, about them; golden, embellished brooches over their breasts; [12]and they had curved shields with sharp, chiselled edges around them and spears as long as the pillars of a king's house in the hand of each man.[12] Fine, long, silken tunics [13]with hoods[13] they wore to the very instep. Together they raised their feet, and together they set them down again. "Is that Cormac, yonder?" asked all. "Aye, it is he, [14]this time,[14]" Medb made answer. [10-10] Eg. 1782. [11-11] LU. 16. [12-12] LU. 17-18. [13-13] LU. 15. [14-14] Eg. 1782. [W.186.] [1]Thus the four provinces of Erin gathered in Cruachan Ai.[1] They pitched their camp and quarters that night, so that a thick cloud of smoke and fire rose between the four fords of Ai, which are, Ath Moga, Ath Bercna, Ath Slissen and Ath Coltna. And they tarried for the full space of a fortnight in Cruachan, the hostel of Connacht, in wassail and drink and every disport, to the end that their march and muster might be easier. [2]And their poets and druids would not let them depart from thence till the end of a fortnight while awaiting good omen.[2] And then it was that Medb bade her charioteer to harness her horses for her, that she might go to address herself to her druid, to seek for light and for augury from him. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. 20-21. * * * * * [Page 13] IV THE FORETELLING[a] [W.194.] When Medb was come to the place where her druid was, she craved light and augury of him. "Many there be," saith Medb, "who do part with their kinsmen and friends here to-day, and from their homes and their lands, from father and from mother; and unless unscathed every one shall return, upon me will they cast their sighs and their ban, [1]for it is I that have assembled this levy.[1] Yet there goeth not forth nor stayeth there at home any dearer to me than are we to ourselves. And do thou discover for us whether we ourselves shall return, or whether we shall never return." [a] This heading is taken from the colophon at the end of the chapter. [1-1] LU. 23-24. And the druid made answer, "Whoever comes not, thou thyself shalt come." [2]"Wait, then," spake the charioteer," let me wheel the chariot by the right,[b] that thus the power of a good omen may arise that we return again."[2] Then the charioteer wheeled his chariot round and Medb went back [3]again,[3] when she espied a thing that surprised her: A lone virgin [4]of marriageable age[4] standing on the hindpole of a chariot a little way off drawing nigh her. And thus the maiden appeared: Weaving lace was she, and in her right hand was a bordering rod of silvered [W.204.] bronze with its seven strips of red gold at the sides. A many-spotted green mantle around her; a bulging, strong-headed pin [1]of gold[1] in the mantle over her bosom; [2]a hooded tunic, with red interweaving, about her.[2] A ruddy, fair-faced countenance she had, [3]narrow below and broad above.[3] She had a blue-grey and laughing eye; [4]each eye had three pupils.[4] [5]Dark and black were her eyebrows; the soft, black lashes threw a shadow to the middle of her cheeks.[5] Red and thin were her lips. Shiny and pearly were her teeth; thou wouldst believe they were showers of white pearls that had rained into her head. Like to fresh Parthian crimson were her lips. As sweet as the strings of lutes [6]when long sustained they are played by master players' hands[6] was the melodious sound of her voice and her fair speech. [2-2] LU. 24-25. [b] Right-hand wise, as a sign of a good omen. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 1782. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] Eg. 1782. [3-3] LU. 29. [4-4] LU. 35-36. [5-5] LU. 31. [6-6] Adopting Windisch's emendation of the text. As white as snow in one night fallen was the sheen of her skin and her body that shone outside of her dress. Slender and very white were her feet; rosy, even, sharp-round nails she had; [7]two sandals with golden buckles about them.[7] Fair-yellow, long, golden hair she wore; three braids of hair [8]she wore; two tresses were wound[8] around her head; the other tress [9]from behind[9] threw a shadow down on her calves. [10]The maiden carried arms, and two black horses were under her chariot.[10] [7-7] LU. 29. [8-8] Eg. 1782. [9-9] Add. [10-10] LU. 36. Medb gazed at her. "And what doest thou here now, O maiden?" asked Medb. "I impart [LL.fo.56a.] to thee thine advantage and good fortune in thy gathering and muster of the four mighty provinces of Erin against the land of Ulster on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge." "Wherefore doest thou this for me?" asked Medb. "Much cause have I. A bondmaid 'mid thy people am I." "Who of [W.220.] my people art thou [1]and what is thy name[1]?" asked Medb. "Not hard, in sooth, to say. The prophetess Fedelm, from the Sid ('the Fairy Mound') of Cruachan, [2]a poetess of Connacht[2] am I." [3]"Whence comest thou?" asked Medb. "From Alba, after learning prophetic skill," the maiden made answer. "Hast thou the form of divination?"[b] "Verily, have I," the maiden said.[3] [4]"Look, then, for me, how will my undertaking be." The maiden looked. Then spake Medb:--[4] [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] Eg. 1782. [3-3] LU. 39-41. [b] _Imbass forosna_, 'illumination between the hands.' [4-4] Eg. 1782. "Good now, "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" [5]Fedelm answered and spoke:[5] "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [5-5] Eg. 1782. [6]"That is no true augury,"[6] said Medb. "Verily, Conchobar [7]with the Ulstermen[7] is in his 'Pains' in Emain; thither fared my messengers [8]and brought me true tidings[8]; naught is there that we need dread from Ulster's men. But speak truth, O Fedelm:-- "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [6-6] LU. 44. [7-7] Eg. 1782. [8-8] Eg. 1782. [9]"That is no true augury.[9] Cuscraid Mend ('the Stammerer') of Macha, Conchobar's son, is in Inis Cuscraid ('Cuscraid's Isle') in his 'Pains.' Thither fared my messengers; naught need we fear from Ulster's men. But speak truth, O Fedelm:-- [W.233.] "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [9-9] LU. 48. "Eogan, Durthacht's son, is in Rath Airthir ('the Eastern Rath') in his 'Pains.' Thither went my messengers. Naught need we dread from Ulster's men. But speak truth, O Fedelm:-- "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" "Celtchar, Uthechar's son, is in his fort [1]at Lethglas[1] in his 'Pains,' [2]and a third of the Ulstermen with him.[2] Thither fared my messengers. Naught have we to fear from Ulster's men. [3]And Fergus son of Roig son of Eochaid is with us here in exile, and thirty hundred with him.[3] But speak truth, O Fedelm:-- "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [1-1] LU. 50. [2-2] LU. 49. [3-3] LU. 50-51. "Meseemeth this not as it seemeth to thee," quoth Medb, "for when Erin's men shall assemble in one place, there quarrels will arise and broils, contentions and disputes amongst them about the ordering of themselves in the van or rear, at ford or river, over who shall be first at killing a boar or a stag or a deer or a hare. But, [4]look now again for us and[4] speak truth, O Fedelm:-- "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [4-4] LU. 55. Therewith she began to prophesy and to foretell the coming of Cuchulain to the men of Erin, and she chanted a lay:-- [W.255.] "[a]Fair, of deeds, the man I see; Wounded sore is his fair skin; On his brow shines hero's light; Victory's seat is in his face! "Seven gems of champions brave Deck the centre of his orbs; Naked are the spears he bears, And he hooks a red cloak round! "Noblest face is his, I see; He respects all womankind. Young the lad and fresh his hue, With a dragon's form in fight! "I know not who is the Hound, Culann's hight,[b] [1]of fairest fame[1]; But I know full well this host Will be smitten red by him! "Four small swords--a brilliant feat-- He supports in either hand; These he'll ply upon the host, Each to do its special deed! "His Gae Bulga,[c] too, he wields, With his sword and javelin. Lo, the man in red cloak girt Sets his foot on every hill! "Two spears [2]from the chariot's left[2] He casts forth in orgy wild. And his form I saw till now Well I know will change its guise! "On to battle now he comes; If ye watch not, ye are doomed. This is he seeks ye in fight Brave Cuchulain, Sualtaim's son! "All your host he'll smite in twain, Till he works your utter ruin. [W.291.] All your heads ye'll leave with him. Fedelm, prophet-maid, hides not! "Gore shall flow from warriors' wounds; Long 'twill live in memory. [LL.fo.56b.] Bodies hacked and wives in tears, Through the Smith's Hound[a] whom I see!" [a] The Eg. 1782 version of this poem differs in several details from LL. [b] That is, Cu Chulain, 'the Hound of Culann.' [1-1] Tranlating from LU. 65, Stowe and Add. [c] The _Gae Bulga_, 'barbed spear,' which only Cuchulain could wield. [2-2] Translating from LU. 72, Add. and Stowe; 'from the left,' as a sign of enmity. [a] That is, Cuchulain. See page 17. Thus far the Augury and the Prophecy and the Preface of the Tale, and the Occasion of its invention and conception, and the Pillow-talk which Ailill and Medb had in Cruachan. [1]Next follows the Body of the Tale itself.[1] [1-1] Stowe and Add. * * * * * [Page 19] V THIS IS THE ROUTE OF THE TÁIN [W.301.] and the Beginning of the Expedition and the Names of the Roads which the hosts of the four of the five grand provinces of Erin took into the land of Ulster. [1]On Monday after Summer's end[1] [2]they set forth and proceeded:[2] [1-1] LU. 81. [2-2] Eg. 1782. [3]South-east from Cruachan Ai,[3] by Mag Cruimm, over Tuaim Mona ('the Hill of Turf'), by Turloch Teora Crich ('the Creek of three Lands'), by Cul ('the Nook') of Silinne, by Dubloch ('Black Lough'), [4]by Fid Dubh ('Black Woods'),[4] by Badbgna, by Coltain, by the Shannon, by Glune Gabur, by Mag Trega, by Tethba in the north, by Tethba in the south, by Cul ('the Nook'), by Ochain, northwards by Uatu, eastwards by Tiarthechta, by Ord ('the Hammer'), by Slaiss ('the Strokes'), [5]southwards,[5] by Indeoin ('the Anvil'), by Carn, by Meath, by Ortrach, by Findglassa Assail, ('White Stream of Assail'), by Drong, by Delt, by Duelt, by Delinn, by Selaig, by Slabra, by Slechta, where swords hewed out roads before Medb and Ailill, by Cul ('the Nook') of Siblinne, by Dub ('the Blackwater'), by Ochonn [6]southwards,[6] by Catha, by Cromma [7]southwards,[7] by Tromma, [8]eastwards[8] by Fodromma, by Slane, by Gort Slane, [9]to the south of[9] Druim Liccè, by Ath Gabla, by Ardachad ('Highfield'), [W.356.] [1]northwards[1] by Feorainn, by Finnabair ('White Plain'), by Assa [2]southwards,[2] by Airne, by Aurthuile, by Druim Salfind ('Salfind Ridge'), by Druim Cain, by Druim Caimthechta, by Druim macDega, by the little Eo Dond ('Brown Tree'), by the great Eo Dond, by Meide in Togmaill ('Ferret's Neck'), by Meide in Eoin, ('Bird's Neck'), by Baille ('the Town'), by Aile, by Dall Scena, by Ball Scena, by Ross Mor ('Great Point'), by Scuap ('the Broom'), by Imscuap, by Cenn Ferna, by Anmag, by Fid Mor ('Great Wood') in Crannach of Cualnge, [3]by Colbtha, by Crond in Cualnge,[3] by Druim Cain on the road to Midluachar, [4]from Finnabair of Cualnge. It is at that point that the hosts of Erin divided over the province in pursuit of the bull. For it was by way of those places they went until they reached Finnabair. Here endeth the Title. The Story begineth in order.[4] [3-3] Stowe and Add. [4-4] LU. 87, Stowe and Add. [5-5] LU. 96. and Stowe. [6-6] Eg. 1782. [7-7] Eg. 1782. [8-8] LU. 113. [9-9] LU. 116. [1-1] LU. 119. [2-2] LU. 121. [3-3] LU. 146-148. [4-4] LU. 149-161. * * * * * [Page 21] VI THE MARCH OF THE HOST [W.389.] On the first stage the hosts went [1]from Cruachan,[1] they slept the night at Cul Silinne, [2]where to-day is Cargin's Lough.[2] And [3]in that place[3] was fixed the tent of Ailill son of Ross, [4]and the trappings were arranged, both bedding and bed-clothes.[4] The tent of Fergus macRoig was on his right hand; Cormac Conlongas, Conchobar's son, was beside him; Ith macEtgaith next to that; Fiachu macFiraba, [5]the son of Conchobar's daughter,[5] at its side; [6]Conall Cernach at its side,[6] Gobnenn macLurnig at the side of that. The place of Ailill's tent was on the right on the march, and thirty hundred men of Ulster beside him. And the thirty hundred men of Ulster on his right hand had he to the end that the whispered talk and conversation and the choice supplies of food and of drink might be the nearer to them. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Translating from Stowe. [4-4] LU. 156-157. [5-5] LU. 160. [6-6] Eg. 1782. Medb of Cruachan, [7]daughter of Eocho Fedlech,[7] moreover, was at Ailill's left. Finnabair ('Fairbrow'), [8]daughter of Ailill and Medb,[8] at her side, [9]besides servants and henchmen.[9] Next, Flidais Foltchain ('of the Lovely Hair'), wife first of Ailill Finn ('the Fair'). She took part in the Cow-spoil of Cualnge after she had slept with Fergus; and she it was that every seventh night brought sustenance [W.404.] in milk to the men of Erin on the march, for king and queen and prince and poet and pupil. [7-7] LU. 160. [8-8] LU. 161. [9-9] Eg. 1782. Medb remained in the rear of the host that day in quest of tidings and augury [LL.fo.57a.] and knowledge. [1]She called to her charioteer to get ready her nine chariots for her,[1] [2]to make a circuit of the camp[2] that she might learn who was loath and who eager to take part in the hosting. [3]With nine chariots[a] she was wont to travel, that the dust of the great host might not soil her.[3] Medb suffered not her chariot to be let down nor her horses unyoked until she had made a circuit of the camp. [1-1] LU. 153. [2-2] Eg. 1782. [3-3] Gloss in LU. fo. 56b, 3. [a] Following the emendation suggested by L. Chr. Stern, _Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Band_ II, S. 417, LU. has 'nine charioteers.' Then, [4]when she had reviewed the host,[4] were Medb's horses unyoked and her chariots let down, and she took her place beside Ailill macMata. And Ailill asked tidings of Medb: who was eager and who was loath for the warfare. "Futile for all is the emprise but for one troop only, [5]namely the division of the Galian ('of Leinster'),"[5] quoth Medb. [6]"Why blamest thou these men?" queried Ailill. "It is not that we blame them," Medb made answer.[6] "What good service then have these done that they are praised above all?" asked Ailill. "There is reason to praise them," said Medb. [7]"Splendid are the warriors.[7] When the others begin making their pens and pitching their camp, these have finished building their bothies and huts. When the rest are building their bothies and huts, these have finished preparing their food and drink. When the rest are preparing their food and drink, these have finished eating and feasting, [8]and their harps are playing for them.[8] When all the others have finished eating and feasting, these are by that [W.422.] time asleep. And even as their servants and thralls are distinguished above the servants and thralls of the men of Erin, so shall their heroes and champions be distinguished beyond the heroes and champions of the men of Erin this time on this hosting. [1]It is folly then for these to go, since it is those others will enjoy the victory of the host.[1]" "So much the better, I trow," replied Ailill; "for it is with us they go and it is for us they fight." "They shall not go with us nor shall they fight for us." [2]cried Medb.[2] "Let them stay at home then," said Ailill. "Stay they shall not," answered Medb. "[3]They will fall on us in the rear and will seize our land against us.[3]" "What shall they do then," Finnabair[a] asked, "if they go not out nor yet remain at home?" "Death and destruction and slaughter is what I desire for them," answered Medb. "For shame then on thy speech," spake Ailill; "[4]'tis a woman's advice,[4] for that they pitch their tents and make their pens so promptly and unwearily." "By the truth of my conscience," cried Fergus, [5]"not thus shall it happen, for they are allies of us men of Ulster.[5] No one shall do them to death but he that does death to myself [6]along with them!"[6] [4-4] Eg. 1782. [5-5] LU. 164 and Stowe. [6-6] LU. 165. [7-7] LU. 165. [8-8] LU. 168. [1-1] LU. 169. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. 171-172. [a] 'Ailill,' in Eg. 1782. [4-4] Eg. 1782. [5-5] LU. 175-176. [6-6] Stowe "Not to me oughtest thou thus to speak, O Fergus," then cried Medb, "for I have hosts enough to slay and slaughter thee with the division of Leinstermen round thee. For there are the seven Manè, [7]that is, my seven sons[7] with their seven divisions, and the sons of Maga with their [8]seven[8] divisions, and Ailill with his division, and I myself with my own body-guard besides. We are strong enough here to kill and slaughter thee with thy cantred of the Leinstermen round thee!" [7-7] LU. 179. [8-8] Add. "It befits thee not thus to speak to me," said Fergus, [W.439.] "for I have with me here [1]in alliance with us Ulstermen,[1] the seven Under-kings of Munster, with their seven cantreds. [2]Here we have what is best of the youths of Ulster, even the division of the Black Banishment.[2] Here we have what is best of the noble youths of Ulster, even the division of the Galian ('of Leinster'). Furthermore, I myself am bond and surety and guarantee for them, since ever they left their own native land. [3]I will give thee battle in the midst of the camp,[3] and to me will they hold steadfast on the day of battle. More than all that," added Fergus, "these men shall be no subject of dispute. By that I mean I will never forsake them. [4]For the rest, we will care for these warriors, to the end that they get not the upper hand of the host. [1-1] LU. 184. [2-2] Reading with Stowe; LL. appears to be corrupt. This was the name given to Fergus, Cormac and the other exiles from Ulster. [3-3] Eg. 1782. "The number of our force is seventeen cantreds, besides our rabble and our women-folk--for with each king was his queen in Medb's company--and our striplings; the eighteenth division is namely the cantred of the Galian.[4] This division of Leinstermen I will distribute among [5]all the host of[5] the men of Erin in such wise that no five men of them shall be in any one place." "That pleaseth me well," said Medb: "let them be as they may, if only they be not in the battle-order of the ranks where they now are in such great force." [4-4] LU. 187-192. [5-5] Eg. 1782. Forthwith Fergus distributed the cantred [6]of the Galian[6] among the men of Erin in such wise that there were not five men of them in any one place. [6-6] Stowe and Add. [LL.fo.57b.] Thereupon, the troops set out on their way and march. It was no easy thing [7]for their kings and their leaders[7] to attend to that mighty host. They took part in the expedition [W.453.] according to the several tribes and according to the several stems and the several districts wherewith they had come, to the end that they might see one other and know one other, that each man might be with his comrades and with his friends and with his kinsfolk on the march. They declared that in such wise they should go. They also took counsel in what manner they should proceed on their hosting. Thus they declared they should proceed: Each host with its king, each troop with its lord, and each band with its captain; each king and each prince of the men of Erin [1]by a separate route[1] on his halting height apart. They took counsel who was most proper to seek tidings in advance of the host between the two provinces. And they said it was Fergus, inasmuch as the expedition was an obligatory one with him, for it was he that had been seven years in the kingship of Ulster. And [2]after Conchobar had usurped the kingship and[2] after the murder of the sons of Usnech who were under his protection and surety, Fergus left the Ultonians, and for seventeen years he was away from Ulster in exile and in enmity. For that reason it was fitting that he above all should go after tidings. [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe and Add. [2-2] Stowe and Add. So [3]the lead of the way was entrusted to Fergus.[3] Fergus before all fared forth to seek tidings, and a feeling of [4]love and[4] affection for his kindred of the men of Ulster came over him, and he led the troops astray in a great circuit to the north and the south. And he despatched messengers with warnings to the Ulstermen, [5]who were at that time in their 'Pains' except Cuchulain and his father Sualtaim.[5] And he began to detain and delay the host [6]until such time as the men of Ulster should have gathered together an army.[6] [7]Because of affection he did so.[7] [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 217. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 227. [7-7] Eg. 1782. [W.472.] Medb perceived this and she upbraided him for it, and chanted the lay:-- Medb: "Fergus, speak, what shall we say? What may mean this devious way? For we wander north and south; Over other lands we stray!" Fergus: "Medb, why art thou so perturbed? There's no treacherous purpose here. Ulster's land it is, O queen, Over which I've led thy host!" Medb: "Ailill, splendid with his hosts, [1]Fears thee lest thou should'st betray.[1] Thou hast not bent all thy mind To direct us on our way!" Fergus: "Not to bring the host to harm Make these changing circuits I. Haply could I now avoid Sualtach's son, the Blacksmith's Hound!"[a] Medb: "Ill of thee to wrong our host, Fergus, son of Ross the Red; Much good hast thou found with us, Fergus, in thy banishment!" "[2]If thou showest our foemen love, No more shalt thou lead our troops; Haply someone else we'll find To direct us on our way![2]" [1-1] Reading with LU. and YBL. 252. [a] That is, Cuchulain. [2-2] Eg. 1782. "I will be in the van of the troops no longer," cried Fergus; "but do thou find another to go before them." For all that, Fergus kept his place in the van of the troops. The four mighty provinces of Erin passed that night on Cul Silinne. The sharp, keen-edged anxiety for Cuchulain came upon Fergus and he warned the men of Erin to be on their guard, because there would come upon them the rapacious lion, and the doom of foes, the vanquisher of multitudes, and the chief of retainers, the mangler of great hosts, the hand that dispenseth [3]treasures,[3] and the flaming [W.502.] torch, even Cuchulain son of Sualtaim.[a] And thus he foreshowed him and chanted a lay, and Medb responded:-- Fergus: "Well for ye to heed and watch, With array of arms and men. He will come, the one we fear, Murthemne's great, deedful youth!" Medb: "How so dear, this battle-rede, Comes from thee, [LL.fo.58a.] Roig's son most bold. Men and arms have I enough To attend Cuchulain here!" Fergus: "Thou shalt need them, Medb of Ai, Men and arms for battle hard, With the grey steed's[b] horseman brave. All the night and all the day!" Medb: "I have kept here in reserve Heroes fit for fight and spoil; Thirty hundred hostage-chiefs, Leinster's bravest champions they. Fighting men from Cruachan fair, Braves from clear-streamed Luachair, Four full realms of goodly Gaels Will defend me from this man!" Fergus: "Rich in troops from Mourne and Bann, Blood he'll draw o'er shafts of spears; He will cast to mire and sand These three thousand Leinstermen. With the swallow's swiftest speed, With the rush of biting wind, So bounds on my dear brave Hound, Breathing slaughter on his foes!" Medb: "Fergus, should he come 'tween us, To Cuchulain bear this word: He were prudent to stay still; Cruachan holds a check in store." Fergus: "Valiant will the slaughter be Badb's wild daughter[c] gloats upon. For the Blacksmith's Hound will spill Showers of blood on hosts of men!" [3-3] Stowe and Add. [a] MS.: _Sualtach._ [b] _Liath Mache_ ('the Roan of Macha'), the name of one of Cuchulain's two horses. [c] That is, the goddess or fury of battle. [W.540.] After this lay the men of the four grand provinces of Erin marched [1]on the morrow[1] over Moin Coltna ('the Marsh of Coltain') eastwards that day; and there met them eight score deer [2]in a single herd.[2] The troops spread out and surrounded and killed them so that none of them escaped. [1-1] LU. 195. [2-2] Stowe and Add. But there is one event to add: Although the division of the Galian had been dispersed [3]among the men of Erin,[3] [4]wherever there was a man of the Galian, it was he that got them, except[4] five deer only which was the men of Erin's share thereof, so that one division took all the eight score deer. [3-3] Stowe and Add. [4-4] LU. 196. [5]Then they proceed to Mag Trega and they unyoke there and prepare their food. It is said that it is there that Dubthach recited this stave:-- "Grant ye have not heard till now, Giving ear to Dubthach's fray: Dire-black war upon ye waits, 'Gainst the Whitehorned of Queen Medb![a] "There will come the chief of hosts,[b] War for Murthemne to wage. Ravens shall drink garden's milk,[c] This the fruit of swineherds' strife (?)[d] "Turfy Cron will hold them back, Keep them back from Murthemne,[5] [9]Till the warriors' work is done On Ochainè's northern mount! "'Quick,' to Cormac, Ailill cries; 'Go and seek ye out your son, Loose no cattle from the fields, Lest the din of the host reach them!' "Battle they'll have here eftsoon, Medb and one third of the host. Corpses will be scattered wide If the Wildman[a] come to you!" [a] Literally, 'of Ailill's spouse.' [b] That is, Cuchulain. [c] A kenning for 'blood.' [d] Referring to the two bulls, the Brown and the Whitehorned, which were the re-incarnations through seven intermediate stages of two divine swineherds of the gods of the under-world. The story is told in _Irische Texte_, iii, i, pp. 230-275. [5-5] LU. 198-205. [a] Literally, 'the Contorted one'; that is, Cuchulain. Then Nemain, [1]the Badb to wit,[1] attacked them, and that was not the quietest of nights they had, with the noise of the churl, namely Dubthach, in their[b] sleep. Such fears he scattered amongst the host straightway, and he hurled a great stone at the throng till Medb came to check him. They continued their march then till they slept a night in Granard Tethba in the north,[9] [2]after the host had made a circuitous way across sloughs and streams.[2] [1-1] Gloss in YBL. 211. [b] 'his' Eg. 1782. [9-9] YBL. and LU. 206-215. With this passage YBL. begins, fo. 17a. [2-2] LU. 215. [W.547.] It was on that same day, [3]after the coming of the warning from Fergus[3] [4]to the Ulstermen,[4] that Cuchulain son of Sualtaim, [5]and Sualtaim[5] Sidech ('of the Fairy Mound'), his father, [6]when they had received the warning from Fergus,[6] came so near [7]on their watch for the host[7] that their horses grazed in pasture round the pillar-stone on Ard Cuillenn ('the Height of Cuillenn'). Sualtaim's horses cropped the grass north of the pillar-stone close to the ground; Cuchulain's cropped the grass south of the pillar-stone even to the ground and the bare stones. "Well, O master Sualtaim," said Cuchulain; "the thought of the host is fixed sharp upon me [8]to-night,[8] so do thou depart for us with warnings to the men of Ulster, that they remain not in the smooth plains but that they betake themselves to the woods and wastes and steep glens of the province, if so they may keep out of the way of the men of Erin." "And thou, lad, what wilt thou do?" "I must go southwards to Temair to keep tryst with the [W.556.] maid[a] of Fedlimid Nocruthach ('of the Nine Forms') [1]Conchobar's daughter,[1] according to my own agreement, till morning." "Alas, that one should go [2]on such a journey,"[2] said Sualtaim, "and leave the Ulstermen under the feet of their foes and their enemies for the sake of a tryst with a woman!" "For all that, I needs must go. For, an I go not, the troth of men will be held for false and the promises of women held for true." [3-3] LU. 218 [4-4] Eg. 1782. [5-5] _Sualtach_, in LL. [6-6] Eg. 1782. [7-7] Eg. 1782. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 220. [a] "Who was secretly as a concubine with Cuchulain"; gloss in LU. and YBL. 222 and Eg. 1782. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] Stowe and Add. Sualtaim departed with warnings to the men of Ulster. Cuchulain strode into the wood, and there, with a single blow, he lopped the prime sapling of an oak, root and top, and with only one foot and one hand and one eye he exerted himself; and he made a twig-ring thereof and set an ogam[b] script on the plug of the ring, and set the ring round the narrow part of the pillar-stone on Ard ('the Height') of Cuillenn. He forced the ring till it reached the thick of the pillar-stone. Thereafter Cuchulain went his way to his tryst with the woman. [b] The old kind of writing of the Irish. Touching the men of Erin, the account follows here: They came up to the pillar-stone at Ard Cuillenn, [3]which is called Crossa Coil to-day,[3] and they began looking out upon the province that was unknown to them, the province of Ulster. And two of Medb's people went always before them in the van of the host, at every camp and on every march, at every ford and every river [LL.fo.58b.] and every gap. They were wont to do so [4]that they might save the brooches and cushions and cloaks of the host, so that the dust of the multitude might not soil them[4] and that no stain might come on the princes' raiment in the crowd or the crush of the hosts or the throng;--these were the two sons of Nera, who was the son of Nuathar, [W.575.] son of Tacan, two sons of the house-stewards of Cruachan, Err and Innell, to wit. Fraech and Fochnam were the names of their charioteers. [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 245-246. The nobles of Erin arrived at the pillar-stone and they there beheld the signs of the browsing of the horses, cropping around the pillar, and they looked close at the rude hoop which the royal hero had left behind about the pillar-stone. [1]Then sat they down to wait till the army should come, the while their musicians played to them.[1] And Ailill took the withy in his hand and placed it in Fergus' hand, and Fergus read the ogam script graven on the plug of the withy, and made known to the men of Erin what was the meaning of the ogam writing that was on it. [2]When Medb came, she asked, "Why wait ye here?" "Because of yonder withy we wait," Fergus made answer; "there is an ogam writing on its binding and this is what it saith: 'Let no one go past here till a man be found to throw a withy like unto this, using only one hand and made of a single branch, and I except my master Fergus.' Truly," Fergus added, "it was Cuchulain threw it, and it was his steeds that grazed this plain." And he placed the hoop in the hands of the druids,[2] and it is thus he began to recite and he pronounced a lay:-- "What bespeaks this withe to us, What purports its secret rede? And what number cast it here, Was it one man or a host? "If ye go past here this night, And bide not [3]one night[3] in camp. On ye'll come the tear-flesh Hound; Yours the blame, if ye it scorn! "[4]Evil on the host he'll bring,[4] If ye go your way past this. [W.596.] Find, ye druids, find out here, For what cause this withe was made!" [1]A druid speaks[1]: "Cut by hero, cast by chief, As a perfect trap for foes. Stayer of lords--with hosts of men-- One man cast it with one hand! "With fierce rage the battle 'gins Of the Smith's Hound of Red Branch.[a] Bound to meet this madman's rage; This the name that's on the withe! [2]"Would the king's host have its will-- Else they break the law of war-- Let some one man of ye cast, As one man this withe did cast![2] "Woes to bring with hundred fights On four realms of Erin's land; Naught I know 'less it be this For what cause the withe was made!" [1-1] LU. and YBL. 250. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 252-258. [3-3] Reading with Stowe, Add. and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Reading with LU. and YBL. 261. [1-1] LU., marginal note. [a] The name of the festal hall of the kings of Ulster. [2-2] Eg. 1782. After that lay: "I pledge you my word," said Fergus, "if so ye set at naught yon withy and the royal hero that made it, [3]and if ye go beyond[3] without passing a night's camp and quarterage here, or until a man of you make a withy of like kind, using but one foot and one eye and one hand, even as he made it, [4]certain it is, whether ye be[4] under the ground or in a tight-shut house, [5]the man that wrote the ogam hereon[5] will bring slaughter and bloodshed upon ye before the hour of rising on the morrow, if ye make light of him!" "That, surely, would not be pleasing to us," quoth Medb, "that any one should [6]straightway[6] spill our blood or besmirch us red, now that we are come to this unknown province, even to the province of Ulster. More pleasing would it be to us, to spill another's blood and redden him." "Far be it from us to set this [W.618.] withy at naught," said Ailill, "nor shall we make little of the royal hero that wrought it, rather will we resort to the shelter of this great wood, [1]that is, Fidduin, ('the Wood of the Dûn')[1] southwards till morning. There will we pitch our camp and quarters." [3-3] LU. 270. [4-4] Reading with Stowe. [5-5] LU. 271. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 273. [1-1] A gloss in YBL. 274; found also in Eg. 1782. Thereupon the hosts advanced, and as they went they felled the wood with their swords before their chariots, so that Slechta ('the Hewn Road') is still the by-name of that place where is Partraige Beca ('the Lesser Partry') south-west of Cenannas na Rig ('Kells of the Kings') near Cul Sibrille. [2]According to other books, it is told as follows: After they had come to [3]Fidduin[3] they saw a chariot and therein a beautiful maiden. It is there that the conversation between Medb and Fedelm the seeress took place that we spoke of before, and it is after the answer she made to Medb that the wood was cut down: "Look for me," said Medb, "how my journey will be." "It is hard for me," the maiden made answer, "for no glance of eye can I cast upon them in the wood." "Then it is plough-land this shall be," quoth Medb; "we will cut down the wood." Now, this was done, so that this is the name of the place, Slechta, to wit.[2] [2-2] YBL. 276-283. [3-3] '_Fedaduin_,' MS. [4]They slept in Cul Sibrille, which is Cenannas.[4] A heavy snow fell on them that night, and so great it was that it reached to the shoulders[a] of the men and to the flanks of the horses and to the poles[b] of the chariots, so that all the provinces of Erin were one level plane from the snow. But no huts nor bothies nor tents did they set up that night, nor did they [LL.fo.59.] prepare food nor drink, nor made they a meal nor repast. None of the men of Erin [W.630.] wot whether friend or foe was next him until the bright hour of sunrise on the morrow. [4-4] Eg. 1782. [a] 'Girdles,' LU. and YBL. 284; 'shields,' Eg. 1782. [b] 'Wheels,' LU. and YBL. 285 and Eg. 1782. Certain it is that the men of Erin experienced not a night of encampment or of station that held more discomfort or hardship for them than that night [1]with the snow[1] at Cul Sibrille. The four grand provinces of Erin moved out early on the morrow [2]with the rising of the bright-shining sun glistening on the snow[2] and marched on from that part into another. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 287. [2-2] Reading with Stowe. Now, as regards Cuchulain: It was far from being early when he arose [3]from his tryst.[3] And then he ate a meal and took a repast, and [4]he remained until he had[4] washed himself and bathed on that day. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 288. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 289. He called to his charioteer to lead out the horses and yoke the chariot. The charioteer led out the horses and yoked the chariot, and Cuchulain mounted his chariot. And they came on the track of the army. They found the trail of the men of Erin leading past them from that part into another. "Alas, O master Laeg," cried Cuchulain, "by no good luck went we to our tryst with the woman last night. [5]Would that we had not gone thither nor betrayed the Ultonians.[5] This is the least that might be looked for from him that keeps guard on the marches, a cry, or a shout, or an alarm, or to call, 'Who goes the road?' This it fell not unto us to say. The men of Erin have gone past us, [6]without warning, without complaint,[6] into the land of Ulster." "I foretold thee that, O Cuchulain," said Laeg. "Even though thou wentest to thy woman-tryst [7]last night,[7] such a disgrace would come upon thee." "Good now, O Laeg, go thou for us on the trail of the host and make an estimate of them, and discover [W.649.] for us in what number the men of Erin went by us." [5-5] LU. and YBL. 290. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. Laeg came on the track of the host, and he went to the front of the trail and he came on its sides and he went to the back of it. "Thou art confused in thy counting, O Laeg, my master," quoth Cuchulain. "Confused I must be," Laeg replied. [1]"It is not confusedly that I should see, if I should go," said Cuchulain.[1] "Come into the chariot then, and I will make a reckoning of them." The charioteer mounted the chariot and Cuchulain went on the trail of the hosts and [2]after a long while[2] he made a reckoning of them. [3]"Even thou, it is not easy for thee.[3] Thou art perplexed in thy counting, my little Cuchulain," quoth Laeg. "Not perplexed," answered Cuchulain; [4]"it is easier for me than for thee.[4] [5]For I have three magical virtues: Gift of sight, gift of understanding, and gift of reckoning.[5] For I know the number wherewith the hosts went past us, namely, eighteen cantreds. Nay more: the eighteenth cantred has been distributed among [6]the entire host of[6] the men of Erin, [7]so that their number is not clear, namely, that of the cantred of Leinstermen."[7] [8]This here is the third cunningest [9]and most difficult[9] reckoning that ever was made in Erin. These were: The reckoning by Cuchulain of the men of Erin on the Táin, the reckoning by Lug Lamfota ('Long-hand') of the host of the Fomorians [10]in the Battle of Moytura,[10] and the reckoning by Incel of the host in the Hostel of Da Derga.[8] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 294-295. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 297. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 297. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 297-298. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 298-299. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 302. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 302. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] LU. fo. 58a, in the margin. [10-10] LU. fo. 58a, in the margin. Now, many and divers were the magic virtues that were in Cuchulain [11]that were in no one else in his day.[11] Excellence of form, excellence of shape, excellence of build, excellence [W.661.] in swimming, excellence in horsemanship, excellence in chess and in draughts, excellence in battle, excellence in contest, excellence in single combat, excellence in reckoning, excellence in speech, excellence in counsel, excellence in bearing, excellence in laying waste and in plundering from the neighbouring border. [11-11] Stowe, and LU. fo. 58a, 24, marginal note. "Good, my friend Laeg. Brace the horses for us to the chariot; lay on the goad for us on the horses; drive on the chariot for us and give thy left[a] board to the hosts, to see can we overtake the van or the rear or the midst of the hosts, for I will cease to live unless there fall by my hand this night a friend or foe of the men of Erin." [a] A sign of enmity. Then it was that the charioteer gave the prick to the steeds. He turned his left board to the hosts till he arrived at Turloch[b] Caille More ('the Creek of the Great Wood') northwards of Cnogba na Rig ('Knowth of the Kings') which is called Ath Gabla ('the Ford of the Fork'). [1]Thereupon Cuchulain went round the host till he came to Ath Grenca.[1] He went into the wood at that place and sprang out of his chariot, and he lopped off a four-pronged fork, root and top, with a single stroke [2]of his sword.[2] He pointed and charred it and put a writing in ogam on its side, and he gave it a long throw from the hinder part of his chariot with the tip of a single hand, in such wise that two-thirds of it sank into the ground and only one-third was above it [3]in the mid part of the stream, so that no chariot could go thereby on this side or that.[3] [b] _Belach_ ('the Pass'), Eg. 1782. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 304. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 305. Then it was that the same two striplings surprised him, namely, the two sons of Nera son of Nuathar son of Tacan, while engaged in that feat. And they vied which of the twain [4]would be the first to fight and contend with Cuchuain, which of them[4] would inflict the first wound upon [W.680.] him and be the first to behead him. Cuchulain turned on them, and straightway he struck off their four heads [1]from themselves [2]Eirr and Indell[2] and [3]from Foich and Fochlam,[3] their drivers,[1] and he fixed a head of each man of them on each of the prongs of the pole. And Cuchulain let the horses of the party go back in the direction of the men of Erin, to return by the same road, their reins loose [4]around their ears[4] and their bellies red and the bodies of the warriors dripping their blood down outside on the ribs of the chariots. [5]Thus he did,[5] for he deemed it no honour nor deemed he it fair to take horses or garments or arms from corpses or from the dead. And then the troops saw the horses of the party that had gone out in advance before them, and the headless bodies of the warriors oozing their blood down on the ribs of the chariots ([6]and their crimsoned trappings upon them[6]). The van of the army waited for the rear to come up, and all were thrown into confusion of striking, that is as much as to say, into a tumult of arms. [4-4] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 306. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 306. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 310. Medb and Fergus and the Manè and the sons of Maga drew near. For in this wise was Medb wont to travel, and nine chariots with her alone; two of these chariots before her, and two chariots behind, and two chariots at either side, and her own chariot in the middle between them. This is why Medb did so, that the turves from the horses' hoofs, or the flakes of foam from the bridle-bits, or the dust of the mighty host or of the numerous throng might not reach the queen's diadem of gold [7]which she wore round her head.[7] "What have we here?" queried Medb. "Not hard to say," each and all made answer; [LL.fo.60.] "the horses of the band that went out before us are here and their bodies lacking their heads in their chariots." They held [W.702.] a council and they felt certain it was the sign of a multitude and of the approach of a mighty host, and that it was the Ulstermen that had come [1]and that it was a battle that had taken place before them on the ford.[1] And this was the counsel they took: to despatch Cormac Conlongas, Conchobar's son, from them to learn what was at the ford; because, even though the Ulstermen might be there, they would not kill the son of their own king. Thereupon Cormac Conlongas, Conchobar's son, set forth and this was the complement with which he went, ten hundred in addition to twenty hundred armed men, to ascertain what was at the ford. And when he was come, he saw naught save the fork in the middle of the ford, with four heads upon it dripping their blood down along the stem of the fork into the stream of the river, [2]and a writing in ogam on the side,[2] and the signs of the two horses and the track of a single chariot-driver and the marks of a single warrior leading out of the ford going therefrom to the eastward. [3]By that time,[3] the nobles of Erin had drawn nigh to the ford and they all began to look closely at the fork. They marvelled and wondered who had set up the trophy. [4]"Are yonder heads those of our people?" Medb asked. "They are our people's, and our chosen ones'," answered Ailill. One of their men deciphered the ogam-writing that was on the side of the fork, to wit: 'A single man cast this fork with but a single hand; and go ye not past it till one man of you throw it with one hand, excepting Fergus.'[4] "What name have ye men of Ulster for this ford till now, Fergus?" asked Ailill. "Ath Grenca,"[a] answered Fergus; "and Ath Gabla ('Ford of the Fork') shall now be its name forever from this fork," said Fergus. And he recited the lay:-- [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 313. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 314. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 314-318. [a] So Stowe; LL. has '_Grena_.' [W.719.] "Grenca's ford shall change its name, From the strong and fierce Hound's deed. Here we see a four-pronged fork, Set to prove all Erin's men! "On two points--as sign of war-- Are Fraech's head and Fochnam's head; On its other points are thrust Err's head and Innell's withal! "And yon ogam on its side, Find, ye druids, in due form, Who has set it upright there? What host drove it in the ground?" (A druid answers:) "Yon forked pole--with fearful strength-- Which thou seest, Fergus, there, One man cut, to welcome us, With one perfect stroke of sword! "Pointed it and shouldered it-- Though this was no light exploit-- After that he flung it down, To uproot for one of you! "Grenca was its name till now-- All will keep its memory-- Fork-ford[a] be its name for aye, From the fork that's in the ford!" [a] That is, _Ath Gabla_. After the lay, spake Ailill: "I marvel and wonder, O Fergus, who could have sharpened the fork and slain with such speed the four that had gone out before us." "Fitter it were to marvel and wonder at him who with a single stroke lopped the fork which thou seest, root and top, pointed and charred it and flung it the length of a throw from the hinder part of his chariot, from the tip of a single hand, so that it sank over two-thirds into the ground and that naught save one-third is above; nor was a hole first dug with his sword, but through a grey stone's flag it was thrust, and thus it is geis for the men of Erin to proceed to the bed of this ford till one of ye pull out the fork with the tip of one hand, even as he erewhile drove it down." "Thou art of our hosts, O Fergus," said Medb; [W.753.] [1]avert this necessity from us,[1] and do thou draw the fork for us from the bed of the ford." "Let a chariot be brought me," cried Fergus, [2]"till I draw it out, that it may be seen that its butt is of one hewing."[2] And a chariot was brought to Fergus, and Fergus laid hold [3]with a truly mighty grip[3] on the fork, and he made splinters and [LL.fo.61a.] scraps of the chariot. "Let another chariot be brought me," cried Fergus. [4]Another[4] chariot was brought to Fergus, and Fergus made a tug at the fork and again made fragments and splinters of the chariot, [5]both its box and its yoke and its wheels.[5] "Again let a chariot be brought me," cried Fergus. And Fergus exerted his strength on the fork, and made pieces and bits of the chariot. There where the seventeen[a] chariots of the Connachtmen's chariots were, Fergus made pieces and bits of them all, and yet he failed to draw the fork from the bed of the ford. "Come now, let it be, O Fergus," cried Medb; "break our people's chariots no more. For hadst thou not been now engaged on this hosting, [6]by this time[6] should we have come to Ulster, driving divers spoils and cattle-herds with us. We wot wherefore thou workest all this, to delay and detain the host till the Ulstermen rise from their 'Pains' and offer us battle, the battle of the Táin." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 322. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 324. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [a] "Fourteen," LU. and YBL. 325 and Eg. 1782. [6-6] Stowe. "Bring me a swift chariot," cried Fergus. And his own chariot was brought to Fergus, and Fergus gave a tug at the fork, and nor wheel nor floor nor one of the chariot-poles creaked nor cracked. Even though it was with his strength and prowess that the one had driven it down, with his might and doughtiness the other drew it out,--the battle-champion, the gap-breaker of hundreds, the crushing sledge, the stone-of-battle for enemies, the [W.777.] head of retainers, the foe of hosts, the hacking of masses, the flaming torch and the leader of mighty combat. He drew it up with the tip of one hand till it reached the slope of his shoulder, and he placed the fork in Ailill's hand. Ailill scanned it; he regarded it near. "The fork, meseems, is all the more perfect," quoth Ailill; "for a single stroke I see on it from butt to top." "Aye, all the more perfect," Fergus replied. And Fergus began to sing praise [1]of Cuchulain,[1] and he made a lay thereon:-- "Here behold the famous fork, By which cruel Cuchulain stood. Here he left, for hurt to all, Four heads of his border-foes! "Surely he'd not flee therefrom, 'Fore aught man, how brave or bold. Though the scatheless[a] Hound this left, On its hard rind there is gore! "To its hurt the host goes east, Seeking Cualnge's wild Brown bull. [2]Warriors' cleaving there shall be,[2] 'Neath Cuchulain's baneful sword! "No gain will their[b] stout bull be, For which sharp-armed war will rage; At the fall of each head's skull Erin's every tribe shall weep! "I have nothing to relate As regards Dechtirè's son.[c] Men and women hear the tale Of this fork, how it came here!" [1-1] Stowe. [a] Literally, 'painless,' referring to Cuchulain's exemption from the _cess_ or 'debility' of the Ulstermen. [2-2] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13. [b] Translating from Stowe; LL. has 'his' or 'its.' [c] That is, Cuchulain. After this lay: "Let us pitch our booths and tents," said Ailill, "and let us make ready food and drink, and let us sing songs and strike up harps, and let us eat and [W.807.] regale ourselves, for, of a truth, never before nor since knew the men of Erin a night of encampment or of entrenchment that held sorer discomfort or distress for them than yester-night. [1]Let us give heed to the manner of folk to whom we go and let us hear somewhat of their deeds and famous tales."[1] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 329-330. They raised their booths and pitched their tents. They got ready [LL.fo.61b.] their food and drink, and songs were sung and harping intoned by them, and feasting and eating indulged in, [2]and they were told of the feats of Cuchulain.[2] [2-2] LU. and YBL. 331. And Ailill inquired of Fergus: "I marvel and wonder who could have come to us to our lands and slain so quickly the four that had gone out before us. Is it likely that Conchobar son of Fachtna Fatach ('the Mighty'), High King of Ulster, has come to us?" "It is never likely that he has," Fergus answered; "for a shame it would be to speak ill of him in his absence. There is nothing he would not stake for the sake of his honour. For if he had come hither [3]to the border of the land[3], there would have come armies and troops and the pick of the men of Erin that are with him. And even though against him in one and the same place, and in one mass and one march and one camp, and on one and the same hill were the men of Erin and Alba, Britons and Saxons, he would give them battle, before him they would break and it is not he that would be routed." [3-3] LU. and YBL. 333. "A question, then: Who would be like to have come to us? Is it like that Cuscraid Mend ('the Stammerer') of Macha would have come, Conchobar's son, from Inis Cuscraid?" "Nay then, it is not; he, the son of the High King," Fergus answered. "There is nothing he would not hazard for the sake of his honour. For were it he that had come hither, there would have come the [W.827.] sons of kings and the royal leaders [1]of Ulster and Erin[1] that are serving as hirelings with him. And though there might be against him in one and the same place, in one mass and one march and one camp, and on one and the same hill the men of Erin and Alba, Britons and Saxons, he would give them battle, before him they would break and it is not he that would be routed." [1-1] Stowe. "I ask, then, whether Eogan son of Durthacht, King of Fernmag, would have come?" "In sooth, it is not likely. For, had he come hither, the pick of the men of Fernmag would have come with him, battle he would give them, before him they would break, and it is not he that would be routed." "I ask, then: Who would be likely to have come to us? Is it likely that he would have come, Celtchai son of Uthechar?" "No more is it likely that it was he. A shame it would be to make light of him in his absence, him the battle-stone for the foes of the province, the head of all the retainers and the gate-of-battle of Ulster. And even should there be against him in one place and one mass and one march and one camp, and on one and the same hill all the men of Erin from the west to the east, from the south to the north, battle he would give them, before him they would break and it is not he that would be routed." "I ask, then: Who would be like to have come to us?" [2]asked Ailill.[2] [3]"I know not," Fergus replied,[3] "unless it be the little lad, my nursling and Conchobar's. Cuchulain ('the Wolf-dog of Culann the Smith') he is called. [4]He is the one who could have done the deed," answered Fergus. "He it is who could have lopped the tree with one blow from its root, could have killed the four with the quickness wherewith they were killed and could have come to the border with his charioteer."[4] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 337-340. [W.843.] "Of a truth," spake Ailill, "I heard from ye of this little boy once on a time in Cruachan. What might be the age of this little boy now?" "It is by no means his age that is most formidable in him," answered Fergus. "Because, manful were his deeds, those of that lad, at a time when he was younger than he [1]now[1] is. [2]In his fifth year he went in quest of warlike deeds among the lads of Emain Macha. In his sixth[a] year he went to learn skill in arms and feats with Scathach,[2] [3]and he went to woo Emer;[3] [4]in his seventh[b] year he took arms; in his seventeenth year he is at this time."[4] "How so!" exclaimed Medb. "Is there even now amongst the Ulstermen one his equal in age that is more redoubtable than he?" "We have not found there [5]a man-at-arms that is harder,[5] [6]nor a point that is keener, more terrible nor quicker,[6] nor a more bloodthirsty wolf, [7]nor a raven more flesh-loving,[7] nor a wilder warrior, nor a match of his age that would reach to a third or a fourth [LL.fo.62a.] the likes of Cuchulain. Thou findest not there," Fergus went on, "a hero his peer, [8]nor a lion that is fiercer, nor a plank of battle,[8] nor a sledge of destruction, [9]nor a gate of combat,[9] nor a doom of hosts, nor a contest of valour that would be of more worth than Cuchulain. Thou findest not there one that could equal his age and his growth, [10]his dress[10] [11]and his terror,[11] his size and his splendour, [12]his fame and his voice, his shape and his power,[12] his form and his speech, his strength and his feats and his valour, [13]his smiting, his heat and his anger,[13] his dash, his assault and attack, his dealing of [W.857.] doom and affliction, his roar, his speed, his fury, his rage, and his quick triumph with the feat of nine men on each sword's point[a] above him, like unto Cuchulain." [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 342-345. [a] 'Seventh,' YBL. 344. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 345. [4-4] LU. 346-347, and, similarly, YBL. [b] "Eight," YBL. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 349. [6-6] LU. 349-350. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 350. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 351-352. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 352. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 354. [11-11] YBL. 354. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 355-356. [13-13 LU. and YBL. 356-357. [a] Reading with Stowe, LU. and YBL. 359, which is more intelligible than 'on each hair,' which is the translation of LL. "We make not much import of him," quoth Medb. "It is but a single body he has; he shuns being wounded; he avoids being taken. They do say his age is but that of a girl to be wed. [1]His deeds of manhood have not yet come,[1] nor will he hold out against tried men, this young, beardless elf-man of whom thou spokest." [2]"We say not so,"[2] replied Fergus, "for manful were the deeds of the lad at a time when he was younger than he [3]now[3] is." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 363. [2-2] 'That is not true,' Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 46] VII THE YOUTHFUL EXPLOITS OF CUCHULAIN [W.865.] "Now this lad was reared in the house of his father and mother at Dairgthech[1] ('the Oak House' (?)), namely, in the plain of Murthemne, and the tales of the youths of Emain were told to him. [2]For there are [3]always[3] thrice fifty boys at play there," said Fergus.[2] "Forasmuch as in this wise Conchobar passed his reign ever since he, the king, assumed his sovereignty, to wit: As soon as he arose, forthwith in settling the cares and affairs of the province; thereafter, the day he divided in three: first, the first third he spent a-watching the youths play games of skill and of hurling; the next third of the day, a-playing draughts and chess, and the last third a-feasting on meat and [4]a-quaffing[4] ale, till sleep possessed them all, the while minstrels and harpers lulled him to sleep. For all that I am a long time in banishment because of him, I give my word," said Fergus, "there is not in Erin nor in Alba a warrior the like of Conchobar." [1] Reading with LU. and YBL. 367. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 368-369. [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 371. "And the lad was told the tales of the boys and the boy-troop in Emain; and the child said to his mother, he would go to have part in the games on the play-field of Emain. "It is too soon for thee, little son," said his mother; "wait till there go with thee a champion of the champions of [W.880.] Ulster, or some of the attendants of Conchobar to enjoin thy protection and thy safety on the boy-troop." "I think it too long for that, my mother," the little lad answered, "I will not wait for it. But do thou show me what place lies Emain [1]Macha."[1] [2]"Northwards, there;[2] it is far away from thee," said his mother, "the place wherein it lies, [3]and the way is hard.[3] Sliab Fuait lies between thee and Emain." "At all hazards, I will essay it," he answered. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 376-377. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 377. "The boy fared forth and took his playthings with him. [4]His little lath-shield[4] he took, and his hurley of bronze and his ball of silver; and he took his little javelin for throwing; and his toy-staff he took with its fire-hardened butt-end, and he began to shorten the length of his journey with them. He would give the ball a stroke [LL.fo.62b.] with the hurl-bat, so that he sent it a long distance from him. Then with a second throw he would cast his hurley so that it went a distance no shorter than the first throw. He would hurl his little darts, and let fly his toy-staff, and make a wild chase after them. Then he would catch up his hurl-bat and pick up the ball and snatch up the dart, and the stock of the toy-staff had not touched the ground when he caught its tip which was in the air. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 380. "He went his way to the mound-seat of Emain, where was the boy-troop. Thrice fifty youths were with Folloman, Conchobar's son, at their games on the fair-green of Emain. "The little lad went on to the play-field into the midst of the boys, and he whipped the ball between his two legs away from them, nor did he suffer it to travel higher up than the top of his knee, nor did he let it lower down than his ankle, and he drove it and held it between his two legs and not one of the boys was able to get a prod nor a stroke nor a blow nor a shot at it, so that he carried it over the [W.904.] brink of the goal away from them. [1]Then he goes to the youths without binding them to protect him. For no one used to approach them on their play-field without first securing from them a pledge of protection. He was weetless thereof.[1] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 382-384. "Then they all gazed upon him. They wondered and marvelled. "Come, boys!" cried Folloman, Conchobar's son, [2]"the urchin insults us.[2] Throw yourselves all on yon fellow, and his death shall come at my hands; for it is geis among you for any youth to come into your game, without first entrusting his safety to you. And do you all attack him together, for we know that yon wight is some one of the heroes of Ulster; and they shall not make it their wont to break into your sports without first entrusting their safety and protection to you." [2-2] LU. and YBL. 384-385. "Thereupon they all set upon him together. They cast their thrice fifty hurl-bats at the poll of the boy's head. He raises his single toy-staff and wards off the thrice fifty hurlies, [3]so that they neither hurt him nor harm him,[3] [4]and he takes a load of them on his back.[4] Then they throw their thrice fifty balls at the lad. He raises his upper arm and his forearm and the palms of his hands [5]against them[5] and parries the thrice fifty balls, [6]and he catches them, each single ball in his bosom.[6] They throw at him the thrice fifty play-spears charred at the end. The boy raises his little lath-shield [7]against them[7] and fends off the thrice fifty play-staffs, [8]and they all remain stuck in his lath-shield.[8] [9]Thereupon contortions took hold of him. Thou wouldst have weened it was a hammering wherewith each hair was hammered into his head, with such an uprising it rose. Thou wouldst have weened it was a spark of fire that was on every single hair there. He closed one of his eyes so that it was no wider than the eye of a needle. He opened the other wide so that it was as big as the mouth of a mead-cup.[a] He stretched his mouth from his jaw-bones to his ears; he opened his mouth wide to his jaw so that his gullet was seen. The champion's light rose up from his crown.[9] [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 391. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 389. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 387. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 391-397. [a] Or, 'a wooden beaker,' YBL. 395. [W.919.] "It was then he ran in among them. He scattered fifty king's sons of them over the ground underneath him [1]before they got to the gate of Emain.[1] Five[b] of them," Fergus continued, "dashed headlong between me and Conchobar, where we were playing chess, even on Cennchaem ('Fair-head') [2]the chessboard of Conchobar,[2] on the mound-seat of Emain. The little boy pursued them to cut them off. [3]Then he sprang over the chessboard after the nine.[3] Conchobar seized the little lad by the wrists. "Hold, little boy. I see 'tis not gently thou dealest with the boy-band." "Good reason I have," quoth the little lad. [4]"From home, from mother and father I came to play with them, and they have not been good to me.[4] I had not a guest's honour at the hands of the boy-troop on my arrival, for all that I came from far-away lands." "How is that? Who art thou, [5]and what is thy name?"[5] asked Conchobar. "Little Setanta am I, son of Sualtaim. Son am I to Dechtirè, thine own sister; and not through thee did I expect to be thus aggrieved." "How so, little one?" said Conchobar. "Knewest thou not that it is forbidden among the boy-troop, that it is geis for them for any boy to approach them in their land without first claiming his protection from them?" "I knew it not," said the lad. [W.932.] "Had I known it, I would have been on my guard against them." "Good, now, ye boys," Conchobar cried; "take ye upon you the protection of the little lad." "We grant it, indeed," they made answer. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 398. [b] 'Nine,' LU. and YBL. 399 and Eg. 1782. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 400. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 403-404. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 405. "The little lad went [LL.fo.63a.] [1]into the game again[1] under the protection of the boy-troop. Thereupon they loosed hands from him, and once more he rushed amongst them [2]throughout the house.[2] He laid low fifty of their princes on the ground under him. Their fathers thought it was death he had given them. That was it not, but stunned they were with front-blows and mid-blows and long-blows. "Hold!" cried Conchobar. "Why art thou yet at them?" "I swear by my gods whom I worship" (said the boy) "they shall all come under my protection and shielding, as I have put myself under their protection and shielding. Otherwise I shall not lighten my hands off them until I have brought them all to earth." "Well, little lad, take thou upon thee the protection of the boy-troop." "I grant it, indeed," said the lad. Thereupon the boy-troop went under his protection and shielding. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 410. "[3]Then they all went back to the play-field, and the boys whom he had overthrown there arose. Their nurses and tutors helped them. "Now, once upon a time," continued Fergus, "when he was a gilla, he slept not in Emain Macha till morning." "Tell me," Conchobar said to him, "why sleepest thou not [4]in Emain Macha, Cuchulain?"[4] "I sleep not, unless it be equally high at my head and my feet." Then Conchobar had a pillar-stone set up at his head and another at his feet, and between them a bed apart was made for him. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 413-481. [4-4] YBL. 418. "Another time a certain man went to wake him, and the lad struck him with his fist in [1]the neck or in[1] the forehead, so that it drove in the front of his forehead on to his brain and he overthrew the pillar-stone with his forearm." "It is known," exclaimed Ailill, "that that was the fist of a champion and the arm of a hero." "And from that time," continued Fergus, "no one durst wake him, so that he used to wake of himself. [1-1] Eg. 1782. "Then, another time, he played ball on the play-field east of Emain, and he was alone on one side against the thrice fifty boys. He always worsted in every game in the east (?) in this way. Thereafter the lad began to use his fists on them, so that fifty boys of them died thereof. He took to flight then, till he took refuge under the cushion of Conchobar's couch. The Ulstermen sprang up all around him. I, too, sprang up, and Conchobar, thereat. The lad himself rose up under the couch, so that he hove up the couch and the thirty warriors that were on it withal, so that he bore it into the middle of the house. Straightway the Ulstermen sat around him in the house. We settled it then," continued Fergus, "and reconciled the boy-troop to him afterwards. "The broil of war arose between Ulster and Eogan son of Durthacht. The Ulstermen go forth to the war. The lad Setanta is left behind asleep. The men of Ulster are beaten. Conchobar and Cuscraid Menn ('the Stammerer') of Macha are left on the field and many besides them. Their groans awaken the lad. Thereat he stretches himself, so that the two stones are snapped that are near him. This took place in the presence of Bricriu yonder," Fergus added. "Then he gets up. I meet him at the door of the liss, I being severely wounded. "Hey, God keep thy life,[a] O Fergus my master," says he; "where is Conchobar?" "I know not," I answer. Thereupon he goes out. The night is dark. He makes for the battlefield, until he sees before him a man and half his head on him and half of another man on his back. "Help me, Cuchulain," he cries; "I have been stricken, and I bear on my back half of my brother. Carry it for me a while." "I will not carry it," says he. Thereupon the man throws the load at him. Cuchulain throws it back from him. They grapple with one another. Cuchulain is overthrown. Then I heard something. It was Badb[a] from the corpses: "Ill the stuff of a warrior that is there under the feet of a phantom." Thereat Cuchulain arises from underneath him, and he strikes off his head with his playing-stick and proceeds to drive the ball before him over the field of battle. [a] A Christian salutation. [a] The war-fury. "Is my master Conchobar on this battle-field?" That one makes answer. He goes towards him, to where he espies him in a ditch and the earth piled around him on both sides to hide him. "Wherefore art thou come to the battle-field?" Conchobar asks; "is it that thou mightst see mortal terror there?" Then Cuchulain lifts him out of the ditch. The six strong men of Ulster that were with us could not have lifted him out more bravely. "Get thee before us to yonder house," says Conchobar, [1]"to make me a fire there." He kindles a great fire for him. "Good now," quoth Conchobar,[1] "if one would bring me a roast pig, I would live." "I will go fetch it," says Cuchulain. Thereupon he sallies out, when he sees a man at a cooking-pit in the heart of the wood. One of his hands holds his weapons therein, the other roasts the pork. Ill-favoured, indeed, is the man. For the which, Cuchulain attacks him and takes his head and his pig with him. Conchobar eats the pig then. "Let us go to our house," says Conchobar. They meet Cuscraid son of Conchobar and there were heavy wounds on him. Cuchulain carries him on his back. The three then proceed to Emain Macha. [1-1] YBL. 461. "Another time the Ulstermen were in their 'Pains.' Now, there was no 'Pains' amongst us," Fergus continued, "in women or boys, nor in any one outside the borders of Ulster, nor in Cuchulain and his father. [1]It was for this reason no one dared shed the blood of the men of Ulster, for that the 'Pains' fell on the one that wounded them.[1] There came thrice nine men from the Isles of Faiche. They pass over our rear fort, the whiles we are in our 'Pains.' The women scream in the fort. The youths are in the play-field. They come at the cry. When the boys catch sight of the swarthy men, they all take to flight save Cuchulain alone. He hurls the hand-stones and his playing-staff at them. He slays nine of them and they leave fifty wounds on him and proceed thence on their journey.[3] [1-1] LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, page 19, note 23. [3-3] LU., and YBL. 413-481; see page 50. [W.947.] "A youngster did that deed," Fergus continued, "at the close of five years after his birth, when he overthrew the sons of champions and warriors at the very door of their liss and dûn. No need is there of wonder or surprise, [2]if he should do great deeds,[2] if he should come to the confines of the land, if he should cut off the four-pronged fork, if he should slay one man or two men or three men or four men, when there are seventeen full years of him now on the Cattle-lifting of Cualnge." [4]"In sooth, then, we know that youth," spoke out Conall Cernach ('the Victorious'), "and it is all the better we should know him, for he is a fosterling of our own."[4] [2-2] Eg. 1782. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 484-485. * * * * * [Page 54] VIIa THE SLAYING OF THE SMITH'S HOUND BY CUCHULAIN, AND THE REASON HE IS CALLED CUCHULAIN [W.956.] Then it was that Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar spake: "Again that little lad performed a second deed in the following year." "What deed was that?" asked Ailill. [1]"A goodly smith there was in the land of Ulster, Culann the Smith, by name.[1] He made ready a feast for Conchobar and set out for Emain to invite him. He made known to him that only a few should come with him, that he should bring none but a true guest along, forasmuch as it was not a domain or lands of his own that he had, but [2]the fruit of his two hands,[2] his sledges and anvils, his fists and his tongs. Conchobar replied that only a few would go to him. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU and YBL 489. "Culann went back to the stithy to prepare and make ready meat and drink [3]in readiness for the king.[3] Conchobar sat in Emain till it was time to set out [4]for the feast,[4] till came the close of the day. The king put his fine, light travelling apparel about him, [5]and went with fifty chariot-chiefs of those that were noblest and most illustrious of the heroes,[5] and betook him to the boys [6]before starting,[6] to bid them farewell. [7]It was always [W.968.] his custom to visit and revisit them when going and coming, to seek his blessing of the boys.[7] Conchobar came on to the fair-green, and he saw a thing that astounded him: Thrice fifty boys at one end of the green and a single boy at the other, and the single boy won the victory at the goal and at hurling from the thrice fifty boys. When it was at hole-play they were--a game of hole that used to be played on the fair-green of Emain--and it was their turn to drive and his to keep guard, he would catch the thrice fifty balls just outside of the hole, and not one went by him into the hole. When it was their turn to keep guard and his to drive, he would send the thrice fifty balls into the hole without fail, [1]and the boys were unable to ward them off.[1] When it was at tearing off each other's garments they played, he would strip off them their thrice fifty suits [2]so that they were quite naked,[2] and they were not able all of them to take as much as the brooch from his mantle. When it was at wrestling they were, he would throw those same thrice fifty boys to the ground under him, and they did not succeed all of them around him in lifting him up. Conchobar looked with wonder at the little lad. "O, ye youths," cried [LL.fo.63b.] Conchobar. "Hail to the land whence cometh the lad ye see, if the deeds of his manhood shall be such as are those of his boyhood!" "Tis not just to speak thus," exclaimed Fergus; "e'en as the little lad grows, so will his deeds of manhood grow with him." "The little lad shall be called to us, that he may come with us to enjoy the feast to which we go." The little lad was summoned to Conchobar. "Good, my lad," said Conchobar. "Come thou with us to enjoy the feast whereto we go, [3]for thou art a guest."[3] "Nay, but I will not go," the little boy answered. "How so?" asked Conchobar. [W.990.] "Forasmuch as the boys have not yet had their fill of games and of sport, and I will not leave them till they have had enough play." "It is too long for us to await thee till then, little boy, and by no means shall we wait." "Go then before us," said the little boy, "and I will follow after ye." "Thou knowest naught of the way, little boy," said Conchobar. "I will follow the trail of the company and of the horses and chariots." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 489-491. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 492-494. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 497. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 502. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 507. "Thereafter Conchobar came to the house of Culann the Smith. The king was waited upon and all were shown honour, as befitted their rank and calling and privileges, nobility and gentle accomplishment. Straw and fresh rushes were spread out under them. They commenced to carouse and make merry. Culann inquired of Conchobar: "Hast thou, O king, appointed any to come after thee this night to this dûn?" "No, I appointed no one," replied Conchobar, for he had forgotten the little lad whom he had charged to come after him. "Why so?" asked Conchobar. "An excellent bloodhound have I, [1]that was brought from Spain.[1] [2]There are three[a] chains upon him, and three men at each chain. Because of our goods and our cattle he is slipped and the liss is closed.[2] When his dog-chain is loosed from him, no one dares approach the same cantred with him to make a course or a circuit, and he knows no one but myself. The power of hundreds is in him for strength." Then spake Conchobar, "Let the dûn be opened for the ban-dog, that he may guard the cantred." The dog-chain is taken off the ban-dog, and he makes a swift round of the cantred. And he comes to the mound whereon he was wont to keep guard of the stead, and there he was, his head couched on his paws, and wild, untameable, furious, savage, ferocious, ready for fight was the dog that was there. [1-1] LU. 513. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 512-513. [a] 'four,' Eg. 1782. [W.1013.] "As for the boys: They were in Emain until the time came for them to disperse. Each of them went to the house of his father and mother, of his foster-mother and foster-father. Then the little lad went on the trail of the party, till he reached the house of Culann the Smith. He began to shorten the way as he went with his play-things. [1]He threw his ball and threw his club after it, so that it hit the ball. The one throw was no greater than the other. Then he threw his staff after them both, so that it reached the ball and the club before ever they fell.[1] [2]Soon the lad came up.[2] When he was nigh to the green of the fort wherein were Culann and Conchobar, he threw all his play-things before him except only the ball. The watch-dog descried the lad and bayed at him, so that in all the countryside was heard the howl of the watch-hound. And not a division of feasting was what he was inclined to make of him, but to swallow him down at one gulp past the cavity [LL.fo.64a.] of his chest and the width of his throat and the pipe of his breast. [3]And it interfered not with the lad's play, although the hound made for him.[3] And the lad had not with him any means of defence, but he hurled an unerring cast of the ball, so that it passed through the gullet of the watch-dog's neck and carried the guts within him out through his back door, and he laid hold of the hound by the two legs and dashed him against a pillar-stone [4]that was near him, so that every limb of him sprang apart,[4] so that he broke into bits all over the ground.[a] Conchobar heard the yelp of the ban-dog. [5]Conchobar and his people could not move; they weened they would not find the lad alive before them.[5] "Alas, O warriors," cried Conchobar; "in no good luck [W.1029.] have we come to enjoy this feast." "How so?" asked all. "The little lad who has come to meet me, my sister's son, Setanta son of Sualtaim, is undone through the hound." As one man, arose all the renowned men of Ulster. Though a door of the hostel was thrown wide open, they all rushed in the other direction out over the palings of the fortress. But fast as they all got there, faster than all arrived Fergus, and he lifted the little lad from the ground on the slope of his shoulder and bore him into the presence of Conchobar. [1]They put him on Conchobar's knee. A great alarm arose amongst them that the king's sister's son should have been all but killed.[1] And Culann came out, and he saw his slaughter-hound in many pieces. He felt his heart beating against his breast. Whereupon he went into the dûn. "Welcome thy coming, little lad," said Culann, "because of thy mother and father, but not welcome is thy coming for thine own sake. [2]Yet would that I had not made a feast."[2] "What hast thou against the lad?" queried Conchobar. "Not luckily for me hast thou come to quaff my ale and to eat my food; for my substance is now a wealth gone to waste, and my livelihood is a livelihood lost [3]now after my dog.[3] [4]He hath kept honour and life for me.[4] Good was the friend thou hast robbed me of, [5]even my dog,[5] in that he tended my herds and flocks and stock for me; [6]he was the protection of all our cattle, both afield and at home."[6] "Be not angered thereat, O Culann my master," said the little boy. [7]"It is no great matter,[7] for I will pass a just judgement upon it." "What judgement thereon wilt thou pass, lad?" Conchobar asked. "If there is a whelp of the breed of that dog in Erin, he shall be reared by me till he be fit to do [W.1049.] business as was his sire. [1]Till then[1] myself will be the hound to protect his flocks and his cattle and his land [2]and even himself[2] in the meanwhile. [3]And I will safeguard the whole plain of Murthemne, and no one will carry off flock nor herd without that I know it."[3] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 515-518. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 514. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 518-519. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 525. [a] According to the LU.-YBL. version, Cuchulain seized the hound with one hand by the apple of the throat and with the other by the back. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 519-521. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 529-530. [2-2] LU and YBL. 532. [3-3] Stowe, YBL. and LU. 533-534. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 334. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 535. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 536. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 537. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Literally, 'thyself,' LU. and YBL. 539. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 540-541. "Well hast thou given judgement, little lad," said Conchobar. "In sooth, we [4]ourselves[4] could not give one that would be better," said Cathba.[a] "Why should it not be from this that thou shouldst take the name Cuchulain, ('Wolfhound of Culann')?" "Nay, then," answered the lad; "dearer to me mine own name, Setanta son of Sualtaim." "Say not so, lad," Cathba continued; "for the men of Erin and Alba shall hear that name and the mouths of the men of Erin and Alba shall be full of that name!" "It pleaseth me so, whatever the name that is given me," quoth the little lad. Hence the famous name that stuck to him, namely Cuchulain, after he had killed the hound that was Culann's the Smith's. [4-4] Stowe. [a] The name of Conchobar's druid. "A little lad did that deed," [LL.fo.64b.] added Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar, "when he had completed six years after his birth, when he slew the watch-dog that hosts nor companies dared not approach in the same cantred. No need would there be of wonder or of surprise if he should come to the edge of the marches, if he should cut off the four-pronged fork, if he should slay one man or two men or three men or four men, now when his seventeen years are completed on the Cattle-driving of Cualnge!" * * * * * [Page 60] VIIb [1]THE TAKING OF ARMS BY CUCHULAIN AND[1] [2]THE SLAYING OF THE THREE SONS OF NECHT SCENE IS NOW TOLD HERE[2] [W.1068.] "The little lad performed a third deed in the following year," said Fiachu son of Firaba. "What deed performed he?" asked Ailill. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. fo. 61a, in the margin. "Cathba the druid was [3]with his son, namely Conchobar son of Ness,[3] imparting [4]learning[4] to his pupils in the north-east of Emain, and eight[a] [5]eager[5] pupils in the class of druidic cunning were with him. [6]That is the number that Cathba instructed.[6] [7]One of them[7] questioned his teacher, what fortune and presage might there be for the day they were in, whether it was good or whether it was ill. Then spake Cathba: "The little boy that takes arms [8]this day[8] shall be splendid and renowned [9]for deeds of arms[9] [10]above the youths of Erin [11]and the tales of his high deeds shall be told[11] forever,[10] but he shall be short-lived and fleeting." Cuchulain overheard what he said, though far off at his play-feats south-west of Emain; and he threw away all his play-things and hastened to Conchobar's sleep-room [12]to ask for arms.[12] "All [W.1077.] good attend thee, O king of the Fenè!" cried the little lad. "This greeting is the speech of one soliciting something of some one. What wouldst thou, lad?" said Conchobar. "To take arms," the lad made answer. "Who hath advised thee, little boy?" asked Conchobar. "Cathba the druid," said the lad. "He would not deceive thee, little boy," said Conchobar. Conchobar gave him two spears and a sword and a shield. The little boy shook and brandished the arms [1]in the middle of the house[1] so that he made small pieces and fragments of them. Conchobar gave him other two spears and a shield and a sword. He shook and brandished, flourished and poised them, so that he shivered them into small pieces and fragments. There where were the fourteen[a] suits of arms which Conchobar had in Emain, [2]in reserve in case of breaking of weapons or[2] for equipping the youths and the boys--to the end that whatever boy assumed arms, it might be Conchobar that gave him the equipment of battle, and the victory of cunning would be his thenceforward--even so, this little boy made splinters and fragments of them all. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 547. [4-4] Stowe. [a] 'One hundred' is the number in LU. and YBL. 547. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 548. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 548. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 550. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 551. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 551-552. [11-11] Stowe. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 553. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 557. [a] 'Fifteen,' LU. and YBL. 556; 'seventeen,' Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 557. "Truly these arms here are not good, O Conchobar my master," the stripling cried. "Herefrom cometh not what is worthy of me." Conchobar gave him his own two spears and his shield and his sword. He shook and he brandished, he bent and he poised them so that tip touched butt, and he brake not the arms and they bore up against him, [3]and he saluted the king whose arms they were.[3] "Truly, these arms are good," said the little boy; "they are suited to me. Hail to the king whose arms and equipment these are. Hail to the land whereout he is come!" [3-3] LU. and YBL. 559-560. "Then Cathba the druid chanced to come into the tent, and what he said was, "Hath he yonder taken arms?" [W.1101.] Cathba asked. "Aye, then, it must be," Conchobar answered. "Not by [1]his[1] mother's son would I wish them to be taken this day," said Cathba. "How so? Was it not thyself advised him?" Conchobar asked. "Not I, in faith," replied Cathba. "What mean'st thou, bewitched elf-man?" cried Conchobar [2]to Cuchulain.[2] "Is it a lie thou hast told us?" [LL.fo.65a.] "But be not wroth [3]thereat,[3] O my master Conchobar," said the little boy. [4]"No lie have I told;[4] for yet is it he that advised me, [5]when he taught his other pupils this morning.[5] For his pupil asked him what luck might lie in the day, and he said: The youth that took arms on this day would be illustrious and famous, [6]that his name would be over the men of Erin for ever, and that no evil result would be on him thereafter,[6] except that he would be fleeting and short-lived. [7]To the south of Emain I heard him, and then I came to thee."[7] "That I avow to be true," spake Cathba. [8]"Good indeed is the day,[8] glorious and renowned shalt thou be, [9]the one that taketh arms,[9] yet passing and short lived!" "Noble the gift!" cried Cuchulain. [10]"Little it recks me,[10] though I should be but one day and one night in the world, if only the fame of me and of my deeds live after me!" [1-1] Reading with Stowe, LU. and YBL. 563. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 566. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 567. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 567. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 568. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 569. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 570. [10-10] Stowe. "[11] Another day one of them asked of the druids for what that day would be propitious. "The one that mounts a chariot to-day," Cathba answered, "his name will be renowned over Erin for ever." Now Cuchulain heard that. He went to Conchobar and said to him, "O Conchobar my master, give me a chariot!" He gave him a chariot.[11] [W.1113.] "Come, lad, mount the chariot, for this is the next thing for thee." [11-11] LU. and YBL. 573-577. "He mounted the chariot. [1]He put his hands between the two poles of the chariot,[1] and the first chariot he mounted withal he shook and tossed about him till he reduced it to splinters and fragments. He mounted the second chariot, so that he made small pieces and fragments of it in like manner. Further he made pieces of the third chariot. There where were the seventeen[a] chariots which Conchobar kept for the boy-troop and youths in Emain, the lad made small pieces and fragments of them and they did not withstand him. "These chariots here are not good, O my master Conchobar," said the little boy; "my merit cometh not from them." "Where is Ibar[b] son of Riangabair?" asked Conchobar. "Here, in sooth, am I," Ibar answered. "Take with thee mine own two steeds for him yonder, and yoke my chariot." Thereupon the charioteer took the horses and yoked the chariot. Then the little boy mounted the chariot [2]and Conchobar's charioteer with him.[2] He shook the chariot about him, and it withstood him, and he broke it not. "Truly this chariot is good," cried the lad, "and this chariot is suited to me." [3]The charioteer turned the chariot under him.[3] "Prithee, little boy," said Ibar, [4]"come out[c] of the chariot now[4] and let the horses out on their pasture." "It is yet too soon, O Ibar," the lad answered. [5]"The horses are fair. I, too, am fair, their little lad.[5] [6]Only[6] let us go on a circuit of Emain to-day [7]and thou shalt have a reward therefor,[7] to-day being my first day of [W.1132.] taking arms, to the end that it be a victory of cunning for me." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 578. [a] 'Twelve,' LU. and YBL. 579. [b] The name of Conchobar's charioteer. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 580-581 and Eg. 1782. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 581. [c] Following the emendation suggested by Strachan and O'Keeffe, page 23, note 21. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 582. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 583. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 584. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 585. "Thrice they made the circuit of Emain. "Leave the horses now to their grazing, O little boy," said Ibar. "It is yet too soon, O Ibar," the little lad answered; "let us keep on, that the boys may give me a blessing to-day the first day of my taking arms." They kept their course to the place where the boys were. "Is it arms he yonder has taken?" each one asked. "Of a truth, are they." "May it be for victory, for first wounding and triumph. But we deem it too soon for thee to take arms, because thou departest from us at the game-feats." "By no means will I leave ye, but for luck I took arms this day." "Now, little boy, leave the horses to their grazing," said Ibar. "It is still too soon for that, O Ibar," the lad answered. [1]"Ply the goad on the horses," said he. "What way, then?" the charioteer asked. "As far as the road shall lead," answered Cuchulain.[1] "And this great road winding by us, what way leads it?" the lad asked. "What is that to thee?" Ibar answered. "But thou art a pleasant wight, I trow, little lad," quoth Ibar. "I wish, fellow, to inquire about the high-road of the province, what stretch it goes?" "To Ath na Foraire ('the Ford of Watching') in Sliab Fuait it goes," Ibar answered. "Wherefore is it called 'the Ford of Watching,' knowest thou?" "Yea, I know it well," Ibar made answer. "A stout warrior of Ulster is on watch and on guard there [2]every day,[2] so that there come no strange youths into Ulster to challenge them to battle, and he is a champion to give battle in behalf of the whole province. Likewise if men of song leave the Ulstermen [LL.fo.65b.] and the province in dudgeon, he is there to soothe them by proffering treasures and valuables, and so to save the honour of the province. Again, if men of song [W.1155.] enter the land, he is the man that is their surety that they win the favour of Conchobar, so that songs and lays made for him will be the first to be sung after their arrival in Emain." "Knowest thou who is at the ford to-day?" "Yea, I know," Ibar answered; "Conall Cernach ('the Triumphant'), the heroic, warlike son of Amargin, royal champion of Erin," Ibar answered. "Thither guide us, fellow, that so we reach the ford." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 589-590. [2-2] Stowe. "Onwards they drove into sight of the ford where was Conall. [1]Now it fell to Conall Cernach to guard the province that day. For each champion of Ulster spent his day on Sliab Fuait to protect him that came with a lay or to fight with a warrior, so that some one would be there to meet him, in order that none might come to Emain unperceived.[1] "Are those arms he yonder has taken?" asked Conall. "Of a truth, are they," Ibar made answer. "May it be for victory and for triumph and first wounding," said Conall; "but we think it too soon for thee to take arms, because thou art not yet capable of deeds. Were it surety he needed, he that should come hither," he continued, "so wouldst thou furnish a perfect warrant amongst the Ulstermen, and the nobles of the province would rise up to support thee in the contest." "What dost thou here, O Conall my master?" asked the lad. "Watch and ward of the province, lad, I keep here," Conall made answer. "Do thou go home now, O master Conall," said the lad, "and leave me the watch and guard of the province to keep here." "Say not so, little son," replied Conall; [2]"'twould be enough, were it to protect one that came with a song; were it to fight with a man, however, that is still too soon for thee[2]; thou art not yet able to cope with a goodly warrior." "Then, will I keep on to the south," [W.1172.] said the little boy, "to Fertas ('the Bank') of Loch Echtrann for a while; [1]champions are wont to take stand there;[1] perchance I may redden my hands on friend or on foe this day." "I will go, little boy," said Conall, "to save thee, that thou go not alone [2]into peril[2] on the border." "Not so," said the lad. "But I will go," said Conall; "for the men of Ulster will blame me for leaving thee to go alone on the border." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 592-596. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 599-601. [1-1] LU.and YBL. 603. [2-2] Stowe. "Conall's horses were caught for him and his chariot was yoked and he set out to protect the little boy. When Conall came up abreast of him, Cuchulain felt certain that, even though a chance came to him, Conall would not permit him to use it. He picked up a hand-stone from the ground which was the full of his grasp. He hurled it from him [3]from his sling[3] the length of a stone-shot at the yoke of Conall's chariot, so that he broke the chariot-collar[a] in two and thereby Conall fell to the ground, so that the nape of his neck went out from his shoulder. "What have we here, boy?" asked Conall; [4]"why threwest thou the stone?"[4] "It is I threw it to see if my cast be straight, or how I cast at all, or if I have the stuff of a warrior in me." "A bane on thy cast and a bane on thyself as well. E'en though thou leavest thy head this time with thine enemies, I will go no further to protect thee." "'Twas what I craved of thee," answered he; "for it is geis amongst you men of Ulster to proceed, after a mishap has befallen your chariots. [5]Go back[5] [6]to Emain,[6] [7]O Conall, and leave me here to keep watch." "That pleaseth me well," replied Conall.[7] Conall turned back northwards again to the Ford of Watching. [8]Thereafter Conall Cernach went not past that place.[8] [3-3] LU. and YBL. 604. [a] In LU. and YBL., 'the shaft of the chariot.' [4-4] LU. and YBL. 605-606. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 608. [6-6] LU. 608. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 609-610. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 610. [W.1192.] As for the little boy, he fared southwards to Fertas Locha Echtrann. He remained there till the end of the day [1]and they found no one there before them.[1] "If we dared tell thee, little boy," spoke Ibar, "it were time for us to return to Emain [LL.fo.66a.] now; for dealing and carving and dispensing of food is long since begun in Emain, and there is a place assigned for thee there. Every day it is appointed thee to sit between Conchobar's feet, while for me there is naught but to tarry among the hostlers and tumblers of Conchobar's household. [2]For that reason,[2] methinks it is time to have a scramble[a] among them." "Fetch then the horses for us." The charioteer fetched the horses and the lad mounted the chariot. "But, O Ibar, what hill is that there now, the hill to the north?" the lad asked. "Now, that is Sliab Moduirn," Ibar answered. [3]"Let us go and get there," said Cuchulain. Then they go on till they reach it.[3] [4]When they reached the mountain, Cuchulain asked,[4] "And what is that white cairn yonder on the height of the mountain?" "And that is Finncharn ('the White Cairn') of Sliab Moduirn," Ibar answered. "But yonder cairn is beautiful," exclaimed the lad. "It surely is beautiful," Ibar answered. "Lead on, fellow, till we reach yonder cairn." "Well, but thou art both a pleasant and tedious inquisitor, I see," exclaimed Ibar; "but this is my first [5]journey and my first[5] time with thee. It shall be my last time till the very day of doom, if once I get back to Emain." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 612. [2-2] Stowe. [a] Or, more literally, 'a clawing match.' [3-3] LU. and YBL. 615-616. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 616. [5-5] Stowe. "Howbeit they went to the top of the hill. "It is pleasant here, O Ibar," the little boy exclaimed. "Point out to me Ulster on every side, for I am no wise acquainted with the land of my master Conchobar." The horseman [W.1211.] pointed him out Ulster all around him. He pointed him out the hills and the fields and the mounts of the province on every side. He pointed him out the plains and the dûns and the strongholds of the province. "'Tis a goodly sight, O Ibar," exclaimed the little lad. "What is that indented, angular, bordered and glenny plain to the south of us?" "Mag Breg," replied Ibar. "Tell thou to me the buildings and forts of that plain." The gilla taught him [1]the name of every chief dûn between Temair and Cenannas,[1] Temair and Taltiu, Cletech and Cnogba and Brug ('the Fort') of Mac ind Oc. [2]He pointed out to him then[2] the dûn of the [3]three[3] sons of Necht Scenè ('the Fierce'): [4]Foill and Fandall and Tuachall, their names;[4] [5]Fer Ulli son of Lugaid was their father, and Necht [6]from the mouth of the[6] Scenè was their mother. Now the Ulstermen had slain their father; it was for that reason they were at war with Ulster.[5] "But are those not Necht's sons, that boast that not more of the Ulstermen are alive than have fallen at their hands?" "The same, in sooth," answered the gilla. "On with us to the dûn of the macNechta," cried the little boy. "Alas, in truth, that thou sayest so," quoth Ibar; [7]"'tis a peril for us."[7] [8]"Truly, not to avoid it do we go," answered Cuchulain.[8] "We know it is an act of great folly for us to say so, but whoever may go," said Ibar, "it will not be myself." "Living or dead, go there thou shalt," the little boy cried. "'Tis alive I shall go to the south," answered Ibar, "and dead I shall be left at the dûn, I know, even at the dûn of the macNechta." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 620. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 623. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 623. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 624. [5-5] LU. 623, marginal note. [6-6] LU. 623, gloss. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 627. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 628. "They push on to the dûn [1]and they unharness their horses in the place where the bog and the river meet south [W.1227.] of the dûn of the macNechta.[1] And the little boy sprang out of the chariot onto the green. Thus was the green of the dûn, with a pillar-stone upon it and an iron band around that, and a band for prowess it was, and there was a writing in ogam at its joint, and this is the writing it bore: 'Whoever should come to the green, if he be a champion, it is geis for him to depart from the green without giving challenge to single combat.[1] The lad deciphered the writing and put his two arms around the pillar-stone. Just as the pillar-stone was with its ring, he flung it [2]with a cast of his hand[2] into the moat, so that a wave passed over it. "Methinks," spake Ibar, "it is no better now than to be where it was. And we know thou shalt now get on this green the thing thou desirest, even the token of death, yea, of doom and destruction!" [3]For it was the violation of a geis of the sons of Necht Scenè to do that thing.[3] "Good, O Ibar, spread the chariot-coverings and its skins for me that I may [LL.fo.66b.] snatch a little sleep." "Woe is me, that thou sayest so," answered the gilla; "for a foeman's land is this and not a green for diversion." [4]And Cuchulain said to the gilla, "Do not awaken me for a few but awaken me for many."[4] The gilla arranged the chariot-coverings and its skins [5]under Cuchulain, and the lad fell asleep on the green.[5] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 629. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 630. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 631. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 634-635. [5-5] Stowe. "Then came one of the macNechta on to the fair-green, to wit, Foill son of Necht. [6]Then was the charioteer sore afraid, for he durst not waken him, for Cuchulain had told him at first not to waken him for a few.[6] "Unyoke not the horses, gilla," cried Foill. "I am not fain to, at all," answered Ibar; "the reins and the lines are still in my hand." "Whose horses are those, then?" Foill asked. [W.1246.] "Two of Conchobar's horses," answered the gilla; "the two of the dappled heads." "That is the knowledge I have of them. And what hath brought these steeds here to the borders?" "A tender youth that has assumed arms amongst us [1]to-day for luck and good omen,"[1] the horseboy answered, "is come to the edges of the marshes to display his comeliness." "May it not be for victory nor for triumph, [2]his first-taking of arms,"[2] exclaimed Foill. [3]"Let him not stop in our land and let the horses not graze here any longer.[3] If I knew he was fit for deeds, it is dead he should go back northwards to Emain and not alive!" "In good sooth, he is not fit for deeds," Ibar answered; "it is by no means right to say it of him; it is the seventh year since he was taken from the crib. [4]Think not to earn enmity,"[a] Ibar said further to the warrior; "and moreover the child sleepeth."[4] [6-6] LU. and YBL. 635-638. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 641. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 642. [a] That is, the enmity of the Ulstermen by slaying Cuchulain. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 644-645. "The little lad raised his face from the ground and drew his hand over his face, and he became as one crimson wheelball from his crown to the ground. [5]"Not a child am I, at all, but it is to seek battle with a man that this child here is come.[5] Aye, but I am fit for deeds!" the lad cried. [6]"That pleaseth me well," said the champion;[6] "but more like than what thou sayest, meseemeth, thou art not fit for deeds." "Thou wilt know that better if we go to the ford. But, go fetch thy weapons, for I see it is in the guise of a churl thou art come, and I slay nor charioteers nor grooms nor folk without arms." The man went apace after his arms. [7]"Now[7] thou shouldst have a care for us against yonder man [8]that comes to meet thee,[8] little lad," said Ibar. "And why so?" [W.1262.] asked the lad. "Foill son of Necht is the man thou seest. Neither points nor edges of weapons can harm him." "Not before me shouldst thou say that, O Ibar," quoth the lad. "I will put my hand to the lath-trick for him, namely, to the apple of twice-melted iron, and it will light upon the disc of his shield and on the flat of his forehead, and it will carry away the size of an apple of his brain out through the back of his head, so that it will make a sieve-hole outside of his head, till the light of the sky will be visible through his head." [5-5] LU. and YBL. 645-646. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 647. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 649. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 649. "Foill son of Necht came forth. Cuchulain took the lath-trick in hand for him and threw it from him the length of his cast, so that it lighted on the flat of his shield and on the front of his forehead and carried away the bulk of an apple of his brain out through the back of his head, so that it made a sieve-hole thereof outside of his head, till the light of the sky might be seen through his head. [1]He went to him then[1] and struck off the head from the trunk. [2]Thereafter he bore away his spoils and his head with him.[2] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 665. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 655. "Then came the second son out on the green, [3]his name[3] Tuachall ('the Cunning') son of Necht. "Aha, I see thou wouldst boast of this deed," quoth Tuachall. "In the first place I deem it no cause to boast for slaying one champion," said Cuchulain; "thou shalt not boast of it this time, for thou shalt fall by my hand." "Off with thee for thine arms, then, for 'tis not as a warrior thou art come." The man rushed after his arms. "Thou shouldst have a care for us against yon man, lad," said Ibar. "How so?" the lad asked. "Tuachall son of Necht is the man thou beholdest. [4]And he is nowise miss-named, for he falls not by arms at all.[4] Unless thou worstest him with the first blow or with the first shot or with the first touch, [LL.fo.67a.] thou wilt not worst him [W.1283.] ever, because of his craftiness and the skill wherewith he plays round the points of the weapons." "That should not be said before me, O Ibar," cried the lad. [1]"I swear by the god by whom my people swear, he shall never again ply his skill on the men of Ulster.[1] I will put my hand on Conchobar's well-tempered lance, on the Craisech Nemè ('the Venomous Lance'). [2]It will be an outlaw's hand to him.[2] It will light on the shield over his belly, and it will crush through his ribs on the farther side after piercing his heart in his breast. That would be the smiting cast of an enemy and not the friendliness of a fellow countryman![a] From me he shall not get sick-nursing or care till the brink of doom." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 662-663. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 651-652. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 653; probably a proverbial expression. [a] The force of Cuchulain's boast lay in the fact that, according to the Brehon Laws, if the aggressor were not a native or of the same class as the injured party, he was exempt from the law of compensation. "Tuachall son of Necht came forth on the green, and the lad laid his hand on Conchobar's lance against him, and it struck the shield above his belly and broke through the ribs on the farther side after piercing his heart within his breast. He struck off his head or ever it reached the ground. [3]Thereafter Cuchulain carried off his head and his spoils with him to his own charioteer.[3] [3-3] LU. and YBL. 666. "Then came the youngest of the sons forth on the green, namely, Fandall son of Necht. "Fools were the folk who fought with thee here," cried Fandall. "How, now!" cried the lad. "Come down to the pool, where thy foot findeth not bottom." Fandall rushed on to the pool. "Thou shouldst be wary for us of him, little boy," said Ibar. "Why should I then?" asked the lad. "Fandall son of Necht is the man whom thou seest. For this he bears the name Fandall ('the Swallow'): like a swallow or weasel[b] he courseth the sea; the swimmers of the world [W.1302.] cannot reach him." "Thou shouldst not speak thus before me, O Ibar," said the lad. [1]"I swear, never again will he ply that feat on the men of Ulster.[1] Thou knowest the river that is in our land, in Emain, the Callann. When the boys frequent it with their games of sport and when the water is not beneath them, [2]if the surface is not reached by them all,[2] I do carry a boy over it on either of my palms and a boy on either of my shoulders, and I myself do not even wet my ankles under the weight of them." [b] LU. and YBL. have 'a swan.' [1-1] LU. and YBL. 657-658. [2-2] Stowe. That is, when the water is over their heads. "They met upon the water [3]and they engaged in wrestling upon it,[3] and the little boy closed his arms over Fandall, so that the sea came up even with him, and he gave him a deft blow with Conchobar's sword and chopped off his head from the trunk, and left the body to go down with the stream, and he carried off the head [4]and the spoils[4] with him. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 661. "Thereupon Cuchulain went into the dûn and pillaged the place and burned it so that its buildings were no higher than its walls. And they turned on their way to Sliab Fuait and carried the three heads of Necht's sons with them. [5]Soon Cuchulain heard the cry of their mother after them, of Necht Scenè, namely."[5] [6]"Now I will not give over my spoils," cried Cuchulain, "till I reach Emain Macha." Thereupon Cuchulain and Ibar set out for Emain Macha with their spoils. It was then Cuchulain spoke to his charioteer: "Thou didst promise us a good run," said Cuchulain, "and we need it now because of the storm and pursuit that is after us." Forthwith they hasten to Sliab Fuait. Such was the speed of the course they held over Breg, after the urging of the charioteer, that the horses of the chariot overtook the wind and the birds in [W.1317.] their flight and Cuchulain caught the throw he had cast from his sling or ever it reached the ground. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 667-668. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 669-679. "When they came to Sliab Fuait[6] they espied a herd of wild deer before them. "What are those many cattle, O Ibar, those nimble ones yonder?" asked the lad; "are they tame or are they other deer?" "They are real wild deer, indeed," Ibar answered; "herds of wild deer that haunt the wastes of Sliab Fuait." [1]"Which," asked Cuchulain, "would the men of Ulster deem best, to bring them dead or alive?" "More wonderful, alive," answered the charioteer; "not every one can do it so; but dead, there is none of them cannot do it. Thou canst not do this, carry off any of them alive." "Truly I can," said Cuchulain.[1] "Ply the goad for us on the horses [2]into the bog,[2] to see can we take some of them." The charioteer drove a goad into the horses. It was beyond the power of the king's overfat steeds to keep up with the deer. [3]Soon the horses stuck in the marsh.[3] The lad got down from the chariot and [4]as the fruit of his run and his race, in the morass which was around him,[4] he caught two of the swift, stout deer. He fastened them to the back poles and the bows and the thongs of the chariot. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 669-679. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 681-686. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 686. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 687. [4-4] Stowe. "They continued their way to the mound-seat of Emain, where they saw flocks of white swans flying by them. "What are those birds there, O Ibar?" the lad asked; "are yonder birds tame [LL.fo.67.] or are they other birds?" "Indeed, they are real wild birds," Ibar answered; "flocks of swans are they that come from the rocks and crags and islands of the great sea without, to feed on the plains and smooth spots of Erin." "Which would be stranger [5]to the Ulstermen,[5] O Ibar, for them to be fetched alive to Emain or dead?" asked the lad. "Stranger far, alive," [W.1333.] Ibar answered, "for not every one succeeds in taking the birds alive, [1]while they are many that take them dead."[1] Then did the lad perform one of his lesser feats upon them: [2]he put a small stone in his sling,[2] so that he brought down eight[a] of the birds; and then he performed a greater feat: [3]he threw a large stone at them[3] and he brought down sixteen[b] of their number. [4]With his return stroke all that was done.[4] He fastened them to the hind poles and the bows and the thongs and the ropes and the traces of the chariot. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 692. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [a] 'Seven,' LU. and YBL. 695. [3-3] Stowe. [b] 'Twelve,' LU. and YBL. 696. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 696-697. "Take the birds along with thee, O Ibar," cried the lad [5]to his charioteer. If I myself go to take them," he added, "the wild deer will spring upon thee."[5] "I am in sore straits," answered Ibar; "[6]I find it not easy to go."[6] "What may it be?" asked the lad. "Great cause have I. [7]The horses have become wild, so that I cannot go by them.[7] If I stir at all from where I am, the chariot's iron wheels will cut me down [8]because of their sharpness[8] and because of the strength and the power and the might of the career of the horses. If I make any move, the horns of the deer will pierce and gore me, [9]for the horns of the stag have filled the whole space between the two shafts of the chariot."[9] "Ah, no true champion art thou any longer, O Ibar," [10]said the lad;[10] [11]"step thus from his horn.[11] [12]I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear,[12] because of the look I shall give at the horses they will not depart from the straight way; at the look I shall give at the deer they will bend their heads in fear and awe of me; [13]they will not dare move,[13] and [W.1346.] it will be safe for thee e'en though thou goest in front of their horns." [1]And so it was done. Cuchulain fastened the reins.[1] [2]Then[2] [3]the charioteer[3] [4]went and collected the birds, and he bound them to the hind poles and to the thongs and the traces of the chariot.[4] [5]Thus it was that he proceeded to Emain Macha: the wild deer behind his chariot, and the flock of swans flying over the same, and the three heads of the sons of Necht Scenè [6]and the jewels, treasures and wealth of their enemies arranged[6] in his chariot.[5] [5-5] LU. and YBL. 698-699. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 699. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 700. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 702. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 703. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 703. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 704. [13-13] LU. and YBL. 706. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 707. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 708. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 709-711. [6-6] H. 2. 17. "[7]Thereupon[7] they went on till [8]bravely, boldly, battle-victoriously, boastingly, blade-redded,[8] they reached [9]the fair plain of[9] Emain. It was then Lebarcham, [10]the watch in Emain Macha,[10] [11]came forth and[11] discerned them, she, the daughter of Aue ('Ear') and of Adarc ('Horn') [12]and she hastened to Conchobar's house, her eye restless in her head and her tongue faltering in her jaw.[12] "A single chariot-fighter is here, [13]coming towards Emain Macha,"[13] cried Lebarcham, "and his coming is fearful. The heads of his foes all red in his chariot with him. Beautiful, all-white birds he has hovering around in the chariot. With him are wild, untamed deer, bound and fettered, shackled and pinioned. And [14]I give my word,[14] if he be not attended to this night, [15]blood will flow over Conchobar's province by him and[15] the youths of Ulster will fall by his hand." "We know him, that chariot-fighter," spake Conchobar; "[16]belike it is[16] the little gilla, my sister's son, who went to the edge of the marches [17]at the beginning of the day,[17] [W.1355.] who has reddened his hands and is still unsated of combat, and unless he be attended to, all the youths of Emain will fall by his hand." [1]Soon he turned the left[a] side of his chariot towards Emain, and this was geis for Emain. And Cuchulain cried, "I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear, if a man be not found to engage with me, I will spill the blood of every one in the dûn!"[1] [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 713. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] H. 2. 17. [15-15] H. 2. 17. [16-16] H. 2. 17. [17-17] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 715-718. [a] To turn the left side was an insult and sign of hostility. "And this was the counsel they agreed to follow: to let out the womenfolk to meet the youth, namely, thrice fifty women, even ten and seven-score bold, stark-naked women, at one and the same time, and their chieftainess, Scannlach ('the Wanton') before them, to discover their persons and their shame[b] to him. [2]"Let the young women go," said Conchobar, "and bare their paps and their breasts and their swelling bosoms, and if he be a true warrior he will not withstand being bound, and he shall be placed in a vat of cold water until his anger go from him."[2] [3]Thereupon[3] the young women all [4]arose and[4] marched out, [5]and these are the names of those queens: Sgamalus and Sgannlach and Sgiathan, Feidlim and Deigtini Finnchas, and Finngheal and Fidniam and Niam, daughter of Celtchar son of Uthechar[5]; and they discovered their nakedness and all their shame to him. [6]"These are the warriors that will meet thee to-day," quoth Mugain, wife of Conchobar son of Ness.[6] The lad hid his face from them and turned his gaze on the chariot, that he might not see the nakedness or the shame of the women.[c] Then the lad was lifted out of the chariot. He was placed in three vats of cold water to extinguish his wrath; and the first vat into which he was put burst its staves and its hoops like the cracking of nuts around him. [W.1367.] The next vat [1]into which he went[1] [2]boiled with bubbles as big as fists[2] therefrom. The third vat [3]into which he went,[3] some men might endure it and others might not. Then the boy's wrath went down. [b] 'Breasts,' LU. and YBL. 720. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 720-721. [c] This exposure was a powerful magico-religious symbol and had a quasi-sacred or ritual character. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Translating from Stowe and H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. "[4]Thereupon he came out,[4] and his [5]festive[5] garments were put on him [6]by Mugain the queen.[6] His comeliness appeared on him [LL.fo.68a.] and he made a crimson wheel-ball of himself from his crown to the ground. [7]A shout was raised at the bluish purple about him.[7] [8]Beautiful then was the lad[8] [9]that was raised up in view.[9] Seven toes he had to each of his two feet, and seven fingers to each of his two hands, and seven pupils to each of his two kingly eyes, and seven gems of the brilliance of the eye was each separate pupil. Four spots of down on either of his two cheeks: a blue spot, a purple spot, a green spot, a yellow spot. Fifty strands of bright-yellow hair from one ear to the other, like to a comb of birch twigs or like to a brooch of pale gold in the face of the sun. A clear, white, shorn spot was upon him, as if a cow had licked it. A [10]fair, laced[10] green[a] mantle about him; a silver pin therein [11]over his white breast, so that the eyes of men could not look at it for its gleam and its brightness.[11] A [12]hooded[12] tunic of thread of gold about him. [13]A magnificent, fair-coloured, dark purple shield he bore. Two hard, five-pointed spears in his hand. A diadem of gold round his head.[13] And the lad was seated between the two feet of Conchobar, [14]and that was his couch ever after,[14] and the king began to stroke his close-shorn hair. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 726. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. 726. [7-7] H. 2. 17. Thurneysen, _Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie_, Bd. VIII, S. 538, note 13, understands this to mean, 'a bluish purple cloak was thrown around him.' [8-8] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [a] 'Blue,' LU. and YBL. 727 and Eg. 1782. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 727. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] LU. and YBL. 728. [W.1381.] "A mere lad accomplished these deeds at the end of seven years after his birth," [1]continued Fiachu son of Fiarba;[1] "for he overcame heroes and battle-champions at whose hands two-thirds of the men of Ulster had fallen, and these had not got their revenge on them until that scion rose up for them. No need then is there of wonder or of surprise, though he came to the border, though he slew one man or two men or three men or four men, [2]though he cut off the four-headed pole with one cut and one blow of his shining sword[2] when now are fulfilled his seventeen years at the time of the Táin Bó Cúalnge." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 729-730. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3]Albeit gladness, joy and happiness was the part of the men of Ulster for that, sorrow, grief and unhappiness was the part of the men of Erin, for they knew that the little lad that had done those deeds in the time of his boyhood, it would be no wonder if he should do great deeds of valour in the time of his manhood.[3] [3-3] H. 2. 17. These, accordingly, are some of the youthful exploits of Cuchulain on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge, and the Prologue of the Tale, and the Names of the Roads and the March of the Host up to this Point. The Story proper is this which follows now. * * * * * [Page 80] VIIc [1]BELOW IS A SEPARATE VERSION AS FAR AS THE SLAYING OF ORLAM "Let us fare forth now," quoth Ailill. Thereafter they reached Mag Mucceda ('the plain of the Swineherd.') Cuchulain lopped off an oak that was before him in that place and set an ogam-writing on its side. This is what was on it: 'That no one should pass by till a chariot-warrior with a chariot should overleap it.' [1-1] LU. and YBL. 733-766. They pitch there their tents and proceed to leap over the oak in their chariots. Thereat thirty horses fall and thirty chariots are broken. Now, Belach Anè ('the Pass of Sport') is the name of that place forever. They bide there till morning. Fraech [2]son of Fidach[2] was summoned to them. "Help us, O Fraech," spake Medb; "deliver us from the strait we are in. Rise up for us to meet Cuchulain, if perchance thou wilt fight him." [2-2] YBL. 741. Betimes in the morning, with nine men Fraech went out from thence till he arrived at Ath Fuait, when he saw the youth Cuchulain bathing in the river. "Bide here," spake Fraech to his people, "till I fight with yonder man; he is not good in the water," said he. He doffs his clothes and goes into the water to meet him. "Come not before me," cried Cuchulain; "it shall be thy death and it would grieve me to kill thee." "Nay, but I will go," answered Fraech, "so that we come together in the water, and it behoves thee to engage with me." "Settle that as seemeth thee good," Cuchulain made answer. "Each of us with his arms round the other," said Fraech. They fall to wrestling for a long time in the water and Fraech is thrust under. Cuchulain brings him above again. "This time," spake Cuchulain, "wilt thou acknowledge that I saved thee?" "I will not," Fraech answered. Cuchulain thrusts him under again, so that Fraech is destroyed. He is placed on the ground. His people bear the body [10]with them[10] to the camp. Ath Fraeich ('Fraech's Ford') is the name of that ford for ever. All the army keen [2]their[2] Fraech, till they see a troop of women, in green tunics standing over the corpse of Fraech son of Fidach. These women bear him into the fairy dwelling. Sid Fraeich ('Fraech's Mound') is the name of the Elfmound ever since. [10-10] Eg. 1782. [2-2] YBL. 758. Fergus leaps over the oak-stump in his [3]own[3] chariot [4]and knocks off its head.[4] [5]According to another version,[5] they proceed till they reach [6]Ath Meislir.[6] Cuchulain destroys six of them there, namely, [7]Meislir _et reliqua_,[7] [8]the six Dungals of Irrus.[8] [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] Eg. 1782. [5-5] YBL. 762. [6-6] Reading with YBL. '_Ath Taiten_,' LU. 762. [7-7] YBL. 763. [8-8] LU. 763. They go thence to Fornocht. Medb had a whelp named Baiscnè. Cuchulain made a cast at him, so that he struck off his head. Now, Druim ('Ridge') is the name of that place ever after.[1] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 733-766 (see page 80). [9]According to another version, however, it is there that the youth who was in the chariot by the side of Medb and the pet bird were slain by the casts, but, according to this version, that happened after the slaying of Orlam.[9] [9] YBL. 766-769. * * * * * [Page 82] VIII THE SLAYING OF ORLAM [W.1393.] The four grand provinces of Erin set forth on the morrow eastwards over Cronn ('the Round'), which is a mountain. Cuchulain had gone out before them, till he came upon the charioteer of Orlam son of Aililla and of Medb. This was at Tamlacht Orlaim ('Orlam's Gravestone') [1]a little to the[1] north of Disert Lochaid ('Lochat's Hermitage'). The charioteer was engaged in cutting chariot-poles from a holly-tree in the wood. [2]But according to another version it is the hind pole of Cuchulain's chariot that was broken and it was to cut a pole he had gone when Orlam's charioteer came up.[2] [3]According to this version, it was the charioteer who was cutting the pole.[3] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 772. [2-2] YBL. 773-775. [3-3] LU. 773-775. [4]Not long was the battle-victorious Hound there when he heard a sound and an uproar.[4] "Behold, O Laeg," cried Cuchulain; "[5]who of the host of the foe have come into this land to carry off a share of cattle and booty from the province wherein they came?[5] How bold are the ways of the Ulstermen, if it be they that cut down the woods in this fashion in the face of the men of Erin. But, [6]check the horses and hold the chariot.[6] Tarry thou here a little, till I know who cuts down the woods in this manner." Then Cuchulain went on till he came up to [7]Orlam's[7] charioteer, [W.1401.] [1]to stop him; he thought he was one of the men of Ulster.[1] "What dost thou here, gilla?" asked Cuchulain. "Indeed, then," answered the gilla, "I cut chariot-poles from this holm, because our chariots were broken yesterday in pursuit of that famous wildling, namely Cuchulain. And for thy manhood's sake, young warrior, pray come to my aid, so that that famous Cuchulain come not upon me." "Take thy choice, gilla," said Cuchulain, "to gather or to trim them, either." "I will see to gathering them, for it is easier," [2]the gilla answered.[2] Cuchulain started to cut the poles and he drew them between the forks of his feet and his hands against their bends and their knots, so that he made them smooth and straight and slippery and trimmed; he polished them so that not even a midge could find footing thereon when he had passed them away from him. Then full sure the gilla gazed upon him. "Far then, meseems, from fitting is the task I put on thee. [3]And for love of thy valour,[3] who art thou, say, O warrior?" the gilla asked, [4]for he was sore affrighted.[4] "That same renowned Cuchulain am I of whom thou spakest [5]a while ago[5] in the morning." "Woe is me then, by reason of this," cried the gilla; "for this am I lost forever." [LL.fo.68b.] [6]"Whence comest thou [7]and who art thou[7]?" Cuchulain asked. "Charioteer am I of Orlam, Ailill's son and Medb's,"[6] [8]said he.[8] [9]"Fear nothing;[9] I will not slay thee at all, boy," said Cuchulain; "for I slay nor charioteers nor horseboys nor persons unarmed. But, prithee, where is thy master, [10]gilla[10]?" "Over yonder by the trench, [11]with his back to the pillar-stone,[11]" answered the gilla. "Off with thee thither to him and bear him a warning that he be on his guard. For if we meet he shall fall by my hand." [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 777. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 786 [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 786-787. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] LU. 787. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 789. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [W.1419.] Thereupon the charioteer repaired [1]by one way[1] to his master, [2]and Cuchulain went by another,[2] and fast as the gilla sped to Orlam, faster still Cuchulain did reach him [3]and offered him combat[3] and he struck off his head, and raising it aloft displayed it to the men of Erin, [4]and he flourished it in the presence of the host.[4] [5]Then he put the head on the charioteer's back and said, "Take this with thee, and so go to the camp. Unless thou goest so, a stone out of my sling will reach thee." [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] Stowe, LU. and YBL. 792. When the charioteer came nigh to the camp he took the head from his back and told his adventures to Ailill and Medb. "It is not the same, this exploit and the catching of birds," quoth she. "And he told me" (said the boy), "unless I brought it on my back to the camp, he would break my head with a stone."[5] [6]Hence Leaca Orlaim ('Orlam's Flagstones') to the north of Disert Lochaid is the name of the place where he fell. Tamlachta ('Gravestones') is another name for it, and it is for this reason it is so called because of the little gravestones and the violent deaths which Cuchulain worked on it."[6] [5-5] LU. and YBL. 793-799. [6-6] H. 2. 17. * * * * * [Page 85] VIIIa [1]THE SLAYING OF THE THREE MacARACH[1] [W.1425.] Then came the three macArach on to the ford at Ard Ciannacht to encounter Cuchulain: Lon ('Ousel'), Uala ('Pride'), and Diliu ('Deluge');--Meslir ('Lir's Fosterling'), and Meslaoc ('Hero's Fosterling'), and Meslethain ('Lethan's Fosterling') were the names of their charioteers. This is why they came to engage with Cuchulain, for the deed he had done the day before they deemed past bearing, when the two sons of Nera son of Nuatar, son of Tacan, were slain at Ath Gabla ('Fork-ford'), and Orlam, Ailill's son and Medb's, was slain withal and his head displayed to the men of Erin, so that [2]their desire was[2] to kill Cuchulain in the same manner [3]in revenge for him,[3] [4]and that they should be the ones to rid the host of that pest[4] and bring his head with them to set it aloft. They went into the wood and cut off three [5]great[5] white-hazel wood-strips (and put them) into the hands of their charioteers, so that the six of them might engage in battle at one and the same time with Cuchulain. Cuchulain turned on them and smote their six heads from them. Thus fell the macArach at the hands of Cuchulain, [6]because they observed not fair fight with him. At that same time Orlam's charioteer was between Ailill and Medb. Cuchulain slung a stone at him, so that it broke his head and his brains came out over his ears. Fertedil was his name. Hence it is not true that Cuchulain slew no charioteers. Albeit he slew them not without fault.[6] [1-1] H. 2. 17, and, similarly, LU. fo. 64a, in the margin. LU. reads _MacGarach_. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 806. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 806-807. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 808-812. * * * * * [Page 86] VIIIb [1]THE COMBAT OF LETHAN AND CUCHULAIN[1] [W.1439.] There came also Lethan ('the Broad') to his ford on the Nith in the land of Conalle Murthemni, to fight with Cuchulain. [2]He was angered at what Cuchulain had wrought.[2] He came upon him at the ford. Ath Carpait ('Chariot-ford') is the name of the ford where they fought, for their chariots were broken in the combat on the ford. It is there that Mulcha, [3]Lethan's charioteer,[3] fell on the [4]shoulder of the[4] hill between the two fords, [5]for he had offered battle and combat to Laeg son of Riangabair.[5] Hence it is called Guala Mulchi ('Mulcha's Shoulder') ever since. It is there, too, that Cuchulain and Lethan met, and Lethan fell at Cuchulain's hands and he smote his head from his neck on the ford and left it therewith, that is, he left the head with the trunk. Wherefore the name of the ford [6]of the Nith[6] was called Ath Lethain ('Lethain's Ford') ever since in the district of Conalle Murthemni. [1-1] The superscription is taken from Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 837. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 841. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 841. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 839 and Stowe. Then came [7]unto them[7] the Crutti Cainbili ('the Tuneful Harpers'), from Ess Ruaid in the north to amuse them, [8]out of friendship for Ailill and Medb.[8] They opined it was to spy upon them [9]they were come[9] from Ulster. [10]When they came within sight of the camp of the men of Erin, fear, terror, and dread possessed them,[10] and the hosts pursued [W.1450.] them as never men pursued, far and wide, till they escaped them in the shapes of deer near the standing stones at Lia Mor ('Great Stone') [1]in the north.[1] For though they were known as the 'Mellifluous Harpers' they were [2]druids,[2] men of great cunning and great power of augury and magic. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 835. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 835. * * * * * [Page 88] VIIIc [1]THE KILLING OF THE SQUIRREL AND OF THE TAME BIRD[1] [W.1456.] Then Cuchulain made a threat [2]in Methè[2] that wherever he saw Medb he would cast a stone at her and that it would not go far from the side of her head. That he also fulfilled. In the place where he saw Medb west of the ford he cast a stone from his sling at her, so that it killed the pet bird that was on her shoulder. Medb passed over the ford eastwards, and again he cast a stone from his sling at her east of the ford, so that it killed the tame squirrel that was on her shoulder. Hence the names of those places are still, Meide in Togmail ('Squirrel's Neck') and Meide ind Eoin ('Bird's Neck'). And Ath Srethe ('Ford of the Throw') is the name of the ford over which Cuchulain cast the stone from his sling. [1-1] The superscription is taken from LU. fo. 64a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 813. [3]Then Reuin was drowned in his lake. Hence is Loch Reuin. "Your companion is not afar off from you," cried Ailill to the Manè. They stood up and looked around. When they sat down again, Cuchulain struck one of them so that his head was split. "It is well it was thou hast essayed that; thy[a] mirth was not seemly," quoth Manè the fool; "it is I would have taken his head off." Cuchulain flung a stone at him, so that his head was split. Thus these people were slain: Orlam, first of all, on his hill; the three sons of Arach[a] on their ford; Fertidil in his ... (?); Maenan on his hill. "I swear by the god by whom my people swear," cried Ailill; "the man that scoffs at Cuchulain here I will make two halves of. But above all let us hasten our way by day and by night," Ailill continued, "till we come to Cualnge. That man will slay two-thirds of your host in this fashion."[3] [3-3] LU. and YBL. 820-831 and, partly, in Eg. 1782. [a] Literally, 'your.' [a] '_Garech_,' LU. and YBL. 827. [1]Then did the men of Erin deliberate about going to ravage and lay waste Mag Breg and Meath and the plain of Conall and the land of Cuchulain; and it was in the presence of Fergus macRoig they discussed it.[1] [1-1] H. 2. 17. [W.1465.] The four grand provinces of Erin moved out on the morrow, and began to harry the plains of Breg and Murthemne. And the sharp, keen-edged anxiety [LL.fo.69a.] for Cuchulain came over his fosterer Fergus. And he bade the men of Erin be on their guard that night, for that Cuchulain would come upon them. And here again he sang in his praise, as we wrote it before,[b] and he uttered the lay:-- "If Cuchulain, Cualnge's Hound, And Red Branch chiefs on you come, Men will welter in their blood, Laying waste Murthemne's plain! [4]"Woe to him possesses wealth, 'Less he find a way to 'scape; And your wives will be enslaved, And your chiefs fill pools of blood![4] "Far away he[c] held his course, Till he reached Armenia's heights; Battle dared he, past his wont, And the Burnt-breasts[d] put to death! "Hardest for him was to drive Necht's sons from their chieftest haunts; And the smith's hound--mighty deed-- Hath he slain with single hand! [W.1483.] "More than this I've naught to say, As concerns Dechtirè's son; My belief, in troth, is this: Ye will now meet with your fate." [b] See above, p. 41. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [c] That is, Cuchulain. [d] That is, the Amazons. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 820-831 and, partly, in Eg. 1782. After this lay, that was the day that Donn ('the Brown Bull') of Cualnge came into the land of Marginè [1]to Sliab Culinn[1] and with him fifty heifers of the heifers [2]of Ulster;[2] and there he was pawing and digging up the earth in that place, [3]in the land of Marginè, in Cualnge;[3] that is, he flung the turf over him with his heels. [4]While the hosts were marching over Mag Breg, Cuchulain in the meanwhile laid hands on their camps.[4] It was on the same day that the Morrigan, daughter of Ernmas, [5]the prophetess[5] of the fairy-folk, came [6]in the form of a bird,[6] and she perched on the standing-stone in Temair of Cualnge giving the Brown Bull of Cualnge warning [7]and lamentations[7] before the men of Erin. Then she began to address him and what she said was this: "Good, now, O luckless one, thou Brown Bull of Cualnge," so spake the Morrigan; "take heed; for the men of Erin. [8]are on thy track and seeking thee[8] and they will come upon thee, and [9]if thou art taken[9] they will carry thee away to their camp [10]like any ox on a raid,[10] unless thou art on thy guard." And she commenced to give warning to him in this fashion, [11]telling him he would be slain on the Táin, and she delivered this judgement[11] and spake these words aloud:[a]-- [1-1] LU. and YBL. 853. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 857. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 842-843. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 844. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [a] The following passage in '_rosc_' is exceedingly difficult and obscure, and the translation given here is consequently incomplete and uncertain. "Knows not the restless Brown of the [12]truly deadly[12] [W.1502.] fray that is not uncertain?--A raven's[a] croak--The raven that doth not conceal--Foes range your checkered plain--[1]Troops on raids[1]--I have a secret--Ye shall know ... The waving fields--The deep-green grass ... and rich, soft plain--Wealth of flowers' splendour--Badb's cow-lowing--Wild the raven--Dead the men--A tale of woe--Battle-storms[b] on Cualnge evermore, to the death of mighty sons--Kith looking on the death of kin!" [12-12] LU. and YBL. 846, and Stowe. [a] The Morrigan, the Irish goddess of battle, most often appeared in the form of a raven. [1-1] Reading with H. 2. 17. [b] Translating _cloe_, as suggested by Windisch. [2]When the Brown Bull of Cualnge heard those words[2] he moved on to Glenn na Samaisce ('Heifers' Glen') in Sliab Culinn ('Hollymount') [3]in the north of Ulster,[3] and fifty of his heifers with him, [4]and his herdsman accompanied him; Forgemen was the name of the cowherd.[4] [5]And he threw off the thrice fifty boys who were wont to play on his back and he destroyed two-thirds of the boys.[5] This was one of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge: Fifty heifers he would cover every day. These calved before that same hour on the next day and such of them that calved not [6]at the due time[6] burst with the calves, because they could not suffer the begetting of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. One of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge were the fifty [7]grown[7] youths who engaged in games, [8]who[8] on his fine back [9]found room[9] every evening [10]to play draughts and assembly[c] and leaping[10]; [11]he would not put them from him nor would he totter under them.[11] Another of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge was the hundred warriors [W.1535.] he screened from the heat and the cold under his shadow and shelter. Another of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge was that no goblin nor boggart nor sprite of the glen dared come into one and the same cantred with him. Another of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge was his musical lowing every evening as he returned to his haggard, his shed and his byre. It was music enough and delight for a man in the north and in the south, [1]in the east and the west,[1] and in the middle of the cantred of Cualnge, the lowing he made at even as he came to his haggard, his shed, and his byre. These, then, are some of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 854, and H. 2. 17. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 855-856. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [c] Apparently the name of some game. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17. Thereupon on the morrow the hosts proceeded among the rocks and dunes of the land of Conalle Murthemni. [3]Cuchulain killed no one from Sailè ('the Sea') around Dorthè in the land of Conalle, until he reached Cualnge. At that time Cuchulain was in Cuincè, [2]that is a mountain.[2] He had threatened that, where he would see Medb, he would hurl a stone at her head. It was not easy to do this, for it was thus Medb went, with half the host around her and their canopy of shields over her head.[3] And Medb ordered a canopy of shields to be held over her head in order that Cuchulain might not strike her from the hills or hillocks or heights. Howbeit on that day, no killing nor attack came from Cuchulain upon the men of Erin, in the land of Murthemne among the rocks and dunes of Conalle Murthemni. [2-2] LU. 860. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 858-863. * * * * * [Page 93] VIIId [1]THE SLAYING OF LOCHE[1] [W.1552.] The warriors of four of the five grand provinces of Erin bided their time in Redè Lochè in Cualnge and pitched camp and took quarters therein for that night. Medb bade her fair handmaiden from amongst her attendants to go for her to the river for water for drinking and washing. Lochè was the name of the maiden. Thereupon Lochè went, and fifty[a] women in her train and the queen's diadem of gold on her head. And Cuchulain [2]espied them and he[2] [3]put a stone on his sling and[3] cast [LL.fo.69b.] a stone from his [4]staff[4]-sling at her, so that he broke the diadem of gold in three pieces and killed the maiden on her plain. Thence is Redè Lochè ('the Plain of Lochè') in Cualnge. For Cuchulain had thought, for want of acquaintance and knowledge, that it was Medb that was there. [1-1] LU. fo. 65a, in the margin. [a] 'forty,' H. 2. 17. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5]From Finnabair of Cualnge the hosts divided and set the country on fire. They gathered all their women and boys and girls and cattle in Cualnge together so that they all were in Finnabair. "Ye have not fared well," quoth Medb; "I see not the bull amongst you." "He is not in the land at all," replied every one. They summoned Lothar, the cowherd, to Medb. "Where, thinkest thou, is the bull?" she asked. "I have great fear to tell," said the cowherd. "The night," said he, "that the Ulstermen fell into their 'Pains,' the Donn went and three score heifers along with him; and he is at Dubcaire Glinni Gat ('the Black Corrie of the Osier-glen')." "Rise," said Medb, "and take a withy between each two of you." And they do accordingly. Hence is the name, Glenn Gatt, of that glen. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 867-887.] Then they led the bull to Finnabair. In the place where the bull saw Lothar, the cowherd, he attacked him, and soon he carried his entrails out on his horns and together with his thrice fifty heifers he attacked the camp, so that fifty warriors perished. Hence this is the Tragical Death of Lothar on the Táin [1]and the Finding of the Bull according to this version.[1] [2]Thereafter the bull went from them away from the camp and they knew not whither he had gone from them and they were ashamed. Medb asked the cowherd if he might know where the bull was. "I trow he is in the wilds of Sliab Culinn."[2] Then they turned back ravaging Cualnge and they found not the bull there.[5] [1-1] YBL. 882, which adds: 'We will not follow it further here.' [2-2] LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, page 34, note 16. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 867-887. * * * * * [Page 95] VIIIe [1]THE KILLING OF UALA[1] [W.1563.] [2]Early[2] on the morrow the hosts continued their way [3]to lay waste the plain of Murthemne and to sack Mag Breg and Meath and Machaire Conaill ('Conall's Plain') and the land of Cualnge. It was then that the streams and rivers of Conalle Murthemni rose to the tops of the trees, and the streams of the Cronn rose withal, until the hosts arrived at Glaiss Cruinn ('Cronn's Stream').[3] And they attempted the stream and failed to cross it [4]because of the size of its waves,[4] [5]so that they slept on its bank.[5] And Cluain Carpat ('Chariot-meadow') is the name of the first place where they reached it. This is why Cluain Carpat is the name of that place, because of the hundred[a] chariots which the river carried away from them to the sea. Medb ordered her people that one of the warriors should go try the river. And [6]on the morrow[6] there arose a great, stout, [7]wonderful[7] warrior of the [8]particular[8] people of Medb [9]and Ailill,[9] Uala by name, and he took on his back a massy rock, [10]to the end that Glaiss Cruinn might not carry him back.[10] And he went to essay the stream, and the stream threw him back dead, lifeless, with his [W.1571.] stone on his back [1]and so he was drowned.[1] Medb ordered that he be lifted [2]out of the river then[2] [3]by the men of Erin[3] and his grave dug [4]and his keen made[4] and his stone raised [5]over his grave,[5] so that it is thence Lia Ualann ('Uala's Stone') [6]on the road near the stream[6] in the land of Cualnge. [1-1] LU. fo. 65a, in the margin. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. 887, a gloss. [a] H. 2. 17 has 'fifty charioteers.' [6-6] LU. and YBL. 889. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 889. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 891. Cuchulain clung close to the hosts that day provoking them to encounter and combat. [7]Four and seven score kings fell at his hands at that same stream,[7] and he slew a hundred of their [8]armed,[8] [9]kinglike[9] warriors around Roen and Roi, the two chroniclers of the Táin. [10]This is the reason the account of the Táin was lost and had to be sought afterwards for so long a time.[10] [7-7] LU. and YBL. 900. [8-8] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17; the story of the finding of the Táin is told in the _Imtheacht na Tromdhaimhe_ ("The Proceedings of the Great Bardic Institution"), edited by Owen Connellan, in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society, vol. v, 1857, pp. 103 fl. Medb called upon her people to go meet Cuchulain in encounter and combat [11]for the sake of the hosts.[11] "It will not be I," and "It will not be I," spake each and every one from his place. "No caitiff is due from my people. Even though one should be due, it is not I would go to oppose Cuchulain, for no easy thing is it to do battle with him." [12]When they had failed to find the Donn Cualnge,[12] the hosts kept their way along the river [13]around the river Cronn to its source,[13] being unable to cross it, till they reached the place where the river rises out of the mountains, and, had they wished it, they would have gone between the river and the mountain, but Medb would not allow it, so they had to dig and hollow out the mountain [W.1585.] before her in order [1]that their trace might remain there forever and[1] that it might be for a shame and reproach to Ulster. [11-11] Stowe. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] LU. and YBL. 893. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 895. [2]They tarried there three days and three nights till they had dug out the earth before them.[2] And Bernais ('the Gap') of the [4]Foray of Medb and the Gap of the[4] Foray of Cualnge is another name for the place ever since, for it is through it the drove afterwards passed. [3]There Cuchulain killed Cronn and Coemdele and ...[3] [2-2] LU. and YBL. 896. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 898-899. The warriors of the four grand provinces of Erin pitched camp and took quarters that night at Belat Aileain ('the Island's Crossway'). Belat Aileain was its name up to then, but Glenn Tail ('Glen of Shedding') is henceforth its name because of the abundance of curds and of milk [5]and of new warm milk[5] which the droves of cattle and the flocks [6]of the land of Conalle and Murthemne[6] yielded there [7]that night[7] for the men of Erin. And Liasa Liac ('Stone Sheds') is another name for it [8]to this day,[8] and it is for this it bears that name, for it is there that the men of Erin raised cattle-stalls and byres for their herds and droves [9]between Cualnge and Conalle.[9] [10]Botha is still another name for it, for the men of Erin erected bothies and huts there.[10] [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 909. [10-10] H. 2. 17. The four of the five grand provinces of Erin took up the march until they reached the Sechair [11]in the west on the morrow.[11] Sechair was the name of the river hitherto; Glaiss Gatlaig ('Osier-water') is its name henceforward. [12]And Glaiss Gatlaig rose up against them.[12] Now this is the reason it had that name, for it was in osiers and ropes that the men of Erin brought [W.1599.] their flocks and droves over across it, and the entire host let their osiers and ropes drift with the stream after crossing. Hence the name, Glaiss Gatlaig. [1]Then they slept at Druim Fenè in Conalle. These then are their stages from Cualnge to the plain (of Conalle Murthemni) according to this version. Other authors [2]of this Work[2] and other books aver that they followed another way on their journeyings from Finnabair to Conalle.[1] [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 910. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 912-914. [2-2] YBL. 914. * * * * * [Page 99] VIIIf [1]THE HARRYING OF CUALNGE FOLLOWETH HERE BELOW[1] [2]After every one had come with their spoils and they were all gathered in Finnabair of Cualnge, Medb spake: "Let the camp be divided here," said Medb; "the foray cannot be caried on by a single road. Let Ailill with half his force go by Midluachair. We and Fergus will go by Bernas Bo Ulad ('the Pass of the Cattle of Ulster')." "Not fair is the part that has fallen to us of the force," said Fergus; "the cattle cannot be driven over the mountain without dividing." This then is done. Hence cometh Bernas Bo Ulad ('the Pass of the Cattle of Ulster'). [1-1] LU. fo. 65b, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 916-1197, omitting 1079-1091. Then spake Ailill to his charioteer Cuillius: "Find out for me to-day Medb and Fergus. I wot not what hath led them to keep thus together. I would fain have a token from thee." Cuillius went where Medb and Fergus wantoned. The pair dallied behind while the warriors continued their march. Cuillius stole near them and they perceived not the spy. It happened that Fergus' sword lay close by him. Cuillius drew it from its sheath and left the sheath empty. Then Cuillius betook himself to Ailill. "Well?" said Ailill. "Well, then," replied [3]Cuillius;[3] "thou knowest the signification of this token. As thou hast thought," continued Cuillius, "it is thus I discovered them, lying together." "It is so, then." Each of them laughs, at the other. "It is well so," said Ailill; "she had no choice; to win his help on the Táin she hath done it. Keep the sword carefully by thee," said Ailill; "put it beneath thy seat in the chariot and a linen cloth wrapped round it." [3-3] LU. 930.] When Fergus got up to take his sword, "Alas!" cried he. "What aileth thee?" Medb asked. "An ill deed have I done Ailill," said he. "Wait thou here till I come out of the wood," said Fergus, "and wonder not though it be long till I come." It happened that Medb knew not of the loss of the sword. Fergus went out taking his charioteer's sword with him in his hand, and he fashioned a sword from a tree in the wood. Hence is Fid Mor Thruailli ('Great Scabbard-Wood') in Ulster. "Let us hasten after our comrades," said Fergus. The forces of all came together in the plain. They raised their tents. Fergus was summoned to Ailill for a game of chess. When Fergus entered the tent Ailill laughed at him.[a] [a] Here follows in LU. and YBL. 946-1020, Eg. 1782, a most difficult passage, rendered more obscure by the incorporation of glossarial notes into the body of the text. It is almost incapable of translation; it consists of a dialogue or series of repartees during a game of chess, in which Ailill taunts Fergus on the episode just narrated and Fergus replies. Cuchulain came so that he was before Ath Cruinn ('the Ford of the Cronn'). "O master Laeg," he cried to his driver, "here are the hosts for us." "I swear by the gods," said the charioteer, "I will do a mighty feat in the eyes of chariot-fighters, in quick spurring-on of the slender steeds; with yokes of silver and golden wheels shall they be urged on (?) in triumph. Thou shalt ride before heads of kings. The steeds I guide will bring victory with their bounding." "Take heed, O Laeg," said Cuchulain; "hold the reins for the great triumph of Macha, that the horses drag thee not over the mass at the ... (?) of a woman. Let us go over the straight plain of these ... (?). I call on the waters to help me," cried Cuchulain. "I beseech heaven and earth and the Cronn above all." Then the Cronn opposes them,[a] Holds them back from Murthemne, Till the heroes'[b] work is done On the mount of Ocainè![c] [a] That is, the men of Erin. [b] That is, Cuchulain and Laeg. [c] See above, page 97. Therewith the water rose up till it was in the tops of the trees. Manè son of Ailill and Medb marched in advance of the rest. Cuchulain slew him on the ford and thirty horsemen of his people were drowned. Again Cuchulain laid low twice sixteen warriors of theirs near the stream. The warriors of Erin pitched their tents near the ford. Lugaid son of Nos [1]grandson of Lomarc[1] Allcomach went to parley with Cuchulain. Thirty horsemen were with him. "Welcome to thee, O Lugaid," cried Cuchulain. "Should a flock of birds graze upon the plain of Murthemne, thou shalt have a wild goose with half the other. Should fish come to the falls or to the bays, thou shalt have a salmon with as much again. Thou shalt have the three sprigs, even a sprig of cresses, a sprig of laver, and a sprig of sea-grass; there will be a man to take thy place at the ford." "This welcome is truly meant," replied Lugaid; "the choice of people for the youth whom I desire!" "Splendid are your hosts," said Cuchulain. "It will be no misfortune," said Lugaid, "for thee to stand up alone before them." "True courage and valour have I," Cuchulain made answer. "Lugaid, my master," said Cuchulain, "do the hosts fear me?" "By the god," Lugaid made answer, "I swear that no one man of them nor two men dares make water outside the camp unless twenty or thirty go with him." "It will be something for them," said Cuchulain, "if I begin to cast from my sling. He will be fit for thee, O Lugaid, this companion thou hast in Ulster, [1]if the men oppose me one by one.[1] Say, then, what wouldst thou?" asked Cuchulain. "A truce with my host." "Thou shalt have it, provided there be a token therefor. And tell my master Fergus that there shall be a token on the host. Tell the leeches that there shall be a token on the host, and let them swear to preserve my life and let them provide me each night with provision." [1-1] LU. 1041. [1-1] Literally, 'if there oppose me the strength of each single man.' Lugaid went from him. It happened that Fergus was in the tent with Ailill. Lugaid called him out and reported that (proposal of Cuchulain's) to him. Then Ailill was heard:[a] [a] The sense of this proposal of Ailill's, omitted in the translation (LU. 1064-1069 and Eg. 1782), is not clear. "I swear by the god, I cannot," said [3]Fergus,[3] "unless I ask the lad. Help me, O Lugaid," said Fergus. "Do thou go to him, to see whether Ailill with a division may come to me to my company. Take him an ox with salt pork and a keg of wine." Thereupon Lugaid goes to Cuchulain and tells him that. "'Tis the same to me whether he go," said Cuchulain. Then the two hosts unite. They remain there till night, [4]or until they spend thirty nights there.[4] Cuchulain destroyed thirty of their warriors with his sling. "Your journeyings will be ill-starred," said Fergus (to Medb and Ailill); "the men of Ulster will come out of their 'Pains' and will grind you down to the earth and the gravel. Evil is the battle-corner wherein we are." He proceeds to Cul Airthir ('the Eastern Nook'). Cuchulain slays thirty of their heroes on Ath Duirn ('Ford of the Fist'). Now they could not reach Cul Airthir till night. Cuchulain killed thirty of their men there and they raised their tents in that place. In the morning Ailill's charioteer, Cuillius to wit, was washing the wheel-bands in the ford. Cuchulain struck him with a stone so that he killed him. Hence is Ath Cuillne ('Ford of Destruction') in Cul Airthir.'[2] [3-3] 'Lugaid,' LU. 1069. [4-4] YBL. 1075; but, 'they would be twenty nights there, as other books say,' LU. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 916-1197, omitting 1079-1091. * * * * * [Page 104] IX THE PROPOSALS [W.1603.] The four grand provinces of Erin proceeded till they pitched camp and took quarters in Druim En ('Birds' Ridge') in the land of Conalle Murthemni, [1]and they slept there[1] that night, [2]as we said before,[2] and Cuchulain held himself at Ferta Illergaib ('the Burial-mound on the Slopes') hard by them that night, and he, Cuchulain, shook, brandished and flourished his weapons that night. [3]Every night of the three nights they were there he made casts from his sling at them, from Ochaine nearby,[3] so that one hundred warriors of the host perished of fright and fear and dread of Cuchulain. [4]"Not long will our host endure in this way with Cuchulain," quoth Ailill.[4] Medb called upon Fiachu son of Ferfebè of the Ulstermen to go parley with Cuchulain, to come to some terms with him. "What terms shall be given him?" asked Fiachu son of Ferfebè. "Not hard to answer," Medb replied: "He shall be recompensed [5]for the loss of his lands and estates,[5] for whosoever has been slain of the Ulstermen, so that it be paid to him as the men of Erin adjudge [6]according to the will of the Ulstermen and of Fergus and of the nobles of the men of Erin who are in this camp and encampment.[6] Entertainment shall be his at all times in Cruachan; wine and [W.1614.] mead shall be poured [LL.fo.70a.] out for him. [1]He shall have from the plain of Ai the equal of the plain of Murthemne and the best chariot that is in Ai and the equipment of twelve men. Offer, if it please him more, the plain wherein he was reared and thrice seven bondmaids.[1] And he shall come into my service and Ailill's, for that is more seemly for him than to be in the service of the lordling with whom he is, [2]even of Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathatch.[2] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1097. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1098. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1100-1101. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1100-1102. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1103-1105. [2-2] H. 2. 17. Accordingly this was the greatest word of scorn and insult spoken on the Cow-Raid of Cualnge, to make a lordling of the best king of a province in Erin, even of Conchobar. Then came Fiachu son of Ferfebè to converse with Cuchulain. Cuchulain bade him welcome. "[3]Welcome thy coming and thine arrival, O Fiachu," said Cuchulain.[3] "I regard that welcome as truly meant," [4]said Fiachu.[4] "It is truly meant for thee" [5]replied Cuchulain[5]; "[6]and thou shalt have a night of hospitality this night." "Victory and a blessing attend thee, O fosterling," replied Fiachu. "Not for hospitality am I come, but[6] to parley with thee am I come from Medb, [7]and to bring thee terms."[7] "What hast thou brought with thee?" "Thou shalt be recompensed for whatsoever was destroyed of Ulster which shall be paid thee as best the men of Erin adjudge. Entertainment shalt thou enjoy in Cruachan; wine and mead shall be poured out for thee and thou shalt enter the service of Ailill and Medb, for that is more seemly for thee than to be in the service of the lordling with whom thou art." "Nay, of a truth," answered Cuchulain, "I would not sell my mother's brother[a] for any other king!" "Further," [8]continued Fiachu,[8] "that [W.1627.] thou comest to-morrow to a tryst with Medb and Fergus in Glenn Fochaine. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] Stowe. [a] That is, Conchobar. [8-8] Stowe. [1]Therewith Fiachu left behind a wish for long life and health with Cuchulain.[1] [1-1] Stowe. Accordingly, early on the morrow, Cuchulain set forth for Glenn Fochaine. Likewise Medb and Fergus went to meet him. And Medb looked narrowly at Cuchulain, and her spirit chafed her at him that day, for no bigger than the bulk of a stripling did he seem to her. "Is that yonder the renowned Cuchulain thou speakest of, O Fergus?" asked Medb, [2]"of whom it is said amongst ye Ulstermen that there is not in Erin a warrior for whom he is not a match and mighty combat?" "Not in Erin alone, did we say," Fergus made answer; "but there is not in the world a warrior for whom he is not a match and mighty combat."[2] And Medb began to address Fergus and she made this lay:-- Medb: "If that be the noble Hound, Of whom ye of Ulster boast, What man e'er stout foe hath faced, Will fend him from Erin's men!" Fergus: "Howe'er young the Hound thou seest, That Murthemne's Plain doth course, That man hath not stood on earth Whom he'd crush not with his might!" Medb: "We will bring this warrior terms; If he slight them, he is mad: Half his cows, his women, half. He shall change his way of fight!" Fergus: "My wish, that yell not o'ercome This Hound from proud Murthemne! Deeds he fears not--fierce and bright-- This I know, if it be he!" [2-2] H. 2. 17. "Accost Cuchulain, O Fergus," said Medb. "Nay, then," quoth Fergus, "but do thou accost him thyself, for ye are not asunder here in the valley, in Glenn Fochaine." [W.1653.] And Medb began to address Cuchulain and she made a lay, [1]to which he responded:[1] Medb: "Culann's Hound, whom quatrains praise,[a] Keep thy staff-sling far from us; Thy fierce, famed fight hath us ruined, Hath us broken and confused!" Cuchulain: "Medb of Mur, he, Maga's son, No base arrant wight am I. While I live I'll never cease Cualnge's raid to harass sore!" Medb: "If thou wilt take this from us, Valiant chief, thou Cualnge's Hound; Half thy cows, thy women, half, Thou shalt have [2]through fear of thee!"[2] Cuchulain: "As by right of thrusts am I Ulster's champion and defence, Naught I'll yield till I retrieve Cow and woman ta'en from Gael!" Medb: "What thou askest is too much, After slaughtering our fair troops, That we keep but steeds and gauds, All because of one sole man!" Cuchulain: "Eocho's daughter, fair, of Fal, I'm not good at wars of words; Though a warrior--[b] fair the cheer--[b] Counsel mine is little worth!" Medb: "Shame thou hast none for what thou sayest, O Dechtirè's lordly[c] son! Famous are the terms for thee, O thou battling Culann's Hound!" [1-1] Stowe. [a] Literally, 'love.' [2-2] Reading with H. 1. 13 and Stowe. [b-b] A cheville. [c] Literally, 'richly trooped.' When this lay was finished, Cuchulain accepted none of the terms which she had offered. In such wise they parted in the valley and withdrew in equal anger on the one side and on the other. The warriors of four of the five grand provinces of Erin pitched camp and took quarters for three days and three nights at Druim En ('Birds' Ridge') in Conalle Murthemni, but neither huts nor tents did they set up, nor did they [W.1688.] engage in feasts or repasts, nor sang they songs nor carols those three nights. And Cuchulain destroyed a hundred of their warriors every night ere the bright hour of sunrise on the morrow. [LL.fo.70b.] "Our hosts will not last long in this fashion," said Medb, "if Cuchulain slays a hundred of our warriors every night. Wherefore is a proposal not made to him and do we not parley with him?" "What might the proposal be?" asked Ailill. "Let the cattle that have milk be given to him and the captive women from amongst our booty. And he on his side shall check his staff-sling from the men of Erin and give leave to the hosts to sleep, [1]even though he slay them by day."[1] "Who shall go with that proposal?" Ailill asked. "Who," answered Medb, "but macRoth the [2]chief[2] runner!" "Nay, but I will not go," said macRoth, "for I am in no way experienced and know not where Cuchulain may be, [3]and even though I should meet him, I should not know him.[3]" "Ask Fergus," quoth Medb; "like enough he knows [4]where he is.[4]" "Nay, then, I know it not," answered Fergus; "but I trow he is [5]in the snow[5] between Fochain and the sea, taking the wind and the sun after his sleeplessness last night, killing and slaughtering the host single handed." And so it truly was. [6]Then on that errand to Delga macRoth set forth, the messenger of Ailill and Medb. He it is that circles Erin in one day. There it is that Fergus opined that Cuchulain would be, in Delga.[6] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1128. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1109-1111. Heavy snow fell that night so that all the [7]five[7] provinces of Erin were a white plane with the snow. And Cuchulain doffed the seven-score waxed, boardlike tunics which were used to be held under cords and strings next his skin, in order that his sense might not be deranged when [W.1709.] the fit of his fury came on him. And the snow melted for thirty feet all around him, because of the intensity of the warrior's heat and the warmth of Cuchulain's body. And the gilla [1]remained a good distance from him for he[1] could not endure to remain near him because of the might of his rage and the warrior's fury and the heat of his body. "A single warrior approacheth, O Cuchulain," cried Laeg [2]to Cuchulain.[2] "What manner of warrior is he?" asked Cuchulain. "A brown, broad-faced, handsome fellow; [3]a yellow head of hair and a linen ornament round it[3]; a splendid, brown, [4]hooded[4] cloak, [5]with red ornamentation,[5] about him; a fine, bronze pin in his cloak; a leathern three-striped doublet next his skin; two gapped shoes between his two feet and the ground; a white-hazel dog-staff in one of his hands; a single-edged sword with ornaments of walrus-tooth on its hilt in the other. "Good, O gilla," quoth Cuchulain, "these be the tokens of a herald. One of the heralds of Erin is he to bring me message and offer of parley." [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1112. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1112. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1113. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1114. Now was macRoth arrived at the place where Laeg was, "[6]How now[6]! What is thy title as vassal, O gilla? "macRoth asked. "Vassal am I to the youth up yonder," the gilla made answer. MacRoth came to the place where Cuchulain was. [7]Cuchulain was sitting in the snow there up to his two hips with nothing about him ... his mantle.[7] "[8]How now[8]! What is thy name as vassal, O warrior?" asked macRoth. "Vassal am I to Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathach, [9]son of the High King of this province."[9] "Hast not something, [10]a name[10] more special than that?" "Tis enough for the nonce," answered Cuchulain. "Haply, thou knowest where I might find that famous Cuchulain of whom the men [W.1729.] of Erin clamour now on this foray?" "What wouldst thou say to him that thou wouldst not to me?" asked Cuchulain. "To parley with him am I come on the part of Ailill and Medb, with terms and friendly intercourse for him." "What terms hast thou brought with thee for him?" "The milch-kine and the bondwomen of the booty he shall have, and for him to hold back his staff-sling from the hosts, for not pleasant is the thunder-feat he works every evening upon them." "Even though the one thou seekest were really at hand, he would not accept the proposals thou askest." "[1]How so, then," said macRoth[1]; "for the Ulstermen, as amends for their honour and in reprisal for injuries and satires and hindrances [2]and for bands of troops and marauders,[2] will kill [3]for meat in the winter[3] the milch-cows ye have captured, should they happen to have no yeld cattle. And, what is more, they will bring their bondwomen to bed to them, and thus will grow up a base progeny on the side of the mothers in the land of Ulster, [4]and loath I am to leave after me such a disgrace on the men of Ulster.[4] [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1116-1118. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1120. [1] H. 2. 17. [2] H. 2. 17. [3] LU. and YBL. 1135. [4] H. 2. 17. MacRoth went his way back [5]to the camp of the men of Erin to where Ailill and Medb and Fergus were.[5] "What! Didst thou not find him?" Medb asked. "Verily, [6]I know not, but[6] I found a surly, angry, hateful, wrathful gilla [7]in the snow[7] betwixt Fochain and the sea. Sooth to say, I know not if he were Cuchulain." "Hath he accepted these proposals [8]from thee?"[8] "Nay then, he hath not." And macRoth related [9]unto them all his answer,[9] the reason why he did not accept them. "It was he himself with whom thou spakest," said Fergus. [5] H. 2. 17. [6] H. 2. 17. [7] H. 2. 17. [8] Stowe. [9] Stowe. "Another offer shall be made him," said Medb. "What is the offer?" asked Ailill. "There shall be given to him [W.1747.] the yeld cattle and the noblest of the captive women of the booty, and his sling shall be checked from the hosts, for not pleasant is the thunder-feat he works on them every evening." "Who should go make this covenant?" [1]said they.[1] "Who but macRoth [2]the king's envoy,"[2] [3]said every one.[3] "Yea, I will go," said macRoth, "because this time I know him." [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe. [4]Thereupon[4] macRoth [5]arose and[5] came to parley with Cuchulain. "To parley with thee am I come this time [6]with other terms,[6] for I wis it is thou art the renowned Cuchulain." "What hast thou brought with thee now?" [7]Cuchulain asked.[7] "What is dry of the kine and what is noblest of the captives [8]shalt thou get,[8] and hold thy staff-sling [LL.fo.71a.] from the men of Erin and suffer the men of Erin to go to sleep, for not pleasant is the thunder-feat thou workest upon them every evening." "I accept not that offer, because, as amends for their honour, the Ulstermen will kill the dry cattle. For the men of Ulster are honourable men and they would remain wholly without dry kine and milch-kine. They would bring their free women ye have captured to the querns and to the kneading-troughs and into bondage and [9]other[9] serfdom [10]besides.[10] [11]This would be a disgrace.[11] Loath I should be to leave after me this shame in Ulster, that slave-girls and bondmaids should be made of the daughters of kings and princes of Ulster." "Is there any offer at all thou wilt accept this time?" [12]said macRoth[12] "Aye, but there is," answered Cuchulain. "Then wilt thou tell me the offer?" asked macRoth. "By my word," Cuchulain made answer, "'tis not I that will tell you." "It is a question, then," said macRoth. "If there be among you in the camp," said Cuchulain, "one that knows the terms I demand, let [W.1766.] him inform you, [1]and I will abide thereby."[1] "And if there be not?"[2] said macRoth. "If there be not," said Cuchulain,[2] "let no one come near me any more with offers or with friendly intercourse [3]or concerning aught other injunction,[3] for, whosoever may come, it will be the term of his life!" [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe. MacRoth came back [4]to the camp and station of the men of Erin, to where Ailill, Medb, and Fergus were,[4] and Medb asked his tidings. "Didst thou find him?" Medb asked. "In truth, I found him," macRoth replied. "Hath he accepted [5]the terms?"[5] "He hath not accepted," replied macRoth. "[6]How so;" said Ailill,[6] "is there an offer he will accept?" "There is one, he said," [7]answered macRoth.[7] "Hath he made known to thee this offer?" "This is his word," said macRoth, "that he himself would not disclose it to ye." "'Tis a question, then," said Medb. "But" (macRoth continued), "should there be one in our midst that knows his terms, that one would tell it to me." "And if there be not," [8]said Ailill. "And if there be not,"[8] (answered macRoth), "let no one go seek him any more. But, there is one thing I promise [9]thee,"[9] said macRoth; "even though the kingdom of Erin were [10]given me[10] for it, I for one would not go [11]on these same legs to that place[11] to parley with him [12]again."[12] [13]"Belike, Fergus knows," quoth Ailill.[13] Therewith Medb looked at Fergus. "What are the terms yonder man demands, O Fergus? "Medb asked. [14]"I know what the man meant to disclose.[14] I see no advantage at all for ye in the terms he demands," Fergus replied. "[15]But[15] what are those terms?" asked Medb. "[16]Not difficult to say," replied Fergus.[16] "That a single champion of [W.1782.] the men of Erin [1]be sent[1] to fight [2]and contend[2] with him every day. The while he slayeth that man, the army will be permitted to continue its march. Then, when he will have slain that man, another warrior shall be sent to meet him on the ford. Either that, or the men of Erin shall halt and camp there till sunrise's bright hour in the morning. [3]And, by the ford whereon his single-handed battle and fight takes place, the cattle shall not be taken by day or by night, to see if there come to him help from the men of Ulster. And I wonder," continued Fergus, "how long it will be till they come out of their 'Pains.'[3] [4]Whatever Ulstermen are injured or wounded nearby him, your leeches shall heal them and ye shall not be paid for the price of their healing. Whatever daughter of kings or of princes of the men of Erin shall love him, ye shall bring her to him together with her purchase and bride-price.[4] And further, Cuchulain's food and clothing shall be provided by you, [5]so long as he will be[5] on this expedition." [6]"Good, O Fergus,"[6] asked Ailill,[a] [7]"will he abate aught of these terms?" "In sooth, will he," replied Fergus; "namely, he will not exact to be fed and clothed by you, but of himself will provide food and clothing."[7] [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] Stowe. [12-12] Stowe. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] LU. and YBL. 1138. [15-15] H. 2. 17. [16-16] H. 2. 17. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1140-1143. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [a] 'Medb,' H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. "By our conscience," said Ailill, "this is a grievous proposal." "What he asks is good," replied Medb; "and he shall obtain those terms, for we deem it easier to bear that he should have one of our warriors every day than a hundred every night." "Who will go and make known those terms to Cuchulain?" "Who, then, but Fergus?" replied Medb. "[8]Come now, O Fergus," said Medb; "take upon thee to fulfil and make good those terms to him."[8] "Nevermore!" said Fergus. "Why not?" asked Ailill. [9]"I fear ye will not make true and fulfil them for [W.1792.] me." "They will truly be fulfilled," said Medb.[9] (Then said Fergus:) "Bonds and covenants, pledges and bail shall be given for abiding by those terms and for their fulfilment towards Cuchulain." "I abide by it," said Medb, and she fast bound Fergus to them in like manner. [8-8] H. 2. 17 [9-9] H. 2. 17. * * * * * [Page 115] X [1]THE VIOLENT DEATH OF ETARCUMUL[1] [W.1798.] Fergus' horses were brought and his chariot was hitched [2]and Fergus set forth on that errand.[2] And two horses were brought for Etarcumul son of Fid and of Lethrinn, a soft youth of the people of Medb and of Ailill. [3]Now Etarcumul followed Fergus.[3] "Whither goest thou?" Fergus demanded. "We go with thee," Etarcumul made answer. [4]"And why goest thou with me?" asked Fergus.[4] "To behold the form and appearance of Cuchulain, and to gaze upon him, [5]for he is unknown to me."[5] "Wilt thou do my bidding," said Fergus, "thou wilt in no wise go thither." "Why shall I not, pray?" [6]"I would not have thee go," said Fergus; "and it is not out of hatred of thee, only I should be loath to have combat between thee and Cuchulain.[6] Thy light-heartedness, [7]thy haughtiness and thy pride[7] and thine overweeningness (I know), but (I also know) the fierceness and valour and hostility, the [8]violence and vehemence[8] of the youth against whom thou goest, [9]even Cuchulain.[9] And methinks ye will have contention before ye part. [10]No good will come from your meeting."[10] "Art thou not able to come between us [11]to protect me?"[11] [W.1806.] "I am, to be sure," Fergus answered, "provided thou thyself seek not the combat[1] and treat not what he says with contempt."[1] "I will not seek it," [2]said Etarcumul,[2] "till the very day of doom!" [1-1] LU. fo. 68a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1145. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1145. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1147-1149. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1149. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1150. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1150. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1152. [2-2] Stowe and H. 2. 17. Then they went their ways [3]in two chariots to Delga,[3] to come up to Cuchulain where Cuchulain was between Fochain and the sea. [4]There it is that he was that day, with his back to the pillar-stone at Crich Rois,[4] playing draughts with Laeg, [5]to wit, his charioteer.[5] [6]The back of his head was turned towards them that approached and Laeg faced them.[6] And not a [7]living[7] thing entered the [8]entire[8] plain without Laeg perceiving it and, notwithstanding, he continued to win every other game of draughts from Cuchulain. "A lone warrior cometh towards us [9]over the plain,[9] [10]my master[10] Cucuc," spake Laeg. "What manner of warrior?" queried Cuchulain. [11]"A fine, large chariot is there," said he.[11] [12]"But what sort of chariot?"[12] "As large as one of the chief mountains that are highest on a great plain appears to me [LL.fo.71b.] the chariot that is under the warrior; [13]and I would liken to the battlements of one of the vast, royal seats of the province the chariot that is in the trappings of those horses;[13] as large as one of the noble trees on a main fort's green meseems the curly, tressed, fair-yellow, all-golden hair hanging loose around the man's head; a purple mantle fringed with thread of gold [14]wrapped[14] around him; a golden, ornamented brooch in the mantle [15]over his breast;[15] [16]a bright-shining, hooded shirt, with red embroidery of red gold trussed up on his white [W.1819.] skin;[16] a broad and grey-shafted lance, [1]perforated from _mimasc_[a] to 'horn,'[1] flaming red in his hand; over him, a bossed, plaited shield, [2]curved, with an engraved edge of silvered bronze,[2] [3]with applied ornaments of red gold thereon,[3] and a boss of red gold; a lengthy sword, as long as the oar[4] of a huge currach [5]on a wild, stormy night,[5] [6]resting on the two thighs[6] of the great haughty warrior that is within the chariot.[4]" [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1153. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] LL., in the margin. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1154-1155. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] H. 2. 17. [15-15] Stowe. [16-16] H. 2. 17. [a] Some part of the spear. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1159. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1158. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] Following Windisch's emendation of the text. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1160. "Holla! Welcome the coming of this guest to us!" cried Cuchulain. "We know the man; it is my master Fergus that cometh hither. [7]Empty is the great paddle that my master Fergus carries," said Cuchulain; "for there is no sword in its sheath but a sword of wood. For I have heard," Cuchulain continued, "that Ailill got a chance at him and Medb as they lay, and he took away Fergus' sword from him and gave it to his charioteer to take care of, and the sword of wood was put into its sheath."[7] [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1160-1165. "Yet another single chariot-fighter I see coming towards us. With fulness of skill and beauty and splendour his horses speed." [8]"A young, tender gilla in armour is in the chariot.[8]" "One of the youths of the men of Erin is he, O my master Laeg," responded Cuchulain. "To scan my appearance and form is that man come, for I am renowned amongst them in the midst of their camp, [9]and they know me not at all."[9] [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. Fergus came up [10]to where Cuchulain was[10] and he sprang from the chariot, and Cuchulain bade him [11]a hearty[11] welcome. [12]"Welcome to thine arrival and thy coming, O my master Fergus!" cried Cuchulain; "and a night's [W.1831.] lodging shalt thou have here this night."[12] [1]"Thy hospitality and eke thy welcome[1] I take for true," Fergus responded. "Verily, it is truly meant for thee," said Cuchulain; "for comes there a brace of birds into the plain, thou shalt have a wild goose with half the other. If fish rise to the river-mouths, [2]to the stones or waterfalls,[2] thou shalt have a salmon with as much again. Thou shalt have a handful of watercress and a handful of sea-grass and a handful of laver [3]and a drink from the sand[3] [4]afterwards.[4] If thou hast a fight or combat [5]with warrior before thee,[5] I myself will go in thy stead to the ford. [6]I will bear the fight that thou mayest return safe to the camp and the fort of the men of Erin on the morrow,[6] [7]and thou shalt lie on a litter of fresh rushes till heavy sleep and slumber come on thee,[7] [8]and I will watch and guard thee as long as thou sleepest."[8] "Well, then, [9]mayest thou have victory and blessing, O fosterling," said Fergus.[9] "We know of what sort is thy hospitality on this occasion, on the Cow-spoil of Cualnge. [10]But, not to claim that are we come,[10] [11]a night's hospitality of thee, but to fulfil and make good the terms thou askest.[11] As for this compact which thou hast asked of the men of Erin, single-handed combat with one man, thou shalt have it. It is for that I am come, to bind thee thereto, and do thou take it upon thee." "I pledge myself truly," said Cuchulain, [13]provided fair play and single-handed combat be granted to me.[13] "And, O, my master Fergus, [14]do thou take upon thee the pact," said Cuchulain. "I bind myself to it," replied Fergus.[14] [W.1841.] And no longer than that did he remain in parley, lest the men of Erin should say they were betrayed or deserted by Fergus for his disciple. Fergus' two horses were brought and his chariot was harnessed and he went back. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17, and, similarly, Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1170 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] Reading with Stowe. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10 Stowe. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] H. 2. 17. Etarcumul tarried behind gazing for a long time at Cuchulain. "At what starest thou, gilla?" asked Cuchulain. "I look at thee," said Etarcumul. "In truth then, thou hast not far to look," said Cuchulain. [1]"There is no need of straining thine eye for that; not far from thee within sight, thine eye seeth what is not smaller than I nor bigger.[1] If thou but knewest how angered is the little creature thou regardest, myself, to wit! And how then do I appear unto thee gazing upon me?" "Thou pleasest me as thou art; a comely, [2]shapely,[2] wonderful, beautiful youth thou art, with brilliant, striking, various feats. Yet as for rating thee where goodly warriors are or forward youths or heroes of bravery or sledges of destruction, we count thee not nor consider thee at all. [3]I know not why thou shouldst be feared by any one. I behold nothing of terror or fearfulness or of the overpowering of a host in thee. So, a comely youth with arms of wood and with showy feats is all thou art!"[3] [4]"Though thou revilest me,"[4] said Cuchulain, "it is a surety for thee that thou camest from the camp under the protection of Fergus, [5]as thou well knowest.[5] For the rest, I swear by my gods whom I worship, were it not for the honour of Fergus, it would be only bits of thy bones and shreds of thy limbs, [6]thy reins drawn and thy quarters scattered[6] that would be brought back to the camp [7]behind thy horses and chariot!"[7] "But threaten me no longer [W.1858.] in this wise, [1]Cuchulain[1]!" [2]cried Etarcumul;[2] "for the [3]wonderful[3] terms thou didst exact of the men of Erin, [4]that fair play and[4] combat with one man [5]should be granted thee,[5] none other of the men of Erin but mine own self will come to-morrow [6]at morn's early hour on the ford[6] to attack thee." [1-1] Reading with H. 2. 17. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1178-1180. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1181. [5-5] Stowe; LL. reads 'I know.' [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1182-1183. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1185. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. "Come out, then," [7]said Cuchulain,[7] "and howso early thou comest, thou wilt find me here. I will not fly before thee. [8]Before no man have I put foot in flight till now on the Plunder of the Kine of Cualnge and neither will I fly before thee!"[8] [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. Etarcumul returned [9]from Methè and Cethè,[9] and began to talk with his driver. "I must needs fight with Cuchulain to-morrow, gilla," said Etarcumul, [10]"for I gave my word to go."[10] "'Tis true, thou didst," quoth the charioteer. [LL.fo.72a.] "Howbeit, I know not wilt thou fulfil it." "But what is better [11]for us,[11] to fulfil it to-morrow or forthwith to-night?" "To our thinking," said the gilla, "albeit no victory is to be won by fighting to-morrow, there is still less to be gained by fighting to-night, for thy combat [12]and hurt[12] is the nearer." "[13]Be that as it may," said he[13]; "turn the [14]horses and[14] chariot back again [15]from the hill[15] for us, gilla, [16]till we go to the ford of combat,[16] for I swear by the gods whom I worship, I will not return [17]to the camp[17] till the end of life and time, till I bring with me the head of that young wildling, [18]even[18] the head of Cuchulain, for a trophy!" [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1188. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] H. 2. 17. [15-15] LU. and YBL. 1190. [16-16] H. 2. 17. [17-17] Stowe. [18-18] Stowe. The charioteer wheeled the chariot again towards the [W.1871.] ford. They brought the left[a] board to face the pair in a line with the ford. Laeg marked [1]this and he cried[1] [2]to Cuchulain[2]: ("Wist thou) the last chariot-fighter that was here a while ago, O Cucuc?" "What of him?" asked Cuchulain. "He has brought his left board towards us in the direction of the ford." "It is Etarcumul, O gilla, who seeks me in combat. [3]I owe no refusal,[3] but far from pleased am I thereat [4]that he should come and seek combat of me. And unwelcome is his coming,[4] because of the honour of my foster-father [5]Fergus[5] under whom he came forth from the camp [6]of the men of Erin.[6] But not that I would protect him do I thus. Fetch me my arms, gilla, to the ford. [7]Bring me my horse and my chariot after me.[7] I deem it no honour for myself if [8]the fellow[8] reaches the ford before me." And straightway Cuchulain betook himself to the ford, and he bared his sword over his fair, well-knit spalls and he was ready on the ford to await Etarcumul. [a] A sign of hostility and an insult. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1191. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1192. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. Then, too, came Etarcumul. "What seekest thou, gilla?" demanded Cuchulain. "Battle with thee I seek," replied Etarcumul. "Hadst thou been advised by me," said Cuchulain, "thou wouldst never have come. [9]I do not desire what thou demandest of me.[9] [10]I have no thought of fighting or contending with thee, Etarcumul.[10] Because of the honour of Fergus under whom thou camest out of the camp [11]and station of the men of Erin,[11] and not because I would spare thee, do I behave thus." [12]"Thou hast no choice but to fight," replied Etarcumul.[12] Thereupon Cuchulain gave him a long-blow whereby [W.1886.] he cut away the sod that was under the soles of his feet, so that he was stretched out like a sack on his back, and [1]his limbs in the air[1] and the sod on his belly. Had Cuchulain wished it it is two pieces he might have made of him. [2]"Hold, fellow.[2] Off with thee now, for I have given thee warning. [3]It mislikes me to cleanse my hands in thee. I would have cloven thee into many parts long since but for Fergus."[3] "I will not go. We will fight on," said Etarcumul. Cuchulain dealt him a well-aimed edge-stroke. [4]With the edge of his sword[4] he sheared the hair from him from poll to forehead, from one ear to the other, as if it were with a light, keen razor he had been shorn. [5]Not a scratch of his skin gave blood.[5] [6]"Hold, fellow.[6] Get thee home now," said Cuchulain, "for a laughing-stock I have made of thee." "I go not," [7]rejoined Etarcumul.[7] "We will fight to the end, till I take thy head and thy spoils and boast over thee, or till thou takest my head and my spoils and boastest over me!" "So let it be, what thou saidst last, that it shall be. I will take thy head and thy spoils and boast over thee!" [8]When now the churl became troublesome and persistent,[8] Cuchulain [9]sprang from the ground, so that he alighted on the edge of Etarcumul's shield, and he[9] dealt him a cleaving-blow on the crown of the head, so that it drove to his navel. He dealt him a second crosswise stroke, so that at the one time the three portions of his body came to the ground. Thus fell Etarcumul son of Fid and of Lethrinn. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1194-1195. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 1195. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1197-1199. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1204. [5-5] H. 2 17. [6-6] H. 2 17. [7-7] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1206-1207. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10]Then Etarcumul's charioteer went his way after Fergus,[10] and Fergus knew not that the combat had been. For thus was his wont: [11]From the day Fergus took warrior's arms in hand,[11] he never for aught looked back, whether at [W.1904.] sitting or at rising or when travelling or walking, in battle or fight or combat, lest some one might say it was out of fear he looked back, but ever he looked at the thing that was before and beside him. [1]Fergus saw the chariot go past him and a single man in it.[1] [2]And when[2] Etarcumul's squire came up abreast of Fergus, Fergus asked, "But, where is thy lord, gilla?" "He fell a while since at the ford by the hand of Cuchulain," the gilla made answer. "That indeed was not fair!" exclaimed Fergus, "for that elf-like sprite to wrong me in him that came under my safeguard [3]and protection[3] [4]from the camp and fort of the men of Erin.[4] Turn the chariot for us, gilla," cried Fergus, "that we may go to [5]the ford of fight and combat[5] for a parley with Cuchulain." [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1208. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. Thereupon the driver wheeled the chariot. They fared thither towards the ford. [6]Fergus turned to rebuke Cuchulain.[6] "How darest thou offend me, thou wild, [7]perverse, little[7] elf-man," cried Fergus, "in him that came under my safeguard and protection? [8]Thou thinkest my club short."[8] [LL.fo.72b.] [9]"Be not wroth with me, my master Fergus," said Cuchulain.[9] "After the nurture and care thou didst bestow on me [10]and the Ulstermen bestowed and Conchobar[10] tell me, which wouldst thou hold better, [11]for the Ulstermen to be conquered without anyone to punish them but me alone and[11] for him to triumph and boast over me, or for me to triumph and boast over him? And yet more, [12]of his own fault he fell.[12] Ask his own gilla which of us was in fault in respect of the other; [13]it was none other but he.[13][a] [1]Reproach me not, O Fergus my master." He bent down so that Fergus' chariot went past him thrice. "Ask his charioteer, is it I that have caused it?" "Not thou indeed," answered his charioteer. "He said," Cuchulain went on, "he would not go till either he took my head or he left me his own."[1] [2]Then Etarcumul's gilla related to Fergus how it all befel. When Fergus heard that, what he said was:[2] [W.1921.] "Liefer to me what thou hast done, [3]O fosterling," said Fergus, "that Etarcumul is slain, and[3] a blessing on the hand that smote him, [4]for it is he that was overweening."[4] [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1209. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1210. Probably a proverbial expression. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1210. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [a] Lines 1212-1216 LU. and YBL. (Edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe) are omitted in the translation. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1216-1220. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1222. So then they bound two spancels about the ankle-joints of Etarcumul's feet and he was dragged along behind his horses and chariot. At every rock that was rough for him, his lungs and his liver were left on the stones and the rugged places. At every place that was smooth for him, his skilfully severed limbs came together again round the horses. In this wise he was dragged through the camp to the door of the tent of Ailill and Medb: "There's your young warrior for you," cried Fergus, "for 'Every restoration together with its restitution' is what the law saith."[a] Medb came forth to the door of her tent and she raised her [5]quick, splitting,[5] loud voice [6]of a warrior.[6] Quoth Medb. "Truly, methought that great was the heat and the wrath of this young hound [7]on leaving us awhile since[7] at the beginning of the day as he went from the camp. [8]It is no fortune for a tender youth that falls on thee now.[8] We had thought that the honour under which he went, even the honour of Fergus, was not the honour of a dastard!" "What hath crazed the virago and wench?" cried Fergus. "Good lack, [W.1935.] is it fitting for the mongrel to seek the Hound of battle whom [1]the warriors and champions[1] of four of the five grand provinces of Erin dare not approach nor withstand? What, I myself was glad to escape whole from him!" [a] A law maxim. Since Etarcumul had broken his promise not to fight, Fergus deems himself absolved from the spirit of his engagement to bring back Etarcumul but fulfils the letter of it. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2]Etarcumul's grave was then dug and his tombstone erected; his name was written in ogam and they raised the keen over him. Cuchulain shot not from his sling at them that night[2] [3]and the women and maidens were brought over to him and half the cattle, and they brought provision to him by day.[3] In this manner fell Etarcumul and such was the combat of Etarcumul with Cuchulain. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1230-1232. [3-3] LU. fo. 69, between the columns. * * * * * [Page 126] XI [1]THE SLAYING OF NATHCRANTAIL[1] [2]Then the men of Erin held counsel who would be fit to fight and contend with Cuchulain and drive him off from the men of Erin.[2] [3]"What man have ye to face Cuchulain to-morrow?" asked Lugaid. "They will give him to thee to-morrow," answered Manè son of Ailill. "We find no one to meet him," quoth Medb; "let us have a truce with him then till a man be found to oppose him." This they obtain. "Whither will ye turn," asked Ailill, "to find the man to oppose Cuchulain?" "There is not in Erin," Medb answered, "one that could be got to meet him unless Curoi macDarè come, or Nathcrantail the warrior." A man of Curoi's people was in the tent. "Curoi will not come," said he; "he weens enough of his people have come!" "Let a message be sent then for Nathcrantail."[3] [W.1941.] Then arose a huge warrior of Medb's people, Nathcrantail by name. [4]Manè Andoe ('the Unslow') goes to him. They tell him their message. "Come with us for the sake of the honour of Connacht." "I will not go," said he, "unless they give Finnabair to me." Afterwards he goes with them. They bring his armour in a car from the east of Connacht and place it in the camp.[4] [5]Then was Nathcrantail called into the tent of Ailill and Medb.[5] [6]"Wherefore am I summoned to ye?" Nathcrantail asked. "It would please us well," Medb replied, "werest thou to fight and contend with Cuchulain on the ford and ward him off from us at the morning hour early on the morrow.[6] [1]Thou shalt have Finnabair," said Medb, "for going to fight yonder man." "I will do it," said he.[1] [2]He engaged to undertake the battle and combat and that night be made ready, and early on the morrow Nathcrantail arose for the battle and combat and he took his warlike implements with him to the fight, and though early he arose, Cuchulain arose still earlier.[2] [3]That night Lugaid came to Cuchulain. "Nathcrantail comes to meet thee to-morrow. Alas for thee, thou wilt not withstand him." "That matters not," Cuchulain made answer.[3][a] [1-1] Stowe, and LU. fo. 69a, in the margin. [2-2] Stowe, and, similarly, H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1233-1242 and Eg. 1782. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1242-1246. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1246-1247. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1248-1250. [a] Here follows one line (1251 in LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, and almost similarly in YBL.) which seems to refer to some saying of Cuchulain's about Nathcrantail which we cannot locate. [4]On the morrow Nathcrantail went forth from the camp[4] and he came to attack Cuchulain. [W.1942.] He did not deign to bring along arms but thrice nine spits of holly after being sharpened, burnt and hardened in fire. And there before him on the pond was Cuchulain [5]a-fowling and his chariot hard by him,[5][b] and there was no shelter whatever. [6]And when Nathcrantail perceived Cuchulain[6] he [7]straightway[7] cast a dart at Cuchulain. Cuchulain sprang [8]from the middle of the ground[8] till he came on the tip of the dart. [9]And he performed a feat on the point of the dart and it hindered him not from catching the birds.[9] And again Nathcrantail threw a second dart. Nathcrantail threw a third dart and Cuchulain sprang on the point of the second [W.1951.] dart and so on till he was on the point of the last dart. It was then, [1]when Nathcrantail threw the ninth dart,[1] that the flock of birds [2]which Cuchulain pursued[2] on the plain [3]flew away from Cuchulain.[3] Cuchulain chased them even as any bird [4]of the air.[4] [5]He hopped on the points of the darts like a bird from each dart to the next, pursuing the birds[5] that they might not escape him but that they might leave behind a portion of food for the night. For this is what sustained and served Cuchulain, fish and fowl and game on the Cualnge Cow-spoil. Something more remains to be told: Nathcrantail deemed full surely that Cuchulain went from him in rout of defeat and flight. And he went his way till he came to the door of the tent of Ailill and Medb and he lifted up his loud voice [6]of a warrior[6]: "That famous Cuchulain that ye so talk of ran and fled in defeat [7]before me when he came to me[7] in the morning." "We knew," spake Medb, "it would be even so when able warriors and goodly youths met him, that this beardless imp would not hold out; for when a mighty warrior, [8]Nathcrantail to wit,[8] came upon him, he withstood him not but before him he ran away!" [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1253. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1255. [b] Here follow lines 1945-1946, edition of Windisch, which are unintelligible and have been omitted in the translation. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1256-1257. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1258. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1258. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1259-1260. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Stowe. And Fergus heard that, and Fergus [9]and the Ulstermen[9] were sore angered that any one should boast that Cuchulain had fled. And Fergus addressed himself to Fiachu, Feraba's son, that he should go to rebuke Cuchulain. "And tell [LL.fo.73a.] him it is an honour for him to oppose the hosts for as long or as short a space as he does deeds of valour upon them, but that it were fitter for him to hide himself than to fly before any one of their warriors, [10]forasmuch as the dishonour would be not greater for him than for the rest of Ulster."[10] [9-9] LU. 1264. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1268. [W.1969.] Thereupon Fiachu went to address Cuchulain. Cuchulain bade him welcome. "I trow that welcome to be truly meant, but it is for counsel with thee I am come from thy fosterer Fergus. And he has said, 'It would be a glory for thee to oppose the hosts for as long or as short a space as thou doest valiantly [1]with them;[1] but it would be fitter for thee to hide thyself than to fly before any one of their warriors!'" "How now, who makes that boast among ye?" Cuchulain asked. "Nathcrantail, of a surety," Fiachu answered. "How may this be? Dost not know, thou and Fergus and the nobles of Ulster, that I slay no charioteers nor heralds nor unarmed people? And he bore no arms but a spit of wood. And I would not slay Nathcrantail until he had arms. And do thou tell him, let him come here early in the morning, [2]till he is between Ochainè and the sea, and however early he comes, he will find me here[2] and I will not fly before him!" [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1273-1275. [3]Fiachu went back to the camp[3] [4]and to the station of the men of Erin, and he bound Nathcrantail to go to the ford of combat on the morrow. They bided there that night,[4] and it seemed long to Nathcrantail till day with its light came for him to attack Cuchulain. He set out early on the morrow to attack Cuchulain. Cuchulain arose early [5]and came to his place of meeting[5] and his wrath bided with him on that day. And [6]after his night's vigil,[6] with an angry cast he threw his cloak around him, so that it passed over the pillar-stone [7]near by, the size of himself,[7] and snapped the pillar-stone off from the ground between himself and his cloak. And he was aware of naught because of the measure of anger that had come on and raged in him. Then, too, came Nathcrantail. [8]His arms were brought with him on a wagon,[8] and he spake, "Where is [W.1987.] this Cuchulain?" shouted Nathcrantail. "Why, over yonder [1]near the pillar-stone before thee,"[1] answered Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar. "Not such was the shape wherein he appeared to me yesterday," said Nathcrantail. "Repel yon warrior," quoth Cormac, "and it will be the same for thee as if thou repellest Cuchulain!" [2]"Art thou Cuchulain?" "And if I am?" answered Cuchulain. "If thou be truly he," said Nathcrantail, "I would not bring a lambkin's head to the camp. I will not take thy head, the head of a beardless boy." "It is not I at all," said Cuchulain; "go find him around the hill!" Cuchulain hastens to Laeg. "Rub a false beard on me; I cannot get the warrior to fight with me beardless." This was done for him. He goes to meet Nathcrantail on the hill. "Methinks that more fitting. Now fight with me fairly," said Nathcrantail. "Thou shalt have thy wish, if only we know it," Cuchulain made answer. "I will make a cast at thee," said Nathcrantail, "and thou shalt not avoid it." "I will not avoid it except on high," said Cuchulain. Nathcrantail makes a cast at him. Cuchulain springs on high before it. "'Tis ill of thee to avoid the cast," cried Nathcrantail. "Avoid then my cast on high!" quoth Cuchulain. Cuchulain lets the spear fly at him and it went on high, so that from above it alighted on Nathcrantail's crown and through him it went to the ground. "Alas," said he, "the best warrior in Erin art thou," spake Nathcrantail. "Four and twenty sons have I in the camp. I will go and tell them what hidden treasure I have and then return for thee to behead me, for I shall die if the spear be taken out of my head." "It is well," quoth Cuchulain; "thou shalt come back." Then Nathcrantail returns to the camp. They all come to meet him. "Where is the madman's head with thee?" [1]every one asks.[1] "Wait, ye warriors, till I tell my tale to my sons and return to do battle with Cuchulain."[2] [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Egerton 93 begins here. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1276. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1277. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1277-1278. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1279. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1281-1305. [1-1] LU. 1303. [W.1992.] Soon came Nathcrantail [3]to seek Cuchulain[3] and he made a wide sweep with his sword at Cuchulain. [4]Cuchulain leaps on high,[4] so that the sword encountered the pillar of stone that was between Cuchulain and his cloak, and the sword broke [5]atwain[5] on the pillar-stone. [6]Then Cuchulain became filled with rage, as he had been with the boys in Emain, and[6] he sprang from the ground and alighted on the top of the boss of Nathcrantail's shield and dealt him a side stroke over the upper edge of the shield, so that he struck off his head from his trunk. He raised his hand quickly again and gave him another blow on the top of the trunk so that he cleft him in twain down to the ground. [7]His four severed parts fell to the ground.[7] Thus fell Nathcrantail slain by Cuchulain. Whereupon Cuchulain spoke [8]the verse:--[8] "Now that Nathcrantail has fallen, [9]There will be increase of strife![9] Would that Medb had battle [10]now,[10] And the third part of the host!" [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1305. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1306. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1307. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1307-1308. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1310. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe, and LU. and YBL. 1313. [10-10] Stowe, and YBL. and LU. 1313. * * * * * [Page 132] XII [1]THE FINDING OF THE BULL[1] [W.2007.] Thereafter [2]on the morrow[2] Medb proceeded with a third of the host of the men of Erin about her, [3]and she set forth by the highroad of Midluachair[3] till she reached Dûn Sobairche in the north. And Cuchulain pressed heavily on Medb that day. [4]Medb went on to Cuib to seek the bull and Cuchulain pursued her. Now on the road to Midluachair she had gone to invade Ulster and Cruthne as far as Dûn Sobairche.[4] [5]There it is that Cuchulain slew all those we have mentioned in Cuib.[5] Cuchulain killed Fer Taidle, whence cometh Taidle; and [6]as they went northwards[6] he killed the macBuachalla ('the Herdsman's sons') [7]at their cairn,[7] whence cometh Carn macBuachalla; and he killed Luasce on the slopes, whence Lettre Luasc ('the Watery Slopes of Luasc'); and he slew Bobulge in his marsh, whence Grellach ('the Trampled Place') of Bubulge; and he slew Murthemne on his hill, whence Delga ('the Points') of Murthemne; [8]he slew Nathcoirpthe at his trees, Cruthen on his ford, Marc on his hill, Meille on his mound and Bodb in his tower.[8] It was afterwards then [W.2016.] that Cuchulain turned back from the north [1]to Mag Murthemni,[1] to protect and defend his own borders and land, for dearer to him was [2]his own land and inheritance and belongings[2] than the land and territory and belongings of another. [1-1] Stowe, and LU. fo. 70a. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1315-1317. Eg. 93 mentions a number of places to which Cuchulain pursued Medb. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1341. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1343. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1342-1344. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1345.] [2-2] Eg. 93. It was then too that he came upon the Fir Crandce ('the men of Crannach') [3]from whom cometh Crannach in Murthemne;[3] to wit, the two Artinne and the two sons of Lecc, the two sons of Durcride, the two sons of Gabul, and Drucht and Delt and Dathen, Tae and Tualang and Turscur, and Torc Glaisse and Glass and Glassne, which are the same as the twenty men of Fochard. Cuchulain surprised them as they were pitching [LL.fo.73b.] camp in advance of all others--[4]ten cup-bearers and ten men-of-arms they were[4]--so that they fell by his hand. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1348. Then it was that Buide ('the Yellow') son of Ban Blai ('the White') from [5]Sliab Culinn ('Hollymount'),[5] the country of Ailill and Medb, and belonging to the special followers of [6]Ailill and[6] Medb, met Cuchulain. Four and twenty[a] warriors [7]was their strength.[7] A [8]blue[8] mantle enwrapping each man, the Brown Bull of Cualnge plunging and careering before them after he had been brought from Glenn na Samaisce ('Heifers' Glen') to Sliab Culinn, and fifty of his heifers with him. [9]Cuchulain advances to meet them.[9] "Whence bring ye the drove, [10]ye men?"[10] Cuchulain asks. "From yonder mountain," Buide answers. [11]"Where are its herdsmen?" Cuchulain asks. "One is here where we found him," the warrior answers. Cuchulain made three leaps after them, seeking to speak [W.2031.] with them, as far as the ford. Then it was he spoke to the leader[11], "What is thine own name?" said Cuchulain. "One that neither loves thee nor fears thee," Buide made answer; "Buide son of Ban Blai am I, from the country of Ailill and Medb." [1]"Wella-day, O Buide," cried Cuchulain; "haste to the ford below that we exchange a couple of throws with each other." They came to the ford and exchanged a couple of throws there.[1] "Lo, here for thee this short spear," said Cuchulain, and he casts the spear at him. It struck the shield over his belly, so that it shattered three ribs in his farther side after piercing his heart in his bosom. And Buide son of Ban Blai fell [2]on the ford.[2] So that thence is Ath Buidi ('Athboy') in Crich Roiss ('the land of Ross'). [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1318. [6-6] Stowe. [a] 'Sixty' is the number in LU. and YBL.; 'eight' in Eg. 93. [7-7] Stowe and LU. and YBL. 1319. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1320. [10-10] Eg. 93. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1322-1325. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] LU. and YBL 1328. For as long or as short a space as [3]these bold champions and battle-warriors[3] were engaged in this work of exchanging their two short spears--for it was not in a moment they had accomplished it--the Brown Bull of Cualnge was carried away in quick course and career [4]by the eight great men[4] to the camp [5]of the men of Erin[5] as swiftly as any beeve can be brought to a camp. [6]They opined then it would not be hard to deal with Cuchulain if only his spear were got from him.[6] From this accordingly came the greatest shame and grief and madness that was brought on Cuchulain on that hosting. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1330-1331. As regards Medb: every ford [7]and every hill[7] whereon she stopped, Ath Medba ('Medb's Ford') [8]and Dindgna Medba ('Medb's Hill')[8] is its name. Every place wherein she pitched her tent, Pupall Medba ('Medb's Tent') is its name. Every spot she rested her horselash, Bili Medba ('Medb's Tree') is its name. [7-7] LU. and YBL 1353. [8-8] LU. and YBL 1354. On this circuit Medb [9]turned back from the north after [W.2047.] she had remained a fortnight laying waste the province[9] [1]and plundering the land of the Picts and of Cualnge and the land of Conall son of Amargin,[1] and having offered battle [2]one night[2] to Findmor ('the Fair-large') wife of Celtchar [3]son of Uthechar[3] at the gate of Dûn Sobairche; and she slew Findmor and laid waste Dûn Sobairche; [5]and, after taking Dûn Sobairche from her, she brought fifty of [4]her[4] women into the province of Dalriada.[5] [6]Then she had them hanged and crucified. Whence cometh Mas na Righna ('Queen's Buttock') as the name of the hill, from their hanging.[6] [9-9] LU. and YBL 1348-1349. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1351-1352. [6-6] Eg. 33. Then came the warriors of four of the five grand provinces of Erin at the end of a long fortnight[a] to camp and station [7]at Fochard,[7] together with Medb and Ailill and the company that were bringing the bull. [a] Omitting _ar mis_ (LL.), which is not found in the other MSS. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1355. * * * * * [Page 136] XIIa THE DEATH OF FORGEMEN [W.2054.] And the bull's cowherd would not allow them [1]to carry off[1] the Brown Bull of Cualnge, so that they urged on the bull, beating shafts on shields, till they drove him into a narrow gap, and the herd trampled the cowherd's body thirty feet into the ground, so that they made fragments and shreds of his body. Forgemen was the neatherd's name. [2]And this is the name of the hill, Forgemen.[2] This then is the Death of Forgemen on the Cattle-prey of Cualnge. [3]Now there was no peril to them that night so long as a man was got to ward off Cuchulain from them on the ford.[3] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1359. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1360-1361. * * * * * [Page 137] XIIb [1]HERE IS NARRATED THE SLAYING OF REDG THE LAMPOONIST[1] [W.2061.] When the men of Erin had come together in one place, both Medb and Ailill and the force that was bringing the bull to the camp and enclosure, they all declared Cuchulain would be no more valiant than another [2]of the men of Erin[2] were it not for the wonderful little trick he possessed, the spearlet of Cuchulain. Accordingly the men of Erin despatched from them Redg, Medb's[a] jester, to demand the light javelin [3]of Cuchulain.[3] [1-1] LU. page 70b, in the margin. [2-2] Eg. 93. [a] 'Ailill's,' LU. and YBL. 1332 and Eg. 1782. [3-3] Stowe. So Redg [4]came forward to where Cuchulain was and[4] asked for the little javelin, but Cuchulain did not give him the little javelin [5]at once[5]; he did not deem it good and proper to yield it. [6]"Give me thy spear," said the jester. "Nay then, I will not," answered Cuchulain; "but I will give thee treasure." "I will not take it," said the jester. Then he wounded the jester because he would not accept from him what he had offered him.[6] Redg declared he would deprive Cuchulain of his honour [7]unless he got the little javelin.[7] Thereupon Cuchulain hurled the javelin at him, so that it struck him in the nape of the neck[b] and fell out through his mouth on the ground. And the only words Redg uttered were these, "This precious gift is readily [W.2072.] ours," and his soul separated from his body at the ford. Therefrom that ford is ever since called Ath Solom Shet ('Ford of the Ready Treasure'). And the copper of the javelin was thrown into the river. Hence is Uman-Sruth ('Copperstream') ever after. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1333-1336. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1337. [b] More literally, 'in the pit of his occiput.' [1]"Let us ask for a sword-truce from Cuchulain," says Ailill. "Let Lugaid go to him," one and all answer. Then Lugaid goes to parley with him. "How now do I stand with the host?" Cuchulain asks. "Disgraceful indeed is the thing thou hast demanded of them," Lugaid answers, "even this, that thou shouldst have thy women and maidens and half of thy kine. But more grievous than all do they hold it that they themselves should be killed and thou provisioned." Every day there fell a man by Cuchulain till the end of a week. [2]Then[2] faith is broken with Cuchulain. Twenty are despatched at one time to attack him and he destroys them all. "Go to him, O Fergus," says Ailill, "that he may vouchsafe us a change of place." A while after this they proceed to Cronech. These are they that fell in single combat with him in that place, to wit: the two Roth, the two Luan, two women-thieves, ten fools, ten cup-bearers, the ten Fergus, the six Fedelm, the six Fiachu. Now these were all killed by him in single combat. [2-2] Eg. 1782. When their tents were pitched by them in Cronech they discussed what they had best do with Cuchulain. "I know," quoth Medb, "what is best here. Let some one go to him from us for a sword-pact from him in respect of the host, and he shall have half the cattle that are here." This message they bring to him. "I will do it," said Cuchulain, "provided the bond is not broken by you[1] [3]to-morrow.[3]" [1-1] LU. 1362-1379. [3-3] Eg. 1782. * * * * * [Page 139] XIIc [1]HERE IS TOLD THE MEETING OF CUCHULAIN AND FINNABAIR[1] [2]"Let a message be sent to him," said Ailill, "that Finnabair my daughter will be bestowed on him, and for him to keep away from the hosts." Manè Athramail ('Fatherlike') goes to him. But first he addresses himself to Laeg. "Whose man art thou?" spake Manè. Now Laeg made no answer. Thrice Manè addressed him in this [3]same[3] wise. "Cuchulain's man," Laeg answers, "and provoke me not, lest it happen I strike thy head off thee!" "This man is mad," quoth Manè as he leaves him. Then he goes to accost Cuchulain. It was there Cuchulain had doffed his tunic, and the [4]deep[4] snow was around him where he sat, up to his belt, and the snow had melted a cubit around him for the greatness of the heat of the hero. And Manè addressed him three times in like manner, whose man he was? "Conchobar's man, and do not provoke me. For if thou provokest me any longer I will strike thy head off thee as one strikes off the head of a blackbird!" "No easy thing," quoth Manè, "to speak to these two." Thereupon Manè leaves them and tells his tale to Ailill and Medb. [1-1] LU. fo. 71a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. 1380-1414. [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] Eg. 1782. "Let Lugaid go to him," said Ailill, "and offer him the girl." Thereupon Lugaid goes and repeats this to Cuchulain. "O master Lugaid," quoth Cuchulain, "it is a snare!" "It is the word of a king; he hath said it," Lugaid answered; "there can be no snare in it." "So be it," said Cuchulain. Forthwith Lugaid leaves him and takes that answer to Ailill and Medb. "Let the fool go forth in my form," said Ailill, "and the king's crown on his head, and let him stand some way off from Cuchulain lest he know him; and let the girl go with him and let the fool promise her to him, and let them depart quickly in this wise. And methinks ye will play a trick on him thus, so that he will not stop you any further till he comes with the Ulstermen to the battle." Then the fool goes to him and the girl along with him, and from afar he addresses Cuchulain. The Hound comes to meet him. It happened he knew by the man's speech that he was a fool. A slingstone that was in his hand he threw at him so that it entered his head and bore out his brains. He comes up to the maiden, cuts off her two tresses and thrusts a stone through her cloak and her tunic, and plants a standing-stone through the middle of the fool. Their two pillar-stones are there, even the pillar-stone of Finnabair and the pillar-stone of the fool. Cuchulain left them in this plight. A party was sent out from Ailill and Medb to search for their people, for it was long they thought they were gone, when they saw them in this wise. This thing was noised abroad by all the host in the camp. Thereafter there was no truce for them with Cuchulain.[2] [2-2] LU. 1380-1414. * * * * * [Page 141] XIId [1]HERE THE COMBAT OF MUNREMAR AND CUROI[1] [2]While the hosts were there in the evening they perceived that one stone fell on them coming from the east and another from the west to meet it. The stones met one another in the air and kept falling between Fergus' camp, the camp of Ailill and the camp of Nera. This sport and play continued from that hour till the same hour on the next day, and the hosts spent the time sitting down, with their shields over their heads to protect them from the blocks of stones, till the plain was full of the boulders, whence cometh Mag Clochair ('the Stony Plain'). Now it happened it was Curoi macDarè did this. He had come to bring help to his people and had taken his stand in Cotal to fight against Munremar son of Gerrcend.[a] The latter had come from Emain Macha to succour Cuchulain and had taken his stand on Ard ('the Height') of Roch. Curoi knew there was not in the host a man to compete with Munremar. These then it was who carried on this sport between them. The army prayed them to cease. Whereupon Munremar and Curoi made peace, and Curoi withdrew to his house and Munremar to Emain Macha and Munremar came not again till the day of the battle. As for Curoi, he came not till the combat of Ferdiad. [1-1] LU. fo. 71b, in the margin. [a] Here a sheet is missing in Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. 1415-1486. "Pray Cuchulain," said Medb and Ailill, "that he suffer us to change our place." This then was granted to them and the change was made. The 'Pains' of the Ulstermen left them then. When now they awoke from their 'Pains,' bands of them came continually upon the host to restrain it again. * * * * * [Page 143] XIIe [1]THE SLAUGHTER OF THE BOY-TROOP[1][a] Now the youths of Ulster discussed the matter among themselves in Emain Macha. "Alas for us," said they, "that our friend Cuchulain has no one to succour him!" "I would ask then," spake Fiachu Fulech ('the Bloody') son of Ferfebè and own brother to Fiachu[b] Fialdana ('the Generous-daring') son of Ferfebè, "shall I have a company from you to go to him with help?" [1-1] LU. fo. 71b, in the margin. [a] The LU. version of the episode is given under XVIIa, page 184. [b] Fiachna, in LU. 1436. Thrice fifty youths accompany him with their play-clubs, and that was a third of the boy-troop of Ulster. The army saw them drawing near them over the plain. "A great army approaches us over the plain," spake Ailill Fergus goes to espy them. "Some of the youths of Ulster are they," said he, "and it is to succour Cuchulain they come." "Let a troop go to meet them," said Ailill, "unknown to Cuchulain; for if they unite with him ye will never overcome them." Thrice fifty warriors went out to meet them. They fell at one another's hands, so that not one of them got off alive of the number of the youths of Lia Toll. Hence is Lia ('the Stone') of Fiachu son of Ferfebè, for it is there that he fell. "Take counsel," quoth Ailill; "inquire of Cuchulain about letting you go from hence, for ye will not go past him by force, now that his flame of valour has risen." For it was usual with him, when his hero's flame arose in him, that his feet would turn back on him and his buttocks, before him, and the knobs of his calves would come on his shins, and one eye would be in his head and the other one out of his head. A man's head would have gone into his mouth. There was not a hair on him that was not as sharp as the thorn of the haw, and a drop of blood was on each single hair. He would recognize neither comrades nor friends. Alike he would strike them before and behind. Therefrom it was that the men of Connacht gave Cuchulain the name Riastartha ('the Contorted One'). * * * * * [Page 145] XIIf [1]THE SLAUGHTER OF THE KING'S BODYGUARD[1] "Let us ask for a sword-truce from Cuchulain," said Ailill and Medb. Lugaid goes to him and Cuchulain accords the truce. "Put a man for me on the ford to-morrow," said Cuchulain. There happened to be with Medb six royal hirelings, to wit: six princes of the Clans of Deda, the three Dubs ('the Blacks') of Imlech, and the three Dergs ('the Reds') of Sruthair, by name. "Why should it not be for us," quoth they, "to go and attack Cuchulain?" So the next day they went and Cuchulain put an end to the six of them.[2] [1-1] LU. fo. 72b, in the margin. [2-2] See page 141, note 2. * * * * * [Page 146] XIII [1]THE COMBAT OF CÛR WITH CUCHULAIN[1] [W.2076.] The men of Erin discussed among themselves who of them would be fit to attack [2]and contend with[2] Cuchulain, [LL.fo.74a.] [3]and drive him off from them on the ford at the morning-hour early on the morrow.[3] And what they all said was that Cûr ('the Hero') son of Da Loth should be the one to attack him. For thus it stood with Cûr: No joy was it to be his bedfellow or to live with him. [4]He from whom he drew blood is dead ere the ninth day.[4] And [5]the men of Erin[5] said: "Even should it be Cûr that falls, a trouble [6]and care[6] would be removed from the hosts; [7]for it is not easy to be with him in regard to sitting, eating or sleeping.[7] Should it be Cuchulain, it would be so much the better." Cûr was summoned to Medb's tent. "For what do they want me?" Cûr asked. "To engage with Cuchulain," replied Medb, [8]"to do battle, and ward him off from us on the ford at the morning hour early on the morrow."[8] [9]Cûr deemed it not fitting to go and contend with a beardless boy.[9] "Little ye rate our worth. Nay, but it is wonderful how ye regard it. Too tender is the youth with whom ye compare me. Had I known [10]I was sent against him[10] I would not have come myself. I would have lads [11]enough[11] of [W.2086.] his age from amongst my people to go meet him on a ford." [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1488. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1491. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1491-1492. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1492-1493. [11-11] Stowe and LU. and YBL. 1493. "Indeed, it is easy to talk so," quoth Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar. "It would be well worth while for thyself if by thee fell Cuchulain." [1]"Howbeit," said Cûr, "since on myself it falls,[1] make ye ready a journey [2]for me[2] at morn's early hour on the morrow, for a pleasure I will make of the way [3]to this fight,[3] [4]a-going to meet Cuchulain.[4] It is not this will detain you, namely the killing of yonder wildling, Cuchulain!" [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1496-1497. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1499-1500. [5]There they passed the night.[5] Then early on the morrow morn arose Cûr macDa Loth [6]and he came to the ford of battle and combat; and however early he arose, earlier still Cuchulain arose.[6] A cart-load of arms was taken along with him wherewith to engage with Cuchulain, and he began to ply his weapons, seeking to kill Cuchulain. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] Eg. 93. Now Cuchulain had gone early that day [7]to practise[7] his feats [8]of valour and prowess.[8] These are the names of them all: the Apple-feat, and the Edge-feat, and the Level Shield-feat, and the Little Dart-feat, and the Rope-feat, and the Body-feat, and the Feat of Catt, and the Hero's Salmon-leap,[a] and the Pole-cast, and the Leap over a Blow (?), and the Folding of a noble Chariot-fighter, and the Gae Bulga ('the Barbed Spear') and the Vantage (?) of Swiftness, and the Wheel-feat, [9]and the Rim-feat,[9] and the Over-Breath-feat, and the Breaking of a Sword, and the Champion's Cry, and the Measured Stroke, and the Side Stroke, and the Running up a Lance and standing erect on its Point, and the Binding of the [10]noble[10] Hero (around spear points). [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1500. [8-8] Stowe. [a] "The Salmon-leap--lying flat on his face and then springing up, horizontally, high in the air."--J.A. Synge, "The Aran Islands," page 111, Dublin, 1907. [9-9] YBL. 1504. [10-10] LU. 1506. [W.2121.] Now this is the reason Cuchulain was wont to practise early every morning each of those feats [1]with the agility of a single hand, as best a wild-cat may,[1] in order that they might not depart from him through forgetfulness or lack of remembrance. [1-1] An obscure gloss in LL. And macDa Loth waited beside his shield until the third part of the day, [2]plying his weapons,[2] seeking the chance to kill Cuchulain; [3]and not the stroke of a blow reached Cuchulain, because of the intensity of his feats, nor was he aware that a warrior was thrusting at him.[3] It was then Laeg[a] [4]looked at him[4] and spake to Cuchulain, "Hark! Cucuc. Attend to the warrior that seeks to kill thee." Then it was that Cuchulain glanced at him and then it was that he raised and threw the eight apples on high [5]and cast the ninth apple[5] a throw's length from him at Cûr macDa Loth, so that it struck on the disk of his shield [6]between the edge and the body of the shield[6] and on the forehead [7]of the churl,[7] so that it carried the size of an apple of his brains out through the back of his head. Thus fell Cûr macDa Loth also at the hand of Cuchulain. [8]According to another version[8] [9]it was in Imslige Glendamnach that Cûr fell.[9] [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1507. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1508-1509. [a] 'Fiachu,' LU. and YBL. 1510. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Following Windisch's emendation of the text. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1512. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1513. [8-8] LU. 1513. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1513-1514. [10]Fergus greeted each one there and this is what he said:[10] "If your engagements and pledges bind you now," said Fergus, "another warrior ye must send to him yonder on the ford; else, do ye keep to your camp and your quarters here till the bright hour of sunrise on the morrow, for Cûr son of Da Loth is fallen." [11]"We will grant that," said Medb, "and we will not pitch tents nor take quarters here now, but we will remain where we were last night in camp.[11] [W.2136.] Considering why we have come, it is the same to us even though we remain in those same tents." [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] Eg. 93. [1]The four great provinces of Erin[1] remained in that camp till Cûr son of Da Loth had fallen, and Loth son of Da Bro and Srub Darè son of Feradach and [2]Morc[2] son of Tri Aigneach. These then fell in single combat with Cuchulain. But it is tedious to recount one by one the cunning and valour of each man of them. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 150] XIV [1]THE SLAYING OF FERBAETH ('THE WITLESS')[1] [2]Then again the men of Erin took counsel who would be fit to fight and do combat with Cuchulain and to ward him off from them on the ford at the morning-hour early on the morrow. What they each and all said was, that it would be his own friend and companion and the man who was his equal in arms and feats, even Ferbaeth son of Ferbend. [1-1] LU. fo. 73a, in the margin. Then was Ferbaeth son of Ferbend summoned to them, to the tent of Ailill and Medb. "Wherefore do ye call me to you?" Ferbaeth asked. "In sooth, it would please us," Medb answered, "for thee to do battle and contend with Cuchulain, and to ward him off from us on the ford at the morning hour early on the morrow." Great rewards they promised to him for making the battle and combat.[2] [3]Finnabair is given to him for this and the kingdom of his race, for he was their choice to combat Cuchulain. He was the man they thought worthy of him, for they both had learned the same service in arms with Scathach.[3] [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1529-1553. [4]"I have no desire to act thus," Ferbaeth protested. "Cuchulain is my foster-brother and of everlasting covenant with me. Yet will I go meet him to-morrow, so shall I strike off his head!" "It will be thou that canst do it," Medb made answer.[4] [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1538-1540. [W.2143.] Then it was that Cuchulain said to his charioteer, namely to Laeg: "Betake thee thither, O master Laeg," said Cuchulain, "to the camp of the men of Erin, and bear a greeting [LL.fo.74b.] from me to my comrades and foster-brothers and age-mates. Bear a greeting to Ferdiad son of Daman, and to Ferdet son of Daman, and to Brass son of Ferb, and to Lugaid son of Nos, and to Lugaid son of Solamach, to Ferbaeth son of Baetan, and to Ferbaeth son of Ferbend, and a particular greeting withal to mine own foster-brother, to Lugaid son of Nos, for that he is the one man that still has friendliness and friendship with me now on the hosting. And bear him a blessing. [1]Let it be asked diligently of him[1] that he may tell thee who [2]of the men of Erin[2] will come to attack me on the morrow." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1525. [2-2] Stowe. Then Laeg went his way to the camp of the men of Erin and brought the aforementioned greetings to the comrades and foster-brothers of Cuchulain. And he also went into the tent of Lugaid son of Nos. Lugaid bade him welcome. "I take [3]that welcome[3] to be truly meant," said Laeg. "'Tis truly meant for thee," replied Lugaid. "To converse with thee am I come from Cuchulain," said Laeg, "and I bring these greetings truly and earnestly from him to the end that thou tell me who comes to fight with Cuchulain to-day." [4]"Truly not lucky is it for Cuchulain," said Lugaid, "the strait wherein he is alone against the men of Erin.[4] The curse of his fellowship and brotherhood and of his friendship and affection [5]and of his arms[5] be upon that man; even his own real foster-brother himself, [6]even the companion of us both,[6] Ferbaeth son of Ferbend. [7]He it is that comes to meet him to-morrow.[7] He was invited into the tent of [8]Ailill and[8] Medb a while [W.2165.] since. The daughter Finnabair was set by his side. It is she who fills up the drinking-horns for him; it is she who gives him a kiss with every drink that he takes; it is she who serveth the food [1]to him.[1] Not for every one with Medb is the ale[a] that is poured out for Ferbaeth [2]till he is drunk.[2] Only fifty wagon-loads of it have been brought to the camp." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1526-1527. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1528. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1527. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1528. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1532. [1-1] H. 1. 13. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1535. [a] In LU. and YBL. it is wine. Then with heavy head, sorrowful, downcast, heaving sighs, Laeg retraced his steps to Cuchulain. "With heavy head, sorrowful, downcast and sighing, my master Laeg comes to meet me," said Cuchulain. "It must be that one of my brothers-in-arms comes to attack me." For he regarded as worse a man of the same training in arms as himself than aught other warrior. "Hail now, O Laeg my friend," cried Cuchulain; "who comes to attack me to-day?" "The curse of his fellowship and brotherhood, of his friendship and affection be upon him; even thine own real foster-brother himself, namely Ferbaeth son of Ferbend. A while ago he was summoned into the tent of Medb. The maiden was set by his side; It is she who fills up the drinking-horns for him; it is she who gives him a kiss with every drink; it is she who serveth his food. Not for every one with Medb is the ale that is poured out for Ferbaeth. Only fifty wagon-loads of it have been brought to the camp." [3]Cuchulain bade Laeg go to Lugaid, that he come to talk with him. Lugaid came to Cuchulain. "So Ferbaeth comes to oppose me to-morrow," said Cuchulain. "Aye, then," answered Lugaid.[3] [4]"Evil is this day," cried Cuchulain. "I shall not be alive thereafter. Two of the same age are we, two of equal deftness, two of equal weight, when we come together. O Lugaid, greet him for me. Tell him, also, it is not the part of true valour to come to oppose me. Tell him to come meet me to-night to speak with me." [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1541-1544. Lugaid brought back this word to Ferbaeth. [W.2183.] Now inasmuch as Ferbaeth shunned not the parley,[4] he by no means waited till morn but he went straightway [1]to the glen[1] [2]that night[2] to recant his friendship with Cuchulain, [3]and Fiachu son of Ferfebè went with him.[3] And Cuchulain called to mind the friendship and fellowship and brotherhood [5]that had been between them,[5] [6]and Scathach, the nurse of them both;[6] and Ferbaeth would not consent to forego the fight.[a] [7]"I must fight," said Ferbaeth. "I have promised it [8]to Medb."[8] [9]"Friendship with thee then is at an end,"[9] cried Cuchulain,[7] and in anger he left him and drove the sole of his foot against a holly-spit [10]in the glen,[10] so that it pierced through flesh and bone and skin [11]and came out by his knee.[11] [12]Thereat Cuchulain became frantic, and he gave a strong tug and[12] drew the spit out from its roots, [13]from sinew and bone, from flesh and from skin.[13] [14]"Go not, Ferbaeth, till thou seest the find I have made." "Throw it then," cried Ferbaeth.[14] And Cuchulain threw the holly-spit over his shoulder after Ferbaeth, and he would as lief that it reached him or that it reached him not. The spit struck Ferbaeth in the nape of the neck,[b] so that it passed out through his [W.2192.] mouth [1]in front[1] and fell to the ground, and thus Ferbaeth fell [2]backward into the glen.[2] [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1544-1549. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93, LU. and YBL. 1549. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1550. [4-4] See page 152, note 4. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1551-1552. [a] Reading, with Windisch, from Stowe which gives a better meaning than LL. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1552-1553. [8-8] YBL. 1553. [9-9] Literally, 'Keep thy covenant, then!' [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1554. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1555. [12-12] Eg. 93. [13-13] Eg. 93. [14-14] LU. and YBL. 1556-1557. [b] See note, page 137. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1559. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1559-1560. "Now that was a good throw, Cucuc!" cried [3]Fiachu son of Ferfebè,[3] [4]who was on the mound between the two camps,[4] for he considered it a good throw to kill that warrior with a spit of holly. Hence it is that Focherd Murthemni ('the good Cast of Murthemne') is the name of the place where they were. [3-3] "Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar." Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5]Straightway Ferbaeth died in the glen. Hence cometh Glenn Ferbaeth. Something was heard. It was Fergus who sang:-- "Fool's[a] emprise was thine, Ferbaeth, That did bring thee to thy grave. Ruin hath come on anger here; Thy last end in Croen Corann! Fithi was the hill's old name, In Croenech in Murthemne. 'Ferbaeth' now shall be the name Of the plain where Ferbaeth fell!"[5] [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1563-1569. [a] With a play on the word Ferbaeth, 'a foolish man.' * * * * * [Page 155] XIVa [1]THE COMBAT OF LARINE MacNOIS[1] [2]Lugaid spake: "Let one of you be ready on the morrow to go against that other." "There shall not any one at all be found to go," quoth Ailill, "unless guile be used. Whatever man comes to you, give him wine, so that his soul may be glad, and let him be told that that is all the wine that has been brought to Cruachan: 'It would grieve us that thou shouldst drink water in our camp.' And let Finnabair be placed on his right hand and let him be told, 'She shall go with thee if thou bring us the head of the Contorted.'" So a summons was sent to each warrior, one on each night, and those words used to be told him. Cuchulain killed every man of them in turn. At length no one could be got to attack him.[2] [1-1] LU. fo. 73b, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1574-1584 and Eg. 1782. Here Eg. 1782 breaks off. [W.2197.] [3]"Good,[3] my master Laeg," [4]said Cuchulain,[4] "go for me to the camp of the men of Erin to hold converse with Lugaid [5]macNois,[5] [6]my friend, my companion and my foster-brother,[6] [7]and bear him a greeting from me and bear him my blessing, for he is the one man that keeps amity and friendship with me on the great hosting of the Cattle-raid of Cualnge.[7] And discover [8]in what way they are in the camp,[8] whether or no anything has [W.2199.] happened to Ferbaeth,[a] [1]whether Ferbaeth has reached the camp;[1] [2]and inquire for me if the cast I made a while ago reached Ferbaeth or did not reach, and if it did reach him,[2] ask who [3]of the men of Erin[3] comes to meet me [4]to fight and do battle with me at the morning hour early[4] on the morrow." [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93 and Eg. 209. [5-5] Eg. 93 and Eg. 209. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1572. [a] From here to p. 170 is lacking in LL. owing to the loss of a sheet. This is supplied from Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. Eg. 209 and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] Eg. 93. Laeg proceeds to Lugaid's tent. Lugaid bids him welcome. [5]"Welcome to thy coming and arrival, O Laeg," said Lugaid.[5] "I take that welcome as truly meant," Laeg replied. "It is truly meant for thee," quoth Lugaid, [6]"and thou shalt have entertainment here to-night."[6] [7]"Victory and blessing shalt thou have," said Laeg; "but not for entertainment am I come, but[7] to hold converse with thee am I come from [8]thine own friend and companion and[8] foster-brother, [9]from Cuchulain,[9] that thou mayest tell me whether Ferbaeth [10]was smitten."[10] "He was," answered Lugaid, "and a blessing on the hand that smote him, for he fell dead in the valley a while ago." "Tell me who [11]of the men of Erin[11] comes to-morrow to [12]combat and[12] fight with Cuchulain [13]at the morning hour early on the morrow?"[13] "They are persuading a brother of mine own to go meet him, a foolish, haughty arrogant youth, yet dealing stout blows and stubborn. [14]And he has agreed to do the battle and combat.[14] And it is to this end they will send him to fight Cuchulain, that he, my brother, may fall at his hands, so that I myself must then go to avenge him upon Cuchulain. But I will not go there till the very day of doom. Larinè great-grandson [W.2211.] of Blathmac is that brother. [1]And, do thou tell Cuchulain to come to Ferbaeth's Glen and[1] I will go [2]thither[2] to speak with Cuchulain about him," said Lugaid. [5-5] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] Eg. 209. [10-10] Following Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] Eg. 93. [12-12] Eg. 93. [13-13] Eg. 93. [14-14] Eg. 93. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3]Laeg betook him to where Cuchulain was.[3] Lugaid's two horses were taken and his chariot was yoked to them [4]and[4] he came [5]to Glen Ferbaeth[5] to his tryst with Cuchulain, so that a parley was had between them. [6]The two champions and battle-warriors gave each other welcome.[6] Then it was that Lugaid spake: [7]"There is no condition that could be promised to me for fighting and combating with thee," said Lugaid, "and there is no condition on which I would undertake it, but[7] they are persuading a brother of mine to come fight thee [8]on the morrow,[8] to-wit, a foolish, dull, uncouth youth, dealing stout blows. [9]They brought him into the tent of Ailill and Medb and he has engaged to do the battle and combat with thee.[9] [10]He is befooled about the same maiden.[10] And it is for this reason they are to send him to fight thee, that he may fall at thy hands, [11]so that we two may quarrel,[11] and to see if I myself will come to avenge him upon thee. But I will not, till the very day of doom. And by the fellowship that is between us, [12]and by the rearing and nurture I bestowed on thee and thou didst bestow on me, bear me no grudge because of Larinè.[12] Slay not my brother [13]lest thou shouldst leave me brotherless."[13] [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1592 and Eg. 93. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1593 and Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] Eg. 209. [9-9] Eg. 93. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1595-1596. [11-11] LU. 1597. [12-12] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [13-13] LU. and YBL. 1596-1597. "By my conscience, truly," cried Cuchulain, [14]kill him I will not, but[14] the next thing to death will I inflict on him. [15]No worse would it be for him to die than what I [W.2222.] will give him."[15] "I give thee leave. [1]It would please me well shouldst thou beat him sorely,[1] for to my dishonour he comes to attack thee." [14-14] Eg. 93. [15-15] Eg. 209. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1597 and Eg. 93. Thereupon Cuchulain went back and Lugaid returned to the camp [2]lest the men of Erin should say it was betraying them or forsaking them he was if he remained longer parleying with Cuchulain.[2] [2-2] Eg. 93. Then [3]on the next day[3] it was that Larinè son of Nos, [4]brother of Lugaid king of Munster,[4] was summoned to the tent of Ailill and Medb, and Finnabair was placed by his side. It was she that filled up the drinking-horns for him and gave him a kiss with each draught that he took and served him his food. "Not to every one with Medb is given the drink that is poured out for Ferbaeth or for Larinè," quoth Finnabair; "only the load of fifty wagons of it was brought to the camp."[a] [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1598. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1585. [a] Emending the text to agree with the two similar passages above. [5]Medb looked at the pair. "Yonder pair rejoiceth my heart," said she.[5] "Whom wouldst thou say?" asked [6]Ailill.[6] "The man yonder, [7]in truth,"[7] said she. "What of him?" asked Ailill. "It is thy wont to set the mind on that which is far from the purpose (Medb answered). It were more becoming for thee to bestow thy thought on the couple in whom are united the greatest distinction and beauty to be found on any road in Erin, namely Finnabair, [8]my daughter,[8] and Larinè macNois. [9]'Twould be fitting to bring them together."[9] "I regard them as thou dost," answered Ailill; [10]"I will not oppose thee herein. He shall have her if only he brings me the head of Cuchulain."[a] "Aye, bring it I will," said Larinè.[10] [W.2235.] It was then that Larinè shook and tossed himself with joy, so that the sewings of the flock bed burst under him and the mead of the camp was speckled with its feathers. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1586. [6-6] Corrected from LL., which has 'Medb.' [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1588. [a] Literally, 'of the Contorted.' [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1588-1590. [1]They passed the night there.[1] Larinè longed for day with its full light [2]to go[2] to attack Cuchulain. At the early day-dawn on the morrow he came, [3]and the maiden came too to embolden him,[3] and he brought a wagon-load of arms with him, and he came on to the ford to encounter Cuchulain. The mighty warriors of the camp and station considered it not a goodly enough sight to view the combat of Larinè; only the women and boys and girls, [4]thrice fifty of them,[4] went to scoff and to jeer at his battle. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 209. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1599. [4-4] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. Cuchulain went to meet him at the ford and he deemed it unbecoming to bring along arms [5]or to ply weapons upon him,[5] so Cuchulain came to the encounter unarmed [6]except for the weapons he wrested from his opponent.[6] [7]And when Larinè reached the ford, Cuchulain saw him and made a rush at him.[7] Cuchulain knocked all of Larinè's weapons out of his hand as one might knock toys out of the hand of an infant. Cuchulain ground and bruised him between his arms, he lashed him and clasped him, he squeezed him and shook him, so that he spilled all the dirt out of him, [8]so that the ford was defiled with his dung[8] [9]and the air was fouled with his dust[9] and an [10]unclean, filthy[10] wrack of cloud arose in the four airts wherein he was. Then from the middle of the ford Cuchulain hurled Larinè far from him across through the camp [11]till he fell into Lugaid's two hands[11] at the door of the tent of his brother. [W.2252.] Howbeit [1]from that time forth[1] [2]for the remainder of his life[2] he never got up without a [3]sigh and a[3] groan, and [4]he never lay down without hurt, and he never stood up without a moan;[4] [5]as long as he lived[5] he never ate [6]a meal[6] without plaint, and never thenceforward was he free from weakness of the loins and oppression of the chest and without cramps and the frequent need which obliged him to go out. Still he is the only man that made escape, [7]yea though a bad escape,[7] after combat with Cuchulain on the Cualnge Cattle-raid. Nevertheless that maiming took effect upon him, so that it afterwards brought him his death. Such then is the Combat of Larinè on the Táin Bó Cualnge. [5-5] Eg. 209. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1602. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1603. [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1604. [1-1] Eg. 93, H. 2. 17 and Eg. 209. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 209. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1604. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1607. * * * * * [Page 161] XIVb [1]THE COLLOQUY OF THE MORRIGAN AND CUCHULAIN[1] [2]Then Cuchulain saw draw near him a young woman with a dress of every colour about her and her appearance was most surpassing. "Who art thou?" Cuchulain asked. "Daughter of Buan ('the Eternal'), the king," she answered. "I am come to thee; I have loved thee for the high tales they tell of thee and have brought my treasures and cattle with me." "Not good is the time thou hast come. Is not our condition weakened through hunger? Not easy then would it be for me to foregather with a woman the while I am engaged in this struggle." "Herein I will come to thy help." "Not for the love of a woman[a] did I take this in hand." "This then shall be thy lot," said she, "when I come against thee what time thou art contending with men: In the shape of an eel I will come beneath thy feet in the ford; so shalt thou fall." "More likely that, methinks, than daughter of a king! I will seize thee," said he, "in the fork of my toes till thy ribs are broken, and thou shalt remain in such sorry plight till there come my sentence of blessing on thee." "In the shape of a grey she-wolf will I drive the cattle on to the ford against thee." "I will cast a stone from my sling at thee, so shall it smash thine eye in thy head" (said he), "and thou wilt so remain maimed till my sentence of blessing come on thee." "I will attack thee," said she, "in the shape of a hornless red heifer at the head of the cattle, so that they will overwhelm thee on the waters and fords and pools and thou wilt not see me before thee." "I will," replied he, "fling a stone at thee that will break thy leg under thee, and thou wilt thus be lamed till my sentence of blessing come on thee." Therewith she went from him.[2] [1-1] LU. fo. 74a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1609-1629. [a] Literally, '_non causa podicis feminae_.' The MS. is partly erased here. * * * * * [Page 163] XV [1]HERE FOLLOWETH THE COMBAT OF LOCH AND CUCHULAIN ON THE TÁIN,[1] [2]AND THE SLAYING OF LOCH SON OF MOFEMIS[2] [3]Then it was debated by the men of Erin who would be fitted to fight and contend with Cuchulain and ward him off from them on the ford at the morning-hour early on the morrow. What they all agreed was that it should be Loch Mor ('the Great') son of Mofemis, the royal champion of Munster.[3] [W.2260.] It was then that Loch Mor son of Mofemis was summoned [4]like the rest[4] to the pavilion of Ailill and Medb, [5]and he was promised the equal of Mag Murthemni of the smooth field of Mag Ai, and the accoutrement of twelve men, and a chariot of the value of seven bondmaids.[5] "What would ye of me?" asked Loch. "To have fight with Cuchulain," replied Medb. "I will not go on that errand, for I esteem it no honour nor becoming to attack a tender, young, smooth-chinned, beardless boy. [6]'Tis not seemly to speak thus to me, and ask it not of me.[6] And not to belittle him do I say it, but I have [7]a doughty brother, [8]the match of himself,"[8] said Loch,[7] "a man to confront him, Long macEmonis, to wit, and he will rejoice to accept an offer from you; [9]and it were fitting for him to contend with Cuchulain for Long has no beard on cheek or lip any more than Cuchulain."[9] [1-1] YBL. 1630. [2-2] LU. fo. 74b, between the columns. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1631. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1631-1633. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7-7] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [W.2266.] [1]Thereupon[1] Long was summoned to the tent of Ailill and Medb, and Medb promised him great gifts, even livery for twelve men of cloth of every colour, and a chariot worth four[a] times seven bondmaids, and Finnabair to wife for him alone, and at all times entertainment in Cruachan, and that wine[b] would be poured out for him. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] 'Thrice.' Eg. 209. [b] 'Ale,' Eg. 209. [2]They passed there that night and he engaged to do the battle and combat, and early on the morrow[2] went Long [3]to the ford of battle and combat[3] to seek Cuchulain, and Cuchulain slew him and [5]they brought him dead into the presence of his brother, namely of Loch. And Loch [4]came forth and raised up his loud, quick voice and[4] cried, had he known it was a bearded man that slew him, he would slay him for it.[5] [6]And it was in the presence of Medb that he said it.[6] [7]"Lead a battle-force against him," Medb cried to her host, "over the ford from the west, that ye may cross, and let the law of fair fight be broken with Cuchulain." The seven Manè the warriors went first, till they saw him to the west of the edge of the ford. He wore his festive raiment on that day and the women clambered on the men that they might behold him. "It grieves me," said Medb. "I cannot see the boy because of whom they go there." "Thy mind would not be the easier for that," quoth Lethrenn, Ailill's horseboy, "if thou shouldst see him." Cuchulain came to the ford as he was. "What man is that yonder, O Fergus?" asked Medb.[c] And Medb, too, climbed on the men to get a look [W.2272.] at him.[7] [1]Then[1] Medb called upon [2]her handmaid for two woman-bands,[2] [3]fifty or twice fifty[3] of her women, to go speak with Cuchulain and to charge him to put a false beard on. The woman-troop went their way to Cuchulain and told him to put a false beard on [4]if he wished to engage in battle or combat with goodly warriors or with goodly youths of the men of Erin;[4] [5]that sport was made of him in the camp for that he had no beard, and that no good warrior would go meet him but only madmen. It were easier to make a false beard:[5] "For no brave warrior in the camp thinks it seemly to come fight with thee, and thou beardless," [6]said they.[6] [7]"If that please me," said Cuchulain, "then I shall do it."[7] Thereupon Cuchulain [8]took a handful of grass and speaking a spell over it he[8] bedaubed himself a beard [9]in order to obtain combat with a man, namely with Loch.[9] And he came onto the knoll overlooking the men of Erin and made that beard manifest to them all, [10]so that every one thought it was a real beard he had.[10] [11]"'Tis true," spake the women, "Cuchulain has a beard. It is fitting for a warrior to fight with him." They said that to urge on Loch.[11] Loch son of Mofemis saw it, and what he said was, "Why, that is a beard on Cuchulain!" "It is what I perceive," Medb answered. Medb promised the same great terms to Loch to put a check to Cuchulain. [12]"I will not undertake the fight till the end of seven days from this day," exclaimed Loch. "Not fitting is it for us to leave that man unattacked for all that time," Medb answered. "Let us put a warrior every night to spy upon him if, peradventure, we might get a chance at him." This then they did. A warrior went every night to spy upon him and he slew them all. These are the names of the men who fell there: the seven Conall, the seven Oengus, the seven Uargus, the seven Celtri, the eight Fiach, the ten Ailill, the ten Delbrath, the ten Tasach. These are the deeds of that week on Ath Grenca. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1637-1639. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] LU. fo. 61, note 7, edition O'Keeffe and Strachan. [c] Fergus' answer, eight lines in _rosc_, LU. page 61, note 7, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe (these lines are not in YBL.), has been omitted in the translation. [1-1] Eg. 93 and Eg. 209. [2-2] Eg. 209. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1640-1641. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] LU. 1643. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1642.] [10-10] LU. 1644. [11-11] LU. 1645-1647. [a] In Eg. 93, this is said by Medb. Medb sought counsel, what was best to be done with Cuchulain, for she was sore grieved at all of her host that had been slain by him. This is the counsel she took: To despatch keen, high-spirited men at one time to attack him when he would come to an appointment she would make to speak with him. For she had a tryst the next day with Cuchulain, to conclude the pretence of a truce with him in order to get a chance at him. She sent forth messengers to seek him to advise him to come to her, and thus it was that he should come, unarmed, for she herself would not come but with her women attendants to converse with him. The runner, namely Traigtren ('Strongfoot') [1]son of Traiglethan ('Broadfoot')[1] went to the place where Cuchulain was and gave him Medb's message. Cuchulain promised that he would do her will. "How liketh it thee to meet Medb to-morrow, O Cuchulain?" asked Laeg. "Even as Medb desires it," answered Cuchulain. "Great are Medb's deeds," said the charioteer; "I fear a hand behind the back with her." "How is it to be done [2]by us[2] then?" asked he. "Thy sword at thy waist," the charioteer answered, "that thou be not taken off thy guard. For a warrior is not entitled to his honour-price if he be taken without arms, and it is the coward's law that falls to him in this manner." "Let it be so, then," said Cuchulain. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. Now it was on Ard ('the Height') of Aignech which is called Fochard to-day that the meeting took place. Then fared Medb to the tryst and she stationed fourteen men of those that were bravest of her bodyguard in ambush against him. These were they: the two Glassinè, the two sons of Buccridi, the two Ardan, the two sons of Liccè, the two Glasogma, the two sons of Crund, Drucht and Delt and Dathen, Tea and Tascur and Tualang, Taur and Glesè. Then Cuchulain comes to meet her. The men rise against him. Fourteen spears are hurled at him at the same time. The Hound defends himself, so that neither his skin nor protection (?) is touched and he turns in upon them and kills them, the fourteen men. Hence these are the 'Fourteen men of Fochard.' And they are also the 'Men of Cronech,' for it is in Cronech at Fochard they were slain. And it is of this Cuchulain spake:-- "Good my skill[a] in champion's deeds. Valorous are the strokes I deal On the brilliant phantom host. War with numerous bands I wage, For the fall of warlike chief-- This, Medb's purpose and Ailill's-- Direful (?) hatred hath been raised!"[b] [a] With a play on the name _Focherd_, as is explained in the following paragraph. [b] Here follow six lines in _rosc_, LU. 1692-1697, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe (the passage does not occur in YBL.), of uncertain meaning; they are omitted in the translation. This is the reason why the name Focherd clung to that place, to wit: _Fo_ 'Good' and _Cerd_ 'Art,' which signifieth 'Good the feat of arms' that happened to Cuchulain there. Then came Cuchulain and he overtook [1]the hosts[1] pitching camp, and there were slain the two Daigri, the two Anli and the four Dungai of Imlech. And there Medb began to urge on Loch: "Great is the scorn that is made of thee," said she, "that the man that killed thy brother should be destroying our host [2]here before thee[2] and thou not attack him. For sure we are that such as he yonder, that great and fierce madman, will not be able to withstand the valour and rage of a warrior such as thou art. And, further, from one and the same instructress the art was acquired by you both."[12] [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [12-12] LU. 1647-1708 and Eg. 93 (_Revue Celtique_, t. xv. 1894, pp. 64-66). [W.2283.] "I will go forth and attack him," cried Loch. Loch went to attack Cuchulain, [1]to take vengeance on him for his brother,[1] [2]for it was shown him that Cuchulain had a beard;[2] so they met on the ford where Long had fallen. "Let us move to the upper ford," said Loch, "for I will not fight on this ford," since he held it defiled, [3]cursed and unclean,[3] the ford whereon his brother had fallen. [4]Now when Cuchulain came to look for the ford, the men drove the cattle across.[4] [5]"The cattle[5] [6]will be across thy water here to-day," said Gabran[6] [7]the poet.[7] [8]Hence cometh Ath Tarteise ('the Ford over thy Water') and Tir Mor Tarteise ('the Great Land over thy Water').[8] Thereafter they fought on the upper ford [9]between Methè and Cethè at the head of Tir Mor,[9] [10]and they were for a long space and time at their feats wounding and striking each other.[10] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1709 and Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93 and LU. 1709. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and, partly, YBL. 1711. [5-5] YBL. 1711. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1711. [7-7] LU. 1712. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1712. [9-9] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [10-10] Eg. 93. Then it was that the Morrigan daughter of [11]Aed[11] Ernmas came from the fairy dwellings to destroy Cuchulain. For she had threatened on the Cattle-raid of Regomain [a] that she would come to undo Cuchulain what time he would be [13]in sore distress[13] when engaged in [14]battle and[14] combat with a goodly warrior, [15]with Loch,[15] in the course of the Cattle-spoil of Cualnge. Thither then the Morrigan [W.2293.] came in the shape of a white, [1]hornless,[1] red-eared heifer, with fifty heifers about her and a chain of silvered bronze between each two of the heifers. [2]She bursts upon the pools and fords at the head of the cattle. It was then that Cuchulain said, "I cannot see the fords for the waters."[2] The women [3]came with their strange sorcery, and[3] constrained Cuchulain by geasa and by inviolable bonds [4]to check the heifer for them[4] lest she should escape from him without harm. Cuchulain made an unerring cast [5]from his sling-stick[5] at her, so that he shattered one of the Morrigan's eyes. [11-11] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [12-12] See page 165, note 12. [a] Edited by Wh. Stokes and E. Windisch, in _Irische Texte_, Bd. II, SS. 241-254. [13-13] Eg. 93. [14-14] Eg. 93. [15-15] Eg. 209. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1722. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1722. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6]Now when the men met on the ford and began to fight and to struggle, and when each of them was about to strike the other,[6] the Morrigan came thither in the shape of a slippery, black eel down the stream. Then she came on the linn and she coiled [7]three folds[7] [8]and twists[8] around the [9]two[9] feet [10]and the thighs and forks[10] of Cuchulain, [11]till he was lying on his back athwart the ford[11] [12]and his limbs in the air.[12] [6-6] LU. 1713. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1713. [8-8] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [9-9] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1714. [12-12] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. While Cuchulain was busied freeing himself [13]and before he was able to rise,[13] Loch wounded him crosswise through the breast, [14]so that the spear[a] went through him[14] [15]and the ford was gore-red with his blood.[15] [16]"Ill, indeed," cried Fergus, "is this deed in the face of the foe. Let some of ye taunt him, ye men," he cried to his people, "to the end that he fall not in vain!" [13-13] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [14-14] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] 'Sword,' LU. and YBL. 1734. [15-15] LU. 1714. Bricriu Nemthenga ('Of the Venom-tongue') son of Carbad arose and began to revile Cuchulain. "Thy strength has gone from thee," said he, "when a little salmon overthrows thee even now when the Ulstermen are about to come out of their 'Pains.'[16] [1]Hard it would be for thee to take on thee warrior's deeds in the presence of the men of Erin and to repel a stout warrior clad in his armour!"[1] [16-16] LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, p. 63, note 17. Similarly, YBL. 1714-1716, and Eg. 93. [1-1] LU. fo. 63, note 19, edit. Strachan and O'Keeffe, and Eg. 93. [2]Then[2] [3]at this incitation[3] [4]Cuchulain arose,[4] [5]and with his left heel he smote the eel on the head,[5] [6]so that its ribs broke within it[6] [7]and he destroyed one half of its brains after smashing half of its head.[7] [8]And the cattle were driven by force past the hosts to the east and they even carried away the tents on their horns at the thunder-feat the two warriors made on the ford.[8] [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1716. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1717. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1717. [7-7] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1718-1720. [W.2302.] The Morrigan next came in the form of a rough, grey-red bitch-wolf [9]with wide open jaws[9] [10]and she bit Cuchulain in the arm[10] [11]and drove the cattle against him westwards,[11] [12]and Cuchulain made a cast of his little javelin at her, strongly, vehemently, so that it shattered one eye in her head.[12] During this space of time, whether long or short, while Cuchulain was engaged in freeing himself, Loch wounded him [13]through the loins.[13] Thereupon Cuchulain chanted a lay.[a] [9-9] Eg. 209. [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1721. [12-12] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17, and, similarly, LU. and YBL. 1721. [13-13] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] The three stanzas of this lay in YBL. (four in LU.) are found, with slight changes, in the lay on page 172fl. [14]Then did Cuchulain to the Morrigan the three things he had threatened her on the Cattle-raid of Regomain,[14] and his anger arose within him and he [LL.fo.75a.] wounded Loch with the Gae Bulga ('the Barbed-spear'), so that it passed through [W.2307.] his heart in his breast. [1]For truly it must have been that Cuchulain could not suffer the treacherous blows and the violence of Loch Mor the warrior, and he called for the Gae Bulgae from Laeg son of Riangabair. And the charioteer sent the Gae Bulga down the stream and Cuchulain made it ready. And when Loch heard that, he gave a lunge down with his shield, so that he drove it over two-thirds deep into the pebbles and sand and gravel of the ford. And then Cuchulain let go the Barbed-spear upwards, so as to strike Loch over the border of his hauberk and the rim of his shield.[1] [2]And it pierced his body's covering, for Loch wore a horn skin when fighting with a man,[2] [3]so that his farther side was pierced clear after his heart had been thrust through in his breast.[3] [14-14] LU. and YBL. 1732. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1735-1736. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4]"That is enough now," spake Loch; "I am smitten by that.[4] [5]For thine honour's sake[5] [6]and on the truth of thy valour and skill in arms,[6] grant me a boon now, O Cuchulain," said Loch. "What boon askest thou?" "'Tis no boon of quarter nor a prayer of cowardice that I make of thee," said Loch. "But fall back a step from me [7]and permit me to rise,[7] that it be on my face to the east I fall and not on my back to the west toward the warriors of Erin, to the end that no man of them shall say, [8]if I fall on my back,[8] it was in retreat or in flight I was before thee, for fallen I have by the Gae Bulga!" "That will I do," answered Cuchulain, "for 'tis a [9]true[9] warrior's prayer that thou makest." [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [9-9] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. And Cuchulain stepped back, [10]so that Loch fell on his face, and his soul parted from his body and Laeg despoiled him.[10] [11]Cuchulain cut off his head then.[11] Hence cometh [W.2314.] the name the ford bears ever since, namely Ath Traged ('Foot-ford') in Cenn Tire Moir ('Great Headland'). [1]It was then they broke their terms of fair fight that day with Cuchulain, when five men went against him at one time, namely the two Cruaid, the two Calad and Derothor. All alone, Cuchulain killed them. Hence cometh Coicsius Focherda ('Fochard's Fortnight') and Coicer Oengoirt ('Five Warriors in one Field'). Or it may be, fifteen days Cuchulain passed in Fochard and it is hence cometh Coicsius Focherda on the Táin.[1] [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] LU. fo. 77a, in the margin. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1739-1743. And deep distress[a] possessed Cuchulain that day [2]more than any other day[2] for his being all alone on the Táin, [3]confronting four of the five grand provinces of Erin,[3] [4]and he sank into swoons and faints.[4] Thereupon Cuchulain enjoined upon Laeg his charioteer to go to the men of Ulster, that they should come to defend their drove. [5]And, on rising, this is what he said:[5] [6]"Good, O Laeg, get thee to Emain to the Ulstermen, and bid them come henceforward to look after their drove for I can defend their fords no longer. For surely it is not fair fight nor equal contest for any man for the Morrigan to oppose and overpower him and Loch to wound and pierce him."[6] And weariness of heart and weakness overcame him, and he gave utterance to a lay:-- "Rise, O Laeg, arouse the hosts, Say for me in Emain strong: I am worn each day in fight, Full of wounds, and bathed in gore! "My right side and eke my left: Hard to say which suffers worse; Fingin's[b] hand hath touched them not, Stanching blood with strips of wood! [W.2329.] "Bring this word to Conchobar dear, I am weak, with wounded sides. Greatly has he changed in mien, Dechtire's fond, rich-trooped son! "I alone these cattle guard, Leave them not, yet hold them not. Ill my plight, no hope for me, Thus alone on many fords! "Showers of blood rain on my arms, Full of hateful wounds am I. No friend comes to help me here, Save my charioteer alone! "Few make music here for me, Joy I've none in single horn. When the mingled trumpets sound,[a] This is sweetest from the drone! "This old saying, ages old:-- 'Single log gives forth no flame;' Let there be a two or three, Up the firebrands all will blaze! "One sole log burns not so well As when one burns by its side. Guile can be employed on one; Single mill-stone doth not grind! "Hast not heard at every time, 'One is duped'?--'tis true of me. That is why I cannot last These long battles of the hosts! "However small a host may be, It receives some thought and pains; Take but this: its daily meat On one fork is never cooked! "Thus alone I've faced the host, By the ford in broad Cantire; Many came, both Loch and Badb, As foretold in 'Regomain!'[b] "Loch has mangled my two thighs; Me the grey-red wolf hath bit; Loch my sides[c] has wounded sore, And the eel has dragged me down! "With my spear I kept her off; I put out the she-wolf's eye; [W.2371.] And I broke her lower leg, At the outset of the strife! "Then when Laeg sent Aifè's spear,[a] Down the stream--like swarm of bees-- That sharp deadly spear I hurled, Loch, [1]Mobebuis'[1] son, fell there! "Will not Ulster battle give To Ailill and Eocho's lass,[b] While I linger here in pain, Full of wounds and bathed in blood? [LL.fo.75b.] "Tell the splendid Ulster chiefs They shall come to guard their drove. Maga's sons[c] have seized their kine And have portioned them all out! "Fight on fight--though much I vowed, I have kept my word in all. For pure honour's sake I fight; 'Tis too much to fight alone! "Vultures joyful at the breach In Ailill's and in Medb's camp. Mournful cries of woe are heard; On Murthemne's plain is grief! "Conchobar comes not out with help; In the fight, no troops of his. Should one leave _him_ thus alone, Hard 'twould be his rage to tell! [1]"Men have almost worn me out In these single-handed fights; Warrior's deeds I cannot do, Now that I must fight alone!"[1] [a] Literally 'repentance.' [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [b] Physician to King Conchobar. [a] Following Windisch's emended reading of LL. [b] See above, page 168, note a. [c] Literally, 'liver.' [a] That is, the 'barbed' spear. [1-1] Reading with MS. Stowe. [b] That is, Medb. [c] That is, the followers of Ailill.] [1-1] LU. page 64, note 5, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe. [2]Although Cuchulain spoke thus, he had no strength for Laeg to leave him.[2] [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. This then is the Combat of Loch Mor ('the Great') son of Mofemis against Cuchulain on the Driving of the Kine of Cualnge. * * * * * [Page 175] XVI [1]THE VIOLATION OF THE AGREEMENT[1] [2]Then were five men sent against Cuchulain on the morrow to contend with him and he killed them, so that they fell by his hand, and 'the Five of Cenn Cursighi' was their name.[2] [W.2400.] Then it was that Medb despatched six men at one and the same time to attack Cuchulain, to wit: Traig ('Foot') and Dorn ('Fist') and Dernu ('Palm'), Col ('Sin') and Accuis[a] ('Curse') and Eraisè ('Heresy'), three druid-men and three druid-women, [3]their three wives.[3] Cuchulain attacked them, [4]the six of them, and struck off their six heads,[4] so that they fell at his hands [5]on this side of Ath Tire Moire ('Big Land's Ford') at Methè and Cethè.[5] [1-1] This heading is supplied by Windisch. [2-2] Eg. 93. [a] LU. 1764, H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93 have for this, _Mebul_, 'Shame.' [3-3] LU. 1767. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. 1766-1767. [6]Then it was that Fergus demanded of his sureties that fair-dealing should not be broken with Cuchulain. And it was there that Cuchulain was at that time,[6] [7]that is, at Delga Murthemni. Then Cuchulain killed Fota in his field, Bomailcè on his ford, Salach in his homestead, Muinè in his fort, Luar in Lethbera, Fertoithle in Toithle. These are the names of these lands forever, every place in which each man of them fell.[7] [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1759-1760. [7-7] LU. 1761-1765. Forasmuch as covenant and terms of single combat had been broken with Cuchulain, Cuchulain took his sling in hand that day and began to shoot at the host from Delga ('the Little Dart') in the south, [8]in Murthemne.[8] Though [W.2406.] numerous were the men of Erin on that day, not one of them durst turn his face southwards [1]towards Cuchulain, towards the side where he was[1] [2]between Delga and the sea,[2] whether dog, or horse, or man. [3]So that he slew an hundred warriors till came the bright hour of sunrise on the morrow.[3] [8-8] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1745. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. * * * * * [Page 177] XVIa [1]THE HEALING OF THE MORRIGAN[1] [W.2410.] [2]Great weariness came over Cuchulain after that night, and a great thirst, after his exhaustion.[2] Then it was that the Morrigan, daughter of Emmas, came from the fairy dwellings, in the guise of an old hag, [3]with wasted knees, long-legged,[3] [4]blind and lame,[4] engaged in milking a [5]tawny,[5] three-teated [6]milch[6] cow before the eyes of Cuchulain.[a] And for this reason she came in this fashion, that she might have redress from Cuchulain. For none whom Cuchulain ever wounded recovered therefrom without himself aided in the healing. Cuchulain, maddened with thirst, begged her for a milking. She gave him a milking of one of the teats [7]and straightway Cuchulain drank it.[7] "May this be a cure in time for me, [8]old crone," quoth Cuchulain, "and the blessing of gods and of non-gods upon thee!" said he;[8] and one of the queen's eyes became whole thereby. He begged the milking of [9]another[9] teat. [10]She milked the cow's second teat and[10] gave it to him and [11]he drank it and said,[11] "May she straightway be sound that gave it." [12]Then her head was healed so that it was whole.[12] He begged a third drink [W.2418.] [1]of the hag.[1] [2]She milked the cow's third teat[2] and gave him the milking of the teat [3]and he drank it.[3] "A blessing on thee of gods and of non-gods, O woman! [4]Good is the help and succour thou gavest me."[4] [5]And her leg was made whole thereby.[5] [6]Now these were their gods, the mighty folk: and these were their non-gods, the folk of husbandry.[6] And the queen was healed [7]forthwith.[7] [8]"Well, Cuchulain,[8] [9]thou saidst to me," spake the Morrigan, "I should not get healing [10]nor succour[10] from thee forever." "Had I known it was thou," Cuchulain made answer, "I would never have healed thee." Or, it may be Drong Conculainn ('Cuchulain's Throng') on Tarthesc is the name of this tale in the Reaving of the Kine of Cualnge.[9] [1-1] LU. fo. 77a, in the margin. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1748. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] Reading _fiadnaisse_. [7-7] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 1753. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL 1755. [6-6] A gloss incorporated in the text of LL., LU., YBL., Stowe, H. 2. 17. and Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1755-1758. [10-10] Eg. 93. [11]Then it was she alighted in the form of a royston crow on the bramble that grows over Grelach Dolair ('the Stamping-ground of Dolar') in Mag Murthemni. "Ominous is the appearance of a bird in this place above all," quoth Cuchulain. Hence cometh Sgè nah Einchi ('Crow's Bramble') as a name of Murthemne.[11] [11-11] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Then Medb ordered out the hundred [12]armed[12] warriors [13]of her body-guard[13] at one and the same time to assail Cuchulain. Cuchulain attacked them all, so that they fell by his hand [14]at Ath Ceit Cuilè ('Ford of the First Crime').[14] "It is a dishonour for us that our people are slaughtered in this wise," quoth Medb. "It is not the first destruction that has befallen us from that same man," replied Ailill. Hence Cuilenn Cind Duni ('The Destruction of the Head [W.2426.] of the Dûn') is henceforth the name of the place where they were,[1] the mound whereon Medb and Ailill tarried that night.[1] Hence Ath Cro ('Gory Ford') is the name of the ford where they were, [2]and Glass Cro ('River of Gore') the name of the stream.[2] And fittingly, too, because of the abundance of gore and blood that went with the flow of the river. [12-12] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [13-13] LU. 1768. [14-14] LU. 1769. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17, and, similarly, LU. 1771. * * * * * [Page 180] XVII THE GREAT ROUT ON THE PLAIN OF MURTHEMNE FOLLOWETH HERE BELOW [W.2431.] [1]That night[1] the warriors of four of the five grand provinces of Erin pitched camp and made their station in the place called Breslech Mor ('the Great Rout') in the Plain of Murthemne. Their portion of cattle and spoils they sent on before them to the south to the cow-stalls of Ulster. [LL.fo.76a.] Cuchulain took station at Ferta ('the Gravemound') at Lerga ('the Slopes') hard by them. And his charioteer kindled him a fire on the evening of that night, namely Laeg son of Riangabair. Cuchulain saw far away in the distance the fiery glitter of the bright-golden arms over the heads of four of the five grand provinces of Erin, in the setting of the sun in the clouds of evening. Great anger and rage possessed him at their sight, because of the multitude of his foes, because of the number of his enemies [2]and opponents, and because of the few that were to avenge his sores and his wounds upon them.[2] [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3]Then Cuchulain arose and[3] he grasped his two spears and his shield and his sword. He shook his shield and brandished his spears and wielded his sword and sent out the hero's shout from his throat, so that the fiends and goblins and sprites of the glens and demons of the air gave answer for the fearfulness of the shout [4]that he lifted on [W.2444.] high,[4] until Nemain, [1]which is Badb,[1] brought confusion on the host. The warriors of the four provinces of Erin made such a clangour of arms with the points of their spears and their weapons that an hundred [2]strong, stout-sturdy[2] warriors of them fell dead that night of fright and of heartbreak in the middle of the camp and quarters [3]of the men of Erin at the awfulness of the horror and the shout which Cuchulain lifted on high.[3] [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] Translating from Stowe, H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [1-1] Stowe, and LL., in the margin. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Eg. 93. As Laeg stood there he descried something: A single man coming from the north-eastern quarter athwart the camp of the four grand provinces of Erin making directly for him. "A single man here cometh towards us now, Cucucan," cried Laeg. "But what manner of man is he?" Cuchulain asked. "Not hard to say," [4]Laeg made answer.[4] "A great, well-favoured man, then. Broad, close-shorn hair upon him, and yellow and curly his back hair. A green mantle wrapped around him. A brooch of white silver[a] in the mantle over his breast. A kirtle of silk fit for a king, with red interweaving of ruddy gold he wears trussed up on his fair skin and reaching down to his knees. [5]A great one-edged sword in his hand.[5] A black shield with hard rim of silvered bronze thereon. A five-barbed spear in his hand. A pronged bye-spear beside it. Marvellous, in sooth, the feats and the sport and the play that he makes. But him no one heeds, nor gives he heed to any one. [6]No one shows him courtesy nor does he show courtesy to any one,[6] like as if none saw him in the camp of the four grand provinces of Erin." "In sooth, O fosterling," answered Cuchulain, "it is one of my friends of fairy kin [7]that comes[7] to take pity upon me, because they know the great distress wherein I am now all alone against the four grand provinces of Erin on the Plunder of the Kine of [W.2463.] Cualnge, [1]killing a man on the ford each day and fifty each night, for the men of Erin grant me not fair fight nor the terms of single combat from noon of each day."[1] [4-4] Eg. 93. [a] 'Of gold,' Eg. 93. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Now in this, Cuchulain spoke truth. When the young warrior was come up to Cuchulain he bespoke him and condoled with him [2]for the greatness of his toil and the length of time he had passed without sleep.[2] [3]"This is brave of thee, O Cuchulain," quoth he. "It is not much, at all," replied Cuchulain. "But I will bring thee help," said the young warrior. "Who then art thou?" asked Cuchulain. "Thy father from Faery am I, even Lug son of Ethliu." "Yea, heavy are the bloody wounds upon me; let thy healing be speedy."[3] "Sleep then awhile, O Cuchulain," said the young warrior, "thy heavy fit of sleep by Ferta in Lerga ('the Gravemound on the Slopes') till the end of three days and three nights and I will oppose the hosts during that time." [4]He examined each wound so that it became clean. Then he sang him the 'men's low strain' till Cuchulain fell asleep withal. It was then Lug recited[4] [5]the Spell-chant of Lug.[5] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. 1803-1807, and, similarly, Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. 1810-1811. [5-5] LU. fo. 78a, in the margin; also in H. 2. 17. and Eg. 93. Accordingly Cuchulain slept his heavy fit of sleep at 'the Gravemound on the Slopes' till the end of three days and three nights. And well he might sleep. Yet as great as was his sleep, even so great was his weariness. For from the Monday before Samain[a] ('Summer-end') even to the Wednesday after Spring-beginning,[b] Cuchulain slept not for all that space, except for a brief snatch after mid-day, leaning against his spear, and his head on his [W.2475.] fist, and his fist clasping his spear, and his spear on his knee, [LL.fo.76b.] but hewing and cutting, slaying and destroying four of the five grand provinces of Erin during that time. [a] Hallowtide, the first of November and the beginning of winter. [b] I.e. Candlemas. Stowe contains a Christian addition: 'to the feast of Brigit;' that is, the first of February. Then it was that the warrior [1]from Faery[1] laid plants from the fairy-rath and healing herbs and put a healing charm into the cuts and stabs, into the sores and gaping wounds of Cuchulain, so that Cuchulain recovered during his sleep without ever perceiving it. [1-1] LU. 1826. * * * * * [Page 184] XVIIa THE SLAUGHTER OF THE YOUTHS OF ULSTER[a] [W.2482.] That was the time the youths came out of the north from Emain Macha [1]to the help of Cuchulain.[1] Thrice fifty boys of the sons of the kings of Ulster, accompanying Follomain, Conchobar's son, and three battles they offered to the hosts, so that thrice their number fell and the youths also fell, save Conchobar's son Follomain. Follomain vowed that never till the very day of doom and of life would he return to Emain unless he should bring Ailill's head with him together with the diadem of gold that was on it. That was no easy thing for him to achieve, for the two sons of Bethè son of Ban--the two sons of Ailill's foster-mother and foster-father [2]to whom King Ailill's diadem had been entrusted[2]--attacked and wounded [3]Follomain,[3] so that he fell by their hands. This then is the Massacre of the youths of Ulster and of Follomain son of Conchobar. [a] The LU. version of this episode was given above under XIIe, page 143. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Eg. 93. Touching Cuchulain, he remained in his sound, heavy sleep till the end of three days and three nights at the 'Gravemound on the Slopes.' Thereafter Cuchulain arose from his sleep. He passed his hand over his face and he became as a wild[b] wheel-thunder (?) from his crown to the ground, and he felt his courage strengthened, and he would have [W.2497.] been able to go into an assembly or on a march or to a tryst with a woman or to an ale-house or into one of the chief assemblies of Erin. "How long am I asleep now, young warrior?" Cuchulain asked. "Three days and three nights," the young warrior made answer. "Woe is me for that!" quoth Cuchulain. "Why so?" asked the young warrior. "For that the hosts have not been attacked in that time," answered Cuchulain. "Nay, not so were they spared," the young warrior made answer. "I would fain inquire who then attacked them?" Cuchulain asked. "The youths came hither out of the north from Emain Macha, thrice fifty boys accompanying Follomain, Conchobar's son, and they the sons of the kings of Ulster. And three battles they offered the hosts in the space of the three days and three nights wherein thou wast till now asleep, and thrice their number are fallen at their hands and the youths themselves are fallen except Follomain [1]alone,[1] Conchobar's son. And Follomain vowed that never till the very day of doom and of life [3]would he return [2]north[2] to Emain Macha till he carried off Ailill's head with the diadem of gold which was on it. Howbeit not such was his luck, for he fell at the hands of the two sons of Bethè son of Ban, after engaging in battle with them."[3] [b] Literally, 'crimson.' [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe. "Alas, that I was not [4]there[4] in my strength!" cried Cuchulain; "for had I been in my strength the youths would not have fallen, as now they have, and Follomain would not have perished." "But this avow, O Cucan,"[a] [5]said the young warrior;[5] "it is no reproach to thine honour and no disgrace to thy valour." "Bide here this night with us, young warrior," said Cuchulain, "that together we avenge the youths on the hosts." "Nay then, I may not tarry," answered the [W.2515.] young warrior. [1]"Why so?" asked Cuchulain. "Easy to say," replied the young warrior;[1] "for however prodigious the deeds of valour and skill in arms one may perform in thy company, not on him will fall the glory nor the honour nor the fame but on thyself. For this reason will I not tarry with thee, but do thou thyself try thy feats of arms [2]and the strength of thy hands[2] alone on the hosts, for not with them is the power over thy life on this occasion." [4-4] Stowe. [a] A pet name for Cuchulain. [5-5] Eg. 93. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3]Then the young warrior from Faery went from him and they knew not what way he had gone. "Good, O my master Laeg," said Cuchulain; "together we will go to avenge the youths on the hosts." "I will go with thee," Laeg made answer.[3] "And the scythed chariot, my friend Laeg," said Cuchulain. "Canst thou get it ready? If thou canst get it ready and hast its equipment, make it ready, and if its equipment is not at hand, make it not ready." [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. * * * * * [Page 187] XVIIb THE SCYTHED CHARIOT [W.2525.] Thereupon the charioteer arose and donned his yeoman's suit for charioteering. Of this [LL.fo.77a.] yeoman's suit for charioteering, this is what he put on him: His soft kirtle of skin which was light and airy, which was smooth and sparkling, which was stitched and of buckskin, so that it hindered not the movements of his arms outside. Over that he put outside an over-mantle of raven's feathers, which Simon Magus had made [1]as a gift[1] [2]for Darius[2] [3]Nero,[3] king of the Romans. Darius bestowed it upon Conchobar; Conchobar gave it to Cuchulain; Cuchulain presented it to [4]Laeg son of Riangabair,[4] his charioteer. The same charioteer took the crested, plated, four-bordered battle-cap with variety of every colour and every figure, reaching [5]down[5] over the middle of his shoulders behind. It was an adornment for him and not an encumbrance. With his hand he placed the red-yellow frontlet--like one red-golden strip of glowing gold smelted over the edge of an anvil--on his forehead as a token of charioteering, to distinguish him from his master. He opened the hobbles that fastened his steeds and grasped his gold-mounted goad in his right hand. In his left hand he seized the lines, that is, the bridle-reins of his horses for restraining his steeds before performing his charioteering. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Stowe and LU. 1874. [3-3] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93, instead of, 'Darius.' [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [W.2542.] He next threw the iron-sheathed gold-bedecked coats of mail over his horses, so that they covered them from forehead to forehand. [1]The chariot was[1] [2]studded with[2] dartlets, lancelets, spearlets, and hardened spits, so that every portion of the frame bristled with points in that chariot and every corner and end and point and face of that chariot was a passage of laceration. [1-1] There is a gap in the MS., and these words are supplied from the context. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Then cast he a spell of concealment over his horses and over his fellow, so that they were not visible to any one in the camp, while all in the camp were visible to them, [3]and over this veil of protection he wounded each one and through it and behind it.[3] Well indeed was it that he cast that charm, for on that day the charioteer had to perform the three gifts of charioteership, namely leaping over a cleft in the ranks, unerring driving, and the handling of the goad. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Then [4]arose[4] the champion and battle-warrior and the instrument of Badb's corpse-fold[a] among the men of the earth,[c] Cuchulain son of Sualtaim, and he donned his war-dress of battle and fight and combat. To that war-dress of battle and fight and combat which he put about him belonged seven and twenty[b] waxed, board-like, equally close skin-tunics which were girded by cords and swathings and ropes on his fair skin, to the end that his wit and reason might not become deranged when the violence of his nature came over him. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] That is, the piled up bodies of the slain. [c] 'Of Erin,' Eg. 93. [b] 'Eight and twenty,'. Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Over him he put on the outside his battle-girdle of a champion, of tough, tanned, stout leather cut from the forequarters of seven ox-hides of yearlings, so that it reached from the slender parts of his waist to the stout part under [W.2562.] his arm-pits. He was used to wear it to keep off spears and points and irons and lances and arrows. For in like manner they would bound back from it as if from stone or rock or horn they rebounded. Then he took his silken, glossy trews with their band of spotted pale-gold against the soft lower parts of his loins. His brown, well-sewn kilt of brown leather from the shoulders of four ox-hides of yearlings, with his battle-girdle of cow-skins, he put underneath over the shining silken trews on the outside, [1]so that it covered him from the slender part of his waist to the thick part of his thighs and reached up to the battle-belt of the hero.[1] Then the king-hero [LL.fo.77a.] [2]and king-warrior[2] seized his battle-arms of battle and fight and combat. This is what belonged to those warlike weapons of battle: He took his eight little swords together with the bright-faced, tusk-hilted straightsword [3]along with his quiver;[3] he took his eight little spears besides his five-pronged spear; he took his eight little darts together with his javelin with its walrus-tooth ornaments; he took his eight little shafts along with his play-staff; he took his eight shields for feats together with his dark-red bent-shield, whereon a show-boar could lie in its hollow boss, with its very sharp, razor-like, keen-cutting, hard [4]iron[4] rim all around it, so that it would cut a hair against the stream because of its sharpness and fineness and keenness. When the young warrior would perform the edge-feat withal, it was the same whether he cut with his shield or his spear or his sword. Next he put round his head his crested war-helm of battle and fight and combat, [5]wherein were four carbuncle-gems on each point and each end to adorn it,[5] whereout was uttered the cry of an hundred young warriors with the long-drawn wail from each of its angles and corners. [W.2583.] For this was the way that the fiends, the goblins and the sprites of the glens and the demons of the air screamed before and above and around him, what time he went forth for the shedding of blood of heroes and champions, [1]exulting in the mighty deeds wrought underneath it[1]. His veil of concealment was thrown over him then, of raiment from Tir Tairngirè ('the Land of Promise') which had been brought to him [2]as a gift[2] by Manannan son of Ler ('the Sea') from the king of Tir na Sorcha ('the Land of Light'), [3]his foster-father in magic[3]. [4]His fair, purple-red fan was placed in front of his face. Past it and through it and over it everything was visible to him and no one wounded him past it nor through it nor over it[4]. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. 1914. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe and LU. 1927. [4-4] Eg. 93. Then took place the first twisting-fit [5]and rage[5] of [6]the royal hero[6] Cuchulain, so that he made a terrible, many-shaped, wonderful, unheard of thing of himself. His flesh trembled about him like a pole against the torrent or like a bulrush against the stream, every member and every joint and every point and every knuckle of him from crown to ground. He made a mad whirling-feat of his body within his hide. His feet and his shins and his knees slid so that they came behind him. His heels and his calves and his hams shifted so that they passed to the front. The muscles of his calves moved so that they came to the front of his shins, so that each huge knot was the size of a soldier's balled fist. He stretched the sinews of his head so that they stood out on the nape of his neck, and as large as the head of a month-old child was each of the hill-like lumps, huge, incalculable, vast, immeasurable. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. He next made a ruddy bowl of his face and his countenance. He gulped down one eye into his head so that it [W.2603.] would be hard work if a wild crane succeeded in drawing it out on to the middle of his cheek from the rear of his skull. Its mate sprang forth till it came out on his cheek, [1]so that it was the size of a five-fist kettle, and he made a red berry thereof out in front of his head.[1] His mouth was distorted monstrously [2]and twisted up to his ears[2]. He drew the cheek from the jaw-bone so that the interior of his throat was to be seen. His lungs and his lights stood out so that they fluttered in his mouth and his gullet. He struck a mad lion's blow with the upper jaw [3]on its fellow[3] so that as large as a wether's fleece of a three year old was each [4]red,[4] fiery flake [5]which his teeth forced[5] into his mouth from his gullet. There was heard the loud clap of his heart against his breast like the yelp of a howling bloodhound or like a lion going among bears. [LL.fo.78a.] There were seen the [a]torches of the Badb,[a] and the rain clouds of poison, and the sparks of glowing-red fire, [6]blazing and flashing[6] in hazes and mists over his head with the seething of the truly-wild wrath that rose up above him. His hair bristled all over his head like branches of a redthorn thrust into a gap in a great hedge. Had a king's apple-tree laden with royal fruit been shaken around him, scarce an apple of them all would have passed over him to the ground, but rather would an apple have stayed stuck on each single hair there, for the twisting of the anger which met it as it rose from his hair above him. The Lon Laith ('Champion's Light') stood out of his forehead, so that it was as long and as thick as a warrior's whetstone, [7]so that it was as long as his nose, till he got furious handling the shields, thrusting out the charioteer, destroying the hosts.[7] As high, as thick, as strong, as steady, as long as the sail-tree of some huge [W.2623.] prime ship was the straight spout of dark blood which arose right on high from the very ridgepole of his crown, so that a black fog of witchery was made thereof like to the smoke from a king's hostel what time the king comes to be ministered to at nightfall of a winter's day. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Reading with Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Reading with Eg. 93. [a-a] A kenning for 'swords.' [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [7-7] LU. 1958-1959. When now this contortion had been completed in Cuchulain, then it was that the hero of valour sprang into his scythed war-chariot, with its iron sickles, its thin blades, its hooks and its hard spikes, with its hero's fore-prongs, with its opening fixtures, with its stinging nails that were fastened to the poles and thongs and bows and lines of the chariot, [1]lacerating heads and bones and bodies, legs and necks and shoulders.[1] [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. It was then he delivered [2]over his chariot[2] the thunder-feat of a hundred and the thunder-feat of two hundred and the thunder-feat of three hundred and the thunder-feat of four hundred, and he ceased at the thunder-feat of five hundred. For he did not deem it too much that such a great number should fall by his hand at his first onset and first battle-assault on four of the five grand provinces of Erin, [3]while avenging on them the slaughter of the youths and of Follomain son of Conchobar,[3] In such wise fared he forth for to seek his foes, and he drove his chariot in a wide circuit round about the hosts of the four grand provinces of Erin. And he led his chariot a heavy way. The chariot's iron wheels sank into the ground so that [4]the earth dug up by the iron wheels[4] might have served for a dûn and a fortress, so did the chariot's iron wheels cut into the ground. For in like manner the clods and boulders and rocks and the clumps and the shingle of the earth arose up outside on a height with the iron wheels. It was for this cause he made this circling [5]hedge[5] of the Badb [W.2646.] round about the hosts of four of the five grand provinces of Erin, that they might not escape him nor get away before he would come on them to press a reprisal for the boys. And he went into the midst of the ranks and mowed down huge walls of the corpses of his foes [1]and enemies and opponents[1] in a great circle round about the host. And he made the onslaught of a foe amongst foes upon them, so that they fell sole to sole, neck to neck, [2]arm to arm, elbow to elbow, and rib to rib, [3]such was the closeness of their bodies,[3] and there were pools of ruddy blood where they moved.[2] Thrice again in this manner he circled them round, so that he left them in beds of six in a great ring around them, even the soles of three to the backs of three men in a circle around the camp. Hence Sessrech Bresligè ('Great sixfold Slaughter')[a] is the name of this event on the Táin, and it is one of the three unreckonable events of the Táin, which were, to wit, Sessrech Bresligè, Immsligè Glennamnach ('the Mutual Slaying at Glennamain'), and the battle of Garech [LL.fo.78b.] and Ilgarech; only that here, hound and horse and man were one to him [4]in the great rout on Mag Murthemni that night avenging the youths on four of the five grand provinces of Erin.[4] [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. 1996. [a] Or, 'Ploughland of the Great Slaughter.' [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. What others say is that Lug son of Ethliu fought on Cuchulain's side at the Sessrech Bresligè. Their number is not known and it cannot be reckoned how many fell there of the rabble rout, but only their chiefs have been counted. Here below are their names, to wit:-- The two Cruad, two Calad, two Cir, two Ciar, two Ecell, three Cromm, three Cur, three Combirgè, four Feochar, four Furachar, four Cassè, four Fota, five Caur, five Cerman, [W.2679.] five Cobtach, six Saxan, six Duach, six Darè, [1]six Dunchadh, six Daimiach,[1] seven Rochad, seven Ronan, seven Rurthech, eight Rochlad, eight Rochtad, eight Rindach, [2]eight Corprè,[2] eight Malach, nine Daigith, nine Darè, nine Damach, ten Fiach, ten Fiacach, ten Fedlimid. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2010. Ten and six-score[b] kings, [3]leaders and men of the land,[3] Cuchulain laid low in the great slaughter on the Plain of Murthemne, besides a countless horde of dogs and horses and women and boys and children and common folk; for there escaped not a third man of the men of Erin [4]without a wound or a hurt or a blueing or a reddening or a lump or a mark or breaking of thigh or of leg or of shinbone,[4] without having hip-bone broken or half his skull or an eye hurt, or without an enduring mark for the course of his life. [5]And he left them then after inflicting that battle upon them, without having his blood drawn or wound brought on himself or on his charioteer or on either of his horses.[5] [b] 'Nineteen and nine-score,' H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, page 72, note 19. * * * * * [Page 195] XVIIc [1]THE ACCOUNT OF THE APPEARANCE OF CUCHULAIN[1] [W.2706.] [2]Early[2] the next morning Cuchulain came to observe the host and to display his comely, beautiful form to the matrons and dames and girls and maidens and poets and men of art,[a] for he did not consider it an honour nor becoming, the [3]wild,[3] proud shape of magic which had been manifested to them the night before. It was for that then that he came to exhibit his comely, beautiful form on that day. [1-1] LU. fo. 81a, in the margin. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] A general term for poets, singers, seers and druids. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Truly fair was the youth that came there to display his form to the hosts, Cuchulain, to wit son of Sualtaim [4]son of Boefoltach ('Of little possessions') son of Morfoltach ('Of great possessions') son of Red Neil macRudhraidi.[4] Three heads of hair he wore; brown at the skin, blood-red in the middle, a golden-yellow crown what thatched it. Beautiful was the arrangement of the hair, with three coils of hair wound round the nape of his neck, so that like to a strand of thread of gold was each thread-like, loose-flowing, deep-golden, magnificent, long-tressed, splendid, beauteous-hued hair as it fell down over his shoulders. A hundred bright-purple windings of gold-flaming red gold at his neck. A hundred salmon-coloured (?) cords strung with carbuncles as a covering round his head. Four spots on either of his two cheeks, even a yellow spot, and a green spot, and a blue spot, [W.2722.] and a purple spot. Seven jewels of the eye's brilliance was either of his kingly eyes. Seven toes to either of his two feet. Seven fingers to either of his two hands, with the clutch of hawk's claw, with the grip of hedgehog's talon in every separate one of them. [4-4] H. 2. 17. He also put on him that day his fair-day dress. To this apparel about him belonged, namely, a beautiful, well-fitting, purple, fringed, five-folded mantle. A white brooch of [1]silvered bronze or of[1] white silver incrusted with burnished gold over his fair white breast, as if it were a full-fulgent lantern that eyes of men could not behold [LL.fo.79a.] for its resplendence and crystal shining. A [2]striped[2] chest-jacket of silk on his skin, fairly adorned with borders and braidings and trimmings of gold and silver and silvered bronze; it reached to the upper hem of his dark, brown-red warlike breeches of royal silk. A magnificent, brown-purple buckler he bore, [3]with five wheels of gold on it,[3] with a rim of pure white silver around it. A gold-hilted hammered sword [4]with ivory guards, raised high at his girdle[4] at his left side. A long grey-edged spear together with a trenchant bye-spear for defence, with thongs for throwing and with rivets of whitened bronze, alongside him in the chariot. Nine heads he bore in one of his hands and ten in the other, and these he brandished before the hosts in token of his prowess and cunning. [5]This then was a night's attack for Cuchulain on the hosts of four of the five provinces of Erin.[5] Medb hid her face beneath a shelter of shields lest Cuchulain should cast at her that day. [1-1] YBL. 2040. [2-2] YBL. 2043. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 2045. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 2046. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 2050. Then it was that the maidens [6]of Connacht[6] besought the men of Erin to lift them up on the flat of the shields above the warriors' shoulders; [7]and the women [8]of Munster[8] clomb on the men[7] to behold the aspect of [W.2746.] Cuchulain. For they marvelled at the beautiful, comely appearance he showed them that day compared with the low, arrogant shape of magic in which they had seen him the night before. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1205. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 2052. [8-8] YBL, added later above the line. * * * * * [Page 198] XVIId DUBTHACH'S JEALOUSY[a] [W.2749.] [1]And Dubthach's wife prayed to be lifted to regard the form of Cuchulain.[1] Then it was that jealousy, ill-will and envy possessed Dubthach Doel ('the Black-tongue')[b] of Ulster because of his wife [2]in regard to Cuchulain; for he saw his wife climb on the men to get a glimpse of Cuchulain;[2] and he counselled the hosts to act treacherously towards Cuchulain and to entrap him, even to lay up an ambush around him on all sides to the end that he might fall by them. And he spake these words:-- "If this be the Twisted one, By him shall men's bodies fall; Shrieks there shall be round the liss; Deeds to tell of shall be wrought! "Stones shall be on graves from him; Kingly martyrs shall increase. Not well have ye battle found On the slopes with this wild Hound! [3]"If this be the Twisted one, Men shall soon be slain by him; 'Neath his feet shall corpses lie; Under bushes mantles white![3] "Now the Wildman's form I see, Nine[c] heads dangling by his side; Shattered spoils he has, behold; Ten[d] heads as his treasure great! [W.2766.] "And your women, too, I see, Raise their heads above the lines; I behold your puissant queen Makes no move t'engage in fight! "Were it mine to give advice, Men would be on every side, That they soon might end his life; If this be the Twisted one!" [a] This superscription is not found in the MSS. [1-1] Eg. 93. [b] Literally, 'the Chafer (or Scorpion?).' [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [c] 'Eight,' LU. and YBL. 2060. [d] 'Nine,' LU. and YBL. 2061, H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. Fergus macRoig heard this and he deemed it an outrage that Dubthach should counsel how to betray Cuchulain to the hosts. And he reached him a strong, sharp kick with his foot away from him, so that Dubthach struck with his mouth against the group outside. And Fergus reproached him for all the wrongs and iniquities and treachery and shameful deeds he had ever done to the Ulstermen of old and anew. And then he spake these words:-- "If this 'Black-tongue' Dubthach be, Let him skulk behind the hosts; No good hath he ever wrought, Since he slew the princesses![a] "Base and foul, the deed he wrought: Fiachu, Conchobar's son, he slew. No more fair was heard of him: Carbrè's death, Fedilmid's son! "Ne'er for Ulster's weal doth aim Lugaid's son, Casruba's scion;[b] Such is how he acts to men: Whom he stabs not he incites! "Ulster's exiles it would grieve If their beardless boy[c] should fall. If on you come Ulster's troops They will make your herds their spoil! "Strewn afar your herds will be By the rising Ulstermen. Tales there'll be of mighty deeds That will tell of far-famed queens! [W.2800.] [1]"Corpses will be under foot,[1] [2]Food there'll be at ravens' rests;[2] Bucklers lying on the slopes; Wild and furious deeds increase! [3]"I behold just now your wives Raise their heads above the ranks. I behold your puissant queen Moves not to engage in war![3] [LL.fo.79b.] "Valour none nor generous deed Comes from Lugaid's craven son; Nor will kings see lances red, If this 'Black-tongue' Dubthach be!" [a] The reference is to the maidens of Emain Macha slain by Dubthach in punishment for the death of the sons of Usnech. [b] That is, Dubthach. [c] That is, Cuchulain. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 2077. [2-2] Reading: _Betit buind fri brannfossaib_. [3-3] This quatrain is almost identical with the one translated on page 199. Thus far 'The Scythed Chariot.'[a] [a] A very obscure and fragmentary passage in LU. and YBL. (lines 2083-2106, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, lacking in Eg. 93, _Revue Celtique_, tome xv, page 204), consisting of a series of short strains in _rosc_ spoken in turn by Ailill, Medb, Gabran the poet, and Fergus, is omitted in the translation. * * * * * [Page 201] XVIII [1]THE SLAYING OF OENGUS SON OF OENLAM[1] [W.2814.] Then it was that a very bold young warrior of the Ulstermen came nigh the hosts; his bye-name was Oengus son of Oenlam Gabè ('the One-handed Smith'). And he drove the hosts before him from Moda Loga, which at that time was called Lugmud, to Ath da Fert ('the Ford of the Two Gravemounds') in Sliab Fuait. [2]And he suffered them not to go by, but he showered them with stones.[2] What scholars say is: If Oengus son of Oenlam Gabè had fought them in single combat, [3]two-thirds of[3] the host would have fallen before that by him in single battle [4]at Emain Macha.[4] Howbeit it was by no means so that they acted, but they attacked him from ambush on every side, till he fell at their hands [5]in unequal fight[5] at Ath da Fert in Sliab Fuait. [1-1] LU. fo. 82a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2135-2136. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 2137. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 2139. * * * * * [Page 202] XVIIIa HERE NOW IS TOLD THE MISTHROW AT BELACH EOIN. [W.2823.] Then came to them Fiacha Fialdana ('the Generous and Intrepid') of the Ulstermen to speak with the son of his mother's sister, namely with Manè Andoè ('the Unslow') of the Connachtmen. And thus he came, and Dubthach Doel ('the Black Tongue') of Ulster with him. It was in this wise that Manè Andoè came, and Dochè son of Maga along with him. When now Dochè macMagach espied Fiacha Fialdana, he straightway hurled a spear at him, but so that it went through his own friend, through Dubthach Doel of Ulster. Then Fiacha Fialdana hurled a spear at Dochè macMagach, so that it went through his own friend, through Manè Andoè of Connacht. Thereupon said the men of Erin: "A mishap in throwing," they said, "is what hath happened to the men, for each of them to kill his friend and nearest relation." Hence this is entitled Imroll Belaig Eoin ('the Misthrow at Bird-pass'). And 'the Other Misthrow at Bird-pass' is another name for it. [1]Or it may be this from which cometh Imroll Belaig Eoin: The hosts proceed to Belach Eoin ('Bird-pass'). Their two troops wait there. Diarmait macConchobar of the Ulstermen comes from the north. "Let a horseman start from you," cries Diarmait, "that Manè may come with one man to parley with me, and I will go with another man to parley with him." A while thereafter they meet "I am come," says Diarmait, "from Conchobar, with commands to Ailill and Medb that they let the cows go and make good all the ill they have done here and bring hither the bull[a] from the west to meet the other bull,[b] to the end that they may encounter, since Medb has pledged it." "I will go," says Manè, "to tell them." He takes this message to Medb and Ailill. "This cannot be had of Medb," Manè reported. "Let us make a fair exchange of arms, then," says Diarmait, "if perchance that pleaseth thee better." "I am content," replies Manè. Each of them casts his spear at the other so that both of them die, and hence the name of this place is Imroll Belaig Eoin. Their forces rush upon one another. Three-score of each force fall. Hence is Ard in Dirma ('the Height of the Troop').[1] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 2114-2128. [a] The 'White-horned.' [b] The 'Brown of Cualnge.' * * * * * [Page 204] XVIIIb HERE NOW FOLLOWETH THE DISGUISING OF TAMON [W.2837.] Then said the men of Erin to Tamon the fool that he should don the garments of Ailill and the king's golden shawl, and go to the ford that was close before them. So he put the garments and golden shawl of Ailill upon him. [1]Ailill's people placed the king's diadem on the head of Tamon the fool, for Ailill dared not wear it himself,[1] and he went on to the ford under their eyes. The men of Erin began to scoff and to shout and jeer at him. "It is a disguising of Tamon ('a Stump') for thee, O Tamon the fool," they cried, "with the dress and the golden shawl of Ailill upon thee!" When Cuchulain saw him, it seemed to him in his ignorance and lack of knowledge that it was Ailill himself that was there. And he slung a stone from his staff-sling at him so that [2]his head was broken thereby[2] and Tamon the fool was smitten lifeless where he was on the ford. Hence Ath Tamuin ('the Ford of a Stump') [3]is the name of that ford ever since[3] and 'the Disguising of Tamon' [4]is the name of the tale.[4] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 2129. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2131. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 205] XIX [1]THE BATTLE OF FERGUS AND CUCHULAIN[1] [W.2851.] The hosts of the four grand provinces of Erin pitched camp and entrenched themselves for that night at the pillar-stone in Crich Roiss ('the Borders of Ross'). Then Medb called upon the men of Erin for one of them to contend and do battle with Cuchulain on the morrow. And every one of them spake thus: "It shall not be I! it shall not be I!" [2]cried each from his place.[2] "No victim is owing from my people, [3]and even if one were it would not be myself whom ye would send as a victim in his stead.[3] [4]I will not be the man to go in his place to fight with Cuchulain till the very day of doom and of life!"[4] [1-1] LU. fo. 82b, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2141. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17., LU. and YBL. 2142-2143. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Thereupon Medb summoned Fergus to [5]go forth and[5] contend and fight with Cuchulain, [6]to drive him off from them on the ford[6] [7]at the early morning-hour[7] [8]on the morrow,[8] for that the men of Erin had failed her [9]to go and do battle with him.[9] "Ill would it befit me," quoth Fergus, "to fight with a callow young lad without any beard, and mine own disciple, [10]the fosterling of Ulster,[10] [11]the foster-child that sat on Conchobar's knee, the lad from Craeb Ruad ('Red Branch')."[11] Howbeit Medb [W.2861.] murmured sore that Fergus foreswore her combat and battle. [1]They filled him with wine till he was heavily drunken and then they questioned him about going to the combat.[1] They bode the night in that place. Early on the morrow Fergus arose, [2]since they importuned him urgently,[2] [3]and his horses were got ready for him and his chariot harnessed[3] and he fared forth to the place of combat where Cuchulain was. [5-5] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] Eg. 93. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 2145-2146. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2147. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4]When now[4] Cuchulain saw him coming nigh, [5]this is what he said:[5] [6]"Welcome thine arrival and thy coming, O my master Fergus," spoke Cuchulain. "Truly given we esteem thy greeting," Fergus answered. "It is truly given for thee, O Fergus" said Cuchulain; "and thou shalt have a night's lodging here this night." "Success and a blessing attend thee, O fosterling; not for hospitality from thee am I come, but to fight and do battle with thee."[6] "A vain surety [LL.fo.80a.] is the one wherewith my master Fergus comes to me; for no sword is in the sheath of the great staff he bears." It was true what he said. A year before this tale,[a] [7]before the expedition of the Táin,[7] Ailill had found Fergus going to a tryst with Medb on the hillside in Cruachan and his sword on a [8]branch[8] near by him. And Ailill had torn the sword from its sheath and put a wooden sword in its stead and vowed he would not restore him the sword till came the day of the great battle, [9]when the men of Erin would clash in the great battle of the Cualnge Cattle-raid at Garech and Ilgarech.[9] [10]"It is a perilous thing for thee to come to a place of fight, O my master Fergus, without thy sword."[10] "It matters not to me, O fosterling," replied Fergus; "for had I a sword in this, it never would cut thee nor be plied on thee. But, by [W.2874.] the honour and training I bestowed upon thee and the Ulstermen and Conchobar bestowed, [1]by the troth of thy valour and knighthood[1] I adjure thee, give way before me this day in the presence of the men of Erin!" "Truly I am loath [2]to do that,"[2] answered Cuchulain, "to flee before any one man on the Cattle-spoil of Cualnge." "Nay then it is not a thing to be taken amiss by thee," said Fergus; "for I in my turn will retreat before thee when thou wilt be covered with wounds and dripping with gore and pierced with holes in the battle of the Táin. And when I alone shall turn in flight [3]before thee,[3] so will all the men of Erin also flee [4]before thee in like manner."[4] So zealous was Cuchulain to do whatever made for Ulster's weal that he had his chariot brought to him, and he mounted his chariot and he went in confusion and flight [5]from Fergus in the presence[5] of the men of Erin. [6]As far as Grellach Dolluid ('the Stamping-place at Dolluid') he fled, in order that Fergus might give way before him on the day of the battle.[6] [7]When[7] the men of Erin saw that, [8]they were joyful, and what they said was this:[8] "He is fled from thee! He is fled from thee, O Fergus!" cried all. "Pursue him, pursue him [9]quickly,[9] O Fergus," Medb cried, "that he do not escape thee." "Nay then," said Fergus, "I will pursue him no further. [10]It is not like a tryst. Yon fellow is too speedy for me.[10] For however little ye may make of the flight I have put him to, none of the men of Erin, [11]not even four of the five provinces of Erin[11] could have obtained so much as that of him on the Cow-creagh of Cualnge. For this cause, till the men of Erin take turns in single combat, I will not engage again with this same man." Hence here we have the [12]'White[12] [W.2891.] Battle' of Fergus [1]on the Táin thus far; and it is for this cause it is called the 'White Battle,' because no 'blood on weapons'[a] resulted therefrom.[1] [2]They continue their march past Cuchulain and pitch camp in Crich Roiss.[2] [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Eg. 93. [a] See above, page 99. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Reading with Stowe; LL. has 'on the slope.' [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 2154-2155. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 2157. [11-11] Eg. 93. [12-12] Eg. 93. [1-1] Eg. 93. [a] A traditional tag; it occurs again, page 216. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2158-2159. * * * * * [Page 209] XIXa HERE NOW COMETH THE HEAD-PLACE OF FERCHU [W.2893.] Ferchu Longsech ('the Exile'), [1]a wonderful warrior from Loch Ce, outlawed from his land by Ailill and Medb,[1] although of the Connachtmen, was engaged in battle and plunder with Ailill and Medb. From the day these came to the kingship, there never was a time that he fared to their camp or took part in their expeditions or shared in their straits or their needs or their hardships, but he was ever at their heels, pillaging and plundering their borders and land. At that time he sojourned in the eastern part of Mag Ai. Twelve[a] men was his muster. He learned that a single man checked and stopped four of the five grand provinces of Erin from Monday at Summer's end till the beginning of Spring, slaying a man on the ford every one of those days and a hundred warriors every night. He weighed his plan privily with his people. "What better plan could we devise?" quoth he, "than to go and attack yonder man that checketh and stoppeth four of the five grand provinces of Erin, and bring his head and his arms with us to Ailill and Medb? However great the injuries and wrongs we have done to Ailill and Medb, we shall obtain our peace therefor, if only that man fall by our hand." [2]He made no doubt that if Cuchulain fell through him, the eastern territory of Connacht would be his.[2] Now this was the [W.2908.] resolve they took, and they proceeded to where Cuchulain was [1]at Ath Aladh ('Speckled Ford') on the Plain of Murthemne.[1] And when they came, [2]they espied the lone warrior and knew that it was Cuchulain.[2] It was not fair fight nor combat with one they vouchsafed him, but at one and the same time the twelve men fell upon him [3]so that their spears sank up to their middles into his shield.[3] Cuchulain on his part [4]drew his sword from the sheath of the Badb to attack them, and he fell to to cut away their weapons and to lighten his shield. Then he[4] turned on them, [5]front and back, to the left and the right,[5] and straightway he smote off their twelve heads; [6]and he engaged in a furious, bloody and violent battle with Ferchu himself, after killing his people. And not long did it avail Ferchu thus, for he fell at last by Cuchulain,[6] [7]and Cuchulain cut off Ferchu's head to the east of the ford.[7] And he set up twelve stones in the earth for them, and he put the head of each one of them on its stone and he likewise put Ferchu Longsech's head on its stone. Hence Cinnit Ferchon Longsig is [8]henceforth the name of[8] the place where Ferchu Longsech left his head [9]and his twelve men theirs and their arms and their trophies,[9] to wit, Cenn-aitt Ferchon ('the Head-place of Ferchu'). [1-1] Eg. 93. [a] 'Thirteen,' LU. and YBL. 2161, and Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Eg. 93. * * * * * [Page 211] XIXb [1]MANN'S FIGHT[1] [2]Medb despatched Mann son of Muresc son of Darè, of the Dommandach, to fight with Cuchulain. Own brothers were he and Daman, Ferdiad's father. A man, rough, inordinate in eating and sleeping was this Mann. An ill-tongued foul-mouthed man like Dubthach Doel ('Black-tongue') of Ulster. A man, stout, mighty, with strength of limb like Munremur ('Thick-neck') son of Gerrcend ('Short-head'). A fiery champion like Triscoth, the strong man of Conchobar's household. "I will go," said he, "and unarmed, and I will grind him between my hands, for I consider it no honour nor credit to use arms against a beardless madcap such as he." [1-1] LU., fo. 82, in the margin. Therewith he went to attack Cuchulain. There he was, himself and his charioteer on the ford watching the host. "A lone warrior approacheth us here," cried Laeg to Cuchulain. "What manner of man?" asked Cuchulain. "A dark, black man, strong, bull-like, and he unarmed." "Let him go by thee," said Cuchulain. At that he comes nigh them. "To fight with thee am I come," Mann announced. Therewith they fell to wrestling for a long time, and thrice Mann threw Cuchulain, till the charioteer incited Cuchulain. "Were it the champion's portion thou wast contending for in Emain," spake Laeg, "thou wouldst be all powerful over the young bloods in Emain!" At these words the hero's wrath and warrior's rage returned to Cuchulain, so that he overcame Mann at the pillar-stone and he fell to pieces in morsels. Hence cometh Mag Mandachta ('the Plain of Mann's death').[2] [2-2] YBL., and, partly, LU. 2163-2181. Here the LU. version breaks off, fo. 82b. * * * * * [Page 213] XIXc [1]THE COMBAT OF CALATIN'S CHILDREN[1] [W.2918.] Then was it debated by the men of Erin who would be fit to contend and cope with Cuchulain at the morning hour early on the next day. What they all said was, that Calatin Dana ('the Bold') would be the one, with his seven and twenty sons and his grandson[a] Glass macDelga. Thus were they: Poison was on every man of them and poison on every weapon of their arms; and not one of them missed his throw, and there was no one on whom one of them drew blood that, if he succumbed not on the spot, would not be dead before the end of the ninth day. Great gifts were promised to them for engaging to do battle and to contend [LL.fo.80b.] [2]with Cuchulain.[2] And they took the matter in hand, and it should be in the presence of Fergus that the covenant would be made. But Fergus refused to have part therein, for what they [3]all[3] contended was that they would hold it as a single combat, [4]a combat, to wit, of[4] Calatin Dana and his seven and twenty sons and his grandson Glass macDelga; for their contention was that his son was a limb of his limbs and a part of his parts, and that to Calatin Dana belonged all that proceeded from his body. [1-1] The title is taken from the colophon at the end of the chapter. [a] 'Nephew.' Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. Fergus betook himself to his tent and to his people and he breathed his sigh of weariness aloud. "Grievous it [W.2935.] seems to us, the deed to be done here on the morrow," quoth Fergus. "What deed may that be?" asked his people. "The slaying of Cuchulain," answered Fergus. "Alas," said they, "who should kill him?" "Calatin Dana," he replied, "with his seven and twenty sons and his grandson Glass macDelga. For this is their nature: Poison is on every man of them and poison on every weapon of their arms; and there is no one on whom one of them draws blood, that, if he succumb not on the spot, will not be dead before the end of the ninth day. And there is no one [1]of you[1] that would go and learn for me and be witness of the battle and fight and bring me news how Cuchulain died on whom I would not bestow my blessing and armour." "I will go thither," spake Fiachu son of Ferfebè. [1-1] Stowe. They abode so that night. Early on the morrow Calatin Dana arose with his seven and twenty sons and his grandson Glass macDelga, and they went forward to where Cuchulain was. And there went also Fiachu son of Ferfebè. And when Calatin arrived at the place where Cuchulain was, they forthwith hurled their nine and twenty spears, and not one of them went past him by a misthrow. Cuchulain played the edge-feat with his shield, so that all the spears sank up to their middles into the shield. But for all that theirs was no erring cast, not one of the spears was blooded or reddened upon him. Thereupon Cuchulain drew [2]his[2] sword from the sheath of the Badb, to cut away the weapons and lighten the shield that was on him. While thus engaged, they rushed in upon him and delivered their nine and twenty right fists at the same time on his head. They smote him and curbed him withal, till his face and his countenance and visage met the sand and gravel of the ford. Cuchulain raised his warrior's shout aloud and his cry of unequal combat, so that there was not an Ulsterman [W.2962.] alive [1]in the camp[1] of those that were not asleep but heard it. Then [2]when they all had reached for their swords,[2] came Fiachu son of Ferfebè [3]after them out of the camp,[3] and he saw what they did and a qualm of [4]love and[4] the bond of kindred came over him, and [5]when he saw all their hands raised against Cuchulain, he leaped from his chariot and[5] drew his sword from the sheath of the Badb and dealt them a blow, so that he cut off their nine and twenty right fists from them at one stroke, and they all fell backwards from the intensity of the exertion and hold which they had. [2-2] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 2186. [3-3] YBL. 2187. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 2187-2188. Cuchulain raised his head and drew breath and gave a sigh of weariness and perceived who it was that had come to his aid. "A ready relief, O foster-brother, [6]what thou hast done,"[6] said Cuchulain. "Although for thee a ready relief," said Fiachu, "yet is it not so for us. Even though we are the best division of three thousand of the Clann Rudraige in the camp and station of the men of Erin, [7]nevertheless this small thing is a breach of covenant in us men of Ulster. If one of Calatin's children reaches the camp,[7] we shall all be brought under the mouth of spear and of sword, however feeble thou mayst deem the blow I struck, if this treason be found in us." "I give my word," quoth Cuchulain; "so soon as I raise my head and draw breath, [8]not a man of them shall reach the camp alive,[8] and unless thou thyself tellest the tale not one of these ever will tell it!" [6-6] YBL. 2190. [7-7] YBL. 2190-2191. [8-8] YBL. 2193. With that, Cuchulain turned on them, and he fell to smiting and hewing them, so that he sent them [LL.fo.81a.] from him in small disjointed pieces and divided quarters eastwards and westwards along the ford. A single man got away from him, trusting to his speed while Cuchulain was busied [W.2981.] beheading the rest; it was Glass macDelga. And Cuchulain raced after him like a blast of wind, and Glass ran on round the tent of Ailill and Medb, and all he could pant out was, "Fiach! Fiach!"[a] when Cuchulain fetched him a stroke that cut off his head. [a] There is a play on words. Glass attempts to pronounce the name 'Fiachu,' but is only able to utter the first syllable of the word which alone means 'debt.' "'Tis quick work was made of that man," quoth Medb. "What debt was that he spoke of, O Fergus?" "I know not," Fergus answered, "unless it be some one in the camp and quarters that owed him a debt. It is that which troubled his mind. But be that as it may," continued Fergus, "it is a debt of blood and flesh for him. And upon my word," Fergus added, "now are his debts paid to him for good and all!" In this wise fell Calatin Dana ('the Bold') at the hands of Cuchulain, together with his seven and twenty sons and his grandson Glass macDelga [1]and the two sons of Ficcè with them, two bold warriors of Ulster who had come to use their strength on the host.[1] So that for evermore in the bed of the ford is still the rock whereabout they had their strife and struggle [2]and their slaughtering of each other;[2] and the mark of their sword-hilts is in it and of their knees and their elbows [3]and their fists[3] and the butt-ends of their spears. [4]And their nine and twenty standing stones were set up there.[4] Hence Fuil Iairn ('Blood of Iron') to the west[b] of Ath Firdead ('Ferdiad's Ford') is the name of the ford. It is for this it is called Fuil Iairn, because of the 'blood over weapons'[c] that was there. [1-1] YBL. 2194-2196. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 2198. [4-4] YBL. 2198. [b] 'South,' YBL. 2184. [c] See page 208, note _a_. Thus far then [5]this exploit on the Táin,[5] the Combat of the Clann Calatin [6]of his children and his grandson with Cuchulain,[6] [7]when they went to do battle with Cuchulain.[7] [5-5] YBL. 2196. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] YBL. 2196-2197. * * * * * [Page 217] XX THE COMBAT OF FERDIAD [1]AND CUCHULAIN[1] [2]The four grand provinces of Erin were side by side and against Cuchulain, from Monday before Samain-tide[a] to Wednesday after Spring-beginning, and without leave to work harm or vent their rage on the province of Ulster, while yet all the Ulstermen were sunk in their nine days' 'Pains,' and Conall Cernach ('the Victorious') sought out battle in strange foreign lands paying the tribute and tax of Ulster. Great was the plight and strait of Cuchulain during that time, for he was not a day or a night without fierce, fiery combat waged on him by the men of Erin, until he killed Calatin with his seven and twenty sons and Fraech son of Fiadach and performed many deeds and successes which are not enumerated here. Now this was sore and grievous for Medb and for Ailill.[2] [1-1] Stowe and YBL. 2200 and Eg. 106. [2-2] Eg. 106. [a] See note p. 182. [W.3001.] Then the men of Erin took counsel who would be fit [3]to send to the ford[3] to fight and do battle with Cuchulain, [4]to drive him off from them[4] at the morning hour early on the morrow. [3-3] YBL. 2203. [4-4] YBL. 2202. [5]With one accord[5] they declared that it should be Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè, the great and valiant warrior of the men of Domnann, [6]the horn-skin from Irrus Domnann, the irresistible force, and the battle-rock of destruction, the own, dear, foster-brother of Cuchulain.[6] [W.3005.] [1]And fitting it was for him to go thither,[1] for well-matched and alike was their manner of fight and of combat. Under the same instructresses had they done skilful deeds of valour and arms, when learning the art with Scathach ('the Modest') and with Uathach ('the Dreadful') and with Aifè ('the Handsome'). [2]Yet was it the felling of an oak with one's fists, and the stretching of the hand into a serpent's nest, and a spring into the lair of a lion, for hero or champion in the world, aside from Cuchulain, to fight or combat with Ferdiad on whatever ford or river or mere he set his shield.[2] And neither of them overmatched the other, save in the feat of the Gae Bulga ('the Barbed Spear') which Cuchulain possessed. Howbeit, against this, Ferdiad was horn-skinned when fighting and in combat with a warrior on the ford; [3]and they thought he could avoid the Gae Bulga and defend himself against it, because of the horn about him of such kind that neither arms nor multitude of edges could pierce it.[3] [5-5] Eg. 106. [6-6] YBL. 2204-2206. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Eg. 106. [3-3] YBL. 2208-2209. Then were messengers and envoys sent [4]from Medb and Ailill[4] to Ferdiad. Ferdiad denied them their will, and dismissed and sent back the messengers, and he went not with them, for he knew wherefore they would have him, to fight and combat with his friend, with his comrade and foster-brother, [5]Cuchulain.[5] [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. Then did Medb despatch the druids [6]and the poets of the camp,[6] the lampoonists and hard-attackers,[a] for Ferdiad, to the end that they might make three satires to stay him and three scoffing speeches against him, [7]to mock at him and revile and disgrace him,[7] that they might raise three blisters on his face, Blame, Blemish and Disgrace, [8]that he might not find a place in the world to lay his head,[8] [W.3021.] if he came not [1]with them[1] [2]to the tent of Medb and Ailill on the foray.[2] [6-6] Stowe, Eg. 106, Eg. 209. [a] Literally, 'the cheek-blisterers.' [7-7] YBL. 2213. [8-8] YBL. 2214. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 2214. Ferdiad came with them for the sake of his own honour and [3]for fear of their bringing shame on him,[3] forasmuch as he deemed it better to fall by the shafts of valour and bravery and skill, than to fall by the shafts of satire, abuse and reproach. And when [4]Ferdiad[4] was come [5]into the camp,[5] [6]Medb and Ailill beheld him, and great and most wonderful joy possessed them, and they sent him to where their trusty people were, and [6]he was honoured and waited on, and choice, well-flavoured strong liquor was poured out for him till he became drunken and merry. [7]Finnabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, was seated at his side. It was Finnabair that placed her hand on every goblet and cup Ferdiad quaffed. She it was that gave him three kisses with every cup that he took. She it was that passed him sweet-smelling apples over the bosom of her tunic. This is what she ceased not to say, that her darling and her chosen sweetheart of the world's men was Ferdiad.[7] [8]And when Medb got Ferdiad drunken and merry,[8] great rewards were promised him if he would make the fight and combat. [3-3] YBL. 2215. [4-4] Stowe and Eg. 209. [5-5] Stowe and Eg. 209. [6-6] Eg. 106. [7-7] YBL. 2216-2221. [8-8] Eg. 106. [9]When now Ferdiad was satisfied, happy and joyful, it was that Medb spoke: "Hail now, Ferdiad. Dost know the occasion wherefore thou art summoned to this tent?" "I know not, in truth," Ferdiad replied; "unless it be that the nobles of the men of Erin are here. Why is it less fitting for me to be here than any other good warrior?" "'Tis not that, forsooth," answered Medb: "but to give thee[9] a chariot worth four[a] times seven bondmaids, and the apparel of two men and ten men, of cloth of every colour, [W.3028.] and the equivalent [1]of the Plain of Murthemne[1] of the rich Plain of Ai, [2]and that thou shouldst be at all times in Cruachan, and wine be poured out for thee there; the freedom of thy descendants and thy race forever,[2] free of tribute, free of rent, without constraint to encamp or take part in our expeditions, [LL.fo.81b.] without duress for [3]thy son, or for thy grandson, or for thy great-grandson, till the end of time and existence;[3] [4]this leaf-shaped golden brooch of mine shall be thine, wherein are ten-score ounces, and ten-score half ounces, and ten-score scruples, and ten-score quarters;[4] Finnabair, [5]my daughter and Ailill's,[5] to be thine own one wife, [6]and mine own most intimate friendship, if thou exactest that withal." "He needs it not," they cried, one and all; "great are the rewards and gifts!"[6] [9-9] YBL. 2221-2225. [a] 'Thrice seven,' YBL. 2226, Stowe, and Eg. 209. [1-1] YBL. 2227. [2-2] YBL. 2228. [3-3] In LL. this passage is reported in indirect discourse; consequently, instead of 'thy,' LL. has 'his.' [4-4] YBL. 2229-2231. [5-5] YBL. 2231-2232. [6-6] YBL. 2232-2234. Such were the words of Medb, and she spake them here and Ferdiad responded:-- Medb: "Great rewards in arm-rings, Share of plain and forest, Freedom of thy children From this day till doom! Ferdiad son of Daman, More than thou couldst hope for, Why shouldst thou refuse it, That which all would take?" Ferdiad: "Naught I'll take without bond-- No ill spearman am I-- Hard on me to-morrow: Great will be the strife! Hound that's hight of Culann, How his thrust is grievous! No soft thing to stand him; Rude will be the wound!" Medb: "Champions will be surety, Thou needst not keep hostings. Reins and splendid horses Shall be given as pledge! [W.3056.] Ferdiad, good, of battle, For that thou art dauntless, Thou shalt be my lover, Past all, free of cain!" Ferdiad: "Without bond I'll go not To engage in ford-feats; It will live till doomsday In full strength and force. Ne'er I'll yield--who hears me, Whoe'er counts upon me-- Without sun- and moon-oath, Without sea and land!" Medb: "Why then dost delay it? Bind it as it please thee, By kings' hands and princes', Who will stand for thee! Lo, I will repay thee,[a] Thou shalt have thine asking, For I know thou'lt slaughter Man that meeteth thee!" Ferdiad: "Nay, without six sureties-- It shall not be fewer-- Ere I do my exploits There where hosts will be! Should my will be granted, I swear, though unequal, That I'll meet in combat Cuchulain the brave!" Medb: "Domnall, then, or Carbrè, Niaman famed for slaughter, Or e'en folk of barddom, Natheless, thou shalt have. Bind thyself on Morann, Wouldst thou its fulfilment, Bind on smooth Man's Carbrè, And our two sons, bind!" Ferdiad: "Medb, with wealth of cunning, Whom no spouse can bridle, Thou it is that herdest Cruachan of the mounds! High thy fame and wild power! Mine the fine pied satin; Give thy gold and silver, Which were proffered me!" Medb: [W.3100.] "To thee, foremost champion, I will give my ringed brooch. From this day till Sunday, Shall thy respite be! Warrior, mighty, famous, All the earth's fair treasures Shall to thee be given; Everything be thine! "Finnabair of the champions (?), Queen of western Erin, When thou'st slain the Smith's Hound, Ferdiad, she's thine!" Ferdiad: [1]"Should I have Finnabair to wife, Falls of Ai and Cruachan too, And to dwell for alway there, I'd not seek the deedful Hound! "Equal skill to me and him--" Thus spake Ferdiad withal-- "The same nurses raised us[a] both, And with them we learned our art. "Not for fear of battle hard, Noble Eocho Fedlech's maid, Would I shun the Blacksmith's Hound, But my heart bleeds for his love!" Medb: "Thou shalt have, dear, bright-scaled[b] man,[c] One swift, proud, high-mettled steed. Thou shalt have domains and land And shalt stay not from the fight (?)!" Ferdiad: "But that Medb entreated so, And that poets' tongues did urge, I'd not go for hard rewards To contend with mine own friend!" Medb: "Son of Daman of white cheeks, Shouldst thou check this heroes' Hound, E'er so long thy fame will live, When thou comest from Ferdiad's Ford!"[1] [a] Translating from Stowe. [1-1] Eg. 106 (_Revue Celtique,_ t. x, page 339). The metre is changed designedly to agree with the original. [a] MS. 'ye.' [b] Referring to Ferdiad's horn-skin. [c] Literally, 'calf.' [2]Then said they, one and all, those gifts were great. [3]"'Tis true, they are great.[3] But though they are," said [W.3113.] Ferdiad, "with Medb herself I will leave them, and I will not accept them if it be to do battle or combat with my foster-brother, the man of my alliance and affection, [1]and my equal in skill of arms,[1] namely, with Cuchulain." And he said:-- "Greatest toil, [2]this, greatest toil,[2] Battle with the Hound of gore! Liefer would I battle twice With two hundred men of Fal! "Sad the fight, [2]and sad the fight,[2] I and Hound of feats shall wage! We shall hack both flesh and blood; Skin and body we shall hew! "Sad, O god, [2]yea, sad, O god,[2] That a woman should us part! My heart's half, the blameless Hound; Half the brave Hound's heart am I! "By my shield, [2]O, by my shield,[2] If Ath Cliath's brave Hound should fall, I will drive my slender glaive Through my heart, my side, my breast! "By my sword, [2]O, by my sword,[2] If the Hound of Glen Bolg fall! No man after him I'll slay, Till I o'er the world's brink spring! "By my hand, [2]O, by my hand![2] Falls the Hound of Glen in Sgail, Medb with all her host I'll kill, And then no more men of Fal! "By my spear, [2]O, by my spear![2] Should Ath Cro's brave Hound be slain, I'll be buried in his grave; May one grave hide me and him! [3]"Liefer would I, [2]liefer far,[2] Arms should slay me in fierce fight, Than the death of heroes' Hound,"[a] Should be food for ravenous birds?[3] "Tell him this, [2]O, tell him this,[2] To the Hound of beauteous hue, Fearless Scathach hath foretold My fall on a ford through him! [W.3149.] "Woe to Medb, [1]yea, woe to Medb,[1] Who hath used her [3]guile[3] on us; She hath set me face to face 'Gainst Cuchulain--hard the toil!" [2-2] Stowe, Add. 18,748 and Eg. 209. [3-3] YBL. 2234. [1-1] Eg. 106, Eg. 209. [2-2] Eg. 209. [a] The word is illegible in the manuscript. [3-3] Eg. 106. [1-1] Eg. 209. [3-3] Reading with Eg. 209. "Ye men," spake Medb, in the wonted fashion of stirring up disunion and dissension, [4]as if she had not heard Ferdiad at all,[4] "true is the word Cuchulain speaks." "What word is that?" asked Ferdiad. "He said, then," replied Medb, "he would not think it too much if thou shouldst fall by his hands in the choicest feat of his skill in arms, in the land whereto he should come." "It was not just for him to speak so," quoth Ferdiad; "for it is not cowardice or lack of boldness that he hath ever seen in me [5]by day or by night.[5] [6]And I speak not so to him, for I have it not to say of him.[6] And I swear by my arms [7]of valour,[7] if it be true that he spoke so, I will be the first man of the men of Erin to contend with him on the morrow, [8]how loath soever I am to do so!"[8] [4-4] YBL. 2238. [5-5] YBL. 2242. [6-6] Eg. 106. [7-7] Eg. 209. [8-8] Eg. 106. [9]And he gave his word in the presence of them all that he would go and meet Cuchulain. For it pleased Medb, if Ferdiad should fail to go, to have them as a witness against him, in order that she might say it was fear or dread that caused him to break his word.[9] "A blessing [10]and victory[10] upon thee for that!" said Medb; "it pleaseth me more than for thee to show fear and lack of boldness. For every man loves his own land, and how is it better for him to seek the welfare of Ulster, [11]because his mother was descended from the Ulstermen,[11] than for thee to seek the welfare of Connacht,[2] [12]as thou art the son of a king of Connacht?"[12] [9-9] Eg. 106. [10-10] YBL. 2244. [11-11] YBL. 2247. [12-12] YBL. 2248. Then it was that Medb obtained from Ferdiad the easy [W.3163.] surety of a covenant to fight and contend on the morrow with six warriors [1]of the champions of Erin,[1] or to fight and contend with Cuchulain alone, if to him this last seemed lighter. Ferdiad obtained [2]of Medb[2] the easy surety, [3]as he thought,[3] to send the aforesaid six men for the fulfilment of the terms which had been promised him, should Cuchulain fall at his hands. [1-1] Stowe and Eg. 209. [2-2] Stowe, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [3-3] A gloss, in LL. [4]There was a wonderful warrior of the Ulstermen present at that covenant, and that was Fergus macRoig. Fergus betook him to his tent. "Woe is me, for the deed that will be done on the morning of the morrow!" "What deed is that?" his tent-folk asked. "My good fosterling Cuchulain will be slain!" "Good lack! who makes that boast?" "Not hard to say: None other but his dear, devoted foster-brother, Ferdiad son of Daman. Why bear ye not my blessing," Fergus continued, "and let one of you go with a warning and mercy to Cuchulain, if perchance he would leave the ford on the morn of the morrow?" "As we live," said they; "though it were thyself was on the ford of battle, we would not go near him to seek thee." "Come, my lad," cried Fergus, "get our horses for us, and yoke the chariot!"[4] [4-4] YBL. fo. 36a, 21-36. Then were Fergus' horses fetched for him and his chariot was yoked, and he came forward to the place [5]of combat[5] where Cuchulain was, to inform him [6]of the challenge, that Ferdiad was to fight with him.[6] [5-5] YBL. fo. 36a, 38. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7]"A chariot cometh hither towards us, O Cuchulain!" cried Laeg. For in this wise was the gilla, with his back towards his lord. He used to win every other game of draughts and of chess from his master. Watch and guard of the four airts was he besides. "What manner of chariot is it?" asked Cuchulain. "A chariot like to a royal fort, huge, with its yoke, strong, golden; with its great board of copper; with its shafts of bronze; with its thin-framed, dry-bodied box (?) ... set on two horses, black, swift, stout, strong-forked, thick-set, under beautiful shafts. One kingly, broad-eyed warrior is the combatant in the chariot. A curly, forked beard he wears that reaches below outside over the smooth lower part of his soft tunic, which would shelter fifty warriors on a day of storm and rain under the heavy shield of the warrior's beard. A bent buckler, white, beautiful, of many colours, he bears, with three stout-wrought chains, so that there is room from edge to edge for four troops of ten men behind the leather of the shield which hangs upon the broad back of the warrior. A long, hard-edged, broad, red sword in a sheath woven and twisted of white silver, over the ... of the battle-warrior. A strong, three-ridged spear, wound and banded with all-gleaming white silver he has lying across the chariot." [7-7] YBL. fo. 36a, 39-36b, 15. "Not difficult to recognize him," said Cuchulain: "'tis my master Fergus that cometh hither with a warning and with compassion for me, before all the four provinces of Erin." [W.3172.] Fergus drew nigh and sprang from his chariot.[7] Cuchulain bade him welcome. [LL.fo.82a.] "Welcome is thy coming, O my master Fergus!" cried Cuchulain. [1]"If a flock of birds comes into the plain, thou shalt have a duck with half of another. If a fish comes into the river-mouths, thou shalt have a salmon with half of another. A handful of water-cress and a bunch of laver and a sprig of sea-grass and a drink of cold water from the sand thou shalt have thereafter." "Tis an outlaw's portion, that," said Fergus. "Tis true; 'tis an outlaw's portion is mine," answered Cuchulain.[1] "Truly intended, methinks, the welcome, O [W.3174.] fosterling," said Fergus. "But, [1]were it for this I came, I should think it better to leave it.[1] It is for this I am here, to inform thee who comes to fight and contend with thee at the morning hour early on the morrow." "E'en so will we hear it from thee," said Cuchulain. "Thine own friend and comrade and foster-brother, the man thine equal in feats and in skill of arms and in deeds, Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè, the great and mighty warrior of the men of Domnann." [2]"As my soul liveth,"[2] replied Cuchulain, "it is not to an encounter we wish our friend to come, and [3]not for fear, but for love and affection of him;[3] [4]and almost I would prefer to fall by the hand of that warrior than for him to fall by mine."[4] "It is even for that," answered Fergus, "thou shouldst be on thy guard and prepared. [5]Say not that thou hast no fear of Ferdiad, for it is fitting that thou shouldst have fear and dread before fighting with Ferdiad.[5] For unlike all to whom it fell to fight and contend with thee on the Cualnge Cattle-raid on this occasion is Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè, [9]for he hath a horny skin about him [6]in battle against a man,[6] [7]a belt,[7] [8]equally strong, victorious in battle,[8] and neither points nor edges are reddened upon it[9] [10]in the hour of strife and anger. For he is the fury of a lion, and the bursting of wrath, and the blow of doom, and the wave that drowneth foes."[10] [12]"Speak not thus!" cried Cuchulain, "for I swear [11]by my arms of valour,[11] the oath that my people swear, that every limb and every joint will be as soft as a pliant rush in the bed of a river under the point of sword, if he show himself to me on the ford![12] Truly am I here," said Cuchulain, "checking and [W.3185.] staying four of the five grand provinces of Erin from Monday at[a] Summer's end till[b] the beginning of spring, [1]and I have not left my post for a night's disport, through stoutly opposing the men of Erin on the Cattle-lifting of Cualnge.[1] And in all this time, I have not put foot in retreat before any one man [2]nor before a multitude,[2] and methinks just as little will I turn foot in flight before him." [1-1] YBL. 36b, 27-28. [7-7] YBL. fo. 36a, 39-36b, 15. [1-1] YBL. 36b, 18-24. [2-2] Literally, 'I say our confession.' [3-3] Stowe, Eg. 209, Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 106. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6-6] YBL. fo. 36b, 38. [7-7] Eg. 106. [8-8] Eg. 106. [9-9] Stowe and Eg. 209, and, similarly, YBL. 36b, 37. [10-10] Eg. 106. [11-11] Eg. 106. [12-12] YBL. 36b, 38-43 [1-1] YBL. 36b, 25-26. [2-2] Stowe. [3]And thus spake he, that it was not fear of Ferdiad that caused his anxiety for the fight, but his love for him. [3]And, on his part, so spake Fergus, putting him on his guard [4]because of Ferdiad's strength,[4] and he said these words and Cuchulain responded:-- Fergus: "O Cuchulain--splendid deed-- Lo, 'tis time for thee to rise. Here in rage against thee comes Ferdiad, red-faced Daman's son!" Cuchulain: "Here am I--no easy task--[c] Holding Erin's men at bay; Foot I've never turned in flight In my fight with single foe!" Fergus: "Dour the man when anger moves, Owing to his gore-red glaive; Ferdiad wears a skin of horn, 'Gainst which fight nor might prevails!" Cuchulain: "Be thou still; urge not thy tale, Fergus of the mighty arms. On no land and on no ground, For me is there aught defeat!" Fergus: "Fierce the man with scores of deeds; No light thing, him to subdue. Strong as hundreds--brave his mien-- Point pricks not, edge cuts him not!" Cuchulain: "If we clash upon the ford, I and Ferdiad of known skill, We'll not part without we know: Fierce will be our weapon fight!" Fergus: [W.3214.] "More I'd wish it than reward, O Cuchulain of red sword, Thou shouldst be the one to bring Eastward haughty Ferdiad's spoils!" Cuchulain: "Now I give my word and vow, Though unskilled in strife of words, It is I will conquer this Son of Daman macDarè!" Fergus: "It is I brought east the host, Thus requiting Ulster's wrong. With me came they from their lands, With their heroes and their chiefs!" Cuchulain: "Were not Conchobar in the 'Pains,' Hard 'twould be to come near us. Never Medb of Mag in Scail On more tearful march had come!" Fergus: "Greatest deed awaits thy hand: Fight with Ferdiad, Daman's son. Hard stern arms with stubborn edge,[b] Shalt thou have, thou Culann's Hound!" [a] Stowe and H. 1. 13: 'before'; YBL. 36b, 24: 'after.' [b] 'Till Wednesday after Spring,' is the reading of H. 1. 13. [3-3] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209. [4-4] Stowe. [c] Literally, 'no meagre sail.' [b] Or, 'which quatrains love (?),' a cheville. [1]After that,[1] Fergus returned to the camp and halting-place [2]of the men of Erin,[2] [3]lest the men of Erin should say he was betraying them or forsaking them, if he should remain longer than he did conversing with Cuchulain. And they took farewell of each other.[3] [1-1] YBL. 37a, 22. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4]Now as regards the charioteer of Cuchulain [5]after Fergus went from them:[5] "What wilt thou do to-night?" asked Laeg. "What, indeed?" said Cuchulain. "It will be thus" (said the charioteer) "Ferdiad will come to attack thee, with new beauty of plaiting and dressing of hair, and washing and bathing, and the four provinces of Erin with him to look at the combat. I would that thou wouldst go where thou wilt get a like adorning for thyself, to the place where is Emer Foltchain ('Emer of the Beautiful Hair,' thy wife), [6]daughter of Forgal Monach,[6] at Cairthenn in Cluan da Dam, ('two Oxen's Meadow') in Sliab Fuait, [1]where thou wilt get even such an adorning for thyself."[1] [2]"It is fitting to do so," said Cuchulain.[2] Then Cuchulain went thither that night [3]to Dundelgan,[3] and passed the night with his wife. His doings from that time are not related here now.[4] [4-4] YBL. 37a, 29-39, and, similarly, Eg. 106. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6-6] Eg. 106. [1-1] Eg. 106. [2-2] Eg. 106. [3-3] Eg. 106. [W.3235.] [5]As for[5] Ferdiad, he betook himself to his tent and to his people, and imparted to them the easy surety which Medb had obtained from him to do combat and battle with six warriors on the morrow, or to do combat and battle with Cuchulain alone, if he thought it a lighter task. He made known to them also the fair terms he had obtained from Medb of sending the same six warriors for the fulfilment of the covenant she had made with him, should Cuchulain fall by his hands. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6]The folk of Ferdiad were not joyful, blithe, cheerful or merry that night,[6] [LL.fo.82b.] but they were sad, sorrowful and downcast, for they knew that where the two champions and the two bulwarks in a gap for a hundred, [7]the two pillars of battle and strife of the men of Erin[7] [8]of that time[8] met in combat, one or other of them would fall there or both would fall, and if it should be one of them, they believed it would be [9]their king and[9] their own lord [10]that would fall there,[10] for it was not easy to contend and do battle with Cuchulain on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge. [6-6] LL., with the help of Stowe; LL. being partly illegible here. [7-7] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209, Eg. 106 and YBL. 37a, 43. [8-8] YBL. 37a, 43. [9-9] H. 1. 13. [10-10] Stowe. Ferdiad slept right heavily the first part of the night, but when the end of the night was come, his sleep and his heaviness left him. And the anxiousness of the combat and the battle came upon him. [11]But most troubled in spirit was he that he should allow all the treasures to pass from him, and the maiden, by reason of combat with one man. Unless he fought with that one man, he must needs fight with six champions on the morrow. What tormented him more than that was, should he once show himself on the ford to Cuchulain he was certain he would never have power of head or of life ever after. And Ferdiad arose early on the morrow.[11] [W.3252.] And he charged his charioteer to take his horses and to yoke his chariot. The charioteer sought to dissuade him [1]from that journey.[1] [2]"By our word,"[2] said the gilla, "'twould be better for thee[a] [3]to remain than to go thither," said he; "for, not more do I commend it for thee than I condemn it."[3] "Hold thy peace about us, boy!" quoth Ferdiad, [4]"for we will brook no interference from any one concerning this journey.[4] [5]For the promise we gave to Medb and Ailill in the presence of the men of Erin, it would shame us to break it; for they would say it was fear or dread that caused us to break it. And, by my conscience, I would almost liefer fall myself by Cuchulain's hand than that he should fall by mine on this occasion. And should Cuchulain fall by my hand on the ford of combat, then shall Medb and many of the men of Erin fall by my hand because of the pledge they extorted from me, and I drunken and merry.[5] And in this manner he spake, [6]conversing with the charioteer,[6] and he uttered these words, [7]the little lay that follows, urging on the charioteer,[7] and the henchman responded:-- Ferdiad: "Let's haste to th' encounter, To battle with this man; The ford we will come to, O'er which Badb will shriek! To meet with Cuchulain, To wound his slight body, To thrust the spear through him So that he may die!" The Henchman: [W.3266.] "To stay it were better; Your threats are not gentle; Death's sickness will one have, And sad will ye part! To meet Ulster's noblest, To meet whence ill cometh; Long will men speak of it. Alas, for your[a] course!" Ferdiad: "Not fair what thou speakest; No fear hath the warrior; We owe no one meekness; We stay not for thee! Hush, gilla, about us! The time will bring strong hearts; More meet strength than weakness; [1]Let's on to the tryst!"[1] [11-11] YBL. 37a, 47-37b, 5. [1-1] Stowe, Eg. 106 and H. 1. 13. [2-2] YBL. 37b, 7. [a] MSS.: 'ye.' [3-3] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 106, Eg. 109 and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209, Eg. 106 and H. 1. 13. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6-6] YBL. 37b, 9. [7-7] YBL. 37b, 10. [a] MS.: 'his.' [1-1] YBL. 37b, 22. Ferdiad's horses were now brought forth and his chariot was hitched, and he set out [2]from the camp[2] for the ford of battle when yet day with its full light had not come there for him. [3]"My lad," spake Ferdiad, "it is not fitting that we make our journey without bidding farewell to the men of Erin. Turn the horses and the chariot for us towards the men of Erin." Thrice the servant turned the heads of the horses and the chariot towards the men of Erin. Then he came upon Medb letting her water from her on the floor of the tent. "Ailill, sleepest thou still?" asked Medb. "Not so!" replied Ailill. "Dost hear thy new son-in-law taking farewell, of thee?" "Is that what he doth?" asked Ailill. "'Tis that, verily," Medb made answer; "but I swear by what my tribe swears, not on the same feet will the man who makes that greeting come back to you." "Howbeit, we have profited by a happy alliance of marriage with him," quoth Ailill; "if only Cuchulain falls by his hand, I should be pleased if they both fell, yet would I prefer that Ferdiad should escape." [2-2] YBL. 37b, 24. [3-3] YBL. 37b, 25-38a, 25. Ferdiad came to the ford of combat. "Look, my lad!" said Ferdiad, "is Cuchulain on the ford?" "That he is not," replied the gilla. "Look well for us," said Ferdiad. "Cuchulain is not a little speck where he would be in hiding," answered the gilla. "'Tis true, then, my lad; till this day Cuchulain hath not heard of a goodly warrior coming to meet him on the Cow-spoil of Cualnge, and now when he has heard of one, he has left the ford." "Shame for thee to slander Cuchulain in his absence. Rememberest thou not when ye gave battle to German Garbglas above the borders of the Tyrrhene Sea, thou leftest thy sword with the hosts, and it was Cuchulain who slew a hundred warriors till he reached it and brought it to thee? And mindest thou well where we were that night?" the gilla asked further. "I know not," Ferdiad answered. "At the house of Scathach's steward," said the other; "and thou wentest ... and proudly in advance of us all into the house. The churl gave thee a blow with his three-pointed fork in the small of the back, so that thou flewest like a bolt out over the door. Cuchulain came in and gave the churl a blow with his sword, so that he made two pieces of him. I was their house-steward whilst ye were in that place. If it were that day, thou wouldst not say thou wast a better warrior than Cuchulain." "Wrong is what thou hast done, O gilla," said Ferdiad; "for I would not have come to the combat, hadst thou spoken thus to me at first. Why dost thou not lay the chariot-poles at my side and the skin-coverings under my head, that so I may sleep now?" "Alas," said the gilla, "'tis a sorry sleep before deer and packs of wolves here!" "How so, gilla? Art thou not able to keep watch and guard for me?" "I am," the gilla answered; "unless they come in clouds or in the air to attack thee, they shall not come from east or from west to attack thee without warning, without notice."[3] "Come, gilla," said Ferdiad, [1]"unharness the horses and[1] [W.3285.] spread for me the cushions and skins of my chariot under me here, so that I sleep off my heavy fit of sleep and slumber here, for I slept not the last part of the night with the anxiousness of the battle and combat." [1-1] Stowe. The gilla unharnessed the horses; he unfastened the chariot under him, [1]and spread beneath him the chariot-cloths.[1] He slept off the heavy fit of sleep that was on him. [2]The gilla remained on watch and guard for him.[2] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Eg. 106. Now how Cuchulain fared [3]is related[3] here: He arose not till the day with its bright light had come to him, lest the men of Erin might say it was fear or fright of the champion he had, if he should arise [4]early.[4] And when day with its full light had come, he [5]passed his hand over his face and[5] bade his charioteer take his horses and yoke them to his chariot. "Come, gilla," said Cuchulain, "take out our horses for us and harness our chariot, for an early riser is the warrior appointed to meet us, Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè. [6]If Ferdiad awaits us, he must needs think it long."[6] "The horses are taken out," [7]said the gilla;[7] "the chariot is harnessed. Mount, and be it no shame to thy valour [8]to go thither!"[8] [9]Cuchulain stepped into the chariot and they pressed forward to the ford.[9] Then it was that the cutting, feat-performing, battle-winning, red-sworded hero, Cuchulain son of Sualtaim, mounted his chariot, so that there shrieked around him the goblins and fiends and the sprites of the glens and the demons of the air; for the Tuatha De Danann ('the Folk of the Goddess Danu') were wont to set up their cries around him, to the end that the dread and the fear and the fright and the terror of him might be so much the greater in every [W.3304.] battle and on every field, in every fight and in every combat wherein he went. [3-3] Stowe and YBL. 38a, 28. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe, and, similarly Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [6-6] YBL. 38a, 30. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] H. 1. 13. [9-9] YBL. 38a, 31-32. Not long had Ferdiad's charioteer waited when he heard something: [1]A rush and a crash and a hurtling sound, and a din and a thunder,[1] [LL.fo.83a.] and a clatter and a clash, namely, the shield-cry of feat-shields, and the jangle of javelins, and the deed-striking of swords, and the thud of the helmet, [2]and the ring of spears,[2] and the clang of the cuirass, and the striking of arms, the fury of feats, the straining of ropes, and the whirr of wheels, and the creaking of the chariot, and the trampling of horses' hoofs, and the deep voice of the hero and battle-warrior [3]in grave speech with his servant[3] on his way to the ford to attack his opponent. [1-1] From Stowe; LL. is illegible here. [2-2] H. 1. 13. [3-3] Stowe. The servant came and touched his master with his hand [4]and awakened him.[4] "Ferdiad, master," said the youth, "rise up! They are here to meet thee at the ford." [5]Then[5] [6]Ferdiad arose and girt his body in his war-dress of battle and combat.[6] And the gilla spake these words:-- "The roll of a chariot, Its fair yoke of silver; A man great and stalwart O'ertops the strong car! O'er Bri Ross, o'er Branè Their swift path they hasten; Past Old-tree Town's[a] tree-stump, Victorious they speed! "A sly Hound that driveth, A fair chief that urgeth, A free hawk that speedeth His steeds towards the south! Gore-coloured, the Cua,[b] 'Tis sure he will take us; We know--vain to hide it-- He brings us defeat![c] [W.3335.] "Woe him on the hillock, The brave Hound before him; Last year I foretold it, That some time he'd come! Hound from Emain Macha, Hound formed of all colours, The Border-hound, War-hound, I hear what I've heard!" [4-4] YBL. 38a, 35. [5-5] H. 1. 13. [6-6] Stowe and, similarly, Eg. 209, Eg. 106 and H. 1. 13. [a] _Baile in bile_, MSS. [b] A shortened form for 'Cuchulain.' [c] Literally, 'battle, strife.' "Come, gilla," said Ferdiad; "for what reason laudest thou this man ever since I am come from my house? And it is almost a cause for strife with thee that thou hast praised him thus highly. But, Ailill and Medb have prophesied to me that this man will fall by my hand. And since it is for a reward, he shall quickly be torn asunder by me. [1]And make ready the arms on the ford against his coming." "Should I turn my face backward," said the gilla; "methinks the poles of yon chariot will pass through the back of my neck." "Too much, my lad," said Ferdiad, "dost thou praise Cuchulain, for not a reward has he given thee for praising,[1] but it is time to fetch help." And he spake these words, and the henchman responded:-- Ferdiad: "'Tis time now to help me; Be silent! cease praising! 'Twas no deed of friendship, No doom o'er the brink (?)[a] The Champion of Cualnge, Thou seest 'midst proud feats, For that it's for guerdon, Shall quickly be slain!"[b] The Henchman: "I see Cualnge's hero, With feats overweening, Not fleeing he flees us, But towards us he comes. He runneth--not slowly-- Though cunning--not sparing-- Like water 'down high cliff Or thunderbolt quick!" Ferdiad: [W.3365.] "'Tis cause of a quarrel, So much thou hast praised him; And why hast thou chose him, Since I am from home? And now they extol him, They fall to proclaim him; None come to attack him, But soft simple men (?)." [1-1] YBL. 38b, 46-57. [a] The meaning is obscure. [b] Literally, 'torn.' [1]Here followeth the Description of Cuchulain's chariot, one of the three chief Chariots of the Tale of the Foray of Cualnge.[1] [1-1] YBL. 38a, 48-49. In the following description of the chariot and steeds has been incorporated part of the parallel passages in LU. 1969-1977 and YBL. 38a-38b. Eg. 106, Eg. 109 and H. 2. 12 (_Revue Celtique_, xi, 25) contain more adjectives. It was not long that Ferdiad's charioteer remained there when he saw something: [2]"How beholdest thou Cuchulain?" asked Ferdiad of his charioteer. "I behold," said he,[2] "a beautiful, live-pointed chariot, [3]broad above, of white crystal, with a thick yoke of gold, with stout plates of copper, with shafts of bronze, with wheel-bands of bronze covered with silver,[3] approaching with swiftness, with speed, with perfect skill; with a green shade, with a thin-framed, dry-bodied (?) box surmounted with feats of cunning, [4]straight-poled,[4] as long as a warrior's sword. [5]On this[5] was room for a hero's seven arms, the fair seat for its lord; [6]two wheels, dark, black; a pole of tin, with red enamel, of a beautiful colour; two inlaid, golden bridles.[6] [7]This chariot was placed[7] behind two fleet steeds, [8]nimble, furious, small-headed,[8] bounding, large-eared, [9]small-snouted, sharp-beaked, red-chested,[9] gaily prancing, with inflated[a] nostrils, broad-chested, quick-hearted, high-flanked, broad-hoofed, slender-limbed, overpowering and resolute. A grey, broad-hipped, small-stepping, long-maned horse, [10]whose name was Liath ('the Roan') of Macha,[10] was under [W.3379.] one of the yokes of the chariot; a black, crispèd-maned, swift-moving, broad-backed horse, [1]whose name was Dubh ('the Black') of Sithleann,[1] under the other. Like unto a hawk after its prey on a sharp tempestuous day, or to a tearing blast of wind of Spring on a March day over the back of a plain, or unto a startled stag when first roused by the hounds in the first of the chase, [LL.fo.83b.] were Cuchulain's two horses before the chariot, as if they were on glowing, fiery flags, so that they shook the earth and made it tremble with the fleetness of their course. [2-2] YBL. 38a, 51-52. [3-3] YBL. 38b, 1-3. [4-4] LU. 1973. [5-5] YBL. [6-6] YBL. 38b. 19-21. [7-7] LU. 1972. [8-8] LU. 1973. [9-9] LU. 1973. [10-10] Eg. 209. [a] Literally, 'bagnosed.' [1-1] Eg. 209. [2]"In the front of this chariot is a man with fair, curly, long hair. There is around him a cloak, blue, Parthian purple. A spear with red and keen-cutting blades, flaming-red in his hand. The semblance of three heads of hair he has, namely, brown hair next to the skin of his head, blood-red hair in the middle, a crown of gold is the third head of hair. "Beautiful is the arrangement of that hair so that it makes three coils down behind over his shoulders. Even as a thread of gold it seems, when its hue has been wrought over the edge of an anvil; or like to the yellow of bees whereon shines the sun on a summer's day is the shining of each single hair of his hair. Seven toes he has on each of his feet and seven fingers on each of his hands and the brilliance of a very great fire is around his eye. "Befitting him is the charioteer beside him, with curly, jet-black hair, shorn broad over his head. A cowled garment around him, open at the elbows. A horse-whip, very fine and golden in his hand, and a light-grey cloak wrapped around him, and a goad of white silver in his hand. He plies the goad on the horses whatever way would go the deed-renowned warrior that is in the chariot."[2] [2-2] YBL. 38b, 21-44. And Cuchulain reached the ford. Ferdiad waited on [W.3387.] the south side of the ford; Cuchulain stood on the north side. Ferdiad bade welcome to Cuchulain. "Welcome is thy coming, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdiad. "Truly spoken meseemed thy welcome till now," answered Cuchulain; "but to-day I put no more trust in it. And, O Ferdiad," said Cuchulain, "it were fitter for me to bid thee welcome than that thou should'st welcome me; for it is thou that art come to the land and province wherein I dwell; and it is not fitting for thee to come to contend and do battle with me, but it were fitter for me to go to contend and do battle with thee. For before thee in flight are my women and my boys and my youths, my steeds and my troops of horses, my droves, my flocks and my herds of cattle." "Good, O Cuchulain," spake Ferdiad; "what has ever brought thee out to contend and do battle with me? For when we were [1]together[1] with Scathach and with Uathach and with Aifè, [2]thou wast not a man worthy of me, for[2] thou wast my serving-man, even for arming my spear and dressing my bed." "That was indeed true," answered Cuchulain; "because of my youth and my littleness did I so much for thee, but this is by no means my mood this day. For there is not a warrior in the world I would not drive off this day [3]in the field of battle and combat."[3] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4]It was not long before they met in the middle of the ford.[4] And then it was that each of them cast sharp-cutting reproaches at the other, renouncing his friendship; and Ferdiad spake these words there, and Cuchulain responded:-- Ferdiad: "What led thee, O Cua, To fight a strong champion? Thy flesh will be gore-red O'er smoke of thy steeds! Alas for thy journey, A kindling of firebrands; In sore need of healing, If home thou shouldst reach!" Cuchulain: [W.3417.] "I'm come before warriors Around the herd's wild Boar,[a] Before troops and hundreds, To drown thee in deep. In anger, to prove thee In hundred-fold battle, Till on thee come havoc, Defending thy head!" Ferdiad: "Here stands one to crush thee, 'Tis I will destroy thee, [1]...[1] From me there shall come The flight of their warriors In presence of Ulster, That long they'll remember The loss that was theirs!" Cuchulain: "How then shall we combat? For wrongs shall we heave sighs? Despite all, we'll go there, To fight on the ford! Or is it with hard swords, Or e'en with red spear-points, Before hosts to slay thee, If [2]thy[2] hour hath come?" Ferdiad: "'Fore sunset, 'fore nightfall-- If need be, then guard thee-- I'll fight thee at Bairchè, Not bloodlessly fight! The Ulstermen call thee, 'He has him!' Oh, hearken! The sight will distress them That through them will pass[b]!" Cuchulain: "In danger's gap fallen, At hand is thy life's term; On thee plied be weapons, Not gentle the skill! One champion will slay thee; We both will encounter; No more shalt lead forays, [3]From this day till Doom!"[3] Ferdiad: [W.3457.] "Avaunt with thy warnings, Thou world's greatest braggart; Nor guerdon nor pardon, [1]Low warrior for thee![1] 'Tis I that well know thee, Thou heart of a cageling This lad merely tickles-- Without skill or force!" Cuchulain: "When we were with Scathach, For wonted arms training, Together we'd fare forth, To seek every fight. Thou wast my heart's comrade. My clan and my kinsman; Ne'er found I one dearer; Thy loss would be sad!" Ferdiad: [LL.fo.84a.] "Thou wager'st thine honour Unless we do battle; Before the cock croweth, Thy head on a spit! Cuchulain of Cualnge, Mad frenzy hath seized thee All ill we'll wreak on thee, For thine is the sin!" [4-4] YBL. 39a. 14. [a] That is, King Conchobar. [1-1] A line has dropped out here in the MS., and cannot be reconstructed, since the stanza is found only in LL. For this reason the meaning of the following line is uncertain. [2-2] Reading with YBL. 39a, 34. [B] Literally, 'it will go over and through them!' [3-3] Translating from YBL. fo. 39a, 41. [1-1] Literally, '(For) thou art not a bush (i.e. a hero) over a bush (hero).' "Come now, O Ferdiad," cried Cuchulain, "not meet was it for thee to come to contend and do battle with me, because of the instigation and intermeddling of Ailill and Medb, [2]and because of the false promises that they made thee. Because of their deceitful terms and of the maiden have many good men been slain.[2] And all that came [3]because of those promises of deceit,[3] neither profit nor success did it bring them, and they have fallen by me. And none the more, [4]O Ferdiad,[4] shall it win victory or increase of fame for thee; and, [5]as they all fell,[5] shalt thou too fall by my hand!" Thus he spake, [W.3486.] and he further uttered these words and Ferdiad hearkened to him:-- "Come not nigh me, noble chief, Ferdiad, comrade, Daman's son. Worse for thee than 'tis for me; Thou'lt bring sorrow to a host! "Come not nigh me 'gainst all right; Thy last bed is made by me. Why shouldst thou alone escape From the prowess of my arms? "Shall not great feats thee undo, Though thou'rt purple, horny-skinned? And the maid thou boastest of, Shall not, Daman's son, be thine! "Finnabair, Medb's daughter fair, Great her charms though they may be, Fair as is the damsel's form, She's for thee not to enjoy! "Finnabair, the king's own child, Is the lure, if truth be told; Many they whom she's deceived And undone as she has thee! "Break not, weetless, oath with me; Break not friendship, break not bond; Break not promise, break not word; Come not nigh me, noble chief! "Fifty chiefs obtained in plight This same maid, a proffer vain. Through me went they to their graves; Spear-right all they had from me! "Though for brave was held Ferbaeth, With whom was a warriors' train, In short space I quelled his rage; Him I slew with one sole blow! "Srubdarè--sore sank his might-- Darling of the noblest dames, Time there was when great his fame-- Gold nor raiment saved him not! "Were she mine affianced wife, Smiled on me this fair land's head,[a] I would not thy body hurt. Right nor left, in front, behind!" [2-2] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [3-3] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [4-4] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [5-5] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [a] That is, Queen Medb. [W.3527.] "Good, O Ferdiad!" cried Cuchulain. [1]A pity it is for thee to abandon my alliance and my friendship for the sake of a woman that has been trafficked to fifty other warriors before thee, and it would be long before I would forsake thee for that woman.[1] Therefore, it is not right for thee to come to fight and combat with me; for when we were with Scathach and with Uathach and with Aifè, [2]we were together in practice of valour and arms of the world, and[2] it was together we were used to seek out every battle and every battle-field, every combat and every contest, every wood and every desert, every covert and every recess." And thus he spake and he uttered these words:-- Cuchulain: "We were heart-companions once; We were comrades in the woods; We were men that shared a bed, When we slept the heavy sleep, After hard and weary fights. Into many lands, so strange, Side by side we sallied forth, And we ranged the woodlands through, When with Scathach we learned arms!" Ferdiad: "O Cuchulain, rich in feats, Hard the trade we both have learned; Treason hath o'ercome our love; Thy first wounding hath been bought; Think not of our friendship more, Cua, it avails thee not!" [1-1] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 106 and Eg. 209. [2-2] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 106 and Eg. 209. "Too long are we now in this way," quoth Ferdiad; "and what arms shall we resort to to-day, O Cuchulain?" "With thee is thy choice of weapons this day till night time," answered Cuchulain, "for thou art he that first didst reach the ford." "Rememberest thou at all," asked Ferdiad, "the choice deeds of arms we were wont to practise with Scathach and with Uathach and with Aifè?" "Indeed, and I do remember," answered Cuchulain. "If thou rememberest, let us begin [3]with them."[3] [3-3] Stowe. [W.3555.] They betook them to their choicest deeds of arms. They took upon them two equally-matched shields for feats, and their eight-edged targes for feats, and their eight small darts, and their eight straightswords with ornaments of walrus-tooth and their eight lesser, ivoried spears which flew from them and to them like bees [LL.fo.84b.] on a day of fine weather. They cast no weapon that struck not. Each of them was busy casting at the other with those missiles from morning's early twilight till noon at mid-day, the while they overcame their various feats with the bosses and hollows of their feat-shields. However great the excellence of the throwing on either side, equally great was the excellence of the defence, so that during all that time neither of them bled or reddened the other. "Let us cease now from this bout of arms, O Cuchulain," said Ferdiad; "for it is not by such our decision will come." "Yea, surely, let us cease, if the time hath come," answered Cuchulain. [1]Then[1] they ceased. They threw their feat-tackle from them into the hands of their charioteers. "To what weapons shall we resort next, O Cuchulain?" asked Ferdiad. "Thine is the choice of weapons till nightfall," replied Cuchulain; "for thou art he that didst first reach the ford." "Let us begin, then," said Ferdiad, "with our straight-cut, smooth-hardened throwing-spears, with cords of full-hard flax on them." "Aye, let us begin then," assented Cuchulain. Then they took on them two hard shields, equally strong. They fell to their straight-cut, smooth-hardened spears with cords of full-hard flax on them. Each of them was engaged in casting at the other with the spears from the middle of noon [2]till yellowness came over the sun[2] at the hour of evening's sundown. However great the excellence of the defence, equally great was the excellence of the throwing on either side, so that [W.3578.] each of them bled and reddened and wounded the other during that time. [1]"Wouldst thou fain make a truce, O Cucugan?"[a] asked Ferdiad. "It would please me," replied Cuchulain; "for whoso begins with arms has the right to desist."[1] "Let us leave off from this now, O Cuchulain," said Ferdiad. "Aye, let us leave off, an the time hath come," answered Cuchulain. So they ceased. They threw their arms from them into the hands of their charioteers. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 12. [1-1] H. 2. 12. [a] See note, page 185. Thereupon each of them went toward the other [2]in the middle of the ford,[2] and each of them put his hand on the other's neck and gave him three kisses [3]in remembrance of his fellowship and friendship.[3] Their horses were in one and the same paddock that night, and their charioteers at one and the same fire; and their charioteers made ready a litter-bed of fresh rushes for them with pillows for wounded men on them. Then came healing and curing folk to heal and to cure them, and they laid healing herbs and grasses and a curing charm on their cuts and stabs, their gashes and many wounds. Of every healing herb and grass and curing charm that [4]was brought from the fairy dwellings of Erin to Cuchulain and[4] was applied to the cuts and stabs, to the gashes and many wounds of Cuchulain, a like portion thereof he sent across the ford westward to Ferdiad, [5]to put to his wounds and his pools of gore,[5] so that the men of Erin should not have it to say, should Ferdiad fall at his hands, it was more than his share of care had been given to him. [2-2] H. 2. 12. [3-3] H. 2. 12. [4-4] H. 2. 12. [5-5] H. 2. 12. Of every food and of every savoury, soothing and strong drink that was brought by the men of Erin to Ferdiad, a like portion thereof he sent over the ford northwards to Cuchulain; for the purveyors of Ferdiad were more numerous than the purveyors of Cuchulain. All the men of Erin were purveyors to Ferdiad, to the end that he might keep [W.3598.] Cuchulain off from them. But only the inhabitants of Mag Breg ('the Plain of Breg') were purveyors to Cuchulain. They were wont to come daily, that is, every night, to converse with him. They bided there that night. Early on the morrow they arose and went their ways to the ford of combat. "To what weapons shall we resort on this day, O Ferdiad?" asked Cuchulain. [LL.fo.85a.] "Thine is the choosing of weapons till night time," Ferdiad made answer, "because it was I had my choice of weapons on the day aforegone." "Let us take, then," said Cuchulain, "to our great, well-tempered lances to-day, for we think that the thrusting will bring nearer the decisive battle to-day than did the casting of yesterday. Let our horses be brought to us and our chariots yoked, to the end that we engage in combat over our horses and chariots on this day." "Aye, let us go so," Ferdiad assented. Thereupon they girded two full-firm broad-shields on them for that day. They took to their great, well-tempered lances on that day. Either of them began to pierce and to drive, to throw and to press down the other, from early morning's twilight till the hour of evening's close. If it were the wont for birds in flight to fly through the bodies of men, they could have passed through their bodies on that day and carried away pieces of blood and flesh through their wounds and their sores into the clouds and the air all around. And when the hour of evening's close was come, their horses were spent and their drivers were wearied, and they themselves, the heroes and warriors of valour, were exhausted. "Let us give over now, O Ferdiad," said Cuchulain, "for our horses are spent and our drivers tired, and when they are exhausted, why should we too not be exhausted?" And in this wise he spake, and he uttered these words at that place:-- "We need not our chariots break-- This, a struggle fit for giants. [W.3626.] Place the hobbles on the steeds, Now that din of arms is o'er!" "Yea, we will cease, if the time hath come," replied Ferdiad. They ceased [1]then.[1] They threw their arms away from them into the hands of their charioteers. Each of them came towards his fellow. Each laid his hand on the other's neck and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the one pen that night, and their charioteers at the one fire. Their charioteers prepared [2]two[2] litter-beds of fresh rushes for them with pillows for wounded men on them. The curing and healing men came to attend and watch and mark them that night; for naught else could they do, because of the direfulness of their cuts and their stabs, their gashes and their numerous wounds, but apply to them philtres and spells and charms, to staunch their blood and their bleeding and their deadly pains. Of every magic potion and every spell and every charm that was applied to the cuts and stabs of Cuchulain, their like share he sent over the ford westwards to Ferdiad. Of every food and every savoury, soothing and strong drink that was brought by the men of Erin to Ferdiad, an equal portion he sent over the ford northwards to Cuchulain, for the victuallers of Ferdiad were more numerous than the victuallers of Cuchulain. For all the men of Erin were Ferdiad's nourishers, to the end that he might ward off Cuchulain from them. But the indwellers of the Plain of Breg alone were Cuchulain's nourishers. They were wont to come daily, that is, every night, to converse with him. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. They abode there that night. Early on the morrow they arose and repaired to the ford of combat. Cuchulain marked an evil mien and a dark mood that day [3]beyond every other day[3] on Ferdiad. "It is evil thou appearest to-day, O Ferdiad," spake Cuchulain; "thy hair has [W.3653.] become dark[a] to-day, and thine eye has grown drowsy, and thine upright form [LL.fo.85b.] and thy features and thy gait have gone from thee!" "Truly not for fear nor for dread of thee is that happened to me to-day," answered Ferdiad; "for there is not in Erin this day a warrior I could not repel!" [1]"Alas, O Ferdiad," said Cuchulain, "a pity it is for thee to oppose thy foster-brother and thy comrade and friend, on the counsel of any woman in the world!" "A pity it is, O Cuchulain," Ferdiad responded. "But, should I part without a struggle with thee, I should be in ill repute forever with Medb and with the nobles of the four grand provinces of Erin." "A pity it is, O Ferdiad," said Cuchulain; "not on the counsel of all the men and women in the world would I desert thee or would I do thee harm. And almost would it make a clot of gore of my heart to be combating with thee!"[1] [3-3] Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [a] An unusual colour of the hair betokened misfortune. [1-1] Eg. 106. And Cuchulain lamented and moaned, and he spake these words and Ferdiad responded:-- Cuchulain: "Ferdiad, ah, if it be thou, Well I know thou'rt doomed to die! To have gone at woman's hest, Forced to fight thy comrade sworn!" Ferdiad: "O Cuchulain--wise decree-- Loyal champion, hero true, Each man is constrained to go 'Neath the sod that hides his grave!" Cuchulain: "Finnabair, Medb's daughter fair, Stately maiden though she be, Not for love they'll give to thee, But to prove thy kingly might!" Ferdiad: "Provèd was my might long since, Cu of gentle spirit thou. Of one braver I've not heard; Till to-day I have not found!" Cuchulain: "Thou art he provoked this fight, Son of Daman, Darè's son, To have gone at woman's word, Swords to cross with thine old friend!" Ferdiad: [W.3679.] "Should we then unfought depart, Brothers though we are, bold Hound, Ill would be my word and fame With Ailill and Cruachan's Medb!" Cuchulain: "Food has not yet passed his lips, Nay nor has he yet been born, Son of king or blameless queen, For whom I would work thee harm!" Ferdiad: "Culann's Hound, with floods of deeds, Medb, not thou, hath us betrayed; Fame and victory thou shalt have; Not on thee we lay our fault!" Cuchulain: "Clotted gore is my brave heart, Near I'm parted from my soul; Wrongful 'tis--with hosts of deeds-- Ferdiad, dear, to fight with thee!" [1]After this colloquy, Ferdiad spake:[1] "How much soever thou findest fault with me to-day," said Ferdiad, [2]"for my ill-boding mien and evil doing, it will be as an offset to my prowess." And he said,[2] "To what weapons shall we resort to-day?" "With thyself is the choice of weapons to-day till night time," replied Cuchulain, "for it is I that chose on the day gone by." "Let us resort, then," said Ferdiad, "to our heavy, hard-smiting swords this day, for we trow that the smiting each other will bring us nearer to the decision of battle to-day than was our piercing each other on yesterday." "Let us go then, by all means," responded Cuchulain. [1-1] Stowe, Eg. 106. [2-2] Eg. 106. Then they took two full-great long-shields upon them for that day. They turned to their heavy, hard-smiting swords. Each of them fell to strike and to hew, to lay low and cut down, to slay and undo [3]his fellow,[3] till as large as the head of a month-old child was each lump and each cut, [4]each clutter and each clot of gore[4] that each of them took from the shoulders and thighs and shoulder-blades of the other. [3-3] Stowe, Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 106. [W.3708.] Each of them was engaged in smiting the other in this way from the twilight of early morning till the hour of evening's close. "Let us leave off from this now, O Cuchulain!" cried Ferdiad. "Aye, let us leave off, if the hour has come," said Cuchulain. They parted [1]then, and[1] threw their arms away from them into the hands of their charioteers. Though it had been the meeting of two happy, blithe, cheerful, joyful men, their parting that night was of two that were sad, sorrowful and full of suffering. [2]They parted without a kiss a blessing or aught other sign of friendship, and their servants disarmed the steeds, the squires and the heroes; no healing or curing herbs were sent from Cuchulain to Ferdiad that night, and no food nor drink was brought from Ferdiad to him.[2] Their horses were not in the same paddock that night. Their charioteers were not at the same fire. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 12. They passed there that night. It was then that Ferdiad arose early on the morrow and went alone to the ford of combat, [3]and dauntless, vengeful and mighty was the man that went thither that day, even Ferdiad son of Daman.[3] For he knew that that would be the decisive day of the battle and combat; and he knew that one or other of them would fall there that day, or that they both would fall. It was then he donned his battle-weed of battle and fight and combat, [LL.fo.86a.] or ever Cuchulain came to meet him. And thus was the manner of this harness of battle and fight and combat: He put his silken, glossy trews with its border of speckled gold, next to his white skin. Over this, outside, he put his brown-leathern, well-sewed kilt. Outside of this he put a huge, goodly flag, the size of a millstone, [4]the shallow (?) stone of adamant which he had brought from Africa and which neither points nor edges could pierce.[4] He put his solid, very deep, iron kilt of twice molten iron over the huge, goodly flag as large as a millstone, through [W.3730.] fear and dread of the Gae Bulga on that day. About his head he put his crested war-cap of battle and fight and combat, whereon were forty carbuncle-gems beautifully adorning it and studded with red-enamel and crystal and rubies and with [1]shining stones[1] of the Eastern world. His angry, fierce-striking spear he seized in his right hand. On his left side he hung his curved battle-falchion, [2]which would cut a hair against the stream with its keenness and sharpness,[2] with its golden pommel and its rounded hilt of red gold. On the arch-slope of his back he slung his massive, fine-buffalo shield [3]of a warrior,[3] whereon were fifty bosses, wherein a boar could be shown in each of its bosses, apart from the great central boss of red gold. Ferdiad performed divers, brilliant, manifold, marvellous feats on high that day, unlearned from any one before, neither from foster-mother nor from foster-father, neither from Scathach nor from Uathach nor from Aifè, but he found them of himself that day in the face of Cuchulain. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 209. [1-1] Reading with Egerton 106, which gives better sense than LL.'s 'brilliant plants.' [2-2] Eg. 209. [3-3] Stowe and Eg. 209. Cuchulain likewise came to the ford, and he beheld the various, brilliant, manifold, wonderful feats that Ferdiad performed on high. "Thou seest yonder, O Laeg my master, the divers, bright, numerous, marvellous feats that Ferdiad performs on high, and I shall receive yon feats one after the other, and, therefore, [4]O Laeg," cried Cuchulain,[4] "if defeat be my lot this day, do thou prick me on and taunt me and speak evil to me, so that the more my spirit and anger shall rise in me. If, however, before me his defeat takes place, say thou so to me and praise me and speak me fair, to the end that the greater may be my courage!" "It shall surely be done so, if need be, O Cucuc," Laeg answered. [4-4] Stowe. Then Cuchulain, too, girded his war-harness of battle and [W.3757.] fight and combat about him, and performed all kinds of splendid, manifold, marvellous feats on high that day which he had not learned from any one before, neither with Scathach nor with Uathach nor with Aifè. Ferdiad observed those feats, and he knew they would be plied against him in turn. "To what weapons shall we resort [1]to-day[1], O Ferdiad?" asked Cuchulain. "With thee is thy choice of weapons till night time," Ferdiad responded. "Let us go to the 'Feat of the Ford,' then," said Cuchulain. "Aye, let us do so," answered Ferdiad. Albeit Ferdiad spoke that, he deemed it the most grievous thing whereto he could go, for he knew that in that sort Cuchulain used to destroy every hero and every battle-soldier who fought with him in the 'Feat of the Ford.' [1-1] Stowe. Great indeed was the deed that was done on the ford that day. The two heroes, the two champions, the two chariot-fighters of the west of Europe, the two bright torches of valour of the Gael, the two hands of dispensing favour and of giving rewards [2]and jewels and treasures[2] in the west of the northern world, [LL.fo.86b.] [3]the two veterans[3] of skill and the two keys of bravery of the Gael, [4]the man for quelling the variance and discord of Connacht, the man for guarding the cattle and herds of Ulster[4], to be brought together in encounter as from afar, [5]set to slay each other or to kill one of them[5], through the sowing of dissension and the incitement of Ailill and Medb. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Reading with Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 106. [5-5] Stowe and Eg. 106. Each of them was busy hurling at the other in those deeds of arms from early morning's gloaming till the middle of noon. When mid-day came, the rage of the men became wild, and each drew nearer to the other. Thereupon Cuchulain gave one spring once from the bank of the ford till he stood upon the boss of Ferdiad macDaman's shield, seeking to reach his head and to strike [W.3779.] it from above over the rim of the shield. Straightway Ferdiad gave the shield a blow with his left elbow, so that Cuchulain went from him like a bird onto the brink of the ford. Again Cuchulain sprang from the brink of the ford, so that he alighted upon the boss of Ferdiad macDaman's shield, that he might reach his head and strike it over the rim of the shield from above. Ferdiad gave the shield a thrust with his left knee, so that Cuchulain went from him like an infant onto the bank of the ford. Laeg espied that. "Woe then, [1]O Cuchulain!"[1] cried Laeg; [2]"meseems[2] the battle-warrior that is against thee hath shaken thee as a fond woman shakes her child. He hath washed thee as a cup is washed in a tub. He hath ground thee as a mill grinds soft malt. He hath pierced thee as a tool bores through an oak. He hath bound thee as the bindweed binds the trees. He hath pounced on thee as a hawk pounces on little birds, so that no more hast thou right or title or claim to valour or skill in arms till the very day of doom and of life, thou little imp of an elf-man!" cried Laeg. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. Thereat for the third time, Cuchulain arose with the speed of the wind, and the swiftness of a swallow, and the dash of a dragon, and the strength (of a lion) [3]into the clouds[3] of the air, till he alighted on the boss of the shield of Ferdiad son of Daman, so as to reach his head that he might strike it from above over the rim of his shield. Then it was that the battle-warrior gave the shield a [4]violent and powerful[4] shake, so that Cuchulain flew from it into the middle of the ford, the same as if he had not sprung at all. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. It was then the first twisting-fit of Cuchulain took place, so that a swelling and inflation filled him like breath in a bladder, until he made a dreadful, terrible, many-coloured, wonderful bow of himself, so that as big as a giant or a man [W.3805.] of the sea was the hugely-brave warrior towering directly over Ferdiad. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that their heads encountered above and their feet below and their hands in the middle over the rims and bosses of the shields. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that their shields burst and split from their rims to their centres. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that their spears bent and turned and shivered from their tips to their rivets. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that the boccanach and the bananach ('the puck-faced Fays' and 'the white-faced Fays') and the sprites of the glens and the eldritch beings of the air screamed from the rims of their shields and from the guards of their swords and from the tips of their spears. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that they forced the river out of its bed and out of its course, so that there might have been a reclining place [LL.fo.87a.] for a king or a queen in the middle of the ford, and not a drop of water was in it but what fell there with the trampling and slipping which the two heroes and the two battle-warriors made in the middle of the ford. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that the steeds of the Gael broke loose affrighted and plunging with madness and fury, so that their chains and their shackles, their traces and tethers snapped, and the women and children and pygmy-folk, the weak and the madmen among the men of Erin brake out through the camp south-westward. At that time they were at the edge-feat of swords. It was then Ferdiad caught Cuchulain in an unguarded moment, and he gave him a thrust with his tusk-hilted blade, so that he buried it in his breast, and his blood fell into his belt, [W.3831.] till the ford became crimsoned with the clotted blood from the battle-warrior's body. Cuchulain endured it not, under Ferdiad's attack, with his death-bringing, heavy blows, and his long strokes and his mighty, middle slashes at him. [1]Then Cuchulain bethought him of his friends from Faery and of his mighty folk who would come to defend him and of his scholars to protect him, what time he would be hard pressed in the combat. It was then that Dolb and Indolb arrived to help and to succour their friend, namely Cuchulain, [2]and one of them went on either side of him and they smote Ferdiad, the three of them, and Ferdiad did not perceive the men from Sid ('the Faery Dwelling')[2]. Then it was that Ferdiad felt the onset of the three together smiting his shield against him, and he gave all his care and attention thereto, and thence he called to mind that, when they were with Scathach and with Uathach [3]learning together, Dolb and Indolb used to come to help Cuchulain out of every stress wherein he was.[3] Ferdiad spake: "Not alike are our foster-brothership and our comradeship, O Cuchulain," quoth he. "How so, then?" asked Cuchulain. "Thy friends of the Fairy-folk have succoured thee, and thou didst not disclose them to me before," said Ferdiad. "Not easy for me were that," answered Cuchulain; "for if the magic veil be once revealed to one of the sons of Milè,[a] none of the Tuatha De Danann ('the Folk of the Goddess Danu') will have power to practise concealment or magic. And why complainest thou here, [4]O Ferdiad?" said Cuchulain.[4] "Thou hast a horn skin whereby to multiply feats and deeds of arms on me, and thou hast not shown me how it is closed or how it is opened." [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13. Eg. 106 and Eg. 209. [2-2] Eg. 106. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 106. [a] That is, the Milesians, the ancestors of the Irish. Then it was they displayed all their skill and secret cunning to one another, so that there was not a secret of [W.3851.] either of them kept from the other except the Gae Bulga, which was Cuchulain's. Howbeit, when the Fairy friends found Cuchulain had been wounded, each of them inflicted three great, heavy wounds on him, on Ferdiad, to wit. It was then that Ferdiad made a cast to the right, so that he slew Dolb with that goodly cast. Then followed the two woundings and the two throws that overcame him, till Ferdiad made a second throw towards Cuchulain's left, and with that throw he stretched low and killed Indolb dead on the floor of the ford. Hence it is that the story-teller sang the rann:-- "Why is this called Ferdiad's Ford, E'en though three men on it fell? None the less it washed their spoils-- It is Dolb's and Indolb's Ford!" What need to relate further! When the devoted, equally great sires[a] [2]and champions,[2] and the hard, battle-victorious wild beasts that fought for Cuchulain had fallen, it greatly strengthened the courage of Ferdiad, so that he gave two blows for every blow of Cuchulain's. When Laeg son of Riangabair saw his lord being overcome by the crushing blows of the champion who oppressed him, Laeg began to stir up and rebuke Cuchulain, in such a way that a swelling and an inflation filled Cuchulain [3]from top to ground,[3] as the wind fills a spread, open banner, so that he made a dreadful, wonderful bow of himself like a sky-bow in a shower of rain, and he made for Ferdiad with the violence of a dragon or the strength of a blood-hound.[1] [1-1] See note 1, page 255. [2-2] H. 1. 13. [3-3] Eg. 106. And Cuchulain called for the Gae Bulga from Laeg son of Riangabair. This was its nature: With the stream it was made ready, and from between the fork of the foot [a] Cuchulain was partly of divine birth, on one side the son of Lugh lámh-fhada ('Lug long-hand'), the Irish sun-god; on the earthly side he had also a mortal father, Sualtaim or Sualtach.] [W.3874.] it was cast; the wound of a single spear it gave when entering the body, and thirty[a] barbs had it when it opened, and it could not be drawn out of a man's flesh till [1]the flesh[1] had been cut about it. [a] 'Twenty four,' YBL. 39b, 23, and Eg. 106; but 'five,' Eg. 209. [1-1] Stowe. [2]Thereupon Laeg came forward to the brink of the river and to the place where the fresh water was dammed, and the Gae Bulga was sharpened and set in position. He filled the pool and stopped the stream and checked the tide of the ford. Ferdiad's charioteer watched the work, for Ferdiad had said to him early [3]in the morning:[3] "Now, gilla, do thou hold back Laeg from me to-day, and I will hold back Cuchulain from thee [4]and thy men forever."[4] "This is a pity," quoth the henchman; "no match for him am I; for a man to combat a hundred is he [5]amongst the men of Erin,[5] and that am I not. Still, however slight his help, it shall not come to his lord past me." [2-2] Stowe, Eg. 106, Eg. 209. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 209. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6]Thus were the henchmen: two brothers were they, namely, Id[b] son of Riangabair, and Laeg[c] son of Riangabair. As for Id son of Riangabair,[6] he was then watching his brother [7]thus making the dam[7] till he filled the pools and went to set the Gae Bulga downwards. It was then that Id went up and released the stream and opened the dam and undid the fixing of the Gae Bulga. Cuchulain became deep purple and red all over when he saw the setting undone on the Gae Bulga. He sprang from the top of the ground so that he alighted light and quick on the rim of Ferdiad's shield. Ferdiad gave a [8]strong[8] shake to the shield, so that he hurled Cuchulain the measure of nine paces out to the westward over the ford. Then Cuchulain called and shouted to Laeg to set about preparing the Gae Bulga for him. Laeg hastened to the pool and began the work. Id [W.3895.] ran and opened the dam and released it before the stream. Laeg sprang at his brother and they grappled on the spot. Laeg threw Id and handled him sorely, for he was loath to use weapons upon him. Ferdiad pursued Cuchulain westwards over the ford. Cuchulain sprang on the rim of the shield. Ferdiad shook the shield, so that he sent Cuchulain the space of nine paces eastwards over the ford. Cuchulain called and shouted to Laeg, [1]and bade him stop the stream and make ready the spear.[1] Laeg attempted to come nigh it, but Ferdiad's charioteer let him not, so that Laeg turned on him and left him on the sedgy bottom of the ford. He gave him many a heavy blow with clenched fist on the face and countenance, so that he broke his mouth and his nose and put out his eyes and his sight, [3]and left him lying wounded (?) and full of terror.[3] And forthwith Laeg left him and filled the pool and checked the stream and stilled the noise of the river's voice, and set in position the Gae Bulga. After some time Ferdiad's charioteer arose from his death-cloud, and set his hand on his face and countenance, and he looked away towards the ford of combat and saw Laeg fixing the Gae Bulga. He ran again to the pool and made a breach in the dike quickly and speedily, so that the river burst out in its booming, bounding, bellying, bank-breaking billows making its own wild course. Cuchulain became purple and red all over when he saw the setting of the Gae Bulga had been disturbed, and for the third time he sprang from the top of the ground and alighted on the edge of Ferdiad's shield, so as to strike him over the shield from above. Ferdiad gave a blow with his left knee against the leather of the bare shield, so that Cuchulain was thrown into the waves of the ford. [6-6] Eg. 106. [b] Ferdiad's charioteer. [c] Cuchulain's charioteer. [7-7] Eg. 106. [8-8] Eg. 106. [1-1] Eg. 106. [3-3] Eg. 106. Thereupon Ferdiad gave three severe woundings to Cuchulain. Cuchulain cried and shouted [4]loudly[4] to Laeg to make ready the Gae Bulga for him. Laeg attempted to [W.3919.] get near it, but Ferdiad's charioteer prevented him. Then Laeg grew [1]very[1] wroth [3]at his brother[3] and he made a spring at him, and he closed his long, full-valiant hands over him, so that he quickly threw him to the ground and straightway [4]bound[4] him. And [5]then[5] he went from him quickly and courageously, so that he filled the pool and stayed the stream and set the Gae Bulga. And he cried out to Cuchulain that it was served, for it was not to be discharged without a quick word of warning before it. Hence it is that Laeg cried out:-- "Ware! beware the Gae Bulga, Battle-winning Culann's hound!" _et reliqua._ [4-4] Eg. 106. [1-1] Eg. 106. [2-2] See note 2, page 257. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4-4] Reading with Eg. 106. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6]And he sent it to Cuchulain along the stream.[6] [6-6] YBL. 39b, 20. Then it was that Cuchulain let fly the white Gae Bulga from the fork of his irresistible right foot. [7]Ferdiad began to defend the ford against Cuchulain, so that the noble Cu arose with the swiftness of a swallow and the wail of the storm-play in the rafters of the firmament, so that he laid hold of the breadth of his two feet of the bed of the ford, in spite of the champion.[7] Ferdiad prepared for the feat according to the testimony thereof. He lowered his shield, so that the spear went over its edge into the watery, water-cold river. And he looked at Cuchulain, and he saw all his various, venomous feats made ready, and he knew not to which of them he should first give answer, whether to the 'Fist's breast-spear,' or to the 'Wild shield's broad-spear,' or to the 'Short spear from the middle of the palm,' or to the white Gae Bulga over the fair, watery river.[2] [7-7] Eg. 209. [8]When Ferdiad saw that his gilla had been thrown[8] and heard the Gae Bulga called for, he thrust his shield down to protect the lower part of his body. Cuchulain gripped the short spear [9]which was in his hand,[9] cast it [W.3938.] off the palm of his hand over the rim of the shield and over the edge of the [1]corselet and[1] horn-skin, so that its farther half was visible after piercing his heart in his bosom. Ferdiad gave a thrust of his shield upwards to protect the upper part of his body, though it was help that came too late. The gilla set the Gae Bulga down the stream, and Cuchulain caught it in the fork of his foot, and [2]when Ferdiad raised his shield[2] Cuchulain threw the Gae Bulga as far as he could cast [3]underneath[3] at Ferdiad, so that it passed through the strong, thick, iron apron of wrought iron, and broke in three parts the huge, goodly stone the size of a millstone, so that it cut its way through the body's protection into him, till every joint and every limb was filled with its barbs. [8-8] Eg. 106. [9-9] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe and Eg. 209. [3-3] Stowe and Eg. 209. "Ah, that now sufficeth," sighed Ferdiad: "I am fallen of that! But, yet one thing more: mightily didst thou drive with thy right foot. And 'twas not fair of thee for me to fall by thy hand." And he yet spake and uttered these words:-- "O Cu of grand feats, Unfairly I'm slain! Thy guilt clings to me; My blood falls on thee! "No meed for the wretch[a] Who treads treason's gap. Now weak is my voice; Ah, gone is my bloom! "My ribs' armour bursts, My heart is all gore; I battled not well; I'm smitten, O Cu! [4]"Unfair, side by side, To come to the ford. 'Gainst my noble ward[b] Hath Medb turned my hand! "There'll come rooks and crows To gaze on my arms, To eat flesh and blood. A tale, Cu, for thee!"[4] [a] Reading _taobh re taobh_. [b] Omitting _seng_; the line has a syllable too many in the original. [4-4] Eg. 106 (_Revue Celtique_, tome xi, p. 327). [W.3964.] Thereupon Cuchulain hastened towards Ferdiad and clasped his two arms about him, and bore him with all his arms and his armour and his dress northwards over the ford, that so it should be [1]with his face[1] to the north[a] of the ford the triumph took place and not to the west[b] of the ford with the men of Erin. [LL.fo.87b.] Cuchulain laid Ferdiad there on the ground, and a cloud and a faint and a swoon came over Cuchulain there by the head of Ferdiad. Laeg espied it, and the men of Erin all arose for the attack upon him. "Come, O Cucuc," cried Laeg; "arise now [2]from thy trance,[2] for the men of Erin will come to attack us, and it is not single combat they will allow us, now that Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè is fallen by thee." "What availeth it me to arise, O gilla," moaned Cuchulain, "now that this one is fallen by my hand?" In this wise the gilla spake and he uttered these words and Cuchulain responded:-- Laeg: "Now arise, O Emain's Hound; Now most fits thee courage high. Ferdiad hast thou thrown--of hosts-- God's fate! How thy fight was hard!" Cuchulain: "What avails me courage now? I'm oppressed with rage and grief, For the deed that I have done On his body sworded sore!" Laeg: "It becomes thee not to weep; Fitter for thee to exult! Yon red-speared one thee hath left Plaintful, wounded, steeped in gore!" Cuchulain: "Even had he cleaved my leg, And one hand had severed too; Woe, that Ferdiad--who rode steeds-- Shall not ever be in life!" Laeg: [W.3993.] "Liefer far what's come to pass, To the maidens of Red Branch; He to die, thou to remain; They grudge not that ye should part!" Cuchulain: "From the day I Cualnge left, Seeking high and splendid Medb, Carnage has she had--with fame-- Of her warriors whom I've slain!" Laeg: "Thou hast had no sleep in peace, In pursuit of thy great Táin; Though thy troop was few and small, Oft thou wouldst rise at early morn!" [1-1] Eg. 106. [a] That is, in Ulster. Stowe and Eg. 106 read '(with his face) to the south.' [b] That is, in Connacht. [2-2] Stowe. Cuchulain began to lament and bemoan Ferdiad, and he spake the words: "Alas, O Ferdiad," [1]spake he,[1] "'twas thine ill fortune thou didst not take counsel with any of those that knew my real deeds of valour and arms, before we met in clash of battle! [1-1] Stowe. "Unhappy for thee that Laeg son of Riangabair did not make thee blush in regard to our comradeship! "Unhappy for thee that the truly faithful warning of Fergus thou didst not take! "Unhappy for thee that dear, trophied, triumphant, battle-victorious Conall counselled thee not in regard to our comradeship! [2]"For those men would not have spoken in obedience to the messages or desires or orders or false words of promise of the fair-haired women of Connacht. "For well do those men know that there will not be born a being that will perform deeds so tremendous and so great [3]among the Connachtmen as I,[3] till the very day of doom and of everlasting life, whether at handling of shield and buckler, at plying of spear and sword, at playing at draughts and chess, at driving of steeds and chariots."[2] [2-2] The order of these two paragraphs is that of Stowe; they are found in the reverse order in LL. [3-3] Reading with Stowe. [4]And he spake these warm words, sadly, sorrowfully in praise of Ferdiad:--[4] [4-4] Eg. 209. [W.4022.] "There shall not be found the hand of a hero that will wound warrior's flesh, like cloud-coloured Ferdiad! [1]"There shall not be heard from the gap[a] the cry of red-mouthed Badb[b] to the winged, shade-speckled flocks![1] [1-1] This difficult sentence is composed of two alliterating groups, which it is impossible to follow in the translation.] [a] That is, the battle breach. [b] That is, the fury of war and carnage which appeared in the form of a carrion crow. "There shall not be one that will contend for Cruachan that will obtain covenants equal to thine, till the very day of doom and of life henceforward, O red-cheeked son of Daman!" said Cuchulain. Then it was that Cuchulain arose and stood over Ferdiad: "Ah, Ferdiad," spake Cuchulain "greatly have the men of Erin deceived and abandoned thee, to bring thee to contend and do battle [LL.fo.88a.] with me. For no easy thing is it to contend and do battle with me on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge! [2]And yet, never before have I found combat that was so sore or distressed me so as thy combat, save the combat with Oenfer Aifè,[c] mine one own son."[2] Thus he spake, and he uttered these words:-- "Ah, Ferdiad, betrayed to death. Our last meeting, oh, how sad! Thou to die, I to remain. Ever sad our long farewell! "When we over yonder dwelt With our Scathach, steadfast, true, This we thought till end of time, That our friendship ne'er would end! "Dear to me thy noble blush; Dear thy comely, perfect form; Dear thine eye, blue-grey and clear; Dear thy wisdom and thy speech! "Never strode to rending fight, Never wrath and manhood held, Nor slung shield across broad back, One like thee, Daman's red son! [W.4051.] "Never have I met till now, Since I Oenfer Aifè slew, One thy peer in deeds of arms, Never have I found, Ferdiad! "Finnabair, Medb's daughter fair, Beauteous, lovely though she be, As a gad round sand or stones, She was shown to thee, Ferdiad!" [2-2] Stowe, Eg. 106 and Eg. 209. [c] That is, Conlaech. Then Cuchulain turned to gaze on Ferdiad. "Ah, my master Laeg," cried Cuchulain, "now strip Ferdiad and take his armour and garments off him, that I may see the brooch for the sake of which he entered on the combat and fight [1]with me."[1] Laeg came up and stripped Ferdiad. He took his armour and garments off him and he saw the brooch [2]and he placed the brooch in Cuchulain's hand,[2] and Cuchulain began to lament and complain [3]over Ferdiad,[3] and he spake these words:-- "Alas, golden brooch; Ferdiad of the hosts, O good smiter, strong, Victorious thy hand! "Thy hair blond and curled, A wealth fair and grand. Thy soft, leaf-shaped belt Around thee till death! "Our comradeship dear; Thy noble eye's gleam; Thy golden-rimmed shield; Thy sword,[a] treasures worth! [4]"Thy white-silver torque Thy noble arm binds. Thy chess-board worth wealth; Thy fair, ruddy cheek![4] "To fall by my hand, I own was not just! 'Twas no noble fight. Alas, golden brooch! [1]"Thy death at Cu's hand Was dire, O dear calf![a] Unequal the shield Thou hadst for the strife! "Unfair was our fight, Our woe and defeat! Fair the great chief; Each host overcome And put under foot! Alas, golden brooch!"[1] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [a] Reading with YBL. 39b, 31, as more intelligible than the 'chess-board' of LL., which occurs in the next stanza. [4-4] YBL. 39b, 31-33. [1-1] YBL. 39b, 35-39. [a] A term of endearment which survives in Modern Irish. [W.4092.] "Come, O Laeg my master," cried Cuchulain; "now cut open Ferdiad and take the Gae Bulga out, because I may not be without my weapons." Laeg came and cut open Ferdiad and he took the Gae Bulga out of him. And Cuchulain saw his weapons bloody and red-stained by the side of Ferdiad, and he uttered these words:-- "O Ferdiad, in gloom we meet. Thee I see both red and pale. I myself with unwashed arms; Thou liest in thy bed of gore! "Were we yonder in the East, Scathach and our Uathach near, There would not be pallid lips Twixt us two, and arms of strife! "Thus spake Scathach trenchantly (?), Words of warning, strong and stern: 'Go ye all to furious fight; German, blue-eyed, fierce will come!' "Unto Ferdiad then I spake, And to Lugaid generous, To the son of fair Baetan,[b] German we would go to meet! "We came to the battle-rock, Over Lake Linn Formait's shore. And four hundred men we brought[c] From the Isles of the Athissech! "As I stood and Ferdiad brave At the gate of German's fort, [LL.fo.88b.] I slew Rinn the son of Nel; He slew Ruad son of Fornel! [W.4122.] "Ferdiad slew upon the slope Blath, of Colba 'Red-sword' son. Lugaid, fierce and swift, then slew Mugairne of the Tyrrhene Sea! "I slew, after going in, Four times fifty grim, wild men. Ferdiad killed--a furious horde-- Dam Dremenn and Dam Dilenn! "We laid waste shrewd German's fort O'er the broad, bespangled sea. German we brought home alive To our Scathach of broad shield! "Then our famous nurse made fast Our blood-pact[a] of amity, That our angers should not rise 'Mongst the tribes of noble Elg! "Sad the morn, a day in March, Which struck down weak Daman's son. Woe is me, the friend is fall'n Whom I pledged in red blood's draught![a] "Were it there I saw thy death, Midst the great Greeks' warrior-bands, I'd not live on after thee, But together we would die! "Woe, what us befel therefrom, Us, dear Scathach's fosterlings, Me sore wounded, red with blood, Thee no more to drive thy car! "Woe, what us befel therefrom, Us, dear Scathach's fosterlings, Me sore wounded, stiff with gore, Thee to die the death for aye! "Woe, what us befel therefrom, Us, dear Scathach's fosterlings, Thee in death, me, strong, alive. Valour is an angry strife!" [b] That is, Ferbaeth. [c] That is, as prisoners. [a] Referring to the Celtic custom of binding an alliance by each of the parties thereto drinking the blood of the other. "Good, O Cucuc," spake Laeg, "let us leave this ford now; too long are we here!" "Aye, let us leave it, O my master Laeg," replied Cuchulain. "But every combat and battle I have fought seems a game and a sport to me compared with the combat and battle of Ferdiad." Thus he spake, and he uttered these words:-- [W.4164.] "All was play, all was sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! One task for both of us, Equal our reward. Our kind, gentle nurse Chose him over all! "All was play, all was sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! One our life, one our fear, One our skill in arms. Shields gave Scathach twain To Ferdiad and me! "All was play, all was sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! Dear the shaft of gold[a] I smote on the ford. Bull-chief of the tribes, Braver he than all! "Only games and only sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! Lion, furious, flaming, fierce; Swollen wave that wrecks like doom! "Only games and only sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! Lovèd Ferdiad seemed to me After me would live for aye! Yesterday, a mountain's size-- He is but a shade to-day! "Three things countless on the Táin Which have fallen by my hand: Hosts of cattle, men and steeds, I have slaughtered on all sides! "Though the hosts were e'er so great, That came out of Cruachan wild, More than third and less than half, Slew I in my direful sport! "Never trod in battle's ring; Banba[b] nursed not on her breast; Never sprang from sea or land, King's son that had larger fame!" [a] That is, Ferdiad. [b] An old name for Ireland. Thus far [1]the Combat of Ferdiad with Cuchulain[1] and the Tragical Death of Ferdiad. [1-1] Stowe and Eg. 209. * * * * * [Page 268] XXI [1]CUCHULAIN AND THE RIVERS[1] [2]Now while the hosts proceeded from Ath Firdead ('Ferdiad's Ford') southwards, Cuchulain lay in his sickbed in that place.[2] [LL.fo.89a.] Then came certain men of the Ulstermen thither to help and succour Cuchulain. [W.4205.] [3]Before all,[3] Senoll Uathach and the two sons of Gegè: Muridach and Cotreb, to wit. And they bore him to the streams and rivers of Conalle Murthemni, to rub and to wash his stabs and his cuts, his sores and his many wounds in the face of these streams and rivers. For the Tuatha De Danann ('the Tribes divine of Danu') were wont to put herbs and plants of healing and a curing charm in the waters and rivers of the territory of Conalle Murthemni, to help and to succour Cuchulain, so that the streams were speckled and green-topped therewith. [1-1] This sub-title is supplied by Windisch. [2-2] YBL. 40a, 1-2. [3-3] YBL. 40a, 3. Accordingly these are the names of the healing rivers of Cuchulain:-- Sas, Buan, [4]Buas,[4] Bithslan, Findglas ('Whitewater'), Gleoir, Glenamain, Bedg, Tadg, Telameit, Rind, Bir, Brenidè, Dichaem, Muach, Miliuc, Cumung, Cuilind, Gainemain, Drong, Delt, Dubglas ('Blackwater'). [4-4] Stowe. [5]Then was the grave of Ferdiad dug by the men of Erin and his funeral games were held.[5] [5-5] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 269] XXII [1]CETHERN'S STRAIT-FIGHT[1] [2]While now Cuchulain went to bathe in the waters, the hosts went by to the south till they pitched camp at Imorach Smiromrach ('Edge of the Marrow-bath').[2] [W.4238.] Then said the men of Erin to macRoth the chief runner, to go watch and keep guard for them at Sliab Fuait, to the end that the Ulstermen might not come upon them without warning and unobserved. Thereupon macRoth went [3]from the host southwards[3] as far as Sliab Fuait [4]to spy out the men of Ulster, to learn if any one came after them.[4] MacRoth was not long there when he saw something: a lone chariot on Sliab Fuait making from the north straight towards him. A fierce man, stark-naked, in that chariot coming towards him, without arms, without armour at all save an iron spit in his hand. In equal manner he goaded his driver and his horses [5]at one and the same time.[5] And it seemed to him that he would never in his life come up to the hosts. And macRoth hastened to tell this news [6]at the fort[6] where Ailill and Medb and Fergus were and the nobles of the men of Erin. Ailill asked tidings of him on his arrival. "Aye, macRoth," inquired Ailill; "hast thou seen any of the Ulstermen on the track of the host this day?" "That, truly, I know not," answered macRoth; "but I saw something: a lone chariot coming over Sliab Fuait [W.4252.] [1]from the north[1] straight towards us. A [2]white, grey,[2] wild, stark-naked man in the chariot, without arms or armour at all, except for an iron spit in his hand. In equal manner he prodded his driver and his steeds. It seemed to him he would never in his life come up to the host. [3]A brindled greyhound before him."[3] "Who, thinkest thou, might it be, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. [4]"Is it Conchobar or Celtchar?"[4] "Of a truth, [5]that is not likely,"[5] Fergus answered; "meseems it is Cethern son of [6]generous, red-edged[6] Fintan [7]from Linè in the north[7] that came there. [8]And if so it be, ye shall be on your guard against him!"[8] Fergus indeed spoke true, that it was Fintan's son Cethern that was come there. And so Cethern son of Fintan came on them, and the camp and the garrison were confounded and he wounded all around him in every direction and on all sides [9]and they wounded him in like manner.[9] And then [10]Cethern[10] left them, [11]and it was thus he went, and the front-guard of the chariot pressed up against his belly to keep his entrails and vitals within him,[11] [12]and his intestines were wound about his legs.[12] He came to the place where was Cuchulain, to be healed and cured, and he demanded a leech of Cuchulain to heal and to cure him. [13]Cuchulain had compassion on his wounds;[13] [14] a bed of fresh rushes was made for him and a pillow set to it.[14] "Come, master Laeg!" cried Cuchulain. [15]"Arise,[15] away with thee to the garrison and camp of the men of Erin and summon [LL.fo.89.] the leeches to come out to cure Cethern macFintain. I give my word, e'en though it be under the [W.4270.] ground or in a well-shut house they are, I myself will bring death and destruction and slaughter upon them before this hour to-morrow, if they come not [1]to minister to Cethern."[1] [1-1] This heading is taken from the colophon of the episode. [2-2] YBL. 40a, 9-12. [3-3] YBL. 40a, 12-13. [4-4] YBL. 40a, 12-14. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe, and YBL. 41a, 10. [2-2] YBL. 41a, 11. [3-3] YBL. 41a, 15. [4-4] YBL. 40a, 17. [5-5] YBL. 40a, 17. [6-6] YBL. 40a, 18. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Stowe and YBL. 41a, 10. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] I have translated from the more circumstantial account in Stowe. LL. has, simply, 'his entrails and bowels outside on him.' [12-12] YBL. 40a, 21. [13-13] YBL. 40a, 22. [14-14] YBL. 40a, 23-24. [15-15] Stowe. [1-1] YBL. 40a, 29. Laeg went his way to the quarters and camp of the men of Erin, and he called upon the leeches of the men of Erin to go forth to cure Cethern son of Fintan. Truth to tell, the leeches of the men of Erin were unwilling to go cure their adversary, their enemy and their stranger-foe. But they feared Cuchulain would work death and destruction and slaughter upon them if they went not. And so they went. As one man of them [2]after the other[2] came to him, Cethern son of Fintan showed him his stabs and his cuts, his sores and his bloody wounds. [3]When the first leech that came looked at him, "thou wilt not live," he declared. "Neither wilt thou for this," replied Cethern.[3] Each man of them that said he would not live and could not be healed, Cethern son of Fintan struck him a blow with his right fist in the front of his forehead, so that he drove the brains out through the windows of his ears and the seams of his skull. Howbeit Cethern son of Fintan killed them till, by reason of him, there had come fifteen[a] leeches of the leeches of the men of Erin, [4]as the historian hath declared in proof thereof:-- "These the leeches of the Táin, Who by Cethern--bane--did fall. No light thing, in floods of tribes, That their names are known to me: "Littè, Luaidren, known o'er sea, Lot and Luaimnech, 'White-hand' Lonn, Latheirnè skilful, also Lonn, Laisrè, Slanoll 'That cures all.' "Dubthach, Fintan's blameless son, Fintan, master Firfial, too, Mainè, Boethan 'Gives not pain,' Eke his pupil, Boethan's son. "These the leeches, five and ten, Struck to death by Cethern, true; I recall them in my day; They are in the leeches' roll!"[4] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 40a, 31-33. [a] 'Fifty or fifteen,' YBL. 40a, 35. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. 18,748. [W.4284.] Yea, even the fifteenth leech, it was but the tip of a blow that reached him. Yet he fell lifeless of the great stun between the bodies of the other physicians and lay there for a long space and time. Ithall, leech of Ailill and Medb, was his name. Thereafter Cethern son of Fintan asked another leech of Cuchulain to heal and to cure him [1]forasmuch as the leeches of the men of Erin had failed him.[1] "Come, master Laeg," quoth Cuchulain, "go for me to Fingin the seer-leech, at 'Fingin's Grave-mound' at Leccan ('the Brow') of Sliab Fuait, [2]him that is[2] leech to Conchobar. Bid him come to heal Cethern son of Fintan." [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 40a, 40. Laeg hastened to Fingin the seer-leech at 'Fingin's Grave-mound' at Leccan of Sliab Fuait, to the leech of Conchobar. And he told him to go cure Cethern son of Fintan. Thereupon Fingin the prophet-leech came [3]with him to where Cuchulain and Cethern were.[3] As soon as he was come, Cethern son of Fintan showed him his stabs and his cuts, his sores and his bloody wounds. [3-3] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 273] XXIIa [1]CETHERN'S BLOODY WOUNDS[1] [W.4299.] [2]"Look at this bloody wound for me, O Fingin," said Cethern.[2] Fingin looked at the bloody wound. "Why, it is a slight, unwillingly given wound we behold here," said the leech; [3]"even a wound that some one of thine own blood hath given thee, and no desire or wish had he therefor,[3] and it will not carry thee off at once." "That, now, is true," exclaimed Cethern. "A lone man came upon me there; bushy hair on him; a blue mantle wrapped around him; a silver brooch in the mantle over his breast; an oval shield with plaited rim he bore; a five-pointed spear in his hand; a pronged spare spear at his side. He gave this bloody wound. He bore away a slight wound from me too." "Why, we know that man!" cried Cuchulain; "'twas Illann Ilarchless ('Illann of many feats') son of Fergus [4]macRoig.[4] And he would not wish that thou shouldst fall by his hand, but he gave thee this mock-blow that the men of Erin might not have it to say it was to betray them or to forsake them if he gave it not." [1-1] The heading is taken from LL. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 41b, 19. "Now look at this bloody wound for me, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. Fingin looked closely into the bloody wound. "Why, 'tis a woman's wanton deed of arms we behold here," said the leech; [5]"namely the wound which a warrior-woman inflicted on thee," said he.[5] "Aye, that is true then," quoth Cethern; "a woman [W.4314.] came upon me there by herself. A woman, beautiful, fair-faced, long-cheeked, tall; a golden-yellow head of hair [1]down to the top of her two shoulder-blades she wore; a smock of royal sammet next to her white skin;[1] [2]two birds of gold on her shoulders;[2] a purple cloak without other colour she had around her; [LL.fo.90a.] a brooch of gold in the cloak over her bosom; a straight, ridged spear, red-flaming in her hand. She it was that gave me this bloody wound. She bore away a slight wound from me too." "Ah, but we know that woman," cried Cuchulain; "Medb daughter of Eocho Fedlech, daughter of the High King of Erin; it is she that came unto us in that dress. A victory and triumph and trophy she had considered it hadst thou fallen at her hands." [5-5] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 41b, 5. "Look at this bloody wound for me too, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. Fingin looked at the bloody wound. "Why, the feat of arms of two warriors is this," said the leech; [3]"that is to say, two warriors inflicted these two wounds as one wound upon thee."[3] "Yea, that is true," answered Cethern. "There came two [4]men-at-arms[4] upon me in that place; two, with bushy hair on them; two blue cloaks wrapped around them; brooches of silver in the cloaks over their breasts; a necklace of all-white silver around the neck of each of them; [5]two long shields they bore; two hard chains of silver on each of them; a band of silver around them; two five-pointed spears they bore; a vein of silver around them.[5] [6]They smote me this wound and I smote a little wound on each of them."[6] "Indeed we know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Oll and Othinè they, of the bodyguard of Ailill and Medb; they never go to a hosting, [7]to battle or combat,[7] but when the wounding of a man is certain. They would have held [W.4330.] it for victory and triumph and a boast hadst thou fallen at their hands." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 41b, 21-26. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. "Look on this bloody wound also for me, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. Fingin looked closely at the bloody wound. "There came upon me a pair of young warriors of the Fian," [1]said Cethern;[1] "a splendid, manly appearance they had. Each of them cast a spear at me. I drave this spear through the one of them." Fingin looked into the bloody wound. "Why, this blood is all black," quoth the leech; "through thy heart those spears passed so that they formed a cross of themselves through thy heart, [2]and thy healing and curing are not easy;[2] and I prophesy no cure here, but I would get thee some healing plants and curing charms that they destroy thee not forthwith." "Ah, but we know them, that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Bun and Mecconn ('Stump' and 'Root') are they, of the bodyguard of Ailill and Medb. It was their hope that thou shouldst fall at their hands." [1-1] YBL. 41b, 30. [2-2] Stowe. "Look at this bloody wound for me, too, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. Fingin examined the bloody wound. "Why, it is the red rush of the two sons of Ri Cailè ('the King of the Woods') that is here," said the leech. "Aye, 'tis so," replied Cethern; "there attacked me there two fair-faced, dark-browed youths, huge, with diadems of gold [3]on their heads.[3] Two green mantles folded about them; two pins of bright silver on the mantles over their breasts; two five-pronged spears in their hands." "Why, near each other are the bloody wounds they gave thee," said the leech; "into thy gullet they went, so that the points of the spears struck one another within thee, and none the easier is it to work thy cure here." "We know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; [4]"noble youths of Medb's great household,[4] Broen and Brudni, are they, [5]two[5] [W.4352.] sons of Ri teora Soillse ('the King of the three Lights'), that is, the two sons of the King of the Woods. It had been victory and triumph and a boast for them, hadst thou fallen at their hands." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 41b, 41. [5-5] Stowe. "Look at this bloody wound for me, too, my good Fingin," said Cethern. Fingin looked into the bloody wound. "The joint deed of two brothers is here," said the leech. "'Tis indeed true," replied Cethern. "There came upon me two leading, king's warriors. Yellow hair upon them; dark-grey mantles with fringes, wrapped around them; leaf-shaped brooches of silvered bronze in the mantles over their breasts; broad, grey lances in their hands." "Ah, but we know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Cormac Colomon rig ('King's pillar') is the one, and Cormac son of Mael Foga, of the bodyguard of Ailill and Medb (the other). What they sought was that thou shouldst fall at their hands." "Look at this bloody wound for me too, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. [LL.fo.90b.] Fingin looked into that bloody wound. "The assault of two brothers is here," said the leech. "Aye then, 'tis true," answered Cethern. "There came upon me two tender youths there; very much alike were they; curly [1]dark[1] hair on the one of them; curly yellow hair on the other; two green cloaks wrapped around them; two bright-silver brooches in the cloaks over their breasts; two tunics of smooth yellow silk [2]with hoods and red embroidery[2] next their skin; [3]two[3] white-hilted swords at their belts; two bright shields having the likenesses of beasts in white silver they bore; two five-pronged spears with veins of all-white silver in their hands." "Ah, but we know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Manè 'Like to his mother' and Manè 'Like to his father,' two sons of Ailill and Medb; and it would be matter of victory, [W.4377.] triumph and boasting to them, hadst thou fallen at their hands." [1-1] YBL. 42a, 28. [2-2] YBL. 42a, 30-31. [3-3] Stowe. "Look at this bloody wound for me, too, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. "There came upon me a pair of young warriors of the Fian there. A brilliant appearance, stately-tall and manlike, they had; wonderful garments from far-away countries upon them. Each of them thrust [1]the spear he had[1] at me. [2]Then[2] I thrust [3]this spear[3] through each of them." Fingin looked into the bloody wound. "Cunning are the bloody wounds they inflicted upon thee," said the leech; "they have severed the strings of thy heart within thee, so that thy heart rolls about in thy breast like an apple in motion or like a ball of yarn in an empty bag, and there is no string at all to support it; [4]and there is no means to cure thee or to save thee,[4] and no healing can I effect here." "Ah, but we know those twain," quoth Cuchulain; "a pair of champions from Norway who, [5]because of their cunning and violence,[5] have been sent particularly by Ailill and Medb to slay thee; for not often does one ever issue alive from their combats, and it would be their will that thou shouldst fall at their hands." [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe and YBL. 42a, 1. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. "Look upon this bloody wound for me too, my good Fingin," said Cethern. Fingin looked at that bloody wound in like manner. "Why, the alternate woundings of a son and his father we behold here," answered the leech. "Yea, it is so," quoth Cethern; "two tall men, red as torches, came upon me there, with diadems of burnished gold upon them; kingly garments they wore; gold-hilted, hammered swords at their girdles, with scabbards of pure-white silver, [6]with a cunningly ornamented and delicate embossing[6] and supports of mottled gold outside upon them. "Ah, but we know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Ailill and his [W.4399.] son are they, Manè 'That embraces the traits of them all.' They would deem it victory and triumph and a boast shouldst thou fall at their hands." [6-6] Stowe. Thus far the "Bloody Wounds" of the Táin. "Speak, O Fingin prophetic leech," spake Cethern son of Fintan; "what verdict and what counsel givest me now?" "This verily is what I say to thee," replied Fingin the prophetic leech: "Count not on thy big cows for yearlings this year; for if thou dost, it is not thou that will enjoy them, and no profit will they bring thee." "This is the judgement and counsel the other surgeons did give me, and certain it is it brought them neither advantage nor profit, and they fell at my hands; and none the more will it bring thee advantage or profit, and thou shalt fall at my hands!" And he gave Fingin a strong, stiff kick with his foot, and sent him between the chariot's two wheels [1]and the creaking of the chariot might be heard afar off.[1] [1-1] Stowe. "Oh, but vicious is the kick from the old warrior," cried Cuchulain; [2]"'twould be more fitting if thou shouldst ply it on foes than on leech!"[2] Hence, from this saying, is the name Uachtar Lua ('the Height of the Kick') in the land of Ross from then until this day. [2-2] YBL. 42a, 50-51. Nevertheless [LL.fo.91a.] Fingin the prophet-leech gave his choice to Cethern son of Fintan: A long illness for him and afterwards to obtain help and succour, or a red[a] healing for the space of three days and three nights, so that he might then employ his strength on his enemies. What Cethern son of Fintan chose was a red healing for the space of three days and three nights, to the end that he might then vent [3]his anger and[3] strength on his enemies. For what he said was that there would not be found after him any one he would rather have vindicate or avenge him than himself. [W.4420.] Thereupon Fingin the prophetic leech asked of Cuchulain a vat of marrow wherewith to heal and to cure Cethern son of Fintan. Cuchulain proceeded to the camp and entrenchment of the men of Erin, and whatsoever he found of herds and flocks and droves there he took away with him. And he made a marrow-mash of their flesh and their bones and their skins; and Cethern son of Fintan was placed in the marrow-bath till the end of three days and three nights. And his flesh began to drink in the marrow-bath about him and the marrow-bath entered in within his stabs and his cuts, his sores and his many wounds. Thereafter he arose from the marrow-bath at the end of three days and three nights, [1]and he slept a day and a night after taking in the marrow.[1] [2]"I have no ribs more," said Cethern; "put the ribs of the chariot-box into me." "Thou shalt have it," Cuchulain made answer.[2] It was thus Cethern arose, with a slab of the chariot pressed to his belly so that his entrails and bowels would not drop out of him. [3]"Had I my own weapons," said Cethern, "the story of what I would do would live forever!"[3] [a] That is, 'extreme or drastic.' [3-3] Stowe. [1-1] YBL. 42b, 7. [2-2] YBL. 42b, 8-9. [3-3] YBL. 42b, 10-11. That was the time when his wife came from the north, from Dûn da Benn ('Fort of the two Gables'), and she brought his sword with her, even Finna daughter of Eocho. [4]"What seest thou?" asked Cethern.[4] [5]"Meseems," answered Cuchulain, "'tis the chariot of little Finna, Eocho's daughter, thy wife, that comes nigh us."[5] [6]And they saw the woman, with the arms in the chariot.[6] Cethern son of Fintan [7]seized his arms[7] and proceeded to attack the men of Erin, [8]with the chariot-box bound around his back, for he was not the stronger therefor.[8] But this is to be added: They sent a warning before him; Ithall,[a] physician of Ailill and Medb, had remained as one dead of [W.4436.] the great stun [1]from the blow of Cethern[1] among the bodies of the other leeches for a long space and time, [2]and continued in that state till then; at last he rose and rushed to the encampment,[2] [3]and he, the leech that had alone escaped from Cethern, brought the alarm to the camp.[3] [4-4] YBL. 42b, 13. [5-5] YBL. 42b, 14. [6-6] YBL. 42b, 16. [7-7] YBL. 42b, 17. [8-8] YBL. 42b, 18-19. [a] See above, page 272. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 42b, 20. "Hark, ye men of Erin," shouted the leech; "Cethern son of Fintan comes to attack you, now that he has been healed and cured by Fingin the prophetic leech, and take ye heed of him!" Thereat the men of Erin [4]in fear[4] put Ailill's dress and his golden shawl [5]and his regal diadem[5] on the pillar-stone in Crich Ross, that it might be thereon that Cethern son of Fintan should first give vent to his anger on his arrival. [6]Eftsoons[6] Cethern [7]reached the place where he[7] saw those things, namely Ailill's dress and his golden shawl around the standing-stone in Crich Ross, and he, being unaware and weetless, conceived it to be Ailill himself that was in it. And he made a rush at it like a blast of wind and drave the sword through the stone pillar till it went up to its pommel, [8]so that his fist went through it after the sword.[8] "Deceit is here," cried Cethern son of Fintan, "and on me have ye worked this deceit. And I swear an oath, till there be found among ye [9]of the men of Erin[9] one that will put yon royal dress about him and the golden shawl, I will not stay my hand from them, slaughtering and destroying withal!" [4-4] YBL. 42b, 22. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe [8-8] YBL. 42b, 24. [9-9] Stowe. Manè Andoe son of Ailill and Medb heard that, and he put [10]his father's[10] royal raiment about him and the golden shawl [11]and the diadem on his head, and he snatched them up in his chariot before him[11] and dashed off through the midst of the men of Erin. Cethern son of Fintan pursued him closely and hurled his shield the length of a cast at him, [W.4454.] so that the chiselled rim of the shield clave him[a] to the ground, with chariot, driver, and horses. [1]When the men of Erin saw that,[1] they surrounded Cethern on every side [2]and made him a victim of spears and lances,[2] so that he fell at their hands in the strait wherein he was. Wherefore 'Cethern's Strait-Fight and the Bloody Wounds of Cethern' [3]is the name of this tale.[3] [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] YBL. 42b, 29-30. [a] Omitting _i tri_, 'in three'; it is not found in Stowe or in YBL. and seems out of place here. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4]His wife, Finna[b] daughter of Eocho Salbuidê ('Yellow-heel') stood over him and she was in great sorrow, and she made the funeral-song below:-- "I care for naught, care for naught; Ne'er more man's hand 'neath my head, Since was dug the earthy bed, Cethern's bold, of Dûn da Benn! "Kingly Cethern, Fintan's son; Few were with him on the ford. Connacht's men with all their host, For nine hours he left them not! "Arms he bore not--this an art-- But a red, two-headed pike; With it slaughtered he the host, While his anger still was fresh! "Felled by double-headed pike, Cethern's hand held, with their crimes,[c] Seven times fifty of the hosts, Fintan's son brought to their graves! "Willa-loo, oh, willa-loo! Woman's[d] wandering through the mist. Worse it is for him that's dead. She that lives may find a man![e] "Never I shall take a man[e] Of the hosts of this good world; Never shall I sleep with man; Never shall my man with wife! [W.4485.] "Dear the homestead, 'Horse-head's Dûn,'[a] Where our hosts were wont to go. Dear the water, soft and sweet; Dear the isle, 'Isle of the Red!'[b] "Sad the care, oh, sad the care, Cualnge's Cow-raid brought on me: Cethern, Fintan's son, to keen. Oh that he had shunned his woe! "Great the doings, these, oh, great, And the deed that here was done: I bewailing him till death, Him that has been smitten down! "Finna, Eocho's daughter, I, Found a fight of circling spears. Had my champion had his arms: By his side a slaughtered heap!"[4] [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. 18,748. [b] Reading Finna, to agree with the reading in LL., _supra_, page 279. Inna, in Stowe, etc. [c] That is, unshrived of their sins (?), a Christian intrusion [d] Literally, 'heifer's.' [e] Literally, 'a bull.' [a] In Irish, _Dun cind eich_. [b] In Irish, _Innis ruaidh_. [4-4] See note 4, page 211. * * * * * [Page 283] XXIII HERE FOLLOWETH THE TOOTH-FIGHT OF FINTAN [W.4502.] Fintan, himself the son of Niall Niamglonnach ('of the brilliant Exploits') from Dûn da Benn [1]in the north,[1] was father of Cethern son of Fintan. And he came to save the honour of Ulster and to avenge his son upon the hosts. Thrice fifty [2]with many pointed weapons[2] was his number. And thus it was they came, and two spear-heads on each shaft with them, a spear-head on the top and a spear-head at the butt, so that it made no difference whether they wounded the hosts with the points or with the butts. They offered three[a] battles to the hosts. And thrice their own number fell at their hands, and there fell also the people [LL.fo.91b.] of Fintan son of Niall, all excepting Fintan's son Crimthann alone,[3] so that there did not escape any of his people excepting himself and his son.[3] This one was saved under a canopy of shields by Ailill and Medb. [4]And the son was separated from him, his father Fintan, and was saved by Ailill out of fear of Fintan and in order that Fintan might not wreak his fury on them till he should come with Conchobar to the battle.[4] Then said the men of Erin, it would be no disgrace for Fintan son of Niall to withdraw from the camp and quarters, and that they would give up Crimthann son of Fintan to him, and then the hosts would fall back a day's march to the north again; and that he [W.4515.] should cease from his deeds of arms against the hosts till he would come to encounter them on the day of the great battle at the place where the four grand provinces of Erin would clash at Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Cattle-reaving of Cualnge, as was foretold by the druids of the men of Erin. Fintan son of Niall consented to that, and they gave over his son to him. [1]He made friendship with them then when his son had been restored to him.[1] He withdrew from the camp and station, and the hosts marched a day's journey back to the north again, to stop and cease their advance. [2]Thereafter Fintan went to his own land.[2] In this manner they found each man of the people of Fintan son of Niall and each man of the men of Erin, with the lips and the nose [3]and the ear[3] of each of them in the teeth and tusks of the other [4]after they had used up their arms.[4] The men of Erin gave thought to that: "This is a tooth-fight for us," said they; "the tooth-fight of Fintan's people and of Fintan himself." So this is the 'Tooth-fight' of Fintan. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 42b, 36. [a] 'Seven,' YBL. 42b, 38. [3-3] YBL. 42b, 38-39. [4-4] YBL. 42b, 39-43. [1-1] YBL. 42b, 43-44. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 285] XXIIIa THE RED-SHAME OF MENN FOLLOWETH HERE [W.4529.] [1]It was then came [2]to them[2] great[1] Menn son of Salcholga, he from Renna ('the Waterways') of the Boyne [3]in the north.[3] Twelve[a] men [4]with many-pointed weapons,[4] that was his number. It was thus they came, and two spear-heads on each shaft with them, a spear-head on the top and a spear-head at the butt, so that it made no difference whether they wounded the hosts with the points or with the butts. They offered three attacks upon the hosts. Three times their own number fell at their hands and there fell twelve men of the people of Menn, [5]so that there remained alive of them but Menn alone.[5] But Menn himself was [6]sorely[6] wounded in the strait, so that blood ran crimson on him [7]and his followers too were crimsoned.[7] Then said the men of Erin: "Red is this shame," said they, "for Menn son of Salcholga, that his people, [8]twelve men,[8] should be slain and destroyed and he himself wounded till blood ran crimson red upon him." Hence here is the 'Reddening Shame of Menn,' [9]the name of this tale on the Spoil of the Kine of Cualnge.[9] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 42b, 45. [3-3] Stowe. [a] 'Thirty,' YBL. 42b, 45. [4-4] YBL. 42b, 46. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] YBL. 42b, 49. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe. Then said the men of Erin, it would be no dishonour for Menn son of Salcholga to leave the camp and quarters, and that the hosts would go a day's journey back to the [W.4542.] north again, and that Menn should cease his weapon-feats[a] on the hosts till Conchobar arose out of his 'Pains' and battle would be offered them at Garech and Ilgarech [1]on the day of the great battle when the men of Erin and of Ulster would meet together in combat in the great battle of the Cualnge Cow-spoil,[1] as the druids and soothsayers and the knowers of the men of Erin had foretold it. [a] Following Windisch's emendation of the text. [1-1] Stowe. Menn son of Salcholga agreed to that, to leave the camp and halting-place. And the hosts fell back a day's march for to rest and wait, [2]and Menn went his way to his own land.[2] [2-2] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 287] XXIIIb HERE FOLLOWETH THE ACCOUTREMENT OF THE CHARIOTEERS [W.4551.] Then came the charioteers of the Ulstermen to them. Thrice fifty was their number. They offered three battles to the hosts. Thrice their number fell at their hands, and the charioteers themselves fell on the field whereon they stood. Hence this here is the 'Accoutrement of the Charioteers.' [1]It is for this cause it is called the 'Accoutrement of the Charioteers,' because it is with rocks and with boulders and with clumps of earth they accomplished the defeat of the men of Erin.[1] [1-1] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 288] XXIIIc [LL. fo. 92a.] [1]THE WHITE-FIGHT OF ROCHAD NOW FOLLOWETH[1] [W.4556.] [2]Cuchulain despatched his charioteer to[2] Rochad [3]Rigderg ('Red-king')[3] son of Fathemon, [4]from Rigdorn in the north,[4] [5]that he should come to his aid.[5] He was of Ulster. [6]The gilla comes up to Rochad and tells him, if he has come out of his weakness, to go to the help of Cuchulain, that they should employ a ruse to reach the host to seize some of them and slay them. Rochad set out from the north.[6] Thrice fifty[a] warriors was his number, and he took possession of a hill fronting the hosts. [7]"Scan the plain for us to-day," said Ailill. "I see a company crossing the plain," the watchman answered, "and a tender youth comes in their midst; the other warriors reach but up to his shoulder." "Who is that warrior, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "Rochad son of Fathemon," he answered; "and it is to bring help to Cuchulain he comes. I know what ye had best do with him," Fergus continued. "Let a hundred warriors go from ye with the maiden yonder to the middle of the plain and let the maid go before them, and let a horseman go tell Rochad to come alone to hold converse with the maid and let hands be laid on him, and thus shall be removed all fear of his people from us.[7] Finnabair, [W.4558.] daughter of Ailill and Medb, perceived that and she went to speak to her mother thereof, even to Medb. [1]Now it happened that Finnabair loved Rochad. It is he was the fairest young warrior in Ulster at that time.[1] [2]And Finnabair disclosed her secret and her love[a] to her mother.[2] "Truly have I loved yonder warrior for a long time," said she; "and it is he is my sweetheart, [3]my first love[3] and mine own choice one in wooing [4]of the men of Erin."[4] "An thou hast [5]so[5] loved him, daughter," [6]quoth Ailill and Medb,[6] "sleep with him this night and crave for us a truce of him for the hosts, until [7]with Conchobar[7] he encounters us on the day of the great battle when four of the grand provinces of Erin will meet at Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Foray of Cualnge." [1-1] The LU. version of the 'White-fight,' which occurs much earlier (fo. 72a, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, lines 1457 and fol.), is incorporated with the LL. version above. [2-2] LU. 1457. [3-3] YBL. 43a, 6. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. 1458. [6-6] LU. 1460-1463. [a] 'One hundred fighting men,' LU. 1463. [7-7] LU. 1463-1472. [1-1] LU. 1458. [2-2] Stowe. [a] Literally, 'whisper.' [3-3] YBL. 43a, 10. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 43a, 10. [6-6] YBL. 43a, 10 [7-7] YBL. 43a, 11. [8]This then is done. Rochad sets forth to meet the horseman. "I am come," says the horseman, "from Finnabair to meet thee that thou come to speak with the maiden." Thereupon Rochad goes alone to converse with her. The army surrounds him on all sides; he is seized and hands are laid on him; his followers are routed and driven in flight. Afterwards he is set free and bound over not to oppose Ailill's host till the time he will come with all the warriors of Ulster. Also they promise to give Finnabair to him.[8] [8-8] LU. 1472-1478. Rochad son of Fathemon accepted the offer [9]and thereupon he left them[9] and that night the damsel slept with him. [9-9] LU. 1478-1479. An Under-king of Munster that was in the camp heard the tale. He went to his people to speak of it. "Yonder maiden was plighted to me [10]on fifteen hostages[10] once long ago," said he; "and it is for this I have now come on this [W.4568.] hosting." Now wherever it happened that the seven[a] Under-kings of Munster were, what they all said was that it was for this they were come. [1]"Yonder maiden was pledged to each of us in the bargain as our sole wife, to the end that we should take part in this warfare." They all declared that that was the price and condition on which they had come on the hosting.[1] "Why," said they, [2]"what better counsel could we take?[2] Should we not go to avenge our wife and our honour on the Manè [3]the sons of Ailill[3] who are watching [4]and guarding[4] the rear of the army at Imlech in Glendamrach ('Kettle-glen's navel)?" [10-10] YBL 43a, 17. [a] 'Twelve,' Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 43a, 20. [4-4] Stowe. This was the course they resolved upon. And with their seven divisions of thirty hundreds they arose, [5]each man of them to attack the Manè. When Ailill heard that,[5] he arose [6]with a start with ready shield[6] against them and thirty hundred [7]after them.[7] Medb arose with her thirty hundred. The sons of Maga with theirs and the Leinstermen and the Munstermen and the people of Tara. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. [8]Then arose Fergus with his thirty hundred to intervene between them, and that was a hand for that mighty work.[8] And a mediation was made between them so that each of them sat down near the other and hard by his arms. Howbeit before the intervention took place, eight hundred[b] very valiant warriors of them had fallen [9]in the slaughter of Glenn Domain ('Deep Glen').[9] [8-8] Stowe. [b] 'Seven hundred,' YBL. 43a, 24 and Stowe. [9-9] YBL. 43a, 25. Finnabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, had tidings that so great a number of the men of Erin had fallen for her sake and on account of her. And her heart broke in her breast even as a nut, through shame and disgrace, so that Finnabair Slebè ('Finnabair of the Mount') is the name of the place where she fell, [10]died and was buried.[10] [10-10] Stowe. [W.4585.] Then said the men of Erin, "White is this battle," said they, "for Rochad son of Fathemon, in that eight hundred exceeding brave warriors fell for his sake and on his account, and he himself goes[1] safe and whole to his country and land[1] without blood-shedding or reddening on him." Hence this is the 'White-fight' of Rochad. [1] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 292] XXIIId HERE FOLLOWETH ILIACH'S CLUMP-FIGHT [W.4590.] [1]Then came to them[1] Iliach son of Cass son of Bacc son of Ross Ruad son of Rudraige. [2]He was at that time an old man cared for by his son's son, namely by Loegaire Buadach ('the Victorious') in Rath Imbil in the north.[2] It was told him that the four grand provinces of Erin even then laid waste and invaded the lands of Ulster and of the Picts [3]and of Cualnge[3] from Monday at Summer's end till the beginning of Spring, [4]and were carrying off their women and their cows and their children, their flocks, their herds and their cattle, their oxen and their kine and their droves, their steeds and their horses.[4] He then conceived a plan [5]in his mind[5] and he made perfect his plan privily with his people. "What counsel were better for me to make than to go and attack the men of Erin [6]and to use my[a] strength on them[6] and have [7]my boast and[7] victory over them, and thus avenge the honour of Ulster. And I care not though I should fall myself there thereafter." [1-1] YBL. 43a, 29. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [a] The MS. has 'his.' [7-7] Stowe. [LL.fo.92b.] And this is the counsel he followed. His two withered, mangy, [8]sorrel[8] nags that were upon the strand hard by the fort were led to him. And to them was fastened his ancient, [9]worn-out[9] chariot. [10]Thus he mounted his chariot,[10] without either covers or cushions; [W.4601.] [1]a hurdle of wattles around it.[1] His [2]big,[2] rough, pale-grey shield of iron he carried upon him, with its rim of hard silver around it. He wore his rough, grey-hilted, huge-smiting sword at his left side. He placed his two rickety-headed, nicked, [3]blunt, rusted[3] spears by his side in the chariot. His folk furnished his chariot around him with cobbles and boulders and huge clumps, [4]so that it was full up to its ...[4] (?) [8-8] YBL. 43a, 36. [9-9] YBL. 43a, 36. [10-10] YBL. 43a, 35. [1-1] YBL. 43a, 35. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 48a, 38. In such wise he fared forth to assail the men of Erin. And thus he came, [5]stark-naked,[5] [6]and the spittle from his gaping mouth trickling down through the chariot under him.[6] [7]When the men of Erin saw him thus, they began to mock and deride him.[7] "Truly it would be well for us," said the men of Erin,[a] "if this were the manner in which all the Ulstermen came to us [8]on the plain."[8] [5-5] YBL. 43a, 40. [6-6] This is the sense of Zimmer's translation, which is only conjectural, of this difficult passage (see _Zeitschrift für Deutsches Alterthum und Deutsche Litteratur_, Bd. xxxii, 1888, S. 275). The idea is probably more clearly expressed in Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 43a, 41, and may be rendered, '_membrum virile ejus coram viros Hiberniae et testes pendentes per currum_.' [7-7] Stowe and, similarly, H. 1. 13. [a] 'Said Medb,' Stowe. [8-8] Stowe and, similarly, H. 1. 13, Add. Dochè son of Maga met him and bade him welcome. "Welcome is thy coming, O Iliach," spake Dochè son of Maga. [9]"Who bids me welcome?" asked Iliach. "A comrade and friend of Loegaire Buadach am I, namely Dochè macMagach."[9] "Truly spoken I esteem that welcome," answered Iliach; "but do thou [10]for the sake of that welcome[10] come to me when now, alas, my deeds of arms will be over and my warlike vigour will have vanished, [11]when I will have spent my rage upon the hosts,[11] so that thou be the one to cut off my head and none other of the men of Erin. However, my sword shall remain with [W.4615.] thee [1]for thine own friend, even[1] for Loegaire [2]Buadach!"[2] [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. He assailed the men of Erin with his weapons till he had made an end of them. And when weapons failed he assailed the men of Erin with cobbles and boulders and huge clumps [3]of earth[3] till he had used them up. And when these weapons failed him he spent his rage on the man [4]that was nearest him[4] of the men of Erin, and bruised him grievously between his fore-arms [5]and his sides[5] and the palms of his hands, till he made a marrow-mass of him, of flesh and bones and sinews and skin. Hence in memory thereof, these two masses of marrow still live on side by side, the marrow-mass that Cuchulain made of the bones of the Ulstermen's cattle for the healing of Cethern son of Fintan,[a] and the marrow-mass that Iliach made of the bones of the men of Erin. Wherefore this was one of the three innumerable things of the Táin, the number of them that fell at the hands of Iliach. So that this is the 'Clump-fight' of Iliach. It is for this reason it is called the 'Clump-fight' of Iliach, because with cobbles and boulders and massy clumps he made his fight. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [a] See above, page 279. [6]Thereafter[6] Dochè son of Maga met him. "Is not this Iliach?" asked Dochè son of Maga. "It is truly I," Iliach gave answer; "and come to me now and cut off my head and let my sword remain with thee for thy friend, for Loegaire [7]Buadach ('the Victorious')."[7] [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. Dochè came near him and gave him a blow with the sword so that he severed his head, [8]and he took with him the head and the spoils vauntingly to where were Ailill and Medb.[8] Thus to this point, the 'Clump-fight' of Iliach. [8-8] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 295] XXIIIe HERE NOW THE DEER-STALKING OF AMARGIN IN TALTIU [W.4638.] This Amargin was the son of Cass who was son of Bacc who was son of Ross Ruad ('the Red') who was son of Rudraige, [1]father of Conall Cernach ('the Triumphant').[1] He came upon the warriors going over Taltiu westward, and he made them turn before him over Taltiu northwards. And he put his left[a] elbow under him in Taltiu. And his people furnished him with rocks and boulders and great clumps [2]of earth,[2] and he began to pelt the men of Erin till the end of three days and three nights, [3]and he did great slaughter among them[3] [4]so that no man could show his face to him in Taltiu.[4] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [a] As a challenge or sign of hostility. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 43b, 13-14. * * * * * [Page 296] XXIIIf THE ADVENTURES OF CUROI SON OF DARÈ FOLLOW NOW [W.4645.] He was told that a single man was checking and stopping four of the five grand provinces of Erin [1]during the three months of winter[1] from Monday at Summer's end till the beginning of Spring. And he felt it unworthy of himself and he deemed it too long that his people were without him. And [2]it was then[2] he set out [3]to the host[3] to fight and contend with Cuchulain. And when he was come to the place where Cuchulain was, he saw Cuchulain there moaning, full of wounds and pierced through with holes, and he felt it would not be honourable nor fair to fight and contend with him after the combat with Ferdiad. [4]Because it would be said it was not that Cuchulain died of the sores [LL.fo.93a.] and wounds which he would give him so much as of the wounds which Ferdiad had inflicted on him in the conflict before.[4] Be that as it might, Cuchulain offered to engage with him in battle and combat. [1-1] YBL. 43b, 17. [2-2] YBL. 43b, 14-15. [3-3] YBL. 43b, 15. [4-4] Reading with Stowe, which is to be preferred to LL. Thereupon Curoi set forth for to seek the men of Erin and, when he was near at hand, he espied Amargin there and his left elbow under him to the west of Taltiu. Curoi reached the men of Erin from the north. His people equipped him with rocks and boulders and great clumps, and he began to hurl them right over against Amargin, so that Badb's battle-stones collided in the clouds and in the air high above them, and every rock of them was shivered [W.4662.] into an hundred stones. "By the truth of thy valour, O Curoi," cried Medb, "desist from thy throwing, for no real succour nor help comes to us therefrom, but ill is the succour [1]and help[1] that thence come to us," "I pledge my word," cried Curoi, "I will not cease till the very day of doom and of life, till first Amargin cease!" "I will cease," said Amargin; "and do thou engage that thou wilt no more come to succour or give aid to the men of Erin." Curoi consented to that and went his way to return to his land and people. [1-1] Stowe. About this time [2]the hosts[2] went past Taltiu westwards. "It is not this was enjoined upon me," quoth Amargin: "never again to cast at the hosts [3]but rather that I should part from them."[3] And he went to the west of them and he turned them before him north-eastwards past Taltiu. And he began to pelt them for a long while and time [4]so that he slaughtered more of them than can be numbered.[4] [5]This is one of the three incalculable things on the Táin, the number of those he slew. And his son Conall Cernach ('the Victorious') remained with him providing him with stones and spears.[5] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. fo. 43b, 34-36. Then it was also that the men of Erin said it would be no disgrace for Amargin to leave the camp and quarters, and that the hosts would retire a day's march back to the north again, there to stop and stay, and for him to quit his feats of arms upon the hosts until such time as he would meet them on the day of the great battle when the four grand provinces of Erin would encounter at Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge. Amargin accepted that offer, and the hosts proceeded a day's march back to the northwards again. Wherefore the 'Deer-stalking' of Amargin in Taltiu [6]is the name of this tale.[6] [6-6] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 298] XXIV THE REPEATED WARNING OF SUALTAIM [1]Now while the deeds we have told here were being done,[1] [W.4685.] Sualtaim ('Goodly fosterer') son of Becaltach ('of Small belongings') son of Moraltach ('of Great belongings'), the same the father of Cuchulain macSualtaim, [2]of Sualtaim's Rath in the plain of Murthemne,[2] was told of the distress and [3]sore wounding[3] of his son contending in unequal combat on the Cualnge Cattle-spoil, even against Calatin Dana ('the Bold') with his seven and twenty[a] sons, and against Glass son of Delga, his grandson, [4]and at the last against Ferdiad son of Daman.[4] [1-1] YBL. 43b, 38-39. [2-2] YBL. 43b, 39-40. [3-3] Stowe. [a] 'Twelve,' YBL. 43b, 41. [4-4] Stowe. [5]It is then that Sualtaim said[5]: "Whate'er it be, [6]this that I hear[6] from afar," quoth Sualtaim, "it is the sky that bursts or the sea that ebbs or the earth that quakes, or is it the distress of my son overmatched in the strife on the Driving of the Kine of Cualnge?" [5-5] Stowe and YBL. 43b, 42. [6-6] Stowe. In that, indeed, Sualtaim spoke true. And he went to learn all after a while, without hastening on his way. And when Sualtaim was come to where [7]his son[7] Cuchulain was [8]and found him covered with wounds and bloody gashes and many stabs,[8] Sualtaim began to moan and lament [9]for Cuchulain.[9] [7-7] YBL. 43b, 46. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe. [W.4695.] Forsooth Cuchulain deemed it neither an honour nor glory that Sualtaim should bemoan and lament him, for Cuchulain knew that, wounded and injured though he was, Sualtaim would not be [1]the man[1] to avenge his wrong. For such was Sualtaim: He was no mean warrior and he was no mighty warrior, but only a good, worthy man was he. "Come, my father Sualtaim," said Cuchulain; [2]"cease thy sighing and mourning for me, and[2] do thou go to Emain [3]Macha[3] to the men of Ulster and tell them to come now to have a care for their droves, for no longer am I able to protect them in the gaps and passes of the land of Conalle Murthemni. All alone am I against four of the five grand provinces of Erin from Monday at Summer's end till the beginning of Spring, every day slaying a man on a ford and a hundred warriors every night. Fair fight is not granted me nor single combat, and no [LL.fo.93b.] one comes to aid me nor to succour. [4]And such is the measure of my wounds and my sores that I cannot bear my garments or my clothing to touch my skin, so that[4] spancel-hoops hold my cloak over me. Dry tufts of grass are stuffed in my wounds. [5]There is not the space of a needle's point from my crown to my sole without wound or sore, and[5] there is not a single hair [6]on my body[6] from my crown to my sole whereon the point of a needle could stand, without a drop of deep-red blood on the top of each hair, save the left hand alone which is holding my shield, and even there thrice fifty bloody wounds are upon it. [7]And let them straightway give battle to the warriors,[7] and unless they avenge this anon, they will never avenge it till the very day of doom and of life!" [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] YBL. 43b, 49. Sualtaim set out on Liath ('the Roan') of Macha as his only horse, with warning to the men of Ulster. And when [W.4716.] he was come alongside of Emain, he shouted these words there: "Men are slain, women stolen, cattle lifted, ye men of Ulster!" cried Sualtaim. He had not [1]the answer[1] that served him from the Ulstermen, and forasmuch as he had it not he went on further to the rampart of Emain. And he cried out the same words there: "Men are slain, women stolen, cattle lifted, ye men of Ulster!" cried Sualtaim. [1-1] Stowe. And [2]a second time[2] he had not the response that served him from the men of Ulster. Thus stood it among the Ulstermen: It was geis for the Ulstermen to speak before their king, geis for the king to speak before his [3]three[3] druids. Thereafter Sualtaim drove on to the 'Flag-stone of the hostages' in Emain Macha. He shouted the same words there: "Men are slain, women stolen, cows carried off!" "But who has slain them, and who has stolen them, and who has carried them off?" asked Cathba the druid. "Ailill and Medb have, [4]with the cunning of Fergus mac Roig,[4] overwhelmed you. [5]Your people have been harassed as far as Dûn Sobairche,"[5] said Sualtaim. "Your wives and your sons and your children, your steeds and your stock of horses, your herds and your flocks and your droves of cattle have been carried away. Cuchulain all alone is checking and staying the hosts of the four great provinces of Erin at the gaps and passes of the land of Conalle Murthemni. Fair fight is refused him, nor is he granted single combat, nor comes any one to succour or aid him. [6]Cuchulain has not suffered them to enter the plain of Murthemne or into the land of Ross. Three winter months is he there.[6] The youth is wounded, his limbs are out of joint. Spancel-hoops hold his cloak over him. There is not a hair from his crown to his sole whereon the point of a needle could stand, without a drop of deep-red [W.4737.] blood on the top of each hair, except his left hand alone which is holding his shield, and even there thrice fifty bloody wounds are upon it. And unless ye avenge this betimes, ye will never avenge it till the end of time and of life." [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 44a, 9. [4-4] YBL. 44a, 13. [5-5] YBL. 44a, 13. [6-6] YBL. 44a, 15. [LL.fo.94a.] "Fitter is death and doom and destruction for the man that so incites the king!" quoth Cathba the druid. "In good sooth, it is true!" [1]said the Ulstermen[1] all together. [1-1] Stowe. [2]Thereupon[2] Sualtaim went his way [3]from them,[3] indignant and angry because from the men of Ulster he had not had the answer that served him. Then reared Liath ('the Roan') of Macha under Sualtaim and dashed on to the ramparts of Emain. Thereat [4]Sualtaim fell under his own shield, so that[4] his own shield turned on Sualtaim and the [5]scalloped[5] edge of the shield severed Sualtaim's head, [6]though others say he was asleep on the stone, and that he fell thence onto his shield on awaking.[6] [7]Hence this is the 'Tragical Death of Sualtaim.'[7] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 44a, 28. [6-6] YBL. 44a, 32-33. [7-7] Stowe. The horse himself turned back again to Emain, and the shield on the horse and the head on the shield. And Sualtaim's head uttered the same words: "Men are slain, women stolen, cattle lifted, ye men of Ulster!" spake the head of Sualtaim. "Some deal too great is that cry," quoth Conchobar; "for yet is the sky above us, the earth underneath and the sea round about us. And unless the heavens shall fall with their showers of stars on the man-like[a] face of the world, or unless the ground burst open in quakes [8]beneath our feet,[8] or unless the furrowed, blue-bordered ocean break o'er the tufted brow of the earth, will I restore [W.4756.] to her byre and her stall, to her abode and her dwelling-place, each and every cow and woman of them with victory of battle and contest and combat!" [a] Reading with LL. 5027 and 5975, which gives better meaning than the expression 'fort-face,' of LL. [8-8] Stowe. Thereupon a runner of his body-guard was summoned to Conchobar, Findchad Ferbenduma ('he of the copper Horn') to wit, son of Fraech Lethan ('the Broad'), and Conchobar bade him go assemble and muster the men of Ulster. And in like manner, in the drunkenness of sleep and of his 'Pains,' Conchobar enumerated to him their quick and their dead, and he uttered these words:-- "Arise, O Findchad! [1]Thee I send forth:[1] A negligence not to be wished (?); Proclaim it to the chiefs of Ulster!" [1-1] Reading with YBL. 44a, 41. [2]The Order of the men of Ulster.[2] [2-2] Stowe and YBL. 44a, 41. [3]Go thou forward to Derg,[3] to Deda at his bay, to Lemain, to Follach, to Illann [4]son of Fergus[4] at Gabar, to Dornaill Feic at Imchlar, to Derg Imdirg, to Fedilmid [5]son of Ilar Cetach of Cualnge[5] at Ellonn, to Reochad [6]son of Fathemon[6] at Rigdonn, to Lug, to Lugaid, to Cathba at his bay, to Carfre at Ellne, to Laeg at his causeway, to Gemen in his valley, to Senoll Uathach at Diabul Ard, [LL.fo.94b.] to Cethern son of Fintan at Carrloig, [7]to Cethern at Eillne,[7] to Tarothor, to Mulach at his fort, to the royal poet Amargin, to Uathach Bodba, to the Morrigan at Dûn Sobairche, to Eit, to Roth, to Fiachna at his mound, to Dam drend, to Andiaraid, to Manè Macbriathrach ('the Eloquent'), to Dam Derg ('the Red'), to Mod, to Mothus, to Iarmothus at Corp Cliath, to Gabarlaig in Linè, to Eocho Semnech in Semne, [8]to Eochaid Laithrech at Latharne,[8] to Celtchar son of Uthecar in Lethglas, to Errgè Echbel ('Horsemouth') at Bri Errgi ('Errgè's Hill'), to Uma son of Remarfessach ('Thickbeard') at Fedain [W.4819.] in Cualnge, to Munremur ('Thickneck') son of Gerrcend ('Shorthead') at Moduirn, to Senlabair at Canann Gall ('of the Foreigners'), to Fallomain, to Lugaid, [1]king of the Fir Bolg,[1] to Lugaid of Linè, to Buadgalach ('the Victorious Hero'), to Abach, [2]to Fergna at Barrene,[2] to Anè, to Aniach, [3]to Abra,[3] to Loegaire Milbel ('Honey-mouth'), at his fire (?), to the three sons of Trosgal at Bacc Draigin ('Thornhollow'), to Drend, to Drenda, to Drendus, to Cimb, to Cimbil, to Cimbin at Fan na Coba ('the Slope of ...), to Fachtna son of Sencha at his rath, to Sencha, to Senchainte, to Bricriu, to Briccirne son of Bricriu, to Brecc, to Buan, to Barach, to Oengus of the Fir Bolg, to Oengus son of Letè, [4]to Fergus son of Letè,[4] to ...[a] (?), to Bruachar, to Slangè, to Conall Cernach ('the Victorious') son of Amargin at Midluachar, to Cuchulain son of Sualtaim at Murthemne, to Menn son of Salcholga at Rena ('the Waterways'), to the three sons of Fiachna, Ross, Darè and Imchad at Cualnge, to Connud macMorna at the Callann, to Condra son of Amargin at his rath, to Amargin at Ess Ruaid, to Laeg at Leirè, to Oengus Ferbenduma ('him of the copper Horn'), to Ogma Grianainech ('Sun-faced') at Brecc, to Eo macFornè, to Tollcend, to Sudè at Mag Eol in Mag Dea, to Conla Saeb at Uarba, to Loegaire [5]Buadach ('the Triumphant')[5] at Immail, to Amargin Iarngiunnach ('the Darkhaired') at Taltiu, [LL.fo.94c.] to Furbaide Ferbenn ('the man with Horns on his helmet') son of Conchobar at Sil in Mag Inis ('the Island-plain'), to Cuscraid Menn ('the Stammerer') of Macha son of Conchobar at Macha, to Fingin at Fingabair, to Blae 'the Hospitaller of a score,' to Blae 'the Hospitaller of six men,' to Eogan son of Durthacht at Fernmag, to Ord at Mag Sered, to Oblan, to Obail at Culenn, to Curethar, to Liana at Ethbenna, to Fernel, to Finnchad [W.4892.] of Sliab Betha, to Talgoba [1]at Bernas ('the Gap'),[1] to Menn son of the Fir Cualann at Mag Dula, to Iroll at Blarinè, [2]to Tobraidè son of Ailcoth,[2] to Ialla Ilgremma ('of many Captures'), to Ross son of Ulchrothach ('the Many-shaped') at Mag Dobla, to Ailill Finn ('the Fair'), to Fethen Bec ('the Little'), to Fethan Mor ('the Big'), to Fergus son of Finnchoem ('the Fair-comely') at Burach, to Olchar, to Ebadchar, to Uathchar, to Etatchar, to Oengus son of Oenlam Gabè ('the one-handed Smith'), to Ruadri at Mag Tail, [3]to Manè son of Crom ('the Bent'), to Nindech son of Cronn, to ... (?), to Mal macRochraidi,[3] to Beothach ('the Lively'), to Briathrach ('the Wordy') at his rath, to Narithla at Lothor, to the two sons of Feic, Muridach and Cotreb, to Fintan son of Niamglonnach ('of brilliant Exploits') at Dun da Benn ('the two-gabled Dûn'), to Feradach Finn Fechtnach ('the Fair and Upright') at Nemed ('the Shrine') of Sliab Fuait, [LL.fo.95a.] to Amargin son of Ecetsalach ('the grimy Smith') at the Buas, to Bunnè son of Munremar, to Fidach son of Dorarè, [4]to Muirnè Menn ('the Stammerer').[4] [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] YBL. 44a, 46. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] YBL. 44a, 45. [7-7] YBL. 44b, 7-8. [8-8] YBL. 44b, 28-29, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [1-1] H. 1. 13 and YBL. 44b, 36. [2-2] YBL. 44b, 40-41. [3-3] YBL. 44b, 44. [4-4] Stowe and YBL. 44b, 14. [a] The readings are corrupt. [5-5] YBL. 44b, 44. [1-1] Reading with YBL. 45a, 14; LL. is corrupt. [2-2] YBL. 45a, 3. [3-3] YBL. 45a, 7. [4-4] YBL. 45a, 14. It was nowise a heavy task for Finnchad to gather this assembly and muster which Conchobar had enjoined upon him. For all there were [5]of Ulstermen[5] to the east of Emain and to the west of Emain and to the north of Emain set out at once for the field of Emain in the service of their king, and at the word of their lord, and to await the recovery of Conchobar. Such as were from the south of Emain [6]waited not for Conchobar, but[6] set out directly on the trail of the host and on the hoof-prints of the Táin. [5-5] Stowe. The first stage the men of Ulster marched under Conchobar was [7]from Emain[7] to the green in Iraird Cuillinn [W.4932.] that night. "Why now delay we, ye men?" Conchobar asked. "We await thy sons," they answered; "Fiacha and Fiachna who have gone [1]with a division[1] from us [2]to Tara[2] to fetch Erc son of thy daughter Fedlimid Nocruthach ('Nine-shaped'), son also of Carbre Niafer [3]king of Tara,[3] to the end that he should come with the number of his muster and his troops, his levy and his forces to our host at this time. [4]Until these two divisions come to us, no further advance will we make from this place."[4] "By my word," exclaimed Conchobar; "I will delay here no longer for them, lest the men of Erin hear of my rising from the weakness and 'Pains' wherein I was. For the men of Erin know not even if I am still alive!" [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe and YBL. 45a, 24. [1-1] YBL. 45a, 26. [2-2] YBL. 45a, 27. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 45a, 29. Thereupon Conchobar and Celtchar proceeded with thirty hundred spear-bristling chariot-fighters to Ath Irmidi ('the Ford of Spear-points'). And there met them there eight-score huge men of the body-guard of Ailill and Medb, with eight-score women [5]of the Ulstermen's women[5] as their spoils. Thus was their portion of the plunder of Ulster: A woman-captive in the hand of each man of them. Conchobar and Celtchar struck off their eight-score heads and released their eight-score captive-women. Ath Irmidi ('the Ford of Spear-points') was the name of the place till that time; Ath Fenè is its name ever since. It is for this it is called Ath Fenè, because the warriors of the Fenè from the east and the warriors of the Fenè from the west encountered one another in battle and contest man for man on the brink of the ford. [6]Touching the four grand provinces of Erin, they encamped at Slemain Midè ('Slane of Meath') that night, and[6] Conchobar and Celtchar returned that night to the green in Iraird Cuillinn hard by the men of Ulster. Thereupon Celtchar aroused the men of Ulster. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe and H. 1. 13. * * * * * [Page 306] XXIVa [1]THE AGITATION OF CELTCHAR[1] [W.4954.] It was then that Celtchar [2]in his sleep[2] uttered these words [3]to Conchobar[3] in the midst of the men of Ulster in Iraird Cuillinn that night:[a]-- "Thirty hundred chariot-men; An hundred horse-companions stout; An hundred with an hundred druids! To lead us will not fail The hero of the land, Conchobar with hosts around him! Let the battle line be formed! Gather now, ye warriors! Battle shall be fought At Garech and Ilgarech On aftermorrow's morn!" [1-1] This title is supplied by the present writer. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] YBL. 45a, 38. [a] I can make nothing of the first four lines of the following poem, and they are consequently omitted from the translation. The translation of the remainder of the _rosc_ is largely conjectural. [4]Or it was Cuscraid Menn ('the Stammerer') of Macha, Conchobar's son, who sang this lay on the night before the battle ...,[b] after the lay 'Arise ye Kings of Macha' which Loegaire Buadach ('the Victorious ') sang.[4] [4-4] YBL. 45a, 45-45b, 2. [b] There is a small gap in the MS. On that same night Cormac Conlongas, Conchobar's son, spake these words to the men of Erin at Slemain Midè that night:-- [W.4973.] "A wonder of a morning, A wondrous [1]time![1] When hosts will be confused, [2]Kings[2] turned back in flight! [3]Necks will be broken, The sand[a] made red,[3] When forth breaks the battle, The seven chieftains before, Of Ulster's host round Conchobar! Their women will they defend, For their herds will they fight At Garech and Ilgarech, On the morning after the morrow! [4]Heroes will be slaughtered then, Hounds cut to pieces, Steeds overwhelmed!"[4] [1-1] YBL. 45b, 7. [2-2] Reading with YBL. 45b, 8; LL. has 'hosts'. [3-3] YBL. 45b, 8-9. [a] Or, 'the sun.' [4-4] YBL. 45b, 11-14. On that same night, Dubthach Doel ('the Scorpion')[b] of Ulster [5]saw the dream wherein were the hosts at Garech and Ilgarech. Then it was[5] he uttered these words [6]in his sleep[6] among the men of Erin at Slemain Midè that night:-- "Great be the morn, The morn of Meath! Great be the truce The [7]truce[7] of Culenn! "Great be the fight, The fight of [8]Clartha![8] Great, too, the steeds, The steeds of Assal! "Great be the plague, The plague of Tuath-Bressi![c] Great be the storm, Ulster's battle-storm round Conchobar! "Their women will they defend, For their herds will they fight At Garech and Ilgarech, On the morning after the morrow!" [5-5] YBL. 45b, 4-5. [6-6] YBL. 45b, 5-6. [7-7] YBL. 45b, 19. [8-8] Reading with Stowe. [b] See note, page 198. [c] Probably Connacht. [W.5003.] Then [1]when the hosts were assembled at Garech and Ilgarech,[1] Dubthach was awakened from his sleep, so that Nemain brought confusion on the host and they fell trembling in their arms under the points of their spears and weapons, so that an hundred warriors of them fell dead [LL.fo.95b.] in the midst of their camp and quarters at the fearfulness of the shout they raised on high. Be that as it would, that night was not the calmest for the men of Erin that they passed before or since, because of the forebodings and predictions and because of the spectres and visions that were revealed to them. [1-1] YBL. 45b, 4-5. * * * * * [Page 309] XXV [1]HERE FOLLOWETH THE ARRAY OF THE HOST[1] [2]While these things were being done, the Connachtmen by the counsel of Ailill, Medb, and Fergus, resolved to send messengers from thence to spy out the men of Ulster, to make certain if they had taken possession of the plain.[2] [W.5011.] Said Ailill: "Truly have I succeeded," said he, "in laying waste Ulster and the land of the Picts [3]and Cualnge[3] from Monday at Summer's end till Spring's beginning. We have taken their women and their sons and their children, their steeds and their troops of horses, their herds and their flocks and their droves. We have laid level their hills after them, so that they have become lowlands and are all one height. For this cause, will I await them no longer here, but let them offer me battle on Mag Ai, if so it please them. But, say here what we will, some one shall go forth [4]from us[4] to watch the great, wide plain of Meath, to know if the men of Ulster come hither. And, should the men of Ulster come hither, I will in no wise be the first to retreat [5]till battle be given them,[5] for it was never the wont of a good king to retreat." [1-1] YBL. 45b, 22. [2-2] YBL. 45b, 23-26. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Who should fitly go thither?" asked all. "Who but macRoth our chief runner yonder," [6]answered another group of them.[6] [6-6] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [W.5023.] MacRoth went his way to survey the great wide-spreading plain of Meath. Not long was macRoth there when he heard something: A rush and a crash and a clatter and a clash. Not slight the thing he judged it to be, but as though it was the firmament itself that fell on the man-like face of the world, or as though it was the furrowed, blue-bordered ocean that broke o'er the tufted brow of the earth, or as though the ground had gone asunder in quakes, or as though the forest fell, each of the trees in the crotches and forks and branches of the other. But why give further accounts! The wood's wild beasts were hunted out on the plain, so that beneath them the grassy forelocks of the plain of Meath were not to be seen. MacRoth hastened to tell this tale at the place where were Ailill and Medb and Fergus and the nobles of the men of Erin. MacRoth related the whole matter to them. "What was that there, O Fergus?" asked Ailill; [1]"to what likenest thou it?"[1] "Not hard [2]for me to say what it resembled.[2] It was the rush and tramp and clatter that he heard," said Fergus, "the din and thunder, the tumult and turmoil [3]of the Ulstermen.[3] It was the men of Ulster [4]arising from their 'Pains,'[4] who have come into the woods, the throng of champions and battle-heroes cutting down with their swords the woods in the way of their chariots. This it was that hath put the wild animals to flight on the plain, so that the grassy forelocks of the field of Meath are hidden beneath them!" [1-1] YBL. 46a, 2. [2-2] YBL. 46a, 1-2. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] YBL. 46a, 3-4. Another time macRoth surveyed the plain and he saw something: A heavy, grey mist that filled [5]the glens and the slopes,[5] [6]the upper void and veil,[6] the space between the heavens and earth. It seemed to him that [7]the hills[7] were islands in lakes that he saw rising up out of the sloping [W.5044.] valleys of mist. It seemed to him they were wide-yawning caverns that he saw there leading into that mist. It seemed to him it was all-white, flaxy sheets of linen, or sifted snow a-falling that he saw there through a rift in the mist. It seemed to him it was a flight of many, varied, wonderful, numerous birds [1]that he[a] saw in the same mist,[1] or the constant sparkling of shining stars [LL.fo.96a.] on a bright, clear night of hoar-frost, or sparks of red-flaming fire. He heard something: A rush and a din and a hurtling sound, a noise and a thunder, a tumult and a turmoil, [2]and a great wind that all but took the hair from his[b] head and threw him[c] on his[b] back, and yet the wind of the day was not great.[2] He hastened on to impart these tidings at the place where were Ailill and Medb and Fergus and the nobles of the men of Erin. He reported the matter to them. [5-5] YBL. 45b, 40-41. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] YBL. 45b, 41. [a] MS.: 'I.' [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] YBL. 45b, 46-46a, 1. [b] MS. 'my.' [c] MS. 'me.' "But what was that, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "Not hard to say," Fergus made answer. "This was the great, grey mist that he saw which filled the space between the heavens and earth, namely, the streaming breath both of horses and men, the smoke of the earth and the dust of the roads as it rose over them with the driving of the wind, so that it made a heavy, deep-grey misty vapour thereof in the clouds and the air. "These were the islands over lakes that he saw there, and the tops of hills and of heights over the sloping valleys of mist, even the heads of the champions and battle-heroes over the chariots and the chariots withal. These were the wide-yawning caverns that he saw there leading into that mist, even the mouths and the nostrils of the horses and champions exhaling and inhaling the sun and the wind with the speed of the host. These were the all-white, flax-like cloths that he saw there or the streaming [W.5066.] snow a-falling, to wit the foam and the froth that the bridles of the reins flung from the bits of strong, stout steeds with the stress, [1]with the swiftness and strength and speed[1] of the host. [1-1] H. 1. 13. "These were the flights of many, various, wonderful, numerous birds that he saw there, even the dust of the ground and the top of the earth [2]and the sods[2] which the horses flung from their feet and their hoofs and arose [3]over the heads of the host[3] with the driving of the wind. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. "This was the rush and the crash and the hurtling sound, the din and the thunder, the clatter and clash that he heard there, to wit the shield-shock of shields and the jangle of javelins and the hard-smiting of swords and the ring of helmets, the clangour of breast-plates and the rattle of arms and the fury of feats, the straining of ropes and the whirr of wheels and the trampling of horses' hoofs and the creaking of chariots, and the deep voices of heroes and battle-warriors coming hither towards us. "This was the constant sparkling of shining stars on a bright, clear night that he saw there and the sparks of red-flaming fire, even the bloodthirsty, terrible eyes of the champions and battle-warriors from under beautiful, well-shaped, finely-adorned battle-helmets; eyes full of the fury and rage they brought with them, against the which neither before nor since has equal combat nor overwhelming force of battle prevailed, and against which it will never prevail till the very day of doom and of life!" "We make not much of that," quoth Medb;[a] [4]"we will await them.[4] [5]For[5] there are goodly warriors and goodly fighting-men with us to cope with them." [6]"Thou shall have need of them," answered Fergus.[6] "Truly, I count not on that, O Medb. For I give my word, thou [W.5087.] shalt find no host in [1]all[1] Erin, nor in Alba, [2]nor in the western part of the world from Greece and Scythia westwards to the Orkney Islands, the Pillars of Hercules, Bregon's Tower and the islands of Cadiz[2] to cope with the men of Ulster when once their anger comes on them!" [a] 'Ailill,' YBL. 46a, 23. [4-4] YBL. 46a, 22. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] YBL. 46a, 23. [1-1] YBL. 46a, 24. [2-2] YBL. 45a, 25-28. Then did the four grand provinces of Erin pitch camp and make lodgment at Clartha for that night. They sent forth folk to keep watch and guard against Ulster, to the end that the Ulstermen might not come upon them without warning, without notice. Then it was that Conchobar and Celtchar with thirty hundred bristling chariot-fighters set forth, till they halted at Slemain Midè ('Slane of Meath') [LL.fo.96b.] in the rear of the host of Erin. But, though 'halted' we have said, [3]a very brief halt made they there.[3] Not straightway pitched they camp, but proceeded for a favourable sign to the quarters of Ailill and Medb, so they might be the first of all to redden their hands [4]on the men of Erin.[4] [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5]Then did macRoth go again to view the hosting of the men of Ulster, so that he reached their encampment at Slane of Meath.[5] It was not long macRoth had been there when he saw something: An incomparable, immense troop of horsemen in Slane of Meath coming straight from the north-east. He hastened forward to where were Ailill and Medb and Fergus and the chiefs of the men of Erin. Ailill asked tidings of him on his arrival: "Say, macRoth," queried Ailill; "sawest thou aught of the men of Ulster on the trail of the host this day?" "Truly I know not," answered macRoth; "but I saw an incomparable, immense troop of horsemen in Slane of Meath coming straight from the north-east." "But how many numbered the horse-troop?" asked Ailill. "Not fewer, meseemed, [W.5107.] than thirty hundred fully armed chariot-fighters were they, even ten hundred and twenty hundred fully armed chariot-fighters," macRoth made answer. [5-5] YBL. 46a, 28-31. "So, O Fergus," quoth Ailill, [1]"those are the warriors of Ulster with Conchobar![1] How thinkest thou to terrify us till now with the smoke and dust and the breath of a mighty host, while all the battle-force thou hast is that we see yonder!" [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "A little too soon belittlest thou them," Fergus retorted; "for mayhap the bands are more numerous than is said they are." "Let us take good, swift counsel on the matter," said Medb; "for yon huge, most fierce, most furious man will attack us we ween, Conchobar, to wit, son of Fachtna Fathach ('the Giant') son of Ross Ruad ('the Red') son of Rudraige, himself High King of Ulster and son of the High King of Erin. Let there be a hollow array of the men of Erin before Conchobar and a force of thirty hundred ready to close in from behind, and the men shall be taken and in no wise wounded; for, no more than is a caitiff's lot is this whereto they are come!" Wherefore this is the third most derisive word that was spoken on the Cattle-lifting of Cualnge, even to take Conchobar [2]and his people[2] prisoners without wounding, and to inflict a caitiff's lot on the ten hundred and twenty hundred who accompanied the kings of Ulster. [2-2] Stowe. And Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar heard that, and he knew that unless he took vengeance at once upon Medb for her great boast, he would not avenge it till the very day of doom and of life. It was then that Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar arose with his troop of thirty hundred to inflict the revenge of battle and prowess upon Ailill and Medb. Ailill arose [W.5129.] with his thirty hundred to meet him. Medb arose with her thirty hundred. The Manè arose with their thirty hundred. The sons of Maga arose with their thirty hundred. The Leinstermen and the Munstermen and the people of Temair arose and made interposition between them, so that on both sides each warrior sat down near to the other and near by his arms. Meanwhile a hollow array of men was made by Medb to face Conchobar and a [1]warlike[1] band of thirty hundred ready to close in from behind. Conchobar proceeded to attack the circle of men, [2]to force an opening.[2] And he was far from seeking any particular breach, but he worked a small gap, broad enough for a man-at-arms, right in front over against him in the circle of combatants, and effected a breach of an hundred on his right side, and a breach of an hundred on his left, and he turned in on them, and mingled [3]among them[3] on their ground, and there fell of them eight hundred fully brave warriors at his hands. And thereafter he left them without blood or bleeding from himself and took his station in Slane of Meath at the head of the men of Ulster. [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Reading with Stowe. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Come, ye men of Erin!" cried Ailill. "Let some one go hence to scan the wide-stretching plain of Meath, to know in what guise the men of Ulster come to the height in Slane of Meath, to bring us an account of their arms and their gear [4]and their trappings, their kings and their royal leaders,[4] their champions and battle-warriors and gap-breakers of hundreds and their yeomen, [5]to which to listen will shorten the time for us."[5] [LL.fo.97a.] "Who should go thither?" asked all. "Who but macRoth the chief runner," Aililla[a] made answer. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5-5] Following Stowe. [a] 'Fergus,' H. 1. 13 and Stowe. MacRoth went his way till he took his station in Slane [W.5151.] of Meath, awaiting the men of Ulster. The Ulstermen were busied in marching to that hill from gloaming of early morn till sunset hour in the evening. In such manner the earth was never left naked under them during all that time, every division of them under its king, and every band under its leader, and every king and every leader and every lord with the number of his force and his muster, his gathering and his levy apart. Howbeit, by sunset hour in the evening all the men of Ulster had taken position on that height in Slane of Meath. MacRoth came forward with the account of their first company to the place where Ailill and Medb and Fergus were and the nobles of the men of Erin. Ailill and Medb asked tidings of him when he arrived. "Come, macRoth," quoth Ailill, "tell us in what manner of array do the Ulstermen advance to the hill of Slane in Meath?" "Truly, I know not," answered macRoth, "except [1]this alone:[1] There came a fiery, powerful, most well-favoured company upon the hill of Slane in Meath," said macRoth. "It seemed, on scanning and spying, that[a] thrice thirty hundred[a] warriors were in it. [2]Anon[2] they all doffed their garments and threw up a turfy mound for their leader to sit on. A youth, slender, long, exceeding great of stature, fair to behold, proud of mien, in the van of the troop. Fairest of the princes of the world was he in the midst of his warriors, as well in fearsomeness and in awe, in courage and command; fair-yellow hair, curled, delicately arranged in ridges and bushy had he [3]reaching to the nape of his neck;[3] a comely, clear-rosy countenance he had, [4]narrow below and broad above;[4] a deep-blue-grey, angry eye, devouring. [W.5175.] and fear-inspiring, in his head; a two-forked beard, yellow, fairly curled, on his chin; a purple mantle with fringes and five-folded wrapped around him; a [1]conspicuous,[1] salmon-shaped brooch of [2]red[2] gold in the mantle over his breast; a shining-white, hooded shirt under red interweaving of red gold he wore next his white skin; a bright-white shield with figures of beasts of red gold thereon; a gold-hilted, hammered sword in one of his hands; a broad and grey-green lance-head [3]on an ashen shaft[3] in the other; [4]the pillar of a king's house on his back.[4] That warrior took his station on the top of the mound, so that each one came up to him and his company took their places around him. [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [a-a] 'Thirty hundred,' Stowe, H. 1. 13, and YBL. 46a, 47. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13, and, similarly, YBL. 46a, 42. [4-4] YBL. 46a, 47. [1-1] YBL. 46a, 44. [2-2] YBL. 46a, 44. [3-3] YBL. 46b, 3. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. That is, 'a great spear.' "There came also another company to the same height in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "Second of the two divisions of thirty hundred it was, [5]and next to the other in numbers and attendance, in accoutrements and fearfulness and horror.[5] A [6]great,[6] [7]hero-like,[7] well-favoured warrior was there likewise at the head of that company; fair-yellow hair he wore; a bright, curly beard about his chin; a green mantle wrapped around him; a bright-silvern pin in the mantle at his breast; a brown-red, soldier's tunic under red interweaving of red gold trussed up against his fair skin down to his knees; a candle of a king's house[a] in his hand, with windings of silver and bands of gold; wonderful the feats and games performed with the spear in the hand of the youth; the windings of silver ran round it by the side of the bands of gold, now from the butt to the socket, while at other times it was the bands of gold that circled by the side of the windings of silver from socket to spear-end; a smiting shield with [W.5195.] plaited edge he bore; a sword with hilt-pieces of ivory, and ornamented with thread of gold on his left side. This warrior took his station on the left of the leader[1] of the first company[1] who had come to the mound, and his followers got them seated around him. But, though we have said they sat, they did not verily seat themselves at once, but [2]they sat thus,[2] with their knees on the ground and the rims of their shields against their chins, so long it seemed to them till they should be let at us. But, one thing yet: Meseemed that [LL.fo.97b.] the great, fierce youth who led the troop stammered grievously [3]in his speech.[3] [5-5] YBL. 46b, 8-9. [6-6] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [7-7] YBL. 46b, 9. [a] That is, 'a flaming-red spear.' [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] YBL. 46b, 19. [3-3] YBL. 46b, 21. "Still another battalion there came to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "Second to its fellow in number and followers and apparel. A handsome, broad-headed warrior at the head of that troop; dark-yellow hair in tresses he wore; an eager, dark-blue eye rolling restlessly in his head; a bright, curled beard, forked and tapering, at his chin; a dark-grey cloak with fringes, folded around him; a leaf-shaped brooch of silvered bronze in the mantle over his breast; a white-hooded shirt [4]reaching to his knees[4] [5]was girded[5] next to his skin; a bright shield with raised devices of beasts thereon he bore; a sword with white silver hilt in battle-scabbard at his waist; the pillar of a king's palace he bore on his back. This warrior took his station on the hill of turf facing the warrior who first came to the hill, and his company took their places around him. But sweet as the tone of lutes in masters' hands when long sustained, so seemed to me the melodious sound of the voice and the speech of the youth conversing with the warrior who first came to the hill and offering him every counsel." [4-4] YBL. 46b, 30. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "But who might that be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. [W.5218.] "Truly, we know him well," Fergus made answer. "This, to wit, is the first hero for whom they threw up the mound of turf on the height of the hill and whom all approached, namely, Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathach son of Ross Ruad son of Rudraige, High King of Ulster, and son of the High King of Erin. [1]It is he that sat on the mound of sods.[1] This, to wit, is the stammering, great warrior," [2]Fergus continued,[2] "who took station on [3]his father[3] Conchobar's left, namely, Cuscraid Menn ('the Stammerer') of Macha, Conchobar's son, with the sons of the king of Ulster [4]and the sons of the princes of the men of Erin[4] close by him. This is the spear he saw in his hand, even the 'Torch of Cuscraid,' with its windings of silver and bands of gold. It is the wont of that spear that neither before nor after do the silver windings run round it by the side of the bands of gold but only on the eve of a triumph. Belike, it is almost before a triumph they course round it now. [1-1] YBL. 46b, 36. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 46b, 40. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "The well-favoured, broad-headed warrior who seated himself on the hill in the presence of the youth who first came on the mound, namely is Sencha son of Ailill son of Maelcho 'the Eloquent' of Ulster, he that is wont to appease the hosts of the men of Erin. But, yet a word more I say: It is not the counsel of cowardice nor of fear that he gives his lord this day on the day of strife, but counsel to act with valour and courage and wisdom and cunning. But, again one word further I say," added Fergus: "It is a goodly people for performing great deeds that has risen there early this day around Conchobar!" "We make not much of them," quoth Medb; "we have goodly warriors and stout youths to deal with them." "I count not that for much," answered Fergus again; "but I say this word: Thou wilt not find in Erin nor in Alba a host to be a match [W.5242.] for the men of Ulster when once their anger comes upon them." "Yet another company there came to the same mound in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. [1]"Not fewer than a battalion of thirty hundred was in it.[1] A fair, tall, great warrior [LL.fo.98a.] in the van of that battalion, and he of fiery spirit, with noble countenance. Brown, dark-coloured hair he wore, smooth and thin on his forehead; a dull-grey cloak girt around him; a silver pin in the cloak over his breast; a bright, sleeved tunic next to his skin; a curved shield with sharp, plaited rim he bore; a five-pronged spear in his hand; a straightsword with ornaments of walrus-tooth in its place." "But, who might that be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "In very sooth, we know him," Fergus made answer. "The putting of hands on strife is he; a battle-warrior for combat and destruction on foes is the one who is come there, [2]even[2] Eogan son of Durthacht, [3]king of the stout-handed[3] Fernmag in the north, is the one yonder." [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13, and, similarly, YBL. 47a, 1. [2-2] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47a, 12. [3-3] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13; LL. seems to be corrupt here. "Another battalion there came thither to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "It is surely no false word that boldly they took the hill. Deep the terror, great the fear they brought with them. [4]Terrible the clangour of arms they made as they advanced.[4] Their raiment all thrown back behind them. A great-headed, warlike warrior in the forefront of the company, and he eager for blood, dreadful to look upon; spare, grizzly hair had he; huge, yellow eyes in his head; a yellow, close-napped (?) cloak around him; a pin of yellow gold in the cloak over his breast; a yellow tunic with lace next his skin; [5]a great, smiting sword under his waist;[5] in his hand a nailed, broad-plated, long-shafted spear with a drop [W.5262.] of blood on its edge." "But, who might that be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "In truth then, we know him, that warrior," Fergus gave answer. "Neither battle nor battle-field nor combat nor contest shuns he, the one who is come thither. Loegaire Buadach ('the Victorious') son of Connad Buidè ('the Yellow') son of Iliach, from Immail in the north, is the one yonder." [4-4] YBL. 47a, 18-19. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Another company there came there too to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A thick-necked, burly warrior at the head of that troop; black, bushy hair he had; a scarred, crimsoned face he had; a deep-blue-grey, blazing eye in his head; a spear set with eyes of glass, casting shadows over him; a black shield with a hard rim of silvered bronze upon him; a dun-coloured cloak of curly wool about him; a brooch of pale gold in the cloak over his breast; a three-striped tunic of silk [1]with red embroidery[1] next to his skin; a sword with ivory hilt and with ornamentation of thread of gold over his dress on the outside." "But, who might that man be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "We know him full well," Fergus made answer. "He is the putting of hand on strife; a wave of the high sea that drowneth [2]the small streams;[2] he is the man of three shouts; the sea over walls; [3]the venomous destruction of enemies,[3] the man who comes thither. Muremur ('Thick-neck') son of Gerrcend ('Short-head') from Moduirn in the north is the one yonder." [1-1] YBL. 47a, 40. [2-2] YBL. 47a, 43. [3-3] YBL. 47a, 44. "Still another company there came to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. [4]"Not fewer than thirty hundred, the battle line of the troops.[4] A [5]broad-headed,[5] stout warrior, pleasantly found of limb, in the front of that troop; he is dried and sallow; he is wild and bull-like; a dun, round eye, proud in his head; [W.5283.] yellow, very curly is his hair; a red, round shield with hard-silver rim about it he bore; a [1]trebly riveted,[1] broad-plated, long-shafted spear in his hand; a streaked-grey cloak around him; a salmon-shaped brooch of copper in the cloak over his breast; a hooded kirtle girded around him reaching down to his calves; a straightsword with ornaments of walrus-tooth on his left thigh." "But who might he be?" [LL.fo.98b.] asked Ailill of Fergus. "I know him indeed," Fergus made answer. "He is the prop of battle; [2]he is the wild heat of anger; he is the daring of every battle;[2] he is the triumph of every combat; he is the tool that pierces, is the man who comes thither. Connud macMorna, from the Callann in the north, is the man yonder." [4-4] YBL. 47b, 12-13. [5-5] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13. "There came still another company to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. [3]"A company most fair to look upon, most notable both in numbers and in attendance and apparel.[3] It is indeed no lying word, it is with might and storm they gained the hill, so that [4]with the clash of arms they made at the approach of that company[4] they startled the hosts that had arrived there before them. A man, comely and noble, in advance of that band; most well-favoured to see of the men of the world, whether in shape or form or frame; [5]whether in hair or eyes or fearfulness; whether in voice or brightness or knowledge or adornment; whether in rank or wisdom or kindred;[5] whether in arms or apparel; whether in size or worth or beauty; whether in figure or valour or conduct." [6]"Who might that man be, O Fergus?" asked Ailill.[6] "Then it is surely no lying word," Fergus made answer: "A fitting saying is this, 'No fool 'mongst the naked'[a] is he who [W.5299.] comes thither. He is the foe of all others; he is a power irresistible; the storm-wave that drowneth, the glitter of ice is that well-favoured man. Fedilmid [1]son of[1] [2]Ilar Cetach of Cualnge,[2] from Ellonn in the north, is he yonder, [3]with trophies from other lands after dealing destruction to his enemies."[3] [1-1] YBL. 47b, 20. [2-2] YBL. 47b, 21-22. [3-3] YBL. 47a, 48-49. [4-4] YBL. 47a, 50-51. [5-5] YBL. 47b, 1-3. [6-6] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [a] A proverbial saying, the exact force of which we cannot determine. The reading of H. 1. 13 may be translated, 'No fool on a board (or shield ?),' that is, a clown or tumbler (?). [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Reading with Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 47b, 9-10. "Still another battalion came thither to the same hill in Slane of Meath," macRoth proceeded. [4]"It is the array of an army for greatness.[4] Not often is a warrior seen more handsome than the warrior that is in the front rank of that company. Bushy, red-yellow hair he wore; [5]his countenance comely, ruddy, well-formed;[5] his face [6]slender below,[6] broad above; a deep-blue-grey, beaming eye, and it flashing and laughing in his head; a well-set, shapely man, tall, slender below and broad above; red, thin lips he had; teeth shining and pearl-like; [7]a clear, ringing voice;[7] a white-skinned body; [8]most beautiful of the forms of men;[8] [9]a purple cloak wrapped around him;[9] a brooch of gold in the mantle over his breast; a [10]hooded[10] tunic of royal silk with a red hem of red gold he wore next to his white skin; a bright, [11]curved[11] shield with [12]wonderful,[12] [13]many-coloured[13] devious figures of beasts in red gold thereon [14]and with hollows of silver he bore at his left side;[14] a gold-hilted, inlaid sword [15]hanging from his neck[15] at his left side; a long, grey-edged spear [W.5313.] along with a cutting bye-spear of attack, with thongs for throwing, with fastenings of silvered bronze, in his hand." [4-4] YBL. 47b, 26. [5-5] YBL. 47b, 29-30; Stowe and H. 1. 13. [6-6] Translating from YBL. 47b, 30, Stowe and H. 1. 13; LL. has, 'very beautiful.' [7-7] YBL. 47b, 32. [8-8] YBL. 47b, 34, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [9-9] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13. [10-10] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47b, 40-41. [11-11] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47b, 36. [12-12] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [13-13] YBL. 47b, 37. [14-14] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47b, 37. [15-15] YBL. 47b, 40. "But who might that man be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "We know him full well," Fergus made answer. "He is half of a battle; he is the dividing[a] of combat; he is the wild rage of a watchhound, the man who is come thither; Rochad son of Fatheman, from Rigdonn in the north, is he yonder. [1]Your son-in-law is he[1]; [2]he wedded your daughter, namely Finnabair,[2] [3]without dower, and he brought neither marriage-gift nor bride-price to her."[3] [a] That is, 'a single-handed warrior,' translating from YBL. 47b, 43 and Stowe. [1-1] YBL. 47b. 45. [2-2] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47b, 46. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Another battalion there came to the same hill in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A stalwart, thick-thighed, [4]gross-calved[4] warrior at the head of that company; little but every limb of him as stout as a man. Verily it is no lying word, he is a man down to the ground," said he. "Brown, bushy hair upon his head; a round-faced, ruddy countenance [5]covered with scars[5] he had; a flashing, proud eye in his head; a splendid, dexterous man was there, in this wise: Accompanied by black-haired, black-eyed youths; with a red, flaming banner; [6]with terror and fearsomeness; with wonderful appearance, both of arms and apparel and raiment and countenance and splendour; with converse of heroes; with champions' deeds;[6] with wilful rashness, so that they seek to rout overwhelming numbers outside of equal combat, [7]with their wrath upon foes, with raids into hostile lands,[7] with the violence of assault upon them, without having aught assistance from [W.5327.] Conchobar. [1]It is no lying word, stiffly they made their march, that company to Slane of Meath."[1] [4-4] YBL. 47b, 48, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5-5] YBL. 48a, 2, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [6-6] Stowe, and, similarly, YBL. 48a, 4-6, H. 1. 13. [7-7] YBL. 48a, 8-9, and, similarly, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and, similarly, YBL. 48a, 10-11. "But, who might he be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Aye then we know him," Fergus made answer. "A thirst for valour and prowess; a thirst for madness and fury; [2]a man of strength and of courage, of pride and of greatness of heart[2] is he that came thither. The welding of hosts and of arms; the point of battle and of slaughter of the men of the north of Erin, mine own real foster-brother himself, Fergus son of Letè, [3]the king[3] from Linè in the north, is the man yonder!" [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] YBL. 48a, 14. "Still another [4]great, fierce[4] company came to the same hill in Slane of Meath," macRoth continued. [5]"A battle-line with strange garments upon them,[5] steadfast, without equal. A [6]comely,[6] handsome, [7]matchless,[7] untiring warrior in the van of this company; [8]the flower of every form, whether as regards hair, or eye, or whiteness; whether of size, or followers or fitness.[8] Next to his skin a blue, narrow-bordered cloth, with strong, woven and twisted hoops of silvered bronze, with becoming, sharp-fashioned buttons of red gold on its slashes and breast-borders; a [9]green[9] mantle, pieced together with the choicest of all colours, [10]folded about him;[10] [11]a brooch of pale gold in the cloak over his breast;[11] five circles of gold, [LL.fo.99a.] that is, his shield, he bore on him; a tough, obdurate, straight-bladed sword for a hero's handling hung high on his left side. A straight, fluted spear, flaming red [12]and venomous[12] in his hand." "But, who might that be?" asked [W.5342.] Ailill of Fergus. "Truly, we know him well," Fergus made answer. [1]"Fiery is the manner of the warlike champion who has so come thither.[1] The choice flower of royal poets is he. He is the rush on the rath; he is the way to the goal; fierce is his valour, the man that came thither; Amargin son of the smith Ecetsalach ('the Grimy'), the noble poet from the Buas in the north, is he." [4-4] YBL. 48a, 16. [5-5] YBL. 48a, 17. [6-6] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 48a, 18. [7-7] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [8-8] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 48a, 19-20. [9-9] YBL. 48a, 21. [10-10] YBL. 48a, 21. [11-11] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and, similarly, YBL. 48a, 22. [12-12] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [1-1] YBL. 48a, 24-25. "There came yet another company there to the same hill in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A fair, yellow-haired hero in the front rank of that band. Fair was the man, both in hair and eye and beard and eyebrows and apparel; a rimmed shield he bore; a gold-hilted, overlaid sword on his left side; in his hand, a five-pointed spear that reflected its glare over the entire host, [2]and a hollow lance in his hand. Hero-like was his coming!"[2] [2-2] YBL. 48b, 1-2. "But who was that man?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "In sooth, we know him well," Fergus made answer. "Cherished, in truth, is that warrior by the people, he that to us is come thither; cherished, the stout-blow-dealing beast; cherished, the bear of great deeds against foes, [3]with the violence of his attack.[3] Feradach Finn Fectnach ('the Fair and Righteous') from Nemed ('the Grove') in Sliab Fuait in the north, is the one that is come there." [3-3] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4]"Another company there came to the mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "Three bold, high-spirited youths of noble countenance, [5]fiery and noble,[5] in the front rank of that company. Three cloaks of the one colour [6]they wore folded[6] upon them; [7]three close shorn, blae-yellow heads; three gold brooches over their arms; three sleeved tunics with embroidery of red gold, girded around them;[7] three shields wholly alike they bore; [8]three gold-hilted swords on their shoulders;[8] three five-pointed, [W.5360.] [1]broad and grey-green[1] spears in their [2]right[2] hands." "Who were those men there?" Ailill asked. "I know," Fergus answered; "the three princes of Roth, the three champions of Colph, the three of Midluachair, great in achievements, three seasoned warriors of the east of Erin, to wit, the three sons of Fiachna in quest of their bull are there, even Ros and Darè and Imchad, for theirs was the possession of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. Even had they come alone, they would have offered you battle in defence of their bull and their drove, even though before them the enemy should not be routed."[4] [4-4] Stowe, and, partly, YBL. 48b, 33-45. [5-5] YBL. 48b, 34. [6-6] YBL. 48b, 36. [7-7] YBL. 48b, 35-38. [8-8] YBL. 48b, 39. [1-1] YBL. 48b, 40. [2-2] YBL. 48b, 40. "Yet another company there came thither to the same hill in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "Two [3]fair,[3] tender, young warriors at the head of that company, [5]and both wholly alike. Brown, curly hair on the head of one of them; fair, yellow hair on that of the other;[5] two green cloaks wrapped about them; two bright-silver brooches in the cloaks over their breasts; two tunics of smooth yellow silk next to their skin; bright-hilted swords on their belts; [6]two bright shields with devious figures of beasts in silver;[6] two five-pronged spears with windings of pure bright silver in their hands. Moreover, their years were nigh the same. [7]Together they lifted their feet and set them down again, for it was not their way for either of them to lift up his feet past the other."[7] [3-3] YBL. 48b, 20. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [6-6] YBL. 48b, 22. [7-7] YBL. 48b, 23-25. "But, who might they be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Well do we know them," Fergus made answer. "Two single, strong-necked champions are they; two united flames; two united torches; two champions; two heroes; two ridge-poles of hosts[a]; two dragons; two thunderbolts; two destroyers (?); two boars; two bold ones; two mad ones; the two loved ones of Ulster around their king; [W.5378.] [1]two breach-makers of hundreds; two spencers; the two darlings of the north of Erin, namely[1] Fiacha and Fiachna have come thither, two sons of Conchobar son of Fachtna son of Ross Ruad son of Rudraige." [a] That is, 'two chiefs of hospitality.' [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "There came also another company to that same mound," said macRoth. "'Tis the engulphing of the sea for size; red-flaming fire [2]for splendour;[2] a legion for number; a rock for strength; annihilation for battle; thunder for might. A [3]rough-visaged,[3] wrathful, terrible, ill-favoured one at the head of that band, and he was big-nosed, large-eared, apple-eyed, [4]red-limbed,[4] [5]great-bellied, thick-lipped.[5] Coarse, grizzly hair he wore; a streaked-grey cloak about him; a skewer of iron in the cloak over his breast, so that it reached from one of his shoulders to the other; a rough, three-striped tunic next to his skin; a sword of seven charges of remelted iron he bore on his rump; a brown hillock he bore, namely his shield; a great, grey spear with thirty nails driven through its socket he had in his hand. But, what need to tell further? [6]All the host arose to meet him, and[6] the lines and battalions were thrown into disorder at the sight of that warrior, as he came surrounded by his company to the hill, in Slane of Meath [7]and the stream of battle-hosts with him."[7] "But who might that man be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Ah, but we know him well," Fergus made answer. "He is the half of the battle; he is the head of strife [8]of Ulster;[8] he is the head [9]of combat[9] in valour; [10]he is the storm-wave that drowneth;[10] he is the sea overbounds, the man that is come thither; the mighty Celtchar son of Uthechar, from Lethglass in the north, is the man there!" [2-2] YBL. 48a, 30. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 48a, 33. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and YBL. 48a, 36. [5-5] YBL. 48a, 35. [6-6] YBL. 48a, 42. [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Stowe. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] YBL. 48a, 44. [10-10] YBL. 48a, 45-46. [W.5397.] "There came yet another company thither to the same hill in Slane of Meath," said macRoth; "one that is firm and furious; one that is ugly and fearful. A great-bellied, big-mouthed champion, [1]the size of whose mouth is the mouth of a horse,[1] in the van of that troop; with but one clear eye, and [2]half-brained,[2] long-handed. Brown, very curly hair he wore; a black, flowing mantle around him; a wheel-shaped brooch of tin in the mantle over his breast; a cunningly wrought tunic next to his skin; a great long sword under his waist; a well-tempered lance in his right hand; [LL.fo.99b.] a grey buckler he bore on him, that is, his shield." [1-1] YBL. 48b, 9-10. [2-2] YBL. has, 'broad-headed.' "Pray, who might that man be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Indeed, but we know him," Fergus made answer; "the wild, red-handed, [3]rending[3] lion; the fierce, fearful bear that overcometh valour. [4]He is the high doer of deeds, warlike, and fierce,[4] Errgè Echbel ('Horse-mouth'), from Bri Errgi ('Errgè's Mound') in the north, is the one there." [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] YBL. 48b, 16. "Yet another company there came to the same hill in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "A large, noble, [5]fiery[5] man at the head of that company; foxy-red hair he had; huge, crimson-red eyes in his head; bulging as far as the bend of a warrior's finger is either of the very large crimson, kingly eyes he had; a many-coloured cloak about him; [6]a wheel-shaped brooch of silver therein;[6] a grey shield he bore [7]on his left arm;[7] a slender, blue lance above him; [8]a bright, hooded shirt tucked around him that reached down to his knees;[8] [9]a sword with silver hilt at his hip; a spear remarkable for keenness in his revengeful right hand;[9] a blood-smeared, becrimsoned company [W.5414.] around him; himself covered with wounds and blood in their midst." [5-5] YBL. 48b, 47. [6-6] YBL. 48b, 49-50. [7-7] YBL. 48b, 51. [8-8] YBL. 48b, 52-49a, 1. [9-9] YBL. 48b, 51-52. "Now who might he be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Well do we know him," Fergus made answer. "He is the bold, the ruthless, [1]the swift-moving eagle;[1] the eager lance; the goring beast; [2]the torrent[2] of the Colbtha; [3]the border-gate of the north of Erin;[3] the triumphant hero from Bailè; he is the shaft (?); [a] he is the bellowing hero from Bernas ('the Gap'); the furious bull; Menn son of Salcholga, from Rena ('the Waterways') of the Boyne [4]in the north; he hath come to take vengeance on ye for his bloody wounds and his sores which ye inflicted on him afore."[4] [1-1] Translating from Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] YBL. 49a, 7. [a] A word has fallen out in the MS. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Yet another company came thither to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. [5]"High spirited and worthy of one another.[5] A long-jawed, sallow-faced warrior, [6]huge, broad, and tall,[6] at the head of that company; black hair on his head; long limbs are his legs; a cloak of red curly wool about him; a brooch of white silver in the cloak over his breast; an [7]all-white,[7] linen shirt next to his skin; a gory-red shield with a boss [8]of gold[8] he bore; a sword with hilt of [9]white[9] silver on his left side; a sharp-cornered, gold-socketed spear he held over him; [10]a broad, grey, interwoven spear-head, fairly set on an ashen shaft, in his hand."[10] "But, who might he be?" Ailill asked of Fergus. "Truly, we know him," Fergus made answer. [11]"The man of three stout blows has come;[11] the man of three highways is he; the man of three roads, the man of three paths, the man of three [W.5431.] ways; the man of three victories, the man of three triumphs; [1]the man of three shouts; the man that breaks battles on foes in another province;[1] Fergna son of Findchoem, king of Burach, [2]from Coronn,[2] [3]royal hospitaller[3] of Ulster in the north, has come thither." [5-5] YBL. 49a, 11-12. [6-6] YBL. 49a, 12-13. [7-7] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [8-8] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [9-9] YBL. 49a, 17. [10-10] YBL. 49a, 18-20. [11-11] YBL. 49a, 20-21. [1-1] YBL. 49a, 23-24. [2-2] YBL. 49a, 25. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Even another company came there to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. [4]"Vaster than a division of three thousand was its appearance.[4] A large, [5]white-breasted,[5] well-favoured man in the van of that company. Like to Ailill yonder, with his pointed weapons, the restrainer, both in features and noble bearing and fairness, both in arms and apparel, in valour and bravery and fame and deeds. A blue shield [6]adapted for striking,[6] with boss of gold was [7]upon him.[7] A gold-hilted sword, [8]the pillar of a palace,[8] [9]along his shoulder[9] he bore on his left side; a five-pronged spear with gold, in his hand; [10]an exceeding fine cloak folded about him; a brooch of gold in the cloak over his breast; a tunic with red ornaments about him;[10] a golden crown on his head." [4-4] YBL. 49a, 28. [5-5] YBL. 49a, 29. [6-6] YBL. 49a, 34. [7-7] YBL. 49a, 35, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [8-8] YBL. 49a, 35. [9-9] YBL. 49a, 35. [10-10] YBL. 49a, 31-34. "But, who might that be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Ah, but we know him well," Fergus made answer. [11]"Truly, the sea over rivers is the one that is come thither; the wild rage of fire; not to be borne is his wrath against foes;[11] the root of all manhood; the assault of overwhelming power; the annihilation of men is he that is come thither. Furbaide Ferbenn son of Conchobar, from Sil in Mag Inis in the north, is there." [11-11] YBL. 49a, 36-38. [12]"Yet another company came to the mound in Slane [W.5444.] of Meath," continued macRoth. "A sharp, proud folk; a stately, royal company, with their apparel of many colours, as well white and blue and black and purple, so that to a king could be likened each spirited, chosen man in the noble, most wonderful troop. A feast for the eyes of a host, to gaze on their comeliness and their garb, as if it was going forth to some great surpassing assembly was each single man of that company. A trine of noble, distinguished men were in the front rank of that company. The first man of them with a dark-grey mantle fringed with gold thread about him; a brooch of gold in the mantle over his breast; a tunic of rare silk next to his skin; sandals of lamb's skin he wore. Not many men in the world are better-favoured than is he. A light-yellow head of hair he has; a bright-faced sword with ivory hilt and with coils of gold thread, in his right hand. He flings on high the tooth-hilted sword, so that it falls on the head of the middle man but it simply grazes it. He catches it up in the air again, so that it falls on the head of the other man, and the first man catches it in his hand, and it divided not a ringlet nor the skin of the head of either of them, and these two men did not perceive it. Two brown, rich-hued, bright-faced youths; reddish-grey mantles around them; white-silver brooches in their mantles over their breasts; a bright-hilted sword under their waists; purple sandals they wore; as sweet as strings of lutes when long sustained in players' hands was the voice and song of one of the men, so that enough of delight it was to the host to listen to the sound of his voice. Worthy of a king or of a prince was each man in that company as regards apparel and appearance; thou wouldst think, at the sight of them, they were all kings. Neither spears nor swords do they bear, but their servants bear them." [12-12] The following passage extending to page 337 is not found in LL. owing to the loss of a leaf. It is translated here from Stowe with the help of H. 1. 13 and Add. 18,748. "An over-proud body is that," quoth Ailill; "and who may they be, O Fergus?" he asked. "I know full well," [W.5466.] replied Fergus; "the poets of Ulster are they, with that Fercerdne the fair, much-gifted, whom thou sawest, even the learned master of Ulster, Fercerdne. 'Tis before him that the lakes and rivers sink when he upbraids, and they swell up high when he applauds. The two others thou sawest are Athirnè the chief poet, whom none can deny, and Ailill Miltenga ('Honey-tongue') son of Carba; and he is called Ailill 'Honey-tongue' for that as sweet as honey are the words of wisdom that fall from him." "There came yet another company to the mound in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "A most terrible, dreadful sight to behold them. Blue and pied and green, purple, grey and white and black mantles; a kingly, white-grey, broad-eyed hero in the van of that company; wavy, grizzled hair upon him; a blue-purple cloak about him; a leaf-shaped brooch with ornamentation of gold in the cloak over his breast; a shield, stoutly braced with buckles of red copper; yellow sandals he wore; a large, strange-fashioned sword along his shoulder. Two curly-haired, white-faced youths close by him, wearing green cloaks and purple sandals and blue tunics, and with brown shields fitted with hooks, in their hands; white-hilted swords with silvered bronze ornaments they bore; a broad, somewhat light countenance had one of them. One of these cunning men raises his glance to heaven and scans the clouds of the sky and bears their answer to the marvellous troop that is with him. They all lift their eyes on high and watch the clouds and work their spells against the elements, so that the elements fall to warring with each other, till they discharge rain-clouds of fire downwards on the camp and entrenchments of the men of Erin." "Who might that be, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "I know him," replied Fergus; "the foundation of knowledge; the master of the elements; the heaven-soaring one; he that blindeth the eyes; that depriveth his foe [W.5488.] of his strength through incantations of druids, namely Cathba the friendly druid, with the druids of Ulster about him. And to this end he makes augury when judging the elements, in order to ascertain therefrom how the great battle on Garech and Ilgarech will end. The two youths that are about him, they are his own two sons, to wit Imrinn son of Cathba and Genonn Gruadsolus ('Bright-cheek') son of Cathba, he that has the somewhat light countenance. Howbeit it will be hard for the men of Erin to withstand the spells of the druids." "Yet another company there came to the mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A numberless, bright-faced band; unwonted garments they wore; a little bag at the waist of each man of them. A white-haired, bull-faced man in the front of that company; an eager, dragon-like eye in his head; a black, flowing robe with edges of purple around him; a many coloured, leaf-shaped brooch with gems, in the robe over his breast; a ribbed tunic of thread of gold around him; a short sword, keen and hard, with plates of gold, in his hand; they all came to show him their stabs and their sores, their wounds and their ills, and he told each one his sickness, and he gave each a cure, and what at last happened to each was even the ill he foretold him." "He is the power of leechcraft; he is the healing of wounds; he is the thwarting of death; he is the absence of every weakness, is that man," said Fergus, "namely Fingin the prophet mediciner, the physician of Conchobar, with the leeches of Ulster around him. It is he that knoweth the sickness of a man by the smoke of the house wherein he lies, or by hearing his groans. Their medicine bags are the sacks which thou sawest with them." "Another company came to the mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A powerful, heavy, turbulent company; they caused uproar in their deeds of arms [W.5512.] for the accomplishment of brilliant feats;[a] they tore up the sad-sodded earth with the strength of their bitter rage, for the mighty princes of the proud province of Conchobar would not allow them to proceed to the great camp till all should be arrived. Two youths, swarthy and huge, in the front of that company; soft, playful eyes in their heads; about them, dark-grey tunics with silver pins set with stones; great, horn-topped swords with sheaths they bore; strong, stout shields they bore; hollow lances with rows of rivets, in their hands; glossy tunics next to their skin." "We know well that company," quoth Fergus; "the household of Conchobar and his vassals are those; their two leaders, Glasnè and Menn, two sons of Uthechar." [a] There is a gap here in both Stowe and H. 1. 13, and consequently the translation is uncertain. "There came yet another band to the mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth; "to wit, a band of a numerous body of henchmen. A black, hasty, swarthy, ..., man in the front rank of that band; seven chains around his neck; seven men at the end of each chain; these seven groups of men he drags along, so that their faces strike against the ground, and they revile him until he desists. Another terrible man is there, and the ponderous stone which powerful men could not raise, he sets on his palm and flings on high to the height a lark flies on a day of fine weather; a club of iron at his belt." "I know those men," quoth Fergus: "Triscoth the strong man of Conchobar's house; it is he that flings the stone on high. Ercenn son of the three stewards, he it is in the chains." "There came [1]another[1] large, stately company to the mound in Slane of Meath," macRoth went on. "Three, very curly-headed, white-faced youths in the van of that troop; three curly-red kirtles with brooches of silvered bronze was the apparel they wore about them; three [W.5535.] sparkling tunics of silk with golden seams tucked up about them; three studded shields with images of beasts for emblems in silvered bronze upon them and with bosses of red gold; three very keen swords with guards adorned with gold thread along their shoulders; broad-bladed javelin-heads on ashen shafts in their hands." "Who might that be there, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "That I know," answered Fergus: "the three venoms of serpents; three cutting ones; three edges; three watchful ones; three points of combat; three pillars of the borders; three powerful companies of Ulster; three wardens of Erin; three triumph-singers of a mighty host are there," said Fergus, "the three sons of Conchobar, namely Glas and Manè and Conaing." [1-1] H. 1. 13. "Yet another company there came to the mound in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "Stately, in beautiful colours, gleaming-bright they came to the mound. Not fewer than an army-division, as a glance might judge them. A bold, fair-cheeked youth in the van of that troop; light-yellow hair has he; though a bag of red-shelled nuts were spilled on his crown, not a nut of them would fall to the ground because of the twisted, curly locks of his head. Bluish-grey as harebell is one of his eyes; as black as beetle's back is the other; the one brow black, the other white; a forked, light-yellow beard has he; a magnificent red-brown mantle about him; a round brooch adorned with gems of precious stones fastening it in his mantle over his right shoulder; a striped tunic of silk with a golden hem next to his skin; an ever-bright shield he bore; a hard-smiting, threatening spear he held over him; a very keen sword with hilt-piece of red gold on his thigh." "Who might that be, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "I know, then," replied Fergus: "it is battle against foes; it is the inciting of strife; it is the rage of a monster; it is the madness of a lion; it is the cunning of a snake; it is the rock of the [W.5558.] Badb; it is the sea over dikes; it is the shaking of rocks; it is the stirring of a wild host, namely Conall Cernach ('the Victorious'), the high-glorious son of Amargin, that is come hither."[12] [12-12] See note 12, page 331. "Yet another company came to the same mound in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. [1]"Very heroic and without number it is;[1] steady and dissimilar to the other companies. [2]Strange garments, unlike the other companies they wore. Famously have they come, both in arms and raiment and dress. A great host and fierce is that company.[2] Some wore red cloaks, others light-blue cloaks, [LL.fo.100a.] others dark blue cloaks, others green cloaks; white and yellow jerkins, beautiful and shiny, were over them. Behold the little, freckled, red-faced lad with purple, [3]fringed[3] mantle [4]folded about him[4] amongst them in their midst. [5]Fairest of the forms of men was his form.[5] A salmon-shaped brooch of gold in the mantle over his breast; a [6]bright, hooded[6] tunic of royal silk with red trimming of red gold next to his white skin; a bright shield with intricate figures of beasts in red gold upon it; a boss of gold on the shield; an edge of gold around it; a small, gold-hilted sword at his waist; a sharp, light lance cast its shadow over him." "But, who might he be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Truly, I know not," Fergus made answer, "that I left behind me in Ulster the like of that company nor of the little lad that is in it. But, one thing I think likely, that they are the men of Temair with [7]the well-favoured, wonderful, noble youth[7] Erc son of Fedilmid Nocruthach, [8]Conchobar's daughter,[8] and of Carbre Niafer. And if it be they, they are not more friends than their leaders here. Mayhap despite his father [W.5576.] has this lad come to succour his grandfather[a] at this time. And if these they be, a sea that drowneth shall this company be to ye, because it is through this company and the little lad that is in it that the battle shall this time be won against ye." "How through him?" asked Ailill. "Not hard to tell," Fergus responded: "for this little lad will know neither fear nor dread when slaying and slaughtering, until at length he comes into the midst of your battalion. Then shall be heard the whirr of Conchobar's sword like the yelp of a howling war-hound, or like a lion rushing among bears, [1]while the boy will be saved.[1] Then outside around the battle lines will Conchobar pile up huge walls of men's bodies [2]while he seeks the little lad.[2] In turn the princes of the men of Ulster, filled with love and devotion, will hew the enemy to pieces. Boldly will those powerful bulls, [3]the brave warriors of Ulster,[3] bellow as [4]their grandson,[4] the calf of their [5]cow,[5] is rescued in the battle on the morn of the morrow." [1-1] YBL. 49a, 41. [2-2] YBL. 49a, 42-44. [3-3] YBL. 49a, 50. [4-4] YBL. 49a, 50. [5-5] YBL. 49a, 46-47. [6-6] YBL. 49a, 52. [7-7] YBL. 49b, 4-5. [8-8] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 49b, 6. [a] That is, Conchobar. [1-1] YBL. 49b, 17. [2-2] YBL. 49b, 18. [3-3] YBL. 49b, 19-20. [4-4] Stowe; that is, Erc son of Fedlimid, Conchobar's daughter.] [5-5] 'Of their heart,' YBL. 49b, 13. [6]"Then came there three huge (?), strong, well-braced, cunningly-built castles; three mighty, wheeled-towers like unto mountains, in this wise placed in position: Three royal castles with their thirty fully armed battalions, swarming with evil-tongued warriors and with thirty round-shielded heroes. A bright, beautiful, glistening shield-guard was on each of the three strong, stout battle-castles, with black, deadly armament of huge, high, blue, sharp pine-lances, such that one's bent knee would fit in the socket of each smooth, polished, even and hard spear-head that is on each huge, terrible, strange shaft of the terrible, awful, heavy, monstrous, indescribable armament [W.5598.] that I saw. A third part of each shaft was contained in the socket of the riveted, very long, securely placed spears; as high as [1]two[1] cubits was each citadel from the ground; as long as a warrior's spear was the height of each battle-hurdle; as sharp as charmed sword was the blade of each sickle on the sides and the flanks of each of [2]Badb's hurdles;[2] on each of the three stout and hard battle-hurdles they are to be found. Four dark, yet gleaming, well-adorned doors were on each battle-wheeled tower of the three royal wheeled-towers which were displayed and spread over the plain, with ivory door-posts, with lintels of cypress, with stately thresholds set of speckled, beautiful, strong pine, with their blue, glass door-leaves, with the glitter of crystal gems around each door-frame, so that its appearance from afar was like that of bright shining stars. As loud as the crash of a mighty wave at the great spring-tide, or of a huge heavy fleet upon the sea when toiling with the oars along the shore, was the similitude of the din and the clamour and the shouts and the tumult of the multitude and the to-and-fro of the thirty champions with their thirty heavy, iron clubs that they bear in their hands. And when the wheeled-towers advance massively and boldly against the line of heroes, these almost leave behind their arms at the fierce charge of the outland battalions. Then spring the three hundred champions with a shout of vengeful anger over the sides and over the front of the huge iron towers on wheels, so that this it was that checked the swift course and the great, hasty onslaught of the well-grounded, swiftly-moving, mighty chariots. The three stout, strong, battle-proof towers on wheels careered over rough places and over obstacles, over rocks and over heights. There coursed the thirty entire chargers, powerful, strong-backed, four abreast, the equal of ninety entire chargers, with [W.5622.] manes more than big, bold[a] and leaping, with sack-like, distended nostrils, high-headed, towering, over-powering, wonderful, so that they shook with their ramping the thick shell of the sad-sodded earth. They flecked the plain behind them with the foam dripping from the [1]swift[1] Danish steeds, from the bits and bridles, from the traces and tracks of the huge, maned, mighty[b] steeds, greater than can be told! They excited strife with their din of arms. They plunged headlong in their swift impatience. They aroused great terror at their accoutrement, at their armour, at their cunning, at their power, at their hugeness, at their destructive, terrible, hostile vengeance on the four grand, proud provinces of Erin. Amazing to me was their appearance because of the unwontedness of their trappings both in form and in garb. Three wonderful flights of birds with variety of appearance hovered over them. The first flock was all red, the second flock was white as swans, the third flock as black as ravens. Three red-mouthed, crow-shaped demons of battle sped around them as swift as hares, circling the three wheeled towers, and this is what they prophesied:-- "Sheaves[c] of battle, Might of quelling, Ill of war-deeds, Sating of foul ravens! Sodden ground, blood-red; Men low in dust; Sheaves[c] on sword-blades!" [6-6] The following passage, to page 342, is taken from Stowe and H. 1. 13; it is not found in LL. [1-1] H. 1. 13 and Add. 18,748. [2-2] That is, the movable towers. [a] Following the emendation _bairnech_, suggested by Windisch. [1-1] H. 1. 13. [b] Following the emendation _moradbal_, suggested by Windisch. [c] That is, the layers of the slain. "They wheeled about and brought them twelve[d] battle-pillars of thick, huge, iron pillars. As thick as the middle of a warrior's thigh, as tall as a champion's spear was each battle-fork of them, and they placed four forks under each [W.5646.] wheeled-tower. And their horses all ran from them and grazed upon the plain. And those forty[a] that had gone in advance descend clad in armour on the plain, and the garrison of the three battle-wheeled towers falls to attacking and harassing them, and is attacked and harassed in turn by those forty champions, so that there was heard the breaking of shields and the loud blows of hard iron poles on bucklers and battle-helmets, on coats of mail and on the iron plates of smooth, hard, blue-black, sharp-beaked, forkèd spears. And in the whole camp there is none but is on the watch for their fierceness and their wrath and their cunning and their strangeness, for their fury, their achievements and the excellence of their guard. And in the place where the forty champions are and the thousand armed men contending with them, not one of the thousand had a wounding stroke nor a blow on his opponent because of the might of their skill in arms and the excellence of their defence withal!" [d] That is, a battle-pillar or prop for each of the four wheels of each of the three towers. [a] This is the first mention of the 'forty.' "They are hard to contend with for all such as are unfamiliar with them, is the opinion held of them," spake Fergus, "but they are readily to be dealt with for such as do know them. These are three battle-wheeled towers," Fergus continued, "as I perceive from their account. Once I saw their like, namely when as prentice I accompanied Darè to Spain, so that we entered the service, of the king of Spain, Esorb to wit, and we afterwards made an expedition to Soda, that is, to the king of Africa, and we gave battle to the Carthaginians. There came their like upon us against the battle-line wherein we were, an hundred battalions and three score hundred in each battalion. One of the wheeled-towers won victory over us all, for we were not on our guard against them. And this is the way to defeat them: To mine a hole broader than the tower in the ground in the front thereof and cover over the pitfall; [W.5669.] and for the battle-line to be drawn up over against it and not to advance to attack, so that it is the towers that advance and fall into the pit. Lebarcham told me, as I passed over Taltiu, that the Ulstermen brought these towers from Germany, and the towers held a third of the exiles of Ulster among them as their only dwelling; and Cualgae ('a Heap of Spears') is their name, namely battle-penfolds. And herein have ye the sorest of all hardships, for although all the men of Erin are drawn up against them, it is the men of Erin that will be defeated. When they take it upon them to engage in battle they cannot hold out without a combat. Thus will they remain now till morning, every forty men of them contending with the others. And this is my advice to you," said Fergus: "permit me with my division to withstand them, and do ye betake yourselves to the woods and wilds of Erin, and the Ulstermen shall not find ye in any place, and I will proceed as an example, depending on my own men-of-war." "There are men here for ye!" cried Medb. "That will be a force for yourselves," Fergus made answer.[6] [6-6] See note 6, page 338. "Yet another company came there to the same height in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "Not fewer than a division was in it; wild, dark-red, warrior-bands; [1]bright, clear, blue-purple men;[1] long, fair-yellow heads of hair they wore; handsome, shining countenances they had; clear, kingly eyes; magnificent vesture with beautiful mantles; conspicuous, golden brooches along their bright-coloured sleeves; silken, glossy tunics; blue, glassy spears; yellow shields for striking withal; gold-hilted, inlaid swords set on their thighs; loud-tongued care has beset them; sorrowful are they all, and mournful; sad are the royal leaders; orphaned the brilliant company without [W.5689.] their protecting lord who was wont to guard their lands." "But, who may they be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Indeed, we know them well," Fergus made answer. "Furious lions are they; deeds of battle; the division from the field of Murthemne are they. [LL.fo.100b.] It is this that makes them cast-down, sorrowful, joyless [1]as they are,[1] because that their own divisional king himself is not amongst them, even Cuchulain, the restraining, victorious, red-sworded one that triumpheth in battle!" "Good reason, in truth, there is for them to be so," quoth Medb, "if they are dejected, mournful and joyless. There is no evil we have not worked on them. We have harassed and we have assailed them, [2]their territory and their land,[2] from Monday at the beginning of Samaintide till the beginning of Spring.[a] We have taken their women and their sons and their youths, their steeds and their troops of horses, their herds and their flocks and their droves. We have razed their hills after them till they are become lowlands, so that they are level with the plain. [3]We have brought their lords to bloody stabs and sores, to cuts and many wounds."[3] "Not so, O Medb!" cried Fergus. "There is naught thou canst boast over them. For thou didst them no hurt nor harm that yon fine company's leader avenged not on thee. For, every mound and every grave, every stone and every tomb that is from hence to the east of Erin is the mound and the grave, the stone and the tomb of some goodly warrior and goodly youth [4]of thy people,[4] fallen at the hands of the noble chieftain of yonder company. Happy he to whom they hold! Woe to him whom they oppose! It will be enough, e'en as much as half a battle, for the men of Erin, when these defend their lord in the battle on the morning of the morrow." [1-1] This seems out of place here; it is not found in Stowe nor in H. 1. 13. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Stowe. [a] See notes a and b, page 182. "I heard a great uproar there, west of the battle or to [W.5711.] its east," said macRoth. "Say, what noise was it?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Ah, but we know it well," Fergus made answer: "Cuchulain it was, straining to go, sick as he is, to battle, wearied at the length of his lying sick on Fert Sciach ('Thorn-mound') under hoops and clasps and ropes, and the men of Ulster do not permit him to go because of his sores and his wounds, inasmuch as he is not fit for battle and is powerless for combat after his encounter with Ferdiad." True indeed spake Fergus. Cuchulain it was, wearied at the length of his lying supine on Fert Sciach under hoops and clasps and ropes. [1]"But, there is one thing more to tell," said Fergus: "unless he be held back now, he will surely come to the battle!" Thus far the Companies of the Táin Bó Cúalnge[1] [2]mustered by Conchobar and the men of Ulster.[2] [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] H. 1. 13. Then came two women lampoonists from the camp and quarters of the men of Erin; [3]their names,[3] Fethan and Collach, to wit; and they stood with a feint of weeping and wailing over Cuchulain, telling him of the defeat of Ulster and the death of Conchobar and the fall of Fergus in combat. [3-3] Stowe. [4]Now Conchobar proceeded with his troops till he pitched camp nearby his companions. Conchobar asked a truce of Ailill till sunrise on the morrow, and Ailill granted it for the men of Erin and the exiles, and Conchobar granted it for the men of Ulster, and thereupon Conchobar's tents were pitched. In this way the ground was bare between them, and the Ulstermen came thither at sunset.[4] [4-4] YBL. 50a, 11. * * * * * [Page 345] XXVI [1]THE DECISION OF THE BATTLE[1] [W.5727.] It was on that night that the Morrigan,[a] daughter of Ernmas, came, and she was engaged in fomenting strife and sowing dissension between the two camps on either side, and she spoke these words [2]in the twilight between the two encampments[2]:-- "Ravens shall pick The necks of men! Blood shall gush [3]In combat wild![3] Skins shall be hacked; Crazed with spoils! [4]Men's sides pierced[4] In battle brave, Luibnech near! Warriors' storm; Mien of braves; Cruachan's men! [5]Upon them comes[5] Ruin complete! Lines shall be strewn Under foot; Their race die out! Then Ulster hail: To Erna[b] woe! To Ulster woe: [6]Then Erna hail![6] (This she said in Erna's ear.) Naught inglorious shall they do Who them await!" [1-1] YBL. 41a, 7. [a] The Irish goddess of war. [2-2] YBL. 50a, 18-19. [3-3] YBL. 50a, 19. [4-4] YBL. 50a, 21. [5-5] Translating from YBL. 50a, 23; LL. appears to be corrupt. [b] The Munstermen in Ailill's army. [6-6] YBL. 50a, 26. [1]Now Cuchulain was at Fedain Collna near by. Food was brought to him that night by the purveyors, and they were used to come to converse with him by day. He killed not any of the men of Erin to the left of Ferdiad's Ford.[1] [W.5756.] It was then that Cuchulain spake to Laeg son of Riangabair. "It would surely be unworthy of thee, O Laeg my master," said Cuchulain, "if between the two battle-lines there should happen anything to-day whereof thou hadst no tidings for me." "Whatsoever I shall learn, O Cucucuc," answered Laeg, "will be told thee. But, see yonder a little flock coming forth on the plain from the western camp and station now. [LL.fo.101a.] Behold a band of henchmen after them to check and to stay them. Behold also a company of henchmen emerging from the eastern camp and station to seize them." "Surely, that is so!" exclaimed Cuchulain. "That bodes a mighty combat and is the occasion of a grand battle. The little flock will come over the plain and the band of henchmen [2]from the east and the band of henchmen from the west[2] [3]will encounter one another betimes [4]about the little flock[4] on the great field of battle."[3] There, indeed, Cuchulain spoke true. And the little flock came forth upon the plain, and the companies of henchmen met in fray. "Who gives the battle now, O Laeg my master," Cuchulain asked. "The folk of Ulster," Laeg answered: "that is the same as the young warriors [5]of Ulster."[5] "But how fight they?" Cuchulain asked. "Like men they fight," Laeg answered. "There where are the heroes of valour from the east in battle, they force a breach through the ranks to the west. There where are the heroes from the west, they lay a breach through the ranks to the eastward." [6]"It would be a vow for them to fall in rescuing their herds," said Cuchulain; "and [W.5774.] now?" "The beardless youths are fighting now," said the charioteer. "Has a bright cloud come over the sun yet?" Cuchulain asked. "Nay, then," the charioteer answered.[6] "I grieve that I am not yet strong enough to be on my feet amongst them. For, were I able to be on my feet amongst them, my breach would be manifest there to-day like that of another!" "But, this avow, O Cucuc," said Laeg: "it is no reproach to thy valour; it is no disgrace to thine honour. Thou hast done bravely in time before now and thou wilt do bravely hereafter." [1-1] YBL. 50a, 28-31. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13 [3-3] LL. seems to be defective here. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [6-6] YBL. 50a, 39-43. [1]About the hour of sunrise: "It is a haughty folk that now fight the battle," quoth the charioteer; "but there are no kings amongst them, for sleep is still upon them."[1] "Come, O my master Laeg!" cried Cuchulain; "rouse the men of Ulster to the battle now, for it is time that they come." [1-1] YBL. 50a, 45-47. [2]Then, when the sun arose,[2] [3]Cuchulain saw the kings from the east putting their crowns on their heads and relieving their men-at-arms. Cuchulain told his charioteer to awaken the men of Ulster.[3] Laeg came and roused the men of Ulster to battle, and he uttered these words there:-- "Arise, ye kings of Macha, Valiant in your deeds! Imbel's kine the Badb doth covet: [4]Blood of hearts pours out! Goodly heroes' battle rushes in[4] With deeds of valour! Hearts all red with gore: Brows turned in flight. Dismay of battle riseth. For there was never found One like unto Cuchulain, Hound that Macha's[a] weal doth work! If it is for Cualnge's kine, Let them now arise!" [2-2] YBL. 50a, 48. [3-3] YBL. 50b, 18-23. [4-4] YBL 50b, 27-29. [a] Another name for Badb, the battle-fury. * * * * * [Page 348] XXVII [1]NOW OF THE BATTLE OF GARECH[1] [W.5804.] Thereupon arose all the men of Ulster at the one time in the train of their king, and at the word of their prince, and to prepare for the uprising in response to the call of Laeg son of Riangabair. And in this wise they arose: stark-naked all of them, only their weapons in their hands. Each one whose tent door looked to the east, through the tent westwards he went, for that he deemed it too long to go round about it. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. "How arise the Ulstermen now to [2]the battle,[2] O Laeg my master?" asked Cuchulain. "Manfully they rise," said Laeg: "stark-naked all of them, [3]except for their arms only.[3] Every man whose tent-door faces the east, through the tent westwards he goes, for he deems it too long to go round about it." "I pledge my word!" cried Cuchulain: "at a fitting hour have they now in the early day risen around Conchobar!" [2-2] H. 1. 13, Add., Stowe, and YBL. 50b, 34. [3-3] YBL. 50b, 34. Then spake Conchobar to Sencha son of Ailill: "Come, O Sencha my master," said Conchobar; "stay the men of Ulster, and let them not go to the battle till there come the strength of a good omen and favourable portent, till the sun mounts to the roof-tree of heaven and sunshine fills the glens and lowlands and hills and watch-towers of Erin." [W.5822.] They tarried there till the strength of a good omen came and a favourable portent, till sunshine filled the glens and slopes and heights and watch-towers of the province. "Come, O Sencha my master," said Conchobar; "rouse the men of Ulster to battle, for it is time for them to proceed thither." Sencha roused the men of Ulster to battle, and he spake these words:-- "Now shall Macha's kings arise, Large-hearted folk! Weapons let them shatter: Let them fight the battle: Let them plow the earth in anger: Let them strike on shields! [1]Wearied all the hands;[1] Herds loud bellowing: Steadfast the resistance: Furious the retainers: Battle-lines shall prostrate fall 'Neath the feet of others! [2]Prince and lord prepare for battle.[2] Perish [LL.fo.101b.] shall their race! [3]Manful contest there shall be;[3] Their foes they lie in wait for And slay them all to-day! Deep draughts of blood they drink: Grief fills the hearts of queens: [4]Tender lamentations follow: Till soaked in blood shall be the grassy sod On which they're slain, To which they come.[4] If for Cualnge's kine it be, [5]Let Macha's kings![5] Let them arise!" [1-1] Reading with YBL 50a, 52. [2-2] From a conjectural emendation of YBL. 50a, 54. [3-3] YBL. 50b, 1. [4-4] YBL. 50b, 3. [5-5] YBL. 50b, 5. Not long was Laeg there when he witnessed something: the men of Erin all arising at one time, taking their shields and their spears and their swords and their helmets, and urging the men-of-war before them to the battle. The men of Erin, every single man of them, fell to smite and to batter, to cut and to hew, to slay and to destroy the others [W.5859.] for a long space and while. Thereupon Cuchulain asked of his charioteer, of Laeg son of Riangabair, at the time that a bright cloud came over the sun: [1]"Look for us![1] How fight [2]the Ulstermen[2] the battle now, O my master Laeg?" "Like men they fight," Laeg answered. "Should I mount my chariot, and En, Conall [3]Cernach's ('the Victorious')[3] charioteer, his chariot, and should we go in two chariots from one wing to the other on the points of the weapons, neither hoof nor wheel nor axle-tree nor chariot-pole would touch [4]the ground[4] for the denseness and closeness and firmness with which their arms are held in the hands of the men-at-arms at this time." [1-1] YBL. 51a, 45. [2-2] YBL. 51a, 45. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13, Add. and YBL. 51a, 47. [4-4] Stowe and Add. "Alas, that I am not yet strong enough to be amongst them [5]now!"[5] cried Cuchulain; "for, were I able, my breach would be manifest there to-day like that of another," spake Cuchulain. "But this avow, O Cucuc," said Laeg: "'tis no reproach to thy valour; 'tis no disgrace to thine honour. Thou hast wrought great deeds before now and thou wilt work great deeds hereafter." [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. Then began the men of Erin to smite and to batter, to cut and to hew, to slay and to destroy the others for a long space and while. Next came to them the nine chariot-fighters of the champions from Norseland, and the three foot-warriors along with them, and no swifter were the nine chariot-men than the three men on foot. Then came to them also [6]on the ford of hosting[6] the governors of the men of Erin. And this was their sole office [7]with Medb[7] in the battle: to smite to death Conchobar if it were he that suffered defeat, and to rescue Ailill and Medb if it should be they were defeated. And these are the names of the governors: [6-6] YBL. 51b, 6. [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. * * * * * [Page 351] XXVIIa [1]HERE FOLLOWETH THE MUSTER OF THE MEN OF ERIN[1] [W.5883.] The three Conarè from Sliab Mis, the three Lussen from Luachair, the three Niadchorb from Tilach Loiscthe, the three Doelfer from Deill, the three Damaltach from Dergderc, the three Buder from the Buas, the three Baeth from Buagnige, the three Buageltach from Mag Breg, the three Suibnè from the Siuir, the three Eochaid from Anè, the three Malleth from Loch Erne, the three Abatruad from Loch Ri, the three macAmra from Ess Ruaid, the three Fiacha from Fid Nemain, the three Manè from Muresc, the three Muredach from Mairg, the three Loegaire from Lecc Derg, the three Broduinde from the Berba, the three Bruchnech, from Cenn Abrat, the three Descertach from Druim Fornacht, the three Finn from Finnabair, the three Conall from Collamair, the three Carbre from Cliu, the three Manè from Mossa, the three Scathglan from Scairè, the three Echtach from Ercè, the three Trenfer from Taitè, the three Fintan from Femen, [LL.fo.102a.] the three Rotanach from Rognè, the three Sarchorach from Suidè Lagen, the three Etarscel from Etarbane, the three Aed from Aidnè, the three Guarè from Gabal.[a] [1-1] YBL. 50b, 41. [a] YBL. 50b-51a has more than three times as many names as are enumerated here. Then said Medb to Fergus. "It were truly a thing to boast of for thee, [2]O Fergus," said she,[2] "werest thou [W.5943.] to use thy mightiness of battle [1]vehemently[1] without stint amongst us to-day, forasmuch as thou hast been driven out of thine own land and out of thine inheritance; amongst us hast thou found land and domain and inheritance, and much good-will hath been shown thee!" [2-2] Stowe, Add. and H. 1. 13. [1-1] Stowe, Add., and H. 1. 13. [2]Thereupon Fergus uttered this oath: "I swear," _et reliqua_, "jaws of men I would break from necks, necks of men with arms, arms of men with elbows, elbows of men with wrists, wrists of men with fists, fists of men with fingers, fingers of men with nails, nails[a] of men with scalps, scalps of men with trunks, trunks of men with thighs, thighs of men with knees, knees of men with calves, calves of men with feet, feet of men with toes, toes of men with nails,[2] so that [3]heads of men over shields[3] would be as numerous [4]with me[4] as bits of ice [5]on the miry stamping-ground[5] [6]between two dry fields[6] that a king's horses would course on. Every limb of the Ulstermen [7]would I send flying through the air[7] before and behind me this day [8]like the flitting of bees on a day of fine weather,[8] if only I had my sword!" [2-2] I have given preference to the reading of YBL. 51b, 18-30. [a] A word is omitted here in the MS., presumably for, 'nails.' [3-3] YBL. 51b, 19-20. [4-4] YBL. 51b, 19. [5-5] YBL. 51b, 20. [6-6] Adopting Windisch's emendation of the text. [7-7] YBL. 51b, 31. [8-8] YBL. 51b, 32. At that Ailill spoke to his own charioteer, Ferloga, to wit: "Fetch me a quick sword that wounds the skin, O gilla," said Ailill. [9]"A year to-day I put that sword in thy hand in the flower of its condition and bloom.[9] I give my word, if its bloom and condition be the worse at thy hands this day than the day I gave it [10]thee[10] on the hillside of Cruachan Ai [11]in the borders of Ulster,[11] though thou hadst the men of Erin and of Alba to rescue thee from me to-day, they would not all save thee!" [9-9] Stowe and YBL. 51b, 35. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] YBL. 51b, 36. [W.5956.] Ferloga went his way, and he brought the sword with him in the flower of its safe-keeping, and fair flaming as a candle. And the sword was placed in Ailill's hand, and Ailill put it in Fergus' hand, and Fergus offered welcome to the sword:[a] "Welcome, O Calad Colg[b] ('Hardblade'), Letè's sword!" said he. "Weary, O champion of Badb! On whom shall I ply this weapon?" Fergus asked. "On the men-of-war around thee," Medb answered. "No one shall find indulgence nor quarter from thee to-day, unless some friend of thy bosom find it!" [a] Here follows in YBL. 51b, 38-57 a difficult passage in _rosc_ which I have omitted in the translation. Only a portion of it has been preserved in LL. and is here translated. [b] Reading with Stowe, II. 1. 13, Add. and YBL. 51b, 45. Whereupon, Fergus took his arms and went forward to the battle, [1]and he cleared a gap of an hundred in the battle-ranks with his sword in his two hands.[1] Ailill seized his weapons. Medb seized her weapons and entered the battle. [2]The Manè seized their arms and came to the battle. The macMagach seized their arms and came to the battle,[2] so that thrice the Ulstermen were routed before them from the north, till Cualgae[c] and sword drove them back again. [3]Or it was Cuchulain that drove the men of Erin before him, so that he brought them back into their former line in the battle.[3] [1-1] YBL. 52a, 6-8. [2-2] Stowe, and, similarly, Add. [c] The name of the wheeled towers described above, page 338 fl. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. Conchobar heard that from his place in the line of battle, that the battle had gone against him thrice from the north. Then he addressed his bodyguard, even the inner circle of the Red Branch: "Hold ye here a while, ye men!" cried he; "even in the line [4]of battle[4] where I am, that I may go and learn by whom the battle has been thus forced against us thrice from the north." Then said his household: "We will hold out," said they, [5]"in the place wherein we are:[5] [W.5974.] for the sky is above us and the earth underneath and the sea round about us, [1]and[1] unless the heavens shall fall with their showers of stars on the man-face of the world, or unless the furrowed, blue-bordered ocean break o'er the tufted brow of the earth, or unless the ground yawns open, will we not move a thumb's breadth backward from here till the very day of doom and of everlasting life, till thou come back to us!" [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 52a, 14. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. Conchobar went his way to the place where he heard the battle had gone three times [LL.fo.102b.] against him from the north. [2]Then Conchobar made a rush at Fergus,[2] and he lifted shield against shield there, namely against Fergus mac Roig, even Ochain ('the Fair-ear')[a] of Conchobar with its four ears of gold and its four bracings of red gold. Therewith Fergus gave three stout blows of Badb on the Ochain of Conchobar, so that Conchobar's shield cried aloud on him [3]and the three chief waves of Erin gave answer, the Wave of Clidna, the Wave of Rudraige and the Wave of Tuag, to wit.[3] Whenever Conchobar's shield cried out, the shields of all the Ulstermen cried out. However great the strength and power with which Fergus smote Conchobar on the shield, so great also was the might and valour wherewith Conchobar held the shield, so that the ear of the shield did not even touch the ear of Conchobar. [2-2] YBL. 52a, 16-17. [a] The name of Conchobar's shield. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. "Hearken, ye men [4]of Erin!"[4] cried Fergus; "who opposes a shield to me to-day on this day of battle when four of the five grand provinces of Erin come together on Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Cattle-raid of Cualnge?" "Why, then, a gilla that is younger and mightier [5]and comelier[5] than thyself is here," [6]Conchobar answered,[6] "and whose mother and father were [W.5995.] better! The man that hath driven thee out of thy borders, thy land and thine inheritance; the man that hath driven thee into the lairs of the deer and the wild hare and the foxes; the man that hath not granted thee to take the breadth [1]of thy foot[1] of thine own domain or land; the man that hath made thee dependent upon the bounty of a woman; the man that of a time disgraced thee by slaying the [2]three bright lights of the valour of the Gael,[2] the three sons of Usnech that were under thy safeguard [3]and protection;[3] the man that will repel thee this day in the presence of the men of Erin; Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathach son of Ross Ruad son of Rudraige, High King of Ulster and son of the High King of Erin; [4]and though any one should insult thee, there is no satisfaction nor reparation for thee, for thou art in the service of a woman!"[4] [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. "Truly hath this happened to me." Fergus responded. And Fergus placed his two hands on Calad Colg ('Hardblade'), and he heaved a blow with it backwards behind him, so that its point touched the ground, and he thought to strike his three fateful blows of Badb on the men of Ulster, so that their dead would be more in number than their living. Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar saw that and he rushed to [5]his foster-father, namely to[5] Fergus, and he closed his two [6]royal hands[6] over him [7]outside his armour.[7] [8]"Ungentle, not heedful is this, Fergus my master! Full of hate, not of friendship is this,[8] O Fergus my master! Let not the Ulstermen be slain and destroyed by thee through thy destructive blows, but take thou thought for their honour to-day on this day of battle!" [W.6013.] "Get thee away from me, boy! [1]Whom then should I strike?"[1] exclaimed Fergus; "for I will not remain alive unless I deliver my three fateful strokes of Badb on the men of Ulster this day, till their dead be more in number than their living." "Then turn thy hand slantwise," said Cormac Conlongas, "and slice off the hill-tops over the heads of the hosts [2]on every side[2] and this will be an appeasing of thine anger." "Tell Conchobar also to fall [3]back again[3] to his place in the battle," [4]said Fergus; "and I will no longer belabour the hosts."[4] [5]Cormac told this to Conchobar:[5] [6]"Go to the other side, O Conchobar," said Cormac to his father, "and this man will not visit his anger any longer here on the men of Ulster."[6] So Conchobar went to his place in the battle. [7]In this manner Fergus and Conchobar parted.[7] [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] Following Windisch's emendation of the text. The MSS. are corrupt here. [1-1] YBL. 52a, 35. [2-2] YBL. 52a, 36. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] YBL. 52a, 39-41. [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [8]Fergus turned away. He slew a hundred warriors of Ulster in the first onslaught with the sword. He met Conall Cernach. "Too great is this rage," said Conall, "upon people and kindred because of the whim of a wanton." "What would ye have me do, ye warriors?" asked Fergus. "Smite the hills crosswise and the bushes around," Conall Cernach made answer.[8] [8-8] YBL. 52a, 41-47. Thus it was with that sword, which was the sword of Fergus: The sword of Fergus, the sword of Letè from Faery: Whenever he desired to strike with it, it became the size of a rainbow in the air. Thereupon Fergus turned his hand slantwise over the heads of the hosts, so that he smote the three tops of the three hills, so that they are still on the moor in sight of [9]the men of Erin.[9] And these are the three Maels ('the Balds') of Meath in that place, [1]which Fergus smote as a reproach and a rebuke to the men of Ulster.[1] [9-9] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [W.6027.] Now as regards Cuchulain. He heard the Ochain of Conchobar smitten by Fergus macRoig. "Come, O Laeg my master," cried Cuchulain: "who dares thus smite [2]with those strong blows, mighty and far-away,[2] the Ochain of Conchobar my master, and I alive?" [3]Then Laeg made answer, saying: "The choice of men, Fergus macRoig, the very bold, smites it:--[3] "Blood he sheds--increase of slaughter-- Splendid the hero, Fergus macRoig! Hidden had lain Fairyland's chariot-sword! Battle now hath reached the shield, Shield of my master Conchobar!" [2-2] YBL. 52a, 52. [3-3] YBL. 52b, 1-2. [4]"How far have the hosts advanced, O Laeg?" Cuchulain asked. "They have come to Garech," Laeg answered. "I give my word for that," Cuchulain cried; "they will not come as far as Ilgarech, if I catch up with them! [4]Quickly unloose the bands, gilla!" cried Cuchulain. [5]"Blood covers men. Feats of swords shall be done. Men shall be spent therefrom!"[5] [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 52b, 7-8. [6]Since Cuchulain's going into battle had been prevented, his twisting fit came upon him, and seven and twenty skin tunics were given to him that used to be about him under strings and cords when going into battle.[6] [LL.fo.103a.] Then Cuchulain gave a mighty spring, so that the bindings of his wounds flew from him to Mag Tuag ('the Plain of the Bows') in Connacht. His bracings went from him to Bacca ('the Props') in Corcomruad [7]in the district of Boirenn,[7] [8]His supports sprang from him to [9]Rath[9] Cinn Bara ('the Rath of Spithead') in Ulster, and likewise his pins flew from him to Rath Clo ('the Rath of the Nails') in the land of the tribe of Conall.[8] The dry wisps that were stuffed in his wounds rose to the roof [W.6040.] of the air and the sky as highest larks fly on a day of sunshine when there is no wind. Thereupon, his bloody wounds got the better of him, so that the ditches and furrows of the earth were full of streams of blood and torrents of gore. [6-6] YBL. 52b, 17-20. [7-7] Stowe and Add. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Add. and H. 1. 13. [1]Some of the narrators aver that it was the strength of the warrior and champion that hurled these things [2]to the aforementioned places;[2] but it was not that, but his powerful friends, the fairy-folk, that brought them thither, to the end to make famous his history, so that from them these places are named.[1] [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [2-2] Add. This was the first exploit of valour that Cuchulain performed on rising [3]out of his weakness:[3] The two women lampoonists that made a feint of weeping and wailing [4]over his head,[4] Fethan and Collach to wit, he smote each of them against the head of the other, so that he[a] was red with their blood and grey with their brains. [5]These women had come from Medb to raise a pretended lamentation over him, to the end that his bloody wounds might burst forth on him, and to tell him that the men of Ulster had met with defeat and that Fergus had fallen in meeting the battle.[5] His arms had not been left near him, except his chariot only. And he took his chariot on his back [6]with its frame and its two axle-trees,[6] and he set out to attack the men of Erin, and he smote them with the chariot, until he reached the place where Fergus macRoig was. "Turn hither, O Fergus my master!" he cried. Fergus did not answer, for he heard not. He spoke again, "Turn hither, [7]turn hither,[7] O Fergus my master!" he cried; "and if thou turn not, [8]I swear to god what the Ulstermen swear,[8] I [W.6052.] will grind thee as a mill grinds fresh grain; I will wash thee as a cup is washed in a tub; I will bind thee as the woodbine binds the trees; I will pounce on thee as hawk pounces on fledglings; [1]I will go over thee as its tail goes over a cat;[1] [2]I will pierce thee as a tool bores through a tree-trunk; I will pound thee as a fish is pounded on the sand!"[2] "Truly this is my lot!" spake Fergus. "Who [3]of the men of Erin[3] dares to address these stiff, vengeful words to me, where now the four grand provinces of Erin are met on Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge?" "Thy fosterling is before thee," he replied, "and fosterling of the men of Ulster and of Conchobar as well, Cuchulain son of Sualtaim [4]and sister's son to Conchobar," replied Cuchalain.[4] "And thou didst promise to flee before me what time I should be wounded, in pools of gore and riddled in the battle of the Táin.[a] For, [5]when thou hadst not thy sword with thee,[5] I did flee before thee in thine own combat on the Táin; [6]and do thou avoid me," said he. "Even that did I promise," Fergus answered. "Away with thee, then!" cried Cuchulain. "'Tis well," replied Fergus; "thou didst avoid me; now thou art pierced with wounds."[6] [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] 'The ground,' Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add.; 'so that each of them was grey with the brains of the other,' YBL. 52b, 13-14. [5-5] YBL. 52b, 14-17. [6-6] YBL. 52b, 21. [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] YBL. 52b, 24. [1-1] YBL. 52b, 24-25. [2-2] H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] YBL. 52b, 27. [4-4] YBL. 52b, 28. [a] See page 207. [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] YBL. 52b, 29-33. Fergus gave ear to that word of Cuchulain, and he turned and made his three great strides of a hero [7]back from Cuchulain and turned in flight from him.[7] And as he turned [8]with his company of three thousand warriors and the Leinstermen following after Fergus--for it is under Fergus' warrant they had come[8]--[9]and the men of Munster,[9] there turned all the men of Erin. [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] H. 1. 13 and Add. [9-9] YBL. 52b, 33. [W.6065.] [1]Then[1] the men of Erin broke their ranks westwards over the hill. The battle raged around the men of Connacht, [2]around Ailill and his division and around Medb with hers and around the Manè with theirs and the mac Magach with theirs.[2] At midday Cuchulain came to the battle. At the time of sunset at the ninth hour [3]as the sun entered the tresses of the wood,[3] [4]when man and tree were no more to be known apart, Medb and[4] the last company of the men of Connacht fled in rout westwards over the hill. [1-1] H. 1. 13 and Add. [2-2] H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] YBL. 52b, 36. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. At that time there did not remain in Cuchulain's hand of the chariot but a handful of its spokes around the wheel, and a handbreadth of its poles around the shell, with the slaying and slaughtering of the four grand provinces of Erin during all that time. Then Medb betook her to a shield-shelter in the rear of the men of Erin. Thereafter Medb sent off the Brown Bull of Cualnge along with fifty of his heifers and eight of her runners with him around to Cruachan, to the end that whoso might and whoso might not escape, the Brown Bull of Cualnge should get away safely, even as she had promised. Then it was that the issue of blood came upon Medb, [5]and she said: "Do thou, Fergus, undertake[5] a shield-shelter in the rear of the men of Erin till I let my water flow from me." "By my troth," replied Fergus, "'tis an ill hour for thee to be taken so." "Howbeit there is no help for me," Medb answered; "for I shall not live if I do not void water!" Fergus accordingly came and raised a shield-shelter in the rear of the men of Erin. Medb voided her water, so that it made three large dikes, so that a mill[a] could find room in each dike. Hence the place is known as Fual Medbha ('Medb's Water'). [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] It is not uncommon in folk-tales that lakes, rivers, etc. arose from the micturition of a giant or fairy. Reading with Add. [W.6085.] Cuchulain came upon her as she was thus engaged, [1]on his way to the battle,[1] and he did not attack her. He would not strike her a blow from behind. [2]He spared her then because it was not his wont to slay women.[2] [3]"Spare me!" cried Medb. "If I should slay thee, it were just for me," Cuchulain answered.[3] [4]"Arise from hence," said he; "for I deem it no honour to wound thee from behind with my weapons."[4] "I crave a boon of thee this day, O Cuchulain," spake Medb. "What boon cravest thou [5]of me?"[5] asked Cuchulain. "That this host be under thine honour and thy protection till they pass westwards over Ath Mor ('the Great Ford')." [LL.fo.103b.] "Yea, I promise that," said Cuchulain. [6]Then[6] went Cuchulain around the men of Erin, and he undertook a shield-defence on one side of them, in order to protect the men of Erin. On the other side went the governors of the men of Erin. Medb went to her own place and assumed a shield-defence in the rear of the men of Erin, and in this manner they convoyed the men of Erin over Ath Mor westwards. [1-1] YBL. 52b, 41. [2-2] H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] YBL. 52b, 41-42. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] H. 1. 13. [6-6] H. 1. 13. and Add. [7]Then Laeg [8]son of Riangabair[8] brought Cuchulain's sword unto him, [9]the 'Hard-headed Steeling' to wit,[9] and Cuchulain took the sword in his hand.[7] Then he [10]stood still and[10] gave a blow to the three bald-topped hills of Ath Luain over against the three Maela ('the Bald Tops') of Meath, so that he struck their three heads off them. [11]And they are in the bog as a witness ever since. Hence these are the Maolain ('the Flat Tops') of Ath Luain. Cuchulain cut them off as a reproach and affront to the men of Connacht, in order that every time men should speak of Meath's three Bald Tops, these in the west should be the answer the 'Three Flat Tops of Ath Luain.'[11] [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] Add. [9-9] YBL. 52b, 43. [10-10] YBL. 52b. 45. [11-11] H. 1. 13 and Add. [W.6099.] Then [1]when the battle had been lost,[1] Fergus [2]began to view[2] the host as it went westwards of Ath Mor. "It was thus indeed it behoved this day to prove, for following in the lead of a woman," [3]said Fergus.[3] "Faults and feuds have met here to-day," [4]said Medb[4] to Fergus. "Betrayed and sold is this host to-day," [5]Fergus answered.[5] "And even as a brood-mare leads her foals into a land unknown, without a head to advise or give counsel before them, such is the plight of this host to-day [6]in the train of a woman that hath ill counselled them."[6] [1-1] YBL. 52b, 47-48. [2-2] Reading with H. 1. 13. [3-3] H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] YBL. 52b, 48. [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] YBL. 52b, 52. [7]Then Cuchulain turned to where Conchobar was with the nobles of Ulster before him. Conchobar bewailed and lamented Cuchulain, and then he uttered this lay:-- "How is this, O Cualnge's Hound, Hero of the Red Branch, thou: Great woe, champion, hast thou borne, Battling in thy land's defence! "Every morn a hundred slain, Every eve a hundred more, While the host purveyed thy fare, Feeding thee with cooling food! "Five-score heroes of the hosts, These I reckon are in graves. While their women--fair their hue-- Spend the night bewailing them!"[7] [7-7] H. 1. 13. * * * * * [Page 363] XXVIII [1]THE BATTLE OF THE BULLS[1] [W.6121.] As regards Medb, it is related here: [2]She suffered not the hosts to disperse forthwith,[2] but she gathered the men of Erin and led them forth to Cruachan to behold the battle of the bulls [3]and in what manner they would part from one another. For during the while the battle was being fought, the Brown Bull of Cualnge with fifty heifers in his company had been brought to Cruachan.[3] [1-1] YBL. 41a, 8. [2-2] H. 1. 13. [3-3] H. 1. 13 and Add. As regards the Brown Bull of Cualnge, it is now recounted in this place: When he saw the beautiful, strange land, he sent forth his three bellowing calls aloud. And Finnbennach Ai ('the Whitehorned of Ai') heard him. Now no male beast durst [4]send forth[4] a low that was louder than a moo in compare with him within the four fords of all Ai, Ath Moga and Ath Coltna, Ath Slissen and Ath Bercha. And [5]the Whitehorned[5] lifted his head with fierce anger [6]at the bellowing of the Brown of Cualnge,[6] and he hastened to Cruachan to look for the Brown Bull of Cualnge. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] H. 1. 13 and Add. It was then the men of Erin debated who would be [7]fitted[7] to witness [8]the fight[8] of the bulls. They all agreed that it should be Bricriu son of Carbad [9]that were fitted for that office.[9] For, a year before this tale of the Cualnge Cattle-raid, Bricriu had gone from the one province into the other to make a request of Fergus. And Fergus had retained [W.6134.] him with him waiting for his treasures and goods. And a quarrel arose between him and Fergus at a game of chess.[a] And he spake evil words to Fergus. Fergus smote him with his fist and with the chess-man that was in his hand, so that he drave the chess-man into his head and broke a bone in his head. Whilst the men of Erin were on the foray of the Táin, all that time Bricriu was being cured at Cruachan. And the day they returned from the expedition was the day Bricriu rose. [1]He came with the rest to witness the battle of the bulls.[1] [2]And this is why they selected Bricriu,[2] for that Bricriu was no fairer to his friend than to his foe. [3]"Come, ye men of Erin!" cried Bricriu; "permit me to judge the fight of the bulls,[3] [4]for it is I shall most truly recount their tale and their deeds afterwards."[4] And he was brought [5]before the men of Erin[5] to a gap whence to view the bulls. [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] H. 1. 13 and Add. [9-9] H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] The story is told in 'The Adventures of Nera,' published in the _Revue Celtique_, t. x, p. 227. [1-1] YBL. 53a, 4-5. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] H. 1. 13. [6]So they drove the Brown Bull the morning of the fight till he met the Whitehorned at Tarbga in the plain of Ai: or Tarbguba ('Bull-groan'), or Tarbgleo ('Bull-fight'); Roi Dedond was the first name of that hill. Every one that had lived through the battle cared for naught else than to see the combat of the two bulls.[6] [6-6] YBL. 52b, 52-53a, 3. Each of the bulls sighted the other and there was a pawing and digging up of the ground in their frenzy there, and they tossed the earth over them. They threw up the earth over their withers and shoulders, and their eyes blazed red [LL.fo.104a.] in their heads like firm balls of fire, [7]and their sides bent like mighty boars on a hill.[7] Their cheeks and their nostrils swelled like smith's bellows in a forge. And each of them gave a resounding, deadly blow to the other. Each of them began to hole and to gore, to endeavour to slaughter [W.6151.] and demolish the other. Then the Whitehorned of Ai visited his wrath upon the Brown Bull of Cualnge for the evil of his ways and his doings, and he drave a horn into his side and visited his angry rage upon him. Then they directed their headlong course to where Bricriu was, so that the hoofs of the bulls drove him a man's cubit deep into the ground after his destruction. Hence, this is the Tragical Death of Bricriu [1]son of Carbad.[1] [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar saw that, [2]and the force of affection arose in him,[2] and he laid hold of a spearshaft that filled his grasp, and gave three blows to the Brown Bull of Cualnge from ear to tail, [3]so that it broke on his thick hide from ear to rump.[3] "No wonderful, lasting treasure was this precious prize for us," said Cormac, "that cannot defend himself against a stirk of his own age!" The Brown Bull of Cualnge heard this--for he had human understanding[a]--and he turned upon the Whitehorned. [4]Thereupon the Brown of Cualnge became infuriated, and he described a very circle of rage around the Whitehorned, and he rushed at him, so that he broke his lower leg with the shock.[4] And thereafter they continued to strike at each other for a long while and great space of time, [5]and so long as the day lasted they watched the contest of the bulls[5] till night fell on the men of Erin. And when night had fallen, all that the men of Erin could hear was the bellowing and roaring. That night the bulls coursed over [6]the greater part of[6] all Erin. [7]For every spot in Erin wherein is a 'Bulls' Ditch,' or a 'Bulls' Gap,' or a 'Bulls' Fen,' or a 'Bulls' Loch,' or a 'Bulls' Rath,' [8]or a 'Bulls' Back,'[8] it is from them[7] [9]those places are named.[9] [2-2] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] See note [d], page 28, _supra_. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] H. 1. 13 and Add. [9-9] Add. * * * * * [Page 366] XXIX [1]ACCOUNT OF THE BROWN BULL OF CUALNGE[1] [2]A journey of a day and a night the Brown Bull carried the remains of the Whitehorned till he came to the loch that is by Cruachan. And he came thereout with the loin and the shoulder-blade and the liver of the other on his horns.[2] [W.6168.] It was not long before the men of Erin, as they were there [3]in the company of Ailill and Medb[3] early on the morrow, saw coming over Cruachan from the west the Brown Bull of Cualnge with the Whitehorned of Ai in torn fragments hanging about his ears and horns. The men of Erin arose, and they knew not which of the bulls it was. "Come, ye men!" cried Fergus; "leave him alone if it be the Whitehorned that is there; and if it be the Brown of Cualnge, leave him his trophy with him!" [1-1] YBL. 41a, 8. [2-2] YBL. 53a, 13-16. [3-3] H. 1. 13 and Add. [4]Then it was that the [5]seven[5] Manè arose to take vengeance on the Brown Bull of Cualnge for his violence and his valour. "Whither go yonder men?" asked Fergus. "They go to kill the Brown of Cualnge," [6]said all,[6] "because of his evil deeds."[4] "I pledge my word," [7]shouted Fergus:[7] "what has already been done in regard to the bulls is a small thing in compare with that which will [W.6179.] now take place, [1]unless with his spoils and victory ye let the Brown of Cualnge go from you into his own land."[1] [4-4] Stowe and Add. [5-5] Add. [6-6] H. 1. 13 and Add. [7-7] H. 1. 13, Stowe and Add. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [2]Then the Brown Bull of Cualnge gave forth the three chiefest bellowings of his throat in boast of his triumph, and fear of Fergus held back the men of Erin from attacking the Brown Bull of Cualnge.[2] [2-2] H. 1. 13. [3]Then[3] went the Brown Bull of Cualnge [4]to the west of Cruachan.[4] He turned his right[a] side towards Cruachan, and he left there a heap of the liver [5]of the Whitehorned,[5] so that thence is [6]named[6] Cruachan Ai ('Liver-reeks'). [3-3] H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] As a sign of friendliness. [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] H. 1. 13 and Add. [7]Next he [8]came to his own land and[8] reached the river Finnglas ('Whitewater'), and, [9]on coming,[9] he drank a draught from the river, and, so long as he drank the draught, he let not one drop of the river flow by him. Then he raised his head, and the shoulder-blades of the Whitehorned fell from him in that place. Hence, Sruthair Finnlethe ('Stream of the White Shoulder-blade') is the name given to it.[7] [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] YBL. 53a, 18. [9-9] YBL. 53a, 18. He pursued his way [10]to the river Shannon,[10] to the brink of Ath Mor ('the Great Ford'), [11]and he drank a draught from it, and, as long as he drank the draught, he let not one drop of the river flow past him. Then he raised his head, so that the two haunches of the Whitehorned fell from him there;[11] and he left behind the loin of the Whitehorned in that place, so that thence cometh Athlone ('Loinford'). He continued eastwards into the land of Meath to Ath Truim. [12]He sent forth his roar at Iraird Cuillinn; he was heard over the entire province. And he drank in Tromma.[12] [13]As long as he drank the draught, he let not one drop of the river flow past him.[13] And he left behind [W.6192.] there the liver of the Whitehorned. [1]Some [2]learned men[2] say, it is from the liver of the Whitehorned which fell from the Brown of Cualnge, that Ath Truim ('Liverford') is called.[1] [10-10] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [11-11] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [12-12] YBL. 53a, 22. [13-13] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [1-1] H. 1. 13 and Add. [2-2] Add. He raised his head haughtily and shook the remains of the Whitehorned from him over Erin. He sent its hind leg away from him to Port Largè ('Port of the Hind Leg'). He sent its ribs from him to Dublin, which is called Ath Cliath ('Ford of the Ribs' or 'of the Hurdles'). He turned his face northwards then, [3]and went on thence to the summit of Sliab Breg, and he saw the peaks[3] and knew the land of Cualnge, [4]and a great agitation came over him at the sight of his own land and country,[4] and he went his way towards it. In that place were women and youths and children lamenting the Brown Bull of Cualnge. They saw the Brown of Cualnge's forehead approaching them. "The forehead of a bull cometh towards us!" they shouted. Hence is Taul Tairb ('Bull's Brow') ever since. [5]Then he went on the road of Midluachar to Cuib, where he was wont to be with the yeld cow of Darè, and he tore up the earth there. Hence cometh Gort Buraig ('Field of the Trench').[5] [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] YBL. 53a, 26-28. [LL.fo.104b.] Then turned the Brown of Cualnge on the women and youths and children of the land of Cualnge, and [6]with the greatness of his fury and rage[6] he effected a great slaughter [7]amongst them.[7] He turned his back to the hill then and his heart broke in his breast, even as a nut breaks, [8]and he belched out his heart like a black stone of dark blood.[8] [9]He went then and died between Ulster and Ui Echach at Druim Tairb. Druim Tairb ('Bull's Back') is the name of that place.[9] [6-6] H. 1. 13 and Add. [7-7] Translating from Stowe. [8-8] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [9-9] YBL. 53a, 28-29. [1]Such, then, is the account of the Brown Bull of Cualnge, and the end of the Táin by Medb of Cruachan daughter of Eocho Fedlech, and by Ailill son of Maga, and by all the men of Ulster up to this point.[1] [2]Ailill and Medb made peace with the men of Ulster and with Cuchulain. For seven years there was no killing of men amongst them in Erin. Finnabair remained with Cuchulain, and the Connachtmen went to their own land, and the men of Ulster returned to Emain Macha with their great triumph. _Finit. Amen._[2] [1-1] Translating from H. 1. 13 and Add. [2-2] YBL. 53a, 29-33. * * * * * [W.6206.] A blessing be upon all such as shall faithfully keep the Táin in memory as it stands here and shall not add any other form to it.[a] [a] With this the Irish text concludes: What follows is in Latin. * * * * * I, however, who have copied this history, or more truly legend, give no credence to various incidents narrated in it. For, some things herein are the feats of jugglery of demons, sundry others poetic figments, a few are probable, others improbable, and even more invented for the delectation of fools. * * * * * [Page 371] INDEX AND PRONUNCIATION OF THE MORE FREQUENTLY OCCURRING PLACE AND PERSONAL-NAMES. It will simplify matters for the English reader if the following points respecting the pronunciation of proper names in medieval Irish, are borne in mind: Each _simple_ word is accented on the first syllable. Pronounce: á (long), as in _aught_; a (short), as in _hot_. c with slender vowels (e, i), as in _king_; never as _s_. c with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in _car_; never as _s_. ch with slender vowels (e, i), as in German _Ich_; never as in _church_. ch with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in German _Buch_; never as in _church_. d with slender vowels (e, i), as in French _dieu_. d with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in _thy_. é (long), as in _ale_; e (short), as in _bet_. g with slender vowels (e, i), as in _give_; never as _j_. g with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in _go_; never as _j_. gh with slender vowels (e, i) is slender ch _voiced_. gh with broad vowels (a, o, u) is broad ch _voiced_. í (long), as in _feel_; i (short), as in _it_. mh and bh intervocalic with slender vowels, as _v_. mh and bh intervocalic with broad vowels, as _w_. ó (long), as in _note_; o (short), as in _done_. s with slender vowels (e, i), as in _shine_; never as _z_. s with broad vowels (a, o, u), as _s_. t with slender vowels (e, i), as in _tin_. t with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in _threw_. th, like _h_. ú (long), as in _pool_; u (short), as in _full_. The remaining consonants are pronounced almost as in English. Aed: to rime with _Day_ Aed Ernmas: the father of the Morrigan Ai: _see_ Mag Ai Aidne: a district comprising the barony of Kiltartan, in the south-west of the County Galway Aifè: one of the three women-teachers of Cuchulain and Ferdiad (pronounced _Eefe_) Ailè: north-east of Baile, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Ailill: king-consort of Queen Medb, dwelling in Cruachan Ai (pronounced _Ayeleel_) Ailill Find Miltenga: one of the chief heroes of Ulster Ailill macMailchlo: father of Sencha Ainè: _see_ Cnoc Ainè Airnè: north-east of Assè Alba: Scotland Amargin Iarngiunnach: a leading Ulster hero; father of Conall Cernach and brother of Iliach (pronounced _Avergin_) Ane: a district in which is Knockaney in the County Limerick Ardachad: north of Druim Liccè Ard Ciannachta: a place in the barony of Ferrard, in the County Louth Ard Cuillenn: in Ulster, east of Moin Coltna Ard Macha: Armagh Assail: a place in Meath Assè: north of Finnabair (Fennor), on Medb's march out of Connacht into Ulster Ath: 'a ford' (pronounced _Ah_) Ath Aladh Ind: a ford in the Plain of Murthemne Ath Berchna: in Connacht, north-west of Croohan, near Bellanagare; it may be for Ath Bercha, in East Roscommon, and on or near the Shannon Ath Buide: the village of Athboy, in the territory of Ross, County Meath Ath Carpat: a ford on the river Nith (now the Dee), in the County Louth Ath Ceit Chule: a ford on the river Glais, in Ulster Ath Cliath: Dublin Ath Coltna: in Connacht, south-west of Ath Moga and south-east of Cruachan Ath Cro: a ford in Murthemne Ath da Fert: a ford in Sliab Fuait, probably in the south of the barony of Upper Fews, County Armagh Ath Darteisc: a ford in Murthemne Ath Feidli: a ford in Ulster Ath Fene: _see_ Ath Irmidi Ath Firdead: Ardee, a ford and a small town on the river Dee, in the County Louth Ath Gabla: a ford on the Boyne, north of Knowth, in the County Meath (pronounced _Ah gowla_) Ath Grenca: the same as Ath Gabla Ath Irmidi: the older name of Ath Fene, south of Iraird Cuillinn Ath Lethain: a ford on the Nith, in Conalle Murthemni Ath Luain: Athlone, on the Shannon, on the borders of Connacht and Meath Ath Meislir: a ford in Sliab Fuait, in Ulster Ath Moga: the present Ballymoe, on the river Suck, about ten miles to the south-west of Cruachan, County Galway Ath Mor: the old name for Ath Luain Ath na Foraire: on the road between Emain and Loch Echtrann Ath Slissen: Bellaslishen Bridge; a ford on the Owenure River, near Elphin, in Connacht Ath Solomshet: a ford, probably in Ulster Ath Srethe: a ford in Conalle Murthemni Ath Tamuin: a ford, somewhere in Ulster Ath Traged: at the extremity of Tir Mor, in Murthemne Ath Truim: Trim, on the river Boyne, in the County Meath Aue: a slave in the household of King Conchobar Aurthuile: north-east of Airne Bacca: in Corcumruad Bacc Draigin: a place in Ulster Badb: the war-fury, or goddess of war and carnage; she was wont to appear in the form of a carrion-crow. Sometimes she is the sister of the Morrigan, and, as in the Táin Bó Cúalnge, is even identified with her (pronounced _Bive_) Badbgna: now Slieve Bawne, a mountainous range, in the barony of Ballintubber, in the east of County Roscommon Baile: north-east of Meide ind Eoin, on Medb's march from Connacht into Ulster Baile in Bile: on the way to Ardee Bairche: Benna Bairche, the Mourne Mountains, north of Dundalk, in Ulster Ball Scena: north-east of Dall Scena Banba: an old name for Ireland Banna: now the Bann, a river in Ulster Becaltach: grandfather of Cuchulain Bedg: a river in Murthemne Belat Aileain: probably between Cualnge and Conalle Murthemni Belach Caille More: north of Cnogba Benna Bairche: _see_ Bairche Berba: the Barrow, a river in Leinster Bercha: on or near the Shannon, near Bellanagare, in East Roscommon Berchna: probably for Bercha Bernas: the pass cut by Medb from Louth into Armagh; probably the "Windy Gap" across the Carlingford Peninsula Betha: see Sliab Betha Bir: the name of several rivers; probably Moyola Water, a river flowing into Lough Neagh Bithslan: a river in Conalle Murthemni Blai: a rich Ulster noble and hospitaller Boann: the River Boyne Bodb: the father of Badb Boirenn: Burren, in the County Clare Branè: probably a hill not far from Ardee, in the County Louth Breslech Mor: a fort in Murthemne Brecc: a place in Ulster Brega: the eastern part of Meath Brenide: a river in Conalle Murthemni, near Strangford Lough Bricriu: son of Carbad, and the evil adviser of the Ulstermen Bri Errgi: stronghold of Errge Echbel, in the County Down Brigantia: Betanzos, in Galicia, on the north coast of Spain Bri Ross: a hill to the north of Ardee, in the County Louth Brug Meic ind Oc, or, as it is also called, Brug na Boinde: Brugh on the Boyne, near Stackallen Bridge, County Meath, one of the chief burial-places of the pagan Irish Buagnech: probably in Leinster and near the river Liffey Buan: a river in Conalle Murthemni Buas: the river Bush, in the County Antrim Burach: a place in Ulster Callann: the Callan, a river near Emain Macha Canann Gall: a place in Ulster Carn: north of Inneoin; probably Carn Fiachach, in the parish of Conry, barony of Rathconrath, Westmeath Carn macBuachalla, at Dunseverick, in Ulster Carbre: stepson of Conchobar and brother of Ailill Carrloeg: a place in Ulster Casruba: father of Lugaid and grandfather of Dubthach Cathba: north-east of Ochonn, in Meath; or a river flowing into the Boyne, some distance to the west of Slane Cathba: a druid of Conchobar's court; according to some accounts, the natural father of King Conchobar (pronounced _Cahvah_) Celtchar: son of Uthechar, an Ulster warrior Cenannas na rig: Kells, in the Covinty Meath Cenn Abrat: a range of hills on the borders of the Counties Cork and Limerick Cet macMagach: a Connacht warrior Cinn Tire: a place in Ulster Clann Dedad: one of the three warrior-clans of Erin: a sept occupying the territory around Castleisland, County Kerry Clann Rudraige: the warriors of King Conchobar: one of the three heroic tribes of Ireland Clartha: Clara, near the present town of Mullingar, in the County Westmeath Cletech: a residence of the kings of Ireland in Mag Breg, near Stackallan Bridge, on the banks of the Boyne Clidna: _see sub_ Tonn Clithar Bo Ulad: probably in the centre of the County Louth Cliu: an extensive territory in the county Limerick Clothru: sister of Medb: Medb slew her while her son, Firbaide, was still unborn Cluain Cain: now Clonkeen, in the west of County Louth Cluain Carpat: a meadow at the river Cruinn in Cualnge Cluain maccuNois: Clonmacnoise, on the Shannon, about nine miles below Athlone Cnoc Aine: Knockany, a hill and plain in the County Limerick Cnogba: Knowth, on the Boyne, near Drogheda, a couple of miles east of Slane, in the County Meath Colbtha: the mouth of the Boyne at Drogheda, or some place near the Boyne Collamair: between Gormanstown and Turvey, in the County Dublin Coltain: south of Cruachan Ai Conall: probably Tyrconnel, in the County Donegal Conall Cernach: one of the chief warriors of Ulster: foster-brother of Cuchulain and next to him in point of prowess Conalle Murthemni: a level plain in the County Louth, extending from the Cooley Mountains, or Carlingford, to the Boyne Conchobar: son of Cathba the druid, and of Ness, and foster-son of Fachtna Fatach (variously pronounced _Cruhóor_, _Connahóor_) Conlaech: son of Cuchulain and Aifè Corcumruad: the present barony of Corcomroe, in the County Clare Cormac Conlongas: King Conchobar's eldest son; called "the Intelligent Exile," because of the part he took as surety for the safety of the exiled sons of Usnech Coronn: the barony of Corran, in the County Sligo Corp Cliath: a place in Ulster Craeb ruad: ordinarily Englished "Red Branch"; better, perhaps, "Nobles' Branch:" King Conchobar's banqueting-hall, at Emain Macha Crannach: at Faughart, north-east of Fid Mor Cromma: a river flowing into the Boyne not far from Slane Cronn hi Cualngi: probably a hill or river of this name near Cualnge Cruachan Ai: the ancient seat and royal burial-place of the kings of Connacht, ten miles north-east of the modern Rathcroghan, near Belanagare, in the County Roscommon (pronounced _Croohan_) Cruinn: a river in Cualnge: probably the stream now called the Piedmont River, emptying into Dundalk Bay Cruthnech: the land of the Irish Picts; the northern part of the County Down and the southern part of the County Antrim Cu, Cucuc, Cuacain, Cucucan, Cucucuc: diminutives of the name Cuchulain Cualnge: Cooley, a mountainous district between Dundalk Bay and Drogheda, in the barony of Lower Dundalk, in the County Louth. It originally extended to the County Down, and the name is now applied to the southern side of the Carlingford Mountains (pronounced _Cooln'ya_) Cualu: a district in the County Wicklow Cuchulain: the usual name of the hero Setanta; son of the god Lug and of Dechtire, and foster-son of Sualtaim (pronounced _Cuhoolin_) Cuib: on the road to Midluachair Cuilenn: the Cully Waters flowing southward from County Armagh into County Louth Cul Siblinne: now Kells in East Meath Cul Silinne: Kilcooley, a few miles to the south-east of Cruachan, in the County Roscommon Culenn: a river in Conalle Murthemni Cuillenn: _see_ Ard Cuillenn Cuillenn Cinn Duni: a hill in Ulster Cuince: a mountain in Cualnge Cumung: a river in Conalle Murthemni Curoi: son of Darè and king of South Munster Cuscraid Menn Macha: son of Conchobar Dall Scena: a place north of Ailè Dalraida: now "the Route," a territory north of Slieve Mish, in the north of the County Antrim Darè: chieftain of the cantred of Cualnge and owner of the Brown Bull of Cualnge Dechtire: sister of King Conchobar and mother of Cuchulain Delga: _see_ Dun Delga Delga Murthemni: Dundalk Delinn: a place or river near Kells between Duelt and Selaig, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Delt: a place north of Drong, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Delt: a river in Conalle Murthemni Dergderc: Lough Derg, an expansion of the Shannon near Killaloe Dichaem: a river in Conalle Murthemni Domnann: _see_ Irrus Domnann Drong: a river in the land of the men of Assail, in Meath Druim Caimthechta: north-east of Druim Cain Druim Cain: possibly an older name for Temair (Tara) Druim En: in South Armagh; probably a wooded height, near Ballymascanlan, in the County Louth Druim Fornocht: near Newry, in the County Down Druim Liccè: north-east of Gort Slane, on Medb's march from Connacht into Ulster Druim Salfinn: now Drumshallon, a townland in the County Louth, six miles north of Drogheda Dub: the Blackwater, on the confines of Ulster and Connacht; or the confluence of the Rivers Boyne and Blackwater at Navan Dubh Sithleann (or Sainglenn): the name of one of Cuchulain's two horses Dubloch: a lake between Kilcooley and Slieve Bawne, in the County Roscommon, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Dubthach Doel Ulad: the Ulster noble who shares with Bricriu the place as prime mover of evil among the Ulstermen (pronounced _Duffach_) Duelt: north or north-west of Delt, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Dun da Benn: Mount Sandle, on the Bann, near Coleraine in the County Derry Dun Delga: Dundalk, or the moat of Castletown, on the east coast near Dundalk; Cuchulain's home town Dun macNechtain Scenè: a fort in Mag Breg, at the place where the Mattock falls into the Boyne, about three miles above Drogheda Dun Sobairche: Dunseverick, about three miles from the Giants' Causeway, in the County Antrim Elg: an old name for Ireland Ellne: probably east of the River Bann, near Coleraine Ellonn: a place in Ulster Emain Macha: the Navan Fort, or Hill, two miles west of Armagh; King Conchobar's capital and the chief town of Ulster (pronounced _Evvin Maha_) Emer Foltchain: wife of Cuchulain (pronounced _Evver_) Enna Agnech: according to the Annals of the Four Masters, he was High King of Ireland from 312 to 293 B.C. Eo Donn Mor: north-east of Eo Donn Bec, in the County Louth Eocho Fedlech: father of Medb; according to the Four Masters, he reigned as monarch of Ireland from 142 to 131 B.C. (pronounced _Yokh-ho_) Eocho Salbuide: King of Ulster and father of Cethern's wife, Inna Eogan macDurthachta: a chief warrior of Ulster and Prince of Fernmag Erc macFedilmithi: an Ulster hero, son of Fedlimid and grandson of Conchobar Erna: a sept of Munstermen who later settled about Lough Erne, in Connacht Ess Ruaid: Assaroe; a cataract on the River Erne near Ballyshannon, in the south of the County Donegal. It constituted part of the old boundary between Ulster and Connacht Etarbane: one of the "seats" of the king of Cashel, in Tipperary Ethliu: father of Lug Ethne: sister of Medb (pronounced _Ehnna_) Fachtna Fathach: king of Ulster and later of all Ireland; adoptive father of Conchobar and husband of Ness, Conchobar's mother Fal (or Inisfail): one of the bardic names for Ireland; Medb is called "of Fal," as daughter of the High King of Ireland (pronounced _Fawl_) Fan na Coba: a territory in the baronies of Upper and Lower Iveagh, in the County Down Fedain Cualngi: a place in Ulster Fedlimid Nocruthach: daughter of King Conchobar, wife of Loegaire Buadach, mother of Fiachna and cousin-german of Cuchulain (pronounced _Falemid_) Femen: a territory at Slieve-na-man, extending perhaps from Cashel to Clonmel, in the southern part of the County Tipperary Fenè: the old tribal name of the Gaels; the "King of the Fenè" is Conchobar, King of Ulster Feorainn: a place near Ardachad, on Medb's march into Ulster Fercerdne: chief poet of the men of Ulster Ferdiad: (pronounced _Fair-dee-ah_) Fergus macRoig: one time king of Ulster; in voluntary exile in Connacht after the treacherous putting to death of the sons of Usnech by Conchobar. He became the chief director of the Táin under Medb Ferloga: Ailill's charioteer Fernmag: Farney, a barony in the County Monaghan Ferta Fingin: at Sliab Fuait Fiachu macFiraba: one of the exiles of Ulster in the camp of Medb Fian: the warrior-class Fid Dub: a wood, north of Cul Silinne, on Medb's march into Ulster Fid Mor: a wood, north of Dundalk and between it and Sliab Fuait Fingabair: probably in the Fews Mountains Finnabair: daughter to Ailill and Medb (pronounced _Fín-nuh-hur_) Finnabair: Fennor, on the banks of the Boyne, near Slane, in Meath Finnabair Slebe: near Imlech Glendamrach Finncharn Slebe Moduirn: a height in the Mourne Mountains Finnglas: a river in Conalle Murthemni Finnglassa Asail: a river south-east of Cruachan Fir Assail: a district containing the barony of Farbill, in Westmeath Flidais Foltchain: wife of Ailill Finn, a Connacht chieftain; after her husband's violent death she became the wife of Fergus, and accompanied him on the Táin Fochain: near Cuchulain's abode Fochard Murthemni: Faughart, two miles north-west of Dundalk, in the County Louth Fodromma: a river flowing into the Boyne near Slane Fuil Iairn: the name of a ford west of Ardee Gabal: the Feeguile, a river in the King's County nGabar: a place near Donaghmore, perhaps to, the west of Lough Neagh in the County Tyrone Galian: a name the Leinstermen bore. They were Ailill's countrymen Gainemain: a river in Conalle Murthemni Garech: the name of the hill where the final battle of the Táin was fought, some distance south-east of Athlone and near Mullingar, in Westmeath Gegg: a woman's name Genonn Gruadsolus: a druid and poet of Ulster; son of Cathba Glaiss Colptha: the river Boyne Glaiss Gatlaig: a river in Ulster Glenamain: a river in Conalle Murthemni Glenn Fochain: probably a valley east of Bellurgan Station Glenn Gatt: a valley in Ulster Glennamain: in Murthemne Glenn in Scail: a place in Dalaraide, East Ulster Glenn na Samaisce: in Slieve Gullion, in the County Armagh Glenn Tail: another name for Belat Aileain Gleoir: the Glore, a river in Conalle Murthemni Gluine Gabur: east of the Shannon, in the County Longford Gort Slane: north of Slane and south-west of Druim Liccè Grellach Bobulge: at Dunseverick, in Ulster Grellach Dolar (or Dolluid): Girley, near Kells, in the County Meath Gualu Mulchi: the town-land of Drumgoolestown on the river Dee, in the County Louth Ialla Ilgremma: near Sliab Betha and Mag Dula Ibar macRiangabra: Conchobar's charioteer Id macRiangabra: Ferdiad's charioteer, brother to Laeg Ilgarech: a hill near Garech, _q.v._ Iliach: grandfather to Conall Cernach Illann Ilarchless: an Ulster warrior, son to Fergus Imchad: son to Fiachna Imchlar: near Donaghmore, west of Dungannon, in the County Tyrone Immail: a place in the Mourne Mountains, in Ulster Imrinn: a druid, son to Cathba Inis Cuscraid: Inch, near Downpatrick Inis Clothrann: Inishcloghran in Loch Ree, County Longford Innbir Scene: the mouth of Waterford Harbour near Tramore; or the mouth of Kenmare Bay, in the County Kerry Inncoin: the Dungolman, a river into which the Inny flows and which divides the barony of Kilkenny West from Rathconrath, in the County Westmeath Iraird Cuillinn: a height south of Emain Macha, in Ulster Irrus Domnann: the barony of Erris, in County Mayo: the clan which bore this name and to which Ferdiad belonged was one of the three heroic races of ancient Ireland Laeg: son of Riangabair and Cuchulain's faithful charioteer (pronounced _Lay_) Latharne: Larne, in the County Antrim Lebarcham: a sorceress Leire: in the territory of the Fir Roiss, in the south of the County Antrim Ler: the Irish sea-god Lethglas: Dun Lethglaisse, now Downpatrick, in Ulster Lettre Luasce: between Cualnge and Conalle Lia Mor: in Conalle Murthemni Liath Mache: 'the Roan,' one of Cuchulain's two horses. Lia Ualann: in Cualnge Linè (or Mag Linè): Moylinne, in the County Antrim Loch Ce: Lough Key, in the County Roscommon Loch Echtrann: Muckno Lake, south of Sliab Fuait, in the County Monaghan Loch Erne: Lough Erne, in the County Fermanagh Loch Ri: Lough Ree, on the Shannon, in the County Galway Loegaire Buadach: son to Connad Buide and husband of Fedlimid Nocruthach; one of the chief warriors of Ulster (pronounced _Layeray_) Lothor: a place in Ulster Luachair: probably Slieve Lougher, or the plain in which lay Temair Luachra, a fort somewhere near the town of Castleisland, in the County Kerry Lug: the divine father of Cuchulain Lugaid: father of Dubthach Lugmud: Louth, in the County of that name Luibnech: possibly a place now called Limerick, in the County Wexford MacMagach: relatives of Ailill MacRoth: Medb's chief messenger Mag: 'a plain' (pronounced _moy_) Mag Ai: the great plain in the County Roscommon, extending from Ballymore to Elphin, and from Bellanagare to Strokestown (pronounced _Moy wee_) Mag Breg: the plain along and south of the lower Boyne, comprising the east of County Meath and the north of County Dublin (pronounced _Moy bray_) Mag Cruimm: south-east of Cruachan, in Connacht Mag Dea: a plain in Ulster Mag Dula: a plain though which the Do flows by Castledawson into Lough Neagh Mag Eola: a plain in Ulster Mag Inis: the plain comprising the baronies of Lecale and Upper Castlereagh, in the County Down Mag Linè: Moylinne, a plain to the north-east of Lough Neagh, in the barony of Upper Antrim Mag Mucceda: a plain near Emain Macha Mag Trega: Moytra, in the County Longford Mag Tuaga: a plain in Mayo Maic Miled: the Milesians Mairg: a district in which is Slievemargie, in the Queen's County and the County Kilkenny Manannan: son of Ler, a fairy god Margine: a place in Cualnge Mas na Righna: Massareene, in the County Antrim Mata Murisc: mother of Ailill Medb: queen of Connacht and wife of Ailill (pronounced _Mave_; in modern Connacht Irish _Mow_ to rhyme with _cow_) Meide ind Eoin, and Meide in Togmail: places in or near the Boyne, in the County Louth Midluachair: Slige Midluachra, the name of the highroad east of Armagh, leading north from Tara to Emain and into the north of Ireland Mil: the legendary progenitor of the Milesians (See Maic Miled) Miliuc: a river in Conalle Murthemni Moduirn: _see_ Sliab Moduirn Moin Coltna: a bog between Slieve Bawne and the Shannon Moraltach: great grandfather of Cuchulain Morann: a famous judge Morrigan: the war-goddess of the ancient Irish, "_monstrum in feminae figura_" (pronounced _More-reegan_) Mossa: a territory, the southern part of which must have been in the barony of Eliogarty, not far from Cashel, in the County Tipperary Muach: a river in Conalle Murthemni Muresc: the land of Ailill's mother; Murresk Hamlet, between Clew Bay and Croagh Patrick, in the County Mayo Murthemne: a great plain along the northern coast of the County Louth between the river Boyne and the Cooley Mountains; now belonging to Leinster, but, at the time of the Táin, to Ulster (pronounced _Muhr-hev-ny_) Nemain: the Badb Ness: mother of King Conchobar by Cathba; she afterwards married Fachtna Fathach and subsequently Fergus macRoig Nith: the river Dee which flows by Ardee, in the County Louth Ochain: the name of Conchan bar's shield Ochonn Midi: a place near the Blackwater at Navan Ochtrach: near Finnglassa Asail, in Meath Oenfer Aifè: another name for Conlaech Oengus Turbech: according to the Annals of Ireland, he reigned as High King from 384 to 326 B.C. Ord: south-east of Cruachan and north of Tiarthechta Partraige beca: Partry in Slechta south-west of Kells, in Meath Port Largè: Waterford Rath Airthir: a place in Connacht Rath Cruachan: Rathcroghan, between Belanagare and Elphin, in the County Roscommon Rede Loche: a place in Cualnge Renna: the mouth of the Boyne Riangabair: father of the charioteers, Laeg and Id Rigdonn: a place in the north Rinn: a river in Conalle Murthemni Rogne: a territory between the rivers Suir and Barrow, in the barony of Kells, the County Kildare or Kilkenny Ross: a district in the south of the County Monaghan Ross Mor: probably Ross na Rig, near Ball Scena Sas: a river in Conalle Murthemni Scathach: the Amazon dwelling in Alba who taught Cuchulain and Ferdiad their warlike feats (pronounced _Scaw-ha_) Selaig: Sheelagh, a townland in the barony of Upper Dundalk Semne: Island Magee, north-east of Carrickfergus, in the County Antrim Senbothae: Templeshanbo, at the foot of Mount Leinster, in the County Wexford Sencha macAilella: the wise counsellor and judge of the Ulstermen Sered: a plain in the north of the barony of Tirhugh, County Donegal Setanta: the real name of Cuchulain Sid: the terrene gods (pronounced _She_) Sil: in Lecale, in the County Down Sinann: the river Shannon Siuir: the Suir, a river in Munster, forming the northern boundary of the County Waterford Slabra: a place north of Selaig, near Kells, in Meath Slaiss: south-east of Cruachan, between Ord and Inneoin Slane: a town on the Boyne, in Meath Slechta: south-west of Kells, in Meath Slemain Mide: "Slane of Meath," Slewen, three miles to the west of Mullingar, in Westmeath Sliab Betha: Slieve Beagh, a mountain whereon the Counties of Fermanagh, Tyrone, and Monaghan meet Sliab Culinn: Slieve Gullion, in the County Armagh Sliab Fuait: the Fews Mountains, near Newtown-Hamilton, to the west and north-west of Slieve Gullion; in the southern part of the County Armagh Sliab Mis: Slieve Mish, a mountain in the County Kerry, extending eastwards from Tralee Sliab Moduirn: the Mourne Range, in the County Monaghan, partly in Cavan and partly in Meath Sruthair Finnlethe: a river west of Athlone Sualtaim (or, Sualtach) Sidech: the human father of Cuchulain Suide Lagen: Mount Leinster, in the County Wexford Tadg: a river in Conalle Murthemni Taidle: near Cuib Taltiu: Teltown, in the County Meath, on or near the Blackwater, between Navan and Kells; one of the chief places of assembly and burial of the Ulstermen Taul Tairb: in Cualnge Telamet: a river in Conalle Murthemni Temair: Tara, the seat of the High King of Ireland, near Navan, in the County Meath (pronounced _Tavvir_) Tethba descirt: South Teffia, a territory about and south of the river Inny, in the County Longford Tethba tuascirt: south-east of Cruachan, in Teffia, County Longford Tir Mor: in Murthemne Tir na Sorcha: a fabled land, ruled over by Manannan Tir Tairngire: "the Land of Promise" Tonn Clidna: a loud surge in the Bay of Glandore Tonn Rudraige: a huge wave in the Bay of Dundrum, in the County Cork Tonn Tuage Inbir: "the Tuns," near the mouth of the river Bann on the north coast of Antrim Tor Breogain: "Bregon's Tower," in Spain Tromma: south-east of Cruachan; also the name of a river flowing into the Boyne near Slane Tuaim Mona: Tumona, a townland in the parish of Ogulla, near Tulsk, south of Cruachan Ai, County Roscommon Tuatha Bressi: a name for the people of Connacht Tuatha De Danann: "the Tribes divine of Danu," the gods of the Irish Olympus Turloch teora Crich: north of Tuaim Mona Uachtur Lua: in the land of Ross Uarba: a place in Ulster Uathach: one of the three women-teachers of Cuchulain and Ferdiad Uathu: north of Ochain Ui Echach: the barony of Iveagh, in the County Down Umansruth: a stream in Murthemne Usnech: father of Noisi, Annle and Ardan Uthechar: father of Celtchar and of Menn * * * * * _Printed by_ BUTLER & TANNER, _Frome and London_ * * * * *